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It’s your friend Sofia who convinces you to come along.
“Wrestling?” you say, scrunching up your nose in distaste, because that doesn’t sound like something you’d be into.
“Not wrestling,” she says. “Wrestlers.” She smiles at you. “Big difference.”
But you’re still not so sure. “Come on,” she tells you, “Why do you think I keep going back every week? Those guys are…” She exhales, shaking her head, slightly wide-eyed, and okay, that gets you interested, because right now you really could use something low-commitment with someone hot.
“Maybe,” you say, fully aware you’re going to let yourself be talked into it.
And, of course, you are, and now you’re in some room backstage at Full Sail with Sofia and a bunch of other girls, and so far you don’t know what to think because there’s something weirdly competitive about the atmosphere in here.
“When do the guys show up?” you ask, starting to feel restless.
“Patience,” Sofia tells you, and all at once a hushed silence falls over the whole group.
You turn, curious to see what or who has them so enthralled, and jesus, you think, having to consciously stifle a gasp at the sight of the man standing in the doorway. Startlingly tall, with dark, dampened hair and even darker eyes, all tattoos and muscles that are barely covered by the sleeveless t-shirt he’s wearing, a deep v cut in the front to expose his chest.
“That’s Damian,” Sofia murmurs in your ear.
Damian, your mind echoes, as he scans the room with a practised gaze, looking over every girl, coolly assessing, and, to your shock, it’s you his eyes alight on.
“You’re new,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. He smiles at you, so voracious it makes you shiver. “I like new.”
“Hi,” you say, unsure if this is what you’re supposed to do, taking a step towards him anyway. “I’m…”
“Yeah, I don’t care,” he interrupts, cutting you off abruptly. “You.” He points at you, and then three other girls. “And you, you… and you.”
They each quickly separate themselves from the rest of the group, walking after him as he turns and leaves, but you hesitate.
“Go on,” Sofia whispers, nudging you forward, and so you follow along, a sinking, twisting feeling in the pit of your stomach, because you have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for, but somehow you’re already certain that you won’t be able to resist.
He leads the four of you to what seems to be some kind of outdoor seating area, saying, carelessly, “Stay here,” and then he’s gone.
You sit down with the other girls, and they don’t speak to you, all taking out their phones, as if this is just how things go, like they’re accustomed to waiting around for him.
Time passes, and you start to second-guess yourself, wondering if maybe you’re making a huge mistake, but Sofia drove you here and you don’t have enough money to get yourself home.
“How long will he be?” you ask the others. None of them answer, but one glances up from her phone for just long enough to give you a sneering, withering look and you shrink back down in your seat, ashamed.
And you hear him before you see him, shirtless and practically growling in anger, a camera crew trailing in his wake. You can only assume whatever he’s been doing didn’t go as planned, watching in alarm as he rants at the camera, words spitting like fire from his lips, talking of how he’s going to live forever. He slams his fists against the nearest wall, and you startle, fear running through you, but there’s an edge to it, something electrifying in seeing a display of such raw, uncontrolled rage.
“Let’s go,” he orders impatiently as the camera backs off, and the four of you jump to your feet.
You end up in some kind of backstage dressing room, and it’s not big, but what space there is is dominated by a huge, wide couch.
Damian’s still muttering to himself, shaking his head, and you’re not sure what to do. “Are… are you okay?” you ask, timidly, immediately regretting even speaking because he’s straight up in your face, looming over you, eyes almost glowing, as if incandescent with rage.
“Do I look okay, new girl?” he snaps and you shake your head mutely, lowering your eyes. "Because I’m not,“ he grits out, "and what makes me even less okay is when stupid little girls ask me stupid questions.”
“Sorry,” you mutter, and you hear him let out an impatient sigh.
“Why are you even here?” he asks, voice calmer now but no less deadly, and he’s stalking around you, circling you like he’s a wolf on the hunt, looking you up and down. He stands behind you, and you can feel heat emanating off him; lust and power and desire and suddenly you’re afraid of what you might do.
“I…” You stop, because you don’t know what to say.
“You think you can handle this?” he says.
“Yes,” you lie, because you don’t even know what this is, and he laughs.
“No, you can’t.” He’s pressed up against your back now, arms around you, pinning your own arms to your sides. His body is hot, still damp with sweat, and you can feel how strong he is, how easy it is for him to restrain you. “But I can teach you.” He licks your ear, nips at it. “I can break you, make you learn for me.”
You’re trembling now, his hands sliding up your body, over your breasts in a firm caress that makes you moan quietly. “Yeah,” he murmurs, the word practically rumbling in his throat, but then he raises his head. “Get out,” he says to the other girls, and you see them hesitate. “Now,” he orders, in a tone that allows no room for disobedience and they hurry to leave, closing the door behind them.
