Dirty Psychopath

by Celia Crown

  I count the doors. Five of them are closed and currently in use. And two of them are empty with their doors wide open.

  The doors are designed for maximum privacy, extending from floor to ceiling with a three-inch gap at the top to let the steam escape.

  There are two ways to figure out where Jessie is, either by voice or by the clothes hanging on each door.

  I note the sound of her voice when she’s speaking to her friend. I believe the other voice belongs to the Lisa woman.

  I stop in front of Jessie’s shower stall, and in a brief moment of sanity, think about turning back and pretending this didn’t happen. The thought disappears just as quickly, making me want this even more than before.

  The mere thought of getting caught is exhilarating. But it’s the idea of being close to her that compels me to ignore my integrity.

  My shirt comes off as well as my pants. My tight boxer-briefs resist slightly as I hook my thumb under the elastic and slide them off. The clothes are discarded on the bench before I stand in front of her door, naked and hard.

  My hand wraps around the thick shaft and slowly strokes it. The girth swells with a bead of cum trickling down and smearing on my finger.

  It’s not enough.

  Placing my hand on the door handle, the lock gives, and the door opens.

  I step inside the steamy stall with my eyes focused on the beautiful curve of her arched back as she runs her delicate hands through her hair. Her ass shakes under a stream of water traveling down the plumpness that calls for my hand to give it a reverberating spank.

  I quietly press the door closed, but the click of the lock startles her.

  Her arms fall to her side as she begins to spin around. I catch a glimpse of panic in her wide eyes before curling my fingers around her small neck and holding her still with the threat lingering in my fingertips.

  My chest plasters itself to her back as I bury my nose in her wet hair. That same fruity shampoo scent lunges into my lungs. The heat had condensed the smell. Despite being her scent, I still hate the sweetness of it.

  I trap my cock between the plump curves of her perky ass and squeeze my hand tighter around her neck to stop her from struggling. Securing her fidgeting body, I coil the other arm around her waist and rock my hips to bring a sense of relief to my cock.

  “Jessie,” I whisper as the water from above drowns out my voice, “My little girl.”

  “John?” she squeaks, hushed with a frightened quiver.

  If she wants to have a conversation, she is speaking to the wrong person. I am here for another reason, for my comfort only. I care little about her resistance.

  “What are you doing?” she whispers, but very firmly.

  She can push me away or scream. I’m not blocking her voice, but she decides not to bring attention to the fact that I am in her shower stall.

  This is by no means appropriate, but Jessie is mine—I own her.

  “You’re mine, little girl,” I mutter into her hair as I stroke the tender skin of her waist.

  She shudders, her throat bobbing harshly under my grip. Jessie squirms while her body temperature rises alarmingly fast, but it’s not from the hot water cascading down my back. I am blocking the majority of the spray, but droplets of water still hit her face as she blinks rapidly.

  I glance over her shoulder and watch her little pink nipple perk up with a short heave of her creamy tits.

  My cock hardens even more.

  “Please,” she says, breathlessly shaky. “No… what are you doing? You can’t be here.”

  She’s not defending herself yet, but she is starting to struggle a little more. That only rubs my cock with her bouncy ass, and I sigh at the churning of my stomach.

  I glide a hand up the curve of her waist, tracing small patterns on her wet skin and teasing her pink nipple with a nudge. Her knees buckle as a tiny whine is drowned out by the roaring water, but I hear it.

  I decide to test her determination and wrap my big hand over her tit, the creaminess spilling over my fingers as a moan lodges inside her throat.

  “Jessie?” the voice from the next stall calls out, “Did you fall?”

  “N-no!” she shouts back as her voice trails off.

  Tweaking the bud and rolling it around with my fingers, it grows tight as it flushes with blood. It’s a shame I can’t put my lips on her. I’m not willing to give her an opportunity to push me away.

  She had her chance; I’m not letting her do it now.

