Waking the Beast: A Primal Connection

It does not begin with a kiss or a caress. It starts with a scent. Some musky olfaction which lingers in the atmosphere, heavy and insistent. It is the smell of sweat, of uncouth, indifferent lust, of a wet and willing cunt. He picks it up in the wind, a ghost in the house, and an old thing arouses him.

This is not the civilized man who generously opens doors and meets bills. It is the Beast, every curled-up affection and aching desire; it is made to wake the slumber of its sleep with the promise of a hot, needy hole. His eyes grow black, his jaw hard, and all his ideas of tenderness are purged in a burning passion to possess.

The Unleashing of the Beast

The change is viscose. The growl in his chest is directed at a low grumble, which shakes the floor and her spine. He does not simply walk to her; he stalks her, and his actions are predatory, without any doubt. His rugged hands, which are, in general, gentle in their touch, seize her, and the fingers penetrate the succulent meat of her ass and raise her with him.

There’s no asking, no teasing. He tears at her panties, the material tearing off with a gratifying crack, leaving her juicy, wet pussy exposed to the air. He is not savoring her, but eating her. Her clit is the aggressor in his mouth, his tongue is an independent animal, his tongue is rocketing inside her hole, his tongue is raping her. He does not want to make her feel good, he wants to eat her, to make his salivation and his starvation on her.

The Primal Rutting

The foreplay is over. It was a mere appetizer. He flings her on the bed, face down, ass up–cuddles an animal in heat. He uses the knee to kick her legs open, such a domineering, dirty act that causes her to squeeze her cunt involuntarily. He spits into her ass, an ugly, jealous gesture, before positioning his knotting cock with the wet opening. Then he slams into her. A single ruthless thrust to the hilt makes him dead.

The noises are wet, nasty slaps of flesh on flesh. It’s no beat, it is a beatless primordial rutting. He beats her like a lust-crazed man; every hard, deep thrust is a statement of dominance. His testicles are beating her clitoris with each thrust, his hands are clenching her hips so hard that she will have bruises, and there is nothing but guttural moaning of hers, his grunting like an animal, and squelching obscenities of her being penetrated thoroughly.

The Marking of His Territory

This is not the climax of a soft swell, but it is an eruption of volcanic nature. He releases himself to the deepest point of her with a last guttural roar and empties himself in her cunt, shooting his hot, thick seed into the depths of her cunt. It’s a marking, a branding. He topples on top of her, and his weight crunches her to the ground, and his cock continues its twitching activity in her, in her worming walls as the last stream of his cum is squeezed out into her.

There is the scent of sex and sweat in the air. He licks the salty sweat on her back in a last and absolute gesture. The monster is not hungry at this moment, yet the relationship is created. She is his property, branded and notched, and they both know he will return to hunt again. Discover your darkest desires on Eropornx.com, where we feature the nastiest stories and most explicit content to satisfy your every craving.