the ground. She lay pressed into the leaves, lifeless while he ended her brief freedom by fastening her wrists to the stakes once more.
He stood up and looked at her buttocks. They were like swollen buds preparing to burst into bloom-a little soiled from their contact with the ground-inviting a touch, to be fondled and held.
She had made no attempt to press her buttocks together or even to close her legs. She lay limp, exhausted, legs and arms slack, waiting for whatever was to come. She'll never be the same again, he thought with grim satisfaction; something in her will be broken forever-apart from her maidenhead.
He undressed for the second time that day. Desire was welling up^: in him again like a dried-up river suddenly growing again with the floods.
His penis when it flipped into view was still pink, with veins standing out on it prominently. It was hot, too, and heavy, needing a fresh release.
It was still warm in the spots where the sun's rays crept through the tangled branches, but the air was cooling. He braced his wiry body. His penis was the hottest part of him.
Carlotta stirred and groaned. He bent toward her to hear.
“No more…” she murmured. “No more… have pity… please.”
Her helpless throwing of herself on his mercy produced an opposite effect to the one she desired. It made a nervous throb pulse in his chest, a little crest of sexual excitement, which began to break over his body like the surf on a shoreline.
He kicked her thighs apart with his feet. She let them flop where he kicked them. She had no more strength to resist.
On her thighs he could see the layer of slight, fair down, but her bottom, so smooth as to be almost glossed with a sheen, held his gaze. He gripped his organ in his hand. It felt enormous. He wondered how women could take it all. It moved in his hand involuntarily, a little jerk over which he had no control.
He sank to his knees on the soft bed of leaves and stroked her buttocks with a hand that quivered. He caught each of the glossy hillocks and pulled them apart. She stiffened, tried to close them together and then gave up as he jerked at them rudely again.
Her anus was disclosed like the center of a flower whose petals are pulled apart. He gazed at it. It was hairless, simply a small garden of the same slight, fair down leading up to its crinkled edge. From the crinkled edge, the little pouchy slit curved into itself redly.
Cesare ran his tongue over his lips. He settled down on her back, kissing her spine. He slid his hands between them and drew the buttocks apart like curtains and wriggled his prick between them. Alongside his prick he let his fingers glide, feeling the way. His index finger encountered the sudden rubbery point of her posterior opening and he nosed his knob after it, prodding tentatively.
“No, no… please, no!” he heard Carlotta's weak, muffled appeal beneath him.
He pressed down vertically with his stand of rigidity. He felt it come in contact with the spot and took his hands under her loins, gripping her tightly.
For a number of little strokes which were just rebuffed pressures on her anus, he jogged up and down, pushing his loins at the soft cushion of her rump. In, out, in, out, he sawed without any specific feeling but a growing sense of pressure, vague and ill-defined in his genital region.
The princess, who might have been his wife, lay quivering under him, knowing that he was about to sodomize her, not knowing what it would be like, only aware of the intense shame which burned in her like a disease.
Cesare pushed, pushed, levering his whole body on his stiff stem of flesh until it suddenly broke through with a great grip on his knob. Carlotta uttered an agonized cry which sputtered into a gurgle.
He pushed down, thrusting into her, feeling his prick sliding in, now, the slapping pressure fitting tightly and strongly-defined along his inflated flesh.
Carlotta began to struggle, trying to press her thighs together under his, finding new strength to twist and fight against her bonds, “No, no! I can't bear it!” she cried.
But Cesare held her in spite of her struggles and plunged more and more thickly into her with a slow swampy advance which seemed to be tearing his rod to shreds.
His victim couldn't keep back fresh tears. The pain forced them out of her eyes. The agony from her anus spread up into her throat and choked her. She felt sick and slightly dizzy. She continued struggling in her mind even when her body was not making movements, was taking no direction from the mind.
Her head was dazed, but through it all she was aware that his thick protrusion was entering her behind, spreading it, opening it up, making it wet and large, splitting it, making it ache, burn and protest with pain and indignity. She bit her lips until they were warm and wet. She didn't know it was blood on them.
The daze in her head was a mixture of pressure from her behind and noises from around her. It was only later that she realized the noises-which seemed impersonal-were those of her own groaning and his gasping on her back.
Eventually the pain meant nothing. It was simply a continuous, overwhelming cutting away of that opening between her buttocks, an enlarging which felt like the whole of her innards being pushed up into her chest and out of the way of the intruding pike.
There was pressure all around her, which she also recognized later as the weight of his body on her back and backside.
For a long time the tearing, chafing in and out which was a wave of advancing and withdrawing torment, went on, until she was aware of herself performing certain actions which were dictated by his guidance. She was kneeling up with her head left on the leaves. Her thighs were widespread and pushed in under her. Her legs felt stiff and jelly-like at the same time.
She was aware of a greater edge to the continuity of pain, an extra pricking stab which her new position had enabled him to make. Now she was sure that her body was being ripped from that tiny point which now seemed so large, as if the entirety of her behind were just a gaping hole.
She became aware of another pressure on her waist just above the hip bones. That was his hands, pulling her back onto his enormous, indefinable mass of intrusion, pulling her back as his weight pushed forward and surged into her behind with a fresh shattering wave of pain every second.
Cesare skewered and screwed in from all angles, moving his hips at and across her bottom. His prick was burning again. It had never felt so deliriously crushed and pulverized — and yet so huge and swollen because the great pressure made it more acutely sensitive along the entirety of its throbbing length.
As he swept in, his belly smacked against her bottom. The well-fleshed buttocks provided a buffer from which his body recoiled with a spring before flowing in again with a smooth, agonizing fluency.
His penis was undergoing the most voluptuous torture. He wished it could go on forever — but he wanted it to gather momentum as well, to sweep to the inevitable climax which was such sweet torment.
In and in he surged, his prick tearing right in until it was completely swallowed and his hair squashed against the down on the inner crack of her buttocks.
He felt the liquid of climax growing in intensity and his mind reeled with the pleasure of it. His mind took in the groaning of his soft-fleshed victim, the abandon of her posture, her helplessness, the fact that she was crying again through her groans. He gripped her waist like a vise as he felt the thin, fluid movement right up to the base of his rod.
The moment of oblivion, wonderful oblivion was almost on him. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving in great, gasping sighs. His prick was crushed and squeezed beyond endurance. He couldn't keep on at the same pitch. It was too much.
The fluid blocked into a great, pricking weight at the base of his penis. He couldn't hold it. His mouth twisted into a multitude of ungovernable shapes. Her buttocks were there containing his penis, glossy and smooth, lovely and exciting and her prostrate back and her thighs like a tripod under her and her groans and her sobs. He couldn't hold it. It was rushing suddenly along the thick length of his staff, terribly clear and acute like scalding water. And it flowed straight through and burst from his knob with a force which dragged a long, grating cry from his mouth. Twisting his mouth under the cries he smashed his prick home again and again, ridding himself of a great-weight of sperm letting it shoot up into her, hearing her cry out sharply every time he shattered in.
By the time he felt sufficiently recovered to dress and return to the clearing, the sun had gone down and the twilight was on its way.
His men were waiting for him. Their naked victims were already grotesquely attached to the surrounding
