Bee

soft!dom!bucky who eases you into subspace during your first scene. the scene itself is nothing too extreme, just some new toys and a few silk ropes added to the mix, as well as the quiet understanding that bucky isn't just 'in charge,' he's there to give you all the pleasure you deserve, and it will be intense. bucky lives and breathes to make you happy, so he takes his time in tying your hands to the headboard, kissing your lips every so often and mumbling look at me, princess, need to see those beautiful eyes because he wants to make note of all the minute changes in your expression, ready to stop if your lips even twitch downwards.

soft!dom!bucky who is the king of consent. sometimes, to the point of frustration. he'll have three fingers stretching you out, pressed in all the way to the third knuckle, and he's stopping to ask your color - always green, by the way. he brings you to orgasm twice before he actually fucks you, and somewhere along the way he can see the way your eyes start to glaze over, how your moans turn to pathetic whimpers, how you can't stop mumbling daddyyyyyy, please, yes!, making bucky so so so proud of you for trusting him enough to hand over full control, knowing that he won't hurt you.

soft!dom!bucky who finally cums after your fourth orgasm, grunting and groaning praises even though he's sure you can't really understand what he's saying. when his hips finally still, his eyes locked on the way drool trickles out of the side of your mouth, he feels an overwhelming surge of love, the need to protect and covet you so that no one can hurt you. he hurries to grab a glass of water and a damp cloth, setting the glass on the nightstand and carefully wipes between your legs, shushing and cooing at you when you whine at the overstimulation.

soft!dom!bucky who cuddles you close to his chest after tossing the rag onto the floor, content to worry about it later, after you're back to your senses and not so vulnerable. he's kissing your forehead, your hairline, cheeks, nose, anywhere he can reach without moving too much, murmuring praises the entire time. did so good for daddy, princess. so so good, 'm so proud of you, thank you. he massages your shoulders, running his hands up and down your arms and back, loving on you properly because it's what you deserve. and bucky swears that you've never looked more beautiful than you right now, looking up at him like he's your whole world with shining eyes and a hint of a smile. somewhere along the way, he makes a mental note to ask you later if he can take a picture of you if you decide you want to do this again.

soft!dom!bucky who feels you start to slowly come back to him after nearly thirty minutes of floating. you start squirming a little, letting out little whines, starting to blink faster as though you're just now realizing where you are. bucky continues kissing you and mumbling reassurances, wanting to have the first words you hear to be about how utterly perfect you are for him. but his heart drops a little when you whimper brokenly, your bottom lip wobbling and your squirming becoming a little more frantic. he can hear how your breath hitches, your body shaking slightly. in an instant he knows what's happening; you're dropping.

soft!dom!bucky who coos at you a little louder, assuring you that you're okay, you're safe, daddy's got you, but he can tell your mind is reeling. he knew what happened was intense, considering you've never experienced subspace before, and he knew this was a possibility, but that doesn't mean his heart doesn't hurt when tears start streaming down your face. he feels actual pain when you whimper out daddy? and look at him, eyes glassy now but for a different reason. even in the midst of worry, bucky recognizes that you're turning to him for comfort, that your trembling hands reaching out for him means that you need him closer. he ends up laying half on top of you, hoping that surrounding you with his body, feeling his bare skin pressed against you, will help ground you.

soft!dom!bucky who breathes a sigh of relief when you settle after a few minutes. your noises taper off, and your tears stop streaming down your cheeks, your hands no longer gripping his shoulders for dear life. he keeps his body over yours, though, just until you tap his arm, prompting him to lift up and lay next to you, propping himself up on his elbow and placing one hand on your stomach to keep the contact. you're still quiet for a few moments, focusing on steadying your breathing, but once you seem mostly calmed down, he presses a brief kiss to your forehead before staring into your eyes as he asks you okay, princess?

soft!dom!bucky who nods reassuringly when you mumble I think? he understands that you're vulnerable and emotional, and he wants you to know that it's okay to feel like that. he wants you to know that it's okay to have negative emotions, as long as you don't let it consume you. you talk about how you felt during the scene and afterward, listening with rapt attention as you recount how blissful floating like that was, but coming out of it was a little scary because it felt as though you would never feel like that again and you wanted to hang onto it for as long as you could. but also, you've never experienced subspace before, so bucky assures you that it's normal to feel anxious after coming out of it, that the change in sensation can be overwhelming. that makes you feel better, and you tell him that, and after a little more talking, you both agree that you want to try it again, but bucky makes a mental note to talk with you in depth later and come to a mutual agreement on what bucky can do to make that transition easier.

soft!dom!bucky who has never felt prouder of you, nor has he ever felt so lucky as to have you trust him enough to get you through a subdrop. he cherishes that trust, and promises you that he'll always keep you safe, won't let anyone or anything touch you, because it's his responsibility and honor as your dom to protect you.

soft!dom!bucky who eases you into subspace during your first scene. the scene itself is nothing too extreme, just some new toys and a few silk ropes added to the mix, as well as the quiet understanding that bucky isn't just 'in charge,' he's there to give you all the pleasure you deserve, and it will be intense. bucky lives and breathes to make you happy, so he takes his time in tying your hands to the headboard, kissing your lips every so often and mumbling look at me, princess, need to see those beautiful eyes because he wants to make note of all the minute changes in your expression, ready to stop if your lips even twitch downwards.

soft!dom!bucky who is the king of consent. sometimes, to the point of frustration. he'll have three fingers stretching you out, pressed in all the way to the third knuckle, and he's stopping to ask your color - always green, by the way. he brings you to orgasm twice before he actually fucks you, and somewhere along the way he can see the way your eyes start to glaze over, how your moans turn to pathetic whimpers, how you can't stop mumbling daddyyyyyy, please, yes!, making bucky so so so proud of you for trusting him enough to hand over full control, knowing that he won't hurt you.

soft!dom!bucky who finally cums after your fourth orgasm, grunting and groaning praises even though he's sure you can't really understand what he's saying. when his hips finally still, his eyes locked on the way drool trickles out of the side of your mouth, he feels an overwhelming surge of love, the need to protect and covet you so that no one can hurt you. he hurries to grab a glass of water and a damp cloth, setting the glass on the nightstand and carefully wipes between your legs, shushing and cooing at you when you whine at the overstimulation.

soft!dom!bucky who cuddles you close to his chest after tossing the rag onto the floor, content to worry about it later, after you're back to your senses and not so vulnerable. he's kissing your forehead, your hairline, cheeks, nose, anywhere he can reach without moving too much, murmuring praises the entire time. did so good for daddy, princess. so so good, 'm so proud of you, thank you. he massages your shoulders, running his hands up and down your arms and back, loving on you properly because it's what you deserve. and bucky swears that you've never looked more beautiful than you right now, looking up at him like he's your whole world with shining eyes and a hint of a smile. somewhere along the way, he makes a mental note to ask you later if he can take a picture of you if you decide you want to do this again.

soft!dom!bucky who feels you start to slowly come back to him after nearly thirty minutes of floating. you start squirming a little, letting out little whines, starting to blink faster as though you're just now realizing where you are. bucky continues kissing you and mumbling reassurances, wanting to have the first words you hear to be about how utterly perfect you are for him. but his heart drops a little when you whimper brokenly, your bottom lip wobbling and your squirming becoming a little more frantic. he can hear how your breath hitches, your body shaking slightly. in an instant he knows what's happening; you're dropping.

soft!dom!bucky who coos at you a little louder, assuring you that you're okay, you're safe, daddy's got you, but he can tell your mind is reeling. he knew what happened was intense, considering you've never experienced subspace before, and he knew this was a possibility, but that doesn't mean his heart doesn't hurt when tears start streaming down your face. he feels actual pain when you whimper out daddy? and look at him, eyes glassy now but for a different reason. even in the midst of worry, bucky recognizes that you're turning to him for comfort, that your trembling hands reaching out for him means that you need him closer. he ends up laying half on top of you, hoping that surrounding you with his body, feeling his bare skin pressed against you, will help ground you.

soft!dom!bucky who breathes a sigh of relief when you settle after a few minutes. your noises taper off, and your tears stop streaming down your cheeks, your hands no longer gripping his shoulders for dear life. he keeps his body over yours, though, just until you tap his arm, prompting him to lift up and lay next to you, propping himself up on his elbow and placing one hand on your stomach to keep the contact. you're still quiet for a few moments, focusing on steadying your breathing, but once you seem mostly calmed down, he presses a brief kiss to your forehead before staring into your eyes as he asks you okay, princess?

soft!dom!bucky who nods reassuringly when you mumble I think? he understands that you're vulnerable and emotional, and he wants you to know that it's okay to feel like that. he wants you to know that it's okay to have negative emotions, as long as you don't let it consume you. you talk about how you felt during the scene and afterward, listening with rapt attention as you recount how blissful floating like that was, but coming out of it was a little scary because it felt as though you would never feel like that again and you wanted to hang onto it for as long as you could. but also, you've never experienced subspace before, so bucky assures you that it's normal to feel anxious after coming out of it, that the change in sensation can be overwhelming. that makes you feel better, and you tell him that, and after a little more talking, you both agree that you want to try it again, but bucky makes a mental note to talk with you in depth later and come to a mutual agreement on what bucky can do to make that transition easier.

soft!dom!bucky who has never felt prouder of you, nor has he ever felt so lucky as to have you trust him enough to get you through a subdrop. he cherishes that trust, and promises you that he'll always keep you safe, won't let anyone or anything touch you, because it's his responsibility and honor as your dom to protect you.

Your father had met Titus when you were in college, and the two had become fast friends. By the time you'd graduated, your father had pledged his undying loyalty—and that of your family—to Mr. Le Bail and his High Council. 

In the months and years that followed, you came to learn more about the council as a network of rich and powerful people who helped each other out. It was during this time when you met Titus and his twin sister Ursula. 

They were both polite, but when Titus looked at you, there was something covetous and hungry in his eyes; it made you feel like a prey animal being stalked by a predator. 

Still, you remained cordial with the Danforths because they were close with your father.

That is, until Titus proposed to you, and you discovered the truth about who, or rather what, Mr. Le Bail was. Then, you ran. 

You cut ties from your entire family, changed your name, and moved to some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. For a long time, you lived in fear, thinking your family or one of the Danforths—or Mr. Le Bail himself—were going to show up at your door. 

But eventually, your fear settled down, you became complacent, and you set down some roots. Not too many—you didn't date and you never got too close to any of your friends, but you made a life for yourself. It was a half-life, but it was yours.

Until it wasn't.

Until the day that Titus Danforth appeared on your doorstep and you learned you'd never escaped after all. The High Council had known where you were all along, but they'd been delayed in coming to fetch you because your father had assured them you would return one day.

But their patience had grown thin and you knew too much to shirk your duties to Mr. Le Bail. As a daughter of a council member, you were expected to marry and reproduce, to create progeny to continue worshipping Mr. Le Bail and do his bidding in the world.

It was only your father's assurances that you would submit to your duties that saved your life. It was decided that you would marry Titus Danforth, the only member of the High Council who had not yet taken a wife. 

You were dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Danforth estate for your wedding. You refused to see your father or any member of your family, so you were stuffed unceremoniously into your pristine white wedding gown by the Danforths’ attendants. 

The wedding itself was a small affair, only attended by the closest members of the High Council, and your family. Your father walked you down the aisle to keep up pretenses but as he handed you off to Titus, you turned to him, caught his eye through your thin, white veil, and hissed your parting words to the man who'd given you life.

"I'll never forgive you for this."

Titus smirked at your father as he took your hand in his, looking for all the world like a man who'd won a game no one else knew they were playing. He led you the final few steps up to the altar, ducking his head slightly to speak in your ear.

"I always knew I'd be the one to get you."

It was then that you realized the depth of Titus's deception. After you’d rejected his proposal, he'd conspired for years to make sure you still ended up marrying him. And you'd played right into his hand. You'd given him everything he needed—leverage over your father, a way to steal you from your family, and worst of all, he'd gotten Mr. Le Bail's blessing to do it.

You spent the signing of the book and the wedding ceremony cursing yourself for being so naive, barely paying attention to the lawyer’s words about devotion and duty. You were so deep into your self-recrimination, you barely noticed when Titus turned to you and began lifting your veil. It took all your effort to maintain control of your face and give your soon-to-be husband a look of disdain.

It didn't seem to bother Titus in the least. That covetous, hungry look was plain as day on his face as he stared at your mouth. He barely waited for the lawyer to give him permission before he was grabbing your face and pulling you toward him.

Titus's mouth crashed against yours, and your traitorous body reacted instantly—your belly swooping and a hot, pulsing throb beginning between your thighs. You tried to gasp for air only for Titus to kiss you harder, his tongue invading your mouth and staking his claim so vehemently, it made your knees week. 

It was bad enough how good his mouth felt on yours, but the sounds he made, like he was a starving man eating his first meal in years, had lust blooming disloyally in your body. 

Your new husband devoured you voraciously, licking into your mouth and stealing the breath from your lungs until you were dizzy and dazed, wobbling so badly on your feet that when he finally pulled away, you collapsed against his chest.

Titus's arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you to him like a child might hold a toy he worried someone might steal from him. His head lowered until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver in his tight hold.

"And now, you're all mine."

Those words echoed in your head as you went through the motions for the rest of the ceremony and reception. While you shook hands and accepted the congratulations of your family and the High Council, all you could hear was the feral possessiveness in Titus's voice. 

It shocked you how much you didn't hate it.

You only returned to yourself when the door to Titus's suite at the estate clicked shut, the lock sliding into place with a resounding thud, like the period on the end of a sentence. It marked the end of your old life—and the beginning of your new one.

Titus was on you before you could even turn around or get your bearings. His hands grabbed your hips and spun you to him, his lips claiming yours even more ferociously than they did at the wedding ceremony. He walked you backward until your legs hit the bed, tearing the bodice of your dress so he could reach inside and palm your tits.

Desire warred with disgust in your body, though you didn't fight your husband as he pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you. Titus's eyes glittered with a darkness that had your heart beating faster, your pulse pounding between your thighs when his expression turned greedy and he took his time looking his fill.

You were splayed on the bed beneath him, your tits out, chest heaving from all the breath he'd stolen during his kisses. But that wasn't enough for your new husband. He growled his frustration, got down from the bed and began ripping the skirt of your dress to shreds, until you were bared entirely for him from the waist down. 

All of a sudden, you realized the error in your judgement when you'd gotten dressed. Along with the wedding gown, a set of lacy lingerie had been set out for you, and you'd chosen to forgo wearing it. But that meant that when Titus tore through your dress, all that was left was you. 

At least you didn't seem to disappoint your new husband. 

Titus's hazel eyes blazed bright and hungry as his gaze raked ravenously over your body, taking in the curves of your hips, the plushness of your thighs and line of your legs. His hands settled on your knees, and with surprising gentleness, he eased your thighs open for him, a low, feral growl rumbling in his chest when he laid his eyes upon the delicate petals of your sex.

"This is mine," Titus snarled, his eyes flicking up to yours as if he expected you to protest. His hand cupped your pussy, his palm cool against your heated core, his wedding ring hard and unyielding against your soft, naked flesh. "All of you belongs to me now, but this, especially, is mine." 

All you could do was nod mutely, but that didn't seem to be good enough for your new husband, because his face contorted into a furious glare. It was obscene how hot he looked when he was angry, his eyes sharp and narrow as a blade.

"Did you hear me, wife?" 

You nodded more vigorously, rushing to say, "Yes—yes, husband. It's yours, I'm yours.” The words babbled out of you so easily, it felt like a betrayal as much as a submission to your new husband.

You'd never thought, all those years ago when you first met him, that you would marry Titus Danforth. Nor did you ever think you'd submit so easily to him as his wife. But that was exactly what you did on your wedding night.

It took very little effort to allow Titus to climb on top of you, to take his cock out when he ordered you, to line up the tip of his thick shaft with your entrance. It took embarrassingly little effort to spread your thighs wide around Titus's broad body and accept his cock into your cunt. 

Your new husband pushed deep into your pussy with one thrust, stretching you so quickly that it stung, even as it felt deliriously good to be filled. He claimed your body as wholly as he'd claimed your mouth, wringing a cry from your lips that he swallowed down greedily. 

Every part of you—your pleasure, your pain—it all belonged to him.

Without giving you time to adjust, Titus set a savage pace, fucking you into his bed with your wedding dress in tatters around you. He was still mostly dressed, an ascot tied around his neck, his jacket buttoned tight and his pants only undone enough to free his cock. It was as if all that mattered to him had been getting inside you, claiming you, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop. 

You held on tight to your new husband as he fucked you, his mouth breaking away from yours only to whisper filthy things in your ear—things about how he was going to use your body in every way he wanted. He was going to bend you over his father's desk, claim you in his sister's bed, set you free in the woods around the estate so he could chase you down and ravage you on the forest floor. 

And every time he'd fuck you, he promised, he'd cum deep inside your cunt, right against your cervix, until he knocked you up. He was going to fill you with his seed until it took, and you were going to give him an heir. 

But not just the one. Oh no. That wasn’t enough.

On your wedding night, while Titus fucked you for the first time, your new husband vowed that he would keep you pregnant until you gave him a whole horde of children—a whole new generation of Danforths who would serve Mr. Le Bail and carry on the family legacy.

And the worst part was, you'd always wanted a big family. 

Your heart squeezed with yearning at the thought of having so many children to love and dote on. It no longer mattered that those children's father would be a man who'd manipulated you into marrying him. All that mattered was that Titus wanted them to, and that he promised to be a good father to them—better than his had ever been.

"Cum on my cock, sweet wife. Let your husband fill you up, let me knock you up. Make me a daddy and I'll give you the world, pretty girl. I'll be such a good dad, such a good husband, just give me an heir."

Titus slipped his hand between your bodies, pressing down on your lower belly and making you cry out as you felt his cock pound into your cunt more acutely. He felt thicker and bigger than before. With more rasping, filthy commands, his thumb found your clit and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed until you saw stars. 

The whirlwind of your pleasure built in your body until it unleashed, sending you spiraling through a torrent of euphoria as you came. Your cunt clenched tight around Titus's cock and he grunted, fucking you through your release as he chased his own, finding it a few moments later.

True to his word, Titus spilled deep in your pussy, your inner muscles milking him dry as your body conspired with your new husband to give him the child both of you so desperately wanted. 

Once he was wrung out, Titus collapsed on top of you. His weight was a delicious blanket, and your mind was delightfully blank after such an obliterating orgasm. That was the only reason you could think of for why your hands found Titus's hair and your fingers began carding through his silver curls. 

You barely knew what you were doing until he gave a pleased rumble. His cheek was pillowed on your breast and he shifted, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently, sending little sparks of desire down between your thighs.

"You'll see," he mumbled, his eyes slowly sliding closed, his softening cock still buried in your body. "It's not so bad to be mine." 

You held your husband close, taking shelter in his warmth as the contentment from your release abated and you were left with the cold, hard truth of your life. For better or worse, you were married to Titus Danforth, and you had pledged your soul to Mr. Le Bail. The life you'd wanted was gone.

You never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth, but here you were. His wife. The only thing you could do was make the best of it. So that was what you'd endeavor to do.

And it turned out, your husband hadn't been lying—it wasn't so bad belonging to him.

Things felt too quiet after the way Erik came in her mouth. 

Sanaa wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, then she reached for her phone like she was checking the time instead of ending a man’s night with a single press. Nathan was still talking about dinner reservations when she tapped the screen and ended the call. Her breath floated softly between them—warm and slow—kneeling between his legs like she was posing. 

A tiny wet strand of spit clung to her bottom lip. The taste of his cum still on her tongue. Sanaa didn’t bother to fix it. 

She lifted the phone and tilted her chin slightly. The glow of the screen lit her skin, her tank top, her thighs on the rug, the shin on her mouth and chin. She pulled up her camera app, her other hand wrapping around Erik’s spit-covered dick, bringing it closer to her mouth. Tongue poked out, a quick shutter flashed. Sanaa saved it. 

Erik sat back against the sofa like he’d been dropped there like a sack of potatoes. His chest rose and fell with uneven pulls. His taunt abdomen kept tightening further and relaxing like it hadn’t caught up with the rest of his body. Erik looked down at Sanaa the way a man looks at something he should deny himself of but knows he never will. His thighs were still spread wide, his dick lay heavy and twitching against the palm of her hand. Softer now but still thick enough to make her smile. 

Sanaa finally released her grip around his girth and stood slowly. Not completely. Just enough to lean in close. She braced one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his thigh. Her mouth slick and looking slicker like she wanted him down her throat again. Her sparse faux lashes framed her eyes in that soft yet dangerous way that he wouldn’t have imagined seeing. 

Sanaa peeked down the hallway. 

Silent. Dark. Safe.

Her voice dropped low, “You almost gave us away there, Erik.” 

He blinked once. Slow. His jaw clenching again. That look he got when he wanted to say something but didn’t trust what might come out. 

Sanaa eased closer. Her breath brushed his cheek. Her lips curved.

“You want us getting caught?” 

She said it like a dare. Like a challenge. Like she was testing his restraint. It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t innocent. Not anywhere close to the sweet girl Nathan thought he was talking to. 

Sanaa’s mouth hung open just a little as she watched him, letting the shine on her pouty bottom lip to catch the faint glow of the TV. Her throat still tasted like him. She let that knowledge sit between them, thick as the air he was pulling in slow through his nose. 

His eyes stayed on her face. His mouth shut. Then, his eyes dropped down her neck, then lower, stopping at the faint smear of spit or maybe his cum on her chin. Something dark settled in Erik’s gaze. Something quiet and dangerous. Something he tried to hide most days. Unless he was provoked.

And she was provoking him.

Erik finally sat up. Only a little. His shoulders pulled forward. His hands rested on his knees like he was trying to remember what his body was supposed to be doing. Erik didn’t touch her. The way he looked at her felt like a grip. 

Sanaa straightened up a little more, not backing away. Not apologizing for her antics. Her fingers brushed the top of her tank just above her cleavage. Just enough for Erik to notice. 

“You liked that, didn’t you.” She spoke faintly. Not a question, more like she already knew the answer.

Erik’s eyes narrowed. He licked his lips and finally spoke.

“You really think you safe right now?” His voice came out low. Almost calm. Too calm. 

Sanaa’s smile widened. Pretty. Sweet on the surface. Dangerous underneath.

“I know I am.” 

Sanaa lifted and stepped back only enough to give herself space to walk. She turned her back to him, the soft sway of her hips carrying her towards the hallway. Her shorts rode up with every step. She didn’t fix them. She never fixed anything when she wanted him to focus on her. To watch. 

Halfway down the hall, Sanaa paused. She stood there, one hand resting on the wall, the strap of her tank sliding down her shoulder. Then, she turned her head. Eyes heavy. Lashes low an teasing. 

“You look like you gon’ come get me.” 

Erik stared at her from the sofa, his chest rising too fast now, his forearms flexed where he braced them on his thighs. He didn’t answer her. His whole body was already telling her he planned to do just that. 

She let a small sound slip from her throat. Almost like a whimper. Or maybe a soft whine. Pleased none the less. 

“Good.” 

She pushed off the wall an slipped into her bedroom, closing the door just enough for a thin line of warm light to stay visible.

Erik remained on the sofa, breathing hard, staring at the crack of light like it was pulling him forward by the collar. His jaw flexed again. One hand reached up to drag down his face slow and rough. A soft curse pushed out of him

“Fuck.” 

Erik leaned back, tried to get himself under control. 

Failed.

Because all he could see was the shine of her pretty mouth. The way she sucked him down. The look in her eyes while she was on her knees between his legs. Her throat opening around him. 

Erik sat there for a long moment, fists tight, chest rising. 

Then, he stood. It wasn’t fast. 

He knew exactly where he was about to go. And who he was going for. 

Erik waited only long enough to make sure Aaliyah’s door remained shut. Once he was certain, he moved. Quiet. Direct. No hesitation in his strides. The hallway felt narrow for how he was breathing. Almost claustrophobic. 

He finally reached Sanaa’s door, pushing it open with two fingers. 

The sight hit him like a jab to the gut. 

Sanaa stood in the middle of her room, back turned towards him, the hem of her tank sliding up her waistline as she peeled it over her head. Her hips looked soft enough to bite into. And that ass in those little shorts? She kicked those off gently, leaving a pair of cheeky, dark green panties on. Just bare enough to tempt him. Enough to let him know she was waiting for exactly this. 

Sanaa bent forward a little like she was reaching for something on her bed. That ass lifted. Her thighs parted slightly. It was an eased, casual movement Erik knew was done with intent. 

She looked back, a small smile tugging at her lips when she saw him in the mirror. 

A tease. A trap. 

