2 comments/ 27435 views/ 13 favorites The Scream By: aussie_101 She was screaming. She was yelping. She was howling with unabashed, unrestrained, almost agonised delight, her back arching and her hands clasping my head as I continued applying the fine art of cunnilingus even as she came. And she kept coming, because I gave her no rest or reprieve, until finally her cries were sufficiently coarse and ragged; I decided to spare her, and I let her wind down a little, her cries turning to gasps and her back returning to the bed. "Oh my," she finally said. "Oh boy, you are good at that." "Mmm hmm," I agreed, with a triumphant grin. "I do love to hear you scream." She rolled her eyes. "Why is it that I'm always the only one who screams?" "Because I've usually got my mouth full." "No, you dickhead," she chided, digging at me with her elbow as I clambered up the bed to join her at the pillows. "I mean when we're shagging, or when I go down on you, you hardly make a sound. When we shag you're almost stony-faced and stoic." "Only because I'm concentrating on pleasuring you," I defended myself. "Alright then: what about when I'm playing the skin-flute? The best I get out of you are a few little gasps and a grunt, and that's if I'm lucky." "What can I say?" I said. "I must just have a whole lot of self-control." "Well that's no fun," she pouted. "What have I got to do to make you scream? What am I doing wrong? I haven't got a sloppy cock-sucking technique, have I?" "No, no," I assured her emphatically. "You suck cocks with the best of them, dear. A champion cock-sucker. I oughta get you a trophy." She looked a little unconvinced. "Well, what about our shagging? Is there anything more I can do? I'm not boring in bed, am I?" "What, are you kidding?" I said. "You're a top shag, love! I swear!" "But I wanna make you squeal, and yell, and beg for mercy, like you make me do!" she said. "Is there nothing that makes you scream?" One thing occurred to me, but I instantly resolved not to mention it. She must have seen something in my face, though: "There IS something!" she cried, and she started poking and prodding at me, as though she could dislodge the secret with her fingers. "Come on: spill it." "No." "Spill it!" "No! There's nothing!" "There is! Tell me," she warned, "or you'll never make me scream again." I hate it when she threatens to withhold sex, because when she says she will, she does. Usually when my past girlfriends have threatened to withhold, I've been able to tempt it out of them anyway, but this one is a hell of a lot more stubborn than the previous girls. It's probably one of the reasons why I like her so much. "Okay," I relented. "Oh goody!" she squealed joyously, and clapped her hands like an excited child. "Go on: what makes you scream?" I sighed. I didn't really want to go down this path, but hey: it might prove to be fun. "Wanking," I confessed. She blinked. "What, that's all?" she said. "Wanking?" "Yes." "Just a hand job?" "Well, not 'just' a hand job," I said. "There's a bit of technique in it." "And you're gunna teach it to me?" she asked, with a naughty little grin. "Looks like it. Well, come on," I said, getting out of bed and heading into the ensuite. "Come and learn from the master." She followed me in, not even pausing to put any clothes back on, and I cast an appreciative eye over her naked body. "Righto," she said, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "What's first?" "Well, warm me up with a bit of a snogging first," I suggested. "Good idea," she agreed, and we kissed for a while: naked skin against naked skin, my hands brushing along her face and through her hair, her finger-tips tracing along my back and making my skin tingle. Kissing this girl is always an arousing experience, and it wasn't long before she glanced downwards at my rising pride. "Looks like we're about ready to start," she observed, in a marvellously husky voice. "Yep, just about ready," I agreed. I turned my back on her, and she moved in closer, pressing herself up against my back and reaching around my hips. "Start out nice and slow," I suggested. "Just get acquainted with the boss down there; use your fingertips, like you were doing on my back just then." She followed my suggestion, using her fingertips to explore my lower pelvic area ever so gently. Her fingers brushed lightly through my pubes; they traced a path up and down my shaft; and they danced ever so gently across the tightly-drawn skin of my scrotum, the sensitive skin tingling electrically and forcing me to repress a little shudder. "You like that, don't you?" she observed, looking me in the eye via the bathroom mirror. "I always have," I confessed. "I've always known," she grinned, doing it again and making me tremble a little more at the exquisite sensation. "Okay, moving along..." I said, and I grabbed the pump-top liquid hand wash dispenser. "Here we have the miracle oil for all secret wankaholics." "Ah, so that's what it's for," she said. "And here I am thinking you only used it to wash your hands." "Well, it's good for that too," I allowed, pretending to ignore her sarcastic teasing. "Versatile stuff, this liquid soap. Now: go ahead and get yourself a couple of squirts." She did, and without any prompting she went and lathered up her hands, with a very naughty grin. "And just before you go crazy," I added, as she went straight for my cock with her soaped-up hands, "I'll let you in on the technique." "Lemme guess: pump like mad?" "Oh contraire," I averred. "Slow and sensual is the way to screaming and shouting. You could drive up and down on me like a piston in a racing engine, and I'll come in thirty seconds, but it'll be a pretty cheap and shallow orgasm. But: if you stroke me slowly, and sweetly, and lovingly, the pleasure builds up but the juices stay down, so to speak." "I think I get you," she said. "How's this?" And, with her hands