Owning me, he’d said.
Well, I was owned then. He fucked me into the earth, pinning me, using me, but also letting me use him because he was giving me one of my greatest fantasies. The illusion of being taken almost against my will, the feel of a large, much stronger body trapping me with hard hands, strong teeth, and a plundering cock was too heady, too perfect to voice.
I made little animal noises in my throat that built in frequency and crescendo as he fucked me raw. Together with his harsh grunts and the heavy gasp of our breaths, we made a kind of animalistic symphony. I felt animal then or heathen, something base and dark.
I turned my head into Priest’s neck and bit into the straining tendons there. His cock kicked inside me as he groaned raggedly.
Somehow, he found the will to fuck me harder still. His thrusts pushed me into the earth, digging a grave of lust around us.
He liked the pain, I was learning, just as I did.
I dove beneath the end of his tee, raking my nails up his deeply delineated abdomen around to his back, scratching so hard I knew I was breaking his skin.
Priest roared. Head tipped back to the sky like a wolf howling to his moon, he roared and fucked me, displacing a hand from the ground to my throat so he could choke me lightly. My vision sparked with white and black like static, but I didn’t want to change the channel. I wanted that pressure in my head to break open and explode. I wanted the pain in my well-used, recently virgin pussy to fracture around him.
Vaguely, I was aware of the depth of my depravity, fucking like an animal in a graveyard. Vaguely, I wondered if I might be smote down by God.
Resolutely, I decided if I died there and then while impaled on Priest’s long, ruthless cock, I’d die a happy sinner and live forever content in hell.
Those eyes you picture following you in the night, dark and feral, stalking you from the shadows? Those were the eyes looming above me now. The eyes of a predator pinning down its prey and taking his fill of the spoils. He fucked me with all the vigor of victory and the almost lazy arrogance of someone who was used to winning.
“Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt,” Priest threatened as if his words didn’t bring me an inch closer to death.
I understood now why the French called it that, a little death.
It was fitting I was already in a grave of our own making.
“Gonna fill you up with cum so it leaks outta ya for days,” Priest continued, his eyes glazed and darker than the night around us. “Your poor, swollen cunt is gonna ache after this, and the only thing that can fix it is me slidin’ right back, isn’t that right, Bea?”
“Yes,” I agreed, head flopping from side to side, mud in my hair, snow in my eyes, my entire body focused only on the one central point inside my pussy he continued to drive against. “Yes, yes, Priest. Oh, my God, I love this. I-I love sinning like this with you.”
“Say it,” he ordered coldly, his words lashing harder than the wind against my face. His hand squeezed briefly too tight around my neck. “Wanna hear that sweet voice speak filth for me.”
“I want your cum,” I promised him, too far gone to feel the embarrassment I might normally have been overcome with. Instead, the words felt sweet as Fuzzy Peaches on my tongue. Sweet and elemental as snow. “I want you to come deep inside me. I want to feel you own me.”
That was it.
For both of us.
The sound of Priest, usually so silent and taciturn, overtaken by desire, growling and grunting with it as he fucked me so hard into the dirt, snapped the elastic band holding me together and both of us went spiralling.
Wheeling.
Falling.
All of it in the dark, in the cold, the two of us the only two beings for miles. The air around us steamed, gentle curls of hot air dissipating into the sky.
We breathed each other, mouths open, foreheads aligned. I could see Priest’s gaze, but it was all in shadow.
“You may be a killer,” I said softly, risking the ruination of our intimacy by pushing for more. It was in my nature to delve deeper into someone’s psyche. I could no more stop myself from pressing than I could from loving erotically charged pain. “But you aren’t heartless.”
My hand moved from his hair, over the crescent moon of his cheek, down his neck to rest on the steady, hard beat of his heart.
“If you own me, doesn’t that mean I own you?” I meant it as a question, but the cast of my voice made it a plea.