Owned By You

⚠️❗️ Content Warning ❗️⚠️

This book contains mature themes and situations that may not be suitable for all readers. It includes strong language, explicit sexual content, and scenes of intense passion. It also depicts violence, emotional manipulation, and other adult situations that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised. This story is intended for mature audiences only.

----------

"Mmmm..." Summer moaned softly, her body arching in pleasure as Alexander's lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses in her. His hands roamed over her curves, caressing and squeezing her soft flesh.

Summer could feel her arousal growing with each touch, her breath coming in short gasps. She reached up to run her fingers through Alexander's dark hair, tugging gently as he nipped at her collarbone.

"Please..." she whimpered, wanting more, needing more. "Touch me, Alexander. Make me yours."

With a low growl, Alexander obliged, sliding his hand down her stomach to cup her mound. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, the dampness of her panties. Summer let out a breathy cry, her hips bucking up against his hand.

He rubbed her through the thin fabric, teasing her clit with firm circles. Summer's head fell back against the pillow, her eyes fluttering closed in bliss. She was so close already, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

But Alexander had other plans. He abruptly pulled his hand away, leaving Summer and whining in protest. She opened her eyes to see him smirking down at her, his own arousal evident in the bulge straining against his pants.

"Not yet," he chided, his voice low and rough. "I want to watch you fall apart. I want to hear you scream my name as you come undone."

Summer bit her lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to escape. But Alexander wouldn't have it. He ripped her panties off in one swift motion, leaving her bare and exposed.

"Mmmm...so pretty," he murmured, trailing a finger through her slick folds. "So wet for me already. You're such a needy little thing, aren't you?"

Summer could only nod, lost in a haze of lust. She spread her legs wider, inviting him to take her, to claim her. Alexander didn't hesitate.

He thrust two fingers deep inside her, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot within. Summer cried out, her hips rolling to meet his hand as he pumped in and out of her.

"That's it," he encouraged, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Take what you need, my dear. Let go."

Summer felt the tension coiling tighter and tighter within her, her inner walls clenching around Alexander's fingers. With a final flick of his thumb, she tumbled over the edge, her orgasm crashing through her like a tidal wave.

"Yes! Yes! Alexander!" she screamed, thrashing beneath him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. Her pussy spasmed around his fingers, soaking his hand with her release.

As she came down from her high, Alexander slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste her essence. He groaned in approval, licking his lips.

"You taste divine," he purred. "But I'm not nearly done with you yet."

Summer knew he should be satisfied. But one look at Alexander's hungry expression, and she was ready for more. Her body hummed with anticipation, eager to be taken again and again until they both collapsed in a sweaty heap.

Alexander wasted no time, shrugging off his shirt to reveal his toned chest and abs. Summer couldn't resist running her hands over his skin, feeling the hard muscles beneath. Alexander let out a hiss of pleasure, his cock twitching in response to her touch.

"Mmmm, you like that?" he teased, capturing one of her wrists and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed the sensitive skin there before biting down gently, sending sparks of pleasure, pain through her body.

Summer could only whimper in response, her mind hazy with desire. She wanted him, needed him like she needed air. Alexander seemed to sense this, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes until he was naked before her.

His cock stood proud and erect, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. Summer licked her lips, hungry to taste him. But Alexander had other ideas.

"On your hands and knees," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to take you from behind like the bitch in heat you are."

Summer scrambled to comply, flipping over and presenting herself to him. She arched her back, wiggling her ass in invitation. Alexander groaned, running a hand over the smooth globes before delivering a sharp smack.

"Mmmm, yes!" Summer cried out, the pain mixing deliciously with the pleasure. "Spank me, Alexander. Punish me for being such a dirty slut."

Alexander obliged, raining down blow after blow until Summer's ass was a hot, pink mess. The pain only fueled her arousal, her pussy dripping with need.

But Alexander wasn't done with her yet. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back as he positioned himself at her entrance.

"Beg for it," he growled, the head of his cock nudging against her folds. "Beg me to fuck you, to ruin your tight little cunt."

