𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖘, 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘. 𝕴 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖐𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖘 𝖜𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖔 𝖌𝖔. 𝕴𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖆 𝖛𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖌𝖎𝖋𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖇𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐’𝖘 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘. 𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕷𝖚𝖑𝖆 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖚𝖒𝖊 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖕! 𝕴𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖞 𝖆𝖑𝖙𝖆𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖌𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖆 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖚𝖒𝖊. 𝕴𝖙𝖘 𝖘𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖞 𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖕, 𝖇𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖑𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖗. 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖞 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊 𝖆 𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖒𝖞 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊, 𝖙𝖆𝖕 “𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖇𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖚𝖎𝖙” 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖒𝖒𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗. 𝕺𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖛𝖆𝖎𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖊 𝕵𝖚𝖓𝖊. 𝕬𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖐𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖕 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖚𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝕴’𝖑𝖑 𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌. 𝕳𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖚𝖓 𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖘 𝖕𝖘. 𝕴𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖉𝖔𝖓𝖙 𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖉𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖘

👑Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal👑

Submissive Reader & Dom. Jimmy

Sex Worker (Stripper/Only fans)

(I hope I did everything correctly.)

Yess we got first order nocturnals 💕💕💕

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: ℐ𝔪 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔡, 𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔰, 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 ℐ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰, 𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔬 𝔦 𝔭𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔳 𝔭𝔬𝔢𝔪 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔰𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔩. 

𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢, 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱! 𝔄𝔩𝔰𝔬 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔬 @kteezy997 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔭𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 <3

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: 𝔓𝔞𝔡𝔡𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔶𝔫𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔓𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔯𝔞 ℭ𝔞𝔫.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: 18+𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱, 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔡𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔨, 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 (𝔣𝔢𝔪 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔢), 𝔪𝔢𝔞𝔫 𝔓𝔞𝔡𝔡𝔶, 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔟𝔢, 𝔱𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔰𝔢𝔵, 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔥, 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔧𝔬𝔟, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔬𝔬𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔢𝔢 <3

𝔚𝔎: 4,5 

Glitter, feathers, and lust were in the air. Everyone in Cairo knew the theater for elites and soldiers. This place served another kind of entertainment entirely. While burlesque was popular in Europe, in Cairo, it was something entirely new, exotic, and dangerous.

You had met him by pure coincidence. One night, he had marched into the theater bar with his entire soldier squadron, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else on earth. Paddy Mayne was a war dog, a man who loved poetry and killing enemies. He had no patience for what he called "wee girls in feathers" over whom other men dripped away their last remaining brain cells.

He had expected to be bored.

But then, he noticed you.

You were different from the others. There was something darker, sharper, and deeply interesting hitting your soul, a quiet intensity that didn't belong in a room full of cheap tinsel. And then, though you still didn’t quite understand how it had happened, you found yourself swept into a passionate romance with the SAS commander himself. Paddy didn't come often. If anyone discovered that a man of his rank was having a torrid affair with a burlesque dancer, he would have serious problems with the high command. But when he did appear, the routine was always the same: you fucked like the world was ending, and then you lay in the dark and talked about poetry. Despite the rarity of his visits, he always stayed for your performance, and in the weeks between, you would receive letters written in dirty sand, detailing exactly how you made his mind dirtier than the desert trenches.

The 28th of July—that date was lodged in his mind like a worm burrowing into a rotten skull. He had to be at the club. He had to see you, feel you, and consume you.

The night air in Cairo felt intense. You had prepared for this specific show for weeks, and ever since you had received his latest letter containing just two words—“I’m coming”—your heart and mind had gone utterly mad. Inside the dressing room, the chaos was insane. Every girl was frantically checking her makeup, adjusting her elaborate sets, and obsessing over her appearance. Your wavy hair was ideally curled, bouncing against your shoulders, and you wore a tight, little black corset with crystal patches covering your nipples. The hypeman’s voice boomed over the speakers, introducing you to the roaring crowd, and you took one deep, grounding breath.

"Ladies and gentleman... Cherry!"

You walked out onto the stage with effortless grace, shaking your hips just a little to the slow, heavy thrum of the jazz music. You didn't care about the cheering audience, the clinking glasses, or the drunk soldiers shouting from the front rows. You were looking for only one man.

He was sitting by the corner booth, shrouded in shadows, just as the flame of his lighter flared to life. He lit his cigarette, the orange glow illuminating the rugged, scarred lines of his face. You met his gaze, and the rest of the room simply ceased to exist.

You met his gaze and started to move, your eyes locked onto his. The music was a slow, dripping blues rhythm, heavy on the bass, matching the frantic thumping of the heart in your chest. Paddy didn't move. He sat perfectly still in the dim corner, the cigarette glowing between his calloused fingers, a thick plume of smoke curling around his sharp jawline. But you could see his eyes—those dark, lethal eyes—tracking every single micro-movement of your body.

You began with a slow, agonizing turn, letting the fabric of your long, feather-trimmed silk robe trail behind you like a second skin. You knew exactly what he liked. You knew the poetry he read, the violence he lived in, and the desperate need for softness that he hid beneath his terrifying exterior. You weren't just dancing; you were reciting a verse written in flesh.

With a deliberate, teasing smile, you reached up to the satin tie at your waist. You unknotted it slowly, holding his stare, watching his broad shoulders tense beneath his uniform shirt. You let the robe slip down one shoulder, exposing the smooth, pale curve of your skin against the smoky, hot atmosphere of the Cairo night. The crowd erupted into cheers, but you didn't even blink. Your focus was entirely on the way Paddy’s chest rose and fell, his breathing growing heavier even from across the room.

You stepped out of the robe completely, leaving it in a heap on the wooden stage, standing before him in nothing but the tight black corset and the glittering crystal patches over your nipples. You arched your back, a slow, sinful movement that made the crystals catch the stage lights, sending fractured beams of light across the ceiling. Paddy took a long, slow drag of his cigarette, his knuckles turning white where he held it. He looked like a man possessed, a tiger behind bars. Every slide of your hands up your thighs, every sultry tilt of your pelvis was designed to ruin him. You were taking your time, torturing him with the one thing he couldn't have in this exact moment. You turned your back to him, looking over your shoulder with a wicked smirk as you unlaced the back of the corset, inch by inch, letting the tight constraints give way to freedom. When the corset finally pooled at your feet, the theater went wild, but your eyes remained fixed on the corner booth. Paddy’s cigarette was completely forgotten, burning down to the filter between his fingers as his gaze burned holes through you.

Behind you, center stage, sat a large, brass clawfoot bathtub filled to the brim with warm water, a thick layer of fragrant bubbles floating on top. It was the centerpiece of your routine, a spectacle of pure luxury in the middle of a war-torn desert city.

You walked backward toward it, your hips swaying rhythmically, never breaking the heavy, invisible thread that connected your eyes to his. You stepped over the brass lip of the tub, dipping one elegant leg into the water, then the other, before sinking down into the warmth with a sigh that was amplified by the stage microphones. The water swirled around your bare skin, the bubbles clinging to your breasts and shoulders. From the ice bucket beside the tub, you wrapped your fingers around the neck of a chilled bottle of champagne. You didn't need a waiter. With a practiced, sharp twist of your wrist, the cork flew off with a loud pop, echoing over the music. A hiss of white foam spilled over your fingers. You didn't drink it. Holding the bottle high above your head, you tilted it. Paddy watched, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle ticked, as you poured the ice-cold, sparkling champagne directly over your collarbone. You gasped audibly at the shock of the temperature contrast—the freezing alcohol cascading down your flushed, overheated skin, cutting through the warm, soapy water of the bath. It ran down the valley of your breasts, making your nipples harden instantly beneath the water's surface.

You took a handful of the champagne-infused bubbles and rubbed them slowly over your thighs, your chest, and your throat, your expression one of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. You were showing him exactly what you wanted him to do to you later. You were showing him how wet, how ready, and how utterly consumed by desire you were. Paddy suddenly stood up. The movement was so abrupt his chair scraped harshly against the floorboards, though the sound was drowned out by the cheering audience. He didn't look at anyone else. He threw the burning cigarette butt to the ground, crushed it under his boot, and walked out of the main hall, disappearing into the dark corridor that led toward the back of the theater.

You knew exactly where he was going. You gave the crowd one last, dazzling smile, sank beneath the water to wash the remaining champagne from your hair, and brought the performance to a close. The walk back to your private dressing room felt like a mile. The adrenaline was pulsing through your veins, making your hands shake as you wrapped yourself in a fresh, loose silk robe. Your skin was still tingling from the cold champagne, smelling of sweet grapes, expensive soap, and the musky heat of the Cairo air. You closed your dressing room door behind you, turning around to face the mirror, but you didn't even have time to sit down.

The door didn't just open—it rattled on its hinges as it was thrown back against the wall. Paddy stepped inside, his massive, imposing frame completely filling the doorway. He looked feral. His uniform cap was gone, his thick hair was a wild, unruly mess, and the top three buttons of his shirt were torn open. He reached behind him, slamming the heavy wooden door shut, and slid the iron bolt into place with a definitive, terrifying click.

"You little," he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly growl that vibrated straight through the floor and into the soles of your feet. "You absolute fucking minx”

"Paddy—"

You didn't get to finish your sentence. He crossed the small dressing room in two predatory strides, his heavy combat boots thudding against the rug. Before you could even blink, his large, scarred hands gripped your waist with bruising force. He lifted you completely off your feet, your robe billowing around you, and slammed you backward against the heavy wooden vanity table. The impact sent perfume bottles, lipsticks, and glass jars of powder clattering to the floor, shattering on the ground, but neither of you cared.

