Part II King XIX

Chapter XIX: The SOBs

This novel contains graphic scenes of sex, some involving minors, rape and forced sex.  It is purely a fantasy, not a depiction of real people or events.  It is intended as a satire of politics and our modern culture,  both funny and stimulating.

By hauteone

The Facesitters is one of the most popular lines of porn my company produces, and strangely, it is popular among female and male viewers.

Like most porn videos, each segment always ends in real honest to goodness sex among the participants in the video, but they all start off with women sitting on men's faces and rubbing their privates lewdly all over their nearly smothered male co-stars.  In fact, in Facesitters XXXIII, we nearly lost Bob Boner, one of the most famous studs in our stable, when Sheila LaGray attempted to cut off his breathing in this fashion.  Those who say HIV is the biggest danger in porn don't know anything about the business.

Bob recovered, but it was a close call. Maybe women like the series because it shows women in positions of power dominating men with their pussies.  For men, the thrill of complete absorption in pussies and pussy juice is a never ending fantasy.

For me, that's an everyday reality and since returning home to Los Angeles, I'd had more opportunity than perhaps any time in my life.  With Terry, Claire, Patrice, Carmel, and Loyola now in my full-time at-home harem and frequent visits from Piglet, Devin and the other hardcore harlots from the studio and clubs, it was nearly a full-time job keeping everyone happy.

Terry was on the road to superstar status and was getting the front box cover status on every video she made.  We discovered she was not cut out for The Facesitters series, however, because she unintentionally nearly drowned her male co-star.  Sheila LaGray had some real animosity toward poor Bob Boner, but Terry is just a sweet kid who can't control her effusions. She was very apologetic but we had to give her co-star mouth-to-mouth.

Of course, publicity about the event after all of the PR she received for stopping a band of assassins only enhanced her fame and popularity.  From news reports we got from around the country, many women had never heretofore thought about killing their spouses in such a wet fashion.  Now they felt empowered to try.

While speaking to new producer Theda Barron about The Facesitters series, however, we agreed  that it was time to rejuvenate the product now that were approaching the 100th edition.  If Terry was not the answer, perhaps we needed to tinker with the formula.  Theda had come to us from another studio where she was known for her new wave creativity to take over Facesitters from Lena Lojolee, the founder of the series and a Ukrainian, who was getting ready to retire.    

"Always it is women rubbing their pussies on men's noses and they they fuck,"  Theda was saying while Lena scowled.  "We got to try something new, don't you think?"

"What? Perhaps the men should rub their noses in the woman's ass crack?" Lena said. "We've done that.  I've shot 99 videos of Facesitters featuring an average of 10 women per video. That's nearly 1,000 face sitting whores and some have enfolded men's faces in their ass cheeks.  That's what passes for creativity in this line and I'm telling you, if you mess with the formula, you'll lose customers."

"What if we occasionally let the men sit on the women's faces," Theda said.

"That's our Butt Eaters Smorgasbord series," I reminded her.

"Oh yes," she said.  "How could I forget?"

"Do you even know the film series we make here?" Lena scoffed.

That touched off a minor skirmish between the old producer and her replacement which ended only when I stepped in a got them to agree to disagree. Theda said she would respect Lena's contributions but would try to come up with a slightly different angle that would enhance the formula Lena had used so successfully for so many years.  I left to head back to my office and visit with Creech.  I could not have imagine the near riot that Theda would spark.

Creech was in a happy, almost silly, mood.  It was obvious that she had been out with some of her girlfriends at lunch and stopped by a well-known LA drinking establishment for a round of drinks.

"Hey boss, how's the fucking and sucking and the fucking and sucking business treating you today?" she asked with a suppressed giggle.

"Well you are in a good mood?" I laughed.  "Is there a reason for celebration?"

"Yes, my friend Aline is getting married in a week and we went out to Jason's to celebrate," she said. "Just a bunch of old friends getting together to talk about old times and I believe I drank just a little too much."

"That's great," I told her. "You need to get out more often and have some fun."

"You mean like you, Mr. Cocksure," she giggled. "Booty call to booty call."

"Well, I try," I said.  "I know it's a hard job but someone has to do it. Does that bother you?"

"I just don't know how you do it," she said.  "I mean do you care about any of these bimb...I mean...women? I mean Loyola is gorgeous; do you even care that she loves you?  Would die for you if necessary."

