Chapter 9: Boobs are taken
The pain throbbed, deep and raw, like a wound freshly split. Vishal remained buried inside me, utterly still, his breathing harsh against my neck. My body clenched instinctively around him, trying to expel the intrusion, only making the ache sharper. I whimpered, a small, broken sound lost in the vast room.
"Shhh," he murmured, the command rough against my damp skin. His hand slid from my hip, fingers tracing the tears tracking down my cheek. His touch wasn't gentle. It was possessive. "Breathe. Just breathe." He shifted his weight minutely, the slightest movement inside me sparking a fresh wave of fire. I cried out, fingers digging into the muscle of his back.
"Too much," I gasped, turning my face away. "It hurts. Please... stop."
He caught my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. His eyes, dark and fathomless in the flickering light, held no sympathy. Only intent. "Stopping isn't the answer, little bride." His hips rolled, another tiny, deliberate grind. I hissed, arching away, but he held me pinned. "The pain fades. What comes after..." His thumb brushed my lower lip, still swollen from earlier. "...is worth it. Remember how you came just from my mouth on your breasts? From my fingers?" The memory of that shocking, helpless release washed over me, a confusing counterpoint to the agony below.
His hand drifted down from my face, over my collarbone, to cup my breast again. He squeezed, not gently, his thumb finding the peaked nipple. He pinched, sharply. A jolt of sensation shot through me, bypassing the pain for a split second. "Focus here," he commanded, pinching again. "Focus on the heat." He started a slow, rhythmic kneading, his touch deliberately rough, demanding sensation. It was a distraction, a cruel kind of guidance. My breath hitched, caught between the ache deep inside and the insistent pressure on my breast.
Below, he began to move. Not thrusting. Just a slow, grinding rotation of his hips, pressing himself deeper into the slick, torn space. The friction was excruciating, yet beneath it, a strange, unfamiliar heat began to stir. It felt like betrayal. My body, wet despite the pain, seemed to yield slightly. A low groan escaped him, vibrating through my core. "That's it," he breathed, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Feel it opening. Taking me. Claimed."
Tears leaked anew, hot and silent. Claimed. Not married. Not cherished. Taken. His movements grew more insistent, the grinding becoming shallow, deliberate thrusts. The pain still radiated, a burning core, but the edges began to blur. That treacherous heat he’d ignited before, the one I’d drowned in just from his mouth and hands, flickered back to life, fighting the agony. My traitorous hips tilted slightly, seeking a different angle, a fraction less pain, perhaps a fraction more of that terrifying heat. A gasp escaped me, half-pain, half-shock at my own response.
He felt it. His hand tightened on my breast. "Yes," he hissed, triumph lacing the word. "There it is. I knew it was in you." He increased the pace, the thrusts still controlled but deeper now, leveraging the wetness I couldn't deny. The slide became slicker, the friction changing. The burning pain didn't vanish, but it mingled with something else – a stretching fullness, a rhythmic pressure against a spot deep inside that sent unexpected sparks through my nervous system. My breath came in ragged pants, matching his rhythm. Whimpers turned into moans, low and involuntary, a humiliating soundtrack to my violation.
His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing the pulse point. "Tell me," he demanded between thrusts. "Tell me you feel it. Tell me it belongs to me now."
I couldn't speak. Shame choked me. But my body spoke volumes. My legs, which had been braced against the bed, wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper, seeking that confounding pressure. My inner muscles clenched around him, not to expel, but to hold. A sob tore from my chest – despair, confusion, and a terrifying surge of pure, physical need. "Vishal..." His name was a plea, a surrender.
He growled against my skin, the sound primal. "Mine," he declared, the word a physical force. His thrusts became faster, harder, driving into me with relentless purpose. The pain flared anew with each impact, but it was now secondary, consumed by the rising tide of sensation he ruthlessly stoked. His hand slid between our sweat-slicked bodies, finding my clit, swollen and exposed. He pressed the pad of his thumb hard against it, circling with the same relentless rhythm as his thrusts.
The dual assault was overwhelming. The deep, insistent pounding inside, the rough, direct pressure outside. It built with terrifying speed, a pressure cooker nearing explosion. The shame, the pain, the betrayal – they all dissolved into white noise. There was only the relentless drive of his body, the rasp of his breath, the slick sounds of coupling, and the impossible, undeniable coil tightening low in my belly. Tighter. Tighter. My back arched violently off the bed. A scream ripped from my throat, raw and guttural, as the coil snapped. Pleasure detonated, obliterating thought, a supernova of sensation that seized my entire being, shaking me violently against him. I convulsed, my inner walls clenching and fluttering around his invading length in involuntary waves.
