Chapter 3: Mark fuck Anna
The taste of Chad’s come was still a phantom bitterness on her tongue. His words—Does Jhon know what his girlfriend’s mouth feels like?—echoed, a taunt that hollowed her out. She stood there, naked and wiped clean, yet feeling more stained than ever. The studio’s air, thick with the ghosts of their sweat and sex, pressed in on her. Jenny zipped her jeans, already moving on. Chad pulled on his boxers, his interest in her seeming to evaporate now that his climax was spent. Mark fiddled with his camera, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
A cold, sharp clarity cut through the haze in Anna’s mind. They had all taken something from her. Jenny had taken her control, Chad had taken her submission, Mark had taken her image. But they had all been spectators, directors, or distant conquerors. No one had simply taken her. The raw, physical ache between her legs was a demand, not an invitation. It was a furious emptiness.
She turned from Chad’s dismissive posture and walked toward Mark’s desk. Her bare feet were silent on the concrete. The large monitor still glowed, a slideshow of her own debasement in high resolution. Mark looked up, startled, as she approached.
Without a word, Anna reached for the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers, slick from the wet wipe, fumbled with the button.
Mark flinched, grabbing her wrists. “Whoa, Anna. What are you doing?”
His touch was hesitant, scared. It infuriated her. She yanked her hands free and went back to work, popping the button, dragging the zipper down with a harsh, metallic rasp.
“I’ve been touched,” she said, her voice low and flat. “I’ve given blowjobs. I’ve had men come on my face, on my tits, in my mouth.” She hooked her thumbs into the denim and pushed his jeans and boxers down to his thighs. His cock, soft and vulnerable-looking, lay against his leg. “But since I walked into this fucking studio, not one of you has actually fucked me.”
She wrapped her hand around him. He was still limp. She began to stroke, her grip firm, her movements not seductive but efficient, like starting a stubborn engine.
Mark’s head jerked back, a sharp gasp escaping him as her determined hand worked him to full, throbbing hardness. He was fully erect now, the earlier passivity burned away by a sudden, aggressive light in his eyes. From across the room, Chad let out a low, appreciative chuckle, and Jenny’s gaze was cool and assessing.
“Well,” Jenny said, her voice cutting through the humid air. “Our work here is done.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod to Chad.
Chad smirked, pulling his shirt on. “Don’t wear her out, Mark. She’s got a talented mouth.” He followed Jenny to the door without a backward glance, leaving with the same unsettling quietness with which he’d arrived. The heavy door sighed shut, sealing Anna and Mark in a new, charged silence.
Mark’s hands, which had been frozen at his sides, suddenly moved. They weren’t hesitant anymore. He grabbed Anna’s hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, and spun her around to face the desk. He bent her forward, pressing her torso against the cool, cluttered surface, sending a mouse and a lens cap skittering to the floor.
“You want to be fucked?” he growled, his voice thick and unfamiliar. He used his knee to nudge her legs apart. “Then you’ll get fucked.”
He didn’t enter her slowly. He guided the swollen head of his cock to her opening, still slick from Jenny’s fingers and her own relentless arousal, and shoved himself inside with one brutal, deep thrust. Anna cried out, a sound ripped from her chest, as he filled her completely, the sudden stretch a breathtaking fusion of pain and perfect relief.
“Oh, fuck,” Mark groaned, his hands clamping onto her shoulders. He began to move, setting a relentless, pounding rhythm immediately. Each drive of his hips slammed her pelvis against the hard edge of the desk. The studio filled with the raw, wet sound of their coupling, a vulgar counterpoint to the professional click of his shutter from before.
He fucked her like he was trying to break something, to claim a territory that had been visited by others. He pulled out almost completely, then rammed back in, making her gasp. He alternated between long, deep strokes and short, vicious pumps that rubbed directly against her clit.
“This what you needed?” he panted, his breath hot on her neck. “This what you came here for, you dirty slut?”
Anna couldn’t form words. Her world had narrowed to the slam of his body into hers, to the building pressure coiling tight in her gut. A raw, sharp orgasm tore through her without warning, her cunt clamping down around his invading length in rhythmic, fluttering spasms. She screamed into the wooden desk, her fingers scrambling for purchase.
Mark didn’t stop. He rode out her climax, his pace unbroken, and when her legs began to buckle, he pulled out of her dripping pussy. He yanked her up and pushed her backward toward the worn velvet couch. She fell onto it, the fabric scratchy against her bare back, and he was on her immediately, pushing her knees toward her shoulders, exposing her completely.
He plunged into her again in this new, deeper angle. “You don’t get to decide when it’s over,” he said, his face a mask of focused intensity. He fucked her missionary, then rolled her over, pulling her up onto her knees to take her from behind. He bent her over the arm of the couch, he laid her on the floor, the cold concrete a shock against her skin.
He took her in every position, as if cataloging her, claiming each possible angle. Anna lost herself in a blur of sensation. One orgasm bled into the next, a relentless series of peaks that left her shuddering and breathless. She lost count. They were no longer discrete events, but a continuous earthquake under her skin, each tremor triggered by the deep, punishing friction of his cock.
Her mind floated, detached, above the animal frenzy of their bodies. A single, coherent thought finally broke through the haze. It was a memory, something Jhon had mentioned years ago, drunkenly, after a party where Mark had gone home alone. Mark shoots a huge load, man. It’s almost fucking weird.
The reality of her own body collided with this fragment. She wasn’t on the pill. The sheer, terrifying volume of that possible outcome cut through the pleasure.
“Mark, wait,” she gasped, as he pounded into her from behind, his balls slapping against her. “Don’t come inside me. Please. I’m not on anything.”
He paused for only a second, his rhythm stuttering. Then he gripped her hips tighter, his thrusts becoming even more deliberate, more profound. He leaned over her, his voice a hot, damp whisper in her ear that brooked no argument.
“This cunt,” he hissed, punctuating each word with a deep, penetrating drive, “was made to be filled with cum.”
He sealed his claim with a final, powerful surge, burying himself to the hilt as he climaxed. Anna felt the hot, sudden flood of his release inside her, a shocking internal warmth that seemed to have no end. It pulsed into her in thick, relentless waves, his low groans vibrating through her back. He held himself there, grinding against her, as he emptied what felt like an impossible amount into her unprotected womb.
When he finally pulled out, a trickle of his spend immediately leaked down her inner thigh, warm and viscous against her skin. He stood up, breathing heavily, looking down at her collapsed form on the floor, marked and used and filled. Anna didn’t move. She felt the slow, inevitable seep of him from her body, a concrete and devastating proof of what had just been done. The studio was silent except for their ragged breathing, the earlier chemical scent now utterly overwritten by the pungent, intimate smell of sex and completion.