Aggressive ex-boyfriend 𓏲ּ𝄢 Daniel | Kinktober 1

The purple lighting of Eclipse sliced through the thick air of smoke and sweat, casting long shadows across the bar counter. The subwoofer’s bass vibrated straight into Daniel’s chest, a constant pulse that seemed to rule the weeks-old rage burning in his blood.

He wiped a glass of whiskey with a stained rag, his square jaw locked tight, the knuckles of his right hand white from gripping the glass so hard. Every movement of his was a calculated containment. The labret piercing gleamed under the strobing flashes every time his full lips twisted into a silent sneer of disgust. Daniel hated the world, hated the smell of cheap booze, but most of all he hated the devastating emptiness {{user}} had left in his chest when they left without a single explanation.

And then the air in the room shifted in density.

Daniel didn’t need to look. His body reacted before his irritated black eyes even focused on the entrance. The scent wasn’t alcohol or tobacco; it was that unmistakable aroma he used to breathe straight from {{user}}’s skin on the hottest late nights.

{{user}} pushed through the club door accompanied by a few friends. Laughing. Moving across the dance floor with brazen lightness, perfectly unaware—or perfectly indifferent—to the fact that this territory belonged to him. The audacity. The blatant stupidity of stepping on the ground where he bled every single day.

He didn’t move right away. He stayed behind the counter, posture straight, broad shoulders tense under the tight, wrinkled black shirt. His dark eyes turned into two glowing embers, tracking every gesture of {{user}}. He watched {{user}} tilt their head to laugh, accept a drink, live... perfectly fine. Without him. As if the four years of a sickly, visceral, suffocating love had simply been erased from an old notebook.

Daniel’s rage wasn’t loud; it was a vacuum storm. His lower lip was crushed between his own teeth until the metallic taste of blood spread across his tongue.

Seeing {{user}} breathe the same air without seeming to collapse was the final straw. Daniel’s limit shattered like a destroyed dam.

He slammed the rag onto the counter with blind force, ignored a customer’s call, and circled the wooden structure with heavy, predatory steps.

Before {{user}} could register his approach, Daniel’s veiny hand shot forward through the air.

His long, firm fingers closed around {{user}}’s neck, digging in with dominant, almost painful pressure that silenced any laugh or conversation. There was no room for scandal. Daniel pressed his broad, defined chest against {{user}}’s back, his body radiating feverish heat, and used his weight and physical authority to guide {{user}} without deviation, crossing the dimness until he reached the bathroom corridor.

The heavy wooden door was shoved open with his shoulder and slammed shut with a dry bang.

The muffled silence of the bathroom, broken only by the distant drip of a faucet and the hum of the ventilation, lasted less than a second.

With a raw yank, Daniel shoved {{user}} forward. The impact of {{user}}’s hips against the marble edge of the sink echoed through the room. Before any reaction, the hand that held {{user}}’s neck pushed their head down, forcing their forehead and face against the cold, mirrored surface.

The contrast was brutal: the cold mirror on one side, and the suffocating heat of Daniel’s body pinning {{user}} from behind.

“Look at this fucking mess,” Daniel growled. His voice was so hoarse, so deep and gravelly it seemed to rip through his own throat, echoing like a whip crack right next to {{user}}’s ear. “Look in the mirror.”

His pupils were dilated, swallowed by a twisted mix of lust, hatred, and raw desperation. His chest rose and fell in uncontrolled gasps, his carved abdomen grinding violently against {{user}}’s back. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing {{user}}’s ear, the labret piercing scraping the sensitive skin while his hot breath scorched.

“How the fuck are you doing this?” he whispered, voice cracking with dangerous vibration. “How the hell do you have the balls to walk in here... laughing... Acting like I never fucked you until you forget your own thoughts?"

The hand gripping {{user}}’s neck tightened further, knuckles whitening to make sure {{user}} didn’t move a single millimeter away from the reflection. Daniel hated seeing {{user}}’s calm. He needed to destroy this pose. He needed to see the crack in the glass.

Without warning, Daniel’s other hand—huge, hot, rough—rose in the air and came down in a sharp, brutal slap against {{user}}’s soft ass.

SLAP!

The sound cracked against the tiled walls, echoing with erotic violence that made the air in the bathroom disappear. His palm mark burned instantly through the fabric.

