Series Summary: “Oh yeah definitely a little suspicious bag of chips, never can trust anything or one.” You smiled, putting in your number into his phone.
He laughed. “Yeah, you’ve got no clue.”
“See you Steve.” You smirked walking down the aisle.
Steve watched as she walked away back to something that would be ‘normal’ Shopping for groceries every Wednesday, he’d been watching her and looking her up for months now getting an idea as to what is her normal schedule. Work all week then on the weekends stay in and maybe grade or watch Netflix, Wednesdays grocery shopping, Thursdays out to eat, Friday relax and repeat, normal. He walked out with a smirk and headed to his car driving off.
A/n: Guess who is back and with a new sires! Yes this is about Steve from Fresh y'all can be mad, or you can enjoy, I know it’s been a long time but meh…
Series Warning’s: Cannibalism (Obvi), Death, murder, drudging, Dark themes, smut, kidnapping, blood, stockholm syndrome, That should be it but we’ll see.
i want to swallow you, have you melt into me and flow through my veins.
~ han kang the vegetarian
Your stomach is in knots. Tight and in your throat. It’s been upset for days, the food he’s brought for you going untouched. Sleep is scattered— an hour here, thirty minutes there, bad memories jarring you back awake as soon as you start to really settle in. Bad girl. The words taunting you, haunting you, rattling back and forth in your brain, reminding you. Trying to run from me, girl? You think anyone can hear you out here?
The chain connected to the leather handcuff around your wrist scrapes along the floor as you pace back and forth, eyes darting around the modern room. You can’t go far— not even to the door— that’s part of the punishment for being a bad girl. A shorter chain. You stop, eyes falling to the floor as your lips part slightly, just breathing as your battered brain does gymnastics. He loves you. Takes care of you. You had nothing before me. You were nothing…
Slowly, your eyes lift to the wall in front of you, a beachscape painted from wall to ceiling. You tilt your head a little, eyes moving along the wall, the orange sky, the blue waves crashing. You remember the ocean. The smell of the salt in the air, the wet sand between your toes. That’s all over now—
No. no. Steve loves you. You can’t think that way anymore— this is what’s best for you. Haven’t I been good to you?
i want to swallow you, have you melt into me and flow through my veins.
~ han kang the vegetarian
Your stomach is in knots. Tight and in your throat. It’s been upset for days, the food he’s brought for you going untouched. Sleep is scattered— an hour here, thirty minutes there, bad memories jarring you back awake as soon as you start to really settle in. Bad girl. The words taunting you, haunting you, rattling back and forth in your brain, reminding you. Trying to run from me, girl? You think anyone can hear you out here?
The chain connected to the leather handcuff around your wrist scrapes along the floor as you pace back and forth, eyes darting around the modern room. You can’t go far— not even to the door— that’s part of the punishment for being a bad girl. A shorter chain. You stop, eyes falling to the floor as your lips part slightly, just breathing as your battered brain does gymnastics. He loves you. Takes care of you. You had nothing before me. You were nothing…
Slowly, your eyes lift to the wall in front of you, a beachscape painted from wall to ceiling. You tilt your head a little, eyes moving along the wall, the orange sky, the blue waves crashing. You remember the ocean. The smell of the salt in the air, the wet sand between your toes. That’s all over now—
No. no. Steve loves you. You can’t think that way anymore— this is what’s best for you. Haven’t I been good to you?
i want to swallow you, have you melt into me and flow through my veins.
~ han kang the vegetarian
Your stomach is in knots. Tight and in your throat. It’s been upset for days, the food he’s brought for you going untouched. Sleep is scattered— an hour here, thirty minutes there, bad memories jarring you back awake as soon as you start to really settle in. Bad girl. The words taunting you, haunting you, rattling back and forth in your brain, reminding you. Trying to run from me, girl? You think anyone can hear you out here?
The chain connected to the leather handcuff around your wrist scrapes along the floor as you pace back and forth, eyes darting around the modern room. You can’t go far— not even to the door— that’s part of the punishment for being a bad girl. A shorter chain. You stop, eyes falling to the floor as your lips part slightly, just breathing as your battered brain does gymnastics. He loves you. Takes care of you. You had nothing before me. You were nothing…
Slowly, your eyes lift to the wall in front of you, a beachscape painted from wall to ceiling. You tilt your head a little, eyes moving along the wall, the orange sky, the blue waves crashing. You remember the ocean. The smell of the salt in the air, the wet sand between your toes. That’s all over now—
No. no. Steve loves you. You can’t think that way anymore— this is what’s best for you. Haven’t I been good to you?
i want to swallow you, have you melt into me and flow through my veins.
~ han kang the vegetarian
Your stomach is in knots. Tight and in your throat. It’s been upset for days, the food he’s brought for you going untouched. Sleep is scattered— an hour here, thirty minutes there, bad memories jarring you back awake as soon as you start to really settle in. Bad girl. The words taunting you, haunting you, rattling back and forth in your brain, reminding you. Trying to run from me, girl? You think anyone can hear you out here?
The chain connected to the leather handcuff around your wrist scrapes along the floor as you pace back and forth, eyes darting around the modern room. You can’t go far— not even to the door— that’s part of the punishment for being a bad girl. A shorter chain. You stop, eyes falling to the floor as your lips part slightly, just breathing as your battered brain does gymnastics. He loves you. Takes care of you. You had nothing before me. You were nothing…
Slowly, your eyes lift to the wall in front of you, a beachscape painted from wall to ceiling. You tilt your head a little, eyes moving along the wall, the orange sky, the blue waves crashing. You remember the ocean. The smell of the salt in the air, the wet sand between your toes. That’s all over now—
No. no. Steve loves you. You can’t think that way anymore— this is what’s best for you. Haven’t I been good to you?
i want to swallow you, have you melt into me and flow through my veins.
~ han kang the vegetarian
Your stomach is in knots. Tight and in your throat. It’s been upset for days, the food he’s brought for you going untouched. Sleep is scattered— an hour here, thirty minutes there, bad memories jarring you back awake as soon as you start to really settle in. Bad girl. The words taunting you, haunting you, rattling back and forth in your brain, reminding you. Trying to run from me, girl? You think anyone can hear you out here?
The chain connected to the leather handcuff around your wrist scrapes along the floor as you pace back and forth, eyes darting around the modern room. You can’t go far— not even to the door— that’s part of the punishment for being a bad girl. A shorter chain. You stop, eyes falling to the floor as your lips part slightly, just breathing as your battered brain does gymnastics. He loves you. Takes care of you. You had nothing before me. You were nothing…
Slowly, your eyes lift to the wall in front of you, a beachscape painted from wall to ceiling. You tilt your head a little, eyes moving along the wall, the orange sky, the blue waves crashing. You remember the ocean. The smell of the salt in the air, the wet sand between your toes. That’s all over now—
No. no. Steve loves you. You can’t think that way anymore— this is what’s best for you. Haven’t I been good to you?
i want to swallow you, have you melt into me and flow through my veins.
~ han kang the vegetarian
Your stomach is in knots. Tight and in your throat. It’s been upset for days, the food he’s brought for you going untouched. Sleep is scattered— an hour here, thirty minutes there, bad memories jarring you back awake as soon as you start to really settle in. Bad girl. The words taunting you, haunting you, rattling back and forth in your brain, reminding you. Trying to run from me, girl? You think anyone can hear you out here?
The chain connected to the leather handcuff around your wrist scrapes along the floor as you pace back and forth, eyes darting around the modern room. You can’t go far— not even to the door— that’s part of the punishment for being a bad girl. A shorter chain. You stop, eyes falling to the floor as your lips part slightly, just breathing as your battered brain does gymnastics. He loves you. Takes care of you. You had nothing before me. You were nothing…
Slowly, your eyes lift to the wall in front of you, a beachscape painted from wall to ceiling. You tilt your head a little, eyes moving along the wall, the orange sky, the blue waves crashing. You remember the ocean. The smell of the salt in the air, the wet sand between your toes. That’s all over now—
No. no. Steve loves you. You can’t think that way anymore— this is what’s best for you. Haven’t I been good to you?
