Roman: Book 1 (2 page)

I was not neglected physically, mentally or spiritually as a child
,
nor were my parents self righteous or particularly self important.

  I was born with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth. My father’s respect and approval was something handed over freely while my mother abundantly provided unconditional love.  As a toddler my parents regarded my thoughts and choices as serious considerations; even at the young age of two my feelings and opinions were instrumental in the decision being discussed. 

My educational years were as normal as my family life. I’m sure you want to look at my school years in an effort to discover the reason I went wrong? Was I bullied, did I prefer solitude because of my lack of mates? No, I was quite popular from grade school and throughout high school with both genders.

Did I have to rape Brittany Sloan when I lost my virginity? No, I did not. I wanted to; however it makes it difficult to force yourself on a girl who has fallen over themselves for nothing more than a modicum of your attention.

It does help the situation when the plastic rings of the six pack you just drank bite into the soft flesh of their neck, the thrill felt while ramming your cock into them over and over, is multiplied as you pull the plastic tighter the harder they fight. You may be wondering if it was my intention to kill her.

Allow me to slate your curiosity; I was attempting to make the experience interesting and memorable; unfortunately when one is a novice at breath play the exuberance and inexperience of youth can so easily shift into a hormone fueled roller coaster ride leaving you breathless and dazed and your prom date dead.

After Brittany's inconvenient death, I reacted quickly as an AP Chemistry lesson immediately came to mind. I knew in that moment the best way to hide what had happened was to shove her down the incinerator chute at our house, with the assistance of my father and a few of his most trusted men.

Once the clean up and disposal was taken care of, my father and I had an awkward conversation where he did most of the talking and the basis of our father-son discussion was it
was
never to happen again.

Unfortunately my father’s lecture fell on deaf ears because the occurrences of prom night had already set into motion a new hunger within me, one that demanded to be fed.

And so I did. All the while gauging my strategy as well as my timing. On the rare occasions when my control did snap, I knew better than to request my father’s assistance.

Last but not least on the list of possible reasons for why I am who I am and do as I do: Am I the way I am because of a low IQ level, mayhap the size of my cock is compensating for my lack of gray matter? No, I fortunately am able to discredit that trajectory of your thought process as well. I excelled in all academics, graduating a year early with top honors.

My father, Mr. Payne, a highly decorated Lt. General in the Marine’s from an even higher ranking, prestigious family, made damn sure Harvard and Oxford were highly compensated by donating to several different funds to ensure his only heir, his precious son was secured a spot when the time came for me to choose a University.

During my early twenties, as all young adults do I found myself soul searching, causing a lapse in judgment which sent me to Med school with the intent of becoming a psychiatrist. Thankfully before residency began I realized my mistake and chose to pursue the one thing I know and love best.

Exactly
,
my love… pussy.

Reflecting on my choices
,
I realize there really is not a better combination of disciplines to study. As I studied psychology I learned the “code”.  I not only learned it
,
I translated it.  I mastered the anatomy, physiology, and the psychology of the female sex. I mastered the emotional and biological process behind your orgasm.  I alone know the music you respond to; the notes to play as your orgasm builds to the crescendo of stars bursting behind your eyes. I alone can erase from your memory every man before me
,
as well as ruin you for any man who follows me. I, in essence, mastered the art consisting of your mind and your body.

Depending on the nature of my game, when I deem you worthy of my attention, our time together will leave you saturated… whether you are dripping with our cum or your own blood is yet to be determined. On all roads leading to nirvana there are pitfalls.

Do not allow yourself to become unsuitable of my attentions
,
for as the pace of my boredom increases so does the release of blood.

From you.

For you.

What I’m attempting to explain is, don’t become unworthy of my affections
.
T
he quicker you bore me, the quicker I draw blood in an effort for you… it’s all for you, my love. I am only trying to assist you in regaining my interest.

Always remember, everything I do for me in return I am doing for you.

Let me risk a guess… If you’re worth your salt you’ve done a Google search and said search revealed only what I have already shared.

Sadly that puts you at a disadvantage, because when I set my sites on you, the prey, you’ll blindly follow me, the predator as I cull you from the security of the public while the smile on my face masks my intentions of ruining you completely.

After my OBGYN residency I returned home to Seattle and started my own office off Broadway. I built a lavish office which by appearance alone required patients to be members of the upper echelon consisting of socialites, the Mayor’s wife, the Governor’s wife, anyone who was anyone, their wives and daughter’s made up my patient clientele.

Many fellow physicians wanted to merge, all promising an increase in patient clientele, money and business, however I don’t work well with others at all and a merge
r
would put another person too close to my extracurricular activities. My practice was never about money. My master plan was much too important for me to allow any chance of it coming apart and exposing my beautiful diabolical plan.

This was about me learning hands on with woman after woman how to practice sincerity and develop a caring façade. All while fucking the freaks and nicking the masochists.

Many women over the years have tried delving into my psyche, attempting to peel back layers and fix
ing
what they see as broken. They hold me and love me in the wake of being filled with my cum.

