Thread: 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦 . | 𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 .

you are here It was easy to stare. It was easy to salivate over a woman who was fabricated by skilled hands. And it would have been even easier for him to have just lose all control and affirm their mutual pleasures. By no means would Vera resist his his advances. But Ezad was a gentleman, and this fact she loved the most of all about him. A gentleman who she knew underneath could very well be a scoundrel, a deviant! Perhaps it was that thought that allowed her to continue her approach with him. Every encounter was just a layer of him she stripped away. His expressions were so honest. His responses to her curious questions were classy, ingenuous, and candid. Out of embarrassment? Or maybe because it'd simply had been some time since he'd last danced the game of lust and pleasure with woman? And yet he was still so charming despite all. The way he fought so hard to keep his smile from filling his face. His lips... The ways she's catch him clicking his tongue- maybe a nervous habit? She paid attention and it was beautiful. He was beautiful. From his sigh of almost disbelief as his eyes showered her feminine figure, to him finally relaxing somewhat in his seat- a fervent warmth stirred her, aroused her. Vera could feel it again, that soft beating against her woman and that desire to peel apart her legs and welcome him into her garden as he prattled about his night chastely. Her eyes rested on him, taking another strawberry to her lips. And like the siren she was, peering into the deepest parts of Ezad she grinned again. An eyebrow raising to the newest discovery. My lips and mouth? she questioned, lapping the strawberry's juices from the corners of her lips with her tongue. I don't mind at all. In fact, I love that you're thinking of me. It was the same for me, a beautiful mental imagery with a very handsome, very sexy resort owner who too graced me with his presence. Except, she cutoff, pushing herself forward. With the help of the slick fabric, Vera slid forward easily off the table and onto her feet. It was in her blood. To be a crafty, to be clever, good with her words. Olive eyes peered down at him seated before her. Eyes half-lidded, hungry, aching, dangerous. Breasts soft and in line with his vision, daring to show themselves behind the silk fabric still. It left nothing to the imagination and yet still left so much unanswered. What color? How big? How soft? How heavy? Though instead, she side stepped, shifting behind him. First came her hands, down at his broad, firm shoulders. Then she let her hands run over his chest trapped behind his annoying shirt as she folded herself forward to let her lips meet his ear. Mine happened a little differently. Close your eyes and imagine it with me. Vera whispered another order. One hand moved up, cupping the underside of his chin, fingers gently trailing over his lips as she too pressed herself into his back. The soft tops of her breasts giving momentary cushion to her dearest. I thought of you, atop me. . . inside of me. . . fucking me Vera exhaled, near moaning the words into his ear. Your hands on my hips, firm, holding me down in place. Afraid that if you let go, I'd disappear. And yet you're driving me deeper and deeper down against your cock, she breathed softly. And I'm. . . pleading, begging, moaning your name over and over. ' Ezad,' she moaned softly into his ear. ' Ezad please! Yes..!' A sharp inhale as she moaned again. Her free hand against his chest slipping further down, meeting the hand at his thigh. Her fingers interlacing with his as she continued. ' Please! It feels so good! Don't stop. . !' Vera couldn't resist any longer. The lips that left such an impression on him kissed down against the space behind his ear. And you don't, her whispers continued. Your hand wraps around my neck, she cooed, squeezing the hand at his thigh as her fingers slip from his lips to around his neck gently. And you just go, and you go, and go, and go! Each 'go' amplifying into louder moans as a trail of tender kisses find its way from behind his ear down the length of his neck. My eyes roll back as I can feel my orgasm beginning seize my body. Yours not far either. Your head tips back as if you're looking for some answer from above as to why it feels so good. How I'm allowed to feel this good. Gripping you through each push, soaked, a concert of our wet sounds. How with every enthusiastic pump you wonder how you hadn't found me sooner. And before long you hear, Vera parted her lips, biting gently at his neck. Firm but not enough to hurt her dear lover. Sharp breaths, hands digging into the sheets desperately, and then- 'Ezad! I'm cumming!' And as as soon her touched had reached him, it had left. Vera only pulled away to allow herself to regain some control over the almost orgasm standing there. It'd been a very long minute since she'd gotten herself riled up enough to a point where she didn't have to touch herself