Top Posts Tagged with #endless seduction

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚍

1995

Neverland Ranch

Word Count: 13.1k

Tags: Fem!Reader, Dom!Michael, Light BDSM, Wet & Messy, Boss/Employee Relationship, Creampie, Large PP, Vitiligo PP, Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Spanking.

Full story

For seven years, you had been the perfect maid. His perfect maid, at least. Seven long years spent adhering to Mr. Jackson’s strict, almost suffocating rules. Every single member of staff was held to his exacting standards—no exceptions. Speak only when spoken to, never step foot in his room without explicit permission, the library was off-limits unless granted entry, and his private quarters were sacred ground. Mondays? A day of silence. On those days, he wouldn’t speak, and you weren’t to say a word. When you did address him, you were to meet his gaze directly. Appearances, too, had to meet his meticulous approval—flawless and professional at all times.

But something shifted about four years ago. The rules, those ironclad restrictions, began to change—but only for you. It started with a single encounter that redefined everything. That day, it was just the two of you. No staff. No distractions. Just you and the boss, Mr. Jackson.

He had returned from a meeting, tension radiating from him in waves. He was livid, something entirely unlike his composed day-to-day demeanor. You were in the kitchen, methodically cleaning when you felt his eyes on you—burning, intense.

You had always found him attractive—who wouldn’t? His presence commanded attention, and every woman in the house, perhaps even in the world, knew it. But this time, there was something different. His stare was sharper, hungrier. Slowly, he approached, each footstep echoing in the quiet room. His breath was hot against the nape of your neck, ragged with frustration. Then, his hands—those large, capable hands—gripped your waist, the force of his touch pulling you closer to his solid frame. You could feel him, every inch of his body pressing against yours, heat radiating off him like a furnace.

“Lift your dress, doll,” he had whispered, his voice rough with an edge of command.

Without hesitation, you obeyed, the fabric of your dress sliding up, exposing yourself to him. He pressed even harder against you, his erection straining against his trousers, making you breathless. He was so hard it almost seemed impossible.

“Do you want me?” His whisper brushed against your ear like a dark promise.

Those words stayed with you long after that moment. In the kitchen, under the dim lights, he took you. Raw. Every inch of him plunged into you, again and again, relentless in his need to release his pent-up fury. He was rough—nothing like the gentle, composed man the world thought they knew. His hands gripped your hips as he pounded into you, forcing every last drop of stress from his body into yours. When he finally came, his hot seed flooded you, pouring out of you and onto the cold hardwood floor. And just like that, he left. Not a single word as he walked away, leaving you trembling and leaking his warmth behind him.

From that night on, things between you and him were different. Whenever the house was empty, you’d find small, quiet ways to tease him. Sometimes while you were cleaning, you’d lift the hem of your maid’s uniform, revealing the soft bareness beneath, knowing his eyes were on you. Other nights, when you worked late, you’d sneak into his room with his permission. When you were sure he wouldn’t return until late, you’d go to his closet, find one of his thick varsity jackets, and strip down, leaving only your lace panties. You’d slip on the jacket, its warmth enveloping you as you lay in his bed, waiting for his return.

There were nights when you stayed under the guise of “extra work,” but the truth was far more intimate. It was for him. To let him relieve the weight of the day. His body, slick with sweat, would press into yours, his rough hands guiding your hips, his thick shaft stretching you inch by inch. His breath would be hot against your skin, his grunts low and primal. In those moments, you weren’t just the maid. You were his release. His perfect girl.

His perfect maid.

It was a cold December evening, the kind where the chill seeped into your bones and lingered. The sun had already begun its descent, casting a golden hue over the Santa Ynez mountains, leaving long, jagged shadows over Neverland Ranch. The ranch, typically bustling with life, had quieted as staff members trickled out, their shifts coming to an end. You were alone in the living room, methodically cleaning the delicate piano, carefully wiping down the statues and cartoon collectibles that littered the house—a constant reminder of Mr. Jackson’s childlike spirit. It was odd, the juxtaposition between these innocent trinkets and the man himself, a man who could shift from gentle to commanding in the blink of an eye.

Mr. Jackson had spent the entire day locked in his room, resting. None of you questioned it; there were often days where he’d disappear for hours or even days on end. Sometimes, he was at the studio or abroad, and other times he’d remain behind closed doors, dealing with matters only he knew. His presence, though felt, was scarce—a distant but ever-watchful figure.

The large, ornate clock on the wall chimed softly, signaling that it was seven o’clock. The final staff member was meant to leave by now, but you had been anticipating staying longer, as you usually did. Most nights, Mr. Jackson preferred you to linger after everyone else had gone, though today, he hadn’t said a word. It was Monday, after all—his day of silence.

“Hey,” a voice broke the stillness. Mary, one of the other maids, walked up to you, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. “Mind walking me out?”

You placed the duster down on the piano bench, stretching your arms out. “Yeah, I don’t mind.” The two of you walked out of the living room, the sharp click of your heels on the hardwood floor breaking the eerie quiet. As you approached the front door, your eyes darted to the hallway to your left, where those massive double doors to Mr. Jackson’s bedroom stood ominously. For a moment, you hesitated, staring at them, wondering what lay behind them tonight. You quickly looked away before Mary could notice.

“What time do you leave?” she asked casually. “You’re always the last one here.”

You shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “To be honest, I don’t know. Mr. Jackson always lets me know when it’s time to go. Most nights, I don’t leave until nine.” You lied, slipping the words out easily, masking the truth behind the routine.

“Nine?” she repeated, her eyes widening in surprise as she pulled her coat on. “What on earth does he have you doing? Cleaning out the fireplaces?” she teased, but her curiosity was evident.

You shook your head, keeping your expression neutral. “I just do what I can. I need the extra money.” Another lie, but one you had perfected over the years.

Mary chuckled softly, her tone light but laced with something more. “Sure, it’s nothing else? I’ve seen the way Mr. Jackson looks at you, especially on Mondays.”

You shrugged again, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m just here to work and earn my check, that’s all.” You paused, your voice lowering slightly. “And didn’t he tell us not to gossip about him? You know he hears everything.”

Mary’s eyes widened, and she nodded, suddenly nervous. “You’re right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Be safe getting home,” she said as she hurried out the door.

“You too,” you called after her, watching as she disappeared down the front steps and into the night. Once she was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The lock turned with a firm snap, the sound echoing in the now-empty house.

You barely had a moment to breathe before you turned and froze. Standing directly in front of you, as if he had materialized from the shadows, was Mr. Jackson. Dressed in all black, from the tailored button up to the perfectly pressed pants, his presence was both startling and magnetic. His curly hair was pulled back into a low bun, framing his face, while his reading glasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose, catching the dim light. But it was his gold chain that caught your eye, glinting softly against his dark attire.

He had moved so silently, you hadn’t heard a single footstep. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt thick, electric. He didn’t speak—of course, it was Monday—but his gaze spoke volumes, a silent command that made your pulse quicken. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you took him in, every inch of his form radiating an intensity that set your nerves alight.