Erik stepped inside and closed the door behind him with his foot. It clicked shut. His breath tightened in his chest, steady but strong. All that calm he tried to hold onto was gone. 

He crossed the room in three strides. 

Sanaa straightened just as he reached her. Before she could turn fully, his big hand slid around her next firm. Sanaa’s breath stuttered in her throat. Erik moved her to face the wall near her bedroom door, their bodies close, her skin soft and warm against his body. He could feel her pulse tapping under his palm. 

Her lips parted.

Erik leaned in, his voice dropping low enough to rattle her spine.

“You think you cute.”

His thumb pressed under her jaw, guiding her chin up. It was enough to make her listen.

“You really sat out there on your knees. Let that lil’ nigga talk to you while you sucked me off…”

Sanaa’s eyes fluttered. She smiled faintly, all innocence and no innocence at all.

“You think I’m playing wit’ you?” Erik brought his forehead to the side of her face so he can speak directly into her ear, “You a dirty girl. You know that? A messy lil’ slut. A tease. You do this shit on purpose.” 

Sanaa swallowed under his hand. Her thighs pressed together. 

Her voice came out gentle but trembling with hunger, “I’m a nasty bitch?” 

Erik let out a breath through his nose. Deep. His fingers tightened slightly around her neck, enough to make her gasp. 

“You a nasty bitch for real. The kinda nasty bitch that don’t listen. Make a nigga lose it. The kinda bitch that open her mouth for dick while another dude begging for her time…”

Sanaa’s breath slipped out shaky. She shifted against him, her ass brushing his crotch. It made Erik clench his jaw.

“…You proud of yourself?” 

A small whine rippled from her throat. Sanaa nodded. 

Erik leaned even closer, lips almost touching her ear. 

“Say it again.” 

Sanaa shivered, “I’m a nasty bitch.” 

His grip on her neck tighter. More dominant.

“Louder.”

“I-I’m a nasty bitch.”

Erik’s breath hit her shoulder, “You damn right.” He let his other hand slide down her side. Over her ribs. Across her thigh. Then up between her legs, stopping just before he touched her where she wanted him to touch. He didn’t even have to go further to feel the heat radiating from between her legs. That pussy was damn near soaked through her panties. He knew it.

“You drippin’. Actin’ bold one second. Shaking the next.”

Sanaa’s knees buckled a little and Erik caught her by the waist, holding her steady.

“Put your hands on the wall.” 

Erik stepped in closer behind her, his chest now fully pressed to her back, his hand now locking her arms above her head. That dick she was slurping on sitting between her cheeks. Sanaa’s breath went thin.

“You gon’ tease me again like you did tonight?” 

Sanaa shook her head.

“You lyin’. You gon’ suck my dick all over this apartment while that nigga tryna take you out?”

Her thighs pressed tougher. Voice barely held together.

“If you let me.”

Erik’s other hand slid down her stomach. Flat. Warm. Possessive.

“Don’t start. Because if you ask for something tonight, daddy just might take you up on it.” 

Sanaa exhaled, a soft sound that made his grip tighten. 

Then, she whispered, voice low and needy, “Daddy…I want more.” 

The look that came across his face could set the room on fire. Erik chuckled under his breath. The sound vibrated against her spine. 

“You want more,” Erik said, his mouth still at her ear, his words brushing her skin, “Actin’ like you ready for anything I give you.” He leaned in closer, his chest pressed to her back. His hips nudged her lightly. A reminder of his size. A reminder of the weight she loved. A reminder of how easily he could fold her if he wanted, “You not getting a thing.” 

Sanaa’s mouth parted, a small involuntary sound slipping out but she covered it with a slow inhale. Trying to look unbothered. 

Erik chuckled again. He saw it. All of it.

“You hear me?” Erik’s lips grazed the edge of her ear tickling her, “After what you pulled in that kitchen. After what you pulled tonight. You gets nothin’.” 

Her nails bit lightly into the wall. Sanaa pressed her lips together because she refused to give him the satisfaction of begging. Even though her body betrayed her.

Erik stepped even closer, his frame engulfing hers. His hand settled on the wall above her head, boxing her in. The room felt smaller with him anchored behind her like that.

His voice dropped even lower, “You think you can get on your knees in front of me, run your mouth like that, swallow me whole, then ask for more. You think you run this.” 

Her breath rose unevenly. Sanaa tried to steady it. Tried to stop her hips from shifting back toward him. Tried not to let her body answer him before she could. But it was so hard. 

“Stand still,” he said.

She did. Barely. Her knees wobbled. Erik’s hand found her waist. His fingers pressed into the soft dip there. 

“You not gettin’ my dick tonight.” His words wrapped around her like a fist, “You not gettin’ my fingers. You not gettin’ my mouth. Nothing.”

Her lashes lowered. A heat stirred low in her stomach. She hated how much his denial hit her. Hated how thick her throat felt. Hated how his voice ran down her spine like warm syrup. The second she got a piece of control, it slipped. 

Erik dipped his head to her neck. His lips hovered. Teasing the air above her skin.

“You thought you could push me. You thought you could take control like that.” His breath filled the space between them, “You out your fuckin’ mind, lil’ girl.”

She swallowed. Her head tilted slightly to the side without permission, baring her neck to him. It was instinct. Her body was betraying her.

He loved that.

“Watch how you walk around this apartment tomorrow like you innocent. Like you not the same lil’ slut who did all this shit tonight.” His voice sank even lower, “But I know you, Bri.” 

She shifted again. Tension ran down her thighs.

“So keep tryin’ me,” he whispered, “Keep runnin’ your little games…”

Her chest rose sharply.

“Because you not getting touched until I say so.” 

Something slick moved behind her eyes. Not desperation. Calculation.

He could feel it.

“You thinkin’ of a way to piss me off again,” he said softly.

She didn’t respond. Erik smiled against her cheek. 

“You plotting.”

Still, Sanaa stayed quiet. Her body gave her away. Her back arched the tiniest bit. Her breath got thinner.

He pressed his lips to her ear, “You wanna act up again, ma?” His voice was warm and cruel all at once. “Go ahead.”

Her stomach tightened. Erik stepped back suddenly. The air left her body in a cold rush. She stayed against the wall because her knees didn’t trust her yet. Erik looked at her from behind. Her back rising. Her skin flushed. Her whole body fighting itself.

“I hope you do,” he said, “‘cause when you push me too far…”

She turned her head slowly toward him, lips slightly parted, eyes dark with want and something sharper.

He smirked, “Think real hard before you try me again.”

Sanaa turned slowly. Her chest peeled from the wall inch by inch, breath unsteady, her tank was still lifted tto show that soft line of her waist he kept staring at. She faced him fully now, her curly hair messy, her lips shiny from licking and nibbling on them. The air tightened between them the second their eyes locked.

Erik’s stance was wide, heavy, shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway. The scars across his arms and torso caught the soft yellow lamp light, raised bumps over rich brown skin that made him look carved from something older than this world. His locs hung partly in his face, shadowing dark eyes that glared at her like she had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

It made her knees soften.

Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip and her gaze dragged all the way down his chest, over the swell of muscle in his arms, the slope of his stomach, the thick outline still fighting to calm down in his sweats. She touched her throat lightly. A slow trace of her fingers. Like she was remembering his hand there and wanted it back.

“I never told you this,” she started. Her voice trembling not from fear, but from need.

Erik’s chin lifted. Barely. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and lust twisted together.

Sanaa stepped closer. Just one slow step. Enough to make his jaw clench, “I remember…” Her lips curled, “I saw you getting sucked by one of your bitches back home.”

His whole body went still.

Her voice dropped to even more of a whisper, “I watched her. I watched you. I never forgot it.”

His nostrils flared, fingers twitched at his sides.

She kept going, “I pictured myself on my knees for you. All the time.” She moved her hand from her neck to her mouth, dragging her thumb across her bottom lip, “I practiced too. A lot. Just so when it was my turn, I’d be good for you.”

Erik took one short step forward, enough to let her feel the size of him. His shadow swallowed her.

“…You practiced,” he echoed. His voice wasn’t loud, but it rumbled low in his chest, “For me.”

Sanaa nodded. Slow. Eager. Defiant.

He leaned in close. His breath brushed her cheek, “You a bold lil’ bitch,” he said, “Standing here bragging ‘bout sucking practice like that don’t make you dick crazy.”

Her chest lifted. The word crazy almost pushed a sound out of her. Erik let his eyes drag over her body, slow and heated. Down her throat. Across her chest. Over her hips. He took his time. Let her feel every inch of his stare.

“You really sat there and watched me get my dick sucked. Then went home and tried to copy it.” His tongue traced the corner of his mouth. “You filthy.”

Sanaa inhaled sharply. Her thighs pressed together without her permission. He stepped even closer. Their chests brushed. Her breath caught in her throat.

“You wanna know what that make you?” he asked.

She nodded.

His lips touched her ear. A ghost of contact.

“My lil’ slut in training.” Erik pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. His expression shifted to something darker, “But you not gettin’ touched.”

Her breath stopped.

“Not after that.” His voice wrapped around her like a rope, “Not after tellin’ me you been practicing on your own time just to suck me right.”

She swallowed.

“You think that supposed to get you somethin’ tonight?” His tone hardened, “You think that confession mean you gettin’ dick?”

Her lips parted. No words came out.

“You gettin’ nothing.”

Her stomach twisted so sharply it hurt. Erik reached out like he was about to grab her chin.

Then he stopped.

His hand hovered inches from her skin. Close enough to make her gasp. Close enough that she leaned forward instinctively, desperate to feel his touch.

He dropped his hand, “You thirsty,” he said softly, “Shaking for it.”

Her breath stuttered. She hated how true it was. Couldn’t stand it. Erik looked down at the front of his sweats. The fabric twitched again. Hard. Thick. Full from base to top. His body was betraying him more than hers. 

He clenched his jaw. 

“I should take you right here,” he said, “I should bend your ass over this bed for everything you just said.”

She shivered.

“But I’m not.” His voice cut warm and sharp, “I’m a leave you aching.”

Her lips parted in shock.

“And I’m walkin’ out this room while you stand here wet as hell in them lil’ ass panties...”

Erik stepped back. Sanaa’s breath quickened. Her fingers curled at her sides.

“You want to play reckless?” His eyes dragged over her again, slow and punishing, “Good. Feel it.”

Sanaa stared at him, stunned, ruined, burning. His chest rose heavy as he fought himself. The twitch at his waistband betrayed him again. His abs tightened. His breath hitched.

He wanted her. Bad. So damn bad.

But he turned toward the door anyway.

“Touch yourself tonight,” he said without looking back, “See what it get you.”

Her mouth fell open. A quiet sound escaped her.

Erik opened the door, he paused at the doorway.

“And don’t forget.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper, “I can tell that you been practicing.”

He walked out.

Left the door cracked just enough for her to feel the cold air rush in. Left her shaking. Left himself hurting. Left both of them one wrong move away from breaking again. 

____

A low bassline pulsed from the speaker in the corner, something dark and hypnotic. DVSN threading through the air. Erik sat lounged in the corner of the sectional, thighs relaxed, that long frame stretching out in a way that pulled attention whether he meant to or not. His tank top clung to his chest. Sweatpants hung low, the print of his semi-hard dick visible when he shifted. His locs were pulled back and his gold slugs glinted every time he licked over his full bottom lip. His laptop was open and resting over one thigh. He bobbed his head lightly to the music. 

Erik hadn’t heard her come in at first. 

Sanaa dropped her keys in the ceramic dish and stood in the entryway for a second. She was exhausted, book bag slumped on one shoulder. 

Erik looked up.  

“Sup, Bri. You good?” 

She gave him a weak nod, “Yeah…just school shit.” 

Erik watched her a beat longer. Watched the way her shoulders drooped, the slight frown in her forehead. The fuck-it-all drag in her feet as she made her way to her bedroom. Sanaa shut the door behind her without another word. 

Erik went back to typing. 

Then, ten minutes later, she returned.

No clothes. Nothing. Not even a bra and panties. Just butt ass naked. Skin dewy and glowing. Titties bouncing with each graceful step. Pussy waxed and shining. Those soft thighs parting as she walked across the living room without a trace of shame. Sanaa quietly breezed through. Didn’t even glance his way until she got to the front of the sectional. The music was still low in the background, that sleepy instrumental to DVSN ‘muse’ that matched the thump of Erik’s blood when his dark eyes landed on her. 

Erik had been simply lounging back on the sectional with that calm, unreadable look on his face. But the second she walked into that room—naked, soft, wet—he leaned back and stared up at her ass like he was trying to decide if she was being serious. 

He stared deep into her eyes, brows frowning, “Fuck you doin’, lil’ girl?” 

Sanaa came closer. Her hands remained at her sides. She leaned in close enough for him to smell her vanilla and marshmallow scented lotion on her skin and the stress of the day still clinging to her. 

“You even take a breath before throwin’ that lil pussy at me?” Erik’s voice came slow, low, teasing. 

Her voice was a soft whisper when she began to speak. Like it had nowhere else to go but his ears.

“Make me feel better.”

Then she laid back right there. On the rug. Head tilted. Those eyes on him. Her thighs opened and inviting him to come get that pussy and make her forget how stressed her day had been. To fuck the stress away. 

One leg lifted and fell to the side, exposing all that glossy, wet pink pussy between her thighs. Her clit was puffy, inner lips parted like they’d been craving that kind of attention since before she left campus. 

Erik sat for a second. 

Then, he closed his laptop. Sat it down beside him. 

“…You ain’t even get comfortable yet,” Erik spoke as he stood, “Just came straight home needing your pussy played in?” 

He crouched between her legs, voice dropping lower with every word.

“Mm,” Erik grunted under his breath like he had just been given something so delicate yet so nasty to study. His hand moved in. No rush. All palm at first—warm, heavy—cupping her entire pussy like he was checking it’s temperature.

“Been missin’ me, huh?” He said, rubbing her slow with his whole hand, middle finger dragging through the slick. 

Sanaa’s pussy twitched in his hand.

“You this wet off nothin’? Just walked out drippin’ like that?” 

His fingers dipped in—just two at first. Deep and curling slow. Erik stroked upward, his knuckles dragging against her soaked walls. Sanaa’s back arched like she was. Puppet obeying her master. Just a soundless breath and a shudder escaping her lips, legs trembling as her hips tilted into his palm. 

“Thought so. Thought you was gon’ sit there and just give it up like this.” 

Erik kept finger-fucking her with a steady and deep motion. He didn’t pump her pussy fast. He angled his fingers just right in that pussy and dragged them in and out slow, then curled them inside her like he was raking through honey. Sanaa let her head fall back and grabbed onto the sides of his thighs for balance, her jaw slack and her chest rising in a staggering rhythm.

She tried pathetically to close her legs but Erik opened them back up. 

“Don’t fuckin’ do that. Don’t piss me off,” Erik’s voice dropped darker, “Let me play in it. Nasty lil’ bitch. What happened? Professor ain’t give you no attention? You been fidgeting in them lil’ lecture seats thinkin’ ‘bout daddy dick again, huh?” 

Erik didn’t let her answer. 

“Daddy—”

“Shut that shit the fuck up. Whinin’. You know what time Aaliyah come home?” 

“She—she got class…” 

Erik curled his fingers and watched her body twitch. 

“And if her shit get let out early? You gon’ be sprawled out in the middle of the living room like a slut. You gon’ get us caught. You want that?” 

She shook her head. Whimpered. 

Erik just stared at her for a moment. His jaw clenched. Eyes low. That quiet irritation that always gave way to something darker when it came to her. 

“Then stop actin’ like a bitch in heat, Sanaa.” 

“Erik…I can’t. You make me wet just lookin’ at you. I can’t help it.” 

Erik’s chin tilted down, voice dropping into that fake gentle concern that made her stomach grow warm.

“Yeah, baby girl?” He let it settle, slow, “I make it wet?” 

Her breath hitched.

Erik touched her chin, his thumb pressing into the corner of her mouth just enough to make her feel owned and tempted at the same time.

“Daddy turn you on so much you can’t stop openin’ your legs for me? Huh?” 

Sanaa swallowed. Erik’s palm slid down the side of her hip, fingers spreading like he was measuring her. 

“You that far gone?” His tone stayed sweet. Too sweet, “All it take is me lookin’ at you and now you leakin’ on yourself?” 

Her pulse jumped. Erik leaned in, his lips a breath above her ear.

“You serious, ma?”

Sanaa nodded before she could stop herself. Erik gave a soft scoff, almost laughing at her, but it came out warm enough to melt her spine.

“Greedy lil’ Sanaa. You really can’t help it, huh?” 

His tone shifted. 

Erik pulled his fingers out. He picked her up easy. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Erik walked straight up to the sofa and tossed her down her down just hard enough to make the cushions bounce. 

“Don’t say nothin’,” he growled, “Just lay there and be the needy lil slut you wanna be.”

Sanaa was already reaching between her legs when he slid down onto the sofa beside her. 

He caught her wrist. 

“I said don’t…touch. That’s my pussy now.”

His fingers slid back inside her and this time he went deeper. His thumb massaged her clit just the way she liked it. His mouth stayed close to her ear, that voice keeping her pinned.

“Been thinkin’ about me all day, huh?”

“Yes…”

“Been actin’ smart too often. Rollin’ your eyes. Givin’ me attitude. Suckin’ my dick and sending me pussy pics. Just reckless. Get home and lay it all out like a bitch who forgot how to behave.”

“I needed it…” Sanaa whined. 

“Yeah? You need it now? Greedy ass pussy,” he breathed, “Clutchin’ like you tryna keep me in.”

She looked up at him, breathless, “I am.” Biting her lip, gyrating her hips a little to match the way his thick fingers stroked her. 

“Aight then. You want it?”

She nodded, eyes glassy.

He leaned in close, gripped her jaw, “Beg for it like I been gone three weeks.”

Sanaa’s lips parted, voice cracking.

“Please. Erik, I need it so bad. I been thinkin’ about it all day. My pussy so wet, I swear. I’ll be quiet. I’ll keep it in. Just…please. I need it.”

His eyes dropped to where she glistened.

He gave a slow smirk.

“Say less.”

He didn’t rush it.

That was the first thing that always ruined her.

Erik never rushed when it came to her pussy. He treated it like something he needed to study every single time. Like he might miss something if he went too fast. Like he wanted to watch her fall apart piece by piece. On his dick. On his tongue. And now on his fingers. 

He dragged two fingers down her slit, not even going inside again. Just tracing. Feeling how slick she was. How she twitched at the smallest contact. He rubbed through her folds lazy, teasing, spreading her wetness everywhere until her thighs started shaking. Feeling the soft slippery folds of her pretty pussy. 

“Look at this shit,” he whispered, “You nasty.”

His middle finger slid in. Deep. All the way to the knuckle. Sanaa’s head fell back immediately. A soft, broken sound left her throat before she could stop it.

“Ahh…”

He paused. Smiled.

“That all it take?”

Then he started moving.

In.

Out.

Slow. Controlled.

Erik was setting a rhythm for her body to follow whether she wanted to or not. Then, he added a second finger. Pushed in. Curled them both upward. Hit that spot good. 

Her back arched clean off the sofa, “Oh my—yes…”

Her hands fisted the throw blanket beneath her. Her words disappeared after that. Because he did not let up. He started fucking her with his fingers. Not gentle. Not polite. Deep strokes. Curling. Pressing. Dragging against her walls like he was trying to rewrite her brain.

“Mm,” he hummed, “There it is.”

Her moans turned sloppy. High. Breathless.

“Uh…ahh…Erik…fuck…”

“Shut up,” he said softly, “Just feel it.”

He pulled his fingers out suddenly. She cried out in protest. Before she could complain, he dragged those same messy fingers up and planted those same fingers on her clit. Then he started rubbing. Back and forth. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder. Side to side. Her hips bucked immediately.

“Ohhh…ohh…oh—mm—gah—mffff—”

She couldn’t finish a sentence. Couldn’t form one. Her mouth stayed open, nothing but broken sounds falling out. He watched her closely. Watched her thighs tremble. Watched her stomach tighten. Watched her toes curl.

“Look at you. Dumb off some fingers. Can’t even talk.”

He slid his fingers back inside her. Two. Then three.

Wet. Slippery. Messy.

Went right back to fucking her. At the same time, his thumb never stopped on her clit. In and out.

Rub. Curl. Rub. Deeper. Faster. Rub.

He set a brutal rhythm.

Finger her. Rub her clit. Finger her harder. Rub her faster. Over and over. No mercy. No break. No slowing down.

Her body started betraying her. Her hips chased his hand. Her legs shook. Her breath stuttered. Her eyes rolled up.

“Mm…mm…mmm…”

That was all she had left. 

He leaned down, mouth close to her ear, “Whole pussy cryin’ for me and you can’t even say shit,” he whispered. “Pathetic.”

She whimpered. Tried to speak.

Failed.

He sped up, “Yeah. There it go.”

His fingers plunged deep and stayed curled while his thumb went ruthless on her clit. Side to side.

Circles. Pressure. Faster. Faster.

Her back bowed. A broken sob left her mouth.

“Erik…I’m…”

“I know,” he said calmly, “Go ‘head. Cum right in my hand.” 

He did not slow. Did not ease up. Did not give her time. He pushed her straight over the edge. Her body locked. Her thighs clamped around his wrist. A loud, uncontrollable moan tore out of her chest as she came hard.

Wet. Hot. Soaking his hand.

Shaking like she was being electrocuted.

“Ahhh… ahh…oh my g-ga-ha-ffff…”

He stayed inside her. Kept rubbing. Kept fucking her. Rode it out with her. Sanaa grabbe for his wrist but she was too weak. Her grip too soft. She looked into Erik’s eyes with a mixture of confusion and lust. Then she glanced down at her pussy. At the mess. At the way he kept focus on that spot. Her eyelids fluttered when his thumb made its way back to her clit and rubbed. Her acrylics dug into the palm of her hand from how tightly clenched she was. 

“Let it out,” he whispered, “Make a mess…make a mess…make a mess…”

Her orgasm dragged. Pulsed. Hit her in waves. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. When she finally collapsed back into the mattress, completely spent, he slowly pulled his fingers out. Held them up. Glossy. Dripping. He looked at them. Then at her.

“Look what you did,” he said quietly, “Disgusting.”

She could barely lift her head.

Her voice came out weak, “…do it again.”

He chuckled low, “Greedy ass. I ain’t never met a hoe so greedy like you.” 

He did it again.

Back to her pussy. Fingers inside. Deep strokes. Soaked. Then right back up to her clit. Rubbing tight, wet circles. She was panting now, body rocking with each shift of his hand, throat too tight to make full sounds. Just high whines. Moans caught in her mouth. Her head dropped forward and Erik grabbed the back of her neck, keeping her in place.

“Uh uh. Sit up. I wanna see that face.”

He kept rubbing, kept fingering, switching between the two like he had her on a rhythm he made up just for her. Her pussy was clenching, fluttering around nothing when he pulled out, leaking and sensitive and begging for more.

“Messy lil pussy,” he said, gliding his fingers up again. 

She couldn’t answer. Her mouth hung open but no words came. Her body talked for her. The way she rocked in his lap. The way she gripped his wrist. The way her climax crept up like it was dragging her under.

Erik felt it. Saw it.

“There you go…there you go…daddy’s good girl…,” he whispered.

He rubbed harder. Fingers slid back inside. She cried out, louder this time.

“Ohhh—FUCK.”

“That’s it. Come on, lil’ princess with the pretty pussy—”

Fingers back on her clit. Back in her pussy. Slick noises filling the space between her thighs and his breath.

She started to tremble.

And he didn’t stop. Erik didn’t let her come down. He worked her through it until she was writhing, mouth open but no sound coming out. Her pussy gushing all over his fingers, thighs soaked. She was shaking so hard now he had to wrap an arm around her waist to hold her steady.

Then, finally, she slumped forward, chest to his, breathing hard and twitching.

Erik kissed her temple.

Licked his fingers.

“Better?” he asked with a slight tick of his brow. 

_____

The way her body curled against his told him everything he needed to know. She wanted it again. Wanted to feel wrecked. Owned. Dumbed out on his touch. But Erik wasn’t giving in easy. Thighs sticky and twitching, pussy glistening. Her chest heaved. Her lips stayed parted, eyes halfway rolled. She was losing herself before he even started up again.

Erik leaned in close, brushing his lips just beneath her ear, fingers still playing in her wetness.

“This that same pussy I had laid out in that bed, huh?” he whispered, dragging two fingers up her slit slow, “Yeah. This that same tight lil’ pussy that creamed all on me while you was beggin’ for the tip, actin’ like you ain’t know what the fuck you was doin’.”

Sanaa’s thighs clenched. He didn’t let her close.

