Marcus van Heller - House of Borgia,book 2

“So beautiful I could possess that little crevice between them and imagine myself sailing around the moon on a magic carpet.” Lucrezia laughed breathlessly. “Why not?” she said. “If you do it'll make me so excited by the time you've finished that I'll cut off your penis with my scissors if you can't come up again within half a minute to satisfy me? that is, if I'm not satisfied already.”

He pressed hard against her. That tight little posterior hole was just as delightful as the other. It didn't matter which he had first. He pushed her toward the bed and put her hands around behind his back, pushing his buttocks at her as if she were propelling them both along in their movement.

From a table beside his bed she took some pomade with which, in times of peace and pomp, he treated his hair.

“Use a little, of that,” she said. “It's a long time since I've felt an invasion in that quarter.”

She climbed onto the bed and lay on her stomach, holding her thighs together, pressing them into the coverlet, grunting with expectation.

Cesare knelt over her and pulled her buttocks apart as if he were separating the quarters of an orange. Between was that dark, puckered, very bald-looking crack, seeming so tiny that it was impossible to believe his battering-ram could possibly force its way in.

He took the pomade and gently massaged the little hole with it, smearing it around the bald, puckered flesh, gently tickling her tender spot with his fingertips.

Lucrezia wriggled under him so that her buttocks tensed around his fingers and held him in a light grip.

“Oh hurry, darling,” she said, her voice coming up, muffled by the coverlet into which she was pressing her face to control her passion.

Her anus was slippery with the pomade and he pushed his index finger at the clinging little hole. It gave without much difficulty and his finger slipped in and was held. His fingertip found soft, loose depths and he waggled his finger around a little and then pushed in another finger.

Lucrezia pressed her hips into the bed, squealing.

“Darling, darling, don't torment me!”

Cesare looked at his prick. It was red and angry looking. He pulled his foreskin right back and smeared a little of the pomade on so that it glistened.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered.

Lucrezia, as if she too were hungry and opening her mouth for food, spread her legs in a large, obtuse-angled V, pressing her legs hard and quiveringly into the coverlet. She loosed her buttock-tension and lay there, her mouth open, heart and loins pounding for the stiff entry.

Cesare leveled himself over her, caught his prick in one hand and aimed it as he stretched out on her, feeling at first the gentle brushing of their skins from chest to loins as he positioned himself and then the full, hot weight of flesh against flesh as he lay heavily on her body.

“That's it!” she grated. “Go on darling. I can stand it!”

Cesare pushed down harder, practically pivoting on his vertical stand.

She groaned out a long exclamation which at first was formless and then managed to transform itself into a stifled “Daaarling!”

His penis was pinched and contracted in her deep passage. It felt as if sparks were being squeezed out of it, as if it were being squeezed into little sections, each with its own burning light.

Cesare moaned with the tight excruciating excitement of it and put his arms around and under her, grasping her breasts, slightly flattened against the bed, and began to squeeze and pull them.

Lucrezia uttered a little scream and he felt her undulating under him, her buttocks rising and falling, wriggling and squirming against the hairy flesh of his loins.

The relief he'd felt at shoving his penis at last into the soft receptacle of his sister's body began to fade and its place was taken by a gnawing pressure which was growing agony.

He rose and fell on her with long deep strokes, pushing right up in a tearing invasion of her posterior passage.

His mouth opened of its own accord and his breath barked out. Under him, muffled in the coverlet he heard Lucrezia's little screams of passion and he strengthened his grip on her breasts which seemed to expand and resist him. Up and down, in and out he sawed into her, feeling his organ rasp against the warm walls of her fleshy channel. He wanted still more of her and, without coming out of her, he struggled up onto his knees, pulling her up with him so that she was kneeling with her buttocks in an arc towards him, their bodies joined by the single erect bridge.

Her body curved away from him, her head still resting on the coverlet. She arched her back like a stretching cat and rolled her buttocks in all directions in abandon. He caught her buttocks in each hand and pinched up the flesh, holding it in handfuls, squeezing it furiously as he drove in, wanting to hurt her, to communicate to her the ecstasy of pain and delight in which he was plunged.

He rammed his penis in and then waggled his hips around against her stretched, naked buttocks, feeling the warmth of the friction spring up between them.

To Lucrezia it seemed that there was nothing to her body but loins and buttocks. Her loins were afire and her behind was a gaping cavern into which all of Cesare seemed to have plunged. It seemed that all her entrails had been pushed aside to leave only a great empty, palpitating space in which he moved thickly and expanded with more and more fury.

Ramming in, Cesare was caught on a rhythmic tide of movement in which there seemed to be no thought, no mind, only wild, orgiastic movement and loin-tearing sensation. His penis was chafed and burning and seemed to be still growing, thickening in its every particle, stiffening still when it had seemed utterly stiff before.

His gasps came with rhythmic regularity. Every in-stroke pulled breath from his mouth.

He leaned forward, grasping her tiny waist which seemed so fragile under the voluptuous hips that it looked as if it might snap. He held it on either side, gripping it fiercely, revelling in the feel of the tight flesh and the power that he felt in having her body completely at his command. He pressed her waist down against the bed, forcing it to yield. He drew back and rammed into her with shattering force so that her head grazed forward along the coverlet. He drew back again and shattered in again, tearing into her brutally, savagely, hearing her cry out, losing his whole rigid length in her with a single long thrust. As he drove in he pulled her waist toward him so that her round buttocks crushed back to meet his thrust and helped his searing entry.

He varied his stroke, giving short, quick little thrusts in a quick series and then he reverted to long, slow strokes, bringing from her a fresh gasp or groan with every variation of pressure and movement.

“Oh, oh, oh? I'm coming!”

Her wailing moan came up to him and he gritted his teeth in the brutal ecstasy. His fury had produced her orgasm.

He hurried himself, tensing his loins, grinding his inside, with mental and physical aid, feeling the knot of sensation tighten and complicate in his genitals.

He heard her gasp several short, furious emissions of breath. She rammed back at him as if he couldn't penetrate her enough and then she gave out a long, wild wail which slowly choked and faded into a background of groaning whimpers.

Now, now, now, he told himself as he heaved and bucked over her buttocks which still undulated around him.

He gnashed his teeth, feeling the climax upon him. He pushed her waist flat down toward the bed, wanting to destroy her in the sadistic urge which his near orgasm sent quivering and tumulting through his whole body so that even his toes seemed to tingle with it.

He wanted to split her right apart. He couldn't tell what he wanted. He wanted to go further to achieve some end to his thrusting which he had not yet achieved.