Warnings!
Child sexual abuse, extremely dubious consent, paedophilia, rape/non-consensual, suicidal thoughts, underage sex, victim blaming.
Where Our Demons Hide
Part 4 – Adjournment
Ivan's bail stood at one million dollars.
It was a sum he could never afford, but his sisters had organised a fundraiser to provide for it. This allowed for his release in between court appearances, with strict rules not to leave the city and not to go anywhere near the victim or his family. He agreed readily to those terms.
After the first trial, he was brought to the police station to sign his release papers. Only then was he free to go. It was late in the evening, and Natalya, his younger sister, was waiting for him in the lobby of the station. A practising lawyer herself, she had pressed to be his legal defence, but he had declined. He turned down her offer to drive him home that evening too.
"Goodnight 'Tasha," he said wearily, cutting short her protestations. "I'll see you tomorrow."
After all the noise and commotion of the day, it was a relief to have a moment's peace to himself in the back of a cab. The ride was smoothly silent, but all too soon they arrived at his doorstep. It rounded up to thirty dollars which he had just enough cash to cover for, having not visited an ATM in some days.
"Sorry," he mumbled as he handed over a few crumpled bills without a tip. The driver made no comment, but drove off with a sharp squeal of tyres.
He pushed the front door through a small scattering of mail. The house was dark and greeted him with the regular tick of a wall clock hung in the hallway. It struck nine as he pushed the door close. He dropped his keys into a bowl, fumbled the light switch on, and shrugged out of his coat and jacket, his scarf pulling loose as he hung them up on a coat peg.
Home at last, he thought, turning to survey the disaster before him.
Not much had been cleared since the day of his arrest when the police turned the place upside down. Books lay strewn on the floor where they had been dropped after a thorough leaf through. He had cleared a path between the doorways, stacking them along the walls and in the space under the stairs, but had not gotten around to sorting them back onto shelves. In the living room, almost all of his electronics had been confiscated; his desk lay bare with dusty imprints of his desktop computer and hard drive, a wall mount stood empty where his 42-inch TV had hung, and all DVDs and old VHS tapes were stripped from his cabinets. Even his stereo had been taken.
Upstairs, a stepladder stood under the hatch into the attic. That was where he kept most of… most of Alfred's…
He needed a drink. He stumbled into the kitchen, putting the kettle to boil before realising that he had run out of both tea and milk. Slamming the fridge door shut, he stooped to pull out a bottle of something stronger instead.
His eyes flitted to the cupboard under the sink of their own accord.
Nestled inside amongst cleaning supplies was a brown paper bag he had filled with an assortment of pills and over-the-counter medication. He had collected them years ago, many years ago now. He imagined they were mostly harmless now.
He stopped himself before his thoughts could stray any further in that direction. Pushing the bag firmly out of his mind, he stood up and grabbed the vodka bottle by its neck. He shuffled out of the kitchen, flicking off the light switch as he exited.
It wasn't until he had settled in his sofa that he realised he had forgotten to fetch a glass.
Alfred breathed in short hitching gasps as the toy buzzed in his ass.
He was knelt on the floor with his head down and his rear in the air, his faded green shorts pooled around his feet encased in woollen knee-high socks. He held his butt cheeks spread with his hands; his glasses were hanging askew on his face, fogging up with prickling tears as blue, blue eyes looked beseechingly up at his teacher.
"Sir, please," he pleaded tearfully. His fingers moved to spread more of his ass as the toy continued to thrum inside of him. He shuddered. "Please, I b-beg you…"
Mr B trained his camera on the picture little Alfred made on the floor in his Boy Scout's uniform. Having framed him just right, he reached one hand to palm himself over his trousers.
"Say hello first," he said in a voice that was deep and hoarse with lust.
Alfred let out a half-sob. "H-hello…" he said half-heartedly. He swallowed. Then, steeling himself, he launched into his speech, "I-I'm Alfred. I-I'm a Boy Scouts m-member, and I-I'm with my teacher – M-Mr B." He swallowed again, his fingers pulling at the flesh around his puckered ass as the toy kept on thrumming against his prostate. "Please, sir, I w-want you… I-I want you inside me n-now…"
"But you're almost finished," Mr B prompted him, gently but firmly. The camera shook in his hand as he rubbed himself with increasing vigour. Alfred sniffled.
"I'm eleven and a half years old!" He was almost wailing now, his eyes screwed shut as his knees trembled beneath his weight. "And I like it very m-much when Mr B-B… when Mr B p-plays with m-me!"
He let out a hiccoughing sob as he finished. He gazed expectantly up at his teacher.
The camera was set atop a stack of books piled to the floor, carefully angled so Alfred stayed in frame. Then Mr B's figure came into shot, just cut off above the knees. Slowly, he knelt to Alfred's level. He was wearing a dark knitted sweater and a shirt collar.
"You did very well, sweetness," he cooed as he shuffled closer to the kneeling boy.
Alfred watched with wide greedy eyes as Mr B undid his trousers and brought out his engorged cock, swiping a thumb over the slit to spread the precum already beading there. His teacher switched off the vibrating toy and carefully drew it out of his ass; a sob escaped him as it popped out with an audible squelch. He held his cheeks spread still as lube oozed out of his widened hole and trickled down the back of his thighs.
Tossing the plug aside, Mr B reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small square foil – a condom, Alfred had been taught. Slowly, watching as Alfred squirmed in growing anticipation, he tore open the packet and prepared himself, rolling the condom onto his cock with deliberate care to the task.
"Hurry!" Alfred whined.
