Chapter Text
You know you're fucked when your strained ears pick up the tell-tale crackle of Coyle's stun baton as it springs to life from the depths of the wide darkness which fill the space you had only recently crept through.
The shuttle had travelled you down to a faintly familiar police station, a building you had only visited a few times before with different groups, but today you had entered the shuttle alone due to Dr. Easterman's recent campaign to place a greater emphasis on reagents completing their tasks without assistance. 'A push to promote independence' is what the staff sold it as and the promise of extra reward was too tempting to ignore.
The generator which you had been so desperately trying to mend was quick to sputter and groan its broken state as you diligently sought out a canister of gas to fill it with before starting work on the breaker switches which covered both sides. The buttons on the left had been easy enough to correct but the ones on the right, which you were currently tinkering with, were giving you hell.
Hell enough that you didn't even hear the approach of the monster pursuing you until it was too late to really do anything about it.
Surprisingly, it's not electricity you feel frying your nerves as you make a panicked attempt to bolt to the safety of the nearby door but the heavy, sharp weight of the stun baton itself as Coyle swings it harshly across your upper shoulders, the force of the blow enough to send you reeling forwards as you scream in mixed pain and fear.
"Think you can touch my shit? We got fucking laws around here you stupid bitch."
Having avoided him so far, the accented syllables are terrifying as he barks them at you – his sudden presence filling the space and closing in around you like a snare. His words burn in your ears as your body connects with the floor, immediately stunning you as the breath flees your lungs and the side of your head bounces off the hard ground in such a way that stars explode across your vision while you wheeze pitifully.
Face pressing into the floor as you struggle with the disorientation, Coyle’s foot is quick to correct your positioning as it connects harshly with your side, pain flaring across your ribs as he flips you on to your back with a brutal kick. Howling at the sharp discomfort, your hands fly to your side as you apply pressure to the aching space and fight for breath. Knowing you're caught with no chance of escape, fight and flight seem to abandon you in favour of freeze, and your watery eyes gaze up at Coyle with unrestrained fear as his stocky frame remains illuminated by the faint light of the generator and the blue crackle of his stun baton.
The wires wrapping around his body give him an odd outline, all stemming from the thick battery which is held against his back to power the baton. He's in the same outfit as ever, the only one anyone has seen him in, with his cops clothing paired by a filthy white shirt and red tie poking free at his neck. His face is almost obscured by both the police cap which sits atop his skull and the dark aviator sunglasses that hide his eyes from sight.
One hand gripping his weapon while the other plucks the thin, glowing cigarette from his mouth, Coyle blows a wide plume of smoke into the air with a satisfied whistle as he brings his foot down on your stomach - pinning you in place with the thick tread of his boot.
"So what are you, huh? A commie whore? One of those do-gooders who flouts the law and thinks they won't get their teeth kicked in for it? You touch my shit, you fry like the rest of them!"
Working himself into a quick frenzy, his movements become more animated as he swings the baton around and fresh ash falls from the cigarette to land against your shorts. His boot presses harder, the pressure making you whine as dull pain radiates from your squashed gut. Coyle peers down, eyes still hidden behind the dark sunglasses which are perched on his nose, but you feel the weight of his gaze as he visibly takes his time in looking you up and down. He’s sizing up his catch and you feel every inch the prey animal you absolutely are.
The trial had already been a total pain in the ass as a wayward giant taking a swing with their jagged club had ripped the lower half of your shirt to shreds like a hot knife scoring through butter. Dried blood coated the exposed area, the club having gouged a thin chunk from your skin which was quickly stemmed by some of the very odd healing liquid which always littered the trials. On top of that, your frayed shorts were just as distressed, grime and wiped oil from the generator staining the light fabric which had already been through a lot.
The overall outfit was less modest than you would have liked, your legs and stomach now exposed with the sleeves of your shirt rolling up past your elbows, but it was all you had until you could earn the means to purchase replacements from the staff or barter with the other reagents.
Not quite ready to die, your panicked flailing and scrambling limbs are quickly frozen into place by the tip of Coyle's stun baton as he presses ithe sharp points into the uncovered flesh of your collarbone. Your heart vibrates in your chest, pure fear of the electric shock to come making your expression wide and eyes squeeze shut in anticipation.
