drugs can’t kill me

You loved the power you held over him. He stared up at you, mouth agape. When you got home from work, he was already waiting for you with his hands clasped behind his back, fully displaying his lacy bra and panties, cock straining against the thin fabric. You knew you had to take advantage of this situation, so you instructed him to kneel in front of you.

His eyes were half lidded as he looked up at you through his lashes. His hazel eyes glistened.

“Such a good puppy, Frankie," you cooed, running your fingers through his hair, eliciting a whine from his lips.

Your fingers trailed down to his mouth, dipping into the warm wetness there, pushing down his throat until he gagged around you.

You gathered that wetness and shoved your hand down the front of your pants, covering your tdick in his spit. You stroked yourself a few times before slipping a finger inside yourself. 

Frank whined again, leaning forward to nuzzle your crotch with his face, a silent plea. You concede, allowing him to free you from your clothing. He wasted no time before diving straight in, enveloping your bottom growth with his lips. He sucked on you hard, causing you to grip his hair once again, bucking your hips away from him.

“Not so hard, puppy,”

Frank slows his efforts, taking his time to savor the feeling of you in his mouth. He rocks back and forth on his knees, trying to get any friction for himself. You allow him to struggle for his own pleasure while you enjoy the pleasure he’s giving you for a moment. As he gets you closer to the edge, you stop him.

You pulled his hair, forcing him to look up at you. He smiled at you, a dazed and drunk look on his face.

“Does puppy want to get off?” you ask in a sickly sweet tone. Frank's eyes light up and he nods eagerly.

“Use your words, pup” you say. 

“Yes, daddy, please let me get off,” he begs meekly. You extend your leg forward.

“Hump my leg then,” you order, “That’s the only way mutts like you deserve to get off.”

He obliges, rutting into your leg as he returns to his previous undertaking. You moan as he licks into you before returning to sucking your tdick, head bobbing up and down. You can tell he won’t last long with how furiously he is rubbing himself against you.

“Go ahead, cum for me like a good dog,” you say. Frank immediately cries out against you and you feel fluid dripping down your leg. He remains focused on his task, furiously sucking you off until you’re bucking your hips against his face, riding out your own orgasm.

You sink to your knees to be level with Frank, placing small kisses all over his face.

You had been dating Geoff for a few weeks. You thought he was kind of a nerd at first, but he was persistent, sitting next to you in class and walking you back to your dorm after. So you eventually caved and let him take you out on a date, even if only to appease him.

He was different than the other boys at your college, though. He wasn’t just another frat boy who would spike your drink if you looked away for too long. He was genuinely kind. He would sneak into your dorm late at night with his guitar and a joint, and you guys would hang halfway out the window, blowing clouds of smoke into the black sky until you fell on top of each other in bed in a fit of giggles.

So you were disappointed when he ghosted you. He stopped showing up to class, stopped answering your calls and texts, everything. You tried to not let it get you down. You had been in this situation enough times in the past to make you kick yourself for not learning your lesson.

As the weeks passed, though, you started to feel like something was off. Either he was really committed to never seeing you again or something else was going on.

One day after class, one of Geoff's friends approached you. His name was Gerard. He was an awkward, greasy little guy who you often saw hanging out with Geoff and his other friends at shows downtown.

He looked tired, like he hadn’t been able to sleep in days.

“Hey, you haven’t seen Geoff around lately, have you?” he asked, eyes cast downward to your scuffed shoes. Something twisted inside your stomach. You weren’t the only one Geoff wasn’t talking to, it seemed.

“No, not for a while now. I never heard back from him after he went out one night. I figured…” you trailed off. Gerard looked at you sympathetically.

“Yeah, same here. He went off with the singer of one of the bands that was playing one of his shows, saying he was going to talk with them about a ‘business opportunity’," Gerard said.

The knot in your stomach tightened.

“That was the last time you saw him?”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated.

“Actually, no.”

You looked up.

“A few nights later I got a call from him.”

“Seriously?”

“Sort of,” Gerard rubbed the back of his neck, “He sounded sick. Not like himself.”

“What did he say?”

“Just told me not to look for him.”

Your blood went cold.