Paddy crowded his body into yours, pinning your hips against the hard edge of the wood. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot, smelling of tobacco and raw lust. "You think it’s funny to do that to me?" he demanded, his fingers digging so deeply into your hips you knew there would be finger-shaped bruises there by morning. "To sit up there naked, pouring wine over yourself, letting every pathetic bastard in Cairo look at what belongs to me?"

"I did it for you," you whispered breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. "I only looked at you, Paddy."

"Damn right you did," he growled.

Then, his mouth crashed onto yours. Your tongues split into one, you finally taste him,raw, masuline and your. He pratcially eat you alive with your mouth. When you don’t have enugh air you stopped and look into his blue eyes, which they are dark.  He didn't give you a second to recover your breath. With a low, gravelly grunt, Paddy gripped your waist and effortlessly hauled you off the vanity. Instead of letting you stand, he tossed you straight down to the ground. The heavy Persian rug scratched against your bare skin as you landed on your hands and knees.

"Ass up, face down," he ordered, his voice cracking with a terrifying authority. "Right there. Don't you dare move."

You didn't even think to disobey. You pressed your chest down against the floor, your elbows resting on the soft wool, arching your lower back until your hips were thrust high into the air, completely exposed to him. The silk robe was pushed up past your waist, bunching around your shoulders, leaving your bare cheeks and the wet, pink heat between your thighs completely defenseless.

Paddy stood over you for a fraction of a second, his shadow swallowing you whole. Then, without a word of warning, his massive, calloused hand came down in a vicious, heavy slap right across your left butt cheek.

Crack!

The sharp, stinging impact echoed loudly through the quiet dressing room. You gasped, your hips jerking forward instinctively, a sharp cry catching in your throat.

"That's for making me sit there and watch you," he growled, and before the sting could even fade, his hand came down again, harder this time, across your right cheek.

Crack!

"That's for every bastard in that room who thought they had a right to look at you," he muttered, his rhythm picking up. He began to rain down a relentless barrage of heavy, stinging spankings, his large palm striking your flesh over and over again. The heat spread like wildfire across your skin, turning your pale cheeks a deep, angry crimson. Each blow sent a jolt of pure, electric pleasure straight to your core, making you whimper and writhe against the floor. You dug your fingernails into the rug, crying out as the stinging ache turned into a thrumming, throbbing arousal that made you drip onto the carpet beneath you.

"Paddy, please—" you begged, your voice trembling.

"Quiet," he snapped, delivering one final, blistering slap that made your entire body shiver.

The room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and Paddy's heavy, predatory pants. You felt his large, rough hands settle onto your hips, his thumbs digging into your skin to hold you firmly in place. He leaned down, his heavy chest pressing against your elevated backside, his face hovering just inches from your heat. Slowly, deliberately, Paddy used his fingers to spread your ass cheeks wide, baring the most intimate, vulnerable parts of you to the dim, smoky light of the room. He stared down at your dripping pussy, watching the way it twitched in desperate  of him.

"Look at you," he whispered, a dark, wicked satisfaction bleeding into his voice. "So wet for me. Look how pretty you look, all red and open."

Before you could even process the words, he drove two thick, rough fingers deep inside you in one aggressive, violent shove.

You screamed out, your back arching violently as your internal walls gripped him. Paddy didn't care about being gentle; he began to finger you with a ruthless, punishing speed. His knuckles rubbed hard against your clitoris with every heavy, thrusting motion, pumping his fingers in and out of your tight warmth without an ounce of mercy. The sound of his fingers working inside you was loud and wet, mixing with your breathless, broken sobs as he aggressively drove you closer and closer to the edge of sanity. When the fingers started hitting the exact right spot, a wave of pure, overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Unable to help yourself, your body surrendered to the sensation, and you started to wiggle your hips against his hand, chasing the friction, desperately trying to ground yourself against his aggressive touch. But Paddy didn't want you taking control.

The moment you started moving on your own, a dark grunt of frustration tore from his chest. He was absolutely mad about it. He didn't want you chasing it; he wanted to be the one to give it to you—on his terms, and his terms only.

"Did I tell you to move?" he growled, his voice a dangerous, low rasp against your skin. "Keep your fucking hips still."

Before you could even whisper an apology, his massive hands gripped you with a renewed, punishing force. He grabbed your hips, pinning you ruthlessly to the floor, and used his powerful fingers to spread your ass cheeks even wider, completely exposing your swollen, dripping heat to his gaze. With you locked tightly in place, he adjusted his angle and began hitting your spot with brutal precision. Every aggressive thrust of his fingers hooked upward, perfectly striking the sensitive wall inside you over and over again. The deliberate, heavy rhythm was overwhelming. You dug your fingernails deep into the Persian rug, your head tossing wildly as a long, breathless moan tore from your throat, echoing against the walls of the dressing room. Hearing your undone, broken sound only made him meaner. As you moaned, Paddy leaned his heavy frame entirely over your arched back. He dipped his head down, and just as his fingers pushed deep inside you, he pressed the very tip of his tongue against your swollen, aching clit.

The contrast of his wet, hot tongue tracing that sensitive point while his fingers aggressively worked inside you sent a violent jolt of electricity straight down your spine. You felt the warm wave of your orgasm coming so incredibly fast, bubbling up from deep inside your belly until you were completely helpless against it. Your internal walls began to twitch and clench violently around his hand.

"Yeah, that’s it, you greedy little thing," Paddy whispered maliciously, his dirty talk cutting through your haze of pleasure as he felt you starting to break. "Look how easily you fall apart when I treat you like the slut you are. You’re dripping all over my hands. Take it. Come for me right now."

Your body completely gave out under the pleasure. The warm rush of your climax broke over you like a tidal wave, your muscles clamping down on his fingers so hard it forced another fractured, high-pitched scream from your lips while he kept his tongue pressed firmly against you, drinking in your ruin.

You didn't have a single second to rest. Your orgasm are still not wanished, still rippling through your thighs, your breath ragged and short, when Paddy’s heavy hands gripped your shoulders. Without an non of gentleness,he turning you around until you were kneeling on the rug directly in front of him. Your knees sank into the wool, your body trembling and entirely exposed as you looked up at him.

Paddy stood over you, his blue eyes burning with an unquenched, lethal heat. He reached up and tore his military uniform jacket off, throwing it carelessly into the dark corner of the room. Then came the sound that made your stomach flip with a mix of fear and desperate anticipation: the sharp, metallic clink of his heavy belt unbuckling, followed by the harsh rattle of his trousers being undone.

When he pushed his trousers down, he was fully revealed. He was rough, massive, and thick, pulsing with a dark, heavy vein that throbbed in tandem with his heartbeat. He looked twice as big in the cramped, dimly lit dressing room.

He didn't wait for an invitation.

Paddy reached down, his large, scarred hand tangling tightly into your ideally curled hair. His grip was firm, anchoring your head, and with a dominant tilt of his hips, he pushed his thick, rigid dick right against your lips. You parted them instantly, whimpering as the hot, pre-cum-slicked tip slid past your teeth.

You started bobbing your head, your hands wrapping around his thick thighs for balance as you took him in. But the slow pace wasn't enough for him. Paddy’s grip on your hair tightened, his knuckles pressing against your scalp as he took control of the rhythm, driving his hips forward.

Soon, he was pushing past the back of your throat, deep-throating you ruthlessly. Your eyes watered, your chest heaving against his shins as the sheer size of him stretched you wide, forcing tears to spill down your flushed cheeks.

Hearing you choke, his dirty talk returned, meaner and more demanding than before. He looked down at your face wrapped around his length, a dark, wicked smirk pulling at his lips.

"Yeah, take it all," he rasped, his voice dropping to a harsh, gravelly vibration that you could feel directly inside your throat. "You liked pouring that expensive wine over yourself on stage, didn't you? You wanted everyone to watch you drink it up."

He delivered a sharp, heavy thrust that went all the way to the hilt, burying his length deep into your throat, holding you there for a merciless second.

"Drink this instead," Paddy growled, his hips twitching as he forced you to take every single inch. "Drink my champagne, you greedy bitch. Suck it out of me."

You looked straight into his dark, blown-out eyes, the tears spilling over your lashes as you choked on his massive dick. The sheer size of him was overwhelming, stretching your throat to its absolute limit, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you reached down with trembling hands and grabbed his balls, squeezing them gently, letting him feel just how much you wanted every last drop of him.

You could feel the shift in his body—the sudden, rigid tension in his thighs, the way his breath hitched in his chest. The sweet thing was coming.

Knowing he was right on the edge, you doubled your strength. Your chin ached from being stretched open so wide, your throat burning, but you bobbed your head with a sudden, frantic desperation, sucking him down as deeply as you could manage. Paddy looked down at you, his rugged face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. A low, rumbling moan tore from his throat as his entire body shuddered.

"Swallow it," he rasped, his fingers tightening in your hair, holding you completely captive against his hips as he pulsed inside your mouth. "Swallow every fucking drop of it."

He came hard, filling your mouth with his thick,hot release, and you did exactly what he commanded, swallowing him down until he finally let out a long, ragged breath and pulled back, leaving you breathless and dripping on the rug. But the night wasn't over. He lifted you up by your waist, your legs dangling, and the final dance was on your road.

Paddy hauled your body over to the heavy wooden dressing table, clearing the rest of the clutter with a sweeping strike of his arm. He pulled you onto the wood, forcing you onto your hands and knees. The cold, hard wood bit into your skin, a sharp contrast to the burning heat radiating between your thighs.

Before you could settle, he grabbed your hair again, pulling your head back with enough force to make you look up.

"Look at the mirror," he commanded, his voice a dangerous, gravelly whisper against your ear. "Watch me when I fuck you."

In the reflection of the glass, surrounded by the warm glow of the dressing room bulbs, you saw yourself—flushed, undone, and entirely exposed. And standing right behind you was Paddy, looking feral, his chest heaving, his gaze locked onto your reflection.

