Chapter 1 #2
I look up at her from between her thighs.
Her pupils blow wide, swallowing the colour of her eyes, her chest rising too fast, her lip caught between her teeth.
“You won’t touch yourself when I’m gone.
” I bite into her thigh. Hard. She yelps, a sharp, melodic sound that rings in my ears.
I lick the mark, savouring the salt of her skin.
“You’ll keep this sweet little pussy untouched until I say. ”
She nods, frantic, trembling, desperate.
“Say it.”
“I—I won’t—” she gasps. “I won’t touch myself—” She’s already grinding against nothing, her hips moving in a mindless, rhythmic plea. Pathetic. Perfect.
My tongue drags through her slit, slow and heavy, savouring the taste of her, the way she’s already dripping for me.
She jolts. Her hands fly to my hair, fingers tightening like she doesn’t know whether to pull me closer or push me away.
I hum against her, the vibration dragging another moan from her lips, pinning her hips down when she tries to chase the pressure.
“Damien, please—”
I shake my head against her. Pull back just enough to speak. “No. You don’t get to beg yet.”
She whines. Claws at me. I let her. But I don’t give her what she wants.
Not yet. Not until she breaks. I flick my tongue against her clit—once.
A cruel, perfect snap of sensation. She bucks, her heels digging into the couch.
I pull away. I trace my finger through her dripping pussy and smear it across her lips.
“Open.”
She parts her lips instantly, her tongue darting out to taste herself on my finger.
Good girl.
I push my finger into her mouth and watch her suck it like she’s starving, her eyes watering as I press deep, asserting my dominance even there. I pull out and smear her spit and slick across her cheek, marking her like an animal.
“You taste how sweet you are?” I whisper. She nods. “You taste that little drip of desperation?”
I thumb her clit, hard, fast, enough to make her cry out. She nods harder, panting now, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “You want to cum, little spider?”
“Yes—please—I—”
I slap her clit, just once. The sound is sharp, a stinging rebuke to her desire. She sobs. Beautiful.
“You can’t,” I growl. “Not until you’ve earned it. Not until you beg properly. Not until you tell me why you need me. Why no one else will ever touch you.” Her breath shudders. Her hands tremble. “Say it.”
“Because I’m yours,” she chokes out. “Because no one else can have me—because—because you’re the only one who—who—”
“Who what?”
“Who knows how to break me,” she sobs.
I grin against her skin. There she is. My perfect little sinner. “Good girl,” I whisper, dragging my tongue over her again, faster now, harder, but still not enough. She sobs louder. She grinds her hips. She’s so fucking close.
“Don’t cum,” I snap, gripping her thighs tight. She freezes. “Not until I say.”
Her body shakes. Her hands claw at the couch. Her breath stutters. She’s teetering. And she’s waiting for me to let her fall. But I won’t. Not yet. Not until she begs me like her life depends on it.
Not until she screams for me and only me. Because the other one might be watching. But I’m the one who owns her. And I’m going to make her prove it. Again. And again. And again.
Her thighs quiver under my hands. Her breath is a trembling thing, cracking under the weight of how badly she needs this. How badly she needs me.
“Please,” she whispers, her voice small, wrecked, already slipping toward the edge.
I slide my palm up her belly, slow, controlling, savouring the little twitch she gives when my thumb brushes under her ribs. She’s too sensitive. She’s perfect like this—strung out, begging, dripping, desperate enough to say anything I want.
“Get on your knees,” I murmur against her skin.
She hesitates. Not because she doesn’t want to obey—because her legs barely work. I slap her thigh. The sound cracks through the room. “Now.”
She scrambles, panting as she shifts off the couch and sinks to her knees in front of me, wide-eyed, flushed, falling apart. I grip her jaw and tilt her chin up. “You remember your rules?”
She nods frantically.
“Say them.”
Her lips tremble. “I don’t cum unless you say—”
I tighten my grip on her throat, just enough to feel the frantic gallop of her pulse. She gasps. “Start again.”
“I don’t cum unless you say.”
Tears lace her lashes. Her thighs press tight together.
I drag them apart with my boot, grinding my sole against her bare pussy, she jolts.
A sharp, broken sound spills from her throat as the rough leather meets her hot dripping pussy.
I push harder. Her breath stutters. Her hips rock.
I lift her chin, force her to look at me.
“You’ll hold it until I say,” I whisper. “You’ll cry if you have to. You’ll beg until your voice cracks. And you’ll thank me for every second I keep you on the edge.”
Her moan shatters through her lips. “Thank you,” she whimpers.
