Just One More

I shook my head with disgust but also sadness. It was clear that Valerie was treated like an animal, drugged so that she lost consciousness, day passing into night, again and again and again. They must have let her out that one day to talk to us at study hall, bribing her with more drugs, keeping her on a leash using her addiction. Bryan and I were going to have to bootstrap our way out of this shithole.

I tried to shift the blonde into a more comfortable position on the floor, cushioning her limp body with some dirty rags.

“It hurts, I know, but you’re going to be fine,” I said grimly. “Just hang tight. We’ll be back.”

But she just shook her head wearily, her body in the throes of a spasm now. “Don- don’t- leave me here,” she whispered.

“We won’t,” I promised, and locked eyes with my brother. It was time to make a break.

19

Callie

Jane Adams glared at me with venom, her look pure evil.

“You think the cops are going to come for you now?” she jeered. “Your so-called heroes are trapped in the basement with triple-reinforced locks, you might as well give up.”

I shook my head stubbornly.

“You don’t know Brian and Blake,” I said quietly. “You don’t know them at all,” I emphasized.

The older woman cackled again.

“What is there to know? Undercover cops are the worst of the lot, they get assigned to the easiest beats because they’re unfit to do anything else,” she shrugged. “They’re not alpha males. Try beta zeros instead.”

I shook my head in denial again. Maybe Brian and Blake were cops, I could believe that. They’d always seemed mature for high school but I’d always attributed it to their gritty New York roots, a life of hard-knocks. I refused to believe that they were the runts of the litter, the ones that no one wanted.

“You’ll see,” I promised. “Brian and Blake will surprise you.”

And as if on cue, we heard a series of noises emanating from the basement. There were some grunts, some moans, and then a long ahhhhh of ecstasy.

“What is that?” squealed the old woman, her withered face crunching in disbelief. “What the fuck?”

“Like I said, you don’t know them,” I said ominously.

The moaning continued with an unmistakable series of harsh grunts, then the sound of flesh slapping rhythmically.

“Oh god,” moaned a male voice, “Yeah, right there, in my ass!”

Jane Adams’ eyes almost popped off her face. I could see the thoughts whirling through her head.

“Is it? Could it? No, not possible,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

But the next interlude from the basement made it clear there was something raunchy happening.

“Hit it hard brother,” growled a voice. “Hit it, oh yeah, just like that, unnnnf.”

And I realized the strategy. Bryan and Blake were engaging in some hot twin action to lure the enemy to the door and unspring the trap.

And it was working. Jane Adams, all of seventy years old, got up unsteadily, her face a mask of unabated lust, her withered form animated with a tense energy.

“My years are limited,” she warbled as she teetered towards the basement. “I’ve got to see those two gods having sex in my house,” she practically panted.

Limping towards the door, she reached out with an arthritic hand, a green laser on the knob.

Just then, an old man burst in from another room, his face frantic.

“Jane, don’t!” he shrieked, but it was too late. The scanner had detected her fingerprint and the lock popped open with an audible click. The elderly man threw himself against the entryway but Bryan and Blake moved too fast. The door burst open and my two alpha males came rushing in, their nude forms muscled, hard and still erect from the fucking.

“Get away from her,” roared Bryan as he dragged me to safety.

“You two are disgusting,” snarled Blake as he threw a punch at the elderly man.

There was a ruckus and more screaming, but Jane and John Adams were subdued in thirty seconds flat, Blake’s massive form looming over them. He had them trussed up and laid them out like hogs on the floor of their own living room, although Jane Adams’ eyes still flickered hungrily over his naked form.

“You were fucking your brother,” she panted, her eyes eating up the sight of his erect cock.

“Shut up,” Blake hissed. “You’re a drug dealer, who’s going to believe you?” he snarled.

“Jane,” cried her husband. “Why are you focusing on that now? Where’s Valerie? Call the Gordons.”

But Blake and Bryan were having none of that. After depositing me safely in an armchair, Bryan ran back into the basement, coming out fully dressed with a blonde in his arms. She was in bad shape, crumpled in pain, her hair matted and greasy. I also didn’t miss the track marks on her arms and legs, the red streaks painful jags of lightning.