LOGINIn three long strides, he was standing right in front of me, clearly enjoying the view.
Every movement. Every twitch. Every plea. Every arch. Every moan. Every dare. “You’re really begging to get punish aren’t you,” he asked, his gaze dark, tone laced with intent. “Yes Dante,” I begged. “Please.” He grabbed me by the ankle and in one swift motion. He pulled me forward, closer. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his thighs. “Come here,” he said with his teeth clenched more than necessary. He undid my legs around him, and slowly, he both trailed and traced his fingers and eyes on my lips. Like he was thinking of every possible way to punish me. To ruin me. He lifted me up like I weighed nothing at all, threw me over his shoulder, in a fireman’s position, and I felt my stomach twist with a mix of excitement and fear. “Where are you taking me?” I asked, my voice fraying. “To punish you, Emily.” He kicked the door to his room open with his foot and threaded each step with care to his mattress. He threw me on his bed. “Kneel,” he commanded. I did. “You’ve been really bratty these past few days, Emily.” He said, slowly tugging on the drawstring of his sweatpants. His gaze burning right into mine “Now why don’t you show me what that bratty little mouth can do.” He pulled down his sweatpants, the fabric pooling around his ankle, and his dick sprung out of his pant, like it had been waiting to be sucked all day. “Suck on it, Emily,” he whispered, his hands reaching my face to grip my jaw. I did. I adjusted my position on the floor, sitting properly on my heels to take him. I spat on it, slowly, and used my hand to massage him. He arched more into my hands. I let it slop through freely as I looked up at him. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said, he voice low and demanding. He slipped away from my palm and grabbed my hair. “Open up,” he shoved him cock right into my mouth, slamming the back of my throat and I choked but he didn’t stopped. He just kept going, rocking more into my throat. “How’s that for punishment?” he said taking his shirt off as he kept fucking my mouth. My eyes glistened with tears now, my own saliva dripping down my chin. Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure raking through my body, and I felt my core clenching with the need to feel him. I slowly placed my hand and the front of his thigh to push him back but he just gripped tighter, thrusting into my mouth. “Fuck! You’re so beautiful like this,” he groaned. “Taking my big dick like a good girl.” “This what you want? You like it don’t you?” I couldn’t answer so I just nodded desperately as I took him in. “Take it all in,” he groaned, his jaw clenched. I opened my eyes in surprise, I couldn’t take all that length down my throat, but I didn’t dare object. I choked a moan, he grabbed my hair again, and positioned me to push his dick deeper and he did. He slowed how his pace and stroked my mouth one last time, I almost couldn’t breathe I just chocked, moaned, and sobbed, tears streaming down my eyes in relentless pain turned pleasure. He didn’t move, he just held his dick down my throat. “Yes! Fuck...Good girl,” he groaned with his eyes closed. Then he slipped it out and I fell on all fours, coughing, relentlessly, my body still throbbing with want. “Look at me princess?” he commanded. “You sure you still want to be punished?” he asked, tightening his grip around my hair. “Still want to take daddy’s dick?” “Yes Dante, I want all of it.” I begged. “I want to be punished so bad.” “Come here,” I stood up, and immediately crashed my lips on his, so he could have a taste of what he had done to me. And he didn’t relent to kiss me with just as much need. The kiss was all heat and tongue, clashing with raw need. It was slow at first before it turned sloppy. I parted my mouth a bit, giving him completely access to my tongue. He sucked on it and moan tore out of my throat, I gasped into his mouth. My fingers threading roughly into his air as he grabbed me on the ass. He landed his palm in one hot spank on my ass and I jerked. My body vibrating from the pain turned pleasure. “Look at you, so fucking needy for me,” he growled. “You want this dick, baby?” “Yes Dante,” I whispered. “I want all of it.” I sobbed. “I want your cock deep inside me.” “Still calling me Dante?” he growled, his teeth gnashed as he lifted me and threw me on the bed and I felt my stomach twist with excitement. He parted my legs, and held it up before pressing it down above my head. I moan at the sight of him, looming over me like that. “You’re gonna be a good little slut for me won’t you?” he murmured. “Yes Dante.” I moaned. “That’s not my fucking name,” he said as he landed me the first thrust and a scream tore straight out of my throat. “Oh, Fuck!!” “That’s it baby,” He murmured. “You want all of daddy’s cock, don’t you?” “Yes Dante.” I managed to say in-between moans. “Dante?” he asked as he slowly pressed harder into me and I felt my waist buckle. It was big. Too big. “Dante—” I begged placing a hand on his stomach to push him back but he just kept