RICH MAN ──── 𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓸𝓷.
❝𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 “𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨” 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 “𝘮𝘰𝘮, 𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘯”. ❞
──── ( 💳 ) you make it through the daesang announcement pretending the heat crawling up your neck is from the stage lights and not from annie’s eyes dragging over you every time a camera pans away, but the second the show cuts to commercial, you escape backstage— only for her to slip in behind you like she’s been following your breath. she thanks you, praises you, mocks you, all in one impossible sentence, and before you can blink you’re locked in a sharp, breathless argument that neither of you can walk away from, because every insult lands too soft, every glare looks too close to wanting, and the real problem is how much you need her to keep pushing.
𝓟aring. mean dom!chaebol!annie moon x sub!mc!fem reader.
𝓒ontent 𝓦arnings. abuse of power, brat taming, clit play, degradation, dirty talk, dubcon, fingering, gropping, humiliation, nipple play, pet names, praise, spanking, squirting, titsucking, toxic dynamic.
𝓦ord 𝓒ount. 5k.
𝓐 uthor’s 𝓝ote. I HAD to do this because otherwise my head would explode...
𝓜asterlist.
the roar of the crowd was a living, breathing entity, a tidal wave of anticipation that crashed against the stage. you, the architect of this spectacle, the empress of the night, stood at the precipice. kgma 2025. south korea’s most prestigious music awards. you, (y/n), had become synonymous with flawless hosting, a steady hand guiding the chaotic symphony of celebrity, glamour, and high–stakes competition. tonight, you were at your peak. your smile was practiced perfection, your eyes alight with a controlled excitement that belied the frantic energy buzzing beneath your skin.
you had flawlessly navigated three hours of live television, a tightrope walk of cue cards, ad-libs, and heartfelt sincerity. but now, it was time for the main event. daesang. the grand prize. the ultimate recognition of artistic achievement, cultural impact, and sheer, soul-crushing hard work.
your heart, usually a metronome of calm professionalism, thumped a frantic rhythm as you clutched the golden envelope. the spotlight found you, a solitary figure bathed in a brilliant, almost blinding, white glow. the collective breath of millions, both in the stadium and at home, hung suspended.
“and now,” your voice, modulated to perfection, resonated through the arena, “the moment we have all been waiting for. the recipient of the kgma 2025 daesang, the grand prize for artist of the year…”
you paused, drawing out the suspense, a master of the moment. your fingers, steady and elegant, broke the seal. the card, thick and luxurious, slid into your palm. your eyes scanned the meticulously printed words, and a sudden, sharp intake of breath caught in your throat.
it couldn’t be.
allday project.
the name, stark against the pristine white, seemed to mock you. allday project. five months. five months. you felt a prickle of disbelief, followed by a surge of pure, unadulterated annoyance. five months was barely enough time to find your footing in the cutthroat music industry, let alone ascend to its absolute pinnacle. daesang was the culmination of years, sometimes decades, of grinding, perfecting, struggling. it wasn’t handed out like a participation trophy.
and then, like a viper coiling in your gut, the name annie moon slithered into your mind.
annie moon. granddaughter of lee byung-chul, the titan whose legacy loomed over the entire nation. the samsung heiress. your lip twitched almost imperceptibly. you knew the whispers, the hushed rumors that had circulated ever since allday project’s debut. unprecedented budget. unrivaled promotion. and, of course, the undeniable, magnetic charisma of annie moon herself, a diamond-cut presence among her younger, less polished group members. but not even that should justify a daesang in five months. it reeked. it absolutely reeked of strings pulled, of influence peddled, of an unfair advantage so blatant it bordered on obscene.
you forced your smile back into place, a mask of professionalism so tight it threatened to crack. “the winner of the kgma 2025 daesang is… allday project!”
the crowd erupted, a cacophony of cheers and gasps. there was a noticeable hesitation, a beat of genuine shock, before the cheers solidified into a roar. even a casual observer would note the undercurrent of surprise that permeated the stadium.
you watched, your gaze fixed on the backstage entrance, as the members of allday project emerged. they were a vision in matching pearlescent white couture, their youth radiating under the fierce stage lights. and at the forefront, head held high, was annie moon.
