Jenner's Christmas Surprise
With Kylie Jenner
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Rough Sex, Spanking, Throat Fucking, Verbal Humiliation
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
(https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/cb/6c/97vhvsOr_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/97vhvsOr) (https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/a3/8e/1w0GNEEz_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/1w0GNEEz)
(Story Inspired by Pixs)
It was the Christmas season, and as she did every year, Kylie Jenner had kept the tradition alive with a small circle of friends, a low-stakes Secret Santa exchange meant more for amusement than extravagance. The rules were simple, modest gifts, no spectacle, no pressure. When she drew the name Daniel Cross, a longtime friend with a reputation for understatement, she followed the rules to the letter. She bought the approved gift, wrapped it neatly, and set it aside.
That was only half the plan.
On a quiet December evening, Daniel answered a knock at his front door expecting nothing more than a quick drop-off. Instead, he opened it to find Kylie standing on his porch, framed by winter light and unmistakable confidence. She was dressed in a high-gloss red halter dress that looked less like fabric and more like intention made tangible. The material caught the light immediately, smooth, reflective, and sculpted to her body as though it had been designed with no margin for subtlety. The neckline rose cleanly at her collarbones, drawing the eye upward before allowing it to travel down the uninterrupted line of the dress.
The dress was precise. It clung without wrinkling, shaping her waist and hips with unapologetic clarity, the surface taut and immaculate. From the side, the dress revealed just enough to suggest movement, from the back, it opened dramatically, exposing her spine and shoulders, held together by a single strap at the neck. Her long, straight black hair fell cleanly down her back, contrasting sharply against the red, glossy finish, as if meant to frame the open design rather than conceal it.
Kylie wore heels, they elevated her posture, making every step feel measured and intentional. Nothing about the outfit suggested accident or impulsive. It was a look designed to be seen, assessed, and felt in the room.
Daniel made a sound before he could stop himself, an audible, involuntary reaction that escaped somewhere between surprise and disbelief. His eyes lingered, then traced, then returned again, unable to settle anywhere else. He wasn’t staring blindly, he was taking her in piece by piece, the way the light played off the dress, the way the heels shifted her weight, the way she seemed entirely at ease being observed.
Kylie noticed immediately. She always did. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, she wasn't embarrassed, nor defensive, amused really, almost pleased.
“Well,” she said, as if she hadn’t just disrupted the evening, “Merry Christmas.”
Recovering enough to remember his manners, Daniel stepped aside and invited her in. As she crossed the threshold, the warmth of the house met the sheen of the dress, the red catching the glow from the interior lights.
They moved into the living room, where the fireplace was already lit, flames rolling and snapping behind a modern hearth. The firelight reflected off her dress in subtle waves, making it look almost alive as she moved. Christmas lights glowed in warm clusters along the mantle and wall, soft points of gold that echoed against the glossy red, reinforcing the holiday atmosphere without competing for attention.
A pale upholstered chair sat angled near the fire, rounded and understated, offering a contrast to her sharp silhouette. Nearby, a low table held a neat stack of books, carefully chosen, adding to the sense that the space, like her outfit, had been curated with care.
Kylie paused near the center of the room, letting the environment settle around her before turning fully toward him. She handed over the wrapped gift first, allowing the moment to follow its expected outcome. She watched as he opened it, accepted his thanks, and then, only then, shifted her stance, setting her heels more firmly into the rug.
The movement drew attention again to the dress: the way it held its shape without effort, the way it reflected the firelight at her hips, the way it left nothing ambiguous about why she had chosen it.
“That’s the official part,” she said, meeting his eyes without flinching. “The part that follows the rules.”
She let the silence stretch, the fire filling the space with warmth and motion. Daniel still hadn’t stopped looking at her, and she made no move to interrupt him. If anything, she seemed to settle further into the moment, perfectly aware of the effect she was having.
“But,” she added calmly, “I didn’t come all this way just to follow rules.”
She stood there, framed by firelight and Christmas glow, red dress gleaming against the room.
Kylie held his gaze a moment longer, then moved closer. The red dress caught the firelight again, flashing briefly as she shifted her weight, the open back leaving nothing to hide and nothing to apologize for.
