Prince Charming Didn\'t Bite

BY : megadeth425
Category: Pokemon > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 3439
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon and make no money from this story.

From the instant she's pressed against the wall, Lyra's heart is beating rapidly. His strong hands wander all over her body, fingertips pressing in, making their presence forcefully known even through the denim of her overalls. She's wordless, the rapid rhythm in her chest and the dizziness in her head robbing her of words. She's wanted this forever, she knows that, but something about the way it happened was different, just unsettling enough to send a feeling of confusion through her. This wasn't how it was supposed to go; not at all. There was supposed to be a soft bed and a thousand fleeting kisses, not the wall of her bedroom and finger marks running up her thigh.


Silver presses his lips harshly against her neck, and somewhere between a kiss and a hickey, each press is a possessive one. He's tasted her lips before, knows how they taste, and has no interest in them at the moment. The rest of her holds his attention. Her lips are but a fraction of her whole, a part that he enjoyed when curled upward and parted in glee. Not, for all they were and all they meant in their interaction, a substantial enough part to feel satisfied in conquering. He needed more of her--no, he needed all of her. Silver slides the suspenders down her arms until the loops hang limply at her sides and her arms are free, then he runs his hands up to hers and presses them hard against the wall.


The push makes her feel even more crowded, makes her have to turn her head to the side because there's so little room beneath his push that her face was pressed uncomfortably against the wall. She can still smell the faintest traces of fresh paint amidst her boyfriend's scent from the week-old coat of paint.. His touch is harsh, and even if he weren't far stronger than she was, it made her too weak in the knees to try anything. It's not the fairytale first time she always thought it would be, at least not so far, but his lips are on her neck and she can feel his hard-on pressing against her rear in anticipation. If she closes her eyes she can almost imagine his fingers are spreading through hers and that he's being romantic in all this. "S-Silver," she whimpers, lifting her fingers up against his in an attempt to lace their fingers together.


He doesn't take it though, too preoccupied by the words she just spoke. The whimper is a vulnerable one, and it fuels the fire burning inside of him even further. He's never been able to beat her, but there, beneath him, she is unambiguously prey, his to dominate and own and claim. His hips jerk forward, upper body following as he pressed her as tight as he could against the wall. Not in an attempt to outright harm her, but he knows it will hurt just a little. A little is good, though. He can hurt her a little, if it's in the bedroom, if it furthers the pleasure. He knows all about pain and how much means what. Even if his control is in jeopardy for a moment as his erection presses against her butt far too tightly and he's tempted to forget all the lead-up and just take her right there. He knows better though, and a few deep breaths spare him. Instead, he simply moans into her, expressing more pleasure in that sound than he ever had in his life.


She presses against his body hard, pushing off the wall, desperate to feel him closer, still clutching at all her notions that everything wasn't all wrong. She doesn't regret offering herself to him or professing her love, no matter what the outcome, but all the fantasizing in the world had given her an idea of how it would go, and she can't live it with it being otherwise. She tries to speak again, to get out more than simply his name, since no matter what intonation or how much feeling she put into it, it didn't fully convey how much she felt for him. Words refuse to come down to her mouth, though. Just another whimper, this time one devoid of syllables with meaning, and she simply bathes in the moment instead of trying. She can do little about him anyway.


A few rolls of his hips, teasing her ass with his shaft through their clothes, and he eventually tired. He had caught his prey, and with the assurance that it was not going to run, he could toy with it to his heart's content before finally ending it. After all, what was the fun in seizing prey if he couldn't enjoy himself first? Watch it squirm and writhe, begging for an end as he drew little physical pleasure, but intense satisfaction. Up to that point, his girlfriend had meant plenty of things to him, none of them so callous as 'prey' or 'plaything'. Here though, with her virginity and love in his hands, all that somehow changed. His eyes see her differently now, and everything that came before, wasn't.


Silver takes a half step back, enough to give her body space again. He hears her sigh of relief as he tugs down at the denim loops, pulling her overalls to her ankles and revealing what lay beneath. It confirms something he'd thought for a while; between the bare thigh above her socks and below the red shirt, she wore nothing but underwear. Pink, soft, feminine, probably a bit too childish for a girl her age with the cartoonish Spinda print. Her ass isn't the roundest or best-formed in the world, but it's framed cutely in her panties and it pleases Silver more than enough.


