original story ♦️ unnamed characters ♦️ very explicit smut
ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush
SUMMARY: She is a girl dancing in the club that he owns - and one day, their eyes meet, things unfold and escalate quicker than any of them expected, she specifically. He soon declares her his, and she follows, submissive and infatuated as she is, unaware of the sexual journey she is about to embark on.
GENERAL TAGS/WARNINGS: NSFW! Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use. (More tags at the beginning of each chapter! Read carefully!)
S E A S O N ◾️ O N E
(10 chapters/~60k words total)
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
S E A S O N ◾️ T W O
(10 chapters/~70k words total)
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
chapter 19
chapter 20
S E A S O N ◾️ T H R E E
(7 chapters/~55k words total/on-going)
chapter 21
chapter 22
chapter 23
chapter 24
chapter 25
chapter 26
chapter 27
To be continued!
NOTES: I tagged this Dead Dove: Do Not Eat for a reason. Please be aware of the themes mentioned above and at the start of each chapter. This is dark, unhealthy, and frankly very self-indulgent. And fiction, never forget. None of this is real. If you don't like any of these themes, please do yourself a favor and do not read/engage!
On a different note: I kept this purposefully vague when it comes to physical descriptions, so you can imagine any character here, if you like, or keep it neutral and anonymous, it's totally up to you!
READ ON AO3
ONE-SHOTS:
Sick Day
...
PINTEREST BOARDS:
darling - sir - sir + darling - sir's penthouse: beautiful (work in progress) boards by the amazing pickles
I N F A T U A T E D: several boards including impressions of Sir, Darling, Sir + Darling, text posts, hands, and scenery, by me
INFATUATED BY CHAPTERS: work in progress of giving each chapter an individual moodboard, also by me
So... I don't even know if anyone is even reading this. Are you guys still here? It's been a while... Anyway. If you're interested in why it's been so quiet on this blog, keep reading!
I wanna be very transparent with you: I, a self-proclaimed smut writer, haven't written anything in a long time (to be fair I tried writing something non-sexual and even that didn't really work out...). I've had this crisis of kink before where I just wasn't in the mood for smut, which sometimes happens, but this phase has been my longest yet.
And it's not just that I can't write smut, I can't even proofread/edit what I've written a long time ago. It feels weird. But I told myself to put out what I've written because there do seem to be people who are waiting for new updates, so I'm forcing myself through my own little cringe-fest and hope against all odds that what I produced is at least sexy to other people...
Which is kinda sad, to be honest. I remember when I started writing FATED that I was so enamored with these two characters and their little forbidden love story, their cute and spicy moments, and I was so hyped to share it, but then my own little upload schedule pulled me out of my own hyperfixation, and now these characters feel so far away to me, and it's really not fair to them.
I do hope that the people reading on AO3 can appreciate Nick and Amy like I once did, and I really wish to get back into the mood to write more for them soon, but I can't make promises.
For the last 2.5 years all I've surrounded myself with were smut stories, it became my thing, and I was kinda proud of it too. I've never written so much in that little time, I was really impressed with myself. And I've started so many stories, created so many characters, and I know there are people out there waiting for their favorites to come back (I see your asks and I appreciate you for your time and interest!), but as of right now, I don't know when I'll continue any of them.
I've now run out of pre-written chapters/content; I've put out all the Fated chapters I had, there's still half an Infatuated chapter I need to continue, as well as mere ideas and very rough drafts for Lost & Found and Forced, and I don't even wanna dare think of Innocence Lost or other stories I've abandoned a while ago...
So, yeah, to my wonderful readers waiting for more, I am very sorry about the upcoming lack of content. I don't know when the mood will strike again, I feel as if my focus has shifted, which is normal, but it's going into a direction I haven't anticipated. As of right now, I am no longer a smut writer, I used to be, and I might become one again, but now I'm just a person floating through the void of the Internet, lurking in the shadows, trying to enjoy the time that was given to her.
And it's okay. I am telling myself that too, it has to be okay, interests change, views are getting altered, new things become more important. That's life. And I'm sure it'll change all over again at some point. Nothing's forever.
All I'm asking you, whoever is still reading this, is to be patient. I have a vast library of smut stories, there's a lot to read on this blog. There might not be anything new anytime soon, but maybe you can still appreciate my old stuff. I shall go back to it as well one day, to get back into the mood, if the mood allows it. Who knows.
Until then, stay tuned, and thank you for still being here! I appreciate you!
For you to see what's coming, and for me to keep track of the things I have in my back pocket (it's messy there). Dates may change, and I might throw in some smut drabbles here and there because most uploads happen over at AO3. We'll see how this will go.
Nov 7th/8th: Infatuated One-Shot Sick Day (AO3/tumblr)
Nov 14th/15th: Chapter 1 of Fated (AO3/tumblr)
Nov 18th: Chapter 2 of Fated (AO3 only)
Nov 21st: Chapter 3 of Fated (AO3 only)
Nov 28th/29th: Chapter 26 of Infatuated (AO3/tumblr)
After taking it slow most of the day, he takes her to a fancy restaurant where he pushes her limits all over again.
ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush
WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Subspace. Handjob/masturbation. Cum eating. Butt plug/vaginal insertions (Ben Wa balls). Dirty talk. Public indecency? Vaginal fingering. Semi-public vaginal + anal sex, creampies. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 14.2k
A/N: Remember that these characters are vague on purpose, so you can imagine them as your favorite blorbos. Also: this is Sir's POV, expect the worst. And enjoy.
TWENTY-SIX 🟥 TWENTY-SEVEN 🟥 TWENTY-EIGHT
Watching her drift into subspace the moment she started suckling on his cock, has been so endearing that he almost forgot about the plans he's made for them today. Her waking up in pain hasn't been planned either, but it was only fair to give back, to pamper her like she deserved. And they still have a few hours anyways.
It's surprising, if not even a little frightening, how having her between his legs, cockwarming him, eases his mind. This little pliant thing, curled up, her warm mouth stuffed, tiny hand holding onto him, finding respite in serving him. So perfectly submissive.
His fingers glide through her hair, a soothing gesture, and he feels himself relaxing even more, despite how his cock thickens in her grasp. He's past fighting the fact that she's changing him and his ways, that he treats her different than the rest, the ones before her, he's more or less accepted it by now. Nothing he can do against her undeniable charm. It is what it is.
Sighing deeply, he leans back into the pile of pillows behind him, the nest he built for her, the same nest where he's defiled and punished her before, now it's a place of comfort, for both of them. Strange developments indeed. His eyes wander over the colorful items all around him, over the sparkling fairy lights, the curtains blocking out the world beyond, the bright duvets and blankets, and then... the stuffed animal, the battered old wolf, sitting on the nightstand to his right, watching over them.
Without disturbing her, he stretches his arm out and picks it up. Its fur is matted, one ear missing a big chunk, exposing a makeshift scar, a black thread sewn tightly to keep its fluffy innards in place. She must have had this thing for a long while, probably through childhood, hugging it frequently, seeking comfort? He really doesn't want to think too much about her as a child, but curiosity still flares up.
His perfect little orphan girl, no known relatives left to keep watch over her, which made it so easy for him to take her in and away in the first place. No one has been looking for her, she's been all alone. Well, not anymore, he tells himself, caressing her head with one hand while he turns the wolf plushie in the other. Its dull eyes stare at him, almost challenging. He should probably take this thing away soon. She won't need it anymore. She has him.
He thinks back to that day in her old apartment, how she'd scrambled to gather the things she thought she'd need. And as her backpack was bursting at the seams, she had decided to leave the wolf behind, but somehow he'd known she would never willingly part with it. Not yet. Not back then. So he had it packed up with the rest of her stuff. He'll ask her again soon, if she still needs it.
For now, he returns it to the nightstand, then focuses on her again, both hands finding her head. Time to bring her back. “Baby,” he whispers hoarsely, caressing her jaw, feeling the tension there as she keeps it open to find space for his cock. He's fully hard, soaked in her saliva, warm and wet. She definitely has a job to finish. “Wake up, baby girl.”
She stirs slightly, a little gurgle escaping her. He gently pries his erection out of her grip, holding it in his own fist until she's capable of taking care of it again. His other hand cups her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, smearing some of her drool over it. Her eyes flutter open.
“Easy, darling,” he soothes when she frowns, smacking her swollen lips, certainly missing having something between them. “You're okay. You did so well, keeping me warm. Such a good girl.”
Her eyes are glazed over when she looks up at him, unfolding herself to sit up on her knees, swaying slightly. He pulls his hand back and watches her. She wipes at her mouth, blinking, until her gaze steadies and an instant blush crashes through her when she finds him smiling at her.
“Help me finish this?” he asks, fully aware of sounding way too nice.
He's never cared much about pulling his girls out of subspace, that wasn't his job. It had been about him, about his pleasure, and their purpose had been to service him, and it didn't matter how groggy they were, how they felt or looked, covered in drool, dirty and pathetic. Holes to stuff and nothing more. But this girl, his sweet little darling girl, he could watch her drift in and out of subspace for days. Eerily adorable.
She nods slowly, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks down at his hand curled around his cock. A little yawn escapes her which she quickly hides behind her hand, eyes widening as she notices. A smirk creeps onto the corner of his mouth.
“Come sit beside me,” he tells her quietly, and she looks up in confusion, a cute little frown on her forehead. “Let's give your pretty mouth a little break, hm? Your hand will do,” he adds as she climbs over his leg and settles at his side.
Putting his free arm around her shoulder, he pulls her close, and without guidance, she extends her hands and rubs at his wrist, as if asking for him to let go of his length. He indulges her, but as soon as she curls her small hand around his girth, he puts his hand over hers. She turns her head, curious eyes wandering over his face. He gives her a wink, which coaxes a tiny giggle out of her, heat pulsing under her skin.
Relaxing against him, she loosens her grip enough for him to start moving their hands together, up and down his shaft, pushing the tight skin over the spongy head, pulling it taut again, slowly repeating, every motion sending small shivers down his spine. Eventually she focuses on their hands, watching attentively, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips. He quickens the motion, feeling his stomach tightening, precum beading on his slit.
His free hand finds her jaw, she looks at him in surprise, lips parted, and as he leans down to her, his hand slipping around her throat, she's already craning her neck to move closer to him, eyes flicking over his face. He presses his forehead to hers, labored breaths mingling, before he captures her mouth for a searing kiss, swallowing her mewls and gasps, while their hands stroke faster up and down his achingly hard cock, ready to burst, and as her tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting his, he groans, a jerk going through his body, his cock twitching, balls drawing up, before he feels the warm sensation of his cum hitting his hand.
Their kiss is messy, desperate, as more ropes shoot from his tip, coating his skin. He's breathless by the time he's finally done, as is she, face flushed, lips red and tender, glistening in their mixed saliva. Leaning back, he collapses into the pillows once more, loosening his grip, and she's not even waiting for a command, just bends down, slipping her hand from around his softening length. Her fingers curl around his wrist, pulling gently, and when he feels her hot little tongue licking up his spend, from his fingers to his stomach, he closes his eyes and exhales loudly, deflating under her ministrations.
“Good girl,” he croaks, letting her clean him up.
A shudder crashes through him when she closes her lips around his tip and sucks the rest out of him. Insatiable little thing. Always hungry. He should probably feed her something real soon.
She finishes by giving his cock a series of little pecks, causing his eyes to snap open, and he has to grab her neck to pull her off him. Watching him from under her lashes, she climbs back up and nestles into his side, small hand resting on his stomach, warm cheek pressed to his pecs. He hugs her tightly, inhaling deeply.
“How do you feel?” he asks after a while of comfortable silence.
“Good,” she breathes against him. “Better...”
“You'll probably be sore for a bit longer, I'm afraid, but I'm sure you can handle it, right, darling?”
“Yes, sir,” she replies quietly, her lips brushing against his nipple, sending a little shiver through him. His hand rubs along her back until he feels goosebumps pebbling her skin.
“I'll give you a day, no deepthroating, no spanking, no deep penetration,” he continues on an exhale, looking around the bright room, his mind reeling at his own words. “And trust me, it's not gonna be easy for me, when all I wanna do is sink my cock into your beautiful holes...” He sighs again. “Soon, eh?”
He feels her moving against him, her chin pressing into his chest as she tilts it up to look at him. Her eyes are clear, curious. “You don't have to, you know?” she then whispers, causing him to frown at her. “I am yours to use, am I not? You don't have to be considerate of me...”
He raises an eyebrow, a scoff leaving his lips. She sounds just like his own inner voice reminding him of who he is (or was). “Yeah? You're right, I don't, but I want to. Because I want to be able to play with you for some time longer, and if you break on me, what then? I have to take care of my playthings, baby. And I will, if you want to or not.”
Her blush deepens, her lashes fluttering as she looks away, a twitch to her full lips. “Thank you,” she mumbles, snuggling into him. He holds her tighter.
“Don't get used to it,” he retorts with a dark chuckle. “You are something special, I have to admit, the first I ever treated like this, but don't let it get to your head. As soon as I need servicing again, you are just a set of holes for me, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she says, her voice a little muted, almost deflated.
“A beautiful set of holes, but a set of holes nonetheless,” he clarifies, his fingers curling around her nape, pressing against her collar. She stiffens under the gesture. “My set of holes, right? Mine to use, mine to take care of, mine to do whatever I want with...”
“Yes,” she gasps softly when he slips his digits under the collar, tightening it against her throat. “All yours...”
“Good,” he breathes, letting go of her, fingers instead moving into her hair. She relaxes instantly. “I'm gonna take you out tonight. You'll wear a nice dress, you'll doll yourself up for me, we'll eat and drink and enjoy ourselves, and then I'll bring you to the club, show you around, hm, how does that sound?”
She shifts, her elbow poking his side as she sits up to look at him with her eyes wide, a shy smile dancing around her mouth. “Sounds nice,” she whispers. “No, amazing. Thank you! I'll... I'll be good, I promise!”
He laughs. “Of course you will, I'm expecting no less of you. I told you I'll give you another chance to prove yourself in public. And you will behave, won't you? Do whatever I tell you?”
She hesitates just a second, licking her lips, swallowing, before she nods eagerly. “Yes, sir, I'll do whatever you say.”
“What if I tell you to lift your dress or expose your tits, hm? In the middle of the restaurant? Will you do that?”
Her nostrils flare, her eyelids fluttering, red spots dancing on her cheeks, but she nods again. “Yes, sir...”
“Or if I want to sink my fingers into your pretty cunt, right there at the table, while the waiter brings our food? Will you be good and let me?” He watches her closely, remembering the last time he's tried to make her come in public.
“Of course,” she whispers, holding his gaze.
His mind is spinning with possibilities, his cock already agreeing as he feels it twitching slightly, slowly coming back to life. “I could make you sit on my lap, cockwarming me, would you like that? Being connected like that, surrounded by other people? What if they notice, hm? Would you mind? Or would you want to make me happy?”
A shuddering breath escapes her as she considers his words. “I... I want to... make you happy,” she eventually replies, her jaw unusually tense. He gives her a proud smile.
“I'll make you wear a vibe,” he thinks aloud, reveling in the shocked reactions that she tries so desperately to hide. “I'll play with you whenever I want, and you'll dance for me, won't you? Show me your best reactions? Like a good girl?”
She swallows again, biting her bottom lip. “Y-yes, sir.” A stammer slips into her speech, her brave facade crumbling. His hand finds her warm face, his thumb pushing between her quivering lips. She leans into it, looking at him, a silent plea in her eyes.
He smiles at her. “I'll be good to you too, don't worry,” he whispers, sitting up to lean into her until his nose brushes against hers. “I can be civil, you know? No need to ruin my reputation. We'll still have our fun, if you can keep up that poker face of yours, hm?” His hand tightens around her jaw, thumb and forefinger pressing gently into her cheeks. “Best start practicing now.”
She stares at him, her eyes glazing over, tears brimming within. He can already tell she'll suck at that game, unable to hide anything, from him at least, but he doesn't worry. She's proven herself to him, it'll be fine. To reward her for her efforts, he presses his lips to her squished mouth, slowly letting go of her.
“My good girl,” he breathes into her, cupping her cheek, his thumb pressed to her chin to guide her. “Aren't you?”
“Yes,” she whispers, a shy smile making her wet lips twitch. “I'm your good girl.”
He chuckles softly, kissing her again, before he pulls his arm around her and her into himself. She settles against him, slowly relaxing again. If only he hadn't promised her a break, he'd already have her on her hands and knees and fucked within an inch of her life. All this talk has gone straight to his cock, but he needs to stay true to his words, to the promise he's given himself all those days ago, on that first night he'd taken her home. To show restraint.
And he meant it too, he can't break her, he almost did a couple of times, but no longer. As otherworldly as it still feels to him, but he needs her, alive and kicking, smiling, obeying, comforting him.
They cuddle like this for another moment, as he forces his erection down, calming himself, easing her nerves at the same time. No matter what depravities he'll throw at her, whenever, wherever, he knows she'll be good, willing to do whatever, submit to him fully, but maybe he'll take it easy on her as well. To keep it interesting.
“Alright, enough of this. Breakfast? Or is it lunch yet?” he muses as he peels himself away from her, slowly rising from the bed. “I'll make us something, okay? You hungry?”
She rolls onto her side, watching him closely. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice that cute little hum, the accompanying smile almost too much for him.
“Good,” he says, rolling his neck, his eyes glued to her curled up form. “Get ready then,” he adds, motioning towards the bathroom. “See you in the kitchen.”
She nods as he bends down to pick up his jeans. When he reaches the door out, she sits up, rubbing her eyes. So fucking adorable.
“Put on something cute,” he throws over his shoulder as he turns to leave.
“Okay,” she calls back, and he braces himself at the soft tone, the gentleness, and it's not his cock that's twitching, it's something in his stomach, something warm that shoots straight into his heart.
This girl is going to be the death of him.
Something cute turns out to be a little pink babydoll dress, tight around her breasts, billowing down around her waist and hips, barely reaching over her reddened ass. For his sake or because it felt better for herself, she's not put on any underwear, and he's completely fine with that. It's a whiff of nothing, sheer frilly fabric that accentuates her beautiful body. To add to her cuteness, she's even braided her hair into two pigtails. It almost causes him to drop the pancakes he's made for them. He really wishes he could take her out looking like this. What a treat. But he's chosen something more formal for her, and it'll be a sight as well, he's sure.
They eat right at the counter, he's perched on one of the stools, while she decides to stand next to him, hands on his thigh as he feeds her bite after bite. He allows it, knowing sitting is probably still too painful for the poor girl. It also shows her her place, always below him, at his mercy, patiently waiting for what he does next. He gives her a large glass of orange juice which she empties quickly, her cute little tongue licking around her mouth afterwards. He's tempted to taste it too, but refrains, knowing it would only lead to him wanting to bend her over and take her right here, right now, soreness be damned.
It takes him all he has to fight the temptation, and once he's done feeding her and eating the rest, he gets up and walks around the counter, putting some distance between them to calm down again. Maybe a proper workout that doesn't involve the girl would be in order. He's certainly neglected his usual fitness routine ever since she's been with him. Yet as soon as he looks at her, still waiting next to the stool, watching him, he can't bring himself to even consider leaving her to her own devices again.
Perhaps he could think up a routine that'll combine the two. Push-ups as she lies beneath him, his cock sinking into her cunt with every down motion? Sit-ups with the prospect of a kiss every time he goes up? He could even switch out his weights and lift her instead. The possibilities are endless.
He looks away with a grunt as his cock gives an angry twitch against his jeans. Soon. Not now. She needs to rest. And he needs to focus. Inhaling deeply, he starts loading the dishwasher. The quiet tapping of her feet surprises him, even more so when he sees her handing him the plate and the empty glass. He takes them from her without a word, but can't take his eyes off her. A shy smile lights up her face.
“I'm going for a jog,” he then blurts out, needing the space after all. “You'll be in your room, resting, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers quietly, looking up at him with those big eyes, cute and submissive. He wants to punch a wall.
Nodding, he takes a step back, the dishes clattering on the counter as he puts them down, then beckons her to follow him. At her door, he waits, fingers curled around the edge, tight and tense, and once she walks past him, he's ready to close it and lock her in (and the temptation out). She stops, turns slowly, a frown on her face.
“Are you alright?” she asks softly.
He gives a laugh that sounds like a grunt. “Oh, I'm fine, baby, just peachy. You're very cute, by the way,” he adds, giving her a gentle shove into the room. “Rest now. I'll be back soon. Promise.”
She looks at him in confusion, but complies, a deep blush on her cheeks before he closes the door on her. Turning the key, he exhales loudly. His hand is shaking from how tense he is. He really has to push himself now if he wants to keep up this restraint thing. She's definitely not making it easy.
It takes him almost five laps through the park and a very cold shower afterwards to fully calm down again. He didn't even check his phone and the surveillance app, hoping to clear his mind off the girl, even though she still occupied most of it regardless. Exhausted but feeling better, he finishes getting ready, deciding on his usual black suit, and as he buttons his white dress shirt, his eyes flick over the long dress he's chosen for her.
He sighs. A day, half a day tops. She'll be fine to take his cock later tonight, he's sure. She has to be. He needs it.
Once he's fully dressed, he leaves his bedroom, only to return to grab the ointment he's used on her before, knowing she'll probably need it again soon. Eventually, he approaches her door and unlocks it quietly, yet as soon as he pulls it open, he finds her kneeling next to her bed, her usual spot, and a warmth settles in his stomach, making him smile and his cock twitch eagerly. She's lost the babydoll, waiting for him fully naked, all her beautiful marks and bruises on display for him. Good girl, he thinks while he doesn't acknowledge her, only walks past her.
He enters her walk-in closet and goes straight for the box of toys, rummaging through it until he finds a sparkling princess plug and two Ben Wa balls that clink softly as he lifts them from their own cushioned box. She might be sore, but it'll be good practice to keep her holes filled and stretched, the additional weight of the balls helping her train her pelvic muscles. As much as he loves to humiliate her sometimes, she'll feel more confident knowing she has better control over her bladder in the future. She'll also remain nice and tight for him too.
“Kneel on the bed, darling, spread those cheeks,” he tells her as he returns, waiting for the girl to follow the command. She does, scrambling onto the edge of the bed, bending forward, her small hands on her ass cheeks before she presents her holes to him. “Good girl,” he praises out loud. Keeping the metal balls in his palm, he leans around her, prodding the anal plug against her lips. “Keep this warm for me?”
With her head turned to the side, she can only comply, opening her mouth willingly, before she issues a muffled reply that he acknowledges by dragging his fingernails down her spine, making her shiver. “We're gonna start training your cute cunt today,” he continues as soon as he straightens up behind her again. “I'm gonna put two metal balls inside you, they're called Ben Wa balls, they're weighted and they'll help you train your pelvic muscles, okay? You'll feel them, but they shouldn't be much of a problem for you. You'll keep them in for as long as you can hold them, won't you?”
She stiffens slightly, but mumbles her agreement around the plug in her mouth. He caresses her lower back, slowly sliding down around her still slightly reddened ass. A dip between her legs tells him that despite her apprehension, she is ready for whatever he has planned. Wet and warm, just how he likes her. He still applies a bit of soothing cream on his fingers, then rubs them along her folds, parting them carefully, while slowly pushing one of the balls against her entrance with his other hand, waiting for her muscles to ease and swallow the object on their own. The metal sphere is about the size of a ping-pong ball, only sturdier and heavier, easier to push out if she wanted to, which he hopes she won't. It's for her own good after all.
Once the first ball sits inside her cunt, he prods the other between her folds too, the soft clinking sound making her shudder. “Easy, it'll be alright. You can do this. You had bigger stuff in your little pussy before, didn't you? One more push, and... ah, good, look at your beautiful hole, so eager to swallow whatever I push inside. Well done, darling.”
He ignores her shaking breaths and grabs her arms, gently pulling her off the bed and into a standing position. Turning her to face him, he meets her pleading gaze.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, still holding her elbow with one hand.
“Feels weird,” she says after he pulled the plug out of her mouth, a bit of drool following the motion. “Heavy. Won't they just fall out?”
“You'll have to clench around them, keep them in,” he tells her, tilting his head. “That's how we'll train your muscles, so you'll be able to hold in everything I'll shove inside you. Fun, huh? It'll also help with bladder control,” he adds, watching how she blushes deeply and looks away, highly embarrassed. He squeezes her arm. “You'll be fine. Now, bend over once more for me? We'll have to train your other hole too.”
She does as he tells her, her hands sinking into the soft bedding as she leans forward, and it only takes him a few seconds and a few dollops of ointment to push the plug into her ass. It's relatively small also, much smaller than she's used to anyway. The sparkling knob shimmers as he moves her hips left and right to test her a little. Her muscles grip beautifully around the object.
“Good,” he praises, helping her stand again. “Remind me not to take you through any metal detectors tonight, hm? Would be quite the show,” he adds with a playful smirk. She only blushes more, avoiding his gaze.
As she stands, he cups his large hand around her mound, testing the state of her cunt. For now, she keeps the balls securely inside, though he fears with how wet she already is, they might slip out sooner than he had hoped. It surely doesn't help that he can't stop himself from teasing her clit, feeling it throb lightly against his finger.
“You excited for tonight?” he asks her, rubbing his hand along her inner thigh and around her backside.
She looks up at him, tense, forcing herself to be his good little girl even though he can tell she's struggling, probably anxious which of his plans he'll make a reality later. “I'm just happy to spend time with you,” she then whispers, a shy smile making her lips twitch.
“Aren't you the cutest,” he sighs, grabbing her chin and leaning down to press his lips to hers. “Come on now, I have a surprise for you.”
Her eyes light up, almost distracting her from the clinking metal balls inside her as he starts pulling her after him, out of her room and towards his. The sounds are subtle, and nobody will hear them moving in a busy restaurant, he's sure. If she can keep them in that long.
Once they reach his bedroom, his hand tight around hers, he leads her into his closet. Her eyes fall immediately on the dress, her lips parting.
“For you,” he whispers, stepping behind her with his hands on her shoulders. She shivers when he brushes his lips against her ear. “Wanna try it on?”
“Yes,” she breathes, reaching out to touch the soft fabric as if to make sure it's real. He smiles to himself, watching her as she takes a tentative step towards it.
He really doesn't know a lot about fashion, but he knows people who do, and they sure delivered. The dress is gorgeous, or rather, it looks gorgeous on her. The long flowing material, satin presumably, in that particular shade of off-white or champagne, hugs her small body perfectly, accentuating all the right places, adding volume where there isn't much. His eyes rake over her form, taking her in. She's blushing adorably as he does, but he can't help himself.
The dress was the perfect choice. Modest neckholder top (hiding her collar), cinched in the waist, puffing out her chest just a bit more than usual, with no visible cleavage whatsoever, covering the bruises on her neck and breasts (a shame, actually, that he can't parade her around with his marks all over her, for everyone to see, but he really can't deal with overzealous white knights or bad publicity right now; he'll know they are there, she'll know, and that has to be enough).
“Turn around, darling,” he whispers, still taking in the dress and how it makes her look, so different from what he's used to. She slowly does what he told her, presenting her backside to him.
The top is fastened by a bow, currently covered by her hair, two long shawls falling down between her shoulder blades, the rest of her back and shoulders completely exposed with how the dress is cut. He'd feared the dress would be too modest and innocent, but there's enough skin to get him through the night. Especially since there is a scandalously high slit in the side of the skirt that starts at her left hip, parting the skirt in a way that reveals her entire leg.
Initially he wanted her to wear stockings and a garterbelt, even fancy underwear, but seeing the dress now, he doubts that will be very classy. As if wearing no underwear was better, but it wouldn't be as obvious. He'll probably let her go commando, to force her to train those muscles and keep the balls in, while it's also highly convenient to him, because... well, easy access. And as long as she'll keep her legs closed, no one will notice anything anyway – and he'll make sure to not let anyone near her also. That slit (and the other slit made available like that) is for him and him alone.
Following the line of her leg (getting slightly distracted by how tiny her waist and how wide her hips look due to how the dress is draped around her), he frowns, realizing she may be shorter than he's anticipated. The dress falls onto the floor in soft waves, definitely dragging after her when she walks. He tilts his head, then looks at the shoe shelf next to her.
“How comfortable are you on high heels?” he asks, scanning the contents.
“Not very,” she says quietly. “But those... wedges you made me wear before were okay.”
He throws her a glance, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. He bought several of the same kind for her, now choosing a beige pair with soft looking ribbons that'll tie around her calf beautifully. “These will do,” he says, taking them out and putting them down in front of her.
She looks from the shoes up to him, and he only tilts his head and motions her to sit down on the little stool next to the mirror. She winces slightly when she sits down, the metal balls shifting within her with a barely audible clink, but then extends her leg to him. As he kneels down in front of her, he sees her blushing. He's acutely aware how their roles have changed, or rather advanced, but then it also feels natural, helping her into her shoes.
He's never considered himself a true Dominant, not in the classical (consensual) sense, since he isn't very keen on following rules and would probably be shunned by the community too for how he's been treating women before, but with this sweet little girl, this beautiful young woman, it's almost second nature, to guide and assist her, to bring out her submissiveness as well as her trust. He hates thinking in labels, and he won't start putting them into a mold and live a normal life any time soon, so it really doesn't matter either way. The only rule that's important to him is her following his every word, no hesitation, no defiance. Thus far, she's doing a great job.
Holding her gaze, he carefully closes his hands around her calf and pulls her foot closer, then starts slipping the shoe on, reveling in how her breath hitches at the gentle touch, before fastening the ribbons around her ankle and higher. She watches him with bated breath, cheeks dusted with a soft pink, a warm expression in her eyes. Once he's done the same to the other foot, he smiles at her, slowly standing up, one hand finding her cheek before he leans down to press a soft kiss to the other. A tiny giggle hums in his ear when he straightens up.
“Stand for me,” he tells her and steps back, watching her finding her balance on the platform shoes. Now the dress falls slightly better, no longer dragging on the floor. “Beautiful,” he adds, sliding his fingers down her bare arm to grab her hand.
She smiles shyly, squeezing his digits. “Thank you for the dress,” she whispers, head tilted up to look at him, eyes glistening. He nods, lost in her soft gaze for a moment.
“Put your hair up. I'll find you some jewelry,” he then says, leading her back into the bedroom.
As she hums her confirmation, he gives her a gentle nudge out of the room, watching her as she tries to walk as graceful as possible on those unfamiliar heels and with two metal balls wedged inside her cunt. She's doing okay. At least it makes him smile.
“Table for two? Follow me,” the waitress says with a wide smile and a nod after he's confirmed his reservation with her.
The restaurant isn't as packed as he had feared, they are still early. He walks slowly after the tall woman who's way too eager to bring them (or rather him) to their table, while the girl clings to his arm, still in need of his support on those heels. She looks even more beautiful with her hair up, pinned in place with the occasional loose strand falling free, grazing her bare shoulders. He's put golden bracelets on her thin wrists, would have loved to give her more, but since she doesn't have pierced ears and the dress doesn't allow a necklace, he's left it at that.
She's also not wearing any make-up, as he prefers to see her natural beauty shine through. That intense blush never leaves her cheeks anyway when he's around. Of course he's helped with that earlier in the car, on the short ride over, unable to control himself after all as he's fingered her lightly, mostly to make sure the Ben Wa balls were still in place, but also to tease her just enough so she'll remain on edge the entire night, never knowing what he'll do next.
He's tempted to take her to the restroom before their three course dinner, but then he fears she would expect just that, so he refrains, fighting the urge. It'll only make it better, more exhilarating, once he's finally able to sink his cock into her warmth (which hopefully happens after dinner, that's as unpredictable as he can get with his balls tensing already).
Before they've left, he's fed her her birth control pill, so she should be good to go once he's ready to empty himself inside her. That's as much preparation as he could muster – without letting the tempting thoughts take over. He still can't believe he's actually restraining himself, for her sake, to allow her to heal, at least to some degree. Any other girl would have ended up on their knees or bent over or folded in half, stuffed full and soiled, no matter the things he'd done to them earlier. To satisfy him, as is their purpose.
To be fair, he's never taken any of those girls to dinner before, that's reserved for business partners and old friends, the occasional date that never went beyond a casual fuck afterwards. To have this submissive girl by his side, holding onto his arm like a lifeline, depending on him, feels like a new experience entirely. Of course he wouldn't have taken her here if he wouldn't trust her, wouldn't know she'd behave herself, but it's still a thrill, miming a normal couple, man and woman, sitting together, eating and drinking, enjoying themselves, while he keeps thinking of ways to relieve his urges with her, preferably in the most depraved ways possible.
Hell knows he's a good actor.
The waitress leads them to a corner table, right by the large windows, looking down over the city, lights glittering up to them. He helps the girl onto her seat, noticing the little gasp that leaves her as she sits down, those metal balls shifting within her. She's holding up surprisingly well. His good girl. His hand is on her shoulder as he sits down beside her, free hand undoing the buttons of his jacket. They sit at a slight angle around the round table, but still close enough to allow for his hand to find her bare thigh through the long slit of her dress. She smiles shyly at him, those cheeks still rosy, a little anxious furrow between her brows.
He squeezes her thigh, smiles back, then turns the same smile, only faker, towards the waitress when he orders their best wine and a large glass of water. He needs to keep the girl hydrated. For later purposes.
Relaxing once they're alone, he watches her take in their surroundings with wide eyes. The restaurant is situated high above the city, probably at the same height as his penthouse, just a few blocks over. Dinner reservations are highly sought after and booked long in advance, but with a few connections and the appropriate incentive, he can usually find a table here whenever he likes. The wish to take her here has been a spontaneous development, nothing he had planned, per se, but she seems to enjoy it nonetheless. If it wasn't for her expensive dress and pretty hairdo (and those gold accessories), she'd look totally out of place, way too young to ever enter such an establishment, yet at his side, with his hand on her leg, she belongs, and he'd fight anyone claiming the opposite.
That's how far he's come. Defending her honor. As if she'd be a proper individual and not his submissive, his little plaything, a girl whose purpose is to please him. Despite his recent shift in character, the darkness is still very much present within him, just muted, behind a thick veil that strengthens every time she's particularly adorable. To fall for such cheap tricks... What a disgrace.
Looking away from her, he inhales deeply, tightening his fingers around her soft thigh, fingertips creeping towards her warm center. How bad he wants to feel her wetness, feel those balls stretch her core, make them clink, make her mewl, right here, right now, but he should at least wait until their drinks arrive, or the entrée, until dessert even? No, too long. He can't wait that long.
A rough breath escapes him, and in a fluid motion, he lets go of her, grabs the underside of her chair and yanks her towards him until his leg presses against hers. He masks the new seating arrangement by throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him, motioning her to look ahead through the window to stay inconspicuous, while his fingers tease along the edge of her dress, ready to slip beneath it. With how its draped around her breasts and torso, he could just push it aside and expose her soft mounds, but forcing himself to keep it classy, for now, he only nudges his fingertips against her warm skin.
Her breaths are a little labored, her body stiff against him, but she just lets him, of course she does, she's his good little girl, and she promised him to behave and let him do whatever he wants to do with her. With one hand still fondling the side of her boob, he leans forward and hooks the other hand under her thigh, opening that slit dangerously as he pulls her leg over his lap. She looks at him in alarm, but he only smiles at her, the hand on her chest moving down, circling her waist, to then slip between her legs, covering her mound, helping her keep those balls in.
She presses into him, face fully flushed, but it's only him who notices in the dim lights of the restaurant. While they sit with their backs to the rest of the room, he knows they're safe in their corner, having chosen this particular table for exactly this reason. Unless there's a peeping tom with binoculars on the roof across from them, looking in, nobody but him will see how her bare cunt blushes in the light breeze of the AC, how his palm presses against her puffy folds, creating the quietest little squelching noise that gets lost in the ambient music all around them.
Still she can't help but squirm against him until he shushes her gently, leaning close to brush his lips to her temple. She freezes, inhales sharply, but slowly relaxes again. “Good girl,” he rasps into her hair. And while she seems to be soothed by his praise, she still lets out a soft gasp and clasps her hands to his wrist when the waitress approaches their table with their drinks. He knows the woman has better things to do than wonder about a man's hand in a girl's lap.
Completely unfazed, he orders for them, ignoring the girl's uneven breaths and the way she presses his hand between her thighs, hoping to cover it up. Adorable. Ultimately, she achieves the complete opposite, as he watches the waitress' eyes shift towards his blushing date for a moment before focusing back on him. But he couldn't care less. He gives the woman a smile, noting her professionalism, then watches her walk away.
“She saw,” he whispers, tilting his head to nudge his chin against her head. “You need to work on that poker face, darling.”
