Chapter Text
COVID altered the rhythm of life in ways none of us could have predicted. Like millions of others, I retreated indoors and began working from home during the pandemic. Years later, I still do. The daily cattle drive onto a packed train vanished overnight, and I discovered the rare luxury of time. Mornings became slower, quieter, civilised even. The money saved on an eye-watering season ticket alone felt like a small annual bonus, and selling my London house at exactly the right moment turned out to be spectacularly profitable. I missed the restaurants, the buzz of opening nights and curtain calls, but I didn’t miss the people. London had become relentlessly frantic. Too crowded, too compressed. Everyone hurtling somewhere else, eyes down, shoulders set. No space for conversation. No pause to breathe. Not even a moment to scratch your arse. It was all momentum and ambition, everyone chasing money or stepping over you to get it.
My career began in advertising, more than twenty years ago now. I climbed, sidestepped, reinvented myself more than once. I was headhunted a few times, and after my last senior role a decade ago I took the sensible risk and went alone. I built a small agency from nothing. I happen to be very good at what I do. That isn’t vanity, it’s accuracy. What started as a one-man operation grew teeth and legs. Today there are two offices: London and Manchester. London is the powerhouse, more than twenty staff and counting. Manchester is on the up, bursting at the seams, and we are actively hunting for larger premises. And that, quietly, is where everything began to tilt. That was the point at which I was forced to acknowledge a side of myself I had long kept locked away. A part I am still not sure I want to fully admit exists. And yet, if I am honest, I don’t believe I have ever felt more alive.
My home sits deep in the lower Welsh valleys. A manor house. Three years of restoration and well over two million pounds later, it stands as it should have done all along. In the seventies and eighties it had been butchered in the name of progress. Original features stripped out, ceilings ripped down, plasterwork hacked away, fireplaces torn from the walls. What remained was a carcass, all bone and no soul. I found craftsmen of extraordinary skill to reverse the damage, men who understood restraint as much as artistry. Months were spent trawling reclamation yards, hunting down period fireplaces and fittings to replace the plastic atrocities that had once passed for modern taste. Slowly, patiently, flesh was put back on the skeleton.
Now the house sits contentedly within its landscape once more. Wisteria drapes itself across the stone, heavy with scent. On summer evenings a soft breeze carries the perfume through open casement windows, mingling with cooling air and silence. It is absurdly large for one man. Seven bedrooms. Twelve bathrooms. Entire wings I rarely enter. Do I need it? Of course not. But in my world, appearance matters. What you present to others shapes how they measure you. I am, by nature, intensely private. People think they know me well. They believe I am transparent, an open book. The truth is rather different. Behind the charm and the polish lies a collection of secrets. And the darkest of them are intoxicating. They quicken my pulse, flood my veins with adrenaline, and remind me I am not merely existing. They make me feel vividly, dangerously alive.
I had deliberately eased myself away from the daily grind of office life. The business no longer needed my constant presence, and that was by design. I had assembled a team I trusted implicitly, people I respected, people who understood both the work and the ambition behind it. The steadily swelling bank balances were proof enough that they knew exactly what they were doing. Once a week we met online, me settled in Wales, the managers and senior staff dialling in from their respective offices. It was efficient, civilised, almost surgical. Once a quarter, though, I brought them all to the house for a long weekend. A chance to reset, to plan, to remind everyone exactly where the heart of the business lived.
It was at the last of those quarterly gatherings that everything shifted.
Up until then, I had kept a tight grip on myself. The darker impulses, the inconvenient truths, the parts of me that didn’t fit neatly into boardrooms and balance sheets had been locked away for years. I’d built a cage for them, heavy and deliberate, forged from discipline and routine. Thick steel bars, immovable, unyielding. I told myself they were permanent. Safe. Contained.
But that weekend, something changed.
The devil I carried didn’t claw its way out. There was no violent rupture, no dramatic escape. It simply walked free. Calm. Assured. And the most unsettling truth of all was that I was the one who opened the door. I handed it the key, quietly, unconsciously perhaps, but willingly nonetheless. I sanctioned its release. I watched as it stepped beyond the limits I had imposed and did nothing to stop it.
