Untitled

[corruptedbyhim]

"Babe. Just once."

"No."

"Just to feel you."

"That's what you said about anal and I couldn't sit right for three days."

"But this is natural. This is how God intended it."

"Don't bring God into this!"

He's on top of you already, which isn't fair, because his weight on you does something to your decision-making that you've never been able to explain to anyone. His hips are between your thighs. He's pressing right there, with just the thin cotton of your panties between his cock and your soaked pussy, and every time he shifts you can feel the whole length of him drag against you. Your resolve can’t take much more.

"I'll pull out," he says. "I swear on my life."

"You swear on your life a whole lot."

"And I'm still here. That has to mean something." He props himself up on one arm, looks you dead in the eyes. Completely serious. "I am discipline personified. You have never met a man with more self-control than me."

"You ate an entire sleeve of Oreos in bed last night."

"It’s different. That was emotional. This is physical. I am a fortress."

You're laughing now, which is a problem because when you laugh your body loosens up and he can feel that. His hips roll against you and the laugh catches in your throat and becomes something else entirely.

"I just want to feel you," he says, and his voice has dropped now, the joking gone out of it. "For real. Not through some filter. Condoms are like trying to see you with my eyes closed. I want to actually know what you feel like when you're wet for me."

Your breath stutters. Goddammit.

"Just the tip," he says.

"Nobody in the history of the world has ever meant just the tip."

"I mean it."

"You don't."

"I do." He reaches between you and pushes your underwear to the side and you feel the head of his cock slide against you, bare, skin on skin, and your hips buck up before you can stop them.

"See?" His voice is strained. "Just this. I'm not even inside you and you're already begging for it."

He's running the tip through your folds, dragging through the wetness there, nudging your clit on every pass. Your fingers are digging into his shoulders and you can feel every ridge of him, every vein, the heat of him so different without the barrier. You understand in this moment exactly what he was talking about because ... Oh, that's what he feels like.

"Say yes," he murmurs against your neck. "Just for a minute. I'll pull out. I promise."

And you are so tired of fighting something you stopped wanting to fight three minutes ago.

"If you don't pull out I'll kill you."

"I swore on my life, babe."

He pushes in.

The sound you make is obscene. It's involuntary, pulled from somewhere deep in your chest, because the feeling of him bare inside you is so different it doesn't even register as the same act. Every inch of him is vivid. You can feel the way your walls stretch to take him, can feel the heat of his skin against yours with nothing between you. He sinks in slow, achingly slow, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged against your lips.

"Fuck," he says. Just that. Like the word fell out of him.

He starts to move. Slow. Careful. Controlled. The fortress, doing his best. Short strokes, shallow, like he's rationing himself. His arms are braced on either side of your head and his jaw is tight and you can see the effort it's costing him to hold back. Something about that, the visible restraint, the way his whole body is taut with the discipline of not giving in, makes you wetter than any of the actual fucking.

"Okay," he breathes. "Okay. This is fine. I've got this. I'm in control."

He is not in control.

You can feel the exact moment it shifts. His hips snap forward, harder than he meant to, and he buries himself all the way. You both groan, and his hands grab your wrists and pin them above your head. His pace changes. No more shallow strokes. No more careful. He's pulling almost all the way out and driving back in deep and your ankles lock behind his back on instinct.

"Fuck. Baby. Fuck." His voice is wrecked. "You feel so good. You feel so fucking good. I can't think."

"You said you'd pull out."

"I know."

"You~nghh~you promised." It’s getting hard to talk as he fucks the words out of you.

"I know. I know I did." He's not slowing down. If anything he's going harder, pinning your wrists tighter, his hips slamming into yours with a force that scoots you up the mattress. "I'm going to. I will. Just not yet. Give me one more minute."

The minute passes. He doesn't pull out. You didn't think he would.

His face is buried in your neck and his grip on your wrists has gone vice-tight. You can feel him thickening inside you, getting harder, that telltale throb that means he's close, and he starts apologizing between thrusts.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby, I can't. You feel too good. I tried."

You want to be mad but you can't because he’s so, so deep. So deep that your thoughts dissolve, and every thrust pushes a sound out of you that you can't control. Your legs are shaking. He's everywhere. Inside you, on top of you, his weight pinning you on the bed, his breath hot against your throat.

"I'm gunna cum, baby" he says, and it's not a question anymore. Not a negotiation. "I have to. I'm sorry. Don't kill me."

"You're~ahh~a fucking~~hah~liar."

His hand slides between your bodies and his thumb finds your clit and starts rubbing in fast, tight circles. The combination of that pressure — coupled with the stretch of him bare inside you — is so much that your vision blurs. You can feel it building at the base of your spine like a wave pulling back from the shore.

"Just cum with me, babe" he says. "You know your pussy is too good. You can’t blame me..."

