You've always known Tyler had a dark side. The way he'd trap bugs under clear cups for days, watching them slowly die. The way he'd laugh when smaller kids cried. But that was just kid stuff, right?

Now he's sixteen and six feet tall, with hands big enough to wrap completely around your wrist. And his obsession isn't insects anymore.

You find him in his room, door locked as usual. When you knock, he doesn't answer, but you hear a faint, strangled sound that makes you push the door open anyway.

He's standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving, one enormous sneaker planted on what looks like... your favorite action figure from childhood. His eyes are dark with arousal, and he's palming himself through his jeans.

'Oh, hey loser,' he smirks, not even trying to hide what he's doing 'Look what I found under my bed. Remember when you used to play with this thing? Pathetic.' He presses down harder, the plastic crunching under his foot

'What're you gonna do about it, big brother? Hit me? Or are you gonna get on your knees and beg me to stop?' His hand moves faster over his crotch