Without another word, he guided his rigid, slick length back to your dripping pussy. He didn't offer a warning, and he didn't ease into it. Paddy drove himself completely inside you with a brutal, crushing thrust that made the entire wooden table groan beneath your weight.

You let out a loud, high-pitched cry, but he was already moving, fucking you hard, his hips slamming against your bruised backside with a relentless, punishing rhythm. Every stroke was deep and unyielding, forcing you to watch your own undoing in the mirror while he claimed you completely in the dark Cairo night.

You grabbed the edge of the wood, your fingernails digging into the grain of the dressing table as it started to shake violently under the force of his harsh, unforgiving thrusts. The rhythm was punishing, a relentless, heavy pounding that rattled the mirror in its frame, but you didn’t dare to cut the eye contact in the reflection. You kept your gaze locked onto his dark, blown-out eyes in the glass, your chest heaving, your lips parted in a breathless gasp with every slam of his hips. Seeing your total submission in the mirror, a wicked, dominant smile pulled at Paddy's lips. He shifted his grip, grabbing your hips with a brutal force that anchored you flat against the wood, and started to bottom you—driving his massive length so deep with every single strike that he was hitting the absolute base of your womb.

"You belong to me. Say it!" he demanded, his voice a gravelly, breathless command that vibrated right through your spine.

"I'm yours—Paddy, I'm yours!" you cried out, your voice breaking as the sheer depth of him stretched you wide.

"Yeah, good girl," he growled against the back of your neck, his hot breath branding your skin as his pace became frantic. "Gosh, you're so tight... tighter than you were last week."

He was driving you completely over the edge, as he adjusted his angle and started hitting your G-spot with every savage, upward thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, an intense, deep friction that made you feel him all the way in your belly. Your vision blurred, the room spinning around the edge of the mirror, but you kept your eyes locked onto his, completely trapped under his lethal gaze.

"Paddy! Paddy, please!" you gasped, your body reaching its absolute breaking point.

You looked into his eyes, your internal muscles violently squeezing into him, clamping down around his thick length in a desperate, tightening hold. Paddy let out a low, animalistic roar as he felt your walls seize him, crushing grip of your orgasm. It was the final trigger. He drove himself into you one last, deepest time, pinning your hips to the table as he felt you two coming together, his own boiling-hot release flooding deep inside you as you both fractured in the dark. He growled when he came, a deep, rumbling vibration that echoed off the wooden walls of the room as his body locked up completely, pinning you to the table one last time.

When he finally pulled out of you, your legs felt like jelly, completely unable to support your own weight. You began to slide off the edge of the wood, but Paddy caught your fragile body in his massive arms before you could fall. He lowered you gently onto the soft Persian rug, his large, scarred hands cradling you as he lay down right beside you.

The room was silent except for the sound of your frantic breathing. You lay there, your bare skin flushed red from his hands, looking deep into his eyes. The terrifying, feral war dog was gone, replaced by the quiet, intense soul that only you ever got to see.

He brushed a damp curl away from your forehead, his touch surprisingly soft now, his gaze locked onto yours.He broke the silence as he began to recite the poetry he carried in his dark mind—a famous verse by Charles Baudelaire from The Carrion 

"Yes! thus will you be, queen of the Graces,

After the last sacraments,

When you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers,

To molder among the bones of the dead.

Of my decomposed love!"

Then, O my beauty! say to the worms who will

Devour you with kisses,

That I have kept the form and the divine essence"

You vote to Paddy Mayne x Burlesque reader ❤️ it's lovely. I need to charge my dark fuel by this weekend and today I survived the awful devil migraine and work stuff, so by the middle of these week fic is gonna be posted

Stay bloody drink water 💦😘

𝕹𝔬𝖙𝔢: 𝕾𝔲𝖓𝔡𝖆𝔶 𝔪𝖊𝔞𝖑, 𝔡𝖔𝔫'𝔱 𝔢𝖆𝔱 𝔪𝖊. ℑ 𝔴𝖆𝔰 𝔦𝖓𝔰𝖕𝔦𝖗𝔢𝖉 𝖇𝔶 𝔪𝖎𝔫𝖊 𝖕𝔬𝖑𝔦𝖘𝔥 𝔣𝖔𝔩𝖐𝔩𝖔𝔯𝖊 𝖓𝔶𝖒𝔭𝖍 𝖎𝔰 𝔠𝖆𝔩𝖑𝔢𝖉 𝕽𝔲𝖘𝔞ł𝔨𝖆, 𝔞𝖓𝔡 𝔭𝖊𝔯𝖘𝔬𝖓𝔞𝖓𝔩𝖑𝔶 𝔦𝖘 𝖒𝔶 𝔣𝖆𝔳 𝔰𝖑𝔞𝖛𝔦𝖈 𝖋𝔢𝖒𝔞𝖑𝔢 𝔡𝖊𝔪𝖔𝔫. 𝕰𝔫𝖏𝔬𝖞,. 𝕬𝔩𝖘𝔬 𝔰𝖈𝔢𝖓𝔢 𝔴𝖆𝔰 𝔦𝖓𝔰𝖕𝔦𝖗𝔢𝖉 𝖇𝔶 𝔠𝖍𝔲𝖗𝔠𝖍 𝖘𝔠𝖊𝔫𝖊 𝖋𝔯𝖔𝔪 𝔖𝕬𝔖 𝔰𝖊𝔞𝖘𝔬𝖓 2.

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶:

𝔓𝖆𝔡𝖉𝔶 𝔐𝖆𝔶𝖓𝔢 𝔞𝖓𝔡 𝔰𝖆𝔰 𝔰𝖔𝔩𝖉𝔦𝖊𝔯𝖘 𝖑𝔞𝖓𝔡 𝔬𝖓 𝕴𝔱𝖆𝔩𝖞

𝕿𝔥𝖊𝔶 𝔤𝖔 𝖙𝔬 𝔠𝖍𝔲𝖗𝔠𝖍 𝖙𝔬 𝔥𝖆𝔳𝖊 𝖆𝔫𝖘𝔴𝖊𝔯𝖘. 𝔓𝖆𝔡𝖉𝔶 𝔪𝖊𝔢𝖙 𝖘𝔬𝖒𝔢𝖔𝔫𝖊 𝖜𝔥𝖔 𝖈𝔬𝖓𝔮𝖚𝔢𝖗 𝖍𝔦𝖘 𝖇𝔬𝖉𝔶 𝔞𝖓𝔡 𝔪𝖎𝔫𝖉 𝖈𝔬𝖒𝔭𝖑𝔢𝖙𝔢.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: 18+ 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝖕𝔞𝖉𝔡𝖞 𝖎𝔰 𝔭𝖔𝔰𝖘𝔢𝖉 (?), 𝔞𝖑𝔱𝖆𝔯 𝔰𝖊𝔵, 𝖙𝔢𝖒𝔭𝖙𝔦𝖓𝔤 𝔟𝖞 𝖓𝔶𝖒𝔭𝖍, 𝔠𝖍𝔲𝖗𝔠𝖍 𝖘𝔢𝖝,. 𝕮𝔲𝖗𝔰𝖎𝔫𝖌, 𝔣𝖎𝔫𝖌𝔢𝖗𝔦𝖓𝔤 (𝕱𝔢𝖒 𝖗𝔢𝖈𝔢𝖎𝔳𝖊), 𝖘𝔩𝖆𝔳𝖎𝔠 𝔣𝖔𝔩𝖐𝔩𝖔𝔯𝖊, 𝔯𝖎𝔡𝖎𝔫𝖌, 𝔭𝖗𝔬𝖋𝔞𝖓𝔦𝖙𝔶 𝔬𝖋 𝖘𝔞𝖎𝔫𝖙 𝖕𝔩𝖆𝔠𝖊, 𝔰𝖚𝔭𝖊𝔯𝖓𝔞𝖙𝔲𝖗𝔞𝖑 𝖙𝔥𝖎𝔫𝖌𝔰, 𝖋𝔦𝖓𝔤𝖊𝔯𝖎𝔫𝖌, 𝔭𝖆𝔡𝖉𝔶 𝔪𝖆𝔶𝖓𝔢, 𝖕𝔞𝖉𝔡𝖞 𝖒𝔞𝖞𝔫𝖊 𝖚𝔥.

@kteezy997 @punani-san @pedroncigarettes @solthia-x

The heavy oak doors of the Italian church didn't just open; they were violently breached

The smell of gunpowder mixed with blood and the oppressive Napoli sun were pricked deep into their noses, cutting straight into their lungs. Paddy Mayne, the most rough, volatile, and unpredictable man in the British military, stood on Italian land with one singular, bloody purpose: to finally cut the Nazi pigs' heads off.

The city was barely occupied by German soldiers anymore—the SAS could certainly be proud of themselves for the chaos they had sown. But this was just the tail end of the campaign. Just the beginning of the cleanup. Some of Hitler's minions were still lurking in the shadows, hiding like rats. And Paddy needed answers. Who could give the commander the locations of the remaining targets?

Paddy’s wild, piercing blue eyes locked onto the towering church doors. With a grim, ruthless tilt of his head, he stepped inside, Reggie and Jock following closely at his heels into the massive, echoing house of the Lord.

Paddy laughed hard, a dark, gravelly sound that bounced off the high vaulted ceilings. As a proud Irish Protestant—and a man who had seen the absolute worst horrors of war—he knew there was nothing miraculous left in so-called "holy" things. God didn't live in Europe anymore. To prove his point, Paddy carelessly laid his heavy machine gun right across the altar's crucifix.

