David Owain Hughes & Natasha Sinclair


Horace stood before the shop, hunched over, eyes darting rat-like, the lapels of his coat standing on end in the hope that they’d conceal him. With his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans, his fingers jangling the loose change found there, he shuffled his feet and pondered his next move as the sun set behind him.

Dare I…? he thought, a giggle almost escaping him as he cast a glance over the building’s blanked-out windows, reinforced door and black, almost unsettling, décor.

Well, I’ve come this far

With a deep, shaky breath, sucking in a lungful of atmospheric sin, Horace stepped forward and knocked on the sheet metal entrance three times and winced at the reverberating sounds that travelled the length and breadth of the alley. An old elegant Victorian Dressmaker’s sign hung above the doorway, sagging from the sandstone from long ago. A landmark of a history long forgotten. Though, the era’s reputation for everyday sadomasochism was not lost on those who knew what hid within this seemingly closed place.


He risked a peep over his shoulder, ballbag and prick shrivelling, and released his balled fists when he saw there was nobody behind him. 

What does it matter if I’m seenIt’s not like I’m committing a crime! It’s a sex shopfor Christ’s sake, he thought, his heart pounding at the mere thought of what the establishment was. Could it cost me my teaching jobI wouldn’t have thought so… unless a colleague or student spots me. So what? I’m not wrongdoing. No, but a lot of shame would come of it, forcing me to possibly leave my position. Pfft! It’s not …

Bolts clattered and chains rattled. “Who is it, please?” someone asked.

Dude sounds like Vincent Price, Horace thought, sniggering, his pent-up anxiety leaving him but returning in an instant.

“Is that you, Mr Parker? Horace Parker.”


“Do come in,” the man said, pulling the door open, revealing his dapper appearance.

It really is Vincent Price! Horace thought, looking at the tall, moustachioed fella.

“My dear fellow, are you alright?”

Horace shook his head, abandoning his trance-like state, and smiled. He looks like he should be running magic shows or a thespian on stage. “How do you know my name? Has Roger been blabbing? I thought this was a place built on a reputation of utmost discretion.”  

The man tittered, coughed and apologised. “Excuse my amusement, please, Horace, but Roger did no such thing. Let’s just say, I have a way of knowing things. And I know exactly what you need. So please, do come in, Horace, and let’s begin to unease your burden.”

A crack of thunder broke across the cloudless sky as Horace stepped over the shop’s threshold. 

“Just in time,” the proprietor said. 

At his back, Horace heard heavy rain hissing against the asphalt. “Burden?” he asked. 

“Come, there’s no need for coyness here, Horace! I know all about your needs and how they’re manipulating you and causing you much pain and grief. It doesn’t have to be like that. You should be free to live a happy life. To do as you please, no matter how taboo your desires.”

Horace felt his face flush. “I only wanted a bit of porn – something to help occupy me (he lied) – and I was told…”

“You were told all your fantasies would be fulfilled if you came to me, weren’t you?” the man smiled.

“I… how…”

“Shh, Horace. The how’s and why’s don’t matter. The important thing right now is for you to realise that I’m here to help, at a cheap cost which we’ll cover later, and that you put your full trust in me.”

Horace felt hypnotised. “I’m a bad boy,” he confided. “I have awful thoughts and wants, and I’m losing the power to keep them under control.” 

“I know, Horace,” the man said, smiling, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “We’ll sort you out, don’t worry.”

Horace shook his head. “I think it was a mistake coming here,” he said, drinking in his surroundings, eyeing the shelves upon shelves of pornographic DVDs, sex toys, dildos, BDSM gear, ball gags, wigs, crops, whips and everything else he could imagine. “You can’t sell me what I need! I need professional help, goddamn it!” 

“Calm yourself, Horace. Please. There’s no need to get your panties into bunches,” the man laughed. “Now, come over to my desk – I have something for you.”

“Excuse me, Mr DeVile?” A weak voice called from behind. 

When Horace turned to look, he saw a short, balding man standing there. What’s he clutching?

“Oh, I thought you’d departed, Mr Harpis. My apologies.”

“Can I have a word? In private.”

“Of course,” DeVile said. “What is it?”

“Are you sure I can cruise by schools and do as I wish without getting in trouble?” Harpis said, his voice low, but Horace could hear all the same. “I’ve been good for so long now that I don’t want to get in trouble for acting on my fantasies. You did say it would be okay!”

DeVile laughed. “Go. Go indulge. Your actions will not land you in hot water. I promise. Just, don’t forget my payment, there’s a good man.”

When the little guy shuffled off, pushing his glasses back up his nose, Horace turned to DeVile. “That man’s a paedo—”

DeVile held his hands up. “That he may be. But and I guarantee you this, I’ve sold him a package that will allow him to release his demons safely. No harm will come of anyone. Just like I’ve sold packages to those with necrophilia, rape, murder and a whole host of other sexual tendencies.”

Briefly, Horace’s mind snapped to his own family, his baby son giggling in his swing chair, as his wife stared vacantly out the window, with bleary eyes, blankly waving the oldest off to school. She was so absent these days, especially to him, he didn’t understand this is the life she wanted, not me… then he thought of the only time she seemed alive now, with the child latched on to her big darkened nipples. His cock stirred again, pushing against his jeans, like a trapped animal, “and that’s what you plan to do for me?”

DeVile smiled. “Of course. It is, after all, why you came here?”

Horace wanted to back off. This can’t be right. What’s going on here?

“Come closer, Horace.”

When DeVile stooped to retrieve something, Horace turned to run but was stopped when he heard a thud. 

“This… is your package, Horace.”

