Category Linkin Park

Prison Sex by VampyreAmadeo


Disclaimer: FICTION. Pure delusion.

A/N: Sorry peeps. I accidentally deleted the story. You know, they should have a 'are you sure you want to delete this story' popup just in case you know? Brad will be up in a second. Please tell me what you think!


It annoyed him right to the bone. He just wanted to rip those velvet deep purple curtains off their gold-plaited hooks. They cost a fortune, those stupid curtains. But she wanted them, so she got them. The back window was open slightly, so that a small breeze ran through the curtains, causing them to make quiet whooshing noises.

Robert Bourdon listened to the faint noises of the richly furnished living room, waiting for her to come home from school and sipping on a glass of expensive red wine, shirtless on the black leather couch. She was severely agitated when he drank red wine near the bright white, fluffy, oh so soft carpets, which also cost a fortune. Then again, she hated the fact that he was drinking alcohol anyways. He was on his fifth glass of wine and there was a soft buzzing in his ears that confirmed that he was on the verge of being drunk. He could handle booze very well when he wanted to. But then again, he wanted to be drunk for this. There’s no way he could handle seeing her face fill with anger and fear when she saw that he was in her house without her express permission. Well, if she didn’t want any uninvited guests in the first place, she shouldn’t have left the back window cracked. It wasn’t cracked a lot (in fact it didn’t even deserve to be called cracked, more like splintered) but it was open enough for Robert Bourdon to slip his unnaturally thin fingers through it and open it without much force.


She’s here. Footsteps echoed downstairs as she moved to her tiled kitchen. Rob put his wineglass down on the glass coffee table and sunk into the leather couch, taking a large whiff of its smell. He loved the small of leather. It was so wild and cowboy-like. Rob smiled into the couch. Leather. It always reminded him of that song Don Jovi performed. “I'm a cowboy, baby,” Rob giggled aloud to himself.

The noise downstairs stopped, followed by an uncanny silence. Creek. Ah, she’s coming upstairs! Rob thought in delight. He sat up quickly and there was a snap as the doorknob that led to the downstairs floor turned.

He took on big long gulp from the bottle this time. Her reaction was right on with Rob’s guess. Once she recognized Rob, she was furious. “BOB! You fucking jerk-off! Get away from the carpet! Dad will kill me if you spill anything!” She threw her Biology books onto the floor and snapped the bottle away from Rob. She took a drink.

“Hey, now. You’re not old enough to drink.” Rob tried to take the bottle back without much luck. She always kept an inch or two out of grabbing distance.

“You aren't either. But I’m old enough to fuck though,” she said with a smile. “Right, Bob?”

It’s true she was out of grabbing distance, but she wasn’t out of kicking distance. He kicked her hard in the leg when she called him Bob. He hated that name. It doesn’t even sound one bit close to Robert.

She crumpled and then—


Her head slammed against the wall. The bottle slipped out of her hands and fell onto the white carpet, the liquid staining deep into the fabric. When her senses came to, the carpet is what she noticed, not Rob advancing on her, not the pain in her left leg. “Dad is going to kill me!” she hissed and was about to bend down to inspect the carpet when Rob shoved her. She lost her balance and flailed her arms about wildly, trying to find something to sustain her.


The velvet curtains fell to the floor in a heap and she fell with them, on her back. Rob quickly grabbed her wrists with one hand and went for her jeans with the other. She then noticed what Rob was going to do. She wriggled and tried to kick him, but he moved backwards so that her legs barely touched him. She tried to scream but Rob forcefully slapped her once the high frequency left her lips.

After Rob finally got the jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, she had gone limp. Rob smiled and touched the cotton fabric of her underwear. They were white. Only good girls wear white underpants. He could feel the heat of her through the cotton panties.

“Please, Rob, Bob, Bobby don’t do this. I know you. Please knock it off.” She took in a sharp breath as Rob slipped his long, cold fingers past the elastic of her underwear. “Don’t hurt me. At least use a condom. Please? I won’t tell anyone.”

Rob shot a look at her. She stopped talking and her eyes filled with tears and she felt the cold fingers fondle her. Soon afterward, she wasn’t being fondled. She was being bashed and thrust into. Without a condom.

Robert Bourdon. Accused of sexual assault, rape, and sexually abusing a minor.


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