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Sep 1, 2025

FEATURE: The “Love” in Revolution: To Love is To Want a Better World

“Love is profoundly political. Our deepest revolution will come when we understand this truth. Only love can give us the strength to go forward in the midst of heartbreak and misery. Only love can give us the power to reconcile, to redeem, the power to renew weary spirits and save lost souls. The transformative power of love is the foundation of all meaningful social change. Without love our lives are without meaning. Love is the heart of the matter. When all else has fallen away, love sustains.”

— bell hooks

When we think of activism, we first think of the fight—the placards in red, the sea of people in rallies, and the violence that occurs when resistance starts. Truthfully, this has always been the way social change is achieved. Our generation has been more participant in activism, mainly due to the pandemic redirecting our attention online which led to increased exposure to movements and campaigns. To many, the lockdown was one of the key points that helped spark this will for social change (Asani & Juan, 2022). However, due to the fickleness of the internet and online discourse, it is crucial that we have a strong guiding foundation for what we stand for. Although online spaces have been a valuable source of information for social justice and politics—online activism is difficult to navigate due to its reactionary nature. Internet discourse only serves to distract us by sensationalizing the performance of activism—giving us the illusion of change and progress. Anger rises much more than our compassion for each other, which ultimately distracts us from our goal: to be free, to liberate ourselves and each other. Not only that, as time passes and social justice becomes more and more immediate, we seem to forget the roots of our desire to change the world—we keep so much of our attention on those who oppress us that, in a way, we lose our sense of community and collectivism.

If we empower our principles and motivations for change, we can avoid straying from what we are fighting for. To do this, we must look within ourselves—to go back to our core values.

You might already be familiar, but love is part of our school’s core values, along with truth, peace, justice, and freedom. Although, if we look closer, we will see that they are not necessarily independent of each other. In fact, these values are all interconnected, with love clearly at its center. UPIS has always expressed the importance of participating in social causes whether through our curriculum or events. Our school urges us to look at many different issues with these core values, but how about we hear from other important voices?

Come read further, and let us look at the various ways social critics and writers have proposed love as a solution to achieve a better world.

bell hooks (1952-2021)

bell hooks (stylized in lowercase) was an American author and social critic, best known for her writings and influence on intersectionality, race, and feminism—to name a few. The roots of her intellectual work came from her background as a Black woman experiencing segregation at its prime. Nevertheless, hooks credits the education she received in the segregated schools she studied in. To her, it cultivated her deep love for learning—the teachers who taught hooks were black women who she describes were “on a mission” to nurture their students’ intellect and transform them into thinkers and scholars. Eventually, this led to hooks’s career as a teacher and writer (Burke, 2024).

hooks’s works serve as an invaluable resource on love as a driving force for social change. One of her most famous and referenced works, All About Love: New Visions, is an intimate review about the ways love has cultivated itself in our lives while offering radical ways to think and act on love.

Love is an act of will:

“Love as ‘the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.’ Love is as love does. Love is an act of will–namely, both an intention and an action.”

– All About Love: New Visions

As hooks articulated above, our concern and eventual actions out of care for one another is love. By extension, the advocacies and movements we choose to participate in are caused by our love for our fellow human beings. Remember that practicing love as an act of will doesn’t have to be a massive gesture. It can just be offering a simple smile to a stranger you happen to meet eyes with, asking a teacher how their day was, or taking the time to read and learn about certain movements and global crises that are happening all over the world. That’s the thing about love—each effort, no matter how big or little, is an act of resistance.

Aside from this, hooks wrote an essay entitled “Love as the Practice of Freedom” which can be found in her book Outlaw Culture: Resisting Representations, and it goes in-depth about how lovelessness is what keeps systems of oppression in power.

Love is a practice of freedom:

“The moment we choose to love we begin to move against domination, against oppression. The moment we choose to love we begin to move towards freedom, to act in ways that liberate ourselves and others. That action is the testimony of love as the practice of freedom.”

– Love as the Practice of Freedom

hooks clarifies that love is the first step we make when we move towards revolutionary acts. It is the flame that begins the first spark—and also the flame that keeps it alive. Love is a practice of freedom for it is not only the beginning of freedom, but by maintaining love, we begin to be conscious of the injustices around us—not only those that directly affect us, but also those that affect other people. We practice freedom through love because we start to collectively dream of a world that does not oppress us and other people. You are already doing this, just by reading this article (thank you, by the way!), and even in other ways—by recognizing the oppression others are experiencing or just learning where someone is coming from.

In the same essay, hook promotes an “ethic of love”, and emphasizes that love is an act of service—we center community in our lives and liberatory efforts:

“A love ethic emphasizes the importance of service to others.. Service strengthens our capacity to know compassion and deepens our insight. To serve another I cannot see them as an object, I must see their subjecthood.”

– Love as the Practice of Freedom

When we serve others, we start to see their humanness. We begin to see that they are individuals—with needs, with strengths and weaknesses, with hopes and dreams. We see all of what makes each other human—this is what fuels our compassion and eventual motivation to fight against injustice.

James Baldwin (1924-1987)

James Baldwin was an African-American author and a founding voice of the civil rights movement in America. His novels, speeches, and essays have left a lasting impact on culture and civil rights discussions.

In the short documentary, Meeting the Man: James Baldwin in Paris, Baldwin—while being interviewed—says this most memorable quote:

“Love has never been a popular movement. And no one's ever wanted, really, to be free. The world is held together, really it is held together, by the love and the passion of a very few people. ”

– Meeting the Man: James Baldwin in Paris [Film, dir. Terence Dixon]

Baldwin recognizes that the number of freedom fighters are only so little compared to how many people they fight for. Amidst hate, bigotry, and injustice, despite all odds, they have fought or have continued fighting for our liberty. This quote sticks with you, especially if you hear it in Baldwin’s despondent yet determined voice—truly if there were any explanation why freedom fighters endure, it would be because of the love and passion they have for the world and its people.

Love is to hope:

"We've got to be as clear-headed about human beings as possible, because we are still each other's only hope."

– A Rap on Race [Book, written by James Baldwin & Margaret Mead]

"I can't be a pessimist because I am alive. To be a pessimist means that you have agreed that human life is an academic matter. So, I am forced to be an optimist. I am forced to believe that we can survive, whatever we must survive."

– I Am Not Your Negro [Film, dir. by Raoul Peck]

Each and every one of us has the capability to use the love we have within us to participate in social justice. The world doesn't have to be held by a few people—it could be you, your friend, your classmates, or the people you walked past today and yesterday. Baldwin emphasizes in the quotes above that we are personally responsible for having compassion for each other, and we have to hold on to hope because injustice relies so much on us to not be able to.

Virgilio Enriquez (1942-1994)

Virgilio Enriquez, also known as the father and founder of Sikolohiyang Pilipino (Filipino Psychology) defined Kapwa and Pakikipagkapwa—undying everyday terms in the Philippines.

Kapwa is the central value that Sikolohiyang Pilipino is constructed on, and is defined as a shared identity and inner self with others. Due to this sense of togetherness, there exists a moral obligation for us to treat each other with respect and dignity. This also refers to Pakikipagkapwa, in which we treat each other with empathy, compassion, and love due to our sense of shared identity.

Love is to have a shared self:

“Kapwa is a recognition of a shared identity, an inner self, shared with others. This Filipino linguistic unity of the self and the other is unique and unlike in most modern languages. Why? Because implied in such inclusiveness is the moral obligation to treat one another as equal fellow human beings. If we can do this – even starting in our own family or our circle of friends – we are on the way to practice peace. We are Kapwa People”

— Professor Virgilio Enriquez, On Kapwa

Kapwa is the way we practice peace and fellowship as Filipinos. As said by Enriquez—“even starting in our own family and friends”—even if you are too shy express love or kindness to someone you aren’t very close with, you can start out with those you are already familiar with. We are not necessarily individuals, much of our lives depend on the good will of others, this is what it means to have a shared self. Once you internalize this belief, your kindness will be sure to grow and you’ll be brave enough for it to reach a stranger.

Love has always been the unspoken reason we continue to fight and try to survive. As we have learned from above—Love is an act of will, Love is a practice of freedom, Love is an act of service, Love is to hope, and Love is to have a shared self. The thing that is great about love is that we already have it within us, we each have the capacity to participate in love-based justice.

