Last Exit Ch. 01

Author's Note: This is the first entry of "Last Exit", a four part series. This is a slow burn, dark, grounded, and intense narrative that explores concepts like guilt, sadism, masochism, reluctance, obsession, and the concept of "redemption". It includes NTR, consensual non-consent, BDSM, breath play and more. This narrative seeks to explore character psychology and subvert tropes when possible. Please observe the category this story is placed in, as well as the additional tags. As I addressed in "All She Ever Wanted", if this subject matter is not appealing to you, I completely understand. But I still implore you to read on and experience something else.

In addition, thank you to all the amazing readers, writers, and community members who reached out to me in support and to ask me to keep writing. I am here because of you all. I want to specifically mention Logan & Kayla, your unwavering support, friendship, feedback, and kindness is a treasure. Also, thank you to my ad-hoc mentors, contemporaries, and or influences; chadeauxfrommedi, eddie_wilder, Scottgreen, lovecraft68, antarctica77, Jordan45, TheTalkMan, and The_shadow_rising. Your support has been greatly appreciated. Also, a huge thanks to anyone, anonymous or otherwise who sent such amazing feedback. Enjoy.

Last Exit- Chapter 1

The yearbook's pages were still crisp, without blemish, like a scholar glimpsing a revered artifact, Sophia would devote herself to the meticulous study of her earlier life contained within. In a small apartment, quiet, dilapidated and sparse, she poured over every classmate and confidante's autographs, their signatures born from pens, pencils, markers, and other instruments. Peers names ticketed and sorted in long arcs of cursive hearts, their notes full of already aged references, inside jokes, defunct phone numbers and user handles, a library of memory betrothed to the inevitable process of time.

She turned the pages, her long pink acrylic nails picking at the binding nervously, losing to her anxiety. To her, it was a document of the ache of time, of a sworn belief that life was simpler, better, and freer back then. She knew it was a lie. All of it. She knew from the people she hurt, every page in the book a display of her victims, the lives of others she gleefully and without mercy, humiliated, bullied, and ostracized. This was her reminder, of what she could never let go of, and could never be forgiven for.

She unfurled pages, there was a photo of her, in regulation Catholic school uniform giving a peace sign while sticking out her long pink tongue. Turning pages, the sports section, another picture of her, senior year, skin unblemished, athletic, black hair adorned with a long white ribbon that hung gently by her slender face. She was flanked on her sides by sisters not of blood, but by social credit earned through the calculus of luck, effort, and status as cheerleaders. She ran a finger across the photo, the flood lights of the field behind basked them in a perfect glow without even the hint of a filter.

She perused the yearbook further, reflecting what had now become her obsessive ritual. It was her chronicle, told to only herself, a gallery of her memories on repeat stuck deep in her person-hood, feeding the guilt inside. So, she turned another page of the yearbook, jumping when the door opened, Jake stepping through, wiping his well worn Timberland boots on the doormat. He saw her looking at the tome again, speaking softly.

"Jeez woman, ya gotta put that away sometimes. Ain't no need to fixate on glory days, we right here babygirl."

Sophia looked up and mustered a smile, only because of Jake's presence, he showed her something more than what she had known or expected. She looked at the glossy book, held taut in her hand. He slowly peeled it away and placed it back on their bookshelf. Asides from worn paperbacks, it towered over all, to Sophia it was the only thing truly there, the center of her shrine, a monolith of guilt.

Jake sat down next to her on the worn couch, putting his arm around her, his sharp braids hugged his scalp in tight rows. He kissed her cheek, she smiled, a tinge of sadness still visible on her face, he held her with both arms and spoke.

"Ya know, I don't think holding on to that book is doing you any good."

She looked over at it, on the frail shelf, and back to him, nestling her head against his shoulder, combing his full and rooted beard with her fingers, she sighed and spoke.

"I've had it a long time. I umm, it's kind of a part of me. I mean, its, how do I say this? It doesn't matter. Never mind."

"It does matter. Speak, you know I ain't gonna judge."

"It's me. That book, it's me."

"You are you girl. Ya don't seem very happy when you go through it, ain't never seen a smile on your face each time with that... thing in front."

She was silent, breathing into his shoulder, fidgeting with her hands, picking absentmindedly on threads on his flannel. He spoke.

"I aint tryin' to tell you what to do babygirl. If it don't make you happy, why you hold on? That's all. I jus wanna see you happy."

"I can't let it go. You know this."

"I know, I know, fellas who are smart with titles and papers tell you that each week. How about this? Why don't we jus, one by one, take those pages, and rip em out. Ain't gonna miss em. If you do it slowly. All things are better when they are slow, take yer time."

