Chapter 40: Deflowering Ayesha [R18]

[Contain Rape]

The door clicked shut.

Ayesha stood frozen just inside the room, her back to the bed, her back to him.

The lock was a small sound, but it landed in her chest like a stone dropped into still water. She could hear Zarek behind her—the soft shift of his weight, the slow drag of his breath.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. The silence did the work for him.

"Take off your clothes."

The words were flat. Not a question. Not even really a command—just a statement of what was going to happen next.

She turned her head slightly, not enough to look at him, and her fingers found the hem of her shirt. They fumbled.

The fabric caught on her elbows. She pulled it over her head and let it fall.

Her pants came next, sliding down her legs in a whisper of cotton, and then she stood in her underwear with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the floorboards like they might open up and swallow her.

"All of it."

She unhooked her bra with shaking fingers. The straps slid down her shoulders, and her breasts spilled free into the cool air of the room.

Her nipples tightened—from the cold, she told herself, from the cold—and she heard his breath change.

Then her panties, dragged down her thighs, pooling at her ankles. She stepped out of them and stood naked, exposed, her arms still crossed uselessly over her chest.

He moved.

His hand landed on her shoulder.

His fingers trailed over her collarbone, down her sternum, and she flinched when they brushed the swell of her breast.

He didn’t stop. His palm cupped her, thumb dragging over her nipple, and she made a sound—something small and strangled—before she could bite it back.

"Look at me."

She didn’t. He gripped her chin and turned her face up, and then his mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t gentle.

His tongue pushed past her lips before she’d even thought to part them, filling her mouth, tasting her.

She made a startled noise against him,

"mmph"

and his hand slid into her hair, holding her in place while he kissed her deeper, wetter, until she had to gasp for air through her nose.

When he pulled back, a thin string of spit stretched between their lips and broke.

"Please.." she started, not knowing what she was asking for.

He kissed her again, harder, cutting off the word.

His hands moved down her back, over her hips, squeezing her ass hard enough to make her yelp into his mouth.

Then around to the front, fingers pressing between her legs through nothing at all—just skin, just heat. She gasped. He rubbed her there, slow and deliberate, feeling the wetness already gathering.

"Onto the bed."

He walked her backward until her knees hit the mattress.

A firm push and she fell onto her back, her hair fanning out around her head.

He hooked his fingers and dragged his hand down her legs anyway, spreading them apart. He stood over her, still dressed, and the imbalance of it made her throat close up.

He knelt between her legs. His fingers parted her, found her clit, and circled it with his thumb.

"ah!"

She jerked and tried to close her legs, but his knees held them open.

"Stay still."

He pushed one finger inside her. Just past the first knuckle.

She cried out—more surprise than pain, but tight, so tight—and he worked it in slowly, feeling the resistance, the flutter of her around him.

Then a second finger, stretching her, but he was careful. Shallow strokes.

Never deep enough to tear anything. His thumb kept working her clit, and despite herself, her hips began to twitch, her body responding in ways her mind couldn’t stop.

"See?" he murmured.

"You’re ready. But not for my fingers." He pulled them out, slick and glistening, and showed her. "For this."

He stripped off his shirt, then his pants. His cock was already hard—thick, flushed—and when she saw it her eyes went wide. He stroked himself once, twice, watching her watch him.

"You’re going to take this."

He knelt between her legs again, lifted her hips with one hand, and pressed the head of his cock against her entrance.

She was wet enough to slick him, but not nearly wet enough for what was coming. He didn’t care.

He pushed in. Just the head.

Ahhhh!

She screamed—a broken sound—and tried to scramble backward, but he grabbed her hips and yanked her back onto him, driving in another inch.

"Shut up. Take it."

Another thrust, harder.

Her hymen tore around his cock. Blood—bright red, smearing down his shaft—and she was sobbing now, trying to push him away,

but he pinned her wrists above her head and kept going, sinking deeper with each brutal push until he was fully seated inside her.

He paused, looking down at where they were joined. Blood and arousal mixed together, coating his cock, dripping onto the mattress.

"There it is," he breathed. "That’s what I wanted."

Then he pulled back and slammed in again, all the way,

and she cried out

"oh god, please, please..."

He fucked her. Rough, fast, no adjustment period.

Her body jolted with every thrust, the headboard slamming against the wall. She bit her lip to keep from screaming,

and he liked that - liked the way she was fighting even now.

"Let me hear you," he grunted. "I want to hear what it sounds like when I break you in."

"Ah..ah..please.." she gasped, each word punched out of her with his hips.

He drove in deep one last time and came. "I’m..fuck..I’m cumming.."

His rhythm stuttered, then went frantic, fast and uneven, and she felt it—the swelling, the pulse, the hot thick splash of him flooding her insides.

Splurt after splurt, filling her up, and he stayed there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard, watching her face as she realized what had just happened.

When he pulled out, his cum mixed with her blood dripped onto the sheets.

He rolled off her. "Clean yourself up."

She didn’t move. She couldn’t. She lay there, curled on her side, thighs sticky with blood and semen, staring at the wall.