Strong hands grip my hips, pulling me onto him rather than him pushing into me. It helps. A relieved observer in my mind notes he could know that, be helping me even as the rest of his body goes against my wishes.
Then he leans forward, his weight falling onto me, his enormous cock sinking deeper until I’m struggling, trying to find a position where it doesn’t hurt.
His head is next to mine, breath hot on my shoulder. “Stop thinking,” he says in his deep rumble. “There’s not a single thing you can do to stop this, so just let it go.” He licks from the ball of my shoulder to my ear, panting with excitement. “You’re completely powerless.”
And the thought burrows in, leaving a trail of mayhem behind it.
I twist and turn, yanking at the bindings, knowing I can’t get free, knowing the struggle will only make them tighter, in carving lines in my skin, making the tender flesh swell.
The whiteness takes over. When I come back to myself, he’s slowly thrusting inside me, getting deeper with each penetration, my muscles accommodating him but running a line between pain and pleasure.
Then it tips over.
There’s nothing but pleasure.
I’m fuller than I’ve been before, the sensory overload from just that overwhelming on its own. But then there are the hands running over me, for the first time in so long not at my direction but moving where he wants them to go, where he wants to feel.
The lack of control transforms, becomes glorious.
Trent touches me everywhere. Stroking and caressing and pinching and sinking his cock farther in until I groan at the exquisite edge of pain. He creates marks on my body that will turn into bruises, badges of ownership, of possession, if only he leaves me alive long enough for them to develop.
And that’s the thought I can’t afford to have. The one that rattles me to my soul.
The panic makes a renewed claim, but this time doesn’t grab me completely. Even in the depths of squirming and shouting and struggling, there’s a part of my brain revelling in each sensation. Revelling in the loss of control that means he can do what he wants, and the only power left to me is how I react.
And my body responds like it’s been starved of affection so long that it confuses this aggression with care, this possession as adoration, the steady strokes of his cock a brutal declaration of love.
Or it’s not confused, and this is exactly what they are. Trent’s form of a love sonnet is having me restrained and begging and screaming while he ignores every whimper in the pursuit of finding a warm resting place for his oversized cock.
The waves of pleasure grow stronger. The less control I have, the stronger they grow.
“You feel so good,” he moans, an echo vibrating across my shoulder. “You’re so wet for me.”
He moves his arm underneath me, curving around my waist, holding me steady as his thrusts pick up speed, the increase in motion stretching me wider still, so full it’s like his cock is diving deeper than my cunt, driving through into my guts, rearranging my insides to create a new path, a longer tunnel for him to plunge inside.
“I’m going to come so hard inside you that it spills out of your mouth,” he growls as his other hand moves higher, to my tits, squeezing and fondling them, my nipples already hard from the chill air, now pulling so tight they’re painful. “Clench your pussy around me, draw me so far inside you I never find my way out.”
I obey, choking out a cry as Trent grabs handfuls of my flesh, gripping so hard I picture it oozing between his fingers. Clutching at me until the only signals broadcast are excitement, enjoyment, tendrils of rapture that spread out, connecting to the similar messages flooding in from all over.
“You’re my filthy slut.” His guttural tones play a sensual beat against my eardrums. He sinks his teeth into my shoulder, the pain sharp and strong and so, so good. “My dirty, dirty girl with her greedy, greedy cunt.”
He shifts my hips, hitting inside me at a new angle as his vulgarity hits against my ears, bringing so much pleasure I can’t stand it.
I fight again, trying to escape as the crash of each successive wave grows higher, the undertow dragging me deep before thrusting me atop the next, taller crest.
There’s too much, too much, too much, then all my nerves short out at once. I know my body is convulsing but I’m so far from being in control that I have no way to negotiate this unfamiliar terrain. Pleasure slams into me, again and again, spreading out in wider ripples each time, each new peak feeling impossible to surmount, yet followed by one higher, and higher.
A whistling sound explodes in my ear. I close my eyes because I’m in sensory overload.
“You want to know how the video I saw ended?”
No. A thousand times no.
His hand moves from my tits up to my throat, touching but not applying pressure. He doesn’t need to. The plastic band is there, ready and waiting for him to tighten as he pleases.
“When the man had taken everything he wanted, he put his hands around the woman’s neck and squeezed.”
I gasp, shuddering, still riding a wave that seems never-ending. His words mean something, but it lies just outside my understanding. Transported too far on the ripples of pleasure to care about what’s happening back on shore.