His hand is swift in its motion, and the loud smacking sound as it collides with her rear is almost enough to muffle the sound she makes as the pain ripples through her. It's still soft pain, still 'good' pain, as Silver knows it, but it's pain she never expected to feel her first time, and pain she knows she'll have to expect from this moment onward. Her head flings back and the big white hat with the red ribbon that she wears everywhere falls off her head and onto the ground where Silver kicks it off to the side. Another smack, and she finally manages to form another word, but it's his name again. Still nothing that can convey a thought, though he gets the point she's trying to make and it brings a crooked smile to his lips.


His hand reaches over for her opposite hand and he pushes then pulls, ending with her facing toward him and her shoulder hitting the wall too hard. Her mouth opens to ask why he did that or say that it hurt, but instead his lips press into hers and she's never felt a kiss so fiery in her teenage life. She moans instead, placing her hand on his shoulder and hoping that the fairytale can commence now that the two swift spanks have gotten all the frustration out of him. Even she isn't optimistic enough to totally believe it, but for a second it's enough to hope for. Then, their kiss breaks slightly and his teeth seize her lower lip and clench down hard, and all of the happily ever afters she's ever dreamed of come crashing down to the earth. Prince Charming didn't bite.


His teeth linger far too long, and just when he feels it's enough Lyra makes a pained whimper and his vision flashes red. He keeps on longer, driven by the predatory need to toy with and break his prey. Every sound she makes is one of surrender and submission, and what little part of him is still lucid knows it fuels a thirst that no number of words will slate. He doesn't care though, since the slightly metallic taste of her blood hits his tongue and like a Sharpedo he loses himself to it.


When he finally unclenches his teeth, her lip is sore, swollen, and bleeding. His tongue drags across it slowly, heavy with mockery, licking up a few more drops of her blood. She sees it as proof he still cares, proof that it's a game, and though it's true, she misses the crooked grin he wears that speaks to exactly which game they're playing. She doesn't want to kiss anymore, and though he doesn't either, it doesn't bode well for her. He's already tasted blood, and grown tired of the tightness of his pants and how his body is screaming to claim her. There's a war in his mind, between the primal desire to ravage her, and the cruel desire to toy with her. Neither have much regard for her, and all other thoughts fall silent.


His primal side gains the edge as she presses against him again, still in some vague hope of having the soft, romantic first time she'd imagined. It's her plan all along to ask him to be her first time, from the moment she set out to planning their date. Her bed is made up perfectly, everything cleanly washed. She put in too many dryer sheets when her bedding took a tumble, just so everything would smell fresh and flowery when they followed suit in the tumble taking. Instead of egging him into taking her softly and treating her body to gossamer-soft kisses, she drives him to indulge himself with her.


Giovanni insisted on martial arts lessons for his son after he came home from school saying another kid had punched him. Presumably, because only Giovanni himself was allowed to mistreat his son without having something kicked out of him. It means that when he brings her down to her knees it's with minimal fuss or effort, though he knows how to do it without hurting her. He switches their places first, so that for the first time in what feels like hours her back no longer presses to the wall. He's not out to hurt her, and pressing her head to the wall as he claims her mouth is unnecessarily violent and risky. Pretty and happy enough to break and violate, but not to hurt. It's a delicate process, but his life is painful enough that he feels he knows better than anyone just how far he can push her without being cruel or abusive. It's a line he intends to push her up to, much like her bedroom wall, and fuck her like an animal against.


But for the moment, she's on her knees and looking up at him with her big, soft eyes, and the confirmation of just how twisted he is comes in how much the sight of it thrills him. She's tucked her legs under her and straightened herself out, and beneath her smile he can see her uncertainty and her nervousness. She didn't plan on this to happen, the silly girl, foolishly expecting him to give her a fairytale romance when he was clearly a twisted and broken individual. She knew it too, and after the fiftieth time he told her what she was expecting, he stopped feeling bad for her being there. If she was so insistent on being his, then who was he to stop her? He'd make her his, and only his, again and again, and see how fairytale the whole thing was when he was done with her.


