[Druidtoad]

Warning! You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non consensual sex. If you do not like such stories, please turn back. I don't promote rape or non-consent sex. This is only a story, fiction, if you do not understand the difference between reality and fantasy, read no more. Rape is a heinous crime and the penalty is many years in prison. Anyone who commits rape are despised everywhere. But fantasies are all right so long as no one is hurt.

This story is my personal fan-made, dark, sequel, that is a follow up to the ending of the Jim Carrey film, The Truman Show http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120382/ .  If you've never seen the film, I'll give a spoiler alert, because I'll be making references to content in the film, but I highly recommend it to anyone who hasn't seen it, as Jim Carrey gives, what is, his best non-comic role yet, though, it being Jim Carrey, silliness is still part of his acting.  But onto the story, and for context purposes, I have added the clip of the ending of the film before the story starts, for context reasons.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_zYn-HHcyA

The Truman Show: Reborn

"This above all: to thine own self be true." Hamlet, Shakespeare.

Prelude

The waves lapped onto the shore, crashing gently onto the shingles as the tide went out, the pale moon hanging in the sky, beaming a soft light onto the water as it steadily retreated.  

Driftwood, stones, and all manner of objects lost out at sea laid on the shore, and lying still in the darkness; curled up in the foetal position, a man slept, his body and clothes wet as beams of light shined onto him, from the line of rescuers combing the beach, a woman running up to kneel beside him, as she placed her hands on his shoulder.

‘He’s over here!’ she called out

***

White light, clear and overpowering, pierced the darkness as his eyelids opened, stirring, as he felt the ache and fatigue of his body, rousing from a sleep that felt eternal, lying on soft, white linen as the sound of machinery hummed beside him.  Casting a side glance, a ventilator was hissing away, as it pumped air down the pipe that linked to his mask, filtering oxygen into his airways.

Hearing a thud to his left, the man lying on the bed turned his head, watching as a woman in white overalls entered the room, with a man, dressed in blue scrubs, following behind her.

Approaching the patient, the woman spoke

‘How are you feeling?’ she said.

The man on the bed blinked his eyes groggily, before speaking.

‘I feel fine.  Who are you?’

‘That’s good.  My name is Dr Lira, and you are my patient.  Do you remember anything before your ship sank off the coast?’

Dr Lira’s patient stared up to the ceiling, and thought for a moment, ignoring the nurse at his side as he administered to the machinery.

‘I remember… I left Seahaven, going across the water when I got hit by a storm?’

As the patient spoke, Lira looked up at the nurse, the two sharing a glance that their patient didn’t notice.

‘But I got through the storm, until… I hit a wall?’

‘A wall?’  Dr Lira repeated, looking concerned at her patient, ‘were you near the harbour at Seahaven?’

‘No,’ the patient insisted, ‘it was out a sea.  I was sailing, until I hit a wall that was the colour of the horizon?  I then climbed up, onto a ledge, and went and found a door?’

The patient’s head fell back onto the pillow, the sedative the nurse had put into his drip fulfilling its function.  Turning on the spot, Dr Lira looked up at the security camera at the corner of the room, waiting for instructions.

Staring at the screen of his monitor on his desk; his hands together in front of him, Christof contemplated his next move.

We caught Truman just in time, Christof recollected.  He got out of his cage, but we caught him before he could leave.

Finding the exit, Truman’s escape was thwarted by the men at the door, and, through manipulation, had orchestrated Truman’s re-entry back to Seahaven, creating his “ship wreckage”, as he was placed on the beach, found by rescuers before taking to hospital, but he still remembers.

His face in his hands, Christof’s beret fell off his head as his mind swirled with endless ideas, but no solutions.

How can I fix this?

The door to his office opened, and peering over the screens, Christof watched a woman in a black suit walked towards him, her hands in her pockets as she stood before Christof’s desk.

‘Delphi,’ Christof said, looking at the sixty-year-old woman stare at him.

‘How did you let this happen?’ Delphi said, her voice dripping with anger and contempt, ‘all you had to do was keep Truman under lock and key, and he escapes?!’

Hands out of her pocket, Delphi slammed her hands onto Christof’s desk, making the middle age man jump in his seat.

‘I’m losing money, Christof!  Our sponsors are pulling out, and I can’t let this go on.  What are your options to fixing this?’

Licking his dry lips, Christof looked at Delphi as he began to speak.

‘We have three options. The first is we let Truman resume everything like before, but so far, he remembers everything that has happened, and will likely try to escape.’

Hands crossed in front of her, Delphi paced the front of Christof’s desk, walking the length before turning to walk back the other way, her ears listening to Christof as he spoke.

‘The second is that, we could try and reprogram Truman?  I have contacts with professionals that can redesign a person’s mind, rewiring them to become another person?’

‘How successful is that?’ Delphi asked.

‘It varies.  Some, go on without realising they had past lives, others,’ Christof admitted, ‘if they’re strong willed, could end up remembering who they were.’

‘And the third option?’ Delphi asked, becoming irritated.

‘The third, is that we can use Truman’s twin brother?’ Christof said.

‘Twin brother?’ Delphi said, stopping to look at the show director, intrigued by this option, ‘Truman had a brother?’

Christof nodded.

‘Why wasn’t this the first option?’ Delphi inquired.

‘Well,’ Christof began, ‘like Truman, he doesn’t know that the world he exists in, is false, his friends, family, and carers being actors,’

‘Carers?’ Delphi said, puzzled.

‘Well, unlike Truman, his brother wasn’t raised in a family environment, in fact, his story is that, he was an orphan, and that he was raised by foster carers, then later, he was adopted.  I had it planned to introduce Truman’s brother to Truman in a couple of years’ time, but…’

‘Aside from Truman’s recent antics, his brother isn’t as emotionally stable as Truman, the effects of not being part of a real family having an impact on his wellbeing,’

‘Do it,’ Delphi said.

‘What?  Introduce Truman’s brother?’

‘Yes.  If he looks like Truman, then people won’t know the difference, and his behaviour can be attributed to the recent issues he’s had, especially after meeting his long, dead father,’ Delphi explained, her enthusiasm growing as she went, thinking more on the positives of this plan.

‘What about Truman?’ Christof said, looking at his monitor, Truman now lying asleep in his bed next to the two, medically qualified actors.

‘Deal with him,’ Delphi said, sweeping around to leave Christof’s office, her time already taken enough as it is.  There were sponsors she had to persuade to stay on and invest, especially in this new chapter of this show.

