Authors: Stella Noir,Aria Frost
“What the fuck have you been fucking?”
“Men”, Rebecca said. “Men bigger and dirtier than you are.”
Marsh tightened the grip he had around her neck.
“Oh, is that right?” He banged her harder and harder with his finger, until Rebecca could feel nothing but softness, that in her minds eye looked like vanilla ice cream.
“You stink of cock you fucking wedge”, Marsh said. He had two fingers inside her now, working her pussy open.
“You going to tickle me all night, or are you going to fuck me?” Rebecca countered, pushing back against his fingers, and encouraging him to fill her more.
Marsh took his hand out of her cunt and slapped her across the ass. He slapped her again and again with his sticky wet fingers until her cheeks rose in mottled red clouds like marbling on bad meat. When he was satisfied, and Rebecca was whimpering, calling for him to stop, he guided her from the inner porch to the table they had been sat at only moments before, and bent her over the dirty wood.
He guided his swollen cock to her pussy hole, and pushed it inside her with all the mercy of a butcher skewering a lump of chicken, for a charcoal grilled kebab. He rammed himself inside her just to feel himself doing so, enjoying immensely the tearing feeling at the ridge of his cock. He fucked her until his balls slapped joyfully against her pussy lips, and until Rebecca was nothing but a mess of tears and resolution, crumpled across the table in front of him. When she was close to coming, and he could tell when Rebecca was about to come, because she made a noise like a kids cuddly toy with a bust squeaker that infuriated him because of it's cloying patheticness, just to deny her the pleasure, he pulled himself out of her, leaving her for an unsure moment, while he went to the kitchen and took a bottle of mayonnaise from the fridge door.
He moved in behind Rebecca again, squeezed a decent helping of mayonnaise over her ass-hole, and repositioned his cock. He pulled Rebecca a little closer to him until he found the right angle, and then he guided his cock to her creamy hole, and pushed hard until he disappeared inside her.
Rebecca felt debased. It wasn't often that she felt this way, but it wasn't often that she needed to either. Devizes Marsh was a man she could count on to make her feel debased when she needed to. He could make a pot of gold feel like a piece of shit just by looking at it the way only he knew how. It was what made him a good Detective, and what made him an even better lay. He was lousy at being a partner, awful at being a husband, but great at pushing the buttons that just sometimes, once in a while, needed to be pushed.
Rebecca came hard with his cock deep in her ass. She didn't often come without vaginal or clitoral stimulation too, but when she did, the orgasms were out of this world. She screamed and Marsh hit her across the back with his leather belt until she'd stopped. He left gashes, and red patches of soreness that would take weeks to heal. It would be the same amount of time before Tan felt normal again.
Fucking Marsh in this way was like a traumatic experience - the body needed time to recover, heal, scar over. Someone told her once, that after an emotional, traumatic experience, the brain and the heart scar in the same way that skin would if the trauma was physical. She thought that Marsh's brain must have looked like a cauliflower covered by a fishing net, his heart a lump of toughened stone.
He pressed her into the table, squashing her tits and her right cheek against the wood.
“Fucking dirty”, Marsh shouted.
He buried himself as deep as he could inside her, and then let himself go. Rebecca felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She had needed it, she had enjoyed it, but she was glad that it was over. Marsh folded himself over her, exhausted with his exertions, until reality brushed alongside him, like a storm-cloud about to clear the world with rain. He let his already softened cock flop out, and with it came a thick slurry of his come.
Marsh stumbled backwards, and the couch caught his fall. Rebecca waited a moment more before collecting herself. She dressed with her back to him, and without a word, went towards the door.
Just before she opened it, she hesitated, contemplating turning around. Instead, she opened the door and left without looking back. Sat on the couch, in the creeping darkness of the room, Marsh looked like a gargoyle fallen from the roof of a condemned church. Little by little, a slow trickle of piss left his cock, until the seat underneath him was sodden, and the stinky yellow liquid was swimming out across the living room floor like a sea of gold.