“Nah. You gon’ keep that shit open,” he said, voice deep and calm, “You made this mess. Sit in it.” He eased two fingers back inside her, knuckles deep, the angle precise. He stroked her from the inside while his thumb pressed soft over her clit, “Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how this pussy felt when I fucked you,” he muttered, nose brushing her cheek, “All that grip, all that wet, pullin’ me in like you was tryna keep me.” His fingers slid in deeper, “Shit was creamy like lotion. Had me slippin’ and slidin’ in it. Couldn’t stop. Still can’t.” He started thrusting his fingers harder now, slow but precise. Curl. Stretch. Rub. She jerked in his lap, “And you know what I really love?” His voice dropped, lips now against her jaw, “How you let me nut in it.”

She gasped.

“How you take daddy nut. Don’t pull away. Don’t run. Just open them pretty lil’ legs and let me fill it up. Cus it’s mine to fill up how I please, ain’t it? Lil slut like this nut up in her pussy?” 

Sanaa was moaning now, breath ragged, whole body trembling against his chest. He pulled his fingers out just to rub her clit with all that wetness, sliding fast, back and forth, making her eyes roll.

“You know I ain’t supposed to be dickin’ you down like this,” he growled in her ear with a slight mug, “You supposed to be off limits.” Then he shoved his fingers right back in, “But I can’t get enough of this sloppy lil’ puss. Keep thinkin’ ‘bout it. Wakin’ up hard over it. Watchin’ you walk around like you ain’t the reason I stay backed up.” 

She whined loud, reaching for his shoulders, losing the ability to hold herself steady.

Erik caught her by the throat, “Nuh uh. You gon’ take this like a big girl.” He squeezed gently, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to hold her still, “You want that dick again?” he asked, staring her down.

She nodded fast.

“I said,” he growled, “you want that dick again?”

“Yes—yes,” she choked out, voice trembling.

“You gotta fuckin’ earn it.” He started rubbing her clit faster, meaner, while his fingers stayed buried, “You been a bratty lil’ bitch lately. Pushin’ it. Givin’ me attitude. Walkin’ ‘round actin’ like I won’t bend you over this couch and fuck that attitude right outta ya lil’ ass.”

Sanaa’s cries turned breathless, legs shaking again.

“Been movin’ too risky. Gon’ get us caught ‘cause you wanna keep gettin’ your pussy stretched and creamed like a nasty lil’ fiend.” He hit that spot again. She screamed into his shoulder, “Oh, you feel that?”

She was falling apart.

“Yeah. That’s what happens when Daddy in control. You want it, you follow rules.” He kept stroking. Kept rubbing, “Say who it belong to,” he demanded, hand between her legs relentless.

“Y-you,” she stuttered.

“Nah. Say it right.”

“It’s yours, Daddy—fuck, it’s yours—”

“Damn right. This daddy pussy. Gotta remind you…”

He shoved his fingers deep again, grinding his thumb over her clit until she came with a sharp cry, body convulsing, pussy gushing. She clung to him, sobbing through the release. Erik didn’t let up until she went limp in his lap. Then he kissed the side of her neck and whispered—

“You want the dick again, you better act like it.”

She nodded, dumb and breathless.

He smiled, “Now that’s my good girl.”

Her breath came in shallow pulls, lashes damp, lips swollen from biting them shut. Erik sat back, fingers glistening, and stared at her like she was his next meal. Then, he brought those same fingers up to her mouth, slow and slick.

“Open.”

She did it without thinking, tongue out, lips wrapping around his fingers like she was starving for more. Erik groaned low, eyes darkening as she sucked them clean. He moved them deeper, past her lips, pressing to the back of her tongue. She gagged a little but didn’t stop, eyes fluttering closed like she liked it.

“Mm,” he chuckled, “Oh you ain’t so tough now, is you, Bri?”

She looked up at him, eyes low, need pouring off her in waves.

“You know your fuckin’ place now or I gotta put you through this couch? Fuck some respect back in you?”

Erik pulled his fingers from her mouth with a wet pop, stood up slow, and dragged his sweats down his hips. That thick dick sprang free—heavy, brown, pretty, veins bulging up the shaft. Sanaa’s lips parted again, this time in awe. Her eyes dropped, locked onto it like she forgot how to breathe. Like she forgot how that dick look. What it tasted like. How it opened her up. 

“I been edging my shit all fuckin’ day,” Erik growled, gripping the base with one hand, the other cupping his full, weighty balls, “You see this?”

He pushed his hips forward, showing her how swollen they were, dragging one palm beneath them slow.

“Balls backed up. Look.”

She moaned out loud, crawling forward on her knees, reaching for him, eyes glassy.

“Uh uh,” he said, stepping back, “Don’t touch me.”

Sanaa whimpered.

He chuckled again, stroking himself now, letting her watch that thick dick swell in his grip.

“I’m a give it to you…yeah,” he said, voice low, rough, “But you ain’t touchin’ me.”

Her brows pulled together, breath catching as she tried to sit still, thighs clenching under her.

“I’m tired of your lil’ ass thinkin’ you run shit,” he said, jerking himself faster now, jaw tight, eyes locked on her face, “Throwin’ tantrums. Actin’ bold. Bein’ a fuckin’ brat.” He stepped back in, towering over her, letting that thick dick bounce right in front of her lips, “You gon’ sit there and take this like you supposed to.”

Sanaa nodded, eyes wide, voice barely a whisper, “Yes, Daddy.”

He smirked.

“Good. Now sit back. Arch that shit. You wanted it so bad? Get yo’ ass ready to beg for it all over again.”

Sanaa arched her back deep, her spine curved like a bow, cheek pressed to the cushion, ass raised high like an offering. Her low bun sat pretty at the base of her neck, trembling each time she breathed too hard. She was dripping so much it leaked to the throw blanket beneath her, folds glistening, thighs trembling.

Erik stood behind her, stroking his dick slow, letting the head glide through her wetness without putting it in yet. Just teasing. Making her wait for it on his command.

“You always got some slick shit to say,” he spoke low and rough, pressing the tip against her entrance, not moving. “Always actin’ like you runnin’ something.”

Sanaa whimpered, pushed back just a little, trying to catch it. He gripped her ass with one hand, thick fingers spreading her open.

“Keep that shit right there.”

Then he pushed in. Slow. Deep. All the way. Her pussy stretched wide around him, and Erik let out a thick breath through his nose, clenching his jaw as her walls clenched tight around every inch. His thrusts started slow. Strokes that dragged through her like he was tryna mark every inch. Her moans came soft at first, then louder with each roll of his hips.

“Fuck, Daddy…” she gasped, eyes squeezed shut, legs shaking.

Erik grabbed that bun. Fistful. Tight.

“Up. Get on them fuckin’ hands.”

He pulled her up, forced her to arch even deeper, made her take all of him from a new angle. Then, he started really fuckin’ her. Deep. Hard. Faster. Her ass clapped back against his thighs with every stroke. The sound echoed off the walls.

“Oooh, shit—” Sanaa cried out, gasping, shaking.

Her hands gave out. Her body couldn’t keep up. Erik held her by her hair, other hand palming her ass, pulling her back onto his dick over and over again.

“Thought you was in charge?” he growled, “Thought you was slick?”

She tried to answer, but all that came out was another broken moan.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. This mine. You act like it ain’t. I remind you every time.”

Her voice cracked, “It’s in my belly, Daddy—”

Tears slipped out the corners of her eyes. She was crying now. Whimpering. Babbling.

But Erik wasn’t tryna hear that shit.

“Nah. Don’t cry now.” He dug his grip deeper into her hip, “You the one beggin’ for dick. You the one throwin’ that shit at me every time you get needy.”

His dick was slamming up into her now, balls smacking her clit with every stroke, wetness dripping down both their thighs.

“You gon’ feel this tomorrow.” He slapped her ass, left a mark, “Next time you act up, I’mma put you right back in this position. Face down, ass up. Cryin’ ‘cause you can’t take it, but beggin’ for more.”

She was gone. Whimpering. Clawing at the couch. Back arched. Mouth wide open. Tears falling. Sanaa folded, arms draped over the top of the sectional, face buried in the crook of her elbow like she was hiding from what he was doing to her. Whimpering. Shaking. Her breaths came ragged and shallow, lips parted, eyes wet.

Erik didn’t say a word. He was speaking with that dick. Long, deep strokes. Slow. Intentional. His hips rolled with power, digging into her like he was carving out a message inside her walls. Each thrust dragged a sound from her throat she couldn’t control. All broken, soft, shame-drenched. One of his hands stayed planted between her shoulders, big palm flat, holding her still. Pressing her down just enough to make her feel the control. The other hand was wild with it—slapping her ass, jiggling the softness between his fingers, spreading her open so he could watch her take him.

“Just like that,” he muttered finally, voice low, breath heavy, “Stay right there. You takin’ it now.”

She nodded into her arm, body jolting with every bounce of her ass.

“Can’t even talk no more, huh?” he said, smacking her again, “All that mouth you had? Gone.” He gripped her cheeks and pulled them apart, watching his dick disappear inside her soaked pussy, “Listen to that shit.”

Their bodies were loud now. Wet claps. Deep grunts. Her gasps growing frantic.

“You gon’ learn how to act.” Another thrust. Deeper, “You gon’ stop playin’ with me.” Another slap. Louder, “You gon’ remember who run this pussy.”

His hips never stopped moving, his dick bullying her into silence. Sanaa let out a choked cry, trying to lift her head. Erik shoved her back down with the hand on her back.

“Uh uh,” he said, “You stay right there and take this dick like the nasty lil’ brat you been actin’ like.”

She started sobbing for real, wet and messy, trying to push back and take more at the same time.

“Don’t run, slut. You begged for this. You needed this, right? I’m just remindin’ you.”

And he was. With every stroke.

Sanaa’s body had passed the point of no return. Her arms hung limp over the back of the couch, face still buried in the crook of her elbow, sweat glistening along her spine. Her legs shook beneath her, toes curled hard into the cushions. Erik hadn’t said a single word in minutes. He was fucking the breath out of her. Hard. Vicious. Ruthless. With power. With punishment. Just dick. Every stroke knocked her forward, ass bouncing back from the sheer force of his hips. Her pussy sounded obscene, wet and clapping loud beneath her. Her body tried to run from it, but he was gripping her tight, dragging her back onto him, over and over again.

Sanaa couldn’t breathe right. Her mouth stayed open but nothing came out except strangled gasps and helpless moans. Her climax had been building from the first time he pushed inside her, slow and deep, but now—now it was boiling up her spine, thick and hot and feral. Her pussy clenched down hard around him, squeezing like her body was trying to trap him, hold him hostage. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, hips jerking like they didn’t know whether to run or grind back harder.

And Erik didn’t stop. He beat that pussy up. No mercy. No tenderness. Just raw fucking. The kind that made her see colors behind her eyelids. The pressure hit all at once—right at the base of her belly, then spreading wide, then down. She cried out, high and broken, choking on her own breath as the orgasm ripped through her.

Her body convulsed. Back arched. Pussy fluttering around his dick in desperate waves. Erik didn’t stop his pace. He continued to beat that pussy up. 

Sanaa’s pussy stretched around him. Letting our broken sounds—soft and shocked. She wasn’t prepared to feel him that deep. His hips met her from behind with a hard clap. The impact traveled through her ass, up her spine, and into the back of her skull. Her vision blurred a little. And her mouth remained unhinged. 

Sanaa tried to push her knees wider but it didn’t help. Daddy was still too much. 

Erik watched her from behind, tongue sitting at the corner of his mouth, a slight smirk on his lips. His hands gripped her waist and pulled her back while he thrusted forward like she weighed nothing. 

His voice low, that Oakland lingo curling around her spine.

“This dick got you floatin’. Daddy got you gone, huh?” 

Sanaa tried to answer but only got air. Her mind was foggy. She felt the room spin a little. Every time Erik slid out and slammed back in, her body jerked forward like she was being yanked out of herself. Sanaa grabbed at the back of the sofa because her arms were the only thing keeping her from falling flat. 

That pussy was wet enough that the sounds echoed in the living room. Slick. Loud. Sloppy. Every stroke pushed a gasp out of her. She could not control her voice. Tighten her legs. Think. She started trying to shift. 

Sitting up? Failed.

Reaching back? Failed.

Pull forward to control the impact? Failed.

Erik reached up with one hand and pressed the center of her lower back, forcing her arch deeper. Her ass lifted higher without her meaning to. The angle opened her up so far she felt a sharp pull in her stomach. Her eyes rolled. Her breath stuttered.

“Yeah. There she go. Daddy told you not to run.”

His tone was calm. Almost gentle.

It made her wetter.

She tried to inch forward, but he caught her hips and dragged her right back onto him.

“Stay on this dick like I said,” His voice sounded patient. Too damn calm, “You wanted this. Take it.” 

Sanaa nodded without knowing she nodded. Her thoughts came in pieces. Heat. Pressure. Breathing. Wet. Deep. Deeper. Too much. More. 

Erik sped up, hips hitting her with sharp, rhythmic thrusts that lifted her halfway off the sofa each time. The whole world narrowed to the feeling of him pounding her. She felt taken. Filled. Held in place. Her body kept clenching around him because it was begging for more even though her voice could not form a single word. 

Sanaa’s stomach tightened. The pressure inside her grew fast and overwhelming. She felt a wave roll up her spine so strong her hands slipped on the sofa for a second.

Erik saw it. Felt her pulse around him.

He gripped her waist with one hand harder.

“Daddy got you wide open. Say it.”

She tried. Nothing came out but a whine.

He leaned over her back, lips near her ear, “Say it, baby.”

“I’m open,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I’m open for you. I c-c-can’t think.”

Erik smiled against her shoulder, “That’s it. Daddy got you gone. Let it happen.”

Sanaa soaked the base of him, thighs messy, ass shaking as her climax wracked her from head to toe. It wasn’t gentle. It was violent, needy, a full-body surrender. throat tight, pussy gripping him in long pulses she could not stop. Sanaa was spaced out, head empty, breath broken. All she could hear was him behind her and the wet slap of her body taking every ounce of what he gave.

He kept fucking her through it, body meeting with flush thrusts against hers, dick pulsing thick and hard as her cries turned to helpless sobs. Sanaa reached for anything. The couch. The fabric. Her own skin. Anything to ground her.

Erik held her in place while she came, guiding her through it with slow, deep thrusts that kept her right on the edge of falling apart again.

“That’s Daddy’s girl,” he said, low and warm, hand stroking her hip while she shook, “So sweet when you lose yourself.”

But Erik kept going. And that pussy kept taking it. Every inch. Every thrust. Every bruise-deep reminder of who had her like this.

Her body was wrecked, but Erik hadn’t slowed once.

He was balls-deep, hands locked on her shoulders now, dragging her back onto him like she was weightless. His grip was firm, possessive, muscles flexed along his arms, forearms bulging with every pull. The wet slap of skin echoed through the room—hard, sharp, relentless. just pure fuckin’ force.

Her cheek stayed planted against the sectional, breath choppy, spilling frantic. Her pussy was being pounded without mercy, swollen and sensitive, sucking him in. Sanaa turned her head, barely, neck twisted so she could see him from the corner of her eye. That stuck look on her face told it all—mouth slack, brows raised, tears caught on her lashes. She was gone. Dick drunk. Fucked open and filled.

Erik looked right back at her. Eyes low. Locked in. Lip caught between his teeth like he was holding back a groan that could tear through walls. His abs tightened with each thrust, his hips working in a brutal rhythm. Sweat dripped from his chest, slid down the deep ridges of his torso. And then he reached for her head, palmed the back of it. He pressed her cheek back down against the cushion like he was putting her in position for execution.

“Keep your eyes forward.”

He let his hips do the talking. Slowed the stroke—but not the depth. Dragged it all the way out. Ground back in deep with a slow, whining roll of his hips, letting her feel every inch, every throb.

Her pussy opened for it. Took it. Sanaa’s ass bounced, thighs shaking under his grip. He leaned over her, close enough for her to feel his breath against the back of her neck. That heavy, ragged, ruthless breath of a man who knew he was deep in it. Who wasn’t pulling out. Who wasn’t letting up.

His hips rolled again, slower now, deeper, grinding that dick inside her like he wanted to stir her guts and mark them.

“Yes…fuck this pussy like that…”

Her voice cracked mid-sentence, thick with need, broken from too much. She could barely get the words out, but they spilled anyway—greedy, mindless, slutty.

Erik’s eyes darkened. He grabbed her by that low bun with one rough twist of his fist and pulled her head around. Her mouth parted in a soft gasp, and he bent down, caught her lips in a messy, nasty kiss. Didn’t even wait for permission. Flicked his tongue against hers, wet and teasing, then deeper—slow and nasty like he wanted to taste the whimpers still stuck in her throat. All the while, he held his dick buried inside her. Pressed in to the hilt. Not moving just siting thick inside her, filling her so good it made her whine straight into his mouth. 

Her fingers reached back, tried to push at his abs, her breath catching as she twitched beneath him. Erik pulled out slow—slick, swollen, the whole length gliding against her soaked walls—then slammed back in with a force that made the sofa groan beneath them both.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice a growl in her ear, “That pussy stretched now, ain’t it?”

He did it again.

Pulled out slow. Let her feel the slide. Let her know what she gave up. Then drove back in deep, rough, full-body thrusts that rattled her bones.

“I’m a leave you sore.”

Sanaa whimpered, nodding, clenching around him because she wanted to be wrecked. He watched her hand grip the back of the sofa, watched her legs buckle again as her slick dripped down onto the cushion.

“You gon’ make a mess on this sofa, huh?” Another stroke. Mean. Precise, “You sittin’ here with this pussy so fuckin’ wet it’s leakin.”

She whined louder, body rocking with the rhythm of his dick.

“All that smart ass talk you be doin’—for what? Just to let me fuck you stupid like this? Givin’ this shit up like it don’t mean nothin’. Lettin’ me beat it up raw.”

Her mouth opened. No words came out. Just a sound, high and gone.

“You lettin’ me nut in it again too, huh?” Another thrust. Another bounce, “Say it.”

“I—yes, Daddy—”

“Say you want me to leave my nut right up in this pussy.”

She nodded fast, sobbing a little, pushing her ass back onto him like she wanted him deeper than deep. Erik dragged her head back by her bun again, breathing hot against her ear, watching her fall apart in his grip.

“Then shut up and take it.”

And she did. Like it was the only thing she knew how to do. Erik dragged his dick slow out of her then rammed it back in so deep her ass bounced and her breath caught in her throat. That arch in her back was illegal—deep, curved like submission carved straight into her spine. 

______

He stared down at it, jaw clenching.

“Should send that nigga Nathan a pic of this nasty arch you got in your back,” he spat, breath ragged and hard as he ground into her from behind. “Bet that nigga won’t hit you up no more after he see how I got you.”

Then—

Crack.

He slapped her ass rough. Rough enough to sting. Rough enough to leave her hips jerking and her lips trembling. She cried out, but Erik didn’t give her time to catch her breath. He grabbed her by the arm and made her sit up—dragged her back, chest up, hands scrambling to grab the top of the couch for balance.

“Look forward,” he ordered, low and sharp, “Keep that fuckin’ noise to yourself.”

Sanaa stared straight ahead, eyes glossy, breath hitching. Erik grabbed her hips, squared them, and sank back into that pussy with a thrust that stole her soul. She gasped—but caught it. Bit her lip and locked it down. Didn’t make a sound.

Erik smirked behind her, knowing damn well her body was screaming even if her mouth stayed shut. He fucked her just like that—hard, deep, without mercy. His hips crashed into her ass, each stroke sending a ripple up her spine. Her thighs trembled. Arms locked. Nails dug into the fabric.

Her body was humming. She felt every inch, every vein, every throb. That dick was killing her, filling her, breaking her down. He wasn’t giving her space to breathe, wasn’t giving her an inch of control. Domination. And she asked for it. She knew it would feel this good. Sanaa’s head dropped forward, eyes fluttering shut. Her lip caught between her teeth. She was doing everything she could to hold the noises in, but her pussy was creaming without her permission. Dripping. Pulsing. She was close. So close. But he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t slow. Wouldn’t let her run.

And that made her wetter. That made her hate him a little. Because he always got what he wanted. And all she could do was take it.

Erik held her hips like he built her body himself. His fingers dug into her skin firm enough to remind her who she opened herself up for. His stance was wide. His chest rose heavy and slow. He watched every inch of her bent over in front of him. 

His eyes dragged over the arch in her back.

The lift of her ass. 

The shine between her thighs. 

The way she trembled each time he pushed deep. 

His jaw flexed. His nostrils flared. A low groan slipped out when she tightened around him. Deep in his chest. The sound a grown man makes when the pleasure hits harder than he expects. Her pussy wrapped around him like she was built to take him. Warm. Wet. Gripping him with every stroke. He felt her pulse around him and his eyes rolled half back before he caught himself.

“Look at this lil’ body.” His voice was thick, “Look how you let Daddy fit in you.”

He pumped into her again. The impact lifted her forward and she cried out, fingers clawing for balance. His eyes stayed locked on the place where they met. He watched the slide. The stretch. The way her pussy pulled back on him every time he backed out.

Erik shook his head slowly, almost laughing at how good it felt. “Greedy girl. Always takin’ this dick like you starved.”

Another stroke. Another clap of his hips against her ass. Another deep grunt from him that vibrated through the room.

Erik straightened his back and looked down at her like she was something he owned. Something trained. Something hd enjoyed breaking open.

“You my lil’ slut, huh,” the calm in his voice made her wetter, “knew it soon as you started playin’ innocent ‘round me. Fake shy. Body tellin’ me everything.” 

Sanaa moaned into the sofa and her spine curved deeper. 

Erik grabbed her ass with both hands and spread her open wider. His thumb pressed into the soft, give of her cheeks while he watched his dick slide insider her again. Erik let out another groan, rougher, pleasure hitting him straight in the gut. 

“Damn, look at this pretty shit,” his tone dropped even lower, “This young pussy stay beggin’ me to put dick in it, huh, lil’ slut?” 

He thrust again. Hard enough to knock her breath loose. Sanaa gasped, back arching, vision blurring. Erik watched her lose herself and his lips parted like he needed air.

“Yeah. That is it.” His voice got raspy, “Go stupid for it. Daddy likes that. Daddy likes that.” 

Erik pulled her hips back onto him, forcing her to take every inch with no escape. Her body jolted with each stroke. Her sounds turned soft and broken and helpless.

He stared down at her.

Patience mixed with raw need.

“You mine, ain’t you, lil’ hoe.” 

He said it like a fact. Not a question. Because he knew the answer. Erik’s hips rolled his hips deeper, slower, making her feel every part of him.

“Open up. There you go. Let Daddy fill all this pretty pussy.”

Her stomach tightened and her head dropped. She was slipping again, mind going foogy, body doing whatever he told it to. Erik watched her come apart from behind.

A grown ass man. Not the lil’ niggas she used to. 

Steady. Focused.

Enjoying every second of how she shook for him.

“Oh, you perfect like this,” he breathed out, voice thick with pleasure, “stupid for me. Don’t fight it. Take what Daddy givin’ you.”

Erik pulled her back into him with one firm hand around the front of her neck. Claiming that space right under her jaw where she felt every heartbeat. His fingers spread wide, thumb resting against her throat, steady pressure keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

His other hand pressed down on the small of her back. Heavy. Solid. A silent order. Her spine dipped. Her ass lifted. She felt her whole body fall into the shape he wanted like it remembered him more than she remembered herself.

“Stay right there,” he said, voice calm and low behind her, “Daddy got the rest.”

Sanaa let out a shaky sound. Her arms trembled. She felt the room tilt again. Her mind started to space out the moment he held her neck like that. The weight of his palm made her feel smaller. Made her feel kept. Made her feel owned in a way that turned her inside out.

Erik watched her back curve. Watched her body offer itself without a word. His grip on her neck tightened just a little. 

“That’s my lil baby girl,” he said. “Look how fast you fold for me.”

His hand on her throat caught the inhale and rolled back into a gasp. Her knees shook. Pussy throbbed. 

He pressed her lower back again, pushing her into a deeper arch.

“You hear me talkin’ to you,” he continued, “Answer Daddy.”

“Yessss,” she whispered, voice thin and gone.

He laughed under his breath, “You such a pretty lil’ slut for me.”

Her pussy clenched around nothing and her breath broke. He guided her back onto him slow at first, hand controlling her throat so she stayed upright, hand on her back so she could not rise away. He set the pace. Not her. Never her. When he pushed into her fully, she cried out, body jolting forward, palms slipping on the sheets. His grip on her throat kept her from falling.

“Uh huh. Take this fuckin’ dick.” His voice stayed steady. “You begged for this. Acted up. Teasin’ Daddy like you grown.”

