This story is a work of fiction and contains scenes of non-consensual sex. Please do not read this if it will cause you distress.
He gets into my taxi, the scent of his expensive cologne wafting in with the chilly evening air. Richard Cunningham, the slick-haired banker, doesn't even look up from his phone to acknowledge me. His face is sharply angular with a well-defined jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes which are currently glued to the screen, probably checking his stocks or texting some floozy.
The leather seat creaks as he sinks into it, loosening his tie and letting out a sigh. The sound of his briefcase hitting the floor is a gentle thud, like a heartbeat that's lost its rhythm. "Take me to Knightsbridge," he says, his voice loud and authoritative. I nod curtly, my eyes on the rearview mirror, watching him as he leans back and closes his eyes. He's oblivious to the rage that simmers beneath my calm exterior.
The taxi glides through the London streets, the neon lights playing across Richard's face like a silent film, flashing scenes of his arrogance and greed. The rain outside mingles with the shadows, creating a grimy tapestry that seems to mirror the dark turn my thoughts are taking. I know where he lives—a penthouse apartment paid for with the tears of the desperate and the sweat of the hardworking.
As we arrive at his destination, I feel a twinge of excitement in my gut. This is it. The moment I've been waiting for. He opens his eyes, a hint of confusion flickering across his features as he realises we've stopped. "Knightsbridge," I announce, my voice as flat as the expression on my face. Richard reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled wad of cash, peeling off a few notes without looking at them. He hands them over the seat, his eyes never meeting mine.
"Keep the change," he says with a dismissive wave, the epitome of entitlement. The taxi door slams shut behind him, and I watch him weave through the puddles, the droplets of rain bouncing off his expensive shoes.
I wait. Patiently, methodically, my eyes glued to the sleek glass façade of the building. The windows are like dark mirrors reflecting the neon chaos of the city, hiding the monster that lies within. Hour by hour, the lights in the other apartments wink out like stars at dawn. Finally, the penthouse goes dark. Richard Cunningham, the snake in the suit, is asleep.
My heart races as I pull out the crumpled envelope full of cash from my pocket—the fruits of my labor, the key to his fortress. I've been planning this for weeks, watching him, learning his every move. The deal with the doorman had been easy—money talks, especially to those who have seen enough of life's underbelly to know when not to ask questions. He nodded and winked when I told him I had a late delivery for Mr. Cunningham and handed over the key with a greasy smile.
The lobby is quiet, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps as I make my way to the elevator. The metal doors close with a soft ding, and I feel the rush of ascent, the cage of civilization rising to deliver me to the penthouse where he lurks. The elevator opens, and I step into the hallway, the air thick with silence and anticipation. The key slides into the lock with a quiet click, and I gently turn the handle, letting myself into the darkened apartment. The scent of his cologne lingers, an echo of his presence.
Inside, the space screams wealth and excess, the kind of place that makes you feel dirty just for being there. I navigate the shadows, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. His bedroom door is ajar, a sliver of moonlight cutting across the floor like a knife's edge. I can hear his rhythmic snoring. It fuels my rage, my purpose.
Silently, I make my way to his side, my breathing shallow, my heart a hammer in my chest. I stand there for a moment, watching him, the sheets tangled around his legs. He's so peaceful, so oblivious to the storm that's about to break over him. I pull out my cock hard anticipation. I’m not huge, but I’m thick, he’ll feel it for sure. This is what he deserves, what they all deserve. A quick, brutal reminder of the world beyond their ivory towers.
With a swiftness that belies my bulk, I grab by his neck forcing him onto his stomach. His eyes fly open, but the sleep-filled haze makes them little more than glassy orbs. He tries to struggle, but his body is sluggish, his mind still trapped in the throes of a nightmare he's about to realise is all too real. I don't give him a chance to protest, to beg, to scream. I just shove my cock inside him, feeling the tight, clenched heat of his ass as it stretches around me.
The sound of fabric tearing fills the room as I rip his boxers away. The sudden intrusion jolts him awake, his body stiffening like a corpse coming back to life. His muffled grunts and gasps echo off the cold, marble walls, a symphony of pain that only I find beautiful. He's so tight, so unyielding, it's like fucking a vice that's trying to crush me, and it only makes me want to push harder. My hips slam into his, each thrust punctuated by a wet, slapping sound that seems to echo through the penthouse. The smell of fear and sweat is thick in the air, mixing with the faint scent of his cologne.
