#strobe controller

[icorekorea]

Improved Accuracy with Machine Vision Technology | iCore

iCore's machine vision technology uses complex algorithms to accomplish complex tasks and render precise decisions for machine vision systems. With the latest high-power LED spot lights, you may experience the power of illumination with maximum brightness and energy efficiency. An LED light source with a continuous current is called iLight. With the aid of cutting-edge algorithms, iCore's machine vision technology enables complex job execution and accurate assessment in machine vision systems. The industry's maximum LED driving power—up to 1,000W—is achieved by iLight thanks to its integrated over-driving function. Easy-to-use linear brightness control is made possible by iLight's intensity feedback feature. Even at large currents, iLight has an extremely quick response time to current. After receiving an external trigger input, LED drive is achievable in less than 0.5㎲, and a current pulse as small as 0.5 ㎲can be produced.

iLight source designed specifically for computer vision systems: It makes the most of the built-in LED's lighting management to drive the LED at a sudden 1,000W and produce the highest-level lighting pulse in the world, at least 0.5㎲. Furthermore, it can instantly increase system speed while synchronizing with external signals because to its lightning-fast 0.5㎲ response time.

Hybrid Spot Light:

Hybrid spot lighting is an option to xenon and regular LED lighting that offers a brightness greater than LEDs. The combined 10,000 hours of life provided by laser and LED technology is not impacted by the short life and brightness variations of xenon lamps.

Drop watcher:

Drop Watcher is a program that scans ink droplets as soon as they leave the printhead. High brightness and very short illumination durations are required to record flight parameters at sub-micron resolution.

If you are looking for strobe controller in Korea, you can find it on iCore

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View more:  Improved Accuracy with Machine Vision Technology

[innovativeledsales]

Buy LED DJ Lights | DMX, Sound-Activated, Strobe & Stage Lighting for DJs – Innovative LED Sales

Explore the top LED DJ lights, sound-activated lighting, and DMX-controlled stage effects. Perfect for DJs, events, and parties. Shop portable lighting kits today

[marvelstoriesepic]

I Would Let the World Burn

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Non-superhero!Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You attend a public Avengers event as Bucky’s girlfriend for the first time, but things spiral from nerves to chaos in a matter of seconds. And when you’re caught in the crossfire, Bucky unleashes.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: violence; injury; PTSD elements; emotional distress; explosions; mass panic; allusions to death; protective!Bucky; nobody hurts his girl; seriously, he’s a little feral here

Author’s Note: I need protective Bucky all day and all night omg. Thank you so much, my love, for this absolutely amazing request!! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The lights are everywhere.

Glinting off skyscraper windows and camera lenses, bouncing off metallic armor and too-white smiles.

The voices are everywhere. They swarm like bees - the press, the fans, the murmuring of people watching people.

The flash of the cameras is a strobe light stinging the back of your eyes. Reporters shout questions like bullets, flinging them past your ears and into your chest.

You feel your lungs shrinking in your ribcage as if they’ve decided you’ve seen enough. Felt enough. Been too much.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in this crowd, not in this dress, not in front of a hundred reporters and their glittering cameras. Not in the spotlight. Not on the arm of the Bucky Barnes.

You tug at the hem of your dress, fingers nervous, breath catching on a sigh you don’t release. Everyone here looks like they belong - as if they were born to walk red carpets and sip sparkling drinks under light that only blinds you. You feel like an ink smudge on a page of golden script.

It’s the first time you’re out in the public with him. The first time the press will capture who’s been speculated to be the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

Bucky spent the night whispering reassurances into your skin, but it seems you should have listened to his words rather than the feeling of his plump lips all over your body.

Your hand is in his, and his thumb traces slow circles against you, metal fingers warm from your skin. His other hand rests lightly on your back. He hasn’t let go of you once.

You look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

He looks perfect, tailored, controlled, dangerous in a way that makes people stare too long and then look away even faster.

His hair is swept back tonight, save for one defiant strand that keeps falling across his brow. You keep watching that strand as if it’s a lifeline. Like if you can count how many times it falls, maybe your nerves will shut the hell up.

You know he feels how tense you are.

He frowns, and it’s so soft it nearly breaks your heart. That Bucky Barnes can frown like that. As if you just told him you were fading into dust.

“Hey,” Bucky coos, voice soft, voice low, the world dissolving for a second into nothing but him and you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You try to nod. But you can’t lie to him. Words jam in your throat, caught somewhere between the beat of your heart and the reality of who he is and who you are not.

“I just-” you manage, but it’s a little shaky, you look around. “I feel out of place.”

Bucky tilts his head, brow still furrowed tightly. “Why?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Try to explain how it feels to be ordinary in a sea of extraordinary. How it feels to be his, but not one of them. How terrifying it is to not have armor, or training, or anything more than love for a man who could kill with his pinky finger and kindness in his eyes just for you.

Bucky steps in close, crowding the noise out with the breadth of his body, his warmth, the familiarity of his scent - cedar and cold and something quietly him. His nose brushes yours, and it’s stupid how it grounds you.

“I’d rather be anywhere else,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’d rather be nowhere. Just me and you. On a rooftop. Under the sheets. In the woods. I don’t care. Just not here. No noise. No cameras. No Stark in a tuxedo with a martini making bad decisions.”

You laugh, and it trembles out of you.

His smile is all softness and secret promises. His eyes are glinting. “But if I have to be here - then I'm glad it’s with you.”

The way he says it - quiet, low, as if it’s something he only ever told the wind - freezes everything inside you and sets it on fire all at once.

You blink, and the fear stutters. Collapses a little. Because it’s not you and the Avengers. It’s you and Bucky.

His lips graze your ear, then your temple, taking his time. He’s not bothered at all by the cameras flashing around you, capturing this moment, capturing the Winter Soldier going soft on his girlfriend.

You want to fall into him. You want to crawl into his chest and live there.

You let out a breath. It’s just beginning to feel okay. The world quiets just for a second.

Then it explodes.

There’s a metallic whine, a rumble like thunder swallowed by stone. The ground jerks beneath your feet as though it’s trying to shake you off. Screams tear through the air. A plume of smoke mushrooms in the sky as fire roars from the far end of the pavilion. People scatter. Glass shatters. Concrete buckles.

You don’t even have time to be shocked when Bucky already reacts.

He pushes you behind him so fast your teeth snap together. He doesn’t look back. His body shields yours, metal arm braced outward, flesh hand pressing you into his back, eyes scanning for threats.

Another explosion cracks through the sky, rips through the atmosphere like an angry god. And right after, the next explosion follows, punched through the sky like a fist made of fire.

You cough, eyes watering. There’s debris. Someone’s car door skitters across the ground like a dead insect. Tony’s suit whirs to life across the square. Natasha’s already sprinting. Sam is in the air.

Bucky is moving, dragging you behind a line of armored cars, his body is coiled with tension, his expression is deadly serious.

“Stay here!” he orders. It’s his soldier voice. Cold steel and no argument. He’s never used this voice on you before.

“Bucky-”

“Y/n, stay down,” he barks sharply, and you nearly flinch. But his tone is not filled with anger. It’s filled with fear. “Do not move until I come back for you.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs. Your head is shaking from side to side so fast, you can’t do anything. “No- Bucky-”

He cups your face, his hands stiff, his hold almost rough. He leans in. “Stay. Here,” he growls. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

His eyes tell you he already is. He will be. But he doesn’t tell you.

He waits for you to nod, although he doesn’t have the time. An almost aggressive kiss is pressed to your mouth, then to your forehead, and he is gone. Thrown into chaos, lost in the smoke and fury and shouts.

You barely register the space he leaves behind. The smoke moves like a creature through the crowd, making people disappear wholly. Somewhere nearby, there’s another explosion. The screams rise again, louder.

You crouch lower, press yourself against the cold steel of the car, try to breathe through the hammer in your chest. You want to do what he said. You try to do what he said.

But the panic moves toward you.

You don’t see where it starts. Just feel it. A shove. A push. Someone collides with your hiding place, someone is behind you and suddenly you’re on the ground. White-hot pain at your side. You fall hard enough to see stars. A sharp ache slices down your shoulder where debris must have caught you. Blood runs hot and slick beneath your dress.

Disoriented, you try to push up on trembling arms but they shake too much, and everything is spinning.

You don’t see the soldier until you turn your head and there’s a flash of metal in his hand. A knife.

“Y/n!”

It’s your name. It’s Bucky’s voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a roar. As if it was ripped out of his chest. As if he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to you.

From fifty yards away, across smoke and bodies and fire, he sees the blood blooming on your sleeve. Sees your fingers twitch as you try to sit up. Sees the man with the knife coming too close.

And he is barreling through the smoke like something unholy, eyes wild, teeth clenched, hands balled to fists. The light behind his eyes just snaps.

He moves as though he’s been set free. No hesitation. No fear. No softness left in him. His face is stone, is fury, is death, is Winter Soldier. His arm gleams under the flames, a ghost of his past resurrected in defense of his present.

Bucky hits the guy with bone-crushing force, enough to send teeth skittering across pavement. A scream echoes once before it’s cut off. Another blow. Another. Fist to face. Elbow to jaw. A crunch that sounds like death and rage all rolled into one. His vibranium hand wraps around the man’s throat, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes - something ancient and broken - before Bucky picks him up and slams him against a crumbling wall. Again. And again.

It’s not strategy. It’s not mercy. It’s pure rage.

Somewhere, Steve yells his name like a warning.

Bucky doesn’t stop.

“Bucky-” you croak, blood warm down your arm. You try to sit up.

In an instant, he turns back to you, easing up on his brutal hold and the soldier crumples to the ground. Bucky’s whole body is tight with adrenaline, his breath sawing in and out as though he ran through a warzone - which he kind of did. For you. His eyes find yours and shatter.

He’s at your side in half a breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, hands on your face, on your shoulder, trembling now. “No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to be- I told you to stay-”

“I tried,” you defend weakly, dizzy. “I didn’t- I’m okay. I think. Just- grazed me, maybe-”

But he’s not hearing you. Not through the panic tearing holes in his composure. His hands flutter, unsure where to land without hurting you more. His voice drops, gravelly and hushed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Shit, I should’ve known-”

“Hey.” You grab his wrists. “Bucky.”

He stills, but he won’t meet your eyes. Your thumb brushes the inside of his wrist. “I’m okay.”

But he’s too far in his head.

He wraps you in his arms in seconds, cradles you as if you’re made of moonlight and scripture, as if you’re hallowed and half-broken and held together by threads only he can see.

His metal hand supports your back, curved protectively around your spine. His other hand is pressing your legs into his chest.

The darkening sky is still full of smoke and sirens.

Colors smear across the sky like blood in water. Reds and blues. Shouting and static. Flashing lights and fractured ground. Somewhere nearby, someone is screaming. Somewhere farther, something explodes.

But not for him anymore. He doesn’t seem to hear anything. Doesn’t seem to listen to anything other than your breathing, your pulse.

He walks fast, but carefully. Erratic feet cut through rubble, his jaw is locked so hard, his body so rigid, he surely is in pain from holding all that tension. His eyes are storm-dark and unblinking. No one stops him. Not Steve. Not Tony. Not even the medics who see the look on his face and take a cautious step back as though maybe the devil borrowed his bones tonight.

He never trusted any random medic to look you over. It has to be someone he knows.

You whisper his name.

Soft. Breathless. Almost an apology.

And he almost drops to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, hoarse and urgent. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You know you are. But he doesn’t.

Your fingers curl in the collar of his suit jacket. His real name - James - lives on your tongue but never quite makes it out because he’s holding you too close, and perhaps saying his name might crush him completely.

He smells like smoke and ash and steel and blood. Your temple is tucked against the curve of his neck, where his pulse thunders beneath the surface. He’s warm and shaking.

He bursts into the quinjet that brought you here like a man on fire, like a man trying to outpace grief, and he yells something sharp. He lays you down - reluctantly, tenderly, surrendering - onto a stretcher, but his hands don’t stop touching you.

He’s a storm with a purpose, and that purpose is you.

You, safe.

You, whole.

You, alive.

“Bucky,” you try to ease, blinking up at him, face pale under flickering emergency lights. “I told you, baby. It’s not that bad.” Your voice is soft. Slow.

“You were on the ground.” His voice cracks.

“I was on the ground for like two seconds-”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It stopped, baby. Okay? There’s no fresh blood.” You are close to whispering.

Bucky doesn’t seem eased, though. He sits beside you. Big body bent in half, elbows on knees, one trembling hand reaching to gently - so, so gently - brush your hair from your forehead.

And then he says it.

“I would’ve burned the whole goddamn city to get to you.” Quiet. Like a vow. Like a confession. Like faith. Like a truth, he doesn’t know how to carry anymore. “I would’ve torn down buildings with my bare hands if I didn’t see your breathing. I don’t care who saw. I don’t care what they think-” his voice breaks, his breaths spill all over his words. “I can’t be okay without you.”

You stare up at him. Your throat is tight, eyes are stinging. Because he doesn’t say things like that. Not often. Not out loud. You see it in his eyes every day, in the way he looks at you, in the way he treats you. But it’s something else entirely to hear him form those words and let his tongue roll them out.

He presses his forehead to yours. His breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes are closed. His hand cups the back of your head.

He’s holding you so close to him, as if he’s never intending to let go ever again.

[deconstructthesoup]

Brennan when D20 first started: Yeah, we're in a dome that can change colors depending on the situation, blue to start out, red for combat, we've got some purple and some green and maybe some yellow in there for ambiance, custom battle sets made by Rick Perry :)

Brennan for Crown of Candy: Okay... hear me out... more than one color at a time on the dome

*Insert about a year of doing seasons online due to quarantine*

Aabria, rocking up for MisMag: Hmm... new system :) Custom props :) Background effects for dome :)

Brennan, eye twitching slightly: Okay... what about strobing light effects on the dome? What about custom computers for the digital battlesets?

Aabria, grinning evilly: What about flowers all over the dome? What about in-theme makeup looks? What about physical props for moments that happen organically in the campaign? What about ambient lighting? WHAT ABOUT BACKGROUND PROJECTIONS?

Brennan, slamming hands on the table: BACKGROUND PROJECTIONS?! HOW ABOUT BACKGROUND ANIMATIONS, BABY?! HOW ABOUT MOVING SET PIECES THAT COME IN FROM THE CEILING?! YOU DRESS UP ALL THE TIME? WELL, I'M DRESSING UP FOR OUR DRAG QUEEN SEASON! AND I'M NOT DONE, I GOT A WHOLE NEW NOIR-THEMED SIDEQUEST! I'M MAKING THAT OTHER GAME-SYSTEM NOIR THEMED AND BRINGING IN NOIR LIGHTING AND MAKING TRACKS FOR THOSE TOKENS TO ROLL DOWN IN AND ANIMATED SCENES TO PROJECT ONTO THE DOME!

Aabria, floating into the air Galadriel-style: PUZZLE BATTLESETS! ANTI-SURVEILLANCE MAKEUP! I GOT CARLOS LUNA TO RECORD WHOLE-ASS AUDIO LOG ENTRIES FOR YOU GUYS TO DISCOVER AS YOU UNRAVEL THIS MYSTERY!

Brennan, going Super Saiyan: MINIS FOR EVERY GODDAMN OCCASION! EVERY SINGLE BATTLESET IS MORE ELABORATE THAN THE LAST! I GOT WORDS ON THE DOME! I'M INCLUDING A PLOT-IMPORTANT CLIP FROM FIVE FUCKING YEARS AGO TO PROJECT! I GOT SMOKE EFFECTS AND EXPLOSION EFFECTS! MY DM COSTUME GETS MORE AND MORE ACTION-MOVIE RUGGED AS THE SHOW GOES ON! I MADE A WHOLE! NEW! SYSTEM!

Aabria, achieving godhood: THE SET MOVES! THERE ARE WIND EFFECTS! I TOOK YOUR NEW SYSTEM AND I MADE A MAGIC VERSION! I GOT HOLOGRAMS IN THE DOME, BITCH! CARLOS LUNA IS RIGHT BACKSTAGE WITH A MOTION-CAP THING ATTACHED TO HIS FACE AS HE DELIVERS LINES FOR THE TALKING ROCK!

Brennan, achieving elder godhood: FLAMETHROWERS FOR THE LIVESHOW IN NEW YORK! THE GIANT MONSTERS ARE REMOTE-CONTROLLED! THE DRAGON ACTUALLY BREATHES OUT SMOKE! AND I GOT GLOW-IN-THE-DARK BLACKLIGHT MAKEUP EFFECTS! ME, THE GUY WHO ALWAYS WEARS THE SAME FIVE SHIRTS!

(@quiddie please confirm that this is how the production conversation goes between you and Brennan)

[agrieyes]

AgriEyes W12 Wireless Strobe Light: Revolutionizing Safety with Smart Control

AgriEyes introduces the W12, a groundbreaking wireless strobe light that combines cutting-edge technology with unparalleled durability to enhance safety on the road. This compact and versatile light bar is equipped with innovative features, making it an essential asset for various applications.

APP Control for Ultimate Convenience: remote control strobe light. The W12 stands out with its seamless control through the JW-TECH app, allowing users to manage modes directly. Offering 4 colors, 10 modes, and a dedicated SOS mode on the app, users have complete flexibility in adjusting the Mini Strobe Light Bar according to their needs. The lights can also be controlled using the top buttons or the included infrared remote, ensuring a user-friendly experience for everyone.

Exceptional Durability and Performance: Constructed with a robust ABS housing, the W12 is designed to withstand the rigors of different environments. Its IP67 waterproof rating ensures resilience against the elements, and with over 5000 hours of service life, the W12 provides long-lasting reliability. The rechargeable beacon light features protection against overcharge, overdischarge, and overtemperature, ensuring safe and efficient usage. A 4-hour charge offers an impressive 6.5 hours of continuous operation.

Class I Brightness for Enhanced Visibility: The W12’s white amber light bar, equipped with 84 high-brightness LED chips, achieves Class I brightness. Visible from a mile away, this feature is crucial for highway driving, frequent stops, or operating vehicles. AgriEyes remains dedicated to its mission of prioritizing safety, ensuring that drivers are safer on the road with the intense brightness of the W12 strobe lights.

Effortless Installation in Seconds: Designed for user convenience, the W12 features 2*6 N38 magnets with a robust 60-pound pull force, enabling easy adhesion to the roof of the truck. Installation is a breeze – simply place the light on the roof, plug it into the 12V outlet, and it’s ready to use. Removal is equally simple, requiring no tools, making the process hassle-free.

Wide Application Across Various Vehicles: The W12’s versatility extends to all vehicles equipped with 12-24V power outlets. From emergency vehicles and construction trucks to snowplows, tractors, and school buses, these lights cater to a diverse range of applications, ensuring safety alerts and visibility in critical situations.

In conclusion, the AgriEyes W12 Wireless Strobe Light represents a leap forward in smart, user-controlled lighting solutions. With its advanced features, durability, and ease of use, the W12 sets a new standard for safety on the road, aligning perfectly with AgriEyes’ commitment to prioritizing the safety of drivers and their vehicles in any driving scenario.

[madamechrissy]

Losing Control Now

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

Summary: Something about running the Gojo mafia just makes Satoru so bored. Boring, boring boring. Sure, he loves money, he loves women, he loves snorting snowy powder off their bodies. He loves the power that comes from it- but he's just bored. That is, until he stumbles upon you, the brand new bartender that makes him pause, falter, and then soon he becomes obsessed, with knowing you, in every single way. Paying off your mom's debts and working two jobs, you're exhausted, but something about this pretty Mob boy just makes you... excited again. How far in are you, and how far is Satoru in the mafia world? All he knows, is he must have you.

CW: Sexual tension, eventually explicit sex, mafia themes, drug themes, violence, obsessed Satoru Gojo, oral sex, possessive Gojo, drug use and drug dealing - lowkey Yandere fkn Gojo hehe. Light angst, some fluff, heavy smut, lots of teasing. This part- Lots of plot. drinking, making out, oral sex (M recieving) swallowing, fingering, some choking, light angst, sexual tension, whipped Toru- WC this part- 8.2k wc

That Gojo art is by michi_ia on X, divider be @cafekitsune, based on Satoru from Pour it Up (Sukuna's story) -set right at part 6 of that fic- You can read it alone, but I think it enhances this- Reblogs//comments appreciated if you enjoyy!

<<<part two - masterlist - playlist- Part four>>>

Part three

“They’re ready for you.” You hear your friend’s soft voice even over the blaring music, as you’re mixing up a drink. Sukuna’s girl now, they were just about inseparable, she is smiling brightly at you. “Satoru really has it bad.”

“No, you think so?” You flush a bit as she nods, helping open a couple of beers for the rest of the patrons sitting, entering numbers on the screen for you.

“Oh I know so, he’s pouting that you’re not there already.” Through all your exhaustion you can’t help but feel excited. “Also… talking about Mei.”

“You know now?” You ask her, frowning, while she takes your hand gently, pulling you away from the bustling bar as someone else takes over.

“I do, and I am so sorry, I didn’t know it was that bad, baby.” She has tears glistening in her eyes, even under the strobing red lights of the club, and you shake your head, brushing a hand on her bare arm.

“I wasn’t ready to tell you. But Satoru… I don’t even know him but…”

“You feel safe with him.” She finishes, and you smile, nodding then.

“That. Can you find if they have any drink orders? I’ll whip a couple up before I walk in. I know Satoru’s mix already.”

“Yeah, you know his flavor hmm?” You giggle and shake your head. “No way, not yet?”

“He wanted to… be very giving.” She’s grinning big, nudging at you now.

“Sukuna is too, my gosh though I owe him. My kid kind of…” She leans closer, conspiratorily holding a hand up. “I got off but… well…”

“Oh no!” You laugh just a bit, and she sighs.

“Mhm. He’s mad. I’ll get drink orders and help bring them!” She bounces off, before running back and helping you mix a few up. “Sukuna just likes to sip on whiskey, Toji it’s beer. Suguru is a little fancy, he likes a nice cosmo - Satoru loves anything that will give him diabetes as you well know. Now Mr. Choso…”

“Who is he?”

“He’s new. He said anything, so I’ll let you whip up something special.” She takes the shot for Sukuna and the beer for Toji and winks. “See you in there, baby.”

“Got it!” She’s giggling as she runs off, someone so upset before you remember, now she’s glowing being with Mr. Sukuna. Seeing the two of them just fuels how badly you want to have that with Satoru, but it seems insane. It seems too fast, but the man had just drank you an hour ago, how can you not go insane?

You mix up a classic rum and coke for Choso, grabbing his drink, Satoru’s and Suguru’s, heading into the huge VIP room, Satoru’s eyes light up bright when you walk in the intense atmosphere. You hand him his drink, smiling, then handing Suguru his, which he winks up at you.

“Thank you, love.” He murmurs, sipping and sighing. “So good.”

“You must be Mr. Choso?” You ask the other man in the room, who smiles sweetly at you, nodding, he’s without a girl in his lap like the other men, a little out of place you notice. “I made a rum and coke, is that okay?”

“It’s perfect, thank you pretty.” You flush at the sweet words from the man, but Satoru is standing and yanking you, making you gasp as he throws you on his lap, to the laughter of the room.

“My pretty bartender.” He grumbles, pulling you close, and you can’t help but giggle as your arms wrap around his neck.

“All yours hmm?” You whisper, he just nods, big hands taking over your waist as they begin talking, it’s constantly impossible for you to focus on shit when you’re in his arms, and he’s taking a blunt from Toji, inhaling it into his lungs, making even that action look sexy.

His lips around a blunt addle your already exhausted brain, reminding you of where they’d just been, making you heat up and shift. “Do you smoke, sweetheart?” He asks softly, coughing just a bit, and you shake your head.

“I haven’t before.”

“You little goody good. Girl scout.” You glare a little, just earning his pretty white grin across his handsome face. “Want a hit?”

“I’ll try.” You inhale the smoke barely, coughing out, and you hear Suguru and Satoru chuckle.

“You’re a horrible influence Satoru.” Suguru teases, you hand him the blunt as he smiles at you. “Don’t end up like him.”

“Excuse me!?” Satoru scowls at his friend, while he inhales the blunt, blowing it into the dancer’s mouth on his lap with ease. “Shit, why didn’t I think of that?”

“It’s hot.” Satoru glares now, and you giggle. “If you did it, I mean.”

“You better mean that. I’ll get jealous.” He pouts as you brush a thumb over his cheek, the scent of marijuana, cigars and Satoru’s cologne filling the air, swirling around you both, so heady.

“I mean it.” You press a kiss on his cheek as Satoru tenses, while Sukuna begins to speak. 

“We deal with Mei, she’s likely collecting debt for the Zenin.”

“I want to deal with her, personally.” Satoru says then, his jaw locked as he grips you so tightly squeezing your ribcage, you can feel his fury at her, making your brows knit with worry.

“Satoru, you can’t go running around provoking everyone without backup.” Suguru says, in between another hit, and Satoru scoffs now, as you feel the eyes of everyone on the two of you in the room.

“We have history.” Satoru mumbles, and Sukuna laughs then, shaking his head, as his girl scowls at his next words.

“Well who hasn’t fucked Mei?” Sukuna says amusedly.

Fucked Mei…

“You fucked Mei!?” You hiss, and Satoru flushes a bit, pulling at the knot on his black skinny tie.

“Maybe?”

“I did too, I think I was eighteen.” Suguru admits next to you, as Satoru stares at them all with an open mouth.

“I fucked her with Shiu Kong, threesome.” Toji says as he shrugs, sitting across from you all, a big hand on each stripper in his lap as they’re holding another blunt to his lips, and he’s exhaling, smirking with that scar on his lip stretching just a bit.

“Okay so everyone fucked this Mei lady, so can we make her stop being a bitch to my friend?” Your friend’s words touch your heart, and you feel Satoru relax just a bit, looking at her and nodding.

“We sure will, pookie, don’t worry.” Satoru says to her, before looking back at you and cupping your face. “But I wanna go alone.”

They try to argue about it, you even try to talk him out of going alone, but it’s no use, when Satoru wants something, he clearly will do it. He’s running his fingers up and down your back when it’s bare, sipping the fruity concoction as the plan to deal with who you’re hearing is the Zenin, which you know a bit about in stories, but it’s all so clearly real.

You had no clue your mom was in with such scary people, shit you didn’t even realize Mei was as scary as she was, and apparently… had slept with the entire room of men aside from Choso. The thoughts that she’s had Satoru make you burn with anger, not at him, but that she had him at all, possessive wild thoughts you shouldn’t be having yet, right?

But how can you not, when he’s fast becoming everything.

You were all alone before he brightened your sad, gloomy world.

“You alright baby girl?” Satoru murmurs to you softly, you blink just a bit, nodding. “Zoning out?”

“I’m just thinking about a lot.”

“About me?” He grins, and you bury your face against his neck, making him chuckle a bit, when the next words make you tense.

“We should take him the fuck out.” Toji’s gruff voice speaks of Naoya Zenin now.

“Let’s take Mei out too.” Satoru says, making you pull back with a gasp, eyeing his feral, insane grin and eyes that are too bright.

“Satoru!” You admonish, earning his cute little pout, like he’s some sweet baby and not speaking of murder. “No killing.”

“Do you know what a mafia is, baby?” You sigh, shaking your head.

“The solution can’t be taking people out.” Choso chimes in, Satoru sighs, leaning back and faking a yawn.

“Boring.” He mumbles, to the agreement of the room. “Let’s try to threaten them.” Satoru says then, and the room all reluctantly agree. “I’ll deal with Mei, Choso can deal with the Zenin before we get Sukuna involved.”

“What why!?”

“You’ll kill him, that’s why. Not that I disagree.” Toji says with a chuckle, and soon the room is dispersing, leaving you and Satoru again, just like that first time, and he’s eyeing you curiously.

“Do you mind if I kill her so much?”

“Oh god!” He’s grinning again, looking batshit insane, as you turn in his lap, straddling him now, watching his expression shift as he holds you in his lap, pressing you against his length. He’s feeling your heat, remembering the sweetness of your arousal all over his mouth, dying to fuck into you. “No killing.”

“For now.”

“Satoru!”

“I’ll try not to?” You sigh then, but that sigh turns into a gasp when he pulls you down further, and you’re grinding against his cock, whining out, his huge hands gripping your hair, lips hovering an inch from you. “I’ll try to negotiate first.”

“D-don’t pay for me, promise?” He frowns then, shaking his head.

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Please, I can’t take charity f-from- mnh…” He’s kissing you again, as you’re grinding on him, and he can’t think of anything but killing anyone who’s ever fucking touched you, your mom included, he doesn’t care.

He needs you to be his.

You’re soaking his slacks, earning his little smirk against your lips, hands slipping up the curve of your waist and hips. “Just trust me baby girl, can you?”

“I do.” You whisper, watching his snowy lashes lower, when his timer starts to go off from his pocket, and he winces.

“Can you get it for me? I hurt.” You laugh breathless, hand slipping into his pocket, making your cunt lift off him for just a moment, as his cock is pulsing, ready to fill your tight little cunt so good he can’t take it. You hand him the phone as he curses under his breath. “I have to go, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, of course!” You go to get up, but he’s pulling you back down, your arms wrap his neck, a hand brushing his snowy locks back then. “What is it, Satoru?”

“A date. Can we go on a date?” You feel your heart race at his words, god when is the last time you have had a date? And with Satoru!?

“Yes! I mean… yes.” He’s got a big grin on his pretty face, cupping your face with his long, slender fingers.

“I’ve never been on one?”

“What!? How!”

“That’s a story for the date, hmm?” You nod shyly, so fucking adorable Satoru can’t take it, the excitement making your tired eyes glitter. “Perfect, then I’ll have it all set for tomorrow, after I… take care of the situation.”

“Without killing.”

“Psh.” You nudge at him, and he rolls his baby blues. “Oh fine, yes. But, a date, you’re really down for it?”

“How couldn’t I be? I’d love to.” You feel a blush heat on your cheeks as he stands you up then, bending low and cupping your face with his huge hands, your own hands grip his wrists, looking up at him, seeing his pupils dilate, feeling the intensity of your emotions overwhelming.

“You deserve a good night’s sleep. And to relax, to have some fun, shit to just… live, okay? I want you rested up for the date.” He kisses your lips so sweetly, before it’s more passionate, and he barely resists picking you up and slamming you right against a wall, fucking into you until you pass out from how hard he’d have you cumming.

“I’ll need my energy, huh?” You tease against his lips, but he’s very serious as he pulls you against him in the room, still cloudy with smoke, but all you can breathe or feel is Satoru.

“You’ll need all your energy, baby.” He tilts your chin up, pressing another kiss, swiping off his phone when he pulls back. “You have yummy drinks to make, don’t you pretty?”

“I do!” He walks you towards the bar, the club is filled to the brim with men everywhere, women dancing, smiling, serving drinks, but Satoru’s eyes are only on you when you take back over the bar, and he leans forward.

“If you need me, you have my number, any time. Okay?” You nod and tuck your hair behind your ear, making his heart ache with affection. “You’re so cute.”

“You’re too sweet.” He leans forward, kissing you again, in front of curious eyes of the club goers and workers, murmuring about the notorious head of the Gojo family with a pretty bartender. You feel just a little frisky, yanking on his tie, deepening the kiss, and he moans into your lips. “Taste sweet.”

“Not as sweet as you.” He’s sighing when he pulls back, he doesn’t want all these stupid responsibilities, he wants to spend every moment with you.

Inside you.

Fuck his dick hurts, and he did it to himself.

“Will you text me when you get home safe?” You ask softly, so caring and sweet you melt him, he brushes his cool thumbs under your eyes carefully, watching you sigh in relief.

“I will. Good night, pretty bartender.”

“Good night Mr. Gojo.” He’s walking outside then, finding Suguru waiting on him once more, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the building.

“Gonna admit you’re obsessed now?” Suguru asks, and Satoru snorts, shrugging a broad shoulder.

“I am, okay, so what? But… Mei…”

“Yeah, I know you want to go alone, but let me at least wait in the car tomorrow when you see her?” Satoru nods, as his friend flicks the cigarette and puts a hand on Satoru’s shoulder.

“I would appreciate it. You really fucked her too?” Suguru has the grace to blush in the dark night, while the two of them lounge in the back of the limo now.

“Right at senior year.”

“Shit me too.”

“Have you two…” Suguru wiggles dark brows, and Satoru grimaces, pulling out a water bottle from the limo cooler and gulping the cool liquid, sighing.

“She tried to suck me and I turned it down.”

“You turned it down, a bj? You!?”

“Yeah.” Suguru’s chuckling, and Satoru glares. “What?”

“You’re down bad, shit.”

“Fuck if I don’t know that.” He swipes a hand across his face. “Blue balls like a mother fucker.”

“Satoru, having feelings, this is a new development.” Suguru gets a smack from Satoru, and smacks him back, as the two of them head to their destination, and for a moment it’s like it was back in school, before the two of them took on so many responsibilities.

Suguru was Satoru’s left hand, without him he couldn’t do all of this. “I do have feelings, I wanted her to just… feel good.”

“I taught you well.”

“Pshh, you’re younger than me? I knew how to eat pussy before you.” Suguru rolls violet eyes, leaning back and pulling out his phone then.

“You asked me for advice, I’ll never forget.”

“Oh whatever Suguru, you asked me for advice.”

“Pshh. She looked… pretty happy though.” Gojo grins big then, patting himself on the back big time.

“Yeah she did. I want her to… always look happy? I know, I know. I’m down bad.” Suguru just smiles, saying nothing, but seeing his friend lit up for the first time in seven years was something he enjoyed. “You’ll help me with Mei?”

“Of course, anything you need.”

“Good.” Satoru starts plotting in his mind then, hoping he can hold back just a bit of the terrible things he wants to do.

He’d do anything for a girl who he barely knows, but wants so badly to know every little part of.

*****

That night, you never get a text from Satoru, it’s late and you shouldn’t call him, right? You’ll seem clingy or weird or…

But you’re worried.

You’re laying in bed, exhausted as you pull out the phone, dialing his number, hearing his hushed whisper. “Hey baby girl, sorry we’ve had a situation.”

“Anything bad!?” You whisper in fear, heart hammering in your chest.

“We’ll be fine, it’s about Sukuna’s girl. But I’m okay, don’t worry about me, you get some sleep.”

“I wanted to know if you were fine or… I’m sorry I…” You’re turning on your side as Satoru leans closer to the phone, stepping away from his friends.

“No, no please. Thank you for checking on me? It’s really sweet and… you can’t bother me, okay?” You exhale in relief, in your past you’ve always felt like… a burden, an annoyance, and just his soft words of reassurance make you tear up.

He makes you ache for him.

“You know what I wish?” You say then, and Satoru’s own heart is pounding at your sexy little voice.

“What is that, pretty bartender?”

“That you were here, in bed. Shirtless.” His cock aches again, and he still hasn’t taken care of it, making him curse softly, hearing your breathless giggle.

“You’re torturing me, cruel, cruel woman. Shirtless hmm?” He’s walking further away, until he’s locked in the bathroom, hopefully out of earshot. “Why do you want me shirtless in your bed, what would you do?”

“I’d kiss and lick every part of your body. Slowly.” Satoru moans then, rubbing his cock over his slacks.

“Shit… You’re gonna kill me, y’know that?” His hoarse voice just brings out more from you, making you feel so daring.

“I’d kiss him too.”

Fuck.

“You brat.” You’re giggling once more, the sound making him smile alone, as he pictures you in that bed of yours. “Just kiss him?”

“Every inch, lots of kisses.” Satoru’s head falls back on the door, as you torture him with images of your pretty lips all over his length, your mouth open wide for his cum, before he fills every hole you have.

“You’ll be making this up to me tomorrow.” He whispers out, lost in the thoughts of you, and you’re snuggling under your blankets, he brings something out in you, this is not something you’ve said or acted like. But with him? It’s like he makes you want to have fun again.

“I sure will make it all up to you.” You’re picturing it, what does Satoru’s body look like, his cock felt huge and…

Fuck.

You’re torturing yourself too.

“I’ll hold you to that you know, all that talk, are you going to be a good girl?”

Good girl, shit, he’s fucking with you right back.

“Y-yes. I will. I can’t wait.”

“Then get some sleep, missy. You’ll need energy. Remember?” 

“Got it. Good night, Satoru.”

“Good night sweetheart.” He hangs up the phone, longing to be with you, but he has to push you deep in his mind for now, focusing, while you fall asleep, not realizing the impending danger surrounding you both, nor how willing Satoru is to fix this for you.

*****

“Gojo, what an unexpected surprise.” Mei’s voice practically purrs the words, sauntering over to him in her fancy office, decorated with the finest gold and blues all over, every inch of it oozing wealth, too much wealth, even Satoru does not go on such a display, and he knows he’s richer than anyone in this city.

“Mei, how are ya?” Satoru puts on an easy grin, he knows how she moves, how to play her, even though disgust fills his stomach at knowing what she’s done to you, he  shuts the door behind him with a resounding click, perching his signature Gucci shades down his straight nose just a bit.

“Been a long time…” She perches on her desk, crossing her legs and tossing back her light blue braids, slightly falling in front of an attractive face. Surely eighteen year old Satoru was all for Mei’s attention, but now it feels wrong to even act as he’s going to, when all he wants is you.

But he knows how to play this bitch.

“Aren’t you looking good, shit.” He whistles a bit, earning her flattered laughter, throaty and full, while Satoru waltzes in, hands in his pockets, until he’s right between Mei’s spread thighs in her business slacks. She raises a thin brow, slipping a hand up and down his tie then.

“You look pretty good yourself.” Mei brushes her hands against his cheek, and he tries to keep a calm demeanor, his own hand sliding up her back, watching as her barriers lower for him. “Miss me so much?”

“I’m here on business, I fear.” His hand entangles in her hair, as his lips hover an inch from hers, his other on her waist, watching as her expression changes, her hips shift just so.

“Just business?” She teases, pulling him closer.

“I need to know about a girl you’re getting money from, Mei…” He’s slipping a hand further up her waist, looming over her on the desk, as she gets visibly turned on from him, nipples pressing against her thin blouse, as he palms her under that dark blue blazer.

“A girl, hmm? Should I be jealous, Gojo?”

“I need you to stop the interest, cut her a break, as a favor for me, hmm? Could you do that sweets?” Satoru asks, voice humming softly, she blinks long light blue lashes, her hands slipping to his belt buckle then.

“A personal favor, what’s her name?” Satoru speaks it then, your name off his lips, making her pause a bit. “What’s she to you, is she so special?”

“I’m asking you to back off. I’ll pay off the interest, just don’t charge anymore, can you do that, hmm? For me?” He pouts at Mei, but her expression shifts then, to one of irritation, her body tensing now.

“You wanna pay her interest? No, sweetie, that won’t do. Her mother owes the Zenin a massive debt and that interest goes to me.”

“Then you’ll get it in your pockets quickly, don’t you love lining them?” His words turn to a low hum, grinning as he brushes fingers down her neck, and she sighs then, eyes icy as they stare daggers at him.

“Who is she to you?”

“A girl I’m taking on a date that’s so tired she can’t keep her fucking eyes open, and so much red bull she’ll have a goddamn stroke.” Mei laughs then, and Satoru loses it, squeezing her throat and cutting the laughter short. “I didn’t joke here, did I? Let me rephrase this shit, I’ll cut off any money from the Gojo family, if you don’t at least back off the interest. Got it?”

She’s pulling at Satoru’s wrist, but he’s squeezing harder, leaning over her now, and seeing a file with your last name right on her desk. But not your first. He pulls the file as he keeps squeezing, blue eyes narrowing as she’s sputtering for breath, not that he could care less. He smirks while she struggles, but then releases her, letting her cough shakily.

“Shit…” He whistles, as he reads through a gambling addiction that makes Toji Fushiguro’s look casual. Mei pulls a knife on him, which he casually knocks out of his hand with a little flick of his wrist, grabbing her wrist then as he bends it behind her, earning her grunt of frustration. “Ah, ah, you’re getting sloppy, what happened?”

“Oh fuck you.” He sighs, clicking his tongue as he holds her down with ease, like it’s nothing when he stumbles further on your file.

Twenty-Five.

Born right here.

How’d he never see you? Three years older than you, he wonders what your life was before, pursuing further to find you had just shy of a full psychology degree. What were you… doing here then, working some admin job and bartending? Did you give up college for this woman?

