Driven By Instinct

11 - Restitution

Trigger warning - s****l assault/nonconsensual frottage

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Constantine reveled in the sight.

Vica was petrified. He could feel her fear under his hands as he dug his fingers into her skin. Her breath stuttered noisily in her throat as she attempted to say something, but the only response her efforts earned was a further hardening that pressed up between her legs. Her eyes remained pinned on Constantine's face, trapped in his gaze much the way her hips were locked in his hands.

"You can fight back if you want," he said, and then he began rocking Vica's hips back and forth, small movements at first, over his clothed c**k. "I'd prefer it. Either way, I'm getting what I want." A heavy breath punctuated his statement, and a jolt of pleasure lanced through him. Not yet, he told himself. Slowly. He wanted to enjoy this. But even as the thought was still crossing his mind, he thrust up slightly, and he thought he could feel the outline of her lips even through her cotton pants. A guttural sound crept from him at the sensation of grinding into her soft, yielding mound. He wanted it, he thought. He wanted her on him, just like this. More than this.

She still had yet to be able to form a coherent word, but the sounds caught in her throat sounded close to whimpers. Her curled hands were still braced against his abdomen, and every inadvertent slight scrape of her fingernails sent teasing sensations down to his c**k. Her wide eyes shone with fear, shock - she still did not understand.

That was fine. She didn't need to understand yet, Constantine thought with a sharp inhale. She would understand by the time they were done here.

Her small body was so easy to manipulate. He dragged her down his hips in one hard, deep push, and another groan left his throat when he felt something give. His c**k had forced her lips apart just slightly even through the fabric between them. Right there, he thought. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. And why was he keeping this to himself? Vica should hear it. Vica should know what he was thinking.

"f**k," he drawled. His hips were beginning to buck upward of their own accord now, but he held himself as steadily as he could. "You feel so good. I can feel you, Vica. I can feel your cunt." His chest heaved. Vica made a sound in her throat that sounded like she might be crying, and Constantine let out another groan and ground her hips down on himself again. "I should f**k you," he whispered, knowing his voice would carry to her ears. "Just like this. I should bounce you up and down my c**k until I come inside you. Do you want me to, Vica? Do you want me inside you? I could fill you up. I could fill you up until I tear you in half."

He wanted to be closer, to be inside her and feel her walls squeezing around him. He craved her heat, craved her tightness - but the friction as his c**k pressed into the valley between her legs over and over again was too sweet to stop, even in the pursuit of greater pleasure. Just like the night he had stroked himself on the other side of the wall that had separated them, he felt the heady rush of his c****x warning its approach far more quickly than it should have.

Unlike that night, though, Constantine wasn't stalling for time and looking for her pleasure, even if it was only in his own head. Just his own pleasure. He had no reason to hold back, and he smiled as he felt his pre-come already heavily smearing the crotch of his pants with every movement. He hadn't been this way since boyhood, those fumbling days when he had had his first woman who had gone hours into the night sliding up and down his aching hardness, making him come over and over until he was crying out with pain. He could pass on the favor, he thought as another wave of stinging pleasure converged at his center. He could sink into Vica, wrench every o****m her body could give up and stretch every one of them out to oblivion, make her writhe and cringe in pleasure corrupted into pain. He couldn't know for sure if she was a poor little virgin like he had been back when he'd been made a man by someone ten years his senior, but it didn't matter in the end: when he f****d her, he would be the only man her body would ever remember. He would make her forget every finger, every tongue, every d**k that had ever dared to be inside her before him.

A vicious groan tore out of him when the head of his c**k, straining through the thin fabric, caught briefly in the dip between her vulva and her buttocks before rubbing past it, far too large to be trapped there. The sensation of the sudden coolness that followed made his hips jerk upward, reflexively seeking the heat it had lost. Constantine easily moved Vica's hips again so that her warm core covered his c**k again - or as much as it could, at least - and groaned again in relief. In his blind pleasure, he hadn't realized that his pre-come had seeped completely through the fabric; the cold night air piercing the dampness had alerted him quite swiftly of his state.

The next moment, he realized that the fluid must have transferred to Vica's pants as well. He froze in his rutting and with one hand, deftly dipped between their bodies with his palm facing up. His fingers probed along the inner seam of her pants, searching - and found it. The cotton wasn't quite soaked all the way through, he could tell, but nonetheless, the thought of his pre-come seeping through and touching her p***y made his c**k jerk violently in response.

But with the sudden movement of his hand, Vica seemed to tumble out of her wordless shock, and she began her struggle in earnest. It seemed she still couldn't bring herself to speak, but with a desperate twist, she tried to loosen his one-handed grip and throw herself off of him.

