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jamesfreakyland · 29 days ago

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Dirty Spiral

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hey there! I promised this little thing for a friend who writes for James Sunderland (shipped with my OC Reina, his wife), so that's what his portrayal will look like as you're reading this. This isn't something I'd recommend reading if you're not comfortable with sex, blood, vulgarity, and death. Enjoy.

Just in case: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT!

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I didn’t think James would agree with me so easily, but here we are, walking not hand in hand, together aimlessly at the earliest hour in the morning. The sky is still pitch black and starless. Fitting. I can hear him shuffling behind me, and it’s like I can feel his eyes avoiding me like the goddamn plague. That’s fine, it’s deserved. After all, I hurt him just as bad as he hurt me. I’m disgusting now and there’s nothing holy enough in this world that could ever hope to cleanse me of my sins—not yet anyway.

“You know, if you walked next to me like a normal person, I wouldn’t think that you’re looking at my ass right now.”

He sucks his teeth, annoyed. This is how he’s been lately, too easily irritated. I guess I should be grateful it’s not just towards me, but it’s also severely uncalled for. Guilt is a thing nestled within my core—for everyone being subjected to his self-loathing torment and verbal lashings, but not for him. Never for him. His animosity will be the death of him and he so graciously would lie down and take it like a whore who hasn’t made a dime in weeks.

James Sunderland is disgusting and still he keeps my heart beating.

“Nothing to say? I guess I was right,” I keep pushing. The need to have him retort, say anything, is vile. “Makes sense. You were always so eager to look at me, keep me stowed up on a shelf, but never to actually fuck me.”

The sound of him stopping dead in his tracks is alarming, and I turn around to observe and relish in the result of my pestering.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He says through gritted teeth. His hands are balled up so tightly and those annoyingly green eyes are eating me alive. I hope I taste great and my bones shred his scleras.

With a hand on my hip, I shift my weight to one side. My face replicates a quizzical look with my finger tapping at my cheek to complete the portrayal. I stayed like that for a moment—a long moment, stopping a second short before James exploded. A part of me wants to say a whole minute passed and that would be a new record.

“Not even a little bit.” A shit-eating grin spread across my face. “It’s not like you ever proved me otherwise. Or were the two times we had sex enough to satisfy you for the next three odd years?”

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The Lakeview Hotel was the last place James wanted to be, but it’s where I dragged him. He always pretends to have fight in him, but he’s a bitch with no bite. The only slightly intimidating thing about him is his lukewarm attitude. Maybe I’m lying, just a little bit, but everything else is completely unrelated trauma.

We walk into the desolate, dreary hotel; I practically skip my way to the perfect room while James drags his heavy feet as he holds onto his nose. The snarky, rhetorical question from not too long ago seriously got to him that he tried lunging at me—emphasis on tried. A quick sidestep threw him off the game he thought he had, earning him fist-to-nose contact. My ears can still hear the amazing little yip, his reaction to the punch. Who knew that a tiny hit in the face would make a man’s balls scrunch all the way back up into his body?

I want more.

James was clamming up more and more with each step that he took, the unpatterned squeaks playing at his anxiety. Good. I want him to be uncomfortable. Upon reaching the third floor, I turn around and wait for my darling, bleeding husband as he slowly climbs up to join me.

“What the fuck are you smiling for?” He spits out, looking at me through his brow.

“Nothing,” I lie with the smile he seems to hate. “I’m just happy to be with you. Now, c’mere, it’s time for your blindfold!” The words are sung out and he recoils, but he doesn’t fight me and just turns around. Bitch.

With a quick search in my bra, I pull out a red blindfold. Why red? I’m not sure, but something about it seems right. On my tiptoes, I secure the blindfold around his head tightly and spin him carefully back around to face me.

“Too tight?” I actually don’t fucking care if the damn thing’s hurting him. Feeling uncomfortable never seriously affected anybody. However, I do just think James deserves it. He shakes his head, definitely unsure of what to do with himself. I take both of his hands into mine, but with one, I kiss where his wedding band would be. He tenses up with the kiss and I have to hold back my laugh.

“C’mon, we’re so close.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t be like that. You’re gonna love this, I promise.” I assure him as we slowly make our way to the room I’ve picked. The no-brainer choice, Room 312.

We walk into the room, hands still together. Everything is just as I’d left it; slightly fixed up and redressed. I thought about laying down clear tarp, but I didn’t really see the need. Plus, the plastic would’ve taken away from the ambiance, and we can’t have that.

“Here we are!” I exclaim maybe a tad too cheerfully as I take off his blindfold. The sheer look of hurt when he sees the room was electrifying. His scowl is something fierce, but the leftover blood from his nose makes him so cute that I can’t help but laugh as he glares at me. I’m laughing so hard that I have to hold my stomach. I can see through the tears that his knuckles are clenched and white—he wants to hit, but he knows I’m good for it, too.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?” I give him a mock-pout. “Isn’t this your favourite room? I thought you wanted to be here.”

