꒰ ⟡ 𝒔𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 : a roadkill retrieval leads boyd to fixate on a fawn-like young woman . 𝟤.𝟤𝗄 words .
꒰ ⟡ 𝒏𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 : purely self indulgent . he’s so pitiful nd i couldn’t help myself ᵎ this was also so fun to write :3
The day’s air was fierce and lain heavy, fevered within the heart of Miami. Boyd was accustomed to the swelter, to the solar fervor that slickened through his truck and left him sticky with his own perspiration. He was familiar with how the heat danced upon the pavement in stretches of road, the shimmers induced by the bent sun-rays that seemed to make the asphalt sparkle. What Boyd was not inured to, on this particular suffocating, sun-soaked afternoon, was the sight of you — a girl, streaming with tears beside the corpse of what he presumed was to be another disposal call.
During a usual roadkill removal, he would have just handily halted his bright, heinously yellow truck and flicked on his hazards. He would have sheathed on his gloves and shoveled up whatever bone-bared and bloodied carcass that lay strewn before it could sizzle onto the street. But not with you, sobbing in a small sundress, shelling out tears for an innocent animal that struck a car in a cursed second. To Boyd, it was a provocative sight. A sweet, fragile young woman, gentle enough to be teary-eyed with terror, all whilst bowed over in a tiny garment that twirled around your thighs. He could already feel his cock thickening in the confines of his camo cargo shorts.
Boyd swerved onto the shoulder of the road, his forehead sheened with sweat from below his ballcap. The gravel and dirt crunched below his boots as he beared away from his truck. Your big, sad eyes met the hazel ones beyond his glasses before they steered back to the defenseless, dead little doe. The chestnut-colored fur of the poor fawn was slick with crimson and coating the surface of the street as you sniffled at the sight.
“He died…” You acquiesce with solemnity. Boyd fights the urge to smile at your nescience of the situation. Instead, he nods with silent lament and saunters closer.
Your gaze turns to him, his form. His tan shirt, half unbuttoned in a crooked fit — loose on the abdomen, and taut over broad shoulders. Your eyes dip to the contrast of a pair of black rubber gloves that he is now retrieving from his pocket, and Boyd’s sin-stained thoughts prove substantiated in this instance — you’re ignorant of sanitation officers and their task of animal roadkill removal.
“A- are you gonna bury him?” Your lips tremble before they're innocently bitten with curiosity.
Boyd feels himself twitch, his balls growing tender with want. The straps of your sundress are slipped down, revealing your bikini top with a shimmer of sweat beneath it, and he's left salivating. He has to force his eyes to strip themselves back to the baby deer’s corpse.
“No... no, sweetheart. Imma shovel ‘im.” He sighs, pointing a thick finger to the ID that marks his chest. "It's my job.”
“Oh...” You nod once, before your body shivers in a hiccup. You can’t stop slickening your cheeks, leaving them puffed and flushed with emotion. You stumble on the road’s shoulder, your feet fidgeting as you try to sway out of his way. “I’m— I’m sorry, sir... he— he had been moving when I stopped. I felt–” Your throat cracks on another cry, and your body shudders at the mere acknowledgement, “I felt him stop breathing. Petted him.. as he passed.”
Boyd’s heart does sunder slightly. Your profession of such profound empathy seems to splice a few cells off his cardiac tissue. He sighs softly, frowning, his brows furrowing towards the deceased fawn’s form.
“You did a real kind thing… stayin’ with him like that.” His voice is smooth, and almost soothing to your tears. “Most people’ll jus’ drive along. But you got a real soft heart, don’tcha?” He smiles gently, his head tilting down towards yours.
“Was— was jus’ on m’way t’the beach and saw him dying a- alone and–” You make the mistake of boring down at the tiny carcass, and your blathering tapers off in a tiny blubbered sob.
Boyd finds himself hovering closer, and a sweat-soaked palm makes contact with your upper arm as he attempts solace. You tense, eyes glancing up to catch his mouth quirking up. “Hey— It’s okay, baby.”
Baby. The odd grip and petname perturbs you slightly. You attempt to not bristle at the stench of tuna that permeates through his breath, or how his touch beats into your flesh like boiled syrup — sticky with something thickened and steeped dark. You nod, stilling in his grip.
“...Yeah. S- sorry. I just... I feel sad.” You stammer out again, slipping away from him and attempting typical banter to avoid any brash behavior. He sees your apprehension, and only then does he shuffle away to grab his shovel.
He briefly imagines that were a normal man, he would’ve softened your sorrows with the press of his palm — but the sinister is already swathing over the sweet notion, and the sugar is drowned to the thought of your sobs if you were stretched and splintered on his cock instead. If you were to be smote with his shovel, shunted into his truck and sheltered, frightened, and his forever. Boyd is a sick fuck, and you’re just a sweet, delicate little doe. He knows that. It’s a blissful and bruising comparison to how fate has spawned his introduction to your innocuous form. You’re simply prey, about to be spattered and split open like the roadkill he removes from the street.
“Yea..” Boyd settles on a sigh when he strides back, staring down at your sandals before pivoting the metal to scrape beneath the corpse. “Poor fella. ‘Lil Bambi.” He murmurs, his mustache twitching as he tries not to smirk at your sniffle. He’s already planning to stalk you when he steers away to toss the carcass into his trunk.
You don’t stay; instead, stepping back towards your car, stealing one last look at the stain that lies upon the street. You attempt to not dwell on the way you can still feel his sweat that clings to your arm. Slimy and unsavory, you scrunch your nose at the sensation. For a moment, you steel yourself before continuing your traverse to the sea. His seediness has stowed away your sadness; your emotions have turned to discontent and timidity when you finally peel away. It’s unbeknownst to you that Boyd has scrawled your license plate down on a piece of scratch paper. You’re unaware of his truck, which, although miles off and nearly out of sight, still maunders in surveillance until your vehicle approaches the shoreline. He passes by the parking lot. There’s no reason to pull in when he’s already preparing himself to pry through your window when the evening ensues.
The day comes to a close when the sky bleeds bright. The Floridian night envelops like sticky nectar; the swelter has turned sweet with the breeze, and Miami’s horizon is streaked lurid in the mango-swirled clouds of sunset. The heat unfurls within the cooling air when Boyd finds himself stalking you down. In a few strokes of his keyboard, your personal details were produced from the letters and numbers of your plate. The white pages and data broker sites blessed Boyd with direct information all about his new little fawn. He’s enlightened by your full name, and enamoured by such basic intel: your age, your address, and who abides alongside you— and, by the stars’ favor, he’s delighted to discover that you’re living all on your lonesome.
The painted sky soon dissolves, and the darkness is now able to conceal his determination and derangements. Boyd discreetly parks a distance away to properly dip into the bushes beside your small bungalow without notice. And fuck, he can already see you in the honey-soft shimmer of lamplight. You’re in what he deems to be a scandalous, lacy little slip, scooping ice cream into a dish on this summer-heated evening. You just happen to be woefully unperceptive to the pervert that peers past your windowpane.
You lick the spoon of its sweet cream, and Boyd finds the sight to be purely salacious when you incidentally stain your chin with a sheen of white. He’s forced to shove his fist against his mouth, biting it before he moans involuntarily. His beady gaze follows how your hips sway, crossing the room to sit on the couch and pressing play on some television program. The colors of the screen spire over your face in the safety of your home, slipping spoonful after spoonful into the wet expanse of your mouth. It’s an entirely simple, painfully innocent sight – but not for the sick, paltry excuse of the man that stands outside your house, sexualizing every swallow of your throat. Boyd wonders if your soft pussy is slick right now. He wonders how you taste, how tight you’d be on his girth; how you would probably attempt to fight him off if he shattered the glass of the window and forced himself inside. How frightened would you actually be? Would the terror cause your tight little cunt to clamp up? Would he be able to make you cum? The sickness sears in his gut further and makes him leak into his boxers.
Boyd is well aware of his blight. His rancidity. It’s unveiled in fresh spoils, blooming similarly to the freckles that seep through his flesh. He’s diseased like prion, and it’s nestled deep within the fissures of his brain. He’s ruin and rot, degeneracy personified, peering through the glass panel as his dick swells up.
In an accidental spill, a few drips of ice cream begin slickening down your chest, pooling down your sternum and staining under your gown. Your fingertips gather at the sweetness between your breasts, and it’s the final catalyst for Boyd to shove his free hand down his shorts and clamber his cock out. His chubbed cheeks are blushed hot with shame and sheer desperation. He’s entirely diseased in such debauchery, and his slit is already drooling precum at the view of the pretty and precious young girl that he’s now stalked. He swipes his pleading, red and puffy tip, and his hips twitch, his bottom lip catching between his teeth at his own touch. He recalls how soft your skin was against his palm, how somberly you’d spoken to him. He can't help but think of you as so alike to that sweet fawn – myopic to the malvolence of nature. Of the massacres humanity introduces onto unsuspecting, kind little creatures.
“My— mmh! My Bambi…” Boyd pitifully whines into his hand gripping the base of his wet cock, beginning to stroke his throbbing length to the sight of you, his sultry, darling doe. The veins of him already protrude, pulsing with blood as the burning in his belly swirls down to his balls. He has been hardening for you since he’d first seen you wistful on the wayside, and he’s been anticipating his orgasm nearly all day. He squeezes his dick in a sharp seize, feeling the spike of heat that shoots up his spine. His knees shake and his shoulders tense. Sweat trickles down his forehead, soaking the sides of his glasses. Boyd pants, the jerks of his fist getting harder, forcing his heavy balls to slap up with every rough, stinging tug he holds on his tender flesh. The friction of his palm and the fabric of his shorts that sticks to his sack makes his tip slicken further, faster, before the heat curls and hikes up his cock.
