Sure, stick it in wherever you want; hurt me any way that’s to your liking; you can even beat the crap out of me. I don’t mind. You are, after all, the paying customer, so it’s okay to physically abuse me in any way that satisfies your sadistic whims.
Seeing his car roaming the backstreets, they disappeared into the alleyways. A balding, pot-bellied psychopath was hardly their idea of a heroic knight. Joseph Müller was running out of willing participants and begrudgingly paid two or three times the normal rate.
Müller convinced himself that hookers should be thankful they were sought-after by such an important government official. They didn’t understand what it was like to be in a position of power, but he was too dim-witted to realise that it was the hookers with the real power. Those that were still willing to accommodate his needs had it all figured out. They were so good at what they did, that most times Müller ended up ejaculating before he even got his pants below his ankles. And for his ten seconds of unsatisfying ecstasy, he was charged two hundred dollars◦– up front.
Joseph Müller, a weak and fragile young boy, was the result of being an only child raised by an accommodating and over-protective mother. Mrs. Müller was a striking woman, maintaining her youthful appearance through conscientious diet and exercise. As far back as he could remember, Joseph’s mother constantly reiterated on how special and perfect he was. It conditioned him for the rest of his life. If something went bad for Joseph, it was obviously someone else that was to blame. By the time he reached his early teens, he had learned how easy it was to manipulate others to his will through lies and trickery.
It started simply enough. When he was about five years old, he broke a priceless vase playing football in the house. It was obviously not his fault; the maid shouldn’t have put it on that particular mantelpiece in the first place. He relished watching his mother give her a firm telling off. Walking past Joseph, the maid looked down at him with a forlorn expression. He squinted at her, pulled out his tongue, and strutted away.
Joseph had found a new game; break things around the house and invent ways to blame the hired help. He started putting valuable ornaments and family heirlooms on the edges of tables and shelves then went crying to his mother, saying that the maid was doing things to deliberately get him into trouble. She was fired without severance. Walking with her few belongings down the driveway, the maid turned her head and took one last look at the Müller’s home. From his bedroom upstairs, Joseph sneered back at her with callous pleasure.
Deceit and lies came naturally to Joseph. He delighted in the control it gave him over others.
The prized football wasn’t Joseph’s only favourite toy to play with around the house. Like all boys of his age, he had one much closer at hand◦– between his legs. He played with it continuously but was too young to feel any pleasurable sensations. He just liked watching it go hard. He wondered why it did that.
If a child in the local playground had a toy, Joseph wanted it immediately. He threw a temper tantrum and his mother promised to buy him one of his very own. But he didn’t want his own; he wanted the one the other child had. In fact, he wanted all the toys the other children had, and if he couldn’t have them, he broke them.
Joseph reached sexual maturity at an early age and got his first thrills spying on a particularly young domestic employee; the latest in a long line engaged by the Müller household. Their stately old mansion had doors with keyholes; keys having been lost years ago. It gave Joseph an unobstructed view when she undressed in her bedroom at night.
After a good look at the voluptuous young woman with her stiff breasts and hard nipples, Joseph would rush to his own bedroom. Images and fantasies firmly implanted in his youthful mind, the excitement frequently resulted in disappointment. Premature ejaculation was often an unwelcomed guest before he even had the opportunity of closing his door.
Brazen enough in his self-confidence, he decided that taking himself in hand while looking through the keyhole was far more satisfying.
Until his mother walked in.
Joseph didn’t miss a single stroke and vigorously finished his business. Why should he even be embarrassed, he certainly wasn’t accountable for his fledgling impulses, was he? He blatantly lied to his mother, instantly fabricating a story that the maid had invited him to peek whenever he wished; understanding that all young men had certain needs.
Of course, Mrs. Müller believed this fanciful tale. Her faultless son would never utter untruths to her, not his mother who had raised him so well. The maid, oblivious of the whole affair, was fired on the spot. Joseph did notice that the next unfortunate to enter into a short-lived occupation with the Müllers was somewhat older.
Mrs. Müller didn’t discipline Joseph at that time. She too understood the adjustments his testosterone charged adolescence was going through.
Joseph’s father, J. Levin Müller, was a good provider and faithful husband. Taking his political career very seriously, he spent most of his days in Washington DC. Besides Manuel, the young groundskeeper who he greeted regularly, there always seemed to be new maids or gardeners when he came home for those few days every month. He didn’t question it, assuming that the domestics were simply incompetent. The running of the household was not his concern.
From age fifteen onwards, Joseph had no further need of self-indulgence; he was getting all the sex he wanted.
From his mother.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mrs. Müller, in her infinite wisdom, reasoned that it would be in Joseph’s best interests to teach him at an early age on becoming a good lover. Well, that was her justification, but it also fulfilled what she wasn’t getting from her career-minded husband. She also had an insatiable sexual appetite. She coached Joseph on being as demanding as he wanted. Women respected men who took control. She taught him what to expect when women used their mouths. Normally, Mrs. Müller would saunter to the washroom and flush Joseph’s few moments of ecstasy down the sink, but on one such occasion, deposited it into a previously prepared glass vial. It would be on its way to the local Baltimore Sperm Bank early the next day. She reckoned that it may prove useful in the future.
Mrs. Müller revelled in the prestige afforded to the wife of the Secretary of State, but was adamant that the bloodline should be kept on her side of the family. In looks, Joseph resembled neither his mother or his father, and as he got older, matured into the splitting image of Mrs. Müller`s short, portly and balding older brother. It was from both his mother and natural father that Joseph inherited his narcissistic nature, and most likely, his psychosis.
Joseph drifted through high school with very little effort required on his part, plagiarising work from his classmates and convincing the teachers that they had copied from him. He had no friends, but then he didn’t need any. To Joseph, others were simply tools of convenience.
His urgent need for sex was amplified on days when he got others into serious trouble. On one such occasion, he even managed to get a student expelled. He had an erection all the way home on the bus. He didn’t even bother to hide it, but no one sat anywhere near him either. Once home, he raced through the front door and called for his mother.
Joseph had urgent desires.
Hearing no answer, he rushed through the patio door into the courtyard, having an idea of where she might be. He was right, but for a moment his mind was fraught with uncertainty. She was floating naked and motionless in their secluded pool.