Exhibit (14 page)

Rough, dangerous sex was a turn on for her, and the something risky that she had detected in Marsh was an instinct that led her to points like this in the past.

“You better fuck me hard”, Elisa croaked out from a constricted throat.

“What was that?” Marsh spat at her, before snapping back on the belt, and twisting Elisa's head to the side. “Speak when you're fucking spoken to you fucking margarine cunted whore.”

He guided his cock to her hole and was inside her before Elisa could take another breath. The belt was so tight around her neck, it was making her cheeks go as red as her ass. She could barely let out a groan. Marsh pushed deep inside her and pulled all the way out again, delighted by the thick sheen of glistening goo now covering his cock.

“How many cocks you had up here?” he said, and spanked her ass with his hand. “Your pussy's all rubbery and loose like a plastic bag.”

He spat again and rubbed the saliva into the tender folds of skin that formed her tight little ass-hole. This time Elisa's groan made it out of her mouth and through the air to his ears. She turned her head to the side, as Marsh began to finger her tight little hole. It hurt as he pushed, but it wasn't entirely unpleasurable. She relaxed and let him slide inside her.

“Like two fucking tunnels”, Marsh said as he debased her. He could feel his own cock through the thin wall of skin that separated her two holes, and when he touched it he felt like a king.

He pulled his finger out of her ass-hole and made her suck it. Elisa did so as though it was her first ever lollipop. Marsh was dirty, but he wasn't going to surprise her. She wouldn't have come if she wasn't happy to indulge herself in the darker forms of sexual liberation. In fact, nothing much had surprised her yet. She'd certainly endured better and worse. She liked the belt around her neck, but his dirty pillow talk could have been improved.

Marsh pulled his cock out of her tender little cunt – nothing like a plastic bag as he had described it – bent over and began to lick her ass-hole.

When he was satisfied he'd loosened her enough, he maneuvered her into the correct position, and guided his cock towards her.

Elisa widened herself as much as possible, held her breath and let him force his way inside her. Marsh tightened the leather belt so Elisa's head was pulled off the desk and her chin was snapped towards the ceiling. It was uncomfortable but she liked it. Sex was all about pleasure and pain to her – one led perfectly into the other, and too little of either one was liable to leave her wanting.

Marsh pushed his rock hard cock as far inside her as he could, pulled out and pushed back in even deeper. Elisa felt his balls sticky on her pussy, and his cock deep up inside her ass. He was rough with her, and fucked her like he wanted to leave his mark.

She'd be sore in the morning, but sex like this satisfied her. She felt an urge to touch herself, to rub the goo that was slipping out of her pussy hole around her clit, but when she moved her hands towards her cunt, Marsh batted them away and chastised her. She was to do only what he wanted her to do. He would use her like a fuck doll and cast her away, broken and useless at the end of the night.

Elisa's ass-hole had softened under Marsh's harsh, disciplined approach. His cock, more than average size, was also thick enough at the base to make her feel every inch of him as he pushed it inside her. Each time he did so, his eyes widened as though they were mimicking the movements of her anus, the pleasurable sight of seeing her skin stretched around his cock, like the glint of precious metal to a magpie.

Marsh was grunting. He could feel the end nearing. A sheen of sweat pearled at the nape of his neck, and slowly began to roll down his back.

“Fuck”, he spat through gritted teeth.

He'd let the belt go loose so he could hold onto her hips and really fuck her hard. Elisa was feeling it too. Every time his balls smashed against her pussy she felt a vibration of pleasure explode out across her skin.

Marsh spanked her. His skin grew taut across his shoulders, down into his sinewy arms and out across his back. He was primed. Elisa could sense the moment approaching, like the darkness of a cloud ready to block out the sun. Marsh didn't give a fuck about her, but in some ways she liked that. She didn't mind getting treated like shit every now and again.

She felt his balls tighten against her pussy, and her head snap back again under the command of the leather belt, before Marsh twisted his own chin up to the sky and howled out a calling to some distant spirit or another, as his breath stopped for just one moment, and he pushed so hard into Elisa's ass-hole, that the writing desk slid four inches along the ground under his weight, leaving a mark in the wooden floorboard.

