All Chapters of C*nt Of Demand: 60 Shades Of Pure Evil: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Carrie's POV I am on my knees in the darkened confessional, rosary digging into my palms, when Father Marcus leans close enough that his breath brushes the lattice and says, “Tell me the truth, Sister. Did you touch yourself thinking of me last night?”The words land like a hand around my throat. My pulse stutters. Outside these thin wooden walls the chapel is empty, the last of the evening light dying against stained glass. Inside, there is only the smell of old incense, polished wood, and him.I should say no. I should recite the Act of Contrition and leave. Instead my mouth opens and nothing comes out.Two years ago I took temporary vows because my family’s money vanished overnight and the scandal that followed left me with nowhere else to go. The academy took me in. Father Marcus Valen was already there, teaching theology to the older girls, calm voice, perfect posture, eyes that never seemed to blink when they looked at me. He failed me on purpose the first semester. Then he o

3 months later Carrie's POV I am pregnant with his child the night my brother kicks in the rectory door and puts a gun to Marcus’s head, and the only thing I can think is that I still want him to finish inside me one more time before everything burns.The doorframe splinters. My older brother stands in the wreckage, rain dripping from his coat, the pistol steady in both hands. Marcus is still inside me, my legs locked around his waist, my habit bunched uselessly under my back on the narrow bed. We froze the second the wood cracked. Now the only sound is my brother’s ragged breathing and the distant roll of thunder.“Get off her,” my brother says. His voice is raw with years of hate. “Or I put a bullet through the back of your skull while you’re still buried in my sister.”Marcus does not move. His hands stay firm on my hips. His eyes never leave mine. Even with a gun pointed at him he looks calm, almost tender.“Carrie ,” he says softly, the sam

Elena POVThe second session had ended with his voice following me home like a second pulse. I woke up with my hand between my legs and his last words still in my mouth. “Good girl.”By the third visit I had stopped pretending the clothes were accidental. Black silk blouse that clung when I moved. Skirt that ended just above the knee.I sat in the waiting room with my thighs pressed together and felt the damp fabric of my underwear against skin that already remembered him.Marcus opened the door himself. No receptionist today. “You’re early,” he said.“I couldn’t sleep past five.”“The suggestion held?”“It held. It also did other things.”A faint curve touched the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. “Tell me.”I sat. He sat. The space between the chairs felt smaller than before.“I touch myself to the sound of your voice,” I said. The words came out flat, almost defiant. “I dress for these sessions like I’m already undressed. I catch myself practicing the way I would kneel

Sasha’s POVI stared at the screen until the bathroom tiles started to blur.Three photos. My face. My body. Positions no one was ever supposed to see again. Timestamped. Clear. Undeniable.Downstairs the television murmured. My husband’s laugh floated up the stairs, easy and stupid, the same laugh he used when he thought everything in our life was still perfect.My phone vibrated in my hand.Unknown number.I answered because not answering felt worse.“You looked,” a low voice said. Calm and gentle “Good.”My throat locked. “Who the fuck is this?”“Someone who has more where those came from. And the videos. And the names of every person who would be very interested in seeing them.”I sat on the closed toilet lid because my legs decided they were done. “What do you want?”“Simple. You’re going to start making space in your marriage. Little cracks at first. Missed dinners. Late nights. Distance. You’re going to leave room for me.”“Or what?”“Or tomorrow morning your husband opens an

Sasha’s POV His mouth was on my collarbone and my blouse was already on the floor when the argument started again.“You don’t get to do this,” I said, voice rough. My hands were in his hair anyway, pulling hard enough to hurt. “You don’t get to show up after everything and act like you own the air I breathe.”“I do own it.” His teeth scraped skin. Not hard. Just enough. “Say it.”“Fuck you.”He laughed against my throat, low and dark, and the sound went straight between my legs. One of his hands slid under the waistband of my skirt, palm hot against my stomach, fingers stopping just short of where I already ached.“You’re soaked,” he murmured. “And you still want to fight me with your mouth. I like that.”“I hate you.”“I know.” His fingers finally dipped lower, slowly , deliberate, spreading me open like he had all the time in the world. “Hate me while I make you feel this.”I bit down on a sound. Two fingers stroked through the wetness, circling, pressing, learning the exact pres