As she touched the door handle, Delphi turned and said, ‘what is the name, of Truman’s brother?’

‘John,’

‘John?  As in John Doe?’

Christof nodded, Delphi smiling at the irony of the name.

***

The police cell was clean, he could give them that, at least.  Lying on his bunk, with only his thoughts, his dark, shadowed eyes casted towards the security camera that was looking at him, from the ceiling, raising a middle finger at it as he sat idly, before hearing a door open down the corridor from his cell.

A policeman came to the cell, and, without ceremony, opened it.

‘Come with me,’ the policeman said.

With one lazy foot after another, the prisoner rose from his bunk and walked towards the policeman, following him down the corridor as he left his cell, passing other cells that were unoccupied.

Entering a room, another policeman stood by a door, opposite the one he and his escort had come through, his escort standing by the door as they entered.

‘Please take a seat,’ the policeman said, indicating the seat in front of a white table, with a jug of water and polystyrene cups sitting next to it.
Sitting down, the door opposite from where he sat opened, and in came a smartly dressed woman, holding a handbag as she approached the table.

‘Is it you?’ the woman said, looking nervous as she regarded the man sitting before her.

‘I don’t know lady, you tell me,’ he said, flippantly.

‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said, as she pulled her seat out and sat down opposite. ‘It’s just a shock,’

‘What is?’ the man said.

‘You don’t know this, but you are my son,’ the woman said frankly.

Silence followed the sentence, the man licking his lips as he leaned forward.

‘Bullshit,’

‘It’s true, you are my son, and your name is Truman,’ the woman went on, her hand rummaging inside her handbag.

‘Lady, my name is John, after the nuns who fostered me, named me after John the Apostle, on account I survived being left for dead, by my parents, by you, supposedly,’

Watching in silence, the woman brought out a photograph, showing it to John as he took it from her.

‘That is me and you,’

Looking at the photo, it was a picture of the woman, much younger than what she is now, sitting in a hospital bed with a baby cradled in her arms

‘And the father?’ John asked, tapping the photo, ‘where’s he?’

‘He died during Vietnam War,’ the woman said, putting a handkerchief to her eyes as she hid her tears.

‘How?’ John asked.

‘When I gave birth to you in 1968, at the time, your father was serving as a pilot in the air force, and, while on tour, he died during combat, shot down.’

The woman began to weep, bitter memories flooding back during that terrible time.  Her hand went back inside her handbag, bringing out another photo for John.

Looking at it, John saw a white, young man standing beside a jet fighter, his foot resting on the first step of a ladder that led into the cockpit, while he held his helmet under his arm, posing for the camera.

‘That was the last photo of him alive,’ the woman said, wiping her nose, ‘he looks a lot like you,’

Photo in both hands, John looked at the man in the photo, it old with age and discolouring, but as he searched his features, John tried to work out which, if any, they belonged to him.  Except for hair colour, skin colour, and brow, John couldn’t see his features in this man’s image.

‘I don’t believe you,’ John said, looking at the woman, ‘you say you’re my mother, but you could be anyone,’

The woman nodded, already anticipating the hard questions.

‘You have a birth mark on your back, small, unnoticeable, but there’s a tiny patch of brown skin where the base of your spine is.  I have it too,’ the woman said, standing up.

Turning around, the woman lifted her clothes, and showed the lower part of her back, showing the same birth mark as John.

Pulling her clothes back down, the woman sat in her seat again as she looked at John.

‘Do you believe me now?’ the woman asked, staring into John’s eyes.

A long silence stretched after her question, neither speaking for minutes while John looked down, his eyes cast to the floor as he considered her question, before looking up, answering it with another question.

‘Why did you give me up?’  John asked.  

She sat in her seat, the look on her face the same as the one John had a minute ago, placing a hand on the hearing aid she had in her ear.

‘When your father died, Truman,’ she began, ‘I wasn’t married to him, and, against our parents’ wishes, we eloped, and when your father was in the air force, I thought we could get by without anyone, but when he died, I couldn’t look after you, so I had to give you up,’

The woman began to weep into her hands, looking down and away from John, ‘I’m so sorry Truman,’

‘Why do you call me Truman?’ John asked.

‘It was your name, after your father; who was a true man among men; a hero,’

‘And what do I call you?’ John asled.

Wiping her nose with her handkerchief, the woman looked up, her eyes red with tears.

‘You can call me Joyce,’ she said.

‘Joyce,’ John said, speaking the word, testing it in his mouth, ‘I don’t know if you are my mother or not, but why have you come to see me?  How did you find me?’

‘I hired a private detective,’ Joyce said. ‘I had hired many in the past, trying to search for you, but one had recently found you, and, told me you had been incarcerated.  I had to come and look; to see if you were the one I was looking, and, John, you are the one I’m looking for,’

‘I’ve come to take you home Truman,’ Joyce announced to him, her hand reaching over the table to his hand, which he took away from her immediately.

‘You keep calling me that name, and, probably, I was called that when I was born, but thirty years is a long time to claim your son,’ John said, growing angry, his hands turning into balls of fists.

At either side of the room, the police had their hands resting on their batons, ready to intervene.

‘I know you’re angry, Truman,’ Joyce implored, trying to reason with him, ‘and I’ve failed you, but I’ve come to make things right, and, at the very least, I like to help you get out of here and start a new life,’

Reaching out again, Joyce took John’s hand, this time, keeping it there in her embrace.

‘I know someone, who is a friend of the manager at a local diner.  I could get you a job there, and help you get an apartment near it, if you want my help?’

Considering the eyes of this stranger; his mother, John looked down at the table, considering her proposal, before looking up at her again.
‘I like that idea.  When could we leave?’ John asked, Joyce beaming a warm smile at her son.

‘I have to ask the policeman at the front desk, and if I could persuade him to let you leave with me, then it’s just a matter of filling paperwork,’
Nodding, Joyce got up and turned to the policeman behind her.

‘Can I go and see the policeman at the front desk?’ Joyce asked.

‘Of course,’ the policeman said, smiling as he opened the door for her, letting her out.

Alone again, with two police officers acting guards, John took one of the polystyrene cups and filled it, consuming a measure of water from it as he sat and waited, his mind going through what he had just been told by this strange woman, Joyce; his mother.

As he did, John’s eyelids became very heavy, and, succumbing to tiredness, John fell asleep where he sat, the security camera at the corner of the room’s ceiling, zooming in on his face.