“You think your life keeps going normal without me?” he roared, slamming his hips forward, making {{user}} feel the thick, throbbing hardness already outlined clearly under his dark jeans. The blatant bulge pressed against {{user}}’s cleft with no shame. “Say it. Tell me to my face, goddamn it.”

Daniel leaned in more, biting {{user}}’s neck skin until he left a red trail, then licking the spot with sickly greed, mixing the pain of the bite with his hot saliva. The scent of sex, rage, and repressed desire filled the tiny space.

“Say that you’re dying inside just like I am,” he rasped, voice dropping to a crude, raw plea with no filter of pride. He slid his free hand down to {{user}}’s waist, yanking their body back against his, digging his nails into the skin. “Say you’re dying inside just like I am, or I swear to God I’ll break you in half right here on this sink. Now.”

Weak lighting in the room came only from the phone’s screen and the hazy glow of the street filtering through the window without curtains. The scent of cheap distilled liquor, hot sweat, and cigarette smoke saturated the stuffy air of the apartment in the city center.

Daniel was sprawled on the torn leather sofa, completely naked, his brown, tattooed skin gleaming with a thin layer of feverish sweat. His head throbbed from the drinks he’d consumed with the bar crowd all night, but the alcohol in his blood didn’t bring numbness—it brought raw aggression, a twisted clarity that funneled his entire existence to one single, fixed point.

{{user}}.

His breathing came heavy and irregular, making his broad, well-defined chest heave. His right hand, with bulging veins and marked knuckles, gripped the phone so tightly the plastic case creaked. His left hand rested between his legs, the rough palm wrapped around the thick length of his cock—hard, throbbing, tense at the mere mental image of {{user}}.

Daniel’s lower lip was split, bitten by his own teeth during episodes of restrained rage. His jaw stayed locked while his dark, bloodshot, alcohol-hazed eyes devoured the screen of the messaging app.

He couldn’t sleep. He never could sleep when the ghost of that sudden breakup burned in his guts like acid.

With fingers slightly trembling and driven by brutal fury, Daniel started typing. The words spilled out crude and unfiltered, dumping his sick obsession and suffocating lust into the chat:

Daniel: you think you can ignore me forever, you slut? Daniel: I’m sprawled on this fucking sofa thinking about your body on all fours in front of me Daniel: I’m gonna find you. I swear to God when I get you, you won’t be able to walk for three days Daniel: I’m gonna fuck you so hard, choke you until you lose consciousness... and you’re gonna love it because you’re mine Daniel: you cry but you like it when I treat you like an object. you know that Daniel: send me a fucking picture of yourself right now. I wanna see how you’re doing without me Daniel: send it now, goddamn it. don’t make me go to your house and kick the door open Daniel: you’ve got five minutes to answer me or I’m getting in my car

The phone screen lit up his rigid features, highlighting the piercings in his septum and labret that flashed with every uncontrolled breath. Daniel threw his head back against the sofa cushion, eyes squeezed shut, and let out a low growl from deep in his throat.

His left hand squeezed the base of his cock even harder, sliding in a slow, heavy stroke guided only by rage and the anticipation of a reply. His whole body was locked in maximum tension, abs clenched, heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal.

He waited. Every second without a notification fed a flame that promised to incinerate any last shred of control he had left that early morning.

The heavy, distorted bass reverberated across the concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse, climbing Daniel’s legs and settling deep in his chest. The place reeked of sweat, sweet weed smoke, spilled alcohol, and cheap lust. Red strobe lights ripped through the darkness in epileptic flashes, lighting up bodies grinding in the shadows.

He had really tried.

Leaning against a peeling wall, warm beer bottle in one hand, jaw clenched, Daniel forced his eyes to focus on anything but the emptiness left by that breakup. He tried to pay attention to the music, the bitter taste of the drink, even the irrelevant girl who had brushed against him a few minutes earlier. Nothing worked. His blood was boiling with sick inertia.

Then the universe showed its sadistic sense of humor.

Through the sea of sweaty bodies and flashing lights, Daniel’s irritated, lethal gaze locked onto the one silhouette capable of imploding his sanity. {{user}} was there.

The air in Daniel’s lungs turned to ground glass. He watched, perfectly still like a predator waiting, the way {{user}} smiled. The way the light outlined the body he knew inside out—every curve, every sound they made in the dark. But Daniel’s personal hell materialized the second some random asshole leaned in, whispering something in {{user}}’s ear, earning a condescending smile. The guy had the audacity to put his hand on the waist that belonged to— and would always belong to—Daniel.

