Season of Ashes Ch. 03-05

And then, he pushed past the last hint of her resistance. He felt her lips pressed against his base, as her throat bulged from the thick intrusion into her gullet. She'd taken him all the way, letting him batter her resistance into submission until her body yielded to his desires. It was too much to bear, a shock of pleasure flooded his veins, and Fujiwara gave a shiver of pure ecstasy as he felt his control slipping.

It took only a few more thrusts for the dam to burst, white-hot pleasure coursing through his body as he succumbed to his first -- but definitely not his last -- orgasm of the night. He had no intention of stopping now that he'd managed to reshape her throat around him, regardless of the discomfort or pain it caused her. He thrust into her with unrestrained need, leaving his balls slapping against her chin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Not a particularly eloquent expression, but he was so lost in the moment that he was capable of little more.

His orgasm came spilling forth, pumped into her throat and spilled into her mouth by the furious pace of his desire, spurting out in thick jets as his cock twitched and throbbed in her embrace. He forced her all the way down, holding her there with unyielding strength, unwilling to relinquish his grip on her.

Milicent

Milicent, in begging to be used with her breathless entreaty, had sealed her fate and signed the Devil's book, resigning herself to what she had expected would be a truly infernal treatment. She was wrong. The actual behavior that followed was of so indecent a nature that it would have undoubtedly reduced even the Devil to an inconsolable state of stammering shyness.

There was no pause. Dominik proved himself a man of immediate action when he scooped up her hair and guided her back where she belonged. The suddenness of the motion left her ill-prepared for the task ahead, and it was with a pained groan that Milicent registered the sudden strike of his cock against the inside of her cheek, which momentarily distended to form a vague lump visible from the outside, before deflating again when his cock slipped farther along into position and launched toward her throat.

For the first time in her life, Milicent had an inkling of what it must be like to exist as a lifeless doll, forever beholden to the caprices of inscrutable figures who steer you in ways that contribute to their mysterious enjoyment. In just a few seconds, with just a few bobbing strokes, she had transformed into the world's most expensive fucktoy, her Barbie face a cascading ruin of bygone glamour shifting into sopping shambles. For a woman like her -- a woman who considered the safeguards of her own beauty to be as indispensable to her well-being as oxygen -- the sudden sensation of demise provoked an internal revulsion. How could she be doing this? How could she have let things progress to this state? Knees throbbing on the hardwood floor, derrière thumping against a low table, lips gliding up and down a complete stranger's dick. She hated how much she wanted him, yet she wanted him nevertheless, and there was no way to deny the glistening proof that tingled at her loins. The pride of composure had been corrupted; now there was only pride in debasement, in the perverse thrill of lowering her station to gratify the needs of the hulking man whose approbation -- and whose alliance -- she so desperately craved. She could always repair herself in the morning; she needed to entrance him tonight.

These soothing little justifications may have acted as a tonic for her blemished pride, but there was still the inconvenient matter of biology to contend with. No amount of enthusiasm could overcome the fact that she was ill-suited for him, incapable of swallowing him up with the effortless craft that distinguished her affairs with other men -- lesser men. Trapped between a rock and a hard place -- between his inflexible grip and the limits of her own body -- she was little more than a strand of thistle-down caught in the middle of contrary crosswinds. She couldn't take him; he wouldn't permit her to give up. The result was chaos.

Unflattering guttural noises erupted from her, no doubt texturing with their vibrations the palpating massage that her mouth and throat offered his invading dick. "Ggglll--gglluugh--nnghhhuuUUGH!" Each discrete phoneme ushered in a fresh sprinkle of ruin: wispy threads of spit and viscous globules of throatslop. The only way to make room for him, it seemed, was to displace from her depths any lingering fluids.

At some point, the strain of the endeavour broke her spirit, and a shuddering sob resulted in a fresh gargle of gagging noises. His exploratory thrusts robbed her of any sense of decorum or mastery; her expression splintered into a shattered mess as she looked up at him, her visage one of greed tempered by distress: brows furrowed, cheeks alternatively bulged or collapsed, face dripping with a thick varnish of mingled spit, tears, and precum.

