Divider: @/saradika-graphics

AO3 | masterlist

The darkness had allowed for you to enter a phase of rest. Your body ached after the past three days of torture…or play? You had stopped distinguishing between the two. The line had grown so fuzzy that there was no point in analyzing it any further. You thought you knew what you were getting yourself into. And yet, this was so much more than what you had initially bargained for. 

The lack of a clear safeword, you thought, was a sexy idea. Consensual Non-Consent and the thrill of someone completely dominating you had always been alluring. But now, after having spent the last two days begging and pleading for mercy, you were starting to wonder whether you’d made a mistake. 

Still, your basic needs were being met. He lotioned your marks from the impact play and chains at the end of each day, even bathing you beforehand in a bubble bath. You were given three hot meals, plenty of water, and the temperature in the dungeon was better than you would have expected, allowing you to not feel too cold given your absence of clothing. There was even a little bit of affectionate aftercare when he would pull you into his arms and whisper praise into your ear as you worked to stay conscious. 

The floorboard above you creaked, a warning that he was about to make his descent. You’d already eaten breakfast, this time without him as he had said that he had work to do. But you knew to ring the bell when you were finished so that he could put you back in your wrist chains and blindfold. It had to have been a couple of hours since then, you weren’t quite sure as you had taken a bit of a nap apparently. 

The lock clicked and then the swooshing of the door opening. Your body stiffened as his footsteps grew louder on the cement stairs - the thudding of his boots echoing in the chamber. You wondered what the scene was going to be today. While orchestrating your arrangement, the two of you had thoroughly gone through a list of kinks and sexual activities, clearly marking what you were interested in and not. Regrettably, there had been very little that you had said a firm no to. You’d quickly realized that sometimes the desire was more alluring than the actual act itself.

A rhythmic clanking sounded, like metal on metal. It sounded like he was carrying a tray of something. Your suspicion was confirmed when you heard him set it down on the ground and slide it toward you - the unmistakable sound of metal grating against cement. 

You had learned enough by now to not speak unless he asked you to, but you still had to bite your tongue to not start asking questions. The anticipation was nausea-inducing. Even with the fear of what was to come, your deranged brain couldn’t help but wonder, am I going to get to come today? He had been edging you since day two, one denied orgasm after another, and you felt like you were slowly losing your mind. 

He’d intentionally chained you so that there was no way for you to get the relief you needed between your legs. A spreader bar was kept between your ankles so that you couldn’t rub your thighs together, and the chains around your wrists didn’t allow you to lower your arms beyond your belly button. There was nothing for you to grind against, either. Your body was tied to a twin-size mattress with soft sheets that he changed daily. The only other item near you was a plush blanket that took a significant amount of coordination to drape over yourself, and you’d already tried humping it, but couldn’t maneuver your body in the way that you needed. Besides, you were pretty sure that he had cameras down here, and would likely stop you if you were successful. You assumed he’d gotten a kick out of seeing you whine in desperation as you tried to thread the blanket between your legs. 

“Hi, my little thing,” he finally spoke in his usual deep voice. There was a layer of warmth to it; he always started out gentle, and it made you want to nuzzle against him. 

“Hi, Master,” you spoke barely above a whisper. He hadn’t asked you to speak, so you hoped that a returned greeting was appropriate. 

You were relieved when you felt his hand caress your cheek, his thumb dropping down to play with your bottom lip before he asked, “Anything you need before we start?”

“Is…Is it day four?” This was something you had confirmed each day. While you were fairly confident in your ability to track the time based on the number of meals he brought you, your head was so fuzzy from all of the abuse that you didn’t fully trust yourself. 

“Mhhm, doll, just one more day left after this.” Relief flooded you. You were more than halfway over, surely the next two days would be manageable. “I’m being patient here…you didn’t answer my question.” 

The words bubbled up quickly, “N-no, Master. I don’t need anything.”

“Good girl.” You felt his hand at your back as he guided you to lay down flat on the bed. He gave a tug to each chain, ensuring that it was secured. His footsteps retreated and then you heard the flick of a switch followed by a whirring sound. It stopped and started a few different times, as though he was adjusting whatever it was to his liking. The water in the sink ran and you listened to him wash his hands, humming a tune to himself that was unfamiliar to you. 

“Music today?,” he asked from across the desolate room.