***

Sat in his office, leaning on his desk, Christof watched as John fell asleep in his chair, the two guards in the room moving the table out of the way as a wheelchair was brought in, John being manhandled into as he was taken away.

In the adjacent square image, next to the one of the interview room, Christof could see Joyce; played by veteran theatre actress Martha Wake, having a cigarette outside the building that was the “police station”.

‘Good work, Martha,’ Christof said into his speaker, watching the woman look at the camera and gave the thumbs up.

Swivelling in his seat, Christof turned to look at Delphi, who was behind him as they looked at the action being played out

‘This is brilliant,’ Delphi said, ecstatic at the result, ‘I’ve already told our sponsors that we’ll be resuming The Truman Show,’

Elated also, Christof smiled as he turned to look at the monitor on his desk, watching the unconscious body of John being transported into the back of van, and, ahead of its journey, Christof could see how he could reintroduce John, Truman, back to the show.

The Truman Show has been reborn!

[Druidtoad]

Part 1

‘Hello Truman,’

Leaning forward inside the bonnet of a car, his overalls smudged with grease and oil from his day’s work, John, or Truman as most people call him, stood up as he looked at Marcus, his manager, employer, and close friend at the garage he works at.

‘Yeah?’ John said, wiping his hands onto his overalls.

‘When you’ve finished with this customer’s car,’ Marcus said, pointing at the car engine, ‘I like you to run on down and help a customer on the outskirts of town, who’s broken down,’

‘Okay, Marcus.  I’ll do that,’

‘I can always count on you,’ Marcus said, fisting pumping John in the shoulder, as he turned to leave.

‘After nine years, I should think you could,’ John said, winking.

Leaning back into the car’s engine, Marcus made quick work with he had to do, and, collecting the keys from the office, smiling at Rita the secretary as he left, John entered the garage’s tow truck, and drove out of the lot, using sat nav to head towards the stretch of road where the customer was.

Driving through the main thoroughfare of Seahaven, John, although not a native to this seaside town, felt very much a part of this town’s community, especially the warm reception and friendliness everyone gave to him.  Twelve years as a resident, Seahaven has changed, the buildings becoming modern as most places are in America, but, watching the news, John was thankful that the town didn’t become overcrowded, the number of people who lived here staying the same.

Stopping at traffic lights, his window down, John looked out to see Kendal walking around the corner into the street he was on.
 
‘Kendal!’ John yelled, looking at the light to check it hadn’t changed green.

Looking at who spoke, Kendal beamed a wide smile at John, as she walked up him, standing on the sidewalk.

‘Hi Truman,’ Kendal said, ‘busy at work?’

Looking into his truck with his arm held up outside the tow truck, John gave Kendal a comical look and said, ‘always,’

Kendal laughed at John’s jest, smiling.  Glancing at the lights, John was thankful that it was still on red.

‘What you’re doing?’ John asked, looking at the lights again.

‘I was on my way to get the bus to the other side of town,’ Kendal said.

‘I’m on my way there now, I can give you a lift?’ John offered.

‘Thank you,’ Kendal said, as she quickly got into the tow truck, the lights turning green as she put her seat belt on, John moving the tow truck forward along the empty road ahead.

‘How are your parents?’ John asked, glancing at Kendal as he focused on driving.

‘They’re doing fine.  My father just bought a brand-new Vauxhall Griffon for under twelve thousand dollars, that came with a friendly service, and guaranteed warranty of three years,’

John nodded, vaguely listening to what Kendal was telling him about her Dad’s new car, his attentions focused in between the road ahead, and admiring Kendal.

Five foot five, black, and with a body of a fitness trainer, Kendal was everything a guy could want in a woman, desirable beauty, intelligent, and with a warm personality that made John feel at ease.

Stopping at the next set of traffic lights, John waited, tapping on the steering wheel as he watched the lights, still on red.

‘Have you heard of the new restaurant on Roosevelt Street?’ John said, licking his lips as he prepared himself.

‘You mean Jerry and Hanks diner?  With their good for value food, that comes with a free drink and dessert on your fourth visit?  What about it?’  Kendal asked, glancing to John.

‘Well,’ John said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he spoke, ‘I was thinking about going there to check it out, and I was wondering if you like to join me there, this Saturday?’

Pulling down the sun visor on her side of the car, Kendal flipped open the cover that hid the mirror inside the sun visor, as she inspected her with it.

‘I think that would be a great idea Truman, but I must go to Trinity’s Dress shop and pick out an outfit; their dresses and makeup are on sale, with a thirty-five percent discount,’

Smiling to herself, Kendal gave a wink to the mirror before bringing her sun visor up again, the car moving along the road once more as she did.
Coming to a junction, before taking a right turn onto a street, Kendal stretched an arm out and said, ‘can you drop me off here, next to Gambon’s Casino, where new members get a twenty-dollar voucher if they sign up before next April,’

Nodding, John pulled the tow truck to the side of the street, putting it into park as Kendal stepped out of the truck, walking around to the side before standing next to John, who leaned out of the window.

‘Next Saturday, I’ll pick you up from your house, say, at seven o’clock?’ John said.

‘See you at seven,’ Kendal said, smiling as she waved to John, as he drove off.  

***

Sat in his office, looking at the monitor in front of him, Christof watched as John drove his truck towards the outskirts of town, pulling up to a car with smoking rising from it engine, the owner, an elderly woman, was standing beside Truman as she spoke to him; mentioning advertisements from sponsors as she talked idly, Truman ignoring her as he worked on her car.

Entering the office, Delphi strode up to the front of Christof’s desk, looking at him as he inspected the monitors; more to demonstrate his authority than to do anything productive.

‘Oh, hi Delphi,’ Christof said, as if he hadn’t noticed her come in.

‘I like where you’re taking the story,’ Delphi complimented, sincerely, ‘the ratings have increased by a substantial margin, especially ever since Truman’s stellar return.  The viewing figures have never been so strong,’

‘Thank you,’ Christof said, ‘I have an interesting story ahead for Truman,’

‘Jessica, who plays Kendal, I plan for her to become John’s long-time girlfriend, before replacing her with another, called Heidi, after Kendal leaves Truman for someone else, a waiter from the diner they’re going to tonight,’

‘A bit bold, don’t you think?’ Delphi asked, concerned, ‘our audience’s might not take to infidelity or affairs?’

