Chapter Nineteen: Ruin
Trigger Warning: There is some homophobic and even transphobic language and thought in this story. Remember: this is fiction, and James is not a good guy. Don't be like him.
Months Ago...
Even living as James' slut, Paige still had bills to pay. In fact, she now had more since she had to support him, and she would never be so bold as to push him to do anything to contribute to the family beyond fucking her senseless. So, she went to work every day and sometimes worked two jobs while James stayed at home and kept himself entertained with television, beer, and sometimes other women.
Paige knew that James was building a small harem and thought nothing of it. He was always hard enough to fuck her when she wanted it, and even if he wasn't, he was the only one who could satisfy her anymore anyway. She didn't have the leverage to fight him on it, so she embraced it, instead, satisfying herself with being the only one he would end up marrying and doing everything she could to keep him happy outside of sex.
James, meanwhile, spent a lot of time at home in the living room. Sometimes, he would leave to visit Allyson or other sluts he was cultivating and collecting. The rest of the time, he sat alone letting the TV melt his brain while he downed one beer after another. Sometimes, he grew angry when no one was there to bring him a beer. He thought of his growing harem and considered keeping one of them as a maid, but he had planned his revenge and needed them all working if it was to be the way he wanted it to be.
Fucking Paige in the ass had given him an idea, however. After seeding her bowels while watching Oliver, it occurred to James that he already had someone at home who could serve him. Oliver was a reclusive who almost never left his room, and while James knew he snuck out to get food at night, James rarely if ever saw him or was made aware of his presence. Normally, that suited James, but he didn't care at all for having someone in his house, eating his food, without contributing a bit to James' personal pleasure.
James didn't know what was wrong with Oliver, and he honestly didn't care. All he knew was that Oliver was anxious all the time, never leaving home, not even for school. He had dropped out and was now at home all the time, eating James' food and spending James' money. Paige, already burdened with caring for James, was furthered taxed to support Oliver. She had already resented Oliver before James arrived, and now James resented him, too.
Being watched by Oliver had turned James on, though. James wasn't gay, but he liked the look of awe on Oliver's face as the young man had watched his mother come. There had been disappointment in his eyes, too, as well as understanding. In that understanding, James saw his leverage. Oliver was a weak thing, tall but thin, and so afraid of the world that he wouldn't leave home. James saw no reason why he couldn't bend Oliver to be his bitch in the same way, to have a live in slave who cleaned up after him so that Paige could better fulfill her duties as a slut.
He went to Oliver's door to intimidate him, pushing his way in without knocking and finding himself disgusted by what he found. Oliver, a hermit in his own home, lived in squalor. His floor was littered with dirty, unwashed clothes and half-finished food caked onto unwashed dishes. Oliver himself, half-hidden the last time James saw him, was in a similar state. His hair was long and greasy, his nails unclipped. He was wearing old pajamas pants and a long shirt and, at a glance, looked almost like his sister only in a state of distress.
"James," Oliver said suddenly, his eyes wide as James suddenly seized him by the hair and dragged him out of the room by force.
"The fuck do you think you're doing," James growled. He shoved Oliver up against the wall and held him there as he moved in close to him. Oliver winced, eyes closed, whimpering as he stood against the wall. He didn't fight, he just flinched, afraid of the violence which James might visit upon him. James saw this response and nearly laughed in his face. "Let me ask you something, you fucking pig. This your house?"
Oliver stayed quiet, not speaking until James slapped him hard across the face.
"I asked you a fucking question. Is this your house?"
"No," Oliver whined. His legs almost buckled, and James readjusted his grip on Oliver's hair to hold him in place.
"Then whose house is it?" This time, James punctuated the question with a slap.
"My mother's," Oliver whimpered.
"Wrong!" James slapped Oliver again, and Oliver opened his eyes to stare James in the face. In a way, he looked almost like Kendall used to when she was scared. They had the same light brown hair, the same grey-blue eyes, the same nose and lips. Oliver's face was a bit longer, his chin slightly more pointed. He was skinnier, too, but that made him look feminine. "You were there. You heard what your momma said the other day. She's just a stupid, shameless slut, and she's so dick-drunk on me that she don't own nothing anymore. She gave it all to me. Which means, what, Oliver? What does it mean?"