“I didn’t just pick this outfit because it looks good,” she said. “I picked it because I know what kind of effect it has.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow, watching her without pretense now. The room felt warmer than before.
“I’ve heard things,” she continued, her voice steady. “About you. About how you are with women when you stop being polite. About how you take control. How you don’t pretend to be gentle when that’s not what’s wanted.”
She stopped a few feet in front of him, close enough that he could see the reflection of the fire in the surface of her dress.
“They say you're rough,” she added. “That you’re decisive. That you know exactly what you want.”
Daniel let out a chuckle, shaking his head once. “Rumors have a way of exaggerating,” he said, then paused. “But in this case... they’re definitely true.”
His tone wasn’t boastful. Just honest.
“I like being dominant,” he continued.
Kylie smiled then, satisfied with what she heard.
“Good,” she said. “Because that’s exactly what I came here for.”
She reached back and slipped the wrapped gift from the table, setting it aside without ceremony, as if it had already served its purpose.
“Officially,” she said, meeting his eyes again, “that was your Secret Santa present.”
Then Kylie stepped closer, close enough that there was no longer any ambiguity about her intent.
“Unofficially,” she continued, voice calm, unflinching, “I’m the gift. For tonight. I didn’t come here to be handled carefully. I came here because I want you to treat me the way you’re known for treating women who ask for it.”
She let the words settle, giving him space to respond, to refuse if he wanted to. But her posture didn’t suggest hesitation, only clarity.
"I’m here because I want to be.” Kylie added.
“If this is what you want,” Daniel said, “to be... dominated in that way... I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
Kylie’s lips curved slightly, amused but intrigued.
He stepped a fraction closer, letting the firelight accentuate the sharp lines of his posture. “I’ve always been into you,” he admitted. “Always noticed you, always admired you... and I’ll admit, I wanted to make you one of my conquests. Especially when I see how... gorgeous you are.”
Kylie’s eyes looked up to meet his. “I can tell,” she said, almost teasingly. “I can see it in the way you can’t keep your eyes off me.”
Daniel let a smile form, satisfied by her observation. “Oh, there is one more thing,” he said, letting the weight of the words hang. “I want you to call me... sir. Can you do that?”
For a moment, Kylie studied him, then tilted her head slightly, a knowing gleam in her eye. “Yes... sir,” she said, her voice steady and clear.
“Good,” Daniel replied.
“I expect you to follow my lead tonight,” he continued. “Every move, every choice, will be guided by me. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, carrying the weight of acknowledgment without hesitation.
Daniel’s lip quirked. “You have no idea how much I am going to enjoy using you.” He let that hang a second, savoring the effect of his intent made plain. “Tonight, you’re going to be used like a cheap slut, because that’s what you’re asking for, isn’t it?”
He watched the flicker of struggle in her eyes, a look that resolved itself into determination. She dropped her gaze to the floor . “Yes, sir.”
“On your knees.” he ordered.
There was a stillness in the way she moved, like a slow-motion collapse, orchestrated for him and only him. Kylie lowered herself until she was kneeling, hands poised just so on her thighs.
Daniel circled her, considering, how easy she made it, the way the whole world seemed to collapse to just this room, just this firelight, just her. “Tonight, I’m not going to be careful with you.” he said, the words heavier than he expected. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now? Like something obscene. Like you’re begging to be used.” He let the sentence hang.
He stopped in front of her. He waited. One heartbeat, two, before letting his hands rest on her bare shoulders, the red dress shining between them. “You want to be put in your place?” he asked, closer now, breath warming the shell of her ear. “You want to be treated like a cheap slut.”
Daniel squeezed at the bone of Kylie’s shoulder, then traced his palm down the shallow valley of her back, open and temptingly bare. Kylie was still staring at the floor, eyelids heavy, the light from the fire melting across her skin in restless patterns. He gripped her hair then, and pulled her head back until she was forced to meet him, chin up, lips parted.
“Remember your place tonight,” he said, enunciating the words.
He watched her jaw work, watched the almost imperceptible tremor in her arms as she held steady, refusing to flinch. There it was again, that flicker of defiance, reined in just enough to pass for obedience. It would be fun to see how long that could last.
