It’s about how far I can break her before she begs me to.
She keeps crawling. Palms sliding, knees squeaking against the hardwood, her hand worked between her thighs with every shift forward. Her back arches when her fingers brush her clit, a sharp little gasp breaking the silence.
As I step closer, the shadow swallows her whole. “Pathetic,” I murmur, my voice low enough to be a growl. “Already dripping, and I’ve barely touched you.”
Her crawl stutters. Shame ripples through her shoulders. She tries to stop herself, tries to hide it—so I make her pay.
“Truth or dare?”
Her voice is hoarse. “Dare.”
“Arch your back. Show me how wet you are.”
She freezes, trembling, then obeys. Her knees spread a fraction wider as she lowers her chest closer to the floor, ass high, slick glistening between her thighs under the low light. My cock throbs so hard it hurts.
“Good girl,” I rasp. “Keep crawling.”
She moves again, slower now, the humiliation painting every inch of her body. I follow like a shadow, savouring the view, the sound of her breath breaking apart.
When she reaches the rug in the centre of the living room, I circle her, crouching low so we’re eye level. “Truth or dare?”
Her lips tremble. “Dare.”
“Slap your own face.”
Her eyes flare wide. “What?”
I cut her off with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Her hand shakes, but she does it—fingers smacking weakly across her cheek. My cock twitches at the sound, at the way she flinches and tries not to cry.
“Harder.”
The second slap echoes sharper, her head snapping to the side, eyes watering. A growl tears through my chest. “Fuck, look at you. I could ruin you in a thousand ways, and you’d still crawl back for more.”
I let the silence sit heavy between us before I speak again.
“Truth or dare?”
She hesitates this time, eyes searching mine. “Truth.”
I smirk, leaning close enough for her to feel my breath on her lips. “Do you want me to fuck you right here, on your knees, like the desperate little slut you are?”
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She swallows, cheeks wet with tears, and nods once.
My control almost snaps. But I don’t let it. Not yet.
I grip her chin, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Good answer.” My thumb drags across her trembling lower lip. “But you don’t get what you want that easily.”
I stand towering over her again, voice sharp. “Dare: crawl to the couch, sit back, spread your legs wide, and keep them that way until I say otherwise.”
She obeys, crawling shakily across the rug, skin flushed, tears streaking down her face. When she climbs onto the couch and spreads her thighs open, I finally allow myself a step closer—still not touching, just watching.
“Perfect,” I whisper. “Now the game’s finally starting.”
She’s spread open on my couch, trembling, skin flushed from humiliation and hunger, thighs quivering as she struggles to keep them wide like I told her.
“Hands behind your back,” I order.
