Tears streak my temples, my chest heaves, but my back arches into his mouth when he sucks hard at the mark beneath my breast, drawing another broken cry from me.
I hate it. I hate myself more.
My nipples tighten, aching, desperate, begging for his teeth.
He doesn’t miss it. His lips close around one, tongue circling, teeth biting until I scream. My hips jerk up off the bed, my pussy clenching, wet dripping down my thighs.
His laugh vibrates against my skin, cruel and triumphant. He drags the hook across my stomach while his mouth worshipshigher, pressing steel and lips into me at once, branding and blessing in the same breath.
“Your body knows the truth,” he growls, blood and spit shining across his mouth. “You were never meant to be clean. You were meant to be carved and kissed, cut and claimed. You were meant for me.”
Another sob rips free, but this one sounds like a moan, filthy and desperate. My hips grind against nothing, chasing friction, betraying every word I swore.
When his mouth finally leaves my chest, his lips trail wet down my stomach, over every raw line he carved, sealing each mark like a vow.
By the time he reaches my hips, I’m shaking, slick soaking the sheets, my body begging for him even as my mind screams no.
And I realize?—
the marks aren’t just scars.
They’re doors.
And he’s opening every single one of them with his mouth.
His mouth trails lower, hot and wet, every kiss sealing another scar into me until I can’t tell where the steel ended and he begins. My thighs quake, slick already flooding down them, shame burning hotter than the wounds.
His hook presses flat against my hip, pinning me to the bed, cold biting my skin. His mouth finds the inside of my thigh, lips dragging slow, tongue painting circles over tender flesh until I gasp. Then his teeth sink in—sharp, deliberate, cruel.
I scream, my back arching off the sheets, blood blooming fast under his bite. He groans against it, sucking until I feel him swallow me down, until my thigh shakes uncontrollably.
“You taste better here,” he murmurs, lips smeared red, voice thick with hunger. “Closer to where you really live.”
Before I can speak—before I can breathe—he spreads me open with his hands, thumb bruising my thigh apart, dragging me wider until I’m bared to him completely. His breath hits me there, hot and hungry, and I want to slam my legs shut, want to hide, want to vanish.
His mouth is already on me.
Tongue dragging slow through my folds, lapping up the slick he forced from me, savouring every drop like it’s his due. My cry rips through the room, raw and broken, but he only moans against me, mouth working harder, hungrier, like he’s feasting on the confession my body made.
The hook presses harder into my hip, holding me down while his tongue carves me open, licking, sucking, worshiping what he just branded. He bites my inner lips, sucks them into his mouth, leaving new marks to join the scars.
I sob, thrash, claw at the sheets—but my hips betray me, grinding up into his face, chasing the ruin he’s giving me.
He laughs against my pussy, low and guttural, tongue plunging deep before dragging up to circle my clit. “That’s it. Grind yourself raw on my mouth. Brand yourself on my tongue. You’ll never be clean again.”
The words detonate inside me. I buck harder, sobbing, my thighs trembling as his teeth catch my clit, sharp and merciless. My scream shatters, echoing off the cage walls, my body convulsing in violent waves as he drinks me down like blood.
And when the orgasm rips through me, brutal and humiliating, his voice vibrates against me, taunting, triumphant, final:
“Your cunt’s signed the contract now.”
I collapse against the sheets, trembling, legs quaking, throat raw from the scream he wrung out of me. My body convulses with aftershocks, slick dripping down my thighs, soaking the paper and glass beneath me.
But he doesn’t stop.
He licks me slow, long strokes, cleaning me like he owns me, swallowing every drop until I can barely twitch beneath him. Then he drags his mouth up my stomach, leaving a wet trail over every shallow cut, every fresh scar.
I sob, gasping, jerking with each pass of his tongue, because the sting of blood mixing with my own release burns worse than fire.
