Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending

That Which Destroys Me:

The Alternate Ending

Quod Me
Nutrit Me Destruit Copyright © 2014 Kimber S. Dawn

Published by Kimber S. Dawn

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Published: Kimber S. Dawn: 2014 [email protected]

Cover Designed by Kimber S. Dawn with images purchased and owned by Kimber S. Dawn from Shutterstock

***This
is a story of perseverance, trying to overcome the transgressions that others inflict on you, it’s a story of love gone wrong and obsession gone mad. This book contains explicit descriptions of violence and sex, obscene language, torture, rape, assault, none of which is limited to persons over the age of consent. This book is intended for MATURE AUDIENCE MEMBERS ONLY, and NOT intended for the weak at heart, nor persons with any triggers.***

Chapter One- The Fucking Good Life

Chapter Two- The Fucking Shitty Life

Chapter Three- Families are a Bitch—Even the Rich Ones

Chapter Four- Families
are Bitchin’—Even the Poor Ones

Chapter Five- Who the Hell is She?

Chapter Six- Who the Hell Does He Think He Is?

Chapter Seven- Convince a Woman to Submit

Chapter Eight- Defying a Dom

Chapter Nine- Fucking Answers

Chapter Ten- Fucking Questions

Chapter Eleven-
Beasts Crave Beauties

Chapter Twelve- When Beauty Fights a Beast

Chapter Thirteen- And So the Lion Fell For The Lamb

Chapter Fourteen- What a Stupid, Scared Lamb

Chapter Fifteen- Monsters in the Dark

Chapter Sixteen- Pawn to Rook

Chapter Seventeen- Disappointment Causes

Chapter Eighteen- Rectify a Betrayal

Chapter Nineteen- Pieces

Chapter Twenty- Monsters Under the Bed

Chapter Twenty One- Talk

Chapter Twenty Two- Cinder-fucking-
ella

Chapter Twenty Three- That Which Belongs to Me

Chapter Twenty Four- Rust

Chapter Twenty Five- The Desecration of Beauty

Chapter Twenty Six- Not an Explanation

Chapter Twenty Seven- I’m Sorry…Fucking What?

Chapter Twenty Eight- Vengeance

Chapter Twenty Nine- Teacher Vs. Dom

Chapter Thirty- No Choice

Chapter
Thirty One - Red & White

Chapter Thirty Two- Investigation

Chapter Thirty Three- Beauty & I

Chapter Thirty Four- A Soul Becomes Sand

Chapter Thirty Five- Stella

Chapter Thirty Six- Why?

Chapter Thirty Seven- That Which Destroys Me

Chapter Thirty Eight- Lost & Owned

Chapter Thirty Nine- Breaking Beauty

Chapter Forty- The Quiet Little Boy in the Shadows

Chapter Forty One- Missing Angel

Chapter Forty Two- Monster in the Shadow

Chapter Forty Three- Ghosts

Chapter Forty Four- Life

Chapter Forty Five- Destroyed Angels

Chapter Forty Six
- Wisteria, Hope, & Lilacs

Chapter forty Seven-
Monster

The Fucking Good Life

Jesus Christ, her voice may have raked down my spine like fingernails on a chalkboard, but her mouth felt like a goddamn hoover on my cock. No, better yet, like a Dyson. Their slogan is ‘It never loses suction’, right? I'll be damned if I haven't been fucking Cindy? Candy? Whoever's throat for a solid twenty minutes... and
I must say, she hasn't lost suction.

I drive my hands in her hair yanking, thrusting my hips harder, forcing her to take it all. In between her gagging, the head of my cock slips through the ring of muscles, bringing me further down her throat. I'm ready for this shit to be over. I'm ready to get this bitch out of my penthouse in all honesty. "Yeah, bitch. Fucking swallow that cock like a good girl.
Mmm hmm." I smack the side of her face and clamp my fingers around her chin bringing her eyes to mine, "Be a good little cum slut. Don't you dare spill a drop, you hear me?"

Dumb bitch nods before I grasp my fists back into her hair and yank her face back where it belongs. I feel her gagging again around my cock and her tears trickle onto my thighs right before I shoot
my cum down her throat. "Fuuuck!"

Well...n
ow shit’s just awkward. I want to tell her to go, but I don’t want to be a total dick, especially with mine still out and within her reach. You know what I mean?

"Oh my
gawd, Wes... Please, please baby tell me I can suck you until you're hard again, let me ride you. I need it. SO bad."

Chalkboard, nails... yep, fuck politeness.

"Nope, sorry sweet tits, but it's about your bed time and my bed don't have time for you." I stand and tuck myself away, securing my johnson behind the metal gates of my khaki pants zipper. I grab the C named woman up from the floor and ignore her childish pout while leading her toward and out the door of my penthouse. "But Wesley..."

