She should have been protesting. She should have been screaming, although she knew there was no one around to hear her, no one to come to her aid in any way. Still, she should have been doing anything necessary to extract herself from his hold.

In the back of her mind—in the miniscule part of it that still retained the ability to reason—she knew all of that. But she had already found that she could act on none of it. She had completely lost the ability to deny herself what this man was so obviously offering. She didn't know why, and at this moment, she didn't really care.

Especially since he was nuzzling his nose with unerring accuracy between her dripping folds as she felt him, literally, lower her onto – and into – his waiting mouth.

It certainly wasn't the desire to get away from him that had her grinding and writhing against him. It wasn't even the roughness of the rock behind her that she could feel scratching her skin. It wasn't even the prickly hairs of his beard against her pristine lips. In fact, if anything, that only served to heighten her desire. The contrast of the uncontrollable bliss he was inflicting on her, occasionally backed down from combustibility by the rough hairs being, deliberately, she suspected, dragged along that over-sensitized, over stimulated flesh, making it almost itchy, then both soothing and driving her relentlessly back to a fever pitch while doing so. Carefully never sending her over the edge, which only seemed to make her leak even more copiously – knowing in the back of her mind that she should be mortified at her body's reaction to him, although wishing desperately that she could be, did not make it so.

She was surprised he wasn't drowning, knowing she was drenching him in her fluids, but he seemed to revel in them, literally burying his face in her cunt, wetting the entirety of it with her, and worrying even the hair on his head over her exposed bits.

Nothing she had ever experienced in her life before stasis had prepared her for how this man was making her feel. She would have sworn that she had experienced the absolute heights of her own pleasure, but that was a pale imitation in comparison to this. She felt as if her entire body had the sensitivity of the area his mouth and tongue were devouring, and it was at once exhilarating and devastating – to be so exposed, so raw, so totally out of control.

And so completely controlled by someone else, someone she couldn't be sure wouldn't just kill her when he had taken what he wanted from her, someone who was more than big enough to snap her neck on a whim.

Or even accidentally.

Before she could try to marshal what little was left of her thought processes to worry about this, he moved, shifting them away from the wall – never breaking the seal of his mouth over her, never disturbing the rhythm of his talented tongue as it alternately coaxed and demanded a response from her – which it always received.

She didn't even realize that he had moved them until she felt the couch cushions of her makeshift bed at her back. Until she realized – belatedly – that he was crouched over her like a lion over his prey, looking down at her and catching her eye as his hand found where his tongue had so recently been, sluicing down that juicy cleft until he found what he was looking for and began to press a big finger inside her.

It was too much. Too much stimulation and not nearly enough release. She couldn't take any more, but was powerless to convey that to him. It was much too advanced a concept for what had become her tiny pea brain.

Her mind latched onto one word as her body tried to convince him to give her what she needed in other ways – writhing, arching her hips towards him – blatantly offering herself to him.

"Please!" she whispered fervently, demandingly. But her only reward for her efforts was another one of those evil almost-smiles that made her shiver fearfully, although she was obviously not nearly afraid enough to have it dampen her rampant desires in any way. In fact, if anything, it increased them even further, making her wish she could stop herself but the word was out of her mouth before she could even begin to recall the impulse. "Please?"

That big finger began to move, and at first, she thought that was going to help her, to soothe her, but seconds later she realized that it, too, was only making things worse.

Much, much worse.

She was so far gone, so deep within her own suffering needs, that, at first, she hadn't noticed that he'd removed the cloth wrapped around his waist and hips, covering his maleness.

But when he grabbed her hand and brought it to him, her head snapped up as her fingers sought – and failed – to wrap themselves around his tumescence.

It seemed that everything about him was formidably large. In truth, she wasn't even sure she could take him. She had only had the one lover, and she'd never even owned a dildo that was this big.

But it wasn't as if he was going to give her a choice, because, seconds later, it wasn't his finger she felt filling her.

At least, he wasn't simply ramming himself into her. He was surprisingly slow and gentle, even though she would have sworn that he was at least as gone as she was, watching her avidly, adjusting her legs and the position of his hips as he advanced himself into her, reaching down between them to pull open first one side of both her inner and outer lips a bit. Then, as he advanced incrementally forward, moving to the other, ignoring her wordless protests and breathless moans as he laid claim to more and more of her while chanting fervently, "So tight – so tight – so tight!" under his breath.

Her mind certainly couldn't deal with what was happening to her, but her body welcomed it – even though she felt as if – with every tiny advance – she was losing more and more of herself to him, to the painful – but undeniably – unbelievably – pleasurable sensations he was conjuring so effortlessly within her.