“You stupid bitch—” He bites his tongue, shaking his head and marching past me, getting farther into the room. James stands at the back of the armchair that’s in the centre, resting a tired hand on the backrest. I catch a flicker of how hurt he looks in the television’s reflection. “Why are we here, Reina?”

His broken voice pulls me out of my trance, and I move to gather the final item needed in the dresser by the door—a camcorder. James watches me, no doubt confused, as I set the camera on top of the T.V., positioning it so that it points to the bed in the most optimal way. After confirming the angle, I turn to find James still behind the armchair.

Standing within the centre of the camera’s sight with a smile, I wave James over for him to join me. He cocks a brow, suspicious, but complies anyway. With him next to me, my eyes flicker up to him, still smiling, as I lean and hit the record button on the camcorder.

“What is this?” He asks, staring at the tiny, glowing red dot.

“Just some fun,” I shrug. “After all, I know you could use it.” I begin to slip off my fitted black dress over my shoulders, slinging it somewhere off to the side. James mentally stumbles, and I can see the faintest blush in his cheeks, but he makes no effort to move or look away as he continues to watch me undress. To be fair, I wasn’t wearing much to begin with, and now I’m standing before him in my bra and garterbelt that are complimented by my black knee-high boots that I can’t take off. He’s into it and that’s all that matters. It’s the distraction that’ll work in my favour.

“Reina…”

“James?”

“I’m so fucking confused.”

My head slowly shakes and a painted finger presses to his lips, shushing him just before both hands trail down his body and find his belt, easily unbuckling it. Our eyes stay pinned together when I harshly rip off his belt and throw it across the room as he anxiously strips the rest of his clothes off. Whore. I circle around James, angling him to face directly into the camera. When he’s where I want him, I reach from behind and start a new search for the waistband of his boxers. He gets goosebumps when I find exactly what I want, hands slipping further into his underwear in such a slow pace that I know it’s killing him—Poor boy hasn’t felt this for some time it seems. He wants me to touch him. Looking from around his arm, I can see that he’s hard and it makes me grin so widely that it hurts. My fingers find the base of his eager flesh, but they stop there and he squirms in such an adorable needy way. I kiss lightly at his arm and he whines. Actually fucking whines.

“Reina,” he huffs, already too desperate. “Please, I can’t…”

“Hm?”

“I need you.”

“‘Need’ me? For what?” I chuckle softly against his burning skin.

“I need you to touch me. Please.” His begging is cute and I’m fucking estatic that I’ve got it on recording.

“Are you sure? Do you remember what happened last time?”

“Fuck…” He practically groans, probably replaying the memory. “Reina, I know you hate me and you’re probably just being nice, please… One more time together and then I’ll really leave you alone.”

I tsk even though my hands firmly grab onto his cock, sliding carefully to the tip. The lip bite that happens is the purest reaction that I could have at discovering just how much of a mess he already was.

“Has it really been that long for you?” I can’t help but play into the condescending tone that takes hold over me. “Poor baby, I’ve barely touched you. Just look at this mess you’ve made, James. I can easily jerk you off with just your precum alone!” I’m aware I sound like a bitch, but the fact that he’s this quickly turned on is so endearing that it almost makes me feel bad. Almost.

My index finger softly rubs circles at the head of his cock, provoking him even more, and James slumps back into me.

“It’s because it’s you,” he starts to mutter. “I love you, Reina. That’s why I’m like this. I just—”

“Spit.” I bark, cutting him off. “Spit on your own cock unless you want this to hurt.” He doesn’t hesitate; he looks down and does as he’s told. He’s being such a good boy, but I wouldn’t fucking dare tell him that. As soon as I feel his disgusting saliva hit my hands, I angrily stroke him. His knees instantly fucking buckle and it pisses me off so I pump him faster. His huffing, gasping, is such a sweet sound that I can’t help but bite him and he moans. What a degenerate.

“Reina…” He tries his best to speak through the pleasure that I’m allowing him to have. I don’t answer, just focusing on forcing his release.

“I don’t want to come this way.” The casualty of the admittance fucks me up and I lose my rhythm; he takes it as his chance to turn on me, picking and throwing me onto the bed that already wasn’t that far behind us to begin with. The metal springs squeak with the impact of two bodies disturbing the stale bed. James has both of my wrists pinned above my head in an instant, and he uses one knee to break my legs apart. He smirks when he sees just how exposed I really am.

“You really need to start wearing panties, slut.”

“What for?” I scoff.

“So I can’t easily do this.” He aligns himself with me like it’s the most natural thing for him, then shoving his cock into me with a shuddering groan. I have to bite back my own audible reaction because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing how I moan—I’m pretty sure he’s forgotten it by now.

“You were giving me shit for my mess, but look at you, you whore.” The strokes are slow; he’s savouring the feeling all men know too well—the feeling of first entering a woman, and no matter how many times they may experience it, it never gets old. Every pussy holds this power. Every. One.

“Fuck off, asshole.” I huff. I don’t want him talking to me anymore. Not while he’s buried inside of me, wanting to go harder.

“There she is.”

“Die.” And he chuckles. He fucking chuckles when I’m being serious.

