Dark desires by Asa Montreaux

Umery held his chin in his hand and he looked out on the garden of his vast colonial mansion. It was a master piece, nothing short of that, though nothing more. He spotted his gardener manicuring the lawn, sprinkling some fertilizer on some of the bushes. He called out to him, Sancho, vienes a mi. He looked up, lazily left his task beautifying the bushes, and then he made his way over to him. He watched his alluring back, as he stood up, and then he turned toward the house to walk to where Umery was. Umery felt a hot anticipation as Sancho approached, his abs nearly coming through his shirt, sweat draining from his face and neck onto his collar. 

He reached Umery, and then the latter said, Sancho, suck my dick. He then got down on his knees, and by himself he undid the belt, opened the zipper and pulled it open slightly to reveal Umery’s dick. He was almost hard already and he couldn’t wait to get his dick sucked. 

Sancho out his hand on the sock and stroked it gently, like it was knee the plants. Then he landed his lips on the head of the sock and went to work sucking it. He got over any timid mess and shame and fit a good bit. With two hands Umery grabbed his head and shoved his whole messy cock into Sancho’s mouth, ramming it right into the back of his throat. He must have been thinking, fuck yes bitch. 

Umery forced his dick right forward and right back in Sanchos mouth for a minute, even getting a rhythm of it. Then he said andele. Sancho knew that he had to hurry up when his master said that. And he sucked super fast. Umery leaned back in a violent, pleasureful glory. 

He didn’t want to take a break from the orgasm but he wanted at a certain point to move on to the real fuck. Pants down now he said. Sancho was trained to turn around quickly and prepare himself for the rape. Umery pointed his dick into Sancho’s anus, and then inserted without a condom, and started fucking Sancho’s butt.

He thrust as hard as he wanted to, slamming Sancho’s butt, while the fountains made flowing noises, a few birds chirped, and the neighbours may have heard. He squeezed Sancho’s cheeks together, trying to make it as pleasurable as possible. He slapped Sancho’s butt and left as big a red mark as he could. 

After a while Umery was ready to cum, and really assert his power over this illegal immigrant pretty guy. He pulled his dick out from the but, motioned for Sancho to twirl around, and beat in Sancho’s face, slapping his with his dick as he did it. When he came he made sure he went right in Sancho’s eye. One eye and then the other. He let his dick drip over Sancho’s nose and cheeks. Afterwards he slapped him hard in the face five times. Then he told Sancho to go wash his face by cupping some water from the fountain, and get back to work. 

When his wife got back home that evening from her girls night, he told her nothing as per usual. He asked her casually, how many drinks did you have? A few she said, same as normal. You ready to fuck, he asked her. Yea, but I had a few you know.

Yea, he said, then he rushed at her moving briskly. He picked her up and ran her into the sink so she was sitting on top of it in her dinner party dress, silver as she hit the sink and it turned on. He forced her to kiss him, and she was confused, wanting it a little and playing along a little, but also very scared and not up for it.

Without wasting anytime he pulled her skirt up, and stuck his chode right in her cunt. He warmed up quickly in her cunt which was dry at first, but warmed up a little with her husband inside. He humped her so hard you could hear it down the street. He panted loudly. She screamed, aggh, aghhh, mhhhm, like she was mildly in pain. And he slapped her harder than ever before, and muzzled her mouth with his hand. With his other hand he slapped her face over and over and then he made her kiss him again. 

She was squirming as he fucked her, not just back and forth but moving it in literally every direction. He didn’t give her any warning but he held his finger up for her not to even move, as he tried to unleash his sperm right into the back of her. He came and filled up half her cunt, but he wasn’t done getting some pleasurable thrusts out of it. 

Afterwards, she made a few pleasurable sounds, but otherwise couldn’t hide her mortification. He took her cell phone and the cord to the home phone and went outside and lit a doobie.

He smoked that down, taking ten second drags. His wife sat in the kitchen, not really knowing how to move on with the evening. After he finished smoking it, he raced back and grabbed her. He forced her on her back and threw her on the dining table. He started fucking her in the but, and while he did it he twisted both her arms behind her back. He whispered venomously, make a sound and your dead. 

He grabbed her hair and pulled it with every thrust, her head rebounding with every pull. He became so violent her head was bouncing off the table. Then he held her head against the table, while he came in her ear. Most people figured she couldn’t hear as well after that, though they didn’t know what it was for a little while. 

