Page 19 of Stranded
“First, I’m going to rape his ex-girlfriend in front of him,” I breathe, quiet so he can’t hear. I want him to believe it’s real.
She moans. “Yes, please. I love this mask,” she breathes, looking at the one I’m wearing. “Drag me in there and rape me while I scream at you to stop.”
My cock throbs in response.
God damn it, she’s perfect.
“Ready?” I ask her, my voice rough.
She nods.
“Let’s go, angel,” I growl, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her inside.
She stumbles, gasping and slipping into her role of victim easily.
“Ivy!” Preston shouts, straining against his bonds.
I ignore him, throwing Ivy over the car's hood. I can hear her quickened breathing and feel the heat radiating from her. I rip at her clothes, tearing them away, revealing her perfect body to the cold air.
“No!” she cries out, her voice echoing in the empty space. “Stop!” she pleads, but her eyes spark with anticipation, her body trembling with desire. The mixed signals are sexy as hell.
“You bastard! Leave her alone!” Preston shouts from the corner, but his voice is hoarse, desperate. I can see the anguish in his eyes, the fear for the woman he knows. But he’s powerless like he always was. Ivy is mine now.
As I look down at her, my own desire raging, I can’t help but smirk behind my mask. “You’re going to take my cock like a good little slut,” I instruct.
She struggles beneath me, her small fists pounding against my chest, her legs kicking out wildly. “No, Maddox!” she screams, but the sound of her protests only fuel my hunger.
I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head. “Stop fighting me,” I command, my voice a low growl.
But Ivy, she’s a wild one. She tries to resist and twist away from me, but it’s futile. Her attempts are weak, ineffective, and half-hearted.
The game continues. I tear the remnants of her clothing, exposing Ivy completely. She whimpers, pretending to resist, but her body betrays her. Her cunt is dripping and begging for my attention. “You’re so wet for it, aren’t you?” I taunt, my hand sliding down to cup her pussy, slipping my fingers inside.
She gasps, her back arching instinctively against my hand.
I can’t help but laugh at her response.
“Look at her, Preston,” I throw over my shoulder, my voice filled with mockery. “She’s soaking wet. She wants it.” I can hear him groan in pain, the sound of his anguish sweet music to my ears.
And then I’m inside her. She cries out, the sound echoing around the garage, but it’s a sound of pleasure, of satisfaction. My cock fills her, stretches her, and claims her in ways she’s never been claimed before she arrived here. That's for certain after I've seen her boyfriend's pathetic excuse of a dick.
Her body tightens around me, embracing me.
I thrust into her, hard and fast, lost in the sensation of her. And throughout it all, Preston watches, the sound of his desperate pleas a distant echo.
Preston whimpers as his dick gets painfully hard in the cage. “Seriously, man. Let me out of this, it’s torture!”
“And it looks like you’re as fucked up as me for getting a hard cock while your ex is being raped,” I growl.
He doesn’t know this is all an act. We’re both in on it, enjoying the role-playing. It proves what a piece of shit he truly is. A real man would fight for his life to get to his woman and protect her from this kind of shit. Instead, he’s getting turned on like a prissy little bitch.
I force another hard thrust into Ivy, her moaning a chorus of pleasure to my ears. “She loves it, Preston, she fucking loves it,” I spit out, a cruel grin spreading across my face beneath the mask. “And you can’t do anything about it!”
Ivy maintains the act, squirming and whimpering sweet pleas for mercy, fueling my need to fuck her harder. “Stop, please,” she gasps, but the husky undertone of her voice and the way her body arches to meet my every thrust sings a different song. She’s a willing participant in this dance of depravity. She’s a beautiful, twisted siren in my sea of darkness. And I’m drowning in her.
Our eyes meet and the wicked gleam in hers makes me certain I’ve met my soulmate. This twisted game we’re playing, it’s not about Preston. It’s about her. The woman who matches my darkness, stroke for stroke. A woman who revels in the very things that should terrify her. A woman who might be as fucked up as me.
IVY