The air had turned thick, almost liquid with heat. Every breath tasted of salt, sex, and the faint iron tang of the marks they'd left on each other.
Robin was still astride him, impaled to the hilt, but Minato had gone predator-still beneath her.
The only thing moving was his cock inside her: slow, deliberate pulses that dragged against her swollen walls like a warning.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
His hands clamped around her hips, fingers sinking so deep into flesh she knew she'd wear ten perfect bruises tomorrow.
Then he lifted her, agonizingly slowly, until only the flared crown of him stretched her entrance. Held her there. Suspended. Empty.
Her cunt fluttered helplessly around nothing, slick dripping down his shaft in obscene, glistening strings.
Robin whimpered, a broken, desperate sound.
"Minato—"
"Shh." One word, low and lethal. His eyes were black in the starlight, pupils blown so wide the blue was only a thin ring of storm. "You don't move until I let you. You don't come until I let you. You breathe because I allow it. Understand?"
She nodded frantically, tears of pure need gathering at the corners of her eyes. Her thighs trembled, muscles screaming from the effort of holding herself open, exposed, dripping, denied.
He lowered her a single inch. The stretch burned. She sobbed, trying to sink down, take more, take all of him, but his grip turned iron.
"No." The word cracked like a whip.
"Feel that? Feel how empty you are without me?" He flexed his hips, nudging just the head in and out, in and out, shallow, cruel thrusts that teased her entrance and never filled her.
"That ache is mine. I put it there. I decide when it ends."
Robin's entire body shook. Her clit throbbed in time with her heartbeat, swollen and untouched, begging.
Every tiny shift dragged the slick head of his cock across her g-spot for a heartbeat before ripping the pleasure away again. She was leaking everywhere: down his shaft, over his balls, pooling beneath them on the cushion in a dark, shameful stain.
"Please," she whispered, voice shredded. "Please, I'll do anything. Anything you want. Just fuck me. Fill me. I need—"
He slammed her down in one brutal stroke.
The scream that tore from her throat was raw, animal, echoing into the night. He bottomed out so hard the head of his cock kissed her cervix, pain and pleasure detonating in white-hot bursts behind her eyes.
She came instantly, violently, cunt spasming around him in vicious, milking pulses. Her vision whited out, back bowing so hard her spine cracked.
Minato didn't let her ride it out gently.
He yanked her up again, almost off him completely, then slammed her back down.
Again. Again. A merciless rhythm that used her body like a toy, her weight driving him deeper with every drop.
The wet slap of her ass against his thighs was filthy, loud, relentless. Each impact forced another broken cry from her lungs, another gush of slick that soaked them both.
"Look at you," he snarled, voice ragged with restraint. "Crying on my cock. Coming apart the second I give you what you're begging for. You're so fucking greedy, Robin. So fucking mine."
She couldn't answer. Could only sob and moan and claw at his shoulders as he fucked up into her, hips pistoning, the daybed groaning beneath the assault. Her breasts bounced wildly, nipples scraping the night air, aching for his mouth.
He gave it to them.
Mouth latching onto one stiff peak, teeth clamping down hard enough to bruise, tongue flicking the trapped bud until she screamed again.
The pain shot straight to her clit and detonated another orgasm, smaller but sharper, ripping through her overstimulated body like glass.
He still didn't come.
He flipped them without pulling out, pinning her beneath him in one savage motion. Her legs were forced up and over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half, opening her so completely she felt split apart.
The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper, the head of his cock dragging over her front wall with every thrust until she saw stars.
"Feel that?" he growled against her ear, hips snapping forward with punishing force. "That spot that makes you shake? It belongs to me now. Every time you touch yourself for the rest of your life, you'll remember my cock right here, ruining you for anyone else."
Robin could only wail, nails raking bloody furrows down his back. Her voice was gone, reduced to hoarse, desperate noises as he pounded into her, the thick drag of him in and out, the obscene squelch of her soaked cunt, the slap of his heavy balls against her ass. She was drowning in it, in him.
