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He shot a look at her that put her back down hard in the physical paralyzed state again but her eyes still shifted and watered as she focused on him.
"Listen," he growled, guilt and frustration trembled in his intonation, but moreover he was inwardly amazed at her resilience. "I found you. You are mine for the sake of my peoples. Don't forget that I love you but my burdens are your burdens now."
Tyler gave no time for her to respond as she started shifting again. He first positioned his main shaft and slammed it into her causing her to gasp. He was big and knew how to use it against any woman. She clamped down over him like a vice grip and he shifted his arm under her as he withdrew slightly. This time her asshole, resolved to the previous assault, opened just enough to wedge the head in and then he bucked his hips forward causing Adele to scream. There was no patience or slowness this time. He began assaulting both holes without mercy and with great physical enjoyment.
The mental anguish he experienced was more than he really could stand though. Her eyes plead with him for a general explanation and her body, yet, betrayed the fact she was in love with him still. The passion and fire shot through her only to be soured in confusion and a frustrating inability as his mind and a bunch of straps kept her locked to the procedural table.
She cringed and her eyes flickered at him, but she truly felt the pang of sex run deep up her spine warping her mind to how deep he always went, how big he was and how fantastic sex had always felt with him. Even now he betrayed her and it still felt the same awesome pleasure. It raced across her inner thighs and her nipples rippled in hardening shock. Although the emotional violation sent her reeling and rage kept her ability to break through to him, she still loved this strange man in his confusing and mad antics.
Adele's own hips bucked back against him spontaneously -- but not trying to rhythmically merge their thrusts. No, she was trying to escape the metal table, the leg stirrups and the mind hold he had over her.
She offered herself to him - offered her love to him, her life, her feelings, her emotions. Was it a mistake?, she wondered. Each thrust conf
used her more just as his own mind-control over her slipped away in the throes of his love making -- or was it still a breeding? -- he shuddered and she shuddered against him. Their conjoined orgasm was building to a powerful crescendo. The tempo increased as she felt the sliding of his massive dual organ press home into her. When he thrust the final time she cried out while his concentration snapped away from him.
They writhed together an she grabbed for his face, her lips latching onto his for a split second and she felt her belly contract as his seed bed down into her womb with immeasurable force and a different type of physical bliss. For a few moments the orgasms kept coming -- harder and faster than anything she'd ever felt in her life. It was spontaneous, wonderful and a beautiful in a bizarre way.
When she looked at his face, a spinning whirl of emotional distress, she ran her hand across his cheek to mop up the tears he bled.
She loved him. She really did. That was why forgiveness bled out of her being for even this type of action -- a seemingly great big betrayal. Granted, he deserved a punishment for all of it... So she picked her hand off his wet cheek and swatted him across his face. The clap it made echoed in the big star ship walls and then a glow of red instantly charred his pale features.
He looked shocked and then his face furrowed as her grinning face glared up at him. With a sigh she simply said, "You could've just ASKED."
The End.
Maggie
There she was, again. This had to be four weeks in a row, each Friday, late, when the crowd was dying down. She came down the bar, and sat on the last stool, the one I had to pass when getting more beer or ice.
She smiled. "Gin and Tonic, please."
I glanced at the door, expecting him to be right behind. Might as well take his order at the same time. She watched me and said, "He's not coming, if that's what you were waiting for."
Now I smiled. "Oh, okay. Flying solo tonight?"
Her look turned sour. "Yeah, this bird has flown that coop."
I didn't want to get into it, so I mixed her drink and helped another customer.
I didn't know either of them, but anyone could see they were mismatched. He was mean, and got meaner as he drank. I'd seen the type and would not be surprised in the least if he knocked her around.
He still wore his hair slicked back like it was 1956 instead of 2010. He wore a dirty work shirt with Gus over the pocket, buttons open to show his chest hair, as if growing that was a talent. He was my age, 35 or so.
She was a lady. Not that tall, but her long neck made her elegant-looking. She always wore a chain, or beads, to high-light that. Her salt and pepper hair was in a long pageboy, framing her pale skin. The pale blue eyes and red lips stood out against the white background. She always seemed overly-dressed for our neighborhood establishment, as opposed to his pseudo-grunge. Tonight she wore a red satin button-down blouse and black skirt. I guessed she was 45 to 50.
The crowd grew lighter, and whenever our eyes made contact, she smiled. I knew I was wasting my time, that she would probably be back with him next week, but we made idle chat on and off. Then she brought him up again.
"Mitch, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure." Like I could say no, right?
"What did you think of Gus?"
I hate that. Why do people ask me things like that! "He seems nice, I don't really know him."
"He doesn't like you."
I was surprised. "Oh, okay. He said that, huh?"
