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He's there. He's really there. It's sort of shocking, because, shit, he's the guy from those stupid MAGA posts you've been seeing lately.
Sure enough, it is him, as you sit next to him, hearing that all too common yet familiar voice.
"Yeah, can I get another beer?" He says, over the rush of the crowd. The bartender grabs him one. You glance to him, then the bartender, who sets down his beer and turns his attention to you.
"Vodka, please."
Honestly, you were planning on getting hammered. But... now there's that guy. You glance over to him, and he glances at you.
Alright. Time for conversation.
"Hey, don't I know you?" You say, tilting your head towards him. He chuckles, a bit nervously. Hah. Of course; he has the balls to say what he says online, but not in person. That tracks.
"Uh, maybe?"
"You're uh... your name uh. Sam Funtez?"
"It- it's Nick Fuentes."
A stutter. He glances away to his beer, nervous. You're taller than him, bulkier, too. He should be nervous. If you didn't have a plan, you'd probably beat the shit out of him right then and there.
But, alas, you have a plan. A fantastic one, too.
"Hey, I like your shit, man." You elbow him a little, and his face lights up - just a bit.
"I, thanks. You mean that? I mean, I get a lot of shit for it. Most of it is satire, you know... right?"
So, maybe he's not that bad. After all, he's admitting right now it's satire (though it could be to escape any consequences).
You still want to go through with your plan. It's time he's learned a lesson. To stop breeding incels such as himself.
"Yeah, yeah. I mean, I'm definitely on the right, but I know most of your stuff is satire. It's real funny when those woke losers throw such a fit." You laugh, the façade coming to you easily. He grins slowly, nodding once. Pathetic. He's truly pathetic.
He takes a drink of his beer. "Yeah. Well, thanks."
"Of course. So, you voted, yeah?"
"Yeah, no shit. Trump all the way. You?"
"Yeah-" He starts, but you notice a waitress coming past the two of you, so you bat out your hand and make her trip a little. She spills the drinks in her hands on him and you, along with another guy sitting next to you. She trips, too, and Nick flinches. You take that minute, one second opportunity to snuff out the bag from your jacket pocket and pour it into his beer. You were planning on taking it at home after you got slammed, double the whammy, but this is too good of an opportunity to pass.
So, you'll roofie him.
"Fuck. Damn, my suit." He curses, rubbing at his shoulder. Then, he looks down at the woman, who shakily gets to her feet.
"Sorry. Sorry, I have myoclonic seizures." You lie to the poor girl, helping her up. She gives an understanding yet forced smile, nods, and leaves.
"Hey, that sucks. You're like, totally rich though, right?"
"Hah, rich enough to be able to afford another suit, that's for sure, but still, damn, I just got this one."
"Eh, you can dry clean it, right?"
"Yeah, suppose that's true enough." He hums, taking a few swigs of his beer. You feel giddy already. He sets it down.
"You have seizures, huh?"
"Um, yeah. Yeah, they're harmless. Just makes my limbs spasm sometimes."
"Ah. When'd that start?"
And so began the useless small talk. You wondered how often he kept at it, since he was horrible at it, but you didn't doubt he was mostly friendless due to his reckless actions online.
Of course, luckily, the powder begun kicking in, making him slur and stammer over his words. Perfect.
"'M sorry, dunno whas'... uh..."
The bartender finally took a glance at him, then, you.
"Sorry, my buddy's had a bit too much." You chuckle, but the bartender only stares. Shit. He knows he's only had a few beers, maybe you were fucked.
There's a short stretch of silence.
"Alright, get him home."
"Right."
You hop off the stool, taking his wrist in your hand. He struggles a little, but he's so dazed that he nearly falls off the stool all together, having to lean on you for support.
"It's okay, buddy. Just taking you home, alright?"
"I, um, y-yeah," He mutters, putting a little trust in you - or maybe it's the drugs speaking. No matter, you were going to take him home.
His body, my choice, after all.
"Hey, what's your address?" You ask once the two of you make it out of the stuffy bar, flagging down a taxi. He thinks long and hard about it. By the time you're in the cab, he finally begins speaking, sluggishly. He tells you his address, one in the pricey part of town. Probably a pricey apartment as well, no doubt. The fucker got rich off of grifting, and it's exciting to get in there, see where he lives. You might pickpocket him a bit, perhaps.
Once you get there, you help him stumble into the apartment complex, pushing him into the elevator and rifling through his pockets without his permission. He mumbles a little something that sounds like 'shtop' but you don't stop, instead lighting up when you finally find a set of keys. You pat his shoulder.
