Ruined Like You Asked

I shut the door behind us, and it’s like flipping a switch.

She’s still standing there in that dress—soft blue, short, innocent.
Her mouth says nothing, but her body screams.
Tense thighs. Bare legs. Lips parted like she wants to be fed.

I step forward, slowly. Let the silence stretch.

“You’ve been teasing me since brunch,” I say, voice low.
“You think I didn’t see you squirming in your seat like a wet little thing?”

Her breath catches. I don’t wait for an answer.

“Take off the dress. Slowly.”

She obeys.
She always does.

Fingers tremble as she unzips it, slipping it down inch by inch.
No panties—good girl. I taught her well.

Her nipples are hard, her inner thighs glistening, and fuck—she’s beautiful.
Obedient. Edged with need.
Her silence is part of the game. Part of her offering.

“You liked sitting across from me like this?”
I stalk toward her, circling. “Full of my cum, pretending to be polite?”

She nods once, shivering.

“I could’ve fingered you under that table,” I whisper into her hair.
“Made you cum while the waiter refilled your coffee.”

A small sound escapes her throat. I grab her jaw.

“No. Not yet. You’ll speak when I say, cum when I say, break when I say.”

She gasps as I spin her around and slam her back to the door.

Her legs wobble. I press my body against hers, one hand snaking between her thighs.
Soaked.

“Fucking dripping. You sat through an entire meal like this?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpers.

I don’t praise her. Not yet.

Instead, I lift her dress—just enough to expose her—and unbuckle my belt with one hard, deliberate motion.

The sound alone makes her moan.

I line myself up behind her, one hand gripping her throat from behind, the other pinning her wrist to the door.
And I take her.

No warning. No buildup.

Just a brutal thrust, full and deep—she chokes on a cry, her body arching against mine.

She’s so tight it’s fucking unreal.
Hot, trembling, soaking wet, wrapped around me like a vice.
Perfect.

I slam into her again. And again.
The door rattles. Her moans echo off the walls, raw and shameless.

“You wanted this,” I growl into her ear.
“Wanted to be wrecked, used, stuffed full again.”

She nods, gasping.

“You were such a sweet little thing at brunch,” I sneer.
“All polite and glowing. But this is what you are.”
I thrust harder. “A mess. My mess.”

She cries out when I slap her ass.
It stings loud and sharp, and her cunt clenches around me like she’s about to cum.

“Don’t you dare cum yet,” I snap.
“Hold it.”

She whimpers, her hands clawing at the door like it might save her.
It won’t.

I grab her by the hair and pull her upright against me.
“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Sir.”

“Who owns your holes?”

“You do.”

“Then cum for me now.”

She explodes—moaning, screaming, falling apart as I fuck her through it.
Legs shaking, eyes rolling back.

I don’t stop until I feel her pulse around me.
I thrust deep one final time and cum hard inside her, groaning as I fill her again.

Her body collapses against the door, spent and shaking.

I hold her there a moment longer, both of us breathing like we’ve run miles.

Then I gather her into my arms, lift her up—so light, so soft—and carry her to the couch.

I wrap her in a blanket, settle her on my lap. Her cheek rests against my chest.

I kiss the top of her head.

“You did well,” I murmur.
“So good. So fucking perfect.”

She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t need to.

Her body says everything—
Safe.
Wrecked.
Loved.

Mine.