the urge to just write about König being an absolute creature
Husband!König carefully getting out of bed around one in the morning. tiptoeing around your room, wincing when the door creaks open - glancing back to make sure you’re still asleep. you wake up a couple minutes later, his warm presence missing as you groggily sit up. weird, especially considering König doesn’t like leaving you alone at night
Husband!König leaving the door to your room open - having been worried it’d creak again if he closed it. you stumbling out of bed, poking your head into the hallway. rubbing the corner of your eye, you slowly make your way around your home, pausing when you see a faint light coming from the kitchen. you turn the corner, almost startling at the sight
Husband!König, frozen and wide eyed, looking straight at you. hunched in front of your open fridge, spoon of yogurt in his mouth, hand reaching into the fridge, clutching a jar of maraschino cherries. it’d look eerie if it wasn’t a familiar sight - your husband surrounded by darkness, the dim lighting of the dinky fridge light illuminating him poorly
Husband!König setting the jar back down, closing the fridge. spoon still in his mouth, he awkwardly smiles at you, eyebrows knit. he looks like a kid that got caught reaching into a cookie jar, head tilted down as he looks at you through his eyelashes. all you can do is sigh and smile back at him… maybe order some early morning take out for the poor man
okay wait, because I was immediately struck with more Boyfriend!König after posting this
Boyfriend!König who comes home from a deployment - he reeks, he’s sore, everything aches and he feels like death. but, as soon as the door clicks shut behind him his eyebrows furrow. somethings cooking and it smells familiar. he’s kicking his boots off at the door and shrugging his coat off as he walks towards the kitchen. and there you are, standing next to the stove with a spoon held up to your lips, listening to music and unaware of his presence
Boyfriend!König who coughs, not wanting to startle you with his sudden presence. it’s worth it though, seeing you look over at him, eyes lighting up as you practically tackle him for a hug. it’s a sweet, short moment, but König’s eyeing the stovetop. when you let go you excitedly tell him you’re making dinner, something special since he’s been gone for a couple weeks. “You can’t look! It’ll ruin the surprise— uh, actually, maybe take a shower. I’ll call you when it’s done, okay?”, he chuckled at your rushed words, moved towards your bathroom when you gave him a gentle shove
hair wet and dressed in some ratty sweatpants, Boyfriend!König comes back to the kitchen while toweling off his hair. the scent from the kitchen is stronger than when he came in, but it’s nothing compared to what’s on the counter. he freezes, a little wobbly when he puts his foot down and looks at the food. tafelspitz. and suddenly that familiar smell registers in his head, his mama’s cooking. you had called her regularly while he was deployed, spent every other day learning how to cook some of König’s childhood favorites
Boyfriend!König whose eyes get watery when he starts eating because, oh, it tastes exactly how his mama makes it. he hasn’t been back home in a year and a half - purely from bad timing and deployments - and he’s missed his mama’s food so much. König who gets up from the table, walks over to you while chewing and hugs you, not giving you the chance to stand up or properly hug him back. as soon as he swallows he’s babbling ‘thanks you’s and kissing the crown of your head, murmuring how ‘you didn’t have to’. he’s got you in a death squeeze, eyes closed as he presses his nose to your hair, “Ich liebe dich— you’re too good to me, Liebling.”
giving simon the nastiest, sloppiest blowjob because he was being a right cunt all day and he's just so gone. not a single sound parting from his lips except heavy breaths and soft groans, the sounds slightly muffled because he's still wearing his damn balaclava. he doesn't know what to do with his hands; one moment they're twitching by his sides, and the next they find purchase in your hair, not even really gripping because of how weak he is.
he wants to see you because he's missing out on his perfect girl taking him deep down her throat, but he's been reduced to nothing but a caveman. eyes rolled to the back of his head, drool soaking through his mask, not a single thought floating in his head. he looks completely blissed out—he can't even process anything except for the tight squeeze your throat provides and the wet noises and gags coming from you.
you're taking him in so well, letting him mindlessly rut his cock and not minding the way his balls hit your chin or how he's beginning to slur out incoherent things about how good you feel. he doesn't even sound like himself; his voice warbled and choked up as you work him to an orgasm.
don't expect him to be lucid after completely sucking his soul out. the most he'll do is blink slowly at you like a cat while watching you clean him up, unable to vocalise how boneless he feels or how thankful he is for you. he grunts when you ask him if he wants a shower, trying his best to lessen the burden of pulling him up to walk him over to the bathroom.