to reach it. Before he was allowed to leave her suite, Vera G. Silvius would make sure to leave Ezad with another memory. A deeper one. One that he would try to leave in the far depths of his memory. One that would creep up and find its way out during his everyday routine. One that his hands wouldn't dare forget. And for this one she wanted him to see, she craved his dark eyes to immerse fully in it. Open your eyes. Vera wanted to leave a memory of her with him so that when he lay his head that evening, his next orgasm would be better than his last. Vera stepped around again, this time taking a seat in his lap between his legs. Her soft, corpulent bottom in a place she belonged yesterday, but out of decency couldn't be. It was simply one of the thrones Ezad had to offer her. Easing back against his chest, Vera took his hands and placed it at her thighs instead. One clothed by her robe still, the other exposed for proper feeling. And with ease she directed him up her figure. From atop her thighs, smooth, soft, toned. To her hips filling out against his lap, just as soft. To the top of her woman, smooth, upkept. Then over her smooth lower belly, stopping just beneath where the round bottoms of her breasts sat. Touch me. Another simple command. Though more of a desperate cry in that moment. As her hands rested above his, her thumbs caught the edge of her robe, daring to pull it back and reveal what they'd both been waiting for. A plead for him to fulfil. Everywhere. . . Please Ezad.. , Vera managed to whisper through desperate breathlessness. I want you to remember more than just my lips this time. Click to expand... Post 16 It was mesmeric how his voice vibrated in her ears. The way he'd pushed her back into the rail and forced himself onto her, forced her into her place. Contact she'd been aching for, for far too long caused her entire body to ignite immediately. She knew she was sex. She knew she dripped sex every waking moment of her life. Not many got to experience it. He was so graciously invited into her world now. Every part of her being was hot. Hot for him. It wasn't fair that he did this to her and so easily. He was tired? So was she. Tired of aching? As was she! Tired of throbbing? Now she'd be able to help with that. The tips of his fingers grazed her skin, and finally part of what she'd been waiting for was his hand meeting her ass. But it wasn't enough. That was her weakness but kept her poker face strong. In reality, she wanted him to ravage her, grabbing, slapping, and kissing on her ass. More of his touch, pushing, shoving, pulling her. Her hand moved to his chest the further into her he pushed into her. His skin was just as much on fire as hers. If there was anything she didn't lose was his eye contact. As soon as his lips moved from her ears it was her move. A beautiful game between the two. Eyes dark, laced with desire. She smiled at his question, a sly one that arranged itself against her dark red lips. What do I see? Despite his power and his hold against her on the balcony, she knew she was still free to move. Her delicate hand against his chest pushed him back. I see a man hiding. Into the room they were again, she'd managed to kick both of her heels off, becoming much shorter than he. Waiting. Throbbing, and aching for his woman . For her touch, Within seconds they'd reached the foot of the massive bed. Directing him onto it, Oliver knew to sit. With very little stopping her, she'd pulled his shirt away from his shoulders, letting it loosely fall to his wrists and giving her a full display of his build. The muscle, the tone, the perfect shape... All the fun she was going to have with him. Crazy how nothing was stopping them now. Crazy how now they were where they needed to be to release this frustration, this desire, this lust for each other. Another push with her hand, gently guiding him down against the soft white sheets of her bed. She beginning to do just what she was sure they both dreamed of. A man wanting to remain lost in the ocean of his woman . Her hands started at his thighs and moved up achingly slow, nails dragging, teasing with a tickle to his tender skin. They stopped right where they were supposed to suddenly. Just as he had with her, both hands of hers just one slip inward of his own heat. A greedy man that wants to indulge freely. But for now, they continued upward as did she. Trailing along each crease, each cut, each ab each muscle, up over his chest and into their rightful place at his shoulders, pulling him in towards her. Eyes that want to so badly devour his woman. Taking all of her. Her hands moved into his hair, with nails gently massaging his scalp as she took a good gentle handful of his hair. Scarlett forced his head back gently, allowing his eyes to find hers again as she stood in her familiar spot between him. Her face lowered to meet his, lips just excruciating inches from his. She spoke, this time hot against his lips. I see a thirst, It was a whisper of a conversation between them now. Her voice, a trance, intimate, and