  “You can’t be here,” she protests as she tries to push my hand away, but I hold on tight.

  Her tit bounces when I let go. But the red print from my powerful grasp remains and isn’t going away under my gaze.

  “Don’t move, little girl,” I warn.

  My lips find her flushed cheek, kissing the wet skin and humming her name like it’s a vile temptation. I can’t help letting my hand drop past her quivering stomach to dip between her thighs.

  She frets, begging me to stop with a hushed yelp.

  I graze her soaked pussy. It’s a different kind of wetness: thicker, slipperier, and much stickier.

  She’s wet.

  Dirty girl.

  My calloused fingers spread her little folds and flick her sodden clit with a deft nudge that has her panting my name. That melodic sound doesn’t last long when my finger pressures her clit to yield to my command, darting the bud left and right to force her ass to grind against my cock.

  Her pulse races under my hand, thumping erratically.

  She’s wet and hot; the silken sensation of her twitching little hole is fascinating when I dip a finger inside. It’s not even an inch inside her when she moans quietly, her pussy clenching and pulsing with a gush of heat.

  The delicate muscles tighten as I ease the digit inside, rubbing and stroking the quivering walls until I blindly come across a very spongy spot that has her keening.

  “What did you say?” her friend’s voice screams from the other stall.

  “N-nothing!” Jessie shrieks back as she slaps a hand over her lips.

  Nimbly, I slide the finger out and coat her juices over her swollen clit. With the help of the cascading water and the dripping slickness of her little pussy, it’s good enough for me.

  My big cock throbs, angry and impatient with pulsing jerks as the bulbous tip drools a string of cum on the cleft of her ass.

  The taste of her on my tongue will haunt me in my nightmares. I suck on the digit and bring the taste deeper down my throat before pulling my hips back to aim the tip of my fat cock at her drenched cunt.

  “No,” she pleads prettily, “Please, no—”

  I won’t do that to her. My little girl deserves to have her pink pussy pounded into the cushioning of my isolation room. Then I can distribute my strength evenly and fuck her properly.

  I drag my cock against her puffy cunt, letting her feel the thickness of my shaft and smearing the girth with her sticky juices. Her slippery cunt is like a fluttering suction that breathes scorching juices with every thrust.

  “Take a look, little girl,” I urge with a growling chuckle, “Look down.”

  She whimpers, in both fear and lustful desire. Her head drops, making her choke on my hand when I don’t loosen the grip around her neck. She breathes heavily, whining so adorably when her eyes eat up the filthy scene.

  I’m much bigger and taller than she is, too strong for her to do anything but whine hysterically. Cum flows from the reddened tip as it disappears and reappears from her puffy cunt, her parted folds slurping on my fat cock. The sheer size difference between us has her writhing in tears.

  “I-it won’t fit,” she mutters as a hiccup throttles her complaint.

  “It will,” I growl into her hair.

  “Too big,” she chokes. “It’ll hurt.”

  “Good,” I approve with a sneer. “It should hurt, little girl. Being with me will always hurt.”

  She shakes her head with her last shred of strength. “No, I don’t want to be wit
h you…”

  “Liar,” I hiss, “Dirty, lying little girl.”

  She seems to grasp one point of my statement, and it’s the wrong one. “I-I’m not dirty.”

  “No?” I mock with a grin.

  I drag my finger over her throbbing clit, inciting a surprised squeal as I bring the stringy slick to her lips and shove the digit onto her tongue. Her choked hiccup is stifled by the curve of my finger pressing on her tongue.

  “What’s this?” I ask mockingly. “Your pretty pussy says otherwise; it’s begging for my fat cock to breed you.”

  She puckers her lips around the intrusive finger and sucks hungrily. Her response is automatic as she keeps her eyes down, wide and unblinking.

  “I’m done, Jessie!” her friend announces with her booming voice. “Want me to wait for you?”