He pulled her back on him again, harder, filling her in one long stroke that made her stomach clench. Her mind blurred. She felt dizzy. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

He stared down at her. Eyes low. Lips parted. That older man hunger mixed with complete confidence.

“Look at that,” he said, “My greedy girl. Baby girl stay reachin’ for more like she got no sense.”

Her body rocked with every thrust. She tried to crawl forward but he caught her throat and held her still.

“No. You stay right here with Daddy.” His tone dropped even lower, “I said I got you.”

She whimpered, breath catching in his hand.

“You proud of yourself?” he asked, voice soft but filthy, “Proud you get Daddy this hard? Proud you got me talkin’ like this? Dick feelin’ so good in your pussy, mama?” 

She nodded fast. Too fast. He tightened his fingers around her throat just enough to make her slow down.

“Good girl. Slow it. Feel me movin’ you.”

He rolled his hips deep, slow, dominant, making her feel every inch. Sanaa’s stomach tightened again. Her vision blurred. She was spaced out, floating, her body taking what he gave without her mind catching up.

“You makin’ Daddy so proud,” he said. “Look how you stay open for me. Look how you let me fuck you like this.”

She moaned. Her legs trembled again. He pushed her lower. Bent her deeper. Held her throat firmer.

“This what happen when you tease me,” he said, “Now Daddy got you good. Dumb for on it. Shakin’ all over.”

Her voice cracked into a whine.

“Say it,” he told her, “Say you my lil’ slut.”

“I’m your lil slut,” she whispered, almost crying with how full she felt.

“Good girl.” His tone warmed, “Now let Daddy finish givin’ you everything you kept beggin’ for.”

“Daddy,” Sanaa whispered, just a soft plea, “Daddy…I can’t think.”

Erik heard it the second her tone changed. He tightened his grip on her waist, steady and warm. His other hand slipped up the front of her throat, holding her in place. His thumb stroked her bottom lip soothingly. 

“I know, baby girl,” he said, voice calm, “You fallin’. Daddy got you. I know it’s a lot. But you wanted this…”

She made a broken sound, almost a sob, but sweet. Her mind floated. Her thoughts slipped away. She felt small. Safe. Fucked out. 

“Daddy keep me,” she whispered, “Please? I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

Sanaa was in another dimension at this point. 

Erik nodded slow behind her, eyes heavy as he took her in.

“You better be,” he said, “You know how you get when you act up. You end up right here. Bust open. Shakin’. Callin’ for Daddy like you lost.”

Sanaa whimpered again, body slack, breath shallow.

Her voice was tiny, “Don’t let go of me. Please. Daddy please.”

His hand on her throat stayed firm. Grounding. Claiming. Certain.

“I said I got you,” he told her, “You stay right here in this. You hear me?”

“Yes Daddy.” Her voice cracked, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease. I just…I needed you.”

“That’s why Daddy teachin’ you.” His tone dipped into that low, older-man authority that made her melt harder, “You think you can run your lil’ mouth, shake your lil’ ass at me, then not fall apart on this dick? You not built for that.”

Sanaa moaned softly, head dropping.

“I’m yours,” she whispered, “Daddy I’m yours. I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.”

Erik smiled at that. Slow. Dark. Proud.

“That’s right. Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

Her breath hitched, “I’m yours Daddy.”

Erik’s hand slid from her throat to her jaw, tilting her head so he could hear her better.

“You stay where Daddy puts you,” he said, “You breathe how I tell you to breathe. You don’t go floatin’ off without me.”

She nodded hard, tears at the edge of her lashes. Pussy clenching around his still hard dick. 

“Daddy keep teaching me,” she whispered, “Please. Don’t stop. I’ll be good.”

“Yeah,” he said, “You my pretty lil’ bitch. You don’t know how to behave unless Daddy get you right.”

Her body loosened even more at his tone.

Her voice was almost gone.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t stop fuckin’ me.”

“I’m right here,” he said, palm warm on her jaw, “Stay with me. Listen to Daddy. You safe. Let daddy fuck you. Let daddy make you cum, okay?” 

Her mouth parted. She slipped further. Her voice was a whisper of a whisper.

“Daddy…keep doing it. Please. Please. Keep going.”

His voice turned even quieter.

Even more controlled.

“Good girl. Stay in Daddy’s hands. On daddy’s dick. Let me guide you. You wanted this. Now you learnin’ how to take it.”

Erik’s grip on her hips tightened as her pussy started to flutter. That creamy, soaked mess was clutching him tighter with every stroke. She was damn near convulsing, whole body trembling, arch deep, thighs quaking. She was coming.

And he felt it. Knew it in the way she started to shake. The way her pussy squeezed and sucked at his dick like it was begging him to stay in and finish with her.

“Fuck,” Erik groaned, digging in deeper, slower for a breath, then harder again. His abs flexed, shoulders rolling, the veins in his arms thick and raised. He was right there too, balls heavy, dick swollen, the kind of hard that made his own body twitch with the need to bust.

Sanaa reached back, crying out, trying to grab him—anything to hold on. But Erik caught her wrist mid-reach, twisted it gently, and locked it behind her back. Palm flat between her shoulder blades again, pinning her forward with control.

“Nah. Stay right there.” His other hand reached down, cupping her dripping cunt, feeling every twitch, “Good pussy,” he growled, his breath ragged now. “Creamy ass pussy.” His thrusts stayed deep, purposeful, each one slamming into her soaked walls with a noise that sounded wetter than it should’ve been, “Greedy pussy girl. You love this shit, don’t you? Can’t help yourself.”

Sanaa sobbed out, high and open. Then it snapped. Her body buckled, back bowed, and that climax ripped through her like a tidal wave. She screamed—loud, wrecked, wild.

“Daddy!”

Erik’s hips stuttered, his jaw clenched, his groans turned into thick grunts. Still in her. Still grinding.

“You cumming for me, Princess?” he panted, eyes locked on her body shaking beneath him.

That name broke her.

“Yes, Daddy,” she cried out, all soft and ruined. Barely audible.

He fucked her right through it.

“Keep cumming on this dick. Wet this dick up. Give me all that shit. Don’t hold it in. Push it out.”

And she did.

She let go fully, pussy pulsing. Then squirting just enough to make it messy. Dripping down both their thighs. Body limp now, spent and twitching.

Erik hit her with two more strokes—deep, fast, full-body thrusts that slammed the air out of her chest—and then pulled out quick, grabbing the base of his dick, stroking hard, groaning through clenched teeth. His nut hit her lower back in thick ropes, hot and heavy, splattering across her brown skin.

Sanaa’s face twisted, head turning over her shoulder, breathless and confused. She was expecting to feel that thick cum deep inside her, like last time. She was used to being filled up by now. He promised…right? He said he would give it to her. 

“Wha—” she whispered, still catching her breath.

Erik wiped the tip of his dick along her back with a smirk, “Nah,” he said low, still out of breath, “This yo’ punishment.”

She blinked, stunned.

“You don’t get my nut in that pussy since you like to misbehave.” He leaned in close, hand still pressing her wrist behind her back, “Since you like to forget who run this.”

She didn’t say a word. All she could do was lay there—wrecked, messy, throbbing—and remember exactly who did. Sanaa lay stretched over the back of the sectional, skin flushed, back sticky with his nut, thighs trembling from everything he’d just pulled out of her. Her arms had gone soft, her breath unsteady, and her mouth twisted into a pout without her even meaning to.

Erik looked down at her, standing tall, chest rising heavy, dick glistening with her mess, still stiff despite the nut he just spilled across her back. Sweat clung to every inch of him—his shoulders, his stomach, the raised scars running down his torso like a story she still didn’t know all the way.

He chuckled under his breath, “Tsk, tsk,” he tsk’d, voice low, teasing, “Fix that pretty face.”

Sanaa’s eyes dragged up over him, slow and needy. He looked devastating. Sweaty, muscles shaking just slightly from how deep he’d been digging in her, jaw tight, arms flexed, locs damp. The type of fine that should’ve come with a warning. Her pussy clenched again, fluttering from the aftershocks.

Erik stepped in close, kneeling behind her, and his hand came to her thighs. Gentle this time. He slid his fingers up through the mess between her legs, rubbing her slow softly like she hadn’t just been fucked dumb minutes ago.

“Still twitchin’, huh?” he muttered, fingers slick.

Sanaa whined into the cushion, hips bucking just a little. He leaned in closer, hand rubbing smooth and lazy between her folds, voice dropping to something gentler.

“Shoulda done this last time. Left you layin’ in that mess like I ain’t care,” he spoke low, “Daddy sorry, baby.” His fingers moved in slow circles, not to tease, not to play, just to soothe her, ease her down, “I got you this time,” he said softly, “I’ll clean you up.”

Erik brought his hand back, glistening with her juices, and without breaking eye contact, slid his fingers into his mouth. Sucked them clean. Tongue slow. Eyes heavy.

Sanaa’s lips parted. Her body jerked again.

Erik stood tall, bent down, and wrapped an arm under her knees and one beneath her back. Lifted her right off the couch like she weighed nothing.

“C’mon, Princess,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

She rested her head against his chest, letting her eyes fall shut to the sound of his breath and the warmth of his skin. He carried her through the apartment like she was breakable. Straight into the bathroom.

And this time, he kept his word.

Erik set her down easy on the edge of the tub, her thighs still slick, her body soft and pliant with satisfaction. She leaned into the cool tile behind her while he crouched down to turn the water on. The sound filled the bathroom, a low calming rush that contrasted the filthy mess they’d just made in the other room.

He looked up at her, “What you like in your bath, Bri?” he asked, voice softer now, “Lavender? Eucalyptus? You got that little oil set in the basket over there, right?”

She blinked at him, still floating, then nodded slow, “Lavender…and them oatmeal salts.”

“Say less.”

He poured both into the tub, steam rising. The water turned cloudy, milky with oils. Once it filled, Erik tested the temperature with his fingers, then came back to lift her in. She melted right into the warmth, letting her muscles sink, a slow exhale leaving her lips as she settled. He knelt by the edge, fingers trailing along the surface. Then he cupped her chin, tilted her face to his, and kissed her hard. Deep. Mouth wet, tongue slick and slow. A filthy kiss laced with tenderness. When he pulled back, her eyes fluttered.

“You gon’ be a good girl next time?” he asked, low and deliberate, “That’s the only way you get my nut back in that pussy.”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes heavy, “Yes, Daddy,” she said soft.

He stood with a smirk, leaned in to kiss her cheek, and let her relax back in the bath alone.

Out in the living room, Erik moved fast. He slid on his black sweats, no draws, the fabric hanging low on his hips, dick still half-hard against the cotton. He looked around. The throw blanket had caught most of her squirt—thank God.

He gathered it up, quick, then wiped down the couch cushion just to be safe. Lysol’d the air. Opened the balcony door a crack and flipped on the wax warmer sitting on the shelf. The scent hit quick. Fresh, clean. Like sandalwood and citrus. Masculine. Clean enough to erase every trace of Sanaa’s wet pussy from the air. He tossed the throw in the washer, punched in the cycle.

And just as he shut the lid, he heard the front door click.

Aaliyah stepped in with a classmate trailing behind her—tall, brown-skinned girl with a twist-out and big almond eyes.

Erik was still shirtless, sweat-slicked, skin glowing.

“You just came from the gym?” Aaliyah asked, eyeing him, voice suspicious.

The girl next to her was straight-up ogling.

“Girl.” Aaliyah side-eyed her. “Stop starin’ at my brother. Damn.” She turned back to Erik, “Can you put on a shirt or somethin’? You embarrassing me.”

Erik didn’t say shit. Just lifted a brow and turned away, letting the waistband of those sweats sit low while he walked off, back muscles flexing.

The girls slipped past toward Aaliyah’s room, giggling.

Aaliyah cracked the hallway bathroom door on her way.

“Hey, Bri!” she called, “Naima is here!”

Sanaa’s voice floated back, muffled and sweet through the steam.

“Hey, girl! Hey Naima!”

They disappeared into the bedroom. And Erik went back to cleaning like he wasn’t just rearranging that girl’s guts ten minutes ago.

______

Sanaa lingered in the steamy haze of the bathroom, the hot water from the tub slowly cooling around her as she tried to summon the strength to move. Her body felt heavy, every muscles protesting the effort, especially her legs—wobbly as if they’d been replaced with strands of overcooked noodles. The ache between her thighs was a persistent throb, her pussy tender and swollen from the way Erik had claimed her, that thick dick stretching her wide and leaving her feeling deliciously raw. She shifted slightly, a sharp twinge making her gasp, and ran her fingers lightly over her sensitive pussy lips, marveling at the lingering warmth. It wasn’t just the physical soreness; there was a deeper satisfaction, a glow that radiated from within making her skin flush with a post-climax haze that made everything seem a little dreamier, a little more alive.

Finally, she hauled herself out of the tub, water dropping from her body as she reached for her towel. After patting her skin enough to leave it damp to touch, Sanaa reached for her body oil on the shelf. She poured a generous amount into her hands, the sweet, floral scent of jasmine filling the bathroom. She smoothed it over her skin with delicate strokes, starting at her shoulders and working down, the oil gliding across her breasts, nipples still peaked and sensitive from Erik’s insistent touches. Then lower, where she paused to massage the slick warmth into her thighs and the soft mound of her pussy. Each gentle rub eased the ache a bit, but it also stirred faint echoes of pleasure, reminding her of how he’d pinned her against the sofa, his hands everywhere. 

Sanaa dressed in an oversized T-shirt that draped loosely over her frame and baggy pajama pants that did little to hide the slight waddle in her step. Sanaa caught her reflection in the fogged mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with that unmistakable afterglow, and she opened the door, the cool air of the hallway hitting her like a whisper of reality, making her acutely aware of how she moved. Her hips swayed unevenly as if the memory of Erik’s thrusts still echoed in her bones. 

Stepping into the hallway, Sanaa paused, listening to the muffled chatter from Aaliyah's room down the hall. But all she could focus on was the delicious soreness that made every step a reminder of what they’d shared. There was a quiet thrill in knowing he’d left his mark on her, a secret intimacy that made her heart race even as her body protested. Sanaa leaned against the wall for a moment, gathering herself before heading out towards the front of the apartment, her gait betraying her in a way that might draw curious eyes but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when the memory of his touch still lingered. 

Sanaa eased herself down onto the sofa, careful with her movements. The cushion dipped beneath her, familiar in a way that made her pulse jump. She smoothed her fingers over the fabric without thinking, slow circles pressed into the exact spot where her body had given out earlier. Her touch lingered there,  breath catching a little. The memory pushed through her like a warm flush.

Aaliyah’s door swung open. She came out talking a mile a minute with Naima right behind her, that tall girl with the twist-out and big almond eyes. They were laughing about something that happened in class, hands flying everywhere. Naima kept adjusting her crop top and trying to act like she wasn’t still thinking about Erik’s bare back.

They wandered into the living room, loud with gossip at the same time. Sanaa tried to appear normal. She tucked her legs under her, propped her elbow on the armrest, and let her hair fall over one shoulder. She could still feel her thighs tremble every time she moved them too close together. 

Erik came out without a sound. He had put a shirt on, but it did nothing to hide the shape of him. He leaned one shoulder against the entryway, arms crossed, quiet in that way that always made people look twice. His eyes swept the room, until they landed on her.

Sanaa’s chest tightened.

He held her gaze. Not for a second. Not accidental. He looked at her like he had already touched every part of her and remembered how she sounded when she came apart. His eyes lowered to her mouth, then the line of her throat, then the lazy drape of her T-shirt. Those dark eyes traveled back up and stayed locked on hers.

Something inside her slipped. Her breath stuttered. She dragged her fingers over the cushion again. Not consciously. Her body did it on its own. The fabric was soft but the reminder was not. Her spine curved in a slow arch she didn’t mean to show him. 

Erik’s jaw flexed. Subtle. The way he stood there felt like he was closing the space anyway. She felt his attention like a hand on the inside of her knee. Sanaa shifted and tried to hide the way her breath hitched. Her fingers closed around the cushion in a gentle grip.

Aaliyah collapsed into the armchair across from her, still talking to Naima, “Girl, my professor is wild. I swear he gave us a whole hour lecture on why folks don’t know how to email.” She rolled her eyes, “Sanaa, you heard me tell you about him before, right?”

Sanaa blinked. She tried to turn toward them, but Erik’s stare dragged over her again and her whole body tightened. Her throat bobbed when she swallowed. She could barely pull her eyes away. Her face felt hot. Her legs shifted in a slow, careful motion to try to relieve the pressure building inside her.

“You okay?” Aaliyah asked, laughing a little, “You look spaced out.”

Sanaa straightened, “Yeah. I’m cool.” She tried to smile, but it felt too shaky.

Naima plopped onto the other side of the sofa, “You sure? You look like you just woke up from a nap or somethin’.”

Sanaa nodded, “Long bath. Almost fell asleep in there.” 

Aaliyah snorted, “You actin’ like you had a whole spa day, bitch.” 

Erik lifted his chin just enough for her to see it. A private acknowledgment. Heat slid through her belly. Her breath dipped for a moment. She looked away too slow, giving herself away. But Aaliyah noticed none of it. She kept talking to Naima about a class group chat full of drama.

Erik kept his eyes on Sanaa.

Her chest rose in a slow inhale she tried to hide.

From across the room, Erik let his tongue slip across the inside of his cheek. His eyes did one more sweep of her legs tucked up on the sofa, the loose fall of her shirt, the glow still sitting on her skin.

Two Days Later…

It had only been two days. Forty-eight hours, give or take since Erik had lasted touched her, but Sanaa swore it felt longer than that. Her body was going through withdrawals. Brain scrambled. Pussy tight and aching. She’d been moving through the week with a short fuse and slick ass thighs, stuffing with no focus, scrolling with no real purpose, half way listening in class while replaying flashbacks of that big ass dick punishing her like it was made to shut her ass up. And it was worse because he was everywhere. Every time she looked up, there he was. Fine as hell and smelling like fresh linen and that clean, warm masculine scent that always unravels her. 

Now here she was, awake at 1:43 am, laying in bed with her T-shirt hiked up, fingers halfway between her legs but not doing a damn thing to satisfy her. She didn’t want to fuck herself. She didn’t want to use her vibrator. She wanted him. Big, slow, nasty. The way he bent her over left a permanent arch in her back. The way he fingered her pussy so good making her crave his fingers more than she’d ever wanted it. She remembered how he dragged his tongue over her clit, held her open, didn’t rush a thing. How he smirked with her taste on his face and her mess on his dick. 

That was the kind of dick she was missing. 

Sanaa sat up. 

Fuck this. 

Sanaa padded quietly into the hall, heart tapping against her ribs. She didn’t go straight to his room. She moved past it, tiptoeing down the hallway, pausing outside of Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa cracked it.

Inside, her friend was knocked out in bed, one leg tangled in the sheets, AirPods still in, the screen of her phone dimly lit beside her—notifications stacked, audiobook still playing from where it left off. Sanaa watched a beat longer, just to be sure. Aaliyah never stirred. Sanaa shut the door gently.  Then, she turned. Barely breathing. Tiptoed back towards her room. She closed her door shut and stood there in the quiet, body already warming up with a need she couldn’t sleep through. 

Sanaa moved in the silence, every step quiet, her breath low but her body already tingling with need. She turned the knob on Erik’s door gently, opening it just enough to peek inside.

He was there.

In bed, propped up on one arm, still awake. Lights low. No shirt. Joggers on. Those brown eyes locked on her from across the room like he’d been waiting on her to make a move. Sanaa’s heart jumped. Pussy throbbed hard.

She slipped inside without a word. Without an invite. 

If he didn’t stop her, she wasn’t leaving.

The door eased shut behind her like she was hiding. That quiet sneaking when you know exactly what you want and already made peace with not regretting it.

Click.

The soft click echoed, louder than it should’ve in the quiet. Her back pressed gently against the wood, breath stilling in her chest as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The room was low-lit—TV screen casting a dull blue glow across the bed, flickering shadows that danced over his skin. 

Erik was sitting up now. Sheets kicked low around his waist. His chest was bare, all deep bronze and hard lines, the keloid scars carved across him like stories she hadn’t read yet. His locs were pulled back in a loose tie, a few strands falling forward near his face. One of them touched his collarbone. 

He looked up at her, slow like he smelled something sweet.

That smile curved lazy on one side.

Sanaa stayed where she was for a second. Breathing steady. Head tilted. Eyes on his. Her lips were parted just a little, her skin glowing warm in the flicker of the screen. The steam from the treatment she’d done to her hair earlier still clung to her—moist spirals curled down her shoulders, parted deep on one side, sticking soft to her neck in places. Her earrings caught the light when she shifted—small diamonds, delicate, gleaming like she wore them on purpose just for this.

“What ya lil’ ass doing in my room,” he whispered, voice dipped and quiet.

Sanaa’s giggle came soft and pretty, tugging at the tension like a bowstring, “I miss you.”

Her voice floated out, feathered and smooth.But her eyes…they dropped. Traced the slope of his chest down to the spread of his thighs. Paused.

Stayed.

He caught it.

Erik stood, chest rising, that smirk never leaving his face. His body filled the space like a wall. He stepped forward, looking down at her.

“Miss me,” he asked, voice low, “or this dick, baby? Don’t lie either.”

She looked up at him, face calm but eyes sparkling, “Both…but that dick more.”

Erik chuckled, a sharp inhale through his nose and teeth. He shook his head slow like she was ridiculous, but he liked it, “You a fuckin’ trip,” he said under his breath. “I like that shit though.”

His hand came up, cupped the side of her face. Thumb dragged across her bottom lip once. Then he just looked at her. His hand stayed at her face, that thumb still resting at the edge of her lip. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. Then again. Sanaa tilted her chin just a little, lips parted, like she was already ready. Already his. He dipped down slow. Broad shoulders lowering. Those dark eyes never leaving hers until the last second, just before their mouths touched.

That first kiss landed deep. Full lips locking, warm and firm. The second kiss came harder. Slower. Wet. His mouth molded over hers like he needed to feel all of it, like he wanted to memorize the shape of her.

Sanaa rose to her tiptoes, soft whimper sliding from her throat as her nails dragged gently down his chest—just enough to tease, just enough to make him grunt through the kiss. Her hands slipped up, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling herself higher, pressing against him like she couldn’t get close enough. Erik’s hands found her waist—strong and steady, wide palms spreading over her curves. He squeezed once, then pulled her in. Closer. Like he wanted to fuse her body to his. Like letting go wasn’t an option.

Their tongues met slow at first, a slick drag and pull. Lips parting, breath catching, tongues twining together deeper with each pass. It got greedy quick. Messier. Their mouths didn’t break—not for air, not for hesitation. It was all teeth, breath, tongue, lips.

Sanaa whimpered again. Quiet. Needful.

Erik groaned low, brows pulling together like the taste of her made his brain short-circuit. He pushed her back just enough to hit the wall, never breaking the kiss, just changing the angle. Bent down deeper, mouth slanted harder, tongue sinking past her lips like he was searching for something inside her.

Their mouths broke with a wet drag, a soft gasp passing between them as the seal of that kiss finally snapped. The air felt thin now—heated and stolen. Sanaa’s lips were swollen, slick, tingling from how hard he’d kissed her. Her chest rose and fell fast, trying to catch up to what just happened.

Erik didn’t move far. He hovered close, breath heavy, beard brushing against her cheek as he looked down at her. His hands slid slow around the curve of her waist. Tracing the lines of her body like he was mapping it out. Then—

He gripped her ass.

Firm.

Both hands full, kneading deep. Like he liked the weight of it. Like it was his to touch. His thumbs dug in low at the crease and dragged upward in one long pull before settling back to squeeze again. That touch made her thighs press together, tight.

She let out a soft, shaky breath.

Erik dipped his head, lips finding her neck. Not gentle. He kissed her there like he’d been thinking about it. Like he needed that taste. His mouth opened wide against her skin, licking slow, sucking deeper right beneath her ear. Her knees buckled a little, but his grip held her steady.

Sanaa’s nipples hardened instantly beneath her shirt. That slick heat between her thighs had already started during the kiss, but now it pulsed. Her panties were damp—soaked—and she could feel how warm her body had become. Every inch of her was on edge, hyper-aware. Skin buzzing. Goosebumps scattered along her arms, down her thighs.

She threaded her fingers through his locs. They were soft but thick, clean and slightly damp at the ends like he’d washed them not long ago. Her nails scraped gently across his scalp. Erik groaned low at the touch, mouth dragging down to her collarbone, then back up to the hinge of her jaw where he sucked hard, slow, like he wanted to leave something behind.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her palm slid down his arm, feeling the way his biceps flexed under her touch—solid, thick, heavy muscle wrapped in warm, clean skin. She could feel the raised texture of his keloid scars there. Jagged. Firm. Like battle marks beneath her fingers. She stroked one with her thumb, slow and curious. They didn’t scare her. They made her ache for him.

