Page 66 of My Wedding Night Massacre

I feel his cock press against my entrance and drop my head, hands finding the headboard.

He pushes in slowly, the only slow thing he’ll do tonight. The stretch of him is immediate, my pussy forced open inch by inch, my walls gripping at him as he fills me, and I exhale hard through my teeth. He sits himself completely and stays, his hips flush against my ass, his cock buried so deep I can feel him in my stomach. I clench around him, and he makes a low sound against my spine.

Then he gathers my hair.

His fist closes around it at the base of my neck, wrapping twice, winding it tight, and pulls. Not gently. My head snaps back, my spine arching hard, my chin lifting toward the ceiling. I gasp, my hands white-knuckling the headboard, my whole body bowed back against him.

He pulls out to the tip and drives back in.

The force of it slams me forward, and I brace hard against the headboard, my palms taking the impact. He does it again before I’ve finished processing the first one, his hips snapping forward with everything he has, his fist yanking my hair to pull me back onto him at the same time. The sound it makes is obscene. I cry out, my cunt clenching around him, and he does it again.

He sets a pace that has nothing merciful in it.

Each thrust drives me into the headboard hard enough that I have to lock my elbows to keep my face from hitting it, my whole body rocking forward with the force, his fist dragging me back onto his cock before I’ve recovered from the last stroke. I feel every inch of him on every pull, the drag of his cock through my pussy, the wet clutch of my cunt trying to hold him each time he withdraws, the brutal fullness when he slams back home. The sounds coming out of me aren’t words. They stopped being words two thrusts in.

His other hand finds my hip. His fingers dig in deep, pressing into the soft flesh, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he uses it to pull me back onto him with every stroke, angling me exactly where he wants me, forcing the depth he wants. I push back to meet him because I need it, need all of it, need him as deep as he can get, and he feels it and gives me more.

“That’s it,” he says against the back of my neck, his voice completely wrecked. “Take it.”

I take it. My knuckles are white on the headboard, my thighs shaking, my cunt so wet I can hear it on every stroke, slick and loud and filthy in the quiet room. He yanks my hair harder, and the angle shifts, his cock driving into that spot deep inside me that makes my vision go white at the edges, and I scream into the headboard.

He does it again. Deliberately, pulling my hair to hold the angle, his hips snapping forward, finding that spot with every stroke. I’m falling apart around him, my pussy clenching and fluttering, my arms barely holding, my whole body shaking with the effort of staying upright while he fucks me through it.

“Don’t stop,” I say, my voice unrecognizable. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He doesn’t stop. He fucks me harder, if that’s even possible, his fist pulling my hair so tight my eyes water, his cock splitting me open on every stroke, the slap of his hips against my ass cracking through the room. I feel the orgasm building from somewhere catastrophically deep, the pressure of it enormous, my cunt locking down around him in warning pulses.

It tears through me like something breaking.

My pussy seizes around his cock, clenching so hard he groans, my whole body convulsing, my arms giving out for one second before I slam my palms back against the headboard. He drives straight through it, his pace not dropping by a single stroke, fucking me through the orgasm with complete ruthlessness, his cock relentless while my cunt spasms around him.

The oversensitivity arrives immediately, every nerve ending screaming, and he keeps going. His fist releases my hair and both hands find my hips, fingers pressing deep into the full soft curves of them, gripping hard, pulling me back onto his cock with every thrust like he needs to get deeper than deep, like he needs to feel himself in every part of me. I push back to meet him because even now, even shaking and wrecked and barely holding on, I want more.

He pulls out and flips me before I’ve finished processing the loss of him, his hands turning me, and I find myself straddling him, his cock slick and hard against my inner thigh.

I don’t wait.

I reach between us, grip his cock, and sink down onto him in one hard drop. We both make a sound at the same time, his hands flying to my hips, mine slamming flat against his chest. I feel him seated impossibly deep from this angle, his cock pressing into places the last position didn’t reach, and I grind down hard, rolling my hips, feeling him twitch inside me.

Then I lift up and slam back down.

The force of it jolts through my whole body, my thighs taking the impact, his cock driving up into me as I drop onto him. His hands tighten on my hips but I shove them off, pinning his wrists to the mattress above his head, leaning my full weight onto them.

“My turn,” I say.

His eyes go dark.

I ride him hard. No buildup, no easing into it, just lifting and slamming down, my thighs burning with the effort, my cunt taking him to the root on every stroke. The headboard rattles. His whole body jolts beneath me each time I drop, his cock buried so deep I feel it in my throat, and I do it again, harder, using my full weight, chasing the depth.

I push up off his wrists and plant both hands flat on his chest instead, fingers spreading wide, feeling the muscle beneath my palms, using him as leverage to drive myself down harder. He grabs my hips again, and this time I let him, let him pull me down to meet every upward thrust of his hips, the two of us slamming into each other with everything we have.

The sounds coming out of me are animal. I don’t try to muffle them. Three years of silence, three years of performing and containing and holding everything inside, and right now I’m riding my husband’s cock in the dark and screaming for it, and I don’t care about any of that.

I grind down hard, rotating my hips, feeling his cock press against my front wall, that deep internal pressure that makes my vision swim. He groans beneath me, his jaw tight, his hands gripping the soft flesh of my hips hard enough to leave marks tomorrow, and I want the marks. I want every mark he’ll leave.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice completely destroyed.

I look at him. Grey eyes blown black, his hair wrecked, sweat at his temple, his whole face open in a way it almost never is. I hold his gaze and slam down onto his cock and watch his expression crack apart.