She owns the night. He begs to be undone.
He watched her like a man starved.
Crimson lips wrapped around the rim of a glass, eyes sharp under dark lashes, posture commanding even as she leaned back casually on the velvet barstool.
She clocked him the moment he walked in.
Confident enough to look but not approach. The type that wanted to be chased but secretly longed to be hunted.
She let him simmer.
Let his eyes trace her curves. The black dress clung to her body like it had been painted on, dipping low at the back, hugging her thighs like a threat.
When she finally beckoned him over with a single curl of her finger, he came like he’d been summoned all his life.
They didn’t waste time with polite small talk.
She didn’t offer her name.
Only asked, “Are you good at being still?”
His brow arched. “I can be.”
Her lips quirked. “Then let’s find out.”
Part II: The Room
The hotel suite was already waiting.
She pressed him against the wall the second the door clicked shut, her hand curled around his jaw, lips brushing his but never giving him a kiss.
“You do not touch unless told to,” she purred. “You do not cum unless I allow it. Nod if you understand.”
He nodded.
“Good boy.”
She led him by the belt into the room, pushed him down onto the chair she’d already placed facing the bed. The table beside it held neatly coiled rope, her favourite crop, and a pair of steel handcuffs that gleamed in the low light.
He swallowed.
She smirked.
“Shirt off. Now.”
He obeyed without hesitation. His chest rose and fell with restrained anticipation. She tied his wrists to the arms of the chair with precision, knotted tight but not cruel. Firm. Controlled. Undeniably hers.
Then she turned and, without a word, began to undress.
First the zip of her dress, slow and deliberate.
Then the fabric slid from her shoulders, pooling at her heels.
No bra. Just lace knickers, dark and soaked, a sheen glinting between her thighs.
He growled low in his throat.
“Eyes on me,” she warned, straddling the edge of the bed. “Not your cock. Not the door. Me.”
He obeyed.
She bent forward to undo her shoes, her arse in the air, knickers tugging tight between her cheeks. She stayed like that a moment longer than necessary, smirking as he tugged against the rope binding his arms.
“Oh, you want, don’t you?”
He bit his lip, nodding.
“You ache for it.”
“Yes.”
“But I haven’t decided if you’ve earned it yet.”
Part III: The Edging
She sauntered over to him, straddling his lap without letting him feel more than the ghost of her heat.
“You’ve no idea how close I could be,” she murmured, reaching down to cup him through his trousers. “You could slide into me right now. I’m soaked. But you won’t. Because I said so.”
He groaned, hips bucking.
She slapped his cheek, just enough to sting.
“Still.”
He froze.
She undid his trousers, freed his cock – already hard, pulsing, desperate.
She sank to her knees between his legs. Looked up at him through thick lashes.
Then wrapped her lips around the tip.
Just the tip.
He moaned, loud and broken, as she teased. Licked. Sucked. Stroked.
Then pulled back.
“Not yet,” she whispered, blowing cool air over his wet skin.
She kept it up. Over and over.
Sucking him just to the edge.
Then stopping.
Sometimes spitting in his mouth.
Sometimes grabbing his hair and kissing him hard, lipstick smearing across his face like her mark.
“Mine,” she whispered. “Every inch.”
He was panting now. Desperate. Glazed.
She leaned in close, her pussy hovering inches from his face, so wet he could smell her — almost taste her.
“Beg.”
“Please,” he choked. “Please let me taste you. Please let me cum. I’ll do anything.”
“You’ll do nothing,” she said sweetly. “Except be good.”
Part IV: The Claiming
She stood.
Wiped her thumb across her mouth and dragged it down her throat, over her breasts, then her stomach, smearing herself with her own spit and his precum.
Then she untied him.
He nearly collapsed forward, shaking.
She dragged him by the hair to the bed.
“On your back.”
He obeyed.
She straddled his chest, holding the cuffs over his head and locking them to the headboard.
Then she sat on his face.
Hard.
He groaned into her, tongue lapping desperately as she rocked against him.
She gasped, grinding down, fingers gripping the headboard.
“That’s it,” she hissed. “That’s how you beg. Keep going.”
His cock strained upward, dripping against his stomach.
She rode his tongue like it was hers — because it was.
And when she was ready, when she’d pulled two orgasms from his mouth and left him soaked in her scent, she crawled down and slid onto him.
Part V: The Ride
She didn’t ease onto him.
