Chapter One
“Miss Brown, are you paying attention?”
The question is asked in front of a hundred other students, all of whom are now looking at me. I’ve always been the shy, quiet, studious type. Not the sort of girl who draws scrutiny.
“Yessir,” I blush. “Of course.”
He has no idea how much attention I’m paying.
Doctor Rollins is the sexiest professor in Coyote Pass College, which most people wouldn’t say is saying much. It’s a small community college in a small city in California. Most people have never heard of the place. But everybody has heard of Sam Rollins.
He’s thirty-eight years old, a Scorpio with Leo rising. He’s written three books and he’s been on dozens and dozens of TV shows. He works for the FBI as a forensic psychology consultant. And he’s hot. He’s tall, and his dark hair is cut really well in swoops and fades.
I had a dream about him last night, a dream that’s making me distracted. One that kept me from paying attention to whatever question he picked me out to answer.
The dream started out just like this. We were in the lecture hall, except it was empty besides me and him. In the dream, he was trying to teach me something I couldn’t seem to grasp. Something about the dark triad of personalities. I ended up bent over the podium with pages falling all over the place like snowflakes in a snowstorm. It was filthy. It was primal.
He moves on with the lecture. It was embarrassing to be called out, but I figure nobody is going to remember that ten minutes from now. The real problem isn’t drifting off in class. It’s the fact that I have to ask him about my most recent assignment, and now I have to do it while he thinks I’m messing around and not listening to him.
As class ends, I am so nervous I feel like I might be sick. I keep glancing down at the paper I worked really hard on, thinking that it has to be a mistake. There’s no way this is really my grade.
This assignment is worth thirty percent of my grade, and right now it has a big, fat C on it. I’ve never approached a professor before to ask for an amendment, but I know it deserves a lot more than a C. I was hoping for an A. Maybe an A+. Right now, I would settle for a B.
I have to catch him before he leaves, but after the initial onslaught of questions that inevitably follow every class. I hang back behind the small gaggle of students, waiting until they’re all attended to.
He is putting his laptop into his briefcase as I approach, paper in hand.
“Yes, Miss…”
“Brown. Laura Brown,” I say. “I’m in your class.”
I immediately wish I hadn’t said that last part. He knows I am in his class. I’m currently in his class, after all. He just graded my paper barely above a failing grade. I wonder if he remembers that, or if what I’m going to ask is just going to come across really fucking entitled. I hope it doesn’t. I’m not spoiled. Not in any way.
His lips quirk into a smirk as he catches what I just said. I am making a fool of myself and I’ve barely opened my mouth.
Dr. Rollins has always made me nervous, ever since the first class he taught. Up close, he’s devilishly attractive in the way very few men ever really are. He’s got good, strong features and an energy to match. Superficially, he has thick dark hair that he runs his hand through when he’s stressed by some undergrad’s misunderstandings. He’s running his hand through his hair now as I push my paper across the desk toward him.
“Um, I think you might have made a mistake,” I say, stammering the words. I can barely believe I’m saying them. I glance at him to see if I have made him angry with that comment.
He’s old enough to be my father, but every time I make eye contact with him, which isn’t often, I feel a zap of electricity run through me. I feel like I am in trouble for some reason. Maybe it’s his stern demeanor. Maybe it’s his taciturn expression. Did I mention he has a very, very handsome face? It’s old fashioned, in a way, like the movie stars in the golden age of Hollywood.
I am lucky to be breathing the same air he breathes, let alone talking to him.
Doctor Samuel Rollins is one of the most respected psychologists in the country. He has a private practice that nobody can get into. Some people say he caters exclusively to a celebrity clientele. We’re lucky that he moonlights at the Coyote Pass College as a kind of favor to people who don’t have the money to pay for an Ivy League university. Dr. Rollins is someone we’re all grateful for, and that’s partly why I can’t believe I’m about to do this.
“I made a mistake? Do go on,” he says.
