BDSM ISLAM X READER FIC PLSSS 🤩🤩
This story contains explicit adult sexual content, including BDSM elements (dominance/submission, mild choking/breath play, power exchange), graphic descriptions of sex, and strong language. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ only
(Are you gonna read my text and stop looking at Islam orrr)
The hotel suite in Las Vegas hummed with the low buzz of the city below, but inside, the air was thick with tension of a different kind. You had been dating Islam Makhachev for months now quiet, intense evenings after his training sessions, his strong hands gentle on your waist when the cameras were off.
He stood before you now in a simple black tank top that clung to his broad shoulders and defined chest, sweat from the gym still faintly glistening on his skin. His hands, calloused from years of grappling.
“Strip,” he said simply. Not a bark, but a command wrapped in that quiet authority. You obeyed, peeling off your clothes under his watchful gaze until you stood bare before him. Islam’s eyes raked over you appreciatively, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Good girl.”
He guided you to the edge of the king-sized bed, turning you so your back pressed against his front. His arms, powerful from endless takedown drills, encircled you. One hand trailed up to cup your throat lightly not choking, just a reminder of control while the other skimmed down your stomach. “Tonight, you don’t move until I say. Understand?”
“Yes,” you whispered, already feeling heat pool between your thighs.
Islam worked methodically, like he was setting up a fight strategy. He had you kneel on the bed first, the position arched your back slightly, pushing your breasts forward. He stepped back to admire his work, then circled around, his bare feet silent on the carpet.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice husky. “So pretty when you let me take over.” He climbed onto the bed behind you, knees bracketing your hips. His hands roamed freely now palming your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened under his touch. A soft gasp escaped you, and he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your ear. “Patience. I control this.”
One hand slid lower, fingers teasing between your legs. You were already wet, aching from the anticipation and the thrill of being restrained. Islam’s touch was precise, two fingers slipping inside you slowly while his thumb rubbed firm circles over your clit. He built the rhythm deliberately, mimicking the grinding pressure he used when he always trains. Your hips tried to buck,his body weight kept you pinned.
“Stay still,” he warned, nipping at your shoulder with his teeth. “Or I stop.”
You whimpered, forcing yourself to obey as pleasure coiled tighter. His free hand returned to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your head spin in the best way. Islam’s breathing grew heavier against your neck; you could feel his hardness pressing against your ass through his shorts. He was enjoying this as much as you did.
When he finally deemed you ready.
He fliped you onto your back and rebind them above your head to the headboard. Now fully exposed, you watched as he stripped off his tank and shorts, revealing the sculpted lines of his body, abs etched from brutal core work, thighs like steel cables from sambo throws. His cock stood thick and ready, a bead of precum already visible.
Islam settled between your spread thighs, not rushing. He dragged the head of his cock along your folds, teasing your entrance while his eyes locked on yours. “You want this?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.
He pushed in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely. A groan escaped him as your walls clenched around him. “So tight… all mine.”
He didn’t start gentle. His hips snapped forward in deep, powerful strokes each one driving you into the mattress, the mattress creaking softly with every movement. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise faintly, using that legendary grappling strength to angle you exactly how he wanted. One hand returned to your throat, the other pinned your bound wrists higher as he leaned down to claim your mouth in a hungry kiss.
The pace built relentlessly. Islam fucked you soft at first, then overwhelming, grinding deep on every thrust so his pelvis rubbed against your clit. Your moans filled the room, body trembling under the onslaught of sensation. He whispered praises in a mix of English and Russian: “Good… take it… моя хорошая девочка…”
When your orgasm hit, it crashed through you like a submission tap sudden, body shaking, walls pulsing around him. Islam didn’t stop, riding you through it with short, punishing thrusts until your cries turned hard. Only then did he let go, burying himself deep one final time as he came with a low, guttural groan, filling you with hot pulses.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, forehead pressed to yours, catching his breath. Then, with careful hands, he untied the rope, massaging your wrists and kissing the faint red lines. “You okay?” he asked softly, switching back to the gentle man you knew the one who balanced fatherhood, training, and this hidden intensity with quiet devotion.
You nodded, pulling him down for a slower kiss. “More than okay.”
Islam smiled, that rare, warm curve of his lips, and wrapped his strong arms around you. “Next time… we go longer. But always safe. Always with you.”
Wait I actually like this one
