The morning started soft.

I woke to the smell of fresh tea and coffee with the warmth of his body curled around mine. His hand rested on my hip, thumb brushing slow, lazy circles into my skin. I stretched and yawned, pressing back against him with a sleepy smile.

“Happy birthday, gorgeous,” he murmured against my ear, his voice still rough with sleep.

I turned in his arms and he kissed me, slow and deep, like we had all the time in the world. He kissed my forehead, my nose, the corners of my mouth, each one a silent promise.

Today was about me.
All of it.
Every second.

He brought me tea in bed, along with my favourite pastries.
He kissed my fingertips while I ate, watching me with eyes that glowed with quiet hunger.
He massaged my shoulders, whispered sweet, filthy things into my ears.

The day passed in a golden haze.
Presents were given.
Soft touches stolen.
Little teasing kisses along my neck, brushing under my clothes, hands sliding lower, lingering at my waist before pulling away with a wicked grin.

He made me wait.
Made me crave.

It was not until evening that the promise of the day truly began to unfold.

---

The bedroom was transformed.

Candles flickered along every surface, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The bed was covered in black silk sheets that shimmered in the low light. In the centre of the bed, a small, wicked-looking chocolate cake sat on a tray, alongside a collection of gleaming toys.

Vibrators.
Butt plugs.
Silk ropes.
A flogger with a handle that gleamed ominously.

I shivered at the sight, heat pooling low in my belly.

He stood behind me, his hands sliding up my bare arms, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Tonight, you do nothing,” he whispered. “Tonight, you are mine to worship.”

I whimpered, already aching, already soaked.

He stripped me slowly, unwrapping me like a present, taking his time. Every button undone with reverence. Every inch of skin bared with kisses and soft bites.

When I stood before him, he stepped back, eyes devouring me.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So fucking beautiful.”

He guided me to the bed, helping me kneel among the pillows. I sat there, trembling, heart hammering, while he picked up the cake with a grin.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said, laughing quietly.

And then he pressed a piece of the cake to my chest, smearing thick chocolate across my skin. I gasped at the sudden coolness, the stickiness, but before I could speak, his mouth was on me.

He licked it from my breasts, slow and deliberate, his tongue swirling over my nipples until they were peaked and aching. He dragged his teeth gently across the sensitive skin, making me arch into him with a broken moan.

He fed me bites of cake between kisses, between licks, between the wicked flicks of his tongue that made me whimper and squirm.

I was sticky, messy, panting for him, and he was nowhere near finished.

He wiped the last of the cake from my belly with two fingers and fed it to me, watching with hooded eyes as I sucked them clean.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice thick with pride.

Before I could catch my breath, he reached for the silk ropes.

I did not resist.

He tied my wrists together first, careful but firm, murmuring praise under his breath as he worked. Then he tied them above my head, securing them to the headboard. I was stretched, exposed, trembling with anticipation.

He trailed his fingers down my arms, over my breasts, along my ribs, lower still, until he reached the aching heat between my legs.

“So wet already,” he murmured, stroking along my folds with maddening lightness. “All from a little cake and a few kisses.”

He picked up a slim vibrator from the tray. My breath caught at the sight of it, gleaming slick in the candlelight.

“You are going to cum so many times tonight,” he said, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “You will forget how to speak. How to think. You will only know me.”

He flicked the vibrator on, the low hum filling the room. He dragged the tip along my inner thighs, teasing, taunting, never quite where I needed it.

I whined, trying to shift my hips closer, but he chuckled darkly and pulled away.

“Patience,” he said. “You will get what you need. When I decide you are ready.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my mound, then finally, finally, slid the toy against my clit.

I cried out, hips jerking, thighs trembling with the sudden, overwhelming pleasure. He circled the toy slowly, applying just enough pressure to drive me insane but not enough to tip me over.

My hands strained against the silk ropes, my body arching helplessly.

He played me like an instrument, bringing me to the edge again and again, then pulling back, teasing me with his fingers, his tongue, the toy.

He added a plug next, small and slick, pushing it inside me with slow, relentless pressure that made me whimper and squirm.

The fullness, combined with the constant stimulation, was too much.
I was gasping, crying, begging.

“Please,” I sobbed. “Please, I need to cum.”

He chuckled, dark and low.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing my trembling thigh. “Cum for me. Cum all over my mouth.”

He replaced the toy with his tongue, lashing my clit with fast, merciless strokes.

I shattered.

The orgasm tore through me like a storm, my body convulsing against the restraints, my cries filling the candlelit room. He did not stop. His mouth stayed on me, his tongue relentless, pushing me into a second orgasm, then a third, each one ripping me apart further.

By the time he pulled back, I was a shaking, sobbing mess, unable to form words, only sounds.

