Welcome to CoD Indulgences! Where you can get sent to heaven ~
I put my CoD x reader smut here. 141, Konig, Los Vaqueros, anyone and everyone.
I write my default xreader as cisgender female, but if you want alt options I will do my best <3
Got a sexy blurb or HC you'd like to see? Fetish idea? Special fantasy? Something soft and precious, or hard and filthy? Send me asks!
my writing tagged under #an indulgence
various fanarts gifs and other images tagged under #an indulgence for the eyes
reblogs under #an indulgent reblog
#author has never played call of duty, so fair warning, your fav character may be written after some very fast Wikipedia delving
i will happily write dubcon, noncon, dubious morality, drugging, and other pearl clutching tropes. CWs are marked but if I miss one please either reply to the post or message me and I will add it! None of this is beta read so let me know any big typos or problems that I can fix.
KEEP MY FICS OFF YOUR AI BULLSHIT
~MASTERLIST BELOW~
TF141 x Reader
Dumb bet with the boys
Reader come marking
Somno gangbang
Mermen 141 x reader plus Part 2 here!
Body shots ask
Omegaverse heat drabble
GN!reader petplay
Stalking ask
Dildo!
You love sucking cock
No panties ask
Stripper!Reader gangbang ask now on Ao3!
Vibrator play part 1
Vibrator play part 2
Comeplay and Creampies
xReader Pegging ask
Free Use Gangbang
Cockwarming
Ghoap x Reader
Sub!Johnny sloppy seconds
Sleepy Sexy Morning
Soap x Reader
Come marking with Johnny
Horny Johnny gets punished
Sub!Soap chastity cage
Soap x Laswell x Reader
SoapGaz x reader overstim
Soap CNC
Brat v Brat mud wrestling ask
Public fucking
Sunburn (no smut)
Pregnancy kink
Pregnancy kink w baby trapping
Drinking with Simon's Girlfriend (hinted Soap x Reader only) (part 2)
Babes do you have any thoughts on johnny and chubby readers😫 because no one can tell me that man doesnt love himself a pudgy tummy and fat thighs. Would genuinely be offended if you tried to lose weight, being insecure around him would just mean hes gonna fuck the idea out of your head
Johnny Mactavish x fem!reader, fat!reader, body image issues, internalized fatphobia, body shaming, aggressive confidence boosting, dirty talk, body image healing, brief mention of anal fantasy, brief oral
Anon so patient waiting since July I'm sorry
It comes up while you're just lounging on the couch, Johnny having coaxed you back against his chest, arms around you while you both half-watch a reality show. There's a woman on the screen throwing a massive fit about one of the men apparently cheating on her- the camera angles jump around as she screeches and goes off on anyone within arms reach.
You snort softly when she gets to the meat of her upset- that she's too beautiful and sexy to be cheated on. How could someone want to fuck anyone except her when she's physically perfect?
"Thank God you're not like that," you say, and Johnny makes a questioning sound. "With me for my body, I mean. I feel kind of bad for her, she thinks she's only worth anything if she's sexy."
Johnny's hands still where they've been idly rubbing up and down your belly. He does that a lot, squeezing or smoothing the curve of your stomach where it hangs down, the extra folds around your sides, under your arms. You'd not really paid attention unless it tickled- he was a bit twitchy at times, and you have a lot of real estate to fill his hands when he couldn't find a pen to click or fiddle with.
"What do you mean?" He asks.
You crane your neck back to look up at his chin. "You know. At least I know you like me enough to tolerate all this," you wave a hand across your soft stomach, the rippled fat of your thighs. You mean it, sincerely- you're incredibly lucky that Johnny can put up with your physical shape being less than ideal.
Abruptly, you're lifted up, and you yelp in surprise as Johnny drops you onto the seat, nearly crawling on top of you. He's got a weird, frozen look on his face.
"Do you," he starts, and stops for a second, shaking his head. "D'you think I don't think you're gorgeous? Sexy?"
You gape at him, mouth opening and closing a few times. "I mean, it's not....you know. I'm not like, hideous. But you didn't exactly picture yourself ending up with Miss XXXL here, y'know?"
Johnny remains kneeling, his whole face tight, and you curl in a little. You said something wrong, and he's upset. Why? What for? It's a compliment, that he could look past your body, liked you enough to stick around.
Your boyfriend sits back, hands coming to his face. "This is my fault," he mumbles, "I didn't pay enough attention. Didn't say it right. Fuck!" You startle at the outburst, watching him with wide eyes. "You! You think I just- what, lie back and think of Scotland when we're in bed?"
Your mouth is opening and closing like a fish. "Not...really?" You squeak, and wince. "I know you enjoy it, I'm not forcing you to be there, it's just- I don't know!" You really don't, Johnny initiates sex more than you do, but there's a difference between sex with your hot girlfriend, and sex with your fat girlfriend, and only rarely do the two cross together.
Johnny just stares at you, something like anger in his face, and something also incredibly sad. It makes you nervous, tension building up along your neck, and you actually yelp when he stands abruptly, hauling you up with him; he's strong, he can move even your ass easily, and it's something you've always appreciated- that you're less likely to hurt him on accident.
He storms through the flat like he's on fire, all but snorting smoke, and when you reach the bedroom you're actually a little frightened. "Johnny, what the hell?" You snap, and he whirls you around to face the big mirror hanging on the closet door.
He's got your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. His bulk is mostly hidden behind you, but he's got his face pressed against your head, holding your gaze.
"Starting at the top," he snaps, and his hand comes up to tug a lock of your hair, gentle despite his harsh tone. "Love this, perfect to get my hands in and tug when I want to fuck you harder. Know you love it too, the way you moan for me." You gasp, startled by the sudden vulgarity, and Johnny just drops the lock to instead get a fistful at the back of your head, pulling the way he likes. You're weak, and your neck arches with a moan.
"Now here," he continues, and bites your earlobe, "are these pretty little ears for me to say all sorts of fucking filth into. Like how hot you look creaming around my cock and begging for more." His teeth shift to your cheek. "Fucking love these fat cheeks. Yes, fat-" he'd felt you stiffen "-I'm not fucking blind. Perfect to get my teeth into." He nips at your skin, and in the mirror, you see the red mark blooming on the curve of your cheek, only slightly darker than the blush already taking over your face.
One of Johnny's fingers hooks into your mouth, tugging so your lips part. He grips your jaw with his other hand. In the mirror, he looks half wild, turning your face to look at him straight on. "This mouth, I'd fuckin' write sonnets. Taste good, feel good, so pretty when you smile and when you get that tight little throat around my cock. The way your lips look when you're being kissed." He kisses you then, hands cradling your cheeks, deep and full and overwhelming. Your knees are wobbly, and you pant as he sucks your bottom lip, rolls his tongue across yours, swallows the half-baked protests and confusion from you. He stops only when you actually get lightheaded, dizzy, spinning you to look at the mirror again.
"Next stop, shoulders. Arms, these soft things that hold me so fucking good- I come home and the first thing I want is your arms around me." Johnny rubs his hands down your arms, gripping your wrists. "You're ticklish too, in the elbows, which I've never heard of until you, and then I can get these sweet little hands on my body- fuck, feel that?" He grinds against your ass. "Think about your hands all the time. Soft and pretty and so nice on my cock, tugging my hair." He lifts one hand to his mouth, and sucks at two of your fingers, releasing them just to nip and tongue at the sensitive underside of your wrist.
You're breathing hard, still several steps behind, your skin flushed and hot from the sudden jump into this wild sort of, what, confidence boosting? Dirty talk-cum-motivation? Brain aneurysm?
Johnny bites harder at the soft curve of your forearm, yanking you from your thoughts. "Now," he says, growls, and your breath catches at the dark force of his eyes, "get this fucking shirt off, or I'll tear it off."
Oh fuck, he means it, and each word goes right to your pussy.
You yank at your T-shirt, and before it's even out of your hands, Johnny is pressed up tight to your back. His cock is hard against your ass, his chin tucked down over your shoulder, and all his attention is on the big, soft curves of your breasts as he lifts them up, squeezing them together.
