Born Finlay Ranald Cameron in one of the most impoverished sections in all of Glasgow, he had grown up wearing tattered clothes and eating meals consisting of porridge and potatoes. A bastard in the truest meaning of the word, he was raised without a father, and even though his mother showed him all the love she could, more often than not, she showed love to others as well. They came and went from the tiny apartment he called home, simpering like fools when they had picked her up at the door, only to return her a few hours later with her clothes rumpled, her makeup smeared and her body smelling of sweat. He hated them…but he hated her more.
Playing in the streets and alleyways with children no better off than himself, he was relentlessly teased about his name. Even the destitute neighbors with toothless smiles cackled behind his back at the haughty handle he had been given, but the ridicule had made him strong, and genetics had made him handsome.
With wavy black hair and eyes the color of cinnamon, he used his boyish good looks and charm to his advantage. Using a wink and a smile, he’d beguile store owners out of biscuits, and whispers of “Please, can you help me” convinced teachers to spend their free time tutoring him. Day after day, he listened intently as they taught, but he didn’t just study their lessons...he studied them. Their words were proper and their manners refined, so when his mother was off scrubbing the floors of office buildings, and his friends were outside playing football he stayed home with a book. Reading aloud, he practiced until he could pronounce each word without a hint of the dialect that proved him poor.
At night in the small, dingy flat, he listened as neighbors screamed and yelled foul words at their spouses and children, and he decided that was not going to be his life. He wouldn’t haul rubbish or sweep roads, working for hours doing menial labor while being ordered about by a fat-bellied man with beard stubble and no education. Finlay Ranald Cameron wanted more...and he wanted to be boss.
Afforded only the most basic of educations, he realized that he’d never be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, but when he saw an advertisement for prison officers, he knew he had found his niche. While he wouldn’t rule thousands, or even hundreds, he would receive the respect he needed to feed his ego...and he would rule. So, once settled on a career and having conquered the accent he loathed, he began visiting a local gym to work his body until it was muscled and strong. He had a plan. He had a goal, and while he was sure he’d have the prisoner’s respect by simply putting on the uniform, he wanted more. He wanted them to tremble at the sight of him.
Upon entering the prison service, he found himself assigned to a prison just outside of London, but the minimum security penitentiary didn’t house the prisoners he wanted to rule. Inmates convicted of insurance fraud and corporate crimes were not dangerous and hardened. They were portly and posh, and obediently followed all the rules as they waited for their sentences to end. So, keeping abreast of positions opening in other prisons throughout the United Kingdom, he applied for several, but his lack of experience hampered his acceptance until a job was listed for a prison in the north of England. Labeled as high security, his mouth watered as he read the job listing, and when he realized that it was a women’s prison, he smiled and bared his pearly white teeth.
For years, he had hidden his hatred for women behind a demeanor worthy of a gentleman, and his portrayal had been flawless. Handsome and strong, he had never had a problem getting dates, and pretending to listen, care and sometimes even love, he had taken what he wanted from each and gave little, if anything, in return. To him, they were a means to an end. A vessel in which to empty his seed, and once that had been accomplished he had no further use for them. They were weak. They were stupid. He was not.
Although always careful, choosing only blondes or redheads to bring to his bed, more than once he crept away in the middle of the night, fearing his hatred for the gender was about to take control no matter what the color of their hair. Well aware of the punishment he would receive if he ever allowed the beast to escape, he learned to control his disdain. Visiting the gym once, twice or three times a week, he took his aggressions out on weighted bags until his hands were bruised and his muscles ached. It was the only way to release the animal inside and still keep his freedom...or so he thought.
He traveled twice to the prison hidden away in the north of England to be interviewed for the position. Answering questions about rules, regulations and punishments, he thought he had hidden his true self behind his charm like he always had, but he was wrong...and the governor was delighted. Six weeks later, Finlay Ranald Cameron walked across the gravel drive of a prison called Thornbridge, and upon entering the stone-walled penitentiary he breathed deep the smell of despair. It smelled marvelous.
