The Roster
No Safe Word Series
This story contains dark themes, including:
Dubious/Non consent
Intrusion of personal space
Power imbalance
Sexual content with psychological manipulation
Reader discretion is advised. 18+ only. Not suitable for all audiences
Inspired by a request made on my Wattpad feed
She finally earned her spot among the elite.
Now sheās standing in a suite she canāt afford, in a robe she didnāt choose, across from a man whoās already unwrapped her with his eyes.
I said I'd do anything.
That's what they remind me of every time I hesitate.
AndarĆ© wasn't built for hesitation. Not for girls like me. You donāt claw your way through casting couches and catalog shoots for two years just to blink when you finally get into the top tier. When they hand you a robe and say youāve been selected.
I made it. Iām one of the elites.
But no one tells you what elite means.
Not until youāre standing in a penthouse suite, wet from a fresh shower, robe tied at the waist, and toes curled into a plush carpet that probably cost more than your old apartment.
Not until you hear him.
āWho told you to put a robe on?ā
His voice is deep. Thick. The kind of voice that doesnāt ask questions so much as issue quiet commands.
I look up.
Heās massive. Broad-shouldered, silver-haired, his robe parted just enough to reveal the kind of body you wouldn't expect from a man his age. Everything about him dwarfs the space. The sofa groans beneath him. His legs are spread too wide, like this is his room, his time, his girl. Because to him, I am.
I pause.
Then I let the robe fall.
The silk slides down my body, pools at my feet. I already said I would do it, so now I needed to lean into it. Lest I starting filling out applications for fast food establishments.
He exhales like Iāve done something holy.
His cigar smolders in the ashtray. The smoke lingers around him like a ritual. I feel it in my lungs. Taste it on the back of my throat.
He extends a hand.
āCome here,ā he commands.
I go.
Because I said Iād do anything.
And now⦠itās time to prove it.
He pulls me toward him, strong and certain, but instead of bringing me down, he reclines the chair, drawing me up. Higher. Higher still, until Iām straddling his face, hovering above his mouth with my knees shaking and my heart thundering.
The sofa groans again, and I think for a second it might tip over, but heās steady. A leg on either side of his head, arms anchoring me in place.
āIāve been wanting to taste you since your last autumn shoot,ā he growls.
My breath catches. That shoot.
I remember it. Burnt orange fabric clinging to my body. Hair curled, eyes smoky, light pouring through the windows of an estate I had no business pretending to belong in.
He saw that.
Thatās when he chose me.
Before I can fully absorb it, his beard grazes my inner thighs. His breath hits my center. Warm. Hungry. Then...
Without warning, he surges forward.
His mouth presses against me, hard and full. His beard scratches, his lips drag, his tongue explores without hesitation.
āYou smell exquisite,ā he growls.
And then he devours me.
Not gently. Not teasing. Like a man starved.
Rough and Unforgiving.
Like heās been waiting years for this moment and plans to take every second back.
My head tips back. My hips rock. I forget who I am. I forget why I came.
Thereās only his mouth. And the promise I made.
I said Iād do anything.
And he intends to collect.
His tongue is thick as it surges up and down along my inner slit, eventually pulling my little bud into his mouth and sucking it with fervor.
He begins alternating between shoving his tongue deep inside me and circling back to suck on my clit.
Unfortunately, I am no match for the expertise of his tongue. The tightness Iād been barely holding onto is quickly dismantled, and Iām forced to release my cream into his mouth, which he consumes with a low growl of satisfaction.
He doesnāt wait.
With practiced strength, he removes me from his face and guides me into his lap, one hand gripping my waist, the other already pushing his now hard member into the apex of my thighs.
I brace against his chest. The scent of cigar still clings to his beard, but now there was a hint of my womanhood.
He presses upward, and everything disappears again.
He pushes deeper, inch by inch, like heās carving space for himself inside me. I cry out, but he doesnāt stop. His grip tightens at my waist, pulling me flush against his hips until Iām filled completely.
āThere,ā he groans, breath hot in my ear. āThatās where you belong.ā
I want to deny it. I want to say this isnāt me. I want to fight against this.
But my body is clinging to him. And I can feel myself giving in, pulse by pulse, each thrust making it harder to remember what I ever wanted before this moment.
He fucks like a man claiming ownership.
Slow, forceful, without apology.
Each stroke drags something primal from me, something I didnāt know I was hiding.
I pant into his shoulder, my nails leaving crescents in his back.
āLook at you,ā he murmurs, rocking into me. āSo eager now. So ready to be kept.ā
And when I come again, this time without warning, clenching around him like Iāve never been touched before, he groans my name like itās a prayer.
He finishes inside me, deep and final, a full-bodied exhale rattling from his chest as he holds me still.
We stay like that. Quiet. Twisted into each other.
His hand smooths along my spine.
āYouāve just been bumped to the top of the roster,ā he says.
My lipās part, but no sound comes.
I should feel used. I should feel ruined.
But all I feel is wanted
And that might be worse.