We all want the world to be a better place for us all. Somehow, we are convinced that it can only be achieved through force and violence. Despite all evidence, we struggle to hold the idea that the most radical acts are the most intimate and vulnerable ones. It’s the way bell hooks wrote relentlessly on how love and gentleness are what will save us despite experiencing the harshness of segregation and racism throughout her life, the soft urgency in James Baldwin’s voice whenever he is asked to speak about the state of the world, and how Virgilio Enriquez defined Kapwa—the phrase and mindset we always come back to during times of moral crisis.

As many social critics and writers try to tell us, love is the very heart of social transformation—our catalyst for a better world. A world which is held by not only a few—but every person who lives in it—with love.

//by Xia Mentes

References:

Asani K., Juan, F. (2022). Experiences of Online Activism amidst the Pandemic of Select Youth Organization Members in Metro Manila. 4th DLSU Research Congress. pp. 6. https://animorepository.dlsu.edu.ph/conf_shsrescon/2022/paper_frs/3/

Baldwin, J., & Mead, Margaret. (1971). A Rap on Race. J. B. Lippincott Company.

Burke, B. (2004) ‘bell hooks on education’. The encyclopedia of pedagogy and informal education. http://www.infed.org/mobi/bell-hooks-on-education.htm

Dixon, T. (1970). Meeting the Man: James Baldwin in Paris. [Film]. Solus Enterprises.

hooks, bell. (1999, December 22). All About Love: New Visions. Harper Collins.

hooks, bell. “Love as the Practice of Freedom”. Outlaw Culture: Resisting Representations. Routledge. (1994). pp. 243-250.

hooks, bell. (2001, January 9). Salvation: Black People and Love. William Morrow Paperback.

Jenks, T. (2024, August 2). Where to start with: James Baldwin. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/books/article/2024/aug/02/where-to-start-with-james-baldwin

Lagdameo-Santillan, K. Roots of Filipino Humanism (1)”Kapwa”. Pressenza. https://www.pressenza.com/2018/07/roots-of-filipino-humanism-1kapwa/#:~:text=Because%20implied%20in%20such%20inclusiveness,Enriquez%2C%20founder%20of%20Sikolohiyang%20Pilipino

Peck, R. (2016). I Am Not Your Negro. [Film]. Velvet Film.

julietearjerkiee

Aug 11, 2025

stringcheezeislife

Filthy Fixation

Mr Reed x Fem!Reader [18+]

Summary: You've been stalking Mr. Reed, your charming neighbor for a few months now… your little crush spiraling quickly into obsession. One particular snowy evening, you decide to fulfill your filthy desires; whether he wanted to or not.

TW: smut, age gap, dubcon/noncon elements, rape, unhinged reader, hostage, drugging, bdsm-ish, torture, bound, gagged, blindfolded, sensory deprivation, manipulation, power play, oral fixation, aphyxiation, getting stepped on, role reversal, hate fuck.

Words: 10.9k

One-shot.

Also available in ao3

[erm. it's a bit dark so be warned. enjoy!]

-**-

Knock, knock.

You knocked on the door of your neighbour, Mr. Reed. The entrance stood tall and imposing, the door arching peculiarly. The pathway littered with snow and leaves, worn in a way that’s comfy, yet strangely gloomy. You glance at the closed curtains, wondering when he would appear. You clutch the heavy basket in your arms.

Your gaze wanders, caught by the strange beauty of his home’s architecture. It stood apart from the others in the neighborhood– grand yet slightly unsettling. Gated bars surround the property, its ornate pattern catching the eyes of anyone passing by. Though, it was the dense trees inside the yard that truly concealed the place, wrapping it in a veil of mystery and keeping the world at a distance– away from prying eyes. At first glance, it may have seemed like any other well-kept home, inviting even, but you knew better. If others knew what you knew...

Finally, you see a silhouette shuffling behind the glass window of the door. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself. A few moments later, the door swung open and the bewildered head of Mr. Reed poked out. His grey hair disheveled, as if not expecting company. His eyebrows scrunched cutely as his eyes adjusted slightly from the blinding porch lights, before adjusting and focusing on you.

“Ah, it’s you.” He smiled, finally opening the door fully, exposing the interior of his home. “I should’ve known, nobody else knocks when there’s a fully functional doorbell right over here .” He points toward the doorbell, eyes twinkling.

“Well, you know me, Mr. Reed. I’m not just anyone . I’m sure there are plenty others who do so as well.” You tease, adjusting the basket around your arms. His eyes follow your movement, and finally notices the large wicker basket.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Some baked pastries, a few croissants, some tarts– I didn’t know if you liked sweets so I made others too. The bread is fresh out of the oven, so I’m hoping it’ll still be warm on my way here.” You touch the top covered with a checkered cloth, feeling the warmth emanating from it. “Yep, still is. Take it, it’s for you."

He gapes, clearly baffled. “For… me?”

“Yeah, you. Who else is here? Your wife?” You look pointedly at the ring on his finger. He notices, and lets out a laugh. You both knew why he wore it, and it wasn’t for marital reasons.

“Well, thank you dear. You’re very kind.” His smile never falters, though at times it looked farce, exaggerated. You held it up for him to take and he did, cradling it in his arms like a baby.

“May I ask, though. Did you really bake these yourself?” You nod. “That’s amazing, absolutely wonderful– oh wow, these look scrumptious.”

You beam, proud and basking in the compliments. You thank him.

“What’s the occasion?” He asked again, quizzically looking at you. “It’s the middle of January– I don’t think there’s a celebration that would merit this sort of gift.”

“I had some extras left from the batches I made for my niece’s birthday.” You shrugged. “Thought it’d be nice to share– spread a little kindness, you know?”

“Well, well– nothing like being the lucky beneficiary of a niece’s birthday leftovers.” He grins, “Should I be flattered or concerned about where I rank on the gift-giving hierarchy?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic– you’re at least in the top five. Besides, I figured you’d appreciate a treat without the hassle of a party hat.” You gesture toward the basket with a grin. “Just don’t expect me to start singing ‘Happy Birthday’ – I have my limits.”

Mr. Reed huffs a quiet laugh, lifting the basket slightly as if weighing its worth. His amusement deepens as he takes in just how full it is.

“This…” You perk up. “might be a bit much, don’t you think?” He glances down the large basket, filled to the brim with various pastries and bread. “I might not even finish these till next christmas, dear.” He chuckles. Then, with a glance at the sky– where snow was starting to fall heavier– he shifts his stance, as if making up his mind.

“Listen, why don’t you come inside?” He says, already stepping aside. “The snow’s getting heavier, and you could help me with finishing these.” He joked, pointedly looking at the pastries. “Consider it quality control. ”

You chuckle, though not moving an inch from the porch. His blue eyes flicker to you, and he then places a hand over his heart, gesturing dramatically.

“What, you don’t mind sticking around with this old man for the evening, do you?” He looks at you with wide eyes; expectantly, almost like a puppy waiting for attention. “ Surely a sweet lady like you wouldn’t want all this food to go to waste.”

You fake contemplation, looking into the distance with a hand perched on your hip. You pause for a few beats, dragging out the moment, before beaming out a toothy grin. “Eh, sure why not.”

“Excellent! Come on then, come in.” Gesturing into his home, you step foot into his warm living room.

The interior was as inviting, the warm lights contrasting the cold winter outside. You’ve been here a few times, though never past the living room. Never past the pleasantries, past being acquaintances.

Recently, you’ve both bonded on your mutual interest of academia. Something you’ve picked on the previous visits. It quickly spiraled into something deeper, an actual interest, and you’ve learned about him more than the past few years you’ve been neighbours.

It was almost unfair– he’d always been charming but speaking to him left you utterly enthralled. He knew just what words to say; plucking your strings– as if playing you like a fiddle.

It wasn’t your intellect kink’s doing for sure– well, maybe that’s only half of the reason why. And surely not your daddy issues, isn’t it? Whatever the reason, Mr. Reed just has the quiet magnetism that draws you in, and without you noticing– you’re already in his trap. Hooked. Obsessed .

