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Phil finds a cure for his loneliness.

He released her dress, and quickly bent her over, pushing her head down with the hand wrapped in her hair. He held her body against his, and smacked her ass, hard. She yelped, and struggled to get away. He spanked her ass several times, each blow with a calm, almost brutal strength. She squirmed and squealed and shoved against him.

Releasing her hair, he grabbed her wrist, pinning her arm behind her. He moved her a few steps, and bent her over the living room chair. Again, he smacked her ass several times. "You can't win, pet," he said softly.

It infuriated her that he was right, but it didn't stop her from trying. He continued to spank her with hard, swift strokes. She started kicking her feet and struggling harder, but it only slid her body further over the top of the chair, raising her ass up higher. His hand was like iron around her wrist. She grunted and wiggled and groaned, but it was impossible to get away from his grip.

Holding her down with his upper body, his free hand slid the dress up over her hips. He took the knife he always carried out of his pocket, and flipped it open. "Hold still," he snapped. She froze, and then felt the cold steel of the blade on her thigh. He slid the knife under the panties, and cut them slightly. Returning the knife to his pocket, he ripped the panties from her. The sound of the tearing fabric was loud in the quiet room. She shuddered.

Sliding his hand over her bare bottom, he relaxed his grip on her wrist. Suddenly, she raised her upper body and twisted away from him. Reaching out with his hand, he grabbed the dress and tugged her back. With both hands, he tore the dress from her shoulders, the buttons flying. He pressed her up against the wall, his muscular thigh sliding between hers. His hands molded around her breasts, squeezing them roughly. Their eyes locked.

"Had enough?" he asked. She shook her head. She was panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Reaching again for the knife, he cut through the bra, the cold blade skimming over her cleavage. Pulling it away from her breasts, his hands again mauled her flesh. Her hands came up to grip his wrists, trying to pull his hands away. He pulled her body slightly away from the wall, then slammed her back against it, his big body trapping her there.

Flicking his thumbs roughly across her nipples, he bent his head and began to nibble, then bite her neck. She groaned, a deep, sensual sound that made him shudder. Her head dropped back, unconsciously giving him greater access to her tender neck. He pushed his thigh up between her legs, grinding it against her pussy. She pressed down, and her hands tightened on his wrists.

She shoved his hands away from her breasts, and pushed him back. Her chest was heaving, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. She hated her own body sometimes, the cravings, the deep needs she had. She didn't want to surrender to him. She was afraid of losing herself. The fear made her stronger.

She wiggled out of his arms, and tried to break away. But he was faster, stronger, calmer. He merely pushed her again, forcing her face first against the wall. He grabbed both of her wrists, and pulled her arms behind her. He hoarsely whispered in her ear, "You can't win, sweetheart." Somehow the words infuriated her more. She growled deep in her chest and struggled to escape.

Gripping her tightly, one hand holding both her arms, the other wrapped around her, he positioned her over the dining room table. His feet pushed her feet wider apart. He held her down, and began to spank her ass. One leg hooked over her leg, holding her steady. She sputtered and squirmed and yelled with every hard swat. "God damn it, let me go."

"Not just yet," he replied.

He shoved three fingers into her soaking wet cunt from behind.

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