No More Rules

We traded glances over lukewarm conference coffee,

Your older-manager smile sharp as the edge of a blade

you kept sheathed at work.

A few years between us, a wedding ring on her hand,

My girlfriend waiting somewhere far from the terminal.

We told ourselves the same careful lie every morning:

harmless. Just flirting. Just snaps. Just the way your eyes

dropped to my mouth when the meeting ran long.

Gym hours stretched longer than they needed to.

You watched me lift; I watched the dark circle of sweat

spread between your shoulder blades & thighs.

In the plane we sat thigh to thigh, no armrest to save us.

Your knee pressed, then pressed harder.

You whispered "behave" against my ear while your fingers

traced the inside of my wrist like a promise you refused to keep.

The cabin lights dimmed. You shifted, thighs tight,

and I smelled how wet you already were—

ovulating, aching, pretending the turbulence was the only reason

your breath kept catching.

Tension stacked itself like unpaid overtime.

Every coffee break a small crime.
Every shared elevator a held breath.
We reminded each other of the rules
while our bodies kept rewriting them.

Then One night, her toy died.

Somewhere in a hotel room three floors above the keynote,

plastic batteries gave out mid-thrust

and the need that had been simmering for months

boiled over into a single message:

 

come fuck me... she said

Hmm?.. I said

i don’t care.

i can’t think.

i just need this and you.

take me as you wished all these days.

Room number 313. 

No emoji. No soft landing.

I knocked once.

The door opened on you already on your knees,

Hotel robe half-fallen, hair still damp from the shower

You took after the toy failed you.

You looked up, mouth already soft,

And said my name like it was the only word left

That could make the ache stop.

I shut the door with my heel.

You reached for my belt with both hands,

Practiced, hungry, no more manager-voice left in you.

The first time I pushed into your mouth you moaned around me

like you’d been starving for the weight of it.

I held your hair the way I’d imagined in every forbidden meeting,

Fucked your throat slow at first, then deeper,

Watching tears gather at the corners of your eyes

While you refused to pull away.

When I lifted you, you wrapped your legs around me

Before I could even turn toward the bed.

We didn’t make it there the first time.

I took you against the wall,

Your back hitting the ugly hotel art,

Your wet cunt swallowing every inch

while you bit my shoulder to keep from screaming.

You were soaked, swollen, days past ready.

I fucked you hard enough that the framed print rattled,

hard enough that your nails left crescent moons down my back,

hard enough that the only word left in your mouth

was *more*.

The bed finally caught us.

I spread you open and stayed there,

grinding deep while you clenched and shook

And came the first time with my name broken in your throat.

I didn’t stop.

I turned you over, pulled your hips up,

and took you from behind the way I’d pictured

Every time you leaned across my desk for a file.
Your face in the pillow, ass high,
That married ring flashing every time your hand flexed.
I reached under and rubbed your clit in tight circles
until you came again, messy and loud,

Pushing back onto me like you wanted to be ruined.
We lost track of the hours.
I ate you until your thighs trembled and you begged,
then slid back inside while you were still fluttering.
You rode me in the dark,

Hands on my chest,
Looking down at the man you weren’t supposed to want
while you took every stroke like it belonged to you.
When you leaned forward and whispered
you dirty fucker against my mouth,

I flipped us again and gave you exactly that—
dirty, deep, relentless,
until the only sounds left were skin and wet and the broken way
you said please when you came around me the third time.
Morning light found us still tangled.


I woke already hard against your ass.
You pushed back without opening your eyes,
reached between your legs, guided me in,
and we fucked slow and filthy under the cheap sheets
while the city woke up outside.

You came quiet that time, biting the pillow,
then turned and took me in your mouth again
until I spilled across your tongue
and you swallowed like it was the only apology
either of us was going to offer.

Later the hallway felt longer.
The conference room felt smaller.
You sat two seats away and didn’t look at me
while the keynote droned on.
The ache between your legs was still there;

I could see it in the way you shifted.
We both knew the rules had been broken past repair.
You called it a mistake in the quiet voice
You used for performance reviews.
But when our eyes finally met across the table,

The same hunger was still burning,
And the nickname you gave me
Stayed warm in the back of your throat:
 "Daddy Toy"
I still hear it every time the conference lights dim.

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.

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.