Ruined in the Rhythm

Almost midnight,

Saturday spilling into sin,

and there she is—

stepping out of a taxi,

jeans hugging her curves,

black bodysuit painted 

tight against her skin.

I know what’s hidden beneath:

lace bra, satin thong i got her,

and inside her—

my secret hum,

my toy, my control.

The night air is cold,
but the heat between us
ignites the moment she smiles.
I pull her close,
kiss her mouth,
her lips already wet with promise.
She laughs softly,
“Daddy…”
and just like that,
my night is set on fire.

We duck into the taco shop,
the neon buzzing above us,
the world spinning slower
while we order plates of midnight hunger.

Tacos, Carnitas, Salsa, Horchata
hot sauce dripping down fingers.
But the real spice
is in the way her thigh brushes mine,
dirty talk and forbidden conversations

how her hand slides to my knee,
her lips curling as she whispers,
“Wait until later.”

We eat, we flirt,
we touch under the table,
her body pressed close,
my hand teasing the waistband of her jeans,
knowing she’s already soaked.
Her laughter is reckless,
her eyes a dare,
her mouth a sin.
Every bite of food
is a countdown
to the chaos we’re walking toward.

Outside again—

midnight wind cutting sharp,
but her body is a furnace.
She presses into me,
a hug too tight to be innocent,
pheromones wrapping around my senses.

Her whisper curls against my ear:
“It’s your turn, Daddy.”
And into my palm
she slips the remote.

Ten minutes to the club.
Ten minutes of her body jerking,
limping, giggling in gasps,
moaning into the dark.

Every press of my thumb
sends her stumbling into me,
her breath ragged,
her eyes glazed with ache.
Strangers walk past us,
but we are invisible,
just another couple in the city night—
if only they knew
she was breaking with every step.

By the time the music thumps

from the club’s glowing entrance,
she’s trembling, clutching me,
her lips desperate against mine.
We wait in line,
her body pressed tight,
her perfume mixing with sweat and lust.

I flick the toy to full throttle—
and she shatters.
A muffled cry,
her face buried against my chest,
her arms locking around me.

Not the cold—no,
this trembling is heat, pleasure,
her first orgasm of Sunday,
midnight’s dirty gift.
She breathes me in,
moans against my neck,
a shaking slut waiting
for the doors to open,
for the night to swallow us whole.

We shove through the door

and the room swallows us—

black bodies, neon flashes, 

bass that thumps like a pulse in the planet.

Crowded, warm, sticky with sweat and want,

lights slicing the dark into electric kisses.

I grab two gin & tonics, hand one to her, 

watch her take it like a dare.

Then we move—closer, 

deeper—into the crush.

She starts to dance for me first: 

slow, dangerous, hips working the rhythm,

a tease that says she’s mine and she knows it.

Her bodysuit clings, her jeans gone, 

the satin thong a secret under skin;

she grinds, she bends, 

she presses that wet cunt into me,

riding my bulge through fabric 

like a private confession.

Hands roam—mine claim everywhere: 

hips, the dip of her waist, 

firming the meat of her ass,

palming breast, 

thumbs circling nipples over lace, 

neck kissed and marked.

Every squeeze says the same thing: 

she’s mine tonight.

Men glance—eyes sliding 

fast like hungry knives—

but when she kisses me hard, 

when she presses her mouth to mine,

the message is clear: she belongs to me.

Their looks scramble away like light.

A shadow of a man she knows

her casual fuck buddy from the past

stands a beat away, watching.

Jealousy writes itself across his face; 

his jaw clenches.

He doesn’t step forward.

He better not.

 

He only stares as 

I tighten my grip on her waist,

as I press her back to me and 

let the toy inside her scream under my thumb.

unspoken words of my power move is

“You see her. She is mine.” 

“She always was mine tonight.”

For an hour the club becomes our altar.

I ride the beat on her hips with my hands, 

and my thumb rides the remote.

Full throttle—no mercy

electric pulses smashing her,

each press sending her into 

white flashes of pleasure 

that she can’t hide.

She is loud, filthy, beautiful—

five, eight, maybe more 

orgasms folding into each other,

her legs trembling, 

her throat raw from calling my name.

