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WARNINGS: toxic sugar daddy dynamics, power imbalance, possessiveness, controlling behavior, ownership kink, oral sex (while driving) degradation, dubcon undertones, sexism from rafe, mild pain play, reader is very much finically dependent on rafe (pls never depend on a man for money) and age gap
AUTHORS NOTE: this is a dark fic!! minors do not interact, and if you do i will block you
you trail behind rafe through the crowded mall, arms already aching from the weight of the bags he’s made you carry. dior, chanel, ysl—he doesn’t even look at the price tags anymore, just tosses his black card at whoever’s behind the counter and tells them to make it quick. it’s black friday, but the chaos barely touches him. people part when they see him coming, all sharp jaw and expensive coat, that quiet kind of scary that makes security nod instead of ask questions.
“keep up,” he mutters, not turning around. his hand finds the back of your neck, fingers curling possessive under your hair, steering you like you’re something he owns. you are. that’s the deal.
he stops dead in front of agent provocateur, eyes flicking over the mannequins in lace and straps. “you’re getting everything in here,” he says, voice low. “and you’re gonna model it for me later. slowly.”
your stomach flips. “rafe, people can—”
“i don’t give a fuck what people can do.” he finally looks at you, blue eyes cold. “you wanted to be taken care of, yeah? this is it. you wear what i buy, you walk where i walk, you open your legs when i say. that’s the arrangement, sweetheart.”
he says it quiet enough that no one around hears, but it still burns. you nod anyway, small and quick, because the alternative is him walking away and taking the cards, the apartment, the clothes, all of it with him. and you hate how fast you got used to not worrying about rent.
inside the store he sits like a king on the velvet bench, legs spread, watching you get passed lingerie set after set by the nervous salesgirl. every time you step out of the curtain he tilts his head, drags his gaze over you slow, then either nods or flicks two fingers: next. no smile. no “you look pretty.” just ownership.
when you hesitate on a set that’s basically strings, he leans forward. “you think i pay for shy? put it on.”
you do.
an hour later you’re loaded with pink bags, legs shaking a little from the heels he made you wear out of the last store. he finally stops at some overpriced jewelry counter, picks up a thin gold anklet with a tiny “R” charm dangling from it.
“this one,” he tells the guy, not asking your opinion. “and engrave the inside. property of rc. small.”
your face goes hot. “rafe—”
he turns, slow, crowding you against the glass case. “you don’t like my name on you? that a problem?” his thumb presses into your wrist, hard enough to bruise tomorrow. “because i can take all this shit back right now. leave you in the food court with your little target coat from last year. that what you want?”
you swallow. “no.”
“didn’t think so.” he smiles then, small and mean, and kisses your forehead like you’re a kid who just learned a lesson. “good girl.”
he clips the anklet on you himself in the middle of the damn mall, crouching down, fingers rough against your skin. when he stands he doesn’t let go of your ankle right away—just holds it, thumb brushing the fresh gold.
“now everyone knows,” he says, quiet. “even if they can’t read it.”
you spend the rest of the day following him from store to store, bags cutting into your fingers, his hand slipping under your skirt in elevators just because he can. by the time the sun goes down you’re exhausted, feet bleeding in the new louboutins, but he’s finally satisfied.
in the parking lot he opens the trunk of the range rover, tosses everything in like it’s nothing. then he pins you against the cold metal, mouth at your ear.
“you did good today,” he murmurs, almost soft. “your gonna give me somethin’ in return, baby?”
you nod against his shoulder, the “R” on your ankle catching the streetlight.
“words, baby.”
“yes, daddy,” you whisper.
he hums, pleased, and he shoves you into the back seat first, climbs in after, and slams the door so hard the car rocks. tinted windows turn the parking-lot lights into smears of orange. you’re still catching your breath when he fists the front of your little skirt, yanks you across the leather until you’re straddling his lap.
“been hard since you walked out in that last set,” he mutters, already undoing his belt with one hand. the clink of metal is loud in the quiet. “get on your knees.”
there’s barely room, but you make it work, sliding down between the seats, knees digging into the carpet. he doesn’t help, just watches you with that lazy, entitled stare while he pulls himself out. thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip like he’s been thinking about this for hours.
you wrap your fingers around him and he exhales through his nose, head tipping back against the headrest.
“no teasing,” he warns, voice rough. “you know what i want.”
you do. you lean in, take him as deep as you can on the first go, cheeks hollowing. he groans low, hips twitching, then threads his fingers through your hair—not gentle, but not brutal either. just holding you there while you work him, tongue flat against the underside, spit already slicking your chin.
the car’s still in park, engine rumbling. he thumbs the start button with his free hand, shifts into drive like it’s nothing, one palm on the wheel, the other guiding your head. you feel the rover roll forward, tires crunching over the speed bumps, and your stomach flips.
“keep going,” he says, casual as ever, merging into traffic. “red light in thirty seconds. better make me come before it turns green.”
it’s insane. people in the next lane could look over. but his grip tightens, forcing you lower, and you stop thinking. just the taste of him, the way he fills your mouth, the little grunt he lets out every time you swallow around him.
he drives one-handed, knuckles white, breathing getting jagged. you can feel him swelling, getting close, and he starts muttering filth under his breath—how good your throat feels, how you were made for this, how every girl in that mall wished they were you right now.
the light ahead flips to yellow.
“fuck—now, baby—”
you take him all the way down, nose pressed to his pelvis, and he comes hard, hips jerking, spilling hot and thick while the car idles at the red. his hand in your hair goes soft, almost petting, thumb rubbing messy circles at your scalp while he rides it out.
when he’s done he tucks himself away, zips up, then hauls you up by the armpits like you weigh nothing. you’re a mess—lips swollen, mascara smudged—and he just looks at you for a second, something unreadable in his eyes.
“c’mere,” he says, quieter.
you crawl into his lap again, shaky, and he surprises you by pulling you against his chest. one big hand cups the back of your head, the other sliding under your skirt to rub slow at the small of your back. almost… gentle.
“did good today,” he murmurs into your hair. “real fuckin’ good.”
the light turns green. he drives with you still in his lap, one arm locked around your waist like a seatbelt, city lights streaking across the windshield.
when you get to the house he carries you inside himself, bags abandoned in the trunk for tomorrow. kicks the bedroom door shut, lays you on the bed like you’re something breakable all of a sudden.
he peels the ruined louboutins off your feet, thumbs the blisters, then crawls up over you. kisses your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—soft, slow, nothing like the mall, nothing like the car.
“you sore?” he asks, voice low.
you nod, throat raw.
he hums, reaches for the nightstand, pulls out that same stupid-expensive balm he bought you last month. warms it between his palms before rubbing it into your feet, your ankles, the little “R” charm cool against his fingers.