He moans, eyes closing for a moment to nuzzle at your throat. Thumbing your nipples makes you shiver, and he does it again, flicking the soft, sensitive flesh until they perk up. "Oh, these, I could write a fucking book about your tits, love. Soft and warm and so big, just perfect in my hands. Look so nice when you aren't hiding them under all that shit." His grip shifts abruptly, and you moan when he pinches your nipples between thumbs and forefingers. It's maddening, firm pressure spreading heat through your breasts and down into your belly, between your legs, pussy heating up as your brain scrambles.
He tugs, harder, like he's milking you, and you squeeze your thighs together. Fuck, that's good- and Johnny sees it, grinning when you bite your lip. "Love watching them bounce when you're on my cock. Could smother myself in these tits, want to leave marks on them all fucking day. Want to see how big your nipples can get, if I spent enough time on them." He tugs again. "Would you like that love? Suck on these girls until you're crying?" He pinches sharply then releases your nipples, groping the soft flesh of your breasts as they sag back down. You flinch a little, seeing it, but Johnny moans and sucks a mark under your ear.
He keeps playing with your breasts, lifting and caressing them, teasing your nipples as you squirm against him. He keeps lifting and dropping them, and his face is intent, hot, watching as each breast bounces and jiggles in his hands.
He smacks one, down across the top, and you moan instead of yelp- the hit does something new, sends heat deeper into you, and he does it again, smacking across each tit, until your skin is flushed. You cling to the arm across your waist, Johnny taking your weight, as steady at your back as ever even as he groans and sucks a mark into your throat.
"Fucking amazing," he pants, licking a stripe to your ear. "Been dying to fuck these tits of yours, did you know that?"
You shake your head, gasping as his hand cups your breast gently again, thumbing the nipple, playing with it.
"I want to do it all the fucking time, because you're so fucking sexy I can't stand it. You drive me insane just standing around, soft and fat and gorgeous," and he catches your chin again when you whine and try to look away from the mirror. "No, don't you dare. Look at yourself. Look how beautiful you are, just as you are," and everything goes very blurry.
Johnny's arms come together around your waist, cleaving you to him. His cock grinds against your ass, but it's secondary to how he cradles you, presses his face against your cheek. "Oh, love, don't cry. I just wish I'd known to say it before. I thought you knew, I really did," and your whole body flares, hot and wanting, when Johnny twines your fingers into his and drags your hands together down your belly, across the full round fat pad over your mons and to your clit.
"Fat here too, and I love it," he groans, and you blink away the tears as he gropes your belly, one hand squeezing and stroking the flesh, down your hips and where your thighs curve out, the other working with yours to rub swift and light over your clit.
You get a smack to your thigh that makes you spread them, and Johnny moans and kisses your cheek again. "Watch, love, see that?" He smacks you again, thigh rippling. "So fucking soft. Big curvy legs between mine in bed, thighs I keep asking you to smother me with- oh, there you go," because your cheeks are flaring with new heat as you recall how often Johnny grips your thighs as he eats you out, tugging on them to try and bring you closer in around his head. You'd always resisted, anxious about suffocating him, about the way your stretch marks feel under his hands.
He's still teasing your clit, using your own fingers to circle around it, making you whine and roll your hips. He laughs, sweet and low, and abruptly dips a finger inside you; you're so wet he goes right in easily, and brings it back up to his lips shining with slick. He licks it off, moaning around the digit, as your fingers slow awkwardly, unsure again. His hands go back to your belly, and he moans into your ear and sucks at your throat, rubbing over your stomach, the rolls on your sides, finding each dip and crease of flesh, and just- the way he touches you, his fingers delving into and under your belly, stroking with the same focus he gives your pussy, like it turns him on just having his hands on the literal biggest insecurity you have. "Love this too. I see you try to hide it, I don't want you to, I want you to show off all this big soft body. I want you in fucking nothing this summer, one of those little things, so small I can't even tell if you're naked under this- fuck, baby, I'll lose my mind."
He nudges a leg between yours, pushing your feet further apart. "Even love these little things, the way your toes curl when I get my cock right where you want it," and you wobble and fall forward, palms slapping the mirror, when Johnny kneels, lifts your ass, and licks a wet stripe from clit to hole.
You shake and cry out, off balance, still trying to catch up mentally to everything he's saying. Johnny doesn't lie to you, but you'd always just...brushed off his compliments. Said thank you with a smile but never took it more than skin deep. Why would you, when every partner before Johnny had made it so clear your fat was either a deal breaker, or something to be ashamed of? When every magazine page comes with "curvy" models that barely hit double digit pant sizes, when ordering meals gets you side eye and smirks for asking for an extra serving, when clothes are hard to find and harder to look good in?
When going out with Johnny and seeing the looks, the derision, the clear question on everyone's faces, why is someone like him, with someone like her?
Johnny bites hard into your ass cheek, and you yelp, the lust faded. When he stands, tucking his chin over your shoulder, his lips are wet; he twines his fingers back with yours again to keep them pinned. His eyes are so dark, so heated, and you barely breathe when he locks his gaze to yours and presses his lips to your ear.
"I love that fat fucking ass, the way it moves, the way it feels. I love that even your pussy is round and soft and I can play with it when you let a dog like me get into you." He nips at you, growling, a half-hysterical giggle bursting forth before he makes you gasp with his fingers on your clit again. "I'll spent half my life just on this gorgeous fucking ass, the way I want to come on it and bite it and fuck it- oh yes, love, I'm getting my cock into this ass someday, and you're going to bounce on it until you come." You whine, imagining it as he strokes you firmly, watching the way your lashes flutter and cheeks burn. Your pussy aches for something in it, and his cock is stiff and hard at your back, rubbing a damp trail over your ass. His other hand leaves yours still against the mirror to come down and grope at it, lifting and bouncing the way he did your breasts, smacks and pinches that make your hips squirm.
"Do you want my cock in you?" He breathes, and you nod helplessly. "Good girl," and you're spun around, hair pulled tight to force your head back as Johnny kisses you like a dying man, tongue and heat, swallowing the moan you give him, and then before you have a chance at your normal protests- Johnny groans and lifts you, back to the mirror, thighs spread open over his arms as he drops you down hard onto his cock.
You shout at the sudden stretch, and he grins, muscles bulging in his arms and shoulders. Your own slip against the mirror, damp with sweat. Fuck he feels so good, the thick full stretch of him, the way your pussy flutters and clenches down before accepting him in, taking his cock deeper.
"Johnny- no, I'm too big-"
"Impossible," he spits, and draws his hips back only to slam them forward again, making your head swim at the double impact, his cock in your pussy and his groin to your clit. "Get fatter, actually!" He does it again before you can speak, cutting you off with a moan, and the mirror is clattering behind you, as you clutch around his shoulders and take the pounding he's giving you. "Give me more of you to love," and you wail as he bends somehow closer over you and presses a kiss to your open mouth.
"I do, you know," he says, not slowing down at all, just ruthlessly fucking you against the door. Your whole body clenches tight, winding up, pussy so wet and throbbing you can hear the wet slap of hips together. "I love you. I love you for your kindness and your smile, for your gorgeous fucking body and the way you make me feel like I'm home." His eyes are very bright, and yours swim with tears again. He physically can't bend you any further, breasts and belly all squeezed up between your bodies, but he manages to get his forehead to yours, locking your eyes together. Your heart aches in your chest, your pussy clenching and fluttering, as his cock rolls across your throbbing g-spot, your clit slaps against his groin.
"I love you," he repeats, "and I'd love you if you were thin, but I wouldn't love you more," and you burst into tears and come for Johnny with his name on your lips, shaking, all the soft fat parts of you bouncing as he moans and clings to you.
You're holding him tight, hands in his hair and over his shoulders, and you moan into his mouth with a kiss as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, hips bouncing off your fat ass and thighs, each smack a reminder of your weight and shape and- and how much Johnny loves it, loves you, the mountains and rolls of your body not tolerated but- enjoyed, wanted, craved.
Johnny groans and staggers backwards to the bed, falling into it with you still in his arms. As his back hits the mattress, you whine, the angle of his cock shifting inside you, and with your legs still caught up in his arms you can't brace yourself. You fall fully onto him, weight dropping down over his lap, no hovering or fretting, and you see Johnny come like an explosion. His eyes roll and his hips buck up under you, not enough leverage to lift fully, caught in the hot wet clutch of your pussy, and you bite your lip and bear down, letting him feel the full rippling pulse around his cock.