She lets out a little whine, raising her hands to cover her face, but he only chuckles, kissing her hair. His hand remains curled around her warmth, slowly rubbing up and down, feeling her wetness coating his palm. Despite her obvious apprehension, her body betrays her, and she has to admit that she likes being touched in public like this. If only she knew what he'd done with the girls before her... She'd die on the spot.
As the memories of former conquests fill his mind (and his cock), he leans into her, winding down, sighing deeply, mindlessly rubbing his free hand over her leg on his lap. From telling girls to strip for him in a busy street, to having them crawl behind him on their hands and knees, wearing only a collar and a leash, to bringing them into the sketchier parts of town, tying them to poles or leaving them in abandoned buildings and letting fate take its course, he's done it all, and never looked back in regret. Yet at the same time he knows, he will never subject her to the same things.
She was made for him, for his pleasure, alone in the privacy of his home, not for others to take because he's grown bored of her. He couldn't even imagine growing bored of a sweet little thing like her. She's willing to do everything for him, but not with the energy of a whore wanting his attention, but the nervousness of an inexperienced girl, wanting to learn, to please, to be with him. To not be alone anymore.
It might have started with an innocent crush, but they both know now that what she needed has been a deeper desire, an urge to be led and guided, to be shown the ways, to be held afterwards, to be owned and cared for. And while he never strove to do these things for any woman in the world, he may just have found his match, the one to change his ways for. As unwillingly as it has started.
Inhaling deeply, taking in her soft scent, he closes his eyes for a moment, reveling in how close she is, how warm and wet for him, how docile in his grasp. It's only a matter of time before his darkness seeps through the cracks, his cock stirring as he opens his eyes and leans in to nibble at the shell of her ear, whispering: “I can't wait to fuck you against that window later. Hmm... For everyone to see? Would you like that?”
She stiffens immediately, more so when he bends a finger and teases at her hole, feeling the smooth surface of one of the balls against his fingertip. “They... they'd kick us out,” she croaks nervously, another little shriek escaping her when he pushes his finger deeper, nudging the ball against the other.
He laughs. “Oh baby, nobody will kick me out, don't worry. They wouldn't dare...”
Her lashes flutter as she forces herself to remain calm, and it's only her warm cheeks, blooming deep red, that would give her away. “You... you'd do that? Right here?” she whispers breathlessly.
“Yeah,” he replies hoarsely, pumping his finger in and out slowly. “I'd lift up your dress and expose you. I'd make you push out those balls and tell you to hold them, before I'd sink my cock into your tight cunt, standing behind you, pressing you to the glass pane, and as I fuck you, we can enjoy the lights of the city beneath us. That's as romantic as I can get, baby girl.”
She shivers, her fingernails digging into his wrist as she holds onto his hand, her gaze straight ahead through the window, probably imagining what he's just told her. Truth be told, he wouldn't do that, maybe after hours, but not in a full restaurant. They might not dare to kick him out, but there are too many bystanders around who have no idea who he is and what he's capable of, and he'd like to keep his good reputation for now. As false as it may be.
Eventually he slips his finger free, wipes it on her inner thigh. Kissing the top of her head, he leans back, his hand casually resting on her waist, the other on her leg, a gentle gesture, still possessive, but not as unusual. She inhales deeply, shoulders relaxing, sinking against his body. Turning his head to look over his shoulder, scanning the room, he takes another whiff of her hair.
“I will fuck you tonight,” he says under his breath. “I'll see where and when, you just wait.”
“O-okay,” she whispers back, her voice that uncertain little hum, a bit of defeat swimming in her tone.
That's right, baby, learn to accept the unpredictable, he thinks, humming against her before turning back, settling into his seat.
The first course, some kind of soup he doesn't really care about, arrives a few minutes later, and he keeps his arm around the girl, watching her slurp the thick broth before he feeds her a bit of bread. The more she eats, the less nervous she appears. Sipping on his wine, he watches her, that warmth in his lower stomach as confusing as ever. It's this strange domesticity he's experienced with her before, just acting normal, eating and drinking, enjoying the other's company, without any sexual undertone, that the darkness within him has a hard time comprehending.
How can he be happy just watching a girl eat an overly expensive soup in a fancy restaurant, a place she might have never stepped into without him? How is watching her coo and mewl over the exquisite tastes and flavors so relaxing, so grounding? Her mere presence so comforting? He has no idea.
Downing the rest of his wine, he then raises his glass, demanding another, knowing the staff is watching him from afar. Another waiter arrives and fills his glass again, asking him when he wants the main course to be brought out. He watches the girl, sunken into her chair as soon as the waiter's come over. Her soup bowl is almost empty (hungry little thing), so he agrees to have it in the next five minutes. The other man bows and leaves, and she relaxes, her leg, still draped over his, twitching, his hand curling around it tighter.
He pulls her a little closer against him, his other hand slipping down her stomach, back around her mound, fingers teasing between her soft folds. Easy access was the best choice for tonight. “How was the soup?” he whispers, head turned to brush his lips against her temple, his voice low.
“Really good,” she replies quietly and a little breathlessly, slowly learning to ignore the sensation he forces on her, definitely training her poker face.
“Yeah? What did it taste like?” he rasps, nuzzling her ear.
“Uh, pumpkin, I think? I don't know, it was really hearty and warm, and so smooth and c-creamy-eeh,” she tries to tell him, a stutter and a soft little shriek in her tone the moment he dips two fingers into her clenching cunt.
“Creamy, hm? Better than your usual... cream?” he teases, chuckling darkly.
She almost chokes on her spit, be it the question and implication or his digits curling, playing with the metal balls pressing into her walls, stimulating her special spots, a quiet clink to them as they move. “N-no?” she gasps, clearly trying to impress him.
He only laughs softly, kissing the shell of her ear. “You'll get your share later, don't worry.”
He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, his loud exhale making a strand of her hair dance. Reluctantly, he pulls his fingers out of her squelching hole, smearing her wetness on her inner thigh, then he even puts her leg back, and she immediately presses her thighs together, sitting up straighter.
Two waiters arrive and put down two ridiculously large plates with barely any food on them onto the table. While he's used to these tiny portions, the girl stares at her plate with a frown. Even her soup bowl has been bigger than the intricate arrangement of steak, beans and potato they're calling the main course. At least they're offering an additional dish of savory gravy at the side.
Once the waiters are gone, she picks up her fork and knife, only to freeze mid-motion when he puts his hand on her arm. “No, darling, you wait,” he tells her quietly, watching the frown grow on her beautiful face. “I let you eat the soup, now I'll eat the steak, and you wait till I'm done. Understood?”
There's a furrow between her eyebrows, but she nods nonetheless. “Yes, sir.”
“Mhm,” he makes, picking up his own cutlery as soon as she lowers hers, her hands back on her lap, folded neatly. “Good girl.”
He takes his time, enjoys every bite. The meat is perfectly presented, rare, juicy and flavorful, the gravy complimenting it nicely. Green beans wrapped in delicious bacon and faintly roasted potatoes are surprisingly well seasoned too. He's expected no less of this place, for the amount of money he's leaving here. Cutting the last piece of steak into two smaller bites, he pokes his fork into one and tilts his head, watching the girl who keeps staring through the window, and he can tell how hungry she is as she keeps licking and chewing on her lips. If she'd be a dog, she'd be openly salivating for sure.
“Open wide, darling,” he tells her, and she turns to him, eyes sparkling, parting her lips instantly. He puts the steak bite between her teeth, watching her closely. She waits, a bit of drool gathering on her tongue. He gives a dark chuckle before he releases her. “Eat.” She closes her lips around his fork and pulls, then slowly chews what he gave her.
Once she's done, swallowing thickly, she gives him a shy smile. “Thank you, sir.”
He just nods, focusing back on his emptying plate. “Why don't you play with yourself while you wait, hm? Poke those balls?” he mentions mid-bite, his voice casual, and she still stiffens slightly next to him, her breath hitching. “Or you could try pushing one out and back in again, hm? Train your clenching?”
She clears her throat, but her hand still slips under her dress. Shifting on her chair, her face a mask of concentration, she tries her best to remain as inconspicuous as possible, her back stiff, forcing herself not to hunch over, her legs shaking as she presses one against his. He can hear the soft squelching sounds of her wetness, then the clinking of the metal balls. She keeps shifting, squirming, leaning left and right, really trying to do what he told her, but her labored breaths tell him she isn't very successful in her endeavor.
“Curl your fingers into your hole, open yourself up,” he instructs quietly, bringing the last piece of potato to his lips. “Then clench and push, let gravity do its thing.”
A whine escapes her when she straightens up slightly, before she gasps, and he can hear the soft clink as the balls move.
“Only one, darling,” he says sternly. “Show me when you've done it.”
It's too amusing to watch her struggling, her hands between her spread legs, fumbling to fulfill his command. Her face is beet-red, brows furrowed, lips pressed together, the tip of her tongue poking out between them. Adorable. Eventually she exhales, pauses, forces her breathing to even out, before she pulls one hand from under her dress, fingers wet and tight around the shining metal ball. Slowly uncurling them, she shows him the successful extraction, a proud smile on her face.
“Good, well done,” he praises, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Now lick it clean and put it back in.”
Her smile vanishes instantly, another wave of heat crashing through her face. Yet she still raises her hand, hiding the ball in her fist, curling into him to shield herself from any possible onlooker, before she extends her tongue and licks along the smooth surface. He gives her a stern “Tsk”, and she looks at him like a deer in headlights.
“It's small enough, put it in your mouth.”
She takes a shaking breath, but eventually pushes her palm against her mouth, parting her lips, opening her jaw, then letting the ball slip onto her tongue. Her frown remains, her own taste probably assaulting her senses. He watches her, one arm casually draped around her shoulders, eyes dancing over her flushed face. The seconds tick by, maybe even a minute, while she holds his gaze, her cheeks bulging as she tries to keep the ball between her teeth, lips trembling under the strain. Once a bead of drool passes the corner of her mouth, he nods, and she spits it out onto her palm, licking the excess saliva off her lips.
“And back in it goes. Show me,” he says quietly, tilting his head.
She breathes loudly through her nose, almost a sound of defiance he has to remember for later, before she moves the fabric of her dress aside and exposes her bare mound to him and whoever might spy on them from the building across from them. Her hand is shaking when she moves it between her thighs, rubbing down to poke at her hole, before the other follows, the ball held between her thumb and fingers as she nudges it between her folds, against her entrance, knuckles blanching when she pushes it into herself.
The soft clink of the metal balls reuniting makes him smile. “Such a good girl, so brave,” he praises, rubbing his hand down her bare arm. “Well done. Wasn't that hard, was it?”
She inhales deeply, slowly closing her legs again, her head bowed in growing shame. “Anything for you,” she mumbles, a quiver to her voice and lips.
“Indeed,” he replies, pulling her closer by the shoulder to press his lips to her temple. “Never hesitate again, darling, or you'll know what I'll do...”
She gasps softly, a sniffle in the air. “I'm sorry, sir.”
“All good, you did it, didn't you?” She hums in response. “Yeah, you did. Now eat your dinner.”
“Thank you,” she breathes, slowly picking up her cutlery, focusing on her meal.
He leans back and watches her, wine glass in hand, savoring the rich taste. He's expected her to really hesitate, maybe even whine about the task, but he barely had to nudge her in the end. His perfect little girl, so obedient. If he wanted to, he could make her do anything, yet his decision stands. She's different, she doesn't have to endure the things the girls before her had to live through.
She eats slowly, savoring every small bite, occasionally searching his gaze which he replies with a smile that makes her blush deeply. Those rosy cheeks. He remembers one girl he had to slap constantly so she'd have a bit of color on her pale face; luckily the girl next to him is humbled enough to provide her own blush. No violence for her, only praises. He has to admit that it grows on him to be so soft to her. He was never the type to provide princess treatment, but with her... yeah, it's easier than he has thought.
When his second wine glass is empty, the buzz only a faint sensation in the back of his head, she lowers her fork and knife with a sweet sigh, her plate as empty as his. Licking her lips, she looks at him again, and he nods towards the large water glass she hasn't touched before.
“Drink,” he says, watching her when she does, tentative little sips, but he holds her gaze over the rim of the glass until she's done, all that water inside her, definitely needed later. He can't wait. “Good girl,” he praises when she puts the glass back down.
She smiles shyly, nestling into his side. He squeezes her arm, looking past her through the window. Night is approaching, the lights of the city shining brighter, a soft orange glow all around. Pulling her closer, his hand slowly slips back around her stomach and between her legs, his fingers probing curiously. She spreads them only slightly, her breath hitching, but he ignores it, poking into her until he can make the balls clink together.
“How does it feel? Can you still hold them?” he asks quietly.
“Yes, when I'm sitting, it's fine. They feel... um... kinda nice...” she replies under her breath, chewing on her bottom lip as he curls his fingers.
“They do, hm? Good. You'll train with them again soon. I'll get you larger ones eventually, and you'll hold those too. I know you can do it, you've done so well so far, haven't you?”
She hums softly, resting her head against him as he keeps fingering her softly under the table. He barely registers the ambient music or the clinking of cutlery and low chatter from behind them, having shut out they're in a full restaurant. He's more focused on her soft mewls, those wet squelches, and the noises the metal balls make when he pushes them together. His cock twitches against his pants, thickening by the second. One last course, and he can finally bend her over and relieve the urges. Maybe they'll make it to the car, but the alley might do too, or even the restroom if all else fails. He can make her keep quiet, he's sure.
As her breathing gets quicker, he stops his constant pumping, just rests his fingers inside her wet warmth, feeling her muscles clenching, walls fluttering. He won't make her come. That's something only he gets to see. Later. Exhaling loudly, making her hair fly, he holds her, waits for her to calm down.
“Ready for dessert?” he rasps against her head, her soft scent in his nose.
“What did you order?” she asks, the prospect of more food making her sound almost bold.
He smirks to himself. “The best mousse au chocolat in the city.”
“Ohh,” she coos, turning her head to beam at him, eyes glowing happily. He smiles at her before he leans down and presses his lips to her nose, which earns him a soft giggle.
Patting her wet mound, he pulls his hand back, tempted to lick his fingers clean himself, but instead he waves them in front of her face, and she grabs his wrist eagerly, closing her eyes as her tongue swirls around his digits as if he's already presented her with dessert. His cock stirs.
Once he deems his hand clean, though now covered in her saliva, he pulls his arm from around her and turns back to where the waiting staff awaits his next request. He only gives a short wave, and two servers come, one to clean their table, the other putting down two small glasses filled with dark chocolate mousse in front of them. The girl's eyes widen as she takes a deep whiff of the sweet treat.
The waiters leave, and she looks at him, licking her lip. “May I... may I taste it?” she whispers pleadingly, and he chuckles, but shakes his head. A pout forms on her full lips.
“I'm gonna feed you, darling, you deserve as much, hm?” he says quietly, watching her face light up again.
Picking up the little spoon, he dips it into the soft cream and scoops some up, and even before he brings the spoon to her face, she opens her mouth, waiting more or less patiently, her tongue shifting nervously over her bottom lip. A grin creeps onto his face. “Little sweet tooth, aren't you?” he muses, and she only lets out a little whine, tongue still out. “Fine, let me indulge you.”
He feeds her the first bite, and she almost swoons, eyes rolling back as the rich chocolate hits her taste buds. He dips the spoon again, and when the second scoop meets her tongue, her lips greedily closing around the utensil before he pulls it back, he grabs her chin with his other hand and holds her still, staring into her eyes, gives her a second, and another, before he leans in and pushes his tongue into her mouth, kissing her deeply, sharing the sweet taste. She mewls into him, her eyelids fluttering. He holds her until the chocolate is gone.
“I think I still prefer your sweet little cunt,” he breathes into her, giving her a wink. Her blush spreads, eyelashes dancing against her cheeks. “Eat up now.”
She blinks her eyes into focus and nods quickly, taking the glass and spoon from his hands and starts devouring the rest of the mousse. He watches her fondly, and when her glass is empty and she's scraping the spoon along the edges to get it all, he simply pushes his dessert towards her as well. She freezes, then looks at him with big eyes.
“Really?” she whispers breathlessly.
“Yeah, really. You can have mine,” he tells her. “I'm sure you'll repay me later, right?”
She bites her lip, nodding eagerly. “I'll do anything,” she says on an exhale, sounding so starved it's almost comical, before she gingerly takes his glass to sink her spoon into the rich cream.
He chuckles darkly. “Oh I'll remind you of that promise, darling. Doing anything for a bit of chocolate? Impressive.”
“It is the best mousse in the city,” she replies through a mouthful of dessert.
“How do you know, hm?” he teases, leaning back with his head tilted, arms crossing in front of his chest.
She swallows. “Well, you said so. I believe you. It is really, really good!”
His smirk widens, something warm settling low in his stomach. For a moment he is just stunned, in a good way, watching the girl savoring every bite, who's so oblivious to his own hunger, to his own confusing feelings. She's just happy to enjoy this unusual treat, happy to be here, with him, and he? Feels the same. Just looking at her, sharing the joy, seems enough. As much as the darkness inside him stirs to finally use her again, sex is not at the very forefront of his mind right now. The realization of that sits heavy in his gut.
Fortunately it's only a moment, and when it passes, when he sees the girl licking her small tongue around her mouth, so enthralled by the dessert she completely forgets her manners and rubs her index finger around the edges of the glass to gather up any remaining cream, his mind spirals back to how she used the same tongue and fingers on his cock just this morning, how she'll devour him again soon. He's sure she'll be just as happy licking up his cream, which in turn will make him happy.
The cycle continues. It has to. He isn't built to take girls out to dinner and pamper and treat them to expensive desserts. He's made to take them, period, use them, just like they are made to service and please him, and her especially. Her place is still by his side, on her knees, submissively waiting for his commands. And no goddamn mousse will ever change that!
His hand finds her nape, fingers digging into the fabric covering her collar. She stiffens slightly, lowering the now completely clean glass. Slowly she turns her head towards him, her eyes wandering over his face. His smirk is gone, a stern gaze in its stead. She shouldn't get used to him being so carefree and generous, it's not who he is, and she knows better, he can tell, as she straightens up slightly, a bit of uncertainty swimming in her eyes.
Still holding the back of her neck, he reaches out his other hand and wipes a bit of chocolate off her cheek, then pushes the same finger between her lips, waiting for her to lick it clean. She even sucks on it gently, her tongue flicking around his fingertip, cheeks hollowing. Soon her eyes glaze over, her breaths becoming shallow. His black soul is smiling as he continues to glare at her darkly.
“We're gonna leave now,” he tells her quietly, fishing a stack of bills out of the inner pocket of his jacket that he slowly puts on the table while holding her gaze. “You're gonna follow me into the restroom. No hesitation, no defiance. You'll hold up your dress and you'll bend over and let me fuck you. I might leave those balls inside you as I do that, or I'll make you hold them. I'll decide whether I'll come in your cunt or up your ass, or down your throat. You'll remain quiet throughout. Understood?”
A series of shivers crashes through her while she listens, the movement of her tongue stilling as she tries to comprehend his words. He pulls his finger out of her mouth. She nods immediately.
“Yes, sir.”
While his mind is already busy imagining what he'll do to her once they're fully alone, they still have to walk through the restaurant to get there. He stands, helping her up. She's clinging to his arm, her hips shifting nervously as she adjusts to the sensation within her, gravity pulling at the balls. His hand finds her lower back, guiding her around the chair.
“I...” she starts, biting her lip as she looks up at him, discomfort written all over her pretty face. He can tell she's rubbing her thighs together.
“What is it?” he asks, bending down slightly.
“I think I... I'm so...” she stammers, her eyes flicking past him until he cups her face and makes her focus on him. “W-wet,” she adds under her breath, cheeks burning up bright red.
He smiles, straightens up, then slips his hand around her rear, assessing the state of her dress. “Don't worry, the fabric's too thick to let anything show. You're fine. Just walk normally.”
She nods, inhaling sharply as she gets in line beside him, hand resting on his forearm as he leads her slowly past the adjacent tables. The waitress from before approaches him with a fake smile.
“Has everything been to your liking, sir?” she asks, before she nods to a pair of waiters who eagerly check their table and the money he's left them.
“Absolutely,” he says, inclining his head, fake-smiling back. “The mousse was really good, wasn't it?” he adds, shifting his gaze to the girl on his arm. She nods shyly, her lips twitching. “Compliments to the chef.”
More pleasantries he doesn't care about are exchanged before he eventually motions them towards the restroom. While the girl probably hopes nobody will wonder why they're entering it together, he knows for a fact that the staff is pretty aware of the goings-on in their establishment. He hasn't really held back this night either, his quota for PDAs abnormally high. Doesn't matter. He knows he can count on their discretion, he's paid enough to allow him anything.
As soon as the door closes, he locks it, then gently shoves the girl towards the vanity on the right. For a more or less public restroom, this one is particularly nice. As fancy as the rest of the place, with intricate light fixtures, actual plants, a full-length mirror, and even the free standing toilet bowl looks as clean as he can hope. On top of it all, he knows from experience that the walls are pretty soundproof too.
With his arms crossed in front of his chest, he watches her as she gathers the fabric of her long dress until he can see her cute little ass, her colorful bruises barely visible in the ambient lighting. She looks at him over her shoulder as she leans against the vanity, her lips quivering slightly, a deep blush permanently edged onto her cheeks it seems.
“C-can you help me... with the... b-balls?” she whispers quietly, her eyes soft, flicking around shyly.
He relaxes and takes a step closer, hand extended until his long fingers brush against the soft curves of her backside. She inhales sharply when he traces them down until he can poke at the little heart-shaped base of her plug.
“You want them out?” he asks, standing fully behind her now, both hands on her ass cheeks, kneading and exploring, testing her reflexes as he pushes gently into some of the darker marks he's left on there.
“I... I can barely hold them anymore...” she gasps, legs trembling under his ministrations, the occasional shudder crashing through her as he tests her pain sensitivity.
“Too wet for me, huh?” he muses, sliding his hands lower, lifting her cheeks, thumbs tracing the outer sides of her labia. Swollen, wet, so soft under his rough fingers.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“My good girl.”
He sighs when he crouches behind her, palms gliding down her slick thighs, gently prying them apart. She mewls when he leans in and presses his lips to the underside of her ass, inhaling deeply, her scent, so sweet, so potent, making his head spin. Her arousal drips down his fingers as he teases between her folds, carefully pulling them apart for closer inspection.
“Clench for me,” he tells her, and she does, and he watches her hole winking at him, the metal balls visible just behind her glistening flesh, indeed close to slipping free. “Again.” Her breath hitches, but she complies. His thumbs rub through her slick. “Put one hand between your legs, you might have to catch them.”
She fumbles, her hand shaking as she follows his words. He takes her hand and rubs it along her mound for a moment, her fingers twitching when he bends them gently, making her poke her own fingertips into her entrance.
“Feel for them,” he whispers, his breath fanning over her wet skin that pebbles in response. “And hold your hand there.” She gasps her confirmation, and he puts his hands on the backs of her thighs, thumbs pulling her flesh apart until he opens her up more. “Push...”
She works her muscles, and when one ball slips through her opening, she can barely catch it. The second follows quick, and he helps her by guiding his thumb. The weighted metal spheres glisten in her juices, are warm to the touch, her hole gaping a little before it resumes its original state. He curls his hand around hers, letting her hold them.
“Well done, darling,” he praises, still mesmerized by her arousal so close to his face.
He can't help it, he leans in and closes his lips around her labia, sucking gently, tasting her. She gasps, squirms, shivers, and he keeps licking up wide stripes between her puffy folds, his hands on her legs, spreading them, tilting her hips, until he can reach the throbbing little nub of her clit. She arches into his hold, forcing herself to remain quiet when he goes down on her, losing himself in her sweet taste and scent. Breathing harder, he stops when she starts shaking more, thighs twitching under his palms.
Taking one more deep whiff of her, he lets go of her and stands, wiping at his wet chin and cheeks. With his cock straining against his pants, he can barely think, can only grab her waist and spin her around, reveling in her surprised noises, her flushed face, those big eyes watching him as he lifts her up and sits her on the edge of the counter, stepping between her spread legs. Holding her gaze, nostrils flaring, he unbuckles his belt.
“How do you feel?” he asks, his voice already rough. Any other girl and he'd already be fucking her, hard, not a thought or care about how she might feel. But this girl isn't any other girl, and he waits, more or less patiently, for her reply.
Her free hand, the other curled around the metal balls, her dress wrapped around her arm, finds his wrist, fingers shaking. “I feel good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” she says, and it's that barely audible “Please” she adds that does him in. He watches her, every detail, how her eyes glaze over, how she's shifting on the edge of the vanity, against his hold, her whole body begging him to take her.
“Say it,” he grunts, one hand gripping her thigh tighter, opening her up further as he takes a step closer, before he opens his pants, his other hand slipping in to free his throbbing erection.
“Please... fuck me,” she breathes, that sweet little desperate hum, through parted lips, quivering, chin wobbling, eyes pleading.
He grits his teeth, grips his cock, and it's barely exposed when he presses the leaking head against her entrance, staring her down, his blood pumping, heart racing, and it's thanks to her arousal or those balls or both, that he barely has to use force to enter her. Her muscles give way and he pushes in, sinks home, rolling his hips until he bottoms out. His exhale mixes with her quiet gasp, her body arching as it welcomes him.
Her thighs press against his sides, his hands find her waist, pulling her flush against him. He watches her, breathing harder, feeling how her cunt starts fluttering around his length, pulsing inside her. For a moment he closes his eyes, savoring the tight fit, the warm sensation, their undeniable connection that surpasses the physical one. He doesn't want to admit it, but waiting, giving it time, giving her time, restraining himself and his urges, it was all worth it in the end.
His first thrust is rough, hard, pulling out, slamming back in, right against her already bruised cervix, which makes her shriek quietly, her free hand curling into the front of his dress shirt. He stops, buried deep, slowly opening his eyes.
“Hands behind your back, darling,” he growls lowly, and she obliges with a soft whine, biting her lip as he looks at her. His hands slide down her hips, curl around her ass cheeks, pulling her further to the edge, lifting her slightly. “I got you,” he tells her as she squirms, and he does, holding her as he starts moving against her, pulling her in at the same time as he pushes his pelvis forward.
She's pressing her lips together, face flushed, forcing herself to stay quiet. He wishes he could take his time with her, really savor the tight grip of her cunt, but he's acutely aware that he's already taking too long. This is a public restroom after all. So he quickens his thrusts, a rapid rhythm, a desperate sprint to get them to climax. He's figured she needs release too, so why not. She's been such a good girl tonight, she deserves as much.
His fingers dig into her soft ass, holding her steady as he rams into her, his thick cock pistoning in and out fast, pushing deep, bullying those sore muscles, no mercy, no time for mercy anyway, and her cunt clamps down on him hard, her muffled noises a mixture of breathless mewls and choked cries. He sees tears brimming in her eyes, and as he notices, she squeezes them shut, letting them spill from her lashes down her red cheeks, and he wonders if she's in pain or just very close to coming, overwhelmed by the sensations.
He's been considerate all day long, now he needs to pull through, and he does by rutting into her even faster, bruising her already bruised ass cheeks in his tight grip, his cock slipping in and out in a desperate fashion until he feels her convulsing, her legs twitching against his sides, her torso arching, lips quivering, and when she comes, she freezes, mouth agape, a helpless little gasp slipping out of her throat.
He eases his thrusts, slows down, watching her closely. Her chest is heaving, lips still parted, her breaths those rasping rattles, and he misses her moans, her voiceless squeaks, but he'll hear them again soon, when they have more time, where nobody can hear them. When her eyes flutter open, he's stopped moving altogether, meets her gaze, his own breaths equally labored.
“Not done with you yet,” he whispers, and without waiting for her reaction he lifts her off the vanity, his cock slipping free in the process, and turns her around, his hand on her back as he pushes her down. Fumbling to enter her again, he steps behind her, and when he sinks back in, she lets out a surprised croak.
Holding onto her folded arms, he really starts rutting into her now, quick and sharp, every thrust knocking her forward, the top of her thighs bumping into the hard edge of the counter. As he slams his hips into her cushioned rear, one of his hands slips free and starts playing with her butt plug, that shimmering base too intriguing not to fondle with. Her mewls grow louder, and he shushes her, but doesn't stop pushing the metal plug in and out of her ass. Since she barely squirms under his rapid assault, he lets go of her arms fully and moves his free hand around her, sliding it down her fluttering stomach until he feels her throbbing clit.
Now she's writhing as he keeps poking and prodding, rubbing and pinching it, the sensations mirrored in her clenching cunt. He can barely hide his own groans now, the way she squeezes around his cock feels too divine, and when he feels his balls drawing up, aching to release his seed, he suddenly pulls back and out of her, making her coo in confusion, but then he hooks his fingers around the base of the plug and pulls, hard, until it gives way, and as soon as it leaves her tight rim, he drops it in the sink, the reverberating clinking sound masking the way she shrieks when he grips his cock and forces it into her puckering hole.
Ugh, even tighter. He should make her wear smaller plugs in the future. What a delicious squeeze. Abandoning her clit, he grabs her waist and holds her steady as he rolls his hips and pushes deeper into her ass, ignoring her noises of protest. Luckily (for her), he only needs a few quick hard stabs before he feels the tension in his stomach exploding, his vision blurring, and when the first spurt releases into her warm depths, he tilts his head up and exhales loudly, his cock spasming inside her, balls twitching as he fills her up.
The girl has gone quiet, bent over before him, defeated and accepting her fate, and he savors the moments until he calms down, until his cock slowly deflates, her muscles giving that gentle pressure he really doesn't want to slip away from. But once his panting breaths have eased, he steps back, pulls out, tempted to watch his spend drip out of her gaping hole, but instead he leans over her, grabs the plug, wipes it on her hip before pressing it into her again.
“Clench for me,” he rasps, and she tries, but it takes her sphincter a moment to return to its original state.
He could spank her, but that might push it for her and those waiting for them to leave the restroom. So he circles the metal object around her rim, waiting for her to grip it properly. His other hand rubs up and down her lower back, soothing her.
“You did good, baby girl. I really needed that,” he whispers hoarsely, and her fingers twitch in the folded state of her arms behind her back. He gently places his larger hand into hers, and she grips it, small fingers curling around his digits, a soft sigh escaping her. It's that bit of gentleness that makes her clench, and he can let go of the plug, knowing it'll hold. “Good girl,” he adds, teasing his fingers between her ass cheeks and down to her dripping cunt.
Noticing the Ben Wa balls in her other hand (she's really held onto them through it all, what a champ), he's tempted to press them back into her, but then decides against it. Taking them from her clammy hand, he slips them into his pants pocket, their weight a slight pull in the fabric, the soft clink as they move against each other a little reminder of what she accomplished today.
He's about to put his spent cock away, when she squeezes his hand. “C-can I...”
“Hm?” he wonders, helping her stand up properly as she tries to move. “What is it, baby?”
She shifts on her feet, her eyes darting down to his crotch. A dark chuckle escapes him, and he only points his finger down. She's on her knees instantly, looking up, lips parted, tongue out. So eager to clean him. He did promise her a taste of him earlier, so it's only fair. Gripping his length, he guides it to her open mouth, and she licks around it, her eyes fluttering close. She's quick, licking up and down, teasing him just enough that he feels the tiniest twitch through his core, the blood pumping again. Before he can get hard once more, he steps back.
“Enough,” he says, and she leans back, head bowed, breathing deeper. “Thank you.”
Her eyes are wide when they snap up to meet his, confusion washing over her pretty features as she watches him shove his semi-erect cock back into his underwear. After zipping up his pants, his fingers then move to buckle his belt, and she stays on her knees in front of him until he's done dressing. He savors the sight of her, so submissive, so beautiful, before he extends his hand, palm up, and she quickly grabs it and lets herself be pulled up by him. He flattens her dress around her, hands gliding up and down her sides, then pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. She looks a little messed-up, face flushed, eyes wet and bloodshot, but nothing to worry about. It's not as if nobody knew what they were doing here anyway.
Grabbing her hand, he throws her a smile. “You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. She nods, smiling back shyly. His eyes rest on her mouth for a moment, then he leans down and presses his lips to hers for a quick kiss. He remains close to her, whispering ominously: “Good, because the night has just begun, right? I've got a lot more to show you.”
TWENTY-SIX 🟥 TWENTY-SEVEN 🟥 TWENTY-EIGHT
End notes: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed.
Let me be transparent: chapter 28 is half-way written, but I have no idea when I'll finish it. Stay tuned?
TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290
When the pills he gave her wear off, exposing the raw aches beneath, he finds a unique way of making her feel better, before asking her to return the favor.
ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush
WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Thumbsucking/oral fixation. Pain management. Aftercare. Bondage. Blindfolds. Body worship. Cockwarming. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 10.4k
TWENTY-FIVE 🟥 TWENTY-SIX 🟥 TWENTY-SEVEN
She wakes up on her stomach, a heavy body draped over her, deep snores rattling in her ear. At least he's no longer buried in her butt, though the ache within certainly feels as if he'd still be in there. He's not, she can feel his cock against the back of her knee. Warm and soft. He's so relaxed on top of her, more relaxed than she's ever seen him. Something changed, she can feel it. But she doesn't know if it's a good change yet.
She doesn't dare to move, entangled as they are, so she closes her eyes again, ignoring the light flooding the room, red behind her eyelids, the city coming to life outside the window, a subtle drone echoing up the tall building. Without being able to stop it, she thinks back to yesterday, and the days before. She's back in his bed, back in his arms, having his full attention, and everything that entails.
Yesterday was intense, another one of those days full of intimacies, softer and rougher, a constant up and down of impressions – and that after having to spend three days practically on her own, caught in her own head. The sudden change has been welcomed, but it's also been quite overwhelming.
And she'd thought she would become numb to it all once she fully submitted to him, allowing him to steer her. But her racing mind is still there, wondering about past events, present occurrences, future plans. He seemed to have moved on from her punishment, from isolating her after she had dared to run away from him.
But it's not as if nothing happened. She's still somewhat reeling that he drugged her and used her in her sleep, bruising her to show her what could be. Those marks scare her, even though she can't remember getting them, but the implications are there, evidence of his strength, of his wrath should she ever disobey him again.
Her eyes fly open when he shifts against her, inhaling deeply before falling back into those rattling snores, his arm now curled around her head, his face buried between her shoulder blades. His hand is right there, in front of her, and the cracked skin on his knuckles as visible as ever. Another sign of the violence hidden within him.
Now she wonders who's been at the receiving end of that fist, who had to endure his wrath, and why. Apart from owning the night club where they had met, she really doesn't know much about what he does to afford all the luxuries of his penthouse and more. What other risks he takes aside from taking random girls home and keeping them for himself?
The more she stares at his hand, slowly looking past the injuries and focusing more on the shape of it (the way his tight skin spans over bones and tendons and veins, how his thumb, so big and wide, is right there...), the less she cares about anything else. It feels like an inborn instinct, a need to stretch her neck a little, to move closer, to part her lips, heart racing, holding her breath, until...
Instant comfort.
Her eyes flutter shut when she closes her lips around his thumb, carefully sucking him deeper into her mouth, feeling the slight weight of it, the texture, the taste of him, the hard nail, the soft pad, the deep lines on the knuckle. It's another instinct to move her hand and cradle his, holding his wrist, holding him there, as she slowly starts moving her head, a gentle bobbing, cheeks hollowing, the motion of suckling so relaxing she barely even notices him moving on top of her.
Not even his deep voice, heavy with sleep, so low it's just a rumble in her head, startles her. “What are you doing?” he asks, shifting a little, but not pulling his hand away.
She doesn't reply, doesn't open her eyes, just keeps sucking, her tongue flicking around the pad of his thumb in a hypnotic fashion, her mind as empty as it can get. His breath fans over her neck when he lifts his head, leaning over her, his lips brushing against her ear, his body still that massive thing on her back that keeps her grounded, pushed into the bed.
“What a needy little thing you are,” he hums into her, and she shivers, a muffled little mewl working its way up her throat. He kisses her cheek, curling his fingers around her chin, allowing her to suckle, to embrace the blissful void she's pulled herself into. A sigh comes from him when he rests his head on hers, cheek to cheek, the rest of him draped around her like a protective cocoon, warm and heavy and comforting.
She didn't even realize she's fallen asleep again until he shakes her gently, his thumb pulled from between her lips, his hand on her shoulder, her body having been rolled onto her back, the cold air of the room assaulting her bare skin. Her eyelids flutter, a groan escaping her as she shifts her hips, trying to pull her legs up to curl into a ball again, to chase the soothing warmth he's ripped her from. She can barely see him when he leans over her, hands now moving under her, dragging her up and into a sitting position.