He came hard, shooting several squirts of salty Scottish muck up into Elisa's body, while she continued to peak, desperately wanting to orgasm herself.

“Fuck”, Marsh said again. “Fucking margarine cunt. Fuck”, he cursed, like a boy with tourettes. “Make yourself come.”

“What?” Elisa complained, unsure if she had heard him right. Her voice caught a little in her throat and it didn't sound like her own.

“You heard me. Make yourself cum. I want to see you play with that cunt of yours.”

Marsh was still inside her ass-hole. She slipped her right hand down to her pussy and began to play with her clit. She was wet and horny and as soon as she touched herself she knew how close she was. Marsh goaded her on. She reached underneath herself and pulled on his balls, pressing them close to her pussy hole. She wanted to delay her orgasm for as long as possible, but Marsh wasn't having it. He'd done playing. He wanted to see her stripped bare and vulnerable. He'd shown her his war face, now he wanted to see hers.

She rubbed her clitoris in the way she knew would make herself come, and felt the familiar sensations begin that would eventually push her towards a climax. Marsh encouraged her, spanking her ass-cheek and holding it open so he could see her better, calling to her like a football supporter might do a quaterback, about to throw a touchdown pass.

Elisa began to moan, and her breath shortened and rose with her pulse. Marsh could tell she was peaking. He loved this moment. He loved watching girls pleasure themselves, but more so, he loved making them do it himself. Making them lose all inhibitions and show their true selves to him.

It was at that moment, the very moment that Elisa pushed herself past the point of no return, that Marsh played his trump card. As Elisa came hard, one finger either side of her clit, two fingers from her other hand inside her pussy, Marsh finally surprised her. Disgusted her even. He began to piss.

She wasn't sure what was happening at first, nor was she even able to separate the sensations, due to the strength of the orgasm she was experiencing, but after a moment, when she felt his cock leave her, and heard a tumble of piss come raining out of her ass-hole afterwards, she knew what he had done. For a moment, while Marsh gathered up his drink and sat down on the sofa to watch her, she did nothing. She was too shocked by what had happened to speak. It was Marsh who spoke first.

“Clear that mess up when you're done”, he said spitefully. “It's fucking disgusting.”

The piss puddle was still on the floor when Elisa left. At the door she turned to him.

“You're really charming, you know that?”

“So people keep telling me”, Marsh said. His cock had gone all rubbery, and he looked like a twat standing there without his pants on.

“You want to do that again?” Elisa asked.

“No. No I fucking don't”, Marsh spat back at her quickly. Her neck had a red mark around it she'd have to hide from work. Noone had ever pissed in her ass before. That was a first.

“See you around then”, Elisa said and began to walk away. She heard the door shut behind her, and then open again ten seconds later.

“Don't come back here”, Marsh said, and shut the door again.

He sat on the couch with his drink and looked at the piss puddle on the floor, the marks on the floorboards where the desk had been shifted, and finally down at his softened cock.

“Happy fucking birthday, Detective”, he said, and raised his glass to the air, before sinking it down in one go.

T
he lump of meat on the dulled metal table, that looked like a piece of whale fat, used to be an eighteen year old girl. She had been dragged out of the river that morning, after a fisherman alerted the authorities. The skin was bloated and puckered, and there were several stab wounds evident on her upper torso, bind marks around her wrists, her ankles and her neck. Her face had been badly beaten, and lay there amidst her head, disfigured and difficult to look at.

“What a fucking mess”, Marsh said. 

By Theo Farr's assessment, she had been under the water for almost a month.

“You don't look so well, Inspector', he said. “Is our recent find turning your stomach?”

Theo had a sick sense of humor, even for a mortician.

“Detective”, Marsh corrected him, “and I still look better than this poor girl.”

A large man, identified by an on screen message as Deput Chief of Police Mark Monroe, was delivering a statement to the press.

“It is with sadness and deep regret that I am here to inform you that Mary Jacobson was found this morning in Talcourt lake.”

“Was she murdered?” came a voice from the crowd.

“Is she another one?” someone else said.

