Chapter 5: Vanja claims Giulia's morning with a brutal fucking - pinning her face-first into the mattress while pounding her soaked pussy raw, leaving bite marks down her spine as she snarls 'Mine' with every deep, claiming stroke.
The chirp was a distant, mechanical bird. It came from the living room, muffled by walls and the weight of the body spooning her. Giulia stirred, consciousness returning in slow, warm waves. The first sensation was heat—a solid line of it along her back, legs, belly. The second was pressure. A distinct, insistent hardness nestled in the cleft of her ass.
Vanja was already awake. Giulia could tell by the stillness. Not the stillness of sleep, but of taut awareness.
The arm around her waist tightened. Vanja’s lips moved against the nape of Giulia’s neck, the words a sleep-roughened vibration. “That’s your alarm.”
“Mm.” Giulia’s voice was thick. She reached a hand back, intending to brush Vanja’s hip, to slide away. Her fingers instead encountered hot, hard flesh. Vanja was fully erect, the length of her cock rigid against Giulia’s lower back.
“Coffee with Lena,” Vanja murmured, her teeth grazing Giulia’s shoulder. It wasn’t a question.
A flicker of yesterday’s normalcy tried to ignite. Yes. Coffee. A conversation about tactics, about life, something clean and simple.
Vanja’s hand slid from her waist, down over her stomach, fingers splaying possessively low. “You’re not going.”
The statement was flat. Absolute. It brooked no argument. Giulia felt a spark of defiance kindle in her chest, pitifully weak. “I told her I would.”
“You told me you wanted to be ruined,” Vanja countered, her fingers dipping lower, through coarse curls, finding her still swollen and sensitive from the night. She traced the damp, tender folds. “Ruined girls don’t keep café dates. They can’t walk straight.”
Giulia’s breath hitched. The deft touch sent a sharp, unwelcome bolt of pleasure straight to her core. “Vanja…”
“Shhh.” Vanja shifted behind her, the movement deliberate. The thick head of her cock pressed, not against Giulia’s entrance, but lower, slicking through her own wetness to nudge at the tight, forbidden pucker of her ass. Giulia went rigid.
“No,” she breathed, the word a hollow protest.
“You said ‘please’ last night,” Vanja reminded her, her voice lethally soft. She applied more pressure, a relentless, steady invasion against the clenched muscle. “You begged. That word opened everything. This is included.”
It wasn’t a question of lubrication. Giulia’s own wetness, and the remnants of Vanja’s spend from hours before, provided a shameful, ready slickness. It was a question of violation, of a line so fundamental Giulia had never considered it crossable.
“I can’t,” Giulia whispered, her face pressed into the pillow.
“You can.” Vanja’s other hand came up, not in comfort, but to clamp over Giulia’s mouth, silencing the next protest. Her hips pushed forward.
The burn was exquisite. A white-hot lance of pain that tore a muffled scream into Vanja’s palm. Giulia’s body recoiled, seizing up, but Vanja held her mercilessly in place, her own body a cage of muscle. She pushed past the initial ring of resistance with a slow, terrifying patience, an inch of brutal, stretching fullness.
“Breathe,” Vanja commanded, her own breath ragged in Giulia’s ear. “Breathe through it, Captain. It’s just another muscle. Relax it.”
Tears leaked from Giulia’s eyes, soaking the pillow. She tried to obey, forcing air into her lungs, trying to unclench the panic in her body. As the searing pain ebbed, a shocking, deep fullness remained. Vanja was inside her there, a place untouched, uncharted.
Vanja began to move. Withdrawing slowly, then pressing back in, a shallow, careful rhythm. The pain flared, then receded, mingling with a sensation so profoundly wrong it scrambled her nerves. Her body, traitorously, began to adjust. The stretch became a demanding ache. The friction sparked a foreign, illicit heat.
Vanja removed her hand from Giulia’s mouth. “Tell me you feel it,” she growled, her thrusts gaining confidence, digging deeper.
Giulia could only gasp. Each inward stroke seemed to spear her completely, a visceral claiming that went beyond any previous penetration. It felt less like sex and more like a brand.
“Tell me!” Vanja demanded, her rhythm becoming harder, faster. The bed began to rock against the wall with a solid, rhythmic thump.
