The Murdered World 34

Frank soaped under Christina’s right arm, then down her flank. His swirling hand paused at the slope of her breast, again at the luscious fullness of his hip. His other hand ran down her body. It gripped the other side of her waist, so she was pincered there, and then Frank shuffled a little closer. Just enough to let her feel his mammoth erection brush against her thick ass.

Christina couldn’t keep herself from mewling. After she felt how turned on it made him to let out such sounds, she didn’t want to. Frank’s cock was throbbing, she felt its tremors every time it touched her cheeks, and she knew her little moans helped its hardness along even further than her naked body on its own.

Christina slipped and Frank caught her with the speed of a striking cobra, his arm going around her midsection and holding her up. His stiff prick went between her cheeks, butting them apart. She felt the hard heat of it on her anus, but he didn’t penetrate her.

Christina panted. She would’ve taken it if it meant she got him inside her. She’d never known before, but there was such a thing as too much foreplay. She might’ve wanted this to go on forever, but her body couldn’t take that. It would be a relief when he came in her, if only because it meant she was that much closer to the next time Frank would have his way with her…

“Please let me have your cock, Frank.”

Moving gently in his grip—letting him know with her body language that she didn’t want to flee, that there was no need to restrain her, she only wanted to offer herself to him—Christina leaned against the wall of the shower and opened her legs. Showing him the pink heat that was waiting for him. His to fuck whenever he wanted.

“Please fuck me like I know you want to.”

Christina reached down and parted her labia, now displaying to him the beckoning tightness inside of her.

“Oh God, Frank, I never ever do this… you can finish on my face again, if you want to… when you’re done. Just please cock me first. I’ve been dreaming about it. I need it.”

Frank took her hand; a tremor went through it. Christina imagined him bringing it to his enormous hard-on, making her hold him, making her… no, letting her guide him in until he’d fully impaled her.

She wouldn’t be able to pretend, even for a moment, that she didn’t want every inch of him inside her. It would be the kind of brutal deliciousness that Christina was beginning to think all women secretly craved.

A week ago, she would’ve thought Frank was a beast for even entertaining such a thought about a genteel socialite such as herself… and he was a beast. Just like her.

Christina’s face fell when he placed the soap in her palm. “How clean do you want me to be before I fuck you?” he asked.

Christina rubbed the soap between her hands, building up a heavy lather before she began washing Frank’s chest and stomach. He was a big man: broad-chested, broad-shouldered, legs and arms thick, jaw square and forehead tall under a high and tight haircut that was only beginning to grow shaggy.

Scars made a maze of his bristling chest hair and cobblestone abs. Some were recently stitched and scabbed over, while others were fading into a pale white that made Christina think of bone poking through his flesh.

His body was a battlefield, continuously bombarded. Some of the craters had been grown over, affecting nothing but appearance. Others prompted a wince, a sharply drawn in breath from Frank when she touched them.

He didn’t tell her to stop, so she kept going. Lathering his naked body from head to toe, delighting in being able to touch such a model of violence—it was like petting a lion. More than that… his reaction to her caresses gave her the same intoxicating assent as when he’d come in her mouth. She’d made him want her. The feeling of craving and being craved was pure pleasure.

Frank’s cock stood out from him. He played it like it wasn’t there, but Christina knew she was getting to him. It wasn’t just hard, it was trembling. Christina let her own touch, her delight of the texture of Frank, guide her. Her hands knew just what to do, where to feel. She was pleasuring herself more than Frank, yet he seemed to enjoy that. As long as she was getting off on touching him, Frank seemed enthralled.

Christina got down on her knees—she didn’t even notice that this was once something that would’ve sent her into a snit if Angel requested it—and she massaged suds all over Frank’s pelvis. She ran a soapy hand up and down his length, as though daring him to go off, but Frank simply let her, comfortable in the knowledge that it would take more than that for Christina to impress him.

“You must be a real neat freak,” she said. “Otherwise you’d tell me I cleaned this off alright… turn around, Frank. I just know you like my ass; let me return the favor.”

Frank did as she asked, turning so that he was facing away from Christina. He felt her sudsy hands on his toned ass, fingers kneading the firm flesh. It was a feeling he was somewhat used to; he remembered how Lucy had squeezed him there when he was on top of her, riding down into her, and all she could do was grope him a little while he fucked her.

Christina opened up the crack, kissing ever so gently on the inner curves of her buttocks while her hands kept up squeezing and rubbing.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Christina purred, letting him hear how her pussy was tingling.

“Does it matter?” Frank replied. “You’re the one getting off on this.”

“Just wanna make sure you stay hard,” Christina shot back. “You never know when I’ll break down and need your dick inside me.”

“I know,” Frank said. “It’s whenever I say so.”

“We’ll see,” Christina retorted, and kissed his muscular ass some more. She knew she was hardly empowering herself with that move, despite her words, but she loved the weird gray zone she was in between degrading herself and… not.

