Rough Exile

A second finger coaxed its way in with the first, and Ilya’s thigh shifted beneath me.

“Enjoying the show, Ilya?” I gasped in discomfort. For some reason, I felt betrayed. I’d thought we were sort of friends—or at least friendly. Why was he helping Bron instead of me?

“Very much.”

“You fucking jerk. I wouldn’t fake-date you if you were the last man on earth!”

Bron pulled his fingers out of me and spat again, then lined himself up with my asshole.

“No, no!” I pressed my forehead against the ground, bracing for Bron’s favorite brand of torment.

“Mmm. Yes, yes.” Bron pushed into me with a series of short, breathtaking thrusts. He covered me with his body, bracing against the ground, pressing Ilya’s bottom leg harder against my hips, and top leg into my lower back.

I shrieked, and tried to struggle, but they had me so thoroughly pinned there was nothing I could do except cry.

“Shh, little wifey. I know he’s big. It will feel better if you stop fighting,” Ilya assured me as our tormentor rearranged my guts to suit himself.

Tears leaked out of my eyes, a combination of frustrated helplessness and the feeling that he should have helped me instead of Bron. He knew what it was like to be Bron’s victim.

Being tangled with them was a strange sensation. I clung to my anger. Ilya was stroking my hair with his free hand, soothing me like he might do with one of his goats, while Bron fucked me with his monster dick, which felt a lot like a wooden club someone had set on fire before quenching it in my ass.

I clawed at the ground, grunting in pain at every thrust, trying not to link this with my fantasies about mountain men roughing me up and taking what they wanted.

Eventually, Bron growled in satisfaction, filling me with liquid heat that felt like it all rushed out as he withdrew.

Laughing, he slapped Ilya’s leg and pulled out of me. Ilya let me go and Bron flipped me face up, and more cum dribbled out of my sore, stinging ass.

“Come here,” he said gruffly to Ilya.

He yanked my skirt out of the way and pushed my legs apart, pointing between them, as if Ilya wouldn’t even know that much. I closed my legs and tried to fight, but I was tired and knew they’d never let me get away—especially not now, when Ilya was showing the aggression Bron wanted from him.

Ilya stretched out on top of me, catching my wrists and stretching my arms above my head. He tried to kiss me, but I jerked my head away, so his mouth connected with my ear. His knee pressed between mine, and he made room for himself, settling between my thighs. He smelled like fresh air, hard work, and wood. Under that was the smell of soap and sweat…of him.

His cock was hard, and he ground against me—his jeans against my bare pussy. The rough fabric of his pants chafed my clit, and I realized it already ached with a need for release.

Why was my body so stupid? I should hate these men, not find them and their crude handling arousing.

“I’ve dreamt of pushing my cock into your sweet pussy since the first day I saw you,” Ilya murmured, reaching between us to unfasten his pants. His erection was hard and hot, and he rocked it against my slit, the underside of his cock rubbing my clit.

He tried to kiss me again, but I didn’t allow it.

“You fight and complain, but I know you lie in bed at night, thinking of us touching you.”

“You’re delusional!”

He took advantage of my mouth being open and claimed my lips, pushing his tongue between them and trying to force me to reciprocate. Bron tapped Ilya’s hip, and he pulled away from me slightly, gasping as Bron took him in hand and positioned him at my entrance. I tried to flex my hips so he couldn’t push into me so easily, but the hot velvet of his cock felt too good to refuse.

Maybe I could let this happen, even if I was mad at him. Maybe I could submit to him, at least this one time. The head of his cock was slick, and he slid the tip into me, stopping long enough to gasp in amazement.

“Why would a man ever leave a woman’s body after feeling this?” He kissed me again, and his hips moved jerkily, unnaturally. Bron was behind him, controlling his hips with a firm grip. Ilya panted in frustration.

“Let him go, Bron. He’ll figure it out,” I muttered, trying to stay upset, but wanting him deeper inside me. My brain was frazzled, but the feel of him invading my body was exactly what I needed. Pleasure to blot out the pain, even if he only lasted a minute or two.

Bron let him go, and he pushed harder, with no cruelty but also no finesse. He pulled his mouth from mine and stared into my eyes, slowing down when he saw my discomfort. I wriggled beneath him until he was sheathed, balls deep.

He breathed through the sensation like a woman in labor while I did my best not to writhe beneath him. I needed to be fucked hard, and he was taking the scenic route.

“I’m inside you,” he said in amazement.

“You are,” I confirmed, in case it was actually a question. It was hard not to laugh at his expression of wonder.

“This is—my bare cock is—”

“Don’t think about that yet,” Bron warned.

Ilya nodded at him, then gazed into my eyes again. His hips stirred, and he partially withdrew, then slid back in.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me immediately. “Am I hurting you?”

“You’re probably putting her to sleep. She’s used to getting it rough, like you are.”

“Oh.” He checked my face for confirmation, and I leaned up and kissed him.

“If I need you to stop, I’ll say the word, rutabaga.”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “Good.”

“You can fuck me harder. I won’t break.”

“I’m fucking a girl,” he whispered under his breath.

When I laughed, he let out a tortured groan.

“I need to make you laugh more often.”

Bron grumbled and stripped a branch from a tree, picking off the smaller twigs and leaves, and making so much noise that it distracted me from Ilya.

Without warning, Bron brought the branch down, whistling, and hit Ilya with it.

He hissed in pain, plunging into me so hard I gasped.

“Good, now fuck her so we can go home. Harder. Faster.” He whipped Ilya three or four more times, until instinct took over and he pounded me hard and fast, stealing my breath. I angled my hips until he was rubbing against my clit, and lifted myself to meet each thrust, not complaining that it was almost too much, and it hurt.

He was good for a beginner, keeping a decent rhythm, paying attention to what my body told him, as well as he could, even though he was going too deep, too hard.

Days upon days of no relief had caught up with me, and I wanted an orgasm so badly I was ready to take any pain to get it.

I was almost at my own orgasm when he came, his eyes shutting so tightly I thought he was going to cry. God, he was gorgeous. Had any man ever looked at me with this much wonder? He dropped his forehead to mine and kissed me again.

“Thank you. I’m sorry it was over so fast.” He shuddered and gave a few last thrusts.

My clit was aching so much I wanted to scream.

“It’s like that for most guys their first few times,” I said, trying not to whine as he withdrew.

He sat back and pulled me into his lap.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

”Using my hands.”

“For what?”

“Slap her here,” Bron said, pointing to my clit.

“What? No!”

“Shh. Let me take care of you.”

Before I could object, he smacked me harder than I would have expected, connecting with my needy clit. My pussy made a wet sound, which I chose to believe was mostly from boys filling me with their bodily fluids, and not from me being a needy bitch.

“Bend her backward over your leg and pinch her nipples hard as you do it,” Bron directed.

“Ilya, no.”