she moved with an almost regal grace, her long limbs gliding effortlessly. her dark hair, styled in a sleek, sophisticated cascade, framed a face that was both striking and utterly composed. there was no wide-eyed disbelief on her features, no gasp of shock. just a serene, almost triumphant smile that seemed to say, “of course.” and that, more than anything, fueled the inferno of irritation in your chest.
you watched her, the heavy, intricately designed daesang trophy in your hands suddenly feeling like a lead weight. every step she took towards you felt like a slow-motion assault on your carefully constructed professional facade. you’d dedicated your life to this industry, to the meritocracy you believed, however naively, still existed within it. and here she was, the embodiment of everything that chipped away at that belief, walking towards the highest honor with an air of absolute entitlement.
as they reached the stage, the other members of allday project – younger, visibly overwhelmed, tears already welling in their eyes – clustered behind annie. they looked genuinely happy, perhaps even a little bewildered. you almost felt sorry for them, caught in the wake of their leader’s audacious ascent.
annie stepped forward, her eyes, dark and intelligent, locking onto yours. your smile, stretched taut, felt brittle. her own smile widened just a fraction, a subtle curve of her lips that held an almost imperceptible challenge. leader, they called her, not just because she was the oldest and most mature, but because she simply was. she exuded a natural authority that was both infuriating and, you grudgingly admitted, captivating.
the moment of handover. you extended the gleaming trophy, your hand trembling with suppressed anger, not nerves. her fingers, long and delicate, brushed against yours as she took hold of the heavy award. a jolt, sharp and electric, shot up your arm. it was unexpected, unwelcome, and it threw you off balance for a split second.
her eyes, dark as polished obsidian, held yours. and there it was. the dangerous glint. it wasn’t malicious, not overtly. it was something far more unsettling. a knowingness. a flicker of amusement. a silent acknowledgment of the storm brewing behind your carefully neutral expression. it was as if she could peel back every layer of your professionalism, see the fuming resentment beneath, and found it utterly, deliciously entertaining.
your breath hitched. you wanted to snatch back your hand, to recoil from the unsettling warmth where your skin had touched hers. instead, you held your gaze, a silent defiance in the face of her unspoken provocation. the crowd, a distant hum, faded into oblivion. it was just you and annie moon, locked in a silent, charged standoff, the weight of the daesang trophy a physical barrier and a symbolic bridge between you.
she didn’t break eye contact, not even as she adjusted her grip on the trophy. her gaze was intense, unwavering, making you feel both exposed and strangely, terrifyingly seen. a faint, almost imperceptible scent of jasmine and something sharper, more citrusy, wafted from her, clinging to the air between you. it was intoxicating and infuriating all at once.
finally, with a slow, deliberate movement that stole the oxygen from the air, she turned, facing the audience. the spell was broken, but the lingering static of her presence remained, a phantom brush against your skin.
she lifted the trophy, the diamond-encrusted “kgma” logo catching the stage lights, sending dazzling flares across the arena. the crowd’s cheers surged anew.
then she spoke, her voice a low, clear contralto that carried effortlessly. “wow,” she began, a soft laugh escaping her lips, “i truly can’t believe this is happening.” it was a perfectly delivered line, tinged with just enough humility to make it believable, but her eyes, when they flickered back to you for a fraction of a second, still held that dangerous, knowing glint.
you saw her call for attention, a subtle shift in her posture, a slight tilt of her head. the other members quieted, deferring to her. she was indeed the leader, in every sense of the word.
“five months ago,” she continued, her gaze sweeping across the adoring faces in the audience, “allday project was just a dream. a wild, ambitious, almost impossible dream. but we believed in our music. we believed in our message. and tonight, with this incredible award, you – our beloved fans, our dedicated staff, our families – you have shown us that dreams truly can come true.”
each word was a perfectly placed arrow, finding its mark. you clenched your jaw. it was a beautiful speech, artfully crafted, playing on the narrative of the ‘underdog’ achieving the impossible. except, annie moon was no underdog. she was a gilded lioness, born into a dynasty that commanded empires. her “dream” was backed by immeasurable wealth and influence, not just raw talent and grit.
you forced yourself to step back, out of the immediate spotlight, ceding the stage to allday project. you stood to the side, maintaining your professional smile, but your eyes couldn’t help but track annie. she held the microphone with an easy confidence, her movements fluid and self-assured. she introduced her members, allowing them to stammer out their tearful thanks. each one, younger and more innocent, seemed to worship her, their gazes fixed on her as if she were a beacon.