Oliver, cheek red, eyes open and wet, stared at James and spoke slowly, in a frightened whisper. "It's your house."
James surprised Oliver with another slap, this one harder. "Then who the fuck do you think you are treating my house like this?" As he said it, James turned Oliver and threw him back into the musky bedroom. Oliver landed among the filth face fist, his weak legs unable to support him as he pissed himself.
"I'm sorry," muttered Oliver, scrambling onto his back and retreating as James stomped back into his room. Oliver stopped against his bed, tears in his eyes as James towered over him. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"You will be sorry, nasty ass," grumbled James, taking hold of Oliver by the hair again and dragging him to his feet. He pulled Oliver after him into the hall and led the stumbling young man into the gust bathroom. "Can't believe I gotta fucking wash you like you're a fucking baby," he growled, tossing Oliver carelessly into the room and then following him inside.
The guest bathroom is small relative to the private bathroom which Paige has downstairs, and James' big body filled most of the space as he entered. Oliver, facing away from James and toward the shower curtain, turned quickly and winced as James reached around him to turn on the hot water. Then, opening his eyes, he found James towering over him and staring down at him, a hard, cruel glare fixed on the bigger man's face.
"Go on," James said, the growl never leaving his voice. His anger was synthetic compared to what he often used on women or what he would use later, but he projected it well enough to frightened Oliver into compliance when he said, "Get naked."
Oliver shook, even hesitated as he stared James in the eyes. The sting in his cheeks had him moving, though. He had his shirt off when his eyes landed upon James' bulge and, though he had seen it before, he had never been this close to James before. He could smell James now that they were trapped together in the room, a powerful, masculine scent too thick to ignore. Staring at James, Oliver forgot himself to a sudden wave of arousal that swept over him, foreign and frightening, and he was left stunned until James struck him across the cheek again.
"The fuck you doing, you fucking retard? I told you to strip!"
"S-Sorry," Oliver muttered, and he moved again. He stepped out of his pajamas and stood in a pair of stained boxers. Oliver was skinny, a scrawny boy who appeared to James to be more like a lithe, flat-chested woman. In fact, he looked almost exactly like his sister except for the straight hips, slender thighs, and missing breasts.
Oliver's boxers came next, and James burst out laughing. Oliver was small, far smaller than average. Completely erect, he was less than half of James in length or girth. Compared to James as he was, Oliver would have been miniscule, but compared to James as he had become, Oliver wasn't even a child. More embarrassing was the fact that Oliver was hard, harder than he had ever been in his entire life. She blushed to hear James' laughter and moved to hide himself, and James smacked him again.
"Don't hide it," he laughed. "Holy shit, that's all you got? That tiny little dicklet? Absolutely fucking pathetic," he said, and he took Oliver by the throat. Opening his pants, James pulled his own cock out and showed it off to him. James was hard now, too, his thick, pulsing shaft drawing Oliver's attention as soon as it came out. "No wonder you keep staring," he said, holding himself up next to Oliver and comparing them. "Ain't never seen a dick like mine before, have you, faggot?"
Oliver shook his head, his eyes fixed on James. James held him gently by the throat at this point and was not hurting him at all. Even if James had, Oliver wouldn't complain. Watching James with Paige had shook Oliver, dislodged something inside of him that he didn't fully understand. James owned Paige, and now seeing James up close, Oliver felt owned, too. He understood his mother's submission, and he wanted desperately to be like her.
James pulled the curtain on the shower, freeing a wave of steam into the room, and he shoved Oliver inside. "Get your stinky, piggy ass in there."
Oliver staggered inside, bracing against the wall as the hot water poured over him. He hated the feel of it but felt emboldened by James' presence. He was being given orders, and he had to obey.
In the shower, James made Oliver shave. Oliver had little body hair at all and was able to remove all of it with relative ease. His face was smooth, like a woman's, and his armpits, arms, legs, and dick had only vague wisps. The removal of his pubic hair, thin as it was, did nothing to improve Oliver's proportions. If anything, it only made him more pathetic, which made James harder.
