Devils Temptation
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2021
TRIGGER WARNING
This roleplay WILL contain graphic depictions of rape, murder, and physical or mental abuse.
This roleplay WILL contain graphic depictions of rape, murder, and physical or mental abuse.
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"Raymond, don't you think you should stop playing around and finally settle down with a wife? You're almost twenty-six... and here you are bringing another piece of eye candy to the dinner table!" One of the brothers would point their fork at the youngest of that trio. Raymond Hearst. A man that loved women. Fucking adored them like a demon might have. Twenty-six years of age and his primary hobby was none other than collecting another pretty little side piece to be having fun with. The well-groomed brunette sported a nice, clean jawline and a boyish sort of smile. Amused quirk of his brow and the top few buttons of his dark dress shirt undone as if trying to show off to the rest of the table. Right beside him, as if entirely on cue, had been a blonde in a tight little red dress practically fawning and mewling at his every little action.
"See, now here's how they get you! Miserable fucking men tell a guy that's young and free to settle down so he, too, can be miserable just like them. You never want to choose the wrong partner, right? So I'm just sampling. Women are a little bit like desserts. You need to get the sweetest one that you won't get tired of eating up. Don't you think so too, Lawrence?" Cutting down that ruby-red meat on his plate, he picked a morsel up with a fork and pointed it towards the middle brother. Lawrence Hearst. Thirty years old, on the mark. A man known for being 'good natured' and charitable. Big, hearty build with a nice full brown beard and an adoringly sweet smile - more like a friendly lumberjack rather than the son of the wealthiest family in the entirety of town.
"Hm? Now what do you mean by that? I don't fool around like that. It's bad manners and quite rude to women, Raymond." Disciplined and trustworthy... but only on the outside. No one wanted to be around when someone let down Lawrence. Or someone got in the way of his work. Or dared to speak up against him when they were lesser than him. Beating someone half an inch from life to remind them that they were being ungrateful for how kind he was to them all the work he provided to the town was a regular enough occurrence. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of that man... but perhaps even worse than the two younger brothers had been the eldest.
"Russell is the only one that is married out of the three of us. Shouldn't you ask him that? Hey, Rus. How's married life? Your missus want to chime in at all about that?" ...To which the most disgusting of those three was brought to attention. Remaining beside him had been his wife. Mrs. Hearst. Russell Hearst was someone who did not care to pretend that he cared for the business, or for the people of Wingston. Dressed in a sharp black suit with a tense wrinkle to his brow while he ate, an annoyed glint of his dark eyes would lift to meet the two others, knocking whatever warmer smile was on his face prior.
"My wife completes her duties adequately. That is all that matters. Setting the fork and knife down, he turned to face her." The scrutinizing gaze that showed equal parts disgust and disdain than anything else, though it vanished the moment that Russell turned back to his two brothers.
"In fact, I would say our relationship is rather active. Ultimately, the best women are the ones that are seen, not heard. My wife has understood that a little better at this point." The man stated, running his palm over the top of her thigh in leisurely strokes from the base of her leg right down to her knee... before applying just a little bit of pressure to that softer, smoother lap. A warning. To keep her fucking mouth shut before he broke her jaw. Sugary smiles and honeyed words couldn't have hidden the intimidation that leaked off that man in the moment.
"Damn, but even then..." Ray spoke up, chugging down a glass of wine and staring at the reflection of Russell's wife through the wine glass. "...women sure do age like milk. Another fucking reason not to get hitched. Sure is a shame, compared to how she looked when you first got her." The younger man mused, vulgarly eyeing up the man's wife like he was contemplating on his dessert for the night right before the sudden CLANK of Russell's glass smashed down to the table and a growl left his lips.
"Are you implying something, you horny brat?" To which Ray immediately tossed his arms up in a surrender.
"Nope! Not at all. How could I? You have a great marriage. I'll just enjoy my European delicacies on the sidelines and you have a fun time with your married life, yeah?" Grinning, he draped an arm around the waist of the blonde next to him and tucked a kiss to her jawline. Only then had the elderly man sitting at the foot of the foot of the table struck his wine glass with a spoon to get the attention of the others at the table. Gruff, the type of voice that sounded as if he had been a frequent smoker.
