The hotel suite was on the top floor — sleek, black, and masculine.
Chrome accents, thick glass, a balcony that overlooked the whole city. A half-finished glass of whiskey sat by the bed. A pair of leather gloves. A Rolex on the dresser. Everything in its place. Pristine.
Except Mika.
She stood barefoot on the rug, heart hammering, dress clinging to her hips.
Her client — Mr. Caldwell — leaned against the wall, shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, sleeves rolled up over thick forearms. His watch was still on, glinting as he sipped his drink and watched her.
"Strip," he said quietly.
Mika hesitated only for a second.
Then she reached up, undid the halter clasp of her dress, and let it slide down her body like water. She stood there in nothing but her heels, spine straight, skin flushed.
He didn't move.
Just let his eyes drag down her body — slow, unapologetic, devouring.
"How many clients have you had?"
Mika licked her lips. "Six."
"Good. You're not too spoiled yet."
That made her clench — not in shame, but anticipation.
He circled her slowly, predatory. When he came up behind her, she felt the heat of his body before he even touched her.
Then his hand slid into her hair.
Firm.
Gripping.
Her scalp tingled.
He pulled her head back so her throat arched and her breath hitched.
"No talking tonight," he said. "Unless I ask you something. Understood?"
Mika nodded.
"Say it."
"Yes, sir."
He let go of her hair and stepped in front of her, unzipping his slacks. He was already hard — thick, heavy, and demanding.
"On your knees."
Mika sank down onto the rug.
Her eyes flicked up to him as she gripped the base of his cock with both hands, tongue teasing the tip — just barely.
"Not slow," he said. "Not tonight."
She opened her mouth and took him in deep.
The first thrust made her gag — and he didn't stop.
His hand curled back into her hair, setting the rhythm, hips pushing forward with every stroke. His cock filled her mouth, stretched her throat, forced her to breathe through her nose.
Tears pricked her eyes.
Her lips wrapped tighter. Her tongue flattened and swirled, doing everything she could to please him — and he knew it.
"Look at me," he growled.
She met his gaze — eyes wet, mouth full, moaning around his cock.
"Good girl."
He held her there for a moment — buried deep — while her throat spasmed around him, her eyes wide. When he pulled back, a line of saliva connected her lips to his shaft.
He slapped her cheek gently with it. Twice. She whimpered.
"You like being used like this?"
She couldn't speak.
But she nodded.
And he smiled.
Dark. Dangerous.
"Then crawl to the bed," he said, tucking himself away. "And get ready."
The bed was wide, low, and immaculate — not a crease in the sheets.
Mika climbed onto it on her hands and knees, the silk throw brushing her skin. Her thighs were already slick, breath still catching in her throat. She didn't dare look back.
But she could hear him behind her.
The soft sound of his shoes coming off.
The unhurried slide of his belt being pulled free.
And then silence — a long, breathless moment — before the mattress dipped under his weight.
He knelt behind her.
Hands on her hips.
Spread her open with quiet authority.
Mika's cheeks burned as her arousal dripped down her inner thighs. She knew what she must look like — wet, pink, vulnerable. And the way he groaned behind her, low and satisfied, made her tremble.
"Put your face down on the sheets," he said. "Back arched. Keep still."
She obeyed.
And then — he leaned in.
The first swipe of his tongue was slow. Purposeful.
He licked her from back to front, tasting everything.
Mika gasped and bit into the pillow.
His hands gripped her thighs tightly as he buried his face between her legs. His tongue circled her clit, flicked, then flattened into her. Each motion was practiced, deliberate. Not playful. Not teasing.
Claiming.
Mika moaned, muffled by the bedding. Her hips twitched but he held her firm, tongue flicking over her swollen clit again and again. Then his mouth sealed around it — and he sucked.
"Oh—oh my god—"
He didn't stop.
Fingers slid inside her — two at first, then three — working in tandem with his tongue until she lost track of time, space, everything.
Every wet sound echoed in the quiet room.
Her breath broke into stuttered sobs of pleasure.
And he moaned into her — deep, vibrating — like her taste was everything he needed. His nose rubbed against her while his fingers curved up inside, pushing right against her g-spot again and again until—
Mika screamed into the pillow.
