In Which It Is Mackenzie’s Fault
Amaranth was beside us, grabbing my wrist. Ian released me. He slapped her hand away and took something from her. Then, his hand was on mine and he was jamming a ring on me. He got the angle wrong and bent my finger backwards. I screamed.
“Sorry,” Ian said, and then he had it on properly, past the knuckles. I felt the metal circlet resizing itself to be snug as he grabbed hold of me again from behind.
As soon as the ring had settled itself on my finger… well, it felt like somebody simultaneously shoved a snowball in my crotch and a popsicle in my ass.
I gasped and threw my head back. Ian grunted and growled… growled!… behind me.
Either Steff had never actually worn a ring of protection–and with her body, there was less reason to, or the effects got easier to bear over time, or she’d simply downplayed it for some reason. My nether parts were freezing, and my lips felt frosty, too.
Then Ian’s red-hot dick was once again rubbing against my ass, and my last truly rational thought was spent wondering that he could stand having such a sensitive part touching something so icy cold.
Then, I was once again lost in the closeness, thickness, and maleness of him.
He half-carried, half-wrestled me over to the bed. I wasn’t quite resisting. I felt powerless in his arms, but I couldn’t keep from twisting and shaking as panic threatened to overwhelm me. I could feel his dick up against me… he was going to fuck me.
Any altruistic concerns about his pure state versus my own filthiness were far in the past. He was going to fuck me.
In my mind, that word was starting to sound an awful lot like stab, or impale, or kill.
He pushed me forward onto the bed, lifting my legs up and swinging them over. Unthinking, I started to push myself up to crawl off, to get away, but then he was on the bed, flipping me over onto my back. I looked up and saw his nose was crumpled and spewing blood.
Amaranth touched Ian’s face and I had to close my eyes and turn my face away from the searing, white-hot glow that followed.
How could they stand it?
When the miniature sun which had temporarily enveloped Ian’s head subsided, I looked back and saw his nose had stopped bleeding and was in the proper shape, though his face was still bloody.
He growled and put his hands on my thighs. With the blood, he looked primal, fierce… though the throbbing dick, its head angry and purple like a bruise, certainly helped there. I stared at it.
The icy sensation between my legs seemed to be melting, but I wasn’t ready for it to leave me. Now that I could feel, I could feel how wet I was, I could feel… stirrings.
“Opening like a flower,” the trashy romance novels said. This wasn’t a flower, but it was ready to bloom.
That made one of us.
“Wait!” I gasped, still staring more at it than at him. “I’m not ready!”
Of course that was only half of it. I wasn’t ready because I’d never be ready, I couldn’t be ready… how could something so small ever be “ready” to be invaded by something so thick?
Ian hesitated, then reached and put his hand between my legs. I felt those callused, nimble fingers sliding in with far too little resistance, felt the ball of his thumb finding… ooh. Too much. Too much. It felt good, but… too much.
“Please,” I said. “Wait…”
“Shut up, slut,” he said, his voice smoldering, and his thumb flicked around the edge of my clit. I writhed beneath him. My breath was shallow, and the air had no sustenance.
“That’s right,” Amaranth purred, leaning over the head of the bed, her breasts looming upside-down over me. “You don’t have to wait when she says wait. You don’t even have to stop if she says stop. She’s here for you. She exists for you.”
She climbed half on the bed, covering me with herself. Ian withdrew his hand. I think she must have put her mouth on his dick, from the sounds that he made, and then she was crawling and slipping back up my body, her mouth trailing kisses in a line from my navel.
A face full of full-figured nymph wasn’t doing much for my feeling of not being able to breathe, but it was comforting all the same.
Then she was off the bed, off me, but bent low, her face inverted above mine. She kissed and licked at me, making me aware again of Ian’s gift, drying on my face.
“You ‘member your safe word, okay, baby?” she breathed. “I’m here if you need me.”
“I… I can’t…” I panted.
“You can,” Amaranth said. “Just let go of it. It’s not your will, it’s His.”
“His?” I echoed dumbly.
Amaranth nodded and gave her head a little jerk forward, towards the end of the bed, and then she slipped away from my frame of view. My eyes went back to Ian, still straddling me with that too-thick erection sticking out from him, a look of both anger and triumph on his face.
