**Author’s Note:**
Hey! I changed the main lead’s name but wasn’t able to update the blurb. Still, I hope you enjoy this.
The steel was cold—colder than the rain-soaked clothing I’d just been yanked out of. It bit into my wrists, securing me with a harsh click to the very headboard of Gabriel’s bed. My legs, though, that was the truly obscene part. Ropes, tight enough to chafe, had hauled my body up, fastening my ankles to some hook in the ceiling.
I was hanging, suspended, legs splayed, a gruesome offering. It left my hips exposed, tilted perfectly, deliberately, to give my step-uncle, Gabriel, an unobstructed, easy view of my pussy.
He stood back, a slow, deep breath lifting his massive chest. A smile started, not wide or kind, but a deep, satisfied crease at the corner of his mouth. It was the smile of an architect admiring a well-executed plan.
He was pleased with his handiwork. He should be. I was held so tautly, so firmly, I couldn’t even properly squirm.
Then came the first strike. THWACK.
He slapped my ass, hard. My scream ripped out, a purely visceral sound that was, sickeningly, laced with pleasure. The shock of the pain registered instantly, a sharp, white burst that made my pussy start pouring—a tidal wave of wetness. It felt so slick, so lubricated, you’d swear someone had already doused me in oil.
“P-please,” I gasped, the sound a broken flutter in my throat. “Gabriel, please. F-fuck me. I—I can’t. I can’t hold it any longer.”
My voice was a desperate, pathetic thing, but I couldn’t care. All the air in the room seemed focused on the enormous, painful-looking bulge stretching his trousers taut. I knew his cock was throbbing, aggressively hard, threatening to rip the cloth.
He just watched me, that predator’s smile forging itself deeper. He was enjoying this, the bastard. Enjoying my squirming, my humiliation, my raw need to be touched by him, and only him.
The desire—the absolute craving—to have his cock pound into me was an overwhelming, physical weight. I pressed my thighs together, a useless, pathetic attempt to quell the hunger, but it only made the urge claw harder. I let out a yell that was pure, defeated surrender.
He laughed. A short, rough sound that vibrated in the air. He loved watching me like this, but finally, mercifully, he decided the teasing was sufficient.
He moved towards me, dipping one finger into his mouth, coating it with saliva. The contrast between the sheer animal power of him and that simple, wet gesture was hypnotic. He pulled the finger out, brought it to one of my pink, suddenly hard nipples, and flickered it.
My moan filled the room, a ragged, aching noise. That tiny, wet touch was a searing promise, a cruel glimpse of the full-body pleasure that was coming. It made me crave his entrance—his rough, certain slam into my dripping wet core.
“I’m going to fuck you hard,” he ground out, his voice a low, rough rumble. “Until you convulse with it.”
The thought of that pain mingled with that pleasure—the devastation he was preparing to inflict—made my whole body shake.
He dipped a finger into me. It made a sticky, sickening sloshing sound as the wetness coating my inner walls slid out and soaked his skin. There was no hesitation. Two more followed instantly. My back arched, a bow of shock, and my eyes rolled back, lost to the immediate, desperate sensation of him fingering me.
He pulled his fingers out. I cried out in protest, my hands clenching into useless fists at the steel cuffs. Then he pressed on my clit, hard, with a single, knowing touch.
He moved away, fast, grabbing his belt from his trousers. I screamed again, not just from the clitoral pressure, but in anticipation as the heavy leather thwacked against my ass again.
A dark, pleased grin spread across his face, contented that my cry had given him pleasure. I gasped, sucking in a ragged breath, arching my spine as the sting registered.
My eyes snapped wide. He was pulling his trousers down, peeling them away, and then—the final, brutal reveal—his huge, veiny cock emerged from his boxers.
... This... this is how it feels.
THE BEGINNING
My career. That’s the axis my world spins on. I get what I want, always. And what I wanted this week was the lead role in the new blockbuster—a sappy but high-profile part as an orphan who marries a prince and gets made princess. I nailed it. I was the star.
My luck, however, was clearly temporary. I hadn't driven to the audition, and as I stepped out of the building, the sky opened up.
No signal for a ride. Nothing. Just devastating, horizontal rain.