“Eventually, but not soon enough.” The sloppy thrusts get faster and definitely rougher. I can feel every fucking slippery stroke, and I can’t choke back my moans anymore. I fucked up again with those sneaky noises of my own pleasure outing me and he makes the same stupid smirk as before. Why does someone so handsome have to be such a fucking bastard? He feels so… God, I fucking want him dead.

My cunt takes all of him straight down to the base, and he’s getting seriously breathless—he’s about to come. James might be a pussy, an arrogant sonuvabitch, but he usually lasts longer than this. I guess masturbating the pain away really doesn’t get you very far. Who would’ve guessed? In all honesty, as fantastic as this feels, I’m already tired of fucking. Maybe it’s because it’s James, and I’m so tired of him that I don’t even feel like coming. Now, I’ll never turn down the chance to be filled with a pathetic man’s spunk, so I’ll fake my part.

I psych myself out into heavy panting, starting slow and then building it up with the synchronisation of my chest rising and falling. It was effortless when I paired it perfectly with the little gasps that James loves so much. My walls clamp around his sorry ass cock, a trick most women can fake, signaling to him that I’m supposedly at my limit. Pretending to orgasm is such a smooth transition, and since this time is with my oh-so-adoring husband, it’s all like fucking child’s play. I writhe, I plea, I say his name in a whisper. His throbbing disgrace plows into me, making atrocious wet sounds as our hips slap together. James’s darkened eyes capture mine as he sets my hands free, going to find and grip at my waist.

“Tell me I’m better.” His voice is hoarse. I know exactly what he’s insinuating, but I’ll play the usual game and feign naivety.

“‘Better’?”

James is getting irritatingly aggressive, his flesh driving into me so hard that it’s nearly painful. It’ll bruise, that’s for sure. Which, normally, is fine, but he just pisses me off. He jams harder and harder into my abused cunt with every word, and I know he’s too preoccupied to notice my right hand sneaking down my folded leg. I’m aiming for the inside of my boot. While maneuvering in a fashion he doesn’t notice, I remember the camcorder. I mentally commend James for keeping us at a good angle. I guess the recording part of all this was something he liked more than either of us could’ve thought. What a dirty dog.

“Tell me I’m better than him.”

“Than who?” Sounding uncollected.

“Stupid whore, you know who.”

I lazily shake my head, appearing to be too blissed-out as I finger the object I’ve been trying to grab that’s sheathed in my boot. With the pommel now secured between my fingertips, my heart really starts to pound. James knows what he’s doing, even in a time like this, and fuck, it’s working.

“I don’t.” I sigh, the hunting knife coolly sliding gently along my thigh as I bring it up, “Better than who, James?”

He’s alarmingly putting his all into screwing me, reclaiming me, that he’s sweating. The grunts are animalistic as he utters the name he both loves and loathes:

“Vincent.” James’s hips jerk, becoming more sporadic. To be transparent, I’m way farther than I thought I was going to be, and that’s why I can’t stop when my back arches as he pumps into me one final time before we both start to come.

But he didn’t get to enjoy it.

In an instant, the most beautiful shade of red I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing poured and sprayed over my quivering body. James was staring down at me with the widest, most captivating, eyes you ever did see. The whites are so prominent that they resemble tainted pearls. At least the shade of green was pretty. His stubbled throat was sliced so precisely that I was impressed with myself and didn’t notice my hips moving on their own. James scrambles, choking, to grab at his open neck to no avail. He topples over and off the now stained hotel bed, leaving me to ride out my own orgasm with the hilt of my sullied knife and the replay of my husband starting to die. I was feverish, but careful, as I rode and ground the knife into my swollen cunt until my fingers were pressed against the guard. It was ridiculously slippery with come and James’s blood, and it was so fucking titillating that I was blessed with another orgasm to the sound of garbled man somewhere on the floor.

After a shaky, pleased breath with the let down, the room was now utterly silent and all I could do is stare up at the popcorn ceiling in awe. I reach my hand up to my mouth and admire my blood-stained skin and caked fingernails along my lips; a short moment passes before I stick my fingers into my mouth, happily sucking James’s surprisingly decadent fluids off the digits and whatever remains on the blade. This experience, without a fucking question, surpasses the first time.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Cleaning up was easy considering I left the room in the glorious disaster that it was made into. I didn’t even bother to shower. I just got dressed normally, blood and all, because I’d rather have this memory seeped into my searing flesh a little while longer. After adjusting my dress and fixing my hair as best I could, I waltz over to the still-recording camera, bending in view of the lens to speak into it one last time.

“I’ll meet you up on the hill, okay?” Paired with a kiss and a bloody smile.

I finish the recording, heart still thumping in my chest, and snap the camera shut. I turn and walk towards where James’s body rests in a dark red pool that’s settled into the carpet, kneeling to kiss the side of his disheveled head. Getting up and stepping over him, I aim for the door, but not before peering over my shoulder to respond to his request—not in the way he wanted.

“You’re not even in the same league.”

I grip the doorknob and open the wooden door with a haunting creak, entering into a deeper darkness that comes with the hallway, and entombing James in Room 312 with a wicked but satisfied giggle.

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