Beauty and the Beast

Princess Maria stood alone in a dark, crumbling loft, frost touching her skin. Her velvet robe hung open, thin fabric slipping over bare breasts and soft thighs, doing little against the chill. Heavy footsteps echoed behind her. The sound thickened the air. She froze, heart pounding hard beneath her ribs. He came closer. Close enough now that his breath brushed her neck and every instinct told her not to turn. She refused to look. Fabric shifted behind her, the rasp of a belt sliding free. A broad palm met the curve of her ass, firm, unhurried. She swallowed a whimper. His thumb traced the cleft between her cheeks, slow and deliberate, spreading her apart, exposing the wet heat of her cunt to the cold. Two thick fingers dragged through her folds, testing how slick she already was. She tried to stay silent, but when he pressed inside—first one, then another—her breath hitched sharp. He curled his fingers, working deeper, knuckles pressing at her entrance, his other hand gripping her hip to keep her still. She felt her walls flutter around him, felt her body betray her terror with need. Leather creaked as he freed his cock; hot, heavy flesh nudged her entrance, dragging wetness along her slit. His voice, low at her ear, told her to stay quiet. Then he drove in deep, one long, unyielding thrust that stretched her open and pinned her hips forward. She gasped at the sudden fill. Each stroke followed hard after the last, his grip tight, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp in the cold. She stayed turned away, hands braced against the dusty wall, every thrust rocking her forward. The edge of the robe brushed her nipples. His pace grew rougher, his breathing harsh. Then he buried himself to the hilt and stilled, cock pulsing inside her as he came, thick warmth flooding deep. He remained pressed against her until the last tremor passed, then withdrew, seed trailing down her inner thigh. She didn't turn. The footsteps retreated, leaving only the wind whistling through broken panes.