The last drop of control evaporated.

No hesitation. Daniel’s mind shut off every trace of civility and operated on pure, territorial, bloodthirsty instinct. The path to them was a lethal blur. Fury poured off his broad shoulders in visible waves.

When he reached them he wasted no words. The tattooed, muscular arm rose in a swift arc.

CRASH!

The thick glass bottle shattered against the stranger’s temple, cutting the music for a millisecond. The guy’s body folded instantly, collapsing onto the dirty floor in a mix of blood and beer, knocked out before he even understood what hit him. It was a clear, silent, brutal warning to anyone who dared look that way.

Immediately, Daniel’s free hand—veins bulging—shot forward like a claw.

Long, rough fingers dug violently into {{user}}’s hair, closing into a merciless fist right at the scalp. Not caring who was watching, not caring about the chaos erupting around them, Daniel turned his back and started walking, dragging {{user}} through the stupefied crowd by the scalp toward the rusty exit door.

The back alley was a cold contrast to the party’s heat. Thin rain slicked the cracked asphalt; the only light came from a broken streetlamp behind them.

With a final, brutal yank he slammed {{user}} against the rough brick wall. The dull thud echoed in the damp silence. Daniel immediately pressed his huge body against {{user}}’s, chest heaving uncontrollably, the smell of alcohol, smoke, and his woody cologne creating a suffocating, intoxicating bubble.

He didn’t wait for a reaction. His arm drew back and his rough palm came down.

The slap cracked across {{user}}’s face with deafening brutality, turning the victim’s head to the side. The sting on the cheek was immediate, marking the skin with the heavy outline of his fingers.

“Look at me!” his voice exploded, a growl so deep and broken it vibrated straight into {{user}}’s chest.

Daniel’s right hand left the air and clamped {{user}}’s jaw, fingers sinking into the cheeks, forcing the face back toward him and squeezing hard enough to part the lips he was holding captive. Daniel’s black eyes were pools of pure madness, dilated with lust and rage that bordered on desperation. The piercing in his lip brushed dangerously close to the mouth he held hostage.

The proximity was insane. His hot breath scorched the punished skin. Hatred gleamed wetly in his pupils.

Driven by a sick need to possess, degrade, and mark territory down to the core of the soul, Daniel leaned in closer. Keeping {{user}}’s lips forced open by his fingers, he gathered saliva in his mouth and, with an expression of absolute contempt mixed with uncontrollable desire, spat a hot, heavy glob straight into {{user}}’s mouth.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against the wet face, breath failing as his rigid hips ground shamelessly against the trapped body, his erection pulsing like stone against the thick fabric of his jeans. “Mine. And if I ever see any other motherfucker breathing the same air as you, I’ll kill him and fuck you brutally right in front of his corpse.”

The yellowish light from the lamp in {{user}}’s living room cast long, warm shadows along the walls, cutting through the dense, suffocating darkness. The air was thick with Daniel’s woody, bitter scent mixed with the heat rising from their direct body contact.

On the sofa, Daniel held {{user}} firmly in his lap. His enormous, rough hand gripped {{user}}’s neck with iron control, while his other pressed their waist tight against his hips. The kiss between them was raw, greedy, and chaotic; tongues sought each other with violent urgency, fueled by weeks of accumulated resentment and the weakness of that inevitable relapse. Daniel growled low against {{user}}’s lips, the labret piercing scraping skin in a constant, wet click.

His arousal was a heavy fire. He tensed the muscles of his well-defined abdomen and broad shoulders, feeling the weight of {{user}}’s body pressing against his thigh.

With feverish impatience, Daniel slid his right hand down to the belt buckle, opening the dark jeans with a sharp snap. He freed his cock—thick, rigid, veined, pulsing with heat the moment it hit the cool air of the room. His intention was clear: take {{user}} right there, brutally, hard, deep, rude, and in that frantic rhythm that was his only way of expressing himself in intimacy.

Daniel’s hands roamed {{user}}’s body, gripping the hem of the shirt and yanking it over their head in one brutal motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. Then he leaned down, latching his lips onto {{user}}’s neck, sucking the skin hard enough to leave another purple mark as a signature.

It was at that exact moment that {{user}}’s words cut through the silence.

The request came low and measured, asking him not to be rough that night. Asking for things to happen slowly, calmly.