Johnny wails, and you swear you feel a fresh burst of come inside you, as he groans and pants and limply releases your legs. You can't let go of him yet, still too fragile, something old and broken in you melting down between your bodies and gently being set back into place.
You curl over him like a snails shell, dropping little kisses onto his cheeks, blinking back the tears still dragging at your lashes. He grins, red faced and sweating, and tilts his chin up for a kiss he turns slow, soothing, indulging in your lips as much as your body, the sweet tenderness of his mouth on yours and his hands gently cradling your hips making your heart ache again.
"I love you too," you finally manage, gasping, and burst into more giggles. "God, I love you so much." I'm sorry. I'm trying to believe you. I think I might be able to now.
"I love you too," he says, and rolls you both to your sides. Your leg slots between his as his cock slips free, pressing wet and sticky against your belly, still warm and cradled securely against your body. You're sexy. I want you to see it. You deserve to know you're beautiful.
You hold him like that for a while, time slipping away, just feeling his heart against your chest, whispering back and forth the harder secrets of what you think about yourself, Johnny catching them and sending them away like butterflies, like smoke, until you fall asleep together with his arms around you, for once not worried about being too big to hold.
Thinking about Ghost as a children's swim instructor- Mr Riley, or just Mr Simon to the littles.
Big, scarred hands gently cradling their little fat bellies, lifting the babies up to splash and wriggle, bouncing them as they squeal. The older ones get the same careful handling, showing them how to float, how to grasp the side wall of the pool- "very good," he tells them in the deep, serious voice children love, as firm as if he was speaking to an adult.
The older children are in a separate class, and crowd Simon at every lesson, bursting all over to tell him about something new they learned, as he sections them out and starts moving down the line, prompting backstrokers and doggy paddlers alike.
The first time he yelled- used his dad voice, one boy whispered delightedly- it was not to the kids but a parent, more occupied with fluttering her lashes at him than keeping an eye on her kid, too far into the deep end and spluttering.
It's why you bring your kids to his classes specifically- he doesn't mess around, doesn't play favorites or let the kids break rules, sets them up for success instead of failure, and if the soaked, long-sleeve black shirt and matching swim pants cling deliciously when he finishes and climbs out, well, what's the harm in looking?
(only once the lesson is done and your kids are safely in your arms, of course. You don't want to get yelled at either- even if that dad voice had haunted a few of your dreams)
I feel like if you’re not going to update your fics or post, then you shouldn’t keep talking about them. I’ve been following you for a long time, and you’re still the same. At least try to change that.
-🐝
So let’s go ahead and talk about that Google document that’s been making its rounds on Reddit, tumblr, Twitter, discord, etc because it’s clear to me you fuckers just want ai generated content. “I don’t want ai slop I’ll take things written by human hands any day of the week- “ okay but that’s not what the numbers support.
Because while everyone else was up in arms about what author used ai, I couldn’t help but focus on how many hits and how many kudos those fics received meanwhile things written by people are getting bare minimum engagement and not providing incentive to write consistently
And it’s clear- based on that list- that a lot more people are using ai in fandom spaces than they’re admitting and you guys have grown so fucking used to that, that you’ve genuinely forgotten how much time it actually takes to write things. Back in my day it was considered a “frequently updated fic” if someone posted a new chapter once every couple of months. But now, thanks to ai, you get a new chapter every few days or every week- never stop to question that- and theb wonder why when someone actually writes something, it takes so long.
Instead of understanding that people have lives, that people write things and then delete the whole thing to rewrite it again which takes twice the amount of time, that people get writers block, etc it’s clear to me that people like you would suck off an ai user if it got you content much faster as long as you didn’t have to admit that you liked the ai generated content in question (so you can remain morally superior or some shit)
If you want real, human-made crafts, whether that's art or writing or pottery or anything, it takes time. Time to get good enough to show what you've made, to fix a sketch or edit a draft, and if you're sitting out there gobbling down creative works and demanding more like No-Face from Spirited Away, you've lost the plot somewhere.
Encouragement over entitlement. Engage with an author and remind yourself that if it was that easy and quick and simple, you'd do it yourself, and you can't.
(cw: Fae!Soap x f!reader, pre-negotiated consent but not from you, groping, public sex, exhibitionism, dub-con oral(f!receiving), dub-con fingering, fae contracts)
The look you give your boss is nothing short of absolute malice.
Price does nothing but smile, before tossing the dress onto the bar and nodding at it more pointedly.
"Change." He orders.
"I'm not wearing that." You insist.
"Should've seen what he picked out first, be glad I talked 'im down." Price tells you; it doesn't make you feel any better. You still stare down the fabric on the bar and wonder if you could even consider that a dress or something closer to a long shirt.
An incentive, Price had called it, a reward for a job well done. You understand the concept, you just don't know why this has to involve you.
"He's gonna try to fuck me over the bar," You try appealing to reason. Price is a reasonable man, mostly, surely he wouldn't want his bartender unable to pour drinks.
"I'll keep hold of 'is leash." Price assures you. Somehow it isn't comforting. Not that you find anything about the man particularly comforting. He's a decent boss but no more trustworthy than any other fae you've dealt with. Still, if he says he'll keep Soap on a tight leash then that's what he'll do.
"Fine," You relent, "but if I even see his dick I'm quitting."
The threat holds no weight, you have a contract with these assholes, and you know better than to break it. Price still raises a brow, likely thinking the same thing. You grab the skimpy dress with a grumble and go to one of the back rooms to change.
Stupid sex club. Stupid faeries. Stupid job that you stupid need to pay your stupid fucking bills.
-
It's late into the night before Soap even shows up. You're so busy mixing drinks, pouring pints, and trying to tug down the back of your skirt, that you don't even notice him slip behind the bar.
You do notice him when you turn to grab the Aperol, and your eyes immediately flick to the tent in the front of his pants. You scowl when you meet his eye.
"Keep it in your pants," You tell him, doing your best to avoid touching him as you reach around him to grab the bottle.
He doesn't give you the same courtesy, reaching down to lift your skirt as you lean.
You yelp at the sudden exposure and immediately attempt to cover yourself again. Soap's hand is firm where he's got your skirt held, and though you tug at the edges your ass remains out. Soap clicks his tongue.
"Didnae give ya the panties like Ah asked."
You give up on tugging your skirt down in favor of twisting to push at him. You shove his hands, his chest, anything you can make contact with.
"Let go," You demand, feeling something awful warm when he drops to his knees.
"Don't mind me, bonnie." Soap hums, his hands dropping your skirt to grip your thighs. Your hands follow his and you bend to try to slide his hands off of you, only to feel his teeth against the swell of your ass. You stiffen, shooting back to your full height in an instant. You glance at Price across the room, and he holds his hand up with a smile.
Bastard. You can almost hear him telling you to get back to work.
You try to move to grab a new bottle, and Soap keeps you tightly in place. The only thing you can reach is the beer taps. You shoot a quick glare Price's way.
"Pints only for a minute," You tell the patrons seated on the other side of the bar, before you turn your attention back to Soap, "because that's all you're getting, one minute."
Soap doesn't respond except to shuffle closer between your legs and make himself comfortable. You grab a glass and tug the tap's handle to pour a pint for the man that slides up to the bar. Your eyes dart over him, assessing, and you switch to a cider over the lager you'd grabbed. You'd love to give him something with raspberry, maybe muddled with gin, light but stiff, but you're stuck.
Soap's tongue drags over the sleek silk of your panties, and you nearly drop the glass in shock. It takes all your self control to finish the pour, set it on the bar, and keep your face straight. His thumbs rub over your panties, spreading your clothed folds before he licks his tongue over you again. You shudder and push at his hands again, his grip feels like iron, his fingers digging into your thighs to a near painful degree.
The man on the other side of the bar gives you a strange look before retreating to some dark corner.
Another long lick followed by a deep groan, before he's peppering kisses over your ass and dragging your panties down to your knees. There's a measure of care to the press of his lips that you choose to ignore and then forget entirely when he bites your ass hard. You yelp and snap a hand over your mouth to keep from disturbing any of the men on the other side of the bar.
