My Mouth Before 18

I sat quietly in Adrian’s car, the engine humming low beneath us.

My hands were folded in my lap, clutching the edges of my coat like it could shield me from the tension thickening the air between us. Beneath the fabric, my skin was already flushed.

Red lace pressed tight against my body—a set Cleo had picked out with way too much enthusiasm.

“Red?” she’d grinned in Victoria’s Secret, holding up the barely-there two-piece like she was choosing armor. “You’re basically gift-wrapping your pussy for him. Mystery Daddy’s gonna lose his mind.”

“I hate you,” I’d muttered, even as I let her toss it into our shopping bag.

Now, 24 hours later, that same lace kissed my thighs with every tiny shift. Adrian hadn’t spoken since I stepped into the car, but his hand was tight on the steering wheel, jaw sharp, eyes flicking toward me like he could see through the coat.

Maybe he could.

When he parked, he got out first and opened my door. Always a gentleman. Always a storm beneath the surface.

“Would you like something to drink?” His voice was smooth, low.

“No, thank you.” I shook my head, stepping out onto the gravel driveway.

He nodded, his hand finding the small of my back as he guided me toward the house.

His estate stood like something out of a modern gothic dream—stone and glass, moody and cold and somehow alive. Inside, it was quiet. Too quiet. My pulse throbbed in my ears.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, the pads of his fingers brushing against my spine.

“Fine,” I whispered, my voice thinner than I meant.

He turned to me in the hallway, tilting my chin up with two fingers. “You’re allowed to say ‘nervous’.”

I swallowed. “Maybe a little.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “That’s okay.”

He led me down the stairs slowly, deliberately, each step echoing through the silence like a countdown. My bare feet hit the marble, cool and smooth, the contrast to my burning skin making me shiver. The hallway was dim, but the moment he opened that door, everything inside me tightened.

The red room.

“Kneel.” His voice cut through the space like a blade. “Coat off.”

Obeying instantly, the coat slipped from my shoulders, pooling at my feet like silk.

I sank to my knees in the center of the room, naked beneath except for the deep wine-red lingerie he’d told me to wear. My body was tense, trembling, needy.

The air kissed every inch of exposed skin, but it was his gaze that made me burn.

Adrian circled me slowly, silently, a storm coiled in human form. Every step he took made my breath hitch. His eyes roamed me like a man memorizing his most prized possession.

“You look fucking perfect in that,” he murmured, his fingers sliding under the thin strap of my bra. “But you know what I really want to see, don’t you, princess?”

“Yes, sir,” I breathed.

I unclasped my bra with one flick, letting it fall away, baring my breasts completely. My nipples pebbled instantly under his stare—his eyes were heat and fire and promise.

He didn’t speak. Just dragged a finger slowly, so slowly, down the center of my chest, across my belly, and down my spine. I shivered like it was cold—but it wasn’t.

It was him. It was too much.

“Good girl,” he growled low in his throat. “On your hands, arch that back. Let me see what’s mine.”

I obeyed without hesitation, lifting my hips, spreading my thighs, presenting myself for him—exactly how he’d want me to.

He walked to the wall, fingers trailing over the implements hanging there like tools of worship.

Adrian selected a flogger—long leather tails, soft at the ends but punishing in motion. He tested the weight with a flick of his wrist, then turned to me with a look that made my core clench.

“You’ll count for me, Sophie,” he said, voice sharp and commanding. “And you will thank me.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

The first strike landed across my ass—crack—a burst of sting that made me jerk.

“One,” I gasped, breath catching. “Thank you, sir.”

The second strike followed, and I counted again, thanked again, my voice steady despite the pain.

Adrian continued, the whip landing in a rhythmic pattern, each strike leaving a red mark on my skin. Each strike hotter than the last, each one dragging a moan from my throat.

My arousal dripped down my leg, and I didn’t care. All that mattered was his voice. His pace. His approval.