She dropped.
Hard.
His cry echoed off the walls as she took him to the base in one slick motion, her thighs tightening around his hips, her nails digging into his chest like claws.
She held herself there, impaled on him, letting her walls throb around his cock while he whimpered beneath her, eyes wide, chest heaving, completely bound and helpless.
“You’re so deep,” she whispered, leaning down, her breath against his mouth. “So fucking hard for me.”
He nodded frantically. “I can’t—I—please.”
“You’re not allowed to cum,” she growled, slapping his cheek again. “Not until I say. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he gasped, trembling.
“Good boy.”
Then she rode him.
Brutal. Controlled. Unrelenting.
Her hips slammed down again and again, pussy sucking him in, her body using his like a toy, a tool to satisfy every dirty ache inside her.
He groaned, head rolling back, wrists pulling at the cuffs. “You’re going to kill me.”
“No,” she said, lips curling. “I’m going to ruin you.”
Her nails raked his chest, leaving red bloodied marks in their wake. Her thighs shook. Her breath hitched.
She was close.
He could feel it in the way she clenched, in the wild way she moved — less measured, more desperate now. A queen losing herself to the pleasure of taking everything she wanted.
“You want to cum in me?” she panted, grinding her hips with a feral moan.
“Yes—God, yes—please—”
“Beg me again.”
“Please, let me. I need it. I need to fill you. I need to feel you take it from me. Please.”
She locked eyes with him.
“You may.”
He came with a roar, spilling into her in thick waves, body convulsing under her, muscles strained and trembling.
She kept going.
Riding him through it. Drawing out every drop. Taking it all.
Her own climax hit seconds later. She cried out, nails carving into his skin, back arched as she pulsed around him, milking him, claiming every inch.
Then she collapsed on his chest, both of them breathless, sweaty, shaking.
Still, he was bound. Still, he could not touch her.
She smirked against his neck.
“Happy now, toy?”
“More than happy,” he whispered. “Yours.”
She kissed his jaw, her lipstick smeared across his mouth.
“Damn right you are.”
Later, once the cuffs were undone and their bodies lay tangled in soft sheets, he traced the scratches down his chest with quiet awe.
She was beside him, one leg draped possessively over his.
“That was…” he began.
She didn’t let him finish.
She rolled over and pressed her lips to his ear.
“Sleep well,” she whispered. “You’re going to need the energy. I’m not done with you yet.”
Crave: Part II Her Law, His Undoing
Part I: The Shift
He thought because she let him sleep in her bed, he’d earned the right to rule it.
She’d been soft with him the past few hours
Gentler than usual.
He mistook that for permission.
That next morning, he tried it. He was dressed and ready to make his move.
Grabbed her wrists above her head.
Pressed her against the mattress.
Whispered, “My turn.”
She smiled up at him, calm. Cool. Dangerous.
“Oh? Your turn?”
He nodded, grinding against her with a growl. “Going to show you how it feels.”
She arched a brow, lips curving. “And you think you can handle that?”
“I can take care of you.”
Wrong answer.
She didn’t fight.
She didn’t resist.
She let him roll her onto her back and kiss down her body, hands bold, mouth hungry.
Let him taste her.
Let him feel powerful.
She even moaned for him — soft, breathy, designed to inflate his ego.
And just when he looked up from between her thighs, cocky, proud, ready to claim victory —
She grabbed his jaw.
Hard.
Her fingers dug into his cheeks, tilting his head until their eyes met.
“You really thought I’d hand it over?” she said quietly. “Just like that?”
His cock twitched.
His heart dropped.
He knew he was fucked.
In the best way.
Part II: The Unravelling
She pushed him back by the throat, flipping their positions in one smooth motion.
He landed hard on his back. She straddled his hips, bare thighs pinning him down.
“You don’t get to lead,” she murmured. “You get to learn.”
She leaned down, her hair brushing his face.
Lipstick still smudged from the night before, but her eyes were sharp. Intent. Lit with hunger and punishment.
She kissed him violently. Bit his bottom lip.
Grabbed his wrists and shoved them up over his head.
“Keep them there,” she ordered.
He obeyed.
And she moved.
Slid down his body.
Pulled the belt from his jeans like a weapon.
She bound his wrists to the headboard, fast and tight.
No room for struggle.
Only surrender.
Then she stood.
Took three steps back.
