Chapter 17: The Breaking Point
“Don’t tell you how cute you are when you’re desperate? Don’t tell you I can feel every vein on your dick right now? It’s, like, throbbing. It’s pathetic.”
The word—pathetic—hung in the air between us, a spark on a gasoline slick.
I didn’t think.
My hips jerked back, pulling out of her with a wet, reluctant schlllck. The sudden emptiness made her gasp, her body flinching upward. “Wha—?”
I moved.
My clean hand hooked under her hip, my bleeding one grabbed her shoulder, and I flipped her onto her stomach in one rough motion. The mattress squeaked in protest. My palm, slick and stinging, pressed the side of her face into the sheets, muffling her startled yelp. Her glasses dug sideways into her temple.
My other hand, the one she’d bitten, came down.
It wasn’t a spank. It was a crack of raw impact, my open palm meeting the full curve of her ass with a sound that split the room—WHAP! The shock traveled up my arm. A perfect, blossoming handprint in my own blood stamped her pale skin, stark and wet.
She screamed into the mattress, a high, sharp thing.
I held her down, my bleeding palm now a firm bracket on her hipbone, feeling the fine tremor running through her. I lined myself up, the head of my dick nudging against her soaked, swollen entrance. She was clenched tight, shocked.
“You want to call me pathetic?” The words came out low, a gravelly growl from some deep, possessive place I didn’t visit often. Her curly hair was a wild mess across the pillow. “Let’s see who’s begging when I’m done.”
I drove forward, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal, unforgiving motion.
The impact was a dull, internal thud against her deepest barrier. Her entire body stiffened, a wire pulled taut, and a scream tore from her lungs only to be swallowed by the cotton sheets, emerging as a choked, muffled shriek. Her hands scrabbled at the mattress, fingers curling into the fabric.I didn't let her adjust. I pulled back until just the tip remained, a deliberate, cruel taunt, then slammed home again.Whump. The sound was wet and profound, our skin meeting in a sharp slap. Her ass jiggled with the force, the red handprint I’d left now a blurred, smeared brand on her pale skin.“Still pathetic?” I grunted, setting a relentless, deep rhythm. Each thrust was a full, claiming plunge. Her tight heat was a vise, slick and desperate, trying to accommodate what was clearly too much.“Nnngh—fuck! Hardik!” The name was half-sob, half-scream, mashed against the bedding. Her head twisted to the side, gasping for air, her glasses dangling from one ear. Spit dotted the sheet near her mouth.
I leaned over her, bracing one hand by her shoulder, my other hand—the bloody one—sliding over the small of her back.It left a rusty streak across her spine. My pace was merciless, each drive punching a low, punched-out “unh” from her chest.“You feel that?” I panted, my own breath coming in ragged pulls. “That’s all of me. You took it before, you’ll take it again.”
Her answer was a broken series of moans. Her body was yielding, forced open, but the fight was leaving her, replaced by a shuddering acceptance. Her elbows buckled, and she sank deeper into the mattress, her plump ass raised in helpless offering.
I gripped her hip hard, my fingers pressing into the bone, holding her steady for the pounding. The vulgar, rhythmic sounds filled the room: the slap of skin, the squelch of wetness, my ragged breathing, her suffocated cries. The amber light from her floor lamp glinted on the sweat on my back and the damp trail my hand had painted on hers.
“Say it,” I demanded, my control fraying into something raw and hungry.I needed to hear it. “Say you want it.”
She turned her head, one cheek plastered to the sheet, her eyes unfocused and glossy. “I… I want it,” she whispered, the defiance gone, replaced by a dazed submission.
“Louder.”
“I want it!” she cried out, her voice cracking. “Please, I want it, just—don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
The begging, honest and wrecked, flooded me with a dark, possessive warmth. This was the shift I craved, the moment her clever mouth stopped teasing and started truly wanting. I smoothed my bloody hand over her flank, a possessive gesture. “My good girl,” I rasped, my thrusts becoming smoother, deeper, focused on that spot I knew would unravel her completely.“Taking me so deep. Look at you.”
Her back began to arch, a slow, painful-looking curve. A new sound escaped her, a high, whining keen that climbed with each inward stroke. Her internal muscles, which had been stretched taut, began to flutter wildly, a frantic, involuntary pulse around my cock.
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna come again,” she whimpered, the words slurred with overwhelming sensation. “It’s too much, it’s—”
“Let it happen,” I ordered, driving into her with pinpoint precision.“Come all over my dick. Make a mess.”