Richard's fingers claw at the sheets, his nails digging into the fabric as he tries to find purchase, to push back, to escape the brutal violation. His legs kick out wildly, but I'm too strong, too determined. I pin his wrists to the bed, feeling the bones grind together beneath my grip. He's like a fish out of water, flopping and squirming, desperate for air. His pleas for mercy are just white noise, the pathetic whimpers of a man who's never had to ask for anything in his life. I revel in his powerlessness, my cock pulsing with every futile struggle.
"Please," he gasps, his voice cracking. "Please, stop. Please take it out. I'll... I'll do anything." The words are a sour taste in his mouth, the sweetness of his pride dissolving into the bitter reality of his situation. "I'll give you everything I have, just...please, don't do this."
But my climax is approaching, a crescendo of hatred and desire. I ignore his pleas, my thrusts growing more erratic as I feel my orgasm building. The room seems to spin around us, the lights from the city outside casting twisted, shadowy patterns across the bed. His body jerks with each brutal thrust. And then, with a roar that I can't hold back, I cum inside him. It's a release unlike any I've felt before, a hot, violent explosion of anger and satisfaction that leaves me trembling.
Richard lies there, panting and broken. The man who had everything now has nothing but the pain I've given him, the dull ache of his violation, and my cum in his arse. His face is a twisted mask of agony, sweat beading on his brow and mixing with the tears that stream down his cheeks. The taut lines of his body have gone slack, his muscles no longer tensed to resist. His eyes, once cold and calculating, are now wide and wild with fear, the pupils dilated with shock.
The tatters of his once pristine boxers cling to his thighs, stained with my cum. His ass is red and bruised, a stark contrast to the pale, unblemished skin of his back. He tries to gather his strength, to pull himself away from the source of his torment, his elbows and knees scraping against the sheets.
His shoulders, broad from years of golf and gym memberships bought with other people's money, quiver beneath me. The muscles of his back, usually relaxed and confident, are now taut with pain, each ripple a silent scream. The dim light casts shadows over the defined contours of his body, the sharp lines of his spine standing out like the bars of a cage. His legs, long and well formed, now tremble and give out beneath him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
With a sadistic grin, I grab the cable ties from my trouser pocket. The plastic is cold, a stark contrast to the heat of the room. I move quickly, looping the tie around one of his wrists, and then the other, pulling them together in front of him with a vicious yank. The sound of the plastic snapping into place echoes through the room like a gunshot, a harsh reminder of the power dynamic that has shifted so dramatically.
"Now, now," I say, my voice a low purr in the stillness. "Let's not make a scene, Mr. Cunningham. What would your neighbours say?" I drag him, still naked and shivering, across the floor to the floor-to-ceiling window. His eyes widen with horror as I force him to sit, his back pressed against the cold glass. The city lights twinkle outside, a cruel mockery of the darkness within. "You're going to show me how much you appreciate my visit."
I pull out my phone and hold it up to his face, the screen lighting up with photos and videos of his indiscretions—his secret rendezvous with whores, documents showing his shady deals, his cruel laughter at the expense of others. The kind of things that would make his high-society friends gasp and clutch their pearls. "You see these?" I whisper. "These little mementoes? They're going to the papers unless you cooperate." The fear in his eyes is palpable, his breath coming in shallow pants.
With the phone in one hand, I hold his chin firmly with the other, forcing him to look up at me, his eyes wide and pleading. "Open your mouth," I demand, and he does, his full lips parting with a tremble. But he clenches his teeth again as he tries to hold back the sob that threatens to escape. I can feel his hot breath on my cock, the heat from his body radiating up my legs.
"Open your mouth," I say again, my voice a dark chuckle in the quiet room. He hesitates, his eyes searching for any hint of mercy, but all he finds is the cold, hard truth. I push the phone closer to his face, the incriminating evidence taunting him. "Do it," I repeat, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. With a whimper, he surrenders, allowing me to guide my cock into his mouth. It's a strange sensation, feeling his resistance, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, his tongue tentative and untrained.