She didn't reply, and closed her eyes, falling asleep on his shoulder, to the sound of him breathing and the worn whine of a ceiling fan above.

***

In her sleep, she found no respite in the clutch of darkness. Her nightmares didn't cease, they too were an endless chronicle, shackled, bound around her neck, clamped round her tongue, all what remained was the past. Every night the same, everyday the same, the walls of her skull a mirror to her history, never free to wander. Always, she started retracing her life, just after high school, each night an attempt to understand the present, but it would never present a solution.

Senior year, she earned a scholarship, went to the University of Florida, which had a prestige all it's own. She would elevate herself to the most elite of sororities after her initiation. After, she sought power, using the only thing she ever knew, bullying. At a chaotic house party, she seduced two boyfriends of her fellow sisters, taking both young men together at the same time in a dim dorm room, another fraternity brother recording the debauchery.

She adored their attention, she felt powerful, both of them sliding inside her, their lips locked with hers, their commentary degrading, her hands and mouth working as one, taken from behind, laid flat, spent and eventually covered by their essence. She convinced herself as they zoomed in on her face covered in humiliation, slick with their use, that she was in control. Their laughter filled the room with mockery as they left. Sophia kneeling, believed she had won.

She instead, lost. They uploaded the video the next day to every platform they could.

The next day Sophia received a broken nose from one of her sorority sisters she wronged. She knew she deserved it. She fell fast to isolation, living with what was an alien feeling to her, that of guilt. For a long while she hid away in a quiet dorm, attended mass, went to confession again, an attempt to absolve herself. It didn't work.

That summer she had abundant joy, dating a charming man, from the same hometown as her. As the long days and warmth came to an end, he cheated on her with a college freshmen he met at an internship. In autumn she relinquished all inhibitions, leading to scandal with her business professor, a spry older man, dark skinned with white hair, dignified in appearance, who wanted to "mentor" her, seeing her "potential". For a whirlwind four months, he courted her, she returned every gift he offered with her mouth, her hands, her body, everything she could to keep him, she was sure she was in love. Her heart told her it was love. After several broken condoms, and a phone call she received from the professor's wife, the crushing guilt settled into her soul. She was alone again.

The rest of her time at university was a whirlwind of poor choices, yet she eventually stood with diploma in hand, walking out into an unknown world. To her misfortune, a recession's grasp on the economy, forced her back home, her parents calling her "lazy, worthless, lacking in ambition, a loser unlike your brother". Her parents became crueler, she became weaker.

Her bed was too small, a relic from her younger years. Her parent's home too painful, a palace of hostility. From the first steps she ever took, to their unyielding abuse, unrealistic expectations, and pressures, it would eventually turn her into the wounded, cruel bully who once felt a comforting bliss in the suffering of others. Finally she broke down, the pressure of failure too much. She swore that God spoke to her, asking her to "change her life lest she face damnation", that she was "chosen to absolve those she hurt", "she would have penance if she suffered more". Instead her parents had her committed.

Sophia soon found herself entranced with the mental health aide assigned to her. He was middle aged, stocky, kind eyes, she told him about everything she ever did, all the people she hurt, all the lives she damaged. He listened to her, truly, and openly. She felt for the first time properly heard, seen. Which is why with his advice, away from cameras in corners unseen, she would fall to her knees to service him, and soon, he would take her in bathroom stalls, he loved the feeling of her body, of her youth, so willing, so unblemished, he buried and seeded himself deep inside her over and over. When their liaison was discovered it ended his career, and marriage. Somehow she missed him, she would never understand why.

She got better. She had to. To forgive herself. To make amends. The medication helped. If at it's worst it made her numb and jittery, it was far better than being enslaved to a near permanent state of anguish. Her parents welcomed her back begrudgingly. She worked, tirelessly, multiple jobs, all of them with name tags, uniforms, screaming patrons and all for minimum wage. She prayed every night, begging for forgiveness. In her free time she tried to find those she had wronged, per her therapist's suggestion.

Every one she found rebuked her, online, in person, wishing her scorn, pain and death. So she committed herself to oblivion, no social media or contact of any kind, complete erasure, so she could start anew. Five years passed. Same jobs, same self inflicted isolation that she rarely challenged. She dyed her hair, blonde, poorly, now stained partially green. She let it grow into long waves, split ends, at her collar, wearing it like a veil of embarrassment around her face. She got tattoos of penance, scripture in Latin, geometric shapes, flowers, angels, almost all unfinished on her shoulders, neck and chest, close to her most vital areas. She now bemoaned every mirror, her now developed soft midsection a contrast to what she once was.

