3 - Becky in the barn with her book

She looked down at the book he had given her. On the front cover were three muscular werewolves grabbing onto various parts of a bikini-clad woman with her face obscured by one large paw. She checked the first few pages. Indeed, it was the exact sort of steamy dark romance she enjoyed.
Ben just called it porn, the uncultured buffoon.

And an energy drink? What for, this late in the evening?

She had half a mind to chase her brother down and keep provoking him, but while her insults and jabs had gradually stopped working on him, his distractions had only become more distracting.
"Infuriating little incel," she muttered, but she wasn't that mad at him anymore. Not really. He had at least agreed with one of her outrageous claims, but ... it hadn't felt right. He had slipped a blow and she didn't quite know how.

The book was steamy right off the bat. Becky glanced up from it to make sure the barn door was shut, then rested the book on the guillotine's lunette and began to read, gently rocking back and forth on the smooth wood as she read. Suddenly grateful to her brother, she popped the tab on the energy drink and took a sip.

She didn't intend to read all night, but the more she read, the more she was hooked. The story's heroine was just so perfectly bratty, such an infuriating little bitch, and teased and prodded the male leads for so long that when one of them finally snapped, slapped her, transformed into a werewolf, and raped her with violent bestial ferocity, Becky found that her gentle rocking back and forth had turned into a rhythmic bouncing, and the hand which was not occupied with turning pages was slowly finding its way down to her shorts.

“Yes …” she whispered as the assault on page played out exactly as she had hoped. The werewolf was relentless with the heroine. He was fucking her hard from behind, prone, and he grabbed her neck and pulled her up, choking her. The author described her tongue lolling out and bouncing in rhythm with her breasts. When she tried to protest, the werewolf only squeezed her neck harder.
“Choke me …” Becky breathed, taking another sip from her drink. There was no other girl on the page. Becky didn’t even remember the heroine’s name. To her, it was just Becky. Becky, no one else, who had pushed and prodded a man just a little too far, and was now paying for it with her body, which was all she was good for anyway.

The werewolf released the herione’s throat and shoved her head to the ground, keeping her pinned with one powerful clawed paw, drawing blood from her face where his claws cut her.

Becky’s legs quivered. Her fingers traced her pussy through the thin fabric of her shorts. “More …” she breathed. “Break her. Break me. Crush my skull … as you cum inside … ah …” She closed her eyes and slid her finger past her panties. She was only halfway through the book, and there were two more sexy werewolves who had to have their way with the bratty little tease of a heroine. But the scene which played out in her head cut the useless second half from the book, because in his lustful fury, hatefucking her with unbridled violence, the werewolf pounded the heroine’s soaking, squirting pussy like a jackhammer, roared, came hard inside her, and with a powerful shove he could never take back, he shoved down hard and crushed the heroine’s—Becky’s—pretty head like a watermelon.

The sound was wet and grotesque, a moist, saturated crack that echoed as her skull fractured under his immense strength. Blood and gray matter exploded outward, painting the ground beneath her in a visceral spray. Bone shards flew through the air, some catching in her hair, others clattering against the walls. The orgasmic scream that had been building in her throat died instantly, replaced by a wet pumping gurgle as her head exploded into indistinct gory mush. Her headless body jerked violently, a final, convulsive dance against his toned figure. Hot blood pumped from her messily abbreviated neck stump, covering his muscular chest and abdomen in a sticky warm slop as her limbs flailed uselessly.

Breathing hard, fingering herself at the speed of the werewolf in her mind, Becky leaned down over the lunette, nearly drooling with desire for the lustful finale playing out in her mind. Juices splashed and squirted out of her pussy in rhythm with her frantic fingering. Moans escaped her lips that she made no effort to suppress, and she came with that messy image in her mind’s eye, finishing it off by matching the werewolf’s orgasm to her own. In her mind, the werewolf roared and came inside her a second time, driven by the lustful postmortem vice-grip of her pussy with no mind to control it. He pulled out of the dead bitch in Becky’s mind, leaving her carcass ass-up and squirting out cum from one end like a geyser and blood out the other.

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