Daniel let his hand slide down, skimming over the curve of her neck, pausing at her clavicle. The dress dipped just so, and he pressed his thumb into the hollow of it, feeling her life beat beneath it. There was power in that, the way touch alone could narrow her world to almost nothing.
“Unzip my jeans.” He said, stepping back.
The zipper was stubborn at first, caught on a stray thread or perhaps her nerves. Kylie kept her focus on her own hands, fingers precise, careful not to rush the moment. She could feel Daniel watching, assessing, the weight of his presence behind the command. When she finally got the zipper down, she hesitated just long enough to be sure he noticed her obedience, then drew the dark denim open, waiting.
His hand curled into her hair again, forcing her head to the level where he wanted it. He wasn’t rough… not yet, but there was no illusion of gentleness either. Kylie felt the approval in his grip, the silent reward for submitting smoothly.
She heard his breath, shallow, then a fraction slower as he watched her waiting on her knees.
“Take it out,” he said. “Show me what you’re good for.”
Kylie’s mouth parted, a last breath before his cock found her lips and he pressed forward, with an authority that pushed every other thought from her mind. The first inch forced her jaw wider. The second made her gag, a primal sound in her throat. Daniel didn’t relent. He fed himself to her, inch by inch, thick and insistent, until her lips were stretched and she could taste him on her tongue.
Each thrust hit the back of her throat, then retreated, only to plunge deeper, as if her throat was just another hole to be filled. Daniel fucked her mouth the way he’d fuck any toy, purposeful, efficient, completely unconcerned with her comfort past the usefulness of her submission. She felt the weight of his cock against her
Daniel’s grip was unyielding. He set the pace, nothing gentle at all, each movement punctuated by the scrape of her lip, the wet slap of flesh against her mouth. Her knees ached where bone hit rug, but sensation blurred, replaced by the relentless cadence of his hips, the sound of his breathing changing as she let herself be used. He pressed in deeper, further, until she gagged and had to force her eyes up to meet his.
“That’s it,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “Use that throat. That’s all you’re good for right now, isn’t it?” He yanked her head back, watched the line of saliva stretch from her lips.
She nodded, unable to find her voice, hair askew. Embarrassment and pride twisted together in her chest. She’d wanted this.
Daniel’s hand fisted tighter in Kylie's hair, the cold certainty of his grip scraping scalp, holding her in place as he pressed her down the length of him. She gagged again, loud this time, wet and desperate, but he didn’t let up. "I'm going to have so much fun ruining you," he said, almost conversationally, as if confirming a dinner reservation.
Kylie tried to answer, a strangled “yes, sir” vibrating against the base of his cock, but the words came out as a hot rush of air and saliva. Her eyes watered, lashes stuck together, black wet with mascara. She couldn't swallow, only breathe through her nose and let him use her. That was the point.
He worked her mouth with a pace that suggested he’d done this before, a steady back-and-forth that left no room for her to regain composure. He let her nose touch his skin, held her there for a second, felt the trembling behind her ears, then yanked her off, dragging a thick strand of spit from lip to tip. Her chest heaved as she coughed, tears leaking freely. She looked up at him, a mess, eyes wild.
“That’s better,” Daniel said. “But you’re still too pretty. Let’s see what happens when you look ruined.”
The slap landed hot and sudden, more noise than pain at first, but the force stung across Kylie’s cheekbone and left the world ringing, sparkling at the edges with the shock of it. Her mouth hung open, not sure whether to breathe or try to gasp, and then Daniel bent, his face close, and spit spattered her chin.
For a split second, Kylie hated him, enough to want to slap him back, to shove him hard. But the moment passed like a tremor through her, leaving only the raw thrill of being seen.
She held, steady as stone, refusing to wipe away the spit, refusing to give him the satisfaction of flinching.
“That’s better,” Daniel said again. His hand curled under her jaw this time, and his thumb smeared the spit downward, a slow motion that left her skin tacky. “You’re learning already.”
He dragged her head back to his cock and filled her mouth all over again. The taste was salt and skin and bitter, and Kylie let herself sink into it, spacing her breaths so she wouldn’t gag.