Pain explodes from your chest, your body turning rigid as your scream is caught in your throat. It's like fire, spreading across your skin and tearing apart the muscles while you convulse. However, the raw intensity is over almost as quickly as it starts and your pain-filled pants roar in your ears as you struggle to recover from the assault.
Again and again, fresh points of pure agony spring to life as Coyle gleefully presses the baton to different areas of your skin, sometimes breaking the skin with the sharp edges and sometimes not. Collarbone, arms, stomach, legs, all victims to his weapon as your lungs begin to burn from the screaming that you simply cannot hold back.
"Hrm, fucking waste of a pretty little thing." Coyle comments after a moment of reprieve, using the prongs of the baton to push the opening of your shirt to the side and shamelessly steal a glance at your covered tits. "Almost a crime to have to kill you when my dicks hard and twitching like this."
"I'll fuck you if you let me go."
You surprise yourself with your own offer, the words falling from your lips in a single, desperate blurt – more of a sob than anything - as a hint of hope dares to flash across your thoughts. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Anything would be better than feeling your skin fry and heart explode because of that damned weapon of his.
"Easterman sending in whores for us to play with now? Didn't think the shitbird had it in him. You think I need you to bargain with me? I’m a fucking man of the law. I'll take what I want, when I want, from whatever junkie criminal fuck I want!" Coyle’s anger is obvious, baton alighting as he shocks the air just over your cringing, wide-eyed expression.
"But I'll do what you want." You counter quickly, wrapping a soft hand around the back of his ankle as his foot continues to press into your stomach. "I'll let you fuck me h-however you want, and do what you want. I won't fight it."
"Now where's the fun in that?" Coyle scoffs but his head tilts down at you as he tucks the baton away and continues to peer at you from behind his glasses. “Ain't no fun in a dead fuck. Trust me on that one, whore.”
A memory rises.
One of other reagents leaving the shuttle, fresh from their victory as three of them bounced off to visit the pharmacy and stock up on some items. But not the fourth. A thin woman, hair dark but greying at the temples, left the shuttle with no smile, no joy at whatever similar feedback had been received from her work. Her gaze was empty, despondent, and filled with something which had made your heart ache as she locked eyes with you. A weak smile from your lips had received nothing but a soft wave, one which showcased an obvious burn mark - one branded into her skin by an electric baton - as she shook herself off, stood tall, and limped off to follow her team.
The others whispered, told stories and rumours they had heard about the various prime assets. Gooseberry’s delusions, Franco’s insane perversions, and the similar tales about Coyle were often allowed to fade off into implication as very few were willing to pay lip service to the horrors which each of the monsters had been known to inflict on unfortunate reagents.
And he was a monster. A torturer. A sadist. A murderer. A rapist. A man who used every part of himself to inflict misery on his victims. And here you were, offering up your neck in the hope that he might not bite down as heavily if his prey let him put his mouth there willingly.
Coyle's silence is deafening as he considers his options but it only lasts for a few painful moments, each second making your heart feel like it is going to vibrate free of your chest, before he rolls his shoulders back into a more relaxed stance and hooks his fingers onto his belt.
"But I really ain't had one throw themselves at me like a whore before. Might be nice to relax and blow off some steam fucking something which ain't kicking out like a stubborn mule." Slipping his baton up behind his neck, Coyle blows another puff of smoke high above his head. "Ah, fuck it. Stand up, bitch, and get those hands on the fence so we can get to business."
Unsure you had heard him correctly and taking in a deep, relieved breath as his boot pulls free of your stomach - the sharp discomfort dissipating in an instant to a vague ache - you slowly roll to your front before pushing up onto your knees. Body tensed and expecting a fresh blow of his baton as you struggle to force yourself to your feet, your heart beats frantically as you wait for him to change his mind and cruelly knock you to your ass again.
"I said MOVE!" Unhappy with the wait, Coyle snatches the fabric at the back of your neck and hoists you to your feet - the shirt choking you for an instant as you gasp, sputter, and shakily turn to press your back and fingers into the chain link fence.
"Legs apart, inmate. I'll need to conduct a search and make sure you ain't hiding anything nasty to turn on me with. Try to run or do anything fucking dumb and I'll smack a hole in that pretty head and fuck that instead. Spread 'em."
