3

His cock pushed against her slit—thick, hot, pulsing with want. Not monstrous, not impossible. Just perfectly overwhelming. Real. Heavy. A stretch she could already feel before he even entered her.

Nine inches of veined, flushed heat, dark at the tip where he leaked precum like honey. The kind of cock made to ruin a girl slowly. To push past every inch of resistance, to leave her wrecked and whimpering and owned.

The head teased her entrance, smearing her wetness up and down her folds. Her thighs trembled. Her breath caught. Her cunt throbbed—so ready it hurt.

He stared down at her with those shadow-laced, black eyes, his voice all smoke and possession.

“Feel how your pussy opens for me,” he growled, dragging the tip through her slickness again. “She knows who she belongs to.”

He nudged inside—barely an inch—and she gasped like she’d been struck by lightning.

Her walls clung to him, greedy, like her body was already desperate to suck him deeper. He groaned, low and primal, hips flexing forward just a little more.

Another inch.

Another.

The stretch made her head roll back, mouth open in a wordless moan. Her walls fluttered, trying to accommodate him, her legs trembling around his hips.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed, voice a thread of raw control. “Like you’ve been waiting for this cock your whole life.”

She clawed at the sheets, her back arching, thighs spreading wider in offering.

“I have,” she sobbed. “I have—please…”

He snapped his hips forward.

Buried to the base.

She screamed.

Not in pain—God, no. In shock. In pleasure so sharp it blurred her vision. Her pussy clenched around him, pulsing, adjusting, squeezing that thick shaft like it was made for her. And it was. Every inch of him—perfectly shaped to find every spot inside her that made her squirm and cry and beg.

He filled her. Stretched her. Claimed her.

Her cunt wrapped around him like a velvet vice, already dripping down his length, every pulse of her walls soaking him more.

He didn’t move.

Not yet.

Just leaned over her, lips brushing her ear, voice nothing but heat and sin.

“I’m going to fuck you slow,” he whispered. “Make you feel every inch. Make you forget every man who came before me. And when you come around my cock—screaming, shaking—I’m going to fill you up until you know you’re mine.”

Then he pulled back.

Slow. Deliberate.

She felt every ridge of him drag against her walls, the withdrawal a tease worse than denial. Her body tried to follow, tried to suck him back in.

And then—

He slammed forward again.

She cried out, stars bursting behind her eyes, fingers flying to grip his back as he set a rhythm. Slow. Deep. Devastating.

Her cunt took him, again and again, each thrust slicker, wetter, louder.

Her moans filled the room, broken and desperate.

His name—the one she didn’t even know—was on her tongue, falling from her lips like a prayer.

And all the while…

The mirror watched. Reflecting not just his body, but the power in it. The shadows that licked over her skin with every thrust. The way her body bowed for him—worshipped him.

He growled above her, cock pounding into her now, deep enough to make her toes curl.

“Say it again,” he snarled, fucking her harder now, his balls slapping against her ass, her wetness coating both of them.

“Yours!” she screamed. “I’m yours—I’m yours!”

“Forever,” he breathed, and kissed her throat like a brand.

And she came again.

Harder. Faster. Like her soul ripped through her skin and exploded.

And he never stopped.

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