Page 42 of Punishing Penelope

He shifts, and I feel him, every bit of the man he is. He presses his rock-hard cock against my ass, and I squirm, assaulted by the agony of his weight on my burning skin.

“I think I know what I want, Wilder.” He pushes his thick fingers inside deep, a whole lot of fingers, and stretches me to the verge of what I can take, even in my crazed state of a near out-of-body experience.

All air rushes out of me from the onslaught of raw, primitive arousal. As he keeps thrusting, I can’t catch my breath, the tension multiplying with each time he pushes inside.

There’s something I should say. I’m sure of it. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but my fragmented mind can’t figure out what ‘this’ is. When his hand strokes along my hip and between the mattress and my body to catch my breast in a rough grip, I can’t help the moans anymore.

I can’t pretend I don’t want this.

I can’t resist him.

Why did I fight the pull to contact him all these years? His touch is heaven, and nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever replaced the feel of his skin, his hands, his hard body on mine.

I groan in disappointment when he pulls away. Images of how he’d tie my desperately lust-filled body to that bed post again and leave me weeping, my juices dribbling down the insides of my thighs, fill me with despair. It’s almost a relief when he turns me over onto my back and pulls me headfirst toward the edge of the bed until my head hangs and the world is upside down. That feeling of relief is brief because… fuck! My heart shoots to my throat. No! No deep throating. Fuck no. I never liked it. Few things scare me, but I don’t like feeling vulnerable and without control. This is all that and more.

Looking up at my nemesis, my pulse roars. His smile is devilish as he pulls down his briefs and takes his cock in hand, stroking its length. He’s clean-shaven, which makes him look even more gigantic.

I shake my head.

He grabs my neck and pulls me even farther until I squeal from fear I’ll fall off headfirst.

“Wilder. This isn’t a punishment if you’re enjoying it.” He puts his cock to my mouth, and right as I inhale to protest, he pushes it between my lips.

I have no resistance. The angle lets him slide in with ease, all the fucking way, and I almost panic, but then he pulls halfway out and lets me breathe while I gag and squirm. Tears stream down my cheeks as a reflex to the gagging. I’m not crying. I’m just extremely, disgustingly uncomfortable. He pushes inside again, and right when he passes a threshold deep inside, he groans like a beast. My hands are tied at my back, and I’m lying on my arms. I’m at his complete mercy as he fucks my throat way past anything I’d ever given him voluntarily.

Something changes.

Fundamentally.

Putting his hand between my legs, he leans over me and pulls up my hips, tasting me, filling me with his fingers, both pussy and ass, while his tongue does unmentionable things to my clit.

The depravity, the feeling I’d fall if he didn’t hold me, his crazed intrusion of all my holes, how he uses me and abuses me, is the sexiest, maddening thing I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never felt so defenseless. I’m completely and fully his, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.

He fucks my throat with deep thrusts, not violent, just long, slow, and deep. His animalistic groans get louder and sexier. His fingering and licking my pussy and ass make me soar. I shake and sweat, tears stream down my temples, drool along my cheeks, then I can’t hold it in anymore.

I come so fucking hard, I think I lose consciousness for a moment as every sense seems to short circuit. Peter roars, and it’s all I hear through the ringing in my ears.

Chapter Ten

Peter

I shoot my load down her throat. With my cock buried balls deep, I devour her, sucking hard on her clit as I thrust my fingers into her spasming pussy and ass. She wails and jerks, and it’s the sexiest vision ever.

Coming wasn’t part of my plan, but I have a brief but profound history of being unable to control myself with Penelope, and here we go again.

Pulling out to let her breathe, I drop her back on the bed. My cock in my fist, I stroke it while I take in the absolute mess that is Miss Wilder. Slight worry nips at my insides that I went way too far, and she’ll scream bloody rape. She wouldn’t be wrong, and it’d be a fucking disaster for my entire future.

Again with the lack of control around this woman.

Her upside-down face is wet with tears and drool, but she also has that otherworldly post-orgasmic gleam in her eyes, her cheeks, hell, her whole chest blushes, and she glows.

“You dick! You fucking dick! Let me out of these. My arms hurt like hell.” She squirms and tries to change position, glaring daggers.

Relief floods me. She’s pissed—for good reason—but no matter how rough I got, she’s not crying sexual assault.

Grabbing her shoulders, I shove her higher on the bed, then flip her onto her belly. If she thinks this is over, she can think again. I find my discarded pants, fish out the key from the pocket, and unlock one of the cuffs, then use the opportunity to drag the pathetic wet fabric of her blouse off her. There is a red indentation circling her wrist, but I have no regrets.

Almost.