“I just wanted… um, I was wondering why my paper was graded so low?” I can’t make eye contact with him, but somehow I know he’s still looking into my soul. Being near this man is like being in front of a walking human emotional x-ray. He’s running me through a big clanking MRI of feelings.
He rifles through my paper for a brief moment before making a sound of recognition.
“This paper centered on your theory that your ex-boyfriend, Dave—name not changed to protect the guilty—is a sociopath,” he says. “The first problem is that psychopath and sociopath were both retired in favor of an ASPD diagnosis. You might know this because I happened to cover it in my lectures.”
“Yes, I am sorry, I used a colloquial…”
He talks over me as I stammer excuses.
“True psychopathy is rare,” he says. “But it can be a tempting diagnosis when someone behaves in a repeatedly hurtful manner. You need to integrate a finer understanding of this matter. I wanted an academic paper, not a character assassination of an ex. I gave you a C because at least you did not fall back on the overused diagnosis of narcissism.”
“Yes, Doctor Rollins. But, you see, I really need to maintain my GPA, and a C isn’t going to allow that. I have a scholarship and…”
“Look at me,” he says, his voice strangely soft.
I look up and meet his eyes. I can only do it for a split second. There’s a feeling that rushes through me, an intense charge that I don’t know what to do with. Maybe it’s the way his eyes rake over me and then seem to go straight through me, cataloging all my weaknesses one after the other. I feel safer looking at my toes.
“If you would like to resubmit this paper, I will allow it,” he says. “But it will involve you developing a true understanding of ASPD. I can offer some assistance during office hours. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, sir,” I say quickly, lifting my head just a little. “Thank you so much. I won’t let you down. I promise!”
His lips twist in something like a smile. I can only see his mouth. I don’t know if it reaches his eyes. I am sure he thinks this is silly. To him, I am just one of hundreds, if not thousands of students he has had to talk to. I am panicking about my grade as if it is the end of the world, but it’s nothing to him. I feel very silly and quite small.
“I’m sure you won’t,” he says. There’s something in that little phrase. Said by someone else, it might be comforting. But I sense a darker undertone there. Like I wouldn’t dare to disappoint him now that he has given me a second chance.
I get out of the room as quickly as possible before he can change his mind.
[divider]
I leave for my shift at the restaurant with a tingle low in my belly, and those deep words somehow ringing in my ears. I am going to have to work extra hard to impress him. I really need an A in his class to keep my overall GPA up. I’m smart, but not super academic. I can get high grades, but it’s never come easily to me. I don’t come from money. I’ve had to work for everything I ever had. Getting into community college was a big deal for me. Being taught by Dr. Rollins is the most exciting opportunity of my relatively short life. I’m twenty years old, eighteen years younger than the man I’m relentlessly crushing on.
Maybe work will take my mind off it.
I work at Winslow’s, a little family-run bistro in one of the suburbs around the community college. Everything here is a little run down. There are lots of tags everywhere, some cool street art mixed in, and the city doesn’t attend to stuff like litter and potholes very often so the street is kind of a patchwork of all kinds of temporary repairs left to be permanent.
The uniform is a green skirt that comes just above the knee, a little black apron that ties around my waist, sneakers and bare legs—though tights are allowed if you don’t shave your legs (Mrs. Winslow is particular about that)—and a white t-shirt. My hair always goes into a high ponytail ever since I worked out that gets me the most tips.
It’s a busy night at Winslow’s. They have their chicken parm on special. You get the chicken and a beer for ten bucks. I don’t know how they do it, but it sells the place out every Tuesday night, so I spend the rest of the evening taking orders for parm, and then delivering it to hungry customers.
My phone rings on break. I get one for fifteen minutes at 6.30 p.m., right before the rush gets super crazy. I don’t want to answer the call, but my gut twists with guilt when I think about letting it go to voicemail. A psychopath wouldn’t care. I kind of wish I was one, sometimes.
“Yes?” I answer.
“Come and get me.”