thrusting, slow and deep and I felt him all in my stomach, every inch of him stretching me out. “Please...I can’t—" I sobbed, my voice breaking, fingers threading into the sheets for anchor. “This is what you get for being such a bad girl.” He whispered. “You’re gonna be a good girl for daddy won’t you?” I nod. “Use your fucking words, brat,” he gripped me by the throat, as he picked up his pace, slamming into me with a force that made my stomach twist. “Oh, my—” I screamed....”Daddy!” I moaned. “Good girl,” he smirked as he kept thrusting into me, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. “So fucking tight for me.” “Look at you, so fucking wet for me,” He groaned as he kept thrusting into me. I felt the tension pooling in my stomach. “It feels so good, Daddy,” I begged, my eyes rolling back and forth, and that one expression triggered something wild inside of him. “Don’t it? He smirked. “You my dirty little slut aren’t you?” I nod, frantically. “Say it,” “I’m your little slut,” I gasped, my body shuddering with need. “Better!” he urged. “I’m your little slut, daddy,” “Good girl,” his grip around my neck tightened as he slammed faster into me, and my eyes rolled all the way back. “That’s it princess,” he murmured. “You like it when daddy fuck you hard, don’t you?” “Yes, pleaseee, don’t stop,” I sobbed. He dragged his dick in and out with such control, it made my head dizzy with pleasure, hitting the spot that made my body twist. He kept going faster, the sound of our skin clashing, filled the room. He slowed down his pace and dragged in and out of me slowly, I adjusted myself, to balance on my elbows, watching as his long thick, dick thrusted in and out of me with slow precision. “See that, princess ?” he asked. “See how perfect your tight little pussy clenches around my dick?” I nodded, desperately. “Good girl,” he slipped his thumb into my mouth and made me suck on it, then slowly, he held my clit down with just the right amount of pleasure as he slammed into me. “Fuck, daddy...” I whimpered, my body arching more into his dick exactly the way he wants it. “Fuck me,” “Oh I will, Baby,” He groaned, holding my waist down, fucking me hard the way I want it and rubbing on my clit with his thumb all at the same time. Slowly, I felt the tension build in my stomach. “You’re gonna cum for me baby?” “Yes yes, I’m gonna cum so hard for you.” “Not unless I tell you to,” he murmured. He leaned in to kiss me and the position of his cock shifted inside me and I sobbed his name, arching more into his touch. “Daddy...I can’t—” I begged, rolling my eyes instinctively before I could even finish the sentence. “Yes you can baby,” he whispered. “Hold it in for me, baby,” He rolled his hips back and forth, increasing his pace, dragging out sounds I didn’t even believe I could make. He leaned forward again and gently wrapped his fingers around my neck, grinding deep. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, as he placed gently kisses on my neckline. Just when it felt like I was going to lose my mind— “Cum for me, baby,” he whispered and I broke. My hips buckled as my body shook brutally from waves of pleasure, convulsing with aftershocks. Ragged moans and broken sobs tore out my throat. He didn’t stop fucking me. “That’s it baby,” he smirked as he kept thrusting into me, working me through the aftershocks. “Let it all out for me.” I did. “You gonna let, daddy cum for you?” “Yes, please.” I begged, my voice hoarse from pleasure. “Cum all over my face, Daddy.” He slipped out of me, adjusting himself upward, positioned in front of my face. “Open that pretty mouth for me,” He commanded. I did. His load came out fast and hot on my face and mouth. He groaned as he stroked himself spilling his cum all over my face and mouth. “Swallow.” He commanded, and I didn’t hesitate to drink it up, gulping down every single liquid spilt into my mouth. “Good girl,” he groaned, collapsing beside me. “How’s that for a punishment?” He asked, still heaving heavily from the shock. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just stared at him, a dirty smirk dancing along my lips. “Merry Christmas, Daddy,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.His grip iron, his hips never slowing. I was trapped beneath him, stretched around him, and I loved it-loved the helplessness, loved the violence of it, loved that it was him reducing me to this gasping, writhing thing.“Look at me,” he commanded. “Look at me while I fuck you, Thessaly. Look at me and know you lost.”I forced my eyes open, glaring up at him even as my body betrayed me, my hips rising to meet his thrusts, my inner muscles fluttering around his cock. “You-fuck-you haven’t made me cum yet. That’s not winning.”His smile was feral. “Yet.”He shifted his angle, grinding his pelvis against my clit with every thrust, and I cried out, my head falling back despite myself, my wrists straining against his grip. “You-god-you asshole-““Say it,” he panted, his own control fraying, sweat beading on his forehead, his chest heaving. “Say you’re going to cum on my cock. Say it like you hate me.”“I hate you,” I sobbed, the pressure building, coiling, ready to snap. “I hate you I hate
