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AN: so… I think I enjoyed writing this one a little too much… @onlyangel4 you’re so welcome for this one!!

Title: if looks could kill

Pairing: Paige x fem!reader

WC: 15,000

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, intense dom/sub dynamics, brat taming, heavy overstimulation, multiple forced orgasms, edging, bondage, pussy slapping, hair pulling, use of sex toys, fuck machine, degradation, condescending/patronising dirty talk, orgasm denial, rough rough sex.

——

The morning light filtered through the half-drawn blinds in thin, slanted blades, catching on the rumpled sheets and the scatter of yesterday’s clothes across the floor. You lay tangled in them, one leg hooked over the duvet, the other buried beneath it, as if the bed itself might conspire to keep you there. The air smelled faintly of last night’s takeout and the sharp citrus of Paige’s shampoo, still lingering from her shower. Everything felt wrong. Your skin prickled with discontent, your reflection in the far mirror a betrayal you refused to acknowledge fully.

Paige moved through the room with that loose, predatory grace she never quite lost, even off-camera, shoulders rolling under a faded black tank, dark hair still damp and tousled from a quick towel-dry. She paused at the edge of the bed, arms crossing as she surveyed you. A single brow arched, the corner of her mouth twitching in that familiar half-smirk that usually preceded a barb.

“Oi. We’ve got places to be, princess. Post office. That bloody thing at the bank you’ve been putting off.” Her voice carried its natural cadence, low and edged with amusement rather than urgency, the faint trace of her accent curling around the vowels like smoke.

You didn’t move. Instead, you pulled the sheet higher, burying your face halfway into the pillow. “I look like shit,” you muttered, the words muffled but petulant, sharp enough to cut. “Nothing fits right. My hair’s doing that stupid flat thing. I’m not going.”

She exhaled through her nose, a short, amused huff. “You looked fine twenty minutes ago when you were stealing half my side of the bed. C’mon. Up.”

But you stayed put, rolling onto your back to fix her with a stare that bordered on a glare, lips pushed out just enough, eyes narrowed beneath lashes still heavy with sleep. The kind of look that had always worked a little too well on her. Paige’s jaw tightened, a flicker of impatience flashing across her features before she schooled it. She leaned down, bracing one hand beside your head, close enough that you caught the clean scent of her skin and the faint metallic tang of the chain she never took off.

“Love,” she said, softer now but threaded with warning, “we’re not doing this today. I’m not carrying you out in your thong.”

You sat up slowly, sheets pooling at your waist, and fixed her with that expression, chin tilted, shoulders set in deliberate defiance. The one that said you’d already decided how this morning would unfold. “Fine. I’ll wear your shirt. The black one. The one you had cut up for gear a couple weeks back.”

Paige straightened, arms dropping to her sides. Her laugh was short, disbelieving. “That scrap? It’s barely a top. You’ll freeze your ass off.”

“It’s fine.” You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting the cool hardwood with a soft slap. The motion was graceful despite your mood, all long lines and deliberate poise, the kind that turned heads in the studio, and made Paige’s gaze linger even now. You crossed to the dresser, hips swaying just enough to underscore your point, and plucked the offending garment from the drawer where you’d clearly already stashed it. The fabric was soft-worn cotton, sliced short and razor-edged at the hem, meant for ring entrances under hot lights, not errands in early spring chill. “See? Perfect.”

She watched you tug it on, the material clinging to the curve of your ribs and stopping well above the waistband of your low-rise flares, those too, slung dangerously low on your hips, the denim faded and frayed at the seams. The sliver of skin exposed between shirt and jeans drew her eye immediately, and she dragged her gaze back up with visible effort. Her fingers flexed at her sides, then curled into loose fists.

“You’re gonna catch a cold, and then I’ll have to hear about it for weeks,” she said, voice dry as cracked pavement. “Put something proper on. A hoodie. Anything.”

You turned, adjusting the hem with a small, satisfied tug that did nothing to lengthen it. The pout returned, lips full and glistening from the gloss you’d already swiped on. “It’s not that cold. And nothing else feels right. If I wear something else I’ll just be miserable the whole time.” Your voice dipped into that sweet, wheedling register, eyes wide and imploring even as your posture screamed stubbornness, weight shifted to one hip, fingers tracing idle patterns along the exposed skin at your midriff.

Paige rubbed a hand over her face, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “fucking hell.” When she dropped her hand, her expression had settled into reluctant capitulation, jaw slackened, shoulders dropping a fraction. The cocky edge remained in the tilt of her head, but her eyes had softened at the corners, betraying the way your particular brand of petulance always wormed past her defenses. She stepped closer, crowding your space without touching, close enough that the heat of her body brushed against the chill on your bare stomach.

“Fine,” she conceded, the word dragged out like it cost her. “But if you start shivering, I’m not giving you my jacket. You can freeze in your victory.” Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, the touch brief, almost absentminded, yet it lingered in the way her thumb grazed your jaw before she pulled away.

You smiled then, small, triumphant, the kind that made your eyes crinkle and chased the last shadows of your mood into something brighter. “See? Was that so hard?”

Paige snorted, turning toward the door with a shake of her head. “You’re a bitch. My bitch.” She grabbed her keys from the hook, the metal jangling sharply in the quiet apartment, but she waited for you, holding the door open with an exaggerated bow that didn’t quite hide the fond exasperation in her posture.

You paused at the small table by the door to snatch your purse, the movement sharp and theatrical. The strap slipped once through your fingers; you caught it with a huff, lips pursing as you dug inside for the lip gloss. “This one’s too sticky,” you muttered, twisting the tube open and frowning at the mirror-like surface of the compact. “And the shade looks off in this light. Everything feels wrong today.” Your shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug that wasn’t really a shrug at all, more a performance of discontent, spine arched just so, weight shifting on to one heel while the other foot tapped an impatient rhythm against the floorboards.

Paige leaned against the door, arms loosely crossed, watching the ritual with that half-lidded patience she reserved for your more feline moments. The corner of her mouth twitched, but she didn’t interrupt. Instead, she pushed off the wood with a fluid roll of her shoulders and stepped in close, plucking the gloss from your hand without asking. Two quick, efficient swipes across your lower lip, her touch firm but careful, thumb brushing the excess from the bow of your upper lip with a gentleness that undercut her smirk.

“There. beautiful as ever,” she said, voice low and dry, the faintest trace of that familiar lilt threading through. She capped the gloss and dropped it back into your purse, then hooked her arm through yours with deliberate ease, pulling you flush against her side. You fit there like you were made for it; the curve of your body molding to the lean strength of hers, your head tilting instinctively toward her shoulder. She let you cling, even encouraged it, her free hand settling over yours where it rested in the crook of her elbow, thumb tracing idle circles against your knuckles. A pretty accessory, yes, but one she wore with open pride.

“Pretty flowers and that ridiculous caramel thing you like from the place on Maple,” she offered before you could open your mouth again. “Extra shot. Whipped cream mountain. The kind that makes dentists weep. Sound good?”

Your pout softened at the edges, though the dramatic tilt of your chin remained. You pressed closer, letting the warmth of her arm chase the morning chill from your skin, the faint scent of her leather jacket and clean soap wrapping around you like a claim. “Maybe,” you allowed, the word drawn out in that petulant melody she knew too well. Still, your fingers tightened on her bicep, nails pressing lightly through the fabric in silent approval.

Paige chuckled under her breath, a short, rough sound that vibrated against your side, and guided you out into the stairwell before another protest could form.

Outside, the air nipped at your exposed skin as you stepped onto the sidewalk, but you lifted your chin against it, slipping your hand into hers. Paige’s grip tightened, warm and sure, her thumb sweeping once across your knuckles in silent acknowledgment. The city hummed around you, distant traffic, the rustle of early leaves, the faint scent of coffee from the corner shop, but all of it faded beneath the easy rhythm of your breath in sync with hers. She glanced sideways at you, that smirk returning full force now that she’d lost the battle.

“Princess gets what she wants again,” she murmured, voice low enough for only you to hear. “Lucky I like spoiling you rotten.”

You squeezed her hand in answer, the earlier discontent already dissolving like mist under the pale spring sun, leaving only the sharp, addictive spark of her attention.

The door clicked shut behind you with a finality that felt almost too easy. Paige had her keys in one hand and your fingers laced through the other, steering you down the street before the next wave of complaints could crest. But she could see it simmering in you still, the mood hadn’t burned off. It clung like perfume, heavy and sweet and impossible to ignore.

Her steps were unhurried but purposeful, matching yours even as you took smaller, more languid ones, hips swaying with each click of your heels on the concrete. The city opened up around you in layers of sound and scent; distant horns, the earthy damp of last night’s rain on the pavement, the sharp green bite of early spring cutting through the exhaust. Every few paces she glanced down at you, noting the way your free hand fiddled with the hem of her old ring shirt, the subtle jut of your lower lip, the way your gaze flicked restlessly across the street instead of settling.

She didn’t call you out on it. Instead, she angled her body to shield you from the sharper gusts of wind, letting you burrow deeper into her side like it was the most natural thing in the world. When you reached the corner, she paused, turning just enough to brush a kiss against your temple, quick, almost absent, but her lips lingered a fraction longer than necessary.

