Warnings: size kink, afab reader (she/her), established relationship, vaginal sex, belly bulge, light restraint (wrists pinned), deep penetration, overstimulation, possessive dirty talk, mild dumbification, cockwarming, internal marking/breeding language, filthy aftercare, creampie, crying/moaning, praise & degradation mix, Sonny stays inside, post-gym!sonny (this should be a warning in and of itself), Sonny being smug AF
a/n: Day 29 of Kinktober and you know I had to give post-gym Sonny some damn respect. This one is all about stretch, possession, and that filthy praise kink that makes your knees go weak. He’s smug. He’s sweaty. He never pulls out. If you love the “you’re too small, let me ruin you anyway” energy? This one’s for you. 💦💪
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You don’t hear the front door. You don’t hear the shuffle of sneakers being kicked off or the way keys hit the hallway table. All you hear is the clatter of the cabinet above you, the one you’re just barely tall enough to brush the handle of, followed by the low creak of the floorboard behind you.
“You know you’re too small for that shelf, right?” Sonny murmurs in amusement.
You freeze, tiptoes still stretched, hand mid-air, body automatically tensing under the sudden, molasses-thick warmth of him.
“Should’ve waited for your giant of a boyfriend to get home.” Sonny rumbles like gravel under heat; lazy, amused, and soaked in that smug post-workout glaze. You don’t even need to turn to know what he looks like right now. You feel him. Big. Looming. Gym-slick and shirtless, probably still in those stupid grey sweatpants that hang too low on his hips.
You lower yourself with a huff, feet flat again on the floor.
“Could’ve gotten it.”
“Sure ya could’ve, sweetheart.” He chuckles softly, pressing a teasing kiss to your shoulder. One long arm extends easily over your head; muscle flexing thick and firm right beside your face. He grabs the flour from the top shelf like it’s nothing. Doesn’t even stretch.
“This what you needed?”
The flour passes in front of your face, held out, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t back up. Doesn’t give you space to breathe. His other hand is on the counter now, trapping you in, his chest still warm against your spine.
“Y’look like a kitten tryin’ to reach a light switch. Kinda adorable, if I’m honest.”
You grab the container. But you don’t move either.
Your shirt’s ridden up a little, you realise. His skin is warm where it brushes yours. The humid scent of him; soap, salt, and raw heat clings to the air between you like a slow-building fever.
“What else you need, huh?”
His voice dips low, teasing.
“’Cause I got plenty to offer. Arms, back, thighs… other things.”
You glance sideways at him and make the mistake of locking eyes. His smirk grows slow and dangerous, eyes flicking downward as if just now noticing the way you’re squirming in place.
“Even your hands are tiny compared to mine.”
He catches one of your wrists gently, spreads his palm wide next to yours. The difference is ridiculous, yours practically disappear under the breadth of his.
“Hell, I could wrap this…”
He lifts your hand and brings it to his chest, pressing it flat over one pec, his pulse beating hot beneath your palm.
“… right here. Barely covers a quarter of me. Ain’t that somethin’?”
Your breath catches. His grin deepens.
“Y’real fucken’ cute when you get all flustered.”
He leans in now, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Gonna stop blushin’, sweetheart? Or you wanna ride that high horse a little longer and pretend you ain’t thinkin’ about climbin’ me like a jungle gym?”
Your knees nearly buckle. Sonny hums, pulling away slow, just enough to hook two fingers into your waistband. Tugging once. “C’mon, kitchen’s gettin’ steamy. Let’s see what else is too high for you to reach.”
He walks you out of the room with one hand on your lower back, the other casually flexing behind his neck, stretching out those thick arms like he doesn’t already know exactly what he’s doing. You trail behind, heart thudding, thighs pressing tight, gaze locked on the wide, sweat-damp stretch of muscle between his shoulders. When you finally pass the mirror in the hallway, he stops you short.
“Look at that,” he murmurs over your shoulder, spinning you slowly to face your reflection.
“Little thing, standin’ next to me. Practically pocket-sized.”
His hands find your waist again. Your shirt’s ridden up higher now. His fingers brush bare skin like they’ve done it a hundred times before and plan to do it a hundred more.
“You ever really look?”
He lifts one of your hands again, lays it over his.
“One of your thighs couldn’t even wrap around one of mine. You’re just so tiny, baby, everywhere. Even inside.”
His palm slides down your stomach, hovering just above the waistband of your shorts.
“You’re too fucken’ small to take it, sweetheart.”