“my girl,” he says, almost to himself. “did everything i asked. proud of you.”
it’s the closest he ever gets to sweet. you close your eyes, let him take care of you for once, the ache between your legs already starting again because even when he’s soft like this, you know tomorrow he’ll put you right back in your place.
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+, language, smut, p in v, vaginal fingering, cnc? (does it without full coherent consent?) rafe kinda takes advantage of reader, slight exhibition risk, mention of head (m receiving) innocent!reader, mean!rafe towards the end, lots of dirty talk, slight daddy kink, slapping, slight mention of neglect, mentions of divorce, mentions of bourbon + weed + red bull
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: innocent!reader visits the cameron’s, as she does weekly, with her parents. but this time as she confides in the eldest cameron child and her best friend, rafe over her parents failing marriage, he attempts to comfort you…
𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: quick little mssg before you read this is my first ever fic i’ve wrote so im so so sorry if it’s absolutely awful! also please add in the comments or pm me if there are any warnings i forgot to include and any requests for a fic! enjoy angels! 💐🪽🧸
you and rafe were inseparable.
still are.
since the early age of four in he’s been following you around like a lost puppy. constantly trying to get your attention, the poor boy. you often saw his constant need and struggle for someone to just care for him as an affect of his asshole of a father mainly bringing him up.
your parents just somehow managed to strengthen your bond with him by becoming closer to one another themselves. during your childhood and with rafe, your parents obviously drifted closer by spending practically every weekend together. of course they would, naturally. both your mother and his step mother, rose, are wealthy, snobby women of the upper side in the outer banks. and your fathers? please. they could be brothers.
ward cameron, business fiend and dickhead supreme, clearly is best suited to become bourbon drinking buddies with your father. every tuesday, thursday and saturday without a doubt your father is “invited” over to the cameron household. therefore meaning you and your mother have to come too.
now after years of these years and many similar nights, you don’t mind. i mean, you are visiting your little rafe…
knock knock knock
“darling i’m sure ward will love your bourbon you brought don’t worry dear” standing on the cameron manor porch, your mother attempts to reassure and calm your father by pressing a haste kiss to his stubbly cheek. smoothing down his suit, she shuffles backwards as he scoffs and glares at her.
“why wouldn’t he maria?! it’s bourbon from fucking germany, the best bourbon making country in the goddamn world.” father sighs, agitated once again. muttering something about her being a stupid woman. you stand there, behind them both. watching mother, her long, recently blown out hair floating in the wind, revealing the open back of her pastel blue sundress. and watching father too. his broad shoulders filling most of the imposing cameron manor front door’s frame. his grey suit reflecting him beautifully. bland and fucking boring. your hands start twisting with your silver bracelets and small golden rings as you try to become invisible. as you try to keep out of your parents fraying marriage and their ongoing petty arguments once again.
the door swings open.
rose cameron stands there, rafes step mother. her short blonde hair is recently bleached and shoved behind her ears. flaunting her iridescent mauve jumpsuit and boisterous, awfully chunky gold necklace. she paints a firm smile onto her matching mauve lips and pushes her hair even further behind her ears. the glow of the metal of the bangles on her wrist catch the setting evening sun and flash into your eyes, blinding you for a second.
“maria! damien! welcome!” she reaches forward and pecks your mother’s cheeks swiftly, peering over her shoulder at you in slight disgust. “i see you all made it fine! me and ward were awfully worried about the god awful weather in paris stopping you from flying home from france… he would be horrified if he missed his bourbon drinking date” rose smiles, her cheeks plastered with foundation, rising like cakes being baked. “oh silly me- come in come in! we have so much to talk about maria.. i mean we have to plan midsummers and the food and outfits- oh and damien, you know where ward is” she lets out a sharp chuckle and beams brightly. rose doesn’t even bother you a second glance as she ushers your parents inside, leaving you standing on the porch. the soft breeze playing with your hair.
what a bitch.. you sigh, your shoulders drooping. rafe must be upstairs like always.
you slide into the manor. quiet, invisible one again. pressing the grand double doors shut and starting to trail up the winding staircase.
after a moment climbing up the spiralling stairs and scurrying across the landing, you stop outside rafe’s door.
knock knock knock
“rafey? it’s me?” you murmur to the door, praying he’s inside.
a moment.
the door pulls open.
inside? stands rafe, low slung grey sweatpants, gold chain around his neck, red bull can in hand.
his room? you peek inside, well you try to. it’s mostly dark. all his blinds are shut, and the only light, apart from the glow of his flatscreen tv opposite his bed is crawling underneath his curtains. the hum of some faint song by someone like chase atlantic or the weeknd dances around the room and the faint smell of weed and aftershave wraps around you, embracing you into a warm, familiar hug.
“doll- i- hey” he smirks, before snatching your wrist and pulling you into his den.
he plops onto the crimson velvet couch at the end of his king size bed before drawing a blunt out of his pocket and dropping his empty red bull can onto the floor with a clatter.
holding the not lit blunt in his teeth, he grabs one of the stray hoodies laying on his floor before pulling it over his head. he flickers his lighter, pulled from his pocket and lights the blunt. takes an inhale and blows out a small cloud of smoke. “cmon bun” grinning ear to ear, he pats his thigh “sit, you know i don’t bite”
you giggle, a sweet melodic tune that dances throughout rafe’s brain.
fuckk…. he thinks..
he drags a rough hand over his face, making some attempt to clean his impure brain of the image of you on your knees in between his thighs with his thick cock wrapped around your pretty pink lips.
you toe off your polished black mary jane’s, leaving them by his bedroom door before pushing it shut quietly. you scuttle over, slipping and sliding all over his recently waxed hardwood floor with your pale pink frilly socks covering your small feet.
he smirks again.. this sweet, sweet girl.
“hi rafey” you murmur whilst you plop onto his lap with a faint thud.
“miss’d you bunny” he immediately lets his hands wander over your waist and he pulls you up so you’re laying back onto his chest as he grabs his playstation controller before starting to play his game. some fighting game no doubt.
“me too rafey..” you coo “im sorry i went away for so long.. france was boring, mom just wanted to drink and dad just wanted to scream at her..im here now though” you say before offering him a weak smile.
“oh bun.. they still rocky?” he hums, pressing you into his side more.
“mhm..i- uh- heard them yelling over some papers the other night too when i was trying to sleep.. its all going wrong rafey i’ve wanted to speak to you for ages but-” you mumble, turning your head so you can bury your lightly dolled up face into his bare bicep.
“oh pretty..” he sighs, stroking your hair like a puppy’s soft fur coat “it’ll be for the best if they divorce hm? yeah?”
