Swan

your squealing goes up a notch and now your hands are over your eyes. frank drops the hammer on the man's toes, startling another pained moan out of him but frank is unmoved. "baby—"

"my rug!" you warble out, still confused on whether any of this is real, peeking from between your fingers.

frank looks down, winces at the red puddle that seems to only get bigger with time. "shit, sorry, ba—"

"and my drink!" you cry, now pointing your shaking finger at the man bleeding out on the chair. "he's bleeding all over the place, wha— I don't—"

frank shushes you before you can talk yourself into a tizzy. "hey, it's alright, hey" he goes to step towards you then reconsiders. he's covered in blood, and he's pretty sure getting it on the coach bag you just got with his credit card might be what tips you over the edge.

"s'alright, sweetheart, don't gotta worry. I'm almost done here, yeah? let me finish up then I'll take you out, ok? dinner? that place on 5th."

you blink at him, then back at the man when he whimpers.

"hey," your eyes fly back to frank, who's chasing your gaze with his hands up in what he hopes is a reassuring way. "you trust me, right? you know I take care you. wouldn't let anything happen to you, would I?"

you shake your head, because of course he wouldn't. he mirrors your head movements, trying not to spook you. "that's right, daddy takes care of you, doesn't he?"

"daddy takes care of me" you nod - and you don't stop nodding, just up and down until he's worried you're gonna make yourself dizzy. the man behind him starts to gurgle and frank sighs, picking the hammer back up.

"right, so you gotta trust me, yeah? turn around and put your hands over your ears, you hear? eyes closed, baby, c'mon let me see it."

only after you do as he says does he swing. you are never getting that blood out of the carpet now, that's for sure.

his eyes dragged down your face, over your pout, over the way your thighs pressed together like you were already making a mess of yourself. “you’re really gonna beg for it in my living room?” he asked, voice flat and cruel. “christ, sweetheart, you’ve got no shame at all.”

you shook your head too quickly, giggling because he sounded so disgusted, and that only made the heat in your stomach worse. “please,” you said again, softer this time, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt.

“I’ll be good. I just wanna hold it.” ben stared at you for a long second, then let out a rough, humorless laugh. “that’s the problem,” he muttered. “you think being good means getting on your knees and acting like a nasty little freak.”

then his hand was in your hair, not gentle, not sweet, but controlled enough that it made your whole body go loose with delight. he grabbed a fistful near the roots and tugged, dragging you up from where you’d been half-sitting, half-kneeling against the couch.

you stumbled after him with a breathless little laugh, both hands flying to his wrist even though you didn’t try to stop him. “move,” he snapped, pulling you down the hall toward the bathroom. “you wanna act like bathroom trash, I’ll put you where you belong.”

by the time he shoved the bathroom door open, your cheeks were burning and your pussy was already wet, slick gathering between your thighs from nothing but his hand in your hair and his voice cutting you apart. he pushed you inside ahead of him, then shut the door hard enough to make you jump.

when you looked back at him, smiling all drunk and dazed, ben’s expression twisted with mean amusement. “look at you,” he said, stepping closer. “getting wet because I dragged you around like an idiot. you’re easier than a goddamn light switch.”

you should’ve been embarrassed, but all you did was press your thighs together again, chasing the ache he’d put there. “I like it,” you whispered, looking up at him with too much honesty in your face. ben scoffed and caught your jaw in one hand, squeezing your cheeks until your lips parted.

“yeah, I know you do,” he said. “that’s what makes it pathetic. pretty little head full of nothing but dick and humiliation.” your breath hitched, and his eyes sharpened. “don’t make that noise unless you want me to give you something to whine about.”

he stood in front of the toilet and looked down at you expectantly, broad and smug and mean as hell. “knees,” he ordered, and you dropped so fast he laughed.

the tile was cold beneath you, but your body was blazing, your hands already reaching for his belt before he could tell you twice. “look at that,” he muttered, watching your fingers fumble over the buckle. “desperate little thing can barely work a belt, but she’s sure she deserves my cock in her hand.”

your fingers shook as you unbuckled him, the leather scraping through the metal while you tried not to smile too hard. ben noticed anyway and curled his fingers tighter in your hair, forcing your head back just enough to make you meet his eyes. “what are you grinning at?” he asked harshly.

