The Foreigner Who Broke the Guilty

Selim was pouring himself a red tea he had boiled himself, and a moment later he had made one for me too. The steam rose straight up between the two of us, as if the whole room were holding its breath. Outside, night had already fallen completely.

—For some people, this is culture —he said, looking at the cup—. For others, it’s a tool of control.

—Control? —I asked.

—While people drink beer or wine, I drink tea. That way I don’t lose my center or my will. Alcohol, and whatever those pigs gave your mother, serve the same purpose: subjugating someone’s will through chemical means. It’s a coward’s shortcut.

He said it without raising his voice, with the calm of someone who has repeated that idea a thousand times and verified it just as many.

—In my case —he went on— I prefer to break a will head-on. Without drugs. That’s the most powerful weapon a human being can have. Why do you think a woman like your mother ends up needing someone to dominate her?

—The truth is, I don’t know.

Selim set the cup down on the saucer with a clean clink. He was watching me as if weighing me, calculating how much a boy could understand who that very afternoon had discovered his mother broken in her own bed, with her cunt reddened and her tits marked by other men’s hands.

—Few people do —he said—. That’s why few people truly rule. The rest only obey and think they’re deciding.

—Day-to-day life. The need to escape a reality that tightens around your throat and won’t let go. It applies to men and women alike, but today we’re talking about her. We live with so much pressure, so much accumulated stress, that some people escape the fast way.

—You mean taking their own life?

—Sometimes. Other times the body breaks on its own, or the mind does. And then along comes a woman exhausted by her own life, who meets someone who seems above all that, who controls the situation with such confidence that for her he becomes almost a myth. And she surrenders. She succumbs to his charm, his command, his domination. She opens her legs without thinking, gives him her ass, her mouth, everything he asks for. For her, it’s a way of escaping.

—And that happened to my mother with you?

—In part, yes. I fucked her cunt until I made her cry from pleasure more than once, and she came back for more. Though in her case, your father was also involved.

I set down the cup without drinking. I wanted to hear all of it.

—That man needed to justify his lack of manhood —Selim continued—. At first he overprotected her, grabbed her arm every time we passed by a real man. He thought he was keeping her safe, and all he was doing was screaming his own weakness from the rooftops. People like me can spot that a mile away.

—You can see the signs?

—Always. And running into a miserable bastard like him only made me want to possess that woman more, who, by the way, is beautiful. You know that better than anyone. A tight cunt, tits that stand up on their own, an ass that begs for cock just by looking at it.

***

While he spoke, he had been arranging the two men against the table, one opposite the other. They were the same men who that afternoon had entered the house with polite smiles and other intentions.

Selim had torn a white sheet to shreds and braided it into sturdy ropes. With one of them he tied the neck of one to the neck of the other, so that if either tried to get up, he would pull on his companion’s neck and choke him. Their wrists were behind their backs. Their feet were secured to the table legs. Their backs were bare, their asses exposed, the hole of their assholes peeking between their cheeks.

The scene looked as if it had been lifted from an engraving by the Marquis de Sade. A torture pose in which they would be the spectacle and we the audience.

He had seated my father apart, on a chair, with his hands tied behind the backrest and his ankles tied to the legs. He was going to be the mute witness to the punishment that man had prepared for his guests.

Selim went into the kitchen for a moment and came back with two cucumbers in his hands.

We had waited a long time on purpose, until the drug they themselves had brought started to loosen their bodies. According to him, the point was for them to suffer consciously, to receive awake the same treatment they had given my mother.

I leaned into the bedroom for an instant. She was still asleep, fragile, insecure, lost. The sheet had slipped down and left one breast bare, the nipple still reddened from being sucked and bitten so much by those sons of bitches. Between her thighs, still slightly parted, you could make out her swollen cunt, shiny with dried semen. Seeing her like that tightened my chest with an unease I hadn’t expected.

My place is not Selim’s, nor my father’s, and certainly not those two bastards’.

I understood it then, looking at her: I had to be above all that. Be the different link from the rest. The man who sees a woman for what she truly is, not for what each of those individuals had wanted to make of her. Young, beautiful, completely out of place in life. Sensual even asleep, with her thighs stained by another man’s cum.

I understood that sooner or later I would have to change. And maybe help her change too, give her a direction. Maybe not that night, or the next, but someday.

I closed the bedroom door carefully, as if a noise might break it. In the hallway, the air smelled of tea and something thicker I preferred not to name: semen, sweat, and a used cunt. I took one deep breath. Then I went back to the living room, where Selim was waiting for me with that patience of his that was more frightening than any shout.

Selim’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

—Come on, boy. It’s time for the laughter hour.

***

When I got back to the living room, he had already made sure both men had their mouths covered. Not a single scream was going to come out of there cleanly.

—Tell me, idiot —he said to the first—. Do you want me to grease the cucumber? Or would you rather I shove it up your ass dry, the way you shoved yours into that woman?

The man turned his head just slightly backward and nodded frantically. Selim looked at me with a grin and spat on the rough fruit, with no delicacy whatsoever, almost mockingly.

The man tried to twist his face to the side, as if wanting to see what was happening behind him. Selim brought his mouth to his ass and let out another spit, violent and heavy, straight onto the tight hole. Then he rested the cucumber between the two cheeks and, slowly, I watched it disappear inside him, centimeter by centimeter, the skin of his ass stretching around the fruit until the asshole was wrapping itself around the thickest part.