Your infatuation with Mr Reed is not entirely his fault, though. That’s just how you’ve always been. If something, or in this case, someone– catches your eye, it lingers, gnaws at you until you’ve had your fill. And tonight, seeing him in his casual wear, eyes bleary as if he’d just been napping and hair tousled that frames his handsome face– you’re not sure if you can hold it in anymore.

Placing down the wicker basket on the coffee table, he offers to take your coat. You smile and nod, taking it off to reveal the almost translucent white tank top underneath.

He raises an eyebrow as he watches, eyes flickering up and down your body– something you wouldn’t have catched if your eyes weren’t on him already. “Well, looks like someone’s committed to the idea that warmth is overrated. Who needs it when you've got… boldness?"

You smirk, shrugging slightly. “Well, if I’m going to freeze, I might as well do it in style, don’t you think?” You lean back slightly, meeting his gaze. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I can handle the cold. I’ve been known to warm up even the iciest of situations– especially when the right company’s around."

He pauses, seeming surprised by your advances. “Well, I didn’t expect that kind of confidence.” He says, his tone still playful, a sly smile gracing his lips. “You’ve got a way of keeping me on my toes– maybe I’ll have to reconsider my earlier assumptions."

You wink, and he shakes his head playfully as he heads inside to hang your coat. You flop down on the armchair facing the window, watching the trees outside swaying violently with the wind. You can’t help but notice that the weather was getting worse by the second.

That’s good. That means nothing would bother us. If there are others coming anyway…

It was no secret that Mr. Reed was a recluse– the kind of man who lived on his own not by necessity, but by choice. He seemed happy, content to be by his lonesome. Occasionally, missionaries or a neighbour or two would pay him a visit. You’ve kept track of it through your windows. Most leave. Some didn’t. You’re sure of that. The camera you’ve kept facing his home to capture video tapes of him to add to your collage made sure of it.

And he’s not that old, though he might be twice or thrice your age. Who knows? Who cares? Certainly not you.

You touch the top of your pockets that contain the chloroform-soaked handkerchief in a baggy. Leaning back into the armchair, you stretch out, toes curling in excitement. But you have to wait for the perfect moment to strike– a vulnerable moment. He’s quite strong for an older man– you’ve seen him carry a large trash bag almost his exact height effortlessly, so you need to be extra careful.

Mr Reed steps into the living room, the clicking of tea cups and silverware together resounding with each step. “Here we go, some fresh tea.” He places the tray on the coffee table as you clap excitedly. Taking a seat right next to you, he shares a smile watching your childishness. “You’re quite easily excitable aren’t you?”

You shoot him a look. “Nothing wrong with that. Life’s meant to be exciting. The little things, especially.” You pour the steaming hot tea into both your cups. “It’s not meant to be a meaningless string of jobs and responsibilities. We’re mammals! We’re meant to eat, hunt, and rest.” He looks at you, listening intently as you slide a cup towards him.

“But no! We’re too occupied with our own problems that we can’t even enjoy life. What are we, ants? We’re so busy with our daily lives that we can’t even take a break from responsibilities– and all that hooey. If we’re meant to be working day and night, why not grow six legs and create a hive mind, why don’t we?” You huff, growing more irritated.

Mr Reed nods, an acknowledgement and a slight nudge for you to continue. You take a deep breath, calming your racing heart. You pause to think, and before you could continue, he cuts you off.

“If you think about it, aren’t we creatures created to chase our desires?” He inquires, “There’s one thing that we possess that separates us from other mammals– or any other living creature; intelligence. ”

“Right,” You nod excitedly. “Intelligence! Not only does it make us a better hunter– it creates a deep, insatiable hunger . A hunger for love, for attention, fame–” You pause. “ Greed. It makes us greedy.” You grip the cup in your hand tightly, “But that’s not wrong, is it? Greed is what drives us. Greed is the damn reason we’re much like ants in the first place.” You chuckle at the irony, looking deep into his downturned baby blue eyes.

“We take what we need. We seize what we want. That’s just human nature.” You take a sip, keeping your gaze locked with his. “Don’t you agree, Mr Reed?”

He stares back at you, a flicker of something unrecognizable flashing through– hands on his chin, fingers on his lips. It then curves into a smile– a slight chill behind it.

“That’s true.” he straightens, bringing the cup to his lips. “But you’ve forgotten something, dear. Mammals don’t just eat, sleep, and hunt.”

You tilt your head. “What did I miss?”

He looks at you, a slight mirth in his eyes. “They also, well, excuse my french, fuck .”

“Oh, silly me. Of course! The most important aspect in the circle of life.” You roll your eyes, looking at him pointedly, a smirk tugging on the corner of your lips. “I wouldn’t expect you of all people to say that.”

He crinkles his eyebrows in confusion, clearly offended. “And what is that implying, hm?”

“Well, for starters, I’ve never seen you with anyone. Even that ring of yours,” The silver ring on his ring finger glints under the dim light. “it’s meant to ward off suitors, is it not? Though I don’t expect it to work out much. Considering your…” You trail off, eyes wandering to marvel at his handsome features. “charming personality.”

“Well, for the record I am perfectly capable of... fucking.” He clears his throat, looking away from you; ears tinged red. “I’ve had lots of experience with women in my younger years, believe it or not.”

“So you still fuck?”

“...Emphasis on younger years, darling. Now , I choose not to– academia has that kind of effect, whether you want to or not.” He chuckles, scratching his chin. “Research was the only thing on my mind back then. Theology , like I said before. Now, not so much.” He mused, eyes wandering towards the back of his home. His tone grew darker, an uncanny smile gracing his lips. “I have… another endeavour in mind currently.”

You nod, pastries and tea completely forgotten. Before you could ask more, you’re startled by the ceiling lights flickering out with a loud click. Both of you plunge into darkness, only a small lamp illuminating the shadows.

“My apologies, I forgot to tell you the lights are set on a timer.” He patted his knees and stood, heading off to turn the dial clockwise. The lights crackled back on.

He strolls back to the coffee table nonchalantly, as if it were a normal occurrence. He sits back down next to you, picking up a pastry– an egg tart, munching on it delightfully.

“I’m not one for sweets, but I’m a sucker for these.” He moans, cradling the pastry delicately on the palm of his hand. “You simply have to share your recipe, darling. I’m quite the baker myself; how did you make it so creamy?”

You look at him weirdly, annoyed that the topic of conversation changed quickly. Also, if you had known his love for egg tarts, you would’ve laced it before you came. It would’ve made everything so much easier.

You hum discontentedly, reaching over to take a croissant for yourself. “Why don’t you tell me more about your research, Mr Reed?” He looks at you with surprise, munching on his second tart. “Surely, thirty years of research, all that effort, what did you find?”

He chews slowly, taking his time; contemplating. “I can answer that, but do you mind me asking a question first?” His tone casual, but it had a hint of something darker.

“Sure.” You nod, taking a bite of your croissant.

“Do you believe in god?” He questions, wiping away crumbs from the edge of his lips. “Of course, it’s a rhetorical question. But humour me–”

“No.” You cut him off, smiling sweetly. “There is no god for me.”

“Right,” He pauses, studying you, before clearing his throat. “Well. That’s understandable, really. Why bother believing in something that you can’t see, smell, or touch.” He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “So I’m guessing you’re a… correct me if I’m wrong– an atheist?”

“Not quite. I’m agnostic.”

“Damn.” He slaps his thigh in mock disappointment, a smirk curved on the corner of his lips. “Almost got it.”

You tilt your head, enquiring for him to continue.

“Yes! Well imagine this.” He leans forward, fingers thrumming excitedly against his knee. “A world teeming with belief systems, each with its own version of an ultimate truth. You’ve got your natural religions– those born from the earth, shaped by human instinct, folklore, and ritual. Then, there’s the big three– Judaism, Christianity, and Islam– the Abrahamic giants, sprawling across centuries, each claiming divine authority. Then the Dharmic paths– Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism– more focused on cycles, karma, liberation. And, of course, the existentialists, the nihilists, the deists, the pantheists… so many flavors of faith, each offering something, yet none with irrefutable proof.”

He pauses dramatically, eyes locked on you. Then, his voice drops lower, his smile turning contemplative.

