His command hangs in the air, a low vibration that goes straight to my core. Get on the bed. The words aren’t a request; they are destiny. I rise on trembling legs, the severe black heels making me unsteady not from height, but from the sheer flood of anticipation coursing through me.

He doesn’t help me. He just watches, his eyes burning with that new, terrifying hunger, as I crawl onto the mattress. The leather of the corset creaks softly with the movement, a sound that is utterly lewd. I move toward the center of the bed on my hands and knees, presenting myself to him, my heart hammering against the tight boning.

I hear him move behind me, the bed dipping under his weight. His large, warm hands land on my lace-clad hips, his grip firm, possessive. He pulls me back, positioning me, and a shiver wracks my body. This is it. This is really happening.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl,” he murmurs, his voice a rough caress against the nape of my neck. One hand slides from my hip, skimming over the curve of my ass still covered by the flimsy lace. “Sneaking into my room. Waking me up like that. You think you can just—” His fingers hook into the delicate fabric of the panties. “—get whatever you want?”

The sound of tearing lace is shockingly loud. A cold rush of air hits my exposed skin for a fraction of a second before his palm comes down on my bare ass cheek. It’s not a hard spank, but it’s a shock of sensation—a sharp, stinging promise that makes me gasp and push back against him instinctively.

“Uncle Mark…” I whimper, the title feeling forbidden and filthy on my tongue.

“What did you think was going to happen?” he growls, his voice thick with a feigned anger I know is just a thin veil for his lust. He leans over me, his broad, muscular chest pressing against my back, and I feel the hot, hard length of him nestle against my now-exposed flesh. He’s so big. The thought is equal parts fear and delirious excitement. “You parade around in this… this fucking incredible outfit you little devil… you drive me out of my mind… and you think I could just let you walk away?”

His hands are everywhere, kneading my ass, sliding up my spine, tracing the laces of the corset. He’s not pretending anymore. The act is over. His breath is hot and ragged in my ear. “You wanted this. You’ve been begging for it since I caught you in that kitchen.”

“Yes,” I breathe, the word barely audible. “Please.”

That single word unravels him. He lets out a guttural sound, half-growl, half-groan, and his hands clamp down on my hips. There’s no more preamble. I feel the blunt, wet head of his cock press against my entrance, and I tense for a second, my body not quite ready.

“Shhh, relax,” he soothes, his tone shifting from dominant to something almost tender for a fleeting moment. He releases one of my hips, and I feel his fingers slide down, through my cheeks. “Jesus… you’re so wet for me. Soaking. All for me.” He circles my clitty once, twice, a teasing, electric touch that makes me cry out and push back against him, my own need overriding any hesitation.

He guides himself back to my entrance, the pressure more insistent this time. “Take it,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

And I do. I push back, impaling myself on him slowly, an exquisite, burning stretch that steals the air from my lungs. Ohgodohgodohgod. A low, broken moan tears from my throat as he fills me completely, his hips meeting my ass. He’s so deep, so impossibly there, stretching me in ways I’d only fantasized about.

He stays still for a long moment, buried to the hilt, both of us panting, adjusting to the shocking, perfect fullness. I can feel every inch of him, every pulse and twitch inside me. He leans forward again, his chest hair scratching against the smooth leather of my back, and whispers directly into my ear, “You feel like heaven, you wicked little thing. Like silk wrapped around my cock.”

Then he moves.

He pulls back almost all the way, the drag of him inside me a near-painful pleasure, and then he slams back in. A choked cry is forced out of me. Yes!

He sets a brutal, punishing rhythm, his powerful thighs driving into me again and again. The ancient bedsprings scream in protest, a frantic, creaking percussion to the symphony of our skin slapping together, our ragged breaths, my helpless whimpers. Each powerful thrust rocks my entire body forward, my hands scrambling for purchase on the rumpled sheets.

The world narrows to this bed, to this man, to the primal, animalistic act. The tight corset constricts my breathing, making every gasp a desperate, shallow thing that only intensifies the dizzying pleasure coiling in my belly. His grip on my hips is iron-tight, sure to leave bruises—marks I will cherish tomorrow.

“Is this what you wanted?” he grunts, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Huh? You like getting fucked like a slut in your mother’s house?”

“Yes! God, yes, Uncle Mark!” I sob, the words torn from me. The filthiness of it, the taboo, fuels the fire consuming me from the inside out. I am nothing but a vessel for his pleasure, a secret set of holes for him to use, and the realization is the most liberating thing I’ve ever known.

One of his hands leaves my hip and snakes around my front, his fingers finding my clit with unerring accuracy. He rubs tight, frantic circles there, the dual sensation of being filled and rubbed sending me spiraling toward the edge. My hips buck wildly, meeting his every thrust, trying to take him even deeper.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice a harsh rasp. “Come for me. Come on my cock. Show me what a good little secret slut you are.”

His words are the final key. The coil snaps. My vision whites out as an orgasm detonates through me, a seismic wave of pleasure that clenches around him uncontrollably, milking his length. I scream into the mattress, my body convulsing, the heels of my expensive shoes digging into the air behind me.

My climax triggers his. With a final, deep, grinding thrust that presses his pelvis hard against my ass, he buries himself as deep as he can go and lets out a raw, gut-wrenching roar. I feel the hot, wet pulsing of his release inside me, marking me, claiming me. He collapses over my back, his sweat-slicked chest heaving against the leather corset, his weight a comforting, possessive anchor.

We lie there for a long moment, a tangled, breathless mess of limbs and spent passion. The only sound is our ragged breathing and the faint, final protest of the bedsprings. Slowly, he shifts his weight off me, pulling out with a soft, wet sound that makes me shudder with aftershocks. He rolls onto his back beside me.

I stay on my knees, unable to move, my head resting on the sheets, my entire body humming with satisfaction. I feel his hand, gentle now, stroke the small of my back, his fingers tracing the line where the leather meets my skin.

“No one,” he says again, his voice Wonder, his voice full of a reverence that makes my heart ache.