as the youngest member, a girl barely out of her teens, struggled to hold back tears, annie reached out a hand, a gentle, reassuring touch on her shoulder. the gesture was tender, almost motherly, and it grated on your nerves even more. it was a performance, you told yourself. another carefully orchestrated move in her flawless ascent.
but then, a fleeting image flashed through your mind: a dimly lit club, a year ago, long before allday project was even a whisper. you, unwinding after a particularly grueling broadcast, nursing a drink. and there she was, annie moon, then just ‘the samsung heiress,’ laughing with a group of friends, her eyes sharp and intelligent, even in the low light. she had caught your eye then, too, a brief, curious glance that had lingered a beat too long. there had been no dangerous glint, just an unexpected intensity that had made your breath catch. you had dismissed it, of course. a fleeting moment.
now, standing on this grand stage, watching her bask in the glory you felt she hadn’t earned, that fleeting memory twisted into something more complex. it wasn’t just professional outrage, you realized with a jolt that sent a cold wave through you. there was something else, something ugly and insidious, worming its way into your carefully guarded heart.
jealousy.
it wasn’t just jealousy of the award, of the unfairness, of the industry bowing to her power. it was a deeper, more personal jealousy. of her effortless confidence, her magnetic presence, the way she commanded attention without even trying. the way she seemed utterly unbothered by the controversy, embracing it, perhaps even relishing it. and beneath that, a dangerous, unwelcome flicker of attraction, a furious frustration that someone so… her… could be so infuriatingly appealing.
you hated her entitlement, her privilege, the way she cut corners and still landed at the top. but you also couldn’t deny the compelling force of her charisma, the way your eyes seemed drawn to her, almost against your will. it was a maddening paradox, a cruel joke played by your own mind.
her speech was winding down. she thanked her company, her mentors, everyone. polished, gracious, impeccable. you hated every word of it, every perfectly modulated syllable.
“and to my members,” she said, her voice softening, her eyes sweeping over the girls behind her, “who tirelessly poured their hearts into every note, every step, every moment. this isn’t just my award. it’s ours. it’s allday project’s daesang.”
the crowd roared, touched by her apparent humility. you felt a bitter laugh bubble up in your throat, quickly suppressed. ours, indeed. it was her name, her legacy, her connections that had greased the wheels, not the unseasoned talent of her group.
as the music swelled, signaling the end of the segment, she turned, gathering her members for a final bow. her eyes, fleetingly, met yours across the expanse of the stage. and there it was again, the glint. but this time, it seemed softer, almost reflective. was it a challenge? or was it… recognition? a silent acknowledgment of the antagonism, yes, but also of something else, something unspoken, a spark of mutual awareness that buzzed between you both. was she aware of the fight raging within you? did she see the conflicting emotions, the reluctant fascination that warred with your professional disdain?
the commercial break was announced, the stage lights dimming for a moment before flaring up with a new, vibrant energy. you had to move, to prepare for the next segment, to shake off this unsettling encounter. but as you made your way backstage, the heavy, lingering scent of jasmine and citrus followed you. the shock of her touch, the dangerous glint in her dark eyes, the infuriating allure of her presence – it was all etched into your memory, a sharp, unwelcome new addition to the flawless tapestry of your night.
the kgma 2025 might be your professional triumph, but tonight, annie moon had won a different kind of prize. she had gotten under your skin, and you knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was only the beginning of your very complicated, very dangerous, entanglement. the show must go on, but your private war with annie moon had just begun.
the moment the cameras cut, the applause faded into a hollow roar in your skull. backstage became a maze of frantic movement — stylists pulling idols by the wrist, directors barking orders, managers power-walking like their lives depended on it. but none of it touched you. you moved through the chaos with your anger wrapped tight around you like armor.
it was a clean, cold fury. the kind that kept your steps sharp and your shoulders straight. the kind that made everyone in your path suddenly fascinated by their clipboards or their shoelaces.
you found a stretch of emptier hallway behind the main stage — dimmer, quieter. you needed thirty seconds. just thirty seconds to unclench your jaw and force your heartbeat back into its usual disciplined rhythm.
you leaned against the wall, breath shaking once, then steadying.
