Archive of Our Own ^beta

The heavy wooden desk beneath Caitlyn’s stomach is smooth and cool against her skin, grounding in contrast to the heat licking at the edges of her composure. The air in her office is still, thick with polished mahogany and old paper, the faint scent of ink and leather-bound records clinging to the silence. It’s a place of order, of control. A place where she is respected. Where decisions are made with a sharp mind and a steady hand.

And yet, here she is.

Her palms splay flat against the desk’s surface, fingers twitching with the phantom urge to adjust, to push up, to do something. But Vi’s presence behind her is a tether, holding her down without a single restraint. She doesn’t need one. Vi’s control isn’t in cuffs or bindings. It’s in the weight of her voice, the steadiness of her touch, the way Caitlyn’s body has already yielded to her attention.

A chair scrapes against the floor. Papers rustle as Vi pushes them aside, making space, taking her time. Caitlyn swallows, her eyes still trained on the polished wood as the silence stretches around her.

This is Vi’s mastery. Not force. Not impatience. Just the unbearable pause between certainty and action, the moment that makes Caitlyn aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of her skin waiting to be touched.

The first touch is just fingertips dragging down the backs of Caitlyn’s bare thighs, featherlight. They go up again, mapping the curve of her ass and the dip of her lower back. A ghost of sensation, nothing more than a whisper, designed to make her aware. Of herself. Of her position. Of the fact that Vi hasn’t even started yet.

“You’re tense, baby.”

Caitlyn’s fingers flex. She is. Every muscle drawn tight, the tension coiled at the base of her neck, locked in her shoulders. “I—”

Vi clicks her tongue.

“No thinking. Not right now.” A palm settles on the small of Caitlyn’s back, wide and warm, pressing down just enough to make her feel it. To remind her. “You know why we’re here.”

Caitlyn swallows, her voice quieter now. “To let go.”

Vi hums her approval, lips brushing against Caitlyn’s spine—just once, just enough. Strong hands knead at the tension in Caitlyn’s thighs, her ass, coaxing it from her body before Vi speaks again.

“You push yourself too hard,” thumbs press slow, deliberate circles into Caitlyn’s skin, kneading deeper when she finds the worst of the tension. “Always thinking. Always worrying. I know it’s not easy to stop.” A pause. “So I’m going to help.”

Caitlyn’s breath shudders when Vi drags her nails over her skin, light and teasing. Every touch a contradiction—gentle, reverent, right before something harsher. It makes her shiver, painfully aware of her own nakedness, of the way Vi’s clothed body brushes against her own, casual in its dominance.

“Twenty, and then five,” Vi tells her, her voice calm, steady. “Not because you were bad. Not because you need to be punished,” her hand smooths over Caitlyn’s ass, warm and certain, “but because you need to remember how to let go.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flutter shut. A soft breath falls from her lips as Vi brushes her hair aside, exposing her neck to press a kiss where her shoulder curves. The warmth of it pulls her deeper, makes her body arch into the touch without thinking.

“You remember the rules?”

Caitlyn nods. “Yes.”

Vi presses a kiss to the nape of her neck this time, nuzzling into her hair. “Say them for me.”

Caitlyn breathes in. “I stay still. I count. I thank you.”

“Good girl.” Another kiss, lower this time, trailing down her spine.

The hand on Caitlyn’s ass squeezes, not harsh but possessive, and it makes heat curl in Caitlyn’s stomach. It’s not shame from how exposed she is, not even the anticipation, but something else she craves even deeper.

“Why are we doing this?”

“Because I need it,” Caitlyn whispers.

“That’s right,” Vi hums, satisfied. “I want you to stop thinking. That’s my job now.”

Caitlyn exhales, sinking into the inevitability of it.

The first strike lands with a crisp, ringing crack, sharp and clean in the stillness of Caitlyn’s office. The force of it ripples through muscle and bone, leaving behind a sting that flares hot before melting into something lower, something warm. Vi’s hand is heavy, the broad span of her palm branding Caitlyn’s skin, heat stretching across her in a perfect imprint.

Caitlyn’s fingers twitch against the polished surface of the desk before curling into loose fists. She exhales, voice steady but breathy. “One.”

Vi doesn’t answer. Doesn’t offer praise or tease or even acknowledge the count aloud. But Caitlyn knows she hears. She feels it in the shift of Vi’s stance, the deliberate way she draws back her arm, in the unwavering weight of her attention pressing against her back like a second gravity.

The second strike lands harder. Not cruel, not reckless, but precise. Enough to jolt Caitlyn forward against the desk, the edge biting into the soft plane of her stomach.

Her breath hitches. “Two.”

Vi settles into a rhythm, a few on one side, then the other. Every strike measured, deliberate. A steady build, a symphony of sensation. Heat unfurls beneath Caitlyn’s skin, sharp then warm, pain threading through her nerves in a way that isn’t suffering but surrender. The desk, the ache, the steady weight of Vi’s palm—it strips her of thought, leaves only this. A structure she can breathe inside.

And the worst, the best of it, is where they are.

The surrounding walls are lined with polished mahogany, shelves stacked with reports, records, and the weight of her authority. This is where she commands a room with a glance, where she makes decisions that hold the force of law, where people hesitate before crossing the threshold. A place of discipline. Of order. Of control.

And right now, that’s exactly what Vi is stripping from her, piece by piece, with nothing but the weight of her palm.

By number ten, her voice is breathy, the sharp count of each one slipping out between shallow gasps. The heat has settled deep now, not just in her skin but lower, pooling thick and heavy between her legs.

By fifteen, she’s trembling enough for Vi to notice.

“That pent-up?” It comes with a chuckle because Vi understands it’s not from the pain, not really. It’s how it settles, how it overtakes, how it melts every last bit of tension until Caitlyn isn’t holding anything anymore—until it slides, warm and wanting, between her thighs.

“Yes, Violet.” The formality is a reflex, but she’s surprised she even manages that much.

Vi hums, satisfied, her palm smoothing over Caitlyn’s ass, fingers tracing the raw heat she’s left behind. She doesn’t move on immediately. She lets it sit. Lets Caitlyn feel it.

“Five to go.” A pause. “Then five more.”

The sixteenth strike lands, sharper than the last, and Caitlyn barely swallows the noise it wrenches from her.

“Sixteen.”

Vi’s hand lingers, fingers stroking over Caitlyn’s skin in slow, lazy circles. Not an apology. Not mercy. Just possession.

“S-Seventeen,” Caitlyn gasps when her hand comes down, hard and sharp, then palms her ass, soothing over the marks already blooming. Caitlyn shudders beneath her touch, the contrast—pain and comfort, rough and gentle—making her lightheaded.

This time, Vi drags her fingers lower, brushing over Caitlyn’s inner thighs until she finds the slick mess of her cunt. There’s a low, satisfied hum as she spreads the wetness with a lazy press of her fingertips.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, almost amused, almost admiring. “Dripping all over yourself, huh?”

Caitlyn looks down at her closed hands over the desk, and the way her hair falls in front of her face hides the flush that spreads across her face at Vi’s observation. All it does is leave her mortified and devastatingly turned on all at once.

“I haven’t even fucked you yet,” the fingers press just a little harder when they ghost over Caitlyn’s entrance, just enough to tease, to make her gasp. “Bet I don’t even need to.”

Vi’s free hand lands on her ass heavily. It’s not a slap, so she doesn’t count, but the pressure sinks into her warm skin when Vi squeezes, kneading the sensitive flesh. Caitlyn doesn’t need to see her face to feel the satisfaction radiating from her, the way she drinks in the sight of her—shaking, soaked, utterly at her mercy.