“Come on, sleepyhead, get up,” he coos quietly, the low timbre of his voice making her keen softly. A chuckle escapes him. “Hmm, you've quite exhausted yourself last night, huh?”
Slowly, the fog in her brain lifts a little, and she wants to tell him that it's mostly his fault, when a sudden jolt of piercing discomfort crashes through her nerves. He made her sit on the edge of the bed, and it hurts, sitting, her muscles so tense the slightest motion pulls at them painfully. A whine escapes her, turning into a full-on wail when she wakes up more and more, feeling every single aspect of the soreness within her.
She tries not to move, but keeping her body still is just as agonizing. Suddenly his hands are on her face, thumbs gently lifting it. She blinks her eyes into focus and the sudden tears away, meeting his dark gaze. “You'll be fine,” he tells her, and she frowns, her lips quivering, but he just narrows his eyes. Her breath hitches, and despite a new wave of blinding hurt crashing over her, she stares back at him, fixated on him, trying to ignore anything else.
She still gasps when he pulls her onto her feet, uncurling her aching limbs, straightening her protesting core, the pain like a strange cloud all around her. It doesn't make sense. He's used her for three nights, slapped and bruised her, used her intensively, but the ache afterwards has never been this bad. It had been there, a dull throbbing, a deep tension, but now it feels like she's been hit by a bus, dragged along several miles and then hurled over a cliff.
The pills, she thinks through the fog. Whatever he gave her alongside her birth control pill, must not only have knocked her out completely, but numbed her as well? And now it's been over twenty-four hours since her last dose... Is this what withdrawal feels like? Or is her body just coming back down to normal, into the state she's always been in, seeing that he's used her like this before, so many times, a whole week by now of constant pushing and pulling her into directions she's never experienced before?
And now her head hurts too. She groans pathetically, leaning into the hold of his hands on her upper arms, her head seemingly too heavy on her neck as it lolls to the side, her gaze hooded as she tries to look at him. She can't tell if its annoyance, impatience or concern on his hard face. His eyes rake over her body, before he suddenly moves her, nudging her to walk, and somehow her feet follow the command, leading her into the bathroom.
It's a blur how he leans her against the vanity, how she manages to stay upright. He's rummaging through a cabinet, echoing noises that sound as if she's underwater. Ugh, her head is killing her. His hand is on her jaw, fingers pressing into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. She lets out a muffled moan, then feels his fingers putting something on her tongue.
“Swallow,” he says, his voice oddly distorted, and she feels something like a cup press to her bottom lip. She blinks, can barely see, but does as he says. Water floods her mouth, some of it dripping past her lips and down her chin, but most of it finds its way down her throat, alongside something small and bitter. She swallows again, then another gulp, the water is gone, her throat tired and sore, her body so pliant she feels like floating when he moves her into the shower.
Her eyes close. Her heart beats fast. Her chest rises and falls.
The fog is lifting, she blinks, finds herself outside the shower again, notices large hands rubbing a soft towel over her body, her wet hair cascading over her shoulders in tangled waves. Inhaling deeply, she looks up at him, head still swimming but her vision is much clearer now. His hair is wet too, droplets running down his temples, his neck, rolling over his wide shoulders, down his toned chest. She follows the little rivulets with her eyes, but before she can see them move lower, his finger is on her chin, lifting it up again to meet his eyes.
“Better?” he asks, and she nods, a tired smile on her lips, a weak “Thank you” falling past them. “Good,” he adds, letting go of her. He takes a step back, tilts his head to the side. “Brush your teeth and do whatever else you need to do in here, then wait for me out there, by the bed, your usual position. Understood?”
His harsh, dominant tone makes her breath hitch. He's been a little too casual with her lately, she feels, though her body seems to react nonetheless (that inborn need to submit to him flaring up all over again), her muscles, still somewhat aching, tensing as she straightens up and nods. A quiet “Yes, sir” spills from her lips naturally.
His eyes scan her face for a moment, before he just leaves, no nod, no word, he just goes and closes the bathroom door behind him, his footsteps slowly disappearing into the distance. She inhales deeply, then turns to focus on the tasks he's given her.
Some time later, she's sitting on her knees by the foot of the bed, shoulders tight, neck straight, chest pushed out, arms folded behind her back, holding onto her forearms. The usual position. Strange, how this has become normal, something she just does. It's still a blur how she came to do it also. Those fleeting moments where she would see him during her punishment, she had spent just like this, hoping to appease him, showing him how serious she was about what she promised him. It has just happened, a natural thing, because it's where she belongs, on her knees, waiting for him to command her.
It's her purpose, her role, her life. The subtle weight and pressure of the collar around her neck remind her of that as well. And it feels good, despite it all, it frees her mind. It allows her to sit there, bared and exposed, naked since he has put the collar on her four days ago or however long it has been. It would have bothered her before, now it feels right, normal. He may have stripped her of her clothes, but with them gone, she also lost all those worries (am I pretty enough? I don't like that part of my body, what if he doesn't like it either?), because apparently she is (good and pretty) enough, the way he treats and handles her, the way he practically worships her body, it's proof that there's no reason to worry.
He wants her, just like she wants him, and servicing him feels like a privilege, no matter how much it hurts. Every bruise, inside and out, is proof that he cares, that she is his, that nothing else matters but his touch, his kisses, his embraces, his words, praising and demanding. Only he matters.
She feels her core clenching just thinking about him, and in the end she is so lost in thought, lost in her memories of him, that she flinches badly when the door opens and he enters the bedroom, his bare feet the first thing she sees before she straightens her position and looks straight ahead, now in line with his crotch as he comes to stand in front of her.
“Get up,” he orders, and she moves, slowly unfolding herself until she stands before him, gingerly looking up.
His eyes travel over her face for a moment, so dark and intense, and she notices that he's dressed now, well, more or less anyway, he's only wearing a pair of dark jeans. The way it hugs his hips, accentuates the v-line of his muscles that draws her gaze automatically lower, over tight skin and bulging veins that in turn lead her to his belly button and back up to his abs. It's literally mouthwatering, and she has to swallow to not openly drool. She's seen him naked so many times, but each time still sends those hot and cold shivers down her spine that all gather low in her core, that make her clench and squirm on the spot.
“Eyes up here, darling,” he says, voice a little less rough, and she can see him smirking when she eventually pulls her gaze off his toned chest and up into his face. Her own flushes with warmth and embarrassment. He tilts his head. “Come on now, follow me.”
He turns and walks away, back into the bathroom. She follows instantly, unable to not look at his broad back now, or his formfitting jeans, the way his butt moves behind the stiff denim, how there's a black piece of fabric sticking out of his back pocket. Luckily the ache that flares up when she walks is a good distraction, and she keeps her eyes peeled to the floor, focusing on moving without being in too much pain. Whatever pill he gave her, helped, but the deep soreness is still there, just a bit more muted. All she can do is breathe through it, telling herself it'll be better again. Hopefully.
In the end she is so distracted that she blinks in confusion when he motions her towards the wall-mounted towel warmer next to the vanity, the black fabric now draped around his hands. Is it some sort of shawl? Looks silky. While she's both nervous and curious about what he has planned, a scorching spark of uneasiness growing in her stomach, she also finds a strange comfort in just doing what he tells her.
“Put your arms above your head,” he says, voice low and with that dominant edge that makes her stomach flutter for a different reason.
She does, her fingers grazing the last horizontal bar of the radiator, her chest moving up when she stretches. He steps closer, watching her intently, and she holds his gaze, her heart beating faster. His hands work quick, gentle as he drapes the black fabric around her wrists, tying her hands together, before attaching the silky ribbon to the towel rail. Then he grabs her waist and spins her around a few times, checking the flexibility of her restraints, which actually allow him to pivot her on the spot.
She breathes harder when he returns her to her initial position, facing him, her head reeling just a bit more. While she should be concerned why he constrains her to the wall like this, she only feels anticipation flaring up in her guts. Swallowing, she tugs at the binds, feeling their soft texture and their tight hold. No way she can free herself like this. Though she isn't even sure she wants to.
He watches her for a moment, turning another piece of fabric between his long fingers. The longer he just stands there and does nothing, the more her heart is beating out of her chest. Yet as soon as her mind starts going into overdrive, expecting the worst or the best or anything at this point, he takes a step closer, silencing the raging thoughts immediately. He moves his hand along her side, the soft fabric gliding over her skin, eliciting a surprised gasp from her throat. Up and around it goes, teasing at her breasts, going dangerously close to her exposed armpits, a gentle caress, a barely there touch, that leaves goosebumps in its wake.
When he reaches her face, she's holding her breath, squirming slightly on her feet, her lips parted and quivering. He unfolds the fabric between his hands, and she realizes it's a blindfold. Inhaling sharply, she forces herself to hold his gaze, wanting to commit the look in his dark eyes to memory, the hunger within, before he gently drapes the fabric around her head, plunging the room into darkness.
Her senses are immediately heightened, every noise louder, every touch, accidental or not, amplified. A whimper escapes her. There's the gentle heat behind her, emitting from the towel bars, and there's another radiating presence in front of her. He's still there, leaning close, she can smell him, feel him, even though he's no longer touching her.
Until he does, his lips pressing to her earlobe, before his low voice vibrates through her skull. “Learn to trust me,” he whispers, making her gasp, and while she wants to tell him she already does (not even in the slightest concerned about that realization), he leans away with a deep inhale, taking her in. And then... he's just gone.
The blindfold sits tight over her eyes, half covering her ears as well, which makes it hard to hear anything past the raging pulse in her head. She tries to breathe evenly, but she can't help writhing against the binds, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, her whole body tingling in anticipation.
“Stay perfectly still,” his voice comes from a few feet away, causing her to hold her breath and stiffen, listening closely to whatever it is he's doing over there.
It's then that the memories flood her mind. She's back in that sex shop, under the watchful eyes of a woman named Mistress, and he's there, putting her onto a reclined chair with her legs up and restrained, before he tests out a new toy on her. A deep shudder crushes through her. She's always been at his mercy, more or less suffering through his unpredictability, but he seldom had to restrain her.
Whatever he had done to her, it had always come as a shock, a surprise, sometimes for the better, mostly for the worse, like those slaps to her butt, like those probing touches. His rage is a faint memory, the way he handled her, his belt on her thighs, digging into her skin, every hit a different kind of pain. And even his more controlled punishments echo through her head, through her nerves, igniting those welts and bruises, though they also remind her of how he had draped his belt around her arms, constraining her, which had been a strange comfort while he's spanked and fingered her, back on that log in the woods.
All those instances had one thing in common: she couldn't fight them, made immobile, held back, put into a state where all she could do was let it happen, take it, endure. It had forced her to focus on what was happening instead of trying to squirm away, find a way out, and by (not) doing that, it had felt all the more intense. The pain as well as the pleasure.
With her hands bound above her head, tied to the towel warmer, unable to move away, and blindfolded on top of that, she is at his mercy again, waiting for whatever he has planned. Will he spank her again? Deepen the bruises on her breasts, on her ass and thighs? Why else would he make it so he could turn her around? Has she been a bad girl? Has she done anything that may have disgruntled him?
Her mind is reeling as the doubts flood her without restraint, a relentless barrage of bad emotions, and she's helpless against them, unable to shut them out. Her heart keeps thundering in her chest, her breaths turning from rapid in- and exhales into little whines and whimpers, as panic starts to settle in her core.
“Relax,” she hears his voice, now from the other side, and she whips her head around, even though she can't see, straining her ears, pressing her lips together, her nostrils flaring as she breathes loudly through her nose.
For a long moment, nothing happens. All she hears is her own frantic heartbeat and rattling breaths. She's so wound up that when she suddenly feels his hand on her hip, it's like an electric shock, coaxing a shrill squeak out of her throat, making her jolt backwards.
“Shh,” he coos, his hand heavy on her side, holding her in place. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
She is still in doubt. His other hand finds her face, fingers gliding under the blindfold pressed over her ear, pushing it up a little, while his thumb rubs along her bottom lip. She inhales deeply, straightening up, focusing on grounding herself, feeling the tiles under her feet, the warmth of the radiator in her back. He tightens the knot of the blindfold behind her head, his presence so close and warm, and yet not close enough, just a ghosting touch, a faint embrace, before it's gone again.
Her exhale is loud, a frustrated sigh, and she almost wishes he would be brutal with her again, manhandling her how he wants her, taking her however he likes, anything but this torture of... nothing, of anticipating the worst. And yet when she does feel him, his breath warm on her earlobe, his lips just barely brushing against her skin, she still flinches, stiffening up, biting her lip.
While he leaves gentle kisses on that soft spot behind her ear that makes her keen, one of his hands moves up to grip her chin, his thumb sliding up to pull her bottom lip away from her teeth before it slips between her lips. She's too stunned to do anything at first, but the longer he lingers, the more she needs to suck on his thumb again. He lets her, and the soft suckling motions, the way her cheeks hollow, the steady back and forth of her head, the warmth and weight and taste of him, all of it is enough to ease her worries, put her back into that head-empty-state, the panic slowly powering down inside her.
“My good girl,” he rasps into her ear, and she shivers, mewling softly around his thumb, the praise not missing its mark deep in her core. She gasps when he pulls his hand away and slides it down her neck, pressing gently against her collar, his wet thumb tracing along her fluttering pulse. “Just stay still and let me make you feel good, okay?” he adds, his voice so low it's a mere vibration through her head.
“O-okay,” she whispers hoarsely, unintentionally tensing up even more, forcing herself to breathe through her nose.
She can feel him putting both of his large hands around her neck now, giving no pressure, just a gentle hold, until they move down, dividing to slip along her collarbones and then up her stretched arms, his long fingers curling around her slim limbs, before they meet again as he holds onto her tied wrists, his body now so close she can sense his warmth, her breath hitting his warm chest with how much taller he is.
He doesn't say a word, she can barely hear him breathing. It's just his hands and his looming presence, now really ghosting her when he moves his fingers down the back of her arms until they reach her shoulder blades, a gentle touch, so unnervingly soft and comforting she doesn't know how to react. She keeps sucking in a sharp breath before holding it, whenever he continues the journey of his hands, slowly down the curve of her back, his fingertips pressing lightly into her tense muscles, rubbing, sliding, massaging.
While he kneads his digits into the hollow of her lower back, his body is almost pressed to her front, his warmth intoxicating, and she shifts just slightly, wanting more, until her breasts brush against his stomach. He leans away instantly, and she sighs – a noise that is suddenly swallowed by his mouth when he captures her quivering lips for a deep kiss. She almost moans into him, squirming a little more, leaning into his touch while also leaning into him, unsure how to turn to reach all of him.
Her hands twitch in their binds, the need to touch him growing stronger, that itch that needs to be scratched almost unbearable. Without being able to see him, all her other senses are heightened, that soft pressure of his hands as he rubs his palms over the swell of her hips, along those deep bruises, sending waves of goosebumps along her arms and legs. The gentle swirl of his tongue against hers makes her dizzy, the kiss so much more intense in her restricted position.
She is at his mercy, but despite her initial fears, it feels amazing, like nothing she's ever felt before. An actual whine escapes her when he leans back and lets go of her, the ghost of his touch lingering, a subtle burning just beneath her skin, a yearning for more. Shifting on her feet, she waits, listens, anticipates... anything, and when he does touch her again, she still gasps in surprise.
His lips are on her collarbone, a warm mouth, the tip of his tongue tracing along her skin, a gentle pressure when he starts sucking a new hickey into her. She couldn't care less at this point, even if he wanted to cover her entire body in his marks, it feels too good, and it's so much more, the weight of the gesture, the possessive need to bruise her, to make her his, it feeds her own wants, it deepens their bond and eases her nerves, strengthening her belief that he will never leave her.
While he still suckles on her clavicle, his hands are back on her waist, holding her steady, fingers splayed over her lower back, thumbs teasing along her stomach, causing it to flutter even more. She can feel his hair brushing against her jaw, the subtle scent of it filling her head, adding to the various sensations coursing through her body. It's almost overwhelming how much she wants him, how enamored, how infatuated, how utterly obsessed she is with him.
All these gentle touches fuel the very need that had grown inside her since the very first time she'd seen him. What had started as a crush has become so much more, and that despite all the vile things he's subjected her to. Or maybe... because of them? Has he tickled out a deeply hidden side of her that wants to be handled roughly, that enjoys the pain, that needs his dominance more than air? Yes, probably. It had been so easy to just do what he told her, to endure, to let it happen, to submit. Who is she to fight this inborn desire to please?
He pulls a little shriek from her when he suddenly teases his teeth into her skin, with just enough pressure to let her feel the strength of his jaw, before he leans back and peppers her bruised skin with soft kisses, his slightly labored breaths sinking into her pores. She wants to squirm, free her hands, grab his hair and hold onto him, but she can't, she won't, she's more or less stock-still as he decides to move his mouth lower, brushing his lips along the soft slopes of her breasts, into the valley between them, before he gives each of her pert nipples a surprisingly tame suck.
They still hurt, as do the bruises he left on her mounds, but she really starts to enjoy the subtle ache that jolts through her nerves, gathering low in her stomach, lower, lower, until she feels her clit throbbing. Before she even notices the squirming she does, the pressing of her thighs to relieve the urge to feel a bit more, his hands are on her legs, pulling them apart just enough to elicit a frustrated whimper from her – that turns into a shaky moan when she feels his lips kissing down her stomach, along her hipbone, his tongue dipping into the soft dent where her pelvis meets her thigh, the touch like fire, shooting straight into her core.
He's so close to where she really needs him, but the closer he gets to her clenching cunt, the lighter his kisses become, until he barely touches her at all, it's only his hot breath brushing along her slit now. She can't even buck her hips into his face with how strong his grip is on her thighs. Another whine escapes her, her head tilting back in irritation, when he leans away again, letting go of her legs. Yet when she tries to clamp her thighs together, his denim clad leg is there, hard and rough, pressing between hers, teasing her.
She's really fighting not to hump it.
In her trance to find relief, she feels his hands on her face, holding her steady. Inhaling deeply, she focuses on the warmth of his palms, his thumbs rubbing at the corners of her mouth. “I need you to stay really still,” he then says, so quiet, so low, she can feel deep shivers all over her exposed body. “Really, really still,” he repeats, his breath ghosting her lips. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir” is her immediate reply, a breathy whisper, trembling with tension and anticipation and need. She isn't sure she can comply, but she'll try her best.
His hands move away, as does his leg, and yet she remains still, only her chest is rising and falling steadily, her stomach fluttering, a slight wiggle to her toes, her fingers curling around the soft ribbon tying her to the towel warmer. He lets her wait again, it may be seconds, or minutes, she has no idea. She's straining her ears, trying to hear anything, and when she does, it's confusion that washes over her.
Yet before she can decipher what it is she hears, he's back, and his hands go to her neck, something cold and wet on his fingers as he curls them around her throat, giving a gentle pressure, rubbing something into the bruises along her pulse. She holds her breath, endures the deep throbbing ache, stiffens when he slips his slick fingers under her collar. Whatever it is he's applied to her skin, it's a soothing cold that spreads through her like a wave, easing the pain, coaxing a sigh from her parted lips.
Once he's done with her neck, he repeats the motion with her breasts, smearing the cooling substance all over her soft, bruised mounds, gently kneading, applying just a bit more pressure when he weighs them in his large hands, his palms rubbing against her hard nipples, his fingers digging into her flesh. She inhales deeply, moving her chest into his ministrations, relaxing more and more under his capable hands.
There's a subtle scent in the air, flowery, thick, sweet, soapy and medicinal in a way, soothing, both in her nose and on her skin. Her mind is emptying by the second, focusing only on him, though she can't help but wonder how gentle he is, how crass the contrast is between the man who gave her these bruises and the man who eases her pain now. Like two different people. Yet another face of him. Impressive.
Her wrists strain against the ribbon as she lets her body sink a little lower, sagging a bit, too relaxed to stand straight anymore. His hands leave her chest, and she's expecting him to move lower, but then his fingers tease into her armpits, making her squeal and squirm against the tickling touch. Fortunately he stops before she looses complete control over her body, a breathless, choked giggle escaping her as he lets up and grabs her waist instead, firmly turning her around now.
She ends up with her chest close to the warm bars of the towel rack, her forearms resting on them as she curls her hands around the top of the fixture, still trying to catch her breath. Somehow it feels inevitable in this position (her back arching automatically so her butt sticks out even more), but she still flinches badly when she feels the gentle slap of his hand against the soft slope of her ass cheek. Or maybe it's the gentleness that surprises her. It's not a spanking-type slap, no aggression behind it, no forced discipline, not a punishing touch, just a simple little nudge that makes her cheek wiggle.
He does the same to the other side before he puts his hands around her glutes, weighing them, pressing his warm palms into her bruised flesh. She breathes deeply, even tenses and pushes her butt into his hold. His exhale almost sounds like a low chuckle that burns itself right into her heart. His hands leave her then, only to return with the same cooling sensation she's felt before, whatever lotion or ointment he uses on her so soothing she quickly forgets about the deep ache trying to push to the forefront of her mind.
It doesn't matter anymore. This is a new level of aftercare. One she could really get used to. Even if it means to endure pain and other discomforts beforehand. It's also not as if there isn't something in it for her too. Sure, at first she's overwhelmed, like last night when he forced his cock into her ass, and she may remain like that throughout the whole ordeal, but despite him telling her he did it all for himself, not focusing on her pleasure, he still touched her and brought her to orgasm afterwards, he was still looking out for her, because he cares, he really does, he told her so (in an attempt to convince her to use those damn sex toys, but still).
And knowing that keeps her going, keeps her enduring, keeps her submitting. He may be rough with her, but he cares too much about her to really hurt her, to permanently damage her, and for her, that's enough. That's basically a love confession in her clouded mind. Is it delusional to think he may develop actual feelings for her after just one intense week of knowing each other? Probably. Does she care? No. It helps her along, that's what matters. It makes being tied to a radiator with a blindfold on while he moves his hands all over her naked body so much easier.
She must have actually dozed off during his ministrations (or at least got lost in the cotton of her mind), because when he turns her around again, her ass (all of it) and thighs covered in a thick layer of soothing lotion, she almost stumbles over her own feet, leaning heavily into the hold of his hands on her waist.
“You still with me, baby girl?” she hears his low voice, and while she can't see the smirk, she can definitely imagine it.
“Yes,” she whispers, inhaling deeply to focus back on him.
“Good,” he says, his hands leaving her before she feels him crouching down in front of her (or so she thinks, she can feel rough denim nudging into her shins). “Remember to stay perfectly still, okay?” he adds, his voice definitely lower now.
She nods, bracing herself as he pushes her legs apart. She doesn't know what she has expected, but it wasn't his fingers between her folds (because somehow, she hasn't thought this would turn into anything sexual – which in and of itself is a strange assumption to make when it comes to him, who seemingly turns anything sexual without even trying). And yet here he is, rubbing along her slit, teasing at her clit, pressing his fingertip against her entrance, not quite probing her.
“Hold still,” he whispers, and she holds her breath, not sure what he'll do, but when he sinks his fingers, two she assumes, into her, all she can do is let out a long sigh, like air leaving a broken tire, the touch something she has been looking forward to ever since he's tied her to the towel rack (speaking of him turning anything sexual, apparently she is just as bad by now).
But it's not the usual plunge of his fingers, there's no rhythm, no curling, no stretching, though there is something cold on his fingers that he drags over her clenching walls, rubbing here and there, pushing and prodding, and it makes her tremble, a strange feeling deep within that rivals the soreness of her muscles, a similar tension, but at the same time soothing and numbing. He repeats the motion three times, pulls his fingers out and puts them back in, more and more cooling cream confusing her throbbing cunt.
This may be helpful in the long run, but she'd really prefer it if he would just make her come, ease the need burning through her nerves that makes her toes curl in anticipation. It's a strange kind of edging that leaves her hanging, and she lets out another frustrated sigh when his fingers leave her cunt for good.
“My needy little girl,” he says on an exhale, shifting in front of her, seemingly standing up. “It isn't your turn yet. Be patient.”
She has to hold her breath to not make any more noises of discontent. Listening hard, she hears him walking away, the quiet tap of his feet on the tiles barely audible with her heart still thrumming in her ears. The gentle rush of water echoes through the room, then the rustling of a towel.
She flinches badly when his hands are back on her waist, swaying her slightly as he steps closer, his presence in front of her that all-consuming sensation, his warmth seeping into her skin, his chest so close it brushes against her with every breath. Shivers crash through her when his fingers slide up her torso, teasing her armpits (but she forces herself not to react, tensing under his touches), curling around her arms, finding her wrists.
For a moment he just leans lightly against her, and she can't help but inhale deeply, fill her nostrils with his scent, and she's even tempted to turn her head and press her cheek against his chest with how close it is, but she remains still, just enjoying his intoxicating proximity, no matter how wild it drives her, how the need to touch him and for him to touch her properly is flaring up maddeningly inside her throbbing core.
Suddenly the pressure of her restraints is gone, his long fingers working easily to unbind her, and she sags down a bit, falling against his chest, her breath hitching. One of his arms curls around her shoulders, holding her, while the other continues to unravel the ribbon from the radiator. He pulls her arms down, leans her back, lets go of her. She is unsteady on her feet, her heart still racing, unsure what's happening next, what he expects of her.
Then his hands are behind her head, loosening the knot of the blindfold. Before he pulls it off though, he leans in once more, his breath ghosting her cheek, his lips pressing softly against her skin. She turns her head with a jerk, wanting to meet his mouth, lips parted and ready, but he only chuckles and leans away, slowly sliding the blindfold up over her head.
She blinks against the sudden brightness, squinting her eyes, eager to look at him but her body takes a moment to adjust to having all its senses back. He rubs his hand over her cheek, thumb teasing at her bottom lip, and after blinking profusely, she finally sees him looking down at her, a soft smile on his handsome face.
The heat that crashes through her is instant, a whirlwind inside her stomach, a deep clenching of her cunt. Her fingers twitch, the need for him flaring up, but before she can touch him, he slides his hand down her arm and grabs her hand, slowly pulling her after him.
Stumbling behind him for a bit, she only focuses on not tripping as he continues to walk with her, step after step, hand tight around hers, warm and comforting almost, and her mind is spinning, vision blurred, still reeling from whatever happened in the bathroom. And then, somehow, she ends up in her bedroom, at the foot of her bed, the fairy lights glowing on the wall above it, all those bright colors of her duvet and pillows a stark contrast to the man standing next to her. He watches her, takes her in, and she looks back, mesmerized by his dark eyes and the hunger within them.
After not being able to see him for quite a while (it did feel unreasonably long), she feels as if she has to make up for all those missed minutes by studying him closely, letting her eyes rake over his body, memorizing every single detail, every twitch of his muscles, every faded scar, the way those veins snake under his tight skin, that subtle trail of hair leading past the waistband of his jeans. It comes as a bit of a shock when his hands move into her field of vision, long fingers starting to unbutton the very garment she's just stared at.
Blinking, not even trying to hide the blush spreading all over her neck and shoulders, she looks up into his face – which is hard, stoic, impassive, only his eyes show the hint of desire. He holds her gaze, then looks down, and she follows the hint, back to where his hands have opened his pants. He's not wearing any underwear, she notices, and she can clearly see the outline of his straining cock beneath the stiff fabric still covering his crotch.
He snaps his fingers, her attention pulled towards the gesture, and when he points to the floor in front of him, she is on her knees instantly, assuming her usual position, chest pushed out, head lowered, arms folded behind her back.
“Look at me,” he commands quietly. She does, tilting her head up, her heart beating even faster when his voice rolls through her. “Good girl. I want you to return the favor now. Can you do that?”
She nods eagerly, not quite sure what exactly he expects, but whatever it is, she will do it, no questions asked, no hesitation. She twitches, but he raises his hand, holding her back. He makes her watch him when he pushes his jeans down, slowly stepping out of it, his thighs flexing, his cock bouncing against his leg. Once he's as naked as her, he sits down on the edge of her bed, sinking into the soft duvet, his legs spread enough to allow her to find a place between them.
He crooks his finger at her, beckoning her closer. She rises from her kneeling position, a little wary after all, but he doesn't correct her, just watches her as she comes to stand between his thighs, breathing a little harder. He leans back, propped up on his arms behind him, his chin slightly tilted to meet her gaze.
“You may use your tongue and your hands, don't overdo it,” he instructs her, voice even, tone neutral, and still with that edge of dominance behind his words that makes her breath hitch.
She swallows, nods, licks her lips nervously. Her hands are shaking when she raises them, the need to touch him so strong she's unsure how and where to start. His command was pretty vague. Return the favor. He didn't make her come, so does that mean she isn't supposed to do that to him either? He did touch her all over though, massaged her flesh and stroked her skin, is that what he wants her to do too?
“Hey, less thinking, more worshiping, baby,” he says with a wink that makes her blush even more. “You can do this. Start here?” he adds quietly, having raised one hand to point a slender finger at his lips.
Her heart nearly explodes in her chest when she tentatively moves closer, her hands itching before they find his shoulders, fingers digging into skin and muscle. His eyes are on her when she leans in, almost patient, gentle, curious, wondering what she'll do. And it's strange. He's asking her to kiss him, to worship him, and while she's done both things many times before, it has never felt this... weird.
Because he usually tells her straightaway what to do. A simple command: get on your knees, open your mouth, suck my cock, clean, turn around, bend over, wait and let me use you, and she's done whatever he has wanted without much hesitation, she submitted, she didn't have to think twice. But now? It feels freeing in a very constricting way. As if her brain wasn't wired to do the simplest task on her own anymore.
Taking a shaking breath, she watches him, still waiting for him to take the reins, to control her, to make her do things, but he just sits there on the edge of the bed, leaning on his arms, looking at her so intently she feels her legs trembling. A quivering sob escapes her, which in turn makes him frown. His hand finds her nape with scary speed, his fingers curling around her neck, pulling her in, making her gasp. He pulls her closer, holds her barely an inch away from his mouth, their breaths mingling as she stares at him with her lips parted.
“What's wrong?” he rasps, the low vibration of his voice melting her brain even further.
“I... I don't...” she stammers, not quite sure how to voice her conflicting thoughts. Which in and of itself is a contradiction. She isn't supposed to think, and yet she worries what to do, what he expects of her, how she can properly worship and satisfy him.
“Darling,” he says, the name like a caress on its own while he kneads his fingers against her fluttering pulse. It's not a threat, not a warning, it's a command, a call, a loaded word that grounds her. “Don't be shy. Remember how you wanted to touch me back? It's not rocket science. Do what feels best, explore. I am all yours,” he ends with a whisper, his nose brushing against hers, his warm breath fanning over her lips.
She blinks, stares at him, lets the heat settle low in her stomach, the same heat she had felt when she had first seen him under the strobe lights, lounging at the bar, watching the dance floor, when their eyes had met, how she had started walking, meeting him halfway, how he'd grabbed her hand and pulled her into the dark, taking her away, igniting a fire that is still burning bright within her, despite all the unusual hardships he'd pulled her through. It's more than innocent butterflies now, it's a roaring storm of lust. A need she is not supposed to have and yet is invited to explore.
Slowly, her hands start rubbing up and down and around his strong shoulders, feeling his warm skin, the tensing muscles, her thumbs brushing against his collar bones, fingers gliding up along his neck. When she feels his steady heartbeat against her palm, she inhales sharply. His hand on her nape tightens, and in return, she puts both of hers around his throat, feeling him swallowing against them, a crooked smirk appearing on the corner of his mouth, a dark glint in his eyes.
And then she leans in fully, closing the gap, and presses her lips to his. For a moment he freezes, waits, eyes alert yet patient. Her hands give the gentlest squeeze to his throat, and it's enough to break his stupor. His fingers glide into her hair, twisting around it, until he fists it hard, holding her against his mouth as he kisses her back. Her eyes flutter close when she loses herself in the touch, feeling his hot breath, his hotter tongue mingling with hers, a dominating dance she has counted on. Easing the grip of her hands, she leans into him, arms snaking around his neck, holding on, letting him take control.
It's only a short delight though before he pulls her head back by her hair, coaxing a choked mewl out of her throat. Her eyes snap open, meeting his gaze, surprisingly amused. He moves his hand around her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, teasing into her mouth, before he slowly pulls it back, leaning onto his arm again, watching her. Her chest is rising and falling faster, leading his gaze lower for a moment. With her arms still resting on his shoulders, she leans back, curling her hands around the back of his neck before she presses her upper arms against the sides of her breasts.
A low chuckle escapes him, the sound encouraging her to continue. She has his attention, of course she has, why would she ever doubt herself? A shy smile makes it onto her quivering lips as her fingers slip up his neck into his hair. He leans his head into her touch, eyes hooded, breaths deeper, relaxing as he continues to watch her closely. With her heart pounding against her ribcage, she moves closer, massaging his scalp, lips finding his face again. Staying clear of his mouth for now, she peppers his cheek with little pecks, brushing her lips along his hard jaw, and he indulges her when he tenses that muscle, letting it twitch against her mouth, giving her the motivation to keep going.
Eventually, her small hands cup his face as she plants a lasting kiss on his forehead, a gesture that almost feels as if their roles were reversed. He feels so docile like this, just sitting there, allowing her to explore his body without pressure, without threat. With his eyes closed, relaxed, trusting. Knowing what she always wanted. When she leans back, her eyes wander over his handsome face, tracing the shape of his eyebrows, down his nose, counting his short lashes, moving along his cheeks, around the hard edges of his jaw, all the way back to his lips, slightly parted, inviting, a mouth she's felt so many times on every inch of her own body.
The heat is sweltering within her, that tell-tale tingle nestling between her legs, her desire for him growing by the second. And while he told her to take it easy, and she's glad he did, her cunt, as sore and aching as it is, still cannot wait to feel him inside her again, to really connect, to not just touch, but be one, fitted together perfectly. A shaking breath passes her lips, and to mask it, she presses them to his, not waiting for him to reply, just pecking, a gentle pressure, upper lip, bottom lip, corner, left, right, cheek, down his jaw, teasing his earlobe, trailing her mouth down his neck until she feels his pulse beating against her lips, steady but accelerated, excited, mirroring her own need.
She gives him a tentative suck, closing her lips around his skin, the tip of her tongue teasing, cheeks hollowing, and the tiniest of groans leaves his throat, vibrating through him, sending shivers down her spine. And while the desire to mark him as he's marked her before, leaving a trail of soft bruises down his neck, is strong, she fights it, not sure he'll be too happy about it. Unless he tells her to, she'll refrain from it. For now. Instead, she focuses on kissing down his neck, only to swipe her tongue all the way back up, right along his pulse.
He exhales loudly, shifting on the bed, and she can only imagine how hard he is fighting himself, to hold back, to let her do this, to not take control and grab her, and do with her what he wants. It's impressive, considering how impulsive he usually is. Smiling to herself, she moves lower, lets her lips brush along his shoulder, giving the occasional peck, her hands following, rubbing slowly down his arms, over his hard biceps, around his elbows, following the bulging veins snaking under his tight skin until she holds onto his wrists, causing her body to sit almost flush against his, chest rubbing against chest, her hard nipples a subtle tease.
His eyes flutter open, his gaze dark, pupils dilated, but he remains still, unmoving, leaned back on the bed, watching her. “Want me to lie down, baby?” he whispers hoarsely, and as she blushes a new shade of red, she nods, grateful he could read her like an open book again. With a soft chuckle he complies, lowering himself to his elbows, then scoots up the bed and lies down, muscles shifting when he stretches his long limbs, arms crossing behind his head, resting on some of her many pillows.
She crawls over him, careful, slow, acutely aware of how their dynamic is changing. Him allowing her to be on top is a rare thing, and the last time he's given himself to her like this has been to regain her trust after he's belted her thighs in a moment of unpredictable rage. They're long past that now, and having him lying there, beneath her, just waiting, his beautiful body on full display for her, it feels like something she hasn't even dared to dream about. This tall, strong man, capable of the most vile things, basically at her mercy now is almost too much for her.
Yet as soon as she leans down and presses her lips to his chest, kissing along the hard curves of his pecs down to his nipples, waiting for his reaction, she senses a strange kind of power surging through her. He wants her, he's said so from the very beginning, and yet she never made the connection that he doesn't just want to claim and use her, defile her in ways she cannot even fathom most of the time, no, it's about having her, all of her, her body, her mind, and her unquenchable thirst for him, that little infatuation that has grown into the kind of obsession he's shown her since that fateful night in his club, tugged away in the shadows, that hunger he's had for her early on, while hers needed a bit more time to build up.