His hands snap to his belt, undoing it with more furor than he ever had before, narrowly avoiding hitting her by accident with the buckle as it came undone. The front of his pants opened and the relief it brought to his erection, which now has a bit more room, is much appreciated. Rigid and screaming for attention, its outline presses against his grey boxers, which are slightly on the baggy side. Lyra's head moves back the short distance his penis presses out against his underwear, and her eyes go wide. Silver's not too bad in that department, but it's her inexperience and naivety that makes her reaction so great. To her, even his slightly-above-average cock is huge.


“Do you have the slightest idea of what to do?” he growls, hoping dearly that she doesn't. That she's not even sure oral sex is actually a thing, so that he can take her by her pigtails and show her for himself, see the surprise on her face. He wants to give her the benefit of the doubt first, to see what she can do herself before he inevitably takes control. There's no fun in taking everything he wants the moment he wants it.


“A little bit,” she says, lying, and he knows it. What little porn she's seen has all been soft-core, and for what little good porn does in teaching people what to do, she doesn't even have a reference point. She reaches forward clumsily and starts pulling his boxers down, gradually revealing more and more of his shaft until physics kicks in and the whole thing springs upward, making her yelp in surprise and almost fall back. It eventually settles into place, still rock hard, pointed at her and only a very small distance from her mouth.


Her breath is hot and wet against it, and Silver leans his head back and moans at how nice it feels. Her hand wraps around it delicately, as though afraid to hurt him and her slow pumps bring him right back to reality. No matter how soft her hand is, how nice it feels for someone else to be holding it for once, she's far too gentle for him to feel anything. His nights alone are not gentle, his cock held tightly and pumped as fast as he could muster, eagerly chasing release and the brief moment of ecstasy that came with it in an attempt to escape life for a second. It speaks to her innocence and drives him mad, because he's the only who knows they both have very different views on what's about to happen. She still holds out hope that this is going to be soft and gentle and that this will all be the magical fantasy she envisioned. He's looking down at her and thinking that the ponytails on either side of her head will make good handlebars.


When she leans forward and starts to lick, she's still being tepid about everything. Her eyes are pointed upward directly at her boyfriend, and his fiery gaze does nothing to make her go at the pace he wants. She can't tell that he wants her to, since he's scowling. He's always scowling. Even on their long, do-everything date that day he spent most of it scowling, even though he was enjoying himself. It's what he did. She isn't trying to be gentle to annoy him; she's equally as careful with her own genitals. Even the vibrator in her underwear drawer has never gone higher than the first of eight intensity settings. Rough, or even energetic sex is something beyond her, and as far as she's concerned, that's how you hold a penis.


Taking the reigns is a certainty, but Silver's surprised by just how soon it seems he'll have to. All those soft licks and gentle strokes couldn't get him off even if he didn't spend every night with his grasp so tight around his manhood that his knuckles went white. It's all so disappointing; she squandered her chance and showed him that she didn't just have 'a lot' to learn; she had everything to learn.


Lesson number one: Silver doesn't do 'gentle'.


His hands found her twin-tails, and the words she was about to say as he did so became muffled as he pushed her down and entered her mouth by force. “I'm not so easy to break, Lyra. Not like you. Put some strength into it.” He snarled at her, holding her head in place as he jerked his hips forward, thrusting into her mouth at an acceptable pace. Not quite the frantic one he wanted to, but he knew she would need to work up to it; he wasn't compassionless. After a few times of learning what he had in mind, she'd be able to take full force from the get-go.


Head buzzing with shock, she complies, only because he confuses her so much that she needs something to listen to, and his words are the only thing that comes. She tightens her grasp, not as much as he likes but enough not to be wholly disappointed with things, and pumps a little faster. She tries to pace things and match the rocking of his hips, but he's reckless and his own inexperience means he's wildly inconsistent in his thrusts. The bony portion of her upper hand continuously hits her upper lip and it's not comfortable, but with the tugging on her hair and the gradually increasing force of his thrusts it's the least of her discomforts.