You try to argue but his thumb presses your clit harder, and his cock drives in deeper, and then you break. Your walls clamp down on him as you cum. Then you feel it, the moment he lets go too, the hot rush of him spilling inside you in long, heavy ropes. He groans into your neck and his hips stutter and jerk as he empties himself into you.

…

…

…

Stillness. Both of you panting. Him still inside, receding slowly, the mess of him leaking out around the base of his cock.

He lifts his head. Looks at you. Has the audacity to grin.

"See? That was worth it."

"You are in so much trouble."

"Was it good though?"

You don't answer. Your silence is damning enough.

He kisses your forehead. Stays inside you. Doesn't even have the decency to look sorry about it. You close your eyes. Your body is still buzzing, still clenching around him in lazy aftershocks.

"I hate you."

"You don't mean that."

He's right. You don't.

[corruptedbyhim]

The Hilt. She’d been impossible since dawn.

It started with the pace. The wagon moved as fast as the horse pulling it, which wasn’t fast, but she still couldn’t be bothered to keep up. She walked beside it, then behind it, then drifted toward the tree line because something caught her eye. A bird, a flower, something she wouldn’t share with him when he told her to stay close.

He told her to keep her voice down because these roads belonged to no one friendly. She laughed, full-throated and ringing, just to show him she could make whatever sound she wanted.

He did his best not to engage. He walked ahead, scanned the road, kept his hand near his sword. That was the job. Protect her. Deliver her safely. She was a package he was duty bound to transport — even if the package had opinions about the route, the weather, the quality of the road, the distance between stops, and the fact that he hadn’t given her any attention in the last hour.

"I hope you realize that most men in this kingdom would consider it an honor to escort me. They’d make conversation. They’d ask how I was finding the journey. They’d at least look at me when I’m speaking to them, which you haven’t done since this morning, which I find astoundingly discourteous, in case you were wondering."

He said nothing. She continued in a huff.

"Is this some kind of oath you’ve taken? Silence until we arrive? Is that why they chose you? Because you're big and quiet and do as you're told?"

He adjusted the reins and kept walking. She made a frustrated sound behind him and he heard the pebble leave her hand before it hit the back of his head. When he turned around she was studying the sky with theatrical interest.

By midday she’d moved on to touching. Adjusting his cloak when it didn’t need adjusting. Brushing dust from his shoulder that wasn’t there. Squeezing past him on a section of road that was perfectly wide enough for two, her body pressing against his back, her hand resting on his hip for balance she didn’t need. She let it linger there. He felt the warmth of her palm through the leather and it stayed with him for a mile after she’d pulled it away.

She asked him if he’d ever escorted a woman before. He said he had. She asked him if they were all this unsatisfied with his performance. He didn’t answer. She told him she was beginning to think he’d been chosen specifically for his inability to be interesting, that perhaps someone at the court had said find me the most tedious man in the garrison and send him with the princess, and here he was, exceeding expectations.

He let it land. He let all of it land.

By evening she’d worn herself out. She climbed into the wagon without a word while he built a small fire and sat against the wheel with his sword across his knees. This was the dangerous stretch. Two more nights of open road before they reached the keep. If anyone was tracking them, this was where they’d come.

He sat with the fire at his back and watched the dark tree line and listened. The woods clicked and rustled with small living things. The horse shifted its weight. The wagon canvas rippled in a wind that smelled like rain coming from the east. He was thinking about the river crossing tomorrow when he heard her.

At first he thought she was in pain. A sound from inside the canvas, muffled and breathy, the kind that makes you reach for your weapon before you’ve fully registered what it is. He was on his feet before the second one came. By the third he knew exactly what he was listening to. She wasn’t hurt, but she was certainly loud. Loud enough that anyone within a hundred yards of this road would hear her.

He pulled the canvas back.

She was on her back with her traveling clothes pushed up to her ribs, one hand between her legs, head tipped back, mouth open. She looked at him. Her fingers kept moving. That same smile from the pebble incident crept across her face, like she’d been waiting to see how long it would take him to come looking.

"Do you have any idea how far your voice carries out here? I can hear you from the fire. Which means anyone on this road can hear you from a hundred yards out."

She arched her back slightly, watching him from under heavy eyelids. "Well. Now that I have an audience, so it seems rude to stop."

"This isn’t a game, your highness. I need you to be quiet."

"You’ve needed me to be quiet all day. I’ve been very uncooperative about it. I don’t know why you thought nightfall would change things." Her hand moved slower between her thighs, not stopping, not even pretending to consider stopping. "You can just go back to the fire. Pretend you didn’t hear anything. I’m sure you’re very good at pretending things about me aren’t happening. You’ve been at it all day."

He climbed into the wagon.

She opened her mouth to say something else and he took her wrist and pulled her hand away from herself and pinned it against the wagon floor. The gasp that came out of her was nothing like the sounds she’d been performing. Sharp and involuntary, startled out of her. She hadn’t actually believed he’d do it. The smile vanished. Underneath it her face was open and flushed and honest in a way he hadn’t seen all day.