(and if he becomes coherent again while absolutely ruining you against the shower wall, praising you for taking such good care of him and for putting up with him acting like a wanker all day?
well, you're just happy he's not getting pissy over the littlest things anymore. just don't tease him too much about how he acted earlier; he'll go back to annoying the hell out of you with his attitude.)
something something poly!141 x fem!reader where price isn't in charge.
you meet them after seeing the squad in action during a training exercise. captain john price led the way, and they followed in deadly unison. you assumed it would be no different in the bedroom.
you were shocked to discover that kyle pressed his lips to yours first, his dark hand toying with the elastic of your panties and sending shivers straight up your spine. as his fingers made you nice and slick, johnny put a gentle hand on your chest, easing you down onto the bed before he began his ministrations on your breasts, sucking so softly on your nipples as kyle's fingers made lazy circles around your clit and his voice flowed honey-smooth into your ear.
"relax, dove."
"just breathe. i gotcha."
atta girl...such a good listener. so well-behaved."
you gripped johnny's hand fiercely and he responded by sinking his teeth into the soft flesh that connected your chest to your breasts, almost drawing blood from how hard he sucked on your skin.
the next time you came up for air, you looked around, wondering where john and simon were. your eyes found them quickly even in the dark, as they splayed out together on the plush armchair in the corner. the captain's gaze was burning into you, his jaw slack, his tongue weak, panting like a dog. one look down explained why. simon sat behind him, holding john in his lap, and his big hand, blonde-haired knuckles and all, pumped his leader's cock viciously.
"look how good she's feelin'."
"wish that was you, don't you."
"want her real bad, huh."
simon's words, deliciously degrading and uplifting all at once, made john throw his head back, bucking his hips for more, more, more...
your pussy clenched around kyle's fingertips. "y'like seein' him like that, yeah?"
"yh..yhh...yes," you stuttered, in time with his quickened pumping in and out of your body.
"there we are, lass," johnny chuckled, rolling your hardened nipples between his fingertips, training kisses down your sternum.
simon cocked a smirk, throwing his legs around john's and changing his technique, making the man in his lap squirm and whine with pleasure.
it may have been the hottest thing you'd ever seen. you were definitely leaving your number behind in the morning.
his hands gripped your hips firmly, his breath heavy and labored as he tried—really tried—to ease himself into you. but no matter how patient he was, how slowly he pushed, your body resisted, tightening around the sheer size of him.
simon was desperate—aching to thrust, to rut into you without restraint. every muscle in his body screamed for release, the urge to roll you beneath him and pound his seed into you overwhelming.
he wanted to bury himself so deep that your body had no choice but to take him, to force his release to take root in your belly.
“fuck…” he muttered under his breath, resting his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his composure. “you’re so tight, lovie. i don’t think i’m gonna fit.”
every inch he fed you burned with pressure, leaving you gasping, your fingers digging into his arms as you trembled beneath him. your body clenched instinctively, fighting to accommodate him, but it was too much—too thick, too deep. you whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “si, it’s… you’re too big!”
“shhh, you’ll take it,” he whispered, voice hoarse with restraint. “you’ll take all of me, i promise.”
he exhaled sharply, every muscle in his body tense from holding back. “relax, sweetheart,” he coaxed, brushing a soft kiss along your jaw, his hands slipping lower to hold you steady. “i know it’s a lot… but you can take it, yeah?”
you nodded shakily, lips parting with a soft moan. “try again… please,” you whispered, gripping his shoulders tighter. “i want you. all of you.”
with a low growl, he began to push forward, inch by agonizing inch, feeling your walls flutter and stretch around him. “good girl,” he murmured through clenched teeth, savoring the way your cunt fought to take him. “that’s it. you’re doing so good for me.”
it was slow—painfully slow—but with every careful thrust, you felt yourself adjust just a little more, inch by inch, as he stretched you wider than you’d ever thought possible. and the moment he was finally buried inside you, completely, ghost let out a low, guttural groan.
