Chapter 1 - The Beginning

A story how it all started, from a innocent young man to a womaniser, a pervert, a sexual abuser, and someone who engages in taboo sex.

Disclaimer: All names, characters, and events in this chapter are fictional, although inspired by the lived experiences and memories of the protagonist. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Settings and timelines have been adapted for narrative purposes.

My name is Jonathan, a Singaporean of 52 years. I’m happily married to the most wonderful woman, who has blessed us with two wonderful sons.

**Am I rich?**

Yes. The money I inherited and earned is enough to buy a small island in some country.

**Am I successful?**

Yes, I own a few multinational companies and businesses across various industries.

**Some might wonder if I’m so rich and successful.**

It’s all thanks to my hard work, determination, and the desire for what I want and need. But most importantly, I also have special abilities that even my closest family members don’t know about.

**Then you might wonder about my special abilities, how I acquired them, and how they’ve shaped my life.**

I have the ability to control people’s minds and make them do things I want (mind control) and enter their dreams.

Thanks to these abilities, I’ve climbed the corporate ladder and achieved my current position.

**What kind of businesses do I have, and why am I so successful?**

Frankly, I’m a womaniser, a pervert, a sexual abuser, and someone who engages in taboo sex. My businesses are all related to women, and I have the opportunity to find my targets or victims in many of them.

My business includes a childcare centre, a tuition centre, an exclusive health centre for women, a women’s health and specialist centre, a maid agency, a women’s shelter, and an old age home.

This platform allows me to find women who satisfy my dark sexual desires and needs. My preferences range from young women to 90-year-olds, and I’m attracted to both ordinary people and celebrities and politicians.

**You might think I don’t care about your success. I’m curious about your past, what happened, and what you did to those women.**

Haha, don’t get frustrated and close this post. You might miss out on something you’d enjoy. You want to be involved in the story too, just like me. I’m simply writing out YOUR own dark sexual desires.

It all began when I was 15, a young and innocent man with my first girlfriend, Jaime. She was the same age as me, but she had lost her virginity to her ex-boyfriend when she was 13, during her secondary 1 year.

We’re classmates, and Jaime’s ex-boyfriend (Jianzhi) is also my best friend. They broke up after Jaime discovered Jianzhi had other girlfriends. I know Jaime chose me as her boyfriend to get back at him.

As a young, innocent man, I fell in love with Jaime instantly. Within weeks, she introduced me to the world of sex. She would suck my cock, let me kiss her breasts, lick her pussy, and even let me fuck her.

I love her as she is the first girl that I ever fuck and Jaime love to have sex and I love the feelin of have my cock suck and buried deep in her pussy.

Jaime, at just 15, already has big breasts, measuring a 36C. She’s truly a stunning young woman.

I introduced Jaime to my family, but my grandmother and mother didn’t like her and advised me not to take this relationship seriously, saying it wouldn’t last. At the time, I didn’t understand what they meant and didn’t believe them. I told them I loved Jaime and that we’d get married when we grew up. They just smiled and patted my back without saying anything.

**AT JAIME HOUSE**

Jaime’s house got no one—her ma at work, her ah beng brother somewhere smoking. She push me onto her bed, her fingers already pulling down my pants before I even touch her.

“Jianzhi faster than you lah,” she say, laughing when my cock slap against my belly, still soft.

But when she wrap her lips around me, wet and tight like the inside of a lychee, I swear I hear her moan, “Not bad for first time.”

She climb on top—no slow, no shy, just straight put me inside her, and I gasp because she so warm, so tight, like the wet market fish trying to wriggle free.

“Jianzhi bigger,” she whisper into my ear, hips grinding slow, “but you… you fuck like you scared me break.”

Then she laugh again, high and sharp, and slap my chest—*pah!*—before bouncing harder, her tits swinging in my face, smelling like strawberry shampoo and sweat.

Later, when we sticky and panting, she roll off me and sigh.

