His Pretty Little Cocksleeve

by Ilikemymendepraved

Summary:

A sex addicted man takes a sweet, naive, innocent girl as his personal sex toy.

He’s insatiable and determined to break her. He could do anything to her, fuck her within an inch of her life and she’d have no choice but to take it.

Chapter 1

Poppy was barely eighteen, a soft spoken girl with wide doe eyes and a nervous habit of tucking her hair behind her ear.

 

She'd met Victor at a charity gala her parents dragged her to. A towering, brooding man of thirty with sharp cheekbones, a calm demeanor that bordered on eeriness, and a gaze that pinned her in place. He was stupidly wealthy, the kind of man who owned half the city without ever raising his voice.

 

Daddy material, people whispered behind his back, though Poppy didn't understand what that meant at first. She just knew he scared her a little, the way his dark eyes lingered on her when she mumbled her hellos.

 

She didn't want him. Not at first. Her shy rejections, the way she'd duck her head and mumble excuses when he invited her for coffee or offered to drive her home only seemed to fuel something dangerous in him.

 

Victor wasn't used to being told no. It enraged him, though he never showed it outright. Instead, he pursued her relentlessly, cornering her with charm and gifts until she finally gave in, dating him out of a mix of fear and confusion. She didn't know how to handle a man like him, someone so dominant, so controlling, so utterly obsessed with owning every piece of her.

 

Tonight, they were in his penthouse, a sprawling space of glass and steel that felt more like a cage than a home. Poppy sat on the edge of his massive bed, her small frame wrapped in one of his oversized shirts, her bare legs pressed together.

 

Her cheeks were still flushed from earlier, when he'd taken her for the first time that night. She hadn't been sure she wanted it then either, but Victor had a way of coaxing her, his deep voice murmuring promises while his hands guided her where he wanted her to be.

 

"Poppy" Victor said, his tone low and commanding as he stood in front of her, shirtless, his broad chest glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. His dark trousers hung low on his hips, the bulge of his arousal already evident. "You're so fucking perfect, you know that?"

 

She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. "I…I'm tired, Victor. It hurts already. Her voice was small, almost a whisper.

 

He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he stepped closer, his shadow looming over her. "Hurts? Baby, I've barely started with you. Come on, let Daddy see."

 

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, her thighs squeezing tighter together. "No, really, it's..it's red and swollen. I can't-"

 

"Show me," he interrupted, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His hand reached out, gripping her chin gently but with an underlying threat, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Now, Poppy. Don't make me ask again."

 

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she hesitated, but his stare bore into her, heavy and unyielding. With shaky hands, she lifted the shirt, exposing herself to him.

 

Her pussy was indeed red and swollen, glistening with remnants of their earlier encounter, a stark contrast to the pale skin of her thighs. She whimpered softly, embarrassed by how exposed she felt under his predatory gaze.

 

Victor groaned, low and guttural, his eyes darkening with hunger. The sight of her battered, used body undid him completely. "Fuck, baby, look at that. You're a mess for me. So fucking beautiful."

 

"Victor, please," she whispered, tears spilling over now as she tried to pull the shirt back down."I can’t do it again. It hurts too much."

 

But he was already undoing his trousers, freeing his cock, thick and heavy as it sprang free. He stroked himself once, twice, his eyes never leaving her trembling form. "Shh, sweetheart. You can take it. You always do. Daddy just needs to be inside you again. Just a little, okay? I'll go slow.”

 

"No," she cried softly, her voice breaking as she shook her head. "I don't want to. Please, Victor, don't-"

 

Her words were cut off as he knelt between her legs, pushing her thighs apart with ease despite her weak attempts to resist. He ran the head of his cock against her swollen folds, slicking himself with the mess of her earlier arousal and his own cum. The contact made her flinch, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

"Goddamn, Poppy" he muttered, his voice rough with need. "Feel that? You're still so wet for me. You're saying no, but your body knows who owns it.”

 

"I don't..I don't want this," she whimpered, her hands pushing weakly at his chest. But he was immovable, a wall of muscle and obsession, and her protests only seemed to spur him on.

 

He slid the tip of his cock inside her, slow at first, watching the way her red, battered pussy stretched around him. She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as pain shot through her, but he didn't stop. He pushed deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, her small body trembling beneath him.

 

"Fuck, you're tight" he growled, pulling out just enough to see the way their combined fluids formed a sticky web between their bodies, connecting them in a perverse, messy way.

 

Then he thrust back in, harder this time, making her sob. "Look at that, baby. Look at how we fit. You're made for this…Made for me."

 

"Victor, stop! It hurts!" Her voice was desperate, her hands scrabbling at the sheets now, trying to push herself away. But he pinned her hips down with one large hand, his other gripping her jaw so she had to look at him.

 

"Stop fighting it, Poppy," he said, his tone calm but laced with cruelty. "You're mine. Every fucking inch of you. You don't get to say no to Daddy. You take what I give you."

 

He started moving then, his thrusts relentless, each one deeper and harder than the last. Her cries filled the room, mingling with the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies colliding. Her pussy was a mess of cum and slick, the friction burning against her already raw skin, but Victor didn't care. He reveled in it, in the way she shuddered and sobbed beneath him, in the way her body betrayed her with faint spasms of unwanted pleasure despite her pain.

 

"Fuck..I'm gonna cum again," he grunted after what felt like an eternity, his pace erratic now as he chased his release. "Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Make sure you're dripping with me."

 

"No, please," she whimpered, her voice hoarse from crying, but he ignored her, his grip tightening on her hips as he slammed into her one last time. His cock pulsed, spilling hot and thick inside her, adding to the mess already leaking out of her. He pulled out slowly, watching the way his cum dribped from her abused hole, a satisfied smirk curling his lips as he rubbed the head of his cock against her clit, making her jolt.

 

"You're so fucking pretty when you're broken," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her tear streaked cheek. "But we're not done yet love. I’m still hard for you." He palmed his aching cock.

 

Her eyes widened in horror, fresh tears spilling over as she shook her head weakly. "No more...I can't..Victor, please..."

 

But he was already positioning himself again, his cock sliding against her slick, swollen folds, teasing her entrance. "You can, baby. You will. I'm never gonna stop wanting you. Never gonna stop taking you. You're mine to use, Poppy. My little toy. Only fucking mine."

 

She sobbed as he pushed inside again, her body too weak to fight anymore, her mind numb with the realization that she couldn't refuse him.

 

He took her over and over, each round messier than the last, cum and slick smeared across her thighs, the sheets, his cock. He was insatiable, cruel in his obsession, whispering filthy praises as he raped her again and again, watching her break beneath him.

 

"Such a good girl," he rasped after the third round, his voice thick with satisfaction as he lay beside her, pulling her trembling body against his chest. "My sweet, naive little Poppy. You'll never get away from me. I'lI fuck you raw every day if I have to, just to remind you who you belong to.”

 

She didn't respond, her eyes vacant as she stared at the ceiling, tears drying on her cheeks.Her body ached, her pussy throbbing with pain, but she knew he wasn't lying. Victor's obsession ran too deep. And she was too small, too weak, too naive to ever escape him.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Rough sex/lots of cum

Victor sat alone in his office late at night, the city skyline sprawling beyond the floor to ceiling windows. His laptop was open, but work was the last thing on his mind. A small, hidden folder contained dozens of photos he'd taken of Poppy, some candid, some coerced, all of her in various states of vulnerability.

 

Tonight, he fixated on one from last week. Poppy asleep in his bed, her lips parted, her tiny frame tangled in his sheets, one bare shoulder exposed.

 

"Fuck, baby girl," he muttered to himself, his voice low and gritty as he unzipped his trousers, freeing his already hard cock. He gripped himself tight, his eyes locked on the image. "You don't even know what you do to me. How fucking crazy you make Daddy."

 

His strokes were fast, desperate, precum leaking over his knuckles as he imagined her waking up to find him looming over her, taking what was his. He thought of her soft gasps, the way she'd whimper "no" even as her body yielded to him. His obsession consumed him, every thought, every moment, was about owning her completely.

 

"Mine. All fucking mine," he growled, his other hand gripping the edge of his desk as his hips jerked upward. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else touches you. I'd kill them,Poppy. I'd fucking kill for you."

 

His climax hit hard, ropes of cum spilling over his hand and onto the polished wood of his desk. He didn't stop, though, didn't clean up. He just stared at her photo, his chest heaving, already half hard again. "I need you here. Right now. Can't wait till I get back to bury myself in that sweet cunt."