Of course he’s been good to you. You’re alive aren’t you? Eating three square, healthy meals a day and if you’re really good, your favorite dessert after dinner. He washes your hair with the special shampoo you like and need— braids it for you with satin bows when he wants you to feel pretty. The cute little dresses and the flowers. He loves you. You need to stop with all these dramatics. Your old life means nothing now. You have him. What else could you need but me, sweetheart?
It’s been a long three days. Lonely. He hasn’t visited once. Just has someone, you’re not even sure it’s him because they make you turn and face the corner, drop off your food and plenty of water. The hands that place the blindfold over your eyes while they lead you to the bathroom surely don’t feel like his— too rough, both physically and in demeanor to be the hands of a doctor. That makes you sad. And nervous. He’s so mad he doesn’t even want to look at you, or have you look at him.
It’s unnerving, his silence.
Your face breaks at the thought. A sob chokes up in your throat as you drop your head into your hands. You fall onto the small bed in the floor and bring your knees into your chest, hugging them with your arms as you bury your face and cry. Hard. Loud. Almost as hard as you did the first night you woke up down here after spending the first weekend with him. It was different then— you were different. That girl is slowly dying, although, there’s still flashes of her every now and again. She’s what got you into the mess you’re in now.
Now you’re crying because you miss him. You want him to be happy, you want to make him happy. He’s good to you. He loves you. That’s what he tells you over and over and over. I’m keeping you because I love you. You’ll soon come to understand that, bunny.You’ll love me too.Promise.
You roll over onto your side, pull your knees back up into your chest and let the sadness, the worry, the nervousness wash over you, your body shaking with the tears. You want to be a good girl for him, want him to be proud of you.
What is wrong with you! Next time he comes in here, you need to—
You squeeze your eyes shut harder. Cover your ears with your hands, “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” you whisper. You can’t think like this anymore, not if you want this to work, “Leave me alone.”
Wake up! You’re stronger than this! Try again… run!
There’s footsteps in the hallway, you don’t really hear them though. You’re so mixed up, not really sure what’s real and what’s not anymore. Exhaustion and body aches, sore muscles from the fight… it’s got you all hazy. Your brain is just so tired. So weary. There’s still a little fight in there, somewhere deep but as the days pass— the hours, the minutes— it grows weaker and weaker. Steve’s words sinking in further and further. You were nothing before me. You need me.
There are hands on your shoulders, jarring you back into the present. You shrink back, scrambling into the corner of the room, covering your face with your hands again. Your screams sound so strange to you now, you’re not sure why.
“Shh, shh, shhh. You’re okay— you’re okay.”
The arms pull you close, bring you right into a chest. Lips hover by your ear as you struggle against this person, his arm wrapping over your chest, hand curling around your shoulder. Another hand covers your mouth as he pulls you closer, lips at the shell of your ear again, “Shh, bunny. Shh. Stop being so dramatic.”
That voice. It’s him, he’s back. “Steve?” you whimper, “Steve?”
“It’s me, it’s me.”
You turn in his arms, throwing your hands around his neck and hugging him hard, “Steve,” you start crying harder, your words all mushing and slurring together, “I’msosorry, ple—please forgive m-me. I-I-I’m s-sorry.”
He rubs your back slowly, tucking his chin over your shoulder for a second or two before pulling back and grabbing your face in his warm hands. Tilting your head up, he strokes your bottom lip with his thumb, blue eyes bouncing back and forth between your red, heavy, swollen brown ones. His lips are in a tight line, eyes serious as they scan your face. Then he sighs, real deep. Slow. Thumbs still sliding over your lips and then caressing your chin.
“I wish I could believe you, baby.”
Panic instantly rises in your body, your chest tightening, stomach twisting even more at the words, “You c-c-can. I’m s-sorry, Steve. P-please.”
He continues to stare at you, eyes dipping to your lips then back up to your eyes as you cry in front of him. As you beg. He’s so hard to read when he gets like this and you can’t help but let the dread you feel take over. Your shoulders slump, your head falling as Steve pulls his hands away. Sobs rack your body as you cover your eyes with your swollen hands, the skin over your knuckles broken and bruised from your daring escape.
Something in you just wants to make him happy. His forced training is starting to work after all.
You feel Steve stand and move away from you, but you’re still underneath his hard stare. He sighs heavy and hard again as he shoves his hands into his pockets. Staring at the orange carpet, you force out a shaky breath, trying and failing to focus it, “Please don’t leave me down here. Not all by m-myself. I can’t— I can’t take it any-more.”
It’s so weak. You’re so weak. Just how he wants you— how he likes you. So he smirks.
He loves to win.
Silence falls over the two of you for a long while, so long it gets uncomfortable for you. You’ve been thinking about this moment for three days— well, two and a half. You don’t remember much after he slammed your head back into the glass window. Bad girl. This wasn’t how you thought it’d go.
“Are you going to hurt me now?”
Steve laughs, shaking his head, “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. I like you. That’s why I’m keeping you, but—”
“ — Please don’t hurt—”
“I wasn’t finished speaking,” he cuts you off, his face going hard, the words even harder. You snap your mouth shut immediately, dropping your eyes back to the carpet, “I’m not going to hurt you. The only reason it got so nasty a few days ago was because you hit me first, remember?”
“Steve—”
“ —Aht.” He wags his finger, “You hit me first, right?”
You sink further into yourself, wanting to disappear right into the floor, “Yes.”
“And you still haven’t apologized.”
“You haven’t let me,” you whimper, “I haven’t seen you in three days.”
Steve nods slowly, crossing his arms over his chest, “So it’s my fault now?”
“No!” you shriek, “That’s not— that’s not what I meant.”
He cocks his head to the side, “Then apologize to me. Nicely.”
You hold your arms out without hesitation, wanting him closer. He takes a few steps, right to the edge of your bed— right to where the chain around your wrist has no slack— and stops. Without a word, you pull yourself up, take the three or four steps it takes to get to him before you get up on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck again.
“Please forgive me,” you whisper, blinking your wet eyes furiously, staring back at that scenic beach painted on the walls, “Please Steve. You’re all I have.”
Steve keeps his hands in his pockets, but you feel his breath hitch in his chest as your words fall over him. And something in you stirs. Just that little slip up from him, the smallest of breaths, makes you feel a little better. He still cares.
He still loves you, maybe.
And that maybe is just what you need right now.
He pulls away from you again, puts more distance between your bodies but grabs your cheeks, squeezing hard, “Are you gonna be good if I let you shower?” you nod, “Words. I need to trust you.”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Promise?”
You nod again, this time, more convincingly, “Yes. I promise.”
Steve searches your eyes for a few seconds more, still reading you, still wanting to be assured that you won’t try any shit again because if you do— then he’ll have to hurt you. And he doesn’t want to do that. He sweeps his fingers over your forehead, moving away your curly hair, brushing the tips over the cut just over your left eye. You wince, the salt of his fingers stinging the fresh wound and he shrinks back.
“Don’t make me hurt you, and I won’t. Got it?” He asks soft, “Turn around, lemme see the back of your head.”
You turn in his hands and let him push your thick hair apart, peeling it away until he gets to your scalp, eyeing his handiwork, “The stitches look good. You’ll be healed up in no time. Now, go shower. I’ll wait for you by the door.”
You whip around, eyes going wide as your mouth falls open in genuine surprise, “You’re not going to shower with me?”
“You don’t deserve that yet.” he answers quickly, grabbing your wrist and turning it over in his hand before grabbing the key from his left pocket. The metal chain falls to the ground with a thud once he pops the lock, making you jump slightly, “Go. Now.”
Your stomach falls to your feet. He’s still so disappointed.
You’re starting to really hate that.
—
You wrap the fluffy white towel around your torso as you step out of the shower. It’s amazing what a hot shower can do for your mood. It’s not super high, but you feel better than what you did twenty minutes ago. Cleaner. Physically anyway. You pop open the door to find Steve leaning against the wall, a white box tied with a red ribbon in his hands.
“See how much I love you, honey? Even when you’re mean to me I buy you presents.”
A smile cracks onto your face, “For me?”
