4 #2
His fist withdraws almost completely—leaving Natasha shuddering at the sudden emptiness—before plunging back in with a wet squelch.
Her asshole clenches reflexively around him, fluttering in a desperate rhythm.
The man laughs, low and dark. "Oh, I love the sight of an asshole stretching out like that," he murmurs, flexing his fingers inside her.
His voice is rough with lust, thick with something possessive.
He retreats his hand slowly, savoring the way her rim struggles to close around his knuckles—only to push back in with deliberate force.
Natasha sobs, her thighs trembling violently. "Please—fuck me—make me come!"
His chuckle vibrates against her sweat-slicked skin as he twists his wrist, spreading her wider.
"Look at you," he growls, his breath hot on the nape of her neck.
"Still trying to suck me back in." His fingers crook inside her, pressing against that spot that makes Natasha's vision blur.
She arches violently, her cunt dripping uselessly onto the bench beneath her.
"I could wreck you forever, you know" he mutters, dragging his hand halfway out again—just to watch her rim stretch obscenely around him and then drive back in again.
The rhythmic squelch fills the room as he fucks her with his fist, his pace deliberate and cruel.
Natasha sobs, her thighs shaking, but her body betrays her—clenching greedily around the intrusion.
The man exhales sharply through his nose, his free hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks.
"Christ, I can feel your heartbeat in there," he grits out, flexing his fingers deeper.
His knuckles press against something impossible inside her, and Natasha's scream dissolves into a broken whimper.
"You feel that?" he murmurs, voice thick with dark amusement.
"That's your body giving up. Taking whatever I give you."
His fist retreats slowly—agonizingly—letting Natasha feel every inch as her abused rim struggles to cling to him.
Before she can catch her breath, his thumb hooks against her clit, pressing down in rough circles.
Natasha jerks against the restraints, her vision whiting out at the sudden overload of sensation.
"Look at your cunt now," he growls, his voice rough with something between disgust and arousal.
His fingers spread her folds obscenely, the cold air hitting her swollen, dripping flesh.
"Gaping like a broken whore." The words send a fresh pulse of wetness between her thighs, and he laughs—low and knowing.
"Fuck, you're sick, aren't you?" His thumb grinds against her clit, punishing and perfect. "Love being ruined like this."
Natasha's breath comes in ragged gasps as his fingers trail lower, tracing the puffy, overstimulated lips of her cunt.
They glide effortlessly through the mess of slick and spend, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.
His index finger presses against her entrance—still loose, still pulsing—and sinks in to the knuckle without resistance.
Natasha's hips twitch, her body betraying her with another rush of arousal.
"Pathetic," he murmurs, twisting his finger inside her.
"You'd take a fucking beer bottle right now, wouldn't you?"
The crude image sends a fresh wave of heat through her, and his smirk tells her he feels it—the way her walls flutter weakly around his finger.
"Please," she whimpers, her voice raw. The word barely makes it past her swollen lips.
"Yeah I never done that. Please try it."
The admission hangs between them, filthy and undeniable.
His pupils darken as he leans down, his breath hot against her ear.
"Try what, whore?" His finger crooks inside her, pressing against that spot that makes her vision blur.
Natasha jerks against the restraints, her thighs trembling.
"Anything," she gasps. "I'll—I'll take anything now."
His laughter is low, dangerous, as he withdraws his finger with a wet pop.
"Okay, let's do it" the man says, his voice thick with lust and dark amusement.
He reaches for his bag near the bench, rummaging before pulling out a large, unopened cola bottle—condensation still beading on the glass.
The sight of it sends a fresh pulse of arousal through Natasha, her asshole clenching reflexively around nothing.
He holds the bottle up, turning it slowly in the dim light.
"Look at that," he murmurs, tracing the wide rim with his thumb.
"Think you can swallow this whole?" Natasha's breath hitches, her hips twitching involuntarily.
The man smirks, pressing the cold glass against her overheated skin.
"Yeah," he mutters. "I think you fucking will."
Without warning, he angles the bottle's rounded tip against her gaping asshole and pushes.
Natasha gasps as the cold glass breaches her—slow at first, then deeper with relentless pressure.
Her rim stretches obscenely around the widest part, her muscles fluttering uselessly against the intrusion.
The man groans, watching her struggle to accommodate it.
"Fuck," he breathes, twisting the bottle just to hear her whimper.
The glass is slick with her own wetness now, sliding in with obscene ease until the widest part pops past her rim.
Natasha's scream echoes off the walls, her thighs trembling violently as the bottle sinks deeper, inch by impossible inch.
He pauses when only the bottom part remains outside, his fingers tracing the obscene bulge in Natasha's lower belly.
"Look at that," he murmurs, pressing down just to watch her writhe.
The bottle shifts inside her, pressing against something deep—something that makes her vision fracture into bright, blinding stars.
Her cunt pulses empty and needy, dripping onto the bench beneath her.
The man laughs darkly, gripping the bottle's back.
"Ready for the rest?" He doesn't wait for an answer.
With a brutal twist, he forces the remaining part inside her, her asshole swallowing the glass whole until his knuckles press against her stretched rim.
Natasha's scream dissolves into ragged sobs as her body struggles to accommodate the impossible fullness.
The glass digs into her insides, cold and unyielding, pressing against places no human touch could reach.
The man exhales sharply, fascinated by the way her asshole ripples around nothing now—stretched so wide it can't even close properly.
"Christ," he mutters, dragging a fingertip along her gaping rim.
"It's like watching the ripples in a pond disappear after you throw a rock in."
Her muscles flutter weakly, the concentric waves of contraction moving outward before collapsing back into helpless slackness.
Natasha's body keeps trembling violently.
The bottle rests fully inside her now, impossibly deep, the cold glass radiating through her abused flesh.
The man stands back, admiring his handiwork—the way her asshole twitches around nothing, still gaping obscenely, still trying to close.
"Christ," he mutters, palming her ass roughly.
"You’re like liquid now." His fingers sink effortlessly into her ruined hole, probing alongside the bottle with wet squelches.
Natasha arches against the restraints, her hips jerking involuntarily as pleasure-pain singes through her nerves.
"Come on," he growls, slapping her left ass cheek hard enough to leave a red handprint.
"Push it out." His breath is hot against her ear, his fingers curl inside her around the bottom of the bottle.
Natasha whimpers, straining—her muscles clenching uselessly around the glass intrusion.
Every contraction sends fresh sparks of sensation through her, her body too wrecked to obey.
The man chuckles darkly, pressing his thumb against her fluttering rim.
"You can’t even fucking control yourself now, can you?"
His other hand twists the bottle inside her again, dragging a ragged cry from her throat.
The glass shifts deeper, pressing against something that makes Natasha's vision flash white.
She sobs, her thighs trembling as her body betrays her—clenching around the intrusion in weak, involuntary spasms.
The man exhales sharply through his nose, watching her struggle.
"Christ," he mutters, fascinated. "Look at your asshole now."
His fingers trace the stretched rim, spreading her obscenely wider as the bottle slides fractionally outward—only to sink back in with a wet crunch when her muscles give out.
Natasha's breath hitches, her hips jerking involuntarily.
The sensation is unbearable—impossible fullness mixed with the sharp bite of cold glass.