animasola86

[animasola86]

🚩 FORCED: 04

You wake up to a new scene, and new participants. Things escalate rather quickly, and there's nothing you can do about it.

a morally gray man!your new master ✖️ female!reader

WARNING: This is a DARK FANTASY EROTICA! Beware of the following tags: Dead dove: do not eat! Explicit sexual content! Noncon! Master/servant dynamic! Bad BDSM etiquette! Bondage. Collaring. Fingering. Vaginal fisting. Forced orgasms. Foursome (F/F/F/M). Anal play. Vaginal sex. Rough anal sex. Creampie. (🚩Please do not read/engage if any of these tags are triggering to you!)

WORDS: 3.3k 🚩 READ ON AO3!

A/N: Remember, this is dark and self-indulgent and hopefully fucked-up in a sexy way? You decide! You also decide who you want the male character to be as he is very vague, and I invite you to fill in the blanks and call him however you like (hence the fandom tags, he could be anyone, make him your blorbo!). Our Reader character is also vague, her only attributes are hair long enough to braid and female genitalia.

For more information, check the Author's Notes on chapter 1.

Chapter 2+3 🔻 Chapter 4 🔺 Chapter 5+6

You hated waking up by now. Because it always meant there was something new to torture you, even though it also meant the end of the last scene. And somehow it was a relief when you found yourself just lying on a soft surface, with nothing poking out of you and nothing holding you down either. No gag, no vibrator. Just your sore body and your dizzy mind.

Inhaling deeply, you raised a hand and wiped at your face. You felt clean, your hair was still a little wet. Had you been washed? Looking around, your question was answered by the sight of two other girls, naked with their hair in braids, wearing thick leather collars, their vacant eyes trained on you as they stood at the edge of your bed. They stirred when you sat up in shock and confusion, shaking their heads. You frowned, too stunned to protest when one of them pulled you off the bed and onto your feet, while the other stepped behind you and grabbed your wrists.

They were too fast, and you could barely fight it when you felt your arms being folded behind your back, so tight your hands curled around your elbows, before you felt them being secured with a soft rope. You rolled your shoulders slightly, but couldn't move, staring at the girls in mild betrayal, too overwhelmed to use your voice properly. They didn't say a word either, just maneuvered you to a chair in the corner, made you sit down, before one of them started braiding your hair, while the other approached you with a collar in her open palms, presented to you like a crown.

“No,” you whimpered soundlessly, your throat hurting, your voice meek and feeble. It didn't stop you from trying to get your point across. “Please don't...”

A harsh “Tsk” cut through your noises of distress, and you looked up sharply, seeing the man standing behind the girl holding the collar. He was so tall and intimidating, his dark suit such a stark contrast to all the exposed skin around him.

“I'll take it from here, pet,” he said, putting his hand on the shoulder of the slowly bowing girl before he moved her aside with a little shove. He took the collar and proceeded to fasten it around your neck, despite your whimpers and fruitless struggling attempts. He stared at you darkly, freezing you with his gaze, and you stared back, breathing hard, trying to relax as he pulled the wide collar tight around your throat, slipping belt after belt into its loop until it sat snug around your neck, feeling stiff and very restricting. Then he turned it so the metal hoop was at the front.

He hooked his finger into it and pulled you forward, and you stumbled off the chair, choking a little, unable to find your balance without being able to use your arms. The girl behind you followed, quickly finishing your braid, and when it was done, you could see a little pink ribbon fixed to the end in a beautiful bow. You frowned. The other girls had similar ribbons, just in different colors, all pastels, yellow and blue. The man stood between the naked girls with a satisfied smile on his handsome face.

His hand found your cheek, gently patting it. “Welcome to the flock, doll,” he said and leaned in to press his lips to yours. You blinked in confusion, heat crashing into your face. “Your training went very well. I believe you are ready to serve me properly now. Don't you think so, pets?” he addressed the other girls, and they nodded eagerly, bowing their heads, not saying a word.

You frowned deeper. He seemed to read your mind. “Don't expect a peep from them, I had their vocal chords removed. Makes for better access into their little throats, you know?” he said with a demeaning smirk, rubbing along one of their collared necks.

Your eyes widened in growing shock and disgust. “Don't worry, you will keep yours for now. I do enjoy your little noises,” he said and winked at you. Your stomach dropped, and you pressed your lips into a tight line, trying to ease your rapid breathing. What the hell had you gotten yourself into here?

To make matters worse, the man then started to undress in front of you. After shrugging his suit jacket off (that one of the girls carried to a nearby chair), he unbuttoned his white shirt, his dark eyes on you.

“Well, shall we begin?” he whispered, and before you could do anything, you felt the girls leading you back to the bed, pulling you onto it, holding you in their unrelenting grips.

Your fingers were tingling in their tight ties, the pressure of your own weight on your arms only adding to the sensation. You stared at the girls in turn before looking back at the man, who had stripped down completely and was now crawling onto the bed towards you, his erection bobbing menacingly between his legs.

You opened your mouth to protest, but then you felt two small fingers slipping between your lips, while another hand moved down between your thighs, first spreading your legs, then your labia, while the man bowed down to inspect your cunt. You squirmed uncomfortably, whined against the hand holding you, struggled fruitlessly with your arms bound, a strange warmth flooding your limbs, gathering low in your stomach.

“Looking good,” he hummed, his fingers prodding at your clenching hole. “Eager, aren't you?”

You were not, you didn't want to be, but surrounded by naked bodies, still tormented by your past experiences, you felt arousal dripping down your skin. Flooded with shame, you averted your eyes, whining quietly.

The fingers in your mouth pushed in and out slowly, meditatively, while the man knelt between your open legs, tilting his head. “Prepare her for me, pet,” he addressed the girl who had her hands on your folds. She nodded, the yellow bow on the end of her braid dancing on her shoulder, before she moved a little and positioned herself next to your hip, her hand rubbing up and down your mound, small fingers pressing gently between your puffy lips.

The girl behind you wrapped an arm around your chest, her free hand fondling your bare breasts, and you turned your head to her, meeting a loaded gaze. The mute girl, this one wearing a blue ribbon on her braid, smiled shyly at you as she kept groping your soft flesh, fingers teasing your quickly hardening nipple.

“Already having fun, bird?” the man asked, and you noticed he addressed the girl smiling at you. Bird. The other was Pet. You were Doll. Blue, yellow, pink. The only distinctions. Your new role.

Bird nodded softly, lowering her eyes, pinching your pert bud as she kept moving her fingers in and out of your mouth, your breaths quickening slightly. You frowned deeply, thoroughly confused by this whole scene. You'd never been intimate with another girl before, but this felt strangely nice. She wasn't as rough as the man had been.

Pet, however, wasn't as gentle. The hand of the other girl was gripping your sex now, fingers digging between your folds, fingertips teasing into your entrance. She shifted on her knees, moving closer to where the man was kneeling, and he scooted back a little, allowing her better access to your cunt. And while she worked her fingers into your clenching hole, you felt the man gripping your ankles, holding you down as your legs started to kick out involuntarily.

A muffled gasp escaped you when you felt and saw how the girl with the yellow bow slipped three fingers into you, her delicate hand small enough to make it easy to penetrate you. It still felt like a lot, and you groaned against the fingers in your mouth. Bird's lips were on your temple, and if she could, she would probably have shushed you.

You kept struggling under the ministrations of the girls, fruitlessly jerking your legs against the strong hands on them. Your eyes were wide, but your vision blurry with tears. It got only worse when you noticed more pressure between your legs, and when you tried to focus on what was happening there, you saw that Pet had worked her entire hand into your pulsing pussy and was now slowly moving it in and out, her wrist catching on your tense muscles.

Moans and whimpers slipped past the probing fingers, and when you arched your back into the girl behind you, those fingers slipped deeper, prodding the back of your throat, and you gagged around them, the jerk crashing through your body making your hips stutter, causing Pet's hand to move in further �� and you felt how she spread her fingers inside you, stretching you, finding space where none should be.

You howled, spit dripping down your chin, your whole body convulsing badly as the hand in your cunt moved faster, deeper, pressed into your soft flesh, nudged all those special spots. You could swear you saw a little bulge on your belly where she quite literally rearranged your guts with her fist. It was the strangest sensation, so invasive, so filling, so weirdly stimulating.

Bird's fingers kept their relentless assault on your throat, making you gag again and again until you were too exhausted to gag some more, your stomach tense and hurting (fluttering under the assault from within), your insides positively on fire now, but it was when you felt a rough thumb pressing on your swollen clit, that you lost it completely.

Eyes rolling back, body going stiff before it started spasming hard, thighs twitching, toes curling, every muscle contracting as you clenched hard around the hand in your convulsing cunt. You screamed soundlessly, breathlessly, against the fingers stuck in your throat, pressed your chest into the hand groping your tit, bucked your hips against the prodding thumb. A million lights exploded all around you, and you felt yourself floating, carried away by the waves of pleasure threatening to drown you. Nothing mattered anymore.

Was it over? Finally? It felt like it...

But then you could breathe again, and the hand slipped from inside your tight channel, the thumb was gone, your body slowly coming down from the most intense orgasm you might have ever experienced. Tears streamed down your face, silent sobs fell from your hurting throat, your legs twitching in the aftershocks of your high.

You were moved, not that you noticed much, turned onto your stomach, chest pressed into the bed, your hips pulled up. The girls changed places, the blue ribbon appeared next to your face, wet hands rubbing over your shoulders, kneading the tense muscles, the other girl rubbing the same soothing circles over your butt cheeks.

“Get the plug ready, bird,” the man said behind you, and you groaned quietly, cheek pressed into a soft pillow, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. You felt delicate fingers moving into the cleft between your cheeks, one fingertip teasing your puckered hole. Something cold and wet was squirted onto your skin, then gently massaged into you until your muscles relaxed enough to let a finger in, then two, maybe even three, you couldn't be sure.

There was a pressure against your tight hole when the fingers retreated, something solid and cold, and you grunted loudly when it was pushed in with one swift nudge, filling you out while that tight ring of muscles closed around its smaller neck. A croaked yelp escaped you when a hand came down hard on your soft flesh, spanking your cheeks once, twice, until your skin burned and you could only whimper helplessly.

The same hand, warm from the assault, curled around your bound arms, lifted you as if you were just a package one could carry around, and you were moved once more, ending up on your side. Delicate fingers held your shoulders and your hip, before a rougher hand grabbed your leg and pulled it up, opening you up for penetration. Your eyes were unfocused, but you noticed shapes around you, the girls consoling you, rubbing your breasts and your back, one teased the plug in your ass.

There was no attention to your pussy or your clit until you felt the spongy tip of the man's cock nudging between your puffy lips. You let out a gurgled wail when he pushed into you, stretching you even more than the hand had done before, and he pressed deeper without mercy, fast short snaps of his hips until he bottomed out, your leg pressed against his hard chest. He held onto it as he started rutting into you, and you whimpered with every deep thrust, your sore muscles protesting, your whole body fighting against the intrusion.

Soft lips brushed against your chest, hands twisting your torso back a little until you lay heavy on your restrained arms, before not one but two mouths closed around your breasts, one eager tongue on each stiff nipple, sucking hard on your sensitive flesh, and you moaned deeply. It was simply too much. With the man pounding into your abused hole, your muscles clenching lazily around him now, the plug in your butt nudging from the other side, adding more pressure, and the girls on your tits, you felt yourself slipping, eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open, ecstasy etched onto your tired features.

You could have let go then, feeling content, but it was as if the people around you could see the way you gave in, as they changed their paces rapidly. The man's thrusts got rougher, quicker, deep stabs straight against your bruised cervix, while you could feel teeth teasing and nibbling and actually biting your skin, working bruises into it, marks that sent jolts of electricity through your system. You moaned louder, arching your back, hips stuttering, and before you knew it, you came hard around the man's cock, your juices spraying out of you without restraint as you cried out and spasmed, unable to ground yourself, held down and in place by the girls suckling on your tender breasts.

“Tsk,” made the man, his voice rough and hoarse from exertion. He kept pounding into you, even more brutal now, prolonging the feeling of pure bliss until it turned into pain again. “Did you just come without permission? Doll, that's not how this works.”

Through your haze you felt confusion. He never told you to come before, always let your body take over, how were you supposed to hold that in when he kept bullying all your sensitive spots? When the girls kept stimulating you with their eager mouths suctioned to your nipples like leeches? You grunted in dismay, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, your stomach tense as he pushed you closer to the edge all over again. There was no way you could stop the orgasm from spilling over you.

And you needed it. Among all the things he forced upon you, from the anal hook to the fucking machine, to this, you needed to feel good, otherwise you would break and never return, you just knew it. And you didn't want to break, become a soulless slave bending to her master's will, let him do whatever to you, no. And you fought, jerked your hips against his, met his motions, and he only rutted into you faster, harder, deeper, grunting and growling above you, his hands tight around your leg, leaving bruises.

But before you could reach the desired high, he suddenly pulled out, and you groaned in pain at the sudden loss. The girls drew back too, leaving your chest covered in hickeys and bite marks and saliva. You looked up at the man towering over you, who was panting slightly, shoulders tight, tall and intimidating, before he grabbed your hips and manhandled you onto your stomach again. You yelped, and even more so when he ripped the plug out of your puckered hole, the sudden stretch to it burning badly, sending a new batch of hot tears into your eyes.

You were prone on the bed, his big hand on your folded arms pressing you into the soft mattress. The girls were gone, the loss of their added stimulation ripping a hole into your stomach. A whine escaped you as he sat down on your thighs, holding you in place with his weight, before you felt his hands kneading your tender ass cheeks, groping and pulling, opening you up, until his hard, hot cock pressed against your sphincter, bullying it to give way. The friction was horrible, you knew he went in raw, there was no preparation, no lube except your own juices, the stretch of the plug long forgotten by your tense muscles.

A scream ripped from your throat when he rolled his hips into you in one swift thrust, forcing his way deeper into your ass until all of him was inside of you. All you could do was sob, unable to move, unable to find any other kind of relief, the orgasm that had been so close long deflated inside you, fizzled away and overridden by nothing but burning pain.

He shifted on top of you, putting more weight onto your small body, and you were glad about the soft bed, the bounce of the mattress, but it wasn't enough to alleviate the scorching sensation when he started moving within you. Somehow this position was worse than when he had taken your ass on the bench that hadn't been as forgiving, but the way he moved, with your legs closed and your muscles extra tight, it hurt so bad. He seemed to carve his way into your body, invading a passage that shouldn't be open to him, and yet he took it, pushed and pulled, hips slamming against your cushioned but bruised rear, in and out, always as deep as possible with his balls slapping against your quivering thighs.

But he wasn't rocking your body, instead he kept it still and in place, his hands on your hips, pressing down hard, not allowing you to move to get the slightest of friction to your clit. You were immobile on the bed as he pounded into your ass, chasing his own orgasm that seemed to be on the far horizon. It went on and on, in and out, deep and hard, stab after stab against tense muscles that clenched harder with every brutal plunge.

You were whimpering quietly, your voice too strained to produce any louder noises, while tears clouded your vision. Teetering on the edge, but not of pleasure, you succumbed to his assault, hoping to become numb to it soon, but no such luck. Your senses were kept alert, either by a slight change of angle, or a switch to a slower pace, or when he moved his hands along your body, from gripping your hips to curling his fingers around your shoulders, or grabbing your nape and pressing you into the pillow.

The bed bounced and creaked under the strain of his big body squishing yours, of his cock forcing its way into you over and over again, and you felt your mind swimming, a strange kind of vertigo crashing through your senses. You felt sick, nauseous, that constant plunge into your guts a horrible sensation, and when you thought you'd have to throw up as your stomach tensed, he was digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips and stilled deep inside you, before he grunted and groaned as he emptied himself into your abused depths.

You felt the hot ropes of cum painting your insides, filling you up, you could almost taste it, or maybe it was just bile and the memory of his spend in your throat, you couldn't be sure. Your head was throbbing and spinning, your eyelids heavy but somehow you weren't able to close them, stared ahead blankly, drool pooling beneath your cheek on the pillow. Your body was trembling, cold shivers crashing through you when he moved back, slipping out of you, and your hole gaped and clenched hopelessly, his warm seed seeping out in thick globs.

Exhaustion washed over you, like a dark sheet covering your soiled body, hiding you from the abusive world (and people) around you.

Chapter 2+3 🔻 Chapter 4 🔺 Chapter 5+6

End notes: I realize our guy sounds a bit cultish here ("welcome to the flock"), but I promise you this is not a cult, he's just a fucked-up man, a collector if you will. More "plot" is coming soon!

New chapter every Saturday at around 9pm CEST!

Thank you for braving this depravity reading!

MASTERLIST 🔻 AO3 🔻 ORIGINAL WORKS

[animasola86]

🚩 FORCED: 02+03

After "agreeing" to an "offer" you couldn't refuse, you wake up in quite the predicament, bound and gagged and blindfolded, with a lot more surprises waiting for you.

a morally gray man!your new master ✖️ female!reader

WARNING: This is a DARK FANTASY EROTICA! Beware of the following tags: Dead dove: do not eat! Explicit sexual content! Noncon! Master/servant dynamic! Bad BDSM etiquette! Predicament bondage! Gags/blindfolds/anal hook! Oral sex! Anal sex! Hurt/No comfort! Fucking machine! Double penetration! Forced orgasms! Squirting! Overstimulation! (🚩Please do not read/engage if any of these tags are triggering to you!)

WORDS: 4k 🚩 READ ON AO3!

A/N: Have the short version of my lengthy notes from chapter 1: This is dark and rough and basically a dumping ground for the most depraved kinks I could think of. Mind the tags!

And speaking of tags, yes, this is again tagged for various fandoms, even though this is not about your favorite blorbo. This is an original, "make the male lead your own blorbo" kind of story. It's also more focused on the Reader character in these chapters (who, by the way, has female genitalia and hair long enough to braid and is referred to as Doll).

For more information, check the Author's Notes on chapter 1.

Also: these are two chapters put into one post because they were so short (I uploaded them individually to AO3 though). But they are no less intense. Be warned!

Chapter 1 🔻 Chapter 2+3 🔺 Chapter 4

You woke up with a deep gasp, your body resuming the frantic attempt to get air into your lungs. Your jaw was aching, and you realized your mouth was open, a steady stream of drool dripping down your lips and your chin, gathering in a puddle beneath your head. There was something holding your lips apart, something rigid, hard, tasting of cold metal and earthy leather. Your tongue could move freely, tracing the contraption with a morbid fascination. You tried to swallow all the spit pooling in your mouth, but it hurt until you figured out to press your tongue against your gums.

Panic flooded you nonetheless as more of your body resumed its functions. You realized you were lying on your stomach, bent slightly, with your ass raised, and your head turned to the side, resting on something soft but cold, more leather, you assumed. It was dark, and it wasn't that there wasn't any light, it was something covering your eyes. A blindfold, and you felt it bound together behind your head, along with that thing that held your mouth open. Your hair seemed to be pulled back into a braid, the fray ends tickled between your shoulder blades. Of course you were still naked.

You tried moving your arms, but found yourself unable to. They were hanging off the edge of whatever furniture you were lying on, straight down, and when you moved your fingers, they brushed against something solid, and it felt as if you were held down by thick leather straps, making it impossible to move. The same was happening to your legs. Additionally, they were spread far apart, and you could feel the cool air of the room on your warm sex, exposed and vulnerable as it was.

Another flood of ice cold panic crashed through you, and you squirmed, urged out words that couldn't form with how your mouth was held open, thrashing your head, and it was then that you felt the painful sting. Freezing mid-motion, you let out a whimper when you realized there was something attached to your hair, to the end of your braid, and whenever you moved your head, that something pulled taut and made something else press hard against your insides, forcing your tight muscles apart.

You saw the hook-like metal thing before your eyes, lying on the soft velvet, with its ball-shaped bumps, and now you could feel it inside your ass, deep inside you, cold and heavy and hard, held in place by a rope attached to your braid. A fucking anal hook. You groaned, or tried to, stiffening to not cause yourself any more discomfort. It felt weird, especially since you'd never had anything up your butt before. It was wrong, and the way it was connected to your head, moving whenever you moved, made you feel sick to your already cramping stomach.

But it gave you enough leeway to rest your cheek on the soft leather, if you bent your neck just right. Breathing harder, trying to ignore the drool gathering on your tongue and pooling beneath you, you forced yourself to think through the panic clouding your mind. You were trapped, strapped to a table or bench or whatever sick kind of contraption. You were naked, spread wide open, impaled by a metal hook, gagged and blindfolded, and despite trying to see a silver lining or any possibility of escape, you couldn't find it. There was no way you could escape from this.

And now you were crying on top of anything else, big fat tears soaking into your blindfold until they were rolling down your face, dripping into your open mouth, burning on your hot skin, your throat closed up, your nose felt stuffed, it was harder and harder to breathe. This was hopeless! What did you do to deserve this? Hiccups shook your bound body, letting the hook dance in your ass, and you whined and wailed, spiraling deeper and deeper into the bottomless pit that your life had turned into.

In the midst of your despair, you suddenly heard footsteps, and the noise made you pause mid-sob, your heart racing and echoing loud in your ears. Fingertips traced along your hips, making you shiver, before you felt them lifting your head up by pulling on your braid. Breathing harder, face soaked in tears and sweat, snot and drool, your neck was angled up slightly, a strange pressure on your scalp as the rope connecting your hair to the hook in your ass was pulled tighter, and when the hands retreated, you found yourself stuck in that position, unable to move your head, and as you tried nonetheless, the thing in your ass moved, hard and unrelenting, pulling on your tense muscles.

You whined softly, trying to swallow the saliva that now pooled on your tongue. The hands were back on your shoulders, circling your face, holding your chin, wiping at the wet mess on your skin. A finger pushed into your mouth, right onto your tongue, and you flinched away, causing you to pull on the hook, coaxing another whimper out of your throat. One finger became two, and both digits moved in and out of your open mouth, slipping deeper, teasing at the back of your throat. And you couldn't move away without hurting yourself, so you held your breath, squeezing your eyes shut under the blindfold, and endured.

Or tried to, before the fingers made you gag violently as they pressed deeper into your throat. Your whole body jerked against your restraints, the hook in your ass pressing against your tight muscles, pulling at your hole, and you felt it clenching around the metal item, trying to get to terms with it. The fingers continued to probe at your throat, and you wanted to close your mouth, bite down on them, but the gag holding your jaw open kept you from doing anything. You were utterly helpless.

New tears burned under your eyelids, muffled gurgling sounds erupting from deep within you. Then the fingers were gone again, and you wanted to take a much needed breath, only to find yourself stuffed with something else. Bigger than fingers, wider and hotter, longer too as it pushed straight into your mouth, right against the back of your throat, something pulsing against your tongue, soft skin with a hardened core, and as hard as it was, it kept pushing, nudging, prodding, until you had to gag again, spit filling your mouth, when the spongy tip forced deeper into your throat.

Your head was spinning, empty and full at the same time, there was no coherent thought, just an overall panic, a need to breathe, and you got only granted a few seconds before it all happened again. In and out it went, and you knew by now it must have been a cock even though you can barely remember the last time you had one in your mouth (due to you only letting go when drunk), especially not one this big, the way it felt on your tongue, warm and throbbing, hard and also slightly soft, filling your mouth, bending, molding into the shape of your throat as it fucked your face over and over again, always pushing deep, making you gag with every attempt, until you felt too drowsy to fight the intrusion any longer.

There was a hand under your chin now, holding your head up as it got too heavy and you threatened to rip your hair out with how it pulled at the hook in your ass, but the motion continued, in and out, using your mouth like a hole whose only purpose was to be used like that. It wasn't a mouth, just a hole, with a tightly contracting throat squeezing the thing slipping into it time and time again, bulging your neck, finding space where there shouldn't be any. You felt sick, but too tired to retch any more, drool and something warm and sticky dripping from your chin, obscene gurgling and squelching sounds filling your ears.

The movements became quicker then, the hand slipped lower to grab at your throat, tightening your airways even more whenever the cock slipped particularly deep. Rough hairs tickled your nose and something firm and equally squishy pressed against your chin. Fingers squeezed your neck, squeezed around the cock in your throat, held tightly, and you couldn't do anything, couldn't fight the black spots dancing in front of your already obstructed vision, couldn't fight the urge to breathe, the vertigo, the panic, the fear.

Before you could fall over the edge into blissful nothingness, or so you hoped, you were released, and something hot and sticky hit your face, landed deep in your mouth, salty to the taste, piling up more and more, and you were too delirious to swallow, you just wanted to let it drip – if it wasn't for the hand pressed to your open mouth.

“Swallow,” came the low command, hoarse and demanding, and you let out a strangled whimper before you pressed your laden tongue to your gums and swallowed, feeling it slide down your hurting throat, the motion only adding to the overall pain you felt.

Your head was still held up by the rope connecting it to the hook, and when the hands fell away, you whined, wanting nothing more than to lie down fully and preferably just die, but then you felt the pressure easing on your braid, and without warning your head smacked down on the leather surface you were bound to, a groan escaped you, stars dancing behind your eyelids.

It numbed the pain that was now centering on your ass as the same hands that almost choked you were now playing with the metal hook, pushing it in and out, teasing your tense muscles, and it got worse when they pulled it out, slowly, so excruciatingly slow you could feel every single bump passing by your tight rim, until it was gone, leaving you aching and gaping.

For a few minutes nothing happened. You had time to relax, breathe deeply, try to ignore the soreness in your throat, and as you fought the vertigo overtaking you, you felt something nudging against your sphincter. A muffled cry escaped you, and you squirmed, pushing against your restraints as something warm and wet pushed into you. Slow little nudges, forcing your muscles away, and when it slipped in, you wailed soundlessly.