Daniel didn't speak again for a long while, just used her as if she were a wet, tight, fuck toy. Over her ragged breathing, she could hear the fire pop, the faint shush of his jeans around his thighs, the subtle shift of his weight as he leaned into her. Each sound sharpened the moment. One of the Christmas lights blinked on and off overhead, flickering red to mirror the glimmer of her dress.
Kylie had imagined what it would feel like, being treated this way by him. In every version she'd conjured, she'd felt a little thrill, but also a little fear, as if she might regret it later. But now that she was here, she realized she didn't care about regret. There was only now, only the next order, only the throb in her jaw and the shock of humiliation as he pulled her off again.
"I want you to crawl," Daniel said. "Hands and knees. Around the table. Do it."
It was the first time he'd given her an order she hadn't fantasized about in some way. Kylie's thighs wobbled when she got up, her balance thrown off by the heels and the lingering burn in her knees. She let herself move with no thought to how she looked, hips high, shoulders dipping, the curve of her ass on full display as she circled the coffee table.
Daniel moved into her field of vision only when she rounded the far corner. There was a kind of clinical interest in how he watched her shuffle forward, as if he'd ordered this before, measured the reaction time, and expected the result.
Why was this so hard? Because he wasn't even touching her now. He didn't need to. It was his stare that wrapped around her, icy and precise, like he could see the thoughts scurrying in her head. Every shuffle forward pressed her breasts harder against the glossy fold of the dress. It pinched at her waist, the backless cut offering nothing to shield her from the cold or her own humiliation.
When she completed the circle, Daniel let her stop. He paused long enough for her to catch her breathing, for her to realize she was panting, hair stuck to the side of her jaw.
Daniel moved around her, the air of appraisal sharpening. He waited for her to meet his eyes, waited for her to raise her chin and look him in the face, and when she did, he smiled. “Show me how obedient you can be,” he said, lowering his voice to a low, contemptuous drawl, “Bark for me. Do it like you mean it.”
For a fraction of a second Kylie thought he was joking, testing, that maybe he’d give her a break. But she saw the expectation in his stare, the absolute certainty that she’d do it. Her mouth went dry. The Christmas tree threw colored shadows on the rug, a reminder of every perfectly-arranged family holiday in her past, and here she was, kneeling in a thousand-dollar designer dress, about to bark like a dog because he told her to.
She inhaled.
The first bark caught in her throat, emerging garbled and too soft, nothing like an animal. She flushed, but forced herself to try again, shaping her mouth around the wordless noise.
“Louder,” Daniel ordered, not even looking at her.
Kylie barked. Then barked again, and again, and again, until the echo reverberated around the living room.
“There’s my good girl.” Daniel came close, tracing a finger under her jaw, forcing her mouth open and keeping it there. “Maybe next time we’ll get you a collar.” He looked down at her, holding her chin, as if weighing the worth of what he saw. "You ever wonder what people would say if they saw you like this? Kneeling, drooling, wearing that dress for my amusement?"
Kylie wanted to look away, but his grip tightened. “You want to know what I’d say to them?” Daniel continued, voice dropping a register. “She looks expensive, doesn’t she? You’d never know she was such a useless, easy little fucktoy.”
He released her jaw, and for a moment she just knelt there, mouth open, spit on her chin, like a dog who’d forgotten its own language.
“You’re doing better than I expected,” Daniel said, voice a shade less bored, almost appreciative. He crouched down, face level with hers, and let the silence balloon until she caught herself holding her breath.
“Look at you, all dolled up for me,” he said. He ran his thumb across her lower lip, stretching it, then popped it into her mouth. She sucked on it out of reflex.
“Have you ever let yourself go like this for anyone else?”
Kylie shook her head, momentarily forgetting the command structure. His hand snapped to her scalp, twisting her hair into a grip that forced her head to stillness. “No, sir,” she corrected, voice hoarse.
“Didn’t think so.” There was a look of vindication in his smile. “You chose the right person for this, didn’t you?”
She nodded before saying, “Yes, sir.”
Daniel let her go. He stood, looming over her, then paused as if considering the next move, savoring her anticipation. “Take off the dress,” he said.