A placating kiss is planted on the fresh bite, and you twist to catch Soap's eye.
"Okay, that's a minute," You tell him, uncaring whether it is or not, "that's all you get."
"Ah dinnae agree tae that." Soap tells you, "Price says Ah have ya for the night."
Your gaze jerks to Price. Then around the bar. You can't find him. Is he even here? What happened to holding the leash?
You turn back to Soap and it feels like all the air has been punched out of you. He holds your gaze with those awful electric blues, and makes you watch him burry his face back between your legs. You twist back to the bar, your back twinging at how quickly your muscles tighten at the first touch of his tongue against your skin.
You grab another pint glass as one of the patrons on the edge of the bar grabs a stool in front of you. You need a distraction from the boiling anger you feel. So you can just be traded for favors? Given out like a prize for a job well done? What's next? He'll be selling you with the girls in the back rooms?
Heat slicks its way up your spine at the twist of Soap's tongue over your clit. Warmth slides back down to melt between your legs, pooling and tingling to following the steady flow of lapping. Over your cunt, between your folds, Soap's face held firm against you even as his hands slide to spread you apart. Waves of sensation that wear like a steady beat against the rocky beach of your self control.
Your hand shakes on the tap as you pour Guinness for a man that looks like he'd prefer a sour. The stout overflows, leaking down the glass and sliding over your fingers as a new wave of pleasure sinks under your skin. You don't bother drying your hand off, or apologizing, you barely get the pint on the bartop without cracking the glass.
The man gives you a once over as he takes it, and you grip the edge of the bar to try and gather your wits about you. You swallow down a sharp noise as Soap drags his tongue in strange familiar shapes over your clit. Your breathing feels uneven, and your hips push back into his touch without your brain telling them to.
It's all too hot, too wet, too focused, for you to keep a thought in your head. Your hands shake against the bar, fingers flexing open and closed with the overwhelming desire to grab and pull at the head between your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut against the shot of pleasure that zips through you, tightening in your stomach before swirling between your ribs. You bend at the waist, pressing back, aching for more. Those strange familiar tracings are driving you mad.
(Johnny)
Each little flick and roll against your clit making your body shudder and react.
(Johnny)
Your cunt feels hot, electrified with the aching need that drips from it.
(Johnny)
His nose presses against your entrance, grinds teasingly against the wet hole until your breath is shuddering and you're halfway to begging him to fill you.
(Johnny, Johnny)
He pulls back to push his wiggling tongue into your cunt, and you nearly sob in relief. Your head feels like it's stuffed full of cotton, the throbbing pain behind your eyes is starting to recede back into the recesses of your mind. You hadn't even noticed it before it was gone.
Not that you notice its absence, not when your entire being seems to be focused wholly on the way your cunt stretches around Johnny's tongue. The warm wet muscle pokes and prods, wiggling and licking at your soft inner walls when it isn't fucking in and out of you like a promise.
A whimper leaves your lips when his tongue leaves you and drags another rough stripe over your cunt. It feels dangerous, loaded, intent. Some singular goal already accomplished, a deer finally shot allowing the hunter to feed, you almost feel Johnny smile.
You lean over the counter, the cold, wet, wood seeping into the thin fabric of your dress to cling to your skin. Despite the sudden chill your mouth falls open as Johnny sucks at your clit, his tongue rolling over the sensitive bud in crashing waves of pleasure. Your lashes flutter, your eyes roll, and the customer in front of you leans back on his stool. The soft moan that drops from your lips seems to roll like iron across the bar, making every patron pick up their glass in the vein hope of not looking like they're watching you.
Johnny doesn't break from his ministrations, shaking his head as he tries to press closer to you. The stubble along his jaw scratches at your thighs, and you try to swallow down some of the spit that's collecting on your tongue as he swipes broad strokes with his own through your slick folds.
One of the patrons reaches over the bar to touch your cheek, and when you flinch away Johnny growls. He pulls his mouth from your cunt only long enough to warn the man:
"Anyone touches 'er I'll have their heid."
The threat shouldn't send prickles of heat over your skin like it does. Not for the slow way that Johnny puts his mouth on you again, a low growling hum as his lips close around your clit that rocks little jolts of heat through you. His tongue flicks tight short licks against the sensitive bud and each one seems to build a crescendo of want that coils tighter and tighter in the pit of your stomach.
Every muscle in your body pulls tight, forces the arch of your back as you push yourself desperately back into his attentions.
You drop your forehead against the bar with a pathetic whine. You feel pathetic, vulnerable in a way you've never experienced. Every patron at the bar seems to have their eyes on you, you can feel them like a brand, and that attempt to touch you... Knowing they're watching you fall apart, watching Johnny do whatever he likes to you because of a deal he made with your boss- You just hope none of them are wondering what they have to do to earn the same reward.
Johnny's head turns to press his lips to the soft skin of your inner thigh, smearing your slick across the skin, and pushes a finger into you. Your lip wobbles at the not-quite-full feeling, at the burning slide of his finger in and out of you. You can feel his eyes on you too, but where your customers' eyes rove hungrily over your body, Johnny's are focused solely on the way your cunt swallows his thick finger.
His lips mover against your thigh, silent murmurings that your ears strain for over the music of the bar. A second digit slides gently in beside the first, his fingers scissoring to watch the stretch and God it just melts through you. You feel the stretch like a slow warmth that spreads through your pelvis and dribbles down your thighs. Out and in, his fingers dive into you and pull back with just the taste of your slick on his knuckles.
It's less overwhelming than his mouth. Enough of a thought coalesces in your brain to make you lift your head off the bar.
And to feel a sharp jolt of fear burst through you at the way the patron across from you tugs at his belt.
No.
No, you can't do this. It's too much. There are too many people and they're going to think you're something more than just the bartender. They're going to try and touch you, or make you touch them.
It dowses over your heated skin like cold water, making you prickle and tense, shaking with something so close and yet so far from pleasure that your body can't seem to decide what to do with it.
You're not sure who you mean to call for help, but a name springs to your lips faster than your tongue can pick it up.
"Jo-" Johnny's hand wraps around your mouth, his body plastered against your back in a second. The rush of fear leaves you in an instant as his lips find the shell of your ear. His fingers never leave you.
The gentle thrust of his fingers into your tight cunt feels almost like a lifeline, a sensation you can hold onto that you can't confuse for anything else.
"Ahm here, hen." He murmurs, his eyes flicking from your face to the patron's hand. "Ahm nae gonna let anyone dae anythin'." More than an assurance, a promise. You sink back into the feeling. "Take it as a compliment," His lips drag over the top of your cheek, up to your temple, "look so pretty that they cannae help touchin' 'emselves."
You half expect him to leave you like this, to go back to where he'd been between your legs, but he doesn't.
Your fingers find his forearm and grip it tight, something to hold onto as his fingers pick up the pace. In and out, in and out, faster and faster, harder and harder, until you can't stop the high moans that Johnny's hand muffles. His lips press everywhere they can, peppering the side of your face and the length of your neck with something that feels almost like affection as your hips rock and your muscles spasm.
Each thrust of his fingers hits right where you want it, pushing at that wet ache that seems to radiate pleasure. You claw at Johnny's arm with both hands as your back arches to a near painful degree, and he releases his hold on your face to grab your throat.
He fixes his mouth against yours in a searing kiss right as you come, your cunt fluttering around his fingers. Wet squelching rings over the music, filling your ears, and his palm with the sound of your pleasure. His tongue sweeps against yours, and you swallow the rush of saliva the feeling brings.
Johnny looks terribly pleased when he pulls away.
Pleased and delightfully fuzzy.
Your brain is still working through all the sex hormones and the red lighting isn't helping your vision.
You think you should be... mad at him.
You do your best to scowl at him.
"I hope you're not expecting anything in return." You insist, though your knees feel weak enough to drop to the ground right there. Johnny hums.
"Already got what I wanted." He informs you.
Your eyes narrow.
Whatever the fuck that means, it probably isn't good for you.
You fend off his groping the rest of the night, and lock up with a strange(familiar and terrifying) weight on your chest.
Please understand that demanding part 2 of a post with no other engagement, comments, or reblogs just feels entitled.