I roll my eyes as I recognize the voice. The fucking nerve of him to call me after we broke up. He almost fucked my life up completely by distracting me so badly from school and work that my performance in both tanked. For the last few months, I’ve been trying my best to focus on the things that really matter.
“No, Dave. I’m not going to come and get you. I don’t even have a car. And I’m at work.”
[divider]
???
She has no idea how beautiful she is right now, with her hair slightly mussed about her face, silken blonde strands having come loose even before the dinner rush. She brushes them away from her glasses, one of the strands getting stuck in the hinge where the arm meets the body. I notice every detail about this young woman. I drink her in as if she were a fine wine.
I can hear every word she says clear as a bell, though I am several feet away. I am unseen, a complete shadow in her world that is limited to the ring of light cast by the spider web-ridden bulb above the rear door of the restaurant.
Laura. The name is a reference to the laurel bush, a plant from which Roman emperors used to have wreaths fashioned. Her role in this world was cast from the moment that moniker was bestowed on her. The one who claims her will be the victor.
The weather is starting to cool, and it’s getting dark now. The shadows clothe me as I listen to her call on my laptop.
“Come and get me.”
I grit my jaw as I listen to the way the young man speaks to her. His voice is deep, but the words coming out of his mouth belong to the lips of a whiny man-child.
“No, Dave. I’m not going to come and get you. I don’t even have a car,” she says. Her voice sounds tense. I don’t like that. She shouldn’t be irritated by a man like this. She deserves better in so many ways.
I’ve been watching Laura for quite some time. She’s a very pretty young lady with a bright mind and a delicate demeanor that I find incredibly appealing. It’s not a physical quality. She is quite a generously proportioned young lady, but there is something about her that puts me in mind of a doe quivering in the sights of a hunter’s scope.
She is not the most situationally aware young woman, a fact that works to my advantage. I have been in the restaurant with her from time to time. Never in her section. I want to maintain some distance until the time is right.
I will never forget how she looked while working, how she put on a smile when she was taking orders, and how it faded slightly when she stepped away to put the orders in. It still lingered about her lips, a shade of an expression that does not reflect how she really feels.
Laura is afraid. Always. She walks around with a tinge of fear about her at all times. It is the kind of scent a predator cannot help but find appealing. There is perpetually blood in her water.
When she had a quiet moment, I watched her tuck herself into a corner and pull an old book out of the pocket of her apron. I got a glimpse of the cover.
It was an old romance novel. Dog-eared, well-thumbed through. She disappeared into it like it could save her. It endeared her to me in new ways.
We have had so little contact, she and I, but I feel like I already know the core of her. I will know more later on, of course. When we start to really get to know one another, I will discover even deeper layers. The thought makes me nearly salivate with anticipation.
Most of the customers pay little attention to her. She’s pretty, but not in a way that stands out too obviously in a college town. I wonder how they do not see what I see. I especially wonder how the lout on the phone dares to demand anything of her.
“I have to get back to work. We’re not even dating anymore, Dave,” she reminds him. “You have to stop calling me. We’re done.”
“We’re not done,” he says. My teeth slide against one another. My upper lip curls in something that starts as a sneer, but soon becomes a snarl. How dare he have any kind of claim over her.
“We are though,” she says, displaying that little streak of sass that doesn’t come out all that often. Laura works very hard to be polite even when the world is not being fair to her. I’ve seen her swallow her anger several times. She is doing it now.
“I have to go,” she adds. “Bye.”
He starts to say something else, but the call is terminated. I log his number and add it to my other file.
She was not lying. Her break is over and she has to disappear back into the restaurant. For a brief moment, I consider going in and ordering dessert just so I can watch her, but I know I have to be careful. I do not want to become a familiar face to her. I need to keep distance for the moment.
Instead, I wait. Her shift is another four hours. I busy myself with other work while I wait, enjoying the quiet of the car and the way people pass by without any sense of my presence. There is something delicious about being unseen. I will have to expose myself soon, and that will add a new layer of intensity to this little game. But I am enjoying this part a great deal.
