Page 45

With a growl, Vice released her wrists, his hands moving to grip her hips instead. He pulled her closer, his mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses. "I know you do," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

He then pulled her on top of his mouth and devoured her pussy. As he ran his thumb threw her wetness then reached around her and thrust his thumb into her asshole.

Ivy's eyes widened with shock. She felt a jolt of pain and pure pleasure, the kind that she had never experienced before.

She couldn't help the way her hips bucked against his face, her legs trembling as his tongue swirled around her clit.

His thumb was a surprising intrusion, stretching her in a way that sent waves of pain and pleasure through her body.

Her hands tangling in sheets as she pushed her hips down into his mouth.

The room spun around her, a whirlwind of emotions. She felt dirty, used, but also... alive. Alive in a way she hadn't felt since the day she had been taken. She didn't want this, didn't want to be his, but her body was singing a different tune, begging for his touch, his dominance.

The sensations were overwhelming, his tongue dancing around her clit while his thumb worked its way in and out of her ass, stretching her, filling her. It was a perverse dance, one that she never wanted to end, even as she hated herself for it.

"Please," she begged, the word barely a whisper. "Please stop."

Vice's eyes flicked up to hers, the hunger in them unabated.

He didn't pull away, instead, he reached his other hand around her, shoving his thumb pressing against the tight ring of her anus.

Ivy's body stiffened, her eyes widening in shock and fear as he pushed past the barrier, invading her in a way she had never experienced before.

The pain was sharp, making her cry out. "Vice please, stop. Please you're hurting me.

He didn't stop. Instead, he pushed further, his thumbs moving in and out in a rhythm that matched his mouth's relentless assault on her clit.

The dual sensations were too much for her to process, pain and pleasure swirling together in a confusing maelstrom.

She thrashed above him. “Vice please stop!”

With a wicked smile, he pulled away, his mouth leaving her wet and trembling. He sat up, his cock standing tall and proud. "Look what you've done to me," he said, his voice a low growl.

Vice's hand wrapped around his length, stroking it slowly as he watched her face. She felt a strange mix of fear and desire, her body betraying her with every breath she took. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling.

But Vice was relentless. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her closer, forcing her to look at him. "You want to be fucked like a whore?" he sneered, the mask of the monster fully in place now. "Then I'll give you what you want."

With a brutal tug, he yanked her head back, exposing her neck to his hungry gaze. "Vice, no," she begged, her voice barely above a whimper. But the plea fell on deaf ears.

He was beyond reason now, consumed by the beast within him. Before she could even process what was happening, he had flipped her onto her stomach, then yanked her hips up, pushing her knees apart. "You want it, you're going to beg for it," he growled.

Ivy's eyes widened in horror as she felt the head of his cock nudge against her tight asshole. She tried to scramble away, but his hand was like a vise on the back of her neck, holding her in place. "Vice, no," she choked out, her voice thick with tears.

But he was deaf to her pleas, the monster in him fully unleashed. "You want this," he hissed, his voice a low, dark whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. "You're going to take it all."

She could feel the head of his cock pressing against her asshole, and she knew what he was going to do. "No," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Please, Vice."

He ignored her pleas, his eyes cold and hard. "You want to be fucked like a whore, Ivy?" he sneered. "Then get ready to take it all."

Her body was trembling, her mind racing with fear and confusion.

And in that moment, she realized she didn't want to be used.

She didn't want to be a plaything for his sick games.

With a strength she didn't know she had, she bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him.

"No," she gasped, her voice shaking. "Not like this. "

Vice's grip tightened, his fingers digging into her hips. "You're mine," he snarled, his voice a dark promise. "You're going to take this like the good little whore you are."

Ivy felt a wave of despair wash over her. She had never felt so powerless, so degraded. But even in her darkest moment, she found a spark of defiance. "I'm not a whore," she spat, her voice filled with venom. "I'm a mother, a survivor. You can't break me."

Vice's grip on her neck tightened, his eyes flashing with something that looked almost like admiration. "You're strong," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "But you're also mine. And I'll fuck you however I please."

With that, he thrust his cock into her pussy.

Ivy's eyes rolled back in her head as a mix of pain and pleasure overwhelmed her.

It was a brutal invasion, a reminder of his dominance, and yet her body betrayed her by responding with a wet, welcoming heat.

She felt like she was being torn apart, her inner walls clenching around his thick shaft as he pumped into her mercilessly.

"See Ivy?" he said, his breath hot against her ear. "You want this. You want me."

Ivy's mind relished his words, but her body craving them. She could feel the wetness spreading, the tightening of her muscles around him, urging him deeper. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, her nails digging into the bed.

"Say it," he demanded again, his voice a harsh whisper. "Say you want me."

She gritted her teeth. Unwilling to give him what he wanted to force from her.

“Fucking, say it!” he roared, digging his nails into her hip.

“Vice, please,” she moaned but sounded more like a plea.

