Pt. 01 - Breaking Ice

The Ember's Claim - Part 1 - Breaking Ice

Act 1: The Chase Begins

I'm pressed against the weathered wooden wall of this dimly lit cabin, my chest heaving under a thin white blouse that sticks to my sweat-damp skin. My dark hair's a wild tangle, spilling over my shoulders, and my pale legs flash beneath a tight black skirt that's ridden up just enough to hint at more. My features are sharp--high cheekbones, icy blue eyes narrowed at you, lips a thin, furious line.

You're across the room, broad shoulders straining a worn leather jacket, jeans slung low, that cocky grin I despise plastered on your face. I see the bulge in your pants, and my stomach churns with revulsion. "Stay the fuck away from me," I snap, my voice slicing the thick air, my Russian accent rolling heavy, a warning.

I cross my arms, pushing my breasts up, the fabric stretching tight. You step closer, and your scent hits me--sweat, musk, something raw. My pulse spikes, but I'm not aroused. Your hand brushes my arm; I jerk back, slamming into the wall.

"Don't touch me, you pig," I hiss, but you ignore me, your rough palm landing on my waist, heat bleeding through my blouse. I shove your chest--hard--but you're a wall, pressing closer, breath hot on my neck. Your cock strains through your jeans, grazing my thigh, and I loathe how solid you feel.

"I'll make you want it," you growl. I scoff, twisting my head away, but your hand slides up my skirt, fingers hooking the edge of my cotton panties. I clamp my thighs shut, trapping you, nails clawing your wrist.

"Get off me," I snarl, but you're stronger, yanking my panties aside, grazing my dry, untouched pussy. I tremble with rage as you groan, grinding against me, your dick twitching in your jeans--thick, insistent.

You pin my wrists above my head with one hand, my blouse riding up, exposing my flat stomach. You're panting, rutting against my hip like a beast, and I thrash, desperate to break free.

"Fuck, you're gonna be mine," you mutter, then you're done--hot cum seeping through your jeans, staining my skirt where it presses against me. I'm shaking, defiled but still intact inside, as you step back, grinning. I spit at your feet. "Never," I say, voice low, venomous.

Act 2: The Tension Mounts

It's night in this damn cabin, and I'm on the creaky bed, knees to my chest, blouse half-unbuttoned from our earlier struggle--tits spilling out of a plain white bra, nipples stiff from the chill. My skirt's hiked up, showing creamy thighs. You're by the fire, shirt off, sweat gleaming on your rippling back, jeans unbuttoned, cock half-hard.

I look away, jaw tight. "You can't keep me here," I snap. You laugh, low and dirty, stalking over to tower above me.

"Watch me," you say, grabbing my ankle. I kick, but you catch my leg, spreading me. My panties cling damp from the heat, not want, as you stare at my pussy through the fabric.

I snap my legs shut, rolling off the bed. "Fucking bastard," I mutter, but you're on me fast, pinning me to the floor. My ass hits hardwood, skirt bunched at my waist, and you grind against me--cock bare, thick, leaking pre-cum that smears my thigh.

I thrash, clawing your arms, leaving welts. "Get off me, you sick fuck," I spit, voice raw. My blouse slips, one tit free, nipple hard--cold or adrenaline, I don't know.

You groan, yanking my thighs apart. My panties shift, exposing my tight, virgin pussy--pink, framed by faint hair. I'm not wet, but you don't care, your throbbing cock sliding along my folds, teasing my entrance.

"Stop it," I hiss, bucking, but you press harder, tip nudging me. "No," you grunt, eyes dark with hunger, chest slick with sweat as you hold me down.

My wrists ache under your grip, legs trembling from the fight. "I'll scream," I threaten, voice cracking. You smirk, licking up my neck--hot, wet, making me shudder.

"No one's out here," you mutter, groping my tit, squeezing rough, thumb flicking the nipple. I bite my lip, resisting the gasp. "You're disgusting," I rasp, twisting away, but you force my chin back, kissing me hard--bruising, tasting of whiskey.

I bite your lip, drawing blood. "Fucking wildcat," you growl, cock twitching against me. I'm dry, fighting, but friction sparks the faintest slickness--instinct, not desire.

You notice, grinning, and shift, tip breaching me just enough to stretch. I freeze, panic rising, and you groan deep, gripping my ass to lift me.

My skirt's a mess, panties around one ankle, tits bouncing free as I struggle. Then it hits--you're cumming, hot ropes spilling across my thighs and pussy, dripping down my ass before you can push in.