And now, it's almost as if it's reversed. The more she kisses him, licks along the bumps and valleys of his body, tasting him, claiming him, the more the need for him grows, to have him, always, every second of the day, to feel him, to see how her little ministrations effect him, that obsessive desire to be with him, always, while he keeps watching her through hooded eyes, a soft smile on his lips, warmth in his eyes, adoration even? He looks so relaxed and at ease like she's never seen him before. Calm and collected, that dominant aura breaking at the seams, his hard shell cracking open, allowing a gentler side to peek through. Maybe it's all in her head, but the more she steals a look at him as she continues to trace her lips and hands over his body, exploring every inch of him, the less intimidating he appears.
It's when she clambers lower, her legs straddling his thigh, careful not to brush her throbbing core against him just yet, that she's reminded how she craves to be intimidated. Seeing his cock twitching against his lower stomach, slowly hardening under her soft touches, her body remembers, her throat tensing as the memory of his stiff member pushing deep flickers through her mind, her cunt clenching, aches be damned, her stomach fluttering, head spinning, breath hitching, in past fear, in future anticipation.
It's this primal need, that inborn purpose, to be a hole for him to fill however he desires, no matter how much pain he has brought her, it doesn't matter now, it never does afterwards, as she waits for him to do it all over again. It's what she's made for, she knows it now, and hovering close to his cock, she knows her place, on her knees, below him, servicing him how she's supposed to. Looking up from under her lashes, she sees him staring at her, the hardness back in his gaze, eyes dark and focused, challenging, dominating. His body is still relaxed, but the hunger is real, and the little twitch of his cock only emphasizes it.
She knows now what to do, and it's only a passing thought when she realizes that it's apparently easier to take care of his cock than to kiss him on the mouth. Holding his gaze, she lowers herself until her breath hits the warm skin of his shaft. He's tensing, she can tell, his abs tightening visibly as he forces himself to remain still, letting her do what she can do best.
Her tongue darts out gingerly, the tip tracing along the veins that grow more pronounced the longer she gives them attention. When she reaches his crown, he's fully erect, the mushroom tip tight, a single bead of precum glistening at the top. Closing her lips around the spongy edges, she gives little sucks, little nibbles, always watching him closely, savoring those tiny reactions he issues, his breaths deeper, loud through his nose, his jaw tense, his stomach moving with every forced in- and exhale.
She can tell how much he's holding back, how much he wants to grab her, fisting her hair, shoving her head down onto his length, burying it deep in her throat until she sees stars and chokes on it, and the thought alone makes her moan softly against his warm skin, almost in need of exactly that to happen. But it's just her, licking up and down his cock, coating every inch in her saliva, marking him in her own way, and it has to be enough for now.
His scent fills her nostrils when she inhales deeply, cheek pressed to his pelvis, lips suckling on the side of his shaft, feeling those veins throbbing against them. Her hand finds his balls, soft yet firm, his growing urge to fill her with his seed evident in her palm. More groans vibrate through him, and she keeps massaging him, giving him little kitten licks, soft pecks and gentle nibbles, worshiping him as best she can, inertly waiting (hoping) for him to snap and take her.
It's almost frustrating how controlled he is.
To further test (and provoke) him, she slowly moves away from his cock, kissing his pelvis, down his thigh, teasing her teeth against his skin as she shimmies her own body down his leg, then moves off him, kneeling in the space between his spread thighs, her hands gliding down his limbs, giving gentle pressure. Watching him from under her lashes, she massages his left calf, her fingers dancing lower, around his ankle to his foot that twitches in her hold when his eyebrows furrow darkly, and she moves on to the other leg, working her way up instead of down.
When she's back at the apex of his thigh, her hands skip grabbing his cock and find his waist instead, thumbs pressing into tense muscles. She leans over him, lowering herself, lips brushing along his abs before she follows the trail of hair down again, her tongue and confidence growing bolder as she licks wide stripes over his skin. Giving him another glance, smiling at how intently he stares at her, she then finally focuses back on his twitching erection, mouth opening, saliva already pooling on her tongue as she sucks his tip between her lips.
He inhales sharply and shifts on the bed, his hips bucking slightly, but she keeps her hands on them, gently pushing him down as she bends over him, angling her head just right to allow more of his length into her mouth. Hollowing her cheeks, she closes her eyes and just leans into the task (and her own oral fixation), the weight and feel and warmth of his cock on her tongue easing her nerves, emptying her head. Sucking him off feels natural, easy, something she wants and can do, knowing it'll surely bring him to climax.
For a moment she debates whether to actually pull through and make him come, or to just cockwarm him and make him feel good, like he's done to her. Luckily, he finally seems to have enough of her ministrations, or rather of not participating like he usually does, and when she feels his hand heavy on her head, she inhales deeply through her nose, his musk dizzying for a second, her lips tightening around his shaft. She waits, but he's just put his palm on her hair, no tight grip, no strength, just reassurance.
She relaxes, keeps suckling on his tip, massaging it with her tongue and his length with her lips, not taking him as deep as he probably prefers, but it seems enough. Resting her cheek on his lower stomach, she settles against him, between his legs, where she belongs, with his cock in her mouth. Her hand rubs up and down his hip, then slips lower, closing around his base, giving additional pressure and her something to hold onto. He exhales loudly, his fingertips caressing her hair and scalp, soothing in a way, gentle, and she feels herself drifting away into that wonderful, blissful void where nothing matters.
Except him.
TWENTY-FIVE 🟥 TWENTY-SIX 🟥 TWENTY-SEVEN
End notes: If you enjoyed the softer sides of Sir and Darling, I have a little independent one-shot about them, called Sick Day.
Thank you for reading!
Next chapter very soon! (Think of it as a Holiday treat!)
TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290 (Is this still relevant? Let me know!)
When the pills he gave her wear off, exposing the raw aches beneath, he finds a unique way of making her feel better, before asking her to return the favor.
ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush
WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Thumbsucking/oral fixation. Pain management. Aftercare. Bondage. Blindfolds. Body worship. Cockwarming. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 10.4k
TWENTY-FIVE 🟥 TWENTY-SIX 🟥 TWENTY-SEVEN
She wakes up on her stomach, a heavy body draped over her, deep snores rattling in her ear. At least he's no longer buried in her butt, though the ache within certainly feels as if he'd still be in there. He's not, she can feel his cock against the back of her knee. Warm and soft. He's so relaxed on top of her, more relaxed than she's ever seen him. Something changed, she can feel it. But she doesn't know if it's a good change yet.
She doesn't dare to move, entangled as they are, so she closes her eyes again, ignoring the light flooding the room, red behind her eyelids, the city coming to life outside the window, a subtle drone echoing up the tall building. Without being able to stop it, she thinks back to yesterday, and the days before. She's back in his bed, back in his arms, having his full attention, and everything that entails.
Yesterday was intense, another one of those days full of intimacies, softer and rougher, a constant up and down of impressions – and that after having to spend three days practically on her own, caught in her own head. The sudden change has been welcomed, but it's also been quite overwhelming.
And she'd thought she would become numb to it all once she fully submitted to him, allowing him to steer her. But her racing mind is still there, wondering about past events, present occurrences, future plans. He seemed to have moved on from her punishment, from isolating her after she had dared to run away from him.
But it's not as if nothing happened. She's still somewhat reeling that he drugged her and used her in her sleep, bruising her to show her what could be. Those marks scare her, even though she can't remember getting them, but the implications are there, evidence of his strength, of his wrath should she ever disobey him again.
Her eyes fly open when he shifts against her, inhaling deeply before falling back into those rattling snores, his arm now curled around her head, his face buried between her shoulder blades. His hand is right there, in front of her, and the cracked skin on his knuckles as visible as ever. Another sign of the violence hidden within him.
Now she wonders who's been at the receiving end of that fist, who had to endure his wrath, and why. Apart from owning the night club where they had met, she really doesn't know much about what he does to afford all the luxuries of his penthouse and more. What other risks he takes aside from taking random girls home and keeping them for himself?
The more she stares at his hand, slowly looking past the injuries and focusing more on the shape of it (the way his tight skin spans over bones and tendons and veins, how his thumb, so big and wide, is right there...), the less she cares about anything else. It feels like an inborn instinct, a need to stretch her neck a little, to move closer, to part her lips, heart racing, holding her breath, until...
Instant comfort.
Her eyes flutter shut when she closes her lips around his thumb, carefully sucking him deeper into her mouth, feeling the slight weight of it, the texture, the taste of him, the hard nail, the soft pad, the deep lines on the knuckle. It's another instinct to move her hand and cradle his, holding his wrist, holding him there, as she slowly starts moving her head, a gentle bobbing, cheeks hollowing, the motion of suckling so relaxing she barely even notices him moving on top of her.
Not even his deep voice, heavy with sleep, so low it's just a rumble in her head, startles her. “What are you doing?” he asks, shifting a little, but not pulling his hand away.
She doesn't reply, doesn't open her eyes, just keeps sucking, her tongue flicking around the pad of his thumb in a hypnotic fashion, her mind as empty as it can get. His breath fans over her neck when he lifts his head, leaning over her, his lips brushing against her ear, his body still that massive thing on her back that keeps her grounded, pushed into the bed.
“What a needy little thing you are,” he hums into her, and she shivers, a muffled little mewl working its way up her throat. He kisses her cheek, curling his fingers around her chin, allowing her to suckle, to embrace the blissful void she's pulled herself into. A sigh comes from him when he rests his head on hers, cheek to cheek, the rest of him draped around her like a protective cocoon, warm and heavy and comforting.
She didn't even realize she's fallen asleep again until he shakes her gently, his thumb pulled from between her lips, his hand on her shoulder, her body having been rolled onto her back, the cold air of the room assaulting her bare skin. Her eyelids flutter, a groan escaping her as she shifts her hips, trying to pull her legs up to curl into a ball again, to chase the soothing warmth he's ripped her from. She can barely see him when he leans over her, hands now moving under her, dragging her up and into a sitting position.
“Come on, sleepyhead, get up,” he coos quietly, the low timbre of his voice making her keen softly. A chuckle escapes him. “Hmm, you've quite exhausted yourself last night, huh?”
Slowly, the fog in her brain lifts a little, and she wants to tell him that it's mostly his fault, when a sudden jolt of piercing discomfort crashes through her nerves. He made her sit on the edge of the bed, and it hurts, sitting, her muscles so tense the slightest motion pulls at them painfully. A whine escapes her, turning into a full-on wail when she wakes up more and more, feeling every single aspect of the soreness within her.
She tries not to move, but keeping her body still is just as agonizing. Suddenly his hands are on her face, thumbs gently lifting it. She blinks her eyes into focus and the sudden tears away, meeting his dark gaze. “You'll be fine,” he tells her, and she frowns, her lips quivering, but he just narrows his eyes. Her breath hitches, and despite a new wave of blinding hurt crashing over her, she stares back at him, fixated on him, trying to ignore anything else.
She still gasps when he pulls her onto her feet, uncurling her aching limbs, straightening her protesting core, the pain like a strange cloud all around her. It doesn't make sense. He's used her for three nights, slapped and bruised her, used her intensively, but the ache afterwards has never been this bad. It had been there, a dull throbbing, a deep tension, but now it feels like she's been hit by a bus, dragged along several miles and then hurled over a cliff.
The pills, she thinks through the fog. Whatever he gave her alongside her birth control pill, must not only have knocked her out completely, but numbed her as well? And now it's been over twenty-four hours since her last dose... Is this what withdrawal feels like? Or is her body just coming back down to normal, into the state she's always been in, seeing that he's used her like this before, so many times, a whole week by now of constant pushing and pulling her into directions she's never experienced before?
And now her head hurts too. She groans pathetically, leaning into the hold of his hands on her upper arms, her head seemingly too heavy on her neck as it lolls to the side, her gaze hooded as she tries to look at him. She can't tell if its annoyance, impatience or concern on his hard face. His eyes rake over her body, before he suddenly moves her, nudging her to walk, and somehow her feet follow the command, leading her into the bathroom.
It's a blur how he leans her against the vanity, how she manages to stay upright. He's rummaging through a cabinet, echoing noises that sound as if she's underwater. Ugh, her head is killing her. His hand is on her jaw, fingers pressing into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. She lets out a muffled moan, then feels his fingers putting something on her tongue.
“Swallow,” he says, his voice oddly distorted, and she feels something like a cup press to her bottom lip. She blinks, can barely see, but does as he says. Water floods her mouth, some of it dripping past her lips and down her chin, but most of it finds its way down her throat, alongside something small and bitter. She swallows again, then another gulp, the water is gone, her throat tired and sore, her body so pliant she feels like floating when he moves her into the shower.
Her eyes close. Her heart beats fast. Her chest rises and falls.
The fog is lifting, she blinks, finds herself outside the shower again, notices large hands rubbing a soft towel over her body, her wet hair cascading over her shoulders in tangled waves. Inhaling deeply, she looks up at him, head still swimming but her vision is much clearer now. His hair is wet too, droplets running down his temples, his neck, rolling over his wide shoulders, down his toned chest. She follows the little rivulets with her eyes, but before she can see them move lower, his finger is on her chin, lifting it up again to meet his eyes.
“Better?” he asks, and she nods, a tired smile on her lips, a weak “Thank you” falling past them. “Good,” he adds, letting go of her. He takes a step back, tilts his head to the side. “Brush your teeth and do whatever else you need to do in here, then wait for me out there, by the bed, your usual position. Understood?”
His harsh, dominant tone makes her breath hitch. He's been a little too casual with her lately, she feels, though her body seems to react nonetheless (that inborn need to submit to him flaring up all over again), her muscles, still somewhat aching, tensing as she straightens up and nods. A quiet “Yes, sir” spills from her lips naturally.
His eyes scan her face for a moment, before he just leaves, no nod, no word, he just goes and closes the bathroom door behind him, his footsteps slowly disappearing into the distance. She inhales deeply, then turns to focus on the tasks he's given her.
Some time later, she's sitting on her knees by the foot of the bed, shoulders tight, neck straight, chest pushed out, arms folded behind her back, holding onto her forearms. The usual position. Strange, how this has become normal, something she just does. It's still a blur how she came to do it also. Those fleeting moments where she would see him during her punishment, she had spent just like this, hoping to appease him, showing him how serious she was about what she promised him. It has just happened, a natural thing, because it's where she belongs, on her knees, waiting for him to command her.
It's her purpose, her role, her life. The subtle weight and pressure of the collar around her neck remind her of that as well. And it feels good, despite it all, it frees her mind. It allows her to sit there, bared and exposed, naked since he has put the collar on her four days ago or however long it has been. It would have bothered her before, now it feels right, normal. He may have stripped her of her clothes, but with them gone, she also lost all those worries (am I pretty enough? I don't like that part of my body, what if he doesn't like it either?), because apparently she is (good and pretty) enough, the way he treats and handles her, the way he practically worships her body, it's proof that there's no reason to worry.
He wants her, just like she wants him, and servicing him feels like a privilege, no matter how much it hurts. Every bruise, inside and out, is proof that he cares, that she is his, that nothing else matters but his touch, his kisses, his embraces, his words, praising and demanding. Only he matters.
She feels her core clenching just thinking about him, and in the end she is so lost in thought, lost in her memories of him, that she flinches badly when the door opens and he enters the bedroom, his bare feet the first thing she sees before she straightens her position and looks straight ahead, now in line with his crotch as he comes to stand in front of her.
“Get up,” he orders, and she moves, slowly unfolding herself until she stands before him, gingerly looking up.
His eyes travel over her face for a moment, so dark and intense, and she notices that he's dressed now, well, more or less anyway, he's only wearing a pair of dark jeans. The way it hugs his hips, accentuates the v-line of his muscles that draws her gaze automatically lower, over tight skin and bulging veins that in turn lead her to his belly button and back up to his abs. It's literally mouthwatering, and she has to swallow to not openly drool. She's seen him naked so many times, but each time still sends those hot and cold shivers down her spine that all gather low in her core, that make her clench and squirm on the spot.
“Eyes up here, darling,” he says, voice a little less rough, and she can see him smirking when she eventually pulls her gaze off his toned chest and up into his face. Her own flushes with warmth and embarrassment. He tilts his head. “Come on now, follow me.”
He turns and walks away, back into the bathroom. She follows instantly, unable to not look at his broad back now, or his formfitting jeans, the way his butt moves behind the stiff denim, how there's a black piece of fabric sticking out of his back pocket. Luckily the ache that flares up when she walks is a good distraction, and she keeps her eyes peeled to the floor, focusing on moving without being in too much pain. Whatever pill he gave her, helped, but the deep soreness is still there, just a bit more muted. All she can do is breathe through it, telling herself it'll be better again. Hopefully.
In the end she is so distracted that she blinks in confusion when he motions her towards the wall-mounted towel warmer next to the vanity, the black fabric now draped around his hands. Is it some sort of shawl? Looks silky. While she's both nervous and curious about what he has planned, a scorching spark of uneasiness growing in her stomach, she also finds a strange comfort in just doing what he tells her.
“Put your arms above your head,” he says, voice low and with that dominant edge that makes her stomach flutter for a different reason.
She does, her fingers grazing the last horizontal bar of the radiator, her chest moving up when she stretches. He steps closer, watching her intently, and she holds his gaze, her heart beating faster. His hands work quick, gentle as he drapes the black fabric around her wrists, tying her hands together, before attaching the silky ribbon to the towel rail. Then he grabs her waist and spins her around a few times, checking the flexibility of her restraints, which actually allow him to pivot her on the spot.
She breathes harder when he returns her to her initial position, facing him, her head reeling just a bit more. While she should be concerned why he constrains her to the wall like this, she only feels anticipation flaring up in her guts. Swallowing, she tugs at the binds, feeling their soft texture and their tight hold. No way she can free herself like this. Though she isn't even sure she wants to.
He watches her for a moment, turning another piece of fabric between his long fingers. The longer he just stands there and does nothing, the more her heart is beating out of her chest. Yet as soon as her mind starts going into overdrive, expecting the worst or the best or anything at this point, he takes a step closer, silencing the raging thoughts immediately. He moves his hand along her side, the soft fabric gliding over her skin, eliciting a surprised gasp from her throat. Up and around it goes, teasing at her breasts, going dangerously close to her exposed armpits, a gentle caress, a barely there touch, that leaves goosebumps in its wake.
When he reaches her face, she's holding her breath, squirming slightly on her feet, her lips parted and quivering. He unfolds the fabric between his hands, and she realizes it's a blindfold. Inhaling sharply, she forces herself to hold his gaze, wanting to commit the look in his dark eyes to memory, the hunger within, before he gently drapes the fabric around her head, plunging the room into darkness.
Her senses are immediately heightened, every noise louder, every touch, accidental or not, amplified. A whimper escapes her. There's the gentle heat behind her, emitting from the towel bars, and there's another radiating presence in front of her. He's still there, leaning close, she can smell him, feel him, even though he's no longer touching her.
Until he does, his lips pressing to her earlobe, before his low voice vibrates through her skull. “Learn to trust me,” he whispers, making her gasp, and while she wants to tell him she already does (not even in the slightest concerned about that realization), he leans away with a deep inhale, taking her in. And then... he's just gone.
The blindfold sits tight over her eyes, half covering her ears as well, which makes it hard to hear anything past the raging pulse in her head. She tries to breathe evenly, but she can't help writhing against the binds, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, her whole body tingling in anticipation.
“Stay perfectly still,” his voice comes from a few feet away, causing her to hold her breath and stiffen, listening closely to whatever it is he's doing over there.
It's then that the memories flood her mind. She's back in that sex shop, under the watchful eyes of a woman named Mistress, and he's there, putting her onto a reclined chair with her legs up and restrained, before he tests out a new toy on her. A deep shudder crushes through her. She's always been at his mercy, more or less suffering through his unpredictability, but he seldom had to restrain her.
Whatever he had done to her, it had always come as a shock, a surprise, sometimes for the better, mostly for the worse, like those slaps to her butt, like those probing touches. His rage is a faint memory, the way he handled her, his belt on her thighs, digging into her skin, every hit a different kind of pain. And even his more controlled punishments echo through her head, through her nerves, igniting those welts and bruises, though they also remind her of how he had draped his belt around her arms, constraining her, which had been a strange comfort while he's spanked and fingered her, back on that log in the woods.
All those instances had one thing in common: she couldn't fight them, made immobile, held back, put into a state where all she could do was let it happen, take it, endure. It had forced her to focus on what was happening instead of trying to squirm away, find a way out, and by (not) doing that, it had felt all the more intense. The pain as well as the pleasure.
With her hands bound above her head, tied to the towel warmer, unable to move away, and blindfolded on top of that, she is at his mercy again, waiting for whatever he has planned. Will he spank her again? Deepen the bruises on her breasts, on her ass and thighs? Why else would he make it so he could turn her around? Has she been a bad girl? Has she done anything that may have disgruntled him?
Her mind is reeling as the doubts flood her without restraint, a relentless barrage of bad emotions, and she's helpless against them, unable to shut them out. Her heart keeps thundering in her chest, her breaths turning from rapid in- and exhales into little whines and whimpers, as panic starts to settle in her core.
“Relax,” she hears his voice, now from the other side, and she whips her head around, even though she can't see, straining her ears, pressing her lips together, her nostrils flaring as she breathes loudly through her nose.
For a long moment, nothing happens. All she hears is her own frantic heartbeat and rattling breaths. She's so wound up that when she suddenly feels his hand on her hip, it's like an electric shock, coaxing a shrill squeak out of her throat, making her jolt backwards.
“Shh,” he coos, his hand heavy on her side, holding her in place. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
She is still in doubt. His other hand finds her face, fingers gliding under the blindfold pressed over her ear, pushing it up a little, while his thumb rubs along her bottom lip. She inhales deeply, straightening up, focusing on grounding herself, feeling the tiles under her feet, the warmth of the radiator in her back. He tightens the knot of the blindfold behind her head, his presence so close and warm, and yet not close enough, just a ghosting touch, a faint embrace, before it's gone again.
Her exhale is loud, a frustrated sigh, and she almost wishes he would be brutal with her again, manhandling her how he wants her, taking her however he likes, anything but this torture of... nothing, of anticipating the worst. And yet when she does feel him, his breath warm on her earlobe, his lips just barely brushing against her skin, she still flinches, stiffening up, biting her lip.
While he leaves gentle kisses on that soft spot behind her ear that makes her keen, one of his hands moves up to grip her chin, his thumb sliding up to pull her bottom lip away from her teeth before it slips between her lips. She's too stunned to do anything at first, but the longer he lingers, the more she needs to suck on his thumb again. He lets her, and the soft suckling motions, the way her cheeks hollow, the steady back and forth of her head, the warmth and weight and taste of him, all of it is enough to ease her worries, put her back into that head-empty-state, the panic slowly powering down inside her.
“My good girl,” he rasps into her ear, and she shivers, mewling softly around his thumb, the praise not missing its mark deep in her core. She gasps when he pulls his hand away and slides it down her neck, pressing gently against her collar, his wet thumb tracing along her fluttering pulse. “Just stay still and let me make you feel good, okay?” he adds, his voice so low it's a mere vibration through her head.
“O-okay,” she whispers hoarsely, unintentionally tensing up even more, forcing herself to breathe through her nose.
She can feel him putting both of his large hands around her neck now, giving no pressure, just a gentle hold, until they move down, dividing to slip along her collarbones and then up her stretched arms, his long fingers curling around her slim limbs, before they meet again as he holds onto her tied wrists, his body now so close she can sense his warmth, her breath hitting his warm chest with how much taller he is.
He doesn't say a word, she can barely hear him breathing. It's just his hands and his looming presence, now really ghosting her when he moves his fingers down the back of her arms until they reach her shoulder blades, a gentle touch, so unnervingly soft and comforting she doesn't know how to react. She keeps sucking in a sharp breath before holding it, whenever he continues the journey of his hands, slowly down the curve of her back, his fingertips pressing lightly into her tense muscles, rubbing, sliding, massaging.
While he kneads his digits into the hollow of her lower back, his body is almost pressed to her front, his warmth intoxicating, and she shifts just slightly, wanting more, until her breasts brush against his stomach. He leans away instantly, and she sighs – a noise that is suddenly swallowed by his mouth when he captures her quivering lips for a deep kiss. She almost moans into him, squirming a little more, leaning into his touch while also leaning into him, unsure how to turn to reach all of him.
Her hands twitch in their binds, the need to touch him growing stronger, that itch that needs to be scratched almost unbearable. Without being able to see him, all her other senses are heightened, that soft pressure of his hands as he rubs his palms over the swell of her hips, along those deep bruises, sending waves of goosebumps along her arms and legs. The gentle swirl of his tongue against hers makes her dizzy, the kiss so much more intense in her restricted position.
She is at his mercy, but despite her initial fears, it feels amazing, like nothing she's ever felt before. An actual whine escapes her when he leans back and lets go of her, the ghost of his touch lingering, a subtle burning just beneath her skin, a yearning for more. Shifting on her feet, she waits, listens, anticipates... anything, and when he does touch her again, she still gasps in surprise.
His lips are on her collarbone, a warm mouth, the tip of his tongue tracing along her skin, a gentle pressure when he starts sucking a new hickey into her. She couldn't care less at this point, even if he wanted to cover her entire body in his marks, it feels too good, and it's so much more, the weight of the gesture, the possessive need to bruise her, to make her his, it feeds her own wants, it deepens their bond and eases her nerves, strengthening her belief that he will never leave her.
While he still suckles on her clavicle, his hands are back on her waist, holding her steady, fingers splayed over her lower back, thumbs teasing along her stomach, causing it to flutter even more. She can feel his hair brushing against her jaw, the subtle scent of it filling her head, adding to the various sensations coursing through her body. It's almost overwhelming how much she wants him, how enamored, how infatuated, how utterly obsessed she is with him.
All these gentle touches fuel the very need that had grown inside her since the very first time she'd seen him. What had started as a crush has become so much more, and that despite all the vile things he's subjected her to. Or maybe... because of them? Has he tickled out a deeply hidden side of her that wants to be handled roughly, that enjoys the pain, that needs his dominance more than air? Yes, probably. It had been so easy to just do what he told her, to endure, to let it happen, to submit. Who is she to fight this inborn desire to please?
He pulls a little shriek from her when he suddenly teases his teeth into her skin, with just enough pressure to let her feel the strength of his jaw, before he leans back and peppers her bruised skin with soft kisses, his slightly labored breaths sinking into her pores. She wants to squirm, free her hands, grab his hair and hold onto him, but she can't, she won't, she's more or less stock-still as he decides to move his mouth lower, brushing his lips along the soft slopes of her breasts, into the valley between them, before he gives each of her pert nipples a surprisingly tame suck.
They still hurt, as do the bruises he left on her mounds, but she really starts to enjoy the subtle ache that jolts through her nerves, gathering low in her stomach, lower, lower, until she feels her clit throbbing. Before she even notices the squirming she does, the pressing of her thighs to relieve the urge to feel a bit more, his hands are on her legs, pulling them apart just enough to elicit a frustrated whimper from her – that turns into a shaky moan when she feels his lips kissing down her stomach, along her hipbone, his tongue dipping into the soft dent where her pelvis meets her thigh, the touch like fire, shooting straight into her core.
He's so close to where she really needs him, but the closer he gets to her clenching cunt, the lighter his kisses become, until he barely touches her at all, it's only his hot breath brushing along her slit now. She can't even buck her hips into his face with how strong his grip is on her thighs. Another whine escapes her, her head tilting back in irritation, when he leans away again, letting go of her legs. Yet when she tries to clamp her thighs together, his denim clad leg is there, hard and rough, pressing between hers, teasing her.
She's really fighting not to hump it.
In her trance to find relief, she feels his hands on her face, holding her steady. Inhaling deeply, she focuses on the warmth of his palms, his thumbs rubbing at the corners of her mouth. “I need you to stay really still,” he then says, so quiet, so low, she can feel deep shivers all over her exposed body. “Really, really still,” he repeats, his breath ghosting her lips. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir” is her immediate reply, a breathy whisper, trembling with tension and anticipation and need. She isn't sure she can comply, but she'll try her best.
His hands move away, as does his leg, and yet she remains still, only her chest is rising and falling steadily, her stomach fluttering, a slight wiggle to her toes, her fingers curling around the soft ribbon tying her to the towel warmer. He lets her wait again, it may be seconds, or minutes, she has no idea. She's straining her ears, trying to hear anything, and when she does, it's confusion that washes over her.
Yet before she can decipher what it is she hears, he's back, and his hands go to her neck, something cold and wet on his fingers as he curls them around her throat, giving a gentle pressure, rubbing something into the bruises along her pulse. She holds her breath, endures the deep throbbing ache, stiffens when he slips his slick fingers under her collar. Whatever it is he's applied to her skin, it's a soothing cold that spreads through her like a wave, easing the pain, coaxing a sigh from her parted lips.
Once he's done with her neck, he repeats the motion with her breasts, smearing the cooling substance all over her soft, bruised mounds, gently kneading, applying just a bit more pressure when he weighs them in his large hands, his palms rubbing against her hard nipples, his fingers digging into her flesh. She inhales deeply, moving her chest into his ministrations, relaxing more and more under his capable hands.
There's a subtle scent in the air, flowery, thick, sweet, soapy and medicinal in a way, soothing, both in her nose and on her skin. Her mind is emptying by the second, focusing only on him, though she can't help but wonder how gentle he is, how crass the contrast is between the man who gave her these bruises and the man who eases her pain now. Like two different people. Yet another face of him. Impressive.
Her wrists strain against the ribbon as she lets her body sink a little lower, sagging a bit, too relaxed to stand straight anymore. His hands leave her chest, and she's expecting him to move lower, but then his fingers tease into her armpits, making her squeal and squirm against the tickling touch. Fortunately he stops before she looses complete control over her body, a breathless, choked giggle escaping her as he lets up and grabs her waist instead, firmly turning her around now.
She ends up with her chest close to the warm bars of the towel rack, her forearms resting on them as she curls her hands around the top of the fixture, still trying to catch her breath. Somehow it feels inevitable in this position (her back arching automatically so her butt sticks out even more), but she still flinches badly when she feels the gentle slap of his hand against the soft slope of her ass cheek. Or maybe it's the gentleness that surprises her. It's not a spanking-type slap, no aggression behind it, no forced discipline, not a punishing touch, just a simple little nudge that makes her cheek wiggle.
He does the same to the other side before he puts his hands around her glutes, weighing them, pressing his warm palms into her bruised flesh. She breathes deeply, even tenses and pushes her butt into his hold. His exhale almost sounds like a low chuckle that burns itself right into her heart. His hands leave her then, only to return with the same cooling sensation she's felt before, whatever lotion or ointment he uses on her so soothing she quickly forgets about the deep ache trying to push to the forefront of her mind.
It doesn't matter anymore. This is a new level of aftercare. One she could really get used to. Even if it means to endure pain and other discomforts beforehand. It's also not as if there isn't something in it for her too. Sure, at first she's overwhelmed, like last night when he forced his cock into her ass, and she may remain like that throughout the whole ordeal, but despite him telling her he did it all for himself, not focusing on her pleasure, he still touched her and brought her to orgasm afterwards, he was still looking out for her, because he cares, he really does, he told her so (in an attempt to convince her to use those damn sex toys, but still).
And knowing that keeps her going, keeps her enduring, keeps her submitting. He may be rough with her, but he cares too much about her to really hurt her, to permanently damage her, and for her, that's enough. That's basically a love confession in her clouded mind. Is it delusional to think he may develop actual feelings for her after just one intense week of knowing each other? Probably. Does she care? No. It helps her along, that's what matters. It makes being tied to a radiator with a blindfold on while he moves his hands all over her naked body so much easier.
She must have actually dozed off during his ministrations (or at least got lost in the cotton of her mind), because when he turns her around again, her ass (all of it) and thighs covered in a thick layer of soothing lotion, she almost stumbles over her own feet, leaning heavily into the hold of his hands on her waist.
“You still with me, baby girl?” she hears his low voice, and while she can't see the smirk, she can definitely imagine it.
“Yes,” she whispers, inhaling deeply to focus back on him.
“Good,” he says, his hands leaving her before she feels him crouching down in front of her (or so she thinks, she can feel rough denim nudging into her shins). “Remember to stay perfectly still, okay?” he adds, his voice definitely lower now.
She nods, bracing herself as he pushes her legs apart. She doesn't know what she has expected, but it wasn't his fingers between her folds (because somehow, she hasn't thought this would turn into anything sexual – which in and of itself is a strange assumption to make when it comes to him, who seemingly turns anything sexual without even trying). And yet here he is, rubbing along her slit, teasing at her clit, pressing his fingertip against her entrance, not quite probing her.
“Hold still,” he whispers, and she holds her breath, not sure what he'll do, but when he sinks his fingers, two she assumes, into her, all she can do is let out a long sigh, like air leaving a broken tire, the touch something she has been looking forward to ever since he's tied her to the towel rack (speaking of him turning anything sexual, apparently she is just as bad by now).
But it's not the usual plunge of his fingers, there's no rhythm, no curling, no stretching, though there is something cold on his fingers that he drags over her clenching walls, rubbing here and there, pushing and prodding, and it makes her tremble, a strange feeling deep within that rivals the soreness of her muscles, a similar tension, but at the same time soothing and numbing. He repeats the motion three times, pulls his fingers out and puts them back in, more and more cooling cream confusing her throbbing cunt.
This may be helpful in the long run, but she'd really prefer it if he would just make her come, ease the need burning through her nerves that makes her toes curl in anticipation. It's a strange kind of edging that leaves her hanging, and she lets out another frustrated sigh when his fingers leave her cunt for good.
“My needy little girl,” he says on an exhale, shifting in front of her, seemingly standing up. “It isn't your turn yet. Be patient.”
She has to hold her breath to not make any more noises of discontent. Listening hard, she hears him walking away, the quiet tap of his feet on the tiles barely audible with her heart still thrumming in her ears. The gentle rush of water echoes through the room, then the rustling of a towel.
She flinches badly when his hands are back on her waist, swaying her slightly as he steps closer, his presence in front of her that all-consuming sensation, his warmth seeping into her skin, his chest so close it brushes against her with every breath. Shivers crash through her when his fingers slide up her torso, teasing her armpits (but she forces herself not to react, tensing under his touches), curling around her arms, finding her wrists.
For a moment he just leans lightly against her, and she can't help but inhale deeply, fill her nostrils with his scent, and she's even tempted to turn her head and press her cheek against his chest with how close it is, but she remains still, just enjoying his intoxicating proximity, no matter how wild it drives her, how the need to touch him and for him to touch her properly is flaring up maddeningly inside her throbbing core.
Suddenly the pressure of her restraints is gone, his long fingers working easily to unbind her, and she sags down a bit, falling against his chest, her breath hitching. One of his arms curls around her shoulders, holding her, while the other continues to unravel the ribbon from the radiator. He pulls her arms down, leans her back, lets go of her. She is unsteady on her feet, her heart still racing, unsure what's happening next, what he expects of her.
Then his hands are behind her head, loosening the knot of the blindfold. Before he pulls it off though, he leans in once more, his breath ghosting her cheek, his lips pressing softly against her skin. She turns her head with a jerk, wanting to meet his mouth, lips parted and ready, but he only chuckles and leans away, slowly sliding the blindfold up over her head.
She blinks against the sudden brightness, squinting her eyes, eager to look at him but her body takes a moment to adjust to having all its senses back. He rubs his hand over her cheek, thumb teasing at her bottom lip, and after blinking profusely, she finally sees him looking down at her, a soft smile on his handsome face.
The heat that crashes through her is instant, a whirlwind inside her stomach, a deep clenching of her cunt. Her fingers twitch, the need for him flaring up, but before she can touch him, he slides his hand down her arm and grabs her hand, slowly pulling her after him.
Stumbling behind him for a bit, she only focuses on not tripping as he continues to walk with her, step after step, hand tight around hers, warm and comforting almost, and her mind is spinning, vision blurred, still reeling from whatever happened in the bathroom. And then, somehow, she ends up in her bedroom, at the foot of her bed, the fairy lights glowing on the wall above it, all those bright colors of her duvet and pillows a stark contrast to the man standing next to her. He watches her, takes her in, and she looks back, mesmerized by his dark eyes and the hunger within them.
After not being able to see him for quite a while (it did feel unreasonably long), she feels as if she has to make up for all those missed minutes by studying him closely, letting her eyes rake over his body, memorizing every single detail, every twitch of his muscles, every faded scar, the way those veins snake under his tight skin, that subtle trail of hair leading past the waistband of his jeans. It comes as a bit of a shock when his hands move into her field of vision, long fingers starting to unbutton the very garment she's just stared at.