Horace turned, his eyes immediately drawing to the black, medium-sized box with a red bow wrapped around it on top of the man’s counter. “Take it with you. You won’t be disappointed,” DeVile said, pushing the parcel towards Horace. “I offer a 30 day no satisfaction policy. So, if you’re not happy, just bring it back. No fee required.”

“And if I do like it?”

DeVile smiled. “If you do, then I’ll want paying. A little something in return for relieving you of such a terrible burden…”


Leaving the seedy alley, another snap cracked through the darkening clouds, bringing with it an onslaught of spider-web-like lightning as backdrop to the torrential rain, lashing mercilessly at the street. He made it back to the Volvo and placed his box on the passenger seat. How am I going to get what I need from the contents of this box? Like everything in life, this will be another disappointment… he was almost sure of it. I’ve been a fool to come here. What a dirty, filthy perv! No woman wants this kind of ‘bad boy’. What choice did he have but to try this?

The rain pounded at the windows, rattling the metal roof; he was caught in static contemplation. As the pelting slowed, he checked his phone — the only messages were one from his wife reminding him to pick up milk and oatmeal and a notification that his favourite ‘Only Fans’ performer was doing a special show soon, for all her ‘special babies’. It just wasn’t enough… not anymore, if it ever was.

The orange streetlight flickered overhead; a failing engine stuttering to start before it submitted to its failure. He clicked through the camera roll into videos. Biting his lower lip, Horace thumbed up until he saw what he wanted. He drew down his zipper and freed his prick into the near-open air of the family car. He pressed play: The camera view is from the dresser, adjacent to their sensible double divan. Addy is asleep, her heavy breasts free of her open nighty, a damp puddle of milk staining the sheet. Horace naked before her; she looks like an Angel. He peels back the light damask printed sheet revealing the delicious slopes of her body. Kneeling before her, he opens his mouth wide and takes in her breast. Miraculously she barely stirs, only grunts in her sleep. As he watches the replay, Horace fondles and squeezes his balls. His breathing becoming ragged as the memory of the sweet watery fluid coating his tongue, filling his mouth pours through his cerebellum. He pulls his warm palm up, gripping his shaft and pumps, furiously milking himself… if she knew how he wanted her, if anyone knew… he was a very bad boy indeed. He imagined her talking to him, cooing over his head like she did that damned baby… “fuck, yes mummy,” he whispered, deep and low as he pumped his fist up and down faster. Slick with pre-cum, he watches himself sucking and wanking in his secret video, his arse clenched and bicep rising and falling. In the car, he stifled his orgasm, turning and biting into his own shoulder, shooting his thick creamy load into his hand.

Flicking his eyes open, Horace jumped back, seeing the long face of DeVile grinning sinister back at him through the rain, a wavering shimmer or red outlining his lanky form, what the fuck… Squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, DeVile was gone. “You’re losing it, man, get a grip! Time to get going.” With nothing to wipe it on, he sucked down the thick white salty spunk and tucked his prick back into his trousers. Why couldn’t my milk taste as good as hers… With that, he pulled on his belt and started up the car, eager to get home and unwrap his package.


It took him two weeks to work up the courage and have the solitude to actually open the mysterious black box. How could he even know what I want? How can what I want be inside this box? I don’t even know what I want… maybe the impossible. Unfastening the ribbon, he lifted the deep black lid. Inside, a puff of red dust rose up and pummelled itself into his eyeballs. Horace fell back off the bed where he had been perched, thumping his head off the corner of the dresser.

Pulling himself up to sit, Horace rubbed the back of his head, coming away with a wet smear of crimson across his hand. Fuck. He felt dizzy, almost separate from his body; pain swelled at the back of his skull, thumping as thunder boomed within his temple. He used the bed to pull himself up and peer into the box. Using his bloodied hand, he removed a dark crystal skull. It was heavy and carved with intricate mystical symbols and ruins— none of which he was familiar. He peered into the sockets and became mesmerised; inky galactic swirls began to move within this peculiar artefact, hypnotic. The lower jaw dropped open, and a blinding white light emitted from the gaping maw and its cavernous sockets – shooting straight into his eyeballs. His soul burned as if being torn from his body. Within the light, DeVile’s sinister face materialised, eyebrows arched in sadistic points over black eyes… “The exchange shall be done.” His sardonic laugh boomed around the room as if from a megaphone.

At that, the pain scorched through his entire body, an erupting of magma ran through his core as he collapsed and seized, emptying his bladder and bowels all over the plush cream carpet.


Addy was crying, her bleary eyes now pouring. He gazed at her confused, then he saw the body… his body being strapped down and placed upon a stretcher by three men – he recognised one of them, Mr Harpis, what’s that paedo doing in my house?! He thought. A low deep voice came from the doorway. “I’m so sorry for your loss Mrs Parker. If you just sign here, we’ll take care of everything.”

DeVile?! His eyes landed on Horace’s, “I can hold him if you like, while you sign and say goodbye.”

Goodbye?! What is he talking about, the creepy, lanky bastard. It was then Horace looked down. He could barely control his head as DeVile’s arms came into contact with his body. He watched Addy crying, stroking his face as he lay drooling on the stretcher.

“The exchange is complete, Horace. Don’t worry about the infant on the stretcher. I know just the client that package will be perfect for.”


As he gazed up, sucking insatiably on his wife’s engorged milky tit… he finally felt complete. He felt her nipple elongate as he sucked, it nestled tight against his soft pallet as the warm milky goodness squirted into his throat, he was so excited his whole body felt it may explode, biting down – a reflex, well, maybe it was the first time, now he liked it. She squirted harder when his gums clammed shut, and he liked the way she jumped. She squealed and patted his rump, “Ouch! Naughty boy!”

She was right, he really was… her naughty boy.

2 thoughts on “David Owain Hughes & Natasha Sinclair

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