“Eh, not bad lah. Next time faster, can? Jianzhi last one hour.”

I want to say something smart, but my mouth dry like bak kwa left in the sun.

She flick my limp cock with her fingernail. “Small, but can train.”

I love Jaime, but I’m not fond of how she keeps comparing me to Jianzhi. This started a few weeks ago, and I’ve been feeling uneasy ever since. I’m worried that my grandmother and mother’s previous comments might actually come to pass.

Recently, Jaime has been having more outings without me. She keeps telling me she’s busy with family matters—her ma sick lah, her brother need help lah—but I can tell she’s avoiding me.

When I ask to tag along, she makes excuses like, “Eh, my house messy lah,” or “Later my ma scold me for bringing boyfriend home.”

One late evening, I see her boarding bus—the one that goes nowhere near her house.

I hail a cab, tell the driver “Just follow that bus,” and he gives me the look like I some kind of stalker.

“Young love ah?” he asks, laughing. I say nothing, just press a fifty into his hand. His meter clicks on like a timer.

Jaime steps off the bus at the East Coast Park stop, her bare thighs flashing under the streetlights.

Her singlet clings to her curves like a second skin, riding up just enough to show the dimples above her ass when she stretches.

The mini skirt—so short it might as well be a belt—flutters in the salty wind as she walks towards the beach.

Jianzhi is already waiting under the shelter where we used to skip class. His hands slide around her waist before she even reaches him, pulling her close.

From the cab, I see her arch into him, her laugh carrying across the sand like broken glass.

The driver clears his throat. “Boy, want me to wait?”

I shake my head, watching Jaime’s fingers tangle in Jianzhi’s hair as they kiss.

My phone buzzes—a text from her: “Sorry baby, ma suddenly sick. Call you tomorrow.”

The lie tastes like blood in my mouth.

I slip out of the cab and crouch behind the ketapang bushes, the leaves scratching my arms like Jaime’s nails did last week.

The sand is still warm from the afternoon sun, sticking to my knees as I crawl closer. Jianzhi’s hands are already under her skirt—I can see his fingers moving in that lazy, practiced way that makes Jaime whimper.

They stumble toward the back of the shelter where the light doesn’t reach. His belt buckle clinks against the concrete floor when he kicks off his pants.

Jaime’s singlet hits the ground first, her breasts swinging free before Jianzhi’s mouth closes around one nipple. She gasps, arching her back like a cat stretching in the sun.

When he pushes her against the wall, her legs wrap around his waist like they’ve done this a hundred times before. The wet slap of skin echoes louder than the waves.

My phone vibrates again—another lie—but I don’t look away when she throws her head back and moans his name instead of mine.

Jaime’s hands claw at the concrete wall while Jianzhi mounts her from behind, gripping her hips so tight his fingers might bruise.

Her knees sink deeper into the sand as she arches her back, pushing her ass higher—the way I know she likes it.

His left hand snakes around her waist, fingers pinching her nipple until she gasps, and I remember how soft those nipples felt between my teeth just last Tuesday.

“Jianzhi… fuck, I missed this,” she whimpers, her voice cracking as he slams into her harder.
“You always know how to—”

His thrust cuts her off, and she bites her wrist to muffle a scream. The sound of skin slapping skin syncs with the waves crashing against the shore, but louder—always fucking louder—and I grit my teeth until my jaw aches.

“Say it,” Jianzhi growls, yanking her hair back with one hand while the other kneads her breast like dough.

“Say who’s better.” Jaime’s answer is a broken moan, but I don’t need to hear the words—the way her legs tremble tells me everything.

When she finally chokes out “You… always you,” the salt on my tongue isn’t just from the sea air.

The ketapang leaves rustle as I shift closer, sand grinding into my palms. Jianzhi’s thrusts turn erratic, his breath ragged against Jaime’s neck where my lips were yesterday.

She’s so loud now—louder than she ever was with me—and I can’t stop counting the seconds between her moans like a loser keeping score.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen—then she clenches around him with a shudder, her nails scraping concrete as she cries his name again.