It was by luck and grace, she found opportunity. It was Gerald that finally hired her as a bartender at "Last Exit", an old dive bar, offering nothing of particular worth except odd, themeless decor, and older patrons on lonely crusades of binge drinking. The bar's crowded weekends were full of those that never left the small town. Those who took a pride in their legacies and sometimes their equal ignorance depending on the mood or the season.

Gerald was a good manager. A handsome older man, who had long since been disinterested from relationships outside the professional kind. A widower, he never explained what happened to his wife, still wore his wedding band, only rumors offered little insight. He always seemed disappointed, a hint of sadness presented on his face and tired eyes. Everyone knew him to be a sequestered man who spoke rarely of family or interests. His office was spartan, not a single photo hung, just an empty desk, organized bills, an ancient laptop, and nothing else. Vagueries aside he was, rational, generous and beloved by staff and regulars alike.

Sophia found being a bartender invigorating, and utterly exhausting. She embraced long shifts, to hear the pains, and joys of others. Every patron with the right amount of drinks became a storyteller in their own right. She had within a short period of time, soon heard it all. With significant effort she found herself out on her own again, escaping her parents. She rented a small apartment; occupied by nothing but a bed, and her cat Austin. It was a long walk to Last Exit; no car. Work was a process she could repeat. She would smile, wink, pout, wear self made low cut tops to display her ample wiles, of which made her back ache, her chest obtrusive, a hindrance and often an embarrassment to her.

When she could muster the courage to dress with purpose to try and show off her best remaining aspects, regulars, like Eli would tip their beer bottle back, study her like a piece of meat, taking in every imperfection, regardless of their own appearance. Eli spoke, slurred and aggressive.

"Ya got a real, how do I say this? Jeez, pretty face? Ya don't look the type to work here. But, when I see the rest of ya, ugly ass tattoos and that damn nose ring, shit... ain't gonna be much more weight. Ya should use them tips, get ya self a gym membership. Here, I'm gon give you a twenty, work that babyfat off bitch."

She thought constantly of how she said in the past, infinitely crueler things to peers, to rip their confidence apart. Now, it was her turn. She wished Eli would have continued before Gerald forcibly led him out of the bar, Eli's protests and steady, drunken criticisms of every woman bartender, was a fixture that occurred every two weeks. Eli was exceptionally punctual with his verbal abuse.

She barely made rent, a cycle that felt endless, but manageable. At least she had solitude, like the saints and martyrs she obsessed over, books and histories of them scattered around her hovel.

Then came Jake, another bartender, friendly, tall, lean, skin of sienna, humble, accent with a short drawl from parts unknown to her. He was well mannered, thoughtful, reserved, and he cared deeply for her. They were fast friends, and soon more. He didn't understand her fully, not her convictions, her proclaimed devotion, confounded him. Yet, he respected all of her, eccentricities and contradictions included.

He fell in love with her, found her womanly, intelligent, irresistible and beautiful. Their love blossomed, it was consummated quickly. In tired nights and long weekends they explored each other's bodies, their hands roamed, cupped and grasped. Almost every night was a series of moans, sighs, panting, and hushed gasps, the scent of spent rubbers and sweat, an intermingling layer of intimacy and passion. They spent hours just holding each other, under sheets, covered like corpses in a morgue, hands locked, dead to the world except for each other.

Short mornings, long nights, everyday the same for them, but there was joy, that grew and was fostered even among the stress and strain of life. They decided on a quick ceremony at the courthouse, marrying, without any of their family present, deciding they would love each other always, and forever. She kept her maiden name. Eventually, they pooled enough funds to rent another smaller room, even closer to Last Exit, their new apartment wasn't a place of comfort, it remained just somewhere for them to sleep, haunt, and abandon for work, but at least it was their life, no one else could own it but them.

She repeated this all in her head endlessly, starting from the beginning to the present, everyday when got out of bed and her feet touched the cold unfinished floor, it was the first thought that arrived and the last one she would think of. The yearbook on it's shelf, a camping photo of her and Jake in a cheap frame, was all she had, to remind her, of what her life had been, what it was, and a lingering thought of what it could be, if she could only find forgiveness. Instead, there was every morning, and every day, nearly exactly the same, the same shame, the same sadness.

***

It was the day after Christmas when Gerald suddenly said he was giving ownership of the bar to his son. For Sophia and Jake, the uncertainty of a new manager left them in a wake of paralysis. The staff was called together. Gerald stood in front of the counter, leaning heavily on it, the burden of his ownership already removed. From the back room, his son joined his side.