By the sixth strike, I was whining between numbers, tears pricking the corners of my eyes from the mix of pain and desperate slick heat flooding my body.

“Eight,” I finally cried. “Thank you, sir.”

Then he stopped, the silence felt deafening. My ass throbbed, flushed and red. I trembled, my breath ragged.

Adrian dropped the flogger and the leather tails hit the floor with a soft thud.

He knelt behind me, and I felt the heat of his body before I felt his fingers. They slid between my thighs, gathering my wetness like proof of how much I loved it.

“You took that so fucking well,” he murmured, voice thick with pride and lust. “Look at this pretty pussy. She’s crying too.”

He pushed his fingers deeper, curling them, dragging the wetness up to circle my clit before dipping back down again—pure filth. My breath broke on a moan, my body jerking from the oversensitivity and the hunger bleeding together like fire.

“You took every strike like a good little slut,” he said as he dragged his fingers over the red welts he’d painted on my ass.

I whimpered at the contrast—rough marks and soft fingertips, heat and cool breath. Then his mouth followed, kissing the marks he’d left, tongue flicking over the tender skin with a reverence that only made it dirtier.

But he wasn’t done.

Adrian stood and walked to the wall. I stayed still, chest heaving, watching him from the corner of my eye as he selected something else—long, thick, and gleaming with lube.

A dildo. Mounted on a handle. My eyes widened, heart hammering.

“This is going to fuck you until you can’t take anymore,” he warned, his voice a low growl.

I gasped as he stepped behind me, one hand gripping my hip, the other lining the toy up at my entrance. “Ready, princess?” he growled.

Before I could answer, he pushed forward—slow and unforgiving. My mouth fell open as I stretched around it, the fullness making my thighs quake.

It was too much. It was perfect.

He didn’t give me time to adjust. Adrian began to move the toy in and out, slow at first, then faster, driving it into me with sharp, relentless thrusts. I braced myself against the surface, moaning openly now as the pleasure overwhelmed every nerve.

“You feel that?” he rasped. “Feel how deep this is going? It’s stretching you open for me.”

My hips bucked, my body helplessly chasing the rhythm, grinding back into every thrust. My mind was fogged with lust, pain and pleasure colliding in white-hot waves.

“Please…” I gasped, barely coherent. “Please, I’m—”

He reached forward, one hand slipping around my throat, pulling my body back against his chest.

“Not yet,” he hissed. “You’ll come when I own every part of it.”

Then his hand slid down again, fingers finding my clit and pressing hard, fast, in tight circles that made me see stars.

“Now,” he growled. “Now you can come for me, Sophie.”

My body obeyed, the orgasm crashing over me like a wave. I cried out, my body convulsing as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

But Adrian kept fucking me with the toy, dragging me into another climax before the first had even finished. My legs trembled violently.

I was crying. Moaning. Begging.

He watched me like a man possessed, eyes glued to the way my body spasmed, how my pussy clenched the toy desperately.

“You’re going to come again, princess,” he snarled. “And again. Until your body quits on you.”

And it did.

A final orgasm ripped through me, brutal and shaking. My limbs collapsed, my face pressing into the surface, body limp. I was sobbing with the aftershock, skin slick with sweat, inner thighs soaked.

He pulled the toy from me, and I whimpered at the emptiness, the ache.

“You did so well,” he said, kneeling beside me. His hand cupped my cheek. “Such a fucking perfect little thing.”

My vision blurred, and I felt myself falling into darkness.

The last thing I heard was Adrian’s voice, “Good girl.”

I woke up in his bed, my body aching in the best way possible. I looked over to see Adrian sitting in a chair, watching me with a satisfied smile, like I was something rare. Dangerous. His.

“You passed out,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But you were so fucking good.”

I smiled weakly, every inch of me still thrumming and my body still tingling from the night’s activities.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice soft and Adrian chuckled, his eyes dark with desire.

“No, thank you, Sophie,” he replied, his voice a low growl. “For being such a perfect sub.”