Epilogue
I AM RUNNING.
I am going as fast as my feet will take me, but it doesn’t seem enough.
It doesn’t seem like I’ll be able to get away.
It’s my dress. It’s long and heavy, with a lacy trail and a tulle skirt, which keeps attracting brambles and foliage.
It keeps getting caught, making me stumble, messing with my speed.
On my third stumble, I hear the footsteps and my heart jumps in my throat.
They’re thudding and powerful. They make the ground shake.
They shift the gravity even, so it feels like my limbs are made of lead.
I still try, though. I keep pushing, pumping my legs, rushing through the woods.
But when my skirt catches on something again and I stumble, I know it’s game over.
I’m going down.
And I’m proven correct when instead of meeting the ground, I meet a pair of corded arms that bind around me like ropes and break my fall.
I’d be relieved that I don’t hit the ground as viciously as I thought I would but I’m not because it’s the very arms I have been running away from.
So my first words are: “Please don’t… please don’t h-hurt me. ”
I’m on the ground now, on my belly, lying on those arms, and I feel him breathing against my back. I feel his chest sliding up and down, his weight heavy and suffocating. And then he says, directly into my ear, “Shh, not another word.”
My fingers fist the dirt. “But I—”
I feel his head shaking slowly, deliberately, as he tsks. “If you keep breakin’ the rules so soon, I’m gonna have to put a stop to this, and the fun is only beginning.”
My heart is racing so fast that it’s a wonder I can hear his voice. Let alone understand the implication of his words when those arms slide up from my belly and go to the bodice of my dress, pulling and tugging, causing me to break his rule again. “Please, not my—”
His impatient sigh halts my words, and fear skates down my spine. “Not your what?”
I’m panting, sweat pooling in the small of my back with his heat. “My d-dress. Don’t… don’t tear it.”
“No?” he says in a silky soft voice.
“No, please, don’t. Don’t…”
“Why not?”
“It’s my… my w-wedding dress.”
He hums, his chest vibrating at my back, making me whimper. “Fuck yeah, it is, isn’t it. Saw you walk down the aisle in it.” He chuckles, all rough and almost angry. “Almost came in my pants, watchin’ your titties bounce in that thing. You pick this out for your husband?”
I swallow. “Y-yes.”
“Yeah, I bet you did. I bet he likes it, don’t he. He likes to see ’em bounce too,” he says roughly, his fingers grabbing one of my tits and giving it a squeeze.
A hard one that makes me arch up and moan, ashamed of myself at making these noises at such a violent grip. “Yes, h-he does.”
“But I bet he doesn’t like it when others watch, yeah?”
“No.”
“Yeah, I knew it. He looks like a motherfucker, your new husband. He beat people up for you?” he asks next, squeezing my tit rhythmically.
It’s so hard to keep my moans in check, but I do my best. I do my best to answer all his questions, too, play his game, but it’s getting harder and harder to focus. With his weight, his mean fingers, his words. So dirty and God help me, so erotic.
“I don’t… I don’t want him to,” I whisper.
“No? I bet that asshole doesn’t listen to you though.”
“S-sometimes he does when I…”
“When you what?”
Shame burns my cheeks as I reply, “I tell him if… if he lets it go, he can… he can put it in my ass.”
His chest shudders with an amused chuckle. “Yeah, that’ll get him to listen. You’ve got a bouncy ass too, don’t you, baby, and I bet he’s a sucker for it.”
“He loves it.”
“Don’t blame him,” he breathes in my ear. “I will say though that I’m awfully jealous of him. That he gets to tap it every night.”
“Please just—”
“What else?” he cuts me off. “What else do you do to calm him down?”
Oh God, I can’t say this, can I? It’s not…
exactly appropriate. It’s not exactly what a good girl does to get her new husband to listen.
But I have to or he won’t let it go. “Sometimes I tell him to”—I swallow, my fingers digging into the earth—“fuck me in front of them. So they know… they know who I b-belong to.”
He chuckles again, but this time it’s strained, as if it’s getting difficult to hold on to his composure. “Ah, what a sweet little whore.”
His words are accompanied by a brutal squeeze of my tit and I arch up again. “Please.”
“I can see why that asshole wants to kill for you. Why he wants to burn down the world to keep you safe. He’s still on parole, ain’t he,” he bites out. “Bet he don’t care about that either. Bet he’ll go to jail for you too, if it means he gets to kill whoever looks your way.”