“see?” he whispered against your ear, a grin tugging at his lips. “i told you—you’d take me, love. every inch.”
When you first spent the night, you expected Simon's place to be minimalistic—not too fussy, bare, with only the necessities. You didn't expect a place flooded with natural light, strategically placed and well-taken care of potted plants, and cozy furniture. It's actually kinda boho-esque. Very much... not him.
Of course, this being Simon, he lives for the shock value. He wouldn't be him if he didn't. So while you're busy trying to stop gaping because holy shit, Simon's a Plant Dad, he's telling you to make yourself comfortable while he puts his stuff away. With a smirk on his face. Cheeky bastard.
When you woke up the next morning, all you could do was stare rather dreamily as your giant armored teddy bear of a man, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats (oh, what a sight ❤️), went about the living room spraying and watering his plants. And he's so careful with 'em, too. You were broken out of your reverie by the kettle whistling and Simon looking up and mumbling, "Mornin', sweetheart." Oh, you're in love love, now.
When you work up the courage, you ask him about his plants. You find out he took up the hobby after a particularly bad deployment, and it's one of the few that's stuck with him ever since. He buys one every time he comes home. Didn't imagine him having a green thumb but it's absolutely adorable. He's even named them.
You meet Simon's pride and joy, a bountiful Night Sky petunia plant named... Petunia. They're tricky little things, but Simon's up for the challenge, and the time it takes to care for them and his other plants does him a hell of a world of good; it's much better than thinking about all the gruesome shit he'll deal with on the next deployment.
When he does deploy on his latest mission, you promise to look after his babies. Simon's good at giving detailed instructions and whenever you two talk, you make it a point to let him know how they're doing. Simon even tells you the next plant he's thinking about getting when this deployment finishes. Sure thing, Si-bear.
And when he comes home, you surprise him. There, sitting on his window sill is that very same plant he's talked about getting, and yeah, Simon's in love love, now. "Meet Alfie. Thought you might like the name." And he chuckles. You wrap an arm around his waist and he drapes his over your shoulders. Alfie, huh? Not bad, sweetheart. Not bad at all.
Pretty soon, he's gonna need a bigger space for all his plant babies. And for you. Most definitely for you. Yeah, he said it, sweetheart. You started something here. Gotta deal with the consequences.
simon knew it was over the moment he realized just how freaky you are.
simon knew he was massive—he always had.
it was a quiet fear that followed him, the thought that if he lost control for even a moment, he might hurt you. his touch was always careful, deliberate.
his hands were wrapped around your neck, not tight, but gentle—just enough to feel the pulse beneath your skin. his thumbs rested softly against your throat, his grip light, careful not to leave a mark. but when you started frantically grinding your hips against his, rolling your body in desperate need, everything shifted.
a low, guttural noise rumbled from his throat as his body responded on instinct. without meaning to, his hands tightened, gripping your neck for leverage as you moved against him. he froze for a second, startled by his own strength. but then—
it happened.
you clenched tighter around him, your head falling back as a broken moan escaped your lips. you were crying out, completely undone, lost in the moment. your hips bucked harder, desperate for more, and it hit him like a bolt of lightning:
you liked it rough.
you, his innocent, angelic girl — the one with soft smiles and bright eyes, the one who blushed at the smallest touch — had been hiding it all along.
he stared at you, stunned, as you begged with your body, your innocent exterior cracking to reveal the wicked, burning desire beneath. his angel wasn't just soft and sweet
—you were freaky.
a low growl rumbled in his chest as he leaned in, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “you've been holding out on me, haven't you, lovie?” he murmured, his voice dark with amusement and something far more dangerous.
