Chapter 2: Bent Over and Fingered Hard
The soft click of the latch behind them was the only sound before Pete moved. One moment Stacy was leaning against the cool dressing room wall, knees still liquid from her own touch under his command, the scent of her arousal thick in the humid air. The next, his large hand clamped around her upper arm, fingers digging into soft flesh, hauling her backwards through the connecting door he’d just opened. She gasped, stumbling against him, the sheer lace of the negligee rasping against his crisp shirt.
The observation room was smaller, colder. Stark white walls, a single modern chair, and the vast, imposing pane of the one-way mirror dominating one side, reflecting the plush disarray of the dressing room she’d just left. It felt like a cage. Pete wasted no time. He spun her around roughly, the force sending her staggering forward until her hands slapped against the cool glass of the mirror, her reflection wide-eyed and flushed staring back at her. Before she could catch her breath, his booted foot nudged her legs apart.
"Bend." The command was a low rumble against her ear, his body pressing her hard against the glass. His hands gripped her hips, fingers splaying possessively over the lace covering her ass. "Over the chair. Now."
He didn't push her down. He guided her with an iron pressure, bending her forward at the waist until her torso was draped over the low velvet back of the solitary armchair, her cheek pressed against the cool, plush fabric. Her ass was thrust high, exposed, the flimsy lace panties the only barrier. Pete stepped back, his gaze a physical weight tracing the curve of her spine, the swell of her ass, the trembling length of her thighs.
"Fuck, Stace," he breathed, the admiration raw and hungry. "Look at you. Still dripping from playing with your sweet little cunt for me, weren't you? Could smell it." His hand came down hard on her ass cheek, a loud, sharp crack that echoed in the sterile room. She cried out, a jolt of pain and intense heat radiating through her. "Such a greedy slut. Couldn't wait for the real thing."
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of the lace panties. A sharp tug. The delicate fabric tore cleanly, the sound obscenely loud. Cool air kissed her exposed flesh. She felt hideously vulnerable, bent over, ass bare and presented, the damp heat between her legs utterly exposed to the room, to him. His rough palm smoothed over the reddening skin where he’d struck her, then slid lower, fingers tracing the slick cleft of her ass, dipping lower still to find her pussy lips, swollen and slick.
"Jesus," he growled, his fingertips sliding easily through her wetness, gathering it. "Soaked. Fucking dripping for it."
Before she could even process the sensation, before she could brace herself, two thick fingers plunged into her without warning. Deep. Hard. Her cry was strangled, her body arching instinctively against the invasion, her fingers clawing at the velvet.
"Oh god, Pete!"
"Shut up and take it," he commanded, his voice devoid of tenderness, only dark, driving need. His fingers didn't tease. They fucked her. Withdrawing almost completely before driving back in with brutal efficiency, knuckles deep, curling slightly on the inward thrust to drag against her inner walls. The pace was relentless, a hard, piston-like rhythm that stole her breath and sent shockwaves through her core. Her thighs trembled violently. The wet, squelching sounds filled the small room – the obscene music of her own body being used.
"Tell me you want it," he demanded, his breath hot on her neck, his other hand pinning her hip down against the chair back. "Tell me you need my cock buried in this greedy little hole."
She couldn't form coherent thought, only sensation. The harsh stretch, the deep, demanding friction, the overwhelming shame and heat coiling tighter and tighter. "Y-Yes!" she gasped, the word ripped from her. "Please! Fuck!"
"Louder." His fingers drove deeper, harder, his thumb finding her clit and grinding rough, tight circles. "Who do you need?"
"You!" she cried out, her voice cracking. "Need you, Pete! Need your cock! Please!" The plea was ragged, desperate, torn from her by the relentless assault inside her. Her hips bucked back against his hand, trying to meet his thrusts, driven by a need that obliterated everything else. "Fuck me! Please, just fuck me! I need it!"
He watched her reflection in the vast mirror – the frantic rise and fall of her chest, the desperate clench of her jaw, the tears of overwhelmed sensation sparkling at the corners of her eyes, the way her body writhed against the chair, trying to take more, harder, deeper. Her begging was a raw, beautiful sound, feeding the fire in him.
Abruptly, his fingers withdrew, leaving her clenching around empty air, a sharp cry of loss escaping her. She heard the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of clothing. His hands were back on her hips, yanking her ass higher, spreading her wider. The blunt, thick head of his cock pressed against her slick entrance, hot and demanding.
"No more fingers, baby," he growled, voice thick with lust. "You begged for cock. You're gonna get it." He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his lips against her ear. "Every fucking inch. Take it." And with a powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself inside her to the hilt in one brutal, claiming stroke.
Stacy screamed. The sheer, mind-blowing fullness stole her breath. He was huge, stretching her unbearably, filling her completely. He didn't pause. Didn't give her a second to adjust. He pulled back almost out and slammed home again. And again. Setting a punishing rhythm that had her pinned against the chair, the velvet rough against her cheek, her body jolted forward with every powerful thrust.
"Fuck! Yes! Oh god, yes!" The words tumbled out, incoherent gasps mixed with moans. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, wet and rhythmic, joined the harsh sounds of their breathing. He fucked her with raw, animalistic need, each deep plunge hitting her cervix, the angle ensuring the thick base of his cock ground against her swollen clit with every withdrawal. Pleasure, sharp and almost painful in its intensity, detonated deep in her belly, radiating outwards. Her inner muscles clenched around him involuntarily, trying to pull him deeper still.
"That's it, you filthy little whore," he grunted, his voice strained with effort and desire, his grip on her hips bruising. "Clench that tight little cunt. Milk my cock. Fucking take it all." He drove into her harder, faster, the chair scraping slightly on the floor with the force. His hand snaked around her front, fingers finding her nipple through the lace, pinching and twisting hard. The dual assault of pain and pleasure pushed her higher, a keening cry tearing from her throat.
She was hurtling towards the edge again, the climax building with terrifying speed, coiling tighter than before. It wasn't the slow, self-induced peak of the dressing room. This was being fucked into oblivion. "Pete! I'm... I'm gonna... Oh fuck!"
"Come," he ordered, his thrusts becoming even more savage, piston-like, deep and hard. "Come all over my cock, you desperate slut."
The command shattered her. The orgasm exploded through her like a supernova, blinding white and utterly consuming. Her body locked, arched, a raw, guttural scream ripped from her lungs as convulsions wracked her, her pussy clenching and spasming wildly around his invading hardness. Wave after wave crashed over her, leaving her shaking, sobbing, completely undone.
Pete felt her convulsions milking him, the intense rhythmic squeeze triggering his own release. With a guttural roar that echoed off the stark walls, he buried himself to the root, holding her hips immobile as he pulsed deep inside her, hot jets flooding her already slick channel. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, his breath sawing in his chest, feeling her body tremble violently beneath him, aftershocks still shuddering through her. The only sounds were their harsh breathing and the faint, wet sound of his cock still throbbing within her pulsing heat.
Slowly, his grip on her hips loosened. He stayed inside her, leaning