My pulse spikes when I see Laura leave through the back door. She looks tired, but satisfied. She seems to enjoy her job. I like that about her. It takes a certain kind of temperament to truly enjoy waitressing.
I watch her walk across the parking lot, cross the street, and take up her customary position at the bus stop, waiting for a bus that might arrive in five minutes if she is lucky, or twenty if I am. More time to watch her gives me deep satisfaction. It is like god himself is granting me a little more time with one of his greatest works.
She’s leaning up against the bus shelter reading that romance novel now. I wonder how many times she’s read it. Dozens, at least. Hundreds, more likely.
There are three seats inside the shelter. She’s not taking any of them, even after a long shift at work that followed a full day of school. This girl works every hour she gets, aside from the ones where she is forced to sleep.
Now she is pressed up against the edge of the scratched and grafitti’d Plexiglas, the book held up close to her face.
She needs a new glasses prescription. I noticed the way she squinted when she was trying to help customers with the menu. I should take her to my optometrist and get her a cute pair of new frames if she wants them. The ones she’s wearing are nice, but look worn. The same can be said of many of her things. Almost nothing Laura owns is new. She thrifts much of her attire, and wears it until it cannot be worn any longer. This does not make her any less stylish. She has an eye for aesthetics that I very much admire.
The bus pulls up. Tires screech, complaining from lack of maintenance. I can see a series of tired people sitting staring out the window.
She deserves to have someone drive her everywhere she needs to go. She deserves to be put on pretty display. Soon she will know what it is to be truly cherished. The time is coming, sooner than she thinks.
The bus rumbles off and I put my car in gear and slide into the night, following the bus. At each stop, I pull in behind and wait for it to go again. If the driver were paying attention, he might notice he was being followed. But he’s not interested in what’s behind him.
She goes to the main station, and I could lose her there when she changes buses, but I pick her up on the 56 out toward Westbrook. She commutes an hour each way to get to her waitress job. She cannot afford to live in traditional campus housing. It’s too expensive. But if you go further out to the other side of the city, you can find places to live that even a full-time student with a part-time job can afford.
If I were an impatient man, I would have taken her already. But I know how to draw out enjoyment. I know that all of this waiting, this watching is going to pay off, and very, very soon.
I park outside her building, around the back, where there are no street lights and no security cameras. I am invisible here. And I wait again, this time with a growing excitement. Tonight is the night I begin to teach Laura a lesson she very much needs to learn. Teach might be the wrong word. Tonight I plan to start training her to be mine.
I will not be gentle, but I will be thorough.
Her apartment is a fourth floor walkup. The security door is propped open with a brick, even at eleven p.m. She moves it on her way in, but I already know the door code.
I walk up the stairs, to her apartment.
I let myself in.
[divider]Chapter Two
Laura
I wake up in the middle of the night absolutely certain that there is someone in my room. I can’t see anything. My eyes are too accustomed to sleep, but I can feel a presence. There’s no sound, just an intangible knowing that I am no longer alone.
I lie still, freezing in place. I hope that I am wrong, that it is a dream, and that I am having some kind of night terror.
Then I feel the covers being drawn back, and the cool air of my room slides down my body, making goosebumps rise across my skin. I can smell him now. He smells like a very rich kind of cologne. It’s faintly familiar, and puts me in mind of leather and iron. It’s the sort of scent that speaks to privilege, and that only serves to make me more afraid because it is so out of place here.
“Leave me alone,” I whimper.
“Shhh, princess.”
He has a deep voice and oddly, for an intruder, a calming presence. He’s soothing me with his words, and then with his hands. One of them lands on the back of my head and smooths over my hair.
I wait for him to say something that men like this say at times like these, something like ‘do as I say, and I won’t hurt you.’ My fists are balling by my sides. He’s not going to find me as easy a target as he imagines. When I decided to live alone after Dave left, I did take some precautions.
“I don’t have any money!”
“I’m not here for your money, princess,” he says. “I’m here for you.”