“You’re impossible when you’re like this,” she murmured against your hair, the words warm with amusement rather than irritation. “But you’re my impossible. C’mon, princess. Let’s get you sugared up before you decide the sky’s the wrong shade of blue.”

You exhaled a soft, theatrical sigh, but the tension in your shoulders eased another notch. Your arm stayed locked with hers, body language screaming possession and need in equal measure, and Paige, cocky, sarcastic Paige, simply adjusted her stride to accommodate it. The promise of flowers and cloyingly sweet coffee hung between you like bait she’d willingly dangled, knowing exactly how well it worked.

The sidewalk stretched ahead in uneven slabs of concrete, reflective puddles mirroring the gray spring sky. Paige kept her pace steady, your arm looped through hers like a silken tether, but she angled you left at the next corner instead of straight toward the coffee shop’s glowing sign two blocks down. The post office loomed first, squat brick building with its faded blue awning and the faint scent of paper and ink drifting out whenever someone pushed through the doors.

You slowed immediately, heels scraping in protest. “Paige, baby…” The words came out in that drawn-out, a honeyed whine you knew she both adored and dreaded, your fingers tightening around her bicep. “Paigeee, babe, you promised coffee first. The line’s always endless in there.”

She didn’t break stride, only tugged you gently forward with that effortless strength, her smirk flickering like a half-lit match. “It’s literally thirty meters closer, love. In, out, then sugar coma. Scout’s honour.” Her voice stayed light, almost teasing, but you caught the subtle shift in her jaw, the way it flexed once, sharp beneath the skin, before smoothing again.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like trapped insects, casting a flat, unforgiving pallor over everything. The queue snaked back from the counter in a sluggish line of five, then seven, then nine bodies shifting their weight and checking phones. You let out a theatrical sigh that turned heads, your body going deliberately languid against her side. Your free hand plucked at the hem of the tiny cropped shirt, tugging it down an inch only for it to snap back up, exposing another sliver of midriff. Feet dragging, you leaned heavier into Paige’s arm, forcing her to adjust her balance or risk toppling you both.

“This is ridiculous,” you grumbled under your breath, loud enough for her to hear. “They should just let you skip the line. Fame privilege or whatever. Or me—pretty privilege. Look at me. I’m clearly suffering.” Your lower lip pushed out in full pout, eyes wide and plaintive as you tilted your face up to hers. The dramatic slump of your shoulders, the slow, shuffling steps that made your flares ride even lower on your hips, it was all calculated, a performance honed from years of getting your way.

Paige’s fingers flexed where they rested over yours on her arm. She exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled, the only outward sign that her patience was fraying at the edges. Her expression remained composed, that cocky tilt still present in the lift of her chin, but her eyes had narrowed just a fraction, dark and sharp as obsidian.

She leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low and velvet-rough despite the rule against the word. “Behave,” she murmured, the single syllable sweet on the surface but edged underneath, like caramel hiding a bite of salt. “You’re acting like a spoiled little brat, and it’s not as cute as you think right now.” Her hand gave yours a firm squeeze, not quite painful but unmistakable in its warning, thumb pressing into the delicate bones of your wrist. “One more dramatic sigh and I’ll make you wait out here while I handle everything. Then no caramel monstrosity. Understood?”

You blinked up at her, momentarily stunned by the flicker of real exasperation beneath the sweetness. Your cheeks warmed, a mix of indignation and something hotter, more electric, but the pout didn’t fully fade. Instead, it softened into something sulkier, your body still draped against hers even as your feet stopped their childish dragging. The line inched forward. Paige straightened again, rolling her shoulders once to resettle the tension, her free hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear with a touch that dragged, half apology, half reminder of who held the leash in moments like these.

“Post office first,” she repeated, quieter now, almost coaxing. “Then I’ll spoil you rotten. Try not to melt down before we get the stamps, yeah?”

You huffed, pressing your temple against her shoulder in reluctant surrender, the scent of her jacket and warm skin grounding you despite the lingering petulance humming in your veins. The queue moved another grudging step. Paige’s arm stayed locked with yours, steady as ever, even as her jaw worked silently, composure intact, but you could feel the storm brewing just beneath it, all sharp sarcasm and coiled patience waiting for the next spark.

The line crept forward another grudging inch, the fluorescent hum overhead blending with the low murmur of impatient strangers and the occasional rustle of paperwork. You lasted perhaps five heartbeats in silence, your cheek still pressed to Paige’s shoulder, fingers tracing idle patterns along her sleeve, before the restlessness clawed its way back up your throat.

“God, look at them,” you whispered, sharp enough to carry. Your gaze fixed on the middle-aged couple two spots ahead: the man shuffling his feet in scuffed trainers, the woman rifling through an overstuffed tote with exaggerated sighs. “Who wears that shade of mustard with anything? And do they have to breathe so loudly? It’s like they’re auditioning for a role in a chain-saw massacre.”

Paige’s chest vibrated with a suppressed laugh, the sound low and rough against your ear. Her mouth twitched at the corner, that cocky amusement flickering across her features like sunlight on water, eyes crinkling, head tilting just enough to hide the grin threatening to break free. She found you viciously entertaining, even now. But the amusement thinned as you kept going.

“And that one—” You jerked your chin toward a harried woman clutching a stack of envelopes, her coat frayed at the cuffs. “She’s standing like she owns the floor. Move up, for fuck’s sake. Some of us have actual lives.”

“Alright,” Paige cut in, voice pitched low but carrying a serrated edge. Her hand slid from your arm to the small of your back, fingers pressing firm through the thin crop top, a silent command wrapped in warmth. She leaned closer, lips brushing the curve of your ear, breath warm against your skin. “That’s enough. You’re being a proper little bitch, and not the cute kind. Dial it back before someone hears you and decides we’re the villains in this queue.”

You opened your mouth to retort, chin lifting, eyes narrowing in that familiar spark of defiance, but she tightened her grip, thumb digging into the dip of your spine just hard enough to steal the words. “I mean it. One more catty remark and the flowers are off the table. I’ll buy you plain black coffee and watch you drink it like the tragic heroine you’re pretending to be.”

The threat landed clean. Your lips parted, then pressed together again, the pout returning full force but quieter now. You shifted your weight, flares riding low on your hips, but the dramatic drag of your feet eased. Paige watched the transformation, the subtle straightening of your posture, the way your lashes swept down in reluctant obedience, the small, almost imperceptible nod you gave against her shoulder. Her expression softened at the edges, though the cocky tilt of her brow remained, a silent acknowledgment that she’d won this round.

For the rest of the wait, barely five minutes, though it had felt glacial in your mood, you played the part of good girl with theatrical precision. You stayed tucked against her side, quiet except for the occasional soft huff of breath. When the line advanced, you moved with her without complaint, heels clicking neatly instead of scuffing in protest. Your fingers stayed laced through hers, grip gentler now, almost sweet. Paige’s hand never left your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles that said thank you without words.

At the counter, she handled the parcels and stamps with brisk efficiency, her free arm still looped around you like a claim. You kept your eyes down, lips curved in a demure little smile that didn’t quite hide the lingering spark of petulance, but you didn’t utter another barbed observation. Not even when the clerk took an extra thirty seconds counting change.

Outside again, the spring air felt sharper, carrying the distant promise of rain and the faint sweetness of blooming lilacs from the planter boxes along the street. Paige pulled you to a stop just past the doors, turning you to face her. Her palms cupped your jaw, thumbs stroking along your cheekbones with a gentleness that undercut the earlier warning.

“There she is,” she murmured, voice warm with approval and that familiar dry sarcasm. “My pretty, well-behaved princess. Think you can keep it up long enough for coffee and those flowers, or do I need to bribe you with something stronger?”

You leaned into her touch, lashes fluttering, the earlier storm banked but not entirely gone. A small, satisfied hum escaped you as you rose onto your toes to brush a kiss against the corner of her mouth, soft, apologetic, and just a little possessive.

The walk to the coffee shop unfolded in a fragile quiet, your arm still threaded through Paige’s like a silken vine. Spring wind tugged at the hem of your cropped shirt, raising faint gooseflesh along the exposed strip of skin above your low flares, but you stayed pressed close, letting her body heat bleed into yours. You listened more than you spoke, heels clicking in measured rhythm beside her longer strides, the faint metallic jangle of her keys in her pocket punctuating her words.

Paige’s voice rolled out low and sardonic as she vented about the gym, shoulders rolling beneath her jacket, one hand gesturing loosely while the other kept yours anchored against her bicep. “…and this new lot they’ve got in there? Absolute animals with the weights. Dropped a plate so loud I thought the mirror was gonna crack. Then there’s this one woman, blonde, fake tan, keeps finding excuses to spot me on every bloody lift.” A dry huff of laughter escaped her. “Clear as day she’s not there for the equipment. Annoying more than anything. I’ve got a girlfriend, yeah? Not interested in whatever circuit she’s running.”