If you liked something so much you want more of it- share why! Tell us what you enjoyed! Give a little what if scenario, an idea for a sequel, hell even a "I loved (character) in this I hope you write more like it" is infinitely more appreciative than a "pt 2 when" demand.
Even just reblogging with tags feels so much more special and reminds creators that people are actually enjoying posts and it's not all bots out there.
I’m not sure if this will be helpful to anyone, but you literally do not have to be a good writer to write and post fan fiction. Yes you will naturally get better at writing and finding your voice the more you do it but you do not have to be or become a professional level writer to enjoy writing and sharing fics. It’s common to hear people praise fic writers by saying their work is better than published books, and while I think this comes from a good place, that’s not the norm or expectation. There is also a sentiment that fic writing is “good practice” for becoming a better writer or doing something else later, but if fic is the only creative writing you ever do that is literally okay. Your technical skill does not mean you cannot have fun and build community with your writing, or that other people cannot love and find meaning in your work.
I’m not sure if this will be helpful to anyone, but you literally do not have to be a good writer to write and post fan fiction. Yes you will naturally get better at writing and finding your voice the more you do it but you do not have to be or become a professional level writer to enjoy writing and sharing fics. It’s common to hear people praise fic writers by saying their work is better than published books, and while I think this comes from a good place, that’s not the norm or expectation. There is also a sentiment that fic writing is “good practice” for becoming a better writer or doing something else later, but if fic is the only creative writing you ever do that is literally okay. Your technical skill does not mean you cannot have fun and build community with your writing, or that other people cannot love and find meaning in your work.
Nikolai is absolutely the kind of guy to have a breeding bench in his home.
He doesn't try to hide it either, it's out there in plain sight. Padded leather and cuffs, unmistakably worn in, the shape of your wrists, your body, worked into it.
He does this so that every time he invites John over, or the rest of the team, he knows they're imagining it. How you look in it, bent over or ankles at your ears, thinking about how you'd sound as he filled your pussy with cum. Thinking about you as you sit at the table, as you curl under Nikolai's arm, eyes tracing the hem of your skirt, the curve of your lips.
And he knows you're thinking about it too, remembering how it felt to be locked into place, an empty, hungry pussy to use. About how it might feel to have five thick cocks fucking into you until you're so full their cum is dripping out of you in little helpless spurts.
You're close to asking, he knows it- every time they leave you take a little longer to close the door, are a little faster in throwing yourself on the bench and begging to be fucked hard and bred up. Just a few more times, a few more teases, and he'll put good money on you begging on your knees to get fucked by them.
Happy birthday @total-killer-brainrot ! Using this anon to provide a lil present ...
Simon Riley x fem!reader, fauxcest, sibling kink, protective big brother Simon, implied threat of drugging and assault by a third party, semi-public sex, spanking
Your lips curl into a satisfied smirk when the big, scarred hand lands on your shoulder. The puffed-up gym rat of a guy you'd been trying to brush off flinches back, his head tilting as he stares up into what you know is Simon's face, mask off and scars on display.
"She's not interested," he growls, his fingers tight on your shoulder. "Shove off."
The guy sneers a little. "Fuck you, she said she's single-"
"Yeah, so call me her big brother," Simon says, looming.
The guy inhales like he's about to start something, and then Simon's other hand comes around your waist and yanks you back against his body, possessive, and the fuckhead scoffs and mumbles and abandons his seat, rushing out of sight.
"Thank you," you tell Simon, and try to turn around; he keeps his hands in place. "I'm sorry I bothered you to come down, he just wouldn't take no for an answer and the security here is shit as it turns out- Simon?"
He grunts and pulls you with him, leaving a roll of cash on the bartop and shoving your phone and wallet into his jeans. "Simon!" You protest, as he all but drags you out of the bar. He gets you past the building and then you yelp when he swings you into the alley, his hand coming up to catch the back of your head before it can smack the wall- but it still smarts, a sting in your elbow where you've scraped it. "Simon, what the fuck-"
"-was that?" He cuts off, and shakes your head a little with his grip. "You being stupid now? Just wandering into shit bars without checking with me first?"
Your cheeks burn. "I'm not a child, Simon, I just needed a hand- I was doing fine!"
He scoffs. "Fine, like you didn't see that fuckers hand on your drink? Or his friend eyeing you? Huh?" You pause, stricken. His other hand cups your jaw, thumb pushing at your mouth. "Did you drink anything after he showed up?" He pushes in, thumbing down your tongue, and you gasp as he digs his fingers into your cheek.
"No," you mumble, and squirm to get out of his grip. It doesn't work, even when you pull on his arm. "Ugh, Simon! You're not actually my brother, leave it alone!"
He lets go of your mouth, and glares. With only the yellow streetlamp he's mostly shadow. "Well someone has to be, if you're going to be stupid about shit. Act like a child, get treated like one," and he pushes you over until his hand cradles your face instead of the back of your head, pressing you against the wall, and his hand smacks down on your ass with an echoing crack.
You shriek, muffled against his fingers, and jerk against him, but Simon only smothers you further between the wall and his bulk, breathing harshly into your ear, before he spanks you again, hard and cruel even through your jeans.
"You text me about how much you need me, you need help, I come rushing down and see you on the edge of getting fucked raw by some fuckface with his hand on your- fucking- drink-" You whine when he hits your three more times, fast, popping the bottom of your ass, "-and you don't even realize it, just going around with your head in a fucking bubble. Start paying attention," and he licks up your throat and across your ear as he smacks you so hard you lift onto your toes.
His palm is damp with your breath, your open-mouthed panting, your hands scratching at the wall. Your ass burns from the spanking, a contrast to your skin cold against the wall, the warmth of the tears catching in your lashes.
And then Simon pops open the button of your jeans and slips a hand down your belly, forcing the zipper open, and moans with you when he finds the little scrap of silky fabric, hot and damp on his fingertips as he strokes it. "Yeah, I know- you just wanted a nice fuck," and the way his voice curls around the word makes you shudder. "Got all dressed up, put on the fancy shit. But you don't need someone else for that." He hooks his fingers lower, catching your ass against his groin as your back arches. His lips nudge at your cheek. "Just give your big brother a call, yeah? Keep you safe. Give you what you need."
His hand drops from your mouth to your throat, cradling the weight of your head as you gasp, as Simon starts rubbing your clit through your panties. You're twisted up and squirming, belly tight, your ass burning hot and your pussy so soaking wet, all from Simon with his voice and hands and the way he pants into your hair, grinding the hard thick line of his cock against you.
You whine a little, hips rolling, but he soothes you with a kiss. "Easy, love. Don't fight it, let me show you," and you melt down into his hands, moaning. Simon your friend, your protector, your- big brother, keeping you safe and making you feel good. "Yeah, I know, I feel it. I know what you need. No one like your brother huh? Gonna come for me like this?
You gasp and feel the orgasm coming on suddenly, your pussy clenching, clit throbbing, and Simon digs his thumb up under your jaw.
"Say it," he pants, and you whine, confused. "Ask big brother to make you come," and oh shit, there it is, the slick drooling of your pussy soaking into your panties, the little nothing fabric that Simon is bunching up with his fingers, rolling over your clit, jeans hanging off your hips and your ass rubbing against his jeans, the sore skin stinging as its scraped across his belt. "Say it or I leave you like this."
You gasp, shuddering, and choke out around the pressure of his hand, "Simon, please, make me come, brother, big brother make my pussy come-!" And there it is, the tipping point as he growls and catches the shell of your ear in his teeth, your moans spilling out like the hot gush of cum in your pussy as Simon bullies your clit over and over, dragging it out as your legs tremble.
You whimper when it's too much, pushing at his wrist, but he doesn't let you go- he digs his fingers in, makes your belly twist and clench, and then abruptly you're standing free, panting, pants sagging down and your breath hot and steaming against your own cheeks where you're planted against the wall.
Your jeans are yanked down, your ass pulled back, and Simon drags your panties aside and cups the curve of your ass cheek in his palm. "Think that fuck would have done that?" He asks, and you mumble, forgetting about the man from before entirely. "Hm? Don't need anyone else but me," and he spanks you again, the slap harder and sharper without anything between his hand and your skin, and you squirm and moan as it goes right to your pussy. "Won't let anyone else fumble around in that hot little cunt, either." You hear his belt open, his zipper, and you spread your thighs under his hands.
