**Bound in the Hideout**

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Neither was she. The old abandoned warehouse on the edge of town was *my* secret spot—a place to drink, smoke, and jerk off without anyone bothering me. But tonight, when I pushed the rusted door open, a woman was already inside, her back to me as she rifled through an old duffel bag near the broken window.

She spun around, startled, eyes wide. “Shit,” she breathed, and I caught the flicker of fear before it was gone, replaced by something else. Something hotter.

She was dressed like she’d just come from a club—tight little black dress, heels, dark red lips. The kind of woman who screamed trouble in the best way.

“You live here or something?” she asked, tilting her head. The way she said it, like she was already testing me, made my cock twitch.

“Nah,” I shrugged, stepping closer. “Just like the quiet.”

She smirked, and that’s when I saw the rope coiled near her bag. Thick, rough, the kind you’d tie down cargo with. Her fingers brushed against it, slow, deliberate.

“You into that?” I asked, nodding at the rope.

She bit her lip, eyes dropping to my jeans. “Depends. You any good with your hands?”

Fuck.

I didn’t answer. Just crossed the space between us and grabbed her, spinning her around before she could react. She gasped as I yanked her wrists behind her back, my other hand fisting in her hair, pulling just hard enough to make her arch.

“Tell me to stop,” I growled against her ear.

She shuddered, pushing her ass back against me. “I won’t.”

I grabbed the rope.

She was pliant in my grip, letting me bind her wrists tight behind her back, the rough fibers biting into her soft skin. I knotted it quick, making sure she couldn’t slip free, then shoved her forward onto an old crate, her dress riding up her thighs.

“You sure about this?” I asked, palming her ass through the thin fabric.

“Don’t talk,” she panted, squirming. “Just fucking *use* me.”

I didn’t need another invitation. I yanked her dress up, revealing black lace panties already soaked through. I tore them to the side, my fingers sliding through her slick pussy, and she moaned, thrusting back against my hand.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” I muttered, rubbing her clit in rough circles.

“Because of you,” she gasped. “Because I saw the way you looked at me and knew you’d do this.”

I smacked her ass—hard—and she cried out, her cunt clenching around nothing.

I unzipped my jeans, my cock already thick and aching. I spat into my hand, stroking myself once before lining up with her soaked entrance.

“Beg for it,” I demanded.

“Please,” she whined, pressing back. “Please fuck me, I need it—”

I shoved inside in one brutal thrust, and she screamed, her tight walls clamping around me. I didn’t give her time to adjust—just gripped her hips and fucked her deep, each snap of my hips driving her forward, her tits bouncing with every movement.

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the empty warehouse, mixed with her ragged moans and my own grunts. Her pussy was so fucking tight, squeezing me like she was trying to milk my cock dry.

I reached around, pinching her clit between my fingers, and she came instantly—shaking, screaming, her cunt pulsing around me.

“Again,” I growled, not slowing down.

“I can’t—ah, *fuck*—!”

I wrapped the loose end of the rope around my fist and pulled, forcing her back against me as I hammered into her. Her head fell back against my shoulder, lips parted as she gasped for air. I could feel her orgasm building again, her body tightening, and I bit down on her shoulder as I came, spilling deep inside her with a groan.

She slumped forward, panting, as I pulled out, my cum dripping down her thighs.

I untied her wrists, and she rubbed at the red marks, watching me with dark, satisfied eyes.

“Next time,” she said, standing on shaky legs, “I bring the cuffs.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

She left without another word, and I knew I’d be coming back to this hideout a lot more often.