‘If that’s the case,’ Christof explained, ‘it would invoke sympathy for our tragic hero, Truman.  But this being the twenty-first century, our audiences won’t be unaccustomed to such things, and will be interested to see the reaction, rather than the fallout of the act.  I think it would be a good story line for us to pursue at this stage, especially as Truman has already warmed to Kendal,’

‘Alright,’ Delphi said, conceding, ‘run with the idea.’

***

Jerry and Hanks was full, but unlike most establishments, the place wasn’t overcrowded, making John appreciate the popularity of the place while enjoying the calm atmosphere, especially as his eyes cast towards Kendal, who busied herself by dining on Hank’s medium rare beef burger, a favourite in this place.

As John watched his date, Kendal looked up at him and smiled, putting down her knife and fork as her hand touched his, John taking the hand away before placing it on top Kendal’s, affectionately rubbing his thumb on top of her soft, brown skin.

‘How about we get out of here?’ John invited, thrusting his free hand dramatically in the direction of the diner door.

‘What a charming idea,’ Kendal said, speaking with a comical British accent, as she mimicked the gesture John did, the two stepping out of their booth before exiting the diner.

Being a gentleman, John opened Kendal’s door as he waited for her to be seated, closing it before going around to the driver’s side, entering as he sat next to Kendal.

Driving his car through Seahaven, the town centre was clean and beautiful, with visitors of the night walking its streets to bars and restaurants.
Pulling into his driveway, John turned off the car engine as he turned to Kendal.

‘Shall we go inside?’ John invited.

‘I’d like that,’ Kendal said, the two exiting the car as they walked up to John’s front door.

As they walked inside, Kendal went to walk to John’s living room.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ John said, taking Kendal’s arm by the wrist, as he urged to go upstairs.

Standing and staring at John, Kendal glanced about the room briefly, before nodding, masking her concerned look as she walked up the stairs, ahead of John.

Entering the bedroom, John closed the door as he began to take his shirt off.

‘Listen, Truman,’ Kendal began, ‘I had a lovely time this evening, and I think we should take it slow,’

Throwing his shirt to the floor, John looked at Kendal as his brow furrowed.  Approaching Kendal slowly, John’s face contorted into a visage of anger, and, on instinct, John slapped Kendal in the face, sending his date tumbling to the floor as she began to cry, her hand to her face.

‘You think I didn’t see the look you gave the waiter?’ John said.

***

Christof stared open mouth at the screen, as he watched Truman strike Kendal.  His heart in his mouth, Christof watched as the creation of his show, Truman, began to take his belt off.

Looking to the right screen, Christof let out a sigh of relief as he saw the commercials, it replacing the live feed that was being shown to the world.  Not only was Christof the director, but to give greater creative control, Christof oversaw editing, music, and everything to do with transmitting the footage he controls over, the world seeing what Christof wanted them to see.

And as Truman began to take his shirt off, Christof immediately faded the image out to the commercials, it done as much for art as it was for advertisements, but as Christof saw John lift Kendal up, before striking her in the face again, Christof was thankful for the timing of this commercial break.

Acting quickly, Christof went back to the previous week’s recordings, and, taking the entire length of Truman being asleep one night, Christof replaced it for the live footage that was being recorded, the world seeing Truman asleep rather than brutalising the woman he had with him.  If audiences saw this, it would end the show.

His mind racing, Christof watched to see what Truman would do to Kendal before acting on it.

***

Kneeling on the floor, her hands tied before her back by John’s belt, Kendal’s right eye was black and bruised from the beating she had taken.
Striding before her, his cloths littering the floor, John stepped out of the bathroom as he placed on the side counter a box of condoms.  Her eyes widened at them, sensing John’s intent.  Looking down at his victim, John regarded her with contempt.

All his life people have left him when he needed them the most.  Sure, his mother has returned to save him, but how long did it take?  And was it done for him, or for her own guilty conscious?  John would ask his mother, but, in private, John would catch Joyce talking to herself, her aged old mind being corrupted by some ailment she hadn’t mentioned, something relating to Parkinson’s disease, or Dementia perhaps?

A rational conversation can only be done with a rational person.  John conceded.  And Kendal?  

John thought he was making headway with this woman, someone he thought he could trust and open up to, but like everyone, their eyes were on the next best thing after him, and he couldn’t tolerate it anymore.

‘It’s about taking back,’ John announced, vocalising the thoughts in his head, while Kendal looked up, terrified.

Her eyes looking back to the door to Truman’s bedroom, Kendal waited until the moment security would enter, and rescue her from this deranged man she had been acting with.

Picking up the box of condoms, John tore open the packaging, before producing one condom in his hand, holding it as he inspected it.

‘Come here,’ John said, pointing to a spot on the floor in front of him.

Rising to stand, Kendal walked towards John before he put his hand up.

‘Go back, kneel down, and crawl to here,’ John said, menacingly.

Complying, Kendal knelt on the floor, and, on her knees, Kendal walked towards John, before stopping where he had told her to go.
Condom in his hand, John held it before Kendal, before saying ‘put this into your mouth, and hold it there,’

Placing the condom onto her mouth, it covering the entirety of Kendal’s orifice, John looked down at the black woman that was at his feet, the sight of her helplessness arousing him.  Jerking his cock slightly, John helped induce his erection, until, his penis stood fully erect.

‘Now,’ John began, ‘you can tell that I’m a big boy,’

John laughed at his comment, while Kendal simply stared up at her captor, the flavour of the condom oozing into her mouth, making her revile against this degrading act she was doing.  When she got out of this place, she’ll be finding the best lawyer to sue Christof and this company, for damages against her mental wellbeing.  Casting a glance at the door, Kendal looked up to John as he spoke again.

‘With your mouth, I want you to put the condom onto my cock,’

Looking desperately at the bedroom door, a thought struck Kendal’s mind like a hammer to a church bell, it ringing loudly in her head as it suddenly dawned on her.

No one was coming!

‘I see you’re trying to think of ways to escape,’ John said, glancing at the door, ‘but I’ve locked the house, good and proper, so there’s no escape.  But if you don’t want me to beat you within an inch of your life, I suggest you do what I say.’

Compelled to act, no rescue coming, Kendal moved towards John’s cock, it held up to her by John’s helpful hand.

Clamping firmly onto the condom, Kendal felt the tip of John’s cock touching the condom, feeling it insert into as she crawled on her knees, moving her head forward as the condom in her lips went down the length of John’s penis, her eyes watering as it the touch the back of her throat, and, with effort, Kendal got the last few inches of the condom onto John’s enormous penis.

