He didn't care that it hurt me so badly, all that mattered was getting me pregnant. I struggled to get on top of the bed and felt his hands wrap around me. "You aren't thinking of escaping, are you?" He held my breasts in his hands and fucked me angrily, his balls slapped my clit again and again until I was writhing. My body betrayed me. His thumb played with my asshole which was clenching emptily around its tip. I sobbed quietly to myself as I came. He slapped me across the face, held onto the sides of my head and yelled at me. "Open your mouth for daddy!", he growled hastily. I shook my head out of confusion and I felt the sting of his hand whacking my cheek. He shoved his come covered prick inside, choking me as he fucked my throat until I threw up all over myself, collected some of it on the end of his cock and started to deposit it back in my mouth. I was disgusted. More came up onto him. My stomach hurt so badly by that point. He punched me right where it hurt and picked me up. Charles spoke with a rich English accent and a dry self-mocking wit. The conversation flowed easily and without pause until my second glass of wine arrived and I suddenly realized that for the past twenty minutes I had been doing all the talking. I had told him almost everything about myself, my life, the reason for the trip, and my frustration that Mark had blown off yet another Valentine’s date. Not that Mark’s absence would make a difference: The weather maps made clear that no planes would be taking off for another four hours at least. There was little chance of making it home tonight at all, let alone in time for the romantic dinner we had planned. I decided to make Charles tell me more about himself. He described himself as a sort of corporate problem solver which he claimed to be less difficult than it sounded as his clients always seemed to know what they should really be doing and the only challenge was to persuade them to accept it. ‘Are you persuasive then?’ I asked..
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