“Bet I could make you cum just like this,” Vi muses, the fingers between her legs now pressing on either side of her folds to spread her open, taking her time just looking . “No touching, no fucking. Just my hand on your pretty ass—” She taps the other hand on Caitlyn’s ass for emphasis, and that alone makes her shudder. “—and you’d soak the whole damn desk, wouldn’t you?

Caitlyn clenches around nothing, shame burning in her chest because yes, fuck, she probably could.

The firm press of Vi’s fingertips against her fluttering pussy all but confirms how intently Vi is watching every inch of her, paying attention to every reaction, every breath, every tremble. It’s involuntary, but she feels herself clench again, and Vi’s pleased hum follows.

The hand between her legs pulls away and Vi brings it down on her ass again.

The slap cracks through the air and Caitlyn chokes on the sound that punches from her throat—too raw, too unguarded. Heat blossoms beneath her skin, pleasure and pain threading so tight she can’t possibly untangle them at this point. She scrambles for the number she’s supposed to say, but it slips through her fingers.

Vi stills behind her, and for a second, there’s nothing but silence.

Then, a slow inhale, followed by an amused huff.

“That’s not a number,” there’s a quiet authority beneath her voice as she presses her fingers into the marks she’s already left behind, sending a dull ache radiating through Caitlyn’s skin, dragging the sting back to the surface. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you can do better than that.”

Caitlyn’s lips part, but the words don’t come. They slip through the fog of heat and pain muddling her thoughts, lost in the pleasure that comes from it curling low in her stomach. She feels suspended on the precipice of something vast, something that swallows her whole, and Vi is the only tether keeping her from slipping.

A quiet click of Vi’s tongue. “That’s not like you.”

Her free hand drags up Caitlyn’s spine, slow and grounding, fingers spanning it with ease, broad enough to cover most of her. She’s not just touching her—she’s claiming her, steadying her, offering something to hold Caitlyn in place even as the pain unmoors her.

The next strike lands.

Harder. Sharper. A perfect, searing bite that rips through Caitlyn’s body, the force of it nearly lifting her onto her toes before driving her back down. The impact is so intense, so deep, it steals the air from her lungs, leaves her reeling. A sound punches free from her throat, so honest she wouldn’t be able to swallow it down if she tried.

Another.

The burn layers itself into her skin, sinking deeper, stacking on top of the last until it feels like she might come apart from the sheer intensity of it. Her thighs quake, her fingers curl around the edge of the desk in a white-knuckled grip, but she holds.

Another.

Tears prick at the edges of her vision, blurring the office around her. The world narrows, condenses, until all that exists is the deep burn in her flesh and the impossible weight of Vi’s palm pressed firm against the small of her back. Holding her down. Holding her here. The weight of it isn’t just grounding—it’s a claim, an unspoken truth Caitlyn feels in the marrow of her bones. She belongs here, under Vi’s hands, under Vi’s control, surrendering to it, taking exactly what Vi decides to give her.

“Eighteen,” Vi says at last, the number Caitlyn should have said. There’s satisfaction there, threading through the syllables, warm and smug and endlessly patient.

A lesson.

“Eighteen,” she manages to repeat.

Vi hums, pleased. “There’s my good girl.”

The praise shouldn’t affect her the way it does. Shouldn’t send another molten pulse of arousal straight between her legs. Shouldn’t make her shudder as it sinks into the raw, aching place Vi has carved open inside her.

But it does. Of course, it does.

The next strike lands—no longer punishment, just discipline, a steady rhythm once more. Caitlyn breathes through it, her voice thinner now, rasping with every count.

“Nineteen.”

Her body is burning, wound so tight she thinks she might snap apart. Each slap pushing her deeper into the haze, into the delicious, helpless space where thought dissolves, where she is reduced to the feeling of her cunt pulsing with each flare of pain.

Vi makes her wait for the last one. The anticipation alone stretches time, stretches her, forces her to feel the absence of it—until it finally lands.

It’s devastating.

The sound alone is obscene, cracking through the room like a gunshot. The force of it slams into Caitlyn so hard her breath punches out of her, her back arching, her vision going white at the edges.

“T-Twenty,” she stammers, the word barely a sound at all. Just a breath, shattered and thin.

Then there’s nothing but Vi’s palm pressing over the bruised heat of her ass, rubbing firm circles into the oversensitive flesh, dragging her calloused fingers over the rawness she left behind. She’s not soothing her. Not really. It’s a reminder, a silent promise. A mark Vi leaves not just on her skin, but somewhere deeper, somewhere Caitlyn will still feel her long after this moment is gone.

Caitlyn exhales shakily. “Thank you, Violet.”

Vi only hums in acknowledgement, calloused fingers still mapping the bruises and the warm places where she’s broken Caitlyn just to remake her again.

She trails lower, gliding through the wet mess between Caitlyn’s thighs.

“Spread.”

Caitlyn obeys without hesitation, pressing her chest flush to the desk, her arms folded beneath her, her cheek against the cool wood. She shifts, spreading her legs wider, baring herself completely.

It’s obscene, how easily she follows orders and presents herself, how naturally she starts to give up control when Vi tells her to, and still, she craves this.

“Such a good girl when you want to be,” Vi rubs lazy circles over Caitlyn’s trembling thighs, smoothing some of the tension out of them before delivering the next directions. “Five. You don’t get to close your legs. If you do, we start over.”

Caitlyn swallows, hard.

Vi doesn’t make her wait.

The first slap makes Caitlyn cry out as it lands square against her dripping cunt. The bursting sting is immediate, sharp, and perfect; pleasure and pain tangled so tightly she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

Her body lurches forward, and her thighs shake for a good couple of seconds as she fights the instinct to close— don’t —but she manages to hold them open. “One.”

Vi hums approvingly, and then the second slap lands.

Caitlyn chokes on a sound, something between a whimper and a moan. The touch is way too rough to make sense in any pleasurable way, but she can’t help the way she’s already dripping down her inner thighs.

“Two,” she breathes, the number nearly breaking on her tongue.

The third slap lands, and Caitlyn moans, the sharp crack of it echoing through the quiet office. Her body tenses, thighs burning with the effort to stay open, to take what Vi gives her. She barely holds.

“Three.”

The fourth hits sharper, low enough that Vi’s fingertips drag against her clit when they slide down, and the sensation rips through her so intensely that instinct overrides obedience. Her thighs snap shut before she even realizes what she’s done, her breath catching in a desperate noise as she tries to chase some kind of relief—from the overwhelming ache, from how sensitive and embarrassingly turned on she is.

The silence that follows is heavy, and then comes that same sound of amused disbelief.

“What did I say, Caitlyn?”

Caitlyn’s pulse thrums wild beneath her skin. She knows she’s made a mistake, knows exactly what this means, and yet she can’t stop the way her body reacts—can’t stop the way her cunt clenches around the warning tone in Vi’s voice.

“I—” she wants to beg, wants to tell Vi it was instinct, that she can take it, that she can be good. But she knows better, and just lets Vi pull her back into place.

“That’s a shame,” Vi murmurs, dragging her fingers up the inside of Caitlyn’s thigh in a slow, almost thoughtful motion. “We were almost done.”

A new slap lands on Caitlyn’s ass with devastating precision, a brutal echo of the earlier punishment—maybe even sharper. It sends her jerking forward, her breath catching in her throat.