“yeah.. you’re right.. i mean at least i might be able to at least sleep then? right?” trying to laugh at your own joke, you press your face further into his arm, turning slightly more so you can lay on his chest better.
“mh yeah good girl.. you can move in with me too if you want when i get my own place later this year hm? jus’ us two in a big house while i finish college yeah?”
“yeah.. uh- i’d like that… yeah..” you whimper. a tear. two tears. three. four. a stream. a river.
“shi- no no bunny don’t cry.. shh… sh..”
sobbing, you grasp his neck and cry softly into his shoulder.
blubbering uselessly, you try to form some coherent thought “b-but- m…m-my d-dad-d-daddy! n-no l…li-like me”
“don’t stress bun.. yeah? fuck your dad. that’s what i say.” he cradles your head, his golden rings that adorn each finger glint in the glow of his tv and his fingers rake through your hair, the playstation controller forgotten. “i can be your daddy for all you care bun.. let rafey care for you.. let me help you.. please pretty girl” he whines pathetically.
you nod mindlessly whilst continuing to whimper and sniffle into his chest.
you don’t even notice he’s manage to hike your baby pink floral print sundress dress up to your waist until his thick golden brown fingers dance along your inner thigh, trickling into your panties quietly.
“shh.. rafe’s got you bun.. focus on me hm?” you can almost hear the smugness melting off his tongue and into his speech, bastard.
you look down at your thighs, expecting to just see his hand squeezing and kneading the flesh. oh-! shit. when did he take my underwear off-.
a pinch, a stoke of your little nub. “r-rafe!”
“you like tha’ hm? shh.. shh.. dry those eyes babygirl.. no crying for rafe”
a finger.. or is it three? press inside of you suddenly.
“mh!” you whine like a needy puppy, for a different reason this time. not crying over your stupid parents, but your best friend.
“sh.” he hisses “keep quiet now, wouldn’t want mommy and daddy to find out their precious girl is being finger fucked by her best friend now would we?”
you shake your head, frantic. “n-no…”
“good girl.. open wide for rafe now” he taps your sealed lips with his cum slicked index and middle finger before forcing your soaked through pink lace panties into your waiting mouth. his fingers slide back down to your puffy folds and little hole, that’s currently clenching on air. trailing his middle finger down from your clit, he thrusts it in. the contrast of the cool metal of the ring on his finger and the warmness of your walls making you sharply inhale.
squelch squelch squelch
the wet, grotesque squelching sounds of his sound fingers thrusting into you and spreading your wetness around your folds fill the air.
another finger presses into your hole. roughly curling around the point, that fills your vision with stars and black, he found so well. so quickly.
eyes rolling back, you buck your hips, frantic. humping his hand, you groan. silently begging and pleading for permission to come.
“nuh uh, too soon bun.. i’ve not even got my cock out yet and you want to squirt all over my fingers?” he scoffs “pathetic slut” he spits at you, and a firm slap is delivered meanly to your pulsing folds making you jump.
suddenly, you’re not on his lap. you’re bent over the arm of the crimson couch, the plush velvet digging into your knees as rafe rams his mean cock into your folds from behind.
“uh-mh-mm!” you whine and squirm, pleading for more friction.
“if i knew you were this much of a slut my dick wouldn’t have left this tight cunt in years…” he pants, breathing heavily. “take it- mh.. some best friend you are” he chuckles as he bullies his cock into you, the angry red tip prodding your cervix, inching you closer to your orgasm every thrust. his balls burying into the curve of your plump ass. “oh bun- she’s just swallowing me whole.. greedy hole gripping my cock so well, taking rafey so well hm?”
despite his roughness, rafe continues to stroke your hair somehow comfortingly, tugging every few moments as the odd ring on his finger gets stuck in your locks.
“see bun? it’s okay, you’ve got me, fuck your parents yeah? jus’ need- m..me… rafe” he groans as he gets closer to his climax.
“god i’ve been waiting to do this for years..” he murmurs as he leans down to nibble your shoulder as he continues to ram into you unrelentingly, the wet sounds now more violent and vicious.
he was relentless—tripping you in the hallway, knocking your books out of your hands just to watch you sigh in frustration, leaning down to whisper something cruel in your ear while his friends laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. he’d smirk, watching you with those sharp blue eyes, waiting for a reaction.
"what's wrong, princess?" he’d taunt, all mock sympathy. "thought you could handle me."
he was unbearable. arrogant. a menace.
but at home?
at home, he was yours.
on his knees, forehead resting against your thigh, hands gripping at your legs like he was praying at an altar. like he wasn’t the same boy who spent his days tormenting you.
"please," rafe rasped, voice wrecked, hands sliding up your thighs like he needed to hold onto you. "please, baby, don't be mad. i need you."
you scoffed, tilting his chin up with two fingers, making him meet your gaze. his eyes were wide, pleading, so desperate it almost made you laugh.
"you’re mean to me at school," you said, voice light, almost teasing. "why should i be nice to you now?"
rafe swallowed hard, licking his lips like he was trying to find the right words. "you don’t get it," he said, shaking his head. "i gotta keep a reputation somehow."
you hummed, dragging your fingers through his hair before giving it a sharp tug, making him whimper. "is that right?"
"yeah," he breathed, nodding quickly. "but you—fuck, you know it’s not like that. not really. i worship you, baby. you’re everything."
his hands tightened on your thighs, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, eyes flicking between yours like he was searching for mercy.
"then prove it," you murmured, watching the way he melted at your voice.
"i will," he promised, nodding so fast it was pathetic. "anything."
you smirked, pressing a thumb against his bottom lip, watching the way he parted his mouth, obedient, waiting.
"open up," you commanded.
rafe obeyed instantly, tongue flicking out, pupils blown wide with need. you leaned in close, letting spit drip from your lips into his waiting mouth.
he moaned. actually moaned. eyes fluttering shut like it was the best thing he’d ever been given.
"good boy," you murmured, running a hand through his hair again, this time softer.
rafe exhaled shakily, cheeks flushed, lips slightly swollen, and when he looked up at you again, it was with pure devotion.
"see?" he whispered, voice raw. "i belong to you."
you hummed, dragging your fingers through his hair again before tugging him up, forcing him to his feet. his breath hitched, body pressed against yours, his hands hesitant like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.
"you’re gonna stop being mean to me at school," you murmured, tilting your head, fingers tracing down the line of his jaw.
rafe swallowed hard. "baby—"
"or i won’t touch you again," you warned, watching his face fall in an instant.