"You have no concept of the danger we are in right now." His voice was low, his face close enough to hers that he could feel her breath coming fast against his mouth. "I have been out there keeping us alive since sundown, and you couldn’t think of a single better way to pass the time."

"You refused to talk to me." Her voice came out smaller than she meant it to. "You're escorting me, you should pay attention to me. What was I supposed to do?"

"Anything other than this."

"Well, this seems to have worked, so I won't stand for your lectures."

He held her gaze for a long moment. Then he reached down with his free hand and drew his sword from the scabbard. He drew it slowly. Slowly enough that she heard every inch of steel leaving the leather, that long clean whisper of metal on hide, and the sound did what nothing he’d said all day had managed. She went quiet. Completely, instantly quiet, her eyes dropping to the blade between them.

He reversed his grip. The blade pointed down and away from both of them. The hilt faced up, the leather-wrapped pommel dark and smooth, still warm from sitting against his hip at the fire.

"A knight has nothing if not his sword and his oath, and I will not betray my oath for stubborn royalty." He held the pommel where she could see it. "So have this. Since your own hand wasn’t enough."

Her eyes moved from the pommel to his face. Her lips parted but nothing came out. For the first time since he’d met her she looked like she didn’t have a response prepared.

He pressed the hilt against her entrance. She flinched hard, her whole body jerking, but his hand on her wrist kept her pinned flat. The leather was warm and firm and wider than her fingers. He watched her body resist it, her thighs tensing, her breath catching high in her throat. Then the resistance broke. He pushed it into her slowly and her spine lifted off the wagon floor, her free hand flying to his forearm, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks through his sleeve.

The sound she made was raw and thin and startled. Nothing performed about it. Nothing bratty. Just a desperate, cracked-open noise that he felt in his chest.

He worked the hilt deeper. Steady, controlled in a way that he could tell was making her unravel faster than if he’d been rough about it. Her hand moved from his forearm to his shoulder, then to the canvas above her, then back to his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. She couldn’t settle. Couldn’t find anything to anchor herself against.

"This is what you wanted all day." He pushed the pommel further and felt her whole body clench around it. "Every time you touched me. Every time you opened your mouth just to see if I’d react."

"I wasn’t— that’s not—" Her voice broke apart on a moan she couldn’t hold back. He twisted the hilt slightly and she cried out, her hand clamping over her own mouth a half-second too late.

"Quiet." He stilled the hilt inside her and waited. She whimpered, bringing her palm to her mouth, her chest heaving. "Unless you want whoever’s in those woods to find the princess like this. With a sword hilt inside you and tears on your face. Is that what you want? They'd do worse to you than me."

She shook her head. Tears were already running sideways into her hair. He resumed, slow and deep, and she sobbed through her fingers, her hips rolling up to meet each stroke like her body had decided to cooperate with him even if the rest of her hadn’t fully surrendered. He could feel her thighs trembling against the backs of his hands. He could hear the wet sound of the leather moving inside her between the ragged gasps of her breathing.

She whispered pleas into her palm. He didn’t ask her to clarify. He pushed the hilt deeper, held it there, and watched her body go taut as a bowstring, every muscle locking at once. She came shaking hard enough that the wagon creaked on its wheels, her back arched off the floor, the sound she made through her clenched hand barely more than a whimper. The quietest she’d been all day.

He withdrew the hilt slowly. She curled onto her side, breathing in ragged bursts, tears still wet on her face, her whole body twitching with aftershocks. He sheathed the sword. It slid back into the scabbard slick.

"Get some sleep." He released her wrist. There were red marks where his fingers had been. "Long day tomorrow, and I won't stand for any more tantrums."

He climbed out of the wagon, sat back against the wheel with his sword across his knees, and listened to the woods.

[pegging-e-fantasias]

Quando te pego assim, Amor  🔥 🔥 🔥

[pegging-e-fantasias]

[msyessirdni]

x use me

[6siixty--9niine--club]

Sixty Nine Club

[darkinreaper]

°Reminder to tr(eat) her right

[upl0ops-deactivated20260313]

🌀

[bwsuck-deactivated20131110]

[balayantra-deactivated20140731]

[teonewoknocks7]

🔥

[masterclip8]

My control, all the time

[tnorki-deactivated20141223]

[masterclip8]

There is no fear, no concern. Only pure excitement that I’m enjoying myself

[playboyysworld-deactivated20241]

[masterclip8]

Once I grab your hair, you know what's about to happen

[atesbey79]

[yourlesbianscom]

For more lesbian content make sure to check: https://yourlesbians.com

[er0theka]

Tão bom passar o tempo com as amigas

[slave-girl-blog]

[er0theka]

Tortura gostosa

[mstgsmy66]

[youngpassionate-deactivated2024]

[evliciftiz]