Lying there with him that night, their nude bodies rapidly drying in the warm air, Grace knew that tonight she would not resist if he insisted again. She wanted him. She wanted him so badly that she actually hurt inside with a pain that was intractable.
With a low moan, Stan rolled over on his side and propped himself up on his elbow staring at her in the dimness of the Montana night.
"What's wrong?" Grace asked, knowing exactly what was troubling him.
Stan didn't answer for a second, then in reply he merely took her hand and placed it on his erect and throbbing penis.
"That's what is wrong," he said, his voice hoarse with desire.
Beneath her fingers, Grace marveled once again at the feeling of his hardened penis in her hand. There was an awesome power there, a living viable thing that seemed to have a heart and mind of its own. She could feel the hard fleshy ridges of its length, the soft rubbery hardness of its head. Tentatively, her hand enclosed the trunk and she began gentle little movements – feeling the flesh move but not the instrument itself. It was as though the flesh covered a warm flexible steel rod. Stan moaned with the touch of her hand, then his mouth found hers. Their tongues fought a heated battle for supremacy before he, with a strength and near viciousness that she had never experienced in him before, jammed his tongue half way down her throat. He kept it there, and it seemed to her that his body had tensed as though he were trying to say something to her. He moved closer to her and now she found it difficult to continue the stroking movements because of the proximity of their two bodies.
After a moment, though, Stan seemed to relax somewhat. He pulled his mouth away and began kissing her neck, her shoulders, her ears. Breathlessly, she waited for his mouth to find her breasts. She liked that almost best of all. It was a terribly sensual thing when his lips enclosed her nipples, when his teeth bit into her breast… not painfully, but gently. Tonight, though, for the first time, Stan did not stop at her breasts. His tongue continued its excursion over the virginal flatlands of her abdomen. She was so lost in the wonder of his tongue, the fabulous trail of pure feeling it was leaving behind, that she didn't realize for a moment that he had reached the softly curling strands of her pubic hair.
Abruptly, Grace became aware of his intentions. All of her moral upbringing suddenly was screaming at her. She knew what Stan was about to do; after all, it was mentioned in most of the marriage manuals. And, in spite of the approval voiced in a couple of the books, there were several other authorities who referred to the act as "perverted".
"No, darling… you mustn't," she said, rolling away from him.
"Why not?" he groaned, his voice guttural with desire.
"Because."
"I'd like to do that to you with my tongue… just once."
"No!" She couldn't be more emphatic. She felt his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her over to face him again. He gazed down at her and she saw the puzzled expression on his face. Wordlessly then, because she didn't want to discuss it, she reached up and pulled his lips down to hers. Again there was that savage kiss… so unlike him… almost brutal in its intensity and force. She felt his hands moving freely over her abdomen, then his finger slipping along her moistened cuntal slit, bringing with it something akin to rapture – exciting, pleasurable, sensual. Grace splayed out her legs wider, giving him freer access to her now open vagina, and after a moment realized that Stan had put both knees between her wide-spread thighs and was forcing them even further apart. He pulled his mouth away from hers and croaked, "I want to fuck you."
The lewd phrase instead of repelling her only brought additional wanton excitement to her body – already aflame with desire. And, from what seemed to be a great distance, she heard her own voice responding, "Yes, darling. Do it to me! Fuck me!"
Stan looked in astonishment at her. She had always stopped him before. Then, quickly before she could change her mind, he dropped one hand down between their bodies and guided his hard, throbbing cock toward the fur lined, coral-pink pussy lips.
Grace's eyes widened as she felt, for the first time in her life, the spongy thick head of a male cock beginning to part the fleshy, desire-dampened layers of her love-starved vagina. She could feel the cock throbbing powerfully as it began sensuously stretching the hungrily quivering little outer lips.
She tensed with the first electric contact between his prick and the sensitive edges of her fevered cunt; the sensation was so powerful that she was immediately shocked out of wanton excitement and back to a realization of the awful thing she was permitting him to do. This was detestable weakness on her part. Ever since she had known Stan, she had been firm in her unswerving resolution to retain the priceless gift of her virginity until her marriage night. She didn't care what other girls did or said. It was a gift that could be given to only one man and then one time only. Her entire body stiffened, and she reached up, pushing against his chest. "No, darling," she moaned. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to now."
"Wha… what?" Stan acted as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Please, darling. No. I want to wait."
Now she could tell that he was really angry. A look of stern determination crossed his face. "You can't do that to me, besides, it's too late," he said, and pushed forward.
Grace groaned and cried out as she felt the first really harsh pressure against the tightly resisting virginal opening between her thighs, the lewd pressure grew and grew, building up to a point where it was almost intolerable.
"No… ooooohhhh, no!" she moaned loudly, trying to twist away from him. Now there was actually pain there. She felt as if someone were ripping apart her thighs, shoving a burning axe handle up into her tiny little vaginal orifice.
"Stop, Stan! You're hurting… me. Oh God, please stop," she wailed.
Stan's eyes were glazed, dimmed with lust. They stared, unfocused, at her. Suddenly, he shoved his hips forward in one vicious jerk; then with a hoarse groan, he fell forward with his powerful hairy chest crushing the softness of her ripe young breasts back into her own. At the same moment that his hips shot forward, the thick hot shaft of his implacably hardened cock slammed into the virginal pussy with all the force of a heavy lance dropped from great heights. The soft warm flesh of her vaginal walls was no match for this barbarous intruder; they were forced to give way before it, and the cock rammed into and ripped through the thin membrane of her hymen as though it were not there at all.
"Aaaaaggghhh," she screamed. She was being gored to death! His cock was stronger, sharper, more brutal than the horn of a maddened bull. Down there she was being ripped apart; she knew he had irreparably injured her… she would never be the same again! And still he continued to grind his way deeper, ever deeper into the previously secret, untouched caverns of her cunt until suddenly, with a loud groan of rapture, his scrotum clanged with all the force of a wrecking ball against the white defenselessly upturned cheeks of her tightly clenched buttocks.
"You're killing meee-eeee!" she shrieked, but Stan acted as if he had suddenly become not only blind but deaf as well.