He slowed suddenly, cruelly, to deep, grinding rolls of his hips that stirred her insides without giving her the friction she needed. She sobbed in frustration, trying to buck up, but he pinned her thighs wide and immobile.
"Not yet," he rasped, sweat dripping from his brow onto her swollen lips.
She licked it off instinctively, tasting salt and raw want. "I want you right here. Right on the edge. Where every heartbeat feels like it's in your clit. Where you can feel every vein on my cock dragging inside you."
He leaned down, mouth brushing hers, sharing breath. "Tell me," he whispered, voice trembling with the effort of holding back. "Tell me what you are."
"Yours," she choked out, tears streaming. "Your slut, your queen, your everything. Please, Minato, I can't—"
He kissed her then, slow and deep and filthy, swallowing the rest of her plea. And when he pulled back, his eyes were wild.
"Then come," he commanded.
"Come now. Scream my name so loud the fucking stars hear it."
He slammed into her with everything he had.
Robin shattered.
The orgasm tore her apart, violent and endless, her cunt clamping down so hard he roared, hips stuttering as he finally let go.
Heat flooded her in thick, pulsing jets, marking her from the inside out while she convulsed beneath him, voice breaking on his name again and again.
When it passed, they were both shaking, slick with sweat and each other, trembling in the wreckage.
Minato didn't pull out.
He collapsed over her, crushing her into the cushions, face buried in her neck, breathing her in like oxygen. His cock twitched inside her, still half-hard, already stirring again.
Against her skin, he whispered, voice raw and reverent:
"We're nowhere near finished, Robin."
The night air had thickened into something palpable, a velvet shroud laced with the primal musk of their bodies—sweat-slicked skin mingling with the sharp, briny tang of arousal, the faint metallic bite of blood from where teeth had claimed too fiercely.
Every inhale flooded Robin's lungs with him: the ozone crackle of his chakra lingering like storm clouds, the earthy cedar of his essence, the raw, animal heat rising from where they joined.
Her skin burned everywhere he touched, a thousand pinpricks of fire where his fingers bruised her hips, her thighs, her soul.
The stars above blurred into streaks of silver fire, her vision swimming from the overload—the wet slap of flesh on flesh echoing in her ears like thunder, the creak of the daybed straining under their weight, the ragged symphony of her own gasps and his guttural growls.
Minato loomed over her, a god carved from shadow and sinew, his golden hair matted with sweat, framing a face twisted in feral command.
His body was a weapon: broad shoulders eclipsing the sky, abs flexing like coiled steel with every deliberate thrust, veins bulging along his forearms as he pinned her wrists above her head in one unyielding hand.
He was everywhere—inside her, around her, consuming her. The thick, unyielding girth of him stretched her to the brink, every vein dragging against her fluttering walls with excruciating detail, pulsing with his heartbeat, forcing her body to yield, to mold, to break.
"Look at me," he commanded, voice a low, seismic rumble that vibrated through her chest, her core, her bones. It wasn't a request; it was law, etched in the iron grip that held her captive.
Robin's eyes snapped to his, wide and glassy, pupils blown to black voids swimming in tears of ecstasy and agony.
The power imbalance was absolute—he, the unchallenged conqueror, she, the willing sacrifice on his altar.
"You exist for this," he snarled, punctuating each word with a slow, punishing grind of his hips that stirred her insides, scraping every nerve until sparks detonated behind her eyelids.
"For me. To take what I give. To beg for my mercy."
Robin's world narrowed to overload: the crush of his weight pressing her into the cushions, the damp fabric clinging to her back like a second skin soaked in their combined fluids; the burn of her wrists chafing against his hold, raw and throbbing; the obscene squelch of her cunt as he withdrew almost completely, leaving her clenching on emptiness, dripping slick in thick, hot rivulets down her thighs, pooling beneath her ass in a shameful puddle that cooled against her fevered flesh.
