Chapter Seventeen
Glutton for Punishment
Jameson Bishop
Holy fucking shit. She likes it.
Her moans and pleas are pitiful. She must be so close to the edge.
And she’s not tapping out.
Why did I fight this for so long?
This opens so many possibilities.
Most women want the tame version of me. They aren’t capable of giving me what I want, what I need.
To truly satisfy me.
Fuck it.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you harder.” I groan. “Tell me you want me to fill you up. How much you want my cum. How much you want me to fuck a baby into you.” I demand breathlessly.
Pounding into her relentlessly just imagining having her at my mercy. Legs open, eyes vacant. My cum dripping all over her.
I slam my eyes shut. Fuck.
Just when I think I have gone too far and she’s not going to answer she moans, “Please Daddy. Harder. Give me everything.” Her cries are stuttered with the force of my thrusts, but I heard it.
And what baby wants, baby gets. Good girl.
Slamming myself into her, I roughly roll my hips and rock up harder. Her screams immediately change pitch.
“Come on, you can take it. One more baby.” I grit out. Slapping her ass again, I give everything I have to fucking her.
“Oh god oh god. Harder. Harder! Harder!” She screams
Once again slamming into her hard enough to slide her forward on her hands and knees, I press myself against her, slam my hand down over her mouth and roll my fingers against her clit.
The pressure on my cock is immediate, and I don’t have enough restraint to hold back any longer. My climax is too close. The heat in my abdomen and along my lower spine finally centers in my balls and I unload in her hot slick heat. I can feel each spurt hit, making her wetter.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…. I hammer into her. Making sure it hits deep before I loose feeling in my legs and can no longer keep the pace.
The pleasure is indescribable. I’ve never come so hard in my life, my balls tingling with the echo of it still.
Pulling out, I get her into position on her back, her knees up and out so I can see the creamy white cum inside her now gaping hole, overflowing with each spasm in her pussy.
Fuck yes.
I push it all back in and gently press inside her. Putting it back where it belongs.
“You can have all of it. Ill fill you up and fuck you again and again. Ill tie you down and cum all over you. I want it leaking out of you all day every day. Just holes for me to fill.”
Jesus fucking Christ. The idea of her, belly round with my child has me already semi hard again. The ache of blood flowing again becoming uncomfortable.
She’s still and her breathing is heavy. I check her face. She’s lost in the haze. Her eyes glazed over and vacant.
She’s perfect. Such a good girl.
Now I can never let her go.
She’s mine now.
Gently lifting her to get her cleaned up, taking care not to allow any to drip out, I lay her down on our makeshift bed and wrap her in blankets to get her core temperature back up.
I watch her for what seems like hours while she breathes evenly in and out and consider the possibilities.
Coming to two conclusions.
One; She doesn’t need an old man. She’s in the prime of her life. She deserves more than I can give her. More than I am capable of. As much as I have always loved the idea of getting her pregnant with my child, I cannot have more children.
I am a jaded, fucked up, and baggage ridden man with a grown child and only a dead lover behind me. Nothing ahead of me that I can share with her. What kind of life would that be for her?
Two; I am selfish enough that I don’t care. I claimed her.
I had waited long enough that my need had risen to insane proportions. I wouldn’t be able to keep it contained. Im already considering attempting to revive her and demanding more.
At the very least, spreading her legs so I can see my cum inside her. Proving that she was mine.
Dawn bleeds slow and silver across the treetops, the kind of light that makes everything look colder than it is. I sit up, spine stiff from the cabin floor, and listen.
Rachel’s breathing is still slow and measured. I am not ready to take her down into the caves.
Everyone’s awake, but no one looks rested.
David’s eyes are sunken, bruised at the edges. He keeps rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to stay tethered to his own body. Beth is jumpy, too alert and wired, like she’s waiting for something to leap out of the shadows and grab her.
Rachel meets my gaze. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to.
We don’t have time for any of that now.
“We’re going in,” I say. My voice sounds like gravel. “We’re not leaving this mountain unless we know for sure no one’s alive down there.”
Beth swallows hard. “Without the maps?”
“We don’t have a choice.”
David drags a hand down his face. “We’ll get lost.”
“Not if we track the tunnels,” I say. “We mark every turn. Every split. We stay together. No one wanders off.”
Rachel steps closer, arms folded tight. “And if he’s down there?”
I meet her eyes. “Then he won’t be for long.”
The caves are worse than I imagined.
The entrance yawns open beneath a ridge of stone, a black mouth swallowing the morning light. The air is damp, cold, metallic. It smells like old earth and something decayed.
We move in with flashlights and headlamps, the beams slicing through the dark. The walls sweat. Water drips somewhere deeper inside, echoing like footsteps.
Then we see them.
Prints.
Hundreds of them.
Human. Barefoot. Drag marks. Scrapes. Some small. Some large. Some… not quite human.
They lead down different tunnels, branching like veins.
