Simp

Chapter 01: Daddy

Sex made sense. At its baser instincts, the internal monster—so intent on driving him to the brink of madness—was nothing more than a senseless animal. And being an animal, he could understand. Animals, after all, were so easy to satisfy.

It was in the middle of a depression-induced panic attack when he got the urge to distract himself by looking at pictures of naked women. Of course, he found that amusing such curiosities were what often turned his thoughts so morbid in the first place, but it inevitably worked. The sudden shift in consciousness became a mind-bending experience.

Moments prior, he found himself in a world that wasn't his own. Chest pain had hit him like a ton of bricks. Its pressure was so intense that he swore he felt his heart rupture. He toppled over clutching his throat and gasping for air as his guilty conscience brutally crushed his skull against the cold marble floor.

If there was one thing that could save him, it was a great pair of tits. His pulse steadied the moment he opened the LoveBox app on his mLink, the soft glow of its blue light washing over his face like a familiar, intimate lover.

Didn't they know it was the end of the world? That they'd been robbed of their humanity? They had to sense it. They weren't total idiots. They weren't completely irrational either. Yet, despite every indication they truly hadn't a clue. That or they didn't care.

It was a fact they all knew and yet... didn't know. Self-interest disguised itself as socialistic values. Murderers masqueraded as victims—and people chose their sides! Behold thy glorious empire of disinformation!

Once the fire started, they couldn't put it out. It burned with the fury of a thousand suns, brought on by something as simple as the desire to live securely—a problem more complicated than morality alone. It was a world propelled by heroic greed and righteous paranoia, one that dictated value by marginalizing a clear loser. An ironic paradox lodged between both natural disorder and unnatural order. A universal wave of identity crises, each one desperately trying to escape its ever-changing, self-loathsome reality. Unintelligent and intelligent design cousin fucking on a moldy mattress sold as a luxury bed set.

Somehow, it was all his fault—that was enough to drive anyone fucking insane.

So, doing all he could to keep the sense of doom at bay, Josh Triller—co-founder of Mama, beloved husband, and father—performed his due diligence in the semi-privacy of his study. Given his deteriorating mental state, he realized it had been quite some time since he had felt any arousal. He had forgotten the healing nature of self-compassion and tenderness.

Even so, in his vulnerable condition, he worried his wormy sounds would carry themselves out the open door, down the marble corridors, and into the chambers of his ninety million-dollar sprawling townhouse.

The cleaning staff were sure to be making their morning rounds. The probability of humiliation brought him nowhere closer to his goal. He felt the icy breath of fear return to stalk him like a predator sending a chill down his spine. He tried not to whimper.

To add to his frustrations, he waited for his porn nowadays. He found himself staring at direct messages from a popular e-girl whose profile he frequented through various accounts in the past because he couldn't get off by streaming it for free anymore. That was too elementary.

He needed something more interactive. Something that would immerse him completely. Something that could make him feel alive again, if only for a moment.

Part of it wasn't even about the sex. Making himself pay for risqué digital content was like a masochist's wet dream. He mainly enjoyed watching the scam unfold. It was like diving into chummed water. Eventually, a predator has to eat. He was simply nature-watching in the nude—and if, for whatever reason, he got his dick bitten off and bled out onto the floor, so be it.