“All for you,” he smiles, handing it to you, “Look at that pretty smile. That’s what I like to see. Open it up.”
You untie the box slowly, Steve taking the lid from you once it’s free of the ribbon, his eyes on you intently as he pull out the soft, blue satin dress, “Steve,” you let out a breath as a warmth spreads through your body, “It’s, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You like it?”
“Of course I do,” you reach for him, hugging him tight again, “Thank you so much.”
He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small jar of your favorite body creme, “I pay attention, don’t I?”
You nod again, unable to wipe the smile from your face, “Yes. Thank you.”
With a tap on your hip, he tips his head toward your room, silently telling you to hurry. And hurry you do. Steve keeps his eyes on you the entire time, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall as you smooth the lotion over your skin. Arms, chest, stomach, legs, back, your spirits lifting ever so slightly again.
“Are there any panties with this? A bra?” You ask, turning slightly to glance at him over your shoulder.
Steve shakes his head, pushing away from the wall, “Nope.” He moves towards you, taking the dress from your hands to bunch it up, “Arms up.”
Turning towards him, a little bashful underneath his strong gaze, you lift your arms up, ducking your head some as he slides the smooth material over your body. He picks at it, pulls gently to get it sitting just right on your body before he steps back and looks you over. He reaches out, grabs one of your nipples between his thumb and index finger to give it a little playful squeeze, “I love these, you know.” he smiles wide, “Maybe one day we’ll get them pierced, hmm?”
He chuckles when you grab his hand and lift it to cover your face. He slips again, pulling you in close to pepper your forehead with a kiss or two, “Silly girl. Come, I’m hungry.”
Steve offers his hand and you greedily take it, lacing your fingers with his, bringing the back of his hand to your lips. You kiss the front of his hand, once, twice, three times, just to reassure him that you aren’t going to do what you did last time. That girl is gone.
I’m still here, bitch. You need to run. Now.
Well, she’s almost gone. You swallow hard and grip Steve’s hand harder as the two of you walk side by side, down the long corridor towards the kitchen. There’s a slight breeze as you walk— the light curtain blowing soft in the wind seeping in from the broken window. You cut your eyes towards the wall, the random piece of art that used to hang there now sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. A few shards of glass from the frame still littering the hardwood floor.
Steve tightens his grip.
The two of you push past the living room. A new lamp sits in the place of the old one you launched at his head just days before. Your feet start to sting as you move, all cut up from running through broken glass and rocks and twigs once you made it outside. It was stupid; you were stupid.
“I just want to take care of you!” you heard him scream as you ducked behind a tree, your heart pounding, “You fuckin’ bitch— I’m sorry! I’m fuckin— get back here!”
Once at the threshold of the kitchen, Steve whips you around his body, sending you deeper into the room, spinning on the balls of your feet. You laugh a little— maybe he’s lightening up. When you come to a stop, you turn to face him, your bottom lip between your teeth, a warmth spreading through your skin. You’re a little dizzy, so… light between the sleep deprivation you’ve forced on yourself and not eating for days on end.
You find him smiling softly. Head tilted a little, a dreamy look in his eyes. This is the first time you notice how nice he looks tonight. A black button down shirt tucked into gray slacks. Black dress shoes. His dark hair is parted and combed— not the usual fingers through it once or twice. He dressed up for you. That makes you smile harder, fuller.
Don’t let him win. This isn’t right and you know it. Be strong.
Your head ticks slightly. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!
Steve smiles at you bigger too and your stomach does a little flip. He’s so handsome— but within the blink of an eye, literally, his smile is gone. His eyes and lips hard again, as he crosses his arms over his chest again. He pushes his chin forward, tips his head back, his lids low over his eyes so he can glare down at you through his lashes, “Take your dress off.”
You swallow hard, “W-what?”
“You heard me. Take it off.”
The sharpness of his tone cuts you to the quick, sending a chill through you. You don’t dare take your eyes off of him as fear ripples through your body, but your fingers scratch at your thighs, bunching the material in your hands. Slowly, you pull the dress upward, over your head. Nerves fill you again as you stand stark naked in front of him, gripping the dress tight in your hands, butterflies, the nervous kind, fluttering in your stomach. Your heartbeat in your ears.
The sound of his shoes clicking against the floor floods your senses as you blink furiously at him, your mouth falling open as he steps right up to you. Towering over you. He pulls the dress from your hands and takes a deep breath, filling his nose with your scent before he speaks, “You’re going to make my dinner. Then you’re going to sit by my side and watch me eat— and if you’re a really good girl and ask nicely, I might let you lick my plate when I’m done, understand?”
Tears fill your eyes as you nod, a single hot stray slipping down your cheek. He grabs your chin again, pushing your face up towards his, “Use your words.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
A sob slips out quick, but you swallow the one behind it that threatens to follow, “Yes, I understand.”
He grabs your face in his hands again, his thumbs sweeping underneath your eyes to wipe away the wetness, “Good girls don’t cry, okay? I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. It hurts me that you still don’t trust me.”
You reach for his hands, wrapping your fingers around his wrists, holding on tight, “I trust you, I do. You’re just so mad at me.” You cry soft, dipping your head and nuzzling into his big palm.
“Oh, sweetie,” he purrs, “It’s all gonna be okay, you just have to learn to be a good girl.” Steve bops your nose with his index finger, punctuating his words, “Bad girls get eaten, and I don’t want to eat you and I certainly don’t want to sell you off to my clients,” he smiles again, kinda sinister, “This body’s too perfect to cut up.”
You smile at the compliment, “You think so?”
“Oh baby, I’m a plastic surgeon, I know so. Women pay for bodies like yours every day, you’re so lucky.” The warmth is back. Spreading like lava from the tips of your toes to the very top of your head, “But you’re going to have to learn the hard way.” He leans in real close again, his lips at your ear, “This is what punishment looks like, darling,” he whispers, “Hands, please.”
Your eyes go sad again but, you lift your hands gently, push them out and watch as he slips the brown leather cuffs over your hands and locks them up with the key. The chain between them is longer than the usual one, so you can cook and such. You’ve fucked up five months of training, of trust, but maybe you’ll work back up to walking around freely. Maybe.
Then he’s gone, back facing you as he disappears back into the living room. The radio starts seconds later, something kind of slow and old. Something you haven’t heard since you were a kid. In the car with your mom, your window down. The sun shining, wind whipping you in the face as you hum.
So raise your hands to heaven and pray
That we’ll be back together someday
You’re on autopilot now. Moving towards the fridge, opening the door to reveal the neatly arranged refrigerator. Green kale, yellow squash, black cherries, brown eggs. White milk poured from the original carton into a crystal pitcher. Red meat. Neatly packaged and labeled with the cleanest handwriting you’ve ever seen for a doctor. You pick up the saran wrapped foam tray, fingers trembling as you bring it eye level. Three letters written in black sharpie. Noa.
You’re surprised at what floods through you as you read the name over and over again. Jealousy. He’s told you about her many times— never let the two of you see each other though. He told you how he thought she was different too. His two pretty girls. Anger flashes through you at the thought of her being in this kitchen, cooking for Steve and vice versa. Fucking Steve. Bathing with Steve.
You slam the door and turn on your heel.
Spaghetti and meatballs it is.
—
The song has changed a few times. Something upbeat plays now, West End Girls by Pet Shop Boys. This one you know well. Steve made his way back into the kitchen a song ago, humming and singing loudly, even dancing as he moves around you, plucking silverware and random utensils from the drawers to set the table. Snaps his fingers to the beat as he rolls his hips softly while standing in front of his wine cabinet, contemplating on which red to enjoy this evening.
Your spaghetti sauce bubbles in the pot as you stir it slowly, sprinkling in the fresh garlic and onion. After a dash of salt, you lift the wooden spoon to your lips, tasting the sauce and humming happily to yourself when the flavors explode on your tongue.