"Mind the way you speak. We have guests over tonight... keep a good reputation in front of the townspeople. Russell. That means you make sure your mutt minds her manners. Raymond. Get rid of that woman once you are done with her. She is not worth marrying." Bluntly, as if the two women were not even in the room. Playthings or possessions, nothing more, nothing less. Between the words of his father and his younger brother tormenting his 'choice' the anger turned not to them but to the woman sitting beside him. A single, cold gaze that was icy enough to send chills ricocheting down one's spine... a promise and a threat all the same.
The Hearsts always had a big, grand family dinner on Saturday evenings where the most affluent people of Wingston were likewise invited to the Hearst patriarch's manor for the feast. For most, the aftermath of the dinner had been sweet words and a satisfied departure... not an impending sense of dread. Russell had retired from that dinner earlier than his other two brothers alongside his wife. The ride back was painfully quiet, the two hardly shared any words with one another as he held the door open to the black Porsche, waiting for her to get in before he settled into the driver's side seat. While most of the brothers lived within Wingston, none of them lived with one another. There was no chance that they could have survived under the same roof, after all. Russell's residence had been a quaint little home outside the perimeter of town. Two stories with a modern, luxurious feel to it. Gorgeous beds of flowers were arranged all along the few acres of land that was meticulously kept maintained by the local gardeners. From the outside, an absolutely beautiful family style home. Russell would wrap a hand around his wife's wrist to guide her into the home...
On the inside, it was a fucking nightmare.
The moment the front door behind the two of them had closed the painful open-handed CRACK of the man's palm struck hard against the woman's cheek. Harshly enough for her to turn the cheek so he could grab the side of her head and slam it against the door. Not so roughly that it would cause lasting damage. Dealing with the aftermath of that would be both time consuming and annoying. "You know, dear... I really despise the fact that you had to make the mistake of opening your mouth even once at those dinners. My brothers will just not let go of it. Every single time we go, I have to endure the embarrassment again... and again... and again." Lightly, he dragged her back by the hair just to strike her head against the door with another resounding thud. Oh, she had certainly made a mistake. The mistake of pretending she was a human when all the men in the Hearst family viewed her as nothing more than property. A fancy car, a nice dining set, a tailored suit. Russell's wife was nothing more than that in any capacity whatsoever. The first night she had spoken back to him, talked back to any of that insanity that festered in the gated community or the family that had grown far too powerful in the monopoly over the town, she learned first hand...
There was nowhere to run to. The Hearsts controlled everything in that town. The media, the justice system, every job and route out... there was no running. Russell made sure to meticulously remind her the worst fucking mistake of her life was to dare to open her mouth against him like she had any right to so much as utter a single fucking word.
The abuse only festered from there. The more loud-mouthed she was, the more harshly he harmed her. Tonight had not even been all that bad. It was not her that he was annoyed at, it was his little brother and his father. They had set him off and he was merely striking at the one target that he could. Someone that was weaker than him. Someone that could openly be pushed around. Grasping at a handful of her strands, he yanked her to the ground and began to drag her to the kitchen with no remorse for how his grip was pulling literal strands out of her scalp. "That braindead brother of mine, on the other hand... he's onto something, dear. If I wanted to kill you and bury you somewhere no one would find your worthless remains - I would." One hand kept her on the ground, fingers tight enough through her strands that it would have felt like he was trying to tear her head off entirely. Rummaging through the top cabinet that held more of the medication, he would grab at a handful of bottles that were explicitly labeled. A mixture of three drugs to keep her sedated and meek.