"Please!" Summer gasped out, wiggling her hips desperately. "Please fuck me, Alexander! I need your huge cock inside me! I'm your filthy little whore!"

With a roar of satisfaction, Alexander slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. Summer screamed in ecstasy, her inner walls stretching deliciously around his thick length.

"Yes! Yes! Fuck me hard!" she chanted, pushing back against him as he began to move. "Use me! Ruin me!"

Alexander set a brutal pace, pounding into her with deep, forceful strokes. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with their grunts and moans of pleasure.

Summer could feel another orgasm building already, her pussy clenching around Alexander's cock as he fucked her harder and faster. She was so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

"Come for me," Alexander demanded, reaching around to rub her clit in tight circles. "Come on my cock like a good little slut."

That was all it took to send Summer hurtling over the edge once more. She came with a scream of his name, her pussy spasming almost violently around him as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed through her.

Alexander followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself deep inside her with a guttural groan. They collapsed together on the bed, panting and sweaty and utterly spent.

But even in the aftermath of such intense pleasure, Summer could feel her body already humming with anticipation once more. She knew this was just the beginning of a long, glorious night filled with endless ecstasy and mind-blowing orgasms.

After the intense round of passionate sex, Summer lay spent and satisfied on the bed, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her powerful climax. Alexander had given her multiple orgasms, fucking her in every position imaginable until she was a quivering, incoherent mess.

As she slowly regained her senses, Summer became aware of Alexander moving around the room. She lifted her head to see him already dressed, tucking his shirt back into his pants. He looked as handsome as ever, not a hair out of place despite the vigorous lovemaking they had just engaged in.

"Leaving so soon?" Summer asked with a teasing smile, "I thought you might want to go for round two."

Alexander merely looked at her, his expression unreadable. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ton of cash, tossing it carelessly on the bed beside her.

"There's your payment for tonight's services," he said coldly. "I trust it will be sufficient."

Summer's smile faltered at his abrupt dismissal. She sat up, the money crinkling beneath her. The sight of it, there on the rumpled sheets where they had just made love so passionately, suddenly felt tawdry and demeaning.

"Right," she replied, trying to keep the hurt from her voice. "Of course."

Alexander gave her one last long look, his eyes raking over her naked body. For a moment, Summer thought she saw a flicker of regret or longing in his gaze. But then he blinked, and it was gone, replaced by the same impassive mask.

"Goodnight," he said, turning on his heel and striding out of the room without a backwards glance.

Summer listened to the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, signaling his departure. She let out a shaky breath, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

She knew this was her life now, nothing more than a paid plaything for rich men to use and discard as they saw fit. A slut, A bitch, A whore. And yet, some small part of her had hoped that Alexander would be different. That maybe, just maybe, he would see her as more than just a warm hole to stick his cock in.

But in the end, he was no different from the rest. He had taken his pleasure and left, not even bothering with a goodbye or a thank you. Just a stack of cold, hard cash to buy her silence and make her go away.

Summer swiped angrily at the tears that had begun to fall, sniffling as she curled in on herself. She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to hold onto the fading warmth of Alexander's touch even as a chill settled over her heart.

This was her life now, a never-ending cycle of being used and cast aside. But she would get through it, she told herself fiercely. She would keep her head held high and her spirit unbroken, even if it meant fucking a hundred more men until her body gave out.

For now, though she allowed herself to cry. To mourn the girl she used to be, the one who still believed in fairy tales and happy endings. That girl was gone now, replaced by a broken shell of a woman who existed only to serve the whims of others.

And as she wept silently into the darkness, Summer vowed that someday, somehow, she would find a way out of this nightmare. No matter how long it took or what she had to do, she would break free from this life and reclaim her freedom.

But for now, she simply cried, the sound of her sorrow echoing hollowly in the empty room...

Summer POV

The morning light finds me through a crack in the roof and hits my face like a slap. My mouth tastes of metal and cheap liquor. I breathe shallow, feeling the ache that lives in my bones after last night. I reach for the small white pills on the cracked table and swallow two without water. I close my eyes.