My heart twists in my chest and I struggle under him. “Stop… stop calling him an asshole. My husband is not an asshole.”
His chest swells with a breath, and a second later, his weight disappears, and I’m being pulled off the ground.
He flips me and puts me on my knees and I finally face my attacker.
Just like any other guest at the wedding earlier, he’s wearing a suit, black pants, black jacket.
But other than his stature, which is larger than that of any other man at the wedding, the one thing that sets him apart and makes him so scary is the mask he has on.
The mask of a bull with horns.
My belly quivers at the sight of it, and I have to pace my breaths so as not to pass out with fear.
And Lord, anticipation. He dips his face and I watch his lips move.
“You’re a mouthy one, aren’t you?” He grips my hair and pulls at it, stretching my neck.
“Let’s see what else this pouty little mouth is good for.
You made me watch you walk down the aisle in that dress with a fuckin’ hard-on from hell, didn’t you?
So how about you put your mouth on my pissed-off cock and soothe it like your life depends on it.
Like you were fuckin’ born to do. Fuckin’ take me out. ”
He jerks me forward, but I put my hands on his tree trunk thighs and stop him. I look up at him and whisper, “Please just… Don’t come in my mouth.”
I watch his stubbled jaw clench and I swear his pitch-black eyes narrow behind the mask.
His grip in my hair turns even more brutal as he growls, “How about you let me give all the orders while you focus on followin’ them?
You wanna get out of here, don’t you? You want your husband.
” I nod quickly. “So then, you do what God intended for you to do with your cocksucking mouth and fuckin’ suck my cock and let me worry about where to put my cum. ”
With the way he’s breathing, I don’t think any more pleading will turn out well. His frame is jerking with his violent breaths, and I can see he keeps clenching his jaw, as if it’s getting painful now to wait. It’s better for me if I give him what he wants so I can finally meet my husband.
So I get to work. I unzip his pants and take him out.
He’s so big and thick. He’s leaking, angry and ruddy.
I can see why he’d be pissed off about it.
I bet that thing is painful. So with my knees digging into the dirt, I lean forward and put my mouth on him.
And then I suck like he said he wants me to.
Like my life depends on it. Like God made me for this, and it’s my job to be on my knees in front of him, servicing him, soothing him, sucking his cock.
Which means I don’t give him a chance to force me to take him deeper because I get there first. I take him deeper and deeper with every suck until instead of my mouth, he’s fucking my throat.
And instead of standing there all tall and stoic, he’s thrown his head back and he’s shuddering with every pull of my mouth.
When his thighs tense and it looks like he’s going to come, he jerks me off his cock by my hair and flips me around.
My knees and hands hit the ground again, the dirt and gravel somehow making me even dizzier than before.
Dizzier, more scared. More turned on. I shouldn’t be, not at this, but I can’t help it. I’m never ever able to help these things.
I feel him flip up my long skirt and get to my panties.
He lowers them but doesn’t take them off all the way.
He leaves the elastic digging into my thighs as he lines up his cock, all lubed up with my spit and his own pre-cum, to my hole when he leans over my back, mounting me, and rasps, “You wanted me to come in your college girl snatch, didn’t you?
” I nod, clenching my eyes shut. “So then don’t let it be said I never gave you nothin’. ”
With that, he slams inside of me, and I moan the loudest I’ve ever moaned. Even though he’s so big like this, taking me from behind, it’s still not a howl of pain. It’s because of how turned on I am and how his pelvis bounces against my meaty ass.
In fact, the pain helps. The pain of his invasion, of his brutal thrusts and his grip on my hips makes everything even more glorious.
The only downside is I can’t pretend anymore.
I can’t keep up the game. His cock, like his voice, is like a truth serum, and I can’t pretend I was running from him. And that I didn’t want to be caught.
I wanted to be.
If he’s the one catching me, I never ever want to get away.
“Oh God, you’re so…” I whimper, all pretenses gone.
“Big,” he finishes in my ear.
“Yes.”
“That’s ’cause of six months of fuckin’ you and you’re still so small.”
I’m back to fisting the dirt again, feeling him throb inside of me. “I f-feel you…”
“In your belly, don’t you?”
“I don’t… It’s too much. Like this.”
“By the time I am done with you, darlin’, you are gonna feel me in your throat, yeah? So quit your whining and take it like the sweet little wife you are,” my husband says, and I moan.