“Baby– m’baby… F— fuck! He pants, pathetic with perversion before his balls tense. His cheeks tinge red hot, and with heaved breaths and a final stroke, his slit begins to spurt out hot, thick streams of semen against his hand. It stains warm and wet on his shirt and shorts, before dripping into the grass below. Boyd is left gasping into his palm, and the spurts of his pleasure are streaked onto his skin. He then begins to smear himself below the windowsill to clean the slick off, his cum now coating the side of your house.
He can smell the pungency of his own perspiration and musked orgasm. It corrodes his senses like the putrefaction of the dead and decomposed that he’s seasoned to handle. His mouth is parted with pure bliss, his mustache damp with his own saliva as staring eyes remain fixed on your cozy, couch-clad form. His regular roadkill pickup today has raged itself into rapacity. An obsession, and a craving for an endearing, yet now endangered, creature as yourself. You’ve cracked the cowardly, confidence-lacking man open. His recollection of your cries protrude his eardrums like a caress, a console. Your teary eyes are embedded into the forefronts of his skull, burned behind his corneas to carry him back to your first encounter.
Boyd whines out as he touches his tender, now softening cock, into oversensitivity, prodding at his pink tip before fumbling his length away back into his cum-stained shorts. There's no doubt that he will return to collect information on your routines whilst rutting his fist until he cums. For the foreseeable future, he will conduct his surveillance until he is able to strike and sequester a sweet, little Bambi for himself.
listen we all know and love older dean but..what about younger dean- like s1 or even before that? Like just imagine him being soo toxic and such a playboy while youre trying so hard to tame him and keep him!! I need some toxic angsty headcanons idk it’d be so hot like hear me out
| dean winchester who's a nasty bastard !!
you’re always a drooling mess before you even see it.
you don’t mean to obsess over it– impressively thick, deliciously veiny, practically perfect in your wanton eyes– but you can’t help yourself. oral fixation to the extreme. it’s even better when he decides to exploit you for it.
he’s got his hands entangled in your hair, forcefully tipping your head back as he shoved himself into your mouth. doesn’t matter if you can take it or not, because you will. you always do. your mouth is slick with saliva, pretty much salivating as you begin to feel the stretch.
“fuck– can’t help yourself, can you?” he grins, thumbs ever-so gently pulling at the corners of your mouth to try and pry it a little more open. some fucked-up dental exam. “damn fuckin’ whore.. and all f’me.”
your whine comes out muffled, almost gagging on him as you try to agree with a timid head nod. he’s right, so fucking right, with your cunt clenching around nothing. meanwhile, your mouth is full and aching, and your feel yourself grow wetter in anticipation of him ruining you. and when he shoves himself further into your mouth, no warning of course, your first instinct to gag is replaced with your throat fluttering excitedly around him.
the underside? of his cock weighs heavy on your tongue, all jagged veins and swelling, and you suck just enough to make him gram, sucking air through his teeth in a tight hiss. he grips your hat, fingers scraping at your scalp, pushing you further and further down his cock. your nose is buried in the hair at the base, the musky scent that make you drip even harder on the dirty bathroom tile. spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and his cock, falling in time with your tears onto your tits.
“y’see how easy it is to behave?” he rolls his hips slightly, but fics your throat like he’s got something to prove. something to beat out of you. “you ain’t done ‘til i say you’re done.”
you hum, eliciting soft vibrations around his girth, the only way you can demonstrate how much you love this– the stretch as your mouth struggles to stay accustomed to his size, the control he has on you, using you like a ventriloquist’s doll. you claw at his sweat, fingers occasionally slipping from sweat. your bare cunt grinds on the floor, cold emanating from it like a burn to the skin, and you shiver. it’s embarrassing, shameful, how you behave, and yet, you don’t stop.
it’s worse when his boot presses down, hard, between your legs, your thighs, the midsole catching against your clit. you whimper around his cock, almost dropping him entirely from your mouth, but the strong hands in your hair keep you up. “uh-uh-uh,” he mutters, and through blurring vision, you can make out a grin that’s formed from twisted amusement. “you’re gonna fuck yourself this way– like the desperate bitch you are.”
and so, you do. there’s nothing else, that’s why, except to make a fool of yourself on some shitty bathroom floor, humping against material that smells of leather, gunpowder and blood. he’s too busy fucking into your throat to care about your discomfort. but you’re still getting off in this way– you can feel the undeniable, tell-tale signs of your orgasm coming, ready to aid you in your journey to a sexual rock bottom.
“aw, gonna cum, just from this?” he taunts, everything seeming so cruel and sweet about it. like he loves you, but really, he loves seeing you like this. “fuckin’ ridiculous, y’know that?”
you nod mindlessly, agreeing with whatever comes out his mouth because, hey, you’re not actually listening– yes yes i will do whatever you want whatever you say– unable to focus on anything but that white-hot build of your orgasm. and when it does hit, it’s nothing short of brutal. it’s like being drenched in cold water, that nauseating shiver that consumes you whole as your cunt convulses around nothing. you taste warm cum on your tongue, though, fresh and salty. at least you got something out of this.
he? well, he just smirks, almost politely. wolf in sheep’s fucking clothing.
he's there for you when you finally break down about all the boys (because they're anything but men) you've dated, let fuck you; cry about your daddy issues that linger like a wound that will never heal; sob until you can't breathe and everything just hurts— all because you feel like no one can love you.
and, yeah, it's embarrassing for you, to break down to none other than the world's most infamous and feared super, but he doesn't laugh. nor does he belittle you, like expected. in fact, he does nothing; except for rubbing your back, letting you get it all out of your system— things that ahve gone unsaid for so long, the dam finally breaking— because he knows (and you know) that if he does anything else, someone will get hurt.
he doesn't need to knows this, and yet, he does. jagged, missing pieces of the puzzle that he calls "baby girl" and "sweetheart" are finally coming together, and he's seething. how could someone— some people, really— do that to a girl like you?
"oh, sweetheart. i'll never treat you like that, y'hear? anyone does that to you again.. well, i'd have no problem fucking beating 'em to death for you. just gotta ask."
his voice low, buttering you up until you’re melting underneath his touch; just the way he needs you. “that’s it, doll,” everything he says is like gospel to you, each syllable its own prayer that matches beat for beat with his thrusts. “god, don’t you take me so well?” he’s been doing this a long time, knows how to work a woman, but he knows you’re different to them— you need a little something. his eyes are hellbent on watching you, studying you, learning every move you make, even down to the smallest of twitches. he savours the filthy whines and whimpers from your lips like they’re fine whiskey.
eyes dark, mouth open a little— a shark sniffing out blood— and no matter your protests, he keeps going. “so perfect, aren’t you?” a question attached to the end, a honey-rich smirk on his face very time you nod. “good girl.” and, yeah, your legs are shaking, your nerves fried to nothing, but he’s insatiable, fucking you deeper, harder, anything to make you his. “look at you,” he mutters, hand at the base of your throat. one wrong move and.. snap. “made for me, sweetheart.” only for him to kiss you instead; a kiss only for you, the only goddess he needs.
let’s pretend i totally haven’t posted any the boys content in months, WHOOPS—
perv!dbf jack abbot who hears that you're still a virgin and decides to take matters into his own hands. he frowns and murmurs, "baby, we gotta practice... you're a jumpy little thing, can't have you not knowing what to do when you finally get down to it, hmm?"
makes you watch porn in bed with him on his ipad. turns the volume up so it's echoing through his room. says gross stuff like "look how good she's taking him, sweetheart. don't you wanna be just like her? papa wants you to be that talented one day." and "you hear those slutty little moans, baby? yeah? i bet a good cock's gonna make you sound like that too."
asks you about your gag reflex. offers to help you train it
when he notices you getting squirmy out of the corner of his eye, he clears his throat and his hand snakes over to rub you over your sleep shorts :( thick fingers curling against your clit, stroking in circles against the warm fabric, "shh, sweetheart... m just teachin you how it feels to have a man touch you here, okay? you're a big girl, you gotta get used to it."
he slides your own hand over to guide your palm over his bulge, groaning and pressing it down when his hips buck: "mmm, fuck, y'feel that? ... why're you shaking? don't be scared, honey."
summary: Ben wasn't here for the pleasure of Herogasm, this time. Followed by Butcher, Hughie and you, he's searching the TNT Twins, trying to make them his next victims. Though, the idea disappears from his mind when he is accidentally hit by a supe's power, making him all warm and needy.
cw: +18. mdni. the boys member!reader. herogasm!setting. dub-con themes (drugged, sex pollen). dirty-talking. praise. slight jerking off. mocking / cursing. needy!ben. unprotected piv. clit stimulation. body fluids play (licking it). reblog is a creator’s best-friend, thank you!
One second of inattention. It’s all Ben had. One single little moment of looking away while the Supes around flowed through sex, drugs, and sins. One stupid motherfucker trying to show his powers around; losing control because of the alcohol in his system before America’s little soldier is hit in the back. Nothing should have happened, because it’s Soldier boy, right? Though he felt anger course through his body, turning his head away with furrowed eyebrows before the Supe runs away and Ben decides to let it go.
That was before the warmth ran through his body, before his thoughts became all jumbled and the blood inside his brain glided all the way down to his fat cock. The sensation made Ben stop in his tracks; a gasp escaped him and surprise took over his facial expression, because what the fuck was happening? He looked around to realize that fucking Butcher, Hughie and you are not behind him anymore. He couldn’t give the slight fuck about that, anyway.
His feet stumbled against the cocaine-covered carpet as he pushed the people around, not caring about them or the ruckus he was causing at that moment. Because all he could think about was get his cock out and stick it far up someone’s hole. All his thoughts were about a sweet, slick-dripping, tight little hole around his cock, wetness coating his balls, curses running out of his mouth.
Ben can feel all his muscles, his skin, his organs on fire now, making him groan out loud before he pushes himself inside a room.
He expects to be alone, to take care of his little problem by himself before he hears a voice entering the room behind him, closing the door. “Ben, you good?” It’s your voice. You, the cute little ass of the big bad The Boys team; all curves, all lacey bra spilling from your top, those big doe eyes looking at him like he’s America’s Greatest Hero (isn’t he?). It’s like you’re just waiting for permission to come bounce down on his cock and honestly? He wouldn’t mind that right now. Now his thoughts are filled with the probable smell of your cunt.