She swears she can feel every ridge of Vi’s palm, every callous branding into her skin, imprinting a memory she won’t be able to shake.

Then another.

And another.

The heat builds, blistering over the raw sting Vi painted on her skin before, and she grits her teeth, forcing herself still, forcing herself to bear it, because she can—because she needs to. Her chest presses harder against the desk in an attempt not to squirm, and the cruel contrast of smooth wood against her sensitive nipples sends a shiver racing down her spine.

Vi’s hands follow, kneading the burning flesh, firm and possessive, smoothing over the pain like she’s pressing it deeper, making sure Caitlyn absorbs it completely.

Then, softly—warm breath ghosting against the shell of her ear—“Start over.”

Caitlyn’s throat tightens, her lungs struggling against the pressure, not from pain but from the aching, all-consuming need to do this right. To be good for Vi.

“Yes, Violet,” she whispers, bracing herself.

The next strike lands on Caitlyn’s cunt and in comparison to every other punishment Vi presses against her ass, this suddenly feels more bearable. Still, the number breaks out of her in a desperate, breathless cry.

“One.”

Vi’s palm cracks against Caitlyn’s cunt, the sting layering on top of the previous one. Instinct screams at her to snap her legs shut, to shield herself from the next blow—but she holds, muscles locking with the effort.

“Two,” she gasps, breathless.

Another strike, heavier. Vi doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she lingers, cups the heat of her pussy, fingers pressing between Caitlyn’s folds, against her entrance. Just to feel her fluttering.

Caitlyn’s moan spills out unbidden, long, drawn-out, and when she doesn’t count fast enough, Vi hums, amused.

“And three?”

Caitlyn fights for breath, the desk cool beneath her cheek, the only solid thing grounding her as her body threatens to spiral. “T-Three,” she manages, barely.

Vi pulls away. Cool air licks over Caitlyn’s swollen, sensitive cunt, but the reprieve is fleeting. Another slap lands, sharp, precise, and Caitlyn chokes out—“Four,” the number breaking like glass in her throat, her body shuddering violently under the force of it.

She nearly breaks.

“Last one, sweetheart. Make it pretty for me.”

Caitlyn forces herself up onto her toes, back arching, hips tilting—offering herself up in a way that is wholly obscene, utterly desperate. Not just for the final strike. Not just for the pain, the pleasure, the edge of it all. But for Vi. Always for Vi.

The sharp inhale behind her makes it all worth it.

Vi’s hand comes down, perfectly placed, a searing crack against her cunt. The sound of it alone is devastating. The impact, even more so.

A choked, broken sound rips from her throat, her body locking up, her pulse a frantic, stuttering thing. The pleasure rises too fast, too thick, latching onto the pain until it threatens to consume her whole. For one terrifying, dizzying second, she thinks she might break apart completely—might cum just from this.

But she doesn’t.

Somehow, through sheer will, she holds herself back, clings to the frayed remnants of restraint even as her body screams for release.

“Five,” she whimpers, barely audible.

Vi hums, dragging her fingers up the trembling length of Caitlyn’s thighs, pressing against the slick heat between her legs—just there, just enough to keep her teetering on the edge of madness.

Then, softly expectantly—“Well?”

Caitlyn blinks, dazed, her mind still fogged from the heat curling through her body.

She doesn’t answer.

Vi tsks .

“Caitlyn.” Her voice is gentle, patient—but edged with something that cuts straight through Caitlyn’s haze and makes her breath catch. “Where’s my thank you?”

Oh. Fuck.

She swallows, scrambling to keep up. “I-I’m sorry, thank you, thank y—mmh.”

She doesn’t get to finish.

The next slap lands on her ass without warning, snapping her forward so high her hips dig into the edge of the desk. Another follows, then another—each one measured, unyielding, meant not to break but to teach. To sear the lesson into her skin, into her bones, until it’s instinct. Until it’s obedience.

The heat spreads, bleeding into the unbearable ache between her legs, and she knows, knows this isn’t just punishment for her forgetfulness. It’s for holding back .

“You forgot something else.”

The words land as sharply as the blows. Vi’s voice isn’t angry, never is. Not even disappointed, just laced with the quiet, unshakable truth that Caitlyn should know better. That she does know better.

It takes a second for the meaning to click, her mind still fogged with heat and arousal, but then—oh.

She forgot to address her properly.

“I—” 

Another slap cuts off her excuse. It’s so sharp that Caitlyn forgets what she even wanted to say, her cunt pulsing with the force of it as she whimpers, blinking hard against the sting in her eyes.

“Thank you, Violet,” she whispers.

Vi hums, pleased, but not satisfied.

“I thought you were more fond of rules, Caitlyn.” The words are idle, conversational, but they sink in like a blade. Vi’s fingers trace the slick mess on Caitlyn’s inner thighs before dragging over her cunt. Just lightly. Just enough to tease. “You couldn’t remember the simplest one.”

Caitlyn’s face burns hotter, guilt and arousal knotting tight in her stomach. Silence will only make it worse—she knows that—but the admission drags against her pride like an open wound.

Still, she forces the words out, small and shaky.

“I… I got distracted,” she confesses. “Trying—trying not to—”

Vi waits.

The pause stretches, taut and unbearable, until Caitlyn has no choice but to give her the answer she wants. She squeezes her eyes shut and forces the truth out in a whisper. “Trying not to cum.”

“Over a few slaps to your pretty cunt?” Vi’s tone is mockingly indulgent, but there’s warmth underneath as her fingers ghost over Caitlyn’s slick pussy, as if assessing the veracity of her words.

Caitlyn feels heat crawling up her neck to dust across her cheeks, and doesn’t dare open her eyes now that she’s made aware of how ruinously exposed she is.

She hesitates—considers backtracking—but there’s no point now that she already said it, and especially because Vi can see it. Feel it. Smell it.

Her voice is barely audible.

“… Yes, Violet.”

“Is that so?”

Vi lets a single finger dip between Caitlyn’s folds, presses once, twice against her fluttering entrance—before pushing in.

The moan that spills from Caitlyn’s lips is soft, helpless. Her body betrays her, her hips lifting just a fraction, a wordless plea, but Vi doesn’t reward desperation. She simply waits, the absence of movement more excruciating than any punishment, making Caitlyn hyperaware of just how badly she needs more—needs Vi, in every unbearable, humiliating way.

“You’re squeezing me,” Vi’s voice still has that same casual lilt and that alone makes Caitlyn bite down on a needier moan, trying to school herself into composure, but it’s useless.

Her cunt clenches harder, clinging around Vi’s finger in the most humiliating display of want. She can hear it, slick and obscene, can feel how easily Vi could take more if she wanted, how Caitlyn would take it, without hesitation, without thought.

“You really were going to cum,” Vi curls her finger in slow, merciless increments. “Over me slapping your little pussy raw. Is that right?”

“Yes, Violet,” Caitlyn gasps, her breath coming in uneven bursts.

Vi rewards her honesty by pushing deeper, knuckle kissing against Caitlyn’s sensitive folds, but it’s an afterthought—one finger sliding through the soaked mess of her cunt, designed to keep her simmering right at the edge of agony.

She could ruin me like this, Caitlyn thinks, lightheaded. Not even from pain or pleasure, but the unbearable waiting, the knowledge that Vi is in control of every second, every breath, every maddening ounce of friction Caitlyn isn’t getting.

“What makes you think you deserve to cum?”

Caitlyn’s first instinct is to beg, but she swallows it down. She knows Vi would only make her wait longer, let the desperation steep until her thoughts dissolve into nothing but need, her words turning to whimpers. Vi loves it when she’s like that.