sensual song. Alas, the many songs she'd soon be singing for him. Waiting so patiently, lips bearly touching with the emphasis on her p. To quench a thirst only his woman satiate for him. Nodding her head forward for Oliver to move further up the bed, Scarlett moved with him, releasing her light grip on his hair, but never breaking contact. Not once. She'd sat upon him, the seat she'd waited much too long to take. Both of her thighs on either side of his torso, created an even grander silhouette of her figure. The skirt was a problem but not wanting to give too much away so soon, she'd managed to force it up enough for her legs to be comfortable in her straddle. I see, she started again, her hips moving, connecting their sexes. An exhale mistakenly slipped. A momentary waiver as she was able to feel the power that'd pressed up against her pussy. Even through his pants and through her thong in the verse, she was sure to feel his heat and hers for him in return. Eager hands moved up his chest again, allowing her upper body to fall light to the chest. Her hands continued on, arms stretched up against the bed at either side of his head as she grabbed at the sheets by his head. It was like watching a cat stretch before getting into some trouble. And just as he'd done, she'd too pressed her lips to his ear as her spell continued to spill from her sex-laced lips. A man holding secrets of a desire he keeps for his woman. Another impatient exhale filled his ears as her hips moved barely. I see a man dying to fuck his woman . This is what I see when I look into your eyes. Along came a bite, a gentle suck, and then her tongue, tasting him finally right as another groan slipped. Mmm... Are you ready for a woman, Oliver? This won't be like the little flings you're used to. It'll be much deeper than that. Click to expand... Post 3 ' . It was never meant to be this way. It was never meant to turn into her meeting him again. Time again she was forced to let him go completely no matter how much her heart and body remembered. The image of him, thoughts shared, feelings connected, words said, and memories relived. Fuck. It was a method of protecting him and protecting herself from him time and time again. And yet, all that effort was wasted. A meeting between families was called for. Beaumont and Rousseau. And just as she'd feared, a deal was struck between the two. A deal of peace, a ceasefire, and a partnership. Matrimony. She watched him walk in, an expression she'd never experienced seeing him with. Cline already arrived with her father, Dieudonne Rousseau. He didn't entirely lie to her, just left out important details as to why she was made to attend an assembly she would have otherwise never been at. Not a day had gone by had she wondered how he was. If he was happy, if he moved on, married, started a family, and finally lived his life. After the situation with Serge and him threatening both her life and Damien's, she wanted nothing more than for him to live and be happy without having to ever think of her. There was no will to drink despite the half-filled flute of champagne placed before her. The lump in her throat, complied with the crippling anxiety in her stomach wouldn't allow for it. Not that she'd even be able to hold it down if she tried. Cline, mon cherie, her father hummed as he leaned into her, ripping her from her thoughts. There was something seeking in his eyes. Approval? Reassurance? That the choice he made for his sweet daughter was the right one? This is for us. You know I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never do anything to put danger, my Soliel. Cline in turn searched for an answer in his. Where had this sudden decision come from? Why had her father, one of the most powerful men in France decided he wanted to give his daughter to his rival in an effort for peace? Fear perhaps? That Beaumont's were rising to become just as powerful as them in a short amount of time and he hadn't taken a chance to stop it before it got to be too great? Not wanting to risk it with more bloodshed? I want nothing more than to make you happy. This will be good for us. For you and your brother, for the future. Two powerful families coming together. Regret? This was the one thing he had promised she was allowed to have. Allowed to choose her spouse, and control over her love life. She wanted to fall in love her way, not forced or arranged. Once upon a time, this would have been a secretly joyous day for them. This was what they wanted those years ago. The nights under the stars with Damien, hand in hand, telling him how she couldn't wait to be not just the woman of his dreams but his bride, his wife. And yet, here she was getting... well not exactly what she wanted. Was it because of what happened with Serge? The engagement and how much of a spectacle it was? Spectacle wasn't even the right word. It was a mess. An unfortunate, frustrating, wreckage of her life because of his selfish desires. The mixture of emotions on her father's face was too hard to read as he raised his