Page 34 of Snow Bound

How could something that hurt so much feel so good?

“Oh yeah, you’re a pain slut,” he said, grunting as he pushed deeper. “Every time I hurt you your pussy grabs onto me like I’m going off to war.”

“It does…not,” she wheezed defiantly.

“Do you have any self-preservation instincts at all?” he wondered.

There was no way to answer that and not get into trouble, so she kept her mouth shut and concentrated on regulating her breathing while he worked his dick inside her until his balls were pressed against her burning ass.

She felt so full. Stretched and spread and penetrated. It felt like he was in her belly, her lungs. Her pussy fluttered and flexed around his invading length, little pulses as her body struggled to adjust. He didn’t give her time to relax, drawing back smoothly and thrusting forward again, fast enough and hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs.

When her blurry vision cleared, he was staring down at her, eyes burning.

“You will beg,” he told her and started to move like he was trying to fuck the defiance right out of her.

He set a brutal pace, pounding into her hard, grinding his hips in a circle every time he slid deep. Her pussy felt battered, inside and out, the heavy thrusts nearly bruising. Three orgasms had left her wrung out, and she’d have thought there was no way she could muster up a fourth. But the relentless pounding built the spark into a flame, and she was amazed to find herself arching up into his driving thrusts, silently begging for more.

“You just can’t be fucking still, can you?”

She realized her mistake too late. He was already lowering his head to capture a nipple between his teeth, biting down while her breast bounced with every hammering thrust, threatening to yank her nipple out of his grip. He bit down harder, and she screamed.

He released her with a delighted laugh, rearing up to kneel between her thighs again, never pausing his thrusting. The gleam in his eye was her only warning before he slid his hand across her belly, slick with sweat, down to the top of her mound. She nearly flinched away—if he hit her now, she’d either kick him across the room or scream her safeword, whichever came to mind first.

But he didn’t hit it, didn’t even touch it—he merely hooked his thumb in the pad of flesh above it and pulled up toward her belly button, drawing the skin tight.

It was remarkably effective.

Every time he pushed his cock into her, the thick length dragged at her flesh, pulling everything down. And when he pulled back, the pressure of his thumb tugged everything upward again. In, out. Down, up. Over and over again. He was working her clit without ever touching it, and every back and forth pushed her closer to an astonishing fourth orgasm.

She felt raw, like one big exposed nerve ending, spread and stretched for him to play with. Her entire body shook as he pounded into her, breasts bouncing, thighs shaking. He was working her so hard now little gasps and grunts were forced from her with every thrust, an orgasm wasn’t just possible now but inevitable.

She wanted to bring her hands down to hold onto her bouncing breasts. They were swollen and aching, but she was afraid if she moved her hands, he’d make good on his threat to make love to her like a Hallmark movie, and if he stopped fucking her now, she’d die.

“How is this happening?” she managed to ask, the words staccato and disjointed, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

“How is what happening?” he ground out, his pace never faltering. Little rivulets of sweat ran down his face, his hair was drenched with it. His lips were peeled back, his eyes blazing. The muscles in his abs flexed with every thrust of his hips, and the sight of his latex covered cock plunging between her spread thighs had the tension in her belly coiling even tighter.

“I’m going to come again.” It was building, inexorable, inevitable. “God, how am I coming again?”

Dripping sweat onto her chest he drove into her, ceaseless, relentless. "Because that’s what sluts do. And you’re a little slut, aren’t you Anna?”

The word exploded in her mind, blasting heat, pushing her higher toward that inevitable peak. But before she could finish the climb, he stopped dead.

Confused, she blinked the sweat out of her eyes to stare at him. He was crouched between her thighs, his dick barely inside her. “What are you doing?”

He shook his head, disappointment replacing lust in his expression. “You’re a bad girl, Anna.”

“What?” She shook her head, trying get clear of the fog of lust. “What?”

“A very bad girl,” he said again. “And bad girls don’t get to come.”

She stared at him. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Unless, of course,” he continued, eyes gleaming, “they ask nicely.”

Her mouth fell open in shock.

“Actually, ‘ask’ isn’t quite accurate,” he decided, a laugh lurking in his voice. “I believe a more appropriate word would be ‘beg’.”

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