Blinking, not even trying to hide the blush spreading all over her neck and shoulders, she looks up into his face – which is hard, stoic, impassive, only his eyes show the hint of desire. He holds her gaze, then looks down, and she follows the hint, back to where his hands have opened his pants. He's not wearing any underwear, she notices, and she can clearly see the outline of his straining cock beneath the stiff fabric still covering his crotch.
He snaps his fingers, her attention pulled towards the gesture, and when he points to the floor in front of him, she is on her knees instantly, assuming her usual position, chest pushed out, head lowered, arms folded behind her back.
“Look at me,” he commands quietly. She does, tilting her head up, her heart beating even faster when his voice rolls through her. “Good girl. I want you to return the favor now. Can you do that?”
She nods eagerly, not quite sure what exactly he expects, but whatever it is, she will do it, no questions asked, no hesitation. She twitches, but he raises his hand, holding her back. He makes her watch him when he pushes his jeans down, slowly stepping out of it, his thighs flexing, his cock bouncing against his leg. Once he's as naked as her, he sits down on the edge of her bed, sinking into the soft duvet, his legs spread enough to allow her to find a place between them.
He crooks his finger at her, beckoning her closer. She rises from her kneeling position, a little wary after all, but he doesn't correct her, just watches her as she comes to stand between his thighs, breathing a little harder. He leans back, propped up on his arms behind him, his chin slightly tilted to meet her gaze.
“You may use your tongue and your hands, don't overdo it,” he instructs her, voice even, tone neutral, and still with that edge of dominance behind his words that makes her breath hitch.
She swallows, nods, licks her lips nervously. Her hands are shaking when she raises them, the need to touch him so strong she's unsure how and where to start. His command was pretty vague. Return the favor. He didn't make her come, so does that mean she isn't supposed to do that to him either? He did touch her all over though, massaged her flesh and stroked her skin, is that what he wants her to do too?
“Hey, less thinking, more worshiping, baby,” he says with a wink that makes her blush even more. “You can do this. Start here?” he adds quietly, having raised one hand to point a slender finger at his lips.
Her heart nearly explodes in her chest when she tentatively moves closer, her hands itching before they find his shoulders, fingers digging into skin and muscle. His eyes are on her when she leans in, almost patient, gentle, curious, wondering what she'll do. And it's strange. He's asking her to kiss him, to worship him, and while she's done both things many times before, it has never felt this... weird.
Because he usually tells her straightaway what to do. A simple command: get on your knees, open your mouth, suck my cock, clean, turn around, bend over, wait and let me use you, and she's done whatever he has wanted without much hesitation, she submitted, she didn't have to think twice. But now? It feels freeing in a very constricting way. As if her brain wasn't wired to do the simplest task on her own anymore.
Taking a shaking breath, she watches him, still waiting for him to take the reins, to control her, to make her do things, but he just sits there on the edge of the bed, leaning on his arms, looking at her so intently she feels her legs trembling. A quivering sob escapes her, which in turn makes him frown. His hand finds her nape with scary speed, his fingers curling around her neck, pulling her in, making her gasp. He pulls her closer, holds her barely an inch away from his mouth, their breaths mingling as she stares at him with her lips parted.
“What's wrong?” he rasps, the low vibration of his voice melting her brain even further.
“I... I don't...” she stammers, not quite sure how to voice her conflicting thoughts. Which in and of itself is a contradiction. She isn't supposed to think, and yet she worries what to do, what he expects of her, how she can properly worship and satisfy him.
“Darling,” he says, the name like a caress on its own while he kneads his fingers against her fluttering pulse. It's not a threat, not a warning, it's a command, a call, a loaded word that grounds her. “Don't be shy. Remember how you wanted to touch me back? It's not rocket science. Do what feels best, explore. I am all yours,” he ends with a whisper, his nose brushing against hers, his warm breath fanning over her lips.
She blinks, stares at him, lets the heat settle low in her stomach, the same heat she had felt when she had first seen him under the strobe lights, lounging at the bar, watching the dance floor, when their eyes had met, how she had started walking, meeting him halfway, how he'd grabbed her hand and pulled her into the dark, taking her away, igniting a fire that is still burning bright within her, despite all the unusual hardships he'd pulled her through. It's more than innocent butterflies now, it's a roaring storm of lust. A need she is not supposed to have and yet is invited to explore.
Slowly, her hands start rubbing up and down and around his strong shoulders, feeling his warm skin, the tensing muscles, her thumbs brushing against his collar bones, fingers gliding up along his neck. When she feels his steady heartbeat against her palm, she inhales sharply. His hand on her nape tightens, and in return, she puts both of hers around his throat, feeling him swallowing against them, a crooked smirk appearing on the corner of his mouth, a dark glint in his eyes.
And then she leans in fully, closing the gap, and presses her lips to his. For a moment he freezes, waits, eyes alert yet patient. Her hands give the gentlest squeeze to his throat, and it's enough to break his stupor. His fingers glide into her hair, twisting around it, until he fists it hard, holding her against his mouth as he kisses her back. Her eyes flutter close when she loses herself in the touch, feeling his hot breath, his hotter tongue mingling with hers, a dominating dance she has counted on. Easing the grip of her hands, she leans into him, arms snaking around his neck, holding on, letting him take control.
It's only a short delight though before he pulls her head back by her hair, coaxing a choked mewl out of her throat. Her eyes snap open, meeting his gaze, surprisingly amused. He moves his hand around her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, teasing into her mouth, before he slowly pulls it back, leaning onto his arm again, watching her. Her chest is rising and falling faster, leading his gaze lower for a moment. With her arms still resting on his shoulders, she leans back, curling her hands around the back of his neck before she presses her upper arms against the sides of her breasts.
A low chuckle escapes him, the sound encouraging her to continue. She has his attention, of course she has, why would she ever doubt herself? A shy smile makes it onto her quivering lips as her fingers slip up his neck into his hair. He leans his head into her touch, eyes hooded, breaths deeper, relaxing as he continues to watch her closely. With her heart pounding against her ribcage, she moves closer, massaging his scalp, lips finding his face again. Staying clear of his mouth for now, she peppers his cheek with little pecks, brushing her lips along his hard jaw, and he indulges her when he tenses that muscle, letting it twitch against her mouth, giving her the motivation to keep going.
Eventually, her small hands cup his face as she plants a lasting kiss on his forehead, a gesture that almost feels as if their roles were reversed. He feels so docile like this, just sitting there, allowing her to explore his body without pressure, without threat. With his eyes closed, relaxed, trusting. Knowing what she always wanted. When she leans back, her eyes wander over his handsome face, tracing the shape of his eyebrows, down his nose, counting his short lashes, moving along his cheeks, around the hard edges of his jaw, all the way back to his lips, slightly parted, inviting, a mouth she's felt so many times on every inch of her own body.
The heat is sweltering within her, that tell-tale tingle nestling between her legs, her desire for him growing by the second. And while he told her to take it easy, and she's glad he did, her cunt, as sore and aching as it is, still cannot wait to feel him inside her again, to really connect, to not just touch, but be one, fitted together perfectly. A shaking breath passes her lips, and to mask it, she presses them to his, not waiting for him to reply, just pecking, a gentle pressure, upper lip, bottom lip, corner, left, right, cheek, down his jaw, teasing his earlobe, trailing her mouth down his neck until she feels his pulse beating against her lips, steady but accelerated, excited, mirroring her own need.
She gives him a tentative suck, closing her lips around his skin, the tip of her tongue teasing, cheeks hollowing, and the tiniest of groans leaves his throat, vibrating through him, sending shivers down her spine. And while the desire to mark him as he's marked her before, leaving a trail of soft bruises down his neck, is strong, she fights it, not sure he'll be too happy about it. Unless he tells her to, she'll refrain from it. For now. Instead, she focuses on kissing down his neck, only to swipe her tongue all the way back up, right along his pulse.
He exhales loudly, shifting on the bed, and she can only imagine how hard he is fighting himself, to hold back, to let her do this, to not take control and grab her, and do with her what he wants. It's impressive, considering how impulsive he usually is. Smiling to herself, she moves lower, lets her lips brush along his shoulder, giving the occasional peck, her hands following, rubbing slowly down his arms, over his hard biceps, around his elbows, following the bulging veins snaking under his tight skin until she holds onto his wrists, causing her body to sit almost flush against his, chest rubbing against chest, her hard nipples a subtle tease.
His eyes flutter open, his gaze dark, pupils dilated, but he remains still, unmoving, leaned back on the bed, watching her. “Want me to lie down, baby?” he whispers hoarsely, and as she blushes a new shade of red, she nods, grateful he could read her like an open book again. With a soft chuckle he complies, lowering himself to his elbows, then scoots up the bed and lies down, muscles shifting when he stretches his long limbs, arms crossing behind his head, resting on some of her many pillows.
She crawls over him, careful, slow, acutely aware of how their dynamic is changing. Him allowing her to be on top is a rare thing, and the last time he's given himself to her like this has been to regain her trust after he's belted her thighs in a moment of unpredictable rage. They're long past that now, and having him lying there, beneath her, just waiting, his beautiful body on full display for her, it feels like something she hasn't even dared to dream about. This tall, strong man, capable of the most vile things, basically at her mercy now is almost too much for her.
Yet as soon as she leans down and presses her lips to his chest, kissing along the hard curves of his pecs down to his nipples, waiting for his reaction, she senses a strange kind of power surging through her. He wants her, he's said so from the very beginning, and yet she never made the connection that he doesn't just want to claim and use her, defile her in ways she cannot even fathom most of the time, no, it's about having her, all of her, her body, her mind, and her unquenchable thirst for him, that little infatuation that has grown into the kind of obsession he's shown her since that fateful night in his club, tugged away in the shadows, that hunger he's had for her early on, while hers needed a bit more time to build up.
And now, it's almost as if it's reversed. The more she kisses him, licks along the bumps and valleys of his body, tasting him, claiming him, the more the need for him grows, to have him, always, every second of the day, to feel him, to see how her little ministrations effect him, that obsessive desire to be with him, always, while he keeps watching her through hooded eyes, a soft smile on his lips, warmth in his eyes, adoration even? He looks so relaxed and at ease like she's never seen him before. Calm and collected, that dominant aura breaking at the seams, his hard shell cracking open, allowing a gentler side to peek through. Maybe it's all in her head, but the more she steals a look at him as she continues to trace her lips and hands over his body, exploring every inch of him, the less intimidating he appears.
It's when she clambers lower, her legs straddling his thigh, careful not to brush her throbbing core against him just yet, that she's reminded how she craves to be intimidated. Seeing his cock twitching against his lower stomach, slowly hardening under her soft touches, her body remembers, her throat tensing as the memory of his stiff member pushing deep flickers through her mind, her cunt clenching, aches be damned, her stomach fluttering, head spinning, breath hitching, in past fear, in future anticipation.
It's this primal need, that inborn purpose, to be a hole for him to fill however he desires, no matter how much pain he has brought her, it doesn't matter now, it never does afterwards, as she waits for him to do it all over again. It's what she's made for, she knows it now, and hovering close to his cock, she knows her place, on her knees, below him, servicing him how she's supposed to. Looking up from under her lashes, she sees him staring at her, the hardness back in his gaze, eyes dark and focused, challenging, dominating. His body is still relaxed, but the hunger is real, and the little twitch of his cock only emphasizes it.
She knows now what to do, and it's only a passing thought when she realizes that it's apparently easier to take care of his cock than to kiss him on the mouth. Holding his gaze, she lowers herself until her breath hits the warm skin of his shaft. He's tensing, she can tell, his abs tightening visibly as he forces himself to remain still, letting her do what she can do best.
Her tongue darts out gingerly, the tip tracing along the veins that grow more pronounced the longer she gives them attention. When she reaches his crown, he's fully erect, the mushroom tip tight, a single bead of precum glistening at the top. Closing her lips around the spongy edges, she gives little sucks, little nibbles, always watching him closely, savoring those tiny reactions he issues, his breaths deeper, loud through his nose, his jaw tense, his stomach moving with every forced in- and exhale.
She can tell how much he's holding back, how much he wants to grab her, fisting her hair, shoving her head down onto his length, burying it deep in her throat until she sees stars and chokes on it, and the thought alone makes her moan softly against his warm skin, almost in need of exactly that to happen. But it's just her, licking up and down his cock, coating every inch in her saliva, marking him in her own way, and it has to be enough for now.
His scent fills her nostrils when she inhales deeply, cheek pressed to his pelvis, lips suckling on the side of his shaft, feeling those veins throbbing against them. Her hand finds his balls, soft yet firm, his growing urge to fill her with his seed evident in her palm. More groans vibrate through him, and she keeps massaging him, giving him little kitten licks, soft pecks and gentle nibbles, worshiping him as best she can, inertly waiting (hoping) for him to snap and take her.
It's almost frustrating how controlled he is.
To further test (and provoke) him, she slowly moves away from his cock, kissing his pelvis, down his thigh, teasing her teeth against his skin as she shimmies her own body down his leg, then moves off him, kneeling in the space between his spread thighs, her hands gliding down his limbs, giving gentle pressure. Watching him from under her lashes, she massages his left calf, her fingers dancing lower, around his ankle to his foot that twitches in her hold when his eyebrows furrow darkly, and she moves on to the other leg, working her way up instead of down.
When she's back at the apex of his thigh, her hands skip grabbing his cock and find his waist instead, thumbs pressing into tense muscles. She leans over him, lowering herself, lips brushing along his abs before she follows the trail of hair down again, her tongue and confidence growing bolder as she licks wide stripes over his skin. Giving him another glance, smiling at how intently he stares at her, she then finally focuses back on his twitching erection, mouth opening, saliva already pooling on her tongue as she sucks his tip between her lips.
He inhales sharply and shifts on the bed, his hips bucking slightly, but she keeps her hands on them, gently pushing him down as she bends over him, angling her head just right to allow more of his length into her mouth. Hollowing her cheeks, she closes her eyes and just leans into the task (and her own oral fixation), the weight and feel and warmth of his cock on her tongue easing her nerves, emptying her head. Sucking him off feels natural, easy, something she wants and can do, knowing it'll surely bring him to climax.
For a moment she debates whether to actually pull through and make him come, or to just cockwarm him and make him feel good, like he's done to her. Luckily, he finally seems to have enough of her ministrations, or rather of not participating like he usually does, and when she feels his hand heavy on her head, she inhales deeply through her nose, his musk dizzying for a second, her lips tightening around his shaft. She waits, but he's just put his palm on her hair, no tight grip, no strength, just reassurance.
She relaxes, keeps suckling on his tip, massaging it with her tongue and his length with her lips, not taking him as deep as he probably prefers, but it seems enough. Resting her cheek on his lower stomach, she settles against him, between his legs, where she belongs, with his cock in her mouth. Her hand rubs up and down his hip, then slips lower, closing around his base, giving additional pressure and her something to hold onto. He exhales loudly, his fingertips caressing her hair and scalp, soothing in a way, gentle, and she feels herself drifting away into that wonderful, blissful void where nothing matters.
Except him.
TWENTY-FIVE 🟥 TWENTY-SIX 🟥 TWENTY-SEVEN
End notes: If you enjoyed the softer sides of Sir and Darling, I have a little independent one-shot about them, called Sick Day.
Thank you for reading!
Next chapter very soon! (Think of it as a Holiday treat!)
TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290 (Is this still relevant? Let me know!)
Nick and Amy are a team, always have been. One not-so-special day, fate decided to let them become more, and neither have resisted. Yet there are dark clouds on the horizon that none of them can ignore for long, or can they? They certainly try...
WARNING: This is a FANTASY* EROTICA! Beware of the following tags:
(Please do not read/engage if any of these tags are triggering to you!)
WORDS: 5k ☂️ READ ON AO3!
A/N: Right off the bat: if you don't like the aforementioned tags, please turn away and find something better to read! You curate your online experience! I am not responsible for what disturbs or turns you off! (Let the people who enjoy these kinds of things enjoy it. I won't hesitate to block anyone trying to sour this experience!) Thank you!
Second: remember, this is fiction, a *fantasy (as in it being a fantasy, not anything fantastical) story I've had in the back of my head for ages, and I finally found the courage (or lack of fucks to gives) to publish this. I know it's a taboo thing to write about, and yet therein lies my interest. I love writing unconventional couples, so why not go all the way down, hm?
Now, if you're still here, thank you, and welcome. I hope you'll enjoy Nick and Amy's unusual tale. A few more notes to them: as you noticed, yes, I wrote characters who have actual names! They even look a certain way. He's 35 and she is 17. They are fully developed original characters, which means I have made the conscious decision to not use any fandom tags as I usually do (I just know I won't be happy with the reactions otherwise).
That also means this story will likely be lost in the vast void that is Tumblr, so if you found your way here, I am more than elated, and I thank you very much for your interest! (Let me know you were here?)
Anyway, long notes are long, you've read the tags, you know what this is about, so without further ado, please enjoy my newest story!
🟣
Nick and Amy have a very special relationship. They're a team, always have been, have gone through the ups and downs of life together and always came out stronger on the other side. And life has had many obstacles for them.
Nick was seventeen when he became a father, one year older when the tiny girl with the cutest, roundest face came to live with him. He was barely out of school, had to work multiple jobs to give his daughter a good life, far away from her troubled mother. Turns out they didn't need much to be happy. Just some food, a roof over their heads, and each other.
It wasn't always easy, but he found comfort in her smiles, strength in her little bear hugs, and a deep-rooted sense of belonging and purpose in the way she depended on him. Her innocent kisses eased his sorrows, her heartfelt touches made him pull through the worst of his anxieties.
They loved each other from the very beginning; and he knew from the moment he first saw her that he would do absolutely anything to make his girl happy. So when Amy approached him one day, so many years later, and asked him to teach her how to kiss (“like the adults in the movies”), he hesitated, but inevitably couldn't say no.
Her curiosity was pure and naive, and it was him who struggled with those developing feelings, confused and appalled at the mere thought of whatever was growing in his head, in his heart, in his groin. It was wrong, or so the others always said, but it made his daughter happy, and that was his whole purpose in life. He lived for her, and whatever she asked of him, he would give it to her.
She wasn't spoiled, though, and she never asked for things she knew they couldn't afford; all she asked for was knowledge – and affection. And maybe it was his fault for enabling it, but in the end, she had pulled him along, her small hand grasping his long fingers, dragging him down a path he should have never stepped on.
But he loved her, and she loved him, in ways they knew they shouldn't, yet one day, a not so special day, probably a Tuesday, something shifted between them, and they became more, while still being father and daughter, Nick and Amy, a team that nothing could get between.
Or so they thought.
It's another Tuesday, and Nick is lounging on the couch, watching some sports event he doesn't really care about. His eyes may be following whatever is happening on the screen, but his mind is far away, wondering what he should get his daughter for her upcoming birthday. Amy's turning eighteen, and while that should have been a special number, a special time in her life, it wouldn't change much for them.
Their life had already changed several months ago, shortly after she had started her last year of high school. She had been miserable when she had come home that not so special day, confessing to him under tears and with a lot of snot and hiccups that the boy she'd had a crush on for a while had publicly humiliated her, crushed her fragile feelings by making out with her best friend right in front of her (and while he had wanted to find that guy and rip him a new one, Nick knew it probably wasn't as serious as she made it out to be, teenagers could overreact easily, everything was a lot more dramatic, he knew that very well, it hadn't been that long since he'd been one himself after all).
He had consoled her, hugged her, wiped her tears away, cleaned her face, calmed her down like he had always done, whether she had scraped her knee or brought home a bad grade. He had told her it didn't matter, he would always love her no matter what and no random boy was worth crying over, and even though hearing about that crush for the first time had hurt, Nick understood that it hadn't been easy for her to keep it a secret to begin with.
In the end Amy had been just as confused as he had been. Still crying, burying her face in his neck, she had told him that she hadn't wanted to hurt him, that she had actually tried to distract herself by focusing on boys her age. Distract herself from what? From him, her own father. And while they had always been close and honest with each other, it had been that moment that made it clear. She loved him, in ways she shouldn't, and instead of telling her it was wrong (though he may have mentioned it to her), he'd indulged her, listened to his own selfish feelings, told her he felt the same, and in her wide reddened eyes had been a spark of hope, and he hadn't had the heart to snuff it out.
So he had kissed her, like the adults in the movies, deep and soft and with all his heart, and she had responded in the same way, with a bit more desperation, and a hunger he hadn't been able to satiate ever since. It had all escalated that same night, from hopeful kisses to a request he hadn't been able to deny her: “Can you be my first?”
And so, after the initial shock of such a question, he became her first. After teaching her how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to whistle, and how to kiss, he had made love to her, showing her that sex was a natural thing between two people who loved each other, and that she didn't need another boy, another man, in her life, that he would never make her cry and never hurt her. He would always be there for her, no matter what, and if she decided it had been a mistake after all, he would let her go as well. It was up to her. Had it been too much responsibility to put on a seventeen-year-old? Probably. But then nobody had asked him all those years ago if it was too much responsibility for a boy the same age to raise a kid all on his own.
Nick and Amy have a special relationship, they know what they're doing is wrong, and yet none of them could care less (it's usually Amy who has to remind him that he doesn't have to feel bad, that it was her decision and that he never forced her to do anything, and most of the time he believes her). For several months now, they have been building a new stage of their relationship, they've become lovers, partners, they rely on each other more every day.
They're basically inseparable, at least in the small house he built for them, behind closed doors, hidden away from the watchful eye of society. Outside, they are father and daughter, close but innocently so, while inside –
The door opening with a squeak pulls Nick out of his thoughts (the specifically dirty kind he really shouldn't be thinking at four in the afternoon), and he finally forces his eyes away from the TV. Amy and her three backpacks enter the hallway, and with a sigh from her and a loud thud, her heavy book bags land on the floor, before she kicks her shoes into the corner and shrugs out of her blazer, ripping her loosened tie off her neck in the same motion. She looks exhausted and doesn't even meet his gaze.
A few more steps and she has thrown herself over him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her face into the crook of his neck, a warm exhale making him shiver. He pulls his arms around her and arranges her on his lap, one knee on either side of his hips, her pleaded skirt stretching far before it's pushed up to expose the top of her thighs, and barely a second later, she starts grinding her pelvis into his groin, snuggling closer to him.
“Tough day, peanut?” he whispers, rubbing her back soothingly.
She only hums. “Head hurts,” she mumbles, her lips brushing against his accelerating pulse. “Need you,” she adds barely audible, and he chuckle-sighs, shifting on the couch as she moves one hand between them and palms roughly at the bulge in his jeans.
“Talk to me first, baby,” Nick tries to say, but Amy is unstoppable in her endeavor and somehow manages to unbuckle his belt and pull his zipper down, before he feels her small hand in his underwear. “Wh-what happened?” he stammers through a sharp inhale as she starts curling her fingers around his thickening length.
“In a sec,” she whispers, leaning up on her knees. “Please?” She grips the back of his neck and leans back, finally looking at him. Her pupils are so dilated, her usually sparkling blue eyes are almost black. He can only assume that he must look the same. They share the color of their eyes, and the lust swimming within them. “Please, daddy?” she whispers, a soft smile on her full lips, that cheeky spark in her voice mixed with actual frustration. “Need you inside me...”
He takes a shuddering breath, his hands resting on her waist, rubbing at the waistband where her white dress shirt is tucked into, the fabric hugging every curve of her growing body. He still remembers the day when he had first seen her in her new school uniform, it had been as exciting as it had been shameful, at least for him.
Getting Amy into that prestigious private school had been all he had hoped for, and more (even though it had taken him longer than expected to gather all that money, and he had only managed to get her a spot for the last two years of high school, but he knew she would be able to adjust and thrive in her new surroundings, like she always had). Despite their sparse living arrangements, he had always wanted to give her the best education, all the opportunities that he had never been able to experience himself, so seeing her so happy about her new school, finally having the chance to get into an equally prestigious college, and seeing her fill out that uniform so perfectly, had made him very proud, and unfortunately also very hard.
For a whole year he had been more than ashamed about the reactions of his body, hating himself for looking at his sixteen-year-old daughter like that, but when her second year of being at that new school had come around and with it the new development of crushed feelings, he had seen his opening, one she had allowed him to walk through (both figuratively and, well, literally), and he hadn't looked back ever since (he'd tried, but she would just grab his chin and turn his head back to look at her and only her, societal norms be damned).
His eyes trace along the row of buttons on the front of her shirt, over the plump shapes of her breasts not even the stiff fabric can hide, and he notices that the pressed garment also fails to conceal her hardening nipples. She wants this, she wants him, and if she finds comfort in his arms and on his cock, then who is he to deny her? Sighing deeply, he looks back up, tilts his head, watching her as she keeps squirming on his lap with her hand firmly around his growing erection and her lip between her teeth.
“Alright, if you insist,” he finally replies, faking an eye roll, and she gives a quiet giggle, shifting on his lap while he shifts on the couch to allow her to push his underwear down enough to free his straining cock.
It's one of her favorite past times, to just sit on him, impaled and full, cockwarming him until she cannot sit still anymore. He's watched her visibly relax once he slips inside her tight little cunt, and it's the least he can do after making her go to a demanding school that requires her to carry around at least three heavy book bags. He does feel bad about her work load, but she never complains, and while she is drained from it, she always tells him how happy she is as well, knowing that it was him who worked behind the scenes to enable her this kind of education.
His grateful little girl...
A low groan escapes him when she lowers herself, her panties pushed aside, her hand tight around his girth as she slowly sinks down on it, his tip already pressing between her wet folds. He relaxes into the couch, his hands guiding her until she is fully seated on top of him, a little whine falling from her parted lips. Her fingers dig into his shirt as she adjusts to the stretch, her eyes closed, concentrated, still a little tense, before she sighs deeply and seemingly melts into him, arms back around his neck, her soft bosom pressed to his hard chest, her body and his becoming one.
Nick hugs her tightly, inhaling her sweet scent, just feeling her for a moment, how she breathes against him, how her fingers play with his hair while her cunt clenches lazily around his cock. He gives her a few more minutes, their hearts beating together, their connection warm and comforting. He realizes he missed having her like this. It doesn't happen often, during the week, they're both usually too tired to indulge in their unusual love, but when it happens, it's these soft, innocent moments of just holding each other (apart from how exactly they are connected, of course), that makes it all the more special.
“Tell me about your day,” he eventually whispers, brushing his lips against her earlobe.
She shivers, another involuntary twitch going through her, squeezing him, before she leans her cheek to his shoulder, her hand moving along his arm, tightening around his biceps.
“It's nothing, really,” she starts quietly, and he knows it is something, she just feels like she shouldn't whine about it.
“Come on, Amy, let it all out,” he encourages her, kissing the top of her head. “You know talking about it helps...”
She hums. “I just... I just think they are expecting too much of us,” she says with a sigh, and he leans back into the couch and closes his eyes, enjoying her warmth, her tightness, and preparing for a tirade of complaints he knows she's harbored for a while. “It's our last year, and yet they act as if they've forgotten to teach us anything until now! So they cram in so much, it's ridiculous!”
He nods, gives the occasional grunt, reacting to her words however he sees fit, and while he is usually all ears and wants to help her, he knows she just needs to vent, and his input isn't necessary, so he focuses on the silky smooth feeling of her cunt around his cock, how she keeps squeezing him when she talks and shifts on his lap, how he feels himself hardening the longer she envelops him, so tight and warm, a perfect fit.
It hadn't been easy at first, to fit his girth and length into her tiny body (while she may have inherited his eyes, that's where the similarities stopped, he was tall and muscular, she was petite and a little curvy), but he'd done all he could to prepare her, and when he had eventually breached her, taken her virginity, he'd known she had been in pain, but she had pulled through, encouraged him, fought the sensation until he had made her come at least three times and all the discomfort had been forgotten – ultimately enticing her to try it again, and again, and again...
And by now it doesn't take much for him to slip into her beautiful cunt and the space he carved out inside of her for himself. She is still tiny, still tight, but her pain tolerance seems better, or rather, her need for him is bigger than any aches she surely still suffers after having sex with him. Maybe she is growing up to be a masochist? Hopefully not, he could never hurt her on purpose, and really hopes she will never suggest anything like that.
Though the thought alone sends a shiver down his spine and makes his cock throb badly. He can't help but imagine her tied up and at his mercy, her soft moans and whimpers echoing through the room when he introduces her to yet another depravity... Not that they've tried a lot. She's getting better at sucking him off, but is far from taking him deeper into her throat. And her ass is off limits for the time being too, even though she's asked him to buy her a small butt plug which she wears sometimes when they're going out, but he doesn't want to completely overwhelm (and soil) her (innocence).
It's already enough to have her in his bed every night, sometimes just cuddling, sometimes for more, and he really shouldn't complain. A few weeks ago, as a birthday present, she told him he was allowed to use her whenever he wanted, especially when she was asleep, and even though he's felt bad about it in the beginning, he did follow through on her offer a couple of times. And it's only fair when she uses him however she wants as well (usually to cockwarm him).
He told himself to never deny her, his life (and his body) is hers, and if she keeps indulging him as she does, he really couldn't be happier. Well, he would, if he'd be allowed to kiss her in public, cuddle her the way a father shouldn't cuddle his daughter whenever they're on their weekly hangouts (dates), treat her like the love of his life and not have to worry about the looks and opinions of strangers. It's not easy, but all the restraint is worth it once they are both back home, safe and sound and away from prying eyes, following their wants and needs however they desire. Luckily he made sure their walls are as soundproof as they can get because she still has to learn to keep it down sometimes.
“Dad? Are you even listening?” she suddenly asks, and he clears his throat, and his mind, his eyes fluttering open.
“Of course, baby,” he says quickly, smirking to himself. He's learned a long time ago to multitask. “Teachers give too much homework and expect too much, you don't see the point in having to continue PE, and Liza is still a bitch. Did I miss anything?”
She giggles softly, squeezing his arm (and his cock). “Taking the bus sucks too, with all the first-years being so loud and annoying,” she adds, brushing her nose against his neck.
“I did tell you you could have the car when I'm not working at the store,” he says quietly, hugging her tighter. “We could also look at getting you your own, you know?”
She shakes her head. “I don't want my own car, and really, I'm okay with taking the bus, I just forgot my headphones today. Lesson learned, won't do that ever again. Really, daddy, I'm fine, I'll manage,” she concludes, lifting her head to press her lips to his jaw. “I just needed to vent. Thanks for letting me.”
“Always, peanut,” he whispers, meeting her gaze before leaning down to brush his mouth to hers. Her hands cup his face, palms rubbing over the scratch of his stubble, and before he can protest, she's shoved her tongue between his parted lips, squirming on his lap, reaching the point where she cannot sit still any longer.
His hands find her waist, pressing her down to keep her somewhat immobile, as he kisses her back, as slow and sensual as she allows. He slowly grounds her, eases her restlessness, and she melts back into his lap, arms around his neck, lips and tongue brushing lazily against his own, until lack of oxygen makes her turn her head away.
“Relax now, baby girl,” he whispers, kissing her forehead when she rests her cheek on his shoulder again.
She hums against him, eyes fluttering close. “Okay, daddy,” she murmurs, her voice that little vibration against his pulse. His hand rubs up and down her back, the other slipping around her head, playing with her soft blonde tresses. He has to calm down as well.
This is for her, so she can come down after a stressful day, it's not for him, it rarely is, at least when she's conscious. He really tries to be a good father, or rather, a good lover, listens, consoles, gives comfort and reassurances, allows her whatever she wants. Once she is dozed off or asleep, he can let go too, listen to his own desires and just take her however he wants (within his own set limits). But he has to wait.
Her breathing slows, her body going slack (while her cunt keeps squeezing him rhythmically), she's fully leaning against him, his little girl, so peaceful, so precious, all his, all of her. What a lucky bastard he is (emphasis on bastard, that small voice inside his head keeps reminding him whenever it's particularly quiet around him. As if he wouldn't know that...). He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, the hand on Amy's back slipping to fumble for the TV remote.
Careful not to wake her, he switches channels until he finds one showing a show he's more interested in. With her in his arms, impaled on his cock, holding her as she sleeps, he spends the next hour or so distracted by the flickering lights illuminating the living room.
It's getting dark outside, but Nick doesn't care. Luckily he's closed the blinds long before his daughter had the need to cockwarm him, so when he eventually turns off the TV, he doesn't have to worry about any nosy neighbor discovering their dirty little secret.
He hugs her tightly as he shifts on the couch, his legs struggling for a moment to support them when he stands up, but once he slips both hands under her rear and holds her up and against him, he manages to carry her to the dining table, where he grabs a blanket off one of the chairs and puts it under her hips and back as he sets Amy down carefully, then arranges her sleeping form before him, her head turned to the side so she doesn't choke on her own spit. Watching her closely, he grabs her legs and folds them against her chest, allowing him to open her up properly.
His first thrust coaxes a low groan out of him, the second makes his head spin. She's so tight, tighter in sleep, and he has to take his time to fuck her open. She's wet enough though, the quiet squelching sounds ringing in his ears as he pulls his hips back and carefully slams them against her cushioned rear (that's hanging off the edge of the table a bit to allow him better access). Repeating the motion until his cock slides in and out more easily, he leans over her, propped on his arms on either side of her waist (tempted to grope her through her shirt, but deciding against it for now), and starts really pounding into her, his breaths labored, his heart beating faster. She looks so pretty like this, peaceful, helpless, and he growls when that voice pipes up again.
“Shut up,” he mumbles to himself, focusing on feeling her instead of dissecting their circumstances all over again. It's what she wants, what they both decided on. It doesn't matter that she's half his age, that she's technically still a minor, that he is her biological father, none of it matters. They are just two bodies who fit together perfectly, who found love and comfort in each other, who were meant to be from the very beginning.
His moans grow a bit louder when he feels his stomach tensing and his balls drawing up, and in his haze, he almost forgets to pull out in time. Almost. It's the only thing he is wary of, to not breed his daughter, no matter how well her birth control is said to work. He cannot risk it, and he won't, so he withdraws from her tight depths with a groan, her walls clinging to him, hesitant to let go, before he grabs his wet cock and gives himself a few more rough strokes until he unloads against the soft skin of her exposed mound, pussy lips puffy, reddened from his thorough attention, his spend covering it in thick globs. Some of it stains her panties, some drips down the edge of the table onto the floor.
He's breathing harder, still holding his deflating dick, one arm on the table, watching her as she coos softly, her eyelids fluttering before she comes to. Her legs twitch when she straightens them, her feet hooking around him, pulling him closer. He gives her a weak smile, battling that post-nut clarity that has ruined it for him many times before. She knows that, and when he's about to pull away, she is suddenly slipping off the table and onto her knees, her hands on his thighs as she leans in and extends her tongue, ready to lick him clean, but his hands find her shoulders, to hold her there or to push her away, he doesn't know.
“It's okay, daddy,” she whispers, looking up at him from under her lashes, her breath ghosting his hot skin.
Without breaking eye contact, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, a sweet gesture that quickly changes to her flicking her tongue around it before she fully envelops the mushroom head with her lips and sucks him deeper into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks hard as she milks the last drops out of his slit. He groans, his fingers digging into her shoulders, his legs trembling slightly.
Closing his eyes, he leans over her and finds support on the edge of the table, while Amy continues to lick and suck him clean. She's so good with her mouth, so talented with her tongue, knows exactly how he likes it, what makes him really twitch (after he taught her how). The way she teases her teeth against his throbbing veins, then licks along them, up and down his shaft, before she nuzzles his underside and presses soft kisses against his balls, nosing at them carefully, it's always a struggle to keep the blood from pumping right back into his cock, not that he had any control over that to begin with.
He feels his restraint slipping when she sucks her way back to his tip, lips closing around his skin, tongue guiding her path, hot and wet against the veins, and he has to lean back and grab a fistful of her hair to pull her off. “Enough, Amy,” he grunts quietly, breathing harder.
She leans back on her knees, licking her soiled lips, watching him closely. Her gaze isn't even angry or disappointed, she actually looks quite dazed, eyes glazed over, twinkling with contentment, but he hates telling her no, so he crouches down in front of her, grabs her face and pulls her in for a searing kiss. “Sorry, sweet girl,” he mouths between kisses. “I think... I'm a little... hangry,” he adds breathlessly, meeting her tongue in lazy swirls of his own. She giggles against his lips, eyelashes fluttering, her motions slow and sensual.
“Want me to cook dinner tonight?” she suggests when he eventually pulls back a little, their breaths mingling, his head swimming, his hands tight around her face, while hers cling to his wrists. “Or you could eat out... me, I mean...” she adds with a cheeky smirk, and he rolls his eyes and groans.