It was so much bigger than the hook, not as hard and rigid, but filling you out even more as it prodded deeper and deeper, with slow snaps of hips pressing against your rear. A sudden slap on one of your ass cheeks made you jump, a new kind of pain crashing through you, then it happened again, on the same spot, and you howled breathlessly, and the cock pressed deeper while your muscles protested, but to no avail. You were full of it now as it bottomed out, resting deep within you, before two strong hands gripped your hips, and the pressure loosened slightly when he drew back – only to slam into you again with even more force.

It was a sickening rhythm of drag, slam, whine, as he pulled out slowly, ramming back in, causing you to wail every time he seemed to rearrange your guts. Lewd slurping noises echoed in your ears as your ass grew more and more accustomed to the strange intruder, the friction was still bad, a horrible burning sensation as the cock dragged along your tense muscles, but the motion became easier to handle the faster it got.

You felt every hard thrust, and with your body strapped to whatever surface you were bound to, held in place by tight leather straps cutting into your skin, you couldn't move away, you could just take it. And take it again and again and again... until you thought you couldn't take any more, but he still gave you more, a fast rutting, a heavy pounding, slaps and stabs, bullying your muscles, pushing deep, stretching your limits, occupying every single inch of available space and beyond.

It was almost a relief when he finally stilled inside you and came, shooting thick ropes of cum into your abused depths, a strange warmth that eased the aching of your insides at least a little bit. But when he pulled out, the resulting emptiness was even worse. Cold air hit exposed flesh, making you shiver, your hole clenching in vain as his seed started dripping down your skin. You felt it and you still tasted it on your tongue, it was all around you, warm and sticky, degrading and humiliating, and you succumbed to the cold feeling of disgust, of fear and pain, of helplessness, of defeat.

Sobbing quietly, you were left alone, in the darkness, in the void of your own misery.

[READ ON AO3]

You must have fallen asleep again, because when you woke up, you were in a new position, lying on your back, legs raised and spread far apart, held in place by a new set of thick leather bands. And this time, you could see (and you almost wished you didn't), your frantic eyes searched the dark room you were in, you could make out shapes of benches and chairs, but nothing more. The light came from somewhere behind you, but you couldn't stretch your neck to be able to see it. You could barely lift your head to begin with.

There was another kind of gag in your mouth, a ball this time, something to bite down on if need be, and need was certainly there. Your arms were bound together somewhere above your head, wrists tied with thick ropes, your fingers tingling from how tight the ropes dug into your skin, slowly cutting off your circulation. Something was holding your arms up, like a metal hook that wasn't in your ass this time. There was something else in there now, you could feel it before you could see it, along with something similar poking into your cunt: two large dildos attached to some sort of machine prodded at your holes, just resting there, the tips barely penetrating you, but you were already fearing for the worst, your heart beat accelerating as you stared down between your spread legs.

They looked big and girthy, cock-like in a horrifying way, and you could already imagine the stretch and how deep they would plunge. Shuddering badly, your breaths turning into frantic little puffs that barely made it out of your nose, you watched your chest rising and falling faster, your heart thundering beyond, panic settling back into your restrained limbs.

The light got more for a moment before a large shadow fell over you. You stiffened, eyes widening, breath hitching. The man walked by, still in the fancy suit you'd first seen him in, completely ignoring you, then stepped to the machine between your legs. He didn't even look at you when he pressed a button and a whirring sound echoed through the room, followed by the rhythmic noise of the dildos pressing back and forth, and you gasped into your gag, straining and struggling, fruitlessly trying to get your hips away as the phallic items alternated between poking into your ass and poking into your pussy. In and out, a sickeningly slow rhythm, stretching you relentlessly.

The man pressed a few more buttons and the motions grew quicker, the whirring sounds louder, and the in and out got all the worse. They plunged deeper, their force relentless, poking at your soft flesh, at your tense muscles, forcing their way into you, while you wailed soundlessly, your muffled noises barely audible over the sounds of the machine. The constant in and out, drag, push, drag push, dragpush, one going into your cunt and the other moving out of your ass, out of your cunt and into your ass, back and forth, over and over again, in speeds that weren't normal, had your mind spinning and caused your stomach to tense up something awful.

A strange warmth built up inside you, filling you, expanding, urging to be released, and you groaned, squirming as best as you could with how you were bound to the bench, but you couldn't even lift your hips properly with that leather strap pushing down on your abdomen, couldn't escape even if you wanted to. And eventually, you didn't even want to. You wanted more. For them to move faster, hit different spots, drive you over the edge, but they kept their lazy rhythm, in, out, and there was no other stimulation.

Your eyes were unfocused but you still tried to throw a pleading look towards the man who stood beside you, watching you with an impassive gaze. A garbled noise escaped you that should have been a please, but of course nothing came past the gag in your mouth. Besides more drool. He moved then, and you wished he didn't after all. The dildos moved faster, no longer alternating, but pushing in at the same time, in, in, out, out, so fast the whirring noises were deafening.

You screamed through your gag, eyes rolling back, as they plunged deep and pulled and stretched your muscles, invading further than before, further than they should reach. You felt awfully full, and hot, your whole body covered in a fine sheen of sweat, as your heart beat faster and your breaths came through your nose in frantic desperation. It was all too much, and not enough at the same time. The machine pounded into you, unrelenting, unaware of your discomfort, programmed to push and pull.

Hot tears mixed with sweat and saliva as you cried helplessly, your stomach tensing even more, the heat burning within you almost unbearable. And then there was a click, and it got even worse. They moved faster, really pistoning in and out at an inhuman speed, attacking your holes with full force. Muffled screams and whines and whimpers echoed through the room, barely audible over the machine's loud whirring.

They stabbed you, and they stabbed you deep, the one in your cunt prodding at your cervix, and each time it did, which was every second or quicker it seemed, you shuddered and cried out, and that strange pain slowly turned into something else. The warmth built up, that coil in your stomach wrought so tight it was almost breaking, and then... it broke, and everything else broke loose too, and you came hard.

Your body spasmed and convulsed in its restraints, something warm and wet sprayed past the intruders, splattering to the floor, and you kept trembling, head thrashed back, mind empty and full of cotton at the same time, a million little lights dancing behind your eyelids. The machine kept going, the dildos held their insanely fast pace, loud squelching sounds mixing with the mechanical whirring, and you felt that tension building up again... and again... and you came once more, overwhelmed and unable to stop it.

You stopped counting after the fifth time it forced you to orgasm, and you were exhausted, barely able to breathe, barely able to function. You were just a body strapped to a bench with your legs held up in strange stirrups, your arms tied above your head, and a fucking machine assaulting your holes without mercy. It hurt so bad, you were sore and tired, but the spasms kept coming, and you kept coming, and you were so close to just give in, so close to the edge of the void that promised to swallow you whole.

But then it all stopped, and an eerie silence fell over you. It was just your frantic breaths, the drumming of your heart in your ears, the squeaking of the bench whenever you jerked involuntarily against your bounds. And the dildos rested inside you, all the way in, filling you, keeping you plugged up, holding you in place. You couldn't move, couldn't think. It doesn't matter. It's over. And you calmed down, head lolled to the side, eyelids fluttering shut.

A hand moved along your neck, fingers pressing against your pulse point, then came a little grunt, and a palm slapping hard against your cheek causing you to whine out loud, your eyes flying open. The man stood over you, his gaze dark.

“You are not done yet,” he told you ominously, and you frowned, trying to plead with him, but he retreated and walked back to the machine.

You couldn't fully see what he was doing, but he somehow added something to it, another arm with some sort of attachment, and you gasped into your gag when you felt it. A constant buzzing, pressed straight to your swollen clit. He clicked some more buttons and the vibrations grew in intensity, making you thrash your head and pull on the bounds of your arms, which in turn seemed to pull you further up the bench. But the strap around your stomach kept your body from moving, so you just stretched your torso, and your joints started hurting. It felt as if your shoulders would be ripped right out of their sockets, and you whined, stopped moving, tried to anyway.

“Stay still,” his low voice came to you, barely audible over the humming of the vibrator and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You sniffled, new tears spilling from your lashes, your nose clogging up badly. You could barely breathe, your lips fluttering around the ball in your mouth, jaw aching under the strain to open further, but the item between your teeth was too big to allow for air to rush past it. Your eyes widened in panic as you realized that.

He sighed, shaking his head, then fumbled with the leather strap holding the gag in place. To your growing surprise, he actually removed it, though he kept his hand like a vice on your jaw, staring down at you. You blinked, a gurgled wail escaping you. He reached for something under the bench, and a pathetic whimper slipped from your swollen lips. It was the ring gag again.

He forced the metal ring between your teeth and attached it to your head, and even though you could breathe through your mouth now, it didn't stop the drool from dripping down your chin. Turning your head to the side, he patted your cheek before stepping back. You inhaled sharply, rapid breaths to fill your aching lungs, snot and saliva mixing with your tears and sweat. You felt miserable, but never bad enough to be able to ignore the buzzing against your clit. It made your vision blur, your stomach tense up all over again, and it got even worse when he turned the machine back on.

Now it was moving in its lazy rhythm, alternating again, never leaving you empty as the dildos pushed first into your cunt and then into your ass, cunt, ass, in, out, slow and steady, with their tips always holding you open.It would have been lulling if the stimulation of your sensitive nub wouldn't still be on the forefront of your mind. It kept you alert, balancing on the edge, always too much, but also never enough. You squirmed, tried to get more out of it, but it only earned you another slap to the cheek, which was burning, pulsing heavily against the leather strap of the gag.

You sniffled, squeezing your eyes shut against the pain that slowly bled into the overwhelming pleasure building up inside you. A click and the machine moved faster while the vibrator toned down, and you whined pathetically. So close. Another kind of vibration buzzed in the air, and you saw him pulling his phone out of his suit jacket. Your mind was too clouded to understand anything, but when he walked closer to you, his hand warm and big on your jaw, you blinked into attention.

“I gotta go for a bit, doll,” he told you, and your eyes widened as you struggled frantically in your restraints. “Don't worry, I'll leave the machines on. Just for you. See you soon.”

And then he just left, and you were alone with the two large dildos fucking your holes and the vibrator thrumming against your clit, hopeless and helpless, forced to endure. Overwhelmed and exhausted, covered in sweat and tears, snot and drool, and your own juices dripping down your ass. You tried to relax into the motions, but you never could, you remained on edge, so close, but never enough.

This time, the pleasure built up slowly, just a warmth within you, with your muscles contracting lazily, your stomach tensing, thrust after thrust, buzz after buzz, and it still felt like being thrown before a bus when you tipped over the edge. Your cries were muffled, tears spilling from your eyes as you squeezed them shut, that wave of bliss pulling and pulling you up up up, the constant movement of the toys pulling you down down down, and you were tossed around like a leaf in the storm, suffocating, drowning, pulled under.

There was no end or beginning anymore, it was all the same, too much for your spasming body, your twitching limbs, your curling toes, stomach fluttering, cunt clenching, ass tightening, while the dildos pushed in and out, in and out, over and over again, keeping you afloat, fueled by the humming of the vibrator, your clit throbbing, swollen and raw, too sensitive to handle anything anymore.

Eventually, fortunately, the room fell into darkness, but the whirring of the machine followed you into the depth.

Chapter 1 🔻 Chapter 2+3 🔺 Chapter 4

End notes: Aaaand she fainted again, the poor thing. Have I mentioned this story is dark and depraved and has no comfort? Sorry, I did warn you. And it'll only get worse from here...

New chapter every Saturday at around 9pm CEST!

Thank you for braving this depravity reading!

MASTERLIST 🔻 AO3 🔻 ORIGINAL WORKS

[animasola86]

🚩 FORCED: 01

Accidents happen. Mistakes were made, and while you hoped the handsome stranger would help you through your dilemma, you ended up in his service, paying off a debt that would have changed your life for the worse if you wouldn't have "accepted" his "offer". Unfortunately, your life is still about to change, if you want to or not, and it's not getting any better...

a morally gray man!your new master ✖️ female!reader

WARNING: This is a DARK FANTASY EROTICA! Beware of the following tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat! Explicit sexual content! Noncon! Master/servant dynamic! Bad BDSM etiquette! Manipulation! Free use! Hurt/No Comfort! (🚩Please do not read/engage if any of these tags are triggering to you!)

WORDS: 3.1k 🚩 READ ON AO3!

A/N: Before I further warn you about the following depravities, let me address the elephant in the room: Yes, this is tagged with various fandom tags, no, this is not about your favorite blorbo, BUT I wrote a very ambiguous male character here, no descriptions, no name, so I invite you to fill in the blanks and MAKE him your favorite blorbo, call him Joel, call him Tony, call him Dean, whatever you want, imagine him as your favorite character, he can be ANYONE who's tall, (subjectively) handsome, rich, slightly intimidating, morally gray, and who would consider himself a Master.

Our Reader character is very ambiguous too, all I "blessed" her with, is hair long enough to braid and female genitalia. As I usually do, I tend to give my vague female characters pet names, and hers is Doll.

Now back to the warnings. I hope you considered the warnings I already gave above, so just know that this story is very dark, there's no comfort, it's rough, it's depraved, it's a collection of the darkest kinks I could think of (even those I told myself to never explore). Sometimes you just need to write (and read?) something that makes you highly uncomfortable, and maybe, through that discomfort you'll discover something about yourself. There is pleasure through pain after all, right?

So if you want to follow me on this wild, wild ride and are not afraid to face some dark themes, I welcome you and I thank you for reading these long notes before you dove into the thick of it. Please enjoy my darkest story yet!

And remember: This is fiction!!!

🔻 Chapter 1 🔺 Chapter 2+3

Not that it mattered in the moment, but if you could have formed a coherent thought, you'd wonder how you'd ended up like this: strapped to something one can only call a medieval torture device, wearing a blindfold and a ring gag, completely helpless, while getting a very unrelenting ass pounding.

It certainly wasn't something you'd planned.

The memory was hazy, but it had something to do with driving your rusty old hunk of metal of a car into the rear end of a shiny new, very expensive looking sports car. You'd been quite tipsy and shouldn't have gotten behind the wheel in the first place, but it happened, and while nobody got hurt (yet), you had been devastated.

Your options were slim. You knew your insurance couldn't do jack, you'd have to pay for the repairs yourself (because it was so obviously your fault), and on top of that you'd been (very) drunk, and if the police got involved, you'd lose your driver's license, which would ruin you further. No means to get to your job, you'd lose that too. And where were you supposed to get the money from then? Definitely not out of your starving bank account.

It was a spiral of doom, and it all led you to fall onto your knees, overdramatic as you were in your headless, drunken state, and you were begging. The man who had exited the sports car watched you curiously. He wasn't even angry, maybe mildly inconvenienced, but when you started pleading, his demeanor changed. There was a dark smirk on his handsome face.

Because, of course, you had to rear-end the car of the most gorgeous man you'd ever seen. On top of the dizzying sensation of numerous cocktails (and countless shots and in-between beers) swimming through your system and the overwhelming guilt of causing an accident, you felt a strange and very inopportune warmth between your thighs.

He was hot, and you were hot for him, and it only made it worse to be on your knees in front of him, telling him I'll do anything, please, no police, it'll be my ruin, I can't afford the repairs but I wanna do something to help, make this better, please...

He'd taken a step closer, his hand moving towards your tear soaked face. You must have looked terrible, blotchy reddened skin, make-up smeared, mascara running down your cheeks in ugly rivulets, but he still cupped your burning face, thumb tracing the shape of your trembling bottom lip.

“You'd do anything, doll?” he asked, and you didn't even mind the pet name you would normally cringe about (or the inappropriate touch or the strange undertone), his voice was just so low, soft and deep, a gentle rumble in the air, very distracting.

You nodded into his hand, whimpering a breathless “Yes, sir”.

A smile made his lips twitch. “You know,” he said, caressing your face, fingertips brushing your unruly hair behind your ear. “It so happens that I need a new servant,” he continued, and you stared at him, mesmerized and confused. “You could pay off your debt while working for me.”

His suggestion made you blink, your mind too clouded to fully comprehend it, but you nodded again, a shaky smile playing around your lips. “Yes. Yes, I could. I would, I mean, I will! I'll do anything,” you repeated, leaning your head into his palm.

“Get up,” he ordered, and you stood immediately, albeit on trembling legs, having to look up at the tall man who still held your face. His other hand slipped into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve his phone.

You were staring at him, dumbstruck, desperate, drunk, watching him dial some number, then giving a bunch of orders. You barely registered any of it, too intoxicated (infatuated?) and shocked, too busy thinking about your spiraling life, you just heard something about a tow truck and some garage, and when he was finished, he winked at you, slowly guiding you to the passenger side of his car, his hand warm on your lower back.

While your car seemed damaged beyond repair with how the hood had been crushed into an accordion shape, there was a deep scratch in the probably very expensive matte black paint of his bumper, a few dents, a broken tail light, but nothing that kept his car from driving.

Not that you noticed too much of it as he ushered you onto the soft leather seat. He even leaned over you and buckled you in, and you were mind-blown, mind basically shattered at this point, too enamored to think any further than the tip of your nose, too distracted to realize you'd left your purse in the glove compartment of your car.

Not that it would matter.

The man slipped behind the wheel, his eyes holding you hostage while you both waited for the tow truck. There might have been small talk, but you couldn't remember, the world was muffled at that point, your head spinning, your tongue too heavy to move. Once those flashing lights that weren't from any police car flickered across the dark parking lot, the man drove off with a roar of the engine, quickly speeding away from the scene of your demise.

Demise? Again, you couldn't make that connection, not in that moment, all you felt was a strange relief. He took care of the car, he'd take care of you too, right? You'd work for him, pay off your debt, keep living your boring little life once it was all done.

It was all a blur when the car arrived at one of those fancy metal gates, and the house that loomed behind them was too massive to comprehend. You were floating, still too drunk to properly function or think a single rational thought. Doesn't matter. It'll be alright.

You remember stepping into a large foyer, eyes too unfocused to take in all the splendor around you. He grabbed your wrist then and pulled you after him into an office where you fell into a soft chair. The rustling of paper made you curious, but when you looked down at the stack he'd put down in front of you, you frowned.

“Just to make this legal,” he said in that honey sweet baritone voice of his that melted your panties right off. “You'll sign this and you'll become a part of this household, as you'll serve me in whatever way I see fit. We'll find a place for you. You'll get your own room, you'll always be fed, and I'm sure you can handle whatever needs to be done, right? Consider your debt paid off, doll.”

As confused as you were, you were also too grateful for this turn of events. Stumbling out of a bar after a night of too much alcohol to try to forget your shitty little life, drunk driving into this man's car to end up working for him, living in his special mansion? Why not? Sounds reasonable. Sounds better than having to return to your small apartment that still reeked of the previous tenant's love for garlic.

It didn't even matter that he never told you who he was, that you didn't exchange any names to begin with. Who is he? Doesn't matter. He seemed wealthy, influential, generous in his offer to let you do this instead of ruining your life by insisting to do it the official way. He was offering you redemption, and you'd be very stupid to deny it. It'll be alright. No need to read the long text in front of you either, not that you could focus on a single word anyway. It'll be fine. You'll be a maid, probably, you can do that. Dust and clean or whatever, easy.

And so you grabbed the pen he was holding out to you and left the strange squiggle of your signature on the lines he marked for you, not even wondering why he'd have this contract ready to sign so quickly. Does this happen often? Doesn't matter.

Your head was spinning, and the way he smiled at you didn't make it better. You found yourself smiling back, somewhat dumbly, too buzzed to react any differently. You felt sleepy too, a strange mix of nerves and utter exhaustion, and you barely noticed when he stood next to you all of a sudden, gently grabbing your elbow to pull you to your feet.

Then you were walking with him, to an elevator, and it was going down, and your stomach jumped to the ceiling, nausea grabbing you tightly. The cubicle stopped with a sudden jerk, the doors slid open with a ding, and he kept dragging you along, through a dimly lit corridor lined with doors. You felt lightheaded now, on the verge of throwing up all the sugary drinks you'd consumed earlier, but he didn't stop, didn't give your body a second to rest before you reached the end of the hallway.

He opened the nearest door with something like a key card and gently pushed you into the room beyond. You stumbled, turned to look at him, but he was already closing the door behind you, shutting you in. You blinked, confusion mixing with the vertigo gripping your body, and the small noise of a lock clicking into place got lost when you started retching.

You somehow made it into the small room to your left that held a toilet and a sink, and found yourself hugging the bowl as you emptied your stomach into it. You were still dizzy when your body decided it was enough, and after a long moment of just sitting on the tiled floor, trying to catch your breath, you managed to stand up and lean over the sink. No mirror. Strange.

The light coming from a single bulb dangling from the ceiling hurt your eyes, so you didn't pay too much attention to the unusually spartan light fixture. You washed your hands, then your face, then washed your mouth out. There was a small shelf to the side, holding a prepackaged toothbrush and some tooth paste, and you ripped it open with shaking hands and brushed the vile taste off your tongue.

Feeling only slightly better, you went back into the room, finding nothing but a bed. Not even a bedside table. Just a bed, and it wasn't as comfortable or big looking as you would have expected in a mansion this large and luxurious. It still served a purpose, and you fell onto it and curled up, too exhausted to think any more about what happened. Or what might await you.

Doesn't matter.

With your head spinning and the room spinning along, you fell asleep to dreams of more spinning, of cars and handsome men, flashing lights, hands on your face, hands on your hips, hands pulling off your clothes, fingers pinching your nipples, fingers dipping between your shamefully wet folds, of moans and grunts echoing through a small room, and it was still spinning, and the bed was shaking and squeaking, and you were moved and handled, and when you woke up even more exhausted, you found yourself lying on your stomach, cheek resting on a wet spot where your drool had gathered on the pillow.

You rolled onto your side, feeling a strange soreness deep within you. There was something sticky between your thighs, and you blamed it all on drinking too much, having strange wet dreams, pushing yourself too far. Stumbling off the bed, you groaned, pressing a hand to your stomach as a deep-rooted pain poked at your insides. You didn't even notice that you were stark naked at first. Slowly, you made your way into the bathroom, sat on the toilet for what felt like forever, a strange burning sensation assaulting your senses.

Your head was heavy, hurting, full of cotton that pressed hard against your skull, threatening to break through. Not sure cotton can do that. You brushed your teeth again, blinking at the empty spot where you'd expect a mirror on the wall. It took you a very long time to finally put all the pieces together, or at least some of them.

Your clothes were gone. You were naked, aching, had to clean off a strange stickiness from between your legs, your insides hurt in a way you never experienced before, and sitting was very uncomfortable somehow too. Last night was a blur, but you remembered the accident, the man, signing a contract, paying off your debt by... by doing what? Being a servant? That's what he'd said, right? What kind of servant? you wondered as you sat on the edge of the bed, breathing harder as you tried to make sense of it all.

The room alone was strange. The only light came from the (doorless) bathroom, from that grimly looking light bulb swinging softly from the ceiling. There were no windows, just the bed and the door, a sturdy looking door without a knob or handle, just a key pad to the side. What is this place? A cell of some sort? Why were you here? Why were you naked? Where did your clothes go? Who had taken them? Who had been here? What had happened to you?

Caught in your own mind, you grabbed the sheets and draped them around your bare body. You weren't cold, but it felt better to cover up like this. If you wouldn't have to fight the aftermath of a night full of flowery drinks and gut-punching shots, you would certainly panic, start pacing, try to find a way out. But you were hurting, from the top of your head down into your toes, all nerve endings on edge, and the pain was that all-consuming thing around you, allowing not a single rational thought, just an overall feeling of uneasiness.

You didn't know how long you just sat there, staring holes into the bland wall, when the door suddenly opened with a click and a hiss. It swung open, and the man from last night entered, greeting you with a smile. You blinked at him, lips trembling, mind reeling.

“Good morning,” he said as he walked in and closed the door behind him. It clicked shut automatically. He was carrying a box in his hands. You remained on the edge of the bed, not daring to move as you watched him put it down next to you, nodding towards it. “I brought you something to wear,” he added nonchalantly.

Still confused but also intrigued, you slid part of the blanket off your shoulder and moved your hand to open the box, hoping for new clothes, maybe a maid's uniform, something that would make sense, but what you saw lying on the soft red velvet lining the insides of the container made your stomach turn violently. You recognized three coils of black rope, but the other item made no sense to you.

It was a metal hook, for lack of a better term, with a loop at one end that was probably for the rope to pass through, but the other side was... it was rounded, elongated, several ball shaped protrusions in a hard line, the metal formed in some sort of arch, giving it the hook-shape.

You swallowed hard, looking up at the man who watched you with dark eyes and an impassive expression, no longer smiling. Looking away more than intimidated, you stared back into the box and noticed a few other things. A thick leather band, like a collar, with a hoop at the back and three little belts in the front, the width of it making you stiffen, your throat already closing up just thinking of having something that big around it. You'd assume that was what it was for anyway.

It was strange how calm you were, how unusually distant. You had so many questions, but you couldn't find the strength to ask them. His presence felt ominous, like you couldn't breathe, oppressive, dominating. You felt small, even smaller than you were, vulnerable without your clothes, trapped in this weird room. And somehow it also made sense. You remembered the things he told you, and all of them seemed true. Having a room, doing what needs to be done, serving him. There were no details, but your mind was reeling with filling the voids.

Servant. Not a maid, but a slave.

Why was this revelation so eerily comforting? It shouldn't be. You should be freaking out, he took you away, forced you to sign a contract (patiently holding the pen, waiting for you, while you made the biggest mistake of your life), expecting you to come to terms with your new role right on the spot – and frankly, you felt yourself accepting it.

You didn't have a choice, did you? You were young and naive, yes, but you knew that contracts held value, and you signed one, you remembered it, not clearly, but it was there, and you did it because you needed to repay your debt, pay for the repair of his car that you were at fault of damaging. It was either this (whatever this was) or dealing with insurance and police and losing your car and your driver's license and your job and all the other things you'd accumulated over the years of independence. It wasn't much, but you didn't want to lose any of it.

