by Keep, J. E.
Fuck, it worked before. "I’ve never gone all the way," she whined, squirming backwards again, "I can do other stuff! I’m good at that!"
It worked, in that he bought it. The gleam in those dark hazel eyes of his attested to it as he bent over her, sliding his thick girth along her slit. "Too perfect," he said, the weight of that thick cock against her quim so pronounced. "This will really prove you mean it then," he said with a lick of his lips, rocking his hips so that the bulbous tip of his manhood positioned itself at her entrance.
She gasped as she felt that familiar, solid heat run against her slick body, and her elbows dug into the mattress. It wasn’t that she was aroused, necessarily, but she couldn’t say that she was exactly dreading it. The guilt in her stomach kept turning as she was unable to push Grent’s fate from her mind, but then, she didn’t have a choice. Not really.
She could fight and beg and run, and find herself in worse states. There were worse things than having a thick cock pushed between her legs, and as soon as the thought occurred to her, her mind raced back to her lover and tears welled in the corner of her eyes.
It happened then, and though it was far from the violent rape she feared when heading out into the Viles territory, it wasn’t exactly gentle either. Perhaps it was true to his words as he saw it–the abhorrent Nazir; rapist and killer–but his thick cock was pushed into her with a firm thrust so that it banged against her depths without being able to fit the entirety of it inside.
The powerful man gave such a loud, uninhibitedly lewd groan of pleasure at that, palming one of her breasts and squeezing as he ground himself against her. She could feel the weight of his balls resting against her ass and he kissed her lips firmly before tugging back and thrusting again.
She was most surprised by his kiss, and gasped against his mouth, her eyes shutting tightly as she whimpered beneath him. Her breathing was so fast, bringing her breast to his hand and drawing it away as she nearly began to hyperventilate. She shifted beneath him, trying to escape his length, and she felt... sore. It wasn’t the same as with the other two, though both had managed to tease and lick her to supreme wetness.
The dampness that only her cunt provided, given the stressful circumstances, was not enough to protect her from the large shaft’s tug, and as he began moving, her whimpers grew.
Knowing how he took his other women, it was no surprise he didn’t think this odd or peculiar. He merely thrust into her at that hard fast rate his warped mind thought constituted sweet and gentle, kissing her hard and gruffly, the musk of that barbarian all around her.
As the slaps of his sac striking her with each plunge of that thick, weapon of a cock, he slid his other hand along her body and over her arm. She didn’t notice his touches at first, then they became a faint tickle as the man activated the implant within her. Her bare arm lit up with a display of commands on her skin as he deactivated the protection that kept her safe from disease and unwanted pregnancy, all without missing a beat of that hard cock into her cunt.
She remained oblivious to his nefarious actions, her face plunging into her arm as she brought it over her face. Her long, wavy hair was wrapped around her face and neck, shielding her slightly from the vision of the powerful man claiming her.
With every thrust her frustrations and rage built; rage at herself for selling it so cheap once more, at her inability to escape. Frustration at how hard she was failing to live up to her own standards, and instead laying beneath a brute considering ruling a valley. All for what?
Atop her, the rutting savage's only response was to thrust harder, that thick, swelling cock throbbing inside her as the slaps slowly subsided with his balls contracting. His end was near, and he was huffing and groaning so loudly. Despite his civil way of speaking, when fucking he sounded every bit the animal he looked.
With a loud roar he buried himself into her, his fingers digging into her large breast so rough as he quaked with his release. Even Jarago felt gentle compared to this man’s use of her, his loins emptying themselves with such savage thrusts and twitches, all the while he grunted and amidst the gibberish she heard a "Take it, sweetie."
She felt that bile rise to her throat again and she tried to hold off the tears that scorched her eyes. If there was one thing she didn’t want, it was to seem weak in front of this brute. She pushed it all down and swallowed, letting out a final gasp as she felt him bottom out inside her.
It hurt, and she couldn’t help that her body squirmed, but she bit down against her scream.
Kissing her lips again, Nazir rubbed a hand over her blonde hair, stroking it in such an odd fashion. With his mouth open, breathing so heavily, he looked every bit the brute. "See," he said in a husky breathless voice at having just reached such heights of pleasure, "nice and gentle for your first time." He kissed her again, harder this time, forcing his tongue into her mouth for a while.
He silenced her no doubt witty response, and could taste the thick saliva that had pooled in her mouth. She tried to swallow it back, but it was difficult with that thick, hot muscle jammed along her tongue. Her breathing was caught in her throat and she struggled to get air through her nose.