glass. Being her father's pride and joy, his second-born and only daughter, he cared for her more than anything in the world. Cline was his little girl, his petite soleil, and would always be his little sun despite being her grown age. She was no sun today. There was no happiness. An ever-dark cloud loomed over his daughter. We can trust Beaumont now. Damien is a good man. Reliable, and gets the job done. Your mother would have been- The mediator then interrupted. We will curtail any future violence with something more binding than gold or assurances. We will do so with holy ceremony and matrimony. To see the very man she tried just a decade ago to protect from Serge now back in her life and now the one she's to marry? You should go and meet him tonight. Get to know each other. Let him take you out. Her head snapped to her father, cinnamon eyes ignited in a furious passion. The last thing she wanted was for Damien Beaumont, the man who hated her to do anything of the sort. Papa no. I dont need to meet him. We can meet the day he needs me to sign the papers. Otherwise, no. She hissed through her teeth. It's already been arranged. You'll be going to him. Its time to do your part in this mon Cherie. Your mother would have at least wanted you two to meet. Do this for me and your mother, please. It was harder when her mother was mentioned. Cline looked away from her father, looking everywhere but him, and Damien. Carmen will drive you. Behave. I can drive myself. Youll be stepping into his territory. Carmen will be taking you, two men behind you. End of discussion. She slid and twisted the ring he'd given her years ago up and down her middle finger anxiously. After all this time she was surprised it even still fit, then again she never really took it off. A constant reminder of the love she held, and the sins she currently carried her deepest shame. Cline was always asked who'd given her such a beautiful piece of jewelry. Chagrin always painted on her face as she made some half-assed story about how her father got it for her 18th birthday or how it was passed down to her from her long-deceased mother. A girl's first love was supposed to be her father, but Cline was different. For her, it always was Damien, it would only ever be Damien. Into her late 20s, she realized it was easier to follow the orders of her father than rebel and put up any sort of objection. While the belief in the family coming first was at the forefront for the Rousseaus, a family could at any moment betray. She'd already done it once without her father's knowledge. Now having to bear the ache of sitting in the same room, both of them holding secrets from their fathers. Above everything she was being driven straight to his villa because their fathers wanted them to meet. Another sigh breezed past her lips, the now fifth one as Carmen informed her. After all the drama, heartbreak, and pain, Cline shut that side of her life out. Closed her heart off completely. No other person needed to see love from her or would deserve it as he once had. She was well desired and generously pursued by men of all statuses, whether it was to further their wealth and power or in all seriousness to court her. Nothing could appease her like what she had so long ago. What she did to Damien she knew he'd never forgive her for. With no word either. Knowing that Serge threatened to tell her father of their relationship, and harm Damien in the process because, well he simply felt like it? She'd never let a man have the advantage over her like that ever again. Celine couldn't risk it even if she knew Damien was capable of holding his own. But it always lingered in the back of her head. What if he let her explain? What if he listened like he used to? Like how he used to watch her and give her his full undivided attention when she had something to say. As if. Another sigh. The villa came into sight around a bend of trees and her heart was in her throat. It'd been over ten years since she'd last seen him aside from in the room where they were officially engaged so to say. Cline sat in the backseat of her black 7-Series that crept close to that seaside villa. Her father insisted they meet, and get to know each other. Alas, he knew his daughter all too well. Dieudonn Rousseau knew that when Cline urged that she could 'drive herself' anywhere meant she wasn't going to show up at all and it would have her father looking foolish. Fool him once, shame on him, but she wouldnt dare fool him again. Carmen, their long-time driver had taken her nearly an hour out from her home to once more meet the man who was once of her dreams. The car stopped, suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. I'll be here the entire time. Two more are behind me a mile down the road. You let me know when you want to leave and were out of here. In that case can we leave now then? One hour, Cline. Thats the best I can do for you. Carmen smiled gently at her before another gentleman in a black suit approached the car, pulling open her door and extending a hand to