Broken Wings - part 3

“Now it’s your turn, “he mumbled and bent down to kiss her throat. He worked his way slowly down to her breasts and ran his tongue in circles around each nipple, first one then the other. He sucked deeply at each nipple, took one between his teeth and bit it so hard she nearly bleed and cried out in pain. He reached up, touched her face and brought back his sperm on his fingers to rub onto her nipples. He worked the warm, soothing sperm into every crevice of her hard nipples.

He ran his tongue down the groves of her rib cage to her taunt belly. He worked his tongue into the little whorl of her omphalos. He continued his journey downward, but avoided her mound and instead ran his tongue along her firm, white thigh. Then he reversed course and began to kiss his way slowly upwards until his mouth was right next to her hermetically sealed slit.

“Let’s make out cunt… Beautiful cunt… delicious cunt… I love you, cunt…” He had ejaculated in her face, now he was whispering to her pussy. He mumbled to himself like a safecracker working out the combination of a tight lock. He worked up a lather of saliva, mashed his lips against her mound and worked his mouth firmly back and forth.

He took his mouth away and reached off to the side of the bed. Was he giving up? He came back with a piece of ice and pressed it against her pussy. She winced as if with pain and then relaxed slightly. The ice was cool, slick, soothing. She was tried from holding herself so stiffly. Involuntarily she began to relax.

As a child her older brother would wrestle with her and tickle her into submission. He made her helpless with painful convulsions of laughter until tears ran down her face. Now this man tickling her clit drew a response out of her that made her helpless and unable to resist.

He straightened up, held his cock directly against her pussy and slowly worked the cock head back and forth in the grove of her little slit.

She started to cry again. “No… please…” she gasped. “Don’t do it… I’m begging you not to do it… Don’t fuck me this way… Let me suck you off again… Come in my face again… But don’t fuck me like this…” She realized that talking like this would only excite him more, but she had to try – there was nothing else to do.

He ignored her. He grunted and cursed over her like a clumsy workman struggling with reluctant machinery. “Tight as a goddamn clam…” he muttered to himself, “open up you rusty cunt….” Slowly his cock eroded a deeper grove into her slit.

Now he began to bang against her with all the subtlety of a man driving a spike into a hard block of wood. She tensed her thighs, constricted her muscles, focused all her attention on her pussy and tried to will it shut. She imagined her body leaden and insensitive as if injected with Novocain. It was no use. Slowly he pierced her.

She cried out sharply as if she had been stabbed. He put his hand over her mouth and pressed her head down hard into the mattress. As he thrust into her again and again her cries took on a deeper guttural tone. Instead of shrieking in pain she was groaning repeatedly, rhythmically. Now she was giving up deep resonant groans. She could not count the number of times his cock stabbed into her. Time disintegrated. Nothing had ever existed except his male member hammering into female flesh.

None of her kind, thoughtful boyfriends had ever managed to make her orgasm during intercourse. The boys who held her hand, brought her flowers and paid for her meals had never made her groan like this. The boys who had complimented her on her fashion sense and hair-do never made her heart pound like this man who had cut away her clothes and nearly pulled the hair from her scalp. She liked the boys who treated her kindly and left her faintly board; she hated the man who had forced himself on her and gave her such excitement.

Suddenly he winced as if shot with a pistol. She thought of pictures she had seen of people being shot – the way they doubled over and contorted their face into almost comical expressions. She could feel his sperm spurting into her womb.

He collapsed on top of her. She felt as if she had been in a car accidence, a trailer truck over turned on her and a jagged piece of metal through her flesh.

She remembered one winter morning she had started her car to hear a terrible screech and have the engine seize. She looked under the hood to discover a cat that had climbed on top of the warm motor to be caught in the machinery and horribly crushed. That was her now – a little kitten that had foolishly played in the wrong place and was now being crushed beneath a hard, uncaring machine.

He was right – it would have been better if she had not awoken. Now she escaped into unconsciousness.


End