He tries to push her down deeper, but as small as her hand is, he's not so massively endowed that he can get all that deep in her mouth with it in the way. Her tongue is barely moving and though she's finally tightened her lips around his shaft, it's not as enjoyable as it should be. Livid that he has to interrupt his own fucking proceedings, he pulls out of her mouth and kneels down in front of her.


She whimpers as he does so, leaning away a little and wondering what he's doing. There's still a glimmer of hope that he'll take her by the hand and start kissing her all over. Instead, he reaches down to the pants around his ankles and pulls his belt out, giving her a furious look as he grabs at her wrists. She stifles a small cry and complies, finding her wrists pressed together behind her back and the fake leather strap wrapping a couple times around. His body presses hard against hers as he fiddles with the buckle, eventually clasping it. It's a painfully tight binding, and she squirms a little trying to get out of it, but it's no use, and she knows that it will leave an impression for a couple days in her skin.


“It hurts,” she whimpers as he stands back up, and her eyes follow with him. They're wide and she has no pain tolerance so the brown starts to quiver as tears form. “Please, loosen it up a little. I want to do a lot with you, and if you want to try this then it's okay bu--” She's cut off, though, by his hands again seizing her hair and her head being pulled forward and his cock sinking into her mouth. Most of it vanishes between her lips, and her eyes shut tightly because this isn't very comfortable either and she can't figure out what's come over Silver. He's pulling on her hair, her wrists hurt, and the taste of his penis in her mouth isn't the most pleasant thing she's ever encountered. Most troubling of all is that she's been slick with anticipation for over an hour now and somehow even though this is nothing like it should be, she's finding that arousal growing.


With her hands out of the way, he's more reckless, knowing that he's going too fast for her but hardly caring. The line blurs and he's unsure whether the more satisfying element is the hot, wet mouth he's violating with increasing speed and depth, or the fact that she's squirming and whimpering and looking up at him still eager to serve. She's loyal and devoted, and he knows not to squander or ruin that, to take her too far and push his luck. But for an instant he's in control and she is perfectly okay with that, and everything in him is screaming to see just how much she'll be okay with. If being spanked, tied up, and facefucked is within her realm of acceptability during their first time, then he could feasibly explore every curiosity with her, in time, and not have a single worry.


As he presses deeper, he's aware that she's never had anything so deep in her mouth, that she must have a gag reflex, and from neither an arousal standpoint nor a dominant one, does he want her to be throwing up mid-blowjob. He keeps that in mind as he pushes forward, now about as deep as he feels comfortable. Any further and he's taking a risk he'd rather not, so he steadies himself and starts fucking her mouth with just enough restraint to not go over the line. Her sloppy acceptance has his shaft slick with her saliva, and he pushes only until the edge of dryness reaches her quivering lips, which try to hold tightly despite everything working against them.


Not knowledgeable about much of anything he's doing, Lyra doesn't know why he's stopping at such a seemingly arbitrary point, but her body can only take so much so she's grateful he has a line, unsure about exactly what appeal could be had in pushing on further and into her throat. It allows her to focus on other things, like the burning between her clenched legs, the moist spot growing on the front of her panties. This awful, violent display shouldn't be arousing her. She should be scared about why he's doing this and wincing in pain. Oh Arceus, she's doing exactly that, which makes her arousal all the more confusing. Was this what sex really was? Maybe it was all just cleaned up and sanitized for more innocent ears, because what she knew about it didn't involve hair pulling, spanking, or belts. Still, the groans her boyfriend made and the twitches of his dick in her mouth seemed to imply he was having fun, and that's what sex was supposed to be. Fun. Wasn't it?