His hands are rough and careless of your comfort as they slide across your shirt and grope at your tits, thighs, and any other skin which is peeking out from your torn outfit. Under the pretence of a search, you can do nothing but stand there and hold on to the fence like it were a lifeline as humiliation and fear build across your chest.
The search goes on for a full minute, only ending when Coyle slips his hand between your legs and cups roughly at your cunt through the shorts. You keep your legs spread, afraid of what he'll do if you move them, even slightly.
"Hard to get a feel for any contraband when you're so decent." He grumbles before barking out a new order. "Now, strip."
Knowing it was inevitable, you try to stop the shaking of your hands as you slowly drop your fingers to your shorts and slip them free of your ass. Your skin feels like it's burning as you slowly expose more of yourself, lower half now only covered by the thin fabric of your panties.
Shorts in a messy pile on the floor, you move quickly to have your shirt follow but Coyle knocks your hand away as you finish unbuttoning it. His hands are warm and textured as he delves into your bra and pulls your tits free, letting them hang atop the fabric of your bra in the cool air. Satisfied, he grunts at the view before rocking back on his heel and taking a deep inhale of his cigarette as his other hand continues to explore your skin.
This position, with your face just below his own as you stand frozen in place and boxed in by his wider frame, gives you a much closer look at Coyle as you try to focus on anything which wasn't the scarred hands gripping at your flesh hard enough that you knew bruises will soon form.
In another life, he could have been handsome enough as he really did have a cops face. Lined and serious, it was a face which held authority as easily as it could charm, but there was a bestial cruelty in his features. Predatory, sadistic righteousness shone from his gaze and any possible attraction which his features could have generated was quickly stripped away and replaced with cold dread as that righteousness spelled real danger for anyone who stood in his way.
His full beard looks rough and a little unkempt, the dark hair flecked with more than its fair share of grey. The scarring and burns on his face aren't too terrible, not as bad as some of the other monsters you had seen lurking around the trials. The skin bubbled and scarred, the right hand side of his face is a pitted mess which makes you think of pictures of men who had suffered in wars and accidents with similar patches of torn, angry skin.
On a good day, you could squint and pretend that Coyle was just any other guy. A guy you'd made the bad decision to pick up in a bar with a few scars across his face from a work job gone wrong.
But he wasn't that, and all the playing pretend in the world couldn't hide the fact that you'd agreed to fuck this monster in exchange for a vague agreement that he'd let you live. Luckily though, his hat and the shadows which it cast are enough to hide most of his predatory leering and you are thankful for that at least.
Obviously growing bored with his search, Coyle takes a big step forward and smirks as you press your back harder into the chain link fence to keep what little space you had to offer. His hand rises to settle in your hair, pulling your head tight against the fence with a vicious snap of his wrist as his body lays flush against your own. The burn in your scalp is wicked, pain making your mouth tremble as you stand to your tiptoes - desperate to alleviate the strain as your skull throbs.
"You do this for the other assets too? Hmm? Spread your legs for that dickless Italian freak? Let the fat bitch with the mouthy puppet take a ride on you with that drill of hers?"
You can't hide the grimace which stretches your lips thin as you think of the other monsters which haunted the various trials. They were just as horrific, but at least with him you could try to pretend.
"No. I haven’t- well, since-it's been…fuck -"
"Fucking spit it out." Coyle rolls his eyes, his hand tightening in your hair as the stun baton crackled threateningly. "Don't got all fucking day."
"I haven't fucked anyone since I've been stuck in here."
"Lying bitch." Coyle snaps. "That's all you junkies and sluts do back in those cells they keep you in. Ain't nothing to do but sleep, smoke, and fuck anything with a pulse."
"Well, I fucking haven't."
He ignores the snapped denial, once again switching his focus back to your body as a smirk at your outburst curls his mouth. The tip of the stun baton drops to threaten your lower stomach, placed tactfully to prevent any thought of escape, and the crackle of the electric sparks are like small needles of heat as they glance off your skin.
"Mmm, I like a bit of fire. A bit of meat. Really gives me something to work and hold onto while I tear you a new one." His eyes rove across your trembling chest, leering openly as his tongue licks at his cracked lips.
