by Marni Mann
You see, your mother was part of an organization called The Achurdy. The Achurdy found girls—hot ones, like Tyler—to target wealthy men with high limits on their credit cards. The girls would get these men all doped up and bring them to an underground auction where they’d get them to spend thousands. The girls would get a healthy cut, the men would be driven home, and The Achurdy would make bank. So, your mother was nothing more than a high-end con-artist whore.
For the girls, there was one crucial rule that they couldn’t break. Breaking it would cost them their lives.
There was no dating outside the organization.
Tyler, that cunt, didn’t listen, and she broke the rule with Beard.
They’d met while Beard was back home in San Diego. Fucking Beard couldn’t get enough of her, and he returned to the States every chance he got, so he could spend time with her. He didn’t know she was in The Achurdy, nor did he know the deer skull she had tattooed on her finger was the way they branded their girls.
But I knew.
My father had been selling drugs to The Achurdy for a long time. And, once we’d opened the prison, they’d hired us to get rid of the girls who were caught breaking their rules. Some had tried to run off, some had gotten pregnant, and some were just fucking weak and needed to die.
Beard didn’t like killing women, so when The Achurdy girls came in, I was the one who got to play, relentlessly torturing them, listening to them scream until I couldn’t take another second, and I ripped out their tongues.
Beard never saw the girls come in, never laid his hands on them, so he didn’t make the connection with Tyler’s tattoo. But Beard knew she was into some shit. Hell, she wasn’t able to see him that often. She couldn’t spend the night at his place, and he wasn’t allowed at hers. You’d think he would have pushed your mother to find out what she was into. He didn’t.
Dumb motherfucker.
But that was my boy, always leading with his heart. Always letting pussy determine his next move. Always letting women turn him weak.
When I found out your mother was part of The Achurdy, I didn’t tell Beard. There was no use. Nothing would have changed had he known. A girl like her, involved in something that deep, couldn’t maintain a double life for too long. So, I listened to Beard talk about her non-fucking-stop, and I waited for it all to crash.
It happened quicker than I’d thought.
One night, after a short trip home, Beard returned to the prison, completely strung out. His clothes were covered in blood. He was crying, and he wouldn’t stop shouting. I’d never seen him that way. He hadn’t even been that emotional when his mother was missing for months.
Diego and I made him talk, and it took hours for him to get it all out. We eventually learned that he’d found your mother dead. She’d slit her wrists inside his apartment. She’d left a note and arranged for some dude to pick her up and everything.
It all sounded far too orchestrated.
With running my father’s drugs, I’d been around shady my whole life. I knew how people schemed and fucking weaseled their way out of things, and most of the time, I caught them.
Tyler’s suicide felt so fake to me. Why the hell would she want the man who loved her to find her dead? She could have just sent Beard a text and killed herself at home. But, at his place, even scheduling someone to pick up her body? Now, that felt staged.
My theory was that she needed Beard to see her dead, so he wouldn’t go looking for her. And, until I was shown proof, she was still very alive in my mind.
I didn’t tell Beard that.
Instead, I hired a guy my father used back at home when he needed to find someone who had disappeared off the radar. It only took a few weeks before the PI located her. She had moved to the East Coast in a place that she paid for in cash. That part didn’t interest me as much as the tiny belly she had.
That cunt was pregnant with Beard’s kid.
But, if The Achurdy had found that out, they would have sent her to my prison. She didn’t know that. She just knew some of her coworkers had gone missing, and she never heard from them again. So, your mother was faced with a decision—have an abortion or fake her own death.
Too bad I was smarter than her.
Smarter than Beard, too.
That fucker really thought she was gone. He cried about her cold body and her dead eyes and how she had been silent when he tried to shake her back alive.
He’d always been weak.
Your mother made him weaker.
And she made him soft.
He was hurting so fucking badly because of her.
I was going to make sure that cunt never got near him again.
Then, some way, I’d crawl into the drug hole that Beard had fallen into, and I’d drag his ass out.
“Prisoner,” someone barked into my cell.
I looked up from the letter, and there was a guard standing in front of me on the other side of the bars. He was the one with the good-tasting cum.
“What?”
“It’s time for your shower.”
“I had one this—”
“Is that back talk, I hear?” His mouth moved between the iron rods, and the yelling caused his skin to turn red. “Showers are a privilege that I can easily take away. Is that what you want? To rot in this fucking cell with the smelliest balls in this prison?”
He wanted his cock sucked.
I understood the message.
And that was what this prison life was all about—working for privileges, ones that made life in here a little more bearable. Still, all this asshole had had to do was ask, and I would have put his perfect dick in my mouth, swiveling my tongue around the tip until his cum burst through the tiny hole.
His theatrics weren’t needed.
“Let me put my things away,” I told him. “I just need a minute.”
“That’s a better answer.”
I turned my back to him and quickly finished the letter.