And you wouldn't have to work here forever, right? A car repair, a new paint job, wouldn't be costing that much, would it? He'd have to let you go eventually. But you didn't read the contract... Something cold crashed down your spine, making you gasp, finally opening the door to more hysterical breaths, your lungs aching under the need to get enough oxygen to make you fully understand what was going on.

As soon as you started hyperventilating, you found yourself pressed to the bed, a strong hand closing around your throat, further limiting your airways. Your eyes widened as he loomed over you, staring down darkly. “Please,” you croaked out, your hands frantically grasping for his wrist, your body finally remembering it could move.

He shook his head. “You signed a contract. You gave your life to me,” he said quietly, his low voice menacing and dark now. “You want to pay off your debt, don't you, doll?”

You kicked beneath him as he climbed over you, one knee pressed between your legs, hand tightening around your neck. Gasping, thighs trembling as he rubbed the soft fabric of his pants against your aching sex, you opened your mouth, tried to tell him no, not like this, it was a mistake, please, but he only squeezed a little more, fingers pressing into the sides of your throat, black spots dancing in front of your eyes.

The room was spinning again, you felt so heavy, so exhausted, your fingernails scratched over his skin before your hands fell away limply, and then, darkness surrounded you, switching off the screeching voices of panic in your head instantly.

🔻 Chapter 1 🔺 Chapter 2+3

End notes: This was just the introduction, from now on, anything goes, and it goes hard. Stay tuned!

New chapter every Saturday at around 9pm CEST!

Thank you for braving this depravity reading!

MASTERLIST 🔻 AO3 🔻 ORIGINAL WORKS

[animasola86]

missing you queenie are you okay 😭

Thank you for your concern! T_T

I am okay, please do not worry, I'm just (still) taking a social break, if you will? I'll be more active again very soon, I promise! <3

(Read below for a proper update that got a little out of hand :3)

I have one story (aka about 13 chapters) more or less ready to publish (something rather dark, see more info below), while I'm also working on another story that's like the exact opposite theme-wise on the side. Let's just say, writing has been going very well, but (unfortunately?) I had to let a few new ideas out of my brain first before I can focus back on existing stories.

That said, I wanna use this ask to answer a few others too.

(I'm really sorry I couldn't get back to you sooner or answered you individually, just know that even if I don't always reply in time or at all, I always read what you guys send me, and I'm really grateful you're spending your time writing me, so thank you for that, and please don't be discouraged if I don't get back to you! I see you, always! <3)

Innocence Lost is not abandoned, but on hiatus. Someday, I will get back to Ben and Nebbia. Someday. I don't know when (probably when inspiration strikes). So, please stay patient!

Dear @bnnyvrqnor - I was a little taken aback, actually XD Maybe mostly because I'm always surprised when people come forward praising Innocence Lost and wanting more of Ben and Nebbia. Thank you for your interest, it really means a lot! Like I said above, I will get back to them, they still live very lively in my mind, wanting their story to continue too. So hang in there, they'll get their happy ending (or at least a bit more screen time!), soon/eventually. :)

Lost & Found is taking a break, but it will return soon(ish). I have many plans for Mommy, Daddy and Pumpkin, and I will get to them, eventually.

Dear ✨ anon, I've read your ideas and I thank you for sharing them! They will definitely go on my list of possible things the three of them can experience together, the party one and the "pumpkin loves autumn" one. Lots to do with them, and hopefully, my brain lets me write them all down soon! :3

Infatuated will return too, eventually (take a shot every time I say that >_>). Part 2 of Season 3 is in the works, but as I'd like to finish writing the whole thing first, it might take a while for me to upload new chapters. There could be a little intermission chapter, though. Someday. Stay tuned.

Abandoned and Forgetful are both technically finished, but also on hold, the latter I have to say I do lack ideas and motivation to continue, I'm sorry.

The same goes for the promised continuation of my werewolf smut series. But never say never, I could wake up one day and suddenly have the energy to write more for those stories, who knows.

@ ✨ anon again: Thank you for the Interest in Forgetful and the idea about Mistress' life. I have to be honest, I poured all my energy into a different Mistress, into Mommy from Lost & Found, so I feel like all the former Mistresses will inevitably end up similar to her, just like they all came from the same Mistress who I introduced in Infatuated. So, like I said, unless motivation strikes, I don't think I'll venture back into Forgetful's storyline/characters, sorry.

Future projects: (I should have known that you're going to pick up on this, my dear 🥒 :D nothing gets past you! <3) So the story mentioned above (and teased with my latest inspiration pic over on @animasolaoriginal) will be called FORCED!

It'll focus on a Master/pet (slave/servant) dynamic and unlike my other stories, there will be no comfort, no aftercare, just rough sex and the darkest kinks I could think of. I just needed to write something truly dark after sending my other characters into their fluff era, I guess. So that story might not be for everyone, but maybe you will still give it a try once it's out (which could happen this coming Saturday (Friday on AO3)? Maybe?).

(Also thank you for your concern, pickles! <3 Please don't worry about sending too many asks, I always love reading your thoughts and comments and seeing your name pop up! Never stop/change, okay? <3)

I hope this cleared things up a bit. Thank you for reading, thank you for being here (I recently hit a little follower milestone, and while I know most of you prefer to stay in the shadows, I'd like to make sure you know how much I appreciate you all for giving this little blog a chance! Thank you!)

I will be back with more smut stories very soon! Take care everyone!

[animasola86]

I N F A T U A T E D ♦️MASTERLIST

original story ♦️ unnamed characters ♦️ very explicit smut

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

SUMMARY: She is a girl dancing in the club that he owns - and one day, their eyes meet, things unfold and escalate quicker than any of them expected, she specifically. He soon declares her his, and she follows, submissive and infatuated as she is, unaware of the sexual journey she is about to embark on.

GENERAL TAGS/WARNINGS: NSFW! Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use. (More tags at the beginning of each chapter! Read carefully!)

S E A S O N ◾️ O N E (10 chapters/~60k words total)

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

S E A S O N ◾️ T W O (10 chapters/~70k words total)

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

S E A S O N ◾️ T H R E E // P A R T 1 (5 chapters/~30k words total)

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

To be continued!

NOTES: I tagged this Dead Dove: Do No Eat for a reason. Please be aware of the themes mentioned above and at the start of each chapter. This is dark, unhealthy, and frankly very self-indulgent. And fiction, never forget. None of this is real. If you don't like any of these themes, please do yourself a favor and do not read/engage!

On a different note: I kept this purposefully vague when it comes to physical descriptions, so you can imagine any character here, if you like, or keep it neutral and anonymous, it's totally up to you!

READ ON AO3

PINTEREST BOARDS:

darling - sir - sir + darling - sir's penthouse: beautiful (work in progress) boards by the amazing pickles

I N F A T U A T E D: several boards including impressions of Sir, Darling, Sir + Darling, text posts, hands, and scenery, by me

INFATUATED BY CHAPTERS: work in progress of giving each chapter an individual moodboard, also by me

[animasola86]

INFATUATED ♦️ TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

He's given her a special task and agreed to help her through it, in his own way, of course.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Assisted/guided masturbation. Sex toys. Voyeurism? Shady nightclub business. Implied violence. Fluff. Anal sex. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 8.7k

TWENTY-FOUR 🟥 TWENTY-FIVE🟥

He can't believe he let her talk him into this, wrapping him around the same finger that's supposed to sink into her cunt. And to tell her that he cares, that he's asking her to pleasure herself to make it easier for her? The worst thing about it: he may have even meant it, wholeheartedly. What has he become?

At the same time, he doesn't even care that much anymore. Seeing her smile, how her eyes lit up when he agreed to help her, knowing she prefers him doing all the work on her, no matter what, it warms his heart and thickens his cock, and in the end, that's what matters the most.

He told her to go to her room while he gets dressed and ready to leave, and he can still see how she practically skipped away, despite the soreness lingering in her body, her bruises and welts shining on her pale skin. What a strange girl. When he eventually joins her in her room, she's kneeling on the same spot he's met her these last three days, waiting for him, but instead of pleading with him, asking for a touch or a word, hoping he'd end her punishment, she smiles up at him, eagerly awaiting him.

His hand finds her cheek when he passes her, giving a gentle caress. “Come with me,” he tells her, walking towards her closet, hearing the hectic shuffle when she follows him immediately. He steps towards the cupboard holding the box of toys, while she steps behind him, her body heat seeping even through the stiff fabric of his dress pants.

For a moment he debates not going to the club and checking in, instead staying with her, indulging her and himself, continuing their leisurely day of cuddles and rough sex. But business is business, and she also has to learn to stay without him for a while without falling apart about it every time. Sure, it is cruel to do so right after her punishment of isolating her, but he doesn't really have a choice. And she'll be fine.

“Before we start,” he says while rummaging through the box, picking out which dildos he can 'torment' her with. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her tilting her head curiously, her hands clasps before her stomach. He pauses his search for the right sex toys and slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out the collar he took off her by the pool.

She stiffens slightly, craning her neck in anticipation. He watches her when he raises a hand and pushes her hair away, teasing a fingernail along her pulse and the crooked line of bruises. She doesn't even flinch anymore.

“Hold your hair up,” he says softly, and she does, wrapping her tresses around her shaking fingers.

He leans down slightly, gently placing the thick leather band around her exposed neck before snapping the lock shut, his hands remaining around her throat for a moment.

“Remember, this is a sign of my possession. You are mine, darling, only mine. But it's also a sign of our bond,” he adds, watching her closely, one hand moving up to touch her hands, releasing her hair, while the other curls around her neck, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. “You belong to me, baby girl, you are my property, and I will take good care of my property, okay? I'll come back to you,” he whispers, leaning closer to press his forehead against hers.

She bites her lip, nodding hesitantly, her eyes wide, pupils blown, his words definitely getting to her. His smile is answered by a deep blush crashing into her cheeks. Tilting his head, he brushes his lips against hers, staring her down, feeling her twitch against him, eager to kiss him back properly, but he pulls away before she can. His hand leaves her throat. A tiny sigh escapes her.

“But now back to business, hm?” he says with a chuckle, giving her a wink before turning back to the box of toys.

Eventually he picks three items: one large silicone dildo that's approximately the size and shape of his cock, a smaller one, ribbed with ball-shaped protrusions, that holds a powerful vibrator inside that's similar to the one she had up her butt before, and a long, medium-sized dildo that's very floppy and soft, ideal to be stuffed into an inexperienced throat. Giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow, he walks back into the room and places his collection onto the colorful duvet of her bed, motioning her to take a seat beside the objects.

She does, looking up at him like a deer in headlights, her thighs pressed together, her hands clasped on her lap. Before he engages her, he takes a glance at his watch, cursing the fact he only has half an hour to help her, before he slips out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt.

“Alright, tell me again what I'm asking of you,” he says, leaning against the edge of her desk.

She clears her throat. “I... uh... you want me to... to touch myself,” she croaks out, her voice still raw from his latest throat-fucking. Just the sound of that makes his cock twitch against the tight seam of his pants.

“Good, and you asked me to help you?” He tilts his head, watching her squirm on the edge of the bed. She nods. “How?”

“T-tell me what to do?” she whispers, chewing on her bottom lip.

He's tempted to reach out and stop her, but remains passively watching her. “Because you don't know how to pleasure yourself?”

“B-be-because I... I need your guidance,” she mutters, frowning.

He feels a smirk growing on his lips. “That you do, huh?” he muses, inhaling deeply as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Okay then, spread your legs,” he tells her.

Her breath hitches audibly, but she slowly follows through, unclasping her hands and pulling her thighs apart.

“Sit back on the bed, really spread those legs. Maybe sit cross-legged, if that helps,” he instructs patiently, his eyes raking over her body, noticing a deep blush creeping up her neck, almost matching the newest and deepest of her bruises.

She does as he said, shifting and squirming, crossing her legs in a way that opens her up beautifully, allowing him a proper look at her glistening cunt. Her gaze is uncertain when she meets his.

“Good girl,” he praises, smiling softly. “Now put your hand between your legs, just curl it around your sex.”

She's blushing more and more, and he wonders how she finds this easier than doing it herself without him watching her every move. He's never met a girl who's so ashamed of the idea of self-pleasure as she is. Shouldn't she be more humiliated by doing these things under his guidance and leering gaze? But then, she really does seem to need it, and in a way, that's been their dynamic from the very start, him showing her the ropes.

It is quite marvelous how easy it was for her to submit to him, to let herself fall into his hands, allowing him to do all these things to her that other girls would fight him for (had fought him for). She really is unique, his special little girl. And if she asks him to help her, who is he to deny her? It does mirror their unusual relationship, he may have abducted her, but she's asked him to take her virginity. She may not have imagined it all to unfold like it did, but he had delivered, and no matter what he expected from her, she had endured it all.

Eager to please, determined to make him happy.

And he wanted to give back, give her the chance to make herself happy too, but apparently he's corrupted her too much for her to be able to enjoy a bit of alone-time. Her dependency on him really is a blessing and a curse. He wishes he'd have more time, corrupt her to the point where she wants to be a horny mess, eager to use her own fingers whenever he'd deny her his... But not now, that'll have to wait.

Licking his lips, trying to force his erection down, he watches her place her hand on her mound, a hesitant gesture, her eyes flicking to him with a frown adorning her cute face.

“Now rub it,” he says, his voice a little rough around the edges. “Up and down, apply gentle pressure, until you feel your clit pulsing against your palm.”

Her breath is shaking when she starts moving her hand, her eyes trailing from his face down his body, and he wonders if she can make out how hard his cock is for her, if she can sense it, smell it? He surely can smell her arousal, that sweet scent assaulting his nostrils even though there's still several feet between them. How he wishes to bury his face between her soft folds, inhale her properly, lick up that beautiful nectar.

A groan escapes him before he covers it by clearing his throat. She stops, staring up at him as if he just told her she's made a mistake. “Keep going,” he says hoarsely. “Pretend I'm not even here...”

She frowns, pursing her lips, and he knows what she wants to say without having to hear it. That's the point. She needs him here. Needs his commands, needs him to tell her what to do.

“Or don't,” he adds with a smirk, finally pushing off the desk to crouch down in front of her, right by the bed, his eyes in line with her hand covering her crotch. “Keep rubbing.”

She watches him, chewing on her lip, her breaths becoming slightly more labored, her palm moving over her slick skin, her wrist jerking a bit quicker.

“Sounds good,” he whispers, folding his arms on the edge of the bed, leaning onto them. Her blush is adorable, spreading all over her body, making her ears burn bright red. “You're doing good, baby girl.”

“M-may I –” she starts, and he interrupts her with a hum.

“You can talk freely.”

“C-can you...”

He shakes his head, resting his chin on his arms. “I won't touch you, darling. This is all you. I'm just here to help. Yeah, keep doing that, a bit faster, more pressure, hmm, listen to those wet sounds. You're wet, baby, it's working, huh?”

She gasps quietly, her thighs twitching slightly. “N-no, it's... it's you... your voice... and... and how... close you are...”

He chuckles, smiling up at her. “Okay, close your eyes now,” he says. “Listen carefully.” He watches her, waits for her to do what he told her. When she does, he continues, talking her through it. “Curl your fingers, dip them between your folds, keep rubbing, yeah, index and middle finger is fine, quicker, come on. Good! Now imagine those are my fingers, imagine me sitting behind you, my arms around you, guiding you...”

Her reaction is immediate, her hand shaking as she rubs her fingers through her labia, her breaths labored, body shivering, eyelids fluttering. Little mewls climbing out of her sore throat.

“I'm always with you, baby girl,” he whispers, slowly standing up, watching her like a hawk, taking in every little motion. She's close, he can tell. A whimper slips past her lips, and another. “Press the heel of your hand to your clit,” he instructs her, carefully leaning over her. “Keep rubbing with your fingers, dip a little lower, yes, good, well done, look how wet you are. Come on, plunge them in, put those fingers into your cunt. Press them in!”

She wails softly when she does, the little squelching sound making his cock twitch. He watches her shudder, but he knows it's not the same sensation as if he would make her come with his fingers.

“Pump your fingers, darling,” he keeps going, standing over her, looking down, impressed how she squeezes her eyes shut, her free hand curled into the duvet, her knuckles blanching as she does so. “In and out, quicker, yeah, like that, ignore the noises. It's okay. It's normal, completely natural, oh how I love those noises,” he adds with a little groan, one of his hands palming at his erection. “Fuck...”

It's when her eyes snap open that he changes direction. It's an instinct, a reflex to pounce her, his hand on her throat, pushing her onto her back, his free hand fumbling for the largest dildo. She cries out, her legs falling open, her eyes wide and shocked. He leans over her, his face hovering close to hers, his breaths as labored as hers.

“Keep rubbing, pump those fingers,” he growls, and she whines when she does, squirming beneath him, her hips stuttering, thighs twitching against his.

He lets go of her throat, leans back on his knees and grabs her legs (the dildo falling to the side), before he pushes them up and into her chest, opening her up more. Her hand slips, but she quickly adjusts it to the new position, looking up at him in a mixture of fear and arousal, lips parted, these big eyes boring into his very soul, the squelching noises growing louder when she keeps doing what he told her.

He watches her, so tempted to free his cock and fuck her himself, but she has to learn, this is for her, not for him, his urges need to wait. Letting go of her legs (so proud that she keeps them up herself, her free hand curling around her thigh, while the other keeps pumping into her wet hole), he fumbles for the toy, holding her wide gaze, inhaling those little mewls, and when his fingers close around the soft silicone, he grabs her wrist and pries her hand away from her core, then smacks the dildo into her palm.

“Push it in, take it slow, you are wet enough, it'll just slip in,” he tells her quietly, fighting the urge to guide her hand.

She whines as she has to face the new task, but apparently she's needy enough to follow through, and he watches with growing admiration as she grips the base of the toy and plunges it between her swollen labia, the squelching even louder when the toy sinks into her and stretches her muscles.

“Slow and steady, no need to push too deep, just find the right angle,” he talks her through it, slowly leaning back on his knees, but before he can slip off the bed again, her free hand finds his arm, a low wail escaping her as she looks at him with big pleading eyes.

He shakes his head, pushing her hand away, nudging it to hold onto the toy as well. She complies gingerly, but quickly notices it's much easier to guide the toy with both hands.

“You don't need me,” he whispers, climbing off the bed, watching her. “Keep going, in and out, yes, you're doing so well, baby, I'm proud of you...”

A sniffle slips past her trembling lips, her face beet-red, exertion plastered all over her body, arms shaking, thighs twitching, hips stuttering. He remains standing at the edge of her bed, looking down, his shadow falling over her as she pumps the toy into her cunt, deeper and deeper, her wetness creating these intoxicating noises that gnaw at his resolve. Clenching his jaw, he tries to even his breaths.

“You can do it, darling,” he rasps, his voice raw. “Come for me, pretty girl, come on. Close your eyes, listen to me, remember what it's like when I fuck you. This is good, doesn't it feel good? I can't wait to fuck you too, sink my cock all the way into that sweet tight cunt... all the way to the very end...”

She cries out shrilly when she follows his words, intentionally or not shoving the large dildo as far as it will reach, which is surprisingly far (she's that wet, huh?), before she clamps her hands onto her mound and rolls onto her side, her thighs pressing together with a force he hasn't expected. Her whole body stills for a moment, her mouth agape but no sound comes out, before she starts tilting her hips into her hands, gasping and moaning, cute little mewls falling from her throat as she rocks back and forth, the bed squeaking quietly beneath her.

He watches her, his cock agonizingly hard, his hands clenched into fists, his heart hammering in his chest. What a display. Eventually she relaxes again, panting heavily, her body unfurling slowly. Rolling onto her back, she opens her legs, then her eyes, and when she meets his dark gaze, she removes her hands from her crotch and lets the dildo slip out past her fingers, a soft gasp escaping her when it leaves her fully.

“Fuck, darling, that was amazing,” he praises, taking an unsteady step back until he's leaning against her desk.

He was so close to shooting his load into his pants like a fucking teenager, just from watching her. The power this girl has over him. Insane. But luckily he still had enough willpower to stop himself, resulting in a case of vicious blue balls that he has to take care of before he goes into work. For a second he thinks of letting others take care of that, but then he looks at the pliant girl on the bed, still breathing hard, her skin slick with sweat, a beautiful blush on her cheeks.

No. He won't let anybody else touch him. Just as her body is his to touch, his is completely hers too. He wants her hands on him, her mouth, her lips, her holes open to him and his pleasure. He won't need anybody else for that anymore. He found the perfect little creature.

Inhaling deeply, he pushes off the desk, quickly palming at his bulge to adjust himself, before sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hand finding her hip, her skin warm under his palm. “You did wonderful, baby girl,” he whispers, giving her a soft smile. “All by yourself.”

She sits up slightly, shaking her head. “No, I couldn't have done it without you...” she murmurs, squirming to get closer to him. He stops her gently.

“The next time you push that dildo into your sweet cunt, you'll remember my words, you'll close your eyes and you'll imagine me here, watching you, fighting the urge to fuck you senseless...” He sighs, pulling his hand away from her to push it through his hair. “You can do it, you don't need me here. Fuck that pretty hole for me, okay, darling?”

“Why can't you stay?” she whimpers softly, big pleading eyes staring at him.

“I have to go to work, baby. I'll fuck you when I come back, okay? I promise. I'll add some more bruises, eh?” He gives her a wink, while she bites her bottom lip.

“Okay,” she says softly, curling back up, snuggling into the soft duvet.

“And if you're really bored, you can train your other holes too, yeah? Experiment a little? There's lube in the box too, but you may not need it,” he adds, before picking up the long soft dildo. “This one is perfect for throat training, but be careful not to choke yourself, okay?”

A deep frown settles on her pretty face.

“Fine, guess we do that another time,” he sighs, standing up, slowly unrolling his sleeves as he battles the urge to do the opposite, really wanting to see those tears when he'd shove that toy down her throat. If only he had more time! “But tonight, darling, right now, you will keep playing with your cunt. I will watch you,” he adds, tilting his head towards the camera on the ceiling. “So you're not alone. I will see your every move, and if I'm not satisfied with what I'm seeing, I'll have to punish you, you know that, right?”

She squirms on the bed, nodding feverishly.

“So it's up to you, have some fun by yourself, keep that hole drippy and stretched for me, or suffer the consequences. I'll have enough time to think up a fitting punishment, don't worry. I am a very creative man.”

He watches her as he grabs his suit jacket and slips his arm into one sleeve. She's chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes taking him in at the same time as her hand moves back between her legs, a gingerly rub to her slick mound. He rolls his shoulders before buttoning his jacket, a smile growing on his lips.

“Good girl! You do know what's best for you,” he says with a slight chuckle. “Have fun, okay? I'll be back soon.”

On his way to the door, he checks if she still has enough water. He even sees the sandwich he made her this morning.

“Remember to take breaks too,” he tells her, hand on the door handle. She tilts her head up to look at him, her fingers continuing to slip between her labia, her eyes glazing over. “Stay hydrated, eat something. As much as I love fucking your unconscious body, I'd really like to have you alert when I come back later, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewls softly, her voice vibrating with the effort of her flicking wrist.

“That's my girl.”

After speeding through the city, parking the car in a hurry, he enters the club with his head spinning and his cock throbbing. Rushing past the bouncer, he slips into his office, his phone in his hand, open on the surveillance app. He has no idea how he made it through traffic without an accident, with his mind as occupied as it is. He should have fucked her before coming here, now he can't wait to get back and unload deep inside of her. Instead he has to deal with numbers and logistics and the occasional trouble-maker.

Sighing deeply, he drags his eyes away from the video feed, despite the welcome sight on the display. His girl on her back, feet pressed into the bed, hips jerking up and down as she fucks herself on the dildo. For the third time by now, if he recalls correctly. He witnessed her second orgasm somewhere downtown, evoking the wrath of several other drivers as he missed the green light, twice, mesmerized by what he was seeing.

He can't believe how quickly she changed from being downright appalled by the idea of touching herself, to not being able to stop. His patience had been a good choice, a tactic he hasn't used much before, never seeing the need to ease any of his girls into anything. They either took it how it came or suffered through it, there was no in-between. His beautiful little girl however was worth it. He must be getting old and soft, he'd never imagined himself to be a teacher, an instructor, to help anyone through anything, not to this extent anyway.

He hates incompetent people, he always expects perfection, in the office or during sex. He used to be quick to punish, impatient and with a quick temper, too wound up to deal with little hiccups. How this girl made him change his way in such an absolute way, he has no idea. But it's too late to fight it. He now has to learn to live with it.

Opening his laptop, then leaning over to grab a bunch of mail from the edge of his desk, he steals another glance at his phone, watching her curl in on herself. Apparently that's her preferred position when she comes. He makes a mental note to show her other ways, when he notices her rolling onto her stomach, ass in the air, thighs twitching, her hands clamped between her legs before she pushes the duvet into a ball and starts humping it.

He laughs softly. Maybe she'll be fine. He may have opened the box of Pandora, unleashing her full potential, turning her into a horny mess. She'll find even more ways to relieve that tension, she just has to stay needy enough. He can't wait to watch her discover herself more and more. It really makes him proud to see this transition. His perfect girl...

A knock on the door snaps his attention back to the present. “Yeah?” he calls back. The door opens, letting in the low thumping of the bass before it becomes that muffled drone again. One of his right hand men has entered, the man as tall and wide as the door he's squeezed himself through. “Problems?” he greets him, placing one of the envelops on his phone to hide the screen. No one's going to look at his girl while she's fucking herself so adorably on her colorful duvet, the fairy lights gleaming above her. He sighs and turns his attention to the man on the other side of his desk.