Overcome by a sudden wave of self-conscious fear, the onslaught of it making your throat constrict, you can't stop your hand moving and it quickly shifts to cover your chest - elbow tucking tight against your side to cover as much skin as possible.
You realise your mistake instantly.
Coyle's face twists into uncontrolled rage and a huff of air is the only warning you get before a sharp pain spears through your cheek as the back of his hand glances off your face, quick as a whippet.
"It's by the good grace of the lord that you're not a smoking pile of dead fuck on the floor, waiting to be scraped up by the assholes who run this place." Coyle snarls, his hand snapping around your own and gripping with enough strength to make you whine pathetically as he drags it away from his sight. "Don't make me sorry for being so kind cause I’ll use this stick to fry your holes and then just fuck what's left."
Frozen in place by the very real threat, your head moves of its own accord as you nod and agree with his words without conscious thought; your lips spewing a stream of incomprehensible apologies as you dig your nails into your outer thighs to force them to remain still. Your cheek burns, his backhand slap really showcasing his strength as the area continues to ache even as you nod.
"But you're clean," Coyle continues his tone almost begrudging, "so I think I'll forgive that little slip up. The badge makes people nervous sometimes."
"Thanks." You breath out, not quite sure what for and even less sure that you meant it.
Coyle grins at the apology as his hand drops to his belt once more. Beside his hand, the line of cigarettes holstered within the belt would be comical in any other situation but humour was the furthest thing from your mind as you stare hopelessly at the collar of his stained shirt.
"Now take my cock out and show me why you're so desperate for it."
Biting the back of your tongue as you attempt to steady your breathing and follow through on your earlier offer, you lean forward enough to reach his fly and release his cock. Despite it all, all the terrifying strength and the monstrous sadism, his cock is surprisingly normal as you pull it free. About average length, it wasn't the biggest cock you'd ever seen, but it was certainly the thickest and the slight flare of his cock head appeared a much darker shade than his shaft - the scarce light making any other details too difficult to see.
"What? You holding it so I can take a piss? You forget how to treat an officer of the law? Cause I got a firm hand to help you remember."
Startled by his words, you quickly shake your head and start to slowly pump your hand along his cock. He's already half hard from terrorising you and his dick twitches into your palm, your grip soft and too afraid to squeeze tightly in case it angered him in some way. You stroke along the length, feeling every inch of the velvety skin against your own as it hangs heavy and hot against your palm. But it's dry, too dry to really let you build up any momentum, and your fingers feel uncomfortable against the raw skin.
Releasing him, you see the outrage flair in his face for only a blink until he watches you spit into your hand - the noise vulgar and nasty against the gentle whirr of the generator - and then his lips split into another wide grin as you instantly return to the task at hand. The spit gives some lubrication, allowing your hand to slide more easily along his length as your fingers rub along the sensitive ridge where the shaft meets cockhead. It gains you a low grunt of approval, Coyle's breath visibly sharpening at the extra stimulation and he raises a hand to the chain link fence as he leans in even closer to your trapped positioning.
"You're a talented whore. I like the extra effort," Coyle growls into your ear, "and, hell, I'll even let you choose which hole I fuck cause I like it so much."
Having not even considered that he might demand to fuck your ass or throat, your hand stutters on his cock as fear cleaves at your chest. But you cover it quickly, resuming jerking his now fully hard cock as you struggle to clear your throat of your anxieties and answer him.
"Please, sir, fuck my-"
"Yeah, yeah." Coyle breathes, cutting you off in an instant as he pulls his cock free of your grip with one fluid jerk of his hips and replaces it with his own hand. "I ain't fucking stupid. I know what you want. But let's see if all my being nice is gonna be worth what I'm getting-" Coyle trails off, his other hand gliding past your lower stomach and within the waistband of your panties to weave through the trimmed hair of your cunt - the sensation making him quirk a brow as his teeth visibly clamp around the cigarette between them.
His fingers push past your slit, pressing up against your hole roughly, and you whimper at the stiff intrusion. He's too rough, too fast, and you aren't prepared at all to accept him as he struggles to slide his fingers in any further.
A fact which he notices in an instant.
"I thought you'd be soaked, honey. Ol' Coyle not firing up your juices? Or maybe you just need some help."
"Help?" You stutter out, eyeing the stun baton with open fear as your gaze flicks between it and his leering gaze.
