Hell by J.L. Beck

8

Lucian

I can’t rememberthe last time I spent a whole day away from the club. My business has become my life, and I rarely do things because I want to do them but because I have to do them. So today makes for a refreshing change.

I’ve been following Rowan around, watching her every move. She’s gone to three job interviews, which has me thoroughly surprised. I just transferred her ten grand, and her debt with me is paid. Most women who look like Rowan would go and blow that money on clothes and shoes, then find a rich asshole to keep buying her shit.

The only outfit Rowan bought is the one to wear to the job interviews. This woman has me more intrigued by the minute.

As soon as I got the test results back, letting me know that Rowan is clean, I knew I had to have her today, but I didn’t plan on stalking her for so long. I normally like to make it quick. I get bored easily, but there is nothing boring about Rowan. She makes even the most mundane things interesting.

Keeping at least two cars between, I follow the bus she takes to get back to her apartment complex. It’s a shit hole, which I was expecting, of course. What I wasn’t expecting is how much it would bother me to see the way she lives.

I don’t know why I care. All I know is that she doesn’t belong here. She should live in a better part of the city, or maybe not in the city at all. A small town with no crime would suit her better.

I’m already parked, the engine shut off, as I watch her get off the bus. Her steps are small but swift, which is probably due to the pencil skirt she’s wearing. She looks mighty sexy in it too, like a librarian, schoolteacher, or secretary… my secretary.

My cock is already fighting to get free when I get out of the car and follow her into the building. The front door is unlocked, giving me easy access. Another thing I don’t like. She should be protected, and this shithole is anything but.

Shoving that thought away from wherever the fuck it came from. I stay hot on her tail, moving like a predator stalking his prey. Keeping my breathing calm and steady while I step closer with stealth, my heart rate slows down with it.

Digging in her purse, she gets her key out and starts to unlock her door that looks like a gust of wind would knock it down. I take another step toward her, slowly sneaking up behind her.

The lock disengages, and that’s when I strike.

I pounce on her so quickly that she doesn’t have time to turn around before I shove the door open and push her to the ground inside her apartment. She lands on all fours, giving me a great view of her perfectly shaped ass.

I’m not sure if she doesn’t scream because she expects it to be me or is simply shocked. She starts to crawl away as I kick the door shut with my foot and get on top of her.

“None of that,” I growl into the shell of her ear while I force her to lay flat on the floor. “I’ve been watching you all day, shaking your ass at every man in this tight pencil skirt.”

“Fuck you!” She hisses, trying her best to buck me off. She even gives me a jab with her elbow but only manages to get me in the arm.

“Don’t worry, there will be fucking all right.” I chuckle darkly.

Using my body weight, I keep her upper body flat on the ground. Her cheek is firmly pressed against the cheap carpet, and I pry her legs apart with my knees and reach between us with my free hand. Roughly, I shove the skirt up her thighs and grab the flimsy thong covering her pussy. With one harsh pull, the fabric is torn away.

I make quick work of my zipper to free my cock, which is so hard it hurts. Precum is already beading at the tip when I bring it to her cunt. I don’t give her time to get wet or adjust. I simply force myself into her tight channel.

She yelps in pain, and her body stiffens beneath me, but I don’t stop. This is what I crave. What makes me hard and has my balls tightening, ready for release. I revel in her fight, in her pain. It gives me a kind of power I can only experience in moments like this. Nothing compares.

Mercilessly, I drive into her over and over again. With each stroke, she seems to be growing wetter, but she keeps fighting me until I can feel her thighs quiver and her cunt clamping down on me like she’s coming.

“I knew you were a little slut, coming on my cock while I fuck you. You want this. You can act like you don’t all you want, but your pussy is wet, creaming over my cock like a whore.”

Her body is lax, spent from her release. She is on the floor motionless while I fuck her.

“Time to kick this up a notch. You are enjoying this way too much,” I say between clenched teeth while I force myself to pull out of her.

Reaching between us, I dip my index and middle finger into her cunt and drag her wetness up to her asshole.