It was a demeaning thing she was doing, but she was doing it willfully, pleasurably. Just like when she’d taken his cock into her mouth, when she’d swallowed his cum. Maybe not caring how humiliating something was, so long as it felt good, was the most queenly behavior she was capable of. Christina definitely didn’t feel ashamed of herself, getting to run her lips all over these incredible glutes…

Christina ran her hands up his legs, up the fronts of his thighs until she could reach between them and grasp his balls, his shaft. She kneaded both gently, making them seethe with arousal. The muscles in Frank’s ass twitched as she rubbed desire into his already hardened organ.

Frank turned around. His manhood was like an I-beam, jutting out from his loins. When it stopped next to her face, Christina felt like she’d stomped on the brakes and narrowly avoided a car accident. The jetting water hit Frank’s broad back and rolled down his body. In his shadow, Christina was blockaded from the stream. She felt a chill and stood, coming up to Frank’s breadbasket, squaring her shoulders to offer up her breasts to the touch she knew was coming.

“Remember it’s your turn to play with my ass next,” she teased him.

He took the soap back from her and ran it over her chest, hand and soap both assaulting her mountainous slopes. He seemed to be as much fondling her as sincerely washing her; it was hard for Christina to tell if what he felt was disinterest or avid lust, he was so tightly controlled.

The lather made his fingers slip and slide on her smooth flesh, further denying her the full gratification she needed, but it was somehow even more erotic than if he’d simply groped her—the withholding—the want that he finely stoked instead of answering—she ended up needing more, needing more intently than she’d ever needed one of the swinging dicks with their tongues hanging out, wanting to bang her more than life itself.

No, she wanted it this time. She wanted it far more than she’d wanted Angel to shape up, be good to her, give her someone to be a sweet wife too…

“Fuck me, Frank,” she moaned, her patience at an end, her self-control exhausted. “Put it in deep and don’t take it out, not for anything. Ruin my pussy if you have to. Just cock me already!”

A laugh rolled out of Frank like a tumbleweed across a desert. “You’ve got a filthy mouth,” he said, and now held the bar of soap to Christina’s mouth.

She got the game. She took it between her teeth, gagging herself with it, though thankfully not tasting it much. Frank didn’t want to ruin the mood.

His hands descended on her breasts; now there was no mistaking that he was groping them, molding their lush thickness in his hands. Gripping them tight and then twisting them. Christina felt like she was on the verge of having them ripped from her body, but she didn’t complain. It somehow felt right that Frank should hurt her as much as he pleasured her. The odd combination of sensations wasn’t something she was used to from any of her past lovers.

Soon, she had to restrain her moans for fear of her flapping tongue tasting the soap in her mouth. The pleasure more than outweighed the pain. The discomfort of the soap gagging her only added to her ecstasy, making her unable to get lost in it, but really feeling it, aware of it, as Frank’s hands molded and manipulated and even slapped the full round contours of her rack.

Her eyelids fluttered as his touch intensified, sending more and more stabs of delight into her chest. The more he caressed her, the more sensitive she became, until her breasts were heaving, on fire with what Frank was doing to her.

She was soaking wet and easy prey to the chill air of the underground, but still burning with lust. Christina pulled close to Frank, brushing against that battering-ram cock he had, to assure herself that his arousal was raging as hard as hers was. So he could stand to make her wait. She liked that. Angel had been a greedy pig, never willing to control himself. While Frank drew her pleasure out like he was weaving it from silk.

Christina laid back against the cool tile of the wall, finding it unbelievable how it could feel so cold to the touch while her body was burning up. Frank continued to roughly massage her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples, summoning up new moans and gasps from her with every passing second.

The shower spray flew past his bent body to wet Christina, stimulating her tender nerves and making her feel jubilantly alive. She never would’ve believed it, but this sterile shower was turning into a seraglio—the playscape for the best fucking she’d ever received!

She canted her hips; Frank took the hint. His hand strayed down from one soap-covered breast, trailing bubbles down her creamy belly until he was at her red-haired snatch. When he touched her there, the slickness he felt had nothing to do with the water. It had a warmth he couldn’t get from the showerhead if he turned the dial all the way around.

Frank had been around the block enough times to know that if he started in on Christina now, the shower spray would eventually wash away the lubrication he’d just felt and leave them entirely too much friction. Every thrust he made into her pussy would grate.

He didn’t mind hurting the girl a little, but doing that would be about as much good as slapping her around. He wasn’t a sadist; just a man who appreciated what a good tool a little pain could be in an otherwise pleasurable experience.

He reached over and shut off the water. Christina wrapped her arms around herself, instantly shivering without the warm water to take the edge off being naked far below the heat of the sun.

“I’ll get cold,” she protested.

“No,” Frank promised her, “you won’t.”