***
With only a few years of experience in the prison system, he had expected to receive the graveyard shifts that so many loathed, but his first few months at Thornbridge were spent in the morning hours, awakening women from their beds and watching as they shuffled sleepily to the servery. It didn’t take long for him to notice how some of the convicts seemed more damaged than they had the day before, and while he couldn’t have cared less, his curiosity was piqued.
The days moved slowly for him, and just like he had in school, he watched the people around him. He knew which prisoners were the worst, and he tried his best to always be close when a fight would break out. He loved being able to pull them apart, mindless of the strength of his grip or the force of his actions. He knew he was leaving bruises behind, and it was all he could do to hide the stiffness between his legs.
Late one afternoon, close to when his shift was ending, a fight erupted in the courtyard. Women were screaming and cheering as two of the most violent tried to kill each other. Forgetting himself for only an instant, he unleashed the beast. Minutes later, the two women lay on the ground, bruised and bloodied. Standing in the snow, he looked at what he had done and paled, believing he had lost his job, but then another officer approached and patted him on the back. With a knowing smile, the man shook Finlay’s hand, silently congratulating him on his graduation to the night shift.
A few days later, on a cold winter evening under a black sky dotted with stars, he trudged across the snow-covered drive leading into the prison to begin what he had thought would be eight hours of listening to the silence of a sleeping jail. He could not have been more wrong. He didn’t know that the harsh realities of Thornbridge blossomed at night.
Under dim lighting, he walked with officers around the levels, wondering why they would snicker by a door or pause as if trying to decide something. Then, told to stand near the rail, he watched as they unlocked a cell, woke the woman inside and proceeded to beat her. They didn’t have a reason. They didn’t need one...and neither did he.
Three cells were unlocked and three times he watched, but when they opened the final cell that night, they smiled at him and motioned for him to enter. It was his turn.
His shaft grew rigid as he stepped inside, and removing his thin black belt, he kicked the bunk to make sure she was awake before lashing it across her back. She was one of the crazies. A demented woman with blonde wispy hair and a wild look in her eye, and she cried out when the belt marked her skin. In a cockney, nasally voice that caused his lip to curl, she pleaded for him to stop, but what she wanted didn’t matter.
A short time later, as the other officers returned to the lounge for coffee and a smoke, laughing whole-heartedly at what they had done, he trotted quickly to the restroom. Standing in a stall under flickering fluorescents, he groaned as he held himself in his hand and released into the stained porcelain toilet. He had never felt so alive.
***
Answering with a quick and definitive “Yes” when asked if he wanted to work only the night shift, during the day he spent his time searching for the perfect belt. It had to be wide and thick, able to withstand the force of his blows and the buckle...the buckle had to be strong and sharp. Spending his afternoons visiting nearby towns and villages, he finally found a shop that suited his needs. Tucked down an alleyway, behind a weather-beaten wooden door was Servitude, a shop for those who enjoyed a rougher lifestyle with obedience being the forefront. When he walked inside and smelled the leather, his mouth watered. He scrutinized dozens of belts until he found what he desired, and then he spoke to the artisan...and together they designed the buckle.
One week later, he returned to pick up his treasure. The gap-toothed craftsman crooked his arthritic finger and ushered him into the back room, and smiling a smile filled with stained teeth, he placed his creation in Finlay’s hands. It was as he had ordered. Larger than a business card, rectangular and brass, the edges were rounded and smoothed while the hook on the back was long and filed sharp, but he was puzzled by the weight, and his bewilderment showed on his face.
Noticing his client’s confusion, the artisan took the belt and revealed its true glory. Bending the buckle away from the leather strap, he pushed in the center and easily slipped out the false back which he reversed and slid into place. Now, instead of one hook, there were three. Small and deadly, like the poisoned hatred that pulsed in Finlay’s veins, two more curves of steel had been welded to the plate to the right and left of the center sharp. Staring at the hooks, he smirked as he imagined the pain they would inflict.
