She didn’t ask — she just took me

It started when I crashed at her place after a party. She was my friend’s older sister — confident, sarcastic, the kind of woman who looks through you like she already knows what you’re thinking. I was drunk, half-passed out on her couch when she threw a blanket over me and said, “You’re mine tonight.” I thought she was joking.

The next morning, I woke up with a hard-on and her hand wrapped around it. She didn’t say a word, just stroked me slow while smirking. I didn’t stop her. She got on top of me, pulled her shirt off, and rode me like she owned me — no questions, no warm-up. I came inside her like I had no choice.

Later that day, I was brushing my teeth when she stepped into the bathroom, pulled my boxers down, and took me in her mouth like it was a routine. She didn’t even close the door. That night, I was on her bed, scrolling through my phone, and she climbed on all fours beside me, slid my shorts down, and used me again. No warning — just wet, tight, and rough. She told me to shut up and let her finish, and I did.

I’ve never felt more used. Or wanted. Or addicted.