“Yes please, Master.” That was another thing you had quickly learned - torture accompanied by silence was significantly worse than torture combined with background noise. 

A moment later, smooth jazz began playing softly through the overhead speakers. The music bounced around the room gently, filling it with beautiful sounds soon to be replaced by sobs and anguish. 

He cleared his throat and then you felt something cold on your chest. The smell was strong and you realized it was an alcohol pad. You swallowed hard, immediately concerned with why he would have to sterilize you. “Wh-” You stopped yourself. 

Joel hesitated, his fingertips pressing the pad into your chest. Neither of you moved for a moment. “What was that?,” he asked. 

You weren’t going to fall for it, knowing by now how much he loves to play sick games, one of his favorites being making you slip up so that he has a reason to slap you across the face. 

There was another beat of silence before he hummed and said, “Bein’ a good submissive today, hm?”

Once again you didn’t reply.

The blindfold was tugged up over your eyes and off your head. Instinctively, you squeezed your eyes shut so that you could open them slowly, allowing yourself to adjust to the light in the room. As your lids began to lift, you saw that it was brighter in the room than usual. You looked toward Joel. 

He sat on a small stool beside the bed. Something on the floor caught your eye, but you didn’t have the right angle to see what it was aside from it being shiny. He was holding a subdued smile, his eyes assessing your condition as you focused on him. He always looked at you in such an endearing way at the start and end of a scene. Sometimes you wished you could hold onto it. 

He looked up toward the ceiling, an invitation for you to do the same. You gasped when you saw a mirror hanging above you. It was angled so that you could see from your feet up to your neck. Tears pricked your eyes from the shock of seeing the full condition of your body for the first time since you’d arrived. You could see the bruises around the chains - you’d seen these before when your blindfold was off and he was bathing you or you were eating, but this was the first time you were seeing it all together. There was something about the accumulation of it all that was unsettling. 

There were mild burns from the wax that still marked your skin. Bluish-violet welts adorned your thighs and waist from the lashings. Your nipples were puffy and sore from the clamps, and your pussy was red and swollen from all it had endured over the past few days. When you focused your eyes you could see his handprint around your neck. 

“Aw, little thing,” he cooed, his hand coming to wipe the tears from your face. It would have been a comforting gesture had you not seen him readjust his bulge, clearly aroused from your shock and tears. “Don’t you see how beautiful ya are? My marked up little submissive.”

The tears gradually stopped as the shock faded. You tried to find the beauty he was talking about, and in the mixture of colors and shapes, had finally started to see it.

Joel cleared his throat again, one of his only tells that indicated he was moving onto the next part. 

You watched as he pulled medical gloves onto his hands and then reached down to pick up whatever had been on the floor. You heard items clang on the tray as he grasped for what it was he wanted. He set a white napkin beside you on the bed, and then on top of that were a few thin objects with yellow caps. You narrowed your eyes, trying to make sense of it, and then your heart started pounding. 

“No, Joel, I don’t-” A harsh slap flew across your face, causing you to jolt and send the needles falling to the floor. The hit was even more painful with the rubber glove he’d been wearing. 

You felt yourself on the verge of sobbing, but then something washed over you. It was like a blanket of apathy, hushing you into submission. Your pupils shrank as you drifted further away. 

Joel had already washed his hands again and was putting on new gloves. He took a seat on the stool and spoke in a less warm voice, “I don’t want to hear a word out of you unless it’s ‘thank you, Master.’ Do you understand?” 

You nodded and replied, “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” 

He gave you a soft kiss on the forehead and then pulled back, making sure to look you in the eyes as he reminded you, “We agreed on this. You can do it. Be a good girl f’me, okay?”

“Yes, Master,” was your reply, but what you wanted to say was, “I’m scared. I changed my mind. I want to go home.” But the truth was, you were too terrified to even try saying that. You knew that if Joel twisted that, got off on that, and denied your escape, it would make this entire situation even more of a nightmare than it had already become. So instead, you allowed him to look at you with adoring eyes that slowly darkened as he laid down the napkin and needles and prepped once more. 