The words landed like a spark on dry tinder. You stiffened against her side, fingers tightening their grip until your nails pressed crescent marks through her sleeve. Jealousy uncoiled hot and immediate in your chest, sharpening your gaze as you tilted your face up to hers. The pout returned, deeper now, lips parting on a slow inhale that carried the faint trace of your gloss and the city’s damp concrete scent.

“Some gym girl’s spotting you now?” The question dripped with accusation, your voice pitched sweet but edged. You pulled back just enough to fix her with narrowed eyes, though your body stayed molded to her arm like you couldn’t bear to let go. “That’s cute. Real cute, Paige. Does she lean in close? Bat her lashes while she’s ‘helping’ with your form?”

The complaint dragged all the way to the café door, your steps growing more deliberate, hips swaying with pointed emphasis. Paige’s jaw flexed, but she kept her expression composed, that cocky half-smirk playing at the edges even as her free hand came up to rub between your shoulder blades in a half-soothing, half-warning stroke.

Inside, the shop wrapped you in warm currents of roasted beans and steamed milk, the hiss of the espresso machine cutting through soft chatter. Paige didn’t even glance at the menu board. She guided you to the counter with a firm hand at the small of your back, ordering for you without hesitation, your usual iced caramel macchiato, extra caramel, while you stood there simmering, chin lifted in silent protest at being handled so efficiently. She knew better than to invite your input right now; one more word from you and the barista might’ve witnessed a full scene.

Drinks in hand, you claimed a small table by the window. Paige took a slow sip of her own black coffee, then made a low, appreciative sound that twisted something ugly in your gut. “Fuck, I miss proper coffee from home sometimes. This stuff’s decent, but it’s never quite right. Too sweet or too weak. The places back in Norwich just get it.”

You set your cup down harder than necessary, the porcelain clinking sharply. The jealousy flared brighter, painting your cheeks with heat. “Right,” you said, voice syrupy with venom, “so you wanna go home with that gym girl and leave me all alone here. Get your perfect coffee and your perfect spotter while I freeze in this stupid tiny shirt you let me wear.”

Paige stared at you for a beat, then barked out a genuine laugh, short, rough, and disbelieving, her head tipping back so the line of her throat caught the light. The sound drew a few glances from nearby tables, but she didn’t care. When she looked at you again, her eyes glittered with dark amusement, though the set of her mouth had tightened.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head. She reached across the table and caught your wrist, thumb pressing into your pulse point with deliberate pressure. “You were supposed to be easy for me today, princess. Helpful. Sweet. Instead you’re throwing a full tantrum because some random woman looked at me wrong in the gym. I should’ve left your dramatic ass in bed and done all this myself.” Her voice dropped, laced with that familiar sarcastic bite but threaded with something warmer underneath, exasperation, affection, the reluctant pull that always kept her tethered to your storms. “You gonna keep this up, or can we enjoy the overpriced sugar before I drag you home and remind you who you belong to?”

You held her gaze for a long moment, the jealousy still crackling beneath your skin like static, but her words, and the firm, possessive grip on your wrist, eased the sharpest edges. Slowly, you turned your hand in hers until your fingers laced together, a small, reluctant truce. The caramel sweetness of your drink waited untouched, but the real indulgence was the way Paige watched you; patient, cocky, and entirely yours, even when you made it difficult.

The tension in your shoulders finally uncoiled after another slow, deliberate sip of your drink. The caramel sweetness coated your tongue, thick and indulgent, chasing away the last bitter edges of jealousy. You exhaled, long and theatrical, then leaned forward to rest your chin on your hand, watching Paige across the small table. She took her time with her coffee, black and strong, the steam curling up in lazy spirals that caught the window light. For once, you let the quiet settle between you like a truce, soft chatter from the other tables, the distant hiss of milk being frothed, the faint metallic tang of rain on the pavement drifting in whenever the door opened.

Paige’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and knowing, the corner of her mouth curving. “Alright, truce accepted. Tell me about work, then. You had that shoot yesterday, yeah? How’d it go?”

Your whole face brightened at the question, the petulance melting away as if it had never existed. You sat up straighter, legs crossing beneath the table so your knee brushed hers, flares riding even lower on your hips. “It was incredible,” you said, voice lifting into that bright, melodic register she rarely heard when you were in a mood. “The brand’s new—super luxe, lots of lace and these delicate straps that feel like they were made for me. They kept adjusting the lighting just right, and the photographer said I was a dream to work with. So easy, so polite.” A soft laugh escaped you, giddy and unfiltered. “They might let me keep a couple of the sets. There was this black one with sheer panels? And a pretty baby pink one. I looked unreal in them.”

Paige raised a single brow, slow and deliberate, the expression cutting through her usual cocky composure with pure skepticism. She leaned back in her chair, one arm draped along the backrest, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against the wood. The look she gave you was equal parts amused and disbelieving, mouth slightly parted, head tilted as if she were trying to reconcile two entirely different versions of you. “You? Easy and polite?” She let out a short, rough chuckle, shaking her head. “That’s rich. Half the time you’re a terror who’d argue with a brick wall over the colour of the sky. But get you in front of cameras, pampered like some delicate little doll with lights and silk and people telling you how stunning you are…” Her gaze dropped briefly to the exposed curve of your waist, then back up, eyes glittering. “Yeah. Then you’re an absolute angel. Funny how that works.”

You swatted at her arm across the table, but there was no real heat in it, only the bright flush of pleasure warming your cheeks. The compliment, however backhanded, landed perfectly.

Paige took another sip, then set her cup down with a soft clink. Her voice dropped into something more conspiratorial, shoulders rolling forward as she leaned in. “Speaking of belts and looking unreal… Creative’s been dropping hints. They’re setting me up for the Divas title again. Proper run this time, not some transitional bollocks.”

Your eyes went wide, lips parting in a delighted gasp that turned heads at the next table. The excitement hit you like champagne bubbles, sudden, fizzy, impossible to contain. You bounced a little in your seat, one hand flying up to cover your mouth as a bright, unrestrained smile broke across your face. “Wait, really? You’re getting it back?” Your voice pitched higher, almost squeaking with glee. “Paige, that’s huge. God, I can already see it—the way it’ll sit on your waist, all that silver against your skin…”

You leaned even closer, practically vibrating, fingers drumming excitedly on the tabletop. The earlier mood was gone, replaced by pure, childlike delight that made your lashes flutter and your posture straighten into something radiant. “Do you think they’ll let me take pictures with you in it? Just a few? Private ones. You in the ring gear, belt on, looking like you own the whole fucking world. I’d die. Actually die. Please tell me I can.”

Paige watched the transformation with open fondness now, her smirk softening into something warmer, more genuine. She reached across the table and caught your hand, thumb stroking over your knuckles in slow, grounding circles. The contrast was stark, your giddy, sparkling energy against her steady, sarcastic poise, but it fit, the way it always did.

“Easy, baby,” she murmured, though her eyes danced with amusement. “Yeah, I reckon we can make that happen. You can play dress-up with the belt all you want. Just don’t go getting any ideas about wearing it yourself. That one’s mine.”

You squeezed her fingers tight, still smiling so wide it made your cheeks ache, the spring light catching in your eyes and turning the whole dreary morning golden.

The coffee had worked its sugary magic, leaving you loose-limbed and sparkling as Paige guided you out of the café and toward the bank. Your arm stayed tucked through hers, the low-rise flares swishing with each step, and for once you didn’t drag your heels. The good mood clung to you like perfume, bright smiles at the teller, soft hums while you waited in the much shorter line, even a polite little thank-you when the forms were slid across the counter. You were easy. Or as easy as you could manage when every fibre of you still wanted to be back in bed with Paige’s shirt riding up your ribs and no responsibilities pressing in.

Paige noticed. Of course she did. She kept stealing glances at you, that cocky smirk playing at the corner of her mouth every time you didn’t whine about the fluorescent lights or the too-slow computer. She used the opening like a professional.

“Since you’re being such a good girl right now,” she murmured against your temple as you stepped back onto the sidewalk, “let’s knock out one more thing. I need to swing by the supply shop for new knee sleeves and some heavier plates. Ten minutes, in and out.”

Your stomach dropped. You knew what that meant. Ten minutes in Paige-world was never ten minutes. It was her disappearing into aisles of metal and rubber, testing grips, weighing options, talking shop with whoever happened to be behind the counter. Your nightmare.

The switch flipped the second you realised she wasn’t steering you home.

By the time you reached the wide glass doors of the fitness outlet, your posture had changed completely. Shoulders slumped, steps slow and sullen, the pretty sway of your hips replaced by a deliberate, childish drag. The cropped shirt suddenly felt too small, the chill sharper against your skin, and every breath carried a fresh complaint.

“Paige, I’m tired,” you said the moment you stepped inside, voice pitched just loud enough for her to hear. The store smelled of fresh rubber mats and cold steel, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like an accusation. “We’ve been out forever. Can’t you order this stuff online like a normal person?”

She didn’t answer right away, only guided you toward the weight section with a hand at the small of your back, firmer than before. You followed, but made sure every movement screamed reluctance; sighing heavily as she paused at a rack of resistance bands, shifting your weight from foot to foot, arms crossed tight beneath your chest so the hem of her old ring shirt rode up another defiant inch.

