having fun with Ana

"You know this isn't a joke, right?" Ana gasped against my neck, her nails digging stinging furrows into my back as I pressed her against the wall. The scent of her cheap perfume mingled with sweat and that damp aroma emanating from between her thighs ever since I found her in the hallway of my house—lost, disoriented, and *perfectly* ****.

The second floor pushed her so hard that her breasts slammed against my chest. She should have run. She should have screamed when I slid my hand under her torn dress and found her soaked panties. But her eyes only blinked slowly, glazed over, as my fingers slid beneath the wet elastic.

"It's... normal," Ana murmured, answering a question I hadn't asked. Her hips moved forward, seeking pressure.

I chuckled as my nails scratched the inside of her thigh. **"Normal for whom, kitten?"** "For the little bitch who's going to moan in my room?"**

When the elevator doors opened, I dragged Ana by her hair through the darkness. She stumbled, her high heels clinking unevenly on the stained carpet, but she didn't resist. They never resisted. My power envelops her mind like a dense fog, making every command of mine as natural as breathing.

The room smelled of cigarettes and old sex. I threw Ana onto the unmade bed and she fell back, her legs automatically spreading—a conditioned reflex after only thirty minutes under my control. Her dress rode up, revealing the transparent pink panties clinging to her swollen lips.

**"Take them off."** The order came like a crack of a whip.

Ana obeyed with trembling movements, pulling the panties down to her ankles and kicking them away. Her breathing quickened as I knelt between her legs and wrapped her wrists with the leather strap I grabbed from the bedside table. "No... you don't need to tie me up," she murmured, even as her fingers writhed in the restraints, seeking contact.

**"Lies."** I bit her soft thigh, leaving a purplish mark that would remind her of me for days. **"You love being used."**

When I thrust two fingers in without warning,Ana arched like a wounded animal, a hoarse moan escaping her throat. Her body was already so open, so *ready*, that my fingers slid inside without resistance. The bed creaked beneath our bodies as I fucked her with brutal movements, watching her face contort in provoked ecstasy.

"Please—," she begged, moving her hips in uncoordinated contractions.

**"Please, what?"** I slowed cruelly, my fingers exiting to the tips before thrusting in again forcefully. **"Speak."**

"Please, I use you!" The cry came out shrill, almost childlike. Clara shook her head, her blonde hair sticking to her sweaty face. "Please— I'm just a slut, please—!"

I smiled, satisfied, and slipped my fingers into her knuckles. Her body tensed violently, a hot jet running down my hand as she had an orgasm *without being touched*—just from the shame, the humiliation, my power making her brain believe she was that: an empty doll.

When I finally released her, Ana fell onto the bed like a marionette with its strings cut, her empty eyes fixed on the stained ceiling. I lay down beside her.