Chapter 6: Damian takes Tyra

Damian did not wait for night.

He dismissed Chel with a short order to take the child to the far room and stay there until he called. The door closed. Tyra remained standing in the center of the main room, still in the thin shift the trader had given her. The late-afternoon light through the windows showed every curve of her: the heavy sway of her breasts, the narrow waist, the thick flare of her hips and ass.

He stepped close. She was almost his height. When he reached for the shift she slapped his hand away hard enough to sting.

The second time he moved faster. He caught both her wrists in one hand, twisted them behind her back, and tore the shift straight down the front with the other. The cheap cloth split. Her breasts spilled free—full, heavy, dark-nippled. The rest of the garment fell to her feet. She stood naked in front of him, chest rising fast, eyes locked on his with open fury.

Damian shoved her down onto her knees.

She fought the whole way. Her shoulder slammed into his thigh; one long leg kicked out and nearly caught his knee. He simply used his weight, forced her down, and locked a fist in the thick black hair at the back of her skull. With his free hand he freed his cock. It was already hard, thick, the head flushed dark.

“Open.”

She clenched her jaw. He forced her head back and pushed the head of his cock against her sealed lips. When she still refused he pinched her nose shut until she had to gasp. The moment her mouth opened he drove in.

The first thrust was shallow. She gagged immediately, throat convulsing. He did not ease up. He pushed deeper, sliding over her tongue until the head nudged the back of her throat. Her hands came up and shoved at his hips. He ignored them and kept going, feeding more of his length into her mouth until her nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. Her throat clenched hard around him in violent spasms. Spit ran from the corners of her mouth and down her chin. Tears sprang to her eyes.

He held her there for several long seconds, feeling the wet, struggling grip of her throat, then pulled back just enough for her to drag a ragged breath before thrusting in again. He fucked her mouth with steady, punishing strokes. Each time he bottomed out she made a choked, wet sound. Saliva and mucus coated his cock and dripped onto her bare breasts. She tried to turn her head; he held her skull locked and kept the rhythm.

When she bit down he simply struck her across the face with an open hand—hard enough to snap her head sideways—and forced himself back in. The second time she tried it he drove deeper and held, cutting off her air until her body jerked and her hands clawed at his thighs. Only then did he ease back enough for her to breathe. He repeated the lesson twice more until she stopped biting.

He used her throat until his cock was slick and her face was wet with tears and spit. Then he pulled free, still hard, a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to the head of his cock.

He hauled her upright by the hair and shoved her toward the heavy wooden table in the center of the room. She twisted, tried to dig her heels in, and nearly broke free. He slammed her face-down across the table, pinned her with his weight, and kicked her legs apart. One hand stayed locked in her hair; the other guided his cock to the tight, dry entrance of her cunt.

He thrust in without preparation.

The head stretched her open with brutal force. She cried out—loud, raw—and her whole body arched. He kept pushing. The resistance was fierce; she was tight and dry and fighting every inch. He forced the full length of himself into her in one continuous, grinding shove until his hips met the thick curve of her ass. Inside she clenched around him like a fist, hot and unwilling.

She thrashed. One long arm swung back and raked nails across his ribs. He caught the wrist, twisted it up between her shoulder blades, and began to fuck her.

The first dozen strokes were pure pain for her. Each thrust dragged a broken sound from her throat. The friction burned. He did not slow. He set a hard, deep rhythm, hips slamming against her ass, cock dragging almost all the way out before driving back in to the root. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Her heavy breasts were crushed against the table; they jerked with every impact. He kept her pinned, one hand in her hair, the other still locking her arm, and fucked her until the dryness eased only because of the thin blood that slicked his cock.

She never stopped fighting.

When her free hand reached back again he simply bent that arm the same way and held both wrists at the small of her back. When she tried to close her legs he kicked them wider and kept going. When she cursed him in a language he did not know he answered by driving harder, deeper, the head of his cock battering the soft end of her passage with every stroke.

He came the first time without warning, buried to the hilt, thick pulses flooding her. He stayed locked inside her while the last of it emptied, then pulled out. A thin trail of seed and blood followed. She sagged against the table, breathing hard, legs shaking.

He gave her almost no recovery.

He rolled her onto her back on the same table, shoved her knees up toward her chest, and thrust back into the swollen, messy heat of her cunt. The new angle made her cry out again. He fucked her like that until he was fully hard once more, then kept going—longer, slower strokes that still forced every inch into her. Her thick thighs trembled. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes into her hair. She still tried to push him away with her hands; he simply pinned both wrists above her head and continued.

The second climax took longer. When it came he ground against her, flooding her again, then stayed inside her while his cock softened only slightly. He pulled out, wiped the mess across her lower belly with two fingers, and left her there on the table while he poured water from a jug and drank.

She tried to sit up. He pushed her back down.

“We’re not finished.”

He took her a third time on the floor, on her hands and knees this time. She fought harder than before—bucking, twisting, trying to crawl away. He dragged her back by the hips each time, forced her knees wider, and drove into her from behind until her arms gave out and her chest hit the boards. He kept fucking her through it, one hand locked on the thick curve of her ass, the other in her hair, using her body with the same methodical brutality he had used on Chel a year earlier.

When he came the third time he stayed buried deep and let every pulse empty into her. Only then did he pull free. She collapsed onto her side, legs still open, the mixed mess of seed and blood leaking onto the floorboards. Her breasts rose and fell hard. Nail marks and the red imprint of his hands already showed on her dark skin.

Damian stood over her, still breathing evenly, and looked down.

“You’ll learn,” he said. “The faster you stop fighting, the less it hurts. But I’m not stopping either way.”

He left her on the floor while he washed at the basin. When he returned she had managed to pull herself into a sitting position against the wall, one arm across her breasts, the other pressed between her thighs. Her eyes still held the same open hatred.

He hauled her up, shoved her toward the low bed in the corner of the room, and pushed her down onto it face-first. She tried to roll; he pinned her with his weight again and forced her thighs apart from behind.

The fourth time was slower only because he was pacing himself. He worked his cock back into the raw, swollen heat of her cunt and fucked her with long, deliberate strokes, making certain she felt every inch. When she tried to close her legs he simply held them open with his own. When she cursed him again he reached under her, found one heavy breast, and squeezed hard enough to make her gasp. He kept the rhythm until he came a fourth time, grinding the last of it as deep as it would go.

Only after that did he finally pull out and leave her lying on the bed, legs still spread, the heavy white mess leaking from her used hole onto the blankets.

He dressed, poured more water, and drank. Outside the light was fading. Chel and the child remained in the far room as ordered. Tyra stayed exactly where he had left her, body marked, cunt swollen and full of his seed, the fight still burning in her eyes even as exhaustion pulled at her.

Damian sat in the chair across from the bed and watched her in the growing dark.