I hold his head in place, my hand wrapped around his throat, the grip firm but not quite choking. I watch his eyes water and his cheeks hollow out with each bob of his head, the slick sounds of his mouth on my cock bouncing off the pristine walls. He tries to pull away, to gag, to do anything to escape the fact there is a thick cock in his mouth, but the fear of his secrets being exposed keeps him in check. "Good boy," I murmur.
The saliva from his mouth coats my shaft, making it slick as I fuck his face. His cheeks are flushed, the stubble on his chin glistening with a mix of sweat and spit. His eyes are squeezed shut, his nose scrunched up in disgust. His breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps around me, the air thick with the scent of his fear. His lips are stretched around my cock, the sight of them wrapped around me only making me harder.
His tongue tries to work around me, but it's clear he's not used to this kind of attention. I feel him gag again, and I pull out just enough to let him breathe before slamming back in, watching the tears stream down his cheeks. His hair is plastered to his forehead, the gel holding it in place now a distant memory. The man who once strutted through the city with the confidence of a peacock now helpless and trembling.
The muscles in his neck stand out as he tries to resist, but it's a futile effort. His cheeks are hollowed, his skin pale and clammy. His eyes, once the cold, hard gleam of a shark, are now the glassy, unfocused stare of a man who's lost everything.
I grab the back of his head, the veins in my forearm pulsing with the effort. I can feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, the pressure in my balls a delicious ache. "Take it," I growl, pushing his face back down. "Swallow it all." His eyes roll back in his head as I fill his mouth with hot, thick cum. He chokes, his throat working to swallow as much as he can, his gag reflex fighting the intrusion. Some of it spills out, running down his chin and onto his chest, leaving a sticky trail on the pristine marble floor.
He gasps for air, his eyes watering as he coughs and splutters, trying to clear his throat. I pull away, my cock slick with his spit and my own seed. The sight of him, kneeling before me, his mouth a mess of cum and saliva, is intoxicating. The power rushes through me, a high more potent than any drug. He's mine now, broken and used. The thought sends another shiver of pleasure down my spine.
But I'm not done with him yet. "I'm tired," I say, my voice a lazy drawl. "Let's sit down and take a breather, shall we?" I gesture to the plush sofa beside the window, and he stumbles over, his legs still shaking. He sits, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape that isn't there. I sit down beside him, my arm looping casually around his shoulder, as if we're old friends sharing a pint at the pub.
"You know," I begin, "you've got quite the mouth on you, Richard." My words hang in the air, a sneer wrapped in velvet. He flinches at the sound of his name. "But it's a bit messy," I continue, reaching down to grab a handful of tissues from the side table. "Let's clean you up." With a rough swipe, I wipe the cum from his chin and neck, the fabric coming away sticky and warm.
The room is silent except for the sound of our ragged breathing, the occasional sniffle from Richard, and the distant wail of a siren. I lean back into the chair, my cock already starting to recover from the second round of abuse I've subjected him to. "Now," I say, "Let's get you ready for the next act."
My hand moves to his flaccid cock, and his body jerks as if I've slapped him. But there's no escape, no reprieve. I stroke him gently, the way one would a pet that's been punished but still craves affection. His cock is limp, unresponsive to the touch, but I'm patient. I know how to coax it to life, how to make it betray him. His eyes are on me, wide and uncomprehending, but the fear is still there, a living, breathing thing in the space between us.
"You see," I murmur, my voice a soothing balm over his shattered psyche, "you're not so different from the people you've stepped on to get here." My hand moves in a slow, steady rhythm, the sound of my palm sliding against his skin echoing through the room. "We all have our needs, our desires. And now, you're going to satisfy mine." I lean in closer, my breath hot against his ear. "You're going to cum for me, Richard."
His body stiffens, his eyes squeezed shut, as if willing himself not to react. But his cock has a mind of its own, responding to the skilled manipulation of my hand. His breath hitches, his chest rising and falling as he fights the inevitable. The room seems to close in around us.
I whisper in his ear, detailing his financial crimes, the lives he's destroyed with his greed. His face contorts in a mix of anger and despair, his cheeks flushing with humiliation as his cock responds despite his mental protests. My hand moves faster, the strokes growing more confident as his erection grows. His breathing turns ragged, his body betraying his mind's struggle for control.