 

_______________

 

The penthouse was silent except for the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies colliding and Poppy's broken whimpers echoing off the glass walls. Victor had her pinned beneath him on the massive bed, her small frame engulfed by his much larger one. Her legs were spread wide, trembling uncontrollably as he thrust into her with a punishing rhythm, his thick cock stretching her already raw and swollen pussy.

 

The sheets beneath them were a mess of sweat, cum, and her tears, the air thick with the scent of sex and desperation.

 

Poppy's face was streaked with mascara, her doe eyes glassy as she sobbed, her hands clawing uselessly at his shoulders. "Victor, please... stop... it hurts so much." she choked out between gasps, her voice ray and pleading. Her body shuddered beneath him, overwhelmed by the relentless pace, her pussy clenching around him despite her protests, betraying her words with every involuntary spasm.

 

Victor groaned deep in his chest, a primal sound that vibrated through her as he buried himself to the hilt again, his hips grinding against hers. His hand came up to cradle her tear streaked face, thumb brushing over her cheek with a tenderness that felt like a mockery given the brutality of his thrusts. "Shh, baby, I know, I know," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, almost sweet. "But look at you, so fucking needy for me. You can't help it, can you? Taking every inch like you were made for this."

 

She shook her head weakly, another sob ripping from her throat as he pulled out just enough to drag the head of his cock through her oversensitive folds before slamming back in. The wet squelch of her pussy gripping him was loud in the quiet room, obscene and filthy, and it made her cheeks burn with humiliation.

 

"No...I can't...please.." Her words were barely coherent, reduced to a pitiful whine as her body jolted with each thrust.

 

"Fuck, listen to that," Victor muttered, his voice dripping with reverence even as his hips snapped forward harder, making her cry out. He glanced down between them, watching the way her battered cunt stretched around him, coated in a sheen of their combined fluids, her arousal, his precum, the mess from earlier still leaking out of her. "You're so goddamn messy for me, Poppy. So desperate. Look at how much you're dripping. You love this, don't you, even when you're crying about it.”

 

Her nails dug into his skin, leaving red marks on his shoulders as she tried to push him away, but it was futile. He was too strong, too relentless, and her resistance only seemed to make him harder. His cock throbbed inside her, the heat of it searing her already aching walls. "I don't...I don't want this..” she whimpered, her voice breaking as fresh tears spilled down her face. Her thighs quivered, trying to close around him, but he held them open with bruising force, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

 

Victor let out a low, guttural moan, his head tipping back for a noment as he savored the tight, wet heat of her. "Goddamn, baby, you're squeezing me so fucking good," he grunted, his tone almost affectionate despite the harshness of his movements. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her temple as he spoke, hot breath fanning over her skin. "Such a greedy little thing, aren't you? Crying and begging me to stop, but your pussy's pulling me in like it can't get enough. You're starving for this cock, Poppy"

 

Her sobs grew louder, her body wracked with shudders as he pounded into her, the head of his cock hitting so deep it felt like he was splitting her apart. The pain mingled with a sick, unwanted pleasure, her clit throbbing even as she begged for mercy. Her hands fell from his shoulders, clutching at the sheets instead, knuckles white as she tried to anchor herself against the onslaught. "Victor...it's too much..I'm gonna break..." she gasped. her voice a broken whisper.

 

He chuckled softly, the sound almost tender as he kissed the corner of her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears. "Break? Oh, sweetheart, you're not gonna break. You're too fucking greedy for that. You'll take everything I give you, won't you?"

 

His hand slid down between them, his thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing tight circles that made her scream, her hips jerking involuntarily. *Yeah, that's it. Cry for me, baby. Let me hear how much you need this."

 

Poppy's cries turned into high pitched keens, her body convulsing as the overstimulation tore through her. Her pussy clenched around him so tightly it made him hiss, his rhythm faltering for a moment before he doubled down, fucking her even harder. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by his grunts and her pitiful sobs. "Fuck, you're gonna make me cum," he growled, his voice rough with need as he watched her fall apart beneath him. "So fucking tight, so messy. You're a perfect little slut for me, Poppy, so damn desperate."

 

She couldn't respond, her words swallowed by another wave of sobs as her body betrayed her, a brutal orgasm ripping through her despite the pain. Her pussy spasmed around him, gushing slick that coated his cock and dripped onto the sheets, making an even bigger mess. Victor moaned loudly, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release, his grip on her hips tightening to the point of pain.

 

"That's it, baby, cum for me," he rasped, his voice soft and doting even as he rutted into her like an animal. "Such a needy little girl, soaking me like this. You can't help it, can you? You're made to be fucked like this." With a final, deep thrust, he came hard, spilling inside her with a guttural groan, hot spurts filling her already overstuffed cunt until it leaked out around his cock, mixing with her fluids in a sticky, filthy mess.

 

Poppy lay there, trembling and whimpering, her body limp and spent as he finally stilled above her. His hand came up to stroke her hair, his touch gentle now, almost reverent, as he looked down at her tear stained face with something close to adoration. "So fucking beautiful when you're wrecked like this," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "My desperate little thing. You did so good for me, Poppy."

 

She didn't respond, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, her mind a haze of pain, humiliation, and the lingering aftershocks of unwanted pleasure. Victor stayed inside her a moment longer, savoring the way her pussy still twitched around him, before finally pulling out with a wet, obscene sound. He watched as their combined cum dripped from her, pooling on the sheets beneath her, and let out a satisfied hum.
"Look at that mess, baby. All mine."

Chapter 3

Summary:

Poppy thought it was just the tip..oh boy was she wrong

Poppy knew it wasn’t normal.

 

This mad fixation Victor harbored for her, this hunger that attacked his senses upon laying eyes on her. She was so scared, but she didn’t know who to tell or what to do. Victor forbid her from leaving, he took her phone and always answered her parents when they called, assuring them that she’s being taken good care of and they had no need to worry.

 

Poppy knew what she was to him.

 

A set of holes he could fuck anytime until he had his fill.

 

She whimpered when she tried to move slightly, her sore pussy protesting against the movement. He hadn’t allowed her rest even after they went more than three rounds the other night, he used her unconscious body how he pleased, insatiable in his desire to fill all her holes with his cum and rub it on her skin.

 

She was so tired.

 

She couldn’t do anything around him without him grabbing her and fucking her within an inch of her life. Even when he was running late for work this morning, she caught him masturbating into one of the pink baby girl panties he got her, chanting her name as he came. After he’d done it, he straight up shoved the panties into her pussy and told her not to take it off from there.

 

“I want to see your pretty pussy stuffed with my cum when I come home sweetheart” those had been his exact words when he used her throat, making her gag as he lodged his cock deep inside her overused throat. She was so sore everywhere, so tired and broken from use.

 

Poppy didn’t want to do this anymore.

 

She wasn’t sure that this was how a relationship was supposed to be. People she had interacted with and from what she’d seen in movies, it was all supposed to be flowers and rainbows, instead it was fucking.

 

Lots and lots of messy fucking.

 

She made up her mind. She’d tell him that she didn’t want this anymore.

 

Whatever this was.

 

____________________

 

Poppy was perched on the edge of his sleek black couch, her fingers nervously twisting in the hem of her short dress, her bare thighs pressed tightly together. Her wide doe eyes darted up to meet Victor's gaze, then quickly dropped again, overwhelmed by the weight of his stare. he loomed over her, shirtless and imposing, his dark trousers already undone, the outline of his arousal straining against the fabric. His hungry eyes made her heart race with a mix of fear and something else, something she couldn’t quite lay her hands on.

 

"Poppy" Victor's voice was a low rumble, smooth
as velvet as he stepped closer, his shadow as velvet as he stepped closer, his shadow engulfing her. "Spread your legs baby.”

 

She did, parting her thighs wide just the way he liked it so he could see the cum soaked panties stuffed inside her pussy. He groaned, deep and guttural as he palmed his cock hard. “Fuck baby, you’re such a good girl for me.”

 

Victor felt precum leaking from the tip of his throbbing cock at the sight of his doll stuffed with his cum soaked panties. She was a vision, his little baby girl doing anything daddy tells her. He was so proud of her.

 

He would go easy on her.

 

Poppy whimpered when he gently took it out of her pussy, an almost pained moaned tore from his throat he noticed how red and swollen it was. He wasn’t sure he could go along with going easy on her.

