3. Chapter Three #2
The glossy desperation in her eyes. The involuntary tremble in her thighs. The way her body is practically crying for mine.
“You want to be split open, baby?” I murmur, voice a dark drag across her nerves. “You want this cock stretching that tight little hole? Making you sob into my sheets while I ruin you from the inside out?”
I let my gaze roam down her body like I’m deciding where to start carving her open.
“Beg for it. Tell me how badly you need to be filled. Tell me why you can’t fucking take another second without my cock inside you.”
She stays silent, just for a second. Just long enough to convince herself she has a choice.
Then I feel it, her fingers tightening on my wrist like she’s pleading. Silent. Fragile.
I smile. Slow. Vicious. And I start to pry her grip loose, finger by finger. Watching her shatter as she realizes I’m taking everything away.
Camille
The moment he pulls away, the warmth vanishes, replaced instantly by a bone-deep ache. Cold. Hollow. Painfully empty.
He sits back, fully clothed, utterly composed. Calm. Patient. Watching me, waiting for the exact moment I break.
He told me to beg.
He wants me to humiliate myself. To shatter my pride on the marble floor at his feet.
I swore I’d never become this girl…kneeling, ready to plead just for a taste of him, for one brutal touch from a man who holds my dignity like it’s nothing.
But here I am again.
Skin flushed, lace ruined, trembling with desperation, dripping, throbbing, raw and completely at his mercy. I’m so empty it hurts, the ache twisting and blooming, relentless and cruel.
Exactly the way he wants me.
Exactly the way he left me.
My throat tightens painfully, humiliation burning hot behind my ribs. My eyes sting with unshed tears, not sadness, but anger. Shame. Need so raw it cuts me apart.
Don’t do it.
Don’t you fucking dare, Camille…
But my body refuses to listen to my pride.
Slowly, painfully, I shift toward the edge of the bed, sliding my legs over until my bare feet touch the cold floor. I force myself to move, shaky knees bending until I sink down.
Onto my knees.
His gaze doesn’t flicker. Doesn’t soften. He just stares down at me, watching intently, silently, savoring every second of my defeat.
The silence is deafening. Punishing.
When I finally speak, my voice breaks, soft, fractured, humiliated.
“Please.”
Just a whisper, a single broken word.
He tilts his head, a predator studying his prey, dark eyes glittering with ruthless triumph. “Please what, princesa?”
My lips tremble, words choking painfully in my throat, humiliation scalding my cheeks.
His silence slices deep. Patient, controlled cruelty.
“I…” My voice fractures again, shaking with desperation and shame. “I need you inside me.”
His gaze narrows, demanding more. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
“Tell me why,” he murmurs, voice smooth, dark silk sliding over sharp steel. “Convince me you deserve it.”
Tears prick hot behind my eyes. My chest heaves, breath ragged, as humiliation crashes through me in waves. Still, I force myself to speak, filthy, needy, shamelessly honest.
“Because I’m fucking empty,” I sob softly, tears spilling down my face.
“Because I’m aching, throbbing, because I can’t breathe without feeling you stretching me, hurting me, owning me.
Because nothing else matters. I need you to fuck me raw, to break me apart, to punish me.
Please…” my voice cracks, desperate, ugly, real, “…I want you to fuck me until it hurts, until I can’t walk, until I remember exactly who owns my body.
I want your cock more than my pride, more than air.
I need to feel you ruin me, again and again, until there’s nothing left. ”
His eyes darken, satisfied, victorious. He leans forward, cupping my chin, tilting my face up until our eyes lock, his thumb stroking roughly over my trembling lower lip.
Kane
There it is.
That last flicker of fight extinguished. Her voice wrecked. Her pride…bleeding out on the floor. Her body…mine.
I watch her crumble beneath the weight of her own honesty, that mouth finally spewing the truth I knew she’d choke on eventually.
“I want your cock more than my pride…”
Fucking beautiful.
On her knees.
Wrecked. Shaking. Tear-streaked and flushed. Her lace is twisted around her thighs, soaked through, and she’s staring up at me like I’m salvation and damnation wrapped in one brutal hand.
And fuck, if that doesn’t make my cock twitch.
But I don’t just want her mouth. I want her trained.
I want to teach her how to breathe around me. How to surrender fully. How to take every inch with tears in her lashes and gratitude in her throat. I want her to know that every breath she takes from this point forward, every single one…is mine to give… or deny.
“Come closer,” I murmur, voice steady, low, laced with promise and warning.
She obeys instantly, crawling forward on shaky hands, her desperation palpable.
