by Rose Francis
She hadn’t had much time to revel in his arousal for her, and she felt only slightly damp against his prying tip, but the more he pushed, the louder she moaned, her body adapting. As her legs lifted to wrap atop his pelvis, her cunt drew him in, the thick, black member piercing into her tight, pink labia.
She writhed beneath him, but there was nothing she wanted more.
Groaning, he pulled back from her for a moment to marvel at the way her tight folds so lewdly stretched to swallow his dark, veiny girth. It was such a sight, the pale flesh looking nearly at the breaking point as he fed more and more of that thick length into her twat.
The sight of it only made him hornier, and he arched his back and bent down, biting her neck hard as he buried himself in fully. The rough imprints of his teeth marred her slender stalk.
No longer was she bossy. She apparently trusted him to understand her needs and desires, and the more he proved her right, the louder her moans and pants became. She was enthralled by the thick man, and she wriggled against him, trying to help him sink deeper and deeper into her depths.
There wasn’t the slightest of pauses after he bottomed out his cock inside her when he began to tug back, the tacky, tight walls of her cunt snugly pulling at him as he began to pump his meat into that sleeve. With a loud, husky groan, he continued, his pace growing, becoming harder, more merciless as he took her faster.
That broad chest of his heaved as he looked down, diving in to kiss and nip at her hard as his one free hand gropes her tits like an angry, needy young man would upon his first time.
Her body sang of his pleasures, her nerves tingling as her form arched and yielded to his more powerful muscles. The longer he fucked her, the wetter she became, urging his rough pace to continue unhindered by the fear of harming her delicate slit.
The rapid pistoning of his manhood was spreading that slick honey across that tight cock sheath of hers. Leon was rocking back and forth, his whole body rife with deliciously taut and bulging black muscles as he rutted into her.
There was no reservation in his actions, he was riding her hard and fast, no attempt to satisfy her as he would most women. For he knew she got her satisfaction from being used. From being dumped in and told what to do.
“Squeeze me tighter,” he demanded, “milk it out of me,” his voice a dark husk as his dick throbbed within her.
She obediently squeezed her lower muscles, her jaw tightening as she focused upon the task, holding her breath and putting every ounce of energy into squeezing his cock. Her legs loosened against his back to allow him greater range of motions, and her eyes stared up at him so lovingly.
There was no return look of tenderness or longing to greet her back though, just his hard, chiselled face contorted in growing pleasure as he pounded into that tight cunt of hers. The strikes were jarringly hard now, rocking her whole form despite the resistance of her milking sleeve. He was breathing huskily, his dark balls slapping against her less noisily as they began to tighten.
She was already so tight to his large size, the extra squeeze was excessive. In no time he was bucking wildly into her, his mouth open as he grunted and groaned in a lewd, harsh tone as the eruption of his seed flooded into her in a creamy white stream.
Her eyes stayed glued to him as he found his pleasure in her, a smile parting her lips that was bordering on triumphant. She squeezed him harder as though in thanks, finally sucking in a long, hard breath and exhaling a low moan.
Relief crossed his face as he finished unloading into her fertile depths, and his whole broad form relaxed a little, muscles losing their tension. Shifting to the side, he appeared like a mountain about to topple over, but his thick arm took her with him and he pulled her on top of him, still joined at their loins.
“Don’t worry,” he stated heavily, his breathing still elevated as he kissed her hair, “you’ll always be mine. All mine. With only the worries of an owned woman from now on.” And he squeezed her tighter, crushing her to him.
With his words, she clutched his spent cock harder, her hands seeking out his arms and shoulders.
Perhaps it had been her difficult life, always being forced by her sister to be more aggressive and in control. Maybe it was just who she was, and everything else was just an attempt to be someone else.
But when it came down to it, she was his. As their naked bodies pressed together, he could tell that everything in her sang to be his; to have him control and breed her. To keep her here in his makeshift home, in the wastes of civilization, and to be the first in his harem.
Dreams do come true.
END
***
-- Now Available --
Chanting the Ancient Lay (When Dreamers Wake Book Two)
About the Authors:
J.E. & M. Keep love to combine fantasy, scifi, horror, romance and mystery into exciting and titillating novels.
They are long term, loving partners in a very happy relationship and because of this, they love to torture their characters. Dark romance touches all of their stories in one way or another, from elicit trysts to forbidden love.
Some of their work contains dubious consent and erotic pain, so it’s not for the faint of heart. Their stories are often called twisted and arousing – at the same time.
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AMAZON
***
Acid (Dark Moon Pack)
Episode One
By Pop Cherry
1
The winds were perilous the afternoon I installed the miniservs along the coast of the West End. Fiery and volatile, I imagined them to have a kind of personality and malefic intent. They were easily the stuff of nightmares – the sort of loud crashing brutes that kept children wide-eyed and awake in their beds.