Poor, pitiful fools. Naïve beauties whose misconceptions blinded them of their fatal mistake
;
leading them and forcing me to ensure they were broken beyond measure.

Now be fair, I did warn them. Just as I’ve warned you.

Still here I see…well then…since we’ve made the necessary introductions, let us get to the story.

Prologue

1986

“Daddy! Don’t! You’re SO gross! I swear if you don’t stop I’ll never like you again. And, AND I’ll tell you everyday you’re the worse daddy EVER!”

The smile on his face remains as his eyes search my face for more chocolate sundae before he runs his thumb pad over his tongue and wipes away more sticky ice cream. “Worse daddy ever, huh?”

“Yep!” I jerk my head back to dodge his spitty thumb again. “Worse. Can I go play now, pretty please!?”

Daddy’s large hand ruffles my hair before saying, “Fine, go. Who am I to stop you from looking like an orphan? And by the way, She-ra, yesterday you promised to tell me every day I was the bestest daddy EVER. What happened to that?”

I call out over my shoulder as my feet move faster than ever in my new tennis shoes, “Spit daddy! Spit is what happened!”

Once I hit the tree bark lined play ground, I pick up my pace running as fast as I ever have before diving and landing on the last available swing belly first and shoving my toes into the bark to push myself high enough to flip around on the swing, planting my bottom on the seat.

After using every muscle in both my legs, I swing forward then pull back on the chain links. I push my chest forward and pull my legs back as far as I can, swinging backwards on the swing.

With my eyes closed I bend my head back to feel the sun on my face and feel myself let go and just fly.

I love to swing. I love it so much, one time I swung for three hours straight and one day, I’m going to swing for a whole day. You just wait and see.

Being on a swing is my place, where everything is perfect. The wind blowing through my hair as the swing goes back and forth and my tummy flips before every swing forward. I am as content as a fat cat in a windowsill when some punk’s voice pulls me from my happy place.

“Yo! Pigtails! Get off my swing before I kick you off.” My head snaps to where the voice came from just in time to hear the group of boys older than me howling in laughter.

“Is your name on it?” I look down pretending to search for his name before looking back up. “Nope, I didn’t think it was. Go play in the sandbox until I finish swinging, dork.”

They must have not really wanted the swing because they turn around and head in the direction of the super big slide, but I still feel my arms and legs shaking from fear. When my eyes scan the picnic tables and benches in the shaded area and I don’t see daddy I start to get a tummy ache I’m so scared.

Then as soon as daddy walks from behind the concession stand with a large coke and nachos in his hands I start to relax. I would jump like I usually do but I decide not to. I’m not sure my shaky legs would allow me to land on my feet so instead I dig my heels into the bark under the swing and bring myself to a stop. I hop off the swing and take off running full throttle towards daddy, only I run smack into another kid, so hard I land on my bottom in the bark.

As I stare, gawking up at him he turns to walk away but stops. After tilting his head to the side like he’s trying to hear something he turns back towards me, “Are you alright?” He asks without making any move to help me up from the ground.

“Ahh…I think I am. Are you okay?”

“Of course I am. I’m not on the ground am I?” His blue eyes sparkle when he smiles and I know immediately he is the cutest boy ever!

“Well are you gonna help me up? Or just stand there and smile?” I hop from the ground and dust my butt off before holding my hand out, “I’m Mac. What’s your name?”

He looks at my hand like it’s an alien hand for a few seconds then he runs his fingers through his ink black hair.

When he looks back at me he’s smirking and he shakes his head, “Mac it’s nice to meet you. I’m Rome.” His hand gently envelops mine and holds it for less than a second when my dad calls my name breaking us from our little bubble.

“Mac! Come on kiddo, we gotta go get the boys from baseball practice.” I glance over and wave at my daddy but he’s busy packing up all of our stuff to notice.

“Well I gotta go. It was nice meeting you. Hey, instead of Rome can I call you Romie?” I slide my hand from his smiling.

“Hey you little rich freak! You gonna kiss that she-he tomboy or what?”

We both look up to see the group of guys who was messing with me on the swing earlier.

“Mind your own business, idiot.” Rome turns around before stepping in front of me. “And leave her alone, she didn’t do anything to you punks. If you have a problem with her, take it up with me, got it?”

I reach my hand out to pull on Rome’s sleeve, “Rome, don’t—“

“Mac, I said come on!.” I glance back at my daddy before looking between Rome and the punks. They aren’t coming any closer so I’m pretty sure they’re just talking crap.

“Go on, Mac. They aren’t going to do anything.” He turns around and wraps his hand around mine resting on his arm and he holds it for a second, smiling. “I like you, you’re cool for a girl.”

I giggle like such a girl but I can’t help it. “Of course I’m cool. You ever met a chick named Mac that wasn’t cool?”

“Mac!” My daddy yells again.

“I gotta go. Hopefully I’ll see you here next time.” I slip my hand from his before running towards the parking lot and call out over my shoulder, “Hey, Romie. I almost forgot to tell you,” I turn and half walk half run backwards, “You kinda cute!” I shove my confession out as fast as I can and turn around, running at super speed in my new shoes again towards our car.