call me by your name

he didn’t say a word at first. just looked at you with that tight jaw, that slow blink, that simmering heat behind his eyes.

and now? now you’re face down on his bed. wrists tied with one of his ties, back arched, ass in the air—burning and red from the spanking you just took.

“color?”his voice is calm. controlled. dangerous.

“green,” you breathe. your throat’s dry from moaning, from gasping out every taunt you could manage.

because yeah—it hurt when his hand landed hard and fast, when he grabbed a fistful of your hair and made you repeat “i’m daddy’s dumb little brat.”

but you like it when he loses his patience. and rafe fucking knows it.

“you’ve got a smart mouth, baby,” he mutters, palming your ass, watching the way your body twitches under his touch. “but you’re not so mouthy now, are you?”

you turn your head just enough to smirk, breathless. “you hit like a—”

slap. your gasp dies in your throat.

“try that again.” he leans over you, fingers threading in your hair to yank your head back. his breath fans over your ear. “what was that, sweetheart?”

you swallow. grin “i said… you hit like a bitch.”

oh. you’ve done it now.

his laugh is low. amused. the kind of sound that makes your stomach flip with fear and anticipation “alright,” he says softly. “you want daddy’s attention so bad? you got it.”

he moves fast. one hand shoves your thighs apart. the other slides between them, fingers dipping into your dripping heat without warning.

“already soaked,” he murmurs. “course you are. you love being put in your place, don’t you?”

you don’t answer. don’t have to. your cunt clenches around his fingers, and he tsks.

“look at you. acting like a fucking brat just to get stuffed full, huh?”

he curls his fingers, hits that spot, and you cry out. but you’re still fighting. still teasing.

“thought you said this was a punishment,” you pant.

“oh, it is.” his fingers vanish.

before you can whine, he’s grabbing something from the drawer—a sleek, slim toy that makes your stomach drop.

you try to sit up. “rafe—”

he grabs your jaw “what’s my name?” he snaps.

your cheeks burn. “daddy.”

“that’s what i thought.”

the toy buzzes to life. he presses it to your clit and holds it there—firm, unforgiving—while his other hand slips back between your thighs and slides two fingers in again.

the tie digs into your wrists. your hips buck against the toy, but there’s nowhere to run, nothing to hold onto. your body’s helpless to the overstimulation.

and he doesn’t stop “you wanna come, don’t you?” rafe asks, his tone almost sweet. “wanna make a mess all over daddy’s fingers?”

you nod frantically. “yes—fuck, yes, please—”

he pulls everything away at once. you sob into the mattress, shaking.

“aww. poor baby,” he coos, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “should’ve thought about that before you decided to be a little bitch in front of my friends.”

you whimper. wiggle your hips, begging for anything. friction, release, him.

“you ready to behave yet?” he asks.

you still can’t help it. you grin through your tears.“not even a little.”

his hand tangles in your hair again, and he pulls your head up just enough for you to see the way he unzips his jeans—slow, deliberate. lets his cock spring free, already flushed and heavy

your mouth waters

“open,” he orders.

you do. he pushes into your mouth with a groan, thick and hot on your tongue. not all the way—just enough to make you struggle, to make you drool around him while he holds your head still and fucks your face like you’re nothing but his personal toy.

you moan, gag a little, and he smiles.

“that’s it, baby. take it. take what you’ve been begging for all day.”

tears prick your eyes. spit drips down your chin. he lets you breathe only when he’s satisfied, dragging your head back so his cock pops out of your mouth with a wet sound.

“you gonna be a good girl now?” he asks again.

this time you nod. this time you mean it.

“then turn over,” he growls. “wanna see your face while i ruin you.”

he unties your wrists just long enough to flip you onto your back and hook your knees over his shoulders. and then he slams into you.

no teasing now. no slow warm up. just thick, punishing strokes that make your eyes roll back and your hands scramble for something to hold onto—his arms, the sheets, anything.

he leans over you, hand wrapping tight around your throat.

“this what you wanted, baby?” he growls. “this what my brat needed? to get fucked dumb like the desperate little whore she is?”