“These,” he said, “are a 23 gauge…they’re pretty small.” He bent sideways, retrieving something from the tray on the floor. “And these…are 20 gauge. I have some 18’s, too…but I think we’ll just start with the 20’s for now. What do you think?” He said it so casually, that if you weren’t paying close attention, you would’ve answered him by default. But the twinkle in his eye gave away that it was a trap. So, you simply watched him, your eyelids involuntarily fluttering in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

He picked up one of the 23 gauge needles, holding it in front of his eyes and turning it, admiring. When his eyes focused on you again, they were dark. You were all too familiar with that look. The most you could hope for at this point was that Joel ended up not being into needle play and would grow tired of it quickly. 

His hand came to hover above your thigh. “Breathe in,” he instructed in a steady voice. You did. “Now breathe out.” On your exhale, Joel pressed the needle into your thigh, holding it for a moment before lifting it up again. A small dot of blood appeared. He watched, as though he was waiting for something. When nothing else happened, he grunted. 

“Need a bigger one,” he murmured to himself. 

The pain hadn’t been bad, hardly noticeable actually. You didn’t want to get too excited, but if this is what it was going to be like, you thought you’d be fine. 

“Here,” he said as he picked up a needle with a green cover. You wanted to ask what the size was, but stopped yourself. 

He instructed you once more to take a deep breath and then exhale. This time when he pressed it in, he pushed slightly harder. The puncture was more noticeable and you couldn’t help but jerk your leg. “Quit it,” Joel said firmly. The needle was still held in his hand and when you looked this time, there was a fat drop of blood sitting atop your skin.  

He looked pleased now. His tongue came out to wet his bottom lip, and that’s when you knew you were in trouble. 

You felt the need to say something, but only being allowed to say one thing didn’t leave you with many options. So against your better judgement, you said, “Thank you, Master.” 

The way Joel looked at you now was downright fear-inducing. You’d never felt more like prey at the hands of a predator, and that’s even counting three days prior when he had chased you down through the woods at the start of all this. 

“You’re the perfect little submissive, aren’t ya?” You hated that the words went straight to your cunt. Joel seemed to notice, looking down at your glistening folds as he lifted another needle. “Don’t worry, doll, I’m nowhere near done…”

You tried to ignore the pounding of your heart as Joel instructed you to breathe, again pressing another needle into the fat of your thigh. The pain was noticeable but bearable still. Looking in the mirror, you noticed that he had a straight line that had just started to curve. He focused as he pressed needle after needle into your leg, then lifting it and watching in rapt anticipation as the blood rose to the surface. Round droplets of blood decorated your leg, a couple of them brimming over and running down the side. 

After he completed the straight line and the curve, he moved back to the top, pricking another straight line that was perpendicular. Your eyes widened at the realization - He was marking a “J” onto your leg. 

When it was completed, he sat back, admiring his work. He peeled off the gloves, letting them fall to the cement floor. His hand rubbed down his face as he leaned forward, getting a good look at the bloody design. 

“Fuck,” he gritted out, reaching down and palming his bulge. His palm moved up and down the inside of his thigh, stroking his cock through his jeans. He tossed his head back in a guttural groan and squeezed the length of his shaft through the denim. 

He looked back at you, watching him wide-eyed. Leaning forward, his hand came between your legs. What moisture had been there before had started to dry up. He made a tsk’ing sound in disapproval, then stood up from the stool. 

He spoke as he walked back to the sink, “Disappointing, my little thing…I was hoping you were goin’ t’be into this more.” He washed his hands. He shook them dry, walking back over and grabbing fresh gloves on his way. “Maybe this next part will be more your style.” 

Next part? You swallowed hard but your mouth was dry. You coughed, leaning to the side and trying to get a grip on yourself. 

“Woah, hey,” Joel said calmly as he approached. He bent down and picked up a cup of water with a straw. “Drink.” 

The water was cool and went down smoothly, coating your throat and wetting your mouth. You leaned back against the mattress with a sigh. 

“Sorry, doll,” Joel said, setting the cup back down. “Forgot t’check in about that. Just let me know next time ya need a drink, mkay?” 

Even though you were watching him intently, you couldn’t tell whether he was tricking you or not. His brown eyes were filled with a familiar apathy that you didn’t want to question. So, you responded, “Thank you, Master.”

He gave you a wink then set more supplies beside you, this time laying out the needles with the yellow covers, the ones you knew were smaller. 

Grabbing another alcohol swab, he swiped around your chest. The jazz song that was playing had a soothing saxophone humming in the background, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to drift away briefly. 