"I can't have a baby now," I tell the empty room. My voice sounds small, but I say it like I mean it.

My house is wood and old nails. The floor bows where I sleep. Rats make nests in the corner and their eyes shine when the light moves. Cockroaches scatter whenever I move. The walls are thin; I can hear everything outside, people coughing, someone beating a tin pot, the low rumble of a radio. All the houses here lean into each other like tired people on a bench. None of them are safe. None of them are clean.

I stand and my legs make a small cracking sound. I wrap my thin sweater around my shoulders. I push open the door and the smell of morning hits me, smoke, fried oil, wet dust. People poke their heads out. A child yells, then stops. A woman watches from the next house with her arms crossed. Everyone knows everyone's business. Everyone knows my name when trouble walks by.

Then I hear the voice. A high, scared voice that rips the air.

"Don't hurt me, please! Please don't-"

The syllables tumble out of the child's mouth raw and breaking. I don't think. I run.

The alley is a jumble of broken furniture and plastic bags. The man stands hunched, one hand on the small boy's shoulder, the other lifted. The boy's face is wet with tears, and fear. His lip is split. He's small, no more than seven. The man's knuckles are white from holding on too tight.

"Hey!" I shout. My voice is rough. Heads turn. The man looks up and his face goes still when he sees me. For a moment I feel the whole alley watching, waiting to see what I'll do. There is a small smile creeping from some faces, danger is entertainment here. But the boy is not entertainment.

The man blinks, like my name hit him. "Summer," he sneers. "This isn't your business-"

"It is now." I walk toward them slow. My steps make the stones grind. "Let him go."

"You don't tell me what to do," he says, voice low. He pushes the boy's shoulder so the child stumbles. The boy cries out. My hands tighten into fists at my side. I can feel the cold part of me waking up, that black, bright thing that loves to break people.

"Touch him again and I'll break your arm," I say, low and flat.

He laughs, but it's a high, thin sound. "You think you can-?"

I don't give him time to finish. I move like I always move when it has to be done quick, fast and silent at first, then raw. I step in, grab the man's wrist. He pulls away and jabs at my face. I take the hit on my cheek. Pain fires sharp and quick; I taste blood at the corner of my mouth. It makes me see clearer. The man swings again. I block, my forearm takes it. My skin stings. My whole body hums.

"Get off me!" he grunts.

"You get off him!" I spit back.

We strike each other like we mean it. He's bigger by weight, but I have speed and the kind of cold hunger that comes from being pushed too many times. He swings a bottle; it misses. I duck, and his elbow cracks into the wooden post. He roars and charges. I sidestep, pull his arm out, and twist it behind him. His breath pops loud. People shout, some egging, some begging us to stop.

"Stop! You're hurting him!" someone cries.

I hear it like a bell and it steadies me. I focus on the boy. He's watching with wide, scared eyes, his small hands pressed to his chest. I lower my voice. "Run," I tell him. "Go now. Don't look back."

He bolts, tiny feet hitting the dirt. He disappears between two houses. For a second I stand with the man curled at my knees, his face red, sweat running into the grime on his temples. He spits and swings at my head. I catch his wrist again, then my knee lands in his gut. He doubles over. I press my thumb into the soft place under his chin and push his face up so he looks at me.

"You hear me?" I say, voice cold as glass. "Leave him alone. Tell anyone you got business with him and I'll make sure you forget how to stand."

His eyes go wide. There is real fear lighting up behind them now, not the anger before. He reaches for a pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper with a name and a number. His hands shake so hard the paper crumples.

"Please," he says now, small like the boy was. "Please, Summer-"

"Say sorry to him," I tell him. "And when you come back, I'll find you. You better remember this."

He nods like a man drowning. He stumbles away, clutching his side, leaving the alley like someone carrying a beating inside his skin. People start to breathe again. Someone whistles low. The boy comes back from Mrs. Palma's porch, wiping his face, and looks at me like I am a storm that passed through.

"Th-thank you," he stammers. He licks his lips. "My dad-he's been angry a lot."

