Marcus Rotterdam, the volatile heir to a real estate empire, is in therapy for his anger. His new psychologist, the sharp and attractive Dr. Sybil, believes she's treating a troubled young man, but Marcus is simply playing a game. His rage is a lie, a cover for his violent compulsion to rape women, a dark secret his family's wealth has always buried.
The heavy oak door of Dr. Sybil’s office clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing in the unnerving silence of the empty suite. It was the last appointment of the day, and the usual hum of activity from the reception area and other offices was gone, leaving just the two of us in a cocoon of thick carpet and soft, institutional lighting. My gaze fell on her immediately, and the air thickened in my lungs. She was a goddamn vision, a carefully constructed masterpiece of professional allure that was driving me insane. Her brunette hair was pulled back into a severe, tight bun at the nape of her neck, a style that should have been matronly but only served to highlight the elegant line of her throat. The dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose did nothing to hide the intelligence in her eyes, instead giving her a look of stern, academic beauty that made my blood run hot.
She stood behind her large mahogany desk, adjusting the cuff of her dark blazer. The jacket was perfectly tailored, hugging her curves before giving way to the hem of a knee-length black skirt that clung to her hips. Beneath the blazer, a simple blue blouse was just visible, the top button undone, offering a tantalizing sliver of skin that I couldn’t stop staring at. Her heels were sharp and expensive, the kind that clicked with authority on the polished floor. She looked up, offering a small, practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes.
“Marcus, please, have a seat,” she said, her voice a calm, measured melody. “I was hoping we could delve a little deeper into the incident at the gala last week. Your anger.”
I sank into the plush leather chair opposite her, the cool material a stark contrast to the fire simmering in my gut. Anger. That’s what she wanted to talk about. She could use all the clinical terms she wanted, run through her little behavioral exercises, but it was all a fucking joke. She had no idea. As she sat there, crossing her legs and giving me a look of patient inquiry, all I could think about was how easily I could be across that desk. I imagined the sound of her glasses clattering to the floor, the fabric of that prim blue blouse tearing as I ripped it open, the look in those intelligent eyes turning from calm curiosity to absolute terror. She wanted to analyze my anger? I wanted to see if she could analyze the feeling of my hands forcing her thighs apart, the sound of her screams muffled by the expensive carpet as I took what I wanted right here on her own fucking floor.
"Marcus, I think it might be more effective if we try to reenact the situation," she said, her voice still that infuriatingly calm, therapeutic tone. She pushed her chair back and rose to her feet, the movement fluid and graceful. "Stand up for me. Let's be face to face. I want to see your body language, help you understand what you could have done differently."
A slow, predatory smile spread across my face as I stood, my frame towering over her petite 5-foot-4 stature. This was it. She was playing right into my hands. My eyes roamed over her, a deliberate, possessive sweep from the tight bun of her hair down to the sharp heels of her shoes. I took in the swell of her breasts beneath the blue blouse, the narrowness of her waist cinched by the blazer, and the curve of her hips encased in that conservative black skirt. She was so fucking hot, a perfect little package of professional restraint that I was dying to unwrap. The thought of bending her over, of ruining that pristine composure, was overwhelming.
She must have seen the shift in my eyes, the way the clinical interest was replaced by raw, undisguised hunger. Her professional smile faltered, a flicker of genuine worry crossing her features. "Marcus?" she asked, her voice losing a bit of its steady confidence. "What are you thinking right now?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. The last thread of my control snapped. My fist shot out, not with the wild rage of a tantrum, but with the cold, calculated precision of a predator. The impact connected squarely with her jaw, and her head snapped back. A soft cry escaped her lips as she was thrown forward, her body collapsing onto the surface of her mahogany desk. She lay there, stunned and groggy, her glasses knocked askew.
