"Sure you can, little slut." His hand comes down to my brow, and the gentleness of the touch is almost worse than any cruelty. His fingers smooth some stray hair away from my eyes with surprising tenderness, the contrast making my breath catch. "You want to be fucked by me today, don't you?"
The question hangs in the air between us. Direct. Undeniable.
I exhale slowly, a shaky surrender of breath.Just admit it, Scar. Just say it. "Yes."
He smiles. This time, for sure, I know he smiles—I can see the way his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, visible even through the mask. "Good girl. Now... how do you want me to start?"
I bite my lip, thinking, my mind racing through a thousand possibilities. Then I force myself to look him directly in the eyes, gathering what little courage I have left. "Let me see it first."
He actually laughs—a genuine sound of surprised pleasure that makes something flip in my stomach. But without a moment's hesitation, he reaches down and pulls his cock out of his pants, fisting it confidently in his hand. He moves closer, bringing it near enough that I could touch it if my hands weren't bound, close enough that I can see every detail.
"It's nice, don't you think?" he asks, his voice dropping to something darker, rougher.
I stare at the absolute monster of a thing in his hand, my eyes widening despite myself. My fucking god. He'smassive. Thick and long and already hard, the head flushed dark with arousal. The kind of cock I've written about but never actually encountered in real life. The kind that makes me simultaneously terrified and desperately, shamefully curious.
"Where should I put it first?" he whispers, and the question alone makes my breath catch in my throat.
Before I can formulate an answer—before I can even process what he's asking—he moves forward. "Here?"
The thick, hot length of him touches my lips, and I gasp at the contact. My mouth opens instinctively, automatically, like my body is responding to commands my brain hasn't even registered yet. But he doesn't push inside, doesn't take advantage of my parted lips.
Instead, he traces them slowly with just the tip. Deliberate. Teasing. I can feel how slick he is, pre-cum smearing across my bottom lip in a wet trail that makes me shudder. The sensation is filthy, and intimate, and overwhelming. And when a drop slides off my lip and trails down over the curve of my chin, I make a small, helpless sound in the back of my throat.
"Here?" he asks again, and this time his cock drags across my skin as he moves it downward. The heat of him brands a path down my throat, over my collarbone, until he's touching the stiff peak of my nipple with the same teasing, circular motion. The contrast between the soft, velvety head and my sensitive flesh makes me arch against the restraints, trying to get more contact even as I know I shouldn't.
"Or here?" His voice has dropped even lower now, rough with arousal as he walks around to position himself between my spread knees. I watch in the mirror, feelingeverythingat the same time. The brush of his thighs against the inside of my legs. The way he dips down, bringing his cock to my clit and circling it with the same maddening, barely-there pressure he used on my lips.
The sensation rips a whimper from my throat. I'm so wet already that he glides easily against me, the thick head of him pressing and retreating, pressing and retreating, until I'mtrembling and biting the inside of my cheek so hard, I taste copper.
"There are a few more ways to play this one out, if you're adventurous enough," he continues conversationally, like he isn't driving me absolutely insane with need. Like he can't hear the desperate little sounds I'm making or feel how my hips are trying to tilt toward him despite the restraints holding me in place.
"Would you like me to go on? Should I show you all your options before you decide? Or have you already made up your mind about where you want this cock first, my sweet little slut?"
I force myself to speak, my voice coming out small and broken. "What... what are my other options?"
His answering smile is pure wickedness, visible in the slight tilt of his head, the way his eyes gleam behind that fucking mask.
"I'm so glad you asked." His voice is low, rough with arousal. "Because I havesomany ideas for this perfect little body of yours."
I watch in the mirror as he takes his cock in hand, stroking it slowly while he studies me. Then he moves lower, and oh god, oh fuck, I feel the thick head of him press against my asshole.
Just the tip. Just enough pressure to make me gasp and tense against the restraints.
"I could fuck this tight little hole instead," he says conversationally, like he's discussing the weather. "Stretch you open slowly. Make you feel every single inch as I work my way inside. You've written about it, haven't you? How it hurts at first, that burning stretch that makes you cry? But then how it starts to feel good in that dark, shameful way you crave?"
He pushes slightly harder, just enough that I feel my body start to give way, and I make a desperate sound that's half whimper, half plea.
"I'd go slow at first," he continues, his voice dropping even lower. "Let you adjust. Let you feel how full you are, how completely I'm claiming every hole. Then I'd fuck you properly—hard and deep until you're sobbing, and begging, and you don't even know if you want me to stop or keep going."
My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps. The pressure is constant, insistent, not quite pushing inside but making it very clear that he could. That all it would take is one firm thrust and he'd be buried in my ass whether I was ready or not.
"Or," he says, pulling away suddenly, leaving me gasping at the loss of contact. He moves up toward my head, and I crane my neck to watch as he brings his cock to my mouth again. "I could fuck your throat instead."
The tip touches my lips, and I can taste myself on him—salt and musk and something darker.
"Not your mouth, Scarletta. Yourthroat." He emphasizes the word, making sure I understand the distinction. "I'd grip your hair like this—" His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back at an angle that makes my neck straighten. "And I'd slide in deep. Past your tongue, past your gag reflex. I'd hold myself there while you choke, and your eyes water, and you can't breathe around my cock."
My heart is hammering against my ribs. I can barely process what he's saying.
