Chapter 5 5. Alma - The Prison 5

I’ve touched myself many times, but it’s never felt as good as this. A loud moan rises in my throat, but I force it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how good it feels—to be touched, to have my clit rubbed in such a delicious way.

He brushes his lips against mine. They’re just as cold as the water, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Do you like having your pussy played with?” he murmurs, his mouth so close to mine they’re almost touching.

“No,” I say. My teeth start to chatter violently. “I-if you d-don’t g-get me out of h-here soon, I-I w-will k-k-kill you.”

He chuckles before resuming washing me, paying special attention to my tits and my pussy—especially to my pussy, rubbing my clit several more times, making me gasp. 

“I love how silky your pussy feels,” he says as he runs his fingers up and down my folds. “If I had to guess, I’d say you had the hair here removed with a laser. Am I right?”

The only thing he’s going to be right about is ending up right in a grave if he doesn’t get me out of the shower in the next second. But el puto cabrón takes his time, washing my body once more and my hair twice before he finally turns off the water.

By then, I’m trembling so hard I can barely stand, my teeth chattering nonstop. My body feels numb, and I’m pretty sure my lips have turned blue. If I get sick because of this, I swear I’ll make him spend the night in the courtyard—his ass bare, exposed to the brutal winter cold. Let’s see how he likes it.

“Tt-to-towel,” I demand.

The right corner of his mouth lifts. “The shower was free, but everything else will come with a price. A towel will cost you.” 

“¡V-ete a la m-mierda!” I curse at him. Go to hell. 

He shrugs before stepping away.

He’s not planning to leave me in here, is he?

When he starts picking up his wet clothes from the floor and heads for the door, I let out an enraged scream and yank hard on the hook, hoping it will finally give in. It doesn’t—the damn thing holds.

“If you change your mind, let me know,” he says from the adjacent room.

Hell will freeze over before I let him manipulate me. But as the minutes drag on and I’m still unable to free myself, I’m forced to accept that I can’t win every fight. Just because I give in now doesn’t mean the war is lost.

I will make him pay for the humiliation he subjected me to.

“F-fine. Y-you ww-win!” I yell. 

I expect him to come back right away, but the bastard makes me wait at least five endless minutes before he returns—no towel or clothes in sight. He’s no longer naked, but his hair is still wet, drops of water trailing down his shoulders.

Instead of freeing me, he leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. His gaze sweeps over my body, not caring that I’m shivering violently.

“I would have been happy with a handjob for the towel,” he says calmly. “But you made me wait, and I hate it when people do that. Now I want you on your knees, sucking my dick until I finish in your mouth. And you’ll swallow every drop of my cum. If you refuse, I’ll take you to the courtyard and watch while you get fucked by every man in this prison.”

I glare at him, wanting to tell him he can go ahead and suck his own dick if he’s so obsessed with it, but I force myself to say, “F-fine.” 

Between getting sick and giving a blowjob, I choose the latter—even if it means degrading and humiliating myself.

He waits a moment longer before stepping forward and freeing my hands from the hook. The handcuffs stay on.

“Get on your knees, kitten,” he says.

His words only make me want to kick him in the nuts—but I already tried that, and el cabrón didn’t even flinch. I could bite him, but he’d probably come right away, because he’s that sick in the head.

I’ll find his weak spot. And when I do, he’ll wish he never met me.

I slowly sink to my knees, holding his gaze, wanting him to see how much I despise him, and to know I’m doing this because I have no other choice.

Not that he seems to care.

Not at all.

Once I’m on my knees, he cups my cheek, his thumb slowly stroking my skin as he looks down at me. His eyes flash purple for a brief moment, letting me know his angel is watching.

“Unzip my pants,” he orders.

I want to tell him to fuck off, but instead I grit my teeth and reach for his fly. My hands are trembling so badly that it takes a few tries before I finally manage to open it. His cock springs free, already hard. 

“Now, show me how badly you want a towel,” he purrs. 

I show him my middle fingers before I try to wrap my hands around his dick, but he pushes them away. 

“Since you insist on being a naughty kitten, you will use those two fingers you just showed me to make yourself come while you suck my dick.” 

The urge to shove my finger up his ass is almost impossible to ignore, but I resist it because no doubt this motherfucker would refuse to give me clothes if I tried to attack him. I’m so cold that I’m willing to do anything to get warm. Even suck his dick.

Even though it grosses me out, I take a good look at his dick. From up close, it looks even bigger. He has a Prince Albert piercing, but what really catches my eye are the ridges along his length.

I’d heard that Dukes love pearling, but I never believed it until now. For some reason, I find his dick beautiful—but I quickly shove that thought aside, because there’s no way I don’t find it repulsive.

“Like what you see?” he asks, smirking.

“N-no,” I reply.

He laughs. “Sure you don’t. That’s why you’re looking at my dick like it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. Well, kitten, start sucking, because I don’t have all day.”

“Mamabicho,” I grit out—Puerto Rican for dick sucker.

Giving a blowjob shouldn’t be that hard. Right? But the idea of being on my knees in front of a man fills me with rage. Just this one, and then, never again, I promise myself.

I exhale sharply before my lips part, and I wrap them around the head of his dick.