Part 2 The Reckoning

The Ember's Claim - Part 2: The Reckoning

Act 1: The Aftermath

The cabin's a tomb now, silent save for a dripping leak in the corner and the fire's dying crackle. I'm sprawled on the table from last night, legs curled tight to my chest, your seed leaking from my sore, torn pussy--raw, pulsing with your violation.

My blouse is a shredded rag off one shoulder, pale breasts bare, bruised from your grip, nipples tender from your teeth.

My dark hair clings to my tear-streaked face, sweaty and snarled, blue eyes hollow yet smoldering with hate. My skirt's a crumpled band around my waist, thighs sticky with your filth. You're slumped across the room in a wooden chair, jeans unbuttoned, cock soft but slick with my blood and shame.

Your broad chest heaves, sweat drying on your skin, dark eyes gleaming triumph--no remorse, just conquest. "You're mine now," you say, voice rough, flat, certain. I don't answer, hugging my knees tighter, wincing at the sting between my legs. My virginity's gone, stolen hours ago--I'm a wreck, but not broken.

I slide off the table, legs unsteady, bare feet hitting cold floor. Your mess drips down my thigh; I smear it with a quaking hand, loathing its mark. "I'll never be yours," I whisper, Russian accent thick, voice firm despite my frame's quiver. You laugh, low and crude, rising--cock swaying as you close in.

I back into the wall, ass scraping rough wood. "Stay away," I snap, but you tower over me, your stench--sweat, musk, sex--choking me. Your hand grips my chin, forcing my face up; I glare, lips quivering. "You felt good," you mutter, thumb brushing my mouth, "tight little cunt milking me."

I slap your hand away; you snatch my wrist, pinning it overhead. Your other hand shoves my skirt higher, fingers grazing my bruised thigh. My breath hitches--not desire, just pain's echo. "Fuck you," I spit, voice cracking, and you press closer, cock hardening, nudging my stomach.

My ravaged pussy clenches faintly--reflex, not want--you smirk, catching it. You drop to your knees suddenly, rough hands prying my thighs apart. "No--" I rasp, shoving your shoulders, but you bury your face between my legs, hot breath searing my raw folds.

I freeze, rage flaring as your tongue drags along me, tasting your seed laced with my ruin. "Stop it, you pig," I hiss, clawing your hair, yanking hard, but you rumble against me, vibration jolting my core. My legs strain to close, but you grip my hips, pinning me, licking deeper--sloppy, ravenous.

I writhe, cursing in Russian--"Sukin syn!"--but you don't flinch, nose grinding my clit, tongue plunging into my torn heat. My body betrays me, a shudder tearing through as heat coils--unasked, unwanted. "Fucking bastard," I rasp, voice fracturing, nails digging into your scalp.

You suck my clit hard; my hips jerk--reflex, not surrender--teetering me toward an edge I despise. I shove you back with a surge; you stumble, crashing into the chair, chest heaving. I slide down the wall, wiping my thighs with my sleeve, my pussy throbbing from your assault.

You sit there, staring, smug grin plastered on--filthy, unshaken. I quiver, plotting, trapped--my hate a blade sharpening in silence.

Act 2: The Shift

Midday sun slices through the grimy cabin window, casting jagged shadows across warped floorboards. I've scrubbed myself raw with water from a rusty bucket, dragging a frayed rag over my thighs until the skin's pink--your seed is gone but its ghost is lingering, my pussy tender, swollen from last night's breach.

My blouse is a tattered knot tied tight over my breasts, fabric stretched thin, damp with sweat, outlining every curve. My skirt hangs low on my hips, frayed hem brushing my thighs, barely shielding my ass. My dark hair's pulled into a messy knot, strands plastered to my damp neck.

I pace barefoot, restless--the floor's creak matching my pulse's thud. You lean against the door, shirt off, jeans zipped but bulging with your cock. Your arms cross, biceps flexing under taut skin, eyes tracking me--hungry, calculating, a predator eyeing prey.

"You can't keep me here forever," I say, halting to glare, my voice a blade cutting the thick air. "You'll slip, and I'll run--far enough you'll never find me." My Russian accent curls sharp, defiant. You shrug, smirking, teeth glinting. "You won't get far, wildcat. Not with those legs unsteady."

I scoff, turning away, hair whipping over my shoulder, but you're on me fast--boots thudding, hand clamping my arm, spinning me into your chest. My breasts smash against you, nipples hardening through the thin knot despite my will, scraping fabric as I shove back.

"Let go," I hiss, nails biting your forearm, but you pull me tighter, cock pressing my stomach--hot, insistent through jeans. "Feel that?" you mutter, grinding slow, breath grazing my ear. "That's what you do to me." I snap, "I don't want it," teeth gritted, but my body's a traitor--heat coils low, nipples peaking, flush creeping up my chest.

You catch it, your smirk deepening, hand slipping under my skirt, rough fingers finding my pussy--sore, raw, but slicker now, a shameful seep despite my hate. "Liar," you rasp, voice gravelly, fingers sliding inside--two thick digits curling into my tight heat. I gasp, sharp, unbidden, grabbing your wrist to yank it free.