“I-I obeyed your orders,” Caitlyn stammers, grasping for anything that might earn her a shred of mercy. “I stayed still. I didn’t—didn’t cum without permission.”

Vi’s finger curls again, and this time she presses into that perfect spot that makes stars burst behind her eyelids.

“That’s the bare minimum, sweetheart. Hardly impressive.” She rocks her finger back and forth against that same spot a few times, and Caitlyn nearly sobs.

“I-I counted,” Caitlyn blurts, desperate now. “Each time. I counted.”

“Not each time,” Vi corrects, then pulls the finger out.

The absence is instant, devastating. Caitlyn’s body reacts before she can stop it—a broken whimper slipping past her lips, her hips tilting up as if she can chase the loss. Vi tuts, unimpressed.

“I had to remind you.”

“Yes, but—” Caitlyn’s breath catches, and she forces it steady, willing herself to be composed when she is anything but. “I was distracted, but—but I fixed it. I kept counting.”

Vi’s hand comes down hard on Caitlyn’s reddened ass, the sting blooming through already sensitive skin, and Caitlyn has to bite down a whimper, her thighs trembling.

“I should’ve made you count so high you forgot what numbers even were,” Vi mutters, her thumb parting Caitlyn’s slick folds again, circling her clit with a touch so featherlight it’s nearly cruel.

The contrast between that teasing pressure and the lingering burn of her skin is dizzying, and Caitlyn can’t stop herself from pressing back against Vi’s hand, seeking more.

Vi clicks her tongue. “That what you think I mean when I tell you to stay still?”

“I’m sorry, Vi,” Caitlyn whispers, stilling herself instantly.

“ Violet ,” Vi corrects her, voice firm, wrapping around Caitlyn’s throat like a leash.

“Violet,” Caitlyn corrects herself instantly.

A single finger slides back inside, teasing, shallow—nowhere near enough. The frictionless mess between Caitlyn’s thighs offers no resistance, only hunger, her cunt clenching pathetically around the intrusion, desperate for something deeper. But Vi only lingers, keeping her waiting.

“I-I kept my legs spread,” she adds, every word punctuated by a ragged inhale, willing Vi to stay with her, to not pull away again. “Even when it hurt and I wanted to cl—”

She cuts off with a sharp breath as Vi sinks deeper—not a reward, but a reminder. That Caitlyn’s obedience is expected, not something she gets praised for. That everything Caitlyn has to give already belongs to her.

“But you did close them, didn’t you?” Vi’s tone is deceptively sweet, dripping with condescension, a quiet punishment all on its own.

The finger slip free, and the loss is immediate. Blinding. Caitlyn clenches uselessly around nothing, wetness smeared across her thighs.

“I—yes,” she admits, face burning. “I was surprised, I just—”

“Excuses,” Vi cuts her off, her fingers drifting lower, finding Caitlyn’s swollen clit with a touch so light it barely registers. A tap, a stroke, featherlight—mocking. It only makes her ache more.

“I-I corrected it,” Caitlyn insists, the plea slipping through. “I spread again, like you asked.”

“Like you were told,” Vi corrects, pressing harder, just enough friction to set Caitlyn’s nerves ablaze.

“Yes, Violet,” Caitlyn moans softly, arching into the touch before forcing herself still again. She is drowning in want, desperate to be good, to prove herself, to earn more—to deserve it. “Like I was told.”

“So, let’s see.” Vi never stops the lazy, torturous circles over her clit, making Caitlyn struggle to keep from writhing under the touch. “You forgot to count—twice.” She presses down just slightly, as if to emphasize the way Caitlyn’s thighs twitch. “You closed your legs.” Another press, sharper this time. “And there was that little lapse in your manners.”

Caitlyn barely swallows back a whimper. “I-I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

Two fingers sink into her, and the relief is instant, visceral. Caitlyn clenches around them greedily, desperate, her body begging Vi to move, to fuck her, to give her anything. The sound that rips from her throat is raw and broken, something she wouldn’t recognize as hers if she were capable of thought.

“Should’ve what?” Vi’s voice is slow, lazy, unbearably smug, as if she isn’t currently unraveling her with nothing but patience and control.

“Should’ve counted and thanked you properly,” Caitlyn gasps, trying to hold onto coherence, but it’s slipping, slipping, slipping, lost in the heat curling up her spine. Her thighs tremble, her body fighting stillness even as it begs for more. “I-I can do better, Viol—oh, fuck.”

Vi curls her fingers, pressing against that devastating spot, and Caitlyn nearly collapses.

It happens embarrassingly fast. The heat that surges up her spine, the breath that catches in her throat, the moan already spilling from her lips before she even realizes she’s making it. Her body betrays her in an instant, primed to break apart at the seams—until Vi pulls away.

“Please, Violet,” Caitlyn sobs, no longer caring how pathetic she must look, arched over the desk, trembling with every barely-there touch, soaked and shivering from nothing more than Vi’s control.

The silence stretches just long enough for Caitlyn to feel it, to squirm in it, before Vi sighs.

“You’re still just listing what you did wrong,” she says, clicking her tongue. “I asked why you deserve it.”

Caitlyn opens her mouth, but nothing comes. Her mind is a haze, drowning in the weight of Vi’s words, the impossible task of forming a coherent thought when all she knows is want, all her body understands is need. There’s no answer she can summon, nothing she can say that won’t crumble beneath the heat of Vi’s hands.

And then those hands return.

Fingers dragging slow, lazy circles over her, not quite giving, not quite denying. Enough to make her shudder, enough to make her ache.

“So polite with everyone else,” Vi muses, rubbing a calloused thumb over Caitlyn’s entrance, teasing the barest slip of pressure before pulling away again. “What is it about me that makes you forget your manners?”

“You—you make it hard to think,” she admits, shame and arousal blending until they’re indistinguishable.

Vi chuckles, almost fond. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Violet,” she nods, voice breaking on the syllables as Vi presses her whole palm against her cunt, the weight of it sending sharp pulses of sensation through Caitlyn’s oversensitive skin.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, you know that?” Vi murmurs. “So desperate to cum, but barely earning it.”

“I can be good,” she promises, the words spilling from her before she can stop them, voice fragile, pleading. “Please, Violet.”

Vi doesn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, her other hand ghosts over Caitlyn’s skin, tracing the bruises blossoming across her ass, the faintest brush of fingers over welts still radiating heat. Then—pressure. Hard, deliberate. Caitlyn sucks in a breath, knees threatening to buckle, but she holds herself still, trembling in place.

“You know this isn’t about begging,” Vi’s voice is quiet, patient in a way that only makes Caitlyn shake harder. She digs her fingers into tender flesh, pressing until Caitlyn feels the bruises bloom anew, until the pain melts into something richer, something deeper. “You need this, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn knows she should stay silent, should hold still, should wait like a good girl, but the words slip out of her anyway.

“I can make it up to you,” she whispers, desperation staining her voice. “I can—” Her breath hitches as Vi’s fingers ghost down the insides of her thighs, just barely there, a whisper of touch that does nothing to soothe the aching, empty clench of her cunt. “I can please you, Vi. Let you use me to—”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Vi sounds almost amused, like Caitlyn is some adorable, misguided thing. “What makes you think I want to be pleased?”

The slap comes without warning, a sharp, searing crack against the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Heat bursts outward, setting her nerves alight, and she jerks, but she doesn’t dare move away. She just presses harder against the desk, fingers curling, teeth sinking into her lip to hold in the whimper threatening to break free.