He didn’t need words to communicate what he wanted. You had always known, from the subtle way he moved to the intensity of his gaze. His body spoke a language only you could understand, a language of desire, control, and need.

Slowly, he extended his hand toward you, his large palm a commanding presence. That hand had become your anchor, the connection between you two—physical, emotional, and everything in between. The mere sight of it sent a jolt through your body, a surge of anticipation that left your skin tingling. When your hand slipped into his, you felt the familiar softness of his skin, the velvety texture against your fingertips. His touch was always electric, like a live wire crackling beneath your skin. Over the years, you had watched the pigment of his skin fade with his vitiligo, but it had never changed the way you felt about him. If anything, it made him more beautiful in your eyes—his fragility matched with a quiet strength that captivated you entirely.

In a smooth motion, he reached for the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. The living room and front entrance dissolved into shadows, but the absence of light only heightened your awareness of him—his presence was all-consuming. Together, you moved down the long hallway toward his bedroom, the sound of your heels clicking against the polished hardwood in sync with the soft shuffle of his sleek penny loafers. Every step brought you closer to what you both knew was inevitable, the tension thick between you.

When you reached the door to his bedroom, he pushed it open with deliberate force, pulling you inside as the door clicked shut behind you. The room was warm, illuminated by the soft flicker of flames in the fireplace, casting golden shadows that danced along the walls. His record player spun slowly in the corner, a sensual jazz melody filling the space with its slow, hypnotic rhythm. The music wasn’t loud; it played like a soft whisper, adding to the intimacy of the room.

Michael stood there, watching you—no, devouring you with his eyes. His gaze was sharp, cutting, as though he could see straight through you to the core of who you were. He always looked at you like this, with a focus that made you feel like the only person in the world, like you were the center of his universe. His stare held you captive, your breath catching in your throat. It was a gaze you could never escape, and you didn’t want to. You thrived under his attention, knowing it was yours and yours alone.

“What?” you whispered, your voice soft, sultry, the tone meant only for him. Your lips curled slightly into a teasing smile as you stepped closer, closing the small distance between your bodies. You grabbed his other hand, holding it gently in yours, feeling the strength in his fingers. His silence was deliberate. It was Monday, and he never broke his rule of silence on these days. But you knew the second the clock struck midnight, he’d unleash everything he held back, his words flowing freely as he spoke with a passion that matched his intensity.

Releasing his hands, you reached up, placing your palms on his broad shoulders, feeling the firm muscles beneath the smooth fabric of his black button-up. The material was soft but did nothing to hide the tension in his body, the coiled energy waiting to be released. Your thumbs brushed over the cool metal of his gold chain, a glint of it catching the firelight as your hands slid higher, skimming up the column of his neck. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the pulse in his throat strong, steady. You felt the slight rasp of stubble beneath your thumb as it grazed his Adam’s apple, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly, surrendering to your touch.

He loved this—loved the way your hands felt against him, the way you touched him with such care and reverence. You could see it in the way his breath hitched, in the way his body leaned into yours, giving in to the sensation. His silence wasn’t cold; it was deliberate, a game of restraint. But even in his quiet, his need for you was undeniable, the weight of it heavy in the air.

His gaze never left yours, those dark eyes smoldering with a quiet hunger that mirrored the fire building inside of you. It was like a pressure rising between you, a tension so thick it felt like it might snap at any moment. He didn’t need words. His body, every subtle movement, every breath, spoke volumes. His desires were laid bare in the way his chest rose and fell a little quicker, the way his hands lingered just a second longer against your skin.

His hand moved with deliberate slowness, sliding to your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. The heat of his skin seeped through his shirt, the firmness of his muscles beneath making your pulse quicken. Why did he always make you feel like this? That sweet, overwhelming sensation, hot and bothered in the most exquisite way. His presence alone was enough to unravel you, and he knew it.

Your hands slid from his neck, fingertips brushing along his throat, tracing the line of his collarbone as you began to undo the buttons of his black shirt. One by one, the fabric parted under your touch, exposing more of him to you. Your eyes never left his as you worked, and in return, his gaze stayed fixed on you, watching every move you made with a kind of silent anticipation. As you undid the buttons, his other hand came up to your face, cradling your cheek with a tenderness that belied the tension in the room. His thumb traced the line of your bottom lip, tugging it down gently, his touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine.

Instinctively, your lips parted, and he slipped his thumb into your mouth. The soft pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue, and you began to suck slowly, your eyes locked on his the whole time. The way he licked his lips as he watched you made your stomach flip, that familiar look of control in his eyes. You already knew what he was thinking. “You love sucking on anything I give you,” he would have said, and he wouldn’t be wrong. There was something so intoxicating about this exchange, the way he gave and you took, the way it bound you to him.

You rolled your tongue slowly around his thumb, savoring the sensation, the warmth of him against your lips. The only sound between you was the soft, wet noise of your mouth working around his finger, teasing him. His thumb grazed against your teeth, and you took more of it in, sucking just a little harder, daring him to respond. But Michael was never one to be undone by teasing. His teasing was designed to push you right to the edge, to make you crumble under the weight of it.

Slowly, he withdrew his thumb from your mouth, the tip glistening as he brushed it over your lips, leaving them wet and parted. You could feel your breath coming quicker now, the anticipation thick between you.

Without a word, you pushed him gently, backing him up against the door. The thud of his body against the wood was soft, but it felt final, like you’d crossed an invisible line. You finished unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the toned planes of his chest, your fingers tracing the patterns of vitiligo that dotted his skin. It was beautiful, the way the light from the fire cast shadows over his bare torso, highlighting every dip and curve, every patch of pale skin that marked him. He shrugged off the shirt and tossed it aside, his chest now fully on display, and your hands moved without thinking, exploring him, touching him.

His hand came up, tilting your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes bored into yours, dark and full of intent. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, the anticipation coiling tighter. “Yes, sir?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with need.

He didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that started slow, but quickly became something more—something raw, something desperate. His lips were soft, but his kiss was anything but. It was aggressive, his tongue pushing into your mouth, fighting for dominance. There was nothing gentle in the way he kissed you now, his need overpowering, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer.

His lips tasted sweet, familiar, like they belonged on yours, but the way his tongue moved… God, he knew exactly what he was doing. Every kiss felt deliberate, like a claim. In this moment, he didn’t just have you—he owned you. Your body melted into him, surrendering completely, every nerve electrified by the fire he was fanning inside you. His tongue tangled with yours, each kiss growing sloppy, heated, as both of you gave in to the spiraling desire. You could feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your lower lip, the hot, ragged breath from his lungs mingling with yours, intoxicating you even more. The way he took control—his hands, his mouth, the way his body pressed into yours—it consumed you.

