Chapter Text
You always hated doing the generators in the basement.
A plastic red jerrycan filled with gasoline sloshed at every step you make. The weight of it felt as if you're carrying an entire ocean on your feeble hands. The forceful dug of your fingers into the container had most likely created crescent marks baring each fingertip.
You stayed for a moment in a dark corner, back and knees bent down after your ears caught the shrill sound of an elevator, carrying out a surprise for your current torment.
This was followed by a loud 'khtsss', the familiar sound of puff getting in and out of a sprayer nozzle, and the muffled blabber of the ex-pop, Pusher, as his bare feet patter against the gritty concrete.
You waited until the sounds of muffling and puffing are distant before letting out a heavy sigh. Why does it take so long for that maniac to leave?
A couple of steps, retracting back when you realized you're in the wrong room, it felt like you're skittering hungry cockroach on a dark kitchen. Steadily, also luckily, sustaining no damage, you could see the lit corridor which tells you that you're near the dark room where the generator—
Kzzzap!
A flash of electricity zapped against your bare foot, and spittle came out of your mouth, a pained scream loud enough for any nearby ears to hear. You dropped what you're carrying, shoulder roughly hitting first against the dirty cold concrete, muscles convulsing tightly from the sudden shock. Thank your instincts for making you fall right next to the electric wire trap you stupidly and unknowingly stepped on.
The slipped jerrycan is now a few meters away from your reach, between the light and the dark, the elongated sprout on top started seeping industrial gasoline. You didn't stand up, taking the chance to catch your breath because you're still concealed in the dark, enough not to be seen by any incoming ex-pop or Prime Asset, just a sliver away from the brightly lit corridor.
While your body slowly wearing out from being stunned, you turned your head sideways, eyes followed the running liquid. A small golden river from the nozzle towards the bright corridor, then you caught the sound of leather boots coming from the room where the generator remains.
A soft knock came behind the white wooden door, muffled sparks of electricity, before it creaked opened. Your eyes widened in fear when you realized who it was...
Stood before you under the light is the man; half of his face looked like smashed congealed pieces of dried red jelly, his beard graying and looked coarse with dirt, semi-crushed lit cigarette between his dry lips, baring its gold badge on his chest with pride, thumb of his hand hooked under his belt.
It's that fucking cop, Leland Coyle.
"I just.. love the possibilities.. of a pitch black room." The man before you said with a heavy southern drawl, slightly muffled by that burning vice between his lips, each single word felt a direct violation to you. You glared at him, eyebrows taut together, yet you couldn't say a word, hoping he wouldn't hear you.
But.. he knows. It's the fucking cop instinct.
The altered cattle prod in his right hand shines softly under the orange-yellow light. Gleaming cracks of blue light followed the coils of copper wires inside, seemed as though a sunny day suddenly have dark clouds developing a storm from a distance. Blue, white, and yellow rubber wires enveloped his dominant arm, the hand of Zeus, surging powers through his veins— the random intensive flash of green through your night vision makes your eyes squint.
Soles of his boots splashed against the flammable liquid with negligence, making the umber leather slick and shiny. His nostrils flared out, edges of his lips curled into a snarl, fallen ashes of his lit cigarette inches away from lighting the river of death.
You could feel his eyes crinkle and glow behind the shades of his aviators, a starving vulture finding a meal. You've always wondered how can he see in the dark with those in his eyes.
"I can smell you right there, sweetness." Leland spat out, grin widening further. Your nose scrunched up, lips pressed together like a line.
His nostrils took a heavy whiff further making you feel impure, considering that he's the one reeking lot more than you thought—a few weeks old, perhaps rotten, beef skewered in a metal skewer, roasting over a rusty grill, while thunder from the sky crackle a rubber wheel—which made you think if he smelled himself ever.
"I bet you're slicker than an oil rig spillin' waters between them… thick meat of yours."
Truth left his words akin to spilt milk— You can't lie to yourself. Your hands twitched.
