Victory

I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to come. I had to appease him by begging. His lips pulled on my clit so softly. The perfect amount of pressure. His moans are a betrayal of his words and actions. Remmy is enjoying giving me head as much as I'm enjoying receiving it. He leaned back and spat on my clit, and used his gentle fingers to spread my flower and slurp it. "pretty, wet ass pussy, mm," he whispered before he closed his lips over my clit once more.

"Oh Gah, yes," I moaned, my body writhing beneath him. "Daddy, please, let me come."

Remmy chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing my inner thigh. "Such a greedy little girl," he murmured. "But not yet. First, you need to learn patience."

He slid two fingers inside me, his thumb circling my clit with a masterful precision that had me seeing stars. My walls clamped down around him, desperate for release. "Please," I begged again, my voice a desperate whine.

He paused, his eyes meeting mine.

"You've been naughty," he said, his voice a dark caress. "Naughty girls need to be taught a lesson."

With that, he flipped me over onto my stomach, my breasts pressing into the cool fabric of the bed. I felt the heat of his body as he moved over me, his weight pinning me down. My heart raced with excitement and a hint of fear. I knew what was coming, but that didn't stop the anticipation from tingling my skin.

Remmy's hand hovered over my ass, the air crackling with the promise of pain. I clenched my cheeks, bracing for the impact. The first smack came down hard, "Count!" He yelled.

"One," I murmured, the sting making me gasp. The second smack was quicker, the sound echoing through the suite. "Two," I said, my voice shaking.

The third hit me like a ton of bricks, the pain radiating through my body, setting every nerve ending alight. "Three," I moaned, my voice a mix of agony and ecstasy.

He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "Good girl," he murmured. "You're doing so well."

The praise sent a shiver down my spine. Despite the pain, the way he talked to me, the way he touched me, it was intoxicating. Each smack of his hand on my ass brought me closer to the edge, the pain morphing into a strange, dark pleasure that I hadn't experienced before.

"Four," I gasped as the fourth blow landed, the sting of his hand against my flesh melding with the throb of my clit. My body felt like it was on fire, the pain and pleasure swirling together in a delicious dance. I could feel the wetness pooling between my legs, my pussy begging for his dick.

"You're so beautiful when you're desperate," Remmy murmured, his voice thick with desire. His hand caressed my burning ass cheeks, the gentleness a stark contrast to the firmness of his earlier smacks. "But your lesson isn't over yet."

He reached for the scarf I had seen earlier, and I felt excitement. He tied it around my eyes, plunging me into darkness. The loss of sight heightened my other senses, making every touch and sound feel more intense.

"On your knees...wide," he said firmly. I complied, getting to my knees.

I heard the unmistakable hum of something, and my heart raced. "Is that a...vibrator?" I asked, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"It is," Remmy said, his voice a deep, rumbling thunder. "And it's all for you, baby."

I felt the buzzing toy against my clit, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. The vibrations were gentle initially, but he quickly cranked up the intensity. The scarf over my eyes made everything feel more intense; my other senses heightened to a fever pitch. I could hear the wetness of my pussy, the slap of his hand against my skin, the crackle of the candle flames in the background.

"Please," I begged, my voice desperate. "I need to come."

"Not yet," he said, his voice firm but laced with amusement. "You're going to come when I say you can and not a moment sooner."

The vibrator continued to tease me, moving in slow, torturous circles that had me panting for release. "Daddy, please," I moaned, my voice a needy whine.

"Soon, baby," he promised, his voice a sweet torment. "But first, you need to learn to obey."

The vibrations grew stronger, the buzzing a symphony of pleasure driving me mad. My hips bucked against the mattress, my body desperate for relief. "please," I begged, my voice a keening whine.

Remmy's hand tightened in my hair, his grip a reminder of his control. "You're so close," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "But you need to earn it."

I nodded, my breath coming in short, desperate pants. "I'll do anything," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could think. "Oh, you will?"

He set the vibrator to the lowest setting and teased my ass clit and entrance with circular motions. The gentle buzz was maddening, a sweet promise of what would come. Each pass over my clit had me shivering, my pussy clenching around the emptiness inside me. Then, without warning, his lips closed over one of my nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

The sensation was like an electric shock, sending waves of pleasure crashing through my body. I moaned, my hands reaching back to grip the bed sheets. He sucked and nibbled, his tongue swirling around the tight peak as the vibrator continued its relentless tease. "Please, Daddy," I whimpered, my hips thrusting back to meet the delicious torment.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You're learning so quickly."