It felt so good to be truly, unutterably full of him. By the time she could feel him drive himself fully into her, she knew that he was stretching every single millimeter of her femininity to capacity – and beyond – to accommodate him. And it was the first time since she'd first seen him that she couldn't feel herself leaking any longer, because there was literally no room for her to do so – the fit was just that tight.

The sensation of him taking her so completely and utterly was unbearable. She could feel herself right on the brink – right at that edge, at that point where it should have been inevitable that she would begin to contract uncontrollably – in what would inevitably be another potent mix of pain and pleasure – around him.

But – for whatever reason – she couldn't. He left her with an unattended, exposed aching need.

Because she was well beyond coherent thought, she didn't become alarmed when he reached down to gather her wrists in his hand, stretching her arms so far above her head that she had to arch even further into him – to offer herself up to him helplessly – so that her muscles wouldn't hurt.

And at that exact moment, he snapped his hips forward, and – unbelievably – there seemed to be even more of him that was much wider than the rest, that seemed to lock into her and grow even further as the imposing head of his cock nestled tightly against her cervix...

Dan had – on rare, vigorous occasions – nudged her cervix, which she had not found uncomfortable.

And neither was this.

This...and the rocking – pumping – the still stretching tightness he was subjecting her to that seemed to have drawn her clit down to the point that every breath he took rubbed her there, too...

It was wickedly evil.

It had to be to feel this good.

The slight stab of pain she felt deep within her when he pulled just slightly out – as if his cock was barbed and he was setting himself into her g-spot – she quickly forgot as, somehow, that pain mutated into unbearable, searing desire. And the waiting ended at that exact moment, as he laid full claim to her at last, and the interminable waiting was over.

At the exact moment he began to spew his cum directly into her womb, his body naturally held hers helpless to receive his seed. Leaning further over her, filling her eyes, her mind, and her body with his overwhelming presence, pressing her legs back just the slightest bit further, increasing the helplessness of her position he very deliberately unleashed the apocalyptic pleasure that had been building within her.

In that moment of confluence – where every single bit of her femininity was engulfed in a bliss so strong it could not be imagined – could not be withstood – could not be survived – she thought she might die of it, and somehow that would have been all right with her.

Her body acted entirely on its own, under his stern command, surging upwards in perfect rhythm with the spurting of his cream within her, her contractions milking him, adding mightily to both of their pleasures.

And that bliss seemed to be never ending. Those wondrous sensations had always begun to die off rather quickly – not that she wasn't capable of more, she was, but that was another hill to climb – however small.

But this showed absolutely no signs of stopping. As he rocked himself gently against her, tugging both at the barb he had sunken into her tender flesh as well as the swollen knot within her, the euphoria she felt was constantly renewed and continued. Maintaining its peak, even deepening as her body followed his dictates automatically, needing no help from her to do as he wanted, while she found herself helplessly caught up in that maelstrom of paradise from which she felt she could never recover.

She had no idea how long he labored over her, keeping her orgasm alive for much longer than she would ever have thought possible, until, with a last cry, she finally felt him expend the last of himself into her, and both the barb and the bulge at the base of his penis began to subside.

And she realized immediately that it was not just her now leaking around him and out of her. In fact, she didn't think she was contributing anything at the moment – every bit of it was him, leaving her in great globs as her body continued to contract gently around him.

As she felt him shrink within her, she thought he would leave her and was surprised to realize that she didn't much like that idea. She wanted him near her – preferably, inside of her – and that the thought of being separated from him was troubling – which made it just that much more troubling, since she had always prided herself on being an independent woman.

While they were still somewhat joined, he looked up at her, reaching up to catch her chin.

"Tell me that you are mine," he demanded.

She raised her eyebrow. Not what she would have hoped for his first words to her. But then – as reason slowly returned to her – she hadn't given him much cause to think she might balk at that idea.

Nevertheless, she wasn't about to do so – fantastic sex or not.

"How could I possibly say that to someone I've never met?"

That comment earned her what she came to think of as the first real smile she'd seen from him – and, even though it seemed genuine and showed no signs of the evilness of his first few attempts, he still looked foreboding at best.

"What is your name, girl?"

Did people still shake hands? She wondered. Regardless, did they shake hands while lying beneath someone who was slowly shrinking within them?

Out of habit, she raised her hand, lowering it when he didn't seem as if he was going to offer his own.

"Emmy – Emily Harding. And you?" she asked expectantly.

