I tied him to my bed, wrists bound tight above his head, ankles spread, fully exposed. No room to squirm, no illusion of power. Just me, standing over him, smiling and ready to play.
This wasn’t about slow seduction. I played with him like a toy I couldn’t wait to break in. I dragged my nails across his skin, tickling until he thrashed. I bit into his chest, thighs, his nipples, his neck, each mark a reminder that he belonged to me now. And when I stomped down, hard and deliberate, he whimpered so beautifully I nearly came from the sound alone.
I made him feel everything: the sharpness of teeth, the sting of my hands slapping against his skin, the overwhelming ache of denial. Every part of his body flinched and begged without words.
And then, I climbed on top of him and took what I wanted - his throbbing cock deep inside me.
I rode him without mercy. Grinding. Clenching. Overstimulating. Letting him feel every squeeze, every thrust, every second he was being