The scent of her own desperation filled her nostrils, heady and humiliating, amplified by the night breeze whispering across her exposed nipples—peaked and hypersensitive, every gust like sandpaper on silk.
"Please… Master," she whimpered, the title slipping from her lips unbidden, heightening the chasm between them.
She was nothing without his permission—her breaths shallow and ragged, dictated by the rhythm he set; her moans a symphony he conducted.
The word "Master" hung in the air, electric, fueling his dominance like oil on fire. Minato's eyes darkened to abyssal depths, a predatory smile curling his lips as he slammed back in, the impact jarring her entire frame, her breasts heaving wildly, nipples scraping his chest hair in exquisite torment.
"Again," he demanded, releasing her wrists only to clamp one hand around her throat—not squeezing, but owning, fingers pressing just enough to make her pulse thunder against his palm, her vision spotting with stars that mirrored the sky.
The control was visceral, intoxicating; he could end her with a flex, and that knowledge made her wetter, her body betraying her with fresh gushes of arousal coating his cock.
"Call me what I am. Your god. Your owner. The one who decides if you breathe, if you come, if you live."
"Master!" she cried out, voice cracking into a sob as he thrust deeper, harder, the head of him battering her cervix with brutal precision.
Sensory chaos reigned: the salt of tears streaking her cheeks, mixing with the sweat she licked from her lips; the metallic tang of blood where she'd bitten her tongue to stifle screams; the velvet heat of his skin sliding against hers, friction building to a burn; the overwhelming fullness that made her abdomen ache, every inch of him claiming territory no one else would ever touch.
Her clit throbbed untouched, swollen and begging, each grind of his pubic bone against it sending lightning forks through her veins, coiling the tension tighter, tighter, until she teetered on madness.
He leaned down, breath scalding her ear, teeth grazing the lobe before biting hard enough to draw a bead of blood that trickled warm and sticky down her neck. "Good girl," he purred, the praise a velvet blade, slicing through her resistance.
But then he slowed—cruelly, deliberately—to languid rolls that teased without satisfying.
his free hand trailing fire down her body: pinching a nipple until she arched and wailed, nails raking her ribs, fingers dipping into the slick mess between them to circle her clit with feather-light touches that promised everything and delivered nothing.
"But good girls don't come without permission. Beg for it. Prove you're mine—body, mind, every fucking breath."
Robin's mind fractured under the assault: the roar of blood in her ears drowning out the world; the kaleidoscope of sensations—pain, pleasure, possession—blending into a vortex that consumed her.
"Please, Master… I beg you," she gasped, hips bucking futilely against his iron hold, her voice a fractured whisper laced with devotion.
"Own me. Break me. Let me come for you… only for you. I'm nothing without your command." Tears streamed freely now, hot and salty, as her body trembled on the precipice, every muscle taut, every sense screaming for release.
Minato's laugh was dark thunder, vibrating through her where they connected. He tightened his hand on her throat, stars exploding in her vision, her lungs burning for air he controlled.
"Then shatter," he ordered, slamming into her with renewed fury—thrusts so deep, so savage, they rearranged her insides, the wet, rhythmic pounding echoing like war drums. His fingers finally pressed hard on her clit, rubbing in vicious circles that ignited the inferno.
The orgasm hit like a cataclysm: white-hot, all-consuming, ripping screams from her throat as her cunt convulsed around him in iron grips, milking him with desperate pulses.
Waves crashed through her—vision tunneling to black, ears ringing with her own cries, skin aflame where he touched, the metallic flood of release overwhelming her senses until she was lost, drowning in him.
He followed with a roar that shook the night, flooding her with scorching heat, marking her eternally. But even as they collapsed, his grip never loosened— a reminder that his dominion was endless, her submission absolute.
And in the haze of overload, Robin whispered, reverent and broken: "Thank you, Master."
The stars watched on, indifferent to the power that bound them forever.
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