I walked home, utterly drenched, the rain turning into a pounding, vicious downpour. I was so relieved when my house finally appeared in the gloom.
Relief curdled instantly into a shock that tasted like bile.
I pushed the door open, and there he was. My STEP-UNCLE. The beautiful, impossible Greek god who only existed in my worst, most glorious dreams, the man who made me come just by fantasizing about the things we shouldn’t do.
“Sweetheart. Come on, let’s get you out of those clothes,” he said, his voice deep, his eyes scanning me. He was moving towards me with a disconcerting speed.
We were alone. Mum and Dad were at work.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, the shock making my voice hard and hostile, betraying my true terror.
“Didn’t anyone tell you? I’m staying over for a few days,” he informed me, already opening the door to my bedroom. He knew the layout perfectly; he’d gifted us the house.
After my father died, Mum and I were about to be truly screwed. Then she met my current step-dad, a rich CEO. Then we met his younger brother: Gabriel, the richest man in the country. He owned everything, including a mega real estate enterprise. He dealt in luxury.
Our lives changed instantly. We got a mansion, fancy cars. But my life took on a far more dangerous complexity: I couldn't resist my sexy step-uncle.
He was a curse. Masculine beauty, obscene wealth, raw power. Every girl’s fantasy, but the worst, most terrifying nightmare for me.
“Cristela.” His baritone brought me crashing back to the wet, cold reality of the hall. “I need you to come here. You’ll catch a cold.” He held out a towel, his large hand dominating the fluffy white fabric.
I watched a fleeting, unreadable emotion cross his green-gold eyes before he abruptly looked away and cleared his throat.
I followed his gaze. The white T-shirt I was wearing was plastered to my skin, transparent with water. Since I was blessed/cursed with naturally perky breasts, I hadn't worn a bra. It was impossible for him to miss the immediate hardening of my nipples.
And it was too late for him to cover the huge, embarrassing bulge that appeared, aggressively, in his trousers.
I snatched the towel from his hand, mortified. Clapping the cloth over my nipples, I scrambled into the bathroom.
When I came out, the room was blessedly empty. He’d left.
Thunder boomed, shaking the windowpanes, followed by a soft knock on my door.
His jet-black hair was damp; he smelled clean, like lavender and soap.
“Your mum and dad aren’t coming home tonight,” he informed me.
“What? Why?” I clutched the towel to me tighter. He was wearing just shorts. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower.
He obviously struggled to concentrate, given I was standing there wrapped in a towel that barely covered my thighs.
“Put on some clothes, goddammit,” he muttered, softly, but his eyes were blazing. Then he slammed the door. I could have said the exact same thing to him.
“The road is flooded,” he continued from behind the barrier. “They’ve found a lodge. They’ll be back tomorrow.”
“No… no, they can’t stay away,” I whispered, voicing the desperate fear I felt pooling in my gut. I couldn’t be left alone with my step-uncle. I knew what would happen. Nasty things. Things we would both regret later.
“Get dressed properly,” he said, the word properly laced with a threat, “and come downstairs. We’ll have dinner.”
The door was a pathetic shield, a psychological barricade. I couldn’t understand why he was acting this way. Before, he’d barely acknowledged me. I was the one consumed by the burning, secret desire. But now… now he’d joined the madness.
What if I didn't dress properly? How far could this escalating lust truly take us? Would he pin me across the dining table and slam his huge cock into my pussy? Would he choke me and force his cock down my throat? Would he ruin my face with his load?
Yes... God, yes, please, yes!
My lust was a violent current, dragging me under. If revealing a little skin would finally make my step-uncle mine, then I would strip bare.
I found a sexy pink dress, a gift from a high-end brand I'd modeled for. I put it on and approached the mirror. The fabric hugged my curves, and my breasts were openly, invitingly revealed. My nipples were already hard, straining against the silk, fueled by the sheer horny feeling washing over me.
I bit my bottom lip, took a shaky breath, and went downstairs to the dining room.
The instant he saw me, his eyes went from their bright green to a dangerous, burning dark.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his voice coarse, raw. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a vicious curse. “I’m trying to control myself, Cristela, and you’re not making it easy.” He stood up, abandoning his plate.