His employee starts his report, not telling him anything new. The usual stress of running a nightclub that doesn't look too tightly at restrictions. It's Friday, so half the city may try to get in. He thinks back to that night exactly one week ago, when this sweet innocent girl has danced herself into his heart, no, his pants first. Sweet nineteen, looking quite a bit younger in the right angle, usually beneath him. They would have never met if he'd do it like the other clubs and only allowed in anyone above twenty-one. Now that he has her, he may consider changing it up again...

He listens to the tellings of the other man, leaning on his palm perched on his elbow, trying his best to not look too bored. His ears ring, however, when his opposite mentions the name of the other establishment he'd rather spent his time in. He frowns. “I thought I made myself clear that we only open on Saturdays and Sundays...”

“We had a reservation and a very generous donation,” his right hand man explains, shifting on his feet. “I thought you knew about it?”

“I certainly didn't,” he says darkly, turning his head to the screen of his laptop, bringing up the internal system before scrolling through the lines of data. “Who's opened today? Ah, of course. The bastard. And where's that generous donation, huh? Greedy, arrogant, and stupid...” He sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. “Well, fine, keep it open until ten, then send the girls home, no matter what the client says. He has to come to me if he has a problem with that.”

The other man nods, turning to leave. He holds up his hand, then stands and shrugs out of his suit jacket. “One more thing: go fetch one of the boys and bring in our culprit. I'd like a word...” he says as he starts rolling up his sleeves. Really bad day to wear white.

When he eventually returns to the penthouse, it's later than he has intended. Sore and angrier than he should be, he kicks off his shoes and undresses on his way to his bedroom, leaving pieces of clothing on chairs and couches and other furniture, not caring to leave a mess. He's barely had time to check the video feed, having to deal with so many layers of incompetence that he can't believe there isn't more blood on the front of his dress shirt.

People just never learn. Being too arrogant (or stupid) to think he wouldn't notice, wouldn't know what's going on. To go behind his back, to use the assets he built up and gathered, to steal from him? The insolence! The audacity! He really thought he's picked the right people, that he could trust them. Maybe it was because he's been quite preoccupied the last week, indulging in too much pleasure to realize the wrong-goings right under his nose. He'll have to make a proper sweep through his staff very soon, or the shit will really hit the fan.

He's almost in the shower, stripped to only his underwear, when he decides against cleaning up first. He can't wait any longer. The last he's seen of her was when she has taken a well-deserved break, curling up at the foot of the bed next to an empty water bottle. He hasn't checked since.

Walking back through the apartment, he unlocks the door to her room and enters quietly. She's not on the bed, nor in front of the windows where he's found her before. Looking around, he can't find her in the closet either. Rubbing his eyes, he then notices the closed bathroom door. With a sigh, he sinks onto the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, waiting.

He barely registers when the door opens with a soft click and her naked feet tap over the floor. “You're back!” he hears her soft voice, and it's enough to send a jolt of energy back through his worn-out body.

Turning his head, he can barely straighten up before she flings her arms around his neck and basically throws herself into his arms. One side of him wants to discipline her, order her to kneel, assume the role he wants her to play, but the bigger part just hugs her back, holding her against him, feeling her excited little huffs of breaths against his neck. Inhaling her sweet scent, he nuzzles his face into her hair.

“Did you shower?” he asks quietly.

“No,” she whispers, stiffening slightly. “Did you want me to?”

“No, this is better, you smell amazing,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the soft spot behind her ear, inhaling deeply. She basically reeks of sex and sweat, but it's the best smell he could have asked for after he'd feared to never lose the stench of blood in his nose.

“I... I didn't know when you'd be back... I... I wanted to make myself more... presentable...” she stammers adorably, squirming a little against him.

“It's fine, baby,” he sighs. “This is perfect, you are perfect...”

He lifts her without effort, turning them before he gently puts her down on the bed, where she scoots back to make room for him, her legs spread enough to allow him a glance at her reddened cunt. She must have really worked it.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he pushes his underwear down, then crawls onto the bed to her, nestling right between her legs.

“A bit sore,” she whispers, her arms wide open before she wraps them around his shoulders. “I... I really tried my best...”

“I saw,” he muses, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment, just enjoying the soft flutter of her body beneath him, the mattress dipping when he puts his entire weight on her. She inhales deeply, but accepts her fate without fussing. “You did amazing, darling,” he adds. “Quite the show you gave me.”

“I... I'm glad,” she mumbles, sounding rather shy and embarrassed, her small hands mindlessly rubbing at his wide back. “Thank you for giving me a push...”

A chuckle rumbles through him. To think the same girl would cry and squirm whenever he gave her a real push. What a transformation. He shifts on top of her, slightly rolling off her before gathering her in his arms and pulling her back against him. Her cheek presses to his collarbone, her warm breath ghosting his skin as she melts into him.

“Have you tried the other toys too?” he asks quietly.

She hesitates, her breath hitching. “No, I... I put them back... I'm sorry...”

“I'll help you train with them, don't worry, but not tonight,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Tonight I just wanna sink into you and stay like that until I feel better...”

“Did something happen?” she asks, her hands rubbing against his chest.

He pauses. There's been a shift, he notices. She's never been confident (or comfortable?) enough to really talk to him this casually, asking him about his day, speaking freely (despite the rule he gave her, but he's looking past that tonight). He took her away to mold her to his ideals, his body, his cock, using her like she's supposed to be used, and yet it feels like she's become more, not just a set of holes, but a beautiful girl with an innocent mind and a true heart, things he somehow wasn't able to corrupt.

And the worst part: he likes it. It feels nice to have someone care about him, wondering how he feels, apart from her initial infatuation or the fear/respect she has for him, different to her role as his submissive. It's a strange sensation, a warmth settling in his guts that has nothing to do with arousal or lust or the need to dominate. A different primal feeling he's never cared much about.

Comfort. The ability to let go in someone's arms. To let go in general.

He exhales loudly against her, still fighting the sensation, fighting the change. It's been one fucking week. He's always found release in sex and violence, and yet here he is, coming home with cracked knuckles and blood on his shirt, and the first thing he does, is cuddle the girl he's abducted and made his – and her indulging him like a lover would. It's twisted in a weird, unfamiliar way.

Her fingertips graze his throat, bringing him back to the present. Shaking his head to clear it off those new impressions, he then tilts it, looking at her. Her gaze is soft, sweet, worried. He shifts, brings his hand to her chin, giving it a gentle rub. She smiles shyly, her fingers brushing against his wrist, her eyes flicking down to his lips, his throat, his hand.

A quiet gasp escapes her. “Are you okay?” she whispers, looking back at him.

He frowns before following her gaze, then lets out a groan when he feels her gingerly touching the broken skin on his knuckles. There's still dried blood caked between his fingers. He really should have washed up first.

“It's fine,” he says, pulling his hand from her grip to curl it around the back of her neck instead. “Don't worry about it.”

Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn't say anything else. He stares at her, his fingers digging into her hair, while he tries to focus back on his initial plan. What he was looking forward to ever since he left her, ever since watching her do her best to fulfill the task he's given her. All those other distractions slowly leave his mind as he remembers her riding that dildo under his guidance, slowly breaking away the walls of her aversion.

His cock gives an angry twitch against her stomach, his blood pumping harder. But then he hesitates, or rather, does nothing, doesn't follow the urge to roll her onto her stomach, straddle her hips and bury himself deep in either of her holes, rutting into her to release all that tension still nestling at the edge of his nerves. Instead he holds her, watches her, takes her in, breathes her in, fills himself with just her, this sweet innocent girl – who is probably waiting for him to fulfill his promise of fucking her.

He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead to hers, grounding himself. Luckily it doesn't take long to fill his mind with his usual darkness. She may have changed him, but she will never be able to rid him of all the depravities occupying his black soul. That would be a tremendous clean-up job. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes, meets her slightly confused gaze, then gives her a smirk.

A second later he's climbed off her and off the bed, walking into the bathroom to wash his hands, rubbing the last traces of the night off him. Time to leave new ones. She's still lying on the bed, on that colorful, bunched up duvet she's humped earlier, when he strides into her closet and goes straight to the box of toys, pulling out the ribbed vibrator and a full bottle of lube.

Returning to the room, he tilts his head. “Get up and follow me,” he tells her curtly, then leaves her bedroom, not even waiting for her to move.

She'll come. And she does, the little taps of her feet echoing through the apartment. He waits next to the door of his bedroom, holding it open for her. She slips past him, ducking her head, before he closes it behind her.

“On the bed, on your hands and knees, ass up, face down,” he instructs sternly, watching her curiously as she flinches slightly before following his orders.

He can hear her rapid breaths as she assumes position, her head turned to the side, eyes finding his as she pushes her ass up, knuckles blanching when she claws at the sheets.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, slowly walking around the bed, inspecting her.

What a sight. She's still wet, despite exhausting herself this much, for this long. He can't tell how often she's made herself come, rubbing and riding that dildo, unfortunately he had to stop watching her for the majority of the night, busy tending to other kinds of relief. But it doesn't matter. It was a good exercise for her, too bad it won't benefit her too much.

Climbing onto the bed, putting the items to the side for now, he rubs his hand over the bruises on her ass and thighs, the soft wince she issues making his cock pulse. His fingers slide around her curves, dipping between her ass cheeks, teasing at her puckered hole before swiftly slipping between her puffy labia and into her wet heat, making her flinch. His other hand lifts and slams down on her soft ass, his fingers curling into her as her walls clench around him, her surprised shriek music in his ears.

He grabs her hip, pulls her back as she squirms away a little. “Stay right here,” he growls quietly, pumping his fingers deeper into her cunt. She answers with a muffled mewl. He shifts on his knees, positioning himself behind her, his cock weeping to sink into her warmth, so hard already it's bouncing angrily against his lower stomach. He keeps his fingers in her cunt, slowing his pushes, while his other hand fumbles for the lube.

She lets out a soft whine when he abandons her cunt, giving her clit a little rub before moving his fingers higher. She shudders deeply when he pokes at her other hole, her body fighting to remain in the position he wanted her in. Is it cruel to make her play with her cunt all night only to neglect it in the end? Definitely. Does he care? Not at all. At least he brought lube this time, she should be thankful how considerate he is with her today.

She keeps flinching when he teases a fingertip into her tight ass, when he pops the bottle open and squirts a good amount of cold lube onto his fingers, when it slips into her, when he pushes one digit deeper to stretch her, adds another to reach further, pumps slowly to smear it all over her tense muscles. Her mewls sound agonized, her shoulders shaking, her back arching, her knees wobbling. He drops the lube bottle and puts a large hand on the dip of her lower back, pressing her down, holding her down. He feels her stiffening.

“Relax, you've done this before,” he tells her, scooting closer until his cock presses between her soft labia, teasing her.

Pulling his fingers from her ass, he grabs his shaft and swipes his cockhead through her wet folds, giving them gentle slaps that make her flinch. Her breaths sound rougher already, probably anticipating the worst, definitely fighting the urge to protest, to ask him –

“Why?” The softly whispered word makes him pause. So much for fighting the urge. He tilts his head, noticing her twisting her torso just enough to look back at him. “I... I've prepared for you... I did everything you asked...”

“You did, and wonderfully so,” he replies calmly. “But you said you're sore, didn't you? And I really don't want to hurt your beautiful little cunt. Don't worry, your other hole will do just fine,” he adds, watching her react to his words with a frown and a scowl and then... surprised pain.

Her lips part when he presses the tip of his cock against her sphincter, prodding, pushing, until her muscles give way and allow him entrance, making him slip deeper. A groan escapes him when a whimper slips from her throat. She shudders, burying her face in the covers, her hands clawing helplessly at the sheets.

He inhales deeply, savoring the fight, the resistance, the tightness of her ass. He could have prepared her better, but he also really had to finally sink into her depths, feel her warmth, her choking grasp, the gentle massage when she starts clenching around him. His hands find her hips, digging into the old bruises, pulling her back against him until he bottoms out. He stays like that for a moment, allowing her to adjust, but mostly relishing in the deep connection.

He's had her ass just last night, but it's different feeling her squirming against him, her muscles protesting, fruitlessly trying to push him out, the little noises she makes that she thinks he can't hear. He takes it all in, calming his heartbeat (and the urge to simply use her in the most feral way), before he rubs his hands up her spine, curling them around her shoulders, letting his body follow until he's leaning over her, pressing her deeper into the bed, flattening the arch of her back.

She gasps, turning her head, and he can see tears glistening in her eyes. His lips find her cheek, the salty taste making his cock twitch deep inside her. “You feel so good, darling,” he rasps into her ear, nuzzling his nose into her hair. “So tight for me, so warm, a perfect fit, wouldn't you say?”

All she can issue is a strangled whimper.

“Is it that bad?” he coos, almost mockingly, giving her a little roll of his hips, moving within her.

“H-hurts,” she manages to croak out, more tears falling from her lashes.

“Aww, baby, it'll feel better soon,” he whispers, playfully nibbling on her earlobe, filling his nostrils with that sweet scent, that mixture of fear and pain and innocence with a hint of arousal. She lets out a sob, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to bury her face back into the sheets, but he grabs her chin and holds her there, his lips ghosting her wet cheek. “Remember that you're doing this for me. You are mine to use however I want. Isn't that so?”

She blinks her eyes open, her breath hitching. “Y-yes, s-sir,” she stammers.

He gives her a hard peck to her cheek (in tandem to another snap of his hips), coaxing another whine out of her. More tears stream down her flushed face, and he watches them roll, gathering on her chin before falling and vanishing into the soft fabric beneath her. He can't help it, he has to extend his tongue and lick up a stripe of that salty taste. She shivers, her lips parting.

If she could, she'd turn her head and meet his lips, share the taste, but she can't move, stuck in her position under him, so he indulges her and kisses the corner of her mouth, his tongue licking into the little gap she's left for him. She closes her eyes, and he could swear she manages to relax, her body no longer as tense, and it's enough for him to keep going.

Slowly he leans up on his arms, shifting back onto his knees, his hands curled around her waist, assuming their known position, the bruises still shining under the pads of his fingers. He gives them a squeeze, making her wince.

“Put your arms behind your back,” he tells her quietly, and she doesn't even hesitate, quickly folding her arms, holding onto her own wrists. “Good girl,” he praises, his hands finding purpose around her forearms now, using her as leverage as he starts drawing his hips back, slowly, oh so slowly, the drag along her tight muscles such an exquisite feeling. He pulls back, back, back, almost slipping out of her lubed ass, but stops when his crown catches on her rim, and then...

“Ah!” they both make, she in pain and he in ecstasy, hers a cry, his a sigh, when he slams his hips back, thrusting deep again. He repeats the motion a few times, a slow pull out, a harsh snap in, out, in, out, in, until it becomes an in and out, in and out, a rapid back and forth, a feral rutting against her cushioned rear, their bodies bouncing on the bed, springs squeaking, the girl moaning and mewling, his low grunts and groans mixing with it all.

His hands bruise around her folded arms, holding on, rhythmically pulling her into him to meet his thrusts, his thighs burning under the strain. This is the workout he needed, the perfect finish to a day spent mostly in restrained pleasure. It has been nice to give her a break, to give back, but he'll make it a rule to never end the day without him fully indulging in his own desires. It's his right after all, her purpose.

It may be the position, the way her ass clenches around him, the steady slip and slide of his cock, the friction this delicious grind despite the lube he's blessed her with today (she really had it worse before), or the fact he's been hard for too long to bear, but in the end it doesn't take him long to feel his balls drawing up, the telling twitch of his cock to know that he's close. He leans up a bit, grabbing her waist, pulling her hips up, before he wraps his arms around her stomach and curls himself around her, giving her that last deep push, bottoming out until his tight balls press against her weeping cunt, empty and neglected while he pumps his spend right into the depths of her rear.

His drawn-out groan echoes through the room as he holds her, his cock spasming inside her, her body still except for the gentle clench of her muscles as if she's trying to milk him dry. He leans over and presses his lips to her shoulder. A few more spews and he eases his grip on her, gently rolling onto his side and pulling her with him, his arms snaking around her torso, careful not to squish her sensitive breasts. He remains buried inside her, savoring the warmth.

For a moment he just lies there with the pliant girl in his arms, feeling her soft breaths, her heart beating rapidly against his forearm. He nuzzles her neck, feeling the cold leather against his lips as he brushes them against her collar. Mine, he thinks. “Mine,” he whispers, moving one hand to grab her chin and turn her head to him. Her eyes are hooded, glazed over, a defeated look on her flushed face. “What are you?”

Her lips part, eyes unmoving, a soft breath ghosting his jaw. “Yours, sir,” she whispers barely audible, her voice a little flat.

He hums, leaning over to capture those quivering lips for a soft kiss, gentle until she eventually kisses him back, her tongue poking at his. A slow, sensual dance of gliding lips and wrestling tongues ensues, his hand holding her head, guiding her, the heat of the moment causing his cock to stir all over again. He gives her rear a gentle nudge, reminding her of their connection, making her whine into his mouth.

“Do you think it's unfair that you didn't come?” he asks quietly against her lips. She blinks, finally focusing on him. A frown appears on her face. “You didn't, do you realize? I didn't even touch you... This was all for me. Pleasure that you gave me, how you're supposed to. And you did so well, baby girl,” he adds, pressing his lips to hers once more. “Made me feel so good.”

She just looks at him, her eyebrows twitching as if she's processing his words. “Thank you,” she then whispers, making him arch an eyebrow. “For giving me the chance to come... before this...”

A scoff escapes him. He hadn't even planned it like that. Glad it worked out like that for her. Not that he'd ever admit to that. Instead of saying anything, he leans in and kisses her again, gently cradling her in his arms with his hips giving her the occasional snap. It's when he stops moving altogether, just enjoying the feeling of being buried inside her, that she starts squirming, not to get away, but closer to him, her rear nudging into his pelvis, as she rocks steadily on the bed.

He loosens his arms around her, watching in growing fascination how she curls her body, bending her legs, pushing and pulling until she is actually fucking herself on his cock. What a sight. He's too surprised to stop or correct her. Who is he to deny her? So he just lounges on his side, one arm propped up under his head, the other hand resting on her hip, following the tilt of it as she moves back and forth, his cock sliding in and out, her hole stretched and lubricated enough to allow for smooth motions. It's mesmerizing to watch, he's so proud.

Her breaths quicken under the exertion, and it's when she lets out a quiet whine that he eventually stops her after all, his hand pulling her back against his body before slipping down between her legs. She shivers, snuggling into him. He slips his other arm under her neck, draping it over her chest, holding her tightly as he starts rubbing the pads of his fingers around her clit. Little gasps fall from her parted lips, her hands clawing at his forearm, her legs twitching under his ministrations.

That little nub of hers is throbbing, hard, still so sensitive from hours of constant stimulation. What's one more orgasm, hm? He keeps drawing tight circles around it, a rough pressure, and she mewls and moans, writhing in his arms, her muscles tensing around his cock, her head turned away so he can't see her flushed face.

“Look at me,” he growls quietly, and she does, immediately, so obedient, her eyes hooded and wet, lips quivering. He leans in and kisses her cheek before nibbling on her jaw, mirroring her rapid breaths until she stiffens in his hold, mouth agape, eyelids fluttering, her legs curling up and squeezing around his hand when she comes with an almost silent little squeak.

He eases her through it, the tight rubbing becoming a soft gliding, gathering her wetness on his palm before he just rests his hand between her legs, curled around her soft mound, so warm and enticing. Closing his eyes, he holds onto her, and she nestles against his hard body. Her warm breath fans over his face before he feels her lips on his jaw, followed by a gentle “Thank you, sir”. He smiles, giving her a deep hum, too tired to do anything else.

With his hand between her thighs and his cock still buried in her ass, he feels exhaustion washing over him. He should really give her tight muscles and his cock a break, wash up, get under the covers, maybe?, but he also couldn't care less. She's warm and pliant, their connection too precious to disturb. It doesn't matter.

He's missed having her in his bed. This is her place, beside him, around him, his place to be inside her, holding her. It's been one week since he took her away on a whim, it feels like so much longer. As if he finally found what he had been looking for, without knowing he had been looking in the first place.

It's comfort. It's home. It's her.

TWENTY-FOUR 🟥 TWENTY-FIVE🟥

End notes: This marks the end of Part 1 of Season Three. I've hinted at some things you can expect in the second part in this chapter, if you're curious what's to come next.

Just FYI, I am not done writing the second part yet, so I do not have a specific date for you to watch out for. Just stay tuned, it'll come, I promise!

Until then, thank you for reading and following me on this journey of turning a porn-story into something more? We'll see how it'll turn out in the end.

Thanks again, see you soon!

By the way, if you like moodboards to your stories, I have a few Pinterest boards you can check out.

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[animasola86]

Hey Anima! I just wanted to check in on you and see if you're doing okay? I haven't seen you active in about a week so I just wanted to make sure everything is alright.

-🥒

Pickles!!! Thank you so much for checking in! You have no idea how much that means to me! <3 I was so worried and felt really bad that I wasn't able to reply to your amazing comment on AO3 yet... Let's just say, I had a rough week, but it is looking up again, please do not worry! I just didn't have the mental capacity to write a proper reply, in the way you and the others deserved. It is like that sometimes...

I've distracted myself with a lot of gaming, and these last days I spent working on a future project ("unfortunately" not Infatuated, but something I've had in the back of my mind (and hard drive) for a while and I felt fitted the dark mood XD), so everything is alright, I'm just a little behind on the social aspect of this hobby of mine, I'm really sorry!

I hope you didn't feel discouraged by my silence. I've read your comment so many times, I absorbed it all, and I will get back to you very soon! I really love reading your thoughts, and I'm so grateful you're sharing them with me! Please keep doing that :D

Thank you again for reaching out! That made me really happy (and teary-eyed T_T)! You are so sweet, the absolute sweetest! Thank you for being here! <3

I hope you're doing okay as well! Please take care! <3

[animasola86]

INFATUATED ♦️ TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

After he reminds her of the rules for their new life together (and gives her a special lesson), and knowing that she will do anything for him, she finds herself confronted with a task she may not be able to do after all...

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Throat training/fingering. Oral cockwarming. Oral sex/deepthroating. Fluff. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 8.1k

TWENTY-THREE 🟥 TWENTY-FOUR 🟥 TWENTY-FIVE

They soak a little longer in the pool until her fingertips are all pruney. He heaves her out of it, always making sure she doesn't slip. She's been terrified at first, too shocked to even try to stay above water when he threw her into the pool. It would have been a cute and fun thing to do, if she'd ever learned how to swim. But he couldn't know, so she doesn't blame him. She even tries to see the good in the gesture, a way for him to tease her in a playful way, without humiliating or hurting her, something he's never done before.

They lounge on the balcony after, still naked, the sun on their skin, she's cradled into his chest, cheek resting on his shoulder, eyes never leaving his face as she watches him with a growing warmth settling low in her stomach. The hum of the city swirls around them, lulling her. It's so cozy, feeling him close to her, knowing he won't leave her again. Her hand rubs lazy circles on his toned chest, his heartbeat steady against her palm.

If this is her life now, with him, she wants more of it, all of it, as long as he's with her. Whatever depraved thing he wants to do to her, she doesn't care. It's her purpose, it's okay. Making him happy is her top priority – because it makes her happy too. It's enough. Seeing him smile, hearing his praise, feeling his gentle touches, it's all enough to dampen the soreness she feels, the pain aching under her skin, none of it matters anymore.

So it comes to no surprise that she doesn't even bat an eye when he tells her, in his low voice, surprisingly soft: “Get on your knees, darling.” And she does, slips from his warm embrace, nestles between his legs, hands on his thighs as she looks up at him when he sits up slightly. “Hands behind your back,” he whispers, like a gentle nudge, and she straightens up and folds her arms behind her back, holding onto her wrists as she watches him with her heart beating a little faster.

He scoots closer to the edge of the chair, his thighs on either side of her body, his hands reaching out to tuck her wet hair behind her ears before smoothing through it, creating soft tingles down her spine. He looks at her almost impassively, but she can see the twinkle in his dark eyes, the excitement pulsing in the veins snaking down his body. She notices the twitch to his cock, but keeps her gaze fixed to his handsome face, observing every movement of his eyes as he observes her.

“You're so beautiful,” he says quietly, stroking his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, leaning around her to curl his fingers around her wrists, slightly adjusting her posture. His words and touches and the gentle dominance of it all leaves her shivering, clenching, yearning.

So when he tells her – “Open your mouth for me, baby.” – she does, tongue out flat, eyes still on him, her chest rising and falling faster. He leans back, shifting on the chair, tilting his head. One hand remains on her upper arm, applying just enough pressure to move her however he wants, the other sliding up until his fingertips graze along her jaw, circling her spread lips, teasing at her tongue. She remains perfectly still, focused only on him, and when he gently puts his index and middle finger onto her tongue, pressing into her mouth, she doesn't even flinch.

Saliva pools beneath his digits, and he uses it to move them in and out slowly, always nudging a little deeper, teasing at the back of her throat. She strains, tenses, at the same time trying to stay relaxed, to keep her throat somewhat loose and open for him, but when he pushes further, deeper, passing that still too sensitive point, she suddenly gags, a violent jerk crashing through her body, back arching, eyes watering, eyelids fluttering, her entire body fighting to stay still, and when she does, somehow, he pulls his fingers out and allows her to cough and take a deep breath.

“Good girl,” he praises, wiping his wet fingertips on her cheek. “Again.”

She is shaking slightly, gripping her wrists harder, sinking her nails into her skin, too tense, knowing what's to come, but keeping her eyes on him, on the proud look on his face, the warmth in his attentive gaze. She resumes her position, pulls her shoulders back, opens her mouth, ignores the drool dripping down her chin, and waits for his invading fingers.

They come, pushing deeper, his other hand now on her chin as he guides her face, holding her in place, making it impossible to jerk back. She is lost in his stare, the intensity, hunger, dominance, and when he breaches her throat once more, she is utterly surprised when she doesn't gag. A smile breaks on his lips, and she feels her cheeks burning up, eyes still watering, head spinning as he pushes his fingers as deep as his knuckles allow, holding them there, waiting for the breath she held to run out.

