lioness!
Saverio Moneta had always known that his wife had balls, but he didn't think she'd go so far. She was willing to risk her life to put up a fight. That's exactly why he'd decided to marry her. His father and his mother, and all of his relatives (even the ones from Benevento, who had only seen her once), had warned him that she wasn't right for him. She was spoiled, she would henpeck him, squash him, cut him down to the level of a Filipino servant. But he hadn't paid attention to anyone and married her.
He stretched out the sword and pointed it at her throat. âAnd so you're not afraid?â
âNo! You make me sick!â Serena spat at him.
Saverio smiled as he wiped his cheek. âHuh, so I make you sick.â He slipped the tip of the Durendal in the buttonhole of the night dress, and with a flick of his wrist he clipped off the top button.
Serena was tense, her painted red claws ready to scratch him.
âNow I'm going to kill you.â Saverio clipped off the second button on her night dress. Her boobs, as big as two cantaloupes, with their small dark nipples scared into pointyness, appeared in all their synthetic splendour.
âWhat are you doing? You sicko! Don't you dare . . .â hissed Serena, her eyes two dark slits.
Saverio placed the blade beneath her throat and pushed herup against the headboard. âQuiet! Be quiet! I don't want to hear your voice.â
âYou're worthless.â
He grabbed her by the hair and held her head down on the pillow. Then he flung the sword away and with his right hand squeezed her neck like one would a poisonous serpent, before throwing himself full force on top of her.
âSo, now what are you going to do? What you gonna do? You can't move. You can't scream. You're scared, aren't you? Admit it, you're scared.â
Serena didn't give in. âI'm not scared of anyone.â
Saverio realised he had a roaring erection and he wanted her like crazy. âI'm going to show you . . .â He ripped her pants off and bit her on the buttock. âI'm going to show you who's boss here.â
A suffocated scream came out of the pillow. âIf you try it, I swear on our children I'll kill you.â
âKill me! Kill me, go on. I don't give a shit about my life anyway.â
He pushed her legs open and slid a hand between her thighs. He made room and penetrated her sharply. His dick sunk inside her right up to her boiling guts.
Like a cat gone crazy, she pulled her arm free and with a flash of her claws scratched four bloody stripes across his chest.
âYou're raping me, you pig. I hate you . . . You don't know how much I hate you . . .â
Saverio, high on pain, was pumping away desperately. His head spun as the blood swirled in his ear drums.
Serena had managed to lift her face from the pillow and mumble, âStop it! You make me sick . . . You make me . . .â She was unable to go on because she began to arch her back, offering herself to Saverio.
Saverio realised that he had done it. The slut was enjoying it. Today was his day!
But now there was a problem. At that crazy speed, he wouldn't be able to hold out long. He could feel the orgasm climbing the tendons of his legs. It bit into his thigh muscles and, unperturbed by his own will, it was aiming straight for his arsehole and his balls. He thought of Sting. That son of a whore, Sting, who could apparently fuck for four hours straight without coming. How did he do it? He remembered that in an interview the English rock star explained that he learned the technique from a group of Tibetan monks . . . Something like that. Anyway, it was all a question of breathing.
Saverio, holding himself up with one hand on his wife's scapula and the other against the wall, began breathing in and out like a dodgy outboard motor, trying to slow the rhythm.
Beneath him, Serena was wriggling around like the tail cut off a lizard.
He grabbed her by the hair again and squeezed her tit.
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