It was a moment of absolute horror when Sophia through the dim gloom of the bar, recognized Fin. She knew his eyes, had seen them red and teary, at her words, at at her behest countless times. The rest of

him had changed, his face was sharp, noble, even with stubble, slate eyes cold and alert, jaw forever clenched, as if poised poised to scream, dressed all in black, wearing a modest, thin gold chain, a cross at its center. It was just like hers, faded, worn, and scratched

He smiled, broadly, a mask of aloof ease, in reality, a shaded predatory threat that fooled everyone, except her. He crossed his sinewy arms, stepped forwards and began to shake hands with the staff and bartenders one by one, his grip firm, voice jovial, working his way down, never once not meeting the eyes directly of those he spoke with.

As he approached Sophia, she prayed with clasped hands at her waist, rendered faint, and disoriented. Time slowed, her skin burned in agony. She had prayed for anything, a fire, calamity, instant death so that he wouldn't notice her, she wouldn't have to meet him again. He extended his hand, tremors encasing her every finger, as she weakly took it. He spoke with a calm voice, with no hint of malice.

"Sophia Cooper. Been a while."

She felt bile cling to the back of her throat, barely mustering a nod, her lips quivered, as the abyss inside her filled with revulsion. Fin continued down the line of staff, not offering more than a glance to her again. There was no formal handling, no official ceremony, celebration, barely even a goodbye from Gerald. The staff dispersed to their lives, their homes, their long walks and drives away in the cold.

Sophia and Jake walked together back to their apartment, nothing moved, the now familiar parade of headlights, roar of bikes, and silence was all that fell between them. They headed up the stairs, to the coffin they called their apartment. Inside, Sophia sat down, her expression blank. Jake leaned back against the door as it closed, aged torn blue flannel hung slack against his body as he stretched and spoke after a long yawn.

"Babygirl, you ain't said a word since we left."

"It's him."

"Who?"

"Fin. Gerald's son."

"What about him? He ain't even done nothing yet."

"No. It's not umm that. It's not."

"What then?"

"He went to the same high school as me."

"Awww god fucking damn it. Oh shit. Did you..."

"Yes. Badly. Maybe the worst out of everyone"

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth on the couch, her dirtied black high top Converses pressing more sticky stains of beer and spirits into the already soiled cushions. Austin patrolled around her shoulders. Jake collapsed next to her sucking in air through his teeth, and spoke calmly.

"Shit. Well, I'm gon start applying elsewhere."

"Are you blaming me for this?"

"No, I didn't say that. Don't put words in my mouth. I'm just tryin' to be safe."

She leaned back, clutching at her knees to steady herself, her mind replaying her crimes, sins, and cruelty in rapid fashion, tears flooded her eyes, and she fell to her side in silence, her face a mask of suffering. Jake put his arm around her shoulder, he knew better than to speak. She owned all her pain and regret no matter what he did to try and help her let go. When she finally regained her composure he spoke.

"I'm gonna fix us something to eat ok?

She nodded.

Jake, from years of pragmatism and poverty, made a resourceful pot of chili and rice, rice not cooked enough nor washed, beef cooked too fast, the resulting starchy reddened paste left Sophia feeling even worse, her bowl sat nearly untouched. He looked at her, seeing the sadness that drew slow tears from her eyes. He put his spoon down and walked behind her, wrapping his arms around her, speaking tenderly.

"Babygirl... it's gon be ok. You ain't got no reason to be afraid. I'm here."

She ran her forearm against her eyes to soak the tears that wouldn't cease. She choked, sputtered and spoke.

"This is a sign. I'm being punished. This is God, or the universe, the cosmos, umm fates, whatever. They are telling-"

He cut her off.

"They ain't telling you shit. I am. You have your faith, that's good, but girl I swear ain't nothing above us but the stars. Right now, we here."

She nodded, she wanted to believe him so badly, she hung on every word he spoke with sincerity. In her heart she believed none of it, not a single syllable. She reached up and grasped his forearm, tight, sensually running her other hand across his thigh through his jeans. He chuckled and spoke.

"Girl, you're still crying."

"I need you... I need umm."

"Relax, I ain't going anywhere. We got the night. Jus take deep breaths."

Jake found her primitive, carnal desires after extreme bouts of sadness to be one of her eccentricities he could never understand. He asked her to explain it, she never would. Or, maybe she couldn't, not to him at least. For the next half hour, Jake worked diligently, his calloused hands dug into her shoulders, thumbs pressing, moving in smooth circles, down into deep tissue, she winced, he was clumsy, but his intent was pure. She spoke softly.

"That feels good. But a little harder ok?"

Jake kissed her neck softly, fingers dug in, her every ache wasn't soothed, it was instead agitated. She liked it this way, she wanted more. Jake spoke.

"You wanna take this inside the bedroom babygirl?"