"no—fuck, i’ll be good," he promised, nodding so fast it was pathetic. "i swear, i just—please, baby, i need you."
you smirked, gripping his jaw, pulling him down until your lips were barely brushing his. "prove it."
he crashed his lips against yours, desperate, needy, like he’d been starving for you. his hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, deepening the kiss like he couldn’t stand the thought of any space between you.
he kissed you like he had something to make up for. like he was trying to replace every cruel word, every shove in the hallway, every cocky smirk with the way he moaned against your lips, the way his hands trembled slightly as they held onto you.
your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he whimpered, hips stuttering forward, pressing even closer.
"please," he murmured between kisses, lips moving desperately against yours. "please, baby, tell me you forgive me."
you smirked against his mouth. "are you gonna behave?"
"yes," he breathed, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck. "i’ll be so good, baby. promise."
you sighed, dragging your nails lightly down his back, and he shivered. "fine. i forgive you."
rafe groaned, arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go. "thank you, thank you," he murmured, lips pressing against every inch of skin he could reach.
you rolled your eyes, shoving him back onto the bed. he let out a little yelp before you climbed on top of him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face against your chest.
"’m sorry," he mumbled again, voice muffled against your skin. "you’re so soft, baby. let me stay here forever."
you laughed, fingers threading through his hair. "needy," you teased.
rafe hummed, nuzzling closer, lips pressing against the swell of your chest. "only for you," he whispered, voice soft, content.
and just like that, the menace from school was gone—left behind in favor of the boy curled up in your arms, clinging to you like you were the only thing that mattered.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: manhater!reader is down to tutor rafe if he takes her virginity after.
Warnings: NSFW (smut), virgin!reader, enemies with benefits?, power play, size kink, library sex, dubcon-ish tension, mean!rafe, light degradation, sexual tension, p in v
MLIST, part two
You weren’t good at many things.
Flirting with guys you didn’t like.
Keeping a boyfriend for longer than two weeks.
Pretending not to cringe when a guy said something dumb in your DMs.
The bar was so low, and yet every single guy managed to trip over it.
Like the one at prom.
Cute enough. Nice enough. Until he fumbled the condom like it was a Rubik’s Cube and whispered “sorry, I’ve never done this before.” That was all it took for your vagina to shrivel up and your hand to reach for your clutch. You left him there, pants down, face red. Never looked back.
But you were smart.
Painfully so. The type of smart that got you labeled a bitch when you corrected the teacher. The type of smart that made group projects a solo mission. The type of smart that was going to finally come in handy.
Because Rafe Cameron had just failed his math test. And he needed you.
All your friends were obsessed with him.
“Rafe’s so hot.”
“Rafe has the best car.”
“Rafe knows what he’s doing, if you know what I mean.”
You didn’t care about the car. Or the last name. Or the fact that he looked like sin in khakis.
But you did care about the rumors.
Because if you were going to give up your virginity, it needed to be fast, forgettable, and by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
So when the math teacher set up a tutoring session in the library, you didn’t even flinch when Rafe rolled his eyes and slouched into the chair across from you like he was being sent to the gallows.
“This gonna take long?” he grunted.
You flipped open your notebook.
“That depends.”
He raised a brow. “On what?”
You met his eyes without blinking.
“On whether or not you’re gonna take my virginity me after.”
He stared. Blinked once. Then he laughed. Right in your face. Loud, incredulous, like you were the joke of the century.
“You’re serious?” he said eventually, leaning back like he was getting comfortable. “Little Miss Know-It-All wants me to take her virginity?”
You didn’t answer. Just stared. Daring him.
He looked you up and down—tight cardigan, plaid skirt, thigh-high socks. Virgin uniform. You knew exactly what you were doing.
“You got a kink for assholes or something?”
You finally cracked a smile.
“No. I just want someone who won’t ask me if I came after two minutes.”
That shut him up.
He agreed.
You pulled your chair closer to the table, reaching into your bag for a pencil, but before you could grab it, his hand was on the back of your chair—pulling you. One sharp tug and you were gliding across the tile right up next to him. Your thigh hit his. He was warm, too warm, and way too solid.
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye.
He was already smirking. “Told you I don’t do math.”
“Good thing I do,” you said, opening the textbook.
You started explaining the first problem—something about slopes, something stupid—and that’s when you felt it.
His hand on your knee. Right above the band of your sock. Hot. Firm. Confident.
Your voice didn’t falter. But your breath caught, just for a second.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“Didn’t peg you for the type to wear these,” he murmured, fingertips brushing higher.
“Didn’t peg you for the type to care.”
“I don’t. But they make your thighs look fuckable.”
You clenched your jaw. Kept talking about integers like he wasn’t slowly sliding his hand up your leg, fingers creeping beneath the hem of your skirt.
“So what,” you snapped under your breath, “you gonna feel me up while I tutor you?”
“Thought this was a two-way deal,” he said, lips way too close to your ear. “I let you play with my dick after, and I get to play with this now.”
His fingers curled around your inner thigh.
You should’ve stopped him.
Should’ve slapped his hand away.
But you didn’t.
Because he was warm and mean and capable, and your thighs were trembling.
“You ever been fingered before?” he asked suddenly, casual as ever.
You didn’t answer.
He smiled. “Didn’t think so.”
Two fingers slid under your panties. No warning. No softness. Just heat and pressure and the wet sound of your own arousal betraying everything your mouth refused to say.
“Fuckin’ soaked,” he muttered, almost annoyed. “All that mouth and you’re just sittin’ here letting me finger you like a good little slut.”
You slapped your pencil down. Grabbed his wrist under the desk.
“If you’re gonna do it,” you hissed, “do it right.”
His eyes flared. Your thighs parted.
You turned to face the textbook again, but your eyes couldn’t focus. Not when two of his fingers were working you open, slow and smug, like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was doing.
“So, triangle bullshit,” he murmured, voice low in your ear. “What’s the one with the equal sides again?”
You clenched your jaw.
“Equilateral.”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “And if one side’s longer than the others?”
“Scalene,” you breathed, tightening your grip on the chair as he crooked his fingers just right—and God, if you weren’t careful, you’d—
“What’s this spot called?” he whispered suddenly, fingers curling again, teasing that perfect pressure point like he was answering his own question. “You know the one that makes you suck in your breath like that?”
You exhaled hard through your nose.
Bit the inside of your cheek.
“It’s called shut up,” you snapped, voice shakier than you wanted it to be.
He grinned.
“Smart mouth. Wet pussy.”
You let your head drop forward, breathing fast, fighting it—fighting him—but it was no use.
Because you couldn’t focus. Not when he was sliding those fingers deeper, not when his thigh pressed against yours like he was ready to pin you down and make you cum on his hand in a silent, dusty corner of the library.
“You wanted this, remember?” he murmured. “Big brain girl with her virgin pussy just begging for someone to ruin it.”
