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I fight back, struggling in his arms, thrashing my head from side to side to get his hand away from my mouth. It does leave, but only to go to my neck, tightening there so much that one last breath wheezes out of me as he drags me impossibly closer to him.
"You stupid bitch," he snaps, giving me a shake. I try to shout but his hand squeezes harder. "Oh, you wanna scream, do you? I'll make you scream."
He shoves me forward, my feet tripping. I would fall if it weren't for his hold on me, but the aggression in his movements tells me he's not interested in saving me at all. Only in leading me to the living room, pushing me into the back of my couch.
His hand is gone from my throat, giving me much needed air, but then it's on the back of my neck, pushing me down so I have to bend over. And God, his hold on me, feeling his fingers flex on my skin, forcing me into this position makes a shiver run through me. Tension coils deep inside me, anxious for more, begging me to make him control me more. So I try to rise back up, but he pushes me back down, hard, painfully. Then his mouth is at my ear. His weight crushes me into the couch, making a shuddering breath leave me. But it's the bite of cold steel against my naked thigh, raising my skirt, that has my body going completely still except for my widening eyes.
"Bend over this couch and get fucked like the whore you are, or I will cut your throat. Do you understand me?"
I quickly nod, the knife against my skin making me realize how much I'm shaking. In fear, in excitement, in arousal. What if he cuts me? Would he lick the blood up, bring that tongue farther up my thigh to where my body is craving his mouth like I need it to live? With his hand off my neck, where would he put it? Where would those fingers travel to? What would they do to me?
The knife scrapes against my skin, bringing my skirt up with it, getting closer and closer to where I can feel wetness coating my panties, slick on my thighs. Heat rushes through me, all leading to where lust has coiled in my clit, wanting, needing, longing. My longing turns to all consuming hunger when Jackson beginsgrinding his erection against my ass. A breathy sigh leaves me as my hips move of their own accord, seeking more pressure, needing him closer, needing him inside me.
"Look at you." He gives a dark, husky chuckle. "You want to get fucked, don't you? Just like a dirty slut. I bet if I put my fingers in your panties, I'd find them soaking, wouldn't I?"
I can only whimper, because God, he would find me drenched if he touches me right now.
"Yeah, I know I would. You can't even stop yourself from trying to grind on a stranger's cock. I knew you were a whore from the moment I saw you. Now I'm gonna fuck you like one." He presses even farther into me, his cock between my ass cheeks, making me moan, even though I try to withhold it. Then that moan becomes a scream when he bites hard on my neck.
"If you try anything, anything at all," he growls. "I will hurt you in ways you can't even imagine. Are you gonna be a good whore, or do I have to show you what pain I can give you?"
"I'll be good. I'll be good. Just please, don't hurt me," I cry.
But I'm lying. I want him to give me just as much pain as I want pleasure. And I don't think I can wait another moment for it.
"Oh, I'm gonna hurt you. But you'll love it."
The cold steel is gone in the next second, and his hand is gripping my panties, tearing them off. I hiss at the pain of the fabric digging into my hip before they finally rip. Then the fabric is at my lips, balled up, being pushed in. I shake my head, trying to move away.
"Open your mouth, or I'll put it to better use," he demands.
I swallow and open for him. He shoves my mouth full of my panties. I can taste myself on them, but the thought of that is quickly forgotten when I feel his hand roughly hiking my skirt upagain. The sound of his belt buckle being undone, then his zipper dragging down, is all I can hear over my harsh breaths. The tip of his cock meets my opening, and I moan around my panties. Finally. Fucking finally.
"You can scream all you like," he pants, his hand going to the small of my back, forcing me to arch for him. "No one will hear you except me."
He slams into me. Every single inch of him stretches me beyond what I can handle. I do scream, going up on the tips of my toes as my body struggles to adjust to him. He doesn't give me that time, though, pulling out and driving back in. A gasp bursts out of me as he somehow goes even deeper. It hurts, God it hurts so good. The bite of pain from my opening tearing around his width, the pain of him being too deep inside me, the force of his body crashing into my ass. It all hurts, only making the pleasure that much more. Because with each stroke, each thrust of him, the pleasure pushes the pain aside.
I bring my hands up, looking for something to grip, but his hand leaves my lower back to grab them.
"Oh no, you don't get to find any relief," he says gruffly, using one hand to hold both of my hands at the small of my back.
And using them to make me come back onto him harder. The hand still at the back of my neck moves my body closer each time he slams into me. All I can do is arch. All I can give are muffled moans and shallow gasps as he fucks me, as he drags me closer and closer to an orgasm.
"So fucking wet," he grunts. "I knew you would like this. I knew you'd want me to fuck you hard. You love being used, don't you?" I only moan and he slams into me again, making me hiss with the pain of it. "Don't you?"
I nod, my head feeling like it weighs far too much. My entire body feels that way; just a thing that's at his mercy, to take whatever he gives me, does to me.
"That's right. You love taking this cock deep. Filthy." A hard thrust. "Little." A deep thrust. "Whore." He slams into me so harshly that some sound between a scream and moan escapes me.
He does it again and again, both hands going to my hips now. Finally, my neck and hands are free, and I don't hesitate to throw my head back and get the grip on the edge of the couch I was trying for earlier. It does nothing to help me brace for his fucking. He pounds into my body just as hard, making my pussy ache, making my stomach rub too roughly against the back of the couch, making me groan at how harshly his fingers are digging into the skin of my hips.
Then he's leaning over me, his weight pushing me farther into the couch as his teeth trail along my shoulder, over and over until they're at my neck.
"I bet you want me to touch your swollen clit," he whispers, the quietness of his voice such a contrast to the way he's driving into me. "I bet you'd make the prettiest sounds for me if I did. Do you want that?"
I give a shaky nod, and he laughs. Mockingly, sexy, dark, full of promise for what else is to come. And I need more, my body is pleading for it, right on the edge of reaching the bliss his cock tempts me more with, with each stroke.
"Beg for it, then," he demands gruffly. "Beg for my finger on your clit, and I might give it to you."