It wasn't enough for him. He pushed against her, forcing her body to lean back when he stood up, encasing her kneeling form in the shadow of his towering silhouette. The new position left her more helpless than ever -- but it also provided for her salvation. His dick pummelled away at her lips from a much more suitable angle, and Milicent found her throat to be more amenable to destruction from this approach. She stared up at him with tear-stained eyes, blinking away the mist to note the aggression on his face, the abandon in his features. Her heart thudded with pride. Her hands moved up from his knees to his thighs, nails digging into his skin to release her aggression as she held on for dear life.

His shaft, meanwhile, succeeded in pilfering its way past the ultimate horizon, slipping far past her tonsils and sinking into the depths of her throat. The formerly undisturbed expanse of her neck suddenly began to undulate with the shape of his buried meat, which forced her saliva to spray out of the corners of her mouth in regular intervals, the gummy threads dripping down her chin in foaming bubbles that formed an endless river, further contributing to the glowing gloss of her shaking tits below.

"MMMM--NNNNNGH--NGHHHUUUGH--!" The lewdest, wettest, filthiest noises streamed out in response to his brutal throatfucking. Milicent's face turned white, blanched of all colour as she ran out of air. By now, her throat had grown partially insensate from the constant barrage of assaults, allowing her to relax herself and make a perfect vessel for his dick -- a second cunt, an ideal fucksleeve, bullied into submission and stretched to suit his size. Heedless of her own health, Milicent bobbed her head forward, matching his tempo, betraying the depths of her inhuman appetite as she impaled her skull on his gargantuan length in this crude approximation of fucking. Her lips stretched around the base of his shaft, forcing more and more of it down into her throat, until her bottom lip scraped and quivered against his balls, and her nose smashed against his pelvis.

This wasn't romance; this wasn't lovemaking; this wasn't even really coupling. It was pure, unbridled passion made incarnate, a display of overpowering lust staged by two strangers who had inexplicably fallen into the crossroads of each other's overlapping ambits. Milicent's thoughts were gushing away as he fucked her face, as if each thrust was pushing out all higher considerations from her brain, leaving her fixated only on the most elementary considerations: her desire for him, for this, for more. As far as she was concerned, he was all she wanted in the world: the only person capable of heightening her ardour to new heights and encouraging her to surrender her forbidden side -- the needy, lascivious facet of her persona.

And what a slut she was, this wayward spy. She could put on all the airs she wanted, wear the finest (albeit revealing) outfits, but at the end of the day, she was a glutton for punishment, a gourmand with a discerning taste for the ripest fruits life had to offer; namely, Dominik Fujiwara.

Why else would she lose herself to this feeling? Only hours ago, she had killed a man who had attempted to suffocate her. Now, she eagerly gave up the comfort of her own breath, letting the lack of air empurple her cheeks as a testament to the strain of this exercise. Her half-hearted gasps were frantic and laboured as she struggled to breathe around his invading girth, each desperate inhale causing her to choke not only on his dick, but on the ample volumes of her own saliva, which built up a considerable plug of wetness in the back of her own throat, even while the surplus continued to pour out from her mouth. This was what she looked like at her best: cockdrunk on Dominik, tortured by his thrusts, and still desperate for more -- especially when she felt his cock throb with a newfound urgency.

She tightened her mouth around his shaft ever so slightly, adding some resistance to burn his intruding girth with friction as it slipped along her lips. His heavy balls, laden with her promised payload, struck her chin with soaked slaps, reddening the skin and splattering wet shrapnel around with each blow. Milicent knew that she was dancing close to the edge of peril, knew that there were untold dangers intrinsic to this hasty affair, knew that the consequences could very well be damning. But all those considerations melted in favour of the unmitigated delight that coursed through her body as her ears tasted the changing timbre of his cries, as her tongue felt the intensifying throb of his shaft while it barrelled down her throat, as her lips twisted into another torn smile, full of pride at the fact that she had endured this onslaught and brought this hulking stud to the peak of excitement.