But that was the way of things, wasn't it? The world hadn't always been like this, but here we were. Apparently at its end, or the precipice of some, dark, malevolently “new beginning.”
Contemplating the acidic ferocity of the wind as it howled and whipped the proud, burn-speckled crowns of the leaning trees into a frenzy, I pulled a burst of cherry-explosion vapor cloud onto my tongue and made my way back into the bunker I utilized for these missions, taking a cautionary glance around me before I did.
I wasn't alone, but it just pays to double-check your surroundings.
There was always a bio-rover assigned to stand guard, but they possessed ailing conversational skills, devoid of personalities as they mostly were, and even this one couldn't protect us from the real rovers.
That's why we were ordered to stay inside at night. The sentient Rovers were out. You could hear the roar of their motorcycles speeding over the plains, their operators in search of new brothers, and female vessels, to add to their ranks.
The Advisory Council reported three bitten and fallen into their ranks already in the last day. A sad state, but surely better than drinking poison air until your lungs gave out. At least the rover bite would fortify the victims. They were a savage bunch, but built to survive.
I'd never been a fan of the bio-tech genetic manipulations that were responsible for the beasties we were always seeking to avoid close encounters with when we ventured out into the world. But even they had their uses.
Opening the potion trunks, I set them on their sides, display-style, for any customers that might brave the scorching heat this afternoon.
“Got anymore of that tonic?”
I jerked out of my thoughts at the sound of Harlan's voice, forcing an immediately easy smile to my face. The necromancer was always a pleasant sight. My heart even stuttered a little meeting his ey
es. But I drew myself up against what by now was surely a regular reaction to any handsome man who crossed my path.
Gods, I'd been alone for far too long.
My eyes centering in on the cherry red of his beestung lips as he spoke, I admired the self-assured way he pushed through the small hint of self-conscious reservation that kept him human, despite him being a kind of demi-god at the ripe ol' age of 21.
I liked him a lot.
He wasn't preoccupied with appearances and the need to assert dominance like some of the other survivalists we'd all become since the bio-tech boys opened a formidable chasm into the earth, ripping a streak into the subtle dimensions, as it were. I felt comfortable with him, like he had everyone's best interests at heart.
It was a nice quality. A rare one.
Lifting his flask, he drew what was apparently the last sip of the Muskein brew I spent most of my time distilling in the repository and tipped the flask over.
“Thanks. I'm fresh out.”
He smirked. It caused his dimples to pop out from the smooth of his sculpted cheeks. Heart thumping anew, I turned my attention to the order book at the edge of the front counter and flipped it open to the most recent logs. We kept track of everything we used here. There was no way around it when resources were as scarce as they were. What some people considered affluence, we saw as a lifestyle we needed to constantly nurture to maintain.
That meant work. Hard work. For everyone.
“Do you have a run order?”
I felt bad even asking, but I had to check for the necessity. Muskein was expensive to make, and it was medicinal, the only thing we'd found that protected the lungs from the acidic air of the region. If we hoped to live past middle age, we needed to take care how much we doled out from a potentially depletable resource.
My eyes rose up to the flip of Harlan's fingers, finding the run order ticket just inches away. He grinned and pushed it closer, biting his lower lip in that casual, sexy way that made me weaker at the knees than I needed to be.
Harlan was a runner, the kind that might not come back one day. If you asked my colleagues, I could choose more wisely should I find myself in the market for a potentially lasting mate.
And I would be, not right away or anything, of course.
I surely wasn't aiming to join the bat-shit crazy commune leeching on the city's most innocent, and intellectually challenged youth.
“I can give you... five flasks, maybe six, if you think you'll really need it for these runs.”
A serious flare took his gaze, but he caught the show of tension and shook it off, the congenial version of Harlan quickly rising to the forefront of his expression.
“I'll take as much as you're willing to give.”
A hollow pang seized my gut hearing the words.
I hadn't meant to rattle him, to remind him of what he was heading back into when my booth was meant to be not only a resource, but a reprieve from the bad memories that tinged the world in which we were cast, a perilous shade of gray.
Runners, especially, saw the worst of things as they scoured the chaos flats for every dropped bit of magic, every potentially useful thing.
“I'm throwing in a Canniba tonic. But keep that between us,” I offered after a few seconds had passed, my hands already seizing the clasp of the box of muskein tea I was charged to keep under strong locks.
When I lifted my eyes to him again, I saw that my small gesture had won me a smile.
~
“You've got a glimmer in your eye.”
I swear, Ed caught everything. He watched me closely, leaning against my makeshift order counter with a tilted flask. Loosing a slight grunt and a ticking, scrape-like clearing of the throat, my old mentor set a scratched, green-metal tin onto the surface of my booth.
“You make the best.”
“Learned from the best.”
“What do I owe you?”
“This one's on me.”
