Corrupted

He was a dom in every sense. His size, his charisma, his voice, the way he took care of me. He carried himself like one. I was a dom too, but for him… I became a sub. It wasn’t difficult to let him lead me. But some nights I found my hips thrusting against his muscled butt while I reached around and fondled him. He never asked why I was undulating against him like that. He just let himself get lost in the feeling of my hand working his dick.

Sometimes I caught myself wondering what sounds he’d make if I buried my fingers in his virgin backdoor. If he’d let me… Eventually, the desire to fuck him became unbearable. So I started to test him.

The first breakthrough came when I made him sound. He wasn’t a man who vocalized during sex. Until I made him.

“How would I know I’m doing it right if you don’t tell me?” I pouted.

“You’re doing it right,” he rasped as I squeezed tighter.

“Not like that… make those sounds you’re swallowing. I’ve heard them. I know they’re there. I want to hear… please?” I sucked his head for emphasis, spit slipping down his length.

This time he groaned. I lit up, delighted. “Like that, sugar… let me know.”

And then I went on to give him the best blow job of his life...while he wailed in my ears.

After that, it became easier to push. To coax. To play.

One afternoon while shopping, I picked up a chocolate-dipped strawberry, pressed it to his lips, then slipped it into his mouth with a whisper: “Do you like that, little dove?”

He arched a brow as he sucked the chocolate off my fingers. “Little dove?”

I giggled. “Well… you’re pretty. And innocent. Like a dove.”

He grabbed me right there in the aisle, nuzzling at my neck. “Innocent, huh? I’ll show you innocent when we get home.”

And he did. He fucked me disrespectfully that night, filling me again and again until I begged with tears in my eyes. I scratched out little dove.

The second breakthrough came when I spanked him. The first time, he had laughed it off. Maybe… maybe if he had told me to stop, I would have. But he didn’t. And because he didn’t, I got bolder.

The day I really pushed things, he had his head in my lap, a movie flickering across the screen. My hand drifted idly over him. Innocent at first. Casual touches through the fabric. But eventually it slipped into his shorts, grazing the heavy weight of his sleeping dick where it lay against his thigh. I teased him with feather-light strokes, just enough to change his breathing. Just enough to make him stir.

His thickness swelled under my fingers until it stood long and proud, twitching with need.


When he turned those glazed eyes up at me, I smirked. Without breaking eye contact, I tugged up my shirt, baring a breast. Slowly, I guided his mouth to my nipple. He latched on. Suckled. His lips soft but desperate, his throat working around helpless little sounds he never would’ve made for anyone else. One hand stroked his curls lovingly while the other freed his dick from his shorts, stroking him in a rhythm that made him arch against my lap. His eyes never left mine, wide and dazed, as I cooed to him, whispered endearments, praised the way he took from me.

I toyed with him mercilessly--slow drags, sudden flurries of quick strokes--until he caved. His body shuddered, his muffled moans wrapping around my breast as he came undone for me.

That was the moment I knew. He was ready.

So today we sat side by side, controllers gripped tightly, an invisible battle line drawn between us.

“If I win,” I said, tone light but laced with challenge, “you have to do whatever I want.”

He gave a low scoff, leaning back on the couch, confidence rolling off him in waves. “Alright. Let’s see you win, then.”

The match was brutal. I dug my heels in, every muscle taut, fingers flying across the buttons with the skill I’d practiced for this exact moment. My heartbeat matched the rhythm of the game, adrenaline fizzing under my skin.

Then---victory.

A sharp whoop burst from my lips as I shot to my feet, controller clattering onto the couch. “Ha!”



Triumph lit my face as I spun toward him, eyes gleaming. I curled two fingers, beckoning him with a wicked little grin.

He arched a brow, skeptical but intrigued, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. Still, he rose without a word, letting me lead the way. And when I sauntered toward the bedroom, hips swaying with invitation, he followed.

I sat on the edge of the bed, mischief curling my lips. Tapping my lap, I murmured, “Come here.”

His eyes flicked wide. “You serious? I’m going to crush you.”

“Then crush me,” I countered softly.