His ass falls down on the water-bed of the room, thighs spread, showing the bulge inside his pants. It’s waiting for attention, for a hand, a mouth, a hole. “Don’t y’want to ride my cock?” He just replies to you, and your eyes widens. “Excuse me?” The words coming out of your mouth makes him smirk, like he expected that reaction.
Though, the cockiness evaporates when a new surge of warmth runs through his body and his head rolls to the ceiling, showing the expense of his neck. It’s sweaty, Adam’s apple gulping a few times before you can hear the tiniest of whine escape him. You have no idea what is happening to him but you pity it. Ben hiss finally, before one of his hands moves to undo the zip of his military green trousers, not caring about the fact that you are in front of him—analyzing his movement, feeling your heart beating faster in your chest. You should leave, but your feet are stuck to the floor.
A gasp of your own echoes in the room when his hand pushes the black brief boxers down enough to free his heavy, leaking cock and ballsacks. His shaft immediately twitches in his fingerless gloved hand as he wraps it around the base, giving himself a few pumps with whimpers escaping him. His hazel eyes lifts up to look at you. “Got hit by some fuckass power and m’thinking with my cock now.” He grunts, squeezing his shaft in his hand while jerking himself off, hoping to evaporate some burning from his body. But it doesn’t seem to work.
“Need your cunt—fuck, just come sit on it.” You could walk away, let him take care of that by himself, acting like you didn’t see anything. But hearing the slight begging tone in his voice is enough to make you pull down on the fabric of your panties from under your skirt, letting it fall and pool at your ankles before throwing it away with a foot. Ben curses under his breath when he sees that, his grip tightening on his cock; the pinkish tip leaking pre-cum in flows, a vein pulsating when it scratches against the rough material of his glove.
“Yeah, that’s a good girl. Come sit on that cock, yeah?” He summons you closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing at all the thoughts he has on your sweet cunt. Ben can feel his muscles aching, his cock begging to fill something up, his brains having vivid flash of folding you in two on that fucking watery bed. You don’t even try to tease him, because you’re sure he’ll make you pay when he gets back to himself.
You move, he lets go of his cock as you straddle his hips. Both of his fingerless gloves move to grope at the fat of your ass to pull you closer. “Y’fucking want that cock that bad, uh? Didn’t even try to say no to me.” He groans quietly as he ends up wrapping one hand on his hard, leaky cock again. “I—I just want to help you.” The words escape you, and they make Ben chuckle because he sure as Hell doesn't believe you. You feel the slight slap of his tip against your clit before he rolls himself between your folds.
There, wetness pooling at your hole waits for him. “Sweet little cunt, already so wet f’me.” He grunts, feeling feverish, hips trying to rut against yours already. “Please, Ben—” You whine at him, “Please, don’t tease me.” He hums at the words, hazel eyes looking up at your face when you say that. He wants to be an asshole; it’s in his nature. He wants to tease, to mock, to make you beg. Well, he should want to do that, but Ben finds himself more impatient than you seem to be. So he nods his head, rubbing the tip of his heavy cock against your sloppy hole before you feel the push.
His bulbous head stretches the gummy spots of your cunt as he jerks his hips up, free hand grabbing at your hips to lower you down. Your hands automatically go for his shoulders, nails burying into the thick fabric of his Supe suit. You can feel his shaft molding your walls to fit perfectly around his cock; you feel it twitch, kiss every nook and crannies, forcing itself to fill you up. A groan leaves Ben’s mouth when you sit down onto his lap, his shaft buried deep inside your warmth, wetness coating his skin. “Fuckin’ squeezing me.” You hear from him.
Shaking legs around his hips, a burning sensation in your lower belly, lips gasping; you’re unable to reply to him for a second, your arms now wrapping around his neck. “M’gonna fuck you stupid, doll, you’d like that, uh?” Ben voices at you, voice cooing like he’s not the one all needy and whining in your ear at how your pussy warms him up. Both his hands are trembling as they grope the fat of your ass once more.
You can’t help but nod your head at him, though. “Yeah—Yeah, I’d love that.” He doesn’t even reply at you, hands lifting your hips up before lowering them again, fitting his cock inside your dripping cunt. You moan at the feeling, it echoes in the empty room and you forget about the Herogasm outside the room, about those Supe sniffing coke on naked asscheeks, on alcohol flowing, on anything. The feeling of his shaft kissing at the gummy walls of your inside is enough to make you almost brainless.
You follow the movement of his hands by rolling your hips, spelling your name while riding him, creating squelching noises all around the both of you. Ben hisses, hands tightening on your hips. “That’s it, that’s a good girl. Show me how much y’like my cock.” Your fingers start to run through his thick locks, not pulling yet but you almost want to. Even though he doesn’t say it, Ben’s thoughts are still in shambles; all he can think about is your cunt wrapped around him, about your wetness coating his shaft, about the moans escaping you. It’s proof he still got it.
His hazel eyes lowers to where your bodies meet and he watches as his cock disappears inside your sloppy hole, juices slicking your folds. His lips part as if he’s about to speak once more, but a loud whine reverberates from him; his eyebrows furrowing when you clench around his shaft. There’s a slight needy glaze inside his eyes, but he tries to brush it off but making you bounce faster on him. You cry out, holding onto him as his tip kisses your cervix a few times, his veins pulsating against your gummy walls. You hear the splash-splash-splash from your juices and his balls hitting your ass now.
“Ben—Ben, fuck! Feels so good!” He ends up looking at your face when you say those words, and you can finally see the glossy eyes. He’s so close to drooling all over your chest, cheeks flushed and body burning hot now. He’s losing himself in the feeling of your sweet little cunt, trying to keep control but it doesn’t work much. “Need—Fuck, I need you t’cum on my cock… I need you t’make a mess.” He gasps, jerking his hips up to meet yours.
Your walls are molding themself around his cock even more, fitting him so perfectly that it feels like he was made to be inside you. Your juices drip down from his shaft, coating his balls even more, making them stick to your ass each time they slap it. The perverted, depraved and icky noises are echoing all around the room, almost combatting against the ones from behind the door. Ben throws his head back to the ceiling, Adam’s apple bobbing, sweat trickling down his neck. Wild thoughts of licking it pass through your mind but it’s brushed off a second later.
Your hips rolls to meet his cock, angling it toward that sweet spot of yours with little to no effort; mostly because Ben is helping with his big hands on your thighs now. You can feel his fingers buried in the fat there, almost bruising it with how firm his grip is. “Fuck—m’fuck, keep going. Y’pussy’s dripping all over me.” He says after a moment; space filled with your moans and his groanings, whinings, cursings. “I’m going to fill you up so good, you’ll feel my cum weeks after.” He groans, and the words make you gasp. You can’t help but clench your gummy walls around his shaft.
His hazel eyes lower once more, looking at that pretty creamy white ring all around the base of his cock; your pussy pushing some more each time you lower yourself to meet his pelvis. Only then, Ben decides to move one of his hands to your slick folds, pushing a thumb between them, parting them. You let a sigh escape you at the touch, feeling his cold digit explore you like that. Your chest starts to press against his own when he finally circles around your clit, smearing wetness around. There’s an arch in your butt now, making his tip hit directly against that gummy spot at the entrance of your cunt.
“Come on, doll, keep fuckin’ yourself on me. Y’doing so good.” You don’t know if he truly meant to praise you or if his thoughts are just too much focused on your cunt but you don’t care at that moment. You nuzzle your face in his neck; musk, gunpowder, Whiskey and sweat. He smells so good that you could come right on the spot just with that.
His pelvis jerks up to meet yours, cock slapping to bury itself in your dripping hole, and it comes way more sloppy than before. Your juices are making a mess on the fabric of his military green trousers, coating his balls much more; it’s slick and sticky. “Such a good cunt you have. Might need to use it more after that.” Ben grunts in your ear, you feel your thighs burning and shaking from your efforts now. The knot in your lower belly is slowly undoing itself as his thumb rolls against your clit, fingers teasing it.
Your grip around his shoulders tightens when you come on his cock without any warning, spamming on top of him, crying out his name. Juices are flowing out of you, dripping on his shaft, splash-splash-splash noises louder in the room as he keeps fucking you through it. Your back arches, ass almost lifting from his lap but he brings you down again; making you moan out. “Ben! Fuck! I can’t—” He hears from you, hissing at your walls squeezes the fuck out of him, milking him dry. “Goddamn, that sweet little pussy—Don’t worry, darlin’, I’m ‘bout to come too.” He warns you.
His hands pull you down on his cock, now using your body to slide his cock deep inside you. You expect him to fill you up like he had said he would, but instead, Ben’s curses before pulling out of you. Thick ropes of thick, creamy white semen trickle out of his pinkish tip, leaking all the way down to his member, stopping at his balls before falling in globs on the watery bed. His thighs are shaking, his breathing is labored just like yours. Ben’s hazel eyes lifts up to your face, his cock twitching once or twice before softening very slowly.
He blinks, as if his thoughts were all clear now, which makes him smirk. “Might be the best pussy I’ve had in decades, fuck. Cunt squeezed me out so good. Just need to be hit by that fuckass power again; I want to try out new positions.” You whine at his words, and his hand comes to slap lightly on your butt, making you gasp. “Ben!” You sigh, watching as he sneaks a hand down to his balls, gathering his seed in the tip of his digits.
Ben then lifts his hand up to your face, pushing the sticky fingers against your lips so you’d part them. You don’t even hesitate, letting your jaw go slack; and suddenly tasting the salty, thick semen on your tongue. You moan around his fingers, tongue curling to lick at his digits, cleaning them. “That’s a good girl, go on, suck on my fingers.” He hums at you, pushing against your tongue harder to hear whines escape you. “Bet’ya would look good with my cock deep inside your mouth.”