He roared, a sound of pure triumph, as my climax triggered his own. He slammed into me one final, brutal time, burying himself to the hilt. I felt the hot, pulsing release deep inside, a final claiming. He shuddered, his body rigid above me, then collapsed heavily, crushing the breath from my lungs. His weight pinned me to the silk, now stained with sweat, tears, and the dark, wet bloom of my virgin blood. The distant hum of the wedding reception was a cruel mockery. In the ruined bridal suite, amidst the dying flowers, the only sound was our ragged breathing and the frantic hammering of my own shattered heart. Possessed. Utterly.
The weight of him pressed me deeper into the silk sheets, his breath hot and ragged against my neck. Inside me, the raw ache pulsed, a dull counterpoint to the fading tremors of that shocking climax. His stillness felt heavy, possessive. "Breathe," he murmured again, his voice rough velvet against my ear. His hand slid from my hip, tracing the damp curve of my waist, then rose deliberately to cup my breast. His palm covered it completely, warm and heavy. "So perfect."
He squeezed gently, then harder, his thumb finding my nipple, still peaked and sensitive. He rolled it slowly between his thumb and forefinger. A sharp gasp escaped me, the sensation slicing through the lingering pain. "Vikram," he murmured, his breath warm on my skin, "he never touched you like this, did he? Never worshipped these?" His fingers tightened slightly, sending another jolt straight to my core. Shame flooded me, hot and immediate. "N-no," I whispered, the admission torn from me. "He... didn't."
"Fool," Vishal breathed, almost to himself. He lowered his head, his lips brushing the swell just above my nipple. The touch was feather-light, electric. "Such neglect." His mouth closed over the peak, sucking gently through the thin lace of my bra. Heat bloomed, fierce and unexpected. I arched my back instinctively, a low moan escaping before I could stop it. "Gods," I gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.
He chuckled, the vibration against my skin intensifying the sensation. "Feel that?" His tongue flicked over the lace-covered nipple, wet and insistent. "Pure fire." He moved to the other breast, repeating the slow, deliberate worship – suckling, licking, grazing with his teeth. Each touch sent sparks through my oversensitive nerves. The ache between my legs faded, replaced by a different, insistent thrumming. My skin felt feverish. "So hot," I murmured, dazed, my hips shifting restlessly beneath his weight.
"Show me," he commanded, lifting his head. His eyes, dark and demanding, locked onto mine. "Thrust them forward. Offer them properly." Mortification burned my cheeks, but my body obeyed before my mind could protest. I arched my back further, pushing my breasts towards his waiting mouth. The movement felt brazen, obscene. He watched me, a predator satisfied. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick. He descended again, his mouth more urgent now, biting gently on the tender flesh, then soothing with his tongue. Pleasure coiled tighter, low in my belly, a terrifying echo of the climax he’d just wrung from me.
His free hand slid down my trembling body, over my hip, and dipped beneath the ruined silk pooled at my waist. His fingers traced the damp line of my panties, already soaked anew. He pressed the heel of his hand firmly against me. I cried out, bucking against the pressure. "Moaning already?" he murmured against my breast, his teeth grazing my nipple sharply. "Just from this?" His fingers rubbed slow, deliberate circles over the thin fabric. The friction was maddening. My moans grew louder, uncontrolled, echoing in the quiet room. The coil inside me wound impossibly tight, fueled solely by his mouth on my breasts and the relentless pressure below. Horror warred with the building pressure. "I can't...!" I gasped, thrashing my head.
"You can," he growled, biting down harder on my nipple. The sharp pain fused with the overwhelming pleasure. "You will." His fingers pressed harder, faster. The world narrowed to his mouth, his hand, the unbearable tension coiling, coiling… then snapping violently. Pleasure detonated, a silent scream tearing through me as my body convulsed, shaking uncontrollably against him. Wave after wave crashed over me, leaving me gasping, trembling, utterly spent. He watched me ride it out, his expression fiercely satisfied. "See?" he whispered, finally lifting his hand. "Pure magic."
He shifted his weight, withdrawing from me slowly. The sudden emptiness was jarring. He knelt back on his heels, his gaze raking over my flushed, trembling form. His erection stood thick and urgent against his abdomen. "Hand," he commanded, his voice rough. "Use it." He guided my shaking hand towards him. "Pakad," he instructed softly, using the Hindi word. "Pakad lo mujhe." Hold me. My fingers closed hesitantly around his hot, hard length. The skin felt like velvet over steel. "Halke se," he murmured. Gently. "Upar niche karo." Up and down. My movements were clumsy, tentative. He covered my hand with his own, guiding the rhythm, showing me the pressure he wanted. "Thoda tez," he urged, his breath catching. A little faster. "Aur majboot." And firmer. The intimacy of the Hindi commands, whispered in the candlelit room, felt shockingly illicit.