*

At 12 am he and his wife tucked into bed. She was not angry in particular and she knew that she could not get angry in front of him as well. As they lay together, he kissed her head. Then he turned over and fell asleep for an hour. 

However, the night was not over. He woke up an hour later, promptly as if for an alarm, and then he suddenly jumped on top of her, slapping her hard on the cheek, resting on top of her knees. “Cover it up!”, he shouted so loudly that you would swear he was a Reish marshall. She then tried to cover her pussy with both her hands, but he poked and poked with his penis, until it poked through them and into the hole.

He told her, “Keep fighting and scream I have a husband!” 

“Oh please sir, my husband will be home any moment!”

“Now let me play a dumb guy like Sancho! Ah oh yeah, let me finish!”

Hah, haah, hah. He panted hard as he let it all out on his wife. But then he suddenly got up and walked to the door and knocked on it from the inside.

Then he announced, “But alas, I am your husband!” With that, he ran back and jumped in the bed. 

He couldn’t help but notice, you might put it, that, “Ah! You have been with another man!” He jumped off the bed crazily and grabbed the alarm clock.

“Wake up!”, he screamed at her. Then he threw it at her face, making her jaw bleed. 

“You dirty fucking ho!”

He walked over to the bed again and pointed at the floor in front of him. He yelled,  “Down on the ground!”

His wife knew what to do, and she got down and sat her head on the floor, her feet in the air.

Her husband grabbed her legs and fucked her wildly, while her head lay on the floor and her neck bent precariously. She reverberated forward and back while he enjoyed her cunt, and did so until he was finished. At that point he pulled out and let cum drop down her body, but he made sure most of it got on her lips and went up her nose. 

“That is my wife!”, he screamed wildly. “And then he stomped on her left hand, breaking half her fingers. Then he sauntered off, pouting. “Don’t get up until your face is purple!”

And so she didn’t, despite the condition of her hand, and her jaw. 

*

When Umery awoke the next morning his wife was still bleeding, though as she was asleep he left her there without saying anything and he went out in the Range Rover. He brushed off the driver, looking at him and then pushing him away by grabbing his face. Then he drove off early into the Hollywood Hills, speeding down Rodeo drive.

He listened to the radio for twenty minutes while he got to the area he wanted, paying attention only to hear his own name. It wasn’t that likely, but he wasn’t interested in anything else. The first guy he grabbed downtown was a Mexican with a tight butt, and he banged his skull on the back floor of the Range Rover while he got off. At the point he came he was a little distracted, despite his intelligence, about whether the man would get his teeth broken, while he had his hands on the misters mouth, holding it open from the lips.

He wanted more, and he found another man that seemed ready for it, an Asian man wearing gold and pink pants. He dragged him into the van and held him by the neck before he fully submitted. He loved the last time so he held the man’s mouth open, while he banged from the top. 

The same satisfaction didn’t seem to be enough, and he wanted to beat the man up. He slammed his head harder and harder, increasing the ferociousness of his push nearly each time. He started slamming the man’s teeth down on the ground. He felt all this anger, at his wife, at his staff, at his parents, at his agency, so he slammed the guys head as hard as he possible could, watching his teeth this time, in fact break. Watching while, occasionally, his jaw visibly cracked. 

He pulled out of the butt after fifteen minutes of doing that, and he held the man’s mouth open while he get ready to cum. The man left it open, and Umery easily shot it in. He then slapped the man’s face with his penis several times, before he felt fully done.

He was zipping up his pants as he realized something — the man was not moving. Umery didn’t panic, obviously nothing had happened. He figured he ought to punish the man for playing a cruel joke like this, and he figured he should kick him in the face. He looked at the man for a sign he was joking, and he found himself looking instead for a sign of life. 

In the end he used his foot and turned the man’s bleeding head over. It simply plopped over onto the other side. Then his mouth hung open and his eyes looked wide open into the seats without blinking.

Shit, he thought. He’s dead. In a moment, he felt his life flash before his eyes. Had he gone too far, was it his fault? Had he been too bitter? Had he maybe been to mean to his wife? 

