Broken Bride

* * *

Angelo

She is wrapped so tight around my cock, a trace of blood streaking along my dick, a sign of her lost innocence. She squirms so much I have to clamp her hips in place with both hands to keep her still enough to fuck.

It is different taking a woman than a man. A man offers muscular resistance, growls and grunts. I conquer men when I fuck them. This girl is something else. She is soft and her resistance is nonexistent. Her walls grip me, her hole made for me, her wet lips slicking along the length of my shaft with every stroke. The conquest feels different. Is different. Might even be mutual.

For the first time since I took her, I feel that rough wave of possession rush through me, the knowledge that not only is she mine, I will make her stay mine forever.

I pull out and turn her over in a tumble of limbs before thrusting back between those golden thatched lips, slick with her desire. I want to see her eyes. I want to see the innocence drain out of her one thrust at a time.

But there’s no innocence to take. No matter how pretty she looks, or how adorable she is, I don’t think she was ever truly innocent. Every time my cock slides inside the hole made for a man, I fall a little deeper into that baby blue gaze. I find myself cradling her rather than pinning her down. My lips meet hers in a passionate kiss which explores rather than ravages.

When I try to be rough with her, she arches her back, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. This perfect little package of femininity is a dangerous siren, one I am giving myself to as much as taking.

She wraps herself around me, her hot interior tight and seductive. I have no need of lubricant with her. When I take my boys, I am always overcoming resistance. With my little captive bride, I am being drawn in, welcomed, seduced.

Her body wants my seed. Begs for it. Usually, coming inside someone is my means of marking them, leaving them with the dripping knowledge that they have been taken. But if I unleash myself inside her, then her body will take it and make life anew.

I pull out before I make that mistake, my come splashing over the bright curls at the base of her thighs.

* * *

Tilly

I am no longer a virgin. I am no longer on the cusp of womanhood. I am a woman in every sense of the word, a ravaged, sweaty, dirty woman with come dripping over my pussy.

Angelo wipes his face with a towel and tosses it down over my body, rubbing me down like a pony who has been ridden hard. His touch is rough, yet tender, or at least, as tender as he can be.

I don't expect him to cuddle after sex, and he doesn’t. He leaves me lying there and begins to dress. He just took my virginity and he's already pulling his underwear back into place and preparing to leave the room.

I could feel rejected, but I don’t. This isn’t a real marriage. I’m not a real wife. I can’t expect normal husband things from him. Men do worse things to women than what he just did to me. He’s left me with the warm semi-sedated feeling of a comprehensive orgasm, and that is enough.

“Angelo?”

“Yes, Tilly.” He turns toward me, and gives me his full attention. Angelo’s full attention is almost too much for me, even after having done the most intimate thing two people can do together.

“Would you… if you haven’t already… would you not tell them?”

He looks at me. There’s a secret I hold. A secret I am almost sure he knows. It’s the only reason he would have known to come for me. He wouldn’t be treating me this way if he didn’t. He’s punishing me because he knows I deserve to be punished. I deserve to be hurt. Badly.

“Why don’t you want them to know? It would increase your stock considerably with Bobby.”

“I don’t think I want stock with Bobby.”

“No.” Angelo smiles and pulls his undershirt over his head, his abdominal plane rippling powerfully with the motion. He is an older man, but nobody told his body that. “You probably don’t.”

“I don’t want… I don’t want to ever think about it, or talk about it. I know you’re going to hurt me. I know this is going to be bad. But I’ll accept it, if you keep my secret.”

“That isn’t really how this works. I don't make deals with my boys.”

“I’m not your boy.”

“No. You're my wife. And your secrets are mine. Until they're not.”

That wasn't reassuring at all, but at least it was honest.

“Okay. Well. Thank you.”

He sits down next to me, and caresses under my chin gently.