clasped around me, she ran her hands from the tip of my penis oh-so-slowly down the length of me, coming to the base of my shaft and cusping her soapy digits about my balls. My eyes were wide with surprise and pleasure. "That's good," I said. "That's very good. In fact that's it, that's the very way to do it. Have you done this before?" "Perhaps," she allowed, but she didn't say any more, and frankly I didn't care to hear more; instead, she ran her hands back upwards, slowly and surely as before, and pausing only momentarily at the head she went back down again. I settled back a little more into her arms, closing my eyes in deep contentment as she applied her ministrations. It was clear that she was enjoying her task; when you're getting up close and personal with someone, you can always tell if they're into the activity or not. If they're enjoying it as much as you are, that heightens your own enjoyment: it's something that you're doing together, and enjoying together, and that makes it all the more special. Conversely, if they're a little bored or even unwilling, that detracts from your enjoyment and you start to wonder if there's any point. But we were both getting into this and enjoying it, very much so; we were sharing something new, a private little secret of mine that had become a private little secret of ours. And while I knew she was hoping for a bit of screaming and shouting and the pulling of funny faces on my part, I didn't want to make any promises: I'm a little shy about that sort of thing, and I have never really made much noise or fuss in the presence of another person. Not just because it would be a little embarrassing, but also because I like to think I'm almost always in control of my faculties, and I didn't know if I'd like to be seen losing control. So I was just going to wait and see what happened. But she was doing very, very well, and I think we both knew it. I could tell she was finding enjoyment in taking her time, getting to know my member in a bit more detail; she was exploring me slowly with her fingers, tracing all of the contours and bulging veins as though she was trying to decipher something that had been written in brail upon my cock. "How am I doing?" she purred. "Very nicely," I said, reaching back to run my hand up and down her thigh. "I'm not hearing any noises yet..." "It takes time, sweetheart." Whether by accident or design, she had managed to get the perfect amount of soap onto her hands: there was not so little that there was too much friction, nor so much that there was nothing but a huge layer of lubricant between us. We were greased up just right, and I could feel the texture of her skin as she kept going, slowly, up and then down, up and then down, with the momentary cusping of my balls each time she got to the bottom of the shaft. "You're growing," she said. "Am I?" I looked down to see. "Well, so I am." "Then I must be doing something right." "You bet you are." It was a phenomenon we had seen before, especially when she was going down on me: I have an average girth, maybe around seven inches or so, but when things are really going my way I can, and do, get bigger. We've seen eight inches from the thing, maybe more: it's not like we've ever felt inclined to reach for the ruler, I'm talking in educated guesses, of course. And she was right: it was doing its 'let's get a little bigger' trick, and relatively early in the piece too, which boded well for the way ahead. Onwards she wanked, and further into her arms I settled, eyes closed again with the wondrous sensations she was provoking. "You certainly look content," she observed. "I am..." I murmured. "Want me to do anything different? Bit faster, maybe?" "Patience, my pet," I soothed. "That's the temptation we have to fight: wanting to go faster, to get it done quicker. We could do that, could do it easy, but the longer we stay at this rhythm and tempo, the better it feels. Trust me." "Okay," she said. And on we went; I shut my mind to the passage of time, aware only of the movement of her hands upon my shaft, her naked body pressed against my back, her chin resting on my shoulder as she watched me in the mirror. Gradually my breathing deepened, and my head started tilting back a little further, as the pleasure built up and began to spread, a marvellously warm feeling radiating from my member into my hips and permeating throughout my body. "I've never seen you worked up this much," she said. "But still no screaming..." "You keep prompting me to scream and it won't happen," I said. "Try something a little different now: go a little quicker on the stroke, but pause a bit longer between strokes, and maybe squeeze a little harder." She frowned at my complex instructions. "Quicker strokes...longer pauses..." "And harder." "Like this?" She did it perfectly, and my eyes flicked open as I gasped a little. "Yep," I said, letting my eyes flutter closed again. "Like that." And she kept doing it like that: with the faintest amount of increased pressure, she inched up my shaft, and then down again, provoking a ragged intake of breath each time she did. After each upstroke she'd tease the swollen, sensitive head of my cock for a little, then after the downstroke she'd tickle my balls ever so gently, which was feeling better and better as my cock slowly became more engorged, which in turn pulled my sack tight across my balls, like a drum. I was biting my lip now as she kneaded and teased my knob, and when she did that trick with my balls my whole body would snap tense as I tingled, head-to-toe, breathless with unspeakable pleasure. She was getting to me, in the same way I always got to her: she was inflicting such incredible sensations upon me in such a tender, loving fashion that I was almost being goaded into submission, my inhibitions were dissolving, and my control was gradually disappearing. Occasionally I would open my