Can't Hold Back 2

Then he was up against her, holding his cock down at her entrance, pushing it inside her slowly. The strain of accepting inch after inch of it made Mary Jane’s cunt writhe. He could feel it moving around him in disbelieving convulsions.

“It’s too much!” Mary Jane cried. “Ooh, you’re ripping me in half!”

“Then I’ll have two of you,” Peter said, slowly pressing in more of his intimidating length.

“GGH!” Mary Jane gritted her teeth. Her face a twisted mask of the strain she felt taking him.

“And you don’t have all of it in you yet,” Peter teased.

Mary Jane moaned, tears gathering in her green eyes. Her fists clenched and beat on the mattress before her. Her toes beat a tattoo on the green sheets. Her pussy throbbed with each inch it was forced to take. “Too much! Too—!”

But Peter kept going. Mary Jane clamped her eyes shut and winced with another girthy inch inside her. Her supple body quaked from head to toe and Peter sank deeper into her, touching places that no other man could reach.

Mary Jane’s eyes widened. Her mouth gaped. It was like being a virgin… and not being a virgin… all over again. Perhaps it’d been too long since she and Peter had found time for this. Or maybe she should rethink trying doggy style with him.

Peter leered down at her. Had to be careful not to drool. Even when he was inside her, the sight of Mary Jane compounded his pleasure. Her inspiring nudity with her sensual, quivering thighs—perfectly formed hips—the trembling, begging labia lips—never in Peter’s life had he seen such perfection or imagined it would be his. He rocked his hips and went deeper. Mary Jane deserved everything he had to give.

MJ gasped sounds of stricken enjoyment. The normal rippling of pleasure wasn’t there, but there was bliss in the tension of being strained too tight, too full to move. Peter pushed his member in to the balls and ground his muscular loins against her softly padded buttocks. Mary Jane’s breath galed as the crushing pressure built up inside her. She couldn’t find the strength to fill her lungs when he was coring her so deeply.

In her belly, she felt his hugeness. His cock seemed to rearrange the interior of her body. Slowly he drew back. Mary Jane sighed, pleasured by the momentary relief. Then he pushed back inside her. The strain coursing with flickering pain, the tension agonizing, the expectation of release magnificent.

“Aaah!” Mary Jane sobbed.

But she didn’t ask for mercy. Peter chuckled. She never would. “I’m going to give you the exact fuck you asked for when you put on those undies.”

“Then don’t stop!” Mary Jane replied, though she didn’t know where she found the breath to answer.

His prick drove deep and hard—whipped out sharply—rammed in just as deep. Her anus clenched tight. At least he wasn’t in there, though his pistoning cock jarred her bowels just as much as sodomy would. He fucked her vicious and fast, drumming his crotch on her buttocks like a spanking. Jarring her deep inside.

Mary Jane keened, her body clenched and quivering. Peter had never taken her with such savagery. She’d never felt so fucked.

It was agony what he did to her and it was also thrilling. Mary Jane couldn’t believe it. Her anguished nerves signaled pain, but her dazed mind swooned with delight. She timed her panting for breath to when he drew back. Then she braced for the exquisite pressure inside to come to the fever pitch of being fully hilted.

Peter smiled. “Still don’t want me to stop?”

“Not! On! Your! Life!”

Each thrust caused a massive upheaval between her legs, a small orgasm in and of itself, flecked with pain and pushing her tension higher instead of allowing any respite.

“Come for me,” Peter said simply. He didn’t need to berate and bay and demean her. The way he fucked her was dominance enough. He worshipped her with the thought of how much ecstasy she could take.

Mary Jane felt the urge to simply slip away and surrender to coming and coming and coming in endless rhythm. The way his plunging cock tripped every nerve in her stretching folds, she found it harder to maintain control with each passing second. Peter fucked her relentlessly, pumping his dick at such a pace that she couldn’t breathe any more than if he had his hands around her throat.

He slammed himself into her and then pumped her back and forth on his cock in short, fast jabs. The immensity of the feeling was such that tears ran down Mary Jane’s cheeks. Her pussy clenched and somewhere found the strength to roil. She milked his prick with tantalizing kneading.

Peter breathed in short gasps, cock whipping into Mary Jane hard enough to send her across the bed if it weren’t for his hands locked on her hips. The heat in his scrotum swelled as his balls slapped against the backs of her thighs like a quirt spurring on a horse.

Both her torment and the horrible pleasure went on, mounted. Her body responded slavishly to the high demands Peter placed on it. Her overstimulated nerves flashed signals that confusingly alternated between a desperation for more and a wish for release.