Beth kneels, fingers hovering over a set of prints. “These are fresh.”
David’s voice cracks. “How many people did he bring down here?”
Rachel looks at me. “Which tunnel?”
All of them look bad. All of them look like they lead somewhere no one should go.
But one set of prints, deep, heavy, and dragging, pulls my attention. My pulse spikes.
“He took someone this way,” I say. “Recently.”
Rachel steps beside me. Close enough that I feel her warmth in the freezing wind.
“We follow those,” she says.
I nod. “Stay close. No matter what.”
And as we move deeper into the dark, the tunnels seem to breathe around us.
The tunnel narrows until we’re forced into single file, stone pressing in on both sides. Every sound feels amplified, the drip of water, the scuff of boots, the faint tremor of something deeper in the cave shifting.
Rachel is right behind me. I can feel her presence like a pulse at my back.
We reach a fork with three tunnels splitting off like ribs. The prints scatter in every direction, overlapping, confusing. I crouch, tracing the deepest set with my light.
“These,” I say. “He dragged someone this way.”
Beth mutters something behind us.
David’s breathing is too loud. Rachel steps closer, her hand brushing my shoulder.
And then the cave reacts.
A low rumble shivers through the stone. Dust rains from the ceiling. Beth yelps. David curses. I grab Rachel’s arm, but Im too late as the floor shifts under us.
A slab of rock drops between us like a guillotine, slamming down with a deafening crack. The tunnel shakes.
My flashlight jerks wildly as I stumble back.
“Rachel!” I slam my palms against the fallen rock. “Rachel, answer me!”
Her voice comes through the stone, muffled, strained. “I’m here! Bishop…. I’m okay. I’m okay.”
But she doesn’t sound okay. She sounds scared. And she’s on the other side of a wall that wasn’t here thirty seconds ago.
Beth’s voice trembles. “Is she trapped?”
David shines his light along the edges. “The cave’s unstable. That wasn’t natural.”
I press my forehead to the cold stone, forcing my voice steady. “Rachel, stay where you are. Don’t move.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “But Bishop… I hear something.”
My blood goes cold.
“What kind of something?”
A beat of silence. Then, softly:
“Footsteps.”
Not hers. Not ours.
Slow. Dragging. Getting closer.
I turn to the others. “We find another way around. Now.”
Beth nods frantically. David’s already scanning the tunnels. I take one last breath against the stone, wishing I could reach through it.
“Rachel,” I say. “I’m coming to you.”
“I know,” she whispers. “Just hurry.”
The cave feels alive now as we plunge into the next tunnel, racing the dark.
The moment Rachel’s voice fades behind that slab of rock, something inside me snaps tight. It’s not panic yet. Something sharper. Colder. A kind of focus that feels like it could cut through stone if I push hard enough.
I turn down the nearest tunnel, the one that curves left and slopes downward. The prints are scattered here; bare feet, boots, drag marks. But I’m not looking at them.
I’m listening.
The cave is too quiet.
David and Beth follow close, their lights jittering across the walls. Beth keeps whispering prayers under her breath.
David keeps glancing back like he expects the tunnel to close behind us too.
“Rachel!” I shout, voice ricocheting off the stone. “Keep talking if you can.”
Nothing.
Just the drip of water. The hum of the cave breathing around us.
I push faster.
The tunnel tightens, forcing us sideways. My shoulder scrapes rock. My flashlight flickers. The air grows colder, like we’re walking into the lungs of something ancient.
David hisses, “Slow down.”
“No.” My voice comes out like a growl. “She’s alone.”
And something is with her.
I can feel it. The same way you feel a storm before it hits. The pressure building.
We reach another split. Two tunnels. One narrow and steep. One wide and sloping.
I crouch, scanning the ground. The prints are a mess, but one set; small, booted, cuts sharply toward the narrow tunnel.
Rachel.
I move after her.
The tunnel drops fast, forcing us into a crouch. The ceiling brushes my back. Beth whimpers behind me. David curses again. My heartbeat is a drum in my ears.
Then a sound is carried back to us.
Faint. Far. But unmistakable.
Rachel’s voice.
“Bishop!”
I freeze. Every muscle locks.
She’s terrified.
“Rachel!” I shout back, throat burning. “I’m coming!”
Her reply is strangled, breathless. “Something’s…..Bishop, it’s…….”
The rest is swallowed by the cave.
I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I just move, scraping through the narrow passage until it widens suddenly into a chamber.
My light sweeps across the space.
And I see her flashlight beam on the far side, flickering wildly.
But I don’t see her.
I don’t see her.
Something shifts in the dark between us. Shadows or real, I can’t tell, I only care about finding Rachel. I draw my sidearm.
Beth gasps. David steps back.
I step forward.
“Rachel,” I say, voice low, steady, lethal. “Talk to me.”
Her voice comes from the dark, shaking. “Bishop… it’s right here.”