“Careful, young lady,” he says in a mocking tone. “I might take you up on that offer, and we both know what happened last time...”
She laughs softly, her cheeks burning up beneath his palms. The last time he had eaten her out, he had overdone it to the point that she was so overstimulated he had to carry her around because her legs were too wobbly and she couldn't stop crying. He also had to clean up the entire dining room because he had made her squirt for the first time. She'd been so cute in her shame, he'd really like to see that again some day. But not tonight.
“Let's stick to traditional food, hm? I think we still have some leftovers,” he says quietly, rubbing his thumbs over the corners of her lips.
“Okay, sounds good too,” she agrees, giving his digit a quick poke of her tongue as he presses it between her lips. “Wanna clean up first?”
“And save water? Sure,” he replies with a wide grin, slowly standing up and pulling her along.
Grabbing her chin to give her another quick kiss, he shoves his cock back into his underwear with the other hand, leaving his jeans open, before he guides her to the bathroom, her arm around his waist, his around her shoulder, their eyes locked as they stumble forward, trusting each other blindly.
There are a lot of advantages to fucking your own daughter. The amount of water he's saved since they've started sharing showers is really noticeable. And sharing a bed, and food, and space. Sharing lives, essentially. She is there when he needs her, and vice versa. They have each other, always, no matter what. It's a comforting thought, despite all the obstacles they have to face and the guilt he has to live with.
It's all worth it in the end.
🟣
End notes: Somehow this could work as a one-shot, right? But no, there's more!
The thing is: I decided to post future chapters exclusively to AO3 from now on, I'm sorry. So if you want to find out more about Nick and Amy, come visit me on AO3!
Thank you for reading!
Are you into moodboards? Then check out my Pinterest (preview below) and my Inspiration Posts right here on Tumblr.
For you to see what's coming, and for me to keep track of the things I have in my back pocket (it's messy there). Dates may change, and I might throw in some smut drabbles here and there because most uploads happen over at AO3. We'll see how this will go.
Nov 7th/8th: Infatuated One-Shot Sick Day (AO3/tumblr)
Nov 14th/15th: Chapter 1 of Fated (AO3/tumblr)
Nov 18th: Chapter 2 of Fated (AO3 only)
Nov 21st: Chapter 3 of Fated (AO3 only)
Nov 28th/29th: Chapter 26 of Infatuated (AO3/tumblr)
He hates being sick. And while he's no stranger to pain and has the scars to show for it, being knocked out by some virus feels like the type of warfare he cannot win. Unfortunately, he's no longer alone.
The girl is supposed to serve him, submissive as she is, but will she be able to care for him in ways he's not familiar with?
ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush
WARNING: Explicit! Implied sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Dark romance. Hurt/comfort. Angst. Sickness/fever. Fluff.
WORDS: 3.8k ♦️ READ ON AO3! ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST
A/N: *This is a one-shot about Sir and Darling, the characters from my Dark Romance story Infatuated.
It's set somewhere after chapter 22 of Infatuated, but it's not a continuation, more like an alternative reality, a little thought experiment. It may give insights into their lives, but don't sue me if those things will never make it into the actual story, or if they'll contradict other information. This is just one of many bubbles I want Sir and Darling to exist in, little one-shots of what could be, what may be, things that may never find a proper place in the roller-coaster ride that is Infatuated.
(Remember that these characters have no names or physical description, they can be whatever blorbo you fancy right now, hence the fandom tags. And even though there may not be explicit smut here, it is still implied because it references the main story which is very, very smut heavy, so, I hope I could clear up that confusion. Thanks for understanding!)
The following was asked and inspired by the wonderful pickles! Thank you again for the idea, and I'm so sorry it took me so long to write and upload it. I hope you enjoy!
🤧
He hates being sick, hates not being in control of his body. Can barely breathe with his nose stuffed, can't think with his head throbbing. Limbs ache in a way that's a horrible reminder of how the years go by. And those coughing fits that tear through his sore throat, that make his lungs cramp? The sneeze attacks? The tissue consumption? His body burning up to the point where he can barely move?
He rarely gets sick, does everything to stay fit and healthy, to keep his immune system up and running, but sometimes it just happens. A stranger passing him on the street, coughing right into his face. An employee who thought it best to spread his germs at the workplace. A client who deemed a deal more important than his own health.
And normally he'd pop a few pills and be done with whatever bug he's caught. But sometimes it's not that easy to deal with. Especially since he isn't alone anymore.
For whatever strange reason, he doesn't want her to get sick too. Because he cares? Or does he keep to himself so she won't see him this vulnerable? Probably that. He hates pity, hates being pampered. It's a curious thing, control. He lets her service him when it comes to his pleasure, but letting her take care of him in that state, play actual nurse? No.
Though he can't deny that the thought does something to him, a flutter in his stomach, a twitch to his cock, a warm sensation in his chest. It's such a cliche to imagine her in one of those skimpy nurse costumes. And yet…
He is just a man after all, sick or not. And not even his struggling body seems to be able to put a damper on his libido. He sure is sick, in multiple senses of the word.
He hopes it's just a 24-hour thing when he wakes up with his head thrumming painfully and his nose running, joints so stiff every motion just hurts. He's no stranger to pain, has the scars to show for it, a reminder that anything can be dealt with. But being knocked out by some virus feels like the type of warfare he cannot win.
He came back late last night, finding the girl curled up on her bed, such a peaceful sight that he didn't want to disturb her. That should have been the first clue that something is off with him. He rarely cuts her any slack, and even though he might have needed her, or rather wanted her, he smothered those thoughts and focused on getting some sleep himself instead, already feeling unusually tired.
A cough rattles his lungs, his skin sweat-slick and cold, his body protesting when he forces himself upright. It's more or less automated how he leaves his bed, swaying into the bathroom, barely able to focus on his usual routine. He skips most of it.
Somehow he finds the painkiller bottle completely empty. Probably fed them all to the poor girl and forgot to restock. He's been so distracted lately, it's insane. No wonder this bug found him, life hasn't been as organized as it used to be with her by his side now. They have yet to find their rhythm.
He manages to find a box of tissues, tries to get a hold of himself. It's ridiculous. He should be able to just go about his day, aches be damned, but it all feels too much. His head especially is killing him. He hates being weak.
And while she is the first thing on his mind, she's also the last person he wants to see right now. He can't. She should never see him like this, hunched over on the edge of the bed, coughing his lungs out, sweating and shivering. Pathetic.
It's not the first time that he pulls back when things get messy. He's like an old cat that knows its time has come, burrowing itself away. He knows he's not dying, just sick, but it's his go-to method of dealing with these things. Hide away and wait. It usually works.
But when he crawls back into bed with his head nearly exploding, his body aching under the constant hot and cold shivers, it already feels different.
😟
It's almost noon when she starts to get worried. It may not always look like it (with how he keeps her on her toes), but he is a very organized man, and him not showing up in her room in the morning, either to bring her breakfast or to remind her of her place, feels very unusual.
She knows he worked late last night, and while he may have checked in on her (because strangely enough, her door has been slightly ajar instead of locked as usual), he didn't use her the way he normally does after a long day. She's still done her morning routine, and has been ready for him for a while now, patiently waiting, thinking, hoping, that he just wanted to sleep in for once.
When her stomach gives an angry growl, she decides against her better judgment and walks to her door, fingers inches away from curling into the gap he left by leaving the door open for whatever reason. She never has the desire to explore his penthouse on her own, it isn't her place. Her only purpose is to do what he tells her, and she wouldn't even dream of straying from the tight framework he created for her.
But she does have wants and needs, despite not being supposed to do so, and while she is a little hungry, her main concern right now is actual worry. It's so unusual that he's sleeping in, taking his time to come to her, to give her new commands, it flusters her more than she could have imagined. She needs his rules, his firm hand, his demanding tone, that dominating aura. It's so easy to just exist in his presence, to follow him, and now, without it, she feels lost, and the worry for him can expand without restraint.
Did something happen? Is he okay?
For the tiniest moment she wonders if he may have already left, if he's been simply too busy and forgot about her. But then why would he leave her door open? Whenever he leaves the penthouse, he locks her in, keeps her safe in her own little space, and she prefers it that way. It takes away the temptations, allows her to ground herself, focus on what's important. Always knowing he is still watching over her, the little red light of the camera on the ceiling a constant reminder that he'll always be there for her, no matter where he is. But the light isn't on, and her door is open. Something feels different.
Inhaling deeply, she turns towards the bed (neatly made, waiting for him to bring it back into disarray), where she hid his hoodie under her pillow, the one she once took from him (the one he allowed her to have) the last time she has been waiting for him. After falling into some sort of routine, she's learned that he can take his time at the club or wherever else he is that night, so she learned to cope without him, either with a task he's given her or just waiting, and having his hoodie with her always helped, always brought her through the night, lulled and pacified by his scent, until the real deal would come greet her in the mornings, easing and emptying her troubled mind.
And he's always there, usually, waking her or joining her shortly after she woke on her own and prepared for him, but now he's not, and it troubles her enough that she reaches for the hoodie and pulls it over her head, snuggling into the wide fabric, filling her lungs with the scent that's slowly fading. He always seems conflicted about her wearing it, on one hand he prefers her naked or with barely any clothes on, on the other hand there's this possessive spark in his eyes when he sees her wearing something of his.
For her, it's a comfort, both in covering up and in having something that belongs to him, a reminder of their unusual dynamic, a promise that while she is his, she also has a part of him, be it his hoodie or his attention or possibly even his heart. She loves how the long sleeves fall over her hands, and how the hem sits so low it covers her butt and parts of her thighs (and she loves pulling it lower, widening the material, making it hers somehow), it reminds her how short and small she is compared to him, and while he isn't a large bulky man (just tall and intimidating in his own way), the size difference is there, and she adores it (having unlocked yet another kink since he took her away to live with him).
Dressed to be comforted, she takes another deep breath, then slowly pulls open her bedroom door, ready to leave the safe space he created for her. It feels wrong to just go and look around, even if she knows the route to his bedroom by heart, the many times he's taken her hand and pulled her after him, or even carried her there, showing her how much he wants her to invade his space too.
Without him by her side, his penthouse seems even bigger, the ceilings even taller, the windows larger, the walls wider, the minimalist décor making it appear practically empty without his presence in it. Listening for any noises, she pokes her head out, looking along the hallway. But of course she can't hear anything. When the windows are closed, not even the hum of the city or the traffic far below them is able to penetrate these well-insulated walls, and the same goes for the interior. It can make it particularly lonely when she's in her room, isolated and away from him, waiting, but deep down she knows he's there, somewhere, possibly thinking about her, watching over her.
The quiet is deafening when she starts walking, her bare feet tapping over the wooden floors, which are unusually cold. She doesn't pay it any mind though, just worries more and more as she makes it towards his closed bedroom door. Her heart is beating harder, echoing loud in her ears, as she reaches for the handle. Her fingers graze the cold metal, and there she hesitates again. Maybe she should knock? She definitely shouldn't just barge into his room, right? Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she curls her hand into a fist and raps her knuckles gently against the wooden surface, listening hard over her raging pulse.
Nothing. She knocks again, then leans towards the door and presses her ear against it. Biting her lip, she listens, seconds tick past, her heartbeat a frantically fluttering rhythm thundering inside her chest. Something catches her attention, another noise, from behind the door, very faint, muffled through the insulation, but it's there, and it's enough to give her the courage to lean back, grab the handle and push the door open, just a bit, just enough to take a cautious peek into the room.
It's dark. The shutters are closed. Which is very unusual.
Whenever she spends the night in his bed, she remembers waking up to the wide sky greeting her through the large windows, daylight flooding the vast room, the city beyond already bustling. Not today. There's not even a sliver of light seeping in from the world beyond. He never bothers covering the windows (and she somehow never worried about it either, too distracted by him to wonder if anyone can see them from the other buildings). But this time he lowered the automatic shutters, hiding away?
Squinting her eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness, she peers further into the room, the light from the hallway letting her own shadow fall over the minimal interior. Slowly she presses on, holding her breath, listening, her eyes wandering towards the bed, the tentative pitter-patter of her feet not as quiet as she's hoped. Before she can make out the shape under the covers, she can hear him. A raspy rattle of breath, a little wheeze almost, a low muffled groan.
Her heart beats faster, her stomach twisting in an unfamiliar way. Something's wrong. She almost trips when she approaches the bed, her fingers reaching out instinctively, the need to touch him, to see if he's okay, to comfort him, building up to an almost unbearable ache in her guts. She can hear him, buried under the heap of blankets, breathing roughly, a strange warmth emanating from him. For a moment she can't think, just act, and she ends up on her knees at the edge of the bed, hands grabbing the covers, slowly pulling them back.
There he is, on his back, head turned to the side, eyes closed, deep lines on his forehead, eyebrows tight, hair stuck to his sweat-slick skin, his entire face seems tense, both reddened and eerily pale, even in the dim light. His lips are parted, that rattling breath creeping past them.
She's never seen him like this. Even when he sleeps (in those rare moments where she wakes up before him, safe in his arms, connected in various ways, allowed to see him so unguarded), he feels strong and intimidating, a powerful presence, that dominating aura always around him like a protective layer. Now he looks different, not weak but vulnerable, stripped down to his raw self.
Her hand is shaking when she reaches out to touch his face, knuckles brushing over his cheek, up to his temple, before she puts her palm on his forehead. Wet skin, sweaty, uncomfortably warm. Burning up even. Does he have a fever? She holds her breath, trying to comprehend what she's seeing, what's happening. Her fingers brush his hair out of his forehead, and he stirs slightly, his eyelids fluttering.
A groan escapes him. “What are you doing here?” His voice sounds rough, so low it's like a rumble through the bed, a deep vibration that usually makes her react differently. This time, she feels her stomach clenching in worry and fear.
“I... I'm sorry,” she whines quietly, leaning back on her knees, hovering close, but too timid to touch him again. “I know I shouldn't have left my room, but... I... I was worried. You didn't come... you weren't there... so I... I had to look for you... make sure you... you're okay... b-but... you're not... okay...” Her voice breaks, a croaked sob falling past her quivering lips. She's so concerned, so shocked by seeing him like this, that she can barely feel the tears streaming down her face.
Suddenly, his hand is on her leg, palm clammy, fingers not as strong as his usual grip. “Hey, it's fine,” he rasps, shifting on the bed. “It's fine, baby girl. I'll be fine, just need... some sleep... and...”
A deep rattling seizes him then, and he forces himself into a sitting position to cough it all out. She stifles another sob, watching him with furrowed eyebrows, her heart tight in her chest as she realizes she cannot help him.
“Pills...” he manages to say between coughs, his hand clutched to his chest. “In my office, desk... no, ugh, sideboard by the window, top drawer...”
“I'll go get them!” she gasps eagerly, slipping off the bed. His rattling breath lets her pause, though. “Wait,” she squeaks and hurries off into his bathroom first.
There she looks around headlessly, panic simmering right at the back of her throat. Her hands are shaking as she rummages through drawers and cabinets until she finds a small towel. Running cold water over it, watching it drench, she then squeezes the excess water out and hurries back, inhaling deeply as she approaches the bed once more. Even in the dark, she can make out his motionless form, hunched over, still sitting up, fingers curled into the front of his shirt.
“C-can you... lie back down?” she asks, her voice shaking.
He takes another rattling breath, but the coughing fit seems to have passed for now. Slowly he leans back, and she's there to help him, her hand on his shoulder before she arranges the pillow beneath his head. As soon as he's on his back again, she gently puts the wet towel onto his forehead, and he groans, a hiss from between his parted lips, before it turns into a low sigh.
“Thanks, darling,” he croaks, and she exhales in relief.
“I-I'll get the pills now,” she whispers, her fingertips brushing along his temple to ensure the towel doesn't slip.
“I'll be here,” he responds quietly, and her heart eases a little at his tone.
He'll be fine. Right? He'll be fine? Nodding into the dark, she hurries around the bed and leaves the room, the sudden brightness in the hallway making her head spin. It doesn't slow her, though. Squinting into the light, she runs right into his office, her bare feet squeaking on the floor. Luckily it's unlocked. Once there, she walks past the desk she's spent so many hours under, keeping him company when he worked, keeping him warm, waiting for him to use her properly once he was done or needed a break. The memory has a strange edge now.
What if the last time has really been the last time she's done that? What if she'll never be able to do it again? What if – No! She cannot think like that! He'll be fine! It's just a fever, and with the pills he'll feel better, and it'll break, and he'll be healthy again in no time! Forcing herself to focus on the task of finding those pills, she tries her best to keep those voices down, to keep her fear at bay. Not as easy as she has hoped. She cannot lose him. There's nowhere she can go, there's nobody able to take her in. She would be all alone again, helpless and weak, and without him –
“Stop!” she gasps out, shaking her head, exhaling roughly. “He'll be fine!” she tells herself. He'll be fine. Calm down. Breathing deeply, she stares at the sideboard, then starts rummaging through the top drawer. The pill box has rolled all the way to the back, but with how hectic she's thrown things about, she finds it nonetheless. Fortunately. Not bothering to clean up after herself, she dashes out of the office and back into his dark bedroom.
“Ah,” she makes, probably startling him, but she's forgotten something, so she hurries back and takes a left into the kitchen, where she grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with tap water, then grabs an additional water bottle from the fridge. Laden with all those things, she goes back, her heart racing, breaths unusually labored.
Dropping the water bottle, she returns to his side. “I... I got the... the pills,” she pants, holding both the box and the glass out to him.
He sits up with a rattling exhale, one hand holding the towel to his forehead. “Darling, breathe,” he scolds, voice still sounding rough like sand paper, but that edge of dominance is back in it, or never left, and she sits up straighter immediately, shoulders pulled back, inhaling deeply, slowly calming down. “Good girl,” he rasps, and she manages a shy smile into the dark.
He takes the pills from her and fidgets two out of the box, then swallows them dry, before taking the glass from her and emptying it in a few large gulps. She watches closely, forcing herself to focus on him and not her worrying mind. When he lies back down with a strained groan, she takes the glass from him.
“I... I wanna... wanna help,” she whispers breathlessly. “Can I... help?”
For a moment it's just his rattling breaths, but then he hums, that deep vibration through the air, and she feels his hand on her knee. “Come lie with me,” he croaks, and she's immediately there, climbing onto the bed and curling against him. He drapes his arm around her, hand heavy on her back, as she rests her head on his chest. His shirt is drenched in sweat, but she couldn't care less.
His heartbeat is strong against her ear, and it soothes her. “Will you be fine?” she mumbles into him after a moment of loaded silence.
“Of course, baby,” he replies hoarsely. “I'll be fine. I wouldn't leave you...”
A sob escapes her, and she snuggles closer to him. “I... I hope so. I need you,” she mutters back.
The rattling chuckle that makes it past his lips almost sends him into the next coughing fit. His hand curls into the fabric of her hoodie (technically his). “Hey, what are you wearing?”
“Uh,” she makes, stiffening against him. “Y-your hoodie?”
“Where'd you get that?”
“I... uh... you... left it in my room?”
“Did I really?” Despite the roughness of his voice, there's amusement in his tone, maybe even adoration? It doesn't help her feel less guilty though.
“Yes?”
“Are you lying to me, baby girl?”
“No?”
His fingers slide up her back until they curl around her neck, tightening the collar against her throat. “I think my darling girl needs another punishment, hm? A little spanking... to her soft little ass?” She only squeaks in response. He continues, digging his fingers into her neck, his voice that low rumble, rough and hoarse but dominant as ever. “I'll think of something, don't worry. I have a lot of thinking ahead of me. And once I'm better, I'll deal with you, my little thief.”
He may want to threaten her, but deep down, she is just glad he's still able to talk to her like this, keep their dynamic going even while sick, and she hopes he'll be better soon to fulfill his promises. She'd take anything if it meant he'll be back to his old self, strong and intimidating, the one to hold her and the one to hold her down.
“Yes, sir,” she whispers into him, inhaling deeply as he relaxes his hand, slipping it into her hair instead. “I can't wait.”
His croaked laugh turns into a cough, and it's her who eases her hand over his convulsing chest, holding him until he calms down again. She ends up with her leg hooked over his thigh, a little monkey clinging to his bigger form. He hugs her back, his breaths slowing, his hand stilling on her head.
“My good girl.” are the last three words he utters before he falls asleep beneath her, his chest rising and falling against her head. A single tear rolls down her cheek as relief takes over.
He'll be fine. She's sure now. He'd never pass up on an opportunity to spank her. Or pamper her afterwards. She'll take both, of course. She knew it was a good idea to put on her comfort hoodie.
End notes: And as is usually the case with my writing, I've already started working on a second part (call this a two-part one-shot), because I felt it necessary to show the aftermath, mainly Darling getting sick as well and how Sir might care for her then.
...maybe then you'll see why I cannot focus on just one story.
Fanfiction I started writing:
A hurt/comfort, trauma-healing love story about a Lord of the Rings Online NPC (Lothrandir, my love) and my hobbit minstrel (a story I still struggle to add smut to, it feels too innocent in a way, but trust me, I am trying, size kink goes brrr with those two)
A turbulent love story about a Guild Wars 2 NPC (Braham, my love) and my human necromancer, a little retelling of the game's story with added spice (also, size kink again, iykyk)
Another Guild Wars 2 story about a human thief and a charr guardian, two of my characters that tickle my monsterfucker interests (have yet to write a charr/human smut scene though... setting the scene took too long in this case, also charr anatomy is tricky, man)
Fanfiction that lives rent-free in my head aka that I haven't written yet but get inspired to think about every time I pick up one of the mentioned games:
A series of Far Cry 5 scenarios that mostly center around John Seed and my very naive Deputy (sometimes Sharky makes an appearance too)
A weird crossover of Call of Duty's Simon "Ghost" Riley and my Division (2) agent that I named Shadow who somehow both experience the post-apocalypse (they bond over her sniper skills)
Sometimes there's the urge to ship Geralt and Ciri from The Witcher 3. Just because.
And then there are my original characters...
Ben and Nebbia still exist in the back of my head and whenever I see a cowboy I do think of them and feel bad for not continuing their story...
Noah, Isabella and Pumpkin also poke me constantly...
Sir and Darling are a bit fresher on my mind, but I still struggle to keep their story going; the ideas are there, plenty of them (I even made a roadmap(?) to not forget them, go me!), but I have to find the right tone for this story...
Same with Doll and Master and all the other pets. Forced was such a rollercoaster ride, so dark and twisted, and I have to be in the right mindset to write those depravities; but I do think of kink a lot, I am a smut writer after all, it's in my blood at this point, but I think I've overdone it with that one, so I had to think of something... softer...
...which created a new pair of characters in my head (because there's still room, of course), and it's Nick and Amy from my upcoming story Fated (which I've mentioned in my latest updates, so I won't say any more here).
Characters I've created but am not planning on bringing back and yet they do occupy a large portion of my brain still:
My shapeshifting werewolf guy Bear and his little Red (let's wait for next Halloween to get me inspired again, I guess)
Urban explorer/photographer Sam and the former sub/sex slave girl he's trying to give a normal life (I've had so many ideas for them, some about them creating an OF or PH account and making money like that? I just never felt the need to write that down, though, maybe one day?)
Of course there's also Mistress and Pet from Forgetful, but again, I'm lacking the ideas to continue that wlw journey at the moment...
Not to mention those other people I created for last year's Kinktober: Bunny and her three vampire Masters named Master, Sir and Lord; Demon boyfriend and his girl; and of course our dildo-enthusiast and her sentient knotting dildo...
So you can see: it's very full up there!!! So many ideas, so many characters, so many different settings; some focused around existing characters I have to remember every detail of, some so open I can barely think of their next move. And every single one of them is screaming for my attention. It's pure chaos.
And all this to tell you: please be patient with me! My mind works in mysterious ways, and I have weird writing bouts sometimes where I fixate on one specific thing for a few weeks and vomit-create "something", and sometimes I write enough to be able to share it with you too (usually months after the fact), whereas other times I write for weeks just for the hell of it, ignoring all other "obligations".
I wish I could go through this vast library in a more organized fashion, but alas, I am not wired like that. And that's how I end up with a bunch of unfinished stories and the need to create more instead of continuing what I already have.
I am sorry if I dragged you in with one of my stories and now you're stuck here, waiting for updates, but I do hope you'll enjoy whatever I put out, since it is coming out of the same brain. Whatever the case, I am grateful for everyone being here, reading, liking, lurking, just vibing with me in the void. Thank you for spending your time with me!
Me and the gazillion voices in my head wish you a lovely day!
Take care!
With the moon rising anew, you are there to witness Bear's transformation - which also means he is finally ready to make you his mate, once and for all.
WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Werewolves! Mating rituals! Chasing! Marking/biting! Cunnilingus/tongue fucking! Vaginal sex! Knotting! Breeding! (READ ON AO3!)
A/N: This is a bonus chapter for my CHOOSE YOUR OWN (SMUT) ADVENTURE story A NIGHT TO REMEMBER. It took me a year to finish this one, oops, but here we are, the promised werewolf marking/mating chapter. Hope you enjoy!
To recap this: you ran into a werewolf who first knotted and bred you (chapter 4), then you ran from him and into the arms of two evil vampires (chapter 5), before he saved you from them (chapter 6), which led to your decision to spend the rest of your life with him (chapter 7) - and now his promise to mark you properly finally comes true.
An additional note: since Bear is a big, bearded man (when he's not a giant werewolf), I've tagged this for several men who definitely inspired his appearance, so please don't hate me for invading these fandoms even though he is an original character!
1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7
You know the moon is about to rise about an hour before it does. Bear is restless, breathing harder, and he keeps watching you, his eyes dark and wild. You try to calm him, pull him onto the couch with you as you scroll through your phone (trying to sort your old life to live with him), but he won't stay long. He is hot too, not in the sense you thought about him since you first met him, but actually sweating, and unusually pale. He looks downright sick.
You feel bad for him, knowing he has to go through this torture for seven days every month. This may just be your first relationship where you're both suffering monthly. It certainly makes for an interesting dynamic. But instead of cramping and bleeding out, he turns into a ferocious beast without being able to do anything about it. You may just hand it to him: he got it worse than you even on your bad days.
As the clock ticks away, you watch him pacing the living room until you can't take it anymore. Getting up, you seize his arm and make him look at you. He stops reluctantly, his nostrils flaring as he watches you. “It'll be okay,” you tell him, snaking your arms around his waist and pressing yourself against him. He hugs you back slowly, his grip tighter than you expected. “I told you, I'm not afraid of you,” you whisper into his chest.
“You shouldn't be here when I turn,” he growls. “It's not safe.”
“I can handle it,” you reply stubbornly. “And I want to be here for you...”
He lets go of you to grab your upper arms and lean you back, staring down at you darkly. “No. You won't. You will wait here while I transform. No matter what you hear, you will stay here, you will not follow me into the basement. I will find you...”
You blink. His dominating tone sends a shiver down your spine and straight between your legs. “Yes, sir,” you breathe, biting your lip.
A shadow crosses his already tense features. He bares his teeth as a snarl escapes him, a grim smirk distorting his handsome face. “Oh you little tease,” he groans, shaking his head slowly. His hands slide down your arms before he lets go completely, taking a step back while still holding your gaze.
The intensity in his eyes makes your heart beat faster. He must smell your arousal with how his nostrils are fluttering, how hard he's breathing. You want to reach out, comfort him, tell him it'll be fine and you're just as horny as he is or will be, that you've enjoyed your last encounter with his werewolf form very much. But all that manages to slip past your lips is a breathy little moan.
Another growl echoes through the room. “Stay here,” he says again as he backs away step after step. “I mean it.”
“Okay,” you whisper, watching him closely.
“Good girl,” he rasps, his voice so low it vibrates through your head as if he's struck a cord deep within.
He leaves the living room through the door leading down into the basement. When he closes it behind him, you are left alone with your raging thoughts and the overwhelming reactions of your body.
You can't see the moon rising, but you can hear the loud noises from below. The howling, the grunts, the way he stomps up and down, throws himself against the walls and whatever furniture is in his way. You can only imagine what is happening, but you remember him saying that it hurts to transform, and despite your growing lust for what he's turning into, you feel bad for him.
The loudest noise is a guttural roar before the cabin falls into silence once more. You stand near the couch, eyes fixed on the door to the basement, your heart hammering inside your chest, rushing in your ears, throbbing deep in your core. The anticipation borders on cold fear, as you wonder if during his transformation he will not only lose his human form, but also his human thoughts, his unspoken promises of treating you right.
What if you pushed him so far, his urges and desires become too strong to handle? Then again, isn't that what you want? What you liked most about your last encounter with him? Maybe not your proudest admission, but you can't deny the clenching need between your legs as you remember how rough he's handled you, how feral and primal it has been, how good it had felt to be taken like that? Like a literal piece of meat, a hole for him to fill? A body to knot and breed...
You issue a shaky sigh before you suddenly freeze. There are heavy footsteps on the stairs leading up. Your breath quickens, your heart thumping in your throat. You've seen him before, but when the large werewolf emerges through the door, filling out the frame completely, you still gasp and take a step back.
He's stalking towards you with his back bowed, his big wolf head lowered, teeth bared, clawed paw-like hands extended, ready to grab you. His tail swooshes behind him, every step of his weirdly shaped hind legs giving off a low thump, his claws clicking menacingly on the wooden floor. A snarl sits low in his throat. And before you know it, the black furred beast jumps towards you, clambers over the couch as you stumble backwards with a shriek, and he grabs you, his grip tight, claws nicking at your skin, his hot breath fanning over your face.
Like he's done before, he throws you over his massive shoulder, and you kick and protest, grabbing at his rough pelt, fighting the sensation of hanging upside down. He seems to ignore it for a bit as he carries you out of the cabin. The cold air hits you immediately, stiffening your limbs. Suddenly he sets you down again, crouching in front of you, tilting his large head. Your rapid breaths dance in front of your face in small white clouds.
He extends a furry hand, a clawed finger scraping over your reddened cheek. And you just stand there, frozen in confusion as you watch him. His wet nose pokes at your neck before you feel his warm tongue lapping at your fluttering pulse. A low hum drones from him.
“Excited, aren't you, little one?” he growls, his voice even deeper and rougher than usual. You swallow hard, your hands itching to reach out and grab his fur, sink into his warmth, his strength. But he's got you cornered, frozen in place. “Hmm, we can't have that. You're supposed to be my prey... are you not?”
You blink slowly when he leans back on his haunches, his black eyes boring into yours. “I'm not afraid of you,” you whisper, even though your voice is betraying you as deep shivers crash down your whole body.
“You should be,” he grunts, slowly straightening up to his full height, towering over you like the monster he is. Your heart beats faster as you tilt your chin up to follow his gaze.
“I'm not,” you breathe out, parted lips quivering. You feel small, sure, but as intimidating as he is, you can't deny the effect he has on you.
He huffs a low growl, puffing his big body out even further. “I'm only gonna say this once, little one,” he rumbles, his voice like thunder in the air.
You tilt your head curiously, raising your eyebrows.
“Run,” he then says, a word like a heavy weight on your shoulders, threatening to crush you. It's mere instinct when you finally move, breaking eye contact, turning around, and soon your feet are flying over the gravel path as you run deeper into the forest surrounding the cabin.
For a moment it's just your heavy breaths and quick footsteps, and a bit of confused annoyance, but as soon as you hear the low thudding sounds of his paws on the ground, you understand what he meant. It's the thrill of the hunt, and even though you were aroused before, you are even more agitated now, your body vibrating with adrenaline.
You crash through the underbrush, snaking your way past tree trunks and thicker bushes, always acutely aware of how close behind you he is. You can hear his snarls and grunts, sometimes even feel his hot breath right on your neck before you make a sudden turn and slip from his grasp once more. It's a simple game of catch, but it excites you immensely.
He's playing with you, never makes the final pounce, even though he always catches up with you fast, claws brushing against your back, wet snout poking at your calves, fur teasing your warmed skin. You keep running, and he seems to lead you into a certain direction. It's dark, despite the moon rising higher in the evening sky, the foliage is too thick to let through any light.
You stumble forward, hands outstretched to find obstacles in your way, your heart hammering in your chest. You're panting, sweat dripping from your brow. This is quite the exercise, and you're tempted to just stop and let him finally ravage you (because that's the goal, isn't it?), but something inside you pushes you on, may it be pride or the innate instinct to flee from the predator behind you.
But your body grows weaker, and eventually you trip over a root, falling flat on your face with a garbled scream, dead leaves and dirt caking to your sweaty skin. He's on you in no time, gripping your waist to turn you around. You're like a beetle on its back, unable to move, breathing hard, staring up at the looming shadow above you. He pins you down, his large paws capturing your wrists and ankles, his furry body crouched over you.
His snout brushes along your chest, his breath hot, his nose wet, slobber dripping from his bared teeth. He licks a stripe up between your breasts before he sinks his teeth into the fabric of your blouse. You struggle beneath him, not wanting him to rip it, but then he does, tearing it easily with a simple shake of his large head, shooting buttons everywhere. A shrill yelp escapes you, turning into a surprised gasp when his tongue laps at your exposed skin, the rough texture scraping over your sensitive nipples.
A quiet moan escapes you that causes him to stop mid-stroke, his maw almost enveloping your breast, his sharp teeth teasing your skin, tongue pressed to the erect bud, pulsing against it. You stiffen, staring at him, still unable to move except for the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He huffs a warm breath against your wet skin, then slowly starts licking his way up to your neck.
“Be a good girl and don't fight this,” he growls against you, his wet nose poking at your earlobe, his voice so low it's just a thrum in the air, rippling through you like a wave of goosebumps.
You don't dare to move with his teeth so close to your pulse, so you gasp out a feeble “Okay...”. As soon as you do, you feel a strange pressure as he closes his jaw around your neck, though he's careful not to sink his teeth into your skin. You can still feel a slight pricking sensation, but it's barely there, adrenaline and arousal numbing most of the pain as he starts dragging you over the forest floor.
Like a bunny captured by the wolf, kept alive to play with.
You close your eyes, trying to relax as your hands and feet drag over leaves and pine needles, but the image of his large maw around your sensitive neck starts to really concern you. He could have grabbed you by your arm or leg, even pulled you by your hair, instead he has you by the neck, and all it would take to end it all is for his jaw to snap shut fully.
It's a strange sensation, his tongue is pressed to your pulse, his canines eased around your throat without penetrating your skin, and you really wonder how he does it. Your entire weight hangs between the large hinges of his jaw. He's on all fours as he pulls you along until the darkness of the forest makes way for a dark sky, a deep blue glow, the stars glinting high above you. The moon barely grazes the tree tops but its light is bright enough to illuminate a small clearing.
That's where he lets go of you, carefully setting you down onto soft grass. Your neck is throbbing, and he licks along it a few times, before leaning back, crouched beside you as you lay there, motionless on your back, staring up at him. His big furry hands move along your shoulders, almost gently removing the last pieces of your ruined blouse. You watch him breathlessly, your stomach fluttering as he moves his claws along your sides until they hook under the waistband of your skirt.
You shriek quietly when he rips the fabric away from your body in one swift motion of his strong hands, exposing you completely to him and the elements. You would mourn the loss of your last pieces of clothing, but you're too focused on him and whatever comes next.
He keeps you waiting, though, as his dark eyes scan every inch of your body, his nose twitching, a low growl growing in his throat. “What an offering,” he eventually rasps, tilting his head to the side as he takes you in. “So beautiful, so willing. You are willing, aren't you?”
“Yes,” you gasp quickly, your hands itching to touch him, but you force yourself to just lie there, fingers digging into the grass around you. “I am willing...”
“Do you know what that means? To offer yourself to me like this?” His large snout moves closer as he sniffs up and down your fluttering stomach, neither paying attention to your weeping cunt nor your heaving breasts. “You'll be mine, forever. My mate. I will mark you, and no one will ever take you away from me. Are you sure you want that?”
You take a shuddering breath when his wet nose pokes at your belly button. The answer has been inside you ever since you woke up in his strong arms, maybe even long before that when he first pounced you in the maze and carried you away with him. There is no choice, it does feel like fate. You want to be his. You have never felt this strongly about a man before, especially not a man like him, cursed to be a werewolf and destined to be alone, and maybe it's these two things, the feral beast and the lonesome groundskeeper, that pull you towards him. Horny for his knot and desperate to keep him company, stay with him, ease his loneliness, because now that you think about it, you've lived a similar life, stuck in your routine, doing the same job every day, seeing the same people, the same city, you may just have been cursed as well.
There is not a single doubt in your mind. You belong together. You are his.