“Daddy—oh Daddy—please —” 

she pants into my neck.

I laugh low, cruel, soft. 

“Good girl. Keep dancing for me.”

“Daddy's dirty little slut.”, i say

She grinds harder, 

as i press her boobs like stress balls

a show of devotion and defiance—

for him, for them, 

for every eye that thinks it has a right.

When the music swells 

I pull her close and whisper,

“Ready to go, baby?”

Her eyes go glassy with want. 

“Let’s go,” she breathes, 

but near my ear she begs,

“Take me to your hotel.”

I blink—“My hotel?”

She nods hard, 

cheeks flushed, 

breath hot, 

voice sure:

“Yes. Take me there.”

“Fuck me. Own me. Destroy me.”

“PLEASE DADDY...”

Her voice is a command I accept. 

I press the remote to the edge

full animal—the toy inside her answers 

like a beast, 

and she jerks, limps, 

laughs, moans.

I kiss her, hard, 

claim her mouth, 

While he watches us

and then I put the toy on 

fucking full throttle.

“Walk with me,” I tell her, 

fingers laced in the small 

of her back, guiding.

She stumbles 

but she wants it—

every step is a surrender 

and a promise.

Her legs quake, 

her breath shudders; 

she takes each block 

like penance, like worship.

People part around us; 

the city becomes a corridor to a 

bed that will remember our names.

She keeps whispering between moans:

“Daddy, I can’t—”

“You want Daddy or not” I say,

“Yes Yes Yes” she says,

voice low as thunder.

She laughs, a broken little thing, 

and grips me like a lifeline.

We move out into the Montreal night, 

neon bleeding above us,

and her hips sway with every press of the remote

an open secret for the street.

She is my 

messy, 

loud, 

needy 

property

limping, 

whispering, 

aching

and I am more than ready to 

make sure she remains so.

yes we are about to

MAKE

MORE 

FORBIDDEN

MIDNIGHT 

MONTREAL 

MISTAKES

Prosecco and Pussy

She plucked two wine glasses,

Still blushing from the quake of orgasm,

from the wetness she painted across my hands.

She looked in my eyes and said

“Help me Daddy”

I popped the Prosecco,
bubbles rising like the pulse in her throat.

I laid on the couch and our playlist of sinful
sensual music dripped through the TV.

She poured,
Her dress still clinging,
No panties, Pussy dripping
eyes glimmering as she handed me the glass.

“I wanna be comfy, Daddy.” - She asked

“Yes.” - Daddy Approved

Her thin black dress fell,
her body bared in soft evening light,
my denim shirt and black jeans gone,
only my boxers left.

Wine was amazing but she looked more thirsty

She crawled to me and started licking my cock

Her mouth replaced her hands—
warm, eager, worshipful.
Wine in my palm,
her lips worshipped me for five long minutes
until my cock throbbed like a heartbeat
calling her to ride.

I moved on to the chaise, she followed.

It's time to Finally Fuck her

“Yes Daddy, Fuck Me!”

She mounted,
screaming, moaning,
grinding, jumping,
her voice cracked open—

“I am Daddy's Dirty Little Whore”

I made her stand,
ate her like thirst,
drank her until she shook apart,
then let her fall back on me—
riding, cumming,
losing herself in her own screams.

“Daddy, fuck me in my room on my bed.”

I finished my drink.

I yanked her hair,
let her guide me.
In her room.

Her bed smelled like it hid lot of sinful secrets.

I jumped on the bed as a new secret.

I told her to sit on my face.
She did.
My arms locked her thighs,
my tongue drowned her pussy
until she convulsed,
orgasm after orgasm.

“Fuck me, Daddy, I am all yours.”

“Are you gonna cheat on her with me?”

“Are you gonna fuck me better than him?”

“Say it to me Daddy, Give it to me Daddy”

I flipped her,
Pounded Missionary.

“Yes Yes Fuck Yes” I Moaned..

Ten brutal minutes,
her pussy squirting around me,
our bodies crashing louder
than the music.

My thick juicy cock was destroying her wet pussy

Five days of cum surged,
I pulled out,
emptied into her mouth.