Vi tuts, the sound low, like she expected better. “How many times have we done this, Caitlyn?”

Another strike, this time higher, a brutal echo against bruises already blooming, pain layering upon pain until it bleeds into something deeper, something richer, something she craves even as her thighs tremble beneath it.

“How many times have I bent you over, spanked your pretty ass raw, and made you tell me why you need it?”

Vi’s fingers trace the outline of a bruise, pressing down just enough to make Caitlyn’s breath stutter, just enough to remind her that these marks are hers, that even after tonight, when Caitlyn sees them in the mirror, she will remember exactly who put them there.

“A lot,” Caitlyn whispers.

“Then why,” Vi murmurs, another strike landing harder, wrenching a choked sound from Caitlyn’s throat, “do you always fight me on it?”

“I don’t—” The protest barely forms before it breaks, dissolving into a moan that has no grace, no restraint, as Vi’s fingers slide over her clit, slick and teasing, possessive in a way that makes Caitlyn’s head spin. The contrast is devastating—pain still burning beneath her skin, pleasure settling over it like warm silk.

“Always so stubborn,” she muses, pushing two fingers inside, slow and deliberate, watching Caitlyn stretch around her. “Always making me wring it out of you.”

Caitlyn gasps, head dipping forward, the weight of it all—Vi’s touch, her voice, the sting still thrumming through her nerves—dragging her down, pulling her under.

Vi thrusts once, rough and decisive, tearing a shudder from Caitlyn’s lips.

“Better start talking,” she warns.

The next slap is perfectly timed, a sharp crack that lands just as Vi thrusts again, and the collision of pain and pleasure is too much, too sharp, too good, leaving Caitlyn choking on her own breath, body caught between the desperate need to escape and the deeper need to give in.

“Or you’ll be dripping down my fingers all night with nothing to show for it.”

Caitlyn whimpers, her body betraying her, clenching tight around Vi’s fingers, her hips shifting instinctively, seeking more, seeking relief—but Vi hums, a low, knowing sound, and then she’s gone, fingers slipping free, touch retreating entirely.

The emptiness is blinding, unbearable, but before Caitlyn can beg, before she can even form the words, Vi’s hand comes down again, the force of it rippling through her, leaving her breathless, raw, undone.

“Greedy,” Vi chides, her touch ghosting over Caitlyn’s cunt, teasing but never giving, letting the anticipation stretch until Caitlyn is trembling with it. “Still haven’t told me why you deserve it.”

Caitlyn’s mind is slipping, sinking, her thoughts reduced to nothing but the sharp, stinging ache of Vi’s discipline and the unbearable need curling low in her stomach, both sensations feeding into each other, amplifying, consuming. She’s unraveling, piece by piece, every strike, every denied touch peeling her apart until there’s nothing left but want.

“I need—” Her voice is a whisper, thin and desperate, legs threatening to give out beneath her. “I can’t think, Vi—please.”

Vi chuckles. “That’s the point, Caitlyn.”

And then Vi is there again, pressing in, two fingers sinking deep, curling just right—just enough to have Caitlyn keening, breath hitching, body sagging in relief.

“You don’t get to worry about this, or plan, or control. You’re mine to handle.”

The words punch straight through Caitlyn, something inside her folding without resistance. 

“Yes—yes, I am,” she gasps, the confession slipping out before she even thinks to hold it back—not that she would ever.

She tries to push into Vi’s hand, desperate for more, but Vi’s grip tightens, nails digging into her hips, holding her in place, forcing her to stay still even as every fiber of her being begs to move, to chase, to take.

“You’re still trying so damn hard,” Vi drawls, her voice threading through the thick haze of Caitlyn’s arousal—half a taunt, half a warning. “Trying to please me instead of just letting me break you apart.”

Caitlyn swallows down the instinct to argue, but Vi is already crowding in, pressing closer, stealing the thought before it forms.

“You don’t have to do anything except be mine.”

The words land with the same precision of the next perfect thrust. Caitlyn’s body gives before her mind does, her knees nearly buckling.

Caitlyn is caught in the unbearable space between restraint and ruin, where sensation eclipses thought, where her body is no longer hers but Vi’s to claim, to shape, to wreck as she pleases.

Vi is everywhere—the press of her body, the heat of her hands, the quiet, measured way she watches as Caitlyn unravels for her.

And all at once, the desk beneath her feels like an altar, her trembling frame an offering.

“I’m yours, Violet,” Caitlyn gasps, the words slipping out unbidden—a confession, a vow, a surrender.

Vi rewards her with another slow, indulgent thrust, making her feel every inch of it, knuckles dragging slick against Caitlyn’s swollen folds before sinking deep, curling just right. The stretch sears through her, a perfect, intoxicating ache, but it’s the sound that undoes her—the slick, obscene slide of Vi’s fingers, the proof of how far she’s fallen, how soaked, how open. It’s mortifying. It’s addictive. Her mouth parts, but no sound comes, her breath caught somewhere between the desk and Vi’s control.

“You think I don’t see it, but you’re always running around for everyone else,” her teeth dragging over Caitlyn’s shoulder, a slow, possessive scrape. “Taking care of everything, carrying everything…”

The tip of her thumb finds Caitlyn’s clit, featherlight, teasing, cruel in its restraint. It doesn’t give her relief—it just makes her want to scream.

“Who takes care of you, Cait?”

The answer rips straight out of her, torn from someplace deeper than thought. “You do.”

Vi makes a pleased sound, stills thrusting her fingers, still rubbing Caitlyn’s clit, grinding her down to nothing but sensation. Nothing but the breathless, mindless need to be filled, to be claimed, to be hers.

“Will you let me?” Vi asks, and it’s softer this time—not a command, but a request. A thread of something deeper, something quiet, curling beneath the filth.

Something about that makes Caitlyn ache more than anything. “Yes, Violet.”

The weight of it makes something inside her come undone.

Vi hums in satisfaction, a rumble of approval that lingers warmly against Caitlyn’s skin. Her fingers draw back, slipping almost all the way out before sinking back in, just slow enough to remind Caitlyn of the stretch, the fullness, the claim. 

It’s not enough. It’s maddening in its tenderness, in the way it makes the ache worse, spreading through her limbs like a slow-burning fever. She trembles, caught between the instinct to push back, to beg for more, and the overwhelming certainty that this isn’t hers to take. Vi will give her what she wants—when she’s earned it.

“Do you trust me to know what you need?” The question slides beneath Caitlyn’s skin, presses against the raw wound of her control, peeling it back, layer by layer.

Caitlyn gasps, her legs shaking, the answer leaving her in a breathless exhale. “Yes, Violet.”

The words bind her tighter than any restraint ever could.

Vi smirks, rolling her hips into the hand fucking Caitlyn open, letting her knuckles grind deliberately against her. The drag is torturous, designed to keep Caitlyn suspended in that cruel space between pleasure and devastation.

“I decide how and when you get to cum around my fingers.”

“Yes—fuck—”

Caitlyn barely hears herself, barely feels anything but the electric thrum of Vi pressing into her as she’s trembling apart against the desk because Vi doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t let her chase it. Her fingers keep the same excruciating rhythm, slipping deep, pausing at the peak of each thrust just to graze her clit—fleeting, teasing, never enough.

