Page 43 of Psycho Boys

"Hhmm," I moan, the gun lodged deep in my throat, preventing me from talking.

"Shut the fuck up and be our good girl, Little Psycho. Remember, you asked for this shit. You fucking begged us, so now sit here and take it like the good fucking slut that you are—our slut." Killian growls, pushing his cock into me to the hilt, fucking me fast, deep, and brutally as he tries to match Dom's rhythm.

I've never felt so full, even though we've done this before. Something about tonight feels different. And as my spit soaks Ash's gun, my ass tightens around Dom's dick, and my pussy squeezes Killian's cock, I keep my eyes on Five, curious to see what he's going to do.

I see my knife right away as he spins it between his fingers, grinning manically as he walks toward us, his tattooed cock swinging between his fully tattooed legs. He stands next to Ash, leaning in and gliding the edge of the blade down the front of my body, making a small, surface slice that doesn't even bleed but fucking stings like a bitch. They share a look, and Ash removes his gun from my mouth, completely soaked in my saliva.

Thinking that Five is going to make me suck the knife, I prepare myself, but the blade never comes. Instead, he shoves his cock between my lips, fucking my mouth with determination. But that isn't all. Sliding it out so the swollen tip is between my lips, Ash lowers himself to Five's level and guides his thick, pierced dick to my mouth as well, and panic begins to flood through me, wondering if it'll even fit with Five’s. But it does, amazingly.

As Ash drives his cock into my mouth with Five’s, my jaw widens—much like a snake unlocking its jaw to swallow its food whole. My lips feel like they're ripping apart as both men forcetheir cocks a little further in my mouth, making me suck both of them as they move in unison, fucking my mouth together.

"You want to be marked, you said." Five reminds me of my earlier statement, and butterflies swarm in my belly for what's to come. "So I don't want to hear a fucking peep out of you, Calista. Just fucking take it like the obedient little fuck doll that you are."

He winks, taking my knife and digging the point into the side of my neck where Ash's fingers aren't choking me. I feel the sting from the knife instantly, pausing my movements from bouncing on Dom's cock and thrusting my hips to take Killian's. He begins carving into my flesh, warm blood trickling down the side of my neck from whatever he's cutting into me.

But again, I don't fucking care.

One by one, each man takes my knife and uses it on me, carving their initials or names into their favorite parts of my body, branding me with their names so I won't ever soon forget who I fucking belong to—who owns me.

“Tomorrow, I'm fucking tattooing everything we just cut into you, so you're marked with our names forever—so you'll always fucking remember who your psychotic ass belongs to,” Dom informs me, tracing a line down my spine with his tongue.

The smell of smoke, sex, and sweat fill the room as the five of us continue to engage in the most sadistic, pleasurable sex we've ever fucking had, and by the time I come all over Killian's cock, I have Dom's cum dripping out of my ass as he brutally slaps my cheeks, leaving his large, red handprint behind. I feel the warm gush of salty, thick cum filling my mouth from both Ash and Five, and due to Five pinching my nose and Ash choking me, I swallow every drop, choking hard as I try to get it to go down my throat.

This is what I wanted. This is what I fucking needed. And I knew the four of them would be able to make me feel all the things I wanted and then some. Yeah, it's unorthodox, but itworks for us. They treat me like a fucking queen on the daily and a dirty little cum slut behind closed doors, and even though it's fucked up and diabolical, I fucking love every minute of it.

But one thing remains on my mind, preventing me from fully enjoying the multiple orgasms they've given me... and that's how fucking badly I want to go cross off the next name on my list.

SEVENTEEN

UNFORGIVEN

THE GREAT ESCAPE: BOYS LIKE GIRLS

KILLIAN

Hearing from my father fucked me up more than I thought it would. It fucking shattered me. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and the bullshit he fed me, much like he was reading from a script.

Oh, it's been a while, son... I miss you, my boy... Why don't you come pay your old man a visit? I promise there's no strings attached...