When her eyelids flutter, he loosens his grip slightly, pulls back, gives her time to swallow the excess spit, to draw breath, to fill her lungs, and when she does, he resumes the motion, pushes in and out, his fingers slick with her saliva, gliding over her tongue, pressing into her throat, once, twice, three times, and she gags, spasming against his hold, tears falling from her lashes when she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Look at me,” he growls quietly, and she forces herself to do so, fighting to breathe, to get his fingers out, but his grip is too strong, his other hand now curling around her throat, applying additional pressure from outside. She gurgles, rasps, spit finding its way through her nostrils, despair taking over when he doesn't let go. His eyes rake over her flushed face, her vision starting to blur, black spots mixing with white dots, a wild dance in front of her eyes.

Then he draws back, frees her throat, his hands on her face as she coughs and splutters, lungs aching, chest quivering. His thumbs rub over the corners of her mouth, smearing saliva over her lips. She is still trying to catch her breath when he leans in and presses his mouth to hers, his tongue slipping deeper, meeting hers, the kiss adding to the vertigo she feels. Her eyes flutter closed and she leans into him, fingernails digging into her wrists to hold her position, knees aching on the hard floor.

He strokes her head when he leans back with a deep sigh, his lips grazing her warm cheeks, soaking up the tears falling freely now. “I'm so proud of you,” he breathes, barely audible over the thundering pulse in her ears. “You're doing so well, baby girl.”

She forces her eyes open, taking hectic breaths as she tries to focus on him. His praise settles low in her stomach, making her squirm on her knees. He rubs his hands along the sides of her face, smiling down at her. “Breathe with me,” he says, and she watches him inhaling deeply, his chest moving, making her mimic the motion, and after a few moments, she feels her heart calming down as well. “Good.”

Her lips twitch as a smile works itself onto them, causing his eyes to flick to her mouth for a moment. He lets go of her then and leans back on the chair, settling in its reclined position, leisurely crossing his arms behind his head as he watches her. The sun catches in his wet hair, illuminating his eyes, pulling her focus to how unusually dilated his pupils are. She remains kneeling between his wide spread legs, shoulders tense, arms behind her back, her chest rising and falling softly as she forces herself to look at his face even though she is dying to take a closer look at his body, wanting to follow those bulging veins, wanting to touch those shifting muscles, feel the coarse hair leading her focus downwards.

“Come closer,” he says quietly, tilting his head. She shuffles closer (an awkward movement when you can't use your arms for balance) until she hits the edge of the chair, practically feeling the heat of his cock against her stomach. “Put your head on my hip, darling,” he tells her, and she leans over, resting her cheek right next to his crotch, her eyes pulled immediately to his twitching erection. She wonders if she's ever seen him fully flaccid. She can't remember. She really seems to have some power over him after all.

The thought fills her with pride, a warm sensation crashing through her body as she relaxes against him. Taking a deep breath, his scent so close it almost makes her drowsy, she feels one of his hands on her head, stroking her wet hair, his fingertips gently massaging her scalp.

“Can you keep me warm?” he then asks, and she's surprised he's even asking her, giving her an option, even though she knows there's only one answer.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, straining her throat, and when she shifts closer and opens her mouth, he is already there and guides the tip of his cock between her lips.

“Good girl,” he sighs, leaning back into the chair, his hand still heavy on her head as she sucks him further into her mouth, her lips tight around his hardening shaft, those veins throbbing against her tongue.

She feels lightheaded, dizzy, but in the best way. The aches of her body dissipate as she focuses all her energy on holding onto his length, feeling its weight and taste and texture, his scent filling her nostrils, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. It's a bit awkward with her arms behind her back like this, but she still relaxes into it, resting mostly on his thigh, her lashes fluttering against his hot skin.

His fingers move lazily over the back of her head, lulling her further. When he speaks, she can't fully focus on it at first, before pulling herself back, feeling rather than hearing the rumble of his voice echoing through his body, as she tries to add the missing words in her mind.

“I think it's time we revisit the rules again, don't you think?”

She shifts slightly, tilting her chin up, tightening the seal of her lips around his shaft so he won't slip out. He's looking at her, one arm bent behind his head, his body relaxed, his eyes warm, but the muscle in his jaw is tense, giving him that stoic look, the dominant glare. It sends a shiver down her spine. She hums against his tip, her tongue rubbing along its ridge, pressing it into her gums. A twitch goes through his abdomen.

“The most important rule stands, of course. You will do whatever I tell you, whenever, wherever. No excuses, no hesitation. I demand complete obedience. Understood?”

The low timbre of his voice is so distracting, she can barely register the harsh words. But she hums nonetheless, the tiniest of jerks going through her head when she tries to nod, before slurping his cock back into her mouth. How is she supposed to respond while cockwarming anyway?

“If I don't give you any command, you will stand at attention, waiting for a command. Your default position will be on your knees with your arms folded behind your back. Do you understand? Blink if you do.”

She is beyond grateful when he seems to notice her predicament. She blinks, holding his gaze. He nods.

“If you have a question, you will ask to speak first,” he continues quietly, his body still reclined and relaxed, while his tone is becoming stricter, his cock hardening in her mouth as he goes through his rules. “Like: 'May I speak, sir?', right?”

She blinks, additionally nodding her head a bit, shifting closer to his groin to hold him better, allowing his tip to nudge against the back of her throat. A shiver crashes through her.

His hand flexes, slips into her hair, grabs her strands. “You're doing great, darling,” he whispers, breaking his harsh demeanor for a moment, causing her to blush deeply as she meets his warming gaze.

Suddenly he lifts his hips slightly, urging his cock deeper, making her flinch but not gag. He grips her hair tighter and holds her against him, a sharp breath vanishing into his lungs before he moans quietly. She is too stunned to focus on the reactions of her own body, mesmerized by his noises and the desperate grip he has on her. Her eyes water, her vision blurring, but she remains in her position, watching him, feeling his tip grazing into her throat, but before she can feel the impact of the move, he relaxes again, pulls away, his cock slipping back a little.

She breathes loudly through her nose, trying to swallow around him, hollowing her cheeks as she does. A drawn-out sigh escapes him, his fingers slipping from her hair to curl around her nape. “Good girl,” he groans.

When she shifts her head, cheek pressed to his hip, chin ghosting his balls, she catches his gaze, dark, pupils wide, the faintest hint of red on his cheeks. The sight of him sends a rolling wave of pleasure through her body, settling low in her core, her cunt clenching around nothing, bruised and sore muscles be damned. Her need for him grows with every twitch of his cock against her tongue, but she remains in her position, even though her fingertips are aching to touch him.

“I will take you outside again soon,” he says after a moment of just heavy breaths and deep sighs and quiet slurping and squelching noises whenever she either swallows her spit or lets it drip past her tight lips. “And while I know you will behave yourself this time, I will keep my eyes on you. The slightest sign of disobedience, and I will have to punish you again. Do you understand?”

A gurgle escapes her as she shifts against him, nodding eagerly, deeply knowing she will never want to be punished by him ever again. She will do absolutely anything to stay on his good side, no matter how humiliating. It is no longer about her, it's about him and his pleasure and keeping him happy. If she focuses on that, she will endure anything he asks of her. She has to.

His hand soothes down her shoulder. “I know, baby, don't worry. I know you'll be a good girl for me,” he whispers quietly, his low voice rasping through him and into her, causing her to relax against him.

She inhales deeply through her nose, sucking slightly on the tip of his cock, pushing around the spit gathering on her tongue. His reaction is immediate, a deep shiver making his thigh twitch. She can feel his fingers digging into her hair again, gripping it tightly, his breathing a little bit more agitated.

“Remember to just keep me warm, darling,” he says, and even though his tone is soft, there's an edge to his words, a warning. “I didn't ask you to suck me off. You need to stay perfectly still, all I want to feel is your warm mouth. Like when I have you under my desk, for instance. This is just training, but one day you will be a fixed part of my office, here or wherever I take you with me, and I don't want you distracting me, do you understand?”

She blinks quickly, trying to hold his gaze, slurping around his cock before immediately freezing, noticing her mistake. His fingers ease around her head, a gentle smile curling his lips.

“You're already doing great. Keep my tip between your lips when you swallow, it should be easier.” He tilts his head, waiting for her to follow his instructions.

She tries, her throat working when she swallows the excess spit with his cock still in her mouth, her lips tightening significantly around his shaft. A frown tilts her eyebrows down, she's certain she failed, but he strokes the side of her face, wiping saliva she couldn't keep in her mouth off the corner of her lips.

“It'll get easier,” he says softly. “Don't worry your pretty little head too much, okay? What's a bit of drool on my pants, huh?”

A sudden cold crashes down her spine as she meets his gaze. It's still a vivid memory how he fussed (exploded) about that particular problem last time, resulting in her thighs burning under the impact of his belt. Her frown deepens, her eyes watering slightly before she averts them, forcing the memory and everything that has followed away.

“I overreacted, darling,” he whispers, surprising her enough to look back up at him. “It will never happen again. I promise.”

She blinks, holding his gaze, a hesitant smile forming around his cock. He smiles back, just as gingerly, his fingertips rubbing along her warm cheek.

“You gave me your submission, and I will honor it as best I can,” he continues quietly. “But I am not a perfect man, baby, I'll have to adjust too.” He hooks two fingers under her chin then, lifting it slightly, causing his cock to almost slip out of her mouth.

His words grip at her heart, sending waves of heat through her body. Her hands twitch, so eager to touch him, feel his warm body, show him just how much she appreciates him, but she remains in the position he asked her to assume, following through, hoping he'll release her eventually. Or give her another smile, another gentle caress, anything, really.

He sits up then, holding her chin, shifting against her, moving her to adjust the angle. She's crouched over him now, neck bent downwards, no longer able to look at him, face buried in his crotch, lips tight around his slightly pulsing shaft. Breathing harder through her nose, she waits, feels his hands on her shoulders, nudging her into position, his legs pressing against her sides, keeping her in place.

“I am going to come down your throat now, darling,” he says casually, his stomach tensing against her head as he holds her close to his groin, fingers slipping into her hair.

She immediately starts hollowing her cheeks, her tongue pressing against the throbbing veins of his cock, her entire body eager to help fulfill his wish. His grip tightens.

“No, not like that,” he says sternly, and she stops, eyelids fluttering in confusion. “I want you to stay perfectly still while I fuck your throat, okay? You just keep your mouth open, your throat relaxed, tongue flat. No swallowing, you can just let your spit drip, it's fine. You can gag, but you will endure until I'm finished, understood? I know you can do this. You have to learn to trust me, I will not let you choke.”

As vile as his words are (the picture he paints in her mind already frightening), she leeches onto the softer parts, the reassurance, knowing he will not hurt her more than he has to. She knows, trusts, that he wants to keep her, so he wouldn't damage her beyond repair, right? Inhaling deeply, she nods against him, into the hold of his strong hands, telling her body to stop freaking out prematurely.

He shifts on the edge of the chair, standing up into a half-crouch, pulling her with him until she sits up on her knees, accommodating his height, her toes gripping onto the tiles. Her arms shake with how tight she's holding onto her own wrists, her nails leaving even more crescent-shaped marks on her skin. With her lungs already burning and her heart basically beating out of her chest, she anticipates the worst, but when he starts moving her head back and forth, she still gags immediately when he nudges his cock against the back of her throat.

“Relax,” he mutters, adjusting his grip on her head and his stance against her, allowing her to stretch her neck, easing her tense muscles, before continuing to use her mouth like the tight hole it is for him.

This is your purpose, you make him happy, do it for him, she keeps telling herself as she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to relax her jaw, letting him slip in and out, his hips moving in tandem to how he moves her head, his pelvis slamming against her quicker and quicker. She tries to focus on his labored breaths, the exertion that makes his legs twitch against her sides, how he's angled himself just right so his cock can slip deeper into her throat.

The first few times she endures it without gagging, but the faster he ruts into her, the further he tries to reach, with his coarse hairs tickling her nose and his balls pressing into her chin, she can't help but gag, her body jerking, fighting the sensation. Tears spill from her lashes while spit gathers in her mouth, his rapid thrusts creating wet squelching noises, loud gurgles, that distinctive gluck gluck gluck-sound she's heard in those disturbing porn videos.

He pulls back for a moment, a thick strand of spit and precum following the motion, connecting his tip with her lips, and she barely has the chance to breathe, to swallow (despite knowing she shouldn't, it's just a reflex, and luckily he looks past it), before he plunges in again, driving his cock deep, deeper, breaching her throat again and again with short rapid snaps of his hips. His noises grow louder, his motions becoming jerkier, the grip of his hands bruising around her head.

He keeps fucking her throat, her jaw aching, her head spinning, her neck bulging. It's a blur, a dizzying sensation, she keeps gagging but it doesn't matter anymore as he uses her contractions to jerk himself off, his groans vibrating through her until he suddenly stops, pressing her head hard against his pelvis, holding her there, his cock buried as deep as it can reach, and she can feel the twitching of his balls against her lips, the tip of her tongue squished against them as they pulse until that same pulsing goes through his cock, shivering all the way down her throat as he comes with a low moan, the heat and mass of his spend sliding down her throat slowly and unrestricted, spurt after spurt, gathering warm in her belly.

She feels like fainting as she waits for him to pull out, to release her, her eyes rolling back, body shivering, knees shaking, and when he finally does, his hand warm around her throat, he has to rub it a few times before she realizes she can breathe again. Rasping gasps echo over the balcony as she leans into his hold, too weak to move away. Spit and cum splutter against his groin before he sits down on the chair again, gently nudging her to lower herself as well.

His hands wipe at her wet face, mixing tears and snot and saliva. Her eyes flutter open, her vision still blurry, but she catches the little twitch of his finger, pointing down, as he leans back, letting go of her, showing her what he expects of her without saying anything.

It's an instinct at this point, a primal need to service him completely, and when she starts cleaning his cock with her tongue, he inhales deeply, sounding satisfied and content. He strokes her hair while she laps up and down his softening shaft, sucking gently on his tight skin, feeling the throbbing veins, knowing she can make him hard again like this. It gives her a sense of power, realizing the effect she has on him, and she would have pulled through, licking him back to full mast, if he wouldn't have stopped her by grabbing her hair and pulling her off him.

“Well done,” he whispers hoarsely, watching her closely as she leans back on her knees, rolling her shoulders, pushing out her chest as she faces him, his praise adding to the pride she feels. He keeps looking at her though, his eyebrow twitching slightly. “What do you say?” he then asks, tilting his head.

She clears her throat, wincing at the strain and soreness within, before she manages to croak out: “Thank you, sir.”

He nods, smiling softly as he reaches out to caress her warm face. “Exactly. I will not remind you again. Whenever I let you service me, you will thank me after, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she rasps quietly, nodding her head into his hand.

She notices how the muscle in his jaw twitches, before he suddenly stands up, pulling her up with him, his hands easing her arms away from behind her back.

“Hold onto my neck,” he tells her quietly, and she quickly does, unsteady on her feet as she is, happy how considerate he is. As soon as her hands curl around his neck, he lifts her up, hands on her lower thighs, nudging her legs to wrap around his sides as well. She clings to him, cheek resting on his shoulder as he holds her, her eyes glued to the profile of his face.

He carries her back into the penthouse, cradling her to his warm chest, his lips brushing against her forehead when he whispers: “My good girl, let me feed you properly now, hm?”

She feels a giggle bubbling up within her, with how soft he sounds, how small she is in his strong arms, how her head is still dizzy and empty and full of cotton at the same time, making her pliant and happy. He kisses her temple again, holding her tighter, his warm breath ghosting her hairline, while he makes his way into the kitchen.

She ends up on the edge of the counter, legs crossed and feet swinging, while he reheats the stew she has already forgotten about. It's strange how easy it can be, life with him, how there are no worries whatsoever, no shame. She is fully naked, as is he, and the sight of his strong body, how his muscles twitch under his tight skin with every motion, gives her peace, calms her, takes away any awkwardness. They seem almost equal like this, bared as they are.

He steps up to her then, his big hands finding her face before he guides her into a soft kiss, his lips brushing against hers, his tongue drawing gentle circles around her own. She leans into him, her hands moving up to hold onto his wrists, and he allows it, deepens the kiss until they are both breathless, having turned a simple peck into a passionate inhale of the other.

She sighs softly when he leans back, trailing his warm, wet lips down her neck, his tongue poking at the bruises she barely feels anymore (or is too content to acknowledge). His hands move around her arms, slipping under them, curling around her waist, pulling her in before he moves them up to cup her breasts, gently weighing them in his big palms, completely covering them. He gives them a soft press, reminding her of the state of her bruised nipples, making her wince quietly.

“You look so beautiful covered in my marks,” he breathes against her, nibbling at her collarbone before he moves lower, shifting his hands enough to plant warm kisses in the valley between her mounds. When he straightens up and finds her gaze, his eyes are almost black with how dilated his pupils are. She shivers under their intensity. “You are mine, darling, and I'll make sure you will never forget that...”

She swallows dryly, the sudden ache from doing so lost to her as she stares at him, feeling the weight of his words on her shoulders, sinking into her skin, finding their way straight into her weeping core. All she can do is nod. He looks at her, takes her in, unmoving, this wall of muscle caging her in, his hands warm and heavy on her breasts, before he suddenly moves, slipping his arms around her and pulling her against him, a quiet “Oof” escaping her as he squeezes her into his chest, hugging her tightly.

“Say it,” he rumbles into her ear, his breath strangely agitated.

Her hands sneak around his wide body, fingertips grazing his tense back when she replies without even having to think about it: “I am yours, sir.”

The pot full of delicious smelling stew stands steaming in the middle of the large table (first time she recalls using the dining table for actual eating), and despite the eight chairs standing around it, she is perched on his lap, one of his arms curled around her waist, her mouth open as he feeds her spoon after spoon of the hot broth. He looks so content, smiling whenever she swallows, either encouraging her through the pain in her throat or relishing in her soreness, you never know with him, though she really doesn't care anymore.

She wants to see him happy, no matter what makes him so, and his joy and comfort gives her the strength to ignore her own aches as best as she can. The stew tastes amazing, is wonderfully warm, easing her tight muscles, and having him feed her gives her a strange pleasure. It may look like a humiliating gesture, but in her mind it is him servicing her now, making sure she's fed and happy too. It's a nice balance, and she's sure he sees it the same way.

He seems to have lost a bit of his edge, that hard shell, the intimidating aura of dominance cracking slightly, allowing her to see how much he does care about her. It's these rare moments that cement her decision, that enable her desire to please him, to submit to him, to allow him to treat her like he does. This is her life now and it is a good life. He is giving her everything she needs, and all she has to do is follow his every word. It's that simple.

Or so she thinks until he brings up an issue she isn't sure she can confront, being commanded to or not.

He feeds her another spoonful, watching her closely. “I have a task for you,” he starts nonchalantly, dipping the spoon back into the bowl while she swallows and frowns slightly, shifting on his lap. “I have to go to the club tonight,” he tells her, pausing his hand when she flinches, visibly protesting that sentiment, fighting the fear of being alone again. “It's only for a few hours. You have to learn to be without me too.”

She doesn't even care that he can read her like an open book, she just doesn't want to be alone so soon after having to spend days and nights without him. Her hand curls around his forearm, holding onto him, showing him how not okay she is with his plans.

“It'll be okay, baby,” he coos, letting go of the spoon to grab her chin instead, rubbing his thumb under her bottom lip. “You'll be fine. Because you'll be busy doing something for me.”

She tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows, unable to talk properly just yet.

“There's a box in your room, in the closet, full of your new toys,” he says, and she feels her heart skipping a beat. He notices, of course he does, and grips her chin tighter. “I want you to play with them. Pick something and entertain yourself until I come back. Should be easy enough, hm?”

He pauses, watching the reaction she can't hide, visible disagreement. His face hardens.

“Darling, this is a command. You will play with your toys, I'll know if you don't. You have to learn to prepare yourself for me. This is mainly for you, you know? I told you I don't particularly care if you're ready or not, I will take you even if you're dry as dust. You will be in pain and it'll only add to my pleasure. But if you make yourself wet for me, it'll be easier for you.”

She shivers deeply as she listens, trying to hold his gaze even when tears well up in her eyes. He lifts his hand, cupping her cheek, rubbing the wetness away as it spills over her lashes.

“I still don't understand why you hate using toys so much,” he muses quietly. “You said it's not the same, it's not my cock, but baby, just pretend it is, close your eyes and think back to the many times you got to service me, use your imagination!”

His voice is low and gentle, but his words cut into her skin, sinking deep, curling around her guts and squeezing them. It's a strange tension, and she can't even explain her aversion, it just feels wrong. “B-but...” she starts, her voice hoarse and raspy, and when he lifts an eyebrow, she inhales deeply, blinking. “M-may I speak?” she remembers just in time.

“You may,” he says.

“M-my body...” she croaks, lifting a hand to rub her hurting throat. “My body... is yours, and you're supposed to... to touch it... not me...”

A surprised smile breaks from his lips, a huff escaping him. “Hmm, fair point,” he chuckles softly. “It is mine to touch, you are right, but I demand you to cherish it the same way I do. Love yourself, darling, learn what your body wants, lean into it. I already know quite a lot about how this works,” he whispers, slipping his long fingers down her stomach to tease between her legs, causing her to inhale sharply. “And I intend to learn more, but I want you to do the same. Find out what really makes you keen, tickle out those moans, discover your own pleasure.”

More and more shivers crash down her spine, the combination of his low words and his teasing touches making it hard to stay still on his lap.

“I don't even ask you to edge,” he continues. “I want you to fully commit, make yourself come as often as you want, I want to come back tonight and find you completely overstimulated, exhausted and worn out, covered in sweat and your sweet juices, make a mess of your bed, your rug, your bathroom, I don't care. I just want to see you enjoying yourself.”

It's a loaded command. On one hand, he's actually allowing her to just be herself, leaving it as open as he does, seemingly really wanting her to be happy, focusing on her own pleasure for once (which is quite confusing, considering how mad he was before when she came without permission), but on the other hand, he does expect her to pull through, to do as he says, when she already knows she can't.

She's never been able to make herself come before, not in the way he was able to, and the last time he told her to finger herself has been under his guidance, with him right behind her, holding her, making it a whole new experience in and of itself.

It wasn't that she was ashamed of her body, she liked it the way it was, but putting her fingers into her own cunt was never something she wanted or needed to do. (She's tried to in the last days, fearing he may never touch her again, and while he's made her desperate and needy, and delusional and dizzy enough to put her fingers between her legs, it hasn't worked either.)

To be fair, she never really had a sex drive before she met him, sure, she had her fantasies ever since she first saw him, starting to dream of being with him in ways she couldn't have imagined back then, but other than humping her pillow a few times or rubbing herself over her clothes, she never indulged in self-pleasure before, the simple idea of owning a dildo would make her feel too uncomfortable to even try.

What he is asking of her now is just too much. She may be hornier now, her cunt weeping just thinking of being filled with his cock or fingers or tongue, but she knows she can't pretend it's him touching her, her own fingers won't even come close to what he feels like. Inhaling deeply, she stares down at where his cock is squished between her leg and his stomach. He hasn't bothered putting on clothes, or dressing her either, the feeling of his skin against hers something that feels natural.

It really is one thing to be connected to him so intimately, feeling him stretching her, filling her, moving within her, hot and wet, and a whole other having a rigid toy stuck inside her. Maybe it's because he forced her to walk around stuffed like that, only nourishing her aversion to dildos, or it's because they don't feel real and unattached, obviously, just a phallic object without a warm body. Not the same, she stands to that argument. She prefers his cock because it's his and he is a part of it (or rather the other way around, really), because she wants him, the whole package, his strength and warmth, his hands, his legs, his muscles, his lips, his voice, all of it.

A dildo just feels wrong and she really, really doesn't want to play with one, and the more she thinks about it, the tighter her throat gets, her guts clenching, her eyes watering, until a strangled sob escapes her.

His sigh pulls her from her clouded mind, his hand on her face, his thumb pressing between her lips. As soon as she feels and tastes him on her tongue, another instinct kicks in, her cheeks hollowing as she starts sucking on his digit, her eyelids fluttering, her mind simmering down to a quiet drone instead of the whirlwind it has just been. She finds his gaze, eyes glazing over the longer she suckles on his thumb.

“Baby, you're really blowing this out of proportion, hm? I'm just asking you to play around a little, have some fun with yourself, there's no need to cry. You've endured so many other things, you've been so brave before.” He shakes his head with another sigh, watching her closely. “Do you really not want to touch yourself? You only want me to do so?”

She blinks her eyes into focus, her fingers curling around his wrist, not wanting him to pull his hand away. With his thumb still tight between her lips, she nods eagerly, looking at him from under her lashes.

“Aren't you the cutest,” he exhales loudly, a smile in his voice. “I should be glad you depend on me so much, and I am, what a fucking treat! But, darling, really, what is the big deal here? Are you ashamed of touching yourself? You have no reason to, you are beautiful, every inch of you! You have no idea how much joy it brings me to feel your skin under my fingers, under my tongue, tasting you, sinking into your heat, experiencing the pulsing of your cunt, the tight squeeze of your ass, those contractions of your throat...”

He groans, closing his eyes for a moment, a visible twitch going through his body, his cock seemingly thickening against her leg. She keeps listening, sucking on his thumb, focused only on him.

“I know it's not the same to finger yourself or to train on dildos, but remember that you are doing it for me,” he adds, curling his fingers around her chin while he starts pumping his thumb in and out of her mouth. “You are training your holes to accommodate me, teaching your body what to expect, conditioning it to grow excited when I want to use you. I want you to stretch your cunt, get it used to the size of me, I want you to stimulate your –”

She hasn't even noticed him moving his hand until she feels his fingertip pressing against her puckered hole, making her flinch, eyes widening. He grins at her.