The biggest question was why had he done this? Why had he flipped so violent. In some sense the answer was obvious to him, it was that he loves violence. Though he had not always been violent, certainly not as a child, maybe not when he was first married. It had gotten bad after he had produced that trilogy, and he had unlimited wealth, and he’d been using crack, and in reality he never asked for help. In a strange bit of emotional irony he saw himself as the victim of a disease of power hunger, loneliness, and substance abuse. 

He leaned over the dead Asian man. He had been no one, a vapid, empty mind. Though, was that him? Was he only a killer, one of these types that hadn’t had any sensitivity or any feelings about what they were doing?

He figured he probably needed to calm down. He was powerful and he could chuck this body in the ocean no problem. He looked in the man’s pockets for a cellphone, and there was one, but it was out of battery. There wasn't anyone that would know, and he could easily whisk this man away before anyone noticed. After he had thought through that initial plan, he felt a certain thrill and adrenaline within himself. He had always considered this to be an illicit, forbidden, though delicate pleasure. He was, as long as he was not caught, satiated, and of course, satisfied. 

*

He drove out to Santa Monica and took a few more secluded roads, the body tucked beneath view, though occasionally rolling around. Umery was a smart man and he figured that would happen, so he was very careful at any stop lights, stopping very slowly. There were a few times the cops drove by, though it hadn’t seemed to make a noise at that time, and the entire time he was in Santa Monica, he hadn’t heard a one, so he figured he was in the clear. 

He rose up a long hill, past his unsuspecting neighbours to his old beachfront house. He parked in the garage, and walked in, grabbed some garbage bags, and then quickly put the body in some, and dragged it inside. He folded the man in half and threw him in the fireplace. Then he poured gasoline over the bags, drenching all the sides of it. He took a match from a box, lit it, and then threw it in the fireplace, and the body began to burn. 

He left it there, as the skin started to smoke. Eventually the tissue and bones began to burn, but he was feeling quite distant. He wasn’t concerned about whether the neighbours would notice. He took the clothes he had been wearing, and threw those in as well. He laid down on the couch, with his head turned to the side, and he watched the body slowly burn. 

Two hours passed, and there wasn’t anything left. He stomped out the last flames, and then he went and got a garbage bin and a dust pan, and began sweeping everything up, any bits of bone, any soot, any incinerated material. He didn’t leave even a fleck of dust. 

There was only one last step, and he waited another hour, until it was fully dark, and he took the bin with him as he trekked out back along the beach. He got to the shore, then he stepped into the water. He got to a certain point, around his waist, then he jumped in. He swam for about half a mile, pulling the bin with him. Then he stopped, and he took the bin, and poured it out in the ocean, making sure to get every last bit. Then he scooped up ocean water with it, cleansing the bin of any left-over ash or anything else. He did that several times, then he swam back in with the bin, until he reached the shore. He brought it in and out to the garage, where he soaked the whole thing in bleach. He cleaned the back of the Range Rover, and then he used a flashlight to check for any blood stains. After that, he soaked that in bleach too. He was determined to leave absolutely no trace. 

After that, there wasn’t anything else to get rid of, it had been a fairly easy clean up. In fact, he mused he might do the exact same thing tomorrow. The next step of the plan was get home without his wife or any of the staff noticing anything, or thinking his absence was alarmingly long. He’d leave within the hour, and it would be as if nothing had happened.

When he did arrive home, it was as if nothing had happened. No one noticed anything. His wife was in bed again, though she was awake. He went and got in bed again. He actually thought he would not sleep with her in case there were any faint smells left on him, or if he picked up an STD. That could tie him to the scene if the victim had any of those. It seemed unlikely, he didn’t feel weird, and it wasn’t his assessment of the situation. So they went to bed, and in the morning everything was totally fine.

*

Six months passed, and life had been good for Umery. There was no work to do, but there were still dark pleasures to discover, and he still enjoyed torturing his wife, as well as his staff. He had been contemplating doing it again, though he fantasized this time might be sweeter, as it would be his first premeditated one. Though, that is not how it played out. 

On the morning of the day six months and two days after the accidental murder, Umery received a knock on his door, and the police had a warrant for his arrest. They drove Umery off and there was nothing he could do. He may have been the richest man in LA, but he was going to jail. His bail hearing was in the morning, and he’d be spending the night there. For murder, he might not get bail, despite all his money, though with the lawyers he planned to hire, with the number of lies he planned to tell, there was no certainty that they could hold him.