Lena hadn’t meant to touch herself. Not really.
She told herself that again and again, but her body had already betrayed her long before the lie could even take root. It started innocently enough—just another task in her never-ending list of duties as his maid. She had walked in with the intention of fixing the bed, smoothing the sheets, fluffing the pillows, maybe wiping down the marble nightstand that collected dust like it was another one of his many expensive addictions. But the moment her hands touched the bedding, something shifted.
The smell hit her first. Rich cologne—dark, spiced, masculine. A hint of whiskey that clung to the sheets like a second skin. And underneath it all, that sinful musk that only he had. That scent that haunted her when she closed her eyes at night, the one that clung to her skin after he touched her, licked her, fucked her. Varen.
Her fingers paused, nails lightly scraping over the edge of the mattress. Her thighs clenched beneath the ridiculously short uniform he made her wear—black, tight, sleek buttons stretched over her chest until her cleavage spilled out like an invitation. The hem barely kissed the curve of her ass. And of course, no panties. That was his rule. His favorite rule.
“Always ready,” he’d told her with a smirk, his hand sliding between her thighs during dinner service, fingers brushing against her bare pussy like he owned it.
And God, she hated how much she obeyed.
Hated the way her body responded to his dominance. Hated how wet she got when he barked orders or punished her for the smallest disobedience. Hated how the need clawed its way up her spine every time she was in his space, how just thinking about him made her ache.
She sat down on the edge of his bed without thinking, like it called her. The sheets were still warm from the sun spilling through the curtains, and the scent of him soaked into her bones. Her nipples throbbed, aching against the scratchy lace of her bra. Every breath she took made them rub harder. She whimpered softly as she leaned back, her body already betraying her. Her thighs shifted apart involuntarily, the cool air kissing her wet folds. Soaked. Drenched just from standing in his room. Just from remembering.
His voice.
That voice that was pure sin. Smooth like smoke, dangerous like the edge of a blade.
His hands. His mouth. That fucking cock.
God, that cock. Big, thick, veined, pulsing with power. The kind of cock that ruined you, marked you, changed you. She could still feel it stretching her open from the night before, the echo of its thrusts etched into her hips like bruised poetry. She dreamed about it. About choking on it. Riding it. Begging for it.
And now—
Now her fingers were sliding between her thighs, no resistance, no shame. Her body moved like it had a mind of its own, craving that twisted relief only he could give. Her legs spread wide on his bed, her back arching, one hand tugging the tight uniform down just enough to free her heavy tits. They bounced slightly, nipples already stiff, swollen, desperate for attention. She cupped them with both hands, squeezed hard until she gasped. The pain only made the pleasure deeper.
She imagined his mouth.
His tongue swirling over her nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive tips, lips sucking, biting, punishing until she screamed.
She moaned at the fantasy, fingers rubbing harder over her clit—slick and swollen and so fucking ready. She circled the bundle of nerves again and again, hips rolling into her own hand, panting his name.
“Varen...” she whispered, breathless.
A confession. A plea. A filthy prayer.
And then—
He walked in.
No knock. No sound.
Just that presence, loud and devastating. A thunderstorm in human form.
Her eyes flew open and landed on him, standing in the doorway, his gaze locked on her. On her soaked pussy, glistening in the soft light. On her flushed chest, her tits bouncing with every panting breath. His eyes darkened, jaw tight, cock already pressing against the front of his slacks like it knew where it belonged.
“You touching what’s mine, little slut?” he asked, voice sharp, low, electric.
She froze. Then whimpered. Moaned. Her thighs trembled, her cunt clenched around nothing, begging for him.
He was on her in seconds.
She barely had time to breathe before her wrists were pinned above her head, his weight pressing her into the bed. Heat radiated off his body—his chest heaving, muscles tight, eyes burning into hers with a look that made her feel naked, known, owned. His cock rubbed against her soaked folds through his pants, thick and hard, and she bucked without thinking, trying to grind on him like an animal in heat.
“Greedy cunt,” he growled. “Think you can get off without me? On my bed? That pussy doesn’t belong to you anymore.”
“I needed it,” she gasped, already trembling. “I needed your cock.”
That was all it took.
The uniform was gone in an instant, ripped open like tissue. Buttons flew, fabric shredded. Her tits bounced free, nipples red and aching. He slapped one, then the other, the sting making her cry out, back arching, body quaking. He grabbed her throat next—not choking, just holding, claiming.
“That pussy’s mine,” he said, voice dark and rough. “Say it.”
“It’s yours,” she moaned.
“Louder.”
“It’s yours! My pussy is yours—fuck, please—just fuck me!”
He flipped her over, yanked her ass up in the air, shoved his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free. And there it was—thick, angry, veined, glistening with precum. It slapped against her folds, and she jerked forward, whimpering at the contact.
“You beg like a whore,” he growled, gripping her hips so hard she knew there’d be bruises. “Now take cock like one.”
And then he was inside her.
One brutal, punishing thrust that split her open, filled her completely. She screamed, raw and animalistic, her walls stretching wide around him. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He pounded into her like he was claiming territory, like his cock was the only thing that would ever fill her again.
She was dripping. Sopping wet. Her juices splashed against his thighs with every thrust. Her tits swung beneath her, her hands clutched the sheets in white-knuckled desperation. The pleasure was too much. The stretch, the friction, the filthy sound of skin slapping skin—it overwhelmed her.
“Fuck—fuck, Varen, it’s too much—too big—”
“You’ll take it,” he snapped. “This slutty little pussy was made for my cock. I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you want me to ruin you.”
He pulled her hair, yanked her up, fucked her deeper from behind, each thrust hitting the sweet spot that made her vision blur. His hand twisted her nipples, slapped her tits again until tears welled in her eyes. Her cunt clamped around him, spasming with every stroke, begging, fluttering, milking.
And then—he pulled out.
She whimpered, desperate, empty.
But he wasn’t done.
He grabbed her by the throat, dragged her to her knees, and shoved his cock into her mouth.
She moaned around him, lips stretched wide, tongue licking the underside, eyes watering. He held her head in place and fucked her mouth, slow and deep, groaning as he watched her drool all over his length.
“Look at you,” he growled. “Drooling over my cock. I bet your filthy cunt is soaking the floor.”
It was. She was. Desperate, needy, destroyed.
He lifted her again, slammed her against the mirror, her back arching, tits squished against the cold glass. He entered her slow this time—deep and possessive, filling her to the hilt. Her screams turned into sobs as he thrust harder, his reflection behind her, her body shaking, her mouth hanging open with pure, unfiltered ecstasy.
“Tell me what you are,” he whispered.
“Yours,” she cried. “I’m your fucktoy. Your maid. Your dirty little slut. Just don’t stop—please—don’t stop!”
His thrusts turned vicious, feral. The mirror shook with every brutal stroke. His hands were everywhere—her waist, her tits, her throat. She felt him in her stomach, so deep, so full. Her climax built fast, violent.
And then it hit her.
Her orgasm crashed down like a storm, and she screamed, body convulsing, cunt clamping down so hard he cursed, roared her name, and came with her. Thick, hot cum filled her to the brim, spilled out around his cock even as he kept thrusting, fucking it deeper.
They collapsed.
Sweaty. Shaking. Ruined.
She turned her head, breathless, lips swollen, cheeks stained with tears and spit. Looked at him.
“You own me,” she whispered.
His hand traced down her thigh, collecting the mess he’d made.
“I always did.”