All I had to do was kidnap your mother before anyone else found her.
It wasn’t hard.
At that time, I was the only one looking for her.
I got her, kid.
And I gave her a gift.
You.
I tossed the letter into an envelope, swiping my tongue over the glue to seal it just in case someone came into my cell while I was gone. Whenever I got back from the shower, I’d put his address on the front and stick it in the morning mail.
I’d barely touched on the story.
And I hadn’t even gotten to the good part.
“Let’s fucking go!” the guard screamed.
I’d have to continue it another time.
I turned around and stuck my hands through the opening, so the guard could put me in cuffs.
Then, he yanked my back against the bars and whispered, “My cock is tired of waiting for you.”
I smiled to myself. I loved it when I was right.
Sixteen
Anonymous
Before
You captured me.
Tortured me.
Killed me.
Now, it’s your turn to die.
Seventeen
Shank
Before
I held the letter in my hand, staring at the written words, reciting them in my head.
You captured me. Tortured me. Killed me. Now, it’s your turn to die.
What the fuck?
Some asshole has seriously large balls to send me that threat.
I didn’t take threats. I didn’t have to. I’d just find the person who was pissed off at me, and I’d kill them.
It was that simple.
But, in here, I didn’t have that kind of power, and I was sure they knew that.
Anonymous.
Fucking pussy.
I looked at the envelope. It was stamped; however, the markings were too faint to show where it had been processed. My prison number had even been put on the front. The only thing missing was a return address.
/> Who the hell could it be?
I’d tortured hundreds of prisoners, and I always made sure they were dead when I was done.
Could I have missed one?
Goddamn it, it could be anyone.
I checked out the note again, hoping it would give me a hint. The handwriting was simple, thin capital letters that could have been written by a male or female.
Whoever it was knew all the things I loved.
The only thing they’d left out was blood.
Coincidence?
Maybe.
Fuck this. If they wanted me, they knew where to find me.
I tore the letter into pieces and dropped it into my toilet. I did the same with the envelope and pissed on the floating paper.
After I flushed, I walked over to the bars and yelled, “Hey,” to catch the guard’s attention.
As he turned around, his hand went down to adjust his balls. “What the fuck do you want, inmate?”
It was the same guard as yesterday, the one who’d taken me to the shower and rammed my mouth like it was an asshole.
The one whose balls I wanted underneath my tongue.
“I need a shower.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s not time.”
I waited for him to glance up, and then I tore off my shirt and dropped it onto the bed of blankets. With his eyes on me, I dipped my face between the narrow space of the bars and began to lick the fucking rod. When I got about a foot down, I rotated to the other side and dragged my tongue back up.
I needed something in my mouth even if it was metal.
And I knew he wanted something around his cock because I watched it harden inside his pants, pressing into the zipper like it was trying to blow its way out.
“I think I can make an exception,” he said.
I tucked my soap underneath my arm and gave him my hands to cuff. Once they were locked around my wrists, he took me into the dark hallway, and we passed the prisoners who were housed in my wing. There were only cells on one side of the walkway, a concrete wall on the other, so we weren’t able to see the other inmates unless we were being escorted somewhere. That didn’t stop us from hearing what went on.
The fucking.
The torture.
The screams.
It felt just like home.
At the end of the hall was a normal-sized bathroom, except inside was only a shower. No tub or curtain, just a head that came out of the wall and a drain in the middle of the floor. It was clogged with short black hairs. I wondered how many ball sacks those pubes had fallen from.
When we showered, a guard normally stood at the door with it ajar, so he could keep an eye on us and the hallway. But, when this guard wanted his cock sucked, he would lock us both inside.
As I heard the click of the metal bolt, I turned around for him to uncuff me. He put the shower on, and then he twisted the key in between my hands and freed them.
I dropped the soap and got onto my knees.
Fuck, I enjoyed this part. My heart pounded at the anticipation of his cock sliding out of his pants.
“You want this dick?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes.”
He kept his belt on, the one that held his baton and gun, and just unzipped his pants. Through the opening, I saw white briefs. And, through that hole, there was a flash of dark hair before his cock sprang out.
Mmm.
He didn’t have the biggest dick. But, where it lacked in length, it made up for in width.
He gripped the base, leading the crown until it pressed against my cheek. He rubbed it over one, and as he passed my mouth, I licked the pre-cum off the tip.
“Tease me…just like that,” he ordered. “Make me want that fucking mouth of yours.” He circled my other cheek, followed by another quick lick from my tongue. “Stick it out nice and long for me.” With my tongue hanging out of my mouth, he wagged his tip over the center of it, dripping more of his salty pre-cum, until he hissed, “Suck.”
With pleasure, I surrounded his head. The whiff of musk I got told me he was near the end of his shift. I’d tasted him in various stages. Since I usually didn’t have a choice, I had no preference. I liked his dick any way he gave it to me.