“I want you to learn to take it, no matter where, no matter when, I want your body to weep just thinking about me.” She feels his finger poking deeper, the rest of his hand teasing at her labia. “You are already learning, already wet just by the power of my voice, huh? Good, really good, but your cunt is one thing, baby girl, your other holes are just as important to me, and they don't get miraculously wider just by you thinking about it. They need training. I know I said I don't care if you're in pain and that I quite like how tight you are, but I want you to learn to love it when I fuck your throat or your ass, I want you to enjoy it and not be horribly sore afterwards. I...”

He pauses, slipping his finger out of her, rubbing his hand over her hip in a mindless fashion, his eyes leaving hers as he looks down her body, his jaw muscle working again.

“I care about you, darling,” he then says, quietly, not meeting her eyes, his voice low and strained as if it took him quite the effort to get these words out. Seeing him so affected only adds to the warmth settling in her stomach. “I can't believe I would ever confess to that, trust me, I never cared before. It's not who I am. But you,” he sighs hoarsely, finally meeting her gaze again. She stops sucking on his thumb, blinking slowly. “You're changing me. You already matter more to me than any other girl before you. I know this makes me vulnerable, but I also know you won't see me as anything less, hm? You want me to be happy, don't you?”

She swallows around his digit, slowly pulling it out from between her lips. He lets her, watches her. With her mind racing, her hands move before she can stop them, her lips trembling slightly as she parts them. Shifting on his lap, turning her torso towards him, she leans up to cup his face, feeling his jaw working under her palms, his dark eyes following her every move, his body tense beneath her.

“I...” she starts, waiting for any kind of reaction that would indicate she has to ask to speak first. He remains quiet, unmoving. She keeps going. “I am here to serve you,” she whispers, her throat still hurting with every word, but she doesn't care anymore. “To make you happy, yes. You've let me into your life... allowed me... to feel so many things... showed me... everything I could have only dreamed about...” A rough croak escapes her, something between a cough and a chuckle. “Things I couldn't even imagine. I am so thankful... You are so... good to me... You... gave me a purpose...”

While she tries to get the words out, his hands have found her waist, pulling her closer, holding her tightly as he listens intently. She breathes deeply, rubbing her hands over his cheeks, before she continues.

“I want to be good for you. I want to give back. I want you to use me however you want, but... but please don't ask me to... to...”

He shakes his head in her hold, his eyes hardening. Her heart sinks. “I will ask you whatever I want,” he replies quietly, his voice a little harsher now. “I am not asking you to kill yourself, you know? I am asking you to touch yourself, something you've done before. It really isn't that big a deal, darling.”

“I'm sorry,” she whimpers, lowering her eyes, her hands slipping from his face – before he suddenly grabs them, putting them back, leaning in until his nose rubs against hers. She gasps, meeting his gaze.

“Let me remind you: you gave me your submission, your trust, and I am here to guide you, to show you all those things you can't imagine. You are to follow my words, no matter what, remember?” His breath is hot against her quivering lips, her lungs burning from her not daring to breathe. “I know this is, for some strange reason, way outside your comfort zone, but I will not allow you to be conquered by your fears. I don't care if you fear me in the end, but I will see this through. You will do what I say.”

She swallows dryly, a new batch of tears welling up inside her eyes. He stares at her, his hands rough on hers, before he suddenly lets go and grabs her face, pulling her in to crash his lips to hers. She whines into the kiss, eyes wide before they flutter closed, his tongue quickly slipping between her parted lips. He's almost desperate in how he devours her, tasting her, holding her, she can barely mirror his movements, still overwhelmed by the turn of events.

He cares about her, doesn't want her to hurt when he takes her, allows her to explore herself to make it easier for her to service him. Those are all good things and she should be grateful, and she is, in a way, but the dam hasn't broken yet, her doubts and fears, her shame and aversion still too strong to buckle under the weight of his confession, his kindness. It's ridiculous, really, he's done way worse to her, demanded things she should be horrified about ever allowing him to do, but instead it's the prospect of having to pleasure herself, without him, that is choking her up.

She blinks her eyes open, mid-kiss, while his tongue presses hard into hers, their labored breaths mingling. His gaze is hooded, but he notices the subtle shift, before he leans back slightly, licking his lips, eyes narrowing as he watches her.

“What if... what if you... help me?” she finally croaks out, her lips tingling.

“How?” he asks hoarsely.

“Help me touch myself?” she whispers, trying to sort through the warbled thoughts tumbling about in her mind. “I... I know you've done so before, but... maybe it's... it's easier if you... if you're there... when I do it? So I... I'm not doing it... alone?”

He frowns, leaning back more, his hands slipping down her shoulders as he tilts his head. “It is called self-pleasure, you know? Between you and yourself? If I do it, it's called fingering, baby,” he lectures with a smirk.

She bites her lip, furrowing her brows. “I know, I just...”

“You don't want to be alone,” he sighs, shaking his head before reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. “You know I asked you to do this because I can't be with you, because you have to be alone for a while? I thought you'd appreciate it...”

“I do!” she quickly says, her hands curling around his shoulders as she shifts on his lap, angling one leg to shift closer to him, opening herself up in the process. His eyes shift down for a moment. She ignores it, doesn't correct her position. “Just to get me started? Ease me into it?” she continues, her voice more and more pleading.

“You are quite demanding today, hm?” he muses, his hands finding her waist, thumbs teasing at her ribs.

“I'll make it up to you!” she says quickly before any kind of panic can settle inside her guts, as she tries to smile as sweetly as she can to distract him.

“Of course you will, that's your purpose,” he replies a little coldly. For a moment he just looks at her with hard eyes while her heart is beating faster. “Fine,” he then says with a deep sigh, making her squirm on his lap, her eyes widening in relief. “I'll ease you into it, tell you what to do, but I can't stay long, you have to continue without me. And when I come back later, you will be a mess, okay? Promise me?”

She blinks slowly. No asking her if she understands, no too demanding tone, he almost sounds casual, nonchalant, gentle. “Yes, I promise!” she whispers, unable to hide the wide smile breaking from her quivering lips.

He rolls his eyes before he leans in, grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her in to capture her mouth for a deep kiss. She melts into him, too content to realize what she has just promised him.

TWENTY-THREE 🟥 TWENTY-FOUR 🟥 TWENTY-FIVE

End notes: Will we continue riding this little fluff-train? Well... don't get used to it.

By the way, if you like moodboards to your stories, I have a few Pinterest boards you can check out.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday at 9pm CEST!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[animasola86]

If you don't think that fanfic writers get attached to their commenters and repeat commenters... you're crazy.

There's people who comment on my stories, disappear for months at a time, then comment when they catch up and I almost always remember their tagnames. It means the WORLD to me as a writer to have people who comment both regularly and irregularly on my stories/oneshots/moodboards.

When you guys go away for a few weeks or months... we notice! We hope you're okay and just taking a break, and when you come back rested and excited to read more stories, we're so happy to have you back.

So yes, please comment on stories even if it's once in a blue moon. You're not annoying, you're not overbearing for multiple comments or being super excited. You're helping fuel a writer to keep writing just to see what you have to say next about the next chapter! You're doing the Lord's work with your comments!

Whether you leave a Russian novel in a comment, or just go "noice", like... it makes the writer brain go !!!!!!💞

[animasola86]

INFATUATED ♦️ TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

After tormenting her for three nights straight, he decides to give her a little break, but that doesn't mean he can't still give and receive some pleasure.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Collars. Cunnilingus. Overstimulation. Squirting. (Assisted) masturbation. Frottage. Fluff? (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 4.7k

TWENTY-TWO 🟥 TWENTY-THREE 🟥 TWENTY-FOUR

Her outburst (slash panic attack) surprised him. He's seen her pleading eyes, sure, but hearing her sobs and whines as she's confessed to missing him, asking him to forgive her (him of all people), it came a little unexpected. She must have been in pain, sore from all those nights where he used her, spanked her, bruised her, nights she can't recall, but she's endured, leaned into it, too happy to finally be with him again to care about the ailments of her body.

The way she's taken his cock down her throat... There's been no struggle, no fight, just pure submission, complete obedience, as he kept her from breathing, chasing his own release. He's missed her cute little mouth, her tight little throat, and it's been a great reunion.

Initially, he's wanted to wait it out one more day, let her simmer in her dark thoughts, but when he saw her confused face on the camera feed, how she's stared at the leash he hasn't put on her this morning, as if wanting to wear it again, he knew she was ready, ready to be forgiven, to move on.

He's watched her during those last days, in his office or on the go, how she's tried to busy herself, but mostly she's been lying on her side, staring blankly ahead or out the window, just a frail little body, a barely moving shadow on the black and white feed on his phone. He's seen her attempts to touch herself, he knew she would try it, she had to after spending so many days with a sex-crazed guy like him who's forced her libido out of hiding, among forcing her to do other things, but he's also seen the fight, the struggle, to deny herself.

There's no need to punish her. She's done it. She's his perfect little girl again.

After drying off together, he dresses in some sweatpants and lets her stay in the nude, with just the collar adorning her beautiful body. She didn't fuss, and how she sits on the counter in the kitchen now, feet dangling off the edge, arms propped up on either side of her hips, squishing those bruised little breasts, wet hair falling over her slim shoulders, she looks downright comfortable, or just happy to be out of her room and with him again.

She watches him curiously as he starts cutting up vegetables, first onions and garlic, then carrots and potatoes, before he starts roasting the first, then adds the latter with a bit of broth he's prepared a while back and lets everything simmer for a bit. He's promised to cook for her, and what better time and occasion than as a little reward after her punishment is finally over. It's a simple vegetable stew, nothing too fancy, and it doesn't even matter, he could have opened a can of soup and they'd still have a nice time together in the kitchen.

Occasionally he'd come over to her and lean down, waiting for her to lean up, their kisses chaste and promising, other times he'd come by and brush his hands over her thighs, between them, a short little dip into her warmth, and she'd giggle softly, biting her lip, before he'd stop that motion with another kiss. It's domestic in a way he's never experienced before, comfortable, tender, so far from anything he's ever done in a kitchen, to be honest.

It's been a long while since he's cooked something here, he sometimes helps out in one of his restaurants, just to hone his skills again, but when he's home he'd rather order in. It's different now that he has a permanent house guest, if he could call her that.

While the stew is on the burner, bubbling softly, he cleans up the waste, then sees her perking up. “Can I help?” she asks quietly.

He shakes his head. “It's okay, already done,” he says while throwing out the last bit of carrot peel, then washes his hands. “But you can entertain me a little...”

She frowns at him, licking her lip nervously.

“Lie down on the island, baby,” he tells her, leaning against the opposite counter, watching her. “On your back.”

She nods and stretches out, visibly struggling when she has to shift her weight on her bruised ass. He'd figure it's easier than to squish her tender tits on the hard surface. Her arms lie stiff beside her, she's very stiff in general, and he suddenly sees her as a display piece in one of those sushi bars he's been to before, where the waitresses double as platters, and the idea of eating off her slim little body makes his cock twitch.

He pushes off the counter and walks towards her, lets his hand run from her foot up her leg to her stomach, then circles her left breast before he puts his hand on it, squeezing softly. She winces, blinking a tear away. He rubs gently along her bruises, then presses the pad of his thumb against her nipple.

“W-why did you... spank my b-boobs?” she then asks out of the blue, making him look at her with raised eyebrows.

Of course she knows, his clever little girl. “To show you one of the worst outcomes if you ever disobey me,” he tells her quietly, moving his hand to her right breast now, caressing it mindlessly. “Does it hurt?”

“Probably hurts more when I'm conscious while you do it, right?” she counters in a soft whisper.

He holds her gaze. “Yes, probably.” He slips his hand up her neck now, rubs it over her collar, then squeezes slightly. “But I will never have to do that to you, won't I?”

She swallows against his grip. “No, sir. I'll be good, I promise!”

“Don't promise,” he replies, hand curling around her head to grab it. He makes her sit up and she follows. “I know you will be good, but sometimes things happen, beyond our control...”

“But I'll try my best,” she insists quietly.

He smiles at her and leans closer, cradling her nape. “I know you will, darling,” he whispers, brushing his lips against her cheek. She turns her head and meets his lips fully now, and he indulges her with another soft, deep kiss.

As their tongues wrestle, he pulls her legs around so they hang off the edge, then spreads them wide and steps between them. He breaks the kiss, followed by a little whine from her, and leans over her until he catches a nipple between his lips. She arches her chest into his face, hands grabbing his shoulders, soft gasps rolling out of her throat.

He watches her intently, suckling on her swollen bud, his tongue flicking around it before he draws back a little and teases it with his teeth. She inhales sharply, but then relaxes again when he continues sucking, pulling more of her breast into his mouth. As he does so, he rubs his hand over the other mound, rolling her nipple between his fingers, pressing onto the soft flesh, coaxing more and more mewls out of her.

Eventually he switches sides, lets her wet tit go with a pop before latching on to the other. His hands slide along her body, curl around her shoulders, holding her as she starts squirming on the counter, her noises growing in volume and confidence. She's shivering, goosebumps pebbling her skin, her thighs twitching against his hips. She must be so sensitive, but she takes it like a champ.

“My... good... little... girl,” he mumbles against her skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses all around her bruised mounds, accentuating every word, before going back to her tender nipple, sucking it hard until she lets out a drawn-out moan and arches her back, her fingernails digging into his skin, her hips jerking against his chest.

He lets go abruptly and captures her mouth for a searing kiss, delving his tongue deep between her lips, tasting her, making her gasp against him before she meets his motions. He doesn't linger, though, and moves down her neck, teasing at the bruises above and below her collar, kisses a line down between her breasts to her fluttering stomach, his hands slowly pushing her down until she's lying flat on her back, legs dangling off.

He grabs her ankles and angles her legs, spreading her wide while he finally reaches her warm center. She mewls, squirming on the counter, her fingers digging into his hair, gripping tightly. He lets her and groans into her skin, lips dragging over heated skin until he dives right between her thighs, tongue lapping a line between her puffy pussy lips. Her knees are shaking as she tries to close her legs, but his hold is too strong, and they just press helplessly against his shoulders.

He inhales deeply, filling his nostrils with her sweet scent, the fragrance overwhelming as he brushes his nose against her clit and starts kissing her lower lips like he's kissed her mouth before. Her soft moans hum through the air, barely audible over the hammering heartbeat in his ears. She's driving him insane, the way she smells, tastes, sounds, moves... it's all an infuriating package he cannot get enough of.

He leans back a little when she threatens to rip his hair out with how strongly she's gripping it, and he pries her fingers off and grabs them between his, holding her hand while he finds her hooded gaze. Breathless gasps escape her, face flushed, lips quivering, and when he lowers his mouth again to tease against her clit, she throws her head back with a louder moan.

His lips close around the throbbing bundle of nerves, and as he sucks on it gently, nudging his shoulders against her legs to keep them open, his free hand finds her wet folds. One finger slips into her easily, the second too, and he feels her heat and the last load of cum he's pumped into her. A third finger is added, and he starts pumping slowly, pushing his seed deeper, the squelching sound loud in his ears as he continues assaulting her sensitive nub.

She's a writhing mess before him, her hand squeezing his tightly, the added hold a comfort for both of them as he savors the taste and smell of her sex while she fights the sensations crashing through her. His fingers push deeper, as far as his knuckles allow, and when he turns them inside her clenching cunt and curls them, she cries out loudly, her hips bucking against his face, legs spasming around him, her back arching off the counter.

He keeps bullying that special spot inside her while staying focused on her clit, his tongue lapping around it, his lips sucking it into his mouth, as it throbs and twitches against him, and then she comes with a high-pitched squeal, and as soon as he feels her release spraying against his chin, he leans back and watches her come undone completely. He pumps his fingers through her orgasm, witnesses how her overwhelmed pussy squirts out load after load of clear liquid that squelches between his fingers, hitting the floor beneath him.

“Good girl,” he praises as she squirms and whines, her free hand covering her face while the other has a death grip on his fingers.

Slowly he eases the motions of the fingers assaulting her clenching cunt, rubs gently along her tensing walls before he pulls them out, and she squirts again, hips bucking, body convulsing uncontrollably. So sensitive, so responsive. He watches her wail, probably in shame and embarrassment, but he doesn't care, he leans in and laps his tongue along her wet skin, savoring the tangy taste, her sweet essence, licks her clean until she convulses all over again.

Now she's sobbing, little hiccups shaking her body, stomach fluttering, legs trembling, and he lets up eventually, giving her puffy cunt another deep kiss before leaning back, rubbing his wet hand over her mound. Straightening up, he eases his fingers out of her grip and wipes at his chin, then leans over her.

“Look at me,” he whispers, waiting for her to lower her hand. Her face is bright red, eyes glistening, a little bit of snot mixing with the tears streaming down her face. “No need to be ashamed. That was wonderful,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her warm cheek. She sniffles, averting her eyes. He clicks his tongue, and she looks back, frowning but holding his gaze. “Good girl. Be proud of yourself. Not everyone can do that...”

She huffs in shame, squirming slightly. His hand finds her jaw, and he grips it tightly as he leans even closer and captures her trembling lips, moving his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself. She writhes beneath him, but then kisses him back, her eyes fluttering close. He pulls his arms around her and scoops her up, still tangling his tongue with hers.

She clings to him, arms and legs wrapping around him needily, quiet little mewls vibrating between them, and he adds a few groans of his own as he presses her against his chest and rolls his shoulders before he carries her out of the kitchen, throwing a side glance at the large pot simmering on the burner. He's almost forgotten about lunch, too preoccupied with dessert. He could even skip his midday training, dealing with her and his undying libido seems like enough of a workout for today.

His cock certainly wouldn't mind the release with how it tents his sweatpants just beneath where she presses her wet cunt to his stomach. His mind is reeling on the way to the bathroom, fantasizing about how he should take her, but when he sees the fucked-out look on her face, the happy little tilt to her lips, the glazed over eyes, he decides to give the girl a break.

Setting her down on the vanity, he puts a wet washcloth into her hands, telling her to clean herself in a gruff grunt that makes her frown a little, then pushes his pants down and goes back into the shower, hand already fisting his angrily throbbing erection. He's barely gotten any pumps in when he feels her hands sliding around his sides, finding his wrist, before she presses her body against his back, trying to assist him.

She's peeking past him, a curious glint in her eyes, but he shakes his head, and she purses her lips, her hand hovering on his arm, unwilling to step away. He turns slightly, gently grabbing her hand to pull her fully to his side. Holding her gaze while still moving his fist up and down his shaft and around his tip, he guides her hand to his groin, and without prompt, she curls it around his balls, her tongue sticking out between her lips as she concentrates on massaging him with nimble fingers.

Watching her as he handles his cock roughly (while she is so delicate to the rest of him), he can feel his stomach tensing up, his breaths becoming labored, a shudder rushing down his spine. She looks up at him, with those big curious eyes, and he groans, gritting his teeth, her soft gasps in his ear when he shoots his load into the spray of the shower. His pumping balls remain in her small hand until the aftershocks of his orgasm subside, then he inhales deeply and lets his deflating cock bounce against his thigh before he grabs the girl beside him and lifts her up by grabbing her waist.

She squeals softly, arms flailing, legs kicking, but he only presses her against him, savoring her warmth, her soft skin, then moves them under the water to rinse off the remnants of yet another exercise. He wraps one arm around her legs, feeling the soft slope of her rear against his forearm, and carries her out, not caring about leaving wet footprints as he exits the bathroom. She's gripped his shoulders, leaning onto them, by now stock-still in his embrace while he walks back into the kitchen, pulls the pot off the burner and turns it off, then moves on, taking her to the large doors leading onto the balcony wrapping around his apartment.

The sun is high in the sky, warm and bright, the chaotic hum of the city wafting up to them. The fresh air tickles his skin, and he feels her shivering against him. His feet tap loudly over the cool stone floor, the girl's soft breaths warm against his temple. He looks up at her, meeting her curious gaze, giving her a smile and a wink, watching her blush deeply – before the smile turns into a grin and he hurls her off his arm and right into the pool.

Her shrill shriek is swallowed by the loud splash of water, her body contorting in the air, arms flailing, legs kicking, and then she sinks, hair billowing around her head. He waits for her to come back up, spluttering, throwing him dark stares, but then she doesn't, and something he's not felt much in his life bubbles up low in his stomach: concern.

He stares at her form, distorted under the surface, the rippling waves of her struggle, arms thrashing through the water, one rapid heartbeat, two, three, then he dives in after her, his hands finding her squirming body, arms snaking around her waist, his feet meet the bottom and kick, and they both emerge again, water splashing. He holds her tight against him, head tilted back, and it takes her a moment before she starts gasping and coughing and spluttering.

“It's okay, I got you,” he murmurs as he treads water to get them back to the shallower part of the pool, where he leans his elbow on the edge, pressing her to his chest, waiting for her to calm down again. After the initial shock, she slowly relaxes against him, her hands gripping his forearms, nails sinking into his skin, a desperate hold as she tries to stay afloat and as far away from the treacherous water as possible.

Eventually he pushes her up, so she can sit on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the glistening water. He stays inside, a solid stance on the ground, soft waves crashing against his chest and biceps. His hands find her thighs as he gently pries her legs apart and steps between them, looking up at her. She is still breathless, cheeks bright red, wet hair caked to the side of her face. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks away water and tears.

“So you can't swim, huh?” he muses, and she nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumbs rub along her inner thighs, and he feels her relax a bit more under his ministrations. “Well, that's good to know.”

She frowns a little, averting her eyes. “Sorry...”

He shakes his head, reaching one hand up to brush his fingertips against her jaw. She looks at him, still a little troubled. “No, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I didn't mean to scare you,” he says softly, watching her as she leans into the palm of his hand, her own moving up to hold onto his wrist.

Something warm flashes in her eyes, a timid smile grazing her trembling lips. She shifts on the edge, scooting a little closer to him, her hands moving to rest on his shoulders. He watches her curiously, trying to read her flushed face. When he grabs her waist and lifts her up, taking a step back into the pool, she stiffens, but holds onto him, her eyes never leaving his, before he gently lowers her into the water.

Her chest stays above the surface, his arms tight around her rear, holding her up. “This okay?” he whispers, and she nods shyly, her fingers kneading his shoulders, an unconscious little massage that makes him inhale sharply. He slowly lowers his arms, shifts them, presses them into the hollow of her back as she slips a little further down, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck instead.

He moves them back to the edge, caging her in between his body and the wall of the pool. She relaxes against him, focused on him and him alone, her legs floating up around him before they wrap around his waist, little pointy feet digging into his lower back while her warm crotch grinds into his, his cock already hardening again. This fucking girl.

Tilting his head, he leans into her and she meets the motion, meets his lips when he captures hers, the kiss slow and gentle, a sensual gliding and pressing, and it's her tongue who seeks access into his mouth first, the warm tip licking along the seam of his lips. He parts them and pushes his tongue against hers, a hungry grunt escaping him as he tastes the inside of her mouth. She hums into him, clinging to him, arms hooked around his neck, hands sliding up and down his back and shoulder blades, nails scratching softly.

Her pelvis is still grinding into him. He tightens one arm around her, holding her, while slipping the other under her rear, adjusting his cock so the length of it is pressed right into her warm slit. A moan slips into his mouth as she stills against him. His hands find her thighs under the water, a tight grip as he starts pushing her up and down, pressing her into him. He's tempted to slide fully inside her, really fuck her against the wall of the pool, but his decision stands, he wants to give her a break, which doesn't mean he can't find pleasure in just rubbing against her.

She adjusts her hold, leaning back to place her hands on his shoulders, her hips undulating into him, meeting his grinding motions. He can feel the head of his cock catching on her clit, each downward motion making her mewl, her lips parted, eyes hooded, cheeks burning, panting breaths that fan over his face. He watches her, witnesses how she melts into the steady up and down, into every stroke and glide and slide and press, the friction hot between them, the water splashing more and more around them.

He's achingly hard, the wet slip of her cunt setting his nerves on fire, the blood pumping furiously. He feels his balls tightening, that tension in his lower stomach bordering on painful. His hands dig into her soft thighs, holding her, their joined grinding becoming faster, more uncoordinated, desperate. She's moaning, mewling, gasping, her nails sinking into his skin, her whole body shaking against his, and he feels the same tremors, his legs cramping from how tense he is, holding her, standing upright in the pool, grinding her against him.

He tilts his head up, his throat working when he swallows. “Come for me, baby,” he rasps, increasing the up and down frenzy, his cock throbbing against her cunt. “Come on my fucking cock!”

She's waited, he can tell, holding back, waiting for his permission, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, she throws her arms around his neck and presses into him, her hips stuttering as she gasps, almost whines, when her body convulses against his. He keeps sliding against her, prolonging her orgasm, until his own crashes over him, making him stumble into the wall, almost losing his balance.

One hand finds the edge of the pool, steadying himself, while the other splays around her rear, holding her up, savoring the throbbing of their sexes pressed together, his balls drawing up as he shoots his spend into the water and against her body. A long groan slips out of his throat as he leans into her, resting his chin on her shoulder, breathing harder. She clings to him, one of her hands rubbing soothing circles over his broad back.

They relax in each other's embrace, his cock giving the occasional twitch before he calms down again. Turning his head, he kisses the soft slope of her neck, nuzzles into her collar, her pulse that erratic flutter against his lips. He can feel her hand sliding into his wet hair, the scrape of her fingertips over his scalp sending shivers down his spine. Inhaling deeply, filling his nostrils with her sweet scent, he straightens up slowly, rolling his neck as he looks at her.