You want to haul yourself up, push him down to the ground, ride his dick until there's no tomorrow, rip it out of his body, bite it on your mouth, held it as high as you could. Finally shoving it in his stupid southern mouth, let him eat his cock. But you can't. It is the pills you were taking; making you cower, compliant, obedient. All struggles do nothing. You can't do anything but take.
Your face became flushed as your felt your thighs shifted together in shame, could feel your slit soaking through the fabric of your underwear. A gratifying feeling went through him by knowing he's right while he chuckled. You darted your eyes away from him, muffled whine under your lips, a nervous tick.
These thoughts makes you wonder if you're as sick in the head as him.
He knelt down, a low groan left his lips as his tendons popped, his left bare hand reaches for the spilled gasoline, fingers grazing along the thin liquid as if he's inspecting the thickness of a car's oil change.
"..You shouldn't be messin' with this type'a stuff. One ash and it'll shine up like fiery lightnin'." A devious grin plastered on his face, the words didn't sound like he's concerned about your safety—a mockery on your fear.
"Shouldn't be here anyways. Say, what are you doin' in my property?" He rested his slicked fingers against his belt, thumb hooked down back inside.
"N-Nothin', officer." You stuttered, clearly lying, although trying to play into his delusions of a cop finding a civilian doing "suspected" crime, expecting that he will look past it. "..I was.. locked here. I couldn't get out—"
"—Smell like a lie. You're full of shit." No turning back.
The corrupt cop started walking closer to you, stopping when the toes of his boots nudges on your arm as you struggled to raise your body up.
"..Tell me now or I'll cook the truth outta you."
Instead of hitting your face with his active cattle prod in his hand, he cut off the sparks; the cold sharp tips of it slowly grazes under your chin tilting your head upwards with it, stunning your movement.
Gasoline-slicked fingers roughly raised your night vision, making you recoil. When he sees the way your pupils swallows your irises, eyebrows knitted together, he drank on it same as a thirsty man in a desert. An addiction to fear, his favorite vice.
".. Don't want a.. purdy girl like you to waste. 'Specially a youngin' too." A tremor ran down your stiff spine, an inebriating blend of fear and excitement, as you watched his chest rises with each blood-boiling laugh. His gray eyes behind the shaded barrier gazes on your body akin to a freshly cut, twitching beef on the hook. "You look like my first wife. Pretty like a frilly cake on a bakery window. Could eat her up whole... Too bad she fell."
You couldn't quite understand what he meant, thanks to the sheer arousal overtaking your brain, but you feel that it is not particularly.. a compliment or a threat.
He stood back up, staring down at you. ".. You wanna live? Then open your mouth."
The four-edged tip of the metal prod rubbed against your bottom lip, insisting you to open them. The sharpness pierced through thin layer of skin, a trail of blood falling down your sternum, making you whimper in pain. With reluctance, you followed him, didn't want to make your life worse by disobeying the police officer.
Leland pushed down the sharp tips of his metal stick inside your wet willing mouth, tears fell down your stretched cheeks. Every inch of the metal collides with your teeth, gums, and tongue. Each single point pricked either the sensitive nerves or the taste buds. You couldn't tell if what you're tasting is the worn iron or your blood from your fresh wounds.
His aviators fell down to the bridge of his nose, revealing his bleak gray gaze had never wavered, entranced at how your weak body betrayed your consciousness. Your bleeding lips are wide open to release aching moans from each twist of his cattle prod.
Your pupils gaze up your nose; squinting dilated eyes, tear-streaked face, cheeks flushed red reflected on the dark glass of his aviators, a twisted mirror with the tormentor behind.
Beneath the tough fabric of his beige cargo pants, right under his zipper, his erection stood like day. The slimmer belt under his actual belt, which sole purpose is to keep his cigarettes in his hip, shifted upwards to make way for the enlarged bulge. He darted out his tongue, wetting his parched lips. "Like watchin' fresh lightin' on a dark stormy night. Taking it like a good girl."
