You can feel it before I even lay a finger on you. The heaviness of my presence, the warmth radiating from my body, the electric air that suffocates your senses, leaving you breathless and panting.
Your wrists are already secured, trapped by leather straps above your head, rendering you utterly helpless to resist or fight back. All you can do is accept what I'm about to give you.
And you will.
Your body is quivering, needy, aching, pulsating with a desperate energy that's evident in the way your thighs shift, your chest heaves, and your lips part in a silent plea.
I trace a gloved hand down your stomach, slow and deliberate, teasing the sensitive skin along your waist, tracing the curve of your hip before dipping lower.
You gasp as my fingers brush the inside of your thighs, just enough to make you jerk, just enough to make your body crave the contact like you've forgotten what patience feels like.
So eager already.
You don't even know what you're begging for, do you?
I grip your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at me through the mask.
"Use your words, sweetheart."
Your breath catches.
Your thighs clench.
Your lips tremble before they part, voice barely more than a ragged whisper.
"Please."
A dark chuckle rumbles low in my chest.
"Good girl."
I let you feel the slightest touch of my fingers between your legs, a slow, languid stroke through the heat pooling there, teasing, taunting, deliberately avoiding the spot you need me most.
You whimper, your body jerking in frustration, your bound hands tugging uselessly against the restraints as your hips arch, chasing more, pleading without words.
But I don't give it to you.
Not yet.
I want to watch you suffer for it first.
I want to see you squirm, hear you whine, feel you grow wetter with every second I keep you waiting.
You tremble beneath me.
"You can take it, can't you?" My voice is dark, teasing, heavy with amusement. "After all, you wanted this. You left the door open. You wanted me to come inside."
You shudder.
I press my fingers deeper this time, letting you feel just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to make your thighs tremble, just enough to make your entire body tense with anticipation.
And then I push inside.
Slow. Deep.
A devastating stretch that has your mouth falling open, your breath breaking into a soft, wrecked sound that makes my smirk deepen.
I feel you clench around me.
Feel the way your body reacts instantly, as if it was made to take this, as if it's been waiting for this moment from the second I first started watching you.
But I don't give you time to adjust.
I start moving.
Steady. Relentless. Cruel.
Dragging my fingers through the heat of you, teasing, pressing, curling just right, just enough to make you shudder, just enough to make your thighs shake, just enough to have you gasping my name like a prayer you never want answered.
"You're so fucking wet for me," I murmur, voice filled with wicked satisfaction. "So fucking easy to break."
You whimper, your back arching, your head tilting back as your body betrays you completely.
The pressure is building, tight and unbearable, your stomach clenching with every slow, torturous stroke of my fingers.
Your breathing stutters, hips rolling, chasing the friction, desperate for more, for faster, for anything that will push you over the edge.
But I don't let you.
Not yet.
I keep you there, hovering, trembling, suffering, my touch never quite enough, my pace never quite what you need.
"Look at you," I taunt, my other hand sliding up to grip your throat, not squeezing, just owning, just reminding you who is in control. "Falling apart so easily. Is this what you wanted? To be completely at my mercy?"
Your breath breaks.
Your hands pull at the leather straps again, useless, helpless, exactly where I want you.
"Please," you gasp, voice shattered.
"Please what?" My fingers press deeper, my pace unrelenting, precise, knowing exactly how to destroy you.
You sob.
"Please, let me come."
I smirk.
"Beg for it."
Your entire body tightens, shaking, your voice trembling with desperation.
"Please," you whisper, panting. "Please, I—"
Too slow.
I press my fingers harder, curling deep, forcing the breath from your lungs as your back bows off the bed, as your body tightens around me, as you shatter completely.
Your release crashes into you like a storm, your thighs trembling, your stomach clenching, your entire body convulsing beneath me as you fall apart in the most devastating way possible.
I don't stop.
I drag you through it, make you feel it, make you take it, make you tremble until you can't take any more, but still, I don't let up.
Your sobs turn into whimpers, your body still clenching, still ruined, still soaking my fingers, still so far gone you don't even realize I'm already pushing you toward another.
I grip your chin, tilting your face up to meet my gaze, a dark smirk curling at my lips as I drag my soaked fingers along your lips, forcing you to taste exactly how ruined you already are.
"You didn't think I was done, did you?"
You whimper.
I press my fingers back inside, deep, relentless, knowing exactly how to push you past the breaking point.
"You left the door open, sweetheart. Now you get to take everything I give you."
Your body shudders violently, still sensitive, still aching, but I don't stop.
I don't let up.
I ruin you again.
And again.
And again.
Until you forget your own name.
Until the only thing left in your head is me.