He groaned, his head falling back. "Bas," he gasped after a moment, stilling my hand. Enough. "Not yet." His eyes burned into mine. "Something better." He released my hand and cupped my breasts, lifting them together. "Inn dono ko mila," he commanded, his voice thick with need. Bring these two together. "Make a valley." Understanding dawned, bringing a fresh wave of heat to my face. Shakily, I pushed my breasts together, squeezing them tight against each other. The soft flesh yielded, creating a deep, warm crease. "Perfect," he hissed. He positioned himself, the swollen head of his cock pressing against the cleft I’d formed. "Ab andar le jaao," he ordered. Take it inside now. He pushed forward slowly, his thick shaft sliding snugly between my breasts. The sensation was bizarrely intimate, the heat and hardness trapped against my skin. "Help," he grunted. "Dabaao." Squeeze. I pressed my arms tighter against my sides, increasing the pressure around him. He groaned, low and deep, beginning to thrust slowly, fucking the soft valley.
His eyes locked onto mine, dark and commanding. "Chus," he rasped. Suck. "Upar." Up. He leaned forward slightly. Trembling, I lifted my head, stretching towards the flushed tip emerging rhythmically from the cleft. My lips parted, tentatively touching the slick head. The taste was salty, musky. "Poora," he demanded, thrusting harder. All of it. I opened wider, taking the swollen head into my mouth. The sensation was overwhelming – the heat, the salty tang, the rhythmic thrusting against my tongue. I sucked tentatively, mimicking what little I knew.
He groaned, the sound vibrating through me. "Acha," he praised roughly. Good. His thrusts grew faster, more urgent. One of his hands slid down, fingers tangling in my hair, holding my head steady as he fucked my mouth and my breasts simultaneously. His other hand found my hip, gripping hard. Below, my own arousal pulsed, forgotten but undeniable. "Nahin," he gasped suddenly, pulling his cock almost entirely out of my mouth. "Not yet." He slowed his hips, breathing heavily. "Control." His gaze dropped to where his shaft glistened between my breasts. "Pakad lo," he instructed, his voice strained. Hold them. I squeezed tighter. He thrust shallowly, watching himself disappear into the soft flesh. "Edging," he explained, a feral grin touching his lips. "Tease."
His hand slid down my belly, fingers slipping beneath my panties. He found my clit, swollen and throbbing. He pressed hard. I cried out around his cock. He thrust harder into my breasts, then slowed again just as his breathing hitched. "Nahin," he growled, denying himself release. He repeated the pattern – deep thrusts, frantic friction, then sudden, agonizing restraint. Each time he pulled back from the edge, his teeth found my breast, biting down sharply on the tender flesh near my nipple. Pain flared, sharp and bright, mingling with the confusing pleasure radiating from his fingers below and the rhythmic pressure on my breasts and mouth. "Aah!" I gasped each time, my body arching.
He watched me react, his eyes blazing. "Feel it?" he demanded after the third bite, his cockhead slick against my lips. "The denial?" His thumb circled my clit relentlessly. "The ache?" I nodded frantically, unable to speak, lost in the storm of sensation. He thrust deep between my breasts, holding himself there, buried in the softness. "Ab," he commanded, his voice raw, guttural. Now. "Chus le poori tarah." Suck it all. He pushed forward, feeding his entire head back into my mouth. "Main nikalne wala hoon." I'm going to come.
He began thrusting in earnest, fucking the tight channel of my breasts, his cockhead plunging rhythmically into my mouth. His fingers worked my clit furiously. The bites came faster, sharper, marking my skin. The pressure built inside him, visible in the corded tension of his neck, the harsh gasps tearing from his chest. "Aa raha hoon!" he roared. I'm coming! With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep. Hot jets pulsed violently against my tongue, flooding my mouth with his thick, salty release. More spilled over my chin, onto my breasts, painting the soft skin white. He shuddered violently above me, groaning my name like a curse.