It was such a crude and rough kiss, though finally when he broke it he gave his dick another push into her. The beast Nazir didn’t seem the cuddling type, but then she didn’t know he’d came in her with such cruel intent either. "It’ll only get better too," he assured her, and she noticed on his face that familiar look. Despite his size and strength, Nazir was older than her, at least twice her age, like Grent. And the lazy way his eyes remained open hinted at the weariness overcoming him after having his way with her, slowing his responses, dulling his senses.
"I bet," she murmured, still choking for breath as she looked at him. He was so exposed, and she wanted more than anything to take advantage of it. To hurt him. To escape and run for safety, yet to do so she’d have to go through hell, and she wasn’t leaving here naked with only a knife, abandoning all her friends, everyone she’d ever been close to, to wither and die.
But as he softened above her, her hand moved to his jaw, running along it. "That really fucking hurt."
With that touch along his jaw and her words he gave her a wide grin, "I know, sweetie," he said. "First time’s always do," and he continued to palm and massage her breast, lavishing in the feel of that large, supple mound. "It’ll get better though. Daddy promises," he said, his grin widening almost maliciously.
"That’s really fucking creepy," she murmured, her eyes narrowing sceptically. "Like... really, why would you say that?"
With a dark chuckle he lunged down, biting one of her breasts and suckling it hard. Tugging on the supple teat he let it snap back before speaking, "Ah, sweetie," he began, his cock having softened in her, but not beyond twitching a bit with some unknown excitement. "Didn’t want to spoil the mood beforehand," he said, burying his face into her neck, kissing and suckling at her flesh.
"The fuck," she squirmed, her hands pushing against his chest. Her face was red with anger, and she looked almost as though she was going to choke. Her voice was shrill as she screamed at him, "You’re a fucking monster!"
So much stronger than her, he didn’t let up. Keeping her pinned beneath him he mashed her breasts against his palm and chest, sucked and bit at her neck before he muttered, "It’s okay. It doesn’t change anything. Only makes it better," he said with a satisfied groan, taking sick joy in it.
She was so distraught with her rage she almost didn’t see it, but over the back of Nazir–her supposed father–crept the slender, familiar form of Marim. Armed with only the bottle of wine, grasped by the handle, the trembling young man crept closer towards them.
"It does fucking too change shit," she screamed, her head nodding almost frantically to Marim. Her face was red and she could feel the bile rising in her throat. Her hands began clawing at the brute of a man, and her nails dug into the leg that didn’t contain the weapon, her other reaching more deftly for the blade.
Mar
im continued without pause, though he never stopped shaking. He was always a crummy fighter. He never fared well in their lessons and training sessions, and except for the excuse for the two to roll around and touch one another, he always hated them at that.
Before he could get there, however, her nimble fingers deftly slipped the long knife from its sheath. He never noticed, he was too wrapped up in his sick revelry, husking disgusting words of assurance mixed with plans of their future incestuous defilements he never sensed it at all.
She could have picked a better angle, but as she slammed the blade into his neck, spattering her in gore, it did the trick. Even though angry tears burned at her, she never let go the knife, twisting it brutally before gasping, as if suddenly realizing what she’d done.
His confession, his sick, brutal use of someone he professed to be his kin had brought something disgusting to the surface of her, and she tried to push herself free of his naked, spent body.
She was a mess of blood and semen–like the man himself was in life and death–but her strength proved true. Fit and capable, she managed to get his sputtering form off her. All his strength and authority did him no good as he clasped for his neck, falling away to die on the floor.
And before her stood Marim. The bottle dropped from his hand, shattering as he stood dumbfounded. Seeing anyone in pain, let alone dying–even this man–was almost too much for the wide-eyed youth, leaving him looking catatonic as she freed herself.
She grabbed the blade, staring down at the dying man, and tears glistened in her eyes. It was almost something sweet, as though she had wanted something more from him before she turned to Marim. "That sick fuck told me he was my father after raping me. He deserves it. Where’s everyone else?" she slapped his face to get his attention.
It took a slap to get him out of it, none of her words seeming to have registered with him. Shocked at the strike he looked at her, sputtering, "They- they’re down... down below," he said, swallowing heavily. As pretty as he was, he was just as useless in the face of violence, "He’s keeping them in a large hall beneath that... that throne room of his," he explained, those emerald eyes wide and panicked as if he saw through her.
"And how do I get there, huh? We gotta move fast. Are there any weapons in this place?" She was all calm composure, her drive shining through as she gave a quick glance over the room.