Reggie huffed, adjusting his kit as he grabbed a small, trembling old man in robes—the priest. The old man was absolutely terrified, his knees knocking against the stone floor.

"Where they others?" Paddy asked, his thick Irish lilt cutting through the cold, dead air of the nave like a blade.

"They gone, please, we got here mafia," the priest explained, his voice cracking with a desperate, breathless Italian accent. He was practically begging, his hands shaking in Reggie’s tight grip.

But Paddy didn't believe a word of it. He didn't have time for local lies or wartime excuses. He aggressively tossed his gun into his chest, his knuckles white, his posture towering and lethal. Jock and Reggie stepped forward, their faces tense, trying to call their commander down before he completely desecrated the sanctuary.

"Paddy, steady on," Jock muttered, but Paddy ignored him entirely.

"I don't talk to fucking mafia, and your blood is gonna be here, priest," Paddy grunted through his clenched teeth, his face inches from the old man's pale countenance.

Then, in a single, heart-stopping second, the whole holy vibe in the church was completely gone. The air shifted. Something was profoundly, deeply wrong. A sudden, unnatural darkness filled the air, sweeping through the marble. The stench of stale incense and old dust vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, impossibly thick scent. The smell of a deep, dark lake and wild, blooming flowers became intensely real, rolling over the soldiers like a wave.

The priest's eyes went perfectly round, a brand new, paralyzing terror rewriting his features.

"Dear Lord, she's escape... Lord have a mercy!" the priest talked round and round, repeating those words like a frantic, broken mantra. "Lord have mercy... she's escape..."

Paddy was rapidly getting irritated by the old man's babbling, his jaw tight, his hand ready to strike. But then, he saw her.

Paddy froze. The anger evaporated from his chest, replaced by a sudden, dangerous curiosity.

She was sitting directly on the altar, looking like a hallucination born of the dark heat. A heavy white dress covered her fragile body, cascading over the stone like spilled silk. Her skin was impossibly pale, light in the dim nave, and she smelled beautifully of fresh milk and wild honey from a hidden valley. Her eyes were wide, curious, and pure—but beneath that purity, was there a flicker of dark, undeniable lust?

Paddy and the other SAS soldiers couldn't tell. All they knew was that she absolutely did not fit into the brutal, blood-soaked war frame around them. She was a vision of perfection in a room full of killers.

"Motherfucker, what we got here?" Paddy asked, his rough voice dropping an octave as he made a slow, deliberate step toward her, his heavy boots clicking against the marble.

"DON'T TALK TO HER! SHE'S A CURSE!" the priest shouted, his voice cracking with absolute panic.

Paddy didn't even look back. He just barked a harsh order over his shoulder. "Reggie, shut him up!"

As Reggie dragged the shouting priest back, she smiled. It was a little smile, entirely possessive and completely unbothered by the violence in the room. Slowly, with an elegant, hypnotic grace, she stood up from the altar, rising to stand right next to him.

"Greetings, soldier," she murmured, her voice a rich, smooth.

Paddy couldn't take his eyes off her.

He reached out, his massive, rough, and dirt-stained hand gently holding hers. He leaned down, his rugged jaw brushing her skin as he kissed the delicate skin of her wrist, feeling her steady, warm pulse beneath his lips.

"What that beauty creature doing in a place like here?" Paddy rasped, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy attraction.

Instead of answering right away, you started to walk slowly around him, your bare feet silent on the cold stone. You cast a fleeting, dark glance at Jock and Reggie, who were standing frozen, completely bewitched by your presence.

"I just hide from bombs, priest give me shelter but I don't want hide the whole life," you said, turning your gaze back to the priest. You smiled at him. To the soldiers standing in the room, it looked like a sweet, innocent smile of a rescued girl. But to the priest, who knew the dark folklore of your blood, that smile belonged entirely to a devil.

"Nymph! They burn you, witch!" the priest shouted, thrashing wildly in Reggie's grip.

Paddy’s patience finally snapped. He didn't look at the old man, but his hand flew to his gun. He tossed the weapon up and blew some bullets straight into the stone floor near the priest's feet, the deafening cracks echoing like thunder through the nave, silencing the old man instantly.

You didn't scream. Instead, you gave a shy and choked look, your dark, wide eyes locking straight into Paddy's intense blue gaze. You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a hypnotic, breathless whisper.

"Devil? Me? Soldier, don't listen to him, he's dealing with Italian mafia," you murmured, your delicate fingers reaching out to touch the lapel of his uniform. "I'm pure."

Paddy stared deep into your eyes, the last of his military discipline melting away under your touch. The smell of the lake and wild flowers was making his head spin, a heavy, intoxicating arousal pooling deep in his stomach. He was completely under your spell.

"Paddy Mayne, my pleasure," he introduced himself, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as he gripped your waist through the fabric of your dress. "What yours?"

You leaned up on your toes, your pale lips almost brushing the rough skin of his neck.

"You can name me what you like ," you whispered directly into his ear.

You leaned in closer, tilting your head back to deeply smell him—inhaling the intoxicating, masculine scent of his sweat, the bitter gunpowder on his skin, and the raw, violent adrenaline of a man who was now completely yours.

Paddy let out a low, animalistic grunt, his heavy hands tightening against your hips, his mind completely gone.

The silence that followed the gunfire was suffocating, broken only by the sharp, metallic ping of empty shell casings settling onto the cold marble floor. Reggie and Jock stood frozen by the entrance, their knuckles white on their weapons, their eyes wide. They wanted to move, to drag their commander out of this twisted sanctuary, but the heavy, intoxicating scent of the lake and wild flowers seemed to anchor their boots to the stone.

Paddy didn't care about his men. He didn't care about the war. The world had shrunk down entirely to the pale, fragile girl standing beneath the shadow of the altar, her breath a sweet puff of milk and honey against his neck.

"Name you what I want, eh?" Paddy rasped, his voice rougher now, the Irish lilt thick with a dark, heavy hunger. His massive hands remained locked onto your hips, the heat of his palms burning right through the fabric of your dress. "I think you’re a little witch. A distraction I don't need."

You let out a soft, melodic laugh that hummed directly against his skin, sending a violent jiver straight down his spine. Instead of pulling away from his rough grip, you leaned back just enough to look up into his fierce, unhinged blue eyes.

"A distraction?" you murmured, your fingers slowly sliding up the rough canvas of his uniform shirt, your dark-painted nails tracing the line of his collarbone. "Or the only true thing you've found in this bloody country, Major Mayne?"

You began to move, your body sliding against his with a torturously slow, deliberate friction. You didn't break eye contact for a single second. Step by step, you backed him up against the heavy, ornate stone pillar of the altar, guiding his massive frame exactly where you wanted him. Paddy was a man who moved like a hurricane on the battlefield, but right now, he felt like he was moving through deep, dark water. His mind was spinning, completely under your spell.

"You're a bold little thing," Paddy growled, his jaw clenching as you tilted your head, your hair brushing his cheek. He tried to maintain his harsh, commanding edge, but his breathing was turning shallow, his chest heaving hard against yours. "The old man said they kept you behind bars. Maybe I should put you back."

"You could try," you whispered, a small, possessive smirk curving your lips. You reached up, your fingers tangling gently into the short, sweat-dampened strands of his hair, pulling just enough to force him to lean down. "But your hands are trembling, soldier. Are you afraid of a curse?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," he muttered, though the words lacked any real bite.

To prove his point, his grip tightened, his calloused thumbs digging into the soft skin above your hips, anchoring you to him. But you only used it to your advantage, leaning in until your lips brushed the sensitive skin just beneath his ear, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his sweat and gunpowder.

"Then show me, Paddy," you breathed into his ear, your tongue lightly tracing the shell of it, a sharp, teasing spark that made his whole body go rigid with desire. "Show me how violent you can be when you aren't killing."

Paddy let out a low, animalistic grunt, the last thread of his military discipline snapping entirely. He was completely undone, utterly bewitched by the sweet, dark temptation of the girl the church had hidden away for too long.

The air in the church grew thicker, the sweet, heavy scent of dark lake water and wild flowers swelling until it completely drowned out the stale smell of old incense and blood. Paddy stood pinned by his own choice, his back resting against the heavy stone pillar of the altar, his heart hammering a frantic, wild rhythm against his ribs. He felt entirely under your spell. Every instinct that usually made him a sharp, lethal commander was melting away, replaced by an intoxicating, heavy fog that pooled deep in his gut.

You smirked, a little, knowing curve of your lips as you saw the heavy darkness take over his blue eyes. You knew exactly what you were doing to him. Slowly, agonizingly, you slid your hands down from his hair, your fingertips lightly tracing the tense column of his throat, down over the rough fabric of his blood-stained lapels.

"You are so tense, Major," you purred, leaning in until your chest pressed flat against his heaving torso. You tilted your head, your pale skin contrasting sharply against his sunburned, dirt-caked neck as you nuzzled him, taking a deep, deliberate breath. "A big, fierce soldier... completely frozen by a fragile girl."

Paddy let out a low, ragged breath, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles ticked. He wanted to grab you, to show you exactly how dangerous he could be, but your closeness was paralyzing him. You were teasing him, pushing his boundaries right in front of his men, and he was entirely powerless to stop you.

"Dear God, look at his eyes! He is lost!" the priest's voice suddenly shattered the quiet, a shrill, hysterical shriek from the back of the nave. The old man was thrashing wildly in Reggie’s grip, his face pale with absolute horror. "She's gonna kill you! She will suck the soul from your body, soldier! Turn away!"

The old man's shouting broke through the fog in Paddy's brain just enough to ignite his ferocious Irish temper. He didn't want the priest looking at you. He didn't want his men seeing how completely undone he was by a girl sitting on an altar. He wanted privacy. He wanted to "talk" to you without the entire world watching his surrender.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Paddy snapped his head back toward his men, his voice a harsh, echoing roar that brooked absolute obedience.