She's biting her lip, and he brings his hand to her face, his thumb pushing between her lips before she starts sucking on it softly, her eyes glazing over slightly. He smiles at her, watching her blush an even deeper shade of red. His fingers curl under her chin, nudging her to lean closer. When she does, he pulls his thumb away and replaces it with his tongue, kissing her slow and deep, and she mirrors his motions, her eyes fluttering shut, her fingers digging into his hair.

He pushes them away from the wall, gently sliding into the water until he's on his back and she's perched on top of him, halfway submerged, but still glued to his mouth. Extending an arm, he holds onto the edge of the pool, keeping them afloat, while the other wraps around the girl clinging to him. She's almost straddling him, back arched, pelvis still pressed to his groin.

“Relax, baby,” he breathes against her lips, and she tries, shifting her body onto his wider frame, her legs floating between his. He lazily treads water, watching her adjusting her position, her hands in his hair, her elbows pressing into his pecs, her chest hovering above him. “I won't let you drown,” he whispers, pulling her attention by nibbling on her bottom lip. “Relax your arms...”

She does, tentatively, fingers still slipping along his head as she lowers herself, neck arched, but her chest is now flush to his, and he could swear he can hear her rapid heartbeat thundering against his own. Water splashes occasionally when she shifts and almost slips, but he holds her, his arm tight around her back, pressing her into him. His cock is trapped between them, but he ignores it for now.

Above them the sun is bright and warm, the city still echoing around them. But here, atop the noises, it's just them, alone in the blue sky, a tender moment after everything they've been through. It feels surprisingly nice, another instance of domesticity, a pause in his busy lifestyle, a change he's still fighting but accepting more and more. His arm eases around her, fingers brushing up the curve of her spine, tangling in her wet tresses before he slips them under her tight collar.

She gasps, blinking at him. For a moment he rests his hand there, heavy on her nape, the collar pressing into her throat, and he watches her, a sliver of panic settling in her big eyes as she struggles to breathe, but then he presses his thumb to the lock, and with another soft gasp and a little clicking sound, the collar opens and releases her. He peels it off her, raising it up for a moment before tossing it onto the stone floor next to the pool.

“You're still mine,” he whispers, brushing his nose against her cheek. “But you're allowed breaks too, aren't you, darling?”

She swallows, a shy and surprised smile playing around her lips. “Thank you,” she breathes against him, before she rests her head on his shoulder, face turned to his neck, her warm breath tickling his pulse. Her arms relax around him, slipping under his as she wraps them around his torso, holding onto him, no longer afraid to drown as they float about, just focused on him.

He finds himself smiling into the sky, his arm back around her body, hand splayed out over her warm skin. He's gone soft, for sure, but he's accepted it, knowing he can allow her these tender moments because in the back of his mind he is already planning out other things, darker things, more depraved, things that'll push her limits, but he knows she can handle it, she's proven it to him so many times. And when her bruises finally fade, she'll get another chance (and another chance) to show him just how much she can take now.

TWENTY-TWO 🟥 TWENTY-THREE 🟥 TWENTY-FOUR

End notes: Was this fluff?? What's happening? Don't worry, Sir hasn't lost his edge (or has he?), he was just giving Darling a well-deserved break.

By the way, if you like moodboards to your stories, I have a few Pinterest boards you can check out.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[animasola86]

hi!! :3

you mentioned a few times and in another ask that you were planning on posting some "Infatuated" drabbles. i was just curious if you know when these might be released? im really interested to see them!

Hello! :)

Yes, I am planning to post some Infatuated drabbles, or rather one-shots, because I cannot for the life of me keep anything short when it comes to Sir and Darling (meaning, I am still working on that first one, "Sick Day", it may have gotten a little out of hand >_>).

Initially I wanted to throw those one-shots into the world randomly, but I think I'm gonna stick to my upload schedule for Infatuated, one chapter a week (uploaded every Friday on AO3 and every Saturday here on Tumblr), and once those five chapters are all out, I will post something to pass the waiting time. :3

I hope that's okay.

By the way, if you have any ideas or prompts for one of these one-shots, like a situation you'd like to see Sir and Darling be in, some of your headcanons you'd like to see explored, just something that might not fit into the story otherwise, I am very much open for suggestions!

Thank you for reaching out and for your interest! <3

[animasola86]

INFATUATED ♦️ TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

While he punishes her with silence and solitude (and secret soreness), she is all alone with her raging mind, and it's playing awful tricks on her...

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Collars/leashes. Angst. Vaginal sex. Oral sex/deepthroating. Panic attack. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 5.2k

TWENTY-ONE 🟥 TWENTY-TWO 🟥 TWENTY-THREE

She wakes to the sound of the door locking. Her head is spinning, but she still forces herself to sit up, peel out of the cocoon of blankets, the urge to see him overpowering the continuous aching of her body.

But he's already gone when she stumbles off the bed, falling to her knees, the rug not enough to ease the pain crashing through her. Sniffling, she stares at the plate on the floor.

He always brings her breakfast and dinner, and the only time she can look at him for a bit longer is when he waits for her to swallow the two pills he gives her before bedtime. He's not touching her, not saying anything, just stands there, tall and intimidating, until she's done.

And then he turns away and leaves again, pulling the door close, locking her in. It's been like this since he brought her to this room, her old bedroom transferred into his penthouse, put the collar and the leash on her, and it's been... three days? Four? She can't be sure, it's all hazy now, the days so long she doesn't know what to do with herself, and the nights... well, those don't seem to exist at all. At least she never remembers them.

She falls asleep, curled up, cradling the leash in her hand, then wakes up in the same position, just without the leash – and a whole lot more bruises and aches than before she went to bed. The first night had been strange, but then she had noticed the stickiness between her thighs after the second one, and she was sure he was visiting her at night to use her, and it would explain the soreness deep within her holes, the tension in her muscles, the burning.

It doesn't particularly explain the aching of her breasts and her swollen nipples or how her butt still hurts even though the bruises of his spanking should have faded by now. To sum it up, she feels awful every time she wakes up in the morning, head heavy, body sticky, covered in bruises that always shine with new strength, but the worst of it all is how much she misses him.

She's spent the days before her imprisonment (no other way to describe this) by his side, always by his side, he's used her day in and day out, took her away and brought her back, she was always with him, and now... she is not.

He said this is her punishment for trying to run away, and she gets it. It's how it would be if she'd actually succeeded, a life without him. A lonely, miserable life she's spending stuck in her mind, going through all the things she's done wrong, how she's disappointed him, and she can barely remember the good times, when he would hold her, caress her, kiss her, those moments were fading, and the pain remained, physically and mentally.

She finds solace in the fact that he is still using her, or so she thinks, the warmth of his cum seeping out of her when she stands in the shower a very small reminder of how it used to be. And she would stand in front of the mirror and brush her fingers over the marks on her neck, the colorful bruises, old and new, and she'd cry about not remembering how he sucked them into her.

The state of her breasts concerns her. Her nipples look bigger, pink and raw somehow, swollen like she's never seen them. And the bruises on the small mounds remind her of the ones on her ass. Has he spanked her boobs? Well, luckily she can't remember that, and hopes he won't ever repeat that when she's not knocked out. She can't even imagine how much that must hurt.

It's strange to think he would harm her while she was sleeping, and even stranger to think that she wouldn't wake up. But she'd figured the second pill was to blame for that, whatever it was. She never questioned it, didn't want to disobey and disappoint him again, so she just swallowed it alongside her birth control pill, hoping that he would finally praise her for it, give her the slightest smile, maybe touch her because she's been so good.

But he never does.

It's not fair. He's able to use her when she's unconscious, and she rarely sees him. And instead of hating him for this treatment, she misses him, cries herself raw during the day, when it's so quiet in the penthouse she can only hear her own heartbeat in her head. She's tried reading, crafting, doing anything the room has to offer, but she can't focus for long, always thinks of him and his strong arms and his handsome face and his proud smile...

Luckily her aches prevent her from wanting to touch herself whenever the need to feel and see and taste and smell his cock becomes too strong. That first day, she had been ashamed of thinking like that, craving the very thing that brought her so much pain, but by the second day, it's a normal thought, a growing desire, on the same level as wanting to be in his arms or on his lap (cockwarming him would be the preferable combination of both).

About a week ago she had a wish, a curious little dream, of wanting to be more, of experiencing it all with a man she didn't know (one she still doesn't know very much about), and he showed her the gates to hell (or heaven?) and brought her to a place of pleasure and lust she had never even thought about before. And now she can't leave, stuck in that little void where all that matters is him. Him and his pleasure and his body and certain parts of him and him as a whole...

And her wants grow by the minute. Those she is not supposed to have or follow. After the second night, she's soaked in the bath for a while, hoping the aches would ease, and while her fingers turned into prunes, she had tried to touch herself under the water, hoping he wouldn't see (she's figured he must have a camera in the bathroom too, how else should he keep an eye on her, and she hopes he is watching her, though maybe not in that very moment because she still fears his wrath in a way, but despite it all, it gives her comfort to think that he is always there, observing, monitoring her, no matter how sick it may be), but as soon as her finger slid between her folds, the tears had come as she remembered his fingers there and that it didn't feel the same.

She misses him so much. She's tried to draw him from memory, but her hand has been shaking too much and her skills were barely existent anyway, so she accumulated a concerning pile of crumpled-up paper under the desk she hoped he wouldn't get mad about.

Other times she tried to craft little bracelets, those you would give your best friend in high school, not that she would know, but then another wave of tears blurred her vision because she thought about giving one to him and how childish it would be because he's that successful businessman and she's a pathetic girl putting beads onto a string.

She didn't even try using her hot glue gun. He's brought all her useless little hobbies from her old apartment, things she tried to pass the time with, but ultimately abandoned because why even bother with creating things you will never show anyone anyway?

It's been a pathetic life, and it crept back into her mind as she lay alone on the bed and watched the clouds roll by. Sometimes she watched the cars down below, huddled into a blanket right by the window, always on her side, the only position that didn't hurt as much. Her back wasn't an option because of her red ass (at least the welts seemed to fade slowly), and her stomach didn't work either because of her sensitive breasts.

The bruises on her hips didn't hurt as much, they just looked awful, large, deep purple spots in the shape of fingers, although the thought of him holding her like that gave her a little peace of mind, reminding her of the time he took her from behind with his cock slamming into her tight cunt, and the noises they created like this made her shiver as she remembered them, a familiar heat pooling between her legs.

Now the third night has passed (or so she thinks), and she still sits on her knees next to her bed and stares at the plate in front of her. Something is different today. It's always one croissant and some jam, a glass of orange juice and a sandwich she usually keeps for lunch later. He also brings a large water bottle every day. He cares for her, even if he ignores her, and as she takes the croissant and dips it into the jam, she savors the rich taste and thinks of him, sitting in his office, watching her on the camera feed, thinking of her too?

The croissant is halfway gone when she realizes that something is different (her mind is loose like that, keeps repeating thoughts, goes into spirals and down dark rabbit holes before resurfacing to the here and now). The leash. Her hand moves to the collar, her finger slips into the metal ring, but there's nothing attached to it.

She usually wakes up, hears him coming in, shares the tiniest moment when he leans over her and attaches the metal chain to her neck, of course without looking at her or touching her more than necessary. She's barely awake when he does it, but it's enough to make her wonder why he would reattach the leash in the first place. It means he comes in at night, takes it off, does something to her, and then lets her sleep without it. So she wouldn't strangle herself? How thoughtful. He does care, in his own twisted way.

But today, there's no leash. He brought the breakfast plate and left without attaching it. Did he forget? Does that mean she doesn't need it anymore? Is she supposed to attach it herself (can she even do that)? It's given her some sort of comfort, its gentle weight, the way she's had to carry it around the room with her if she didn't want to get it stuck everywhere, it's been like a friend in her loneliness. But now she is truly alone.

She nibbles on the pastry, then takes a sip of orange juice, before she slowly stands up, her eyes immediately wandering to the camera attached to the ceiling. Of course nothing happens, it never does, she isn't even sure the thing is on (but she wants to believe, wants to have the certainty that he looks after her, wherever he is). Still looking at it, she puts her hand to her collar, plays with the empty metal ring.

Then she turns away and walks to the closet, follows the thin but sturdy metal chain from one end to the other. It's curled up next to her bed, and she picks it up, turning it between her fingers. The lock on the metal ring at its end is closed, and she has no way of opening it, she knows that, it only works with his thumbprint. So she's not supposed to put it on herself.

But why would he forget? Or leave it off on purpose? Is her punishment over? Then why doesn't he talk to her, take her in his arms, praise her for taking it so well? (Did she take it well? She isn't sure.)

She puts the leash back on the floor, biting her bottom lip. It's swollen now, bitten raw, because there has been no one telling her not to do that, no one offering her his thumb instead also. She's tried sucking on her own, but it hasn't been the same, only fueled those thoughts about her being a stupid child, causing her to spiral even further into the bottomless pit of her misery.

It always takes her a moment to climb back out, at least to do her daily routine, something she needs to hold on to, follow like a mantra, a means to pass the time without stewing in her own dark thoughts.

Slowly she walks to the bathroom and washes her hands, then her face, then brushes her teeth. While untangling her hair, she stares at her reflection, eyes wandering over the bruises on her skin, trying to imagine how they came to be

(his mouth on her breasts, sucking on her nipples, his warm tongue circling them, his eyes closed, savoring the moment, warm breath fanning over her skin)

(his big hands cupping them, rubbing over her buds, pinching them between his fingers, the way the veins and tendons move under the tight skin of his hands when he does so)

(his lips trailing along her neck, above and below the collar, teeth teasing the soft skin, nibbling, biting, leaving mark after mark, making new ones, deepening the old)

and by the time she's done with her hair, she feels hot tears streaming down her flushed face, eyes red and swollen, the need for him growing by the second. Putting down the brush, she moves a hand between her legs, no longer thinking about his threat

(“If I catch you with your fingers in your cunt, I will have to think of yet another punishment. Unless I give you a toy to play with, you will refrain from touching yourself, understood?”)

before her middle finger bends and dips between her folds, feeling the warmth there, the stickiness he's left from last night, or so she hopes. Inhaling sharply, she pulls her hand back, stares at the sticky substance, fights the urge to bring the finger to her lips.

Instead she steps into the shower and quickly turns it on. Washing away the evidence of his nightly visit, wincing when the hard jet of water from the shower head hits her sensitive skin, she tries to empty her mind, focus on just breathing, lets the steam fill her lungs, listens to the constant pitter-patter of the water. Closing her eyes, she just stands there, breathes in and out, detaching herself from her unfair living conditions...

She doesn't hear the footsteps, the quiet tapping over the rushing of water. Doesn't hear the door being opened and closed, but she feels him, warm, his big body taking up more space, exuding heat, and when his hands find her waist, she inhales deeply, doesn't startle but smiles, her mind instantly filling up again with images of him.

He stands behind her, pulling her against his hard chest. She doesn't move. It doesn't feel real. It's just her tortured mind giving her the illusion of him. He feels real, though, and it pains to think her mind would be able to trick her like this. She feels his hands rubbing up and down her sides, then move around her body and cup her breasts, and she flinches when he kneads them, presses against her sore nipples, and her eyes flutter open.

Looking down, his hands are really there, and it takes her a long moment to realize what's happening. He's here, in the shower with her, touching her. Finally touching her. Her heart starts beating faster, her breaths quickening, and she raises her hands and puts them on his, feels his fingers under her palms. A soft little whine escapes her before she pushes against the touch and turns around, almost slipping in the shower, and when she tilts her chin up and looks at him, he is there, looking down at her, face stoic and hard, but his eyes are warm.

New tears spill from her lashes as she presses herself against him, arms wrapping around his midriff, holding onto hard muscles and tight skin, face buried in his toned chest, ear pressed to where his heart is beating so steadily that it calms her, his warmth seeping into her skin, filling her up with something she's thought she's lost in the last days: hope.

His hands rub along her back, gently, soothingly, slipping lower, and while she cries softly against him, all the misery pouring out of her in hot tears, finally dissolving, he teases his fingers around her rear, pressing into her bruises, but she barely registers the slight pain, it doesn't matter anymore. He's here, with her, touching her, letting her hug him, spending time with her, finally acknowledging her fully again.

She's embracing him tightly, hell-bent on never letting go again, but when he leans down a little and hooks his hands around her thighs, she loosens her grip and lets him scoop her up. Her arms wrap around his neck while her legs tighten around his waist, and she's finally face to face with him. Her lips quiver as she smiles at him, blinking away the last tears. He tilts his head, silent as ever, watching her, and slowly moves her through the shower until her back hits the tiled wall.

One hand under her sore butt, the other moves up to wipe at her cheek, thumb brushing over her lips. She gasps softly, parting them, but instead of offering her his thumb, he grips her chin and leans in, smacking his mouth to hers. A moan slips from her throat as he presses his tongue between her lips, and she's quick to meet it, tasting him, feeling him, hot breaths mingling in a kiss she's fantasized about for so long.

She's dizzy by the time he leans back to rest his forehead against hers, eyes hooded but intense, and she holds his gaze, breathing harder. Her fingers move along his nape and up into his hair, a shiver crashing through him under the sensation. His hot exhale tingles on her swollen lips, and when she feels his hand moving beneath her, she shifts against him, holding on as he prods the tip of his cock against her waiting entrance.

Yes, she's sore, aching, her body bruised, but it doesn't matter because she's finally present when he follows his urges to use her like he should. She's clinging to him, looking into his dark eyes, her own need flaring up as he nudges between her pussy lips, and she lets out a soft little “Ah” when he sinks into her, her body weight doing the rest as she allows him to slip deeper, filling her out in a way that feels like coming home.

Her muscles are tight, fighting the intruder, old bruises flaring up, but he keeps rolling his hips into her, pressing her against the wall, holding her, and she shivers deeply, burying her face in the crook of his neck, trying to relax against the onslaught of pain and the promise of pleasure. It hurts, but she wants this, needs this, needs him, more than anything.

His hands are on her ass cheeks, the touch burning, skin tight, bruises aching, but he doesn't care, and she doesn't either, and when he starts moving her up and down on his cock, her back rubbing against the tiled wall, she starts moaning softly, mewling and whining, leaning into the stretch and the way he fills her and pummels those special spots and bruises, and it's all a haze, sensations crashing through her body and through her mind, pleasure filling her like cotton, and despite the water raining down on them, it's all aflame, every single nerve, every muscle, every cell tingling.

Her cunt clenches around him, and he groans quietly into her ear, the way he bounces her getting quicker, desperate, frantic, as he chases his own orgasm. He's so hard and hot inside her, every scrape of his crown and of those bulging veins against her tight muscles like a caress deep within, a slow (then fast) rubbing to drive her straight to the edge.

Her noises crescendo, erratic little huffs and wails and moans, her thighs twitching against his sides, feet crossed behind his back, toes curling, her heart thundering inside her chest. And yet she waits, holds onto the pleasure that makes her head spin, waits for his approval, the command to allow her to jump, but he keeps slamming into her, fingers digging into her bruised skin, his breath hot and rapid against her neck.

“P-please,” she cries out, trembling in his hold, as his cock keeps bullying her cervix with rapid thrusts. “C-can I c–”

“Come,” he rasps out hoarsely, holding her tighter, his body shuddering, his pelvis smacking against hers, and she tightens around him, cunt squeezing his length, and with a wail, she comes hard, body convulsing, muscles contracting, bright lights exploding behind her eyelids with a force that leaves her gasping breathlessly.

She's still floating when he grunts loudly, pressing into her hard, arms wrapped around her body, so tightly she can barely breathe, not that she'd care about it in that moment, and then his warmth floods her insides, melting into her, his cock twitching, and he stumbles under the sensation, shoulder leaning against the wall as his orgasm crashes through him.

Her limbs are shaking from how tight she's holding onto him, one hand able to rub his strong back, easing the tense muscles, when she begins to pepper his neck with soft kisses, head empty and light, the bliss still flickering before her eyes, a happy smile dancing around her quivering lips.

He turns them, breathing hard, and when her hand slips up around his nape, he leans against the wall and props his head against it, eyes closed, face relaxed, lips parted, throat working, chest heaving. She leans back and watches him, mesmerized by the sight of him.

With her legs still wrapped around his waist, impaled on his cock, she moves her hands to his face, cups his jaw, her thumbs brushing against the corners of his mouth, and when he opens one eye, then the other, a smirk plays around those lips she could stare at forever. She blushes deeply, if it's even possible to bring more blood into her face, and smiles back shyly.

“Thank you,” she whispers as he holds her gaze, before she leans in and presses her lips to his cheek, watching him, then, when he doesn't do anything, moves them further to his lips, giving him a gentle peck.

He inhales deeply before kissing her back, first it's just another peck, a gentle pressing of lips against lips, then he parts them, closes them around hers and pushes his tongue against her upper lip, demanding entrance, and of course she lets him, meets his tongue for a frantic little dance, as their breaths mingle and her fingers slip into his hair while one of his hands grabs her nape, holding her against him.

Her cunt clenches around his cock as the heat of the kiss seeps through her body, and he twitches inside her, gives her a gentle nudge of his hips, making her mewl into his mouth. But instead of doing it all over again, he moves her up, lets his cock slip free from her pulsing pussy, and while breaking the kiss for a moment, unwraps her legs from around his waist.

She's back on her feet, legs trembling, hands gripping him, pleading eyes looking up at him as he holds her elbows. He straightens up, chest rising and falling, building himself up in front of her, tall and not as intimidating, but still dominant, and she bites her swollen lip, licks it, watches him.

All he does is point to the ground, and in an instant, she's on her knees on the slippery tiles, ignoring the ache, hands hovering over his thighs, head tilted up, looking at him from under her lashes. He puts his hand under her chin and pulls her closer to his groin. Her eyes never leave him, but her lips part, her tongue lolls out, mouth wide open, and he guides his cock between her lips, moving his hips with slow rolls.

She keeps looking up, closing her lips around him, tasting him and herself, lets him push in and out, presses her tongue against his underside. Her hands finally touch his legs, and he lets her, and when she leans closer, sitting up on her knees, he lets go of her chin and moves his hand around her head, twists her hair around his fingers and then grips it tightly, holding her head as she starts bobbing it back and forth.

Her eyelids flutter close, tears burning under her lashes, but they're happy tears, she tells herself, as she leans into the breathlessness of the act, of feeling his cock nudging against the back of her throat, savoring the overwhelming joy of being so close to him, of him trusting her to take him deep into her mouth. She still gags when he presses further, a little push of his hips, but she only holds onto his thighs tighter, tries to relax, moves her head in tandem with his hips.

Slurping and gurgling sounds fill the steamy room, and she's lightheaded all over again, her body jerking with every deep push, throat working around him, his hand gripping her hair with a brutal force that also grounds her, distracts her from the burning of her lungs. He's been semi-hard when he's slipped into her mouth, now he's almost bursting, tight skin, hardened core, bulging veins, leaking tip, throbbing between her lips, pushing in and out, harder, faster, deeper.

His other hand finds her chin again, slipping lower, holding her throat, brushing against the collar, angling her head, and she feels his legs straining when he spreads them to lower himself, accommodate her height, and it's the new position that allows him to push even deeper into her throat. If she was breathless before, she is downright airless now as he rams his cock against her face, cock sliding into her throat, bulging it, pressing against the already tight collar.

Her fingernails dig into his legs, her knees shaking, her body yearning for oxygen as her lungs protest, head spins, body convulses when she gags around him. He groans, picking up the pace, pushing deep so that his balls slam against her chin with every thrust, and she endures, tries to be still, tries to relax, holding her breath, lips loose around him, eyes rolling back as her eyelids flutter.

This is your purpose, a voice inside her empty head hisses. You deserve this, mumbles another, and she wonders if it's meant as a reward or a punishment. She's floating, barely conscious, being held up by his hands and his cock spearing into her throat. The gurgling noises quiet down, his groans become louder, and when he finally comes, he pulls back with a grunt, and air rushes into her windpipe, while he shoots his load into her mouth, onto her tongue, over her lips, all across her face.

She doesn't even flinch when it hits her eyes, just blinks and sways a little, rasping breaths crawling through her bruised throat. The movement of her tongue is automated as it flicks around her lips, gathers as much of his cum as she can reach, then gathers it in her mouth and gulps hard, ignoring the strain in her neck, before presenting her empty mouth to him, her eyelids fluttering before she looks at the big shadow in front of her, vision blurry and buzzing, dark spots dancing at the edge of it.

She feels his hands on her face, holding her, and when she blinks her eyes into focus, she notices him kneeling before her, a wash cloth in his hand as he wipes his spend off her face.

“Thank you,” she croaks, not sure what for, for his gentle caresses now, for giving her a taste of him, for training her throat, for giving her attention? Maybe it's all of it. She can't voice it, doesn't know how, doesn't feel as if she could. It doesn't matter.

He continues cleaning her, then presses his lips to her forehead and wraps his arms around her shaking body. Lifting her up, he carries her out of the shower and sets her down on the counter, then steps between her legs, hands resting on either side of her hips as he leans over her, looking down.

“Anything else you want to tell me?” he then asks, and she inhales deeply, licks her dry lips, forces her mind to think. As more oxygen returns to her lungs and to her brain, as her body calms down after the ordeal(s), she tilts her head to the side, lets herself be flooded by the dark thoughts that have haunted her for the last three days.

“M'sorry,” she croaks out, swallowing hard, wincing, breathing harder. The words spill from her in a breathy rasp, but when she looks at him, her gaze hardens, holds his, and she hopes it'll be enough. “I'm s-sorry... for trying to run away, for trying to leave you. That was so... stupid... I'll never do it again, I swear! I didn't mean to. I don't wanna leave you, I want to be with you, for... for as long as you'll let me. Please... I meant it... I need you. And... and I... I m-missed you so much. C-can you... forgive me? Please forgive me...”