Suddenly, she was alone, and feeling more bereft because of it than she wanted to admit – and also – amazingly – alarmingly – she could feel the stirring of desire again, on its way to becoming as deep and all encompassing as if what had just transpired between them as he stood in one surprisingly graceful, fluid motion for one so large.

Emmy did her best to try not to watch him as he re-wrapped that little loincloth type covering over himself quickly and efficiently, watching the muscles ripple beneath his deeply tanned skin, noticing how his shoulder length black hair wanted to curl in some places. She found herself both appalled and even more turned on at the sheer number and variety of scars he bore.

Then he reached a big paw down to take her hand and pull her up, clamping her tightly to his side.

"Come."

He began to walk, and she had no choice but to go with him. He was practically carrying her.

"Wait – what about my clothes? And I don't want to go!"

Her attempts to forestall him from carting her away from her cozy little nest were not a little laughable and quite worrisome, in fact. Nothing she did seemed to have any effect on him whatsoever. He wanted them to go, so they were going.

Just outside the cave, he emitted a high-pitched whistle that echoed through the brown hills, and Emily could hear his horse galloping towards them, rushing to obey his summons. She decided to make a last stand, trying to twist out of his hold, to contort herself in any manner that would loosen his grip on her, but, in the end, the only thing she managed to accomplish was to tire herself out.

Because she was so exhausted from lack of food and water, she lied blatantly to herself.

When the beautiful stallion arrived, he stood docilely in front of his master, and Emmy had to crane her neck to see his withers. A massive horse for a massive man.

Said massive man bent and offered his laced, cupped hands to her. Emmy knew exactly what he wanted her to do – to step into them so that he could lift her up onto the horse.

But, realizing she was now free and immediately dismissing the idea of trying to run, which risked pissing him off, she instead crossed her arms over her chest and took three large – for her – deliberate steps away from him. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm dressed, you tell me your name and where you would like me to go with you. Then I'll decide whether or not I wish to go."

One expressive eyebrow rose seconds before she realized that those steps hadn't gotten her anywhere near far enough away from him, and before she could so much as lean away from him, she found herself standing in his arms, facing the horse, her side against his stomach. But he didn't lift her onto the beast immediately, as she expected. Instead, he held her still as he delivered five powerful swats to her bare bottom that had her seriously reconsidering putting up any kind of resistance whatsoever, tears fresh in her eyes before he stopped, even after so few spanks.

After that, he didn't give her a choice. He put her on the horse, then swung up himself, arms wrapping around her from behind, effectively trapping her there with him.

Although she tried to pay attention to the position of the sun, she had no idea how long they spent on the horse, or really, in which direction they travelled.

Not necessarily because she didn't know how to calculate either of those things, but more because – despite what he'd done to her in the cave and how thoroughly sated she'd been by the experience – more so than she wanted to admit, really – she was rapidly finding herself returning to the state she'd been in before he had taken her.

She was sore, yes, and straddling the horse didn't help much, but then, it also served to keep those very intimate parts of her stimulated against the horse's surprisingly silky coat. To add insult to injury, her now very sore behind was fit tight up against that which his loincloth strained to contain as it reared up and curved almost into her from behind, widely separating her bottom cheeks around it, the rhythm of the horse making him move against her as if he was thrusting into her.

And he wasn't any help, either. Emmy bravely tried to smack his roaming hands away from her, but she spent most of the trip with him cupping her breasts in his callused palms or pinching and then holding onto her nipples as he kicked the horse into a trot, which caused her breasts to bounce and pull her nipples – repeatedly – out of his tight grip.

It hurt, yes, but that potent combination did nothing but fan the unquenchable fire between her legs – even his hearty chuckle at her squirming couldn't manage to dull the ache.

When they finally stopped, it was outside a large gate. He slid off the horse then lifted her down to stand close in front of him, his back to the gate, hunching himself around her as if to conceal her.

He whistled three long blasts, and she heard someone open it.

Her captor said something she didn't recognize, and then the gate closed, only to open again quickly.

This time, she got what he barked, although she didn't understand it.

"Nike!"

Suddenly, a very large garment of some kind, in a drab gray, enveloped her. It had long sleeves, fell to pool at her bare feet and had a hood that he brought up and tucked her hair into before pulling it forward so that it draped over her entire face. "Keep your head down," he growled to her before he began walking them towards the gate, but as they were standing in front of it, before they walked through, he yelled fiercely, again, his deep voice reverberating throughout the primitive camp, "Nike!"

As they entered the enclave, she saw that men, who, at the sound of his command, stopped whatever it was they were doing and stared down at their feet, populated it almost entirely. The majority of them weren't motionless, but some of them were.