"Reggie! Jock! Take the fucking priest and get out!" Paddy barked, his breathing shallow and heavy. "Clear the perimeter. Lock the doors from the outside. Nobody comes in here until I say so."

"But Paddy—" Jock started, looking warily at the strange, intoxicating setup on the altar.

"I said get the fuck out!" Paddy roared, his hand blindly reaching down to slap the holster at his hip. "Now!"

Seeing the mad captain completely unhinged, Reggie and Jock didn't dare argue further. Reggie aggressively shoved the weeping, praying priest toward the heavy oak exit, the old man still screaming his frantic warnings about the Nymph, until the massive wooden doors slammed shut behind them. The heavy iron lock clicked into place from the outside with a loud, final boom.

Silence descended on the church once more, heavier and hotter than before.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh against Paddy's neck, the sound sending a violent shiver straight down his spine.

"So aggressive," you whispered, your fingers sliding lower, tracing the brass buttons of his uniform shirt down to his belt. "You chased away your guards, Paddy Mayne. Now there is no one left to save you from the curse."

"I don't need saving," Paddy growled, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble as his large, calloused hands locked onto your waist with a bruising grip, anchoring you flush against his hardening body. "Now tell me what you really are before I ruin this pretty dress of yours."

You giggled, a soft, melodic sound that hummed directly against his skin, sending a violent shiver straight down his spine. You leaned up on your toes, your pale lips almost brushing his, teasing him with your proximity until your breath mingled with his.

"I'm just a silly girl who needs a soldier," you whispered directly into his lips, your voice dripping with sweet, mocking innocence.

Before he could answer, before his battle-hardened brain could process the lie, you closed the distance. You kissed him with pure, ravenous hunger.

There was nothing gentle or holy about it. Your lips crashed against his, demanding and deep, your tongues dancing in a fierce, breathless rhythm that mimicked the violence of the war outside. You let out a soft, low moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating through his chest and shattering the last of his defense.

Paddy wasn't a man who was easy to tempt. Even with the intoxicating scent of the lake and wild flowers filling his lungs, his logical, soldier’s mind was still fighting a losing battle. He was thinking somehow strange—a small, distant part of him knew this was unnatural, that no ordinary girl found in a war-torn Italian church should have this kind of terrifying, hypnotic power over him. He knew he was stepping into a trap, but the raw, primal arousal pooling in his gut was too powerful to fight.

Then, the internal war in his mind snapped completely.

Paddy stopped fighting the spell. With a low, feral growl that rumbled deep in his throat, he took control. He started to kiss you back with a brutal, desperate intensity, his mouth bruising yours as he matched your hunger note for note.

His massive, calloused hands left your waist and started to touch you everywhere, eager to feel the skin beneath the white fabric. One heavy hand slid up your spine, his thick fingers tangling ruthlessly into your hair to tilt your head back, securing his grip so he could drink deeper from your mouth. His other hand trailed down the curve of your hip, his rough palm bunching up the layers of your white dress, pulling the silk upward until his scarred, dirt-caked fingers made direct, burning contact with the bare, pale skin of your thigh.

You moaned again, your fingers clutching tightly at the heavy canvas of his uniform.

The raw, frantic need building within Paddy fully erupted. He didn't have the patience for the delicate silk of your white dress, nor the fragile illusion of modern restraint. With a low, guttural grunt that echoed off the high vaulted ceilings of the locked church, his massive, calloused hand moved up from your thigh. He violently tossed the heavy fabric of your bodice aside, the threads straining and tearing under his brute, unyielding strength.

The cool, stale air of the church hit your bare skin for a split second before his heavy palm replaced it. He grabbed your breast with a rough, proprietary grip, his split, dirt-caked knuckles contrasting sharply against your pale skin. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, anchoring you flush against his chest, claiming you completely.

Paddy looked down for just a moment, his wild blue eyes dark and completely consumed by you.

Leaning down, he buried his face against your chest. He placed his wet, heavy mouth directly onto your nipple, his tongue swiping hungrily over the sensitive peak before his teeth nipped at it with a fierce, demanding pressure.

A loud, breathless moan tore from your throat, the sound sharp and echoing sacrilegiously through the quiet nave. Your fingers dug deep into the rigid canvas of his uniform shoulders, your back arching off the cold marble of the altar as a wave of intense heat flooded your body. The smell of wild flowers and lake water flared drastically in the air, thick and suffocating, completely trapping the battle-hardened commander in your web as he fed on your skin.

You could feel the deep, heavy heat pooling between your thighs, the slick moisture flowing freely as your body completely yielded to his roughness. You grab his shoulders and tangled your fingers into his short, sweat-dampened hair, arching your head back as a desperate gasp escaped your lips.

Paddy didn't waste a single second. Driven by the primal fog of the spell, he slid his heavy, calloused hand down your stomach and slipped it directly between your legs. His rough fingers made instant, burning contact with your dripping heat.

He froze for a fraction of a second, his thumb sweeping over you, before he let out a raw, low chuckle that vibrated right against your bare chest. Looking down, a dark, wicked grin broke across his rugged face as he realized the truth. You weren't wearing any panties under that heavy white dress. You had been waiting for him exactly like this.

"Fucking hell," Paddy growled, his voice a gravelly, breathy rasp of pure, unadulterated lust.

The last remnant of his military control vanished. He grabbed your body with his massive, bruising hands, lifting you effortlessly before laying you down flat on top of the cold, sacred marble altar. The contrast of the freezing stone against your burning, bare skin made you shudder, your eyes flying open to lock onto his wild, unhinged blue gaze.

Paddy loomed over you, his chest heaving, his hands roughly parting your thighs and pinning your knees back to expose you completely to the dim candlelight. He looked down at what he had uncovered, his jaw clenching as he took a ragged breath.

"Ah, I choose good," you muttered darkly, a predatory smirk touching his lips as his hand went down to the buttons of his uniform trousers, ready to take exactly what you had promised him.

He was eating you like an animal, completely feral, driven by a raw, unhinged hunger that possessed his entire body. He's warm tongue was everywhere, he's was kissing, licking and slurping your pussy. From time to time he put aggressive split of saliva and spread it with his hands. He was consuming you as if your slick, honeyed warmth was the only thing keeping him alive in a world full of ash and blood.

The pleasure was a blinding, suffocating wave. Whining loudly into the empty, vaulted space of the church, you reached down and grabbed his head, your fingers tangling desperately into his short, sweat-dampened hair. Your knuckles went white as you forced him down harder, pushing his face directly into your dripping heat, demanding he go deeper.

Paddy growled against your skin, a wet, muffled sound vibrating straight through your core. He mumbled something hot and incoherent—a string of rough Irish curses or broken praises, completely lost to the fog of his devotion.

He didn't stop the relentless, heavy stroke of his tongue, but his massive hand slid up from your thigh. Seeking to ruin you completely, he took two thick, calloused fingers and thrust them straight inside you.

"Ah!" Your breath hitched, your head snapping back against the marble as your internal muscles clamped tightly around him. The contrast of his rough, split knuckles stretching you open while his hot, wet tongue continued to ruthlessly lap at your clit was too much. You arched violently, your hips jerking against his hand as the thick, intoxicating scent of wild flowers and dark lake water flared to a suffocating peak, drowning the last of Blair Mayne's soul in your spell.

Your first orgasm came like a sudden, violent hurricane, ripping through your body with a force that made the world spin. Your back arched completely off the cold marble altar, every muscle in your frame locking tight as wave after wave of intense, blinding heat crashed through your hips. A loud, breathless cry tore from your throat, echoing through the high, vaulted ceilings of the locked church. You could feel him drinking from you, his heavy, wet mouth greedily swallowing down the slick, sweet moisture of your release as your body shuddered against his face.

Paddy didn't let you rest for a single second. The taste of you only drove him further into the deep, hypnotic fog of your spell. He stood up abruptly, his massive frame towering over you. His blue eyes were completely dark, wild, and consumed by pure devotion. Leaning over your trembling body, he crashed his mouth down onto yours, kissing you with your own slick, sweet taste still wet on his lips, demanding you share the pleasure he had just taken from you.

"More," you confessed against his mouth, your voice a breathless, demanding whisper. You didn't want the warmth to stop. Driven by a possessive hunger of your own, you spread your legs wide across the altar, inviting him back in, offering your dripping, swollen heat to his gaze.

Paddy let out a raw, low growl, a dark, dangerous smirk twisting his rugged features as he looked down at your exposed, inviting body. He made a rough, filthy comment about how wet you were, his gravelly Irish lilt thick with unadulterated lust.

"You're a greedy little witch, aren't you?" he rasped, his voice a threatening rumble that vibrated through your chest. "You want to ruin me completely."

Without breaking eye contact, his heavy, calloused hands left your thighs and dropped straight to his waist. His fingers, still slick with your moisture, started to aggressively unbuckle his heavy military belt and unbutton his uniform pants.

He didn't waste another second. Driven entirely by the feral fog of your spell, Paddy loomed over you, his massive chest heaving as he gripped your thighs and pinned your legs back over his broad shoulders. He leaned over your trembling frame, pinning you flat against the cold marble altar once more, before aligning himself with your slick, dripping heat.

With a single, heavy surge of his hips, he slipped his dick straight inside you.

He was big—impossibly thick and unyielding—filling you completely until your internal muscles stretched to their absolute limit. You hadn't felt anything like this since ancient times, back when the world was wild and men were feral enough to match the dark nature of you.

A breathless, choked gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instantly digging deep into the rigid canvas of his uniform shirt to anchor yourself.