He collapsed forward slightly, bracing himself on his hands above me, breathing hard. His softening cock slipped from between my breasts, glistening. Warmth spread across my skin where his cum landed. I lay trembling, his taste still sharp on my tongue, his marks stinging on my breasts, his essence cooling on my skin. Shame warred with a terrifying, undeniable truth: amidst the violation, the betrayal, the sheer wrongness of it all… I loved it. The intensity, the surrender, the shocking, overwhelming pleasure he’d wrung from my own body. The thought was a poison, seeping deep. I loved it.
I loved it.
The admission, silent and venomous, coiled in my gut. His seed cooled on my skin, a map of my disgrace. I stared at the canopy, my body humming with spent electricity and deep, tender aches.
Vishal finally pushed himself up, his movement fluid despite his exhaustion. He looked down at me, his gaze taking in the mess he’d made—the bites, the sweat, the streaks of white on my breasts. A slow, satisfied smile touched his lips. It wasn't gentle. It was proprietary. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice raspy. "Finally awake."
He rolled onto his back beside me, the silk rustling. The space between us felt charged, different. My mind was a static buzz, but my body remembered every command, every sensation. The pain between my legs was a blunt, honest thing now, a settled fact. The other feeling, the terrifying culmination he’d wrung from me, lingered like a ghost.
A long minute passed in the heavy silence. My eyes stayed fixed on the ornate plasterwork above. I could feel his presence beside me, a dark sun radiating heat and consequence.
"Thank you," I whispered. The words were ash in my mouth, but they were true. He had understood a hunger I never knew I had. He had been a teacher, brutally gentle, showing me heights that left me breathless and shattered.
He turned his head on the pillow. "What was that?"
"I said thank you." I forced myself to look at him. His expression was unreadable, a mask of calm over relentless energy. "For… understanding. For teaching me."
A genuine, quiet laugh escaped him. It wasn't mocking. It was appreciative, like I’d finally solved a simple puzzle. "Good girl." He reached over, his fingers brushing a sticky strand of hair from my forehead. "Now show me."
I knew what he meant. This was my turn. My pulse, which had begun to settle, kicked back into a frantic rhythm. I pushed myself up onto one elbow, my body protesting with new soreness. He lay there, watching, utterly relaxed, utterly in control.
My hand trembled as I reached for him. He was soft, sensitive in my fingers. I touched him lightly, tracing the length, remembering the feel of him inside me, between my breasts. A soft sigh left his lips. Emboldened, I leaned over him, my hair a dark curtain around our faces. I pressed my lips to the hollow of his throat, tasting salt and his skin.
I kissed a slow path across his collarbone, my mouth learning the landscape of his power. I nuzzled the pulse point at the base of his neck, then gently nibbled the lobe of his ear. He shivered, a slight tremor that felt like a tremendous victory. "Saumya," he breathed, a hint of warning, a bucket of promise.
My hand drifted lower, cupping him, feeling the weight. My fingers traced lightly over his balls, a feather-light exploration. He was utterly vulnerable here, and the trust, or perhaps the sheer arrogance of it, made my head spin. I continued my slow pilgrimage with my lips, down his sternum, tasting the sweat, feeling the coarse hair.
His hand came up, threading into my hair, not guiding, just resting. An anchor. Permission. I took him into my mouth again, not with the desperate suction he’d demanded before, but slowly, gently, letting my tongue smooth over the sensitive head. He was already beginning to swell, a gradual, insistent hardening against my lips. A deep, guttural sound vibrated in his chest.
I worked him with a soft, relentless patience, the way he had worked my body—building, then easing, a slow climb. My other hand fondled him gently, my lips and tongue loving him back to fullness. His breathing grew ragged, his hips giving minute, unconscious lifts. I could taste the lingering traces of myself on him, mixed with his own essence. The intimacy was total, consuming.
He was fully hard now, a thick, familiar heat against my tongue. I took him deeper, relaxing my throat as he had taught me earlier. His fingers tightened in my hair. "Enough," he growled, the word strained.
He pulled me up by my hair, not roughly, but with decisive force. His eyes were black fire. "I want to be inside you when I finish this time," he said, his voice low and raw. "I want you to feel it all. The whole ride."
He guided me to straddle him, his hands on my hips. The movement ignited fresh sparks of pain between my legs, but the wetness was there, undeniable. He positioned himself at my entrance, that terrifying, familiar pressure. "Now," he commanded, his gaze locking onto mine. "Slowly. Take all of it. Make yourself feel good."
I shuddered, lowering myself, feeling him stretch me, fill me, the soreness melting into a shocking, full sensation. I took him inch by inch, my breath coming in sharp gasps, until he was buried to the hilt. We were locked together, perfectly joined. He smiled up at me, a conqueror's smile. "See?" he whispered. "You know exactly what to do."