You nod at him, taking his fingers deeper, sucking on them like you’d do with his fat cock. You can feel the fabric of his fingerless glove scratching at the skin of your chin and cheek. It makes him hiss to see you like that; saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, half-lidded eyes looking at him, thighs still shaking around his hips. Ben ends up by pulling his fingers out of your mouth in a wet-pop noise, a smirk decorating his face.
꒰ ⟡ 𝟣𝟪⁺ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ⸝ 𝒄𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝒘𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗏𝖾 , 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝗍 . . heavy fauxcest . father figure turned ddlg . female ᵎᵎ virgin ᵎᵎ reader . daddy ᵎᵎ soldier boy . use of dad , dada , daddy . infantilization . dumbification . loss of virginty . blood mention . fingering . unprotected piv penetration . multiple orgasms . use of baby , daughter , pet . all characters are 𝟤𝟣 years or older ﹠ consenting adults . .
꒰ ⟡ 𝒔𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 : when you walk in on your father figure , Ben , with another woman , you’re no longer able to repress how you truly feel towards him . 𝟦.𝟪k words .
꒰ ⟡ 𝒏𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 : enjoy ᵎᵎ :3
He had nowhere else to go? Right? You’d been the simplest solution; he’d accompany you in your apartment – just for a little while, just until The Boys ascertained something a bit more permanent. But weeks turned into months, and the vague communication of when Ben was departing dissolved into a quiet concession. You were stuck with this relic of a former American nation that no longer existed. And it was okay. Mostly. The offensive jabs, insolent attitude, hell, even the way weed and booze seemed to emit from his scent like perspiration, all of it, was okay. Until you’d call him Dad. You really, sincerely, hadn’t meant to, but the truth was molten hot, and the weight of it crumpled your shoulders in shame if you thought too hard about it – Ben had become a father figure to you. Sure, a deranged one, with raunchy comments and unprovoked slaps on your ass in passing, but a father to you nonetheless. You’d just brought back takeout, exhausted after a seemingly interminable day, trying to avoid a complaint from him that’d further weaken your clouded mind.
“want’a beer, dad?” Was all that was said, and in an aftershock, you received a spike of heat that began to terrorize your cheeks from the flustered slip.
“Oh, I’m Dad now, huh?” He’d chuckled roughly, stepping from behind the counter, a warm hand finding its way onto your lower back. Too close, always, but he didn’t care. You’d been frozen like you’d been shot, red-faced and humiliated. He knew it. And he reveled in it. “No thanks, daughter, Dad’ll get it himself,” he’d grinned jeeringly, before ducking into the fridge by your hip, a hand grasped on your back as he tore a fresh one from the pack and popped the cap off.
“i- i didn’t mean to, Ben–”
“No, no. I’m Dad now, babydoll,” He corrected, tilting his head for a swig.
And that was that. Dad Dad Dad. That’s all he spoke, and when the torment was too much, you’d been forced to succumb to it. It was nothing more than that. Movies with Dad. Dinners with Dad. Cleaning up after him, casual jokes, and veiled innocence by you – because he never did anything. Every day, you cursed your sour lips. Lips that loosened and tainted any semblance of genuine attraction Ben may have garnered for you. He looked at you as a child now. His child. You were convinced you’d extinguished any possibility for romance or sex in an instant. Dad. Fuck. And it made it worse that you got off on it. You wanted your Daddy in a less-than-puerile manner. Under him, against him, anyway, you could have him. And he’d had to have noticed your eyes on his lips, your own drooling for a kiss, or the way you tensed in his embrace, wishing the firm hands on your back would traverse lower. But they didn’t, and he didn’t.
Constant arousal from his constant presence had become quotidian. Pooled and desperate, invariably sensitive, and impossibly clingy to his touch in an imprudent method to make him touch you. And after another month of his feigned ignorance, you tore. When simply seeking his warmth for the umpteenth time that day, you wandered into the guest room unbeknownst to what lay behind the door.
You shouldn’t be so shocked. You’ve known Ben all this time, and you knew he wasn’t going to you for pleasure – but were you truly so naive to trust that all he was fucking was his fist? You didn’t knock. And there she was. A woman, obviously older, attempting to cover herself up.
One of Ben’s eyebrows raised before he chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Need somethin’, baby? Dad’s a little busy here.” It was natural. Arrogant, unfazed – tied in a translucent floral robe while your knees fell victim to a vellication of mortification and hurt.
“‘m– m’sorry,” You immediately sputter out, eyes drawing to the carpet in an attempt to drain the tears that venture to fall down florid cheeks. Ben’s smirk falters at your broken gaze, the way your face is burnt with horror, and the way you tremble like your world has been spliced and shattered.
You're hardly able to conceptualize Ben’s stare, focused on your palsied form as he mutters a stern, “Out,” to the woman. Nor can you recognize the way she scoffs bitterly in general disturbance and agitation as your disruption. The moment the door is slammed, Ben, immodest in his loosely tied robe, steps closer.
“Look at me.” He orders, voice rough, but quieter now as he swipes your tears with his thumb. Gentle. Paternal. When you don’t lift your head, he exhales sharply, hooking a finger under your chin and forcing those streaming, sad eyes up to his. “The hell’s that face for, huh?” His tone is deflective with that unadulterated cockiness, although now burnt now with frustration – like the guilt is settling for allowing you to even walk in on something so explicit. “Thought you knew better than to expect choir boy behavior, sweetheart.”
He exhales, looking away, shoulders rolling, and suddenly restless as he recognizes your hurt. “Shoulda knocked, baby.”
Fucking asshole. But you don’t speak. Your lip wobbles more as you involuntarily whimper, crying eyes gone from his own again. His jaw clenches at your reaction – at how you’re broken over a silly little hookup. “Fuck–”
His free hand drags down his face as he grumbles. “Fine. Yeah, maybe I shoulda..” Ben mutters, before his grip on your jaw tightens to lock eyes again. “But you– you– don’t gotta look at me like that.” Grudgingly, he mutters the closest thing to an apology you’ll receive – "Ain't like it meant anything.”
“ya.. it- it does.” Is all you can meekly manage, your throat tightening as you try and keep your cries inaudible.
Ben exhales sharply, his grip on your chin firms up, before his hand tangles alternatively in your hair. “Fuckin’ hell, kid – Quit it. Ain’t gonna watch you cry over some dumb shit.” He orders, his scowl deepening, but his fingers remain in locks. His goddamned brutal ignorance. It shoves your silence away while the hurt cracks into teary desperation.
“why– why her, and… and not me?” It's unbidden and mortifying, but such shame has been completely demolished and you cannot help the plea.
The silence is piercing, an underlying flash of vulnerability seeping through his features before it is once again concealed. His hand drops, positioning to the side of your throat – the touch should be grounding, firm, maybe even slightly menacing, but the pain is too encompassing to even comprehend where his hands are. “D’you really have to ask, honey?”
“y-ya. i do.” You stutter out, sadness embittering into rage.
He stares down at you for a moment, stern, before scoffing, a venomous chuckle dripping from his mouth as he presses into the pulse of your throat. “You really think I’d want some fuckin’ mindless night stand over you? You, who I spend half my damn time tryin’ to keep outta trouble? Who I can actually hold a conversation with without wantin’ to claw my own damn eyes out?”
“then– then why fuck her ‘nd not me! why not me? i’ve been here all this time f’you!”
His shoulders tense, his face flickering something like pity, before he’s crowding you, flimsy robe and hard muscle pressed flushed against you with no other choice but to feel him. To look at him. His scent of sweat, weed, and that dreadful spiced cologne – dingy and old, that you still have become so fond of – invades your senses.
“I didn’t even get started cus’a you. My lil’ brat of a daughter decided to interrupt me.” His eyes are dark, lowered, his jaw up with that signature downturned frown he makes when agitated. “Why? Y’think you got somethin’ to prove to me, kid?”
“no, no… i jus–” You trail off, lingering tears growing tacky on your cheeks. Ben sighs, long and low, his robe’s tie having untangled, weakly hanging off his hips as annoyance tinges with an emotion unrecognizable on him. Regret. Finally, his grip on your throat relaxes, dropping to your waist to hold. Your eyes are half lidded, focused on the corner of the bed in an attempt to calm down. It doesn’t help that his proximity is much too close – your pulse throbs in your ears as Ben’s hot breath puffs out against your temple.
“Lil’ one.. Y’know damn well you’re the only one I want, but–”
“then why not come to me?” You repeat, biting back, interrupting and upset.
“You think I don’t know you’re right there? Like I ain’t notice how you look at me? How you stare? When your thighs are squeezin’ together ‘nd you think I won’t catch you?” He huffs out a harsh laugh, his hand clasping firmer on your waist. “Fuckin’ Christ, kid. You’re my little girl. I wanted to.” The admission stains the both of you, unguarded and dark. His fingers flex against your skin like he’s fighting the desire to pull both your hips flush. “Fuck–” He breathes, gazes on your lips as you continue to refuse eye contact or acknowledge the situation. “I still want to.”
Your pleading eyes flicker up, lips pouted but still pursed, and it's enough to make him press you closer, a ragged breath of his dragging against your face.
“D’you think I don’t wanna? That I ain’t thought about it every goddamn day? Pretendin’ my cock’s between those ‘lil lips or thighs when you leave me alone? I have. But fuck, sweetie. Lookatchya.”
“You still sleep with stuffed animals on your bed, still watchin’ cartoons. Suckin’ on your thumb – don’t think I don’t notice.” He exhales sharply, grip digging into your hips as both an anchor and a confession. “Couldn’t do that to you.” He mutters, gaze guilty but still pinned to the curved softness of your lips. You don’t know what to say; all that’s clear is his consciousness is warring, voice dipping lower and edged with impuissance. “Y’cant ask me to want you like that. Not when I know damn well you ain’t ready for me.”
