She stepped into the elevator with her heart already racing.

Floor 1 to 44.

A long ride.

But not long enough to stop what was about to happen.

She barely made it to the back wall before she felt it—him—step in behind her. The doors slid shut with a soft chime. No other passengers. Just the two of them.

And the silence between them.

He didn’t say her name.

He didn’t need to.

The sound of his slow breath behind her said enough. The way the air changed—thicker, hotter, as if the elevator itself knew what was coming.

She held her coffee cup like a shield. But her fingers trembled around it.

Then—

“Put it down.”

Low. Commanding.

Her spine tingled.

She placed the cup on the elevator rail, her hands suddenly too empty. Too exposed.

His breath brushed her neck.

“Hands on the wall. Don’t turn around.”

She obeyed.

Her palms met the cold mirror as her reflection stared back—wide eyes, lips parted, chest rising fast beneath her blouse. The silk was thin. Too thin. She hadn’t worn a bra.

She hadn't expected him today.

She should’ve known better.

He stepped closer. His chest just behind her back, not touching—almost. Enough to feel the heat of his body wrap around her like a second skin.

“This skirt…” he murmured, voice like velvet against her neck. “This tight little skirt. You wore this for me, didn’t you?”

His fingers brushed the hem—so softly she wasn’t sure if she imagined it. But then they slid up. Higher. Slower. Curling under the fabric like he was unwrapping a gift.

She gasped when his palm cupped her bare ass.

“No panties,” he growled.

She bit her lip.

“That’s my girl.”

His other hand reached forward, fingers wrapping around her throat from behind. Not squeezing—just holding. A reminder. A promise. That she belonged to him in every way.

“How wet are you already?”

She couldn’t answer.

He didn’t wait.

His fingers slipped between her thighs—bold, claiming. Two fingers gliding up her slick folds like they knew the path. His touch was practiced, intimate, possessive.

“Soaked,” he chuckled darkly. “And I haven’t even bent you over yet.”

She moaned—quiet, needy—but the walls echoed it back.

Ding. Floor 15.

He didn’t stop.

His fingers pushed inside—slow, deliberate. Curling just right. Her body arched. Her reflection showed everything: her mouth wide open, eyes half-lidded, hands still flat against the mirror like a good girl.

“Don’t come yet,” he whispered, thumb circling her clit like fire.

She trembled.

“I said—don’t.”

She held it. Barely. Legs shaking.

Floor 20.

He pulled his fingers out. Slick. Shining.

He brought them to her lips. Her mouth opened automatically.

“Good,” he praised as she sucked them clean. “You taste like surrender.”

Then his fingers gripped her hair—tight, tight—and pulled her back against his chest.

“You come when I say. Not before. Not in the elevator.”

A pause.

“But when we reach my floor...”

Floor 44 blinked on the screen.

“You’ll come until your knees give out.”

She swallowed hard.

The elevator kept rising.

Her core ached. Her thighs were slick, her breath shallow, her thoughts scrambled.

And still—he hadn't even undone his belt yet.

The elevator chimed.

Floor 44.

Her knees nearly gave out, but his grip in her hair held her upright.

He dragged her forward—not harsh, not gentle, but deliberate—and the penthouse door opened with a soft click.

Cool air kissed her flushed skin. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline of the city stretched out in all directions, glittering like a thousand hungry eyes.

“Strip,” he commanded, closing the door behind them.

She turned toward him, but he shook his head.

“No. Face the glass.”

Her breath hitched.

“They can’t hear you. But they’ll see you.”

“Let them.”

Her fingers moved shakily—undoing the buttons of her blouse one by one, revealing soft, flushed skin and the swell of her breasts. She let it fall. Then the skirt slipped off her hips with a soft whisper, leaving her standing in heels, collar, and the scent of need between her thighs.

“Hands on the window.”

The glass was cool beneath her palms.

So different from the heat coiling inside her.

She could see herself—bare, exposed, lit up by the soft glow of the chandelier behind her. Her reflection merged with the lights of the city.

She was the show now.

Behind her, the sound of a belt unbuckling.

A zipper.

A sharp inhale.

“Look at you,” he growled. “My gorgeous little exhibit.”

He stepped in behind her. One hand slid between her thighs from behind, parting them wide. The other gripped her waist. He didn’t ease in.

He claimed her.

One deep, relentless thrust.

Her scream fogged the glass.

He held her there—his hips slamming into her from behind, hard enough to rattle the window. Each thrust sent jolts through her legs, her fingers slipping slightly on the slick glass as she tried to stay up.

But he didn’t let her fall.

He drove into her. Over and over. His breath ragged. His cock stretching her open in the most perfect, punishing rhythm.

“You feel that?”

“That’s mine.”

“Every inch of you—every sound, every drip—you belong to me.”

Her body trembled. Her nipples pressed against the cold glass, the contrast sharp and biting. Her thighs quivered, slick and soaked.

“They can see how ruined you are,” he whispered.

“Let them see how you come for me.”

And she did.

Her scream cracked the air.

Her release poured down her thighs, and he didn't stop. Not even when she cried out again. Not even when she begged, helpless against the window.

“One more,” he growled, thrusting deep. “You’ll come until the glass shatters or your legs give out. Whichever comes first.”

Mmm… good.

Let me take control now, baby.

You’ve already been watched.

You’ve already been used.