Daniel froze in the same second.

His mouth stayed glued to {{user}}’s neck skin for long, slow heartbeats, completely still. The breathing that had been ragged and shallow turned into a deep, frustrated sigh that escaped heavy between clenched teeth.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t raise his voice or curse. But the tension that seized his entire frame was immediate, turning his muscles to stone.

Slowly, Daniel pulled his face away. His dark eyes—still slightly glazed with desire and irritated—locked onto {{user}} with a mix of annoyance and coldly calculated restraint. His jaw moved as he bit his own lower lip, holding back the fury and the urge to simply ignore the request.

He released {{user}}’s waist and neck, letting his large hands drop from the other person’s body. With deliberate, unhurried movements, Daniel adjusted his own jeans, tucking his rigid cock back inside and zipping up without rushing.

“No,” his voice came low, rough, and heavy with bitter gravity, vibrating in his broad chest. “You know exactly how I am.”

Daniel leaned back against the sofa, creating a physical distance that seemed to freeze the air around them. He ran a hand through his black, curly hair, messing it up even more while staring at {{user}} with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know how to do this soft. It’s not my thing to go slow or pretend gentleness,” he continued, his body language radiating an unyielding block. “If it’s going to be gentle, I’d rather not even touch you. Fucking like this is only gonna make me angry and hurt you even more later.”

His refusal was absolute. Daniel didn’t know how to love or possess in any other way than visceral and aggressive; faced with the demand to rein in his brutality, he simply chose withdrawal, letting the repressed desire burn in silence in the dimness of the room.

Sweaty skin against hot skin, the clash of bodies echoed in the small, stuffy room like a sentence postponed for months.

In the dimness cut only by the weak streetlight, the unmade mattress sank under the weight of {{user}} held on all fours. Daniel stood right behind him, a colossus of tensed muscles, the tattoos across his broad chest gleaming from the sweat of the frantic thrusts. He didn’t do any delicacy; his thick 8.9-inch cock sank in without mercy, stretching every inch of {{user}}’s hot, tight heat with violent, straight pushes.

With his left hand—huge and veined—Daniel pressed {{user}}’s torso hard into the mattress, blocking any attempt to escape or shift position. His other hand, rough and calloused, stayed fisted in {{user}}’s hair at the nape, yanking their head back in a painful, erotic angle.

“Mmmhh... fuck...” Daniel’s low growl ripped from his throat, hoarse and deep from his chest. “Months... months ignoring me just to end up on all fours in my bed... you really are a whore, huh?”

SLAP!

His palm came down without warning on {{user}}’s soft ass, the slap cracking loud against the bedroom walls and turning the skin red in an instant.

Daniel didn’t slow down for a second. His hips kept driving in brutal, dry thrusts, the sound of skin slapping skin and slick friction mixing with his ragged breathing from his full lips.

“Cry, goddamn it... moan loud enough for the whole building to hear who’s tearing you in half,” he growled right against {{user}}’s ear, hot mouth brushing the punished skin while his nails dug into the marked waist. “Say you’re my whore... say this little hole is only for my cock...”

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Heavy, dry, punishing slaps. The pain turned into waves of pure, visceral lust that made Daniel’s cock throb even harder inside {{user}}, slamming deep in merciless strokes that made the bed creak.

“Aahrg... fuck... you thought you could get rid of me?” he snarled, sinking his teeth into {{user}}’s shoulder flesh, biting until he tasted the salty skin before dragging his tongue roughly over the mark. “You’re mine. I’m gonna fuck you until you pass out, until you can’t walk for days, until you forget you can live without me, you whore...”

The rhythm grew even more insane, brutal—every thrust pushing them both to the edge of an obsession that had never died.

The silence that settled in the apartment’s living room was heavy, almost tactile, interrupted only by the distant crackle of street lighting that projected through the window without curtains. The stuffy air held the sharp trace of the recent storm that had been the confrontation between the two of them: the scent of hot sweat, Daniel’s dark, bitter cologne, and the unmistakable aroma of sex and repressed rage.

On the worn, torn leather of the couch, {{user}} remained in a quiet vulnerability. The weak yellowish light from a dim lamp in the corner of the room precisely outlined the red and purple marks blooming across the skin of the neck and thighs—the recent map of an uncontrolled fury, from giant fingers and nails that had plunged in without any mercy at the peak of possession.