He used it sparingly at first, noticing that the damage from even the simplest of strikes wreaked havoc on their skin, but the feeling it gave him was beyond anything he could have dreamed. With it in his hand, he felt like a god, and more times than not when he left the prison in the early morning hours, he would be hard and erect and in need of something more.
Traveling for miles, he visited the towns where he knew he could find whores eager to open their legs, and he would take them again and again and again. Slamming into them with a fury fueled by thoughts of screams and blood, he would feed the beast until it was satisfied, and then he returned to his flat where he would sleep away the day...dreaming about the night.
***
He had seen her a hundred times. Tall and slender with jet black hair, she reminded him of the mother he abhorred, and he thirsted for her like no other. He yearned to beat her until she screamed, but the senior officers were the ones who chose which cells to open at night, and they kept her all to themselves. He would stand just outside the door, listening as their belts and boots hit her skin, and while his peers could bring her to cries, muffled by the pillow on which she buried her head, he knew he could do better. With his belt, he could bring her to shrill shrieks and screams that would echo through the halls for hours.
His attraction for the gaunt prisoner with sunken eyes and a learned past was well known, and the other officers dangled the possibility of him visiting her cell for months, so when his birthday arrived, they gave him a present. Led to the block, to the cells buried deep in the bowels of the prison, they handed him a key, and while they stood in the corridor and listened...he did what he knew he could do.
Entering the dark concrete hole, he left the door open enough so that light streamed in, and waiting until she awoke, he pulled the belt from his trousers and fixed the buckle properly. The first strike grazed off her shoulder, and his manhood came to life when he heard her yelp in pain, but when the next got snagged on her clothing, he took two quick steps and began grabbing at the tatters she wore. He was brutal and unyielding as he tore away the fabric, exposing her body to his eyes, but her nudity wasn’t what he needed. He needed her pain...so he picked up the belt and started again.
Her arm stopped the next strike from landing, but undaunted he swung again and again until she was too weak to fight back. Watching as she turned her back on him, he licked his lips and then struck her with a force that sent her to the wall. Grasping at the rocks, she screamed for the very first time. His trousers tightened at the blood-curdling shriek, and lashing out again he watched as her back began to flow blood like a river. It poured from her skin, covering her arse and legs in crimson that seemed almost black in the light, but the beast needed more...so he hit her again.
It was her howls of agony that finally brought them into the cell, and seeing what he had done, they pulled him away and closed the battered steel door to lock her inside. Admonishing him for going too far, they told him to leave for the night, and he eagerly agreed. Barely able to make it to his car before ejaculating in his trousers, he drove to a place he normally only visited in the early morning hours. Finding a dark-haired whore, he pulled her into an alley, paid her a few quid and then punished her with his staff, but it wasn’t enough for the beast. Feeling like a magnificent being that held all the power of the world in his hands, he opened his wallet again and pointed down the alley, and eagerly the prostitute followed. A few hours later, shadowed by the darkness of the night, he walked to his car, and the few people still on the street never noticed the stains on his clothes.
After what happened on the block, he was never allowed to visit her again. The death of a prisoner could easily have been hidden, but they all enjoyed her a little too much to allow that to happen. So, while his colleagues entered her cell on occasion in the middle of the night, he would visit others, and while she would cry, his would scream.
One year faded into the next, but he didn’t notice. He didn’t care. He had the life he always wanted. Administering pain during the night, ridding his body of need during the morning and sleeping on sheets, bleached and white during the afternoon became routine. And on weekends, he would satisfy his needs by reading bondage magazines and surfing the Internet for sites filled with black-haired beauties. He knew the beast would never be tamed, but controlling it had become easier; however, on one crisp day, his life...his paradise...crumbled around him.