“you proud of yourself? proud to be on your knees begging to hold my dick while I take a piss?” you nodded, breathless and warm, and whispered, “yes.” his laugh was ugly and pleased. “of course you are. filthy little bathroom slut.”

you got his jeans open slowly, button first, then zipper, tugging them down enough with clumsy, eager hands. when you pulled his cock free, your breath caught, because even soft he was big, thick and heavy in your palm, warm enough to make your fingers curl instinctively around him.

ben’s eyes dropped to your hand, then back to your face, and his mouth curved in that cruel way that made your stomach flip. “there it is,” he said. “one handful and you go stupid.” you swallowed hard, staring at him, your pussy clenching around nothing because he wasn’t wrong.

he covered your hand with his and adjusted your grip himself, forcing your fingers around the base of him exactly how he wanted. “hold it right,” he said, voice low and rough. “don’t sit there pawing at me like some drunk little idiot.”

you nodded quickly, but your thumb brushed over him anyway, unable to help yourself, and his hand snapped back into your hair. “don’t get greedy,” he warned. “you begged to hold it, not worship it.”

your eyes flicked up to his, wet and adoring. “can’t help it,” you whispered, and ben’s jaw tightened like that answer did something dangerous to him.

then he turned toward the toilet, your hand still wrapped around him, and finally started to piss. the first hot stream hit the water with a filthy, steady sound that made your whole body throb, the pale gold arc splashing into the bowl while you held him still.

it was obscene how intimate it felt, how your mouth went dry and your pussy got wetter, slick and needy between your thighs just from being trusted with something so gross and private.

you stared, hypnotized, your cheek brushing his thigh, and ben tugged your hair until you looked up. “don’t act shy now,” he said. “you begged for this like a spoiled little pervert.”

you moaned softly before you could stop yourself, the sound small and helpless beneath the splash of him still going. ben’s eyes darkened, and his lip curled. “you’re actually turned on,” he said, like he wanted to shame you until you melted into the floor.

“kneeling beside a toilet, holding my cock while I piss, and your cunt’s probably dripping through your panties.” you nodded because lying would’ve been pointless, and the confession made your face burn even hotter. “say it,” he snapped. “say what you are.” your voice came out tiny and sweet. “I’m your filthy little problem.”

when he finished, droplets clung to the tip of his cock, wet and shining, and he shifted like he was going to shake them off. you stopped him before he could, both hands coming up to turn him back toward your face, eager enough that his brows lifted.

ben stared down at you with disgusted delight, already understanding before you even opened your mouth. “no,” he said, voice rough. “you’re not that fucking nasty.” but you were already leaning in, tongue out, eyes locked on his like he hung the moon.

you licked him clean immediately, dragging your tongue over the wet head of his cock and moaning at the taste, shameless and happy and ruined. ben’s hand slammed against the sink for balance while the other tightened hard in your hair, his breath leaving him in a low curse.

you looked up at him the whole time, drunk and glowing, swallowing down the humiliation like it was affection, like his cruelty was something sacred. “jesus christ,” he muttered, staring at you like he didn’t know whether to laugh or ruin you.

then his grip pulled your head back, forcing your mouth away just enough for him to see your smile. “goddamn,” he said, cruel and almost fond. “you really are the nastiest thing I’ve ever owned.”

after he called you the nastiest thing he’d ever owned, you giggled, breathless and bright-eyed, like the insult had landed somewhere soft inside you instead of hurting. your cheek pressed against his thigh again, your mouth still wet, your hand still curled around him like you couldn’t bear to let go.