At forty-six years old, standing in that house, surrounded by people who thought they knew me, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in decades. A sharp, electric clarity. A sense of presence so intense it bordered on dangerous. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t merely successful, or comfortable, or in control.
I was alive.
I had organised what I described, publicly at least, as a team-building exercise. In reality, it was damage control. We had recently promoted half a dozen new faces into senior roles, part of a longer strategy that included the very real possibility of opening an Edinburgh office. They were younger, sharp, brimming with ideas and confidence, and carried that restless energy that comes before experience tempers enthusiasm. The older hands saw it instantly. They recognised the shine for what it was, knowing full well it would dull soon enough. But instead of guiding it, shaping it, they swatted it down. New suggestions were dismissed as naïve, impractical, irrelevant. Youth, they implied, brought little more than inexperience masquerading as innovation.
The debates had grown pointed. Polite on the surface, barbed underneath. What had once been a tightly woven team now showed a fracture so fine it was almost invisible, yet dangerous enough to threaten a clean break if ignored. I had no intention of allowing that. So rather than the usual long weekend, I extended the invitation to a full fortnight. Time enough for friction to soften, for familiarity to breed understanding rather than contempt. My plan was simple. I would remain close but not central. Present but not dominant. Guide gently instead of issuing commands. Influence without force.
The house, of course, was more than capable of accommodating them. It was fully networked, wired discreetly and comprehensively, the latest technology threaded invisibly through old stone and timber. The business itself ran on a bespoke system designed to my exact requirements. Years earlier, not long after I had set out alone, a trusted manager had quietly siphoned funds and come perilously close to destroying everything I had built. I survived it, barely, and learned a lesson that stayed with me. Trust is admirable. Blind trust is ruinous. From that point on, every company laptop and workstation contained a back door known only to me.
Unethical? Possibly. Probably. But the machines were for work, nothing else. The encryption was military-grade, flawless, and the access keys were mine alone. No one was spying on anyone for amusement. I told myself it was protection, not intrusion. A safeguard against history repeating itself.
Yesterday morning, I sent them out on a forty-eight-hour task. They were given a broad objective and very few instructions. Plan a route. Navigate the terrain. Build shelter. Find your way back to the manor. Cooperation would be essential. Leadership would reveal itself naturally. While they were gone, the house fell quiet again, the kind of silence that sharpens thought rather than dulls it.
That was when I decided to look.
I accessed the laptops belonging to the most divisive figures, those whose resistance to new ideas had been the loudest, the most entrenched. I wanted clarity. Evidence of resentment, perhaps, or insecurity. Something that explained the hostility beyond simple professional jealousy. I moved methodically, file by file, six machines in total. Nothing unusual. Until this one. i was almost finished with my examination and was closing the top when something caught my eye and my breath caught without warning. My mouth went dry. My pulse accelerated, thudding so hard it felt as though my chest might crack under the pressure. My heart was no longer beating, it was charging, like a freight train hurtling towards something it could no longer stop.
Buried among ordinary client documents was a folder that should not have existed. Two terabytes of data, concealed with deliberate care. It had been encrypted using my own system, my own protocols. Elegant. Clever. Confident. But I held the master key, and with it, nothing stayed hidden for long.
I unlocked the folder.
What appeared on the screen stole the air from my lungs. Rows upon rows of thumbnails, meticulously labelled, alphabetically ordered. Videos. Images. Hundreds, thousands of them. My breathing became shallow and fast. My hand trembled on the trackpad as I hovered, hesitated, chose one at random then double-tapped the file.
The video began to play…
It wasn’t the best quality, the filming done on a phone probably. An older one at that, this wasn’t 4K quality filming either, it was also clearly homemade. No one holding the device and filming here. The phone was propped up, a young man was on screen. He had red hair, a smooth face. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen or so. He wore red chequered pyjama bottoms he’d pulled them down and his big cock looked impressive set amongst his bushy red pubic hair. His ass was smooth, he held a boy, a toddler. No more than two. The child bore a close familial resemblance, a brother maybe.