Paige crouched to inspect a set of adjustable dumbbells, turning one over in her hands, testing the grip. You hovered behind her, lips pushed out in full pout.

“This is boring,” you muttered. “I’m cold. My feet hurt in these shoes. We should’ve gone home after coffee. I was being so good and you’re ruining it.”

She set the weight down with a controlled clink, the muscles in her jaw ticking visibly. When she straightened, her shoulders were tighter, the easy confidence in her stride now edged with strain. She ran a hand through her dark hair, exhaling through her nose.

“Love, I need this gear. You know I do. Five more minutes and we’re done.”

But five minutes became eight, then twelve. You trailed after her like a storm cloud, fingers plucking restlessly at the frayed hem of your top, voice a constant low stream of discontent.

“Everything smells like sweat in here. That guy over there keeps staring at my stomach like I’m on display. And these flares are sliding down—see? I told you I should’ve worn something else. This was a stupid idea. I want to go home, Paige. Now.”

Your tone had sharpened, the petulance no longer playful but raw and demanding. You leaned against a display rack with exaggerated weariness, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded in theatrical suffering. Every sigh was louder. Every shift of your body language screamed I’m done.

Paige’s patience frayed visibly. The cocky half-smirk had vanished, replaced by a flat line of her mouth and a hardness around her eyes. She gripped a pack of knee sleeves hard enough that her knuckles paled, rolling them once in her fist before tossing them into the basket with more force than necessary.

“You’re really pushing it,” she said under her breath, voice low and clipped, the accent cutting sharper through the words. “I let you wear that scrap of a shirt. I bought you the ridiculous coffee. I’ve been patient all morning while you threw your little tantrums. And now you’re acting like I’m dragging you through hell because I need ten bloody minutes for my job?” She turned to face you fully, stepping close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet her gaze. Her hand came up to grip your chin, not rough, but firm, thumb pressing just beneath your lower lip. “Keep this up and we’ll be here even longer. I’m not rushing because you’ve decided to be a brat again. Behave. Or I swear I’ll make you wait in the cold.”

The warning hung between you, heavy and unmistakable. Paige’s eyes bored into yours, irritation crackling off her like static, though beneath it lingered that stubborn affection she could never quite kill. She released your chin and turned back to the shelves, shoulders rigid, clearly fighting the urge to snap harder.

You stayed quiet for the next few moments, pout intact, body language still screaming mutiny, but the complaints dulled to soft huffs and pointed sighs. The fight wasn’t gone. It simply waited, coiled and sulky, for the next opening while Paige finished her selections with grim determination. The morning, once golden at the coffee shop, had tilted back into storm territory, and this time her tolerance was wearing dangerously thin.

The store’s harsh lighting pressed down like a weight, turning every metallic surface into a cold glare. You refused to behave. The petulance had rooted deep, blooming into something sharper and more reckless with every minute Paige lingered over the racks. You trailed her like a shadow with teeth, heels scuffing deliberately against the linoleum, arms crossed so tightly beneath your chest that the cropped shirt rode up another defiant inch.

“This is taking forever,” you whined, loud enough for the nearest employee to glance over. “I’m freezing. My back hurts from standing here like some bored trophy wife. Why do you even need more weights? You already have a whole gym’s worth at home.” Your voice climbed, sweet and poisonous, each complaint punctuated by a dramatic shift of weight that made your low-rise flares slip lower on your hips. You poked at a display of resistance bands with one manicured finger, then let it snap back with a sharp twang. “Boring. Stupid. I want to go home.”

Paige’s shoulders tightened, the line of her jaw hardening as she turned a kettlebell over in her hands, testing its balance. She tried to tune you out, really tried, her focus narrowing to the equipment with forced deliberation. But you made it impossible. You pressed closer, rising onto your toes so your lips hovered at the shell of her ear, breath warm and deliberate against her skin.

“You’re being so mean, making me wait like this,” you murmured, voice dropping into that filthy, petulant register she knew too well. “If you keep ignoring me, maybe I’ll just have to entertain myself when we get home. Or maybe I won’t let you touch me at all. See how you like waiting then.”

Paige went very still. The kettlebell met the shelf with a heavy clack. She turned her head slowly, eyes dark and unreadable, and her voice came out low, controlled, almost gentle in its warning.

“If you open that mouth one more time…”

You did, of course. The thrill of pushing her flared hot in your chest. “Or what?” you shot back, lips curving into a defiant little smirk as you rocked back on your heels. “You’ll spank me in the aisle? Right here where everyone can see how impossible I’m being for you?”

Something shifted in her then. The irritation didn’t vanish, it simply settled, crystallising into a calm, almost serene resolve. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. The cocky edge returned to the tilt of her chin, but it was colder now, sharper. She exhaled once through her nose, the sound almost amused, and turned back to the shelves without another word.

She took her sweet time after that.

Paige lingered over every item with meticulous care, comparing knee sleeves for thickness and breathability, testing the grip on new straps, consulting the bored employee about stock in the back. Twenty minutes stretched into thirty. You fidgeted, pouted, sighed theatrically, but the storm in her had gone quiet. She moved with deliberate, unhurried grace, her silence more ominous than any snapped retort. Every so often her gaze flicked to you, dark, measuring, promising, and it sent a shiver racing down your spine that had nothing to do with the chill on your bare midriff.

By the time she finally paid, the basket full and her expression carved from granite, you knew you were fucked. Beautifully, thoroughly fucked.

Outside, the spring air had turned sharper, carrying the metallic promise of rain. You couldn’t help yourself. One last bratty spark escaped as you fell into step beside her, arm no longer tucked sweetly through hers.

“Great. No flowers either, I guess. You promised and now you’re too busy being all stern and ignoring me. Typical.”

Paige stopped walking.

She turned to face you fully on the quiet stretch of sidewalk, the shopping bag swinging once at her side before going still. Her eyes locked onto yours, steady, dark, and so intensely calm it stole the breath from your lungs. No smirk. No sarcastic quip. Just that look; flat, authoritative, heavy with the weight of everything you’d earned. It pinned you in place more effectively than any hand on your throat ever could. The city noise faded, the distant traffic, the rustle of leaves, the faint scent of wet pavement, all of it narrowing down to the hard line of her mouth and the unyielding set of her shoulders.

You swallowed. The words died on your tongue.

Satisfied, Paige gave a single, minute nod and resumed walking. She didn’t touch you. Didn’t speak. Just strode ahead with that loose, predatory confidence, knowing you’d follow. And you did, quiet now, heels clicking obediently, the earlier tantrum reduced to nervous energy humming under your skin. The cropped shirt suddenly felt too exposing, the flares too low, every brush of cool air cruel, a reminder of what waited for you the second that apartment door closed.

The walk home stretched in heavy silence. Paige’s jaw stayed set, her gaze fixed forward, but the quiet radiated promise. You had pushed. You had pushed hard. And when you got home, she would finally stop being patient.

The apartment door had barely clicked shut behind you before the air thickened, heavy with the scent of rain on your skin and the faint rubber-and-steel residue clinging to Paige’s shopping bag. You kicked off your heels with a careless flick, letting them thud against the wall, and turned toward her with that same defiant little smirk still playing on your lips. The dread in your stomach was there, cold and fluttering, but you shoved it down, choosing instead to poke the bear one last time.

“Finally. Took you long enough in that stupid store. Maybe next time you’ll listen when I—”

Paige’s patience snapped like a dry branch.

She moved faster than you expected, one hand fisting the front of her own cropped shirt you were still wearing, yanking you forward hard enough that your breath hitched. Her other arm hooked around your waist, and suddenly you were being dragged, heels skidding across the hardwood, a startled laugh bubbling out of you because you still didn’t quite believe she’d follow through. Not really. Not like this.

“Paige—babe, wait—”

“Shut it.” Her voice was low, dangerous, the accent sharpening every syllable. She hauled you down the short hallway without ceremony, her grip unyielding, fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave faint marks. The bedroom door banged open under her shoulder. She released you only to shove you toward the bed, eyes blazing with that cold, collected fury she wore so well.

You opened your mouth again, something teasing and filthy already forming, but she cut you off with a single, clipped command.

“Strip. Now. Then sit pretty on the bed and keep your fucking mouth closed unless I tell you otherwise.”

The shift in her tone, flat, irritated, final, sent a real shiver racing down your spine. You hesitated half a second too long. Paige’s brow lifted, and that was all the warning you needed. Fingers trembling with a mix of nerves and lingering bratty adrenaline, you peeled off the tiny cropped shirt, then shimmied out of the low-rise flares until eventually you stood bare in front of her. The cool air kissed your skin, raising gooseflesh across your stomach and breasts. You climbed onto the bed and knelt there, thighs pressed together, trying to look composed even as your pulse hammered.

Paige didn’t watch you. She turned toward the closet, rummaging with deliberate, unhurried movements. Drawers opened and closed. Hangers clinked. When she returned, she held her favourite Hitachi wand in one hand and two of her worn leather belts in the other, thick, supple, the kind she usually saved for ring gear or very specific nights like this.