Goal accomplished, Kendal retreated from John’s cock, breathing as she felt her lungs protest at the lack of air she had been deprived off.

Seizing the moment to humiliate Kendal, John, life time victim of humiliation, turned around and bent down, revealing the opening crack of his ass, his anus before Kendal’s wide eyes.

‘Lick my ass,’ John instructed, bending forward as he rested his hands on his knees, his ass thrusted toward Kendal.  

Kendal hesitated, her eyes regarding Truman’s smooth, hairless white ass, his glutes muscular as she saw how clean his ass was.

‘Now Kendal,’ John began, growling.

Acting on instinct, Kendal’s tongue was outstretched as it licked John’s sphincter, her long, wet, pink muscle caressing the anus that was a centimetre from her face.

‘Every time you lick,’ John said, ‘I want you to count each one, until you reach a hundred,’

 ‘One.  Two.  Three.  Four.’  Kendal counted, announcing the number each time she licked her tongue on her captor’s anus, who remained still as he enjoyed the sensation he was feeling, of Kendal’s lying tongue tasting his ass.

After the fiftieth lick; as Kendal was about to perform her fifty-first, John turned on the spot, and, cock in hand, and Kendal’s head in the other, John ramrodded his enormous dick into his captive’s mouth, holding her head in both hands as he brutally fucked her.

Kendal squealed in pain, moaning loudly as she cried for help, but her voice was muffled by the enormous member that was invading her throat, it smashing into her tonsils as John held her head, feeling the pressure mounting on her temples as he held her tightly, feeling pain everywhere.

Stopping to fuck her mouth, John, clasping Kendal’s hair, pulled up the deceitful black bitch in his hands; the act answered by shrills of pain that made John’s heart pump faster, before throwing the woman onto the bed, falling onto her stomach.

Pushing her further onto the bed, John made Kendal lie on her side, as he moved up behind her, insert his penis into her tight ass, a sigh of pleasure from John’s lips muted by the scream of pain from Kendal’s.

‘Help me!’ Kendal screamed out loud, looking about the ceiling for the hidden cameras that were watching them.

‘No one is going to help you!’ John said, the panic of his victim inducing his libido, ramming his cock into her ass as his hands reached over, and touched her breasts, running his hands over her body as he did, pinching and slapping her nipples before his hands found her neck.

Pushing Kendal on her back, John got on top of her the black woman’s body, feeling the softness beneath his hard, muscular body.

‘I like my sex positions,’ John said, ‘but the classics are still my favourite, don’t you think?’

Entering her vagina with his dick, John began to pound into Kendal, who cried profusely as she felt her feminine innocence being robbed before the TV sets of the world, and no one was coming to save her.

Staring up to the fire alarm above John’s bed, Kendal could see the black dot of a camera looking down at her, facing down to her rape.

‘Help me!’ she screamed at the ceiling.

‘Shut up!’ John said, slapping Kendal, but she kept calling out for help.

Reaching for a pillow, John placed it over Kendal’s face, pressing down onto it with all his weight, as he continued to fuck Kendal.

‘You better hope I finish before you suffocate,’ John said, still pressing down as he raped Kendal, her brown legs wrapped around his pale midriff.

It didn’t take long for John to climax, wailing loudly as he fell onto Kendal, his face lying on top of the pillow as he breathed heavily, rolling over to lie on his back.

***

Christof sat and stared at Truman, the body of Kendal lying still next to the man that had raped her, the pillow still on top of her head, as she remained unmoving.

His hands to face, Christof began to cry, never witnessing death before, not of someone he had just met, and not someone who was brutally murdered before his eyes.

‘What have I done?’ Christof said to himself.

[Druidtoad]

Part 2

‘It must be a new format for the show?’

‘Huh?’

‘The commercial breaks.  They never used to have them before today,’

The bar was busy.  Aside from the good reputation of the establishment, friendly servers, and good discounts, the place, like most bars, had TV screens in every available room for patrons to watch, but unlike their rivals, instead of sports or news, the TVs were dedicated entirely to the The Truman Show, and for that, the bar has become a staple for families and fans to mix and mingle, as they watch and share their experiences of watching Truman.

‘A lot has changed,’ said the patron, his arms on the counter as he sipped his drink, the server on the other side listening to him.  ‘I’ve watched this show since I was ten, and never in its forty years has it had a commercial break,’

‘Maybe,’ the server offered, ‘with the new number of audiences that watch it, the increase demand means an increase in money, and advertising sponsors is the way of the future?’

‘Yeah, I think you might be right?’ the patron said, sipping his drink again.

***

Walking into Christof’s office, alerted to the commercial break, Delphi strode up to the show Creator, and stood in front of his desk, it becoming a habit of a lifetime.

‘Why was there a commercial break?’ Delphi demanded.

Sat in his seat, unmoving, Christof stared straight ahead, looking at his monitor in silence.

‘Christof!’ Delphi said, her outburst having no effect on the paralysed Creator, still stuck in his stupor.

Walking around his desk and standing behind him, Delphi looked at the screen Christof was looking at, her hand moving instantly to her mouth, as horror took Delphi.

Standing alone in his kitchen, Truman stood in front of the island that was in the middle of the room.  Lying on top of the island, unmoving, Truman looked down, impassively, at the silent form of Kendal, her eyes staring up to the camera, her eyes bereft of life as her mouth was wide open; face of eternal horror on her features.

‘How?’ Delphi uttered.

‘Truman murdered,’ Christof said, ‘after he raped her,’

Overwhelmed by this shocking news, Delphi stumbled under Christof’s desk, scrambling to the trash can as she vomited her lunch into it, tears streaming down her eyes.

‘Oh, my God,’ Christof said, his hand to his mouth.  Steadily, Delphi crawled out from under Christof’s desk, and looked at the screen, before turning away and vomiting onto the floor, retching.

Lying supine, the body of Kendal had become stiff with rigour mortis.  But that didn’t stop the power bladed tool in Truman’s hand slicing into the corpse, severing piece by piece, dividing up the body of his date as blood poured everywhere.  

Producing bin liners from inside a draw, Truman placed a limb inside one bag each, until there were six; one for each limb, plus one for the head and torso.  Neatly tied up beside the door to his back yard, the bags sat idly as a pool of blood formed on the kitchen floor.

‘We have to call the police,’ Delphi said, almost to herself.

‘We can’t,’ Christof said, ‘we are as much to blame for this, as Truman,’

‘What?’ Delphi cried out with despair, ‘we didn’t kill her?’

