IT HAD BEEN three months since he satisfied the urge. Viktor loved his girlfriend dearly, and he had been with her for nearly two years; but she had made it clear, the one time he'd attempted to bring it up, that she didn't understand his needs, and thought he could manage without having them fulfilled. She was wrong.
So, he had been working on the girl in the coffee shop that he visited most mornings before he went into work. She seemed open to the idea of fooling around with Viktor, responding to his casual flirting and, later, his overt pick-up lines with blushes and grins, her hands furtively brushing against his own as she handed him his caffeinated beverages.
He felt a shallow but recurring guilt for cheating on Alicia. She just couldn't be everything that he wanted. She was sweet, smart, gorgeous-- but every time his large hands so much as tightened on her hips, ready to really fuck her, her voice broke on his ears, disappointing him once more. "Viktor, you're hurting me..." Before his grip ever fully closed around her wrists, she looked up at him in confusion, and he knew that he'd never be able to dominate her the way he really needed to. He needed to hurt her, make her tremble and cry out, make her beg without realizing exactly what it was she was begging for-- but she had to want it. And when he'd explained, in his careful English, that the only way he wanted to own her and abuse her was in a bedroom fashion, she'd looked up at him through her thick blond lashes. "Are you joking, Vik? I really hope this is a joke. Because that's just really... really... I don't think I could do that. Ever."
He'd told her, "I just wanted to see how far you would go for me," but he had never really recovered from that blow.
The first time they'd slept together, she had been near tears-- she was small and delicate, as was her cunt. Viktor, the big Romanian immigrant, was six foot seven (the measurements were so odd in this country), broad-shouldered, hard-muscled, and possessed of a truly magnificent cock. He hadn't known exactly how large it was until he'd brought it to America with him, where it seemed to be much appreciated-- except by Alicia. When he carefully pushed into her tight little pussy, she stretched near the point of tearing flesh, and bled a little. She hadn't gotten off that time, and he'd had to fight for it. The next few times had hardly been any better. While she eventually adjusted to the size of his cock, she couldn't even handle him fucking her hard.
Cassie, on the other hand, was different. She was short, but built sturdier than his girlfriend, a little thick-waisted-- not that he minded. He liked it when she wore tank tops to work, so that he could see the subtle definition of her shoulder muscles, and the way that flowed so smoothly into the curve of her generous tits. He liked staring at her well-rounded ass when she reached up over her head. And most importantly, he liked the way she'd blushed and changed the subject a few months back when he asked how she'd gotten those bruises around her wrists. "Those look vicious," he had observed, raising his brow at her as his thumb brushed across her tender, damaged flesh.
