Quentin chucked the files at Todd, the papers and photos falling around him in the chair. “You–you’re a fucking whore. I don’t know what you did to yourself to make you look like some old man either, and I don’t want to know, but this is the fucking truth, and no one here is going to vote for some prostitute. Get the fuck out of my town, or I’ll run you out myself!”
Todd picked up a photo–a mugshot, and looked at the face in it. He was so young then. So weak. “You’re more clever than I expected, I gotta say, Sheriff, but it’s too late–I don’t blame you for not realizing it, but the sooner you see that I own this whole fucking town–and all the men in it–the happier you’re going to be.”
“Fuck you.”
Todd heaved a sigh, “You know, I came here to make a peace offering, Quentin. I like you–you have a strong spirit, and I’d hate for you to lose that. Here’s my offer–drop out of the race, and I’ll let you stay on as Sheriff. Trust me–a rough fucker like you, you’d enjoy keeping law and order in my town. All you’d have to do is do whatever I say, when I fucking say it–and beyond that, enjoy yourself! It’s going to be a paradise, trust me.”
Todd got up from the chair he was sitting in, walked to where Quentin was standing, and brushed his cheek lightly with the back of his gloved hand. Quentin felt it, the brutal pleasure in that leather. He understood it, somehow–or it understood him. Todd took the cigar from his mouth, leaned in and kissed him, breathing smoke into his mouth, and he groaned against his own desires, memories of his wife and daughter fading, even as that rage–that horrible, violent rage–started storming inside him. “Who–What are you?” he said quietly when Todd pulled away.
“Come on, there’s someone I want you to see.”
Todd lead the way into the garage, and there, against the wall, was Todd’s father. He was bound to some cross of some sort, chained to it, and when they entered, he looked over at then and moaned in excitement. “What–What the fuck is this!” Quentin said, the shock lifting the daze from his mind.
“That, is my father. He’s been a very bad man, you see, and he needs lots, and lots, of punishment. That’s what sheriffs do, after all, they punish, and they beat, and they discipline. That’s what you’ll be doing for me from now on, at least. That is, if you take me up on my offer. I can assure you I won’t make it twice.”
The glove brushed him once again, and he felt that rage intensify once again. There, on the table, were any number of instruments of torture–whips and canes, an electric shock kit, dildos and clamps and…and he could see himself using them all, a version of himself using them, dressed in a leather uniform, a cruel smile on his face, beating the shit out of this prisoner…is this what had been happening to the whole town? Was Todd behind this entire strange summer? He couldn’t let him win. He couldn’t give in like this. This was his town, and goddamn it, he was going to put it back together, the way it was supposed to be.
He rushed to grab the nearest thing–a cane–tried to turn and swing at Todd’s face–but the gloves were faster, somehow, and caught it in mid air, and going for his throat with the other, tight enough for him to get immediately lightheaded from the pressure on his arteries. “Too bad. Still, I can’t say I’m too surprised. Some men, you can’t give them what they want, and expect them to take it happily. We can figure something else out, though–what was it you said? A town would never vote for a prostitute?”
The glove tightened, and his vision blurred slightly. Everything around him seemed to be warping and twisting, and he couldn’t quite keep anything straight. Todd released him, shoving him back and making him teeter off balance. “You know, I never offered you a smoke. That was rude of me, wasn’t it?” Todd said, “You’d like to smoke something, wouldn’t you Quentin?”
He tried to regroup, but that sensation of lightheadedness clung to him, his tongue clammy, his temple aching. He…did need a smoke, didn’t he? When had he smoked last? He couldn’t remember–and he nodded at Todd, who pulled a spare cigar from his pocket and rolled it in his fingers.
“You know, Quentin, these aren’t cheap–do you have any cash?”
Quentin patted his pants, but his keys, his wallet–they were gone. “I…thought I did.”
“Well that’s alright–you’ll do anything for a smoke, won’t you bitch?”
That didn’t seem right to him, did it?
“Come on over here, get on your knees, if you want some of this.”
Quentin shuffled over, unsure if he was being compelled to obey him, or if he really did want to get down on his knees in front of this faggot. He couldn’t take his eyes off the cigar, in any case…though his eyes were more drawn to the lit one in Todd’s mouth. He got down in front of him, face up, trying to piece together what was happening to him.
“Open up, Quentin–first taste is free.”
He expected Todd to let him have a taste of his smoke, but instead, Todd rolled the ash off his cigar onto his tongue, making him wince from the heat, but he took the ash gratefully, soaking it in his spit, and swallowing it, unable to believe how hard his cock had gotten from that simple act.
“Taste good?”
“Yes sir….thank you.”
“You want more?”
Quentin nodded.
“Get over there, and clean off my dad’s disgusting body–I think the whole biker gang used him as their urinal last night.”
Quentin crawled over, horrified…but he wanted more, and when Todd knocked the ash onto his dad’s body and let Quentin lick it off, or fed him some of his second hand smoke, more and more of Quentin retreated into the darkness his soul was becoming. After allowing Todd to fuck his ass and fill him up with his cum–and then after sucking off his dad–Todd locked lips with him and they shared the same lungful of smoke for…well, Quentin didn’t know how long he lasted, until he grew lightheaded, the garage blurring, and he passed out onto the concrete floor.
Bracken's Corner 