IN LOVE WITH MY PRISONER

SABINE'S POINT OF VIEW

I told myself I wouldn't stay long.

I'm not supposed to be here. 

This is wrong.

However, all I could feel was the pulsing in my veins, the sound of my heartbeat in my ears as loud as possible.

THOMP THOMP. 

Christine says it would be all right. Discreet.

Nothing should go wrong.

'I won't stay long.' I tell myself as I walk further into the club, the scent of alcohol, run, and secrets in the air as scantily clad bodies pass me by. 

This place feels like the birthplace of sin, lust, secrets, passion, and danger all mixed in one.

Just one hour...or two. Anything enough to shut the screaming, wild voice of passion in my ears. 

The club pulses like a heartbeat, loud, strong, unrelenting.  Red lights drip from the ceiling, shadows move around like predators masked, their mouths chained shut with a weird-looking device, as drinks are moved around on their shoulders.

I could smell the s*x, the money, the sheer lewdness.

I swallow as the waitress leads me to a room. Her body clad in a thin pink lingerie, her *ss cheeks hanging out from the thong she has on, her n*ppl*s clearly evident in her small bra.

Her heels echo like a countdown as we walk to a red door. She stops in front of it, handing me a bag.

"This is the room your payment covers for. Be dressed in this immediately you walk in."

"What?" I ask, stunned, partially dazed from the overwhelming sensations oozing through me.

She places her hand under my chin, lifting my gaze back to hers, and from the bag, I was looking at with caution.

As if something would jump out of it.

"Your partner is very particular about obedience, and he requested a blindfold."

"Particular?" I ask, as the blindfold in her hand has me taking a step back.

Should I do this?

Can I do this? 

I ask myself as the weight of the bag in my hand, and the blindfold she drapes over my shoulder suddenly feel like a mountain. 

Strong.

Unrelenting.

Overwhelming.

"Miss?" She asks me, but I hardly hear her as I ask myself.

Should I do this?

My father is a police officer. I am expected to follow in his footsteps very soon. This is not what the daughter of an upright citizen should do.

"Miss?" She asks again, her expression now irritated. "Look, I have other people to attend to. Do you want to go in?"

--------------------------

Somehow, I am in this room, dressed in the blood red lingerie, my eyes shut by the blindfold over them, and my senses heightened.

My skin flushes, as I feel both cold and warm at the exact same time. 

The door opens, and footsteps follow.

They are sharp, strong, domineering.

The person walks in, and immediately, the scent of brandy fills the room.

It's expensive, strong.

He walks forward, his footsteps getting closer and closer, untill I sense someone standing right in front of me.

I gasp as his fingers brush against my cheeks.

They are cold, his fongers feel long, thick-in the right way.

"Are you ready?" His stony, husky voice fills the room as he asks.

I nod, unsure of what he's asking nfor.

"Words, dolcezza."  He commands, his fingers now gripping my cheeks, strongly.

"Yes." I respond, speaking up even though my voice comes out squeaky. 

Him squeezing my cheeks should have me angry.

I should walk out of here, but for some reason, it has me clenching my thighs even tighter, my skin flushes even more, and the hairs on my neck rise.

"Better. Good girl." He coos. "Pick a safe word." 

"What?" I ask, stuned by his words.

What are those?

"Once you say it, I will stop whatever I'm doing to you. Even if I haven't finished yet."

"Oh....mango." I say the first words that comes to mind.

"Good. I'm about to disrespect you."

Next thing I know, I'm yanked to my feet and thrown onto the bed, the soft matress wit silk sheets welcomes me. The sound of my panties being shredded fills my ears, the burn of it against my skin sending a jolt to my p*ssy.

I'm in for it.

-------------------

"Take it, Dolcezza!" His savage thrusts hit me hard in my chest, as he chokes me, his grip on my throat unrelenting, as he growls in my ear.

 His strong hands over my wrists as he imprisons them, forcing me to lie there and taker his brutal thrusts as I scream for more, his thick, veiny c*ck swells inside me with each thrust, each push, each smack of my thighs so I can keep my les spread even more for him.

I moan breathlessly, the urge to scratch his back filling me as my release draws closer and closer, each second adding to the intensity of it all. . He has been f*ck*ng me for the past... I have no idea of time anymore. His breath against my cheek smelled of brandy and rum... driving me wild as it adds to my pleasure.

My cl*t swells as he rubs it harshly, his hand no longer on my wrists, as he commands.

"Break for me, baby." His voice soft, sensual, and like a good girl  I come apart for him, wanton, submissive, his to completely destroy tonight.

He pulls back from me suddenly, the feel of his strong knees against my thighs as he parts my legs even further apart. He flips me over, onto my stomach without removing his c*ck from my aching, fdripping centre. 

He dosen't stop thrusting, not as he reaches forward to push me further into the bed, his strong hands on my hips as he impales me on his c*ck.

Over and over again. 

Suddenly, the feel of something cold drops on my back, and he rubs it in, massaging my back sensally.

It smells like mango.

"Hmmm." I sigh and moan in content and pleasure.

---------------------------

The next morning, a note was attached to my forehead. The words.

                You smell like sin.

                       -D.

DOMINIC’S POINT OF VIEW.

I was born in blood- and I've been spilling it ever since.

The first person I killed was the woman assigned to bathe me. She touched me, her bony hands rubbing on my skin suggestively.

I hated it.

So, I grabbed a toothbrush and drove it into her eye. I proceeded to sl*t her throat after that, my small hands sticky with her blood as the metalic smell wafted into my nose.

I was ten.

Ever since, I've carried a towel around me wherever I go.

The next person was a judge.I remember the way his face scrunched up as he spat dirty words at me.

'B*st*rd'

'Psychopath'

His labelling amused me- you can't fix what's already broken.

He sent me to a correctional facility, gave me a therapist. The red-haired woman did her best to enter my head, soothing voice and all-like I was a normal twelve-year-old.

She didn't live long either. I made her swallow a bottle of pills and watched as she choked on her spi