“I feel it!” Giulia cried out, the admission ripped from her. “God, I feel it. You’re… you’re everywhere.”
“That’s right.” Vanja’s hand snaked back around her hip, finding Giulia’s clit, already stiff and throbbing. She rubbed hard, chaotic circles as she fucked her ass with deep, piston-like drives. “This is where you belong. Split open on my cock. Forget-me fucking you. This is me taking you. Completely.”
The dual assault was devastating. Pain and pleasure fused into a single, overwhelming current. Giulia’s mind scrabbled for purchase and found none. Her previous orgasms with Vanja had been surrenders. This was an annihilation. She came suddenly, violently, her back arching, a silent scream locked in her throat as her body convulsed around the deep, unyielding intrusion. The climax was sharp and salty, more like a seizure than a release.
Vanja didn’t stop. She fucked her through the shaking aftershocks, her own breathing a harsh storm in Giulia’s ear. “Going to come in your ass,” she panted, her rhythm falling apart into frantic, desperate plunges. “Fill this tight little hole. Mark it inside and out.”
She drove in one last, lung-emptying time and held, shuddering. Giulia felt the hot, pulsing rush deep in her bowels, a claiming so intimate it felt poisonous. Vanja collapsed on top of her, their sweat-slicked bodies glued together.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. The alarm in the living room had long since stopped.
Slowly, Vanja softened and slipped out. The feeling of sudden, shocking emptiness was almost as profound as the filling had been. Giulia felt raw, used, and impossibly hollow.
Vanja rolled off her, onto her back. They lay side by side, not touching, staring at the white ceiling. The jazz record had ended. The city outside was fully awake.
Giulia’s phone buzzed again on the living room table. Then again. A call.
Vanja sat up. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her sculpted back to Giulia. She stood, naked and unselfconscious, and walked out of the room.
Giulia listened, numb. She heard the soft tap of Vanja picking up the phone. Heard the faint, tinny sound of Lena’s voice, cheerful and questioning, emanating from the speaker.
Vanja’s voice, cool and clear, cut through it. “Giulia can’t come to the phone. She’s… indisposed.” A pause. Giulia could imagine Lena’s confused blink. “I’d say she’s tied up, but that’s for later. She’ll call you when she’s capable of forming sentences again. Bye.”
The call ended. The silence that followed was deafening.
Vanja reappeared in the doorway, Giulia’s phone in her hand. She tossed it onto the rumpled duvet. It landed next to Giulia’s hip.
“Problem solved,” Vanja said, her voice devoid of its earlier heat. It was just a statement of fact.
She walked to the window, looking out at the city. The morning light carved her body in gold. She was a statue of victory, of conquest. Giulia looked at the phone. She thought of Lena’s confused, probably hurt, face. The clean, simple world it represented had just receded another million miles.
“Get up,” Vanja said, without turning around. “Shower. I’m hungry. You’re making breakfast.”
Giulia moved. Her body felt strange, sore in deep, new ways. She pushed back the duvet and stood, the evidence of what they’d done trickling down the inside of her thigh. She didn’t look at Vanja. She walked to her pristine, enamel-tiled bathroom and turned on the shower.
As the steam rose, she saw Vanja’s reflection appear in the misting mirror behind her. Vanja leaned against the doorframe, watching her.
“You hate me a little right now,” Vanja observed, no trace of regret in her tone.
Giulia met her eyes in the glass. “Yes.”
“Good.” Vanja pushed off the frame and walked away, leaving Giulia with the hissing water and the crumbling architecture of her own will.
Under the scalding spray, Giulia scrubbed. She could still feel the phantom stretch, the ghost of fullness. The soap stung. She thought of Lena’s canceled coffee. The embarrassment. The questions she’d have to dodge. A simple friendship, severed by the mere sound of Vanja’s voice on her phone.
She stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel. The smell of coffee and burning butter hit her. She followed it to the kitchen.
Vanja was at the stove, naked still, scrambling eggs with a casual intensity. She’d found Giulia’s coffee beans and a press. Two mugs sat waiting.
“Sit,” Vanja said, nodding to the breakfast bar.