Silver pulls harder on Lyra's hair, his hips moving in time with her head, meeting halfway, and as the pleasure wells inside of him he gets sloppier. He's so singularly focused on taking her mouth that he's approaching it the same way he approaches masturbation; a race to the finish, to spend a solitary second in bliss. Feeling. Lyra makes him feel, but not physically, and in that moment his physical needs are the only ones that matter. His brain's stopped trying to tell him anything, and noticing her how her thigh rubs together, the side in favour of toying with her forever has been sated. She's enjoying this. He's using her and toeing the line as much as he can, and she's down there whimpering and soiling her panties over it. It should be vindication; proof he's not being too hard, that she has some hidden submissive streak that gets her off on how he's taking control of her, that it's still all in good fun. But again, he feels the need to push her, to test her. He can't break her if she's this resilient.


His orgasm sneaks up on him, a symptom of being just as inexperienced with these things as his girlfriend. The last few thrusts have been too reckless and when he feels his knees buckle and the sensation shoot through him he realizes he's buried to the hilt in her mouth, and he pulls out. His cum is coming hard and fast, more plentiful than he's ever felt, and when he full-on pulls her head off of his cock she's coughing. The threads of thick saliva that connect her lips to his shaft shake as she coughs, and he's somehow still not done. A few more strands of cum streak her nose, her cheeks, her chin, and even a few droplets that dribble onto her shirt. More ends up on her shirt as cum drips out of her mouth and the coughing fit slowly dies down.


But she didn't throw up.

“Good girl,” he says, so high on the moment that he doesn't even realize she's not privy to his inner monologue and doesn't know why he's happy with how her body responded. All he knows is that his cock is twitching rapidly and it's matching his heartbeat, and though he knows he'll need a few minutes before he can go again it's refusing to soften at all.


“S-Silver,” she says weakly, looking up at him and cranking every aspect of her vulnerable, doe-eyed expression to the max. “I'm so wet right now... Can you please... Please....” She whimpers, unwilling to say the words even as they tremble on her lips, needing to be said. She can't, feeling just the slightest bit of shame for what she's doing and the fact what she wants him to do is not very fairy tale at all.


He knows she can't, and now he has a line. A point where she's been broken, a goal. When he can make her scream those words--saying them isn't enough, she needs to scream them and feel them in her very core--he has her. Grabbing her by the hair, he brings her to her feet, which isn't easy with her hands behind her back and her legs tucked under her. She manages, and he sees that the spot where her pussy juices have soaked through her Spinda-print underwear is a lot bigger than he thought. The strange dichotomy between a submissive girl so aroused her juices are getting her clothing wet, and the childish panties that she ought to have stopped wearing years ago, is one that gives him a twisted little smile. He gives her ass another swat, and this time her spine arches back and instead of shouting in pain she moans. Granted, they're still tinged with pain and a refusal to accept this, but the pleasure isn't very well-hidden. Five more in quick succession and he's now bracing her arm because he worries she'll fall over. He wonders how many times he could spank her before she's dripping down her thighs, and if it'll happen before she's lost the ability to sit normally for the rest of the week.


There's no fun in the same thing over and again. He can't risk her steeling herself against one thing; he needs to change it up, and perhaps a more direct means of breaking her is in order. He pulls her with him to her unmade bed, and he sits on the side of it, pulling her into his lap facing the other way. She's squirming now, and the fact they're finally on her bed grants her the tiniest of hopes. This might still turn out as romantic as she thought.


He reaches between her legs, pressing three fingers to the wet spot and pushing down with just the right amount of force. He can feel the outline of her mound through it, and he rubs them up and down a little, tracing along the bump, getting a feel for what she's like down there, creating a mental image of what will soon be his. What is already his. It is, after all, his prize. He simply has to take it and ensure it will always be his.


“You're so wet,” he says, and his voice is so heavy with false judgement that she hangs her head, believing his intonation to be genuine. “I tied you up, smacked you a little and took your mouth as hard as I could.... And it got you wet.” His head moves forward, and as he speaks, his voice dipped until he presses against her ear and whispers. “What can we assume from that?”


All she can do is make little, vulnerable sounds that only fuel his hunger. She presses against him harder, leaning her head onto his shoulder and wiggling her hips. He's still completely hard, and his slimy cock settles into the crook of her ass, rubbing against it through her panties. When it happened earlier, both had more layers on, but now it is only Lyra's panties in the way, and she ends up getting the heavier end of things instead of him. Anal was another thing she'd never thought about, but something about the rubbing makes her curious. She also hadn't thought they'd be doing oral, and never knew bondage was a thing, and deep down she reluctantly enjoys both of those things, so she doesn't want to rule out much.