‘But we didn’t provide proper protection,’ Christof informed Delphi, ‘no security teams were on standby, and, I, on instinct, made us go to commercial before Truman murdered Kendal, which means we could be prosecuted for aiding and abetting, and this being in California, we could get lethal injection for this!’

‘Oh, my God,’ Delphi said, weeping with her hand on her mouth.

‘But we could-, can get through this,’ Christof said, holding Delphi by the shoulders, his grip crushing as fear gripped the Creator.

‘How?’ Delphi asked, looking at Christof.

‘We’ll play by ear, and act on what Truman does.  He’s only killed this one girl because we left her alone with him, in his house.  Without telling the other actors, we’ll ensure no one is left alone with Truman, or at least not in an enclosed space like his house,’

‘What if anyone askes where Kendal went?’ Delphi pointed out.

‘Jessica, the actress who played Kendal, left for some unknown, personal reasons, and on the show, Kendal was deported,’ Christof said.

‘Deported?’ Delphi asked, puzzled by this.

‘Yes, she was deported.  She’s actually from some country in Africa, and her visa has expired, and she was removed.  Yes, that could work!’  Christof said, clutching at straws.

Watching the screens, each beside the other, the two watched in horror as Truman, in his back yard, began to dig a pit near his rose bed.

‘What have we done,’ Delphi whispered to herself.

***

Shovel in hand, John looked up at the moon in the sky as the sun rose, wiping his brow with the back of his garden gloves before he patted the soil in front of him, flattening the bed so no one would suspect it’s been disturbed.

Taking a breath of fresh air, hearing the birds ushering the morning with their songs, John felt relief filter through his body, the night’s chore over.  Despite the noise, no one had woken up, and with a sigh, John would be glad to finally slip into bed and sleep the day away.

Looking down, with a gasp, John, with his shovel in his hand, quickly covered the black, reflecting colour of the bin bag that poked out of the ground.  Disturbing the smoothness of his bed, John, with irritation, threw his shovel away.

Even dead, you’re annoying me Kendal.

Looking about himself, seeing no one was watching, John undid his fly and urinated onto the flower bed, the yellow piss steaming as it touched the soil, going down to the buried bin liner beneath, the one that concealed Kendal’s severed head.

Kicking dirt over the piss, John walked to his house, and went to his garage, putting the shovel away, before picking up a bag of compost, carrying it into the back as he poured the contents onto the ground, smoothing it with his foot before taking the bag to the trash can, throwing it inside.

***

‘How disgusting,’ Jane intoned, sitting next to her family as they watched Truman urinate in his backyard, their morning ritual before dispersing for school and work.

‘It is,’ said Terrence, the elderly man reclining his comfy seat in the corner, ‘but my Papa used to do the same thing every night when he came back from his drinking, peeing in his garden before coming into the house and going to bed.  Urine is very good for the plants.  Its why he won the annual tomato competition as his local gardening club, though, he never mentioned why they tasted so well,’

The assembled family grimaced at this unwanted information, Terrence’s young grandsons, Sam and Kyle, both age nine and ten, giggling at his anecdote.

 ‘What are those in the soil, are they bin bags?’ asked Jane asked, looking at Terrence before looking at her husband Karl.

‘They probably are,’ Terrence confirmed, ‘it helps keep weeds from growing,’

Nodding, everyone continued their meal, watching as Truman, unknown to his assembled fans, executed the perfect crime, two point three billion witnesses watching him bury the evidence, and his first victim.

***

Phoning in sick, John sat in the house as he pondered the previous night’s events.  Sitting and staring at the TV, almost deaf to the news anchor’s reports, John thought about what he did.

With a shrug of his shoulders, John picked up the TV remote, and began to flick through the channels, the rape and murder of Kendal a distant memory on the long list of chores John had accomplished yesterday.

A knock at the door broke the spell John was under, the rapped thud making him rise in his seat to answer the door.  Opening it, for there was no danger in the area for needing to lock it, John’s eyes saw that of Dwayne’s.

‘Hi Truman,’ Dwayne said, beaming a wide smile.

‘I’m good Dwayne, how are you?’  John replied.

‘I’m great Truman!  Listen, can I come inside?’

Waving an arm to indicate for him to enter, Dwayne stepped over the doorway, wiping his feet before walking to John’s living room, John following behind after closing the door.  

‘I’ve come to offer you a proposal,’ Dwayne said, as he sat onto John’s couch.

‘I’m flattered Dwayne, but I’m afraid I’m still a lady’s man.’

The two men laughed at that, chuckling at John’s jest.

‘Rest assured Truman, so am I,’ Dwayne said, wiping a tear from his eye, ‘no, I have just come from my office,’

‘Oh?’ John said, sitting down in an armchair next to the couch Dwayne sat at.

‘Yes, and I have here,’ Dwayne said, his hand inside his jacket, ‘some correspondence directed to you, via me as your legal aid, and I have read its contents.’

Folding the letter out in front him, Dwayne’s eyes narrowed as he began to read out loud the text on the letter.



Dear Truman Burbanks,
It is with sad news to report to you, your great aunt Betty Burbanks, of Seattle, Washington State, has passed away; owning to natural causes.  This took place over six months ago, and as such, she is now cremated, with her ashes scattered at a private location by her close friends.  

After much research, I can now declare you, Truman Burbanks of Seahaven, now the recipient of the wealth of the late Miss Burbanks, as well as the income made from auctioning of her assets, being the only known sole heir.

With this letter, comes with contact details for you to reach me, and once verified, I can wire to your bank account; at current inflation, the grand total of two million dollars in U.S. currency, which will be transmitted in instalments every quarter of the year until the full amount has been disclosed, a year following verification.  

Congratulations Mr Burbanks
 
Sincerely Yours,
Harold. R. Conway,
Betty Burbanks Estate Executor



Passing the letter to Truman, who held in his hands, stared at the text on its white surface, John re-reading the letter several times, spellbound by the words and utter disbelief at this stroke of fortune.

‘Oh, my God.’ John said

‘Congratulations Truman,’ Dwayne said, patting John on shoulder.

***

‘Oh, my God.’

A sentence that left the lips of over a billion people, Truman’s audience spellbound by the change in their hero’s fortunes, and staring at the screen of his monitor, watching Truman and Dwayne, the actor’s name also Dwayne, Christof watched as the two celebrated Truman’s new found fortunes with a drink in his living room.

‘Why did you do that?’ Delphi said, her entrance into Christof’s office going unnoticed.

