Scarlett #3
“Feel that?” he hisses, his breath hot against my neck. “That’s me, not you. That’s what it feels like when I take over. You’re not allowed to fall apart unless it’s on my hand, on my cock, on me.”
The shame burns, but my hips grind against him anyway, desperate, helpless, ruined. My muffled cries only make him tighten his palm harder over my mouth, forcing silence while his fingers tear through me.
“You’ll cum when I say, Scar. Not a second sooner. And when you do…” his pace quickens, filthy, relentless, “…you’ll remember who owns you every time you close your eyes.”
His fingers leave me wrecked and trembling, only to be replaced by his mouth, his tongue dragging slow and deep over skin that’s already raw with need. I choke on a sob, clutching at his hair, and he just laughs against me, wet heat and wicked cruelty.
“You thought my hand was bad,” he murmurs, breath hot, tongue pressing harder until I’m shaking. “Wait until you learn what my mouth can do.”
He doesn’t let me fall—not yet. Every time I’m close, he slows, pulls back, lets the pressure ebb away until I’m clawing the sheets in silent, useless rage.
Then he’s back on me again, lapping, biting, teasing, pushing me higher than before.
My whole body quakes with frustration, my throat aching from muffled screams.
Just when I think I’ll break, he’s gone again—hauling me over him, his cock pressing against me, thick, unyielding, rubbing through the slick he’s made. My body jerks, desperate, and he grips my hips to drag me back and forth, using me as though I’m nothing but his toy.
“Feel that, Scar?” His voice is broken glass and sin. “Hand, tongue, cock—you’ll never know which one ruins you worse.”
He thrusts up just enough to make me see stars, then stops, holding me suspended on the edge of everything.
“You’re mine in every way, but I’m not done breaking you yet.”
I’m nothing but a trembling mess above him, every nerve raw, every muscle begging for mercy he won’t give.
His fingers dig into my hips as he drags me over him again and again, his cock rubbing right where I need him most, his tongue still wet on my skin, his hand curling wickedly against me in perfect rhythm—every sensation stacked, layered, built for ruin.
And still he doesn’t let me fall.
“Scarlett…” his whisper is sharp, taunting, broken enough to make me shiver. “You feel how soaked you are? That’s mine. Every drop. But you don’t get to cum until I say so.”
I sob against his throat, grinding helplessly, desperate to steal release, but he clamps down, cruelly steadying me, denying me the satisfaction. My body jerks with frustration, the tension screaming through me like fire.
“Please,” I choke, but his laugh is darker than hell itself.
“Beg prettier,” he hisses against my ear, his tongue flicking the shell before his teeth catch it. “Say exactly what you want me to do with this cock, and maybe I’ll consider it. Until then? You suffer.”
He shoves two fingers inside me, thrusting slow and deep while his thumb torments, while his cock grinds harder against my clit, while his words tear me apart. My scream rips from my chest, muffled in his shoulder, my body so close to shattering I could die from it.
But he pulls back again, holding me still, dragging the pleasure away until I’m shaking violently in his arms.
“You think you’re desperate now?” he growls, almost tender and almost monstrous. “Wait until I’ve ruined you a hundred times like this. You won’t even remember what it feels like to breathe without begging.”
His grip is iron on my hips, his cock heavy and hot, pulsing against me but never giving me what I need. My body is ruined from his tongue and his fingers already, soaked and trembling, but he only smiles—sharp, merciless.
“You want to cum so badly?” His voice is low, cruel, cutting through the haze. “Then we’re going to play.”
My stomach knots. “N-no—”
“Yes.” His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back until my throat stretches, until I can’t hide from him. “Every time you say something filthy—something you’ve never dared to say out loud—I’ll give you one thrust. Just one. You want more, you’ll have to earn it.”
Heat burns my cheeks, shame twisting with desperation. I shake my head, but his cock pushes just inside me, not enough, a tease of heaven that makes me whimper.
“Say it, Scar. Play my game. Or you’ll stay empty, dripping for me, until you lose your mind.” His thumb circles lazily where I’m throbbing, proof that he means every word.
I sob, broken, clinging to his shoulders. “P-please—”
He growls. “That’s not filthy enough.”
And then he pulls out again, leaving me shattered.
“I… I can’t,” I whisper, shaking, nails digging into his shoulders. My whole body is begging, but my mouth won’t work, won’t give him what he wants.
His teeth scrape my jaw, a warning. “Then you’ll stay empty.”
He pulls back again, and something inside me snaps. My shame cracks wide open.
“I thought about you,” I choke out, voice breaking. “When I touched myself.”