“she’s ridiculous,” you muttered. “full of herself. delusional. entitled—”
“you forgot ‘pretty,’” a voice said behind you, smooth as glass, poisonous as honey.
you stiffened.
no. no, no, no.
she wouldn’t—
but when you turned, there she was.
annie moon.
and she was alone.
no managers, no handlers, no members clinging to her. just her. tall. composed. glowing with the smug serenity of someone who knew exactly how much power she carried and how easily she could wield it.
“you followed me,” you said flatly.
“don’t flatter yourself.” her smile was tiny and cutting. “i walked in this direction. you happened to be here.”
“convenient.”
“very.”
she stepped closer. slow. deliberate. the hallway lights caught the shimmer of her dress, making her look almost unreal. her perfume — jasmine sharpened by citrus — wrapped around you before she even got within arm’s reach.
“host-nim,” she said, voice dipped in false sweetness, “i wanted to thank you properly.”
“thank me?” you repeated. “you mean the passive-aggressive gloating you didn’t get to finish onstage?”
her eyes glinted. “oh. so you noticed.”
“i notice everything,” you snapped. “it’s my job.”
“mm. is that why you noticed me?” she asked, tilting her head. “or was that… extracurricular?”
“god,” you muttered, turning away, “you’re insufferable.”
she followed. two steps. then another.
“i’m honest,” she corrected softly.
“no,” you said, whirling to face her, “you’re provoking me.”
her smile sharpened. “and it’s working.”
your blood ran hot and cold at the same time.
she crossed her arms — not defensive, but purposeful, like she was preparing to enjoy the show. “you didn’t look happy out there.”
“i had cameras on me.”
“so? you were furious. i could feel it from ten meters away.”
“good for you,” you said. “want a medal?”
“i have one,” she answered, deadpan. “you handed it to me.”
your jaw snapped shut so hard you felt it in your teeth.
she stepped closer again. now you could see the way her makeup had cracked just slightly near her lip from laughing too much. you could see the faint rise and fall of her breath. you could see her pupils — blown, dark.
she was enjoying this. too much.
“say it,” she murmured.
“say what?”
“that you think i didn’t deserve it.”
“fine,” you hissed. “you didn’t.”
her smile grew, slow and vicious. “better.”
“five months,” you said, unable to stop now. “five months, and suddenly you’re the nation’s sweetheart? best of the best? artist of the year? it’s laughable.”
“and yet,” she said, stepping even closer, “here i am.”
“because of your last name.”
“because of my work.”
you let out a bitter laugh. “annie moon, you could stand onstage and breathe and the industry would hand you awards.”
she raised an eyebrow. “is that jealousy i hear?”
“that’s disgust.”
“they sound very similar coming from you.”
you took one hard, angry step forward. she didn’t budge.
“you are so full of yourself,” you spat.
“someone has to be,” she murmured.
“you don’t even pretend to be humble.”
“why should i?” she countered. “humility is a costume for people who need to be liked. i don’t.”
“you should,” you shot back. “public perception matters.”
“to my company? yes. to my fans? sure. but you?” her gaze burned into you. “i don’t need you to like me.”
god.
she said it like a challenge. like a dare.
and the worst part was the heat that pooled low in your stomach at the sound of it.
you clamped your mouth shut, furious at yourself, furious at her, furious at the way she seemed to peel every layer off you with nothing but her voice.
“look at you,” she said softly. “all that fire. all that indignation.”
“stop analyzing me.”
“i can’t,” she said. “you’re too interesting.”
your pulse jumped — traitorous, humiliating.
she leaned in — inches from your face now, close enough for her breath to warm your cheek.
“you hated that i won,” she whispered, “but you hated even more how i looked doing it.”
“god, your ego—”
“is accurate,” she interrupted.
you stepped back, needing space, oxygen, anything.
she followed.
“stop,” you said.
“make me.”
you blinked. “are you five?”
“i can be whatever annoys you the most.”
“you’re succeeding.”
“mm,” she hummed. “i thought so.”
you dragged a hand down your face. “why are you even here? shouldn’t you be celebrating?”
“oh, i am,” she said, her tone dropping, darkening. “this is the most fun i’ve had all night.”
she tilted her head. “tell me something.”
“no.”
“you’re going to anyway,” she said smugly. “you never stop once you start.”
your nostrils flared. “you don’t know me.”
“i know enough.”
“you know nothing.”
“i know,” she said, stepping into your space again, “that you’re angry because you hate unfairness. but you’re furious because you noticed me long before any of this.”
your breath stuttered. “shut up.”