Swivelling in his chair to face Delphi, Christof, with his fingers clasped together in his hands, regarded the venerable old businesswoman as an artist would regard a cultural-pauper; an individual who was bereft of insight, going about their lives aimlessly while he, Christof, could see magic in front them.

‘This development was planned last week, and, busy with other requirements,’ Christof said, ‘I couldn’t avert the development without changing too much in short notice.  Plus,’ Wheeling round towards the monitor, Christof turned his back on Delphi as he stared at Truman on the screen. ‘I see this as a form of bribery,’ Christof added.

‘Get to the point Christof!’ Delphi said, sick of the Creator’s cryptic words.

‘We’re responsible for this,’ Christof said, explaining his plan, ‘John’s, I mean Truman’s, upbringing, has resulted in making him unstable, feeling like his life has short changed him, and, us being the conceivers of his life, we burdened that responsibly.  So, I thought, two million dollars can change lives, and it will change Truman’s for the better,’

‘People who act like Truman, do so because they feel like victims, because God or life choose him to be a victim.  But by having this fortunate windfall, it will help correct the balance, at least, in his mind, the wrongs he’s suffered.  And now, he can fully enjoy his life without angst.’

Delphi remained silent to Christof’s arguments, finding little fault in his logic.  But as Delphi watched Truman on the screen, looking at the mirror in his bathroom; looking directly to the unseen camera, Delphi felt goose bumps as Truman stared blankly, fixing the same, dead pan, emotionless look to her and his billions of fans, as he did when he looked at the dead pan, lifeless face of Kendal in his kitchen.

‘I hope you’re right, Christof.’

***

‘Where’s he going, mom?’

Lying on the floor next to his brother, Kyle turned to look at his mother, as she sat on the couch with Kyle’s dad, with Terrence, his grandfather, sleeping in the corner in his arm chair.

‘I don’t know,’ Jane said, before adding, ‘move away from the TV, or you’ll go blind before your twenty,’

Doing what they were told, Sam and Kyle crawled back, before resuming their attentions of Truman driving his car through Seahaven, stopping and starting at traffic lights, casually looking out of his window as people walked on the streets, before pulling over to an empty parking space.

‘I think he’s going to the bank?’  Karl suggested.

‘I’m surprised he waited this long,’ Terrence spoke, his eyes opening as he looked around the room, ‘if I had that money, I’d be straight to the bank to empty it.’

All the family nodded in agreement, except for Kyle and Sam, as their eyes stayed on the TV, watching Truman wave and smile to people on the street, talking and joking with them.

‘I hope you two grow up to be like Truman,’ Karl said, ‘confident, respectful, and hardworking,’

‘We will, Dad,’ Kyle said, a small smile on his face as he watched Truman beam his, a flash of white ivory.

‘Good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight,’ Sam whispered, mimicking what Truman was saying on the TV.

***

Walking through the front door of the Seahaven bank, John stood in the small queue that lined up to the cashier, stepping forward every so often as the line shrunk, until, finally, he was face to face with the cashier.

‘Hello,’ said the cashier, a young Caucasian woman with a beautiful face, and blonde hair.

‘Hi.  Can I speak to the bank manager?’  John asked, flashing a smile at did the cashier.

‘May I ask what’s it for?’ the cashier asked.

‘Well, I was hoping to talk to him about some business, but,’ John said, leaning closer to the glass that partitioned between cashier and John, ‘I think I like to ask him when your lunch break is, as I like to take you to a steak dinner?’

The cashier smiled and laughed, looking up the ceiling before looking at Truman.

‘My lunch break is at twelve o’clock, in five minutes in fact.  I think steak would be nice?’ she said, smiling.

Elation beamed inside John, his bold confidence, no doubt, is what impressed this beautiful woman in front of him.

‘Across the road is a steakhouse.  I’ll meet you outside the bank, and we’ll go there together?’ John suggested.

‘Alright then,’ the cashier said.

Turning to leave, John stopped in his tracks, before looking back at the cashier.  ‘What’s your name?’

‘Judy,’ the cashier said.

***

‘Christof, what is this?’ Delphi said, her eyes wide when she saw the interaction between Truman and the cashier.

Ignoring Delphi, Christof thumbed the mic to speak into Carole’s ear piece, the extra who has now taken an independent supporting role, as Judy.

‘Carole, what are you doing?’ Christof said, anger in his voice.

Looking around her surroundings, Carole took her earpiece out, and threw it to the floor, stepping on it.

‘I think she’s gone rogue.’ Christof explained.

‘Rogue?’ Delphi repeated.

‘It happens, an extra, wanting to be famous, will try to become more than what their contract told them, and by being a feature in Truman’s life, they hope to become famous, only, Carole is doing a good job of it,’

‘Terminate her contract,’ Delphi ordered.

‘Not yet, we need to stop Truman finding out his world isn’t real, because the steakhouse isn’t designed to be used.’

***

Standing outside the bank, John smiled as Judy, the cashier from the bank, as she exited the front door and stood beside him.

‘Shall we go to the steakhouse?’ John invited.

‘Let’s go,’ Judy said, linking her arm under Truman’s, ‘what’s your name?’

‘Truman,’ John said.

As the two stepped onto the road, the door to the bank behind them opened.

‘Stop!’

Turning to look back, Truman and Judy saw a man in a suit standing at the door, his hand outstretched towards Judy.

‘She’s taken money!’ the suited man said, moving his arm out of the way as a guard ran out.

‘Run!’ Judy said.

On instinct, Truman began to run down the street with Judy, the guard behind them.  As John got beside Judy, he took the blonde woman’s hand in his as he guided her towards his car, opening it as they both got in, John turning the ignition as the car lurched forward, moving onto the road as the guard, with his portly waist, stopped, perspiring after running for the first time in years.

 ‘Who was that?’ John said, looking in his rear-view mirror.

‘That was Trevor, the bank manager,’ Judy said.

‘And you robbed the bank?’ John said, bewildered.

‘No I didn’t!’ Judy protested, ‘my handbag is here if you want to check it,’

Casting a sideways glance, John put his hand inside Judy’s bag, rummaging through it, feeling only a handful of items, but no money.
‘See?’ Judy said.

‘He must have thought you were someone else?’ John suggested.

‘But I’ve ran away, so that makes me guilty,’ Judy said.

‘I’ll take you out of town if you want?  Drop you somewhere that can give you a lift to another town?’

‘That would be good, please head to the highway,’ Judy said.

