Would you be so kind?

But he doesn't hear you. Or maybe he does and just doesn't care. His eyes are still closed, his face twisted in that expression of pure animal pleasure, and his hands suddenly grip your shoulders with bruising ****.

"Please, please, don't, stop—" you scream, but the word cuts off as he shoves you down hard against the leather seats, his massive body pressing down on top of you, crushing you beneath his weight.

The **** is so great you actually slide forward on your own sweat from the inertia of Darrell's thrust.

You soon find your head pressing against the other side of the car's passenger side door And are vaguely aware of the sound of the Buick door closing with a slam as Darrell loses himself in you.

It's his smell that hits you first—thick, musky, overwhelming. The scent of sex and sweat and his masculine musk quickly fills the enclosed space of the car, mixing with the leather and your own arousal. It's primal, animalistic, and it makes your head spin.

As you try to take a breath to speak, you realize you can't really breathe. His chest is fully pressed against your face, his bulk completely covering you, and his arms wrapping around the top of your back and neck, trapping you between the unforgiving leather and his powerful frame. You try to push up, to create even an inch of space, but you might as well be trying to lift the car. He's too heavy, too strong, and he's using all that weight to pin you down as he continues to pound you.

Then his weight shifts, and suddenly his face is right there, his mouth pressing above your ear. "Damn," he breathes into your ear, his voice thick with satisfaction, you can feel his lips moving against your skin, feel his hot breath washing over you, and then—his massive body still crushing you into the leather. "You're pussy really is something else. So fuckin' tight, milking me."

"Stpppp! Srpp!" Your voice is muffled against his shoulder, **** and terrified. As his shoulder moves you finally gasp and shout "Please, Darrell, PLEASE—"

He slams into you hard. The pleasure making you moan loudly. The car rocks slightly with his weight shifting, as your pale legs splayed wide on either side of his dark hips, trembling and weak. You hate how your body reacts, hate how the crude assessment makes heat pool in your belly despite everything.

"Ahhhh... God..." His voice drops to a low rumble, almost involuntarily. "No need to beg," he says either not understanding your current objections or otherwise mocking your earlier enthusiasm, "Hnnngh... yeah...imma breed that white pussy just like you want..." The words make you sob, but your body clenches around him again, your inner walls rippling along his length, milking him, and he groans right in your ear, the sound so close and personal it feels like it's coming from inside your own head.

"That's right," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body knows what it wants."

You try to tell him to stop but shame floods through you, as your pussy clenches involuntarily around the thick shaft still buried impossibly deep inside you. You can feel every inch of him—all eight or nine inches stretching your walls, the swollen purple head pressed firmly against your cervix, the ridge of his corona catching on your sensitive inner flesh with each tiny movement.

He moves again, angling himself as your freed from his chest for a second. You take a deep breath before its halted with him pressing his mouth against yours.

"DOooN'T! STOPppppP!" The word tears from your throat in a sob directly into his mouth, as your white fingers clutch desperately at the leather seat, knuckles pale with tension trying to push away.

"Oh fuck. Couldn't even want to if I tried," he grunts as his large dark hands grip the back of your neck, holding you in place.

"Please, please—" You beg, not understanding the disconnect of your cry and his response. He just continues to slam into you, his cock guided down your passage.

"Ungggghhh..." he bellows.

The grunt is guttural, raw, and you can hear the exact moment his orgasm hits. The sound is deep, primal, vibrating through his chest and into your back. It's not a word, just pure animal satisfaction, and it makes your whole body shudder. His cock swells impossibly thicker inside you, stretching you even more. You feel his cock twitch inside you, the head grinding against your cervix, and you whimper at the sensation—pleasure and discomfort mixing into something overwhelming.

"Neeew," you whimper, your throat closing up, as your pleas dissolve into a choked gasp as you feel it—the first hot spurt of cum shooting directly against your cervix.

Your body betrays you almost immediately, 500,000 years of evolution in the making, even as your mind screams in horror. Your pussy clenches around him involuntarily, milking him, drawing more of his seed deeper inside you, and the sensation sends unwanted sparks of pleasure through your core even as tears stream down your face.

"Oh fuck," he groans above you, his voice thick and satisfied.

"Ahhhhhhh!" You moan like a whore.

"That's it," Darrell groans, grinding against you, his cock pulsing. "Take all of it. Fuck, you feel so good..."

You can feel it—a second massive surge of hot cum flooding into your already overflowing pussy, and the intimacy of it is overwhelming. His breath and his lips brushing your ear with each sound, and you can hear everything—every catch in his breath, every groan of pleasure, every satisfied grunt as he pumps more cum into you.

"Fuck," he grunts directly into your ear, and you feel his cock pulse for a third time inside you again, swelling even thicker. The heat is incredible, each pulse of his cock delivering another surge of hot seed directly into your womb. His sounds of pleasure vibrate through you, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside you. You can feel it filling you, the pressure building, your belly feeling fuller with each spurt—it's too much, too intimate, too violating. The smell of sex grows stronger, the musky scent of his sweat mixing with the sweet-salty smell of cum and your own arousal.

As his hips pull back slightly, he grasps you so tightly it feels like he may break every bone in your body, and for one **** moment you think maybe it's over, maybe he's going to pull out. If only you were so lucky.

"URRGHHH... YEAH...TAKE... THIS... DICK... BITCH..." he roars. Each word is punctuated by a deep, animalistic sound and another thrust that drives him impossibly deeper. He's pressing down hard now, keeping you pinned, keeping his cock buried deep inside you, and you realize with dawning horror that he's not going to let you up. Not yet. Not until he's completely finished.

"Uh... uh... uh... UNHHH..." It's then that you feel the fourth surge of cum flooding into you. Each sound is accompanied by another throb of his cock, another spurt of cum, and you can feel it all—the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming fullness.

