Disclaimer : Edward, Bella, and all things Twilight belong to SM. Everything else belongs to me.
**This story will at times contain violence, strong sexual content, and delicate subject matter. Please be advised.
Now that we got that out of the way... Shall we?
Chapter One : Shame
"Oh fuck!" she screams, grasping wildly for something to hold on to, toppling bottles and everything else within her reach. "Fuuuuuuuuck!"
"That's right," I sneer, my hands flat on her back, holding the rest of her body immobile under my weight. "That's what you wanted. As I recall, it's what you begged for."
"Jesus, Edward, you're... relentless... " She's struggling for breath with every punishing thrust of my hips. "I can't... take... much... more... "
"Which is exactly why you begged. So, suck it up, or I'll make you do just that and that's all you'll get."
This bitch has been begging for it for months. Today I decided to take pity on her. By giving her what she wanted, and fucking her with no pity at all. And no mercy. Not one fucking bit.
She's bent over my bathroom sink, since she couldn't wait for me to take a leak in peace, and when I opened the bathroom door, there she was. Standing there waiting like a greedy whore. Now here she is. Getting fucked like one. And she's loving every minute of it. Her mouth is saying she can't take it, but she's trying desperately to grind her ass against me at the same time. Greedy. Lying. Whore.
Begging for it... Every inch of my more-than-ample cock. Every hammering thrust I put behind it...
And Loving. Every. Minute. Of it.
Unfortunately for me, as is the nature of things, I'm not.
I look at my reflection in the mirror, vacant as I pound into her. As she moans. As she screams. As she begs for more. Begs for mercy. Begs for release. Begs for anything I'll give her.
It's not the only pleading I hear. My disinterested face speaks volumes. The voice in my head, once again asking Why? Why is it always the same?
It all feels the same. They all feel the same.
They all look the same. Bent over or on their knees.
They all sound the same. Screaming and panting my name. Or God's. Whores' prayers.
They're all the fucking same. Every damn one of them.
No... not every one. Almost. There's one exception... only one, but I can't think of her now. Not yet. She's not here yet.
What is here...
They have different names, maybe, not that I remember many of them, if I even bothered to ask in the first place. Or if I listened when they told me, whether I did or I didn't. It doesn't matter what their names are.
Or their faces. I don't see them. Of course, they're usually turned away from me, or buried in my lap...
But even if they weren't, there's nothing to see. I don't notice the color of their eyes, I don't look into them. They're all the same, anyway. I know this without having to look. Wanting. Wanting is a shade in and of itself. A shallow, colorless shade of nothing, in shallow pieces of greedy flesh. Greedy flesh that's always open for me. Wide open. Legs... Lips... whatever I want. It's there for the taking.
I see nothing.
I feel nothing.
My dick is hard, that's why we're here, but then it often is, the way these nameless, faceless whores throw their wares at me.
Wares. To be used. Worn out. Thrown out. Replaced with new ones. New ones to be used. Worn out. Thrown out. Replaced with...
All the fucking same.
Nothing worth keeping.
This isn't working.
And her incessant screaming is giving me a headache.
She's getting off.
The greedy bitch is getting exactly what she wanted.
And I'm getting shit.
Because she can't give it to me.
None of them can.
I can never have what I want.
I can never have what I need.
I'll never feel it.
I'll never feel her.
She could give it to me.
She could make me feel.
But I can't have her.
She's not mine to take from.
She never will be.
I'm not worthy. Not of her.
And even if I was...
She's off limits. To most, but especially to me.
I've accepted this. I accepted it long ago.
I'll never have her.
I try to fill the gaping hole, but I can't.
"Shut up!" I yell, as I pull out of her, and rip the condom off, throwing it to the floor. I wrap my fist tightly around my dick and close my eyes.
They can't, but she can.
I know it's wrong.
She's better than this.
She's too good for what I'm doing now.
Thinking of her. Picturing her beautiful face. Hearing her sweet voice.
While I stroke my now-throbbing cock. Throbbing because of her, not the whore still bent over in front of me.
My release only comes one way. From one thing. Her. Only she can give it to me.
I tighten my grip on my cock, trying, as always, to imagine how she would feel around me.
Unlike anyone else.
Unlike anything I've ever felt.
She's so much better.
But I can't help myself.
I can't stop.
She's the only thing that makes me feel.
And I want to feel.
My thoughts are all I have.
These thoughts of an angel who deserves better than to be here with me now.
I close my eyes to my reflection, because I can't look at myself anymore. I'm a monster to have brought her here. But I can't let her go. And as much as I hate myself for doing it, it will happen again. I'll bring her back. I always bring her back.
He'd kill me if he knew.
She'd hate me.
They'd both be right.
But they'll never know...
I feel my hatred for my monster-self in my grip. My cock will take the punishment. It always does. Because the pain feels good. It's what I deserve. And I'll take it. Because I want to feel. What I crave will never be real before me. This is all I have.
I don't make a sound as I find my temporary peace. The ass I drench with it isn't worthy of hearing it. She isn't worthy of feeling it, either, but she's what's here. She couldn't give it to me, and she knows that. She'll leave here knowing it. They all do.
They all think they can turn my world upside down, for an hour or so, but they all leave knowing they failed. Knowing they weren't good enough. Knowing they weren't worthy.
And now it's time for her to go. Take her new-found knowledge and go.
"Get dressed and get out." My tone is harsh as I pull up my boxers and jeans, looking at her still-bent form with disgust.
She turns and opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it quickly when I glare at her. Don't even think about it...
I pick up her clothes from the floor and shove them at her. "Now."
She mutters "Dick" under her breath and puts them on, not stopping to attempt to clean herself up. It's more than I should let her take from here, but I don't care. I just want her gone.
And to know her worth, or lack of. "And that's exactly what you came here for. It's your problem if you feel like a dirty whore now that you got it."
She gives me the look I've seen hundreds of times, the look that says I hate you, but you're right, I got what I wanted, and runs out the door, slamming it behind her.
Why do bitches always slam doors?
Why do they beg for something and then hate you for giving it to them?
For a minute.
They only hate for a minute. Then they want it again.
They have no shame.
I wish I didn't.
I wish I didn't feel what I feel now.
What I always feel.
Everything is dirty.
I pick up the condom from the bathroom floor and walk through the kitchen and into the garage. I toss it in the trash can where I know there are others.
I grab the bleach and a rag and the mop and head back to the bathroom. I pour the bleach straight from the bottle and scrub everything she may have touched. I don't want any trace of that filthy whore here. I pour it on my hands. I don't want any trace of her on me, either. I don't remember where I threw the condom, so I pour bleach on the floor and mop the whole thing.
I hate the smell of bleach. I hate the way it assaults my senses. I hate the way it lingers harsh in the air. Reminding me of what I did.
What I did to her. Not that whore, her.
What I did to myself.
What I know I'll do again.
I hate the smell of bleach and I hate myself.
I return the mop and the bottle of bleach to the garage. I throw the rag in the trash, covering the offending condom, and replace the lid. I go back into the house and head straight downstairs to the basement. I kick off my shoes and start the washing machine, and pour the detergent and strip naked, throwing in my clothes and dropping the lid with a bang.
I head back upstairs and the smell of bleach hits me like a brick wall. The evidence of what I did and tried to scrub away. The bathroom is clean, but I'm not. Maybe I'll never be clean. Maybe I can never wash it off. The disgust I feel. But I'll try. I always try.
I start the shower and set the temperature as hot as I can stand it. Hotter than I can stand it. I step in and let the scalding water punish me.
Because this is what I deserve.
For what I did.
"I'm sorry, Isabella. I'm sorry... "