✦ "It hurts." She whimpers underneath me, her eyes squinting shut.
"You can take it." I reply whilst one of my hand leaves her waist and starts to rub her clit, I feel her come leaking out of her pussy, dripping from her pussy."✦
***
She wears suit...
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When I was around twelve and just learning about the history of the mafias I came across books. Not books about our mafias but novels.
I read one book and then became addicted, it was an escape of some sort. It was as if I lived another life when I read and I loved reading.
It was one the few things I enjoyed.
Freya had encouraged it upon me, she lent me some of her books to read. Freya was like a mother to me, she cares for me, loved me, raised me, taught me how to look after myself.
I only stopped reading when I began to train, there was no time for personal hobbies then.
Now that I look back on it I wished that I had spent more time doing things I naturally enjoyed.
I do enjoy torturing and killing people as well as reading.
One passage will always stand out to me, it was about an author who wrote their book but had it published after their death.
They said that, that if they knew what they were writing could be exposed to no eye until they were dead they would remain peaceful, that they would be free to write as they wish. Protected from all the criticism from their readers.
It was a depressing quote yes but they were completely right.
Who would want to write up to the standards of others when what they write was just a hobby? When they do it for themselves?
The answer was no one.
I wouldn't change who I am for shit all, I don't care if I'm a killer. Murder. Psychopath. I like being what I am because it make me who I am. It gives me a personality. If my parents were still here to this day, then I would never have been in this position.
I would never have had my wrists chained to the wall and my feet barely touching the ground.
'What ifs' are stupid, they are of no use. We can't travel to the past and change it. We get what we're given.
That's the reality.
"You going to give yourself up yet?"Aleksandro ask me whilst dipping his knife in a white powder.
My body is heated, head pounding from the amount of times they've hit me, stab wounds covering my body, my chest heaving, me panting from trying to loosen my wrists from the chains.
I tug on them again but all that happens is that the small spikes dig into my wrists further.
"Never." My voice comes out strained and weak as I struggle to keep my head up.
My clothes are ripped, covered in blood and water. I don't even know if it's water, I think it pee.
"This could all stop if you just agree to join us Delaynie." He taunts, he's been at this for a week I think. Striding into the room, torturing me, wanting me to agree to join his mafia.
