I took the blonde up to a room, and every time I touched or kissed her, my stepmother's face and body would flash before my eyes.
But that was not all; I asked myself constantly how it would look if this girl would burn, how long it would take for her to be reduced to ashes, and if it would smell like last time.
I should take the condom and roll it over my cock, getting the pleasure crumbs and the bits of relief. However, I couldn't. To sleep with her would be like sleeping with my stepmother while in the shoes of my father, taking on a substitute.
So I had to leave; the girl didn't take it well and cussed me, but whatever.
Driving home, I let my motorcycle, where I always leave it, climbed over the wall and walked through the garden, to the front door.
But this time, I didn't walk up to the first floor, where my room was located. Instead, I went to the second floor to my father's office.
He would never lock it, as it was a hassle. Besides, he was sure that I wouldn't dare to enter. He wasn't wrong, although it was more of a disinterest on my side. Now, I was interested, truly interested.
I went through his documents and soon found something. A contract. Lesly Lane, I chuckled. Reading through it, it stated what one would expect from a substitute. Not mentioning the contract, not changing her appearance, she had to wear what he bought, things like that.
And there was another clause: no sexual contact was required.
Pausing, I had to read through it a few times.
"Haaa." Letting loose a breath I felt I had been holding since seeing Lesly for the first time, I plummeted on the chair in my father's office.
Holding the contract, I repeatedly read through this sentence, never having found my father's lunacy more pleasing.
But that changed when I thought of the position they slept in, how he had his hand in her shirt, and how he 'marked' her.
"You old bastard." It seemed he was regretting that clause already. But, he shouldn't go overboard for now. I remember my mother crying to me endlessly that he hadn't touched her even once after that time she had drugged him and received me. Worse came to worst for her because he got himself a treatment to build up resistance against every aphrodisiac available on the market.
I somehow suspect that he can't get it up. Yet, like this, it was for the best; there was no reason for Lesly to run just yet.
I put everything where I found it, opened the window a bit to let the smell of smoke and alcohol on me dissipate from the office, and left again.
Still, why this one year until they would amicable divorce? What would happen in a year?
In a good mood, I went to shower the blood from my opened wounds away before again coming into Lesly and my father's bedroom. She had asked me to stop, and I tried. I even went for a fling, but it didn't work out.
Another pleasant surprise was my father not being here. I couldn't tell if that was normal for him, staying a few days then leaving, as I hadn't had the hobby of visiting my father's bedroom when he slept alone, which he did until Lesly arrived. Maybe he had always been at home; perhaps he had been away.
Standing before the bed and looking down on her, the little crow looked like a baby bird burrowed in its nest. The view down on her reminded me of the moment when I had her under me. It was such a different experience compared to the straw girl just now.
And that, although the ocean was resting beneath the night, not showing its blue waves.
I liked how her lashes were blonde as well, but not so light that they would seem white. It was just matching her overall.
I am curious about that original; the more I watch her the more I think that the original couldn't have held a candle to her. Especially with her second identity as a little crow. Thinking about it, I went to the drawer, checking her treasures.
The marble was in the middle, along with every bait from me, the rest like plates and pens, and whatever was arranged around. There was even a napkin that I had watched her pocket, folded neatly as a bed for the marble. It should be her favorite. The golden papers were reduced by a few numbers; a crumbled piece of paper was on the side; it looked like she had tried to use the paper to fold something, only to fail miserably.
The little golden crumbs I had laid out for the polite little crow were gathered and brought back to her nest, and in return, as I could watch the crow doing so, I got more than plenty of pleasure crumbs. An exchange I profited the most from.
It seemed that if Lesly left me, I couldn't go back to meaningless sex to gather my scraps of pleasure.
If she left, I would have to take a more 'heated' route.
********************
Years passed. The mother of the child living here sucks away the last of my sanity. When I snap and hit her, I feel connected with you. Did you also feel this kind of relief? If this woman, who had forced me even deeper into hell, was in pain, I felt nothing like pity. She deserves it.
She should just die.
Something happened. The woman had found out about your sister. She had talked to my mother, although I forbade her to ever set foot in my childhood home.
My mother also acted unexpectedly; she had found the pictures I had of your sister.
Because you never let yourself be photographed, I had to look at my tormentor to have a look at your face. The pictures wandered from the hands of my mother to the hands of that woman.
And guess what.
That woman dressed as you and your sister.
Hilarious, a monster wearing the disguise of another monster.
I am tormented by the search for you; I am tormented by the black eyes of that child I hate; I am tormented by the memories of your sister and what she did to me; and I am tormented to see the disgusting copy of both of you, that the woman here forces me to see.
I want to die, and I want everyone to die with me.
But you are out there, and somewhere, maybe, hopefully, the child is as well, the little toddler I left behind in that forest.