Letter to the Artist Ch. 01

Jac had never felt so full and complete until now. He was impossibly huge inside her virgin pussy. The feel of him inside her was delicious, despite the pain. She was helpless against him and he knew it. She stared, lost within his violent green eyes and felt as if she were some sort of possession, a property to be owned without trespass. She belonged to him, at the mercy of his disposal, now and forever.

Their silent conversation seemed to have spanned eons. He witnessed her dark cold eyes transform into warm brown ones and he knew that their understanding was beyond any spoken agreement. He quickly pulled out of her warmth and heard her moan. Whether it was pain or protest, he did not care. He needed her full submission and his ultimate act of possession. He flipped her onto her hands and knees and parted her legs with his muscular thighs. He drove his massive cock inside her pussy without mercy.

Jac moaned loudly out of pain and pleasure. To be possessed in this position was to submit her whole being fully. She felt excitement at the thought of Jonathan Marshall entering at any given moment. She buried her face onto the art work and reveled at the feel of it. It was as if she were part of the art as they desecrated the meaning of it all. She moaned and panted and screamed at his relentless pounding. Fucking and fucking and fucking her dripping wet pussy with his hard and enormous dick. It was sacrilegious. It was beautiful.

He grabbed her bottom and waist to drive harder and faster into her. He felt her now quivering pussy and knew that she was close to coming. She went up for air and saw their reflection on another installation. Their position was violently erotic. She saw his calloused hands against the smooth expanse of her ass and it reminded her of a lion's massive paws pouncing onto a poor and unsuspecting antelope from behind.

"Come now," he commanded through a labored and lustful grunt. She saw her breasts jiggle and the intensity of his eyes. She pushed back and met his violent thrusts. There she screamed the one name she'd been imaging. Jerzy. There she shattered, still mindlessly meeting his powerful thrusts and whimpering his name repeatedly. His lust only intensified at her orgasm as he heard her scream his name without even knowing it. He fucked her even harder. The power of this thrusts lifted her off the ground every time and she moaned and moaned and moaned until, finally, she shattered again and he, in turn, released rope after rope of his cum into her virgin womb. He had planted his seed deep inside her and now she was truly his.

Jerzy pulled out of her and hated the feel of it. Jac's current state, on the ground atop his installation, was his most perfect creation. A light sheen of sweat covered her body and her hair was a tangle of light brown and reddish mess. He saw her warm brown eyes filled with dazed contentment and a light smile on her pink and luscious lips. She looked exactly like a woman who had been properly ravaged.

How he wanted to hold her tight against him and stay inside her, but he could not afford affection. Not now. "You are mine now, writer.(,)" he said instead before retreating to leave her dazed form.

Jac watched him retreat into the back office. No introductions were needed. His word usage and the sudden recognition of that voice, the same voice that left her lusting over the phone, she knew then and there that her stranger was Jerzy Gorszewski. The one person she took comfort in treated her exactly how she wanted to be treated. Just the thought of Jerzy understanding her so well, with barely spoken words, frightened her.

Jac got up, her legs weak and her muscles sore from the act she just performed. She knew full well that she was his, but she was not ready for him. She would fight him for as long as she could because she resented the fact that she lost to him. Defeated by his caress and how easily her body responded to his touch.

She located her forgotten purse, tossed to the ground, reached for her handkerchief. She wiped the mixture of blood and semen that ran down her inner thighs. She didn't wipe herself, however. She wanted it to stay with her, the violent act of their passion. She searched the floor for her underwear, but could not, for the life of her, find it.

Jac, then, saw him leaning against the wall, watching her with amusement in his eyes. "Just because you've possessed me doesn't mean you have me," she said with nonchalant arrogance as if nothing transpired between them. "I told you I don't intend to lose. Don't do the show, Jerzy. These people don't deserve you."

"It's Yer-dge," he simply said, correcting the accent of his name.

Jac was just about to leave when Jonathan entered the gallery. He seemed pleased that she utilized the key that he gave her and grabbed her around the waist before she could exit.

"Hey babe, I see---"

"Don't touch me!" Jac pushed him with utter revulsion at his touch and his lecherous eyes. "You disgust me you pitiful excuse of a man! Don't ever touch me or look at me like that ever again if you want me to remain part of this shallow and superficial world of yours!" she pinned him an intense gaze and exited the gallery.

Jonathan had never felt so terrified in his life. The intensity of her gaze conveyed to him that her statement was not an empty threat. He bowed his head in shame, at the truth. He would do anything not to lose his place in the world.

"Are you alright?" Jerzy asked Jonathan not really caring, but instead pushing for a new agenda in his head.

"I'm quite alright. Just a long day."

"What if I agree to do an interview?"

Jonathan's eyes widened. The main reason why he was able to snag Jerzy was that he promised no press interview or any photos to be taken of the artist. "George! Of course! It would make my life! Let me call---"

"Jac Carlson will do it," he simply stated.

Jonathan paled. He did not want to deal with Jac and her fury. "Are you sure? I mean there are---"

"Jac Carlson or I will not do it at all."

Jonathan grabbed his phone and searched for Greta Vanderwoods. "Jac Carlson it is," he mumbled to Jerzy.