Disclaimer: This is a work of reality based fiction exploring various kinks, some of which may be intense, uncomfortable, or triggering for certain readers. If you have any concerns, please review the tags below to ensure this story aligns with your interests and boundaries. Reader discretion is advised.
The ex... This reminds me of that night, years ago, I met up with an ex for "just drinks." Nothing more, we told ourselves. But the truth is the sexual tension between us had never died. It had only been banked, smoldering under years of distance. I was her first Dom when she was 18, fresh and eager, wide-eyed and soaking up every command. I was 24, already knowing exactly how to unravel her. Ten years later she had a fiancé, a ring on her finger, a life planned out. And yet here we were, bar-hopping, laughing too easily, touching too casually.
We ended up at this packed club where a friend was the DJ of the night. The back of the DJ booth gave us a shadowed pocket of privacy amid the chaos. Strobe lights flashed. Bass thumped through our bones. Conversation was impossible without leaning in close, mouths brushing ears. At some point she ended up in my lap, straddling one thigh, skirt riding high. At first it was innocent enough, just balancing. Then she shifted. Deliberately.
Her hips rolled in small, slow, almost imperceptible motions, pressing her heat against the flat of my thigh through my jeans. Discreet. Subtle. No one watching would have noticed unless they were looking for it. But I felt every tiny grind, the way she dragged herself against me in quiet, needy circles. Her breathing grew shallower against my neck as she pretended to keep talking, voice soft and breathy. The damp warmth seeped through her panties onto the denim. She was careful, controlled, but unmistakably working her clit against the firm muscle of my leg.
I let her tease herself like that for long minutes, watching her pupils dilate, cheeks flush under the shifting lights. Finally I slid one hand up to collar her throat. Firm. Possessive. Thumb resting just under her jaw the way I knew made her melt. She froze for a heartbeat, then let out the softest whimper into my ear.
I kissed her then. Hard. Claiming. She kissed back with quiet desperation, lips parting, tongue tentative at first then hungry. Teeth grazed. Fingers curled into my shirt. It stayed contained, hidden in the dark corner, but the heat between us built fast.
Her hand slipped down between us, palm pressing over the bulge in my jeans, stroking through the fabric. I caught her other wrist gently but firmly, twisted it behind her back, and held it there. My grip said everything: even if this was only for tonight, she was mine right now. Owned. She trembled harder, thighs quivering around my leg as she kept those small, rolling motions going.
I leaned in, lips at her ear. "I'm leaving in two minutes to catch a cab home. If you follow, I'll take care of you all night. I'll use you until you can't think straight, choke you the way you love, make you come until you're begging. Or you can go home to your fiancé and we'll blame the alcohol."
She didn't answer right away. She just stared at me with those huge, glassy eyes, chest rising and falling. We said quick goodbyes to my friend and slipped out into the cool night air. On the street she hesitated, lip caught between her teeth, glancing back toward the direction of her safe life.
Then she reached for my hand. She whispered, voice shaking. "Will you really take care of me? Like you used to? Like really take care of me, Daddy?"
I didn't answer with words. I took her wrist in a firm, claiming grip and led her to the nearest idling taxi. I opened the rear door for her like a gentleman, holding it wide.
"After you."
She slid in. I followed, closing the door quietly behind us. I gave the driver my address in a calm, even tone. He nodded, pulled away smoothly. I stayed perfectly composed in front of him.
Once we were moving, I turned to her. I leaned close, voice low against her ear. "Do you remember? Green, yellow, red?"
She nodded. A small "Yes" slipped from her lips.
"Green?" I asked.
"Green," she whispered back, eyes locked on mine.
That was all I needed.
I pulled her closer, mouth finding hers again. We made out slow and deep in the backseat, tasting gin and want, hands roaming but staying above clothes for now. My palm settled between her thighs, cupping her pussy over her panties. I rubbed firmly, not gently, pressing the sheer and lace against her swollen pussy in steady circles. She moaned softly into my kiss, hips lifting to chase the pressure. The driver kept his eyes forward. We kept it quiet enough.
My apartment door clicked shut. I pressed her back against the wall, one hand fisted lightly in her hair to tilt her head, the other pinning her wrists above her.
"Last chance," I said, voice rough but steady. "Tell me to stop and I'll call you a cab. No questions. No judgment."
She looked up at me with that same look from years ago. Helpless. Hungry. Completely surrendered.
"I want you to use me," she breathed. "Just like you used to. Please, Daddy."
That was it. The last thread of restraint snapped.
I didn't stop until dawn bled through the curtains. I fucked her against the wall first. Hard, punishing strokes that made her cry out every time I bottomed out. Then bent over the couch, ass high, my handprint blooming red on her skin. On the floor, her wrists bound with my belt, throat squeezed until her eyes rolled back as she came around my cock. I made her suck me clean again and again, tears streaking her mascara, me whispering "good girl" while she choked herself on me.
The moment that gif always drags me back to is early morning. Kitchen chair. She's riding me reverse cowgirl, back arched, sweat-slick skin glowing under the dim light. I've got the Hitachi pressed mercilessly to her clit, highest setting, no mercy. She's shaking violently, thighs burning, voice wrecked.
"Again," I order, free hand bruising her hip. "Come on it, slut. Milk my cock like the desperate little whore you are."
She sobs, half pain, half ecstasy, head thrown back against my shoulder. Her cunt clamps down so hard I see stars. She comes apart again, gushing around me, body convulsing, whimpering "Daddy, please, too much, fuuuck."
But she doesn't safeword. She just keeps coming. Like a good little slut.
And when we finally collapsed, her curled against my chest, marked and spent and whispering how much she'd missed this, I knew we'd both crossed a line we couldn't uncross.
That's what that gif does to me. Every time.