He hesitated, but obeyed. He was large—six-three, maybe six-four—towering, broad. I was… smaller. But I asked, so he sat.

My arms slid around him immediately, hugging him close.

“Mmm… feels nice,” I whispered against his back.

“Your nipples are poking me,” he muttered.

I snickered, the sound muffled against him. Then my hands slid up his torso, tracing over hard muscle, slipping into the deep armholes of his tank until my fingers found his nipples. I flicked them teasingly.

He gasped.

I pinched. Twisted. Drew another rougher sound from him. His breath turned shallow, uneven.

Still, he didn’t move. Just sat there, letting me play him like an instrument.



My hands drifted lower, over taut abs, down into his shorts. I found him half-hard, his dick undecided.

Not for long.

Both palms wrapped around him, coaxing him with long, languid strokes. The twitch beneath my touch made me smirk. I formed rings with my thumbs and forefingers, twisting each in opposite directions.

He jerked, a startled grunt escaping him as he tried to rise.

“Sit,” I whispered into his ear, the sound low and commanding. Stronger than anything he’d ever heard from me before.

He sat.

Dropping one hand to his balls, I kept the other wrapped firmly around his girth and began to pump. Smooth, steady. My thumb teased the slick crown while my other hand cupped and massaged his balls with careful intent.

A low, helpless groan broke from his throat. His head tipped back against mine.

“I got you,” I murmured, lips brushing his ear.

I released his balls, lifted my hand to my face, and drew in a deep breath, soft and indulgent. “Mmm… you smell so good, baby.”

The sound that spilled from him—half whine, half growl—shook through his chest. His hips thrust once into my hand before he abruptly pulled away.

I pouted up at him.

He turned, eyes dark and unsettled. “What… what was that about?”

“You said you’d do anything I asked.”

“Yes, but... That was—” He faltered, words stumbling.

I rose from the bed. He stepped back, gaze wary, eyeing me like I could burn him.

I dropped my shorts and stepped out of them, leaving my shirt on.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I whispered, reaching for him. “I just want to make you feel good. Do you trust me?”

He stared at my hand, then nodded.

“Lie down for me.”

He obeyed, lowering himself onto the mattress. Watching me. Always watching.

I climbed over him, kissing him softly... my lips brushing his once, twice, before sliding down his body.

Fingers hooked in the elastic of his shorts, I tugged them down. His dick sprang free, hard and beautiful, and I giggled, eyes glinting with hunger.

I wrapped my fingers around his length, giving it a testing squeeze that made him grunt.

“God,” I whispered, stroking him slowly, watching the way his muscles tensed, how his breath hitched. “You’re so beautiful.”

He swallowed, eyes locked on me as I leaned forward, my tongue darting out to taste the bead of arousal glistening at the tip.

He hissed through his teeth.

I licked him again, slower this time, tracing every vein with deliberate care. His hips jerked again, harder this time.

“Easy,” I murmured against him, wrapping my lips around his head and sucking gently. His groan vibrated through the room, low and rough.

I sank lower, taking more of him in, my hand stroking what my mouth couldn’t reach. He fisted the sheets beside him, chest rising and falling faster with every glide of my tongue, every swirl over that sensitive spot just under the crown.

“F-fuck,” he muttered, voice strangled.

I hummed in response, the vibration pulling another helpless sound from him. I kept him there, on the edge, teasing… until his control slipped.

“Please,” he rasped, a hand coming to rest on the back of my head, not pushing, just trembling. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t.

I took him deep, swallowing around him, and his whole body arched off the bed.

When I pulled off with a wet pop, he was panting, eyes glazed.



“Turn over,” I whispered.


He blinked at me, dazed, then slowly rolled onto his stomach. There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but he bared the strong curve of his back, the taut rise of his ass, for me alone.

I bent down, pressing slow kisses to each thigh just below that perfect curve, feeling the muscle jump beneath my mouth.

Then I reached for two pillows.

“Lift for me?” I teased, sing-song.

A soft laugh rumbled from him as he raised his hips, letting me slide the pillows beneath his abdomen. When he settled, his ass was tipped higher, his dick pinned against the sheets—thick, glistening, straining to be touched.