Ian Mason. Dork. Musician. My rock. My… friend?
All those things, and Man.
His. I was His, and it was His will that I was here…
Amaranth was standing alongside the bed next to Him. She put a hand on His shoulder and whispered something to Him. His dick twitched.
“Mine,” he said, shifting His left leg, putting it between mine. I had no strength, no motion in my limbs to resist Him or help.
His.
He got between my legs and pushed them apart. I whimpered in fear… it wasn’t willful, because I had no will, but I got a sharp slap on the outside of my thigh for it.
“Mine,” He said again.
“Yours,” I said, nodding.
He started to lean forward, like He’d just fall down on top of me, then reconsidered. He scooted back on the bed so that He could get on His hands and knees and crawl forward over me, His face brushing so close to my pussy that I thought for a moment He was actually going to… to… but He kept coming forward.
He stopped to let His weight settle against me as He came, His chest on my stomach, and against my chest, and He was covering me.
Too big. Not just the one thing, but all of Him. He was too big to take in, too big to handle. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t invulnerable. I was weak and He would destroy me.
He propped himself up on His arms, and I looked up into His face and found I could breathe. There was a kind of wonder there, in His face, and I adored Him for that look.
Then I felt it… His thing, His dick, Him… the hard head sliding within the slick sides of my pussy. He moved around a bit. I felt a tiny thrill of excitement.
Was that it? Were we fucking?
Then He grunted and shifted His weight to one arm. He started to reach back, but Amaranth was at our side in an instant. She reached between us, and I felt her hand on me, her forked fingers stroking the slippery folds. I shuddered and felt her opening me up, drawing me apart.
I saw the change on His face when she touched Him, took Him in hand, and then He came forward and down and oh fuck, oh fuck… oh… fuck.
FUCK.
“Don’t hold back,” a beautiful voice told somebody from somewhere very far away. “Be tender later… take her now.”
Take me? He already had me. I could feel Him inside me, holding me open… how could He take me any more? But then He shifted His hips and thrust and oh… oh, anybody!
He was… it felt…
I closed my eyes. It was far too much to process when I could see Him. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I closed my eyes and shut out everything else, and tried to focus on what I was feeling.
There was pain of being stretched around His girth, stretching to the breaking point, pain like a thousand tiny little cuts… and there was discomfort at the feeling of something inside me, something where nothing was supposed to be, and the discomfort of something like an eighty degree journey down a ninety degree hallway… but there was pleasure, too, and the pleasure was almost the hardest to bear.
I shut everything out. I was nothing but my pussy… a pussy, it didn’t matter whose. His now. To use, to consume.
“She’s nothing,” Amaranth encouraged. “A hole to be filled. Fuck her.”
“You’re nothing,” Ian agreed hoarsely, and though I knew He was right there was nothing in me left to agree.
He plowed into me, driving down again and again. I retreated before him, like water receding from the shore… like clouds parting to let in the sun. I was defeated… I was conquered… I was taken.
Again and again. With each thrust, I was taken completely with nothing more to surrender, and with each thrust He found some bit of me left to conquer, some unexplored corner of my being that had not been His.
It seemed to go on and on. The sharp initial pains had subsided into bearable soreness and the discomfort had changed to a more general oddness but He rode me still, and the too-sharp, too-much pleasure had changed, too, into something much more pleasurable.
Each stroke was a gift, was a kiss. I moaned my appreciation. I kept my eyes closed, savoring the feelings and nothing else.
I was a hole. I was a pussy. I was a cunt. I was a woman, and He was the Man. I had no problems, no worries, no concerns whatsoever except for His dick and what it did to me.
And what it did to me was wonderful.
It was like I was… like I was a cup, being steadily filled up with pleasure being poured from some much larger vessel. I could feel the rising tide of sensation welling up within me, heavy and heady and familiar and…
Familiar…
Oh, no, I thought. Please, no.
I knew that feeling, and it had no place here. That feeling belonged locked up with shame and punishment, with spanking and humiliation. This was sex. This was fucking. It might even be love. Whatever it was, that feeling had no place in it.