 

He wanted to fuck that pussy hard.

 

Leave it bloody from use.

 

But she’s been such a good girl for him.

 

"You've been so good for me lately. I just wanna feel you, just a little. Nothing you can't handle."

 

She swallowed hard, her breath hitching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I... I don't know, Victor. I'm still kinda sore from last time. Maybe just.. n-not all the way, okay?"

 

He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he crouched down in front of her, his large hands resting on her knees with a deceptive gentleness. "Just the tip, baby. That's all I'm asking. I'll stop right there, I promise. Just wanna feel how warm you are."

 

Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip, hesitating. His dark eyes bore into her, heavy with intent, and she felt that familiar knot of confusion and fear twist in her stomach. But his voice was so soft, so coaxing, that she found herself nodding despite every instinct screaming to say no. "Okay...just the tip. Please don't…don't go further."

 

"I won't," he murmured, his tone almost tender as he caressed her bare thighs, leaving her bare and trembling under his gaze. "Fuck, look at you. So perfect for me."

 

Poppy squirmed, her hands fidgeting as he positioned himself between her thighs, freeing his cock from his trousers. It was thick and heavy, already glistening at the tip, and her breath caught at the sight of it. He stroked himself once, twice, his eyes never leaving her as he nudged her legs further apart.

 

"Just the tip," he repeated, his voice a soothing hum as he rubbed the head of his cock against her entrance, slicking himself with her hesitant arousal. She tensed, her thighs twitching, but he held her steady with one hand while guiding himself with the other. Slowly, he pushed in, just the tip as promised, and paused there, letting out a low groan. "Goddamn, baby, you're so tight. Feels so fucking good already."

 

She whimpered softly, her hands gripping the edge of the couch as she adjusted to the slight intrusion. It didn't hurt, not yet, but the pressure was there, a reminder of how much more there could be. "Okay..that’s...that's enough, right?" she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

 

Victor's hand slid up her thigh, his touch featherlight as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart, that's enough.. for now. But you feel so damn good, I need just a little deeper. Just an inch, okay? You can take that for me."

 

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head slightly, her eyes wide with apprehension. "No, Victor, you said just the tip. I don't-"

 

"Shh, I know, I know," he interrupted, his voice still gentle, almost apologetic, as he pushed in another inch, slow and deliberate. Her walls stretched around him, and she let out a shaky gasp, her body trembling under the careful but unyielding invasion. "I'm sorry, baby, but I have to keep going. You're doing so well. Just a little more, I promise it won't hurt."

 

"Victor.." Her voice was a pitiful whine, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as he slid in further, inch by agonizing inch, his cock filling her more than she'd agreed to. It didn't hurt, not exactly, he was too careful for that, too controlled, but the slow, relentless push made her feel utterly powerless, her body yielding to him despite her weak protests.

 

"Look at you, taking me so good," he murmured, his tone doting even as he sank deeper, his hips rocking subtly to ease himself in. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear as he watched her face contort with a mix of unease and involuntary arousal. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already. You didn't even know you wanted this, did you? My needy little thing."

 

She shook her head again, her hands pushing weakly at his chest, but he was a wall of muscle, immovable as he continued his slow descent. "Please... no more..." she breathed, her voice breaking as he reached halfway, her pussy clenching around him in a desperate, conflicting response.

 

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, his voice dripping with false regret as he pushed in another inch, drawing a soft cry from her lips. "I can't stop now. You feel too fucking good. Just a little deeper, and I'll be all in. You can handle it, I know you can." His other hand slipped between them, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing slow, coaxing circles that made her hips jerk despite herself, slicking his cock further with her unwanted arousal.

 

The mess between them grew, her wetness mixing with his precum, the sounds of their connection wet and obscene as he finally buried himself to the hilt, a low, guttural moan escaping his throat. "Fuck, Poppy, there we go. All of me, baby. You took it so fucking well." He stilled for a moment, letting her adjust, his cock throbbing inside her as she trembled beneath him, her thighs quivering and her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

 

Tears spilled down her cheeks now, her body overwhelmed by the fullness, by the betrayal of his gentle words against his unrelenting actions. "You said...just the tip..." she whimpered, her voice barely audible as her hands fell limp to her sides, defeated.

 

Victor leaned down, kissing the tears from her cheek with a reverence that felt cruel in its tenderness. "I know, baby, I know. But you felt too good to stop. Look at the mess you've made for me." He pulled out just an inch, enough to see the slick coating his length, glistening with their combined fluids, before sliding back in fully, a slow, deliberate thrust that made her gasp again. "So fucking greedy, soaking me like this. You needed all of me, didn't you?"

 

Her sobs mixed with soft moans now, her body betraying her as he moved inside her, slow and deep, keeping his promise of gentleness even as he took everything he wanted. The couch beneath them was stained with her arousal, the air thick with the scent of their messy, intimate connection. He kept murmuring to her, soft words of praise laced with condescension. "So desperate for me. aren't you?" and "Can't help but take it all, my perfect girl" as he fucked her with a controlled, possessive rhythm, ensuring she felt every inch of him claiming her.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Forced blowjob and manipulation….

The world goes blank. My mind slips into a void, a hollow space where nothing exists but the pounding of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. Poppy's words..those fucking words ricochet in my skull like bullets. "I don't want this anymore. I want to go home to my parents." Each syllable is a blade, slicing through the carefully constructed reality I've built around us. My pretty little girl, trembling in the corner of our room, doesn't get to say that. She doesn't get to decide.

 

I stand there, frozen, my gaze unfocused, staring at the broken mirror on the wall. The shattered glass reflects fragments of my face-distorted, jagged,unrecognizable. Just like the thoughts spiraling in my head. Home? Parents?

 

No.

 

She's mine. My doll, my possession, my everything.

 

She doesn't get to leave. She doesn't get to think beyond me.

 

My breath steadies, and a cold, calm resolve settles over me. I step closer, my boots crunching on the debris of whatever storm tore through this room before I arrived. Poppy flinches as I approach, her small frame curling tighter into itself, her hiccupping sobs filling the air.

 

My chest tightens, not with guilt, but with a possessive rage. Who did this to her? Who made my baby cry like this? Or was it her own doing, her own rebellion? Either way, she's not leaving.

 

"Poppy" I say, my voice deceptively soft, a low rumble as I crouch in front of her. "You're not going anywhere. You know that, don't you? You're my girl. My only girl."

 

Her tear streaked face lifts, wide eyes meeting mine, and for the first time, I see raw defiance flash through her fear. Her lips tremble, but she forces the words out, her voice cracking. "No,Victor! I- I can't do this! I want out! I want my family!"

 

The room tilts. My vision darkens at the edges, and a searing heat floods my veins. My hand twitches at my side, itching to grab her, to shake sense into her. Instead, I grit my teeth and force a smile, but it's sharp, all edges and no warmth. "You're not being a good girl, Poppy. You're disappointing me."

 

Her breath hitches, and before I can stop her, she screams. A piercing, desperate sound that rips through the silence of the trashed room. "Let me go! I don't belong to you!"

 

That's it.

 

The dam breaks.

 

Rage..pure, unfiltered, white-hot- courses through me. I lunge forward, my hand clamping around her delicate wrist, yanking her toward me with a force that makes her gasp. My other hand finds her throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh just enough to feel her pulse racing beneath them.

 

Her sobs choke off into a strangled whimper, her eyes wide with terror as she stares into mine. I see it then -the realization hitting her. The absolute, unending fury burning in my gaze. She knows she's pushed too far.

 

"You don't get to leave me," I snarl, my voice low, dangerous, vibrating with the intensity of my obsession. "You're mine, Poppy. Every fucking inch of you. And you'll learn to remember that."

 

Her mouth opens, but no sound escapes. Her body trembles under my grip, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. I release her wrist, my free hand moving to my belt, unbuckling it with a sharp clink before sliding it free. Her eyes dart to it, fear mingling with something else..resignation, maybe. I don't care. I'm beyond caring.

 

I free my cock, hard and aching for her despite the chaos, or maybe because of it. Wrapping the belt around her neck, I use it as a leash, pulling her forward roughly.

 

"Open," I command, slapping the head of my cock against her trembling lips. She complies immediately, her mouth stretching wide, and I don't hesitate. I thrust in, hard and deep, hitting the back of her throat. She chokes, gagging, her face turning red as the veins in her neck strain under the pressure of the belt. I hold myself there, relishing the tight heat of her mouth, but even that isn't enough to fit my full length.