Before she could even process the shock, before she could push herself up or scream, I moved. I snatched the heavy phone receiver from its cradle on the corner of her desk. With a sharp tug, I ripped the coiled cord free from the base. Her hands were flailing weakly, trying to find a hold on the slick wood, but I was on her in an instant. I grabbed her wrists, yanking them behind her back. The plastic cord bit into her skin as I wrapped it around and around, pulling it tight and knotting it with brutal efficiency.
A low, terrified whimper escaped her as she struggled against her restraints, her mind finally catching up with the horror of her situation. "Marcus... what are you doing?" she breathed, her voice trembling with fear and confusion. "You need to stop. Please... stop."
I pressed my weight down on her back, my forearm pinning her securely against the hard, unyielding surface of the desk. Her frantic struggles were useless, muffled whimpers of protest escaping her lips as my free hand found the hem of her black skirt. I began to hike it up, the fabric whispering against her skin as I gathered it higher and higher, exposing the backs of her thighs. Her pleas were a desperate, broken mantra. "Please, Marcus, don't... stop, please stop."
I ignored her, my blood pounding in my ears. I bunched the thick material in the small of her back, holding it there like a trophy. And then I saw it. A stark, shocking contrast to her professional attire. Her underwear wasn't the sensible, plain cotton I expected. It was white, frilly, delicate lace that looked more like lingerie than something a psychologist would wear to the office.
A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. My fingers traced the edge of the lace, then moved to the soft, firm flesh of her ass, kneading it, possessing it. She flinched at my touch, her body trembling.
"Tell me, Doctor," I murmured, my voice low and mocking. "Why the fancy panties? A little secret under the professional armor?"
Her voice was a choked sob. "I... I was going to dinner with my boyfriend after work," she stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush of shame and fear. "I... I put them on for him."
I laughed again, a genuine, cruel sound of amusement. I leaned in closer, my lips brushing against her ear. "Well, your boyfriend is getting sloppy seconds," I whispered, my words dripping with venomous intent. "Because I'm going to fuck you right here on this desk."
The reality of my words crashed into her. The pleading stopped, replaced by a raw, guttural sound of pure panic. She began to thrash against me with a renewed, desperate frenzy, her bound wrists twisting uselessly. "No! No, please, God, no!" she screamed, the sound muffled by the desk. "Please don't do this! Please!"
With a rough tug, I pulled the flimsy lace of her panties to the side, exposing her completely. I didn't hesitate, driving two fingers into her dry, tight heat. A sharp, pained gasp was torn from her throat as she clenched around me involuntarily. "Fuck," I groaned, my voice thick with lust. "You're tight. I can't wait to feel this pussy wrapped around my cock." I pumped my fingers in and out, a brutal, invasive rhythm that was all about claiming, not pleasure. Her body was rigid with terror, every muscle clenched in a futile attempt to deny me entry.
Growing impatient with her struggling, I shoved her down hard against the desk again, my weight crushing her. "Don't fucking move," I commanded, my voice a low growl. I stepped back, my gaze lingering on the sight of her, bent over and exposed, her skirt bunched at her waist.
I walked around the large mahogany desk, my shoes clicking softly on the floor until I stood directly in front of her bowed head. From this angle, her face was level with my crotch. I saw her discarded glasses lying on the polished wood beside her cheek. I picked them up and, with a surprising gentleness that was more menacing than any rough touch, slid them back onto her face, pushing them up the bridge of her nose. "There," I said softly. "You look better with them on. I want you to see what's happening."
My hand shot out, tangling in the tight bun at the nape of her neck. I gripped it like a handle, using it to hold her head immobile, forcing her to face forward. With my other hand, I slowly, deliberately, unzipped my pants. The sound of the zipper seemed unnaturally loud in the silent office. I reached inside and freed my cock, which was already rock hard and throbbing with anticipation. I held it inches from her face, letting her see the rigid, angry length of what was about to violate her.
"Open your mouth," I commanded, my voice flat and cold.
