Page 67 of My Wedding Night Massacre

I set a pace that matches everything he gave me. Brutal, relentless, no mercy. I lift until just the tip of him remains inside me, feeling my pussy flutter around the head of his cock, then drive back down with all my strength, my thighs slapping against his, the wet sounds of my cunt taking him filling the room. Again. Again. My whole body working, my breasts bouncing with every drop, his hands gripping my hips, my hands braced on his chest, both of us chasing the same thing.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” I say.

“Pavlina.” His voice is a soft warning.

I slam down harder. “Not yet.”

He makes a sound that’s half laugh, half groan, and his hands tighten on my hips. I feel his cock swell inside me, harder and thicker, and I grind down and roll my hips and take everything, my cunt stretched tight around him, the obscene wet sounds of us together loud enough to fill the whole room.

The orgasm builds fast and mean, the pressure of it enormous, my thighs shaking with effort. I drive down onto him twice more, hard, brutal, taking him as deep as my body will allow, and then it breaks, my cunt clamping down around his cock, my whole body seizing, a sound tearing out of me that bounces off the stone walls.

I keep riding him through it. Through every wave, through the oversensitivity, through the shaking and the clenching, I keep moving because I want him to feel all of it, every pulse of my pussy around his cock, every aftershock.

His hands go brutal on my hips, gripping the full curves of them, fingers digging in deep.

“Now,” he says, and pulls me down hard, seating me completely on his cock, grinding up into me once, twice, his hips rolling with everything he has left.

Then he lifts me off him.

It happens fast, his hands moving me like I weigh nothing, depositing me onto my back beside him. He’s on his knees over me before I’ve finished landing, his hand already wrapped around his cock, stroking hard and fast, the head of him aimed at my belly.

He comes with his eyes on my face.

The first stripe hits my stomach before he’s finished getting his hand around himself, hot and thick, painting me from navel to ribs. He strokes again, and the next comes harder, a long, hot pulse landing across my belly and dripping down my side. His jaw is tight, a low broken sound tearing out of him with every wave, his cock jerking in his fist, and he aims each one, covering my stomach, my hip, the soft curve of my waist, marking every inch of me he can reach. I feel each stripe land, warm and wet and heavy, the heat of it spreading across my skin. His hand keeps moving, wringing every last drop out, his eyes on my face the entire time, watching me take it.

He strokes through the last of it, his thumb dragging across the head of his cock, a final bead welling up that he presses against my skin with his fingertip, adding it to everything else.

Then he spreads his palm flat across my stomach, sliding through what he’s spilled, spreading it slowly and possessively across my skin.

He moves up my body.

His hands find my breasts, gripping them, pressing them together, the soft weight of them filling his palms. He looks down at what he’s made of me, stomach painted with his cum, chest in his hands, and something in his face shifts into something I don’t have a word for.

He presses his cock between my breasts.

I feel him there, slick with his own cum, still half hard, the thick length of him sliding between them as he rocks his hips forward. His hands squeeze my breasts tighter around him, and he moves, slow first, his cock dragging through the soft channel he’s made, the head of him appearing and disappearing at my throat. I look down and watch it, watch him fuck my breasts with the cum still wet on my stomach, his jaw tight, his eyes dropping to where his cock is moving between my tits.

He rolls his hips, finding a rhythm, his hands gripping me harder. I feel him stiffen again against my skin, his cock thickening as he moves, the slick heat of him dragging back and forth. I press my chin down, and on his next stroke, I put my tongue against the tip as it appears, tasting him, tasting what’s already on my skin.

His exhale comes out jagged.

He does it again, his hips rolling forward, and I meet the head of his cock with my mouth, lips closing around just the tip, sucking once before he draws back. His hands tighten on my breasts, crushing them around him, his rhythm stuttering.

“Pavlina.” My name, wrecked.

He pulls back from my breasts, his hand wrapping around his cock, and strokes twice, fast and hard, aiming up. The last of him hits my face, a hot stripe across my cheek and lips, and I close my eyes and take it, feeling it land, feeling him groan above me as he empties the last of what he has onto my skin.

When I open my eyes he’s looking down at me with both hands braced on either side of my head, his breathing wrecked, his cock spent in his fist. He looks at my face, at what he’s left there, and his jaw tightens with something that isn’t apology and isn’t regret. It’s possession, complete and absolute, the look of a man who has marked what’s his and finds nothing wrong with the evidence of it.

His thumb moves across my cheek, spreading it slightly, then he leans down and puts his mouth there, his lips moving across my skin, tasting himself on me.

He pulls back and cups his fingers, gathering what remains on my stomach, and presses it slowly inside me. His fingers push deep, working it into my pussy, his eyes still on mine, his face still open in the way it only ever is in rooms with me. I feel him fill me with what’s already his and my breath comes out shaky.

“There,” he says.

Afterwards, he gets a cloth from the bathroom, comes back, and cleans me with both hands, moving across my skin. I watch the ceiling and feel the warmth of it, the warmth of him beside me.

“I love you,” I say. It comes out quiet, not trembling, just true. “I never stopped. Through all of it, through everything he made me do, everywhere he made me go, and every morning I woke up and had to build myself back up from nothing. It was always you. It was only ever you.”