Let him look at her.
She peeled her shirt off slowly.
Her tits bounced free, nipples peaked, her lips were being glossed over with new, dark red.
She slid her panties down, stepped out of them, and dropped them on his chest like a trophy.
“You tried to dominate,” she said, dragging her nails down her stomach. “So now you’ll watch.”
She turned around.
Bent at the waist.
Spread her arse cheeks and let him see everything — slick, swollen, untouched by him.
He groaned.
Fought the restraints.
She laughed.
“You don’t get to have this,” she said. “Not yet. You’ll get it when I decide you’ve earned it.”
Part III: The Breaking Point
She sauntered back to him, naked, glistening, and in absolute control.
He strained against the belt binding his wrists, jaw tight, cock throbbing against his stomach. She knelt beside him, dragging her nails over his chest, slow enough to burn.
“You wanted control,” she whispered, leaning close, “but control requires discipline.”
Her tongue traced his collarbone.
Her lipstick smeared on his skin.
She left kiss after kiss along his ribs, painting him in red marks like ownership.
Then she slid lower.
Her lips brushed the head of his cock — just barely — and he bucked beneath her with a low, desperate growl.
She slapped his thigh. “Still.”
He bit down a groan.
She wrapped one hand around the base, her grip firm, fingers slick from her own arousal. Her mouth hovered a breath away from his tip.
“So needy,” she murmured. “All this for me.”
She licked the head.
Once.
Just enough.
He nearly came.
She stopped.
He whimpered. Actually whimpered.
“You think you get to cum from a lick?” she taunted. “You get what I allow. Not a drop more.”
She edged him with ruthless precision.
Her mouth, her hand, her spit — all working him to the edge.
Then backing off.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until his thighs trembled.
Until his neck arched.
Until he begged — real begging — not words, just raw sounds.
She leaned in. Kissed him.
Spat in his mouth.
“You’re not a man right now,” she whispered. “You’re a toy. Mine to wind up. Mine to use. Mine to deny.”
Part IV: The Reclamation
His eyes were glassy.
Breath ragged.
Body flushed and trembling under her touch.
She took her time.
One hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the other tracing lazy circles over his inner thigh, just to feel him flinch with every brush.
He was a wreck.
And he was perfect.
She climbed onto the bed slowly, her thighs sliding over his, her body slick and flushed from her own building need. She straddled his chest again, just like before — but this time lower, her pussy hovering above his mouth.
“Open,” she commanded.
He obeyed.
She lowered herself down, letting his tongue drag through her folds, moaning softly as he tasted her — finally. He devoured like a man starved, desperate to please her, desperate to feel her cum on his tongue.
She ground down onto his face, grabbing the headboard for leverage, her thighs squeezing around his head.
“Make me cum,” she panted. “And I might reward you.”
His hands pulled at the restraints. He wanted to hold her hips, to pull her closer, to be buried so deep in her she drowned him. But all he could do was lick — and fuck, did he try.
She came with a growl, her body shaking over his mouth, wetness soaking his chin. She didn’t get off right away. She stayed there, panting, letting him savour the aftermath while she looked down at him, utterly in control.
Then she moved.
Slid down his body.
And finally — finally — sat on his cock.
Final Part: His Ruin, Her Throne
She sank down slowly this time.
Not to be kind.
To torture.
His cock disappeared inch by inch into her soaked heat, and he let out a broken, strangled moan — head thrown back, hands fisting helplessly against the belt that kept him bound to the headboard.
“Is this what you wanted?” she murmured, leaning forward, her lips brushing his jaw. “To feel me take you? To be nothing more than something I ride when it pleases me?”
He couldn’t speak.
Only nod, gasping.
She began to move.
A slow, grinding roll of her hips.
Dragging her clit across the length of him, making herself moan while he whimpered beneath her.
Her hands braced on his chest, her nails digging in, carving shallow crescent marks with every thrust down.
“I want your eyes on me,” she growled. “I want you to remember that this — your cock, your mouth, your fucking soul — all of it belongs to me.”
“Yes,” he choked, voice hoarse.
She bounced harder now. Faster.
The sounds of her wet pussy slapping against his hips filled the room, obscene and perfect. His eyes rolled back. He was losing control, right there in front of her — body completely wrecked, used, cherished.
She leaned down, one hand wrapping tight around his throat, the other dragging his mouth to hers in a violent, messy kiss.