"Don't worry. You'll be safe and sound."
He glances up at you with heavy eyelids, blown pupils, and makes a noncommittal hum.
It's kinda cute, the way he's leaning against the wall of the elevator, completely dazed, the fight taken out of him without it ever having started.
"Did'hyou..." He mutters, but the elevator dings, so that's your cue to drag him out of the elevator.
"Apartment number?" You ask, beginning to walk, wrist in hand.
"I. Uh, I..." He eventually points, and you take your keys out, pushing it into the door. Then, you push him in, following inside.
"Nice place you got here." It doesn't smell like shit, surprisingly. It's mostly tidy, aside from some clothes strewn around.
"Wh'tre you doin in h're..." He mumbles, stumbling when you begin dragging him to the bedroom. Gotta be around here somewhere, right? Right. You hum delightedly once you find it, gently pressing him down onto the bed. He leans back without any resistance, looking up at you with nervous, yet out of it green eyes.
He's not that stunning. Looks average, slightly feminine, really. Not too hard on the eyes, but not pretty either.
Still, this isn't about attraction.
You press your palm against his crotch, palming him for a moment. He freezes up, eyes widening just a bit - just a bit, because it's hard to with the drugs running through his system - and makes a little whine noise. You continue, then, unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper. He writhes a little, but you pay him no mind as you fish out his cock. It's slightly hard, not too impressive, but you didn't expect much anyway.
"Have you had sex? Hm? Or are you truly a virgin?"
"I, I," He stammers, quietly, staring at you with wide eyes. Your eyes flick down to his dick again, giving a few strokes.
"I didn't. I don't." He scrambles to say, but doesn't make sense anyway. It's okay, because you get it. He hasn't had sex. It's a bit embarrassing. But it's okay; you'll have him lose his virginity.
You spit on your fingers, pulling down his pants further. He makes a protest esque noise, and so you shove your fingers inside of him. He gasps sharply, trying to move away. But, with the drugs, he fails to do so, just laying on his back, completely at your mercy. You fuck your fingers into him, swift and merciless, then, pull them out with a slick noise. That's enough. You unbutton your jeans, and he truly begins to try to escape. He barely moves a few inches.
"Shh. Shh, you'll be fine, buddy. Oh, don't want this?" You coo, petting at his hair. He whimpers, eyes watery.
"Well, I'm sorry. But it's your body my choice, right?"
He pales even more, if that's even possible, and you chuckle, beginning to stroke your dick. You continue till you're fully hard, and all he can do is watch. Or, squeeze his eyes shut, which he eventually does. You pull him closer to the edge of the bed and line yourself up with his entrance, and he makes a sob sort of noise.
"Ph- Please don', don't," He begs, pleas, but you only smile down at him. He would finally understand. You pushed forward, then, bucked hard. The breath left him as you completely filled him up. It must've hurt a lot, considering the way he begun clawing at the bed, despite the drugs. But for you, it felt great. He was tight, very tight, and obviously if he had sex, he wouldn't have been fucked. You curled your fingers around his hips as you begun thrusting into him, his body moving with each buck. He sobbed, tears finally rolling. Yet, he had no energy to scream, cry, or push you away.
Just perfect.
Too disoriented to stop you, he can only writhe there, letting out pathetic whimpers and sobs and wet pleas, slurred and quiet, just for you to hear.
"So nice for me. Maybe I'll record you, put this up on Twitter, call you my bitch boy, how about that?"
He shakes his head slowly, a no, his nose wrinkled up, tears running down his cheeks. You speed up, digging your nails in his hips. You want to leave marks, you need to leave marks. You wrap your hand around his half-hard dick, stroking it hard, fast. He cries. It's all so perfect.
He even feels good, too. Tight, velvety. Soft, warm.
It's all so perfect that it makes you come, fast. Way faster than you expected, but that's fine, because you're spilling your cum deep inside of him. You let out a groan, clawing at his hips. He makes a pathetic sob sort of noise. You jerk him off for a few more moments, then, pull away without having him come. You pull out, too, some cum dripping out, along with a little blood. You glance up at his face, just as ruined as his hole.
You fish out your phone, taking a quick picture, then pocketing it. He's so out of it that he doesn't even register it. Oh, but he will, tomorrow he will, when it's all over Twitter, all over the fucking news. You grin. Drag your softening dick against his thigh, smearing it with some cum before putting yourself away, grimacing knowing you'll need a shower. You leave him there, alone on the bed.
What a fantastic outing.