Joel had turned on one of the ceiling fans and it created a soft breeze that aided in you not feeling too light-headed. One of the things he learned early on was that you were a fainter, something that neither of you had bargained on. Thankfully, he had the fans and knew the proper protocol for when a sub got a little too weak. 

You briefly recalled the first time you woke up after passing out. Your head was resting in his lap as he pressed a cool washcloth to your forehead and ran an ice cube across your lips. When he saw your eyes open, he propped you up and gave you an apple juice box along with a handful of teddy grahams. The aftercare he offered was in such stark contrast to his torment. 

Your eyes suddenly popped open when you felt a painful sensation in your chest. You tried looking down, but the view was distorted up close, so you shifted your eyes up to the rectangular mirror that hung from the ceiling. 

One of the thin needles was threaded through your top layer of skin, the tip and the bottom of it sticking out while the length of the needle was tucked into your flesh. Even though needle play was always something you’d been somewhat interested in, right now, seeing the thin silver bar through your skin caused you to hold your breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Joel was focused, his brow furrowed as he tried to line up the next needle with where he wanted it. “Breathe,” he muttered in annoyance. He was right. If you continued like this, you’d surely pass out. 

You couldn’t watch in the mirror. It was too much. So instead you directed your eyeline to Joel. A single bead of sweat trailed down his forehead, catching in his eyebrow and then trailing down the side of his face. He raised his arm, brushing the drop away with the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes narrowed each time he slid the needle through. While you appreciated the focus, it was also intimidating to see him have to concentrate so hard. 

The pain waxed and waned. The sensation of where the current needles rested inside of you became more of a burning, dull pain that you quickly grew to tolerate. It was when a new needle was entered that you would still find yourself wincing, bracing for the sharp sensation. 

You were losing track of time. It felt like Joel had been doing this forever. You opened your eyes to see him again. He had that same look of concentration, but this time, there was an additional look in his eye. There was a softness that you hadn’t been expecting. Not able to help yourself, you glanced up at the mirror again, and what you saw this time was wholly unexpected but created a soft feeling inside you, as well. 

Dozens of needles decorated your chest in the shape of a heart. Joel was inserting the final one at the bottom point of the heart, biting his lip in focused effort as he lined it up perfectly. Your skin was raised and red. There was a beauty to it that you hadn’t anticipated. 

The chain around your wrist rattled, and you realized that you had tried moving your hand up so that you could feel it. 

“You wanna touch it?,” Joel asked, his eyes finally moving from your chest up to your eyes. 

You nodded. He gave a subdued smile as he ripped open an alcohol pad and wiped your hand. “Can’t have it gettin’ infected,” he mumbled before pulling the key out of his back jeans pocket and undoing one of the chains around your wrist. 

Your hand was shaky as you raised it to your chest, looking up at the mirror as you tentatively let your fingers run along the bumps forming the heart. You’d adjust to the pain, now feeling something akin to intimacy and worship that you hadn’t been prepared for. 

Joel had taken his time in getting each needle just right. He’d created an image of affection on your body and the care that he had taken to do so was heartwarming, as long as you didn’t think of the fact that you were locked in his basement with no way out and still had another day of torture to endure.

“Well?,” he asked, looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh,” you removed your hand, laying it back down at your side where he clasped it back in the cuff. “Thank you, Master.”

He shook his head, “No, no. I’m really askin’. You can talk now.”

You stared at him, unmoving. Your entire body was stiff and your mind was racing with what to say or do. 

He let out a guffaw that had you jolting on the mattress as he tossed his head back then looked at you. “I’ve really done a number on ya, ain’t I?” He ran his hand down his face, shaking his head. “C’mon, doll. I’m not that scary, am I?”

This still felt like a trap. You couldn’t get yourself to say anything other than the allowed phrase, so instead you just continued staring, even though you knew at some point that was going to make him mad as well.

“My sweet, little submissive,” he cooed, leaning down so that his lips pressed to your ear. “If you don’t fuckin’ talk, I’m going to rip each one of these needles out so fast, you won’t know what’s happenin’.”

“Okay, okay!,” you panicked. Your voice cut through the quiet room and Joel sat back, watching in amusement. “I…” You looked up in the mirror again, observing the red heart that adorned your soft skin. “I think it’s beautiful,” you spoke honestly.

