Chapter 13: Nabil's hips piston forward with animalistic force, bottoming out inside Christelle's trembling body as she screams into the marital bedsheets. 'Your husband's little dick never reached this deep, did it?' he growls, slapping her ass red while her stretched pussy lips cling desperately to his veined shaft.
A raw, guttural sound tore from Nabil’s throat, a final predatory groan as his hips stuttered against her face. Christelle felt the first violent pulse at the back of her throat, a scalding flood that hit like a physical shock. She gagged, tried to swallow, but it was too much, too fast. Thick, salty strands spilled over her clamped lips, sliding in warm rivulets down her chin, dripping onto the ruined front of her dress.
He wasn’t done.
He pulled his still-spurting cock from her mouth, the thick head dragging across her cheek as he aimed it upward. Ropes of pearly semen painted her forehead, her closed eyelids, her nose. It matted in her hair, warm and slick. She kept her eyes shut tight, breathing in sharp, ragged bursts through her nose, the scent of sex and salt overwhelming the last traces of her lavender candle.
“Get up,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. His hand closed around her upper arm, hauling her to her feet. She wobbled, semen tracing lines down her neck. “Now. The bedroom. I want to see where your husband fucks you. Where he fails.”
She led him, movements robotic, down the short hall. The family photos on the wall were a blurred smear of color in her periphery. Her own smiling face, Sébastien’s arm around her, the children as babies—all witnesses to this silent procession.
He pushed her through the doorway into the soft, intimate light of her sanctuary. The cream-colored comforter was neatly made. It wouldn’t be for long.
“This is it, huh?” Nabil said, his eyes sweeping the room. “The sacred marital bed. Perfect.”
His hands were on her again, not on the zipper but on the fabric of her dress itself. With a brutal wrench, he tore the shoulder seam. The sound of rending cloth was obscenely loud. Another pull and the dress slithered down her body, pooling at her feet. He pushed her backward onto the bed. Her panties, sensible cotton, were next. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and ripped them away with a single, dismissive snap.
Before she could cover herself, his hands were under her ass, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He arranged her like a doll, shifting her up the bed until her hips were at the edge, then he knelt on the floor, pulling her down until her center was level with his mouth.
She cried out, a sound of pure shock, as his tongue speared into her without preamble.
It was so different. So direct. Sébastien’s lovemaking was hesitant, almost polite. This was an assault, a claiming. His mouth was hungry, his tongue relentless, circling her clit then plunging deep, lapping at her with a wet, filthy noise that filled the room. The shame was a bonfire in her chest, but her body betrayed her instantly. A coil of pleasure, wire-tight and electric, snapped in her core. Her back arched off the bed, a broken moan escaping her as the orgasm ripped through her, unexpected and devastating.
“Already?” Nabil murmured, his breath hot against her swollen flesh. He didn’t stop. His tongue fluttered, dipped, sucked. “Fuck, you’re dripping. You love this, don’t you? Your husband’s boring little tongue never made you gush like this.”
He was right. The evidence was there, the slick sounds of his mouth on her. He worked her through the first trembling aftershocks and straight into a second peak, more intense than the first. She writhed, her hands fisting in the comforter, a sob caught in her throat as another wave of pleasure, sharp and almost painful, tore through her.
Then he dropped her. Her body bounced on the mattress. Before she could recover, he was on the bed, kneeling between her legs, his hands rough on her inner thighs, pushing them wide. The blunt, massive head of his cock nudged against her entrance, a terrible, insistent pressure.
Panic cleared the fog of pleasure. “No,” she gasped, trying to shuffle back. “It’s too big. Nabil, please, it’s too—"
“I wasn’t asking for your opinion,” he cut in, his voice flat. He leaned his weight forward.
She felt her body stretch, a burning, impossible strain. The thick crown pushed, but her flesh resisted, tight and unyielding. He withdrew slightly, then pushed again, a testing, brutal jab.
“See?” he grunted. “Tight as a fucking vice. All locked up from disuse.”
He repeated the motion, a slow, relentless piston at her gate. Withdraw. Push. Withdraw. Push harder. Each time, the pressure increased, the burning ring of muscle protesting.
“It’s… it’s opening,” she heard herself whisper, dazed. The burning crested, and then there was a sudden, slick give. The broad head popped past the tightest resistance and sank into her, an inch, then two.
She gasped. The fullness was astronomical, a stretching, deep ache that stole her breath. He didn’t pause. He fed her more of it, a slow, excruciating invasion, centimeter by torturous centimeter.
“Oh god,” she moaned, her head thrashing side to side. “Oh fuck, it’s so deep. It’s so big.” The words spilled out, unfiltered. “You’re splitting me open.”
Her hips lifted, seeking more, even as her mind screamed in overload. The pain was still there, a bright thread, but it was weaving itself into the fabric of a pleasure so profound it felt like annihilation. He was filling a void she hadn’t fully acknowledged, hammering at the walls of her quiet, lonely restlessness.
His pace increased, shallow, deep strokes that rubbed against a place inside her that had never been touched. Each drive drew a sharp, bitten-off cry from her lips. The sounds she made were not her own—filthy, desperate pleas mixed with choked sobs.
The coil wound again, tighter and hotter than before, fueled by the sheer, obscene size of him and the crude, unvarnished reality of the act. It shattered without warning. Her body locked, back bowing, a silent scream on her lips before a raw, ragged wail tore free. The orgasm was violent, a convulsive storm that clamped down on the invading thickness inside her, milking it in pulsing, desperate waves.
He went absolutely still, buried inside her. Letting her ride it out. As the last tremors subsided, leaving her boneless and gasping, he looked down at her, a cruel, knowing smile on his face.
He shifted his hips, just a little, making her whimper from the oversensitive friction.
“Feel that?” he said softly, almost conversationally. “You just came your fucking brains out.” He leaned close, his breath in her ear. “And just so you know… you’ve only taken half of me.”