Claimed

He didn’t just take my body—he shattered my defenses, owned my soul, and left me forever marked as his.

"Did I give you permission to look at me?"

My eyes dropped to the floor like when my father reprimanded me as a child.

"That's better." He stood, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt with unhurried precision. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms, with the sharp lines of colorful tattoos catching my eye.

"You're a silly girl, do you know that?" he said, stepping closer.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" His words were a warning, a demand cloaked in a calmness that made my stomach tighten.

"Yes, Sir."

He hummed, a sound low in his chest, as he studied me. "That's better. But you've got a long way to go tonight, right?"

I nodded.

"Words, girl," he said, stepping even closer. "You answer me with words or don't answer me at all."

"Yes, Sir."

"That's my girl." His approval was subtle but unmistakable, but before I could settle in the glow of his praise, he reached out, his fingers catching my chin. "You want to please me tonight, don't you?" he asked, tilting my head upward, forcing my eyes to his.

"Yes, Sir."

His thumb brushed along my jaw, the briefest touch, before releasing me. "Then you'll do exactly as you're told. Won't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Take off your dress," he said, stepping back, his tone as casual as if asking me to hand him a glass of water.

I hesitated, still unsure.

"Now."

"Yes, Sir," I said, fingers fumbling with the zipper at my side.

I let the dress fall, the soft fabric pooling around my feet. Cold air kissed my skin, but it wasn't the chill that made me shiver—it was how his eyes traveled over me, slowly drinking me in, claiming every inch without uttering a word.

"Step out of it."

I obeyed, stepping free of the dress and standing still, my arms hanging at my sides, exposed and utterly terrified.

"Good girl," he said again. "Now kneel."

I sank to my knees, my head bowing instinctively. The floor was cool against my bare skin, grounding me, but his presence kept me steady, his quiet authority wrapping around me like a cocoon.

"Look how eager you are to give yourself to me," he said, sitting back in the chair in the center of the room. "You're so desperate to please, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"To do whatever I want with you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"To take you apart, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but what I've made of you?"

"Yes, Sir." The words eased off my lips without hesitation, their truth undeniable.

My knees pressed heavily into the cold floor as the silence stretched unbearably, thick and suffocating, coiling around me like a tightening noose. My breaths came shallow, the stillness in the room pressing down on me like a living thing. I didn't dare look up, didn't dare move, afraid that even the slightest motion might shatter the tension between us.

"Are you a whore?" he asked, annihilating the silence.

"No," I snapped, repulsed by the insinuation, feeling the anger surge through me and setting my pulse hammering in my ears.

"No, what?"

I sat in heavy silence, my fists clenched, jaw tight, letting the outrage slowly fizzle like a dying fire. Each breath dragged through me, cooling the heat in my chest as I forced myself to soften, to let go, to slip back into the quiet stillness of my submissive self.

"No, Sir."

"Are you my whore?"

I wrestled against the truth, clawing at every shred of denial. But no matter how I tried to bury it, I couldn't escape it: yes, I was Derek's whore. His to use, his to command. Whatever he needed, whatever he wanted—my body, my pride, my soul—I would offer willingly, just for an ounce of his attention.

"Yes, Sir."

"And do you know why you're my whore? Why I demand so much from you?"

"Because you own me, Sir," I said, speaking a truth we both understood.

"Now crawl to me, whore."

I moved gracefully, my right arm reaching forward, left knee following, eyes fixed on the floor beneath me. Each motion felt automatic, a careful rhythm my body obeyed even as my mind lagged, struggling to register the weight of Derek's lewd command fully.

"Stop."

My body locked in place as if his voice alone had seized the control of my limbs. My breath caught, and my palms pressed into the floor, waiting, aching for his next instruction.

"Look at me."

Slowly, I raised my head, climbing from his polished shoes to the rolled cuffs of his sleeves, past the sharp line of his jaw, until my eyes met his.

"Do you understand what you look like right now?" he asked.

"No, Sir."

"You look like exactly what you are: a woman who has given up everything just to crawl at my feet. A woman who would do anything to hear me say she's good enough."