Eyes are on you again. The small hairs on your naked body standing on end after you start to become aware of the constant gaze again. You swallow, kinda hard, but keep your attention on the sauce, turning down the flame so you can start to form the meatballs. Clicks of expensive shoes against hardwood fills the kitchen and then there’s a chest crushed against your back. A nose in your hair, taking in another deep breath of your expensive shampoo. Warm fingers slither around your naked sides, gripping the meat of your body before pushing around to your stomach, grabbing more of you.
Another hand cups your right tit, squeezing hard, finding your nipple to roll it slowly. With his nose still in your hair, he sways you back and forth with him to the music. Hums along with it as the hand around your waist slips further down, fingers pushing between your folds, stroking gently. He releases your tit to stretch his arm over your chest and wrap his fingers over your shoulder as he takes another step into you, rubbing his cock against your ass.
You slam your eyes closed, a hum whirring in the back of your throat as your body starts to react to his touch. Slippery and wet in no time, the sound of your slick filling your ears when he pushes two fingers inside. You moan, throwing both hands outward to grip the edge of the counter.
A large palm cups your chin, fingers digging into your cheek as he yanks your head upward, “Toys don’t make noise, slut.” he growls into your ear, tone low and threatening, “This is for me, not you. Understand? Nothing tonight, or any night in the near future, is for you. Not until I say so.”
His fingers keep fucking into you. Real quick pushes. But his fingers don’t leave your body, no, he keeps them inside of you the entire time. His palm keeping a steady pressure against your clit. A thigh, Steve’s thigh, pushes between your legs to get them to open just as he drags that wet tongue back up along your neck, right to the back of your ear.
“Tell me when you’re about to come— and don’t burn my sauce.”
Only then does he pull his fingers from you, just to stroke your clit with his thumb. Your shaky arms return to stirring your tomato sauce, swallowing hard again as you check the flame, turning it even lower. Steve peeks at you over your shoulder, a small smile on his face as he watches you struggle, his fingers rubbing slow circles against you. Finding your nipples again with his free hand, knowing how sensitive they are and how much you like him to play with them.
“That meat isn’t going to cook itself,” he warns.
You nod quickly, wiping at your forehead with the back of your hand.
Little pangs of electricity start to bounce through you. Stomach going tight and then relaxing, hips bucking ever so soft as Steve starts to hit that little spot. Right when it starts to feel good. You rip into the saran wrap with two fingers and grab a chunk of the meat. It’s soft between your hands, freshly ground no doubt.
You roll it gently between your palms, grabbing just a little more to make a bigger meatball before you reach for some oil. It sizzles when you pour it into the pan, the oil. Pops with the heat. Your chest tightens suddenly, a deeper pang rippling through you as Steve flattens his fingers, thrashes them faster back and forth, back and forth, back and forth against your clit. You bare down and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep quiet as your hips roll into his hand. Jesus.
Two meatballs, three, four, five, six. Number seven and then eight until the foam tray is empty. You plop them one by one into the hot oil, a faster, angrier sizzle filling the kitchen as the song changes again.
“Ooh,” Steve laughs, snapping his fingers, “C’est La Vie, I love this song.”
It’s all a jumbled mess to you. The music, his voice. Your heart is in your throat as your vision tunnels to the meatballs and sauce, trying to stay present. Not give in to the feeling pooling in your belly. The cool air from the air conditioning makes everything worse. Goosebumps pop up along your skin from the heat of the stove, the heat of your arousal spreading through you, and then the sudden whoosh of the cold. Steve can feel it. Knows your body pretty well after all this time. So his fingers start moving faster over your clit, teeth nibbling on your earlobe before they bite down into your shoulder.
Your hips jerk forward, your head falling back on his shoulder real quick before you throw it back forward. You’re stark still for a second, two, three. Eyes slammed closed, hands gripping the counter and the wooden spoon for dear life. The ripples are coming faster now, one not fully washed away before the second is rolling through. Sweat pops up on your brow. Breath hitches in your chest as it builds. Higher, faster as you force air out between your teeth.
A low hum slips out, vibrates in your throat as your eyes flutter. Your clit stings from the constant contact, jumps once or twice at the onslaught. It’s so close you can taste it. Lurking just below the surface, a minute more and you’ll be a howling, squirting mess. That’s okay, baby. I like a squirter.
“I’m gonna come,” you force out between heavy panting, “S-Steve, I’m g-gonna come.”
And just like that. All the pressure, the touching, his chest crammed to your back, hard cock rubbing. It’s all gone. You find the energy to push the meatball around the pan before leaning forward, resting your palms on the counter as your hot, wet cunt throbs— begs for a release. Steve sucks his fingers clean behind you, loudly, with a little pop as he pulls them from his mouth and wipes them dry on your thigh.
There’s no praise. No sweet epithets or words of encouragement for doing the right thing and telling him you were about to come. No. There’s just a slap on the ass before he throws his arm around your neck, catching your chin in the crook of his arm, “I own you. This cunt,” he grabs your sex, cups it real hard, “I own this filthy little cunt, got it? You are mine to do with what I please.” he falls silent, blinking at the side of your face a few times, “Good girl or bad girl, you’re mine.”
His fingers start rubbing again, real slow, slipping along your clit and teasing your opening, “How much longer until dinner’s ready?”
“Um,” you stutter, “Uh, I just uh,” you shut your eyes again quick, humming soft, “I just gotta cook the noodles. Not long.”
“Enough time for me to use you?”
Your brown eyes pop open. Chest still rising and falling hard as the sound of his belt buckle being undone stuffs your ears, “Yes.” It’s simple, your answer. Quick and quiet, “Just let me get the water boiling.”
He allows you to slip out from between him and the counter, over to the sink. Shaky hands hold the glass measuring cup underneath the stream of water before pouring it into the pan. Purposed steps carry you back to the stove, Steve still standing there, watching every move you make as you set the pot on the back burner and turn the knob, igniting the flame underneath it. You add a dash of salt to help it boil and then you both just wait. Stand there, staring at it. Almost willing it to start bubbling.
Once the water is dancing, bubbling soft, there’s movement behind you again. The sound of his belt sliding against the material of his slacks, in and out of each loop. The pop of a button, the slow zip of his zipper coming down. All the while you reach for the box of spaghetti noodles, breaking it open and dumping them into the water.
Warm hands are on your hips. Guiding you over a step or two before fingers slide up your spine and slip over your shoulder. He lifts your leg. Bends it at the knee and places it on the counter before bending you forward. Another round of shivers ripple down your spine and throughout your body as his warm cockhead pushes through your sticky folds. Then he’s pushing, just at your opening. He grabs the back of your neck, squeezes, as he pushes inside so easy.
“What a fucking whore,” he muses, letting out a deep breath, “This is all—” he grunts low as he slips all the way in, his stomach flat against your ass, “ —all you’re good for—” sucks a gulp of air in through his teeth before pushing it out real slow, “ —this is all bad girls are good for, understand?”
You nod again. Quickly. Keeping your bottom lip between your teeth as you take him. He fills you up good. Deep. And you’re so ready, needy and wet, hot and swollen. Extra sensitive to his fingers playing with your clit again. But you don’t dare make a sound, nope. Not one. You just knaw on your lip as you bounce off of Steve’s stomach, your nipples grazing the marble countertop with each pass, adding to the sensation of it all.
“This fuckhole,” he pants, his hands moving back down to grip your waist, “This dirty little needy hole was made for me and only me. You know that deep down, don’t you— ah, fuck.”
It’s getting unbearable. You’re hot all over, tingly, sweaty. The urge to reach between your legs and rub your clit, to tease that little nub until it spasms, until your walls are clamping about Steve’s cock so you can milk him… it’s… hard to ignore. You have to ball your fists to physically stop yourself. Slow breaths, in and out, in and out. This isn’t for you.
Steve yanks you up suddenly, crushing his chest into your back, craning your head towards the ceiling, a fist full of your hair. Teeth are on your skin again. Nipping and biting as he fucks into you. Fingers finding your tits again, groping and squeezing, tweaking thick nipples until you’re grinding your teeth, trying to keep quiet— trying to be a goodgirl.