With a growl of frustration, Vice suddenly paused, Ivy felt his breath hot on the nape of her neck, he released her hair and his grip on her hip.

"Please," he begged, his voice ragged with pain and need.

The sincerity in that single word was enough to shatter her resolve.

He pulled out of her. Ivy turned around to look at him.

"Vice," she whispered, her voice shaking with the effort of holding back her own tears. "Look at me."

He remained still for a moment, as if her words had pierced through his own tumultuous emotions.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes locking onto hers, the intensity of his gaze making her heart stutter in her chest. His pupils were wide; his eyes were filled with desperation and longing.

She cupped his face in her hands. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as if she were made of the finest porcelain.

The air around them was charged with tension and unspoken confessions.

The castle walls seemed to close in, trapping them in their own personal hell of desire and manipulation.

And in that moment, Ivy decided. If she was going to be his, she would be it on her own terms. She leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his.

"I'll say it," she murmured, her voice low and filled with resentment. "But only if you promise me one thing."

Vice's eyes narrowed, his hand stilling on her face. "What?"

"That you won't just use me," she whispered, her eyes flashing with determination. "That you'll... care for me, in you're own twisted way."

Vice's expression softened, his grip on her face tightening almost imperceptibly. "I do care," he said, his voice rough. "More than you know."

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning.

Ivy searched his eyes, looking for any hint of deceit, but all she saw was raw honesty.

It was a side of him she hadn't seen before, a vulnerability that made her heart ache.

She didn't want to believe him, but the tenderness in his touch was undeniable.

With a sigh, she leaned into him, pressing her trembling lips against his.

The kiss was gentle, a silent apology and a plea for understanding wrapped into one.

He responded in kind, his mouth moving against hers with surprising softness.

His hand left her face to grip her hip, but the aggression from before was gone, replaced by a need that seemed almost.. . tender.

He began to move inside her again, his strokes slow and deliberate.

The pain had faded into the background, replaced by a warmth that spread through her body, igniting every nerve ending.

His thumb found its way back to her clit, circling it with the same gentle pressure as his kiss.

The contrast between the brutal act and the gentle touch was almost too much to bear, but she couldn't bring herself to push him away.

Ivy's hips started to move in sync with his, her body responding despite the tumultuous emotions warring within her.

His cock slid in and out of her with an almost painful slowness, as if he was savoring every inch of her.

She felt herself building towards something, something she didn't dare hope for in this twisted game of his.

But hope it was, a desperate, needy hope that he could be more than just a monster.

Vice's hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and contour as if he were trying to memorize her.

His kiss grew more urgent, his tongue delving into her mouth to dance with hers.

His touch was a silent apology, a promise of something more.

The fire in her core grew hotter, her breaths coming in gasps that mingled with his own.

With each stroke, he claimed her, but it was nothing like the violent possession she had felt before.

This was something else entirely, a melding of their very souls.

He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her back, his teeth nipping at her sensitive flesh just enough to make her shiver with pleasure.

His thumb worked her clit in time with his hips, each pass sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

"Vice," she breathed, the name slipping from her lips like a sacred incantation. "I'm yours," she whispered into his ear, the words a sweet surrender that seemed to unleash something primal within him.

His head snapped up, a fiery glow lighting his eyes, and a wicked smile spread across his face like a dark crescent moon.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, as if savoring the scent of victory.

"You're mine," he repeated, his voice a gruff whisper that sent chills throughout her entire body.

His grip on her hips tightened, and he began to thrust into her with renewed vigor.

Ivy felt the heat rising in her, the friction of his cock inside her sending waves of pleasure that she couldn't resist. Her own moans mingled with his grunts of satisfaction, a symphony of lust and power.

She had never felt so alive, so consumed by passion.

It was a strange feeling so utterly connected to him.

"Fuck me, Vice," she whispered again, her voice barely a breath against his ear.

His smile grew wider, more predatory, and his eyes lit up with a fiery hunger.

He took her words as a challenge, his strokes becoming more intense, more demanding.

Her body was his to use, his to conquer, and she was powerless to stop the exhilarating feeling of being claimed by him.

He reached around to cup her breast, his thumb flicking over the nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

Ivy's moans grew louder, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she felt the orgasm building with in her.

It was as if every nerve in her body was singing with a desperate need to come, to feel that sweet release.

With a final, powerful thrust, Vice pushed her over the edge.

Her body tensed, her muscles tightening around his cock as she screamed his name.

The world around them seemed to fade away as the orgasm washed over her, leaving her trembling and weak in its wake.

He followed closely behind, his own release filling her.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.

Ivy felt a strange sense of peace, despite the horror of what had just occurred.

It was as if, in that brief instant, they had found something that transcended their roles as captor and prisoner, villain and victim.

Vice's arms remained wrapped around her, his hands stroking her back in a gentle, almost loving manner. His breathing slowed, and she could feel the tension in his muscles begin to ease. He whispered something she couldn't quite make out, but it sounded like a promise, or perhaps a prayer.