"You think a respectable law bringer like me needs the lightning to keep you in line? Nah, we're gonna have a hell of a time. Just some old-fashioned perversion between a good man and the whore who wants him."
Coyle finishes his little mocking speech by dropping to one knee before you, the sudden shift making you jerk in position and gasp, and his hands are hard against your thighs as he roughly spreads your inner thighs before tearing your panties down. The fabric falls to your knees without protest and your fingers once again lock against the chain link fence which presses into your back.
Unable to do anything, you bite at your lip to save the pathetic noises which threaten to slip free as you feel the heat of Coyle's breath against your cunt. But before you can really dwell too much on what is happening, a scream snaps free of your throat as his blunted teeth sink themselves into the swell of your left inner thigh. The bite is hard, the skin roaring its distress in a dull, lasting ache until Coyle pulls away and refocuses his attention on his main prize.
Coyle's beard is rough and the sensation of it dragging along your cunt is not as unpleasant as it could have been. But any good feeling is cut short in an instant by how insistent and sloppy he is in his immediate fervour. His tongue is messy, forcing itself along your slit before delving into your hole without any focus or thought. This wasn't about bringing pleasure, not real pleasure anyway, it was about control and him forcing you to endure it. Knowing that you had to let him do as he wished.
Having his mouth devouring such an intimate location, one which very few of your previous partners had ever really been allowed, feels somehow worse than anything else he'd already subjected you to - despite the very slight twinge of arousal which traitorously licks up your spine when his nose greedily bumps against your clit as he presses himself tightly against your groin.
It's invasive and humiliating, his tongue leaving no part of you neglected as he uses his mouth to slicken you up and take what he wants. His facial hair burns as it grinds into your most sensitive skin, the friction adding a cruel stimulation that forces your hole to clench around nothing and arousal to continue to steadily grow within your gut.
"Mm, for a condemned whore you sure do taste good. Even better than my second wife. Put out a lot easier too…"
Second wife?
He had been married? More than once? In light of that revelation, you choose to ignore the insult which Coyle had also tacked onto the end of his comments as he pulls away from you and quickly rises to his feet once more. Relief floods you, sweeping across your skin as he quits his assault on your sex, but with it comes renewed anxiety as you know he’s going to want his promised fuck.
"No thanks?" Coyle spits out after a second of staring at you, his fingers striking forward to grip your chin so tightly that you're afraid he's going to rip the skin. "A man gets down on one knee and you don't even show him the proper respect? Didn't peg you for an ungrateful bitch- maybe I should have just fucked you high and dry?"
"Sorry, sir. Thank you." Grovelling the words out in a muttered rush due to the pressure Coyle is keeping on your jaw, you can't help the widening of your eyes as pain-filled tears blur your vision.
"Finally, a little fucking respect around here." Coyle says, the crackle of his baton flashing just to the left of your head as you flinch away in terror. He ignores the flinch and instead mutters a hissing warning as he trails the business end of the baton across your skin, carving a line past your tits and down to your thighs. Running the side of the baton along your slit, he pushes the cold metal up hard into your sex.
"Now, let's see how those cunt juices are firing off."
You grunt as he taps the baton against your slit, every heavy thud more pain than pleasure as it strikes the slightly exposed skin of your clit - the sensation making your knees jerk with every direct hit. It's too much and you bite your lip to keep the noises in your throat clamped up and unable to escape.
Coyle, his face only a few inches away from your own and only just illuminated by the glow of his cigarette, tilts his head as he finally drops your jaw from his inhumane grip.
"I fuck like a man, honey. So, yeah, I see you exercising your right to remain silent but it's just gonna make me want to hurt you more. I want to hear the little canary sing."
He punctuates his final words by grinding the baton into your cunt. Ensuring that the cool metal is wettened by his own saliva and your arousal, he holds the baton there until your whimpers and discomfort have satisfied his sadistic whims before snatching it away and bringing it to your mouth instead.
"Clean it off, bitch."
Humiliated, you press your tongue to the metal as fear that he will press the button and deliver a truly evil shock makes your entire body tremble. Immediately filling your senses, the taste of your own arousal - made acrid by the addition of Coyle's tobacco-stained spit - makes your nose wrinkle but you obediently follow his instructions. Too afraid to put a foot out of line, you work your tongue along the part presented to you until the baton is clean and glistening slightly in the limited light.