Finally, with a strangled cry that's equal parts pain and release, Richard cums. It spurts out of him in thick ropes, splattering against the cold glass of the window. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to hold back the sobs that threaten to overwhelm him. The sound of his climax is muffled by the hand I clamp over his mouth, stifling any noise that might alert the world to his degradation. The warmth of his semen coats my hand, a sticky reminder of his submission.
But even as he tries to catch his breath, his body still trembling, I know it's not over. The hunger inside me isn't sated. I can't let him believe he's suffered enough, not yet.
With a sadistic grin, I grab the back of his neck and force him onto all fours on the cold marble floor. The rain outside has turned into a full-fledged storm, the wind howling and the thunder rumbling, a fitting soundtrack for what's about to happen. I can feel the excitement building in my cock again, eager to be inside him once more.
"You thought it was over, didn't you?" I sneer, my grip on his neck tightening. "But I'm just getting started, Richard. I want you to remember this night every time you’re fucking a bird in here." His eyes dart around the room, searching for something, anything that might save him. But there's no salvation here, not for a man like him.
With a shove, I force myself into him, his knees cracking against the cold marble. The rain outside has turned into a storm, the wind lashing against the window like it's trying to break in, to stop what's happening. But it's too late. The thunder is a bass line to the symphony of his pain, a rhythm that crescendos with every thrust of my cock. His body shakes with each pound.
It's my third time tonight, and I'm taking my time, savoring the feel of him stretched around me. His body is a playground for my desires, a canvas for my anger. The sweat on his back glistens in the moonlight, a reminder of the effort it's taken to break him. His eyes are glazed over, staring at the wall in front of him.
The feel of his body beneath me, the way he squirms and fights, it's all too much to handle. It takes every ounce of willpower not to cum immediately, to draw out the moment, to make him suffer for as long as I can. But my body has its limits, and the tightness of his arse is pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I can feel the pressure building in my balls, the tension in my cock like a coiled spring ready to snap.
Finally, with a grunt that's part triumph and part release, I cum again. His ass clenches around me, his body tightening as if trying to expel the invading force. My cum floods him, filling him up, marking him as mine. It's a feeling of power that’s becoming addictive, a rush that makes me feel invincible. His moans become screams, muffled by the hand that I’ve clamped over his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body goes rigid with the force of my orgasm.
As I pull out, my cum dripping from his arse, I can see the pain etched into every line of his face. But there's something else there, too—something darker, something that makes me grin in satisfaction. It's the look of a man who's been broken, who's realised that he's not as invincible as he thought. His body slumps to the floor, his arms giving out beneath him.
I tuck my cock back into my trousers, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling of his cum sticking to my hand. Then, I pull out my phone and start snapping photos of him, his once-proud body now a twisted mess of pain and humiliation
He whimpers, trying to push himself away from me with his bound hands. His eyes are pleading, desperate for mercy that I have no intention of giving. "P-please," he stammers, the sound of his voice barely more than a choked whisper. "Let me go."
With a final, disgusted sneer, I stand up, wiping my hand on the pristine white bed sheet. The room's a wreck—crumpled sheets, a knocked-over lamp, and the faint smell of fear and cum lingering in the air. It's a stark contrast to the gleaming marble and chrome that usually defines this penthouse. Richard's eyes follow me, a mix of anger, disbelief, and something else—fear. Good. He should be afraid.
As I leave, I shout over my shoulder, "Remember, not a word, or your little secrets get shared with the world." His eyes follow me, wide with terror, as I step into the hallway and close the door behind me. The click of the lock echoes down the corridor, a finality that makes me smile. The ordeal is over for now, but the fear will linger.
In the elevator, I take a moment to compose myself, wiping the sweat from my brow. The plush interior feels like a cocoon after the cold, hard marble of Richard's apartment. The descent is slow, each floor a countdown to the freedom that awaits outside. The ding of the elevator is the sweetest sound, and as the doors slide open, I step into the lobby, my heart racing with adrenaline.
The night air is cool, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the penthouse. The city is still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the monster in its midst. My taxi is parked just outside, the engine purring gently, ready to whisk me away to the next conquest. The question lingers—who's next? There are so many rich, entitled men who walk these streets, their eyes gleaming with the same greed and disdain that I saw in Richard's.
