Chapter 6: Commentry
He paused, buried to the hilt, his cock a burning brand inside my soreness. “Tell me what this is,” he demanded, his voice a rough whisper against my neck.
“It’s your cock, Jiju,” I gasped, feeling him twitch within me. “In my virgin gaand.”
He pulled out slowly, almost completely, the cool air a shock before he slammed back in. “Whose tight little shithole is this?”
“Yours!” The word was punched from my lungs. “Only yours, never any other man’s.”
Another deliberate, withdrawing slide. His hand squeezed my breast cruelly. “And these juicy mamme? Who do they make hard?”
“You,” I moaned, arching into his painful grip. “They make your lund hard, thinking how much younger they are than Didi’s.”
He drove back in, a fraction harder. “Say you love feeling me tear you open here.”
“I love it,” I chanted, the admission filthy and true. “I love your fat cock ruining me for anyone else.”
His rhythm began again, shallow and grinding. “You’ll remember this ache every time you see me with her.”
“I will,” I promised, the betrayal a dark thrill. “I’ll sit at your dinner table and feel your fucking from the night before.”
He laughed, a low, unhinged sound, and bit my shoulder. “My perfect, nangi randi.”
He rolled us over so I straddled him, his raw cock sliding back into my well-used cunt with a slick, familiar ease. “Ride me like you mean it, you cheap little slut,” he grunted, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Show me what a hungry, unmarried bitch can do.”
“Didi never rides you like this, does she?” I panted, grinding down hard, taking him deep, my own voice foreign and brazen.
“No,” he admitted, his eyes dark with a mix of shame and fervor. “She just lies there.” I bounced harder, my breasts swaying, feeling a power I’d never known. “Then fuck her dumb younger sister instead,” I gasped, leaning forward to let him suck my nipple, his tongue rough and eager. “Fill this chut she thinks is so pure.”
“I’m going to fill it until it leaks,” he promised, his hips bucking up to meet my downward strokes. “Make you walk funny tomorrow.” The pace turned frantic, a sweating, slapping rhythm drowning out the city’s hum. “Tell me you want my come,” he demanded, his fingers biting into my flesh. “I want it,” I moaned, my own climax coiling tight. “Paint my insides white, Jiju.”
We collapsed sideways, a tangled mess of limbs, his softened cock slipping out with a wet sound. He traced the freshly tender skin around my asshole. “I should take this again,” he mused, his voice thick with spent lust. “Before I lose the nerve.” I didn’t speak, just shifted my hips in silent, damning invitation. His calloused thumb pressed gently at the entrance, still loose and aching from before. “It’s red and puffy,” he observed, a grotesque tenderness in his tone. “My mark.” I turned my face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of us, of sin, of a line crossed forever.
His thumb remained there, a possessive press on the bruised furl of flesh, as I swallowed down the last of my shame and turned my head to look at him. “My gaand is tighter than hers, isn’t it, Jiju?” I whispered, the words leaving my mouth like a slow exhalation of poison. “You had to work so hard to get inside me.”
He went very still, his breathing the only sound in the thick air, and I watched a familiar, darker heat begin to eclipse the drowsy satisfaction in his eyes. “It’s a different kind of tight,” he said finally, his voice low and considering, his thumb circling slowly, making me shiver. “Hers is practiced, greedy for it.” His other hand slid up to cradle my breast, his palm rough against the soft underside. “Yours is… shocked. Clenching like a scared little fist around my cock.” He pinched my nipple, pulling a sharp gasp from me. “Your mamme are fuller, heavier. Hers have softened after the baby.”
“Do you like mine more?” I dared to ask, pushing my chest into his hand, feeling my own wetness begin to gather again as his fingers teased the stiff peak.
“I like that they’ve never been touched,” he growled, rolling the nipple painfully between his thumb and forefinger. “I like that I can mark them any way I want.” He leaned down, sucking one deep into his mouth, biting down just enough to make me cry out, and I felt his cock begin to thicken against my thigh. “She just moans. You scream.”
“She just takes it,” I panted, my hips beginning a helpless, tiny grind against his leg. “I beg for it. I begged you to fuck my ass, remember?” His length hardened completely, a hot, insistent pressure against my skin. “My cunt gets wetter, too. I could feel it dripping down my legs while you were in my ass.” A low groan vibrated from his chest into mine. “Christ, Nupur.” “Tell me,” I insisted, my hand sliding down to wrap around his renewed erection, feeling its fierce, silken heat. “Tell me which sister's is better.”
“Tell me which sister’s is better.”
