The Ember's Claim - Part 1 - Breaking Ice
Act 1: The Chase Begins
I'm pressed against the weathered wooden wall of this dimly lit cabin, my chest heaving under a thin white blouse that sticks to my sweat-damp skin. My dark hair's a wild tangle, spilling over my shoulders, and my pale legs flash beneath a tight black skirt that's ridden up just enough to hint at more. My features are sharp--high cheekbones, icy blue eyes narrowed at you, lips a thin, furious line.
You're across the room, broad shoulders straining a worn leather jacket, jeans slung low, that cocky grin I despise plastered on your face. I see the bulge in your pants, and my stomach churns with revulsion. "Stay the fuck away from me," I snap, my voice slicing the thick air, my Russian accent rolling heavy, a warning.
I cross my arms, pushing my breasts up, the fabric stretching tight. You step closer, and your scent hits me--sweat, musk, something raw. My pulse spikes, but I'm not aroused. Your hand brushes my arm; I jerk back, slamming into the wall.
"Don't touch me, you pig," I hiss, but you ignore me, your rough palm landing on my waist, heat bleeding through my blouse. I shove your chest--hard--but you're a wall, pressing closer, breath hot on my neck. Your cock strains through your jeans, grazing my thigh, and I loathe how solid you feel.
"I'll make you want it," you growl. I scoff, twisting my head away, but your hand slides up my skirt, fingers hooking the edge of my cotton panties. I clamp my thighs shut, trapping you, nails clawing your wrist.
"Get off me," I snarl, but you're stronger, yanking my panties aside, grazing my dry, untouched pussy. I tremble with rage as you groan, grinding against me, your dick twitching in your jeans--thick, insistent.
You pin my wrists above my head with one hand, my blouse riding up, exposing my flat stomach. You're panting, rutting against my hip like a beast, and I thrash, desperate to break free.
"Fuck, you're gonna be mine," you mutter, then you're done--hot cum seeping through your jeans, staining my skirt where it presses against me. I'm shaking, defiled but still intact inside, as you step back, grinning. I spit at your feet. "Never," I say, voice low, venomous.
Act 2: The Tension Mounts
It's night in this damn cabin, and I'm on the creaky bed, knees to my chest, blouse half-unbuttoned from our earlier struggle--tits spilling out of a plain white bra, nipples stiff from the chill. My skirt's hiked up, showing creamy thighs. You're by the fire, shirt off, sweat gleaming on your rippling back, jeans unbuttoned, cock half-hard.
I look away, jaw tight. "You can't keep me here," I snap. You laugh, low and dirty, stalking over to tower above me.
"Watch me," you say, grabbing my ankle. I kick, but you catch my leg, spreading me. My panties cling damp from the heat, not want, as you stare at my pussy through the fabric.
I snap my legs shut, rolling off the bed. "Fucking bastard," I mutter, but you're on me fast, pinning me to the floor. My ass hits hardwood, skirt bunched at my waist, and you grind against me--cock bare, thick, leaking pre-cum that smears my thigh.
I thrash, clawing your arms, leaving welts. "Get off me, you sick fuck," I spit, voice raw. My blouse slips, one tit free, nipple hard--cold or adrenaline, I don't know.
You groan, yanking my thighs apart. My panties shift, exposing my tight, virgin pussy--pink, framed by faint hair. I'm not wet, but you don't care, your throbbing cock sliding along my folds, teasing my entrance.