Her climax seized her without ceremony.It wasn’t a shatter, but a violent eruption. Her body locked up, rigid, and a hot, gushing flood of her release erupted around me with a sound like a sighing shhhhhht. It wasn’t a trickle but a sudden cascade, soaking my lower stomach and thighs, adding a new layer of slippery heat to the brutal slide of my thrusts.She screamed, a raw, open-throated sound finally freed from the mattress. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, gripping nothing as the waves rolled through her smaller frame. I watched, mesmerized, as her body was ravaged by its own pleasure, my own need coiling, tighter and hotter, in the base of my spine.
I kept moving, riding out the relentless clenching of her orgasm, using it. The sight of her utterly broken and coming uncontrollably was pushing me to my own edge.The warm, sticky evidence of her squirt coated my skin. The scent of her, of us, was everywhere—musky, salty, primal.
“Hardik… please,” she sobbed, her voice wrecked and small. She was oversensitive, shaking, but her hips still pushed back weakly against mine, asking for more. “I can’t… I can’t take anymore, but don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
Her words were a broken chant against the sheets, a contradiction that fed the fire in my gut. “Can’t take anymore” warring with “don’t stop.” I understood. I felt the same unraveling tension, the same impossible need.
My rhythm, which had been a relentless, driving piston, changed. It became slower, deeper, more deliberate. Each withdrawal was almost complete, each thrust a full, bottoming-out reunion that made her gasp. I watched the muscles in her back tense and release, traced the smeared crimson handprint on her ass with my eyes.
My clean hand, which had been braced beside her shoulder, moved. It slid into the wild, sweaty tangle of her curls at the nape of her neck. My fingers tightened, not in a clutch, but in a firm, possessive gather.
I yanked.
Her head and shoulders lifted clean off the mattress, her spine bending into a sudden, profound arch. A sharp cry tore from her throat, part surprise, part pain, part something else entirely. The line of her body transformed from a prone surrender into a straining bow, her back dipping low, her ass raised high.
The arch was deep, unnatural, breathtaking. Another person might have strained or resisted. Pritha’s body, trained by dance, accepted the curve with a fluid, yielding grace. It was a surrendering of control that required immense strength, a flexibility that looked like worship.
She held the position, supported only by my grip in her hair and my other hand on her hip. Her head was pulled back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her throat. Her glasses fell, landing softly on the rumpled sheets beneath her. The amber light caressed the sweat-slick plane of her back, the elegant notch of her spine, the perfect, trembling curve of her offered body.
“Oh god,” she whispered, the sound strained and airy. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips parted.
The new angle was a revelation. For me, for her. I was seated so deep it felt like a new country. For her, the head of my cock now pressed directly into a place that made her entire body seize. A shocked, silent scream shaped her mouth.
I began to move again. Short, shallow rolls of my hips that ground against that spot without retreat. No more long strokes. Just this. An insistent, pinpoint pressure.
“Look at you,” I breathed, my own voice tight with awe. I couldn’t stop looking. The arch, the grace, the absolute vulnerability. The bloody streaks on her skin were like war paint on a saint. “You’re fucking heavenly like this.”
Her response was a guttural, continuous moan that vibrated through her throat and into my hand. Her internal muscles, which had been fluttering in exhausted aftershocks, clenched in a brand-new, fierce rhythm around the invading pressure. Her hands, which had been gripping nothing, flew back and grasped my thighs, her nails digging in, holding on as if I were the only solid thing in a spinning world.
“Right there,” she choked out. “It’s… it’s different. It’s so deep. Don’t move. Just stay.”
I obeyed, for a moment. I held perfectly still, buried to the root inside her, feeling the frantic, rhythmic pulse of her around me. I watched the shuddering breaths lift her ribs. I loosened my grip in her hair just enough to stroke her scalp with my thumb.
“You’re so beautiful, Pritz,” I said, the words soft, almost lost in the humid air. “My perfect, flexible girl. Taking me like this.”
Her eyes opened, glassy and unfocused, looking back at me from her inverted position. A tear escaped, tracing a path over her temple into her hairline. “Hardik,” she said, just my name, but it was a whole sentence. A prayer, an affirmation, a surrender.
Then the hunger returned to her eyes, that nympho glint I knew so well. “Move,” she demanded, her voice gaining strength. “Fuck me right there. Make me feel it tomorrow.”
I let out a shaky breath and complied. I began to move in those same shallow, grinding circles, but now with more force. Each small rotation pressed directly onto that dizzying spot. The sounds were obscene: a wet, rhythmic squelch, our combined ragged breathing, the creak of the bedframe taking the strain of her arched posture.
“Yes,” she hissed, her head pushing back against my hand. “Like that. Just like that. You’re so deep. I can feel you in my stomach.”
Her words, raw and visceral, unraveled the last of my control. The coiling heat in my spine expanded, sharp and urgent. My movements lost their precision, becoming harder, more frantic. The careful grind became a desperate, driving pump, my hips slapping against her upturned ass. Smack. Smack. Smack.
