Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

The coppery tang of his blood fills my mouth. He thrusts his tongue between my lips, owning my mouth, possessing me in a way that I know I’ll never get used to. He bites down on my lower lip, and pain shivers down my spine. My core clenches, and I’m aware of the flutters in my belly, how my breasts swell, how my nipples harden into pinpoints of pleasure, even as my heart races in my chest.

The combination of fear, of arousal, of being trapped, of wanting to escape, yet needing to be overpowered, grips me. My breath comes in pants, and my palms begin to sweat. That’s when he plants his hips between my thighs, forcing them wide apart.

He winds his fingers around my throat, leans his weight forward, and I can’t move. I’m pinned in place by his massive chest on mine, his thick column stabbing into my sensitive core, his wide fingers around my throat. I raise my bound hands, and he grabs my wrists with his free hand and forces them back.

I snarl into his face, then wriggle and writhe in his grasp, and the thickness between his legs seems to grow bigger, more insistent. A melting sensation grips my core even as anger fills my chest. I know what he’s doing. I asked him to indulge my consensual non-con scene, and that’s what he is doing. So why am I so angry that he’s able to arouse me by doing so? He’s only giving me what I asked for, so why am I so upset with him? Is it because he’s able to slip into the role of someone who enjoys taking me without my consent? Is that what’s bothering me. Or is it because I’m enjoying this role play too much? Is it because I’m disgusted with my own needs?

More blood drips down from where I smashed into his nose, and he licks it up.

My gaze widens. “You’re an animal,” I burst out.

“And it turns you on.” He smirks. “Admit it; you love to see me lose control and not give you a choice. My kinks bring out that part of you you’ve been dying to reveal to the world, but haven’t had the courage so far.”

“I admit no such thing,” I snarl, “you, you … jerkaloupe.”

He blinks, then a chuckle bursts from his throat. “Cute,” he murmurs, “but it’s not going to distract me from what I want.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“And wh … what is that?”

“You.” He lowers his head until his mouth is directly in front of mine. “Your lips, your breasts, your pussy, your ass… It’s all mine.”

“Fuck you,” I spit out.

“With pleasure.” He holds my gaze. “But first, I need to tie you up.”

“No, no, no, goddamn you.” I surge up against him, but this time he is better prepared. He applies enough pressure on my throat that darkness flickers around the edges of my sight. I black out for what feels like a few seconds, and when I awaken, I’m suspended from a hook in the ceiling in the bedroom. What the-? I glance up to find the ribbon with which my wrists have been restrained is threaded through the hook and looped around my wrists.

“You’re back,” he murmurs, his gaze taking in my features, the way I’m displayed.

I cough, and he reaches over, grabs a glass of wine that he has placed on the side table nearby, and takes a sip. He places the glass down, then uses his mouth to dribble the liquid against my lips. I swallow down a few mouthfuls before I turn my head away.

“Aww, don’t be like that, Flower,” he drawls. “I’m only trying to soothe your dry throat.”

“Fuck that.” I scowl. “Untie me, right now.”

“But I’m just getting started.” He reaches over to the side, grabs a ball of yarn, and begins to unravel it. My belly ties itself up in knots, and my thighs tremble. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m getting turned on by the thought of him tying me up again. I don’t want it. Don’t want it.

“Don’t do that again,” I snap.

“What?” He doesn’t glance up from his task.

“Make me black out.”

“It was only a bit of breath-play,” he murmurs.

“It may be nothing to you, but it scared me, okay?”

“I won’t do it again”-he glances up at me-“unless it’s to increase the intensity of your orgasm.”

“You really are messed up in the head; you know that?”

He pauses and seems to consider my statement carefully. “I am,” he acknowledges, “but so are you. Admit that you are turned on by the prospect of what I’m going to do to you, that you find being at my mercy delicious, that you can’t wait to find out what surprises I have in store for you.”

My belly flip-flops, and my pulse rate ratchets up. “No,” I growl, “of course, I’m not.”

“Liar.” He tosses the ball of yarn over his shoulder, then walks around to stand behind me.

“What the hell are you-” I have an inkling of his next action a second before… W-h-a-c-k. His big palm connects with my butt.

“What the fuck?” I screech, “Don’t you dare-”

“You know better than to challenge me.” W-h-a-c-k.

I yell as my entire body jolts forward. Pain screeches up my spine. I almost lose my footing, and he winds his arm around my waist. I sense the heat from his body slam into my back a second before-W-h-a-c-k. W-h-a-c-k. W-h-a-c-k. W-h-a-c-k-he slaps my alternating arsecheeks, each slap more intense than the last. Each one sends a spurt of sensations that spirals down to my belly. My pussy seems to throb and swell with each one. Jesus! Even as the pain … the pain… “Ow,” I howl. “Stop it, you monster.”

He pauses a beat, another. “Then count down from ten, sweetheart,” he growls.

“What? No, I won’t last if you-”

His palm connects with my butt, and I cry out, “Stop, stop, please…”

“You’re forgetting to count, baby.”

“Don’t baby me you, you. wanker.”

“That’s another five slaps.”

“No,” I hiccup.

“Yes,” he says with conviction.

“You have lost your mind.”

“Twenty slaps.”

“Wh-what?” I sputter. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Twenty-five, Flower.” He massages my already aching arsecheeks, and pain shivers up my spine. My pussy clenches painfully at the same time, and damn him, but this is not good. This is so not good.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, “I’ll count.”