Her hips shifted. Just enough for her pussy to brush against the front of his sweats. Her breath hitched. He hadn’t even touched her there, but her body was already aching. Already clenching. And Erik just kept licking her neck slow, one arm wrapped around her waist now, hand still locked tight on her ass. His lips dragged up to her ear.

“You feelin’ all that, huh,” he whispered low.

She whimpered again. Fingers curled in his hair. Pussy pulsing.

Yeah. She was feeling everything.

Her lip was already caught between her teeth, but now she bit it harder. Soft. Pretty. Like her body was trying to keep it together even while her pussy was giving her away.

Because she was feelin’ it. Every word he whispered, every grip, every drag of his mouth down her neck had her soaking through. Wetness growing slow and steady, deeper now. And that voice?

That voice was the switch.

“Killmonger,” she whispered, mouth close to his ear, “You make my pussy wet.”

She felt it. His dick twitched against her belly, thick and heavy through the cotton of his sweats.

Erik stilled.

His stare dropped to her face, slow and hard. Like he couldn’t believe she said that shit. Like he loved that she said it. His lips parted just slightly, breath catching, those gold slugs flashing through for half a second. Everything in his body tightened.

Her breath got softer, more shallow, but her hand moved with purpose. She reached for him. Found his hand—big, warm, calloused. Brought it to her mouth. Her eyes didn’t leave his as she lifted one of his fingers. Her lashes dropped low as she sucked it in slow, lips parting wide, tongue dragging up the underside. Wet and thick. Spit coating it. She pulled back just enough for it to stretch in a string before swallowing him again.

His jaw clenched. He didn’t even blink.

That look in his eyes? Changed. The second she said Killmonger, it flipped something inside him. Set him off quiet. But it wasn’t just in his stare—it was in how his chest rose higher now, how his dick was pressed harder into her, how his finger curled in her mouth just a little like he wanted to feel her suck for real. She let her lips pop off his fingertip, slick with her spit. Still looking up at him. Slow blinks. Pussy damn near dripping now.

“Say it again,” he rasped, voice tighter. Rougher.

Her lips curved just a little when he told her to say it again. She leaned in, breath brushing his mouth, voice low and teasing.

“Should I be scared, Killmonger…or wet?”

The way his eyes darkened told her everything. Before he could even answer, Sanaa grabbed his hand and dragged it down between her thighs. Guided it right where she needed him. Right where she was soaked. His fingers slid against her through her panties and shirt hem, instantly slick.

He felt it. All of it. Warm. Wet. Slippery.

“Damn,” he breathed.

She lifted one leg and wrapped it around his waist, foot hooking behind him. Erik caught it without thinking, strong arm locking under her thigh, holding her up like she weighed nothing. Her body tilted into him, pussy pressed right against his hand now.

He started rubbing. Back and forth. Back and forth. His palm and fingers moving over her folds, spreading that wetness, listening to the soft, obscene sound it made. His eyes stayed glued to his hand. Watching her open. Watching her react.

Sanaa’s head fell back against the wall. A soft moan slipped out. Then another. He rubbed faster with more pressure. Then he slid two fingers inside her. Fast. Hard. Deep. Finger popped her with quick, sharp thrusts that made her whole body jolt.

“Ah…Erik…” she gasped.

Her walls clenched around him immediately. Tight. Greedy. Wet as hell. He slowed. Pulled almost all the way out. Then went back to rubbing her again. Circling her clit. Dragging through her folds. Tapping her pussy lips lightly with his fingertips. Little wet pats that made quiet, filthy sounds every time he touched her. You could hear how soaked she was.

Plap. Plap. Slick. Wet.

Sanaa couldn’t help it. Her moan came out louder this time. Breathless. Shaky.

“Mmm…oh my God…”

Erik snapped his eyes up to her face. Gave her that look. That warning.

“Quiet all that noise down, girl,” he whispered rough, “Before you get us caught in this bitch.”

She bit her lip. Tried to behave. Failed immediately. Still breathing hard, still shaking on his hand, she leaned in close and whispered back with a soft, cocky smile.

“I like him better than you.”

His brows pulled together, “What?”

She blinked up at him, innocent and messy and soaking wet, “Killmonger,” she added, “He don’t play.”

The way his jaw clenched told her she had just started something she was not ready to finish running from.

Erik didn’t say a word. Just looked at her. That look. Then, he grabbed her. Lifted her clean off the floor like she was nothing but breath and softness. All strength. Arms locked tight around her thighs, body pulled up against his chest. Sanaa gasped, arms flying around his shoulders, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

She loved when he handled her like that. Like she was his to pick up. His to move. His to fuck. He walked them over to the bed, dropped down at the edge, thighs spread, letting her settle in his lap with a soft bounce. She was straddling him now, nose to nose. Pussy right on top of that thick dick he kept pressing up through those damn sweats. Her eyes flicked down, smirk blooming on her lips.

But first, she kissed him again. Sucked his bottom lip slow, tugging it between her teeth. Let her tongue swirl there, lazy and wet. Erik’s hands were already moving. Palms dragging up under her shirt, fingers splaying over her back, her sides, her ribs. Exploring. Then, he found her breasts. Warm, soft, perfect in his hands. He groaned against her mouth, thumbs brushing over her nipples slow at first, then rolling them. Playing. Testing. Teasing. She whimpered into the kiss. Back arched a little. Her pussy grinding against him now with more purpose.

His dick jumped again beneath her. Hard. Sanaa felt it. Felt the way it pulsed between her legs—thick and eager, like it recognized her.

She pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, “You so excited about gettin’ in this pussy again, huh?”

He just stared at her. Breathing hard. Dick twitching again.

Sanaa licked her lips slow, still grinding on him, “You miss it that bad?” she teased.

She already knew the answer. But it was the way his hands gripped her tighter, the way his eyes dropped to her mouth like he was ready to devour her whole, that told her…

Yeah.

He did.

_______

He barely had time to react.

One minute, Erik was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders broad and chest rising steady with heat behind his eyes and the next she was pushing him back, palms flat on the firm press of his pecs. His body hit the bed. He didn’t bounce. Just laid there and let her take over. 

Sanaa stood with her legs planted between his. Her eyes looked on him with that knowing look that made his dick twitch without being touched. Tension taut in the air like elastic about to snap. Sanaa lifted her shirt up in a slow strip tease, arms raised above her head as her brown tits with chocolate nipples bounced free. Erik’s eyes followed the movement, tongue pressing to the back of his teeth. That body? That fucking body? Smooth, slick little thing with curves that begged to be bent, gripped, and rearranged. 

Sanaa tossed the shirt somewhere behind her, not caring where it landed and turned around, back facing him. She looked over her shoulder, lips curved like she already knew she was about to drive him wild. 

Then she started moving.

Her bare ass rubbed over the front of his joggers, dragging back and forth right over where he was thickest. That bubbly ass bounced with every grind. Her movements were cocky, teasing just enough friction to feel him throb underneath. 

Erik spread his legs wider, letting her settle in deeper.

“Mm,” she exhaled, bracing herself on his knees, “That what I’m sittin’ on?”

His hands gripped her hips for a second before sliding back, cupping both cheeks and letting them go with a light smack—then another. He alternated between left and right, just enough to make the skin ripple. His palms opened wide when they landed, fingers splaying across her ass like he was measuring it. 

Sanaa let out a breathy gasp when he gripped one cheek tighter, spreading her just enough to feel how warm it was right underneath. She started bouncing then, hips rising and falling, grinding down with her back arched and her ass clapping gently over the ridge of his dick. Every bounce pressed her pussy closer, making him grunt low and strained through his teeth. Erik’s eyes dropped closed for a second but the tension in his jaw and the way his nostrils flared said everything.

“Fuck,” he groaned. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t surprised. It dragged out of him, heavy and grateful.

That lil’ ass was showin’ out.

Erik reached for her again. He gripped her ass tighter with both hands now, holding her steady as she rocked her hips in circles, letting the bounce turn into a whine and then back again. The weight of her body against his dick was just enough to torment him. 

“You tryna make me nut in my draws?” His voice was low. Raspy. Too calm to match how badly he was leaking, “You gon’ keep fuckin’ playin’ with me like that?” His voice turned darker, filthier, each word sliding out like syrup, “Look at this lil’ pussy bouncin’. So fuckin’ wet. You really want it that bad, huh? Want me to slide in slow, or you want that deep shit that make you shake? That make your legs give out right here in front of me?”

She whimpered soft. Didn’t stop riding.

Erik popped her ass again, this time with a little more weight behind it. Sanaa jolted, the sound she made after—low, needy, breathy—made his dick jump. Erik sat up just a little, wrapping an arm around her waist so he could pull her back flush against him. His mouth touched the back of her neck, teeth grazing her shoulder. His voice was in her ear, filthy as ever. 

“Bounce that shit one more time. Just like that. Lemme see how bad you want it.”

Sanaa obeyed. Started riding like she knew it was her job. And that dick? It was twitching like a loaded gun, waiting for the right moment to go off.

She arched deeper.

That pretty curve in her spine dipped low as she braced herself harder on his knees, pressing her palms flat while she started bouncing heavier. Each rise and drop sent her ass into his lap with a slick clap that had his eyes rolling up just a second. That little ass movies like she had rhythm built into it. Round. Greedy. Warm. She knew what she was doing riding the shape of his dick through the fabric like she was tryna imprint it. 

Erik exhaled hard through his nose, chest rising with restraint. His fists clenched at his sides, trying not to grab her and flip her over.

He gritted through his teeth, jaw tight,  “I swear to fuckin’ god—”

Another bounce.

“If we ain’t have to be quiet—”

Another slow grind, her pussy pressing right over the head of his dick.

“I’d be poundin’ yo’ ass into this mattress right now.”

Sanaa turned her head slightly, voice breathy, teasing but drenched in need, “How would you pound me, Daddy?”

That did it.

Erik’s hand came up, dragging down her spine, settling heavy on her lower back to hold her in that perfect arch. His other hand spread across her ass again, squeezing till her breath hitched. His voice dropped low behind her, all gravel and grit like he was about to break his own rules. 

“I’d grab the back of that fuckin’ neck,” he said, slow and deep, “Make you stay right here, in that arch. Then slide this dick in slow, all the way. Let you feel every inch sittin’ in your stomach.”

Sanaa whimpered.

“I’d hold you down with my hand on your back like this. Pull out halfway, then fuck the rest back in. Deep. You’d take it.” He leaned in closer, mouth at her ear now, “I’d fuck you hard. Both hands on this pretty ass, spreadin’ it while I beat that pussy up like it owe me. You’d be takin’ all that pressure. My dick draggin’ your walls, hittin’ that deep spot.” He paused. Licked his lips, “You’d be creamin’ all over it too. I already know.”

Sanaa’s thighs trembled slightly. She pushed her ass back harder into him, grinding slow.

He grunted, low and dangerous, “I’d tear you up, lil’ freak. You fuckin’ deserve it. You make me crave that sweet lil’ pussy so bad it hurt. Got me talkin’ like this with your ass in my lap, knowin’ I can’t even slide in how I really wanna. You proud of that?”

She nodded, hips rolling slow and nasty, pussy gliding over the length of him like she wanted to make him break.

Erik let out a slow exhale, head tilting back, voice full of warning, “Keep fuckin’ playin’, Sanaa. Keep on. I’ll dig so far in this pussy, you gon’ feel me every time you sit down.”

He sucked his teeth, sharp and low. Tsk.

That was his warning.

His hand slid up her thigh, then down again, gripping the back of her leg. Sanaa could feel his chest rising behind her, muscles flexed, breathing thick with control he was barely holding onto. 

“Bring that ass up here,” he growled, voice coated in that dark Daddy tone that always made her body go hot, “Scoot it up. Sit that pretty pussy on my face.”

Before she could even pretend to hesitate his palm cracked against her ass. A quick, low pop that made her gasp. 

He leaned up, eyes heavy, voice even heavier, “Now. Fuck I say?”

Another smack. This time harder. Made her thighs shake.

Sanaa scrambled to obey, breath shaky as she shifted backward on her knees and climbed up, straddling his chest first then inching her way higher. Her thighs opened, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his head. Her body trembled a little from the anticipation, pussy sticky and throbbing. 

She hovered over his mouth, dripping. Erik looked up at her like she was dinner. Then, he wrapped those thick arms under her thighs and locked her in. Hooked her so she couldn’t run even if she wanted to. He yanked her down onto his mouth with no hesitation, tongue poked out, ready to taste. 

The moment her pussy met his tongue, Sanaa moaned sharp and grabbed the sheets. That first swipe was so nasty, dragging right through her lips. Erik kept his tongue stiff so every time she shifted or bounced it licked her just right. He wasn’t playing. He was focused. His big hands gripped her thighs tight and started guiding her—lifting and dropping her like she was nothing but weightless. He bounced her on his tongue like she was sittin’ on a damn throne, letting her ride the shape of it while he groaned low into her pussy. Each bounce smeared that slick gushy mess all over his face. Erik kept that tongue out, swiping, lapping, savoring, owning. 

“Fuck,” she gasped, voice cracking.

His hands squeezed tighter. His tongue flattened, then curled up at the tip to flick her clit, “You gon’ nut like this, huh?” he rasped between licks,  “On Daddy’s face? That’s what you needed?”

Sanaa’s moaned we’re the only response he needed. Her hips started moving on their own, syncing with his tongue, with his grip, with that deep, filthy hunger he poured onto every swipe. 

Erik stayed locked in. Tongue out. Mouth open. Breathing through his nose while he licked and sucked that soaked little pussy like it was his full-time job. No gentleness. Erik lapped at her with heat in his throat, groaning into her pussy. That pussy was sittin’ so perfect on his face, tasting better than anything he could’ve imagined. 

“Look at that,” he growled between sucks, lips shiny and swollen from how deep he was in it. “Leakin’ on my face. You fuckin’ drownin’ me, Sanaa. That lil’ pussy so wet, I could drink it.”

Erik wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard, then let it go with a kiss right on the hood. His tongue dragged flat and slow through her lips again, catching all that creamy wetness she couldn’t stop giving. 

“You feel that? The way I lick it like that?,” he said, tongue circling her clit now, “Got this pussy gushin’ like that? You make a mess every time I touch it.”

Sanaa’s eyes fluttered, jaw slack, her body rocking helplessly over his mouth. She couldn’t think straight. Could barely hold herself up. Her thighs were trembling from the overstimulation. From the precision of his mouth. From the way he talked to her pussy like he was tryna keep her under control. 

But she needed him. Needed all of him.

So her hand reached down, blind and shaky, until he fingers landed on the bulge under his joggers. That dick was HARD. Thick and curved to the left, pressed up against the inside of his joggers like it was tryna break free. Sanaa wrapped her hand around the length of it through the fabric and started stroking. 

Erik’s groan rumbled against her pussy the second she touched it, “Fuck,” he breathed, licking her faster, Yeah. Stroke it, baby. Play with Daddy dick while I eat this pussy. That’s it.”

Sanaa gripped tighter. Her fingers curled spring the shape of him as she pumped. He twitched against he palm thick and hot. Sanaa moaned when she felt another wave of gushy mess slide out and coat his face. 

“Oh my god—Erik…”

“Keep fuckin’ moanin’, Sanaa,” he grunted against her clit, “That’s what the fuck I like. Cream on my tongue like that. Make a mess for me. This Daddy’s pussy, right?”

Sanaa nodded frantically, eyes crossing, fingers slipping from the sheets, reaching back to his locs now, tugging, anchoring herself. Her hips were rocking hard, chasing that release, grinding her clit on his tongue, lips, nose, anywhere with zero shame. Her breath came fast and shaky like she couldn’t get enough air. Erik wanted her to lose control. To cum so hard sh collapsed on his mouth, twitching and helpless. 

He licked like a gluttonous man.. his grip got tighter. Big Jan’s flexed under her thighs, keeping her exactly where he wanted her—on his fucking face with no escape. His full lips were wet and pillowy, beard soaked and ticklish. That thick tongue worked her lokeche was fluent in her body, fluent in that pussy. Every lick had her dizzy. Every suck felt like a punishment and reward all at once. He devoured her like he knew he’d never get enough. 

Then his voice came up again—deep, filthy, dominant.

“This Daddy’s pussy?” he growled, tongue flicking fast on her clit, “Say it.”

Sanaa whimpered, nodding, hands sliding down his abs for balance. Erik licked through her folds slower, then he sucked hard on her clit again until her thighs shook. 

“I eat it good for you, baby?”

His voice was all pride and filth. That nasty, cocky tone that made her cunt tighten around nothing. She was creaming so much it slid down his chin. 

“Best head you ever had in your life, huh?” he rasped, kissing her slit with slow, open-mouthed sucks like it was the only thing he wanted on his tongue for the rest of his life, “You couldn’t wait, huh?” Another lick, “Couldn’t fuckin’ wait to feel my tongue in you.”

Sanaa moaned loud, trying to ride his face harder, chasing the pressure.

Erik slapped her ass with one hand and bounced her on his mouth, “Nah, show me. Show me how bad you wanted it.” His voice dropped even lower, every word dripping with that Daddy dom authority, “Come sit this lil’ pussy all the way down. I want you to fuck my face, Sanaa.”

She did it.

Rolled her hips, fucked back on his pointed tongue while he licked through her. Erik kept his tongue out, lips open, letting her slide over it again and again while she stroked his dick through his pants. Sanaa could feel the tip jump under her palm. 

He groaned, “Cum in my mouth, greedy girl,” he said, tongue pressed flat against her clit, fingers digging into her thighs. “Lemme taste what you been holdin’ for me. Go ‘head and let it go, baby,” he whispered, breath hot on her folds, “Cream all on Daddy face. Don’t hold that shit.”

It hit her slow.

Not a crash, not a wave—but a pull. Like every nerve in her body got strung tight then snapped loose all at once. Her breath caught in her throat. Hips locked mid-roll. Sanaa stopped moving. Just frozen right there on his mouth. Legs spread, chest heaving, hands clawed into the sheets. Her thighs started quivering in slow motion—one, then the other—muscles didn’t know what to do with all that pleasure. A long, soft moan spilled out of mouth shaky and high like. Note being sung just for him. 

“…shit…” she whispered, voice thin.

She wasn’t loud, she was sweet with it. Sensitive. Her whole body reacting in these tiny, helpless jolts like aftershocks. Her clit was swollen and throbbing on his tongue, pussy fluttering from the inside out as the orgasm gripped her full-body. 

“Oooooooo…” she sang, soft and breathless, back starting to arch, “Unhhhhhh…”

Sanaa clenched down on his face and Erik knew she was cumming for real. Felt that hot cream spilling over his mouth, his tongue catching every bit of it. Sanaa wasn’t squirting but she was gushing—wet enough to drown him and still he didn’t pull back. Erik growled under her, biceps flexing to hold her tighter as she tried to lift off his face. She was overstimulated now—body twitching, hands slipping, but Erik refused to let go. 

“Uh uh,” he grunted, locking her down.

Sanaa whined. Tried to rock back, but he angled his face just right and buried his tongue deeper into that pulsing pussy, tip pointed, firm, collecting her release because it was his. He earned it. Her voice was all shaky hums and pretty little cries. She was somewhere between passing out and floating. And Erik stayed right there. Tongue moving, lips sucking, face soaked, beard coated.

He was feeding. 

_______

Sanaa finally lifted off him, her thighs trembling as she scooted back on unsteady knees. Her pussy was still fluttering and dripping, her whole body moving like it had been fucked already even though he hasn’t touched her with anything but those thick fingers, his lips, and his tongue. 

Erik licked his lips, chin shining.

But before he could say a word, she leaned in close and kissed him.

Gentle at first. Then deeper. Lips parting, tongues flicking. Sanaa kissed him slowly like she was tasting herself, pulling the cream from his mouth, licking at the corners and sucking his bottom lip between hers like she needed to clean it all up. Her right hand cradled his jaw, rubbing against his beard while the other hand stroked the scar along his left cheek like she loved every inch of where she sat just moments ago. 

Then, she pulled back. A little smirk playing at her lips, one curl falling over her cheek softening the look in her eyes. Like she wasn’t just riding his face. 

Erik raised his brows, still catching his breath.

She gave a sweet little shrug, “What?”

Sanaa dropped her gaze down and tugged at the waistband of his joggers. She pulled them down, teasing, eyes low and sultry, a soft chuckle at his expression. Her curls skipped forward, swinging as she peeled the fabric past his hips.

Thwap

That dick sprang out heavy, pulsing, leaking. Veins thick. The shaft girthy and standing straight up lie a flesh-covered rod just like she remembered. But nothing compares to seeing it up close like this—free, two-toned, hard, balls hanging low and full underneath. 

“Damn…” she whispered with a shaky breath and a low, almost reverent chuckle.

Sanaa slapped it against her palm once. Then twice. The round was wet and heavy. Her eyes got lower. A little smile pulled at her lips like she was impressed all over again.

“This what you be hidin’ in them sweats?” she said, voice teasing, fingers wrapping slowly around the base, “This dick too fuckin’ big. You outta pocket for this.” She stroked up once. Grip tightening, “I can hardly wrap my fingers around it all the way. Look at this shit.” She licked her lips. Then looked back up at him, face soft, voice low, “This what you tryna fuck me with, Daddy?”

Erik’s eyes dropped to her hand and flared when he saw how small it looked against the length of him. He didn’t answer because his dick was already answering for him—throbbing, leaking, ready to ruin her. Erik was already leaning back on his elbow la when she positioned herself on the bed over his lap slow and sultry, while body still humming from that climax. She got on her knees beside him. 

The mirror across the room caught it all—full-length, angled just right. From his spot, Erik could see everything. Sanaa bent forward, face hovering over the heavy length of him. Her breath touched his tip first—warm, wet, teasing—and he twitched in response. Sanaa glanced up at him through those lashes, giving him that same pretty, quiet smile she wore when she was being the nastiest. Her curls framed her face, half-wild, and fell forward as she leaned lower. Erik reached out and gathered her curls with one hand. Smoothed them back from her face so he could see all of her. 

“Lemme watch, ma,” he said under his breath, voice hoarse, stomach flexing.

And she let him.

Sanaa wrapped her lips around the tip, eyes never leaving his as she sucked him in. The head disappeared first, glistening from how much he was leaking. Her hand followed, stroking the base with soft pressure as she eased more of him into her mouth.

Erik’s breath stuttered. His jaw clenched.

She made it wet. Spit trickled from the corners of her mouth down his shaft, hand gliding through it. She stroked with a twist, lips stretched tight, cheeks hollowing just enough to drive him mad. 

The sound of it was nasty. All lips and slick and soft suction.

Schlk…schlk…glck…

Erik’s eyes fell to their reflection. It was a sight to see. Her head bobbing. Ass arched. He saw the wet trail her mouth left behind as she sucked. The spit strings that stretched when she came up for air. Her tongue glided over the tip before she went back down like she couldn’t get enough. Erik’s free hand slid under her body, fingers curling between her thighs. He rubbed her pussy lips, eyes widening when he felt it. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered.

Sanaa was soaked. Dripping to his sheets. That creamy mess from earlier leaking, mixed with more slick every time she moaned around his dick. Erik rubbed her with his fingertips—middle and ring working in circles over her clit. His lips parted around an exhale. The feel of her pussy on his fingers made his dick throb in her mouth. Sanaa wasn’t expecting that, her tongue slipping along the bottom of his shaft causing his tip to nudge her uvula. Erik’s brows pinched. His expression was somewhere between awe and obsession. Her pussy juices still staining his face. He looked dazed. 

Sanaa couldn’t take all of him but she took enough. She did just right. Her lips made love to every inch she could handle, twisting her wrist at the base, sloppily gliding her tongue under the head, then up the slit. Her tongue flicked fast before sucking him down again, swallowing spot just to start over wetter. Erik’s thighs flexed. His head dropped back for a moment but his hand stayed in her curls. His fingers stayed rubbing that messy pussy. 

“Keep goin’, baby,” he grunted, voice breaking, “Suck that shit slow. Just like that.”

And she did. Making him watch. Making him feel. Making him lose every ounce of control he had left.

Erik’s whole body stilled. Except his hand. The one in her curls. Stroking, gripping, guiding like he needed to stay connected. Like touching her helped him keep a grip on reality while she sucked the soul out of him. His head tilted, eyes flicking down at her then back on the mirror. 

The look on his face? Wrecked.