“you saw me in that club last year,” she said, voice low and knowing. “you looked at me like you wanted to figure me out. and you hate that i remember.”
“annie.”
“you hate that i saw you first.”
“annie—”
“you hate,” she whispered, leaning close enough that her lips almost brushed your ear, “that you were curious before you were angry.”
you shoved her back.
not roughly — just enough to put space between you.
she straightened her outfit, unbothered, gaze bright with challenge.
“there it is,” she said. “there’s the real you.”
“you’re impossible.”
“and you’re obsessed.”
“i’m what?”
she smirked. “obsessed. fascinated. hooked. pick your verb.”
“i’m going to walk away,” you said.
“you won’t.”
“watch me.”
you took one step.
she grabbed your wrist.
not hard.
not aggressive.
just enough to stop you.
you froze.
her voice dropped to a whisper. “you’re shaking again.”
you ripped your hand back like her skin burned.
“i’m done,” you said.
“no,” she murmured. “you’re not.”
“you can’t keep—”
“i can,” she said, calm as ever. “and i will.”
“why me?”
her eyes softened — just barely. dangerously. “because you’re the only one in this building who isn’t afraid of me.”
“i’m not afraid of you,” you snapped.
“then why,” she whispered, leaning in, “did your breath hitch when i touched you?”
your lips parted — no sound came out.
she smiled like she had just won another award.
“i’ll see you after the show,” she said softly, stepping back at last. “don’t make me come find you again.”
and with that, she turned, her silhouette sharp and elegant as she disappeared around the corner, leaving your pulse wrecked, your thoughts disassembled, and your anger burning with something far more dangerous tangled inside it.
you pressed a hand to your chest.
this was bad.
this was so, so bad.
“such a daddy’s girl."
and that was more than enough to finally give annie enough power to act on you. she’s supposed to be used to that nickname, but why does it bother her so much more when it comes from you?
she leaned in closer, her breath hot on your face. “i may be a daddy’s girl, but i know how to take what i want. and what i want... is you.” with that, she crashed her lips against yours in a bruising kiss, her tongue invading your mouth, claiming you, owning you.
annie’s hands roamed your curves, groping and squeezing, leaving no inch of your skin untouched. she tore her lips from yours, only to trail hot, open–mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, pausing to bite and suck at your pulse point. her hands roamed shamelessly over your skin without any fear, pausing at your neckline to roughly pull down the fabric and expose your breasts to the cold air of the deserted hallway, leaving one of your intimate parts exposed to her hungry and dark gaze. her teeth grazed your collarbone before she took a hardened nipple into her mouth, suckling greedily, her tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.*ñ
she nipped and sucked at your breasts, leaving red marks all over them as she marked you as hers. her hands slid down to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh hard, pulling you closer to her. she could feel your wetness dripping down her thighs as she grinded against you. “fuck… you’re so perfect. i want to ruin you so, so mich.” she growled against your skin.
“i want to fuck that attitude right out of you until all you can do is scream my name and beg for more.” she punctuated her words with a hard thrust of her hips, rubbing your clit roughly with the heel of her palm. “tell me, my pretty little doll, are you ready to be fucked like the desperate slut you are?” she smirked wickedly, her amber eyes dark with lust and desire as she stared intensely into yours, waiting for your response.
she grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as she positioned herself between your legs. annie’s eyes flashed with a hunger you had never seen before as she looked down at you, her lips curling into a smirk.
“i’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk straight. i’m going to fuck you until all you can think about is my fingers buried deep inside your tight little cunt.” she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered. “i’m going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name. the only thing you’ll remember is being my perfect little fuck toy.”
her fingers found your entrance, and she pushed two long fingers deep inside your dripping wet cunt without any warning or hesitation. she pumped them in and out of you hard and fast, her palm slapping against your clit with each thrust. she could feel your walls clenching around her fingers, trying to pull them in deeper.
annie’s other hand slid up your body, squeezing and groping your breasts, tweaking your nipples roughly. she leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. she licked and sucked at your bottom lip before biting down on it, tugging it between her teeth.
she broke the kiss and looked down at you with a wicked grin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear those pretty little sounds. i want to hear how much you love my fingers fucking this tight pussy.” she curled her fingers inside you, rubbing against that special spot that made your toes curl and your back arch off the cold wall.
annie’s eyes darkened with lust as she watched you come undone beneath her touch. she could feel your walls fluttering around her fingers, and she knew you were close. she wanted to make you come on her fingers, wanted to feel your juices dripping down her hand as she fucked you through your orgasm.