"Yes," you gasp, arching your back more, trying to push your pussy against him, and moan when the hard, hot head of his cock finally nudges into you. "Fuck, Simon, you feel so good," you moan, and he spanks you again.
He's not gentle about it, fucks you hard and fast, your orgasm on his fingers making your pussy wetter, swollen, more sensitive. Simon has to shove his hand across your mouth again to muffle the sounds you're making, the moans and gasps and little cries as you're split on his cock.
"You want everyone to hear you?" He asks, and you nod against his hand, making him laugh. "Oh, little sister wants everyone to hear her come on my cock, huh? Tried to be a slut tonight but I know better. I know what- you- need-!" And he grinds in so deep it aches, his balls smacking your clit, hand digging into your hip. He's panting harshly, making you bounce when he bottoms out, your feet coming up to your toes again as you're bent further, thighs straining, and the pulled-tight elastic edge of your panties slips in the hot mess of slick and pre between your legs and snaps across your clit- oh, oh fuck, fuck yes coming, cumming on Simon's cock, as he moans and slaps his hand down flat between your thighs and fuuuck, fuck fuck fuck, you're coming in a tight hot squeeze on his cock and his teeth in your throat, grunting "baby sister" into your ear, and spilling his own cum into your pussy.
You pant, trembling, trusting Simon to keep you on your feet even though he's also staggering a little, keeping you close to his body instead of pulling out. You're sweating and feel electrified, ass and pussy hot and throbbing, Simon's cock still pulsing a little in you, like he has to spill every drop before he can let himself be done. You moan when he finally pulls out, tucking his cock away, and he bats your hands off when you go to straighten your panties and jeans, doing it himself with a drag of damp fingers between your thighs to make you shudder.
You finally get to turn around, smiling up at him as he cups your cheek in his palm. "Big brother?" You ask, a little loose and lightheaded, and he grins.
"Not your boyfriend or partner or husband. And someone has to keep you safe and take care of you." Abruptly he digs his thumb between your lips again, like before, and you moan as he shakes your head back and forth with his grip. "If you're going to be a bratty little sister, then I'm the big brother in charge. So you'll do as I say," he growls, looming over you again, "or I'll fucking ground you like a brat, too."
Three weeks later, after a night with a hookup that left you unsatisfied and bitchy, you learn that his idea of grounding means tied to your bed, his mouth or a vibrator on your clit for hours as you cry and wail, reminding you that you don't need anyone other than your big brother.
König whose cock is so big- so long, unbelievably fat and heavy- that he can't fit it inside you. He can spend hours fucking your pussy open on his tongue and fingers and it just isn't enough.
Instead, he works just the head inside, so you can clench down on it, thighs open around his lap as you kneel over him, a little vibe in your fingers for your clit, and he strokes himself off as you use the tip of his cock like a plug, thighs trembling, braced against his chest and groping a heavy fat pec while you moan.
The first time you come on him he moans, jerking himself harder with the slick you squeeze down his cock, and watches with his lips parted and panting as you circle your clit with the vibe and turn it up, pushing your orgasm further, so that you shudder and moan into another, and another- fluttering pussy on the head of his cock and the buzzing vibe, your skin heating and so soft against his, a mutual masturbation that feels more intimate than any attempt he's made to force his cock into a wet hole-
He comes with a groan and his hips buck up, pushing against you, his cockhead slipping free to pump cum all over your fingers and clit, the vibe slipping back and forth, and you shout and come a final time as your hips jerk and flutter.
I started writing for the COD fandom in late 2024 but didn’t get the confidence to post on Ao3 until February of this year and I gotta say that I know that this is primarily a smut blog, but your writing transcends purely carnal intimacy and truly examines the relationships of the characters you write. I look to your blog and it makes me want to be a better writer. I’m thinking to Medieval Simon, your Gaztober content, your various pieces where smut is on the table, but honestly what really is at the heart of it is love and affection. You write characters in love in such a way where I’m truly admiring the devotion between them.
Thank you for sharing your writing with us and I’m so grateful you’re here.
This is incredibly sweet and thoughtful! Thank you!! I do love to find the sweet spaces in the smut, or between the characters- sometimes I just want them to bang and sometimes they deserve some sweetness too. Love and connection should always be shared.
I'm proud of you for getting on and sharing what you've written! It can be scary to put yourself out there and there's a lot of pressure sometimes about being popular, getting likes etc but writing for yourself and being excited about it is like crack to me, I love reading things where it's clear the author just poured love onto the page.
I'm grateful that you're here too and on this journey and for sending such a sweet message! 💜
Thinking about those glory hole gangbang videos- you know the ones, where the girls are set up and lightly restrained in little plywood cubicles, some for fucking and some for sucking. Some bent over and others with their pussy at face level to be eaten out. Yeah.....
Nikolai/141 x fem!reader, darkfic, noncon/rape, sexual slavery, bondage, gloryhole, gangbang, loss of virginity, forced orgasm, forced peeing, piss play, oral, anal, cum/blood as lube, tickling, mindbreak
Now on AO3!
Nikolai smiles down and pats your head, as sweet as sugar, as if you weren't bound wrist and ankle in a cheap plywood box, laying naked on a padded bench with your lower half sticking out of a similar padded hole- everything accessible, vulnerable, and Nikolai kisses your cheek where tears are spilling down.
"Oh sweetheart, don't cry. I promise, it's just a little while and then your family's debt is paid- you'll make me quite a lot of money, I think. And I'm not a cruel man, no one is abused here-" You stifle a hysterical little laugh. "-and I have good friends to come and, oh. The English words never feel right." His smile curls, becomes sharper. "Break you in, precious girl," and he pinches your nipple and pats your cheek and leaves, the door closing at his back, and you're left in the box with only a small light in the corner, and a camera in the other, it's little red light blinking steadily.
You can't stop the tears. You're scared and cold and want to go home, never mind the debt, you never agreed to this, to be- to be sold, laid out like meat on a table, and you begin to sob and yank uselessly at the soft cuffs. Padded as well, smooth black leather, and it hits you that you're not the only one to be held here- not the first, and not the last.
There's mens voices nearby, out of range to hear clearly, and you pull harder. It's a whole group of them, deep voices getting louder, and then it's just thin wood separating you from them. You can't see at all, not even a glimpse through the hole your body is shoved through, and your pleading kicks up when two big, strong hands grasp your thighs and stroke down to your pussy.
"No," you gasp, "no!" But the hands don't stop, a man's voice saying something aside to another and then, thumbs spreading you open, a wet tongue licks right up over you to your clit and sucks.
Your hips jolt and you arch up off the bench, sobbing, and strain against the cuffs. A smack to the inside of your thigh makes you yelp. "Settle the fuck down," a man growls, lips on your pussy, and sets back to licking. Someone else laughs.
A fist pounds on the cubicle, making it shake. "Count yourself lucky he won the draw, girl," someone else says, "he's a munch for fresh cunt. Any other of us would be fucking you bloody for a starter." Someone else protests, that they'd treat you right, and your pussy aches under the assault of a mouth determined to pull your soul through your clit.
It's relentless, the hot firm pressure, and when a finger slips into your pussy to the first knuckle you whimper as your body answers it, clenching down, legs and hips all trembling. "Please stop," you whisper, choking on tears, but your clit throbs instead, and there's a tiny responsive lift of your hips when the finger draws out and then a little further in.
You shriek when they all cheer, and more hands grope at your thighs and pinch at you, someone shoving their hand up across your belly to palm your breasts. You flinch, squirming, and your next sob breaks on a moan.
The tongue dips and sucks at your clit, your pussy clenches, you're unable to stop it now- the way your hips relax and lift, chasing pleasure, while someone tickles the sole of your foot- your toes curl in, and they keep it up, as hysterical giggles start to break loose in your chest. Too much, hot mouth and wet pussy, your foot straining in the cuff, the hands touching and stroking and teasing, and there's an ache in your belly that gets tighter with every pounding heartbeat.