He didn’t waste time as he pushed off the door, each step deliberate, forcing you to move back with him, his hold never loosening. His large hands gripped you tighter, guiding you backward until your body hit the cold wall beside his bed. The contrast between the chilled surface and the heat of him pressing into you made you gasp. His lips didn’t falter, trailing down from your mouth, leaving wet, possessive kisses along your jaw. His teeth scraped against your skin as he sucked harder, pulling a breathless whisper from your lips.

“Harder…” you breathed, barely able to form the word as the need for his rough touch consumed you. You craved the edge of him, the rawness he always gave you, that controlled chaos that left you breathless and aching.

Without hesitation, his hand shot up, wrapping around your throat, his grip firm but not painful. The sensation made you shiver, your pulse pounding beneath his thumb as his other hand held you in place. His lips moved with an animalistic hunger, kissing, sucking, marking you as his. Each kiss sent waves of heat through your body, his lips hot and wet against your jaw and then down to the tender spot behind your ear. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he kissed and sucked at your skin, sending sparks down your spine.

“Fuck yes…” you moaned, your head tilting back, giving him full access as his lips latched onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. His thumb pressed just a bit harder against your pulse point, making your heartbeat race beneath his fingers. The feeling of him choking you while sucking on your neck made your knees go weak, your legs trembling as he pressed his body harder into yours.

He didn’t speak a word—of course he wouldn’t. Not tonight. You knew his rule, and no matter how intense things got, he wouldn’t break it for anything, not even for the fiery hunger between you. His silence only heightened everything, making each breath, each moan, louder in the quiet, darkened room.

He pressed himself into you harder, letting you feel all of him, his body hot and ready against yours. The pressure of him, the heat radiating from his skin, made your body ache with need. You knew he could keep this up all night, teasing you with the promise of more but never quite giving it to you. His lips trailed lower, finding your neck, kissing and sucking harder, leaving dark marks in his wake. Every touch sent shivers through you, your body reacting to every move he made.

You reached out, your hands blindly gripping at the wall behind you, trying to find something to hold onto, but the way he was working your body made it impossible to focus. Your mind began to drift, memories flooding back of the time in his library, how effortlessly he had taken you. You had been cleaning, completely unaware of him watching you until his hands were on you. He had lifted your skirt like it meant nothing, pulled your panties to the side, and without a word, had slipped inside you. The memory made you shudder.

His hand had been wrapped tight in your hair, pulling your head back, making you arch into him as he pounded into you without mercy. His other hand had clamped over your mouth, silencing your cries because there were others in the house, just a room away. The filthy, vulgar words that had spilled from his lips that day still echoed in your mind.

“You’re my pretty little slut,” he had whispered in your ear, his voice thick with lust, every word dripping with possessiveness. “Taking me so fucking well… You’re perfect.”

His words had burned through you like wildfire, each filthy praise igniting something deep inside, making you feel like you were unraveling under his touch. “Such a good girl, taking all of me… every inch.” The memory echoed in your mind, and it still made your skin flush. He had been relentless—thick, almost too big for someone with his slender frame—and yet, he filled you like he was carved for you alone. The way he stretched you, claimed you, made your legs tremble as if you were on the brink of collapse.

Even now, as his lips trailed down your neck, each kiss a slow, teasing reminder of that day, you could feel the lingering ghost of how perfect it had felt. Too perfect, like he’d broken something inside you and left you craving him in ways you couldn’t understand.

His lips hovered just above your collarbone, his hot breath washing over your skin. He paused, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your throat, sending a sharp thrill through your body. His fingers dug into your pulse, making your heart pound harder as he leaned in close, his mouth brushing your ear. “You thinkin’ about the library?” His voice was low, rough, a taunt that made your stomach coil with need.

You whimpered, barely able to catch your breath. Your nails dug into the wall behind you, scraping against the cool surface, trying to ground yourself. Your hips pressed into him instinctively, seeking more of that intoxicating heat. “How could I not?” you whispered, your voice a trembling confession.

His dark eyes flashed with something primal, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he pressed his body harder against yours. You could feel every hard inch of him, throbbing through the thin fabric between you. “I remember it like it was yesterday,” he growled, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You looked so good bent over for me. Took me like you were made for it.”

A shudder rippled through you at his words, your body reacting without thought. Heat pooled low in your belly, your knees weakening beneath the weight of his body pressed into yours. “Michael…” you whimpered, barely able to form his name as the room seemed to blur around you.

His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make you dizzy, the pressure sending a rush of blood to your head. He chuckled, a dark sound that vibrated against your skin, and then his lips trailed lower, kissing down to your collarbone. His tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, the heat of it making you gasp. “You love it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shockwaves of arousal coursing through you.

All you could manage was a shaky nod, your breath catching in your throat as his lips continued their assault on your neck. Each kiss, each bite, each flick of his tongue felt like a brand, marking you as his, consuming you until there was nothing left but the burning desire he had stoked inside you.

“Good,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your skin, tugging just enough to make you whimper. His hand loosened around your throat as he pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and intense. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart was pounding in your chest. You met his gaze, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke, “You broke your rule…”

His brow arched slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Rules are meant to be broken.” He shrugged casually, but there was a glint in his eye as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “Why? Do you prefer me quiet while I’m fucking you? Hmm? Is that what you want, doll?” His grip on your throat tightened once again, just enough to make you gasp.

He moved even closer, his lips brushing against yours but not quite kissing you, teasing. “Or do you want to hear me praise you? Tell you how good you are for me, how tight you are around my dick? Tell you how fucking pretty your moans sound when I’m deep inside you?”

Your lip quivered as you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as the intensity of his gaze held you captive.

“Speak, slut,” he growled, his voice low and commanding as his hand tightened around your neck, choking you just a little harder. The pressure made your head spin, but it was his roughness, his dominance, that made your body tremble with desire. You whimpered softly, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of arousal that was threatening to drown you, but God, the way he handled you… it was too much, too good.

“What do you want, doll?” he purred, his voice a teasing whisper as his lips hovered just above yours. “Want me to speak? Or do you want me to shut my mouth? Say yes, and I won’t hold back.”

The weight of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and despite the fire in your belly, you barely managed to breathe out, “Yes.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours, but you cut him off, your voice trembling. “Don’t talk,” you whispered, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to steady yourself. “Just… don’t talk.”

The command came out soft, but firm, and for a moment, his eyes darkened with something deeper—something more dangerous. He didn’t need words, didn’t need to speak. You loved his voice, the way it could make your pulse quicken with just a few whispered words, but when he was silent, when he let his body do the talking… that’s when he truly unraveled you.

His smirk deepened into something more primal, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable as he leaned in closer. His breath mingled with yours, hot and heavy, making your lips tingle with anticipation. His gaze was intense, those dark eyes speaking volumes without a word, and the weight of his presence pressed against you like a slow, suffocating heat. The way he looked at you—possessive, commanding—made your stomach flip and your knees weak, as though you were already drowning in him before he even touched you.

His hands found your shoulders, firm yet gentle as he guided you downward. Your body obeyed him effortlessly, sinking to your knees before him. You knelt there, your eyes never leaving his, captivated by the piercing look he gave you through his reading glasses, the subtle glint of control lurking beneath them. The sight of him towering over you, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths, made your pulse quicken, and the air between you crackled with tension.

