Chapter Text
It was the silence that always killed you first.
The way Vernon could just look at you—blank-faced, half-lidded, like he wasn’t thinking about a single filthy thing—and yet… you knew. You could feel it. That tension. That charge. A current that ran under his skin like a loaded gun with the safety barely on.
Tonight was no exception.
You should’ve known the second he leaned back against the couch, legs spread wide, hands tucked into his pockets like boredom personified, while his gaze dragged over you like a physical thing.
“Come here,” he said.
Simple.
Flat.
Like he was asking you to pass him the remote.
But when Vernon said come here, it wasn’t a suggestion.
You stepped between his legs, heart hammering loud enough that you were sure he could hear it. His hands didn’t move. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t lean forward. Just… stared. Like he was waiting to see how long you could handle the tension.
“Take it off.”
Your mouth went dry. “W-what?”
His gaze flicked lazily up to meet yours—bored, detached, sharp. “All of it.”
A second passed. Then two.
He still didn’t move.
But the weight of the command had your fingers trembling as you reached for the hem of your shirt. You could’ve said no. He liked when you resisted. When you made him work for it. But tonight? There was something in his tone. Something cold and heavy that told you—don’t push.
You peeled it off.
Your bra hit the floor next.
Then your jeans. Your panties. Until you were standing there—completely bare, skin prickling under his gaze, thighs squeezing together instinctively.
“Good girl,” he murmured, finally—finally—moving. His hands slid out of his pockets, lazy but deliberate, and rested on your hips. His thumbs traced small circles over your skin, deceptively gentle.
“You get worked up so easily,” he mused, fingers trailing lower now, barely brushing over your inner thighs. “Just from being looked at.”
You bit your lip, breath shallow. “Vernon…”
“Shh.”
His hand lifted—crack.
The sound of skin meeting skin echoed before the sting registered.
Your gasp punched straight from your lungs, hips jerking, eyes wide. His palm left a blooming red print on your thigh, sharp and hot. And the way his mouth curved up at the corner told you it was exactly what he wanted.
“Again,” he said quietly.
And when you hesitated, he grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze to lock with his.
“Keep your eyes on me.”
Then—crack. Another slap, this time on the other thigh. Your knees buckled, but his hands caught you. Held you steady. His grip wasn’t cruel. It was secure. Safe within the lines of the game you both agreed to play.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, voice still maddeningly even, like he wasn’t watching you tremble in front of him. “You like being treated like this.”
You opened your mouth—whether to deny it or beg, you weren’t sure—but the words died the moment his fingers slid between your legs.
“So wet,” he murmured. “Such a fucking mess for me.”
Two fingers traced through your slick, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to play with his toy. Your thighs trembled, your hips rolled toward him on instinct, but his free hand gripped your jaw tighter.
“Don’t move.”
You whimpered. “Please—”
“Shhh.” His thumb pressed against your clit, just enough to make your breath stutter. “Not yet.”
And then, like he’d flipped a switch—
He shoved his chair back, leaned back, legs spread wider.
“Get on your knees.”
You sank down so fast you nearly collapsed.
He tilted his head, fingers still glistening with your slick, and thumbed over his lower lip like he was pondering something far away.
“You wanna come tonight?” he asked, tone dry, cool, devastating.
You nodded frantically. “Yes—God, please—”
“Then earn it.”
He leaned back further, one hand lazily undoing his belt, the other resting on his thigh.
“Let’s see what that pretty mouth can do.”
Your knees hit the floor with a soft thud, and the carpet prickled against your skin, but you barely felt it—not with the way Vernon was looking at you.
Detached. Calculating. Like an artist studying his canvas, deciding whether to sketch something soft and delicate—or tear through it with broad, brutal strokes.
He slid his belt free with a sharp snap that made your breath hitch. The sound alone lit something feral in your chest. His fingers were slow, precise, as he undid the button, dragged the zipper down, and pushed his jeans low enough to free himself.
And God.
You swallowed hard.
Thick. Hard. Already leaking at the tip like your desperation had affected him more than his face ever showed.
His fingers curled lazily around the base, stroking once. Twice. Slow. Unhurried.
“You know what to do,” Vernon said simply, thumb dragging over the slit, collecting the bead of precum before holding it up—offering it to you.
