Chapter 12: Mirrored Submission
He took a few seconds, still buried inside her to the root, letting her feel the impossible stretch. Then he began to partially withdraw.
The sensation was a shock. A cold, hollow emptiness followed the thick heat of him. Marie moaned, a desperate, needy sound. “Nnh… don’t…”
But almost immediately, he moved his hips, a smooth, powerful piston-action, and slammed back in.
“Uhn-GOD!” she cried out, her back arching as he reached the deepest part of her, a blunt, stunning impact against the very back of her vagina. Her fingers, white-knuckled, squeaked against the steel tabletop.
He began to move in and out then, with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each withdrawal was a tease, a loss that made her whimper. Each return was a conquest, punching the air from her lungs in a ragged gasp.
“Fuck… your cock… it’s so fucking big,” she babbled, her head lolling back. The words were torn from her, filthy and true. “It’s splitting me… ah!… right there, fuck, right there!”
With her legs wide apart, her short dress a rumpled bundle at her waist, and her hands gripping the table’s edge for dear life, she was pinned like a specimen. A butterfly under glass, wings spread, every vulnerable part exposed. She threw her head back again, her dark hair coming loose from its bun, as he hit that deep, tender spot once more.
Malik moved his hips with a steady, grinding cadence, smoothly sliding his massive penis in and out of her soaked, straining flesh. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin was the only music in the stark kitchen. He placed his large hands around her hips, his fingers nearly meeting over her spine, so big were they. Leaning over her, his shadow swallowing her whole, he made her feel utterly dominated. A plaything.
He began to quicken his pace.
“Oh! Oh fuck! Yes! Like that!” Marie’s cries escalated, high and sharp. The pleasure was a flood tide, rising too fast, threatening to pull her under.
“Tight little married cunt,” Malik grunted, his voice a rough scrape against her ear. “So much fucking tighter than Pauline’s worn-out hole. You feel that? You feel how I own this now?”
The comparison was a spike of shame that somehow twisted into more heat. She was starting to lose herself, the orgasm coiling tight in her belly, a spring wound to its breaking point. She was chanting now, a meaningless stream of “yes” and “please” and “don’t stop.”
But Malik knew. He saw the tell-tale clench of her muscles, the wild glaze in her eyes. Just as she was about to tip over the edge, he slowed down. He went back to that maddening, shallow grind.
“No… no, please,” she whimpered, the peak receding, leaving her shaking and desperate. “God, don’t stop… fuck me!”
His power was such that the heavy table skidded an inch on the floor with each of his thrusts. She clung to it, anchorless.
Suddenly, his hands were under her arms again. He lifted her into the air as if she were nothing, his cock never leaving her pussy. She cried out in shock, her legs instinctively wrapping around his enormous waist, her arms clinging to his neck. He was a pillar of muscle, holding her aloft, impaled.
He continued fucking her, his movements deeper, more powerful from this angle. Each upward drive sent a jolt through her core.
“Aah! Aaah! MALIK!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the concrete walls.
In his arms, as his cock slid in and out and the orgasm rushed back with terrifying speed, she was a doll. A thing of his making.
“Your little husband,” he panted, his breath hot on her neck, “sitting on his couch right now… watching some shitty TV… while I’m buried in his wife’s cunt. Does he know what a whore he married?”
He drove into her, hard. “What lie did you tell him, Marie? Hmm? To come get this black dick?”
She buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing with the intensity of the feeling.
He stopped moving. Just held her there, filled. “Tell me.”
“Dinner…,” she gasped, humiliated, aroused beyond reason. “I said dinner with the girls… please… please fuck me again…”
He laughed, a low, dark rumble. “You better tell him it’s a long dinner. I’m gonna enjoy this sweet pussy all fucking night.”
He finally placed her back on the kitchen table, the steel cold and shocking against her feverish skin. He picked up the pace immediately, no more games. It was a brutal, relentless pounding, his hips a blur, his balls slapping wetly against her.
The sounds he made were guttural, animal. “Fuck… gonna fill you up… gonna pump this cunt full…”
“Do it!” she shrieked, her own civility incinerated. “Fill my fucking married pussy! Breed me! Do it!”
With a final, searing thrust that pinned her to the table, he groaned, a deep, torn sound from his chest. “Gonna cum. Taking it. Take my fucking seed.”
A few seconds later, she felt it. A hot, surging rush deep inside her, a flood of wet heat that seemed to have no end. The sensation triggered her own climax, a brutal, convulsive wave that ripped through her, blurring her vision. She felt a second spurt, then a third, each pulse of him sending another shock through her system.
“Drowning this white bitch,” he snarled, his body shuddering against hers. And he wasn’t wrong. She felt her vagina flooded, overfilled, and then the warm, sticky trickle as it leaked out, running down the cleft of her buttocks and onto the table.
He withdrew slowly. His penis, glistening with their mixed fluids, was a shocking sight. He looked down at her, sprawled and ruined on his kitchen table, and grinned.
“Good start,” he said, his voice raw.
He didn’t let her recover. He scooped her up, her body limp and pliant, and carried her from the kitchen, down a short hall. He shouldered open a door and she saw it: a fortress of raw masculinity. A black steel-framed bed, vast and low. Shelves of weightlifting trophies. And directly facing the bed, a large, unforgiving mirror.
He dropped her onto the mattress. The scent of him—sweat, leather, sex—was embedded in the sheets. As she lay there, dripping, spent, her mind flashed to the women from the library. Nadine. Pauline. Had they been here? In this bed? Under that mirror?
Malik didn’t give her time to think. He stood at the foot of the bed, still magnificently naked, still hard.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for question. “And keep that dress on. I wanna fuck my librarian while she’s still dressed for her little life.”