"...But you know how fucking hard your husband gets when you fight back. If I got some braindead bimbo like him --" Flicking the orange plastic with his index finger a few times, he would roll out a handful of pills. An exact combination of them. If she never woke up again... he wouldn't have his fun any longer, would he? "--I wouldn't be able to rape some cunt who thinks she's too good for me." There was really only one downside to these drugs that he oftentimes used in order to sedate her. They made her loose. That tight way her pussy fought to resist him - sometimes even to the point she would bleed. That was the dessert he wanted after dinner. Filling a container with the proper concoction of drugs, the man would finally loosen his grip on his wife's hair to yank her up by the arm so he could escort her up to the second floor. Their master bedroom was furthest away from the front door. Russell didn't want any late night visitors overhearing what he was doing to her, after all.
Reaching the end of that hall that was nothing short of nightmare fuel, the man would thrust her forward for a few moments before the sound of his dress pants would hit the wood floor of their bedroom and the next sensation to strike her was the sudden HARSH tug of his belt wrapping around her throat and yanking her back against his chest. "Come on, baby... don't writhe too much. If I accidentally choke you too hard..." Groping kneads of that thick, broad hand felt right up against her ass underneath her dress. Harsher tears of the silken fabric of her panties would reduce it to mere threads spilling down her thighs and to her knees before he possessively groped and squeezed over her sex. "...you have only yourself to blame. Lean forward, you worthless fucking cunt." Everything she did wrong was her fault. Everything she was expected to do but did not was her fault. There was no care in that relationship. No consideration. Just his favorite stress relief.
The belt around her neck would turn to a tighter noose, buckle chaffing against the side of her throat as he tightened the loop enough to hold the loose end of the belt like a leash. Tight enough that it would be leaving a red mark on her throat the day after. If only that was the worst of it... the moment he had that belt around her neck, his free hand grabbed her by the hair to smother her down to the sheets and arch her hips and ass up high enough. A few moments of vulgar, disgusting grunting and the friction of the tip of his cock grinding against her dry entrance until one more heave would have him SLAMMING into her tight little cunt without a hint of remorse of hesitation. "Atta' fuck... atta' fuckin' girl...!" Raising his palm, he spanked against her ass before starting to fuck her in proper. Harsh, firm claps of his thighs while driving wildly into her. Every moment he sensed even an ounce of pain or even the slightest writhing, he always throbbed hard inside of her.
He moaned, he told her how fucking good she was making her rapist feel by the way she suffered.
Her suffering was such a fucking treat.
Sometimes, he hardly even cared if she was conscious. Stuffed full of so many drugs circulating her system that she would not even be able to feel the way he raped her - on days like those, she was just a hole. Nights like these were the real basis of the Hell that she lived in... when he wanted her awake and conscious while he abused, degraded, and raped her to the point that she would not be able to walk the next day. Russell hardly cared if the noose around her neck was too tight. That choking only made it that much more enjoyable. An agonizing few minutes of their bedtime routine would continue to pass. Grunting, slamming, the jerk of the bed and the way he alternated between calling her worthless and reminding her how much he was enjoying her. If there was just one silver lining in that never-ending nightmare, it was that her husband was pushing his age. Mid thirties, so by the time the throbbing of that foul cock in her core had begun... all it took was a few more smashes into her core before he splattered a thick load of cum to the back of her cunt. Many nights, he only ever bothered to fuck her once. Her birth control was just as tightly regulated, Russell enjoyed raw sex and finishing inside just as much as he did treating her like a disposable rag. Loosening the belt around her thoroughly choked throat, he let her fall to the sheets with that seed dripping down between her thighs before going to check on the container.
"...Huh. I missed a pill. Can't have that... stay there. I'll go grab it. Unless you want to go a round two? You know how well it gets me going when you don't fucking listen, you mutt." Laughing, he would pat the back of her head degradingly before pulling up his trousers and treading downstairs to grab the remaining pill. Left alone in the room for once... it was rare for Russell to ever misplace the medication he used to make sure she was pacified at night. Even more rare that she would have a moment of silence not listening to anyone degrading or berating her.
Long.
He was taking too long.