Satisfied by your work, Coyle moves so quickly into action that you can't prevent the short yelp of surprise you unleash as he sheaths his baton back in his belt and picks you up by the waist. Airborne for only a blink, you grunt in pain as he slams your back into the nearby generator. Using the crank screen as a makeshift ledge, he balances your ass on it with little effort as his stocky body pins you into place - his rock hard cock pressing insistently at your sex as he grinds himself into your mound.
"Now that I've been all gentlemanly and warmed you up, time to bury this bone and see if it was really worth all the being nice for."
In a single sharp and punishing thrust, he adjusts himself with his hand and sheathes himself inside you so roughly that you feel your back scrape against the generator. Your cry of discomfort, of the stretch and utter sting at his brutal intrusion, only nets you a tilted smirk as Coyle pauses long enough to drink in your distressed appearance. Your nails dig in to the leather of his jacket, the material too thick to allow him any sensation from it but you can feel that he's loving how tight your walls are squeezing him as he holds his cock still.
"Fucking hell, honey. Goddamn tighter than some of those mannequins around here. Or maybe you ain't fucked a real man before. Probably only been with them nancy boys that wouldn’t know what to do with their dick even if it told them."
Unable to catch your breath enough to reply, all you can offer is a discomforting whimper as you pull your legs up and around his waist in a vain attempt to alleviate some of the pressure on your lower half.
He seems fine with it though, and Coyle quickly drops his head to your exposed chest - tits still hanging over your bra as your shirt flutters uselessly around your sides. Pulling you towards him, his mouth makes itself known on your collarbone as his tongue draws a sloppy line across the burn marks which he had delivered earlier with his stun baton - almost as though he's trying to taste the residual electricity as it thrums within your veins. He quick to bite too, his teeth clamping down on whatever skin he can find purchase on as he sucks livid marks into your chest.
Never one to have shied away from a little bit of roughhousing with your pleasure, a sweeping cloud of shame fogs up your mind as you can't help but enjoy the harsh ministrations - every brush of his beard leaving a tickling heat behind which lasts for a few moments. Coyle, his cock rocking slowly back and forth while he adjusts you as he sees fit, is quick to pick up on the attitude shift, a shit-earing grin slipping across his lips as he raises his head from your skin.
"Huh, I think you actually enjoy me pulling on these pigtails of yours. You like it when I hurt you, yeah?" Releasing one of his hands from your waist, he pinches your nipple between textured fingers and the sharp pain makes your back arch and cunt clamp around his cock. "Hrm, I like that a whole lot. Pity I ain't the marrying type these days…" He trails off, mostly to himself, returning his hand to ensuring you were tightly pinned into place and unable to escape him.
Thrusting harshly with every comment, you try to focus on the pleasure which builds as the dull ache of his intrusion begins to fade. His cock is thick, so as much as it stretches you out, it's also brushing your nerves with every rock of his hips - sending thrills of arousal across your gut and shifting your groin as you seek out more and more.
His mouth now shifts its attention to your left tit, mouth greedily sucking your nipple between his lips as the bluntness of his teeth press at the sensitive bud. Moaning, you can't help but slip your hand up from its death grip on his jacket until your fingers find purchase against the back of his neck. It's the first physical contact you've initiated and the heat of his skin on your palm shocks you back into the reality of your situation and what you were allowing to happen.
Arousal, shame, disgust, heat, and something too self-loathing to really pin down pulses through your veins as you admit that, despite it all, you were finding pleasure in this monster. Just another fucked-up fact to add to the other horrors which haunted your broken nights back in the facility. Unable to really fall lower as a sudden shift of despair hollows your gut, you push it deep inside to focus on finishing securing your freedom.
Ignorant to your internal hell as he continues to rut into your body like a beast, Coyle's mouth never stops in its movements. From harsh bites to wild grunts and muttered insults which are lost due to their volume, he's vocal in a way which fills the small space - his only competition being your whimpers and the hum of the generator you are pinned to. Giving a particularly harsh thrust, you can feel the tickle of his dark pubic hair pressing against your groin through the hole of his fly and you stutter out something incomprehensible - the words between a plea and a groan - but he ignores it in favour of lowering his hand to fumble messily at the baton on his belt.
