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The darkness crept as it always does against the rise of the sun. The darkness crept it's slow and patient movement toward the house that stood upon the hill. This house was home to a simple a family, a nice family by all appearances. Inside was a father who was loving and true, then there was the mother who was caring and kind. Finally there was the son, to say he was the perfect son would be like saying that grass is green.

This boy, an age only just barely above sixteen had never once gave his parents a problem or in some way shape or form caused them to lose standing in their lovely sweet little town. Yet as anyone knows, there is always a darker side to every picture and this picture perfect had some skeletons of their own. As darkness was always prevalent in the world, so to was darkness prevalent in this household.

The father, far from being loving was in fact quite abusive towards his wife. Every night he would hit her for the slightest of transgressions. He treated her as he had watched his father treat his mother; it was all he know how to treat a woman and though he never did it in public since as his father said, "It is improper to hit a woman in public." He would make her pay twice fold in beatings in private for what she did in public. If that was all he did though there wouldn't be too much of a problem as I'm sure many of you would agree.

It was what else he did that made it so much more worse. Deep down, this father was not straight and though he struggled each day with it, each night after teaching his wife her place he'd leave for those places that are in every town. They were secretive places where men could come to let loose and accept that part of them that God in his idiot wisdom banned, homoerotic-ism. Each night he'd go, and each night would be a different male. But even worse than that was the fact that he was a catcher! He was not masculine enough around these males to stand up and claim one's ass not even since the first day he arrived. Still though he'd go to these places, and when he came home his loving and perfect would look the other way, one out of fear and the other out of... Other reasons.

What did the caring and kind mother do during her "true and loving" husband's escapades? She drank, and when she drank the facade of kindness fell. Every night while the father was gone, she'd turn her anger at the abuses piled upon herself toward her son. Despite the son being strong for his age, he'd do nothing to his mother and take her abuses which would range from beatings to verbal assault. She'd belittled his achievements and expect even more from him and yet still it would not be enough to save him from the lashings of the horse riding crop that was kept in the house for the father to use on her and for the mother to use on him.

Surly though the son deserved it, did he not? Of course without he wouldn't be so perfect but that wasn't all that she'd do to her son. For her son was not a virgin though he had no girlfriend. Because her husband had never loved her as a woman and wouldn't even look at her, she took it on herself to find that carnal pleasure in her son. Every night, carrying the riding crop into the room she'd force her son to mount her and mate with her while she laid down lashings with the crop that would bruise and blister his thighs and ass. Her screams of pleasure would bring envy to her neighbors who believed her husband was that "masculine" in bed. Instead the truth was that they were the screams of a dominatrix mother who was getting off on holding power over her perfect son.

Where was the son in all this you ask? This perfect son, one who never spoke out against what his mother did. One who took the abuses and the pains and shouldered it all with a solemn attitude. He was breaking, his heart growing heavy and becoming unable to shoulder the burdens that were placed on him. In school he was a perfect grade student and perfect in sports. No one could beat him at anything and no one could out smart him. He could even run circles around some of his teachers with his knowledge. If he had been born in a different family, a different life he'd have probably been an award winning genius. But the world is unkind and this boy of such potential was losing his mind amidst the madness of his family. What could he do though to stop it?

As the darkness of night crept upon the house, the perfect little house upon the hill, inside the father was starting his abuses as soon as he came home. Tonight the mother had forgotten to brew father's tea just right so the riding crop was out and the lashings were landing upon her flesh with voracious intensity, each hit causing welts to spring upward and form to bruise and hurt for a full day afterward. While this was going on the son was finishing the preparations for the tea like a good little perfect boy. But tonight something was different, tonight he was adding something extra to the tea, something to cause change.

Delivering the tea, two cups, he handed one cup to his father brewed just the way he likes. As a good son though he also made some for his mother. Though it wasn't normal to give tea to her, his father didn't care to notice since he busied himself with drinking such perfectly made tea. It was in fact extra tasty than normal, of course as expected of his perfect son.

His mother though was more wary yet with her husband extolling how good the tea was she was not foolish enough to not drink the tea so took it and drank it slowly. But the taste was too good! In no time at all she was guzzling it down with a great thirst.

The father fell first, his body sagging as it relaxed and the tea cup falling to the floor to land with a crash. The crash startled the mother who stared wide eyed as her husband fell to the ground and started to say something but was soon following him and collapsed as well. The son, who looked down at his unconscious parents, gazed down at them with a look of cold and calculated quiet. Even in knocking out his parents he had done it perfect. But that was only the first step and it would be a very long night before he was through with his imperfect family. He'd make them as perfect as him, one step at a time.