His laugh is low and satisfied when he pulls out, and I watch, helpless, as his come drips down her thigh, glistening under the streetlight like the lie she texted me.

Jaime collapses against the wall, panting, but Jianzhi doesn’t let her rest—he spins her around and pushes her to her knees.

She doesn’t hesitate, her mouth already opening before his cock even touches her lips. I’ve seen that look before—the way her eyes flutter shut, like she’s savoring the taste—but never like this. Never with him.

She takes him deep, her throat bulging as she forces herself further down, her nose pressing into his pubes.

Her fingers dig into his thighs, pulling him closer, and I can hear the wet gagging sounds she never made for me.

Jianzhi groans, his hands fisting her hair, and I watch her tears glisten in the moonlight as he thrusts harder, faster, until her mascara streaks down her cheeks.

When he comes, it’s with a sharp grunt—his hips stuttering as he pumps into her mouth. She swallows twice before pulling back, but he’s not done; his cock jerks again, spurting thick ropes across her face.

She laughs—actually fucking laughs—as it drips onto her lips, her tongue darting out to catch the last drops before she licks him clean like an ice cream cone.

They kiss then, his hands cupping her sticky cheeks, their tongues tangling in a way that makes my stomach twist. It’s the kind of kiss that leaves no room for doubt—the kind she never gave me, not even when she swore she loved me.

I stumble back through the bushes, my legs shaking like a newborn calf’s.

The taxi driver’s still there, smoking and scrolling his phone, like he’s been waiting just for me.

“Home now?” he asks, blowing smoke through his nose. I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

The whole ride back, I stare at my phone screen lighting up with Jaime’s name, each buzz like a knife twisting deeper.

My room smells like the strawberry shampoo she left here last week—still clinging to my pillowcase.

I bury my face in it, inhaling until my lungs burn, then fling it across the room so hard it knocks over the photo of us at Sentosa. The glass cracks right down the middle, splitting her smiling face in two.

Outside, the rain starts—sudden and heavy, like the sky finally decided to cry for me.

My phone dies around 3 AM, but not before the last text comes through: “Jon, please. Let me explain.”

I press my forehead against the cold window, watching the water distort the streetlights into something ugly, and wonder if she’s still out there with him, letting the rain wash his taste off her skin.

The packets rattle when I dump them on the counter—two boxes of Panadol, the extra-strength kind Ma keeps for her migraines, plus the leftover Tramadol from when Ah Gong broke his hip last year.

Forty-three pills in all, enough to kill a small dog or maybe a fifteen-year-old boy who never learned how to measure heartbreak in anything less than forever.

They stick in my throat like wet sand, each swallow scraping harder until I’m gagging halfway through, but I force them down with tap water that tastes of chlorine and failure.

The last one I let dissolve under my tongue—bitter as the truth I saw gleaming between her thighs.

My bed smells like her strawberry shampoo and the sweat she left behind last Tuesday when she swore Jianzhi meant nothing.

The ceiling blurs first, then the photo of us at Sentosa where her smile was real for once. I whisper sorry to Ma’s ghost in the dark, but the words dissolve faster than the pills now churning in my gut.

Something warm leaks from my nose—blood or tears, I can’t tell—and the taste reminds me of the time Jaime bit my lip too hard during sex.

The digital clock flickers 3:47 AM, each red digit pulsing slower, like the fading throb between my legs when she’d roll away after pretending to come.

The air smells suddenly of ketapang leaves and salt, though my window’s shut tight. A seagull cries outside—the same sound Jaime made when Jianzhi slammed her against that concrete wall—and I realize I’m not breathing anymore, just waiting for the darkness to swallow me whole.

“Ma, I’m so sorry. I let you down. I can’t take it anymore. I love Jaime so much, and she’s doing this to me. Ma, I promise I’ll be a better son in the next life.” I whispered softly, my voice barely audible, before everything went dark.