Chapter 2 2. Alma - The prison 2
I love pain, but not in the way this piece of shit thinks. I love to make men suffer and scream in pain, while I look at how fucking pathetic they are. The only thing men are good for is being used like punching bags.
Men are a plague. The only gift I can give this world is to send as many to hell as possible. Not all of them are scum, but most are. My father is one of the few good men that I know. He is the reason why I will never allow any Lord to turn me into his sex slave and bond my soul to his. No Lord is good enough for me.
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–asshole–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 him to. 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.
I might hate men, but being kissed feels so fucking good, which should be a crime.
What I hate most about men is how insanely hot I find them. But despite it, I still tried to convince myself that I was a lesbian. I even dated an amazing woman during college, but eventually she realized I wasn’t into her the way she was into me. So, she broke up with me, and I’m still sulking because, in another life, we would be perfect for each other.
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 chuckles like I said something funny 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 within 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, while palming himself.
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 what you just said for me.”
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 officer grins, and all the blood around his mouth and chin makes him look every bit the creep he is.
“Since I don’t trust you not to try anything reckless that could put you in danger if I let you go, I’ll 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 sound 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 like you have any other choice. And I’ll remind you that you’re the one who started this.”
“¿Qué demonios estás diciendo?” I demand to know, making him tilt his head in confusion. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like?” he asks. “Making sure my clothes don’t get wet while I clean every inch of your luscious body.”
“I already made it clear that I don’t want you to touch me,” I remind him with a snarl.
He studies me for a while before shrugging. “As you wish,” he says before putting his clothes back on and turning his back to me.