A woman with a rap sheet that makes him whistle, ignoring Mei’s struggles until she starts disturbing his reading, making him glare. “You’re lucky she is a sweet girl, or you’d be dead.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“Promising. Take the interest or I'll take care of this.”

“It’s not just me, you know it.” He lets go of her then, rolling his eyes as he snatches your files up for himself. “The Zenin-”

“The Zenin are on their last leg.” He smirks then, pulling out his phone, flashing a picture of their leader for her to gasp at. “Did you fuck him too? Aw…”

“What have you all done?” She demands, with horror affixed on her face, a face Gojo did find pretty before, but now it’s all you, and he can’t find an attractive feature on this woman’s greedy body.

“It’s none of your business, but considering the Kamo’s are now with us, you may consider a change of employer, hmm?” He grins now, as she takes off her blazer in a huff, throwing it on the back of her enormous desk chair.

“You’ll pay all her interest right now?”

“Give me a number.” She does just that, it’s nothing for Satoru but he knows you don’t want him to pay…

But he hopes you’ll forgive him for that too.

He needs to buy time.

“She’s not protected as some girlfriend, she’s not your wife or a member of the Gojo family, so they can keep coming after her.” Mei says then, while he transfers the obscene amount of money to her over the phone, and she plops down in her seat, lips curling up a bit.

“Money gets you so wet, doesn't it.” She glares, opening her mouth, he snorts then, shaking his head. “I don’t wanna know, actually. What do you mean by that?”

“If you actually want her left alone by others, not just me, then you’d have to marry the girl, or she’s not in your family.” Satoru falters at that, earning her nasty little smile. “I was the least of your problems, lover boy. But, she won’t hear from me or get more interest on my end.”

“They want her mom. I get that, but why her?”

“Collateral damage.” She says calmly. “It’s what you do too, don’t be mad because it happens to be some girl you want in your bed.”

“That is not all I want.” She blinks a little, standing up once more, coming up to him and trailing her fingers down his body, humming a bit.

“Maybe hate sex would be fun?”

“Not with me, sweets. Maybe one of my friends, I heard you were really catching these high school seniors like Digimon.” He shoves her off him with a grin now, slipping his sunglasses back up, while Mei looks at him furiously. “Kinda creepy, the barely legal thing Mei.”

Her face contorts into a scowl. “Oh just get the fuck out. Go have fun with your little girlfriend, she still will owe us the rest though.”

“For now. Pleasure doing business, Mei.” He winks and dodges a flying projectile, which shatters against the wall, exhaling as he leaves and shivering with disgust with having touched her.

What is this feeling?

He feels like you already are his, and you have a date tonight, it’s brand new, but he loves it, this feeling, the one where he wants to protect you, learn you, and make you feel so good you forget you ever had these problems. He would have paid the entirety of the debt, but he knows that’s too far for you right now.

He checks the time now, meeting Suguru in the car, handing him the file, which Suguru studies for a moment, whistling, his dark brows lowering. “Shit, this is her mom, huh?”

“Yeah. We have a lot more trouble than Mei.”

“How’d that go?” Suguru’s flipping through the file curiously, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he reads about you.

“As good as it can be, paid the interest, gotta hope she’s not mad about it, she told me no money…”

“Like you listen to shit.”

Satoru shoves Suguru, but the laughter dies as Suguru pulls up a particular page, where he sees your brother, who Satoru hadn’t made it to yet. “Shit, look at his criminal record. And he owes debts, is she paying them too?”

“Not that I know of. I know she said he begs for money.” Satoru’s jaw locks, studying them further.

“You can’t just kill her mom and brother, Satoru.”

“It’s tempting, they’re trash. But no, a conversation is all I’m thinking, hit the brother, offer him some money, figure out more what’s going on, how they got on the Zenin’s radar.”

“Surprisingly smart.”

“Hey now!” He scowls at a smiling Suguru, as his phone starts blinging, and his face gives it right away.

“She text you?”

“Yes.” He can’t stop his dopey grin. “Almost time for our date.”

*****

“Don’t be mad, pookie, mmkay?” Is the first thing you hear when you step into Satoru Gojo’s limo, and his eyes swoop down your body, hugged in a form fitting dark red dress, showing far too much of your perfect breasts, making his mouth drop open, cock already straining. 

“Mad at what, Satoru?” You ask, but he’s staring at your body, exhaling then, pulling you against his hard frame, making your mind go haywire. “Satoru?”

“Shit, you’re gorgeous. Fuck, this dress…” He’s running fingers down it, swiping the soft velvet, having you trembling in moments.

“Mad at what?”

“Shit…” He’s kissing your neck, a hand gripping your breast, eliciting a cry as his other finds purchase at your waist. “Taste yummy, smell good, look fucking-”

“Thank you, very much but… mnh, mad at what?” He pulls back then, frowning just a bit. “Did it go bad?”

“I mean, as good as we can hope.” He’s taking a breath, pulling back just so, trying to remember what he even meant to say. “Well, I paid your interest-”

“You can’t do that!”

“Baby it’s nothing-”

“But I… you… why…” You’re sniffling then, so touched but also you feel horrible he’s had to do this. “I’m too complicated for you, Satoru, I-”

“Complicated is good. I don’t want boring, yeah? Don’t want perfect. I want this pretty little mess right here, who looks so beautiful I can’t stop thinking of ripping this dress off.” You’re melting, breasts heaving, only making his hands grip them again, you bite your lip not to moan out loud. “I want all of you.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this. It’s not okay. It’s not fair.” You’re shaking your head, and Satoru cups your face now, leaning over you, it’s all him.

And you’re falling for him, so hard, so fast, it’s like falling off a cliff, a free dive with no fucking gear. Feeling more than you have in your entire life, for someone you’re not sure you deserve. Who is little you compared to Satoru Gojo?

“It’s not fair what happened to you, and I’m going to fix it, but for now, it gets that part gone, and that’s something, yeah? I didn’t pay it all, enough to get them all the fuck off you for now. Please, you never have to give it back. Ever.”

“Oh, Satoru…” You’re so exhausted then, it all hits you, all you’ve been dealing with alone, as you lean on him, on Satoru, and he’s pulling you into his arms so tightly, wishing to never let go. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You deserve so much more than what you have. Okay? I wanted to help, please don’t refuse it.” You’re kissing him, over and over, until your back is on the limo, and Satoru could take you then and there.

You’ve never wanted anything more, eagerly yanking on his shirt, deepening the kiss, while you feel his length hot and heavy against your inner thigh, even under his slacks. He gasps a bit for a breath, cupping your cheek, watching your eyes flutter shut in pleasure when he’s got his cock snug against your clit, hearing your every whine, cry and whimper.

“Thank you, Satoru.” He exhales in relief, shaking his head.

“Don’t thank me. I also… may have had to flirt?” You look away a bit, making him turn your face back. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I hated it. Disgusting.” You can’t stop the flush creeping from your cheeks, the fullness of your heart, how he looks at you, with those endless azure pools he calls eyes, so dilated now.

“What all did you have to do?”

“I flattered her, acted like I wanted her.”

“What now?”

“Aw, you’re jealous baby girl?” Satoru whispers, husky toned while his sweet cool breath brushes against your skin, and his hand slides up your collarbone, resting right at the base of your throat.

“That you touched her, yes.” Your admission is so soft and genuine, but you can’t help but express it.

“I choked her.” You glare and he grins. “Not sexually, she wishes, shit.”

“Sexually?” He sees it then, the curiosity in your pretty expression, in your lidded gaze and dilated pupils, while his free hand slips down your body, the other tightening its hold on your delicate neck.

“With you, it would be slow, deliberate…” He’s trailing off as he squeezes just a bit, pressure on your beating pulse. “Get you fuzzy and lightheaded, but never enough to hurt your pretty neck.”

“Mnh!” You’re crying out as you feel it, the pressure increasing, all while Satoru looks at you under those snowy lashes, licking his lower lip when he presses his fingers against you now, slick pooling so quickly it’d be embarrassing- if you could think right now.

“Feels good, hmm?” You nod just a bit in his hold, while his fingers gather all your sticky arousal, and he’s slipping them between your lips, up and down until he finds your hole, aching to be filled. The combination of his squeezing of your throat and his finger now curling inside your cunt are too much, your every sense heightened.

“Ah!” You’re crying out while he works your spot, increasing that pressure, vivid eyes watching your every movement, you’re clinging to him then, arching your hips while everything gets faded, fuzzy.

“You’re so pretty, fuck…” He’s murmuring more to himself than anything, watching the flush of your face as he squeezes, as he hears the clicking sounds of your soppy little pussy, just for him, releasing you for a moment. He sees his hand prints as you gasp for breath, pretty breasts heaving from your dress.

“That was…”

“Intense?”

“Yes but, I’d like more.” You’re burying your head against his chest as you whine out, while he crooks that finger up again, chuckling.

“Adorable, I swear. Want it a little more?” You nod eagerly, neck already sore, and he slips another finger inside you now, curling just so in gummy walls so slick, muscles so tight you’ve got him like a fucking vise. “Cum f’me, would you? Let me watch you.”

You shatter as he squeezes your throat tighter, fingers working you so good, you see fuzz all over, it’s black damn near, like a circle closing on a picture perfect face, with Satoru’s feral face hovering, fading. You scream out silently as he presses your throat so tight, you’re gasping for air while he chokes you through it, making you feel like you’re floating in the back of this limo.

“Gorgeous little neck, so tiny compared to my huge hands, huh?” Your eyes roll back as he thumbs your clit with his two fingers in, feeling all your aftershocks, finally releasing you bit by bit, until you eagerly suck breaths in. He’s pecking kisses all over your forehead, as your numb hands flex, trying to get life to them. “Oh, you really like that.”

You cough gently, rubbing your throat. “I’m apparently freaky.” You look up at him with a pout, and his grin just grows wider, easing his fingers out then with a wet pop.

“Open.” You do just that, sucking your sweet, tangy taste off his thick digit, watching as his nostrils flare from the sight. “Do you think I’m freaky?” You nod, as he kisses your lips softly. “You really haven’t seen shit yet, baby.”

“More freakiness hidden, hmm?” You’re so wet against the thigh that now presses between yours that you can scarcely function, blinking rapidly as your senses are skewed, engulfed in him. “Will you show me?”

“When you’re ready, yes. Are you not very…”

“No, not really.” You admit, you’ve done things but the way Satoru consumes you, touches you like he knows you, it’s hard to compare anything prior.

“You’re not a-”

“No, not that innocent. Do I give virgin vibes?”

“Kinda. It’s cute though.” You huff a bit then, pushing his chest, moving under him and making him groan out.

“I have done things, just they were… nothing like with you.” Your words make his heart hammer, as his cock is straining against his slacks, dying to be surrounded by your heat. “They weren’t anywhere close to what you did the other day.”

“I’m the best at eating pussy.”

“Clearly.” You both laugh, as he kisses down your body, over your dress, nipping and licking your breasts, then lower, feeling your thighs tremble on either side of his narrow hips, your hands entangled in his hair.

God he needs you.

“I want to please you, too.” You say as he’s slipping up the dress high, until it’s up on your hips, and he’s breathing against the pale blue lace of your panties, with a growing dark spot by the minute.

“So eager to suck me off?” You’re a little blushing mess again, when he licks your inner thigh, pressing a kiss on it. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, I want to.”

“And have you?” He’s kissing your other thigh, pulling your panties up so the lips are revealed on either side, making you squeak.

“No, but I’ve watched a lot of…” He pulls up a bit, grinning.

“Go on.”

“Oh man.” You’re covering your face now, hips jerking as he breathes against your pussy, making it pulse.

“Nuh- uh, spill.”

“A lot of porn clips, okay?”

“Naughty girl. Were you doing that before our call?” You refuse to remove your hands, until he bites your panty clad cunt, teeth sinking in until your hands drop, gripping his hair as he smirks up at you. “Gonna answer me?”

“Maybe.” He laughs softly again, tickling you to no end, you’re so sensitive and needy you almost cum from his damn breaths on you, releasing his hair just a bit, trying to calm your breathing.

“Got horny from porn then called me?”

“Got horny from you, then watched porn. Then called you.” He moans then, leaning back over your body, as the limo stops at a light, watching as the leds dance across your skin, your face, making his breath catch.

“You can suck me any time, I just wanted you to relax, not put in more work.”

“Is it gonna be so much work?” You tease, raising a brow, Satoru’s smirk speaks for itself. “It will be fun not work.”

“You’re underestimating him.”

“I am not, I am sure he is…” You’re giggling now as the car moves again, and he’s sitting you both up, brushing a thumb on your lips. “Huge.”

“Come find out then, so eager, huh? You’re slutty just for me?” His whisper excites you, and you can’t help but nod, when his hand entangles in your hair. “Get on your knees then, baby. We have a few minutes before we get there.”

You eagerly do just as he says, fuck you’d do anything he asks, the way he speaks, the way he looks at you, tilting your chin up, his blue eyes bright under his snowy lashes. You unzip him carefully, he watches as you do, as you slowly pull out a thick, veiny cock, so long it makes you nervous now, curved up with a blushing tip, leaking precum.

“You’re-”

“Huge?”

“Pretty.” He blinks then, women have told him how big he is, certainly, he’s a little conceited about it, but the way you look at it, touching his sticky tip with the milky precum and rolling little circles around the ridge, he bucks up in your hand from that.

“Pretty?” He murmurs, as you lap your pink little tongue along his slit, tiny hand trying to wrap his length, eliciting a soft cry from him that makes you ache more.

“Very pretty.”

“Shit…” He’s pulling your hair gently, watching you circle your tongue around his tip, just a bit unsure, torn between fucking into your throat and taking it easy on you, warring as his hands tense, your mouth sucking his tip in. “Oh my god… can you take more, baby?”

You just exhale, slipping more of his thick cock into your open mouth, eyes looking up at him, so sexy his cock twitches against your tongue. He’s leaned back for a moment, eyes fluttering shut, whispering filthy words as he guides you down further, your drool pouring down every vein, wrapped around his pretty cock.

Pretty, yes it was pretty.

“That’s it, sweetheart… f-fuck… t-take it, please, s-so good.” He’s whimpering now, a sound that surprises you from a six foot four mobster, one so conceited and sure, but he’s letting go while you suck him deeper and deeper. Your cheeks hollow when you suck hard, pulling up, and his hips thrust. “Fuck you don’t need lessons, you suck it so good, perfect f’me- ah!”

Satoru’s lost now, in your motions, of a cock he’s been stroking to the thought of you since he met, watching as tears form in your pretty eyes, as your nails press against his thighs, making him hiss when you go deeper. As you all hit a bump his cock is shoved even deeper, while you’re balancing yourself, he feels it, the back of your tight throat.

“Oh f-fuck… there, baby, you’re taking me so well… can you take it if I… fuck this tight little throat?” You pull back with a pop, shifting your thighs, the friction alone eliciting a cry of pleasure that just makes him crave you more. “It’s okay if not yet.”

“I want it.” He’s lost then, sitting up and forcing his cock in your throat so deep you choke for a moment.

“Breathe out your nose, relax baby.” You do as he orders, Satoru Gojo still in that suit with a pretty cock slamming up your throat, stretching and burning, you feel him thicken inside your throat as the tip hits your uvula, you’re clinging to him, struggling to take more. “That’s it, not even gonna be able to talk, that throat is mine.”

Satoru descends into madness when you’re gagging just a bit, drool making his cock slicker and slicker, while the sounds of you sucking him wetly fill the limo, and he’s so close. The car stops and soon he hears it open, but it’s already too far, one or two more sucks and he’s busting, and you also have no intention of stopping, even as pretty tears smear that mascare.

“Where do you want it, baby?” You pull back as the door has a rap of Kiyotaka’s knuckles.

“We’re here Mr. Gojo.”

“I’m coming…” He chuckles as you giggle, covering your mouth with your palm as you do, and he’s brushing drool off your chin. “One sec.”

“My mouth.” You whisper, so daringly, he blinks before he’s got his cock back in your mouth, and you’re sucking him eagerly, swirling your tongue along every ridge, vein, every bit of him.

“You are going to be such a naughty girl f’me, look how pretty you fucking are like this.” He’s fucking your throat fully now, sitting up as your knees press into the soft mats of the floor, and you’re struggling to act calm, when you’re so nervous. “Pull back a little.”

You do as he says, earning his soft moan.

“Good girl, m’gonna cum, f-fuck can you… take me baby?” His voice is just a quiet whisper, and at your answer- sucking him deeper, he busts his creamy load so much it’s hard to swallow it all. “Oh m-my… that’s it, drink it all, like a good girl.”

You’re drinking Satoru’s milky cum down your throat, bit by bit, gulping him down while he pulses from aftershocks, biting his own lower lip to muffle his guttural groans and soft whines. He’s murmuring your name, over and over, you’re easing back just a bit, licking the rest of him up, saliva and the remnants of his sticky ropes dripping from your lips.

“God, look at you.” Satoru’s pulling you up then, yanking you to sit on his lap, as your eyes lower shyly. “Perfect, fuck I’ve never felt that good.”

“Really?” You ask softly, and he exhales, nodding, cupping your face.

“Is it normal to keep thinking how pretty your eyes are during it?” He’s speaking more to himself than you, brushing his thumbs in circles over your cheeks, which are burning.

“I thought it when you ate me out.”

“Yeah?”

“Your eyes… surely you know how beautiful they are. Also… you came a lot, you know- that was a lot to swallow, Sir.” You’ve got him laughing then, as he kisses your lips, tasting himself on them, and you shift just so, over his cock that’s still glistening with you.

You’re worth every bit of money in the world, worth it all, to have this moment with you, not just cumming - and fuck he needed it - but your laughs, your blushes, your cute little motions. Worth any fight or anything Satoru will have to do in order to keep you safe.

For the first time since he took over at age eighteen, he feels light, he feels so good, to think he’d do anything but spend time with you makes his heart clench. “Think I’m falling, shit.”

“Satoru… please don’t say that if you don’t… it will hurt if you don’t mean it.” You say, tears swimming now, while you press your lips against his again, softer, and he’s slinking a hand up your waist. “Because so am I.”

Satoru’s heart thuds now, gulping, throat dry at the sincerity of your words, not a woman who wants him for his money, his power, his looks, position… no you want him. And fuck he wants you.

“It’s insane.” You say, and he sighs, eyes darting back and forth across your gorgeous face.

“It is, but baby I’m insane, don’t you know?” You bite that lower lip, making him tut, pulling it from the grip. “I won’t say anything I don’t mean.”

“Neither will I, ever. I mean every word… of how much I feel. How my mind is racing, however… well it’s dirty.”

“Is it now?” He’s wiggling his brows, as you laugh softly. “The thoughts?”

“Um…” You’re whispering in his ear, like it’s a secret. “Could you choke me again, when we…”

“Oh… oh. Fuck yes I can. You liked it so much?” You’re nodding against his neck, he pushes your chin up to face him. “Choke you harder?”

“Yes, please.”

“Fuck do we need to go on this date? I can take you home, shit.”

“But you’ve never been on one!”

Satoru sighs, adjusting his cock now, and you eye it, seeing it’s already getting hard once more. “I want to go, I just also wanna fuck this perfect pussy.”

“We have time. No work tomorrow, remember?” He’s sighing, pulling you close against his chest.

“You deserve many more days off. Now, let’s go hmm?” You nod eagerly, ever curious where he’s brought you, when he finally opens the door, the cool breeze hitting both of your overheated bodies when you step out, eyes taking in the beautiful marina, along with a giant, beautiful boat bobbing up and down the water, lit up in the evening with soft white lights.

“What’s this? It’s beautiful.” You hold his hand then, as the breeze gently blows your hair back, and for a moment he forgets all the danger, forgets anything but how you look in that moment.

“It’s my boat. Just bought it.”

“Huh?”

“For the date.”

A/N- hehe- yes he bought a boat for that dattee. Still a lot more to go with these two, but Toru got some relief. This ties heavily into Pour it Up part 6 but I tried not to copy it verbatim and show a diff POV. I hope you all enjoy!!

Taglist #1- @thejujvtsupost @moonchu @thikcems @yenayaps @luvmichu @antisocialinlw @sukunadckrider @gojoslefttoenail @genticcs @sukuxna0 @saitamaswifey @monster-effer @gradmacoco @bounie1 @bestelizabeth1 @alygator77 @arabellasolstice @naina326 @1satoruu @silvarys @feliaeae @jkslaugh97 @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @simp-plague @ladyneisa @distractionforyourthoughts @erintaro @ninikrumbs @yesdere @stargirl-mayaa @wstaley2 @just-lilita @lady-of-blossoms @genshingeeksworld @yaoishipper19 @angryflowerwitch @strawberrysluttt @emochosoluvr @bluebrry05 @trishiepo0 @gina239 @bunheadusa @hazelll-trisk @simperisksksk @jud3thedude @breadsbasket @shhhhhhxoxo125 @gojosoups @starpachinko

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The US Copyright Office frees the McFlurry

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I have spent a quarter century obsessed with the weirdest corner of the weirdest section of the worst internet law on the US statute books: Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the 1998 law that makes it a felony to help someone change how their own computer works so it serves them, rather than a distant corporation.

Under DMCA 1201, giving someone a tool to "bypass an access control for a copyrighted work" is a felony punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500k fine – for a first offense. This law can refer to access controls for traditional copyrighted works, like movies. Under DMCA 1201, if you help someone with photosensitive epilepsy add a plug-in to the Netflix player in their browser that blocks strobing pictures that can trigger seizures, you're a felon:

https://lists.w3.org/Archives/Public/public-html-media/2017Jul/0005.html

But software is a copyrighted work, and everything from printer cartridges to car-engine parts have software in them. If the manufacturer puts an "access control" on that software, they can send their customers (and competitors) to prison for passing around tools to help them fix their cars or use third-party ink.

Now, even though the DMCA is a copyright law (that's what the "C" in DMCA stands for, after all); and even though blocking video strobes, using third party ink, and fixing your car are not copyright violations, the DMCA can still send you to prison, for a long-ass time for doing these things, provided the manufacturer designs their product so that using it the way that suits you best involves getting around an "access control."

As you might expect, this is quite a tempting proposition for any manufacturer hoping to enshittify their products, because they know you can't legally disenshittify them. These access controls have metastasized into every kind of device imaginable.

Garage-door openers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Refrigerators:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/12/digital-feudalism/#filtergate

Dishwashers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/03/cassette-rewinder/#disher-bob

Treadmills:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/22/vapescreen/#jane-get-me-off-this-crazy-thing

Tractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

Cars:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty

And even printer paper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#dymo-550

DMCA 1201 is the brainchild of Bruce Lehmann, Bill Clinton's Copyright Czar, who was repeatedly warned that cancerous proliferation this was the foreseeable, inevitable outcome of his pet policy. As a sop to his critics, Lehman added a largely ornamental safety valve to his law, ordering the US Copyright Office to invite submissions every three years petitioning for "use exemptions" to the blanket ban on circumventing access-controls.

I call this "ornamental" because if the Copyright Office thinks that, say, it should be legal for you to bypass an access control to use third-party ink in your printer, or a third-party app store in your phone, all they can do under DMCA 1201 is grant you the right to use a circumvention tool. But they can't give you the right to acquire that tool.

I know that sounds confusing, but that's only because it's very, very stupid. How stupid? Well, in 2001, the US Trade Representative arm-twisted the EU into adopting its own version of this law (Article 6 of the EUCD), and in 2003, Norway added the law to its lawbooks. On the eve of that addition, I traveled to Oslo to debate the minister involved:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/28/clintons-ghost/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

The minister praised his law, explaining that it gave blind people the right to bypass access controls on ebooks so that they could feed them to screen readers, Braille printers, and other assistive tools. OK, I said, but how do they get the software that jailbreaks their ebooks so they can make use of this exemption? Am I allowed to give them that tool?

No, the minister said, you're not allowed to do that, that would be a crime.

Is the Norwegian government allowed to give them that tool? No. How about a blind rights advocacy group? No, not them either. A university computer science department? Nope. A commercial vendor? Certainly not.

No, the minister explained, under his law, a blind person would be expected to personally reverse engineer a program like Adobe E-Reader, in hopes of discovering a defect that they could exploit by writing a program to extract the ebook text.

Oh, I said. But if a blind person did manage to do this, could they supply that tool to other blind people?

Well, no, the minister said. Each and every blind person must personally – without any help from anyone else – figure out how to reverse-engineer the ebook program, and then individually author their own alternative reader program that worked with the text of their ebooks.

That is what is meant by a use exemption without a tools exemption. It's useless. A sick joke, even.

The US Copyright Office has been valiantly holding exemptions proceedings every three years since the start of this century, and they've granted many sensible exemptions, including ones to benefit people with disabilities, or to let you jailbreak your phone, or let media professors extract video clips from DVDs, and so on. Tens of thousands of person-hours have been flushed into this pointless exercise, generating a long list of things you are now technically allowed to do, but only if you are a reverse-engineering specialist type of computer programmer who can manage the process from beginning to end in total isolation and secrecy.

But there is one kind of use exception the Copyright Office can grant that is potentially game-changing: an exemption for decoding diagnostic codes.

You see, DMCA 1201 has been a critical weapon for the corporate anti-repair movement. By scrambling error codes in cars, tractors, appliances, insulin pumps, phones and other devices, manufacturers can wage war on independent repair, depriving third-party technicians of the diagnostic information they need to figure out how to fix your stuff and keep it going.

This is bad enough in normal times, but during the acute phase of the covid pandemic, hospitals found themselves unable to maintain their ventilators because of access controls. Nearly all ventilators come from a single med-tech monopolist, Medtronic, which charges hospitals hundreds of dollars to dispatch their own repair technicians to fix its products. But when covid ended nearly all travel, Medtronic could no longer provide on-site calls. Thankfully, an anonymous hacker started building homemade (illegal) circumvention devices to let hospital technicians fix the ventilators themselves, improvising housings for them from old clock radios, guitar pedals and whatever else was to hand, then mailing them anonymously to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#medtronic-again

Once a manufacturer monopolizes repair in this way, they can force you to use their official service depots, charging you as much as they'd like; requiring you to use their official, expensive replacement parts; and dictating when your gadget is "too broken to fix," forcing you to buy a new one. That's bad enough when we're talking about refusing to fix a phone so you buy a new one – but imagine having a spinal injury and relying on a $100,000 exoskeleton to get from place to place and prevent muscle wasting, clots, and other immobility-related conditions, only to have the manufacturer decide that the gadget is too old to fix and refusing to give you the technical assistance to replace a watch battery so that you can get around again:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/9/26/24255074/former-jockey-michael-straight-exoskeleton-repair-battery

When the US Copyright Office grants a use exemption for extracting diagnostic codes from a busted device, they empower repair advocates to put that gadget up on a workbench and torture it into giving up those codes. The codes can then be integrated into an unofficial diagnostic tool, one that can make sense of the scrambled, obfuscated error codes that a device sends when it breaks – without having to unscramble them. In other words, only the company that makes the diagnostic tool has to bypass an access control, but the people who use that tool later do not violate DMCA 1201.

This is all relevant this month because the US Copyright Office just released the latest batch of 1201 exemptions, and among them is the right to circumvent access controls "allowing for repair of retail-level food preparation equipment":

https://publicknowledge.org/public-knowledge-ifixit-free-the-mcflurry-win-copyright-office-dmca-exemption-for-ice-cream-machines/

While this covers all kinds of food prep gear, the exemption request – filed by Public Knowledge and Ifixit – was inspired by the bizarre war over the tragically fragile McFlurry machine. These machines – which extrude soft-serve frozen desserts – are notoriously failure-prone, with 5-16% of them broken at any given time. Taylor, the giant kitchen tech company that makes the machines, charges franchisees a fortune to repair them, producing a steady stream of profits for the company.

This sleazy business prompted some ice-cream hackers to found a startup called Kytch, a high-powered automation and diagnostic tool that was hugely popular with McDonald's franchisees (the gadget was partially designed by the legendary hardware hacker Andrew "bunnie" Huang!).

In response, Taylor played dirty, making a less-capable clone of the Kytch, trying to buy Kytch out, and teaming up with McDonald's corporate to bombard franchisees with legal scare-stories about the dangers of using a Kytch to keep their soft-serve flowing, thanks to DMCA 1201:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cold-war

Kytch isn't the only beneficiary of the new exemption: all kinds of industrial kitchen equipment is covered. In upholding the Right to Repair, the Copyright Office overruled objections of some of its closest historical allies, the Entertainment Software Association, Motion Picture Association, and Recording Industry Association of America, who all sided with Taylor and McDonald's and opposed the exemption:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/10/us-copyright-office-frees-the-mcflurry-allowing-repair-of-ice-cream-machines/

This is literally the only useful kind of DMCA 1201 exemption the Copyright Office can grant, and the fact that they granted it (along with a similar exemption for medical devices) is a welcome bright spot. But make no mistake, the fact that we finally found a narrow way in which DMCA 1201 can be made slightly less stupid does not redeem this outrageous law. It should still be repealed and condemned to the scrapheap of history.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[rafesteddy]

+18 -> smut | rafe comes and visits the reader on a business trip in vegas

𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓒𝓔𝓞!𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓻!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: sub!rafe x dom!reader, lap dance, semi public unprotected p in v in a private room, teasing, pet names, begging, dirty talk, rough sex + ⚠︎ cross-posted on my nhl account ⚠︎

2.4K

Club Mystique is different… That’s the world you move through every night. No sticky floors or strobe lights: velvet booths, chandeliers, private rooms. The kind of place where the air smells like rich cologne and champagne, and every glance costs something.

The nights are always good. The tips are heavy; the men, eager. But none of them matter, not when he’s in town.

He only comes a few times a year whenever he’s in town for a conference or a big meeting. The door swings open, and there he is. His hair is perfectly tousled, sharp blue eyes catching everything—and a mouth that knows exactly how lethal it is when it curves into that lazy smirk.

He wears the hell out of a suit—rich maroon tonight, tailored to his athletic body. His shirt is undone just enough, the faintest line of tanned chest visible beneath, the glint of a thick gold chain.

He’s every inch the powerhouse—the kind of man people watch from a distance, the kind you don’t touch. Unless you’re you.

He finds his spot, always the same private room, tucked deep in the back. He orders a bottle of champagne, something expensive, something he’s hoping to share with you, and then he waits

The second you pull back the curtain, his tension unspools. You feel his beautiful eyes on you—burning and reverent—like he flew out here for you and you alone.

When you reach him, his cocky veneer is already gone. It’s almost sinful, how fast he softens for you. His breath catches when you touch him, fingers twitching, desperate to reach for you but careful not to overstep.

“Hi, beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low enough to melt right through you. Before you can answer, his hands are already sliding around your waist. Rafe’s big, warm palms drawing you nearer. He pulls you in, slow and careful, savoring it.

His face dips close—so close you feel the whisper of his breath against your mouth, and you know if you leaned in even an inch, he’d kiss you. He wouldn’t even think twice. But you don’t, not yet.

Instead, you let him hold you, let him get drunk on it, the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips, the way your body curves into his.

He exhales against your temple, arms tightening just a little like he never wants to let go, and you know why. Because once he does, everything becomes transactional; a performance, dancing, teasing, touching without touching.

‘No hands Rafe’… Those dreaded three words. Not until he’s broken for you. Not until his whole body aches with it, cock straining against his designer slacks, so desperate he’d give anything just for the privilege of feeling you again. But he loves it.

You dance for him and only him moving in slow motions that have nothing to do with performance and everything to do with control. Every step, every glance is deliberate. Meant to bring him to the very edge and leave him there, trembling for you.

He watches you like a starving man, body rigid with restraint. His big hands grip the edges of the seat, white knuckling the armrests, every muscle in his big body pulled taut because you haven’t given him permission to touch you.

You trail your fingers over him—slow, featherlight touches over his broad chest, his powerful thighs, the thick muscles straining under his clothes.

Rafe’s body shudders when you skim the chain resting against his chest, the way his cock throbs when you lean in close enough to whisper, “Good boy.”

His breathing gets rougher, heavier, the longer you play with him. Little, broken noises start escaping him—soft whines, low desperate sounds that make you smile because you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

He’s begging without words. Begging with every shake of his hands, every twitch of his hips, every desperate glance he throws you like maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally let him have you.

“You’re…” He breathes, eyes glassy, voice breaking, “…You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The praise spills out of him helplessly thick. “I’ve been counting down the days… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I don’t want anything else, just—” He cuts himself off with a ragged inhale, desperate and breaking right in front of you. “Please, baby. Please let me take care of you.”

You smile wickedly, rewarding him for being so sweet, sliding into his lap, settling the weight of you right over the thick, aching cock straining against his pants.

You can feel him throb under you; hear the way he gasps at the contact holding his breath to keep those needy sounds inside. Still, you don’t let him touch.

You peel off his suit jacket yourself, slipping it from his broad shoulders, baring the strength of him inch by inch.

You take your time undressing yourself too, moving slowly, making a show of it, letting him suffer with how much he wants to reach for you. His hands hover uselessly at his sides, twitching, desperate, but he’s good. He’s so, so good.

You turn, grinding back against him, feeling the hard, desperate throb of him through his slacks. You take his big, trembling hands in yours, dragging them up your body, over your waist, up your ribs, to your bare breasts.

He groans—low and loud—pressing his big palms against you. You feel him moan against your shoulder; feel the way his whole body shudders under your touch.

He tucks himself into the curve of your neck, taking in your scent, breathing you in. His big hands knead you, twisting your nipples between his fingers, squeezing you tight.

You feel his lips drag along your skin, the man dying to kiss you but knows better. He wouldn’t dare, not without permission. His need thrums through him, bleeding out in every broken breath and trembling of his fingers against your skin.

He groans, low and gruff, clutching you like he might fall apart without the feel of you under his hands. He buries his face against your neck, mouthing at your skin without kissing.

You start to move against him—slow and sinful—grinding your hips in lazy circles that drive him insane. He tries to stay still but his body betrays him, hips rocking slightly to meet your movements, his body quivering underneath you.

His cock throbs, pushing against the fine fabric separating you, the rough pads of his thumbs catching along the rhinestone straps on the hips of your panties. You can hear the starved sounds he’s trying to swallow—the mumbled praise as his lips ghost across your bare skin.

You lean in, dragging your mouth slow and hot along the line of his jaw, your breath feathering across his ear making him turn into you, urging him closer without physically pulling him in, your body like a magnet.

“Show me how you’d fuck me,” you whisper.

He grips your hips harder, guiding you, grinding you against the thick, pulsing length of him. Leading you to ride him exactly how he dreamed you would.

You can see him picturing it now—how it would feel to slide inside you. How you’d tighten around him, soak him, break for him.

“Just let me feel you. Please. Let me feel how wet you are on me,” he groans.

You trail your fingers down between your bodies, popping the button on his slacks with one flick, making him moan in anticipation.

You drag the zipper down next, feeling the thick, desperate heat. Rafe lifts his hips instinctively, helplessly—offering himself up. And fuck is he big, heavy and flush, leaking at the tip as his cock slaps against his stomach.

You slide your thong aside, feeling your own slickness coat your thighs, and lower yourself, not taking him inside, resting your soaked pussy against the thick, throbbing length of him.

He shudders so violently you feel it vibrate through both of you. “Please,” he rasps, voice shaking, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

You tease him, leaving his pleas unanswered, rolling your hips slow and steady, grinding your soaked pussy up and down the length of his cock, dragging you wet slick all over him.

He whimpers under you every time you pass over the sensitive head. You can feel how badly he’s holding back; how close he is to losing it without even being inside you. You lean down, sucking along his neck, dragging your teeth lightly across his pulse point.

“You’re so good for me,” you murmur against his skin. He chokes on a whimper, his hands trembling where they grip your hips. “You’re so pretty when you're desperate,” you breathe as you grind down a little harder, drawing another pathetic groan from deep in his chest.

“So big…” you murmur, almost to yourself, letting your fingers lightly trace his pulsing vein along the top as you lean closer, lips dusting over his ear. “Would you even fit inside me?”

“I want that more than anything,” he gasps. “Whatever you want. However you want it. Just—” He cuts off with a shuddering whimper, “—just the tip. Please. Please, baby.”

You stay poised above him, letting the moment stretch on, grinding against him again, letting him feel exactly how ready you are. You lift your hips, circling them just above where you would be if you sunk down on him and he knows it.

He grabs himself in his fist, lip tucked between his teeth, jerking himself a few times with his eyes locked on the place between your thighs he dreams about ruining.

You lower yourself, until the fat, leaking head of his cock slips inside. The stretch is brutal in the best possible way, your ears flooded with his gasps; his whole body locked up like he’s fighting the urge to fuck up into you.

His fingers dig into your hip, desperate to hold you there, and you do, watching as he fights for his life under you.

You roll your hips just once—slow and shallow—and a moan rips from his broad chest. “Is that all you wanted?” You tease and he shakes his head frantically because of it. You smile wickedly, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “Tell me what you want, baby—”

“I want to be buried inside you,” he cuts you short and swallows hard. “Please. All the way. I need it. I need you.”

You lean in, mouth brushing his ear. “Why don’t you take it?” The second the words leave your mouth, he moves, frantic and desperate. Thrusting up into you so hard, it knocks the air out of your lungs—his thick cock stretching you so messy and wide it punches a gasp out of both of you.

He doesn’t stop, thrusting up into you like he’s been waiting for this forever. Every sharp snap of his hips rocks you deeper, drives him further into you, until you swear you can feel him in your guts.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the private room, mixing with his low moans and your fucked-out cries.

You’re gripping him now, fluttering around his cock with every hard thrust as your thighs start to shake. Your nails dig into his shoulders; into the solid muscle of his back.

You’re close. So close you can barely breathe and he feels it. Feels the way your body clutches at him, trying to pull him deeper, begging for it without words.

“That’s it, baby,” he pants. “So fucking good for me. Cum for me, please. Please.” His thumb finds your clit, pressing down, circling rough and fast, dragging you closer to the edge with every touch. “I need it, baby,” he begs.

You crash over the edge with a loud cry, your whole body seizing up around him. Your pussy clamps down so hard he can barely compose himself, two rough thrusts til he’s spilling inside you, his cock throbbing with every pulse of his orgasm.

Rafe clutches you to him, burying his face against your neck, groaning your name as he emptied himself inside. The heat of him floods through you, leaking out around where you’re still joined. He doesn’t stop moving right away, still grinding up into you in slow, shaky thrusts—like he needs to make sure you get all of it out, every last drop.

You let yourself melt into him as your ears ring in the aftershock of your orgasm, the club music outside the private room fading to nothing.

Finally, when he can breathe again, you feel him shift, pushing tender kisses along your shoulder, your throat, the curve of your jaw. Thankful with his touch like he can’t believe after all this time you let him have this.

You cup his jaw, tilting his face up to yours. You brush your thumb across his bottom lip, slow and sweet. He smiles; that sinful smile that tell you everything you could ever want to know and more but still you ask nonetheless, “how was that, baby?”

He chuckles dizzily, tossing his head back as a blush creeps across his cheeks. “So fucking good, pretty…”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

He lets you go with a soft, reluctant groan, watching you like you just ripped his heart out and he’s thanking you for it.

Rafe straightens his suit as best he can, running his fingers through his hair as you fix his tie for him, smoothing it down with a little smile.

You can tell he doesn’t want to leave, not really. But he knows the rules, he knows he got to break them, and he wasn’t going to push it. You kiss his lips, soft and sweet, lingering in a way that lets him know this can’t be the last time. And for him, it won’t be. He disappears into the golden haze of the club without looking back.

You walk back to the table, your legs trembling still, opening the leather check holder. You look down at the tab; a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you see the charge for the private room and the time spent; the bottle of Louis Roederer you shared. Nothing more.