You clenched around him involuntarily.
“Jesus,” he groaned, pressing his palm flat against you now, grinding into that sweet spot until your legs trembled. “You’re gonna cum just like this, huh?”
You swallowed hard. Refused to give him the satisfaction.
So you stared down at the textbook, still open on the desk, and muttered: “Only if you shut the fuck up and let me teach.”
And somehow that made him even harder.
He pumped his fingers slow and deep, deliberately now, like he wanted to drag it out—wanted to see how long you could pretend this was still about math.
But your knees betrayed you. Shaky. Weak. Useless beneath the desk.
You bit your lip, trying to focus on the numbers blurred on the page, but then—
That molten heat coiled low in your belly.
And before you could stop it—before you could even warn him—your back arched slightly, your thighs tensed, and you came.
Hard. Quiet, but messy.
Hands trembling as they gripped the sides of the chair, knuckles white, breath caught in your throat.
He didn’t say a word.
Just pulled his fingers out slowly, wet and glistening—and then, like a fucking menace, wiped them clean on the hem of your skirt. Your skirt.
“So,” he said casually, like nothing had happened, flipping the page of the book and leaning back in his chair, “how do I find the hypotenuse again?”
You blinked at him. “Seriously?”
He gave you a look. Innocent. Infuriating. Smug.
“What? You’re the tutor. Teach me.”
You stared. Jaw tight. Skirt damp. Legs still recovering.
And he had the audacity to reach for your pencil and twirl it between his fingers like he hadn’t just fingered the attitude out of you in under five minutes.
“You’re such a dick,” you muttered.
He smirked. Didn’t even look up from the page.
“Yeah,” he said. “But I’m a dick who passes math now, thanks to you.”
You rolled your eyes and turned your attention to the book again. And began explaining the difference between sine and cosine, tapping your pencil against the page with that practiced patience that came from being the smartest girl in a room full of idiots.
Rafe Cameron just looked like your latest idiot.
“Okay,” you said, underlining a triangle on the worksheet. “If angle A is here, then sine is the opposite over hypotenuse. Cosine is adjacent over hypotenuse. Got it?”
“Not really,” he muttered, blinking at the page like it was written in Greek. “Can’t even see from here.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re sitting like you’ve got a court-mandated fifty feet between you and the concept of effort.”
He grinned at that—wolfish. And then he leaned forward, way too close. “Then come show me.”
Before you could object, he reached for your waist—bold, cocky, like he'd done it a thousand times—and pulled you down right into his lap.
“Rafe,” you warned, trying not to react, but your ass was already on his thighs.
“What?” he said, tone feigned-innocent. “You said I’m failing. Desperate times, right?”
His breath was warm on your cheek. His hands still on your waist, holding you there like it was his desk, his chair, his rules. And when you tried to shift away, that’s when you felt it.
The very-not-subtle pressure beneath you.
Your body froze. Your mouth went dry.
He noticed. Of course he did.
“See?” he said, low and smug. “Now I can hear better. And see everything.”
You swallowed. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re still sitting here.” He gave your hips the smallest tug. Your thighs clenched. You hated how warm you were getting, how heavy the air felt.
“So go on,” he murmured. “Teach me something, tutor girl.”
You narrowed your eyes, defiantly reaching for the pencil and tapping the page again. “Fine. Next problem. You’ll probably screw this one up too.”
But you didn’t stop shifting in his lap.
And he didn’t stop smirking like he’d already passed the class.
You cleared your throat, trying to focus on the paper in front of you, your finger tracing the triangle you’d sketched out for the fourth time.
“So, sine is the ratio of the side opposite the angle to the hypotenuse,” you said, voice a little too sharp to sound calm. “And cosine is—”
You tensed when you felt his hands shift at your waist.
A slow tug.
Then your hips were moving—no, he was moving them—grinding you down against the hard line in his pants like this was part of the lesson.
“You seriously—” you started, breath catching.
“Keep going,” he said smoothly, lips brushing just behind your ear. “I learn better with visuals.”
You hated how your thighs clenched.
You hated how your body was responding to him. Because he could feel it. The damp heat pressed against the front of his pants. The way your breath had started to catch after every slow rock of your hips.
“You’re pathetic,” you muttered, forcing your voice steady.
“And you’re soaking through your panties on a library chair,” he shot back, smug and low. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”
Your fingers curled around the pencil, knuckles white, and still—you didn’t get up. Because the worst part wasn’t that he was cocky. Or right. Or impossibly hot. It was that you wanted him to keep going.
“...cosine is adjacent over hypotenuse,” you managed to whisper, eyes on the paper, voice thin.
He chuckled against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Smart and filthy. Keep teaching me, baby.”
That caught you off guard and you dropped your. It rolled forward, toward the centre of the library table, just out of reach. And without thinking—still trying to act normal—you shifted forward to grab it.
Just a small movement. A slight lift of your hips.
But it was enough.
You stood halfway, leaning forward to snatch the pencil, your skirt riding up in the process.
And Rafe? He went completely still.
You didn’t even need to turn around to feel it—the way his hands clenched against your hips, the tension in his thighs, how quiet he suddenly got.
But when you glanced over your shoulder—
His eyes were locked between your legs.
Right where your panties clung, still damp, the hem of your skirt barely covering you.
He didn’t even blink.
“You done staring?” you asked, voice cool, fingers curling around the pencil.
“No,” he said bluntly.
You rolled your eyes and sank back down into his lap, slower this time. Deliberate. “Pervert.”
“Say it like you don’t love it,” he muttered against your jaw, hands finding your thighs again, thumbs stroking up toward the edge of your skirt.
You should’ve moved.
You should’ve told him to knock it off.
But your thighs parted just a little when his fingers brushed between them. And when he caught that? He grinned like he’d won a bet.
“Thought you hated guys like me,” he whispered smugly.
“I do,” you shot back, leaning in close. “You’re just barely human.”
“Good,” he murmured, palm pressing against your pussy. “Because I’m not trying to be your boyfriend.”
“Good,” you hissed, biting your lip. “I wouldn’t let you.”
His grin widened. “Then let me do this instead.”
He yanked you up by the hand with a grin that made your stomach twist—not in a romantic way. In a what the hell am I doing way.
You didn’t resist. Of course you didn’t.
“Come on,” he muttered, already tugging you toward the back of the library.
You knew where he was headed. The old staff room. That forgotten space no one used anymore since the teachers got upgraded to a lounge upstairs. It still smelled like paper and carpet glue and ancient coffee.
You hesitated in the doorway.
“This is gross,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “I should’ve picked literally anywhere else.”
“Too late for that, smart girl,” Rafe replied, voice low, already stepping inside.