“But you only believe in yourself? Admirable.” He nods, as if seeing something familiar in you. “I was once like you– skeptical, questioning, clawing for reason in the void. If God exists, why suffering? If He sees all, knows all, then why apathy? Is He merely watching– our feasts, our sorrows, our little indulgences? Omniscience as divine voyeurism.” A dry chuckle escapes him. “It never sat right with me.”

He exhales, gaze drifting into some distant memory. “So, I turned to books; scriptures, philosophies, esoteric texts. If I couldn’t find God, I’d find the idea of Him.”

He takes a sip, with you nodding slightly, bored out of your mind. “Thirty years of study, devouring the words of prophets and scholars alike, searching for meaning.”

He looks back at you, his smile sharpening. “Perhaps you know these things already. Perhaps you’re one of them – the ones who pretend not to seek, but secretly, deep down, are hoping for answers.”

You blink.

He smirks, tapping his temple. “See, people like you? They think they’re immune. Too rational, too clever. But the truth is, when you strip everything away– when the walls close in, when the silence stretches too long– everyone, eventually, starts whispering prayers.”

He leans back, watching you, waiting for your reaction.

“That’s… very interesting, Mr. Reed.” You nod lazily, leaning back into your chair. “But I gotta stop you there.”

He pauses. “What seems to be the problem?” His eyebrows knitted.

“Can you show me where the bathroom is? It seems that I drank a bit too much tea.” You pout, squirming on your seat.

“Oh.” He deflated slightly, perhaps disappointed. “Of course, dear.” Nodding, he led the way deeper into his home. He led you past the dark hallway, and gestured to the wooden door with a quaint sign hanging from a nail in cursive; ‘Bathroom'.

You went in and did your business, the stark contrast inside unsettling you. The ivory tiles gleam under the light, pristine, sterile– too pristine. It feels more like a surgical room than a place for something as mundane as washing your hands.

You shake the thought away, stepping towards the sink. Cold water splashes on your face as you watch your reflection. A smile formed on your lips, one you don’t remember forming. Have you been smiling like that this whole time…?

You feel your blood pumping, adrenaline spiking through your body.

Patience. Just a little more.

You put your hand in your pocket, playing with the baggy in your hands. The crinkle is deafening to you, but you keep your face neutral as you turn the door knob. You flinch, noticing a dark figure looming next to the door.

He startled you. You find him leaning beside the bathroom door with his arms crossed, watching.

The dim lighting casts sharp shadows along his face, but that ever-present, polite smile remains. You smile back awkwardly, hoping he didn't hear the crinkling of the baggy.

“Monthly business, I assume?” He muses, his voice smooth, easy.

You nod awkwardly. A lie.

“I hope you dispose of it properly. There is a specific bin in there, in case of… guests.” A pause, deliberate. “Like you.”

Your jaw clenches. Something about his tone irks you; it makes your fingers twitch, itching to punch the smirk off his face. Instead, you watch as he turns, heading toward the living room as if the conversation was mere small talk.

“Does that mean you get lots of guests, then?” You call out, leaning back against the bathroom door. “Women, especially?”

His steps falter. Just slightly.

He glances back at you. For a second you catch it– a flash of surprise, then something unreadable. You don't know what your expression looks like right now, but you're sure of the feeling burning in your heart. Jealousy.

His back still facing you, he looks forward; a solemn silence lingering. His posture shifts, tension creeping in where it hadn’t been before.

“...Yes.” He finally spoke out. “Like I said. Guests.” A pause. “It would be rude not to accommodate to your needs, no?”

Your lips curl.

“Kinda strange, don’t you think? Considering you barely have anyone visiting you.” You retort, crossing your arms. “I would know that– I'm your neighbor after all. And isn't it weird, a lone bachelor, yet having a waste bin specifically for… women’s menstrual troubles?”

His back is still turned, but you don’t need to see his face to know you’ve struck a nerve.

“No wife, no daughters, no family. Zip, zilch, nada.” Your eyes lock on his troubled figure, watching for the smallest reactions. “It’s nice of you, though. Thoughtful. But it does bring up some questions, don't you think?” You push off the doorframe, tilting your head. “Just… something to think about.”

Your tone is light, but the weight of your words linger. You see it in the way his shoulders stiffen. The way his fingers flex slightly before stilling. His silence only tempts you to push further.

A beat. Then another.

“You could be the most considerate bachelor in the whole world,” You say, stepping closer, taunting, voice mocking. “or a weird, creepy pervert .”

His breath is steady, but his muscles are not. You wonder how much you could push before he snaps.

You reach out, trailing your fingers on the fabric of his shirt before jabbing them sharply into his lower back. He flinches.

“Mr. Reed, the neighborhood pervert.” You mock, sing-song. “Has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

His fingers twitch– subtle, but telling.

“I wonder what the others would say.” Your voice lilts, dripping with mockery. “Oh, what a scandal! A pervert in our midst! What could he be up to? Stealing underwear? Lurking in the shadows?” You feel your adrenaline pumping, patience wearing thin. “Does he lure women into his home? I bet he does. I bet, he keeps them tucked away in his basement– indulging in his sick, twisted urges– ”

A sharp exhale.

Your pulse spikes. The tension between you tightens– like a wire stretched taut, waiting to snap. His posture stiffens– just slightly. But it was enough.

Fuck waiting. Take the bait.

Another sigh– measured, composed. But when he finally turns to glance at you, his mask slips. His smile is gone.

“Honestly,” He murmured, voice quieter now. “you're being ridiculous. All that… just from a sanitary bin? You jump–”

You don't let him finish.

Before he could turn to face you, you strike. The laced handkerchief slams on his face, pressing hard as he gasps– forcing him to breathe in the chloroform.

He claws at you, trashing, twisting, jerking– wringing his body from side to side to break free from your grasp, but you held on tight. Arms and legs locked tight around his torso, riding his violent resistance as he bucks like a wild animal. His strength was terrifying, but you don’t let go. You just had to ride it out until the fume went up his head.

It didn't take long. His grip weakened, his strength faltering, movement sluggish, until at last– he finally lay limp.

You crash on the floor with him with a thump, sending a sharp pain through your head as it hits the wooden floor. His body weight nearly crushes you, but you don't let go– not yet.

For a moment, you just lay there, panting. Months of training– it finally paid off. He struggled hard– slamming you onto walls, bruising your back and shoulder– you can feel the forming bruises pulsing. But it didn’t matter.

Finally, he’s yours.

Still in your arms, you press a lingering kiss on top of his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, pressing him flush against you. He doesn't resist. Can’t resist.

For a moment, you just breathe him in. The faint scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin seeping into yours– his warm body heavy against your chest. You can’t stop grinning, it almost hurts.

You savour the moment, only the raging winds outside accompanying the silence. The wind howls, rattling the windows. But inside, it’s quiet. Just you and him.

Finally.

–**–

Darkness ebbed away in suffocating waves, giving way to a dull, throbbing ache behind his eyes. Consciousness crept back in fragments, a sharp pulse in his skull, the distant howl of wind, the faintest sensation of warmth against his skin. His fingers twitched. Wrong. Everything felt wrong.

His breath hitched as he tried to move, his limbs were sluggish, heavy– uncooperative. A haze clung to his thoughts, thick and unnatural, but panic gnawed through the fog with sharp, gnashing teeth. Where—?

A scent, too close. A presence, too near. Then– a voice. Low, and dripping with satisfaction.

“You’re awake?”

His stomach turned cold.

He tried to move, but couldn't. His arms were bound. Thick rope dug into his skin with every flex of his muscles. His legs, too, were just as useless.

A blindfold covered his eyelids, suffocating his eyes with darkness. Worst of all– something was in his mouth. A gag, holding down his tongue, choking down any words before it could form.

Shaking the fog in his head, his mind races– assessing the situation. Memory fragments piecing back together one by one.

You. The struggle. Your arms around his before falling unconscious.

It’s all coming back to him now.

He steadies his breath, keeping his composure. He dared not show any weakness– not giving you the satisfaction of protesting outright. After all, that’s what you wanted isn’t it? To see him falter, to see him sweat?

He doesn’t answer, keeping his silence.

“Hm. Silent treatment? You’re not being a good host here, Mr. Reed.” You muse, a playful tone in your voice. You crept around him, drinking in the sight of his bound and gagged figure.

