Res Publica: The Standing Cell by Lorenzo_Marks,Lorenzo_Marks

When he was finished, Thomas poured himself another drink while Charlotte stayed on the bed and wrapped her arms around herself. He chuckled and joined her on the bed.

“A little late for modesty, don’t you think?” he said.

Charlotte clamped her thighs together and hugged herself tighter. She could smell the liquor on his breath as he held up his phone.

“Take it,” he said.

Trying to ignore the worrying bulge in his pants, she took his phone.

“Press slideshow,” he said.

“I-I don’t need to–”

“Yes, you do,” Thomas said. “I want all the images burned deep into your brain so that you will know what Peter is seeing when I show him.”

“Please don’t–”

“This will help you relax and enjoy the show,” Thomas said.

He held his whiskey glass to her lips, but she kept them pressed together.

“Every time you decide to piss me off, you should think of your husband’s welfare,” Thomas reminded her.

Charlotte sniffled and parted her lips and allowed him to tip the burning liquor into her mouth.

“Swallow.”

Charlotte gulped and coughed.

“Now watch the show,” he said.

With the alcohol warming her insides, Charlotte watched the obscene pictures scroll past, finding it hard to process the fact that the pouting naked slut on the bed was actually her. She watched herself sitting with her legs apart, holding her labia open with her fingers and showing off her pink insides, every intimate detail in sharp focus. Then kneeling on the bed, holding up her breasts and tweaking her own nipples, then pulling on them until they poked out like bullets. Then squatting with her fingers pushed deep inside herself. Bent over with her back arched. Lying on her back with her legs raised and pulling her buttocks apart to show off her asshole. And all the time smiling, pouting, licking her lips or poking out her tongue.

She felt violated, used and dirty, but her fake expressions made it look as though she had actually taken pleasure from this vulgarity!

Dear God, I’ve only been here an hour, and this is what he has already made me do!

And through it all, she kept thinking of Peter. Was Thomas really planning on showing him these vile pictures? If so, how would she be able to explain it when Peter was free? Surely he would understand that she was doing this for him?

Thomas took the phone from her and said, “Do you think Peter will like them?”

“Please, there’s no need to show him!” she whined. “I’ll do whatever you want!”

She lowered her arms and his eyes dropped to her breasts. She knew how much he wanted her. Maybe she could use that power.

“I must say I’m seriously tempted, but it’s too soon,” Thomas said.

Too soon?

“I thought you wanted to?” Charlotte said.

“Oh, yes I do, but not like this. You’re acting like a cheap hooker, Charlotte. I’d hate myself afterward.”

Bewildered, Charlotte whispered, “Then what do you want?”

“What I’ve always wanted, Charlotte,” Thomas said. “I want you to love me.”

***

She stared at him, her gorgeous brown eyes wide with disbelief.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Thomas said. “You’ll say whatever you think I want to hear–but that won’t work for me. I want you to mean it.”

She shook her head in bewilderment.

“Thomas, I love my husband,” she said quietly.

No! Wrong answer!

Her body tensed as he placed his hand on her bare shoulder.

“You see?” he said. “How could I possibly enjoy it, knowing you really want to be with him?”

Now she looked into his eyes and there he detected a brief hint of defiance–maybe the alcohol had given her some courage.

“It could never be any other way,” she said simply.

Thomas’s stomach tightened and he stood up.

“We’ll see,” he said. “We have plenty of time.”

He walked over to the standing cell and opened the padlock. Luke had oiled the hinges and now the tall door swung open easily. She remained on the bed, a look of growing concern on her pretty face.

“Come,” Thomas said.

She slid off the bed, covering herself with her hands again, and walked uncertainly toward him.

“Get in,” he said.

She peered into the tall, cramped space, but didn’t move.

“Please don’t make me!” she whimpered.

“Get in!” Thomas repeated.

“We can make love on the bed,” she said. “I can make you feel good, do whatever you ask!”