You barely even hear them over your panting breaths. "Oh, I think she's gonna go," someone drawls, and as the mouth on your pussy grins against you and sucks so hard your back arches, moaning, someone else licks across the sensitive skin under your knee, a tongue curls across the toes of your foot not being tickled- and you heave out a gasping, ragged moan and come in a hot pulse of pleasure, energy dripping out of your pussy along with your cum as your body sags on the bench.
You whimper when your clit is released, throbbing, and feel the slick wet squeeze of your pussy clench on the finger still gently stroking it, soft movements completely at odds with the way you're bound, the reality of the situation outside the heat in your belly. Thick fingers move up and down your pussy, petting it, and then you're shrieking and jolting from the bench again as both feet kick wildly, trying to escape the tickling, as it travels up and down your leg. The wild bursts of laughter sound unhinged to your own ears, what does it sound like to them- what do you look like, dripping pussy and your body swinging as you flail uselessly? Your chest heaving, squeals and sobs spilling past your lips, and a fresh wave of humiliation and fear builds with the second growing ache in your belly.
"No- no, stop-!" You beg, and instead get a hand on your stomach, tickling and pushing in turn, the hard, callused heel of their palm bearing down under your navel. They know, you realize, and sob through their laughter as you struggle so hard your shoulders pull in a sharp ache. Your stomach twists. You're still so wet from coming that the glob of spit landing on your clit barely registers under the other onslaught of sensations, but then- fingers pinch and rub your clit, there's multiple bodies crowding around you, holding you still as you shriek and beg for mercy, and then the first hot spurt of piss escapes your body- and then another, and another, each half-scream of laughter and despair urging it out of you, until the ache in your clit peaks and you come with a squeal and gush of slick cum and pee all puddling down between your thighs, soaking the bench, a relief so sharp it hurts, your cheeks burning with humiliation even as your pussy clenches and pulses, feeling swollen and heavy between your thighs.
You gasp for breath as the onslaught finally ebbs, gentle touches now tracing down your thighs and around your hips. Someone lifts your ass and squeezes it, spreading wet fingers over your skin. "There we go, good fucking girl," someone says, and sticky lips touch the thin skin over your ankle. "Not so bad huh? Does that feel better?"
Your head shakes back and forth even though they can't see you. "I wanna go home," you whimper, and this time Nikolai is who answers, his voice rough and low.
"Go home? When you haven't even begun to keep your end of the bargain? Should I have set you out for the regulars and let you cry on their cocks first after all?" He pauses, then slams a fist to the wall- you shriek. "Well? You'd rather be raped bloody? Eh?"
"No!" You wail, and then something rubs at your pussy- something thicker than a finger, hotter, slick at the head. "No, no wait- wait please, I can't- I haven't ever, I'm a virgin, please don't do this!" Your belly is tight and shaking, all the forced lassitude gone as your legs are bent back further, pressed to the wood of your- coffin, it suddenly feels like, not a cubicle or box but something suffocating.
The groans that answer you come with slick wet sounds, hands on cocks you realize, and Nikolai laughs. "Oh, we're aware, sweet girl," he says, "why else would I want you and not your house, or cars, or other labor? You're going to make me lots of money, even if the Ghost is who first gets you ready," and the thick cock is starting to push in, fighting your body's resistance. It hurts, a sharp sting that grows worse as he drags at your ass and hips, moving you on the bench.
"Nik, can we pull her out? Want a taste of those tits," someone says, and through your tears you hear an affirmative- and then Nik is in the box with you, unbuckling the cuffs on your wrists so swiftly you don't have time to react before they're crossed behind your head and rebuckled around the legs of the bench. You yank at them, metal rattling, and Nik kisses your cheek, dodging your head as it thrashes- you want to bite him.
"Ready?" He says, not to you, and hands grip your hips and the bench under your ass. "Now!" He says, and shoves forward on the upper half of the bench- you're pushed out, ribs and chest popping through the hole in the wall, leather squeezing over your breasts before they're suddenly assaulted by groping hands, pinching fingers- and you open your mouth on a wail as your pussy is forced down onto the waiting cock, the heavy fat length of it huge and throbbing as your pussy strains, resists, and then is breached fully with a sharp internal pop of flesh, a new ache to join the one in your chest, your ankles and thighs as your legs strain, the pain in your nipples as they're pinched and twisted.
"Fuuuck, so fucking tight, Nik," someone groans, the man fucking you, his hips sliding back and forth, grinding his cock into you. Your back arches, the only movement left to you. Nik cups your cheek in his hand, smiling down as you plead with him through the blurry layer of tears on your eyes- and then he braces his arm against the wooden front of your coffin, pulls out his cock, and drags the slick head of it over your face, your eyes, smearing the tears with it.
"Suck," he says, and lays it on your tongue; you limply drool around it as the man at your pussy grips your thighs and starts to fuck his cock deeper, hard pounds of his body that make your head spin. Someone plucks your nipple and then there's another cock being rubbed over it, broad hands cupping your breast and squeezing it, crushing it down on your chest under the weight of another big, heavy body, another leaking cock. Hands play with your stomach, your other breast, someone digs their fingers into your armpit, making you flinch.
And even in the midst of the pain and the fear and the begging, your pussy- still slick and swollen, still wet, every thrust growing wetter as blood is churned up inside you- starts to heat again, nerves teased with every slap of heavy, muscular hips to your skin, every time your clit is teased and rubbed by questing hands, even the stinging pain starting to fade and be eclipsed. Your hips raise up, as a soft sound squeaks out around Nikolai's cock on your tongue, and he grins and smacks at the front of the box again.
"Ghost! Feel that?" He asks, and pumps his cock further into your mouth; at the same time a hot, wet mouth seals over one of your nipples and sucks at the tender, swollen peak. Your head swims. "I told you virgin pussy could come if the girl is ripe for it." His free hand curls over your throat, a steady pressure, and he turns your head and starts fucking into your mouth, shallow thrusts that leave spurts of precome on your tongue, even as Ghost mutters something to the others and then begins- the whole box shakes, it's too- much- hard and fast and overwhelming, your breath catches- your clit is smacked against his groin as he bottoms out, a deliberate grind every time, your pussy sore and pulsing and squeezing around the huge cock forcing it to stretch, ruined and soaked and gushing, you can feel the mess of blood and slick splattering on your thighs, down your ass, and Nik wedges his thumb into your cheek, between your teeth, to keep you from biting down when you come with a groan and a trembling, shaking rush of heat and pleasure-pain, as Ghost echoes you and the first hot spurts of cum pump into your belly, into your sore, fluttering pussy, the slick mess of it all smeared by rough hands across your stomach, your breasts, sucked off fingers with appreciative moans.
Ghost withdraws and Nikolai keeps his thumb in place. "Good girl," he praises, and strokes his cock with his other hand now, "big girl, all grown up. No more cherry to pop. Say thank you that I let my friend do it and not a customer." He pulls hand and cock away, rubbing the head of it on your lips. You mumble something, disconnected, the little shivers running up and down your spine making your limbs tremble. "Eh, good enough."
He leaves you there, steps away with his cock still out and hard, and you weakly gasp for breath, floating as the men speak and murmur, as Ghost's cock slips out of your pussy as it clenches.
Then two hands stroke down your thighs, and another cock notches at your pussy, pressing in against the sting and flutter of abused flesh, and you find you can still cry more tears- new, burning hot ones, as your pussy burns under another pounding cock, another relentless forced entry into your body, no debt could be worth this, this humiliation and pain and misery- and even as the cock pounds into you, sharp snaps of the man's hips that draw him nearly out then fast back in, someone lays their head against your belly, nuzzles at your skin, and then a tongue flicks over your clit even as your pussy is fucked, a gentle little touch that you strain to keep feeling, little candle-flame flutters against the fire deep in your belly.
Your hips lift to chase the tongue, squirming when the cock withdraws, and you whine and moan wordlessly when the man's mouth seals fully over your clit and sucks. Hot-wet-tight-good, pure pleasure after the pain, and you gasp and roll your body into it mindlessly. A beard scrapes your breast, another wet mouth on your nipple again, and even faster than before you find the heat winding up tight, the little whimpering sounds in your throat bubbling up, and you're so close to coming and it's so good, nothing but pleasure and heat and you need it- you're hurting so much and you need something good, something sweet and easy-
The mouth vanishes, and the cock is back, pounding harder than before, and your voice cracks on a wail of despair, begging not to go home or to stop but:
"Please! please please I need it please let me cum please please cum please-!!"
