Page 21 of Claimed By Ruin

I stilled when something blunt pressed against my pucker. He pressed in, and I forced my body to stay pliant.

He pushed in, insistent, unyielding. “You ever been fucked here before?”

“No,” I said.

“I know. Can barely get my thumb in. You think this tight little ass can take my cock?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to squirm against the burning stretch.

Feeling bereft when he pulled his thumb out.

“We’ll see.” I listened as he fumbled in the dark and was puzzled when I heard a cap flip.

I realized it was the baby oil I sometimes mixed with aloe vera to moisturize my hair.

I hissed when something cool hit my asshole, and tensed ever so slightly when he pushed in again. There was less stretch, and I sank into the push-pull-push and then sighed when he added another finger and thrust in deep, then scissored his way out again and again, opening me for him.

He pulled his fingers out and lined his cock up to my rosette, I heard the cap again, then hissed as the cold oil dripped between my ass cheeks.

I froze, wondering if he would slam in with one stroke, or go slow enough to drive me crazy.

He didn’t do either.

He pushed in hard enough that his mushroom head breached my opening in one go. The stretch was beyond anything, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run away or sink in. So I stayed still, trusting him.

Hating myself for it.

He gave me a second to adjust and then steadily pushed, his shaft feeling impossibly thick, impossibly long as he spread me. We both sighed when he bottomed out, and every sensation was heightened, the tickle of his pubic hair against my ass cheeks, his strong hands anchored on my hips. The impossibly soft bamboo sheets against my knees.

All of it bombarding me, my body broke out in a full shiver as I waited for him to move. I braced myself for the pain, welcomed it.

Some sick part of me wanted him to drill my ass, leave my body as wrecked as the rest of me.

I squirmed when he stayed still, seeking…something, relief from the foreign burning stretch.

More of it?

Jack put his palm on the center of my back and pressed me down flat, the change in position sending shockwaves through my body.

I tightened my grip on the sheets, then arched back when he smoothed a hand up my side, some of the tightness in my chest loosening when he bypassed my stomach and went up high to roll my nipple between his fingers.

It was too much and not enough. I needed something but I couldn’t allow myself to ask for it. I’d take what he gave, lose myself in it while I could. This—Jack’s cock so thick, so warm, so alive—how it shrunk the world down, giving me something to focus on was the point, right?

I froze again when he stroked down my side, sighing again when he circled my clit again and again. It took a second to realize the deep, panting moans that filled the room came from me, and even though I tried to hold them in, the every swipe of his finger demanded more.

I wished he would talk, fill my ears with filthy words of conquest, distract me from my surrender.

He didn’t.

Just played with my clit, circled my empty hole, letting me beg with shameful sighs and moans.

The intensity was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and a tear slipped out of my eye when he nudged two fingers inside me.

That was how he drove me to my first climax. And my second.

Through it all he was near silent. The only sound he made was a low grunt when I clamped down on him, my empty pussy clenching around nothing as I rode out the climax.

He pulled out, leaving me as bereft as he spurted cum on my back.