Her head tried to move in a frantic, desperate shake of refusal, but my grip on her bun was like iron, holding her skull in place. She clamped her jaw shut, a silent, defiant act of rebellion that only fueled the fire in my blood. Her refusal was a challenge, and I never backed down from a challenge.
I sighed, a sound of feigned disappointment. With the hand still holding her hair, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my pocket knife. It was a heavy, silver-handled thing my father had given me. I flicked my wrist, and the sharp, glinting blade snapped open with a satisfying click. The sound cut through her sobs, and her entire body went rigid. The terror that washed over her was palpable, a wave of pure, undiluted fear that was infinitely more satisfying than her physical struggles.
I brought the flat of the cold steel to her cheek, letting her feel its chilling presence right next to her eye. "Open your mouth," I repeated, my voice dropping to a menacing whisper, "or I will kill you right here, right now." It was a hollow threat, a line I would never cross. My family could cover up a rape, but murder was another thing entirely, but she didn't know that. All she saw was the glint of the blade and heard the absolute conviction in my voice.
The threat worked. A choked, guttural sob escaped her lips, and her defiance crumbled into dust. "Please... please don't," she whimpered, tears streaming down her face and smudging her glasses. Slowly, as if moving through molasses, her trembling lips parted. Her mouth opened in a silent, horrified surrender, a wet, inviting cavern for me to defile.
Without another word, I thrust my hips forward, sliding the entire length of my rock-hard cock into her open, trembling mouth. At the same time, I yanked her head toward me by her hair, forcing her to take me deeper. A muffled, strangled cry was her only protest as I filled her completely. I didn't give her a moment to adjust. I began to fuck her mouth in a brutal, relentless rhythm, pulling her head back and forth to meet my thrusts, using her face like a toy.
I kept the open knife pressed against the soft skin of her neck, the cold steel a constant, terrifying reminder of her complete and utter submission. "Suck it," I snarled, my voice thick with lust. "Suck my cock as hard as you can, Doctor. Show me how much you want it."
The room was soon filled with the wet, obscene sounds of her violation. I could hear the slurping, choking noises as she struggled to obey, her tears mixing with the saliva that dribbled down her chin. "Fuck, that's a good mouth," I groaned, looking down at her. "Your lips feel so fucking good wrapped around my dick. You were made for this, weren't you?" I could feel her tongue moving weakly, trying to follow my command, the desperate action of a woman fighting for her life.
Occasionally, I'd push deeper, driving my cock past the entrance of her throat. Her body would convulse, a violent gag reflex taking over as she coughed and choked around me. I didn't give a shit. Her suffering was nothing, a minor inconvenience to my pleasure. "Take it all," I'd grunt, holding myself deep inside her until her struggles grew frantic from lack of air, before pulling back just enough to let her gasp. "Yeah, choke on it. That's it. Fucking take it."
The rhythm was hypnotic, a brutal cadence of flesh on flesh, punctuated by her choked sobs. I could feel the muscles in her throat convulsing around the head of my cock every time I pushed too deep, a spasm of pure, unadulterated terror that sent jolts of pleasure straight through me. Her glasses were skewed, one lens smeared with a combination of her tears and my pre-come, but I left them on. I wanted her to see, to have a distorted, blurry view of the man destroying her.
"Look at you," I grunted, my voice a low, guttural sound of exertion. "Dr. Sybil, the brilliant psychologist, tied up, bent over her desk with my dick in her mouth. Is this what you teach your patients? How to be a good little whore?" I pulled back until just the tip was resting on her tongue, giving her a split second to gasp for air before I slammed back in, my hips smacking against her face.
I decided to give her a taste of hope, just to snatch it away again. I pulled out completely, a thick string of saliva connecting us for a moment before it broke. She coughed violently, her body wracked with dry heaves as she tried to draw in clean air. "Please... Marcus, please, stop," she begged, her voice a hoarse, broken whisper. "I won't say anything. I swear. Just... please, let me go. Don't do this."
