The door swings open and I freeze, already trembling. Home invasion phone sex had always been my favorite, but this time it felt sharper, rougher, exactly what I craved.
He steps in, smirking, eyes scanning me like I’m property he can claim at any second. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” he says.
“Yes,” I whisper, dropping to my knees instantly, because this is what I’m good at and I don’t fight it anymore.
He laughs, low and dangerous, and grabs my hair, tilting my face toward him. “You really will let me do whatever I want, won’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp, trembling. “Anything.”
He enjoys it… the way I lean into him, the way I give up control, letting him see exactly how much I want to be taken advantage of. Every gasp, every whimper, every shiver is proof I belong here, in this chaos, in his hands.
“Look at you,” he says, shaking his head. “So greedy, so weak… and you love it.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I love it. Don’t stop.”
He smirks and keeps me on my knees, laughing softly as I stay there, marked and trembling, desperate for more. I let him guide me, humiliate me, push me, and I lean into it because this is what I want… even if I shouldn’t.
Scared but enticed, I’m gasping, flushed, and completely used. I stay kneeling, quiet and grateful, letting him enjoy exactly what he’s taken.
I don’t need to be special. I don’t need to be cared for. I just need this… the control, the roughness, the feeling of being consumed.
And as long as I stay like this… helpless, greedy, and obedient… I don’t lose a thing.
Layla
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