Her orgasm hit like a wave crashing through her spine. Her legs spasmed. Her hips bucked. And he still didn't stop.
He held her there.
Made her ride it out.
Every second of it.
She collapsed forward, chest heaving.
He finally pulled away, and she heard him wipe his mouth — then lean down, voice gravelly in her ear.
"You're going to come again," he said. "Mouth, then pussy, then ass."
Her eyes widened.
And her pussy clenched again.
Mika barely had time to catch her breath.
Mr. Caldwell turned her over with one hand, dragging her body across the sheets like she weighed nothing. He spread her legs wide, watching her pussy pulse and glisten in the low light.
"Open wider," he said.
She obeyed instantly.
He stroked himself — thick, wet, still glistening from her mouth earlier — and lined up against her entrance. With one smooth thrust, he slid inside.
Mika cried out.
He was deep.
Too deep.
And he didn't stop to let her adjust. His hips rolled forward again — harder, slower — until his pelvis pressed flush against hers.
"Good girl," he muttered. "Tight little thing, aren't you?"
She nodded frantically, eyes wide, lips parted in silent shock.
He gripped her hips and began to fuck her in earnest.
Long, dragging strokes. Then faster. Harder.
The bedframe knocked against the wall.
Her breasts bounced with every thrust, nipples pebbled and aching.
Each time he bottomed out, he ground his pelvis into her clit — a cruel, addictive rhythm that made her moan louder with every second.
Mika's hands fisted the sheets.
Her whole body trembled.
He leaned over her, breath hot against her neck. "You want to come again?"
"Yes, sir—please—"
"Too bad."
He pulled out.
She whimpered at the emptiness — but he flipped her like a doll, dragging her to the edge of the bed. Her legs hung off the side. Her back arched.
He shoved back into her from above, this time with more force.
And this angle—fuck.
It split her wide open.
She could barely breathe, the pressure so deep it felt like he was rearranging her insides. His palm wrapped around her throat — just tight enough to send fire down her spine — while the other gripped her thigh, pulling her down to meet every thrust.
"You take cock like a fucking dream," he said, voice ragged.
Mika's cries were a mess of moans and gasps.
Her nails scratched the sheets, searching for something to hold onto. The sound of wet skin slapping against skin filled the room — raw, rhythmic, obscene.
Her body coiled.
Tight.
So close again.
He saw it — felt it — and slowed just enough to torture her with the edge.
"I didn't say you could come," he growled.
She whimpered.
"Beg."
"Please—sir—I need it—I can't—"
"Again."
"Please let me come—I'll do anything—please—"
He rammed into her so hard she screamed.
Then again.
And again.
Until the pressure cracked and Mika exploded — coming hard around him, legs locked around his waist, mouth open in a silent cry.
And still he didn't stop.
He flipped her over again — onto her stomach.
Lifted her hips.
Fucked her from behind with savage, relentless strokes, his balls slapping against her, his hand gripping the back of her neck.
She couldn't think. Could barely feel her limbs. She was just sensation now — fucked full and aching, stretched to her limits, every part of her owned by the man behind her.
When he finally slowed, she was shaking — sweaty, ruined, twitching from aftershocks.
And then he pulled out.
But not for long.
Mika collapsed onto the bed, her body limp, flushed, slick with sweat and cum. Her limbs trembled. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Every inch of her throbbed with heat — her throat, her thighs, her overstimulated clit.
But it wasn't over.
Not even close.
Mr. Caldwell moved with calm, focused intention. He reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a small bottle of lube — no words, no ceremony. Just quiet control.
Mika's heart stuttered when she saw it.
He sat beside her on the bed, dragging her closer by the hips, then nudging her thighs apart again. She was still so wet it glistened down her skin, her pussy twitching, raw and wide open.
But he didn't go there this time.
Instead, his thumb slid lower. Slower.
Right over her tightest entrance.
Mika gasped, tensing instinctively.
He paused. Looked into her eyes.
Then spoke — low, certain.
"You can take it. I'll make sure you do."
