She trailed off, her cheek warm against his damp skin. "I've never felt so... claimed."

Vikram’s hand stroked down her back, coming to rest on the curve of her ass. "It's because you are," he murmured, his voice still rough. "For tonight, you're mine. Every sigh, every shiver." He shifted, rolling her onto her back and looming over her again, his semi-hard cock already stirring against her thigh. "And I'm not done tasting my property."

He kissed a slow, wet path down her sternum, his tongue circling one nipple before sucking it deep into his mouth. She arched with a sharp gasp. "Oh! Vikram... it's so sensitive..."

"Good," he growled against her breast, his fingers finding her other nipple, pinching and rolling it. "I want you screaming again before I'm through." He moved lower, his breath hot on her stomach, his stubble a delicious scratch. He nudged her legs apart, his thumbs spreading her swollen lips wide. "Look at this pretty, used pussy. Still dripping my cum." He dipped his head and licked a long, slow stripe through her folds, lapping up their mixed fluids. "Mmm... fuck, you taste even better now."

"Ah! Your tongue... it's so... oh god!" she cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets.

He didn't answer with words, just buried his face in her cunt, his tongue plunging deep before focusing on her clit, flicking it rapidly. The wet, sucking sounds were obscenely loud. "Yes! Just like that! Lick my clit! Make me come on your face!" she begged, her hips bucking off the bed.

He gripped her thighs, holding her down, his assault relentless. "You want to come again, you greedy girl?" he muttered into her flesh, his voice vibrating through her.

"I need to! Please, let me come!"

He slid two thick fingers back inside her, curling them up as his tongue circled her clit. "Come on, then. Squirt all over my face. Show me how much you love it."

The dual sensation was too much. A guttural scream tore from her throat as her body seized, convulsing around his fingers, a fresh wave of wetness soaking his chin. "FUCK! I'M CUMMING!"

He rode out her climax, drinking her in, until her thrashing subsided into weak tremors. Only then did he crawl back up her body, his cock, now fully hard and slick with her juices, pressing against her entrance. "My turn," he grunted, and without another word, he drove into her in one savage thrust, filling her completely.

"UNNH! SO FULL!" she screamed, her eyes rolling back.

"Tell me whose cunt this is," he demanded, setting a brutal, pounding rhythm that shook the bed.

"Yours! It's your cunt! Always your cunt!" she sobbed, her nails scraping down his back.

"Damn right," he snarled, grabbing her ankles and pushing her legs back toward her shoulders, sinking even deeper. "Gonna fuck my claim into you until you can't walk straight to your wedding."

His cock pistoned into her, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the opulent chamber. The air was thick with the scent of sex, of sweat and her arousal and his musk. He fucked her with a relentless, claiming fury, each deep drive punctuated by her ragged, sobbing breaths. "You take me so well," he grunted, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "This perfect little cunt was made for my dick." He leaned forward, shifting the angle, and she yelped as the head of his cock began to grind against a spot deep inside that made her vision spark white. "There! Oh, god, right there!"

He smiled, a dark, possessive thing, and focused his brutal rhythm on that sweet, devastating spot. "You feel that? That's where I live now. Even after tomorrow, when he's fucking you, you'll feel me there." His words were a cruel, erotic poison, and she came again, a sudden, violent clenching around him that milked a groan from his throat. Her cunt fluttered and spasmed, drenching his shaft, but he didn't stop, didn't even slow. He fucked her straight through the climax, using her convulsing tightness for his own pleasure.

When her cries softened to whimpers, he pulled out suddenly, his cock glistening and hard. A whine of protest died on her lips as he flipped her over onto her stomach with a firm hand on her back. "On your knees," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Ass in the air. I want to see that pretty little hole." Shaking, she obeyed, presenting herself, her face pressed into the rumpled silk of the bedsheet. He ran a palm over the curve of her ass, then spread her cheeks wide. "So pink. So untouched." He spat, the wetness landing directly on her tight rosette. She shuddered.

"Vikram... I've never..."

"I know," he said, his voice thick with lust. He reached for the vial of scented oil on the bedside table, a remnant from the bridal anointing ceremony earlier in the day. Pouring a generous amount into his palm, he warmed it before slicking his cock thoroughly. The head, broad and purple, nudged against her entrance. He used his other thumb to press against her back door, smearing oil in slow, insistent circles. "Relax," he murmured, though his body was taut with the effort of his own control. "Just breathe out for me." He pushed the tip of his thumb past the tight ring of muscle, and she gasped, her body instinctively clenching. "That's it. Take it."

He worked her open with his thumb, slowly, meticulously, his eyes glued to the obscene, beautiful sight. When she was loosened, whimpering with a mix of fear and dizzying anticipation, he replaced his thumb with the slick, fat head of his cock. "This is the price," he whispered, leaning over her, his chest against her back. "The final print on the negative. My signature." He pressed forward, an inexorable, burning invasion. The stretch was immense, unbearable, then suddenly it wasn't. With a low, animalistic groan, he popped past the resistance and slid deep, buried to the hilt in her ass.

She screamed, a raw, shattered sound into the sheets. The fullness was beyond anything, a searing, perfect conquest that split her in two. He held himself there, letting her body adjust, his own trembling with the effort. "Fuck," he breathed, "so goddamn tight. Like a hot, silken fist." He began to move, shallow pulls that dragged his thick length against the unbearably sensitive inner walls. The pain melted, transmuting into a sharp, blinding pleasure that coiled in her gut. "Oh! Oh, fuck... it's so deep!"

"Your ass is mine," he growled, finding his rhythm, each thrust now long and smooth and devastating. He gripped her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh, using her body for his pleasure. The sounds were lewd, wet squelches of oil and effort. He reached around, his fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles. "Come on your photographer's cock," he demanded. "Come while I fuck your ass like the greedy little bride you are."

The dual sensations—the deep, filling stretch in her rear and the frantic friction on her clit—unraveled her completely. She shattered, her ass clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses, her cunt dripping onto the sheets below. Her scream was muffled, endless. Her climax triggered his. With a final, brutal slam, he buried himself to the root, his roar filling the room as he came. Hot, thick pulses of cum flooded her ass, marking her internally, a secret deposit in her most forbidden place. He pulsed into her for what felt like an eternity, each jet wringing a ragged moan from them both.

Finally spent, he collapsed over her, both of them slick with sweat, his softening cock slipping from her well-used hole with a wet, soft sound. They lay in a heap of tangled limbs, the only sound their harsh, slowing breaths. Moonlight streamed through the high palace window, painting silver stripes across their ravaged bodies. He traced a finger down the sweat-damp valley of her spine. In the heavy silence, the distant, formal sounds of the palace preparing for tomorrow's festivities drifted in—the faint clip-clop of a guard's horse, a servant's distant chatter. A world away from the animal truth of this room. She was his canvas, and he had painted her in the most intimate, indelible inks—bruises, bite marks, and the warm, leaking proof of his possession deep inside her. Tomorrow, she would walk down the aisle, a vision in red and gold, her gait subtly altered, a secret, sore sweetness nestled within her that belonged only to him, and to the memory of the camera's silent, all-seeing eye.

Lens of Desire: Vikram's Bridal Encounters