O
n a cold, frost edged morning, seven hours after the deadline had passed and Philip Prensall had revealed, as promised, the details of the location of his last victim, a nineteen year old girl was pulled out of a storm drain, cold, gray and dead. Rebecca Tan passed Detective Marsh the news he already knew. It was Elisa Baker. She had, up until only two hours before the police arrived to her location, been alive. Water from the rain that had spread across the county that weekend, had slowly killed her. She had been trapped, held upside down for almost three days according to the coroners report, with nothing else to do but await her fate. She had been, according to the report that Marsh read of the murder, a promising, bright young girl, a talented musician, and a great and sad loss to the world.
Over the coming weeks, the full story was drip fed to the papers in sensationalist style. Marsh was dragged over the coals for his involvement in the seedy affair, and blamed by a number of people for her eventual death, not least by some of his own colleagues. He was suspended indefinitely until a proper investigation was conducted over his involvement, and transferred first to Chicago, later to a small police force in Kentucky and eventually back home to his native Scotland when the results were inconclusive. He didn't give a fuck.
He had tried, but failed to find Elisa. He chased up every thread he had but each one lead to already exhausted dead ends. He was no nearer to finding her than he had been the killer at the start of the investigation, and for that he was also blamed, as though it was information he was choosing not to share rather than something he couldn't for the life of him work out.
When Tan left that night, he didn't sleep. He sat up drinking and thinking and trying to work out where the fuck Prensall would have put her. He didn't even know if she was still alive at that point. He had nothing to go on, except the scraps of a former life of his he had spent years trying to forget about.
He knew little about Elisa, nothing much more than how he felt about her and how he tried to deny it to himself. He worked with Tan asking questions. There was little he could do and he knew it. He was broken and defeated by Prensall. The girl was never meant to be found. Prensall didn't give a fuck about her or him. He just wanted to see him burn. He asked questions and got answers back that meant nothing. It was futile. The police knew nothing either. They bumped their heads and scratched their asses and ran around like headless fucking chicken with an impossible task. There weren't any heroes to be made. There never are.
She was dead already, and he knew it. Even though the water didn't seep into her lungs for forty eight hours, there was no way she could have been saved.
Devizes took his family with him. He fucked off to Scotland and put another part of his life on a shelf. Rebecca Tan didn't say goodbye. The last time he saw her was a week after Elisa was found. She called in to check he was alright. She brought him a bottle of whiskey and a takeout meal, and then she left without a word when he told her to fuck off. That was his way of dealing with it. That was his final word.
Phillip Prensall was sentenced to five life sentences. Six weeks in, he was found dead in his cell, with over fifty stab wounds across his abdomen.
The papers talked about justice. Every other person in the world talked to him about closure, but he didn't feel like anything had been closed. He felt like something had been cut open, something else removed, and the whole bloody wound left to rot in the sun like the carved open carcass of a baby pig. When he slept, he saw the faces of every one of those girls, and when he was awake, he drank and threw himself into work to forget about it. Fuck the world, Marsh thought. Fuck the fucking world because if you don't fuck it first, it's going to fuck you.
E
leven months after arriving back to Scotland, Marsh was called to the coroners office. That morning they had fished a young girl out of the Clandyne river. She lay like a lump of pig fat on the metal carving table, as though she was ready to be basted and cooked. There were signs of wrist and leg binding, stab wounds in patterns across her back that looked far too organised to be random, and her toes, fingers and eyes had all been removed.
“Poor girl”, Marsh said, and held a handkerchief up against his nose to combat the smell.
“I've seen some dark shit in my time”, the coroner said, “but this is up with the worst of them. What the fuck makes people do something like this?”
“Because they can”, Marsh said without looking at him. “Because nature makes it possible.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, while they both stared at the corpse in contemplation. One of the horrors of the world, the other of what might have led the girl to this fate.
“Tell me what you know”, Marsh said, and got ready to start again.
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tella Noir is a new voice of dark romance. She loves everything forbidden, and enjoys pushing the limits of what readers enjoy. Her hope is to show readers the good in the bad.
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Coming Soon from Stella Noir & Aria Frost:
Broken
A violent rape and a double homicide bring Ethan and Jo together. Can they support each other through difficult times, heal their scars and move on, or will Ethan’s desperate need for revenge ruin any chance they might have of happiness?
In the shadows of a broken life, can two people heal each other and find love, or will the darkness at the edge of their existence consume them completely?
Broken explores themes of rape, murder, suicide and love. It is not for anyone with a sensitive disposition, easily affected by those issues.
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