He isn't expecting a response, so he continues on as planned, nibbling at her ear a little as his fingers slip beneath the band of her panties. As moist as the front may have been, her actual flesh is sopping wet, and smooth. She squirms against his hand and draws in a long, shaky breath. His touch is rougher than hers ever was, and her nerves light up in ways she could never make them. She licks at her aching lower lip, which hasn't been too happy about the facefucking, and focuses on it to try and keep herself quiet, not give him the satisfaction of her whimpering and moaning at his touch. Instead, she says in an attempt at confidence through her quivering tone, “No fair. I went down on you.”


Not that he minds. If she wants to play and fight him, then it will only make his goal more satisfying to reach. He knows that he can quash all resistance from her at a moment's whim, that there's no danger of losing his prey. He'll let her think she's being resistant, when in reality it's just adorable and fuelling his hunger. Pushing the hand further down, he cups her mound, taking in all of the dampness and softness. Though he's been very aware this whole evening of her naivety and total inexperience, it only dawns on him then the implications of her virginity. His are the first fingers to press against her unspoiled vagina. All of her trust and innocence rests on what he does to her. She is in his hands.


The thought of that power makes Silver's cock throb against her ass.


His other hand grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it up with such recklessness that they both hear fabric tearing as he pulls it out enough to stretch it. She makes another whining sound, and he doesn't even acknowledge it. Instead, he plunges three fingers into her, immediately knowing she has never used more than one because she cries out, “Three?” as though the possibility never occurred to her. They go in so fast that she breathes a sigh of relief over her hymen having already broken, because he was not going to be gentle with her.


Knowing only gentle sensations, Lyra's resolve breaks under the rough and rapid pumping of his fingers inside of her. Her plan to hold out and clam up doesn't stand a chance, and very soon she's wriggling in his lap and biting down on her upper lip to try and keep quiet. Her tight passage holds desperatly to his fingers, which wiggle around a little inside of her, pressing to her inner walls with curiosity. Occasionally he hits a particularly sensitive area toward the top, and a stifled squeak tells him that he's found the place to focus.


After wandering her soft, milky skin for a little while, his other hand grasps her breast, and like everything else he's done, it's too strong and too rough, but she's so high and confused that she moans anyway. Her legs slowly part, as if trying to welcome him in deeper, and her enjoyment of the hot, rapid, angry breath blasting against her neck is the only thing keeping her from leaning against him limply. It's a rare occasion where she's completely silent, normally talkative to the point of being overbearing. She doesn't want to say anything, or even know what's appropriate to say. Asking him to continue would only invite him to push further, but she hardly wanted him to stop.


“You're mine,” he whispers into her ear and Lyra's so delirious that his voice is the most erotic thing she's ever heard. A lusty gasp shatters her last attempt at silence. “My pet, my toy. Mine, mine mine. You gave yourself to me, and now you're going to make good on all of that.” His arms pull her closer, and not only is his aching cock flush against her, but her bound hands are too, and the wriggling fingers struggle in their cramped space. “I know how badly you want it. I can feel it.” With impeccable timing another throb runs through his shaft and it jerks against her. “And I want it too. Except I'm in control, and can take it however I want. Maybe lean your head off the bed and take your mouth again...”

Without warning, his teeth snapped to her neck, sinking in with all the patience he'd expressed doing anything else that night. She shouts, her entire body arching and going rigid, holding its stretched position and pressing against him desperately. Everything in her is on fire now, and the burning is so deep in her loins that when she can bring herself to move again she's bucking her hips against his fingers, inadvertently rubbing his dick against her panty-clad rear in the process. That added sensation encouraged him to hold, until finally he lets go, and again he laps at the trickle of blood coming out of her neck.