 

Her hands twitch at her sides, but she doesn't fight. Doesn't push me away. Instead, her tear-filled eyes lock onto mine, pleading silently. Begging. It only fuels my anger further. I'm the last man she should beg for mercy. I'll destroy her throat until she can't even whisper about leaving me. Until she learns her place- beneath me, mouth open, hands bound, pussy exposed, waiting for my cum. That's where she belongs.

 

"You thought you could leave me?" I growl, pulling out just enough for her to gasp for air before thrusting back in, harder this time. Her tongue presses against me, providing friction that drives me wild as I fuck her throat with brutal force. Spit drips from her lips, mixing with tears and precum, painting her face in my mess.
My masterpiece. "You’re nothing but a fucking cunt for even thinking it.”

 

I tighten the belt, keeping her immobile as I use her, my rhythm punishing, unrelenting. She doesn't resist, not even as her face becomes a mess of fluids, her gags echoing in the room.

 

"You were such a good girl for me, Poppy," I grunt, feeling the pressure build as I near my peak. "But you're turning into such a fucking bitch." I spit the words like venom, grabbing the back of her head roughly and jerking her off my cock. She whimpers in pain, the sound shooting straight to my groin.

 

She tries to crawl away, just an inch, her mouth opening as if to protest, to spew more of her nonsense. "I'm s-so s-sorry, Victor, please!" she wails, her body shaking as she collapses to the floor, her cries and disheveled state making my cock twitch with need. Fuck, she's gorgeous like this. Broken, sobbing, completely at my mercy. I almost moan at the sight.

 

"Poppy,” I say, voice dripping with menace as she clings to my leg, her small hands gripping me like I'm her lifeline. "I-I won't leave. I'll never leave you, Victor, please... j-just. please show mercy.”

 

I freeze for a moment, my eyes narrowing. Mercy? She doesn't deserve it. "You're going to call your parents," I say, my tone cold and unyielding. "And you're going to tell them we're getting married soon."

 

Her eyes widen, her trembling intensifying as she processes my words. But I'm not a patient man. I don't give her time to think. My hand tightens around her throat again, nearly choking her as I lean in close, my breath hot against her ear. "Maybe I should give you something to keep you busy, huh? Put a baby in you so you won't ever think of anything but my cock and our child."

 

She shakes her head weakly, tears spilling down her cheeks as she struggles to breathe. "Fucking breed you and break your sexy little legs so you won't have anywhere to run to, huh?" I taunt, my grip unrelenting.

 

"Please!" she screams, the sound like music to my ears, stoking the fire in my veins.

 

When did my little girl start thinking for herself?

 

Thinking she's anything but my personal cocksleeve?

 

I'lI fix that. I can't have her using that pretty head of hers for anything but pleasing me.

 

"I'll b-be go...good for you. I-I promise," she sniffs, her small hands circling over mine on her throat. "-I lo... I love you."

 

My blood boils. Liar. White-hot rage surges through me as I press harder, her cries growing louder. "Don't try to manipulate me," I snarl, my body trembling with barely contained fury. "V-Victor.." Her voice is a pathetic whimper, fueling my need to dominate her completely.

 

I drag her mouth back to my cock, forcing it down her throat, her nose pressing into my pubic hair as she gags helplessly. "You're taking me so well," I growl. "These pretty little lips were made for my cock. You'll learn to beg, sweetheart.”

 

Her eyes widen in horror, and I smirk. "Do you still want to leave me?"

 

She doesn't answer with words, but her tongue flicks against me, adding friction that sends me spiraling. Manipulative little cunt, trying to appease me so I won't throttle her for lying. For saying she loves me when we both know it's bullshit.

 

Such a pretty liar.

 

I'm not usually quick to finish, but with her mouth wrapped around me like this, I'm hitting a record. I push deeper, cum, spit, and snot running down her face as I release down her throat. She tries to swallow, her eyes locked on mine, even as she struggles. Mine. This woman is all fucking mine.

 

She's not going anywhere.

 

When I pull out, some of my cum drips onto her lips and chin. "Lick it," I order, and she complies, her tongue darting out to clean every last drop.

 

That's her meal from now on. A roof worth millions over her head, everything she could ever want at her fingertips, and still, she's an ungrateful fucking cunt. I'm already getting hard again, thinking of the endless ways I'll teach my doll a lesson. One she'll never forget.

 

As I watch her, unmoving, she shifts slightly, rubbing her thighs together.

 

She's wet. Horny.

 

And she hates herself for it. For liking this depravity. For getting off on being used like a fucking rag doll. My dirty little cockslut.

 

"Looks like I'm going to have to fuck you, after all," I say, my voice a low growl as I grab her and shove her against the desk. Papers and objects scatter in every direction, crashing to the floor. She gasps, then whimpers when I step behind her, grinding my erection against her covered ass.

 

"You like being used by me, don't you?" I murmur into her ear, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

 

"N-no, I don't," she stutters, her voice weak, unconvincing.

 

"Don't lie to me when you're dripping wet for my cock," I snap, swiping my fingers over her soaked panties to prove my point. Her moan echoes in the room, and I smirk. "Such a good girl, my pretty little cockslut.”

 

That earns me a choked whimper, and I revel in it. "It's okay to like it," I coo, my tone deceptively gentle now. "It's okay to be broken, baby" Tears spill from her eyes again, and I groan, leaning down to lick the saltiness from her cheeks, savoring her pain, her submission. I'm proud to be the reason for these tears.

 

But I'm not done with her. Not by a long shot. I scoop her trembling body into my arms, ignoring her pathetic whimpers as I carry her toward the bathroom. "Shh, sweetheart," I murmur, my lips brushing against her temple as she clings to me, her small hands fisting in my shirt. "I've got you. I’m here baby."

 

She cries softly, her face buried in my chest, and I tighten my hold on her, my obsession for her burning hotter than ever.

 

I set her down gently on the edge of the tub, turning on the faucet to fill it with warm water. Steam rises, fogging the mirror as I kneel in front of her, my hands moving with deliberate tenderness to undress her. I peel her ruined clothes off slowly, my fingers brushing against her soft skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

 

"You're so beautiful, Poppy," I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder as I slide her shirt off. "My perfect girl. My only girl." Her breath hitches, but she doesn't pull away, her body pliant under my touch. I kiss her cheek, tasting the lingering salt of her tears, then her forehead, my lips lingering as I breathe in the scent of her. "I love you, you know that? I'll always love you."

 

She doesn't respond, just lets out a soft, broken sob, her hands clutching at my arms as if she doesn't know whether to push me away or pull me closer. I strip her down completely, my eyes raking over her trembling form with a possessive hunger, but I keep my touches gentle now, a stark contrast to the brutality of earlier. I shed my own clothes quickly, my shirt and jeans hitting the floor, before stepping into the tub and pulling her in with me.

 

The warm water envelops us, and I settle her between my legs, her back pressed to my chest as I wrap my arms around her. "There we go, baby," I murmur, kissing the top of her head. "Just relax for me. Let me take care of you." I grab a washcloth, dipping it into the water before running it over her shoulders, her arms, watching the tension in her body slowly melt away under my touch. My hands move with reverence, washing away the evidence of our earlier chaos, though the marks of my grip on her throat remain, faint bruises blossoming against her pale skin.

 

I tilt her head back gently, cupping water in my hands to wet her hair before grabbing the shampoo. I work it into her scalp with slow, methodical strokes, my fingers massaging her, soothing her. "You smell so good, Poppy." I say, my voice low, intimate, as I inhale the scent of her mixed with the lavender shampoo. "My favorite girl in the whole damn world. No one compares to you. No one ever will."

 

Her breathing steadies, though small whimpers still escape her lips as I rinse her hair, the water cascading over her. I lean down, pressing my lips to hers in a slow, passionate kiss, my tongue slipping into her mouth to claim her all over again, but this time with a tenderness that belies the monster I am. She kisses me back, hesitant at first, then deeper, as if she's seeking comfort in the only way she knows how. I pull back, resting my forehead against hers, my hand cupping her cheek. "I love you, baby. I'll always take care of you. You're mine. You know that right?”

 

Her eyes flutter closed, tears slipping free again, but she doesn't fight me. She leans into my touch, broken and beautiful, and I hold her there in the warmth of the bath, washing every inch of her with a care that borders on reverence.