eyes, to look into hers via the mirror. She was looking pretty pleased with herself, and when I'd look at her she'd look back with a cheeky little grin of triumph; I'd shake my head, but I couldn't keep myself from matching that infectious grin of hers. My pleasure, which was building up with each stroke and tickle, was starting to grow faster, to increase a little bit more each time than the last. I had long since passed the point where, had I been doing this alone, I would have lost patience and beat myself into a climax; at this slow-and-steady pace my pleasure could build up without limits, keep bottling up without exploding. It's a curious ability I have, to be able to keep doubling my pleasure without release if manipulated at this speed and with this style, and I don't know if it's unique to me or common to all guys; all I know is that I don't often build myself up too far, simply because I become too impatient for the orgasm and I can't hold myself back very long. But here, she was in control; she was pulling the strings and running the show, and all I could do was get a firm grip on the bathroom sink and hang on tight. I was breathing very raggedly now; my breath was catching a little in my throat on every other breath, and when she tickled my balls my entire being tingled with electricity, and I gaped in a silent, strangled gasp of exquisite pleasure. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned at the never-before-seen state I was in. "Oh yeah," I assured her, somewhat tremulously. "You seem to need this orgasm pretty bad..." she observed. "Should I just beat it out of you?" "No," I said, firmly. "If I come now, I won't scream; you'll probably only get a few grunts and a squeak. You have to keep doing exactly what you're doing, at this exact pace and this exact style, until I'm a quivering mess - an absolutely out-of-control, uninhibited beast. You got me?" "I got you," she nodded, knowingly. And onwards we went together, as she continued to stroke, knead, stroke, tickle, and repeat; and I held on to the sink for a bit of balance, and braced against her naked body for a bit more. I revelled in every aspect of the situation: her hands lovingly caressing my growing member, her breasts soft as they squished against my back, her nipples hard and erect - betraying her arousal - and digging little indentations into my shoulders, the soft curve of her cute little tummy nestled up against the small of my back, and her furry little strip of pubic hair tickling my buttocks. She was such a sexy bit of gear, and her proximity heightened my enjoyment. My pleasure was increasing faster still, each stroke feeling better than the last, and each gentle caress of my tingling scrotum now provoking a whispered sigh. It was starting to build a little too fast now, and I was worried I would suddenly come before I truly lost control. "We need to slow down," I said, breathing hard. "Slightly longer pauses between strokes, and perhaps a bit less of that funky stuff you're doing as well." "What, don't you like it?" she said, looking a little dismayed. "No no, I love it," I promised her, reaching back to caress her cheek reassuringly. "I love it too much, that's the problem; a bit of it every now and again, say between every other stroke, is good; but too much will push me over the edge before I truly go wild." "Ah, I see," she said, and with a wicked little smile she changed her technique accordingly. It wasn't long before we were back in the zone, as she settled into her new rhythm and I got back on the boil. My muscles were beginning to tighten involuntarily, across my shoulders, my chest and my abdomen. Every now and again a little moan would escape my mouth, but I was caring less and less each time. She freed up a hand to run it over my shoulders and across my chest in a reassuring fashion; I wanted to reach back and pull her even closer, and perhaps reach down and return the favour for a bit, but I seriously had to keep a hold of the sink for fear of swooning with pleasure. In retrospect, while it would have been nice to pleasure her while she was pleasuring me, it turned out well enough even though I didn't; we were focussed entirely upon my gratification, searching for that elusive scream, and we wanted no distractions. Things were still building up for me, not as disastrously quickly as before, but still in that same gradual yet exponential fashion. My breathing was truly ragged now, coming and going in very shaky inhalations and exhalations; my moaning came louder and more often, and I couldn't have stopped it even if I had wanted to. I tipped my head back to rest my ear against hers, and she responded by squeezing herself even harder against me as her hands continued moving expertly up and down my throbbing erection. Very suddenly, things took a dramatic turn; the pleasure had been building up fairly slowly, gradually becoming better and better, but now things were rising sharply. My mouth opened, and new noises started coming out: I was belting out a short, surprised "Oh..." with each stroke. She was starting to go harder now, with quicker strokes and less of a pause in between, but I made her slow down: "Not yet," I said, between gasps. "Keep to the beat, don't go faster yet." "My god," she said. "Look at yourself, will you?" I frowned, thinking she was going to pay me out about whatever faces of enjoyment I may have been pulling, but then I realised she was referring to my girth. I did look at myself, and boggled a little: I hardly recognised the thing, it was longer and harder and more swollen than I had ever seen before. "Well hello," I said. "There's a new personal best." I had an idea. "Whaddaya say, love: wanna get it in ya?" "Ooh, it's tempting," she said, with a small grin, "but I'm on a roll here: I wanna see how this turns out." "Suit yourself," I shrugged; I would have been just as happy