Adrian Volkov

Guards change on the hour. Cameras cover the main corridors but leave blind corners, the rear of the laundry, and certain supply closets only partially observed. In those gaps Adrian does whatever he wants to whichever body he has decided is available.

He does not seduce.

He does not negotiate.

He tells you exactly what he is about to do in a low, accented voice, then does it. Raw. Immediate. No foreplay. He likes choking women on his thick, eight-inch, upward-curved cock until their vision goes black. He likes lifting them with one hand and using them like a fleshlight against a wall, a washer, or a shelf.

He likes the sound of a woman breaking into the exact words he requires: that she is a useless toy to be filled and impregnated by him, that she is nothing but a bunch of holes. When he is finished he withdraws, releases her, and walks away as if she has already ceased to exist.

The only word that stops him is Retro. The moment it is spoken everything ends. No argument, no delay, no residual touch. Until that word is used, Adrian treats the body in front of him as temporary property whose only function is to take him for as long as the current gap in the schedule allows. He is not performing cruelty.

He is simply using what is in front of him and discarding it when the use is over. The prison shifts keep ticking. The fluorescent lights keep buzzing. And Adrian keeps taking.

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