"Go home and lock the door," I tell him. "If he comes back, scream. If you can, run. Do you understand?"

He nods, trembling. He hugs my leg suddenly, like a lifeline. I feel the little weight of him against my jeans and something hot and sharp hits behind my eyes. For a moment I almost let the softness in. Then I blink it away.

"You're safe," I say, because I need to say something kind and because it helps me say it out loud.

A woman from across the way calls over, "Summer! Don't get yourself in trouble!" Her voice is worried but also full of something like respect. Respect and fear mix around my name.

I stand there, chest heaving, blood in my mouth, the man's scuffed shoe prints on the dirt. My hands hurt from the fight. My knuckles throb. People mutter. A little boy tosses a half-eaten bread roll at me; I catch it without thinking and shove it into my pocket. Someone else hands me a rag to wipe my face.

"Jesus," Rina breathes, coming up behind me. "You all right? You look like hell."

"I'm fine," I say. My voice is flat. I force a grin that tastes like grit. "Just another morning."

Rina squints at my cheek. "You need to see a doctor."

"No money." I laugh without humor. "And a doctor would ask too many questions."

Rina sniffs. "You're late for work," she says, checking a small clock on her phone. "You better go."

I touch my hair with the back of my hand and feel sticky seams where sweat dried. I pull my sweater tighter. "I'll be there." I mean it. I always show up. Work keeps me from thinking too much.

I step away from the knot of people and move toward my door. I'm halfway inside when my phone buzzes, old, cracked screen, but it works. Rina glances at it and tilts her head.

I swipe. The name is short and sharp on the screen: MARCO.

I answer before I think. "Hello?"

"Summer," Marco's voice says, even, like he's counting coins. "Later tonight. You have service."

I pause, the words tumbling through me. Service. The shift at the club. The extra money. My mouth is dry. The taste of the pills is still in my throat.

"How much?" I ask.

"Enough," he says. "three hours. Midnight. Be there. Don't be late."

"Fine," I say. I try to make my voice steady. "I'll be there."

He snorts softly. "Good. Don't mess up, Summer."

The line goes dead. I stare at the phone for a long moment. Around me, life goes on, children chasing one another, women washing clothes, a man yelling about a missing rooster. My house creaks behind me. The rats still argue in the corner. The cockroaches keep their endless walk across the floor.

I put the phone in my pocket. My palms are still warm from the fight. The little boy's thank-you still clings to me. And under everything, like a low drum, the dark part of me ticks and waits. It's not proud, that part, it's honest. It is the part that kept the man from breaking that boy. It is the part that will do whatever it must if threatened. It will kill if it must. It will take the last thing from those who deserve it.

I step out into the street. My shoes are muddy. My coat smells like sweat and old smoke. I tie my hair up quickly, wipe my face with the rag, and say to myself, quiet and hard, "One shift. One fight. Survive."

I put the phone back in my pocket, the screen still glowing faintly. My palms are sore and my cheek stings from the fight, but I ignore it. I don't head toward the club. I walk the other way, down the muddy road that leads to the hospital. The air is heavy, and my steps splash in shallow puddles. The smell of smoke fades the closer I get to the main road.

The hospital stands tall, pale blue walls, paint peeling, but clean enough to make me nervous. I always feel out of place here, like the dirt on my shoes will stain the floor. I take a breath and walk inside.

The air smells like alcohol and disinfectant. People wait on the benches, some crying, some silent. I nod at the nurse who already knows me. "Room 206," she says without asking. I thank her and walk toward the room.

When I push the door open, my mother is sitting up on the bed, her thin frame lost in the white sheets. Her hair, once black and thick, now looks dull and sparse. The IV line runs into her hand. But her eyes, those still have fire in them.

"Summer," she says, her voice weak but warm. "You came."

"Of course," I say softly. "You know I'll always come." I sit on the edge of her bed. She reaches out and touches my face. Her thumb grazes the bruise forming on my cheek.

"What happened to your face, dear?" she asks, frowning. "Nothing," I lie quickly. "Just... work."