I feel the bed sink down as he puts his weight on it, drawing down the covers to my waist. At this point, I grab the flick-knife I have next to the bed. They’re not legal, but neither is being in my fucking bedroom uninvited.
I flick the little switch, and the blade swings out. I turn over as that happens, and jab it right the way up toward his neck and chest. I close my eyes as I swing, not wanting to see what will happen when the blade meets his body.
“Oh, so close, little one,” he says, sounding almost proud as he grabs my wrist and squeezes it hard enough to make me drop the knife. “That was a good try. Very good.”
I let out a yelp of pain and disappointment as I realize I have been easily disarmed and now I have no protection against this intruder who is much larger and much stronger than me. I look up into his face in an effort to see who it is.
I almost hope it’s Dave being an idiot, but I already know it’s not him. He’d be laughing by now, and he’d also be stabbed. Whoever this is moves like a fucking rattlesnake. He’s fast, he’s dangerous. He’s agile. And he’s not at all fazed by being stabbed at.
“What do you want?”
“I want you, Laura.”
That is a fucking terrifying response.
“Why?”
I don’t know what else to say. The question just falls out of my mouth in shock as he pulls the blanket down the rest of the way, depriving me of warmth and comfort, exposing me to his gaze. I went to bed in short shorts and a tank top. It’s not enough.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. “You’re a very sweet little thing, and you are going to be mine, inside and out.”
He is speaking in a clipped, slightly accented voice. The flash of familiarity is back, but it doesn’t rise to the level of true recognition. He looks big and broad above me, and the tight black sweater he is wearing shows that he is quite muscled all the way across his arms and shoulders.
He’s handsome, even though I cannot see his face.
“Breathe,” he says.
“I am breathing.”
“I mean take a breath for me, little one,” he purrs softly, putting a hand on my chest. “I want to feel you.”
I take a deep, shuddering breath.
His hand slides up my chest toward my neck and closes lightly around my throat as his other hand slides between my legs and starts rubbing underneath my shorts. They are loose enough that his fingers can easily find my bare pussy. I saw a reel that told me it was better to sleep without underwear. Right now I wish I was wearing a fucking chastity belt.
His fingers find my clit unerringly, and start to circle lightly. To my immense shame, I feel my hips undulate in response. It feels good.
“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs. “You’re allowed to enjoy this, even though you think you’re not supposed to. Let yourself relax into being used.”
He is saying the sickest things, but I really cannot help my physical response to his energy and to his touch. He clearly knows how to touch a woman, though usually people say foreplay is necessary, his direct tender touching of my pussy is working for me. I feel a kind of excitement starting to stir in me that I’ve never really felt before, a kind of raw desire that is completely divorced from good sense and reasonable reaction.
This man, whoever he is, has ripped me out of my world and is exposing me to an experience that is terrifying and wrong and somehow…
“Good girl,” he praises me as I relax and show signs of submitting to this dark exploration. “I knew you’d be so pretty once you let go.”
His fingers continue to toy with me, using the wetness my body is producing to enable him to slide them inside me. The moment I feel him enter me, I go tense.
“Breathe,” he reminds me gently. “You’re holding your breath, baby.”
He speaks to me like a lover I have known for years, not a complete stranger who just woke me up out of a dead sleep.
I take another deep breath, but it quickly becomes shallow again as his fingers slip deeper, two of them exploring my pussy.
He pauses. “I’m not going to keep touching you if you won’t be a good girl and breathe for me.”
I don’t know how I got to this place. It has only been a matter of minutes since I woke up to this intruder and now he is convincing me to do as I am told. I try to breathe more evenly, but it is hard with the sensations he is stirring inside my body.
“Better,” he says, rewarding me by sliding his thumb over my clit, pressing down on that taut button while he continues to gently finger me. “You are already learning that is best to do as you are told. This will serve you in good stead over time, Laura.”
He knows my name. I wonder how.
“Who are you?”