“Good girl.”
I grind my boot against her, slow and cruel, until she’s biting her fist to keep from sobbing.
Her pussy soaks the leather, slick smearing across the toe of my boot, dripping down to the floor beneath her.
She’s trembling so hard she can’t stay upright without me.
I let her lean against my leg as I reach into the drawer.
Clamps. Wax. Rope.
The scent of the candle oil cuts through the room like it already knows where it’s going. I lift one of the clamps to her lips. “Kiss it.”
She does. I thread the cold metal over one nipple, tightening until she yelps, until her thighs snap closed, until her head falls back.
“Open your legs.”
She shakes her head, sobbing. “I can’t—Damien, please—I can’t—”
I slap her pussy, hard, three sharp strikes that drag a scream from her throat. The sound is raw, primal. “You can.”
Her legs fall open. I clip the other nipple, slowly, watching her fall apart under the pressure, her whole body rocking between pain and desperation. She’s so beautiful like this—wrecked, soaked, caged in me.
I light the candle. Tip it slowly. Let the first drop of wax fall across her collarbone.
She jolts, a broken gasp punching out of her chest as the heat sears her skin.
She scrambles to grip my thigh, her nails biting deep into me.
I let another drop fall, this time lower, just above her nipple, close enough for the heat to tease the clamp, to draw a sob from her throat.
“Thank me,” I murmur.
“Thank you,” she gasps.
I drip wax lower, over her belly, a trail of red-hot stings that pull tears from her eyes. Her breathing cracks, sobs rolling in sharp waves as her thighs rub together, desperate for relief. I grind my boot harder against her pussy. She moans so loud I feel it echo in my spine.
“Not yet,” I growl, dragging the wax lower, letting it drip across her hip, her inner thigh, right to the edge of where she wants it most. Her whole body quakes. Her hands claw at me, at the couch, at the floor. She’s so close. So fucking close. And I won’t let her have it. Not until she shatters.
I drag her closer by her throat, my boot still pressing between her legs. “Beg,” I growl, my breath hot against her lips. “Beg until you’re sobbing.”
Her tears fall harder. Her voice breaks on every word. “Please, Damien—please—I can’t—I need—I need you—I need to cum—I need you—I need—”
I slide my hand down, my fingers replacing my boot, stroking her just hard enough to make her cry out, just soft enough to keep her teetering. She’s soaked. So fucking soaked.
“Tell me why you need me.”
“Because you’re the only one—” she sobs, hips rocking, “—you’re the only one who can break me—you’re the only one who can put me back together—you’re the only one—please—please—”
Her legs shake, her whole body convulsing in my grip. I grip her jaw harder. Force her eyes to mine. “You won’t cum,” I growl. “Not until you say it.”
Her sobs crack. Her voice shatters. “I’m yours,” she screams. “I’m fucking yours—I’m yours—please—please—”
I shove my fingers deep inside her, curling them, dragging against that sweet, swollen spot she can’t reach on her own.
She comes apart instantly, screaming my name, sobbing into my chest as her pussy clenches violently around my fingers, her whole body rocking under the weight of it.
I don’t let up. I fuck her through it, dragging every last tremor from her body, owning her moans, drinking her sobs.
Her legs give out. She collapses against me, panting, tears soaking my shirt. I kiss the crown of her head. My grip doesn’t soften. Not even now.
Especially not now. Because she’s mine. And the other one? He can watch all he wants. But I’m the one who makes her fall apart. I’m the one who pulls the strings. I’m the one she fucking begs for.
And I’m not done. Not even close.
Her body’s still shaking. Trembling against me like her bones aren’t hers anymore, like her muscles forgot how to hold her up.
Good.
She should feel it. She should carry it. She should drown in it. I peel my fingers out of her, slow, watching the way her cunt tries to follow, clenching around nothing now. She’s a mess. Dripping down her thighs. Slick coating my skin, my boot, the floor beneath us.
I slide my hand into her hair, grip the strands tight, and tug her head back until her glassy, tear-wrecked eyes meet mine. “You’re not done.”
Her breath stutters. Her lips tremble. I drag her toward the dark stain on the floor. “Clean it.”
Her throat bobs, the panic flickering there, the hesitation like she’s still waiting for me to tell her I’m joking. I don’t joke. I press my boot to the mess. I smear it into the grain of the wood. “Use your mouth.”
Her tears fall faster now. Her hands shake as she braces herself over the floor. I don’t let go of her hair. I keep her exactly where I want her. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, broken and raw.