Meat Puppets: Thriller

By Tom Knocker

In a godforsaken place in Siberia, a deeply fallen businessman abuses his three daughters. He tries to break the psyches of the young women. But is he really the strongest?

A hardcore thriller with the pace and suspense of a novella. Tom Knocker is a pseudonym of the German writer Thomas Neukum.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookRix
• Release date: May 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9783755441533

Book preview

TITEL INFORMATION

Tom Knocker

MEAT PUPPETS

Hardcore Thriller

This story is based on true events,

and the misogynistic truth is terrible.

Copyright 2023

PROLOGUE

Moscow, 1990

Ivan, dressed in black, stood in front of his wife's grave in the midst of his three small daughters and the mourners. The rain pattered and drowned the roses.

He did not listen to the bearded priest with the gold cross around his neck. He was godless. Thoughtfully, he looked down at his school-age daughters - Alena, Masha, Tessa - and nevertheless carried on an inner monologue with his deceased wife.

All three are as pretty as you. The pain and sadness make their wet faces even more lovely. Girl's and woman's tears are just fresh water, aren't they? You were a loving mother and as a woman you got over the fact that I cheated on you, admittedly. Yes, you didn't act as dismissive as my birther who, despite her laziness, never wanted to spend time and nerves on me as a child. Pah, served her right when my father decorated her thighs with a razor. Damn bitch!, Ivan thought.

His father and mother had died of natural causes, but unlike his parents-in-law, they were not buried here in the central cemetery. Why waste another thought on all that? Ivan never visited the graves of his elders or the rest of the rabble in the blocks of flats.

Therefore, it was not surprising that no relatives of the widower except his girls were present at this funeral. All the more people from his late wife's extended family showed up - even foreign cousins and uncles from Germany.

Although born in Moscow, Ivan's wife had been partly of Germanic blood. He, for his part, had once learned German. However, as he watched this funeral pass by in a saddened stupor and at the same time with strange feelings of mental coldness, Ivan only nodded when he was wished heartfelt condolences. His children clung to him, sobbing. All this forced those who had arrived to leave again. They still wanted to visit the Kremlin, and they might as well drag the priest with them.

Ivan turned away.

After all, half a dozen of his employees had also turned up with anthracite umbrellas and patent leather shoes. Ivan belonged to the board of directors of a company for men's and women's fashion, including immoral fur factories. Mind you, he would never become the owner of this brand with the initials JK.

As the ominous coincidence would have it, the initials of an ambitious employee of thirty-five years were also the same, without any relation to the owner, or at least there could be no question of blood ties. This still lively JK was also in the cemetery and enjoyed the company of a tall redhead with a pout. Around her shoulders was - of course - a fluffy sable fur. But why was she wearing sunglasses? The sky was cloudy.

As the lady stalked between the others to the luxury cars, Ivan and the same employee ducked their heads. The grass was grubby on both sides of the stone path and JK asked: "Your better half didn't suffer, did she? What do the medical profession call this thing in technical jargon? Apoplexy cerebri?"

Yes, a vascular occlusion in the brain, and it happened at night of all times, Ivan answered. When I woke up at dawn and she was lying rigid next to me, any help was too late.

I would like to say that she was too young for that, but our reasoning does not make fate more merciful. JK then let out a sigh, stopped and inquired with regard to the three girls, What are you going to do with them now?

Well, they're mine.

I get it. I'm just asking because you can't sit at their house every afternoon and raise them, can you? Are you going to get a nanny?

 Ivan did not like the tone of this preening employee. He was about to give him a corresponding answer when the redhead asked the widower with submissive shamelessness: May I smoke?

Obligingly, Ivan took a silver case out of his trousers, flipped it open and held it out to her. She took a cigarette and he gave her a light.

Thank you. The redhead sucked in the smoke, then blew it out with o-shaped lips and held the cigarette in an elegant pose.

Her companion eyed her from the side.

Regardless, she said to Ivan, If you need help, let us know. However, she pointed the fingertips of her free hand at herself alone, specifically at her shapely chest under the fur coat.

Come now!, JK ordered.

Everyone went to the carriages. There, Ivan waved his chin, signalling to his daughters that they should get into the Mercedes on their own. He found it hypocritical that the other guy held the car door open for the redhead as if he saw her as a princess rather than an object.

In the half-abandoned marriage bed of his villa, the widower actually discovered that the redhead was spending herself with him without restraint. Yes, she screamed with pleasure as often as Ivan bit her nipples. She swayed on his hard lap and only seemed more strung out after each orgasm.

All the more hurriedly she returned to her partner afterwards. But once, when he was sent on a business trip by the board, the wicked lady even took a bubble bath at Ivan's and slipped into a peach-coloured dressing gown with the initials JK.

So she strolled to the cupboard bar in the living room, where the three girls were sitting in front of the TV. The red haired one was standing, mixing herself a cocktail, holding it with perfect relish in the same hand as her cigarette and asking rhetorically: Was I too loud?

The girls shook their heads and remained