her as she stepped out. Long ago she used to dress for him, used to love the way his eyes would light up when he saw her in a new dress or outfit she spent too much money on. Her stomach hurt the moment her stiletto heels hit the pavement, her black, draped dress following behind. For the first time in a long time, someone actually made Cline Rousseau, daughter of one of the most powerful families in France, anxious and sick to her stomach. After everything, Damien still had good taste in his home at least. His villa was beautiful and a sight to see for certain. A bodyguard stopped her a moment, running a detector of the length of her body before allowing her inside. A little extra considering Cline at the moment was harmless as ever. Harmless, nervous, wanting to run back into her car and tell Carmen to drive off as fast as he could. Taking one last calming breath before her poker face settled, she was escorted to his living room. Not a word was said to her but it was clear with his guard said with his silence. Stay here and don't touch anything or I'll have your hands. Noted. Not that she would have moved unless it was to leave, anyway. She didn't want to watch him walk into the room. It'd be too weird for her. Instead, she moved to one of the grand windows of his home, letting the afternoon dusk keep her attention as the countdown til they spoke again blared in the back of her head. Click to expand... Post 2 Women are only seen, never heard. If you dress like that Audrey, just you're asking for it. You should smile, it'll make you more beautiful. Stop wearing so much make up. You'll look like a whore. Why would you wear a dress like that? You look fucking fat. Take it off. Are you trying to embarrass me? You're good for nothing Audrey, just a quick lay, a toy, an object. His fucking personal punching bag. Kill him Audrey. You know you want to kill him. You know how easy it would be to just slice his neck in the middle of the night. But if she moves, he'll wake up. Just hide a knife Audrey. Right under your pillow. But he's too big Audrey! And you're too weak. The clock is ticking Audrey. He'll kill you before you'll ever have your chance. But it'd be selfish to leave him Audrey. You want to kill him, don't you Audrey? Don't waste your time Audrey. But you love him Audrey! Deep down inside you rea SHUT UP! You fucking hate him Audrey. You hate his fucking guts every disgusting thing about him. You hate his smile, you hate his smell, you hate his hands, you hate his walk, his voice, his eyes his fucking eyes. And the fucking way they look at you. KILL HIM AUDREY. KILL HIM. Lifeless brown eyes open. The back of her head throbbed violently. That was her fault. Wanting to just for a day try and be pretty with longer hair. She should have cut it... Her throat burned at the belt that kept her quiet. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and hushed their way down her cheeks. Everything hurt so much, but if she cried, if she made any sound it would fuck her over even more. All she could do was keep her mouth shut cry quietly with her face buried in the sheets of their bed as someone who was supposed to protect her, violated her. To simply cry, and not let him see that she was. Russel was sick, and came from a lineage of other sick men. No matter the money, the power, they were twisted. Sought pleasures of the flesh in more ways than sane. They were violent, vulgar, crude in nature, and stuck in their ways. It was unfortunate that she had to call him her husband day in and day out. Audrey's disgusting, coward of a husband Russel, made her feel like nothing, like nobody. There were always wondering admiring eyes at them. Longing to be in her position with the Hearts sons. Yes she was Audrey Hearst. But it was no marriage. Audrey wanted no such thing for any other woman. She was a prisoner trapped with the devil in the flesh, and with the Devil came violence, came suffering, came damnation. For this was a hell she couldn't escape. Tonight was odd... Russel had done things backwards. Her devil had always made sure to give her a cocktail of pills given her at the end of their evenings. In the beginning, she fought. Because what normal person would give their spouse something so violating. All he had to do was simply ask and she'd provide. Did we forget Russel Hearst was no person? Normally, she welcomed them. It numbed her just enough to forget she was being pillaged by her supposed partner. Enough for her to momentarily escape her physical prison on Earth, and imagine herself far away in a field of flowers, sun kissing her bruised flesh so tenderly, a passing breeze, bees buzzing, the clouding in her eyes ...you have only yourself to blame. You hate the way he fucking looks through you Audrey. You hate how he took everything from you. You're a fucking hallow shell now Audrey. Is that what your mother would have wanted? What your father would have wanted? You don't even remember what they look like now Audrey. What they smell like. How safe and homey they made you feel