Slowly, your gaze dropped, following the lines of his body as you drank in every inch of him. The rough texture of his black jeans beneath your fingertips sent a thrill through you as your hands traveled up his thighs, feeling the firmness of his muscles, sculpted from years of dancing. As your fingers found the waistband, the heat between your legs grew unbearable. You worked with eager hands, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans with a deftness that came from both familiarity and desperation.

He remained silent, his fingers lazily threading through your hair as he watched you, his chest heaving slightly in anticipation. The tension was palpable, the heat in his gaze making you ache even more for him. When you pulled his jeans down, revealing his toned, muscled thighs, you let out a soft, barely audible sigh. His dancer’s legs were strong, defined, and utterly perfect, and you could feel your mouth going dry as you stared at him. I’ll never get tired of this, you thought to yourself, lost in the moment as he stepped out of his loafers and kicked his jeans aside.

Now he stood before you in just his briefs, and your breath caught in your throat. The outline of his arousal strained against the white fabric, impossibly thick and big, so evident that it sent a shudder through you. You bit your lip, unable to hold back the surge of excitement that shot through your body. The sight of him like this, raw and ready, was overwhelming, the desire burning inside you becoming almost unbearable.

Slowly, deliberately, you gripped the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down with agonizing slowness. His length was revealed inch by inch, thick and heavy, his shaft springing free as you lowered the fabric down his legs. He was magnificent, and the sight of him made your core throb with need. His length was adorned with the beautiful patchwork of his vitiligo, the blend of brown, pink, and white skin a testament to his uniqueness, and it only made you want him more.

You couldn’t help but murmur, “Look at that,” your voice dripping with admiration and lust as you stared up at him, your gaze flicking between his face and the sight of his arousal. The heat between your legs grew even more intense, your own need becoming almost painful as you took in the beauty of him.

Your hand reached out, trembling slightly with desire as you gently wrapped it around his shaft. Even with your fingers spread wide, you couldn’t fully wrap your hand around him—he was too thick, and it sent a rush of arousal through you that made you shiver. “So thick,” you whispered in awe, your voice barely audible as you began to stroke him slowly, feeling the weight of him in your hand. His foreskin moved with each stroke, sliding back to reveal the flushed pink tip, glistening with precum, the sight of it making your mouth water in anticipation.

You looked up at him again, meeting his gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning through you. You couldn’t wait to taste him, to feel him inside your mouth, every inch of his thickness filling you. Your lips parted slightly as you leaned in closer, the scent of him invading your senses, and your body ached for him, ready to give in to the hunger that had been building inside you from the moment he touched you.

You took your time, savoring every ridge and vein along his length as you stroked him, feeling the weight and heat of him in your hand. Your touch was slow and teasing, drawing out the tension between you both, letting it simmer just beneath the surface. His body responded to every flick of your wrist, every light squeeze, and the way his breath hitched sent shivers down your spine. You wanted him—every inch of him—and you knew he was more than willing to take you there, to push you past the brink until you were begging for him.

But you were in control, at least for now.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you flicked your tongue out, grazing the head of his length, tasting the salty tang of his precum mixed with a sweetness that made you hum with satisfaction. “Taste so good,” you murmured with a mischievous smile, your lips curving as you looked up at him, watching the way his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in that familiar, primal way.

He didn’t respond, not verbally, but his silence only added to the intensity. His gaze was unreadable, but his fingers tightening in your hair told you everything. He was close to losing control, and that excited you even more.

You pressed your lips against his tip again, feeling the sticky wetness of his precum cling to your lips with each kiss, your tongue tracing the line where the head met his shaft, flicking over the sensitive underside with a teasing slowness. His body trembled in response, the muscles in his thighs tightening as you continued to taunt him with each delicate touch.

“You like that, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice sultry and low as you ran your tongue along the underside of his length, letting it glide down to his sack, teasing him there before trailing back up again.

His answer came in the form of a firm hand pushing your head down, guiding you to take him deeper. You didn’t resist, instead relishing the control he exerted as your tongue continued to trace his length, teasing the sensitive spots along his shaft. You felt his whole body shudder when your tongue swept over his sack, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

He let out a heavy breath, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as you took the head of his length into your mouth, sucking slowly, teasingly, just enough to drive him wild. His fingers tightened even more in your hair, pulling slightly as you swirled your tongue around his tip, your eyes meeting his. Those dark, intense eyes bore down into yours, and there was nothing innocent about the way you stared back at him, wide-eyed and full of lust.

You began to bob your head, your lips stretched tight around him as you took him in halfway, your tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft. You could feel the way his veins pulsed against your lips, every inch of him filling your mouth as you moved, slow and deliberate, drawing out his pleasure with each stroke. His body tensed, his breathing growing ragged as you worked him, your lips sliding along the slick, spotted skin of his length.

Then, with a swift motion, he backed you up into the wall, his control snapping as he took over. His hips began to thrust, slow at first, his length sliding in and out of your mouth with a smooth rhythm. You could taste him more now, the salty sweetness coating your tongue as his length filled your mouth with each thrust, the sensation overwhelming your senses.

He straightened, his body hovering over you, his mouth slightly open as he let out a low groan, his hand cupping the back of your head. His saliva dripped onto his shaft, slicking it as he thrust deeper, pushing himself further into your mouth. The taste of him, the weight of him, it all sent a fire coursing through your veins, the heat pooling low in your belly as you moaned around his length, the vibrations from your throat driving him wild.

His breathing became heavier, his chest heaving as he watched you, his eyes dark with desire. His hand pressed harder against your forehead, holding you in place as his hips rocked forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, each thrust sending a new wave of arousal coursing through you. The slick sounds of your mouth working him filled the room, mixing with his low, guttural groans.

You reached beneath your dress, slipping your hand into your lace panties, your fingers finding your swollen folds. You were soaked, your body responding to every thrust, every sound, every look he gave you. Your fingers brushed over your clit, and you moaned around his length, the vibrations making him groan even louder.

His eyes flicked down, watching as you pleasured yourself, his arousal spiking at the sight. He thrust harder, faster, his hand tightening its grip on your head as he drove himself into your mouth, pushing deeper until his length hit the back of your throat. Your eyes watered, but the sensation only heightened the pleasure, your throat tightening around him as he held you there, his length throbbing against your lips.

He gave you short, fast thrusts, each one sending your head back against the wall as he fucked your mouth with abandon. The wet, slick sounds of your mouth around him, the thick saliva dripping down his shaft and onto the hardwood floor, only seemed to drive him further. He was relentless now, his other hand gripping the back of your head, forcing you to take him deeper, harder, your gag reflex barely holding as you moaned and choked around him.

You couldn’t stop yourself, your fingers working faster between your legs as his pace quickened, your moans and gags mixing with the sound of his thrusts. You were so close, so close to unraveling beneath him as he used your mouth, the roughness of it pushing you closer to the edge. And God, the way he looked at you, his eyes locked on yours, the primal hunger in them making you want to give him everything.