"Work doesn't give bruises like that." Her tone sharpens for a second. She sighs. "You've been fighting again, haven't you?"

I look away. "Someone had to."

"Summer..." Her voice trails off, full of both worry and sadness. "You don't always have to be strong like that."

I stay silent. I don't know how to tell her that being strong is the only thing keeping me alive.

She studies me for a moment, then shakes her head gently. "At least wear something nicer next time you come here," she says. "Look at your clothes, full of holes. Brush your hair, hija. You're still my daughter. You should look decent."

I chuckle softly. "Ma, I barely have time to eat, and you want me to look decent?"

She tries to smile. "You always make time for trouble, you can make time to brush your hair."

I laugh, a small, tired laugh. "You really never change."

"Neither do you," she says. Her eyes soften. "You think I don't notice, but I do. You're working too hard. Your shoulders are always tense, and you smell like smoke and metal. You come here tired, like you're carrying the whole world."

"I'm fine," I say automatically. "I can handle it."

She shakes her head. "You always say that. You think you can handle everything, the bills, the work, me." Her eyes glisten. "But I see how you look when you think I'm asleep. You're scared, Summer. I know you are."

For a moment, I can't speak. My throat tightens. "I just don't want to lose you, Ma," I whisper finally.

She smiles faintly, that same motherly smile that feels like home even in this cold place. "You won't. I'm too stubborn to leave yet." She tries to joke, but her cough interrupts her words. I quickly hand her a glass of water.

"Easy," I say, helping her sip. "Don't force yourself."

When she settles, she looks at me again. "Promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Promise me that no matter how hard things get, you won't forget to take care of yourself too."

I frown. "I am taking care of myself."

"No," she says softly. "You're surviving. That's different."

I look down at my calloused hands. "It's all I know how to do."

She smiles again, faint but proud. "You got that from me."

We both laugh quietly.

"I'll bring you fresh clothes tomorrow," I say after a pause. "And maybe some soup from the market, not this tasteless hospital food."

Her eyes light up. "Only if you promise to wear something nice too."

I raise an eyebrow. "Nice? Like what?"

"Like a dress," she teases. "Or at least something clean. You used to wear bright colors when you were young. Now it's all black and gray."

I roll my eyes. "Colors don't pay hospital bills, Mom."

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. Her touch is cold, but gentle. "I know. But sometimes, looking good helps you remember that you're still alive."

Her words stay with me. I can't tell if she's talking about me or about herself.

I stay with her for hours, listening to her stories, about the old neighborhood, about how she used to dream of owning a small flower shop, about how she misses the smell of rain in the morning. I tell her I'll find a way to pay for the next round of treatments, that she doesn't have to worry. She just nods, as if she already knows I will.

When visiting hours end, I stand. "I'll come back tomorrow, okay?"

"Don't forget to eat," she says. "And fix your hair, Summer. You're pretty, just like me."

I smile, biting back the lump in my throat. "I'll try."

As I leave the room, I glance back. She's already closing her eyes, the IV line glinting under the weak hospital light.

I walk out into the hallway. The walls echo with beeping machines and quiet footsteps. My reflection stares back at me from the window, messy hair, tired eyes, and a bruise still darkening on my cheek.

"Fix your hair," I murmur, trying to smile. "Be decent."

I run my fingers through my tangled hair and whisper, almost to myself, "One more day, Ma. I'll make it through one more day."

Then I step outside, into the dying light, carrying the weight of her words, and the quiet fire to keep fighting, not just for myself, but for her.

⚠️ WARNING MATURED CONTENT⚠️

(SUMMER POV)

The sun was already slipping lower in the sky when I left the hospital. My legs felt heavy, but I couldn't afford to rest. The bus ride back was slow, every bump rattling through the metal frame. I stared out the window, watching the city blur by. Somewhere behind me, my mother's voice still echoed in my head:

"Fix your hair, Summer. Be decent."

I almost smiled. Almost.