I recoil, shoving you as you slump, panting. Scrambling to my knees, I wipe the sticky mess with shaking hands, snarling, "Never," pulling my ruined clothes tight. You laugh, wiping yourself on your jeans, already scheming.

Act 3: The Breaking Point

Dawn filters through the cracked cabin window, bathing my skin in faint gold. I'm curled in the corner, knees up, blouse tied shut as best I can, skirt clinging to my hips.

My thighs are raw from scrubbing your sticky cum off with a rag, but your scent--musky, invasive--lingers. My hair's a sweaty mess, lips swollen from your last kiss, but my eyes are steel--defiant.

You're sprawled on the bed, shirtless, jeans low, cock half-hard again. Your broad chest, dusted with dark hair, rises as you sit up, staring.

"Come here," you rasp, voice thick with sleep and lust. I don't budge, hugging my knees tighter. "Fuck you," I spit, and you're up, crossing in two strides.

I lunge to escape, but you grab my wrist, yanking me against you. My breasts smash into your chest, nipples scraping through the tied fabric, and your cock jumps, pressing my stomach.

"You're gonna give it up," you growl, spinning me, bending me over the rickety table. My hands slap the wood, skirt flipping up, ass bare save for the shredded panties dangling off one ankle.

You kick my feet apart, cool air hitting my pussy--still tight, still mine. Your thumbs spread my cheeks, and you spit, the wet sound making me flinch.

"Don't you dare," I hiss, but you're deaf to me, rubbing your cockhead against my slit, slick with your spit. I fight, trembling, but you pin me with a hand on my back.

My breasts flatten against the table, nipples chafing on the rough wood, and you groan, sliding along my folds--teasing. "So fucking pure," you mutter, then push--the tip breaching me, stretching my virgin hole.

I scream, rage outweighing pain, and you freeze, savoring it. My walls clench, resisting, but you rock there, an inch or two inside, burning me open.

"Take it out!" I yell, bucking, driving you slightly deeper. You're panting, sweat dripping onto my spine, then you pull out, jerking yourself fast.

"Fuck," you grunt, cum spilling over my ass, running down my crack, pooling on the table. I collapse, gasping, still intact--barely.

You step back, chest heaving, and I turn, glaring through unshed tears. "I hate you," I whisper, voice wavering, and your smile says you're close to breaking me.

Act 4: The Fall

The cabin air's thick with sweat, cum, and my crumbling defiance. I'm slumped against the table, trembling, legs weak. My blouse is a tattered knot, barely containing my breasts--pale, heaving, streaked with red from your grip.

My skirt's a band around my waist, ass bare, your last load cooling on my thighs. My dark hair sticks to my sweaty face, blue eyes blazing with fury and something I won't name.

You stand there, jeans at your knees, cock in hand--thick, veiny, slick with your mess. Your chest is flushed, muscles taut, eyes predatory.

"No more games," you say, low and dangerous, stepping closer. I push off the table, arms shaking, but you flip me onto my back before I can flee.

The wood's cold against my spine, legs dangling, and you force them wide, hooking my knees over your elbows. My pussy's exposed--pink, swollen from your teasing, faintly slick despite my will.

"Don't," I snarl, throat raw, but you lean over, pinning me, cock brushing my slit. My breasts spill free as the blouse unravels, nipples hard, and you suck one--hard, teeth grazing.

I gasp, clawing your shoulders. You bite, stinging, and I cry out, arching unwillingly. "Fucking stop," I pant, but you slide your cock along my folds, my body's faint wetness aiding you.

You groan, filthy, and line up, pressing my entrance. "No--no--no--" I chant, thrashing, but you thrust--hard, sudden, tearing through my virginity.

Pain sears me, tears spilling, and I scream, walls spasming around you, fighting to expel you. "Fuck, you're perfect," you grunt, pausing to feel me--thick, hot, throbbing inside.

My legs kick, trapped, and you move--slow, then faster, deeper. My breasts bounce, table creaking, and I sob, cursing in Russian--"Sukin syn, blyad!"--lost in the wet slap of your balls against my ass.

You pound me, sweat dripping onto my stomach, hands bruising my hips. My hips twitch up, a shameful heat building, and you smirk, angling deeper, hitting a spot that chokes me with a moan.

"Give in," you growl, thrusts erratic, cock swelling. I shake my head, biting my lip bloody, but you cum--hot spurts flooding my ruined pussy, spilling out.

I collapse, shuddering, clenching around you as you groan my name. You pull out slow, cum leaking from me, and I stare at the ceiling, broken.

My virginity's gone, and I hate you--but my trembling body betrays me. You step back, panting, cock softening, and I curl up, whispering, "I'll kill you for this." But we both know I've fallen.