“So I want you to say it. I want you to beg, and I want you to do it right. No, 'Please Silver, make love to me, you're the only boy for me!'” His voice rises in pitch, into a crude mockery of her. “I want you to be honest with me. With yourself. The filthy things you've done already, the endless things I'm going to do to you... It's not nice, or pretty. It's vulgar and obscene, and you're going to admit that before you get it. I can simply use you in all manner of ways, leave you bound and never get relief all night, until you decide to submit.”


Her heavy breathing trembles and she's worried that tears are starting to well up. She can't believe he's making her say it, but she has so few choices. “F-fu...” She trails off, her mind almost refusing to say it. It's in a screaming match with her body, pitching everything she knows against everything she feels in that instant. It feels wrong, to say the word. Not just because she almost never says it in any context, but because it's the last thing she has. The last hopes of having her romantic first time cling to the tattered edges and refuse. Soft, gentle romance. That's what she wants. The word he wants her to use denotes everything else. It's coarse and not something good girls say, and refers to acts that simply don't happen in fairy tales. If she says it, if she whimpers and asks him for it, it's a resignation, the surrender of her hopes.


She can't pretend there isn't a part of her that's deeply curious. Screaming at her to say it because deep down, this strange journey has been an interesting one, and perhaps if he can make her feel even better than his fingers currently are, her childish notions of romance are best discarded. He loves her, after all, and that's what's supposed to count. No matter how angry and possessive his kisses were, they were still exactly that.


“Fuck me,” she whimpers. Or at least, she thinks she does. The words never register to her ears, spoken so lowly they may just be small breaths. Her jaw trembles slightly, and his fingers twist in her to let her know that Silver at least hears something. A moan spills out as he does so, and this time her voice rings very clearly.


Silver wants to continue messing with her, because she plays so perfectly into all of it. He wants to taunt and tease her more, make her keep begging him to fuck her louder and louder, until her throat is hoarse. He wants to make her orgasm on his fingers and then clean them off with her mouth. He wants to do countless things, but none of them make it from the depths of his mind to his body. Instead, the way she asks it, the way she gives in to him, drives him mad. Something comes over him, taking control, and before he knows what's happening he's on top of her, her eyes wide and incredibly close to him. One hand is firm on her breast, squeezing it just a bit too tightly, and his other is on his cock, slightly less slimy from having been rubbed against her panties. It's holding his tip to her slit, and it occurs to him that her panties are torn clean in half and lying in tatters beneath her. He knows he did it, because she has neither the strength nor boldness for such a thing, but he can't remember it.


“Please,” she moans, leaning up to try to kiss him, but clumsily finding his jaw instead. “You have me and now I can't take anymore, Silver. Please!” She's not entirely sure where her words are coming from, since fear and confusion lingers in the back of her mind, but she still loves him and this is still their first time. If nothing else, her drenched loins speak to how much she needs release.


Her begging throws him to the verge of another momentary blackout, a surrender to everything primal and angry inside of him, but he's lucid enough to be aware of his actions. That doesn't stop him from plunging into her, not showing the slightest inclination toward gentle. It's not too bad; he'd primed her up with his fingers, ensuring she is both sopping wet and a little stretched out for him, so he has no qualms about burying himself to the hilt inside of her on the first thrust. She still cries out and shuts her eyes tightly, a teardrop forming from the squeeze, but he doesn't stop. She had asked for it, explicitly, so he isn't going to take any mercy on her.


Not that he would have had she not. Any response other than an explicit no would have given the same outcome. A 'no' would have been the end of it though, because he may be broken and disturbed, but he's no monster. A monster wouldn't deserve her, and he very narrowly believes that he does, on some level. That with all of the outs he's given her, if she is still there, it is because at least she believes he's good enough for her.


His thrusting is rapid, and it is harsh. He may not have any experience, but he can slam into her without any refinement or finesse. He doesn't need it, for what he's doing to her, and she doesn't even know there's finesse to be involved, so it's more than good enough for her. All that does matter is that she's even tighter and hotter than he thought she'd be. She looks so vulnerable beneath him, too, and he presses his lips hotly against hers. It's unlike any kiss they've shared before, so angry and passionate that Lyra has to open her eyes just to confirm it's Silver. Most of his kisses were clumsy and awkward, almost shy. They'd become more intense during the course of the evening, but this was something else. To her surprise, she melted into it, shutting her eyes again and starting to rock her hips up against his cock.