His eyes glazed, a raw hunger swallowing the last flicker of conscience. A brutal flip, and my back hit the mattress, his weight a familiar anchor. He shoved my thighs apart, his gaze locked on my wet, swollen cunt. “Hers is a road I’ve walked a thousand times.” He spat onto his fingers, rough and uncouth, and slicked his cockhead with the saliva. “Yours is a dirty alley I can’t stop getting lost in.” He drove into me with a single, claiming thrust, punching the air from my lungs. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his vulgarity with my own. “Your road gets you home,” I gasped, digging my nails into his shoulders. “My alley makes you fucking late.”
He pistoned into me, each stroke a furious, slapping punctuation. “She asks politely.” He grunted, his rhythm relentless, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest. “You demand it like a whorse who knows her price.” I arched, taking him to the hilt, wanting to be split in two by his approval. “Then pay me,” I snarled, the words tearing from a place of beautiful corruption. “Fucking pay me with your seed.” His control shattered. A guttural roar, a final, brutal series of thrusts, and I felt the hot, spurting flood of his release. He collapsed, his spent body heavy, his breath a storm in my ear. We lay there, hollowed out and sticky, the silence a cavern between us filling with the slow, cold drip of aftermath.
We lay there, hollowed out and sticky, the silence a cavern between us filling with the slow, cold drip of aftermath. "My nanga badan is still throbbing where you were," I whispered, my voice husky from use. "Every inch of my chuchi feels bitten and owned by your mouth." I slid my hand down between us, fingers tracing the wet seam of my phuddi. "And this... this feels empty without your lund devouring it again." I felt him stir against my thigh, his breathing hitching. "You talk too much," he muttered, but his hand moved to cup my breast, thumb brushing my nipple. "Compare them to Didi's again," I urged, arching into his touch. "Tell me mine are tighter, younger, more desperate for your marks." His fingers tightened, and he rolled onto me, his erection pressing against my hip. "Her body is a known map," he growled, aligning himself at my entrance. "Yours is a fucking discovery every time." He pushed inside, a slow, burning stretch that made me gasp. The pace was deliberate at first, but as I reached down and squeezed his balls firmly in my hand, his rhythm shattered. "Did Didi ever squeeze you here while you fucked her ass?" I panted, my grip tightening. A sharp crack echoed as his palm connected with my thigh, then another on my ass. "No," he hissed, his thrusts becoming frantic, pounding into me with a speed that stole my breath. "She never dared." "More," I begged, the stinging pain merging with the deep, jarring pleasure of his cock. He spanked me again, sending a fresh wave of fire across my skin, his hips a relentless machine. "Mark me," I moaned, "until I forget my own name."
“Mark me,” I moaned, “until I forget my own name.”
His answer was a swift, open-handed crack that landed on my upturned ass, the sound sharp and final in the room. I yelped, the sting a bright, instant brand on my already tender skin, and he did it again on the other cheek, a one-two punch that made my eyes water. “You want marks?” he snarled, his hips never breaking their jarring rhythm, his cock pistoning into my soaked cunt. “I’ll give you fucking maps.” Spank after spank rained down, each slap of his palm echoing, turning my flesh to a uniform, throbbing heat that melted into the deeper, internal pounding of his body against mine. The pain was no longer separate; it fused with the pleasure, a single, overwhelming current of sensation that short-circuited my thoughts, reducing me to a gasping, clutching animal. “Whose slut are you?” he demanded, his breath ragged in my ear, his hand pausing mid-air.
“Yours, Jiju, only yours!” I cried, pushing my ass back into the space where his hand hovered, inviting the next blow. He delivered it, harder, and a broken sob of pure ecstasy tore from my throat. His other hand slid around my neck, not squeezing, just holding, a possessive collar of heat and pressure. “And what does this slut crave?” He punctuated the question with another brutal thrust, his balls slapping against my sensitized skin.
“This!” I choked out, the words barely audible. “Your rough fucking! Your punishment!” He grunted in approval, his tempo becoming erratic, a prelude to his finish. The hand on my neck tightened incrementally, just enough to make the world narrow to the points of contact: his grip, his pounding cock, the fiery bloom of my ass. “Then take it,” he commanded, his voice guttural and final. A few more desperate, grinding thrusts and he spilled inside me with a strangled roar, his body shuddering, his teeth sinking into the meat of my shoulder. I came apart silently, a blackout surge of pleasure that felt like annihilation. He stayed there, lodged deep, both of us panting, slick with sweat, the air suffocating with the smell of sex and salt. A single, clear thought finally pierced the haze: I had begged for every bit of it.