Page 36 of Prospect’s Curvy Beekeeper

I thrust forward.

I drive my cock inside her in one agonizingly slow motion.

The tight, wet walls of her pussy swallow the head of my shaft. She gasps. The sound is a sharp hiss of pain and immense pleasure. She’s so tight. The slick from her climax lubricates the path, but her body still struggles to accommodate my girth.

I don’t stop. I push deeper. The ridges of my cock scrape against her tight internal walls. She stretches around me. The intense, burning friction sends a violent shockwave straight up my spine. My jaw locks. A low groan breaks from between my teeth.

I push forward until my hips drive against hers.

I’m buried inside her to the hilt.

The possessive triumph of filling her obliterates my mind. The empty rage that haunted my life is instantly replaced by this singular weight. I’m anchored. I’m finally where I’m meant to be. My violent past, the knives, the blood, the endless patrol lines down the mountain—it all led to this moment, burying my cock deep inside the woman who owns my soul.

She whimpers. Her head falls back. The tendons in her neck strain.

"Mine," The word vibrates in my chest. "You’re mine."

"Yours," she gasps. "Alas, please."

I don’t make her wait.

I pull my hips back, dragging the length of my cock slowly out of her. Her tight walls cling desperately to my flesh, trying to hold me inside. The wet, sucking sound is obscene. It rises over the howling wind outside the open window.

When only the blunt head remains inside her, I drive my hips forward.

I drive hilt-deep in one violent thrust.

The slap of my pelvis hitting hers cracks like a gunshot in the honey shed. The wooden workbench groans loudly under the impact.

I set the pace. It’s a punishing rhythm. There’s no gentle romance in my bones. There’s only possession. I’m claiming my territory. I’m stamping my mark on her soul.

I pull back and thrust forward.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The wet, fleshy sounds of our bodies colliding ring out under the wooden roof. I drive my cock into her with brutal, relentless force. Every thrust buries me to the root. Every thrust stretches her walls to their breaking point.

She takes every inch. She takes the violence of my claiming and matches it with her own desperate need.

Her hands fly up and tangle in my short hair. She pulls my face down. Her mouth crashes into mine. The kiss is a war. Our teeth clash. Our tongues fight for dominance. I taste my own saliva mixed with the musky taste of her pussy from my mouth. She moans into my mouth.

I pump my hips relentlessly. The friction is a blazing inferno. The cold mountain wind pours through the window, whipping across my sweating back and her bare, shivering shoulders. The contrast between the freezing air and the boiling heat inside her pussy drives me insane.

The bench creaks and protests with every violent thrust. Her body slides backward on the gouged timber. Her right hip repeatedly smashes against the cold cast-iron of the uncapping tank.

I break the kiss. I grab her by the waist and haul her forward, dragging her back to the very edge of the wood. The rough timber scrapes against the soft skin of her bare ass.

I won't break this connection. I want to deepen this single, perfect claim until she forgets her own name.

I hook my arms underneath her knees. I hoist her thighs high into the air, pressing her knees all the way back against her own shoulders.

Her pussy opens to me. The new angle exposes her wet, gaping opening to the freezing wind. It tilts her pelvis upward, altering the trajectory of my cock.

I drive my hips forward.

My shaft angles sharply upward, driving against the deepest, most sensitive place inside her.

She screams.