Desolate(12)

I don’t even get to her room; she’s waiting in the hall and gestures to the laundry room opposite her door. “Aren’t there cameras in here?” I ask confused.

Giggling, she points up to a camera in the left corner. “I treat Jason to a peep show every now and again and he signs me in for curfew when I miss it.” She winks. Hmm, clever little manipulator. I could use that.

“Take your clothes off, whore.”

The glint in her eye confirms my suspicion about her; she needs degradation and pain, a girl after my own cold black heart. She slips her dress, if you can call the strips of lace hardly covering her that. She is very tight-lipped about her reasons for being in a place like this and no one else knows, either.

Her tits stand firm, smaller then Jodie’s but still a handful. Her bare pussy opens up to me when she sits on the dryer and spreads her legs, the camera getting a full view also.

“Come taste me, Ryan,” she whispers.

I turn on the dryer to block out the sounds of our voices. One, to dull out her fake moans that make my ears bleed, and two, so Jason can’t hear me being a cunt to her.

I mock smile at her and raise a brow.

“I’m not putting my lips anywhere near that stinking hole of yours. Fuck knows how many cocks you’ve had up in there, digging for a golden pussy and only ever finding a cheap, empty sack.”

Her mouth pops open and she appears to be thinking of a comeback before retorting, “You don’t seem to mind it.”

I sneer and move closer to her, gripping under her armpits and lifting her down, turning her and bending her at the waist.

“Actually, I do mind it and if you recall, I always end up in your ass.”

She tries to stand up but I slap her ass and push her down with my other palm between her shoulder blades. “Don’t pretend I’ve offended you, Isabella. You’re a dirty little whore and you know it. It’s not a bad thing. I like whores. Now stay the fuck bent over and take it up the ass like a good little slut.” I spit on my hand to gain some lube so I don’t chaff myself before brutally pushing into her ass. She’s by no means an ass virgin but I’m large in the cock department and going in dry and fast is fucking painful for anyone; her cry burns a deep ache in my veins. I’m shaking with the need to strangle her as I fuck her.

I pull from all the techniques I’ve learned to stop myself caving to the urge to take a life, and instead grip her hair and yank her head back so the camera can see she’s getting off from my savage fucking.

Her ass rips and the warm blood seeps onto my cock, offering more lube.



“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting,” Jodie says an hour later when I make it back to my room. I’ve been fucking her for five weeks now and she’s already needy, bless her stupid little heart. I despise women like her. I strip off my clothes, dropping them to the floor, and make my way to the bathroom with her hot on my tail.

“Where were you?”

I spin quickly to face her and snarl, “I have to answer to you, Jodie? Are you my fucking keeper?”

Her lip trembles and tears leak on to her cheeks. “I thought . . .”

“You thought what? That we’re a couple now and that when your whore friend offers me up her pussy I’m not going to tap that nice, tall, thin piece of ass?”

Her face pales and more tears trickle down her cheeks. She is in no way fat and in all honesty she is more appealing to fuck than her friend but her pain is so close to the surface it’s hard not to feed it and watch it destroy her.

“She wouldn’t do that,” she murmurs.

Poor, delusional and trusting Jodie. I hold my hand out to her and like a fool she takes it. I pull her into me and force her to her knees. She doesn’t fight me. I grab my soft cock and rub it across her face and lips. She gags and pulls away, looking up at me with confusion and horror in those lost eyes.

“That’s your friend’s ass. She’s a whore and talks about how ugly you are and how your hair is from a bottle and not even real blonde, and she offers a better fuck then you.”

Such petty words that most women would laugh at or shrug off, but not the broken little girl in front of me. Her nails are already trying to open old scars across her wrists. She rushes from the room and I wash the disgusting Isabella from my skin.





PEOPLE THINK BEING ALONE IS loneliness, but the real gut wrenching loneliness is when you’re in the presence of the person you love and still feel lonely. This is how I feel right now in my bedroom with the man I have loved and worshipped for eighteen years. The man I call my husband, and until a few weeks ago I would have said loved and worshipped me in return without question, but something dark sits in his eyes now and it scares me more than anything. He’s changed over the last few months, becoming withdrawn from both Cereus and I. He works all the hours God sends and when he’s not working he spends the time watching his cell and occasionally sleeping when exhaustion demands it. Most people would think he was having an affair but I can’t believe he would or could do that. Something has triggered this. A case maybe, or a life he couldn’t save. His job is intense and dangerous but it has never taken its toll quite like this. He swears its just work when I question him, but I know him. Something is going on and I need him to open up to me. We’re supposed to be trying for another child but with the strain on us as a couple and as a family, I’ve stopped trying.