A shiver ran through her.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
She nodded, barely breathing. "Yes, sir…"
He leaned down and kissed her — not gentle, not soft, but deep, tongue demanding hers, like he was claiming her mouth the same way he'd claimed her body.
Then he moved behind her again, positioning her on her knees, back arched, face buried in the sheets.
She felt the cool slickness of lube on her skin first — then his fingers, massaging the ring of muscle slowly. Teasing. Working her open with care, but no hesitation.
One finger. Then two.
Each time he pushed deeper, Mika moaned — not just from the sensation, but from the feeling of being owned.
"So tight," he murmured. "But you're opening for me."
His thumb rubbed her clit as he worked her ass open with slow, deliberate circles, pushing past her resistance until she was panting — hips rolling back into him without even realizing it.
"Please…" she whispered.
"What do you want?" he asked, breath hot against her ear.
"I want you to fuck my ass…"
He growled. Actually growled.
Then she heard the soft rip of a condom, the slick sound of more lube, and seconds later—
The thick head of his cock pressed against her rim.
He didn't force it.
He guided it in.
Slow. Firm.
Stretching her open until her hands clawed the sheets.
"Oh fuck—!"
It burned.
But it was good.
He paused halfway in, letting her adjust, rubbing her clit in slow, lazy circles to distract her. She moaned — hips twitching — and that was all the invitation he needed.
He sank the rest of the way inside.
All the way.
Until his hips were flush against her ass and his cock was buried in the tightest part of her body.
"Fuck, Mika," he groaned. "You're perfect."
Then he started to move.
The first few strokes were slow.
Measured.
He moved inside her with a tension Mika could feel in every inch of his body. Not because he was holding back — but because he owned this moment. The way his cock pressed deep inside her ass with every thrust made her gasp, her body stretching around him, burning in the most obscene, satisfying way.
She was full.
So full she could hardly breathe.
One of his hands slid beneath her, two fingers slipping back inside her dripping pussy. The contrast made her cry out — soft and wet against hard and tight. The sensation was overwhelming. His cock moving behind her, his fingers thrusting under her, his palm grinding into her clit.
He fucked her in perfect rhythm.
One thrust deep into her ass.
Two fingers wet inside her cunt.
A thumb rubbing slow circles around her clit.
It was obscene.
And Mika loved it.
She moaned with every stroke, her voice cracking with each breath. "Please, sir… please don't stop…"
"I'm not going anywhere," he growled, voice thick. "You're going to come again — like this."
She didn't know if it was the pressure inside her, or the heat from his fingers, or the filthy, brutal rhythm of his hips — but the orgasm was building fast. Hot. Unstoppable.
"Sir—! I—I can't—"
"You will."
He started to pound her then. No more slow strokes. Just raw, rhythmic thrusts. His hips slammed into her ass, the sound echoing off the walls. Her legs spread wider. Her body shook with each impact. His cock drove so deep she could feel it in her stomach.
Her clit swelled beneath his palm. His fingers never stopped.
He knew her body. Better than she did.
And then—
"Come for me," he growled. "Now."
She broke.
Her orgasm tore through her like lightning. Her entire body locked up, her back arching, mouth open in a scream as pleasure exploded outward from her core. Her pussy clenched around his fingers. Her ass tightened around his cock.
But he didn't stop.
He rode it out with her.
Fucked her right through it, making her body twitch and writhe, giving her no chance to recover.
She collapsed onto the bed, sobbing with pleasure, drooling into the sheets, her limbs useless.
And still, he moved.
Slow again now. Torturing.
"Too much?" he asked, smirking.
She whimpered.
But her hips lifted anyway.
She wasn't done.
She wanted more.
He pulled out of her ass with a slick, wet sound. She moaned at the loss, already empty, aching.
But then he flipped her again — onto her back — and straddled her chest.
His cock hovered over her mouth, slick with lube, her own scent, and his precum.
She didn't need to be told.
She opened her mouth wide.
Mika's lips parted, her mouth still trembling from the last orgasm, from the fullness that had just been inside her. Now, that same cock hovered over her face — thick, glistening, still slick from her ass and her body's own surrender.