Your fingers pressed harder against your clit, each circle driving you closer to that edge, your body trembling with anticipation. His length still filled your mouth, every inch of him sliding in and out with the raw intensity of his thrusts. You could feel the heat building, an overwhelming pressure growing in your core, ready to explode.

His movements became more primal, each thrust harder, your head thumping against the wall until his hand moved swiftly to cradle your head. A strange tenderness amidst the storm. But there was nothing gentle about the way he moved his hips, his groans growing louder, deep and guttural, as he pounded relentlessly into your mouth. The soft jazz in the background was barely audible now over the wet sounds of your mouth and his deep, ragged breaths.

With each thrust, his base brushed firmly against your lips, the roughness of his stubble teasing the delicate skin of your mouth. His sack, heavy and full, slapped rhythmically against your chin, over and over, wet with your spit, the mixture dripping down, pooling onto his loafers in a mess that neither of you cared about. You could feel him twitch, the hard, pulsing length of him filling every inch of your throat, making you gag slightly. He was close, you could see it in his eyes—darker now, wild with lust, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, biting down hard.

His hand moved to your neck, wrapping around it possessively, and you could feel his length bulging beneath your skin as it slid in and out of your throat. He grunted, his voice deep and raw, throwing his head back in a moment of pure pleasure. His breathing became more labored, each thrust more intense, your tongue sliding along the underside of his shaft, feeling every ridge, every pulse.

The heat in your belly intensified, your fingers working furiously over your clit now, circling faster, slick with your own arousal as you teetered on the brink. You were so close, the pleasure nearly unbearable, your legs shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps around his length . And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Michael pulled out, his shaft wet and throbbing, and slapped it hard against your cheek.

The sound echoed through the room, sharp, followed by the sensation of him ramming himself back inside your mouth, thrusting with renewed force, his face contorting as he chased his release. You whimpered around his length, feeling the thick tension in the air as your fingers continued to work your clit, each movement sending you spiraling closer.

Your toes curled in your heels, your brows furrowing as your entire body tightened with the building pleasure. His length twitched again, and you knew he was on the edge, his face a mask of raw need, his hand tightening in your hair as he grunted deeply. And then it happened—he groaned, a long, drawn-out sound, and you felt the first hot spurt of his release, his thick, salty seed filling your mouth.

He kept thrusting, slow now but deep, each pulse sending more of his warmth spilling over your tongue. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you moaned deeply around him, your own release hitting you hard as your fingers worked your clit in desperate circles. Your entire body trembled as you came, your thighs shaking, your folds swollen and slick with your release.

His seed spilled from your mouth, thick and warm, dripping down your chin and onto your dress, mixing with the mess already made. You swallowed what you could, the rest running down your lips as Michael groaned, his gaze locked on yours. He watched every moment, his eyes dark and hungry, taking in the sight of you—your fingers glistening with your release, your lips swollen and wet, your chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

Slowly, he pulled out, his length even harder than before, standing tall as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with satisfaction, but that primal hunger still lingered. His thick, salty release coated your mouth, your body still buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm. You swallowed again, your throat sore from the roughness of it, and yet you craved more.

Michael’s seed filled your mouth, warm and thick, coating your throat and tongue. You swallowed what you could, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the slow trickle that would follow, the evidence of his dominance leaking from your body long after he was done. The mere thought of it had your thighs pressing together, your body trembling with need, craving more even as his taste lingered on your lips.

He looked down at you, still kneeling before him, a wicked gleam in his eyes as his hand reached out and wrapped firmly around your throat. His grip was possessive, fingers digging into your skin with a pressure that made your pulse quicken, your breath hitching. You loved the way he could control you with a single touch, the roughness of his dominance always leaving you on edge, desperate for more. A sly grin spread across his face as he pulled you closer, forcing your lips back to his.

The kiss was punishing, deep and rough, his mouth claiming yours with a force that left you breathless. You could taste the remnants of him on your lips, his seed still warm as it mixed with the wet heat of his tongue. His grip tightened on your throat, cutting off just enough air to make you dizzy, your moans vibrating against his mouth as he devoured you completely. Every kiss was a reminder that you were his, that he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And you loved it. The intensity of his control only made you crave him more.

When he finally pulled away, leaving both of you panting, his eyes locked onto yours. The dark, commanding look in them told you everything you needed to know—he wasn’t finished with you yet. You knew what he expected, what he always wanted. Without a word, you stood up and began to strip out of your dress, your fingers trembling slightly as you pulled the fabric over your head and let it fall in a pool at your feet. You stood there, bare except for your heels, the black lace of your panties and bra the only thing left between his gaze and your skin.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him, his eyes roaming hungrily over every inch of your exposed body. Then, with a sudden, forceful movement, he turned you around and bent you over the edge of his bed, your hands gripping the sheets for balance. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you heard the drawer of the nightstand open, the familiar sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. You knew exactly what he was reaching for.

The wooden paddle, reserved for nights like this when he wanted to make sure you felt everything, was cool as he dragged it slowly down your back, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. He took his time, letting the paddle trace the curves of your ass, down to your thighs, and then back up again, the anticipation building with every second.

And then, without warning, he brought it down hard against your ass, the sharp smack reverberating through the room as your skin instantly stung with the force of the blow. “Fuck,” you gasped, your body jolting forward from the impact, the pain mixing with a surge of pleasure that left you breathless.

His chuckle was low, dark, as he lifted the paddle again, bringing it down even harder this time. The crack of it against your flesh made you moan, your head dropping into the covers as your body responded to his punishment with a heat that spread through your core. “Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice muffled as the sting from the paddle intensified, your ass burning with the delicious pain he was inflicting.

He didn’t stop there, though. His eyes were focused, watching your every reaction, the way your body trembled and arched for him, the way you couldn’t help but push your hips back, silently begging for more. The paddle slid down again, this time over the slick, swollen folds between your legs, teasing your already throbbing clit with its hard surface.

You moaned loudly, unable to control the sounds that escaped you as the wood dragged over your wetness, the sensation almost too much to bear.

He lifted the paddle and brought it down on your folds, the sharp smack sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through you, your body arching off the bed as you cried out into the sheets. The sting was intense, but the way it mixed with the throbbing between your legs only made you want him more.

He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His silence spoke volumes, the way he handled you, the way he controlled every inch of your body, leaving no doubt in your mind who was in charge. And you loved it. You loved the way he dominated you, the way he pushed you to the edge over and over again, making you crave his roughness, his intensity.

The paddle came down with brutal precision, the impact sending shockwaves through your trembling body, pleasure and pain mingling into an intoxicating sensation that threatened to undo you. Each smack left your skin ablaze, the sting intensifying as your folds grew wetter, slick with arousal. You moaned, breathless, the sound escaping your lips as a broken, desperate plea.

