True (forbidden) Love

For those of you interested in a quick sex scene, I apologize as it takes some time to get there. This is the end of the story so there is quite a bit of "story" to get through. If you insist on skipping to the sex scene it is in the last two or three pages (depending on how this site processes this work). For those of you who have enjoyed the story so far, your comments, votes, and views have been an amazing experience for me. I have put a lot of time in to this story and I encourage feedback from any who have any to offer. I hope you enjoy the last installment.

- BenevolentDCC

Alexander Drummel had known from an early age that his son had a terrible darkness growing within him. He was quick tempered, often putting the need for action miles ahead of any kind of planning.

As an officer of the law, Alexander had made it a point to try and eliminate that darkness, the rage and intensity surging just behind the surface of his son's actions. When eliminating did not work, he turned to focusing his son's attentions into competitive sports. The more control the sport required, the more planning, the more timing, the better his son interacted with those around him.

These thoughts buzzed in his mind as he analyzed the suspect sitting across from him in the interrogation room. Sweat beaded on his impetuous face, his hair clung in a sopping mess atop his head. His eyes twitched, like a cornered animal he considered all elements of his surroundings hoping with all he had to find something with which he could gain leverage over his captor.

Alexander could smell the fear on this perp, could feel the environment becoming tainted by the palpable stink of desperation; his mouth shifted in disgust.

"Look, I didn't do nothing, motherfucker!" the kid shouted, his spit spraying with every word.

Alexander paused for a moment, his eyes focused solidly.

"You will watch your mouth when addressing me. Is that understood, kid?" Alexander spoke slowly, making certain his every word conveyed the underlying meaning, or else.

"I didn't do anything." The kid spoke in a submissive manner. He refused to make eye-contact with the behemoth sitting across from him.

"Look kid, we removed the drugs from your person, after chasing you three blocks AND through an abandoned building. We don't need a confession from you, frankly your goose is cooked. The only reason we are even in this room is because we feel you may have some information we need. See in this case, I'm the fisherman, and you, depending on what you choose next, are either dinner or you're going to be tossed back. So, what is it going to be, kid?"

Alexander knew he had the perp's attention, could feel the wheels turning as he considered the choices he had been given.

The kid let his head fall against the table in defeat.

Alexander smiled, his white teeth shining in the fluorescent light.

The Day Before

Samantha could feel her brother's cum within her, a heavy, warm pool coating the inside of her pussy. She smiled to herself and cuddled back into his arms. It had taken some time, and creative thinking, to get him to relax after the text message from Mark. For the first few hours he wouldn't even touch her, his body just shook in anger at the threat. However, their night together had been magical.

Now, the golden rays of the Sun were streaming through her bedroom windows, warming the cuddling pair. Her brother's arms were draped protectively around her. She smiled sleepily and snuggled back into him. The warmth of his body infused her more than the rising sun while the feeling of his dick, hard and thick, pressed against her ass gave her excitingly impure thoughts. She looked at the clock; Mon 7:30 flashed at her. She flashed from the bed, her bare bottom flashing through the door as her brother opened his eyes.

The shower felt amazing on her "exercise" sore muscles and the sloshing of her brother's cum reminded her of the wonderful stretches he had shown her. Though she could not wait to be back in his arms, school beckoned. After dressing hastily, pulling her hair into a messy bun, and giving her brother a deep, soulful, promising kiss, she was on her way praying that the traffic lights would be in her favor.

As a Senior with a 4.0 GPA, Samantha usually enjoyed attending classes, being engaged by her teachers, and making sure she could absorb all the information presented in class. Today, she could care less about what was going on in the room. Her mind was filled with images and thoughts of what waited for her when she returned home, she unconsciously licked her lips.

Even her friends had sensed an unexpected difference in her. She was bubbly by nature but today she seemed to glow. Her hair bounced as she walked, she swung her hips more, and her smile nearly split her face as she gossiped and joked with them. Having known about her impending date with Mark, they all assumed she had had sex. However, when they questioned her for details about the date they were given a different story.