The sound of Joel sighing caught your attention and you turned your head to look at him. He was looking at your chest and smiling to himself. When he looked up at your face, his smile slowly shifted, the corners of his lips falling back into a straight line as his pupils dilated. You knew what was coming next, but there was no way to brace yourself for how rough you knew he was going to be given his current state of arousal. 

“Fuck,” he hushed under his breath, standing up and immediately unzipping his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers. 

He stood at the end of the bed now, undoing the spreader bar between your ankles so that he could get in between your legs. His hands gripped your hips as he pulled you down toward him brusquely. You bit your lip so that you wouldn’t make a noise. 

His cock was already throbbing. You watched it bob eagerly between his legs as he prepared your body for his taking. His fingers toyed with your clit briefly before entering inside of you at a slow pace, opening you up for him. The whole time he stared down at the pattern of needles on your chest. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” His eyes moved back up to you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was talking about the needles or you. 

His tip pressed into you slowly. You were grateful that he was at least gentle in the beginning. It was a tight fit and you couldn’t imagine the pain if he were to just force himself inside. You could feel yourself opening up to him, your walls abiding yet still hugging. 

“So good f’me, doll…always…” He grunted as he pushed all the way in. “So good f’me…”

Your mouth fell open at the intrusion, feeling impossibly full but in the most delicious way possible. When he made you worship his cock the first day you were here it wasn’t a hard thing to do. It was thick and heavy, a slightly bulbous tip with a constantly leaking slit, with two large veins running along the sides. It was beautiful and he didn’t need to do much convincing to get you on your knees in front of him. 

Now that he was fully inside, he picked up his pace. His hips slammed against your ass as your legs were wrapped around him. He used his thumb to trace around the heart, careful to not jostle any of the needles as he outlined the art he had just created on your body. 

His cock was hard inside of you, nudging and prodding everywhere all at once. Tingles erupted over your skin as you gave in to the pleasurable feelings. Joel’s hands came to your tits, kneading and massaging them as he continued to stare at the metal slipped through your skin. Even he hadn’t anticipated how aroused he was going to be at the sight of it. 

Your eyes moved up to the mirror, watching his toned cheeks as he thrusted into you, how his mountainous biceps flexed as he groped you. You also looked at the art on your chest. It was growing on you the longer it stayed, and your curiosity started to pique as you wondered what it was going to look like when all the needles were removed. 

You whimpered as the band in your lower tummy tightened, not sure if you’d be able to get all the way there without added stimulation. Joel understood, his thumb came to your clit, swiping side-to-side as he had learned that you like it. 

His other hand moved down to your thigh, resting beside where he had dotted a “J” into your flesh. He gritted his teeth as he fucked into you harder. “Shit,” he murmured, “I’m not gonna be able to last much longer.”

You whimpered again and his eyes moved up to your face. “Tell me what you need, it’s okay.” 

“Faster,” you begged. He started to snap his hips into you erratically, his thumb swiping faster and faster until the band snapped and you cried as the orgasm crashed into you. 

Tears streamed down your face as the release washed over you and Joel pulled out quickly, ropes of his thick cum landing on your lower belly and your pulsing cunt. He continued to pump his cock, releasing every strand of his spend, pinching the head of his cock as each drop fell between your open legs. 

He groaned, looking down at the image in front of him. “Fuckin’ marked ya all over, doll.” 

You smiled at him, your eyelids already growing heavy. The scene was ending but the dynamic continued, so you waited for Joel to make the next move. After zipping himself up, he walked back to the sink to wet a washcloth which he tenderly cleaned you up with. 

He took a seat on the stool. “Can I remove these?,” he asked, nodding toward the needles still threaded in your chest. 

“Please. Thank you, Master,” you mumbled in your exhausted state. 

“Good girl.” He kissed your forehead and then began to slip the needles out from your skin. He was slow and precise with each one, so you hardly felt anything as he removed them. There was an intimacy with this whole experience that you hadn’t anticipated. While you weren’t sure you’d engage in this kink again, it was fun to say that you tried it at least once, even if the circumstances were dubious.

He cleaned your skin once the needles were removed. You look in the mirror to see pairs of dots from each needle still in the shape of a heart. Joel unchained you from the bed, lifting you into his arms so that he could set you on the chair while he changed the bedding. You looked forward to him laying with you, even if it was going to be brief. Aftercare was part of your initial arrangement and he made sure to honor it.