Brows dipped but not from anger. His mouth parted just enough for his breath to drag out heavy. His eyes low, dark, locked on her. Watching every glide of her lips over his length. Every bounce of her curls. Every flex of her hand as she stroked what her mouth couldn’t handle. His tongue dragged over his bottom lip. 

He started whispering, “Yeah…look at you. Pretty lil’ mouth on my shit.” The tip of his tongue peeked out again—barely, “Messy as fuck. Just how I like it.” His voice dropped to a whisper, all gravel and heat, just for her to hear, “Sound like you tryna fuckin’ drown on it.”

Her mouth slurped around him harder, tongue swirling, spit dripping.

“You love this dick, huh?” he rasped, “Love suckin’ it slow, suckin’ it nasty?” 

Her eyes flicked up toward his, and he damn near lost it. That look she gave him while her lips were stretched over his shaft made his breath catch in his throat.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, softer now, but still filthy, “Look so sweet with my shit in your mouth.” He leaned back a little further, but his eyes didn’t leave the mirror, “Whole face wet. Drippin’. You look like you needed it.” His hand slipped lower between her thighs again. His fingers came back wet. He held them up and looked down at her.

“This you?”

She moaned around him.

Erik chuckled under his breath. His smile was crooked. Sly. Sinful, “You that wet from suckin’ my dick?” He brought his fingers to her lips and smeared her slick across them while she still had him in her mouth.

“Greedy ass lil’ slut,” he whispered, “You love this shit. Can’t even help it.” Then his voice dropped to a low warning, “Don’t stop.” He was breathing heavier now, chest rising, watching her like she was his favorite slut. One he knew would fuck him up but he couldn’t put down.

“Keep suckin’ Daddy nice and slow. Let me see that spit shine. I wanna see that mouth stretch when I nut in it.”

Erik was barely breathing from how hard he was holding back. Every muscle in his stomach flexed. His thighs spread wide, chest lifting just enough to show he was still alive under her mouth. That mirror reflection was his favorite movie now. Her lips wet and stretched, that little hand working the rest that couldn’t fit down her throat, pink tongue teasing his tip, those doe eyes looking up at him like she knew she had him.

She was moaning on it now.

Soft, sweet little hums vibrating against his dick. Pulling back to give him tender kisses down the shaft, lips barely touching. Hand twisting and keeping that pressure tight. Her moans got deeper as she slid down further.

Erik exhaled hard through his nose, eyes hooded, his hand still gripping her curls with a soft dominance, “I’ma nut on your lips,” he whispered, voice gritty, low, and full of warning, “Gon’ give you what you fuckin’ want.”

Her eyes flicked up. And that was it.

That was his trigger.

Sanaa kept moaning around him, sloppier now, spit dripping down her chin, lips swollen, throat working as she bobbed. And when she reached under, cupping his balls and started massaging? Erik’s body jerked. His head dropped back for a second before he snapped it forward again, watching her mouth like he needed it memorized. 

“You tryna swallow all that nut, huh?” he hissed, “Mouth stretched like a good girl.”

She gave him a low moan in response. “Mmmhmm.” 

Didn’t stop moving. She slid her lips up with a wet glide, kissed the top with a filthy smack, then sucked it back in with a twist of her wrist. Her tongue teased the underside of his shaft every time she came up, dragging across that sensitive line beneath his head. 

“Fuck…” he groaned, his voice breaking, “You a problem, Sanaa.”

Sanaa moaned again, like she could feel how close he was. She knew. She could hear it in his breath, feel it in the way his thighs twitched beneath her. Could see it in the way his hand gripped her hair tighter.

 Erik leaned forward a little, watching the mess she was making on his dick, “You hear how wet that shit sound?” he whispered, voice gravel and filth, “That’s you. That’s that greedy ass mouth.”

Her moans turned into soft whimpers. Sanaa pulled off just enough to kiss the tip. 

“Slap it on your tongue…mmm…good girl…”

Sanaa poked her tongue out and slapped that hard dick on it. Wet tongue covered in drool dripping down his dick each time she did it. 

“You wanna fuck my throat, Daddy?”

His hand twitched in her curls.

“Say the word. I’ll let you.”

Erik grunted low, like his whole body was threatening to come undone. He needed control. 

“Nah…keep suckin’ just like that,” he said, jaw slack, eyes trained on her mouth, “Let me nut slow. I want you feelin’ all of it.”

That shit went in one ear and out the other. 

Erik’s thick fingers tangled in Sanaa’s hair, his heavy balls brushing her wrist with each stroke. Erik groaned low, abs tightening under his scarred skin, “Slow, baby girl,” Erik commanded, voice rough and edged with warning, locs falling over his shoulder as he looked down at her, “Suck daddy’s dick nice and slow. Tease it out.” 

But Sanaa didn’t listen, her bratty spark igniting as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, tongue swirling fast around the throbbing underside of his girthy shaft. One hand gripped the base, stroking up and down in quick, twisting pumps that made his length slick with her spit while her mouth plunged deeper, taking him to the back of her throat with a wet gag that echoed in the room. Sanaa pulled off just enough to slurp noisily at the top, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his swollen head before diving back in, gagging herself on his full length, throat convulsing around the invasion. 

Erik looked down at her like he was in a trance. He was trying. Really trying. Chest rising slow, eyes squeezed shut. That vein in his neck pulsing. But his thighs were flexin’ up off the bed every time her tongue swirled right beneath the tip.

“Fuckkkkk” he hissed, voice low, tight, “You tryna make me bust, huh?”

She ignored him. Just slid her lips down again, took more of him in. Wet ass mouth clenching around him. Hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach.

Erik’s fingers gripped tighter, pulling her down with slow force. His stomach jumped. That nut was sitting heavy—low, “Damn,” he groaned, hips pushing up against her face. “Slow down, ma. Let me—shit. Let me breathe. Fuck, Sanaa, I said slow—”

She didn’t slow down. She moaned around his dick instead. Real soft. Real nasty.

That shit went straight to his balls, “You tryna make daddy bust quick? I said suck this dick slow—tease it, slut. Don’t make me on your head and fuck your throat myself.”

Sanaa giggled with his dick in her mouth. 

Erik looked down at her, that pretty mouth stretched wide. Drool on her chin. Hand strokin’ tight while her tongue flicked with intention. She wanted him to lose it. Wanted that nut sittin’ heavy in balls to come up out of him. His breath got short. Neck stiff. Thighs flexing. 

“Aight. Aight, that’s it—fuck,” he growled low, “You want this nut? You better take all that shit. Don’t you pull off. Don’t you run—fuck. Take that nut,” he growled, voice tight as his body bucked, hands gripping her head while his release spilled across her tongue, “Fuck…there you go. Keep suckin’, ma…fuuuck.”

Erik’s hips bucked once. Then again. Deep strokes into her throat now, not even thinking straight. Dick pulsing hard in her mouth. He gripped her hair, held her still. His whole body locked up. That nut tore through him from the spine out. 

“Yeah…take that shit,” he groaned, voice breaking in his throat. “Take every fuckin’ drop.”

That dick unleashed ropes of hot cum straight down her gullet. The salty flood coated her mouth, overflowing past her stretched lips in creamy dribbles that trailed down her chin but she swallowed greedily—throat bobbing with each forceful gulp, humming low as she savored his load. 

Erik didn’t even move after. He just leaned back on his hands, chest heaving, dick twitching with aftershocks. 

“You a goddamn problem.”

Sanaa let it sit on her tongue, then she licked the top clean with one last moan, never breaking eye contact.

_______

Erik was gone. 

Stretched out, chest rising, eyes barely open. That nut had him slumped for a moment, muscles twitching, still feeling the aftershock like it snatched something up outta him. But Sanaa? She wasn’t done. Far from it. And knowing that surged through Erik, fueling him for more to put her in her place. For walking in his room looking the way she always do—fine, sexy, gorgeous little coco puff. 

She let his dick slip from her mouth with a wet pop…then did it again. And again. Kissing it, sucking just the tip, letting her spit drag before popping her lips off it like she ain’t just milk the soul outta him. 

“Ma—chill…” he warned low, hips twitchin’.

But she smiled. That quiet, little freak smile all soft and evil. 

That was the last straw.

Erik sat up like nothing hurt. Stood at his full height and stared down at her because he was about to reach her a new lesson.  Erik grabbed her up easy, placed her on the bed where he wanted her—flat on her back, legs open, knees to ears. He shoved her thighs apart rough with no effort, then pressed one hand to her shoulder, the other to her inner knee, pinning it as far back as he could. 

“Lay the fuck back.” 

She did. Biting that lip already. Damn near gyrating that pussy at him like she was saying ‘catch this pussy daddy’ Erik kicked off his joggers the rest of the way. Socks too. His body full bare now—tattoos flexin’ scars movin’ with every shift of his hip. Erik stepped between her legs, eyes locked on her pussy, then dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed just enough to lean in. 

Erik grabbed the backs of her knees, pushed them up until they were damn near touching her chest. Bent her. Pinned her. And spread her wide. That fat, wet pussy opened up for him. Creamy and glistening. Soaked. Erik didn’t slide in right away. He wrapped a his fingers around the base of his dick, thick and solid, and rubbed the tip up and down from her clit to between her labia slow. Let her feel all of it. Let it drag. That slick sound filled the room. He slapped it against her clit a couple times, watching her flinch and the way her pussy lips jiggled from the impact. Then, he pointed that tip right at her entrance and looked her dead in the eyes. 

“Look at me,” he said, low and steady, “Look at me when I put it in yo’ lil’ ass.”

Her eyes fluttered, mouth already falling open.

“Bite your lip.”

She obeyed.

Chewing the corner of it, eyes wide, breath catching as he started to push in—slow and mean—letting her feel every inch part her open. Erik wanted it to hurt just a little. Wanted her to remember what it felt like when she begged for him. 

“You gon’ be quiet while I fuck you?” he whispered, deeper now, “Or I gotta put my fingers in your mouth?”

Sanaa moaned, but caught it behind her teeth. She was breathless, lips trembling, already so far gone she couldn’t hide it. 

And then the babble started.

“I want it…I want it…I want it…”

She just kept saying it, all breathy and needy, like she’d been starving for it. Like her body recognized this moment. Erik groaned low, deep in his chest. He pushed in deeper, buried halfway now, feeling that pussy stretch to take him in. 

“You want it, huh?” he growled, hand sliding to her jaw, thumb brushing her lips, “Say that shit again.”

She whispered it again, louder, “I want it, Daddy…”

He pushed all the way in. Balls touching ass. Her mouth fell open in a soundless cry.

“Fuck, shit don’t make no sense how a cutie like you can be such a fucking…freak…take this dick.”

Erik stayed deep. Just let it sit there thick and pulsing, buried to the hilt. Her pussy wrapped right around every inch. Sanaa was so full it made her dizzy. Her mouth parted in a soft whimper, breath short, body twitching beneath him as her walls tried to adjust around the stretch. 

Erik was inside her. And not just inside—stuffed in her. That heavy dick curved just right, pressing up against her deepest spot, veins dragging slow against soaked, swollen walls. Her pussy was hugging him, clenching tight around the root, slick and creamy, leaking down his shaft from the pressure alone. 

“Shit…” she gasped, legs trembling. “Too deep…”

Erik stayed right there. Watching her like a man possessed, his hands tightening around the backs of her thighs. His grip was rough, firm, keeping her folded just how he wanted her. His locs hung low, a few sticking to his cheek, his body gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. Muscles flexed across his arms and chest as he held her in place. Then he pulled out. Slow. To the tip. Abs flexin. That v-cut taunt. Biceps tight with tension. And sank right back in with a heavy grind that forced the air from her lungs. 

“Uhhhhhnn—fuck,” she cried, voice high, eyes wide.

“You feel all that?” Erik growled, voice deep and close, “That’s what you been beggin’ for, right?” 

Erik dragged her body closer to the edge of the bed, hands still locked on her thighs, and pulled her legs apart wider until her pussy spread open for him, glistening with her own cream. Then, he started to fuck her. Really fuck her. Not fast. Not wild. Not in a frenzy. 

Deep. Sharp. Punishing. 

Thick strokes. Slow pressure. Drippin’ dick like he had time and discipline. Each thrust hit her with weight—his hips driving forward, dick gliding through all that slick coating him in her wetness, that creamy grip holding him like it was trying to pull him in deeper every time he bottomed out. 

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. 

The sound of skin meeting skin echoes soft, wet, rhythmic. Her pussy was talking. Sanaa couldn’t stop gasping. Her eyes flicked from his dick—watching it disappear and reappear slick with her cream—to his face, where he stared down at her with that focused, locked-in look. Like he was reading her. Studying every reaction. Every blink. Every moan. Every shake. 

“Look at this shit,” he whispered, pulling out slow just to watch it, “Givin’ Daddy all this cream. You see this fuckin’ mess?”

He slammed back in deep.

Sanaa damn near folded. Fingers gripping the sheets, legs shaking, stomach fluttering. Erik leaned over her, keeping her legs pinned back as his strokes got meaner. Not faster—meaner. More deliberate. Pistoning in and out of her. More pressure behind them like he was pressing his nickname into her from the inside out. 

His voice dropped, slick with filth, “Talkin’ all that shit with my dick in your throat, now you quiet.” Another stroke. Deep. Meaner. Precise, “Pussy too full to talk now, huh?”

She moaned again, back arching.

“You feel that tip kissin’ that spot?”

She nodded, tears brimming.

“You know I don’t play when I fuck you,” he growled, sweat sliding down his chest, his body looking like a carved up masterpiece, “I ain’t never gon’ play about this pussy.” His strokes got heavier. Balls slapping. Her cream painting his dick, glazing his shaft with every thrust, “You gon’ keep this pussy nice for me?”

“Y-yes…”

“You gon’ keep it wet for me?”

“Uh-huh…”

“You gon’ keep lettin’ me fuck it open like this anytime I want?”

She couldn’t answer. Her body said it all—dripping, trembling, stuffed and begging for more. 

Erik wasn’t letting up. He was locked in, head low, eyes never leaving her face, dick still sliding in and out of that sweet, swollen pussy like it was his favorite place in the whole world. Biting his lip. He was tearing her up. Not reckless. Controlled. Those deep strokes powered by tight muscles that turned ruthless. Every thrust dragged out then slammed home with precision. Making her breath hitch each time he drove back in. That dick curved just right, splitting her open while her pussy sucked him back in. Sanaa was babbling now—soft, breathless moans that kept spilling out her mouth whether she wanted them to or not. 

Erik wasn’t having that.

“Shhhh,” he hissed through clenched teeth, hips snapping forward again, fucking deep into that creamy mess, “Shut up.”

She gasped, eyes rolling. Couldn’t even help it.

Erik pulled out suddenly and flipped her, laid her on her side, and guided her leg up over his forearm. She was stretched, propped on her hip, one hand clawing at the sheets, the other reaching for him like she needed something to hold. Erik stood over her, body hulking, muscles glistening, locs hanging as he gripped the back of her thigh to keep it open. Then, he slid back in from behind, watching his thick dick disappear into that tight, little pussy all over again. That bubble booty jiggled with every stroke, soft wet claps filling the room. The way her ass moved under his control had his jaw twitching. Breath ragged. Erik leaned in closer and slid two fingers in her mouth—thumb brushing her bottom lip before pushing past it. 

“Suck.”

She did. Eyes wide and dreamy. Wet with tears. Locked on his. Sanaa wrapped those pretty lips around his fingers and sucked slow, cheeks hollowing, eyes big and innocent like she wasn’t getting fucked dumb at the same time.

Erik groaned low, “Fine ass.” His hips rocked forward again, deep strokes punching her breath right out her chest, “Pretty lil’ slut.”

Whenever he complimented her it made her stomach flutter. Sanaa moaned around his fingers. Loud. Wet. She sucked harder, letting her spit run down his knuckles while her pussy clenched tighter, meeting every stroke now with one of her own. Her hips pushed back into him, timed and fresh, making Erik grunt with every clap of skin. She looked so good. Face all soft, lashes fluttering, mouth full of his fingers, eyes on his like she wouldn’t dare look anywhere else. 

Erik blinked slow, nostrils flaring, sweat trailing down his temple as he kept fucking into her, “Oh, it’s like that?” he growled, grinning through it, “You tryna fuck back now?”

Sanaa sucked harder on his fingers and moaned through her nose, hips rolling, letting him feel how deep she wanted it. Her ass bounced off his lower abs with every stroke, pussy sucking him in wetter, messier, louder. 

“You gon’ make me nut in this pussy again,” he whispered, shaking his head with a bite of his bottom lip, “Keep fuckin’ back. I dare you.”

Erik grabbed a fistful of her curls, wound them tight around his hand, enough to own her. Her head tilted back with the pull, neck arched, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp. Erik used the other hand to keep her leg cocked up, bent at the knee, foo dangling in the air like her ankle gave out. The way he held her like he knew he was the reason her body couldn’t keep itself together had her losing whatever strength she had left. 

Erik shifted his weight forward and dropped his hips in tight strokes, each one hittin with that perfect pressure that made her body jolt in little shivers. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t wild and erratic. It was intentional. Erik was fucking jer with weight not overzealous speed. With discipline. And the whole time, he was watching her. Eyes dark. Lip caught between his teeth. Dimples poked. Breaths steady. Sanaa’s hand flew up to her mouth, cupping it as a muffled moan escaped high and wrecked. She had to. Aaliyah was just down the hall. They had to be quiet. But the way Erik was tearing her ass up on the edge of the bed mad quiet feel impossible. 

And then it happened.

That slow, warmth between her thighs into something wetter. Creamier. Her pussy started to gush around him—thick and sweet and messy—and Erik felt every bit of it. 

“Oooh shit…” he groaned under his breath, gripping her tighter, “That lil’ pussy cummin’ on my daddy’s dick, huh?”

Sanaa couldn’t answer. Could barely think. Creaming on him felt too good. It made everything worse—better. That extra glide turned every deep stroke into a slick, full-body drag that left her with no time to recover. Her walls tried to clench down but slid open again with every pump. It was too slippery, too sensitive, too much. Her little pussy was reacting before her mind could even catch up. By the time she realized he hit her spot, he was already hitting it again. Her cream glazed his shaft, painting his dick with it. It sounded wetter now—those quiet, low, schlk, schlk, schlk noises that made Erik’s eyes narrow like he was trying not to loose it. Then, he slipped out from all that mess

“Bring that leg back up. Right there. I’m puttin’ it back in. Right there. Don’t move. You keep doin’ that I ain’t never gon’ stay in…”

Erik leaned in, still holding her leg up, dragging that doc in and out of her like it was sex therapy, “You know how the fuck I nut in this pussy,” he said under his breath, “So why you creamin’ it like you beggin’ for a repeat? You fuckin’ drippin’ on me.” Erik gave a slo thrust, let her feel every veined inch as it slid through the dream she couldn’t stop leaking, “You don’t even know what to do with this dick. Just keep leakin’. I’m a keep making this pussy talk then.”

Another thrust.

Sanaa cried out behind her palm, eyes rolling, thighs quivering.

“You can’t even hold it in.” 

And she couldn’t.

She was melting from the inside out, stuffed and stretched, body overwhelmed by the glide, the heat, the pressure. Her pussy clenched but had no grip left, just gushed again, soaking him, that mess dripping down to the bed beneath them. Erik smirked, fucking her through it, her curls still wrapped around his fist. Her leg hanging in the air, twitching every time he drove back in. His gaze drifting to his mirror, loving the visual of her body being torn to pieces. 

“Greedy ass pussy,” Erik spoke low, close to her ear, “Look at you. That’s my messy girl, huh? That’s my messy girl? Creamin’ all over daddy’s dick like you need it to breathe?” 

Sanaa is whiny, barely holding on, “Daddy…”

Erik groans. The groan transitions into a faint chuckle. He gripped her tighter, “Nah, don’t start cryin’ now. You wanted Daddy’s dick now look. Got your lil’ pussy talkin’ back, spillin’ on me like she proud to be my lil’ nasty girl.” 

“I can’t help it…”

“You ain’t supposed to. That’s what I like. Keep makin’ a mess for me, baby. Let that pretty lil’ pussy leak ‘til it’s drippin’ down both our legs.” Erik pulls out slowly just to watch it ooze, then slides back in, chuckling soft, teeth gritted, “Mm. There she go again. So damn greedy. That creamy shit all in my lap, all up my stomach…you see it, right? That’s how bad you need Daddy.”

Sanaa moaned soft,  nodding, almost crying, Yeah…I needed it so bad…”

“I know you did. You always do. That’s why I’ma keep feedin’ you like this. Gotta keep my nasty lil’ baby full, huh?”

He pulled out slow.

The drag of it had her shaking, mouth parted, breath coming in soft, helpless gasps. The sheets clung to her skin where sweat had slicked her thighs. Erik leaned back, watching her body react to the absence of him—how her legs trembled, how her pussy stayed wet and open for a second too long before twitching around nothing. 

Sanaa sat up, legs folded under her like she needed a second to catch her breath. But her eyes never left him. Not his chest, not his arms. She reached for his muscular thighs, palms spread wide as she slid forward, settling between them on the edge of the bed. Her head dropped, hair brushing his skin, and her lips parted just enough to let a breath escape against his dick. She stared. Watched the way he throbbed for her, thick and slick from where he’d just been. Then, she wrapped one hand around the base and stroked him. Real slow. Lazy. Like she had all the time in the world to tease him back to full attention. Her other hand rested against his thigh, gripping weakly. She looked up at him, eyes glassy, void coated in want. 

“Why you fuck me like that?”

Erik just stared, jaw flexing.

Sanaa licked her lips, kept stroking, twisting her wrist just enough to make him grunt under his breath.

“Let me ride it, daddy. Please?”

Erik cocked an eyebrow. That slow, unimpressed look that made her squirm every time. 

You stood in the dimly lit living room, your hand resting against the cool glass of the window as you watched people your age laughing and walking together outside. Their voices carried through the air, light and carefree, while you remained on the other side of the glass—watching, not joining.

“What are you looking at, darling?”

A deep voice rumbled behind you, warm and familiar. You turned to see your boyfriend standing there, watching you with a soft, unreadable expression.

“I was wondering…” you hesitated, your voice small, uncertain. “If I could maybe… go outside sometimes.”

Your gaze dropped to the floor as soon as the words left your lips, as if saying them aloud made them too fragile, too easy to dismiss. The room was quiet for a moment, save for the faint sound of laughter filtering in from outside.

“Not today, my sweet girl, but tomorrow we can,” Yunho murmured, his voice gentle as he lifted your chin with a careful touch. 

“I’ll pick out some cute clothes for you,” he continued, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Gonna make you look all pretty when we go outside, hm?” He tilted his head slightly, watching your expression as if making sure you weren’t too disappointed.

“Well… I was thinking that maybe I could go… alone,” you said carefully, your voice barely above a whisper.

The change in Yunho was immediate. His smile faded, and his warm gaze darkened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. The playful tilt of his head stilled, his grip on your chin tightening just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch.

“Alone?” he echoed, as if tasting the word on his tongue, testing it. The room felt quieter now, the laughter from outside suddenly distant, as if the world beyond the window had pulled away.

You quickly realized your mistake, shaking your head as a nervous chill ran down your spine.

“N-no…” you stuttered, your voice barely steady.

Yunho’s eyes stayed locked on yours, unreadable, his grip lingering just a second longer before he finally let go. The weight of his gaze felt heavy, pressing down on you like an invisible force.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He brushed a thumb over your cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. “You don’t need to go alone, princess. I’ll take care of you, always.”

The words were meant to be comforting, but something about them sent a shiver down your spine.

When evening came, Yunho guided you to the bathroom, his touch gentle but firm as he helped you wash your hair. His fingers worked through the strands with practiced care, massaging your scalp in slow, deliberate circles. The warm water cascaded down your back, but even in its comforting heat, you couldn’t ignore the way his presence lingered—always watching, always tending to you like you were something fragile, something to be kept.

Later, in your bedroom, he sat you down in front of the vanity, the low hum of the blow dryer filling the quiet space. His fingers combed through your damp hair, smoothing out any tangles with soft strokes before carefully drying each section. He was meticulous, ensuring every strand was perfectly in place, just the way he liked.

Yunho always made sure you looked perfect for him—his perfect doll. Hair carefully styled with delicate bows or glittering clips, soft makeup dusted over your cheeks, and the cutest outfits he could find. You were his masterpiece, his sweet, delicate thing.

“All done,” he murmured, setting the blow dryer aside and tilting your chin up to meet his gaze in the mirror. A satisfied smile played on his lips as he admired his work.

“Perfect, just like always.”

Yunho gently slid the robe off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet. The cool air brushed against your skin, but before you could react, he was already slipping a pair of soft pink shorts up your legs, his touch slow and deliberate.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he smoothed the fabric over your hips.