You could have charged him anything and he would’ve paid it, but you didn’t. He tucked next to the thick stack of cash—ten times what the night was worth—a room key, his phone number, and a note…

@rafesthroatbaby | @matthewssweetheart | @slut-4-rafey | @blair-bears-blog | @iikximii | @akobx | @gri959 | @misatxox | @ch4rrykisses | @st8rkey | @laniirackssss | @barnesboo1967 | @justdamnpeachy | @dylsdaily | @rafesapprentice | @rafesheaven | @my-name-is-baby | @wtfisastiles | @skye-44 @romaescapes | @anothershorthuman | @rafeslovergirly | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @v3n1ce-bxtch | @maybankslover | @theater-bitch | @frankoceanluvr11 | @rcameronlova1 | @lhhlver | @yourmomdotcom42069 | @cameronsprincess | @kdoll-7 | @angelicameron | @imsiriuslyreal | @alphabetically-deranged | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @hyperfixationgirl | @faephoria | @wtfdudesblog | @rafesdoll | @yasmin-oviedo | @lizzysmith110 | @ietss | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @lilithblackkk | @premiumshitt | @littlelamy | @dulcescorderitas | @prettybabyyyy | @star017 | @hannieskzzz | @biascriptum | @laylalovesbmth | @aris-void | rafesbabygirlx

[wonfie]

NOT YOURS !

‎ ꗃ 𝗐𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅

𝑓─── fwb!jungwon ㅈ f!rea ✶ smut ⏜ bartender!reader barowner!jungwon rough sex petnames degradation jealousy use of handcuffs, blindfold fwb2??? ✿ 𝐜𝓲𝐞𝓁 ｡

消息 ⦂ finally here.. (i hate it) not worth the wait imo this was a disappointment 💔 8.5k words of pure ASS writing

REBLOG4 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 𓏼 ◜ ᴗ ◝ 𓏼

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈 : ACT LIKE MINE

THE MUSIC thrums through the floor, a relentless pulse that shakes the air and sinks into your bones. the club is a living, breathing beast, its veins made of neon, its heartbeat the bassline that drowns out thought. strobe lights cut through the haze like blades, catching sweat-slick skin and glinting off half-empty glasses. your dress—black, tight, barely there—clings to every curve, the hem riding high enough to turn heads, to invite stares. you move through the crowd with purpose, hips swaying to the rhythm, each step a deliberate invitation. you’re not here to blend in. you’re here to be seen, to be wanted, to feel the weight of eyes on you like a second skin.

you sense him before you see him. jungwon. not hovering, not chasing, but there—always there. his presence is a tether, a pull you can’t ignore. from the shadowed booth across the room, his gaze locks onto you, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the chaos of bodies and lights. his arms are crossed, one leg stretched out, his posture deceptively relaxed, like he owns the place. because he does. his lips are pressed thin, his expression unreadable, but those eyes—dark, hungry, burning with a cold fire—tell you everything. he’s watching, waiting, and you know he’s not going to move until you make him.

the dance floor is a crush of bodies, a sea of heat and motion, but you carve out your space in the center, your drink in hand, condensation slick against your fingers. sweat beads on your skin, catching the light as you move, your body swaying in time with the relentless beat. jungwon stays back, leaning against the wall now, talking to someone—a friend, a business associate, it doesn’t matter. his eyes never leave you. you feel them like a touch, like a hand sliding down your spine, and it makes your breath catch, your chest tighten with something you don’t want to name.

you’re playing a game. you both are. he’s the master, the one who sets the rules, but tonight, you’re rewriting them. you lean into the stranger beside you—dark shirt, flashy watch glinting under the lights, the faint scent of sweet liquor clinging to him. you don’t care about his name or his smile, but you let him think you do. you laugh at his half-heard jokes, tilt your head back, let your lips graze the rim of your glass in a way you know jungwon hates. it’s a performance, every movement a silent dare, a challenge thrown across the room. you want him to see. you want him to react.

the stranger’s hand brushes your arm as he hands you another drink, and you let it linger, let his fingers graze your skin just a second too long. you feel jungwon’s gaze sharpen, feel the air shift as his patience frays. you don’t look at him—not yet. you sip your drink, slow and deliberate, letting the cold liquid slide down your throat while your body moves to the music, hips rolling, hair falling over your shoulders. the stranger says something, leans closer, and you smile, all teeth and no warmth, because this isn’t about him. it’s about the man watching you, the one whose control you’re testing, whose limits you’re pushing.

then you feel it—his hand on your wrist, firm but not painful, a quiet command that stops you cold. you turn, meeting jungwon’s eyes, and they’re darker than the club’s shadows, burning with something that makes your pulse race. “we’re leaving,” he says, voice low, clipped, leaving no room for argument.

“but we just—” you start, voice teasing, testing him one last time.

“now.” his grip tightens just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

you glance at the stranger, who’s watching with a mix of amusement and awkwardness, and you flash him a quick, mocking wave. “boyfriend,” you say, your smile sharp and wicked, before letting jungwon pull you through the crowd.

outside, the night air is a shock against your flushed skin, the low cut of your dress leaving you exposed to the bite of the cold. you wrap your arms around yourself, heels clicking against the pavement as you trail a few steps behind him. he’s already on his phone, calling the car, his jaw tight, his movements sharp. when the sleek black sedan pulls up, you slide into the back seat beside him, the leather cool against your thighs. he doesn’t look at you, just stares straight ahead, knee bouncing, body taut with barely restrained energy.

you watch him from the corner of your eye, the city lights streaking across his face in flashes of neon. you want to say something, to break the silence, but the words feel heavy, trapped in your throat. you’re wet already, and you hate how easily he does this to you—how a look, a touch, a single word can unravel you.

“you’re mad,” you say finally, voice soft, testing the waters.

he turns his head slowly, eyes narrowing, unreadable. “mad?” he echoes, the word sharp enough to cut. “no.”

you raise an eyebrow, skeptical, but his lips twitch into a low, bitter laugh before you can press further. “i’m embarrassed,” he says, and the admission catches you off guard.

“embarrassed?” you repeat, surprise flickering through you.

“you looked pathetic,” he says, voice like a blade, precise and vicious. “pressing up on some guy like you didn’t have anyone. like you were begging for it.”

“he wasn’t touching me—” you start, defensive, but he cuts you off, voice dropping lower, darker.

“you wanted him to.” it’s not a question. “don’t lie to me.”

you open your mouth to argue, to deny it, but the words die on your tongue. he’s right. you were playing a game, pushing boundaries, and you both know it. his eyes darken, not with anger but with something fiercer—hunger, control, a need coiled tight beneath his skin.

“you wanna act like that?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his voice a dangerous whisper meant only for you. “don’t fucking complain when i treat you like you don’t know how to behave.”

you say nothing. you don’t need to. because he’s right, and because you want whatever comes next.

the car pulls up to his building, and jungwon is out first, slamming the door without a glance back. you follow, heels unsteady on the pavement, your stomach twisting with anticipation. the elevator ride is a study in silence, the air thick with it, your shoulder brushing his just once. he doesn’t react, doesn’t move, his hands loose at his sides, but you know better. you know the calm is a mask, and beneath it, he’s deadly.

the apartment door barely clicks shut before he’s on you.

the space is too quiet after the club’s chaos, the city’s hum a faint drone through the thick glass windows. jungwon doesn’t speak, just watches you, his gaze heavy, predatory. you shift in the tight dress, the fabric warm from the night, your bare legs pressing against the cold floor. your wrist still tingles where he grabbed you, the memory sharp, electric.

he steps closer, and the distance between you shrinks to nothing, the air charged with unspoken words. his breath is steady, slow, but you can feel the danger in it, the promise of something raw. his finger traces your jaw, light but deliberate, sliding down your neck, sending a shiver through you that feels like it could break you apart.

“you don’t listen, do you?” he murmurs, voice low, calm in a way that makes your knees weak. his hands are on you now, quick and impatient, dragging the dress up over your hips to reveal the thin lace beneath. “you think just ‘cause they’re out there, i won’t fuck the attitude out of you?”

you gasp, heart pounding as the cold air hits your thighs. “won—wait, i—”

you don’t finish. he’s already bending you over the counter, one hand covering your mouth before you can say another word, the other gripping your hip with bruising force. he doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease—just pushes in, rough, a sharp stretch that steals your breath. you squirm, but he holds you still, his pace relentless, your legs trembling under the onslaught.

it’s not playful. it’s not angry. it’s possessive, primal, like he’s staking a claim. he fucks you like he’s proving something, each thrust deep and unforgiving, but his voice stays low, lips brushing your ear when he leans forward. “be good for me, baby.”

you moan behind his hand, loud, unfiltered, and he tightens his grip, muffling you instantly. “you want them to hear you getting ruined by me?” he hisses, his breath hot against your skin. “you want them to know who fucks you like this?”

your body shakes, your moan turning to a whimper as he slows just enough to let the pressure build, the stretch becoming unbearable, addictive. his teeth graze your neck, nipping just below your ear, and the heat between your thighs pools, your body betraying you as it clenches around him.

he feels it. groans. “fuck,” he breathes, voice raw. “you’re so wet it’s disgusting.”

he pulls out suddenly, and before you can catch your breath, he flips you around, lifting you onto the counter like you’re weightless. your wrists reach for his shoulders, but he catches them, pinning them to your sides, his gaze hard, unyielding. “don’t touch me unless i tell you to.”

you nod, dizzy, drunk on his voice, his presence, the way he looks at you like you’re his to break. “bed,” he says, and you slide off the counter, legs shaky, walking ahead of him, feeling his eyes on you like a predator stalking prey.

you hear the clink of his belt hitting the floor, the soft thud of his jacket following. slow, methodical, deliberate. he’s not rushing—not when he’s like this. every move is calculated, every step heavy with intent. you reach the bedroom, and your eyes flick to the drawer by the bed, the one with the handcuffs, the blindfold, the small black box you’re forbidden to touch without permission. he follows your gaze, and without a word, he pulls it open, setting out what he needs with the precision of a surgeon—cuffs, blindfold, and something else, something you can’t quite see.

“on your knees,” he says.

you drop to the bed, hair spilling over your shoulders, hands trembling as you kneel, waiting. he takes your wrists, locking the cuffs behind your back with a soft click. the metal is cold, biting into your skin—not painful, but a warning, a promise of what’s to come.

he stands back, his breath heavy, and you can feel his eyes on you, taking you in. “look at you,” he says, voice low, almost reverent. you bite your lip, feeling the weight of his gaze, the way it strips you bare.

“do you feel good about what you did tonight?” he asks.

you nod, hesitant, knowing it’s the wrong answer but unable to lie.

his head tilts, eyes narrowing. “you shouldn’t.”

he grabs the blindfold, slipping it over your eyes without warning. the world goes dark, the fabric tight against your face, and your breath stutters. every sound is sharper now—the creak of the bed, his steady breathing, the rustle of his clothes. you hear him move, feel the mattress dip as he kneels in front of you. his knuckles brush your jaw, then your lips, and you flinch, oversensitive, hyperaware.

“open,” he says, pressing two fingers to your mouth.

you part your lips, letting his fingers slide in, your tongue curling around them instinctively. he exhales sharply, a sound that sends a thrill through you, and you suck, slow and deliberate, pulling a soft grunt from him. then he’s gone, fingers pulling away, leaving you empty, wanting.

you whine, soft and needy, and he laughs—low, mocking. “don’t start.”

the bed shifts again, and you know what he’s doing, even without sight. the faint sound of fabric, the subtle rhythm of his hand moving, stroking himself just inches from your face. your lips part, ready, aching for him, and he mutters, “needy little mouth. didn’t get what you wanted at the bar, so now you’re desperate for mine, huh?”

you nod, because lying is pointless. he knows you too well.

he brushes the tip of his cock against your lips, barely there, just enough to make you chase it. again, and again, teasing, cruel. “open wider,” he says, and you do, letting him thrust in slow, shallow at first, then deeper, his hands holding your face steady as he rocks forward. you gag slightly, throat flexing, but he doesn’t stop, his pace building, relentless, until your throat burns and your lungs ache. spit drips down your chin, tears prick behind the blindfold, but you don’t pull away. this is what you wanted.

he holds you there, nose pressed to his skin, throat full, until you’re trembling, then pulls out with a wet pop. you gasp, chest heaving, throat sore and pulsing. he’s silent for a moment, letting you catch your breath.

then, soft but stern: “face down.”

you move without thinking, cheek pressed to the sheets, hips raised, the cuffs digging into your wrists as you brace yourself. he fucks you like he’s marking territory, each thrust deep, deliberate, his lips brushing your ear with every movement. “mine,” he says, and you don’t argue, because you are.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈 : BOLD ASSUMPTION

three months ago, you didn’t know his name. the city was a maze of glass and steel, neon bleeding into the night, and you were just another shadow passing through. you’d come here after a breakup that left you raw, chasing a fresh start in a place where no one knew your failures. the job was simple—bartending at a dive bar downtown, pouring cheap whiskey for tired men, dodging their hands, their leers. it paid the rent, kept you moving, but it didn’t fill the void.

the first time you saw jungwon, he wasn’t like the others. he didn’t flirt or leer or make crude jokes. he sat at the end of the bar, nursing a bourbon, eyes scanning the room like he was waiting for something—or someone. his face was all sharp angles, shadowed and unreadable, but there was an intensity to him, something that made your pulse quicken when his gaze landed on you.

“another?” you’d asked, holding up the bottle.

he nodded, sliding his glass toward you. “make it quick.”

you poured, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. “rough night?”

he didn’t answer, just tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve. “you new here?” he asked instead.

“couple weeks,” you said, wiping the counter. “you a regular?”

“something like that.” his lips twitched, not quite a smile. “you don’t belong here.”

you bristled, but his tone wasn’t cruel, just certain. “and where do i belong?”

he leaned forward, elbows on the bar, voice low. “somewhere people don’t look at you like meat.”

you laughed, sharp and surprised. “bold of you to assume i don’t like it.”

his eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. “you don’t.”

you didn’t know why, but you believed him. he saw through you, saw the armor you wore, the cracks beneath. you poured another shot, slid it to him. “on the house,” you said. “for the unsolicited advice.”

he didn’t touch it, just watched you, unblinking. “careful,” he said finally. “this place chews up girls like you.”

he was gone the next night, and the one after that, but when he came back a week later, he sat in the same spot, ordered the same drink, and watched you with that same unnerving focus. you started to notice things—the steadiness of his hands, the way he never slurred, the way people gave him space without being asked. he wasn’t just a drifter. he carried weight, the kind that came with power.

“you own this place or something?” you asked one night, half-joking, as you refilled his glass.

“or something,” he said, that not-quite-smile back.

you learned his name eventually. jungwon. no last name, no explanation. just jungwon. and you learned he wasn’t just a regular—he was the kind of man who could silence a room with a glance, who didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.

you started staying late, closing up alone, just to see if he’d show. sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t, but when he was there, the air felt charged, like a storm waiting to break. you’d talk, or you wouldn’t. he’d watch you wipe down the bar, and you’d feel his eyes like a physical touch. you started wearing tighter shirts, leaning closer when you poured his drink, letting your fingers brush his when you handed it over. testing. teasing. seeing how far you could push before he pushed back.

one night, he stayed until the last customer stumbled out. you were locking up, the bar empty except for the hum of the neon sign outside. he was still there, sitting at the counter, watching you.

“you’re trouble,” he said, voice low, like he was stating a fact.

you turned, leaning against the bar, arms crossed. “you don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“i know enough.” he stood, slow, deliberate, crossing the space between you. he was close now, close enough you could smell the faint spice of his cologne, feel the heat of him in the cool air. “you’re looking for something. and you think you’ll find it here.”

“and what if i do?” you shot back, chin tilted, defiant.

he stepped closer, crowding you against the bar. his hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw, light but possessive. “you won’t. not with them.”

“and who’s them?” your voice was steady, but your pulse wasn’t.

“everyone who’s not me.”

you laughed, shaky. “cocky bastard.”

“you have no idea.” his thumb grazed your lower lip, and your breath hitched. “come with me.”

“where?”

“does it matter?”

it didn’t. you followed him out the back door, into the alley where the city’s pulse felt rawer, louder. he didn’t touch you—not yet—but you felt him, like a current under your skin. the car was waiting, black and sleek, and you slid into the passenger seat like you’d done it a hundred times before.

that was the first night. not the last.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : FRIEND OR FHOE?

jungwon wasn’t your boyfriend. you didn’t call him that, and he didn’t ask you to. but he was something. something that made your heart race, your skin burn, something that made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t in years. he was a drug, and you were hooked.

he owned clubs, you learned—not just the dive bar, but others, sleek upscale places where the city’s elite came to lose themselves in music and liquor and secrets. he moved through them like a shadow, always in control, always untouchable. you saw how people looked at him—fear, respect, desire, all tangled together. you saw how women watched him, how men stepped aside when he passed. and you saw how he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

you started going to his clubs, not as a bartender but as his. you’d show up in dresses he bought you, tight and expensive, the kind that made heads turn. he’d watch from across the room, never hovering, never crowding, but always there, his presence pulling you back. you’d dance, drink, flirt with strangers just to see how long it took for him to cross the floor and claim you. it was a game, and you both played it, knowing who’d win.

tonight wasn’t different—at first. you’d picked the dress yourself, black and barely there, knowing it would drive him up the wall. you’d danced with that guy because you could, because you wanted to see how far you could push before jungwon snapped. you wanted the rush of his anger, the heat of his possession. you wanted to feel him.

and now, here you are, blindfolded and cuffed, kneeling on his bed, his voice cutting through the dark like a blade.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 : ARE YOU, THOUGH?

“you think you’re clever,” he says, voice almost a growl. “you think you can play me.”

you shake your head, lips parted, but no words come out. the blindfold sharpens everything—the creak of the bed, the sound of his breath, the brush of his fingers against your skin. you’re hyperaware, every nerve alive, waiting.

he’s close now, the heat of him radiating, the weight of his presence suffocating in the best way. his hand trails down your spine, slow, deliberate, and you arch into it without thinking. he laughs, soft and mocking.

“so eager,” he mutters. “you act like you don’t want this, but your body says different.”

you bite your lip, trying to stay quiet, to hold onto some shred of defiance. but it’s hard when his fingers are on you, tracing patterns that make your skin burn, make your thighs clench. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he always does.

“say it,” he says, voice sharp. “say you want me.”

you hesitate, just for a second, just to push him. but then his hand is in your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat. you gasp, the sound loud in the quiet room.

“say it.”

“i want you,” you whisper, and it’s true. it’s always been true.

he hums, satisfied, and releases your hair. you feel the bed shift, feel him move away, and you hate it—the sudden absence, the cold where his body was. you strain against the cuffs, the metal biting into your wrists, but you don’t care. you want to touch him, want to pull him back.

“patience,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “you don’t get to decide what happens next.”

you hear the drawer again, the soft clink of something being picked up. your heart races. you know what’s in there—the tools he keeps, the ones he uses when he wants to take his time, to unravel you slowly. you don’t know what he’s chosen, and the not-knowing makes your pulse throb in your ears.

“spread your legs,” he says.

you do, slow, feeling the mattress dip under your knees. you’re exposed, vulnerable, and the blindfold makes it worse—or better. you can’t decide. every nerve is alive, waiting, anticipating.

you feel it then—the cool, smooth edge of something against your inner thigh. not his fingers, not his mouth. something else. you flinch, but he steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“don’t move,” he says, voice calm but edged with warning.

you nod, breath shallow, and he drags the object higher, teasing, letting it linger just close enough to make you squirm. you don’t know what it is—maybe a knife, maybe something else—but you trust him. you shouldn’t, maybe, but you do.

“good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends a rush of heat through you, makes your toes curl against the sheets.

he moves the object again, and this time it brushes against you—light, fleeting, but enough to make you gasp. it’s cold, slick, and you realize it’s the handle of something, maybe a knife, maybe a toy. you don’t care. you just want more.

“you like this,” he says, not a question. “you like not knowing.”

you nod, because lying is pointless. he knows you too well.

he chuckles, low and dark, and then the object is gone, replaced by his fingers, warm and rough, sliding over you, testing your limits. you moan, loud and unashamed, and he doesn’t stop you this time. he lets you make noise, lets you beg with your body, lets you fall apart under his touch.

“you’re mine,” he says, and it’s not possessive now—it’s a fact, like the sky is dark or the city never sleeps. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, and you mean it.

he doesn’t respond with words, but you feel him shift, feel the bed dip as he moves closer. his mouth is on you then, sudden and relentless, and you cry out, back arching, wrists straining against the cuffs. he’s not gentle, not careful, but it’s exactly what you need—exactly what you’ve been chasing all night.

hours later, you’re lying on the bed, blindfold gone, cuffs off, your body heavy and sated. jungwon is next to you, one arm draped over your waist, his breath steady against your neck. the room is quiet now, the city’s hum a distant backdrop. you’re both silent, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s just… done.

you turn your head, look at him. his eyes are half-closed, but he’s watching you, like always. you wonder what he sees when he looks at you like that. you wonder if he knows how much you need this—need him.

“you’re still trouble,” he says, voice soft, almost fond.

you smile, small and tired. “you like it.”

he doesn’t deny it, just pulls you closer, lips brushing your temple. “go to sleep,” he says.

you do, because for once, you don’t want to fight him.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕 : DON’T FLATTER YOURSELF, IT’S WHAT FRIENDS DO

the morning light is pale, spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of jungwon’s penthouse, softening the sharp edges of the room. you’re in one of his shirts, too big, the hem brushing your thighs as you stand at the kitchen counter, pouring coffee from a sleek machine that probably costs more than your rent. jungwon is at the table, scrolling through his phone, hair still messy from sleep. he looks almost normal like this—human, not the untouchable figure who commands rooms and owns half the city’s nightlife. but even now, there’s an edge to him, a quiet intensity that never quite fades.

“you’re staring,” he says, not looking up.

“am not,” you lie, turning back to the coffee, the rich aroma filling the air.

he snorts, soft, and you hear the scrape of his chair as he stands. he’s behind you before you can react, hands on your hips, chin resting on your shoulder. “you’re a terrible liar,” he says, voice low, teasing, but with that undercurrent that makes your pulse quicken.

you lean back into him, just a little, letting his warmth seep into you. “you like that too,” you murmur, and he doesn’t argue, just tightens his grip on your hips, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“you working tonight?” he asks, his breath warm against your skin.

“yeah,” you say, stirring sugar into your coffee, the spoon clinking softly against the mug. “closing shift.”

he hums, thoughtful, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your hip. “don’t flirt with the customers.”

you laugh, turning in his arms to face him, one eyebrow raised. “jealous?”

his eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of amusement there, a spark that makes your stomach flip. “you know better,” he says, voice low, and you do. you know exactly how far you can push him, and you know what happens when you go too far. it’s why you keep doing it.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈 : GET REAL !

the club is different in the daytime, hollow and quiet, the neon lights off, the air stale with the ghost of last night’s chaos. you’re behind the bar, restocking bottles, the clink of glass against glass the only sound in the empty space. jungwon walks in, his presence as commanding as ever, even in the daylight. he doesn’t come here during the day often—too busy running his empire, you assume—but when he does, it’s always with purpose.

“you’re early,” you say, not looking up from the crate of vodka you’re unpacking.

“had a meeting nearby,” he says, leaning against the bar, his eyes tracking your movements. “thought i’d check in.”

you glance at him, skeptical. “you don’t check in.”

he smirks, just a little. “maybe i missed you.”

you roll your eyes, but your pulse quickens, betraying you. “sure.”

he watches you work, silent, and you feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and familiar. it’s not just attraction—it’s something deeper, something that makes you feel seen in a way that’s both thrilling and unnerving. you set a bottle down, turn to face him, wiping your hands on a rag. “what do you really want, jungwon?”

he shrugs, but his eyes are serious, searching. “you ever think about quitting?”

you pause, caught off guard. “this job?”

“this life.”

you set the rag down, cross your arms. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he steps closer, voice low, deliberate. “you’re not like the others here. you’re… different.”

“different how?” you ask, chin lifting, challenging him.

he’s closer now, close enough that you can smell the faint spice of his cologne, feel the heat of him in the cool air. “you’re not just passing through. you’re looking for something. but you won’t find it behind a bar.”

you laugh, sharp and defensive, but it rings hollow. “you don’t know what i’m looking for.”

“don’t i?” his voice is soft, but it cuts deep, and for a moment, you can’t meet his eyes. he’s right—he always is—but you’re not ready to admit it, not to him, not to yourself. you’ve spent too long running from your past to start digging it up now.

“i’m fine,” you say finally, turning back to the bottles. “i like it here.”

he doesn’t believe you. you can feel it in the way the air shifts, in the way his jaw tightens. but he doesn’t push, not this time. “be careful tonight,” he says instead, and then he’s gone, leaving you with the echo of his words and the weight of his absence.

that night, the club is alive again, the same pulsing beast it always is. you’re behind the bar, pouring drinks, dodging hands, flashing smiles at the customers who tip well and ignoring the ones who don’t. jungwon’s there, in his usual spot, but he’s not alone tonight. there’s a woman with him—tall, sleek, her dress as expensive as the ones he buys you, her hand brushing his arm as she laughs at something he says.

you hate the way it makes you feel. you hate that you care.

you pour a drink too fast, and it spills over the edge of the glass, the customer cursing under his breath. you barely hear him, your eyes flicking to jungwon, to the woman, to the way she leans closer, like she has a right to him. he doesn’t look at you, not once, and it twists something sharp in your chest.

you tell yourself it’s fine. you’re not exclusive. you’re not anything. but the knot in your chest doesn’t loosen, and when your shift ends, you’re out the door before he can say a word, the cool night air hitting you like a slap.

you walk home, the city’s lights blurring into a haze. your apartment is small, cramped, nothing like his sleek penthouse, but it’s yours. you drop your keys on the counter, kick off your heels, and sink onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. you don’t know why you keep doing this, why you keep going back to him, why you let him pull you in again and again when you know it’s a game you’ll never win.

your phone buzzes. a text.

jungwon: where are you?

you don’t answer. not tonight.

he shows up at your door an hour later, and you’re not surprised. he probably bribed the doorman, or maybe he just knows everyone in this city. he’s still in the black shirt from the club, hair slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it. he looks at you, standing in your doorway, and there’s no trace of the smirk you’re used to, just a quiet intensity that makes your heart stutter.

“you didn’t answer,” he says, voice flat.

“i was busy,” you lie, leaning against the doorframe, blocking his way in.

he raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “busy hiding?”

“busy living,” you snap, sharper than you meant. “i don’t owe you an explanation.”

he steps closer, and you hate how your body reacts, how your heart speeds up just because he’s near. “you ran out,” he says. “why?”

“i was tired,” you say, but it sounds weak, even to you.

“bullshit.” his voice is low, cutting through your defenses like they’re paper.

you glare at him, but he doesn’t back down. he never does. “who was she?” you ask before you can stop yourself, the question slipping out, raw and unguarded.

he pauses, and for a moment, you think he’s going to dodge it. but then he smirks, just a little, and you want to slap it off his face. “a business associate,” he says, and the way he says it makes it sound like it’s nothing, like it shouldn’t matter. “jealous?”

“no,” you lie, but your voice betrays you, sharp and brittle.

he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, smell the faint trace of his cologne. “you don’t get to be jealous,” he says, voice low, almost dangerous. “not when you’re out there playing games with me.”

“i’m not—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“don’t.” his voice is sharp, final. “you know exactly what you’re doing. you always do.”

you want to argue, want to push him away, but he’s right. you’ve been playing this game as long as he has, and you’re both too good at it. “what do you want, jungwon?” you ask, tired suddenly, the fight draining out of you.

he looks at you, really looks, and for a moment, there’s something soft in his eyes, something almost vulnerable. but then it’s gone, replaced by that hard, unreadable mask. “you,” he says simply.

you laugh, bitter. “you have me.”

“do i?” his voice is quiet, but it hits like a punch.

you don’t answer. you don’t know how.

he steps past you, into your apartment, like he owns this place too. you close the door behind him, because what else can you do? he’s here, and you’re here, and the game isn’t over.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐈 : ANYTHING BUT UNDERSTANDABLE

the next few weeks are a blur of nights like that—clubs, drinks, his hands on you, his voice in your ear. you tell yourself you’re in control, that you’re choosing this, but every time he looks at you, every time he touches you, you feel yourself slipping, falling deeper into something you can’t name. you start noticing things about him—small things, things you shouldn’t care about. the way his hands shake sometimes, just slightly, when he thinks no one’s looking. the way he avoids questions about his family, his past. the way he never talks about love, or forever, or anything that feels too real.

you ask him one night, after, when you’re both lying in his bed, the city lights spilling through the window. “why do you do this?”

he’s quiet for so long you think he’s not going to answer. but then he says, “because it’s easier.”

“easier than what?” you press, turning to look at him.

“everything else,” he says, and his voice is so soft, so guarded, you almost miss the weight of it.

you don’t push. you don’t know if you want to know.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 : DOES THIS COUNT AS OBJECTIFICATION ?

the club is louder tonight, the crowd wilder, more reckless. you’re not working—you’re here for him, like always. you’re in another dress he picked, red this time, the fabric clinging to you like a second skin. you’re dancing, but it’s not for the crowd—it’s for him. you feel his eyes on you, always, from the corner of the room, and it’s enough to make your blood sing.

you don’t see the fight until it’s happening. a drunk guy, too handsy, too close, and then jungwon’s there, pulling him off you, his fist connecting with the guy’s jaw before anyone can blink. the crowd parts, security swarms, and jungwon’s standing there, knuckles bloody, eyes blazing.

“won—” you start, but he grabs your arm, pulls you through the crowd, out the back door.

the alley is cold, the air sharp against your skin. he’s pacing, hands in his hair, breathing hard. “you okay?” you ask, because you don’t know what else to say.

he laughs, short and harsh. “am i okay? you’re the one who had that asshole all over you.”

“i was handling it,” you say, defensive, arms crossing.

“handling it?” he rounds on you, eyes flashing. “he had his hands on you.”

“so what? you don’t get to punch every guy who looks at me.”

he steps closer, voice dropping, dangerous. “you think i do this for fun?”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

he grabs your face, not gentle, but not rough either. “you’re mine,” he says, and it’s not a question.

you pull away, heart pounding. “i’m not a thing you own.”

he looks at you, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. but then he just nods, slow, and steps back. “fine,” he says. “walk away.”

you don’t. you never do.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐗 : JUST MAYBE

the next night, you’re back at his place. you don’t know why you keep coming back, but you do. he’s different tonight, quieter, softer. he doesn’t touch you right away, doesn’t push. he just sits on the couch, watching you as you stand by the window, the city sprawling out below.

“why do you stay?” he asks, and it’s the first time he’s ever asked you that.

you don’t have an answer—not a good one. “because i want to,” you say finally, and it’s the truth, but it’s not enough.

he stands, crosses the room, and this time, when he touches you, it’s gentle. his fingers brush your cheek, your throat, and you lean into it, closing your eyes.

“you’re going to break my heart,” he says, so quiet you almost miss it.

you open your eyes, look at him. “you don’t have a heart to break.”

he smiles, small and sad. “you’d be surprised.”

the game doesn’t end. it never does. but it shifts, becomes something else. you’re not sure what it is, but you feel it, every time he looks at you, every time he touches you. it’s not love—not yet, maybe not ever—but it’s something. and for now, it’s enough.

you’re back in the club, weeks later, the same pulsing lights, the same pounding music. you’re dancing, and he’s watching, and you know how this ends. you know you’ll push, he’ll pull, and you’ll both fall into each other, like always.

but tonight, when he takes your hand, when he leads you out, there’s no anger, no punishment. just you, and him, and the city that never sleeps.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗 : OUCH !

you keep going back to the clubs, to the nights that blur into mornings, to the way jungwon’s eyes find you in a crowd, no matter how packed the room is. it’s a rhythm you’ve both perfected—push, pull, tease, surrender. you wear the dresses he buys, each one bolder than the last, each one designed to draw his attention and everyone else’s. you dance with strangers, let their hands linger just long enough to make jungwon’s jaw tighten, to make his fingers flex at his sides. you know what you’re doing, and so does he. it’s a dance, and you’re both leading.

but there are moments—quiet ones, in the spaces between the chaos—where something else creeps in. moments when he’s not the untouchable club owner, not the man who can silence a room with a glance. moments when he’s just jungwon, sitting across from you at his sleek dining table, pouring you coffee, his hair mussed, his eyes soft. moments when you catch him watching you, not with that predatory intensity, but with something warmer, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to examine too closely.

one night, after another round of the game—another night of dancing too close to someone else, of feeling his eyes burn into you from across the room—you end up back at his place, sprawled on his couch, the city lights glittering through the windows. he’s sitting beside you, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his tie long gone. you’re in one of his shirts again, the fabric soft against your skin, your legs tucked beneath you.

“why do you keep doing it?” he asks, voice low, almost curious. he’s not looking at you, just staring at the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it slowly.

“doing what?” you ask, though you know exactly what he means.

he glances at you, one eyebrow raised, calling out your feigned ignorance. “pushing me. testing me. you know what happens when you do.”

you shrug, leaning back against the couch, stretching your legs out so your toes brush his thigh. “maybe i like what happens.”

his lips twitch, but it’s not a smile, not quite. “you’re gonna get yourself in trouble one day.”

“haven’t i already?” you shoot back, voice teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge.

he sets the glass down, leans closer, his hand resting on your knee, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. “you’re different,” he says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it, but it hits harder tonight, in the quiet, with no music to drown it out. “you don’t belong in this world.”

you laugh, but it’s hollow. “and what world do i belong in, jungwon? some quiet little life where i’m not… this?” you gesture vaguely at yourself, at the shirt, at the city beyond the glass.

he doesn’t answer right away, just looks at you, his hand still on your knee, his thumb still moving in those slow, maddening circles. “i don’t know,” he says finally. “but not here. not with guys like that. not with me.”

you freeze, the words landing like a punch you didn’t see coming. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he leans back, running a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “you’re too good for this. for me. you’re gonna figure that out one day, and when you do, you’re gonna leave.”

you stare at him, your heart pounding, because he’s never said anything like this before, never let the mask slip this far. “and what if i don’t want to leave?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

he looks at you, and for a moment, you see it again—that softness, that vulnerability, buried deep but there. “then you’re dumber than i thought,” he says, but there’s no bite to it, just a quiet resignation that makes your chest ache.

you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. you just slide closer, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. he doesn’t push you away, doesn’t make a move. he just lets you stay, and for now, that’s enough.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗𝐈 : YOU KNOW BETTER

the weeks blur together, a cycle of nights and mornings, of clubs and his apartment, of games and quiet moments that feel too real. you start to notice more—the way he clenches his jaw when he gets a call he doesn’t want to take, the way his hands linger on you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, the way he never asks about your life before this, like he’s scared of the answers.

you’re not sure when it happens, when the game starts to feel like something else, something heavier. maybe it’s the night he shows up at your apartment unannounced, his tie loose, his eyes tired. you open the door, and he doesn’t say a word, just steps inside, pulls you into his arms, and holds you like he’s trying to keep himself together. you don’t ask what’s wrong, because you know he won’t tell you, but you let him hold you, let him bury his face in your hair, let him pretend for a moment that he’s not the man he is.

or maybe it’s the morning you wake up in his bed, the sunlight soft and golden, and he’s watching you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “stay,” he says, and it’s not a command, not this time. it’s a request, soft and raw, and you nod, because how could you not?

you start to wonder if this is what love feels like—not the burning, all-consuming thing you’d imagined, but something quieter, something that creeps in slowly, like the tide. you don’t say it, though. you don’t dare. because love is a dangerous word in a world like this, and you’re not sure either of you is ready for it.

one night, the club is packed, the air thick with sweat and perfume and the sharp tang of alcohol. you’re behind the bar again, filling in for someone who called out, your hands moving fast, pouring drinks, taking tips, dodging the usual handsy customers. jungwon’s there, in his usual spot, but he’s distracted tonight, his phone buzzing constantly, his jaw tight. you don’t ask questions—you’ve learned not to—but you feel the shift, the tension radiating off him like heat.

you’re pouring a shot when it happens. a guy—drunk, loud, too close—grabs your wrist, his grip slimy and too tight. you twist away, flashing a smile to defuse it, but he doesn’t let go, his eyes glassy, his words slurring. “come on, sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

you’re about to snap something sharp when jungwon’s there, faster than you’ve ever seen him move. he doesn’t touch the guy, doesn’t need to—just steps between you, his presence enough to make the man shrink back. “walk away,” jungwon says, voice low, deadly, and the guy does, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to disappear.

you exhale, shaking out your wrist, and meet jungwon’s eyes. “i had it under control,” you say, because you always say that, even when it’s not true.

he doesn’t answer, just grabs your hand—not your wrist, not rough, but firm—and pulls you out from behind the bar, through the crowd, to the back office. the door shuts, and it’s just the two of you, the music muffled, the air heavy.

“you didn’t need to do that,” you say, crossing your arms, but your voice lacks conviction.

he steps closer, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying not to touch you. “you think i’m gonna stand there and watch some drunk asshole put his hands on you?”

“it’s part of the job,” you snap, but even you don’t believe it. you’re tired, suddenly, of pretending you’re untouchable, of pretending you don’t need him to step in.

“fuck the job,” he says, and his voice is raw, unguarded, like he’s saying something he shouldn’t. “you’re not theirs to touch.”

you stare at him, your heart pounding, because this isn’t the game anymore. this is something else, something real, and it scares you as much as it thrills you. “and whose am i?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t answer right away, just looks at you, his eyes dark and searching. then he steps closer, so close you can feel his breath on your lips. “you know whose,” he says, and then he kisses you, hard and desperate, like he’s trying to prove it.

you kiss him back, because of course you do. you always do.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈 : LIKE PUZZLE PIECES

the game doesn’t end, but it changes. it’s not just about pushing and pulling anymore, not just about testing limits. it’s about the quiet moments after, when you’re lying in his bed, his arm around you, the city outside silent for once. it’s about the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching, like you’re something he’s afraid to lose. it’s about the way you feel when you’re with him, like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if you don’t know what that means.

you’re back at the club, weeks later, the same lights, the same music, the same pulsing energy. you’re dancing again, and he’s watching, and you know how this will end. you’ll push, he’ll pull, and you’ll end up tangled in each other, like always. but this time, when he takes your hand, when he leads you out, there’s no edge to it, no punishment. just you, and him, and the city that never sleeps.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

you don’t talk about what this is, not really. you don’t call it love, or a relationship, or anything that feels too permanent. but you feel it, in the way he touches you, in the way he looks at you, in the way he shows up at your apartment unannounced, just to sit with you in the quiet. you feel it in the way you think about him when he’s not there, in the way your body aches for him, in the way you don’t want to imagine a life without him.

one night, you’re at his place, sitting on the balcony, the city sprawling out below like a glittering dream. he’s beside you, a cigarette between his fingers, though he doesn’t smoke it, just lets it burn down to ash. you’re in one of his shirts again, your legs bare, the cool night air raising goosebumps on your skin.

“you ever think about leaving?” you ask, breaking the silence.

he glances at you, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. “leaving what?”

“this.” you gesture at the city, the lights, the life. “all of it.”

he’s quiet for a moment, his eyes on the horizon. “sometimes,” he says finally. “but it’s who i am.”

you nod, because you get it. this world—his world—is as much a part of him as you are. maybe more. “and me?” you ask, voice soft, almost afraid of the answer. “where do i fit?”

he looks at you then, really looks, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath catch. “you’re the only thing that makes it bearable,” he says, and it’s the closest he’s ever come to saying something real, something that matters.

you don’t push, don’t ask for more. you just lean your head against his shoulder, and he lets you, his hand finding yours, his fingers lacing through yours like they were made to fit.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 : I LIKE U

the nights keep coming, and so do you, back to the clubs, back to him. you dance, you drink, you push, and he pulls, and it’s a rhythm you both know by heart. but now, there’s something else in it—a thread of something deeper, something that makes the game feel less like a game and more like a promise.

you’re not sure when it happened, when the lines blurred, when it stopped being just about the thrill and started being about him. but you know you’re in too deep now, and you know he is too, even if he’ll never say it. you see it in the way he watches you, in the way he touches you, in the way he lets you see the parts of him he keeps hidden from everyone else.

you’re back at the club, the music pounding, the lights flashing, the crowd a living, breathing thing. you’re dancing, and he’s watching, and you know how this ends. but tonight, when he takes your hand, when he leads you out, it’s different. it’s not about possession or control or proving a point. it’s just you, and him, and the city that never sleeps.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

[innovativeledsales]

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[papayainsectorone]

Classified Bassline.

summary: what starts as playful jealousy simmers into something hotter, dirtier, and undeniably possessive. a little tension. a little show.

