Quentins face was a broad mask of glee; a delighted grin that was happy for several reasons, all of which came from the fine task of rocking himself with increasing intensity against her cunt.<br/><br/>There was the perverse satisfaction he found in hearing her pained wails, and seeing the tears spill from her eyes. Every time his cock made her cry out at a new shock of pain it thrilled the sadist in him; made him feel powerful, and in charge. The shame, disgust and fear she felt were all working to excite his most perverted and cruel side.<br/><br/>Then there was - almost in contrast with the first kick of pleasure - a satisfaction in hearing, and indeed feeling, her just start to enjoy herself. This promised him even further that, one day, she really would be the perfect, needy toy. It excited him to imagine her genuinely begging him, to see her loving both the pain and pleasure he could inflict in the perfect display of submission.<br/><br/>Finally there was, of course, the squeeze of her wet little cunt around him. Her muscles wanted him to stop rubbing over her, protesting that she was too sensitive, but the man was lost to his pleasure. Even if he were a thoughtful lover he wouldn't be able to stop himself rocking powerfully into her, to see how far he could go before someone collapsed.<br/><br/>The man's hand around her neck tightened, not to choke her but certainly to lighten her head and make have to gasp audibly for air. She could feel him pull her back, making her tits thrust out and giving her voice nowhere to smother itself. The comfort of the bed felt further away; all there was now was what he gave her. The sex, the choking, the pretty-but-awkward curving of her spine, and the growls that promised her more of his cum, and soon.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>