“come for me, baby. come all over my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.” she commanded, her voice low and husky with desire. “i want to feel your cunt squeeze the life out of my fingers as you scream my name.
with a final, brutal thrust, annie pushed you over the edge. your body convulsed beneath hers, your cunt clamping down on her fingers like a vice as you screamed her name. she felt your juices gush out around her digits, coating her hand and dripping down onto the floor. she didn’t let up, continuing to pump her fingers hard and fast, fucking you through your intense orgasm and drawing it out as long as possible.
“that’s my good girl.” she purred, watching your face contort in ecstasy. she brought her soaked fingers up to her mouth, sucking your essence off of them with a moan. “fuck, you taste even better than i imagined. i could get addicted to the taste of your sweet cunt.”
before you could catch your breath, annie placed her hands on your shoulders and spun you around on your heels, making you face to face against the wall and taking the opportunity to push you against the cold tiles. again she manipulated your dress to her liking, pulling the fabric up above your hips while she delivered a sharp smack to your ass, leaving a red handprint blooming on your skin. she rubbed the stinging flesh, soothing the pain with a gentle caress before gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
annie smirked wickedly as she delivered another hard spank to your reddened ass, watching the flesh jiggle from the impact. “mmmh, you have such a perfect ass, baby. it’s just begging to be spanked and punished.”
she emphasized her point by raining down a flurry of sharp smacks to your rear, alternating between cheeks, leaving a mosaic of red handprints etched into your skin. her palm stung like hell, but the pain only seemed to fuel the intense pleasure coursing through your body.
annie’s other hand slid around your hip, her fingers delving between your thighs to find your dripping slit. she groaned at the feel of your soaked folds, your arousal coating her fingers instantly. “fuck, you’re still dripping wet. you love being spanked like a naughty little brat, don’t you?”
she plunged two fingers deep into your core without warning, pumping them hard and fast, fucking you with brutal intensity. her thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit, the rough friction sending sparks of electricity zinging up your spine.
annie leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she growled. “you’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you? teasing me with this sexy little body, flaunting your perfection in my face. well, i’m going to fuck that bratty attitude right out of you.’
she punctuated her words with a particularly hard spank, making you yelp. her fingers never ceased their relentless pounding into your cunt, curling and twisting, stroking that special spot inside you that made your eyes roll back in your head.
annie’s hot breath washed over your neck and shoulder as she bit and sucked at your skin, no doubt leaving dark hickeys in her wake. she wanted to mark you, to claim you, to show the world that you belonged to her now.
she could feel your walls starting to flutter around her invading fingers, your body tensing as your climax approached. annie knew you were close, and she wanted to push you over the edge, to make you come undone completely.
“that’s it, baby. come for me. let me feel you come all over my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.” she commanded, her voice a low, seductive growl.
“give it to me, (y/n).” annie snarled, slamming her palm down on your ass one last time. your body jerked forward from the force, and at the same moment, annie rubbed your clit hard, pushing you ruthlessly over the edge.
your screams of ecstasy echoed through the room as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. your cunt clenched and spasmed around annie’s fingers, gushing fluid that soaked her hand and dripped down your thighs. annie worked you through your climax, not letting up until the last Aftershock had left your body trembling.
finally, she slowly withdrew her fingers from your sensitive, twitching hole. she brought them to her lips, making a show of licking your essence from the digits. “mmmh, you taste divine, my perfect little doll. i could get addicted to the taste of your sweet cum.”
annie turned you around again so you could see her face to face, , hovering over you with a wicked grin. she could see the satisfied, fucked–out expression on your face, and it made her feel powerful and possessive. she had done that to you, had brought you to such heights of pleasure.
she leaned in close, her lips brushing against yours as she whispered. “that was just the beginning, baby. i’m going to fuck you in ways you’ve never even dreamed of. i’m going to ruin you for anyone else, make sure the only name you remember screaming is mine.”
with that promise, annie captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, her tongue invading your mouth and claiming you once again as hers. she knew she would never let you go, would never stop until she had thoroughly corrupted every inch of your once–pristine soul.