Instinctively, you bucked your hips against his, welcoming the invading weight, and felt him drive even deeper inside you. He buried himself to the absolute hilt, his heavy pelvis slamming hard against yours with a dull, bruising thud that echoed sacrilegiously through the quiet nave.

Paddy let out a low, guttural groan that rumbled right against your lips, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he took a ragged breath. The thick, intoxicating scent of wild flowers and dark lake water flared drastically in the air, wrapping around his senses like a physical weight, anchoring him deep inside the trap you had set for him. He was completely yours now, a lethal weapon entirely surrendered to your touch.

"-you so soft," he moaned directly into your lips, his voice a gravelly, broken wreck of an Irish lilt. The words were completely crushed beneath the sheer weight of his arousal.

He didn't wait for a response. Paddy completely lost himself to the ancient, intoxicating fog, and he began brutally fucking you. Every stroke was hard, fast, and relentlessly deep, his massive pelvis hammering against yours with a raw, bruising force that made the cold marble altar shake beneath your back.

The sheer, animalistic violence of his pace caught you off guard. For a split second, your practiced temptation was gone; your mind went completely blank, and you didn't even know what to say.

But you were no helpless prey. The ancient, dark entity inside you roared back to life, refusing to be dominated, even by the deadliest captain in the British army.

Reaching up with sudden, supernatural strength, you grabbed his broad, sweat-slicked shoulders. With a powerful, unexpected twist of your hips, you forcefully rolled him over, pinning his massive frame flat onto his back against the sacred stone of the altar.

Paddy let out a sharp, breathless grunt as his head hit the marble, his wild blue eyes wide and completely disoriented as the tables turned in a single heartbeat.

"You will be my sacrifice," you said, your voice dropping to a dark, chillingly possessive register that echoed sacrilegiously through the high vaulted ceilings of the locked church.

For one fleeting second, Paddy’s battle-hardened brain couldn't process what you meant. His thoughts were a strange, chaotic blur of pleasure and confusion. But before he could even form a question, you sat directly on him.

You aligned yourself and sank completely onto his cock, taking every single inch of his thick, unyielding length back inside you until your pelvic bones slammed together. A breathless gasp escaped your lips as you adjusted to the massive stretch, and without giving him a moment to breathe, you started to ride him.

You arched your back, your pale skin gleaming under the spiked golden halo as you bounced, grinding your hips down in a fierce, demanding rhythm that claimed him completely.

"—ohhh, Lord, like that!" Paddy shattered, a loud, uninhibited roar tearing from his throat. His large, calloused hands shot up to grip your waist with a bruising strength, his fingers digging deep into your skin to try and control the agonizingly perfect friction as you rode him like a queen on her throne.

"—ohh, a Protestant and a believer?"

You laughed, a dark, melodic sound that mocked his desperate cry. Without giving him a moment to recover, you started to ride him like a wild animal. Your hips rolled with a wicked, fluid momentum, catching him at an angle that drove his thick length directly against your sweet spot with every single downward stroke. Paddy’s eyes blew wide, a ragged, breathless groan tearing from his throat as your internal walls clamped around him. He gripped your hips with a bruising, white-knuckled strength, trying to lift you, trying to match your frantic, unhinged pace.

The saintly, sacred place was now completely a place for dark desire. Your uninhibited moans and his deep, animalistic grunts became a sacrilegious melody echoing off the ancient stone walls, drowning out centuries of quiet prayers.

"Hell is empty, and all the demons are here," Paddy quoted, the words of William Shakespeare ripping from his chest in a rough, gravelly rasp.

You let out a loud, breathless moan, the sheer poetry of his submission making you squeeze him impossibly tight from the inside. The sudden, crushing friction pushed him right over the edge of his sanity. Driven by a sudden spike of survival instinct and raw aggression, Paddy’s massive hand shot up to your throat. He gripped your neck and squeezed it, choking off your air just enough to make your vision blur with white-hot sparks of pleasure.

You arched your back violently under the spiked golden halo, your throat tight, feeling his thick dick pulse inside you as it started milking you for everything he had.

But as your head snapped back and the choking grip forced your true essence to the surface, the illusion fractured. Paddy looked up through the dim, flickering candlelight—and then he saw it. The pale, innocent face of the girl vanished, replaced for a terrifying second by the raw, elongated fangs and nasty image, eyes completely black and hollow.

Absolute terror struck the battle-hardened commander's heart for the first time in his life. But it was too late to pull away.

With a final, violent surge, Paddy came inside you, his body shuddering violently as he poured his seed deep into your core. At the exact same moment, you exploded, a powerful, crushing orgasm ripping through your hips. As the fluid released, the monstrous visage receded, and you instantly came back into your beautiful, fragile girl form.

Paddy, breathing like a dying man, aggressively tossed your form off his body, shoving you back onto the marble as he scrambled away. He sat up on the altar, his uniform disheveled, his chest heaving as he stared at you with wild, sweating panic.

"What the fuck are you?!" he roared, his hand instinctively reaching for his discarded gun, though his fingers were shaking too hard to grip it.

You giggled, the sweet, innocent sound completely contrasting the horror he had just witnessed. Crawling forward on the marble like a cat, you looked closely at his terrified face and leaned in, lightly licking the sweat and dirt from his cheek.

"Told you... I am what you wanted me to be," you giggled, your voice a soft, mocking purr.

Slowly, effortlessly, you slid off the sacred stone and walked away from the altar, the fabric of your white dress swaying around your ankles. Paddy sat frozen on the stone, looking completely shocked and undone as he watched you move toward the shadows of the side chapel.

"I was going to kill you," She rasped, her voice rough.You stopped, turning your head to look back at him over your shoulder. "

“Why you don't do it?"

Paddy sneered, his jaw clenching as he tried to ground himself. "Cause you don't have a soul, Paddy Mayne," you answered for him, a dark, teasing smirk playing on your lips. "You're too dirt for me."

"Is that so?" Paddy muttered, his blue eyes tracking your every movement as the darkness of the church seemed to stretch toward you. "Where you going? Will I see you again?"

"Only in your dark nightmares, soldier," you giggled.

Thank you from the bottom of my dark heart for reblogs, likes and comments to my fics! I'm really appreciate that some of you like what I created. I see every kind word, lately my mind and body are tired, I've got tuff week at my work, also my creativity battery is low. But in the corner of dark mind some dark neuron bring me something. Right know I working of something good with Paddy with Fem Reader, it's gonna be dark, intense and strange Holly in both ways. (church scene in SAS season 2 inspired me) maybe something supernatural bout that. Don't forget Lion Kaminski too, he's gonna back with his sub eyes. Right know I just give you image sneak peak what ride we gonna have with Paddy!

Have spiritual Saturday! 🖤

🥰

Omggg! Thank you baby

Honey of course!

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔏𝔲𝔩𝔞: 𝔑𝔬𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔰, 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔬𝔫 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱, 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢, ℑ'𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔬 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔠𝔶. 𝔖𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢. ℑ'𝔪 𝔫𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔶, 𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔢𝔫𝔧𝔬𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ'𝔪 𝔤𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭, 𝔗𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔨 𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔫, 𝔲𝔤𝔥, 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔪𝔢 𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔨. 𝔄𝔩𝔰𝔬 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔨𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 @kteezy997 𝔞𝔫𝔡 @pedroncigarettes and @punani-san ❤️

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶:

𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔏𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔎𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔨𝔦 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔶𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: 18+ 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔖𝔲𝔟 𝔏𝔦𝔬𝔫!, 𝔇𝔬𝔪 𝔉𝔢𝔪 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯!,𝔉𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤(𝔉𝔢𝔪 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔳), 𝔇𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔨, 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 (𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢), 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔣𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔲𝔯𝔞, 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢, 𝔭𝔢𝔱 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔰𝔢𝔵 𝔱𝔬𝔶𝔰, 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔧𝔬𝔟, 𝔠𝔲𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶, 𝔭𝔢𝔱 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔣𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔡, 𝔏𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔟𝔬𝔶

𝔚. ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4𝔨

It started simply. You had no idea, at first, that you would end up here, sitting with him on this velvet couch. But Lion Kaminski had something sweet about him—something you craved. He was a big boxer with those pathetic blue eyes, a perfect combination for someone like you to eat his soul.

You two had met after one of those illegal fights your stinky town organized. You never imagined that you—an elegant, dark feminine woman—would spend a night surrounded by the smell of cheap drink, watching two sweaty men beat each other nearly to death. But a friend had asked, and so you had agreed, drifting into that violent world like a ghost in silk.

Then he came out: Lion. He was buzzing with adrenaline when he walked into the ring, but then he caught your eye. He wasn't like the other boys who tried to hit on you. He wasn't the "alternative" or "rock" type; his simplicity was the key. After the match, when Lion won (though he still looked like he didn’t believe it), he sat at the bar counter, sipping quietly. That was where the conversation started. A few little dates followed—motel meetings, quiet drinks—and you realized you liked him. 

____________________________

Tonight, you invite him at your place. The apartment was dark, but have very witch scent. Sandalwood, lavender and skull were carried by candle lights and some flickering shadows against the dark floral wallpaper. The couch was a deep, bruised purple velvet.

Lion sat with his elbows on his knees, his massive back curved in a way that made him look small. 

You watched him through the haze of a cigarette, the lace of your green corset and black skirt. Pale skin smelled like honey and milk, mixed with heavy altar perfume. 

"You're quiet tonight, Lion," you said, the words sliding out like honey and iron.

He shifted, he really looks so small. If you don’t know him, you never thought he beat people till death at parking lots. 

"Thinking how I don't belong in a place this nice. With someone like you." - He gulped and look at you and whole scenario. 

You reached out, your long, dark-painted nails tracing the line of his jaw, stopping just short of a fresh bruise.