“Start now.”

I hesitate.

“Now, Flower.” His voice lowers to a hush, and I shiver. Shit, that mean-Dom voice of his. It’s w-a-y too hot, too coercive, too everything I am coming to hate-and love-about him. Not love. Wrong word. I hate him. I hate him.

“Start counting, or should I add another five-”

“Twenty-five,” I burst out, and his palm connects with my backside.

“Twenty-four, Twenty-three…”

By the time I finish the countdown, tears flow down my cheeks, my arse is on fire, my pussy hurts even though he has not touched it, and my nipples feel swollen and sore and achy even though he has come nowhere near them. Maybe that is the issue. If he would only stop massaging the pain into my arse long enough to fuck me, I could come, and we could get this over with.

I push back my hips so my butt pushes into to his big palm, and he pauses. “I know, baby,” he croons. “I know how much you are empty for my dick, but sadly, I can’t cram it inside you yet.”

“I don’t want your dick,” I snap, and he spanks my ass again.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Ow!” I cry out. “That hurts, you asshole!”

“Yep, time I took you there too.” He slides his hand around to play with my pussy lips. “Good thing you are so wet I won’t need lube; not that there is any available here.”

“You wouldn’t.” I stare at him over my shoulder. “You … you … wouldn’t do that.”

He clicks his tongue. “There you go, trying to dare me again.”

“I … I am not.”

“So, you won’t mind if I tie you up, first, hmm?” He thrusts his fingers inside my channel, and the squelching sound is a reminder of just how wet I am. It’s not possible. Honestly, he hurt me, and yet my body seems to like it. What the hell is wrong with me?

He grinds his heel into my clit, and my entire body bucks. A shudder grips me, and I throw my head back and pant, then pause when he pulls his finger out of me. He walks around to stand in front of me, then holds his fingers up to my mouth. “Open,” he orders.

I part my lips, and he slides his fingers inside. The taste of my cum, mixed with that darker taste of his skin fills my mouth. I dig my teeth into his finger and bite down. He laughs. I bite him hard enough to draw blood, and his gaze intensifies. The coppery tang of his blood, once again, fills my palate, and his breathing grows heavy.

My eyes widen in disbelief as I look at him. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?”

He smirks.

I scowl at him, and he chuckles. He pulls his finger out from between my lips, then points it at me. “Stay.”

Like I’m going anywhere, jerk face!

He retrieves the ball of yarn, then turns back to me. He pushes my shirt out of the way, then begins to wind the wool above my breasts. He knots it, then loops it under my breast again and again. He does this until he has a framework of crisscrossing wool that encases my breasts, with only the nipples bared. He knots it a few times under my cleavage, then pulls it down to hold back each of my pussy lips. He draws it under me and up the cleavage between my ass cheeks. The chafe of the wool against my already abraded skin sends shudders of heat vibrating out from the contact. My thighs clench, my pussy spasms, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Oh god,” I groan, “it’s too much. I can’t take it.”

“You can.” He loops the wool under the lattice he’s woven under my breasts, then tugs. Pinpricks of sensation burst up my spine and flash behind my eyes. A whine bleeds from my lips. “Please, Christian, please,” I moan, “please, please, please.”

“Hush,” he admonishes me. I hear the scrape of metal against metal as he lowers his zipper. I open my eyelids to find him glaring down at me. He grips the backs of my thighs and hauls me up. I wind my legs around him, and he’s inside me. I huff as he slams into me, tugging, pulling, stretching at my channel.

“Jesus,” I snarl, “did you have to be this big?”

“Did you have to be this tiny and hot and tight, and so goddamn perfect?”

I frown. Perfect. He called me perfect? “I am not-”

“Yes, you are.” He pulls out, then lunges forward, and once more, crams himself into me. “You’re perfect; you hear me?” He retreats, then pushes into me again with enough force that my entire body shudders. “Perfectly made. Perfect for my cock. Perfect to be fucked. Perfect to be broken. By me.”

He drills into me, and I throw my head back and yell, “Oh my fucking god.”

“Don’t blaspheme the name of the Lord, Flower.”

“What the hell?” I scowl. “So, you can say a four-letter word in the same breath as the Lord’s name, and I-”

“You can’t.” He smirks. “Just how it is.”

I open and shut my mouth, and he laughs again. “Just kidding, Flower. What do you take me for, a misogynist?” He smirks.

Among other things.

“You’re hurting me,” I snap.

“And you love it.”

“You can’t keep professing to read my thoughts.”

“Want me to stop?” He raises one eyebrow. “Just say the word, and I’ll pull out.”

I hesitate, he begins to retreat, and that’s when I dig my heels into his back. “Don’t you dare,” I say in a low voice. “You’re already in; you may as well finish what you started.”

He peers into my eyes. “I have news for you,” he says in a conversational tone, “I’m not even half-way in.”

“What the-”

He pulls out, then slams into me with enough impact that his balls smash into my lower arse. Ouch! He rams himself inside me, and ow, it hurts, it hurts. He’s so big, so thick, so bloody massive that I swear, I can feel him in my throat. He begins to fuck me in earnest-in, out, in… Each time, his pelvic bone grinds into my clit. Pinpricks of heat vibrate out from the impact. The tension at the base of my spine spirals out. Oh, god. Oh my god, I’m going to come.

It’s as if he reads my mind for that’s when he pulls out.