And rough it was. After they left, I pulled back the covers to peer at her. There was semen drying in her hair and one eyebrow. Her neck and breasts were marked with red marks from bites and hickeys, her wrists chaffed from thrashing against restraints.
Pulling the covers down further revealed similar marks on her belly and thighs. I knew there would be bites and bruises on her butt too, but I knew those wouldn’t be the reason that she wouldn’t be walking or sitting comfortably for a day or two.
But she hadn’t used the safe word. Not when they twisted and nipped at her nipples. Not when she gagged when they’d tried to thrust their cocks too deeply down her throat. Not when they shot cum on her face and breasts. Not when they strapped her to the bed and fucked her, two and three at a time, in her mouth, her cunt, her ass.
Not when I begged her to. “Omaha?” I’d asked her, when they were taking a break after their first round. She’d opened her eyes and looked at me, smiled and shook her head. “Omaha!” I’d shouted when she gasped and flinched as the first cock sank into her ass. “Shut up,” she’d told me then.
They gave in first, one of them throwing his hands up in the air in surrender, shouting “Omaha!” as she’d reached for his cock. They’d dressed and left soon after, laughing as they went.