That night, you found yourself scrolling through old messages between you and Geoff as you sat in your window, smoking a joint by yourself. It wasn't as fun alone, but you didn’t want to bother your friends with your heartbroken complaining anymore.

The weed was making you paranoid, too, after what Gerard told you. He was probably just fucking with you. Maybe. Gerard didn’t seem like a guy who would do something like that, but then again you didn’t think Geoff was the kind of guy to disappear without an explanation. You couldn’t help but worry.

A door slammed somewhere outside, making you jump and almost drop your joint. You scoffed and shook your head, grinding the lit end out on the weathered windowsill. You needed to sleep.

Crawling into bed, you told yourself you would stop thinking about this entire situation. You would stop thinking about Geoff. Either he was okay or he wasn’t, and you couldn’t do anything about it either way.

—

You stirred in bed, a breeze fluttering your curtains and chilling you. You could have sworn you closed the window before you fell asleep.

Opening your eyes to the dimly lit room, you saw a figure standing at the foot of your bed. The only discerning feature was the reflection of its’ eyes, flashing at you like a predator.

Your scream was stuck in your throat. Terror paralyzed you. Before you could try to move, scream, fight back, anything, the figure was on you, the thick smell of iron engulfing you.

It shuddered as it hovered over you, as if it was using all of its strength. As you stared into its’ piercing eyes, the surrounding features suddenly became recognizable.

It was Geoff.

His face was stained with blood and black rings surrounded his eyes, but it was him.

“Geoff?” your voice was barely above a whisper, but Geoff flinched as if you had screamed it at him. Every muscle in his body was tensed.

“Don't do that,” he said. His voice sounded ragged, raw.

“What happened? Are you okay?” your voice came out easier this time, concern overtaking fear.

His gaze traveled down to your throat. He swallowed hard. You saw the muscles in his jaw flex before he forced himself to look away.

“Get out.” he said.

“Um, this is my room?”

“I know,” he reeled back, gripping fistfuls of his hair.

You tried wriggling out from under him, but his hands flashed to your arms, holding you down with bruising force.

“No. Stop. Don’t,” he said.

“Geoff, please tell me what’s going on,” you pleaded, wincing from the force of his grip.

“Fuck!” he cried out, pulling himself away from you so quickly he nearly fell off the bed.

“Are you hurt?” you ask. Blood stains spatter his shirt. There’s blood on his hands, too, which he has clasped in front of him as if in prayer.

You looked down at yourself. Finger-shaped bruises were already blooming on your arms.

“Geoff,” you tried again.

“Stop saying my name.” His voice cracked.

You reached towards him, but the moment you touched his shoulder, he recoiled as if you had burned him.

His head snapped up. His eyes were unfocused, hazy, as if he was no longer fully aware of his surroundings.

His eyes once again fixed on your neck, but this time he didn’t look away. His breathing was ragged. He looked terrified, but you didn’t know of what.

“Please…” he whispered.

Before you could react, he was on you.

The pain was piercing, like a white hot needle was plunged into your neck. You heard Geoff let out a whine, half sob, half moan. His hands traveled up the sides of your body, coming to rest on either side of your face, gently cradling you as he tilted your head to the side. It was strangely tender, despite the harm he was causing you.

After a few moments, once the pain calmed down to a quiet throbbing, you could feel yourself becoming hazy. You tried to push Geoff away, but your efforts only caused him to sink his teeth deeper.

“Geoff, please stop,” you cried out.

He froze for a moment. Then he tore himself away from your throat, your blood added to the mess across his face and on his clothes. He cowered in the corner of your room, curling himself into a ball on the floor.

“I’m so sorry.” The words were barely audible.

“What the fuck happened to you?” you place a hand against your neck, the blood slowing to a trickle between your fingers.

He let out a bitter laugh.

“I don’t think you would believe me if I told you,” he said, shaking his head.

“I think an explanation is the least you can do for me right now.”

“I… I don’t know,” he tries, "I thought he killed me. I was taking him to see the studio, and then… I don't know.” he pauses for a beat, but you let him continue.

“I woke up downtown, but the sunlight burned me. I had to camp out in a dumpster all day,” he chokes out something between a sob and a laugh.

