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“I’m still worn out, you fucker,” Nat mumbles into the pillow tucked beneath her head, words spilling out in the wake of a yawn as a hand slips between her legs. “Be gentle.”
“Aw,” Shauna coos, all snark and no sympathy as she brushes over the seam of Nat’s cunt with the pad of her thumb and wiggles the digit between her lips to test the waters. “Are you sore?” She asks lightly, curious in a way that can only spell trouble, and slowly begins to rub Nat’s entrance. “Did I play too rough with your little hole last night?”
Nat doesn’t want to admit it, maybe, doesn’t want to add more fuel to the fire Shauna’s kindling, but, “…Yes,” she admits after a moment of savoring the touch. The gentle probing touch sits in stark contrast to the battering ram of a cock Shauna strapped to herself the night before and the twenty honest-to-god minutes it took to sheathe the fucking thing inside of her. “But—ah, keep doing that—I liked it.”
(“It hurts, Shauna.”
“I know it does, baby, but you like when it hurts.” Thick fingers dig into Nat’s slender hips, pressing into tender flesh hard enough to make sure she’ll wake up with pretty purple bruises in the morning. “Don’t you?”
Yes. God, yes.
Nat likes the stretch and she likes the burn and she likes the overwhelming heavy pressure of being stuffed so full of a cock attached to her dickhead of a boyfriend. She likes that it took Shauna a while to stretch her open, starting with a couple fingers and working her way up to something nearly as thick as her wrist with no fucking give. It’s a searing tight pressure, a taut coil on the verge of snapping, and it feels a little bit like being torn apart from the inside out. Like having her cunt and her soul split open all at once for Shauna’s amusement.
It hurts and it’s perfect. It’s exactly what Nat needs.
“Fuck—please,” she whines, tugging uselessly at the leather belt binding her wrists to the headboard, though she’s not sure what she’s pleading for. All Nat knows is that she wants, in every sense of the word.
By Shauna’s rough hands on her body—tucked up under her knees now, clamped around her pale thighs, pressing Nat’s legs up and apart, knees to her chest—there’s no doubt she’s going to get. And she’s going to take what’s given without a say in the matter because she doesn’t have her hands and Shauna’s gotten so much bigger ever since graduation, ever since she found out that slinging weights in the gym is a better outlet than soccer ever was.
There’s nothing Nat can do but pant and whine and fucking leak while Shauna takes advantage of her helpless little body.
And it doesn’t hurt her pride nearly as much as it should to get laid out and strung up and fucked full, but the fact that she likes it so much makes her want to die a little. The fact that she can’t close her legs, can’t grab at Shauna’s big biceps and dig her nails in every time the head of her cock bullies up against Nat’s cervix, can’t do shit, really, just makes her wish she were on her belly instead of on her back.
Something about Shauna having a clear shot of her face while she tenderizes her pussy with a fucking beast of a strap; Nat’s never been treated quite like this—she’s had something close, almost, but she doesn’t want to think about that—like a malleable piece of meat by someone who loves her, really loves her, and she’s not sure what to do with how much it makes her gush.
Something about Shauna fucking Nat like she hates her, like she has one purpose.
Like she’s trying to get her pregnant, like—
“I’m gonna make you a mommy,” Shauna grunts out.
Nat barely hears it over the slap of skin on skin, Shauna’s thick muscly thighs against her ass, and the downright indecent slosh and squelch of her pussy as it opens up for Shauna.
“I’m gonna knock you up and make you a fucking slave to your baby daddy.”
Nat hears that one loud and clear.
And she tries not to whimper and moan about it, she really does, because she’s not supposed to want something like that, but Shauna punctuates her words with a series of particularly deep thrusts that make Nat feel like she’s about to piss herself, and the sounds force themselves out anyway.
Nat pictures her tits fat and heavy and full of milk. She imagines Shauna’s mouth on them, drinking from her, wet lips around a big puffy nipple, droplets of milk dripping down Shauna’s chin. She imagines Shauna shoving her shirt up over her tits and drinking her fill whenever she wants, which will always be before dinner because the man of the house eats first. That’s what her daddy always told her.
“Shauna—god, fuck.”
Her body rocks with the force of Shauna pounding her into the mattress, bending her in half—into what the hell had Shauna called it? a mating press?—holding her down, breaking her open.
Leather digs into her wrists as she tugs on her bindings. She needs—something, she needs something, but she isn’t sure whether that something should come in the form of Shauna slowing down or taking it up a notch.
Slower might be nice, romantic even, a little sappy—sopping—lovemaking to bring both of them to a peak.
But Nat can certainly take more, can take a beating, can weather the storm of Hurricane Shauna and the animalistic snarl she lets out every time her cock fucks up against the barrier at the deepest point of Nat’s cunt.
Can a cervix bruise? Does Nat care?
Does she hope she’s gaped enough after the fact for Shauna to shine a light in and check?
Nat doesn’t want it slow, not right now.
She wants it to hurt.
