Dirty Psychopath

by Celia Crown

  I inhale sharply and bring my hand to the side of her face, stroking it at the same tempo as her hand on my shaft.

  I like having my hand in her hair. It feels nice to fist the silken strands between my fingers and let her know she has no say in anything.

  It’s insinuated, but I never vocalize it.

  She sucks on the vein, running her tongue along it with her hot breath on the burning skin. She does what instinct tells her; the inexperience of her actions serving as stimulation for me.

  “Open, little girl,” I encourage with a growl.

  She does what she’s told and opens her small mouth, considerately covering her bottom teeth with her tongue. Another growl rumbles deep in my chest, pleased at her obedience.

  I feed her the glistening tip, urging her to lean forward with a tug of her hair. Like a good girl, she hums and takes a couple of inches deep in her mouth. Her mouth is small, and she has to let the tension around her jaw release before attempting to take me down her throat.

  It’s a slow process, but I’m halfway down her tight throat. It’s an intoxicatingly torturous sensation having her tight muscles contract strenuously around my thick cock.

  I roll my hips, feeding more into her tight mouth even when tears sting her squinting eyes. She chokes as I stay still after every inch is wrapped behind her reddened lips. Drool trickles down the corner of her mouth, her throat rippling to accommodate the intrusion without the ability to breathe.

  “Count to three, little girl,” I croon vilely.

  I count for her, holding the seconds longer than appropriate as I let the silence add to her struggle. She pushes against my thighs, nails dragging red streaks above my pants.

  I give her well-deserved mercy and listen to her cough. Her thick saliva coats the twitching length of my cock.

  My cock jerks and drools in protest, the lack of tightness stopping the release I desperately need. I don’t want to cum down her throat. It’s tempting, but the amount of cum in my balls is way too much to be wasted.

  I want all of it inside her virgin cunt.

  Yanking her head back by gripping her hair, her head bounces off the cushion as she whimpers. I made sure to not hurt her, but I do need her back against the wall.

  I make quick work of removing her pants, her shoes flying off at my sudden movement. She doesn’t have time to complain as she sits in her white cotton panties.

  “Please, you’re scaring me,” she cries with a hiccup.

  I pause at the waistband of her panties. “Have I done anything to harm you?”

  She hesitates and shakes her head. “No, but—”

  “Then, you have no reason to fear me, little girl. I don’t even have enough time to love you adequately.”

  Let alone hurt her as much as I want to.

  She chews on her lip with a hesitant nod. Her ass lifts, and I snatch the damp underwear from her quivering legs. The embarrassment brings a crimson flush to her cheeks as her eyes widen. She stammers in protest when I examine the wetness where her pretty cunt had been.

  I rub my thumb over the slick, and a stringy trail follows as I drop the garment near her hips. I lick the honeyed juices off my thumb and savor the taste while causing her great distress by my behavior.

  “Don’t do that!” she squeaks with red cheeks.

  I ignore her and wrench her thighs apart; her inner muscles taut and straining. Her shirt rides up to her pelvic bone, leaving an unobstructed view of her pussy; blushing pink folds part, the hidden bud peeks through the hood, and the virgin hole oozes sweetness.

  I crudely pinch one side of her puffy pussy and spread her tiny opening to gauge how much work I have to put in to get her cunt to flutter around my fat cock.

  I’m a big man. It’s going to hurt when I take her virginity, and she will ache for me.

  She lets out an impatient whine, brows knotting with mortification. My other hand dips between her thighs and scoops a thick glob of slick to smear the cum over her pulsing clit.

  “John, please,” she mumbles but doesn’t go into what she wants.

  Her body resists one moment, but then her hips rise to push her clit harder against my finger. I pinch her clit before giving the sodden bud a sharp slap that has her voice shattering into a moan.

  Placing my knees in a comfortable position, I hoist her hips into the air and slide her supple thighs around my waist. She spreads wider than what she’s comfortable with.