My chest tightened, not from shame but from his words' stark, undeniable truth.

I didn't reply. I couldn't.

"Do you think that makes you weak?" he asked.

"No, Sir,"

"Good. It doesn't. It makes you mine. And that, my little whore, is your greatest strength."

I wanted nothing more than to rest my cheek against his powerful leg, to feel the reassurance of his presence. But I waited, knowing better than to move without permission.

"You're beautiful like this," he said. "So willing. So ready to be used."

"Yes, Sir."

"Tell me, what are you?"

"I'm your whore, Sir."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means I belong to you. My body, my mind, my soul. They're all yours, Sir. To use. To command."

"That's my good girl."

His praise washed over me, warming every inch as he reached down and tangled his strong fingers in my hair.

My lips parted instinctively, dying to exhale the pressure lodged in my chest, but I remained silent, waiting, aching, for his next move.

"Stand," he said, pulling me to my feet by my hair.

I rose carefully, my body swaying as I followed his lead. The pins-and-needles sensation of blood rushing back into my tingling feet made standing difficult. My legs felt heavy, the ache making my limbs nearly fail, but I pushed through, determined not to disappoint him.

"Turn around."

I obeyed again, turning slowly, my back to him now, the heat from his eyes resting on my ass.

"Hands on the chair. Spread your legs."

I leaned forward, placing my hands on the arm of the chair he just vacated. The vulnerability pained me, but I followed his command. My legs shifted apart, opening myself to him, exposed and torn with fear and anticipation.

"Perfect," he whispered, more to himself than to me. "You don't even realize how perfect you are like this, do you?"

"No, Sir."

"That's okay. You don't need to. That's my job. To see it. To mold it. To make you exactly what you're meant to be."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl," he said again, and this time, the words felt like a reward in themselves, a balm to the ache ravaging my entirety. "Now, hold still. Don't move unless I tell you to."

He stepped closer, brushing his body against mine, letting me feel the hardness straining beneath his jeans. My fingers curled around the armrest, desperate for something to anchor me.

"You're everything I need," he said, sliding a hand across my lower back. "My little plaything."

His hand moved with purpose now, sliding over my body in a way that confirmed his words were true. Every touch was a claim, every movement a reminder that I was his.

"Don't hold back," he said, sliding his hand over the curve of my ass, tracing a slow, deliberate path. His fingers paused, resting against the heat pooling between my thighs, his touch teasing me mercilessly. "I want to hear you," he continued. "I want to feel how much you need this… how much you need me."

"Yes, Sir," I groaned, my voice fracturing like a thin sheet of ice as his touch deepened, piercing my outer shell and teasing my wetness into existence.

The world dissolved around me. Every sound, every thought, all swallowed by him—his voice, his hands, his power. He was all that existed, all that ever existed. The Alpha and Omega. The beginning and the end.

"Good girl," he whispered. "You're mine now. All of you. And I'm going to show you what that means."

The heat of his hand lingered before he pulled it away, leaving me empty—until the sharp crack of his palm against the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh filled the void.

My body jerked. A pathetic yelp jumped from my chest, the sting radiating through to my shame, pooling low in my core.

Another strike landed on the opposite thigh—a direct hit.

"Oww, please," I whimpered.

The third blow was more brutal than the first two combined, biting into the tender skin just beneath my ass. I felt the welts rising, Derek's touch branding me in a way that threw my thoughts into a tailspin.

"What's this?" he said as his fingers slid between my thighs, collecting the dew betraying my body. His hand glistened in the dim light as he raised it to my face. "Look at this, dripping down your leg. Do you like being punished? Is that what this is?"

"I—I don't know, Sir."

The edges of his mouth curved into something between a smirk and a snarl. "Do you think good girls get wet from being smacked or do filthy whores?"

"Filthy whores, Sir," I admitted.

He didn't miss a beat, his slick finger brushing against my lips, spreading the evidence of my arousal. "Taste it," he commanded.

I obeyed, my tongue darting out to meet his finger, the salty tang of my excitement awakening my senses.

"Tell me," he said. "Does that taste like a good girl or a whore?"

"A whore, Sir."