Giulia sat. She watched Vanja’s muscles work under smooth skin, the powerful taper of her back, the curve of her ass. This creature who could break world records and break her, all before noon.
Vanja slid a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs onto the counter in front of Giulia, then placed a plate for herself. She sat on the stool next to her, close enough that their bare thighs touched.
They ate in silence for a minute. The eggs were good. The coffee was strong. The domesticity of it was more disturbing than the violence of earlier.
“She’ll ask questions,” Giulia finally said, her voice quiet.
“Let her.”
“It’s my life.”
Vanja turned her head, her green eyes capturing Giulia’s. “Is it?”
Giulia had no answer. She looked down at her plate.
“You want to know what this is?” Vanja said, putting her fork down. “It’s a takeover. I saw something I wanted. I took it. You’re not a girlfriend. You’re not a fling. You’re territory.” She reached over, her finger hooking under Giulia’s chin, forcing her head up. “And I don’t share territory.”
The declaration should have filled Giulia with fury. It only filled the hollow space inside with a dreadful certainty.
Vanja’s thumb brushed her lower lip. “Now. I have qualifying heats in Düsseldorf this afternoon. You’re coming.”
“I have training.”
“Skip it. Call in. You’re unwell.” Vanja’s smile was a brief, cold flash. “It’s not a lie.”
Giulia thought of the relentless discipline of her life, the meticulously planned days, the control that was her identity. Every minute accounted for. Every calorie monitored. Every relationship managed at a safe, professional distance.
Vanja had atomized it all in less than forty-eight hours.
“Why?” The question was barely audible.
Vanja leaned in, her lips a hair’s breadth from Giulia’s. “Because I want you in the stands when I run. I want you to watch me win. And then I want you in my hotel room after, still smelling of the track, and I want to fuck the smell of victory into you until you taste like metal and sweat.”
She kissed her then, a hard, claiming press of lips. When she pulled back, her eyes were alight with a pure, predatory hunger. “That’s why.”
Giulia looked at the remains of her breakfast. She looked at the powerful young woman beside her, who dealt in absolutes and conquests. The path back to her old life seemed not just difficult, but suddenly colorless. A flat, two-dimensional map compared to the violent, visceral, three-dimensional reality of Vanja.
The phone on the counter buzzed again. A message from the team physio, confirming her afternoon session.
Giulia picked up the phone. Her fingers moved over the screen with a strange, detached calm.
Not feeling well. Need to rest. Won’t be in today.
She hit send. The message whooshed away, a tiny surrender transmitted into the ether. She placed the phone back on the counter, screen down.
Vanja watched her, saying nothing. She didn’t smile in triumph. She simply nodded, once, as if a transaction had been finalized.
“Finish your coffee,” Vanja said, standing up. “We leave in an hour.”
Giulia picked up her mug. The coffee was still hot. She drank it, feeling the heat chart a path down her throat, a small, simple warmth in the ruins of her morning. Outside, the sun climbed higher over Munich, illuminating a day whose shape she no longer recognized.
Outside, the sun climbed higher over Munich, illuminating a day whose shape she no longer recognized. The shower did not cleanse; it only reddened her skin. Vanja entered the steam without a word, pushing Giulia against the wet tiles and kissing her with a bland ownership that felt more degrading than passion. “Wash my back,” Vanja commanded, turning, and Giulia obeyed, moving the loofah over the powerful shoulders of the woman who had just taken her in every possible way.
The train to Düsseldorf was a blur of conditioned air and muted landscapes. Giulia wore dark jeans and a simple sweater, feeling like a ghost in her own clothes. Vanja, in tailored athleisure, scrolled through race analytics, one hand possessively on Giulia’s thigh. The contact was a brand. “You’ll sit in the athlete’s family box,” Vanja stated, not looking up. “They’ll assume you’re someone’s sister. Don’t speak to anyone.”
The stadium was a cathedral of controlled chaos, a sharp contrast to the velvet VIP box of her own arena. The air smelt of synth-track and heated rubber. Giulia sat where she was told, a spectator amidst proud parents and bored siblings. When Vanja emerged onto the track for her 400-meter heat, she did not look towards the stands. She was a different creature here—all pulsating focus and coiled aggression, shaking out her limbs in a practiced ritual.