  “Oh,” she sputters warily as she finds purchase against the wall with her hands clinging to the front of my shirt.

  Steadying the bobbing shaft, I tap her clit with the glistening tip. Her legs jolt and her fingers clasp tighter on my shirt as her breath wheezes.

  “John, it won’t fit,” she protests under duress.

  “It will,” I correct.

  “I’m scared,” she admits tearfully. “I’ve never done this before, and you’re really big. What if—”

  Her hips writhe, twisting and grinding on the bulbous head until it catches at the tiny opening. I rut forward, popping through the small barrier of her little wet hole and forcing her virgin pussy to take just the tip of my fat cock.

  “You said you wanted to help me, to help me get better,” I reckon in an accusatory tone that makes her squirm.

  I will use her kindness to fit my agenda, to force her world to adapt to mine, and to demand that she yield to my commands. While it is true that I want her to be mine, I won’t hesitate to hurt her to achieve that goal.

  She cries, gutturally, “So big—it hurts…”

  “You can’t lie to me,” I hiss under my breath.

  I sink deeper, spreading her plush heat in needy selfishness. So slick, too tight, and unquestionably ready for me to seize that innocent cherry.

  “If you don’t help me, you’re a bad girl,” I note, sneering her name with a rough thrust.

  My cock sits heavily inside her rippling muscles, coiling and sucking on my cock to spill virile cum in her sodden walls.

  “I don’t want a bad girl,” I voice with a scoff. “I will leave you behind.”

  Her tight cunt flutters as she scrambles to throw her arms around me, her face pressing into my neck and whining lowly.

  “No, no, please, I’ll be good. I’ll help—anything, I’ll do anything,” begging me between sobs.

  “Please, don’t leave me.”

  Rocking against her, I find that spongy spot and grind the drooling tip against it. She keens noisily, a squeaky sound that ricochets in my ears.

  My big frame traps her against the wall, fucking her with abandon as I pull back but leave the fat, swollen tip inside.

  As she gets used to her squishy walls fitting around the thickness of my cock, I forget any thought of not using her.

  I bounce her hips with every pummeling thrust, splitting the squelchy hole and letting her muscles slurp on my girth.

  “John, John,” she whispers, “Someone is there!”

  Her pussy sweetly locks my cock inside as I stop mid-thrust to address her concern. I turn my head over my shoulder and stare at the rectangular window, but no one is there.

  I am not bothered or rushed; I just turn and start to hammer her sloppy cunt again.

  “There was—” she pleads, “There was someone there! Please, they saw—”

  They didn’t see anything. I have her little body engulfed by mine; all they saw was bare legs bouncing around my hips.

  The implications of the position would be easy to guess, but I’m not worried about it.

  The squelching sound gets louder, messier, and syrupier. She hoarsely whines and trembles. The shivers come from her bones as she gasps breathlessly. The sweetest hot gush of cum squishes around my hammering cock and sloshes the cum into a webbed mess.

  She can cum without her clit being touched.

  Interesting. This is very useful information.

  A haze blurs my vision as I continue to fuck her through her release. She begs for mercy, but I’m not in a giving mood
. I need to chase the overdue release that has been sitting in my balls for the whole night.

  I pin her sensitive body to the wall and ground into the spongy spot. Her hands wander frantically down my back, gripping and yanking on the shirt as she rocks her hips towards me.

  She adjusts the angle as I thrust. The motion is not lost on me, so I help by nudging her sodden clit with my pounding thrusts.

  She is babbling on until her lovely voice lodges in her throat. Her quivering folds slurp salaciously, and her tiny slit closes around the thickness as her puffy pussy milks my cock.

  Ropes of creaminess spurt from the swollen tip, smearing my ownership of her deflowered cunt.

  She moans quietly, “John.”

  I snap a hand around her neck, clenching her airway shut, and savor the obscene spasms of her drenched pussy from the panic. Her lips part in a protest, but the lack of air causes her body to go limp.

