Scribe's POV

I lie on my back, boneless, staring up at the flickering, shadowed ceiling. Waves of heat and chills swim over my body. I can feel never before used muscles spasming deep inside me, clenching. It hurts, and it feels so good I can't stand it. What in heaven's name is happening to me?

Shame floods me. I know what it is: I've had an orgasm. The young man who kidnapped me, who claims to be my husband, has made me come with his mouth. What's wrong with me? How is this possible? I never would have believed that I could respond so strongly to simple physical stimuli. Why didn't I block it out, like I'd planned?

He hasn't moved. He still kneels between my spread legs. Now I can feel him licking and kissing the skin of my inner thighs. And he's talking to me.

"So sweet, precious. You liked that, I know. See? It can be good between us."

He's getting to his feet. He scoops up my legs and lifts, turning me so that I lay lengthwise on the bed, laying my head on a pillow. I reach to pull down my gown, and he stops me. With his other hand, he loosens the tuck in the towel, and it drops to the floor. I see him naked for the first time.

He's like a Greek sculpture done in warm flesh instead of cold marble. He's beautiful, there's no denying that. Even the pale patch around his hips where his shorts shelter him from the sun doesn't spoil the effect.

I can't hold back a gasp of dismay when I look at his crotch. He is aroused, his cock thick and long, jutting from the dark thatch of pubic hairs. After what he had done, I had thought that he must have reached completion while her was assaulting me. Now I see that he's far from satisfied.

The dark rose head is wet and glistening. I know from reading that this is pre-ejaculate fluid. I know all the terms, the mechanics. But I've never...

He crawls on the bed with me. Again I try to pull down the gown. He grabs my wrists inpatiently and pins them to the bed at my sides. "Please don't."

His voice is thick. "Why not? I made you come, didn't I? It's my turn now. Relax, and you might get seconds."

"Please, Jerry. I'm not ready."

His reply is soft laughter. "Not ready? Girl, you are so soft and wet and creamy and open." He reaches down between my legs, drawing his fingers through the folds of my cunt. I twitch at the contact, and he holds his hand up before my face. His fingers are almost dripping with my juices. "See how ready you are?" he croons. "I won't even need any lube."

He makes another swipe and then massages himself. He slicks his erection with the moisture he's taken from my body. Then he moves over me, lowering himself.

I snap my knees shut desperately. "Scribe!" he warns. "You open your legs. I can get them open, but you'll be bruised. Do you really want that?"

"I just want you to leave me alone."

"You said you wouldn't fight." He reaches over the side of the bed and comes up with the towel. He begins winding it into a rope.

"No! Please, Jerry."

"Give me your hands."

I open my knees. "Please don't." He looks at me. "Wider." I obey. He hesitates. His voice low, he says, "Scribe, just relax. We're gonna fuck, that's all. Just accept it. Now, if you resist again, I will tie you. Hand and foot. I'll spread you wide, then I'll take you as hard as I can. Do you understand?"

I nod miserably. He drops the towel back over the side of the bed.

Jerry moves up a little higher, bracing himself on one hand. He lowers his hips and takes hold of his straining cock, guiding it. He slides his cockhead the length of my crease, wetting it further.

He finds the entrance to my body and presses against it. Then he pauses and looks at me again. "Scribe? I'm not gonna lie to you. This'll probably hurt like hell. I hear it usually does, the first time. Just try not to tense up." He looks down again briefly, to be sure that he's set. Then he pushes.

The outer lips spread easily, warmed and loosened, but the inner lips, though lubricated, are snug. He pushes harder and I feel a spreading sensation. There is a flare of pain, and the head of his staff is encased in my body. It burnes.

He puts his head back, moaning. "Damn, woman!" he gasps. "So tight." He flexes forward, sliding in an inch, and I whine with the pain. "Easy." One hand supports himself, the other caresses my neck. "A little more." His hips move again, and he slides in another inch, two.

It feels like I'm being split apart. I put the heel of my hand to my mouth and bite down hard. His slow advance is halted.

"Here it is," he breaths. "You ready, darlin'? Ready to be a woman?" I bite down, eyes squeezed shut. He tugs at my hand. "Open your eyes." I refuse. He slaps me lightly. "Dammit, open your eyes. Look at me."

I look at him. His face is flushed, sweaty. He looks like he's either in pain, or approaching some transcendant moment. He grates, "I need to see your eyes."

He lunges against me. The tiny membrane deep inside me splits, and I'm seared as he burys his flesh in my flesh, filling me. I feel the need to scream, but all I can manage is a mewling whimper.

He stays still for a moment, and I don't know if he's relishing the moment, or giving me time to adjust. His breath is hot against my face. "Oh, yeah," he groans. "Hot and wet and so fuckin' tight."

He lowers himself, letting his body down on me, letting me feel his weight. "Feel me," he whispered. "This is right, Scribe. This is what has to be. You and me."