She swallowed me whole,
eyes burning wild,
hair undone,
her body now carved as Daddy’s property.

We collapsed in sweat and laughter,
hearts racing,
the air still trembling with sin.

When I rose, pulling on my boxers,
she looked at me with a sly smile,
a glimmer still dripping between her thighs.

“Can we do all this again?” she whispered,
a plea wrapped in hunger.

I smirked, tugged her chin,
“Do you wanna hit the
Montréal nightclubs tonight?”

Her lips curved deeper.
“Good idea—tacos first,
and then I’ll grind you in the dance floor.”

I chuckled, kissed her mouth—
a seal of promise,
A spark for the night yet to come.

“See you in a couple of hours,” I murmured,
before the door closed behind me,
and a taxi carried me back
to my hotel room.

That forbidden night wasn’t over.
It was just heading for more.

She Invites, I Devour

The walk after drinks was short—

five minutes, maybe ten—

but every step stretched forever.

Her body trembled beside me,

toy vibration as per my thumb.

I was fucking her already,

Mind and her needy little pussy

Each press sent her giggling, gasping,

“Daddy—Oh my fucking God,”

her knees buckling,

her breath catching,

mini orgasms spilling from her like secrets.

Yes, we are a SINFUL secret.

She could barely walk straight,

a slutty stumble in shoes,

and I loved watching her break 

for me in public shadows.

We reached her building.
She pulled me into the elevator,
third floor lit like destiny.
The doors closed,
and the ache detonated.
Hands grabbing,
Mouths colliding,
a kiss that was weeks overdue.

Hungry, violent,
wet with pent-up lust.
Her nails dug my back,
my hands grabbed her ass,
our moans echoing in the mirrored box.

Her whisper, dripping sin:
“Daddy… Come with me.”
(She did forgot i was a stranger)

At her door, it unlock

she didn’t knock, didn’t pause—

just pulled me inside,

and the lock clicked shut behind us.

we Kissed again

I grabbed her throat from behind,

a firm choke,

her body pinned to mine.

My other hand slid inside her dress,

squeezing her tits,

feeling lace dig into my palm.

My growl at her ear:

“Now Daddy’s in control.”

She moved slow to the kitchen,
and with a brat’s smirk
she bent over the counter.
Looked back at me—
hair falling wild,
eyes daring,
pussy dripping.

“Fuck me, Daddy,
I’m all yours.”

Not yet.
I lifted her dress,

Saw the vibrating bullet destroying her clit.

Hand landing heavy on her ass.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Sharp smacks,
her body jolting,
her moans splitting the air.
Every bratty text she sent me—
paid for in red, stinging skin.
She whimpered,
but she knew it was earned.

I lifted her onto the counter,

turned her 180 like my fucktoy,

spread her open on marble.

The toy slid out—

soaked, messy, humming with her ache.

Her pussy glistened,

dripping down the stone,

begging for my mouth.

I sat on the bar stool,

eyes locked on her slutty face.

“Open wide, Baby girl"

"Spread is nice, Honey"

"Daddy’s hungry.”

My tongue devoured her.
Long strokes, fast flicks,
every inch of her clit worshipped,
my mouth drowning in her taste.
Her scream hit the kitchen walls,
orgasms crashing over her body
like waves breaking.

“Daddy—Fuck, Daddy—I can’t—
I’m Cumming...”

Her thighs shook,
her pussy flooded,
and I just kept eating.
juicy Ten minutes,
a storm of tongue and lips,
drinking every drop.

When she collapsed back,
I shoved two fingers inside,
then deeper,
curling, shaking,
stretching her open
while she wailed beneath me.
I stared at her face—
a slut unravelling—
as I finger-fucked her raw.
Her body convulsed,
her back arched,
and then—
the gush.

She squirted, screaming,
liquid spilling everywhere,
dripping off the counter,
wetting the floor.

I kept pumping,
vigorous, merciless,
her moans breaking into cries,
her orgasm tearing her apart
until she went limp,
a soaked, used mess.