“Mr. Jackson,” you gasped, your voice muffled by the sheets, barely able to hold back the raw pleasure coursing through you.

He smirked at the sound of his name on your lips, the power it gave him over you. Without a word, he threw the paddle to the floor, the wooden thud echoing in the room. His hand traced up your spine, teasing and possessive, each stroke sending shivers down your body. With a quick, practiced flick, he unclasped your bra, letting it fall away, leaving you exposed to him. His fingers slid through your hair, wrapping it tightly around his hand before pulling you upright, forcing your back into a perfect arch as your body submitted to his control.

Tears of pleasure welled in your eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips despite the intensity of it all. You knew exactly what he wanted, what he always took from you in these moments. Your mouth opened for him, willing, waiting. His other hand came to your face, gripping your jaw with a firm, almost possessive hold as he let a thick drop of saliva fall from his lips into your open mouth. His gaze was dark, intense, as he watched you obediently swallow.

“I love it when you do that,” you murmured, your voice soft yet laced with mischief as you leaned closer, teasing your tongue against his lips. Your breath mingled with his, the air between you charged as his lips parted in response. You took the opportunity to spit playfully into his mouth, the action bold and unapologetic, knowing he loved it just as much. But before you could pull back, he grabbed you by the neck, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss, both of you sharing in the heat, the saliva mixing between your tongues as the kiss grew rougher, more desperate.

Michael was no longer the shy man most knew him to be. Here, in the bedroom, he dropped the pretense, revealing the dominant, demanding lover he truly was. He spat into your mouth again, watching with dark satisfaction as you swallowed, the act primal, a testament to how fully you belonged to him in these moments. When you pulled away, a thick strand of saliva connected your lips to his, a physical reminder of the mess you both loved to make together. You flicked your tongue out, breaking the string with a teasing smirk.

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Without warning, he pushed you back onto the bed, forcing you onto all fours as you quickly positioned yourself. Your eyes flicked to the clock—eleven p.m. Only an hour until he could finally speak, though he had already broken his rule for you tonight.

You felt the sudden tug at your panties, the fabric stretching before tearing completely as he ripped them from your body, leaving you bare except for the heels that still adorned your feet. You glanced back at him, a smirk dancing on your lips. “Someone’s been angry,” you teased, but the playful glint in your eyes quickly faded as his palm came down hard on your ass, the sharp smack making you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

He arched your back with one firm press of his hand against the small of it, his control absolute as he pushed you into the perfect position. He loved you like this—open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Even though he knew every inch of your body, knew how tight and wet you would be for him, every time he entered you, it was a struggle for your walls to accommodate his thick length, the way he stretched you inch by inch. His length , spotted with vitiligo, was a beautiful contradiction—soft in appearance yet unforgiving in size, a sight you had never grown tired of after all these years.

With one hand gripping your waist, he guided his length to your entrance, teasing you with the head of it, slicking himself with the wetness already dripping from you. The sensation of him pressing against you, the tip just barely entering, was maddening. Your breath hitched as you pushed back slightly, desperate for more, but he held you in place, not letting you take him fully just yet.

“Michael,” you whimpered, your voice strained with need, every nerve in your body screaming for him to give in, to fuck you the way you craved.

Michael’s smirk deepened as he watched your body struggle to accommodate his thickness, taking a sadistic pleasure in how slow and agonizing it was for you. His length slid in inch by inch, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive walls, stretching you to your limit. The tension between pain and pleasure electrified the air, your gasp barely escaping your lips as he bottomed out, hips pressed firmly against your backside. You could feel every throb, every twitch as he filled you completely.

“You’re so deep,” you moaned, voice trembling as you tried to adjust, the fullness almost unbearable. His hips moved with deliberate slowness, drawing back only to thrust forward again with a steady, torturous rhythm. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. He watched intently, eyes fixed on the sight of his length disappearing into you, mesmerized by how your body stretched to take him.

With a low, guttural groan, he spat onto his length, adding more slickness as he continued to thrust, his movements becoming more fluid, more demanding. You glanced back at him, catching the glint in his eyes behind his reading glasses—those piercing eyes that made you feel even more powerless beneath him. He smirked as he pushed your head down roughly into the mattress, forcing your back into a deeper arch, making you open wider for him.

Then he shifted, lifting his left leg onto the bed for better leverage, driving himself into you from a new angle. His hands roamed possessively over your sides, squeezing and gripping in all the right places. His length gleamed with your arousal, highlighting the contours of every thick vein and pigment. You could hear the obscene sounds of your slickness with every deep thrust, his pace quickening as he pushed deeper, his growls rumbling from deep within his chest. The sensation of him filling you completely, over and over, was overwhelming, your body shaking with each rough stroke.

Needing more, you instinctively began to push back against him, trying to take control. But Michael wasn’t having it. In an instant, he pulled out and delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sting so intense that you gasped. Before you could catch your breath, his hand was in your hair, yanking you up. He slapped you lightly across the face, his dark eyes locking onto yours, sending a clear message—you were not in charge here. He was.

“Then fuck me,” you spat defiantly, glancing at him through lust-filled eyes, your gaze momentarily fixating on the glint of his chain.

Without a word, he grabbed you aggressively, flipping you onto your back with ease. His hands were rough as he pinned your legs back against your chest, your toes pointed helplessly as he teased your slick folds with the tip of his length, dragging it slowly, deliberately, along your entrance. The teasing lasted only a second before he slammed into you, hard and fast, knocking the air from your lungs as your body jolted with the force of it.

“Oh god!” you cried out, your voice high and desperate as he began to pound into you with an unrelenting pace. His eyes never left you, watching intently as his length stretched you wide with each brutal thrust, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. You could barely breathe, barely think, the overwhelming sensation of him inside you consuming every part of your mind. You looked down, watching in awe as his thick shaft disappeared into your swollen, dripping cunt, stretching you open in a way that left you trembling.

Your moans were loud, desperate, as his thick tip grazed your cervix with every thrust, sending shockwaves through your body. Your legs quivered under his touch, your muscles weakening as the pleasure built to an unbearable intensity.

“Harder…” you whimpered, your voice barely a breath, your body craving more, needing more.

Michael’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he drove into you with even more ferocity. The bed groaned beneath the brutal force of his thrusts, each one harder, more punishing than the last. The slap of your bodies echoed through the room, wet and raw, every stroke sending waves of your arousal splashing across his thighs and base. He didn’t slow down. If anything, the sound of your sobbing moans only spurred him on, the ruthless rhythm pushing you to the brink of breaking.

His length was coated in your arousal, thick and creamy, the evidence of your pleasure smeared across his length as it drove deeper, stretching you to your limits. You could feel every inch of him, the veins pulsing against your walls, the fullness so overwhelming that it sent shudders through your body. Your fingers found your clit, rubbing desperately as he fucked you harder, his hips slamming into you with a relentless force that had your back arching and your breath coming in ragged gasps.