Caelan pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his body heavy between my thighs, and I arched up against him, hating how good it felt, hating that I wanted more.“Say it again,” he demanded, his free hand dragging my sweater up, exposing my stomach, my ribs, the black lace of my bra.“Fuck you.”He dipped his head, mouth hot against my collarbone, teeth grazing the tendon in my neck. “You first.”I struggled against his grip, not to get free but to feel the restraint, the delicious helplessness of being held down by someone who knew exactly how much I wanted to fight. He laughed against my skin, the sound dark and pleased, and then his mouth was on my breast through the lace, sucking hard, and I cried out, my hips bucking upward.“Sensitive,” he murmured, moving to the other side, leaving the first wet and aching. “Good to know.”“Don’t act like you’ve thought about this,” I panted, even though we both knew he had. We both had. Every argument, every cutting remark, every time ou
The first time I met Caelan Voss, he was vomiting into a potted fern at my cousin’s wedding.I was sixteen. He was seventeen, the son of one of my uncle’s business partners, all sharp cheekbones and sharper arrogance. Even green around the gills, he’d looked me up and down like I was a disappointing appetizer and said, “You clean up decent for a Holt.”I’d dumped my sparkling cider on his shoes.That should have been the end of it. Two families who ran in overlapping circles, a summer wedding collision, nothing more. But fate has a sick sense of humour. My father-Theodore Holt of Holt & Associates Architecture-decided Caelan’s father, the equally insufferable Magnus Voss, would make an excellent mentor. Caelan spent the next two summers interning at my father’s firm. I spent those summers watching him weasel his way into my father’s good graces, watching him absorb praise that should have been mine, watching him smirk across conference tables while I fetched coffee I hadn’t offered to
They cleaned up separately, embarrassed and giddy, and when they reconvened on the couch, they didn’t finish the movie. They just talked, their fingers intertwined, about how good it had felt, about how they wanted to do it again, about all the things they wanted to try.That night, Jerry went home and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his body still humming. He thought about Jane’s face when she’d cum, the way she’d looked at him like he was the only person in the world. He thought about the heat of her, the friction, the perfect pressure. And he thought about what might come next.They met again the next evening. Jane’s parents were still away, and the house felt like theirs alone. They ordered Thai food and ate it in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on her bed, the air thick with anticipation.“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Jane admitted, pushing her noodles around with a fork. “About you. About how it felt.”“Me neither,” Jerry said. “I kept replaying it in my head.”“I w
Jerry had lived next door to the empty house for sixteen years before anyone finally moved in. The Victorian on the corner of Maple and Third had sat dormant through his entire childhood, a boarded-up relic that neighbourhood kids swore was haunted. By the time he turned nineteen-a sophomore at the local community college, still living at home to save money, working weekends at his uncle’s hardware store-he’d stopped noticing the FOR SALE sign that had faded in the front yard.Then, one humid August afternoon, a U-Haul rattled down the street.Jerry was on his porch, nursing a lemonade and trying to make sense of an organic chemistry textbook, when the truck backed into the driveway. He watched without much interest as a middle-aged couple climbed out, followed by a girl about his age. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts and an oversized band t-shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose. She carried a cardboard box labelled BO
Leander Crowe had spent the last eight months thinking about his boss’s hands more than was strictly professional. Not just the hands themselves, though they were hard to ignore. Long fingers, strong knuckles, always clean, always steady. It was what they stood for. Control. Certainty. The same hands that signed contracts worth millions and quietly dismantled competitors without ever raising their voice. The hands of Silas Varrick, CEO of Varrick Technologies, forty-two years old, six-foot-two, and built like someone who had never once been told no in his entire life.Leander was twenty-four, six months out of graduate school, still half-convinced someone would realize they’d hired him by mistake. He told himself the tight feeling in his chest whenever Silas walked into a room was just nerves. He told himself the way his gaze kept catching on the breadth of Silas’s shoulders, the way tailored fabric sat across his chest and the hard line of his thighs, was simple admiration. Respect f