You eyed the belts, a spark of heat curling low in your belly. “Gonna spank me with those? Finally admitting you can’t handle—”

She climbed onto the bed before you could finish, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of you. One belt looped around your wrists with efficient, almost clinical precision, threading through the slats of the headboard and cinching tight. The leather was cool and smooth against your skin, the buckle pressing into the delicate bones of your wrists. The second belt she wrapped around your right ankle, securing it to the footboard, forcing your leg open and leaving you stretched and exposed.

“Not spanking you,” she murmured against the shell of your ear, voice dripping with irritation as she leaned over you. Her lips brushed your jaw, soft, maddeningly gentle kisses that contradicted every sharp word. “You like that too much, don’t you? Greedy little thing. No… I’m going to make you wait. Make you ache until you remember how to behave.”

Another kiss, this one just beneath your ear, then down the column of your throat. Her teeth grazed your pulse point, not quite biting. “All morning you’ve been a spoiled, mouthy little princess. Whining. Pouting. Talking back like I won’t do anything about it.” She clicked the Hitachi on low, the sudden, heavy buzz filling the room. She didn’t press it against you yet, just let it hover close enough for you to feel the vibrations ghosting over your inner thigh. “Pushing and pushing until I had no choice but to drag your bratty arse in here.”

Paige settled between your spread legs, one hand braced beside your head, the other trailing the buzzing head of the wand in slow, teasing circles inches away from where you needed it. Her mouth never stopped moving, soft, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones, the swell of your breast, the sensitive skin just above your navel. Each press of her lips was tender, almost reverent, while her voice stayed mean and low and deliciously irritated.

“Look at you now. All tied up and quiet for once. Pathetic, really.” A kiss right above your hipbone, tongue flicking out. “You had your fun throwing tantrums. Now it’s my turn.” She dragged the Hitachi closer, letting the vibrations kiss your folds for a single torturous second before pulling it away again. “And I’m not in a rush, love. I’ve got all afternoon to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Her dark eyes met yours, cocky and stern and burning with promise as she hovered over you, lips brushing yours without quite kissing. “So be good for me now. Or I’ll make sure you don’t cum until you’re crying for it.”

The Hitachi hummed back to life on its lowest setting, a deep, relentless thrum that Paige pressed lightly against your inner thigh first, just close enough for the vibrations to tease without mercy. Your hips twitched instinctively, the belt around your ankle creaking as you tested the restraint.

You couldn’t help yourself. Even now, spread open and tied down, the brat in you refused to die quietly.

“Making me cum isn’t exactly a harsh lesson, you know,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm, lips curved in that defiant little smirk. “If this is your big punishment, babe, you might want to rethink your strategy.”

Paige’s eyes flashed. She pulled the wand away instantly, the sudden absence of sensation almost worse than the tease.

“I told you,” she snapped, voice low and razor-sharp, “not to open that fucking mouth unless I gave you permission. Did that somehow escape your comprehension, or are you really this determined to make things worse for yourself?”

She hovered there for a beat, staring down at you with pure irritation etched across her features, the tight set of her jaw, the slight flare of her nostrils, the way her fingers flexed around the toy like she was debating throwing it across the room. Then something shifted. A slow, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, cold and knowing.

“You’re right, though,” she murmured, almost conversationally. “Making you cum isn’t a good idea at all. Not today.”

She clicked the Hitachi back on, pressing it firmly against your clit this time. The low, steady buzz jolted through you like electricity, forcing a sharp inhale from your lungs. Paige didn’t rush. She kept the speed torturously gentle, circling it with precise, maddening patience while her free hand trailed up your ribs, fingertips dragging lightly over sensitive skin.

You tried to chase the feeling, hips rolling as much as the belts allowed, which wasn’t much. The leather bit into your wrists and ankle with every futile shift, keeping you frustratingly pinned. Paige watched your face the entire time, cataloguing every flutter of your lashes, every bitten-back sound.

When your breathing turned ragged and your thighs began to tremble, she pulled the wand away again.

A frustrated noise slipped out of you before you could stop it, petulant, not quite a whine yet, but close. Your brows drew together, lips parting on a silent protest as the ache between your legs throbbed harder in the sudden emptiness.

“Aw, look at that face,” Paige cooed, voice laced with mock sympathy. She leaned down and dragged her mouth along the underside of your breast, teeth grazing just enough to sting. “Still so fucking stubborn. Still think this is funny?”

She brought the vibrator back before you could answer, pressing it harder this time. The vibrations sank deeper, coiling tight and hot in your core. Again she built you up, slow, relentless, expert, until your back arched off the bed and your wrists strained against the headboard. Right as the edge loomed, sharp and glittering, she switched it off.

The third time, your expression fractured beautifully; brows furrowed deep, lips parted in a silent snarl of frustration, cheeks flushed dark. Your eyes had gone glassy, but the spark of petulance still burned behind them, stubborn and furious.

Paige set the toy aside on the nightstand with a deliberate click. Then she climbed over you fully, knees bracketing your hips, careful not to put too much weight on your bound leg. The mattress dipped beneath her as she settled, caging you in completely. You couldn’t move, couldn’t arch up, couldn’t pull her closer, couldn’t do anything except lie there and take whatever she decided to give.

She started kissing you everywhere. Slow, open-mouthed presses of her lips across your collarbones, down the centre of your chest, over the soft slope of your stomach. Each kiss was tender, almost sweet, while her voice stayed mean and low against your skin.

“So pretty when you’re frustrated,” she whispered, dragging her mouth along the crease of your hip. “All tied up and aching because you couldn’t behave for one single morning.” Her tongue traced a lazy circle around your navel, then lower, stopping just short of where you needed her most. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Pushing me until I had no choice but to remind you exactly how easily I can break that attitude.”

She shifted higher, capturing your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss that stole what little breath you had left. When she pulled back, her lips hovered just above yours, dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

“Keep looking at me like that,” she murmured, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. “See how long it takes before that pretty pout turns into actual begging.”

Her hand drifted down between your legs again, fingers ghosting over slick, sensitive skin without offering any real relief.

The Hitachi returned with merciless patience, its low, heavy buzz pressing firm against your clit once more. Paige drew it out longer this time, agonising, languid circles that built the ache in slow, cresting waves. Your bound limbs trembled, leather creaking as you strained uselessly against the belts. Sweat prickled along your sternum, the cool air of the room doing nothing to soothe the heat crawling across your skin. She watched every flicker across your face with dark, unblinking focus, her mouth brushing feather-light kisses along your ribs while she edged you right to the precipice and then abandoned you there again.

Twice more she repeated the torture. Each round stretched longer than the last, the denial carving deeper into your nerves until your breathing fractured into sharp, frustrated gasps. By the end of the second, your body was a live wire, thighs shaking, core clenching around nothing, every inch of you flushed and glistening.

You cracked.

“Can I cum?” The words spat out bitchy and demanding, laced with petulant entitlement rather than any shred of submission. Your eyes narrowed up at her, hips twitching despite the restraints. “Just let me fucking cum already, Paige.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. Something cruel and deeply satisfied flashed behind her eyes, the kind of thought that promised retribution wrapped in pleasure.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice syrupy with false sweetness. “You want to cum? Of course you do.”

She reached down and unbuckled the studded belt at her own waist, the leather whispering as it slid free. With efficient, almost clinical movements, she wrapped it around your upper thigh, securing the Hitachi tightly against your soaked cunt. The thick head nestled perfectly against your clit, the studs pressing cool, hard imprints into your skin. She adjusted the angle once, twice, making sure there was no escape, then switched it on to that same devastating low setting.

“There we go,” she cooed, leaning down to brush her lips against your temple. “Now you’re going to cum. Over and over, actually. Just like you demanded.” Her tone dripped mockery, irritation still threaded through the sweetness. “Doesn’t that sound nice? My spoiled little princess finally getting what she wants.”

She clicked the wand higher, just enough to make your back arch off the bed with a broken moan, then stood up.

The sudden loss of her body heat made the room feel colder. Paige sauntered toward the closet with a far too pleased expression, hips rolling in that cocky, predatory stride, dark hair swaying across her shoulders. She didn’t look back.

Your stomach dropped. Panic flared hot and immediate beneath the relentless buzz between your legs.

“Paige?” Your voice cracked into a needy moan as the Hitachi forced another wave of unwanted pleasure through you. “Paige—what the fuck are you doing? Hey. Come back—”

The closet door creaked. Metal clinked. Something heavy was dragged across the floor.

She reappeared moments later, dragging the sleek, expensive fuck machine into view. The thing looked almost clinical under the bedroom light, black metal frame, powerful motor, and that thick, veined silicone attachment already glistening with fresh lube. You’d only used it once before, months ago, and the memory of how thoroughly it had ruined you still lingered.

Paige’s eyes met yours, dark and gleaming with wicked satisfaction. She tilted her head, watching the way the Hitachi made your thighs quiver and your bound ankle yank against its restraint.

“Since you’re so desperate to cum,” she said conversationally, dragging the machine closer until the dildo hovered inches from your dripping entrance, “I thought I’d be generous. No more teasing. You can have all the orgasms you want, princess.”