"Goodnight Cindy, and seriously, I meant it when I said don't call me babe, I'll call you."
  I wink before shutting and locking the door.

I hear her muffled voice through the door, "It's fucking Christy you asshole!"

Oops, hey at least I remembered it started with a C.

After I shower and grab a beer from the fridge, I sit on my bed with my laptop going through this evening’s emails. I’m usually at the office Monday through Friday, however I never really have a day off. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have to work my ass off by any means, I just always have to be available and prompt with responses to emails and texts and shit.

My cell rings after I’ve responded to the necessary emails and logged off my laptop. “This is Wesley.”

“Hello, Mr. Jacobs. This is Rachel. How is your evening?” I grab another beer from the sub zero fridge chuckling at Rachel’s polite and demure behavior.

“My evening has been shit, Rach. You know there’s this thing called caller ID on all cell phones, so there isn’t any need for you to introduce yourself when the person answers.”

“Yes, sir. I am aware. And I apologize for your having a non-satisfying evening. That is a terrible shame.”

“Oh, no. Don’t misunderstand me, it was satisfying. Just sucks when they won’t disappear immediately afterward.”

Her audible gasp is something I find hilarious. However I keep my laughter suppressed.

“Come on, Rach. I just had you on your back, as well as bent over my kitchen table last night, love. There’s no need for you to act as though I’m the scandalous one, now is there?”

I almost spew the mouthful of beer across the black, veined marble counter top when she clears her voice and returns with, “Mr. Jacobs, please. We are both professionals, surely we can act as such and keep our personal affairs out of our professional business.”

“If that’s how you want it sweet tits. So, whatcha got for me Rach?” I fall back into my oxford leather couch and relax, sinking into its comfortable texture with a sigh.

“Well I have over ten messages from your father that have gone without a reply. He is threatening my employment if you don’t reply to his eleventh. Can’t you just grab any damn intern and shove them into the mailroom or copy room, Wesley? Don’t make me lose my job over this, please.”

“Victor can’t do a damn thing to you or your employment, Rach. Don’t let him get your panties in a knot, babe. It’s a waste of very fine silk, I promise. Just make sure there’s a list of respectable interns on my desk on Monday morning, okay?”

“Yes, sir. And thank you for being in my corner, too. I appreciate it very much, Wesley.”

“Anytime, Rach.“ I tap end and toss the phone on the coffee table before running my hands through my hair and sighing.

I really have no time to have a sniveling little intern on my heels. And if I had
ANYONE
to hand this shit off to, I would. I would love to put them in the mailroom, but honestly, when it comes to anything that is a product of Jacobs Publishing, if it isn’t five stars … well, it’s always five fucking stars, so never mind.

This is just the perfect shit icing on my even more shitty cake.

“Thanks, Pops. Can’t take that I’m running this motherfucker better than you ever did because I have the balls that you didn’t.”

Why the hell am I talking shit to my old man out loud?

I make my way into the master bath and turn the shower full blast on hot before heading into my bedroom and pouring a tumbler full of scotch and downing it.

I really had well laid out intentions to stick to just beer tonight, but… I don’t know how much, if any, more I can take off my old man trying to still dictate my life from afar. I just don’t.

After I pour myself another crystal tumbler of scotch, I head back into the bathroom setting it down on the vanity counter top a little harder than necessary. I strip and walk into the reason I bought this penthouse.

Double-sided shower stall the size of the average American’s bedroom. Over 75 showerheads… Um yes, I’ll take it, and the penthouse too. Just saying.

As soon as those beautiful showerheads begin pummeling my skin and easing my muscle tension, the migraine that Cindy’s or Candy’s, or whoever she was, voice created begins to ebb.

My muscles are so loose that I barely manage a quick scrub and wash my hair before getting out of the shower.

I hook the towel around my waist, grab my scotch, and flop into bed without spilling a drop.

No, this isn’t a superb practiced
maneuver, I’m just that fucking good. Well that and it’s damn near a nightly routine.

I hate to sound
like a spoiled little pussy, but I have found myself asking this question more and more lately, when in the fuck did my life become so goddamn sad?

I don’t understand this conundrum. I have every rare car available. I own a penthouse in every major city, plus homes on four different beaches, one in the Colorado mountains, and the ranch in Wyoming that I’ve only been to the one time I signed the papers on it. I have women falling over themselves to get the chance to choke on my cock and I have more success than I know what to do with on every level.

So I ask: When and how did my life become so goddamn sad?

The only time
excitement even strikes is when I’m at Chained, the BDSM club that is the only reason I made NYC my home.

That’s what I need.

I need to get my ass back to Chained. Find a suitable sub.

‘Cause these bitches like Candy or Cindy… They closely resemble eating baked lays, when what you really want is a damn fat ass bacon cheeseburger.

Yeah, I’m putting a call into Chained tomorrow.

That’ll shake me out of this shitty funk I’m in.