Chapter 2: Domada
The silence after Galder slammed the burnt pan into the sink vibrated long after the crash faded. Tati remained frozen against the counter, the cold edge biting into her back, her skin prickling with the phantom heat of Sebastian’s breath and the lingering, shameful dampness between her thighs. Sebastian just smirked, the mask of indifference slipping back into place so easily it was terrifying.
"Smells like shit," he grunted, nodding at the ruined lentils before turning his back and lumbering towards his room. Galder stared at her, his face a mixture of confusion, worry, and a dawning, sickening suspicion. "Tati? What happened?"
"Nothing," she whispered, the word scraping her throat raw. "He... he was just being disgusting. Again." She couldn't meet his eyes. The truth – the terrifying, humiliating truth of her body’s traitorous response – was unspeakable. She pushed past him, fleeing to the bathroom, locking the door, and turning the shower on full blast to drown out the sound of her own ragged sobs and the phantom echo of Sebastian’s filthy words. The water scalded her skin, but couldn't wash away the feel of his gaze or the slick heat between her legs.
Sleep was impossible. She lay rigid beside Galder, hyper-aware of every creak in the old building, every distant car horn, every imagined heavy footfall. Sebastian’s room was silent, but his presence felt like a suffocating blanket. Galder, exhausted from his shift, eventually slept, his arm thrown protectively over her waist. It felt like a cage. Her mind replayed the scene in the kitchen on a loop: the vulgar descriptions, the invasion of space, the ruthless focus, and underneath it all, that shocking, undeniable throb of arousal. Self-loathing curdled her stomach. Why? The question was a scream against the inside of her skull. How could her body react like that to him? To his grease-stench, his cruel eyes, his soul-deep ugliness? It felt like a profound betrayal of herself.
The next day crawled by. Galder left early. Tati moved through the cramped apartment like a ghost, jumping at every sound. She tried to focus on job applications, but the words blurred. The shared spaces felt mined. Every trip to the kitchen or bathroom was a calculated risk. The air itself seemed thick with the memory of yesterday’s violation.
It was too early for him. Again. The key rattled in the lock just past mid-afternoon. Tati, caught midway between the bedroom and the small living area, froze. She wore only a thin, faded grey tank top and denim shorts – her usual at-home wear, suddenly feeling impossibly flimsy. The heat was oppressive, the small fan doing little but stir the stale air. Sweat prickled the back of her neck.
Sebastian shoved the door open, his bulk filling the frame. The familiar stench of engine oil, stale tobacco, and male sweat rolled in with him. His small, dark eyes swept the room instantly, locking onto her. They didn't linger on the peeling wallpaper or the cheap furniture. They went straight to her, stripping her bare in an instant. A slow, knowing grin spread across his rough features as he dropped his keys on the small table by the door with a heavy clatter.
"Well, well," he rasped, his voice low and thick. "Look at you." He took a deliberate step forward, then another, his boots heavy on the worn linoleum. His gaze raked her body – the curve of her hips in the shorts, the long line of her legs, the way the thin cotton of the tank top clung slightly to her damp skin. It settled, hard and possessive, on her chest. "Fuck me sideways. Still got those fucking perfect tits on display, huh? Getting the place ready for me?"
Tati's breath hitched. She wanted to run, to scream, to cover herself. But her feet were rooted to the spot. And under that predatory gaze, under the sheer, overwhelming force of his focus, she felt it happen. A swift, involuntary contraction deep in her core. Heat flared. And beneath the thin fabric of her tank top, her nipples hardened into tight, aching points, pushing visibly against the worn cotton. She felt them stiffen, a traitorous flag signaling her unwanted arousal. Her cheeks burned with shame.
Sebastian saw it. Of course he saw it. His grin widened, turning feral. "Look at that," he breathed, taking another step closer, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed. "Little points poking right out. Fucking begging for attention, aren't they?" He was barely an arm's length away now, his presence a physical wall. "Telling me exactly what you need, putita."
Panic surged, sharp and cold. "Don't—" Tati started, her voice thin and unconvincing.
He didn't let her finish. He moved like a striking snake. One thick, grease-darkened hand shot out, not to touch her breasts, but to fist roughly in the fabric of her tank top at her waist. With a brutal yank, he hauled her forward off-balance, spinning her and slamming her back against the wall beside the bedroom door. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Plaster dust drifted down. Before she could cry out, his other hand joined the first, grabbing the hem of her top and wrenching it upwards, bunching the fabric under her armpits, exposing her completely from the waist up.
Her large, full breasts spilled free, the sudden cool air on her sweat-slicked skin making her gasp. Her stiff, dark nipples stood out starkly, impossibly hard and sensitive. She was pinned, her arms trapped awkwardly by her sides in the twisted fabric. She couldn’t move.