you know John’s petty as hell. like no one that controlling and obsessed with caretaking is normal. if you unbuckle your own seatbelt and open your own door before he can jump outta the driver’s seat and do it, he’ll run around the car and shut the door back in your face just so he can open it for you djskdskd
or or or he’s taking you out to dinner and wants you to wear that one dress. the one that’s real tight and revealing, the one that you need at least two cocktails to feel comfortable in, and of course he needs you to wear that one pair of heels that go with it perfectly (god help you) and dammit you’re not set on being stared at by strangers all night!! so you put something else on and when he makes a little fuss you just shush him and push him out the door.
next time he schedules dinner plans and you head to your closet post-shower, you find that every single item of clothing has gone missing - except! except for that damned dress. when you stomp out to the living room, wrapped in a towel with your hair sopping wet, you ask him where the hell your clothes are and he just nods at the dress and says
“don’t know what your on about, dove. got your clothes right there.”
thinking about older bf!simon that takes great pride in being your built in pain relief.
“you right?”
delicate as always, gruff voice cutting through the peaceful lull as he stands right in the way of the television you were only really listening to.
“just a headache”
“you taken anything for it?”
you slowly open one eye as far as you can manage, confirming that the look on his face is endearing and he’s not purposefully asking stupid fucking questions.
he’s only man after all.
“i’ll give y’one if y’like?”
before you even have a chance to ask him what “one” might be in this scenario, he’s already nudging you up the couch to sit beside you.
he doesn’t give you the chance to ask any questions, really- not when he’s tucking your back into his side and slipping a large hand down your front.
long fingers slide your shorts to the side and immediately get to work, other hand holding your thighs open (more for his line of sight than anything).
“simon- you don’t have-”
“none a’that, rest y’head and i’ll take care a’ya”
"I don't celebrate my birthday anymore, birdie." Price tells you, tossing the paperwork aside to speak to you properly. "All it really does is remind me that I'm getting closer to my grave." He chuckles, stopping himself with a grunt when he sees your smile contort into a frown.
You did seem to have put in a lot of effort into this whole spiel, and the slice of cake in your hand didn't seem all too bad either. The smile on your face earlier was the cherry on top too, how could he say no to that? With a sigh, he signaled you to start singing 'Happy Birthday' again and your smile comes back, seemingly making your already beautiful face even better.
He sings along for your amusement, wishing you prosperity and a good life. Maybe birthdays were actually worth celebrating, especially if it's spent with you.
First time taking him, had to be a proper setting where pillow under you for support and John even got extra bottle of lube just to be safe. Dont wanna risk hurting the missus.
"S'big...John.."
"I know lovie... Takin me well."
As you slightly writhe from the feeling of the stretch, you look up to him and asked "Is it almost all in?"
And John has to pause a bit before answering "Yep. Almost there luv..." He said as he looks down where the two of you are connected and his dick is still HALFWAY in you.
After a while tho, the blood, sweat and tears slick, were all worth it since your brain is now all mushy and your thoughts evaporated from the power of his thrusts and sounds of wet skin slapping continously.
"J-John! Fffuck!- John- Suu... much!-"
"Stay with me n-now luvie-"
John's hips sputters and increases in speed as his desperstion to cum comes to action (pun intended?)
No other words come out of your mouth except the name of your beloved again and again and again again. What was even your own name?
Your brain goes back and forth from reality and the only thing you could hear and feel was john's entire being, his heavy breathing, his skin slapping into yours, his calloused hands, his deep grunts, his hairy chest pressing onto you, his arms hairier than usual, his teeth sharper.
The only you could feel was john, john here, john there, john john john
"John! Jo-John! Im cumming!-" your high pitched moans werent ignored as John's hand comes down between you and him to rub circles around your clit, successfully tightening your body and your stomach tensing just the right amount to-
"John!" your arms desperetly grab onto his back and leaving red welts on its wake.
John deeply groans as he feels your cunt tightening and milking him dry as he spurts his cream in you. As the both of you catch your breath.