Audrey. Do you even feel real right now Audrey? He's fucking you again Audrey raping you again Audrey. It's not rape, remember Audrey? He's your husband Audrey. You're his property. He's doing it again... Right through you Audrey. You let him do it again.. K I L L H I M. The crash of his hand against her bottom pulled her back into the moment. Remembering she couldn't breath, feeling her eyes bulge and teary from the lack of air. Was it time finally? Would this have been the night he finally killed her? How easy it would have been... Just a few seconds more and she'd be free! Then again why would Audrey be given such an easy way out? Her Devil was not so kind enough to allow her the pleasures of sex, why would he allow her death? It wasn't until the sound of his monstrous feet retreating from their bedroom and down the stairs did she realize he finished. A breath she hadn't realized she was holding expelled from her chest. Finally a moment to breath as the makeshift noose was loosened from around her neck. Her body went limp, legs sliding down the length of the bed as her body met the soft cotton sheets of their bed. The sensation of his thick, repugnant cum splattered from the back of her thighs from inside of her and down her bruised thighs. It hurt. It hurt so much. Her woman was raw, and stung with the mixture of liquids. This was when she could cry. The quiet moments of peace before she would need to weather another storm. The seconds in between the facades. The seconds between the torment. With each gentle hic, quiet as to not give Russel reason to storm back up stairs, came a struggled wheeze. The addition of belt wasn't new, but the belt hurt the most. It hurt more than his hands crashing down the back of her head, more than the kicks to her back, to her stomach. The way it specifically crushed her throat while she fought for a morsel of air. How clouds would wrap the corners of her eyes and her sight would start to go dark. Audrey was tired. So tired. But if she closed her eyes now, Russel would return and punish her for it. Though, sleep just sounded so good, so kind, so merited. Just five minutes, please... Five minutes was too long for Russel. If there was one thing he was, it was precise, punctual, perfect in everything he did. Audrey reached up, arms aching as the tips of her thin fingers curled around the silk robe neatly folded by her pillow. Peeling out of her dress was a task in itself now. Weakly managing to push herself up from upon their bed, arms shaking, legs loose, something odd caught her ears. The sound of the television. If there was one thing Russel wasn't , it was someone who just casually watched TV. Audrey stilled herself, listening carefully for any movement just a floor below. All that could be heard was the sound of... the news? Audrey let the heaviness of her legs help slide herself off the bed and onto her knees. Her hips and back aching and tender. Slowly and quietly, she crawled to the door. At first she peeked from around the corner, praying Russel wasn't waiting. There was nothing out of the ordinary with the dark hall and so she continued her crawl. With the help of the stair rail, Audrey managed to pull herself up and stand before the decent. The closer to end of the stairs she reached, the more her skin riddled itself with goosebumps. Something was in fact off. Someone in fact was in her home. You're gonna die Audrey. This is it Audrey. It's fucking over Audrey. What did you amount to Audrey? Nothing. Because you're fucking worthless just like he says you are. In a worthless marriage, within the walls of a worthless house, married to a worthless man. And now you're gonna die. Die, die, die, die, die. You gonna kill him Audrey? You gonna take his life with your little pathetic hands Audrey? Do it Audrey. He's sitting there Audrey. Kill him Audrey. Otherwise you're fucked. Just as fucked as he fucked you. One step at a time down the stairs. Down, down, down into something she hadn't known might change her life for ever. For the better. Her steps were light, but the stairs, despite how new the house was, crepitated under each step. There was no point in hiding her presence now. If he wanted to act he would have. If she were to die so be it. Every part of her existence up until that moment wasn't worth anything. There sat a man. It wasn't her devil. He was much smaller. But he sat on Russel's couch, with Russel's TV on, watching Russel's news. Audrey stilled herself, trying to process when someone could have entered the house. There was no urge to scream not that she could anyways. There was no urge to run. Her dark, tired, bruised and red eyes followed the silhouette of the intruder swearing at the TV. A sudden slam of his foot made her jump, and it wasn't until then that she realized someone else present with them. On the floor, groaning and gagged was Russel, drenched in a puddle of his own blood. Fuck, she wheezed out. