Chapter 2 2. Alma - The prison 2
The guard dips his head until our eyes are at the same level. Inhaling deeply, he says, “You need a shower.”
I need many things. And one of them is to show this cabrón what happens when he touches me without my permission. So I smash my forehead into his nose, hard enough to cause a nosebleed. He fucking deserves it.
I expect him to retaliate in anger, even to hit me, to prove to me once more why men are trash. But he doesn’t do any of the things I expect of him. What he does takes me entirely by surprise.
He groans like he’s experiencing a mind-blowing orgasm before kissing me. He fucking kisses me, while he’s bleeding, his blood entering my mouth. Gross, but that’s not what’s bothering me, it’s his lips on mine. No man has kissed me before. I fooled around a bit with a girlfriend during high school because I was so sure that I was into women, but there was zero chemistry between us. So eventually, she moved on, while I’ve been sulking ever since, because I’m attracted to men, which is so fucking unfair.
He keeps touching my tits while his lips move against mine. The constant flicking of his thumb over my nipple sends pleasure down my spine. Great! Just what I need, my own body betraying me.
When the initial shock wears off, I bite him. I bite his bottom lip hard enough to pierce the skin. Again, I expect a negative reaction from him, but el muy cabrón–the fucking bastard–groans before he kisses me even deeper.
I try to kick him, but it only seems to turn him on even more as he squeezes my tit even harder, while kissing me hard. More blood enters my mouth.
It takes several minutes before he finally pulls his head back. By now, the nosebleed has finally stopped.
“I’m looking forward to playing with you more, but first, I need to get you clean. We might be locked in here, but we have standards,” he says before he drags me away from the courtyard.
Once inside the prison, I start to reason with him, “If you let me go right now, I promise not to kill you.”
Yeah, right. I will put a bullet through his skull the first chance I get.
He chuckles. “You can try and kill me, but I won’t promise it won’t turn me on so hard, I will ruin your pussy for everyone else here.”
“You are not going to fuck me!” I hiss. “I’ll cut off your tiny dick before that happens.”
He roars with laughter before he takes me to a bedroom–probably his. A small bathroom is connected to the room, and he forces me inside, where he links the chain of my cuffs to a hook placed on the wall with the shower.
The hook is set high on the wall, forcing me to stand on my toes. The position also forces my tits out, and he stares at them for a while.
Fucking pervert.
Once I free myself, the first thing I’m going to do is claw his eyes out.
When he takes a step back and starts undressing–first his coat, then the sweater–I pull hard on the cuffs, hoping that the hook will come off and I can use it as a weapon. But the damn thing refuses to budge.
His hands reach for his belt.
“¿Qué mierda estás haciendo?” I hiss.
He removes his belt while he says, “You look sexy as hell speaking Spanish, but the only words I know are hola and gracias. So you might want to translate for me what you just said.”
I keep yanking on the hook, hoping it would give before he removes his pants, while I ask him again, this time in English, “What the fuck are you doing?”
And, of course, the hook is well fixed in the wall, and it doesn’t budge.
The guard grins, and all the blood around his mouth and chin makes him look creepy.
“Since I don’t trust you won’t try anything reckless that will put you in danger if I let you go, I will have to wash you,” he replies.
I blink because it takes me a couple of seconds to process what he just said. Then, I hiss, trying to be as menacing as I can, “You are definitely not going to wash me! I do not consent to you touching me.”
El cabrón–the bastard–laughs. “It doesn’t seem that you have any other choice.” He slips off his boots and pants, giving me a full view of his very erect cock–and there’s nothing little about it, as I initially thought, because he was giving me small dick energy. This entire thing turns him on. There’s no other explanation for why he’s hard.
The last to come off is his t-shirt. Then, he steps closer to me.
I’ve been in many dangerous situations–situations I’ve thought I’d never make it out alive, and never once have I been as scared as I am right now. My fear is irrational, being born from the trauma of the past couple days, but I can’t help but feel like the walls are closing in on me with every inch he gets closer to me.
If I could just yank free the hook already…
He stops in front of me and runs his palms along my hips before they slide to my ass and grab it. I try to jerk away from him, but he pulls me flat against him.
“I could take you back to the courtyard,” he says, his voice eerily calm, “and let all those present form a line behind you, until the very last of them has fucked you, and cum is leaking from your ass and mouth, or you can stay still and allow me to wash you.”
Between option one and option two, I chose the third one–to cut off his hands, tie him to a chair, and let every man in here fuck him. But since that’s not an option, I say, “Ojalá te mueras y te vayas al infierno.” I hope you die and go to hell. Then, I add, “I don’t need your help to shower.”
He lets out a sigh before he reaches for my hands. “The courtyard it is. Frankly, I’m disappointed. I really hoped you were smarter than the other women Jason brought here. They accepted their fate from the beginning, while you seemed to have some fire. So disappointed to see I was wrong.”
He removes my cuffs from the hook and starts dragging me out of the bathroom. Mierda! Fuck! He’s not bluffing.
Between him and the courtyard, I choose him. “Fine,” I grit. “You can shower me.”