Leland finally left the cattle prod's tips off your mouth, making you sputter out a heady mix of saliva, blood, and tears onto the ground. His leather boot kicked your lower stomach hard, puffy eyes flowing down with more tears. You could feel a bruise blooming on your skin. The toe of his boot turned your tense body around. Now your back is against the cold concrete.
"Makin' me wonder if you'd take the real thing like that." He chuckled, his gloved hand slid from his leather jacket towards his crotch, squeezing like he's trying to itch it out.
Your throat bobbed as your half-lidded wet eyes stared up at him, lips agape. You're curled on the floor, the pain still lingers in your stomach.
He abruptly dropped the prod onto the ground with a loud clatter, loosening his brown leather belt with both of his hands. After he left it hanging open around his belt loops, his gloved hand quickly caught your hair with an iron grip, raising you up in front of him.
Before you could let out a loud scream, he muffled it with his other hand, only leaving you to shut your reddened eyes as teardrops fell.
Clink. Shwooop.
You slowly opened your eyes, throat felt skintight.
The fucking bastard bounded his belt around you, gold-like buckle stark like a collar, rough leather itching your skin, each struggle only makes it harder for you to breathe. Your arms are weak as your nerves could barely do anything to stop, knees now on the ground while his grip on your locks taut.
"Stop idling that whore mouth of yours and keep it open." He snarled, thumb roughly pressing against your bottom lip in his wicked sense of affection, your saliva sticked to the tip of his thumb.
When he saw that you didn't comply at his words, he clicked his teeth with his lips turned down. His leather-clad hand firmly gripped your jaw, making you whine as you opened your mouth once more, poked holes oozes out blood; it looks like a blood-weeping cavern. A drool streamed down your splotched lip, trickling down the concrete.
Leland aggressively turned your face sideways, eyes gazing at each blood bead forming, inspecting like an unconscious body in a crime scene.
The pain starts to taste sweet. Your favorite vice.
"The insides of my third wife— three bullets in her head. She's a real stuck-up and loves God, praising Him like she's servicing Him with her pussy every Sunday service…" He took out his vice off his lips, breathing out of his nostrils, cloudy smoke momentarily blurred your vision.
"… Truth is, she didn't kill herself. Made it look like it so I can fuck other whores… Now she can enjoy Him however she likes."
With his hand returning to your scalp with a firm grip, he pulled down what seemed to be his stained, sweaty, used to be white but is now yellowed boxers along with his cargo trousers.
His dick, a length long enough to combat with the god of thunder, as thick as a thermos bottle, half of part curved upwards. It stood like a metal pipe in front of your face. Each veins bulged out, blood flow going overtime. A dark patch of black hair rests on the hilt of his dick trailing up to his lower stomach.
While, yes, his size as impressive as his southern accent, the odor coming from it.. is not. He smells like the male public shower room of the sleep room, most masculine musk you could ever smelled, but with the hint of burnt skin and leather.
His grip brought your face closer to his stiff cock, looking down at you before spitting on your forehead. A flinched whine left your lips as his spit followed down your nose. "Don't you fuckin' wipe away. I want everyone to know that you're my case now. You're liable in the eyes of my fucking law."
It didn't take you long enough to dart the blunt end of your tongue to nudge the hole in his flushed tip, licking the salty bead there. Your teary red eyes flickered as you continue to lap him, small lines of blood coming from your wounds now staining his foreskin, a low moan left your belted throat.
"Goddamn, taking me like I'm your judge… But it ain't enough to bail your crimes."
Leland harshly pushed you off his cock with a loud grunt, a string of saliva between your red lips. He hauled your body up on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his breathing heavy while he brought you deeper onto the darkest part of the room. It seems he wanted to take you somewhere with less eyes.
You were dropped down on a crate, the force almost breaking the wooden material. His hands spread your legs out, completely ripping off your pants along with your underwear. He took a heavy whiff right on the soaked fabric, grinning akin to an award he earned during his military days, before pocketing it in his dark brown leather jacket.