The words burn like acid on my tongue, but his hiss of breath tells me they’ve landed exactly where he wanted them to. His hips slam forward, burying his cock an inch deeper, just enough to make my eyes roll back and a sob tear out of me.
“Again.” His lips brush my ear, filthy and sweet all at once. “Say it again, Scar. Make it real for me.”
I’m trembling so hard I don’t even know if I’m holding myself up anymore. Tears sting my eyes as I gasp, “I touched myself to you. I thought about your hands, your mouth—”
He rewards me with another slow, merciless thrust, grinding in just deep enough to ruin me, not deep enough to save me.
“Good girl,” he whispers against my skin, dark and soft like a secret. “Now you’re learning how to play.”
“I… I dreamed about you,” I whisper, the words spilling before I can stop them. My nails dig into his wrist where he’s holding me down. “And when I woke up, I was wet.”
His laugh is low, cruel. “Scarlett, you’re wet right now.” He drags his fingers along the soaked seam of my panties, pressing just enough to make my breath stutter. “But tell me what you did when you woke up.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, shake my head. “Don’t make me—”
He pushes harder, in a slow circle that makes me arch helplessly. “I’ll make you, Scar. Every dirty detail. Whisper it for me.”
“I… I touched myself again.” The shame makes my throat ache. “I wanted it to be you.”
His lips brush my ear, his voice a dark promise. “Every time you touch yourself now, it will be me. My hand. My cock. My tongue. Do you understand?”
Tears leak hotly down my cheeks. I nod. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“It’s you,” I sob, trembling. “It’s always you.”
His fingers never still. They trace the edge of my panties like he’s mapping me, dipping just enough to brush the damp cotton before pulling back, leaving me aching.
“Tell me the next one,” he murmurs, his mouth ghosting over my cheek, his tongue catching the salt of my tears. “What else do you think about when you’re alone?”
My lips part, but nothing comes. I shake my head, and his hand presses harder, his knuckles grazing my clit through the thin fabric, making me gasp.
“I—” My voice cracks. “I… pretended your hand was around my throat.”
A growl rumbles against my skin. His fingers slip beneath the waistband, dragging slow, deliberate strokes over my swollen folds. “Good girl. What else?”
I’m panting, my thighs trembling, shame boiling in my chest. “Sometimes…” I bite down hard on my lip, but his finger circles my clit cruelly, forcing the words out in a rush. “Sometimes I put the pillow over my face and I say your name.”
He drags two fingers lower, slicking them with my wetness, then pushes them back up, spreading me apart until I cry out. His breath is ragged now. “Say it for me, Scar. Say it now.”
“Ka—Kai…”
His thumb grinds down, relentless. “Another one. Don’t stop. Feed me everything you’ve hidden.”
I sob, arching, my nails clawing at the sheets. “I imagine you making me beg. On my knees. I—oh God—” His tongue suddenly replaces his fingers, hot and merciless, and I choke on the confession, shaking.
He pulls back just enough to sneer against me. “Filthy little liar. You’ve been mine all along, haven’t you?”
And with one sharp thrust of his fingers, curling wickedly inside, I break open, shame spilling with every ragged breath. “Yes—yes, I’ve always been yours.”
His finger hooks beneath the lace, slow, taunting, grazing over skin that makes my thighs jolt shut — but he forces them apart with his knee.
“Show me how wet you are for me, Scar.” His breath is hot against my throat. “Or do I need to find out myself?”
I choke, my voice breaking. “Please don’t—”
He dips lower, stroking through my slick folds, dragging the wetness up until it stains the thin fabric. “This is what you don’t want me to know?” His thumb presses cruelly on my clit, light, mocking circles. “You’ve been dripping for me while telling yourself I’m your brother. That’s your shame.”
“Stop—” My protest shatters into a whimper when he presses harder, slow enough to leave me thrashing.
“Not until you confess the rest. Tell me what you imagine when you touch yourself.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears leaking down my temples. “I… I imagine your mouth.” The words claw out of me. “Between my legs.”
His laugh is dark, broken. “Filthy little liar. You don’t just imagine my mouth.” He pushes two fingers inside slowly, curling. “What else?”
My body bows, sobbing. “Your cock.” The word tastes like sin, and it leaves me trembling. “Splitting me open.”
His pace never quickens — slow, relentless, cruel. “And where do you imagine it, Scar? Say it.”
My whole body shakes. “Inside me,” I whisper, ashamed and undone.
His fingers trail up my ribs, deliberately slow, leaving goosebumps that sting like burns. He palms my breast through the thin cotton, squeezing just enough to make me gasp, then lets go, smirking like he’s disappointed.