He didnt even realize, his body almost got turned into his bear form
You're so smart. John loves a long, thin, loose dress / garment. Buys you a hundred soft nightgowns so he can see your silhouette in them, tits heavy with pregnancy, the shape of your belly, aaaaeeeeee
he loves it because it shows how comfortable you are, seeing you walk around with no make-up, your loose nightgown highlighting your swollen belly and sore tits really does something to him
he’s glad that you’re making yourself comfortable during your pregnancy, god knows you deserve it. catch him carressing your belly from behind, eyeing up the humble garment as if you were wearing the latest lingerie straight from milan
“where’d’ya get this little number from, hm?” he’d groan before giving your ass a hearty slap. you just huff at a laugh, his behaviour having become a daily occurrence at this point
“it’s a £3 mumu from the village charity shop, john…” you giggle, squirming away when you feel his beard tickle the sensitive skin of your neck
“yeah? well, you make it look like a £10 mumu…” he says, making you laugh and smack his hand with the wooden spoon you were using to cook with
it doesn't matter how quietly you attempt to get off at night; your lieutenant is always listening, always grumpy about the pretty sounds disturbing his slumber.
you were embarrassed when he brought it up to you (keep it down, can't fuckin' sleep with oll tha' racket), so you opted to not use your vibrator the next night, instead using your fingers like some lady from the 1800's. it wasn't as efficient, but it did the job, and you were knocked out after a few orgasms.
you think you're doing good, as he doesn't confront you about your nightly activities for a few days after that. not until one morning when he pulls you over to an obscured area outside, not paying any mind to your stumbling and hissing.
even with the mask on, you can tell he's scowling. "how many times do i 'ave to tell you to keep it down?" he grumbles, peering down at you through golden eyelashes. his head tilts as he speaks, and you have to force yourself to not squeeze your thighs together in front of your superior officer. "i can hear tha' wet cunt through the walls every night—are you tha' thirsty for it, pet?" a finger clips onto your belt loop, and you're being tugged closer, a chuckle rumbling from him when he takes notice of how flustered you're getting.
you've never wanted to explode into tiny pieces more in your life than this moment. your cheeks feel hot, and you can only stare up at him and watch as his gaze roams down your body. heated. predatory.
"i— i don't want—" you try to deny what you know is inevitable because ghost always gets his way, but it's thrilling to watch how he pushes his body against yours, the smell of him overpowering your rational thoughts. he only peels the mask high enough to free his mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat, a gloved hand finding its way to the front of your pants.
that night, when you crawl into bed with a fully charged vibrator, warmth already swirling in your belly, you think about how ghost's hands felt on your body. how he so meanly nudged the fat head of his cock in until he was fully sheathed, stretching you so thin you swear he was going to split you apart.
("there we go," he coos—or rather snarls at you, thick fingers filling up your mouth because you were whining too loud for his liking. "knew you wanted this fuckin' cunt stuffed full o'me," he groans while pawing at your chest, harsh pants hitting your ear. "tha's why you're so loud, innit? nasty fuckin' thing.")
how he kissed you like he was trying to consume you, licking into your mouth with such fervour, you were surprised he hadn't already burst into flames. he resembles a brick more than an actual human sometimes, but patience has always been his strongest quality.
you really shouldn't be surprised when ghost pours into your room while you're making yourself dizzy with thoughts of him, your brain liquifying on the pillow from the constant delicious vibrations against your throbbing clit. the sound of the door being kicked shut behind him startles you as he stalks over to your bed.
"i'm starting to think you like pissing me off." he growls softly, the bed squeaking underneath his weight. the vibrator is still buzzing against you, and you swallow when his eyes drop down to the soft, wet mess between your legs. "get on your fuckin' knees, girl."
sitting at the bar with your bestie and jokingly saying, "i wish that was me," when she spews about how her man made her come so many times the other night they almost hit double digits. you doubt anyone is paying attention to the two of you gossiping and giggling like fools, and you share that you haven't been laid in a while.