"… Second wife." Leland let out a quick laugh before shaking his head, blowing smoke from his almost burnt cigarette. "Face and body like a pin-up gal. Every time I came home from my shift, she's always wearing that silk gown I gifted her."
"… Got a cunt that's tighter than my other wives… Gave her the night of her life while it's stormin' heavy back in Oklahoma. It's a little town, you see. Everyone knew everyone but they don't know me." His ungloved, slicked hand rubbed your inner thigh. A trail of gasoline left your skin towards your sopping pussy. He hooked a finger inside, walls slick enough to swallow it whole. His thumb rubbing the clit right above your slit, a loud moan left your bit lip.
"She screamed like she couldn't get enough of my dick— Damn right.. I strapped her body on a electric rod. She lit up like God took her. People thought she died from "natural causes"— tch. They ain't wrong." His shoulders shrugs.
You didn't notice he slipped his dick deep inside you after he confessed another one of his brutal murders, sopping walls can't stop him but cling around him, the thickness of it made you helpless to push him out. He grabbed your legs, resting them on your shoulders while his finger dug in your plush hips.
His pace wasn't slow, he didn't let you accustom to the sheer size of him.
"..Jesus.. fucking.. Christ, you're just like her." Every hard thrust followed his hoarse words.
Leland leaned down, letting out a heavy chuckle after he presses the lit end of his almost finished cigarette on your shoulder blade. The searing pain made you shriek, your body twisting away from him yet his grip on you kept you in place.
".. Look at you. My best case yet." His gray beard scratched across your neck, red rash-like texture blooms. His teeth sank deep as his hips continued to pound in you. You could feel the enlarged tip of his poking at the front walls of your cervix, his balls smacked your ass at every shove.
Its an obscene view as he took a peek; the upper part of your slit bulged, your walls surrounding his fat size, sucking him like you couldn't get enough of him.
Hoarse grunts and loud pitched moans echoes against the walls along with slick-shlick-shlick of his ruddy penis getting brutally in and out of your drenched cunt. Tears continued to fall down your face, your fingers gripping the wood while he folds you in half, knees reaching your shoulders. Each shove getting more mercilessly, you both could smell blood coming but he didn't stop at that.
Sweat coated both of your bodies, some trailing down his neck, soaking the lapel of his white shirt and his red tie.
".. L-Leland—" A hard slap on your face.
"You… don't get to fucking call me that." He snarled at you.
"It's… Officer… Coyle, sweet thing." Each word much forceful than the other, his grin gets wider as he watched your tears flow like cascades down your face— he never gets sick of watching you cry. His hand print bloomed on your cheek, a lingering mark.
The tie inside of you uncurled, coating his half-hard shaft with your sudden cum. You let out a glass-shattering moan, ankles curled, your walls as tight as it can be, bare feet hitting against his head. His black leather police cap fell off his head, revealing his complete baldness while the cap laid on your face; it reeks a lot like sweat and his musk.
Once you felt exhausted and overstimulated, he refuses to let go, even when your worn-out voice told him to get off. He kept himself inside of you, refusing to let go of your still fluttering and bleeding walls. Slowly, you could feel his load flooded down inside of you, stuffing you full, leaking out of your vagina because it couldn't handle the amount he's giving you.
"Quit whinin'." Leland muttered against your earlobe, biting it to make you stop squirming. "It… It ain't gonna make a baby in you… Nurses told me about some side-effects—— whatever bull-fucking-shit safety." He rolled his eyes, pushing his aviators back on his face as if he didn't embarrass himself by that fact. "… I'll hunt your ass if you ever talk this to anyone."
He started to carry you off the crate, hands on your ass to keep himself impaled inside you, fingers squeezing the plush flesh. Your legs are now wrapped around his waist, head resting on his shoulder as you shudder lightly from the cold.
You grabbed his hat, wearing it on your head. "I.. won't. I promise." You said, hesitation making you stutter, voice weak because of the belt around your neck and the fatigue.