I could feel the pressure building. "Fuck me," I gasped. "Please"

Remmy chuckled darkly, his hand still buried in my hair. "Patience, baby," he murmured, his voice seductive. "The best things come to those who wait."

With a final, lingering kiss to my neck, he pulled away, the loss of his warmth leaving me trembling. I heard the rustle of fabric as he stood, his belt buckling and his zipper closing. My heart sank as reality crashed down on me. Was he leaving me like this?

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, the torment stopped. The vibrator was gone, the smack of his hand on my ass a distant memory. I felt the coolness of the air on my wet pussy, the throb of my need echoing through the room.

I heard the sound of his clothes and the thump of his shoes as he stepped into them. My anticipation grew with every movement he made, my body aching for him to fill me. He untied the scarf around my eyes, the sudden brightness making me blink. I looked up to see him standing before me, fully dressed as fuck. "What the fuck, Remmy?" I asked.

"Patience," he said with a smug smile, his hand stroking his erect dick through his tailored fucking pants. "You're not ready for what I have in store for you."

Seeing him so in control and confident made me want to scream with frustration. But I knew better than to argue. He's playing the game. I jumped up angrily, redressing.

"I'm not some toy you can play with and then just leave," I spat, my eyes flashing.

Remmy's smile didn't waver. "I never said you were," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "But you are the muse for my desires."

I turned to face him, my chest heaving with the effort to hold back my anger. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, stepping closer, "that every time I look at you, I see a story waiting to be told. And tonight, you've just written the most delicious chapter."

My frustration boiled over, and I pushed him away, grabbing my phone from the nightstand. "You wasted my fucking time," I said, my voice shaking with anger. "I have to work tomorrow. Unlike you, I don't have billions to throw around."

Remmy's smile never left his face, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You're right," he said, his voice low and soothing. "I'm sorry for keeping you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. "For the taxi," he offered, tossing it onto the bed.

With trembling hands, I dialed for an Uber, my eyes never leaving his. The app confirmed the car's arrival in five minutes, and I turned to him, my anger barely contained. "You think money fixes this?"

He shrugged, his dick still hard as he watched me. "It's the least I can do," he said, still infused with that maddening calm. "But perhaps next time, you'll think twice before playing games with a man who knows exactly how to push your buttons."

I grabbed the cash and threw it back at him; my hand was shaking with anger and need. I wanted to scream, throw something, or do anything else to release the tension coiled tightly in my belly. Instead, I took a deep breath and forced myself to remain composed. "There won't be a next time; I hoped you enjoyed that because you won't ever get to taste.. touch.. see.. or fuckin' smell it again," I said, my voice cold and even.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "We'll see about that," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're not one to walk away from a challenge, Victory." "Fuck you, weirdo," I spat.

"You wish." he quipped.

As the Uber pulled up outside, I composed myself and walked out. "I'm so fuckin' stupid, fuck him," I muttered.

Remmy

When the door closed behind her, I flew to the window to watch her safely enter her Uber. I called Donald to follow them and urged him to ensure she entered her apartment.

I walked back to the bed and picked up her torn thong. It smelled of her sweet arousal. I brought it to my nose and took a deep breath. I tucked them into my pocket.

Victory Lane was not going anywhere. I knew it. I felt it in my bones. That girl had something in her that would keep her coming back to me. She was like a drug, and I had just had a taste.

It's been a long time since I encountered a fiery spirit like Victory. Most of the women I deal with are eager to please and eager to be dominated. Victory, she had a spark, a fire I hadn't seen in a long time.

I went into the bathroom to wash up, the water in the shower running cold over my skin. I had to get her out of my system. I had to focus on my business and my life. But as I stood there, my hand wrapped around my still-hard dick, her name was the only thing on my mind.

The next morning, I found myself at a local florist, selecting the most opulent bouquet of calla lilies they had. Victory mentioned them once and casually remarked that they were her favorite flower. I scheduled flower delivery to her workplace, the bank, for the next four days. I knew she wouldn't call me after the way I had left her the night before. But I had to do something to keep her thinking about me, to keep her on the hook.

As I watched the flowers being carefully wrapped and arranged, I couldn't help but smirk. The delivery would be a surprise, a silent declaration of my intentions. She couldn't ignore me, not when surrounded by the sweet scent of calla lilies daily. They were a declaration of war and desire that she couldn't ignore.