“Hope you slept well,” A finger– your finger– trails on his jaw, featherlight, testing. “You were out for quite a while. I was starting to think I might’ve overdone it.”

He tensed. Your touch trails lower, down to the column of his throat, where his pulse thrummed frantically beneath the skin. His composure remained still, but his body betrayed him.

You huff a quiet laugh. “Oh, don’t be scared,” Your fingers tilt his chin up to face you, though the blindfold covers his sight. “I’d never hurt you. Not unless I have to.”

You sigh, almost wistfully.

“I really like you, Mr. Reed.” You perch on the table of his office, with him facing you. He was sat on his office chair; plush, soft. You were kind enough to plop him there, instead of the hard steel chair you found in his creepy basement. “Even if you’re kind of messed up.”

He’s been unconscious long enough for you to explore his home– a labyrinth, with doors locked from the inside. You had always found it strange, how Mr. Reed had always been the one to unlock the door for you.

It was never your hand in the doorknob.

The miniature model of his house in the office gives you an idea on what’s going on in his house of horrors– the pseudo-church. The dark, damp basement. The room with cages– you could only guess what– or whom– he kept in it.

The pseudo-church, though? That had been something else. It was… extravagant. Lavish.

A shrine to his own ego, you realize.

Religious texts lined the shelves, vinyl records stacked meticulously, and idols perched like spectators to his grand performance. A man so obsessed with his own image– of course, he had a place like this. A perfect set for a perfect facade.

You wonder who it is he’s shown it to.

You ran your fingers through his hair, grazing his scalp, caressing it softly, slow, deliberate. He shudders. A soft sound slipped past his lips, barely audible behind the gag.

Why wasn’t it you?

Trailing your fingers down to his ears, to the back of his neck– a sensitive spot– he couldn’t help but let out a gasp. Goosebumps rise under your touch, following every trail. With your arms looped around his neck– you pull.

The chair wheeled forward, colliding his body with yours.

Why didn’t he choose you?

You held him there, his face buried against your chest. Soft strokes ran through his hair, delicate, almost loving. He melts slightly in your arms, letting down his guard.

Then, you whisper, your voice barely a breath into his ear. “You don’t know how much it hurt me,” Your arms tighten. “Seeing those women coming into your home.”

You grabbed the back of his head, pushing him further– deeper into you. He struggled, body jerking against yours, muffled protests swallowed by the gag. His breath hitched, sharp and desperate as he fought against the suffocating warmth of your embrace. But you only held him closer.

“I wonder…” You murmur, the flames of jealousy burning. “Do they struggle like this?” Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, just to see him gasp for air. “Do they fight back? Or do they just… give in?” You pushed him back in, pressing him closer, feeling his body tenses against yours.

Seeing him like this; his breath uneven– shallow gasps, muffled by the gag, warm against your skin– it was intoxicating. His body trembled, muscles coiled in protest. He struggles against the restraints– not violently, not yet– but enough that you can feel his frustration bleed through.

For a moment, you enjoy it.

The great Mr. Reed– always so composed, so charming, with that unreadable, infuriating smile– now bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Just for your eyes. No witty remarks. No charming deflections. Just his ragged breathing, and the small, involuntary twitches of his fingers.

You exhale softly, running your nails behind the back of his neck, delighting the way he shudders beneath your touch. His pulse thrums faster underneath your fingers. You tug his hair back, tilting his head back, granting him a fleeting gasp of air.

“I don't really give a damn about the religious mumbo jumbo you're trying to sell me, Mr. Reed,” You mumble, your lips pressed against the damp line of his hair. “Nor do I care about your so-called research, honestly.”

You tug on the knot of his blindfold, slowly, deliberately. His eyes flutter open, revealing his droopy, resilient blue eyes. He looks at you blearily, finally taking in his surroundings.

You press a lingering kiss on the top of his eyelid. He flinches.

“I may not know faith, but I know what I want.” You whisper, drinking in his glares. “I'm a slave to my desires, you see,” Your lips curl. “and… it's telling me to want you.”

He doesn’t react. Not in the way you wanted him to.

His eyes just bore into you, steady, unwavering. He’s putting up an act. Controlling his breaths to be slow– measured, deliberate. He’s trying to keep his composure, trying to maintain the illusion of control. Of power.

But you notice.

The tension coiling in his shoulders. The way his fingers twitch against the restraints, curling into a fist. His shallow, uncertain inhales– like he’s still waiting for his next move.

You smile.

“You don’t like this, do you?” You murmur, leaning closer to him, your breath barely grazing his ear. “Not so fun when you’re the one being toyed with.”

You push his body forward, wheeling the chair back. You’ve been soft, teasing this whole time. You’ve been gentle. But now? Now, it’s your turn to take control.

You fingers brush against the desk, finding the letter opener tucked neatly in one of his office drawers. His gaze flickers– brief, sharp– from the blade, to you, then back again. Panic? No, something else.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” You whisper soothingly– teasing. “We’re just going to have some fun, okay?”

You start from the bottom, pressing the tip to the fabric of his shirt. One by one, the buttons give way under the touch of the blade. Slowly, you move your way up– each undone button revealing a bit more.

The final button pops open, exposing the smooth planes of his chest. His chest rose and fell, nipples perking and taut due to the cold breeze.

“Such pink nipples you have there.” You muse, tracing the metal blade around it. “Boop.”

You playfully tap it, itching for a reaction. His eye twitches and his breath hitches– only for a second. Then, nothing. The same cold, impassive stare.

Sitting there, bound and exposed wasn’t enough to crack him. The blindfold had taken away his control, left him unmoored. But now? Now with his eyesight returned, he had steadied himself, retaining some semblance of control.

You hum. A challenge is always welcome.

“I like it when you look at me like that, Mr. Reed.” You purr, pointing the blade up to his neck, putting enough pressure to remind him how fragile flesh can be. You watch his throat bob as he swallows. His muscles tense, but he doesn’t flinch.

You grin. “It’s making me want to break you harder.”

Your free hands move, rummaging his desk.

“And look what I found!” You open another drawer from his desk, taking out an egg-shaped vibrator. “I didn’t know you were nasty like that, Mister.”

His eyes widened at the sight, and involuntarily croaked out a choke through his gag. You grin wider.

“I wonder what you use it for.” You muse. “Self-pleasure, maybe?”

He rolls his eyes, a sharp, dismissive glare cutting through the dim light.

Maybe not, then.

You hum, jumping down from the desk to plop yourself on one of his thighs instead. He grunts at the added weight, body sinking deeper into the chair, his restraints digging into his skin. You can see the subtle signs of discomfort.

Good.

You’re glad you took those knot-tying lessons. Snug, secure, but just loose enough to keep circulation flowing. Just tight enough to hurt.

“Let's put this bad boy for a test drive, eh?”

You press the button, turning it alive. It hums in steady, rhythmic pulses in your palms. You turn it up to a higher setting, dangling it right on his face, swinging it side to side, like a pendulum. His eyes follow it briefly, before focusing solely on you again– maintaining his stance.

You gaze back into his eyes, watching him with amusement. He may have his composure for now, but not for long. You wonder how long it would take for him to break.

Pressing the toy on the fabric of his jeans, his body twitches– only a little. It was muscle reflex, you could almost hear him say. It doesn't matter.

Trailing it up higher, to his knees, his thighs– the vibration filling the silence alongside his muffled breaths. He doesn’t react– his unwavering eyes still locked on yours– but you could see his chest rise and fall, each breath growing heavier.

Finally, after teasingly lingering on his inner thighs, the toy finally arrived at its destination.

He couldn’t help but shudder– the vibration against his crotch was stimulating something deep within him– something he didn’t want resurfacing. You trail the toy up and down his crotch, from the tip of his rising cock down to his balls.

Circling it in a slow and rhythmic motion, you watch as his shudders turn violent, his breath stuttering– ragged. His body betrays him; reacting, responding.

Clicking the settings higher, you press it harder against him, the vibrator pulsing rhythmically. His jeans grew painfully tight, and you can't help but rub your palms against his bulge, making him cry out through gritted teeth.

