When he finds the plug, I squeeze my eyes shut and whine in renewed shame, but he drowns it out with an awful, animalistic sound. He pulls my hips up until I’m on my knees in the dirt, my ass fully exposed, the plug on display. I cry out against his hand as he pulls it from me.
My hole gapes and flutters. The emptiness is awful. It’s all I can feel, all I can think about, so I’m not tracking what he’s doing as he moves around. I’m not ready when the fat, lubed tip of his dick pushes into me. I shout in alarm and pain, realizing vaguely that my mouth is uncovered, that his hand is now gripping my shoulder to hold me in place as his huge cock pushes into me, deeper than the plug could reach, stretching me, filling me beyond what I can handle.
“Stop!” I shout, clawing at the dirt, pulling at the tree roots, trying to escape. “Fuck!Hnn—please—don’t!”
But my safe word is red, so he just lets me yell as he forces his way into me.
I start crying. He doesn’t comfort me, doesn’t pause. He just starts fucking me. He forces me into the position he wants. Hespreads my legs further until my underwear rips and my dick swings stiffly free. He smashes my cheek into the dirt, forces my back to arch as his cock tunnels inside me, dragging through me, thrusting deep.
He doesn’t care that I’m crying, so I don’t have to try to stop. He doesn’t care that I keep shouting and clawing at the ground, so I don’t have to repress it. He doesn’t answer as I gaspnoandpleaseandI can’t, so I don’t have to worry about him stopping.
He just fucks me with the raw primality that I’ve fantasized about so many times. He fucks me until the sensation of grit under my knees and cheek vanishes, until I don’t feel the cold air on my skin or hear myself anymore, until all I know is the rhythm of his dick pistoning inside me—and I come so hard that I scream and thrash as my cock, untouched, spurts wildly. He smashes me down, holding me in place as I buck under him, spilling in the dirt, straining and spasming through the hard, wrenching pulses. He just keeps fucking me until I’m gasping and shuddering, until I’m done.
I’m only half conscious when it’s over, when he settles on the ground with me, his arms around me, his cock still a huge, hard rod inside me. My mind spins. My body shudders.
I don’t know how much time passes before he starts to fuck me again. I’m quieter this time, moaning and whimpering as his cock tunnels into me. I’m hard, but I feel too vulnerable now, too exposed.
I don’t know how he knows this, but he must because he covers my mouth again. He grips my cock. He gives me a smaller, tighter space to exist in so that I stop thinking about myself and just feel my body being fucked.
He holds me close as I come again, bucking against him, spilling all over his hand. He still doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking me.
I’m pliant in his arms. I have no resistance left. I cry. I whimper. I come again and again. Then, when his cock pulses hotly inside me, I cry out against his hand and spill once more, painting his hand with my cum as he fills me with his.
And when he whispers in my ear, “You’re perfect,” I’m defenseless enough to believe him.
SEVEN
Andre
I lie in the dark woods with Elias for a long time, long after he’s passed out. My body is curled possessively around his. My semi-hard cock is still inside him.
I’m shaking and I can’t stop. I don’t know why.
God, he broke so beautifully.
He opened more, shattered more completely, with every orgasm. I felt every one of them. It was strange, almost like I was experiencing his releases, like they were happeningtome despite being outside of me. And when I came, I felt his vulnerability as my own.
Maybe that’s why I’m shaking. Maybe I’m curled around him not simply in possession but also in protection. Of him, yes, but also of myself.
I didn’t expect to feel that much. I don’t know if I like it. It cut through the boundary of my role, cut deep into me, and something is bleeding out from that deep, buried place.
It’s a good thing that Elias is unconscious. If he were to see me like this, with something bleeding into my role that shouldn’t be there, I don’t know what I’d do.
I don’t trust myself right now.
I pull out of him. My cock is still semi-hard and way too sensitive. Something ugly moves through me at the almost-arousal, so I block my dick from my mind.
It helps. It makes me feel better that I’m able to do it. I find a little of my control.
I get myself tucked away, get my pants fixed. I check my mask. Feeling the cold, hard edges of it helps me find the edges of my role again.
Except … my part was to stalk Elias, chase him, scare him. My part was to make him not want what he’d asked for—and to break through his resistance, to fuck him into submission. But that was the end of what he asked for.
What comes next?
I use my knife to cut away the shreds of Elias’s torn briefs. I stuff them in my pocket along with the plug. I had no idea he had that inside him. It didn’t show in his walk or his run. He’d gotten used to it, or had learned to hide it.
Why did he have it in? I study his beautiful, refined face in the moonlight where it falls between the branches. Some people would see innocence, but I don’t. I see how comfortable he is lying here, broken in the darkness.
