But it didn't work that way. Charlie slowed down and controlled himself, saying to her, "I want this to last all night if possible. I don't ever want to leave the hot sheath of your pussy."

"No, no, no," she cried out, beginning to feel the salty, hot tears pouring down her cheeks. "I want more! I want you to fuck me, really fuck me. Twain you to rip me apart inside. Make me hurt. I want to feel it, damn you, really and truly feel your cock!"

"You will," he solemnly assured her.

He began fucking with well-paced strokes until she thought she would lose her mind, not from the wild passions the fucking caused in her loins but because of their lack. She wasn't frigid. She just needed a different type of fucking to get off in as big a way as possible. And nothing she said seemed to have any effect on the man. He was going to fuck her as if she were a piece of fragile porcelain and that was that.

Another woman could have come hard from the feel of his prick pressing so powerfully against her cunt walls. The thickness of his prick kept her writhing about, moaning and demanding more. Not once did he let her cool off totally. But never did he shove her over the edge of orgasm, either.

"Here it comes," he grunted, raising himself up on his hands to get a different angle of entry into her sucking, seething cunt.

He blasted into her so hard it rattled her teeth. She closed her eyes and imagined herself staked out in the middle of a burning desert, being raped by marauding Indians. She was tied and helpless, unable to prevent the rape. She felt the flaming-hot cock race all the way up her fuck tunnel again. She felt the sexual tensions mounting in her belly.

And then he came. His prick spewed out the white hot load of come and he spurted repeatedly. But she couldn't get off on that. It wasn't the brutal, savage fucking she needed.