#rafesoverdoeswrites

You weren’t supposed to take the whole capsule. But when did you ever listen to Rafe Cameron?

You sat on your bedroom floor, head tilted back against the wall, your legs spread wide open because your body wouldn’t stop buzzing. It felt like your skin was on fire, your clit twitching with every breath, every flicker of light, every thought of him. It was pathetic.

You were half-high, half-drenched, and all attitude.

You grabbed your phone and called him again. He picked up on the second ring.

“What now?”

“Oh, so now you answer?”

“You’ve called me four times.”

“Because you gave me that new molly like a jackass and didn’t warn me it was gonna turn me into a fuckin’ nympho. I’m crawling out of my skin over here.”

Rafe groaned low. “Did you take the whole thing?”

“…No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“…Maybe.”

“You’re such a dumb fuckin’ brat, you know that?”

“And you’re a dealer with no customer service.”

There was a pause. Then: “Be ready in five.”

He didn’t knock. He never did.

He just shoved the door open and stalked in like he owned the place. His jaw was clenched, dark brows furrowed. You smirked up at him from the floor, practically vibrating.

“Took you long enough.”

His eyes dropped to your thighs—bare, glistening, parted. “You’re seriously dressed like that for me?”

“It’s my house. You’re lucky I didn’t show up naked, since you ruined me with that drug.”

“You ruined yourself. But I’ll clean up your mess,” he muttered, yanking you up by the arm.

“Careful,” you sneered, jerking your hand back. “I’m not one of your little drugged-up whores, Rafe. I don’t beg.”

He chuckled darkly. “That’s funny,” he said, dragging you by the hair to the kitchen counter. “Because I can smell how fuckin’ wet you are from here. Face down.”

“Go to hell—”

He bent you over the counter before you could finish, holding you there with one hand on the back of your neck. “I said face down. You don’t get to mouth off after overdosing on my shit and calling me like some desperate junkie.”

You hissed, squirming, but he kicked your legs apart wider and shoved your tank top up. “God, you’re such a little bitch,” he muttered, palming your ass. “You get high, get horny, and suddenly I’m supposed to drop everything to stretch out this tight little hole like it’s a fuckin’ emergency.”

You gasped sharply when his hand cracked across your ass.

“You like this,” he growled, spanking you again, harder. “Don’t lie.”

Your throat caught on a moan, but you still spat back, “I’ve had better.”

Rafe laughed low. “Liar.”

Then he stepped back—and you heard it.

The sharp metallic sound of his belt unbuckling. The rasp of the zipper. The wet thud of his cock slapping against his abdomen when he shoved both his pants and boxers down in one rough move.

“Look at you,” he said, pumping himself slow and steady. “High, soaked, and still talkin’ shit.”

You twisted to glare back at him, catching a glimpse of him stroking his thick, veiny cock—angry red and already leaking at the tip. Your throat went dry. You hated how badly you wanted it.

“You done playing with yourself?” you snapped. “Or do I have to sit here all night while you jerk off to my ass like some—ahhh—!”

He didn’t wait. He pushed in with one brutal thrust, bottoming out in seconds.

Your eyes rolled back.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. Rafe grabbed your hips and fucked into you hard, dragging your body back to meet every thrust like he was trying to break you in half.

“You feel this?” he hissed. “That’s your punishment. For being a fuckin’ brat. For acting like you don’t need me.”

Your hands scrabbled at the counter, nails digging into the wood. “F-fuck—Rafe—slow down—”

“No,” he snapped. “You wanted this. You called me for this. Now you take what you’re given like a good little drugged-out slut.”

He leaned over you, hips still slamming into your soaked cunt, his chest brushing your back, lips against your ear.

“Say thank you.”

You shook your head, whining.

“Say it or I’ll pull out and make you beg to come.”

“…Thank you,” you choked out.

“For what?” He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, growling against your neck.

“…For fixing me.”

“Damn right.”

You were trembling now, whole body locking up with heat. You were gonna come and it was going to wreck you. You hated how much you loved it.

“Let me come, please—please—” you begged, drooling, tears pricking your eyes.

“Too late,” he snarled. “You’re already fuckin’ coming.”

And he was right—your walls clamped around him, wet and fluttering, your vision whiting out as the orgasm slammed into you so hard your knees nearly gave out. He kept going, fucking you through it, your name spilling from his mouth in groans, hips frantic, messy—

Then he stilled.

You felt it—throb, pulse, spill. Warm.

“Fuckin’ mine,” he hissed, rutting into you once more. “You don’t go to anyone else for a fix. Not drugs, not cock, nothing. You hear me?”