The bed creaked beneath the weight of his thrusts, your vision blurring as he pounded into you. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you moaned, your voice hoarse, barely recognizable as you begged for more. The sight of his length disappearing inside you again and again, glistening with your slick, drove you wild. Each thrust was rougher, deeper, like he wanted to own every inch of you.

Your fingers became slick and sticky from the creamy arousal coating them, every touch sending electric jolts through your body. But it wasn’t enough—you needed more. And Michael, with his dark, silent fury, was giving it to you. He shifted slightly, changing his angle just enough to find that perfect spot inside you. The second he hit it, your body jolted, your walls clamping down hard around him.

“Right there, oh fuck, right there,” you blurted out, head falling back as the pleasure hit like a wave crashing over you. Your body shook, every nerve screaming as he hammered into the sweet spot with ruthless precision. His length twitched inside of you, every pulse sending you closer to the edge. The burn of the stretch only heightened the intensity, making your toes curl as you clung to the bed for dear life.

Without warning, Michael’s hand shot out, releasing your ankle and gripping your throat in one swift motion. His fingers tightened, squeezing hard, cutting off your air as he thrust harder, rougher, more brutal than before. The pressure on your neck blurred your vision, stars dancing across your eyes as your head spun. But through the haze, you smiled, loving every second of it.

His hand on your throat told you everything. He didn’t need words. The way he choked you, the way his length slammed into you without mercy, said more than any words ever could. He was releasing everything, pouring his anger, his lust, his possessiveness into every brutal thrust. And you welcomed it, loving the roughness, craving the way he lost control with you.

Your walls clenched around him, throbbing as he pounded you with relentless force, your body shaking beneath him as the intensity built higher and higher. Every thrust hit deeper, stretching you further, the burning pleasure twisting into something almost unbearable. His grip on your neck tightened, and you could feel the bruising already forming, but it only drove you closer to the brink.

Your vision swam in and out of focus, each rough thrust sending shockwaves through your body. The room around you seemed to blur into nothing, the only thing you could focus on was the relentless force of Michael’s body against yours, his hands gripping you with such intensity that you could feel his frustration radiating through every inch of him. His chain, cool and biting against your heated skin, contrasted with the searing heat between you, the weight of his chest pressing down on you as he held you under him, completely at his mercy. Your hand rested on his stomach, feeling the taut muscles rippling beneath your palm as he moved inside you, the power behind every thrust sending you spiraling into oblivion.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was just as punishing, his lips devouring yours with a force that took your breath away, literally. His grip around your throat tightened, cutting off your air just enough to make you gasp, the thrill of it coursing through you like fire. His groans rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your lips as his tongue teased yours, every movement calculated, deliberate. You whimpered softly, your breaths shallow, your body trembling as he plunged in and out of you with unyielding precision.

The clock struck midnight, the sound barely audible over the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies colliding and the jazz music playing softly in the background. Michael’s lips twisted into a dark smirk as he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a dangerous intensity. “Want me to talk now, hmm?” His voice was a low growl, dripping with smug satisfaction as he drove deeper into you, your walls stretching around his length.

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as he continued to pound into you, your body jerking with each powerful thrust. He loosened his grip on your throat just enough for you to suck in a desperate breath, but his hand stayed firmly in place, a constant reminder of who was in control. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dominance. “Look how good you’re taking me, pretty girl. So wet, so creamy.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to his praise, your moans turning into soft, desperate pleas. “Michael, please…”

“Please what?” he mocked, his thrusts growing more brutal, each one slamming into you so hard that it left you breathless. “You want it harder?”

Without waiting for an answer, he gave it to you, his hips snapping against yours with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. Each thrust was deeper, rougher, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, the bed creaking under the violent rhythm. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his body claiming yours completely.

“Take it, baby. Take all of me,” he whispered harshly, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged as he drove into you with renewed intensity.

You moaned helplessly, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, biting down hard enough to leave marks, each one a reminder of his dominance over you. “Why do you fuck me like this?” you gasped, your head falling back, exposing more of your neck to his hungry mouth.

He growled, flicking his tongue along the side of your neck before trailing it up to your ear. “Because you’re my pretty little slut,” he murmured darkly, his voice sending a jolt straight to your core.

Your walls clenched around him, the tightness driving him even deeper, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling with the need to release. But he wasn’t finished. His hand tightened around your throat once more, choking you harder as he rammed into you with brutal, unrelenting force. Each thrust shifted the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall as his pace grew more violent, driven by some unspoken fury that had him fucking you like he never had before.

The darkness in Michael’s gaze was unlike anything you had ever seen before, an almost feral edge that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. His thrusts were savage, each one tearing a guttural moan from your throat, the force of his body slamming into yours leaving you gasping for breath. The intensity of his movements left no room for tenderness—this was raw, unfiltered need, anger poured into every powerful stroke. He wasn’t holding back, and you could feel it in the way his hips snapped forward, the thick length of him filling you with a ruthless determination that made your entire body tremble.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, sliding down his chest and mingling with yours as he leaned over you, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. “You want them all to see, don’t you?” he growled, his voice rough, edged with a dangerous kind of heat. His eyes flicked downward, watching the way his length moved in and out of you with a slick, obscene sound. “See how good I fuck you? See how you take me like you were made for it? Look at how you’re squeezing me, so damn tight.”

You could barely respond, your head spinning as the pressure coiled tighter inside you. His words made your core clench around him, the tension building to an unbearable peak. You tried to speak, to form a coherent thought, but all that escaped was a broken moan, your lips trembling as your body shook beneath him. Words weren’t possible; the overwhelming sensations, the heat, the pressure, his brutal pace—it was all too much.

Michael’s hand shot out, cupping your face roughly, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. The intensity in his dark eyes was like a physical force, pinning you in place. He was still wearing his reading glasses, the thin frames sliding down the bridge of his nose, but the fury in his gaze never faltered. His chain dangled from his neck, swinging back and forth in time with his thrusts, brushing lightly against your skin. Every movement sent a shockwave through your body, the tension in your belly burning hotter with each passing second.

“You’re drunk on this, aren’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. His hips didn’t slow, didn’t waver—each thrust was hard, precise, pushing you closer to the edge. “So drunk on the way I fuck you, on the way I own you. You like that, don’t you?”

You whimpered, your body arching against his, the heat in your belly threatening to consume you. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you fought to hold on, the slick sound of your bodies colliding filling the air. You glanced down, unable to stop yourself from watching where you were joined, mesmerized by the sight of his length sliding in and out of you, the thickness of him stretching you, filling you completely.

“I can feel how close you are,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. His hips never faltered, his pace relentless as he drove himself into you again and again, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur. “I know you want to cum. Just let it go, baby girl. Let it all out for me.”

You were trembling now, your thighs quivering with the effort to hold on, your body teetering on the edge of oblivion. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hold back the wave of pleasure that was crashing through you. “Michael, I… I can’t—” Your voice broke off, your body seizing as your orgasm tore through you, violent and all-consuming.