Mary Jane’s body grew weak, laboring to keep up with the draining stimulation, accepting more whether she asked for it or not. Mary Jane was both gratified by the continued passion and resigned to in. Then, in the depths of mind-numbing fulfillment, she felt a coy tingle. The deep inner muscles that were usually never called upon now began to respond, undulating fiercely to answer the ferocious stress Peter put on them.

She moaned helplessly: eyes wide and glazed, saliva running from her open mouth, skin goosepimpled and trembling all over. Peter felt her flush warmly, her folds clinging to his prick every time he thrust into her. That usually happened once MJ overcame the first sobering shock of entry and grew used to the obscene delights of how he reamed her.

Peter felt and savored the thrumming waves that flew through her vibrant cunt, roiling in response to every jot of pleasure he gave her. Her pliant walls came alive, embracing his thrusting endowment, and Peter only went faster now that Mary Jane was enjoying herself.

The redhead’s eyes bulged. She felt her orgasm begin with an electric convulsion that tightened her asshole as much as her pussy. It was like he was fucking her enough for both holes.

She moaned, then cried out. Her luscious body was glazed with a sweat that was both excited and laborious. Once chilled with apprehension, her creamy skin now glowed warmly. Still Mary Jane tensed, closing her eyes, arching her back, only for Peter to follow her hips down to the bed and continue driving into them. She bounded back up, gasping for breath as he kept up the pistoning.

“I’m going to come!” she screamed. “I’m going to come so hard I’ll black out! See if I don’t!”

Peter only answered with grunts, saving all his breath to power the jackhammer strokes he was giving her.

Mary Jane’s heart raced. She felt its adrenalined beat pulsing in her temples, making her head feel both fairy-light and like it might explode. Spasms of tortured bliss jolted her cunt, a writhing feeling that undulated out from where Peter sheathed his prick. Even the muscles in her thighs and belly rippled in obscene enjoyment.

Peter bellowed with his cock going off. His seed fired into Mary Jane’s womb, anointing her with heat in the depths of her untouched sex. Her innards wrenched and she let out a scream as if in howling submission to Peter’s own rapture.

Orgasmic convulsions seared deep inside her, churned along all the throbbing length of Peter’s manhood. He drove in hard again, giving Mary Jane another searing hot blast of cum that so warmed her that her pussy let go, spurting as if in trade for how Peter filled her.

Mary Jane didn’t realize at first what had happened. The purging of her cream went with a feeling of pleasure, a welcome relief that fused with the glorious confusion of her excruciating rapture. Limp and weak from the explosion, Mary Jane was shocked when Peter pulled out of her and the feeling of warmth lingered. Looking under her body, she saw that she’d ejaculated all across her panties and stockings.

Mary Jane passed out.

She opened her eyes again. The room was warm, furnished in sunshine. She ached all over. Her eyes shut again. She remembered the wet dream. Slowly further awareness crept into her. It hadn’t been a dream. She moaned.

At last, she found the strength to pick herself up. She was alone. Peter had tucked her into bed, but he hadn’t changed the sheets. They still smelled of… her. Of her at her most intimate.

He’d also undone her bra, though left it slung around her arms, and taken off her heels. But the man himself was gone. That figured. Peter wore many hats, not just husband. He couldn’t attend to just one of them forever.

Mary Jane put a hand on her stomach. At the rate they were going, he might just have one more responsibility on the way. And he certainly fucked like he was trying to become a father.

She saw a note on the nightstand and picked it up. Peter’s handwriting. There. Now your lingerie is all covered in cum. Just not mine.

That was all the note said. Mary Jane smiled to herself. She got up, moving like a sleepwalker… taking Aspirin… drinking one tall glass of water and then another. She took a shower. Only standing under the hot spray kept her awake long enough to be sure she wasn’t… fermenting with all Peter had done to her.

When she figured she had enough strength to make it back to the bed, she shut the water off. Took a moment to examine her body in the mirror.

Her body was not as battered as she had feared. For all his supposed meekness, Peter knew how to avoid leaving lasting marks. There was no evidence that he’d smacked her ass… a couple of hickeys on her throat… and her lips looked swollen to her own eyes, darkened as if bruised by his kisses. And she noticed a redness on each of her breasts. Peter certainly hadn’t been gentle in groping them. But that would fade in a day or two.

Before it could, Mary Jane picked up her phone and took a picture. Then she returned to bed and sent it to Emma Frost.

Peter’s review, she captioned the photo… wondering what she could do to make sure that next time, Peter’s seed ended up all over her face, not in her womb. No matter how good a father Peter would make.