Thread: Levirate (Google and skittish_butterfly)

Constance felt the horrible emotions swirling in her chest boil even hotter as Jacob thrust himself painfully deep, his thick shaft hurting her as it stretched her open, and his words wounding what dignity she had left as he whispered about her ass being perfect, like some package of meat in the butcher's section. As if you have any right to judg.... Her word cut off with a squeal of pain that she clamped off with a bite of her lip at the pain of him in her, fully deep, his body pushing her legs back even harder and making the angle that much more painful and awkward. And her breath that much shorter. Worst of all was the look of joy on his face, like he'd converted to her religion and gone to heaven by sending her to hell. She could see him, looking and staring at the lewd space between them, staring at how he was hurting her, smiling like it was the finest work of art he'd ever seen. She held the phone in her hand off to the side, trying not to move her arm or draw any attention to it until it would be too late for him to stop her, clinging to it for hope in her head as tightly as her fingers clenched it physically. Jacob thrust, rocking her back on the mattress with a soft complaint from the springs and a whimper from the pain as he tried to drive himself all the way through her. Constance was certain he was so deep he'd come out the other end, in her throat or something, feeling like she had no insides of her own anymore and was just filled with his cock. He mocked her, mocked Rory, and thrust the pain of his cock even deeper, making the humiliation and hatred burn right on the surface, her eyes blazing with the agony of the penetration and revulsion for him. He bent over her, closer, pushing even harder, folding her up like she was laundry not a person, until she could barely breath and his weight was heavy on her, unable to move, staring up at him helpless, her only hope the phone in her hand waiting for her dad's tinny voice from that distance to tell her he was there and she could cry out to him for help, to come save her. Appalled to depend on that man to save her, hating the fact he would see it as confirmation of what he taught her all the time and she never accepted, that women depend on men, are nothing without them. But this was different! She shook her head over and over as he tried to retell reality, to convince her of his lies, all the while taunting her. She whispered between pained gasps, not even waiting for him to stop, denying his words as fast as he could spew them at her. No... ohhhhh, no... not my fault... you are ohhhhhh.... you are an evil man that's .... ohhhhh.... that's why! I would never be your good little girl, never would marry a man like ohhhhhh.... like you... and if I did I would have suffered like this anyway...ohhhhhh never would... I would never ohhhhh The rest of his words were too lewd to even try to understand and rebel against, the image he painted to crude to possibly describe her, and she just turned her head aside, carefully staring away from the side where the phone was, her hair in her face and staring at her ankle beside her face, his big hand gripping it, seeing the muscles rippling in his forearm as he held her down on the bed. And then it hurt. Hurt worse. Constance felt the force of him, felt it driving into her, ripping her guts apart, probably tearing her open. She cried out, yelled in pain, calling him a bastard and names even worse that if her father answered in that second he would be appalled. She glared at him, then anywhere else but him, only he was right on top of her and there was almost nowhere else to look but his face, her world filled with nothing but Jacob as she moaned and squealed in pain and shock at how deep a man could get inside a woman. She groaned, struggling to control herself, to quiet down, to keep her suffering quiet so he wouldn't get to have this obvious sadistic pleasure she saw in his face staring down at her. Don't give him the satisfaction. Constance winced and grimaced, gasping with each deep thrust because she no matter how hard she tried she just couldn't control it completely, but stifling the yelps of pain, hating him silently with her eyes and her heart without calling him an uncaring jerk again. Only he moved, still holding her down but shifting his body against her a little until his grip on her ankles pulled her legs together against his chest so he could wrap one strong arm around her ankles and calves and as much as she squirmed still couldn't get free. She heard a click on the phone, blinking and ready to talk, only at that moment she saw him reaching for her, right at her neck and she tried to press back away from him, into the bed, but there was no escape and his fist gripped the collar of Rory's old college shirt and pulled, hard, a sudden jerk that almost gave her whiplash and made a shredding sound as the fabric, four years old and well worn now, gave way. He ripped Rory's shirt down to her belly, until it was just tatters hanging from the sleeves at her shoulders, her belly and breasts exposed to him. She tried to keep quiet but a moan of anger and indignation boiled up in her. The phone was still silent other than that one click, like her dad was doing that usual thing of his where it took him 5 or 10 seconds to figure out which button answered the phone and which was was up before he could actually say anything. Constance couldn't keep quiet. It was her husband's memory, one of the most precious things she had from him, the shirt he'd worn in bed on their honeymoon after they'd made love the first time, and which he'd never worn again because he said she looked so much sexier in it which delighted her of course. It already had his smell, and she wasn't even sure if it still smelled like him anymore for real because she just had to look at it and she couldn't help imagining the scent of him even though she knew it just had to be love and imagination rather than anything real. And now it was shredded. You son of a bitch! That was.... Before she could state the obvious his hand found its way between them, down low, so close to where his shaft was buried in her, and he touched her, stroking and then slipping in with the lube he'd poured all over, making her gasp and suck in a breath through her teeth, before groaning again as he thrust his cock and fingers together, one hurting her ass, the other teasing right on the spot it had taken her and Rory two years to figure out she had. She turned her head so her cheek was buried against her shoulder and murmured No... don't.... don't do that... stop... that's... that's Rory's... not for... ohhhh..... not for y-y-yoouuu. She moaned, sounding like the worst porn imitation she could imagine, little as she'd ever seen the stuff. Precisely at the moment she heard that familiar voice, quiet with the distance from the receiver in her other fist, knowing even before he said them what the words would be. Hello daughter. What do you need? Tears welled in her eyes at the words she always hated, hated how they implied she needed and couldn't handle herself, how they communicated his believe she would need him constantly until she finally married a husband and then would switch to needing him, no clue how she would do well in college on her own, how a career could be hers. Only here she was, naked and pinned to her bed with Jacob's thick cock buried painfully in her ass and his fingers wantonly doing what he wanted. And she couldn't stop him. And this had gone too far. And she needed her Daddy. Daddy! She cried out, wincing at a deep thrust and then groaning again as he stroked her, hating how it made her sound. Please, Daddy, help me...ohhh.... He's raping... ohhhh.... raping me.... ohhhhhhh, Jacob raping ohhhhhh... save me! She said it as fast as she could, but it took multiple breaths as every movement Jacob made inside her, whether the pain of his cock or awful pleasure of his stroking fingers, made her gasp and groan and start again with a fresh breath.