She nodded, her eyes worn from her tears.

He helped her out of the chair, and opened the thin door behind them, leading her to their cramped bedroom as if she was nothing less than a princess. Austin followed them, standing in the corner, grooming himself, Jake laughed.

"He tryin' to watch us again! Lil pervert."

Sophia snorted as Austin tilted his head. Jake turned the lights out, all that remained in the room was the dull florescent burn of the kitchen bulb that crept through their bedroom door in a long sliver that split the room in two.

They embraced immediately, she kissed him deeply, her only purpose her lips against his. Her arms could barely reach around his neck as she stood on her toes to plant her full lips against his, locked in love. Jake grabbed around her waist and kissed her, sloppy, raw, she felt herself push against him, her hands searching briefly before peeling back his flannel off and sliding her hands over his hairy chest, she felt his tongue swirl around hers, her stud piercing clacking softly against his teeth.

He slipped his hand down her bike shorts, pushing past the elastic band, feeling her core tighten, her exhalation stuck in her bosom, his other hand crept below her shirt, peeling down the cup of her bra to caress her tits. He couldn't even fit his hand around one of them. He felt her nipples stiffen between his fingers, her lush skin gave rise to a smoldering heat, in anticipation she felt as if she was floating, as his fingers found her cunt.

She found that since they met, his gentleness stilled her when making love. He possessed an attentiveness to her needs, he pulled his beard away when he ate her out, offering careful touches from his calloused hands around her whole body. He was strong, yet he never dominated her, he was slow and meticulous. He wasn't experienced, but he cared, and that changed her perception of what sex could be. She could not however, always suppress what lied and lurked below, yearning in the fathoms of her heart. She banished the thought.

Sophia wished for all of him. She felt assured in his hands, pulled across her soft waist, his cock visibly hard underneath his joggers, yet he tempered himself, staying focused. He ran his finger across her clit in gentle swirls, stroking, drawing out an assured soft moan from within. He kissed her neck, offering his breath against her ear as he moved behind her, now grasping her soft stomach from behind, pulling her shirt above her head, freeing her chest, tits beholden to their weight.

He squeezed her waist as he lowered his joggers stepping out of them clumsily, his hand never leaving her curves. His fingers slid down to her slick cunt, pulling back against her clitoral hood lightly, offering long vertical strokes between his index and middle finger. He brought his other hand to her pouting lips, she sucked on his fingers longingly, intuitively, he withdrew them, now slick, roaming down her back below her bike shorts, it was unexpected, her breath hitched as his index finger slowly pressed on her rear, lightly probing, making slick her hole, soon pushing past, his finger curling inside her.

Sophia bit her bottom lip and spoke "What's gotten into you?"

His fingers spoke his response.

She tilted her head to breathe in his kiss, he playfully bit her lip, as his hands found a rhythm slow inside her. She grabbed the back of his neck, pushing their faces together. She pushed her other hand down across his wrist, cementing the perfect angle for his efforts. She winced as he plunged a second finger into her rear hole, her breathing labored, her hand migrating to the back of his head as she arched her back into his chest. He slowly pulled both hands away from her, and disrobed fully, as did she.

She hovered near the edge of the bed, admiring him, lean and tall, his cock the same. He was the biggest she'd ever been with. She grew to enjoy it in time, as long as he was slow, it was a labor to ensure that she could take him, he sometimes bent against her cervix, which caused her great pain, which she adored, and he detested every time he saw her wince or yelp. He spoke.

"I gotta feel you girl, I gotta mark you inside..."

"No no no, not without protection, even though it would feel so good. I love the way it feels... we umm already talked about that "

"I ain't talking about that, I want all of me inside you, turn round girl. I'll be real, real slow."

"Are you sure? It's been a while since I've..."

"Don't worry, we don't gotta talk, just breathe ok? I'm go real slow, real delicate."

"I trust you."

"I know babygirl."

She climbed onto the rickety bed, laying her head face down, springs worn as it creaked, she breathed deep, as she rose her thick rear, she heard the click of a bottle of lube, he massaged his proud length against the cool liquid and soon felt him notch his broad cockhead near her hole. He grasped his base and pushed gently, her body resisting, she bit her lip, she could feel her muscular ring part, his cock pushing past boundaries he had never been in, but others had. It was again new to her, she felt him push forward as he grabbed her hips, her thighs clenching.

He focused entirely on his slow and deep thrusts, her cavity pushing back against every inch of him, resistance inherent, until finally she lifted her head, speaking as her fingers gripped the sheets, knuckles white.

"Right there..."

He was slow, he wouldn't dream of hurting her, he possessed a measured dominance, but he wanted her to be comfortable above all, to feel his love and not just his lust.