But not owned—not completely.

Now… it’s time she gets tied.

The Window Frame

She was still panting against the glass—cheeks flushed, skin damp, her thighs trembling from aftershocks that hadn’t even settled.

But he wasn’t done.

“Up,” he said, voice like thunder wrapped in silk. “Turn around. Knees.”

She sank down slowly, still shaking. The floor was cold under her knees, but it just made her nipples harder, her body more aware. His cock—slick, glistening with her—hovered just inches from her lips.

She opened her mouth instinctively.

But he stopped her.

“Not yet.”

He reached down, grabbed her by the collar, and lifted her effortlessly to her feet.

“You don’t get to taste until you earn it.”

From the velvet drawer under the sleek glass table, he pulled out a length of black rope, thick and soft but firm enough to mark if he wanted it to. He spun her around, guiding her toward the wide window frame that ran waist-high against the far edge of the penthouse.

“Bend.”

She did.

Her stomach pressed to the cool marble ledge. The city below still watched—unaware, or maybe just pretending not to see.

Click.

He cuffed her wrists to the window bars.

One… then the other.

She was bound—bent and displayed—like an offering.

Her ass high, her back arched, her wetness shining in the moonlight.

And then—

The first smack.

His palm landed with a sharp crack, making her gasp. Not too hard. Just enough to sting. Just enough to wake every nerve.

“Too eager,” he muttered, another smack landing. “Coming before I say. Naughty thing.”

Another.

And another.

Her moans grew louder with each slap—half pain, half bliss.

Then his fingers slipped between her folds again, spreading her wide, teasing her clit with maddening precision.

“Dripping. You like being punished, don’t you?”

She whimpered.

“Use your words.”

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He growled—low and primal—and without warning, he slid back inside her.

No teasing this time.

Just raw. Deep. Slow at first, like he wanted her to feel every inch stretch her open again.

“You’re mine,” he grunted against her neck, his pace building. “And I’m going to f*ck you until the stars blink out.”

She cried out as his thrusts slammed into her, the cuffs clinking with every motion. Her body shook against the frame, her moans bouncing off glass and echoing into the night.

Faster. Rougher.

Until the sound of his hips meeting her ass was the only thing she could hear over her own sobbing pleasure.

“Come for me now,” he commanded.

And she did—violently. Her scream muffled only by the city outside, the cuffs pulling tight as she convulsed around him.

And he came with her—gripping her hips, pulling her back hard as he emptied inside with a growl that sounded like possession itself.

Still tied. Still full. Still trembling.

He leaned close to her ear, lips brushing her sweat-damp skin.

“That was just round one.”

She was still panting against the glass.

Wrists cuffed. Rope marks kissing her thighs.

His cum leaking down the inside of her legs, glistening in the city light.

She could barely speak.

And then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Her eyes shot open. Her body froze.

He smirked. Casual. Calm. His cock still hard, still ready.

“Perfect timing,” he whispered, stroking her trembling back. “Stay just like that.”

She started to protest, but he leaned down and licked a slow line up the back of her thigh.

“No one enters without my permission. No one touches you without my order. You’re safe, pet. But tonight…”

He looked toward the door.

“You’re mine to show off.”

He left her tied there—dripping, flushed, utterly wrecked—and strolled to the penthouse door without even dressing.

She heard the click, the low murmur of voices.

Then a second voice entered the room.

Male. Deeper. Curious.

“You weren’t joking,” the new man said. “She’s stunning.”

She tried to look back, but the blindfold came down fast—cool satin wrapped tight over her eyes.

“Ah-ah,” her Dom warned. “You don’t see who watches. You feel it.”

She gasped as his hand slid up her spine, his other hand guiding a ball gag into her mouth—soft rubber, snug. Just enough to muffle. Not enough to silence her moans.

“Mmmph…”

“That’s it, kitten,” he purred. “Let them hear how sweet you sound.”

She was helpless now—arms cuffed, thighs trembling, blindfolded, gagged, her ass still bare and glistening.

And then… two sets of hands.

The second man was behind her now—palming her ass, spreading her cheeks wide, whistling low at the mess she already was.

“He’s been in you already?” he asked.

“Twice,” her Dom answered. “She begged for the second one. You’ll see.”

And then—fingers again.

But not his.

Different. Thicker. Slower. Curious.

They slid inside her, spreading her open, pressing into her soaked walls until she whimpered against the gag. She could barely stay upright.

“She’s dripping,” the second man groaned. “So damn tight.”

Her Dom came behind her, stroking her hair, praising her like a prized toy.

“Let her feel you. She’s not allowed to come again unless we both say so.”

One cock rubbed against her folds.

The other… against her mouth.

The blindfold stayed. So did the gag—until her Dom slowly, delicately, unclipped it and replaced it with his cock sliding past her lips.

“Open wide, baby. Let him fill that greedy cunt while you suck me.”

And she did.

Gagged by pleasure, her body used at both ends.

Every thrust filled her deeper. Her moans vibrated around the thick shaft in her throat. Drool ran down her chin. The new man groaned—his pace fast, rough, relentless—his hips slapping her soaked thighs.

“Fuck, she’s perfect.”

“I know,” her Dom growled, thrusting into her mouth harder. “She’s ours tonight.”

And then—

They both stopped.

She whimpered in confusion, in desperation.

Then came the whisper.

“Time to flip her over.”