I looked down at her tear-streaked face, at the raw, pleading desperation in her eyes. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I laughed, a short, sharp, cruel sound. "We're not done yet, Doctor. Not even close." Before she could utter another word, I grabbed her hair again, angled her head, and shoved my cock back into her warm, unwilling mouth. Her muffled scream was music to my ears as I resumed my merciless assault, fucking her face even harder than before, using her pleas as fuel to violate her more thoroughly.
I finally stopped, pulling my cock from her abused mouth with a wet pop. I left her there, gasping and sobbing, as I slowly walked around the desk. My footsteps were deliberate, each one echoing her impending doom. Her pleas followed me, a pathetic, desperate symphony. "Please, Marcus, I'm begging you... don't do this... please stop..."
I came to a stop behind her, my gaze fixed on the perfect, round globes of her ass, still framed by the bunched-up skirt and the frilly white lace of her panties. It was a sight that deserved to be immortalized. I reached down and, with a single, rough motion, ripped the delicate underwear from her hips. The lace tore with a satisfying sound, and I pulled the shredded fabric down her legs and off her feet. I balled them up and shoved them into my pocket. "I'm keeping these," I said, my voice a low growl. "A souvenir."
With the toe of my shoe, I kicked her ankles apart, forcing her legs wider. The movement left her pussy completely exposed, vulnerable and glistening with a sheen of sweat and terror. She must have sensed the shift, the finality of the moment. With a surge of adrenaline, she tried to push herself up from the desk, a last, desperate attempt at escape. I was ready for it. I slammed my hand down between her shoulder blades, shoving her back down with enough force to knock the wind from her lungs.
I leaned over her, my chest pressing against her back, my lips next to her ear. "It's time, Doctor," I taunted, my voice a hot, menacing whisper. "You're about to get fucked." I straightened up, took my rock-hard cock in my hand, and ran the head up and down her slit, coating it in her fear. I teased her for a moment, letting her feel the blunt pressure at her entrance. Then, with one brutal, powerful thrust, I buried myself inside her.
A long, guttural moan was torn from her throat, a sound of pure agony and violation that mingled with her choked sobs. I didn't move, savoring the sensation. Her pussy was incredibly tight, a hot, velvety vice that gripped my cock like it was trying to crush it. It was the most exquisite feeling I had ever experienced, and I was going to enjoy it for as long as I wanted.
I took a strong, possessive hold of her hips, my fingers digging into the soft flesh, leaving angry red marks. I held her there for a moment longer, just feeling the incredible tightness of her pussy clenching around my cock in a panicked, involuntary rhythm. Then, I began to move. I pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, before slamming back into her with enough force to make the heavy desk scrape against the floor.
I established a brutal, punishing rhythm, fucking her doggy style with deep, powerful strokes. Each thrust sent her whole body jolting forward, her bound wrists twisting uselessly behind her back. The sight was intoxicating. Her perfect ass, pale and firm, rippled with the impact of my hips slamming against it. I watched, mesmerized, as the flesh of her cheeks bounced and jiggled with every violent plunge, the skin flushing a deep, angry red from the repeated abuse.
The room was filled with the raw, wet sounds of our fucking. A rhythmic, slapping percussion of skin on skin, mingling with her broken, hiccuping sobs and my own guttural grunts of pleasure. "You feel that, Doctor?" I taunted, my voice strained with exertion. "That's a real man fucking you. Not some limp-dicked boyfriend who buys you dinner. This is what you needed, isn't it? A hard cock to remind you what you're good for."
I adjusted my angle, driving into her even deeper, and a sharp, pained cry escaped her lips. "Yeah, take it," I growled, leaning over her again, my sweat dripping onto her blazer. "This is all you are now. A tight little hole for me to use however much I want." I could feel her pussy getting wetter, a treacherous biological response that only fueled my cruelty. "Your body loves this, doesn't it? It's begging for it, even if your mouth says no. Fucking whore." I straightened up, smacking her ass hard, the sharp crack echoing through the office as I continued to pound into her without mercy.