“I think I killed someone,” he states, as if remembering for the first time, “I need- I need to leave. I can’t be here.” he tries heading towards the window, but he falters, falling to his knees.

You approach him slowly, cautiously this time.

“Let me help you, please.”

He turns away from you.

“Don't come near me. I'll hurt you again”

“Geoff, I'm fine, see?” you say, holding your hands up, trying to ignore the pounding in your head from the blood loss.

He looks back at you from over his shoulder with those same predatory eyes. You hold your hand out to him like someone does to a stray dog they aren’t sure is friendly. He slowly turns towards you, crawling forward to rest on his knees before you. He looks up at you, looking closer to his normal self again. Just covered in blood.

You reach your hand out towards him, gingerly cupping his cheek. He stiffens at the contact, but relaxes after a moment.

Frank sighs and runs a gloved hand through his hair.

“Fine. But we’re leaving right now so hurry up,” he says as he throws his guitar over his shoulder and heads towards the door, slamming it behind him. You let out a sigh of relief and grab his amp, hobbling out the door as you struggle with its weight, trying to be helpful.

The drive to the venue is mercifully short, Frank blaring music from one of his friends' shitty bands so loud that conversation would have been impossible. Not that you were complaining. 

The venue was familiar to you. A dingy bar that was used by all of the local bands to host their shows. Luckily they didn’t ID, so you were able to walk in behind Frank with no issue. This was your first time there, but you had heard plenty of stories of girls getting roofied there, guys getting in fights. 

Frank directed you to a barstool and quickly left to join his bandmates, wanting to offload you as quickly as possible to ensure nobody saw you together.

The night dragged on as the first band set up, played, and packed up, the next band cycling through the same routine. After the second band had finished, the bartender turned towards you.

“You gonna order anything?” she asked, looking annoyed. She had a short green fringe, was covered in tattoos, and the lights gleamed off a smattering of metal jewelry adorning her lips and the bridge of her nose. You shook your head and cast your eyes downward, shyly.

“Sorry, I didn’t bring any money,” you say, twirling your fingers. She rolls her eyes.

“Whatever. You been sitting there staring at the floor all night. Here. Go socialize,” she says, setting a cup of clear liquid in front of you. You gingerly take a sip and nearly spit it back out as it burns its way down your throat. The bartender snorts and turns away from you, which you take as a sign to leave before she comes back.

Looking out into the crowd, you notice that the bar has begun to fill up with people. You gulp, dread settling in the pit of your stomach as you realize you don’t recognize anyone. Everyone looks older than you, cooler than you, more sure of themselves. You steel yourself and take another drink, the liquor warming you and beginning to replace the feeling of anxiety with a more pleasant, hazy feeling.

"You look like you're having fun," A voice drawls out sarcastically.

The voice startles you. You turn to find a man standing beside you, old enough to be your father. He smiles, a strange look in his eye.

"Sorry," you mumble.

"You here alone?” he questions. Still having some of your wits about you, you realize the danger of the situation. You glance toward the stage where Frank and his bandmates are setting up.

"My brother's band is playing."

He doesn't look away from you. His gaze makes you uneasy. 

“Not a boyfriend then?” he says, raising a brow. Heat rises to your face.

“No!” you splutter. 

“Surprising, I thought the boys would be all over you,” he says, leaning closer, “Why don’t you come have some fun with me?”

 Your stomach twists uncomfortably. Before you can think of a response, the lights above the stage dim. Conversations dissolve into cheers as people begin pushing toward the front. You take the chance to get away from the man, shoving into the crowd, begging the universe to let you disappear into the sea of people.

After a moment, you finally exhale. Bodies are packed so tightly around you that man couldn’t get to you even if he wanted to. You take another drink, steadying yourself. You watch as Frank walks out with the rest of his band, guitar hanging low against his chest.

Frank had always been an asshole to you. He ignored you, made fun of you, acted embarrassed whenever you were around. But standing beneath the stage lights, he looked different. Larger somehow. More confident. The crowd cheered as the band launched into their first song. You didn’t realize people actually liked Frank’s band. The vibration of the music shook your chest. People surged toward the stage, pulling you along with them. 