He was immediately gratified as Mr B took hold of his small hips, brought the tip of his cock to his ass, and pushed in. The boy was so thoroughly prepared by the toy and copious amount of lube that Mr B almost slid all of himself into him in a single thrust.
"God yes!" he hissed in hoarse pleasure. Alfred was so tight, so unbelievably hot and tight…
He set up a thrusting rhythm that grew rapidly in pace, until Alfred was crying out loud enough to worry. He slowed and made soft shushing noises then, afraid that the neighbours would hear.
"Not so loud," he whispered, his fear unmistakable in the tremble of his tone…
Ivan jerked wide-awake. His eyes flew open to darkness, and he was panic-stricken for a moment, forgetting where he was.
Then it all came flooding back. He was home, he just came back from court, and he was lying on the couch in the living room after drinking himself into a stupor.
Slowly he sat up, groaning as his head pounded in protest. His breath tasted sour and smelled strongly of alcohol. He glanced at his wristwatch; it was a quarter to one in the morning. He needed to be up in a few hours' time for court again.
He swung his legs over to the floor, still in his shoes. He rubbed the sleep from his face as he let out a heavy sigh. Then he glanced over to the spot by the fireplace where he had fucked eleven-year-old Alfred in his Boy Scouts uniform all those years ago.
That recording had been one of his favourites. He used to watch it over and over again, getting off repeatedly to his young sweet Alfred mewling around his cock, his wire-rimmed glasses falling down his face as his parted mouth showed off a new set of braces. He kept the tape long after Alfred had grown and left the school and his tutoring sessions… left him…
His heart was in pieces, his chest heaving as he ached desperately for Alfred. His head pounded as if to punish him for his thoughts, but his cock was hard still from the dream. As he stared at the tent in his trousers, hatred and self-disgust swept over him in debilitating waves, ripping guilt through him like lightning sizzling through flesh.
"Shit!" he swore under his breath, dropping his head into his hands. "Shit, shit, shit!"
He wanted to weep. He wanted to rage and scream and destroy himself in the storm.
But more than anything, he wanted Alfred.
Alfred was standing in the courtroom.
It was empty and quiet, so eerily quiet he could hear the roar of blood in his ears and the sweat beading on his pores. A cold, clammy dread was slowly seizing him; he lifted one of his hands and watched as it shook visibly and uncontrollably.
Suddenly, he heard someone approaching on soft muffled footfalls. He spun around, his breath stilling, catching in his throat.
His eyes widened as a large figure stepped out of the gloom and stood before him.
It was Mr Braginski, his old maths teacher. The man was dressed in the same light grey suit he had worn to the trial, and he had not changed much. He was wearing the same mild-mannered expression he always wore, with that little smile which made it look as if he was relishing in a private joke.
His grey-violet eyes fixed unblinkingly to Alfred's, his head tilted at an almost imperceptible angle as he softly greeted, "Hello, pet."
Alfred could not recall if he had uttered anything in return. Nor could he recall anything that might have taken place in between then and having Ivan reach out to caress him. His teacher brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face before leaning in to kiss him. He found himself reciprocating the kiss, his own head tilting to meld pliantly to Ivan's heated lips.
And then he was lying on the courtroom floor. He was being fucked, his button-up shirt ripped open and his trousers hanging from one leg as Ivan thrust repeatedly into him. He clung to Ivan's forearms, feeling the hard muscles underneath his suit jacket. It felt good, it felt so amazingly good to have Ivan's cock in him again, thrusting into him quick, hard and rough.
"Ah y-yeah– Yes!" he gasped.
"Not so loud," Ivan whispered urgently.
Alfred froze at those words. He felt the blood drain from his face.
Suddenly he was eleven years old again, in the Boy Scout's uniform that stuck to him whenever he perspired, and he was staring up at Mr B who held a camera trained to him.
"Not so loud, sweetness, or we'll be in trouble."
He wanted to obey. He didn't want to get them into trouble. He wanted to please Mr B, so he bit down on his lip to keep from making too much noise.
"That's a good boy," Mr B said encouragingly, resuming his thrusts.
Alfred could have cried from the sheer bliss of being so thoroughly debauched.
He was nearing his climax, but his eleven-year-old self did not possess the knowledge or vocabulary for the sensation he was feeling; a feeling as if he was teetering painfully at the edge of a cliff. He bucked his hips and writhed bodily, his own prick standing to attention. It had taken to doing that a lot in recent months, but something was different this time.
"S-sir!" he gasped. Something was building inside of him, and it frightened him. "Sir, p-please… I'm g-gonna…"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. Mr B had thrust suddenly into him at an excruciatingly delicious angle and it pushed him right over the edge.
An unravelling sensation whipped through his small body, pulling all his muscles taut as he came hard, his ears flooding with white noise, his eyes widening as his vision blurred…
Eighteen-year-old Alfred jerked from his bed, gasping for breath as he stared ahead with wild bloodshot eyes. He was drenched in cold sweat, and his heart was beating at a rapid pace as blood pounded in his ears.
It was a dream, he realised as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was a dream. It was just a dream…
After he was assured that he was safe, that Ivan Braginski had not been anywhere near him, he was forced to confront himself. He had been aroused by the dream; he had even peaked! The sticky mess he felt in his pants was horribly unmistakable. And his cock was painfully hard.
He sat for a long moment, deliberating in his jumbled thoughts as he willed himself to calm down. He took several deep breaths, almost sobbing as he fought to keep the dam from breaking.
A few minutes later, he burrowed back under the bedcovers to jerk himself off, just as the clock struck one.
Disclaimer!
All incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental. The author does not condone any immoral or illegal sexual conduct with minors in real life.
