Claimed

The afternoon light through the tall windows cast pale, shifting patterns across the dark floor. But inside the training room, everything felt stiller. Sharper. As if the walls themselves were waiting to witness what would unfold next.

Ivy stood in the center of the room, naked but no longer trembling. Her skin still carried the sheen of sweat, the faint burn of discipline, the echo of the vibrator’s denial. Her breath was unsteady, her nipples flushed and firm, her legs weak from what had already been done to her body. And yet, the worst part was not what had happened.

It was how deeply she had wanted it.

Victor stood behind her. One hand rested gently on her lower back, his fingers curving like a man staking his claim on property that had just been surveyed, measured, and branded.

“You stood through it,” he said. His voice was quiet, controlled, and impossibly low. “You absorbed every edge of pain and didn’t fall. That shows promise. But promise is not the same as possession.”

Her eyes flicked toward the mirror in front of them. His reflection loomed behind her, half-shrouded in shadow, half etched in afternoon light. She met his eyes and found not rage or fire but something deeper. Something that didn’t need to raise its voice to be obeyed.

He stepped closer, his breath brushing her shoulder. She felt it like a brand against her skin.

“Tell me what you want.”

The answer rose to her lips before she could decide whether to fear it or claim it.

“You,” she whispered.

He closed the distance slowly, as if savoring the moment. He moved his hand from her back and slid it down to her wrist, guiding her silently toward the low platform in the center of the room.

“Kneel.”

She obeyed without hesitation. Her knees pressed to the padded leather. Her back straightened. Her thighs opened. Her arms dropped naturally to her lap. The position had become second nature, but it had never felt more vulnerable than now.

Victor knelt in front of her. He reached behind her and pulled her arms upward. A silk cord wrapped around her wrists. He tied it tight, but not cruelly. It held her in place without pain, as if binding her to the promise she had just spoken aloud.

His lips brushed her temple. “You belong to me now. That means everything that happens to your body is mine to decide. Yours to feel. Yours to carry. But mine to initiate.”

“I understand.”

“Not yet. But you will.”

He stood slowly, then circled behind her again. She heard the quiet sound of his belt unfastening. Her pulse leapt. Her breath caught. The tightness between her thighs deepened to a desperate ache.

When he returned to face her, his erection was exposed. Thick. Hard. The flushed tip glistened slightly.

“You will take me in your mouth,” he said. “But only until I say stop.”

She nodded.

He placed one hand at the back of her head, threading his fingers into her hair.

“Open.”

She parted her lips and waited. He guided himself into her mouth slowly, letting her adjust inch by inch. Her tongue moved instinctively, stroking the underside of his shaft. Her breath came through her nose in shallow bursts as he rocked into her mouth, setting a slow and deliberate rhythm.

“Eyes up.”

She looked at him. His expression had not cracked. But his jaw was tight. His eyes darkened as he watched her lips wrap around him, her cheeks hollow as she pulled him deeper.

He pulled back suddenly, and she gasped at the loss.

“Stand,” he ordered.

She did, legs shaking, wrists still bound behind her.

He stepped behind her and unfastened the cord.

Then he turned her around and pushed her gently forward onto the platform.

Her palms pressed to the leather surface. Her knees bent naturally, spreading again, inviting him.

She heard the sound of a small packet tearing. Then she felt his hands again, sliding over her hips. She wanted to cry from the contact, the certainty of what was about to happen.

When he entered her, she gasped.

The stretch was slow and excruciatingly full. He slid in deeper, inch by inch, until his hips met the curve of her ass. His hands gripped her waist. His breath was heavy now, barely restrained.

He began to move. His pace was measured at first, but with each thrust, her body melted further into the platform. Her moans were soft and broken. Each one matched the rhythm of his hips, the slick heat of his cock filling her again and again.

“You feel that?” he said, voice gravel rough against her ear. “This is mine. All of you. Every inch.”

“Yes,” she moaned.

He pressed deeper. Harder. His thrusts slammed into her with purpose, forcing sounds from her lips she didn’t recognize. She was unraveling. Coming apart in front of him.

He pulled her up against him, one hand splayed across her stomach, the other gripping her throat with gentle control. He held her upright as he drove into her from behind, each stroke a mark of ownership.

Her head fell back against his shoulder.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please let me come.”

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t answer.

He fucked her with relentless precision until her whole body was shaking.

Then finally, his voice dropped into her ear like a key unlocking her body.

“Now.”

She shattered.

The orgasm tore through her like fire. Her body bucked against him. Her scream was raw, half sob, half praise. He held her through it, never stopping, until his own groan broke the air. His grip tightened. His rhythm faltered.

And then he came.

They collapsed forward together onto the platform, bodies damp and tangled, the room silent except for their breathing.

He did not speak at first. He simply lay there, holding her.

Finally, after long minutes, he shifted slightly and brushed her hair back from her face.

“You are mine now.”

She nodded.

And for the first time, she believed it without fear.