  Her heavy lashes flutter down as her eyes close. I hold on for a moment longer. My lips find her cheek, counting the skipping pulse in my fingertips as it begins to slow down.

  “We’re going to leave together, little girl. No one can separate us ever again.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jessie

  I don’t know how long I have been out.

  The moment I open my eyes to the padded room, I bolt up, and a jolt of pain rushes through my body. My arms shake from the exertion, and the trembling only gets worse as I keep my weight on my palms.

  Memories flood my mind. I scramble up from the floor and use the wall for support. The room sways nauseatingly as I hold back the acidic taste in my throat.

  I stagger to the door and try the barred cage, rattling it until the lock pops, and the door screeches open. I have a bit of trouble opening the exterior door; it’s heavy and won’t budge. When I manage to get it open, something is blocking the door, and a putrid stench hits the room.

  I scrunch up my nose and put a hand to my face. It helps with the smell as I press my shoulder against the door to move it.

  About halfway there, a leg pops through the opening. I jump back and stare at the limb, fitted with a bloody tennis shoe.

  With everything that’s been happening, I’m on alert and ready for someone to rush inside the room. A minute passes, and it’s still silent. So I gather my courage and scurry out of the room.

  There is a woman slumped near the door, her head twisted to face the room. No one could have their neck contorted that way and not be dead. But it does take a moment to let that sink in.

  Tears are in my eyes as I turn away. The scene is so gruesome that I rush away from her. I run down the hall, searching for answers and finding none as I get lost in the chaotic asylum.

  All I see are bodies everywhere. None of them appear to be breathing, and clotted blood covers the surrounding surfaces in meaningless patterns.

  “Please,” a weak voice calls, “Help me.”

  My head spins as I look for the source of the voice. A man lies on his stomach, face turned away from me as his back quivers.

  I fall to my knees, but don’t know what to do as my hands hover over his back.

  “What can I do?” I ask frantically.

  He manages to wheeze out painfully, “Over.”

  I assume he means to turn him over so he can breathe better. I slowly tug on his shoulders and let gravity drop him onto his back. He sputters in pain, droplets of blood escaping his gasping mouth. The blood seeps between his teeth as his eyes glaze over.

  I scan his body for injuries, and the pooling blood around his stomach is spreading alarmingly fast. It is making a puddle on the floor. I jerk the fabric up and assess the injury, but nothing could have prepared me for the severity of it.

  He had been disemboweled.

  His intestines are flopping out of the jagged wound. Stinging tears make my eyes squint as I gag in the back of my throat.

  As I urge the man to hang on and not give up, I realize I’m talking to his dead body. He had stopped breathing; the lack of light in his eyes the first sign of his passing.

  The logical part of me isn’t surprised because the blood loss alone would have killed him. But my emotional side is too frightened to stop the hysterical scream coming from my lips.

  Before I know it, I start backing towards the wall. My eyes lose their focus and then refocus on the body. The blood pounding in my ears makes it hard to get my nerves under control.

  I have to find out what is going on in this place, but the more pressing concern is John’s location.

  Where is he?

  I remember when he cut off my oxygen until I passed out. I don’t understand what his motive for doing it was, but it explains his escape. I have been under the impression that he is here involuntarily, but John is a wickedly brilliant man. He understands his surroundings, and he’s more self-sufficient than people think.

  He could have escaped way before I even began working here, but he chose to do it today.

  I can’t wrap my head around it.

  Maybe this lockdown is what he was waiting for. This distraction is big enough for him to slip away unnoticed because everyone is trying to get the situation under control, especially after the gruesome deaths.

  He used me.

  My theory is proven wrong when John comes around the corner.

  His sturdy steps are confident, and his imposing height reignites the fear running through my veins. His big hand wraps around someone’s ankle, dragging them out from behind the wall as he walks closer.

  I know that ankle tattoo, a small caterpillar on a rope.