“That's four now isn't it? Do your fucking jobs and find this killer.”

Mark Monroe hushed the crowd. When they'd finished baiting him he continued. “I cannot release anymore details at the moment. Thank you.” And with that, he left to a barrage of photo flashes and boos from the gathered crowd.

Marsh clicked off the TV.

M
arsh seemed uncomfortable with the formal setting. His wife sat opposite, a child either side of him. This was a portrait of a happy family, that if you glanced at once wouldn't have noticed a thing – looked at again, you'd see the cracks as deep as ravines across both his face and hers. They were separated, and had been for some time now. Marsh lived alone, had been left to live alone when Daisy moved out, with the children, when his job, his drinking, and his infidelities got too much. She did this mostly for the children, but also because she still loved him and wanted to believe that she could fix the unfixable. Marsh looked like he'd been drinking, but either too much or not quite enough. Either way, he looked uncomfortable. Marsh and Daisy had two children together – Elias a seven year old boy, and Clare, his older sister, a curious ten year old girl, who had the beautiful large brown eyes of her mother.

It was Clare that broke a silence that had persisted for an uncomfortable amount of time, punctuated on the odd occasion by glares that Marsh and Daisy gave each other. An unspoken language that confused everyone else around them.

“They found that girl, I saw it in the news”, Clare said.

“Aye”, Marsh responded. 'Poor lass.'

“She was a prostitute wasn't she?” Daisy said.

“Aye, and what of it?” Marsh said, without even looking at her, an acrid taste in his mouth.

Elias was quiet. He was a perceptive child and he could tell something was already brewing between them. He hated conflict. Clare persisted.

“Was she like the others, Daddy?' she said. “Was she killed by the rope man?”

“Clare!” Daisy said, annoyed. “This isn't really dinner time conversation.”

Devizes Marsh looked at his estranged wife, and then he looked at his daughter.

“Eat your dinner, Clare”, he said.

“But, Dad”, she complained. “They won't say on TV and it's your work. Don't you know?”

“Eat your dinner”, he said again. “Either that or you go to bed without that or the chocolate pudding.”

“Eve's pudding”, Daisy corrected him.

“Whatever the fuck it is”, Marsh snapped, his voice a little louder than he wanted it to be. “Eve's pudding.”

Clare had seen outbursts like this before, and she wasn't shocked. She knew her father had a foul temper. He filled his glass almost to the brim with wine.

“I bet she was. Why don't you catch him?” Clare said, ignoring her father's temper.

“It's not as easy as that, love”, Marsh said, a little calmer now. “We'll talk about it after dinner, you're upsetting your mother. And Elias.”

Clare looked at her mother, and then at Elias, whose eyes were firmly fixed on the plate below him. He'd hardly eaten a thing.

The family ate in silence for a while, although not much eating seemed to be being done. Elias had finished and was sat on his hands. Clare was pushing peas around her plate with the back of her fork, and Marsh was drinking, waiting for it all to be over.

“Shall I get the pudding?” Daisy said.

“Aye, why the fuck not?” Marsh said, without thinking.

“Dad! Stop swearing”, Clare said.

Elias got down from the table without a word. Marsh grabbed his arm. “Hey where are you going, little man?” he said, and Elias tried to struggle away from him. “Hey”, Marsh said again and gripped the boys arm a little tighter so he couldn't move.

“Get off me, I hate you”, Elias shouted at his father. It was the first thing he'd said all night.

“Let him go”, Daisy said.

“I only want to talk to him”, Marsh said, and then “Ow, you little fucker”, when Elias sunk his teeth into his gripping hand. Marsh was about to slap the boy when Daisy interjected.

“Don't you dare touch him”, she said.

Clare's heart was beating while she watched. She was scared all of a sudden.

Elias wriggled away, sat himself down in front of the TV and began to skim through the channels, as though he were alone and nothing untoward had just happened.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Marsh said to his wife, when she sat back down.

“Leave it, Devizes”, she warned him.

They ate their pudding, and not one of them said another word, at least not one that was spoken.

Clare reached for the wine, and emptied the bottle into her glass.

“Are you not driving tonight?”