Unnatural Instinct: Free

5.

'Ahhh, that's good.'

He grabs at your hair as you move your mouth up and down the length of him. It stinks. He stinks. Does he ever bathe? He's warm and sticky and at each passing moment he swells bigger and longer in your mouth until you almost choke.

But that's not the worst thing. The worst thing is the salty, disgusting taste at the back of your throat—the taste of his precum.

He gasps again and tightens his fingers through your hair. You try to breathe as little as possible so you don't smell his stink. You close your eyes, nauseated by the sight of his thrusting hips and wrinkled balls.

He thrusts harder, swells bigger. Your heart is pounding. He's going to finish soon. You feel a mixture of relief and dread at the prospect. Relief that it will be over and dread that you have to taste a mouthful of his disgusting ejaculate.

You feel him coming. He tenses. He thrusts his hips. You brace yourself for the explosion. Then he suddenly yanks your head back.

Opening your eyes, you look up at him, both relieved and confused as he gazes back down at you. He's panting and red in the face. He looks dazed, his eyes red-rimmed and heavily hooded. His grip on your head is painful but you try not to wince, unwilling to give him any further enjoyment, as sadistic and foul as he is.

'That's enough,' he gasps.

Relief floods your veins but you can't shake the dreadful feeling that something else is waiting in the wind. Slowly, tentatively, you rise to your feet. Giving him the barest smile—it's all you can muster—you turn to leave.

He seizes your hand. 'Wait. I'm not done with you yet.'

You turn back, your heart pounding against your ribs. His pants are still down, and his cock is swollen and flushed and your saliva makes it gleam against the sunlight. You stare at each other and all you can do is pray to God that whatever he wants of you isn't something too terrible.

He yanks you towards the wall, so the front of your body is pressed up against the stone and your back is to him.

'I need to feel you,' he says urgently in a breathy voice. 'I need to see you.'

'But we can't! We're not married!' You heart is thrashing in your chest.

'I'm not going to "do it". I just want to see.'

He thrusts up your skirts. You try to slap his hands away but he merely pushes you hard up against the wall. 'Don't! It is my right!'

All you can do is submit, your cheek pressed up against the wall as he pulls down your knickers. He tries to grab your backside but your skirts keep getting in the way.

'Hold up your skirts,' he commands.

You obey, and he sighs as he grabs your arse—hard. You try not to shriek, pushing your face into the wall as he gropes you.

He sucks in a breath as he drags the palm of his hand between your legs. 'It feels so good. So warm and soft.' He's murmuring in your ear, his chest pushing up against your back, his erection pressed hard against your backside.

You don't speak. You don't move. What can you do? You have no power. He's absolutely right; you are his intended and it's your duty.

He strokes your lower lips and fingers your clitoris—and not in a nice way. He's so rough that you don't feel any pleasure at all.

You yelp as he pushes a finger inside you. You're as dry as a bone. You feel your vagina spasm, almost as though it wants to expel him out of you.

'Does that feel good?' he murmurs in your ear.

You bite your lip.

You gasp as he shoves his finger in deeper. 'It must be,' he continues. 'I can feel you trembling against me. I can't wait for our wedding night.'

Kissing you on the cheek, he pulls back, withdrawing his finger. With a wave of horror, you feel something else take its place, something hard and hot and dreadful. 'What are you doing?! You can't!' You thrust back against him.

'I told you I wouldn't,' he snaps, pushing you back into the wall. 'I just want to feel you.'

Closing your eyes, you grit your teeth as he pushes his shaft along the outside of your vagina. He moans, his hands in your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head. With his other hand, he reaches for your breasts but they're squashed up against the wall.

A small victory.

It doesn't seem to faze him as he starts bucking his hips against you, dragging this penis back and forth between your legs. Again, like his fingers, it doesn't feel good at all. It's almost ... violent. It rubs you raw. It burns against your tender skin. And every time he bucks against you, your hips buck painfully against the wall.

He grunts, he gasps, he murmurs disgusting things in your ear as his pleasure builds. You feel sticky between your legs but you can't be sure whether it's from you or from him. Then it happens. With another hard thrust that squashes your cheek against the stone, he ejaculates, grabbing his shaft as he does, making sure that he wets between your legs, down your thighs and into your skirts.

It's so hot and wet. It's nowhere near as bad as having him in your mouth but the feel of it still makes you want to throw up. He continues with his thrusting but slowly now, gliding across your now sticky opening.

He stops and for several moments all he does is lean against you, breathing in your ear, before he reaches again between your legs. He drags his finger along your slit, then pauses to push it inside you, this time all the way. You stiffen.

'That's better.' He brushes the hair away from your ear. 'Just you wait for the real thing. You're going to love it.'

Then he pulls back. You stay as you are, braced up against the wall as you listen to the rustle of his pants as he pulls them back up.

'Thanks, sweetheart. See you again.' He plants another kiss on your cheek.

Finally, he leaves.