He was laying in the snow, his ears ringing, his staff was still in his clutched fist, and he breathed hard. He knew his father was out of breath, too, but he was disappointed he didn't win this time.
Of course his father, the chief, was finding it more and more difficult to win their sparring matches now that his son was eighteen. Pride gleaming in his eyes, even as his sides were bruised by the teenager's increasingly powerful blows, he ordered:
"Get up, Irwin."
He sat up in the snow, his warm breath making a thick fog before his face, and refused his father's hand to get back up on his feet. He was agitated. Ever since he was a boy, he had wanted nothing more than to win, and he felt victory was ever closer yet still out of reach. It was always the small things, a minor mistake, a small step in the wrong direction that had him losing. His father, though slowed down by years, was strong, all-knowing, he knew what he'd be doing before Irwin even thought of it. He secretly envied this power and he self-assured and calibrated moves.
More than anything, Irwin wanted a chance to tell his mother he had won. He knew all too well where his rivalry with his father stemmed from. He knew it was his fault he felt like this. His fault for watching.
He should never have been standing behind their door all these nights...
They were younger then, and Zeichel was not yet the village chief. He and his wife lived a little removed from the rest of the houses. People were scared of him and curious about his wife, a stranger he had stolen from a travelling theatre the villagers had raided and pillaged. Zeichel had strong hands, his eyes were calm and intelligent, and he had the threatening demeanour of a hunter, and his wife Aleen had curves and a dreamy smile, she moved slowly and gracefully, and, like a dog with its master, she always seemed to seek his touch. She would close her eyes slightly when he put a hand on the back of her waist.
That night, within their bedroom, he undressed and she shivered, her eyes on his muscular tanned arms as he walked up to her. He grabbed her throat and pushed her against the wall, and she batted her eyes as he slid down the straps of her nightgown, uncovering large white round, saggy breasts and pinching the dark pink nipples between his thick fingers. She gasped and squeaked, her mouth was open and her lips were wet. He kissed them, licked her tongue and kept her close to the wall. When he parted from her, he saw her with her eyes half closed, drooling a little, drops of saliva ran down her neck to the back of his hand. He smirked. She couldn't help it. She was ready, always, as soon as he put his hand on her. He tightened his grip and choked her as he rolled the gown up to stroke her pussy. She was wet already, she moaned when his fingers found her clit and rubbed it a little.
"Shhh... Good girl. Be quiet. Don't wake the kid." He said, his mouth close to her reddening face. She was running out of air, and he released his grip when he saw her roll her eyes up.
She gasped but was immediately pushed to her knees, and his thick-headed cock entered her gaping mouth quickly. He grabbed her by her hair, and pulled her face toward his hips. She gagged and her mouth started to water. He stayed there, as deep in her throat as he could push, eyes shut, for a few seconds. Then, the grip on her hair tightened, and he proceeded to move her head back and forth on his rod. Transfixed, she grabbed her nightgown tightly as he used her, groaning, staring down at her. She drooled, coughed and gagged, but he kept on. Her hips helplessly moved back and forth and she felt her pussy tighten. She tried not to throw up, but couldn't help it. The warm vomit filled her mouth and coated his cock before dripping down one of his legs. He smiled, his teeth clenched in satisfaction, and spat on her forehead. He fucked her face harder for a moment and then pushed her off. She gently collapsed against the wall, her pussy drenched, her body shaking and her eyes closed.
He took the nightgown off her, wiped her face, his cock and his leg with it, and pulled her up. She staggered to the bed where she crawled on all fours, her hips up in the air, presenting her holes. He looked at her pussy, juices dripping along the inside of her thighs, and he slid his cock in her. She moaned as he kept pushing himself deep. He filled her completely. He started to fuck her, gripping her hips, eyes closed, just focused on the sweet pulsation of her insides, simply enjoying how she felt in his hands, knowing she was his, feeling and enjoying this animalistic ownership. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the belt he had thrown on the bed a moment before, and grabbed it. He folded it and whipped her back as he slammed his cock into her. She whimpered and moaned.
"You're mine. You're fucking mine." He growled, forgetting to be quiet.
"Yes... oh yes... I love it... it hurts..." she muttered in her sweet agony, as she felt the leather lashing her back.
He came, his fingers digging into her hips, while she screamed her pleasure into a pillow.
After he stayed in her a little while, he slowly pulled out and she lied on her belly, her legs together, keeping his seed preciously inside her. Her eyes were closed, they were still wet with tears, but she had a soft, peaceful smile on her face. He stroked her hair.
"I love you." She said.
He leaned on his elbow and kissed her bruising back.
"I love you too." He whispered back.
