The knowledge that she was slipping that she had given in to the barbaric man rutting away inside her made her feel like she was going to be ill. Even though this was much less horrifying than the whip or the paddle, she knew she should resist. She knew that she should be clawing at his eyes and making him work for every single inch he made her take. Instead she was clawing at the bed, trying to fight herself; trying to suppress the slow insidious build of pleasure between her legs. There was no doubt that Quentin felt it too. She could almost see the smirk on his handsome face.<br/><br/>She heard the sounds he began to make and her nausea worsened with the realization that she was proud that he was making them. She shook her head, still sobbing and trying to deny to herself that she was truly enjoying the hard pleasures he forced upon her. The feel of his hips spanking her soft bottom with each forceful stab of him into the wet pink depths of her left her panting and despite her tears she was teetering at the brink of something new and foreign to her. The pressure and the pleasure built and she whimpered for him to stop. The plea held no fear of his impending eruption but of hers. She had never felt like this before and she was scared of what would happen. He, being more experienced, probably thought her a simpleton for her lack of experience the thought and her sensual, soft lips curved into a cute little pout even as she braced herself for yet more of his savage thrusts.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>