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Chapter 1 - Morning in the Den A deafening crack of thunder shook the tin roof above her, making the warped window frames rattle. Nadiya's eyes snapped open. For a heartbeat she thought maybe it had all been a nightmare. But the stink hit her before she could even lift her head; thick, wet forest air leaking through the gaps in the boards, mixing with the heavy reek of sweat, cum, stale piss, and woodsmoke that clung to the cabin like mould.

She turned her head and there he was. Roland. A mountain of filthy flesh, still snoring like some drunk animal in heat, mouth hanging open, a string of spit dangling from his cracked lips. His long, dirty-white beard spilled over his chest, the strands knotted and clumped with dried streaks of her pussy juice from where he had buried his face between her thighs last night without washing after.

His massive paw was spread over her bare pussy like it owned her, the thick greasy fingers resting heavy against her lips. The heat of his palm made her skin sweat. Where his fingertips pressed, she could feel a faint crust of dried slick, her slick, from the way he had fingered her while his cock was stuffed in her ass.

Her stomach churned, but her pulse was already racing. She slid her eyes over him, every detail filthier than the last, chest hair matted with grease, belly sagging heavy to the side, the fabric of his shirt yellowed under the arms from sweat. The smell rolling off him was sour sweat, old rum, stale piss, and that deep, animal musk of a man who'd been buried in her holes for hours without a single wash.

"Fuck... it was real. I let this beast fuck me."

She tried to ease herself free, lifting his arm just enough to slide out. His fingers dragged across her mound as she slipped away, leaving a sticky trail over her skin that made her shudder.

Barefoot on the warped boards, she was a picture of ruined beauty, long blonde hair tangled and dull from the sweat and rain, cum dried on her cheek and across her chin, her lips swollen and sticky from choking on his cock until she gagged, tits still high and full but streaked with greasy smudges from his beard rubbing over them. Her ass, round and perfect, carried faint red marks where he'd gripped it while pounding her from behind. Between her thighs, her pussy felt raw and sore, still faintly gaping, a slow thin line of his cum leaking down her face.

She spotted a bucket of water in the corner. The surface was cloudy. A rag lay beside it, stiff with age and dirt. She dipped it in, wrung it out, and began wiping herself down. The water was cold against her skin, dragging away most of the dried cum and sweat, but the old fabric scratched at her and left faint streaks of grey. By the time she was done the water was murky, but at least she felt a little cleaner, even if the faint, sour scent of sex still clung stubbornly to her.

She moved to the fireplace. It was dead, just faint white smoke curling from the ash. Her damp clothes hung nearby. She pulled on her denim shorts; the fabric was still clammy, clinging to her hips and riding high enough that the seam pressed against her sore pussy. The thin white top was no better, when she pulled it over her tits it stuck to her nipples, outlining them stiff and hard. It still smelled faintly of rain, sweat, and his musk.

She stood at the window, staring at the sheets of rain blurring the clearing. The ground outside was broken with muddy streams, water swirling around the cabin like rivers. There was no way to run. Even if she could, she had no idea where she was.

Her mind betrayed her. Flashes of last night lit up behind her eyes, Roland's massive black cock splitting her open, her tight pussy clamping around it as he forced himself in, the burn turning into a deep, hot ache that made her moan even as she cried out. She had never had a cock inside her before last night. And then Roland's beast had torn through her, so thick and brutal it felt like it was rearranging her from the inside, her body stretched to breaking as that fat head bullied its way into a hole that had never been entered. The first thrust had stolen her breath, the next had stolen her will.

She remembered him flipping her, shoving that same fat shaft into her

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