He pulls back, and the pain is almost as bad as it was when he entered me. He draws back almost all the way, barely staying inside. Then he slides back slowly, slowly. Again the newly discovered muscles stretch to accomodate him, aching.

I don't realize I'm speaking till I've gasped out the words. "Oh god, it hurts."

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. Just hold on."

He pushes in again, all the way, and he makes a low sound of pleasure. He starts to move very slowly, sliding against me. I can feel him with my whole body, inside and outside, and I know this is what he wants. There is no corner of myself that is not aware of Jerry, and what he is doing to me. There is no escape.

Jerry's POV

atlastatlast. oh, god, so good

I've never taken a virgin before, so this is a first time for me, too. It's incredible. She holds me so snug that it's just this side of hurt. It's delicious.

That moment when it actually happens, when I pop her cherry, when I finally slide home and make her mine... I'll never forget that. I'm looking into her eyes, and they're so wide and blue I think they'll swallow me, like her body is swallowing me. It's so easy to lose myself in her.

I know I'm hurting her, but that's part of it. With this kind of taking, there will be pain, physical and emotional. It can't be helped.

I'm moving now, sliding in and out of the sweet grip. She's whimpering quietly, a soft, constant sound of discomfort. If only she'll stop fighting it. She hasn't made a move against me, hasn't really tried to stop me. But still she's fighting this with every bit of herself. She doesn't want to belong. oh sweetheart, you're already mine, you just don't know it yet.

She shifts under me, trying to ease her discomfort. To soothe her, I reach a hand between our bodies down to where I'm sunk into her. I feel, and locate the knob of her clit. It's still firm. I slick my fingers with her juice and start to play with it.

Her head goes back, and she utters a long, low groan. I didn't think it was possible for me to get any hotter, but that sound seems to set off a blaze in my blood. I pump steadily, rubbing in rhythm to my thrusts.

She's gasping now, and the moaning is almost nonstop. Her head moves on the pillow, as if she's shaking her head in denial. She's loosened a little. Her body seems to have softened even more, forming itself around me. I can feel even more liquid heat. I know that she's juicing again, the stimulation drawing out the creamy love wet, and that it's mingling with blood from her ravaged maidenhead, all combining to slick the way for me. Her mind, her self, may be flinching and cringing, but her body wants to be mated, and is doing all it can.

I'm not going to be able to control myself much longer. The urge to just shove and pound is too tempting, but I want her along for the ride. It would be so special.

I start giving her shorter, quicker strokes. One particularly sharp thrust, and she cries out, but it's not in pain. It's the unmistakable sound of arousal. I do it again, and again there is the gasping cry. "Oh, God."

"Yeah." I grab her hips and do it again, and she arches against me, wailing. "Oh, yeah. Sing for me, Scribe! Sing pretty."

I go faster. The air is filled with the slap of our bodies meeting, and the moist crackle of wet sex. She's moving, squirming under me. I feel her feet hook over my legs as she pushes her pelvis up to meet me. I take her hands and guide them to my ass, cupping them. When I let her go, she hangs on, and pulls.

I'm still looking into her face. She's beautiful: flushed, sweaty, mouth soft and trembling. Her eyes are hot pools, but behind the lust glaze I see hurt and bewilderment, shame. She can't understand why she's doing this, can't accept it, but can't stop.

I don't care, can't care, can't let myself care. I have to finish this, and soon. I take her hips again, holding her down so that she can't move, and start seriously fucking, driving for my release. She's going to be bruised.

"Who do you belong to?" She doesn't answer, won't answer. I brace my feet against the footboard and push, forcing myself into her even deeper. She shreiks and her nails score my back. "Who? Who do you belong to? Me, Scribe. You belong to me."

She's sobbing. As I ride her, I fasten my mouth on the side of her neck and suck and bite, bruising the tender skin. They'll see my mark tomorrow, and they'll know: this is mine, hands off.

"Mine!" I slam into her, and I feel it, I feel her come. Her body clenches around me, squeezing like a vice. She gives a wordless scream, jerking. With an answering shout, her name, I spill myself into her. I feel the spasms as my come jets into her, completeing the ancient ritual, the deflowering. Her cunt ripples, milking me in the manner nature provided to strip the seed needed to reproduce. So efficient and clever, nature--making a biological duty so seductive.

For a moment, I'm still hard, and I keep pumping, feeling the added grease of my own spunk. Then I stop and just lie on top of her, letting my breath slow to normal. I feel her shudder, and listen to her weeping.

"Oh, 's all right," I mumble. "Go on and cry. You're entitled." I'm starting to soften and I pull free, then roll off of her. I feel around on the floor and find the towel I dropped earlier. I use it to wipe myself, getting off the worst of the mess, then I gently wipe between her legs, but see that this won't be enough.

I leave her on the bed and go to the bathroom. I want to be the one to clean her, to wash away the traces of our joining, and know that it never will truly be washed away. She's changed, we both have. It will be there forever on both of us, visible to no one else, but we'll know, we'll know.