“I'm sure,” you whisper, finally daring to raise a hand and touch his furry head. His eyes snap to yours, a rough warm exhale hitting your exposed skin. “I want to be your mate,” you add under your breath as your fingers dig into the pelt of his long neck, a gentle tug to pull him closer.
He huffs again, a snarl rasping out of his throat. “My mate,” he repeats, his voice like a rumble in the earth. “Mine forever...”
“Yes,” you say with a shy smile. You don't really know what that means, to be someone's mate, but it feels like a big deal to him, and you're here for him, to do whatever makes him happy, knowing it'll make you happy too.
“Expose your neck to me, little one,” he growls above you, slowly climbing over you until his strong arms are braced next to your head and his bend hind legs bracket your hips, his fur tickling your bare skin. “First I'll mark you, bind you to me by the power of your blood, and then...” He inhales sharply, a rough little rattling sound that goes through his entire body. “We will try to break the curse.”
You blink up at him as his nose nudges your jaw, his eyes still on yours. “Break the curse? What do you mean?” you whisper, a deep shiver crashing through you.
“I told you I'm destined to be alone, which means... I cannot turn others into what I am, and I am also not able to... make heirs,” he explains with a sigh, nuzzling your neck as his eyes fall shut. Something in your stomach twists nervously. “I've tried many times, through the decades, with whatever woman found her way to my grounds, and yet none of them was able to carry my seed and grow it. You are different, I can feel it, it's like destiny, isn't it? I wonder, if those vampires hadn't –”
A growl rips from his throat as his head snaps to the side, his gaze boring into the impenetrable darkness of the forest around you. You keep watching him, mesmerized, unwilling to remember that part of your adventures here.
“They emptied you of me,” he says darkly, his voice an angry rumble in the air as he bares his sharp teeth. “They'll pay for that yet, don't you worry.” He slowly relaxes again, licking his long tongue over his canines. When he looks back at you, his eyes are almost soft, as soft as they can be in the face of a ferocious beast. “But for now, we will try, won't we, little one? For as long as it'll take.”
You are still a bit too dazed to comprehend his words, though you get the sentiment. At least you think you do. Or do you? “Uh,” you make, blinking your eyes into focus. “Hang on, what?”
His laugh is low. “I will breed you, my little Red. Pump you so full of my cum you may taste it on your tongue. And I will not stop until it takes root within you. You will be my mate, destined to carry my offspring. And if it doesn't stick the first time, we will continue, over and over again, until the curse is broken.”
His words wash over you like a gentle wave, softly spoken, a deep vibration, and yet when their meaning finally hits you, it's like the wave returns with full force, crashing over you, sinking into every pore, until you're throbbing from the inside out. “Oh,” you whisper, heat gathering low in your stomach, quickly spreading through your entire body. “O-okay,” you confirm shyly, unable to stop yourself. You can barely think in your haze of lust, and while you never wanted to have kids initially, you feel as if you can't say no to him. If it makes him happy, it'll make you happy, right?
Suddenly his tongue is there, licking a wide stripe over your warm face, and you squeal, your hands trying to get him off, but he keeps going, lapping at you like an overjoyed dog. A giggle bubbles up in your throat as your fingers dig into his fur, his warm breaths tingling on your wet skin. He moves lower then, nuzzling your jaw, licking at your neck. On instinct, you turn your head and expose yourself to him, and there is a pause in his movements, his big body stilled above you, fur brushing against your skin as he breathes slow and deep.
“You are mine,” he growls, and before you can brace yourself, he opens his jaw, takes a deep breath and then –
Your scream echoes through the dark night, the distant hoot of an owl growing silent as your world turns ice-cold for a moment. You feel his teeth, sharp and long, sinking deep into your neck, and your blood rushes to the wound as you gurgle and gasp through the unfamiliar pain. You don't dare to move. He's gathered your hands above your head, held by one big paw-like hand, his body keeping you from squirming as he braces over you, heavy and strong, like a looming shadow, ready to devour you whole. Your eyes flutter shut, your breaths rasping out of you.
It's getting colder. You can feel your blood seeping out of your neck, every pulse from your heart pushing out more. It's a mesmerizing sensation. Peaceful. Until it isn't.
A scorching heat fills you, igniting every nerve, and you gasp dryly when he pulls his teeth out. For a moment you're afraid you'll just bleed out onto the forest floor, fresh doubts clouding your dwindling mind. Have you done the right thing? How could you have trusted a man you barely know? What if he just wants to kill you after all? But then, like a soothing caress, your mind stills again, and as his tongue laps along your throbbing neck, stopping the blood flow, you deflate, a little sigh escaping you. He keeps licking your wound, gentle, soft, savoring every drop of your blood, growling quietly as he does so.
You slowly become numb, drowsy even, pacified by his warmth. But he isn't done with you yet.
You barely feel it, but he moves on then, his tongue gliding around your jaw, wetting your cheeks, drinking up the tears you haven't noticed before. A coppery scent is in the air, tickling your nostrils, but you don't care. You just lie there and let it happen, whatever he has to do to make you his mate. Apparently part of it is covering your entire body in his saliva. You feel him moving above you as he brings his snout lower, licking and lapping at every inch of you, from your sternum to your stomach, taking extra care of your breasts until your nipples ache under the rough, wet texture of his tongue.
You even feel his teeth scraping at your skin, teasing it enough to break it, but the added pain barely registers in your muddled mind. It feeds the warmth soaring through your veins, that strange kind of electricity circling through your nerves, sparking here and there, wherever his tongue pokes and laps at next. Your senses are being pulled back into focus when his muzzle teases between your legs, his thick tongue pressing hard between your folds, and your cunt clenches around nothing, your hips stuttering slightly, but then he moves on, continues to cover you in his slobber from head to toe.
You feel warm all over, sticky too, but you couldn't care less. His large hands hold up your legs, one at a time, and you can't help the little giggle when he licks around your ankle before he nibbles on your toes, teeth grazing your sensitive skin. Once he moves to the other foot, you become a little restless, and he feels it, smells it probably, so when he moves back up, he spreads your legs wide, claws teasing at your inner thighs as he brings his head back between them. There he takes an embarrassingly deep breath that makes you writhe on the grass, your hands moving up to cover your burning face.
He huffs into you, hot breath tickling your soft flesh, and you downright mewl when he licks a stripe up your mound, any kind of discomfort forgotten as he starts devouring you the way you want him to. You hear him huffing and puffing, growling and grunting as he pushes his tongue against you and eventually into you, parting your lower lips easily, your cunt welcoming the thick muscle in almost needily. You'd be mortified by all those wet squelching noises, but it feels too good and you really don't care. You barely resist anymore, hands fallen away to grip at the ground below you, even more so when he suddenly lifts your hips, big hands slipping under your ass, holding you up, and you let him move you like a doll as he brings your core closer to his snout, allowing him to press that talented tongue of his deeper into your fluttering channel.
Might be the half-way upside down position, but you feel your head spinning quickly, mind emptying, and all you can do is moan and gasp and drool as your eyes roll back and pleasure takes you. You don't even know how he does it and what exactly he's doing, but he's licking into you, deep and strong, carving his way into your flesh, poking at all the right spots, slipping back and forth, stimulating you from deep within. That first orgasm barely registers in your lustful haze, just a soft wave lapping at you, but since he doesn't stop, continuing to move his tongue in and out quicker, further, oh so far, another builds, and that one you feel. It comes like a storm, a sudden gust of wind, like a slap to the face, hot and cold, and you cry out, squirming in his hold, legs twitching, toes curling, hands grasping for anything they can find, and he only pushes his tongue deeper, stroking your cervix, poking hard, keeping you afloat in that mind-numbing void between pain and pleasure.
You must have blacked out from the sensations because when you come back to, you're lying on your back, unmoving, and he's lapping at your neck again. There's a little throbbing ache where his teeth have sunk deep into your flesh, but you don't seem to bleed anymore. Inhaling sharply, you turn your head slightly, meeting his dark gaze. The moon is high in the sky now, illuminating the clearing around you. He grunts when he sees you awake. Slowly he leans back on his hind legs, one of his big hands finding your throat. You blink at him.
Holding onto your neck, he then tilts his monstrous head up, staring straight into the night sky. You watch him curiously, before you screw up your face when he suddenly produces the loudest howl you have ever heard. It pierces the night (and your ears), sending deep shivers down your exposed body, yet he keeps going, his hand curling around your throat as he does, holding you possessively. Your hands find his furry wrist, and a shudder goes through his body then, yet he only straightens up further, bending his neck, and howls one more time, loud and clear, as it echoes through the forest around you, rendering everything else silent.
“My mate,” he growls as your ears still ring. He's above you again, wet nose poking at your cheek. “Mine, only mine. Let me claim you properly now,” he rasps and licks his tongue across your face. You squirm with a little giggle, which he squeezes right out of your throat as he curls his clawed fingers around it. You gasp, staring up at him.
Before you know it, he jumps back, letting go, but there's no time to recover. His hands find your hips, and he whirls you around, scraping your knees as he positions you before him. Somehow it's an instinct to obey, to present yourself to him with your ass up and your torso pressed into the grass. You'd love to see his cock emerge from between his fur, red and angry, weeping to be inside you, but it seems he's chosen the more animalistic way of taking you tonight. You're sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to study the damn thing in the future, but for now, you roll with it, too eager to feel him as well.
He doesn't let you wait long. With one paw-like hand on your waist, he shifts behind you, his fur tickling your skin, and you're so on edge already that when he only brushes his cockhead between your folds, a low moan rasps from your throat. He growls quietly, indulging (teasing) you a bit more as he swipes his hard length through your wetness, and when your moans turn into whines, he snaps his hips against your rear, and you cry out at the sensation when his thick cock breaches your cunt, pushing deep, sliding home with a force that makes your knees wobble.
His hands grab your waist, claws sinking into your skin, and for a moment he just holds you against him, savoring the tight grip of your muscles as you adjust to his filling intrusion. You feel so deliciously full already, though you know it can only get better once his knot is involved as well. But there's time for that yet.
In the end it's you who can't help squirming against him, rubbing your ass into him, shifting slightly, grinding hungrily, clenching eagerly around him, and he lets out a sudden growl, a low, dangerous noise that renders you immobile immediately. It makes your heart race how he can switch from being as gentle as a beast his size can possibly be to the ravenous predator he is at the end of the day, a monster driven by instinct and primal lust. And while you should be afraid, pushed into the role of prey as you are, you can't deny the appeal it all has. Your cunt certainly agrees, weeping helplessly around his resting cock.
Luckily he's done adjusting (and letting you adjust), as he moves behind you, holding your hips tightly with a bruising grip, before he pulls his own hips back, slowly, teasingly, and you feel the drag of his girth, how the cockhead eventually catches on your entrance, threatening to slip out and leave you empty, but that never happens, as he swiftly rolls his pelvis forward once more, sinking deep into your warmth, carving his way through your tight muscles. You moan deeply, pressing your face into the grass, your fingernails digging into the earth to steady yourself.
He repeats that motion a few times, keeping it slow and steady, almost careful, and the longer he does it, the more restless you become, your insides burning under the friction, that need to feel more growing by the second. You start meeting his thrusts, gyrating your hips needily, shaking your ass against him, and once more he just lets out a low snarl, commanding, dominating, warning, reminding you of your place below him. As much as you enjoy your encounter with this werewolf who is so much more now, you have to keep telling yourself that you are just a body to him, a fertile womb to fill, hopefully, a means to break his curse. Well, you can still enjoy it, just maybe try not to make it too obvious?
It's a futile thing to keep it down as he continues to drive his length deep into your cunt, over and over again, in and out, slowly moving faster, pushing deeper, each stroke igniting that scorching heat within you, the tension building up with every swipe of his girth against your sensitive spots, and you soon ignore that inner voice of yours and just let it out, moaning and whining and wailing loudly, too engrossed in the way he's rutting into you, taking you, claiming you.
His own noises grow louder too, encouraging your own, his breaths rough until he sounds almost like a dog in heat, panting with his tongue out, and you can only imagine how the slobber drips from his sharp teeth, his maw agape as he looses himself in pounding into his willing mate. Suddenly you can feel it, his hot breath, his warm saliva, as he leans over you, strong arms braced beside your shoulders, his wet nose brushing against your nape as he continues to snap his furry hips against your rear.
You gasp softly as he licks a stripe over your skin, down your neck, against your jaw, nuzzling your cheek. You turn your head as best you can, your lips parted, breaths equally labored, and he uses the gap you left for him to lick into your mouth, his strong tongue invading deeply. Your head is spinning at the combined sensations, with his cock driving in and out of your clenching cunt while his tongue nudges your own before it presses against the back of your throat. You freeze when you feel his teeth scraping at your cheeks, but he holds his maw as still as possible with how he snaps his hips against you, and only lets his tongue explore.
It feels strange, but you did wonder how it would feel to kiss a werewolf, and despite the unusual mental image, you lean into it, closing your eyes, swirling your own tongue around his, savoring the taste of him. You think back to doing the same with his human form, with the hairy man named Bear, and it quickly eases your nerves as you forget about the sharp teeth and focus on the scratch of his fur that reminds you of his thick beard, and the warmth and strength of the large muscle invading your mouth, poking at your throat the same way he's poked it at your cervix before.
You are lightheaded after a while, and just when you feel as if you have to gag due to his insistent prodding, he pulls back with a huff, stilling his movements altogether. Panting above you, he gives you one more lick before he straightens up, his large hands finding your shoulders as he pulls you with him. The change of angle makes you keen and wince as his cock shifts inside you, poking deep, and when he curls one hand around your neck to hold you up, you feel the other rub down your stomach, giving it a little press.
Without prompt you raise your hands, trusting him to hold you, even though it is by the neck and the pressure is certainly affecting your airways, and when your fingers brush against his furry digits, he grabs them and puts your hand beneath his, making you feel a little dent, a hard bulge in your tummy, right where his cock presses against your insides.
“You'll be so beautiful filled up properly, carrying my pups, won't you, little one? The way you'll swell?” He snarls lowly, his breath fanning over your face as he nuzzles your cheek. You shiver deeply, unconsciously clenching hard around his cock. “Oh yes, you'll do so well, growing that little life inside you, you'll make me so happy...”
His voice is that deep vibration in your ear, traveling through your entire body, making your head spin. All you can reply to that is a tiny gasping moan that turns into a louder squeak as he lets go of your throat, causing you to fall forward into the grass.
“But first we gotta try harder, really make it count, hm?” he grunts as his hands arrange your body in front of him, one heavy palm pressed to the back of your head, holding you down, face squished into the soft ground, as the other follows the curve of your spine, claws scraping your skin, making you shudder and whine. It's a strange discomfort, only adding to how he impales you, how his strength is that crushing force above you, and you feel weak and vulnerable, barely able to breathe, and yet you're so aroused you can't wait for him to move against you again.
He does with a sudden snap of his hips, letting go of you in the process, which you use to turn your head and gasp for air, trying to ignore the dirt caked to your forehead. His large hands snake under your body and you feel him groping your breasts, lifting you slightly, at the same time as he starts thrusting once more. You're quickly overwhelmed by it all, moaning and wailing, thrown about in that blissful void full of pain and pleasure as he squeezes your soft mounds and pinches your nipples, while his pelvis goes to town against you, his rutting quickly gaining in force and speed.
Once he finds a steady rhythm (his arms now braced at your sides, your own hands clawing at the ground as he keeps pushing you forward with every thrust), he is knocking into your cervix as if he wanted to break down the door to your womb, each deep stab coaxing a high-pitched “Ah!” out of you that quickly drains your lungs. All the while his knot, grown significantly, is insistently pressing between your wet folds, eager to be let in, though you cannot possibly imagine how any more inches could fit into you with how full you already feel.
He seems to notice the same thing, which is why you suddenly feel him pulling out completely, and then he flips you, quite unceremoniously, until you're on your back, gasping and panting, and he wastes no time to breach your depths again as he grabs your legs and pins them against your chest, opening you up further. It's a quick roll of his furry hips, and his cock slips back in with an obscenely wet squelching sound, filling you out once more, yet he doesn't give you time to adjust, just starts thrusting again, in and out, fast and deep, and you wail under the sensations as he continues to bully your cervix, until you wail for a completely different reason.
His knot feels enormous as he tries to force it past your tight entrance, and you cry out breathlessly when it ultimately pops in, locking him inside you. You come instantly as he does, a quick sensation like a slap to the face that leaves you even more winded. And he doesn't stop there, just turns his rapid pistoning into a shallow humping, his whole body perched above you, his grunts and growls loud in the night.
You feel dizzy quick, but when he does suddenly still, pressed all the way inside you, you snap back into attention when he throws his large head back and gives off a low howl that quickly grows in volume and strength, at the same time as you feel his cock twitching within you.
He's claiming you, and everyone within earshot will know about it. Not that you care, not in your delusional state, all you care about is how soothing it feels as he fills you with spurt after hot spurt of cum, every stutter of his hips giving you more, every slap of his big balls against your ass pushing it deeper, every throb of his bulbous knot making sure none of it leaks out of you.
You can feel it accumulating, filling you up, gathering in every nook and cranny, finding space where none should be. You don't know if he's breaching your womb, doesn't matter either way, you're here for the incredible ride. He's huffing and puffing above you, hunched over as he is on all fours, working his pelvis, his giant body shuddering slightly with every twitch of his cock that quickly leaves you on the edge of another orgasm. Despite your haze and lack of strength, you try to reach out past your folded legs, needing to touch him, and he complies, yet different than you expected.
Suddenly he's collapsing on top of you, his body weight pushing you into the soft ground, coarse fur covering your sweat-slick body. The force presses his length harder into you, catapulting you right over the edge and into that blissful void once more. Gasping and convulsing beneath him, you dig your shaking hands into his fur and hold on as he continues to pump his seed into you. Occasionally his hips would twitch and he'd give you a few rough thrusts, pressing deeper, bullying his knot against your strained entrance, and you'd whimper, feeling the heat of his cum mixing with your own warmth until it'd explode into another orgasm that would make your legs tremble and feet dance above your head.
As squished and folded as you are, you find comfort in your position with the large werewolf smothering you. It's warm against the cold breeze assaulting your wet skin, it feels safe under him, locked together as you are. It deepens the bond that fate has thrown your way so unexpectedly. You came here for a night of fun, and ended up becoming this cursed man's mate, destined to stay with him for as long as you're able, fated to be his breeding vessel and so much more. He's given you a purpose, and you'd be damned to fight any of it.
It feels right, and yet you hope the curse wouldn't be broken this easily... quite selfishly you need more of this animalistic fucking, to feel him penetrate impossibly deep, filling you over and over again, coaxing all these incredible sensations to the surface. You feel almost proud for being able to take his monstrous cock to the very last inch, knot included, a weird flex for sure, but you don't even care when it feels so good as well. To be claimed by this werewolf who has become the most important thing to you:
Your mate. Forever.
The next minutes are a blur. Was it five or fifty? You don't know. You don't care. Impaled as you are, you feel as complete as you've ever felt. So beautifully full, your stomach bulging as you take all of what he is giving you. To be lying beneath him, protected and content, feeling his warmth and strength, is the best experience, something you will need to repeat for as long as you'll be able to. It doesn't matter that you're in the middle of a dark forest, in the crisp autumn air, under a teasingly bright moon shining down on you, showing you the monstrous form of the being that has claimed you.
And while you do remember being afraid the first time you've met him in the maze, you know better now. He may look like a monster, but he also fucks you like a monster, and that, you decide for yourself, is a good thing. The best thing. No man could ever make you feel like this, not even his human form, you realize, though the sex has still been mind-blowing, but it is the knot and the threat of his beastly powers, the possibility that he could really hurt you if he wanted to, that do it for you.
Add to that the naive hope and optimism that he won't hurt you, that he promised to treat you right, and it's the perfect package.
You sigh softly, relaxing under him, fatigue washing over you. You could have fallen asleep like this, buried beneath him, trapped on his knot with his cock still twitching inside you, stretching you impossibly wide the more potentially potent seed he dumps into you, yet when he slowly shifts again, leaning back on all fours, you gasp quietly as the motion pulls on your tight muscles, lifting you slightly.
His big hands find your face, wiping at the dirt on your skin, a mixture of sweat and tears burning in your eyes as you blink them open to look up at him. He exhales against you, his warm breath tickling in your nostrils, before he opens his maw and licks you clean, starting with your face, going down your neck, until he arches his back and pushes your legs apart to give him better access to your breasts, the rough texture of his tongue making you keen as he swirls it around your hard nipples.
Eventually he snakes his strong arms around you and lifts you off the soft grass, your exposed skin immediately pebbling with goosebumps as the cold air surrounds you. He embraces you tightly, rubs at your shivers, pulls you close to his furry chest, and you grab at him, trying to wrap your arms and legs around him to get even closer. And you can't help it, you're squirming, either to get warm or to feel more of him, as you grind your hips into him, feeling his cock sliding slightly within you, pressing deep as his knot pushes hard against your entrance, stretching your sensitive skin, but you are stuck, unable to move, and frankly, you don't mind.
He holds you against him, forcing you to stay still, even pushes you further down so his length is almost uncomfortably deep inside you, and while you know it's impossible, you do realize you are in the presence of a mythical being that, by definition, shouldn't exist, so for him to breach your cervix and press further into your womb doesn't sound as unrealistic anymore. Not that you actually want him to, though in your hazy state you couldn't care less, really. You are his to use after all, and your body does feel as if you are no longer in control of it. Which can be a good thing.
Less worries, more pleasure. Head empty. What a treat.
When he eventually starts moving, you're not sure if it's another wave of pleasure or a deep-rooted ache that brings you back to reality. Because with every heavy stomp of his clawed feet you shift against him, on top of his cock, up and down, his knot pulling harshly at your tight skin, threatening to pop out before it pushes back in, deep and wide, and you can't help but moan as you dig your fingers into his fur and hold on for dear life, quickly overwhelmed by the sensation. He doesn't ease his steps, just holds you tighter, his large hands spanning over your back and under your rear.
Your vision is blurry but you still try to make out where he's going. Hopefully back to the cabin, preferably to lounge and cuddle in front of the fireplace until his knot deflates and you're eased off him; though, to be fair, you also have the needy hope that he'll give you a second round, and a third, maybe a fourth? For as long as the moon allows him this form and all its features. What a dream that would be!
He walks confidently, continuing to bounce you on his length, and it may have been your delusional mind playing tricks on you, but when you turn your head and look past his furry shoulder deeper into the forest he's carrying you through, you could have sworn to see shapes moving between the trees. For a moment you are frozen in shock, all pleasure paused, your hands gripping tighter at his pelt. He slows then, noticing your change in demeanor, and after he's looked at you, he turns his large head into the direction you're staring at.
Stopping altogether, you see his wet nose twitching before his muzzle distorts into a low snarl, his teeth gleaming in the pale light seeping through the canopy as he bares them. You look from him back between the trees and notice that the figures stopped moving, apparently staring back. You can't make out any features, just black voids surrounded by darkness. Your heart beats faster as you're reminded of the two vampires you've encountered in the small graveyard. Is it them, watching you? Wanting another drink? Or something else?
Bear holds you protectively as he spins around slowly, scanning the forest around you, and you follow his motion, seeing more shapes, ten or twenty, you can't be sure. Some seem to shiver, their outlines blurry. There's a strange whistle to the wind, like voices. You'd be absolutely terrified if you weren't in the arms of a strong werewolf right now.
“Wh-who are they?” you manage to whisper, pressing yourself closer to his warm chest as deep shudders grip your exposed limbs.
He lets out a deep grunt. “Echoes of my people, of their people,” he starts, quietly, his voice a low thrum against your body. “All the damned souls gathering here for all eternity. I was supposed to join them...”
“What?” you gasp softly, tilting your head back to look at him.
“You may have changed my fate, little Red,” he says softly, rubbing his big hand over your back. “And they feel it. The curse took them, consumed and condemned them, but I may have found a way out.”
A warm feeling gathers in your core, something different to the scorching wetness created by his deep penetration, something more wholesome, innocent almost. Your purpose. It does feel as if you were fated to find him (or let him find you), to change his lonesome existence. You don't know anything about curses or even the consequences of this little mating ritual you are still partaking in, but to hear the hope in his voice, to make him happy, gives you the greatest joy you've ever felt (apart from the mind-blowing orgasms he's given you, of course). A smile creeps onto your lips as you cuddle against him, your fingers digging deep into his fur, reassuring him as best you can.
“Let's go home, little one,” he huffs quietly. “Unless...”
“Hmm?” you ask in a curious pitch, blinking up at him.
His maw opens to a wide smile, a low rattle coming from his throat. “We could give them a little show, don't you think? Rub it in?”
A surprised laugh escapes you. “Won't they be mad?”
“They don't have a form, they're just whispers,” he explains, looking around once more. “They can't hurt us. And maybe they enjoy watching us? They probably watched us before, in the clearing. I did feel eyes on me...”
You shiver, leaning back slightly to look at him with a frown. Yet despite the unusual notion, your body is quickly pushing away the doubts as it reacts the only way it knows how: getting even more aroused. You seem to have a thing for the supernatural forces of the world, considering the night you've had yesterday. Why not lean fully into it now and piss off some ghosts on top of it?
“Okay,” you whisper, biting your lip as you start shifting in his hold, gyrating your hips against his hard length, clenching around his knot teasingly. “Let's show them what they've been missing out on...”
He barks a loud laugh before he licks his tongue against the side of your face, embracing you tighter as you giggle softly. “That's my girl, my mate,” he rumbles when he nuzzles your neck, teasing his teeth against the tight skin of your mating bite. “You are even more perfect than I thought.”
You smile warmly at him, your hands finding his large head before you reach out to scratch him behind his big ears. He almost purrs under your ministrations, leaning into your touch. The soft moment is rudely interrupted as he suddenly whirls you around, pressing your back against a nearby tree, its bark poking into your skin. You gasp, watching him as he places his hands under your rear, observing you darkly.
“Be as loud as you can be,” he growls, breathing a little harder already. “Let's make sure they know who owns these woods now. This is our playground, isn't it?”
You brace your hands on his shoulders, nodding enthusiastically. In response he throws his head back and lets out the loudest howl yet, and before you can recover from the ringing in your ears, he distracts you with a particularly hard thrust, one so abrupt you can't help but shriek shrilly. He's growling when he pulls his hips back, and you try to relax against the unexpected pain when he forces his knot past your tight entrance with a series of rough nudges.
The sudden emptiness feels horrible, your hole gaping for a moment, and you want to protest, but he clearly has a plan as he starts pushing his thick cock in and out of your fluttering cunt again, shoving you up and down the tree in the process, quick and rough, and it doesn't take long for you to come undone under the immense force of pleasure crashing through you.
And as you scream your lust into the night, you don't hear the leaves rustling or the whispers in the wind, nor do you see the shapes coming closer, encircling you and your werewolf mate, you are totally focused on him and only him as he takes you all over again, claiming what is his, and as another orgasm bursts inside you, he picks up the pace, fucking you through it, once more throwing his head back to voice his own pleasure with an ear-splitting howl.
Soon enough he manages to pop his knot back into your convulsing cunt, turning his wild rutting into that shallow humping, and he pulls you against him as he does, away from the tree, embracing you tightly as he huffs and puffs, panting like the beast he is, while his cock twitches and his balls are full and throbbing as they slam into your ass with every pelvic snap. You cling to him, barely able to do anything else, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure and the promise he pounds into you. As full as you were before, you feel it all over again as he pumps his hot loads into you, more and more, until he slumps against the tree, holding you, just as breathless as you are.
If this doesn't break the stupid curse, than you don't know what will. Well, maybe another round. And another. For as long as it'll stick. Or not, and you'll continue to be bred for the rest of your life, trying your best to be the mate he needs.
Only time will tell.
End notes: Thank you for reading and for being so patient about this elusive chapter! Hope it was worth the wait! Happy Halloween!
m!werewolf x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 7.6k
In search of some fresh air, you stumble through a beautifully arranged garden. The full moon shows the path, or so you think, until you find yourself face-to-face with something very large and very hairy.
WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Werewolves! Abduction! Dubcon? Knotting! Breeding! Cum inflation! Fluff? (READ ON AO3!)
A/N: This is part 4 of my CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series!
1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7
This is OPTION 3 - but can be read individually, let me just set the scene.
CONTEXT: You were invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, and on your search for the bathroom, you come to a long hallway full of doors, and you decide to go through the door at the end of it, thinking some fresh air would be preferable now.
When you walk through the door, a cold breeze passes by you, making you rub your exposed arms. It's been a mild October thus far, so you didn't bring a jacket. All you have is the red cape that gives your costume its name. Pulling it around your shoulders, you follow the short hallway to another set of doors that lead you straight outside. The fresh air is numbing, but also strangely clearing, and the deeper you inhale, the steadier you feel.
The full moon stands high in the sky, illuminating a beautiful garden before you. You see rows of neatly trimmed hedges, large flower pots and other intricately laid out plant arrangements fit for the season, broken up by either a bench or a little lamp casting additional light into the dark night, with a narrow gravel path snaking through the vast grounds.
You decide to walk off the strange feeling in your guts. With your hood over your head, you quickly feel warmer again. The low thump of the music from the house quiets down with every step you take away from it, deeper into the garden. Soon you find yourself in the middle of a maze, with hedges too high to look over, and paths just wide enough to walk through comfortably. A sinking feeling grips you as you keep walking, but everything looks the same.
Quickening your steps, you feel your heart beating harder in your chest. Good idea to walk through a maze in the freaking dark, you scold yourself, but before you can think of a clever retort, you suddenly hear a strange howling noise, seemingly far away, probably past the forest surrounding the house. It still makes your blood run cold. You stop in your tracks, listening hard, but all you can hear is your own rapid heartbeat and the gentle swish of the wind through the leaves around you, there are no animal sounds, no owls hooting, no insects chirping, no critters running about.
Just eerie silence – until another howl cuts through the night, making you gasp. This time it's much closer, louder, and without even thinking, you turn around, trying to run back to the house, knowing you shouldn't be out here in the first place. Your flight instinct is cut short when you run blindly into... something. Something solid, big, warm...
Stumbling back, you look up with wide eyes, panting heavily, and when you see what you ran into, you freeze, holding your breath, shock settling into your limbs. It's a wolf. As tall as a man. Wait, it is a man, he's standing on his hind legs, but he's got the head of a wolf, with a long snout, sharp eyes and teeth, fluffy ears and all a wolf would have, but below his wide shoulders he may just be a very hairy man, muscular, bulky even, despite the rough looking dark fur covering every inch of his massive body, very intimidating, and he also has a long bushy tail swishing lazily behind him. When he speaks, which surprises you, his voice rumbles through the air like thunder.
“Are you lost, little girl?” he asks, tilting his large head.
You stare up at him with your lips parted, too dumbstruck to process anything. “I... uh... yeah,” you mumble, eyes scanning the large figure in front of you frantically. He really is very hairy, hairy enough he doesn't even need clothes you notice. “I think... I mean... the house is right there, isn't it?”
The wolf man turns around before a low chuckle escapes him. “Not quite. You went a little too far, didn't you, Little Red?”
You blink at the nickname, but then remember your costume – and your initial disappointment that there hasn't been any wolf at the party to match your freak. Well, now you've found him, or he you. And his costume is impressive. Might just be one of those fur suits, one of the more realistic looking ones, because the way he stares down at you almost feels a little too realistic. It's not a mask, is it? But it probably is, it has to be. The alternative would mean he is a real werewolf, and you know that those things don't exist.
Right?
Swallowing hard, you take a cautious step backwards. He moves with you, his imposing body getting closer again, threateningly. You let out a scared little whimper.
“Oh, don't be afraid, little one. I won't hurt you. Not too much anyway,” he adds with a low growl that might have been a laugh. You don't feel like laughing back.
“A-are you –” you stammer, your shoulders shaking with how frantic your chest rises and falls. “A... a... you know... a werewolf?”
He tilts his head again, putting his large hands (paws?) onto his hairy hips as he watches you curiously. “What do you think?” he rumbles, licking his long tongue around his muzzle, showing off razor sharp teeth that gleam in the moonlight. Nope. That's not a mask. This is fucking real.
“Oh God!” you cry out, and in your panic you turn around and run, nothing but terror pulsing through your body as you stumble headlessly through the darkness, away from whatever monster you just encountered. In your haste to round another corner of the maze, your cape gets caught by some thorns, ripping right off you, but you keep running, fleeing into the night.
“He won't help you here,” you hear the deep voice behind you, rapid footsteps following you before you feel a rush of air that knocks you right over. Or rather it's the wolf jumping onto your back, crashing you into the hard ground beneath you. You scream in shock, the pain only registering a few seconds later when you feel your knees scraping open and your palms rubbing over rough gravel.
You squirm in desperation, wailing helplessly beneath him. His hot breath hits your nape, and you freeze immediately, stiffening in fear. He sniffs your hair, and then you feel something warm and wet along the side of your neck. He's licking you, coaxing a sorrowful whine out of your throat.
“Shh, it's alright, little one. Don't be scared. No need to run from me. Wouldn't you say we were destined to meet?” His voice vibrates through you as he presses his snout against the side of your head while his large hands rub along your sides, his strong thighs bracketing your hips, his weight pushing you deeper into the ground. “My little Red Riding Hood...” he continues, poking his wet nose against your cheek. “Weren't you looking for your wolf too?”
You can only wail pathetically, too panicked to consider his words. “Please... no...”
He huffs a warm breath against your skin. “Well, it can't be helped. Fate brought us together. You are mine now,” he says in his deep voice, and suddenly he moves back, off your body, giving you a moment to breathe, but only so long before he grips you around the waist and throws you over his hairy shoulder. At first you're too shocked, then you start squirming and struggling in his hold, gripping his fur, slapping his broad back, kicking your feet. But it feels hopeless. He is just too big, too strong, holding your thighs together with only one hand.
A deep sigh sounds from him as he walks you further into the darkness, ignoring your weak attempts to fight back. Eventually you go limp in his hold, hanging upside down as you do, quickly feeling all the blood rushing into your head, adding to the nausea you felt earlier. Your fingers dig into his pelt, and you're surprised to find it rather soft. Not as rugged as it initially looked.
It doesn't help much to focus on the texture of his fur when you suddenly feel a change in elevation as he carries you down a set of stairs. Then your world is spinning once more when he pulls you off his shoulder, unceremoniously throwing you onto the ground. You land hard, with all the air being pushed out of your lungs, groaning as you roll onto your side, raspy breaths rattling in your tight throat. Before you can take a look around, something drapes over your head.
You cry out, frantically gripping whatever fabric is blocking your vision, only to find it's your red cloak. Staring at it after you've pulled it off your head, you frown.
“Put it on,” the large wolf man tells you in his gruff voice, and you frown even more. “And ditch the rest of your clothes.”
“What?” you gasp out and sit up quickly, looking at him with wide eyes, your heart beating faster.
“Do it yourself or I'll rip them off for you,” he replies, glaring down at you.
“W-why?” you stammer, hugging the cloak to your chest protectively.
An exasperated grunt escapes him. “Why do you think? It's the full moon, and that means one of two things: one, I either find a victim to eat... or two, one to eat out and fuck senseless. I figured you'd prefer the second option.”
Your lips part in a mixture of indignation and shock. Confusion is in there too. You should have known it would come to this, why else would he have carried you away, into his lair presumably, definitely not to talk. He told you not to be scared, but that was probably just a ploy to calm you down some. You are now far from it as hysteria grows within your fluttering stomach.
It's not necessarily the prospect of sex with a stranger, but this guy is a freaking wolf. A werewolf. An animal. Isn't that bestiality or something? And don't werewolves have special... cocks? You feel your cheeks warming up badly as your mind wanders, as do your eyes, lower down his large body, but before you can look for any genitalia between all that fur, you huff a grunt and look away, shaking your head.
“Hmm, you wanna make this difficult, little one?” he growls, slowly stalking closer until he's crouching in front of you, his large hands finding your shoulders, his claws pressing threateningly against your skin. “You should consider yourself lucky I think you're too cute to eat.”
You look back at him, into those dark eyes, his long snout so close to your face you can feel the warm breath on your chin. A shiver crashes through you, and to your biggest embarrassment, there's a throb between your legs, a familiar warmth settling in your core. You press your lips into a thin line and avert your eyes again. He exhales against your face.
“Well?” he huffs.
“You... you're a wolf...” you mumble in response, squirming in his hold. “How... how's that gonna work?”
His laugh catches you off guard. “Oh, little one, don't worry. I still have all the hardware needed for this, trust me. I bet you'll enjoy it more than you think...”