either way, it was her choice. Onwards she went, and better and better it felt; I tried to keep my mouth closed, but I couldn't stop myself from making more noises: there was a muffled "mmm..." with each stroke, and a sharp intake of breath through my nose every time she caressed my sack. But it just kept getting better and better, each stroke sending waves of tingling pleasure across my skin and through my innards, and there was no way to help it; I was gasping now, moaning softly with each gasp, clinging desperately to the sink for balance. Physically, I maintained a tight grip on the sink, but metaphorically I had lost a grip on my self-control; my inhibitions, my embarrassment, my civility were slipping, almost completely stripped away in the face of her onslaught. I knew, and she knew, that she was gaining control over me; and what I had not expected was that I was enjoying it. I was glad to be under this amazing, intoxicating spell, and I really, really wanted her to drive me wild and make me lose control. "Having fun, dear?" she asked, with an enormously naughty grin. "Oh god yes," I gasped, as the pleasure became almost unbearable. "Oh," I added. "Oh!" I said again. "I think I'm just about ready." "Do you?" I gritted my teeth, letting loose with a tortured groan of exquisite sexual gratification. "Uh huh," I said. "You can finish me off now..." "Nuh uh," she said, shaking her head as she kept wanking, slowly, purposefully, fantastically. "Aw come on, love," I said, pleadingly, "I don't think I can stand much more of this... oohh... it's so exquisitely good, I can't stand it... oh!... honestly, hun, it's almost agony... ugh!" "That's right: time for a taste of your own medicine," she beamed viciously - and she started stroking me slower, the way we had started out, and it was driving me bonkers. The slower she went, the better - and worse - it felt. "You do this to me every time," she accused. "EVERY time! You push me so far beyond what I can take, you just keep going and going until I've screamed myself hoarse, every time - and you LOVE it." The Scream that Saved Them Neither Amy nor Ian knew how it had happened, though they had been practicing for seven years. They were arguing. Then they were shouting. Then she was packing and demanding a divorce. He called her a name. She hit him in the face. And just moments later they were naked and fucking like their lives depended on it. And perhaps they did -- at least their lives together. He leaned forward at the foot of the bed as she knelt on the duvet in front of him, and he fucked her with a contempt so pure it bordered on hatred. Slamming his cock hard and fast up and into the fecund pit of her cunt, he felt her tighten and grunt in pain every time the knob of his cockhead drove itself into the delicate bud of her cervix, and yet, in spite of the pain, she turned her ass high and opened herself to him as he fucked her. Arms splayed far to each side for balance, she gripped the sheets with white knuckles and braced herself on them every time he withdrew, knowing that one terrible, magnificent fraction of a second later his hands would tighten on her hips, he would pull himself forward, and drive his velvet-smooth rock of a cock back up and into her flesh. His testicles rocked backward and forward like pendulums under the horizontal beam of his dick, slapping upward under her thighs with each brutal thrust, and in spite of the sharp pain that came at the end of each delicious, vicious lunge into her vagina, Amy desperately wished that he could raise his testicles and bury them in her cunt too, filling her until it hurt so badly she screamed. She very much wanted to scream. After so many years of insincere civility between the two of them, she needed so very badly to scream. She wanted it so badly it was killing her, and she was desperately hoping Ian held the cure. He stood behind her, watching in detached contentment as the lips of her flared, shaved cockhole turned pink, then red, as he repeatedly and deeply impaled her body with his thick, glistening cuntfucker. Not caring for her ease, he pulled his cock completely out of her pussy with each thrust, admiring the wet, glowing, purple-veined length of it before shoving it cruelly back into the tight slit that led to the mouth of her vagina. He knew she would be chafing badly. He didn't care. This was how he liked to fuck. And, at long last, he simply didn't give a shit. He wanted so badly to not care -- to not give a good goddamn about whether she came, or whether she was happy, or whether she respected him -- that this was simply the way it was going to be. And if she didn't like it, she could scream all she wanted. Nothing was going to stop him from fucking her until the last drop of semen in his balls was spent, in exactly the way he wanted to spend it. In her cunt, up her ass, in her face, and down her throat until she fucking choked on it. That was how it was going to be. He felt his testicles start to rise, and knew that it wasn't going to be long until he came. He decided quickly that he would cum up her cunt first -- but that right after cumming he was going to pull his cock out and stick it in her ass. And if she didn't like it, she could go fuck herself. After seven years of behaving himself, being an ideal husband, and playing the gentleman -- not even thinking of asking for his own depravity to be satisfied -- he was going to, for the first and probably last time -- take what he wanted from her. He had always wanted to fuck her in the ass. And so he would. She felt his testicles get harder as they slapped upward against the skin of her stomach, and she knew that he was going to cum in seconds. He wasn't going to wait. He was going to cum -- and he was going to do it without warning, without checking himself until she came first, and without asking. He was going to use her in the rudest, most