And that response breaks you. Empty hands thrust before you can cease the action, grasping his bare hips with enough force to send his thin robe to the floor. “no! i am ready for you, dad, please. please daddy, i am!” You automatically beg, tears lurching out again as you pull his naked pelvis flush against yours. And it's too much. The way you cry, the way your little trembling hands are clasping onto his hot skin. Both of his own wrap around your waist, fists grasping the fabric at the back of your shirt. His breathing is ragged as the tension radiates into his every cell, burying his face into your shoulder like he’s starved for the contact of you.
“Don’t say that.” He grunts, like if you repeat it, it’ll end him. It’s desperation, raw and sticky, and much too soft for the American hero. Ben inhales your scent as his face drags up your neck to your temple. You can feel his heart race, his voice hoarse. “You ain't ready for me.” He repeats, although wavering, as if he’s less sure now. “You’d break. You have no idea what you’re sayin’ – I’d ruin you, kiddo.”
You don’t listen. Truth is, you can’t even hear him. You feel his lips lazily speaking against your throat, his plump, hardened cock, bare and rosy against the front of your top. You can feel how soft his hips are and how the layer of fat above muscles squeezes under your hands, desperate to wrap them around to his ass and lower. You moan softly at the sensations instead, face leaning into the crook of his neck with a subtle grind of your clothed pelvis.
“Kid. You keep movin’ like that, and I ain’t gonna be responsible for what happens next.”
His body reacts without his permission, fucking twitching against you as he presses his eager dick into the friction of your hips. “Fuck, Baby–” He chokes out, attempting to still his own body. “Stop.”
“dad.. i need you.” You whine, fingers brushing further down to his backside, eyes pleading as you’re about to crest over his cheeks.
“You don’t. You think you do. Ain’t the same thing.” But his defense is growing flimsy for your childish pout, your little doe eyes, the way your body is practically reeking of arousal for him. “Fuck–”
But you’ve had enough of his denial, shoving his hips into yours as you press your palms into his ass, speaking censured to his refusal.
“if you don’t have me, i’ll make you.”
The words are barely out of your mouth before Ben moves, restraint snapped like the spine of an animal torn in predator jaws. His arms are flexed, lifting your thighs around his waist, pinning you to the wall with hands digging into skin. His own flushed lips are a breath away from yours as he snarls, his smile noxious and dark.
“You wanna play it like that, kiddo? Hm? Play with Daddy like that?” He doesn’t wait for another berating remark from you; instead, smothering your lips with the thick press of his tongue, flattening over your parted mouth before he’s assaulting the wet muscle inside. Your whine is immediate as he begins to rock between the expanse of your thighs, clothed little pussy already throbbing against where he ruts his pinkish tip.
He’s rough and unforgiving, licking teeth and the roof of your mouth as you pathetically try to keep up with your Dad. He tastes how he smells – relentless, sickening, tinged with that subtle sweetness of his joints and bitter aged whiskey. He pulls away, strings of salvia connecting the two of you as he laughs, the sound strained from arousal, yet still sardonic.
“You kiss like a fuckin’ toddler, y’know that?”
All you can manage is a whine, as if his one kiss had abducted all remaining intelligence of the young woman you were, and left you to be a mindless shell. He smiles down at the sight, where you’re sucking in your lips to continue to taste him inside the expanse of your mouth. “Ah.. Baby.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he’s already dragging you away from the wall and to his bed. “Look at that. Knew you couldn’t handle it, Dad’s already popped that pretty brain like it was bubblegum.”
He sighs, laying you down on awry sheets, watching your lost yet desperate eyes, as you bite your lip. With a groan, he sits on the edge of his mattress, reaching out to rub the top of your thigh, just where the edge of your skirt meets warm skin. “S’too much.” He mutters, his hand reaching for his thick cock, pale pink with a reddened tip from persistent arousal, the veins of him contracting with want as he grasps himself lazily at the sight of you.
“Mmh. Should read y’a bedtime story instead. Ya like that?” He asks, stroking himself between his thighs with that sadistic gleam of teeth and low tone. “Kid’s too little, you just watch Dad touch, ‘nd then I’ll tuck ya in after like a good girl.”
“no!” You protest, like the threat that he won’t have sex with you slices through your the thickened mist of submission. “no, no i wan’ dada!” You whine, hips spreading as you squirm in clothes. And fortunately, it’s enough to lure him. Ben’s body crawls on top of yours with uncharacteristic gentleness as he begins to pull down your skirt and underwear in one go.
“It’s Dada now, huh? Gotch’you too little, didn’t I?” He laughs darkly, fisting your sodden underwear in his palm before groaning, shoving the fabric into his face as he mutters. “Like fuckin’ candy, babydoll.”
You just pant, feeling yourself slicken more at such a perverted sight. He’s all bared teeth and greed, grasping at your chest before you recognize your shirt is off. “Mm. Look at these lil’ daughter tits. Fuck.” Ben groans, squeezing your breasts in both palms. You’re sensitive, the nerves alight in your nipples, and stroking the burning need searing in your belly. Your slick cunt raises with your hips at the pleasure.
“dad… touch.. pease.” You squirm, practically about to begin weeping again from sheer waves of need.
“‘Pease,’ huh, honey? Want y’Dad so bad thatcha can’t even talk anymore?” His crows' feet scrunch with his snicker of degradation at the way you seem fucked dumb before he’s even touched you. His fingers pinch nipples to make you jolt, before trailing down your quivering belly to where you’re already puffy and rocking your thighs on sheets.
“Wow. My daughter has one swollen lil’ cunt.” He thumbs through seeping slick, translucent and sticky, like you’d been dripping for hours, (and frankly, you had been), before he shoves a single finger into pulsing velvet walls. You whine painfully, his digit already assaulting and stretching.
“Fuck – kid, y’really are a baby, huh? Ain’t ever had a cock before? You a virgin or somthin’?” Ben groans, squeezing his finger through clenched walls as your pussy seems to flounder in the accommodation of him.
“n– no.” It’s rhetorical, but you squeak out the lie, for the terror of him pulling out and a possible abnegation of abducting something so precious from you.
“Fuckin’ liar. Tiny cunt’s flutterin’ like it wants to burst now.” He’s cruel and taunting, and you gasp as he starts ramming into that soft spot deep inside, nudging your swelling clit under his thumb. “Mm, there it is. Lil’ one’s gonna cum all over her Dad’s hand. Can’t help it, can ya?”
You’re breathing his hard, open-mouthed pants as the tightening spear of heat throbs through your belly and down your thighs, whining as you try to hold it, to not cum like the little kid you know he thinks you are.
“No, no, baby. We don’t do that. Gonna cum like a big girl, right?”
You’re not ready for the humiliation to follow. It’s too quick, too fast, just one finger and you’re gone, shaking your head in an incorrect response.
“No? Gotta make Dad fuck it outta you, huh?” Ben growls raspily, bullying that plush throb inside you, his free hand pressing firmly over your bladder. “You’re such a fuckin’ baby. You’re gonna cum, kiddo. Tough shit. Feelin’ this virgin pussy needin’ her Daddy.”
And he’s right, because you’re cumming then with shuddering tears, hips attempting to get his finger tip deeper as he feels your pulse radiate in his hand. “There we go,” Ben coos, pleased, rubbing the firmed flesh of your nerves through your cascades of pleasure. “Good job, honey. Feelin’ real good for Dad, huh?”
You nod dumbly, feeling drool dribbling past your mouth and onto his sheets before he’s dipping another finger in. “Hips wider, sweetie, tryin’ t’get you ready, ‘member? Gotta let Dad stretch his kid’s cunt.”
The words are insidious, horrific even, but your thighs spread automatically, as any word from him – from Dad, is enough to blindly toddle after like it's an edict’s holy vow. The stretch is painful, thick, plump fingers invading the thin, pulsing opening of your desirous pussy as he pushes in slowly, slick thickly puddling down your flesh as he does so.
“Atta girl, gotta get this lil’ pussy all wet for Dad, hm? Don’t wanna make ya bleed too much.”
You whine, face pinched, even as he’s massaging your needy clit, his two digits are so much more than you had ever encountered before.
“Da– dada. hurts.” You whimper, breathing hard. Ben, however, just smirks, smile lines creased against that darkened stubble.
“Yea, pet.” He grins, shoving his digits deeper inside tightened walls. “‘Course it’s gonna hurt. You’re a fuckin’ virgin, baby. But you’re gonna let y’Dad get his fill, huh?”
Ben’s pace is as steady as he can manage, but God, he wants you. He wants his little girl, and the proof is already staining his bare abdomen with weak trickles of precum as his cock cries to be submerged in your warmth.
“Fuck, honey. O- open up more. Fuckin’ relax.” His palm starts to rub your tummy, disgustingly sweet and gentle as he goes harder as the torrents of your pleasure bloom into hot need before your voice can warn him. You cry cumming, tiny whines emitting from your throat, as tears roll down your cheeks once again from the feeling. “There ya go, baby, oh.”
“Such a good kid, huh? Lil’ angel f’me.” He groans, stroking himself in a rottenly fast exchange before you can even comprehend that it's time. A pained gasp emits as he extricates his fingers from your clenched cunt. The friction, overstimulation, and sharp ache of your walls go hardly noticed when his dribbling and twitching cock nudges inside, all else is forgotten except for how Dad is entering you.
Fuck– fuck! Kiddo I-” Ben grunts, shoving slowly into the untouched, slickened center of your body. You feel like heaven. Heaven after not experiencing a quivering, sloppy cunt in fucking decades. And he’s never experienced something so blissful as entering his own little girl. He can’t. Can’t take it, can’t fathom it, his animal-like groans drowning out your tiny cries from the stretch. He’s pained from holding back. Fuck, he’s essentially a virgin himself with just how long it's been, his biceps tense, white knuckling the sheets by your pouted face. His honeyed hazel eyes are closed, breaths heavy and hot above you in an attempt not to tear through your body and rip flesh like the carnal man he is.