I took a deep breath, I knew what was going to happen. He laid the boy on his back and got between his legs. His heavy pendulous cock swayed, the big bulbous head inched forwards. There was no sound but in my mind I heard the pop as the big mushroom head penetrated the child. I sighed with pleasure as I watched and groaned aloud the child’s cry roared as the bug cock head slipped inside the tight velvet chute. The teens head rested back on his neck and I swear he shivered from head to toe with exquisite relief as he slid more of the mammoth cock inside the boy. The child screamed in pain as he was impaled on the massive fuckstick.
I felt the blood rush to my cock, the shaft engorging as my erection took hold. I squeezed the shaft in my sweats. I was wearing underwear and in a near instant a big pearl of precum had dampened the fabric, the light grey becoming a dark as the teen began to thrust I stroaked my shaft through the thin fabric. To my shame i lasted no more than thiror forty seconds before molton cum erupted from my cock. My whole body froze, a feeling of unadulterated pleasure wracking and shaking me to my core. I sat panting heavily as the teen fucked the kid. His big cock sliding into the root. His shaft sliding slowly and rhythmically in and out of the boy, the teen impervious to the boys crying and screams.
My hot seed soaked through the thin fabric, the evidence of my orgasm showing down the length of my thigh. My breath was fast but cock like my breathing had no interest in slowing down. The pulsing man meat throbbed aggressively in the leg of my cum soaked jogging bottoms. I pulled the drawstring tie open and hooked the fabric under my smooth shaved balls. The heavy scent of my cum permeated my nose.
The teen had changed position now and pulled the child in front of him. He laid upon his side. He slid in again all the way to his balls. The big shaft hanging grotesquely outside the child’s asshole. He began to pump his hips and I watched as he took pleasure raping the little toddler. He held the boys leg pulling it hard to ensure maximum penetration as he sunk deeper. He hips starting to go get faster the boys crying reaching new heights as he fucked. Harder and faster he pumped the kid full of teen cock, his hips beating to a drum in my head. My hand had found my shaft and I was wanking my cock to each thrust. The cum slicked cock ensuring it glided up and down the nine inch shaft.
The teen pulled the boys leg hard and his whole body shuddered as he came and so did mine. My cum spewed forth like a fountain. Thick creamy gloopy cum rich with so much goodness coating my t-shirt and beard such was the intensity of this second violent eruption. I groaned and and had to fight to breath as the oxygen didn’t Seem to be entering my lungs. My chest heaved, my breath juddered as I took huge gulps to try and get the white stars that speckled my vision to clear. I felt wetness on my cheek and wiped it thinking it was cum. But it was tears.
I was crying, not with disgust or disbelief or shock at what I had seen. But from happiness. It was the most erotic and beautiful sexual act I had ever seen. I must have paused the video as the teen was frozen with the boy in his arms. I resumed playing and saw the teen grab a tissue and began wiping the boys asshole. The tissue looked bloody, and I again groaned. Fuck that was hot and beautiful. The child was just whimpering now but as I watch I prayed for the teen to rape this kid again. He didn’t. He pulled up his pyjamas and turned off the camera. But I was on a high of endorphins. My pulse was pumping hard and fast, adrenaline surging through my veins. I wanted to cum again, I needed to cum again. It’s been years since I came immediately after waking let alone wanting to cum a third time.
I exited the file and looked at the name for easy reference later. Matt Estes #94 was the name. I saw though, there weren’t 94 files. I wondered what the reference was for. I scrolled down some more and saw a baby in a thumb nail. Nervous I double tapped on it. There was a baby in a bouncer, a voice came over the speaker and I watched in shock as a grandpa with a thick southern American voice announced he was going to cum in the baby’s mouth. He duly inserted his cock head and blew his grandpa seed into the child’s mouth. The kiddie cried and chocked on the thick pedo load I closed my eyes. My body shaking as the pleasure surged through me like electricity trying to electrocute me to death. But each surge violently brought me to life. I closed the file down and placed the laptop back inside the rucksack and left the room on legs that felt like they were made of rubber. I walked along the landing my cock still hard and swaying. There was the odd glob of cum dripping on the carpet as I made my way to my bedroom suite into my bathroom. I peeled my cum sodden bottoms off along with my cum soaked shirt and got in the large shower.