"it's been eight months, actually." you pout, slapping her arm when she gawks and splutters something about finding you someone to shag in the back alley right away.
if only you noticed the guy with the fuckass mohawk sitting on the other side of you, intently eavesdropping on your personal conversation. he likes your friend's idea; surely you'll let him pull a few orgasms out of you outside before he fingerbangs you in the car on the way home and finally finishes you in his bed.
ten's a big number to aim for, but johnny's nothing if not utterly determined to ruin the pretty girl who's had him rock hard since she walked in.
forgive the inaccuracies, idk much about babies my bad ☠ baby isn't named, hope you enjoy :)
another kid taking simon's baby's toy? absolute hell
it had been two days of crying and sobbing from the infant, he was in shock of how she many tears she seemed to be able to shed worriedly wondering if she would even get dehydrated at one point. but it wasn't much better when she calmed down, he absolutely hated how sad and miserable she looked as she moped around.
the holiday had seemed so bleak now, you had ordered a replacement plush giraffe for your baby the same as the last but it would be shipped to your home. not to the resort you were currently on and with still a week to go, you didn't know if your baby could hang on for that long. and simon regretted even booking the trip at all, he cursed the hotel for being so incompetent. cursed the people that took her beloved toy away and himself for not being able to find it anywhere.
both of you trying to engage in playtime with your baby who didn't seem very receptive to any of it, it was her first time with sand in all the 7 months of her being alive and at the beginning she loved playing sandcastles with him but now she just looked blankly at it. hardly wanting to join as the soft sad look on her face persisted
"i'll go check with the staff again, maybe they've found something?" you offered standing up, hoping that her little toy would pop out from somewhere while your husband gave you a gentle nod sighing softly himself. he looks back to the infant, giving her a faint smile as he tilted his head
"c'mon sweetheart, it's gonna be alright. look, we can still have plenty fun" simon tried everything, doing the voices she loved, making all different types things in the sand, even sprinkling some on her little hands and feet but it didn't elicit any sort of response from her as she held her little toy spade tapping the sand hopelessly. he sighed once more, shaking his head as he looked up for you hoping magically her giraffe would be in your hand
but it's her shriek and gasp that jolts him slightly, blinking down at her watching her legs trying to crawl eagerly to somewhere while he looks around the families trying to figure out what got her so concerned
and then he spots it, his own heart thudding against his chest
he saw a little boy holding the same pastel giraffe and the sight filled him with triumph and anger. this little kid stole his baby's toy, put his whole family through hell, at this point that damned giraffe felt like his second kid, all while those parents watched without a care in the world? the cursive lettering on the side of the giraffe only confirmed his doubts as he stiffened up.
target set, he was ready to attack
he heard you come back, not finding anything from the staff as you look at him a little confused. your brow raised as he gets up, leaving the baby beside you stalking to the other family with a bone to pick
and like usual, simon doesn't even bother with pleasantries. walking straight to the parents eyes narrowing on the boy playing on the floor, swallowing down the anger that wanted to rip out of his throat as he looked at the giraffe. it was his, it belonged to him
"can we help you?" he hears the mother speak, her tone cautious and wary as she frowns. he barely gives her a glance before he snatches up the giraffe from her son, relishing in the protests as he stepped towards the woman. his face set eerily in a neutral expression but the emotions burned deep inside his eyes, brown eyes darkening as they settled on the woman
"yeah, teach your son not to steal from others. cheers" he spoke coldly, daring one of them to stand up to him. he was in the mood to fight, nights of dealing with his unhappy baby had left him feeling on edge and he was more than willing to shout his rage at someone.
but they didn't say a thing, who would to a 6'4 behemoth of a man, already pissed off and aggravated, just looking for a reason to snap back?
