She was arched like a fucking bow. Fingertips soaked. Fucking herself hard enough to slap sound off the walls. Slick, loud, desperate.

Not rhythm, not grace—just pure, ragged need.

Her forehead dragged against the mirror. Her breath fogged a wide bloom across the glass, distorting the shape of her face. One arm braced. The other buried. Knuckles deep. Squelching. That sick, obscene rhythm of fingers dragging slick through ruined cunt, over and over, breathless and brutal.

I could have watched her cum for me—drawn out, slick and trembling, until she collapsed from it—then fucked her exactly as I planned anyway.

But I couldn’t let her cheat her way out of this.

Her phone charger lay discarded on the small shelf by the door. Careless. Perfect.

I picked it up and pressed full against her back.

“No,” she muttered as I stole her hands. “Please.”

I fed her her own fingers. She sucked them with a greedy, ragged breath, ass grinding into me like I’d reward her for it. As if I had any intention of giving her what she wanted.

I pulled her fingers from her mouth—slick, wet, wanting—and bound her wrists with the charger cord. Tight. Enough to bite. Enough to leave the question of bruising. I left a loop, just big enough to catch the hook above the hallway mirror—if I stretched her far enough.

So I did.

The glass caught her face in fragments now—hair tangled, cheeks flushed, breath fogging across the surface in trembling bursts. Her eyes wouldn’t meet their own reflection.

“The fuck you do,” I snarled into her ear.

“Don’t…” she gasped.

I laughed.

“Don’t what?” I growled. “Fuck you? Is that what you want? Want me to stick it in so you can get off? So you can chase my stare from the gym? Have it rip through you one more time? You think I’m here to release you from your own filthy mind? To grant you some grace for being a sweaty little fucktoy?”

“Jesus…”

“No. I’m not going to fuck you.”

My hand found her throat again, and her hips started grinding harder—instinct, memory, desperation. The fog on the mirror spread wider now, blurring her face into heat and shadow. Her body was begging. Not with words. Just with the pulse throbbing against the ache in my shorts, again and again.

“Not yet.”

“Get off me,” she snarled.

There’s something delightful about catching people lying to themselves. In her, it was obvious. The way her eyes refused her own reflection. The way her breath took deep. The way her ass still sought my cock.

I don’t think she expected my hands to claw at her sweat-soaked shirt. Didn’t expect the fabric to stretch tight across her throat, strangling her softly in cotton and salt. Leaving her to beg for the seams to give.

I think, had I held her like that a little longer, she would have come just from the tension of being stretched and pulled.

So I released—just a little. Let the fabric loosen. Bunched it in my hands. Pressed my palm into the small of her back.

Then yanked.

The shirt tore in a wet split of threads and sweat.

“Oofffuck,” she whimpered.

“No,” I whispered against her skin. “Not yet.”

I let my breath drag along the arc of her spine.

“I’m going to lick every drop of sweat off you. Slow. Savored. One tremor at a time. Every plea. Every twist. Until your body forgets how to beg.”

I reached up and slid the elastic from her ponytail, slow enough to feel the heat trapped beneath it. Her hair spilled out—sticky, tangled, reeking of sweat and need. I buried my face in the mess of it, then traced the nape of her neck with my tongue.

She arched.

The kind of arch you don’t fake. The kind that comes from being exposed. From knowing what’s coming.

I slipped my fingers under her sports bra. Pushed it up—high and rough. Released her tits into the stale, cold air of the hallway. Let her fill my palms. Let the sweat caught underneath coat me. Her nipples cut like knives, and when I pinched, she gasped—part pain, part relief. Part insanity.

I licked down her spine. Slow. Greedy. Salt thick on my tongue. She trembled against the mirror, tied and waiting, like she knew better than to ask for anything more.

Then I reached down.

Found the soaked fabric clinging around the edge of the rip like it still tried to hide her. But it couldn’t. I filled my palms with ass. Pinched. Pulled a little. Just enough for her to hold her breath and brace. Just enough for her to hope I’d pull my cock out and fuck her stupid.

But no.

I caught the edges of her leggings and tore. Ripped. The fabric fought back—tight, stretched, sweat-wet—but it gave. First in one leg. Then the other. I split them open. Not just down the seam, but to shreds.

She whimpered. Bare and shaking.

Exactly how I wanted her.

I pulled my shorts down—not just for comfort, but to make her think I was going to give it to her. Pressed myself against her, made sure she felt every inch of me.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Give it to me.” Her face in the mirror didn’t believe her own words, and her teeth tried to shut her lips tight.

I laughed again.

“‘Get off,’ you said. Give it to you? So sickly desperate,” I muttered, sinking to my knees.

I could smell her—fresh sweat clinging to her skin, sure, but more than that. The sheer fucking arousal of her. Her cunt was puffy, pulsing, leaking like the Salt and Verde headwaters had broken loose inside her. As if the mountain snows that feed the valley had melted straight through her thighs. Like she’d never heard of drought, never believed in rationing.

Just spring thaw—gushing out of her like need.

I filled my hand with a cheek of her ass, and now I couldn’t stop myself. Sank my teeth into her—deep. A bite that made her legs give, her whole frame quake against the pull of the cord. Her voice broke open, raw and dry, like it had swallowed the desert itself.

“Want me to stop?” I whispered.

“Fuck you,” she muttered.

But it came hollow. Stripped of voice. Stripped of meaning.

I spread her. Hard. My fingers digging in, whitening her flesh, leaving streaks of red where pain and need fought to claim her.

I traced the crack with my tongue—filth, sweat, salt, pulse. Her hole fluttered under me, clenching like it didn’t know whether to resist or beg.

And the sound she made?

Not protest. Not control. Just a broken spill of want.