And just like that, his hands were back on you—sliding around your waist, bold and rough like he owned you. You hadn’t even said yes. You hadn’t said no either. That was the problem.
“Still time to back out,” he murmured, but his tone said he didn’t think you would.
You didn’t move.
“Didn’t take you for shy,” he added, hands inching lower, finding the hem of your skirt.
“I’m not,” you said flatly, locking eyes with him. “I just like to think before I do something irreversible.”
He chuckled. His hands tightened just slightly on your hips.
“Too late for that too.”
Then—suddenly—you were off the ground. Your legs wrapped around him without thinking, and he carried you toward the center of the room like you weighed nothing, ignoring the dusty books scattered across the table. He swept a few aside with one arm and sat you down like you belonged there.
His hands slid to your thighs, slow and greedy, like he was memorizing everything before you changed your mind. You didn’t. Then he slowly tugged your underwear down your legs
“What?” you asked when you caught him smirking.
“Didn’t expect a bow,” he said, nodding toward your underwear with a grin. “Didn’t think you’d want to look cute.”
You gave him a flat look.
“I do. It’s for me. Not for you.”
“Sure,” he said, stepping between your legs. “Keep telling yourself that.”
You shoved his shoulder—but didn’t push him away. Your hands stayed on him. And your heart was beating a little too fast for someone who supposedly hated boys.
He reached down, fingers unzipping his pants without hesitation. You, meanwhile, loosened your tie with a flick of your wrist and undid the top two buttons of your blouse. Suddenly the room felt suffocating, the dust, the books, the way he was looking at you—all of it.
But then you saw it. Him. And your legs instinctively closed.
Your heart jumped, your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and you looked away for the first time since this whole thing started. Your confidence cracked just slightly.
"What?" he drawled, clearly amused. "Second thoughts now?"
You didn’t answer.
"All that talk just to let me drag you in here to get shy now?"
You swallowed hard, your throat dry. You hated the smug way he looked at you—but it was also the reason you were here. You wanted someone who wouldn’t get too soft. Who wouldn’t ask if you were okay ten times. Someone who would just… do it. You just didn’t expect it to feel this real.
"You look like you're about to bolt," Rafe added, stepping closer, his hands resting on your knees.
You didn’t move. You were frozen. But your silence spoke volumes.
He leaned in, voice low, almost a growl. "I’ll go slow."
You finally looked at him again. That cocky, sharp grin was gone. His eyes were serious now. Grounding.
You nodded.
That was all he needed. Gently, his hands parted your knees again, his touch slow but firm, and he stepped between your legs. One hand gripped the back of your thigh, the other braced against the table. You felt the tip of his dick against you—your breath hitched.
“Scared?” he muttered with a smirk.
“Shut up,” you breathed.
You tilted your hips just slightly. Just enough. And he adjusted himself, guiding his hips closer, letting you feel the pressure but not the full force—not yet.
"Breathe," he said.
You didn’t realize you’d been holding it.
He met your eyes, dark and unreadable, then slowly pulled the foil off the condom. The crisp tear echoed in the quiet room. You swallowed hard, watching as he rolled it down with deliberate care.
“Ready?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something sharp underneath it.
You bit your lip, feeling your heart thudding in your chest. “I’m not backing out,” you said, though doubt flickered beneath your words.
He smirked, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pressed his fingers into your hip, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
Then he pushed in—slow, careful at first—but you gasped sharply. The ache was immediate, raw, unfamiliar.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, voice rough.
You clenched your jaw, gripping the edge of the table, trying not to show how sharp the pain was.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his hand tightening on your hip. “I can stop.”
You shook your head, voice barely a whisper. “No. Keep going.”
He moved again, slow and sure, but you still winced.
“You’re not making this easy,” he growled with a half-smile, eyes locked on yours. “But you’re tougher than I thought.”
You gave him a glare but said nothing. You hated how much it burned, hated how your body betrayed you by trembling.
“Breathe,” he said softly, as if it was the simplest thing.
You forced a shaky breath, cheeks flushed.
“Good girl.” His voice softened just a bit, but the edge never left.
You swallowed hard and leaned forward, letting the sting mix with something hotter that made you hate yourself for wanting it.
He paused the moment he started to push inside, holding you still so you couldn’t pull away. His palm flattened against your hip, keeping you steady.
“Breathe,” he murmured, voice low and firm. “In… and out.”
You gasped, teeth clenched, fingers digging into the edge of the table as he eased that first inch in.
“Fuck, that hurts,” you hissed, brow creasing.
He froze, thumb stroking your cheek as if to soothe you, but his eyes were hard.
“Shut up and breathe,” he ordered softly.
You swallowed the protest that rose in your throat and did as he said, each breath shaky. He paused again, angling himself so the pain sharpened into a burn.
“Jesus,” he groaned, pushing forward a little more. “I forgot what virgins felt like.”
You bit your lip to keep from crying out, nodding once so he’d keep going. He gave a single, slow thrust, just far enough to stretch you further.
“You good?” he asked, voice surprisingly gentle now that the worst was over.
You closed your eyes, both in pain and—confusingly—in relief.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Just… keep going.”
He steadied you against his chest, one arm around your back, the other braced on the table. Then he set into a deliberate rhythm, every movement measured.
“Damn,” he muttered, leaning close enough that you felt his breath catch. “Look at you. Squeezing me like that.”
You opened your eyes, met his gaze. Pain and defiance flickered on your face.
“Shut up and move,” you shot back, voice raw.
He smirked against your ear.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered, and then he did.
The sharp sting began to dull, replaced by a slow, consuming warmth that spread through you. Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between surprise and something dangerously close to pleasure. Your head fell back, exposing your throat, and you gasped—half in shock, half because it felt... good.
Rafe’s smirk deepened at the sight, like he’d just won some private battle. His lips found your neck in a slow, claiming kiss, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. Your mouth parted instinctively, breath coming heavy and ragged.
“Like that, huh?” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.
You didn’t answer, too caught up in the flood of sensation—the rough pull of his hands, the steady rhythm that was no longer just taking, but something raw and urgent, something that made your knees shake beneath you.
He pressed closer, his breath warm against your skin, and the room seemed to shrink until it was only the two of you—broken breaths, racing hearts, and the electric heat of a first time you never saw coming.
Your teeth sank into your lip, holding back a scream as your thighs trembled uncontrollably and your stomach clenched tight with the wave crashing through you. The way your walls clenched and sucked around him made Rafe grunt deep in his throat, his grip on you tightening, arms like iron locking you close against his chest.
He sped up, every thrust rougher, more desperate, dragging you both toward the edge together.
“Fuck,” he growled, voice raw and low.