The tears fall when she utters the last three words, quiet sobs emerging from her hurting throat. Her bottom lip is trembling, her face feels hot and cold at the same time, a strange itching under her skin. Her heart is hammering against her ribcage, and she can't breathe. And she panics even more when she tells herself that she should be able to breathe, there's no cock in her throat, but why can't she breathe?

His hands are on her face, warm and soothing, but she gasps, tries to draw in deep breaths but fails, more tears blurring her vision, before he leans closer and pulls her against his chest, hugging her tightly, so tightly all she can focus on is the strength in his arms, the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart against her ear. And slowly, she can breathe again, hesitant gulps of air go in, fill her lungs, and come out as relieved little sighs. Over and over again until she relaxes into his embrace.

“You did good, darling,” he whispers, his low voice thrumming through her. “It's alright now. You took your punishment so well, I'm really proud of you. And I forgive you,” he adds, and she lets out a happy sob, her arms flying around his body, holding on, little hiccups shaking her small frame. “Shh,” he makes, rubbing her back. “It's okay. Relax. Breathe. Just like that, yes, good girl.”

His words guide her and she follows, his praise lifts her up and she lets herself float. Bliss is all around her, but through the haze breaks one more urge to voice her worries, to make sure he heard her. “I-I-I'm re-really so-sorry-y,” she stutters breathlessly.

“I know,” he hums, resting his chin on top of her head, arms tight around her. “I know, baby.”

She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, doing it again, her body melting into his, head emptying, all those worries dissolving or at least crawling back into the dark depths of her mind. She feels free now, lighter, everything is normal again. She's not alone, he is here, holding her.

It's all that matters.

TWENTY-ONE 🟥 TWENTY-TWO 🟥 TWENTY-THREE

End notes: They're reunited, woohoo! All's peachy now, or is it?

By the way, if you like moodboards to your stories, I have a few Pinterest boards you can check out.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[animasola86]

Hi! Are you at the moment taking requests and if you are, would you be willing to write a Sebastian x Ominis x Male reader smut? I’ll send the details after your approval, I saw you’ve done a male mc before so thought I’d ask, but remember that you’re not obligated to do anything on here :) have a nice day!

Hello! Thank you for reaching out, but I gotta disappoint you (and the few other asks I've gotten over the last months asking similar things):

I do not write for Hogwarts Legacy anymore. I'm really sorry.

I hope you'll find somebody else in the fandom who may be able to work on your request. I'm sure there are still a lot of talented writers out there!

Have a nice day too! :)

[animasola86]

Psst…

Hihi! ✨ here again, I don’t know if this is a duplicate BUT If not, then I’ll just share my idea now—

What if the reason pumpkin is named pumpkin is because she after a while being with mommy and daddy slowly learned to find some things she actually liked, one of which was Halloween! Specifically autumn and pumpkin patches. She shyly asked daddy if he and mommy could bring her to one because she wanted to discover herself a bit more so they gave pumpkin her nickname after something she likes! I think it would be really cute to see a future chapter about it if that happens!

-✨

Hello ✨! Thank you for reaching out!

That is a cute idea, but within the minimal timeline I did share in the story, Daddy gave Pumpkin her nickname pretty early on, after her first day with them/Mommy (looking back, I kinda wish I'd given it more backstory, more than Daddy's explanation of "sounds cute, as cute as you look", but oh well XD). But I can totally see her growing really fond of the name and leaning more into things that have to do with pumpkins, autumn, Halloween, etc., so yeah, a future chapter revolving around those themes is going on the list of possible things they could do together.

Oh!!! And now that I think about it, maybe it was Daddy/Noah's love for all things Halloween that made him choose the name, so imagine him, Mommy and Pumpkin visiting a pumpkin patch or a corn maze or a Haunted house (I'd have to brush up on Halloween traditions >_>), and he's telling her about his childhood and how he always loved these things - which, in turn, makes Pumpkin love these things too!

Could be a wholesome moment (which my smut writer brain already tries to exploit and push into a different direction, haha...)!

Thank you for sharing your thoughts and poking my brain! <3

[animasola86]

INFATUATED ♦️ TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

Because she tried to run away from him, he punishes her with solitude, but quickly realizes that he can't leave her alone for long.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Collars/leashes. Roofies/sleeping pills. Somnophilia. Spanking/bruising. Vaginal sex. Anal sex. Creampies. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 3.7k

A/N: Welcome back to Season Three, part one! Sorry for the long wait! Friendly reminder that this is tagged DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. You know what to expect from this story, don't expect anything less. Especially this chapter is not holding back (little side note: I wrote this while having a fever, maybe you can tell), so beware. MIND THE TAGS!!! Sir is still an asshole, or is he? (Don't worry, there has not been a change in POV, I'll keep it third person, the following is just a little experiment.)

P R E V I O U S L Y

AITA for fulfilling a girl's deepest desires? I (35M) didn't even do anything until this girl (19F) stared me down in the club. She was clearly infatuated with me, was I really supposed to ignore such a willing offering? Probably, but then again I never cared about rules or conventions. I take what I want, and I took her. I let her into my life, allowed her into my personal space, invited her in, and she came (in every sense of the word). I did give her the tiniest push to make the transition easier, but even after she woke up in my bed, she was still willing. Eager, really. Who am I to deny her? She asked me to take her virginity, the polite little thing, and really, didn't I save her from the other predators out there? She'll have a good life with me, all I asked in return was for her to submit to me, to become mine. Of course she agreed, what other choice did she have? I may have taken things a bit further than she could have imagined, but really, girls have to learn eventually, and I taught her well, and thoroughly. I may have become a little obsessed with her innocence, tainting her beautiful, pure soul, one depravity at a time. One might argue I didn't particularly ease her into it, didn't take my time with her, but I did. Ask the other girls, if they can still answer you, that is. She changed me, this little obedient thing, made me cherish the softer moments with her. I was never interested in aftercare, not to the extent she is receiving from me now. Is she making me weak? Some may say that, and it surely wasn't easy to accept just how infatuated I became with her as well, how I want to spend every second of the day buried inside her (I'll spare you the details of what I really want to do to her), teaching her new pleasures, new pains, new rules. She is so willing to learn, too, I know she is, despite her tears and struggles, despite the mistakes she still makes sometimes (that I am more than happy to punish and correct). She wants this, wants me, all of it, she just doesn't know it yet. I saw what she wanted the moment I met her eyes under the strobe light. She wants to be mine, wants to give herself to me fully, and I indulged her. I gave her a new home, severed those pesky ties to her old life (which has been a pitiful excuse of one to begin with), made her a new girl. I hadn't planned for it to develop so quickly (it's been an intense extended weekend), but by the end of it, I knew that I had to make her mine completely. And how beautifully she submitted, on her knees in front of me, eyes trained on me and me alone, her tender neck asking to be collared. So I collared her, allowed her to indulge in her deepest, darkest fantasies. She wants this, and I am only giving her what she wants. She is mine now, and I honestly don't even care what others think (don't ask why I'm sharing this in the first place). So, call me the asshole for fulfilling a girl's deepest desires, call me a pervert, predator, abductor, manipulator, abuser, rapist? I know better, my girl knows better. She is mine, and I am hers, and I will do anything to remind her of that. Don't even dare trying to get between us. You will thoroughly regret it.

TWENTY 🟥 TWENTY-ONE 🟥 TWENTY-TWO

He stares at the fairy lights on the wall. The bed squeaks in a steady rhythm, metal headboard slamming into the wall with every thrust. His breaths are labored, rough, loud in the otherwise quiet room. The girl beneath him is silent, it's just her wet cunt that squelches deliciously under the rough assault of his cock pushing in and out.

His hands are braced on her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, deepening the bruises he's already left there. He's meticulous to always leave the same marks, night after night, as he follows the same pattern.

It starts with him bringing her dinner which includes her birth control pill and one she never questions, and he waits till she swallows them both, then leaves her be. Waits for her to eat, to get ready for bed, take her time in the bathroom, then slip into bed, careful not to strangle herself with her leash.

As soon as she turns the lights down, he's back in her room, the lock clicking softly. She's on her side, breathing deeply, the covers almost swallowing her whole. He pulls them off her, carefully, until he sees the bruises on her ass cheeks and thighs, remembering the moments he's used his belt and his hand on her fragile little body. The way she had squirmed and screamed and ultimately taken it, giving into her fate, had been special to witness.

He moves his hand over the irritated skin, feels the warmth burning beneath it, the blood pumping through her wounds. She doesn't stir. She can't. The pill made sure of it. He turns her onto her back, pushes her hair out of her face, watches her for a few heartbeats. So peaceful. So beautiful with the black collar around her slim neck and the thin metal chain attached to it. He leans over her and unhooks the leash, like he does every night.

He wants to punish her for attempting to run away from him, but he doesn't want her to strangle herself in her sleep. She always wakes up without it, wondering, but never long enough before he returns in the mornings to attach it again when he brings her breakfast. It's the third night now, and for two days, she's only seen him at the start and the end of it, and he knows it troubles her – because it troubles him too.

He misses her noises. The mewls and moans, the gasps and cries, the soft hum of her voice. And he misses the way she used to look at him, with those big eyes, somewhat hopeful, with her own wants swimming in those dilated pupils. Now she looks at him pleadingly, every time, to stop this torment of denying her her most treasured thing: him. It's part of her punishment, to make her understand what she would miss if she ever (really) ran away, if she ever abandoned him. Yet as much as it pains him too, at least he doesn't have to deny himself any pleasure.

Making sure she won't wake when he returns once she's in bed, he's found a good routine. It's his right to use her whenever, and he's almost perfected it. First he inspects her bruises, memorizes them, deepens them, makes new ones. That first night he's rolled her onto her back, taking special care of her small breasts.

His eyes rake over the bruised nipples. Two nights later, they are pink and swollen, her soft little mounds shining in irritated skin and broken blood vessels just beneath it. He crawls over her and pulls her legs over his thighs, then moves his hands to her chest, kneading those tender tits, rubbing his palms over them until he feels her nipples harden, before he puts them between his thumb and forefinger and squeezes.

He'll have to do this again when she is fully conscious. The look in her eyes will be priceless, the tears brimming in them, the idea of her pained cries already thickening his cock. He keeps rolling her nipples between his fingers, then pulls on them, hard enough to lift her body a little off the bed but careful not to break her skin. Sometimes she issues a little whine that makes it through the fog that keeps her unconscious. Tonight, she is silent, just breathes deeply.

He lets go of her buds, rubs his palms over them to soothe them slightly, then lifts his hand and slaps the side of her left breast, then the other, then switches hands and repeats the motion. He will never do this when she's awake. He did it before, with the other girls, slapping, spanking, spitting, all kinds of degradation he will absolutely never utilize on her. She's too good for that. She isn't a slut, a cumdump, a worthless whore. She's his good little girl, so willing and submissive, a beautiful body with beautiful holes, his to use and fill, and she'll look at him and encourage it, wanting it, yearning for it.

He's spanking her tits now only to leave those beautiful marks on her soft skin, a reminder of what could be. She'll be sore, but it'll be a lot less painful than if she'd be experiencing this kind of treatment fully awake. He doesn't want to hurt her, blemish her too badly. It's just to show her that he is in charge.

Once her breasts are nice and red, he leans over her and kisses the warm skin, feels her blood pumping against his lips, an intoxicating feeling. He moves his tongue around her nipple, then sucks it into his mouth, tasting her, inhaling that sweet scent she's emanating. There's a balance to his torment. Pain, then pleasure, and she deserves it, she needs it. So he gives it to her.

After that, he moves his mouth higher, kissing her collarbones, nibbling on the soft flesh above them, then gives her neck some more attention. The love bites shine dark on her soft skin, a colorful mix of old and new, some deep purple, some light pink, others already fading in greens and yellows, accentuated by the shining black leather band around her neck. He always keeps her covered, from the soft skin behind her ear down to her shoulder, along her pulse in a crooked line, above and below the collar, sucking, nibbling, biting.

It's almost art at this point. He feels her heartbeat against his lips as he closes them around her pulse, licks up and down her soft neck, her steady breaths like a calming song in his ear. His hand moves into her hair, still a little wet from her shower, and while he traces his mouth over her face, kissing her cheek, her temple, her forehead, he slips his fingers around her head and massages her scalp, then moves them lower, pushes them under her collar, strains it against her throat, watching her nostrils flare as she struggles to breathe.

Leaning back eventually, letting her go, he watches her, her beautiful face, peaceful in slumber, but he remembers the times it was contorted in pain, in bliss, in shock and surprise, her eyes shining in fear, and then, in adoration. He presses his lips onto hers, lets his tongue lick between them, savoring her soft taste. He misses kissing her properly, misses feeling her small tongue pressing against his, hearing those soft mewls when he robs her of air by kissing her long and deep.

It's over soon, her punishment. And then they'll start their new life, together, and he'll continue using her but she'll be with him, in his arms, clinging to him, small hands clawing at his shoulders, nails raking over his skin, legs wrapping tightly around his waist. He can't wait, but he has to.

For now, it's only him and her boneless body. Moving back on his knees, he flips her onto her stomach, making sure her head is turned so she can breathe, and inspects the welts and bruises on her backside. They're fading slowly, some faster, but he wants to keep her ass bright red, it's too cute to look at. So he raises his hand and smacks it down hard on her left cheek, watching her body bounce, then the right, bounce, smack, bounce, smack. He misses her whimpers.

Once her ass is properly spanked (and she'll wake up wondering why the pain just won't go away), he shifts on his knees again and lifts her hips up, spreading her thighs, tilting his head as he looks at her glistening cunt. Despite being knocked out by the drug, her body still reacts to his ministrations, and as he prods her core with his finger, he finds her drenched and ready.

He still gives her some preparation, pushes in two fingers, eases the passage, before he pumps his cock and quickly lines it up with her entrance. It's one fluid snap of his hips, and he's seated fully inside, a move he hasn't done with her before, always paying attention to her discomfort, always trying to ease into her, gently pushing past her resistance, but he doesn't care when she's unconscious, she'll feel it tomorrow, but that's part of her punishment after all.

He rests for a moment, feeling her cunt clenching lazily around him, assessing the intruder, while his hands hold her hips, digging deep, fingers lining up with the deep purple spots he left there the first night by gripping her a little too tightly, but he likes the look, so he keeps doing it. Inhaling deeply, he pulls her against him, then starts drawing his hips back and slams into her hard, a relentless rhythm that would definitely make her cry if she were awake.

But she isn't, so he just keeps rutting into her, hard and fast and deep, until his stomach tenses and his balls throb and he unloads deep within her wet warmth, a small groan escaping him as he does. It's not the same. Now she's just a hole, a breathing fleshlight for him to jerk off into. It doesn't feel right, but it is her purpose, and soon they'll be back on track, and he'll watch her squirm and convulse and chase her own pleasure as he builds up his.

And he'll hold her after and caress her sweaty skin and cradle her into his chest, with their heartbeats joining rhythms. He can't wait.

He pulls out then, watching his cum drip from her clenching hole, slowly making it onto the sheets. The first night he's cleaned her up, left her wondering why she was sore, but the next he's left his cum on her skin as a reminder, a clue of what is happening while she's out cold. Maybe it's even a consolation for her, evidence that he hasn't forgotten about her, that he visits her even though he doesn't during the day.

He's seen it in her eyes the following evening when he has brought her dinner, as she's knelt next to the bed, worrying her lip between her teeth. Waiting for confirmation, but he hasn't said anything, barely looked at her, leaving her with her raging thoughts. It's cruel to promise her this head-empty-feeling and then let her drown in her doubts and fears for three days. But she has to learn, she has to realize that she needs him, craves him, so she will never attempt to flee from him ever again.

It's been his own fault, though. He's been too focused on making her jealous, too deep in flirting with women he wouldn't even normally look at longer than necessary, and he has turned his back on her, literally, in the crowded mall, and it surprises him deeply that she hasn't tried this earlier. He even understands why she did it. It makes sense. She felt alone, abandoned, his attention that she's had for almost four days straight turned away from her.

If he would be able to, he'd feel sorry.

But in the end, what matters to him most is that she came back, stumbled back to him, literally fell right in front of his feet, and back then, he had no idea why she'd been so emotional, but then she's confessed it, after his spanking, after the punishment for former mistakes, and in his mind he'd built up this plan, the ultimate punishment, blending together ideas he's had ever since she approached him in his club.

The collar, the leash, the nakedness, the loneliness. The using her in her sleep after drugging her. The bruising and marking. It's morbid, and frankly, much more elaborate than anything he's done with the other girls. Their punishment was brutal, rough, until their minds were broken and they were willing to submit, and even then he'd keep punishing them for the littlest things, just to keep hearing their screams and seeing their tears, and once they turned silent, defeated, broken, he'd send them off, to be used somewhere else.

But his beautiful little girl deserves better. She'll get why all of this is necessary, to make her understand. He doesn't want to break her, turn her into a drooling mess and a limp body, a soul that's burned out completely, he wants her to continue to want this, want him, turn that crush she's harboring into something more. He doesn't know love, and he's sure it's not possible to love someone who keeps treating her like he does, but he knows of obsession, and he wants her to crave him, wants him to be the only worry on her mind.

And if he were perfectly honest with himself, he already feels the same about her. A deep obsession, a need to be with her, use her for what she is, but also to care for her after, to protect her and to ravish her, all in equal measure. He needs her as much as she needs him.

His cock is weeping just thinking about it, even as he kneels behind her, having just climaxed inside her, watching her small body move slightly in sleep, soft breaths fanning over the pillow. He gathers her in his arms and pulls her onto his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed, cradling her, kissing the top of her head as it lolls against his shoulder, taking in that scent that makes him dizzy, sweat and sex and one that's only her, sweet like honey, fragile like a leaf in the crisp autumn air.

His eyes move back to the fairy lights on the wall, then move around the room. It was a good idea to transfer her old bedroom into his penthouse, a little transition between her old life and her new one. To get her accommodated, adjusted, and he's sure once her punishment is up, she'll hate spending time in here, and he'll take her old stuff away then, giving her new things to pass the time with, and she'll do it, play with herself and the toys and anything he'll ask of her, because she can't stand spending another minute in a room he's left her alone in for several days.

Kissing the crown of her head once more, he puts her back on the bed, rolls her onto her side and slips in behind her, holding her pressed to his chest, arms around her torso, swollen nipples poking into his skin, his cock firmly nudging between her ass cheeks.

He ends the night with grabbing her leg and lifting it, opening her up for him before he slips back into her welcoming warmth, using his last spend as lube to coat his already hardening member (he never takes long to become erect again after using her, it's a strange thing, the power she has over him and his libido), and while he thrusts deeply into her clenching cunt, he slips a hand between them and pushes a finger into her tight ass, getting her ready for more.

It's probably the most cruel thing he does to her, taking her ass raw and barely prepared and with only a shine of cum on his cock, leaving her hole sore and gaping, the rim stretched and swollen from the rough handling, probably not a nice feeling to wake up to. But then her muscles are particularly tight and it would only take him a few deep, hard thrusts to come if he wouldn't prolong the sensation and keep rutting into her ass until his stomach hurts and his balls are ready to explode and by doing so abuse her poor hole a little too much.

Then again, it would be far worse if she'd be awake for this, so he gets out all his harsher ideas during the night, and she'll only have to deal with the aftermath, not the act itself. It's the best he can give her. This is still a punishment after all.

When he eventually presses his tip against her puckered hole, he sighs deeply, feeling the tight grip, the resistance, the warmth awaiting him. And it's not as if he would just ram into her, he takes his time, eases his length into her, feeling her hole stretching around him, her muscles fighting the intruder until he nudges them long enough to give way.

Slowly he rolls his hips against her rear, holding her leg, using it as leverage, pushing in and pulling back, savoring the squeeze, the heat building inside her, the blood pumping through the bulging veins along his shaft, her muscles rubbing along them with every push and pull.

It's an intoxicating feeling, and he wants to relish in her tightness forever, making sure to never stretch her too far. She's not a hole to punish, but to worship. She needs to remain as tight as she is, and he'll do his best to stick to his own words and not fall back into old patterns of destroying his toys until they become useless to him, too loose to enjoy anymore. It'll be different with her.

His mouth finds her soft neck as he picks up the pace a little, one hand on her leg, the other arm curled around her chest, holding her against him. She's breathing deeply, but there's a little hitch in her noises, almost a whimper, a subconscious whine that breaks free sometimes when he's pushing her particularly close to the edge of pain, or pleasure, he can't be sure.

Kissing her flushed skin, he slams his hips into her, over and over again, pushing deep, still fighting her protesting muscles, his cock throbbing, painfully hard, his balls twitching, ready to blow his load into her, but he refrains, pushes further, savors the tight grip, the way her body makes space for him, lets him in deeper, and when he finally manages to bottom out, he stills, presses her as tightly against him as he can, just to feel how his cock pushes against her insides.

The little bulge in her tummy is a sight to die for. His palm rubs over it, and he imagines his tip throbbing against her flesh from the other side. He pulls back, watching it disappear, then pushes in again, nudging against his hand from within. A mesmerizing thing to witness. The way her body allows him to deform it, even for just a moment, how he fits into her so perfectly, how she molds to him and him alone, ignoring how much smaller she is compared to him.

“My perfect little girl,” he breathes into her ear, nibbling on her soft skin. “You were made for me.”

Closing his eyes, he inhales her, savors her warmth, both inside and out, and starts moving against her again, in and out, slow and steady, until he can't hold back any longer and pounds into her hard and fast, his groans in her ear, replacing the whispered praise, until he grunts loudly and stills, body jerking, cock twitching, his cum spurting out of him almost violently, filling her up to create another little bulge.

He relaxes with his cock still buried deep within her, and he waits for his heartbeat to calm down, his breaths to ease, and before the soothing claws of sleep can grab him, he pulls away, pulls out, her tight muscles clinging to him, her hole almost denying him exit now. He rolls her onto her stomach and rubs along her rim, spreading his cum, calming her stretched muscles, then smacks his hand against her soft, reddened ass cheek, once, twice, sometimes more, watching her drooling hole winking at him.

Sighing deeply, he moves her to lie on her side again, the way she fell asleep, and drapes the covers back over her body. He can't help but lean over her to press his lips to her cheek, whispering a few more praises she might never remember, but he still feels the need to utter them. She deserves them. Such a good girl for him.

One more day of forced solitude, and tomorrow night he'll end her punishment, make her his again, properly, with her eyes glistening and her lips parted and quivering, her soft little noises filling his ear. And her small hands reaching for him, grabbing him, holding onto him, a pliant body but with the right amount of need and desire to make her jump right into his arms and stay there.

He throws her one more glance, gripping his cock as he takes in her soft breaths, watching her sleep, the need to take her all over again growing stronger every time he has to leave her at the end. He can always repeat this, even after her punishment, and he probably will. It's his right. Her purpose.

Exhaling loudly, he steps back and pulls the door shut behind him, then locks it and turns away, ready to leave one last load in the shower, the one that was reserved for her sweet little throat. He just couldn't bring it upon himself to facefuck her in her sleep, too afraid he might overdo it and choke her and ultimately lose her.

He's almost done it before, he will never do it again. He's in too deep now. And she's supposed to stay with him forever, breathing and blushing, crying and cooing. Forever his to use and hold.

TWENTY 🟥 TWENTY-ONE 🟥 TWENTY-TWO

End notes: And we're back, as dark as ever. Next we learn Darling's side of things and how her punishment will conclude! Stay tuned!

By the way, if you like moodboards to your stories, I have a few Pinterest boards you can check out.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290 (I'm using the old tag list, lmk if you want out - or in?)

CHAPTER / / / ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[animasola86]

Hey anima!! Pickles here :3

I was just curious, how do you think about sick day with Sir would be? I'm curious to see how he'd be whenever HE'S sick, even if it's just a little fever or something. Do you think he'd ask Darling to take care of him and stay close, or since he's more independent, he'd just keep to himself until he felt fine? I know it probably wouldn't fit into Infatuated, but I still was just wondering XD

(So excited for Saturday by the way!! I've been giddy about the new chapters all week.)

My dearest pickles!!! Thank you so much for this little thinking experiment! I could answer your question as I normally would, but as soon as my brain started really thinking about it, I had to write it differently. I've said something about writing one-shots for Sir and Darling before, but never found the right theme/prompt to start, but THIS, yes! I already wrote a little drabble of 800 words, but there's more on the horizon and I may be able to upload it in between the new chapters as a thing of its own.

Thank you for tickling my writer brain!!! I hope it's okay I'm taking my time answering this, and I sure hope it's worth the wait! :3

Until then, I can't wait to finally share the new chapters of Infatuated with you (though I have to remind you that we're starting with Sir's POV, so don't expect daisies and rainbows, okay? XD)!

<3

[animasola86]

Some of my posts here, most of my reblogs on @animasolaoriginal and even some of my (more or less harmless) screenshots on @animasolascreenshots have been flagged as "mature/potentially sensitive content" - but only if you're using the Tumblr app on an Android (which I do >_>), check this post for more information.

So please check your account settings if you want to continue to see my smut/inspiration pics/screenshots.

And thank you OP for this easy to follow guide on how to make your favorite "mature things" visible again!

Below is a screen of how it looks on desktop now (because you never know where they'll strike next...):

Sometimes posts get labeled as mature content, which hides them from view and tags by default. When readers reach out looking for a recent post of mine that's "gone" or they can't find, this is normally why. To make sure you can see all posts, you have to manually adjust your settings to show mature content. Otherwise, if a post gets a label before you see it, you may never know it exists. You could miss out on fics AND memes, believe it or not. Please check your settings. 💗

1. Go to "account." On mobile this is the person icon on the bottom right. On desktop you can get to it from the top right.

2. From account, click "account settings."

3. Then you might have to scroll to find "Content you see."

4. Then under "mature" content and the subcategories, make sure they say "show" (assuming you want to see depraved content) or whichever setting you want.

OTHER TOOLS FOR YOUR TUMBLR EXPERIENCE