She pushed into it. Rubbed herself against the line of it—against me—with the reckless tilt of someone too far gone to pretend anymore. The cord dug into her wrists. Her cunt throbbed visibly, slick leaking down her thigh.

I pressed my tongue flat to her asshole. Licked up—slow, open-mouthed, claiming every inch with filth and praise. She braced for it, but failed. And when I didn’t lick again, but sucked—fucked her with my tongue—she shuddered through her spine. Something cracked loose in her throat. Foreign tongues of filth and prayer.

She tensed at first. Then loosened. Slack. Receiving. As if trying to have her clit sucked through her ass.

I stood. Pressed my cock between her cheeks, hands firm around her throat. Voice low, pressed against her skull.

“I’m gonna fuck your ass, now.”

A sound followed—mostly drool and spit.

“Can’t…” she breathed.

“Can’t?” I hissed back, feeling her pulse beg along my shaft. “You gave up ‘can’t’ when you gave up ‘won’t.’ You’ll take it any which way I’ll give it. Won’t you?”

I released her. Stepped back. Watched her collapse under her own weight, like what she needed was too heavy to carry.

“Fuck you!”

She yelled it this time.

I grinned in the mirror—watched her tits sway, drool strand from her lips, eyes gone feral. Her cunt still pulsed. Still leaked.

I stepped forward again. Hands on her hips, because maybe she needed to borrow my strength to stay upright. Slid my cock between her thighs. Ground into her heat, just enough to drive her mad—then shifted, just as she tried to take me in. Denied. Again. Redirected focus. Pressed to her tightest spot. Found it already softened, breathless with permission she hadn’t spoken aloud.

“You want it, don’t you?” I whispered.

“Fuck,” she groaned.

“You’ll have to take it.”

She still tried to deny it. I saw it behind her eyes before they closed. In how her jaw clenched, before her body took over. She pressed back, and it didn’t take force. Her ass had given up resistance long before her brain. And when she slid open, I pulled at her hips, part pulling her onto me, part making sure she didn’t sink too deep, too fast.

“Jesus…Fucking Christ,” she groaned. Like it hurt to say it. Like it hurt not to.

And still, I pushed harder. Palms left her hips—spread her—let her take me deeper than skin. Closer than breath. Until I held all of her around my cock.

I fisted her hair into a knot, then pulled her head back, licked the streaked salt from her cheek. Let her think I was going to kiss her shoulder. Offer some gentleness in the insanity. Her ass clenched around me when my teeth dug in. Her voice cracked. No words. No thoughts.

I let her hair go. Let my hands map her again—avoiding her tits. I’d only use them later, like handlebars, to fuck her through the wall. Not yet.

No. I anchored myself, then her, at her hips, still holding her steady. Locked around my cock like she was made for it—hanging in that place between ache and annihilation.

Then I let my right hand drift. The dip where her hip turned thigh, where heat pulsed loudest against my palm. I didn’t give her the pleasure of my fingers, just closed my palm over her heat. Held it like a threat. Felt her pulse through as I pulled out… just slightly before shoving back into her.

“Mmpff…” It escaped her lips like pity.

Her cunt pulsed against my palm, leaking slick onto me as if her need held any power over mine.

“You’re regretting drinking all your water now, aren’t you?”

Her eyes fluttered—confused, caught between the pain of holding and the shame of needing to be emptied.

“Wishing you’d pissed after your workout? Before the hallway? Before you started dripping over the thought of my cock stuffing your greedy little hole?”

“God! Don’t…”

My left hand pressed against the low of her belly, right where the pressure had been building—carelessly, stupidly—while she let her body beg. She clenched hard around me, so I pulled out. Slow. Then pushed back in, slower still, fucking her ass while forcing every inch of pressure to pack from both sides.

“Make you piss yourself?” I murmured. “Make you let go? Moan in disgust at how good it’d feel… just to surrender?”

She clenched again, hard—like she could stop it, like her muscles would still obey. But they didn’t. Not anymore.

It was just a whimper pressed between her lips.

Then, I felt it.

A faint warmth. Wet. Boiling warm, not slick.

Not a rush. Not even a trickle.

Just… a seeping. Slow. Deliberate. Onto my palm.

I didn’t say a word. Just stayed buried deep inside her, pressure holding firm against her belly, watching her reflection shatter.

Her lips parted, dry. Not even a moan now. Just a breath. One that told me everything. As if licking her own tongue in the mirror could overshadow the moment her shame overtook her. When seeping became a trickle, tracing her thighs, soaking the rags that remained of her leggings. Seeping into her shoes. Puddling on the floor.

And still, she pulsed around me.

I let her drain. Waited for the tremors in her thighs to give. Waited for her watered eyes to search for mine in the mirror.

Her jaw clenched. Twice.

“I hate you,” she hissed.

I lunged forward. All my weight against her. Cupped her tits. Squeezed them. Pulled her back tight against the length of me.

Then?

I fucked her.

Hard. Deep. Eyes bulging from the pressure, then rolling back. Her ass clenching tighter. Breath shoved up through her guts with every thrust. I wanted to fuck her loose. To cum in her and leave her ruined.

But no.

Not like that.

I don’t know how her body managed it—stretched against the pull of the cord, spine arched like it meant to break her clean in half, thighs locked like steel beams.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Breath. Spit. Desperation.

She was coming undone.

And I was having none of it.

I pulled out fast—too fast for her ass to collapse around itself. It pulsed open for an obscene second before trying to regain its shape.

“Noooo!” she screamed. “Fuck you! You prick! You fucking cunt! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

I laughed. Watched her body protest what I’d taken. Watched her twist against the cord, threatening to tear loose. Watched every spasm her muscles had prepared for break apart, scatter, vanish.

“Fuck you…”

A whimper now. Head hanging. Voice cracking.

Empty.