“Baby.” Ben mutters simply, almost vulnerable, when his tip is finally pinned up against your cervix. His voice is almost unrecognizable, and your wide, sullen eyes meet his – you’re all puffy lips, glowing cheeks, and hazy eyes – speechless and little – and the affection he rarely shows for you is surging into something much sweeter than teases and simple touches. “Mmh.. m’feelin’-- too damn good, kid. This lil’ cunt, it's– it’s fuckin’ hard to not fuck y’in half.”
After a breath, his hips rock steadily, the same rasped groan tearing from his throat. “My kid. God. Such a sweet baby.” His hands, clasped on sheets, move to your arms, grounding himself as he feels your body melting around him in the same violent sensation of arousal – your thighs around his hips, as his cock harshly scrapes every nerve within your gummy walls. The deep, plush, and pulsing spot inside of you is pummeled brutishly with each grind, eliciting that sharp knot of arousal curling in both your spines.
“dada.. i– mmh!” you babble, the emotions too rampant and crushing after months of choked on avows.
“Mm- What, baby?” Ben rasps, a hand descending between his rutting hips to rub your swelled clit.
“i-love you.. mmh– m’dad.” You stammer out, just before the plangent ache of your pussy breaks, dissolving into a clamping, rigorous orgasm of incessant tightness and weakly kicking legs in reaction to your Daddy pressing into every ablazing nerve.
Ben would be paralyzed from your needy declaration if he hadn’t gotten his dick choked by the way you whimper, gasp, and cum; like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered to you, and he is. His hips can’t stop, fucking you through it as the excruciating pleasure, taut and tied inside his gut and balls, threatens to gush. “Fuck kid. Dad- Daddy loves y’too.” He’s gasping, pants meeting the damp skin of your shoulder before a growled moan is fucked out of him, his hips gyrating as his tip disgorges out a thick, hot spate of cum, white and filling, pouring into your womb.
And then all is still – dewy skin pressed against each other, as trickles of release still ooze from his cock. He pants into your neck, his fingers pressed into your waist as he hears your softly whined breaths.
“Yea. Dad loves you, baby.” He admits again, rasping against your ear, his voice utterly soft and leaden with truth. Kisses begin gracing your hair and temple as you both come down, his free hand starting to caress your now tumid belly, soft and filled with his cum.
The simplicity is interrupted by a girlish, giddy giggle, painfully innocent while he’s still inside you, “m’full of dada.”
Ben cracks a deep chuckle, grinning with reverence as his head raises to meet your sleepy, submitting, and yet, happy gaze. “Kiddo likes that, hm? Like bein’ full of Dad?”
You nod, beamish and small, teeth nibbling into your bottom lip as you limply extend an arm to play with his brunette tufts.
“Course y’do, brat. ‘S’a good thing you’re my daughter, then. Wouldn’t catch me weakenin’ f’anyone else.” You huff out at the name, still suctioned on his dick, your insides sore as he’s still seeking, still molding you to be his.
“dad.. am– am i bleedin'?” You suddenly whimper, hazy and sweet, yet concerned.
Ben’s face simply hardens, as if the guilt of what he did – of what he’s doing – is unveiled upon him. He grunts, lifting himself enough to look down at where he’s speared inside of you, stretched and slightly slick with what little manages to dribble out. “Well, shit, kid. You’re fuckin’ plugged with me.” He smirks, before another rut against your squelching womb emits through the air, you squeal at the feeling. “Greedy baby. Y’cunt’s not wastin’ a drop. Not gonna know ‘til I pull out.”
Just a few inches depart your wetness, before he’s sheathing himself back in, deeper, now that he’s fucked you once. Your breathless gasp, eyes sealed with pleasure, has him wrapping around your hips, his balls nestled against your puckered flesh as the friction emits soaked, desperate, squelched sounds into the room. His pelvis initiates yet another buildup, his dick stroking those tender, overstimulated walls as you cry.
“Fuck kid. Dad needs ya again. Need m’daughter’s pussy.” He lifts one of your thighs against your belly to angle himself the furthest he can manage, as if your Dad is desperate to mate – and truly, he is. He gropes your inner thigh, unable to resist the urge to slap the plush skin, before he’s doing the same to your ass, his grip is firm and squeezing as he fucks harder into that perfect, tightened heat. Ben’s all parted lips and deep, pleasured groans as your cervix seems to nurse on the profuse load he’s left inside you, while the sensations of his sex begin drawing out your deepened cries once again. Your head lolls to the side of the mattress, face glossy with tears and immense amounts of drool as your lips flex and your tongue darts out against the sheets. You don’t know what you're doing, but he does.
“My fuckin’ baby.” He grunts, his grip on your ass unrelenting while his free hand lunges to dig into your chin, turning those sobbing trembles of pleasure towards him – your lips are pouted, flanging and wet, and adorably seeking. “Mmmh.” Ben grumbles, before his thumb is shoved into your needy little mouth. The relief is immediate. You just want him – to flutter on him anyway you can – here, he has you pinned in a mating press, and you just want to suck his thumb to mend both the vast discomfort and pleasure he’s wrought into your body. Your tongue and lips are latched, in tangent sucks with each thrust of his cock, throbbing hotly with another impending orgasm.
“Jus’ needs Dad’s thumb– Fuck. My lil’ one,” He moans roughly, like the view of such a callow sight is enough to draw him to the edge. The feeling of his hair, his pubic mound, sensitive and rubbing onto your overwrought clit, along with the angle of his length beating into your hot, gummy spot inside, is enough to have you orgasm again, teary-eyed and rutting against him. Your mouth parts in a whiny moan, drooling and now slack on his thumb. His hips are unflagging, working himself a brief few seconds over, before a growling sound of pleasure resonates from his throat, a second, and even heavier, spill of creamy white is pumped from his cock, buried inside. It's hot, and it’s him, flooding deep where it will never escape.
You’re lost in such rapture, even as the minutes of harsh pants dissipate into caresses and praise, your mouth finding his thumb once again. “Did so good, kiddo. My good lil’ girl.”
“Dad’ll take care of you, jus’ – gotta let his cum settle in that sweet pussy a’yours first.” Ben smiles, your warmed face and soft suckles provoking something genuinely tender and adoring in him. It’s a new, irrepressible truth – you're his daughter now.
꒰ ⟡ 𝟣𝟪⁺ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ⸝ 𝒄𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝒘𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗏𝖾 , 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝗍 . . heavy fauxcest . ddlg . established relationship . female ᵎᵎ reader . daddy ᵎᵎ soldier boy . use of dad , dada , daddy , father . infantilization . themes of bodily ownership . female masturbation . severe punishment , spankings 'nd a good ‘ol fashioned paddling . blood 'nd bruising . clitoral orgasm . aftercare . babying . use of baby , daughter , kid . all characters are 𝟤𝟣 years or older ﹠ consenting adults . .
꒰ ⟡ 𝒔𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 : you break one of your dad's biggest rules – touching what only belongs to him ᵎᵎ 𝟥.𝟢k words .
꒰ ⟡ 𝒏𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 : ▸ now playing , all wound up ୨୧
Moonlight dribbled through the lace curtains, soft trickles melting against Ben’s features. His crow's feet – divine in the time that had passed, yet unremarkable to his true age – his parted, unconscious pink lips and puffed hot breaths, as if he’d been smoking a joint in dreams. He looked almost vulnerable. Almost. But Ben beside you was too much for the tender ache that persisted in your belly and your cunt. You practically salivated at the sight of his heavy biceps, weighted upon cotton, the way his thick fingers were slotted on his chest, how his nipples were tanned against his skin, peaking out beneath digits. And just beneath the bedding? His abdomen breathed with a cadence so calm, it flummoxed you – just a few hours prior, it was one full of voracious need and heaving groans. You found yourself gazing under the sheets, at his hips, at the muscles that vined down to where his hair grew plentiful – the musked and dense brunette ringlets on the skin of his pubic mound, stalking down the base of his cock and around his velvety balls. Too much. You felt the flush of hot blood nestling thick in your cheeks as you tore the cotton back over him with a billow of air.
How could you have helped it? Your Dad had fucked you.. hard. The rugburns on your knees and bruises on your hips were a testament to how rough he had “filled your empty womb” — and yet that rapacious, slickening ache still resided deep inside. You could feel the rivulets of his multiple loads, slipping out with each restive motion of your hips, down the puckered flesh of your ass to pool into the sheets. Your clit was engorged from his terrorizing fingertips and the hours of want that had now passed.
Cumming once more would help. You were sure of it. Enough to dissipate the pulsing in your wet cunt, enough to drift ‘til morning, when Ben would undoubtedly wake you with hot digits impaling both your holes. Daughter holes, he’d call them, and that thought was enough to make you wince. You couldn’t, though. If he caught you, fingers rubbing what was his? That may be the end of orgasms – Ben would decide his precious little cunt could no longer handle him without getting gluttonous, and the fear of a transient denial of climaxes formed a lump in your throat.
Ben remained careless as you writhed. Your feet curled against his as you carved out your presence against him – just where you belong. You pressed your dampened body against his, breasts along his ribs, your cunt slickening the curve of his hip. His warmth would coax your unconsciousness, right? Safest place in the world – tucked against your Dad’s impenetrable form. Your face nestled into the gape that his underarm left – your typical solace for comfort – and breathed in the sweet, salted scent of his sweat against his dark, pillowed hair. It didn’t help. Your hips twitched with the esurient throb to rut against him. He really had trained you well enough to ask – trained to circulate through the possibilities of punishment if you disobeyed. If you got caught. And that’s where you had been since he’d first dozed into slumber. Your neurons firing in juxtaposing, hot desire. Back and forth, to cum or not to cum, and with burning timidity, you succumbed to the wrong decision.