“That’s better,” Vi murmurs, leaning in to nip at Caitlyn’s shoulder, scraping teeth over the swell of muscle just to feel her shiver. “You sound so sweet when you’re not thinking. Just making those little noises like you don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

Caitlyn really doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s lost in it, lost in Vi, the weight of her hand on her waist keeping her in place, keeping her still—keeping her from chasing what she wants.

It’s a warning and a promise all at once.

“What are you thinking about now?” Vi’s voice is a low rasp, the sound of it curling under Caitlyn’s skin, burrowing deep. Her fingers crook just right—just enough to graze that devastating spot inside, the one that robs Caitlyn of air, of sense, of anything but raw, clawing need.

“N-nothing,” Caitlyn stammers, eyes squeezed shut as her whole body trembles. “Nothing, Violet. Just you.”

“That’s my girl,” Vi murmurs, her fingers pressing deep enough to make Caitlyn feel every inch of the stretch, every impossible inch she can’t get enough of. “You’re learning.”

The words settle in Caitlyn’s chest like a brand, sinking deep, searing through every tightly wound inch of her. The weight of Vi’s approval alone keeps her standing on legs that should’ve given out minutes ago. She clenches around Vi’s fingers, desperate, aching, the need in her unbearable now, pressing against the edges of her skin, threatening to spill over.

“Gonna make sure that by the time we’re done there’s nothing left on your mind but my hands on you,” Vi breathes, her words winding into Caitlyn’s bones, seeping into the deepest, most unguarded parts of her. “My voice in your head.”

Caitlyn barely has time to process the promise before Vi shifts, before her fingers push deeper, harder—before the pace finally, finally picks up. Wet, obscene sounds spill into the space between them, amplifying the raw hunger scraping its way up Caitlyn’s spine.

“Fuck, you hear that?” Vi’s thrusts turn rougher, sharper, forcing Caitlyn up onto her toes with every push. “So fucking messy.”

“I—” Vi’s fingers curl again, and Caitlyn chokes on the words, on the pleasure, on Vi. Her thoughts splinter apart, unraveling into something shapeless, something helpless. “Yes—yes, Violet, please—”

“Please, what?” Vi drawls, and Caitlyn can hear the smirk in her voice. “Please fuck you harder? Please split you open like you need?”

“Anything,” Caitlyn sobs, barely holding herself up, barely holding herself together. “Fuck, whatever you want. I’ll take it, I promise.”

Vi’s laughter is low and filthy. “You’re finally starting to deserve it.”

The words barely register before Vi pushes a third finger inside her, stretching her open, filling her past the point of reason. Caitlyn keens, her body bowing, nerves pulled so tight they might snap. It’s too much and not enough, overwhelming and insatiable, making her shake apart in Vi’s hands.

“That’s it,” Vi coos, her free hand smoothing over Caitlyn’s ass, over the lingering heat from earlier. “That’s what you needed, huh? To be so full you can’t think about anything else.”

Caitlyn can’t speak, can’t even try. She buries her face against her arm, biting down to stop herself from unraveling too fast, from breaking before Vi lets her. She’s soaked—she can feel it, feel the wetness dripping down Vi’s hand, slicking her knuckles, making every thrust louder, filthier.

“All that tension, all that control,” Vi drags her lips over Caitlyn’s sweat-slick shoulder, breathing her in, “melting right out of you.”

Then she shifts, and the world tilts with her—one strong hand gripping Caitlyn’s thigh, lifting, bending her open until she’s draped over the desk. The new angle is obscene, and it stretches her impossibly wide, deep, so fucking deep. Vi groans at the way Caitlyn tightens around her fingers, the greedy, desperate way her body begs without words.

There is no space for thought anymore, no room for anything but the wet, filthy sounds filling the air, the relentless pressure driving into her, stripping her down to raw, nerve-burning sensation. Caitlyn drowns in it, in Vi, in the ruthless pleasure she is being reduced to.

Vi watches, drinking it all in. The twitch of Caitlyn’s muscles, the frantic, broken gasps. The way her fingers dig into the desk like an anchor, keeping her body upright as she fights not to fall face first against the wood, like something solid can ground her when everything else inside her is liquefying.

Her grip tightens on Caitlyn’s thigh, possessive, bruising, pressing her open as she sinks deeper—fingers spreading just enough to wrench a sob from Caitlyn’s throat.

“You like this, don’t you?” Vi’s voice is a hushed rasp, a blade dragging down Caitlyn’s spine, slicing through the last fraying strands of resistance. “Being my good girl.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” The word tumbles out of her in a gasp, half-choked, half-begged. “Yes, Vi, yes, I—”

Vi chuckles, and the sound winds tight around Caitlyn’s ribs, constricting, suffocating in the best way. “Yeah, you do.”

She fucks into her harder, drinking in the way Caitlyn arches, the way she writhes under her, so fucking helpless, so fucking pretty like this.

“And you’re gonna ask me to cum, aren’t you?” Vi’s words curl around Caitlyn’s thoughts, slithering into the places she keeps locked away, the parts of her that never see the light of day. “Gonna be so sweet and polite, just like you should be. Just for me.”

Caitlyn sways, dizzy, untethered, barely able to hold onto thought beyond the way Vi’s fingers fuck into her, steady, ruthless. She’s unraveling, slipping into something deep and bottomless, and Vi is there, gripping the edge of her ribs, holding her open to fall.

“Violet,” her trembling voice is barely a whisper. “Can I—?” Her fingers dig into the desk, some small, fragile part of her still clinging to Vi and to the desperate, all-consuming need to be good. “Am I—allowed?”

Vi groans, low and guttural, feeling Caitlyn clench tight around her fingers, so close, so fucking close.

“Fuck,” Vi breathes, and Caitlyn clenches, body answering before thought can catch up, the need writhing through her so consuming it borders on agony.

Vi’s fingers curl deep, and Caitlyn makes a noise that isn’t quite a sob, isn’t quite a moan, but something shattered wide open.

“So fucking obedient,” Vi grits out. “So fucking mine.”

The words sink into Caitlyn’s spine, into her gut, threading through muscle and bone and heat, and she can’t stop trembling, can’t stop shaking apart around Vi’s fingers, beyond sense, beyond thought, beyond anything but this.

“I am—” The words barely scrape past Caitlyn’s lips, raw and fragile, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she’s surrendering. “I am yours—please, please—”

Vi makes a quiet, indulgent sound, and the hand holding Caitlyn open slides away—only to land a teasing slap on her ass. Barely anything, a touch more than a pat, but even in this obscene position, with her leg hooked over the desk, Caitlyn tilts her hips up instinctively, offering herself without thought.

There’s a chuckle, and Vi’s hand comes down harder, a sharp sting that has Caitlyn jolting. Her breath catches before melting into a groan as Vi soothes over the abused skin with slow, deliberate fingers, kneading the tender flesh, spreading her open.

“Needy girl,” Vi groans, spreading her fingers ever so slightly as she fucks into Caitlyn. “So desperate to be handled, I bet you’d take my whole fist if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”

The words flood Caitlyn’s veins with molten heat, and she answers without hesitation, without thought. “Yes,” she gasps, the admission tumbling free. It’s instinctual, stripped of pretense—just the truth. She would. She’d take anything Vi gave her, let her carve pleasure and pain into Caitlyn’s bones until there was nothing left but obedience.

Vi fucking moans.

For the first time, she falters, the rhythm of her fingers stuttering inside Caitlyn’s cunt like she’s reeling, like she’s trying to process what just came out of her mouth.

“Fuck,” Vi growls, the curse rough, almost pained as her free hand digs new bruises on Caitlyn’s thigh. “You’re serious.”