the silence had been resounding and he was satisfied, shooting them a last look as he stormed off. heading back to where you and his infant sat, presenting the beloved giraffe as a gift
"got your little friend, munchkin" his voice immediately softens as he kneels down on the sand once more, handing her the plush toy chuckling gently at her small excited giggles. tiny hands grabbing excitedly as she pressed the giraffe to her chest in pure relief making you both smile. he steadies her and her small frame nuzzles into his chest, a string of "dada" happily falling from her lips making his heart clench with adoration and love. smiling softly at you as he holds his little mini close to his chest, cuddling her tight
she ends up falling out of love with the giraffe the next day
nanny!reader but price is married to a bitch who doesn't like him, their kids, and absolutely HATES reader. ik cheating is bad but c'mon PLEASE
(18+ smut, fem!reader, nanny!reader, infidelity but not by you x, daddy kink which is crazy cause who the hell am i rn writing a daddy kink, breeding kink which is def not a surprise, usual fern unedited shit, abrupt ending, ok that’s it)
—•—
you could feel his wedding band.
the cold press of white gold against the hot curve of your arse. your skin was burning up, on fire. his hands were hot, too. warm and white-knuckled. callouses on the pads of his palms.
you could feel it when he pawed at your breasts, kneading with strong fingers. the press of the metal against the fat there made your eyes roll, whimpers falling from your mouth.
you could feel it when he was knuckle-deep in the tight, warm heat of your cunt. gushing around two fingers, dripping over his hairy knuckles. scissoring you open, kiss-swollen and puffy, clit racing with your heartbeat.
when you could feel it, inside you on some other part of your body, it made your heart race and your stomach flip. it got you excited. maybe it got you excited because it was a wedding band that you didn’t give him.
in the back seat of his car, you could feel it pressing against the back of your neck as he held you there and bounced you on his cock.
in the back seat of the car he had chosen with his wife. that smelled of the air-freshener she had chosen.
he had you straddling him, thick thighs sitting alongside his, the fat rippling with each of his heavy thrusts upwards. he grunted with each one, too. each time the flared head of his cock knocked upwards, he grunted. each time your pussy clenched around him, milking him, he grunted, jaw clenched.
the car rocked. like a boat atop a wake. the car he let his wife choose rocked as he fucked the woman who cared for his kids. who acted more the mother than she did.
it rocked as you moaned, one hand resting on his broad shoulder, the other smearing down the fogged window, tinted but not impenetrable. it was dark outside, the moon illuminating the front section of your house.
the hand around the back of your neck kept you grounded. kept you slamming down onto him. kept your swollen clit brushing against the coarse patch of hair at the base of his cock. a cock which split you open, which had your soaked cunt spilling around him, running onto the seats.
the seats which she designed. the wife. which she had chosen, and he had approved, and in reality she really didn’t give that much of a thought. she didn’t like them in the end.
you liked them. they were comfortable, and the colour was nice.
you could see a lot of that colour in your blurred vision, swimming with tears. john kept his hand on the back of your neck, the other on one of your soft hips. he pulled you, with force, downwards to meet his thrusts, cockhead punching the air from your lungs.
you moaned his name, and he grunted in return. the hand on the back of your neck eventually found your jaw, his fingers grasping your chin. holding. securely.
your body moved with him, pressure building in the depths of your stomach. somewhere deep in the marrow of your bones.
and when two of his fingers slipped into your parted mouth— his middle and his ring finger— and when you could feel the press of his wedding band against your lips, as the pads rested against your tongue, you saw stars. came so hard it made you dizzy.
or,
on his bed. that he shares with his wife. a wife who could never truly love him as much as you loved him. not that you told him that, but you assumed that he probably knew, deep down.
so, of course, you let him fuck you. let him fold you over with your chest pressed into the bed, your arse in the air, knees dimpling the mattress, face pressed into the sheets that smelled of him.
his hips slammed into you, hairy thighs pushing against you. you had felt that wedding band when he coaxed you onto your knees after making you come around his tongue, and then again when he pulled your arse cheeks apart to spit against your holes.
you felt it when he fingered the spit into the wet clutch of your pussy, and felt it when he teasingly slid his thumb, skimmed his thumb, over your arsehole. you felt it when he gripped the fat of your arse, wiping a wet J across your skin. and you felt it when he spread you again and slowly pushed his cock into your cunt.
you wanted to feel it all the time. it fed into your dark little fantasy that he belonged to you. that you weren’t just some nanny for his kids.
eyes closed, you focused on the pleasure. the velveteen ridges of his cock rubbing against the gummy walls of your cunt, the vein running along the underside, the way he held your hips and fucked into you.
rutted into you whilst pawing at your flesh. leaning forward, john’s belly pressed against your lower back, and he reached around your soft body to rub at your clit. you could feel the wedding band, warm now, skim against your mons. fleeting, but it made you moan as he began toying with your clit.
he fed into your fantasies. while his wife was at a work conference, doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who, he had his nanny— his play-pretend wife— folded like a seashell beneath him, playing with her pearl, so to speak.
