At the same time I had this strong sensual desire to see my alpha male friend fuck my sexy mom senselessly. I went in the bathroom and jerked off at least two times that night to the image of Ryan filling my mom’s pussy with his seed. After 3 am, I heard both of them come in. I pretended I was asleep in my bed. I heard both of them talking and giggling. They both sounded drunk. Minutes later, I heard nothing but silence. They were most likely making out downstairs. An hour later, they both tip toed upstairs and closed my mom’s bedroom door. I heard the bed repeatedly squeak throughout the night. They were fucking only meters away!!! I couldn’t help but get out of bed, take off my boxers, and ejaculate in my beanbag chair in the corner of the room. The next morning, I awoke and went downstairs only to see Ryan shirtless and in his underwear sitting on the living room couch. I couldn’t help but see his massive bulge. He had a big smile on his face and said, “Oh, look who just got up!”. Every day, it eroded a little more of her. All she could do was hold onto the important things. She still fought some, though. She couldn’t help herself. She kept the tendrils away from the scent of the sea air, the sight of a lighthouse in the fog. Not the most important details, but it was the principle. She never wanted them to think she’d given up. She remembered (really remembered, not like the demanding mental theater of the chair) their first day in the cells, remembered forcing the guards to drag her down the hall, fighting them every step of the way, almost slipping free of their black latex-gloved hands, spitting defiance even as they strapped her into the chair. ‘I won’t ever stop fighting!’ she’d shouted. ‘Not ever!’ The guard had looked at her. The blank, empty expression in her eyes had stilled Beth’s tongue. ‘everybody fights,’ she’d said. ‘everybody loses.’ Beth had understood, then. The guards weren’t her captors. They were captives who had been to the chair one too.
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