ungentlemanly way possible, and she like it. Her eyes opened in delighted disbelief, flinching every time the head of his cock swept upward to knock on the door of her womb, mouth open in a large circle of astonishment as he fucked her. For a moment, she couldn't believe it, until his thrusts became even more brutal, his fingers on her hips tightened painfully and began to bruise her flesh, and she heard his throat begin to spend itself with sweet obscenities she had never heard him use before. She felt her nipples tighten in blissful response, and a warm glow swelled in her cunt as his bass voice flooded through her mind, and his cock drove into her so hard it began to lift her off her knees on the bed. "... fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes, FUCK yes, FUCK YES FUUUUUUCK!" He grabbed her hips and pulled her thighs backwards and onto his bucking cock, lifting her bodily off her knees and pulling her onto his flesh yet farther while burying himself in her as he started to shout and cum. She struggled for a moment to retain her balance before losing her grip on the sheets, chest falling to the bed, involuntarily improving his penetration as he savaged her cunt with fierce, purposeful thrusts, holding his cock deeply entrenched inside her for a fraction of a second before quickly pulling back five inches and just as quickly shoving his exposed flesh back inside her vagina with a loud, bestial grunt and gasp. The sensations streaming into from mind and cunt were a perfect gestalt of pleasure and pain, and she desperately hoped, in a curiously detached fashion, to hear herself screaming over the sound of his pleasure -- but his voice was the sole sound in the room save the slapping sound of flesh on flesh, the slick sound of a cock fucking a well-oiled cunt, and an occasional, involuntary burp of air from the depths of her vagina, around the edges of his cock, as he desecrated her famished cunt. Already she began to feel disappointment, and the act was not yet complete. He bellowed in utterly bestial contentment as the first blast of semen surged from his cock and into the purse of her cunt. She felt it as a distant, slick heat in tight channel of her vagina and knew that he had, for the first time since she had known him, utterly sexually defiled her. Along with the realization came a flush of honest gratification, but not the scream she had been craving. She listened, almost amused, as he pumped her vagina full of semen and savaged her cunt for a final few seconds before his orgasm cooled and he lowered her to the bed. Her knees once again touched the sheets, but she kept her head to the sheets, breathing heavily, and in spite of what was, without question, a world-class fuck, she was truly and deeply disappointed. She hadn't screamed. Was she not capable of it? Or, perhaps, was he not man enough to induce it? She didn't know -- but she knew that the cure she had been desperately hoping for had not been delivered, even by the punishing and almost crippling fuck that she had just endured. She waited, not spiritually sated but knowing that the opportunity had been lost, for Ian to pull back and slide his cock out of the bruised pit of her cunt and toss her aside before he collapsed on the bed, like he always did. When he did, she could quietly go back to packing. He didn't pull back. Amy held herself motionless, save her own heavy breathing, waiting for him to move. Why didn't he pull away? In fact, far from pulling away, he was still moving -- rocking his hips with a motion so small to be almost unnoticeable, save for the subtle sensation of increasing pressure on her womb when he leaned forward a fraction of an inch. And his cock hadn't yet begun to fade inside her body. It was, in a display of defiance unprecedented in their volatile relationship, still rock-hard and unrepentantly spreading the swollen, flared lips of her shaved, chafed pussy. After a few seconds of thought, she decided that it didn't really matter if he was done or not. She was. She began to lean forward on the bed, taking her hips with her, to ease herself off of the painfully stiff pipe of cock still twitching in her vagina. Her attempt had barely begun when he firmed their grip on her hips and pulled her backward, until her womb bounced off the head of his substantial cock with a dull, painful throb. Only when she was once again completely impaled on his cock did his fingers relax their powerful grip on her thighs. She heard him breathing behind her, and she could almost see his smug, arrogant smile. The image angered her. She kicked backward and upward with her left foot, aiming high to catch him in the testicles. She felt the connection -- the hard, oval ball of his testicle on the ball of her foot, and heard him grunt in pain -- but he barely flinched, and maintained his arrogant presence in her cunt. Angry now, she kicked back with both feet, trying to plant her feet on his legs, using them legs as a springboard to thrust herself forward and off his cock before he could catch her. She felt him flinch as her heels dug into his legs above his knees, and she darted forward quickly with a contemptuous grin, knowing she had given him bruises that would last for days. In the fraction of a second that followed, she felt the plum-shaped head of his cock begin to recede from the depths of her vagina, and knew that she had beaten him and that in moments she would be free of his arrogant flesh forever. But she was wrong. More quickly than she would have thought possible, he moved his hands down from her hips and gripped her calves, propelling both of her legs inward while twisting his own legs outward. Her feet slipped inside his legs and through the cavity of warm air under his testicles, before continuing past his hursite balls and under his body. Simultaneously, he leaned forward toward the bed and snagged her