She could feel the tension in the air and was more terrified at that moment than she had been since she'd awoken.

She kept her head down without having him tell her again, even when she heard the unmistakable sounds of feet running towards her, and she had the feeling she was in imminent danger.

He only left her side for seconds. But that was all it took for him to confront whoever it was, deftly step behind him, put a hand on either side of the poor unfortunate's head and snap it, releasing the dead man immediately to let him fall to the ground with no more care than if he'd swatted a mosquito before joining her again.

Emmy was stunned.

It wasn't like it was in VR, or even old style movies or television.

This was real.

Neither the sight of an unnaturally bent neck nor the sounds of cracking bones and ripping flesh – the sounds of a man's death at the bare hands of her captor – were going to go away any time soon.

If ever.

Especially, since – even though they'd seen what had happened to the first man – two more men came at them.

She wasn't sure exactly what it was they were after – she supposed it was her, but why? She was nothing special. She'd never been particularly beautiful. She was hardly someone who inspired men to commit suicide to get to her.

And yet, they came anyway and he dropped them just as expediently as the first one.

She felt a little better when they entered a big, industrial looking building, and she was hustled down long trails of hallways until, finally, he stopped and opened a door, pushing her into the room with a careful – guiding, rather than pushing – hand on her back. And despite that, she immediately – frantically – began to look for another door off the room.

"Bathroom?" she got out, but not in time, neither seeing nor finding any sort of suitable target, she emptied what little was on her stomach onto the floor, but mostly ended up dry heaving.

He surprised her by not jumping away from the mess she was creating – or her – but rather gathering her hair into one hand at her neck, holding it out of the way, cradling her as best he could with his body, and obviously wanting to provide what little comfort he could while she was sick.

When she was finally through, spent and exhausted as she stood back up from her hunched position, he immediately wiped her mouth with a warm, damp towel.

"Sorry," she breathed weakly.

"It is I who is sorry that you had to see that. Such sights are not for one as tender as you, but I will never let any man have you, or even survive the attempt to do so."

Have her? Emmy thought, wanting to question him further about his statement, but she was too tired to do it.

Remaining close to her physically, as if he was worried she would be sick again, he continued, almost as if he was talking to himself, "I know you must be hungry, but I don't want to make you sick again."

He turned, and she heard him pouring something, and suddenly there was cool water at her lips.

When she would have grabbed the glass and drained it, he moved it away from her, warning, "Slow, small sips." He put it down, well out of her reach, on a table next to a big bed.

How had she missed that enormous piece of furniture when she'd first come in? It was nearly as big as the entire room.

Oh, yeah. Dead men all around her.

She shivered at the thought, feeling his arms close instantly around her, supporting her, encouraging her to lean back against him as he removed the cloak he'd put on her only a few minutes ago.

"Wait – I want to keep that and wear it!" she protested, making a feeble grab for it.

He ignored her to turn and throw it outside the door before closing it again. Then he walked to the far end of the room and opened the door she'd missed in her cursory glance around the place before she began to heave.

"Bathroom," was all he said.

Emmy did not move.

He sighed heavily, taking about two strides to commandeer her hand and pull her along with him back to the door, then pushing her inside. "Toothbrushes and toothpaste in the cabinet. Make your ablutions and come back out."

Emmy took her time, thankful for the actual working facilities – even toilet paper – as well as the opportunity to brush her teeth and rid herself of that awful, fetid flavor that lingered in her mouth.

Having already noted that there was no lock on the door, and therefore no real need to take a stand and bar herself in the small room, she finally opened the door. The half of her that could still think – barely – hoping that he wouldn't be there when she did so and the other – much less civilized half – elated when he was.

He gave her a cursory glance and held out the glass again, taking it away from her when she made to gulp it all down at once. "Must I thrash your bottom every time I want you to obey me, girl?" he asked casually. "And do not make the mistake of doubting that – if that is what it takes, to get you to do as you are told, then that is what I will do."

She ignored his blatant threat, stating as firmly as she was physically capable of doing, "I'm not a girl – I'm a woman."

"Yes, yes you are," he said, his voice lowering dramatically as he crowded her away from him until she fell onto the bed on her back, watching him cage her in with his big body, already drowning in the vast, bottomless well of desire he could so easily inspire in her, already losing the ability – the will – to fight him.

But he didn't take her this time. Instead, he removed his loincloth, spooned her into his arms and pulled the covers over the both of them, commanding, "Sleep."

As much as she didn't want to obey him, her body seemed to enjoy doing exactly as he told her to do, and she was asleep in seconds.