You’re convinced Steve can read your mind. Months of his training is working both ways. He snakes his long arm down your body, real slow, between your tits, down your soft belly, right until his fingers are hovering above your sex— the tips just barely touching your clit. He keeps them there, just there, to tease you more. His pounding hips thrusting you forward, pushing you into the smallest, sweetest, delicate little touch from the pads of his fingers against your tingly clit. And with it comes the pangs in your stomach, the electric charges racing through your veins.
You curl your lips to speak his name, to let him know you’re about to come again but there’s no need. Steve grips your waist, hard, his nails digging into the meat of your sides. His octave raises just a hair, his grunts louder, hips losing control of their smooth delivery. He slams into you one last time and just holds there for a second, cock rooted deep as he starts to spurt.
He starts fucking into you again, ribbon after ribbon of silk filling you up as he releases. You flatten your palms on the countertop to hold your weight, letting your mouth fall open and silently counting to ten to keep the mere sound of him coming from making you come all over him. The chain between the leather handcuffs slapping against the wooden cabinets below.
After he’s done, milked, his heavy head falls to your shoulder, lips grazing your shoulder blade, “Whew,” he mutters before pushing out a quick breath and shaking his head, “Mmm.”
He pulls out of you and stumbles back into the island, leaving a string of cum and slick hanging from your cunt. You swallow hard again, tilting your head towards the ceiling, blinking as you focus your breaths. Then, you pick up the wooden spoon. Stir the cooking pasta— albeit with a shaky hand. Check the sauce to make sure it’s not burning.
Like a good girl.
There’s no more talking between the two of you as you finish up his dinner. Steve cleans himself up and moves back towards the kitchen table, leaving you a mess while plating his food. Cum dribbles from your cunt. Slips down the inside of your thigh, strings of your slick hanging between your swollen, hot folds. It’s degrading, the whole scene. You, bare naked, him fully dressed. Cum dripping from your used cunt as he just sits there, all dressed up and clean, watching you approach with his spaghetti.
You set his plate in front of him, leave again for just a moment to slice into the fresh loaf of French bread, butter them up and bring him two slices. Pour his wine.
Steve smiles up at you, “Thank you, bunny,” he says, picking up his knife and fork. Then he just points, down at the floor by his side.
You fall to your knees. Scootch a little closer to his side.
“Aht, aht,” he tisks gently, spinning his plate to get it just right before picking up his fork and knife. He taps on the table, “I wanna be in your mouth while I eat.” You stare at him with wide eyes, lips parting a little as he slices into a meatball and pops it into his mouth.
Your eyes drift down his side and to his lap, his pants still splayed open from his use of you in the kitchen. You can’t help but blink back up at him as he sits there, spinning his fork looped with spaghetti into his spoon. He keeps his eyes straight forward, as if you aren’t even there, as he takes another bite. Chewing slow. Exhaling happily. The song in the background changes again— something slower. Richard Marx maybe?
Next thing you know, you’re crawling. Underneath the table, propping up on your knees again in front of him. The clinks and scrapes of his silverware against the plate sound from above, the soft click of his wine glass connecting with the tabletop after he takes a sip.
Your fingers take over, skipping up his thighs and to his open fly, warmth finding warmth. Steve doesn’t skip a beat when you pull him from his boxers, still semi hard, veins just barely pressing against the delicate, thin skin. You open up and take him in. Just like that. Pushing forward, so close now that his knees press into your shoulders.
It takes a minute for you to adjust. Find the right position that’s comfortable. The awkwardness of what to do with your hands fading as you just rest them in your lap. You blink steadily as he takes up the space in your mouth and flattens your tongue to the bottom of your mouth. It’s strange, just having his cock there, without sucking, licking, spitting, slobbering on it. You raise your eyes a bit, just to his chest, focus on the soft inhales and exhales he takes. The silverware on the plate, the wine glass lifting and clicking back down, him moaning a little as he devours the meal you’ve prepared. Almost as if he’s completely unaware that his cock is in your mouth and that he’s eating a woman.
Something in you, somewhere deep, starts to stir. Warmth blooms in your belly, across your flesh as you start to go all slick again. There’s something intimate about this. About the degradation of it. You could curl your tongue around him right now. Really form your lips around his cock and get him all hard and ready again. Lick him to his mushroom head, and then pull him all the way inside again. Right until he’s at the back of your throat. You could use your hands— grip his thighs, dig your nails in. Hold that little waist of his as you suck him off while he eats.
Maybe he wouldn’t even acknowledge it. Just keep eating, keep humming right along to the song as he pushes his bread around the plate, sopping up the rest of your sauce and whatever’s left of Noa. Yeah. Something deep starts to stir.
Or maybe he’d be angry. Maybe he’d yank you up from your place on the floor, grab you up in his big hands, tell you how bad of a girl you are— how you just don’t learn. Then he’d throw you on the table. Spread your legs real wide and run his fingers through your folds. Push them in real slow, tease your asshole with his thumb. Without warning, he’d just slam into you, a hand against the back of your head, pinning you down. Using you like the little doll you are.
A moan escapes at the thought of it and you feel Steve hitches just a bit. The vibration of your little noise sending a tremor up his spine and right to his balls. He even jumps a little in your mouth. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.
You’re a mess again. All wet and drippy, stomach tight. You adjust and then readjust under the table, thighs starting to burn. Steve likes to savor each and every one of his meals, you see. There’s a clattering of his utensils onto the plate, the slurp of the last drop of wine being swallowed and then he just pushes away from the table. Out of your mouth. You fall forward and catch yourself with your hands. The fantasy in your head dissolves like a sugar cube in water.
Turning your head, you watch him move into the kitchen, pour another glass of wine. He washes his plate. Pops back into the fridge and starts pulling things out, “You’re a lucky girl,” he calls, “A very, very lucky girl. Come, sit.”
You crawl out, move to the bar, slide into the seat as something starts to sizzle in the pan in front of him. A lobster tail.
“Ah, no, I don’t do meat,” you smiled back at him in that dim little bar, “Pescatarian.”
You feel his eyes on you again and pull yours up, blink quick, “A very lucky girl, indeed.” He smiles.
—
Steve watches you eat, pushes you to finish it all— the lobster, the little bit of pasta that was left over now doused with olive oil and a little basil, the small side salad. Makes you drink a full glass of water— gotta replenish your fluids, baby.
“Good girl,” he smiles when you finish the glass, “Now, I want you to wash your dishes, one by one.”
“Ok—”
“ — I’m not finished,” he warns, his tone making you snap your lips shut again, “Between each dish, I want you to touch yourself, but you don’t get to come, understand?”
You swallow hard. Blink nervously back at him, before dropping your head, “O-okay. Yes.”
Steve reaches out, catches your chin with his knuckles and tilts your head back up. His thumb caresses your chin as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours, “You were a bad girl and this is how bad girls get treated.” You nod, try and drop your head again but he yanks it back into place, squeezes your cheeks, “I trusted you and you disappointed me, remember?”
Tears cloud your eyes as you nod again, “I remember, I’m sorry—”
“ — shh, shh, shh, don’t cry,” he whispers, “Just do as I say.”
He drops your chin from his hand. Leans back into his chair and rests his arm over the back of the stool. Cocks his head. That’s your cue.
You draw your right leg up first, flattening your foot on the seat of the barstool. Then the other, spreading yourself open, putting your used cunt on full display. Shaky fingers find your clit, your soft touch rather calming as your nerves and anxiety starts to peak again. It won’t take long, you’re so worked up and ready after being teased and touched and denied for the evening. You start rubbing anyway, electricity sparking in your stomach instantly.
Pat, pat, pat, your fingers flat against your clit as you slap at yourself before rubbing again, slick coating your digits. Your tits bounce and jiggle as your hand gets faster, the feeling building hard and quick. You cup your left tit, pull on your nipple as your hips push forward into your thrashing hand— up and down, back and forth, flesh hot and sticky and swollen.
Steve’s trusting you to get this right. The very thought makes you moan. You want to make him happy, gain his trust back so you push further. Push yourself right to the brink. Right to where you can feel your heart in the back of your throat. Right to where your release is rippling up and down your spine. Right to where the synapses are snapping so quick, so hard that there’s no time for the feeling to recede, another wave of electricity rolling in on top of the other.