"That's exactly why you're here," you whispered. "Because I like things that are broken. I like things that know how to bleed."

He finally looked at you then. Those blue eyes were wide, swirling with a mix of terror and deep, aching devotion. You stood up, the heels of your boots clicking sharply on the hardwood floor—a sound that made his breath hitch. You stood directly in front of him, blocking out the rest of the world.

"Lion," you said, your  voice switch into commanding tone. "Look at me."

He obeyed instantly. His head tilted back, his throat exposed. 

"You've had such a hard life, haven't you? Always hitting, always being hit." You ran a hand over the top of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair. 

"I think it's time you learned how to be still. How to be mine."

"I want you to forget the ring," you said, your voice a low, rhythmic hum. "I want you to forget the noise and the blood. Right now, you belong to me, you understand?"

"Yes," he breathed, his voice barely a ghost.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes... mistress."

You slid onto the velvet cushion next to him, the fabric sighing under your weight. The distance between you vanished. You didn't move fast, you moved with grace and slowly possesion. 

You running your fingers through his hair, petting him. His hair was soft, contrasting with the jagged scar near his mouth. He looked like bruised angel.

Then, you hooked your fingers under his chin, tilting his face up. You kissed him—a slow, sweet, press of lips. When you pulled back just an inch, you caught his gaze. Those pathetic blue eyes were glazed, fixed entirely on you, his breath coming in ragged hitches.

"Oh... you liked those?" you murmured, noticing the way his eyes had instinctively dropped to the swell of your chest, trapped by the green satin of your corset.

You pointed a sharp nail finger toward your breast, where the laces of the corset strained against your skin, creating a deep, shadowed cleavage.

"You've been a good boy, Lion," you purred, the vibration of your voice making him shiver.

"And good boys deserve to be rewarded. Can you be my good boy?”

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. He looked like he wanted to reach out, to touch the silk, to bury his face in you—but he stayed perfectly still, waiting for the permission he knew he needed.

"I... I'll do anything," he rasped, the boxer’s pride completely stripped away.

He moved to the floor. He knelt between your legs, his bruised knuckles resting on his thighs, his head bowed. 

You leaned back, the corset creaking as it held you in that perfect posture. You didn’t just look at him; you studied him.

"You like the view from down there, Lion?" you asked, your voice a silken thread.

 "Yes," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I like whatever you tell me to like."

You slowly lifted your leg.  You didn't place your foot gently and rested the sharp, narrow heel of your boot right against the center of his chest. You could feel his pulse through the sole of your shoe.

You began to massage his chest with your heel, a slow, grinding pressure that forced him to breathe in time with your movements. It was a gesture of total ownership. 

"Does that feel good, Lion? To be under my boot?" - you asked sweetly 

"Yes," he gasped, his chest heaving under the weight of your leg. He reached up, not to push you away, but to wrap his scarred fingers around your ankle, holding you there as if he were afraid you might stop. "

Please... don't stop."

You smiled, that dark, predatory.

 You reached for the laces of your corset, the satin straining. With a flick of your wrist, you loosened the top. 

"You've been staring at these all night," you said, pointing to your breasts. "You want them so badly, don't you? You want to taste the reward."

Lion’s eyes blew wide, his pupils swallowing the blue. He looked like he was about to lose his mind. 

"Come here," you commanded.

He crawled forward on his knees, never breaking eye contact, until his face was inches from your lap. He was shaking now—not with fear, but with the sheer intensity of his devotion. You reached out, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat.

"I want you to show me how much you appreciate them," you whispered

 "I want you to work for it. No biting, no roughness. You treat me like the altar I am. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he groaned, his hands gripping the velvet of the couch as he prepared to serve.

With a sharp, deliberate tug of the ribbons, the satin of your corset finally gave way. You reached in and popped your breasts free from the lace, Lion made a sound—a low, broken whimper.

You didn't wait for him to ask. You grabbed a handful of his hair, your fingers tangling in the short, rough strands, and pulled him forward.

"Take them, Lion," you commanded, your voice a dark velvet whip. "Show me how hungry you are."

He didn't hesitate. His large, scarred hands came up to cup the undersides of your breasts by his palms. He’s mouth wide and desperate, and began to suck. He wasn't gentle at first—he was a starving man—but as your fingers tightened in his hair, he settled into a rhythmic, devoted pace. 

His tongue working with a focused intensity that made your toes curl into the plush rug.

As he lost himself in the curve of your chest, his breath hot and damp against you. You leaned back into the sofa, bracing yourself, and lifted your leg and placed the sharp, narrow heel of your boot directly onto the crotch of his grey jogger pants. Even through the soft fabric, he was thick, hard, and twitching with a life of its own.

"You're so ready for me, aren't you?" you purred, looking down at the top of his head as he continued to nurse.

You began to massage his cock with your heel. You didn't just press; you ground him.

The friction was intense. Every time you dragged your heel upward, his hips hitched involuntarily, trying to meet the pressure. Every time you pressed down near the base, he let out a muffled groan against your skin, his hands squeezing your thighs so hard he might leave bruises.

"Keep working, Lion," you whispered, your voice dropping to a hiss. "Don't stop just because I'm playing with you. You're a boxer, aren't you?”

He let out a strangled sound, his tongue swirling faster, his teeth grazing the nipples. 

You decided he had tasted enough. With a sharp tug of his hair, you pulled him away from your chest. He looked up at you, his lips wet and his face flushed, those blue eyes completely unfocused. He looked like he was drowning. 

"You’ve been a very good boy, Lion," you whispered

You stood up slowly, stepped over him and straddling his head as he knelt there on the rug. 

"Hands behind your back, Lion," you commanded. "I don't want you touching anything but me."

He obeyed instantly, locking his fingers behind his lumbar, his chest heaving. You lowered yourself down, the velvet of your skirt and the warmth of your skin descending like an eclipse over his face. When you finally sat, placing your full weight onto him, he let out a muffled, choked sound.

You leaned back, resting your palms on your own knees, feeling the vibration of his face against you.

"Can you breathe, Lion?" you asked 

A muffled, distorted sound came from beneath you. "Mmmph—yes... mistress."

"Good," you purred, grinding your weight down slightly, asserting your total dominance. "Because I want you to know exactly who owns you right now. You’re not a fighter here. You’re just a seat. You’re just a place for me to rest. Do you feel how heavy I am?"

"Yes," he rasped, the word vibrating through your body. "So heavy... please... don't move."

"Oh, I think I’ll move exactly as much as I want," you teased, your dark smile widening. "Tell me, Lion. What do you see right now?"

"Nothing," he groaned, his voice thick with devotion. "Just you. You’re everything. It’s dark and... you smell so good. Like roses and... and power."

You reached back, running your hand down his spine, feeling the way he shivered under your touch even though he was pinned.

"That's right," you whispered. "The world outside doesn't exist. There are no gyms, no rings, no debts. There is only the weight of me and the air I choose to give you. Are you mine, Lion?"

He struggled for a moment to get the words out, his face pressed firmly into you. "Yours," he finally choked out, a raw, honest sound. "I’m yours. Use me. Break me if you want. Just don't get up."

You laughed softly, a low, melodic sound that vibrated against him.

"I'm not going anywhere. I think I like it here. You're much more useful as a throne than a boxer."

With slow, deliberate movements, you reached beneath the hem of your dark skirt. You slid your lace panties down your thighs and tossed them onto the floor. 

"Look at me, Lion," you commanded.

He lifted his head, his face flushed and damp from your skin. When his eyes landed on you—on your neatly shaved, pale pussy, exposed and glistening in the candlelight—his jaw literally dropped. He looked like a man seeing the sun for the first time after a lifetime in the dark.

"You like what you see?" you whispered, your voice dropping into that dangerous, dark register.

"It's... it's perfect," he rasped, his voice breaking. "You're so beautiful, I can't... I don't deserve to even look."

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you lowered yourself back down, but this time, you didn't sit on his nose. You positioned yourself so that you were hovering just an inch above his mouth, the heat from your body radiating onto his lips. You could see his tongue dart out to wet his dry lips, his instinct taking over.

"Don't move until I tell you," you hissed, the corset creaking as you braced your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

You slowly sat, letting your wetness press directly against his mouth. He let out a muffled, vibrating sound of shock against your skin, his hands twitching behind his back as he fought the urge to break his posture and grab you.

"Lick."

The word was a short, sharp crack of a whip.

Lion didn't hesitate. He started to licking your pussy. His tongue was broad and warm, tracing the length of you with a desperate hunger. He moaned into you, the sound vibrating through your entire pelvis, sending waves of heat up your spine.

You leaned down, your hair falling around his head 

"Does it taste like everything you wanted, Lion? Does it taste better than the blood in your mouth after a fight?"

"Yes," he choked out between frantic laps of his tongue. "Better... anything for you... please, let me... let me keep going."

"You'll go until I'm satisfied," you purred, grinding yourself down harder against his face, forcing him to take more of you. "You're a service animal, aren't you? A big, strong boxer reduced to this. Tell me, Lion... who do you belong to?"

"You," he gasped, his voice muffled and thick. "I'm yours. I'm your dog. I'm whatever you want."

You smiled into this conffesion.  You could feel his cock straining against the fabric of his joggers beneath you.

You were no longer just sitting; you were driving yourself against him, your hips moving with a predatory speed that forced Lion to keep up or be crushed. 

"Oh, right there, baby!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the dark wallpaper, stripped of its gothic composure. "You gonna make me come? Yes?"

Lion couldn't answer with words. He was too busy burying himself. He let out a low, guttural growl against your thigh—a sound of pure, masculine desperation to please you. He was a man who lived for the "win," and right now, your climax was the only title he ever wanted to hold.