“so noisy, sweet girl. y’gonna wake the kids, hm?” he whispered, voice dark. “gonna wake our kids.”
you bit into the sheets beneath you, moans catching in your throat. the slick sound of your pussy had your head in a spin, and the weight of his cock pistoning in and out of you made you want to cry out.
“my special girl, always takin’ such good care of ‘em. and y’take such good care of me, too, don’t you?” john grunted out, bed creaking, balls slapping against you, warm.
you nodded, breathing hard.
john hummed, pleased, continuing to rub at your clit in tight, but sloppy circles. you were so wet, sopping around his cock, folds puffy and glistening.
“best wife a man could ask for,” he told you in a way that almost pushed you over the edge. you held strong, though, as your legs started to tremble. he continued, “got me a pretty little bird, didn’t i? ‘m so fuckin’ lucky, baby.”
you whimpered. mewled. the fingers on your clit were lead-heavy and molten hot. static built in the base of your spine, pleasure rocking through every single one of your nerves. you felt yourself gushing around him.
you don’t know how he managed to get you this wet every time you fucked, but he did. maybe it was the years of experience. maybe it was just john being john. either way, he was the best fuck you’d ever have. and, if he could help it, the only one you’d ever have again.
he groaned above you. “mhm, that’s right. that’s right, pretty girl, keep this pussy nice n’ tight for me— that’s it, can feel you squeezin’ me. you wanna come?”
you nodded. you didn’t even know if you wanted to come, but your body was on the brink of something. tingling, pressure. either, you were about to have the hardest orgasm of your life, or you were about to have an outer-body experience. maybe both.
you could feel the wedding band against the soft, bare skin of your hip as he quickly shifted his hand away from your clit to really fuck you. a good couple of thrusts, and you were coming all over his cock— with a loud cry of his name, but muffled by the sheets.
your pussy gushed around him, leaking down your thighs, and you cried out for him— please, please, please, as he stuffed you full of his cock. in and out, drawing squelches and suction sounds. wet and warm and tight.
“let’s put another baby into you. eh, pretty? let me stuff this wet cunt— let me put a baby in this tummy of yours,” he cooed, hoarse and gruff and the type of man you knew you wanted to have kids with. i mean, you didn’t actually have any kids of your own, but you had his to look after. and those were close enough. he moaned, uttering, “m’gonna come inside you.”
gripping, kneading, squeezing. the wedding band on your skin. you sobbed into the sheets.
john groaned. “that’s it, sweet girl. just like that. m’gonna come. you— fuck, you gonna ask your daddy to come inside you?
you were still sobbing at the overwhelming pleasure. you turned your head to plead with him. “please, john, please come inside me— please, daddy, fuck—”
he spoke over you as he bucked his hips. “yeah, uh-huh, that’s it, baby. that’s— yeah, that’s fuckin’ it, m’gonna make you a mama— gonna make you my wife—”
he came inside you with a guttural moan, his cock wedged tightly inside your heat, which pulsed around him with the force of your third (?— probably, something like that. you lost count a while ago) orgasm of the night. you mewled into the mattress like a cat.
and then he fucked his cum into you. pushed it right towards the plug of your cervix with his wedding band on his finger and his hands holding you still beneath him.
holding his nanny still beneath him as he fucked a fat load of come into her soaked pussy. wishing to get her pregnant.
one day, you wouk be his wife. but for now, you were content with him fucking you within an inch of your life, then complaining about his actual wife just the next day.