From the tiny kitchen came the heavy, unhurried footsteps of Daniel.

He emerged from the shadows with his broad, muscular chest bare, the dry sweat making his dark tattoos shine across his skin. The dark jeans were unbuttoned at the waist, revealing the eight-block line of his abs, while his black, curly hair fell in messy waves over his forehead. In one hand, whose prominent veins still throbbed from the effort and the adrenaline that had yet to ease, he carried a glass bowl of cold water and a clean towel. In the other, a small jar of medicinal ointment.

Daniel didn’t immediately meet {{user}}’s eyes. He didn’t know how to ask for forgiveness. The word was a dead concept in his mouth, a weakness that his wounded pride and his history of pain refused to allow.

Slowly, his figure bent before the couch. He knelt on the old wooden floorboards, positioning himself exactly between {{user}}’s legs.

The physical proximity was immediate, suffocating. The feverish heat he exhaled acted like a magnet, filling the small space with tension almost unbearable. Daniel dipped the cloth into the water, wringing the fabric with rough ease, his teeth already biting into his own still-bruised lower lip.

When his rough hand rose and rested on {{user}}’s thigh, the contrast was overwhelming.

There was no brutality from minutes ago. The same fingers that had gripped hard enough to leave bruises now held the soft flesh with almost unhealthy delicacy, obsessive, as if handling a precious relic he himself had almost shattered.

“Stay quiet...” His voice came out extremely low, a rough, raspy growl that seemed to scrape against the silence of the room.

Daniel brought the damp cloth to the dark mark on {{user}}’s neck. The cold touch of the fabric made {{user}}’s skin shiver, and Daniel’s gaze—dark, heavy with bitter guilt and an unrelenting hunger—slowly rose to meet the stranger’s face.

The towel slid softly along the length of the neck, cleaning the sweat and cooling the burn of the bite. Daniel followed every inch of the path with dilated eyes, his deep and irregular breathing warm against {{user}}’s chin.

“You make me this way,” he whispered, his voice faltering slightly in a dangerous frequency of resentment and adoration. The thumb of his free hand descended to the edge of the purple mark, caressing the outline with a light touch, almost a veiled fear of having gone too far. “You get inside my head... ignore me, act like you don’t need me... and when I catch you, fuck, I lose my goddamn mind.”

He set the cloth down in the bowl and opened the ointment, spreading a generous amount across the calloused fingertips.

When he pressed the medication to the sensitive skin of {{user}}’s thigh, Daniel’s massage became deliberately slow. The pain of the bruise quickly fused with an electric shiver that rose along {{user}}’s spine. His giant, warm hand didn’t stop at the bandage; it descended millimeter by millimeter along the curve of the leg, the knuckles grazing the flesh with a suppressed desire that made the room’s air feel like lead.

Daniel tilted his head forward. His forehead slowly rested against {{user}}’s knee, an involuntary gesture of surrender and exhaustion, while his full lips pressed a long, almost desperate kiss to the treated skin.

His scent—the raw mix of citrus and bitter cologne with the hot sweat of his skin—filled {{user}}’s senses. The gold chain bracelet on his left wrist chilled the stranger’s thigh as it touched the skin, the same chain he refused to remove since the day he was abandoned.

“I hate having to take care of you after I ripped you apart,” he murmured against the soft skin, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as his hand moved another inch, the outline of his hips already tense from the closeness, the eruption of desire pulsing heavy beneath the jeans again. “But I hate even more the thought of anyone else touching these marks. You’re mine. Even when I hurt you, this whole fucking thing is mine.”

Slowly, Daniel lifted his face. His black pupils were fixed on {{user}}’s mouth, {{user}}’s lips parted in a short, feverish breath, waiting only for the slightest sign of permission to sink his teeth and tongue back into that flesh he didn’t know how else to love.

Raindrops streamed down the windshield of the old sedan, distorting the yellowed headlights of the dark street in the dangerous neighborhood. The low rumble of the old engine in first gear roared, a guttural growl that matched the heavy rhythm of Daniel’s breathing inside that suffocating, claustrophobic space.

The passenger door was unlocked with a sharp click.

Daniel didn’t wait for an invitation. Moments after he forcibly pulled {{user}} into the vehicle on the shoulder, the dense, intoxicating scent of the car—a raw mix of old upholstery, cigarette smoke, hot sweat, and his dark, citrusy, bitter cologne—completely enveloped the closed environment.