Day 1. When I arrived at the bank, I could feel the tension in the air as soon as I walked in. The tellers looked at me with curiosity and fear, their eyes lingering on my expensive suit and the bouquet in my hand. I knew they were wondering what kind of man would send such an extravagant gesture to one of their own. But when I handed the bouquet to the manager with a note to give to Victory, the warm expressions shifted to envy.

As I left the bank, I couldn't help but imagine her face when she saw the flowers. Would she be thrilled? Angry? Or would she feel the same pull I did, the magnetic force that drew us together like two opposing magnets? Only time will tell. But one thing was certain: I wouldn't let her go without a fight. She was mine now, and I would do whatever it took to make her see it.

Day 7. I had my assistant send a bouquet of calla lilies to Victory every morning until I said otherwise and send diamond jewelry on Fridays. It was a risky move, one that could have easily backfired. But as the days passed, I eagerly awaited her reaction. Would she reject them? Would she throw them in the trash? Or would she take them home, a secret reminder of our shared night?

I visited the bank on the 8th day to see her reaction firsthand. As I approached her teller window, I saw the surprise in her eyes as she took the bouquet on her desk and threw them in the garbage bin. Our eyes met, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something in hers.

But she said nothing, her voice cool and professional as she processed my transaction. She didn't thank me, didn't acknowledge the flowers or jewelry. She avoided eye contact..and skin. She treated me like any old regular customer.

It was infuriating and thrilling all at once. I knew I had gotten under her skin; that was all the confirmation I needed. She rolled her eyes, grabbed her new Birkin bag - the one I had noticed she hadn't had before - and walked away from the teller window, leaving me with a view of her luscious, round ass swaying in her designer skirt. I couldn't help but wonder where she had gotten the $25k bag from, where the fuck had she been. It was definitely an upgrade.

I watched her retreat, my eyes lingering on the bouquet of calla lilies in the trash bin by her desk. The air was charged with unspoken words, unfulfilled desires, and a hint of --something.

The following weeks passed in a blur of work and anticipation. I found myself counting down the days until I would see her again. My thoughts were consumed by the memory of her sweet moans and the way she had looked at me with a mix of defiance and need. On the 29th day, I couldn't resist visiting the Gadiva store. I had picked out the perfect box of chocolates, a little something to sweeten the sting of utter rejection.

As I exited the chocolate store, freshly baked goods from the café next door wafted over me. It was a scent that usually comforted me, but it only amplified my frustration today. I couldn't believe what I saw: Victory, laughing and flirting with some guy, a fucking clown. The sight of them together was like a knife twisting in my gut. Who the fuck was he?

I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening as I watched her throw her head back in laughter. The urge to stride over and lay him out was almost overwhelming. But I knew that would only push her away further. Instead, I took a deep breath and reminded myself of the game we were playing. This was her way of asserting her independence, of showing me she wasn't just a plaything to be used and discarded. I fucking get it, but this is going too far.

As she turned and spotted me, her smile turned into a smirk, her eyebrows furrowed, and then she broke away from the clown's embrace. I didn't miss the way his eyes narrowed at the sight of me either, but I was focused solely on Victory.

She was stunning in the simple dress she had chosen, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that made me want to rip it from her body. She just sat there, resuming her conversation with whoever the fuck that guy was. Donald read the scene and opened my door, practically pushing me in the backseat.

"Who the fuck is that?" I growled.

"Her work colleague, Dr. Thornton," Donald replied calmly. "He's been helping her out with things around the apartment."

I felt a surge of possessiveness that I hadn't felt in years. "Help her with what?"

"Just small stuff, sir. Fixing her sink, carrying her groceries."

I stared out the window, my mind racing. "Find out everything about him," I barked, my voice tight with anger.

The car pulled away from the curb, and I was left with nothing but the memory of her laughing with another man. It was a sobering thought. Maybe I had underestimated her; maybe she wasn't as hooked as I thought. Maybe she had moved on already.

But something in me refused to believe it. She was mine, and I would not let some clown take what was rightfully mine. I had to up the ante; I needed to show her she needed me.

As we drove through the bustling streets of Chicago, I couldn't help but feel the urge to claim her in the most public of ways—to show everyone that she belonged to me. I picked up my phone and called my assistant. "Make a reservation at Le Bistro tonight," I told her. I want the best table in the house."