"Ready to ride the lightning, darlin'"?
Shaking your head frantically as you watch him turn the intensity of the baton to full, Coyle places the prongs perfectly at the juncture where his groin connects with your own, ensuring that the shock will connect fully with you both when he presses the button. Fear floods you. His previous shocks had apparently been held a lower setting and the thought of a full-scale taste of the voltage terrifies in a way you never could have anticipated.
"Fuck! No, please- don’t! I'm doing everything you want! Please-" is all you manage to squeal out before pain explodes across your frame.
Your muscles spasm, growing rigid in an instant as your eyes roll back into your skull and heat, like hellfire in a fucked-up handbasket, radiates across your groin to spread across your flesh. It's so intense that you can't even scream, throat and mouth locking into an open position that only allows for a desperate pull of strained oxygen as your brain whites out.
Through it all, heat of another kind makes itself known and you feel Coyle’s orgasm as it burns hot within your cunt, his gasping growls of pleasure rolling across your ears as his higher tolerance for pain allows him to continue his punishing assault on your cunt even as your body twitches and spasms around him.
Despite everything, despite the pain and the abuse you'd endured at his hands since being caught, you cannot prevent the inevitable and your groan as you come is deep and guttural - walls squeezing even more harshly around Coyle's pulsing cock as your desperate body attempts to claw as much pleasure from the pain as it can.
Limbs trembling and twitching from the exhaustion of the electricity, you pretty much can't help but go limp in Coyle's arms as your orgasm ebbs away and you're left with nothing but the residual aches and discomforts of his attention as your feet drop back to the floor. He pulls himself free in a smooth motion, his wilting cock a mess as he tucks it away quickly and steps back from your position.
Your legs feel unsteady as hell and you are thankful for the pressure of the generator as you lean on it heavily for support. Aching, exposed, and grimacing at the feel of his release as it drips free of your abused hole, all you want is a shower and you want it so badly that you could almost feel the desperate tears which threatened to well up in the corner of your eyes.
"Just one more job left to do." Coyle announces, his voice giddy yet almost slurred by his own satiated arousal as he fixed his hat. And without warning he plucks the shortened cigarette from his lips and grinds the stub of it out on the exposed skin of your right inner thigh.
Pain, sharp as a knife and searing in its intensity, flares in the burned skin as a scream pulls itself free of your throat - pain and shock making you writhe in place as he holds you there with a firm hard pressing into your leg until the skin is well and truly branded by the cigarette.
"What the fuck?" You sob out, a tear rolling down your cheek while your fingers drop to gently brush over the abused skin as Coyle releases you and tilts his head to admire his handiwork.
"Hell, just something to remember me by. A little gift to show you what that kinda whoring and public indecency gets you around here. Plus, it lets me keep a tally, one for each time you enjoy a visit with your favourite officer of the law."
Body bending to snatch up your abandoned panties, the simple gesture makes your nerves scream their discomfort and you whimper as you pull the scant fabric back on before quickly sliding your tits back within the bra and fixing the rest of your scant outfit.
Coyle watches with vague interest, his hand cupping his clothed cock as he stands back and hooks his other hand in his belt. "Next time you're gonna be on those knees and I'm gonna fuck that throat bloody. So, make sure you ain't staying away for too long cause ol' Coyle has needs too y'know. I’ll be watching out for you, honey."
Laughing at his own comments as you cringe at the scornful pet name, Coyle's gaze falls on an abandoned brick which lays not too far from his foot. Kicking it towards you with a swipe of his leg, Coyle turns on his heel and disappears back into the darkness - his sadistic needs satiated and not a single fuck given about you or your journey back to the shuttle. As he disappears, you can hear him whistling some tune as it grows fainted and fainter with each passing moment.
Shattered, fucked, abused, and absolutely bone weary, the strength which powers you allows you to hold it together for now as you force your broken body into motion. Limping off to find a barrel to hide in while you await the shuttle picking you up, it's impossible to ignore the smell of burned skin which seems imprinted in your senses.
I'll fuck you if you let me go.
At least your plan had worked and you could live to fight another day.
That had to be worth something.
Right?