***
It happened a few minutes before his shift was to end, and like locusts, they swarmed Thornbridge. Shouting their titles and their orders, they shoved prison officers as if they were the inmates, and stunned, he watched as his friends turned into blubbering fools. Screaming their innocence, they were handcuffed and hauled away, so when it became his turn, he did just the opposite. Standing tall, and catching the eye of the man in charge, as the shiny shackles were clamped around his wrists, he suggested that perhaps they could strike a deal...and they did.
For hours, he sat in one of the rooms used for prisoner’s adjudications and grassed on his fellow officers. Names and times, dates and details were given without blinking an eye, and in exchange, they gave him his freedom. He handed them back a badge displaying the name he abhorred, and they gave him a new one to hide behind. The men and women he had worked with for four years would spend the next several years of their lives behind bars, but he would not. He would walk free and start a new life as Cameron Wesley Thomson.
Returning to Scotland, he took a job as a laborer with a construction company, and having never been afraid of hard work, it wasn’t long before he was promoted to crew leader and then to foreman. The physical labor took its toll on the beast and many a day he returned home too tired to even open a magazine, but when the urge returned, so did his habits. He would spend hours surfing the Internet for photographs and videos of bondage and brutality until his body craved release, and then he would leave his flat in search of a whore to satisfy his need, but it wasn’t long before his desires outweighed his income. While most were cheap enough, the first didn’t always quench his thirst and he would have to prowl the streets for another or answer to the beast. Hunger would turn to anger if not fed properly...this much he knew.
One night he decided to try his luck at a neighborhood pub in hopes of persuading a woman to give him what he normally paid for, and after priming himself with a few hours of porn, he walked down the street to the bar. Noticing a woman sitting alone in the corner he went over and turned on the charm. Flashing his best smile, a minute later he was sitting at her side and ordering another round of ale.
Alice Burns was not what most would consider a raving beauty, but she wasn’t unattractive either. Fair-skinned and freckled, she was a bit on the plain side, but just a bit, and after a short conversation, he felt himself at ease with her. She seemed innocent enough. Hardly worldly, therefore, hardly smart, and after learning she had just gone through a nasty divorce, he was ready to pull out all the stops until she told him about her daughter. His plan was for a lover, not a family, so when he left the pub that night, he had no intention of calling the number he had asked for, but a few weeks later he changed his mind.
After visiting several pubs in the area and browsing the selection of single women, he decided that a plain woman with a child seemed safer. What better way to appear normal than strolling through town with her on his arm, and the child, if he had his way, he’d deal with as little as possible. He thought his strategy was perfect, except one night he made a mistake.
Spending his usual pre-date time viewing videos, he ran across one that turned his blood so hot he knew he needed to release the beast before he met Alice that night or his plan would be ruined. Jumping into his car, he sped to the next town and looked for his victim. Spying a hooker on a street corner, he could hardly contain his excitement. She was perfect. Tall and slender with hair the color of onyx, he opened his billfold and invited her into his car. Driving to an abandoned building, they walked inside and made the deal, but little did she know she was making a deal with the devil.
Two hours later as the sun slipped behind the horizon, he drove back to his apartment and showered the smell and blood off his skin. With the images still fresh and fertile in his mind, there was no more need for videos before picking up Alice promptly at eight, and after dinner, they returned to his place like they had done so many times before.
They had been lovers for weeks, and while he was normally gentle and attentive to her needs, that night was all about him. Voracious, he took Alice on the sofa and then on the bed, and after a short rest, he started again. But in his zeal, in his zest to control, to consume and to own, he forgot one very important thing...and six weeks later, Alice told him she was pregnant.
His reaction surprised even him, for he had never considered having children, but to ask her to abort the pregnancy left a foul taste in his mouth. This was his child. This was his immortality. This was his creation.
So, over a period of two years, he built a new life, complete with a wife and a child. He had the best of everything...again. When he felt the urge, when he felt the beast fighting to escape, he would visit towns far away and do what he needed to do to survive. He never raised a hand to his wife or to the children, but when a dark-haired whore caught his eye...she was never so lucky.