Chapter 3 Fuck You, You Little Bitch

Willette hadn't fully come back to her senses yet. 　　Her mind was floating in the air, while her body was still held captive by Marco. The terrifying flesh stick was almost prying open her fragile cervix and probing inside. 　　It was a sharp pain. If Willette lowered her head, she could see her legs spread open wide, revealing a pitiful, pale flower hole that was continuously being pounded by the deep red flesh stick. The glistening wetness was visible in the rapid thrusts. 　　She was now sitting on top of Marco, with her torn dress piled up around her waist and her upper body almost completely exposed. 　　Her trembling breasts quivered as her previously swollen nipples took on a deep red hue. 　　Marco's rough calloused hands were on her waist, pressing against her tender skin, transmitting a scorching heat. 　　His thrusts were without any rhyme or reason, just pure roughness. Willette felt like a shipwreck in the ocean, sometimes tossed high in the air, sometimes smashed deep into the sea. 　　She endured the ravages of the storm, with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and occasional moans filling her ears. 　　Besides that, there were no other sounds in the interrogation room. 　　Lanchester was too calm. 　　Willette faintly thought that if Lanchester would just say a word to comfort her, even just half a sentence, her agony would be somewhat relieved. 　　But he just watched. 　　His gaze was like that of a voyeur. 　　Willette's brain was almost scrambled. Her consciousness was not clear enough, but her body was in enough discomfort. 　　Her abdomen was burning as if there was a fire burning inside her, the poisonous flames licking her internal organs, burning through her heart, crawling through her esophagus and throat. 　　She wanted to vomit, so she pushed against Marco's chest with her hands, but that only caused him to thrust even more vigorously. 　　In her confusion, her right hand raised uncontrollably and slapped him across the face. 　　Smack! 　　The sound of the slap was particularly loud. 　　Marco was thrown off to the side, his cheek quickly turning red. 　　He licked his tingling lips, his tongue touching his gums, and laughed silently. His dark golden pupils were fixed on her, as if a wild beast was about to tear apart its prey. 　　"Fuck you, you little bitch." 　　Marco said in a gentle tone. The next second, he lifted Willette up, took a few steps forward, and forcefully pressed her against the cold glass. 　　At the same time, his flesh stick plunged into Willette's body, leaving no room for escape. 　　Too deep, too deep, too deep! 　　Willette no longer had time to organize the jumbled information in her mind, screaming as she went to hit Marco. 　　She slapped his face, pounded his chest, but only received his crazier resistance. Marco's eyes were slightly red, several strands of messy blond hair soaked in sweat, sticking to his forehead. 　　He found Willette annoying, so he simply grabbed her slender wrists and pressed them against the glass window. He also held onto one of her thighs, forcibly hooking it around his waist. 　　The glass was smashed with a clang, and fine milky-white splashes flew up, then slowly flowed down. 　　For the prisoner inside, this scene was lewd and filthy. 　　Lanchester watched his fiancée. 　　Willette's body was not plump, in fact, it was too thin. Her back was pressed against the glass, and the outline of her shoulder blades was unusually prominent, like two constantly trembling butterfly wings. 　　Every time Marco slammed into her, her waist trembled unconsciously, and even her round buttocks turned a pitiful pink. 　　Her beautiful platinum hair hung down, rubbing against the transparent glass, and sweat and semen clung to it, forming strands and strands. 　　This was clearly a one-sided invasion. 　　But from Lanchester's perspective, it looked like a joint adultery. 　　He clenched his jaw, and a deep, icy black gaze surfaced with a loathing emotion. 　　The hands restrained by the iron shackles on the chair gradually tightened, and the back of his hands bulged with blue veins.