CHAPTER 28: CHAPTER 28: THE COLD HORNY COSPLAYER PART 2.

Kneeling and collared in front of N’Ïrk, is without a doubt the most humiliating experience of Indayra’s life.

Yet, the same situation is the most exciting and blissful interaction she has ever felt.

She can fight back. N’Ïrk may have been living in outposts, but she can outrun him.

Or that is what she believes. Still, this semblance of assurance is insufficient yo cope up with the situation. {If i were just a Nun kidnapped by a strong virile Barbarian. What could i do to protect the purity of my virgin vagina?}

The question clouds Indayra, who is unsure of the alternative. {Offering my ass?. N-No. No way i am doing that with this Brute. Niveilia can cure the physical bruise, but the sensation may get engrained in my mind. I don’t want that... , yet...}.

N’Ïrk takes his dick out from the chilling warmth of the «Sheath In Training» that Indayra’s throat is. She can see the wet layer of her saliva, shining across the manhood’s length.

The plopping noise is not of her liking. {Why he is not plugging me more?. No. I didn’t mean...}.

Before she can process the scene. N’Ïrk has a tight grip on Indayra’s nape, lifting her with one hand, pinning her down against the mattress of the bed. {This Brute wants to breed me!}.

The realization comes late, and slightly deviated. The young man looses the tightness of the makeshift leash, moving it from the damsel’s neck.

The Frosted Witch enters in a turmoil of emotions. She wants more. But doesn’t want to say it. After all. N’Ïrk can’t comprehend any phrase the lady could pronounce, a dire direct consequence of Indayra’s own arrogance.

With her pride or pleasure at stake. She chooses the latter, lifting up her rear, shaking her perky buttocks. {If N’Ïrk is going to keep acting like a Brute. I can direct him to satisfy my needs too...}.

The oblivious and dumb thought is short lived. *Slap*. A hard spank crashes against her ass cheeks. The ripple reverberates through her like an echo, that cannot resonate with Indayra when she opens her mouth, and a muffled, breathless, guttural moan escapes from her throat.

The partially removed silver belt is tugged by N’Ïrk, the item constrains quickly around Indayra’s head, forced to met the female’s teeth. She has to bite it. Gagging and leashing herself, accepting she has become the riding broodmare of a savage Barbarian.

The Porcelain Doll arches her back, sending her buttocks towards N’Ïrk’s engorded dick, rubbing her soaked damped virgin pussy against the hard rode of flesh.

A new smack stuns and stungs her soul, leaving an ephemeral burn in her whitish skin that is melting the icy demure facade she always portrays.

She wants to feel him, but after the second spank, Indayra’s attitude mellowed down, more docile, submissive and compliant. The slaps are so pleasurable that her love juices are trailing her thighs. {What is he waiting for?}

To the damsel’s surprise. N’Ïrk goes down to the overflowing snatch, greedily sucking the fluids. The nectar is cold, similar to frappe, then warms up the further apart it is from the lady’s privates.

He cleans lick Indayra’s thighs, then, he spits an accurate bullseye to the Frosted Witch rosebud sealed asshole. She wants to flee, the air is warning her. N’Ïrk is standing up again, aligning his hardened throbbing shaft.

The heat tenses her, but as if she were an actual Doll. Her motion gets disconnected with the bulbous mushroom cock, teasing her with a gentle push, it’s just a tap, but the situation doesn’t change. She has tamed herself for N’Ïrk. The Brute hasn’t done too much aside satiate his own primal whims, and the rest, was Indayra, her feeble resistance crumbling like a card castle under her own imagination and desperation.

"The half hour has ended".

The phrase appalls Indayra, sombering her future, even when her eyes are wide and glowing with a vibrant passion.

"You sure are resolute, Porcelain Doll". He mockingly teases, twitching the muscle of his cock, straighting up the shaft, and taking away the tip from the back puckered entrance of Indayra’s rear.

It was hard to accept. She had to live on her own after losing the relatives she knew from her Advanced City, and the rest of her Family, although filthy rich. Were actual filth. Only three of them were worthy of her time, to her misfortune, she manage to interact shortly with two of them. Yet. She learned the same thing from both. Be self-sufficient. Or at least is what she understood from their unbeatable bearing.

Nevertheless. She is not like them, and longs to have someone to look at, without that feeling of an unsurmountable breach, separating and maintaining her further apart from the physical contact she always wanted.

In silence, her dainty manicured fingers are moved to her thighs, slowly up, sinking in the meat of her buttocks, spreading them in a shameful act of subservient need.

She has a fleeting tremble. The shiver is not missed by N’Ïrk. Indayra is the spiting image of his own reflection. At least when he still had the wish to integrate with the Ignay’Thus Family.

{Indayra doesn’t know. But this is her cry for help, a last attempt to reconnect with another person. To avoid becoming like me}

"As you desire Porcelain Doll. From now on. I own you. Brace yourself. I am going to make plenty of use, of all of you...".

There’s no spoken response, instead, N’Ïrk’s words provoke a squirting orgasm on the subdued damsel. The stream of fluid coming from Indayra’s pussy adds a nice layer of lube, and the pulsing little hole in the middle of her rear, is clenching, breathing with an enticing and inviting tempo.

The young man poses his strong left hand on the lady’s waist, his right never letting go the silver belt.

Indayra can sense the distinction, relaxing, being accepted in her embarrassing pitiful state. N’Ïrk’s grasp is oppressive, but provides the dystopic liberty Indayra was so fond of.

The penetration begins, long, lethargic and utterly libidinous. The powerful thrust is uninterrupted. The Emeneld basically useless before the perforation issued by the virile manhood, trespassing, assessing and conquering Indayra’s sphincter.

She gasps, the ragged breath is held by her closed mouth and gritted teeth. The slow insertion is blissfully agonizing, intensifying the pain, blurring the line dividing it from the unyielding pleasure of being stretched, molded into a perfect cock sleeve for the man who has claimed in the most savage and primitive way...