“yes,” you moan. “daddy—please—”

he fucks you harder. the bed creaks. your thighs tremble. your nails dig into his skin, and he loves it.

his other hand finds your clit again—rubbing tight, filthy circles that have you choking on a scream.

“come on, baby,” he pants. “wanna feel you come around me. wanna see that attitude melt outta your mouth while you cream all over my cock.”

your body snaps. white hot pleasure rushes through you, legs locking around his waist, back arching, head thrown back in ecstasy as you come harder than you have in weeks.

he fucks you through it. grunting. cursing

“fuck—you feel so good when you’re like this. fucked out and messy and mine.”

you’re still twitching when he pulls out, flips you again like you weigh nothing, and shoves back into you from behind—gripping your hips so hard it hurts.

“gonna come inside you,” he growls. “fill you up so deep you feel me dripping down your thighs all fucking day.”

you moan, face buried in the pillow, too gone to care about anything except the sound of his voice and the way his cock slams into the spot that makes you see stars.

he thrusts once. twice. then buries himself to the hilt and groans, low and broken, as he spills inside you.

you feel every pulse. every drop. every breath he takes as he collapses over your back and presses kisses to your spine.

the silence is thick. your body aches. your skin’s burning from the spanking and the friction and the fucking, but you don’t move.

you don’t want to.

his hand strokes your hip “you alive, brat?” he murmurs.

you hum.

he laughs, kisses your shoulder “gonna behave now?”

“…maybe.”

he chuckles again. smacks your ass—lightly this time—and leans in to whisper“we’ll see how long that lasts.”

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but rafe’s right there. he’s always right there.

“i know, sweet girl.” his voice is velvet. low and soothing. his hand glides up your spine, rests between your shoulder blades. “you’re doing so good for me. so fuckin’ good.”

he leans over you, chest brushing your back, breath hot at your ear “we don’t have to keep going,” he murmurs. “you just say the word, baby. i’ll stop right now.”

you shake your head. whimper. “n-no, i want to. i wanna be good.”

he kisses the side of your neck. “you are good. always so good for me, baby. my perfect girl.”

his voice makes you melt. it always does. his hands are slow, warm. one rubs circles into your hip while the other gently spreads you open again. he’s not rushing—never does. rafe’s rough with the rest of the world, but with you? he’s gentle. reverent.

you gasp when his thumb glides over where you’re stretched. slick. tender.

“shhh, i got you,” he coos. “just breathe, princess. deep breaths. in… out…”

he moves so slow you could cry. inch by inch, until he’s fully inside, until your hips are pressed together and your body’s shaking from the feeling. the stretch. the fullness

you sniffle into the pillow. “feels weird…”

“i know, i know,” rafe whispers, peppering kisses down your spine. “you’re so tight, baby. so fuckin’ tiny. feel like you were made for me.”

he still doesn’t move. just lets you adjust, hands stroking your skin like you’re porcelain “you okay?” he asks quietly. “need me to pull out?”

“no,” you breathe. “just… hold me like this.”

so he does. wraps his arms around you from behind, stays deep inside you, not moving, just whispering sweet things against your ear”

“my brave girl. takin’ daddy so good. knew you could do it. knew you’d be perfect.”

“got you. not goin’ anywhere.” and when he does start to move—slow, shallow thrusts, deep and careful—you’re already half undone, tears drying on your cheeks, heart so full it aches.

he holds you like he loves you. like he’d never let you go. and the pain fades. turns to heat. turns to pleasure.

and rafe keeps whispering, even when you come, even when your body trembles and clenches around him, even when he’s filling you up with low groans and praises.

“there you go, baby…so good, so fucking good. daddy’s so proud of you.”

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you giggle, sprawled out on the bed, already stripped and messy from rafe’s fingers. “you forgot one, baby,” you tease, voice all sugar, all filth. “no falling in love with me.

rafe smirks. “he couldn’t handle you even if he tried.”

and then he gestures like it’s a game. like he’s letting a rookie onto the field for the first time. “go ahead. but you’re not doing shit without my say so.”

topper swallows hard, crawling over you, hesitant like you’re glass. you’re not. you’re soaked and throbbing and ready to be ruined.