"There’s nothing," he said in that spacey breathless voice of his, still unable to get himself together any more than this as he tried not to stare at the dying body. And looking around her, she saw nothing. Nothing at all. The room barren but for the useless artefacts of old humanity accumulated so haphazardly about the room: pillows and bed sheets.
"Marim, I need you to fucking snap out of it. Our people are holed up in a prison and they need us, you got me? Just fucking... can you get me out of these fucking cuffs?" She couldn’t stop cursing. It was the only thing holding her together.
Slowly he trailed his eyes to her shackles. Nodding he said, "Yeah, I saw where he keeps–" then realization dawned on him and he pointed to the bleeding out husk that was her captor. "In his wrist cuff," Marim muttered meekly.
She moved to the body, trying not to look at him as she fumbled for the keys. Her breathing was a bit faster and she kept her newfound knife poised and ready.
They weren’t hard to find, merely tucked against him by the pressure of the leather bands about his wrists. Before she could take them away, his powerful grip caught her wrist, and he gave her a wide-eyed pleading gaze as life–and his final words–bubble from him uselessly.
She stared down at him and his last view of this world was a look of apologetic sympathy tinged with anger. Things could have gone so much sweeter between them. Yanking her hand away, she turned her head from him and almost looked like she was wording a prayer before unshackling herself.
Marim had been watching her, so confused and terrified, he didn’t seem to understand any of what happened. Weakly he lifted a hand, pointing towards the exit, "I’ll... I’ll know the way downstairs."
"Awesome. Will we be passing many of the Viles? Listen, if they come up, you just follow my lead, alright? I got this, Marim. I’ll get you out of this." She was completely oblivious to the cum running down her legs, the blood smearing her chest and stomach, and the sweat that filmed her body.
Marim wasn’t, however, and he had to try not to look at her, because it horrified him so. "I– I don’t know," he stammered, the two making their way out and down the hall, though she had to lead the way to get Marim to move at all. "I don’t see many in here," he said at last.
"Good," she followed his ‘lead’, even though she was out in front, "Just tell me where to go, Marim. C’mon, you wanna be a doctor? You’re going to have to get used to death. Hopefully not our own..."
As they reached the bottom of the stairwell heading out into the main chamber, everything seemed clear. Making their way across the room, however, the red drapes that constituted the ‘door’ to the great hall–the once ‘throne room’–pushed open. A large and feral looking Vile stalked in, hunched over and looking menacing. He sighted them immediately and throwing back his head he looked ready to let loose a cry that would wake the whole of the colony.
The moment was almost frozen in time, for it had to be to see Grent moving so quickly. The man’s arms came around the thing and plunging a knife straight into its heart as he simultaneously covered the thing’s mouth, bringing it to a silent end.
Relief washed through her, though at the same time there was a moment of panic. Apparently her plan of just telling the Viles she was their new queen was not going to work. Still, Grent being alive counted for double.
"There are more in the basement. Do you know where our stuff is?" she asked, all business, even as she looked so damned happy to see him.
The older mercenary looked no worse for wear. In fact, he didn’t seem changed at all from when she last saw him, except he wasn’t toting his rifle at that moment.
With a flicker of his eyes over her he gave a serious nod, "I’ve scouted out the entire facility," he said firmly coming towards them. "There should be two Viles down there now," and he nodded to her knife then gave her such a reassuring smile, unfazed by her nudity and the gore upon her.
"Guess we’ll have enough hands to tote back the supplies after all." His smile was uneven despite his deep, serious voice, able to inject some humour despite the situation.
It was likely one of the reasons she’d grown so fond of him, "Fuck yes we will. Alright, so just two. That’s not bad. Wish we had our guns. Marim’s useless in these types of situations, but he’s a great nurse. Marim, meet Grent," she smiled brightly, her eyes nearly twinkling despite the dire situation. She really did love the man. "You go in first, you’re better at this. I’ll try not to get knocked out again."
Grent cleaned the blade of his knife on a rag after giving Marim a look over and a nod. "What’d I tell you about guns?" he said, smiling at her with that look of deep affection tinged with admiration. Something told her he had some clue about how she’d navigated her own way this far out of hell though he undoubtedly didn’t know the details. "Knives are better," he said, heading off towards the stairs.
"Yea well, still. I like something I can wrap both hands around," she teased, following his procession with the knife held firmly in her hand. Her heart pounded and she pushed her hair from her eyes, adrenaline pumping through her veins.
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