I ask the question for the first time. I know he won’t tell me. He’s wearing a balaclava so I cannot see his face. I can barely even see his eyes. The room is so dark that he seems to simply have black pupils. He’s a stranger so completely that I suspect even if I were to meet him in the clear light of day, I wouldn’t recognize him. He’s stepped outside the good bounds of society and turned himself into a monster.
“You know who I am,” he says. “I am the man who is making you wish he would fuck you.”
The brash comment makes me want to deny it immediately, but he is not wrong. I want more than his fingers. The more he plays with me, the more I want it. My body is getting caught up in sensations, not caring about the context of this encounter. As far as my flesh is concerned, this is a lover I am enjoying.
“No,” I say anyway, weakly. “I don’t want that.”
He pulls his fingers free of me and I let out an instant, involuntary moan.
“You don’t want this?” He purrs the question down at me with a knowledgeable lilt. “It feels like you are enjoying yourself for the first time in a long time, experiencing the touch of a man who knows how to make you feel good.”
God fucking dammit. I know I am not supposed to want this. It’s wrong to fuck strange men who break into your apartment in the middle of the night with obvious carnal intentions.
His finger drifts lightly up the seam of my lips. “It feels to me like you need this,” he says. “You’ve been craving a good, hard breeding for longer than you care to admit, and tonight I am going to do that to you. Now open your legs for me, and show me that you’re ready to be fucked.”
If I had to answer verbally, I’d deny wanting this. But I spread my legs just as he tells me to.
“Good girl,” he says, reaching down to his crotch. I watch as he slips his fly down and frees a long, thick, uncut cock that is already so fucking hard it seems monstrously large to me.
“Oh, my fucking god,” I whimper.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “You can take this. Your pussy is tight, but it is already incredibly wet. Spread your legs a little more for me, baby. Show me what I am about to fuck.”
I should resist, but I don’t. I spread my legs even wider.
“Such a good girl,” he praises as he fists his cock and he slides up my bed, all the way next to my head. He grips my hair and holds me in place as he traces the head of his cock around my lips until they part and then he slides his rod into my mouth and starts to gently fuck my face.
“I’m going to teach you so many things,” he says. “I’m going to show you what it is to be used in all your holes, and you are going to love every moment of it, because you are a very naughty girl who needs to be bred.”
I can’t respond now. His cock is sliding all the way to the back of my throat. He holds it there for a moment, showing me how easily he can dominate me.
“Keep your legs open,” he warns me as I start to squirm. “I want them spread nice and wide. I want that pussy to stay on display while I fuck this sweet mouth.”
He starts to plunge in and out of my mouth, giving me a rougher fucking. I can taste his pre-cum, a very specific, salty kind of taste that coats my tongue freshly on every stroke in and out. This treatment is turning me on. The way he commands me to behave, and the way I do it, is quite unique to me. I know I could be in danger if I do not do exactly as he says, but still I feel more arousal than fear.
He pulls out before he comes, his cock harder and more imposing than ever. He stands up next to the bed, grabs my leg and swings me around so my back is supported by the mattress, but my legs are pulled up and over his shoulders.
This masked intruder thrusts his cock into my soaked pussy as if he has done it hundreds of times before. He simply takes me. Owns me. Uses me. He slides in deep with that first intrusion, making my eyes widen as I cry out at the way it feels to have my walls spread around a very thick cock.
“That’s such a good girl,” he praises. “You’re having your pussy fucked, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I whimper as he draws out a little. I can feel my pussy gripping him, making it harder for him to retreat from my sex.
“That’s right. You’re giving up this sweet little hole of yours because deep down you know that I own you,” he says. “Your body understands that it is being taken by someone who is worthy of conquering you. That is why you’re so soaked.”
He grips my hips and proceeds to fuck me with a kind of brutal competence that leaves me with my eyes rolling back in my head as I am used by this complete stranger.
“I’m not using any protection,” he growls. “This is my bare cock inside your bare pussy, isn’t it?”
“Yessir,” I whimper. The ‘sir’ part just seems to come naturally as I give myself up to his control.
