I spotted him at the bar—tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy who thinks his jawline and gym-bro confidence make him untouchable. He bought me a drink without asking. Mistake number one.
I let him talk for twenty minutes about his crypto portfolio and how he “crushes souls in the boardroom.” I smiled, twirled a strand of my rainbow hair around my finger, let the dark roots catch the neon light so he’d notice I’m not some pastel princess. My olive skin glowed under the purple strobe; the scatter of rainbow freckles across my collarbones and cleavage looked like someone spilled glitter on sin itself. Thin waist, soft hips, small tits that still manage to spill out of every cropped top I own—he couldn’t stop staring.
I leaned in close enough that he smelled the vanilla-berry of my lip gloss and whispered, “You look like you’ve never cried for a girl before.”
His laugh was nervous. Cute.
I didn’t ask for his name. Names are for people I plan to remember tomorrow.
Back at my place the door hadn’t even clicked shut before I had him on his knees. Shirt ripped open, belt yanked free, wrists pinned behind his back with my black silk tie. He tried to kiss me. I slapped his cheek—not hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to make his cock jump in his jeans.
“Strip,” I said. “Slowly. I want to watch you realize what’s about to happen.”
He obeyed. They always do when the tone drops low enough.
Naked, he was prettier than I expected—thick thighs, heavy cock already leaking, chest rising fast. I circled him like a shark, dragging my short black nails down his spine. When I reached his ass I squeezed, hard.
“You ever had anything in here, big boy?”
He shook his head. Eyes wide. Already glassy.
I laughed, low and mean. “Good. First time’s always the sweetest.”
I pushed him face-down onto my bed, knees spread, ass up. The harness was already laid out—my favorite eight-inch black silicone, ridged, curved just right to bully his prostate into submission. I lubed it slow, letting him hear every wet stroke while he trembled.
“Beg,” I told him.
“Please—”
“Louder. And use my name.”
“Please, Sparkle… fuck me.”
I pressed the tip against him, not pushing in yet. Just teasing the rim until he whimpered.
“Say it like you mean it. Tell me you want to be my little crying bitch tonight.”
He choked on the words. “I want… I want to be your little crying bitch, Sparkle. Please.”
That’s when I sank in—one long, merciless slide.
He gasped, then sobbed—sharp, broken, beautiful. His back arched; his fists clenched the sheets. I didn’t give him time to adjust. I fucked him deep and steady, hips snapping, watching the way his hole stretched around the girth, the way his cock drooled helplessly onto the comforter.
“Look at you,” I purred, leaning over him so my rainbow hair curtained around his tear-streaked face. “Big strong man, crying on my cock like a virgin. Does it hurt?”
“Y-yes—”
“Good.” I slammed in harder. “It’s supposed to. Cry louder. I want the neighbors to know exactly what kind of slut you turned into the second you walked through my door.”
He did. He sobbed my name, begged me to slow down, then begged me not to stop. His whole body shook—muscles jumping, thighs quivering, tears soaking the pillow. Every thrust punched a new sound out of him: gasps, whines, broken little “please please please”s.
I reached around and stroked his cock once—slow, cruel. He bucked, almost came. I squeezed the base hard enough to make him yelp.
“Not yet. You don’t come until I’ve wrung every last tear out of you.”
I fucked him faster, meaner, grinding against his prostate until his sobs turned into full-body shudders. His cock throbbed in the air, untouched now, dripping strings of pre-cum. I leaned down, licked a tear off his cheek, then bit his earlobe.
“Come for me, bitch. Show me how much you love being ruined.”
He broke.
A strangled cry ripped out of him as he came—untouched—ropes of cum splattering the sheets, his whole body convulsing around my strap like it was trying to pull me deeper. I kept thrusting through it, drawing it out until he was whimpering, oversensitive, begging me to stop while his hips still twitched backward for more.
When I finally pulled out he collapsed, trembling, ass red and gaping slightly, tears still leaking from the corners of his eyes.
I unbuckled the harness, tossed it aside, then straddled his back—still slick with lube and sweat—and ground my soaked pussy against his spine while I smoked a cigarette.
“You’re welcome,” I said, exhaling smoke over his shoulder. “Now get the fuck out before I decide I want round two.”
He dressed on shaking legs. Didn’t meet my eyes. Just whispered “thank you” like a prayer.
I watched him stumble out the door, still crying quietly.
Another one added to the collection.
Next.