I bit my lip and tried to push it away. I managed to slow the feeling of expanding pressure, of expanding pleasure, but it was still growing. I couldn’t help it. I could fight it, but I couldn’t beat it.
Ian seemed to sense a change within me, and He adjusted His rhythm, switching to longer, slower strokes that only fed the frighteningly familiar sensation.
No, I thought, but I didn’t say it. It was His will, not mine. He would have His way.
My body began to buckle. My hands clutched wildly at nothing, grabbing fistfuls of blanket and bed. My legs locked. My back arched. I fought like mad to keep myself under control.
I would not give in.
I would not.
This was sex. I wanted to do it properly. I wanted to get off. I wanted to come. I did not want a flashback of the weird feeling I got from being spanked to interfere with anything.
“Yes,” Amaranth breathed. I wasn’t sure where she was, if she was talking to Ian or to me. “Do it. Do it now. Bring her, Ian.”
Ian grunted in what sounded like agreement. He forced Himself down for one long, sustained push, then came up, His tip trailing against the top of the channel He seemed to have gouged out of my body with the force of His will.
“I can’t… I can’t… oh, fucking Khersis!” Ian cried, and He threw himself against me, driving His dick in as deep as He could, bucking His hips, pushing and straining against me. His hand grabbed my hair and He grunted, “cunt,” then pressed His mouth against my neck, biting.
The word, the pain, the… everything… I couldn’t hold it in. I burst like a balloon, exploding from within. Ian shook and screamed like a wild man on top of me, still pushing and straining as he spilled his seed. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see. The pleasure was blinding, and it was still coming, still building and exploding as Ian flexed His dick within me.
All my muscles wanted to curl in on themselves. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. Then Ian fell forward, collapsing, and His dick, still half-hard and spewing seed, slipped out of me.
I cried out at the final furtive stimulation that provided… hadn’t I once remarked that Ian’s dick seemed to respond to anything?
Then it hit me that it was over. I felt like my pussy was drenched. How much of that was Him? It was over, and I hadn’t got to come. That wasn’t Ian’s fault… we’d certainly gone long enough and everything seemed to have been done correctly.
It was me. My freaky mix-up of pleasure and shame had got in the way. If I couldn’t tell the difference between humiliation and sex, then it was no wonder I felt the pleasure of humiliation when I was supposed to be having sex.
It was me. My first time… our first time… and I’d fucked it up.
It was me.
Ian was limp on top of me, breathing hard. He said something that came out gibberish, started to get up, then gave up and fell back down on top of me. Amaranth’s hand brushed my forehead.
“How do you feel, Mack?” she asked, and I started to weep.
No matter how many times we fucked, there would never be another first again, and I’d ruined it.
Mack has my sympathies. I can remember the fumbling confusion the first few weeks with my wife. And it would take many months, years to settle into our optimum consensus. And certainly neither of us were virgins. Frankly, who wants to deal with amateurs?
With Alberta I reached a level of sexual ability that I had never achieved with other women. After twenty-five years together. And nearly five years since she passed away, she is still the woman in my dreams, the woman I still want.
I feel as if mack needs to buy a sexual dictionary, or have Amaranth take her and show her.
I can imagine someone leading Mack around like a lost puppy, showing her abstract feelings and emotions.
“This is love. This is shame. This is lust. This is…”
Oh, Mack. You poor gal.
I’ve been there. I was raised by a conservative Christian and thought the way Mack thought about touching myself. I had climaxing so caught up with guilt and shame and sin and fear of hell, that I hated it and couldn’t believe it was a climax. It took a while with my first boyfriend before climaxes finally started to feel pleasurable.
I just experienced a skull crushing face-palm. Oh, Mackenzie, will you ever learn? Well, apparently she will (judging by Amy’s observations) and very well at that but not very quickly.
If Mack can’t be harmed by non-magical physical blows, then how did she get her hymen broken?
And shouldn’t her insane strength extend to the muscles of her vaginal walls..?
Or is this because of her nature? Exceptions to give her more options toward corrupting people..?
Hymens do not break, they stretch. It’s a thin layer of skin that stretches readily, with foreplay. It’s also possible she might have not been born with a hymen.