Sebastian let out a low, guttural sound of pure hunger. "Fucking hell," he growled, his hot, tobacco-tainted breath washing over her skin as he leaned in. "Just look at these fucking melons. Made for sucking." He didn't hesitate. He didn't ask. His head dipped, his mouth closing wetly, greedily, over her left nipple.
A shocked cry escaped Tati's lips. It wasn't pain, not exactly. It was a jolt of pure, electric sensation that lanced straight from her nipple down to the molten core of her. His mouth was hot, shockingly hot, and wet. His tongue, thick and rough, rasped against the hypersensitive peak, circling it, then pressing flat against the areola before sucking hard.
"Oh god," she whimpered, the sound torn from her. Her head thudded back against the wall. Every nerve ending in her breast screamed. It was crude, possessive, utterly degrading. His stubble scraped the tender skin around her breast. She could feel the suction deep inside, a pull that echoed in her clit. The humiliation was scorching – trapped against the wall, half-naked, her breast in this vile man's mouth. But the arousal... the arousal was a wildfire, fanned impossibly higher by the sheer dominance of the act, by the raw, animalistic claim he was staking.
He sucked hard, drawing the nipple deep into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh lightly, teasingly. A moan vibrated against her skin, sending fresh shockwaves through her. His free hand came up, calloused fingers roughly kneading the weight of her other breast, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching and rolling the unattended nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The dual assault was overwhelming. Pleasure, sharp and intense, tangled violently with revulsion. Her cunt clenched hard, flooding with wetness that soaked the crotch of her shorts. She could feel it, the slick heat, a blatant betrayal. Her hips gave an involuntary jerk forward, seeking friction against nothing but air.
Sebastian released her left nipple with a wet, obscene pop. A thin string of saliva connected his lower lip to the glistening, swollen peak. He chuckled, a low, dark rumble in his chest. His eyes, heavy-lidded with lust, locked onto hers. "See? Knew you wanted it, you dirty little cocktease." He immediately latched onto her right breast, sucking the stiff nipple deep, his tongue working roughly against it, swirling and pressing. His other hand continued its brutal massage of her left breast, the kneading almost painful, yet it sent streaks of electric pleasure straight to her groin.
Tati panted, her eyes wide, pupils dilated. Her hands, finally free as her top stayed bunched under her arms, fluttered uselessly by her sides. Part of her screamed to shove him away, to claw at his face. The larger part was paralyzed by the sensory overload, by the shockingly intense sensations radiating from her breasts to her throbbing core. The wet sounds of his mouth working on her flesh filled the air, mingling with her ragged breaths. His tongue flicked rapidly over the tip of her nipple, then sucked it hard again, pulling a ragged gasp from her throat. His teeth scraped over the sensitive peak, sending a jolt of near-pain that somehow intensified the pleasure coiling tight in her belly. She could smell the grime on his clothes, the stale sweat, the oil, and beneath it, the raw, musky scent of his own arousal. It should have repulsed her. Instead, it seemed to feed the dark fire inside her.
He switched breasts again, lavishing the same rough, sucking attention on the left one he’d neglected for a moment. His hand moved from her breast down her trembling flank, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist, then sliding lower, gripping her ass through the thin denim of her shorts, squeezing hard, pulling her pelvis roughly against the hard bulge straining against the front of his work pants. The thick ridge of his erection pressed against her lower belly, a blatant, demanding threat.
"Fuck, you're soaked, aren't you?" he growled against her damp skin, his words muffled by her flesh. He sucked harder, making her cry out. "Feel that little cunt pulsing through these shorts. Bet you're dripping for it. Bet it's all you've thought about since yesterday, you desperate slut."
The vulgar truth of his words sent a fresh wave of shame and intense, undeniable heat through her. Her body was screaming yes, yes, even as her mind recoiled. Her hips pushed forward again, grinding instinctively against the hard length of him, seeking the pressure her throbbing clit desperately craved. She could feel the damp spot on her shorts growing, undeniable proof of her degradation. A low moan, helpless and utterly aroused, escaped her lips as he bit down gently on her nipple, the sharp edge of pain a perfect counterpoint to the relentless suction.
He lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes burning into hers with dark triumph. He kept one hand firmly kneading her breast, the other clamped on her ass, holding her pelvis pinned against his erection. His breath came in harsh rasps. "That's it, princess," he sneered, his voice thick with lust and victory. "Let it out. Show Daddy how much you love him sucking on these fat fucking tits."
He dipped his head again, but this time his mouth went lower, licking a hot, wet trail down the swell of her breast towards the valley between them. His tongue felt like a brand. Tati’s vision blurred. The world narrowed to the sensation of his mouth, his hands, the hard wall at her back, and the pulsing, molten ache between her legs. She was lost in it, swept away on a dark tide of sensation she couldn't control. Her fingers tangled in his short, greasy hair, not to push him away, but holding on, anchoring herself as he devoured her. The knowledge of what was coming – his cock, hard and demanding against her belly – was terrifying and electrifying. She was poised on the edge, utterly corrupted, waiting for the fall.