“Fuck, Sloane,” he growled against my ear, curling his fingers harder alongside mine. “Your greedy little cunt sucking us both in, creaming all over my fingers like a filthy slut. So wet and loose already—such a little cum dump for me.” His lips grazed the shell of my ear, breath ragged and hot. “Say my name. I love hearing it on your lips when you’re this fucking wet.”
“Callan.” It broke out of me, shaking and stripped bare—not performance, not provocation—simply his name on my lips as if it belonged there.
His fingers drove deeper, and his arm tightened around me, pulling me closer, holding me as if I mattered more thansurviving another day.
I turned my head—slightly, enough to catch his mouth in a desperate, open kiss, my teeth pulling at his lower lip, hard, until he moaned into my mouth. I didn’t let go.
“I want it to fucking hurt, Callan.”
His eyes sharpened, and he pulled our tangled fingers out in one slow, deliberate motion, and I whined—pathetic, hating the sudden emptiness. Before I could reach for him, he flipped me onto my back so fast that the room tilted, my legs falling open on instinct, my body already ready to give him access.
He loomed over me, eyes black in the dim light. Blood smeared his lower lip where I’d bitten him. He looked feral, beautiful, like he’d stopped pretending to be civilized.
He grabbed my ankles and shoved them up and back until my knees pressed against my shoulders, folding me in half—completely exposed, completely his. My cunt on full display, puffy and glistening, leaking his thick cum in slow, obscene trickles that slid down to my asshole.
“Look at this beautiful little pussy.” His voice came out guttural. He lined the head of his cock against my dripping entrance, dragging the swollen head through the mess, coating himself. “Still gaping from the first time I fucked it raw.” He notched himself at my opening and held there—just pressure, just promise. “You’re gonna take me again, Sloane. Every brutal inch.”
He didn’t ease in.
He slammed home. Hard. Deep. Merciless. His cock punched through my soaked folds and buried to the hilt in one violent thrust, stretching my cum-filled cunt wide open around him. The force drove the air from my lungs. Iscreamed—half pain, half raw ecstasy—and my nails raked bloody lines down his forearms as my walls fluttered and clenched desperately around his thick shaft.
But underneath the scream, underneath the white-hot stretch and the fullness splitting me apart—relief. Pure, devastating relief.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Simply started pounding into me like he intended to break me in half—hips driving forward with brutal, rhythmic force. Each thrust bottomed out with a loud, wet slap, his heavy balls smacking against my ass. My tits bounced with every punishing impact, nipples hard and aching, and I couldn’t do anything but take it.
“Fuck—Callan—yes,” it tore out of me, raw and involuntary.
He bared his teeth. “That’s right, baby girl. Say my name again. I want to hear it while I wreck this beautiful little cunt.”
“Callan,” I sobbed, my voice cracking on every brutal snap of his hips. “Please—hurt me—make it burn.”
He shifted his angle and ground the thick, veined ridge of his cock against that swollen spot inside me—relentless, precise—and my vision whited out, toes curling hard. One large hand closed around my throat. Firm, possessive. His thumb pressed just under my jaw, not choking, claiming, reminding me exactly who owned every gasp, every whimper, every dripping inch of my body.
“You like being my baby girl?” Low, lethal. His hips never stopped—driving harder, the wet sounds of my cum-filled pussy echoing in the quiet room. “Like getting your greedy cunt railed like a little slut while the world burns outside?” His grip on my throat tightened slightly. “Look at you. Folded in half, leaking my cum, taking every inch as if you wereborn for it.”
“Yes—god—yes, Callan,” my voice didn’t sound like mine anymore—wrecked, desperate, honest in a way I only allowed when he had me pinned beneath him.
His free hand cracked across my ass. Sharp. Stinging. The smack echoed through the room, and I jerked hard beneath him. Again. Again. Each slap sent fresh heat across my reddened skin, and my cunt fluttered and clamped down around his thick cock, greedy, involuntary, pulling him deeper.
Tears came. Real ones—hot, streaming down my face, soaking into the cushion beneath me. Not from pain. From the overwhelming relief of being used exactly like this. Stripped down to nothing but wet holes and dripping need, and his. Completely, devastatingly his. Every wall I’d built—every hard edge, every survival instinct that kept me rigid and sharp and alone—he fucked through all of it until there existed nothing left but me, bare and shaking underneath him.
He pulled out suddenly and deliberately, leaving my stretched pussy empty, clenching around nothing. A pathetic whine escaped my throat, and my hips chased him, searching, desperate for the fullness he’d stolen.
“On your knees, baby girl.” Rough. Commanding. Not a request.
I scrambled to obey. Knees sinking into the worn cushions, breath ragged, body trembling with need. He fisted my hair tight and yanked my head back until my throat arched—exposed, vulnerable, his. He shoved his cock past my parted lips and straight down my throat. Still slick. Still shiny with my creamy juices.
“Suck it clean, Sloane. Taste how fucking sweet your cunt is.”
I moaned around his thick length, hollowing my cheeks, tongue swirling greedily over every veined inch. Salty. Musky. The mix of my cum and his precum coated my tongue, and I swallowed around him, hungry for it. I gagged hard when he hit the back of my throat—fresh tears spilling fast down my cheeks—but I didn’t pull away. I took him deeper. Relaxed my throat and let him use my mouth with short, brutal thrusts, because I needed this. Needed to be reduced to nothing, needed to disappear into the act of serving him. Drool ran down my chin and dripped onto my tits.
“Good girl.” A groan that sounded as if it cost him something. “Such a perfect little cock slut. Choking on the taste of your own wrecked pussy.”
He pulled free with a wet pop, thick strings of spit stretching between my swollen lips and his glistening cock. Before I could draw a full breath, he shoved me face-down, yanked my hips high, and drove his cock back into my dripping cunt from behind—one savage thrust, a broken cry escaping my lips.
Deeper at this angle, he bottomed out with every brutal stroke, heavy balls slapping against my swollen clit. One hand fisted my hair again—using it like reins, hauling me back onto his pounding cock—and the other reached around to find my throbbing clit. He pinched hard. Rolled it. Tugged the sensitive bud between rough fingers while he destroyed me from behind.
“Come, Sloane.” Dark. Commanding. Leaving no room for anything except obedience.