You whimpered, brain half-melted. “Yeah. I hear you.”

He pulled out slowly, admiring the mess leaking out of you with a satisfied smirk.

“Don’t clean that up,” he said. “I want you to feel me all night.”

You were too fucked-out to answer.

“Next time you talk to me like that,” he added, dragging his fingers along your thigh and sucking them clean, “I’ll make you crawl on your knees and beg with tears in your eyes.”

You still had some brat left in you. “You wish.”

Rafe grinned darkly. “Nah, princess. You wish. I make your wishes come true.”

—————————————————— 🪽

He leaned forward, voice low and smug. “You. For the night. Five grand.”

You blinked. “The fuck did you just say?”

“I said I’ll give you five thousand dollars. Cash. Right now. If you leave with me and let me fuck you however I want.”

You laughed. “What, no dinner first?”

“Baby,” he smirked, “I’m not here to wine and dine. I’m here to wreck your pretty little attitude until you forget how to act like a bitch.”

You stared at him for a beat, gum snapping. “You got the cash?”

He grabbed a black envelope from beside him and dropped it on the table. Thick. Heavy. Untraceable.

Your mouth twitched. “Then get the fuck up. You just bought yourself a bitch.”

---

His place was cold and expensive, like he didn’t live there—just fucked there. You had barely walked in before he had you slammed against the wall, tongue down your throat, hands gripping your thighs so tight it hurt.

“You always this mouthy?” he growled, ripping the strings of your thong down with one brutal tug.

“Only for assholes who pay for pussy,” you snapped back.

He slapped you across the face.

Not too hard—but enough to sting.

Your eyes widened. Your pussy throbbed.

“You liked that,” he said darkly, cock pressing against your practically bare slit. “Fucking slut.”

You spat on his chest. “Then do something about it.”

And he did.

He dragged you to the bedroom by your throat, tossed you onto the mattress like a rag doll, and climbed over you, already undoing his belt.

“I’m gonna use every inch of your fucking mouth,” he growled. “And you’re gonna thank me with spit and tears.”

He shoved his cock between your lips before you could sass him again. No warning. No prep.

Just dominance.

You gagged instantly, but he didn’t stop—he held your head there, palm flat on your skull, forcing your throat to stretch around him.

“Look at that,” he groaned. “Bratty little stripper taking cock down her throat like a goddamn professional.”

Your mascara smeared, saliva dripping down your chin as he face-fucked you, hard and deep, moaning at the way your throat contracted every time you tried to breathe. His balls slapped your chin. He pulled out just to spit in your mouth and shove himself back in.

“You want the five grand, don’t you? Take it, slut. Take all of it.”

You choked, tears spilling, but you didn’t stop. You grabbed his thighs for balance as he used your mouth like a fleshlight, grunting with each thrust.

He finally pulled out with a wet pop, cock glistening, your spit dripping to your tits.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered. “Face down, ass up.”

You smirked as you obeyed, deliberately slow, sticking your ass out for him like a goddamn invitation.

“Now fuck me, rich boy. Earn it.”

He slapped your ass so hard your hips jerked. “You’re gonna regret that mouth.”

Rafe pulled your panties to the side, not even bothering to take them off before he slammed into you, balls-deep in one thrust. You screamed into the sheets, walls gripping him like a vice.

He set a brutal rhythm, slapping your ass, grabbing your hair, fucking you so hard your tits bounced with every stroke. He grabbed your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch.

“You’re mine tonight,” he hissed, burying himself to the hilt. “My little money-hungry cumdump.”

You moaned into the mattress. “Harder—fuck, Rafe—harder.”

He picked up speed, hands gripping your hips, nails digging in until your skin bruised. He reached around to rub your clit, rough circles that made your legs tremble.

“Cum, bitch,” he ordered. “Now.”

Your orgasm tore through you, loud and shaking, clenching around him like your body refused to let go. But he didn’t stop.

Rafe flipped you over, shoved your knees to your chest, and started again.

“Too much—Rafe—”

“Shut up,” he growled, spit dripping from his mouth to yours. “You can take it. You fucking will.”

Your second orgasm hit fast—painful and perfect, leaving you limp and ruined. You clawed at his shoulders, moaning brokenly.

He kissed you once—hard, messy—before pulling out and jerking himself over your face. Hot cum splattered your cheeks, lips, and tits as he groaned your name like a prayer.

You laid there shaking, throat raw, mascara ruined, lips swollen.

He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and handed you the envelope.

“Worth the money?” he asked.

You smiled through the filth, licking some of him from your lips.