By the time I reached the street where I worked, the sky had turned orange-gray. The alley smelled of smoke, sweat, and frying oil, the same scent that clung to me every night. The club's neon sign flickered weakly overhead, buzzing like a dying fly. I pulled open the back door and slipped inside.

The noise hit me immediately, music thumping from the main room, voices shouting orders, and the faint smell of cheap perfume mixing with liquor. I barely had time to breathe before someone shouted my name.

"SUMMER!"

I turned. It was Marco, one of the senior staff. His face was red, his tie half undone. He stomped toward me, waving his clipboard like a weapon.

"You're late!" he snapped. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

I opened my mouth to explain, but he cut me off.

"Don't even start with excuses! The boss is already pissed. You were supposed to be here an hour ago!"

"I came from the hospital-"

"I don't care where you came from!" he barked. "You're working tonight, so move! Go take a shower now and wear this!"

He shoved a bundle of clothes into my hands, a black dress, tight and simple, with a pair of heels dangling from the fabric.

"Quickly!" he snapped. "You smell like smoke and sweat. We have VIP guests tonight, and you can't show up looking like a stray cat!"

I clenched my jaw. The old Summer might've snapped back, but I bit my tongue. I needed the job. I needed the money.

"Fine," I muttered.

He pointed to the small dressing room at the end of the hall. "Five minutes!"

I walked toward it, my shoulders stiff. The moment the door shut behind me, I dropped the clothes onto the chair and turned on the shower. The water sputtered, then came out cold. I gasped as it hit my skin, but I didn't care. I scrubbed hard, washing away the grime, the blood, the dust from the streets, the memory of the fight.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and let the water run down my face. I thought of my mother again, her fragile smile, her hand on my cheek. "Brush your hair, hija."

When I stepped out, steam filled the small room. I dried off quickly and slipped into the dress. It fit snugly, hugging my waist and shoulders. The heels were a little too tall, but I'd walked in perfectly.

I walked over to the cracked mirror and looked at my reflection. My hair was a tangled mess from the wind. My skin looked pale under the harsh light. I sighed and picked up the small makeup kit from my locker, foundation, a bit of eyeliner, red lipstick. I moved slowly, carefully, like my mother was watching me from that hospital bed.

"Be decent," I whispered under my breath.

The eyeliner sharpened my eyes. The lipstick made me look alive again. I brushed my hair until it shone under the light, then tied it loosely at the back, letting a few strands fall over my face. For the first time in a long while, I didn't look tired, I looked ready.

When I stepped out of the dressing room, Marco looked me over and gave a sharp nod. "Finally," he said, his tone softer now. "That's more like it. The guests are already here, table seven. Try to smile."

I forced a small grin, grabbed my tray, and walked toward the main floor.

As I passed the hallway mirror again, I caught my reflection. Clean face, neat hair, red lips, my mother's voice whispered faintly in my head, almost proud.

And for a brief second, I felt like I wasn't just surviving. I was trying.

I walked into the bar, looking sexy in my short dress. Men stared at my body as I passed. I found a stool at the bar and sat down, crossing my legs so my thigh showed. The bartender saw me and nodded. He knew what I was there for.

"Whiskey, neat," I said, putting money on the bar. The whiskey burned as I drank it. I looked around the room, searching for men with money who might want to pay for my services.

I saw a group of rich businessmen in a corner booth. They checked me out with hungry eyes. I knew they were rich by their expensive suits and the way they acted like they owned the place.

I started walked over to their booth and a man stood up to greet me. "Hello there, beautiful," he said, looking at my body. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to meet an interesting man," I replied. "Someone who knows how to make a woman feel good."

The man smiled and moved so I could sit next to him. His hand grabbed my thigh. "I can make you feel amazing," he whispered in my ear. "Like you never have before."

I shivered. I knew men like him, they thought they were in charge but really I held the power. I could make them do what they wanted.

Leaning close, I touched his face. "I bet you can," I said in a sexy voice. "But first, buy me another drink. Then we'll see what happens."

The man grinned and got me another whiskey. As we drank, I flirted and teased, making him want me more. I knew it wouldn't be long before he took me somewhere private, eager to fuck.