The gun cracked. Vanja exploded from the blocks, a study in violent grace. Giulia watched, her athlete’s mind instinctively analyzing the drive phase, the transition, the powerful lift of the knees. Vanja dominated the lane, a streak of focused fury, and crossed the line first by a obscene margin. She slowed, chest heaving, and finally her gaze found Giulia’s. She didn’t smile. She simply stared, green eyes pinning her across the distance, a silent reminder: You are here because I allow it. You are mine to watch.
After, in the sterile quiet of the accredited-athlete hotel room, Vanja’s adrenaline had curdled into something darker. She dropped her kit bag, the medal from her qualifying heat—a trivial thing to her—clattering onto the desk. “It was slow,” she muttered, peeling off her singlet. Her skin gleamed with a fine sweat. “My start was shit.”
Giulia stood by the window, unsure of her role. “You won.”
“Winning isn’t the point.” Vanja turned, her eyes blazing with a restless intensity the race hadn’t quelled. “Dominance is.” She closed the distance. She reeked of effort, of salt and hot woman, and her hands were rough on Giulia’s hips. “You smell like the stadium,” Giulia whispered, the aroma strangely intoxicating.
“Good.” Vanja yanked Giulia’s sweater and shirt off in one motion, then unfastened her jeans, shoving them and her underwear down to her ankles. “You’re going to taste it.” She pushed Giulia onto the bed, face down. “Ass up.” The command was guttural. Giulia moved, her body complying before her mind could form a protest, presenting herself. She heard the tear of a foil packet, the wet sound of Vanja spitting, then a thick, insistent pressure against her sorest part.
There was no preparation, no gentleness. Vanja’s cock, hard and vengeful, forced its way into the tight, aching channel she’d brutalized that morning. Giulia cried out, her fingers twisting in the starched bed sheets. “It’s still… it’s too much,” she sobbed.
Vanja bottomed out, a low groan escaping her. “It’s what you are now. A used hole.” She began to fuck her with short, punishing strokes, her body damp with sweat slapping against Giulia’s skin. One hand fisted in Giulia’s blonde hair, yanking her head back. “You see that medal?” Vanja hissed, nodding toward the desk. “That’s what winning looks like. This,” she hammered into her, “this is what winning feels like.”
The pain was a live wire, electrifying and severe. But beneath it, a horrifying current of submission began to flow, warming her from the inside out. Her tears wet the hotel duvet. Her body, betraying her utterly, began to soften, to accept the violent rhythm. A broken sound, part moan, part whimper, escaped her.
“You like it,” Vanja accused, her pace relentless. “Your fucking cunt is dripping down your thighs. You’re getting off on being my little pain slut.” Her free hand snaked around, fingers finding Giulia’s clit, slick and swollen. The touch was cruel, purposeful. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I wreck your ass.”
The orgasm, when it tore through her, was a catastrophe. It obliterated the last vestiges of her resistance, shattering her into a million pieces of raw sensation. She screamed into the mattress, her body clamping in agonized waves around the invasion. Vanja followed, her thrusts losing rhythm, a raw, animal noise tearing from her throat as she pulsed deep inside, filling the condom with a conqueror’s spend.
Vanja collapsed on top of her, a weight of solid muscle and damp skin. They lay there, connected, breathing in ragged unison. Slowly, Vanja pulled out. The sound was wet, foul. She disposed of the condom and returned to the bed, lying on her back.
Giulia didn’t move. She felt emptied out, scooped clean. The phantom pain was now a permanent resident. The soreness was her new truth.
“Look at me,” Vanja said, her voice flat.
Giulia turned her head. Her face was ravaged, tear-streaked, her eyes hollow.
Vanja studied her. She saw the shattered discipline, the extinguished defiance, the perfect, beautiful ruin. She reached out, not to caress, but to tap Giulia’s cheek with her fingertips. “There she is.” A slow, final smile touched Vanja’s lips. “Finally. Melted all the way down.”
Giulia blinked, a fresh tear tracking through the salt on her skin. She didn’t argue. She didn’t even nod. She just lay there, ice turned to water, waiting for Vanja to decide what shape the puddle would take next.