“Wait,” she whimpers, “not there.” She starts bucking her hips, and I shove my fingers into her puckered hole, making her yelp. “Fuck!”

“Shut up. I know you want this, slut.”

I only pump in and out of her ass a few times before replacing my fingers with my dick.

“Please, no. You’re too big. You’re gonna tear me.”

“Don’t worry, my cock is still wet from your soaking pussy. Being a slut and loving my cock is working to your advantage here.”

I force the head of my cock past the tight ring of muscle. She squeezes her ass, trying to push me out, but her fight only makes me thrust into her harder. A pained whimper falls from her lips, and my sick and twisted mind feeds on it.

“That’s more like it. You will take my cock whenever and however I give it to you. I don’t care if you like it or not.”

“Please,” she whispers. “It’s too much.”

“If you think this is too much, you are not going to be happy for what I have planned next.”

I lift my upper body, grabbing the back of her neck before she can even think about pushing herself up. Using my knees, I push her legs apart even farther so I can get nice and deep. Thrusting forward, I bury myself inside her to the hilt.

A strangled cry falls from her lips, and I loosen my grip on the back of her neck a little, making sure she can breathe.

“You feel me deep inside your ass?” My voice sounds almost distorted as I keep fucking her, my thrusts becoming more furious with each second. “Answer me,” I growl.

“Y-yes,” she stutters, her voice shaky like she is crying. A normal person would be bothered by her distress. I’m not normal. I’m depraved, twisted, and sick. Her pain is my joy, and her tears make me grin.

After a few more erratic thrusts, the familiar tingle begins in the base of my spine. A moment later, my balls tighten, and I paint her asshole with my cum. My orgasm seems to go on forever, and by the time it stops, I collapse on top of her.

Slowly, I come back down to earth. Sweat is beading on my forehead and dripping onto her shoulder. My chest is heaving, and my heart is slamming against my rib cage, but Rowan is beneath me completely still.

I push myself up and sit back on my knees so I can take a look at her. She still doesn’t move. Her legs are spread, giving me the perfect view of my cum dripping down her asshole onto her cunt. Christ, she is perfect.

Tucking away my still sensitive dick, I kneel beside her and roll her over. Her eyes are red from crying, which is a stark contrast to the black streaks of mascara running down the side of her face. The skirt is bunched up around her waist, and her torn-off panties are next to her in shreds.

With glossy eyes, she stares back at me. She doesn’t say anything, but there is a question in her eyes, like she wants to know what I’m going to do next.

What am I doing next? I don’t fucking know. Simply leaving doesn’t feel right.

Still not sure what I’m doing, I slide my arms under her body and pick her up from the floor. Her own arms come to my shoulders, gripping on to me like she fears I’ll drop her.

Her apartment is small, and there is only one other door besides the one leading to the hallway so that one has to be her bedroom. I walk inside, confirming it is by the twin-sized bed pushed against the wall.

Gently, I put her down on the mattress before finding my way to the bathroom. I take a washcloth from the cabinet and run hot water over it. By the time I return to the bed, the washcloth has cooled off, and I use it to clean her face. She closes her eyes and actually leans into my touch as I carefully wipe her skin.

Now that I have whipped away the mascara, I notice how her right cheek is an angry red. It was the one I was pressing down into the scratchy carpet, and a ping of guilt hits me. I hate leaving marks. The irony is not lost on me. I don’t care if I hurt her, I crave it even, but I don’t like there to be marks. It doesn’t have anything to do with me not wanting to leave evidence either. I simply don’t like marred skin.

When her face is done, I go back to the bathroom and repeat the process with the washcloth. Only this time, I clean between her legs. She winces at my touch but doesn’t push me away or tell me to stop. The words, good girl are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow the praise down simply because I enjoy the silence between us. There is no need to explain anything. She knows the kind of monster I am, and I know why she is letting me do this to her.

I help her out of her skirt and blouse before I cover her up with the thin comforter from the foot of her bed. Standing up, I take one last look around the small room, trying to shake how much I hate it that she lives here.

Before I can say something stupid, like you should live with me, I bend down and give her a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Two down, two to go.”