Reluctantly, you pivoted away from your Dad’s scent and heat, abandoning cuddles to tend to your sticky, swollen flesh. Your hips curled inward as you lay on the edge of the mattress, back facing him, palms beginning to caress your own tummy – all wound up, as his semen remained bountiful in the cavern of your pussy, rendering you daft and drooly. It wouldn’t take long, you knew that. Just a rough, hot circling on your clit, and you’d bloom between your hips – wet, inaudible, and private. Like it used to be before him. It was all too wishful to desire a sudden surrender. Your thighs trembled, subtly undulating your empty, clamping cunt against them, fingers dug into your swollen bud when his voice resounded like detonation.
“The fuck do you think you’re doin’?” His voice was grim, cold, and undeniably forbidding at the sight of your interdicted masturbation. You completely stilled, heart stopping, the warmth in your gut turning into a poisoned rot of shame. Terror pooled in your veins as you felt your Dad grab you roughly, pinning you to the sheets with one hand as he crept closer. Through the darkness, he could see your wide, puffy eyes from lack of rest and petrification. Your fingers were frozen on your clit, still gooey with arousal and aching with lust, before Ben is ripping your wrist away with an undoubtedly bruising grip.
“Kid. Your father asked you a question.”
Father. Ben hadn't ever claimed that before, but in the desolate small hours, awoken by his whining, bratty baby, the name was his now, no matter how detached his voice remained.
“d– dada i- m’jus…”
“No ‘just’ anything. Why’re you touchin’ that lil’ pussy as if it fuckin’ belongs to you? Hm?” His honeyed hazeled eyes are dark with rage, eyebrows raised, and unable to possibly decipher why his typically honest and obedient daughter would ever have the audacity to cum without his knowledge.
“You know damn well that cunt is mine.”
“y.. ya..” You agree, softened and meek, staring into the pitch corner of the room, as if the blackness of the space can hide you from your Dad’s wrath.
“You look at me right now.”
Your wrists are still suffocated in his grip, eyes flickering to him quickly, face involuntarily (and already) pleading for mercy. He doesn’t soften. You whimper suddenly, the hot tears welling up, your body already reacting to what it knows is about to happen.
“No, kid. Don’t gimme ‘em fuckin’ waterworks. Not when I caught y’fingers wanderin’ where they weren’t invited. You know better. I raised you better.”
You just nod, eyes bleary with tears, before he’s dropping your limp, reddened wrists back onto your chest like they’re worthless, dead weight.
“Paddle or belt.” Ben states simply – like when he asks if you want milk or juice with dinner – only instead of what you’re gulping down, it’s what you’re about to get reared and contused with.
“wai- wait! you— you’ve never…” You mutter with wide eyes and deep perturbation. Spankings from your Dad usually resulted in a sore ass — or pussy and tits — when his hand met your flesh with unwavering, punishing strikes. Only once had you spurred on the usage of the belt, which was brief, and frankly unfit, for the punishment of refusing him a simple kiss. But this… a paddle? Multiple questions communed in your mind – when did Daddy get that? Has he been planning to use it? And if so, why would he want to hurt you? But you know your Dad, and just as well, you know his sadism – his love and cruelty for you remained blurred.
“Don’t matter, baby.” He says gruffly, already bent over the drawer and rifling through it. “Dad’s beatin’ that lil’ ass raw. Now fuckin’ choose — or I’ma buy a cat ‘o nines, make you bleed for’a week straight.”
“p- paddle,” You peep out, hearing him chuckle as he lifts up a leathered base, rectangular and studded to embed welts on your skin. Your eyes weep, tears deluging your cheeks, unable to force your eyes away from what’s going to be cudgeling your backside.
“Tch,” Ben clicks his tongue, his resolve breaking. You’re still his little girl, after all. But that truth only further lamented your reformation. This petulant behavior was not only unacceptable; it was impermissible. You both knew your body was his. His to fuck, to make cum, and to mark up.
“Baby. Don’t be like that. Fuckin’ frightened lil’ thing.”
But when your cries persist, still goggling the weapon, Ben shakes his head, moving closer to your bare, shivering body.
“Hm? Look at me.” He speaks calmly, grasping your chin and gazing into those sullen bambi eyes that still weep with dread and despair.
“You know what you did wrong. Daddy has to correct you. You know that, honey.” Ben’s venomous tone is gone; instead, unnervingly dulcet and placid. And when he sees you tearily nod in agreement? It’s his welcomed invitation to lunge you over his lap, your quivering lips making contact with his thigh as your rump wiggles in the air.
“mmh!” You let out a startled whimper, feeling his hand grope up and down the fat of your thighs, smearing the creamed juice of his semen and your slick that had drooled out of you these last few hours.
“M’poor baby and her greedy cunnie. Lil’ slutty pussy's always gettin’ ya into trouble, huh?”
You nod with a guttural whine, chin nudging against his thigh as you feel him, rubbing over your slit with thick fingers, panic subsiding with the pleasure that simmers your insatiable need. Well, until Ben smacks where you’re sensitive and seeping instead. Your cry is shattering, hips thrusting forward in reaction to the burning, searing sensation. Before you can blabber out anything, he’s already chastising your cunt again.
“Goin’ easy on ya, babyface. Gettin’ hands on y’hide, first — paddle won’t be so bad. Dad promises ya.”
You don’t believe him, not when he lambastes your bundle of nerves so harshly, once, twice, three times, making you sob sputters of tears and whines into his meaty thigh. And then he’s adjusting your hips, your clit firmly planting against his leg, prickling with pleasure, before he’s onto your ass. Spreading it first, he thumbs your cum-sodden rim, just to deliver a sliver of warmth and moan from your lips, and then his palm meets flesh. Over, and over, and over. He doesn’t make you count — thank god, because at least he knows you’re too far gone for numbers now. The desire hardly drains, but it certainly doesn’t distract you from the beating.
“Touchin’ yourself like you’re a whore who ain’t already claimed. Kid’s pussy gotta learn somehow.” He mutters, another strike from high above making contact with your hot, pinkening cheeks. He’s emphatic in this declaration — you're his.
Another burning, sharp sting lands, before he’s sternly speaking again, punctuating his words with spanks. “Don’t go playin’ thief in the night, Dad’s gonna catch ya. Every. Damn. Time.”
When you're red and sore from fresh, hot heat, only then is the paddle weighed in his grip. You’re numbed — or so you thought – until the leather hits with vehement force and acuate pain so sudden, it makes you gasp with pure terror. You tug at sheets, shoving the cotton in your mouth to bite with the absence of a teether, focusing on the ache in your jaw — although it’s nothing compared to the second, battering hit. You feel the metal, cold and bolted, melting into your flesh, branding you with multiple welts at a time. “S’my fuckin’ cunt. Understood?” His words were whip-crack, barking, and final.
“I make you cum.” He growls, and your wails reach an all-time high volume. God, if you just hadn’t burglarized his most valued asset – you, and your sweet little pussy, he’d be weakened from such sobs already.
He would have already gone soft, cradling you, delivering those sloppy, fluttering kisses that always elicited giggles from your Dad’s lips on you. But soothes and sweetness were not what you deserved tonight. You’d betrayed him, betrayed his masculinity, and tinged that ego that he’d fucked you enough that you wouldn’t go seeking alternative solutions. Traduced the trust that you were his honest, darling baby, and that you’d simply wake him with any issue. And worst of all, you did it all as his daughter. Daddy was supposed to fix everything – not your sneaky little fingers, gripping your own pussy like it was your own right. You had none. Your Dad owned all that now, and you knew that, too.
"Fuckin' slutty lil' kid," Ben snarls, as another deep, drubbing of leather and metal studs besmirches you. This time, he scores your tailbone, making you curl in on him more as hyperventilations induced in your lungs. And Ben reveled in you – in all of it, smirking sinisterly with pure pleasure and sadistic satisfaction. He wanted you bloodied and bruised, ruptured in blue and black, wanted you crying with the days to follow such torment. And most of all, Ben wanted you dependent. You wouldn’t be able to sit without his guidance, walk without his grip. You wouldn’t be able to care for yourself, for now, it’d be his hands bandaging you, cleaning the gapes of tearing flesh with thickened neosporin and gentle rubs. It’d be his voice, slipping out saccharine apologies for going so hard, but that he had no choice. You’d impelled him to remind you. To correct you. After all, he promised to re-raise you right — Raised dependent and his.
When your backside was surely to be striped lividly, and your wails reduced to cries once again, the paddle no longer met sliced skin. You felt Ben heave out a sigh, scooping your throbbing form to toss further up the sheets. You hardly notice his absence when he departs the room, until you feel a chill as he cleans your rear with baby wipes and antiseptic, making you wince and sob softly.
“Hush, babydoll.” He mumbles gruffly, rubbing your branded cheeks, and then gracing the deepest, bloodied marks with his lips. He’s kissing what he’s done to you, every mark receiving delicate, tender gestures, before smearing numbing ointment over the wounds.
“d– dada…” You rasp, voice nearly shredded and gone, but nonetheless, craving him.
Ben is sighing again, prying your pliant body off the sheets to sit on one of his thighs instead – choosing reticence rather than a comment on how your pussy is still hot and sluicing him out. His hands hold your waist, as if you’ve now transposed into a fragile, shattering sliver of glass.
You fucking hurt. It's like you’re still being scored, or stabbed at this point, the pain climbing eagerly up your spine and ramifying down to where your thighs are spread over him.
“Fuck… kid.” Ben’s torn, distraught voice suddenly grapples you, your bloodshot eyes and tacky cheeks gazing up at him. His hands hold you steadier, now feebly attempting to ground you both.
“You good? Tell me the truth.”
You sniffle, nodding, only now discerning that you're covered in tears, snot, and drool, before shakily lifting your hand to wipe your face.
His hands tighten, subtly rocking you on his thigh. “No, pup. Need ya t'say it – Use ‘em big girl words that Dad taught ya.”
Your lips sever to speak an “I’m okay,” but only mouthed words appear. Your throat is faltering from such guttural sobs, spatting out a rough cough against his chest instead.
He pats your back like a child, as if attempting to soothe a tantrum. “Sweetie…”
You whimper, slumping your wet face into his bare chest, wrenched inside for nothing more than the respite your Dad’s love always seemed to provide.