The world spun, breaths tangled and hearts hammering as you both rode the tide, muscles quivering, skin slick with sweat.
You came hard, shuddering around him, and his release followed moments after, his body stiffening as he groaned your name into the quiet room.
For a beat, everything was still — just the sound of ragged breathing, and the heat of him pressed against you.
Then Rafe pulled back slightly, smirking like he’d won some private battle. “Not bad for your first time,” he teased.
You shot him a glare, breath still heavy.
“Don’t get used to it,” you snapped, but your cheeks burned—partly from the intensity, partly from something you weren’t ready to name.
You swung your legs off the table, nearly collapsing as the exhaustion hit you full force—your legs trembling so badly you had to steady yourself against the edge. You were still dripping, slick and warm, your body buzzing in a haze that made thinking impossible.
Rafe smirked, sliding your damp panties into his back pocket with a devilish grin as he zipped up his jeans, silently hoping you wouldn’t notice they were missing. And honestly, you didn’t—the fog in your head was too thick. All you wanted was the bathroom, to rinse off and get some distance from whatever the hell just happened.
But as you pushed the door open, the librarian stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows knitting together in a strict frown.
“What… exactly…” she started, voice low and suspicious, “…is going on in here?”
You froze, cheeks burning hotter than you thought possible, your mouth suddenly dry.
Rafe stepped up behind you, cool and collected, like this was just another day.
“Just helping her with some extra credit,” he said smoothly, his gaze flicking to you for backup.
You swallowed hard, trying to look innocent even though every nerve screamed otherwise.
“Yeah, extra credit,” you echoed, voice tight.
The librarian didn’t look convinced, but with one last glare, she turned and walked away, leaving you both standing there in the awkward, charged silence.
Rafe grinned, nudging you lightly. “Looks like we’ll have to be more careful next time.”
buffalo'66 au ! old!serial killer! rafe x young!sugardoll!reader
warnings : daddy issues/kink. slight of rafe having a god complex. smut. sick love/obssession/behavior. age gap. size kink. gunplay. spit. mean!dark!rafe. mentions of kidnapping/murdering. dark content. be careful with the warnings.
author's note : i think a lot about rafe having a god complex. and the way it could fix him to have a girl who cherish him and love him like he's just the only one. as the same i think a lot of rafe being a cult!leader with a sweet lamb. anyways, enjoy !
you knew you weren't allowed to touch his gun, but you couldn't pretend that the forbidden rules didn't excite you either. the proof being that you were still with rafe even though he had kidnapped you. you had found the glock in the drawer, and now you were having fun with it to the point where you hadn't heard your jailer come home. you were too captivated by the handgun to pay attention to that.
“ will you teach me how to shoot ? ” you asked in a soft tone.
“ obviously not. but i can swear to you that if you don't put the gun right in my hand in a second, i will show you how i use it. especially on a little tiny thing like you. now stop playing and give it to me, sugardoll. i already told you to not get on my nerves. ”
“ are you a serial killer or something ? ” you said to him, not aware about his job.
“ no obviously, i'm a babysitter. see ? how well i care about little silly girls ? ” he answered with the most sarcastic tone. “ i think you already know what i am, but you like playing dumb. because you're desperate for my attention. you need me to explain things, to satisfy your need of validation. that's right ? ”
he moved from his place, and placed himself behind you, your small body caged against his bigger size. you could feel all the pressure of his strength on you, and you started to shiver when his breath came near to your ears.
“ since you want to play with daddy's gun so bad, i'm willing to give you what you want. ”
“ no, i don't want to play anymore ! ”
“ oh i'm afraid to tell it's too easy like that, sugar. the game doesn't stop when you decide. the game stops when i’m done playing. got it ? nod your head if you got it.”
you really started to be his doll, accepting to nod whenever he wants, to use you whenever he feels the need, to move whenever he decides. when you nodded your head, giving him a little look, he grabbed the gun.
“ you will kill me ? don't, i can be good ! ”
“ you can ? no, you will. choose your words better, sugardoll. why are you crying right now ? the worse it yet to come actually. now, open that pretty mouth of yours. ”
you refused, shaking your head. you were terrified that he would kill you.
“ i said open it. if i have to repeat it, i swear that i will snap dry this gun further in your cunt, and everytime a sound will come out your mouth, pushing it deeper inside. do you understand me ? now, don't you want to be a baby sugardoll, full of kindness and sweetness ? show me how sweet and pretty you are for me. and listen to me. ”
with tears on your cheeks, you slowly opened your mouth. you could feel rafe’s smile against your neck. you were so submissive, the perfect victim. he had chosen you well the day he saw you. like a true serial killer, he never missed his prey.
“ this is why you call me sugardoll ? ”
“ see ? i'm good enough to give you a nickname. ”
it was sick but you smiled, you felt like you were special in his eyes. maybe rafe had a collection of little dolls but you felt unique.
“ don't kill me. i'm begging you. ”
“ fuck, you don't know how hard you make me when you're desperate like that. but trust me, i will make you see soon how good you make me feel. it will be your reward for being this sweet for me, sugardoll.”
he spread your legs, holding them wide with his strong hand covering your trembling thigh while his other hand brought the front of the gun down onto your skin. passing the coldness of steel across your tummy, while you shivered at the thought of dying. when he got to your underwear. you had heard his smirk.
"oh sure, you don't want to die. you want to be fucked. it's so wet here, i could stick the gun in without even preparing you, it would slide off so easily.” his mocked tone made you yelp.
“ i'm not controlling myself ! ”
“ and you don't need too. let me take care of you. keep your mouth open. i will put my gun in. ”
“ i can't do this ! it seems very dangerous…”
“ then suck it well, sugar. especially, if you don't want me to empty the gun on your gorgeous throat. ” he warned you, while pressing his lips on your neck. it was not a kiss, but you were so soft for this little touch. you wanted to please him, to see him proud of you.
he rushed the pistol between your wet plump lips, and you almost choked on it. “ be careful, doll, daddy's gun it's loaded. ” he said with a smile that made your tears even saltier.
while you had started to do your job, his fingers were lightly pressed on the surface, fiddled with the trigger. he loved seeing your petrified eyes, he loved feeling your blood freeze inside your veins, the way you resembled a frightened and helpless animal. you were defenseless and he had no limits.
you lapped at the cold metal at first, your tongue rolling over the barrel, swirling like a needy pet, and licking every bit of the object. you didn't waste anything, moistening the weapon with your own spit, some trails dripped down your tits. rafe had pushed the gun farther, almost into your throat. you choked, a trail of saliva raining over your jaw.
there was nothing amusing about it, but he found it fun. you sucked like your life depended on it even though let's be honest, it did. you moved back and forth quickly, rushed every movement with a softly sloppy gasp. he loved, no he adored the view of your ruined face and your mouth stuffed by the cold weapon. your great job made his dick painfully hard. you could feel the gun under your tongue, and the way it abused you. you drooled, a batch of saliva engulfing one side of the charger.