“You sweet little fertile hole,” he adds. “You’re going to be fucked until I decide to come inside you. You’re going to take my cum deep inside this pussy.”
As he speaks, he plays with my clit, making it impossible for me to muster any kind of response. I am completely post-verbal at this point, my mind spinning and escaping as it all unfolds exactly as he describes—exactly as he planned, I bet.
He fucks me like a rag doll, using me roughly with the kind of feral ferocity that can only come from a masked stranger. I feel the most intense surges of pleasure rushing through my belly right now, and I know he’s going to make me orgasm. I’m going to come on his thick, bare cock, and my pussy is going to conspire against me to try to get me pregnant.
Over and over, his thick cock surges into my pussy until he decides to change position. He lowers my legs, briefly pulls out of me, and spins me over onto my front, positioning me bent over the bed. HIs palm comes down on my ass in a stinging spank that makes me yelp like an animal, and then he is back inside me, his thick cock surging into my pussy from behind.
“You’re ovulating,” he growls in my ear. How the fuck does he know that? I think he might be right, though. I have been particularly horny lately. I’ve been having sex dreams, even. I have been single for too long, and that is why I am giving up so easily. I only tried to stab him once; that’s barely resistance.
“I’m going to come inside you,” he says, thrusting deep. “I’m going to claim this tight little hole and your womb. I’m going to make you carry my baby, and when your belly starts to swell, you will remember who owns you. All of you.”
His words are so darkly possessive I feel as though I am caught in some kind of sick dream. My body keeps responding to them, even worse. I hear myself moan in some kind of animal agreement as he thrusts hard inside me, his hips slapping against my ass as he uses me for his own rough pleasure.
I keep making sounds that are incoherent, along with others that are deeply animal. I feel like a creature caught out in the wild by a horny, dominant male who just decides to mate me. The way we are acting is completely uncivilized.
His hand slides under me and his fingers find my clit again as he starts to absolutely hammer me, taking himself to the brink of orgasm and bringing me along with him. I have no choice but to enjoy being fucked. He has decided we are going to come and that is all there is to it.
I scream as he comes, feeling his semen flowing inside me, trillions of little invaders entering my wet pussy that is still held open by his cock. He’s delivering his load right to the entrance of my womb.
“No!” I gasp.
“Yes,” he counters. “I told you I was going to breed you, Laura, and that’s exactly what I am going to do. You need to take my cum nice and deep.”
His fingers swirl swiftly against my clit as he pulls me up back against him, giving himself enough room to force me to come with his cock inside me. I sob as he rubs me to rough climax, as his hard dick keeps his seed inside me.
“You’re going to come for me,” he says. “I’m going to count down from five, and you’re going to come all over my cock.”
I gasp.
“Five,” he growls, picking up the speed a little.
“Four.” I try to buck away, but he pulls me back easily. One hand is on my clit, the other is on the back of my neck, controlling me and keeping me on his cock.
“Three.” I feel the pleasure growing in my pussy and in my lower belly. I start to sweat more, feel it running down my back. My toes are curling and my breath is coming in short little gasps and…
“Two.” He slaps my pussy and then returns to rubbing. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, baby. You’re going to come so fucking hard for me… One.”
He reaches the end of the countdown. I feel my entire body contort and contract with pleasure as I do as he has forced me to do, and orgasm with his cum and his cock inside me, knowing that it means everything inside me is working to draw his seed as deep as it can get into my body.
“Fuck,” I curse, writhing as I try to resist what is happening to me, and failing. Orgasm has been forced on me. Cum has been left inside me. I have been properly fucked and definitely bred.
There’s a hollowness right after we come. Outside, a car alarm goes off. Reality asserts itself again. I start to feel a little chill as my mind begins to scramble for sense in what just happened to me, and what’s going to happen next.
“Good girl,” he says. “Consider that your first lesson.”
He pulls out of my pussy and pats my ass affectionately, then he zips his cock away and walks out of my bedroom, leaving me lying on the bed slowly leaking his cum and wondering what the fuck just happened to me.
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