He untied my wrists carefully, massaging the blood back into my hands, peppering my skin with soft kisses.

I thought he would let me rest.
I was wrong.

He kissed me slow, licking the taste of me from my own lips, his cock hot and hard against my thigh.

“You are not done yet,” he murmured. “Not even close.”

He guided me to my hands and knees on the bed, positioning me carefully, almost tenderly. The plug remained buried deep inside me, keeping me full, stretched.

He reached for the vibrator again, flicked it on, and pressed it firmly to my clit.

I gasped, the sudden stimulation almost too much on my swollen, throbbing flesh.

Then I felt him line himself up behind me.

The head of his cock teased my entrance, slick with my arousal and his spit. He pushed forward slowly, the plug adding an unbearable stretch that made me sob into the sheets.

“Such a good girl,” he groaned, sinking deeper. “Taking my cock with that plug stuffed inside you. Taking all of it.”

He bottomed out with a shudder, grinding his hips against me, the plug pressing from behind, his cock filling me completely.

I was so full it was unbearable.

And then he started to move.

He fucked me with rough, savage thrusts, the bed creaking, the sheets pulling, the vibrator buzzing mercilessly against my clit with every stroke.

I screamed.
I sobbed.
I begged.

My body was nothing but pleasure and pain, stretched to its limits, used and adored all at once.

“You feel that?” he growled, slamming into me harder. “You feel how full you are? That is all mine. Every part of you, wrecked for me.”

I could not answer.
Could barely breathe.

My orgasm crashed over me with a violence that stole my voice, my body locking up, pussy pulsing around his cock in endless waves.

He fucked me through it, never slowing, never stopping.

Another orgasm tore through me.
Then another.
I lost count, lost myself, lost everything but the feel of him pounding into me, the toy buzzing, the plug keeping me stretched, the overwhelming heat and love in every filthy word he snarled against my spine.

When he finally came, it was with a broken, guttural moan, hips grinding deep, filling me with his heat, his claim, his everything.

He collapsed over me, peppering kisses along my spine, murmuring praise and love between gasps for breath.

He pulled the plug free carefully, making me whimper at the sudden emptiness, a slick mess leaking between my thighs.
“Shower,” he whispered against my temple. “Come on, birthday girl.”

The bathroom was already warm and misty. He turned on the water, adjusting the temperature before pulling me under the hot spray with him.

For a moment we simply stood there, the water washing away the sweat, the stickiness, the mess of everything we had done. I sagged against him, letting him hold me up.

Then he picked up the soap and started lathering my skin, his hands slow and shameless.

He washed every inch of me with teasing fingers, lingering far too long over my breasts, tweaking and rolling my nipples until they were stiff peaks again, even though I was exhausted and wrecked.

“Insatiable,” I muttered, laughing breathlessly against his chest.

“You love it,” he said with a wicked grin, sliding soapy hands between my thighs, making me squeal and squirm.

I retaliated by grabbing the soap and sliding my hands down his body, wrapping my fingers around his cock and stroking slowly.
He groaned, hips twitching into my hand, but caught my wrist with a grin.

“Temptress,” he growled, pressing me back against the wall under the spray, kissing me like he wanted to consume me all over again.

We spent longer in the shower than necessary, teasing and touching, laughing between kisses, lazily washing each other until the water began to cool.

Finally, he turned the tap off, grabbed a fluffy towel and wrapped me up in it.

We collapsed into the rumpled bed together, still damp, still flushed.
He pulled me into his arms from behind, my back pressed against his chest, his legs tangling with mine under the covers.

His hands slid up and cupped my breasts possessively, thumbs stroking soft, lazy circles over my nipples.

“Perfect,” he mumbled into my hair, voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction.

I sighed in pure contentment, pressing back into him, his warmth sinking into my bones.

Held. Cherished.
Completely, utterly his.

As I drifted towards sleep, his hands still cradling my breasts, he whispered:

“Happy birthday, beautiful.”

And I smiled, letting the world slip away, safe in the only place I would ever need to be.

The morning sunlight crept in soft and slow, casting a golden glow over the rumpled sheets.

I stirred, groaning softly as the delicious ache in my body made itself known. Every muscle hummed with a sore, satisfied heaviness.

Behind me, he shifted, tightening his arm around my waist, his nose nuzzling into the back of my neck.

“Morning, birthday girl,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly with sleep.

I hummed in response, pressing back into him, feeling the unmistakable hardness pressing against the curve of my arse.

He chuckled, slow and wicked.

“Hope you are ready,” he whispered against my skin, one hand sliding down to cup my thigh, pulling it up over his.

“Because round two is going to happen before you even think about breakfast.”

I laughed breathlessly, already arching into him, already melting under his touch.

Because when it came to him, I would never say no.

Not even half-asleep.

Not ever.