Until then, I played my role, seducing men, making them believe they had control when really I did. It was how I survived in a world that demanded submission. I had learned to use my body to get what I needed.

I kept playing the game, pretending to enjoy the men's attention and touches. Deep down, I felt empty inside. But I had to keep up the act, had to pretend I wanted this life.

I could feel the man's eyes roaming over my body as he closed the door to the private room behind us. I knew that look all too well, the hunger, the desire to possess and control.

"Strip for me," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "I want to see what I'm paying for."

I nodded, playing along. I reached back to unzip my dress, letting it pool at my feet and leaving myself standing there in nothing but with lacy bra and panties. The man's eyes darkened as he took in my curves, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Fuck, you're even hotter than I thought," he murmured, moving closer to run his hands over my body. "I can't wait to get my hands on you."

I got shivered at his touch, at the harshness of his grip as he squeezed my tits through the thin lace of my bra. This was what I had to offer, my body, my submission, the illusion that I wanted this as much as he did.

The man reached around to unclasp my bra, letting it fall to the floor and exposing my bare breasts to his hungry gaze. He bent down to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud until I couldn't help but moan.

"Yes, just like that," I gasped, arching my back to push more of my flesh against him. "Suck on my tits, make me feel good."

The man grinned up at me, his hand moving down to cup my pussy through my panties. "Oh, I'll make you feel good," he promised darkly. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight."

I shuddered at his words, at the promise of pleasure and pain. I knew what he wanted, to use my body for his own gratification, to treat me like a disposable object.

But it was what I had to offer, what I had trained myself to provide. So I played along, letting him strip off my panties and expose my glistening folds to his hungry eyes.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he growled, running a finger along my slit. "You want it bad, don't you? Want my big cock inside you."

"Yes," I panted, spreading my legs wider in invitation. "I need it. I need you to fuck me hard."

The man wasted no time, shoving two fingers inside my tight channel and pumping them in and out. I cried out at the sudden intrusion, my hips bucking against his hand as he fingered me roughly.

"Please," I begged, my voice high and breathy with need. "Fuck me with your cock. I want to feel you stretching me open."

The man smirked, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with the head of his thick shaft. "Beg for it," he demanded, teasing me entrance with shallow thrusts. "Tell me how badly you need my cock."

"Please," I whimpered, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me hard and make me come all over your cock. Please, just give it to me!"

The man grunted in satisfaction, gripping my hips and slamming forward to bury himself balls-deep inside my sopping cunt. I screamed at the sudden invasion, my pussy clenching around him as he began to pound into me relentlessly.

"Fuck, yes," he snarled, his hips snapping back and forth as he drilled into me. "Your pussy feels so good around my cock. I'm going to ruin you for any other man."

I could only moan in response, lost in the pleasure and pain of being so thoroughly used. I knew this was what he wanted, to claim me, to make me his property for a brief moment in time.

And so I gave in, surrendering myself completely to the sensations coursing through my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him deeper as he fucked me with abandon.

"Yes, fuck me harder," I cried out. "Fuck me until I can't take anymore."

The man growled, pounding into me with renewed ferocity. I could feel my orgasm building, could sense the impending rush of ecstasy that would sweep over me.

"Come for me," he demanded, his voice tight with his own impending release. "Come all over my cock, baby! Taste it! "

And with a scream of pleasure, I came undone, my pussy clamping down around him as wave after wave of intense bliss crashed over me. The man followed a moment later, spilling his hot seed deep inside me convulsing cunt as he shuddered with his own climax.

For a moment, we lay there panting, our bodies still joined as the aftershocks of our mutual pleasure faded away. But I knew it wouldn't last, soon he would pull out, tuck himself away, and leave me empty and used once more.

And I would be left to pick up the pieces of myself, to try and piece together the fractured remains of my humanity in the aftermath of yet another transaction. But for now, I closed my eyes and let myself drift in the lingering sensations, knowing that at least for a little while, I had survived.

"Thanks for tonight, baby!" The man said before leaving me again naked.