For the first time all night, you weren't thinking about your father. Or your stepmother. Or school. Or how awkward you looked standing alone. You were just another face in the crowd, swaying with everyone else as the music drowned out the world. You watched in awe as Frank raged on stage, falling to his knees, wailing into the mic, ripping himself wide open for the crowd. You never saw this side of him.

The band's set seemed to end almost as quickly as it had begun.

As people began drifting away from the stage, you glanced over your shoulder. The older man was still there. He raised his beer slightly when he noticed you looking.

Your stomach dropped.

You immediately turned away and headed backstage.

The band was crowded around a battered folding table, drinking cheap beer and laughing as they packed up equipment. Frank spotted you first.

His smile vanished instantly.

"What?" he asked.

You hesitated, "You guys were really good," you murmur.

One of the other band members barked out a laugh.

"Frank, your sister likes us."

"Step-sister," Frank corrected immediately.

"Still counts."

Then you glanced back toward the crowd. The older man was watching you still. The singer noticed your expression.

"You okay?"

You lowered your voice.

"There's this creepy guy."

Immediately, several heads turned.

"What guy?"

You gestured towards the old man, whose head quickly turned away from staring at you as he took a drink. 

"That old dude?"

You nodded, "He kept talking to me."

The guys murmured among themselves.

"Yeah, don't go back out there by yourself," one of them said, handing you a beer and motioning for you to sit.

Frank rubbed his face, looking pissed, but stayed silent. For the next half hour, you sat on an amp while the band packed their gear and argued about how little money they made. Nobody paid much attention to you, but nobody seemed annoyed that you were there either. Besides Frank, who looked over at you and rolled his eyes intermittently. You nursed the beer you were given, the buzz you had earlier creeping back in.

When everything was finally loaded into their respective cars, Frank jerked his head toward his own.

"C'mon."

You followed him. The night air felt cold against your flushed skin. Frank unlocked his car and tossed his guitar into the trunk, slamming it shut with more force than necessary.

As you climbed in, he glanced at you.

"You shouldn't talk to random creeps."

"I wasn't trying to."

He scoffed, "You're unbelievable."

You clenched your hands into fists.

"I didn't do anything."

"You got drunk. And let some old man flirt with you"

"What was I supposed to do?

His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"You've got to have some common sense."

“Fuck you,” you spat. 

Something flipped in Frank and he spun toward you, grabbing you and pushing you into the back seat. He climbed in after you, pinning you down. There’s empty bags of fast food and wrappers strewn about, and you can feel crumbs scraping your skin as Frank pulled your shirt over your head. You tried fighting him off, but he grabbed your wrists with bruising force, holding them above your head.

“You think I wanted you here?” he hissed, grinding into you, “Should teach you a fucking lesson. Teach you to fucking behave”

 You could feel him growing hard against you. He dipped his head down to bite the flesh of your shoulder, nearly drawing blood and making you cry out.

“Frank, stop!” you begged, tears welling up in your eyes.

Your cries only spurred him on. He flipped you over onto your stomach, practically tearing your pants off, exposing your glistening pussy to him.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this, fucking whore. Bet you would’ve let that creep use you just like I’m going to,” he said, spitting into his hand as he took his cock out, stroking himself to full hardness before slamming into you. The pain split you in half and he barely gave you time to adjust before he bottomed out in you, pounding his cock in and out of you mercilessly.

“Bet you were a virgin, weren’t you? Who would want to fuck someone as pathetic as you? I’m doing you a favor, honestly,” he ranted as he continued fucking into you. He used both of his hands to push your face into the car seat, almost cutting off your breathing with the force he applied. As much as you struggled against him in vain, you couldn’t help the pressure that was building between your legs. You clenched around Frank, a small moan escaping your lips, only encouraging Frank to slam into you harder.

“You like getting fucked by your step-brother? Hm? You want your step bro to fill you up with his cum?” Frank cooed, thrusts losing their rhythm. You cried out, pussy spasming around him as you came. You felt his warm cum fill you up and begin to seep out of you as he pulled out.

He smacked your ass.