“don’t fucking coddle her,” rafe snaps from the armchair across the room, one leg lazily tossed over the other. “you think she got like this from soft touches? pull her hair. make her feel it.”

topper’s hand flies to your hair too fast, too awkward, but when he yanks, tight, you moan like he’s just touched god. hips bucking up, thighs parting wider. your eyes flutter back, lip caught between teeth.

“fuck,” topper breathes, looking down at your wrecked face like he’s never seen anything prettier.

“yeah, she’s loud,” rafe mutters, palming his cock through his sweats, barely trying. “needy little whore. can’t even take a deep breath without makin’ a mess.”

you whimper, one hand scrabbling to touch yourself, but rafe’s voice cuts through again, sharp. “no. hands to the sheets. make him earn it.”

topper lines himself up, thick and trembling. he’s big, not that he knows what to do with it. but you’re soaked enough, stretched from earlier, and rafe’s watching—so you moan on purpose when the head slips in “god—fuck—” you’re loud, too loud, and topper groans like he’s in pain.

“slow,” rafe says lazily, thumb dragging across his lip. “she’s not a fleshlight, dumbass.”

but you’re already clenching, back arching, mouth open with those messy little cries that make rafe twitch in his seat.

“deeper,” you pant, looking past topper, locking eyes with rafe. “please, baby—”

rafe tilts his head. “she’s talkin’ to me, in case you were confused.”

topper thrusts harder. awkward rhythm, too fast, not deep enough, but your body still jerks with it, eating up every inch. you’re greedy. dripping. filthy.

“feel good?” he pants, voice shaky

“don’t ask her that,” rafe snaps. “watch. listen. you’ll know.”

you cry out when topper hits that spot, and it’s embarrassing how fast you’re unraveling. your toes curl, your fingers dig into the sheets, and you’re saying please, please, more like a prayer.

“see?” rafe mutters. “needy fuckin’ mess. now grab her tits,hard, and make her bounce for it.”

topper obeys. you let him. moan louder just for the show. because rafe’s watching. because your boyfriend’s cock is hard in his pants and he hasn’t even touched you in ten minutes.

“you’re such a whore,” rafe laughs, like it’s sweet. “bet you’d let the whole damn team run through you if i said so.”

“just you,” you whine, eyes locked on him as your body rocks with topper’s shaky thrusts. “only you, daddy.”

topper falters. rafe smiles.

“you hear that? she’ll take your dick, but she belongs to me.”

topper fucks you harder. sloppier. he’s close. you can tell—hips stuttering, breath ragged.

“pull her hair again,” rafe instructs. “make her fucking scream.”

topper’s hand tangles in your hair and yanks. you wail. your body jolts, pussy squeezing around him, and your orgasm rips through you so violently you swear the bed shakes

rafe stands up finally. slow. deliberate “don’t you fuckin’ cum in her,” he warns, voice low now, close. “pull out, stroke it on her tits. like i said.”

topper groans, pulls out messily, and spills across your chest with a strangled moan. it’s hot. messy. pathetic.

rafe watches him, jaw tense “now clean it up. with your tongue.”

topper freezes.

“you heard me.”

you giggle breathlessly, licking your lips. “don’t be shy, topper.”

he leans in. does it. you gasp when his mouth grazes your nipple, soft and timid, and that’s when rafe grabs him by the hair and yanks him back.

“what the fuck did i say about kissing?”

topper stammers. rafe lets go.

“get out.”

“rafe—”

“out.”

topper stumbles back, breathing hard, face flushed, door shuts.

rafe climbs over you in the next second, hand wrapped around your throat, cock already out, already hard. “that’s how you really fuck a slut.”

you whimper.

“ready to show him how it’s done?”

you nod, eyes glassy.

he slaps your face. not hard. just enough “use your words, baby.”

“yes, daddy. please. fuck—please.”

his mouth curls into a grin “atta girl.”

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you cry out, voice cracked, “rafe—please—” another slap “not good enough. try again, whore.”

you sob, choking on your own spit. your cheek’s wet, your cunt’s wetter. stretched wide, leaking around him, brain mushy from how long he’s been fucking you like he wants to kill something. like he wants to mark you. like you’re nothing but his favorite hole to ruin “rafe—daddy, i—fuck—can’t think—”

he laughs. bitter. brutal. his hand wraps around your throat, dragging you up until your back hits his chest, his cock still buried in your cunt “you don’t need to think, baby.”