"Come on girl, spill!" Rachel, a blonde Junior, gushed.

"There isn't much to tell." Samantha returned.

"Don't be like that, give us the details." Jody, another Junior who could pass for Rachel's twin piped up.

"Ok, look. Mark may be pleasing to the eye but in reality he is very dull. I need something more stimulating..."

"Ohhh, I bet!" They laughed.

"Not that way!" She scowled at them, smiled, and continued. "I dunno, I mean, I know what he wanted, but he just didn't do anything for me. He did get my drunk for the first time but the hangover was killer. I couldn't even remember half of the night. Heck, I could barely remember leaving my house!"

The girl's exchanged curious looks but didn't say anything further. Just as Samantha opened her mouth to continue her story, the "Tardy" bell rang and the would be twins skipped away. She let out a sigh and turned to gather her books from her locker. As she closed the small square door a petite brunette appeared, standing right in her path.

"We need to talk." And with that declaration, she grabbed Samantha's arm, gently, and lead her away.

Sergeant Alexander Drummel had never seen someone actually run the way the perp was currently going at it. He defied gravity with his jumps, slides, wall-runs, and re-directs. It was almost artistic the way he turned his body to avoid a painful collision with environmental obstacles. The term "Parkour" was not unfamiliar to the Sergeant, but he had never seen it in person, and never to this degree.

He, on the other hand, ran more like a wrecking ball. Obliterating things in his path or narrowly missing them in his adrenaline rush of a chase. They turned the corner, the labored breathing of his partner giving him the comfort of knowing he wasn't alone (though he was certain he soon would be by the sound of things), and continued the run into a long abandoned, shell of a factory. The sounds of their footsteps echoing in the wide-open dust filled area.

The perp - a small time drug dealer who specialized in narcotics, hallucinogens, and date-rape substances - had broken into an all out run, taking advantage of the open spaces to really let his speed show.

Alexander's partner had fallen behind, hands over his head attempting to work out a stitch that had taken root in his side.

The kid was fast, far faster than any drug dealer had a right to be, and his obvious advantage pissed the Sergeant off more. He had only seen this kind of speed in one other person, but thoughts of his son would do nothing but distract him here.

He thought about drawing his weapon, maybe giving the kid a nice piece of lead in the ass, but dismissed the idea because of the bureau-cratical nightmare it would cause.

Instead he focused his attention and poured his soul into the chase. Just when his muscles felt they could do no more, and the thought that the kid might escape crossed his mind, fate took control in the form of a loose stone the kid failed to see. His ankle twisted and he crashed to the gravel just outside the large bay door of the factory.

Now Alexander drew his gun.

"Freeze, Asshole! Make one move and I swear I'll put a bullet in you!" His voice boomed.

The kid twisted as if to attempt another run, but the bullet smashing in to the ground just to his right made him think twice. He held up his hands in surrender.

Jericho had watched his sister leave for school. The taste of her kiss still lingered on his lips and her scent was all around him. He lay in her bed, breathing her in, listening to the silence of the house, and enjoying a new-found peace that radiated within him.

He had once thought that his love for Samantha had been a passing fancy, then as it persisted he had called it love. Now, he felt that love was not a strong enough word for the feelings he held for this beautiful woman, this goddess, this enchantress.

Just the touch of her fingers against his skin had soothed his anger when all he could see was red. Her kiss had cleared his mind of all hatred. Her body against his . . . okay, well that had caused some localized tension but it was the "good" kind. He smiled and it came easily.

He rose from her bed when his stomach began to complain at him. With his parents away at work he didn't worry about getting dressed. Instead he enjoyed the breeze of being naked, and the naughty thrill of being naked where he shouldn't.

After his small, but filling breakfast. He made his way to the shower and ruminated on how so much had changed in his life in just a matter of days. A smile came to his lips when he thought of the last time he had showered and the mild fantasies which had come to him then. While his sister had seemed innocent, she was up for whatever he wanted.

He washed himself, letting the heat of the water ease his muscles. Enjoying the cascade over his face as it cleansed him of all his worries. He stretched, popping his joints and rolling his muscles to shake out the tension.