My knees buckle as you stroke--slow, deliberate, thumb circling my clit with cruel precision. "Stop," I moan, the word splintering, my hips twitching forward--reflex, not choice. You're a wall of heat, free hand tearing the blouse knot loose, baring my breasts--pale, heaving, nipples stiff and aching.

"Fucking look at you," you mutter, mouth latching onto a nipple--sucking hard, teeth grazing the peak. I cry out, shoving your shoulders, nails raking red lines down your chest, but you pin me to the wall, fingers pumping inside me--steady, unyielding.

My breath staggers, heat building--unwanted, unstoppable, my walls gripping you against my will. "No--stop it," I pant, voice breaking, thighs parting wider, trembling, chasing the edge as I curse you--"Pidar, blyad!"--spit flying, defiance drowning in the wet squelch of your fingers.

You pull back, eyes black with lust, and spin me to face the wall. My palms slap the rough wood, skirt shoved up, ass bare; you press against me--cock grinding between my cheeks through jeans, teasing, unyielding. "Tell me you don't want it," you rasp, hand snaking around to pinch my clit, rolling it hard.

My head jerks back, a choked moan escaping--raw, shameful--hips bucking into your touch, betraying me fully. "I hate you," I sob, tears pricking, slick dripping down my thighs as you grind harder, breath ragged on my neck. "Hate me all you want," you rasp, teeth grazing my shoulder, "but you're mine."

You bite--not breaking skin, just stinging--my knees falter, a whimper slipping as heat peaks, teetering me on the brink. Then you stop, stepping back abrupt, leaving me slumped--panting, wet, unfulfilled. I slide down, legs folding, glaring up through sweaty strands as you adjust your jeans, cock straining, chest flushed.

"You're a monster," I whisper, voice cracked--and you grin, knowing my defiance frays, thread by thread.

Act 3: The Conclusion

Night cloaks the cabin, darkness pressing in, broken by the fire's dying flicker casting amber streaks across the walls. I'm on the bed, knees drawn up, staring at the cracked ceiling--my body a battlefield, bruised, tender, thrumming with heat I can't kill. My blouse is gone, shredded in the day's chaos, breasts bare--skin flushed, sweat-glistened, nipples stiff in cool air.

My skirt clings to my hips, frayed edges riding low, barely a scrap--too drained to adjust it. You're beside me, naked, cock resting thick on your thigh, slick from earlier, glinting in firelight. The brute force is gone--this is a game now, and I'm slipping, step by quaking step.

"Come here," you say, voice softer, edged with false tenderness, and I don't move--just turn my head, blue eyes narrowing into an icy glare. You don't wait, hand hooking my waist, dragging me across the creaking mattress until I'm flush against you--breasts pressing your chest, thighs brushing yours.

I don't resist--too raw, too hollowed--but my jaw tightens, defiance flickering. Your hands roam, claiming--cupping my breasts, thumbs grazing nipples until they harden, squeezing my ass with rough palms. I hate how it stirs me, how my breath catches, how my body arches into you unbidden.

"You want it," you murmur, low and sure, rolling me onto my back with a slow push. My legs fall open, no strength to fight, pussy bare--swollen, wet now, not just from you but me, a slickness I can't deny. You rumble deep, sliding your cock along my folds--teasing, coating yourself in my ruin.

"Say it," you demand, voice roughening, tip nudging my entrance, testing me. I shake my head, lips sealed, a mute refusal, but my hips twitch up--traitorous, needy--you smirk, thrusting in slow, stretching me, filling me deep. I moan--real, broken, torn from my core--walls gripping you, tight but yielding.

"Fuck," you grunt, setting a rhythm--deep, steady, relentless--my breasts bouncing with each thrust, hands clawing sheets, knuckles white. "You're mine," you say, voice thick with possession, and I don't argue--just take it, hips lifting to meet you, chasing heat I loathe and crave.

Your hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, pinning me open as you drive harder--the wet slap of skin drowning the fire's crackle. My breath gasps, Russian curses slipping--"Blyad, suka"--fading into whimpers as my body surrenders fully. My nipples ache, brushing your chest as you lean over, sweat dripping onto my stomach.

I'm close--too close--shame burning away as my walls flutter, clenching you; I cum hard, a ragged cry ripping free, back arching off the bed. You growl, thrusts erratic, cock swelling, and I feel it--your release flooding me, hot, thick, spilling deep as you slam in one last time.

I shudder, riding aftershocks, legs trembling around your hips, slickness pooling beneath me. We collapse, tangled in sweat and breath, your weight heavy; I don't push you off--can't, won't. My chest heaves, breasts rising against you; I turn my head, staring into embers.

"I hate you," I whisper, voice hollow--a dying echo. My hand rests on your back, fingers curling into your skin--not clawing, just holding. I'm yours--body and soul twisted into submission--and we both know it. The fight's ash, settling in silence.

Epilogue

Morning seeps through cabin cracks, gray and cold. I lie beside you, your arm slung over my waist, breath steady in sleep. My body's still--sore, marked, quiet--but inside, revulsion churns, a bitter knot tightening with last night's memory. I stare at the ceiling, jaw clenched, whispering to silence, "I'll never forgive this." You don't stir, but I feel it--disgust, sharp, coiling beneath my skin.