“you just need to fucking take it.”

then he fucks into you again, mean and sharp, and you scream. you’re drooling now. twitching. knees sliding on the mattress, body limp except for where he’s holding you up by the throat and the hips, like a ragdoll.

“look at this pathetic little body,” he growls, glancing down at where he disappears into you. “begging to get used. like it’s all you’re good for.”

“i am,” you whimper without thinking. “just for you—only you—”

and that breaks something in him. his hand leaves your throat only to slap your cheek, not enough to hurt but enough to make you gasp.

“filthy fuckin’ thing,” he spits. “say it again.”

“yours—‘m yours—please, daddy, please—” he shoves you back down. fucks you faster. deeper. meaner.

his fingers knot in your hair and pull, forcing your face up so he can hear you sob through the overstimulation, so he can feel you tighten around him as your orgasm rips through you again “fuckin’ knew it,” he snarls, fucking you through it. “you like being treated like a slut. you want daddy mean, huh?”

you nod. you nod.

“say it.”

“want you mean-want you mean, daddy—love it when you use me—”

he groans deep in his chest “open your mouth.”

you do. wide and obedient. he spits in it. you moan.

“swallow it.” you do. and he just fucking loses it.

you feel him pulse deep inside you, hips stuttering, hands bruising as he finally gives in and fills you full of heat and filth and rage. he fucks you so deep your vision whites out. your scream dies in your throat.

and when it’s over—when you’re limp and dripping and twitching on his cock—he leans down and presses a kiss to your spine.

“you’re mine,” he says, voice quiet now. dark “no one else is ever gonna touch you.”

and you believe him. because you know what happens when they try.

you didn’t answer. not with words. you answered with a breathy whine when he pushed in. slow at first, too slow. like he wanted topper to hear every inch.

“fuckin’ hell,” topper groaned from the couch. “you serious right now?”

rafe didn’t look at him. just grabbed your waist and pulled you all the way down onto his cock.“you hear that?” rafe said, eyes locked on yours. “that little sound she makes when she takes it all? fuckin’ pretty, right?”

you moaned, louder than you meant to, burying your face in rafe’s neck. and he just laughed. “nah, baby. let him hear you.”

you didn’t have a choice. rafe was fucking up into you now, hard and deep, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your thigh. your skin burned. your pulse stuttered. and topper just sat there watching. drinking it in.

you looked at him once.

just once. his mouth was open. his knuckles were white around the beer bottle. you could tell he wanted to look away. but he didn’t.

and you didn’t stop riding.

“she’s a fuckin’ angel, huh?” rafe said, voice low and thick with pride. “all sweet n’ shy, ‘til you get your cock in her.”

you gasped when he hit that spot inside you again, and his hand came up to cover your mouth.

“nah, baby,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “you’re not gonna cum yet. not ‘til he sees how messy it gets.”

you whined against his palm.

rafe smiled. “that’s it. be good. show him what begging looks like.”

you didn’t need to fake a single sound. not with rafe. and topper knew it. saw it first row.

he’s so deep you’re seeing stars, vision blurry as your hips grind down on his lap, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more everything—and rafe’s just holding you there, cock buried to the hilt, barely moving now

you squirm. whimper. try to chase it.

“uh uh,” he mutters, tightening his grip on your waist. “no fuckin’ way.”

his voice is low, his fingers dig into your skin like punishment“not until you ask nice.”

you blink up at him, lips parted, spit slick and breathless. “please, rafe…”

“that’s not beggin’, baby.” his hand drifts to your throat, not choking, just resting there. and topper’s still watching from the other side of the room—silent now, breath hitched, fully tuned in.

and you love it. you want him to see how good you are for rafe. how you fall apart when he makes you wait.

“please, daddy,” you try again, grinding your hips just enough to feel him twitch inside you, “i’ll be so good, i swear, just wanna cum—please, please—”

rafe leans in, lips ghosting over your cheek. “you think beggin’s gonna get you off?”

you nod frantically.

he smiles. dark. mean. amused. “then beg louder.”

his pace picks up, slow and cruel, dragging every inch out of you. you cry out, thighs trembling, brain fuzzy with nothing but the feel of him.

