One Thrust Man Romane & Geschichten

He pointed to the urn by the wall and ordered his men. “Woohoo!” “Let’s do it!” “Let’s get to work, brothers!” Trent waved his hand, and the group behind him immediately prepared to trash the house. When the first burly man approached the wall and prepared to smash the urn with a steel pipe, a hand reached out from the side and firmly grasped the man’s wrist. No matter how hard the man struggled, even if he used the strength of a hydraulic press, he could not move a millimeter. It was as if his wrist was clamped by a steel vise with the strength of a mountain.

“Scatch me again. I want you to fight while I’m inside you.” He pushes in. One brutal stroke. All the way. No pause, no easing in. Just his cock splitting me open in one thrust that buries him to the hilt. I scream. His hand tightens on my throat and the scream chokes off into a gurgle and my back arches off the bed and my nails dig into his forearms and I’m cumming. I’m cumming from one thrust. From the stretch and the shock and his hand on my throat.

A shockwave of power surged from my core, its potency guided by the unyielding love I harbored for my pack, for my family. The clearing erupted in a maelstrom of light and shadow as my strike found its mark. Gamma Thorne was thrown back, his formidable frame hitting the ground with a force that shook the very roots of the forest. He lay there, his breaths ragged, the fight draining from his body, yet his spirit remained unbroken.

Thorne grabs a man, does a fancy twist, lifts him, then tosses him over his shoulder. My body instantly responds, a wave of heat crashing over me as I remember how he lifts me and man handles me in bed. I press my thighs together as he pins his opponent to the ground, and an image from last night of how he pinned me to the mattress flits through my mind. Oh, jeez. If someone had told me that I would get hot and bothered while watching Thorne train a group of sweaty men, I would’ve laughed. Now… “Aurora.”

the silver-toothed one shouts, charging at him. But Mr. Chane moves faster. He dodges his punch and kicks him hard in the back. The man falls flat. Mr. Chane grabs him and starts punching his face again and again. “Don’t—” Punch! “Ever—” Punch! “Touch a woman—” Punch! “Forcefully—” Punch! “Without her consent!” Punch! The man collapses, his head lolling to the side of the road, but he's not dead. He attempts to keep his bloodied eyes open, but fails as he continues to spit out blood. Mr. Chane pushes him aside.

The third, fourth, and fifth men charged at once. He had no knife now. The first still buried in that man's ribs. The second thrown to the ground. All he had left were his fists. He clenched his right fist. The calluses on the web of his hand stretched taut, like a layer of armor. He charged the third man. Not a run. A collision. He smashed his body into the man's chest, drove his right fist into the man's throat. Cartilage shattered. The sound was small, like stepping on a dry leaf. The man fell backward. Saine fell with him, both of them rolling in the snow.

"Okay, come on, come on. Bet bet bet." And like that, the men placed their bets. Loud noise erupted as the two men began to wrestle. Dante has never sat down to watch a full wrestling match on TV, not to talk of a live one but watching it live right now, he's feeling a new type of adrenaline rush. He is the referee but he kept cheering on. Of course, his bet is on Timothy.

A single tear slipped down Caerin’s cheek into his hair, but he smiled slightly as he nodded reassurance to Thaelen that he was not hurt. Thaelen took Caerin’s hand, closing the human’s fist around Caerin’s c-ck in a silent instruction to jerk himself off, and then gripped his hips to hold the man steady as Thaelen thrusted. Thaelen kept his eyes fixed on a point just above Caerin’s head, trying to keep his mind off those that watched as if his f-king were some sort of show. Come, he thought in his, head not sure if he were encouraging Caerin, himself or both of them. The word formed a rhythm in time with Thaelen’s thrusts, with Caerin’s moans adding melody.

Guston who was among the men turned to look at him and said; " big bro, you should join us. " The man glanced side ways at him. Guston shrank his neck as he was about to tell him it was fine if he didn't want to. But just then the man got up and went close to the table. Those watching were dumbfounded, as Mr Acosta isn't someone who would usually play this kind of games. It seems he's in a good mood today, some thought. Even Guston was astonished to see his big bro participate in this kind of game for the first time in two years.