Caitlyn keeps whimpering, the pleasure breaking her mind beyond reason as she pushes back against Vi’s hand, desperate, lost to it. “I’d take anything you want,” she sobs, and Vi groans, dropping her head against Caitlyn’s back, her breath ragged, panting, burning hot against sweat-slick skin. “Fuck, anything you want, anything, anyt—”

“Fuck, Caitlyn,” Vi breathes, voice shaking. Then, without warning, she sinks her teeth into Caitlyn’s shoulder, biting down hard as she fucks into her harder, rougher.

The bite sends Caitlyn spiraling, pleasure crackling through her like a live wire, a visceral, overwhelming rush that makes her whole body seize up as Vi fucks her like she’s trying to push her straight through the desk. She can feel herself clenching around Vi’s fingers, soaking her palm, dripping down her wrist, making a fucking mess before even cumming.

“Violet—” The name tumbles from Caitlyn’s lips in a breathless, desperate plea, or maybe it only echoes inside her skull—she doesn’t know, doesn’t care, doesn’t have the capacity for anything but this.

Caitlyn keens when Vi curls her fingers just right, her whole body hypersensitive, overstimulated, fucked. The pleasure is unbearable, burning white-hot behind her ribs, crackling through her veins, threatening to consume her entirely.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

Caitlyn nods, frantically, helplessly. “Yes,” she sobs, barely able to form the word, “please, fuck, I’m—”

“Cum for me, Caitlyn.”

It hits her like a thunderclap, shattering through her so violently that she forgets how to breathe as she presses her chest flush against the desk again. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out—just a sharp, silent cry as her body seizes, clenching around Vi’s fingers so tightly she can’t think, can’t see, can’t exist beyond the unbearable, perfect pleasure consuming her.

It’s too much, too big , and suddenly she’s gushing. The obscene sound of wet, desperate pleasure filling the office, soaking Vi’s hand, her forearm, the desk, the floor beneath them—fucking everywhere.

She whimpers something incoherent, mindless, her fingers scrabbling at the desk for something to hold onto because everything in her is either raw or trembling.

Mine, the marks say.

Mine, the bruises whisper.

Mine, Vi tells her again, pressing a kiss to the nape of Caitlyn’s neck, soft and possessive.

Vi slows her movements but doesn’t pull out, her fingers still buried deep as Caitlyn’s walls flutter helplessly around them, aftershocks rippling through her.

“Shh, easy,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the bite mark on Caitlyn’s shoulder, soothing it with her tongue.

Caitlyn twitches beneath her, whimpering, her body ruined—shaking, drenched in sweat, spent past reason. She doesn’t even have the strength to lift her head from the desk, cheek still pressed against the cool wood, eyes fluttering, dazed and unfocused.

Vi watches, hunger burning beneath the lazy smirk curling her lips.

“Fuck, look at you.” It’s almost awed, though there’s nothing delicate in the way her eyes rake over Caitlyn—one leg still splayed over the desk, her skin slick with sweat, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The bruise on her shoulder has already begun to bloom, deep and dark, the imprint of Vi’s teeth branding her like a signature.

Slowly, deliberately, Vi drags her fingers out with a wet, obscene slide that makes Caitlyn shudder through the aftershocks. The slickness drips down Vi’s knuckles, catching the dim office light as she studies the mess with a low, thoughtful hum.

“Made a fucking mess, huh?”

Caitlyn barely manages a breathless, sated smile, her muscles still trembling, her body still singing with pleasure that hasn’t yet settled into exhaustion. She glances back at Vi, half-lidded, dazed, every nerve alive and raw.

Vi lifts her hand to her mouth, eyes locked onto Caitlyn’s as she licks the evidence away, slow and deliberate, tongue flicking between her fingers to catch every drop.

“You taste fucking perfect.”

The sight alone makes Caitlyn shiver. She tries to move, but Vi’s grip tightens around her thigh—firm, possessive, keeping her spread open as if she isn’t finished, as if Caitlyn hasn’t already given her everything.

Heat flares up Caitlyn’s neck, blooming deep in her chest as Vi sinks to her knees behind her, face leveled with Caitlyn’s cunt—red and swollen, pulsing, ruined.

“V-Violet,” her own voice betrays her, shaking, somewhere between spent and desperate, a plea tangled with panic as Vi presses a kiss to the back of her thigh, tongue flicking out to lap up the mess Caitlyn left behind.

“Don’t tell me you can’t take it,” Vi licks higher, mouth hovering just shy of where Caitlyn is throbbing for her, a hand still keeping her helplessly spread. “You just told me you’d take anything.”

The words coil tight around her, binding her in place by her own admission. She shudders, her nerves ablaze as Vi’s breath ghosts against oversensitive skin, so close Caitlyn swears she can already feel her.

She nods—obedient, helpless.

“Good girl.”

The first press of Vi’s tongue is a shock to Caitlyn’s system, sending her careening into overstimulation so intense it borders on pain. She flinches, hips jerking forward in instinctive retreat, but Vi’s grip is ironclad—unyielding, possessive—pinning her in place as she licks into her, lapping up the mess she made.

Caitlyn sobs, fingers scrambling uselessly against the desk, seeking purchase in a world that is rapidly slipping away from her. Every nerve in her body is a live wire, overstimulation blurring the lines between pleasure and pain, her mind untethered, floating somewhere between surrender and desperation.

Vi groans against her, the sound sending vibrations straight through Caitlyn’s core as she drags her lips over swollen folds. The taste of Caitlyn floods her senses—thick, heady, salt and sweetness mingling in something intoxicating, something Vi never wants to stop drinking in.

She licks deeper, tongue delving into Caitlyn with an obscene moan, her nails biting into Caitlyn’s trembling thighs as she keeps her exactly where she wants her.

It makes Caitlyn unravel way too fast, her pleasure spiraling out of control.

“Gonna give me one more, baby?” Vi rasps, and presses a slow, claiming kiss against Caitlyn’s throbbing cunt, tongue flicking through the wetness. “Just one?”

Caitlyn shudders, a broken sound catching in her throat as she instinctively tries to shy away from the overwhelming pleasure, but there’s nowhere to go.

“I’ll swallow your mess this time.” The words are a promise laced with demand, and Caitlyn whimpers, resolve crumbling as the pleasure surges higher, unbearable in its intensity. Vi’s mouth is merciless, tongue working her with precision, relentless and devastating. “You can let go, baby.”

“Vi—fuck, Vi,” Caitlyn chokes out, muscles seizing, every sensation heightened to the point of madness.

Vi’s grip tightens, nails pressing into sweat-damp skin, and then she seals her lips around Caitlyn’s clit and sucks—hard, unforgiving.

Caitlyn breaks with a cry, her whole body lurching as pleasure crashes over her in violent, uncontrollable waves. She bucks, hips moving of their own accord, but Vi just groans into her, tongue plunging deep to claim every last pulse of Caitlyn’s release, drinking her down like she’s starving for it.

Her legs give out, and Vi is right there to catch her—strong hands gripping, holding, steadying as she licks her through the aftershocks, slow and filthy. Caitlyn is weightless, boneless, trembling with every shuddering breath, her mind a shattered haze of nothing but Vi, Vi, Vi.

When Vi finally pulls away, her lips are wet, chin shining, her mouth curled in something satisfied, something almost smug. She hums, running her tongue over her lower lip as if savoring the last remnants of Caitlyn’s cum.

“Tasted even better the second time.”