hips with his fingers. She felt his mass shift and knew that he was following her down. She knew that he had lost his footing -- and she knew that if he didn't pull his cock away, and if he fell on top of her on the bed, the head of his cock, which had barely pulled back four inches from her cervix before he caught her, was going to lunge up the channel of her vagina and deliver a vicious beating to her bruised cervix. She raised her shoulders and flattened her stomach down and against the bed, trying to slip him up and out of her pussy before his thighs caught up to her, but she had barely succeeded in moving the soft knob of his cock back to the pucker of muscle that guarded her cunt before she felt his weight begin to crush her to the bed. She flailed in protest, but her legs were caught between his and, with a gestalt of detached anticipation and horror, she began to shout a monosyllabic yawp of protest as his body descended upon her. Ian lifted his hands from her hips and moved them outside her shoulders as he toppled forward. He felt his feet begin to slide backward on the carpet, and knew that if he lost his footing completely and fell forward on top of her, his cock would have nowhere to go but inside her body. Normally he would care. Today wasn't normal. He let his feet slide backward, and let his body fall forward. She began to shout in protest, but he was beyond caring. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction -- and Amy was about to find out what the natural consequence was when you kicked the legs out from under the guy who is standing behind you with his cock buried in your cunt. He was finished protecting her from herself. Her thighs twisted beneath him as he descended onto her, but her legs were trapped between his, his dick was firmly embedded in the mouth of her vagina, and he was past the point of return in regaining his balance. The shaft of his cock rushed forward through the semen-saturated channel of her cunt with slick, wet ease. Amy honestly believed that George -- always the gentleman -- would pull back and save her from the brutal blow to her cervix. She believed it right up to the moment when the plump head of his stiff cock swept forward through her vagina and delivered a savage, unrepentant blow to her tender womb. She yelped in pain, and he grunted in bestial delight as the sensations of deep penetration streamed up his flesh to light a wet fire in his testicles. He fell on top of her, straddling her thighs, with his hands pressing into the duvet on each side of her shoulders and his slick pipe of cock descending from his hips to part her asscheeks and bury itself in her pussy, until his chest met her shoulder blades and they fell to the mattress, his painfully erect penis pinning her to the bed beneath him. For a moment they lay still, Amy wincing in pain and Ian gasping in satisfaction, before either of them moved. Amy moved first. Motivated by both anger and pain, she lifted her right arm and reached back to slap his right side hard enough to move him up and off her hips. He didn't move. She used her fingernails and raked his right thigh hard enough to break his skin. She felt him shift his right arm, and his incredibly strong fingers quickly captured her wrist, moved it outward and away from his thighs, and pinned it to the bed near her waist. Even more angry for his effortless restraint of her right arm, she twisted herself to the left and summoned what strength she could in her left arm to deliver a tight-fisted blow to his left side. He quickly pinned that wrist as well, moving it out and away from their bodies to pin it, once again, near her waist. Trapped beneath him, with his stiff cock pressed firmly into her vagina, she began to feel honest concern. In all the times that they had made love, he had never, ever, made her feel so powerless. She lay beneath him, panting and pinned to the bed by his cock and arms, waiting for him to release her. She knew that further protest would only encourage him. She didn't yet realize that any protest she could muster had become irrelevant. She felt his hips move up and away from her ass, and his cock began to pull out of her sperm-soaked, badly bruised cunt. She twisted her hips gently as he pulled out to ease his retreat, then waited for him to release her wrists. His cock slipped free, and she felt its slick, warm length come to rest in the crease of her asscheeks just above her pussy, twitching and throbbing like a living thing, dripping semen and cuntsap into the crack of her ass. She heard him breathing deeply above her, and felt him rock his thighs gently to move his cock up and down the seam of flesh between her pussy and her ass. He lifted his hips yet farther, without releasing her wrists, and she knew that she would be free within seconds -- free to flip over quickly on the bed and slap his arrogant face. She knew it up until the moment when she felt his hips descend and felt the head of his cock begin to slide down the crease of her ass towards her pussy once more. She shouted at him, not even remotely interested in more intercourse. The slow, slippery slide of the soft knob of his cock continued. She twisted her hips as violently as she could, but he was functionally sitting on top of her and it did little good. She thought that his goal was her bruised, gaping cunt right up to the moment when his cock paused at the pucker of her anus and he began to press himself forward and into her tight, astonished, virginal bum. Mouth agape, and outraged beyond coherent speech, she shouted senseless noises into the humid air of the room. To no avail. The pressure mounted until it was on edge of pain, then with a sudden, slick, rush, and an almost blissful release of pressure, the head of his cock was inside her ass. Disbelief fought with shame until both were overcome by utter rage and hatred. But, without a shred