With that last surge, Darrell almost fully collapses onto you, the shift in position of his spear is slight, but with his adjusted angle, and the movement making his cock drag against and puncture you cervix, a spot inside you that makes you see stars, you can't help but moan, even as fresh tears spill down your cheeks. Your essentially pinned beneath his massive body, his black skin pressed against your pale flesh, his cock buried inside you as deep as one can go. Your pale legs have fallen open, limp and trembling, a black body splitting them like a burnt hotdog, your thighs are marked with his handprints and streaked with the evidence of what he's done to you.

Finally there is near silence, as he appears to stop. His only sounds are his quiet, heavy breathing, his mouth still right there against your ear, his breath hot and damp on your skin. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his weight crushing you, his cock still buried deep inside you, the heat of his cum filling your womb, the wetness leaking out around his shaft, the ache of being stretched so wide, the soreness of your cervix from being battered by his thick head, the trembling in your legs, the racing of your heart, the tears on your cheeks, and the horrifying, shameful pleasure still tingling through your body, and especially the obscene amount of cum he's pumped into your unprotected womb.

But then you realize...he's still not done.

His cock is still hard inside you and you can feel how he is now softly thrusting inside you. Each movement grinds his pubic bone against your clit, his cock dragging against your g-spot, the head battering your cervix with each push. You can feel the wetness—so much wetness—his previous loads mixed with your own arousal, making obscene squelching sounds as he moves.

"Oh God," you whimper, your voice breaking into a sob as you realize this is round 2.

"Please, please, there's so much already, please—" You groan as your fingers claw uselessly at the leather seats as he continues to grind against you.

You can already feel it leaking out around his shaft, running down your thighs, and the sensation is overwhelming—too much, too intense, too terrifying. The car rocks rhythmically now, the suspension creaking, your pale calves visible through the increasingly fogged windows as they bounce with each thrust. The leather seat is slick beneath you—with sweat, with your own arousal, with his cum that's leaking out of you—and you can smell sex and fear and something primal that makes your head spin. Your free hand looks for purchase, but finds nothing to grasp, just glass from the passenger side window, which rebuffs your attempt with a mocking squeak.

"Ahhhhhh... mmmmm... yeah..." His grunting now becoming shorter, sharper, more **** as he empties himself into you.

You're sobbing now, your face pressed into his chest, your body completely trapped beneath his. You can feel his cum inside you, you can feel it leaking out around his shaft despite how tightly you're stretched around him, running down your pale thighs, pooling on the leather beneath you, so much of it, hot and thick, and the knowledge of what this means—what could happen—makes you want to scream.

"Please," you whisper one more time, but you don't even know what you're begging for anymore. For him to stop? For this to be over? For your body to stop responding? For time to reverse so you never put on that cursed suit?

Darrell just groans in response, his hips grinding against you in slow, deliberate circles, making sure every drop of his cum stays deep inside you where it can do its work, and rutting you, as his grunting gradually slows, becoming longer and more drawn out.

Now, the car rocks gently with his movements, your legs trembling where they're hanging loosely in the air, toes curled in involuntary pleasure. The windows are completely fogged, condensation running down the glass, your small hand pressed against it leaving marks in the moisture.

"Please," you whimper, but he just grunts again, the sound vibrating against your ear, intimate and possessive. You can smell him so strongly now—his sweat, his musk, the overwhelming scent of sex. It fills your nose, your lungs, marking you with his scent as thoroughly as he's marking your womb with his cum.

It feels like he goes on forever as he swirls his cock into your body, sliding inside you. You can hear the satisfaction in each sound, feel his pleasure in the way his body relaxes slightly on top of you, though he keeps you pinned. His cock is still buried to the hilt inside you, the head pressed firmly against your cervix, keeping all his cum trapped inside where it can do its work. And all you can do is lie there, pinned and helpless, feeling load after load of his seed filling you up, knowing that with each pulse, each surge, the chances of you getting pregnant increase exponentially.

Your sobs gradually quiet into whimpers, then into nothing at all. You're exhausted, overwhelmed, your mind unable to process the magnitude of what just happened. Your body still tingles with aftershocks of pleasure, even as your heart pounds with terror.

Finally—finally—you feel his cock begin to soften inside you. The pulsing slows, then stops. But he doesn't pull out, keeping you pinned, keeping his cum trapped inside you.

"Good girl," he murmurs, exhausted and satisfaction on his face. The praise makes you want to scream and cry and cum all at once. "You took all of it so well," he adds.

You stare back into his brown eyes, satisfaction plastered across his face, like the cum currently plastered in your womb.

"Please, I need—I need to get it out, I need—" you try to say getting up, but he is still on top of you. Your agitated look seems to cause him some emotion as he interrupts your panic with a hard kiss.

And for a second your panic melts into arousal, the same for Darrell, but when you feel his cock begin to harden again, you push away.

"No," you whimper, but it sounds weak even to your own ears. Your arousal is absolutely unwanted but all the same, this cursed body demands it.

"How many times did you?" you try to say calmly, your voice muffled and ****.

"As much as I got," Darrell says simply, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. The words send ice through your veins even as your pussy clenches again, massaging his cock, drawing him deeper. Your body is working against you, trying to pull his seed further inside, trying to ensure conception, and you can't stop it. You can't control it.

"I'm going to get pregnant," you realize, speaking out loud, the thought barely coherent. "Oh God, I'm going to get pregnant, you came so much, there's so much inside me—"

The thought should horrify you. It does horrify you. But your traitorous body responds with another clench around his cock, another wave of unwanted pleasure, and you hate yourself for it, hate how good it feels.

(Comments and next chapter ideas appreciated.)