My rhythm halted as suddenly as it had begun. I pulled out of her, the sudden emptiness making her gasp, and took a fistful of her hair at the nape of her neck. It was still tight in its bun, but I had enough purchase to wrench her head back. A raw, piercing scream tore from her throat as I yanked her upwards, her body scrambling to follow the painful command. I spun her around, the force of the turn sending her stumbling. We were face to face, her glasses were askew, her face a ruin of mascara, tears, and sweat. Her eyes, wide with a terror so profound it was almost beautiful, locked onto mine.
"Look at me," I snarled, my voice a low rasp.
Without waiting for a response, I hooked an arm under her knees and another around her back, lifting her with a grunt of effort. Her bound hands were trapped awkwardly beneath her, and she struggled uselessly as I deposited her onto the edge of her mahogany desk. The polished wood was cold against her bare ass, and she flinched at the contact. I stood between her legs, which dangled limply over the side, and looked down at her. The blazer, still mostly intact, was a pathetic barrier. I grabbed the lapels and ripped it open, sending buttons skittering across the floor. Her chest rose and fell in frantic, shallow breaths beneath the thin blue of her blouse.
My fingers went to the top button, my movements almost methodical. "I want to see your tits, Doctor," I said, my voice flat and cold. One by one, I worked my way down, the fabric parting to reveal more of her pale skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears leaking from beneath her lids as she twisted her shoulders in a futile attempt to evade my touch.
When the last button was undone, the blouse fell open. There they were. A matching lacy white bra, the delicate fabric a stark contrast to the creamy skin of her breasts. It was a beautiful set, the kind chosen to make a woman feel desirable, and now it was just another piece of a costume being torn apart.
"Well, well," I murmured, a genuine note of appreciation in my voice. "Very nice. A matching set." I reached out and cupped her breasts, my palms covering the lace. They were heavier than I'd imagined, filling my hands perfectly. I squeezed, hard, and she cried out, her body arching away from me. Her struggles were pathetic, her wrists still bound securely behind her back, leaving her completely at my mercy. I kneaded the soft flesh, my thumbs brushing over her nipples, which were hard points against the lace despite her horror. "Did you dress up for me or your boyfriend today?" I taunted, leaning in close. "Doesn't matter now. They're mine to play with."
With a brutal shove, I pushed her down onto her back. Her head hit the polished mahogany with a dull thud, and her glasses flew from her face, skittering across the desk and landing near the scattered buttons from her blouse. Lying there, pinned and exposed, she was finally stripped of her professional armor. My gaze traveled down her body, past the torn blouse and the lacy cups of her bra, and settled on the neat, dark triangle of her pubic hair, a perfect, groomed shape just above her glistening pussy. It was a final, intimate detail of a woman who thought she was in control.
I took a firm hold of her thighs, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, and yanked her toward me until her ass was right on the edge of the desk. I lined my cock up with her entrance, not bothering with any more teasing. With a single, powerful thrust, I buried myself inside her again. Her body jackknifed, a strangled cry ripped from her lungs as I filled her completely. I didn't pause. I set a vicious, hammering pace, pulling out almost completely before slamming back into her. The heavy wooden desk began to shake, its legs scraping rhythmically against the floor with the force of my assault.
My eyes were fixed on her chest. With every violent plunge, her breasts, still trapped in the delicate lace bra, would bounce and sway, a hypnotic dance of flesh and fabric. It was an intoxicating sight. "Look at that," I grunted, my voice thick with exertion. "Look at your tits move for me." I reached out, grabbing one roughly, my palm covering the lace as I squeezed the soft mound. My other hand roamed, sliding down to her hip, then around to grab the firm flesh of her ass, holding her in place as I drove into her even harder.
"Please, Marcus, please stop," she sobbed, her voice cracking. "It hurts... you're hurting me... God, please, just stop..."
