Carl Van Marcus - The tempted bride

The cruel barbarian's fleshy sword was buried to the hilt. Grace groaned in anguish, pinned to the couch by the rock-hard gristle of his cock like a butterfly specimen on a display board. She felt the need to fart from the pressure, but such relief was denied her because the mammoth prick effectively acted as a cork in her asshole.

Andy, his eyes rolling around in his head with delight, began sawing rhythmically and without mercy deep into the warm rubbery depths of her rectum, evoking further cries of shame and pain from Grace's contorted lips. Soon, muttering obscenities and gasping with sadistic pleasure, he started to thrust the full length of his punishing rod into her with long smooth strokes. It pulled tiny ridges of her brown sucking flesh out with the base of his prick as it withdrew, then shoved the anal ring back in out of sight on the vicious inward lunge.

Grace's body jerked and quivered, convulsing each time an extra hard thrust seared into her tortured asshole. She could hear his animal grunts of delight and hated herself and her body for the joy it was giving the vile unspeakable beast. She wanted to destroy him, kill both men for their brutal unfeeling defilement of her self-respect, but she knew she was defenseless, helpless, impotent to do them any damage.

Andy was near ecstasy as he felt the warm clasping flesh enveloping his sensitive cock from trunk to tip. It was as though he were fucking into a warm velvety glove that squeezed his prick unmercifully. "Oh, you hot little bitch, you," he crooned behind her, "if you only knew how good your tight little asshole feels. Shit, if I could figure out how to bottle it, I'd make a million dollars overnight."

Ricky Karl's high pitched giggle showed that someone appreciated the remark.

Now all Grace wanted was to end this humiliation as soon as possible, to get it over with, completed. She prayed for the strength to please him as she began to grind the smoothly rounded cheeks of her buttocks back to meet each forward drive of his prick, rotating her hips in little impatient circles and deliberately tightening her anal ring on his outward stroke.

Andy felt the sudden cooperative movements of her buttocks beneath him and grinned knowingly over toward, Ricky, "She's getting with it now." He surged into her with renewed power, knowing she was trying to bring him pleasure. She was a fucking love slave, he thought, ready to do anything I want. There obviously was no resistance at all left in this innocent young bride impaled like a slave girl on his pile-driving cock.

Ricky was pleased, really pleased, with Grace's performance. Already he had formulated a use for her at tomorrow night's party. There was a young Cuban boy who was a real sex champion. He would match the boy and the Hope woman together on stage… and then, for a finale, Andy's dog would mount her and fuck the shit out of her. Tony Tratino, the big man in the national syndicate was due on the coast then… and he wanted to see that Tony had a good time. It would be, he thought in smug satisfaction, the last good time Tony ever experienced, for the Chicago hoodlum was on his way out – a victim of a power play which would put Ricky in the top national spot. He watched, smiling broadly, as he observed the brutal sodomizing of the girl. The way she was twisting her virginal little ass around made it appear as if she were beginning to enjoy it. He watched the continuous flexing and unflexing of her buttocks and the arching muscles of her back as she worked and ground back into Andy like a God-damned nympho getting her first cock after being stranded on a man-less island for six months. There was something almost artistic about the way her long black hair danced back and forth over her sweating face and around her neck and back as she squirmed lewdly in front of the rhythmically fucking little bookie. Her face rolled from side to side and Ricky could see it flushing red from her efforts.

Grace could feel the man's cock twitching and beginning to swell and, sensing he was nearing an orgasm, she began grunting and groaning with him, encouraging and pleading with the motions of her ass for him to end it and give her an enema of his hotly spewing sperm.

Andy simply went insane with the approach of his climax. The intolerable pressure was building up in his balls and her twitching, clenching asshole only increased the tingling torment. He began to ram rapidly into her, buffeting her helplessly quivering buttocks with his pelvis, his savage brutal strokes bringing new cries of pain and pleasure as he drove deeper and harder than ever before.

Then gasping incoherently and sputtering like a madman, Andy shoved forward with one last mighty thrust that seemed surely to rip through the walls of her heaving belly and began spewing his hot, thick cum in rushing torrents into the depth of her forcefully milking rectum. Grace, sobbing with relief now that the travesty was almost concluded, ground her buttocks around high in the air and pressed back against his powerful loins while his pent up sperm filled her soft anal passage to the bursting point with a warm, sticky wetness.

"Goddamn Sam," Andy said in wonderment, "that was the tightest asshole I think I've ever been in… and one of the best."

Grace was unable to staunch the tears that streamed down both sides of her face. She was no longer a virgin anywhere; almost every conceivable thing had been done to her, surely there was nothing left for them to do to her now. They had humiliated her in every way, taken everything from her and given back in return only a festering wound that would never heal no matter how long she lived. She was only vaguely aware that Andy's weight had lifted from her. She did feel his deflated penis pull out of her tortured rectum with a wet sucking noise. She felt the sperm draining from her forever stretched back passage, down the crevice to her still quivering cuntal lips before running onto the pillows.

Suddenly, something cold touched her bare shoulders. It was Ricky with another bottle of beer. "Sit up, my dear, and have a bit of refreshment." Weary, too despairing to do anything but obey, she sat as directed and took the bottle. "How do you feel?"

"Dirty!" The word was spat out automatically and she at once wished she could recall it.

Ricky, however, did not seem to mind her outburst. He obviously was on the trail of some other information. "I meant, are you feeling uncomfortable or anything." He glanced at the beer, "Drink that. And then tell me how you feel."

Grace downed the bottle, wondering what it was the fat man was after. When she finished the contents, she said: "You asked me how I feel… I feel sore."

Andy snorted, accepting it as a personal compliment, and obviously delighted at the predicament Ricky found himself in.

"You feel nothing else, my dear?"

Grace brushed the black hair out of her eyes with one weary gesture, staring at him like a puzzled dog being told to do a trick but not understanding what is expected of it.

It was Andy who spoke up, "He means do you feel like you have to take a piss? If you do, he wants you to squat over him and piss on him."

Ricky turned with a mock frown of disapproval on his face, "Now… now. We must not be crude."

Grace could not believe what she was hearing, but one look at Ricky's hot excited expression and at his eyes wide with anticipation, convinced her that once again she had underestimated the extent of the man's degeneracy. He was serious.

Before she could answer or say anything, the white telephone on Ricky's desk rang shrilly. The fat man jumped, seeming to shrivel, and Andy glanced furtively back and forth between boss and telephone. Grace actually heard Ricky swallow nervously as he waddled rapidly to the desk.

"Yes?" he said, then his composure abruptly left him when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. He began trembling, and the receiver shook against his ear. "All right," he said, then hung up.