“next time,” you whispered, looking up at him with that ruined little smile, “you can do it in my mouth.”

© CUMKISSED ♡ | EST. JUNE 2026 ˎˊ˗ all original content found here belongs to me. canon material belongs to its respective owners. don't repost it, don't feed it to ai, don't translate it, don't archive it elsewhere, and definitely don't pretend you wrote it. ♡

He's old school—so he loves the idea of bending you over his knee and reminding you who's in charge.

He gets off watching you squirm and whine, trying your hardest to stay still and take your punishment like a good girl. The sight of your bruised ass and face stained with black tears is usually enough for him, but sometimes he likes to break the skin and make you bleed.

You get home later than you told him you would—you went to a bar with some friends and just lost track of time. You drunkenly stumble inside trying to make as little noise as possible. He doesn’t like when you’re out late, and he doesn’t like when you drink. He has rules—you’re supposed to be in bed every night waiting for him to fuck you to sleep.

You yelp at the figure on the couch, scarcely lit by the lamp at the end table . He sits legs spread with the black leather held tightly in his hand, a glare plastered across his gorgeous face.

“H-hi daddy—you scared me” you giggle obliviously.

“You know what time it is?”

You break away from his unrelenting stare, “Uhm, it's, uh... you trail off.

He scoffs at your pathetic attempt at saving yourself, “You sneak in my fuckin' house— smelling like that cheap vodka you and your bitchy little friends drink, and that's all you got?"

Your head lowers in shame, the thought of disappointing Ben makes you feel like the liquor in your stomach will come back up. You plead to him with wide eyes and try you hardest not to slur your speech, "Please don't be mad m'really really sorry daddy I just-

He cuts you off as he makes himself comfortable on the couch, "Don't care, get the fuck over here." he plainly demands.

You know better than to argue, so you begin to sway towards him as best you can with trembling legs. You lay on his lap face down, cunt throbbing in excitement and fear. Your head begins to spin as hikes up your skirt.

"Spent all night thinkin bout this cute little pussy" he purrs. He begins softly rubbing his thumb across your puffy folds that are now clinging to your panties with slick. The light touch makes you moan loudly, trying to back into his hand for more. You smile when you feel his rough hands peel your underwear off and toss them to the ground.

"Too bad you’re a dumb fuckin’ whore that doesn’t listen.” Before you even think about begging him not to, the leather strikes your cheek with a smack. You yelp loudly in pain, your ass immediately turning bright red.

"Quit actin' like you don't love this" he grunts as he lands another strike to your already sore cheek. You shout again, this time a pained groan—and you begin sobbing into the couch.

“You’re dripping all over my suit” he laughs. “You feel any fuckin’ shame in that little brain of yours? huh?”

He punctuates his insult with another devastating blow to your cheek. “I’m so so s-sorry please” you sob. You’re a blubbering snot faced mess, and Ben’s dick is so fucking hard.

“So fuckin’ dramatic” he taunts, “You deserve this, so fuckin say it and maybe we’ll be done.”

Through gasps and sniffling away your tears, you attempt to please him. “I -hiccup- I d-deserve-

He cuts you off with another crushing blow—you scream.

“Fuckin speak up” he growls.

It becomes even harder for you to speak through your sobs but you still try, unable to take it anymore—“I deserve this- I d-deserve to be punished I-I’m sorry i’m so sorry” you wail.

“I’m sorry what?” He coos, warning you not to fuck up again.

You sigh, “I'm s-sorry daddy.”

He finally seems satisfied with his punishment. You’ve buried your face into the couch cushions, crying and shaking. You can’t think about anything else other than the pain, and you hope he’ll just carry you upstairs and kiss you till you drift to sleep.

“Alright kid sit up”. His voice is softer now, the belt tossed to the floor where your underwear is.

You turn your head and attempt to look at him, “can’t, hurts” you murmur.

He looks regretful for a moment, carefully moving to wipe your tears.

He helps you to your feet and scoops you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your temple.