She shrugged out of the dress, the red fabric folding on itself, leaving her arms and chest bare. Her skin felt electrified, the heat of the fire now a physical thing, prickling across her collarbones and shoulders. She let the dress slide to her hips, then paused for his approval.
"All of it, now," Daniel said with mild impatience.
The lacquered fabric sighed as it peeled from her waist and thighs, pooling at her knees. Cool air whipped up the back of her thighs, almost shocking in its abruptness. She hesitated, only because she wanted to feel the moment, to measure the humiliation against the strange new pleasure blooming inside her, then let the dress puddle on the floor. She straightened, hands at her sides.
There was a stretch of stillness, her body bare, every inch of skin exposed under the crossfire of Christmas lights and firelight. The cool of the room rippled over her stomach, her hips, the curves of her legs. She felt not just looked at, but appraised. Daniel's gaze ran down her torso and up again, no attempt at subtlety. His lips pressed into a thin, considered line. He did not praise her, not with words. He just watched, like he was deciding what to do with her nakedness.
Daniel didn’t say a thing for a moment, as she stood there in just her heels.
He pointed without speaking to the chair near the fire. The pale, overstuffed armchair she’d imagined sitting in, earlier, a kind of safe perch.
“Walk over to it,” Daniel said. “Present yourself.”
Kylie teetered over to the chair. With every step, she could feel he humiliation of walking naked and obedient in her own heels. he hesitated, then turned her back to Daniel and bent forward, palms flat to the chair’s arms, arching until her ass was cantilevered toward him, legs locked straight and spread at the ankles.
She felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nudity. The pose, the arch, the ache in her calves from holding it. Her ass, usually a brag, now an open invitation. She wondered if he was taking the time to admire it before he lowered the boom, but her answer came before she could finish the thought.
The first slap landed sharp and hard, a detonation that echoed through the room. Her skin registered it a split-second before her brain, then her body went light, blood pulsing and surging as the heat radiated out. A second slap overlapped the first, not quite in the same place, and the vibration shook through her hips and belly.
After the fourth, or maybe fifth, it all blotted together. Each slap was an event, a flare of heat, a patternless rhythm that refused to establish itself. Sometimes he waited just long enough for her to think it was done, then caught her flush with the afterburn. The sounds were obscene, the sharp, meaty crack, the involuntary yelp that caught in her throat, the ragged inhale as she braced for the next.
Somewhere around the tenth slap, she tried to bite back the noise and failed. After that, she didn't even pretend to muffle the sound. He wanted her to make it. He wanted to mark her, not through the sting alone but the performance of it, the reckless, helpless urgency of being hit until all you could do was breathe and gasp and exist at the business end of someone’s will.
His hand splayed across her hip, fingers digging into the cleft where her body curved. She focused on the chair’s pale fabric under her hands. Her ass prickled, every nerve alive from the spanking, the skin an open wound for his touch.
Kylie waited for the next impact, but it didn’t come. His left hand found the base of her neck, palm flat, anchoring her posture. The right hooked around, rough fingers brushing the inside of her thigh as he forced her legs apart, wider. She wanted to angle her hips back to meet him, she didn’t dare. She gripped the chair tighter instead.
Daniel pressed in, the head of his cock parting her with blunt, unceremonious force. There was no warning, no gentle easing, he just drove forward, splitting her open in a single, vicious stroke. The sudden stretch jolted a noise from her, less of a yelp than a moan or gasp.
He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t pause to ask if she was ready, didn’t slow so Kylie could adjust, didn’t indulge her with any token show of chivalry. He drove himself into her, every thrust hard and fast, each impact of the thrust sending another jolt through her body.
The edge of the armchair rattled under her arms. The fire hissed behind the grate, leaping in time with his movements. Her breasts dragged the upholstery with a subtle, static catch that made her hyperaware of her nipples, stiff and burning from the cold and the friction and the ache.
Daniel set a pace with his hips, letting her feel every inch of his cock, every retreat and return, as he slammed into her relentlessly. Kylie found that she wanted the next thrust, and then the next, her body no longer bracing to endure but opening to take more, to prove she could keep up.