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, post-race party setting, club bathroom sex, tension-filled banter, explicit sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, suggestive humor

word count: 2.4k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

a thought: gotta love a neon green lando moment walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

The bass thrums through your chest like a second heartbeat, and sweat clings to your skin as bodies sway all around you in a blur of sound and light. The post-race party has taken over the rooftop club, low lighting, flickering strobes, the scent of alcohol and perfume thick in the air. You’re leaning against the bar, one heel popped behind the other, your glass sweating in your hand and the pleasant fuzz of too many drinks warming your bloodstream.

From across the room, you catch Lando’s outline near the DJ booth, half-shrouded in shadows and strobes. He’s bobbing his head to the beat, fingers tapping the table beside the turntables like he might jump in and take over. Classic Lando. Half cool, half chaos. But you know him well enough to spot the way his gaze sometimes flickers over. Not at the music. At you.

Before you can raise your glass in a tease, a sharp pinch lands at your waist.

You jump slightly, heart jolting before you catch sight of Charles smug grin in place, eyes gleaming under the pulse of neon. He’s standing closer than necessary, the bass rattling through the floor, making everything feel just a bit unsteady.

He says something — you can’t hear it.

“What?” you call over the music, leaning in.

Charles smiles wider, then steps in so close you feel his breath against your ear. His voice is a low purr just audible beneath the thrum of the beat. “Didn’t expect you to be drinking alone.”

You turn your head slightly, your cheek brushing his. “I’m not alone. Just...selective.”

He chuckles, deep and slow and now it’s you who feels it down your spine. “Selective, hmm? Dodging the desperate masses?”

“Or the ones who think wandering hands are charming,” you shoot back, playful but pointed.

Charles lifts both hands in mock innocence, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in again, shoulder brushing yours, the music loud enough to make every word feel like a secret.

“I behave better after a few drinks,” he murmurs, close enough that it sends goosebumps skittering down your neck.

“You’ve had more than a few.”

He shrugs with a grin. “It’s a party. This is me behaving.”

You laugh unguarded now, a little buzzed, a little curious. And when he leans in once more, lips grazing your ear to say something else, you don’t pull back.

“You know what’s funny?” Charles leans in again, his lips brushing your ear under the pulse of the music. “I’m pretty sure I heard Lando fucking someone in his driver’s room on Friday.”

You freeze.

It’s just for a second, but your drink stalls halfway to your mouth, and your heart does a neat, vicious somersault in your chest. You glance sharply at Charles, throat suddenly dry.

His grin widens, wicked. He saw that.

“Thin walls,” he adds, dragging out the words like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Sounded... enthusiastic.”

You manage a laugh — too high, too quick. “Honestly, sounds like something he’d do.”

Charles tilts his head, watching you with open amusement. “You sound... amused.”

“I mean, who doesn’t love a bit of efficiency?” you shrug, lips twitching into a smirk, fighting to stay in control. Your cheeks are burning, your ears ringing and it’s not from the music.

He hums low in his throat. “So, is he with someone now? Or still leaving the party solo?”

Your fingers tighten around your glass. From across the room, you feel it — the unmistakable prickle of being watched. You don’t have to look to know Lando’s there, somewhere in the shadows, seeing you with Charles, seeing you pretend you weren’t the one moaning into his neck while the rest of the paddock went about their day.

You lift your chin and meet Charles’ eyes, steady now. “Hard to say,” you reply, swirling the melting ice at the bottom of your drink. “Lando’s full of surprises.”

He holds your gaze a moment longer, as if testing the weight of your words, then grins like the devil and clinks his glass against yours.

You smile back.

But your skin still prickles with heat, with nerves, with the unmistakable feeling of a line that’s already been crossed.

Just then, movement catches your eye — Lando, cutting through the crowd with a drink in hand, his expression unreadable but his focus razor-sharp. His pace is easy, casual, like he’s just wandering over for a chat but his eyes are locked on Charles. And you.

You straighten instinctively, barely catching the flicker of tension in your shoulders before smoothing it away. Lando reaches the bar, slides in beside you, and tosses an arm along the back of your stool — casual, practiced, like he’s done it a hundred times. Like it means nothing.

But the warmth of him is immediate, pressing against your spine.

Charles spots him, and of course decides to make everything worse.

“Hey!” he shouts over the thumping bass, grinning wickedly. “We were just talking about you. Specifically that girl you had in your room Friday.”

Your stomach flips so hard again you nearly miss your mouth with your drink.

Lando slows his step, eyes narrowing just slightly, and you catch the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Yeah?” he says smoothly, planting himself beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “It was actually a pretty great afternoon.”

You bite your lip, sipping hard from your glass to hide the grin threatening to give you away.

Charles arches a brow. “Oh? Who was it?”

Lando clicks his tongue, then winks. “Classified,” he says. “You don’t have clearance, mate.”

Charles groans, throwing his hands up. “Come on. Spill. I’ll trade you gossip.”

“I don’t gossip,” Lando says flatly, then immediately adds, “Okay, I do. But not about this.”

You feel the air shift something unspoken exchanged in the glance Lando throws your way. You don’t look at him. You can’t. Not without cracking wide open in front of Charles.

Charles watches the moment, lips twitching like he knows he’s poking at something volatile.

“Fine, fine. Keep your secrets,” he concedes, reaching for his drink. “You’re both so boring, honestly.”

He scans the dancefloor with exaggerated drama, then perks up, attention snaring on someone across the room. “But I see someone else who might be more cooperative.”

He winks at you, gives Lando a cheeky salute, and disappears into the crowd, swallowed by flashing lights and bodies.

The second he’s gone, silence blooms between you and Lando thick, electric, absolutely charged.

You don’t move, but you feel him shift closer, lips brushing your ear, voice low and impossible to ignore.

“Think he knows?”

Your breath catches.

“Not yet,” you murmur, keeping your gaze fixed forward. “But you’re not exactly subtle.”

Lando’s chuckle is warm against your neck. “Neither were you.”

And god, you wish you could argue.

Then Lando pulls back, his grin returning. “C’mon. Dance with me before Charles comes back and tries to charm you into a Ferrari contract.”

You grab his hand, letting him tug you into the crowd. “He couldn’t afford me.”

“Exactly,” Lando says, spinning you into him. “He´s already over budget.”

The music pulses through your bones, the bass thudding like a second heartbeat as you and Lando spill onto the dancefloor. It starts simple, a shared rhythm, bodies moving side by side, eyes catching in flashes of strobes. His hand brushes your lower back once, then again, lingering just a second too long.

You spin away, laughing, letting the crowd swallow you for a moment but not too far. He stays in your periphery, now dancing with some girl in red, hands at her waist, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her back. You roll your eyes, turning into the arms of someone else. Tall. Handsy. Too eager. You don’t care.

You move with him anyway, grinding just enough to send a clear message — not to the guy, but to Lando.

When you glance over your shoulder, Lando’s already looking. Smirking. He tilts his head like he’s amused, like he’s winning something, even though you’re not sure what the game even is.

Eventually, the heat pushes you both back to the bar. He’s already there when you arrive, sweaty curls pushed off his forehead, eyes dark and glinting as he sips something sharp.

You slide up beside him, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Going to take her to the bathroom?” you tease, nodding toward the red dress girl still swaying near the speakers.

He snorts. “You gonna take him?” he shoots back with a grin.

You don’t answer and you don’t smile either. Your cheeks betray you first, flushing warm under the lights. You turn slightly, trying to hide it behind your drink.

Lando notices instantly.

His eyes widen, grin turning gleeful. “No fucking way,” he gasps. “Little Miss I-Fucked-Someone-in-a-Bush-at-a-Family-Picnic didn’t do it in a club bathroom yet?”

You shoot him a sharp look, biting back your smile. “Not everyone’s a whore like you, Lando.”

He throws his head back laughing, the sound rich and unbothered until he leans in, breath ghosting your cheek, the smile still wide but something hungrier underneath.

“I’m gonna show you,” he murmurs, grabbing his drink, draining the last of it and stepping away with a wink.

Toward the bathroom.

Leaving you standing there, pulse racing, torn between your pride and the undeniable pull in your gut.

You stare after him, lips parted, brain short-circuiting somewhere between don’t be obvious and fuck it. His figure disappears through the crowd, headed toward the back hallway, no hesitation in his step, like he already knows you’ll come.

You hesitate for all of three seconds.

Then you toss back the rest of your drink too, feel it burn down your throat, and follow. The music presses in from all sides, the thump of bass like a countdown in your ears. You slip through clusters of dancers, weaving between bodies, your skin tingling like it knows what’s waiting.

The hallway behind the club feels darker. Cooler. But your blood is warm.

You catch up to him just before the bathroom door swings shut behind him. He glances back and there it is. That fucking smile. The one that says I knew you would.

“Changed your mind?” he asks, one brow lifting.

You roll your eyes, but your breath hitches. “Just making sure you wash your hands, Norris.”

He laughs but it’s low, rough at the edges. “Come make sure then.”

The door shuts behind you with a click that sounds final in the small, dim space.

He’s still smiling. But it’s different now a little slower, a little more loaded. He doesn’t move. Just watches you. Waits.

Your pulse roars louder than the bass outside.

And then you move first, stepping into his space, closing the charged distance like gravity’s doing the work for you. Your hand lifts, deliberately slow, until your palm presses against the front of his jeans.

The hiss he lets out is sharp, quiet, like it’s been punched out of him. His eyes snap to yours, dark and burning.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Your smirk curves slow and satisfied. “Don’t play me like this, Norris,” you murmur, your fingers flexing just slightly. “You want this just as much.”

He laughs, if you can call it that. It’s breathless, stunned, a little reverent. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

You lean in, lips grazing the shell of his ear, echoing his own earlier tone. “Prove it.”

And that’s all it takes.

His hands are on you in an instant heat and urgency, mouth crashing into yours like restraint was never even in the cards. He backs you up against the sink, hips pressing close, breath hot, fingers tugging at your clothes like they offend him.

The bass outside keeps thumping, distant and forgotten.

In here, there’s only the heat of him, the way you both know exactly how to pull each other apart and how much you’ve wanted to.

Lando kisses like he’s dared to reckless and grinning, a little sloppy from the alcohol, but it just makes it worse, makes it better. Your teeth clash once, twice, both of you laughing into it, breath hot and fast. His hands are wild, tugging your hips into his, fingers curling under your top like he’s forgotten what patience even is.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mutters, voice rasped, drunk on you. His mouth is hot on your neck, biting down hard enough to make you whimper and buck against him.

“And you’re all talk,” you shoot back, already working at his belt, fumbling, rushed. “Thought you were gonna show me something?”

“Oh, I will,” he growls, shoving your skirt up as he walks you backwards into the counter. “I fucking will.”

Clothes aren’t removed just shoved, tugged, pushed out of the way like obstacles. He lifts you onto the sink and it squeaks beneath you. Your head tips back when he thrusts in fast and sudden, breath leaving you in a stuttering gasp.

You both freeze for half a second, dizzy, drunk, overwhelmed, then it’s frantic. Messy. His fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to brand you there. Your hands are in his hair, pulling, clawing, keeping him close.

“Fuck, fuck,” he mutters against your shoulder, pace rough and fast, and you swear he’s barely holding himself together.

“You’re loud,” you tease breathlessly, biting down on your own moan. “Someone’s gonna hear.”

His eyes flash as he grins. “Good. Let ‘em.”

You almost laugh but then he hits that spot again and you break, nails dragging down his back.

He doesn’t slow. “You gonna come for me right here?” he pants, forehead to yours now, sweat-slick and shaking.

Your only answer is a gasp, a shudder, your body clenching hard around him. That’s all it takes.

Lando swears, low and filthy, then comes with his face buried in your neck, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he might fall without you.

For a few seconds, all you hear is panting and the low thump of bass outside the door.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, still dazed, lips brushing his temple.

He grins, pulling back slightly to kiss you again — soft this time, drunk and satisfied.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “but also fucking amazing.”

tag list:

@lifesass @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Come And See Me

Summary: “sexually reserved men are THE best. Well behaved, won’t steal a kiss, won’t touch you inappropriately but boy if you give them consent? FINISHED…”

Terry Richmond isn’t the type of man Summer is used to. He’s the strong, silent type. A lot of discipline and control. She’s used to men falling to their knees in an instant. Hardly any dirty talk. But it does feel good to get to know someone on a deeper level for a change. He promises he’d come see her, but Summer didn’t take his word for it. That was, until he walked into that strip club one evening to surprise her with…

“Flowers?”

Summer was in the middle of a routine that earned her bandz at an unimaginable level. She climbed that pole, showed off her acrobatic skills, flexed that body and popped that ass so good she had ‘em lost for words. Speechless.

Terry Richmond walked in with a bouquet of flowers, dressed in khakis, a Curaçao soccer shirt, and white Air Forces. His hair was styled in a tapered cut with a curly fro. In his large, veiny hand, Terry gripped her red roses tightly, walking through until he made it to a section he’d reserved directly in front of the stage. He wanted an up close and personal view of Summer. He didn’t plan to take his aurora gray eyes off of her.

His captivating eyes created a path of seduction across her glistening skin that glittered beneath the strobe lights. Drink in his other hand, he took small sips, licking his lips nice and slow. Terry held the faintest smirk on his lips, body composed, but his heart was racing. His print left little to the imagination. Low grunts fell on deaf ears. Summer hit a split and made her hefty cheeks bounce. That body on her deserved big dick. It was built for big dick. Terry couldn’t wait. It’s been too long. Suddenly, as if she could sense him, Summer glanced over her shoulder and that’s when she realized Terry had shown up.

For a second, she’d forgotten where she was. His presence stunned her. Summer turned her body on the floor of the stage, money sticking to her tacky skin. Their eyes locked on for a while. Oooh, she was speechless. Summer started grinding her crotch towards him, rolling her hips and biting her lip. Terry’s piercing gaze was fixated on her face the entire time. Not once did he look down. It was so intense, her clit pulsated.

Drankin’ and Smokin’ came on and Summer lifted her shapely body into a squat, slowly and teasingly removing her bikini top. At this point, she was putting on a show for Terry and Terry only. Her Marine. She’d had his name saved under Mr. Marine in her phone. The hot pink top fell to the stage, bountiful titties with pierced nipples saluted. Terry dropped his beautiful eyes down to stare at her round, fat titties.

We drink up and we smoke, but she always do the most

It kinda turns me on the way she lickin' on my stones

My chains on antifreeze, it look like I made a clone

Wanna see you get more sassy, if it bring out better emotions

She called me her God, the way I floated in her ocean…

Summer needed him. So bad. That fine ass man. Seeing him in person…seeing the man behind that deep baritone. She rushed off that stage in an instant as soon as the music faded out. Breathing uneven, she walked off in her seven-inch pleasers, looking back at Terry, mind replaying all their conversations late at night…

(one of their many phone conversations)

“Hey baby…I wish you could see what I have on right now…You so sexy, imagine how…Intense it would be…To hold me right now…Our song's playin’…”

Body wrapped in her faux fur, black blanket, head resting against her black satin pillows, Summer held her cellphone to her ear with one hand, the other caressing her tawny skin. Terry made a sound that vibrated her core.

“Summer rain…when I listen to that, you know I think about you, right? Mmm…I bet you look so good in my T-shirt.”

“You’re so far, and I’m all alone in my bed…”

Summer was wearing an old, baggy T-shirt; Terry’s Marine Corps T-shirt. The fabric of it against her body with his voice in her ear gave her butterflies.

I can still hear your baritone

In my ear telling me you'll take it slow

And I was in the mirror playing wrong

Like you were here, I couldn't turn me on

So I fell asleep with the music on

Woke up again hearing the same old song, playing…

Summer paced her bedroom, stopping in front of her window, gazing out into the rainy evening, pressed to the glass, and laughing at Terry and his corny jokes. Her brown eyes followed the path of the raindrops, the sudden recollection of her own essence dripping. All he did was make her laugh, spew facts about things she’d never heard of, and say over and over again how beautiful she is. He didn’t judge her. She felt safe with Terry and she hadn’t even met him in person yet. Thoughts of how gentle and kind and thoughtful he is makes her play in her pussy every night.

“Patience, baby…When I get to you, you’re all mine…”

She shut her lids and pictured him, standing at his towering height, bending over to kiss along her neck and wrap those big arms around her waist. Now, her body is shaking to the fantasies.

“Don’t take it easy on me, Terry. I need you here…”

Summer turned, pressing her back against the window, bringing the collar of his T-shirt to her nose and taking a whiff. Mmmm…it smelled just like his cologne. Vanilla and Sandalwood.

“You’ll be begging me to take it easy on you, baby…”

——

“Summer.”

Terry stood up and approached her. She was wearing a form-fitting black dress with her belongings. Her long, jet-black, silk pressed hair was pinned up with a claw clip. Summer gave Terry a bashful smile. She couldn’t contain the butterflies in her belly. Terry handed her the roses.

“Thank you,” Summer smelled them, “they’re beautiful…I can’t believe it’s really you…”

She knew Terry was tall, but DAMN. She had to crane her neck just to look up at him. And his eyes…Summer found herself getting lost in them.

“You’re so much more beautiful in person. That performance…damn…”

Summer tucked her chin, unable to contain her blushing. Terry startled Summer when he lifted her chin for her to look at him. Her breath hitched.

“Up here…”

“Okay…”

“You did amazing up there. I’m glad I got to see it in person…” Terry whispered with a low, resonant voice.

“Thank you, Terry. Me too.”

“Should we get outta here? I’m kinda anxious right now to have you all to myself…”

Summer chuckled softly, body vibrating with lust. Terry wouldn’t stop admiring her. It was so intense, Summer shyly smiled and dropped her head. What was it about this man that had her acting all giddy and nervous?

“C’mon,” Terry held his hand out for Summer to grasp.

Thighs clenching, Summer accepted Terry’s hand and when she placed her hand in his, Summer almost whimpered. His entire hand swallowed hers. Warm and strong. Fuck. Summer allowed Terry to guide her out of the strip club. When they’d finally made it to the door, Terry placed his hand on the small of her back, holding the door opened for her.

“Did you drive here?” Terry questioned.

“I did,” Summer pointed to her blue lexus, “This is me.”

“I’ll follow you out if that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay!” Summer responded excitedly.

Terry laughed before opening her door for her when she unlocked it. He helped Summer inside and then he took her things to put them in the back seat. Terry stood at the opening of her driver’s side door, looking down at her with a smirk and soft eyes.

“I’ll be right behind you, baby girl.”

“Okay, Terry…”

She watched as he leaned into her car, her body tensing up. Terry grabbed her hand and pecked it gently to tease, then came that deep chuckle she loved so much. It took her a moment to gather herself. It was the faintest of kisses but the feel of his generous lips against flesh sent sparks throughout her body. The hairs on her arms stood up and her pussy did that pitter-patter thing.

“Drive safe.”

He shut her door and flashed her a quick smile before jogging over to his truck—an all black GMC Sierra 2500HD Denali. Summer started the ignition, licking her lips to . Cocoa butter. She pulled out of the parking lot and checked to see if Terry was following her. When the coast was clear, she drove off with shaky hands and a flutter in her belly.

——

Summer stayed in a nice cul-de-sac home with a two car garage. She’d made enough money as an exotic dancer to purchase a home and move out of her apartment. She hopped out of her car and Terry pulled in closer as soon as she shut the garage. He quickly exited his car and grabbed her duffel bag so she could open the door.

Terry was finally going to see her home. After talking for months and wondering if he would ever come to see her, she didn’t have to doubt him anymore. Summer opened the front door and turned on the lights. The home had a futuristic feel to it that Summer loved. Terry took off his shoes and socks so he wouldn’t ruin her good carpet. While Summer got settled, he did some exploring of the first level.

Biomorphic curves, gravity-defying elements, sleek materials and bold angles. It looked like something dreamed up by Hollywood. Even the staircase leading up to her room with its modern glass rails completed the design. Summer returned with her flowers, giving Terry a megawatt smile filled with dimples and glossy lips. He followed her into her kitchen and watched her place her roses in a vase.

“This is nice, baby,” Terry took in his scenery of sleek stainless steel and marble, “So, this where you cook up them smothered pork chops, collard greens, and red beans and rice, huh?”

Summer giggles, “You know it. This is my favorite place to be. Would you like some wine?”

“I’ll take some, thank you,” Terry placed his arms behind his back as he stood near the kitchen island.

Summer handed him a glass and Terry accepted it with a slight tilt of his head and a penetrating gaze. They toasted each other before taking a sip of the white wine. The silence was palpable. They were both so thrilled to be in each other’s presence that words were lost on their tongues. Terry broke the silence with a nervous chuckle. He gently placed his now empty glass on the kitchen island before walking with slow, purposeful strides to reach Summer on the other side.

Summer had a firm grip on her wine glass, brown eyes ascending his tall frame to reach his gorgeous face. The pictures of him told her that Terry is a rare sight. A man this handsome is hard to come by. To view him in person; skin-to-skin, breath-to-breath, eye-to-eye, Summer had never seen a man so beautiful. Terry reached out to remove the glass from her hand and he sat it down on the counter top.

“Miss. Summer. I’ve been waitin’ a long time for this moment…and I know that I’ve made promises to come see you…that haven’t been fulfilled…and I’m sure you’ve had your doubts…”

“I have, I’m not gonna sugar-coat it. But you’re here now,” Summer exhaled slowly, “I don’t have to fantasize about what it would be like to have you next to me in my bed anymore…”

When you're not here

(I sleep in your t-shirt)

I wish you were here

(To take off your t-shirt)

After we make love

(I sleep in your t-shirt)

Wake up in your t-shirt

I smell the scent of your cologne…

“I don’t have to wish anymore,” Summer blinked up at Terry as she reached out her hand to stroke his arm that’s two sizes bigger than hers and covered in veins, “Or wonder if we could be something…”

“Hey,” Terry drew in closer his voice lowering a register, “We are something, baby. I need to get that doubt out your head…may I?”

Terry opened his arms and Summer gave her consent with a nod of her head before his arms hugged her tight. Summer pressed her cheek centimeters below his chest. He’s so big and warm. Body beneath his T-shirt unyielding. Terry’s hands began to explore. One hand threaded into her hair, massaging her scalp through her silky, thick tresses, the other glided up and down her back soothingly. Summer couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hugged like this by a man if not ever.

“I wanna explain what held me up a while…I had some legal issues in Shelby Springs…my cousin got mixed up in some mess and I went to bail him out but…he died.”

“The cousin you told me about? Are you serious?”

Summer rested her chin against Terry’s chest as she looked up at him with saddened eyes. He looked back at her, so much emotion swirling in those blue-gray orbs with flecks of gold and brown, as if they are forever changing.

“Yeah,” Terry’s shoulders slumped, “It’s a lot…still gotta clear my name…lawyer up…I’m sorry I’m dumping all this shit on you right now—”

“Don’t be, Terry, don’t be,” Summer caressed Terry’s cheek, “That’s a lot. I’m so sorry…I can’t imagine…”

Summer squeezed Terry and he reciprocated. She felt her body being lifted from the floor and her arms wrapped around his neck.

“I’m so sorry about your cousin.” Summer said.

“Thank you, ‘ppreciate that…you’re so precious…”

Summer smiled fondly at Terry, “You’re such a good man, Terry Richmond.”

He loved that she said that. It made him smile handsomely down at her. She wanted to continue putting a smile on his face.

“You’re my safe space, Summer…”

She shut her eyes to avoid the onslaught of tears. It’s only been months that they’ve been talking. She’s his safe space?

“Terry…”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes—”

Terry hooked his hands beneath Summer’s ass and hiked her up so her thighs could circle his cut waistline. One hand cradled the back of her neck while the other secured her waist snugly against him.

Summer felt her heart race. The air was thick with the creamy, warm, and earthy scent of his cologne, and the distant sound of her heartbeat faded into the background. A mix of security and excitement reflected in their depths.

With a tentative smile, Terry brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine. The hand against her waist gave a gentle squeeze that spoke volumes. Time seemed to slow as he leaned in, their breaths mingling.

When their lips finally met, it was soft and hesitant at first, testing the waters. But as the kiss deepened, the world around them faded away, leaving only the warmth of their connection and the thrill of a moment long awaited. Their tongues danced a slippery recital, lip’s cushiony, teeth grazing.

He’d ached to taste her. To taste a woman after so long. Summer’s daydreaming didn’t prepare her for the reality in front of her. Terry’s long legs began to guide them into Summer’s living room and towards her couch. He pulled away so that he could place her on her back. Summer’s dress had ridden up her shapely thighs revealing smooth, tawny skin. Terry knelt one leg between her thighs before lowering over her. Summer lifted to kiss him again, but Terry stopped her with a single finger to her lips.

“…It’s been way too long for me, baby girl. Seeing you dance tonight…doing your thing up there…it took a lot of work not to walk up on that stage and put this dick in you.”

Summer’s breath hitched.

“I’ve painted a picture in my mind many times of what that body looked like…” Terry’s eyes dropped down to the tops of Summer’s breasts, “I don’t think I ever told you I’m a breast man…and you got a pair that I just wanna…”

He pressed his face into her neck and inhaled. Summer drew her bottom lip into her mouth to control the incessant trembling. He’d never talked this dirty to her.

“…I just wanna suck and lick and nibble all over these titties…”

She could feel her nipples hardening from his words alone. Hearing it in person and so close to her ears had a greater effect. Summer was squirming. Her pussy leaked so much that it became unbearable to even wear panties around him. She’d have to walk around with an exposed pussy to cool off.

“I can suck these titties all night…sleep with a titty in my mouth…play with your nipples until you’re squirming…flick your nipples with my tongue…you got some thick nipples too, baby…mmmh…”

That long, drawn out groan into her neck had her whimpering. This man had her weak. Summer raked her nails down his chest before twisting the fabric of his T-shirt into her fist.

“Here, please,” Summer thrust her chest into him, “Daddy, please…”

“I love the way you beg, baby girl…” Terry kissed down her neck, “you’ll be doin’ a lot of that shit tonight. Beg for me to suck on that pussy…beg for me to fit this dick in you nice and good…”

“Terry…”

His malleable lips created a tickling sensation until he reached her breasts. Summer watched with desperation as his lips covered the fleshy hills in a repeated motion. She was mewling. Nipples so hard. He started kissing around each nipple through her dress. Summer clawed the suede sofa.

“Daddy…”

She was shivering.

“Want more? Where you want it? Talk to me…”

She was able to control the quiver of her lower lip to speak, “Please suck on my nipples…I can’t take it.”

“Nahhh, you gotta beg harder than that…”

Summer moaned softly, “uhnnnnnn…” when he used his teeth to nibble on her nipples, “Daddy, I want you to suck my nipples. Do whatever you want to my titties…please, please, please….”

Terry peered up at Summer with those hypnotic eyes.

“Good girl…that’s how you ask for what you want…”

With one hand, Terry’s eyes remained fixated on Summer’s face, he lowered the top of her strapless, body-con dress, one beautiful, round, breast coming into view. Skin like honey, nipples and areolas a deep brown. Busty and asymmetrical. Perfectly imperfect. Her bejeweled nipple pebbled and Terry’s lips parted.

“Shit, you just don’t know…”

He revealed the other breast and it jiggled a little upon its release.

“So fuckin’ beautiful…”

He blew air onto her nipples. Summer arched her back. Terry used that opportunity to slither his hands beneath her to keep her chest elevated so he could attack each big titty the way he wanted. Hair in her face, glossy lips slightly open, soft moans flowing from her mouth, Summer looked pleasantly horny.

Terry started off with flicking her nipples back and forth. His pink tongue is warm and wet. When his lips drew her left nipple into her mouth first, Summer cried out. Her thighs gripped his waist, and Terry couldn’t wait to feel those soft thighs do the same thing to his head.

“Ah, mmm, unhhhh, yesss…you like these fat titties, daddy?”

“Mhm,” Terry was in the zone sucking back and forth.

She could tell he was a titty man alright. He rubbed his face in it, dragged his teeth down her breast bone, used his big, strong, veiny hands to push her breast together so he could trace his tongue back and forth.

“I’m a need you to do that on this pussy!”

Terry released a laugh, burying his face between her breasts. Summer was hot all over and close to tackling this man!

“More wine first,” Terry rest his cheek against one of her breasts as he looked up at her, “So soft…the best pillow…”

Summer exhaled impatiently, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good.”

Terry kissed her breasts one last time before covering her back up, “Are you okay with me getting the wine? While you put on some music?”

Summer wasn’t prepared for the visual. Terry stood up and as he was fixing his shirt that had lifted up, she focused on those abs, the strip of hair leading down to his crotch, and the deep v-cut. The lower her eyes went, the more she had to stop herself from dropping to her knees. A very vivid and distinct outline of his third leg sat along his thigh like a python beneath a sheet waiting to strike. He was on brick.

“It’ll be all yours tonight…”

Their eyes met with equal desire.

“I’ll go grab that wine…bathroom?”

“Uh…d–down the hall and t–to your right.”

Terry chuckled, “I’ll be back.”

He disappeared and Summer let out a long exhale. She walked over to her Bluetooth sound system and knew exactly what she wanted to listen to.

——

Summer dimmed the lights with her cell phone and after five minutes, Terry returned with their glasses and a bottle.

Storming outside, rain

She keeps me home

Quiet conversation makes me warm

So

Summer rain

Whispers me to sleep

And wakes me up again

Sometimes i swear i hear her call my name…

Terry smiled at her. Summer pat the sofa cushion next to her enthusiastically. He handed her a glass and plopped down, throwing an arm over her shoulder. His finger tips caressed her arm as they sang along to summer rain

“So go ahead and make it rain…you bring the sunshine back again…”

“Okay vocals!” Summer teased.

Terry threw his head back and laughed, “Stop.”

“I’m just teasing, daddy,” Summer snuggled closer, “More wine, please…”

“Anything for you,” Terry leaned forward to retrieve the bottle.

Summer rain started playing again.

They emptied the bottle of wine and their tipsy banter stared. Terry was very playful. He had Summer trapped beneath him on the throw rug, his shirt off and thrown somewhere. Summer couldn’t stop giggling. The wine had her feeling light and cozy. Her laughter couldn’t be contained.

“If you follow directions, I wouldn’t have to do this,” Terry had her by her wrists above her head, ��You gotta behave to get what you want, Summer. I’m not asking…I’m telling.”

“It’s on my thigh, and you expect me to behave?”

“I expect you to remember who’s in charge…”

“Terry,” Summer rolled her eyes, “You haven’t felt how deep this throat can go yet.”

“So? What that mean?” Terry arched a dark brow, “You ain’t felt my mouth on your pussy yet.”

Terry sat back on his knees above Summer. She lifted up onto her elbows. He tucked his chin slightly and stared at her with this primal look that reminded her of a jungle cat.

“…take this dress off.”

Summer sat up on her butt and shimmy’s her hips, bringing her dress up and over her head, revealing black, cheeky, lace panties and a matching strapless bra. Terry crawled to her. He pulled her into a fierce kiss. Summer’s hands roamed all over his muscles. His skin is so soft.

“Your room…now…” Terry spoke against her lips, “Right now…”

They both stood on unsteady legs, laughing. Terry popped Summer on the ass and she whimpered softly. They moved towards the stairs, Terry creating space between them so he could watch Summer seduce him with her slow ascend. She would look back at him as she climbed, smirking at him with those siren eyes. That booty in those panties made him want to take a bite.

He’d been dying to see her room. She pushed open the double doors and Terry came face-to-face with a room made for a vixen. The dark palate mixed with low lighting created the perfect space to get nasty. And he planned to get real nasty. Terry walked up on Summer from behind, and with one hand, he gathered her straightened hair into his fist neatly and tugged. She pivoted back against him, her soft cheeks flush against his crotch.

“I’m undressing you…”

Hair still in his grasp, Terry worked on her bra. It fell from her body to the floor. He released her hair so that he could drop down and take her panties off. Summer looked over her shoulder at him. He peeled her panties away at a snails pace. His lips kissed her back dimples. She wiggled her hips to help him lower her panties. Buttery, smooth skin beneath his fingertips.

Terry nibbled on her ass like a famished man. His hands kneaded her plump flesh. It was time to peel the crotch of her panties away from her pussy.

“Bend forward slightly…yes…just like that…”

His deep grunt told her all she needed to know. Terry was blown away by how much sticky, wetness connected to her panties. A slimy, sweetness he couldn’t wait to clean up with his tongue. The aroma of her arousal activated his taste buds. The shape of her lips from the back had him mesmerized. Summer stepped out of her panties quickly so Terry could have her completely.

“C’mere,” Terry stood and walked Summer towards her bed, “Sit this pussy on my mouth right now.”

He got down on the floor and tilted his head back on the bed. Summer straddled his face and tilted her pelvis forward. Terry placed each hand on her ass to push her closer. The moment her pussy smothered him, he used his tongue to clean up her mess.

“Fuck!”

Summer felt his tongue part her outer lips and swipe upward. She almost saw heaven.

“Mhm…”

Her legs shook. Terry pushed her legs apart further with force so he can eat it more. Summer raised a leg to the edge of the bed and Terry wasted no time using his lips and tongue in junction to slurp on her pussy.

“Yes….oh….”

This was a man that knew what he was doing. He didn’t have to tell you. Summer started feeding his mouth some pussy with a roll of her hips. Terry followed her movements eagerly. Clit hard, folds nice and slick, she knew she was close. It was only a matter of time.

“Terry, I’m gonna cum in your mouth…”

His silence was her undoing. He was too busy eating pussy like a starved man. She could hear his big lips working her up to a juicy cum. His tongue darting in and out of her wet hole, her clit being attacked from every angle imaginable, she was going to burst.

“Terry…Terryyyyyy…”

That ass and those thighs jiggled out of control.

“Uhhhhhh….ahhhhhhh….huuuuuuuuhh….”

She fisted the sheets so hard her nails dug info her skin painfully. The aftershocks of her release left lingering tremors she couldn’t control. Terry removed his lips from her clit, a trail of her cum connected to his bottom lip. His face was covered in sweat and cum. Summer threw herself onto the bed so Terry could stand. She looked at him and watched as he licked his lips.

“So good…your pussy tastes so good…”

“Thank you…now I wanna taste you…”

It was the moment she’d been waiting for. Terry hummed his approval, walking up towards her. Summer worked to undo his pants with frantic movements. Terry didn’t stop her. She wanted that dick in her mouth.

“Get yours, baby…”

“Oh, I will,” Summer replied.

Summer lowered his pants and briefs. His dick bobbed out and she had to take a moment to just…

He was definitely a big boy. Enough to stretch you out. That pain and pleasure mix. His length told her she would feel it in her stomach. The veins created a path for her tongue to take. His tip; the perfect shape to fit in her mouth perfectly. His balls were taunt and heavy. It was a masterpiece.

“Summer…put this dick in your mouth…that’s an order.”

An order she would gladly accept. Summer kissed along his shaft. Terry smoothed her hair back so she wouldn’t mess it up. Her kisses turned sloppy, then she added some tongue, then she found herself sinking down onto his pole the sides of her mouth stretched to accommodate all of him.

“Put more in there,” Terry placed his arms behind his back, watching her like a drill sergeant, “there you go…such a good little thing, ain’t you?”

He sat at the back of her throat. Summer used her neck and jaw muscles to work that dick with loud sucking and spit bubbles. Terry’s mouth dropped open when she showed him that she could deep throat. Her tongue wiggled against his balls and Terry almost nutted down her throat from that alone.

“Damn, girl…you lovin’ this big dick?”

“Mmmmcmcjdkssk—”

“Fuuuck,” Terry’s beautiful eyes rolled shut, “that’s how you suck this dick…that’s how you show daddy…”

Summer loved sucking dick. Terry’s dick deserved all the love. She would suck it and look in his eyes. Terry stared back with furrowed brows and a bite of his lip.

“Summer…”

Her name resonated from his voice so deep and lustrous.

She pulled out all her tricks. Sucked his balls, focused on his tip, licked his frenulum. Terry’s ab muscles flexed and his squared jaw clenched. Her hair in his grip, Terry was losing his sanity.

“I’m cumming—”

Thick, ropes of ejaculate filled her mouth.

“Ughh–ahhhhh fuck—”

Summer drank down every single drop like it was the sweetest cream filling. She’d waited months to do this and she was going to make this beautiful man cum. That fat dick hung in her face ready for more action and she had a wet pussy for it to dig into.

“Aight, on your back, no more wasting time.”

Terry spoke those words with such urgency. Summer felt the firmness in his tone. She scooted onto the bed and spread her legs wide and limber. Terry climbed onto the bed and settled between her legs. The feeling of the tip of his dick sitting against her pussy lips made this moment all too real.

“Yes…put that big dick in me…”

Terry placed himself above her and with one hand, he guided his dick between her lips and then with a slight thrust of his hips, he sank inside of Summer. She gasped, knees drawing into her chest. Terry watched his dick split her open with a penetrating stare. Summer tried to move and Terry locked her legs to her ears.

“You want me to keep you still? I suggest you stop moving.”

She froze.

With one thrust, he was fully inside of her. Summer moaned louder. As a reflex, she tried to close her legs, but Terry wasn’t having that.

“Terry! Holy FUCKING SHIT!”

“Eyes on me. That’s an order.”

He smirked mischievously. She was ruined.

Terry pumped into her at a moderate pace. Summer couldn’t handle taking all that dick and focusing on his eyes at the same time. There was no way.

“It’s so big!”

“It’s big but this pussy love it, this pussy love it, look at this pussy…creamin’ all over me like that…such a messy girl…”

Summer was making a mess indeed. You could hear it and see it. Wet, sloshing noises.

“Ain’t been fucked in a while…got you wettin’ this dick up.”

She couldn’t handle the way his dick stroked her spot.

“Stretchin’ this pussy out? Didn’t I say I wasn’t gon’ take it easy?”

She couldn’t speak. How could she? Terry had her folded in half and teetering over the edge. She felt her stomach grow tight and her body seized up.

“T–T–T—”

Summer didn’t have a chance. She turned her head and cried out. Terry held his dick deep while staring down at her face.

“You tryna push me out?” Terry chuckled evily, “What if I don’t wanna leave?”

“P–please, daddy…”

“Hmm,” Terry slowly withdrew his hips, “Please keep fucking you?”

His words were killing her. She could only nod her head.

Oh! Boy I've been waiting

(Oh oh oh)

Now my body's shaking

(Oh oh oh)

You're so deep, baby please, take it easy…

“Think you can arch your back for me?”

Terry kissed Summer on her lips.

“Mhm…”

Terry lifted Summer and helped her into position. She arched her back exactly how he wanted her. Deep with that ass high in the air. He was tall so it needed to be. Terry had a handful of her ass and that was his leverage to anchor his dick in her pussy. Summer groaned into the sheets. She looked breathtaking. Hair fanned out above her. Back in a beautiful position. Ass sitting up and giving Terry the best view of that pink pussy.

“Oooh!”

She could feel him almost touch her heart with how long his dick is!

“Terry, it’s too much!”

He wasn’t even giving her all of him. He arched a brow down at her.

“What did we discuss…”

She knew to be a big girl but LAWD he was hefty.

“I know…it’s just so big…”

“With a body like this…it’s built for dick like mine…”

He stroked slower, Summer drooling onto her sheets.

“Nah you look at me when I’m in this pussy…”

“Summer turned her head and looked back at Terry.

“There’s my pretty girl…such a pretty girl.”

Summer put a finger in her mouth and sucked on it like a pacifier while staring into his eyes.

“Fine ass,” Terry picked up the pace.

“Mmph! Mmph! Mmph!”

Summer bit down on her finger and her eyes crossed. She coated his dick again and at this point it was dripping wet. Terry pulled out and ate her from behind. He couldn’t control himself. Summer tried to move her hips away and it earned a sharp slap to the ass. Terry resurfaced, pumping his dick in his hand. He snatched Summer by her hair and abruptly angled her head to suck him off. Summer did just that while Terry fingered her pussy from the back. He started talking her through it.

“Fingers deep in this pussy, little one? Mmhm…”

Summer stroked him while sucking on his tip.

“There you go, such a creamy little slut…”

She furrowed her brows at the feeling of two fingers pumping her. She was leaking to the bed.

“Daddy fingering this pussy good? Hmm?”

Summer spit his dick out, “I’m cumming!”

Terry continued to work his fingers knuckle deep. Summer felt something burst inside of her and soon she was creating a puddle between her legs. Terry’s fingers slipped out and he brought them to her mouth to taste. Summer licked them clean for him.