Constantine arched forward, and a snarling, throaty curse leaped from his mouth as she inadvertently rubbed against him even harder with the twist of her hips. His hand slipped out from between them and regained purchase on her waist now - more than the desire to stop her escape, it was simply a reflex to try to steady himself as the world spun uncontrollably around him.

Vica was still struggling, but with her legs folded in a low straddle on either side of him, she couldn't seem to find the leverage necessary to lift herself up. And even if she could, there was no way she would be able to contest his strength. She was his, Constantine thought. She didn't have to want him, but nobody else was allowed to have her. Nobody else to control her body, to dominate her this way. No one but him. He would cram himself into her so tightly that it became second nature to her, penetrate her so mercilessly that she couldn't imagine life without being impaled on his thick c**k. He would fill her and keep her there from morning until night to stake his claim. No man would even dream of sinking their own engorged lengths into her, unless he wished it.

"Give it to me," he snarled, but he was barely aware of the fevered words spilling from his lips anymore. "f**k!" His hips bucked upward violently, his body's natural instincts telling him that he needed to do so in order to sink himself into the warmth of Vica's p***y - but his c**k was being pressed down flat inside his pants, not rising to stab into her body. He needed - he needed to come, he thought frantically, giving himself over to his most primal need as all of his scheming, all of his designs fell away. He had started this to teach her a lesson about bridling her tongue, but suddenly he found himself unable to even remember what she had said that had so irked him.

All he knew was her heat as he ground her body into his, her little alarmed, outraged cries as he lifted her then slammed her down in a frenzy. He didn't know which gave him more pleasure, more satisfaction; he alternated between dragging her back and forth down his restrained c**k and pounding up towards her. He could almost imagine that the slick lubrication from his slit was from her wetness instead, that he was about to release his scorching seed not on himself but deep inside the slick tunnel of her cunt. He should be. He wanted nothing more than to bare her to him, but he could hardly think about clothes when he was already this close -

Fuck, he tried to moan again, but words failed him. His brutal strength had created such friction that he thought this must be how hot it was inside her. He dug his fingers into her hips and ground her down even harder onto his c**k to simulate the tightness he would find if he simply stripped her down and sank into her. He should do it now, right now, tear off everything in the way of her hole, but he didn't dare stop. He could feel the tightness pooling in his sack, the tension flooding his throbbing, rock-hard flesh. So close, so close, so close -

He slammed her hips down one last time and thrust upward to meet her, his lower back rising completely off the ground in his frenzy. White-hot pleasure shot through him, and he threw his head back in the whole-body spasm that overtook his nerves. He felt hot ropes of come leaving his slit, splattering against the inside of his pants to the very last drop. His throat felt raw - he must have shouted, he thought dimly. That had been the most destructive c****x he had ever experienced in his life, and he hadn't even been inside her.

Even in his haze, he felt Vica stirring in his grasp a few seconds later, still trying to get away from him. Not a chance. Constantine's hands left her hips to seize her wrists, and he pulled her down with a rough jerk. She landed chest to chest against him, her blank, shuttered eyes staring into his face.

He was still recovering from the intensity of the o****m, but his c**k twitched with interest again when he felt the full lushness of her breasts against him. He knew she felt it - stark fear returned to her eyes, pushing aside dumb shock - but she had nothing else to fear. Not tonight, anyway.

"You did all right," he almost purred, and he ran his hand down the back of her tunic. She shivered. "Where's your cloak?" He didn't wait for her answer, lifting his head and looking around them. There it was, lying haphazardly next to them by his knees. She must have been planning to drape it over herself like a blanket instead of wearing it, but he had better ideas. He effortlessly pulled her to the side and rolled over, shifting so that they were now both on their sides. She flinched, and he glanced down to see that she was trying to pull away from the damp spot on the front of his pants.

He smiled, peering into her eyes. She was looking down and away - anywhere except his face, but if she thought that she could distance herself so easily from what had happened, she was delusional.

Constantine pulled one of her wrists down. She realized what he was about to do and tried to fight him, but she was just a mage with no magic. She was at his every mercy. It was up to him whether she breathed, lived, up to him how and when she gave him pleasure. He dragged her hand down his trousers and forced her fingers to palm his still hot c**k, and though it had lost much of its rigidity, he was most definitely still solid, thick, and long. She curled her hand into a fist before he could guide her fingertips to his sensitive slit, but he found he was strangely satisfied anyway with what he had accomplished already.

"You did this," he said with a slow smile. "Good job, Vica."

He languidly gathered her up until she was pressed flush against him breast to thighs, and fell asleep without another word.