She groaned, eyes widening farther than ever before, the whites slightly reddened from the tears that adorned her face. Stray locks of hair were tethered to her temple and brow, glued there by the syrupy mess that glazed her visage as a result of this merciless rutting. Her lips trembled, quaking and quivering around his shaft, right as he hilted all the way and unleashed a torrent of cum. White-hot threads of his seed splattered directly into her throat, making her gag instantly from the sudden sensation of overwhelming, over-pressurised fullness in her oesophagus. With her mouth lodged permanently around his shaft, she gurgled and coughed. Frothy mixtures of saliva and seed spurted from the corners of her torn lips, leaking in thick masses that washed down her chin.

She shivered, her whole body writhing like an animal in the throes of near-death. Her back collided with the coffee table, aggravating the sore bruises that she'd accumulated on her body throughout the evening. A few desperate seconds of resistance were all that she had to offer; before long, she crumbled, leaving her quivering lips helplessly attached to the base of his shaft while her vision clouded.

An eon passed. He was still holding her in place. She squirmed, scraping at his thighs with her nails, digging tracks into his skin as she struggled to free herself from this unsustainable connection. She pushed against him, ripping her mouth free with an inhuman growl.

"A-a-a-a-a-a-a-ahhhhhhhh..." Her mouth hung open, gaping wide, showing the abyssal chasm that tunnelled into her stretched throat. Her chin quivered. An electrifying pain danced along her jaw, which was sore from the merciless volley of his face-battering thrusts. She wondered whether she could even close her mouth. Sticky cables of white cum began to flow out of her mouth. In obedience to some inborn instinct, her hands immediately rose to scoop up the overflow, guiding the mess back to her mouth so her paralyzed tongue could properly sample the load he'd dumped inside of her.

"I--" No. Speaking was painful. Her throat was raw and sore. Her original complexion was slowly returning as she regained her breath. The world was spinning too fast.

She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock, using it like a pacifier so she could mollify herself. It was too comforting. She let her lips spread around him, lazily devouring him inch by inch. A sparkle of glee was evident in her watery eyes when she realised she could welcome him inside beyond her original limit. She withdrew, using her mouth to wipe any cum-laced residue from his shaft before breaking free and staring up at him.

Her hair was a tousled mess of gold; her face gleamed with moisture, and she had to repeatedly blink to shoo away the wetness that threatened to encroach upon her eyes. Despite the hardship, she beamed up at him with a bright, cum-stained smile.

"You're a monster."

Dominik

He didn't relent until he'd drained himself into her fully. The struggle she put up was no match for his strength, and the stinging ruts she dug into his thighs were inconsequential compared to the pleasure he felt. The very resistance her body was attempting to put up was massaging him, milking his intruding manhood into her throat and stomach -- though as much was gagged back up in a thick foam as made it into her body. For a second, the impulse was there to see how far he could push her, to take her to the edge of consciousness and beyond. Milicent's eyes were already fluttering from the lack of oxygen and the merciless treatment, this time not from hands around her throat, but from Dominik's insatiable arousal. It was a dark impulse, one that saw a pretty thing and wanted to ruin it, a voice inside him that craved the utter dominance of destroying something so completely.

He reined it in. Milicent pushed herself back, gasping with raw, hoarse breaths. Her tongue lolled, dripping strands of throatslop and cum onto her swaying tits -- strands which she scooped into her mouth as if they were ambrosia. Sticky strings still connected her lips to him; the same mixture coated his balls and dripped down his thighs. Both of them were panting as they tried to regain their senses once more, though her breathing was ragged with the aspirated mixture that had been choking her.

Fujiwara's grip in her hair relented, though he did not release her completely. He wasn't sure if he could; how could he let Milicent go when she'd just given him one of the most powerful orgasms of his life? He didn't know what it was about her, but he was utterly enthralled; he needed more of her. He needed to claim her in a way that left his mark indelibly, that cemented her as his for the world to see. Intellectually he knew that was a dangerous, foolhardy thought. That wasn't the primary consideration tonight.

Whatever her words, or the apparent anger in her prior outbursts, Milicent didn't rebuke him. She collected the salty remnants of his seed that she'd coughed up onto his length, tongue-polishing him and swallowing him down with languor -- apparently pleased at the ease with which she could now -- before looking back to meet his gaze with tears streaking down her cheeks.