You’re moaning and gasping, the filthy sound of your wet cunt filling the kitchen, hips pushing and pulling and when it’s right there— right where one more thrash, rub, slap would pluck you like a ripe fruit— you stop. You let your head fall back and your mouth hang as you drag in deep breaths, humming low while you exhale, trying to bring yourself back down. Your two feet hit the floor and you stand— with help, having to brace your still handcuffed hands on the counter to steady yourself. Two blue eyes follow you around the counter and to the sink.
It continues like that for every utensil you used for dinner. Plate, fork, knife, cup, bowl. You’re trembling now, hot all over, needy, achy— confused. Your mind is spinning, blurry, fuzzy. The heat, the wet between your legs, the sting. Those eyes. Unwavering. Just staring at you as you hold your hands underneath the warm stream of water, trying to finish cleaning this stupid bowl.
A sob chokes up in your throat, honestly catching you by surprise. The bowl in your hands clanks against the sink when you drop it, your hands flying to your mouth and face so you can hide. You’re sobbing, all six months of this hell culminating into this moment and spilling over.
“I ca-can’t do this,” you sob, the words barely discernible, “I’m sor-sorry, i’m— i’m so confused— i’m so,”
A warmth wraps around you within seconds. Arms, a chest, lips. A soft murmur in your ear. You’re lifted right off of your feet, your legs pulled around his waist, a large palm cradling the back of your head while the other slips up and down your naked back. You wrap your suddenly heavy arms around his neck and bury your face into him, let him carry you away. Down another hallway. Into a room— his room.
A softness then surrounds you, a comforter and pillows. They smell like him. It’s nice. Steve disappears into the bathroom, leaving you all alone in this big bed… the door cracked.
Now’s your chance! Run!
“I’m sorry, bunny,” you turn your head towards his voice wafting from the bathroom, “I pushed too hard tonight, didn’t I?”
You blink, your eyes stinging and puffy, and then he’s there, leaning against the door frame. Greedy eyes skip down his bare frame. Smooth, bare skin. Abs. Little black boxer briefs hugging his small waist… and that nagging voice, the last little bit of fight you had left, sinks away.
“I don’t,” he sighs before rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I don’t like doing this to you, but you make me. You know that right? You make me do these things.”
You just start to cry harder.
Steve pushes away from the door frame, keeping his eyes on you as he saunters towards the bed and lays next to you. He cradles your cheek in his palm again, his thumb pushing back and forth over your lips as he blinks back at you. Then he kisses you, real soft. Slow. It makes your eyes flutter all stupid. He rolls on top of you, his weight pinning you to the mattress as his tongue pushes into your mouth, massages yours, licks at the roof.
You feel like a feather as Steve works his way down your body. His lips and mouth nipping at your skin, licking, kissing down, down, down. Between your breasts, down your stomach as he spreads your legs with his knees. He sits up, up on his knees and tilts his head again as he looks down at you, a soft smile on his face.
“This is what it’s about you know,” he says soft, running his fingers between your tits, “It’s about giving.”
Steve grabs your bound hands and pulls them toward him, resting them over his heart. You sit up, your eyes wide as you blink at him.
“It’s about giving yourself over to somebody. Becoming one with somebody else, forever and that’s…” Steve drops his head, his eyes following your hands as they slide down his sides and dip into his boxers. A sharp breath pulls through his teeth when your lips meet his stomach, right above the band of his boxers as you start to pull them down, “That’s a beautiful thing.”
He cups your face in his hands and kisses you again, “That’s surrender,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours he’s so close, “That’s love.”
You nod, all stupid and naive, batting your big eyes and breathing heavy, “I understand.”
Steve kisses you again, deep and slow, his tongue sliding along the roof of your mouth. He grabs your top lip between his and sucks real soft, “Do you love me, bunny?” He whispers.
A hum vibrates in your throat, through your chest that’s now rising and falling harder and faster. He’s so hot and cold, you’re angry and scared but so needy and clingy all wrapped up into one. You want all of his attention, but none of it at all. You want to go home but when you have the chance to run, you stay.
You want to hate him. Hate his hands around your neck, his lips on your skin… but your cunt aches for him now. Tightens around nothing but the thoughts of him moving down that corridor for you in the middle of the night. Wets with the longing for his fingers in your mouth. Clenches for those filthy names that roll off his tongue.
You have to blink away from him. The tears are filling your eyes again and god, you don’t want to disappoint him again. It’s just so confusing.
Steve laughs at the sight of your internal struggle. It’s low, rumbles through his chest, but he’s so delighted, “Aw honey,” he purrs as his thumbs sweep underneath your eyes, wiping away the wetness, “Honey, honey, honey, it’s okay— it’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”
The words still don’t come. They’re stuck between your mind and throat somewhere. Maybe the fight isn’t all the way dead yet.
“I know what you need,” Steve nods slow before he bops your nose with his finger.
He lays you back, his big hand cupping the back of your head all the way until it meets the pillow. Then he’s crawling over you. Knocking your knees apart with his so he can muzzle in between. Collects your legs with his hands, throws them over his shoulders as he flattens his body against the mattress. You gasp when he drags the tip of his nose along your stomach, from hip to hip, his lips snagging your skin at random intervals.
“Look at you,” he whispers after kissing the inside of your thigh, “You’re so,” he kisses you again, this time a little lower, closer to your swollen sex, “Wet for me.”
You draw your legs together around his head as he punctuates his words with his fingers— slipping three of them all the way in, “God, you always take me so easy, sweetheart.”
Steve’s wet tongue joins the party before you’re even ready for it, your brain already turning to mush from just his fingers. It slips through your folds as he pumps his fingers slowly and flicks against your achy clit before he sucks the nub into his mouth. Your hips push into his face, a long, breathy moan escaping your mouth as you finally start to get a little pleasure after the past few days.
His fingers curl inside to stroke your wet, soft walls. He leans back a little, disconnecting his face from your pussy with a smack to watch his thick fingers go in and out, his thumb taking the place of his tongue and lips on your clit. Steel eyes skipping up to your face as he puckers his lips, blowing warm air against sticky skin. Warm, wet lips find your thigh again. Steve presses one, two, three, four sloppy kisses before his teeth snag your skin— a quick nip before he sits up and drags you down to the edge of the bed.
On his knees, he grabs your right leg and throws it over his shoulder while hooking his arm under your left, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. You push up onto your elbows to watch as he buries his face in your cunt again, shaking his head back and forth, smacking on you loud. He starts flicking his tongue again as your hips roll. Pushes his three fingers back in and jams them harder and faster.
Your head falls back as you squeak from the pressure building in your stomach. Your hips take on a rhythm of their own, bucking into Steve’s face as you pull yourself up, cupping his head in your palm. He hums against your skin to send vibrations through you, sending your octave higher and higher. You start pulling at your nipple, rolling it gently as you bite down into your bottom lip. Curse words and hisses fall from your mouth as the coil inside starts to unravel with every lick, every suck, every jab of his fingers.
Strained thighs start to shake from the tension building in your body. You’re a moaning mess; your hips almost uncontrollable as his tongue starts sneaking inside your slit, right along with his fingers. Steve’s making a meal of you all the while, smacking loud, shaking his head back and forth, leaving back just long enough to slap your pussy with his wet fingers before rubbing your clit and plunging back into you with them.
You gasp when his tongue travels to your taint and circles your rim, causing your hips to snap again. He’s lapping at your cunt within seconds, pushing that sneaky tongue down to your taint and asshole every so often, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of your collapse.
“Fuck, Steve,” you breathe, letting your head fall again, “I’m gonna cum, baby— I’m gonna—” just as you’re about to give into it— the electricity, the rushing pressure— you freeze. Your fuzzy brain sharpening in an instant.
You’re unsure of what to do.
He hasn’t… told you what to do yet.
You try and relax— pull it back by releasing a slow, steady breath between your teeth. This is a test.He’s testing you. If you weren’t sure before, you certainly are now that those eyes are on you again, his fingers slowing just a tad, his lips still wrapped around your clit. He pushes his fingers deep, keeps them there real still for a second or two before he curls them again and just starts stroking your insides. Quick and repeatedly against the same little spot. All the while, staring up at you as he sucks on your sweet little nub.