It's nothing like she imagines. Her neck still stings where he bit her, though the bleeding stopped, and her wrists finally go numb from the tightness of the leather belt around them. His thrusts are savage, and when he hooks his free arm under her leg and pulls it up, they become even more so. She isn't good at being physical, except for when she has a Pokemon battle, and slips into some sort of savant-like trance. This isn't a battle, and she rides high on a sea of interwoven nervousness and lust. The excitement promises to send her to the verge of consciousness if she doesn't hold on tightly, and her grip is slipping fast. She cries out into his lips and surrenders herself.


Silver is driven by a lot of things, and the need for release comes in a narrow second, no matter how loud it screams. What matters most is dominating her. Ruining her. She's his, but he's unstable and hurt, in his mind not worth any of the trouble. By contrast, she's so happy and kind, and with a smile like hers she could make any man's heart melt. It makes him afraid, makes him jealous, though he doesn't say anything for fear it'll drive her away faster. Here's his chance to ruin her, to fuck her senseless and make sure no other man will want to touch her. He can't crush her light, but he can render her 'unclean' in the eyes of others. It's an old-fashioned sentiment, but he believes in it firmly. This will make sure she stays with him.


He throbs inside of her, as he's had no reprieve after his orgasm with her ass rubbing against his dick. It's only a matter of time, but he doesn't care how quickly it comes. The ending is something he looks forward to, a sign of finality and ownership, and everything before that is merely bliss. He bites her lip again, squeezing her thigh and her breast. Sweet moans start to ring out now, a sign her discomfort and pain has ebbed, that her body has accepted the rough treatment as the pinnacle of sensation. It's in her eyes now as they open and lock onto his. Passion, hunger, surrender. What she does is no longer driven solely by the belief that loving him means giving him what he wants. She now wishes to offer herself to him because she knows nothing in this world can feel as good as being fucked into the mattress so carelessly.


The angle changes, and now his entire body is pressed against her. The numbness in her hands isn't enough to mute the force of their bodies both pressing down on them, and she winces, crying out into his mouth as his teeth tug away and her lip's soreness returns with a vengeance. She derives a strange, twisted pleasure from all of it, so she doesn't ask him to stop or slow down or to change position. This way is perfect.


Both of them grow progressively sloppier and louder as things go, until the sound of flesh on flesh is practically a whisper by comparison. Their moans and words swirl together, mingling in a cacophony until at last, Lyra shivers. Her orgasm strikes with only a few seconds' warning, body arching up against his as she clenches down on his cock tightly, screaming his name so loud that his ears buzz painfully and he winces. The tightness does him in, and he's so taken off-guard that he forgets why he's cumming inside of her and everything it represents. Instead, he slams into her one more time and unloads, his teeth sinking again into her neck to muffle his own sounds. She doesn't bleed this time, and the strength of his jaw ebbs until finally he collapses weakly on top of her and releases her pale neck.


He rolls them over so that she's face-down atop him, and he undoes the belt to release her hands. She murmurs a soft “thanks” and lets them finally fall loose, shoulders breathing a sigh of relief. She rests atop him lazily, giving him a kiss on the cheek.


“Does this mean you'll stay with me forever?” she asks dreamily, wiggling off him a little to rest her head on the pillow beside them, her hand coming down on his chest. “Because even if it didn't turn out how I wanted it to, I still take this as a sign you love me.”


Mustering up a weak smile, Silver nods. “I don't ever want you to leave,” he confirms. He doesn't confirm that he loves her, because he's not entirely sure if he can. If he is, then she'll certainly be the one to show him. But for the moment, he wraps his arms around her and holds her tight against him, with the same sort of defensive, territorial reflex that inspired his bout of angry sex.


It's good enough for her , because the way he holds her afterwards is too sincere not be a display of love. She knows he's troubled and hurt, but she'll make him better, though maybe he can keep the sexual aggression. In a strange, realistic way, maybe it is all a fairy tale after all.

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