I wrap a hand in her hair, firm but not violent, tilting her head up to meet my gaze.
“You don’t get to rush this,” I say, stroking her jaw with my thumb.
“I’m going to teach you how to take me. Every inch.
Every breath. You’ll learn to open up for me like a good girl and when I’m finished, you’ll never forget what it feels like to be owned from the inside out. ”
Her lips part, pink and swollen. Her eyes are glossy, full of hunger and fear and need.
I pull my cock into my hand, slowly stroking the length. Thick. Veined. Already dripping for her. I let the head brush her lips, painting her with pre-cum.
“Tongue out,” I command softly. “Nice and wide.”
She obeys, trembling. I slide the tip across her tongue, slow and indulgent, then push a little deeper, just enough to make her lips stretch, to feel the heat of her mouth begin to wrap around me.
“That’s it,” I breathe, hand tightening slightly in her hair. “Nice and easy. We’re going to take our time. You’re going to learn exactly how Daddy wants it.”
She gags a little, instinctively pulling back. I stop her with a gentle tug, forcing her eyes back to mine.
“No. You stay.” My voice is calm, but it cuts like steel. “You don’t run from the ache. You take it. You breathe through it. For me.”
I ease in again, deeper this time, until she’s gagging softly, lips stretched, spit starting to gather at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers curl against my thighs, nails digging into my skin.
“Slow your breathing,” I murmur, stroking her hair back from her face, oddly tender even as I hold her on my cock. “In through your nose. Relax your throat. I’ll tell you when to breathe.”
She chokes once. I let her pull back just an inch. Just enough to catch her breath. Then I drag her back down.
“There you go,” I whisper. “Good girl. Let it burn.”
I fuck into her mouth with punishing control, slow thrusts, deliberate pressure, pushing her past comfort into submission. Not enough to break her. Just enough to bend her where I want.
Spit drips from her chin, slicking my cock, pooling on her chest. Her eyes water, but she keeps them on me. Open. Surrendered. Perfect.
“Feel that?” I ask, voice ragged now, my hunger sharpening at the sight of her. “That stretch? That ache? That’s mine. I want it seared into your memory. I want you ruined for anyone else.”
She moans around me, and my control fractures.
The sound is obscene, wet, desperate, vibrating through my cock like a live current. It shoots straight down my spine, dragging a groan from deep in my chest. I grip the back of her head tighter and thrust deeper, slow and punishing, until her nose is flush against my pelvis and her throat is full.
I hold her there.
Still.
Pressed tight.
She twitches, panicked, instinct clawing at the edges of her composure. Her throat convulses violently around me, body fighting the stretch, the suffocation.
I don’t move.
I watch.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Only then do I pull back, slow and controlled, letting her gasp for air.
She coughs hard, shoulders heaving, spit trailing from the corners of her mouth and down her chin, strings of it glistening between us. She collapses forward, trying to catch her breath, trembling like she’s been gutted.
I crouch low in front of her, grab her chin with one rough hand, and tilt her face up. Her eyes are glassy with tears, cheeks flushed, lips red and ruined.
“Look at me,” I murmur, voice soft enough to scare her. “You want to please me?”
She nods fast, too fast, still trying to breathe.
I tighten my grip just enough to still her, thumb dragging through the wetness on her chin, wiping her mouth then pressing against her lips, slow, filthy, owning.
“Then you’ll learn,” I whisper. “You’ll cry. You’ll choke. You’ll suffocate on it. And you’ll thank me for the privilege.”
Her breath shudders. Her lips part around my thumb like she’s desperate to be used again.
I smile. Dark. Cold. Proud.
“Good girl.”
I rise, cock slick, heavy, ready.
“Again,” I say, voice low and cruel as I thread my fingers back into her hair. “Deeper this time.”
Because this isn’t just about fucking her throat.
It’s about claiming it.
Training it.
Branding her from the inside out until my cock is the only thing she associates with the words open wide.
By the time I’m done she’ll never speak without tasting me.
Her throat is wrecked, spit-slick and flushed red. Her lips are swollen, trembling around every gasping breath I’ve let her earn. But it’s the look in her eyes, destroyed, tear-glossed, begging, that snaps the last thread of control I’ve been hanging onto.
I can’t wait anymore.
And neither can she. I fist my hand into her hair, wrenching her head back into a brutal, punishing kiss.
Her mouth parts for me instantly, desperate, shattered, utterly mine.
I taste her tears, her submission, her unspoken pleas.
She moans into my mouth, arching and clinging like she’ll shatter without the bruising claim of my lips.