My lips parted. I stroked the backs of his thighs with lazy circles, drinking him in, heat pooling between my own legs. I swallowed down the flood of want.

Leaning close, I inhaled deeply, letting his scent fill me. Then I dragged my tongue up from the solid muscle of his inner thigh, over the weight of his balls, following that seam of skin from his sack to the dip between his cheeks.

He jerked at the first touch there, breath hissing out sharp.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

I trailed my hand up his bare back beneath his shirt, nails grazing lightly. Soothing. Claiming.

“Shh… let me take care of you,” I whispered, velvet-soft. “It’s okay. No one has to know you like this.”

He frowned, stubborn. “I don’t want—”

But his hips betrayed him, rutting hard into the pillows as my finger slid between his cheeks, circling that forbidden place. His muscles tightened, breath catching--until a helpless sound slipped from him, high and broken.

I laughed softly, low and coaxing. “See? You like it. Let me show you… let me touch you.”

He stalled, pleasure and conflict warring in his eyes… then gave a small, shuddering nod, burying his face in the sheets.

A smile curved my lips at his quiet surrender.

I parted his cheeks and let a line of spit fall onto that tight star. My finger spread it around in slow circles, slicking him open, before I spat again, thicker this time, wetter. Pressing forward, I eased in to the first knuckle.

He clenched hard, whines muffled against the sheets. I reached beneath him, wrapping my palm around his stiff length, smearing precum as I stroked the fat head.

The second knuckle sank in, his body twitching around me.

He groaned my name, broken and rough, precum spilling in sticky strings as he thrust helplessly into my fist. Each roll of his hips pushed my finger deeper, fucking himself on it even as he shook his head in denial.

His whimpers climbed, sharp and desperate, edging toward sobs.

The sight of him unraveling made me grind my clit into the mattress, my own body trembling. Watching him break drove me half mad with want.

When he came with a violent shudder, hot and messy into my hand, I pulled my finger free and gave his ass a sharp smack.

“Turn over. Now.”

The command cracked through the room. He obeyed instantly, flipping onto his back, sweaty, gasping, his dick straining, heavy and stubbornly hard.

I crawled over him, pinning his wrists to the bed. “Don’t move.”

Shifting my hips, I dragged the thick head of his dick against my entrance. The slick brush made me sigh softly, just loud enough to torment him. His fingers flexed under my grip, desperate but restrained.

“Beg me,” I whispered against his ear.

“Please… I need you…” His voice cracked, raw.

I rewarded him by sinking down, slow, inch by inch, until he stretched me full. His groan tore out of him, low and strangled, vibrating through my body as I held still with him buried deep.

“God…” he rasped.

I rolled my hips once, my slow grinding making my cunt drag tight around him. Again, firmer, wetter, my breath catching as the ache sharpened into pleasure.

“You’re so deep…” I murmured, voice breaking despite myself.

He bucked, instinct taking over, but I pinned him harder, nails biting his wrists. “Stay. Still.”

He froze, muscles straining with the effort.

I began to move--rising almost off him before sinking back down in a steady, ruthless rhythm. Every thrust pulled another sound from him, broken and helpless.

“You’re perfect like this,” I said, words rough with heat. “Pinned. Mine.”

That word snapped something in him. He surged up, mouth crashing against mine in a wild, needy kiss. I let him taste me, let him lose control in it, before tearing away, panting.

“Touch me,” I ordered, releasing his wrists.

His hands clamped to my hips first, then slid up, rough and hungry, squeezing my breasts through my shirt. I rode him harder, faster, his grip anchoring me, my cries mixing with his as the slap of wet skin filled the room.

I felt him start to shake beneath me, release winding tight. I leaned down, lips brushing his ear.

“Cum for me.”

He broke, spilling hard inside me, every thrust desperate and violent. The force of it dragged me over the edge too, my orgasm tearing through me as I clung to him, gasping his name.

When it finally ebbed, I collapsed against his chest, both of us shuddering, sweat-slick. His arms wrapped around me instinctively, clutching tight like he couldn’t let go.

“…You really did win,” he rasped, already half asleep.



I smiled against his skin. “Told you I would.”