She pushed her fingers against her clit, he folded himself over her, she tilted her head to kiss him, their lips touched and broke, tongues wrapped and pulled back with each of his sturdy lunges, she giggled as he missed her lips kissing her cheek, even in the dark she could see his loving smile. She looked him in the eyes and spoke.

"Umm... please fuck me hard."

He quickened, her nerve bundles ached with each of his plunges, her body shuttered as her obtrusive bust supported her, she gripped the sheets tighter, the springs below them squeaking as her own soft voice grew into a long moan, she rubbed furiously using her long nails to slide and flick along her engorged clit, transitioning to shoving her fingers deep inside, bending. Her animation fell still, she sighed, tilting her head down, sadness tinged in her expression he could only see in the faded window pane in front of them. He paused, sheathing himself inside her as his hand ran across her hair and spoke.

"What's wrong babygirl?"

She mustered all the courage she could, to ask again, what she had been denied before, only out of his own respect for her.

"I... could you, umm I feel so wrong saying this."

"Ain't no need to feel that way girl."

Jake kissed her softly on the cheek. She smiled, still nervous.

"Could you, could you choke me?" She moved his hand to her throat.

"Girl I ain't here to hurt you, why you asking for that?"

"I just want it."

He frowned slightly, ran his hand down his beard, resting it on her side.

"Ain't that the way others treated you? We good for each other, you said it yourself, you don't want that."

"I know I just, I know you won't use me like they did."

"Just be here babygirl, I ain't tryin' to make you sad or mad, but you feel me inside you? Think of that, instead."

With a kiss sealed on her neck, his cut hips thrusting back into her, she relinquished for a moment her desires.

She rested on her chest and pushed her ass back violently, hurting herself. He was unaware, too focused on his stamina, that in the dark she raised her hand and clasped it tightly around her own throat until swallowing felt impossible, wheezing into the sheet below as her clutch grew tighter. She needed this, needed pain, to let go. He ran his hands down the small of her back, thumbs tightening above her dimpled cheeks, pushing her into him, clapping loudly with each of his drives, her tits spilling over the side of the bed as she continued to redden her own face, in love with him as much as she was asphyxiation. His heavy balls slapped against her cunt, a pendulum of lust that at the right angle as he pushed her down, would press against her clit for just a brief moment, teasing arousal. Sophia felt a pressure that pushed deeper in her as his gentleness and restraint came undone, she rocked her hips back even harder, his fingers clenched at her curved flanks, anchoring himself as his frenzied hammering continued, determined to fuck his load into her, the prospect the most exciting thing he could imagine, no matter if it was on the eve of sadness, this was their bonding, he knew that much.

His release was mounting as he ran his hand down her thick thigh, admiring her curves, as she felt a sudden slap against her ass, feeling his breath pause as he couldn't hold back, the burden of his effort was relinquished inside her, a pounding, milky gush that filled her, pooling, dousing the base of his cock as he pulled back, coated in a frothy lather.

Her tight ring dilated as he slipped free, cum spilling out of her as he spread her cheeks, her body tingling with discomfort as she felt the entirety of him slip out for the first time, there was no doubting his dominance when he could fuck her with his full span. It was what she needed, how she wanted it, an offering of himself.

He was hypnotized by his efforts as his spillage seeped, cautiously he placed his fingers above her shining sex, guarding her vulnerable arousal as she shifted her hips to divert the flow of his seed avoiding any unwanted accidents.

Her eyes were wide as any semblance of timidity ceased, she beckoned him closer, he crept on his knees, mattress sagging with his approach, as she laid on her side, angling her hips as he leaked out of her, her tits, heavy and full sat stop her curves as she lunged forward, cupping his balls and hollowing her cheeks as she served his half hard cock, her thin face sucked as she hummed, lapping at the froth around him.

"Damn girl, shit that ain't... fuck that feels good."

She relished the intriguing flavor of him, partly her own, she didn't care about sanitation, her own walls clenched as she pushed him deep into her throat, wanting to be choked, she grasped at his wrist to pull her head down. He was exhausted, there was no chance of him hardening again. He muttered.

"Shit, ease down."

He pulled her back as she tried to latch to him again, he was impressed at her tenacity. She looked at him, not eyes of wanting, a stare that passed him, trying to find his eyes in the dark, but wanting more, she grabbed his hand to press around her neck. He spoke.

"Babygirl, not tonight, maybe some other time. We need love right now."

She popped his cock out of her mouth and whispered back to him.

"But this is love."