  “Lisa,” I whisper, nearly retching.

  Her eyes are closed, but her chest is moving. She’s alive, making the reality of all this clear to me. I don’t heed the warning bells going off in my head as I crawl towards his muscled legs.

  I’m only concerned about Lisa.

  I want to hold her in my arms and feel her breathe. It’ll help me think better so I can see where she’s hurt.

  John has other things on his mind.

  He jerks his hand, and that simple flick of his wrist slides Lisa’s body to his other side. His blatant disrespect for her is clear from the contempt in his obsidian eyes. He doesn’t care about her and has no qualms about using Lisa to mop the floor.

  “John,” I plead.

  My knees throb as I grasp his pants, the fabric too thin to conceal his taut muscles.

  “Let go of Lisa,” I say as my eyes drop down to her unconscious body.

  She’s my friend, and I want to protect her. When dealing with John, I need a lot of tact. I won’t be able to win against him physically. He’s proven himself to be a very bright individual, so it’s hard to find the best approach amid this chaos.

  He cocks his head and drops her ankle, the limb falling with a dull thump. She doesn’t stir at the rough treatment, not even her lashes are moving to indicate activity behind her eyelids.

  John sidesteps and effectively blocks me from reaching for Lisa. The meaning of his action is clear, the warning emanating from his rigid muscles. He’s going to hurt me if I try to touch Lisa. Or worse, he’ll hurt her if I don’t listen to him.

  My priority is to ensure that John doesn’t hurt Lisa. I don’t know if her lack of consciousness has anything to do with him, but I don’t want to be the reason for him to hurt her even more.

  “What did you do, John?” I ask yet again.

  My legs are too weak to stand as I grasp his other leg. His big hand smoothing the hair on my head is a sickening gesture, but it also creates a sense of refuge.

  In this moment of gentle silence, I don’t fear him as I should. He makes me feel safe. My guard is down more than I’d like to admit. But it’s the truth; I can’t deny the sense of security I feel as the erratic tempo of my heart slows.

  He’s here and won’t let anything happen to me.

  He hoists me up with ease, and my knees knock together at the sudden movement. I lean on him for support as he keeps me at arm's len
gth; the strange distance is not lost on me. I notice it immediately because John usually likes to hold me close, so this is a bit peculiar.

  “Did you do this?” I press him for an answer.

  He still doesn’t respond. His obsidian eyes glimmer, and his lips pull into a smile. None of it makes me want to move away from the security of his arms.

  “Please, I need answers,” I plead once more.

  His continuing silence is deafening as the heartbeat pounds in my temple.

  “Did you kill the man?” I shake his arms, but he’s not affected.

  “Self-defense,” he finally says.

  “Did he try to hurt you?” I whisper, hesitant, but panicked.

  I search for injuries to his massive body; there is a lot of blood on his clothes. I use my hands to run over his shirt and graze his body, but don’t find anything that would explain the amount of blood on him.

  It isn’t his.

  “Whose blood is this, John?” I demand in a quivering voice.

  He answers my other question instead, “He was going to keep me from you.”

  “What?” I ask incredulously.

  A calloused hand strokes my cheek, and he dryly says, “They didn’t want us to be together.”

  Every answer he gives only raises more questions. I’m more confused than before, and I haven’t even gotten to the problem with Lisa yet.

  Someone or something had rendered her unconscious, and I need to know if it was him.

  “I’m keeping you,” he utters possessively with a bizarre shine in his eyes.

  He’s speaking as if I’m an object, the perverse obsession in his obsidian hues anything but kind.

  I mumble to myself as I try to make sense of this. The only thing I understand is that John might have hurt these people because they wanted to take him to a safe area, including Lisa. But he saw it as being taken away from me.

  The protocol during a lockdown is to prioritize the patients and keep them in a safe place. They must have tried to do that, and he didn’t take it well.

  I was knocked out for some time, so I’m using what I know about John to fill in the blanks. But it does make sense.