 

This is who l am, her tormentor and her savior, the man who breaks her and puts her back together.

 

She'll never understand how deep my obsession runs, how I’d burn the world down before I let her go.

 

Once she's clean, I lift her out of the tub, wrapping her in a fluffy towel and drying her off with the same gentleness. Lather cream on her body gently before dressing her in a pink satin top and baby pink panties, the kind that leave nothing to the imagination, clinging to her curves like a second skin. I braid her hair into pigtails, my fingers deft as I tie off the ends with little ribbons, stepping back to admire my work.

 

She looks like a doll, my perfect little angel , made just for me.

 

I lead her to the bed, laying her down gently before climbing in beside her. "You're so beautiful, Poppy," | whisper, pressing soft kisses to the back of her neck as I spoon her, my arm wrapping around her waist to pull her close. "My sweet girl. I'll never let anything happen to you. I'll keep you safe, always." My words are honeyed, dripping with a twisted kind of love, and she lets out a small, shuddering breath, her body melting into mine despite everything.

 

My hand slips down, stroking her through her panties, feeling the heat and dampness there even after all we've done. I tease her lazily, my fingers circling her clit through the thin fabric, drawing soft gasps from her lips. "So responsive for me," I murmur, nipping at her ear. "Always so ready for this cock, aren't you?"

 

She whimpers, her hips shifting slightly, and I smirk, sliding her panties to the side. I position myself at her entrance, my cock hard and throbbing as I push in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her tight heat envelop me. She gasps, a high-pitched sound, and tries to move, to urge me to fuck her, but I grip her hip firmly, stilling her. "No, baby" I say, my voice low, commanding. "I just want my cock in your pussy, resting there. I want to feel you wrapped around me. Such a greedy little whore for me, always wanting more."

 

I don't move, just stay buried inside her, my length stretching her as I hold her close. The warmth of her walls clenching around me is intoxicating, a messy, intimate connection that binds us together. My hand stays on her hip, keeping her still as I feel every little twitch, every flutter of her body round me. Her panties are still pushed to the side, the fabric rubbing against my shaft where it disappears into her, adding a delicious friction to the mix. Her breaths come in shallow pants, her body trembling with the effort of staying still, and I can feel the dampness growing, her arousal soaking us both where we're joined.

 

"Feel that, sweetheart?" I whisper, my lips brushing her ear as I press a kiss to her neck. "That's where you belong. With my cock deep inside you, keeping you full, keeping you mine. You don't need to move, baby. Just let me stay here, let me own you like this." My voice is a low rumble, possessive and dark, as I nuzzle into her hair, inhaling the clean scent of her shampoo.

 

She whimpers again, a soft, needy sound, her walls tightening around me instinctively, and I groan, my fingers digging into her hip just enough to leave faint marks. "Fuck, you're so tight," I mutter, my other hand sliding up to cup her breast through the satin, teasing her nipple until it hardens under my touch. "Such a perfect little hole for me. Made to take my cock, to keep it warm. My little doll, my sweet fucktoy."

 

Her breathing hitches, and I can feel her arousal building, her body betraying her even as she lies still for me. The mess between us grows-her slickness coating my cock, dripping down to where her panties are bunched, mixing with the precum leaking from me as I stay buried inside her. I don't thrust, don't give her the friction she's silently begging for, just let the tension build, let her feel every inch of me claiming her in the most intimate way possible.

 

"You're so wet for me, Poppy" I growl, my hand slipping down to swipe through the mess at our connection, bringing my fingers to my mouth to taste her. "So fucking messy, just how I like you. My dirty little girl, dripping all over my cock while I just sit here inside you. You love this, don't you? Love being my personal cocksleeve."

 

She lets out a choked moan, her body shuddering against mine, and I chuckle darkly, pressing another kiss to the back of her neck. "That's it, baby. Just take it. Let me rest in this sweet little pussy. Let me remind you who you belong to." My hand returns to her hip, holding her steady as I settle deeper, my cock twitching inside her, the heat and wetness driving me insane, but I refuse to move. This isn't about release right now - it's about possession, about marking her as mine in the most primal way.

 

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, the air between us thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the mess between her thighs growing with every passing moment. Her pigtails brush against my chest as she shifts slightly, her body still trembling with the effort of holding still, and I tighten my grip, keeping her pinned to me. "Shh, sweetheart," I murmur, my voice softer now, soothing. "Just relax. Let me stay here. Let me keep you full"

 

Eventually, her breathing evens out, her body growing heavy against mine as exhaustion takes over. I don't pull out, don't move, just hold her there, my cock still buried deep inside her, her panties still pushed to the side, the fabric damp and clinging to her skin. We fall asleep like this, sideways, tangled together in a messy, intimate embrace, my obsession for her pulsing through every inch of me even in sleep. My Poppy, my perfect doll, my personal cocksleeve.

 

she's mine, and she'll never be anything else.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Emotional manipulation and mild physical abuse.

The restaurant was a cavernous abyss of opulence, its gilded walls and crystal chandeliers casting a cold, pristine glow over the empty expanse. Not a soul stirred beyond the two figures at the center of it all. Victor and Poppy.

 

The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint clink of silverware and the distant hum of a city that felt a world away. Poppy sat across from Victor, her delicate hands fidgeting with the napkin in her lap, her forced smile a brittle mask over the unease churning in her chest. The restaurant was empty..why was it empty?

 

She stole a glance at Victor, catching the unfamiliar twinkle in his dark eyes, a gleam that made her stomach twist with something she couldn't name. Was it excitement? Anticipation? Or something darker?

 

Victor, on the other hand, felt his heart thrum with a warmth he hadn't known in decades. The weight of the small velvet box in his pocket was a promise, a tether to the future he'd meticulously crafted in his mind since the day he first saw her.

 

Poppy, his ray of light in a life of endless shadow. He'd been alone for so long, a man of power and control with no one to share it with, until she had sliced through his darkness like a blade. She was his. She would always be his. The ring, a rare vintage piece worth more than most people's lives, was a symbol of that ownership, a crown for his queen, a chain for his captive. He sipped his wine, watching her every move with a predatory tenderness, knowing tonight would seal her fate.

 

"Poppy" he began, his voice low and molten, carrying a weight that made her flinch ever so slightly. She looked up, her eyes wide with uncertainty, and his smile widened. He stood, smoothing the lapels of his tailored suit, and moved around the table with a deliberate grace.

 

Her breath hitched as he dropped to one knee beside her, the velvet box snapping open in his hand to reveal the ring, a monstrously beautiful thing, its emerald center stone glinting like a trap in the candlelight.

 

"You're mine, Poppy" he said, his voice a reverent whisper. "You always have been, and you always will be. I want to wake up to your smile every damn day. I want to smell you, taste you, fuck you raw until you're swollen with my kids. I'll buy you the world, take you anywhere your heart desires, but you'll never leave me. Never" His words were a vow, a possession, each syllable laced with an obsession so deep it bordered on madness. "Marry me. Be my wife."

 

Poppy's forced smile shattered, her lips trembling as her mind raced. The words hit her like a physical blow, each promise a brick in the wall of a cage she hadn't even realized was being built around her. Babies. Ownership. Never leaving. Her chest tightened, her breath shallow as she stared at the ring, its beauty a cruel mockery of her freedom. She hesitated, her silence stretching into an eternity, and Victor's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening with a flicker of something dangerous.

 

"Don't make me wait, baby," he murmured, his voice still soft but now edged with steel. He reached for her wrist, his grip harsh and unyielding, forcing her hand open as he pressed the ring into her palm. It was cold, heavy, a shackle masquerading as a gift. "Put it on.”

 

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she shook her head, a soft sob escaping her lips. Not tears of joy, but of despair, of the sickening realization that she was trapped. Victor's influence was a web stretching across every corner of her life -cops in his pocket, her parents dazzled by his wealth, no one to turn to.

 

She was alone, a bird in a gilded cage with no key in sight. Her parents wouldn't save her; they'd cheer this union, blinded by the promise of security, uncaring of the age gap or the darkness in Victor's eyes. They didn't ask if she felt safe.

 

They didn't care that his "love" felt like a noose.