“I know you can give me more, right?”

“Yes…” Summer replied weakly.

Terry placed Summer on her back and then he got between her legs from the side. Terry pointed his still hard dick at her pussy and with one look into her eyes he was back inside like he never left. His toned hips worked to drill her hole.

“Daddy! Cum already!” Summer begged.

It felt too good and she couldn’t handle the overwhelming pleasure. She pressed a weak hand against his abs, attempting to push him away, only for Terry to lock her wrist down. He licked his lips at her and gave her a sly smirk while continuing to fuck her into the mattress.

“Terry…”

“Yes?”

Summer erupted. The tight hold from her walls made his balls tighten and his dick pulsate within her wetness.

“Give me this pussy!”

Terry’s hips stuttered out of control. He couldn’t hold off any longer. This good pussy on her had his dick so sensitive.

“Summer…FUCK!”

Terry pulled out and Summer shot up from the bed with her tongue poked out and eyes on him. Terry fisted his long dick, emptying a big load all over her tongue and face. It just wouldn’t stop. His ass muscles clenched from the overwhelming pressure. Summer looked pleasantly fucked and her giggle warmed his heart.

“You’re such a nasty girl…”

“All for you…”

[i2rizz]

Undercover Hearts

Synopsis:On an undercover mission in a demon-infested nightclub, you and Dante have to fake being a clingy couple - except Dante's way too good at pretending, and you're one whispered flirt away from forgetting the mission entirely.

He's so hot a devil may cry🙏🙏

The bass from the nightclub shook the ground under your boots—deep, pulsing, and wild, like the heartbeat of something alive and nasty hiding under the city.

You leaned against the brick wall outside, trying to ignore the way the neon lights cast a sweaty, wicked glow over everything. Your eyes scanned the entrance where a heavyset bouncer stood, arms crossed, blocking the door like a wall of muscle and bad attitude.

"You sure this is the right place?" Dante asked, stepping up beside you. He tugged on the leather jacket he’d thrown on for the night—worn, cracked at the seams, but somehow making him look even more lethal than usual.

You nodded. "Demon’s been spotted feeding inside. Disguised as a human. Likes to hang out in the VIP lounge"

"And no weapons allowed" he said, grimacing like it physically hurt him. "I feel naked"

You gave him a smirk. "You’ll live, tough guy"

The bouncer’s voice barked through the line of partygoers.

"Couples only tonight. No solo entries"

You and Dante exchanged a look.

He grinned. Slow. Dangerous.

"Guess we’re gettin’ cozy, baby," he drawled, looping his arm around your waist without hesitation. His hand slid down, bold, landing low on your hip. "Hope you don’t mind a little public display"

You rolled your eyes, but your skin was already heating up under his touch.

This was a mission. Focus.

"Play it up," you whispered, pressing close. "But keep it believable"

Dante’s smile turned wicked.

"Oh, sweetheart. I’m very believable"

You shoved him lightly with your elbow, but you were laughing under your breath as you approached the door. The bouncer gave you both a once-over—his eyes lingering on the way Dante’s hand clutched your waist, the way your body fit against his side like a missing piece.

"Alright, lovebirds," he grunted. "Go on in"

Inside, the club was chaos.

Lights strobed overhead. Bodies moved like shadows in the thick smoke. The air reeked of booze, sweat, and something darker—something wrong. You could feel it crawling over your skin, under your nails. The demon was here. Watching.

You tried to move forward, scanning the crowd, but Dante didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he pulled you closer, practically flush against him.

"Gotta sell it, right?" he murmured into your ear, voice low and warm. His breath tickled your neck. "You’re supposed to look like you can’t stand being apart from me"

"You’re enjoying this way too much" you muttered, feeling your heartbeat pick up.

He chuckled, deep and sinful. "Can you blame me?"

You shoved him again half-heartedly, but his arm tightened. His hand slid around to the small of your back, fingers splaying wide, thumb tracing lazy circles along your spine.

Your brain stuttered.

Focus. Mission. Demon. Not Dante’s hands.

Then—he leaned in closer. Mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

"Baby," he said, voice dripping fake sweetness. "If you keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want me to make a scene"

You swore your knees almost buckled.

"You're shameless" you hissed, but even you heard how breathless you sounded.

Dante just laughed, soft and rough. He pulled you into a darker corner, hidden from the main floor, the pulsing lights turning his smirk into something feral.

"Think the demon bought it?" you asked, trying to regain control of your voice.

"Oh, babe" Dante pinned you gently against the wall with his hips, his hands framing your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you were made of something precious. His forehead dropped to yours. "I’m starting to forget we’re even fakin’ it"

For a moment, the world shrank.

No music. No demon. Just the two of you breathing the same heavy air, inches apart.

You closed your eyes for half a second, feeling the thud of his heartbeat against yours.

Then—you spotted it. Over Dante’s shoulder. A flicker of something unnatural, slipping into the VIP area.

"Target’s moving" you whispered, forcing yourself to slide out from under him, though every nerve in your body screamed to stay.

Dante grinned like he already knew the effect he had on you. "Guess we’ll have to finish our little dance later"

You shot him a dry look. "You little hoe"

"You still love me"

He offered you his hand with a mock-bow, all theatrics and trouble. You smacked it away playfully and marched toward the VIP entrance, your mind snapping back into the mission—but your heart still racing from more than just the hunt.

Behind you, Dante chuckled and followed, cocky and head-over-heels in the most obvious way possible.

And maybe... just maybe, you were just as bad.

[faebled-stories]

The Longest Month

Kinkvember Day 30: Orgasm Control/NNN

Kiss of life Natty (Anatchaya Suputtipong) x Male reader

21.8k words

AN: Last day of Kinkvember 🥹🥹 (might be a little rough on the editing, please forgive me)

Halloween night was alive with excitement. The crisp autumn air carried the sound of laughter, music, and the occasional howl of costumed revelers. Porchlights flickered over carved pumpkins, their grins twisted and glowing, while the streets buzzed with groups hopping from one party to the next. Inside your home, though, the atmosphere was calm and quiet, a comforting contrast to the chaos outside.

Natty stood by the door, dressed casually in fitted jeans and a snug sweater, her hair tied back in a way that framed her face perfectly. She smiled as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder. "I’m heading out with the girls," she said, her tone light and cheerful. "Just a little Halloween fun, nothing wild."

You nodded, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you stepped closer, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Have fun,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “Call me if you need anything.”

She grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before slipping out the door. The soft click of it closing behind her left the house quiet again. For a while, you settled into the stillness, content to let the evening pass uneventfully. The trust between you was implicit—Natty had always been honest, and you’d always respected her freedom.

But as the minutes stretched into hours, an uneasy feeling began to creep in. It was subtle at first, a whisper of doubt that you tried to shake off. She’d said she was with her girlfriends. There was no reason to worry. Yet the stillness of the house suddenly felt heavy, oppressive, as if something was just slightly out of place.

The buzz of your phone snapped you out of your thoughts. You picked it up, your brow furrowing as you saw the name: a friend of yours who worked as a bartender downtown. Opening the message, your stomach tightened at the words.

“Didn’t know Natty was hitting the scene tonight. She’s here at Platinum—hard to miss in that outfit.”

You stared at the text, your mind racing. Platinum? She hadn’t said anything about going to a club. The unease bloomed into suspicion as you quickly typed back.

“What outfit?”

The response came almost instantly, and when you read it, the words landed like a punch.

“Catwoman vibes, but damn, man… It’s a lot. Skin-tight, zipper low, fake tail. People are definitely looking. ”

Your jaw clenched as you reread the message, disbelief and frustration battling for dominance. She hadn’t just gone somewhere else—she’d lied. And she was wearing something that sounded far removed from her usual playful confidence, something designed to draw attention. Strangers were ogling her.

You didn’t bother replying. The anger was cold and focused, sharpening your resolve as you grabbed your jacket. The night air bit at your skin as you stepped outside, but the chill only fueled the fire simmering in your chest. You didn’t rush, your stride purposeful as you made your way, thoughts churning.

The trust you’d built, the respect you’d shown her freedom—tonight, she’d crossed a line. And by the time you reached the glowing lights of the club, you knew exactly what needed to happen.

Platinum was everything you expected—a pulsing epicenter of energy, where music pounded through the walls and spilled onto the street. The air inside was heavy with heat, a mixture of sweat, alcohol, and perfume that clung to your skin. Strobe lights sliced through the crowd, casting fleeting glimpses of costumed bodies pressed together in a chaotic dance.

You pushed your way through the throng of people, your eyes scanning the crowd. And then you saw her.

Natty was on the dance floor, her body moving to the rhythm of the music. She wore a skintight black spandex one-piece, the zipper pulled low enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. Fake cat ears perched on her head, and a thin decorative tail swayed with her movements. The outfit clung to her curves like a second skin, catching the light with every turn.

She was laughing, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, her lips parted as she threw herself into the moment. Strangers circled her, their eyes lingering too long, leaning in too close. She seemed utterly carefree, completely unaware of the storm brewing in you as you watched from the edge of the crowd.

She hadn’t told you about this. She hadn’t mentioned a club, or an outfit that looked like this. She had lied.

Your emotions churned—anger, disappointment, the sharp edge of control you always held carefully in balance. But you didn’t react impulsively. Instead, you moved through the crowd with purpose, your gaze fixed on her.

The crowd buzzed around her, bodies swaying in chaotic rhythm, the pulsing music drowning out everything else. Strobe lights flashed in bursts, illuminating her in snapshots—a vision of confidence and teasing allure. Her laughter was bright, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, as she leaned toward a stranger who was speaking too close. The low zipper of her costume shimmered under the lights, her every move a magnet for attention.

You stepped closer, your presence cutting through the sea of people. The noise and chaos dulled in your mind, every ounce of focus fixed on her. As you approached, she didn’t notice at first, lost in the moment, the music, and the hazy buzz in her veins. But when you reached out and tapped her shoulder, everything shifted.

She turned to you, her laughter faltering. Wide eyes met yours, the realization hitting her instantly. The flush of the alcohol drained from her face, replaced by something colder—guilt, fear, and the dawning understanding of exactly what was happening. The crowd around her seemed to fade into the background, her focus locked entirely on you.

Her lips parted as though she might say something, but no words came. She froze, her body stiff, the haze of alcohol lifting just enough to make the weight of the situation clear.

“We’re going home,” you said, your voice low and steady, cutting through the music with effortless authority.

The words were simple, but their effect was immediate. Her mouth snapped shut, and she nodded quickly, her head dipping in quiet submission. You didn’t wait for her to respond further. Without another word, you turned and began walking toward the exit, not sparing her another glance, not even taking her wrist to guide her. You didn’t need to. You knew she’d follow.

Behind you, her heels clicked against the sticky floor as she scrambled to keep up, weaving through the crowd. No one around her seemed to notice the shift in her demeanor, but you could feel it. The weight of her guilt, her submission, radiated in every hurried step as she followed you out of the club without needing to be told twice.

The crisp night air hit like a slap, the stark contrast to the heat and chaos inside. It was quieter out here, the muffled thump of the music still audible but distant. The autumn chill bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. Natty stayed close, her head bowed, her breath visible in the cold air. Her fake cat ears tilted slightly to one side, askew and crooked, as if even they reflected her subdued state.

She didn’t speak, and neither did you. The silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating, a clear signal that words weren’t needed. You led the way to the car, your steps purposeful, your jaw tight. Natty trailed behind, her head low, her shoulders hunched slightly as though trying to shrink under the weight of her own guilt. It wasn’t just her steps that were submissive—it was everything about her now, the way her presence shrank under your unwavering authority.

When you reached the car, your movements were calm, almost mechanical. You walked to her side, your expression neutral as you opened the passenger door for her. She hesitated for just a moment, her wide eyes flicking up to yours, searching for some indication of what you were feeling. But you gave her nothing, your face a mask of quiet control.

She slipped into the seat silently, her body tense as her hands fidgeted with the hem of her costume. The door closed behind her with a soft thud, and the stillness inside the car was oppressive. You moved around to the driver’s side, sliding in and gripping the wheel, but you didn’t start the car right away. Instead, you stared ahead, your jaw set as your thoughts churned.

From the corner of your eye, you could see her shift uncomfortably. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers gripping the fabric of her costume tightly as though it could anchor her. It was clear she was waiting, bracing herself for the storm to come. But you didn’t say a word. You let the silence stretch, thick and heavy, the weight of what had happened settling deeper over both of you.

Finally, you turned the key, the engine rumbling to life. The car pulled out onto the street, the bright lights of the club fading quickly into the rearview mirror. The ride home was long, the silence between you stretching like a taut wire, ready to snap. She glanced at you occasionally, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak, to explain, but she stopped herself each time. The tension in the air was suffocating, every unspoken word weighing her down further.

You didn’t look at her. Your gaze stayed fixed on the road, your hands gripping the wheel tightly. Her silence told you everything. She knew she had crossed a line, knew the trust you’d placed in her had been broken. And now, for the first time tonight, it seemed she understood—she wasn’t just caught. She was yours, completely.

When you arrived home, the quiet of the house was almost deafening. The faint hum of the fridge, the soft click of the front door as it shut behind you, even her hesitant footsteps on the hardwood floor—all of it felt amplified against the heavy stillness. She lingered near the entryway, her body stiff, her hands clenching at her sides. You didn’t say anything, your expression unreadable as you walked toward the living room.

Settling into the couch, you glanced at her, your eyes sharp and commanding. The weight of your gaze was enough to draw her forward, her body moving instinctively as though compelled. She sank to her knees in front of you, the skintight material of her costume creaking softly with her movement. The faint glimmer of the fabric caught the low light of the room, but her focus was entirely on you.

Her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her breaths came shallow and uneven as she knelt there, waiting for your words, knowing that whatever came next would be entirely in your hands.

The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. You leaned back slightly, your arms crossed, letting her squirm under the weight of your gaze. Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. The subtle tilt of her cat ears seemed to mirror the unease radiating off her as she knelt before you, unable to meet your eyes.

“Explain,” you said finally, your voice low and sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Her head snapped up for just a moment, her wide, guilty eyes meeting yours before darting away again. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I didn’t think you’d let me go if I told you about the party. I thought you’d get mad about the outfit, about the people—so I lied.”

Her hands moved restlessly, fidgeting at the zipper of her costume, the nervous gesture small but telling. Her shoulders were tense, her entire posture shrinking under the intensity of your silence. She hesitated before speaking again, her voice growing quieter, more fragile. “It didn’t mean anything. I wasn’t… trying to hide anything important.”

You let the words hang in the air, your expression unchanging as she squirmed. Her breathing hitched, her body trembling slightly as the weight of your silence pressed down on her. Her lip quivered, and she blinked rapidly, clearly fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

“That’s not the point,” you said finally, your voice cold and deliberate. “It’s not about the outfit. It’s not about the party. It’s about trust. And you broke it.”

Her shoulders slumped further, her head bowing again as the full weight of your words hit her. She nodded faintly, her voice trembling as she whispered, “I’m sorry.” The words were fragile, so faint you almost missed them, and yet they carried the guilt and regret that were written across her face.

“When,” you asked, leaning forward slightly, “have I ever not let you go anywhere?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and glassy. The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she stared at you as though searching for the answer herself. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“When have I forbidden you from wearing the most revealing outfits?” Your voice softened slightly, but the disappointment still lingered in your tone. “When, Natty? Tell me.”

Her lips trembled, and her gaze dropped to her lap. “You haven’t,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it barely reached you.

You nodded slowly, letting the truth sink in for her. “Exactly. I’ve always let you make your own choices. Always given you permission. And yet, you still lied to me. Why?”

The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, rolling down her flushed cheeks. “I… I don’t know,” she choked out, her hands gripping the hem of her costume tightly. “I was stupid. I didn’t want you to be mad, and I—” She broke off, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt. “I’m sorry.” The words were fragile, so faint you almost missed them, and yet they carried the guilt and regret that were written across her face.

You sighed deeply, letting the moment stretch, the weight of her guilt hanging between you like a tangible presence. Her fidgeting hands, the way her eyes darted to the floor, her lips trembling with barely spoken words—it all told you that she knew the gravity of what she’d done. And yet, the lesson needed to be clear. Trust wasn’t just something taken lightly in your dynamic; it was the foundation upon which everything else rested.

You considered your options carefully, your mind cycling through potential punishments, discarding each one almost as quickly as it appeared. Something physical? No, that wouldn’t linger in the way you needed it to. Silence? Distance? Those would create tension, but not the kind that would truly drive the lesson home. Then, like a light flickering on, the perfect answer surfaced—a punishment so fitting it almost seemed like the universe had handed it to you on a silver platter.

No Nut November.

The trend was a joke to most, a playful challenge making its rounds on the internet. But for Natty, it would be anything but playful. You knew her intimately, perhaps better than she even knew herself. Her teasing confidence, her constant craving for closeness, her love for release—it was part of who she was. Denying her that for an entire month wasn’t just a punishment. It was a torment. Something she would dread deeply and feel every moment of every day. And the timing was flawless.

Your lips curved into a faint smirk as you settled your gaze on her. She hadn’t dared to meet your eyes, her hands twisting nervously at the hem of her skirt as though trying to anchor herself. You let the silence stretch, letting the weight of the moment build until it felt almost suffocating. Then, your voice broke the stillness, calm and deliberate.

“If you’d been honest,” you began slowly, your tone measured, each word sinking deep, “I would have let you go. I wouldn’t have cared about the outfit, the party, or the people. But you lied, Natty. And now, there are consequences.”

Her head snapped up, her wide, fearful eyes locking onto yours. You saw the desperation there, the faint tremor in her lower lip as her mind raced to catch up with your words. “Consequences?” she echoed, her voice barely more than a whisper, the word trembling on her lips as though she were afraid to give it shape.

You straightened in your seat, the decision crystallizing as you delivered it with calm finality. “You’re going a month without cumming,” you said simply. “Starting now.”

Her reaction was immediate. She flinched as though struck, her lips parting in shock, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. “A… a month?” she stammered, her voice pitching higher, the disbelief and panic unmistakable. “No—please, no. I’ll do anything else. Just not that—please!”

You raised a hand, the gesture silencing her instantly. Her mouth snapped shut, her breath catching audibly as her wide eyes remained locked on you, pleading silently. “No exceptions,” you said firmly, your voice steady, brooking no argument. “This isn’t just about the lie. It’s about trust. Trust needs to be earned back.”

For a moment, she was frozen, her chest heaving as she stared at you, her mind clearly working to process the weight of what you’d said. Then, slowly, the fight seemed to drain out of her. Her shoulders slumped, and her gaze dropped to the floor. The first tears shimmered in her eyes, catching the light, but she held them back with visible effort.

Her voice was small, trembling with guilt and something deeper—fear. “I… I understand,” she whispered, the words fragile and full of resignation.

“Good.” Your tone softened just slightly, enough to let her know you weren’t angry anymore, though the weight of your authority remained. “Go to the bedroom. We’re done here.”

She stood slowly, her movements hesitant and stiff, as though her body were fighting against her mind’s compliance. The faint click of her heels on the hardwood floor was the only sound as she retreated down the hallway. Her posture was smaller than usual, her confident aura replaced by something subdued, vulnerable. There was no defiance in her steps, no attempt to bargain further—only quiet acceptance of her fate.

As she disappeared into the bedroom, the sound of rustling sheets filtering back to you, you let out a long breath, running a hand through your hair. The tension in your chest eased slightly, replaced by a calm satisfaction. You weren’t angry anymore. This wasn’t about revenge or punishment for its own sake. It was about re-establishing the foundation that held everything together—trust.

You sank into the couch, the weight of the moment settling over you like a heavy blanket. The balance you’d struck was delicate, but you knew it was necessary. Natty needed this, not just to understand the gravity of her actions but to grow from it. Deep down, you knew she would.

-----

The first few days passed in an uneasy stillness. The house, once filled with Natty’s teasing comments and playful laughter, now seemed quieter, the air heavier. Her usual spark had dimmed, her presence muted in a way that was both unfamiliar and telling. She moved through the rooms carefully, her steps softer, her gaze lowered whenever she passed you. It wasn’t fear—far from it. It was something deeper: submission edged with guilt.

She stayed busy, as though keeping her hands occupied would prevent her thoughts from spiraling. She fetched your coffee before you asked, setting it down with a barely audible, “Here you go.” She folded blankets that didn’t need folding, straightened things that were already straight, her hands fidgeting when there was nothing left to do. Her movements were deliberate, every action laced with a quiet hope that her obedience might earn her reprieve.

When she thought you weren’t watching, she allowed herself quick glances in your direction, her eyes searching for any hint of forgiveness. But when you met her gaze, her expression flickered, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks warming. She brushed against your side tentatively in passing, her fingers grazing your arm or shoulder as if testing the waters. Each time, you remained composed, offering no indication that her efforts were noticed.

The absence of reaction clearly unsettled her. For a moment, it almost seemed like she thought you’d forgotten about her punishment. But even then, the unspoken tension lingered between you, a quiet hum that grew louder with every passing hour.

By the third day, the shift in her behavior was undeniable. The subtle signs of restlessness began to creep in. She wrung her hands more often, her fingers twisting and untwisting as she tried to channel her growing nervous energy. When she sat, her knees bounced slightly, her body refusing to stay still. Her cheeks flushed more frequently, a faint pink that deepened whenever you entered the room. She wasn’t fully aware of it yet, but the need was beginning to stir—a slow, creeping sensation she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It was most evident when you were close to her. In the kitchen, as you stood near her to reach for something, she froze momentarily, the proximity sending a jolt through her. Her breath hitched, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to keep them occupied with a dish she was already drying.

“Something wrong?” you asked casually, your voice calm but pointed.

“N-no,” she stammered quickly, shaking her head. Her cheeks burned, and she turned away, her movements stiff as she set the dish down. She didn’t look at you, but the tension in her posture told you everything.

Later that evening, as you sat on the couch reading, she lingered in the doorway, clearly uncertain about what to do. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. When she finally stepped forward, she stopped a few feet away, her voice hesitant.

“Do you… need anything?” she asked softly, her words laced with hope.

You didn’t look up, turning a page instead. “No,” you said simply, your tone neutral.

Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she nodded, retreating back to the other room. The disappointment in her expression was brief, but it was there. You watched her go, noting the way her hands brushed against her thighs, as though grounding herself against the slow, creeping need she hadn’t yet put a name to.

As the hours stretched into night, the tension in her body became more visible. When she settled into bed, she shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, her breathing uneven. The faint sound of the fabric rustling was the only indication of her growing discomfort, but it was enough to bring a faint smirk to your lips. She wasn’t fully aware of it yet, but the punishment was beginning to take root. It was slow, deliberate, and exactly as it was meant to be.

Deep down, Natty must have known it too. But she clung to a fragile hope—a thought that if she waited long enough, if she behaved perfectly, you might let it pass without incident. It was wishful thinking, and you could see in her eyes that she already knew the truth.

It was late one evening, the kind of night where the house seemed to hum with a stillness that amplified every creak, every shift in the air. You stepped through the door, the long day weighing on your shoulders, your muscles tight with tension. The faint scent of Natty’s perfume greeted you before the soft shuffle of her footsteps reached your ears. She appeared in the entryway, her eyes bright but edged with a nervous energy that seemed to hover around her like a second skin.

Her smile was warm but hesitant, her hands clasped in front of her as if holding herself in place. She moved closer, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm as she reached for your coat. “Welcome home,” she murmured, her voice quieter than usual, almost cautious.

You nodded, a soft grunt of acknowledgment as you shrugged off your coat. The day’s weight still clung to you, the dull ache in your chest begging for rest. Before you could fully step past her, she moved again, her hand resting lightly on your chest. Then her lips brushed yours.

The kiss started soft, tentative—a whisper of warmth against the chill of the day. Her hands stayed light, one on your chest, the other grazing your shoulder, her body leaning in closer. For a moment, you let her, the subtle press of her mouth drawing you into the moment. She tasted faintly of mint, her lips warm and pliant as the kiss deepened.

She didn’t stop there. Her movements grew bolder, her body pressing flush against yours as her hands began to move. They trailed down to the edges of your collar, her fingertips brushing along your neck before drifting to the first button of your shirt. Her lips parted slightly, her breath mingling with yours, hot and heavy with quiet desperation. The faintest whimper escaped her throat as she tilted her head, pressing harder into the kiss, pouring everything into it.

You let her guide you toward the couch, her steps slow but deliberate. The kiss stayed connected, her lips never leaving yours as she coaxed you backward until the edge of the cushions met the back of your legs. You sank down, and she followed, her knees sliding on either side of your lap as she straddled you. Her hands moved more urgently now, gripping your shirt, her nails scraping lightly against the fabric as her hips shifted just enough to press her body closer.

She kissed you like she was unraveling, her fingers trembling slightly as she worked on the buttons of your shirt. Her breath came faster, her chest rising and falling against yours. For her, the rest of the world had disappeared—there was only you, the connection between you, and the fleeting hope that she could escape the boundaries you had set. Her need was palpable, her body leaning into yours with a quiet desperation that seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

Then she reached for the hem of her shirt, her fingers curling around the loose fabric and tugging it upward slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin. The motion was subtle, almost hesitant, but it carried with it an unspoken plea. It wasn’t calculated—just instinct, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between the quiet tension and the simmering need she felt.

And just like that, the moment shifted.

You pulled back, your movement deliberate, breaking the kiss with a soft, almost imperceptible sound. Her breath caught audibly, her lips hovering in the space where yours had been, the warmth of you replaced by a cool absence that felt more striking than any words you could have spoken.

Her eyes fluttered open, and her expression flickered with confusion. Slowly, realization dawned, her cheeks flushing as she started to pull back further. Before she could, you pressed a hand gently to her shoulder—not harsh, but firm enough to still her completely.

“You’re still on punishment,” you said, your tone calm and measured, like a quiet storm.

Her lips parted slightly, a faint sound escaping them, almost like an aborted protest. Her gaze darted downward, her fingers loosening their hold on your shirt. “I wasn’t—” she started, her voice faltering. “I just thought—maybe if…”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting as her words trailed off into nothing. The faint blush on her cheeks deepened, spreading to her neck, her hands falling limply into her lap. She took a deep breath, clearly trying to steady herself. “I didn’t mean to push,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Your hand left her shoulder, and you leaned back slightly, studying her. The tension in her posture betrayed her unease, though she stayed seated in your lap, her legs tucked to either side of you. Her lips pressed together faintly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“You thought what?” you asked after a beat, your voice calm but edged with quiet authority. “That I’d just forget the boundaries I’ve set? That I’d let this slide?”

Her shoulders slumped slightly, her breathing uneven. “No,” she admitted softly. “I just thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d…” She didn’t finish the sentence, her words dissolving into silence.

You watched her carefully, the weight of your gaze enough to keep her still. After a moment, you guided her gently off your lap. She slid to the floor without resistance, her knees brushing the rug as she sank down in front of you. Her head dipped slightly, her posture shrinking as the realization of her overstep settled in.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

You stood, the couch creaking softly as you rose. Without another word, you stepped past her, your movements calm and deliberate. The sound of your footsteps faded as you left her kneeling there, the room suddenly feeling much emptier than before.

She didn’t move, her knees rooted to the spot, her hands resting limply in her lap. Her lips still tingled faintly from the kiss, a reminder of what had been taken away. Even as she stared at the space where you’d been, she couldn’t shake the growing realization: this wasn’t just a punishment. It was a reminder that, no matter what she thought she wanted, you were still in control.

-----

The days stretched into weeks, each one blurring into the next as Natty’s punishment continued. She tried to keep herself busy, focusing on tasks that didn’t need doing—organizing drawers, folding laundry that didn’t need folding—but it wasn’t long before the edges of her composure began to fray. The need was slow, insidious, creeping into her thoughts in moments of stillness until it was all-consuming.

Her usual spark had dulled, replaced by a quiet, simmering tension that followed her everywhere. She hovered near you constantly, her movements soft but deliberate, as though being close to you might ease the ache inside her. Every time you passed, her breath caught, and her gaze lingered on you, her wide eyes betraying the growing desperation she tried so hard to keep hidden.

You caught her once standing in the doorway, her hand resting against the frame as she watched you from a distance. When your eyes met, she flushed, her lips parting as though to say something, but no words came. Instead, she turned away quickly, her shoulders tight with frustration, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing faintly through the quiet house.

But it wasn’t just the way she lingered. Her body betrayed her in other ways. The subtle tremor in her hands when she handed you your coffee, the way her fingers brushed against yours just a little too long, the way she bit her lip whenever you were close. She moved with an air of quiet submission, her every action laced with the unspoken hope that her obedience might draw you closer, might break the walls of the punishment you’d set.

You didn’t respond. You stayed composed, calm, offering no indication that you even noticed. And it drove her mad.

One evening, you stepped into the bedroom to find Natty perched on the edge of the bed. Her body was tense, shoulders hunched forward as though trying to fold into herself. In her hands, she clutched one of your shirts. The loose fabric was balled tightly, her knuckles whitening from the grip. She raised it to her face, burying her nose in it as her eyes fluttered closed. Her chest rose and fell in uneven, trembling breaths, the motion betraying her quiet desperation.

As she inhaled deeply, the faintest of shudders coursed through her body. The scent was faint but unmistakable—yours. It seemed to wrap around her, filling her senses with a comfort that only deepened the ache inside her. Her fingers curled tighter around the shirt, her grip almost possessive, as though letting go would sever her last tether to reality.

Her mind was a swirl of emotion. The warmth of your scent grounded her, but it also made her keenly aware of how much she missed you, how much she craved what she’d been denied. The ache in her chest spread downward, settling low in her belly, where it twisted and coiled into something almost unbearable. She didn’t know if the shirt soothed her or made the longing worse. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop herself.

Her lips parted slightly, a soft, shaky exhale escaping as she took another deep breath. The blush on her cheeks deepened, spreading to her neck and ears, as her thoughts spiraled. She hated how much she needed this—how much she needed you. The vulnerability stung, but she couldn’t let go, couldn’t stop herself from clinging to the one thing that made her feel closer to you.

“Natty.”

Your voice cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp and firm. Her head snapped up instantly, her wide eyes locking onto yours. The guilt hit her like a wave, and her hands jerked as though the shirt had suddenly burned her. It slipped from her fingers, falling to her lap, but the stain of her actions remained etched across her flushed features.

“I… I wasn’t—” she stammered, her voice cracking as she scrambled to her feet. Her hands fumbled at the fabric in her lap, twisting it nervously as her gaze darted to the floor. The crimson in her cheeks deepened, and her breathing turned uneven, a telltale sign of the storm raging inside her.

You didn’t move, your calm, steady presence only intensifying her discomfort. You didn’t need to say anything else. The silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. She bit her lip, her shoulders slumping as she lowered her head in submission. The weight of your authority hung in the air, undeniable and absolute, until it crushed what little resolve she had left.

For the rest of the week, the cracks in her composure deepened. She lingered near you constantly, finding excuses to hover in your space. When you moved from one room to another, she followed quietly, her steps soft but deliberate. She never said much, but her presence was loud enough. When you passed her, her hand would brush against you, just lightly, as though testing your reaction. When you stood still for too long, she drifted closer, her breath hitching every time you turned in her direction.

Her need became a part of everything she did. The way her eyes flicked toward you incessantly, searching for any sign of indulgence. The subtle way her body leaned toward yours instinctively, drawn by a gravitational pull she couldn’t fight. She stopped trying to hide it—her longing was written into every motion, every glance, every trembling breath.

By the second week, it consumed her completely. Her confidence crumbled under the weight of her desperation, leaving her raw and exposed. Even her voice, when she dared to speak, carried the faintest quaver, as though each word threatened to betray her. The ache was no longer confined to moments of stillness; it was a constant presence, burning beneath her skin, coiling low in her belly, and leaving her trembling.

-----

Natty sat at home one day, scrolling aimlessly through her phone, trying to distract herself from the relentless need that had consumed her for weeks. Her body felt like a tightly coiled spring, every small movement amplifying the ache that lingered low in her belly. The sound of her phone buzzing startled her, and she glanced at the screen.

"Bedroom by the time I’m home. Naked."

The simplicity of the message made her heart race. Her fingers gripped the phone tightly as she reread the words, the weight of your command settling over her like a heavy blanket. Her breath hitched, and a nervous tremor coursed through her. She didn’t even need to think—her body moved on instinct.

She stood quickly, her hands trembling as she began to undress. Each piece of clothing she removed felt like shedding a layer of protection, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. The cool air of the house kissed her bare skin, sending a shiver up her spine. By the time she reached the bed, her heart was pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

Kneeling, she positioned herself carefully, her body already quivering with a mix of nervous anticipation and lingering need. She rested on all fours, her breathing uneven, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she waited. The silence of the house felt deafening, the seconds stretching into eternity. She couldn’t help the thoughts that raced through her mind: Would this be her release? Would you finally touch her, grant her the relief she craved? Or would this be another lesson in patience, another test of her endurance?

The sound of the front door opening made her freeze. Her breath caught, her body tensing as she listened to your deliberate movements. The faint rustle of your belongings being set down sent a thrill through her, each noise heightening her anticipation. She stayed perfectly still, her hands gripping the sheets lightly, her heart threatening to leap from her chest.

When your footsteps finally approached the bedroom, she felt the weight of your presence before you even spoke. The door opened, and your gaze swept over her. She didn’t dare lift her head, but she felt the heat of your eyes on her bare skin. Her body trembled under your scrutiny, the vulnerability making her both anxious and exhilarated.

“Stand up,” your voice broke the silence, calm but commanding.

She rose immediately, though her legs wobbled slightly as she obeyed. She felt utterly exposed under your watchful eyes, her arms twitching as though to cover herself, but she stopped. Your steady gaze and the faint shake of your head froze her in place. Her arms dropped to her sides, her fingers trembling as she fought the urge to shield herself.

“Bathroom,” you instructed, your tone firm and leaving no room for argument. “Stay still.”

Natty moved quickly, her bare feet making no sound as she positioned herself in the bathroom doorway. Her body was taut with nervous energy, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides as she worked to follow your command. Her breathing was already shallow, her lips parted, and her wide eyes tracked your every move.

You began to undress deliberately, unhurried, letting her watch. The soft rustle of fabric filled the room as you slid your shirt from your shoulders, revealing the defined lines of your chest. Her gaze clung to you, her lips pressing together as her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. When your hands moved to your belt, her eyes followed like a magnet, locking onto the motion with an intensity that sent a faint flush across her cheeks.

As you stepped out of your pants, she froze completely. Her gaze darted lower, landing on the growing outline beneath your boxers, and her breath caught audibly. She tried to pull her eyes away, but they kept flicking back, lingering with a desperation she could no longer hide. It was as though everything else in the room had vanished, her world narrowing to just you—your movements, your body, and the aching need she felt burning inside her.

You stepped into the shower without a word, the sound of water cascading over your skin breaking the silence. The steam began to fill the room, curling around her, but her attention never wavered. The glass doors left nothing to the imagination, and her eyes locked onto you again, trailing down your chest to your stomach, and then lower.

Her breathing grew heavier, each rise and fall of her chest more pronounced as her thighs shifted subtly. She pressed them together, a faint, instinctive movement that she clearly hoped would go unnoticed. But it didn’t. You saw every motion, every tremor that betrayed how much effort it took for her to stand still.

“Still,” you said, your voice firm but calm, cutting through the thick haze of her longing.

Her legs froze immediately, though her body trembled slightly with the strain of holding herself back. Her gaze flicked up to your face briefly, an almost guilty glance, before dropping again. It didn’t take long for her eyes to return to the same place, fixed on the growing evidence of your arousal.

The effort to control herself was evident in every line of her frame. Her hands flexed at her sides, her fingers curling and uncurling as though fighting the urge to reach out. Her lips parted again, a faint, shaky exhale escaping as her gaze remained fixed, unable to look away.

When you turned slightly, letting the water run down your back, she shifted almost imperceptibly. Her chest rose and fell quicker now, her thighs pressing together again, the motion more noticeable this time. The faintest glisten of sweat began to form on her skin, mixing with the steam around her, as though her body were reacting to a heat only she could feel.

After finishing your shower, you stepped out, wrapping a towel loosely around your waist. Her eyes followed the motion, flicking downward for just a second too long. When you reached for another towel to dry your hair, her gaze returned, locking onto the outline beneath the fabric.

Her breathing hitched audibly, and she swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. She wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore—her need radiated off her in waves, the desperation plain in the way her lips pressed together, her body trembling with restraint.

“Back to the bed,” you said, your tone steady.

She turned quickly, her body moving as though it could barely keep up with the frantic pace of her mind. Every step toward the bedroom echoed with the quiet desperation she could no longer hide. As she lay back on the bed, her movements were both eager and hesitant, her hands twitching at her sides as though fighting the urge to reach out and pull you closer. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale trembling slightly, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms.

When you joined her, her heart raced, the anticipation almost unbearable. Was this it? Had her obedience finally earned her a reprieve? The thought flickered through her mind like a fragile spark, and she clung to it desperately. Maybe this is his way of letting me off early, she thought. Maybe I’ve been good enough.

You didn’t speak, but the weight of your gaze on her was intoxicating. Her body reacted instinctively, her legs parting slightly as you shifted closer. When your hand started at her knee, trailing upward along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, her breath hitched audibly. Her thighs parted further, almost of their own accord, inviting your touch. Her skin quivered beneath your fingers, every nerve ending coming alive as you moved deliberately, your strokes maddeningly slow and controlled.

She bit her lip, a soft whine escaping her as her hips shifted slightly toward your hand, seeking more. Her need was evident now, radiating off her in waves, but the moment her movement betrayed her impatience, you stopped. Your eyes narrowed, and the sternness in your gaze was enough to freeze her in place.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and even.

The praise sent a visible shiver through her. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as her body reacted involuntarily. A faint sheen of wetness betrayed her growing arousal, glistening faintly in the dim light of the room. The ache inside her deepened, spreading like fire through her veins, and the thought of finally being allowed to release burned brighter in her mind.

Your fingers trailed closer, brushing along the edge of her folds with maddening precision. You never gave her exactly what she needed, staying just millimeters away, the teasing strokes pushing her closer to the edge without letting her fall. Her breaths grew shallow, her chest heaving as her back arched slightly off the bed.

She whimpered, the sound barely audible but filled with a desperation that was impossible to ignore. Her slickness spread, catching the light, her body leaking uncontrollably as her arousal built to a fever pitch.

And then, just as your fingers hovered over the place where her need was most concentrated, you pulled away.

The gasp that escaped her was almost a sob. Her hips jerked upward reflexively, as though her body couldn’t accept the sudden absence of your touch. Her eyes snapped open, wide and pleading, the longing in them unrestrained. She looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, her lips trembling as though she might beg. But the sternness in your gaze silenced whatever words she might have been about to say.

“Go to sleep,” you said, your voice calm and final.

Her heart sank, the weight of your command hitting her like a tidal wave. She stared at you for a long moment, her body frozen, her lips parting slightly as though to protest. But she caught herself, her hands curling into fists at her sides as she nodded shakily. Slowly, she sank back against the mattress, her body sinking into the sheets as though the effort to fight was too much.

You lay down beside her, the bed shifting slightly under your weight. The warmth of your body was close enough to feel but impossibly far from the relief she craved. Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling in trembling rhythms as her legs shifted restlessly beneath the sheets. She pressed her thighs together, her hips rocking slightly in a futile attempt to ease the tension that burned through her like wildfire.

Her eyes fluttered closed, though she knew sleep would be impossible. Her body pulsed with frustration, every nerve ending alight with unfulfilled desire. She could still feel the ghost of your touch on her skin, the teasing brush of your fingers that had come so maddeningly close.

Beside her, you remained composed, your breathing calm, your presence steady and unattainable. The quiet was oppressive, the tension between you palpable as the minutes stretched into hours.

Her mind spiraled as reality sank in—this wasn’t relief. It wasn’t a reprieve. It was another lesson in control, another reminder of who held the power. And as her body burned with the ache of denial, the truth became inescapable: tonight wouldn’t bring her release. It would only deepen the longing that consumed her.

-----

The final week of November arrived, and Natty was barely holding it together. The days had grown heavier, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours as her body and mind simmered with unrelenting tension. The month-long denial had pushed her to her limits, leaving her restless and sensitive to every touch, every glance, every moment in your presence. This wasn’t just a punishment—it was a slow unraveling, and the last week felt like it might break her entirely.