Caitlyn barely registers the words, her body still trembling, muscles useless as she slumps against the desk. Vi rises, her hands sliding possessively over Caitlyn’s thighs, warm palms grounding her as she eases her back onto unsteady legs, supporting her weight like it’s second nature.

“There you go,” Vi murmurs, nosing into Caitlyn’s damp hair, arms looped tightly around her waist. “My good girl. Took it so fucking well.”

The praise sinks deep, a slow bloom of warmth unfurling in Caitlyn’s chest, curling around the aching, exhausted satisfaction in her bones. There’s something visceral about the way Vi says it— my good girl —a claim, a promise, something weightless Caitlyn hadn’t realized she wanted to carry until Vi offered it to her.

She melts in Vi’s arms, utterly ruined, utterly grateful.

The world swims at the edges of her vision, a blissful haze blurring everything but the sharp edges of pleasure still thrumming low in her stomach. The only things that feel real are the hard press of the desk digging into her hips, the lingering tremors in her thighs, and the firm, steady warmth of Vi behind her.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” Vi’s voice is softer now, hands tracing light, absentminded paths over Caitlyn’s skin—hips, ribs, the curve of her back. Like she’s memorizing every inch of her.

Caitlyn parts her lips, but nothing comes out. Her throat is raw from all the begging and moaning, her breath shallow, so she simply exhales a weak, contented noise and lets herself fall back into Vi’s hold.

Vi chuckles, low and affectionate. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Her hands drift lower, brushing over the marks she left—welts blooming red and angry across Caitlyn’s thighs and ass, a heat that promises to linger long after the moment is over. Vi presses, just enough to remind Caitlyn they’re there, just enough to make her shiver.

“Think you’ll remember this one?” Vi teases, voice warm and low.

A lazy, exhausted smile curls Caitlyn’s lips. “I won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“Good,” Vi purrs, satisfaction dripping from the single word. She leans in, nosing into the damp skin at Caitlyn’s nape, pressing a lingering kiss just below her ear.

Vi’s hands don’t stop moving, tracing, soothing, grounding. Caitlyn barely notices the way her breathing evens out, the adrenaline fading, her body slowly relaxing into Vi’s touch.

“C’mon,” Vi says, something softer now in the rasp of her voice. “Let’s get comfortable for a second.”

Before Caitlyn can process the words, Vi scoops her up—strong arms banding around her waist as if she weighs nothing. Caitlyn lets out a startled gasp, but she’s too exhausted to protest, body going pliant and boneless in Vi’s hold.

“Show off,” she mutters, the tease lacking any real bite.

Vi’s smirk is audible, a smug little hum against Caitlyn’s temple.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” and already moving toward the desk chair. It’s big and plush, an indulgence Caitlyn rarely spares herself but one Vi had insisted on the first time she’d noticed Caitlyn rubbing at her back after a long day. Now, Vi sinks down over the towel they had draped over it, hands steady as she pulls Caitlyn onto her lap, guiding her thighs over Vi’s, adjusting her until she’s perched just right.

Caitlyn flinches when the swollen heat of her ass brushes against Vi’s pants, and Vi’s hands are there in an instant, warm palms sliding beneath her thighs, shifting her weight just enough to ease the discomfort.

“Easy,” Vi soothes, rubbing slow circles into Caitlyn’s trembling legs. “I’ve got you.”

The words settle deep, a quiet reassurance curling into the exhausted space inside Caitlyn’s chest. She exhales, forehead pressing to Vi’s shoulder, the tension in her muscles unraveling bit by bit. Vi is warm beneath her, solid. The rise and fall of her breathing is steady, grounding, and when her fingers find Caitlyn’s hair, combing through the tangled strands in slow, deliberate motions, Caitlyn sinks further into her.

It’s a familiar, practiced touch—one that’s smoothed over the worst of Caitlyn’s nights, after too many hours spent chasing the ghosts in her head. It works now just as well as ever.

Caitlyn breathes out, a shaky sigh that loosens her ribs. “You weren’t kidding,” she murmurs, lips brushing Vi’s collarbone. “I feel you everywhere.”

“Good,” she says, tracing a thumb over Caitlyn’s cheek. “Gotta make sure you think of me every time you sit your ass down.”

Caitlyn huffs out a laugh, weak but genuine, something warm flickering through the exhaustion. “Always so generous.”

She shifts closer, hands sliding up to Vi’s shoulders, resting there. The reality of it all settles in slowly—what she’s just done, what she’s given. The obedience, the trust. Letting go so completely, falling apart just so Vi could put her back together again.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Vi murmurs, reading her so easily, always so damn good at seeing right through her.

Caitlyn’s grip tightens, fingers curling against the solid muscle of Vi’s shoulders. “It was…” She hesitates, searching for the right word. “Intense.”

Vi nods, not a trace of judgment or impatience. “Yeah. It was.” She strokes a reassuring hand up Caitlyn’s back. “I’m proud of you, Caitlyn.”

The praise sinks deep, settling in the hollow space where her composure used to be—where now, there’s only an imprint, the perfect shape of Vi against her.

“It felt good,” Caitlyn admits.

Vi brushes a kiss to her forehead, lips soft against damp skin. “Did you feel safe?” she asks, simple and direct.

“Yes,” Caitlyn answers without hesitation. “Completely.”

“That’s all I need to hear.” Vi grins, fingers still tracing lazy patterns over Caitlyn’s bare skin.

She shifts slightly in the chair, getting comfortable, and the movement presses Caitlyn just a little closer—enough for Caitlyn to feel the solid warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

“You’re never gonna be able to walk into this office again without thinking about this,” Vi muses, voice thick with amusement.

Caitlyn huffs a tired laugh against Vi’s shoulder, though the slow curl of heat in her stomach tells her Vi is absolutely right. The desk a few steps away, the chair she’s curled up in, the floor where she’d made a fucking mess of herself—there’s no part of this room that Vi hasn’t claimed now, no corner that won’t whisper filthy, aching reminders every time Caitlyn steps inside.

Vi grins at Caitlyn’s silence, clearly reading the truth in it.

“You’re gonna squirm in your fancy chair,” Vi goes on, teasing, “and everyone’s gonna wonder what’s got you all flustered. But only you and I will know, won’t we?”

Caitlyn lifts her head just enough to glare, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the pink still dusting her cheeks, the dazed exhaustion softening her expression. “You are insufferable,” she mutters, voice hoarse.

Vi grins, leaning in to steal a kiss—slow and lazy, something indulgent after the ruin they’ve left in their wake. “You love it,” she murmurs against Caitlyn’s lips, teasing but certain.

Caitlyn exhales, something warm and fond settling deep in her chest. She does. She loves Vi’s arrogance, her endless teasing, the way she can strip Caitlyn down to nothing and still leave her feeling whole. She loves the way Vi always puts her back together afterward, strong hands steadying her, warm lips pressing soft reassurances into her skin.

“I do,” Caitlyn admits, voice quieter now, more certain. Her fingers slide up, curling at the nape of Vi’s neck, holding her close. “And you love me.”

Vi’s expression shifts, the teasing glint in her eyes softening into something more intimate, more real. “Yeah,” she says simply, pressing a lingering kiss to Caitlyn’s lips. “I do.”

Caitlyn hums, small and content, and sinks deeper into Vi’s embrace. She’ll have to move eventually—clean up, get dressed, make some half-hearted attempt to regain composure before leaving this office—but for now, she stays where she is. Wrapped in Vi’s arms, her body aching in the best way, her world reduced to nothing but the steady thrum of Vi’s heartbeat beneath her ear.