Dylan Garcia

“Hands behind your back, Luna.”

Charles’s voice was steady, commanding, his grip on me unrelenting. The live chat was already a storm of commands, insults, and praise. My knees ached on the carpet, but the sting was nothing compared to the burn of anticipation coiling in my stomach.

I obeyed, clasping my wrists together behind me, chest bare, cock flushed and heavy.

“Good.” Charles positioned himself behind me, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades, so I bent forward onto my elbows, ass raised high. The angle was humiliating, exposing.

The chat went wild.

That ass tho 🔥

Spank them, Daddy!

Make them scream

Charles chuckled, deep and rich, sending shivers through me. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll get your wish.”

His palm landed on me with a sharp crack. My body jolted, a gasp tearing out of my throat. The sting bloomed instantly, followed by a flood of heat that pooled lower, shame and arousal crashing together.

“Count,” Charles ordered.

“O-one, Sir!”

Another strike. Louder.

“Two, Sir!”

Each slap echoed in the room, amplified by the mic, my cries overlapping with the flood of chat messages. My skin burned, my cock leaking onto the carpet.

By the tenth, I was trembling, my voice breaking. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, not from pain, but from how utterly small, helpless, and wanted I felt.

Charles’s hand rested gently on the reddened flesh, rubbing soothing circles. “Good slut. But you’re not done yet.”

He shifted, his hand wrapping around my cock suddenly, tightly. My body bucked forward.

“Ah—Daddy!”

“Shhh. You’ll speak when I tell you.” He stroked me slowly, torturously, his grip just shy of what I craved. “You’ve been dripping all over my floor. Pathetic little slut can’t control himself, can he?”

“N-no, Sir.” My voice was raw, desperate.

The strokes quickened, then stopped abruptly.

“Please!” I cried out before I could stop myself.

The chat lost its mind.

MAKE THEM BEG

EDGINGGGGG

Don’t let them cum, Daddy!

Charles’s grin was audible. “Beg then. Beg properly.”

My dignity crumbled. I ground into the carpet, rutting like an animal, my cock throbbing and aching. “Please, Daddy, please let me cum! I’ll be good! I’ll do anything! Just—please—”

He let go completely, the loss so sharp I almost sobbed. “Not tonight, Luna. You haven’t earned it.”

I collapsed against the carpet, trembling, humiliated beyond repair—yet my body screamed with want.

Charles angled the camera toward my ruined state; flushed, panting, thighs trembling, cock throbbing, and my hole untouched. The humiliation of it, knowing thousands of people were watching, commenting, paying, only made the ache sharper, unbearable.

“Look at this mess, my pets,” Charles drawled, his tone equal parts amusement and cruelty. His fingers pressed into my jaw, forcing me to look into the camera lens. “This is what happens when Luna gets greedy. They suffer until I decide otherwise.”

The chat exploded. Donations chimed one after another, neon numbers stacking in the corner of the screen. Messages flooded:

Poor thing

Don’t give in

Make them beg harder

God, he’s beautiful when ruined.

My chest heaved. The shame of their words burned, but it also made my body sing. I was shaking from exhaustion, from need, from the delicious weight of his control.

Charles didn’t let me look away. His hand tightened around my jaw, forcing my glassy eyes into the camera. My cock twitched helplessly, aching, dripping.

“You hear that, pet?” His voice was velvet-coated steel. “They think you’re beautiful when you’re ruined. And they’re right. You’re dripping for them, shaking for me, and you haven’t even been allowed to touch yourself.”

The chat roared with laughing emotes, hearts, and flames.

Make him cry for it

Don’t give it to him yet

Edge him until he breaks

Charles chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating against my back. His fingers slid down from my throat, ghosting over my sternum, down the ridges of my stomach until they hovered just above where I needed him most.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” he murmured, his tone mock-sweet.

“Yes, Daddy,” I gasped, voice breaking. “Please—I can’t—”

“Shh.” His thumb circled just below my navel, so close it felt like torture. “You’ll take what I give you. No more. No less. That’s the rule.”

The chat lit up again:

Make him beg louder

God, he’s gorgeous when desperate

Don’t let him off easy

Charles angled my head closer to the lens, his lips brushing my temple. “Tell them, pet. Tell the world how badly you want Daddy’s permission.”

Humiliation and heat collided in my chest. My cheeks burned as I whispered, “Please… I need to cum so bad. I’ll do anything.”

The donations poured in fast, relentless, the counter exploding with neon numbers.

Charles smirked. “Hear that? They’ve paid for your release. Lucky slut.”

Finally, his hand wrapped around my cock. I nearly sobbed at the contact. He stroked me deliberately slow, just enough to unravel me without relief. My hips bucked instinctively, but his grip tightened at the base, choking off my orgasm.

“Not yet,” he hissed in my ear. “You’ll cum when I say, and not a second before.”

I whimpered, shaking, thighs quivering. My vision blurred at the edges.

“Look at you,” Charles drawled for the camera, voice dripping with condescension. “One touch and you’re falling apart. Pathetic. Perfect.”

The chat flooded again:

Make him scream

Edge him one more time

God, let him cum already!

Charles milked the anticipation, squeezing, stroking, denying until tears pricked my eyes. Then, at last, he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.

“Cum for Daddy. Now.”

The command detonated inside me. My orgasm ripped free with a broken cry, cum spilling in hot ropes over his fist, my stomach, my trembling thighs. The screen blurred through the haze of tears, but I could hear the chat exploding, donations chiming in a storm of neon.

Charles held me through it, stroking me down from the high with cruel tenderness, his voice a silken blade. “Good little slut. Look at this mess you made for me.”