You surged forward without thinking, lips wrapping around his thumb, tongue swirling over it as if it were already his cock. He hissed quietly through his teeth—the first real crack in that icy composure.
“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling his hand free, trailing it down to grip your jaw. “Open.”
Your lips parted without hesitation.
The head of his cock dragged across your tongue, hot and heavy, and the low groan he let out as you sank down made your thighs press together instinctively. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper until he hit the back of your throat—choking slightly, but you forced yourself to breathe through your nose, stay there, until his hand tightened in your hair.
“Look at me.”
Your eyes flicked up, watering slightly, and the sound that rumbled from his chest was nothing short of filthy.
“Fuck, that’s a good look on you.”
He let you move—let you set the pace at first. Slow drags, lips gliding over sensitive skin, tongue flicking under the ridge. But then—his grip shifted. Tightened.
“Hands behind your back.”
You obeyed instantly, fingers locking at the base of your spine.
“Keep them there.”
Then his hips rolled forward—slow at first. Testing. Watching. His cock shoved deep into your throat, forcing a gag around him, and your whole body trembled at the sensation. You coughed, tried to pull back, but he didn’t let you. One hand fisted in your hair, the other resting on his thigh like a king relaxing while his toy worked.
“You can take it,” he said flatly. “I know you can.”
Your throat convulsed, spit spilling from the corners of your mouth, eyes streaming—but you nodded around him, desperate, dizzy, so fucking wet from being used like this.
He set a pace—slow, punishing thrusts that dragged out, only to shove back in until your nose was pressed against his pelvis, the salty musk of his skin filling your senses completely.
“Look how pretty you are when you suffer for it,” he muttered, thumb brushing over your wet, swollen bottom lip whenever he pulled back just enough to let you breathe.
“Bet your pussy’s dripping all over the floor, isn’t it?”
You whimpered around him, thighs squeezing together as the ache between them built into something unbearable.
His hips snapped forward, sharper this time, a curse punching from his mouth.
“Fuck—just like that. Stay there. Fucking stay.”
Your throat burned. Your jaw ached. But none of it mattered—because the way he moaned, quiet but broken, told you everything you needed to know.
He was losing it.
Losing control.
Because of you.
His fingers tangled harder in your hair. His hips trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
“Fuck—gonna—shit—”
But then—he pulled out.
Your mouth fell open in a gasp, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock. You blinked, dazed, utterly ruined on the floor.
And Vernon?
He just smirked.
“Not yet,” he panted, voice rough now, throat tight. “Didn’t think it was gonna be that easy, did you?”
You whimpered, thighs squeezing tight, utterly desperate now.
“Get on the couch,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous. “Ass up. Face down.”
As you scrambled to obey, trembling with anticipation, you heard him chuckle—deep, dark, and absolutely merciless.
“Let’s see how loud I can make you scream.”
Your hands trembled as you crawled onto the couch, knees sinking into the cushions. You barely had time to catch your breath before Vernon's voice hit you like a whip—sharp, cool, commanding.
“Ass up. Lower.”
You dropped your chest to the couch, spine arching, presenting yourself to him exactly the way he wanted. Humiliation burned hot and delicious along your skin—the awareness that you were bare, dripping, spread open, on full display for him.
Vernon moved behind you. You could hear the drag of his jeans sliding down his legs, the shift of the belt hitting the floor, and then—silence.
Until—
Crack.
The belt lashed against the swell of your ass, sharp and sudden. Your cry shattered the air, hands fisting the couch cushions as your body jolted forward.
“Oh, you liked that,” his voice came low, cool, unaffected—like he was reading the weather, not spanking you raw. “I can see your thighs shaking.”
You whimpered, already panting. “Vernon—”
Crack. Another. Sharper. Lower. The sting bloomed into heat, radiating out, searing straight into the ache between your legs.
“Say it,” he ordered, fingers running down your spine, deceptively soft. “Tell me what you are.”
You sobbed, arching your back instinctively. “Yours—I’m yours—”
Crack. “Again.”
“Yours—fuck—I’m yours—”
His palm slid over the red, tender skin of your ass, rubbing, soothing for a moment—but it was a trap. A lull before the next storm. His hand drifted between your legs, fingers gliding through your soaked folds.
“God,” he muttered, more to himself. “You’re dripping. You’re fucking dripping.”