You watched through hooded eyes as he disposed of the needles and then carried over clean bedding. Day four was done, and if you could make it through this, you were sure that you could endure day five no problem. You were too tired to notice the mischievous look in Joel’s eyes when he glanced at you from the corner of the room.

The restaurant glowed under chandeliers, crystal catching the light over pristine tablecloths. You sat rigid, hands twisted in your lap, trying to ignore your boyfriend, Su-bong, next to you. His massive frame dwarfed the delicate chair, his suit barely containing his broad shoulders. His knee brushed yours, a spark of heat, and his sheer size made you feel impossibly small, your petite body shrinking under his presence.

“So, Mr. Y/L/N, you ever try that spicy chicken joint by the docks?” Su-Bong’s voice boomed, his grin wide and a little too eager as he leaned toward your dad. Your parents laughed, drawn in by his loud, unfiltered energy. He wasn’t smooth or charming—just a big, dumb survivor of the games, his enthusiasm oddly infectious. But his hand on your thigh, massive and rough, sent your pulse racing.

Your mom smiled, oblivious. “You’re quite the character, Su-Bong. How’d you two meet?”

“Oh, you know, just… around,” he said, waving a hand that could’ve swallowed the wine glass whole. His fingers squeezed your thigh under the table, heat searing through your dress. You shot him a glare, cheeks burning, but his grin didn’t waver. Timid as you were, your body betrayed you, a pulse of want stirring low.

“Food’s taking forever,” he said loudly, turning to your mom. “Bet they’re out back catching the fish!” Your parents chuckled, and you wanted to sink through the floor. His hand didn’t stop, sliding under your dress, brushing the edge of your panties. His fingers were so big they made you feel fragile, like he could wrap them around your waist and crush you.

You pressed your thighs together, trapping his hand, but it only made him bolder. His finger slipped past your panties, grazing your clit, and you bit your lip to stifle a gasp. “Su-Bong,” you whispered, voice shaking. Your heart pounded, torn between panic and the ache between your legs. He wasn’t careful—just reckless, and it drove you wild.

“Gotta hit the bathroom,” he announced, standing so fast his chair scraped. His height loomed, suit tight against his frame. He glanced at you, eyes glinting with mischief. “You good, babe? Look kinda flushed.”

Your dad frowned. “You alright, honey?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, standing shakily. “Just… need air.” You smoothed your dress, legs trembling, and followed him. Your parents barely noticed, already debating dessert.

The hallway to the restrooms was dim, velvet walls and gold sconces casting soft shadows. Su-Bong didn’t look back, his long strides forcing you to hurry.

He pushed open the single-stall bathroom door, holding it with a mock bow that didn’t match the hunger in his eyes. “After you,” he said, voice low now, all traces of his loud act gone.

You slipped inside, heart racing, and he followed, locking the door with a sharp click. The bathroom was sleek—black marble, a wide mirror, dim light—but it felt too small for him, his bulk swallowing the space. You backed against the sink, gripping the cold edge, your petite frame dwarfed as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist.

“Fuck, you’re cute when you’re nervous,” he growled, his voice rough and unpolished. His hands nearly circled your waist, fingers digging in, the size difference making your head spin. He lifted you onto the sink effortlessly, your dress riding up to expose your thighs. “Been thinking about fucking you all night,” he said, spreading your legs wide, his palms hot against your skin.

You swallowed, your timid nature making your voice catch. “Su-Bong, we can’t—they’ll notice—”

“Let ‘em,” he cut in, grinning like he didn’t care. “Fifteen minutes, babe. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days.” His words were crude, blunt, and they sent a shiver through you. He yanked your panties down, leaving them around your ankle, his fingers brushing your clit with a roughness that made you whimper.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, smug. “Knew you’d be dripping for my cock.” His hand slid to his belt, unbuckling it with a clink that spiked your pulse. His pants dropped, and your eyes locked on his cock—8.5 inches, not too girthy but thick enough to make you clench, the frenum piercing glinting under the light, a metal barbell just below the head.

“Like it?” he teased, stroking himself, his hand dwarfing his length. “Gonna feel so good inside you.” He stepped between your legs, gripping your waist, pulling you to the sink’s edge. Your dress slipped down, exposing your tits, and he groaned. “Fuck, these tits—made for my hands.” He squeezed them hard, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked.

