Page 1 of Violent Hearts

Prologue

Jared

What a fucking mess.

I release a frustrated sigh before crumpling up the piece of paper and throwing it away from me. My eyes don't even follow as it lazily dances across the tiles of my bathroom floor. Instead, I divert my attention to the flute waiting on the edge of the bath tub. It's filled to the brim with sparkling gold liquid, a sure promise for calming my nerves and helping to rid my mind of her haunting voice when I bring it up to my lips.

I can't forget about you. You've touched my heart in a way no man ever has before. I'm yours, all of me, forever.

If you'll just have me.

Fucking pathetic.

I've heard those words before, and each time my reaction has been the same. Her letter aims to reach a part of me that simply doesn't exist. An average human heart. A heart that's capable of love, or even a heart that needs it.

She's committed the same mistake that that every single one of my former submissives have made before her, absolute confirmation that she's not suitable for the role. This girl, E, broke the cardinal rule by falling for me. She calls it love, and was dumb enough to believe the feeling was mutual; she misinterpreted my attention as an attraction that wasn't there.

I could see it in her eyes when I fucked her, written all over her face when she went down on her knees in front of me, and in that faint smile flittering across her face when I called her a good girl. I even tasted it in her kisses. E was growing attached to me more and more with every moment we spent together, despite my regular reminders about the terms of the contract she signed to become mine. I've done unspeakable things to her, some of them with the sole intention of proving to her that she serves a function for me and does not hold a special place in my stone-cold heart.

One of these things is playing out vividly in front of my eyes right now, captured on screen for my viewing pleasure.

The bubbles tickle my lips as I sip on the champagne, my eyes glued to the big screen positioned on the wall above my hot tub. I’m watching footage of myself fucking E while she's taking another man’s cock between her painted lips. She looks like she’s enjoying herself, but with these girls, you never know. They're paid to perform an act, so it might all be fake. It's a passion of mine to expose them like this, to share them, to have them fucked by other guys, all while I'm the one in command. Even with the other guy’s cock plunged deep down her throat, I can see her eyes returning to me again and again, seeking my approval, appreciation, praise.

Love.

Her cheeks are flushed and her moans sound real, but she's primarily doing this for me, her master. Her owner.

If only she'd been able to keep it that way. But E, like so many before her, was too weak. One night after finishing an intense session, I was ready to leave and head to my own bedroom, when she grabbed my wrist.

"Stay," she begged, her eyes pleading. "Or take me with you."

I resisted my instinct to shake her off like an annoying fly, but instead reached for her little hand and gently removed it from my body.

"Do you remember what this is?" I asked, fixating on her with my unyielding gaze.

That's when she broke. That's when the tears came, at a time when I didn't want to see any. That's when she confessed her love for me, her undying devotion and the promise to never let me down.

But it was too late. She had already let me down at that point. She had broken the contract, so I had to let her go.

She's been out of my life now for four days, and today was when her letter arrived, the piece of paper that I cast to the other corner of the bathroom, crumbled, and the content already forgotten. I don't know what she thought she could achieve by sending it to me, but if her goal was to change my mind, she failed miserably.

I'm watching her onscreen, presumably climaxing on my thick, hard cock, while her face is blotted with the cum of another guy. Her eyes are rolling back into her head as I ram my rigid length into her, roughly pulling at the leash that's attached to her collar, effectually choking her throughout the waves of her orgasm.

I sigh impatiently, as I continue stroking my hardened length under the warm bath water. The scene on screen is almost over, but it failed to help me finish. At this point, it has become more of a task than a release marked by pleasure. Something similar could be said about my lacking relationship with E. The scene ends with a close-up of her face. She's panting, her blurry eyes traveling dreamily before they finally find the camera lens. She focuses her attention in on the camera, looking at me as she seductively licks off the cum that’s pooled at the corner of her mouth. Then the camera moves, tracing along the curves of her perfect body before stopping at her tight core, capturing the moment when I pull out of her, leaving her pussy dripping with my cum.

Any other day, this scene would have sent me over the edge. This is what I live for – seeing one of my girls like that, used, satisfied, breathless as they have fulfilled their duty, serving as nothing but objects, cum dumps for me and a well-selected buddy, their cheeks flushed with excitement.

But now that she has disappointed me like this, E no longer manages to live up to the task, not even on video. It always happens like that. Once I no longer regard a girl as my own, I can't draw the much needed excitement from her that was once a routine part of our interaction.

She needs to be replaced. I need another one, a girl that can function as both a respectable partner for the public eye, and a dirty little whore for my private pleasure.

I let go of my hardness, certain that I won't find release just now. Not like this.

I finish my drink and reach over to the small side table next to the hot tub to fetch my phone.

"Silas!" I bark as soon as I hear my assistant's voice at the other end. "I need another one."