“Just you and me, sweet thing,” he says, one hand on your throat now, and you swallow, feeling the hint of pressure in his touch. “You like that?” he asks, his fingers and thumb slowly tightening either side of your throat, merely limiting your air at first, but he doesn’t stop, not until you really, truly can’t breathe. Panic rises inside you, and your first instinct is to want to struggle against it, but there’s something inside you that won’t let you, something powerful enough to override your natural reaction. Because you need this, you suddenly understand; to give in, to surrender yourself to this man, body and soul, and so you allow yourself to weaken into his arms.
He makes a satisfied noise, as if you’ve pleased him, and then releases his hold on you, breath flooding back into your body like euphoria, sweet as a high. The feeling rushes through you, seeming to pool between your legs and you’re so turned on by it you can’t even think.
He throws you face first down on the couch, kneeling over you, roughly pulling off your clothes, manhandling you in every sense of the word. You hear fabric tearing as he rips away your panties, and when you’re naked, he drags your hips up, nudging the backs of your thighs until you get your knees under you, head still down so your ass is raised high.
You hear the soft clink of him unbuckling his belt, the slide of it being pulled out of the loops of his pants, and you let out a whine, assuming he’s going to hit you with it, but instead he trails the dangling edge of it across your ass, the leather smooth on your skin You flinch at the touch of it, gentle when you were bracing yourself for harsh, and he laughs, yanking your arms up behind your back.
Your face is pushed into the couch, forcing you to turn your head to the side to be able to breathe, and he grips your wrists, holding them with ease in just one hand, using the other to wind the belt around, binding you, fastening the buckle tight.
“Don’t you look pretty like this, angel,” he croons, and there’s the sound of him unzipping, the feel of his cock as he teases the tip of it through your wet folds.
“And just so you know,” he says, casually, like it’s nothing, “I’m going to come in you.”
You feel like you might cry, and not because you want him to stop, but because you’re going to let him do this to you, and you want it. So bad, so so bad, and you can’t help the choked-up little sob that escapes past your lips.
“I told you,” he says. “You need to learn. Like it or not, you’re going to learn and the first lesson is that you trust me.”
You feel him lining himself up against you, his cock sliding into you, and he’s big, but your body opens up to take him in in a way you didn’t know you were capable of, thick and full inside you, and you can hear him breathing. “So good,” he murmurs. “So tight for me.”
He starts to fuck you, holding on to your hips, pulling you back into him with every thrust, and it shouldn’t be different, but it is, knowing there’s nothing between you, that you’re giving yourself to him in every way.
You feel him shifting behind you, moving you enough that he can get one foot on the floor, extra leverage so he can go even harder, deeper, holding on to the belt tied around your wrists, wrenching your shoulders back, and you don’t know how long it goes on but you don’t want it to ever stop.
He grunts when he comes, exhaling as he releases himself inside you, and maybe you’re just too far gone but you swear you can feel it, as if you’ve been marked by him, claimed somehow.
He pulls out, dragging you upright into a sitting position, your ass right on the edge of the couch as you sprawl backwards, helpless, and he kneels between your legs, spreading them so wide you feel the burn in your inner thighs.
“You didn’t come, did you?”
You shake your head slightly, not wanting to look at him.
“You need to come,” he tells you, shoving his fingers inside you so hard that you gasp; two, then three, fucking in and out. He pulls you forward, one arm around your lower back, supporting you, and kisses you, tongue licking into your mouth, hot and forceful.
Your body spasms, right on the edge of it as he presses the knuckle of his thumb into your clit. “Come for me, angel,” he whispers, then, louder, “Now.” And you don’t need anything more than his permission, your orgasm his, shuddering through you as he holds you tight, fingers working you all the way through it.
You can barely catch your breath, aftershocks pulsing over you like sparks dancing on your skin, and he doesn’t let you go. “You’re mine, now,” he says. “All mine, to do whatever I want with.” He kisses your forehead, softly, the tenderness of it almost startling. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” you say, hearing your own voice as if from far away, but knowing that it’s true.
He unbuckles the belt, releasing your hands, and you fall into him, letting him lift you into his lap as he moves up to sit on the couch.
You rest your head on his chest, feeling as if the rest of the world no longer exists, that there’s nothing but him, and this.
“Can you come again?” he asks, after a minute.
And your heart is instantly racing. “No,” you say. “I don’t know, I…”
“It’s okay,” he tells you, but there’s nothing reassuring in his tone. “I’m going to make you.”
And you whimper as he touches you, but he doesn’t stop.