He slapped your pussy—sharp, wet, brutal. Your whole body lurched forward as a strangled cry ripped from your throat.
“Don’t clench,” he warned, voice flat, breath steady. “Or I’ll stop.”
You whimpered—half-cry, half-moan—forcing your body to relax even as your thighs trembled.
His fingers teased at your entrance, pushing in one—then two—slick, knuckle-deep, curling exactly where they needed to hit. Your back arched like a bow, gasping his name, but just as the pressure built—
His fingers pulled out.
“No—” The word broke, high, panicked. “Vernon, please—”
“Mm.” You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the smirk. “You think I’m here to make you come?”
He pressed the head of his cock against your entrance—just enough to feel the stretch, the promise.
You gasped, hips pushing back, desperate to take him in.
But he didn’t move.
“You want this?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
“You sure?” His hand gripped your hip tighter. “Because if I give you this, there’s no pulling back. No mercy.”
You nodded frantically. “I don’t want mercy—I want you.”
And God, that did it.
With a single, brutal snap of his hips, he shoved inside—all at once—burying himself to the hilt. The stretch was sudden, overwhelming, painful-perfect. You screamed into the cushions, legs nearly collapsing from the force of it.
“Fucking tight,” Vernon hissed, hands digging bruises into your hips. “So greedy for me.”
His thrusts started slow—deep, grinding, making you feel every goddamn inch. But it didn’t stay that way. Not when your pussy clenched down on him like a vice, not when your broken moans filled the room.
“Look at you,” he growled, voice finally fraying. “Face down, ass up, taking me like a perfect little toy.”
You couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe.
Your body jolted with every brutal thrust, skin stinging from the spanks, your clit throbbing and untouched—aching for friction, for anything.
But his hands never strayed.
No mercy.
No relief.
Only the brutal rhythm of his cock slamming into you, dragging filthy, wet sounds from between your thighs.
“You wanna come?” he bit out, breath ragged. “You really think you deserve it?”
“Yes—fuck—yes—please—I need it—”
He didn’t slow. Didn’t soften.
“Beg.”
You sobbed, clawing the couch cushions, shaking all over. “Please—please, Vernon—I need it—I’m gonna break—I swear—”
“Good.”
His hips stuttered, losing rhythm as his own release built. You felt it—the tension, the tremor in his grip, the way his cock twitched deep inside you.
But then—he pulled out.
A strangled scream tore from your throat, your pussy clenching down on nothing, spasming, throbbing, empty.
Vernon’s hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back until his lips brushed your ear.
“Not yet.”
Your whole body was trembling—legs barely holding you up, fingers clawing helplessly at the cushions, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. Your cunt throbbed, clenching down on nothing, fluttering around an emptiness that felt like punishment carved into your skin.
And Vernon?
Vernon was the devil incarnate.
He stood behind you, hand still twisted in your hair, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance again, dragging through the mess he’d made of you—your slick smeared across your thighs, your skin burning from the belt, your mind spinning somewhere between I can’t and don’t you dare stop.
“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered, almost absentminded, voice cold and sharp like broken glass. “You look ruined and I haven’t even let you come yet.”
His hips rolled forward, not to thrust—just to press, to slide the thick, heavy length of him between your folds, rubbing against your swollen clit just enough to make your thighs quake.
You gasped, back arching, desperate for friction. “Vernon—please—”
“Oh, you’ll beg,” he said, low and dark, fingers tightening in your hair, dragging your head back to force your gaze upward—toward the reflection in the glass of the TV, just faint enough to catch the blurred outline of your own body. “You’ll fucking sob for it.”
Then he slapped your clit—sharp, stinging, wet.
You screamed.
“Yeah. Like that.”
His hand slipped from your hair and clamped around your throat—tight enough to hold you still, to remind you who was in control, but never enough to actually stop your breath. His cock pressed against your entrance again, stretching you just an inch—just enough to feel the sweet, perfect ache—
Then pulled back.
Your head fell forward, a broken, desperate noise catching in your throat.
“Please—” You didn’t even know what you were begging for anymore. Release? Mercy? More? Less? Everything blurred together into a raw, needy ache that pulsed between your legs and behind your eyes.
He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, voice barely more than a breath.
“You don’t get to come until I say.”