"Would she? I doubt it.  Loyola lives for Loyola."

"You," she said, nearly falling off the edge of her desk where she was perched. "are sooooo blind.  You don't even know the people who love you.  How many of the women here at the studio and at your home worship the ground you walk on.  Would give anything for just a little more of your attention."

"I know Creech," I said.  "I love them all, including you?"

"That's not fair," she shouted.

"What's not fair?"

"Being nice when I am trying to make a series point," she said. "Aline is right.  Men are such diabolical bastards.  But my god, we can't do without you.  Your broad shoulders and the smell of your hair.  We need it, you know. It makes us complete."

"Even lesbians?"

"Lesbians?  Lesbians?  They're men without dicks.  They love pussy just the same as men do.  No, we need each other.  Men and women.  Women and women. Men and men. Aline is right to get married and to a man, no less. She needs the dick, I guess.  Same as me."

"Creech, do you really want to talk about this?" I asked.  I felt the conversation was turning toward some uncomfortable dimensions.

"Of course, no problem, Mr. Cocksure," she sighed. "You think because I share office space with one of the world's biggest stunt dicks I am overly sensitive on this subject, that I'll try to grab it, maybe chop it off for my collection."

"I certainly hope not," I laughed, a little nervously. "I mean, you haven't done this with other men have you?"

"No, but I have been tempted, Mr. Cocksure. I have been tempted. In what--10 years as your office manager--not once have you so much as made a pass at me?  What is it about me that prevents you from adding me to your collection? Every other whore who passes through here, you fuck without even thinking. Me, you treat like a sister. Am I so ugly?"

"No Creech, not at all," I said. "You are the loveliest, most beautiful woman I know.  But you have to understand, I don't treat you like my sisters. Or my mother.  Even they fucked me when I was young.  I have this thing inside me. It has flowed through many of the men in my family from time immemorial. It is a sexual energy that women cannot seem to resist.  But there has to be some woman in my life that is out of reach, whose love and respect  I prize above all others. I've thought many times of giving in and making you one one my conquests, but that would ruin our relationship and I value that more than anything else in my life."

"So this is something you have decided without consulting me," she said.  "That is so not fair."

"Is that what you want? To become another bauble in my collection?"

"No, I want to be special to you, to be loved and be a part of your family.  I understand that your business, your nature, what you are, compels you to screw any good-looking women with a hole, and I can live with that...but I told Aline today, I don't think I can go on living on the outside.  Being a part of you but not part of you. I want at least a semblance of what she has."

I kissed her lightly on her lovely lips.  "Creech, for me, this is a big step," I said.  "We have to consider what we're potentially giving up."

"Consider? Consider, Mr. Cocksure. What is to consider? Either I am part of your life or I'm not.  There is nothing else to it.  Aline and I spoke about it today. She loves her man and he returns her love and that's as it should be.  I've told you that I can live with your extracurricular activities if I must.  But if you cannot return my love in every way a woman demands of a man, then what is there to consider?  You can do it for Loyola."

She loosened herself from my grip and stepped back behind her desk.

"If you don't mind," she said, her mood obviously darkened from the bright tone she'd had when I entered the office. "I have some work to do. And I am sure you do, as well."

"Creech, I am so sorry."

"Not so sorry by half, Mr. Cocksure.  Not so sorry by half."

She was right, of course.  Something told me that she would eventually not be so accepting of my "extracurricular" activities.  Over time, she would grow to resent them and I was not so sure I could stop myself no matter how much I loved and cared for her.  It wouldn't be fair to subject her to that pain which most assuredly would come eventually. So while I hated to hurt her, it was better to acknowledge my nature now than run the risk of real pain for her later.

Claire showed up some later in an equally sour mood.  The tall, lithe Russian beauty wore a skirt that accentuated her long legs and made her appear taller than I remembered. Her high cheek bones seemed a little more pronounced, as if she had something she was chewing on or  something was chewing on her.

"Okay, what is your problem?" I asked her.  "I seem to be batting a thousand in making women angry or sad today?"

"It has nothing to do with you, Brad," she said. "It's just that ever since the shootings at the mansion a few weeks ago, I have been really restless and uneasy."

"Donna and her staff have been excellent in protecting us all here and at home," I said.  "You don't have anything to worry about."

