Chapter 10: Breaking In
The city glittered below them, a circuit board of infinite possibilities, but Pam saw none of it. Her world had contracted to the feeling of Julian’s palm, warm and heavy, on the small of her back as he guided her from the living room into the bedroom. The scent of him—sandwood, ozone, and expensive scotch—was already imprinted on her, a perfume more intimate than any she owned.
“You’ve been so good for me, Pamela,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration against her ear. His fingers traced the ridge of her spine through her thin blouse. “So accommodating. But a man of my appetites… he requires new flavors.”
She knew what he meant. The memory of last time, of him frowning slightly as he slid into her wetness, his comment about how easily she took him now, echoed in the silence between them. A flaw in her perfection, a challenge he’d already conquered. She felt a spike of shame, then a hotter, darker spike of fear-tinged anticipation.
He didn’t push her onto the bed. He turned her to face him, his hands coming up to cradle her jaw. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones. “Do you trust me?”
It was the wrong question. The right question would have been ‘Do you want this?’ That, she couldn’t have answered. But ‘trust’? She nodded, her throat tight. She trusted him to dismantle her, piece by piece.
“Good girl.”
He undressed her slowly, not with the frenzied greed of their early encounters, but with a connoisseur’s deliberation. His knuckles brushed the undersides of her heavy breasts as he unclasped her bra. He knelt to peel her panties down her thighs, his breath hot against her shaved mound. He said nothing, just looked, and the silence was more degrading than any filthy word.
When she was naked, he stood and shed his own clothes. His arousal was already evident, that thick, daunting length he’d trained her to take elsewhere. Her eyes flickered to it, then away. A pit opened in her stomach.
“On the bed. On your hands and knees. Face the window. I want you to watch the city while I open you up.”
His command was soft, absolute. She complied, the cool silk of the duvet biting against her knees and palms. The panoramic view sprawled before her, a million lit windows, a million separate lives. She felt utterly, terribly on display.
She heard the snick of a cap, the wet sound of him slicking his fingers. Then his hand was on her ass, a possessive grip that made her jump. One finger, cool with lube, circled her other hole, the one he’d never touched, not like this. It was a shockingly intimate violation, more so than anything that had come before.
“Just relax,” he cooed, his other hand stroking her flank. “Breathe for me.”
She tried. The finger pressed insistently, a slow, relentless invasion. Her body clenched, rejecting it, a tight ring of muscle refusing entry. He worked it patiently, a constant, gentle pressure, until, with a soft pop and a burn that made her gasp, the tip slid in.
“There.” His voice was thick with satisfaction. “There it is. Christ, you’re tight. Like a fucking fist.”
He didn’t move it at first, just let her feel the full, strange intrusion. Then he began a slow, shallow pumping. The burn subsided, replaced by a dull, full ache. A second finger joined the first, and she cried out, her forehead dropping to the silk.
“Shhh,” he soothed, but it wasn’t kind. It was the sound of a man pacifying a skittish animal. “You can take it. You take my cock so well. This is just… different.”
He scissored his fingers, stretching her. The sensation was bizarre, painful, then, as he brushed a place deep inside that sent a jolt through her, shockingly electric. A choked sound escaped her, not quite a moan, not quite a sob.
“Feel that?” he breathed. “That’s the spot. Imagine how it’s going to feel when I’m buried in this sweet, virgin ass.”
He withdrew his fingers. The emptiness was almost worse. She heard him lubing himself, the wet, slick sounds loud in the quiet room. Then the blunt, massive head of his cock was pressing where his fingers had been. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of intent.
“Please,” she whispered, not knowing what she was asking for.
“Please what, Pamela?”
“I… it’s too much.”
“It’s exactly enough,” he corrected, his voice guttural.
He pushed.
The world dissolved into a white-hot spike of pure sensation. It wasn’t pain, not exactly. It was a tearing, a stretching beyond capacity, a feeling of being split in two. She screamed, a short, sharp sound swallowed by the room. He didn’t stop. He fed himself into her, inch by impossible inch, a slow, devastating conquest. Her knuckles were white on the duvet, her eyes screwed shut against the city lights.
When he was fully seated, he stopped, his hips flush against her ass. He was sheathed to the hilt in her tightest, most forbidden channel. She felt monstrously full, impaled, every nerve ending screaming. She panted, drool spotting the silk beneath her.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Fuck, Pamela. It’s like hot velvet. A fucking vice.”
He began to move.
The initial stroke was agony, a searing friction. Then, as her body grudgingly yielded, the agony mutated. It became a raw, grinding fullness, a deep, internal pounding that shook her core. Each thrust jolted her forward, her large breasts swinging heavily. He set a ruthless, steady pace, using her body for his pleasure, the sound of skin on skin, wet and obscene, filling the room.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded, his breath coming in harsh bursts. “Look at what you’re doing. Look at the city you’re fucking for.”
Tears blurred the glittering skyline as she forced her eyes open. She was a animal on her knees, being mounted, being used in the most primitive way. The degradation was complete. And yet, with each deep, penetrating drive, that strange, electric spot inside her was sparked. A shameful, unwanted pleasure began to coil deep in her belly, separate from the pain, growing in spite of it.
“You like that,” he grunted, sensing the subtle change in her tension. “You filthy girl. Your husband ever fill this hole? Ever make you feel this full?”
“No,” she gasped. “God, no.”
“No. This is mine. This tight little ass is mine now. Say it.”
She couldn’t.
He slammed into her, a punishing thrust that stole her breath. “Say it!”
“It’s yours!” she cried, the words torn from her.
“And what are you?”
She was sobbing now, the pleasure and pain and shame a torrent she couldn’t stem. “I’m yours. I’m yours, Julian.”
That was what he wanted. His rhythm broke, turned frenzied and erratic. He fucked her with a brutal, possessive fury, his cock a battering ram in her ass. The coiled spring in her gut snapped. An orgasm ripped through her, violent and shocking, a convulsion that had nothing to do with love or tenderness and everything to do with raw, nerve-shredding stimulation. She screamed again, her body clamping around his invading length.
The feel of her climax milking him from that impossible angle was his undoing. With a final, deep snarl, he buried himself to the root and came. She felt the hot, pulsing jet deep inside her ass, a claiming more profound than any other. He held himself there, throbbing, as the last waves of his release subsided.
For a long minute, the only sounds were their ragged breaths. Then he pulled out. The sensation was surreal, a sudden, hollow emptiness followed by a cool, leaking ache. She collapsed onto her side, trembling uncontrollably.
He stood over her, looking down at her spent, tear-streaked form. He ran a thumb over the swollen, abused pucker of her asshole, making her flinch. A possessive, satisfied smile touched his lips.
“Perfect,” he said quietly, as if to himself. He walked toward the en suite bathroom. “Don’t move. I’ll get a cloth.”
Alone, Pam curled into a ball. The city’s lights blurred into a meaningless watercolor. She felt raw, remade. The last vestige of the woman who had timidly fucked her husband in their quiet bed, imagining a heavier weight, was gone. That fantasy had been made flesh, and it had broken her open in ways she’d never conceived.
She heard the water running in the bathroom. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was David’s kind, oblivious face. The distance between that memory and the feeling of Julian’s cum leaking from her ass was a chasm so wide and dark she feared she’d never find her way back across.