three strikes ♡ max verstappen
Prompt: BDSM + Impact Play
18+ Content - Reader!Insert - Kinktober #2
Monaco always glittered more at night. The streets still smelled faintly of rubber and champagne, the circuit transformed into a playground for the rich and the famous.
The clubs overflowed—thick bass vibrating through marble floors, champagne sprayed across designer dresses, cameras flashing in every direction.
You weren’t used to the attention. Not like this.
Your dress was short enough to be scandalous, sequins catching the light with every movement, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. A hand brushing your lower back at the bar, a stranger leaning too close to murmur something over the music. You’d laughed it off, but you could feel the heat of someone else’s gaze—sharp, unrelenting.
Max.
He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t drinking. He was watching.
It wasn’t subtle, either. Every man who lingered near you seemed to disappear after a single, well-timed glare from across the club. Still, Max’s jaw was tight, hand flexing around his glass every time someone so much as brushed against you.
By the time you slipped back into the penthouse, you knew you were in trouble.
The door had barely clicked shut before Max had you pressed against it, his chest solid against your back, his breath hot against your ear.
“You think I didn’t see you?” His voice was low, Dutch accent thickened by drink and jealousy. “Laughing, letting them touch you like that.”
“Max—”
“Shut it,” he snapped, spinning you to face him. His eyes were molten, furious and hungry all at once. “You want attention, schat? You’ve got mine now. But you know the rules.”
You swallowed hard.
The rules.
“Three strikes.” His hand came up, stroking your cheek almost gently before his fingers tightened around your jaw. “And tonight? You’ve already earned two.”
Your heart skipped. “Two?”
He smirked, humourless. “The way you smiled at him at the bar. That little dress you wore without warning me.” His thumb dragged over your lip, pressing until you parted your mouth. “That’s two strikes, schat. One more, and you’re done for.”
The air between you was heavy, your pulse pounding in your throat. You should’ve stayed quiet. You should’ve nodded. But instead, you tilted your chin just enough to look defiant, lips curling into a sly smile.
“And what if I want three?” you asked, voice teasing, deliberately bratty.
The muscle in Max’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing. For a moment he didn’t move—and then he laughed, low and dangerous, shaking his head.
“Strike three,” he muttered darkly. “Fucking earned.”
His hand left your jaw only to tug the leather belt from around his waist in one smooth pull, the sharp snap of it clearing the air between you. He doubled it over in his fist, testing the weight, before throwing you onto the bed face-first.
“Knees. Hands flat. Now.”
You scrambled into position, heart hammering, heat pooling between your thighs.
The first crack of leather against your ass made you yelp, the sting blooming hot across your skin.
“Count.”
“O-one,” you gasped.
The second strike landed harder, the burn stealing your breath.
“Two.”
The third had you moaning, hips jerking forward, shamefully needy.
“Three,” you whimpered.
Max’s hand smoothed over the reddened skin, deceptively gentle. Then came another, sharper smack, and this time it was the paddle he’d pulled from the drawer of the bedside table—heavy, unforgiving. Carved and engraved with your name.
“And that’s your limit, schat.” His voice was gravel, heavy with lust. “You’re mine. No one else touches you. No one else makes you laugh like that. Understood?”
“Yes, Maxie,” you gasped, face flushed, tears pricking your eyes.
“Good.” He shoved your panties down, exposing you completely. His fingers dragged through your slick folds, groaning when he felt how wet you were. “Knew it. I know how much my little whore likes being punished.”
You whimpered when two fingers pushed inside, curling cruelly against the spot that made your toes curl. His pace was ruthless, thumb rubbing your clit until you were shaking.
“Beg for it,” he ordered, voice dark velvet. “Beg for your release.”
“Please, Max—please, I’ll be good, I’ll be yours forever, I promise—”
“That’s right. My sweet girl. Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” you sobbed, grinding helplessly against his hand. “Always yours.”
He pulled his fingers out abruptly, lining himself up instead. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and you cried out when he thrust in hard, filling you to the hilt.
“Fuck,” he groaned, leaning over you, hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back. “So fucking tight. Always so good for me.”
Every thrust was punishing, hips slamming against your sore skin, the sting of earlier strikes flaring with each movement. Tears spilled over your cheeks, but every whimper was chased by his filthy praise.
“That’s it. Take it. My good girl. Taking me so fucking well. You want attention? Here it is. Every inch of me, pounding into this greedy little cunt. Mine.”
You shattered around him, clenching so hard he cursed in Dutch against your ear, but he didn’t stop until he spilled inside you, groaning your name like it was the only one that mattered.
He stayed there, chest pressed to your back, lips brushing your neck as you shook beneath him.
“Three strikes,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “And one for luck. You’ll never forget who you belong to.”