He caressed her cheek as he collapsed next to her, he wanted to tell her why it wasn't, but it was fruitless, she would never hear him, yet she would always embrace and cherish his warmth after every encounter. As he held her, he fell fast asleep, while her eyes remained open.

In the quiet, when Sophia found herself idle and alone, the only sound Austin nuzzling the food bowl, his steadied purrs, and Jake's snoring, she craved release. She wanted Jake to fill her with, his seed, so deep inside her, she always yearned to be a mother, to offer someone else what she never had. With the guidance of pain, and redemption she believed she could do it. Yet that night, she didn't sleep, Sunday fast approached, she tried all through the weekend to make still her nerves, to let anxiety be, and all efforts failed, no sleep and no reprieve, no matter Jake's love.

On Sunday night, she dreamed of gallows, a trap door flexing beneath her as a noose tightened around her neck. When she woke, she was disappointed.

***

That monday night, Fin managed for the first time. Sophia had never felt so disarmed, so paranoid, every hour she stood in the bathroom to weep, or hug herself, feet rapidly tapping against the soiled, sticky floor, every moment worrying that Fin would speak or see her personally. It was the opposite, Fin was consummate, diligent, and gave her space while still assisting. It made her even more unsettled. She found all her resolve and courage when an hour before closing, her shift ended. She walked behind Last Exit, and studied the stars in cold light, cigarette hung from her lips. In this space, she prepared herself, adjusting her silver septum ring, taking a long drag of her cigarette, a ring of corona blossoming at the end of her cigarette, as the smoke from her drag charted up to nothing. She bade her time, and stalked the dark until Fin would close, like Gerald before, he was always the last to leave. As the end neared, she dug deeper than ever before, and besides a dumpster, prayed for strength, for absolution. The neon sign of Last Exit went dull. She craved the noose from her dream. The front door shut, and locked. She saw Fin, her vision tunneled, her breath paused, she took a step and called out.

"Fin. Hey." Sophia approached, the gravel below sounding with each step.

Fin turned, car door open, his hand resting on the corner of the frame, his physique lean, but imposing. He smiled so warmly, so true, eyes registering the same as they always had reflecting whatever was inside him, vulnerable, kind, and broken by her own hand. Fin spoke monotone, and cold.

"Heya. What a night right? Why are you here? Didn't you get out an hour ago?"

She nodded, fidgeting again with her cross and wiping her, sweaty palms at her hips.

"Yeah, I'm waiting for a ride."

"I could give you one."

The thought left her in endless terror. She spoke.

"No no, no thank you so much. That's very kind but my friend umm Olivia will be here soon."

She didn't have friends, there was no "Olivia", she would walk home every night, with or without Jake.

Fin nodded. He closed the car door and leaned against it, crossing his arms before he spoke.

"You've been doing really well, I don't know if I told you or said that."

She blushed straining to keep the flood of tears at bay. She felt she didn't deserve his praise.

"Thank you, again that's, wow. I didn't know."

Fin continued speaking.

"A shame. I should really tell you, hell, I should tell everyone more often how great they're doing. My dad wasn't wrong, he was lucky to have you all."

She smirked and nodded, her hands clasped in front of her, pushing her heavy bust together, forgetting she was wearing her tip-driven attire she clutched her short denim jacket shut awkwardly, her posture still slouched, stomach slightly visible over her bike shorts, her phone tucked in, worn out high tops kicking absentmindedly against the gravel, pale legs enduring the harsh cold with goosebumps, she spoke, for what she was sure would be the last thing she ever said.

"I wanted to say something, I wanted to tell you something very important."

Fin nodded, crossing his arms, she couldn't believe how much he had changed, he looked so resolute now, with such a pure face. He spoke.

"Oh goodness don't tell me you're quitting."

"No no! No I wouldn't dream. No, I..."

"It's ok. You can tell me. We're all family here."

She wanted to take a deep breath, but it was caught in her lungs, she spoke, hoping he would hear her sincerity, her need for redemption.

"I wanted to formally say, I'm so sorry for what I did, all those years ago."

Fin's face revealed a hint of sadness, of recognition, he wanted her to apologize, yet at the same time, he wanted her to earn it. He grumbled, head down before he tried to meet her eyes in earnest while speaking.

"It's ok. That's ancient history."

"No. No it's not. I did... horrible things."

"We were much younger and stupider. We all did bad things."

"You didn't. Everyone always said how kind you were, and all I'd do was..."

She sniffled.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry. I, can't keep this in. I can't anymore. In 9th grade for football tryouts, I told Bobby to tackle you on the field that day. I didn't know he would break your ankle. And when you came back in crutches, I tripped you on the stairs that day. I know people said they didn't see who, but it was me. I did it on purpose. Everyone covered for me, even Mrs. Schwartz.