Charles continued smoothly, dragging a slow fingertip down my sweat-slick throat, “He did take his punishment well for our first live.”

Another flood of donations. Some comments praised him for his ‘fairness,’ others begged him not to go soft.

My ass still ached from the spanking, a dull, pulsing reminder of what disobedience cost me. My cock throbbed painfully, denied, aching for even the slightest touch. And yet, beneath all the trembling, a sick, euphoric pleasure hummed in my veins. I was punished by Midnight Daddy. I survived it. 

Charles gave me a final squeeze, his lips brushing my ear, though his eyes stayed locked on the camera. “It looks like I need to take care of this slut off-cam.” His voice dropped to a low, wicked growl. “See you on the next live, everyone.”

He clicked the feed off casually, like none of this mattered, like I hadn’t just been exposed to thousands. The room was suddenly quiet, only the sound of my ragged breathing filling the air.

Charles leaned back in his chair, eyes raking over me with clinical detachment. He tapped the laptop closed, then tilted his head, studying me like an artist deciding if the painting was finished.

The silence was unbearable. My body was shaking, my skin feverish, and I realized I was waiting, desperate, for his verdict. I was shaking, chest heaving, cock still painfully hard, tears streaking my face. I expected him to walk away, to leave me in my wreckage. But instead, Charles knelt beside me.

His hands were gentle now, warm as they cupped my face, removing the mask with careful precision. His thumb brushed away the wetness from my cheek.

“Breathe, Dylan. In… and out.”

The sound of my real name after so much degradation made my heart lurch. My chest tightened, but I obeyed, drawing shaky breaths until they slowly evened out under his quiet guidance.

Charles slid his arms under me and lifted me as though I weighed nothing. My muscles ached, my body heavy with exhaustion, yet his hold was steady, unyielding. He carried me past the bed, down the short hall, into a bathroom dimly lit by a single frosted lamp. The space smelled faintly of cedar soap and clean linen.

He set me on the edge of the tub and turned on the water, testing the temperature with his hand until it ran warm. 

“Stay,” he murmured, like I was something fragile. He knelt, rolling up his sleeves, and filled the basin.

The contrast nearly broke me, how his voice had earlier sliced me open, cruel and sharp, and now it wrapped around me like silk.

He eased me into the bath, his arm behind my back, lowering me slowly until the water lapped at my chest. My body sagged with relief as heat seeped into my sore muscles. Charles didn’t rush. He soaked a cloth and wrung it out, then dragged it gently along my arms, my chest, down my stomach. His touch was clinical, almost reverent, but every pass of the cloth reminded me who it belonged to. My skin sang with leftover tremors, goosebumps prickling under the tender care.

“You did well tonight,” he said softly, dipping the cloth again. “Better than I expected.”

My throat tightened, but I managed, “Thank you, Daddy.”

His eyes flicked up, hazel brown in the low light, unreadable but steady. He didn’t correct me. He didn’t have to.

He washed me in silence, the only sounds the ripple of water, the occasional drip, the quiet hitch of my breath. When he reached my thighs, my legs tensed, but he just brushed his thumb soothingly against my knee. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you now.”

Tears pricked my eyes again, this time not from pain or humiliation, but from the overwhelming intimacy of it.

When he was finished, he pulled the plug, letting the water drain as he wrapped me in a thick towel. He dried me carefully, brisk where necessary but gentle over the welts and bruises, his fingers lingering a fraction too long, like he was reminding me that I was his handiwork.

He carried me to his bed and set me down carefully, though my ass remained exposed to the cool air.

Before I could protest, I heard the faint pop of a cap. He uncapped a jar—cream, thick and faintly medicinal. Without warning, he spread it over my reddened skin, the sensation shocking, icy at first but soothing as it sank in. A shiver ran through me, not from pain, but from the strange intimacy of it.

When he was done, he bent to retrieve my robe from the floor. He shook off the wrinkles and held it out, waiting. My fingers trembled as I slipped it back on.

“I don’t have anything here that’ll fit you for now,” he said, though his eyes flicked over my frame as if memorizing it. “I’ll need your sizes so I can have clothes ready for you next time.”

Next time.

The words sank deep, a spark in the hollow of my chest. I knew we had signed a contract, but hearing him acknowledge it aloud, planning for it, made my cheeks burn with a shameful smile I couldn’t quite hide.

He draped a blanket over my shoulders and pulled me gently against his chest. His scent, clean, faintly musky, grounded in something darker, surrounded me. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a rhythm that anchored me when my own was still erratic.

“As a virgin, I expected you to fail instantly,” he murmured, his fingers sliding through my damp hair with a slow, soothing rhythm. “But you surprised me and did better than my previous subs. I’m proud of you.”

The words cracked something open inside me. I closed my eyes, clinging to the warmth, to the rare praise, to the intimacy that felt dangerous and forbidden.

“Thank you, Sir,” I whispered, my throat raw from crying and moaning alike.

Charles tilted my chin up, his touch firm, and forced me to meet his gaze. His eyes had softened, yes, but there was still steel at the edges, a warning in the depths.

“Remember the rule, Dylan. This is pleasure, nothing more. Don’t confuse what just happened.”

The reminder cut deeper than the sting of his hand ever had. My chest ached, the words slicing through the fragile fantasy I was starting to build.

Still, I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

His lips brushed my temple once, so quick it could have been an accident, though I knew it wasn’t. It was a contradiction, like everything about him.

“Good boy,” he said quietly. Then, releasing me, he added, “Now, rest.”

I curled beneath the blanket, my body throbbing, my mind spinning, my heart refusing to listen. Because even if Charles claimed it was only pleasure, some dangerous, reckless part of me already wanted more.