As I took my first bob down to his base, I watched him lift the gun out of its holster. He unlatched the safety and pressed the muzzle to the side of my forehead. “You do anything stupid, and I’ll pull the fucking trigger.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d pointed his gun at me.
Each time, I liked it even more.
And, each time, it made me harder for him.
I flattened my tongue, dipping it down into his hair, circling his shaft a few times before lifting toward his crown. Needing more access, I reached inside his pants and cupped his balls, rolling them in my palm.
“Yes,” he moaned. “Take it deep.”
My cock was stabbing into the cheap fucking pants they made us wear, and the fabric scratched at my tip every time my hips shifted. I was losing my shit. All I could think about was making his dick come and how I was going to beat off to the memory of it when I got back to my cell.
I dived down again, and my spit flowed like a goddamn river toward the hand that cupped his balls. I used it to keep my fingers juiced up, so they could slide around his sack. And, now, I had a rhythm, so I sucked as hard as I could. He liked it because he was bleating like a fucking goat.
My free hand went to the bottom of his cock and jerked off that section while I kept my lips focused on the top. With the combination of just enough suction and flicking, he hardened even more.
My moan vibrated across his shaft.
“Fuck this,” he said as he pulled back until his dick popped out of my mouth. “I want your ass.”
Now, those were words I really loved.
As I stood, I dropped my pants and placed my hands flat on the wall.
He moved behind me and said, “Spread your legs.”
The waistband of my pants didn’t allow me to move any further apart, so I took a foot out and widened my stance.
“You done this before?”
I knew what he wanted to hear. “No.”
“Good. It should be nice and tight then.”
He cleared his throat and spit, and I assumed it went to his hand, so he could wipe it over his cock. But then I heard him spit again, and a glob landed on my hole. That motherfucker had some incredible aim.
I glanced over my shoulder to see what was taking so long.
He was stroking away while he looked at my ass. When our eyes finally met, he said, “Do you want me to tell you this isn’t going to hurt?”
We were about the same height, so it didn’t take much maneuvering for his cock to line up with me.
“Nah,” I said, “I want you to hurt me.”
Before I even had a chance to swallow, he jammed his entire dick into me, and I lost my breath. He felt bigger than he had in my mouth. I knew that was impossible; this hole was just tighter. He reared back to his tip and punched forward, his balls slapping against my taint, and then he did it again.
“Harder,” I begged.
It didn’t hurt enough.
It didn’t give me the satisfaction I wanted, and I knew it wouldn’t give me the release I needed.
The only thing that could do that was blood.
“Give me your knife,” I said. “I know you have one in your pocket.”
“What do you want it for?” He didn’t even slow down as he asked.
“I want to cut myself.”
“What?”
Steadying myself with the bottoms of my feet, I lifted my sleeve to show him the top of my shoulder where I’d made the small gashes. “Now, give it to me.”
“You want to cut yourself”—he took a breath—“while I’m in your fucking—”
“Give it to me!” I shouted.
When he finally slapped the knife in my hand, I brought it up to my mouth and held the plastic casing between my teeth while I slid
the metal out. Once the blade was fully extended, I held the sharpest point against my biceps and dragged it over my skin. Blood bubbled through the cut and began to drip down my arm and slowly onto the ground.
Fuck, that’s a beautiful sight.
A small pool started to form, and I stared at it, concentrating on the redness while he was inside my ass. I waited for it—for the numbness to start to disintegrate, for the release to move its way through my body.
It wasn’t even close.
Because my blood wasn’t enough.
I needed more.
I took the guard’s hand off my hip and brought it around to the front of me, and I slashed across his palm.
He yanked his hand away and yelled, “Are you fucking stupid?” But his cock didn’t go anywhere; it stayed buried, and his hips continued to move in a fast circle.
“It’s just a cut,” I told him.
“Do you know who the fuck I am? And what I can do to you?”
He was inside my ass. Raw. I had the right to do whatever the hell I wanted.
And I had no intention of stopping.
I reached behind me and grabbed the same hand as before. I rubbed it over mine, so I could get all the blood that was seeping out. Hot stickiness coated my skin, and that was when I knew I’d gotten enough.
I let him go and immediately painted it over my cock.
“You’re a sick motherfucker, you know that?”
I wasn’t sick.
I just had a love for blood.
Now, as I stared at the small puddle on the tiles and at the redness on my dick, I felt something.
And it felt so fucking good.
I wrapped my hand around my dick, and I began to pump.
He was hitting a spot in my ass that I could feel all the way in my stomach, and it was making my balls tighten. It was also making it hard for me to breathe. I tightened my grip and squeezed toward the tip, like I was wringing out my fucking laundry in the sink.
He didn’t tell me he was close to coming. I could just tell by the way he grunted, how his speed picked up, when his nails started digging into my goddamn hips.