She lay spread out,
panting, ruined,
her pussy still twitching.
My fingers glistened with her cum.
Her eyes half-closed,
cheeks flushed,
hair plastered to her face.
She looked at me,
a grin curling,
a brat still hiding somewhere inside.

“Prosecco, Daddy?”

I kissed 

Carried her

Said Yes

Because, I knew

The night was just beginning.

First Sin, Filthy Sips

Six o’clock, outside the bar,

black denim tight,

denim shirt on my shoulders,

and there she is walking towards me,

my eyes locking on her the second she appears.

Black dress flowing,
lace teasing beneath the neckline,
her smile pulling me under.
“Finally,” she says,
and the word melts between us
as I crash into her hug,
breathing her in,
her perfume mixing with my skin,
her cleavage brushing my chest.
The city disappears.
It’s only us.

Inside—a dim corner table,
hidden from wandering eyes.
We sit, but not apart.
The tension is thick,
and in minutes
her lips are on mine.
Soft, hungry,
again and again,
every few breaths we’re kissing,
as if the weeks of waiting
demand payment now.

French cocktails arrive,
but my true intoxication
is her shifting on my palm.
She’s perched on my hand,
lace pressing to my skin,
warmth seeping through,
making me throb against my jeans.

I made her feel my throbbing cock,

I feel her heat, her need,
her body whispering yes.

She leaves for the restroom—
my mind racing.
When she returns,
her lips curl, her eyes daring,
and she places a remote in my hand.

“Daddy’s in control now.”

I press,
watching her breath catch,
hips tightening,
eyes glazing as the toy hums inside her.
She hands me her thong—
warm, damp, forbidden.
I hold it,
inhale softly,
press it to my lips.
The taste of her is everywhere,
and I kiss her deep,
slipping it back into her mouth
so she tastes her own desire.

Around us the bar hums—
music, glasses, laughter—
but our world is smaller, darker, hotter.
She shivers in my grip,
a quiet orgasm shuddering through her,
and I know she’s mine.

After forty-five minutes,
she leans close,

eyes locked, voice low:
“Let’s go to my apartment.”

The Needy Eyes,

A Needy Voice,

One Needy Slut.

We finish the drinks,
the night already trembling.
Hand in hand,
her lace still in my pocket,
her taste still on my tongue,
I breathe her in—
the scent of sin,
the scent of Montréal,
the scent of what comes next.

Montréal doesn’t know yet.
But the city will learn tonight
how dirty we can be,
how far we’ll go,
how two forbidden bodies
will fuck themselves into memory.

Montréal Ache

Morning Haze, Airport Rush,

 Her scent in my hand,
A duty-free sin bottled,
a promise of what I’ll smear
on her throat later.
Three and a half hours
to the city where she waits,
my cock already aching before
the plane even leaves the ground.

Five days denied,
Our bodies quaking
with unshed orgasms

The plane climbs,
and so does the ache.
You, naked in tangled sheets,
sending me your body in fragments—
soft skin flashing,
hips rolling,
a brat’s smile daring me through the glass.

You ask me to choose your thong,
as if choice makes you innocent.
then you wear it for daddy
and wet it for your daddy
your hand sliding over it,
your moans caught between work and want.
You make me hard.
You make me furious.
You make me need to own you.

I read our old filth,

the words that should have stayed buried,

while new ones arrive,

sharper, wetter, darker.

Every line a reminder

that what we’re building isn’t allowed—

and that’s what makes it unbearable.

In the airplane toilet,
I free myself, cock swollen, throbbing,
and I give her what she begged for—
a picture she’ll hide,
a picture she’ll keep,
a picture that binds her to me.
Thick, veined, dripping.
A sin in pixels.
A promise I will force into her tonight.

By noon I land.
By six, we’ll drink.
The city will glow around us,
but the fire will burn beneath the surface—
two bodies colliding in a hunger
that doesn’t belong to us,
but we’ll take it anyway.

Montréal won’t know the truth—
but we will.
The forbidden is sweeter when it’s ours,
and tonight,
the ache we’ve carried through distance,
through guilt,
through need—
will finally split open.

Montréal ache.
Our ache.

Unforgivable, 

Unstoppable, 

Inevitable.