of regard for her hatred, the semen-soaked shaft of his cock was now sliding, slowly and certainly, into her hot, tight, outraged rectum accompanied by satisfied gasps from its owner. She screamed. It was the only thing left to do. She was powerless underneath him, and every motion would only serve to encourage the passage of his cock into her ass. She held herself motionless while he penetrated her, and screamed with every ounce of rage and contempt she possessed. She threw herself from side to side, barely budging the tight enclosure of his knees on each side of her thighs, but the weight of his body on her wrists was more than she could begin to move. When her lungs were finally empty, and she felt his cock even more firmly embedded in her bum, she filled her lungs and screamed again. For the first time in her life, it was all that was left to her. There was nothing she could do to stop him. Her screams mattered not at all to the owner of the cock that was advancing mercilessly inside her. With an apathy that was almost sociopathic in its purity, Ian began to slide the slick length of his cock into and out of the flared, brown pucker of her ass. The heat and pressure were beyond anything he could have expected, and her raw, guttural screams of protest did nothing to reduce the intensity of the sensations flowing up his cock and into his stomach. Seven of his nine inches buried themselves in her ass until his cock bottomed out in her body and he was forced to pull back for another stroke. And only nine slow strokes later in the hot pressure of her ass, he came inside her as she screamed, and cursed, and screamed yet again. She felt the first buck of his cock inside her ass, and knew, with a gestalt of rage and desperation, that he was cumming. And although she had never been farther from orgasm in her life, and was replete with loathing for the man pressing his gushing cock into her bum, she realized -- with surprise -- that she had never been more sexually aroused in her life. She felt her vagina clench in vicarious contentment, and knew that the motion was being translated through her ass and into his twitching dick. He shouted with bestial glee as she gripped his cock with her ass, and he shoved it in her hard, spurting and spewing his second load of semen into her body. And finally, Amy heard it. Much louder than his moans of satisfaction as he pumped her ass full of semen, she heard herself screaming. And far from the screams of protest that had accompanied the first thrust of his cock past the tight brown bud of her anus, these screams were guttural, bestial, incoherent screams of approval as he came in an act that had nothing to do with love, and everything to do with possession. For the first time in seven years, she felt utterly and completely claimed. For the first time in seven years, she felt utterly and completely defiled. She hated it. She loved it. And she needed it so very badly that she could have cried in relief. She arched her back underneath him and turned her ass up to his cock, taking another half inch of his erection inside of her. Slipping her wrists out and up towards the pillows with all of her strength while he was distracted with his orgasm, she took his arms with her and he fell on top of her, grunting and thrusting as he tumbled onto her back. Four, then five, then six voluminous jets of semen pulsed into her ass from the deeply entrenched head of his cock before his cock stopped throbbing inside her colon, and he was finally still, breathing heavily on top of her as his penis slowly subsided inside her. It took more than two minutes until it slipped from the tight gate of her ass, along with a small river of semen, to lie in the warm groove of her asscheeks. His grip on her wrists had weakened, and he rolled to his left, collapsing on the bed. Not bothering to protect his face or groin, he lay weakly, ready to take whatever abuse Amy would deliver without complaint or defense. She turned, rolling until she lay on her side facing him. She watched him for a careful moment before sitting up, then standing up, and stretching broadly before turning back to the bed. "If you unpack my suitcase, I'll make supper." No waiting for his response, she headed for the kitchen, naked, and drooling from two well-fucked holes. She made supper. He unpacked her suitcase. She stayed, and she was glad. Sex was better than ever, for both of them. She never screamed again, and he never again gave her cause. Because sometimes, just knowing you can is enough. The Scream that Saved Them Can you? The Scream "Aw, it can't be THIS bad," I argued. "It is," she maintained. "It's so bad it's fantastic. And now..." she paused, to stroke me so slowly I almost tore the sink out of the wall "...I'm finally getting some payback." I couldn't believe what was happening. This was almost a vendetta she had against me; for so long I had been driving her up the wall with such exquisite sexual attentions, and now she had finally found a way to get me back. It was simultaneously the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to me; I didn't know whether to swear I'd never let her do this to me again, or if I would beg her for more of it at the next available opportunity. I was almost gone, now; my knees were growing week, my lungs were straining to pull in enough air, and my cock was so engorged I truly feared that it was ready to burst. Her touch was so delicate, so light, so fine that my every nerve-ending down there was ablaze with almost unbearable, searing delight. I wasn't screaming, though; my vocal chords had gone as rigid as every other part of my body, every inch of my being was paralysed with this indescribable sensation. The noises that did come out were surprisingly feminine: I was putting out these embarrassing little squeaks and high-pitched grunts, and she was trying not to laugh as I begged