Her words were just fuel. "I'll stop when I'm good and ready," I snarled, leaning over her, my sweat dripping onto her stomach. "You don't get to say when this ends. You're mine, Doctor. Mine to take, mine to use, mine to do whatever the fuck I want with." I punctuated my words with a particularly brutal thrust that made her whole body convulse. "This pussy is mine now. This is all you're good for."
I kept up the brutal rhythm, the desk groaning in protest with every slam of my hips. Her sobs had devolved into a series of choked, helpless hiccups, her body limp beneath me as I used her for my pleasure. The familiar tightening began at the base of my spine, a coiling heat that signaled my release was imminent.
"Fuck... I'm getting close, Doctor," I grunted, my voice strained. With one final, deep thrust, I held myself inside her for a moment, savoring her warmth before I abruptly pulled out.
A wave of what looked like relief washed over her tear-streaked face. I grabbed the front of her ruined blazer and hauled her upright, her legs shaky and unsteady. She stood before me, a disheveled, broken doll.
"You don’t deserve to have my baby," I said, my voice flat and cold. "So I'm not coming in your pussy."
For a fleeting second, a flicker of hope ignited in her eyes. It was instantly extinguished as I spun her around and shoved her forward, bending her over the desk once more. I planted my hand firmly in the center of her back, pinning her down. Her relief curdled into a new, more profound terror as she realized what was coming.
"No," she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. "No, not there..."
I ignored her, using my other hand to spread the firm, flushed globes of her ass. I took my slick, hard cock and began to probe the tight, puckered ring of her asshole. Her entire body went rigid, and she erupted into a fresh panic, struggling against my grip with a desperate, renewed strength.
"No! Marcus, please! Not that! I've never... I've never done that!" she screamed, her voice high and thin with panic. "Please, God, don't!"
Her frantic squirming made it difficult to get the angle right. Her bound wrists were useless, and my weight on her back kept her pinned, but her thrashing was enough to throw me off. "Hold still, you little bitch," I snarled, pressing down harder. I shifted my grip, holding her down with my forearm while I used my free hand to guide myself. The head of my cock, still slick from her pussy, finally caught on the tight ring and slipped past her sphincter, just inside her rectum.
Her response was a raw, guttural scream of pure agony, a sound that was more animal than human. It was music to my ears.
"Whoops," I said, a cruel smirk in my voice. "Forgot to bring lube. Guess we'll have to make do."
Without another word, I pushed forward, forcing my cock deeper into her impossibly tight ass. Her scream became a continuous, high-pitched wail of pain and violation. Her body thrashed and bucked, but it was useless.
"It hurts! Oh God, it hurts! Take it out! You're splitting me in half!" she shrieked, her words dissolving into incoherent sobs of agony. "Please, please, I'm begging you! It feels like you're tearing me apart!"
"Splitting you in half? Good," I grunted, my voice a low, predatory growl. "That's how you're supposed to feel." I ignored her frantic pleas, my entire being focused on the incredible sensation of her ass clamping down around my cock. It was a different kind of tightness, a hot, velvety grip that was even more intense than her pussy. I decided to savor it, to draw out her agony.
I began to move, but slowly, deliberately. I pulled back just an inch, then pushed it back in, letting her feel every thick inch as it stretched her open. Her screams subsided into ragged, whimpering sobs, her body trembling uncontrollably. "Oh, you don't like the slow burn, Doctor?" I taunted, leaning over her, my lips brushing against her ear. "Don't worry. I'll pick up the pace soon enough." I established a slow, torturous rhythm, sinking into her inch by inch, my hips rocking against the perfect curve of her ass. The sight was intoxicating. Her face was turned to the side, pressed against the polished wood of her desk, a mask of tear-streaked agony. Her body, pale and flawless, was marred only by the red marks my fingers had left on her hips and the angry flush spreading across her ass cheeks from the abuse. I could have stayed like that all day, just watching her body accept me, feeling her struggle to accommodate my size.
