Chapter 1: The First Hit

Alex pushed through the front door of the quiet suburban house, the late-afternoon sun slanting through the blinds and striping the hallway in gold. Tuesday had dragged like every other day of senior year—endless lectures, half-finished notes, the low hum of teenage restlessness under his skin. At eighteen he was still the same kid he’d always been: backpack slung heavy with textbooks, report card pinned to his bedroom wall showing steady B+ grades, room a comfortable mess of sneakers and gaming controllers. Horny in that vague, everyday way that ended with a quick stroke in the shower and nothing more. Nothing twisted. Nothing dangerous.

At breakfast that morning Lisa had laughed about it again, her voice light and teasing over coffee. “I swear someone’s stealing my panties, Alex. My favorite black pair keeps vanishing from the hamper. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” She’d winked, ponytail swinging, but the words had lodged in his chest like a small, guilty hook. He’d muttered “No, Mom,” cheeks warm, and pushed the thought away. Just her usual joke. Nothing more.

Dad had flown out that morning for a two-week business trip, the house now echoing with empty silence. Lisa—his stepmom, the gym-rat who kept the fridge stocked and the laundry spinning—would still be at spin class. Alex tossed his backpack against the wall and headed for the laundry room, craving clean boxers after a long day. The fluorescent light buzzed on. That’s when he saw it: Lisa’s gym bag, unzipped and gaping on the floor like it had been dropped in a hurry.

“Mom’s probably still at the gym,” he muttered, reaching to shove it aside. His fingers brushed something soft. Still warm.

He paused. Curiosity, nothing more. He tugged the item free.

Black lace panties. The exact pair she’d worn to her morning spin class two hours earlier. The fabric was delicate yet heavy with use—thin straps, a cotton gusset slightly damp at the center. Faint white streaks traced the crotch like dried cream, mixed with the darker sheen of fresh sweat. The material still held body heat, almost pulsing against his palm. He lifted them closer without thinking.