He snatched me by the nape, pulling my face close to his. Danger flashed like lightning through the center of his eyes. "That's right. That's the taste of a whore. My whore. Only mine. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"In here, you're free to be who you truly are. No shame. No pretense. But out there—where the world watches—you're the picture of purity. No one and I mean not a soul, will ever know how depraved my little doll is. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

He released his hold, leaving a few strands wrapped around his fingers, pulling them free from my scalp. "Now, show me. Show me the whore that no one else has seen. Prove that you are worthy of my attention, and don't you dare stop until I say."

Words felt too small to respond. Instead, I let my trembling fingers move, reaching for his belt buckle. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops jolted me, and my excitement doubled as I worked to undo the button and zipper of his jeans.

My hands worked on autopilot, clawing at him until his weight pressed against my hand, thick and heavy, the heat radiating from his skin. I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking slowly, feeling every ridge and pulse beneath my touch like my life depended on it.

His groans vibrated through my chest, spurring me on as I guided his hard cock along my palm. I leaned closer, exhaling my warm breath across the taut skin, and let my lips hover just above the tip.

"That's my good girl," he growled. "Now show me what my good little whore is capable of."

My lips parted as I took him in, his thickness filling my shallow mouth, stretching me, demanding my full attention as my tongue swirled around the tip, previewing the salty warmth of his arousal.

Deeper, I took him, my hand secured tightly around the swollen base, sliding in rhythm with my mouth.

"That's it," he hissed. "Take me just like that. Be the whore I know you can be."

I pushed myself further, my jaw aching and my throat gagging as I attempted to take more of him. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and my breath cut off completely, but still, I didn't stop. His hand found the back of my head, again tangling his demanding fingers into my hair, guiding me, controlling me until I completely surrendered to his will.

"Fuck, you have a perfect little mouth," he grunted, his hips rocking slightly, testing me, filling me until I might come undone just from the act of pleasing him.

My free hand found its way between my thighs, the pad of my finger brushing the stiff button protruding like a budding flower. This does nothing to quell my need. Each scrub against my engorged clit was like tossing gasoline onto an already raging fire.

I moved faster, my hand and my mouth working in unison around his slippery cock while my other hand coaxed more of my excitement down my thighs. Every sound he made fueled me, pushing me to give him more, to be everything he demanded.

His grip tightened in my hair, pulling me back just enough to look at me. "Do you feel that?" he asked. "Do you feel how fucking hard you've made me? How much I fucking want you?"

"Yes, Sir," I whimpered as my fingers toyed against my entrance.

"Tell me what you want," he said, tugging my hair harder.

"I want you to fuck me, Sir."

"How do you want me to fuck you?

"However you'd like, Sir."

"Mmm. Such a good little whore, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"We will see about that," he said, pulling me to my feet with a commanding tug of my hair.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he turned me and forced me against the nearest wall. His hands were everywhere—my face, my thighs, my breasts—claiming me, owning me.

"You're dripping," he said, running a rough finger through my parted slit. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you? Waiting for me to ruin you."

"Yes, Sir," I gasped, my body pressing against him.

His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me, suspending me in the air, my nails digging into his shoulders, my desperation echoing through the room.

He showed no remorse, pinning me against the wall and lining himself up to my tight opening. With a simple thrust, his swollen tip pierced my vulnerability and annihilated what little resistance my body could produce.

The fullness of his cock stretching my walls pushed me to the edge of insanity. I clung to him like a helpless child, my arms around his neck, my head buried in his shoulder as he held me up and thrust himself deeper and deeper into my treacherous cunt.

"You like being fucked by a fat dick, don't you?" he growled.

"Yes… Sir."

"You're mine," he said again. "Only mine. Say it."

"I'm yours," I cried out, the words ripping from me as the pleasure surging through my body threatened to consume me. "Only yours, Sir."

His groans became primal and his movements more erratic, his control slipping as he pushed us both closer to the edge. My body clenched around him, pressure building, growing into a tight ball lodged somewhere deep within my very being.

"You're going to make me cum, Sir," I whimpered, my words unsure, having never had an orgasm from penetration.