He was a monster. If anyone was a match for his monstrous nature, it was this enigmatic, alluring woman between his legs. Fujiwara brushed an errant lock of hair back from her face, dredging up an ounce of tenderness from somewhere within, even as he chuckled with sadistic satisfaction.

"If I'm a monster, it's only because you asked nicely." Mirth danced in his eyes as he stood over her, a warrior over his conquest, glistening with sweat from something other than the heat of battle. "You're going to see just how much if you stay with me."

A threat? An offer? A statement of fact? It was all of them at the same time. He allowed himself a dangerous luxury in the throes of passion: that of hope. Perhaps out of the dishevelled mess of violence in their wake, they could forge a partnership greater than the sum of its parts.

He pushed the thought aside. Such concerns could be dealt with in the morning, with daylight to expose the realities of their situation. For tonight, he was determined to strip away the last vestiges of Milicent's armour, to see who she truly was beneath her sapphire eyes. His grip redoubled on her golden hair, and he tugged her upward, meeting her halfway with another crushing kiss to steal her breath away. His other hand wrapped around her throat, over the dark bruises there, pressing hard enough to remind her of the dull pain, but not hard enough to cause more damage. There would be time for him to leave bruises on her in the future, to demonstrate his desires and write them across her golden flesh in blood, sweat, and scars. For now, he was going to savour this beautiful woman.

His hand slipped lower, a rough thumb brushing over her collarbone, palm caressing the curve of her breast with a feather-light touch before his arm wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her body to his. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, her nipples taut against his skin. Her curves moulded into the sculpted muscle of his body, and he maintained a lingering kiss. His tongue swirled with hers, careless of the residue on her lips, or the way her chin was streaked with spit. Showing her that she belonged to him was more important, and he wasn't going to let such distractions interfere. Her scent swirled in his nose, and he released her hair to let it fall in curtains about both of them, his other hand sliding down to cup her ass as he lifted her into his embrace fully, their bodies meshing together into one. He was still throbbing insistently against her stomach, smearing the last vestiges of his orgasm against her and pulsing with need. He had not flagged after spilling into her; it had only solidified the craving he felt.

He collapsed back onto the couch, not breaking the tangle of their lips, hungrily trying to possess her completely. His hips rolled beneath her, teasing both of them with the erection trapped between their bodies. He was so close to the source of the boiling heat between her legs, and yet no distance was close enough to make it seem like less than a vast gulf; nothing would satisfy the aching need he felt until they were both spent and exhausted.

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Chapter Four

Milicent

DAZED IN the heady aftershocks of that gluttonous display, Milicent scoured the interior of her mouth with her tongue, exciting the vestigial flavours that had bonded to her hard palate. Even the echo of his taste was divine. Basking in the afterglow, she felt like an accomplished supplicant, a worshipper who had successfully propitiated at the sacred altar of her god, whose satisfaction was the sole prerequisite for her own.

Euphoria aside, she acknowledged that Dominik wasn't a deity; only a mortal. She knew what it meant to take the edge off for a man; she recognised that she had privileged his release and, in doing so, forsaken her own. Men just didn't have the drive that she did. There would be no encore. Not for a while, at least. But if she got her way, this encounter would only be the first of many.

If you stay with me, he uttered. She raised an eyebrow, as if she were challenging the counterfactual nature of his statement, but she refrained from making any verbal corrections as he guided her back to her feet. Actions speak louder than words, after all, and Milicent was keen to express her attachment in as physical a manner as possible.

Her fingers crept up the sweat-dewed ridges of his chest before her arms wrapped securely around his neck, allowing her damaged body to suspend itself against the bulk of his larger frame. He stole another kiss from her, surprising her with a display of tenderness, even as the roaming touch of his hand -- at her throat, at her collar, at her breast, and at her waist -- relayed an unmistakably covetous demonstration of his regard. She didn't mind one bit. Her arms tightened around his neck, and her lips curved against his with the weight of her smile when he lifted her up and guided her back to the couch -- the worn, threadbare couch that would forever occupy a slot of infamy in her memory for what it had precipitated tonight.