It was good that she didn't resist. Sometimes Quentin enjoyed a little fight, and a little spirit to quash and silence. Other times like tonight he only wanted to screw; to enjoy himself and lose himself in the warm cunt of some unfortunate thing. Or perhaps sometimes not so unfortunate, he made scant little distinction between the two. The problem with this latter frame of mind was that when he got refused, he tended to over react to drag the girl-cum-victim into line.<br/><br/>His hands were heavy, locking her legs to the bed so that - even apart from the obvious and more piercing pain - there was a constant hurt born of her overstretched muscles doing their best to close her thighs, if just a little. Her top half was free for what little good that did, and the way he held himself above her ensured that every time his thick cock drove into her, he was rewarded by the dual welcome sights of her bouncing tits, and weeping eyes.<br/><br/>It was unrelenting. The number of times he stretched her oh-so-wide around himself didn't bear thinking about, but each push was powerful, and it was never many moments before the next burning pain erupted. He seemed to consider a sport; jerk his hips as hard and fast as possible til she simply had to yelp feebly, at which point he slowed - but never stopped - in order to catch his breath and give his desperate balls less reason to empty themselves just yet.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>