Page 32 of Corrupting Camille

It’s about claiming it.

Training it.

Branding her from the inside out until my cock is the only thing she associates with the words open wide.

By the time I’m done she’ll never speak without tasting me.

Her throat is wrecked, spit-slick and flushed red. Her lips are swollen, trembling around every gasping breath I’ve let her earn. But it’s the look in her eyes, destroyed, tear-glossed, begging, that snaps the last thread of control I’ve been hanging onto.

I can’t wait anymore.

And neither can she. I fist my hand into her hair, wrenching her head back into a brutal, punishing kiss. Her mouth parts for me instantly, desperate, shattered, utterly mine. I taste her tears, her submission, her unspoken pleas. She moans into my mouth,arching and clinging like she’ll shatter without the bruising claim of my lips.

She whimpers, a broken little sound that wrecks something dark and possessive inside me. Her body melts against mine, pliant and trembling, her mouth working frantically against mine like she needs this kiss to survive.

Good.

Because she won’t just feel me tonight.

She’ll carry the marks long after I’m done.

I tear away from her mouth, breathing harshly as I shove her roughly down onto the bed. She lands with a sharp gasp, thighs spreading instinctively, her pussy swollen and glistening, exposed to my hungry gaze, begging without words.

“Spread,” I demand, voice shredded by restraint that’s about to snap. “Let me see what’s mine.”

Her obedience is immediate, thighs falling open wider, trembling with a mixture of fear and want beneath my ruthless scrutiny. Her cunt is soaked, flushed pink, swollen, aching visibly around emptiness. I run two fingers through her slick folds, spreading her open just to watch her drip, just to watch her shudder beneath my touch.

“Look at you,” I murmur roughly, almost to myself. “Fucking starving for me.”

She nods frantically, breath hitching, desperation coloring her pleas. “Yes, yes, please…”

I don’t let her finish.

I grip her hips hard, dragging her flush to the edge of the mattress. I line my cock up, stroking the tip through her folds, catching her clit just long enough to feel her squirm and buck against me.

Then I slam home.

All of me, buried to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

She screams, a raw, broken sound ripped from deep within, her back arching violently off the bed, body shuddering beneath mine. Her cunt clamps around me, squeezing tight, fighting to accommodate me, stretched and trembling, torn between ecstasy and agony.

Perfect. Fucking exquisite.

I feel her pulse around me, the desperate flutter of her walls, her slick, hot, tight body swallowing me whole. The world shrinks down to this brutal union, her shattered breaths, the violent rhythm of her surrender. She claws at the sheets, at her own hair, at my skin, wild and desperate, clinging as I tear through every carefully constructed facade.

“Fuck,” she sobs, voice cracking, shaking, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Pain and pleasure war openly across her face, raw and vivid, the polished, untouchable princess splintering beneath me. I watch it happen with cruel satisfaction, watching her unravel with every savage thrust, every ruthless claim, stripping her down to bare, helpless need. The woman who thought she had control, now ruined and dripping over my cock.

Pure greed.

Pure submission.

Pure fucking desperation.

I was wrong.

She’s not just going to wear this.