She crouched beside the bed, one hand idly stroking the length of the attachment while her other reached out to brush a sweat-damp strand of hair from your forehead.

“Try not to scream too loud,” she added softly, the smirk returning full force. “We still have neighbours.”

The Hitachi continued its merciless buzz against your clit as Paige began positioning the machine with deliberate care, her expression one of pure, satisfied control. You were trapped, vibrating, aching, and about to be filled whether you could handle it or not.

The Hitachi buzzed relentlessly against your clit, its steady thrum forcing sharp, unwilling sparks of pleasure through your over-sensitised body. The moment Paige say the machine into place, your stomach twisted with genuine panic. Your bound wrists yanked hard against the leather, the headboard creaking under the strain.

“No—no, baby, please,” you rushed out, voice high and nervy, the words tumbling over each other. “We don’t have to use that. That’s not what I meant. I don’t—I don’t wanna come like this. The edging is fine, please, Paige—”

She didn’t even pause. That condescending little smile curved her lips as she crouched beside the bed again, one hand resting possessively on your trembling thigh, thumb stroking the soft skin just above where the studded belt held the wand in place.

“Aw, listen to you,” she murmured, voice dripping with patronising sweetness. “Suddenly so polite. Suddenly the edging is fine.” She tilted her head, dark eyes gleaming with mock sympathy. “This is exactly what you wanted, princess. You demanded to come. Threw a whole fucking tantrum until I gave in. Now you’re changing your mind? Too late.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, another desperate string of pleas forming, but Paige cut you off with a sharp, stinging slap directly against your soaked pussy. The impact cracked loud in the quiet room. You yelped, high and startled, before the pain melted into a filthy moan that you couldn’t swallow. She did it again, harder, the flat of her fingers landing with wet precision right over your swollen clit and the buzzing head of the Hitachi.

“None of that,” she said calmly, delivering a third slap that made your hips jerk violently against the restraints. “You’ve done enough talking today.”

The fourth slap pushed you over. The combination of the merciless vibrations and the sharp, repeated impacts shattered what little control you had left. Your orgasm crashed through you without warning, brutal and sudden, ripping a broken cry from your throat as your back arched clean off the mattress. Your bound leg trembled, muscles locking tight, slick coating the thick head of the wand and dripping down your thighs. Paige watched the whole thing with dark satisfaction, her hand finally stilling but staying pressed warm and firm against your pulsing cunt.

“Good girl,” she cooed, condescending as ever. “See? That wasn’t so hard. One nice, easy orgasm to get you nice and open for me.”

You were still panting, aftershocks rippling through you, when she finally unbuckled the studded belt and pulled the Hitachi away. The sudden absence left you clenching around nothing, oversensitive and aching. Paige took her time repositioning the machine, pulling it closer with deliberate care until the thick, glistening silicone hovered right at your entrance. She adjusted the angle slowly, one hand spreading you open with her fingers while the other guided the tip, letting it nudge against your slick folds.

“Easy now,” she murmured, almost soothing, though the edge of irritation still lingered in her tone. “You’re going to take every inch. And you’re going to thank me for it when you’re crying and cumming all over it.”

She leaned over you, brushing a deceptively gentle kiss against your forehead as the machine’s tip pressed forward, stretching you open inch by slow, inevitable inch. Her voice dropped to a low, mean whisper against your ear.

“Try to behave this time, yeah? Or I’ll leave it on for a lot longer than you can handle.”

The machine hummed to life with a low, mechanical purr that vibrated through the frame and straight into your bones. The thick silicone head pressed against your entrance, still slick from your forced orgasm and the fresh lube Paige had applied, and began its first slow, inexorable push.

Your eyes flew wide.

“Oh—oh fuck,” you gasped, voice pitching high and shaky as the girth started stretching you open. It wasn’t even halfway in and already the burn was intense, overwhelming. Your bound wrists jerked hard against the leather, the headboard creaking in protest. “Shit, Paige—it’s too much. Too big, I can’t—fuck, slow down—”

Paige settled comfortably on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, chin resting on her laced fingers like she was watching a particularly entertaining film. Her expression was calm, almost serene, but her eyes burned with dark satisfaction. No softness. No mercy. Just that cool, cocky tilt to her head and the faint curve of her mouth that said she’d been waiting for this exact moment all damn day.

“You can,” she said simply, voice low and patronising. “And you will.”

The machine continued its shallow rhythm, half-length strokes that dragged heavily along your walls with every retreat and push. You writhed as much as the restraints allowed, ankle yanking against its belt, hips twitching uselessly. Breathless, broken little sounds spilled from your lips: sharp gasps, shaky “oh god”s, and desperate whimpers that bordered on sobs.

“Paige—baby, please, it’s stretching me too much. I can’t take it—”

“You’ve been taking the piss all morning,” she cut in, tone flat and unimpressed. “Throwing tantrums, running your mouth, acting like a spoiled little brat who thinks the world owes her everything. So no, I don’t feel particularly sorry for you right now.” She reached out and trailed two fingers down your sweat-damp stomach, pressing lightly just above where the thick shaft disappeared inside you. “This is what you earned. Breathe through it.”

She let the machine continue its half-depth thrusts for another long minute, watching your face twist and flush, cataloguing every flutter of your lashes and every hitch in your breathing. Only when your moans started to deepen, when your body began to surrender and soften around the relentless intrusion, did she lean forward and adjust the settings.

The dildo pushed deeper on the next stroke.

All the way in.

A guttural, broken sound tore from your throat as it bottomed out, the thick head pressing right against that devastating spot inside you. Paige let out a low, pleased hum, eyes half-lidded with genuine enjoyment as she watched your back arch clean off the bed.

“There we go,” she murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. “Look at you. Taking every fucking inch like you were made for it.”

The machine settled into a slow, steady piston, long, deliberate strokes that dragged almost all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt with heavy, wet sounds. Each thrust forced a fresh gasp or moan from your lips; breathy, overwhelmed little cries that you couldn’t hold back no matter how hard you tried. Your thighs trembled violently, the studded imprints from the belt still visible on your skin.

Paige’s gaze never left your face. She drank in every expression, the way your brows furrowed, the way your mouth fell open on a silent cry, the sheen of overwhelmed tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, you’re pretty like this,” she said conversationally, even as another deep thrust punched a sharp, needy moan out of you. “All tied down and full. No more attitude. No more demands. Just pretty sounds and that desperate little face you make when you’re getting exactly what you asked for.”

She shifted closer, one hand resting possessively on your hip, thumb stroking the crease where your thigh met your body. The machine kept its merciless, unhurried pace, deep, dragging strokes that made your toes curl and your breath catch on every inward thrust.

“Keep making those sounds for me, princess,” she whispered, leaning down to brush her lips against your ear while the machine continued to fuck you slow and thorough. “I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

The machine kept its deep, measured rhythm, each thrust dragging thick and heavy through you, bottoming out with a wet, obscene sound that filled the quiet bedroom. Your breathing had turned ragged, sharp inhales through your nose, shaky exhales that trembled on the way out, but you weren’t breaking. Not yet. The overwhelming stretch and pressure sat right on the edge of too much, yet your body held, clenching and fluttering around the relentless silicone in stubborn, overwhelmed pulses.

Paige noticed. Of course she did.

She stayed perched on the edge of the bed, one knee drawn up, chin resting on her fist like she had all the time in the world. That satisfied, slightly cruel little smile played across her mouth as she studied you, eyes dark and gleaming, tracing every twitch of your bound limbs, every flutter of your lashes, every bead of sweat that slid down the valley between your breasts.

“Not very loud today, are we?” she drawled, voice low and laced with mocking sweetness. “Usually you’re moaning like a fucking porn star the second something’s inside you. All dramatic gasps and ‘oh god, Paige’ like you’re getting paid for it.” She tilted her head, smirk deepening. “But now? Just these cute little breathy sounds. Pathetic, really. Makes me think you’re still trying to keep some dignity.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really. Another deep thrust punched a soft, broken gasp from your throat instead, your head tipping back against the pillow as your wrists flexed uselessly in their leather cuffs. The words you might’ve thrown back at her earlier had dissolved somewhere between the slow drag of the dildo and the burning ache in your core.

Paige chuckled under her breath, a rough, satisfied sound. She reached over and tapped the control panel on the machine once, twice. The pace picked up, just enough to turn the thrusts sharper, faster, the wet slap of silicone meeting slick skin growing louder and more frequent. The new rhythm forced a string of shaky, breathy moans from you, each one cut off by the next relentless push.

“There she is,” she murmured, clearly pleased. “Still not the full performance, but we’re getting there.” Her fingers trailed lazily up your stomach, nails scraping lightly over sweat-slick skin before she gave one of your nipples a mean little pinch. “Look at you. All tied up and taking it so well. No more smart mouth. No more demands. Just lying there letting me fuck all that attitude out of you.”

She leaned closer, elbows on her knees, watching your face with open fascination as the machine drove into you again and again. The satisfied gleam in her eyes only sharpened with every overwhelmed little sound you made, the soft hitches in your breathing, the way your lips parted on silent cries, the faint tremble in your bound thigh.