A pause. Then a whisper, hot against your jaw:
“But I make you anyway, don’t I?”
He keeps you there a moment longer in front of the mirror; his palm heavy on your stomach, his breath skating over your neck, holding you there until you can’t tell if the trembling in your legs is from the stretch of his hand or the heat crawling up your spine.
“Too small for the shelf, too small for my hand… you think you’re big enough to take me, though, don’t you baby?”
You manage a shaky laugh, pushing weakly at his chest.
“Maybe,” you whisper, though the word barely makes it past your throat.
“Maybe?”
His smirk curves against your jaw. “Should we find out?”
He turns you, guides you backward with that same lazy, post‑workout strength, walking you down the hall until your knees meet the edge of the bed. The whole way his fingers stay hooked at your waist, thumb dragging slow circles that leave your pulse hammering.
“C’mon, sweetheart. You wanna stretch for somethin’? Stretch around this.”
He drops onto the mattress first, legs spread, sweat still drying along the cut of his chest. The air smells of soap and salt and you. You climb over him before you can think better of it, knees on either side of his thighs, heart pounding against the heat of his skin. Your knees hit the mattress like they always do; soft, compliant, ready. You hate how natural it feels, how easily he turns you into something needy. You’re still trying to blink the kitchen heat from your lashes, but he’s already peeled your clothes away like skin off fruit. Like you were never supposed to wear them in the first place.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Show me you can make it fit all on your own.”
He sits against the headboard; legs splayed wide, cock resting thick and flushed along his stomach, glistening at the tip. He leans back like it’s nothing. Like you’re not standing there trembling, staring down at him with your thighs pressed tight and your mouth half open.
“Well?”
His voice is velvet wrapped around smoke.
“You gonna ride it like you said, or just keep gawkin’ at it?”
Your cheeks burn, but your core throbs harder. He knows exactly what he’s doing. You don’t give him the satisfaction of stalling. You brace your hands on his chest for support, staring down… fuck, he looks even thicker from this angle. You reach down, wrap a hand around him, and line him up. He hisses between his teeth.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Take it slow.”
You start to sink down, slow. Immediately, it’s too much. The pressure is dizzying, a stretch that pulls from the inside out. Your breath hitches, forehead falling to his shoulder as the tip finally pops in.
“F-fuck!” you gasp, voice already wrecked.
He chuckles, smug. Hands gripping your hips, guiding you lower. “Barely got the head in and you’re already cussin’. Thought you wanted to show me how much you could take?”
“I do! I can do it…” you snap, even though your voice trembles and your thighs are shaking like leaves. “Just, shut up a second.”
“Mouthy,” he grins, dragging a hand up your side, over your ribs. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”
You breathe deep. Then lower again. It burns. Like splitting seams.
You choke on a gasp as your cunt stretches around him, tight, pulsing, trying to drag him in and push him out all at once. He groans low beneath you, fingers digging into the fat of your hips.
“Jesus Christ. You feel that?”
He presses a hand to your stomach, fingers splaying out just under your navel.
“You’re takin’ me so fucken’ deep, baby… can feel you stretchin’ around me.”
Your breath stutters. You nod quickly, eyes fluttering shut. “I… it’s so much…”
“You wanted it.”
He thrusts up gently and your body jolts.
“Said you could ride it. Thought you were gonna bounce like a good girl, huh?”
“I’m trying!”
“Then try harder.”
He grips your hips again, and this time, he drags you down the rest of the way with one smooth pull. You sob out his name, hands slapping against his chest, nails dragging half-moons into his damp skin.
“Oh my God, Sonny!” your voice breaks on the stretch, on the way your cunt flutters in protest, already trembling around him.
“That’s it.”
His voice is lower now. Breathless. Adoring.
“Takin’ all of me. Look at you, baby… fuck, you’re so full.”
You tip your head back, desperate to breathe, to move, but he catches your chin, tilts your face back toward the mirror just beside the bed.
“No. Look. Look at what you’re doin’ to yourself.”
And you see it. You see your body perched on top of his, thighs stretched wide, your cunt swallowing him whole. You see the strain in your own face, your mouth open, the wet slick smeared along your thighs, the faint bulge pressing in your belly where he’s buried so deep you can feel him in your throat. Your lips part.
“That’s…” you can’t finish. Can’t find the words. “I… can’t believe I… I made it fit,” you whimper softly.
“You did.”
He presses on your belly, gently.
“Took every fucken’ inch.”
