Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
The pleasure builds up slowly, maddeningly, the tension rising at a snail’s pace. The pressure of the pillow on my clit is far too light, his shallow thrusts too gentle. I’m too aware of the stinging fullness in my ass, and I moan into the mattress in frustration, pushing my hips higher, needing him to go harder, faster. I was on the verge before, and I’m almost there now, but I need more.
I need him to take me all the way and hurl me over, to give me both more pleasure and more pain.
“Peter, please,” I beg, but the perverse bastard stops and pulls out of me completely. Only his fingers remain in my ass, and in the next moment, he withdraws them too, leaving me aching and empty, on the edge and frustrated beyond belief.
“Peter,” I groan, but then I feel him reach to the side behind me, and more cool lube is squirted between my cheeks.
“Shhh,” he soothes as I clench instinctively at the feel of his massive cock pressing against that opening. “It’ll be all right, my love, just let me in…” He pushes harder, and the pressure on my sphincter grows more intense, the stinging pain worsening. He’s much bigger, much thicker than his fingers, and I can’t relax enough to let him in.
“Peter.” Growing panicked, I begin to struggle, tugging at the belt binding my wrists behind my back. “Peter, I don’t think it’s—”
The ring of muscle gives way with a painful pop, letting the broad head inside me, and a wave of dizziness crashes over me as he slides in deeper, the slickness of the lube easing his way. It feels like I’ve been speared, invaded in the cruelest way, and as he bottoms out inside me, his thick cock stretching me unbearably, I want to scream at him to stop, to end this. The fullness is beyond anything I imagined, and my stomach churns and cramps with nausea, cold sweat trickling down my trembling back.
Why was I so curious about this?
How could I have wanted this in any way?
Yet because I did, I remain silent, sucking in shaking breaths as I wait for the pain to ease. Peter is crooning to me again, stroking my back and hip—praising me for something, even—and soon, the pain does ease, the worst of the discomfort fading. The extreme fullness remains, however, and as his hand slips between my legs to find my clit, I start to tremble with a different kind of tension. It’s too much, the twice-thwarted orgasm and the merciless invasion, the feel of him where no man has been before.
“That’s it, ptichka,” he murmurs as I cry out at his light pinching of my clit. “Now you can have it. Now you can let it go.”
He starts to move inside me, carefully and gently, yet each stroke feels like a new invasion, my body wrenched open every time he pulls out and thrusts back in. It hurts and burns, but the steady pace does something, intensifying the throbbing tension in my sex. It begins to feel hypnotic, the rhythmic thrust and drag inside me, the pinching pressure of his fingers on my clit, and as I sink under the spell of the sensations, the tension grows, the pleasure coiling deep within my core.
“Come for me, Sara,” he groans, thrusting deep, and to my shock, I do, each muscle in my body spasming in release. The ecstasy is violent, explosive, the burst of tension so strong I scream. With my inner muscles tightening and releasing, the cock inside my ass feels even more invasive, but the pain just sharpens the sensations, makes the pleasure dark and burning hot. He groans, and I feel him jerk inside me, bathing my raw insides with his seed.
In the aftermath, there’s just ragged breathing—his and mine—and then he slowly withdraws, removing his belt from around my wrists before disappearing into the bathroom. I move my trembling hands to my sides but remain draped over the pillows, too shaken to get up. After a couple of minutes, Peter returns with a wet towel. I let him wipe the excess lube around my sore opening, and then I take the towel from him, holding it against myself as I get up on unsteady legs and make my way to the bathroom.
I need to wash up. Badly.
Peter considerately gives me a couple of minutes of privacy, then joins me in the shower.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, blocking the water spray with his back, and I nod, my face burning as I meet his gaze. What just passed between us was so intimate and raw I feel like I’ve been peeled open. I don’t understand what it is about this man that brings out this side of me, why things that should’ve horrified me—like the streaks of blood on the towel I just used—turn me on instead.