He watched you intently, his gaze never leaving your face as you came undone beneath him, your walls clenching and pulsing around him like a vice. The room seemed to spin around you, the sound of your moans echoing in your ears as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through your body, leaving you breathless and shaking.

“Fuck,” Michael growled, his own control slipping as he felt your cunt tighten around him. His teeth gritted together, his jaw clenched as he pounded into you harder, chasing his own release. “God, you feel so damn good. So tight, so perfect.”

His thrusts grew erratic, the muscles in his arms and chest straining as he buried himself deep inside you. You could feel him swelling, twitching, his length throbbing as he neared his breaking point. A guttural groan escaped his lips as he slammed into you one final time, his entire body tensing as he spilled his hot, thick seed deep inside you.

“Shit!” he snarled, his body shaking as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as he emptied himself into you, his release filling you, warm and thick. He didn’t move for a moment, just stayed there, buried deep inside you as his length twitched and pulsed, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Your body was spent, trembling from the intensity of the moment, but even as your legs shook and your muscles screamed in exhaustion, there was a deep, primal satisfaction in the way he filled you. The wet, sticky mess of your combined release seeped out of you, trickling down your thighs and staining the sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, and you could feel the steady thrum of your own heartbeat in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Michael slowly withdrew from you, his length slipping out of your slick heat with a wet sound that made you whimper. You felt empty without him, your body aching from the loss of him, but the sharp sting of your sensitivity kept you grounded. He glanced down at the mess between your legs, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched his seed spill from you.

Without breaking eye contact, Michael slipped out of bed, leaving you sprawled across the sheets, trembling in the aftermath of his touch. You could hear the soft sound of running water from the bathroom, the low hum of the shower creating a soothing background. The ache between your thighs served as a reminder of his power over you—of the way he’d pushed you to your limits, leaving you breathless and wanting, yet utterly satisfied.

Moments later, he returned, a damp washcloth in his hand. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and intent as he approached the bed. Kneeling beside you, he parted your legs, his movements slow and deliberate. The cool touch of the cloth against your heated skin made you flinch, a shiver running down your spine. Despite the tenderness of his actions, there was an unmistakable dominance in the way he took care of you—an unspoken declaration that you were his.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “I need to clean you up. Don’t move.”

You swallowed, trying to steady the trembling in your limbs. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

His eyes held yours as his hands moved with a precision that was both gentle and possessive. He wiped away the traces of your shared pleasure, his fingers brushing over your oversensitive folds. You whimpered, your body jerking involuntarily at the contact, still so raw from the intensity of the night.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety growl. “All soft and vulnerable. Just the way I like you. So fragile after I’ve had my way with you.” He paused, his lips curving into a smirk as he watched you. “But you took it all, didn’t you? My good girl.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, your heart pounding at his words.

His gaze darkened, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. He set the washcloth aside and reached for your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “Who do you belong to?” he asked, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt.

“To you, sir,” you answered, the words slipping out without hesitation.

“That’s right.” His voice was a soft growl, possessive and undeniably sensual. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours—a kiss that was slow and deliberate, meant to remind you exactly who was in control. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, demanding entrance, and you parted them for him willingly. The kiss deepened, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place as he tasted you, dominated you.

When he finally pulled away, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You taste like surrender,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “My perfect girl.”

He stood, his arms slipping around you as he pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly, and he held you close, supporting your weight as he guided you toward the bathroom. The steam enveloped you as you stepped inside, the warmth of the shower wrapping around you like a blanket. Michael sat down on the shower bench, pulling you onto his lap. His arms encircled your waist, holding you against him, his chest firm against your back.

“You did well tonight,” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and intimate. “Took everything I gave you. But you know I’m not done with you, don’t you?”

A weak smile tugged at your lips as you rested back against him, your head nestled into the crook of his neck. “What set you off tonight, sir?” you asked, your voice soft, a hint of teasing there despite your exhaustion.

He sighed, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice darkening. “Lisa. She’s done. Out of my life.” His hand moved, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “But you need to understand something, sweetheart—what we have is not just about my anger. It’s about you and me. You belong to me. Every inch of you.”

A shiver coursed through you at his words, your breath hitching as his fingers teased your sensitive skin. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice quivering with a mix of fear and excitement.

“She doesn’t know about us,” he continued, his tone dripping with possessiveness. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re mine, regardless of who knows. No one else will touch you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Only you,” you breathed, the weight of his claim sinking into your very being.

A satisfied sound rumbled deep in his chest, his mouth trailing along the side of your neck, his lips hot against your skin. “That’s my girl. You’ve been teasing me all week, haven’t you? Trying to provoke me?” His voice was dark, dangerous, filled with a promise that made your heart pound.

You felt a sly smile tug at your lips, despite the blush creeping across your cheeks. “I wanted your attention, sir.”

Michael let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “Well, you got it,” he murmured, his fingers moving down between your legs, brushing against your core. You gasped, your body arching into him, even as the ache from earlier still lingered. “But teasing me comes at a price, sweetheart. You know that.”

“Yes, sir,” you whimpered, feeling your body responding to his touch, the heat building again despite your exhaustion.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Every inch of you belongs to me, and I’m going to remind you of that every chance I get.”

“Yes, sir. I belong to you,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your heart pounding as his fingers teased you, keeping you right at the edge without letting you fall over.

He turned your face toward the warm spray of the shower, his lips brushing a kiss to your temple. “Let the heat relax you. I need you ready for me, whenever I decide it’s time again.”

You let yourself melt into his touch, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing against your back, the water cascading down, soothing the soreness in your body. His hands moved up to your hair, undoing the knots, each touch a reminder of his claim over you.

“Who knew having an affair with your boss would lead to this,” you murmured, a wry smile playing on your lips, your eyes fluttering closed.

Michael’s hand moved to grip your jaw, tilting your head back so you met his eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with a fire that made your breath catch in your throat. “This is not just an affair,” he growled, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered dominance. “You are mine. Completely. Body, mind, and soul.”

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was searing, possessive—one that left you breathless, a reminder of his control over you.

When he pulled back, his voice was a low rumble, each word laced with intent. “I won’t let you forget that. Not now, not ever. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you remember that every time I touch you.”

Your eyes closed as his words sank in, the weight of them wrapping around you like a blanket. “I won’t forget, sir. I promise.”

He let out a satisfied hum, his fingers trailing down your throat, resting just above your collarbone. “That’s my girl. Always so obedient. Now hush and relax. Tonight, you’re going to rest, and when you wake up, you’ll remember exactly who you belong to.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And next time, sweetheart, when I decide to take you again, I’ll remind you just how much you need me. Just how much you crave every touch, every command. You’ll beg for it, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation and submission.

“That’s right,” he growled softly, his lips pressing against your neck, marking you with gentle kisses that promised both pleasure and possession. “You’re my good girl. And I take care of what’s mine.”

You nodded, resting against him as the warmth of the water washed over you, feeling his arms around you—a shelter, a cage, and a sanctuary, all at once. And as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your skin, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#endless seduction

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#endless seduction