"Did I give you permission to cum?" he asked, thrusting deep.

"No, Sir," I yelped, tightening as his thickness brushed my cervix.

"You're here for my pleasure. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm… I'm sorry, Sir. It just feels too good."

His pace eased enough for me to catch a clean breath and refill my lungs. "What feels too good?" he asked.

"You. Your big dick. I don't think I can hold it, Sir," I gasped, his rigid cock resting at my opening, nearly pushing me past the point of no return.

He smiled a dark, devious smile. "You'll hold it, little one. You'll hold it because I said so. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," I whimpered, digging my fingers into the hardened muscles of his shoulders as he pushed the tip deeper, teasing me with excruciating slowness.

"You think this is for you?" he whispered next to my ear. "No. This is for me. Every sound, tremor, and pathetic little gasp you make belongs to me."

He thrust again, deeper this time, stretching me inch by inch until I was sure I'd unravel. My breath hitched, the fullness stealing the air from my lungs as he pressed me tighter against the wall, his hands gripping my thighs like a vice.

"Your pussy is so tight," he said, almost to himself. "Your body knows who it belongs to. You are desperate to please me. Say it."

"It belongs to you, Sir," I gasped, the words spilling out as if he'd reached inside me and pulled them out. "I just want to please you."

His thrusts grew sharper, more determined, and devastating. "No one will ever fuck you again. Only me. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir. Only you."

His grip shifted, his hands sliding under my ass, lifting me higher, his cock driving deeper than I thought possible. The new angle had me crying out, my head slamming against the wall with every violent thrust.

"You like this, Don't you? Being used. Being completely fucking ruined."

"Yes, Sir," I moaned, my body growing limp, my resistance non-existent.

His pace slowed, the deliberate drag of his cock inside me driving me mad. "Feel that?" he asked. "Feel how deep I am inside you? How perfectly I fill you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you know what I'm going to do?"

"No, Sir."

He paused, waiting for his breathing to steady. "I'm going to cum inside you," he said. "I'm going to claim you. Soil you. My seed will live within you."

My eyes widened, shock rippling as his intentions pierced through the haze clouding my mind. My body was ravaged, caught between the raw, undeniable pleasure and the panic that his words ignited. No man had ever spilled himself inside me, and the thought clawed at my reason, tugging at the fragile threads of rationality I clung to. This was supposed to be a gift I reserved for my future husband. I hadn't prepared for this—not for the weight of such a moment or the inevitability of what he was about to do.

I opened my mouth to protest, but no words came. My body betrayed me, my need to please him overruling whatever silly moral code my mind created to keep me pure.

He could feel it—my hesitation, my fear—and he thrived on it, pressing deeper into me, both physically and emotionally.

"Beg me for it," he commanded, measuring his thrusts, every inch of him designed to break me further. "Beg me to leave a part of me inside you that you'll carry long after this."

My heart pounded, the adrenaline flooding my veins, marking my surrender. “Sir… please…” I whispered, unsure of what I was asking for.

"Please, what?" His pace quickened, the force of him pulling me further into his rhythm. "Tell me what you want. What you need."

"I don't know," I gasped.

"Yes, you do. Now tell me."

My body arched into his, traitorous and needy, the desire to please him becoming all-consuming.

"I want you to cum inside of me," I cried, holding onto him for dear life.

The tension broke like strands of a coiled wire, the heat and pressure spiraling out of control. He tensed, his grip on me tightening, his cock swelling inside me. My body responded instinctively, clenching around him, pulling him in, my release teetering on the brink.

"You're mine," he growled one final time, his voice primal as he reached his peak. His warmth spilled into me, overwhelming me and claiming me in a final and inescapable way.

His release triggered my own, hitting me like a tsunami, my body shattering under the force of the relentless waves, my cries and pleas echoing through the room as he continued to fuck me through the storm, my filthy cunt greedily gripping him, begging for every last ounce.

He held me there, pressed against the wall, his breath hot against my face, his hands gripping me as if he'd never let go.

When the silence settled, his lips brushed against mine, his tone growing possessive. "You're mine," he said finally, branding his words on my soul. "And I'm far from done with you."