Next, he grabbed one of his shirts—a loose, oversized thing that still carried his scent—and carefully guided it over your head. The material hung off your frame, drowning you in its warmth, the sleeves nearly covering your hands.

His eyes softened, but there was something possessive in the way he looked at you, like he was making sure you belonged to him in every possible way.

He reached out, gently brushing your hair back into place before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.”

Like always, Yunho pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, tucking the blankets around you before pulling you close. His warmth surrounded you, his steady breathing in your ear like a lullaby. It was routine—his kiss, his touch, his presence wrapping around you like an unshakable force.

But tonight, sleep didn’t come.

Your mind was restless, turning over thoughts you usually pushed away. You stared at the ceiling, heart beating a little too fast, a little too loud.

The rules.

You weren’t allowed to go outside alone.

You couldn’t have friends.

You couldn’t work.

You couldn’t even dress yourself.

Everything—every part of your life—belonged to Yunho.

And for the first time in a long time, you wondered what it would feel like to take something back.

The night had passed slowly, and when morning finally came, you didn’t expect anything to be different.

Yunho woke you gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the same tenderness he always had. His touch, warm and familiar, stirred you awake from your dreams, and you blinked up at him, still wrapped in the haze of sleep.

“Good morning, my sweet little girl,” he murmured, his voice smooth and comforting.

Before you could fully gather your senses, he scooped you up, cradling you in his arms as he carried you to the bathroom. His movements were effortless, like it was second nature to take care of you in every way. He set you down carefully and began the usual morning routine: running the water just the right temperature, helping you wash your face, brushing your hair, guiding you through the motions with the same quiet patience as always.

Then, he dressed you again—soft, pastel clothes, always perfectly chosen to suit you. Your world, your body, your choices, were all carefully controlled by him, as if he were constructing the perfect image of you, piece by piece.

You looked in the mirror, and for a moment, it all felt so ordinary. Until your own reflection stared back at you, and a small, unfamiliar thought flickered in the back of your mind.

You sat across from Yunho at the breakfast table, the soft clink of utensils in the quiet morning air. He was holding his usual cup of coffee, his eyes thoughtful as he stared into the dark liquid, as if pondering something important.

“I was thinking…” Yunho began, his voice slow, deliberate. “That I need to protect you more.”

You paused, the air suddenly feeling heavier, though you couldn’t place why. His gaze met yours, intense and steady, and for a brief moment, you wondered what exactly he meant.

Then, with a small smile, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a delicate bracelet, glinting softly in the light.

“This,” Yunho continued, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the bracelet as he held it out to you, “allows me to watch you y/n, wherever you are.”

Your eyes widened as he placed it in your palm. The weight of the object felt strangely heavy, like it held more than just its physical presence. It was a tether, a connection you hadn’t asked for, yet there it was, pressing against your skin.

“You’ll always be safe,” he said, his voice low and reassuring, but there was something in the way he said it that made a shiver run down your spine. “Always.”

You nodded, unsure what else to say, your fingers tightening around the bracelet as you tried to make sense of the feeling growing in your chest.

“But why—” you started, confusion clouding your voice as you looked at the bracelet in your hand.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, angel,” Yunho interrupted, his smile soft but insistent, as if the answer was already clear and you didn’t need to ask any more questions.

His thumb gently wiped the corner of your mouth, where a small smear of yogurt had left a mark. The tender gesture was so familiar, so routine, and yet, it felt almost too intimate in that moment, like he was reminding you of how little you needed to worry about anything but him.

“You don’t need to understand everything,” he murmured, eyes fixed on you as if watching for any hint of resistance. “Just trust me, okay?”

The sudden ringing of Yunho’s phone cut through the moment, and he groaned softly, irritation flashing across his face.

“Gotta answer this,” he muttered, standing up from the table. He didn’t even glance at you as he straightened his shirt, the usual calm demeanor falling into place. “Be a good girl while I deal with this, okay? Make me proud.”

He petted your hair, fingers gently brushing through the strands, and for a second, you almost felt comforted by the gesture. But then, he was turning away, heading upstairs with his phone pressed to his ear, his footsteps echoing in the quiet house.

You sat there, the empty space around you feeling oddly suffocating, the sound of his voice drifting off into the distance. It wasn’t the first time he had left you alone, but something about it felt different this time. Something about his words lingered in the air, unspoken expectations hanging like a weight over your chest.

You were left with your thoughts again, the bracelet still resting heavy in your palm, and the quiet feeling of being… controlled.

The weight of everything—his rules, his control, the constant feeling of being watched—had built up over time, but now, it felt unbearable. The room was quiet, the house still, but your mind raced, no longer able to ignore the growing knot of unease in your stomach.

You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t keep living like this.

That night, you spent hours staring at the ceiling, your mind working through every possible way to get out. Every escape route, every detail, every risk—thinking it through over and over, your heart pounding as you came to one conclusion: you had to leave.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love Yunho. You did. But the love he gave was suffocating, controlling, like a cage you had spent too long trying to ignore. You needed to be your own person again, to breathe without feeling trapped by the life he had built around you.

Your heart raced as you quickly stood up, glancing around the room. The silence felt almost deafening, every small sound echoing in your ears. Yunho was still upstairs, his voice barely audible through the floorboards, absorbed in his call.

You didn’t hesitate. Without another thought, you left the bracelet on the table—its presence still lingering in the air like a warning—and stepped silently past the kitchen. Your footsteps were muffled against the cool floors as you moved toward the main hall.

Each step felt like it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts, the fear and the thrill mixing into one knot in your chest. You kept your movements calculated, making sure not to make a sound, but the pulse of urgency in your veins kept you moving forward.

The door was just ahead. The world outside, with all its uncertainty, seemed closer than ever. But the closer you got, the more the reality of what you were doing hit you. Leaving meant breaking free, but it also meant leaving behind the life you had known with Yunho. The consequences weren’t clear, but you couldn’t stay locked away any longer.

You reached the door, your hand on the handle. This was it.

As you slowly turned the handle, the door creaked open with a soft groan, the air on the other side feeling cooler, more open. You paused, a cold shiver running down your spine.

It was too quiet.

No distant sound of Yunho’s voice, no hint of movement from upstairs—just the stillness of the house pressing in on you. The quiet felt unnatural, unsettling.

You took a cautious step forward, then another, but the silence seemed to swallow each footfall. Something didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t the usual peace you’d grown used to—it was an eerie stillness, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting.

You stopped at the threshold, torn between the pull of freedom and the heavy feeling creeping in. Something told you to turn back, but the door was already half-open, the world beyond it just a step away.

“Get. Back. Now.”

The command hit you like a punch to the gut, cold and sharp, and your body froze in place.

It was Yunho. His voice was low, steady, yet it carried a weight that felt impossible to ignore. You could hear the anger behind it, the control, the edge that made every muscle in your body lock in place.

For a moment, you stood there, paralyzed by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The door was still ajar, the outside world just within reach, but now it felt like you were trapped between two worlds.

Slowly, you turned around, meeting his gaze. Yunho was standing at the top of the stairs, eyes dark and unblinking, his expression unreadable but full of something fierce, something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Did you really think you could just walk out?” His voice was quieter now, but the danger in it made your heart race.

You swallowed, the weight of everything crashing down on you. The door behind you felt like an escape, but his presence, the tension in his gaze, made it feel like a trap.

His words sliced through the stillness of the moment, sharp and venomous. “Close the door, pretty girl.”

The command sent a chill down your spine, and without thinking, you obeyed, your hands shaking as you gently pulled the door shut. The sound of it closing felt final, like a door shutting on everything you’d hoped for.

Before you could even process what was happening, Yunho was there, moving swiftly toward you. His expression was cold, darker than you’d ever seen, and his presence seemed to fill the entire space.

“You broke a rule,” he said, his voice steady but heavy with an unmistakable threat. “You know what that means.”

Before you could react, he scooped you up with alarming force, throwing you over his shoulder as if you were weightless. Panic surged through your body, and you tried to struggle, but his grip was unyielding.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a growl as he carried you, your body pressed against him. The walls of the house seemed to close in, and with every step he took, the weight of your actions settled heavily in your chest.

Yunho couldn't believe it, couldn't believe that his perfect doll was trying to leave him. 

The words rushed out of your mouth in a desperate, pleading tone. “Please! I am sorry, I am sorry!” You tried to wriggle free, but his hold on you was firm, unrelenting.

Yunho didn’t even glance at you as he walked toward the bedroom, his expression cold, as if he’d already made up his mind.

“I thought I taught my princess well,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment. “Guess I need to be less nice next time.” He shook his head as he reached the bed, and in one swift motion, he threw you down onto the soft surface. The sudden impact left you breathless, and for a moment, you could only stare up at him, heart racing, chest tight with anxiety.

The air between you two was thick, and you could feel it—he was angry. You had crossed a line, and he wasn’t about to let it go easily. His eyes never left you as he stood over the bed, looming, as if deciding what to do next.

In that moment, you felt small, vulnerable, and trapped.

He crawled on top of you, straddling your hips as he pulled something out from under a pillow. A pair of handcuffs and a ball gag. 

“No! Please stop!” your eyes widened as you shook your head, putting your hands in front of yourself. 

His voice was dangerously calm, a stark contrast to the storm that swirled in his eyes. “Be a good little girl for me, okay?”

The question wasn’t really a question at all—it was an expectation, one you had no choice but to meet. The weight of his words pressed down on you, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your chest tight with the tension that had built between you.

He grabbed your wrists, clipping on the silver cuffs. Then, with a focused expression, he slipped the gag into your mouth, tightening its leather straps behind your head.

You looked at him, your eyes filled with tears, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The weight of what you had done hung over you, and you could feel the fear tightening in your stomach. You knew, deep down, that you had messed up, and there was no escaping the consequences that would come.

“Tears won't make me change my mind,” Yunho said firmly as he rolled up your skirt, a determined look in his eyes. His hand gripped on your thigh, his long fingers tracing small circles on your exposed skin as he slowly moved to position himself.

“Daddy needs to remind you what happens when you disobey, y/n” Yunho repeated, his tone low and authoritative. His hand moved from your thigh to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he pulled you close. “I wanted what's best for you, and this is what I get in return?!” he continued, his eyes locked on your face with a mix of frustration and disappointment.

He eagerly pulled down his pants, pulling your lace panties to the side. “Don't you dare make a sound,” he murmured, hovering above you.

Yunho's actions were deliberate, and he paid no mind to the lack of preparation. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn't about to let something like that stop him.

Your efforts to squirm and resist were futile as Yunho held you firmly in place, his grip strong and unyielding. 

“Gonna fuck you so good..that's what you're for. My personal fuckdoll to use whenever I feel like.”

Yunho's frustration grew as he heard your whine and felt you attempt to close your legs. His growl of impatience only got stronger, his grip on you tightening. “Don't you dare close your legs,” he growled, “spread 'em.”

You shook your head, looking at him with pleading eyes. 

A sharp smack suddenly echoed through the room as Yunho's hand came down on your cheek, a harsh and unexpected response to your plea. The sting stung, leaving a faint red mark on your skin, a sign of his frustration and dominance.

You felt tears roll down your cheeks, before sensing a subtle pressure at your opening.

“Don't make me hit you again,” Yunho warned, his voice dangerously low. His expression was a mixture of determination and frustration, and in one fluid motion, he pressed forward, sinking into your tight heat. 

A gasp escaped your lips as the burning pain struck without warning, your body jerking and arching in response. The searing heat shot through you, leaving a trail of raw agony that seemed to freeze time itself. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, caught between the shock and the unrelenting sting that pulsed through your every nerve.

“So pretty y/n, my pretty little girl..” A low, almost guttural moan escaped his lips as he spoke, a mixture of praise and wonder in his voice. He stared at you with dark eyes, taking in the image of you beneath him.

You laid there, your wrists cuffed and your once-perfect hair now tangled and disheveled. His hands slid down on your hips, the hold almost bruising. 

“Want daddy to stop, baby?” Yunho's voice was laced with mock concern as he spoke, his pout exaggerated and the look on his face a clear indication that he had no intention of stopping. His eyes were trained on your face, taking in the streaks of mascara that trickled down your cheeks.

He pulled back slowly, only to slam back into you, making your body jolt forward. 

You felt the tip of his cock bruise your cervix, the pain so diabolical you choked on a sob and dug your nails into your palms. 

“Aw did it hurt, princess?” he asked again, the repetition of the question almost mocking, “is daddy's cock too much to take? Too big for your tight, pretty little pussy?” his fingers traced a path over your body, before performing the piercing thrust again. 

Your back arched off the bed, your hands shaking from the intense sensations coursing through your body. Yunho set up the same relentless pace, his own pleasure apparent in his expression. He took in the image of you, the arch in your back and the tremors in your hands as evidence of the control he had over you. 

Yunho's head tilted back, his eyes closed as he let out a low moan. He was lost in the pleasure, his focus solely on the sensations flooding through him.

He lifted your hips, holding them in the air as he pounded into you, dangerously deep with that angle. Your soft cries and whines spilled out, though muffled by the rubber gag seated in your mouth.

“Fuck, your pussy feels so good, so tight,” he breathed out, leaning over you and looking into your red, puffy eyes. 

“You're beautiful like this, my precious y/n,” a whisper, warm against your neck, but still sending a shiver down your spine. 

You whimpered, the pain crashing over you in waves, too much to bear. “Look at me,” Yunho commanded, his voice deep and unwavering, a stark contrast to the chaos in your mind. It cut through the fog of agony, pulling your focus, demanding your attention despite the searing discomfort.

You met his gaze, locking onto his dark eyes. The intensity in them was unnerving, the look almost psychotic—dangerous, wild, like he could see straight through you, unraveling everything. It sent a chill down your spine, the heat of the pain momentarily forgotten as his eyes held you captive.

His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it as he leaned in, his breath ragged. “If I take it off, do you promise you’ll be good?” he asked, sweat clinging to his hair, dripping down his forehead. His gaze moved to the ball gag in your mouth. 

You nodded immediately, and Yunho paused for a moment, his hand lifting up your head with a firm yet gentle motion. Without a word, he moved swiftly, his fingers working to unbuckle the gag with precision. 

He tossed it aside with a swift motion, and for the first time, you were able to close your mouth. The relief was instant, but it left you swallowing the excess saliva that had built up, the sensation oddly grounding after the tension of the moment. 

“What a good doll.”

Yunho's gaze was unwavering as he continued with his quick and deliberate pace. He kept his eyes on your face, watching your expressions intently, enjoying the sight of you writhing and whimpering beneath him. 

“Who do you belong to?” he growled, his voice thick with raw intensity. His movements grew jerky and uncoordinated, as if the demand was unraveling something inside of him, pushing him to the edge. 

“Y-you…” you whined, your voice trembling as you sniffled, the words barely escaping your lips. The mix of pain and desire in the air made it hard to focus, but you knew what he wanted. Every part of you was raw, vulnerable in his presence.

“Exactly,” Yunho chuckled darkly, his voice low and almost predatory. His hand moved to your throat, fingers tightening just enough to send a shiver down your spine, a mix of power and control settling in the air between you. 

“And you deserved this, right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with dark satisfaction as he tightened his fingers around your throat, the pressure a reminder of his control. 

“Yes,” you choked out, the word strained as you swallowed hard, the pressure around your throat making it difficult to breathe. 

“Yes what?” he raised his eyebrows. 

“Yes daddy,” you sobbed, gasping for air. 

“Good girl,” Yunho smiled, his voice softening for a moment as he released his grip on your throat. 

Yunho's eyes shut tightly, his pace increasing to a quick and desperate rhythm. The change in speed caused a sharper cry to escape your lips as your hands balled info fists. 

“Fuck..fuck..” Yunho groaned, biting his lip. “Open,” he ordered, his eyes still tightly closed as if lost in the moment. His voice held an undeniable command and bit of desperation. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth and stuck your tong out, anticipating his next move, your body responding before your mind could fully catch up. 

He quickly pulled out, gripping his aching cock as he aimed at your tongue. A high pitched moan escaped his lips as he shoot strings of hot cum on your tongue, painting it white. 

“Swallow,” he said simply, his gaze never leaving you, dark and unwavering. 

You immediately swallowed the salty substance, your body trembling with the effort as you stuck out your now clean tongue, the act almost instinctual in response to his command. The tension in the air still hung heavy, your submission clear in the way you followed his every move without question.

“Such a good girl,” he groaned, his voice thick with approval. His thumb gently wiped away the excess seed from your bottom lip, the soft motion a contrast to the intensity in his eyes. Each touch felt like a reward, a subtle reminder of his control and your obedience.

“You know,” he mumbled, pulling his sweatpants back up with a slow, deliberate motion. “Only I know what’s best for you,” he added, his voice low and steady, the words lingering in the space between you. 

“Understand?” he asked, his voice sharper now, a bite of command cutting through the air. “You can’t do anything yourself,” he continued, his gaze unwavering as he unlocked your handcuffs. His hands moved to gently rub your sore wrists. 

You nodded, your body still trembling as he wiped away your tears, his touch soft and reassuring. His fingers combed through your hair, the gentle gesture almost soothing amidst the chaos. 

Without a word, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as he carried you to the bathroom, ready to clean you up, his presence a steadying force in the aftermath.

After you were clean again, he dressed you carefully, his movements tender as he ensured you were comfortable before gently placing you on the bed. You were sore, exhausted, every part of you aching with the weight of what had just passed. It was clear—Yunho knew exactly what was best for you. He lay down beside you, pulling you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a protective shield, offering a sense of calm after the storm.

“I love you, my precious little girl,” he mumbled against your soft hair, but there was an edge to his voice now, something darker, like a warning. His grip on you tightened, possessive and unyielding, as if the words were more of a claim than a comfort. The room felt colder, the silence thicker, and you could sense the weight of his gaze still on you even as you closed your eyes. It wasn’t reassurance—it was control, and it lingered in the air like a shadow, heavy and unspoken.

Shiu sighed, clearly suspicious but too used to Toji’s bullshit to push. “Alright, whatever. So the job’s in Shibuya—client wants it quiet, double the pay if we wrap by Friday—”

Toji hummed like he was listening, but his mouth never stopped. One thick finger slid inside you—then two making your thighs squeeze around him harder. You were dripping down his chin, soaking the collar of his shirt. He didn’t care. Just kept eating like your pussy was the only thing on his mind while Shiu droned on about payout and timelines. “—you in or what?” Shiu finished.

Toji pulled back just long enough to answer, lips swollen, “Mhm,” he finally grunts into the phone, voice lazy. “Double’s good. Send me the location.”

He dives back in without missing a beat—tongue fucking into you deep while his thumb circles your clit in tight, relentless little strokes. Shiu keeps talking logistics—times, entry points, cleanup—none the wiser. Toji responds in short, gruff sentences, each one punctuated by another long lick or a slow suck that makes your hips buck against his face.

Then Shiu pauses. “Yo… what the hell are you eating over there? Sounds like it tastes fuckin’ good. You got some gourmet shit or what?”

Toji laughs against your pussy, “Yeah. Real fuckin’ good. Best meal I’ve had in a while.” You’re mortified and soaked and you feel like you about to fucking cum with Shiu on the phone. Shiu laughs. “Man, save some for me next time. Sounds like you’re enjoying the hell outta that.” He laughs slurping louder, “Nah, I ain’t sharing’.”

Toji’s thumb presses harder on your clit—once, twice—and you can’t hold it back anymore. A muffled moan slips past your fingers. Toji’s grip on your hip tightens in warning, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he gets meaner—tongue plunging deeper, lips sealing around your clit and sucking hard. “Gotta go,” he mutters into the phone, voice rough. “Food’s gettin’ cold.”

He hangs up before Shiu can say another word, tossing the phone onto the couch like it’s nothing. Then both hands are on you—gripping your ass, spreading you wider, burying his face so deep you feel his nose pressed against you.

Tongue and fingers work in tandem—curling inside you while his mouth devours your clit. You come hard, screaming his name, thighs clamping around his head as you shake and gush against his tongue.

Toji doesn’t let up even after you come, thighs clamped around his ears and your whole body twitching. He cleans up every drop, long, dragging licks from your oversensitive entrance back up to your swollen bud. You can barely form words. Your hand’s still clamped over your mouth even though the call’s long dead, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.

He crawls up your body, caging you in, lips brushing yours so you could taste yourself on him. “Shiu’s right,” he murmurs, “You do taste fuckin’ good.”

Krypto tilted his head at the sight of you and whined.  

Inside the basket were at least a dozen eggs, each wrapped in straw. “Pa said to bring these to you …he’s, uhm, sorry about what he said last night.”

It clicked then, who your father was, and then who you were. Last time he’d laid eyes on you, you were lining up with your older brothers at the bus stop just at the end of Maple Street. They always ran ahead of you, tackling each other to get on the school bus, not paying any mind to how your small legs could never keep up with them. Clark didn’t pay much attention either, always home visiting from college, with his intentions of spending all his free time with his parents, who’d gone months without seeing him. He remembered how fragile you always looked. 

Even now that you were a young woman standing in front of him, that hadn’t changed.  Clark didn’t take the basket from your hands for fear that you’d turn and run once you accomplished your mission. He let the door swing open, kneeling lower until your eyes had to meet his. He kept one arm around Krypto, holding him steady, as he continued to whine. 

He wanted to play with you, clearly, but Clark feared he’d break you in half if he got too excited. 

“Your Pa sent you?” Clark asked, and he watched you shiver at the sound of his voice. 

You nodded, “He said to bring these to you. He’s sorry about, uhm, what he said last night,” You repeated the rehearsed line. 

“So it was your Pa who wanted me to have these. Not you?”

“Uhm, I-I …I want you to have them, too. Please take them.” 

Your father was a violent drunk, and your three older brothers were even rowdier. Last night, Clark was walking back to his pickup truck from inside the gas station when your father quite literally ran into him. Clark knew he had blacked out simply by the fact that he tried to pick a fight with a man three times his size. Some resentment had built between Clark and your Pa after Jonathan and Martha’s passing. Jonathan never charged your father a cent when your family needed to use the larger farm’s equipment.  But after his parents were gone, Clark couldn’t afford to keep giving things away. The act wasn’t meant to be cruel. It had taken Clark a full two years for the Kent farm to turn a profit again after his parents passed away. 

Your stomach growled, and Clark’s blue eyes locked on yours. 

“Have you had breakfast, Y/N?” Clark asked, and your eyes drifted down to the basket of eggs you were holding. The basket of eggs was undoubtedly meant to be your family’s breakfast. 

“I’m okay,” You said quickly, “My Pa wanted you to have these.”

You set the basket down, and Clark quickly reached towards you, his strong hand wrapping around your wrist. He kept you from flying away. 

He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. Your lips were plump, your eyes big and sad, and the curls of your hair were barely restrained by the white ribbon you used to tie them from your face. Your grey sweater was not nearly warm enough for the cool, November air, and your feet were dirty and bare. 

“Will you come inside and warm up?” 

“I can’t–”

Clark had kind eyes. Even when he was being firm, his face was gentle. “I’ll accept the eggs and your father’s apology if you come inside and warm up.” 

Your tune changed as you realized Clark wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I can’t stay long. I have chores.” 

Clark could only imagine the reaction your father would have if he were to send you away and turn down his offer. You were painfully aware of what your father’s reaction would be. Maybe it was manipulative, but Clark had already decided that he needed to see you up close. 

“I won’t keep you long,” Clark assured you, his deep voice rumbling. Things were easy after that. The way he stood, taking the basket in one hand and pulling you inside with his other hand. You stared at him like the giant he was. 

Clark expected you might pull away from him, but you only stepped closer as you realized he was the only one protecting you from Krypto. For a girl who grew up on a farm, you appeared skittish around Clark’s dog. 

Clark pulled you along, through the living room, and towards the kitchen, which overlooked the backyard. Surprisingly, Krypto remained cautious, keeping his distance. It was as if he recognized how fragile you were, too.  “Sit,” Clark insisted, grabbing one of the wooden chairs tucked into the kitchen table. Your body no longer felt like it was yours to control. He guided it so easily that it felt like you were floating. He let you go as soon as you lowered your bottom down onto the seat, “Coffee?”

You watched him, muscles straining through his white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, which made him look even more All-American. 

Your lips parted to answer, although your brain was still trying to compute that you were in an unfamiliar kitchen with your neighbor, one you’d only admired from a distance. You didn’t have to answer. Clark was setting a hot cup in front of you and taking the seat adjacent to yours, “I’m assuming you like cream and sugar.” You nodded shyly, “Lots of cream and sugar?”

You nodded again, your eyes fixed on your hands as you fidgeted in your lap. The warmth creeping through you had little to do with the coffee and everything to do with Clark’s steady gaze.

