After a few minutes, Francisco shut his eyes and began gagging Emily's mouth. He immediately reached his climax and filled Emily's mouth. Thereafter, he pushed Emily forward, gripping her hair.
She plopped down on the floor, licked her lips, and said, "How rude!"
Francisco cleaned himself up. As he reached for a towel, Emily turned on the shower and moved closer to him.
"When will you show affection again?"
Francisco answered while grabbing the towel, but in an irritating manner, "Go fuck yourself."
He left the bathroom, leaving Emily there. She muttered softly, "I'll wait for as long as it takes, Francis."
Francisco put on a robe and made his way to the balcony. He lit a cigarette, its embers casting a faint, fiery glow on his rugged features.
He inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs, and then exhaled a slow, smoky sigh. Francisco's mind was consumed by the memory of those haunting hazel-green eyes, a girl, that had left an indelible mark on his soul.
"I was taken aback to see you again. I can't be sure if I'm right or wrong, but I remember those eyes. They were like a rare gem in the midst of chaos. Your hair was shorter back then, but something about you feels unmistakably familiar," Francisco thought.
It was then that Emily's voice broke through his reverie, pulling him back to the present. "What are you thinking?"
Francisco took a moment to respond. "Nothing," he replied tersely.
Emily giggled, a sultry undertone in her laughter. "Are you trying to trick me? Francis, you can fool everyone, but not me."
She made a move to touch him, but he swiftly turned, fixing her with a stern expression. "I don't like it when someone touches me without my permission."
Emily stepped back, retracting her hand. It was a familiar scenario for her, one where he pushed her away whenever she attempted to bridge the emotional gap between them.
Francisco never publicly backed Emily's modeling career, but everyone knew his influence helped her become famous. People saw her as powerful and mysterious because she was with the gangster boss.
Emily refused to leave Francisco's life because she couldn't bear to lose him. Their relationship was complicated, but she couldn't let go. Maybe she loved the mystery around him or the excitement of being near danger. Whatever her reasons, Emily was determined to stay with Francisco.
**
In the shadowy depths of a hidden torture cell, agonizing screams pierced the air. These tormenting cries resonated from a modest cottage nestled in the dense woods behind the grand estate, muffled only by the thick forest that concealed the nefarious activities taking place within.
The little cottage, an obscure and sinister chamber of horrors, bore witness to the ongoing torment. Its walls held secrets that would never be spoken, safeguarding the painful echoes of suffering within. The surrounding woods, with their dense canopy of trees, hid this dark chapter of Francisco's domain from the world.
Inside the grim interior of the cottage, Max sat in front of a man, his cold eyes filled with determination.
Two men flanked Max, their menacing presence amplified by the thorny whip blades they wielded. These instruments of torture glistened in the dim light, their malevolent purpose clear. They knew no mercy, only obedience to the orders they received.
Max seized the hair of the man before them, forcing his tearful gaze upwards to meet his tormentor. It was none other than Bruce, the man at the center of this torment. Bruce's cries of anguish echoed through the cottage, intertwining with the pained whispers of a dark and malevolent interrogation.
In the heart of the woods, away from the prying eyes of the world, a chilling dance of cruelty and coercion unfolded.
Bruce's battered and bruised body bore the marks of unrelenting violence, each wound a testament to the cruelty of his captors. Blood flowed freely from his nose, mingling with the dirt and sweat that covered him.
The scene was chaotic, a cacophony of pain and suffering. Bruce's pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, his tormentors driven by a relentless determination to extract the information they sought. The doctor, ever at Francisco's disposal, did his best to tend to Bruce's injured leg.
Once the doctor had done what he could, Bruce was thrust back into the merciless clutches of his captors. They had a sadistic routine, one that they had perfected through countless acts of brutality. Bruce, weakened and disoriented, could only brace himself for the impending onslaught.
With a vicious strike, Max aimed for Bruce's already battered face. The impact was savage, causing blood to spurt from Bruce's mouth.
Max held a menacing pair of brass knuckles.
"I don't know anything," Bruce murmured.
Instead, he wore a chilling smirk.
"There is nothing we need from you," Max sneered.
"We are only playing with you for enjoyment."
In the midst of this deranged mirth, Bruce's voice emerged… a feeble yet defiant whisper that rose above the chaos.
"Then kill me."
"Don't worry," Max hissed, "Francisco will kill you eventually."
Bruce groaned in agony as his eyes narrowed.
With trembling words, Bruce uttered a plea in a tone laden with suffering, "Give me water."
He seemed more interested in inspecting the instruments of torment that adorned the room.
However, an unexpected voice disrupted the sinister proceedings. A doctor approached and addressed Max; her words were more an order than a request. "Give him water, Max. You guys really beat him up."
Max turned to face the doctor and gave her a full downward roll of his eyes. It was Diana.
At the tender age of twelve, she faced a nightmare that would haunt her forever. A sinister figure had sought to snuff out the innocence of her existence. But Diana's fate had pivoted that fateful night when a savior, an unseen guardian from the depths of the underworld, intervened.
Francisco's father, a man with a reputation shrouded in secrecy, had arrived like a phantom in the night.
From that point forward, Diana's life had been changed. She wasn't just rescued; she was adopted into a family whose name couldn't be uttered beyond whispered conversations in the shadowy underworld. The family had raised her, provided for her, and shaped her into the woman she had become.
With each passing year, Diana had grown and evolved, grateful for her second chance at life. She embraced the gift of family, her heart forever indebted to those who had lifted her from the depths of despair.
Now a respected and compassionate doctor, Diana had chosen a path that upheld the sanctity of life.
But her life carried a secret, one hidden behind the walls of her professional façade. As the sun dipped below the horizon.
She made an effort not to help Francisco with his dark realm. But she cared for him as if he were her own brother; she couldn't say no to him every time.
"Are you alright?" Max asked, shifting his gaze away from her.
Diana's response was measured and composed. "I am okay."
"You can wait outside," Max suggested, his voice retaining its gentle tone. "Nobody is forcing you to remain here."
Diana remained silent.
Max's patience had reached its limit.
With a determined grasp, he picked up his phone, swiftly dialing Francisco's number. Francisco finally answered the call, his voice heavy with fatigue.