Your legs shake. Your cunt clenches.
“Can I… can I move?”
“You think you’re ready to move?”
You nod. His grip tightens.
“Then ride, baby. Show me. Show me how this tight little hole was made to split open for me.”
You lift yourself slow. So slow it feels like dying. Then drop back down and see stars. You moan, loud, wanton, clawing at his shoulders for purchase.
“There she is,” Sonny murmurs, bucking up once in return. “There’s my girl.”
You gasp again and start to move; grinding, rocking, half-riding him with a rhythm that’s more whimper than pride. But you want to prove it. You have to prove it. You chase the rhythm even as your thighs twitch, even as the pressure builds and your muscles burn and your voice slips into gasps and curses and desperate, desperate need.
He lets you ride, lets you have the illusion of control, until you’re crying out again; high-pitched and breaking, your hands losing their grip.
“Okay.” His voice drops. “That’s enough show. Now I’m takin’ over.”
He flips you in one motion; pressing you to your back, cock still buried inside you, hips snapping once just to remind you who it belongs to.
“You rode it like a good girl.” He leans in, mouth ghosting over your lips. “Now I’m gonna fuck you like one.”
He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch your breath. The edge of your orgasm clings to your thighs; slick, pulsing, and raw when Sonny growls something low and unintelligible, grabs your wrists, and fucks back in to you with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. Your body seizes, jerking under him, oversensitive and wide open.
“Sonny!”
It’s barely more than a gasp. You reach for something, anything; his forearm, the sheets, your sanity, but he pins your hands above your head in one easy grip. His palm swallows both wrists, pressing them into the mattress like a weight you were never strong enough to lift.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” he pants, sweat dripping from his jaw. “We’re not done. Not even close.”
Your body burns. Your mind swims. You can still feel every inch of him inside you, still feel the bulge low in your belly where his cock stretches you too deep, too wide, too full. He draws back slowly, too slowly, his thick cock dragging along your tender walls, every ridge and vein sending another wave of tremors through your muscles. Then he slams in again, hard, you cry out.
“That’s right. That’s it. Got you open nice and wide f’me. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”
You nod helplessly, breath stuttering.
“I… yeah… too deep… too much…” you whine, eyes rolling back in pleasure.
“Too much?”
He leans in close; forehead pressed to yours, eyes burning down into your soul.
“You were beggin’ to ride this dick twenty minutes ago. Now it’s too much?”
You whimper, words failing you. Your pussy pulses, spasming tight around him. He groans, deep in his chest, and you feel the vibration inside you.
“Shit. You’re grippin’ me like you’re scared I’ll leave, baby.”
He pulls out again, halfway, then pushes back in slower this time; savouring the stretch, watching your eyes roll back as your walls bloom open for him again.
“You’re not gonna let anyone else in after this, y’know that?” His voice is softer now, almost reverent.
“Not after me. Not after this cock. I’m gonna ruin you for every other man on the fucken’ planet.”
Your back arches off the bed as he starts to thrust in earnest. Slow, deep, heavy. Each stroke feels designed to leave marks.His hips grind with purpose, the head of his cock punching up into your sweet spot again and again until your brain starts to go soft.
“Sonny… Sonny, I can’t!” your voice cracks, a sob caught in your throat. “You’re too big!”
He smiles, chuckling darkly “Oh I know, baby.”
You blink up at him, dazed.
“Say it’s mine. Tell me that tight little pussy belongs to me.”
Your lip quivers. You try to hold it in. He sees the defiance; the last thread of pride you’re still clinging to.
“Say it, or I’ll fuck it outta you.”
Then he snaps his hips again. And again. Until your body breaks open; your climax hitting you; raw, unexpected, and violent. Your legs lock around him, your back arches off the sheets as a desperate whine escapes your throat. Your cunt flutters around him like it’s trying to beg for mercy.
“Yours… yours, yours, yours! Fuck, Sonny!”
He moans into your neck, breath hot and ragged.
“That’s it. That’s my girl.”
He fucks through it, never slowing down. Your whole body shakes, the stretch turning to sting, the sting turning to something molten, something terrifyingly good. You’re not just wet – you’re dripping. Slick runs down the insides of your thighs, pooling under the curve of your ass, making obscene sounds every time he slams back into you.
“Messy little thing,” he coos, reaching between your bodies to press his thumb back into the bulge in your belly. “Look at you, stretched all the way out around me. Bet you’re gonna leak for hours.”
