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How could he… justsaythat, some remaining rational part of my mind asked. That didn’t even represent the most pressing and yet the most repellent question: how could those brutal words make me move my hipsagain, in a humiliating quest for my own defloration by the man who had purchased me?
Ivan chuckled, and the demeaning sound brought another sob, so violent that it shook the ottoman under me.
“Youarea naughty girl, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “And a good one, too.”
“Yes, Master,” I whispered, obscurely and dismayingly grateful yet again for the wand’s making me speak the words I would otherwise have had a terrible time resisting—and would probably have failed to restrain.
“What do you want, naughty girl?”
Oh, no.The gratitude disappeared.
“Please…” I begged, “please, Master… don’t make me… don’t make me say it.”
The words emerged of their own accord, and I knew they represented the deepest part of me, and I felt my face blaze with shame.
Ivan moved his cock again, up and down, in and out. Not merely my hips but my whole body jerked in abject need.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please?”
To my astonishment and another embarrassing upwelling of gratitude, Ivan took pity on me. He chuckled again, and he spoke words full of mingled consolation and degradation, even as he put his hands on my hips and gripped me firmly there.
“That’s all right, Heather,” he said. “I know what you need.”
I felt his fingers tighten around my waist. I gave a little cry of alarm, but at the same moment it rose to my lips Ivan Antonov drove his enormous manhood through the barrier of my virginity and deep into my pussy.
CHAPTER12
Heather
I felt his muscular lap come up against my hands, my bottom, pressing firmly and reawakening the painful memory of my first spanking. Then I felt the pain. I cried out, my head thrown back and my back arched. My body, of its own accord, the most basic fight-or-flight instinct overriding even the wand’s control, tried to get away from what seemed like the red-hot iron poker my master had thrust into my most sensitive place.
Ivan’s strong, firm hands didn’t allow it. He held me against him as if he refused to part with the pleasure my no-longer-virgin sheath afforded his huge cock, rendering my most strenuous effort absolutely trivial. My punished bottom couldn’t move more than a millimeter away from his unyielding lap. I cried out again as my own attempt to escape sent another searing stab of pain from my newly claimed pussy through my whole body.
I seemed to hear, in my head, the meaning of that unrelenting grip, as if Ivan had spoken the brutal words in my ear, “You’re not going anywhere, you little slut. Your tight little cunt is going to stay right here on your master’s cock, until he comes inside you.”
My second cry became a moan at the simple idea of these degrading, unspoken words—the sort of words I already felt certain Ivan would in fact never say, though my inner conflict only grew at the thought that my owner would spare his fuck toy’s feelings. The pain of the cock’s first cruel invasion of my untried pussy faded so rapidly it took me by surprise, transmuting itself and blending into the glowing soreness that still radiated from my bottom.
Ivan began to move inside me, holding my hips fast and simply withdrawing a little, no more than a centimeter, before pressing his rigid penis back inside, just as deep. I could feel the head of it against what I thought must be the entrance to my womb, and it made me whimper with each renewal of the pressure, the slight discomfort that something deep inside me knew only represented what a girl like me should experience when her master fucked her.
Like the coarsely dominant words I had imagined a moment before, the thought of Ivan giving my pussy—No,my mind whispered,not your pussy… a girl like you has a cunt, for her owner’s pleasure—what I so richly deserved brought a terrible wave of shame and need. I cried out anew, and at the same time I felt Ivan pull his cock out a little further before he slammed it back into me. My whole body bucked, and without any warning or any real buildup I felt an enormous orgasm draw so close that it loomed over me like a tsunami suspended just before it crashed into the shore. My vagina clenched hard around the thrusting penis, and I staved off my climax only through my sheer, reflexive fear that it might actually rip me apart.
“Oh,” Ivan grunted, his voice thick with pleasure, “that’s such a nice little cunt. You may come, girl.”
They weren’t the brutal, humiliating words I had heard in my head, but they contained enough degradation to send me instantly over the edge, the tsunami descending and sweeping me out into a vast sea of pleasure. I lost all purchase over my thoughts, or I would have done everything in my power to resist the idea that rose in the sea like a life-belt buoying me to the surface: even as Ivan had degraded me, he had thought of my pleasure alongside his own.
More, he had thought of it—or so I believed I had heard in his voice—both from the dominant perspective of his own satisfaction, in forcing pleasure on his bed girl, and from the perspective of wanting to take care of my needs… of me, the naked girl he had just unpacked from her shipping crate.
I lost track of the number of surges of ecstasy that climax sent shooting through every bit of my body. Only as they started to wane did I even wonder whether it had been one orgasm or an uncountable number of them. I had read, blushing, of women who came that way, and I had felt certain I couldn’t be one of them—didn’twantto be one of them.
Under the brutal pounding my master now started to give me, for my very first fucking, I realized how wrong and yet how right I had been. The heat that spread so far and fast, from the roots of my hair to my curling toes, told me that whether or not that first wave of helpless pleasure had represented more than one climax, the next one bestowed by my owner’s enormous manhood unmistakably had its own separate build, its own discrete thrill of need that made me sob for the next punishing thrust of Ivan’s hardness—followed by its own delicious-yet-frightening release.
Whether my master had made a wanton woman of me, or laid bare my shameful needs, I knew I had had it correct from a reasoning perspective—I had been right to hope my virgin pussy didn’t have the capacity to climax over and over. Not the way Ivan’s cock made me do, anyway.
Now that he had ripped through the barrier of my hymen with it, to claim me as his fuck toy… now that the first titanic orgasm had shaken my frame to its core and yet left me in one piece…
I didn’t think I could ever have enough of it.
It had started to hurt again, but the pain didn’t have the aspect of the kind of unpleasurable sensation that tells a human body to stop doing something dangerous, like holding the handle of a pan you didn’t know was burning hot. Instead it seemed only to add to my feeling of submission to my new master’s pleasure. It sharpened the shocks of terrible pleasure he forced on me.