Smack.
The sound wasn't just impact; it was punctuation.A full stop to her teasing, the start of something else entirely. I drove into her arched, offering body, and the angle was a brutal, perfect revelation.
Every shallow, grinding thrust landed with a wet, profound splat against that deep, hidden place. A choked, airless shriek tore from her throat. Her elegant arch, held by my grip in her hair and her own dancer's strength, began to tremble violently."There!There!Right fucking there!" she wailed, the words raw and stripped of all cleverness.The coherent begging dissolved.
As I pistonned my hips, abandoning the grind for a harder, deeper drive, her language shattered. Guttural sounds replaced words—"unngh," "ahhh-ahhh-ahhh," a staccato rhythm of pure sensation. Her eyes, wide and unseeing, leaked tears that mixed with the sweat on her temples.
"Hardik, I can't, I can't, it's too—" The protest melted into a whimper, then a low, continuous moan that hummed through her bent spine and into my hands.Her mouth fell slack. A thin strand of drool escaped her lower lip, glistening in the lamplight as it stretched and broke, landing on the rumpled sheet beneath her face.She didn't seem to notice. Her focus had turned entirely inward, consumed by the feeling of being filled, stretched, and hammered.
"Say my name again," I growled, my own control fraying into a wild, singular need. My thrusts became faster, less precise, each one a desperate slam."Say it."She tried. Her lips moved, forming the shape, but all that came out was a spit-flecked, mumbled garble. "H-haaar... dik... dik..." It was less a name and more a wet, rhythmic chant aligned with my pounding.Another line of saliva escaped, joining the first.
Her mind was gone, surrendered to the physical riot inside her. Her fingers, still clutching my thighs, lost their grip and slid off, leaving weak trails on my skin. Her body was no longer a thing of graceful control but a vessel for pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.I watched her dissolve. The intelligent, teasing girl was replaced by this drooling, moaning creature of need, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.It was reverence. It was worship through ruination.A new tension gathered in her belly, visible even in the deep arch. It wasn't the fluttering of before, but a hard, coiling knot. Her mumbling ceased, replaced by a high, strained whine that seemed to pull her entire body tighter.
The orgasm didn't crest.It detonated.
A violent, whole-body convulsion seized her, breaking the elegant arch as she collapsed forward with a sobbing gasp. The release was audible—a hot, sudden gush, not the sighing flood of before, but a pressurized, pulsing squirt. Ssshhht-sshhht-sshhht.
Each pulse was a visible tremor through her back and ass, a hard clench around my cock, followed by a fresh, hot spill that soaked my lower stomach and thighs.The sheer volume was shocking, a cascade that painted us both. Her cry was a raw, shattered thing, ripped from a place beyond words.
She came and came, her body spasming in endless, diminishing waves, her mouth open against the sheets, drool and muffled screams leaking into the cotton. She was utterly spent, completely broken, and utterly mine.
She was utterly spent, completely broken, and utterly mine.I didn’t let her collapse. The violence of her release was still echoing in the room, her body limp and shuddering, when I wrapped my arms around her torso. My grip was firm, almost clinical in its necessity, slick with her sweat and my blood. I hauled her upright, her back against my chest, my cock still buried to the root inside her.
The change in angle was immediate and profound.
Her slight weight settled against me, her head lolling onto my shoulder.A weak, protesting groan escaped her lips. My arms circled her, my hands finding their way to her chest. I grasped her breasts, my fingers sinking into the soft flesh, my thumbs brushing over her nipples.The grip was rough, possessive, handsy. I held her up with my hold on her tits.I looked down.
Between my forearms, against her pale stomach, a distinct, taut mound protruded. It was the shape of me, inside her, pressing outward against her very architecture. Her womb bulged slightly, a firm curve beneath her skin, visible proof of the depth I’d claimed.The sight was a brutal, beautiful geometry.
I began to move again.It wasn’t the frantic pounding from before. It was a deliberate, deep piston.My hips rocked upward into her from this new, seated angle. Each thrust lifted her slight frame an inch on my lap before gravity sank her back down onto me.Shhhlup. Shhhlup.Shhhlup.The wet sound was obscenely intimate.
Her head nestled into the crook of my neck.Hot, ragged breaths puffed against my skin. Words formed there, muffled and slurred directly into my ear.
“T-too deep,” she whispered, her voice shredded.“Hardik, it’s… it’s in my belly. I can feel it.”
“I know,” I murmured back, my lips against her damp hair. I tightened my grip on her breasts, feeling her heartbeat rabbit-fast beneath my palms. My thrusts were slow, inexorable, each one testing the limit of that visible bulge. “Look at yourself.”
