He then lay upon me, from behind, and forced his knees between mine. I was struggling under him, screaming, "No! No!" I tried to pull down the hem of my dress, but the silky satin just wasn't long enough to provide much protection. There was little I could do, and almost before I knew it, his black member was sliding up along my folds, under my skirt. My wetness was obvious, and he was able to pull my panties aside and slide into me very easily, the long, full penetration making his sensitive underside of his cock massage the sensitive nerve endings of my sweet spot. I let out a long, loud moan.
I should have been furious, I should have been fighting him, but once he penetrated me, I was submissive to him, and my manicured fingernails began to claw at the carpet. I spread my knees, and whimpered as he began to pull out, before re-inserting himself into my white cavity, his black snake a stark contrast to my pink petals, not that I could see it. The view of my red-satin clad body, skirt on my back, and black Adonis atop me made a searing-hot vision in my minds' eye, and between my own visions, my pussy's signals, and the whole situation I was in, I gave in to him. Yet again, I became his, and I would deny him nothing. Not even my heart. Ron was raping me, and I loved it.
His thrusting in me made my body writhe under him, my toes curling in blissful joy, and all conscious thought blasted from my brain. Each thrust made my voice turn from anger, to moaning, to squeals of pleasure, until I started to beg him. "Fuck me!" I begged him. "Put your baby inside me!" I cried out more than once. "Make me your slut!" I was so close to the edge, and his pace was relentless, but even. My body was craving more of him, and I begged him to fuck me harder, and yet he was maddeningly slow. I was at that edge, that point where just a little tip would push me over, and yet he would not do it to me. Just long, strong, and steady thrusts, ones that made me feel all of him, and yet would not give me all of him. Yet I was dying for more.
It seemed to take an hour, but was more like ten minutes, before his hips started to buck spasmodically, and he gave me the few delicious thrusts I craved. And then he came in me, hot, heavy spurts of his bareback seed, splashing against my cervix and tunnel walls, and yet I could not orgasm from it. I had reached a plateau, and his flurried ending was not enough to kick me off the edge of the climax cliff.
He finished, and lay atop me, squashing me to the floor, and I tried to rock my hips, to drive my vagina onto his shaft, and it wasn't enough. I shed a few tears, wanting to feel that post-orgasmic bliss, and yet he wouldn't allow it. Now I was confused, and conflicted. I wanted Ron so very, very badly, both physically and emotionally. I loved my husband to death. And right that second, I wanted Ron more, a lot more. So much that I would have done anything for him, and his cock. I felt out of control when with Ron, and yet so very safe when he was screwing me. It was like nothing else mattered. As he climbed off of me, and left me laying there, I had a few tears leaking from my eyes. I looked up at him over my shoulder, as I rose to my own hands and knees, my skirt still flipped up, and his cum starting to leak from me.
