Chapter 4: The Assault Continues

Jaime lay sprawled on her back in the small prison bed, a bruised and broken silhouette against the stained mattress, subdued by the beast above her. Droplets of precum glistened like venomous pearls, dripping from Reggie’s towering erection onto her trembling skin. His hand descended, prying apart her labia with a predator’s precision, baring her clit—a raw, pulsing nerve exposed to his mercy. The smooth head of his cock grazed it, a slick torment that sent shivers clawing up her spine, her breath a ragged hymn in the suffocating cell.

“W-w-what? Ah ... nah ... stop...” Her voice quaked, a fragile thread snapping under the weight of his slimy touch. Every ridge and curve of him seared into her senses as he rubbed against her, a grotesque intimacy that twisted her gut. Their heavy breathing wove a sinister tapestry, her reluctant moans—traitorous whispers—slipping free, terror and disgust warring with the body’s betrayal beneath his relentless assault.

“Owe ... ah ... oh ... don’t.” A guttural moan tore from her as Reggie plunged back inside, her slickness—a cursed gift from the drug she remained ignorant of receiving—coating his thick shaft. Her walls clenched around him, a desperate embrace born of instinct, not will, stretching tight as if to trap what she longed to expel. For Reggie, this was the game—turning her own flesh against her, a puppetmaster savoring the strings. Each thrust was a violation savored, a dark feast of control he gorged upon.

A stranger’s cock—monstrous, alien—invaded her sacred depths, shredding the vows she’d woven around her marriage like a fragile shroud. Before God, Steve, and her own heart, she’d pledged fidelity; now, each thrust hacked at that promise, a blade of betrayal slicing through her soul. Tears scalded her cheeks, hot rivers of grief as she begged, “No more ... please ... take it out...” Her pleas echoed, lost in the stone void, a prayer drowned by defilement.

“Don’t you want me to love you, treat you nice, baby?” Reggie’s voice slithered, a taunt wrapped in velvet.

“I want you to be nice,” she sobbed, heart hammering, dread choking her. What else could she say? Defiance risked his fist—she’d learned that lesson in bruises. His hands gripped her, iron shackles of flesh, his weight a crushing tide as he drove deeper. The air reeked of sweat and despair, the cell a crypt entombing their volatile dance. She prayed for it to end, a silent scream to a deaf heaven.

“That’s a good girl. Your tight pussy makin’ my cock slick again—how I like it,” he growled, smug triumph lacing his drawl.

Her pleas were wind against stone as he burrowed deeper. “Oh, nah ... please ... don’t,” she whimpered, shame flooding her like a rancid tide. He ignored her, lost in his own rapture, a beast feeding on her ruin.

Her breath snagged as his shaft slid in and out, a rhythm of violation sending unwanted waves crashing through her. He teased her entrance, dipping shallowly to coat himself in her slickness—proof of her body’s mutiny—before withdrawing, only to stretch her labia wider, baring her clit to his glistening tip. Each touch was a jolt, a live wire sparking against her will, her depths twitching with a craving she loathed.

She writhed beneath him, protests drowned by the flesh’s rebellion. His smirk widened, tracing his cock over her hardening clit, her arousal a trophy he brandished. “Why you sayin’ ‘no,’ beggin’ me to stop, when I’m bein’ nice, baby? Your clit hard—showin’ you like me,” he whispered, voice a serpent’s hiss. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the sensations away, but her body sang a traitor’s song.

“No ... stop rubbin’ me ... you’re disgustin’ ... you got no right, pig...”

Her cries ricocheted through the empty cells, a banshee’s wail. His slick glans against her clit was a repulsive brand, searing her with revulsion. Her palms shoved at his muscled stomach, a futile bulwark against his tide, but he was unyielding—a force of nature bent on conquest. She begged for his conscience, for justice, but he was deaf to all but his primal hunger.

“Put your hands down, baby, ‘fore I smack you again!” His command cracked like a whip.

Fingers trembling, Jaime’s hands fell limp, dread coiling tight as she braced for his sting. The cell pulsed with their musk, a fog of lust and fear shrouding them.

Reggie lifted his shaft, granting a fleeting reprieve, her clit throbbing in the aftermath. Then, with a thud, his cock slammed down, a brutal hammer against her tender flesh. She moaned, hips bucking involuntarily, each slap a tidal surge dragging her toward an abyss she despised. “Oh ... oh ... ah ... don’t,” she gasped, but he pounded on, her swollen clit bared and helpless.

Slap ... slap ... slap.

Each strike was a thunderclap, shoving her closer to a precipice she couldn’t escape.

He grinned, smug as sin, admiring her clit’s unwilling erection—a grotesque masterpiece. “That’s art, baby,” he sighed, pride swelling in his twisted craft. Her torment was his canvas, painted in shades of degradation.

“No,” she sobbed as he pressed his shaft against her clit’s hood, sliding upward, his length a dark shadow against her pale skin, nearly grazing her navel. Time for another plunge, he decided, sinking back into her tight, wet core.

It was a dive into ecstasy’s black pool, a rhythm of slick flesh and moans merging into a symphony of ruin. “You startin’ to like big Black cock inside you, baby,” he taunted, a dagger in her pride.