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip again, hips pushing hard into his face before you can stop them, “I’m, mmph, I’m close. Ca-can I cum this time?”
“Mmm,” he groans, pulling away from your pussy, chin and mouth wet and shiny as he flips his eyes down to your puffy cunt, “Ask me nic—”
“—Please? Can I cum this time, Steve? Pleaseplease?”
He chuckles at your eagerness, “What a good girl you are. Yes bunny, you can cum this time.”
Your heart soars at the news. Steve slaps your clit again before diving back in, flattening his tongue against your slit, the tip just catching the edge of your little hole. He’s moaning against you as he sucks your clit back into his mouth, shaking his head back and further with fervor. You cradle the top of his head with your hand again and finally give yourself permission to relax, to give all the way in. That you deserve this after being a bad girl.
Within minutes, you’re soaring again, like Icarus against the sun. You’re panting, squirming, writhing, hips snapping against his tongue and lips and mouth. When it snaps, that little, hot coil that’s buried deep inside, it’s heavenly. Your hips snap one last time and stay there, thighs shaking, the soft meat of your belly jiggling as your clit jumps with each convulsion of your pussy.
Steve jumps back as you start to squirt, puckering his lips as he exhales and continues to pound into you, clearly very pleased, “That’s right, baby,” he eggs on, slapping at your clit with his free hand, “That’s right, this little filthy hole is all mine, isn’t it? You sweet thing, you.”
It splats against the carpet, gushing like a geyser as you finally get to release all this pent up emotion. Your hips jerk with each wave, each squirt until your limbs turn to liquid. You fall back against the mattress, unable to hold yourself up any longer, your body jerking with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You can’t catch your breath fast enough as you drag in air.
“You’re so pathetic it’s adorable, you know that?” Steve pipes up after a minute or two, now standing at the side of the bed, his hard cock in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, from base to tip, rolling his palm over his red cockhead, “I could smell it on you that night at the grocery store. I just knew I had to have you.”
Just seeing him there, fucking himself with his hand, his tits and biceps flexing with each stroke, his breath just barely hitching, eyelids fluttering just a tad— makes you clench. You blink at him with wide eyes before dropping them to his cock in his hand, a little moan sneaking through. You are pathetic. You want him. You hate him. You need him. You want to kill him.
You want him.
Everywhere. In your mouth, in your hands, in your soaked cunt and tight ass. You’d almost beg.
Steve holds out his hand to you. His head cocked, a barely there smile painted on his lips as he blinks at you. You slide your small hand into his and let him pull you off the bed, turn you in his hands so his chest is crushed against your back. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, rubbing his nose along your shoulder as he presses his lips against your shoulder blade. Strong, soft hands travel down your body, groping your stomach and thighs as he drags his nose up your neck and into your hair, breathing you in.
Then he’s bending you forward, just a bit. Hard cock pushing through your folds and along your clit as he grabs a handful of your ass in his hands. He keeps sliding himself against you, using your slick to coat his cock until his tip just catches on your hole. But he doesn’t push any further. Doesn’t force his way in. He just waits. Waits for you to reach behind and grab him, stroke him a few times before you guide him back towards your opening and push back against him, your mouth falling open as he fills the void.
He grabs your arms and forces them behind you, folding them up against the small of your back. Then, and only then, does he start to move. Your skin slaps against his as you bounce off his cock and stomach, your eyes fluttering, mouth falling open. You’re still sensitive, just minutes post-orgasm, so every stroke, every snap of his hips hits that deep, used tight spot, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. He reaches over your shoulder and grabs your bouncing tit, squeezes hard before he starts prodding at your tight nipple. Rolling it, pulling on it, squeezing and tweaking it.
Steve’s a quiet lover when he’s in the midst of it. Always was, but when he does sound, every so often, it sends you high. Steve’s a picky man and he likes how you feel. Loves how you fit him like a glove. How warm and wet and soft your insides are. How your body closes around him, clenches him tight. He grabs your hips again, holds them tight as he fucks into you, deep, steady, calm strokes.
He untangles your arms and pulls one of them back, lets it rest on his hip before he grabs your shoulder. You hang on to him— dig your fingers into his flesh, the top of his ass— and he groans a bit, just as your nails bite into his skin. The notion makes your body clench; your walls instinctively clamping around him.
“Mmm,” he groans, picking up his pace, “I told you, this little hole is mine” he murmurs, “See how you react to daddy’s cock? Huh? You’ve been begging for daddy’s cock for days, haven’t you?”
You can’t even answer. Cock drunk, your head hangs, tits bouncing, nothing but little squeaks and moans and whimpers, a few curse words slipping through.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes, reaching down your body again, his fingers prodding at your clit, “Such a dumb little whore begging for daddy’s cock.”
You rest your hands, your still chained hands on the bed and close your eyes as you start to float again. Your body going all fuzzy, brain nothing but static as the warmth spreads through your veins. Steve’s hips start to go a little wayward. He starts to lose the smooth strokes. They get a little harder and haphazard, the rhythm of them gone. He palms your ass again and you get a little louder, your stomach tightening as the rope starts to uncoil slowly.
Steve grabs you shoulder suddenly— hard, his nails digging into your skin. Then he exhales, real quick at first, real shaky before a long, low moan rumbles through his chest and throat. He slams into you one, two more times, grabbing your hips and pushing deep and hard. You feel his cock jump, damn near think you feel his veins pulse inside of you and at the first shot of cum, you lose it again. Cumming around him as he fills you with his silk, ribbon after hot ribbon.
Your fingers find your convulsing clit, thrash against it as you ride the high, each little synapse firing off a pang of electricity. You’re squirting again, not quite as much as before, but just as hard. It feels good taking him like this. Like a needy little cumslut, wanting each and every spurt, every ounce and drop of his hot cum. He starts to fuck into you again, pumping, pumping, pumping each jet of his spunk real deep and you’re just greedy enough to clench your muscles, to keep it all inside.
Cock dizzy and full of warmth, you smile. All the heaviness you’ve been carrying around since you tried to run is all gone. The thoughts, the screams telling you to go, to run, all gone as his heavy, tight balls slap against you. You’re a mess again, but now so is Steve, his thighs and balls, lower stomach and the thick, dark, wiry hair all wet from your slick and your squirt. Steve levels a few slaps against your ass and you giggle abruptly, wiggling your ass as he finally pulls out and slaps his slippery cock on your asscheek.
He pulls you up and spins you around to face him with one quick motion, kissing you hard, shoving his tongue in deep. You take it all. Kiss him back just as hard and moan into him, his lips and mouth still tangy from tasting your cunt— but you like how you taste on him.
Steve lays you down and curls around you, playing with the ends of your hair before pushing his hand down your chest. You’re a happy little mess, smiling and humming at his touch, the cold chain of your bound hands laying across your stomach. He splays his hand across your tummy and holds it there, his eyes on the side of your face.
“That should do the trick, huh?”
You hum again, turning your head to nuzzle against his nose as sleep starts to invade, “Mmm, what do you mean?”
Steve pulls away just long enough to grab his phone from the dresser before he starts fumbling with it and places his hand back on your stomach, “You’re ovulating, yeah? Yeah, you started thirteen days ago.” Your eyes pop open at the words, just in time to catch him turn the phone towards you, the fertility tracker filling your vision.
He smiles wide and then kisses your cheek, “That should do the trick.”
Hey guys! So I’ve decided to start a tag list so if you are interested in being on it, please comment below or message me! I hope to restart my two big series again, but they take time since I have to sit down and make sure that they line up with the plot of the show. But I am definitely getting back into the Shadows and Scars mindset so that would probably be written first. As always if you have any requests you can send them in! I also started writing for Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, and Steve Kemp. (Note: I will try to write DID as well as I can for the moon knight boys, but if you have any tips please send them in!) Now that I finished up my classes, updates should be more regular.
pairing:steve kemp x reader w/c:1,340 this is a darkfic. 18+ only. warnings:steve kemp (he’s a warning. the dude is a cannibal), kidnapping, minor injuries a/n:based off inspiration from this ask, and this ask. not beta read. and i’m tired. sorry for any mistakes. my drabble Shatteredfollows this.