By mid-afternoon, as she paced through the kitchen for the third time that day, her phone buzzed on the counter, cutting through the quiet. She grabbed it quickly, her heart giving a small jolt as she saw the group chat lighting up.

“Eclipse tonight! Drinks on me. You’re coming, right?” Belle’s message was followed by a string of emojis, the energy infectious even through the screen. Natty’s gaze lingered on the words as more messages poured in.

“You better not flake again, Natty!” Julie added with a laughing emoji.

“I’m wearing heels for the first time in a year for this. Be there. No excuses!” chimed Haneul.

The idea of going out with her friends, laughing and dancing the night away, was tempting. For a brief moment, she imagined herself letting loose, the music drowning out her thoughts, her body moving freely in the dim lights of the club. It sounded perfect—exactly what she needed.

And yet, something held her back.

Her gaze lifted from the phone to the living room, where you sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone with your usual calm demeanor. She watched you for a moment, her chest tightening with a strange sense of unease. The thought of leaving the house, of being away from you, felt heavier than it should have. It wasn’t fear, exactly—more like a quiet, unshakable pull to stay near you, as though the distance would only amplify the ache she already felt.

Her phone buzzed again, breaking her thoughts. “Natty, don’t make me beg! 😘 Eclipse is calling your name!” Belle was relentless, as always.

Natty paced the kitchen, her fingers tightening around her phone as her thoughts churned. Her friends wouldn’t understand. They’d tell her she was overthinking it, that a night out was exactly what she needed. But they didn’t know what she was going through. They didn’t know how the last few weeks had left her raw and vulnerable, every nerve in her body on edge. And they didn’t understand the quiet, powerful pull that kept her close to you.

Summoning her courage, she stepped into the living room. “My friends want me to go out,” she said, her voice soft and uncertain.

You looked up briefly, meeting her gaze with an easy calm. “Sure,” you replied, your tone steady. “Go if you want.”

The simplicity of your answer caught her off guard. Her heart skipped a beat, her lips parting in surprise. She had expected… something else. Guidance, hesitation, maybe even a hint of disapproval. Instead, your response was so casual, so sincere, it left her more conflicted than ever.

“You’re… okay with it?” she asked, her tone cautious.

“Of course,” you said, your expression neutral. “If you want to go, you should.”

Natty blinked, caught between disbelief and confusion. Her gaze searched your face, looking for any trace of hesitation, but found none. The ease of your answer left her more conflicted than before, and a strange pang of guilt settled in her chest.

“Really? You don’t mind?” she pressed, her voice quieter now, almost reluctant.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by her persistence. “I don’t mind, Natty. It’s your decision.”

She nodded slowly, retreating a few steps to sit on the chair across from you. Her phone buzzed again, her friends filling the group chat with plans for the night. Outfits, drinks, excitement—it was all there, pulling her in. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing out a reply only to erase it again.

She glanced back at you. “You’re… really okay with me going?” she asked again, her voice even softer this time.

You met her gaze evenly. “I said I was. It’s your call, Natty.”

The finality in your words settled over her like a weight. The decision was hers—fully, completely hers—and yet the idea of leaving felt wrong. Her chest tightened, her stomach knotting with a mix of frustration and longing she couldn’t quite place.

With a deep breath, she typed: “Can’t make it, sorry.”

Her finger hovered over the send button, the decision catching in her chest for just a moment before she pressed it. The message disappeared into the chat, and a strange mix of relief and frustration flooded her.

When she looked back at you, she couldn’t help but ask one last time, “You’re really not upset?”

You glanced at her, offering a faint, reassuring smile. “Not at all,” you said simply, returning your attention to your phone.

The sincerity in your tone surprised her, and she sank back into the chair, her phone now dark in her hand. The quiet buzz of the house resumed, but her mind was still spinning. She had made the decision herself—without pressure, without guidance—and as unsettling as that was, a small part of her felt… content.

The thought of staying near you, of not letting that distance grow, settled warmly in her chest. And as she sat there, the sound of your steady breathing grounding her, she knew she’d made the choice she truly wanted.

-----

The evening had settled in, darkness blanketing the world outside as the soft glow of a table lamp cast warm light across the living room. The house was quiet, a serene contrast to the distant hum of the night’s activity beyond the walls. You sat on the couch, lazily flipping through channels, the faint murmur of the television filling the stillness. The simplicity of the moment was grounding, a calm that belied the tension that had simmered between you and Natty over the past weeks.

She lingered in the doorway, hesitant but drawn to you, her phone still clutched tightly in her hand. She hadn’t left the house since your conversation, her friends’ messages still buzzing occasionally in the background, unanswered. Finally, gathering her courage, she stepped into the room, her footsteps soft against the hardwood.

You glanced up from the remote, your eyes meeting hers. Her expression was conflicted, a mix of vulnerability and determination. “Why didn’t you go with your friends?” you asked, your tone calm but curious.

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I…” Her voice faltered for a moment before she took a deep breath. “I just… didn’t feel like going,” she said, though the truth was far more layered. Her eyes darted away, betraying the nerves she tried to suppress.

Your gaze stayed steady, unyielding, as you leaned back slightly. “That’s not an answer, Natty,” you said, your voice firm but not unkind. “Tell me the truth.”

Her shoulders stiffened for a moment before she relented, her gaze flickering back to yours. “I wanted to stay here,” she admitted softly, her cheeks warming with a faint blush. “With you.”

The simplicity of her words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. For a moment, you didn’t respond, letting the weight of her confession linger. Then, slowly, the faintest smile curved your lips, a warm, genuine expression that made her shoulders relax slightly.

“Come here,” you said, your voice steady but soft, a quiet command that carried more weight than the words alone. “Sit on my lap.”

Natty appeared almost immediately, her movements automatic, her body responding before her mind could process. She climbed onto your lap, her thighs straddling yours as she settled against you. The heat of her body radiated through her clothes, her breathing already shallow as your hands found her waist, grounding her.

Your hands didn’t linger long. They slid upward, brushing over the curve of her chest, and she gasped softly, her back arching slightly into your touch. There was no hesitation in the way you began to knead her, your fingers flexing firmly through the thin fabric of her shirt. She let out a soft whimper, her body reacting to every squeeze, her head tilting forward as though offering herself completely.

“Take it off,” you murmured, your voice low but firm.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. She discarded it to the floor, her chest now bare, rising and falling with her quickened breaths. The faint flush across her skin deepened as your eyes roamed over her, taking in every inch of her exposed form.

Your hands moved back to her now-bare chest, your palms warm against her skin as you groped her fully. She gasped again, louder this time, the sound breaking into a soft moan as your thumbs brushed over the sensitive peaks of her nipples. Her hips shifted instinctively against you, the motion subtle but telling, her body betraying the growing wetness between her legs.

Your lips followed your hands, pressing softly against her neck before trailing lower. The faint scent of her skin filled your senses, sweet and intoxicating as you kissed along her collarbone. She tilted her head back, giving you full access, her body trembling as your mouth continued its slow descent.

When your lips finally closed around one of her nipples, her reaction was immediate. She let out a sharp gasp, her fingers digging into your shoulders as her back arched. You alternated between gentle licks and firmer pressure, your tongue swirling in deliberate, teasing circles. Your other hand remained on her chest, squeezing and kneading with steady precision, while your thumb flicked against the neglected peak.

Her breathing grew erratic, her soft gasps turning into moans as her head tilted forward again, her lips brushing against your ear as she whimpered. “Please…” The word was barely audible, trembling with desperation as her body pressed closer to yours.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you bit down lightly, your teeth grazing against her nipple before soothing the skin with your tongue. Her whole body jolted, her thighs clenching around your lap as another moan escaped her lips. Your free hand slid lower, gripping her hip firmly to keep her steady as her movements grew more frantic.

The wetness between her legs became impossible to ignore, the faint sound of her arousal audible as her hips shifted against you. She was trembling now, completely lost in the moment, her body responding instinctively to every touch, every kiss, every firm squeeze of your hands.

“God,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as her nails raked lightly against your shoulders. “I can’t—”

“Shhh,” you murmured against her skin, your voice low and commanding. “You can.”

Your mouth returned to her chest, alternating between each peak, your tongue and teeth teasing her with perfect precision. She was leaking now, her arousal spreading across the thin fabric of her panties, soaking through to the point where you could feel the dampness against your lap.

Just as she seemed ready to tip over the edge, her hips pressing harder against you, her chest arching fully into your mouth, you pulled back.

The sudden absence of your touch left her gasping, her eyes snapping open in disbelief. Her lips parted, trembling as though she might beg, but the look in your eyes stopped her. Her body stilled, though her thighs continued to tremble, the tension coiling tighter inside her with every second of denial.

You leaned back into the couch, a faint smirk playing on your lips as you let your gaze linger on her flushed skin, the evidence of her arousal impossible to miss.

“You know what I want.” you said, your voice calm but edged with quiet authority. 

Her breath hitched audibly, her wide, hazy eyes meeting yours. There was no hesitation now. She shifted off your lap, her hands trembling slightly as they moved to your shorts. Her fingers hooked into the waistband, pulling them down slowly, her lips parting as her focus shifted entirely to you.

As the fabric slid away, revealing the full length of you, Natty's breath hitched audibly. Her gaze locked on you, her wide eyes taking in every inch with unabashed admiration. No matter how many times she saw you like this, she could never fully get over it—the sheer size, the thickness, the way it was always all for her. Her tongue darted out reflexively, wetting her lips as though in anticipation, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

The faint musk of your arousal filled the air, heady and intoxicating, and she inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Her thighs pressed together, an unconscious response to the ache that flared inside her. When her eyes opened again, they were darker, her pupils blown wide with longing, her lips trembling slightly as she leaned closer.

Her fingers hovered hesitantly before curling around your base, the warmth of her touch sending a faint tremor through her own body. She brought her face closer, her nose brushing lightly against you as she took in your scent again, the rawness of it making her exhale shakily. It consumed her thoughts, every nerve ending alight as the need within her grew unbearable.

For a moment, she lingered there, caught in the haze of her desire, her tongue hovering just above you. Her nails bit softly into your thigh as her other hand rose to her chest, cupping the soft weight of her breast. Then, as though steeling herself, she straightened slightly, her fingers squeezing her softness as she pressed her chest together.

Tilting her head, she let a long string of spit fall onto your shaft, the warm slickness trailing down slowly. Her movements were deliberate, unhurried, each moment stretching with intent as her hands guided her breasts to encase you. The soft, pliant warmth of her skin enveloped your length, her grip firm but yielding as she began to move.

Up and down, her chest stroked along you in a smooth, rhythmic motion, the slickness making every movement glide effortlessly. Her breaths grew heavier, her lips parting as a faint sheen of sweat formed on her forehead. Glancing up, she caught your gaze, her expression a mix of eagerness and awe.

You exhaled deeply, the faintest hint of a groan escaping your lips, and the sound sent a shiver rippling through her. The reaction was electric—Natty’s pace quickened, her movements more determined as her confidence grew. She pressed her breast more firmly against you, adjusting her angle slightly, the friction amplifying the sensations with every pass of her soft skin.

Each brush of her curves against your length elicited a flicker of pleasure across your face, and the sight of it spurred her on. The faint flush that painted her cheeks deepened as her own arousal grew with each passing second. She could feel the dampness between her thighs spreading, the sticky warmth soaking her panties, making the fabric cling to her skin uncomfortably. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, seeking relief she couldn’t allow herself, but she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t. This was for you.

Leaning lower, she brought her face closer, her warm breath ghosting across your tip. Her lips brushed against you, feather-light, a teasing touch that made her breath hitch. For a brief moment, she hovered there, as if savoring the anticipation, before parting her lips and taking the head into her mouth. Her tongue flicked out, circling in slow, deliberate movements that sent jolts of sensation through you. All the while, her chest continued its rhythmic motion, enveloping you in warmth and softness.

Her lips worked in tandem with her breasts, creating an intoxicating combination of sensations. The wet heat of her mouth, the slick pressure of her curves, the eager swirl of her tongue—it was almost overwhelming. Her pace grew more fervent, the urgency in her actions reflecting your mounting tension. She could feel your body responding, the slight tensing of your thighs beneath her hands, the subtle shift in your breathing as it became uneven.

Her own breathing quickened, her moans muffled around your shaft as her arousal reached a fever pitch. Each motion, each sound you made, fueled her further, her movements becoming bolder. She pushed herself harder, faster, the rhythm of her chest and the pressure of her lips in perfect sync. Her thighs quivered, her body trembling with the intensity of the moment.

You groaned deeply, the sound low and primal, vibrating through the air as your hips bucked slightly in response to her movements. Your hands gripped the couch tightly, the pleasure cresting as your breathing turned ragged. “I’m cumming,” you growled, your voice thick with urgency, each word a raw admission of the overwhelming sensation.

Natty’s eyes flicked up to you briefly, her pupils blown wide as she heard the words. A soft, needy whimper escaped her lips, her movements quickening as if she wanted to savor every moment of your release. Her arousal was palpable now, radiating off her in waves. She could feel the wetness between her thighs pooling, soaking through the thin fabric of her panties as the ache inside her reached a fever pitch.

Your body tensed, and the first thick rope of warmth hit her face, splashing across her cheeks and lips. She gasped softly, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the sensation registered. Her lips parted, and her breath hitched audibly, her chest rising and falling as the heat of it spread across her skin.

The next wave followed, coating her chest in hot streaks that dripped slowly downward. The sheer amount startled her, her hands faltering momentarily as she adjusted, her fingers instinctively brushing through the mess. Her body reacted instinctively, her thighs pressing together as another involuntary wave of arousal coursed through her. The heat radiating from her own skin was unbearable, her breath shaky as she let out another quiet, trembling moan.

Her chest glistened in the dim light, streaks of your release tracing down to her stomach. The sticky warmth clung to her skin, vivid and undeniable, a testament to how much you had been saving up for her. She trembled under the weight of the moment, her lips parting as she whispered faintly, “Oh my God…” Her voice was soft, filled with a mix of awe and desperation, her gaze dropping to the glistening mess on her chest.

Her hands trembled as they moved, brushing lightly over her curves, smearing the sticky remnants across her skin. The sight only heightened the ache inside her, her thighs quivering as she shifted slightly, her soaked panties clinging to her skin. The desperate need for relief surged again, her body reacting as if the mere act of pleasing you had amplified her own longing tenfold.

You leaned back into the couch, your breathing heavy but steadying as you watched her. A faint smirk played at the corner of your lips, your eyes taking in the sight of her—kneeling before you, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with evidence of your release. She looked wrecked, raw, and utterly yours.

“Clean yourself up,” you said finally, your voice calm but carrying a quiet authority that sent another shiver down her spine.

Her gaze flicked downward, her lips parting slightly as she took in the sight of herself. Thick streaks of your release marked her chest and face, the warmth of it clinging to her skin like a brand. Her hands trembled as they moved upward, her fingertips brushing against her cheek where the first streaks had landed. She paused for a heartbeat, her breath catching in her throat as her fingers lingered.

Then, with deliberate intent, she brought her fingers to her lips. The movement was slow, almost reverent, her eyes fluttering closed as she slipped them into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around each digit, savoring the taste, rich and unmistakable. A soft, audible gulp followed as she swallowed, her breath hitching as the act only deepened the simmering heat coursing through her.

Her hands moved lower, cupping her chest, her fingers gliding over the slickness streaked across her skin. The warmth was still there, a visceral reminder of your dominance. She leaned forward slightly, her breath shallow and uneven as she began to clean herself. Her fingers gathered the remnants, smearing it slightly before bringing it to her lips again. Her movements were unhurried, each touch deliberate, each taste sending a shiver down her spine.

She shifted slightly, lifting one breast toward her mouth. Her tongue darted out, tentative at first, lapping at the streaks she couldn’t reach with her fingers. Her lips closed around the soft curve, sucking gently as she worked to clean every inch of her skin. Her breaths were audible now, short and trembling, her chest heaving as she moved to the other side.

The wet sounds of her tongue and lips filled the room, mingling with the faint rustle of her shifting body. She was methodical, thorough, her cheeks flushed deeper with every motion. The room seemed smaller, hotter, the air thick with the lingering scent of arousal. The tension between you remained palpable, her body trembling with unspent need even as she finished her task.

When she finally straightened, her lips glistened faintly, and her chest was free of the sticky evidence of your climax. Yet the dampness clinging to her inner thighs betrayed her state. The act of cleaning herself had only deepened the ache inside her, the heat between her legs an all-consuming pulse that refused to be ignored.

Her wide eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly, filled with a mix of uncertainty and raw desire, before dropping again. She seemed unable to hold your gaze for long, the intensity too much to bear. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers twisting together as her breaths remained shallow, her body visibly trembling with need.

She stayed kneeling before you, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only motion. The memory of your pleasure was fresh on her tongue, the weight of your control pressing down on her, and the unrelenting ache inside her burned hotter than ever. Every second in your presence made it harder to endure, the tension in her body coiling tighter, her submission deepening with every unspoken command.

-----

The final days of her punishment dragged on like an endless stretch of time, every moment heavy with unspoken tension. The stillness between you was almost oppressive, each day blurring into the next as the weight of her denial bore down on her. This was the longest Natty had ever gone without release, and it showed in every aspect of her demeanor. Her once-bright spark had dimmed, replaced by a quiet desperation that lingered in her every move.

The ache inside her had become unbearable, growing from a subtle pulse to an all-encompassing fire that clouded her thoughts. Every touch she remembered, every fleeting moment of closeness, replayed in her mind, driving her mad with longing. Even the faintest brush of your presence—a simple passing glance, the sound of your footsteps—sent a shiver down her spine, her body reacting instinctively despite her attempts to suppress it.

You, as always, maintained your calm and composed demeanor. There was no teasing, no deliberate provocation—just an air of quiet control that seemed to magnify her need. The unrelenting steadiness of your presence was both a source of comfort and torment. You gave her no indication of when her punishment might end, leaving her to stew in the tension, her mind spiraling with thoughts she couldn’t escape.

She couldn’t help herself; she gravitated toward you like a moth drawn to a flame. Wherever you went, she found an excuse to be nearby. She lingered in doorways, her wide eyes fixed on you as if waiting for permission to come closer. When you stood in the kitchen, her presence was a constant shadow, her movements soft and tentative as though afraid to disturb the fragile equilibrium.

One evening, the weight of it all seemed to crash over her. You were preparing dinner, your movements calm and deliberate as the scent of garlic and herbs filled the air. She knelt between your legs, her hands resting lightly on your thighs, her head tilted upward as she gazed at you. The tension in her body was palpable, every muscle tight as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will.

Her wide eyes locked on yours, filled with an unspoken plea that words couldn’t capture. She didn’t dare speak, but the faint parting of her lips, the quick, uneven rise and fall of her chest, and the way her thighs pressed together betrayed the depth of her need. Her hands trembled slightly, her fingers brushing the fabric of your pants as though drawn by an invisible force.

She didn’t move, didn’t dare break the silence, but her gaze flicked downward for a fleeting moment. Her lips parted just slightly, her breathing shallow as her eyes darted back up to meet yours. Her desperation was written into every movement, her body quivering with the effort of staying still.

You glanced down at her, your calm and deliberate movements uninterrupted. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, a subtle acknowledgment of her state. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice low and steady. “You can use your mouth.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, she seemed frozen, her body stiff as the words sank in. Then, her expression shifted, gratitude flooding her features as she whispered, “Really?” Her voice was shaky, as if she didn’t trust her own ears, her lips trembling as she waited for confirmation.

You nodded, giving her permission. “Go ahead.”

Her response was immediate, eager, as though this was the reprieve she had been desperately waiting for. Leaning forward, her hands trembled slightly as they moved to your waistband, carefully freeing you. As your length was revealed, her breath hitched audibly, her lips parting as her gaze fixated on you. Her eyes flickered with a mix of awe and raw hunger, the sight of you sending a fresh wave of arousal coursing through her.

She paused for a moment, her face hovering close. The faint musk of your arousal filled her senses, and she inhaled deeply, her thighs pressing together as a shiver rippled through her. The scent alone seemed to heighten the ache inside her, leaving her trembling with need.

Finally, she leaned in, her lips wrapping around you with deliberate care. Her mouth was warm and soft, her tongue swirling in practiced, eager motions. Her hands braced against your thighs, steadying herself as she began to work. Every movement was filled with purpose, her lips and tongue crafting a rhythm that sent jolts of pleasure through you.

Her motions were a mixture of desperation and precision. She wasn’t just focused on bringing you pleasure—she clung to the act itself, as though the act of pleasing you might somehow soothe her own unrelenting need. Her moans vibrated against you, soft and involuntary, her arousal building with each sound you made in response.

A deep groan escaped your lips, and the sound spurred her on. Her pace quickened, her confidence growing as she adjusted to the rhythm she knew would elicit the strongest response. Her cheeks hollowed with each stroke, her tongue working fervently as her lips slid along your length. The way her eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with anticipation and longing, only added to the intensity.

Then, without pausing, she shifted lower. Her tongue trailed down to your base, her warm breath ghosting over your skin as she carefully took one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently. The softness of her lips, combined with the light flicks of her tongue, sent a shiver through you. Her hands stayed busy, one stroking your length in a steady rhythm, the other resting on your thigh for balance.

“Just like that,” you murmured, your voice deep and husky, the words sending a faint flush to her cheeks.

Encouraged, she moved to the other side, giving equal attention, her tongue drawing slow, teasing circles before her lips closed around you. Her strokes on your shaft quickened slightly, her fingers curling tighter as she worked both areas with practiced care. The combination of her warm mouth and eager hands created an overwhelming sensation, pulling low groans from your chest.

Her breaths came heavier now, her arousal bleeding into her movements. The slickness of her fingers against your length was steady and deliberate, the wet sound of her efforts filling the quiet room. Her thighs shifted against the floor, her own body reacting instinctively to the act of pleasing you.

After a time, she released you from her mouth with a soft pop, her tongue trailing back up your length, leaving a wet path in her wake. She returned to your shaft, her lips wrapping around you again as though she couldn’t stay away. She took you deeper this time, her tongue pressed firmly against the underside as she bobbed her head, her hands bracing against your thighs to steady herself. Each motion was fluid, precise, and full of intent.

“Look at you,” you said, your voice low and strained. “So eager. So good with that mouth.”

Her pace quickened at your words, her lips sliding up and down as her tongue swirled over your sensitive tip. The vibrations of her soft moans were almost too much, and you groaned deeply, the sound spurring her on further. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter as she adjusted her rhythm, each movement driving you closer to the edge.

You felt the heat rising, the sensation building to an unbearable peak. “I’m close,” you growled, your voice strained as you placed a firm hand on the back of her head.

She took your words as a command, her efforts becoming almost frantic, her mouth enveloping you deeper as her tongue worked with renewed vigor. The vibrations of her soft moans drove you over the edge. As you climaxed, your hand pressed gently but firmly on the back of her head, ensuring there was no space between you.

The first surge of your release hit the back of her throat directly, her eyes widening as she instinctively swallowed. The warmth and thickness filled her mouth entirely, her lips sealing around you as she took everything you gave her. Each pump sent another rush straight to the back of her throat, leaving no room for travel, her swallowing keeping perfect pace with your release.

Her body trembled beneath you, her own arousal spiking as she felt every pulse of your climax. Her hands gripped your thighs tightly, her nails digging in slightly as she fought to keep herself steady. The act of taking you so completely only amplified her own need, the ache inside her growing unbearable.

When the last wave subsided, she lingered, her tongue moving gently against you as if savoring every moment. Slowly, she pulled back, her lips leaving you with a soft, deliberate motion. She gasped softly, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her face flushed and glistening.

Her lips were swollen, her gaze hazy as she looked up at you, the taste of you still on her tongue. Her hands fell to her lap, trembling as her thighs pressed together tightly, the evidence of her arousal undeniable.

Her gaze flicked downward, taking in the sight of your length slick from her efforts and the faint mess left on her lips. Her thighs pressed together tightly, her need still painfully unresolved. She had thought this would help her, that focusing on your pleasure would somehow soothe the ache building inside her. But she was so wrong.

The act of bringing you to release, of hearing your groans and feeling your tension snap, had only sharpened her own longing. The heat inside her was unbearable, the ache now all-consuming. Her body trembled as her lips tingled with the memory of you, the lingering taste of your release on her tongue making her stomach twist with need.

Sitting back on her heels, her hands trembling slightly, she dared to glance back up at you, searching for something—permission, relief, anything. But your calm, steady gaze only reminded her of the boundaries you’d set. Her stomach tightened as the realization settled over her: she was still denied. Nothing had changed. If anything, the fire inside her burned hotter.

Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. She remained kneeling, her chest heaving softly, every nerve in her body alight with unspent desire. Her thighs clenched tighter, but it was no use—the longing inside her wasn’t going anywhere. It had only grown.

-----

The tension in the house reached its peak on the second-to-last evening, the air so heavy it felt alive. The soft glow of the television flickered across the room, its muted sound blending with the quiet hum of the house. You sat on the couch, leaning back comfortably, your posture calm and steady despite the storm of emotions swirling between you and Natty.

She lingered nearby, her presence hesitant but drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of indecision, she approached. Without a word, she lay across your lap, her head resting on your thigh as she curled into herself slightly. The tension in her body was palpable, her breathing shallow and uneven as though the simple act of being close to you was too much.

Your hand moved to her hair instinctively, your fingers threading through the soft strands in slow, deliberate strokes. The touch was gentle but firm, grounding her even as her thoughts spiraled. She exhaled shakily, her chest rising and falling against your lap in uneven rhythm. For a brief moment, she let herself sink into the comfort of your touch, her eyes fluttering shut as the steady motion soothed her frayed nerves.

But the ache inside her didn’t subside—it only grew sharper. Her thighs shifted restlessly, rubbing together as though seeking some kind of relief. The heat in her body was unbearable, the steady press of need building into a relentless thrum that clouded her thoughts. She bit her lip hard, trying to stifle the whimper rising in her throat, but it was a futile effort. Every stroke of your fingers through her hair, every subtle shift of your body beneath hers, only added fuel to the fire.

Her hands curled into loose fists, her nails digging lightly into her palms as she struggled to hold herself together. But it wasn’t enough. The weight of your control, the quiet calm you exuded, drove her to the brink. Finally, she shifted, her body trembling slightly as she propped herself up, turning to straddle your lap instead.

Her thighs pressed into yours as she settled, her hands clutching your chest for balance. Her head bowed for a moment, her breath hitching audibly as she fought to steady herself. When she finally looked up, her eyes met yours, wide and pleading, heavy with unspoken need. Her gaze dropped almost immediately, lingering on your waist, her lips parting slightly as though drawn by a magnetic force.

For a moment, she said nothing, her body frozen as she stewed in the unbearable tension coursing through her. Her hands tightened their grip on your shirt, her fingers trembling as the storm inside her reached a breaking point.

“You’re almost there,” you said finally, your voice calm but deliberate. The words sliced through the silence like a blade, steady and unrelenting.

Her head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto yours. Her lips quivered, her body trembling against you as though the weight of your gaze alone might shatter her. “I…” she stammered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how much longer I can—” She cut herself off with a soft sob, her hands curling tighter into the fabric of your shirt. “Please, I’ll do anything. Anything you want, just… I need you.”

Her voice cracked, and her hips shifted slightly as though searching for even the faintest relief. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her desperation spilling out in frantic, unfiltered words. “I’ll never lie again. I’ll be better—I promise. Just, please…”

You watched her unravel in your lap, the composure she clung to crumbling entirely. Your hand moved to her hair again, threading your fingers through it as you guided her forehead to rest against yours. “Shhh,” you murmured softly, your voice calm and steady. “You’re so close, Natty. Just a little longer.”

Her sobs quieted slightly, though her body still trembled against you. “I’m trying,” she whimpered, her voice breaking with every word. “I’m really trying, but it’s too much. Please… just this once…”

Her thighs trembled as she pressed herself closer, her body seeking yours like it was the only thing grounding her. She let out another soft sob, burying her face in your shoulder as her hands clutched desperately at your shirt.

You pressed a kiss to her temple, the softness of the gesture making her shiver. “My sweet,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing. “You’re doing so well.”

The praise sent a shudder through her, and she clung to you tighter, her cries softening as she tried to steady herself. “I’ll be good,” she whispered brokenly. “I swear, I’ll do anything. I just—”

“Shhh,” you interrupted, your lips brushing against her cheek in a gentle kiss. “I know, I know it’s hard. But you can do this. Just hold on for me.”

Her shoulders shook as she nodded faintly, her sobs quieting further. “Okay,” she whispered shakily, her voice barely audible. She stayed there, sinking deeper into your embrace, letting your steady presence anchor her even as the ache inside her burned hotter with every second.

Your hand continued to stroke her hair, the motion slow and deliberate, a constant reassurance. Her body trembled against you, the heat radiating from her a tangible reminder of the control you still held. Despite the overwhelming need consuming her, she stayed, her trust in you unwavering as she endured the storm.

-----

Now finally the last day of the month has arrived.  Natty woke with a feeling she had never experienced before. Her body trembled as she stretched, but instead of relief, she felt an overwhelming tension in every muscle. A deep, relentless ache settled low in her belly, heavier and sharper than before, as though her body itself was protesting the month-long denial. It wasn’t just an ache—it was an all-encompassing sensation that left her feeling sick and shaky, her stomach tight and twisted. Every nerve felt raw, on edge, and her hypersensitivity made her skin prickle even under the lightest touch of the sheets.

She sat up slowly, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as her head spun slightly. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, and she let out a soft, shaky breath, the tension inside her almost unbearable. Her stomach ached, a dull, throbbing reminder of how long she’d gone without release. It felt like an emptiness and a fullness at the same time, a contradiction that only heightened her frustration. The presence of the plug, which had remained snug all night, only amplified her torment. She could feel it with every small shift of her body—a teasing, maddening fullness that made her hyper aware of herself.

When she finally stood, her legs felt weak, her movements unsteady. Every step sent a faint jolt through her, the plug pressing deeper with even the slightest motion. It was as if her entire body had become a live wire, sparking with every touch, every shift, every breath. She shivered as she made her way out of the bedroom, her hands clutching the fabric of her oversized shirt as though grounding herself against the storm of sensations.

When she stepped into the living room, the light spilling softly through the windows, she found you lounging on the couch, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. You glanced up at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as your gaze swept over her. “Come here,” you said simply, patting your lap. “Lie down.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she hesitated for only a second before obeying. She settled across your lap, her breaths quickening as your hands began to roam along her back, the pressure firm but soothing. Your touch was unhurried, tracing the curve of her spine, lingering lower until your fingers brushed against the waistband of her shorts. Without a word, you hooked your thumbs into the fabric and pulled them down, the cool air making her shiver as it hit her exposed skin.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she felt your hand glide over her bare cheeks, the warmth of your palm contrasting against the coolness of the air. Her body betrayed her, a faint glisten of arousal catching the light. You chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing. “Dripping already?” you murmured, giving one cheek a firm squeeze. “You’re really something, Natty.”

Her breath hitched, her body quivering as she buried her face in her arms. Before she could respond, she felt something cool and slick press against her other entrance. Her muscles tensed instinctively, her head snapping up as she stammered, “Wait, what are you—?”

“Shh,” you murmured, your voice calm but commanding as you pressed the small plug in slowly. Her breath hitched audibly, her body jerking forward as the sensation hit her all at once. A soft yelp escaped her lips, her walls clenching reflexively as her thighs trembled.

“Hold it,” you instructed firmly, your hand resting lightly on her back. “You’ll keep it there all day.”

“I—I don’t think I can,” she stammered, her face burning with embarrassment and arousal.

“You can,” you replied, your tone leaving no room for argument. “And you will.”

She whimpered softly, her breaths uneven as she adjusted to the sensation. The fullness teased her relentlessly, and every small movement made her hyper aware of its presence. The ache between her legs grew sharper, more insistent, as if her body was begging for relief that wouldn’t come. Even standing felt like a challenge; the plug shifted slightly with each step, sending ripples of sensation through her core.

The day had barely begun, and yet she already felt as though she was teetering on the edge. The plug amplified everything—every touch, every brush of fabric, every faint movement. She couldn’t escape it, and with every moment that passed, the ache inside her burned hotter, making her tremble with the effort of holding herself together. Midnight felt impossibly far away.

You didn’t let her rest today—not for a single moment. The relentless presence of the plug became a constant torment, every shift of her body driving the fullness deeper, teasing her in ways she couldn’t escape. Throughout the day, you made her bend over to “check” that it was still in place, a smug reminder of your control. Each time, your hand slid along her folds, your fingers brushing lightly against her slick, swollen skin. The wetness clung to you, undeniable evidence of her unrelenting arousal.

Her breaths came in sharp gasps during these moments, her body trembling as she struggled to remain still. The faintest touch sent shivers down her spine, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. She whimpered softly, the sound involuntary, her thighs quivering as the effort of holding herself together grew increasingly futile.

“You’re holding up well,” you teased after one such inspection, your fingers hovering just close enough to make her whimper again. The sound was high and needy, betraying her desperation. “Though it looks like you’re ready to explode already.”

Her cheeks burned a deep crimson, and she turned her face away, unable to meet your amused gaze. Her thighs pressed tightly together, her body shuddering as she struggled to steady her breathing. The plug teased her with every movement, amplifying her sensitivity to unbearable levels, and the ache between her legs became an all-consuming pulse.

But you weren’t done. Your teasing was deliberate and constant, turning the mundane moments of her day into unrelenting torment. A casual grope of her chest as she walked past made her gasp, her nipples hardening under your touch as a jolt of sensation shot through her. Your hand would slide up her shirt without warning, your fingers brushing against her sensitive peaks, leaving her trembling and breathless.

When she bent down to retrieve something, you delivered sharp smacks to her exposed cheeks, the sound echoing through the room as her hips jolted forward. Each time, the plug shifted slightly, pressing deeper inside her, and she let out a strangled moan, her hands gripping whatever surface was nearest for support.

At one point, while she was bent over cleaning the counter, you delivered a particularly firm smack. The force sent the plug pushing deeper, and the sudden wave of sensation made her cry out softly. Her hands clutched the countertop, her knuckles white as her body trembled uncontrollably. Her breaths came in short, uneven bursts, and her legs quaked as she tried—and failed—to regain her composure.

“Careful,” you murmured, leaning close to her ear. Your voice was laced with amusement, dripping with controlled authority. “I wouldn’t want you to lose control now.”

She shuddered, her head dipping as another soft whimper escaped her lips. Her body burned with arousal, her skin tingling as though every nerve ending had come alive. Every teasing touch, every lingering squeeze of your hand left her trembling, her body responding instantly as though begging for more. She was aware of everything—the brush of fabric against her sensitive skin, the cool air that contrasted with the heat radiating from her core, the relentless presence of the plug that made every movement feel like a deliberate act of torment.

By mid-afternoon, she was a trembling mess. Her breaths were shallow and uneven, her body quaking as she navigated the relentless teasing and the ache that had only grown sharper, hotter, with every passing moment. The fullness of the plug heightened her sensitivity, making even the smallest movements feel exaggerated. A shift of her hips, a brush of her thighs—each one sent jolts of need spiraling through her, leaving her gasping and desperate.

Her arousal radiated off her in waves, the heat between her legs becoming an all-consuming ache. It seeped into every part of her, making her feel like she was on the verge of breaking. Every glance from you, every calculated touch, only made it worse. She could barely think about anything else, her mind entirely consumed by the promise of relief she couldn’t yet have.

The promise of midnight was the only thing grounding her, a beacon at the end of her torment. But as the minutes dragged on and each moment stretched longer than the last, she began to wonder just how much more she could take. The hours ahead loomed like an eternity, and her body burned with the need to finally be free.

-----

Once the final moments were minutes away, Natty was a trembling wreck. She couldn’t muster excitement, couldn’t even speak. The month-long denial had consumed her entirely, leaving her a quivering, needy mess. Every step she took sent faint jolts through her hypersensitive body, her thighs slick with a constant reminder of her arousal. Her mind swirled with one singular thought—relief. Midnight was so close, yet it felt infinitely far away.

You watched her silently as she hovered near you, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The air between you was electric, charged with her desperation and your unshakable calm. Finally, you broke the silence.

“Bedroom,” you said, your voice calm but commanding. “Now.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her trembling hands reached for the hem of her shirt, tugging it over her head in one fluid motion. Her shorts followed, discarded in a heap on the floor, leaving her completely bare before you. There was no need to ask—her eagerness, her desperation, was written across her flushed cheeks and trembling limbs.

Natty lay back on the bed, her legs slightly parted, her body trembling uncontrollably. Every breath she took was shallow and uneven, her body strung tight with anticipation and desperation. Her wide, pleading eyes locked onto yours as you retrieved the wand vibrator from the nightstand, its weight in your hand a promise of what was to come.

“You’ve waited this long,” you murmured, sitting beside her. Your voice was calm, soothing, but carried an unyielding authority. “But understand this—if you cum before midnight, it’s another month.”

Her breath hitched, her body stiffening as the weight of your words sank in. A shudder passed through her, and her lips parted as though to protest, but no sound came. The mere thought of another month was impossible to comprehend. She didn’t even know how she had survived this one. Her stomach churned, and a small, desperate whimper escaped her lips.

“Do you understand, Natty?” you asked, your voice steady but firm.

She nodded quickly, tears welling in her eyes. “Y-yes… I understand.” Her voice cracked, the fear and arousal mingling into a trembling whisper.

With a faint smirk, you picked up the vibrator, letting it press firmly against her swollen clit without turning it on. The weight alone was enough to make her react—a sharp intake of breath followed by a faint whimper as her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more. The glistening slickness between her legs caught the dim light, pooling against the toy and betraying just how close she was to the edge already.

You watched her closely, your calm demeanor a stark contrast to the tremors racking her body. “So needy,” you murmured, your voice low and deliberate. “Leaking onto the sheets, and I haven’t even turned it on.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her thighs trembling as she tried to press them together only to fail against your positioning. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white as she fought the overwhelming tension building inside her. “P-please,” she stammered, her voice trembling and barely audible.

“Not yet,” you said, your tone firm but calm. Your gaze flicked briefly to the clock. “It’s not time.”

Her body jerked slightly at the reminder, her thighs quivering as the pressure from the vibrator sent faint pulses of sensation through her. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one feeling like an eternity as she teetered on the precipice. Her breaths grew more frantic, her chest rising and falling with each shallow gasp, her entire body betraying her desperate need.

Without warning, your free hand moved downward, your fingers brushing lightly over the curve of her ass. You hooked a finger under the base of the plug, tugging gently. The sensation elicited a sharp cry from her, her hips bucking against the pressure. Her arousal spilled out even more, a slick warmth pooling between her thighs and glistening against her skin.

Her moans turned into incoherent whimpers as her body trembled violently. “Oh God—” she gasped, her voice cracking as the mix of sensations overwhelmed her.

You brought your finger to the slick mess, scooping some onto your fingertip. With deliberate slowness, you raised it to your mouth, tasting her arousal. The faint hum of approval you let out sent another shiver through her. “So sweet,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. “And all mine.”

Her body jerked again, her eyes squeezing shut as her hands clawed desperately at the sheets. The combination of sensations—the press of the vibrator, the tug on the plug, and your deliberate tasting of her—pushed her to the very edge.

Finally, the clock hit 11:59. Without a word, you turned the vibrator on, its low hum filling the room.

The moment the vibrator sprang to life, Natty’s body reacted as if it had been struck by lightning. A high-pitched yelp escaped her lips, her hips jerking against the relentless vibration. Tears filled her eyes as she clutched the sheets, her body writhing uncontrollably, her thighs trembling with effort. The first wave of sensation crashed over her, and she wasn’t ready for the intensity. She quivered like a bowstring pulled too tight, every muscle taut, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe.

“Hold on,” you commanded, your tone calm but firm.

Her sobs came softly at first, as if she were trying to hold them back, but the effort only made them more pitiful. Her lips parted, trembling, and a faint whimper escaped. Her hands clutched the sheets tightly, her nails digging into the fabric as her entire body quaked beneath the relentless assault of the vibrations.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, but the relentless pressure of the toy against her swollen clit made every movement a torment. Her hips shifted involuntarily, as though her body were trying to escape and chase the sensation at the same time. Her skin glistened with sweat, her face flushed a deep crimson as tears streaked her cheeks. Her breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, her chest rising and falling as she struggled against the unbearable tension coiling inside her.