“Poor princess,” she cooed, voice dripping condescension. “Spent all morning throwing tantrums because you didn’t get your way. And now you can’t even form a proper sentence.” Another quick adjustment to the speed, nothing punishing, just enough to make the thrusts punch deeper, more insistent. “That’s alright. You don’t need to talk. You just need to lie there and take what I give you.”

Her gaze stayed locked on you, dark and hungry and utterly in control, drinking in every twitch and gasp like it was her favourite view in the world. The machine continued its steady, merciless work, and Paige simply watched, patient, mean, and entirely too pleased with herself.

She wasn’t in any rush to let you break. Not yet.

The machine drove into you with relentless, wet precision, each thrust dragging thick and heavy along your walls. The pace had you teetering now, right on that razor edge, your breath coming in short, frantic bursts, thighs trembling violently against the leather restraints. Every slide out left you clenching desperately around nothing, every slide back in punched a fresh, broken sound from your throat.

Paige noticed immediately. Her eyes sharpened, that cruelly satisfied smirk deepening as she leaned in closer, elbows braced on her knees.

“Fuck, listen to that,” she murmured, voice low and dripping with mock fascination. “You hear how loud your pussy is right now? All sloppy and greedy.” Her gaze dropped between your spread legs, watching the thick silicone piston in and out, glistening obscenely. “Look at the mess you’re making on it. Dripping down the shaft, coating every inch. Surely that’s not all lube, princess. No… that’s all you. Soaking the toy like a desperate little whore.”

She tilted her head, eyes flicking back up to your flushed, overwhelmed face. “It’s actually embarrassing, isn’t it? How wet you get when you’re being punished. All that attitude this morning, and now you’re creaming all over a machine because I finally decided to shut you up properly.”

The words hit like a spark on gasoline.

Your orgasm slammed into you without mercy, sharp, devastating, ripping through your body in violent waves. A choked, broken moan tore from your throat as your back arched hard off the mattress, wrists yanking uselessly against the belts. Your bound leg shook uncontrollably, muscles locking tight around the relentless intrusion while your cunt pulsed and fluttered wildly around the thick shaft.

Paige didn’t slow the machine. Not even a fraction.

She simply watched, dark eyes gleaming with pure, wicked delight as you came apart beneath her. The mechanical rhythm continued, deep, punishing strokes that dragged every last shudder and aftershock out of you. Your head thrashed against the pillow, shaking side to side in helpless denial even as your body betrayed you completely.

“No—no, fuck—Paige—”

She reached over and tapped the controls without looking away from your face. The machine sped up, just enough to turn the thrusts sharper, more demanding, forcing you to ride out the orgasm on an even higher setting.

“That’s it,” she cooed, patronising and sweet. “Keep shaking your head like you’re not coming your brains out. So cute. So fucking pathetic.” Her fingers trailed lightly over your trembling stomach, pressing down just above where the dildo disappeared inside you, feeling the way your muscles jumped and clenched. “Look at you. Still trying to act like you’re in control when your pussy is literally gushing around it.”

She stayed right there, watching every twitch, every gasp, every overwhelmed expression flicker across your face while the machine continued its merciless work.

“You’re not done yet, love,” she whispered, brushing a strand of sweat-damp hair from your forehead with deceptive gentleness. “Not even close.”

The machine continued its merciless, faster rhythm, slamming deep into you with wet, heavy strokes. Paige hovered above you on her knees, one hand pressing the Hitachi firmly against your swollen clit while the other braced beside your head. The dual assault was devastating, thick silicone stretching you open on every thrust while the moderately strong vibrations buzzed mercilessly against your overstimulated nerves.

You didn’t protest. Instead, a small, dazed little smile tugged at the corner of your lips, breathless and fucked-out.

Paige’s eyes narrowed with dark delight.

“Oh, you’re smiling now?” she laughed, low and mean, pressing the wand harder against you. “After all that crying and ‘it’s too big, I can’t take it,’ you’re actually smiling? Greedy little slut. You really do love being ruined, don’t you?”

The vibrations surged through your clit, sharp and relentless, especially cruel so soon after your last orgasm. Your body reacted instantly, back arching, thighs trying to close around the intrusion only to be stopped by the belt. You started getting louder, more desperate.

“Fuck—Paige, fuck—” The words came out in panting, broken curses, each one punched out by the machine’s deep thrusts. You squirmed hard, hips twisting, trying to escape even an inch of the overwhelming sensation.

Paige clicked her tongue, voice dripping with patronising sweetness as she adjusted the angle of the Hitachi, keeping it locked exactly where she wanted it.

“No, no, no, baby. None of that squirming.” She leaned down closer, lips brushing your ear while her hand stayed steady on the wand. “You don’t get to run away from this. Not after you spent the whole morning acting like a spoiled fucking brat.” Another deep thrust from the machine forced a loud, shaky moan from your throat. Paige grinned against your skin. “Look at you. Still trying to fight it when your cunt is literally creaming all over the toy. Pathetic.”

You whimpered, head tossing side to side, wrists yanking uselessly against the leather. “Shit—it's too much—fuck, Paige—”

“Too much?” she mocked, circling the Hitachi slowly, mercilessly. “Poor princess. Too sensitive? Too full? That’s too fucking bad. You wanted to come so badly earlier. Now you’re going to keep coming until I decide you’ve had enough.”

She sat back slightly, watching with open satisfaction as your body trembled and jerked beneath her, the machine driving into you without pause while the wand buzzed strong and steady against your clit. Your moans grew louder, breathier, more frantic, curses spilling helplessly between gasps as another orgasm started building fast and vicious under her cruel, patient hands.

The machine hammered into you with steady, punishing strokes while the Hitachi buzzed strong and merciless against your swollen clit. Pleasure coiled viciously tight in your core, building faster than you could handle, every deep thrust dragging you closer to the edge.

Paige’s voice cut through the haze, low and mocking. “You sorry yet, princess?”

You shook your head frantically, teeth sinking into your lower lip as another broken moan tore free. “N-no—fuck—not sorry—”

The denial tipped you over.

Your orgasm shattered through you like glass under pressure, brutal, blinding, ripping a raw, guttural cry from your throat. Your entire body seized, back bowing sharply off the mattress, wrists yanking hard against the leather as your cunt clenched and fluttered violently around the thick silicone. The machine didn’t slow. The wand didn’t waver. They kept driving you through it, forcing every last pulse and tremor out of you until your vision whited out and fresh tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

Paige watched the whole thing with dark, hungry satisfaction, lips parted, breathing a little heavier now.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, voice soft and patronising as she kept the Hitachi pressed firm against your oversensitive clit. “You’ll say sorry soon enough. I can wait.”

Another orgasm was already building, frighteningly fast, cruelly inevitable. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, breath coming in short, desperate pants. Paige leaned in slowly, hovering just above you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath on your lips. Her dark hair fell like a curtain around your face. She looked like she was about to kiss you, really kiss you, the way you always craved when you were falling apart like this, needing her mouth on yours while you were being fucked senseless.

You whimpered, chasing her mouth with a needy tilt of your head.

She pulled back at the last second, lips parting into a slow, wicked smile as you let out a frustrated, desperate sound, half whine, half growl.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” she cooed, tilting her head with fake sympathy. “You want a kiss? Poor baby. You love feeling me when you’re getting ruined, don’t you?” She dragged the Hitachi in tight little circles, drawing another sharp cry from you. “Too bad. Brats who spend all day throwing tantrums don’t get to be kissed while they come. You can just lie there and take it.”

She stayed hovering maddeningly close, lips barely an inch from yours, letting you feel the ghost of her breath while the machine fucked you deep and the wand buzzed you straight toward another shattering peak. Her eyes sparkled with cruel amusement as she watched you squirm and strain for the kiss she wouldn’t give you.

“Keep looking at me like that,” she whispered, voice dripping with mean delight. “It only makes me want to deny you more.”

The pleasure crested higher, thick and syrupy, turning your thoughts into warm static. The machine drove into you with steady force while the Hitachi buzzed relentlessly against your clit, and you slipped deeper into that hazy, cum-drunk bliss. Your moans grew louder, filthier, raw curses spilling out between panting breaths.

“Fuck—Paige, fuck—oh god, it’s so deep,” you gasped, voice cracking on every other word. Your head lolled against the pillow, eyes half-lidded and glassy, body loose and trembling in the restraints. You weren’t fighting it anymore. Just taking it, letting every brutal thrust and vibration wash over you in heavy, golden waves. Your sounds started to fracture though, pretty moans turning broken and ragged at the edges, each one catching in your throat like it hurt to let them out.

Paige watched you for a long, deliberate moment, head tilted, pretending to consider something important. Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek, eyes narrowed in mock thought while her fingers kept the wand pinned exactly where it would ruin you fastest.

Then, without warning, she pulled the Hitachi away.

The sudden loss ripped a devastated, pathetic sound from your chest, high and needy and utterly broken. A desperate whine that curled into a whimper, hips chasing uselessly after the missing vibrations even as the machine kept fucking you deep.