You’d done it. You’d managed to get out of Steve’s clutches.
The doctor had let his guard down for just a moment when he had visited you. He’d leant down to smell your hair, and you’d managed to slip his spare access dongle from his pocket.
He’d thought you’d touched him sweetly, and he gave you a quirked smile of amusement, and you’d returned it. Because you finally had your ticket out.
You’d been paying close attention to Steve’s schedule, and when you knew he had likely left for the day, you began your escape.
That was sooooooo good! And I went and read the first Drabble you wrote for this and they lined up so perfectly!!!! Are you going to continue the series? Completely obsessed.
Summary:The secret is out and Steve puts it to good use
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, 18+ Minors DNI, explicit language, mentions of rape, murder, death of a minor character, noncon cannibalism, cannibalism, drugging, kidnapping. A/N:Andddd another part to my messed up hubby! This is my first dark fic and I’m loving where it is going! I hope you all enjoy this second part! Like, comment, & reblog! ♥
August 15, 1995
What was once a home filled with love and joy, turned into a somber gathering. People from all around town, filled the large house, adorned in all black to mourn. But was it even deserved? Not to you.
Although on the outside, your father was a man that was highly respected, he was nothing short of a vile creature at home. Every child deserves to be just that — a child.
But he didn’t think so. No… As soon as you hit a respectable age, you were fresh meat. While normal children were outside playing, you were inside, being the victim of his sick and twisted games.
The innocence of you was taken, right under the noses of your grandmothers no less. He convinced you that they would never believe you, for you were just a child who shouldn’t lie on adults.
Summary:It’s always compliments to the chef…. But at what cost?
Warnings:18+ Minors DNI, mentions of human parts, non-con cannibalism, explicit language. Future warnings in upcoming chapters.
A/N:If you don’t know already, I am married to Steve Kemp and we are living happily ever after lol. This fic is going to go dark. Heed the warnings before you read and scroll past it if this is not your thing. Happy reading! Like, comment, & reblog! ♥
Saturdays were meant for relaxation or nights out with friends for the average person. To be able to go out or stay in after a grueling workweek to let off some steam. But not for you, not with the profession that you picked out for yourself.
All you knew since you were a small child was food. Nothing else in the world mattered like the different smells of food on a stove or in an oven. You could remember the earliest memory of your great-grandma teaching you how to crack an egg.
The ting of the hard exterior against the ceramic bowl was music to your ears and the viscous contrast of clear and bright yellow filling the bowl would be one of your favorite memories to date.
It was your introduction to the world of cooking as you knew it. From then on, you stayed in the kitchen, learning everything you knew from her and her daughter, your grandma as well.
There wasn’t anything that they wouldn’t teach you and you were thankful for every lesson all the way to culinary school. Even there, you soaked up every lesson like a sponge with your own little twist.
So I know I said that I’d post this tomorrow, but I finished it a day early and thought… why not post it now? Low key has nothing to do with finals or studying but meh I liked how it turned out.
This is my first time writing for Steve Kemp so tell me if there is anything I’d need to fix for next time.
Note: This is definitely a dark fic. Like pretty dark. Minors do not interact.
Chapter warnings: mentions of cannibalism, kidnapping, and threat of non con. Basically canon level violence.
At first, he had only let you finish your book because it had made you more valuable.
Selling just the meat and pictures got boring to the 1% of the 1%. And after accidentally throwing in a small sketch one of his last victims had drawn, Victoria was her name, he had finally found a way to recapture his customers.
To his surprise, they had been delighted to pay extra for a piece of art done by the women they paid to eat. A sketch here was $5,000, a painting was $10,000. But a fully finished book? An easy $20,000.
The second you had told him that you were an author he knew that he had hit the gold. You had never published a book before, so you wouldn’t be missed, but even if your writing was bad it would bring in a good chunk of cash.
So he had done what he always did, seduced and convinced you to take a small trip with him. You had been apprehensive at first, after all you had only known him for two months, but eventually agreed.
He would have found your reservations endearing if he wasn’t the thing you were trying to defend yourself against.
You had fallen unconscious quicker than most, and Steve knew that’s because you rarely ever drank. He had thought it was adorable how you’d always order Shirley Temples instead of a fruity cocktail.
“You never know when a good idea is going to hit you.” You had said. “I need to be ready to write it down if I ever want to get published.”
That’s why on your fourth date he had gotten you a new notepad, since the one you carried around with you was beaten up and battered by time.
He remembered meeting you in a small coffee shop, and chuckling as you scrunched your nose in thought.
He remembered taking you to a small speakeasy for your first date. And how your eyes had sparkled at the surroundings.
Now here he sat, deciding when to start cutting you up. He’d have to start soon, but he had found himself hesitating.
He hadn’t hesitated with the rest. He hadn’t felt anything when it came to them, even with his now ex wife. But you. You. The way your eyes would twinkle when you smiled and how you always smelled like flowers.
He tried to focus. Tried to mentally block you out but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t see something as sweet as you on his operating table. He wasn’t sentimental. Far from it, but the thought of seeing your eyes peering at him fearfully made his chest tighten. And that’s when he knew.
He couldn’t let anything happen to you. He couldn’t do anything to hurt you.
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Y/n’s POV
~~~~~~~~
Out of all of your shortcomings, you had never expected that your love for romance would be what did you in.
But you should have, and maybe some part of you knew that Steve was too good to be true. It was too perfect of a meet cute. It didn’t matter anymore though. Your fate was as good as sealed and there was nothing you could do to change it.
Signing, you looked at the clunky typewriter he had given you to finish your book on. He obviously didn’t trust you with your laptop. You weren’t sure why he wanted you to finish your book so badly, after all you were just another piece of meat for him to sell. To eat. You shivered at the thought and felt tears well up in your eyes. You didn’t want to die.
You snuggled softly and wiped away your stray tears as you heard Steve’s heavy footsteps come down the stairs. It must have been time for dinner. Or lunch. Whatever time it was out there.
“Morning sweetheart.” Breakfast then.
You looked at him as he unlocked the cell door and slid inside with a tray of steaming scrambled eggs and toast.
“How’s the writing going?”
You didn’t give him an answer and just watched as he placed the tray next to you.
“I get it ok, you’re mad.” You scoffed at that but still said nothing. “But I was thinking…” he trailed off looking at you. This couldn’t be good.
“I’m not gonna sell you.” He said finally, sitting across the room from you.
You blinked in surprise at that, and felt a smile rise to your mouth. “You’re going to let me go?” You asked hopefully.
He chuckled at that and you felt all of your newfound hope be dashed instantly. “You know I can’t do that sweetheart.”
“But you said-“
“I know what I said, but you can’t leave.” A strange numbness washed over you at his words as he continued. “I really did mean it when I said I liked you, and I know this isn’t exactly traditional and all, but we can still work.”
“I’m sorry I don’t understand.” You sputtered out. “What’s happening?”
“I love you Y/n. Look I get it, this is confusing and you need time, but you’ll learn to love me back and we can fix this.”
You felt your heart pound against your chest.
“N- no you can’t. This isn’t- You’re lying.” You insisted and shoving yourself into a small corner. He was insane. This man was fucking insane. First he wanted to cut you up and now he wants you to love him? He’s insane.
“Alright just calm down sweetheart.” He got up and placatingly put up his hands as he walked over.
“No! No! Stay away from me!” You started yelling and thrashing as he finally gripped your forearms. “You’re crazy. You’re fucking crazy.” You started to sob and could make out Steve’s annoyed face through your tears.
He sighed and angrily pushed back his hair. “Fine. I didn’t want to have to do this, but you are being irrational.”
“I-“ Your question was cut off by his hand ripping you towards him by the chain.
“If you can’t get through that thick skull that you are mine, then I guess I’ll have to fuck the message into you.”
Please please please drop a pt 2
I am definitely trying to think up potential plot lines I enjoyed writing Steve more than I thought I would.