“ slow down, sugardoll, you're about to melt. ”
you felt dirty for being turned on by something so humiliating, the way you were pathetic for every single thing he introduced you to. it was as if he knew what you wanted, and how to exploit it. he could destroy you as well as shape you. you were nothing but the doll he wanted to play with. he knew more than anyone how to make you feel good. he knew well how to play with his toys.
you were killing him slowly with the way you were going about it, your pink tongue tickling the barrel, your mouth swallowing the entirety of his gun. every inch moved in and out of your parted lips. you lost count of the number of times you almost choked to the point you could throw up, you did your best.
the cold air of the room hit the soaked fabric of your underwear. it had gotten so wet down there.
you tried to focus on this dangerous game but you saw his bulge growing, his crotch distorting his pants.
“ keep sucking, i'm not done. ”
“ but ..."
he ignored you and took off his pants and boxers, freeing his hard cock. the next minute he was inside you, completely buried to the point where you could feel him all the way to your stomach. you salivated on the handgun, making a rain all over it.
as he filled you up, his thick cock abusing your tight pussy, the position was totally different, you were lying there, still the gun in your mouth, but now he was fucking you. his eyes were on you, and you could feel that motivating him even more to pounded you. your juices pooled on the surface the deeper he went. the slobber gathered around the metal. he rushed away your tears with his thumb.
“ stop whining, sugardoll. you can't cry when daddy takes you so well. ”
you really wanted to listen to him but it was too much for you. you were full of tears and they constantly wanted to come out, even when you felt good. but it was like the more you cried, the more he bullied your pussy, and by that, giving you more reasons to whine.
“ jesus, i'm pretty sure that you really like that gun in your mouth. ” he said with a firm thrust that made you squirm, your eyes wettering as the sentence. “ you like being this pathetic ? don't worry, i got you, i'm not judging you, but don't mind if i take advantage of it ? of course, you don't mind. you love being this sick, you're just a needy freak. ”
he pulled out before putting it back in you, inched himself deeper and deeper, letting you breathless. he was more rough this time, his fat length stretching you wider. his hips slammed your skin, his sweaty balls slapping you in motion. you nodded your head, your loud moans echoed in the empty room. his heavy hand on your tiny throat, pressuring it every time your walls tighten him.
his big other hand squeezing your small waist, as your core wrapped him harder. “ see ? daddy's making you a new home, right now. ”
his breath was heavy and short, the sweat of his body pressed against yours, while you were about to explode, so close to the orgasm. you were crying even more. and he covered your mouth with his large palm. he hitted the right spot again and again, without a break. you reached the second orgasm quickly, and you waited for him to explode at his turn. but he was taking his time on purpose. he obviously liked to abuse this little cunt of yours, wrecking like it was nothing your cervix. he glared at your glistening eyes with a proud face, while hurting your sloppy cunt. “ be patient, sugar. it's a matter of time but daddy will make you melt, and you will make a big mess on his dick to show how grateful you are ? ”
you didn’t answered, even when he released your mouth from his hands, because of the overheating.
“ you better answer because i can go to the next round. ”
“ yes .. yes !! ”
“ you're so naive, sugar. trusting me this easy, it's your own fault if old men like me use you. like did you really think we will not go on another round ? i'm about to make you dumb. not only your brain, your pussy, all of you. after this, you will not be able to think, to talk and even to walk. ”
your tears made him cum, and you let out a noisy and desperate whimper. “ it's sad for you that i'm the only god you can pray for, because i'm going to ignore all your prayers, making you on your knees every time for nothing more than my own good. sweet lamb, i'm such an uncaring god. but you can't hate on me, even a little, such a pretty precious thing you are. ”
“ why ? ” was the only word that came out of your mouth.
in fact, you were a little sad about this, because you wished that he cared a bit, even an hint about you.
“ nobody deserve you like i do. nobody deserve to touch you, or put an eyes on you, no one. you're just mine, and i need you to understand that clearly. do you got it ? do you even understand what i mean ? i will never let someone have you. never. ”
“ i really love you. ”
“ not only you love me, sugardoll. you adore me, you cherish me, you can't breath without me. do you understand ? how trapped i made you.”
“ bu…”
“ quit crying. you wanted this, you begged for. ”
“ i thought you only wanted to kill me ! ”
“if i wanted to kill you, it would already be done. i don't mind having blood in my hands, i'm a killer after all. but yours, i promise, i would never dream of, sugardoll. ”
it was very sick. but his words made you smile.
“ i want to hug you ! ”
“ don't make me regret my words. i still can choke you to death. ”
“ can i ask a question ? ”
“ jesus, if you don't yap more than a thousandth time each day, you're dead or what ? i swear, tell me your question, but choose it carefully because it will be the last. so, use your dumby brain very well. ”
“ i just wanted to know…if it's the first time you do this with one of your victims ? ”
“ why do you want to know ? ”
“ you need to answer ! ”
“ and you need to mind your own business. ”
“ i asked you a question ! it's not fair if you don't answer it ? ”
“ you better not try to raise your voice at me because i can shout, and trust me, the tears i will bring in your face will not be that pretty. ”
“ you're still mean to me…nothing has changed. ”
“ and you're still annoying. yes, nothing has changed.”
and you smiled at him, your sweet eyes melted on his unhichanged look.
“ someday i know you will love me too ! ”
“ bold to have faith, better to work on it, sugardoll. ”
you gave him a sweet look, even if he was grumpy, you wanted him.
₊˚๑ 18+ mdni, tw gross mean rafe, exhibitionism pt.2
You were looking for your lip gloss. It had rolled under the couch in Rafe’s beach house, and he and his friends were outside on the back patio. Loud, cocky voices drifting in through the open sliding door.
You weren’t trying to eavesdrop. Not really.
Until you heard your name.
“…Man, she’s like… I don’t even know,” Rafe’s voice, low and sharp like a knife. “All pink, perfume, always actin’ all sweet. But the second I get her alone?”
Drunken laughs raid the patio.
“Swear to God,” he continued, tone cocky and too damn proud, “she goes from baby voice to begging real quick. She plays innocent, but she loves it when I ruin her makeup.”
"Rafey, call me a slut." He mocks you in a high-pitched tone, deliberately waving his hands around. Your heart stopped. You froze on your knees behind the couch, lip gloss forgotten.
Another guy whistled. “She looks like she couldn’t even handle a real man.”
Rafe let out a dark laugh. “She can't. That’s the fun part.”