“Aww, listen to that,” Paige cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy as she set the wand aside. “Did I take your favourite toy away? Poor baby. You were sounding so sweet, too.” She shifted back on her heels, moving closer to the fuck machine so she could rest one hand on your quivering thigh. Her thumb stroked lazy circles over the sweat-slick skin, deceptively gentle. “All those pretty little curses turning into these sad, desperate noises. It’s almost heartbreaking.”

You whimpered again, louder this time, hips twitching helplessly against the thick silicone still railing into you. “Please—Paige, please—”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head slowly as she reached for the machine’s controls. “Shh. None of that. You don’t get to make demands when you’re still being a stubborn little brat about saying sorry.”

With a deliberate tap, she cranked the speed higher.

The machine responded instantly, thrusts turning faster, harder, the wet slap of silicone meeting your soaked cunt growing louder and more obscene. It was railing you now, deep and punishing, each stroke slamming home with enough force to make your breasts bounce and your breath punch out in sharp, overwhelmed gasps.

Paige settled back on her heels, arms loosely crossed over her knees, watching with open, satisfied hunger as the machine destroyed you. Her dark eyes drank in every detail; the way your mouth fell open on broken moans, the fresh tears clinging to your lashes, the helpless flutter of your bound leg against its restraint.

“There we go,” she murmured, voice low and patronising. “Now you can really feel it. No more easy vibrations to help you along. Just this fat cock wrecking that greedy pussy until you decide to behave.” She leaned in slightly, close enough for you to see the wicked gleam in her eyes. “Keep making those pathetic sounds for me, princess. You know how much I love them.”

The machine was merciless now, pounding into you at its highest setting with fast, brutal strokes that made your whole body jolt on the bed. Another orgasm ripped through you without mercy, crashing over your already-fried nerves like a tidal wave.

“Too much—fuck, Paige, it’s too much!” you whined, voice cracking high and broken as your cunt spasmed violently around the thick silicone. Your head thrashed against the pillow, fresh tears spilling from the corners of your eyes while your bound limbs jerked uselessly in their restraints.

Paige crawled up over you slowly, knees bracketing your ribs, her body heat pressing down without quite touching you. She hovered close, dark eyes drinking in every shattered expression on your face.

“Say sorry,” she murmured, voice low and sweet.

You shook your head, stubborn even as your body betrayed you completely. “N-no—”

She smiled, slow and mean. “Clearly you can keep taking it, then.”

And god, you did.

The machine railed you harder, the wet, filthy sounds of it slamming into your soaked pussy filling the room. You moaned and cursed and babbled, the words slurring together into a desperate, cum-drunk mess.

“Fuck—Paige—shit, I can’t—oh my god, it’s so deep—fuckfuckfuck—”

Paige leaned in and started kissing you everywhere except where you needed her most. Soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. Slow drags of her tongue down the side of your neck. Gentle bites across your collarbones. She sucked a mark just above your breast, then soothed it with her lips, all while carefully avoiding your mouth.

You whined louder, needier, the sound turning embarrassingly pathetic as you tried to chase her. “Kiss me—Paige, please just kiss me—”

Another orgasm slammed into you mid-whine.

Your entire body seized, back bowing sharply off the mattress as you came hard again, a raw, shattered cry tearing from your throat. Your walls fluttered and clenched violently around the relentless toy, fresh slick dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets.

Paige pulled back just enough to watch, lips parted in open satisfaction. “Aww, there it is,” she cooed, voice dripping with faux sympathy. “I could almost feel that one, princess. The way you squeezed so fucking tight around it… so pretty when you fall apart like this.”

She dipped down again, pressing slow, teasing kisses across your sternum, the underside of your breasts, the sensitive skin just above your navel, everywhere but your mouth. Each time you whimpered and strained for her lips, she smiled against your skin and pulled away, leaving you aching worse than the machine ever could.

“Still not sorry?” she whispered, dragging her tongue lightly over your nipple before blowing cool air across it. “That’s okay. We can keep going until that stubborn little head of yours finally gives in.”

The machine never slowed. Paige’s mouth kept its cruel, tender path across your overheated skin, and you kept falling apart beneath her, moaning, cursing, whining, and still refusing to break completely.

The machine kept its brutal pace, pounding deep and merciless into your exhausted cunt, each thrust now bordering on painful in its intensity. The pleasure had twisted into something overwhelming, a sharp, aching climb that felt almost impossible to reach. Your body trembled violently in the restraints, sweat slicking every inch of your skin, but the next orgasm hovered just out of reach, close enough to torture, far enough to make you sob.

“Paige—please—fuck, I— I don’t know—” The words spilled out in a broken, desperate babble. You didn’t even know what you were begging for anymore. For it to stop. For it to never stop. For her mouth. For mercy. For everything. “Please, baby, I can’t—oh god, it’s too much, I need—fuck—”

Paige hovered over you, lips brushing your cheek, your temple, the corner of your eye, everywhere but where you craved her most. Her voice was low, coaxing, laced with that cruel sweetness.

“Come on, princess. Say it. Tell me you’re sorry and maybe I’ll be nice.”

You held out for a few more shattering thrusts, whimpering and shaking your head. Then the dam broke.

“I’m sorry—” The apology tore out of you, raw and frantic. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—Paige, please, I’m sorry for being a brat, for whining, for everything—sorry, sorry, I’m sorry—”

A satisfied hum vibrated against your skin. Paige finally leaned in, capturing your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. Her tongue slid against yours, claiming, devouring, swallowing every broken moan as the machine continued to rail you without mercy. The relief of her mouth on yours was almost too much; you moaned loudly into the kiss, desperate and grateful, body arching as much as the belts allowed.

She pulled back just enough to speak against your lips, voice husky and mean.

“One more, love. Just one more.”

You whined pitifully into her mouth, the sound vibrating between your joined lips as you squirmed helplessly. Your wrists yanked and twisted against the leather, fingers curling and uncurling in the air. Your bound leg strained hard against its restraint, toes curling tight as the machine slammed into you again and again.

“I can’t—Paige, I can’t cum again, please, it’s too much, I can’t—”

But she only kissed you harder, swallowing your protests, one hand sliding down to grip your hip and hold you in place while the relentless rhythm drove you straight toward that final, devastating edge. Her lips stayed sealed to yours, tongue teasing, as if daring your body to prove you wrong.

The kiss deepened, slow and possessive, Paige’s mouth claiming yours like she had all the time in the world. She caught your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging sharply before soothing it with her tongue, a wicked little smile curving against you as she did it again. Harder this time. You moaned helplessly into her mouth, the sound raw and constant now, no words left, just broken, needy noises that spilled out with every breath.

“You can do it,” she whispered against your lips, voice low and teasing, nipping at you once more. “You’re going to come for me again. Gonna show me exactly how sorry you are, whether you like it or not. Be a good girl and give it to me.”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely think. The machine kept slamming into you, deep, brutal, unrelenting, while her mouth stayed on yours, stealing every fractured moan. Your sounds grew louder, more desperate, pitching higher and higher until they cracked apart into nothing but pure, animalistic whimpering. Your body trembled violently in the restraints, every muscle locked tight.

Then you broke.

The orgasm tore through you like lightning splitting a tree, devastating, overwhelming, ripping a raw, guttural cry from your throat that Paige swallowed down with another fierce kiss. You gushed around the thick silicone, slick flooding out with every savage thrust as your cunt spasmed and clenched in violent, rhythmic waves. Your hips jerked and rolled as much as the belts allowed, riding the toy like your life depended on it, thighs shaking uncontrollably, back arched so sharply it hurt. The pleasure bordered on pain, white-hot and endless, until your vision blurred and fresh tears slipped down your temples.

Paige hummed in satisfaction against your mouth, finally reaching over to kill the machine. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing and the wet, obscene sounds of your pussy still fluttering around the now-still dildo. She unbuckled the belt around your ankle with quick, efficient fingers, letting your leg drop limply to the bed.

Then she climbed fully over you.

Her hand fisted tight in your hair, yanking your head back sharply so you had no choice but to look up at her. The sting made you whimper, eyes glassy and unfocused. Paige held you there for a beat, drinking in the wrecked, ruined expression on your face, before she crashed her mouth against yours in a bruising, claiming kiss, deep and filthy and possessive.

When she finally pulled back, lips hovering just above yours, her voice was low, rough with satisfaction.

“There we go,” she murmured, still gripping your hair. “That’s my good girl. Finally learned your lesson, didn’t you? All that attitude this morning… all those tantrums and demands… and look at you now. Fucked stupid and dripping all over my sheets, apologising so pretty.”

She loosened her grip just enough to stroke her thumb along your jaw, almost tender, though the cocky smirk never left her face.

“Think you’ll remember this next time you decide to be a spoiled little princess?” She kissed you again, softer this time, but still full of ownership. “Because I’ve got plenty more ways to remind you if you forget.”

You could only nod weakly against her hand, body limp and trembling, utterly spent. Paige’s eyes softened at the edges, just a fraction, but the dark, satisfied gleam remained as she held you there, warm and in control, letting the lesson sink deep into your exhausted bones.

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