I might be naive with some things, but when it comes to my father and his manipulation and his narcissistic ways, I know well enough—from years of practice—not to believe a single fucking word that comes out of his mouth. Instead, I played along, pushing the fact that he tried to have me killed to the back of my mind while I stroked his ego and made it seem that all had been forgiven.

The fuck it has. I'll never give that man any kind of forgiveness. The motherfucker doesn't deserve it. He doesn't even deserve a second of my fucking time, but I gave it to himanyway. His ending is approaching, and it's the first thing I've looked forward to since Cali came back into our lives.

I used to wonder if it came down to it, would I actually be able to kill my father? For a long time I believed I didn't have the fucking balls—I didn't have it in me. But after Cali opened my eyes to a lot of things, just by the way she takes control of her life and utterly destroys her demons, and now I know for a fucking fact that I'll be able to kill my father, and with the most twisted, psychotic grin on my face while I'm doing it.

The image of it plays on repeat in my head: the glint of steel, the surprised widening of his eyes, the choked gasp before the silence. It’s not a violent fantasy fueled by rage, but a cold, calculated act. A necessary one. It’s not about revenge, not really. It’s about severing the last thread connecting me to the man who tried to erase me. It’s about reclaiming my fucking life, the years stolen, the trust betrayed. It’s about finally, truly being fucking free.

The phone call was nothing but a damn performance, a grotesque puppet show orchestrated by me. I basked in his pathetic attempts at reconciliation, his desperate need for validation. Yet I heard the fear crack in his voice—the realization that his manipulations no longer worked on me. That power, that knowledge, is fucking intoxicating. It’s the taste of victory, bitter and sweet, a prelude to the final act that's approaching quicker and quicker every day.

Shit, I’ll make sure it’s quick. Clean. Efficient. No drawn-out suffering, no fucking pleas for mercy. He doesn’t deserve that shit. He fucking deserves the cold, hard finality of his own demise. And then, after, I’ll finally be able to breathe. To truly live. To build a future unburdened by the shadow of his existence. The guys will be there, obviously. Cali will be there, of course. She’ll understand. She always fucking understands. Andtogether, we’ll watch the sunrise on a new day—a day where the only ghosts are the ones we finally laid to rest.

After hanging up the phone, I had to get out of the apartment; I needed some air because breathing felt impossible. The drive I took alone was quiet; the only sound was the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thump of my own heart. It felt…lighter. Emptier, even. Not the hollow emptiness of despair, but the clean, sharp emptiness of a room finally cleared of its clutter. The weight of years of resentment, of carefully suppressed rage, was starting to lift with just one phone call and the sadistic thoughts that invaded my mind because of it. It was unsettling, this sudden lightness, but also liberating, just knowing that soon, like really fucking soon, my father would be dead and I wouldn't have to live in constant fear anymore.

I drove around Boston aimlessly, smoking and switching between cigarettes and prerolls—anything to numb my entire insides because I didn't want to think or feel anymore. But I still ended up outside of my father's house; the car blacked out and my binoculars pressed against my face as I nervously watched from the car as he engaged in what I could only assume was fucking rape with a kid that couldn't have been anymore than fifteen. It made me sick. But it fueled my anger and determination even more. I sat there like a peeping fucking Tom and recorded everything that I could see from the car, knowing it would come in handy when the four of us expose our parents for who and what they truly are.

He needed to fucking die so he couldn't hurt not just me anymore, but anyone, for that matter. As long as all of our parents were still walking among the rest of society, nobody was fucking safe.

When I finally pulled into the parking garage, the familiar sight of our home welcomed me, making me able to breathe now that I wasn't in the presence of the the sterile, suffocatingatmosphere of my father's house. As I killed the engine, a sense of calmness settled over me. It wasn't just the inevitable ending of my father's life, but the end of a fucking era. The end of a brutal cycle I've been begging to get out of basically my entire fucking life.

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