Every girl Nat knows has complained at one point or another that their boyfriends don’t listen to them, that their boyfriends are tuned out, that their boyfriends can’t analyze words and behaviors and use the conclusions to do nice things for them. Every girl Nat knows wants a mind-reader for a boyfriend. Nat’s pretty sure the key to that is not dating boys at all because, fuck, she wound up with an over-attentive boyfriend who knows exactly what she’s thinking without her having to say it, and Shauna is decidedly not a boy.
Nat doesn’t want it slow, but Shauna fucking lives in her head.
Shauna’s hips press up against her and stop. Nat’s stuffed full and Shauna won’t fucking move.
“Please, baby,” Nat begs. “I need more.”
“That’s not what you call me, is it?”
“No,” Nat says, her breath a gasp. “No, sir.”
Shauna hums, lips twitching with a smirk. Then she’s easing back until she’s halfway out, a slow drag, and Nat doesn’t have to look to know that Shauna’s cock is shiny and slick with the mess from her cunt. She glides back in, unhurried at a fucking turtle’s pace, and sets a rhythm that’s undoubtedly more for her own amusement than for Nat’s pleasure. She’s always liked watching Nat take her; something about the stretch and the sounds and the slushy openness of her pussy even as it tries to suck her back in.
“That’s right, Natty.” Shauna slumps over Nat’s folded body, slots back into her, until her sweaty forehead rests against Nat’s cheek, her shoulders tucking in beneath Nat’s knees to take the place of her hands as they take fistfuls of wrinkled sheets as anchor points. Slow rocks of her hips, warm breaths puffed against Nat’s jaw as Shauna humps her, fully sheathed, just enough movement to remind Nat again and again and again how full she is. “But that’s not all you’ll call me once I get you pregnant.”
Nat can’t catch her breath, whines coming out quicker than she can get air back in.
“Say it,” Shauna growls.
“Shauna, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t, I can’t.” She’s whining again, wriggling beneath the weight of Shauna’s body, pinprick tingles buzzing through her hands as she pulls at the makeshift restraints. “I can’t, Shauna—please, just…”
Shauna lifts her hips and drops, one heavy thrust that Nat swears makes her stomach bulge.
“Fucking say it, little girl.”
That does it.
Nat chokes, and her eyes are stinging and wet and leaking all of a sudden, and she’s clenching so tight around Shauna’s cock that it won’t feel right for hours after she pulls out. She’ll be so empty, so sloppy, and maybe she should just beg Shauna to keep it inside before they go to sleep because the only thing that will keep Nat from losing her fucking mind is if she has her—
“Daddy.”
The word tears out of her like a bullet, the prettiest cry, leaving her gasping for air as Shauna plants her hands and pushes up and starts fucking her in earnest. Her muscles ache in protest as her legs are let go; she hooks them over Shauna’s thighs, drawing her in, as if Shauna needs any fucking help with the brutal pace she’s setting.
Shauna takes her by the throat, thumb pressing up into the softness beneath her jaw, and squeezes.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Daddy’s gonna fuck a baby into you.”
And god, sometimes Nat really fucking wishes she could.)
Shauna circles her slippery entrance, never dipping her fingers in more than a few millimeters at a time as she strokes the small of Nat’s back with her other hand.
“Have I told you how much you fucking suck yet today?” Nat huffs, grinning, pushing her hips backward in search of friction, in search of something slipping in, but it just earns her a sharp slap on the back of her leg, right at the meaty part where thigh meets ass. “Don’t tease, you asshole.”
“You’ve got a filthy fucking mouth, Natalie.” Shauna slaps her again, higher this time, catching the cute little swell of her ass just right. It leaves a pretty pink print behind. “Did your daddy ever wash it out with soap to teach you to hold your tongue?”
And maybe Nat should roll over and hit her for that one, tell her to shut the fuck up, to not bring him into this right now, but—but she’s sore and still waking up and getting wetter by the second, and she’s so fucking far past the point of caring that she moans instead.
“Yeah?” Shauna’s laugh is cruel and gleeful as it spills out of her smirking mouth and, by some mercy, she punctuates it with a shallow thrust of her fingers that breaches Nat’s cunt just enough to make her tremble and clench. Her fingers curl inside of Nat, stroking her walls before spreading apart, starting to stretch her open. “Do I need to pick up where he left off? Teach you some fucking manners? Send you to bed without dinner for mouthing off?”
Nat’s daddy did worse than that.
He screamed and swung and put a gun in her hands. Tormented her for things that weren’t even true, shit that jealous girls in her grade made up that spread like wildfire and reached enough ears across town that it didn’t matter whether or not any of it was true.
Rumors were enough to condemn her in her father’s eyes, baseless accusations enough to warrant an open palm and a throttling. Sometimes, when Nat closes her eyes and holds her breath, she can still feel his hand around her throat.
Shauna knows that, Nat’s told her as much.
Just like she’s told her that sometimes, for some stupid fucking reason she hopes to never unpack, she still misses him, that sometimes she feels like she’s still his little girl.
Except for when she’s Shauna’s.