 

Victor mistook her tears for something else, his expression softening as he pulled her into his arms, his lips crashing against hers with a ferocity that bordered on violence. He devoured her, his tongue invading her mouth as if he could consume her very essence, his hands gripping her waist with bruising force. Pulling back, he licked the tears from her cheeks, a grotesque parody of tenderness, before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Shh, sweetheart." he cooed, his voice a sickening contrast to the ferocity of moments before. "I'll make you so happy. You'll never want for anything. I've planned this since the day I saw you. You're mine, Poppy. In every fucking way"

 

She didn't fight. What was the point? Victor was a titan, a force of nature with money and power that could crush anyone who dared defy him.

 

She'd seen hints of his temper, the ruthless way he dealt with obstacles, and she knew escape was a fantasy. So she let the tears fall silently, her body limp in his embrace, accepting her fate because there was no other choice. Victor's smile was triumphant, his eyes blazing with a possessive victory as he slid the ring onto her finger himself, sealing her doom with a kiss to her knuckles.

 

_______

 

Later that night, in the sprawling penthouse that felt more like a prison than a home, Poppy curled up on Victor's lap, her body dwarfed by the oversized shirt of his she wore. The fabric smelled of him- sandalwood and something darker, something uniquely Victor.

 

The TV flickered with a show she'd chosen at his insistence, some mindless romantic comedy, but her eyes were distant, her mind replaying the horrors of the evening. Victor, however, was oblivious to her turmoil, his gaze fixed on her with a tenderness that made her skin crawl. His arm was a steel band around her waist, keeping her anchored to him as if she might vanish if he let go.

 

"I love you, baby." he sighed into her hair, his breath hot against her scalp as he inhaled deeply, as if trying to absorb her very being.

 

Poppy's heart raced, not from affection but from the suffocating weight of what his love meant. It wasn't love -not in any normal sense. It was possession, obsession, a twisted need to own every part of her until there was nothing left of who she used to be.

 

She stayed silent, her lips pressed into a thin line.
The last time she had said it, his mood had shifted dangerously, his actions cutting deeper than any blade. So she kept quiet, her body tense against his chest, praying he wouldn't push. Victor exhaled, a defeated sound, but when she glanced up, his smile was broken, tired, and somehow more terrifying for it. "Don't worry," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You'll learn to love me too."

 

Her stomach churned, and she lowered her gaze, the movie now a blur of colors and noise she couldn't process. Her eyes darted to her phone on the couch, a fleeting lifeline Victor had returned to her only so she could call her parents and deliver the "happy news." As expected, they'd been ecstatic, not a single question about her feelings or her safety, just gushing over the wealth and status of her soon-to-be husband. The disappointment had cut deep, leaving her feeling more isolated than ever.

 

Desperate for a shred of normalcy, she reached for the phone, her fingers trembling with a mix of fear and hope. The weight of it in her hand was a small victory, a reminder of a life before Victor, even if she knew it wouldn't last.

 

She doubted she'd have many messages. Victor had systematically cut her off from friends, ensuring her world revolved around him, but she just wanted to feel connected, even for a moment.

 

Victor's jaw clenched as he watched her, the muscle ticking with barely restrained irritation, but he said nothing. Instead, his hand slid to her thigh, caressing it with a tenderness that starkly contrasted the storm brewing in his eyes.

 

Poppy opened her messages, her heart sinking at the sparse list of notifications. But then she saw it -a name that made her breath catch.

 

Georgie.

 

Her best friend, the one person she hadn't thought of in months amidst the chaos of Victor's suffocation. Tears pricked her eyes as she scrolled through the unread messages and missed calls, each one a desperate plea for connection.

 

Georgie: Hi Pops. Haven't heard from you in a while. How're you doing? Still hanging in there?

 

Georgie: Poppy!!! What's the problem? I haven't seen you since like... forever.

 

Georgie: Ok I'm sure you're playing a prank on me right now cause you've been MIA for a long time now. Please pick yourself up and respond to my messages like a normal human being should????

 

Georgie: Ok now I'm really getting worried Pops.
What's wrong?

 

Georgie: Love please reply your messages. I'm so worried. Did you travel?

 

Georgie: Popppyyyyyyyyy

 

Georgie: I miss you so much Poppy. Please.
What's wrong?

 

Each word was a dagger, a reminder of everything Victor had stolen from her. Her friends, her freedom, her family…he'd isolated her completely, making her dependent on him for every scrap of affection, every necessity.

 

She hated him.

 

God, she hated him with a ferocity that burned in her chest, but she was powerless against him. Her hand shook as she hovered over the keyboard, desperate to reply, to reach out, to scream for help.

 

Before she could type a single word, the phone was ripped from her grasp. Victor's eyes were cold, critical, as he scanned the messages, a cruel twist to his lips that made her shiver violently. She opened her mouth to explain, her voice barely a whisper. "G-Georgie is my f-friend, Victor. I promise it's not w-what it looks like, please."

 

He shifted her off his lap with a roughness that belied the earlier tenderness, his gaze still fixed on the screen. "Whore," he spat, the word dripping with venom. "How many?" His voice was a low growl, malice rolling off him in waves. "How many fucking bastards are well acquainted with my wife?"

 

Poppy stammered, tears streaming down her face as she tried to explain that Georgie was just a friend, nothing more, but Victor's jealousy was a tidal wave, drowning out her words.

 

He spat in her face, the act so degrading it made her stomach lurch, before his hand cracked across her cheek in a vicious backhand. Pain exploded across her face, and she crumpled to the floor, sobbing as he grabbed her neck, yanking her up with terrifying strength. He dragged her toward the bedroom, her feet stumbling beneath her, her mind spinning with panic as tears choked her.

 

Inside the room, he hurled her onto the bed, her body bouncing against the mattress as she curled into herself, shaking uncontrollably. She was on the verge of a panic attack, her breaths shallow and ragged, as she watched him destroy the room in a fit of rage. Fists slammed into the mirror, glass shattering and blood dripping from his knuckles, but he didn't seem to care. His eyes were wild, unhinged, as he turned back to her, his chest heaving.

 

He approached, his hands tearing at the shirt she wore, ripping it from her body and leaving her exposed, vulnerable. His lips crashed into hers, a violent, punishing kiss that tasted of anger and possession, as insults poured from him like venom. "I own you," he growled against her mouth. "I'm sure you'd spread your pussy for any man that gives you attention, huh? Fucking bitch."

 

He grabbed her jaw, mushing her lips together painfully as he snarled, "Did you sleep with him?"

 

"No!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Victor, you were my first. My only, I swear!"

 

The words seemed to pierce through the fog of his rage, and something in him shifted. His shoulders slumped, his body trembling as he collapsed onto her, burying his face in her neck.”I’m so sorry, baby" he whispered, stroking her hair with a gentleness that was jarring after his violence. "I didn't mean to doubt you. I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He kissed her tears away, shushing her softly, his hands caressing her as if he hadn't just shattered her world moments ago.

 

Then, in a move that made her skin crawl, he unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock..hard, aching, the tip glistening with precum. He shifted beneath her, positioning her on top of him as he lay back on the bed. "Ride me," he begged, his voice raw with need "Show me I mean something to you, baby. Please."

 

Poppy's heart pounded, a mix of fear and resignation flooding through her as she straddled him. She moved slowly at first, her movements hesitant, her body still trembling from the earlier violence. The stretch of him inside her was painful, a reminder of her lack of control, but she pushed through, tears streaming down her face as she rocked her hips. Beneath her, Victor moaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly, thrusting up into her with harsh, desperate movements.

 

"You-" thrust "are-" thrust "my-" thrust "wife," he grunted, his voice thick with lust and obsession. "Show me how needy I make that pretty little cunt."

 

Her body betrayed her, a shameful heat building
despite the pain, despite the tears. She hated herself for it, hated how her body responded even as her mind screamed to escape. She moved faster, her breaths ragged, driven by a need to please him, to keep him calm, to avoid more pain. Victor's hands roamed her body, praising her in a lust-drunk haze. "Fuck, you're perfect. So tight, so mine," he groaned, his fingers digging into her flesh.”Only mine.”

 

One hand slid to her ass, his thumb pressing into her other hole, the intrusion making her gasp and clench around him. The mess of it all the sweat, the tears, the raw, primal need, consumed them both. Victor's moans grew louder, his thrusts erratic as he spilled inside her, hot and thick, his grip tightening as he growled,"You belong to me. Every fucking inch of you."

 

Poppy collapsed against him, her body shuddering with a mix of unwanted pleasure and deep, aching sadness.