A sly smirk crossed his face, and eyes flicking to the stool set off to the thin bunker wall, he reached an arm out and pulled it closer to my open cases and order book. You had to be ready to close shop, and that meant traveling shelves that snapped closed, locked and handed easily.
A slight grunt escaped my old mentor as he slid onto the stool. His cool, moss green eyes meeting mine next as he drew out his vaporizer.
“You getting tired of this racket, yet?”
I grinned, drawing out a rag from the side pocket of the first collapsing shelf lining my booth. Lifting up the more expensive tonic bottles one by one, I increased the shine of their metal tops and wiped away any errant imprints from the oils of client fingertips.
These brews took forever to make, and presentation was essential to ensuring they sold. There were a lot of asshole merchants selling trumped up, watered-down versions of Advisory Council approved brands.
I built my reputation by putting in the work to brew and distill the best.
“Gotta uphold the family name,” I answered with a grin.
It was an inside joke. The family name had long borne its tarnishes. I might be interested in resurrecting it, but in the end, we all knew the Advisory Council held the most sway over the minds of our competitive, magical populace.
If the council wanted the official record to say that my father was a failure, most would insist it must be the correct account – no matter the evidence against it. I wanted his image restored. And more than that, I intended to see that his genius was acknowledged if I could manage to climb the ladder of social standing and stack enough credits to win an Advisory Council seat.
My heart wasn't set on it, of course. But it gave me the direction I needed to keep going.
Turning my attention from Ed's all-seeing eyes, I filled his flask with a healthy ten-serving of muskein brew, and he let a few moments pass without challenging my funny,but-not-funny response. I appreciated that about him. He always respected the line, no matter who you were.
His questions were well meaning and sincere. If he asked about you, he really wanted to know. If he offered help, it was because he wanted to. I couldn't have asked for a better mentor at the repository.
It came as quite a surprise when he quietly left his esteemed position there. I'd never asked him why; I knew the lines, too, but I was still curious enough about it.
“One muskein tea, Sir,” I offered, sliding the flask towards him with a tick of a grin.
“Your father brought a hell of a man into the fold. I don't think I ever prepared or encountered muskein as good as yours,” he praised looking me over. “You're definitely better than the Advisory Council deserves...”
A ticking laugh that quickly morphed into a raspy rumble shook him mid-sentence, and he lifted the flask to take a small, careful swig. Eyes glassy from the exertions of his lungs, he gave me a small smile.
My gut flared reactively, but I hid the anger that rose up to knot in my throat. I absolutely hated seeing what this poisoned version of the world did to the people I loved.
As always, Ed saw through my facade with little trouble.
“Don't you worry about me, Kid. I already had my time.”
Swallowing my response, I nodded, averting my eyes to the sales trunks, where I snatched up the rag and set to rubbing off any remaining smudges on the bottles.
“You shine those anymore, you're gonna wear into the glass. Take a break. You want a distraction? How 'bout I bore you to tears with tales of the good old days?”
A smirk ticked my cheek.
“That's what I thought.”
~
I slept fitfully that night, but it wasn't for long.
A gurgling howl ripped through the still air of the night, shaking me from sleep like the hand of a giant hoisting up a rag doll. My eyes pricked open. Wide.
Setting my feet to the floor, I pushed myself up to a sitting position.
A chill trembling through me, I realized my back was drenched in sweat.
The wind was more fitful than usua
l, and the sharp acidic taste of metal filled my mouth. Attempting to gulp in air, my breath took into a near-instant stutter.
The scent in the air might have told me everything I needed to know about the threat, but it was foreign. I wrinkled my nose in reaction. The stench of rotten things spoiling in the insufficient fires of my belly shot me up from my cot.
I'd only had a few confrontations with the hybrids and undead who haunted the outposts and more treacherous regions, but I'd been part of a team then. There's an easier sense of well-being when there's more than one head put to a matter.
Sucking in my gut, I shrugged the thin, blue blanket from my shoulders and reached immediately for my trousers, thankful I'd chosen not to be orderly before crawling onto my cot. My boots were next, and my fingers shook awfully as a howling screech that sounded like angry wind rang my ears.
Fuck.
Swallowing my nerves, I willed my body to still, drawing up whatever calm I could snatch from my inner world.
I reminded myself I was trained for this.
Throwing on my coat and taking my scanserv in hand, I flipped the screens until I found the bio-rover's blinking red light. If I was lucky, it would be all I needed to deal with whatever threat waited outside of the bunker. If I was unlucky... well, better not to think of alternate scenarios and give them any room to bloom.
Blinking, the screen of the scanserv flashed a local area map, setting the bio-rover's crimson dot just outside my door.
Shit.
That would explain why the infernal howling damn near punctured my ear-drum, but it didn't leave me a lot of room for catching the beastie by surprise. By now I was fairly certain it probably wasn't one of the undead hordes. They had a rather nasty gurgle and snap to their cries, something to do with decayed vocal chords that nature never intended them to use postmortem.