  “No!” Jessie yelps after I jerk my finger from her lips, and her teeth scrape it hard enough to cause temporary pain.

  “Cool!” the woman shouts, “Bye!”

  Jessie doesn’t bother bidding her goodbye. She doesn’t have time to be distracted when I take hold of her clit again and rub the bud with vigorous circles. She moans loudly with unintelligible squeaks as her release gushes out of her pussy to spread messily on my thrusting shaft.

  I keep my finger on her clit, dragging her aftershock into sensitivity. My hand tightens around her neck as I pump my cock against her damp cunt, and the view between her luscious thighs is amazing.

  Each thrust shows my cock coming out, big and intimidatingly thick against her swollen pussy. There isn't a doubt in my mind that she will cry when I feed her hungry pussy with my cock, inch by thick inch until she begs me to stop.

  Then, I will make it a point to ignore her request and spread her soiled little hole in carnal perversion.

  I won’t stop until her squishy pussy swallows all of me, even when the bulbous tip is pressing against her cervix.

  A little bit of pain will always bring out the most beautiful side of her.

  I just know it.

  I rub harder on her slippery clit, thrusting roughly, and choking her more harshly. My body strains with burning need, fighting for control, and holding back the desire to plunge into her welcoming pussy and spray my cum on her squelching walls.

  It’d be easy.

  I won’t, I won’t do it just yet.

  Jessie shudders, and another orgasm wrecks her little body as she cries out. I don’t care who hears her at this point; I’m focused on using her frothing cum to find my release.

  After years of built-up tension, my body’s innate need to fuck her is driving me insane.

  Her head tosses back onto my chest, her bouncy ass grinding against my hips and the twitching folds adhering with hot suction.

  My cock lurches, the tip bounces up, and the first spurt of cum splashes onto the wall. The creamy whiteness contrasts with the gray of the stall as it slides slowly down. Ropes and ropes of cum pumps onto the wall while it gets washed away by the splattering water.

  I release my hold on her neck and spin her around, but not before I let her knees buckle. She hits the floor and uses my muscled thighs for leverage when she looks up at me with doe eyes, red lips, and flushed cheeks.

  It’s humiliation, I come to understand as I stare in deadly silence. She’s humiliated, embarrassed beyond words, and mortified by her wanton actions.

  My hard cock bobs, hanging between my legs and dripping with cum. I grab a fist of her hair and yank harshly to tip her lips open. The drop of cum drools down from the swollen head and trickles onto her tongue.

  “Are you a virgin, little girl?”

  Her cheeks burn vibrantly. I need an answer, not her silent embarrassment.

  “Are you?” I ask again with a fierce tug on her hair.

  “Yes,” she stammers fearfully.

  “Good girl.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jessie

  I haven’t known peace since I met John.

  Something about him is akin to the calm before the storm. But sadly, he is both the calm and the storm.

  His massive body radiates a sense of contained danger, but everyone knows he will explode if he feels the need. Just like experts who have ideas about a specific volcano exploding, but they don’t know when.

  It’s the looming threat that makes everyone uneasy.

  Today, however, is another hectic day.

  In the other wing, a new patient was just admitted to the asylum. His paperwork was missing because every fax machine was broken. A strange coincidence, but no one thought much about it.

  The patient has an intermittent explosive disorder. Lisa and I were working when we heard the first angry scream coming through the vents. He was in the other wing, but his voice was so loud that it frightened many of the patients.

  The patient was then put in the isolation unit to reduce the stimulation caused by being in a new place.

  I am worried the new man will cause a disruptive scene that elicits a cataclysmic response from John.

  John likes silence. He has told me that much about himself and prefers isolation over anything else.

  That was before last night.

  I haven’t seen him since, but I’m going to have to face him when the group session starts at noon.

  My face still burns with embarrassment about what happened. A lot of things don’t make sense to me.

  I was left kneeling on the floor, the taste of him coating my tongue while I watched the rippling muscles of his back as he departed.