You sob again, words incoherent. Your voice is gone, used up on gasps and cries and half-screamed curses. The bed rocks under the force of his thrusts. The headboard slams softly against the wall. His skin slaps against yours, heavy and unrelenting, like he’s marking time with your bones. His rhythm starts to stutter. His grip on your hips tightening, jaw locking.
“Gonna fill you up now,” he growls. “Gonna ruin this pretty little hole so good, you’ll feel me every time you fucken’ breathe.”
You beg without meaning to; please, yes, don’t stop… and when he cums, it’s with a groan so guttural you feel it echo in your cunt. He presses in deep, cock twitching as he spills inside you, warmth flooding your body from the inside out.
“Fuck! Fuck, there we go baby, take it all. That’s it. Let me stuff you full.”
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t even try. He collapses over you, his chest crushing yours, his cock still nestled deep where it belongs. You’re trembling, ruined, leaking around him.
“You did so good for me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Such a tight little thing. Barely made it.”
You whimper as his hips roll again, lazy now, slowly grinding back into your raw, stretched cunt.
“Might keep you like this,” he breathes. “Plugged full. All night. Every time you clench, I’ll still be there. Markin’ you from the inside.”
You don’t reply.
You can’t.
You’re too fucked out to realise it right away; your brain still syrup-slow, muscles twitching beneath him, every breath a shaky little flutter. But when your legs start to shift, when you instinctively try to squeeze your thighs closed or roll to one side, that’s when you feel the drag. The ache. The way his cock still sits inside you, heavy and thick, twitching every so often like it’s reminding you who won.
“Don’t move,” he mumbles, voice gravel-slick as he brushes your hair back from your forehead. His nose nuzzles behind your ear, breath sticky with afterglow and sin. “Wanna keep you like this for a while. Open. Leakin’. Full.”
Your body jolts at the word full. It’s not even a stretch; it’s a press, a pulse, a slow burn of too much in too small a space. He’s still fucking seated so deep, you swear if you coughed, you’d feel it in your throat.
“I- Sonny…” You try to speak, to protest, but it comes out in a moan instead. “Too… still too much…”
“You’re fine.” He kisses your temple, slow and sweet, hand roaming down your spine. His hips shift lazily causing your body to jerk, your overstimulated cunt fluttering helplessly around his cock.
“Just gotta stretch you out properly. Let you mould around me. Let your sweet little pussy learn who it belongs to.”
You bury your face into the crook of his neck, muffling another whine. He laughs, low and filthy.
“Oh baby… its alright, we’ll get there. Won’t we?”
His hips rock again, just an inch. Just enough to make you whimper.
“What’d I say earlier? Hmm? You’re too small for me.” He grins against your cheek. “I meant that. And now I proved it. Look at you… can’t even breathe right without this cock knockin’ around inside.”
Your entire body burns.
“I can feel you everywhere,” you whisper, voice hoarse, cheeks flushing with heat.
“Good.”
He kisses you again; your cheek, your throat, the corner of your mouth – so soft it makes the contrast even crueller.
“Wanna leave bruises on your insides, sweetheart. I want you to feel me every time you sit down. Every time you clench your thighs. Every time you think about touchin’ yourself… I want this ache right here.” He presses his palm to your belly again, slow and firm. “So you remember just how deep I was.”
You tremble. He licks a lazy stripe up your neck.
“Bet it’s still stretchin’ around me right now. Your little cunt still tryin’ to adjust… tryin’ to figure out how to keep me in without splitin’ open again.”
Your body throbs at his words. Your cunt clenches. And he feels it.
“Oh there she is,” he breathes, cock twitching inside you. “Still squeezin’ me. Still hungry.”
“Sonny,” you whimper, half a plea, half a warning.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, voice like molten honey.
“I’ll give you a break. Just wanna sit here. Keep it inside a while longer.”
Another slow thrust. You whine.
“That’s my good girl.” He brushes sweat-matted hair from your face, gazes down at you with that fucked-out, adoring smirk. “You’ve got no idea what it does to me, seein’ my cock buried in somethin’ so small. You shouldn’t be able to take it. Shouldn’t be able to ride it. But fuck, sweetheart… you did.”
Your heart stutters. You clench around him again. “You’re perfect like this,” he whispers.
You feel the aftershocks curl through your limbs; slow, warm, and endless.
“Next time you try reachin’ for somethin’ too high, just remember what happened the last time you stretched too far… ended up stuffed full and cryin’ on my cock, beggin’ me to stop before I even started.”
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