Mr. Caldwell looked down at her.
"Open wide."
She obeyed.
He slid in slowly at first, letting her feel every inch across her tongue, down the back of her throat.
She gagged.
But she didn't pull away.
He pulled out, his cock covered in her spit already, and thrust back in with more force. Deeper. The head of it pressed the back of her throat again — and this time, he held it there.
Her eyes watered.
Her hands gripped his thighs.
She moaned, the sound muffled and raw.
"Look at you," he muttered. "My pretty little cum-drunk slut."
Mika loved the words. The filth. The degradation.
She looked up at him, mouth wide open around his cock, tears clinging to her lashes, cheeks flushed, still tasting herself on him — pussy and ass and the salt of his skin mixing on her tongue.
He began to move — fucking her mouth like he'd just fucked her body.
Harder now.
Rhythmic.
Her head pushed back into the mattress with each thrust.
His balls slapped her chin.
Drool slid from the corners of her mouth, spilling down her cheeks, her chest, soaking the valley between her breasts. She was messy, ruined, overwhelmed — and yet somehow, still moaning around him, still sucking, still holding him with her lips and throat.
"You want to swallow my cum after I've ruined every hole you've got?" he growled.
She tried to nod.
He groaned.
Then he grabbed her head with both hands and started to fuck her mouth without restraint — fast, deep, urgent.
The wet, obscene sounds echoed in the room: spit, moaning, throat-fucking.
She gagged again, eyes rolling, throat tightening — and he loved it.
"Take it. Take it all."
Mika's nails dug into the sheets. Her clit throbbed from the pressure. Her body twitched beneath him, barely coherent.
Then he froze.
His cock buried deep.
Thick pulses shot down her throat.
He came. Hard.
Hot jets of cum filled her mouth, spilled across her tongue. He held her still as she swallowed instinctively — gulping, choking, moaning through it — until the last drop was gone.
He pulled out slowly.
She gasped for air, lips parted, tongue out, mouth glazed with spit and cum.
"Fuck," he muttered, chest heaving, sweat running down his temple. "You're everything I want."
Mika blinked up at him — hair wild, face soaked, body limp.
She didn't say a word.
She couldn't.
But she smiled.
The room was silent now — heavy with heat, sweat, and the aftershocks of everything they'd done.
Mika lay sprawled across the bed, limbs slack, chest rising in slow, shivering breaths. Her lips were still parted, streaked with saliva and the last taste of him. Her thighs trembled from the inside out. Every inch of her skin was flushed, raw, open.
Mr. Caldwell stood over her, gazing down with a look that had shifted — less fire now, more intensity. Still dominant. Still in control. But quieter. Watching.
He reached down.
Not to grab.
Not to demand.
Just… to touch.
His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping a strand of hair from her face. Then lower, tracing the curve of her jaw, the corner of her mouth. He slid his thumb past her lips — and she sucked it automatically, instinctively, eyes fluttering shut.
He smirked. But it wasn't cruel this time.
It was something else.
"You're fucking unbelievable," he said quietly.
Mika's voice finally came — hoarse, used. "You made me that way."
He sat beside her, drawing her close, gathering her like something precious even after treating her like a toy. His hand drifted across her back, lazy, grounding her.
"I've never…" she began, then stopped. Swallowed.
"What?"
"I didn't know I could feel like that. Want like that. It wasn't just sex, it was… everything."
He leaned close, lips brushing her ear.
"It was everything."
She melted into him, head resting on his shoulder. Her body ached in the best way — sore between her legs, sore in her ass, her throat, even her mouth. But inside? There was a new ache. A need.
She wanted more.
Not just more sex.
More him.
More of what he gave her — the structure, the surrender, the space to be out of control.
And for once, it didn't scare her.
It thrilled her.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead — a startling gesture after everything they'd done — then stood.
"Same time next week?"
Mika smiled.
"Make it sooner."
He chuckled low, tugging on his shirt.
"You're addictive, Mika."
Then he was gone — door shutting behind him with a soft click.
Mika stared at the ceiling, lips still tingling, thighs still wet.
Addictive?
No.
She was just getting started.