“I knew you’d be a good little whore for me,” I snarl, suddenly tired of caring whether this hurts her or not. Too lost in my own chase for pleasure to continue worrying about hers.
I change the long thrusts and increase my pace, nailing her into the bed. The sounds of our skin clapping loudly echo throughout the large room. The sounds of her dripping wet pussy and my balls slapping aggressively against her ass fill up the room, fighting for first place against her gasps and moans.
Fuck, I’m moaning too.
Martine gasps and gasps around the panties in her mouth as I continue fucking her so fast her whimpers turn to sobs. She’ll get used to this. I’ll make her cum so hard she’ll be begging me for it every time she sees me.
And I do just that.
I fuck her so viciously she screams. I fuck her so hard she’ll never forget what it feels like to have me inside of her.
I hit her cervix, watching her brows furrow and her mouth open into a shocked O, her panties almost leaving her mouth. I thrust into that spot over and over, loving the look of her shuddering beneath me as her pussy floods the bed, letting out a torrential downpour of clear fluids. What a good fucking girl squirting her cum out for me.
I twist my hips in circles, noticing how it makes her eyes roll into the back of her head. I continue my pace as she shakes beneath me, shuddering in her release.
Again and again, I force her to cum, finding it impossible to let her rest. I’m possessed, consumed with needing her release.
I take her violently. Over and over again for an hour until I'm panting, spent, and practically screaming out my release when I pump her pink pussy full of my cum. I thrust in, and in, and in, trying to stop myself but failing, even after I’ve blown my load inside of her. I’m still rock-hard craving more.
I thrust into her a few more times, loving the feeling of fucking my cum into her. Marking her from the inside as I have on the outside with palms that I’m sure have left bruises.
It’s too bad I fucked her until she passed out.
With the willpower of a saint, I pull out of her exhausted body, feeling a tightness in my chest at how spent she looks underneath me. Passed out, gone to this world from a viscous series of punishing orgasms.
I should have been gentler. I could have been kinder. But I’ll never be that man for her. I can’t be.
I could destroy her again, but instead, I find my body dragging itself to the bathroom to run her a bath.
The water rises in the deep porcelain tub, steam curling into the air, thick and humid. I test it with my fingers, hot, but not unbearable. Perfect.
I shouldn’t even be doing this. I should’ve let her figure it out herself. She’s not a child. The attitude she carries shows she’s clearly capable of running her own bath, but she looks so thoroughly fucked as she drifts off onto the bed that I can’t help myself.
And yet, here I am.
I shake off the water and straighten, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows.
From the bedroom, Martine shifts on the bed, her breathing slow and uneven. She’s barely keeping herself together. I saw it the second she came all over my cock in our final round, the weight pressing down on her, the exhaustion in her limbs. Surrender is as freeing as it is a cage.
And now, she’s given up fighting it, slumped against the pillows, half-falling apart from the blubbering mess she was just moments ago as her pussy milked me. I already feel my dick start to stir, and find it hard to convince myself not to take her again. But through the slight flutter of her breath and the exhausted look on her face, I find it in myself to let her rest.
I reach forward and pull her panties from her mouth, and she moans out at the reprieve.
She’s not going to make it to the bath on her own.
I click my tongue, irritated. Instead of leaving her, I cross the room, my hands already moving before my mind catches up.
I stroke her face softly and then roll her over. Releasing her from the tie around her arms, I rub some life into them before rolling her back over again.
“Alright,” I mutter, more to myself than her. “Up.”
Her eyes open slightly, still gazing at me with that glossy, incredibly lost look.
She doesn’t move, but she also doesn’t resist when I slip my arms under her, one behind her shoulders, the other beneath her legs. She’s lighter than she looks, her body folding into mine as I lift her. Her head lolls against my chest, and something sharp twists in my ribs when I see the mess of both of our cum and a bit of her blood between her thighs, smeared on her legs.
I ignore it.
She lets out a soft breath, barely conscious, but it brushes against my neck, and I grit my teeth.
