9 Penny #4
God, he was big. Too big. I bit my teeth to stifle a stunned screech.
I felt everything. Every subtle ridge. Every vein.
My mouth fell open with a silent cry as he filled me.
He halted for a moment, a strained sound coming from his throat.
I thought that was it, but then he pushed deeper and I jolted when he went too far, my fingernails almost splitting against the metal pole.
He pulled out steadily and drove back in, taking the air out of my lungs. Then he rode me hard, stretching me so brutally that I feared real injury. My knees buckled, almost giving out beneath me. He thrust again with force and it was like being punched in the stomach.
“Too deep,” I gasped, my hands balled into fists against the pillar.
I knew he couldn’t understand me, but the words just slipped out, a raspy murmur amongst his labored grunts. I reached back, pushing against his hip with my free hand, hoping he would get the message. If he hit my cervix again, I was going to scream.
Instantly, he slowed. He released my hair and braced his hand against the column beside me instead, his thrusts easing.
Not enough to seem like he was losing that feral edge the audience was lusting over, but enough for me to feel a difference.
I pressed my forehead to the column and closed my eyes, blocking out the noises around me and trying to imagine we weren’t doing this for spectators.
Thankfully, Thilar was no longer fucking me so hard it hurt. The pain was subsiding and all that was left was the ending.
A few seconds more and I braved a glance over my shoulder at him.
His face was close like he was hiding from the drones, too.
His eyes caught mine, the blackness slowly receding enough for me to see that golden-green hue again behind his oversized pupils.
I was panting, tears stinging my eyes. When one slipped, he followed it and I knew.
I knew then that this was bothering him as much as me.
That mutual understanding somehow made me feel… safer.
Safe enough to feel the other things that were happening.
I was trembling, my body slowly adjusting to his girth.
The head of his cock, no longer knocking the breath out of me, was now stroking something inside me that made my head spin in a different way.
I bit my lip, my hand reaching back to grip his hip again.
My nails pressed into his skin and he hissed, driving into me faster.
My first and only experience with physical sex did not compare to this.
It couldn’t. Thilar filled me like he was rearranging my insides to accommodate.
There was pain mixed in with the growing pleasure, something I never thought could coexist. And the way his oversized body blocked me from everything felt like a shield.
Like, even in that arena, Thilar was doing everything to make that moment private.
Nothing could touch me. Not if he was touching me. Not if he was there.
I gasped, holding my breath as my stomach started to tighten. My legs trembled and I could hardly think anymore. Everything around me faded into nothingness until all I could hear—all I could feel—was Thilar.
I was inching toward something I shouldn’t have been feeling. Something so wrong it made me feel like a traitor to myself.
I was nearing a goddamn climax.
I nudged backward, meeting every one of Thilar’s thrusts.
I wanted to speak, but he wouldn’t understand and I wasn’t exactly supposed to be enjoying myself.
Was I? I closed my eyes again, telling myself to go numb to that particular moment in time.
To stop feeling it in that way. To stop wanting.
I should have tried to stop myself from coming.
Coming in that situation was sick. It meant I was delighting in it, but there was no way I was. Not like that. Not there.
But the way he claimed me so completely made my nerves scream for release.
The way he ripped those others apart to keep them away from me only added to the confusion.
The more I tried to distance myself from the game, the more I saw that fight playing out in my head over and over.
Whether forced to or not, Thilar fought for me. Killed for me. Won me.
He took me, painted in the blood of three other males who wanted to do the same. Even the adrenaline of the chase had excited me to some extent because it was him. I could hear his thundering footsteps in my wake and it brought me closer to release.
I was broken. I had to be. Something was wrong with me. Horribly wrong.
I clenched my teeth, trying not to cry out with pleasure.
My eyes shot open and I looked up at the tree canopy, ashamed at the way my body was reacting, in front of so many repulsive onlookers.
The sound of Thilar’s breathing only tempted me closer to a pinnacle.
I took a deep breath and as it shivered from my lungs, I could feel my walls pulsing and tightening around him.
“Thilar,” I gasped.
His hand shot up and reached around, collaring my neck.
My body surrendered. I grabbed hold of his wrist and suddenly, I was shattering to pieces.
I swallowed a moan as I came apart around him, trembling through wave after wave of dizzying pleasure.
Thilar kept pumping himself inside me, torturing me through my release before his body went rigid.
His jaw clenched and I felt his hand give my neck a possessive squeeze.
He thrust deep. Liquid heat filled my insides as he came, and a soft, strained groan trickled into my ear, loud enough for only me to hear.
I arched, my breasts crushed against the column. As the two of us slowly came down from our shared peak, I felt my body wanting to melt back against him, seeking comfort where I should have been seeking revenge.
But whatever twisted pleasure we’d just gotten from the ordeal, it was soon to be overshadowed by the fact that we were still prisoners. We were still just entertainment, trapped in what I assumed would become an endless, involuntary cycle.