"Oh I know that," she said.  "It's not that I am afraid. I am used to danger. Hell, I grew up in Minsk.  No, it is just that I almost married the man behind all of this crap.  Can I be such a bad judge of character?  He was such a lovely man when I first met him.  He grew angrier and more distant over time, but I could never have believed he was a killer."

"It is easy to get fooled," I said. "Don't blame yourself."

"But I do," she sighed.  "He even told me he was an SOB."

"He said he was a what?"

"An SOB.  I thought it was odd, too, that he would be so cruel to his mother in that way."

"Cruel to his mother?" I said. My mind was racing.

"Yes, to call her a bitch."

"He wasn't calling his mother anything.  He was revealing himself to me through you."

"What?  That doesn't make any sense whatsoever."

Yes, but it was a message directed at me through you just as though it was a bullet. How did he say it?"

"He was angry one night that I was nervous about our impending marriage.  When I asked him why he was so angry and mean sometimes, he said, 'you will see someday,  Claire, that I am more than what I seem.  Your friends would call me by my real name, one of the SOBs.'"

"He wasn't saying he was a son of a bitch, though that too, is probably true.  He was telling you that he was one of the sons of Belial,  a direct descendant of the Atlantis sex cult that predates man here on earth."

"Sex cult?"

"Yes, you'll have to excuse me. I need to call Donna.  Our problems, if you are right, just got magnified maybe by a billion fold."

"But I don't get it.  Son of Belial?"

"Yes, and don't blame yourself for allowing yourself to be fooled so easily," I said, punching numbers on the phone frantically. "Satan has fooled many people throughout history. He is the master of fooling people."

"Donna, it looks like you were right and I was wrong," I said, when she answered.  "I just could not believe they were still here.  That they could still exist."

"How do you know, Brad?" Donna said.

"Claire tells me Buchner referred to himself as one of the SOB's."

"That could just be a coincidence.  Or maybe he knows the legend and wanted to poke you in the side."

"I've witnessed too damn much in the last year and the evidence we uncovered from the porn party...I can't imagine its all coincidental.  What reason would he have to bring all this mythology into the middle of all of this?"

"Maybe just to scare you," Donna suggested.

"Look, a few months ago in Mecca, you were trying to convince me that Buchner and his cohorts had ties to the Belial sex cult.  Now you are saying you were wrong?"

"No, I am saying we need to be sure," she said.

"And how do we do that?"

"I'm not quite sure yet.  How do we set a trap to catch the devil."

Things were happening too fast for my taste.     To learn that my nemesis was referring to himself as Belial, or one of his descendants, was more than a little disconcerting if you know anything about our collective family history.  Actually, it   s my ancient family history, but undoubtedly, you have some ancestors in the mix as well.  You see, we've all done this stuff before, you and I, and long time ago, before Dnan.  Before the Egyptian Empire arose.  Before what we refer as human history, there was Atlantis

I realize that evidence for the existence of Atlantis is sketchy, traceable back to only one source in antiquity, Plato.  No physical evidence exists and experts on the subject of Atlantis can   t even agree on where the continent might have been located or how it might have been destroyed. 

There is some evidence for an ancient, highly advanced culture that predates the Egyptians and something lingers in our collective conscience that has driven countless adventurers to search for the ruins of Atlantis.  So who can say whether the legend is true or not?

Members of my family grew up hearing and believing the legends as if they were true, however.  The stories were told to us by our parents when we were very small.  According to my mother, who told the stories to me, Belial was the royal prince responsible for Atlantis    destruction. 

Known as the Lord of Lust, he represented the dark side of sex, its kinkiest, most deviant forms.     His descendants have pretty much followed the same path throughout time, extending their perversions into even our own culture.  Not all of Belial   s descendants have been as purely evil as he was, but they have stood in sharp opposition to my family wherever we met.    

The SOB   s or Sons of Belial, as they call themselves, have hidden in the shadows and dark niches of society for so long, they look up to the vermin who share the same spaces with them.     None, until now, dared to go by the moniker by which Belial was so infamous.   It marked Buckner as a man of great danger and insanity.

I was beginning to think I was surrounded by insanity, however.   Gloria Denali, my Fantasy Island fetish director and Republican Party confidante, showed up at my office to complain about Obama.

   "So what do you think now? ,"  she said with a challenging stare.

   "What do I think about what?," I said.