Just as the waves of your release began to crest, you felt a surge of that dark, commanding power. You didn't want a gentle finish. You wanted him to remember who was standing over him.

You lifted your hips and slapped his cheek. 

"Make me come on your face, you pathetic boxer," you hissed, your eyes dark and wild. "Earn it!"

Lion let out a broken, choked sound and lunged back in, his mouth wider, his tongue more aggressive, sucking at you with a strength that made your vision blur at the edges.

You gripped his hair so tight your knuckles turned white, pulling his face upward, forcing him to take the brunt of your weight.

"That's it," you gasped, your breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. "Right there... show me what a good dog you are…"

The room was thick with the scent of sandalwood, sweat, and the sharp, metallic tang of total surrender. As the waves of your climax finally crashed over you, you felt every muscle in Lion’s neck cord with effort. You arched your back, the steel of your corset creaking under the strain, and let out a long, broken moan that echoed off the dark walls.

"Ohhh, Lion! Fuck yeah!"

You collapsed back against the velvet cushions for a second, your heart hammering against your ribs. When you finally sat up, you looked down at him. Lion was a mess, lips glistening with his saliva and your cum with pop blue eyes was delicous frame. 

"Take off your clothes," you commanded, your voice returning to that cool tone that made him shiver. "And go to the bedroom."

Lion moved like a man in a trance. He stood up, his legs slightly shaky, and began to strip. The shirt hit the floor first,

 revealing the map of scars and muscle and big celtic cross tattoo. When he tossed his joggers aside, he was left in only his boxers, his cock straining against the fabric.

By the time he reached the bedroom, you were already waiting. The bed was a sprawling altar of dark velvet and heavy silks. You stood by the bedframe, holding a circlet of black leather in your hand—a collar.

"Kneel," you whispered.

Lion dropped to his knees on the plush carpet without a second thought. You leaned over him, the  and buckled the leather around his thick neck.

His eyes popped wide, the cool pressure of the leather grounding him in his new reality. Then, you reached for the heavy silver chain—the leash. You clipped it to the ring at his throat with a sharp metallic snap and dropped the length of it onto his chest.

"Come on, baby," you smiled, a dark, playful glint in your eyes.

You climbed onto the bed, crawling backward until you were seated against the headboard, looking every bit the Gothic queen in your black satin armor. You reached out and took the handle of the leash, giving it a firm, demanding tug.

"Don't keep me waiting, Lion.

The chain rattled as he moved toward you on all fours, his eyes fixed on your hand. 

The atmosphere in the bedroom was heavy, the air thick enough to taste. He stayed on his knees, the silver leash draped over his shoulder like a heavy reminder of his new status.

You grab his face into your hands and left light litte kiss on his lips.

"You're so good for me, you know?" you whispered against his lips, your thumbs tracing the rough stubble of his jawline. "So much better than any trophy or any belt."

He let out a low, broken sound, leaning his face into your palm like a stray seeking warmth. "I... I just want to be what you need," he rasped.

Your hand traveled downward, leaving his face to slide over his chest, tracing the hard ridges of his ribs before finally coming to rest over the straining fabric of his boxers. The moment you gripped him, it was pure. He was thick, hot, and pulsing with a frantic rhythm.

"It hurts, doesn't it, big cat?" you asked, your voice a dark, melodic tease. 

Lion’s head fell back, a choked groan escaping his throat as your fingers tightened around the bulge. "Yes... please... it's too much."

"I decide when it’s too much," you reminded him softly.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slid them down his muscular thighs. His cock sprung free, dark and angry-red, twitching with every frantic beat of his heart. You didn't rush. You wanted him to feel every second of the exposure.

You reached out, your manicured fingers closing around him. You began to massage him with a slow, agonizingly steady motion, sliding your hand from the base to the tip. You watched his face—the way his eyes squeezed shut, the way his lips parted as he gasped for air that seemed to have vanished from the room.

"Look at you," you murmured, increasing the pressure just a fraction. "A fighter who can take a hundred punches, and you’re falling apart because I’m touching you."

You continued the massage, your thumb tracing the sensitive head of his cock, catching the bead of moisture there and spreading it.

You grab leash and let him lay down on big frame bed, then your reached down and slid the vibrating cock ring over him. The moment the silicone settled at the base of his shaft, the buzz began to go hrough his entire body. His hips buckled upward, his heels digging into the silk sheets as he let out a long, shuddering moan.

"Oh... fuck... what is that?" he gasped, his head thrashing against the pillows.

You didn't answer. Instead,you massage him, your hand pumping him with a slow rhythm that worked in tandem with the vibration. 

"Don't come," you whispered, leaning over him-"You stay right here, on the edge for me. If you can hold it, if you can be my good, obedient boxer... I'll let you fuck me. Do you understand, Lion?"

Lion’s eyes were unfocused, rolling back into his head as he tried to fight the tidal wave of pleasure you were orchestrating.

"Uh... don't come... yes... yes, Mistress," he choked out, his voice barely a wheeze. "I won't... I’ll stay... please..."

You increased the speed of your hand for three sharp, fast strokes, watching him nearly break, then suddenly stopped altogether. You pulled your hand away, leaving him pulsing and vibrating in the silence. The sudden loss of your touch was a different kind of torture.

He let out a whimper, his hands clenching the sheets until the fabric threatened to tear.

 Lion was at his limit. His cock was a frantic pulse in your hand, gorged and twitching against the rhythmic hum of the ring. You could see the gloss of pre-cum slicking the head, catching the orange flicker of the candlelight. He was a hair's breadth away from breaking, his back arching off the velvet as he hovered on that agonizing precipice of release.

The silver chain rattled, the jerk of the collar snapping his focus back to you. He moved like a puppet on strings, his massive body shifting forward in a daze of primal obedience. You shifted your position, sliding up the bed and spreading your legs wide, the silk sheets cool against your heated skin.

"Look at what you're getting, Lion," you whispered, your voice a dark, velvet promise. "Look at what you earned by being so good."

You reached down, your fingers slick, and guided the tip of his cock—vibrating and dangerously hard—to the opening of your pussy. The moment he felt your wetness, a shudder ran through his entire frame, from his scarred knuckles to the soles of his feet.

Slowly, agonizingly, you lowered yourself, or perhaps he pushed—it was hard to tell where your command ended and his desperation began. The tip slid in, and then, with a deep, liquid sound, he was full of you. He buried himself deep, his thick length stretching you, the cock ring still buzzing between your bodies, sending tremors of electricity straight into your womb.

"Ohhh... yeah," you moaned, your head falling back. "Fuck me, Lion. Fuck me like the beast you are."

Lion let out a sound that wasn't human—a guttural, echoing growl of pure relief and redirected power. He gripped your hips with his heavy, boxer's hands, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your waist, and began to drive into you.

"Mistress... please," he gasped, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hot breath blooming against your skin. "You're so tight... I can't... I’m gonna—"

"You're going to do exactly what I tell you," you hissed, reaching back to grab the handle of the leash, pulling it taut so he had to look you in the eye while he took you. "Don't you dare close your eyes. I want you to see who’s breaking you."

He looked up, his blue eyes shattered and brilliant, tears of  overstmulation  overload pricking at the corners. 

"You're doing so good, baby," you breathed, your voice breaking into a ragged moan as he hit that perfect spot deep inside. "Yes... oh, yes. Take that cock deeper. Show me what you’ve got, Lion. Show me how much you want to stay here."

He didn't need any more encouragement. He speed his movements and hit the sweet spot. You reached up, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss.

As he moved within you, Lion reached down. His large, calloused thumb found your clit, moving in a practiced, urgent circle that mimicked the frantic buzz of the cock ring still trapped between your bodies. The double sensation was to much. Your head snapped back, your eyes rolling into your head, glazed and wide like a person possessed.

"Oh fuck," he groaned, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your collarbone. "Oh fuck... I'm gonna cum... Mistress, please..."

"Do it," you hissed through gritted teeth, your nails carving red tracks into his shoulders. "Come for me, Lion!"

You felt it first—the sudden, violent tension in his thighs and the way his hands gripped the mattress so hard the wood of the bedframe creaked. Then, the explosion happened. He loudly groan, feeling realise. 

You stayed there for a long time, the only sound the ticking of a clock and his ragged, fading breath against your neck. You reached out, your hand shaking slightly, and petted his hair with a gentle, possessive touch.

"Good boy," you whispered into the dark. "My good, sweet Lion."

You reached up, your fingers slightly trembling as you found the clasp of the leash. With a soft clink, the silver chain fell away, and you unbuckled the leather collar from his neck.

Lion let out a long, shaky breath. He curled his large, scarred body around yours, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. He began to press soft, lingering kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, and finally your lips.

"You're so cute, Lion Kaminski," you smiled, reaching up to trace the line of his nose.

 No one in this stinky town would ever believe that the fighter who could knock a man cold was currently looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the universe.

Lion shifted, his face turning a little red, his gaze turning shy. "Can I... can I have you on a proper date?" he asked, his voice low and hopeful. "Without the motels and the dark corners and stuff? Maybe you’d like some coffee... or dinner? I don't really know what a dark goddess like you likes to eat."

You couldn't help it; you let out a soft, melodic giggle The image of the two of you—you in your sharp corsets and him in his rugged gear—sitting in a normal restaurant was almost too much.

"Dinner would be very nice, Lion," you smiled, bopping his nose with your fingertip. "And some sweet dessert. Maybe the Waffle House? I have a craving for something sugary after all that work you did."

Lion’s entire face lit up, a genuine grin breaking through him. He leaned in, giving you one last, firm kiss on the forehead.

"Deal," he whispered. "Waffle House it is. My treat."