I stood with my hands against the wall as the multiple sprays sent hot steaming water beating against my skin. Every prickle from the water seemed to send numerous pleasure signals to my brain, every skin cell became a receptor for unexplainable pleasure. My knees felt week and my cock was still hard, each vein down the thick shaft bulging up to the glans half hidden by the heavy foreskin. I took a moment and stood without leaning against the wall. I grabbed the shower gel and squeezed a good amount into my hand. I slathered it over my hairy chest as my fingers brushed over my nipples I gasped as new sensations radiated outward. The hairs on my chest were forming soft whorls as I soaped myself but I couldn’t stay focused for long on my nipples. MY hand was quickly back on my shaft and I began wanking myself furiously. In my minds eye it was I fucking that screaming child.
MY hand formed a tight fist and I pushed the fat shaft into the soap slick grip but as I looked down it wasn’t my hand I saw but that little red headed child. His asshole red and gaping, the muscle loose and red raw from the pounding it had just received. Thick teen cum coated the edges of his ass lips lubing the small boy cunt for me. As I entered my fist, in my minds eye I saw the boys tight cunt. I watched his ass pussy lips swallow the fat glans of my cock. Again I didn’t last long, with a loud cry I collapsed to my knees as another rope of my pedo seed spewed forth.
I rested there, in a state of euphoria, a feeling of completeness settling over my skin. For the first time in my whole adult life I felt whole. But what was I to do now. I shakily got to my feet, thinking of what I was to do next. I grinned and laughed. I knew exactly what I was going to do next. I knew upon exiting the shower that I was going back to watch more child porn on my employees laptop. But what to do after that? That is something I’d think about later.
Somewhere in the Welsh Valleys…
When we arrived at our little campsite I had checked my phone several times but there wasn’t any signal so I’d given up. It was a little later when Mohamed had I who were sharing a two man tent opened his rucksack and pulled out a star-link receiver that I grinned. He’d thought I was asleep as he looked at his phone. The soft glow of the screen and his rapid thumb movements showed he was sending a message. ‘What’s the password’ I whispered to him. He startled but didn’t try to deny what he was doing. He gave it to me and I set my phone to silence. In less than a minute the handset vibrated.
Security alert in red was shown. I hit replay and I was shown the bedroom I had set my small camera in. I’d placed it on top of the wardrobe with a clear view of the room. I saw my boss Alexander walk into the room and looked around seeing whatever he was looking for he made for the bedside table. He reached down and took up the computer rucksack. Unzipping it he pulled out the MacBook. My heart had sped up somewhat but I relaxed at the significant security on the machine. He typed and I saw the screen come to life. This time my heart literally stopped and then began to beat fast. He spent a good ten minutes on it and I was relieved when he went to close the screen but then he looked again and frowned.
He fiddled about sighing and then he looked annoyed then his expression changed. Completely changed. I gulped and a feeling of dread overwhelmed me. I saw the shock and heard him. ‘What the fuck!’ He said. And that’s when I knew he’d found my stash. But he didn’t close the screen. I heard the sounds of screaming. I saw his eyes go wide as the voice of a child began to scream as his big brother began to fuck him. I knew in an instant exactly what video he was watching it was one of my favourites. Matt Estes the school star quarter back who’s shirt number was 94 was raping his little brother. But my boss instead of running from the room shouting to the heavens above ‘I have a pedo working for me’ I watched as his hand started to stroke the lump in his sweats. My cock was hard too buried in my sleeping bag, the seven inch fuck stick throbbing as I watched my boss watch a small toddler being raped. Then as the massive shudder took him over and the deep groan escaped his soft full lips I saw the wetness seep through the thin cotton fabric. My boss had just cum to kiddie porn. I grinned.