  He didn’t care that someone could have seen him and filed a complaint about a man walking out of the women’s shower room.

  What I’m more concerned about is that I didn't scream for help. I did try to fight him in the beginning, but I was putty in his hands the moment his calloused fingers touched my pussy.

  I have accepted that it happened, and I don’t regret it. But I am having a hard time wrapping my head around it.

  “Someone had sex yesterday,” Lisa says, and her voice startles the hell out of me.

  “What?” I blurt guiltily.

  My heart lurches into my throat as a sense of claustrophobia hits too close to home. It feels as if her words are aimed at me, and I’m being cornered by her gleaming eyes.

  “I was talking to the other volunteers this morning before you clocked in.”

  “Oh, is that so,” I comment rather awkwardly.

  “Yeah,” she says with a click of her tongue. “Either that or someone was training to be a DJ in the shower. Who knows?”

  I want to tell her that no one will make fun of her if she just says “masturbating,” but I keep that remark to myself. I don’t want to point it out and draw attention to myself on the matter.

  I was the one who had a scandalous encounter in the stall right next to hers.

  “Nothing’s wrong with that,” Lisa notes with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s just really weird to hear someone moaning when I have shampoo in my eyes.”

  I laugh uneasily. “Did you find out who it was?”

  She squints her eyes. “No, did you?”

  I shake my head to reinforce the denial. “No. I didn’t hear anything over the water.”

  “You have a point,” she agrees, “That shit is like a fire hose. I swear I thought I was going to get pushed through the door.”

  Some volunteers had to stay behind to clean up the mess in the laundry room, and they also had to clean up after John attacked Doctor Hancock.

  Speaking of Hancock, people are whispering that he needed stitches on his forehead because John rammed his head into the wall so hard.

  John, on the other hand, is being transferred tonight. It’s the only time the transportation team has an open spot available, so today is the last day I will see John.

  I won’t see him again.

  A sharp pain stabs my heart at the thought. I have to remind myself that he’s a patient in this mental asylum. He is not sane enough to judge what is morally right and what is wrong
.

  Part of me believes I took advantage of John. It’s a bizarre thought, but it makes sense in some twisted way.

  I thought I was helping by being his confidant and letting him tell me things since he wouldn’t utter a sound to anyone else.

  I used that special bond to get close to him.

  A bit closer than is considered proper.

  “Wait—” Lisa jerks my shoulder to look me in the eyes. “Are you crying?”

  I blink at her atrocious claim. “No?”

  Then a drop splatters my cheek, followed by one near the other eye. I touch the wetness on my face and frown in confusion. The pain in my heart feeds the anxious fear as I wipe them away.

  “Are you hurt?” she asks frantically, using the sleeve of her shirt to help me.

  “I can call an attending doctor to see you,” she whispers so as not to draw attention to us.

  “No,” I choke out. “I think I just have something in my eyes.”

  She believes me despite the lack of confidence in my voice. But I’m thankful I don’t have to explain my outlandish sadness. I can’t seem to escape the thought of never seeing John again.

  It’s so strange.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a ball of dust,” she carps with a scowl. “The ceilings haven’t been cleaned since the beginning of time.”

  I laugh at her exaggeration, and it does wonders for the tightness in my chest.

  “I have to help get the new patient’s room ready. I’ll talk to you later?”

  I nod when she pats my cheek. “Yeah, see you later.”

  Lisa is older than I am; she is like a big sister when she takes care of me. It was tough working here at first; I was a newbie with no knowledge of how the asylum worked. It’s not the same as how a hospital runs, especially since the patients are here for crimes too severe to be handled in prison.

  In layman’s terms, some of them lack sympathy and empathy.

  I return to my work and use it to distract me from the aching in my chest. My eyes still burn, but at least they are dry. It hurts to blink, so I try to get rid of the redness by rubbing them.