But the urge to punish her was too strong. I pulled back until just the head of my cock was still inside her, then slammed forward, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal, powerful thrust. The air was forced from her lungs in a guttural, strangled scream that was cut short as her face smashed against the desk. "Yeah, that's it," I growled, my own breath coming in harsh gasps. "Scream for me." I began to fuck her in earnest, alternating between slow, grinding strokes that made her sob and hard, punishing thrusts that made her scream. The contrast was exquisite. I was on the edge of orgasm from before, but the sheer, forbidden pleasure of her ass was too good to end quickly. I wanted to make this last, to etch every second of this violation into her memory.
"Your ass is fucking incredible, Doctor," I panted, my hands gripping her hips so tightly I knew I was leaving bruises. "So tight. It's like it was made just for me to fuck." I changed my angle slightly, driving into her even deeper, and a fresh wave of screams tore from her throat. "You hear that? That's the sound of a real man claiming you. Not some pathetic boyfriend you have at home. This is all you are now. A set of holes for me to use. A tight little ass to fuck whenever I want."
The control I'd been exercising finally snapped. The sight of her helpless body, the sound of her screams, the feeling of her ass gripping my cock, it was all too much. I let go. I started fucking her with a savage, relentless rhythm, my hips pistoning, my balls slapping against her with every violent plunge. The desk was rocking violently now, scraping and groaning as if it were about to collapse. Her cries became a constant, high-pitched wail of pain and humiliation, a sound that only pushed me closer to the brink.
"Take it! Take my fucking cock up your ass!" I roared, my voice raw with lust. "I'm going to fill you up! You're going to be dripping with my come for a week!"
The pressure became unbearable. With a final, brutal thrust that lifted her feet off the floor, I buried myself as deep as I could go and exploded. My orgasm was seismic, a white-hot surge of pleasure that ripped through my entire body. I roared, a sound of pure, primal conquest, as my cock pulsed and jerked deep inside her bowels. It felt like I was coming forever, an endless flood of hot, thick seed pouring into her, filling her ass to the brim. My body went rigid, my muscles locked as I pumped every last drop into her ruined hole.
When the spasms finally subsided, I stayed inside her for a moment longer, my chest heaving, sweat dripping from my brow onto her back. Then, I slowly pulled out. As the head of my cock popped free, her asshole gaped open for a moment before slowly beginning to contract. A thick, milky stream of my come immediately began to leak out of her, running down the inside of her thigh. Mixed in with the pearly white fluid was a faint, pinkish trickle of blood, a final testament to her brutal defilement. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
I took a moment, catching my breath as I looked down at the mess I'd made of her. With a sigh of satisfaction, I grabbed a handful of tissues from her desk and wiped myself clean, my come and the faint trace of her blood a badge of honor on my cock. I tucked myself back into my trousers and zipped up, the sound sharp and final in the quiet room.
Returning to the desk, I took out my knife once again. She was still bent over the desk, a trembling, sobbing wreck, not sure what to do. I grabbed her bound wrists and, without a word, sawed at the makeshift restraints. The plastic and wire gave way with a snap, and her arms fell limply to her sides.
For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, slowly, painfully, she pushed herself up from the desk. Her movements were stiff, awkward. She stood on shaky legs, one hand flying back to clutch her abused ass, a gesture of instinctual, pathetic protection. Her face was a disaster of swollen eyes, smeared mascara, and blotchy, tear-streaked skin. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a hollow, broken emptiness.
"Is it... is it over?" she whispered, her voice a raw, fragile thing.
I straightened my shirt as if nothing more than a contentious business meeting had just concluded. "Yes, Doctor," I said, my tone cool and dismissive. "It's over." I walked toward the door, but paused with my hand on the knob, turning back to look at her one last time. "Send me the bill for this session, of course. And let me know how much it's going to cost to keep you quiet."
I didn't wait for a response. I opened the door and walked out, leaving her alone in her ruined office to deal with the consequences. The click of the door shutting behind me was the only sound that mattered.