Minutes had turned to nearly a full hour that the man had not returned to their bedroom. Not a single word from downstairs, not as if he had been speaking to anyone nor had the front door opened as if he headed out for the night. The man never forgot to sedate his possession before he left. With every second that passed... it became a little more unusual. A little more relieving. A little more liberating. In his mind, the man had already assumed that she was broken and defeated. Nowhere for her to run, even if she had wanted to leave and as such? He made no attempt to empty their bedroom or the attached bathroom of anything dangerous. Not of the scissors in the medical kit nor of any heavier furniture that could've been used to bludgeon someone. The choices were endless, really. If only she was brave enough to take them.
BZZZT.
...But sure enough, the static and the faint hushed noises of the channel had been flooding into the living room below. Something was wrong. Something that she would not have ever realized had she decided to stay up on that bedroom and waited for her abusive husband to return. It was only something that the woman would realize once she was brave enough to head downstairs. On the hallway out, the lights in the living room had been off aside from the faint flicker of the screen occasionally bouncing colors along the edges of the room.
The further that she approached down, the clearer the voice on the television would become.
"...reported..."
"...a dozen almost confirmed..."
"...exercise caution particularly in the larger suburban and especially countryside neighborhoods. Authorities caution that the assailant is likely a man in his twenties -"
Someone was in her home. Turning the corner might have been terrifying in its own right to find the unfamiliar sight of someone sitting atop her couch staring at the television in front of him. Dark, almost midnight black hair that hung over his eyes in a somewhat messier set of bangs. Faint hints of facial hair had formed into a scruff along his jawline and neck and he had a broad pair of shoulders that suggested a fairly large build. The way he sat down against the couch hid the full nature of his size... but it also distracted from something that had been laying at his feet in a pool of blood. Mere centimeters away from the one who had broken into her home was the sight of her husband lying in a pool of his own blood on the ground.
Gashes and lacerations had sliced and carved along specific portions of his torso, arms, and face to make an abundant mess of blood start to coat the rug beneath him... with a thick rag being smothered into his mouth to prevent his screaming. Even that had begun to grow red with blood and wet with drool... but he was still inevitably alive. That much was obvious by the occasional writhe or spasm. His knees, shoulders, and elbows had especially been butchered to the point that his limbs had been twisted in a manner that would make someone gag to even look at. Panic in her husband's eyes, up until Russell finally caught sight of her creeping figure and his eyes grew hopeful. Sitting right on the ground beside him had been the murder weapon.
The assailant, despite her footsteps, had either not noticed her or had not cared enough to say anything to her.
Rather, he was engrossed on what the newswoman had been saying...
"Hallmarks of the assailant include a strange practice of carving numbers onto the chests of his victims. This is believed to be some sort of sick way of keeping tally of his victims... however occasional homicides have been shown to have the numbers out of chronological order --" SLAM. The crash of his foot would dig against the television hard enough to cause a spark of dead pixels to splatter across the side of the screen.
"...No. No, no, no... you're being sloppy. That isn't what they mean. How...? I gave you so many chances. So many fucking chances and you still do not understand..." A frustrated grunt, before the blood-stopping motion of him turning his head to look her dead in the eyes. No look of surprise in those quiet, deep stormy grays of his. Nor was there any attempt to get up and rush for the knife that laid right beside Russell's body. Only the honey sweet sound of his tone and voice as he addressed the woman.
"The number is important, you see. Not every pig has the same quality of meat. Just as not every criminal has the same severity of crime. But, I suppose that too is subjective. On a scale of one to ten... this man would get, at most, a six from me. You, on the other hand... I think your number for him would be much higher. I can't really blame them. It's frustrating to be misunderstood... tossed around, forced to become something you're not. Ahhh... the fucking thought of it makes my skin itch...!" Clutching his hair with his right hand, he buried his head against his palms and continued to watch on the news report. Had he been unhinged...? Very clearly, he had both looked at her and acknowledged her, yet made no attempt to stop her from escaping. No attempt had been made to harm her either.
While the news report did not have a photograph of his face, the police sketches very clearly resembled the man sitting back in the couch. Why was he here? Why now?
...Maybe that did not matter. The chance was right in front of her - regardless of who granted it to her.