Break Me

He didn’t touch me for four days.

Not when I stripped in front of him.

Not when I crawled onto his lap in nothing but thigh-highs and begged him to use me.

Not when I came out of the shower dripping, nipples hard, leaving wet footprints on the floor as I stood silently in the doorway, aching.

He didn’t yell.

Didn’t scold.

Didn’t raise his voice.

He let me drown in my own teasing — starved me with silence, with absence.

And every day, I grew more desperate.

More slick.

More raw.

More ready to be ruined.

So when it finally happened, I wasn’t ready.

He didn’t warn me.

Didn’t text.

Didn’t speak.

⸻

I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, wrapped in a loose towel. The kind that barely clung to my breasts, wet from the neckline down. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

He walked in behind me, wordless, eyes unreadable.

And he grabbed me.

Hard.

My wrist, twisted behind my back.

The towel fell to the floor.

The cold air met hot skin.

I gasped — but it was already too late.

He slammed me against the bathroom counter, face to the mirror, hips flush against my ass.

His voice? A growl, quiet and sharp enough to bleed.

“You think you’re fucking clever.”

My heart thundered.

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t dare.

But my legs trembled — not from fear.

From need.

⸻

He yanked my other wrist back, trapping both in one hand.

Forced me to bend over the counter, cheek pressed to the cool marble.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

He kicked my feet apart, spreading me.

My folds were already soaked.

“Sending me those pictures. Moaning for someone else. Touching my pussy like I’m not right here.”

The sound of his zipper.

His cock, already hard, slapping against my ass.

Thick. Heavy. Ready.

I tried to turn my head — tried to see him.

He grabbed my hair.

Yanked it back.

Forced me to look at myself in the mirror.

“Look.”

And I did.

Eyes glassy.

Mouth parted.

Skin flushed.

The good girl I pretended to be? Gone.

All that was left was a filthy, soaked toy — begging to be broken.

⸻

He pushed in without warning.

No fingers.

No easing.

Just one brutal, punishing thrust — all the way to the hilt.

I screamed.

My knees buckled.

My thighs shook.

My mouth opened in a silent cry.

And he didn’t stop.

He fucked me hard, deep, relentless — the kind of rhythm that made my cunt clench and sob around him.

The kind that said this is mine.

The kind that left bruises on hips and ownership in the shape of a creampie.

He was breathing heavy now, low grunts in my ear as he pistoned into me, hands on my wrists still holding me in place like a prisoner.

And all I could do was take it.

“You want other men to look at you?”

“Is that it?”

“Want them to wonder what this pussy tastes like?”

Slap — his hand cracked across my ass.

Another.

Another.

“Answer me.”

I moaned, broken, breathless.

“No—n-no… I just… I just wanted—”

“You wanted to be used.”

He shoved deeper.

My knees gave out.

He held me up with his cock.

⸻

Then — silence.

He pulled out.

Spun me around.

Lifted me like I weighed nothing, one arm under my thighs, the other behind my back.

Carried me to the bedroom.

Threw me onto the bed.

I was gasping. Wet. Red. Shaking.

He climbed over me, eyes wild, teeth gritted.

“You think you can tease me and walk away clean?”

He grabbed my face, fingers tight on my cheeks, thumb pressing into my mouth until I opened.

“Open wider.”

I did.

He spit into my mouth.

“Swallow it.”

I did.

And I moaned.

⸻

He spread my legs wide.

Pulled my hips to the edge of the bed.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you forget his name. Until you forget your name.”

And he did.

He pounded me raw, unrelenting, cock hitting the deepest parts of me.

My breasts bounced.

My cries echoed.

My fingers clawed at the sheets — at him — at the nothingness.

And I came.

Once.

Twice.

The third time I begged him to stop.

But he didn’t.

Because this was never about mercy.

It was about possession.

He pinned both of my wrists down, leaned close, forehead to mine as he whispered:

“You’re mine. No one else gets to fuck this body.

No one else gets to see you fall apart like this.”

I nodded, crying.

Because I needed it.

Because I wanted to be owned.

Because I was his, in every broken, dripping way.

⸻

When he came, it was deep.

Hot.

Heavy.

Claiming.

A growl in my ear.

A thrust that buried every thought I’d ever had of another man.

He stayed inside me, breath hot against my neck, cock twitching as the cum filled me.

And finally — finally — he kissed me.

Not soft.

Not sweet.

But real.

Raw.

Fucking real.

⸻

Later, we lay tangled together.

His arms around me.

My body sore, used, satisfied in the way only he could satisfy it.

He whispered against my hair:

“You want to play games, Joelle?”

I smiled, half-asleep.

“Only if you promise to keep playing rough.”