A sob wracked through you, hips jerking backward despite yourself, desperate for friction—anything. But he was faster. His hand smacked your ass, another brutal sting blooming over the raw skin.
“Keep still.”
You whimpered, thighs trembling so hard you thought you might collapse.
Then—you felt him line up again.
A pause.
A beat.
“Breathe,” Vernon ordered, like a warning. “Because you’re not getting a break.”
And he slammed in.
All the way.
Deep. Hard. Unforgiving.
You cried out—loud, broken, shaking—hands scrambling for anything to hold, nails digging into the fabric as he set a brutal, punishing rhythm. His cock dragged against every swollen nerve, every raw, oversensitive part of you until the edge came rushing back too fast—rising like a tidal wave, crashing over everything.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, thrusts growing sharper, slamming into the softest, deepest parts of you. “You hold it.”
“I—I can’t—I—”
“You can.” His hand slapped your ass again, making your body jolt forward. “You will.”
The pain blended with pleasure until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. His cock hit so deep, your breath came in shallow, stuttered gasps, your body locking up, every muscle tensed as the orgasm surged—
But you held.
Barely.
Just barely.
“Fuck,” Vernon hissed, losing that cold edge for just a moment, hips stuttering, breath cracking. “You feel so good when you fight it.”
His hand slid between your legs—finally—fingers pressing against your clit, circling cruelly.
“Don’t come,” he warned again, voice fraying at the edges.
You sobbed—shook—teeth digging into your lower lip so hard you tasted blood. Your body screamed for release. Muscles seized. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice, fluttering in desperation.
“I—can’t—”
“Hold it,” Vernon bit out, head falling forward against your back, pace brutal and relentless. “Fucking hold it.”
You broke.
But not the way you wanted.
Not with release.
Not yet.
Because he wasn’t letting go.
And neither were you.
Your body was beyond trembling now—every muscle locked, every nerve frayed, your vision swimming in shades of white and black like static on a broken screen. You were wound so tight, so close, the pressure behind your eyes felt like it might explode.
And still—still—he hadn’t let you fall.
Vernon’s cock was buried so deep it felt like you were split open around him, your body stretched to its limits, every brutal thrust knocking a sob out of your lungs. His fingers pressed merciless circles into your clit, not letting up—not giving you space to think, to breathe, to survive this without unraveling completely.
“You’re holding, aren’t you?” His voice was wrecked now, breathless, fraying at the edges—finally, finally cracking under the weight of what he was doing to you. “Fucking hell, look at you. Look at how desperate you are.”
“I—can’t—I c-can’t—”
“You will.” His palm smacked your ass again, and you jerked forward with a choked scream. “You will until I say.”
His pace shattered—losing rhythm, hips grinding hard, desperate now. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, wet, obscene, punctuated by his ragged groans as your pussy clenched down on him so tight it was driving him straight to the edge.
“Fucking—fuck,” Vernon snarled, both hands grabbing your hips now, fingers digging in deep enough to leave bruises. “I’m—shit—gonna—”
His breath hitched. His thrusts grew shallow, frantic.
“Take it,” he groaned, cock twitching, voice pure wreckage now. “Fucking take all of it.”
And then—he came.
Buried deep, locked tight to the hilt, his cock pulsed, spilling hot, thick ropes of cum into you—so much, so fucking much it felt like your body might overflow. His entire frame trembled, chest pressed to your back, mouth falling open in a broken, strangled moan that you’d never forget.
“God—fuck—you feel so good—so fucking perfect—”
His hands trembled. His hips stuttered. And still, he didn’t stop.
He didn’t pull out.
He stayed buried inside, cock throbbing, cum leaking out around the base as his fingers slid back between your legs—rubbing your clit, sharp and merciless.
“You’ve been so good,” he rasped, breath shaking, lips brushing the back of your neck. “Held it for me… so fucking good.”
A choked sob ripped from your throat, your body jerking helplessly.
“Vernon—please—I can’t—I can’t—”
And finally—finally—his voice softened.
“Let go.”
The second the words left his mouth, your body snapped.
Your orgasm detonated through you with violent force, so strong it didn’t feel like pleasure at first—just too much. Too sharp. Too consuming. Your legs collapsed. Your lungs refused to work. Your vision blurred out completely.
You screamed.