Clark reached toward the center of the table, where the basket of eggs sat next to a blue-flowered cream and sugar set.

“Thank you, Mr. Kent,” You whispered as Clark poured cream and sugar into your drink. 

Clark waited patiently as you stared at the cup of coffee in front of you. He leaned back in his chair, finally taking a sip of his own. He sensed how overwhelmed you were. Your nervous system had yet to let your body know that you weren’t in immediate danger. 

Your dress was a faded pink paisley, the nicest one you owned. Undoubtedly, your father had chosen it for you. Your lack of shoes, though… maybe it had been a while since he’d bought you a new pair.

When you finally did reach out to take a sip, Clark let the silence stretch between the two of you. A reprieve from your loud and moody household. It felt necessary, not awkward. 

He decided not to ask if you were hungry. He used two of the eggs you’d brought him and scrambled a plate of eggs for you. “Those eggs were for you.”

“These eggs are for you,” Clark insisted, “Not fair they made you give away your breakfast. C’mon, I won’t tell your Pa.”

Clark waited for you to work up the courage, and you eventually did. 

“Are you in school?” Clark asked after you’d taken a few bites. The thought did cross his mind that he didn’t know exactly how old you were. If the lustful thoughts in his head were to continue, he should at least establish what rules he was breaking. 

You shook your head, “No.”

“You graduated?” Clark pressed further. 

“I couldn’t go anymore. Had lots to do at home. Still do.”

“Your Pa didn’t make sure that you graduated from high school?”

You gave him a look of confusion. “It’s not like I was gonna go to college.”

“Your Pa told you that?” Clark watched as you shrank into your sweater and realized he’d pushed too far. “Sorry, I’m just trying to understand. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I really do have chores. Thank you for having me for breakfast, Mr. Kent.”

“Let me drive you home.”

“It’s just a mile down the road–”

“You’ve got no shoes on, Y/N.”

“I really don’t mind.” 

“Of course you don’t.” 

You didn’t fight him on the topic for long. Just as you didn’t fight back when it came to your brothers and father, you would shrink into yourself eventually. You reminded him of the petrified women he was used to saving from runaway trains and falling skyscrapers. Except you seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety. 

Clark drives you in his Pa’s old pickup truck the short mile down the road. Much to your satisfaction, your brothers weren’t hanging around outside smoking and roughhousing like usual. “Thank you,” You whispered, and you moved so quickly out the passenger door that Clark and his superhuman speech almost missed your hand when he reached out to grab it, “Mr. Kent–”

“You come over anytime you want, you hear me?” Clark's eyes narrowed sharply at yours. Your chest rose and fell as you took in shallow breaths, “If you don’t feel safe or if you just want some quiet. You’re welcome at mine. You understand?”

“I’ll be okay.” You’d made it to this point, hadn’t you?

“But are you listening to me?”

You nodded quickly, “Yes, anytime I-I want.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Clark released his grip, although it took more strength than he anticipated. It felt wrong as he watched you skitter across the gravel road and head inside your family’s double-wide. It felt even worse knowing how much more he wanted to see… to feel. 

The next time Clark heard from you was two weeks later. Friday. Payday. The roughest nights were when your Father had enough money to be drunk for the entire weekend. He’d come home from the bar a little before one in the morning. You could usually sleep through the chaos and stay hidden behind your locked door. This time, for some terrible reason, your father had gotten into it with your oldest brother. You tucked yourself into the corner of your bed and tried to ignore the crashing glass plates and the holes being punched into the walls.

Smell the flowers, you reminded yourself, blow the candles out. The panic only gets worse when you don’t breathe properly. The method works until your Father starts beating at your door. You can only make out your name as he slurs his words. It won’t be good if he breaks down the door. Not at all. You have to make a decision. 

You could open the door now. He might be less angry if you do exactly what he wants and when he wants. If he beats down the door and you’re still inside, he’ll be pissed at you. But he already sounds pissed? What had you done? The house was spotless when he got home. There were plenty of leftovers in the fridge. You hadn’t asked for anything. 

You chose the third option. You grabbed your robe hanging on your twin-sized bedpost and made your way over to your window. It’s a short jump down to the dirt patch in the backyard, but somehow you land funny. You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. Hard. The pounding continues. Your heart beats even louder in your ears. 

It’s adrenaline that sends you limping into the woods. Although you move quickly, more air fills your lungs the further you get away from your house. Half an hour later, the Kent farm comes into your view, and for some strange reason, you feel relieved. 

You can’t bring yourself to knock on the front door. It’s almost two in the morning. You limp through grassy fields, mosquitoes bite at your bare legs, and you head towards a tall, red barn. It sits a little apart from the Kent house. That will be warm enough for the night. And you won’t have to bother Clark. You just have to wait out your father’s tempers. In the morning, he’ll act like nothing happened. 

It’s Krypto who notices first that the Kent farm has an intruder. His head snaps up, ears pricked, before his muscles go rigid. He awakens Clark roughly, practically stomping his paws against the Kryptonian’s chest. 

“All right, all right.” There’s no chance he’ll fall asleep again anytime soon. He follows the unruly beast outside to investigate, but Krypto flies in the direction of the barn as soon as he steps outside. 

“Krypto — hey!”

Clark shouts, but the super dog continues to disobey him. Clark sighs before he launches himself after him. He lands gently in front of the barn doors that Krypto has already broken through. He hears a woman shriek, and Clark's heart fully stops before he barrels inside the barn next. 

Krypto is on top of you, his front paws on either side of your head, as he laps at your cheek. Your shrieks have turned into giggles, but Clark is still panicking. Luckily, the dog hadn’t put his entire weight on you; he’d known better, but if you continued to encourage him, Clark knew he’d lose control. 

“Krypto, off!” Clark hurried forward, wrapping his arms around the dog’s torso before lifting him away from you. Clark has to hold his collar to keep him from tackling you again. “Bad boy! No!”

Clark looks you over. Although your face is delighted, Clark realizes you’re in a thin camisole and pajama shorts, cold skin only covered by a flimsy robe. He noticed your right ankle next, and the way it was starting to turn purple. 

“He flew!” You shout, and it’s the most animated Clark has ever seen you, “I swear, he-he flew!”

“Krypto–look what you… Oh gosh. Stay!” Clark commands, and the dog whines but keeps his place, far from you. Your face falls. 

“He’s okay,” You add as you realize Clark has noticed your ankle, “He didn’t hurt me, Mr. Kent!” 

“Your ankle–” Clark starts as he hurried to kneel by your side. He’s already taken your leg in his hand, lifting it gently. 

“I fell,” You add, trying to ignore the way his touch was making your body feel. His hands were firm, careful, and his touch felt far too intimate. “I fell, it wasn’t him.”

“You fell?” Clark’s eyes darkened, “Your Pa did this?”

You think for a moment about lying. What if he tried to get your Pa in trouble? You needed your Pa. Things got bad when he was home, but it was even worse when he was locked up. You find you don’t have any energy left to lie. “I jumped out of my window. My Pa…he was trying to get into my room. He was drunk. I was scared.”

He’s still angry, you can read that much, but he remains calm. He lifts you swiftly, careful to avoid putting any extra pressure on your ankle, and starts to carry you outside. 

“You did the right thing,” Clark states, his voice deeper than before. He carries you towards the house, and Krypto follows obediently behind the two of you. He doesn’t specify exactly what the right thing is that you did — jumping out the window? Coming here? Telling the truth? You assume he means everything. It’s praise, but it feels so foreign that it’s hard for your mind to process. 

He takes you to the main bedroom and lays you down on the bed. It smells like him. The sheets are soft and plaid. The comforter is a quilted pattern that looks handmade, and there are so many knick-knacks that decorate the shelves and family photos on the walls. It’s a happy and lived-in room. 

Clark works methodically, propping your leg up on a pillow, applying an ice pack, and bandaging up your bruised skin. 

“I think it’s sprained.” He says, concentrated, almost to himself. 

“I’m okay, really,” You tried, but he’d only shush you and tell you to lie back down. “At least it’s not broken.” 

Clark grits his teeth at that. You worry that you’ve upset him. 

“You won’t tell on him, will you?” You ask quietly, and your eyes are hopeful. 

Clark sighs and pauses for a long moment, “No, if that’s not what you want.” The words sound almost painful as they leave his lips. His curly hair falls gently against his forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows against his thighs. 

You nodded, “Thank you.”

“But I don’t think you should go back.”

“What?” 

“I think you should stay here.”

“I can’t–”

“Don’t decide now, okay? Either way, I’ll find a way to handle your Dad.”

“Handle him?” You ask cautiously. 

Clark doesn’t answer, not directly, but his face says it all. He’s struggling with the thoughts in his mind. 

“I’m sorry for all this.” Tears prick your eyes, your head tilts back against the pillows, and you cover your eyes, “It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”

Your tears start to fall as the bed dips beside you. He’s heavy, and your body tilts in the direction that his body weight pulls you. His hands are impossibly warm when they touch yours. Gently, he moves your hands from your face.  

“I’m sss-sorry, Mr. Kent.”

Maybe your vision is blurry from your tears, but you almost swear Clark licks his lips as he looks at you. It almost doesn’t register that you’re lying in his bed with him, your older neighbor. As soon as it does, you feel a lump in your throat. You swallow. Hard. 

“Don’t be,” he says, his warm breath fans over your nose, your mouth. Your heart beats in a strange pattern. “I don’t like that you’re hurting, but I think you were meant to be right here. Right at this moment.” 

You try to blink your tears away, “You … think so?”

“Mhm,” Is all he manages, and suddenly, you feel his hand on your waist. He feels the exposed flesh there, “Are you … are you hurting anywhere else?” 

“Just my ankle…” He’s just concerned, you know that, but it also feels like … his fingers dance against the thin waistband of your pajama shorts. They’re covered in faded butterflies. “You’re not mad at me?”

You already know that deep down, anger is the last emotion he’s feeling as he moves his hands over your skin. It takes everything in you not to squirm. It feels strange. “I could never…have you … have you ever …”

Your brows furrow as you search his face. His expression is almost painful. “Have I ever what?”

He pulls his hands away suddenly, almost ashamed. Once again, you feel like you’ve mistepped. “Nothing,” He smiles sadly, “I’ll go get you something for the pain. And then I want you to sleep. It’s late.” 

You nod solemnly. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Kent.”

“Call me Clark, please.”

“Thank you, Clark.” 

You wake to a whining Krypto. He lies beside you, his tail wagging furiously, and as your eyes blink open, he licks your face. You groan and laugh at the same time, wiping your cheek. You reach out to pet behind his ears. You’d gotten the best sleep you had in a while, even given the sprained ankle. You pulled he comforter away from your body, attempting to move your foot, only to find it still sore. You could see your ankle swelling even from beneath the bandage. 

Slowly, you pulled yourself up. You lifted your ankle from the pillow, grimacing, as you tried to move both your legs to the side of the bed. “Hey, hey, hey,” As if he’d sensed your movement, Clark appeared through the bedroom door, “You gotta let me help you.”

Shyly, you looked up at him. A kitchen towel was tossed over his shoulder, like he was in the midst of cooking. The smell of bacon and pancakes wafted through the open door, confirming your suspicion. He stood in front of you, blocking your exit, and you continued to wince as you gently placed your right foot on the ground. 

“I’m okay…” You strained to say through the pain, “Please, Clark.”

“I’ll lift you. Grab onto my shoulders.”

You hesitate. “I … I have to pee. I swear I-I can make it on my own.”

Reaching down, tucking one of his arms beneath your knees, and the other around your back, he lifts you easily. He leaves no room for argument. You’re not one to argue, anyways. You should feel embarassed as he sets you down in front of the toilet. There’s an awkward moment where you’re afraid he’ll try to help you further but he say, “Shout when you’re done and I’ll help you to the sink.”

You nod quickly, silently. 

Throughout the day, you get used to Clark being a little bit too close for comfort. He brings you to the breakfast table, to the couch, and that night he helps you to the shower. He figures out a solution that offers you the most privacy but it still involves him being on the other side of the shower curtain. You plan to undress and dress inside the confines of the shower. “Be careful, please,” Clark warns you and halfway through trying to bathe yourself, you realize you’ve overestimated your abilities. You’re basically forced to hop on one foot on the slippery shower floor and after almost falling twice, Clark decides he can’t risk you hurting yourself further. 

You yip when he pulls the shower curtain back, “I won’t look, I promise,” He assures you as your eyes widen. It’s futile. You reach out to grab onto his arms. You use him for balance as you finish rinsing the soap from your body. You’re shaking and you wish he couldn’t feel how nervous you were. You don’t know if he takes a peek at you because you’re averting your eyes from him out of embarrassment. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” You say although you’re not sure what for. He clearly finds some satisfaction out of helping you. 

You’re surprised when he lifts you easily from the tub, his arms tucked underneath your armpits, and you marvel for a moment at his strength. He continues to promise that he’s not looking as he helps you into one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. 

“Clark, you should really take me home tonight.” 

“You know why that’s not happening.”

“My father will be expecting me–”

“He won’t.” Clark says. “I already talked to him.” 

“What?”

“He’s not gonna get mad at you. He’s not going to do anything to you, do you understand that?” Clark steadies you, his hands tight against your waist as he stares down at you, “All of that is over.” 

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing a lady needs to hear,” He insists, “I want you to stay. You’re not a burden to me. You look good here. In my clothes and with me.” 

“Whatever he agreed to, he’ll go back on it, he won’t keep his word. He never has.” You respond, your anxiety growing, knowing how angry Clark must’ve made him. Clark lifts you again, this time settling himself on the bed, and then setting you next to him. Your legs crossed over his lap, his hand against the small of your back. Your hand finds his hard chest as you try not to squirm, to not show your discomfort, “I-I’m serious. He’ll show up her and he’ll do something stupid.”

“You don’t think I could handle him?”

“I don’t want you to handle him. This is my fault, not yours–”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Clark’s head dips as he tucks his head into the side of your neck. He squeezes you and pulls you closer. “I don’t think you’ve ever done anything wrong in your life.” 

“What are you doing?” Your hand presses harder into his chest, “Clark, that feels… weird.”

“Weird, huh?” 

He kisses you on the sensitive skin there, and now, you can’t help but squirm. You feel warm in places you didn’t know could feel warm. He moves your right leg carefully, spreading your legs, and you panic inside. His hand travels up your leg and then moves to your inner thigh. Jesus, this is wrong. So wrong. 

“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” Clark asked, his voice husky and deep. The kind stranger who’d taken you in had taken another shape. “Tell me no one has.”

He massages the meaty flesh of your thighs, grabbing you like a stress toy, and there’s a groan in his throat that’s animalistic. “Wait, please–”

“You’ll like it, I promise,” When he reaches into the fabric of the short, something flutters in your core, and his strong fingers start to run over your sensitive folds. He makes long strokes, up and down your center. He wants to feel a part of you no else has ever seen. 

And the sad thing is, you like it more than you thought you would. The attention. No one had ever paid you this much attention. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been held. You were undiscovered. Uncharted territory. And so painfully innocent. 

You feel warm and wet now. Clark’s icy blue eyes meet with yours and your cheeks heat from embarrassment. He kisses you softly as he massages your center. He’s right. You like it. You’re moving your hips weakly against his fingers. Your lips part and he presses his lips against yours. He takes the lead and you try to move your lips in sync with his. 

“You like it, don’t you?” He asks against your lips.

You nod although you hate that he can see you like this. 

You’re so wet now. He easily slips the tip of his finger inside of you, “Clark–” You gasp, “More.”

“You can handle more, can’t you?” You nod as he pushes his finger deeper. You’re grinding against his finger in weak circles. “Good girl. Sweet girl. I’ve got more for you.”

His finger goes deeper, curling against a spot that has you shaking. It’s so slow. Torturous. “You gonna cum on my finger, Y/N?”

“I-I…” You moan, “I feel like I have to pee.”

Clark’s chest rumbles and you feel mortified knowing that he’s amused. “That’s okay. Don’t run from it.”

You turn your face into his chest, shyly, as you do your best not to run from the feeling. “Let me make you cum, baby,” It’s a slow building and then it happens all at once. You’re screaming into his the fabric of his shirt, hips shaking, but he keeps holding onto you even as his finger slips from inside you. 

You feel empty without him. 

He takes the opportunity while you’re dazed and mumbling incoherent to move you from his lap. He lays you down beneath him. Gently, he sets your right leg down on one of the bed’s pillows. He grabs onto your left leg as he settles between you. He lifts the fabric of your shirt, settling his face between your breasts, he takes each one into his mouth, licking the buds of your nipples. 

You feel the sensation is what sends him over the edge. Its quick. How he tears the fabric over the boxers and presses his hard length at your entrance. He holds your leg, keeping you spread wide open, and presses further. It’s his turn. You see it in his eyes. The lack of control. He stares down at you, watching your face contort with pain as he takes you for the first time. 

He’s more than appreciative, grunting your name, as he makes the first, shallow thrusts. He goes deeper as your body adjusts, squeezing tightly around him. He knows how lucky he is. You’re perfect and he never has to let you go. He could keep you tied to this bed and use you over and over again. You’re so polite that you’d thank him for it. 

“You’ll stay with me,” Clark grunts, moving your hips into him, “I’ll look after you.”

“Clark, I can’t stay–” His eyes darken at that and he positions himself to go even deeper. His hand wraps around your throat and he turns your head roughly so he can growl into your ear. 

“I wasn’t asking, sweet girl. I need you too bad. You see that, don’t you?” Clark asks although it’s rhetorical. He’s against your cervix now and you’re not sure he’s even registering how much you’re screaming, “I’m going to take you for hours.” 

“Please,” You gasp, “Oh my —”

Another orgasm rushes through you, forceful and unyielding. He continues his pace and as you feel your body growing impossibly tired, you wonder how he can keep going. You don’t even feel him sweating. 

You never really imagined for your first time but you thought you might be awake enough to remember most of it. It’s like a dream. You lose consciousness and awake to find him still inside of you. When he finally finishes inside of you, you’re stretched, and completely empty. When you awake again, you’re fully naked and tucked into the sheets. He lifts your head to feed you a glass of water. He pets your head and tucks your hair behind your ears. He runs his fingers all over you, down your back, over the curves of your hip and soothes you back to sleep. 

And you sleep for days, safe and cared for. 

reblog with your thoughts to be added to my clark taglist :)

And then you all have to witness her limping back to her desk! The poor thing barely knows how to walk to begin with. it's like watching a baby deer take it's first step, but the deers born with a missing leg. this bitch is hopeless.

none of you know how she got the job. some say she used to be a stripper. others say she was born into a royal family and she's just cosplaying as a poor person to hide her true identity. you don't even care to know at this point, you just want to get through one NORMAL shift and go home.

"Oh, uh- hey, reader?" Mr. Gojo stops right before he walks past your desk and faces you.

"Yes, Mr. Gojo?" you ask reluctantly.

"Go ahead and cancel my meeting at 10:00, be sure to block the time off too," he says with a devilish smirk. He doesn't even try to hide it anymore, it makes you sick.

"Will do, Sir," you just smile and nod.

He gives you a wink and walks off, leaving you to mentally prepare for whatever unholy act he's planning on doing to y/n later. You're already dreading having to clean it all up. Yes. Clean.

To work for Mr. Gojo is to be abused.

The next hour flies by like it's nothing and your ears are soon met with the sound of y/n's heels elegantantly clacking through the marble floor. You try to avoid making eye contact with her at this point. She thinks it's because you hate her, but honestly, you could be a spider and Mr. Gojo would still get paranoid, thinking the said spider is out to take y/n away from him.

But still, she tries to greet you anyways.

She gives you a big fucking smile the closer she gets.

"Goodmorn-AAUUUUGGHHHHHHH"

The scream that rips out of her throat scares you and everyone else. You don't even know what happened, but now y/n's on the floor, again. Except this time? She's right next to your desk.

Mr. Gojo's office is directly behind you, and you startle once again from the way he dramatically slams the doors open. He's already staring everyone down, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Y/n?!" he frantically runs to her rescue, she's still on the floor holding on to her ankle. "What happened to you?! Did someone push you?"

You immediately straighten up after that last question, because he was looking at you when he asked it. Pupils blown out and everything.

"N-no, I-I," she starts to do this thing where she manages to laugh and stutter at the same time. "Nobody pushed me, Gojo-san. I swear! Ahh- fuck!! It hurts!" her face scrunches up in pain as she continues to hold on to her ankle.

"I can get you an ice pack-"

"SHUT UP," Mr. Gojo snaps at you, "Y/n, talk to me! What happened?!"

"No, it's okay!" she tries to diffuse to situation, clearly feeling at fault for the way he rudely yelled at you. "I just- ugh, I wasn't looking and hit the corner of the desk. It's fine!"

"No, it's not fine!" he yells at her this time, wondering why she doesn't care for herself as much as he does. "I almost fucking lost you y/n!"

Everything he says kinda goes in one ear and out the other. You're incredibly offended at the way he cut you off when you were just trying to help. It doesn't take long for you start fully listening again though, after hearing him make one ridiculous statement.

"No, no," he shakes his head, acting as if it were him that had fallen on his ass, not y/n. "This isn't going to work, we can't have this desk here, it's a safety hazard. Reader, move it to the corner."

You pause and blink at him a couple times. "I'm sorry?"

"I said move your FUCKING DESK TO THE CORNER," he yells at you again, pointing in a direction that doesn't even lead to the corner. "Do it now, or else I'm breaking your fucking desk and making you do your work on the floor."

part two

Yandere businessman who isn’t used to anyone caring about him. Especially after the messy divorce from his model ex-wife. The same ex who had an ongoing affair with the milkman since he worked so much. Divorce was scandalous, but Robert couldn’t bring himself to come home and see her smug face… so he was surprised when you, his secretary, took time out of your day to make him food.

“Mister Donner, you’ll whittle away if you don’t eat.” (Your name) softly told him as she placed a thermos on his desk filled with homemade beef stew. “I’d hate for my boss to be grumpy and hungry.”

Yandere businessman who would always softly thank you before he dug in. No one had ever cooked for him like this… not even his ex-wife. Especially not anything this delicious. Robert felt his heart flutter. What was this feeling? He brushed it off and ate every last bite, but now you began to haunt his dreams.

Yandere businessman who always freshens himself up before you enter his office. He didn’t know why he felt the need to adjust his dark combover or why he needed to make sure his teeth were clean, but he wanted to preen himself up for you. Robert couldn’t understand why. Why did he feel like a schoolboy with a crush again? Why did his chest tighten whenever you entered the room? Was he sick? You were much younger than him… he was nearly forty, for heavens sake. Forty and no children. How embarrassing.

Yandere businessman who blushed whenever you expressed concern at his smoking and drinking habits. There was no need to worry, this is what all men did… or so he thought. Yet you would put your hands on your hips and tell him that he smelled like a drunk and it was unprofessional in the office. That was the fastest way to sober him up. He didn’t want you to think he smelled… no. He wanted you to like him-wait. No. Perish that thought. You were too young, you deserved a man your age no matter how beautiful he found you.

Yandere businessman who began to invest in better cologne and lessened his drinking habit. He didn’t cutback much on his cigars, but he was more mindful of his indulgence in whiskey and old fashions. He felt his heart stammer whenever you complimented his cologne. If you liked this one, he’d wear it more.

Yandere businessman who put more effort in his appearance. He even began to workout so he’d be in the best shape for you. Did you like his arms more now? He made sure to put more effort into having manlier arms so he could hold you- there it was again! His imagination had gone wild… you were his secretary. This was inappropriate.

Yandere businessman who stopped any other adman who tried to ask you out with a subtly squeeze into every conversation. He didn’t know why but he couldn’t stand you with another. Even though he was older, he didn’t want you with a fool like the younger men here. They were all dogs after your skirt.

Yandere businessman who happily ate your pastries and meals. Hell, sometimes he thought you were basically his wife now. Didn’t you check all the boxes? You were perfect to him… and he decided to ask you to be his. It made sense right?

Yandere businessman who was gently let down due to the age difference and professionalism, but it burned a fire in him. Robert wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers… he loved you. For the first time in his life, he loved and he’d be damned if you got away. You bewitched him! You ruined him for every woman and you had to pay.

Yandere businessman who began to use underhand tactics to get you to be his. Your coworkers started rumors? He had planted that seed to make you go to him. Your belongings went missing? They were in his desk drawer. You thought you had a stalker due to weird notes on your desk? That was also him, but you didn’t need to know that. Hell, he even walked you to your car for assurance. Robert would keep you safe! Just choose him!

Robert held you as you softly cried in his chest. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ll fire them if they’re making you uncomfortable, babe. Just be my girl and I swear they’ll never mess with you again.”