“Su-Bong,” you whispered, half-pleading, half-desperate. Your timidity held you back, but the ache was unbearable. He leaned in, lips grazing your ear. “Gonna stuff that tight little cunt,” he growled. “You want my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. “Y-yes,” you stammered, voice barely audible.

“Louder,” he demanded, the tip of his cock brushing your entrance, the piercing cold against your heat. “Tell me you want it.”

“Please, Su-Bong, I want your cock,” you said, louder, shame mixing with need. He grinned, and in one hard thrust, he filled you, his 8.5 inches stretching you, the piercing dragging against your walls. You cried out, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his jacket.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his hands clamping your waist, holding you in place. His hips slammed into you, each thrust making your tits bounce, the sink creaking. The piercing hit a spot inside you that made your vision blur, and you whimpered, overwhelmed by his size. “Feel that?” he panted. “My cock’s wrecking you.”

You couldn’t speak, only gasp as he set a brutal pace, his large frame dominating you. His hands slid to your hips, lifting you off the sink like you weighed nothing, pinning you against the wall. Your legs wrapped around him, his cock driving deeper, the piercing adding a sharp, electric edge. “So fucking small,” he muttered. “I could break you in half.”

“Su-Bong—oh God,” you gasped, your timid voice breaking as he angled his hips, hitting deeper. The size difference made every thrust overwhelming, his cock filling you completely, the piercing rubbing just right. “Keep going,” you managed, your body betraying your nerves.

“Gonna make you scream,” he growled, his hand sliding between you, thumb finding your clit. He rubbed messy, rough circles, making you clench tighter. “This cunt’s mine, babe. Gonna make it come so hard you’ll soak me.” His dirty talk was relentless, each word pushing you closer to the edge.

He shifted, setting you back on the sink, bending you forward so your hands braced against the mirror. His cock slid back in, the new angle making you moan. The piercing dragged slowly, deliberately, and you felt every inch of him, your tits pressed against the cold marble. “Look at you,” he said, gripping your hair, pulling your head up to meet your reflection. “Fucked out already.”

You whimpered, seeing your flushed face, his massive hand on your waist, his cock disappearing into you. The size kink hit hard—his fingers nearly circled you, his frame looming behind. “Su-Bong, it’s too much,” you gasped, but you didn’t want him to stop.

The piercing sent sparks with every thrust, building something intense deep inside.

“Too much?” he laughed, thrusting harder. “You’re taking it like a champ. Gonna make you squirt all over my cock.” His thumb returned to your clit, rubbing faster, and you felt a pressure you’d never felt before, overwhelming and unstoppable. “Come on, babe, let it go. Soak me.”

Your body tensed, the sensation too much, and with a cry, you came, a gush of wetness flooding between you, dripping down your thighs. Su-Bong groaned, his thrusts faltering as he felt it. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growled. “Squirting for me like a good girl.” He didn’t stop, chasing his own release, his cock relentless.

He pulled you back against him, one hand on your waist, the other squeezing your tit. “Gonna fill this cunt,” he panted, his piercing hitting that spot again, drawing aftershocks from you. Your legs shook, your body spent, but he held you up, his size making you feel owned. “You want my cum, don’t you?” he asked, voice raw.

“Yes,” you whimpered, barely coherent. “Please, Su-Bong.”

“That’s it,” he growled, and with a final thrust, he came, his warmth flooding you as he groaned your name. You clung to him, trembling, the piercing still sending shivers as he slowed. The bathroom echoed with your heavy breaths, the scent of sex thick in the air.

He pulled out, the piercing glinting as he tucked himself away, his grin lazy but smug. “Fucking hell, babe, you’re a mess,” he said, eyeing the slick on your thighs. You blushed, fixing your dress, your legs unsteady as you slid off the sink. He helped you with your panties, his touch gentler now, but his eyes still burned.

“Better get back,” he said, back to his loud, dumb tone. “Your mom’ll think you got lost.” You nodded, dazed, and followed him out, your heart pounding as you returned to the table. Your parents didn’t notice, still chatting. Su-Bong’s hand brushed yours, his smirk saying it all. The ache between your legs, the memory of his cock, his piercing, your squirting—it was worth the risk.