"No," Nikolai says, his voice rough, and you realize he's the one fucking you now, his cock splitting you open, and you clench and shudder as he groans and fills you with his own cum, flicking your clit with his thumb like striking a match, too sharp and harsh to tip you over the edge.
Another third cock, this time with the slick folds of your pussy thumbed apart so your clit throbs alone, untouched, the burning pain sharp again inside you as the ruined flesh is pounded, fucked, used- so wet with cum now that it drips down your ass and joins the mess of your own piss and cum from before- and your eyes roll when someone else steps into the box, grips your head, and forces his cock into your mouth.
"There you go," a soft voice urges you, rich with an accent you can't place with your brain upside down and cum-soaked, "come on, let me in- open that little throat for me."
You choke, gagging, and the thick head of his cock pushes against the opening to your throat. You can't see his face, only a piece of his stomach, the edge of his opened jeans, and your pussy clenches down tight, burning and stinging, as your throat squeezes and is forced open as well, a second virginity ripped out of you. You gag, thrashing, and the cock pops free, stroking over your tongue before pounding into your throat again.
Your stomach rolls, nausea building as your gag reflex is pounded, but every time you nearly heave the man pulls out, strokes his cock over your tongue, prods at the inside of your cheeks- you're swimming in an ocean and going under the waves every time, pain and despair rippling down through you as any small pleasure vanishes, and you sob weakly when the man twists his hand in your hair and yanks, forcing you to swallow around him, and pumps thick, bitter cum into your throat, paints your tongue with it, your pussy clenching around another load of cum puddling inside you, dripping out.
You whimper when Nikolai pats your thigh and reminds you, "two more! I brought four friends. Almost done, more than halfway now, pretty girl." The man gripping your hair laughs.
"Aw, Nik, shoulda seen her face- fucking heartbroken."
Nikolai's head comes around, he's a blurry, massive bulk in your vision, as he thumbs a bit of cum off your lips and rubs it into your hair instead. "Aw, poor thing. Pussy sore?" Your head sags in a vague nod. It hurts. It's so sore it's fluttering, unable to close now, just a solid ache and throb from clit to hole.
He kneels, and pinches your ear, making you look at him. "A choice then, for being so good and coming on their cocks. You can get your pussy fucked twice more," you whine, "or, pay attention- you let the last two have that tight little ass instead."
There's twin moans outside your box. "Christ, Nik, I don't care what she says, if ass is available I'm taking it!" One snaps. "Waiting half the fucking night."
Nikolai smiles again, sharp toothed and nasty, and drops your head to bounce to the bench. "Hm, yes. Go ahead," and your mouth drops open on a long, soundless moan as fingers slick in your own cum and theirs prod down under your pussy, find your ass, and shove inside, two thick burning brands forcing even more of your flesh to stretch, to strain and tremble, hovering on the edge of a terrible, tearing pain.
The fingers thrust and roll in and out, sawing at you, and your belly clenches with a twisting ache. More slick is squeezed from your pussy with a hand on your lower belly, a thumb flicking your clit to make you whine, and all of it mixes into a wet, sticky mess that makes your skin crawl.
"Please no," you whisper, watching the ceiling spin, the camera and it's light uncaring as you blink tears down your temples. "No, I can't, I can't," but the camera keeps watching as the hot head of a cock is lined up, a finger in your pussy prodding and stroking, finding the sore, aching nerves inside, and as you flinch and whine it presses further in, breaching the tight rim of your hole, and a little weak spurt of piss is forced out of your bladder as the man bears his weight down on you, groans and swears and slowly forces the full length of his cock into your ass.
It burns, worse than your pussy, your body clenching and shaking to try and get it out again. Too much, too big and hot and awful, your sore pussy clenching on the finger in it only because the whole entire mess of your used flesh is clenching, trying to force the intrusion out.
It doesn't work.
He only grinds in deeper, moans and plays with your pussy, stroking your clit, urging more slick cum down to soak the base of his cock as it moves in you. It feels like it's in your lungs, and someone else sighs and drags their hand over your belly, up to cup your breast, and tenderly thumbs your nipple.
Slow, solid pumps of his hips, soft little rubs on your nipple. Your brain can't figure out what to focus on, the pain or the too-light distracting touch following it, forced to stay present and feeling it all, and you hiccup around a cry and drool cum down your cheek when there's a wet, hot splash across your breasts, trickling down to your throat, under the edge of the padded hole and into your hair-
They're pissing on you.
Another splash of it, and you give up. You can't even try and fight it, can't force the cock out of your body or their piss off your skin or even make the torn, bloody insides of your pussy regrow- you're a used up fucked up piece of flesh to pay off a debt, you'll be handed off to paying customers once these sadists are finished and you won't even know when you'll be free again.
Your own piss joins the puddle of theirs, wetting down between your legs, and all the tension drops out of you at once. The man in your ass groans, finding it easier with less resistance, and his hips snap to yours faster, wetter, chasing his pleasure. Someone looks in on you, though you can't see who, and makes a satisfied sort of noise.
The hot cum in your ass isn't even a surprise, or a new humiliation, just a notch in the long list of misery unfolding in front of you. Why not make your ass burn and tear and squeeze out more cum? Why not stretch your hole to the breaking point and spit inside it, groping hands and fingers pinching at you, smacking your pussy, your clit.
Your ankles are uncuffed, your wrists cross as you're rolled over to lay flat on your stomach, and now your ass is more available- and they take advantage, heavy palms slapping across your cheeks, your thighs, sharp cracks on your flesh until you make a thin, weak cry, skin throbbing and burning, and then the last cock is forced into your aching hole, the cum and slick and blood all smearing together as he fucks you hard.
He's harder than all the others, cruel with it even past what you had already endured- his fingers jab into the soft, bruising flesh of your ass, pinch so deep into your thighs your muscles jerk and spasm to break his hold even as your mind slips further away. A big hand cups your face, turns you to look up, and a stream of piss flows into your mouth, making you choke and sputter, as two fingers join the cock ripping your ass apart.
You whimper and try to spit it out, but the hand crushes down over your mouth and nose, forcing you to swallow, the awful salty taste sticking to your tongue, in your nose, as your body swings between giving up and survival.
Giving up wins again, and your head drops down to the bench again, lungs burning, dark spots floating in your eyes. Your ass is a burning mass of pain, your pussy close behind it, and the man digs in a third finger and comes with his other hand under you, pinching your clit so hard lightning crackles through you and whites you out and finally nothing at all, just the peace and bliss of a long dark tunnel with nothing at the end.
-
You wake in pain, head pounding, still laid on the bench but pulled fully inside your box now. The cuffs are gone but the evidence remains, bruises and marks and the sticky, half-dried evidence smeared on your skin, the stinging, burning ache between your legs, in your throat. You moan, trying to sit up, and you shift your legs and realize there's something inside you, something thick and heavy in both your holes, forcing abused skin and flesh to stay stretched and open.
A new horror starts to trickle in when Nikolai comes back inside, his cock back in his pants but that same smile on his face. "Sleeping beauty," he says, "have a good rest? Feel better?"
You stare at him dully. Whatever he's put in you or decides to do to you- what does it matter?
He shrugs when you don't answer. His hand comes down on your arm, urges you to stand even as you gasp, lightheaded, swaying on your feet. You feel weak as a baby stumbling to the door. "A good first night, I think. You'll go clean up and rest now, and I will fetch you for work when ready." He guides you down a dark hall and to another small room, the same camera in the corner, a bed, a shower on the other side. You yelp and collapse when he pushes you into it, and turns on a hard jet of cold water.
He aims the spray between your legs, and you flinch back, throbbing, and the plugs inside you are squeezed, shifting. You can't bring yourself to feel them, to touch where you're so sore and swollen. It all surrounds you in a mindless fog, pieces jabbing through as Nikolai leaves with the door locking behind him. Work, work, pay a debt with a body already torn and bruised and hurt- and you start to slowly weep again when you realize just how totally fucked you're going to be.
