Isabella's hips bucked against his mouth, her fingers twisting tighter in his hair, pulling his head so hard against her cunt she could feel his teeth scraping her sensitive flesh. He was frantic, a man possessed, his tongue a relentless piston against her slick, swollen clit. The waves of energy pouring into her were becoming overwhelming, a narcotic rush that made the room spin. Her vision blurred at the edges, the firelight smearing into molten gold. A high, keening moan ripped from her throat, a sound she had never made before, raw and animalistic.
"That's it," she hissed through clenched teeth, feeling his whole body tense. "Come for me, you filthy animal. Give it all to me."
A deep, strangled groan tore from Thomas's chest, his jaw locking as he spasmed. He came with a shuddering, violent force, his hot seed flooding her thighs, mingling with her own slick wetness. The taste of his release was on his lips as he kept suckling, lapping at her like a starved dog. For a moment, he sagged against her, spent and trembling.
But Isabella felt no compassion. The act had only stoked the furnace inside her. She wasn't finished. She wasn't even close.
She kicked his shoulder, a sharp, brutal motion. "Get up."
He flinched, scrambling back onto his knees, his face a mess of her fluids and his own. His eyes were still glazed, but a flicker of his former self, a shadow of fear, returned to them.
"I said get up," she snarled, her voice a whipcrack. "Take that fucking uniform off. I want to see that cock you've been hiding from me. I want it inside me. Now."
He fumbled with the buttons of his trousers with shaking hands, his movements clumsy and desperate. The thick, semi-hard cock sprang free, slick with his own pre-cum and glistening in the firelight. It was a sturdy, impressive length of flesh, the head a dark, angry purple. Lust, ugly and demanding, coiled hot and tight in Isabella's gut.
"On the floor," she commanded, lying back on the priceless Aubusson rug, its thick wool a scratchy contrast to her bare skin. She spread her legs wide, a shameless, wanton invitation. Her own dress was a rumpled mess around her waist. "You're going to fuck your Duchess on the floor like the whore she is. And you won't stop until I tell you to."
He crawled between her legs, the heat from his body a palpable wave. He positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, which was already weeping with wetness. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his body trembling with the enormity of the transgression.
"Don't you fucking dare stop," she growled, reaching down to grab his cock herself, her grip hard and possessive. She guided the thick head, pushing it against her tight, virginal opening. "Push. I want to feel you rip me open."
He obeyed. With a guttural cry, he surged forward. The pain was blinding. A sharp, searing agony as her hymen tore, so intense it felt like being split in two by a hot iron. She screamed, a raw, piercing sound of pure shock and pain. But beneath the agony, something else erupted. As his cock breached her, a jolt of raw power, ten times more potent than what she'd felt from his mouth, surged through her body. It was an elixir, a violent baptism. The pain was the price of entry, and the reward was divine. Hot tears streamed from her eyes, but a vicious, triumphant smile stretched her lips.
The fire of the initial tear subsided into a deep, throbbing ache, a constant reminder of the thick flesh buried deep inside her. But the intoxicating surge of power that came with it was a drug, overriding the pain, demanding more. Thomas was frozen above her, his body rigid with shock at her scream, his cock still lodged inside her torn flesh.
"Don't you fucking stop," she gasped, her voice raw. With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she shoved hard against his chest. He tumbled backward, his cock slipping out of her with a wet, obscene sound. He landed on his back on the rug, dazed and confused, his half-hard cock glistening with her blood.
Before he could process what had happened, she was on him. She scrambled over his body, straddling his hips and grabbing his cock with a blood-slicked hand. It was already beginning to swell again at her touch. She guided the thick, slippery head back to her entrance, now tender and raw, and with a sharp hiss, impaled herself on him again. The second entry was just as painful, but this time she was ready for it. She embraced the agony, fed on it.
She leaned forward, her hands pressing flat on his chest, her hips grinding down, sinking his entire length into her. Her breasts, heavy and full, were flattened against the hard muscle of his torso. She lowered her face until it was inches from his, her eyes boring into his. His gaze was wide, uncomprehending. He was a puppet whose strings had suddenly gone haywire.
"Look at me," she commanded, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You're fucking your Duchess. The least you can do is look me in the eye while you do it. I want to watch you while I ride your worthless cock."
Her hair, unbound from its earlier prim chignon, fell in a dark curtain around their faces, creating a claustrophobic, intimate space. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the wet, slapping noise of their bodies meeting. She began to move, a slow, deliberate rocking of her hips. Each downward thrust sent a spike of pain through her, immediately followed by a wave of intoxicating power. His blood, her blood, their sweat—it was all mingling, creating a primal soup of sensation and energy.
"Is this what you wanted, Thomas?" she taunted, her hips starting to move faster, a grinding, circular motion that dragged a groan from his lips. "Did you ever lie in your servant's cot and dream of being this deep inside me? Of filling my cunt with your seed?"
"Y-yes, Your Grace," he stammered, his body beginning to move with her, his hips arching up to meet her downward thrusts.
"I can't fucking hear you," she snarled, slapping his cheek lightly. "And I told you what to call me. What am I?"
"A slut," he gasped, his eyes rolling back in his head. "My filthy slut."
"That's right," she breathed, riding him harder, faster. The friction was building into a searing heat deep inside her. The virgin pain was melting away, replaced by a brutal, all-consuming pleasure. His cock felt like a hot, thick brand inside her, every inch of it a source of exquisite friction against her raw, newly awakened nerves. She felt the muscles deep inside her cunt clenching around him, milking him, drawing every last drop of his essence into her.