You leaned closer, your hand resting gently on her abdomen, your voice a steady anchor. “You’ve made it this far, Natty,” you murmured, your tone soft but resolute. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Her eyes widened as another wave of sensation crashed over her, her sobs growing louder and more frantic. Her body arched off the bed, the vibrations driving her closer to the edge. “I—” she stammered, her voice cracking as she fought to find her words. “I don’t think I can—I can’t do it! I need to cum!”

“A little more, baby,” you replied firmly, your gaze locking onto hers. “Trust me, you can do this.”

Her body convulsed, her hips grinding helplessly against the unyielding vibrator. The wet sounds of her arousal filled the room, mingling with her desperate cries. Her slickness coated the toy, betraying the depth of her need. She whimpered again, shaking her head as tears flowed freely, her thighs trembling violently.

Finally, you extended your hand to her. “Here,” you said softly, offering it like a lifeline. “Hold on to me.”

Her trembling fingers latched onto yours with surprising strength, gripping as though your hand were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Her nails bit into your skin, but you didn’t flinch, letting her anchor herself in the gesture. “You’re halfway there,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing, an oasis of calm amid her chaos.

Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her sobs hitching with every sharp inhale as her body quaked uncontrollably. She clung to your hand as if it were the only solid thing in a world of overwhelming sensation. Her lips moved, trying to form words, but all that escaped were soft, broken whimpers, desperate and raw. The tension in her body was unbearable, her chest heaving as her thighs quaked, every nerve ending alive with unbearable intensity.

You glanced at the clock, your own breath steady as the final stretch approached. Her body tensed further, every muscle pulled taut as though she were a bowstring ready to snap.

“Ten,” you began, your voice calm and deliberate, a grounding presence in her storm.

Natty gasped sharply, her entire body stiffening as the vibrations pushed her closer to the edge. Her nails dug deeper into your hand, her legs trembling as she whimpered softly.

“Nine,” you continued, your eyes locked on her.

She shook her head, her eyes wide and glossy with tears. Her lips trembled as a desperate whimper escaped her throat. “It’s too much,” she whispered, her voice cracking. The relentless hum of the vibrator against her clit made her legs quiver uncontrollably.

“Eight.”

Her back arched, her body bucking involuntarily as she let out a strangled cry. “I—I can’t—I can’t!” she sobbed, her tears streaking down her flushed cheeks.

“You’re stronger than this, Natty,” you said calmly, your voice steady and grounding as you brushed her hair back from her sweat-dampened forehead. “You’ve made it this far.”

“Seven.”

Her breathing turned ragged, each gasp shallow and desperate as her hips jerked against the unyielding pressure. The wetness between her legs spread further, the slick sounds of her arousal filling the room. “Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Please—I can’t hold it!”

“Six.”

Her nails raked against your hand, her grip tightening as though holding you was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her sobs grew louder, raw and broken as her body writhed beneath the unrelenting assault. Her thighs quivered violently, every muscle trembling with tension.

“Five.”

She let out a guttural moan, her hips grinding involuntarily against the vibrator. “I’m trying—I swear, I’m trying!” she cried, her voice thick with desperation. Her tears flowed freely now, her face flushed and damp as she clung to your hand with all her strength.

“Four.”

Her breath hitched, each exhale turning into a ragged sob as she whimpered, “I can’t do this! I can’t—I’m going to—” Her hips bucked harder, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as her body convulsed against the sheets.

“Three.”

You leaned closer, your breath brushing warmly against her ear. “You’re so close, Natty,” you murmured softly. “Don’t give up now.”

Her lips parted as if to plead, but the only sound that escaped was a desperate, high-pitched whimper. Her chest heaved as her body fought against the overwhelming pleasure, her tears soaking into the pillow beneath her head.

“Two.”

Her entire frame was trembling violently now, her nails digging into your hand as her body teetered on the brink. “Please,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Please, I need to—I can’t stop it—I need to—”

“Hold on,” you commanded, your voice calm but firm, grounding her with the unshakable authority in your tone.

“One.”

Your voice remained steady as you carefully balanced the vibrator against her swollen clit, the relentless hum sending vibrations coursing through her. Slowly, deliberately, you pulled your hands away, leaving the toy perfectly poised against her trembling body. At first, she didn’t even notice your absence—her mind was fogged with overwhelming need, her focus entirely consumed by the mounting pressure tearing through her.

“Now, Natty,” you murmured softly, your tone calm yet commanding, slicing through the haze clouding her mind.

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, just as your hands moved to her chest. Your fingers found her sensitive nipples, pinching them lightly before tugging them upward with deliberate precision. The sharp pull elicited a desperate cry from her lips, her hips bucking instinctively against the vibrator. The motion was reflexive, her body torn between seeking relief from the intensity and craving even more of it.

The sensations converged like a tidal wave—the relentless vibrations teasing her folds, the sharp tug on her swollen nipples, and the persistent fullness of the plug nestled deep inside her, pressing in with every trembling movement. Together, they built into an unrelenting storm of pleasure, crashing through her body and leaving no room for control.

Her body stiffened like a bowstring drawn tight, quivering for a suspended second before breaking. And then she shattered. Her back arched violently off the bed, the tendons in her neck straining as her climax slammed into her with unrelenting force. A scream tore from her throat, raw and guttural, reverberating through the room like a primal release.

 “Ahhh! F-FUCK!”, her voice cracking under the weight of the pleasure ripping through her. 

Natty’s legs snapped shut involuntarily, trapping the vibrator tightly between her trembling thighs. The added pressure amplified the vibrations to an unbearable intensity, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her already over-sensitized body. Her back arched off the bed, her abs contracting so hard it felt like they might cramp, every muscle in her body taut as a bowstring. 

The fullness of the plug in her ass only heightened everything, pressing deeper with every spasm of her climax. It felt like her body was tearing apart and coming together simultaneously, every nerve ending alight with sensations so intense they blurred the line between pleasure and pain. She writhed uncontrollably, her head pressing back into the mattress as her trembling hands clawed at the sheets. Her fingers twisted the fabric into fists, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white, desperate for something—anything—to anchor her in the storm raging through her.

“Oh my God—AGH! FUCK, FUCK!” she wailed, her voice breaking into fractured sobs as wave after wave of climax overwhelmed her. Her thighs quivered violently, her entire lower half slick with arousal as the glistening evidence of her release pooled beneath her. The wet, lewd sounds of her trembling movements only added to the intensity, driving her further into a pleasure so consuming it left her mind blank and incoherent.

Her abs cramped again, the sharp ache blending into the relentless throbbing of her core. Every pulse of her body felt magnified a hundredfold. Her nipples, still under the firm grip of your fingers, sent jolts of electric pleasure-pain through her chest with every tug and pinch. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, her sobs turning into hiccupping gasps as she struggled to breathe through the overwhelming sensation.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the room fading into a haze of white-hot pleasure. Her thoughts dissolved entirely, her mind unable to focus on anything but the torrent of ecstasy ripping through her. Another scream tore from her throat as her hips bucked helplessly, her body caught in an unrelenting rhythm that wasn’t hers to control.

Her legs trembled violently, the muscles quaking beneath the strain of holding the vibrator in place. Her toes curled and uncurled, the tension radiating from her core to every extremity. She felt utterly consumed, her body reacting on instinct, every motion drawing out the climax until it seemed endless.

Finally, the vibrations began to ease, but her body didn’t stop. The aftershocks rippled through her, smaller waves of pleasure making her twitch uncontrollably. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, her breaths ragged and uneven. Her limbs felt heavy, trembling faintly as they fell limply to her sides.

Tears continued to streak down her face, her cheeks stained with the evidence of her release. Her entire body glistened with sweat, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light of the room. Even as her climax began to fade, the plug’s fullness sent tiny, lingering jolts of pleasure radiating outward, leaving her hypersensitive and raw.

You leaned forward, brushing a strand of damp hair from her forehead with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity she had just endured. Her glassy eyes fluttered open, unfocused and hazy, a soft moan escaping her lips as her gaze found yours. The exhaustion in her face was mingled with something else—a quiet, unspoken gratitude.

“You did it, Natty. You’re incredible,” you murmured softly, your voice a warm balm as you brushed a strand of damp hair away from her flushed face. The praise seemed to wrap around her like a blanket, soothing her trembling form as she melted into the mattress, her body finally surrendering to the sweet, blissful exhaustion.

A shuddering breath escaped her lips, her chest heaving with the effort of coming down from the most intense climax of her life. “Thank you…” she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking under the weight of her relief. Her words were barely audible, trembling with emotion, as her body sank deeper into the bed. She looked utterly wrecked—her cheeks damp with tears, her thighs still quivering faintly, her entire form radiating the afterglow of release.

You sat beside her, your touch gentle as your hand trailed down her arm, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on her damp skin. She flinched slightly, her body still hyper-sensitive, but she didn’t pull away. For the first time in weeks, the relentless ache inside her was gone, replaced by a deep, blissful emptiness. Her head lolled to the side, her eyelids fluttering as she floated in the haze of her release. It was a quiet, almost dreamlike state, her mind too overwhelmed to process anything beyond the moment.

For a time, she simply lay there, her breaths coming in slow, ragged bursts. Her body felt weightless, untethered, her thoughts drifting aimlessly as she savored the sweet relief coursing through her. It was everything she had been waiting for—everything she thought she needed.

But as the haze began to lift, her breaths steadied, and a flicker of awareness returned to her gaze. Her glassy eyes blinked open, meeting yours with a dazed vulnerability. The raw emotion in her expression was undeniable—gratitude, relief, and something else, something that lingered in the shadows of her desire.

At first, she didn’t move, her lips parting slightly as though to speak, but no words came. The stillness between you stretched, heavy and charged, until the quiet became almost unbearable.

Then, she inhaled sharply, her voice soft and trembling. “I… I need more.” you felt the tension between you shift, her words a soft, desperate confession that hung heavy in the air.

“Greedy, aren’t we?” you teased, setting the vibrator aside as you leaned closer. The smirk on your lips held no malice, only satisfaction. Her wide, pleading eyes followed your every move as you began to undress. Each button you loosened, each piece of fabric you shed, only heightened her anticipation. Her breaths came faster, her chest rising and falling as she watched your body come into view, her gaze lingering with raw hunger.

Climbing onto the bed, you positioned yourself between her trembling thighs. She spread her legs instinctively, her body quaking beneath you, her slick folds glistening with arousal as she waited for you to fill her. You lined yourself up with her entrance, pausing just long enough to meet her gaze. The raw desperation in her eyes was enough to send a thrill down your spine.

As you pressed into her, the sound she made was somewhere between a gasp and a cry, her hypersensitive body reacting instantly. The tight, wet heat of her clamped around you, her back arching off the bed as she cried out. Her nails dug into your shoulders, her hands clutching you as though you were the only thing keeping her grounded.

“You waited so well,” you murmured against her ear, your voice thick with approval as your hips began to move with deliberate force. “Now, you get all of me.”

Her sobbing moans filled the room, each thrust drawing a broken, needy sound from her lips. She writhed beneath you, her body impossibly responsive to every motion. Your hands moved to her chest, kneading her soft, full breasts, your thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples with teasing strokes. Each touch sent a jolt through her, her breath hitching sharply as her hips bucked instinctively to meet you. Her thighs quivered on either side of you, trembling with the strain of holding back the overwhelming sensations coursing through her.

Leaning down, your mouth found one of her nipples, tugging it gently between your lips. You sucked softly at first, your tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before you increased the pressure, tugging firmly enough to draw a cry from her throat. Her back arched off the bed, her chest pressing further into your touch as her hands clutched desperately at your shoulders.

The plug inside her added another layer of sensation, shifting slightly with each of your movements. The fullness it brought combined with the relentless drive of your thrusts, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her walls fluttered around you, a desperate clench that pulled you deeper as she gasped for air.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmured against her skin, your lips brushing against her nipple as your hands continued to explore her soft curves. “God, I love your tits. Made for me to touch, to taste.”

Your teeth grazed her nipple, tugging lightly before sucking hard enough to make her cry out. “Look at how they react for me,” you growled, your voice thick with need as you pinched the neglected peak between your fingers. “So soft, so full. They’re mine, Natty. All mine.”

Her breath hitched at your words, her thighs trembling as her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. “They’re yours,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “All yours.”

You smirked against her skin, your tongue tracing lazy circles around her sensitive peak before moving to the other. “That’s right,” you growled, your tone possessive. “Every inch of you is mine. Look at how much you need me. Your body can’t hide it.”

Her walls clenched around you again, her moans turning into desperate, high-pitched cries as you continued to drive into her relentlessly. Each thrust sent her spiraling further into ecstasy, her body reacting to every movement with an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Shifting your position, you pulled back slightly, your hands sliding down to grip her thighs firmly. With deliberate care, you lifted her legs and pressed them upward, trapping them against her chest. Your knees pinned her in place, holding her completely open and vulnerable in a perfect mating press. The change in angle made her gasp sharply, her wide, hazy eyes locking onto yours.

“You look so fucking good like this,” you murmured, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Completely mine.”

The next thrust sent her screaming, her entire body jolting as you hit that spot deep inside her that made her vision blur. Her nails raked against your arms, her head tossing back against the pillow as her voice broke into desperate cries.

“Right there,” you growled, your eyes locked on her face, watching the way her expression twisted in bliss. “I can feel how much you love it. So fucking tight, clenching around me like you don’t want me to stop.”

Her sobs grew louder, her legs trembling against your chest as her body quaked with every deep, deliberate thrust. You leaned forward slightly, your grip tightening on her thighs as you drove into her harder, deeper, each motion pushing her closer to the edge

“Don’t stop!” she sobbed, her voice breaking as her walls fluttered desperately around you. “Oh, God—please, just—just like that!”

Each powerful thrust jolted her body downward, her back bouncing against the mattress only to rise again to meet you, the force of your movements sending ripples of sensation through her trembling form. The angle of the mating press left her completely at your mercy, her legs pinned upward and her body open to every deep, deliberate motion. Each plunge drove into her so deeply that she gasped, her nails raking frantically across the sheets in a futile attempt to anchor herself.

Her cries climbed in pitch, the tremor in her voice betraying how close she was to unraveling. “Oh my God—ah! Please, please!” she sobbed, her thighs twitching violently as the relentless rhythm pushed her to the edge. The slick sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the room, mingling with her desperate cries, the evidence of her arousal pooling beneath her on the bed.

Her chest heaved, her full, sensitive breasts brushing against your chest with each thrust. The friction only heightened her pleasure, her hardened nipples sending electric jolts through her trembling body every time they grazed against your skin. Her walls clamped down on you rhythmically, pulling you deeper, the overwhelming sensations making her feel as though she might shatter.

Sensing how close she was, you shifted with deliberate precision. Your hands slid from her thighs, snaking beneath her legs until they found the soft, round curves of her ass. You cupped her cheeks firmly, your fingers digging into the plush flesh as you lifted her hips off the mattress slightly. The adjustment pulled her even deeper onto you, the angle driving you into her sweet spot with devastating accuracy. Each thrust sent her body jolting violently against yours, the new position leaving her utterly breathless.

Her cries became incoherent, her head tossing back against the pillow as she writhed beneath you. “Oh—oh fuck!” she screamed, her voice cracking as another wave of sensation tore through her. Her nails scraped down your back, leaving fiery trails in their wake, her trembling fingers clutching at you desperately.

Your mouth descended to one of her taut, begging nipples, capturing it with your lips as your thrusts never faltered. You sucked hard, tugging and flicking your tongue against the sensitive peak in perfect rhythm with your movements. Her back arched sharply, a strangled cry escaping her lips as her entire body seemed to tighten beneath you. The way her walls clenched around you made your own need burn hotter, driving you to push her even further.

“You’re mine,” you murmured against her heated skin, your voice low and possessive. You squeezed her other breast firmly, kneading it with one hand while your fingers rolled her nipple between them, tugging and twisting just enough to make her gasp. Each motion sent another shockwave through her trembling frame, her moans escalating into desperate, high-pitched whimpers.

“Fuck,” you growled, your tone thick with desire as your eyes met hers, hazy and overwhelmed with pleasure. “You’re taking all of me. So tight, so perfect—you were made for this. Made for me.”

Her body answered in kind, her walls fluttering uncontrollably around you as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable peak. Her thighs quaked against your sides, trembling as her body instinctively tried to match your relentless rhythm, every nerve alight with overwhelming sensation.

The fullness inside her was all-consuming. The plug pressed deeply, amplifying every thrust as it heightened the sensation of your length stretching and filling her. The dual pressure left her gasping, her breaths shallow and uneven, her mind reeling as she balanced on the knife’s edge of ecstasy.

When you thrust even deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside her with relentless precision, her body couldn’t take it anymore. Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing through her with violent force. Her scream tore through the room, raw and guttural, as her walls clamped down on you in an unrelenting grip. “AAGH! Fuck—oh, fuck! I—I can’t—” Her words dissolved into incoherent sobs, her hands scrambling desperately for purchase against your shoulders, pulling you closer as her body shattered beneath you.

Her muscles tensed and released in rapid, uncontrollable spasms, her thighs trembling violently as her body gave itself over to the release she’d been denied for so long. The intensity of her climax rivaled her previous, earth shattering one., her body jerking with each wave as tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. She could feel every inch of you inside her, the fullness making her dizzy as her mind blurred into a haze of white-hot pleasure.

You didn’t stop. Your hands gripped her soft cheeks tighter, lifting her hips slightly as you pressed even deeper into her. The angle drove you against every sensitive nerve inside her, pulling even more desperate cries from her lips. Her walls rippled around you, milking you with each spasm as her release seemed endless, her trembling form unable to settle as the aftershocks kept her teetering on the brink.

Your climax hit like a flood, every pulse of release spilling deep inside her as your body trembled against hers. Each spurt of warmth was thick and heavy, filling her completely, and the sensation drew a sharp, trembling gasp from her lips. Her eyes flew open, wide with shock and arousal, as she clung to you with trembling hands.

“Oh my God,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, her words catching in her throat as the sensation overwhelmed her. “So much…” Her thighs quivered uncontrollably, pressing tightly against your sides as her oversensitive body reacted to every movement, every pulse.

The heat of your release spread slowly, the fullness consuming her entirely. She could feel the weight of it settling deep inside her, combining with the unyielding presence of the plug to leave her utterly stuffed. Her walls fluttered around you, squeezing reflexively as though her body couldn’t bear to let go of even a drop.

Her breathing hitched as she whimpered again, the faintest shift of her hips causing another jolt of sensation to ripple through her. “I can feel it,” she whispered, her voice cracking, her cheeks flushing even deeper as her hands clung to your arms. “It’s… so much,” she sobbed softly, her words breaking into shaky, uneven breaths.

You didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, you stayed buried inside her, letting the warmth of your bodies meld together. Each faint twitch of her inner walls drew a soft groan from you, the intensity of her aftershocks still gripping you as she trembled beneath you. Her thighs shook against your hips, the muscles twitching as if her body was trying to process the overwhelming fullness.

Your hands slid down her sides, grounding her as she whimpered again, her nails digging faintly into your skin. “I… I can’t believe…” she stammered, her voice trembling as her head fell back against the pillow. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, the slickness between you evidence of just how thoroughly you’d filled her.

Her body relaxed gradually, the tension in her muscles giving way to the soft, warm haze of afterglow. But even as she melted into you, her oversensitive body still twitched faintly with each aftershock. She blinked slowly, her gaze glassy and unfocused as a faint, dazed smile curved her lips.

Leaning down, you brushed your lips against her damp forehead, your breaths mingling as you murmured, “You were perfect, Natty. Every single part of you.”

Her body slackened beneath you, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. The combination of your warmth inside her, the lingering tension of the plug, and the complete fulfillment of finally letting go left her trembling. Yet, despite her exhaustion, her arms tightened around you, her hands resting against your back as though she was afraid to let you go.

Her lips curled into a faint, exhausted smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you…” The words were soft, raw with emotion, her head tilting slightly to nuzzle against your shoulder. Her breath tickled your skin as she sighed deeply, a sound that carried both relief and contentment.

You stayed close, your fingers tracing gentle circles along her thighs, soothing the trembling muscles. The room was still, the quiet filled only with the sound of your breathing and the occasional faint whimper as her body adjusted to the overwhelming sensations still radiating through her. The intimacy of the moment held you both in its grasp, neither of you willing to break the connection.

As your muscles began to relax, you shifted slightly, preparing to pull back. But the moment you started to move, her legs clamped around you, her hands gripping your shoulders with surprising strength. “No,” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent. “Don’t… not yet.”

You stilled, your gaze meeting hers. Her wide, vulnerable eyes held a pleading look that spoke volumes, and you felt her inner walls flutter faintly around you, still pulsing in the aftermath of her climax. “I need this,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “Stay… please.”

You exhaled softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her lips. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice warm and reassuring. “I’ll stay.”

Her body relaxed again beneath you, her legs loosening slightly but still holding you close. She shifted just enough to get comfortable, her head nestled into the crook of your neck, her breaths warm against your skin. The intimacy was almost overwhelming, the feeling of being so deeply connected both physically and emotionally grounding you both.

Time seemed to blur as the exhaustion began to take over. Her body molded against yours, her hands resting lightly on your back as her breaths evened out. Despite the fullness she still felt, her body relaxed entirely. It wasn’t discomfort anymore; it was a sense of being whole, of closeness she didn’t want to end.

“Natty,” you murmured softly, brushing your lips against her temple. “I’m just moving us. I’ve got you.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, her voice barely audible as her head nestled further into the crook of your neck. Carefully, you rolled her over, cradling her as you shifted until she was on top of you. The change in position was smoother than expected, her lighter frame settling easily against your chest. She sighed softly, her cheek pressed to your collarbone, her body melting into yours like she belonged there.

“This is better,” you murmured, your hands tracing soothing patterns along her back. “Easier for me to hold you.”

She mumbled something incoherent, her voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. The warmth of her breath against your skin made you smile, and you began to pepper soft kisses across her face. You started at her temple, trailing down to her cheek, then across the bridge of her nose. Each kiss was tender, deliberate, a quiet celebration of everything you’d just shared.

“You’re so good, Natty,” you murmured between kisses. “You’ve been incredible.”

She hummed again, the sound low and contented, her lips curving into the faintest smile. Her body relaxed even further against yours, the tension completely melting away as your words wrapped around her.

Your hands moved to her hair, threading through the strands gently as you continued to speak. “You’re everything I need,” you whispered, your voice soft and warm. “I’m so proud of you. So proud of how far you’ve come.”

Her arms tightened around you, her fingers clutching softly at your sides as she sighed deeply. The rise and fall of her chest against yours slowed, her breathing evening out as her exhaustion began to take over. Her head tilted slightly, her lips brushing against your collarbone in a gesture so faint it was almost subconscious.

As her breathing deepened, you felt her weight grow heavier against you, her body finally succumbing to sleep. You wrapped your arms more securely around her, pressing one final kiss to her forehead as her face relaxed into the softest expression of peace.

“Sweet dreams, Natty,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The room fell into a tranquil stillness, the quiet intimacy wrapping around you both as you closed your eyes. Still connected, still grounded in each other, you let sleep take you, the warmth of her presence the last thing you felt before drifting off.

Afterward, she lay curled against your chest, her body trembling faintly as the intensity of the night ebbed away. Her breaths were soft and uneven, her cheek pressed against your skin, her warmth melding into yours. You brushed a hand through her hair, your fingers threading gently through the damp strands as you pressed a tender kiss to her temple.

“You did it,” you murmured, your voice low and filled with pride. “You made it. And you were perfect.”

Her lips curved into a soft, sleepy smile, her eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice fragile and barely audible, as though speaking too loudly would break the delicate serenity of the moment.

You smirked slightly, the corner of your mouth lifting as your hand drifted to her back, tracing lazy circles against her skin. The rhythmic motion was soothing, grounding her as she nestled closer into your embrace. “Don’t forget this feeling, Natty,” you said, your tone steady but laced with affection. “You earned it.”

A soft hum escaped her lips, her exhaustion pulling her deeper into the comfort of your arms. Her body slackened, her breathing evening out as she surrendered completely, her trust in you evident in every relaxed line of her form.

You lay there quietly, the room settling into a peaceful stillness. The faint scent of her lingered in the air, a reminder of the passion and vulnerability she’d shared with you. A quiet pride swelled in your chest. She had given herself over to you fully, trusted you with every part of herself, and in return, you’d given her everything she had needed—and more.

As she drifted into sleep, her body curled protectively against yours, you held her close, your hand never stopping its soothing motion. For now, the storm was over, and you both could bask in the calm it left behind.

[thighsa]

BEAUTIFUL MONSTER

Artist :

STAYC Isa X Male Reader (Third Person POV)

Tags :

Wardrobe Malfunction, Female Masturbation, Masochist Fetish, Kidnap, Forced Sex, Rough Sex, Rape, BDSM, Bondage, Virgin, Anal, Anal Virginity, Gangbang, Double Penetration, Blowjob, Deepthroat, Creampie, Gape, Sex Tape, Blackmail, Drug Usages, Slut, Cam Girl, Sex Slave, Prostitution, Strip Dancer, Golden Shower, Humiliation,

Warning : Non Con Smut, This smut is going to be a long one.

(please don't read if you don't like it, thanks!)

CHAPTER 1 : THE CONCERT OF A RAISING K-POP GROUP

Finding herself standing in the bustling backstage of a colossal concert venue, the air thick with anticipation and the sweet scent of hairspray. Lee Chaeyoung, or as the world knows, Isa, a rising star in the glittering universe of K-Pop as part of the sensational girl group, STAYC. With her heart racing in her chest, she look into the mirror and adjust the glittering hairpin in her raven locks, her reflection showcasing her flawless makeup and piercing gaze. Isa run her hands over her curvy hips and give her thick, toned thighs a squeeze, drawing confidence from the power they hold. The sound of the crowd's roar crescendos as the opening chords of her latest hit echo through the corridor. The stage calls, and she takes a deep breath, ready to captivate the world once more with her unparalleled charm and talent. "It's showtime, Isa," her manager says with a nod of encouragement. Isa flash a dazzling smile, feeling the excitement surge through her as she step into the spotlight.

The stage lights hit Isa like a meteor shower, illuminating her scintillating, revealing outfit. The ensemble is a masterpiece of modern fashion K-Pop flair: a crop top that barely contains her ample cleavage, paired with a thick leather jacket as the outerwear, and a skirt that hikes high on her hips, showcasing her voluptuous thighs and perfectly curvy rounded ass. Her long, silky legs seem to go on forever, ending in a pair of thigh-high boots that scream confidence with every step. The crowd goes wild at the sight of her, the sea of faces blurring into a tapestry of admiration and desire.

With the opening beats of the song pulsing through her veins, Isa takes control of the stage like a tempest, her body moving in a symphony of seduction and precision. She's the main dancer, the heart of StayC's choreography, and her every move is calculated to leave the audience breathless. Her hips sway and pop in time with the music, her curvy figure a mesmerizing spectacle under the strobing lights. Her bandmates follow her lead, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine, but it's Isa's fiery charisma that truly sets the stage alight.

The choreography intensifies, and Isa leaps into a high kick, her skirt fluttering up to reveal a hint of the lacey thong she's wearing underneath. The fans scream even louder, their phones raised in a forest of flashing lights, eagerly capturing every moment. Suddenly, as she lands, there's a sharp tug, and the unthinkable happens: the clasp of her top gives way, the fabric parting to expose her right breast to the thousands of eyes in the arena. For a split second, time seems to stand still, the music a distant echo in the face of the impending disaster.

But Isa is a seasoned performer. Without missing a beat, she cups her hand over her breast, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red that only serves to enhance her allure. The crowd's gasps are drowned out by the bass drop, and she spins away from the audience, using the momentum to conceal the wardrobe malfunction. The other members of StayC, caught off guard, exchange worried glances but Isa waves them off, signaling to continue as if nothing happened. Her professionalism is a beacon of calm in the storm of chaos, a testament to her unshakeable poise.

The moment Isa's breast is exposed, a ripple of shock waves through the arena, but it's quickly swallowed by a frenzy of excitement and anticipation. The flashes of cameras and phones are so intense that it's as if a thousand paparazzi have descended upon the stage. The video of her wardrobe malfunction is captured from every conceivable angle, the digital eyes of the audience eager to preserve the scandalous moment for posterity. The videos are uploaded to social media faster than you can blink, spreading like wildfire across various platforms, hashtags springing up like mushrooms in the aftermath of a storm.

While the performance goes on, the malfunction is a mere hiccup in the grand scheme of things. Isa's swift recovery and the sheer force of StayC's stage presence are enough to keep the audience enthralled. The music, the lights, the dance as they all conspire to distract from the brief flash of nudity. The other members of the group, though shaken by the unexpected turn of events, keep their cool, their movements sharp and their expressions composed.

As soon as Isa enters the backstage, the situation is a different story. The second the music stops, a cacophony of worried whispers and frantic gestures replace the organized chaos of pre-show preparations. The manager's eyes widen in horror as they watch the live feed of the performance, their hand slapped over their mouth in disbelief. "Oh no," they murmur, their mind racing with the potential repercussions. "Isa, are you okay?" they ask, rushing towards Isa.

Isa, though still flustered, nods with a forced smile. "It's fine," she says, trying to shrug off the embarrassment that clings to her like the sweat on her skin. "It was just a wardrobe malfunction. It happens." Her voice is steady, but the tremble in her hand as she adjusts her costume gives away her nerves. She quickly gathers her composure, drawing on the iron will that's brought her to the top of the K-Pop world. "We'll just have to make sure it doesn't happen again," she adds with a determined glint in her eye.

The concert ends with a thunderous applause, and as the final notes of the last song die out, Isa is ushered backstage, her heart racing not just from the exhilaration of the performance but also from the fear of what's to come. She quickly locks herself in the waiting room, the sound of the cheering fans a muffled roar behind the thick door. Pulling out her phone, her hands shaking with a mix of excitement and mortification, she opens up various social media apps, her fingers flying across the screen as she searches for any sign of the wardrobe malfunction. It doesn't take long for her to find it a video of her exposed breast has already amassed millions of views and countless comments, both supportive and malicious.

Her heart sinks as she reads through the comments. While there are fans praising her professionalism and others sharing their own stories of similar mishaps, there's also a sea of cruel words, body-shaming, and accusations of it being a publicity stunt. The weight of the negative attention is crushing, a stark reminder of the darker side of the industry she's worked so hard to conquer. She tries to push the negativity aside, focusing instead on the love and support from her devoted fanbase. Yet, the fear of losing everything she's worked for gnaws at her like a ravenous beast.

As she was scrolling at the comments, an advertisement popped up in her phone, Isa's hand trembles with anticipation as she opens the screen fills with a smorgasbord of explicit thumbnails, each one more graphic and enticing than the last. She bites her bottom lip, her pulse racing as she selects a video that promises the depraved thrills.

With the door locked tight and the cacophony of the concert now a distant memory, her hand shakes as she sets it aside, her eyes glazed with a mix of excitement and trepidation. She's never truly allowed herself to explore this side of her sexuality, but something about the raw, unbridled passion within its pages has her craving release. Her hand slides down her torso, her fingertips grazing the smooth skin of her stomach before delving beneath her skirt. The fabric of her thong is damp with anticipation, the fabric clinging to her plump pussy lips as she slides it aside. Her heart hammers in her chest as she touches herself, her virginity a mere technicality in the face of her burning need.

The video starts with a petite Asian girl, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement, surrounded by a group of well-endowed black men. They're all grinning like predators, and Isa can feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she watches. She watches, rapt, as the men in the video begin to touch and kiss the girl, her cries of pleasure growing louder with every passing second. The scene is a whirlwind of flesh and desire, a symphony of lust that resonates deep within Isa's core.

Her clit is swollen and sensitive, begging for attention. With a gasp, she rubs it furiously, her other hand squeezing her full breast, the nipple pebbled with arousal. She's seen the way the men in the videos looked at the bound women, the hunger in their eyes, and she craves that same intense focus. Her imagination runs wild, her hand moving faster as she imagines herself in the girl's place, her thick thighs spread wide and her plump ass jiggling with every rough thrust. The walls of the waiting room seem to close in around her, the pressure building with every stroke. The room is filled with the sweet sound of her moans, each one louder and more desperate than the last.

Her breathing quickens, her chest heaving as she watches the men take turns with the girl, her small frame seemingly incapable of containing the sheer size of their cocks. The sight of it all is almost too much, and yet she can't tear her eyes away. Her own hand is a blur between her legs now, her fingers working her clit with a fervor that borders on desperation. The tension builds, a crescendo of pleasure that threatens to shatter her very soul.

Isa's orgasm hits her like a meteor, her entire body convulsing with the force of it. Her pussy clenches around her fingers, her juices spraying out in a fountain that soaks her hand and the floor beneath her. The pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming, that for a brief moment, she forgets where she is, lost in a world of pure ecstasy. The image of the gangbang in the porn video blurs with her own reflection in the mirror, the line between fantasy and reality growing thinner by the second. Her eyes squeeze shut, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she rides the wave of her climax, her moans echoing through the empty waiting room.

When she finally opens her eyes, the aftermath of her solo performance is stark: her hand is sticky with her own fluids, her chest heaving, and her cheeks flushed. The video on her phone is still playing, but the sound has been muted by the roar of the blood in her ears. She pulls her hand away, her pussy quivering, and looks down at the mess she's made. There's a twinge of guilt, a whisper of doubt that flits through her mind, but it's quickly drowned out by the lingering aftershocks of pleasure.

The echoes of Isa's powerful orgasm still resonate through the air as she slowly comes to terms with the reality of what just happened. Her heart thunders in her chest, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sticky warmth of her cum is a stark reminder of the unbridled passion that had just consumed her, leaving her trembling and slightly embarrassed at the wet spot on the floor. The mirror reflects an image of a girl who's just crossed an unspoken line, her eyes glazed over with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity about the dark desires that now lay bare before her.

As she takes a deep breath and attempts to compose herself, the harshness of the fluorescent lights seems to cast a judgmental glare on her naked form. The glitz and glamour of the stage have been stripped away, revealing the vulnerable young woman beneath the K-Pop images. She quickly cleans up the evidence of her masturbation, feeling a strange mix of excitement and fear. What if someone finds out about her newfound kink? Would it ruin her image? Would it change how her fans see her?

The thought sends a shiver down her spine, but it's quickly replaced by a fiery determination. This is her private time, her own little secret, and she won't let it define her public persona. She tucks the magazine back into its hiding spot, her eyes lingering on the cover for a moment longer before she turns away. The concert is over, the fans are dispersing, and she's still a star. The malfunction was a blip on the radar, something to be handled with grace and professionalism.

CHAPTER 2 : THE THUGS AND THE KIDNAP

The night air is cool against Isa's flushed skin as she slips out of the venue, hoping to avoid the usual post-concert fanfare. She chooses a shortcut through a dimly lit alley, eager to be alone with her thoughts and the aftermath of her public exposure. But the shadows hold more than just her secrets. As she walks, the echo of her boots against the concrete is soon accompanied by the jeering laughter and heavy footsteps of a group of thugs. They've recognized her from the viral video, their leering smiles growing wider as they approach.

"Well, well, well," the leader says, his voice slithering through the alley like a serpent's hiss. "If it isn't the little show-off from the concert. Did you do that for us, sweetheart?" His eyes rake over her body, a blatant hunger that sends a chill down her spine. The other men close in, their intentions as clear as the moon in the sky above.

Isa's heart races as she tries to keep a brave face. "Excuse me, I'm in a hurry," she says, her voice wavering slightly. She tries to step around them, but they block her path, their bodies a wall of malicious intent.

"Oh, we'll make sure you're not late for your next appointment," the leader sneers, reaching out to grab her arm. His grip is like iron, his nails digging into her soft flesh. "We're your biggest fans, you know. We just want to show you some... appreciation." The men chuckle in unison, their eyes glinting with a predatory gleam.

Isa's mind races as she tries to pull away, her heart hammering against her ribcage. "Please, let me go," she pleads, her voice a whisper of the confident performer she was mere hours ago. But the thugs are relentless, closing in tighter, their hands grabbing at her exposed skin with a hunger that makes her stomach churn.

The leader leans in, his breath hot and sour against her neck. "You liked showing us your goods earlier, didn't you?" he growls, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Now it's our turn to play." His hand moves to her crop top, fumbling with the clasp as the others grab at her skirt.

Isa's body tenses as the thug's rough hand clamps down on her right nipple, his grip tight and painful. He gives it a twist, a sadistic smile playing across his lips as he watches her face contort in a mix of pain and humiliation. Her eyes water, and she tries to stifle a scream, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurts. The fabric of her crop top tears under their greedy hands, the remnants of her dignity shredded along with it. Her bare chest is exposed to the cool night air, her breasts jiggling slightly as the men lean in to get a closer look. The pain from her nipple is a sharp reminder of the danger she's in, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her veins.

One of the thugs, emboldened by his leader's actions, reaches out to cup her left breast, his palm greedily squeezing the soft flesh. "Guys, look at these tits," he says, licking his lips. "I bet you've had these out more often than you've had your panties on, huh?" His leer is almost comical in its depravity, but the fear gripping Isa's heart is anything but amusing. She tries to kick him away, but her legs are trapped in the tangle of her skirt, which is now around her ankles.

The thug's hand snakes down Isa's torso, his thick, calloused fingers digging into her soft flesh as they make their way to her thighs. He squeezes them with a groan of appreciation, the other men following his lead. They all seem to have the same idea, their grubby hands reaching out to grope and fondle her thick, muscular thighs and plump ass. Isa's breath hitches in her throat as she feels the unmistakable bulges in their pants pressing against her, their excitement palpable in the tense air of the alley.

"Let go of me, you animals!" she shouts, trying to struggle free, but their grip is too strong. They laugh, their breaths hot and heavy, as they continue to maul her. The leader's hand slides up her skirt, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric of her thong. "Looks like someone enjoyed their little show," he sneers, his fingers probing further, pushing the fabric aside to reveal her glistening pussy. "You're a wet little slut, aren't you?"

Isa's body is a flurry of panic as the thugs overpower her, their rough hands tearing at her clothing and pinning her down. They're like a pack of hyenas, each fighting for a piece of their prey. Her legs kick and thrash, but it's no use; she's outnumbered and outmatched. One of the men pulls out a roll of duct tape, ripping off a piece with a grin that could only be described as sadistic. He slaps it over her mouth, silencing her protests and muffling her screams into desperate whimpers. The taste of the tape is bitter and metallic, and the smell fills her nostrils as she struggles to breathe.

Within minutes, they've managed to tie her wrists behind her back and her ankles together, hoisting her into the back of a waiting van. The doors slam shut, plunging her into darkness. The van lurches forward, and Isa's stomach drops as she's thrown around on the cold, hard floor. She can't help but wonder if this is the end, if she'll ever make it out of here to see her bandmates again. The thought of her friends, her music, her fans, it all fuels a burning anger within her, giving her the strength to keep fighting, even if it's just in her own mind.

The van ride seems to last an eternity, but it eventually comes to a jarring stop. The doors open, and Isa is dragged out by her arms, her feet barely touching the ground as the thugs pull her along. They've brought her to an abandoned house, the smell of decay and dampness fills her nostrils as she's tossed into a musty, dimly lit room. The duct tape is ripped from her mouth, and she gasps for air, the sting of pain from her bruised skin making her eyes water.

The leader of the thugs grabs a fistful of Isa's hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck. "On your knees," he commands, his voice a low growl. Isa's legs wobble, but she complies, her heart pounding in her chest. He shoves her down onto a filthy rag that covers the floor, the grime and dust of ages sticking to her skin as she lands with a whimper. The fabric is rough against her knees, the sensation only adding to her growing sense of dread and disgust.

The thugs are like hungry beasts before a feast as they strip Isa of her remaining clothing. They tear away her crop top and skirt, leaving her in nothing but her drenched thong. The fabric clings to her body, revealing the full extent of her plump, glistening ass and her thick, toned thighs. The leader rips the thong away, tossing it aside with a grunt. Isa's nakedness is laid bare, her curves and the dark patch of hair between her legs on full display for their depraved eyes. She tries to cover herself, but her bound wrists are useless, and she's pushed back down onto the rag. The coldness of the floor seeps into her, a stark contrast to the heat of the lust in the room.