Today would be the first time that Jericho stepped into the ring with another amateur fighter for placement in an upcoming tournament. Normally he would have felt anxious about the upcoming battle, but in light of recent events, the prospect of getting pinned (or knocked out) was low on his list of priorities.

His opponent was fast, his jabs and kicks leaving stinging spots on Jericho's body. What he lacked in power he more than made up for in speed, landing four more body shots and one haymaker that left Jericho's ears ringing before Jericho had managed a single clench. He shook his head and ducked, barely missing a kick that would have sent the world spinning.

His opponent, now off-balance by the unexpected miss, stumbled and tried to get his balance. Jericho, who was not lacking in power, took advantage of this opening to land a solid right upper cut into the lower abs of his target. The fighter stumbled back, swung wildly at Jericho who hooked his right arm and dragged the smaller man to the mat. In a series of turns and twists, Jericho secured his opponent in a pin that threatened to snap the other man's back. He tapped out.

He felt his spirits soar when he thought of telling his sister about his victory. Today had been the best day for him. He had gotten to wake up with his soul mate in his arms and had earned placement in a regional tournament. He felt that the smile on his face would never fade, then he saw Mark.

Mark had carried his anger with him through the weekend. When that little dyke had skipped out on him it had been a slap in the face. He had, till that night, never had a girl turn him down successfully. This little bitch had ruined his perfect record of always sealing the deal. And to top it all off, he was still out on the money he had spent on the drugs. He had still gotten his rocks off with the help of a "Jock chaser" but it wasn't the same. Hell, he hadn't even risen fully to the cause.

Today Mark's anger was doubled because he hadn't heard from his dealer about their upcoming meeting. Mark needed to replenish his stash and this slippery little bastard was the only game in town. He also guessed that he was being overcharged but again, only game in town. Now that the school day was over his mind was focused on things other than football. Things he would rather not think.

He decided that some company would take his mind off these ego bruising issues so he called up some other guys from the team and informed them that they needed to be ready to go eat in town by the time he got to their houses.

He suspected that most of the guys secretly disliked him, but he knew that they would bend to his will because he was the talent. Also because his father was in a position to cause a lot of trouble for them if they didn't align with him.

All was going well while they ate. They joked about the people they knew, talked shit about one another (no one said anything about Mark), and gave graphic accounts of the girls they had "made scream" or "super-soaked" or even "left her scratching at the bed posts all night long (Mark's)."

Mark's thoughts were blissfully free of Samantha until Rick, a Sophomore on the team had piped up.

"So Mark, how was your weekend?" He smiled toothily at the quarter-back but he was unaware of the nerve he had hit.

He didn't let his anger show, for all these assholes knew he had been as successful as always. He launched into a detailed account of how he had used her in every demeaning way possible. How he had left her gaping, covered in cum, and begging for more.

They absorbed every word of his tale and he had saved face for the time being. Though his story was not yet true, he had every intention of making it true very soon.

He rose from the table, dumped his tray and said, "Let's go assholes" and without waiting for them, he stepped into the bright light of day letting the door swing closed behind him. He heard tires screeching, saw the only-slightly-familiar face of Samantha's brother step from the truck, and then, "Hey! Yeah you, motherfucker!" Mark wasn't afraid, he had sized this guy up in one look. Tall, gangly, no threat at all. He smiled, this was going to be fun.

"Hey! Yeah you, motherfucker!" Jericho shouted as his feet slammed against the pavement. He rushed toward Mark, the lines of text delivered to his sister's phone blazing in his mind's eye. Mark lunged at him but Jericho's experience in fighting allowed him to easily dodge the punch. He countered with a solid hit to the sternum which stole Mark's breath from his chest.

Mark fell to his knees surprised by the power in Jericho. It looked like things would be a lot more complicated than he originally thought. Jericho towered over him, anger pouring off him in an oppressive wave. Mark closed his eyes expecting pain but the tinkling of the diner's door bell caught Jericho's attention. Seizing the moment, Mark tackled Jericho to the ground and began to lay in to him with everything he could muster.