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and panic set in. A sudden rush of adrenaline surmounted her and her body trembled in response. Audrey watched him turn, and instinctively, she took a step back, listening on to him speak. He's disgusting. He doesn't deserve a number. He deserves nothing, she answered nervously. From adrenaline, to rage now as she conspired all the ways in which she wanted to kill him. Audrey then pulled the belt at her neck and continued. He's a fucking coward, she voice hoarsely. A devil. A piece of shit. Him and his entire family. Him and this entire fucking town. Tears furiously streaked down her face as all uneasiness expelled from her. She approached, robe, loosely hanging from her body, revealing to her intruder bruises painted over such fair skin. You did this to me Russel. Why? Why would you do this to me? I'd done nothing but love you. The closer she approached the more horrific the sight of him got. It's your chance Audrey. Kill him Audrey. He did this to you Audrey. I did everything for you. I gave everything to you. she said pulling the loosened belt from around her neck. Everything, Russel. I was seen, and not heard just like you wanted. I was hurt, abused, neglected, used. Just how you wanted. And you just, Audrey dropped to her knees, letting her dark, angry eyes take in all of him. The gashes, the cloth in his mouth, the panic mixed with desperation in his eyes. It was a vile sight. One she'd never forget. Oh how small you look now. Audrey crawled forward, straddling her large husband. Kill him Audrey, kill him. Do it. Do it now! How disgusting and pathetic you look now. Does it make you hard knowing I'm going to kill you? Does it turn you on now Russel, baby? With a hand full of his hair in her hand, she pulled his head forward, pulling the length of the belt around him. He didn't deserve a quick death by her hands. He deserved what she took. She deserved to give what he gave. The pain, the pleasure. She dropped his head, letting it thud loud against the wood floor. If I accidently choke you too hard now, Russel dearest, Audrey secured the belt around his thick neck, the rest of the belts' length looped around her hand as Russel began to panic. Fear and hate in his eyes as he searched for help. You'll only have yourself to blame, honey. With a rush of energy, Audrey pulled and the belt, watching it tighten sharply around his neck. Russel bucked and thrash underneath her, his blood splattering around them. She wouldn't dare stop, she couldn't. It's too bad my worthless cunt is kill you, huh? KILL HIM AUDREY. FEEL HOW GOOD IT IS TO GET RID OF HIM AUDREY. HE'S DYING AUDREY. TIGHER AUDREY. Clenching her teeth Audrey continued, leaning her whole body back, letting her entire weight pull his belt. The corners of the belt wrapped around her hand burned, knowing it would chafe and leave it's mark tomorrow but it felt too good to let go. 'ATTA-FUCKING-BOY! JUST LIKE THAT RUSSEL! IF YOU WRITHE TOO MUCH YOU REALLY MIGHT DIE RUSSEL. His body thrashing began to slow it's pace, hands desperately searching for a savior but instead smearing the blood from his prior engagement. From the floor, to the coach, to her thighs, trying to find his grip at her. She pulled the gag from his mouth, watching immediately as foam formed in his open mouth. Oh look, you're making a mess! Russel's disgusting face had gone red, then purple. She could feel him resist and so she gripped tighter before a blood curdling, rage-filled scream left her lips as Russel's final groan joined her, and then- silence. How good did that make you feel Audrey? He's dead now Audrey. You've done it now Audrey. They're gonna come after you now Audrey. Audrey released the belt, hand throbbing, gasping as she fell back. It was a sight to behold. Russel dead, mangled, bleeding, eyes wide open. It took a second before a quick nauseous feeling gripped her chest. There was no way she was making it. Audrey turned onto her knees trying to quickly crawl her way over to the guest bathroom just so few feet ahead of her. Her stomach wouldn't allow it. Her stomach churned, Audrey heaved and her dinner from just hours ago came back up as her body began to come down off it's high. Fuck, she cursed again between heaves of breaths. Fuck! she turned back to the intruder sitting at her couch. He'd just watched her off her husband. Audrey had completely forgotten he was there and he'd simply just watched her kill her husband. Is- she said, throat part raw from her vomiting, part sore from the belt, and partly from screaming. There was no voice in her anymore and yet she still attempted. Who are you? Why are you here? She nodded towards the TV that had moved on to another segment. It's okay if I'm next. Do whatever it is you need to do. I'm too tired to care anymore... There was no fear. There was no apprehension, no anxiety. Audrey sat there, trying to calm her breath as she tilted her head up towards the ceiling with closed eyes. All while covered in her now dead husband's blood. I'm just... so tired. Of all of them. I can't anymore... It's over Audrey. You're dead Audrey. Click to expand... Last edited Oct 15, 2024