cum extraction by a thief
He stole like a pretty little animal—quick hands, empty charm, that spoiled confidence of someone who had been forgiven too often for the simple fact of being beautiful.
He thought desire was something he could pickpocket too. Walk in, smile, take, leave.
But this time he was caught.
Not with shouting. Not with mercy either.
Just pinned inside the gaze of someone who saw straight through the act: the vanity, the hunger, the cheap thrill of taking what was never his. And once he was seen, truly seen, his arrogance started to rot.
What followed was not pleasure. It was payment.
A slow, humiliating draining of all that smug heat he carried in himself like stolen property. Every breath turned against him. Every second stripped something from him—his pose, his pride, his illusion of power.
By the end, the thief looked wrecked in the most pathetic way: flushed, hollow, quiet.
No longer a cunning boy.
Just a punished one.
He came to steal.
Instead, he was emptied.
