Page 7 of His to Slash

I squirmed in his grasp, my heart thrashing against my ribs like a caged bird desperate for escape. But his hold on me was unyielding, every squirming movement sending shockwaves of pain through my scalp.

I pleaded with him, my voice a ragged edge of desperation. "Please, Grayson, let me go."

His response was a harsh squeeze of his fingers around my throat, silencing my pleas with the merciless strength of his grip. Panic surged within me, a wild, untamed thing that clawed at my insides as my airway constricted under his hand.

I kicked and thrashed, my hands flying up to claw at the iron band of his arm, but it was like trying to bend steel with my bare hands. His grip was unyielding, a viselike hold that cut off my air supply and turned my struggles into nothing more than the feeble flailing of a moth caught in a spider's web.

As darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, he released his grip on my hair. The sensation of falling was brief, replaced almost instantly by the rough feel of his hand against my exposed skin as he tore open my button-down pajama top. The cool air of the room hit my bared breasts, and I could feel my nipples harden, not just from the chill, but from the sheer, animalistic intensity of the moment.

His hand returned to my throat, this time with a gentleness that was at odds with the violence of his earlier touch. Just enough pressure to let me draw in a shuddering breath, a gasp that was part sob, part plea for mercy. But the mercy I sought was not forthcoming. Instead, his fingers toyed with the piercings in my nipples, twisting and pulling in a way that sent jolts of sensation shooting through my body.

I was mortified to realize that I was growing wet, my traitorous body responding to his touch. The fear, the pain, the sheer dominance he exuded—it was a potent cocktail that stoked a fire within me I had never known I possessed.

His other hand roamed my body, exploring, claiming, as if I were his to do with as he pleased. And in that moment, I was—a captive to his dark desires, a pawn in a game I didn't understand but was helpless to resist.

I hated myself for the wetness that slicked my thighs, for the way my body arched into his touch despite the fear that knotted my stomach. The dichotomy of my emotions was a storm raging inside me, a tempest of terror and arousal that threatened to tear me apart.

I didn't want this, didn't want the confusing mix of fear and desire that clouded my judgment and turned my world upside down. But want was a slippery slope, and as his fingers continued their wicked dance, I felt myself sliding inexorably toward a precipice I was helpless to avoid.

In my core, fear and revulsion warred with something dark and primal. His hand, once circling my throat with bruising force, traveled south, fingers deftly undoing the buttons of my pajama shorts. The slide of fabric against my skin was a whisper of inevitable surrender, a prelude to the raw violation that was to come.

I squirmed, a futile attempt to escape the grip he had on my waist. "No, please don't," I found myself pleading, voice barely above a whisper as terror clawed up my throat. The last word had barely left my lips when he shoved the fabric down to my thighs, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

His hand was cool against my fevered skin as he explored my slick folds, parting them with unbearable gentleness that was a stark contrast to the brutality I expected. My body betrayed me, arching into his touch as the wetness between my legs gave away my shameful truth.

I fought against the tide of embarrassment and arousal, the conflict within me a storm of anger and self-loathing. "I don't want this," I cried, the words tasting like defeat. But my protestations fell on deaf ears, or perhaps he was simply too far gone to care.

With a suddenness that left me gasping, he thrust a thick finger inside me. My walls clenched around him, an involuntary response that sent a spiral of pleasure coursing through my veins, even as my mind recoiled in horror.

He fucked me roughly with his finger, an intrusion that bordered on pain, yet managed to stoke the dark fire that had been lit within me. Each relentless thrust brought forth a confusing mixture of tears and unwanted moans, a testament to the twisted duality of my body's treachery.

"Stop, please!" My pleas rang hollow in the stillness, lost amidst the obscene sounds of his invasion.

Then, as abruptly as it started, it ended. Grayson withdrew, the absence of his touch leaving me feeling hollow. Before my shocked eyes, he held up his glistening fingers, the evidence of my desecration caught in the faint glow filtering through the window.

My heart, already a frantic beat in my chest, raced as he brought his wet fingers to his mask, tracing the contours with the essence of my body's betrayal. I watched, entrapped in a web of lust and fear, as the shadow of his head inclined, his fingers disappearing beneath the mask.

The sound of his sucking, the vulgar, wet noise was almost my undoing. My pussy clenched around nothing, an empty ache that pulsed in time with the erratic rhythm of my heart. My knees weakened, threatening to buckle beneath me, a physical manifestation of my body's unwanted surrender.

A shuddering breath tore from my lungs, the reality of my helplessness crashing over me in waves. My resolve to fight him, to resist the dark pull he had over me, began to crumble at the edges, worn down by the relentless tide of his control. My vision blurred, clouded by a veil of tears that I no longer had the strength to hold back.

As I stood there, defeated and trembling, Grayson's hand returned to my throbbing sex, a fresh surge of terror lacing through me.

eight

The orgasm Graysonwrung from me consumed all of my dignity, leaving nothing but smoldering ashes in its wake. My body convulsed around his fingers, my release ripping through me with a force that left me sobbing and defeated, my legs trembling beneath me.

As the aftershocks of my unwanted climax subsided, he spun me around with a strength that belied the knife wound in his shoulder, his grip on my throat forcing my face into the harsh reality of what was happening. My wetness, a shameful testament to my body's treachery, trickled down my thighs.

I was vaguely aware of his blood, seeping through the fabric of his red sleeveless hoodie, a darker patch spreading across the material where the knife had sunk into his flesh. The sight should have filled me with a savage sense of satisfaction, but all I felt was a numbing dread.

He walked me backward until my spine collided with the cold, unyielding wall of the house. The impact jolted through me, stars exploding behind my closed eyelids as pain lanced through my skull. And then his hand was there, fumbling with his pants, freeing his cock with an urgency that spoke of a hunger only I could sate.

With a rough jerk, he hiked one of my legs up, wrapping it around his hip, opening me up to him in the most vulnerable way possible. I felt the blunt head of his cock notch against my entrance, slick with my own arousal, and then he was thrusting into me, a single, violent motion that sheathed him to the hilt.

The breath was driven from my lungs, the sheer size of him stretching me beyond what I thought was possible. He fucked me with an intensity that bordered on savagery, his hips pistoning against mine as he used my body with a single-minded focus that left no room for thought or resistance.

Each powerful stroke ground my pelvis into the wall, a relentless rhythm that turned my bones to dust beneath the onslaught of his strength. My cries of pain and protest were swallowed by the night, lost amidst the sounds of our flesh slapping together, the wet suction of his cock claiming what he believed to be his.

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