 

Victor's arms wrapped around her, holding her close as if she were a treasured possession rather than a broken captive. His obsession pulsed in every touch, every word, a dark, unyielding force that left her no room to breathe, no hope of escape. She was his, in every sense of the word, and as the weight of that reality settled over her, she knew there was no way out.

Chapter 6

The dim light of the private bar cast long shadows over Victor's hunched form as he sat across from his old friend, Damien, nursing a glass of whiskey that burned less than the ache in his chest.

 

The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and cigar smoke, the low hum of jazz barely audible over the murmur of other patrons in the exclusive lounge.

 

Victor's tailored suit was slightly rumpled, a rare sight for a man who prided himself on control and perfection. His dark eyes were restless, darting from the glass to Damien's cold, calculating stare. He ran a trembling hand through his slicked back hair, his jaw tight with frustration.

 

"She's slipping, Damien," Victor said, his voice low and raw, cracking at the edges. "Poppy...I give her everything. Everything a woman could ever dream of. Designer bags, diamonds, cars. I'd buy her the fucking moon if she asked for it. But she still looks at me like I'm a cage. I see it in her eyes, man. She's waiting for her chance to run. I can't-" He stopped, swallowing hard, his fingers tightening around the glass. "I can't lose her. I won't."

 

Damien leaned back in his leather chair, a smirk playing on his lips as he swirled his own drink, ice clinking against the glass. His face was sharp, almost predatory, with a glint of amusement in his eyes that made Victor's stomach turn.

 

Damien had always been the darker of the two, the one who saw people as tools, emotions as weaknesses. He took a slow sip, then set the glass down with deliberate precision, his gaze never leaving Victor's tormented expression.

 

"You're pathetic, Vic," Damien said, his tone cold and cutting, like a blade slicing through the tension. "You've built her a golden fucking castle, and she's still clawing at the walls to get out. You think more gifts are gonna fix this? More trinkets? She's not a goddamn pet you can bribe with treats. She's a woman, and right now, she's a problem. You want her to stay? You want her to kneel at your feet and worship you like you're her whole damn world? Then stop playing the lovesick puppy and break her."

 

Victor flinched at the words, his grip on the glass so tight his knuckles turned white. He looked away, his jaw working as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Break her?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it aloud made it too real. "She's... she's my everything, Damien. I don't want to hurt her. I want her to love me. I want her to need me. I can't imagine her looking at me with anything but-"

 

"Love?" Damien interrupted with a harsh, barking laugh that made Victor wince. "Love isn't real, Vic. It's a fairy tale for suckers. What you need is control.Dependency. You want her to think of you every second of every day? Make it so she can't think of anything else. Strip away every other option until you're the only thing left.Her savior, her provider, her fucking god.”

 

Victor couldn’t deny that he wanted that. The absolute thrill he would feel if his Poppy looked up to him as her everything. The thought of her thinking and existing just for him gave him a sick satisfaction.

 

He imagined her looking up at him with those big doe eyes,helpless and vulnerable. Dependent on him for everything. His cock stirred at the thought.

 

“Right now, she's still got hope. She's still got that little spark in her head telling her she can escape, that there's a life out there without you. You need to snuff that out. Crush it under your heel until she's got nothing left but you." Damien smiled sadistically.

 

Victor knew that he wasn’t the most righteous person out there, but Damien could give the devil a run for his money. The man thrived in sadistic depravity. Cruelty and violence defined his very being. Victor knew that seeking advise from a man like him wasn’t the best idea but he was desperate.

 

Victor's breath hitched, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the amber liquid in his glass. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions..desperation, obsession, and a deep, gnawing fear of losing the one thing that gave his life meaning.

 

Poppy wasn't just a woman to him..she was his purpose, his obsession, the center of a world he'd built brick by brick to revolve around her. The thought of her leaving, of her slipping through his fingers like sand, was unbearable. It clawed at his insides, a visceral pain that made his chest ache. But breaking her? Turning her into something hollow?

 

The idea made his stomach churn, even as a dark part of him whispered that Damien was right.

 

"How?" Victor asked finally, his voice hoarse, barely audible. "How do I ... do that?"

 

Damien's smirk widened, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. "You set a trap, my friend. You give her the illusion of escape, let her think she's got a way out, and then you slam the door shut.”

 

Victor frowned, “Set a trap?”

 

“I'll play the part. I'll be her knight in shining armor, her secret savior. I'lI reach out, feed her some bullshit about helping her get away from you. She'll bite, Vic. Trust me, a woman that desperate will bite. And when she does, she'll come running to a place of my choosing. But it won't be me waiting for her. It'll be you. And when she sees you there, when she realizes there's no escape, no savior, no life without you...that's when she breaks. That's when she learns you're all she's got."

 

Victor stared at Damien, his heart pounding in his chest. The plan was ruthless, calculated, a dagger aimed straight at Poppy's fragile hope.

 

It would completely destroy her illusion of freedom.

 

He hated it. He hated the thought of seeing fear in her eyes, of being the one to shatter her. But he hated the thought of losing her more. His obsession was a living thing, a beast inside him that roared and clawed, demanding her presence, her devotion, her everything. Slowly, he nodded, the movement jerky and reluctant, but resolute. "Okay. Do it. Set it up."

 

_____________

 

Poppy sat quietly in Victor’s bedroom, not thinking of anything in particular and regretting how her life had taken this wrong turn. She should’ve stood her ground at the beginning, make it known to her parents that she wasn’t interested. Make it known to him that she wasn’t interested.

 

He was suffocating her.

 

He thought buying her expensive items could fill the ache in her soul,but he wasn’t aware that she would trade all those precious trinkets and luxury items if it meant she could leave him and never look back forever.

 

She had become a shell of herself.

 

Once vibrant, shy and full of life now became hollow, fearful and empty.

 

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes red rimmed, her face pale. She looked like a doll, perfect and polished, but inside she was screaming.

 

Victor's love was a prison, a gilded cage with no key. Every gift, every gesture, every whispered "I love you" felt like another lock clicking shut. She wanted out.
She needed out. The desperation was a constant ache in her chest, a weight that made it hard to breathe.

 

She didn’t know why but he had returned her phone a few days ago after the Georgie incident and he had even given her permission to call or text anyone she wanted.

 

She didn’t know why it felt like a trap. But Poppy was desperate for any chance of human contact. She felt so isolated.

 

An unknown number had begun texting her two days after Victor had given her back her phone, but she was fearful of Victor and blocked the number anytime it popped up. Poppy really wanted to know who it was.

 

Poppy failed to notice the way Victor’s eyes lingered on her longer than usual anytime she was on her phone. His tight smiles. His distance.

 

She knew that he had suddenly turned a bit cold towards her though. Victor always came home from work but he’d call her and tell her that he wasn’t going to come back. Poppy was shocked. Relieved.

 

Was he losing interest?

 

She hoped that was the case.

 

Her phone buzzed on the vanity, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Her heart skipped a beat, her fingers trembling as she picked it up. The message was short, cryptic, but it hit her like a lifeline tossed into a stormy sea.

 

‘I know what he's doing to you. I can help you get away. Say the word, and I'll get you out. You don't have to live like this.’

 

Poppy's breath caught in her throat, her eyes darting to the door as if Victor might walk in at any moment. She didn't know who this person was, didn't know if it was a trick, but the words echoed the hope she'd buried deep inside her.

 

Freedom.

 

A life where she wasn't watched, controlled, smothered by a love so intense it felt like drowning. Her fingers hovered over the screen, doubt warring with desperation.

 

What if it was a trap? What if Victor found out? But the thought of staying, of enduring another day under his suffocating gaze, was worse. With a shaky breath, she typed her response.

 

‘Who are you? How do I know I can trust you?’

 

The reply came almost instantly.

 

‘You don't. But I'm your only shot. I've seen what he does, how he traps people. I can get you out, but you need to act fast.’

 

Poppy didn’t reply. She couldn’t.

 

What kind of sick game was the universe playing with her?

______________

 

Victor's fingers curled tighter around the glass in his hand, the edges biting into his palm. The sharp sting was nothing compared to the storm tearing through his chest. His vision blurred, not from the alcohol swimming in his system, but from the sheer, unrelenting rage that pulsed with every heartbeat.

 

He stared at Damien's phone, the screen now dark, but the words he'd read seared into his mind like a brand. Poppy. His Poppy. The woman he'd built his world around, the one he'd fucking lived for..considering running. From him.

