HIS RUIN

HIS RUIN

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing44m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Apr 17, 2026
"What did I tell you about talking to me like that?" I growl, my voice low and dangerous. I look down at her peachy ass, already flushing a deep, angry red from the repeated strikes of my paddle. Lei is draped helplessly across my lap, her body bent sharply over my knees. The position leaves her backside arched high and completely exposed, offering me a perfect, unobstructed target. She shudders against my thighs, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm sorry, menace," she sobs, the words muffled by the fabric of my trousers. I freeze, my eyes narrowing. "What did you call me?" She lets out a sharp whimper, her body tensing. "I mean... sir!" I don't give her a second to recover. I bring the paddle down hard against her cheek, the loud crack echoing through the room and making her hips jump. I drop the paddle to the floor. I shift my gaze downward, looking at her fat pussy, which is splayed open and glistening. Even from this angle, I can see the heavy moisture dripping from her, into her thighs. Lei fidgets, a desperate, needy squirm, as I slide my fingers deep into her folds. She's drenched; her sticky wetness slips and slides through my grip as I massage her clit. Fuck, her pussy looks gorgeous ; completely bald, plump, and swollen with arousal. "Sssiiirrrrr," she whines, her voice breaking as she arches her back, trying to push her heat further into my hand. "Oh, you like that, Lei?" I murmur, my fingers rubbing on her swollen clit. "Mmmhhmm," she mumbles, her head lolling as she surrenders completely to the friction. . . . This is a BDSM black love romance book by Sade amoúr. If you want more of this book go ahead and read. Toodles. - Sade Amoúr
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//Please note this story is under heavy construction! Read at your own risk.// If you look for perfection, you'll never be content. ~Leo Tolstoy . . . . . . . A flower is to be always beautiful lest it is cast away. A flower is to be innocent and pure. Delicate in nature, ever to bring squinting smiles to those around. A flower is perfect. Always perfect. She was the perfect embodiment of a flower. Her name, Iris. A thorn is sharp like a knight's blade. It inflicts pain and draws blood if one dares to get close. A thorn protects a flower from the wickedness of the world. A thorn is attached to the king, ever guarding. He was the perfect embodiment of a thorn. His name, Luca. She was an iris in no need of a thorn and he was a thorn in no need of a delicate iris. Thrust together by an arranged marriage, the unlikely pair, the thorn, and the flower must now find a way to co-inhabit in the same garden. Bracing the strength of the winter, will their love and companionship last for the spring season or will the cold betrayal of a parasitic orchid, the overflowing herbicide of lies and the perfect perfection of the Iris trample the delicate budding bloom of their affairs of the heart?

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