​"You're doing perfectly. You've been the one giving orders for so long... it feels good to just let go, doesn't it? To finally have someone take the lead?"

​With every word, her confidence grew. Her grip on my thighs tightened, and the rhythm of her breath began to sync with the slow, pulsing heat of my body.

She started to realize that this wasn't an act of humiliation—it was an act of intimacy that she'd been starved of. The powerful "Big Mom" was melting away, leaving behind a woman who was becoming addicted to the taste of the man who had finally mastered her.

​As she grew bolder, taking me deeper, I felt the shift in her posture. The tension in her shoulders vanished. She wasn't just doing this because I asked; she was doing it because she wanted to be the one to please me. I had unlocked a door she didn't even know had a key.

The sensation was electric—the contrast of her warm, slick saliva against my skin as she tentatively explored this new world. I watched her from above, her eyes looking up at me with a mix of reverence and a desperate need for approval.

​"Am I... am I doing it right?" she whispered against me, her voice muffled and trembling.

​"You're doing fine, baby girl," I rumbled, my hand tightening slightly in her hair to guide her. "Now, I want you to lick the tip. Take your time. Then I want you to slide your tongue all the way down the length, down to my balls. Show me you want every part of me."

​She obeyed instantly, her tongue tracing the heat of my skin with a newfound hunger. I felt her breath hitch as she reached the base, her hands digging into my thighs. Then, she leaned back and opened wide, engulfing my entire length in one smooth, determined motion.

​The dam finally broke. The "teacher" role was over; the pornstar was taking over.

​I reached down and gripped her short, styled hair, my fingers locking into the strands. "That's it. Now stay right there," I commanded.

​I took control, my hips driving forward in a slow, powerful rhythm. I began thrusting into her mouth, forcing her to take the full depth of me. Monet let out a choked, muffled moan, her eyes fluttering shut as I claimed her completely.

Every thrust was a reminder of who owned the studio, who owned the night, and who owned her. She wasn't the boss anymore; she was a woman drowning in a pleasure she'd denied herself for a lifetime.

I lifted her up, the thin, silver thread of my pre-cum still connecting my cock to her parted lips. The transition was fluid, the power dynamic now shifted so far in my favor that she followed my every movement like she was under a spell. I reached for the tie of her morning gown and pulled it loose, the heavy silk sliding off her shoulders and pooling at her feet like a discarded skin.

​She stood before me in the dim light of the suite, her body a masterpiece of chocolate tones and elegant curves. Her pussy was groomed to perfection—not completely bare, but with a sharp, stylish fade on the sides that spoke of her high-class precision.

​I didn't give her a second to overthink it. I stepped into her space and claimed her mouth again, this time with a deep, soul-searing passion that was far more intimate than the power play of a moment ago. I wanted this kiss to be the one she'd feel in her dreams, the one that would haunt her every time she sat at her desk.

​Still kissing her, I guided her backward across the room until her back hit the floor-to-ceiling glass. The cool surface of the window was a shock against her heated skin, the sprawling, twinkling lights of Los Angeles laid out behind her like a carpet for our conquest.

​I pressed her firmly against the glass, my hands sliding down to her hips. I parted her thighs, the cool air of the suite hitting her wetness as I prepared to drive home the final point of the night. Outside, the city was waking up, but inside this glass box, the only thing that mattered was the King taking what was his.

​"Look at the city, Monet," I whispered against her ear, my hands hooking under her knees to lift her. "Look at it. Because from now on, when people see LA, they're going to think of us."

I moved with a heavy slowness, looking past her into the reflection on the glass. The pale dawn light caught the sweat on our skin and the vast expanse of the city behind her. I positioned myself, the tip of my cock brushing against her wet, aching heat, and I pushed in inch by inch. I wanted her to feel the weight of it, the absolute reality that the man she tried to manage was now the man filling her world.

​Her breath hitched, a long, shaky moan vibrating against the glass as I finally seated myself deep inside her. My hands slid down to her thighs, the skin there like heated velvet, and I began a slow, grinding rhythm. I wasn't just fucking her; I was marking her.

​I shifted one hand upward, my fingers wrapping around the back of her neck, not to hurt, but to anchor her to me. I applied just enough pressure to keep her eyes locked on mine as I increased the intensity of my thrusts. The cool glass behind her and the fire of my body in front of her trapped her in a world where only I existed.

​"Look at me, Monet," I rasped, my voice thick with the final dregs of my energy. "Don't look at the city. Look at the man who owns you."

​She let out a broken, high-pitched cry, her head thrashing against the window as she peaked. I felt her walls clench around me in a desperate, rhythmic pulse that finally broke my own resolve. I drove into her one last time, pinning her against the skyline, and let go.

​Everything—the studio, the contracts, the power, and the woman—converged into that one singular moment of absolute triumph.

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