At the moment Kylie thought he’d lose pace, Daniel reached, planting his hand across the side of her face and wrenching her upright, forcing her back arched, throat exposed. His fist tangled roughly in her hair, pulling her up until she had no choice but to feel only the sick stretch of her own neck.
He leaned close to her ear, breath hot and raw. “What are you?” His voice a serrated whisper, low but clear.
The answer rose from somewhere unfamiliar, a burned-out, cracked place, “I’m a slut...” It left her pitched high, needy, a shriek skinned down to its nerves.
“Whose slut?” He asked, as his grip tightened.
“Your slut, to use however you please,” Kylie gasped.
“Say it again,” Daniel breathed, voice stripped of anything but demand.
“I’m your slut, sir,” Kylie cried out, the words snapping out just before he slapped her again, hard across her oh so perfect ass. She wanted to show him she could take it, that she wouldn’t flinch, not for anything.
“That’s all you are now,” he said, voice colder than the air, “a hole to be used. Just a cumdump. You understand what that means?”
Kylie nodded, or tried to, his grip in her hair cinched the motion to a tremor, all the assertion scraped out of her spine, replaced with obedience. “Yes, sir,” she panted, the words thick in her throat.
Daniel drove into her again, harder, the shock of it dizzying. Every nerve raw from the spanking, from the shame, from the way he held her so effortlessly suspended on the ragged edge of pain and want.
The air stank of sweat and firewood and something else, sharp and acrid, more humiliation. Her thighs ached from holding the bent position, but every time she’d started to falter, his hand would land on either her hip, or her ass, to force her still, to remind her she wasn't allowed to crumble unless he said so.
Daniel fucked her like there was something owed, some old slight left unspoken, his hips bruising the back of her thighs. Kylie braced herself with both hands, nails digging deep into the chair’s soft upholstery, the fabric bunching under her grip.
He used her, never letting go of that phrase, repeating it in her ear. “You don’t get to think. You don’t get to ask. All you do is open up and take it.” His fingers dug into her hair.
Kylie’s pussy was already soaked, embarrassingly so, but he worked her over with each drive of his cock, until she could hear the wet slap, the suction, the absolute filth of it all. The world compressed to the roughness of the chair under her hands, the relentless cock battering her from behind, and the swollen ache that built with every ragged thrust.
Daniel didn’t fuck like a man trying to show off, he fucked as if trying to take something from her, each time deeper, harder, a wordless demand that she give every last inch of herself over.
The blunt head of his cock hammered at her, so thick it felt impossible at first, then inevitable, until she lost any sense of the space inside her, only the stretch, the friction, the stinging heat where his hips smashed her ass again and again. He ground into her, forced her to take the length, pushed until her vision whited out around the edges.
Kylie tried to keep quiet at first, some spoiled, self-protective part of her clinging to the idea that she could take it without giving him the satisfaction of sound. But that lasted exactly one second, then she broke, letting him wrench every moan and whimper and half-formed curse out of her.
“Fuck,” she spat, the word loose and raw, more exhalation than language.
The chair dug into her stomach, a blunt shock grounding her every time Daniel slammed her forward. She didn't dare shift, not with the way his hands clamped her hips, not with the way his voice left no gaps for negotiation.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd come from just being used like this. Maybe never. Most men wanted to see her undone, sure, but as a performance for themselves, they wanted theatrics. Daniel, though, didn't need her drama. He wanted her compliance, her raw need, her willingness to take it and still come back for more. That was the point. That was the game.
Daniel fucked her until every muscle trembled, until the rhythm of his body mapped itself onto hers and the voice in her head dissolved into noise. She felt light, unmoored, like if he let go she would unravel completely. She waited for some sign, a pause, a word, even the fleeting catch of his breath. But he gave her nothing. Just the punishing, perfect pressure of his cock, the grip of his hand on the back of her neck.
“Ugh fuck.”
Daniel pulled her back by the hair so the last few inches bent her at an impossible angle. Her head lolled against his shoulder, the firelight spinning across the ceiling, and she realized she was making noises she couldn’t even recognize as her own. He pistoned into her, cock pulse-thick and sweat-slick, using every ounce of the leverage she surrendered.