“I know. I know, baby.” Ben coos, starting to rock you, before another wince crumples your features, the pressure of that even too much for your ass.
“Fuck.” He whispers, tugging you off, seating your burning rear in the gap between his spread thighs, hovering it against the sheets instead. One arm cradles your face to his chest, the other hooking under your hip as he palms your heat. Your hip is pressed against the base of his cock, hard and mounted, you presume, his dark pubic hair furled and tickling the nerves of your overwrought skin.
You don’t look up, you just whine, pressing your face to the muscles above his ribs as Ben tries to disarm your soreness with swelled and slick pleasure. For once, he’s not guarded with pure vulgarity, instead rubbing your pussy as he rocks you, kissing your head whenever his lips meet the sways of your body.
“Gonna give my little baby some lovin’... that okay?” Ben whispers, his thick fingers already slippery with the globs of his cum left behind, circling your puffed clit with slight firmness. When you moan softly, he cracks a grin, that soft, Dad-like satisfaction staining over the previous apprehension his jaw had held.
“There we go. Jus’ let Dad rub that lil’ button, getcha all nice ‘nd calm.”
His grasp on the back of your head adjusts, seizing you closer to his chest, guiding you in the same slow, soothing sways as you whimper weakly. “Shh… easy rhythm, baby. Just like a damn cradle.” He soothes, voice threaded with that tender paternity, his fingers growing rougher on your clit. The pleasure is all-encompassing, not quite diminishing the peeling and palpitating welts on your ass, but enough to distract the ache there and enforce it in your squelching pussy instead. You’ve been gnawing with need for hours, and with how your sloppy cunt glistened, even amidst his strikes, he knows that the grounding of his fingers against your clit is enough to make you burst with pleasure.
Ben smiles at your tensing, at the way your sweet button is twitching under his fingertips as you grow messier, more juice sluicing through your folds.
“Mhm.” He chuckles softly. “There she is, babycunt’s gonna cum, huh?” Go ‘head, pup – feel real good f’me.” Ben coos, and the pleasure knotted in your belly plunges deep into your pussy, clenched gummy walls finally shattering. Your hips twitch, letting out a drooly, open-mouthed cry against your Dad’s chest, and more cum slips from your pulsing hole in a pinching, sharp orgasm from such sustained arousal.
Your Dad doesn’t let up on your clit, his rocking picking up to calm you from the dissolving pressure and the delicious heat you’re feeling.
When the drifting of your over-exerted and injured body commences, Ben positions himself to lie down, pinning you against his chest, scoured rump and thighs upturned to the open air. He sighs, kissing your head with quiet consolation as he continues to cradle you on him. His hands smooth over your sides, eyes closing to the scent of your sex and the simple certitude of you – his purest possession.
ben catches you humping your soldier boy pillow….. !
mdni. 18+
the apartment was quiet, ben had just gotten back from a late training session with the team, his muscles still humming with residual adrenaline. he’d expected to find you reading or scrolling through your phone, maybe already asleep. what he found instead made him freeze in the doorway.
the dim lamplight painted your body in warm shadows. you were sprawled across the bed face-down, your hips grinding into the pillow beneath you—his pillow. the one with his face printed on it, a promotional stunt vought had pushed out last year that he'd thought was ridiculous but you'd kept anyway.
your fingers were gripping the edges of the pillowcase, knuckles white as you rolled your hips in slow deliberate circles. a soft breathy moan escaped your lips, muffled against the fabric.
he didn't move. didn’t speak. just leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched.
your shorts were bunched around your thighs, the damp fabric of your pink underwear clearly visible as you pressed yourself against the pillow again and again. your legs were spread just enough to give him a perfect view of the way your ass clenched with each thrust.
"mmmf…. ben.. “ you whispered into the pillow, your voice strained. "god, yes..."
his cock twitched behind his jeans. he reached down palming himself through the denim, not bothering to be quiet about it.
the sound of his zipper made you freeze.
every muscle in your body locked up as you turned your head eyes wide, face flushed. your lips were parted with a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the pillowcase.
"dont stop caus’ me, honey.”
his voice was rough, a command that left no room for argument. he pulled his cock out already half-hard and wrapped his hand around the shaft. the sight of him towering in the doorway stroking himself while staring at you like prey—sent a jolt of electricity through your core.
"b-ben… i-“
"i said don't stop." he stepped into the room, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. "you were into it a second ago. dont get shy on me now."
he sat down in the armchair by the window, the leather creaking under his weight. his hand moved along his length slow and deliberate as his eyes locked onto yours.
"go on.” he growled. "show me what you were doin’.”
your body moved before your brain could catch up driven by a mix of embarrassment and arousal. you lowered yourself back onto the pillow, the material still warm and damp from before. the pressure against your clit sent a shudder through your thighs.
"yeaaah... just like that." his voice was a low rumble barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "grind that pretty cunt against my face."
every movement pressed your clit against the printed fabric, the friction making your hole clench around nothing.
his hand moved in time with you, the wet sounds of his palm sliding along his shaft filled the room mixing with your soft moans and the faint creak of the bedsprings.
a low approving growl rumbled from his chest. "that's it.. baby. keep goin’ dont you dare cum until I tell you to."
the command made your thighs tremble. you pressed your face into the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne that still lingered on the fabric and continued your rhythm imaging bens cock snug in your guts. the pressure was building coiling tight in your belly but you held back, waiting for his permission.
ben stood up, his boots clicking against the floor as he crossed the room. the bed dipped under his weight as he knelt behind you close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"look at you..” he clicked his tongue. "humpin’ a pillow like a bitch in heat. and it's my face you're rubbing that wet pussy against."
his hand came down on your ass cheek, a sharp stinging slap that made you cry out. the pain bloomed into pleasure and you thrust harder against the pillow.
you could see his hard cock in your peripheral vision—the slick glistening length of him, the way his muscles bunched with each stroke. the sight was enough to push you closer to the edge.
"mmf- can i cum daddy? please! feels so good on my pussy…”
"fuckin’ drench that pillow.” he laughed.
the command shattered you. your orgasm ripped through your body, a tidal wave of heat and pleasure that made your vision go white. you whimpered his name- a broken desperate sound as your hips bucked wildly against the pillow, riding out the waves of ecstasy. slick sputtered from your heat, dripping down your thighs and leaving a stain on the cotton.
behind you ben groaned. his hand moved faster until you felt it—hot thick ropes of cum splattering across your lower back and the curve of your ass. he cursed a string of filthy words as he painted your skin with his release.
he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear with that million dollar smirk.
"next time..” he murmured, his voice rough and satisfied, "you use the real thing."
There's something about your pussy that Sam can't get enough of; he'd stay hours between your legs if it meant being able to eat you out and pleasure you. He was greedy in the way not enough men were. But it's not even about eating you out in the end, it's all about the worship of your body, of loving you, of making you see how beautiful you were through his eyes. Because God, you were beautiful.
Just like he was trying to show now; with his strong hands wrapped around your thighs and his warm breath hitting the wet skin of your cunt, his eyes focused on the view he loved so much. “You’re so beautiful, doll,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent, like a confession. “Do you know that?” He just asks before you feel the wetness of his tongue lapping at your folds, tasting your essence with a hum. You can feel the ticklish sensation of his hair falling onto your stomach.
Sam runs his tongue up and down your folds, parting them to get to every nooks and crannies; up to your clit and down to your clenching hole; where your juices are pooling. He hums, his nose hitting your clit whenever he goes downward, making you squirm under his touch. He's patient, worshipping your cunt like it's his favorite meal; and it probably is. He moans at the taste of your essence, like he could drink it for hours, like he let his lips latched onto your pussy.
His touch is slow; exploratory, tender, making sure you feel seen, wanted, cherished. Sam's lips start to suck on your clit, and you can help but tug on his hair as he does so, thighs clenching around his head. He pulls away to talk. “There,” he whispers, when you tense under his touch. “Just like that. You’re doing so good, love.” Then, he goes back to sucking on your clit, and lapping down again at your juices. His tongue rubs circles on your bud of nerves, trying to get your thighs to tremble like he loves so much.
He moans against your cunt, the vibration bringing pleasure through your body. Once more, his tongue is parting your folds as he eats you out; your wetness sticky against his chin and around his mouth. His hands around your thighs now squeeze the fat there, one of his thumbs is brushing slow caresses into your skin, reminding you that he’s right here.
His lips locks against your pussy as he eats you out; lips sucking and kissing at your favorite spots. You can feel his saliva wetting everything even more, making it slippery. Sam moans more like this is pleasuring him as much as it does you; and it's actually the case. His cock is hard, leaking as he rubs himself against the mattress. All you can do is push his head harder against your pussy and the action makes him look up at your face with his puppy-eyes.
He goes back to give attention to your clit, devouring your pussy with purpose; alternating between sucks and laps, slow and faster.
Your boyfriend watches you like he’s studying a miracle when he pulls away again. “That’s it,” he murmurs softly, encouragement threaded through every word. “Let go, love, I’ve got you.” He lips are once more sucking onto your bud of nerves when you come against his mouth, squirming and crying out his name, legs trembling around his head. He tolds you down, kissing at your cunt softly, until you relax under him. Your juices are all around his mouth when he licks his lips.
His own breathing slows gradually, before he pushes himself away from between your thighs just to lay besides you, grabbing your waist to turn your body on the side. “You were so incredible,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your temple. “I love you.”
frank langdon’s dick gets so hard when you cry. he knows it’s sick, his cock growing in his pants when you’re a sniffling mess in front of him, but he can’t help it. you just look so out of control— snotty nose, teary cheeks, and fuck, the tip of his cock is leaking against his boxers.
“hey, hey..” he whispers, crouching down to appear smaller. frank tries not to moan as the seam of his pants stimulates him, “what’s got you so worked up? c’mon, tell me..”
and when you’re struggling to get the words out in between sobs, he thinks he might bust right in front of you.