“fuck—please! wanna cum so bad, i need it, rafe, i need it—fuck—”

your voice breaks. his hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“you hear that, topp?” rafe growls. “needy little thing can’t even think straight. just wants to be used.”

topper doesn’t answer. can’t. too stunned.

and rafe laughs. “she’s not fakin’ now, huh?”

you gasp again, and this time rafe gives in.

he fucks up into you hard. relentless. punishing. like he’s trying to brand himself inside you. and your orgasm rips through you so fast your legs give out, your voice raw and broken and real when you scream for him.

“there she is,” rafe whispers, fucking you through it. “that’s my good girl.”

you collapse into his chest, panting, tears in your lashes.

rafe just strokes your back like you’re fragile now, like you didn’t just cum like a pornstar in his lap. “you should thank him,” he says lazily, pressing a kiss to your temple. “gave you a hell of a reason to show off.”

he lifts you off his cock. limp and wet and ruined in his lap, your thighs slick and twitching as he slides out, groaning low under his breath like it physically hurts to stop. “on your knees.”

you drop fast. the carpet burns, but you don’t care. not when rafe’s standing over you, cock flushed and soaked, chest heaving like he’s holding back something feral.

“open up, baby. make daddy feel good.”

you do. lips part, tongue out, eyes wide—already drooling for him before he even touches you.

he grabs the back of your head. “don’t fuckin’ tease.”

and then he’s in your mouth, thick and heavy, and you moan so sweet around him he curses through his teeth. your throat’s sore from crying out his name, but that doesn’t stop you—not when you want it this bad. not when he tastes like you and sin and him.

you swirl your tongue. hollow your cheeks. let him fuck your mouth until your jaw aches and your eyes go glassy.

topper’s still on the couch. he hasn’t said a word. he’s just watching. breathing heavy. listening.

and rafe fucking loves it.

“look at her,” he grunts, tugging your hair as he thrusts deeper, voice wrecked and thick with pride. “fuckin’ mess. like she was made for this.”

you gag a little—just a little—and he groans. “that’s it. you can take it. c’mon, pretty girl, lemme use that mouth.”

your spit’s everywhere now, dripping down your chin, pooling at the corners of your lips, and rafe’s hips start to stutter. you know that sound.

“gonna cum, baby,” he pants. “where’s it go, huh?”

you look up at him, big eyes full of tears and hunger. “my mouth,” you whisper, voice shredded. “wanna taste you—please, rafe, cum for me—”

and that’s all it takes. his whole body tenses. he lets out the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard and spills down your throat in hot, thick waves—hand fisted in your hair, mouth parted in something between a moan and a groan.

“fuuuck,” he chokes, watching you swallow it all, licking the head clean like a good girl.

you sit back on your heels, spit and cum on your tongue, lashes fluttering.

and topper? he’s still frozen in place. still hard in his jeans. still watching you like he wants to pray. or better said, play.

and rafe smirks. “maybe next time,” he tells him.

your stomach drops. because you know he heard. walls in the apartment are thin. he’s heard you before but last night was bad. you were loud. you made yourself loud. because the guy was… fine. just not good. not like…

“sounded real believable,” rafe continues, voice dry. “the whole ‘oh my god, baby, right there!’ thing? fuckin’ oscar worthy.”

your cheeks burn, but he’s not done. he leans back in the kitchen chair, legs spread, one brow lifted. “just one thing.”

you bite your lip. “…what?”

his tongue drags slow across his teeth before he says, “next time, try screamin’ his name a little less robotic. sounded like you were readin’ it off a teleprompter.”

and then he laughs. low, mean, breathless.

you try to brush past it, roll your eyes, but he follows you, cornering you near the hallway, his voice dropping.

“you really think he earned those sounds, sweetheart?”

you swallow hard.

he grins. “‘cause i could show you what it’s supposed to sound like. make it so you won’t have to fake a thing.” he leans in, barely a whispe“no need to fake it with me. no scripts. just you. beggin’ for it.”