His face is flushed deep red, while saliva drools down from the corner of his gagged mouth. He's struggling– for control, for composure– but every touch, every pulse of the toy betrays him. And that, more than anything, sends a thrill down your spine.

“You're so cute, Mr. Reed.” You cooed, rubbing his cock harder through his jeans, making his muffle out a defiant groan– cracks forming on his cold, unwavering mask.

“I bet it'll feel better if we didn't have anything in between, right?” You mused, pressing the blade just a tad deeper against his throat. Not enough to break skin– just deep enough to show who’s in control. He doesn’t respond, not giving you the satisfaction of an answer.

But you don't need to hear them to know how he feels; you can see the way his body betrays him.

His body tensing– the way his hips buckled slightly when the toy hummed against the tip. You could see the look in his eyes– half-lidded, slightly clouded– as he watched you with something unreadable. Lust? Defiance? Submission? It didn’t matter, that was all you needed.

You smile, dragging the blade down his chest and slipping your fingers in his belt. “Let's find out then, shall we?”

You took his belt off, throwing it behind you without a care. His eyes follow your every move, quiet, waiting. Popping open the button of his jeans, you then slowly– agonizingly– slid the zipper down. Sliding your hand down his boxers, you reach inside.

It stood erect without any resistance. It throbbed, following the beat of his pulse– and twitched when you touched the tip. Warmth emanating from his cock, as it throbbed under your fingers.

His eyes flicker back and forth between your hand– teasingly playing with the pre-cum leaking from his cock, and to you. His brow furrows in frustration as you teased him a little more, rubbing the tip of his cock with your palms in slow, languid motions.

Finally, you lock in. His breath caught as you gripped it firmly, slowly running it up and down his cock. You stroke it from the tip, down to the base of his shaft– slowly, sensually, using your spit and his precum as lube.

He closes his eyes shut– breathing growing more laboured as you stroke faster, running it up and down his shaft as he groans softly against his gag.

You watch him, amused, catching every little detail as pleasure takes course of his body. The way his lips trembled, gasping out with every shudder– teeth grinding to stop himself from moaning. His muscles flexes and tenses as he pushes himself deeper into the chair, avoiding your sly eyes.

Placing the letter opener down, you pick up the vibrator you've left forgotten. Knees deep in pleasure, Mr. Reed doesn't notice as your free hand trails down to his balls, before a click turns the toy alive.

He jerks– the unexpected pulses shocking his sensitive genitalia. He gasps, glaring at you through hooded eyes, definitely cursing you internally. You grin, before working your hands faster; clicking the control higher and higher, the toy humming faster against your palm.

The faster you stroked his girth, the more you could see his facade cracking. Seeing him struggle to maintain composure, resisting something not under his control, it just made you want to push him harder.

He was close– you could feel it.

You watch as his body tenses– hands clenched into a fist and eyes delirious as he nears his climax. Finally, before he could cum, you stop.

Taking the toy away, you also let go of his throbbing– ready to burst– cock.

Plugging the tip of his cock with a thumb, he protested– shuddering violently– crying out for a release that would never come.

It took a moment for his body to acclimate to a ruined orgasm.

He twitched and groaned, eyes damp with tears, before slumping back into his seat– delirious; before he shook it off– glaring sharply, his gaze piercing into you.

A smile of satisfaction creeps on your face, drinking in his sweaty, messy state. “Were you about to cum?” You cooed, teasing him as you pushed his hair back neatly with your pre-cum slicked fingers. He continued glaring at you without saying a word, breathing out heavily through his gag.

“Don’t be so cold, Mr. Reed,” You chastised, “We’re just getting started!”

“Now,” You wrap your legs around him; straddling him, pushing him deeper into the chair. He groans, eyebrows scrunched in agony from the pressure. His old bones can't handle all these strenuous exercises.

Pressing your body flush on his, you cup his face in your hands, cradling it softly, looking deep into his piercing blue eyes. “come here.”

You kiss him, a small, lingering peck on his chapped lips. You kiss him again. And another. Peppering his face with small kisses, marking it with bright lipstick.

He tenses with each kiss, bewildered by your actions. You were unpredictable. Soft and tender in one moment, but violent and pushy at the next. Just how could he know you were such a psycho?

You trail your kisses lower, down to his neck, his chest, peppering your mark along the way, his bellybutton, the dips of his hips– then finally down to his happy trail; reaching your destination.

Getting down on your knees, you gaze up to your neighbor, his sexy messy state igniting the throbbing feeling down your nethers.

Shadow cast upon Mr Reed's face as he looked down on you below, but you felt as though you could almost see him smile. Pressing his warm hard cock on your cheeks, lips grazing the shaft, nose rubbing his cock– his musky scent dominating your senses, you wonder, just how much more you could do to please him.

You're obsessed with him, yes, your need to dominate him was as strong; but the look on his eyes… made you wonder if he could dominate you just as well. The thought made your cheeks flush– imagining all the filthy stuff he could do to you.

Flicking a tongue out, his cock twitches as you slowly trail up to the tip, following the thick veins of his cock. The salty taste of his cock enveloping your senses.

How could he have you under his spell like this? If he’d known how much just a glance could melt you down in puddles, he’d dangle it over your head. But the thought just made your heart burn. Was it your ego? Pride? Whatever it was, you knew you and Mr. Reed were much more similar than you’d like to admit.

Determined to wipe off the smile on his face, you double down– reaching to pick up the belt you’ve left on the floor behind you. A lesson was in order, even if it meant whipping it out of him. Reaching out behind you, still kneeling on the floor, you realize that it was too out of reach– at least a few meters away. You swear, cursing your strength in the heat of the moment.

You turn your back to him, crouching on the floor with stretched out arms, reaching out to grab the belt. You ponder about the things you’d do to him. Which would be best? Whipping? Choking him with the belt? While you ride him? Oh, choices, choices.

Your nails graze the leather belt, as you fantasize about the filthy shit you’d do– just a little more– and as your finger finally loops around it– yay!– your head hits the floor with a thud.

Blinding hot pain throbbed as a shoe pressed your skull harder into the floor, twisting it with clear resentment.

It was heavy; relentless as it dug deeper on the back of your head. He had his other leg on your thighs– pinning you down– stepping on you with his full body weight. It was too much to bear, the pain shooting up to your brain– making it hard for you to even think. You hear him click his tongue far above you, voice dripping with disdain.

“Not so powerful now, hm?”

You wheeze out a response, the air knocked out of your lungs. Shadows cast on the floor as he shuffles around above you, shifting his weight on yours– sending a jolt of pain throughout your body. You twist, trying to shove him off, but he shifts again– knees pressed between your shoulder blades, locking you down in place. He binds your hands behind you, strained together underneath his weight.

Your mind stumbles, trying to catch up. He was restrained, bound. You made sure of it. So how–?

“You got careless.” He hums, grabbing a fistful of your hair– tugging it back– making your neck arch painfully. You wheezed out a gasp, as he looked down on you.

“You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?” He continues, almost conversationally. Leaning over, he picks up the belt you almost had, gripping it in his hand. “Toying with me. Playing your little games.” A quiet chuckle, barely audible. “And yet, here you are. Beneath me.”

You open your mouth to answer, but he just pulled your hair back further, choking any words you had.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles, a low rumble inside his chest.

Leaning down, his breath tickling your neck, his voice low, almost a whisper, “I didn’t expect a neighbour of mine to be such a dirty, perverted girl.” A pause, as he forced your head back further, forcing you to lock his gaze with yours, as much as you could see out of your line of sight. It wasn’t simmering with anger– nor with anything you could decipher. It was cold, watching. You feel your heart pound against your ribcage, pulsing inside your throat.

“To think I almost considered you a friend.” He sighs, before loosening his grip on your hair.

Your skull hit the floor again. At this point, you’re starting to worry about a concussion. Then, cold leather slithers around your neck, as his other hand wrapped around your throat, keeping it afloat. It gripped your jaw, as the belt tightened around your neck– strangling you. With air cut off from its circulation, you can barely keep a coherent thought.

“Not fun, is it?” He muses. “Being the one at a disadvantage.”

You open your mouth, maybe to bite out a retort– maybe to beg, to make a joke perhaps– but he pulls the belt tight, choking down any words that may form. Nevertheless, you strain out with the last few breaths you had, wheezing it out.