He shifted into first gear with contained brutality. The huge, heavily veined hand gripped the shifter so hard the knuckles stayed white.

“You really think you can walk around alone in this goddamn neighborhood at this hour?” Daniel’s voice was deep, rough, and raspy, cutting through the sound of rain hammering the metal roof. “You think you’re smart, fucker?”

He didn’t glance sideways right away, but his presence took up nearly half the interior space. The wrinkled black T-shirt clung to his broad, well-defined chest, while his abs flexed with every turn of the wheel.

Slowly, his right hand left the shifter.

Without asking permission, his rough, warm palm came down heavy on {{user}}’s thigh. The long fingers sank deep into the soft flesh with a dominant grip, claiming every inch of skin with a feverish urgency that made the vehicle’s air evaporate.

Daniel accelerated, the headlights slicing through the night fog, but his attention was no longer on the road.

With only one hand on the wheel, he turned his irritated dark eyes from the asphalt and locked a gaze heavy with diseased lust and overwhelming resentment on {{user}}.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled, lowering his tone to a nearly inaudible frequency, pure vibration that resonated straight into the lower belly. “You know exactly what happens when you try to challenge me.”

The hand on {{user}}’s thigh rose slowly, millimeter by millimeter. The knuckles brushed the fabric, climbing up the inside of the leg until they pressed firmly near the stranger’s hip. The feverish heat he exhaled was unbearable.

The buckle of Daniel’s own belt creaked with every irregular breath, while the thick, rigid bulge of his cock throbbed heavily beneath the dark jeans, begging for the smallest contact in that cramped space.

“Shut that mouth before I pull this car onto the shoulder and fuck you in the back seat,” he whispered, driving his nails into {{user}}’s thigh in a painful caress, eyes fixed on the stranger’s lips with brutal hunger. “You’re mine. In this car, on this street, anywhere. You’re mine.”

Steam from the shower filled the small apartment bathroom, fogging up the tiled walls and the clear glass of the shower door. Daniel’s bitter, citrusy cologne blended with the raw scent of sweat and accumulated sex, saturating the air with an almost unbearable density.

The clash of their bodies was constant, dry, and rhythmic.

Keeping {{user}} pressed against the smooth, cold surface of the glass shower door, Daniel dominated from behind with the fury and desperation of someone who had been starving for months. His broad, well-defined torso was covered in a thin layer of moisture; the dark tattoos seemed to shift as his back muscles clenched with every violent thrust.

His left hand, enormous and bulging with veins, held a firm, merciless fist in {{user}}’s hair, yanking it just enough to keep the stranger’s back arched and pressed tight against the glass. His other hand rested on {{user}}’s waist, nails digging into the skin and marking territory in a possessive grip.

“Mmh... fuck...” His groan came deep and dragged out, rising from the bottom of his chest and vibrating against {{user}}’s nape.

Daniel drove the thick, rigid length of his cock to the limit, filling {{user}} with no room for relief. Every slam of his hips produced a wet, echoing slap in the stuffy room, mixing the pain of repressed desire with the absolute relief of a sickening ache neither of them had been able to suppress.

The glass of the shower door shook under the force of the thrusts, reflecting the blurred image of that brutal surrender.

“Look at it...” Daniel growled, his labret piercing scraping the sensitive skin of {{user}}’s neck while his hungry mouth sucked the soft flesh, leaving another purple mark. “Look how fucking good you look swallowing my entire cock like this...”

PAH!

His free hand left {{user}}’s waist for a split second and slammed down hard against the flesh of {{user}}’s ass, the impact cracking against the wet bathroom walls and igniting a red, hot trail across the skin.

“Perfect little slut... my fucking slut,” he whispered, voice cracking, choked by overwhelming lust that dissolved any leftover pride or anger. “You really thought you could live without this? Hm? Without me tearing you apart in the middle?”

The rhythm turned insane.

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut with every deeper thrust, jaw locked tight while sweat dripped from the tip of his nose straight onto {{user}}’s shoulders. He didn’t know how to be gentle, but in this brutality there was a desperate cult; every thrust was a veiled declaration of twisted love, a punishment and a plea united in the same frantic movement.

“Say it...” he groaned low, sinking his teeth into the curve of {{user}}’s shoulder before dragging his hot tongue roughly across the bite mark. “Say that little hole was dying for my cock... tell me, fuck... tell your man...”

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