The muscles beneath the thin fabric of the shirt were hard as stone. Mark couldn't be certain he was making a dent in this guy but he didn't stop swinging. Jericho focused on blocking his face from attack and waiting for the right moment to topple Mark off of him.

Mark drew back for a powerful blow but this action left him momentarily defenseless. Jericho delivered a short fast attack to Mark's nose; hearing and feeling the small bone break beneath the assault.

Back on their feet with some distance between them, Mark got a chance to look around and find his group of "friends" behind him.

"What are you fuckers doing?! Get in here and teach this faggot a lesson!" They shared uncertain looks with one another. None of them wanted to get involved. They could see the blood gushing from Mark's nose and the fact that this seemingly unimpressive guy had gotten in such a good hit left them worried for their own well-being.

Jericho could feel his energy waning. The adrenaline had given him great reserves of focus and power during his first fight of the day, Mark had drained what was left. Now he was staring at five people in total, all football players by the looks of them. He didn't like his odds.

"What are you waiting for ya bunch of pussies!? Get him!" Seeing the anger in his eyes and fearing what would happen if he told his father to make them pay, they advanced on the lone fighter.

Jericho took his best stance. He didn't speak, he focused his breathing and grounded himself in the moment. It didn't help.

They attacked at once. The training they received on the football field, the training which allowed them to move as a unified front had become second nature. They attacked him together. Jericho managed one solid contact before he was forced to his hands and knees. The resulting kicks of the group forced him to his side as he curled into a fetal position attempting to protect as much of himself as possible.

Suddenly, they stopped. Jericho felt strong hands, two on each arm as he was pulled from the ground. He raised his face and met Mark's eyes. Mark drew in a deep breath of air, made a loud scraping noise in his sinuses and spit a mouthful of blood and mucus onto Jericho's face.

"You seriously thought you could take me, you little cunt? I am the embodiment of power! You never had a chance." Mark sneered at him.

Jericho's throat was dry, he could taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. He was focused on breathing through the pain which wracked his body so he said nothing in return.

"Do you know what I'm going to do next, motherfucker?" He kicked Jericho in the face. "After I finish with you, I'm going to go to your house, and I'm going to force your frigid bitch of a sister to her knees and make her gag on my nice hard dick! Then, when her tears have soaked her face, I'm going to rip off her clothes and fuck her till she begs for more!"

Jericho heard the words as explosions in his ears. The pain died down, his breathing slowed, and his vision started to clear. He could feel the heat building within him, could feel the anger, no, the rage swelling up threatening to take over. He didn't try to fight it, he welcomed it for the first time in his life, he welcomed the loss of control which was imminent.

"What do you think of that little guy? I'm going to make your sister my slut and then I'm going to drop her as a worthless cunt. It's just a shame that I wasted those drugs on her. Oh well, I'll make sure I get my money's worth out of her skin." Mark had turned his back on the subdued Jericho, he was certain that there was nothing which would change the outcome of this moment.

Jericho had checked out. Mark head the exclamations slightly before the bodies hit the ground. He spun on his heels to see a free, and shirtless, Jericho standing over the bodies of the two who had held him down. His muscles were unreal. Not an ounce of fat could be seen on him and his eyes held and intensity within them, a focus which was totally aimed at Mark.

Mark felt confident that with the help of his friends this dog could be put down once more, but as he looked to his left and right he realized he was alone. Now his heart began to race. He started to turn to run but Jericho, or whoever this was, was much faster. His hand locked on Mark's shirt and forced him to turn around. Mark wanted freedom, Jericho wanted to cause pain.

Mark swung heavily at Jericho's head but Jericho went to his knee, ducking the blow, and brought his fist full-force into the side of Mark's knee. The resulting crack sound assured Jericho that Mark would never again play football. The pain flooded Mark's body and the jock went down, hard. Light's out.

Jericho felt his anger ease, felt the tension slide from his body. As the blue and red lights began to flash in his vision, weariness overtook him and he slept.