   "Obama," she said with a smirk.   "We know now that he wasn' t born here in the United States. "

   "Glory, don' t tell me you fallen for that birther nonsense."

   Where' s his birth certificate? "

  "I assume that it is in the hospital in Hawaii where Obama was born," I said.   Copies of his birth certificate are all over the Internet. You must have seen them."

   "All fake," she said.

   "Come on, where' s your proof?

   "They just unearthed a copy of his birth certificate in Saudi Arabia and another copy surfaced near a little village in Pakistan,"  Gloria said with a straight face.   Turns out, he' s Osama bin Laden' s  cousin, twice removed.  He really is a terrorist.  I tried to warn you during the campaign last year and before you left for Mecca earlier this year. "

   Gloria, that   s crazy, " I said.

   No crazier than believing in Atlantis, " she said.   And you know Atlantis really existed. "

I had discussed that subject with her previously and it was one of the few matters on which we could agree.

   Look, I have to run to the Institute this afternoon, " she said.   I   d stay to debate politics or Atlantis with you, but  I   m meeting my friend Chelley.  We   re leading clinic on sexual health tonight.  You out to come and learn something. "

   No, learning about sexual health from you and that crazy Asian chick is not my idea of a great time, " I told her.

She shrugged.

   Suit yourself, boss, " she said.  but hanging around with these crazy liberal chickies only contributes to the social demise of America."

She turned on her heels, (I swear) clicked them together like a Nazi and walked out of the room.  She had a point.  Yes, I believed in Atlantis, too.  How crazy was that?  It   s just that I was raised on that legend as a kid and had ample evidence in my personal life to make me believe there was some truth to it.

That   s the problem these days, however.  People were ready to believe almost anything no matter how crazy. Obama is a terrorist alien.  He   s the anti-Christ.  He   s Satan reborn.  I could prove that wasn   t true.  Belial  €”the man I originally knew as Gustavus Buckner  €”had assumed that mantle.  And who was I to say that he wasn   t?

   "She is ruining my baby," Lena wailed over the phone to me a few minutes after Gloria left.

   "What?" I said.  Who's ruining what baby? "

   "Face Sitters, " Lena said.  It took me 15 years to build that product line into one of the most successful in porn.  Now she's turning it into a laughing stock. "

  "How could Theda do that?  She   s only just taken over as director and she's only been filming for a few hours. "

   "She's having women shit on men's faces. "

Now, I was prepared for almost anything that Theda might have tried to add a little extra kink to the Face Sitters line, but face shitting was beyond anything I thought she'd try, even though she had a reputation for being outside the mainstream.  I hurried downstairs to the studio where Theda was shooting.

   "Theda, you're not having your female stars crap on their male co-stars are you?"

Nearby, a young female straddled a guy's face, rubbing herself up and down, covering his face with moisture, but I could see no evidence of facial feces.  The girl did seem to be having trouble staying in the saddle, however.  She kept giggling and falling off.

   "Crap on men's faces? " Theda said, momentarily puzzled.  "Oh, you must have talked to Lena.  She's so concerned about us screwing up her baby. "

   "Well, how did she get the idea that  idea? "

   "Men were getting shit on.  Don' t you think it it's about time given all the shit women take from men? "

   "Theda, be serious, " I said  "No one is going to pay to watch women taking a crap on guy's faces. "

   "You might be surprised, " Theda said.  But that's not the market I want to cultivate.  No, I told Lena we were going to video shit-faced women face-sitting on shitty, low-life men."

   "Say that three times real fast, " I said.

   "There are men who love seeing women get drunk and lose their inhibitions.  So I told Lena we were calling this first video Shit-Faced Face Sitters.  We get the girls drunk and then see how long they can stay on board while getting pussy licked and sliding up and down men's faces. "

   "Theda, Lena was not born here in the states, " I told her.   You're cruel to tease someone that lacking in basic English skills.  Do you know how upset she was? "

   "Can't help it, boss.  She's such an easy target. "

I left with a smile on my face.  Sometimes, mirth was the only response to the crap life throws at you day in and day out.  I could even laugh at Buchner calling himself Belial. His kinkiness was exactly the type of sexual deviation Lena imagined Theda was promoting. Yes, I could laugh at Belial's conceits.  I could not have predicted, however,  the loyalty and craziness of his SOBs.