She made a small, pained sound and tilted her head down. Her eyes, unfocused and glassy without her glasses, tracked down her own body. She stared at the subtle distension of her lower abdomen, watching it appear and recede with my movements.
A fresh tear rolled down her cheek onto my shoulder.“Oh,” she breathed, a mix of horror and fascination. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah,” I said, the word thick in my throat. My own climax was a gathering storm, held back by sheer will and the need to cement this image in my mind forever—her in my lap, marked, filled, utterly claimed. I pistoned into her more, a steady, deep rhythm that had no urgency, only finality.
Her mumblings continued, a secret stream against my ear. “Full… so full… yours… all yours… ‘m gonna… ‘m gonna come again… can’t… but ‘m gonna…”
Her internal muscles, exhausted beyond reason, gave a weak, fluttering pulse around me. It wasn’t an orgasm, but a helpless, reflexive spasm. Her body was obeying a primal script, no longer hers to command. Her hands came up, her fingers weakly wrapping around my wrists where I held her breasts.Not to pull me away.Just to hold on.
“I love you,” I said into her hair.It wasn’t sweet. It was a guttural confession, a raw truth spat out from the core of this possession. “Fuck, I love you.”
Her answer was a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the side of my neck. A messy press of lips and saliva.A silent, desperate reciprocation.I quickened my pace. The slow, deep pistons became sharper, more urgent. The slapping sounds returned, a quicker cadence of skin meeting skin where our bodies joined.Her breathing hitched, matching my rhythm. Her mumbling dissolved into a single, repeated syllable against my skin.“Ha… Ha… Ha…” Synced with every drive.
I looked over her shoulder, down the length of her torso. My bloody handprint was a ghost on her ass, now smudged.Streaks of rust-red decorated her flanks. And on her stomach, that beautiful, awful bulge persisted with every inward plunge, a living proof of our connection.
The coil in my own gut pulled taut, a white-hot wire. My breath came in short, sharp gasps.My thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming frantic, seeking. “Pritha,” I warned, my voice cracking.
Her only response was to bite my shoulder gently, a dull, grounding pressure.
Her hips began to move, a tiny, circular grind against me, helping me, seeking it for herself. That small, deliberate motion undid me.
That small, deliberate motion undid me.
The last thread of my control vaporized. “Pritha,” I gasped, my hips stuttering. “I’m—I’m gonna cum. Right now.”
Her reaction was instantaneous, electrifying. The limp, dazed creature in my arms transformed. Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing with a fierce, frantic light. She twisted in my grip, turning her face to mine, her expression raw with need.
“Do it!” she screamed, her voice ragged and loud in the quiet room. “Inside! Hardik, please, do it inside me!”
Her hands flew back, her nails digging into my thighs, anchoring us together. Her entire body tensed around me, a willing, demanding vessel.
“Knock me up,” she begged, the words tumbling out in a hot, desperate rush against my lips. “Put a baby in me. Right now, fill me up, I want it, make me pregnant with your child, please!”
Her plea, so vulgar and so sincere, shattered any last hesitation. A primal groan tore from my throat as the first jet erupted.
It wasn’t a spill. It was a violent, pressurized surge, a hot, thick rope that fired deep into the heart of her. I felt it land, a distinct, internal splash against her cervix. A shocked, guttural “oh!” punched out of her, her eyes widening.
I couldn’t stop.
The second spurt followed instantly, another heavy, pumping blast that added to the seeping warmth flooding her channel. My vision blurred at the edges. My grip on her breasts tightened impossibly as my body locked, spasming against her.
“Yes!” she shrieked, her head falling back against my shoulder. “More! Give me all of it!”
The third. The fourth. Each one was a profound, pulling release from my very core, a seemingly endless reservoir unloading itself into her clinging heat. Half a dozen jets, maybe more, I lost count. Each powerful surge made her whimper, her internal muscles fluttering in a rapid, milking rhythm, trying to pull every drop deeper.
“It’s so much,” she moaned, her hand sliding down to press against the slight bulge of her lower belly. “I can feel it… it’s so hot… you’re filling me up…”
My orgasm stretched, a white-hot eternity of release. It felt like I was turning myself inside out, emptying everything into her. Her womb, already stretched from my intrusion, now had to accommodate the sudden, thick flood. A soft, overwhelmed cry escaped her as she felt the expansion, the overloading pressure.
I kept cuming, a final, drawn-out spurt that was less a jet and more a steady, pulsing seep. My body shuddered violently against hers. Through the haze, I heard her mumbling, a continuous, worshipful stream against my sweat-slick skin.
“Breed me… knock me up… that’s it, give me your baby… make me yours forever… so full of you…”