Page 43 of Exposed
Instead, I eat a late dinner in my office, underneath a glowing lightbulb, watching the footage of Violet’s room on my laptop. Violet’s red cheeks are visible through the grainy footage. Her chin bolts, seemingly for no reason. I can imagine it now: she must be jerking herself out of her impure thoughts. My gaze lingers on her breasts, her nipples firm.
The clothes.
I reach for her clothing and find the pocketed item: an orange container filled with blue capsules. I tilt my head. The label has been removed, leaving shreds of the adhesive behind.
I pocket the container. I’ll take it to the laboratory for testing tomorrow. The pills could be for a medical reason, though instinct tells me they’re not. They must be another murder attempt destined to fail. She must still think she can get away with it.
It’s sad, really.
And so entertaining.
While I’ve had many children over the years, Violet is the first to reach age twenty-fiveandhave an already developed sexual deviance like mine, which is why I consider her my firstrealchild in some ways: the only one to be worthy of my time and attention thus far. Though I have no interest in her siblings until they reach twenty-five, I do keep track of them. At eighteen, I begin the process of tracking their behaviors. The others seem to exhibit typical interests in sex or even a complete lack of desire. Violet is different though; she is so much like me. She simply needs to accept her deviancy.
She will be so much happier as my doll.
An hour later, a guard enters Violet’s room, his erection poking a tent in his pants. He says something to her, and she squirms, her lips curled in disgust, but the woman is completely trapped. She can’t do anything. Her cunt must be sopping wet.
Red blurs my vision. I can’t stand the thought of letting another man touch her.Iwant to be her sole creator, the only one to mold her inner deviancy.
I want her all to myself.
I call Oliver. “Get rid of the guard,” I say.
A minute later, Oliver appears on the surveillance footage and waves frantically to the guard. The two of them hurry down the hallway.
The guard won’t be missed; he’ll fuel the furnace at the other end of the asylum.
As for Violet, she’ll be completely alone.
For now.
Darkness comes over the asylum. The light is powered off in Violet’s room, and the surveillance cameras switch to night vision. Every once in a while, another guard, different from the one I had Oliver dispose of earlier, paces past Violet’s room, and her eyes flutter.
Finally, she closes her eyes.
I’m impressed she’s actually able to sleep. There must be relief in being back at the asylum, completely restrained and under my care.
After I pocket a case with two syringes, I head to Violet’s room. I nod at a different guard, and he continues his walk, monitoring the hallway outside of the individual rooms. He was once a patient here too until he was successfully cured and found his place among our ranks.
The Wellard Asylum isn’t up to today’s standards of care, which is one of the many reasons I’ve made my home here. Society puts too much pressure on normalizing civilians; on the other hand, I find with the right push, we can embrace our curiosities and flourish.
And Violetwillfind her truest self here.
In the hallway outside of her room, her sour scent fillsmy nostrils; my cock stirs to attention. The restraints must arouse the dumb cunt. I stop at the entrance to her room.
Though the moon is hidden from the window, soft light filters into the room, lighting Violet’s naked form. Breasts no bigger than a handful. An average body. Natural black hair at her roots, the rest of her locks dyed blonde, as if she dyed her hair to pretend she wasn’t a part of the family. To hide who she was. To pretend she was normal.
The thought amuses me.
My boots tap quietly on the floor. Violet’s eyes open, instantly locking on mine. Fear widens her pupils, her breath caught in her throat.
A grin spreads across my lips.
“What?” she panics. “Why are you here? Don’t?—”
I reach through the cage bars and brush her silky cheek with my fingertips; the woman falls silent. I want to scar every part of her, to permanently mark her so no one in this world can ever question that she’s mine. At the same time, I want to savor her, to worship every inch of her that reflects our shared blood.
“You’ve had so much stress, sweet one,” I say calmly. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you stopped fighting and embraced your new life?”