“Cum in me,” she hissed. “Now. Fill me. Because I said.”
He did.
It hit him like fire.
He cried out, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside her as he emptied everything he had into her waiting cunt.
She milked him for every drop.
Rode him until he whimpered beneath her, twitching, overstimulated, ruined.
And only then did she stop.
She sat there, panting, sweat-slicked and glowing, his cum dripping down her thighs, her fingers dragging gently over the scratches she’d left on his chest.
Then she smiled.
“You’ll never try to take control again, will you?”
He blinked up at her. Eyes wide. Lips parted.
“No, Mistress.”
“Good.”
She leaned in, kissed his cheek, then climbed off him slowly, like stepping down from a throne.
She cleaned herself lazily, then tossed a towel at his still-bound form with a smirk.
“I might untie you eventually,” she said, walking toward the bathroom. “But only when I feel like sharing my bed again.”
The door shut behind her.
And he lay there, ruined, pulsing, dripping with her.
Exactly where he belonged.
Crave: Part III — Public Property
—
Part I: The Encounter
It wasn’t planned.
He didn’t expect to see her again — not in a crowded rooftop bar on a Friday night, not with her body poured into black leather, not with her lips painted the same deep red he still dreamt about.
But she saw him first.
And she smiled.
Not a warm smile.
A cruel one. Knowing.
Like she’d never forgotten what his whimper sounded like or how he begged to cum with her pussy clenching around his cock.
She didn’t say hello.
Didn’t ask how he’d been.
She slid in beside him at the edge of the bar, ordered a drink, and whispered, “Still hard for me, aren’t you?”
He swallowed. “Always.”
She laughed, soft and low. “Good. Then you’ll follow me. Don’t speak. Don’t question.”
He obeyed. Like always.
She led him to the back corner of the rooftop …. half-shielded by potted palms and low lighting. Other patrons were nearby, chatting, laughing, drinking.
None of them knew she was about to ruin him again.
Part II: The Exposure
“Sit,” she commanded, sliding onto his lap without waiting for permission.
He was already hard.
Already aching.
She rolled her hips once, dragging her pussy against the bulge in his trousers, and he hissed through his teeth.
“You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” she whispered into his ear. “The way I break you without even trying.”
Her hand slid between them, slowly unzipping him under the table.
“Eyes forward,” she warned. “If you even glance at me while I do this, I’ll walk away and leave you unfinished.”
He froze. Jaw clenched.
She slid her hand inside. Wrapped her fingers around his cock.
Stroked. Teased. Controlled.
All the while, her other hand dipped into her purse and retrieved a deep red lipstick.
She twisted it up.
Uncapped it.
And with her free hand, painted a perfect heart over the head of his cock.
Then she licked her thumb and smeared it in.
He nearly came.
“You are mine,” she said calmly. “And now the whole world knows it.”
Part III: The Goodbye
She stood.
No warning. No easing.
He whimpered at the loss of contact.
People were watching now. Curious glances. A woman across the patio clearly touching herself under the table. A man near the bar biting his lip as he stared at them.
She didn’t care.
She leaned down, kissed his cheek, and whispered in his ear, “You’ll cum when you’re alone tonight. And you’ll leave it on your skin, like a mark for me.”
He nodded, trembling.
Then her hand slid into his hair.
Pulled his head back.
And she spat in his mouth, sharp and fast.
He swallowed like it was gospel.
“You’ll dream of me,” she said, stepping back. “But I won’t dream of you.”
He blinked, stunned.
“Maybe we’ll cross paths again,” she said over her shoulder. “Or maybe you’ll just crave me forever.”
And she disappeared into the crowd.
The End.
He still wakes up hard.
Still aching.
Still hers.
Even if he never sees her again.
Unsent Message, Drafted 3:17 AM
Folder: Her (Private)
I still smell your lipstick on my skin.
I wash and I scrub, but it clings — like you’re laughing from some shadow I can’t reach.I saw someone wearing leather today and almost dropped to my knees.
I still sleep with my hands above my head sometimes, hoping they’re tied.When I touch myself, I do it like I’m waiting for permission.
I stop when I think you’d say no.You told me you might cross my path again.
But I know the truth.You don’t need to.
Because I never left yours.You walk free.
I stay ruined.And I’d let you do it again.
Without question.
Without a word.
With everything I am.
Words by Frodo 