Kylie let herself be hollowed out, filled up, whatever he wanted. Her body had gone loose and hot, no muscle left to tense, no pride to resist. She’d been reduced to an object, not even a person, just a creature built to be used and used until there was nothing left to wring out.
Eventually, Daniel shoved her face-down into the chair, hand twisted in her hair, the other pressing hard into the small of her back. She didn’t resist, just braced, palms flat to the cushions.
He slowed his pace, then slammed in with a force so sharp she gasped, her whole body jerking an inch up the seat. The next few thrusts came slower, deliberate, grinding as if he aimed to brand her from the root in her, anchoring the memory of this exact moment into her skin.
She could hear the rough churn of his breathing right above her ear. Every time he bottomed out, her body felt split in two, spasming around the invasion. Each thrust left her clit throbbing, more sensitive than should have been possible, friction slick and obscene. The rawness blurred with warmth, and instead of wanting it to end, every drive left her needing one more. The pressure was building, urgent and wild, until her hands clawed uselessly at the chair cover, gripping for permission to come undone.
“Fucking perfect,” Daniel muttered.
Kylie felt his bare chest over her spine, sweat painting a line between her shoulder blades, one hand flattening the side of her face into the cushion. The other left red fingerprints on her hip, squeezing so hard she could feel the bruise already forming.
He started to move faster again, hips snapping, cock driving in with a new level of hunger. She didn’t know if this was a prelude to something, or if he was just seeing how hard he could push her before she broke. Kylie’s own sounds blurred in her ears, moans, yelps, desperate little nothings. The room had no music, but the rhythm of flesh was relentless.
She was close. Kylie’s hands ached from how tightly she dug them through the upholstery. Her hair stuck to the sweat on her face, every drag of breath in her lungs felt like a confession. Daniel’s cock drove into her, in a way that fractured her thoughts, splintered them into snapshots, the slap of his hips, the abrasive texture of the chair under her, the sharp afterburn from her ass and the way her body clenched tighter around him with every thrust. The world had become a loop, pleasure and pain and more of both.
Kylie heard herself whimper.
“Take it,” Daniel said, voice wrecked and close, and her body felt the command before her brain registered. “Take every inch. Don’t you dare stop until I let you come.”
Kylie tried to hold the cliff-edge, fingers locking, eyes squeezed tight, but the pressure kept mounting. She couldn’t think, couldn’t plan, could only feel the relentless drive of him inside her, the way her own body betrayed her, spasming in time with his movement. It was like he’d found every lever that made her work and pulled them all at once.
Kylie was a ragdoll under him, all resistance cored out, body wrung taut and desperate, straining for the next impact, the next order. He could see it in her spine, the way she arched and held, in the way her legs never closed even as they trembled with exhaustion. The chair told its own story: sweat prints on the arms, finger divots gouged in the fabric, a slow smear of saliva where her cheek dragged the cushion.
Daniel ground her ass back against him, burying every inch inside. Now. He let himself go. He wanted her to feel it, to wear the force of him, to mark the night in a way she’d never forget, no matter how cleaned up and polite she got later. She braced for it, he could feel it in the thrum of her cunt clutching around him, slick and raw and throbbing.
He came with a grunt, low, almost angry, hips jammed tight to the backs of her thighs. He didn’t let up even as he emptied into her, kept her bent and caged in place, making her take every last drop of his baby batter, as it flooded her inner wall.
Daniel collapsed forward, the weight of his body pressing Kylie hard into the chair, pinning her there with every shaky breath. Sweat glued his stomach to the small of her back, his cock still wedged inside her, the aftershock of orgasm wringing the last shudders from both of them. He didn’t move, not yet. His arms bracketed either side of her, his head bowed so close to hers her hair stuck to his cheek. It took a long moment for the noise in his brain to fade enough to let language return.
Kylie, face mashed sideways into the padding, lay boneless but alive. She had no idea how long she’d been bent there, back arched, Daniel impaling her with the kind of remorselessness she’d always daydreamed about in safeworded what-ifs but never dared ask for. Her thighs were jelly. The backs of her knees throbbed. Her cunt ached, with the half-sting of what he’d left inside her.
The End