Loud. Broken. Raw.
Your pussy clamped down around his cock in brutal, desperate spasms, milking every last pulse of cum from him as the world fractured into nothing but heat, light, and sound.
Vernon groaned into your skin, hands clutching you close like he needed to feel every twitch, every quake, every aftershock.
“That’s it,” he whispered, voice rough, almost reverent. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Give it to me. All of it.”
You couldn’t stop shaking.
Couldn’t stop clenching.
Couldn’t stop crying—overwhelmed, overstimulated, utterly destroyed in the best, filthiest way.
And he held you there.
Cock still buried deep. Cum leaking. Hands stroking down your sides now, slower, gentler—but still keeping you right there. Owned. Wrecked. His.
“Breathe,” Vernon murmured against your shoulder, lips soft, voice gentle now. “Breathe for me. I’ve got you.”
And he did.
He always did.
The world was nothing but static. White noise filled your ears, every muscle twitching in the aftermath of what he’d just dragged you through—shaking, boneless, utterly wrung out. You felt the stretch of him still inside you, the slow, hot drip of cum leaking down your thighs, the faint sting of belt marks blooming across your skin.
But more than anything—you felt his hands.
Gentle now.
Soft.
As if the man who’d just fucked you within an inch of your sanity was someone else entirely.
Vernon slipped his arms around you, steadying you, pulling you upright against his chest as your legs refused to hold your weight. His cock slipped free with a slow, wet drag that made you whimper—too sensitive, still fluttering around the emptiness he left behind.
“Shhh…” His breath was warm against your ear, lips brushing the shell of it as his fingers stroked up and down your sides. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. You’re okay.”
You nodded, barely, body trembling against him like a leaf caught in the wind.
His hands didn’t stop moving—rubbing over your arms, your thighs, the sore curve of your ass, grounding you with every touch. His voice dropped to something low, quiet, almost reverent.
“Did so good for me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “So fucking perfect. Took everything I gave you.”
A weak sound escaped your throat—somewhere between a broken sob and a sigh. You didn’t have words yet. You couldn’t.
And Vernon knew.
“Come on.” His voice was still soft but firmer now, coaxing. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He guided you gently down to the couch cushions, leaving you seated as he slipped away—only long enough to grab a warm, damp towel. The absence felt hollow, like you’d forgotten how to exist without his hands on you.
When he returned, he knelt between your legs, whispering soft apologies each time the cloth dragged over your oversensitive skin. His touch was precise, careful, cleaning the mess between your thighs, wiping his cum away from where it clung in sticky trails down your legs.
“I know, baby… I know,” he whispered as you whimpered, hips twitching at every tender stroke. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Once he finished, he tossed the towel aside and scooped you up—effortless, like you weighed nothing—and carried you to the bed. The sheets were cool against your skin as he laid you down, crawling in beside you, pulling the blankets over both your bodies like a cocoon.
His arms wrapped around you—tight, secure, warm.
His fingers threaded into your hair, nails scratching lightly over your scalp in soft, rhythmic motions. His lips pressed against your temple, your cheek, your jaw.
“You with me?” he murmured. “Breathe, baby. Come back.”
It was only then that your breath started to slow. Your heartbeat, frantic and wild, began to settle beneath the steady drum of his own chest against your back.
You swallowed, voice hoarse when it finally came. “I’m here.”
A long exhale left him, his grip tightening as he buried his face in your neck.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “My good girl. You did so fucking good.”
Your throat tightened at that—at the warmth in his voice, at the tenderness beneath the rough edges. The Vernon who pushed you until you broke was the same one who now kissed the back of your shoulder like you were made of glass.
“Was I…?” Your voice cracked. “Too much?”
His hand cupped your jaw instantly, turning your face toward his.
“Never,” he said, eyes dark but soft now. “You’re everything.”
He kissed you then—slow, sweet, lingering—like he had all the time in the world. And when he pulled back, his thumb brushed your cheek, chasing away the last traces of overwhelm.
“Rest now,” he murmured. “You’re safe. You’re mine.”
You melted into his arms, body sinking into the warmth of him—the safety, the certainty.
And as you drifted off, one last thought lingered, soft as his breath against your skin.
No one would ever fuck you like Vernon did.
But more than that?
No one would ever hold you the way he did after.