—There, you bastard. That’s how it feels when a cock you don’t want slides all the way in. That’s how she cried while you laughed.

The howl came out muffled by the gag. It was clearly a good idea to cover their mouths. Selim shoved once more until only the green tip showed, then gave the buttock a sharp slap.

The second one, the one in front, was terrified. He looked at his companion with an expression of panic that made it perfectly clear what would happen once it was his turn. The first, with that hard thing lodged inside him, gave him a grimace of impossible-to-describe horror and pain, drool running down his chin and tears soaking his cheeks.

The man in front couldn’t take it. He tried to rise to escape, and in doing so yanked on the rope and strangled his friend even more. Selim watched the scene, amused.

—Look at this —he said, almost laughing—. They’re buddies. Pack. When they come together to fuck a drugged woman they’re very brave. When they shove their cocks into her mouth by force, or split her ass open between two of them, they’re real men. Now look at their faces. Each one would not give a shit about the other if it meant getting away.

He hit the one trying to flee hard on the back of the neck so he would return to his place and stop choking his companion.

—And you, for being a fucking idiot, I’m not greasing anything for you.

He crouched, yanked one cheek open, and pressed the second cucumber, barely smaller than the first, against his opening. Without the slightest mercy he began to push, hard, because there was no spit or anything else to soften the passage and the body resisted. The skin around his asshole turned white from stretching so much around the dry fruit, and still Selim kept pushing, with his open hand, driving the cucumber in like someone hammering a wedge.

—Clench, bastard, clench your ass, that way it won’t last as long —he said, twisting the fruit inside him—. See how it burns? See how it tears? Well, that’s half of what you did to her.

My father watched it all in terror. Horrified, he whimpered now and then against the gag.

And me, honestly, I didn’t care in the least. That man had lost every gram of my respect. To me he was already a stranger who had snuck into my house with a twisted intention and was paying for it.

In some way, that moment was waking something in me I didn’t know. I was beginning to shed all the molds I had carried since childhood.

The pain the second one was feeling had to be brutal. But I looked at Selim and saw, with a shiver, how much he was enjoying himself. It was as if for him, making justice justified absolutely everything. And the worst part was that I was beginning to justify it too. Those two, who had done so much harm to my mother, who had opened her cunt and ass with cocks and blows, didn’t stir even a shred of empathy in me.

***

Suddenly Selim took out his phone and started photographing the two of them. The shine in his eyes was indescribable, as if he were in another reality, far from that room. He photographed the impaled asses, the ruined faces, the cucumbers sticking out between the cheeks.

—Now it’s your turn, little man.

He moved toward my father. The other, frightened, began to stammer broken words, still dizzy from the drugs. Selim covered his mouth the same way he had with the others.

—I don’t want to hear you, piece of shit. You handed your own woman over to two bastards so they could fuck her in every hole. For what? Thirty euros? Fifty? For the chance to watch while they split her cunt open?

He took one of the sheet ropes and wound it around my father’s sex, tightening the knot just below the balls. He grabbed his head and forced it down until his chin was almost pressed to his chest; then he tightened the rope and hooked it to the neck, leaving the exact tension between one thing and the other. If he lifted his head, he would strangle his own cock and balls.

Inventive, that had to be acknowledged, like no one else.

—In three minutes —he explained— the cramps will start in his neck. From that point on he won’t be able to avoid lifting his head, and the higher he lifts it, the worse it’ll be for his dick. It’s going to turn purple, then black. —He let out a slow, malicious laugh—. Poetic justice. The man who sells his wife’s cunt loses his cock.

That man had opened in my house a jar that would never be closed again.

***

With that tableau set up in the living room, Selim went to the bedroom to see how she was doing.

—She’s awake —he said.

I looked at him and moved ahead. I went in first.

I found her ashamed, in pain, her eyes averted, clutching the sheet against her bare tits.

—Mom…

—I… —she tried to say.

—Don’t say anything. It’s all been taken care of. I know, I’ve seen almost everything. I called Selim. He has done justice for you.

A moment later he came in too. Without the slightest care he pulled away the sheet and exposed my mother’s body in front of me. Her tits were visible, beautiful and full, with the dark nipples still marked by bites. He spread her legs with a chilling naturalness, exposing her irritated cunt, swollen lips, thighs stained with dried blood and semen.

I saw a little shame on her face, a flicker of embarrassment. I smiled at her to reassure her.

—Help me hold her legs —Selim asked me—. I’m going to clean the wound again and put some cream on it. They’ve left her cunt wrecked.

She watched, embarrassed, as that man treated her sex with total clinical coldness, parting the lips of her cunt with two fingers to clean out the other man’s cum from inside, while I, beside her, held her legs, brushed her thigh skin, looked at her, admired her. I saw every detail: the soft hair around her pubis, the clit swollen from abuse, the red, punished entrance. For a moment I felt myself again in a strange communion with her, as if there were something between us that no one else could understand.

Little by little she relaxed. Her thighs stopped trembling in my hands and her hips softened against the mattress.

—And the men who came? —she asked quietly.

—Don’t worry. They’re out there getting what’s coming to them. With their asses full the way they filled yours.

A flash of relief, almost of peace, crossed her face. And seeing that, I felt strangely at peace too, even though I knew nothing in that house would ever be the same again.