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you blink slowly before focusing your eyes on his large head once more. You have to give it to him. He could have just taken you, taken what he wanted, ripped your clothes off and pounded into you like the feral beast he is, but he actually seems to ask for your consent in a way, or at least gives you time to consider it, which only adds to your confusion. The worst thing about it, is that your body already knows the answer.
He suddenly moves his snout, pressing his wet nose against your neck and sniffs, and you feel both ashamed and angry with yourself that he can probably smell your arousal as well. In an attempt to distract him from it, your hands shoot up as you dig your fingers into the thick fur of his chest, trying to push him away. He leans back and watches you curiously. You're breathing harder as you face him and the things that are bound to happen.
You can't fight him, he's too strong. From what you can see, he's brought you into some kind of basement and probably locked you in as well. There's no use trying to escape. You are here now, in his clutches, and he may be a werewolf with werewolf anatomy, but he's also talking and when you ignore the large wolf head, you can try to convince your mind that he's just a very hairy man.
And you did come to this party to let loose, to enjoy yourself, to experience an adventure. You had no idea it would turn into a sex adventure, but here you are. And if the alternative is being eaten alive by a monster, than what are you waiting for? Inhaling deeply, you let go of him and move your shaking hands to the buttons of your blouse, slowly undoing one by one as you keep him in your sight, while your heart beats faster with every inch of skin you expose to him.
He leans back on his haunches, his snout seemingly morphing into a wide smile. “What a good girl,” he growls, licking his sharp teeth.
You swallow hard as you continue to strip for him, until your chest is bare and you fidget to get your skirt over your hips in your sitting position. A yelp escapes you as he suddenly grabs your waist and pulls you up, lifting you effortlessly as he stands up to his full height, holding you in front of him like a frightened kitten with your feet dangling in the air. You don't fight it anymore, you just look up at him, blushing as you notice his hungry stare wandering up and down your naked body.
He sets you to the ground again, gentler this time, then leans down to grab the cape and slowly drapes it around your shoulders, his large hands/paws fumbling to try to bind the string into a loop. You reach up, your small hands brushing against his furry digits, before you fasten the bow yourself, keeping the cloak from sliding down again. It does give you a bit of security, even though it leaves your front fully exposed to him. You should probably feel worse about this, but despite a heavy blush creeping down your chest, you try to remain as still as you can, forcing yourself to play along, not wanting to provoke him into eating you after all.
He huffs a satisfied grunt before he grabs you again and lifts you onto his arms. You hold onto his furry shoulders as you gasp softly from the sudden motion. Breathing harder, you focus on him instead of your surroundings, it would only make you want to find an escape route if you knew where he was taking you. First you have to finish this, satisfy the beast, and once he's sated and done with you, hopefully too exhausted to follow you, you could try to sneak away. That is the plan anyway.
You just hope you won't enjoy your predicament too much.
His heavy footsteps echo through the basement, and before you know it, he's throwing you down again, a little bit gentler and this time onto a softer surface, not a bed, but an assortment of thick blankets and pelts on the floor. There's even some straw beneath it all. Primitive, as you would expect from a beast snatching up random women in the night. Even though you may not have been as random as you think.
Fumbling to untangle the cape that got caught around your neck, you look towards him as he stalks closer, bent over like the monster he is, an imposing figure, a terrifying sight that makes goosebumps ripple over your exposed skin. When he suddenly prances forward, you yelp in surprise, trying to scoot back, but his large hands find your thighs, pinning you down and spreading your legs, and with your mind still reeling, you don't even have time to comprehend his next move until you feel his hot breath right against your center.
“No... wait...” you wail quietly, your hands shoving at his large head, but he doesn't budge, and when he opens his large maw and extends his long tongue, you watch him in both terror and with a strange fascination before a deep moan is ripped from your throat as you feel that same tongue lapping along your slit, parting your folds with a strength that makes you throw your head back. “Oh...”
Your fingers dig into the fabric of your cloak that's fanned out around you as you start bucking your hips up, a motion you didn't plan, it just happened, a reflex, a response to the urges boiling within you. It should feel strange to have this beast devour you like this, in a way you never expected, but it also feels too good to fight it anymore. His tongue is hot and wet and large enough to lick up your entire sex, all the way from your puckered hole to your throbbing clit. A single swipe leaves you absolutely breathless, writhing at the edge of pleasure.
He sure knows what he's doing.
And he keeps doing it until you dissolve into nothing but a mewling mess, a puddle of boneless limbs on the makeshift bed, moaning and gasping as the sensations crash through your nerves. On the peak of your orgasm he starts moving his tongue differently, pushes deeper between your folds, and before you know it you can feel it slipping into your clenching cunt, coaxing a strangled squeak out of you.
You hear and feel him huffing against you, low grunts that vibrate through your entire body, enhancing the feeling of his warm snout between your trembling legs. He moves the muscle deeper, laps at your squishy walls, presses into every crevasse he can reach, and all you can do is tilt your hips and contort before him, riding out the most intense orgasm you may have ever had. Most special one also.
Despite your mind turning into mush, filling up with cotton, you still wonder if this may just be a dream. The strangest one for sure, but still a dream. No way could you be eaten out by an actual werewolf. But when he keeps doing what he does, you soon stop caring and just enjoy the feeling. Doesn't matter. You're in for the ride now.
You don't know how many orgasms he pulls from you until he finally leans back and extracts his tongue from inside you. You barely feel it when he laps up your juices, grunting as he does so, but the moment he crawls over you, more of his big body pressing you into the blankets, you blink your eyes into focus and stare up at him, noticing how wet his muzzle looks. You feel your cheeks burning up. Somehow you have the urge to reach your hands up and pat his long snout, and you do, carefully stroking the rough fur all the way to his pointy ears, and he even hums deeply when you scratch him behind them.
A dumb little smile grazes your lips, and for a moment you wish he'd be a real man so you could kiss him, share the feeling of joy reverberating through your insides, but he has the head of a wolf and despite your blissed-out state you don't want to come into close contact with those sharp teeth. How he kept them away from your sensitive skin is still a mystery to you, but also nothing you seem to worry too much about.
He gives you a wide lick in response, his languid tongue stroke reaching from your chin all the way to your eyebrow, and you giggle and try to turn your head away, swatting at his head before wiping at the slobber on your skin. A growl like a laugh echoes from him before he shifts on top of you, strong arms braced on either side of your shoulders, his knees bracketed around your hips as he crouches over you, his shins pressing down on your wide open legs. The rough fur of his stomach rubs against your body, sending shivers down your spine.
“Look at it,” he tells you in a deep rumble, and you blink in confusion before your eyes move lower, and you see it.
It being his cock. It's huge. Bright red with a tapered tip and the hint of a bulbous protrusion near the base, fully unsheathed from within his furry groin as it lies hot and heavy on your fluttering stomach, reaching all the way up to your ribs. You swallow dryly at the sight of it. Too big. It'll never fit. Your eyes move back up to his face, and you can't help it, you shake your head no as tears gather in the corners of your eyes.
He tilts his head, opening his maw to bare his teeth as he growls low in his throat. “You will take it. You were meant for it. You'll see,” he hisses darkly, nudging his wet nose against your chin before he starts lapping at your wet cheeks as the dam breaks and you realize you may have bitten off more than you can chew. “Shh, don't cry. You'll love it, I'm sure,” he continues between licking at your face, slowly moving his snout lower, teasing down your neck until you feel his hot breath on your quivering breasts. “And I will make it fit, trust me.”
You're not sure that's a good thing. But you can't do anything against it now. You are trapped beneath him. Breathing harder, your chest moving rapidly against his relentless tongue as he laps around your hardening nipples, you try to relax under his ministrations, lying back, closing your eyes, white-knuckling the blanket. He shifts on top of you, keeping his maw near your chest as he lines his hips up with yours.
You feel one of his furry hands slipping between your legs, rubbing over your puffy labia, spreading them, coaxing a quiet moan out of you as one clawed finger dips into your hole. Your eyes flutter open again. He looks up then, watching you out of these black eyes, so intense he seems to stare right into your soul, and when he retrieves his finger, you notice out of the corner of your eye how he grips his big cock, strokes it slowly, before pressing its pointy tip between your folds.
You hold your breath, trying to relax while also bracing for his penetration, your muscles already confused as they are. He pushes in then, slowly, almost carefully, and you feel the stretch as soon as his tip disappears inside you. A groan escapes you when he rolls his hips against you, and more and more of his large cock presses into your tight channel, bullying his way deeper. You're whimpering under his scrutinizing gaze as he watches you closely, seemingly looking for any sign of distress, even though he also doesn't seem to mind it too much as you gasp and yelp in pain whenever he forces another inch into you.
His hands circle your head as he leans over you, his wet nose rubbing at your neck. “You're doing great, little Red,” he huffs into your skin, keeping that slow and steady rhythm of moving his pelvis back and forth. “You can do this. You were made for this.”
You wail in response, turning your head to the side, exposing your neck to him, but also to look away from the beast ravaging you. If you focus your mind on the feel, you can almost imagine being fucked by a very bulky man with a very thick and veiny cock, and the thought makes it a little easier. Squeezing your eyes shut as he squeezes the last inches (or so you hope) of his large member into you, you are quickly overwhelmed by it all.
Quiet sobs fall from your trembling lips. You feel so incredibly full, so stretched, his cock taking up any available space inside you. You can feel the tapered tip pressing against your cervix, poking at it as if wanting to go deeper. It's a strange hurt, a sharp pain that turns into a weird comfort, almost-pleasure, as your muscles clench around the unfamiliar intruder. For now he is just resting there, heavy on top of you, heavy inside of you, but then, he starts moving.
You squeak like a slaughtered pig when he withdraws slowly before slamming his hips back against you, hammering his cock deep into you, forcing his way through your tense muscles. He gives you a moment to breathe between his thrusts, but only for so long, until he repeats the motion, over and over again. A slow drag along your walls, a forceful slam back into your depths, out and in, pause, out and in, pause, and despite the ever repeating rhythm you yelp out every time, surprised all over again by the sharp pain crashing through your body.
And it's not just his tip bullying your deepest points, it's that strange bulb at the base of his cock that nudges against your pussy lips with every deep plunge. What's it called? A knot? You don't know much about the matter, why would you ever be interested in animal anatomy, but you wish you could do a quick google or something to ease your mind at the strange sensations. Not that it would change anything.
He keeps pounding into you, always increasing his pace a little bit, slowly taking away your little breathing breaks, until he is hammering into you with full speed, just like the feral beast that he is, and all you can do is whine and wail and moan and mewl, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but take it. You're squirming beneath him, both trying to get away from his ruthless assault and maybe, possibly, trying to match his rhythm to make it somewhat better for yourself.
His large form looms over you, his low grunts and growls loud in your ear as he nuzzles at your neck, bent over like he is, resting on his elbows, caging you in even further. Your hands shoot up to grip at his fur, and you even raise your twitching legs to steady them as you hook them around his strong thighs. It does help to be able to hold onto him like you do, without any limb moving about bonelessly, and the longer you cling to him, finally meeting his thrusts with snaps of your own hips, it starts to feel really good really fast.
Before you know it, you're arching against him, clawing at his back, gasping and sobbing and panting as the heat gathers inside you, burning through your nerves like wildfire, setting everything ablaze, and every rapid thrust spirals you higher and higher, building up that tension in your stomach that is sure to explode at any second. When it does, you are not ready.
A shrill scream rips from your throat as you press your back into the makeshift bed and stiffen beneath him, your mouth wide open as you squeeze your eyes shut. Warmth spreads inside you, forcing its way past the rapidly pistoning cock pummeling your clenching muscles, and it's like a tidal wave, not soothing as it laps against the shore, but destructive, powerful, all-consuming. It drags you along, threatens to drown you, pulls and pushes you as you lose all control over your convulsing body.
Your orgasm crashes through you with a blinding force, letting you forget anything around as it engulfs you in sparkling lights and mind-numbing bliss. By the time it subsides slowly, you can already feel it building up all over again as he just continues to fuck you in his relentless rhythm, hammering his cock deep into you, grunting on top of you, his maw parted as he growls, slobber glistening on his razor sharp teeth, his tongue hanging out lewdly.
But before he propels you into the next orgasm, he suddenly leans up, propped on his strong arms, licking his furry lips as he stares down at you. You may look up at him out of hooded eyes but you can't really see him, just this large shadow above you, but you do feel when he suddenly leaps back, pulls out with a force that coaxes another scream out of you as he rips his large cock from between your tight muscles. You writhe a little, groaning in frustration as your orgasm deflates, as that empty feeling settles in.
Though you don't have to lament the loss of his cock for too long as he grabs your waist and manhandles (wolfhandles?) you onto your hands and knees, at least he hopes you'd stay like this, but your body is too limp to fully function, and so you sink onto your chest, arms outstretched, face buried in the soft blankets, ass raised on shaking knees, your cloak tangled around you. He grips the fabric, strangling you for a moment before he notices his mistake and rips it right off you, making you gasp.
His large hand is on your head as he turns it to the side. You can feel his wet nose poking at your cheek. “I'm gonna breed you now, little one, and you will take it all, yes?” You blink at his words, so low they're only vibrations through your head, and you wonder if you heard him correctly. “I will pump you full and keep you on my knot until it sticks, you hear me?” Clearly you didn't, because... what now?
You squirm beneath him, trying to get up on your elbows at least, but he holds you down, one large hand on your nape as he shifts behind you, his fur brushing against the backs of your thighs before he nudges his knee between your legs and pushes them further apart. You can sense the heat of his cock before it even gets in contact with your core, and when it pushes inside you again, it feels like a knife cutting through melted butter.
You cry out, arching your back, jerking your hips away, but he is ruthless. He's carved his way into your cunt, but there's still a bit of resistance before you can take him as deep as he desires. He doesn't care though, just pounds into you with hard and fast thrusts, in and out, a rapid rutting accompanied by wild panting, and all you can do is grunt and moan too, your body pushed up and down the blankets. His hands move to your waist, claws digging into your soft flesh as he drags your hips back when he slams his against your cushioned rear, forcing his cock deeper still.
Your head is spinning, your heart thundering, and slowly, the burning pain turns into overwhelming pleasure. He's bullying your cervix again, plunging in and out with languid strokes, and you're so aroused by now that the only sound aside from your heavy breaths is the loud and lewd squelching of your wet cunt. It drives you insane how good it feels to be taken like this, bent over, a primal sensation, to be at the mercy of this beast. In this position, he hits all the right spots, and it's a blinding thing all around you as you come hard, crying out helplessly, hands digging into the blankets and pelts, body spasming against him.
He grunts as you clamp down on his cock, but he doesn't stop, he even moves faster, pushes harder, forces all of him into you. And despite your orgasmic haze you feel his knot pummeling against your entrance, trying to fit through. The pain cuts through the cotton in your mind, sharp little jolts whenever he pushes particularly deep, and when those throbbing bulbs suddenly breach you, as your muscles give way to the rest of his cock, you scream, first in agony at the stretching sensation, then again as another intense orgasm rips through you.
He lets out a low howl when your tight muscles clench around him, milking him for all he's worth, before he continues to snap his hips against your rear, bullying his knot deeper. If you felt full before, you are now close to bursting with how stuffed you are. You can barely breathe between all the gasps and whines, and he doesn't let you either as he continues his shallow rutting, his growls and grunts getting louder, more frantic, his clawed fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you against him.
You are again on the edge of pleasure, floating on that wave that threatens to consume you fully, when he suddenly stills, buried deep within you, tip squished right against your cervix, your cunt holding onto his knot as if you would drown without it, and you feel it throbbing, pulsing, swelling up, stretching you even further. Lightning crashes through the clouds of bliss, making you shriek, hot tears rolling down your already wet cheeks.
And then he grunts, leaning over you, snout nuzzling against your neck, burying in your hair, hot breath fanning over your skin as he gives you those tiny snaps of his hips, and your whole body moves with those motions, connected as you are. You feel him shaking above you before you feel something else deep inside you.
Spurt after spurt of hot cum shoots into the already cramped depths of your cunt, filling up quickly, but with his knot holding it all in place, it has no choice but to look for every nook and cranny it can find, pressing through the tiniest openings, and as it does, you shudder deeply, feeling ready to burst before yet another orgasm rips through you, leaving you shaking like a leaf, as his seed breaches into your womb, more and more, with every twitch of his cock, every pulse of his knot, rope after rope, filling you up until you feel completely bloated.
Somehow you manage to move a hand beneath you, rubbing against your usually soft tummy, but it's tense and hard, rounder than you remember it, and even though you should be terrified by it, you can only lie there and take it, as the wolf man above you leans on you and pumps you as full as he has promised. His breathing eases slowly, yours takes a lot longer to go back to normal, and with your heart thundering inside your heaving chest, you feel utterly exhausted.
He licks his tongue over your wet cheek, a sweet gesture among the feral breeding act, and you can't help but give him a tired smile as you try to look at him out of the corner of your eye. He huffs against you, resting his large head on your back as he relaxes – letting his body work for him, because you can still feel him throbbing, shooting more cum into you at irregular intervals, usually accompanied by a soft little roll of his hips, a little nudge to remind your tight cunt he's still very much stuck inside you.
You wonder how long this will last. But before you can think more about this animal rite, your eyelids grow heavier and the world turns black.
You wake with a shriek as you feel a particularly hard thrust hitting your bruised and probably dilated cervix, the sudden pain crashing through you like the stab of a knife. You're no longer kneeling on the makeshift bed, you're lying on your back on his wide body, legs fallen open over massive furry thighs, two strong arms holding you tightly in their grip, squishing your tender breasts. He's switched you around, huffing and puffing beneath you as he pushes his hips up in a slow but steady rhythm.
“Again?” you groan out, trying to squirm in his tight embrace.
“Not over yet, little one,” he growls into your ear, wet nose poking at your cheek as he shifts beneath you. “More to give.”
“Ugh,” you make, your head lolling back against his shoulder. “But I'm so full...”
“You can take more,” he tells you quietly, a low rumble in the air. One large hand moves down your body, firmly pressing against your bloated stomach. You moan in response, your own hand finding his, trying to feel the same he does.
It's unnatural, that's for sure. That bump should not look and feel like this after only one load of his seed. But then again – he is unnatural, everything about him is. Who knows how special his cum is. Though you really don't want to think about it. You don't want to get pregnant, no matter how hot the whole breeding thing may be in theory. And you probably won't anyway, he's a wolf (man), it sure won't be compatible, right? A groan escapes you as you shake your head to clear it. No more thinking.
Just enjoy his warmth, the way he holds you, moves inside you, locked on his knot for who knows how long. Despite it all it feels comforting, somehow even romantic in a way, to be connected like this. Inhaling deeply, you relax into his soft but also hard body, his fur feels nice against your sweaty skin, the bulging muscles beneath exuding strength and safety. A good bed, that's what he is, with the added bonus of a truly incredible cock that fills you out perfectly, rubbing you just the right way.
Another wave of exhaustion washes over you, alongside what feels like the gentlest orgasm you've ever experienced, a little tingling sensation, a burning deep within, a soothing caress. You sigh contently, closing your eyes, falling deeper into his embrace.
When you come to next, you feel a cold breeze against your face that makes your nose twitch. You seem to move, but your limbs are still out of order, and when you slowly fight your way back into consciousness, you realize you're being carried, with two strong hands holding your thighs up while you are still impaled by that unbelievably resilient cock. A groan escapes you.
“Calm down, little one,” the wolf man grunts into your ear as he walks through the dark basement. “Almost done now.”
“Does it always take this long?” you whisper, leaning into him, your hands grabbing his wrists to steady yourself.
“For the knot to go down? Well, you are particularly arousing, my little Red, I can't help it. Seems you are my special mate after all,” he hums deeply.
You turn your head slightly to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Mate?”
“Yes, mate. I would have made you mine already, but I wanted to see how you can take me.” He inhales deeply as he presses his muzzle into your hair. “You did amazingly,” he adds, lapping at the shell of your ear. You shiver, squirming away with a surprised giggle that travels through your entire body, making you clench around his hard cock.
“Your stamina is really concerning,” you reply with a shake of your head. “Not sure I could do this again...”
“But you're still doing it, holding my knot so perfectly, keeping my seed inside you,” he huffs gently, licking along your neck as he turns around and walks back the way he came.
“Why are you walking in circles?” you wonder, moving your hands to your rounded stomach. Every movement seems to slosh its contents about. A strange feeling for sure.
“I can't keep you on it forever, I am afraid,” he says in a low rumble. “The moon is setting soon...”
You frown at his words, not even wondering what time it is right now, shifting in his hold to better look into his wolfish face. “And then what?”
“I'll turn into a man again,” he tells you, his dark eyes boring into yours. Something warm crashes through you.
“How is that a bad thing?” you blurt out, more excited about that prospect than you probably should be.
He huffs a low laugh, shaking his large head. “You wouldn't want to be near me when I do. It's painful even for me, and to have you stuck to me would be... devastating.”
“Oh,” you make, blinking as you process his words, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
“Let's try our luck, hm?” he then says, carrying you back to the makeshift bed.
He kneels down with you strapped to his chest like a newborn in a carry-on, and when he bends you forward, you brace yourself, resting on your hands and knees as he shifts behind you. His clawed fingers dig into your plump hips as he gives you a tentative nudge of his pelvis. You wince at the sensation, the stretch and pull on your tight muscles sending shivers down your spine.
His sigh is loud and warm around you, and apparently his knot is still too inflated to budge. Inhaling deeply, you buck your rear against him, trying to relax, ease your muscles, force his cock out of you. He seems to notice your efforts and starts pulling gently, grinding his hips, inching himself backwards. You still feel a sharp pain when his knot nudges against your tight entrance from within, but it's slowly widening, giving way, and when he pops out and slips free, you gasp and collapse on the bed, the sudden loss of pressure almost dizzying.
He lets out a low growl, his hand rubbing over your swollen pussy lips as you feel your muscles contracting around nothing, or rather the flood of cum that's bound to spill from your depths if he wouldn't hold his large palm there. He rolls you onto your side, snuggling against your back, before he pulls his fingers away, pressing your thighs together instead. His wet nose rubs against your jaw as he pulls his strong arms around you.
“Rest now, little one. Keep your legs closed,” he whispers, holding you tightly.
You're too exhausted to protest or care about any possible spillage or whatever consequences may result from this unusual coupling. None of it matters. Sleep does sound really good right about now. The wolf man relaxes behind you, his deep breaths slowly turning into loud snores, and you allow yourself to catch some Zs too. You'll need your strength. For something. Hmm. What was it again? Some sort of plan? Doesn't matter. It'll come to you. Now you just want to rest, let your body recover from whatever ordeal this has been. Knotted and bred by a werewolf. Pfft. What a silly dream...
Your eyes fly open as if someone has turned on the light in your empty mind, illuminating everything that's happened earlier. Oh. Oh God. Oh no! Your breaths accelerate, your heart beats faster as you realize where you are, in whose arms you're lying. His snores still echo through the cavernous room, your body molded to his larger frame, his arms tight around you.
Carefully you wriggle your way out of his embrace, listening closely to his rumbling sounds, but he seems too far gone to notice your frantic escape. You manage to slip from under his arms, your body aching when you move it, but you fight through the discomfort and slowly stand up on shaking legs. Immediately you feel something wet and sticky dripping down your thigh, and a quick touch to your bloated stomach tells you, you are still filled to the brim with werewolf cum. Fuck. This can't be happening.
Turning around, you see the furry beast slumbering away peacefully, his large body moving with every thundering snore. Once you got your bearings, you start looking around the room until you find some clothes. Not yours though, but a big plaid shirt that you slip into. It reaches almost to your knees, so it'll have to do. When your eyes fall on the red cloak next to the makeshift bed, you hesitate, but then you leave it behind. Let him have a small remembrance of your special night.
At least you find your shoes, and once you're ready to leave, you throw a last glance back at the monster. He's still fast asleep, and you almost regret having to leave, but you can't just live in some cave or basement with a werewolf, letting him pump you full of cum to carry his pups or whatever it is he expects of you, no matter how mind-blowing the experience has been.
Biting your lip, you turn around and try to find a way out, and surprisingly enough, he didn't lock you in. After climbing a set of stairs, you find yourself in a small cabin, and when you try the front door, it just opens. Stepping outside into the night (which surprises you, you were almost certain you were stuck on his damn knot for a day or more, or so it felt), you fight the shivers, snuggling into the large shirt that smells like him, a comforting scent that doesn't make it easier to leave.
But you do, trying to find your way through the darkness. The moon is nowhere to be seen, it may just be a cloudy night, or it really was close to setting, you can't be sure, and frankly, it doesn't concern you anymore. You gotta move on, get back to the house, ask someone to call you an Uber...
As you suddenly realize you have no idea where your purse is, you stumble onto a better lit path, but the sight of what awaits you at the end makes you shiver deeply. It's a graveyard.
1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7
You've come to a (literal) dead end. Or have you?
No, just keep going...
But you can always go back to the beginning and choose another door. Back in the hallway, here are your options:
Reach for the door closest to you.
Go through the door a few feet on your right.
Notes: I'd like to thank @moongurl95 for planting this idea into my head! Thank you so much for sharing your open-ended dream, it really inspired this whole adventure, but particularly this part! I hope I could fill in the blanks! <3
You are invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, promising a night full of surprises. Are you ready for this adventure?
GENERAL WARNINGS/SPOILERS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Sex with strangers! Knife kink! Slimes and tentacles! Werewolves! Vampires! (READ ON AO3!)
A/N: Welcome to this CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series!
Please enjoy this "prologue" that will lead you into a night you won't forget! After setting the scene, you will have three choices as to what happens next! (You can also read these chapters in succession, whatever you like best!)
Staring up at the large house, you realize you have no idea where you are. You've lived here your whole life and yet you've never seen this particular house. You'd clearly remember it. It's too fancy not to notice. Old. Dark woods and black metal elements. Gothic almost. Definitely not your typical house, not around these parts.
You'd figured it might just be a themed hotel that had its grand opening only recently, hence why you've never heard of it before. The invitation came a few days ago, and quite frankly, at the best time possible. You didn't have plans for Halloween, and you were not in the mood to open your door to random kids that evening either, so being called away onto the countryside, to this fancy place even, and all of it for free? Hell yeah.
Your Uber driver had been a little confused by the address, but somehow still found the hidden place. And now you look upon the large entrance doors, and despite being alone, you are intrigued. This is an adventure, a step away from your boring day-to-day life. Sure it was all a little ominous, with this mysterious invitation and all, but you figured you've been randomly selected maybe, perhaps won something for the first time in your life? You should probably be more suspicious, but then again, why not?
You are young, this is Halloween, why not live a little, right?
Fumbling the sturdy envelope out of your purse and the thick paper out of its sheath, you take another glance at the printed words:
Welcome to a night you'll never forget!
Come and enjoy an evening full of surprises!
You are invited to party, drink and eat like you've never had before!
Your adventure awaits!
Stay till the morning breaks, if you can.
Come in costume. Stay for free.
Happy Halloween!
You chose to dress like Little Red Riding Hood, mainly because you had the short skirt, the blouse and the red cape from your last costume party, and you couldn't be bothered to buy a new one. Putting your hair into braided pigtails added to the innocence you tried to portray, and who knows, maybe you'll find a nice guy in a wolf costume to match your freak? You don't expect much, but that's usually the best thing to do anyway. It can only get better then.
Yet when you enter the house, its windows lit up by bright colorful lights, the low bass of the music making the floorboards vibrate, you realize this might just be your typical Halloween party. From the lobby you can take a look into the adjacent rooms, fancy sitting rooms with fireplaces, already filled to the brim with people in costumes.
You see a group of masked serial killers, from Ghostface to Michael Myers, there's even Freddy Krueger and the guy in the hockey mask whose name you always forget. The sight of them would normally scare you, but these guys stand around a beer pong table, and whenever they throw the ball into a cup, they lift their masks and expose their rather normal looking faces to drink it, acting like the frat boys they probably are.
In another corner you see a bunch of girls, cheerleaders, you'd say, all dressed very skimpy, but you are indoors (and you are dressed a little similar also, so you shouldn't judge), but seeing a sexy ladybug next to a sexy office lady, laughing with a sexy cow girl (as in cow girl, literally, with black and white spots and very distinctive udders), it does look a little ridiculous. Well, at least they all found their crowd.
As you turn your head to look around more, walking up to the large staircase leading to the upper floors, you are suddenly startled by a waitress carrying a tray with little shot glasses filled with a green liquid. “Oh,” you make, as you take a step back to not walk into her.
She smiles at you, her eyes sparkling under the light of the large chandelier above you, holding out the tray. “Welcome to the mansion!” she tells you. “Please, have a complimentary drink!”
You look at the shots and hesitate. Looks like jello shots. Vodka and gelatin never sounded appealing to you, but you told yourself to enjoy the night, let loose for once, so you grab one small glass and give the waitress a nod. She quickly hurries off again, focusing on another group of people filtering into the house. Looking around, you try not to dwell too much on the drink you slowly put to your lips. There's a strangely earthy smell to it. Ugh, probably some herbal liqueur to add to the green coloring of it.
Inhaling deeply, you tilt your head back and gulp down the shot in one go, feeling it slide down your throat, as slimy and unpleasant as you would have expected. But it does give you a little buzz, and that's a start, isn't it? Clearing your throat, you look around for the waitress or a place to discard your empty shot glass, and suddenly she's back, picking the glass out of your hand, gently nudging you further into the house.
As you enter one of the sitting rooms, you find yourself among more groups of people, laughing and chatting and having fun, their costumes ranging from vastly unimaginative (one guy just wears a white T-shirt that says This is my costume) to extremely elaborate and fancy. Leave it to the Goths to really celebrate this day. You admire their beautiful gowns and make-up a little longer as you feel your stomach churning slightly. You should have eaten more before you came here, you realize, but luckily you then come across a large banquet table filled with food and drinks.
There's a big bowl of chips, but there are also a couple of three-tiered platters filled with little canapés, and you decide to try the more fancy stuff first. As you put various things on your napkin (things you've never seen before and couldn't possibly name), you look around the nicely decorated rooms. They do look old and out of a different time period, even the furniture looks as vintage as it can get. There's a lot of dark woods and wallpapers with intricate designs, also countless ancient looking paintings of landscapes and people in period clothing, and to make it look really halloweeny the whole space is plastered in fake-looking cobwebs, with plastic spiders and bats hanging from the ceiling and walls.
The lighting is different in each room, from bright green to dark red, flowery pink and icy blue. You admire the work that went into decorating the place like this. You've certainly never been to a party like this before. It looks perfect. The food is good, the music isn't too loud or obnoxious and fits the vibe pretty good (you recognize a few horror film soundtracks), it seems like a good Halloween party. You don't regret coming here at all, though the social aspect still feels a little daunting. All these people stand in groups, laughing together, and you seem to be the only one who came alone.
You don't normally mind it that much, being alone, most of your friends had other plans or were too busy to indulge in some childish little party. It sucks to be in that age group where half of your acquaintances try to be the adults they supposedly are now, while the other half can't let go of their youth, but even those thought this party seemed lame, and as you are right in the middle, unsure where you fit, you decided to just go alone, hoping you'd meet someone here.
Maybe a bit more alcohol will help you get closer to the other guests. Shoving something baked into your mouth, you turn to the drinks. A bowl of fruit punch calls your name, but then you see the beer cans and grab one of those instead. You already drank that ominous jello shot, you shouldn't risk whatever was swimming inside that punch bowl. Cracking open the can, you take a swig, feeling the refreshing beverage rush down your esophagus, but as soon as it fills your stomach, another churn goes through you. Then a cramp.
Oh dear. Leave it to your sensitive guts to ruin a good night out. Putting down the drink and food, you press a hand to your belly and turn back, looking around for the bathroom you clearly need now. You push past people dancing to the music or standing in clusters, laughing and chatting, you even pass the occasional love or horn dog unable to hide their desires as they make out right there in the middle of the room, until you find a long hallway. You'd expect a long line in front of the bathroom as is usually the case at these parties, but you are the only one in the hallway.
It's lined with intricate wooden doors, left and right, and one at the end. No sign or anything to indicate what's behind them. Feeling another cramp, you let out a groan and stare from door to door.
Where to go?
You now have these choices:
Do you...
...reach for the door closest to you?
...go through the door a few feet on your right?
...walk all the way to the last door that seems to lead outside?
ALL PARTS: 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7
End notes: By the way, justice for our boy Jason Voorhees, of course I remember his name, poor reader just isn't focused on serial killers that much. Or is she? :3
So while I have been radio silent for a while now, I haven't been completely unproductive these last weeks (months). As I mentioned in my last update, I have been working on a new story (see below) as well as on new chapters/content for Infatuated.
And I've made two decisions:
I will upload the first chapter of the new story sometime in November, here on Tumblr, while the rest of the chapters will only be available on AO3.
(This does depend on how many people will see/read/support it, but I am expecting the worst outcome due to its themes and because it features original characters, and we all know Tumblr is not the place for that, unfortunately, so that's what I thought is best for that kind of story.)
While I have uploaded new Infatuated chapters in bulk/seasons in the past, I will now just throw out chapters when I feel like it/when I have them. I've been sitting on two finished chapters for a while, and as they don't necessarily add to the plot I wanted to throw into the second part of Season Three, they can exist on their own and for your reading pleasure.
(Wait, there's a third? Yes.) Before I do that, though, I will upload the one-shot I've teased about so many times. No date yet, but it'll probably be out before the new story.
(Remember that I will upload anything Infatuated related to @animasolaoriginal - so if you'd like to be notified when I do, consider following me there as well?)
(You said TWO decisions, can you not count? No, I hate math.) I also have a little Halloween surprise coming up. I've started this little bonus chapter almost a year ago, so I finally sat down and finished it. Stay tuned for that!
And that's what up! Thank you for following along and waiting so patiently! I hope you'll enjoy the stuff I'll put out soon!
(And now, see below the cut for a sneak peek at that new story.)
These are the tags and summary:
Nine chapters and about 50k words, so much fluff and even more smut, and I am dying to share this with you, and while I said (as usual) I want to finish it first before publishing, well, that is how I roll I guess. Also the first nine chapters do work on their own, so it won't be as bad if I take an uploading break once they're up... right? (In the not impossible case that I won't find the motivation/inspiration/mood to write more in the meantime, that is.)
Anyway, thank you for your interest!
Hope to see you soon!
Thank you to those who've reached out (and checked in), I appreciate you and your interest in what I do very much! (And I'm sorry I didn't get back to you individually, my social skills are non-existent these days, as they have been for months...)
I'll keep it "short".
Unfortunately, there will be no Kinktober submissions from me this year. I'm really sorry. It's partially because I'm visiting family at the moment (and didn't plan ahead as usual), and mostly because I've had a bit of a crisis of kink lately, which, as an asexual writer, happens sometimes.
I have however worked on Season Three of Infatuated (2.5 out of 5 chapters are done), I've also finished that one-shot some of you may be waiting for. And because it was really hard for me to write anything sexual/kinky, I feel it's very tame and unusually fluffy, but maybe it's something you're still interested to read.
I don't know when I'll be able to upload though, as the Internet situation is a bit tricky here, but we'll see. Hang in there!
Additionally, I'm currently writing a new story that's also unusually tame and fluffy (there's still a lot of smut, don't worry, I found my proverbial sex drive and these characters have been fueling it). But, since this story is a bit controversial (read under the cut for why that is) because I cannot for the life of me write normal couples, I'm debating whether to share more or to even upload it here on Tumblr, it may become an AO3 exclusive.
Anyway, so you see, I have been writing, and even if I still have a lot more stories to eventually continue, I couldn't help myself and start a new project, as one does. At least I've been writing and it's been fun, and once the fluff phase has passed, I'm sure I'll be back in kink territory.
Thank you for your patience!
Read below if you dare! (And please don't hate me afterwards!)
My newest story is centered around a man and a girl, and there's already two issues there. The man is 35 and the girl is 17.
(Goodbye to those who don't like these kinds of stories. I don't blame you, just kindly move on, no harm done!)
Additionally (the second issue), the man and girl are actually father and daughter. (Don't leave yet, please, fictional incest has always been a fascinating thing to me and I always wanted to explore it. Maybe you can also give it a chance?)
And as I said above, their story is really fluffy, a comfort fic if you look past the taboo side of things, and these characters have become really dear to me because they are so normal with their own little issues, and it's been a blast to explore them, especially since their story is so far away from anything BDSM.
Of course there's also a lot of plot and drama, to make/keep it interesting. I am still writing on it and for once I want to take my time with it (I think I've said that before, but oh well), so I cannot tell you when I'll start sharing this new story.
For now I'm interested who would even read a fluffy/smutty father/daughter incest story. If there's enough interest, I might share more.