***

‘Block the bridge Christof!’ Delphi shouted, horrified, ‘if he discovers the town’s not real, then it’s over!’

‘I can’t,’ Christof said, ‘he’s already over it,’

The two watched Truman’s car drive across the bridge and along the highway to the border of Seahaven.

After five minutes of driving, Truman pulled his car over to the side.

‘Why is he stopping?’ Delphi said.

Changing to the car camera, Christof only had two seconds of footage on the inside of Truman’s car, before seeing Truman and Judy exit, seeing through the window as Truman and Judy headed into the woods on the side of the road.

***

Walking through the woods, taking the lead, with Judy behind him, John turned and said, ‘I know there’s a cabin in the woods that you can stay at.  It should keep you safe for now,’

‘Thank you, Truman,’ Judy complimented.

The woods with its tall trees and foliage, offered a good place to hide.  Looking up to the sun, John estimated the time to be around half one in the afternoon.

‘Truman,’ Judy said, her hand on his shoulder, ‘please stop,’

Stopping to look at Judy, who stood before him, John watched as the woman he met over an hour ago, take his hands in hers.

‘I need you to listen, and to listen carefully,’ Judy began, licking her lips, ‘this place is not real,’

John stood in silence, his brow furrowing at the strange sentence Judy had uttered.

‘Not real?’  John said, trying to workout Judy’s train of thought.

‘No, the world is real, just not this place,’ Judy replied, her hands outstretched to encompass the forest and beyond, ‘these trees aren’t natural, they’ve been grown to make you think this place is real.’

‘Judy,’ John began.

‘My name isn’t Judy.  Its Carrol, I’m an actress pretending to be Judy.’

‘An actress?  Is this a scam or a joke?’ John said, getting angry, moving away from Judy as he stalked the area he was in, ‘are there cameras here recording this?’

‘What?  There are no cameras, at least, -  Truman, listen to me, you need to focus on what I’m trying to say,’ Carol implored.

As John walked, suddenly, the mechanic lost his footing and fell, his outstretched arms catching him as he fell, landing with a grunt.  Looking at where his foot had struck, seeing no rock, John kicked the grass away until he saw something reflective.

Getting to his feet and squatting, John pulled the grass out of the way, until John could make a camera hidden under the foliage.  Looking up with anger, John said, ‘no cameras?’

‘No!’ Carol said, her hands outstretched to Truman with a pleading look, ‘I’m trying to help you!’

‘You said there were no cameras, Judy, Carol, or whoever you are!’

‘Carol is my name, and I played a character called Judy, but I wasn’t meant to talk to you,’ Carol said.

‘No, because I talked to you first,’ John recollected.

‘Focus Truman, and listen, this place isn’t real, you’re living in a bubble that others in the world can view and enjoy, watching you twenty-four-seven, Truman.  Everyone you know, your mother too, are actors!’

‘Actors?’ John said, disbelieving.

Squatting on the floor, his hands pressed against his face, John’s mind was a whirl of confusion.  Seeing the pain on Truman’s face, Carol knelt beside him.  As Carol placed her hand on Truman’s shoulder, Truman’s hands dropped from his face, and his eyes met that of Carol’s.

For the brief second, Carol felt her heart stop, and, in its place, she felt only a lump ice as she looked at Truman’s deathly stare.

Hands contorting into fists, Truman brought his arm back before propelling it forward, the knuckles of his fist striking Carol above the eye, sending her backwards onto the woodland ground, no cries of pain as she fell unconscious.

Carol laid prone on the floor, her eyes closed as her face and hair were covered with leaves from the forest floor.  

Mouth on his hand as he stared down at the injured woman, John shook as adrenalin pumped into his body, quivering as he took a step towards the silent woman before him, falling to knees at her side, weeping.

‘What have I done?’  John said, sobbing as he shook Carol.

Picking up Carol’s handbag, John looked inside and saw her purse, picking it up before opening it, seeing it was empty, with no driver’s licence, credit card, or money.  There was nothing inside.

Regaining his composure, John flipped Carol’s body over, and, at his waist, began to undo his belt.  Holding it in his hands, John tested how he could use it to tie Carol’s hands up, and once he found a method, John bounded Carol’s limbs at the elbow.

Rolling the unconscious woman onto her back, John noticed a colour of red flash on the black front of her obsidian suit.  Reaching out with his fingers, John pulled back the top of Carol’s white shirt under her jacket, and, alongside her bare skin, John saw the red strap of her bra, it hidden beneath Carol’s shirt.

With a glance at Carol’s face; it blank of expression as she lay unconscious, John’s fingers made towards Carol’s shirt buttons, undoing them one by one until, parting the shirt, John revealed her stomach and bra.  Feeling her warm stomach under his palm, John’s eyes traced his hand’s movements as they made their way up, his fingers undoing the hook that linked the two bra cups together, gently moving each aside as Carol’s breasts were exposed.

Moving a leg over Carol’s prone body, feeling a hard erection in his pants, John sat on Carol’s thighs, pinning them as he lowered his head to her chest, kissing her body until he went to her bosom, his tongue licking the soft nipples, until his mouth closed on them, sucking them before moving to the other, clasping the wet nipple of the first breast in his hand as he sucked and licked the other, squeezing.

Moving up Carol’s body to her neck, John kissed his way up until he reached her face, kissing everywhere until he gave one final kiss on her lips.  His libido infused with sexual appetite, this woman, her eyes closed to his predations, made John very aroused, and, with feral lust, John moved down, using his legs to prise open Carol’s as he went to her groin, lifting her skirt before grappling her thong, ripping them up into red tatters, before revealing her red, wet pussy.

Licking it to savour Carol’s pussy; its juices coating the outside, John’s hands undid his pants fly and button, moving his trousers and pants down as he laid on top of Carol, forcing his penis into her as he began to fuck her.

Back and forth, John rammed into Carol, her expression unchanged as she looked calm under his body, John revelling in his power over Carol, who laid weak, unconscious, and vulnerable to him, the first-person John ever had in this position.

Kendal was different, John reminded himself.  She needed to be punished, for her act of betrayal.  But Carol, she was the first one I’ve conquered.

And with that thought running repeatedly in his head, John ejaculated into Carol, moaning loudly as he fell, his face on her soft shoulder as he breathed heavily.  Rising, his pelvis still on Carol’s, John looked down, and saw that Carol was still asleep.

‘We shall resume our steak out later, Carol, and then, I’ll teach what a true man is.’