 

His jaw ticked, muscles so tense he could feel the grind of his teeth. Betrayal wasn't just a word; it was a living, breathing thing, clawing at his insides, ripping him open. He wanted to scream, to smash something- someone. Her. Damien's voice cut through the haze, smooth and taunting, like the bastard was enjoying this.

 

"Never thought I'd see a day you'd be so down bad for a woman, Victor. It's a bad look on you." Damien's legs stayed crossed, casual as ever, his drink tilting in his hand as he watched Victor with those sharp, calculating eyes. "I told you she was desperate. She's gonna go along with it. Just give her a few days. Two days max. Wanna bet on it?"

 

Victor didn't answer. He couldn't. Words felt too small, too useless for the inferno inside him. His hand trembled as he lifted the glass, downing the burning liquid in one harsh gulp. It seared down his throat, but it didn't touch the pain. Nothing could. He tapped the rim of the glass on the table, the sound sharp in the low hum of the club. "More."

 

One of Damien's girls slinked over, her hips swaying, the glitter on her skin catching the dim lights. She poured him a generous amount, her fingers brushing the glass with a practiced tease.

 

Then she lowered herself, trying to settle onto his lap, her perfume thick and cloying. She was beautiful ..objectively, he knew that. High cheekbones, full lips, a body that could make heads turn.

 

But she wasn't Poppy.

 

She didn't have that softness in her eyes, that shy curve to her smile, that scent of vanilla and warmth that clung to his senses like a drug. This girl was a cheap imitation, a mockery of the real thing.

 

"Get the fuck off me," Victor growled, his voice low, dangerous, as he pushed her away with a controlled shove. She stumbled slightly, her eyes wide with a flicker of fear. "If you value your life, don't fucking come close to me again."

 

The girl scrambled back, her heels clicking against the floor as she retreated. Damien's chuckle rolled through the air, dark and amused.

 

"Control your whore, Damien," Victor snapped, his gaze flicking to his friend, though the real venom in his tone wasn't meant for him. It was for her. For Poppy. For the fact she'd let herself be swayed, let herself even think about leaving him.

 

"Easy, Vic," Damien said, still smirking, though there was a glint of something else in his eyes now. Curiosity, maybe. Or pity. Victor didn't care to decipher it. "Have some fun for old time's sake. Ease your worries, friend. I've heard wonders about her head game."

 

Victor ignored him, his hand curling around the fresh glass. He didn't want fun. He didn't want distractions. He wanted Poppy. He wanted her under him, around him, her voice trembling as she begged for forgiveness, as she swore she’d never even dream of leaving him.

 

His mind spiraled, dragging him into memories he couldn't escape. The way her hair fell over her shoulder when she slept, soft and tangled from his fingers. The little gasps she made when he kissed her too hard, too deep, like she couldn't breathe without him. The way her body arched into his, fitting against him like she was made for him. Only him.

 

And she wanted to throw that away? She wanted to run? With Damien's help, no less? The thought made his stomach twist, a sick, bitter taste rising in his throat. He'd given her everything…protection, safety, fucking love. He'd carved out pieces of himself to keep her close, to make her his. And this was how she repaid him? By plotting behind his back, by complying with a damn stranger about escape?

 

"Fucking bitch," he muttered under his breath, the words dripping with venom as he stared into the amber liquid in his glass. His voice was barely audible, but the hatred in it was palpable, heavy.

 

He wanted to hurt her. The impulse was raw, primal, terrifying in its intensity. He wanted to wrap his hands around her delicate throat, feel her pulse hammer under his fingers, watch the fear in her eyes as she realized there was no getting away from him. He wanted to break her, shatter every thought of freedom until all she could see, all she could want, was him.

 

But even as the violent fantasies surged, they were drowned by something worse. Pain. A deep, aching void that clawed at his chest, that made his ribs feel too tight, his lungs too small. He needed her. More than he'd ever needed anything or anyone. She was his air, his anchor, the only thing that kept the darkness in him from swallowing him whole.

 

And she didn't want him.

 

She didn't need him the way he needed her. The realization was a knife, twisting deeper with every passing second.

 

"More," he rasped again, his voice rough, broken.
Another girl appeared, silent this time, pouring without a word before stepping back quickly.

 

Smart.

 

He didn't look at her. He couldn't look at anyone. His mind was a carousel of Poppy-her wide, innocent eyes, the way they shimmered when she laughed, the way they darkened when he bushed her to the edge. Her lips. soft and trembling, parted just enough to let out those little whimpers he lived for. The curve of her waist under his hands, the warmth of her skin, the way she melted when he touched her, like she was surrendering everything to him.

 

His grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles were white. He wanted to devour her. Consume her. Take every piece of her-her breath, her thoughts, her fucking soul- until there was nothing left for anyone else. Until she couldn't even imagine a life without him. His obsession felt like a living thing, a beast inside him that growled and snapped, desperate to claim her in every way possible. He wanted to crawl inside her, to own her so completely that the word "escape" would never cross her mind again.

 

"You've been ruined," Damien said, his smirk gone now, replaced by a rare seriousness. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, studying Victor like he was a puzzle he hadn't quite figured out. "Didn't think you had it in you to love a woman like this, Vic. You're spiraling."

 

Victor let out a low, bitter laugh, the sound scraping out of him like gravel. "You have no idea."

 

He didn't just love her. Love was too soft a word, too tame. What he felt for Poppy was a disease, a poison that had seeped into his veins and taken root. It was obsession, possession, a need so fierce it bordered on insanity. He couldn't function without her. Couldn't breathe without knowing she was his. And the thought of her slipping through his fingers, of her choosing a life without him, was enough to make him want to burn the world down just to keep her close.

 

His head throbbed, the alcohol doing nothing to dull the edge of his pain. If anything, it sharpened it, made every thought of her more vivid, more unbearable. He saw her in his mind's eye, sitting across from him, her hands folded in her lap, her lips pressed tight like she was hiding something.

 

He wanted to drag her to him, force her to look him in the eyes and confess every secret, every thought she'd dared to have about leaving. He wanted to hear her say she was sorry, hear her beg for him to forgive her, to keep her.

 

But what if she didn't? What if she looked at him
with those big, tear-filled eyes as she went along with it? The possibility hit him like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs.

 

He couldn't handle that. He wouldn't survive it. If she left, if she turned her back on him, he'd lose the only thing tethering him to sanity. He'd become the monster he kept locked away, the one that thrived on violence and control. And he'd drag her down with him, whether she wanted it or not.

 

Another," he barked, slamming the empty glass down. The sound drew a few glances from nearby tables, but no one dared approach. They could sense the danger rolling off him, the barely-contained violence in the set of his shoulders, the way his eyes burned with something dark and unhinged.

 

Damien watched him in silence for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink with an air of detachment. "You're gonna drink yourself into a coma, Vic. She's not worth that."

 

"She's worth everything," Victor snapped, his voice raw, his control fraying at the edges. "You don't get it. You'll never get it Damien.She's mine. And if she thinks she can just walk away..." He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists, nails digging into his palms until he felt the warm trickle of blood.

 

Damien raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Then what? You'll show up when she tries to run, yeah? Shatter her little fantasy of freedom? That's the plan, isn't it? Let her think she's got a way out, then slam the door in her face. Make her see there's no escaping you."

 

Victor didn't respond, but the look in his eyes was answer enough. Yes. That was exactly what he'd do. He'd let Poppy think she had a chance, let her taste the illusion of freedom, let her hope.

 

And then he'd be there, waiting, to rip it all away.
To show her that no one-no fucking one-could take her from him. Not Damien, not some forged passport, not even her own will. She was his, body and soul, and he'd make damn sure she understood that.

 

But beneath the rage, beneath the possessive fury, there was something else. A hollow, aching desperation. He didn't just want to trap her. He wanted her to choose him. To need him as badly as he needed her. To look at him and see not a cage, but a home. And the fear that she never would - that she’d always dream of running was a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

 

He drank again, the glass trembling in his hand. He didn't know how many he'd had now, didn't care. The club around him faded into a blur of lights and noise, meaningless compared to the chaos in his head. All he could think about was Poppy. His Poppy. The woman who'd undone him, who'd turned him into this pathetic, broken shell of a man, drowning in obsession and pain.

 

And he hated her for it.

 

Hated her as much as he loved her.

 

And God help her when he saw her again.Because he didn't know if he'd kiss her or kill her.

 

Maybe both.