You laugh. A dainty, wheezy one, but a laugh nonetheless.

Mr. Reed pauses, loosening the hold he had on you, perplexed. Mustering with the air you had, you laughed harder, a large grin on your face– turning your head to face him. Cheeks flush red with teeth bared, you keep your gaze locked on his.

You’re enjoying this, he realized.

Tightening the belt on your throat, you choke, but the grin doesn’t fade. He coiled slightly, tightening his grip on yours.

“Disgusting.” He mutters under his breath. “You’re really a degenerate aren’t you?”

If you didn’t know better, you swore you catched a hint of arousal in his voice. Grabbing you by the shoulders, he flips you over, his grip still tight on your jaw. Hands still bound behind, he straddles you, his weight pushing out any air left you had in you.

He forces your head up, making you look up at him. A halo of light flares behind him, obscuring his face in shadows– like an angel. With the oxygen dwindling, your vision swims, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if asphyxiation births revelations. Because, God help you, if he spoke now, you’d follow.

He watches you silently, keeping his grip locked tight– analyzing.

“Look at you,” He murmurs, tilting your head from side to side, as if examining something that’s beneath him. “Pathetic.”

You shudder, the way he looks at you– his voice? It sends shivers down your spine. He notices, with a furrow of his eyebrows.

“You really are sick.” He mutters, his voice low and cold– but it had a hint of something you knew you hadn’t been imagining. Lust.

“You say that like you don’t like it.” You whisper out, a smile still tugged on your lips.

His lips part, a flash of something unreadable passing through– only for a moment, then it’s gone.

Just as quickly, he reasserts control.

He pulls on the belt, yanking your head sideways– digging into your jaws tighter. You cry out what you could muster, painting a small smile of satisfaction on his face, only a little.

“I don’t.” He says, almost convincingly. Almost.

“Liar.”

His expression darkens. Releasing his grip on your jaw, his hands trail higher, up to your still grinning lips.

That same twisted, knowing smile.

It makes his jaw clench. It's infuriating. He jams his thumb inside your warm mouth, gripping the inside of your cheeks with his thick fingers. It stretches out, exposing the pearls of your teeth.

He wants you to plead, to beg – anything really. For mercy. As all the other girls had been.

But you.

Instead of submitting– anything – you run your tongue over his thumb. Tasting, sucking it– slowly, sensually, while keeping your gaze locked on his.

His fingers twitched, debating. He should be disgusted, repulsed– by how much you’re enjoying this.

But instead?

He finds himself leaning in.

“You wanted me like this, didn’t you?” His voice low, heavy, dripping with condescension. “You went through all that effort. Just to push me over the edge.”

You grin, still suckling on his thumb. “What gave that away?” You mused, breathy, despite the weight keeping you down.

He pinches your tongue between his fingers– smothering any words you had.

Playing with your tongue between his fingers, you moan– enjoying every little flicks and pinch as he pushes deeper, making you gag. His fingers were paced– deliberate, hitting you in just the right places.

His breath grows heavier looking down at you like this– a drooling mess from just a few fingers.

“Disgusting.” He mutters, but his actions says otherwise; finger fucking your face with voracity. You choke and gag, both from the belt around your neck and his fingers down your throat, but the sheer dominance, the power rolling off of him as he empowers you– it turns you the hell on.

“Look at you,” He mutters, lips curling as he smears drool across your face, wiping his fingers while trailing up to hair– pushing it back neatly– giving you a clear view. “Just a filthy Whore of Babylon, aren't you?”

His voice is thick with something dark, something raw. The way he looks at you– like he's disgusted, like he's starving– a raw, primal desire rolling out of him in waves you could almost feel it burning on your skin. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“You defile everything you touch,” He breaths, fingers trailing down to the column of your neck, slipping it under your make-shift collar. Your pulse thrums under his touch, exposing just how needy you were. “Worse than a sinner– you're a disease.”

The tension crackles between you, feverish and unbearable. You were delirious in ecstacy, and him, eyes brimming with lust; chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“And yet you keep touching me.” You parted your lips to taunt, egging him on further. He tenses, jaw clenching. His grip on your throat tightens minisculely.

You laugh, soft, teasing. “Maybe I’m contagious, Mr. Reed.” You lean in, close enough for your breath to ghost against his lips. “Maybe you like being defiled.”

He pushes you back down, tightening his grip. “You talk too much.”

You gurgle, his thumb pressing down on your esophagus. “What's wrong?” You wheeze out, feeling quite lightheaded. “Afraid of the truth?”

He stiffens, lips parting as a sharp inhale fills the space between you. His eyes were dark, warring between control and the undeniable pull dragging him closer.

“You think you had me figured out?” His voice low, dangerous.

You tilt your head as much as you could, grinning cheekily like you've already won. “Haven't I?”

His jaw clenches. He hates it. Hates your confidence, hates the way you speak as if you've unravelled him, thread by thread. Hates that he hasn't moved, hasn't let go, hasn't killed you.

Then, before you could gloat any more, he moves.

Faster than you expected, he wrenches your wrists above your head, holding it in place while roughly taking off your collar– using it to bound your hands instead.

He stood, grabbing you by the shirt and shoving you down on his desk. Before you could protest, his body presses flush against yours, suffocating, overwhelming– forcing himself between your legs. His lips brush against your ear, dark, dripping with something possessive, something he doesn't even want to name.

“Let’s see how much you really know.”

Then his lips crash onto yours in a feverish haze. It was hard, passionate, not even giving you a chance of gasping for air. As if silencing every word you've thrown at him.

His hands wander, slipping underneath your bra to play with your breasts– and wandering down lower to your hips, your thigh, every touch blazing with goosebumps.

Taking off your trousers, still devouring your lips, he slips his fingers underneath your panties, teasingly pushing it to one side. A chuckle bubbles up as he feels how dripping wet you were.

“Dirty girl.” He mumbles against your lips, rubbing your wet clit. Your moans drown underneath his hot tongue, as he ravages you in ways that you can't even comprehend.

As you drown in ecstasy, bound, held down and touched, Mr Reed slips in two fingers inside you– making you gasp. The sudden intrusion tore you away from his lips, as his eyes looked down on you, watching your every reaction.

Immediately, he pushes deeper into you, pumping in and out, relentless– not giving you a chance to adjust. You cry out, tears in your eyes as pain flames out with each thrust.

“This was your choice. You wanted this.” He breathlessly mutters against your lips, a predatory look in his eyes as he savours your suffering. “Remember?” A smirk tugged on his lips.

With his other free hand, he picks up the toy you've left forgotten. Turning it on, it thrums alive and pulsates. Clicking to its highest setting, he presses it on your sensitive clit– making you cry out. You struggle, bucking your hips as he kept on finger fucking you– pain and pleasure mixing– turning you into a puddle as your brain turns to mush.

Each thrust of his fingers gradually felt less painful. It pushes in deeper and hits your g-spot– and for a moment, you were mindless– just a pain slut delirious in pleasure. It made you writhe and tremble, something deep inside your guts building up.

Mr Reed pins your wrist down, watching as you melt and drool on the desk– every twitch and whimper making his cock harder.

“Just a pervert aren't you?” He hums, pressing the toy harder on your clit, circling it in slow, languid motions. “Tell me, do you think you deserve to cum?”

You don't answer. You were too lost in pleasure– a mindless mess. He raises a hand and slaps you, gripping your cheeks in one hand– forcing you to look at him. You meet his deep downturned eyes, clarity coming back to you.

“I don't like repeating myself, dear.”

Wide eyed, you nod– confused but excited. Anything he wanted, anything he needed? You know you just can't refuse.

“Then beg for it.” He mused, eyes knowing.

Mouth gaping open, you try to think of what he wanted to hear. You try, but it's difficult with the vibrator on your clit– it feels like you're losing brain cells by the second.

“...Pl– please?”

“Please… what? Hm?”

He's toying with you. Playing with you like a hunter with its prey. You don't hate it.

“Please… can I–” He jabs another finger inside your cunt. “C-can I cum?”

“Again.” He says, enjoying every moment as he pumps you faster. You feel something warm building up inside you, begging for a release.

You gasp. “Can I cum?”