"Look at her, begging for it," one of the men leers, his eyes glazed over with desire.

The leader of the thugs unzips his pants with a dramatic flourish, revealing a cock that's both terrifying and awe-inspiring in its size. It's thick and long, the veins pulsing with anticipation as it stands proudly against his muscular thigh. The other men follow suit, their cocks of varying sizes but all equally hungry for her. The room is filled with the sound of zippers and the rustle of fabric as they expose themselves, their erections bobbing in the dim light. Isa's eyes widen in horror, unable to look away from the display of male aggression and lust.

The thug's cock slams into Isa with a brutal force that steals the breath from her lungs. She screams into the gag, her eyes watering as she tries to comprehend the pain and violation. Her tight, untouched pussy stretches to accommodate his massive girth, the sensation a blend of agony and unwelcome pleasure that sends shockwaves through her body. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he fucks her without mercy, his hips slamming into her thick ass, leaving bruises that will surely last for days. The other thugs form a ring around them, jerking themselves off to the sight of the K-Pop star's degradation, their eyes glinting with malice as they wait for their turn.

As the second thug positions himself beneath her, his cock pressing against her unprepared anus, Isa's eyes widen with terror. She's never even considered such an act before, and the thought of it fills her with a visceral fear that's only heightened by the brutality of the rape she's already enduring. He doesn't bother with lubrication or gentleness, simply pushing his way into her with the same violent enthusiasm as his comrades. Isa's screams are muffled by the gag as she's stretched to the limits, her body a battleground for their twisted desires.

The sensation of being double-penetrated is unlike anything Isa has ever experienced. The pain is unbearable, a fiery invasion that seems to rip her apart from the inside out. She tries to squirm away, but the weight of the man beneath her keeps her in place, his hands gripping her hips as he thrusts up into her. The thug behind her shows no mercy, his thick cock pummeling her pussy without pause. Her body is a symphony of pain, each movement sending a new wave of agony crashing through her.

Isa's cries for help echo through the abandoned house, her body contorting in pain as she's mercilessly used by the two thugs. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her cheeks are stained with tears as she rides the edge of the agony they inflict upon her. Her thick, curvy body is a canvas of their brutality, each thrust into her ass and pussy a testament to their depraved hunger. The sound of her cries mingles with the sickening wet slaps of their bodies coming together, the squelching of her ravaged holes as they're stretched beyond their limits.

"Look at her, taking it like a champ," the man beneath her says, his voice thick with lust. He grabs her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fucks her harder, the head of his cock popping out of her asshole with every thrust before plunging back in. The other man, the one who had been watching, decides he can't wait any longer. He moves closer, stroking his cock in time with the rhythm of his friends' rape, his eyes never leaving Isa's tear-stained face.

The pain and degradation become too much for Isa, and her body finally gives out. Her vision swims, and she faints, her head lolling back as the thugs continue to pound into her, their grunts and the squelching of her ravaged holes the last things she hears before everything goes dark. Her muscles relax, no longer resisting the intrusion, and for a brief moment, she finds a small reprieve in unconsciousness.

But the thugs are not content to let her escape so easily. The leader notices her stillness and gives her a vicious slap across the face, bringing her back to the world of pain with a gasp. "Wake up, slut," he snarls, twisting her nipple to the point where she can feel it might snap off. "You're still far from done."

Isa's eyes fly open, the pain in her nipple a white-hot beacon of agony that cuts through the fog of her fading consciousness. The thug holding her by the hair yanks her upright, and she's forced to look at the man beneath her, his cock still buried in her ass, his face twisted in a grotesque mask of pleasure. "You like it rough, don't you?" he asks, his voice a sneer. "You're going to love what we have planned for you next."

The thug beneath Isa doesn't miss a beat, his hips continuing to piston upwards, his cock tearing into her ass without mercy. He's a man possessed, driven by his own twisted desires and the thrill of defiling a celebrity. The thug in front of her, his cock still buried deep in her pussy, starts to fuck her even harder, his movements punctuated by the cruel twists of her nipple. The pain is unbearable, but the fear of what they'll do if she doesn't stay conscious keeps her eyes open, her body tense.

"You're going to make a great little porn star," the leader says, holding up his phone to capture the scene. "Just think, your fans will get to see the real you." His words are like acid, burning into her soul as the thugs continue to ravage her body. Isa feels a strange mix of anger and humiliation, her mind racing as she tries to find a way out of this nightmare. But for now, she's trapped, a plaything for their sick games.

The third man steps closer, his cock bobbing with excitement. "My turn," he says, his voice guttural. He grabs her hair, yanking her head back so he can whisper in her ear. "You're going to suck me off, and you're going to love it." The taste of the duct tape is still in her mouth as he forces his cock between her lips, her gag muffling her gagging noises. He's not gentle, pushing his way into her throat until she chokes, her eyes watering and nose running with snot. The men laugh, the sound a symphony of cruelty that rings in her ears as she's used in ways she never imagined.

The camera's red light glares at her, a silent witness to her degradation. The thug filming zooms in on her face, capturing the tears streaming down her cheeks, the snot bubbling at her nose, the pain in her eyes. He moves it down to her gaping pussy and asshole, the juices of her rape mixing with the grime of the floor. "You're going to be famous, baby," he says, his voice a sadistic purr. "Everyone's going to see you like this." The thought of her fans watching this, of her family discovering her darkest secret, fills her with a despair so deep she thinks she might drown in it.

But Isa isn't one to go down without a fight. With a surge of strength she didn't know she had, she bucks her hips, trying to dislodge the cocks inside her. The men laugh, tightening their grips, but she doesn't stop. Her body is a whirlwind of pain and fear, but she refuses to let them have complete control over her. The thug filming moves closer, his cock pressing against her cheek. "Suck it," he says, his voice a demand. "You know you want too."

The thugs continue to abuse Isa's unconscious body, her muscles now limp and unresponsive. They take turns fucking her, their cocks sliding in and out of her gaping holes with ease. Her pussy and asshole are stretched to the maximum, the flesh around them raw and torn from their abuse. They laugh and jeer as they use her, their sadistic pleasure clear in every grunt and slap against her flesh. The one filming keeps a close watch, making sure to capture every moment of her degradation.

"Look at her, she's like a fucking ragdoll," one of the men says, pulling out of her pussy and smacking her cheek with his wet cock. "I bet she's never thought she will be fucked like this before." he added.

The thugs, sated by their depraved act, stand up, their cocks still dripping with Isa's blood and cum. They laugh among themselves, basking in the power they've exerted over her. The leader grabs a roll of rope from the corner of the room and approaches her limp form. They hoist her up, her body hanging lifelessly as they tie her wrists tightly to a metal bar that's bolted to the wall. The cold metal bites into her skin, leaving red welts that stand out starkly against her pale flesh. They bind her ankles as well, spreading her legs wide, her gaping holes still on display.

"Leave her like this," the leader says with a malicious smile. "It'll be a surprise when she wakes up."

The men chuckle as they pull on their clothes, their eyes lingering on Isa's bruised and bloodied body. They grab a few bottles of water from a dusty shelf, tossing them at her feet. "You're going to need these," one of them says, his voice filled with mock concern.

Isa slowly comes to, her head lolling to the side as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. The pain between her legs is a constant, pulsing throb, a stark reminder of the horror she's endured. She looks down at her bound wrists, the metal digging into her skin, and feels a wave of despair wash over her. She tries to scream, but her voice is gone, lost to the screams of the night before. All that comes out is a hoarse whisper that's barely audible even to her own ears.

Her eyes fall on the bottles of water, a cruel taunt in the face of her suffering. With trembling hands, she manages to untie the knots around her ankles, the rope scraping against her raw, bruised skin. Wincing, she uses the bar to pull herself up into a standing position, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Every movement sends a fresh wave of agony through her body, but she refuses to succumb to it. Determined to survive, she hobbles over to the water, her legs shaking with effort.

The liquid is lukewarm and stale, but it's a gift from the gods as it hits her parched throat. She gulps down half the bottle, feeling a semblance of life return to her. Her eyes scan the room, searching for anything she can use to free herself. The metal bar digs into her wrists as she tries to pull herself together, the pain a stark reminder of her new reality. In the corner, she spots a rusty knife, discarded amidst the detritus of the abandoned house.

CHAPTER 3 : ANYTHING TO RELIEVE MY PAIN

The leader of the thugs saunters back into the room, a sadistic smile playing across his face as he watches Isa's futile attempts to free herself. He's followed by two of his laughing comrades, their eyes raking over her bruised and bloodied form with predatory interest. Isa tries to shrink away from them, but her bound body refuses to cooperate. The leader pulls a syringe filled with a murky liquid from his pocket and strides over to her, his cock already thickening at the sight of her fear.

"You're going to love this, sweetheart," he says, his voice a sinister purr as he approaches her. "It's going to make you feel so good, you'll be begging us to come back." He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You're going to be our little addict, aren't you?"

Isa's eyes widen with terror as she watches him prepare the syringe, her heart hammering in her chest. She tries to pull away, but the metal bar is unforgiving, holding her firmly in place. The needle pierces her skin, the cold liquid invading her body, and she feels a rush of warmth followed by a nauseating wave of dizziness. Her legs give out, and she slumps to the floor, the thug holding her up with a grip on her hair. The drug takes effect quickly, a euphoric haze clouding her mind, muting the pain and fear.

"Look at her, she's already a junkie," one of the other thugs says, laughing. "This is going to be so much fun."

The leader chuckles, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "You're going to be our little slut for as long as we want you," he whispers in her ear. The drug is already starting to make Isa feel woozy, her thoughts a tangled mess of fear and confusion. She tries to fight it, to cling to the last vestiges of her dignity, but the haze is too strong.

As Isa's eyes roll back in her head and she succumbs to the drug-induced faint, the thugs chuckle to themselves, their sadistic games successful. They leave her there, sprawled on the cold floor, her body a canvas of bruises and abuse. The abandoned house is silent once more, the only sound the distant echoes of their laughter. Days pass, and the drug takes a firmer hold on Isa's system, turning her into a desperate, addicted wreck. The withdrawal is a monster that gnaws at her bones, making her crave the very thing that has brought her to this state of despair. Her mind is foggy, and the pain between her legs is a constant, pulsing reminder of their brutality.

Isa, desperate and overwhelmed by the relentless craving for the drug, finds herself succumbing to the thugs' twisted demand. With the camera's red light blinking in the corner, she hesitates for a moment before sliding her trembling hand down her bruised body. She's lost count of the times she's been violated, the rapes and abuse leaving her feeling both physically and mentally shattered. Her fingers tentatively trace her swollen pussy lips, the sensation sending a jolt through her despite the pain. The drug has turned her into a sexual creature, her body now a tool for their perverse entertainment.

The thugs circle around her, their cocks hardening at the sight of her submission. They jeer and leer, urging her on with crude comments and lewd gestures. One of them grabs her chin, forcing her to look into the camera. "Smile for the camera, slut," he sneers, his breath hot and rancid against her cheek. Isa's eyes are vacant, glazed over with the need for the drug that will dull the agony of withdrawal. She whimpers, her hand moving faster, her thumb brushing against her clit, trying to coax out the release she so desperately craves.

The leader steps closer, his hand stroking his own cock as he watches Isa's pitiful performance. "That's a good girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Now, spread those legs wider for us." The pain in her thighs and ass is unbearable, but she complies, her body now a tool for their depraved amusement. The camera zooms in on her, capturing the raw desperation in her eyes, the tears that roll down her cheeks. The men cheer, their excitement palpable as they watch her degrade herself for a fleeting moment of relief.

Isa's hand moves faster, her fingers slipping in and out of her wet pussy, the sound of her masturbation echoing through the room. The drug has heightened her sensitivity, and even the slightest touch feels like a bolt of lightning. Her body responds despite her mind's protests, her hips bucking involuntarily as she tries to get herself off. The thug holding the camera leans in closer, his breath hot on her neck. "You're going to be the best little slut we've ever had," he whispers, his hand reaching out to tweak her nipple, sending a fresh wave of pain through her.

The leader watches with a cruel smile, stroking his own cock as he decides how far to push her. "Keep going," he says, his voice a command. "I want to see you cum for us." The other two thugs sit back, watching the show with eager eyes. They've grown bored of the usual rape and pain, the novelty of her masturbation a new form of entertainment. They make lewd comments, egging her on as she fucks herself for them.

With trembling hands, Isa takes the massive dildos from the leader's outstretched hand. They're much larger than anything she's ever seen before, let alone had inside her. Her eyes fill with fear and revulsion, but the desperate craving for the drug overpowers her. She knows what will happen if she refuses, the memory of the withdrawal agony fresh in her mind. With a deep, shuddering breath, she slowly inserts one of the dildos into her already abused pussy, the thickness stretching her beyond what she thought possible. She bites back a scream, her teeth sinking into her lower lip until she tastes blood. The other dildo is cold and unwieldy in her hand, but she knows what's expected. She reluctantly brings it closer to her asshole, the memory of their violent rape making her shiver.

The thugs leer at her, their cocks fully erect and bobbing with anticipation. The leader's hand is still wrapped around his shaft, stroking it with a leisurely pace. "Go on," he urges, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You know what to do."

With a whimper, Isa braces herself and pushes the second dildo into her asshole, the thick head popping in with a wet sound. She can feel the cold plastic filling her up, the sensation both terrifying and oddly comforting in the face of the pain she's come to expect. She starts to rock back and forth, the dildos moving in tandem, filling her completely. The thugs cheer, their eyes glued to her stretched, gaping holes. The pain is intense, but she's learned to separate her mind from her body, focusing instead on the task at hand.

The leader steps closer, his cock now fully erect and pointing at her like an accusatory finger. "You like that, don't you?" he sneers, his hand reaching out to tweak her clit. The sudden contact sends a jolt of pain through her, and she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut. "Look at us," he commands, his grip on her chin brutal. "Look at us while you fuck yourself."

Isa's eyes fly open, and she looks into the camera, the dildos moving in and out of her in a macabre dance. The pain is unbearable, but she knows she has to keep going. She starts to rub her clit with frenzied strokes, her eyes never leaving the camera. The thugs cheer her on, their excitement feeding the darkness inside her. Her orgasm is a strange, twisted thing, born from pain and fear. Her body convulses around the dildos, her muscles clenching and releasing in a desperate bid for relief. She cums hard, the sensation a blend of agony and pleasure that makes her scream, her voice raw from days of abuse.

"Good girl," the leader says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He steps closer, his cock now fully engorged. "Now, you're going to take us all again." The other thugs chuckle, eager for their turn. They unbind her from the chair, her limbs trembling from the effort of holding herself up for so long. The withdrawal pains are starting to creep back in, a persistent reminder of her dependence on them. They push her onto her hands and knees, her plump ass in the air, the dildos still lodged inside her. The leader steps up behind her, his cock nudging against her bruised asshole. She feels a fresh wave of terror, knowing what's coming next.

"Please," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Please, no more. It's hurt so much."

CHAPTER 4 : THE TWO FACED CEO's

The leader's cock slams into Isa's ass, the thick dildo still lodged in her pussy. She feels like she's being split in two, the pain so intense she can't help but cry out. The thugs laugh and jeer, their excitement building as they watch the K-Pop star degrade herself for their amusement. The camera captures every moment of her anguish, the video feed streaming to the eager eyes of the old VVIPs on the dark web.

"Look at her, she's loving it," one of the thugs says, slapping her ass as the leader pumps into her. The CEOs of the K-Pop companies watch, their own hands working their cocks as they revel in her degradation. The thought of them watching, getting off to her pain, adds a new layer of horror to the situation.

Isa's body shakes with each brutal thrust, the dildo in her pussy slamming against her cervix with every thrust. The pain is unbearable, but she's learned to find a twisted sense of control in the chaos. If she can just endure this, if she can just make it through another round, then maybe, just maybe, she can find a way out of this hell. But the drug's grip is strong, and with each passing day, she feels herself slipping further and further away from reality.

"She's going to be a star," one of the thugs says, slapping her ass again. "The old fucks are going to pay a fortune for a piece of her."

Isa bites her lip to stifle her scream, but she opens them again, focusing on the camera as if it's a lifeline. The other two thugs move in, one holding her head still, forcing her to watch as they take turns with her.

The thugs, their excitement reaching a crescendo, pull Isa's limp body away from the metal chair. Her legs give out, unable to support her after the hours of abuse, but they catch her, their grips bruising her skin even more. They strip the dildos from her ravaged holes, tossing them aside with a wet slap. The leader steps back, zipping up his pants with a smirk. "Let's get you ready for your next performance," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The thugs, having struck a deal with the VVIPs on the dark web, begin to prepare Isa for her next ordeal. They strip her of any remaining dignity, cleaning her up as best as they can without showing any semblance of care for her wellbeing. Her body is a canvas of bruises and abrasions, a stark testament to the horrors she's endured. They tie her up in a new, more elaborate position, her thick thighs and curvy ass displayed prominently for the perverted gazes of their wealthy patrons. The anticipation of what's to come fills her with dread, but she's too broken to fight anymore.

"You're going to make us so much money, little slut," one of the thugs says, running his hands over her body, his fingers lingering on the swollen mounds of her breasts. "These old fucks are going to line up for a taste of you."

Isa's heart races with fear as she's hoisted back onto the chair, the ropes biting into her skin as they secure her in place. The knowledge that she's being sold to these high-profile perverts is almost too much to bear. She tries to keep her breathing steady, but her chest heaves with the effort of not breaking down completely.

Isa numbly stares at the array of skimpy, revealing clothes laid out before her. The thugs had brought in a selection of outfits that would make any self-respecting woman cringe - garments that screamed "slut" and "whore" with every thread. Her mind races with the thought of what fresh hell awaits her, but she knows that resisting is futile. With trembling hands, she picks out the least offensive of the bunch, a tiny bikini top made of nothing but a few strategically placed strips of shiny fabric and a pair of booty shorts that barely cover her ass cheeks.

The thugs watch with hungry eyes as she peels off the tattered remnants of her original outfit, her body on full display. They make lewd comments and whistle, their excitement palpable. One of them hands her a roll of duct tape. "Here, use this to keep those nipples hidden," he sneers, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Isa's cheeks burn with humiliation as she takes the tape, her eyes downcast. She carefully tapes her nipples, trying to maintain a semblance of modesty despite the futility of the gesture.

The thugs exchange glances, their grins widening as they watch her struggle to put on the flimsy bikini top. The fabric clings to her bruised and swollen breasts, the tape barely containing them. Her stomach churns at the thought of what the CEOs will do to her, but she forces herself to stand, the shorts barely hugging her thick thighs. They laugh as she wobbles, her legs still weak from the days of abuse. The leader steps forward, his gaze raking over her. "You clean up nicely," he says, his voice a sneer. "Now, let's get you ready for your clients."

Isa, dressed in the skimpy stripper-like attire, is led out of the abandoned house, the thugs' hands rough on her arms as they guide her through the dark streets. The cold air hits her bare skin, sending goosebumps rushing over her body, a stark contrast to the warm, stifling air inside. They throw her into the back of a van, the metal floor cold and unforgiving against her bruised knees. The vehicle lurches forward, the bumps in the road jostling her in her seat, the dull ache between her legs a constant reminder of her situation.

The drive seems to last an eternity, the only sounds the grumbling of the engine and the occasional lewd comment from the thugs up front. The van eventually stops, and Isa is pulled out into the dimly lit parking lot of what looks like an exclusive club. The thugs lead her through a back entrance, the heavy door slamming shut behind them, sealing her fate. The music thumps through the walls, the bass vibrating in her chest as they ascend a staircase to a private room. The anticipation of what's to come is suffocating, her heart racing in her chest.

The door to the room opens, revealing a dimly lit space filled with the thick scent of cigar smoke and the low murmur of male voices. The CEOs are seated around a large, circular table, their eyes lighting up at the sight of Isa. They're all dressed in expensive suits, their faces a mix of excitement and greed. The leader of the thugs shoves her into the center of the room, where she stands awkwardly, her legs trembling. "Gentlemen," he says, with a flourish of his hand. "Your entertainment for the evening is finally here."

Isa, trembling with fear and humiliation, steps into the center of the dimly lit, smoke-filled room. The old men's eyes are glued to her, their gazes greedy and predatory. She knows she has to go through with the dance, hoping it'll buy her time or at least some form of mercy. She takes a deep, shaky breath and starts to sway her hips, trying to remember the choreographed routines she's done countless times on stage. The music begins, a slow, sensual beat that seems to mock the horror of her situation. She moves her body in time with the rhythm, her bruises and sores screaming with each twirl and gyration.

The CEOs lean back in their chairs, smoking cigars and sipping on expensive whiskey, their eyes never leaving her. They murmur to each other, placing bets on how long she'll last before breaking down. Isa tries to ignore them, focusing instead on the task at hand. The shorts ride up, exposing more of her thick thighs and the upper swells of her plump ass, making the men's eyes bulge with lust. She reaches behind her, her hand slipping into her shorts to caress her ass cheek, eliciting a chorus of lewd cheers. Her movements are forced, the dance a twisted parody of the ones she's performed for her fans, but she's determined to maintain some semblance of control.

One of the CEOs, Mr. Kim saunters over to the stereo and cranks up the volume, the bass thumping louder, the beat faster. "Alright, slut, don't waste our time anymore" he says, his voice thick with excitement. "Now, you're going to strip for us, nice and slow." The room goes quiet, the CEOs leaning in, their anticipation palpable. Isa feels their eyes on her, the weight of their lust and greed a heavy burden. With trembling hands, she reaches behind her neck, her fingers fumbling with the strings of the bikini top. It's a struggle, her coordination impaired by fear and pain, but she finally manages to untie it. The top falls away, revealing her bruised and taped-covered breasts, the fabric clinging to her skin.

The CEOs let out a collective groan, their eyes glued to her chest. Isa can see their cocks straining against their pants, their faces flushing with desire. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling legs, and continues to dance. Her movements become more erratic as she fumbles with the strings of her shorts, the pressure building with each passing second. Finally, the shorts fall to the floor, pooling around her ankles, leaving only a g-string covering her pussy.

The thugs cheer, egging her on, while the CEOs lean back in their chairs, stroking their cocks through their pants. "Keep going," said Mr Han, his voice thick with lust. "Show us what you've got, what you hide underneath your idol stage outfits."

Isa's hands shake as she reaches for the strings of her g-string. The room seems to spin around her, the strobe lights flashing in time with her racing heartbeat. She pulls the string, the fabric slipping down her hips, revealing her plump, abused pussy to their eager gazes. The CEOs lean in closer, their breathing labored, their hunger for her degradation insatiable. She's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But she knows that she has to endure this. For the drug. For the hope of escape.

As Isa continues her erotic dance, her thick thighs jiggle with every move she makes. The CEOs' eyes are glued to her, their lust-filled gazes burning into her very soul. The room's temperature seems to rise, the heat of their desire melding with the smoke from their cigars. She starts to twerks, her plump ass bouncing to the beat of the music, the cheers and catcalls from the men spurring her on despite her fear. The leader of the thugs circles her, filming every move with a grin on his face, knowing the kind of money this footage will bring in. The sound of their zippers echoes through the room as the CEOs free their cocks, stroking themselves in time with her dance.

Mr. Han, a particularly portly man with a greasy combover, stands up and waddles closer to her. He grabs her by the hips, forcing her to grind against him. Isa tries to pull away, but he's too strong, his grip bruising her tender flesh. He whispers lewd things into her ear, his hot breath reeking of alcohol and cigars. Isa feels his cock, thick and hard, pressing against her stomach, and she can't help but gag. But she keeps dancing, her body moving on autopilot, her mind desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare.

Mr. Han's patience snaps, his lust overtaking his sense of decorum. He stands with a grunt, his grip on Isa's hips tightening. With a grin that's more a snarl, he hoists her into the air, the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort. Isa squeals in fear and surprise, her legs kicking wildly as she's held aloft. The room goes quiet, the other CEOs watching with rapt attention, their cocks in their hands, stroking in time with the music.

He slams Isa onto the table, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Her bruised body bounces slightly with the force, her taped-covered breasts jiggling from the impact. The table creaks under her weight, the surface sticky with the residue of previous debauchery. The thugs laugh, watching as she tries to push herself up, only for Mr. Han to slap her down, his hand leaving a red mark on her cheek. Her thick thighs spread wide, her pussy glistening with a mix of her own arousal and their previous abuse.

"Hold her down," he barks, his eyes wild with lust. The thugs move in, each grabbing an arm and a leg, spreading her out like a ragdoll for the CEOs' amusement. Mr. Han with the combover licks his lips, his hands fumbling with his belt buckle. "You're going to take us all, by turns" he says, his voice a low growl. "You're going to scream for us, and we're going to fuck you until you can't walk."

Isa's heart races as the Mr. Han unzips his pants, revealing a cock that's both terrifying and repulsive in its size. She tries to struggle, to fight, but the thugs' grip is too strong. The other CEOs crowd around the table, their eyes gleaming with excitement. One of them, a man with a cruel smile and a glint in his eye, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a marker pen. He starts to write on her body, his hand moving with a disturbing level of precision, leaving behind crude words that sting almost as much as the physical abuse. "Thigh Slut," he scrawls on her thigh, his breath hot against her skin. "Cheap Whore," on her stomach and "Bitch Korean Idol," on her ass cheeks. The others laugh, their hands reaching out to touch and grope her.

Mr. Han with the combover steps closer, his erection bobbing in the air. He grabs her face, turning it toward him, forcing her to look into his eyes. "You're going to scream for me," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and malice. "You're going to beg for it." He lines up his cock with her pussy, the head nudging against her swollen entrance. Isa's eyes widen with horror as she feels him push inside, the pain making her back arch off the table. She lets out a guttural scream, the sound echoing through the room.

Mr. Han grunts with satisfaction, his cock disappearing into her wetness. He starts to pound into her, his belly slapping against her bruised flesh. The thugs hold her down, their grips tightening as she bucks and struggles beneath them. The other CEOs lean in, their faces a mix of fascination and depravity as they watch the scene unfold. Mr. Kim then reaches down and slaps her ass, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. "Take it, you little slut," he says, his voice gleeful. Isa's eyes fill with tears as she's used like a ragdoll, her body a plaything for their twisted desires.

"My turn," another CEO says, his voice a wheeze as he steps forward. The thug holding her leg releases it, and the old man takes his place, his cock already out and dripping with precum. He lines up behind her, his breath hot and sour in her ear. "You're going to take us all," he whispers, his hand reaching around to fondle her breasts. Isa tries to scream, but it's muffled by the gag that's been shoved into her mouth, the fabric biting into her tender flesh. She feels him push into her ass, the pain so intense she thinks she'll pass out. But she doesn't. She's too aware of what's happening, too present in the horror of her reality.

Mr. Han with the combover doesn't bother to hold back, his thrusts violent and erratic. He's not trying to pleasure her, just to satisfy his own twisted desires. Isa feels her insides stretch to the breaking point, the pain unlike anything she's ever felt. Mr. Han laughs, his hands squeezing her tits, his nails digging into her skin. The room spins around her, the faces of the old men a blur of lust and cruelty. They take turns, each one more brutal than the last, her cries muffled by the gag, her body a canvas for their depravity. They write on her, take photos, and even film their sick acts, sharing them with each other like trophies.

Isa feels herself slipping away, the pain and humiliation too much to bear. Her eyes glaze over, and she goes limp, the only indication of her consciousness the occasional whimper that escapes her gag. The CEOs don't seem to notice or care, passing her around the table like a toy to be used and discarded. The leader of the thugs, his eyes gleaming with greed, records everything, knowing the more degrading the content, the higher the price it'll fetch. Her mind drifts to the music she used to dance to, the lights, the fans' adoration. It feels like a lifetime ago, a world she'll never see again.

The CEOs take turns, their age not dampening their voracious appetites. Each one leaves his mark on her body, a grim testament to their power and control. The pain is constant, a never-ending crescendo that threatens to consume her. Her body is a battleground, her soul screaming for mercy. The room is a blur of movement and noise, the thud of flesh on flesh, the grunts of the CEOs, and the muffled sounds of her own pain. She feels a strange mix of anger and resignation, knowing that she's nothing but a commodity to them.

As the last of the CEOs pulls out, his cock slick with Isa's blood and tears, he grabs her by the hair and yanks her head back, forcing her to look at the group. "One last thing," he says with a sadistic smile. His cock still semi-hard, and starts to urinate on her. The warm stream of piss hits her face, mixing with her salty tears and running down her cheeks. She tries to turn away, but his grip is too strong. The other CEOs laugh, some of them standing up to get a better view, their own cocks still hard from the spectacle.

The CEOs, sated from their vile act, stand around the table, their cocks still out and glistening. They look at each other with a mix of disbelief and excitement, the reality of their depravity setting in. Mr.Kim nods, a grin spreading across his face. "Alright, let's not waste any more time," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and greed. "Line up." The other CEOs eagerly queue up, their urine flowing freely as they wait for their turn to add to Isa's degradation. The first CEO's stream of piss cascades down her face, mixing with her mascara and eyeliner, creating dark rivers that run down her neck and pool in the hollows of her collarbones.

Isa's body feels heavy and numb, the pain from their abuse and the humiliation of their bodily fluids on her a new level of hell. Each man takes his turn, their urine spattering her body, soaking her hair, and pooling around her on the table. The cold liquid runs down her back and into the cracks of her ass, making her shiver. Mr. Park, the CEO with the marker steps forward, his cock still semi-hard, and with a sadistic smirk, he writes another word across her forehead, "Public Property." The thugs laugh, their grip on her arms and legs never loosening.

As Isa feels the last drops of their urine hit her skin, she can't hold back the flood of emotions anymore. She starts to cry uncontrollably, her body shaking with sobs. The CEOs laugh and jeer, their amusement only growing at the sight of their property sobbing like a pathetic animal. The thugs, bored with the show, release her limbs, allowing her to collapse onto the table, her body sticky with their piss and sweat.

The leader of the thugs steps forward, his grin fading to a look of business-like indifference. "Alright, that's enough fun for now," he says, snapping his fingers. "Clean her up. We've got more...clients." The thugs begin to drag her off the table, her limbs limp and useless. One of them grabs a bucket and a sponge, tossing it in her direction. "Get to work, slut," he sneers. "You've got another show to put on."

THE END

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ conflict ] | sylus

— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, obligatory club scene, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, jealousy, sisterly love, self-loathing, suggestive, stream of conciousness, not proofread, mdni — notes: thank you for reading! [ part 1 | part 3 ] — now playing: bad girls like you - tobii

—of course, by unwinding, you assumed Ms. Hunter meant the celebratory clink of whiskey glasses together, with something murky and vicious sloshing around inside. Something to take the edge off, to dull your senses, and to assuage the ache in your muscles where the painkillers couldn’t.

A club was the last place you expected to be after blowing an arms dealer and his men halfway to hell. 

Then again, you’re not complaining, swathed in the subdued glow of red strobe lights and fog. You’re in your element, surrounded by sweat-slicked bodies and people just trying to feel. 

The club reminds you of Lux, minus the cheap upholstery and subpar drinks. You’re at least 1,000 miles from Linkon, settled on some floating oasis in the middle of glistening aqua waters. You’ve barely had time to enjoy yourself, your trio hitting the ground running as soon as Sylus’ jet touched earth. You’ll be leaving in the morning, swept back into the lonely, glacial abyss of the N109.

So you dance like tomorrow isn’t promised. Like you’re performing onstage, garnering the lust and envy of those around you. You always do, the art of seduction practically ingrained in your DNA after using it to your advantage for so long. Years of luring men to their demise inhabit every sway of your hips, every roll of your body, every sultry curl of your lips.

Besides, being here is also a nice little distraction from the cacophony of your mind, replaced by good music thudding beneath your feet, and your cheeks aching with a tipsy smile. You grab the hunter’s hips. Bring her closer until your chests collide, and she’s wide-eyed with parted lips, unsure of what to do with her hands. 

“Relax,” you soothe, your voice slurry as you encourage her to sway. To loosen up. She’s stiff at first but catches your drift, letting you control her with a wonky grin as her wrists cross behind your neck. That’s more like it. 

You fed her a few drinks to ease her nerves—it was her idea to come here. And after the three of you cleaned up and rested at the hotel, she suggested it over dinner. You and Sylus traded looks, your faces bearing different degrees of amusement. Ms. Hunter babe isn’t much of a social butterfly, but the pair of you relented, figuring you could use the diversion.

You’re playing up her allure. Whispering praise against her bangs, encouraging her to release her inner sexy. 

He’s been watching her from the VIP section since you dragged her to the dance floor. Scarlet eyes peeling through the smog, tuned to her every move. You wish it were you he eyed like that, but you shove those green-eyed thoughts onto the backburner, dancing, grinding, laughing. Losing yourself to the music. You’re on a mission to get her boned tonight. Living vicariously through her, knowing that it’ll never be you he beds. At least one of you can end the night on a good note. 

The song slides into something sultry. Ms. Hunter slips out of your grip, a giggling mess, stumbling towards the red velour couch where Sylus sits. You watch her plop down beside him, the cocktails slackening her grace. You can’t make out what they’re saying when he angles closer to hand her a drink. But he’s wearing that customary tilt to his lips, sweeping some hair behind her ear, where he eases in to murmur something against the shell of it. Whatever he’s on about, it makes her laugh, and she playfully smacks the devastating stretch of skin peaking through the slit of his silky button-down. 

Your lips twitch, smile falters. Everything around you morphs into a Gaussian blur, the music muddled as what’s left of your senses home into the scene. You swallow against the swell of feelings burbling up when Sylus pulls her closer, a long arm slung around soft shoulders. They exchange a look before the hunter glances up, shaking you from your trance. She raises her glass to you in a quiet toast. As if to convey, I’m alright in case you were wondering. Of course, she is. Why wouldn’t she be when he handles her like glass, the fondness in his eyes as palpable as the bitterness scorching your throat?

Sylus’ gaze tracks to yours. You offer a quiet smirk with a tilted brow, tamping down your envy. Wearing that playful front once more, turning back towards the dance floor.

At least your plan is working, you muse, swallowed up by the crowd of writhing limbs and lust. She’s definitely going to get some tonight if the idle stir of his eyes whilst he painted a triangle between her lashes and lips is any gauge. You did your job. Well at that.

So why do you feel so shitty?

A virile arm snakes about your waist, siphoning your breath as it drags you against a hardened body. You tuck your inhibitions away as the stranger who grabbed you grins, dark hair sweeping over manicured brows. You let him guide you into a slow wind, grateful for the save.

And you’re utterly oblivious to red eyes scrutinizing the stranger’s hand as it splays against the space between your shoulder blades.

—

It’s quiet on the executive floor of the hotel. Then again, it’s a quarter to 2 AM, and you’re sure everyone occupying these rooms is sound asleep. So, you shush your hunter friend for the umpteenth time, stumbling beside her as she giggles drunkenly into your ear. 

You can’t help the crack of a smile, her arm slung about your shoulder as you guide her towards her room, and she throws her head back, singing something that makes her voice crack and you wince. 

“Quiet,” you chide, your intermingled voices bouncing off the walls. You must be quite the sight. Two barefoot beauties stumbling down the hall, trying to make sense of the world. 

The embossed letters of her room pan into view. She laughs as you cautiously frisk her for the keycard after propping her against the door. She’s a little worse for wear. You feel bad, having overdone it with the cocktails. Not your fault you could hold your liquor a little better than she could. So when Sylus left you to close out some “business,” as he so cryptically put it, it was up to you to ensure Ms. Hunter made it back to her room without a hair out of place. 

So much for her getting laid tonight. 

Finally, you procure the card. You swipe it, taking the hunter by the waist before she barrels in. Instinctively, her arms snake around your neck, and she stumbles into you, nearly knocking you off kilter. She’s all sloppy-grinned, the alcohol on her breath pushed into your nostrils. She blinks sluggishly at you, and you bite back a laugh. Never would you have imagined seeing Ms. Hunter, all prim and pretty and carefully constructed, looking like this. 

“You’re pretty, you know that?” she breathes, tapping your nose. You scoff, maneuvering yourself to herd her into her room. She carries on spewing nonsense as the pair of you toddle beneath the dim lighting of the room’s entryway. The king-sized bed slides into focus. You let her fall onto the mattress, steadying her before she can slide off. Her hair falls onto her face, a new onslaught of laughter dribbling from her lips.

You kneel to grab her ankles, almost losing your footing yourself. You might not be as trashed as she is, but you’re still a little loose-limbed. A little tipsy, teetering on that slurry edge, having tamped down your inebriation to play big sister. 

“You’re gorgeous,” she continues when you stand, positioning her legs on the bed as comfortably as you can. 

You tuck her beneath the heavy blanket, ignoring her nonsensical talk. Scoop dark tresses away from her face, beholding red-speckled cheeks and swollen lips. It’s no wonder Sylus fell for her. She’s a marvel, girl next door pretty. The heroine of a romcom, where you’re a sex symbol, molded to be used and envied rather than exalted. 

Ms. Hunter teeters in and out of sobriety, sleep beckoning to her with its ghostly croon. Before you depart, she speaks to you again, her voice abrasive with exhaustion.

“The prettiest girl around. No one could keep their eyes off you, not even Sylus. He was practically drooling. You see that?”

You stiffen, your hand closed around the glacial brass of the door handle. You cock your head towards your shoulder, something warm flushing over your skin. She talks a lot for someone under the influence. But it’s as if she’s read the inner turmoil coloring your mind, not like you do the best of jobs masking your feelings.

It wasn’t me he was drooling over, you want to say. It never would be. He’s too swept up in her. Their history, their past. You’re merely an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. Something disposable. Something pretty to further his agenda. Even if he was looking, it was probably to ensure you weren’t getting into trouble. 

He’d have a hell of a time finding someone on short notice to fill your shoes. His pretty little femme fatale. It just so happens you’re unconsciously grooming your replacement, treating her more like an ally than a rival.

You wait until her breaths even out. Until she’s sunken below the depths of unconsciousness before you slip out of her room, your chest heavy as if weighed down by an anvil and a bitter twist to your lips.

Before you can make your grand escape to your room to nurse your impending hangover, a familiar voice curls around the vowels of your name. Of course, he would have a room across from hers, and it is with bitter realization you look up at him from the floor, schooling your expression into one of indifference. 

Sylus leans against the doorframe, so very massive in comparison to it. You try to ignore what the playful cant to his lips does to you. How his pretty, scarlet-spun eyes dance when he studies you. Ignore how the tendons in his neck flex when he swallows, how his Adam’s apple bobs. The slither of tanned skin stretched over his pectorals calls to you. Your fingers twitch at your side with the need to touch. You stifle the feeling, barring your gaze from slinking lower. He’s devastating, and you don’t trust yourself not to make a move you’ll later regret right now.

“How is she?” he asks, the husky grit of his voice furling in your chest. Your heart sinks. Of course, he wouldn’t ask about you. You’re a big girl, more than capable of fending for yourself. To inquire about your status would be an insult according to him. You square your shoulders, sighing with that infuriatingly artificial smile to your lips.

“Hammered, but she’ll survive. She’s sleeping it off now.”

He snorts, shifting his weight between his feet. ���Of course. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to go out after the day we had.”

You nod, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your pulse thrumming in your ears. Your throat constricting. You toy with your fingers, taking this time to dismiss yourself before you spout out some nonsense.

“Gonna go get some sleep myself. See you in the morning, bossman.”

“Need some help getting back to your room?”

You peer at him from your shoulder, eyes slightly widened, mouth open, working around words that refuse to come. Something indiscernible lurks in his gaze. It’s as if he’s searching. Looking for something, though you’re sure you’re mistaken. 

“I’m alright,” you say with a sticky laugh, starting down the hall towards your room. All the while, your nerves scream through your inebriation, and you squint when you reach the door around the corner, inwardly admonishing yourself for turning him down. 

A delusional part of you believes there was more to his offer than what was presented at surface level. But you were too stuck in your head to read between the lines. After all, Sylus would never settle for someone like you. Not when you’re mere costume jewelry in comparison to uncut gems. 

You throw yourself against the bed once you’re inside your room. Peer up at the ceiling, studying its texture until your vision slides into a vignette around the corners, and then you drift into the violet embrace of sleep, deciding to deal with this new swirl of feelings later.

preface | masterlist | rising action