I... I told all my friends to spread the rumors about you being gay. I made up the nickname "Finley the Fag". I had Carlos slash your tires, that last day of senior year. We were dating at the time and I told him it would be funny. So he did it to impress me. The used condom inside the envelope addressed to your parents, I did all of that. And I did so many things to so many other people and to you. I... I can never say I'm sorry enough."

There was an oppressive, long silence, Fin had stopped looking at her face after the first utterance of what happened so long ago. He knew it was not a complete list of what she had done, he remembered all of it, had made a ledger in his soul of all that she had done and said. He felt tears run down his face, he turned around to stop the cascade, lip quivering as he clenched his teeth so hard he felt numbness take hold of his jaw, after some time he collected what remained of his composure, and spoke.

"Why? Why did you do all that?"

"I was an awful person back then., I always will be, I'm trying to be better, I don't expect forgiveness what I did is inexcusable and umm I did it because it made me feel powerful and it made me feel wanted. There's no justifying it. I bullied you because, because I liked seeing others hurt that I thought were below me. When Davey tried to kill himself and he survived, I was the one who owned that alt account and posted that "it was a shame he didn't have the balls to go through with it" I... I don't deserve forgiveness and if you want to fire me because it's too painful it's ok, really it is. I hurt so many people, and I hurt you most of all."

She began sobbing, tears that blistered and scalded her already reddened cheeks

Fin nodded, solemn, his fists turning red from clenching, nails cutting into his palms. He exhaled and under shallow breath, spoke.

"I forgive you"

She was stunned, she fell back at this words, steadying herself, her heels dug in against the ancient gravel.

"You, you what? You don't need to I mean it I don't deserve it. I'll never deserve it."

"No, we all deserve it. Right? Isn't that what we were taught, raised to do? Isn't that why you have that cross on your neck? Isn't that why I have my cross too?"

She couldn't hide her tears anymore, she sobbed, loudly. He handed her a handkerchief from his back pocket, clean and soft. She blew her nose into it and wiped her eyes, reddened and drained, her admission feeling not as as if weight was lifted but only added. She spoke through tears.

"I guess so."

"That's why you said something. I don't understand what you did that to me. I won't. Ever. But, you know what the worst part of it all was?"

She shook her head.

"I... never mind. We'll talk it out later."

"What? Why? I was-"

"I know. I just, I have to go. That took a lot of courage. We can talk more later. I'll see you tomorrow."

Fin got inside his car, waved goodbye, and drove off. She was alone in the parking lot.

She walked home, and wished she could take back everything she said.

***

Fin drove back to his apartment in silence, as he had become accustomed to, even comforted by. He parked carefully, ascended the stairs and entered. His apartment was far from sterile, it was immaculate fully furnished, and modern. Adorned with art, paintings hung up, of figures clad in bondage, prints of heavily textured artists like Francis Bacon and Nicola Samori, warped, surrealist, affairs that while beautiful were unsettling.

As he walked to his bedroom, he paused, looking at several photos on display. There was a photo of his mother, Genevieve, the year before she passed, he ran his fingers over the frame, missing the bond that existed between them, She taught him everything he knew, everything he wanted to know. He missed her terribly.

Beside it, an older photo of his first communion bathed in imperfections, the photo taken at an awkward angle, but the intent measured the same, the jubilant exclamation on Genevieve's face, looking towards her pride, her joy, was evident. A photo of his graduation from college, Gerald proud and smiling, arm wrapped around his shoulder, a fixed melancholy that persisted between them, knowing Genevieve couldn't be there.

He went to his room, and withdrew from his closet a footlocker. He sat on his bed and opened it.

He took out from within it, a fixed blade knife, a belt, a collar, crude instruments, ball gags, blindfolds, rope, cords, clamps, a small battery, laying them out as a professional would, cleaning them and tending to them with care, thoughtful and thorough. Tools he had come to know, cherish, master. He knew it wouldn't be long before he'd be using them again. His favorite set of black leather gloves, he adored the texture, the comfort it brought him, more than just his second skin, the entirety of who he was, he tenderly placed them down besides him, worn, weathered, and chipped. He went to his bookshelf, pulled out his yearbook, no signatures within or without, and studied Sophia's photo, running his thumb across it, he cradled the book, studying in endless repetition as he had thousands of times before, every contour of Sophia's face and smile. He would move all that was, and all that could be, to be with her. Every dulled edge of every tool he sharpened, every instrument made pristine, for every inch of her, would be his. He was in love. He sat, exhaustion taking root, and rubbed between his fingers the worn tattered cross round his neck, in abject silence as he felt his pants tighten.