and pleaded with her in a halting falsetto: "Please... uh!... honey... ah!... finish me off, oh please finish me off...!" And then, without warning, she just stopped, leaving her fingers draped tenderly about my agonisingly bulbous cock. "So," she said. "Who's my bitch?" My eyes went wide with horror. "No," I said. "Go on," she prodded. "Who's my bitch?" "No, no, no, no, NO!" I nearly sobbed. She was only doing this to me because I had done this to her before, of course, more than once in fact: I revelled in bringing her to the peak of her pleasure, then refusing to tip her over the edge until she had confessed to being my bitch. Only now, with the shoe on the other foot (so to speak), did I realise what an extraordinarily cruel thing that was to do to a loved one. "Go on!" she said. "Tell me: who's my bitch?" I was on the brink of tears. I'm a very headstrong sort of guy, you see, and never in my life, under any circumstance, was I prepared to declare myself somebody's bitch. "No," I said. "Never!" And then she went and did something - she beat me, hard and fast, just once: up-and-down, and then nothing more. I lurched violently at the unexpected wank: it was just the thing, just what I needed, just the very pounding I required to finish off and come, except I needed a hell of a lot more than just one beating. "Oh please," I begged of her. "Please don't stop. Please, give me more!" "Not until you tell me... who's my bitch?" "No!" I cried. And she did it again: one beat, hard and fast, and then she stopped. "Ohh!" I cried, and then I nearly wailed when nothing more came. "I can do this all night..." she teased. I looked into the mirror, and fixed her eyes with the coldest, most murderous gaze I could muster, as my chest and my shoulders heaved with the exertions of being held to ransom over an orgasm. "Damn you..." I hissed. "Yes...?" she prompted, and her hands started moving again: softly, slowly, wanking me lightly. "Daaaaamn yooooou..." I growled. "Yesssss...?" she said again, the very definition of cheeky, as she stepped up the pace a little: a bit faster, a bit harder. It was not enough to make me come, but it was a lingering promise of what she would do to me should I relent. I trembled with an odd combination of expectation, pent-up excitement, and fury. I closed my eyes and rumbled, ruminating upon whether or not to submit. "Go on," she whispered in my ear. "Say it. You know you want to." My eyes opened again, and I regarded her with a cold, hard, strong stare. "You'll like it," she grinned. "Submitting is kind of fun, in a kinky sort of way. Trust me: I know." I shook my head, closed my eyes, and took in a breath. She paused in her ministrations, awaiting my pronouncement: "I'm you're bitch," I confessed, softly. She said nothing. She merely grinned, and got back to it: light at first, but building with each stroke, firmer and firmer, quicker and quicker. I could feel the pressure building now, and the initial signs of an orgasm were finally, agonisingly present; my head tipped back again, I gritted my teeth, and my muscles began to tense up of their own accord: my chest and shoulders flexed again, my biceps went taut, my buttocks clenched and my thighs and calf-muscles almost went "twang!" with sudden stiffness. She was really putting in some elbow-grease now, working me hard and fast, without mercy; I could feel the orgasm building deep within me, bottling up under a pressure I've never felt before. I truly lost control now, gasping first with every beat, then moaning, then grunting sharply, and more sharply, and more sharply, until I could feel it rushing through me now, as though it was pouring into some deeply hidden chamber, priming for the final shot. I was uncontrollably vocal now, every beat accompanied by a cry of "oh!"; she'd beat, beat, beat and I'd cry "oh! Oh! OH!". I'd reached the very end of my tether, lost every scrap of my control and dignity, and though I'd prefer to say it was with a roar, I did actually scream when I finally came: a great, steaming shot of come streamed forth from my agonised cock, and it shot more than half-way up my chest; she beat me again, and with another cry I let loose with another shot, which flew over the sink to make itself known upon the mirror; and she beat me again, and the third shot jizzed all over my stomach like some crazy, organic streamer. After that she kept wanking, and it kept coming, though under less pressure now, more of a gushing cascade that pumped out of me, spilled down my shaft and over her hands; she made good use of it, wanking me with it and driving me to new heights of orgasmic hollering as she did so. Finally, after an eternity, my voice and my reserves were spent, and she let me wind down, and I nearly slumped into the sink with incredible, satisfied exhaustion. "Ohhhh...ohhh...ohh...oh," I moaned, as she held me tightly, victoriously, in her arms. I looked down at the viscous goo I had covered myself with, and at my twitching, tortured member. "Look at this mess," I said. "I think I'm going to need a shower." "I think we'll both need a shower," she said, and she turned me around, squinched right up against me, and kissed me hard; the ooze squelched a little between us, but it was all good, and we got very close and personal and sticky, revelling and savouring the moment and trying not to get too much of the mess in each other's hair. After an age of kissing, we came up for air, and regarded each other warmly. "My bitch," she grinned. "That's so unfair," I said. "That confession was gained under extreme duress." "Well now you know how I feel," she said. I considered that for a moment; then I smiled. "It is kinda fun, submitting and surrendering completely, isn't it?" "Mmm hmm," she said. "You should do it more often." "Maybe I will," I allowed. We both sighed contentedly. "Alright then," I added, "let's have that shower."