“What’s the magic word, darling?” He hums, pausing. He slips his fingers out, the onslaught gone– your insides feeling hollow.

“Please!” You plead, desperate. “Please, can I cum? I–” Bucking your hips on his palms, desperate to reach your climax. “I need to cum, please–”

He hums contentedly, fingers rubbing your clit in circular motions. “Only good girls get to cum,” He says, taking away your toy. “Are you a good girl?”

You nod vigorously, willing to give anything away just to feel the sweet release of ecstacy.

“Use your words.” He raises a hand to slap your thighs, the stinging pain almost enough to make you burst.

“I.. I’m a good girl.” You pant. “I’ll be a really good girl. I promise!”

“Aww,” he cooed, and you almost felt hope. “but good girls don’t hold their neighbor hostage, do they?” Your heart drops.

“Good girls don’t… befriend a neighbour with deeper intentions, no? Drug them, tie them up– use them as playthings?” His breath ghosts over your lips, head tilting to the side in mock contemplation. You whimper.

“That doesn’t sound very ‘good girl’ of you, does it?” His voice is sweet, but the venom beneath it makes your stomach twist. “Good girls don’t lie, either.”

You shake your head quickly. “I-I’m not lying! I promise! I’ll do anything–”

“Anything?” He echoes, a smirk tugging on his lips. “Now that’s a dangerous thing to promise.”

He leans closer, and your breath hitches. Wandering his hands to your thighs, his breath grazes warmly against your ears. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re still just a filthy little deceiver. A snake in the garden.”

“So tell me,” He tightens his grip on your thighs, strong enough to leave bruise marks. “How can a lying, scheming little thing like you repent?”

You tremble under his gaze, but your lips part, breathy and eager. “However you want.”

His eyes darken, a smile gracing his lips. “Excellent.” His hands snake up to your hair, pulling it back to meet his eyes. “From now on, you’re mine . Understood?”

You nod hastily, far too deep in to care. Mr Reed’s expression shifts, his lips curling ever so slightly, the barest twitch of amusement tugging at the corners. It was the kind of satisfaction that seeps slowly, rich with victory.

He pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead, a reward for obedience. “Good girl.”

You melt. His warm embrace making you feel all gooey inside. Trailing his head lower, his hands spreading your legs wide– he trails his lips down to your nethers, kissing your throbbing needy clit.

He hums, the warm vibrations on your clit better than any toy you’ve had. Using his tongue, it swirls and laps up your cunt– sucking and eating like a madman, drinking in your sweet nectar. You whimper and mewl, desperately writhing around, pulling against your restraints as you feel your orgasm building up again.

Seeming to notice your neediness, he pumps a finger inside you, hitting your insides in the right spots– fucking it deeper into you. His thick fingers were filling you up so deep– it felt like not even your own touch could satisfy you as much as he would.

He was ruining anything else for you– nothing else could lift you up to heavenly bliss.

Increasing his pace, his groans and hums against your clitoris made it throb harder, as your orgasm almost reaches its peak.

You scream as it crashes over you like a tidal wave, sweeping away every coherent thought, leaving only raw sensation in its wake. Your body tenses, every nerve alight with an almost unbearable pleasure that coils tighter, tighter– until it snaps. A rush of heat floods through you, shuddering tremors racking your limbs as the world narrows to this singular, overwhelming moment.

Mr Reed kept on eating you– riding out your orgasm together as you buck and twitch, holding your hips down as the waves ebbs and flow. And then, the slow descent– your heartbeat thrums in your ears, skin oversensitive, the aftershocks leaving you boneless and dazed, drifting in the hazy remnants of pleasure.

Laying there, dazed, you hear the shuffling of clothes thrown on the floor.

Looking up through your eyelashes, you see Mr Reed towering over you, his wicked blue eyes looking at you like a wolf eyeing its prey.

“Stand up.” He barks, pulling you forward by your restraints. Your knees buckle as he forces you to stand, almost falling if it hadn't been for his arms catching you in time.

“Careful, dear.” He mused, arms wrapped around you, his tone almost tender. “Can't have you breaking so soon, now do we?”

You shiver, as he spins you around facing the desk. Your palms rest on the wooden desk– legs splayed wide as he pushes himself between them.

“Now,” He whispers behind you, his warm breath on your ears sending a shiver down your spine. “Bend down, whore.”

With his hard cock pressing up against you, he pushed your head down, pulling your arms behind you. Grinding his girth between your thighs, pressing up against your sensitive clit, you whimper, the stimulation almost too much to bear.

Caressing your hair– pushing it back, he shushes you, whispering affirmations. “You're going to be a good girl for me aren't you?” Kissing the back of your shoulders, he mumbles, teeth nipping on your skin.

“Because I can’t hold back much longer.” He growls, before plunging into you.

Both of you groaned as he entered– finally entwined in flesh. He paused, only for a second– adjusting to your tight insides. Groans escape his lips as you clenched and bucked around him, holding on to your hips for balance.

Slowly, he moved. Your cheeks dig into the wood of the desk with every thrust, and he picks up the pace– the desk creaking and groaning matching his rhythm.

You gasp– the pain and pleasure of being manhandled fucking you up deeply. He grips the belt restraining you behind your back– pulling you in deeper– harder– controlling your reins. The cool facade he's worn cracked further, revealing the hungry beast he'd kept hidden.

“Look what you made me do.” He grunts between thrusts, gripping your neck from behind– choking you.

"I told myself I wouldn’t." His lips curl, eyes raking over you like you’re nothing more than a mess of impulse and desperation. "Told myself I wouldn’t waste my time on something so beneath me– on a pathetic little whore who doesn't know her place."

Slipping his hand to your throat, he pulls you up– pressing you flush against him, his hot breath on your cheeks. “And yet, here we are.” A chuckle escapes him, quiet, mocking. “Look at you. So eager. So desperate. You want me to ruin you, don’t you?”

You felt every flex of his muscles– his warm, soft yet rigid body– as he thrust up into you. You gurgle out a response, enjoying every moment as pleasure courses in your veins. He grips your cheeks harder, waiting for a response. Realizing you’re too far gone to respond, he sighs.

“Filthy, scheming thing.” He mutters, almost as if he's disappointed, yet there was a hint of admiration. Grazing his lips on your ears, he whispers, warm and breathless with a smirk tugged on his lips. “You really are disgusting.”

His pace was faster now, and you could feel his cock throbbing deep inside you– threatening to burst. Even in your delirious state, you heard something that almost made your heart stop. He uttered your name– his voice low and sensual– almost yearning. That was the last straw before you came again– a wave of earth-shattering orgasm melting you down. You clench and shudder, making him grunt– head resting on your shoulders– as his orgasm came too.

Both of you stood there, breathless and panting. Still wrapping you in his arms, he calmed his racing heart. Pushing himself off of you, you collapse on the desk– still shuddering from your orgasm, your belly warm and stuffed with cum. You feel Mr Reed’s warmth behind you, holding on to your hips for balance. He took a breath, pushing his sweaty hair back neatly.

Looking at him through half-lidded eyelashes, you smile. His eyes lock on to you, a devious grin forming on his lips. Leaning down, he kisses your neck, snuggling his nose in the crook behind your ears whilst taking off your restraints. “My good, filthy girl.” He hums, scooping you in his arms.

He picks you up in a bridal carry, shushing any protests. Pushing his way past doors, you finally arrive in a bedroom. It was comfy, with a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. Laying you down gently, he tucks you in, smothering any whines with a kiss.

“Tell me,” he mumbles against your lips. “Do you feel better now? Getting exactly what you wanted?”

The question lingers in the space between you, heavy with meaning. You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to. He sees it in your eyes, in the way your body melts against the sheets, in the way you don’t pull away.

He chuckles, low and quiet. “That’s what I thought.”

Sliding beside you underneath the covers, he drapes an arm over your waist, pulling you flush against him. His breath is warm against your temple, his voice softer now, but no less possessive.

“Sleep, little lamb.” His fingers trace slow, lazy circles on your hip. “You’ll need your strength. After all… I’m not done with you yet.”

And with that, he presses a final, lingering kiss to your forehead– one last claim, one last reminder– before letting the darkness take you both.

-**-

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