How wrong would it be for me to say a lot of women are porn addicts? In my eyes spending hours reading smut is no different than spending hours watching Twitter porn. A porn addiction isn't any less of an addiction just because its words and not a video.
Do I understand the demeaning, exploitative nature of the porn industry? Yes, obviously.
There's nothing wrong with reading smut, I read smut. But when you devote hours upon hours of your day reading smut and make it your whole personality, it stops becoming a recreational harmless pass time and becomes a genuine problem.
This is coming from someone who writes smut, reads smut, recently asked for smut recommendations about a certian character and live, laugh, loves smut.
I feel this might be an unpopular take, but at the same time awareness needs to be brought to the rampant rise in reading based porn addictions.
Anyone insane enough to write x reader fanfiction about the MGM+ show 'From' cause like Father Khatri can highkey get it.... smut please, I'm a priest fucker.
I feel like I'm going to jail for this (or in The Box), but please tell me I'm not the only one who finds Father Khatri and Victor('s actor? 🤡) mighty fine. 💀
Anyone insane enough to write x reader fanfiction about the MGM+ show 'From' cause like Father Khatri can highkey get it.... smut please, I'm a priest fucker.
summary: The old priest in your small town has died a gruesome death. The new one has an... eccentric way of doing things. 18+ READERS ONLY PLEASE!!!
word count: 6.3k
warnings: smut, sacrilegious actions, blood, praying, quoting the Bible during sex, sex in a church, sex on an altar, P in V, Oral F! Recieving, cum play, reader's first time, religious themes/imagery, blood play, blasphemy, abuse of a rosary, drool, squirting, degradation if you squint, praise kink, allusions to murder
a/n: HELLO! I have been working on this fic for weeks, and I finally came to the conclusion that it just needs to be a two-parter. I want to keep this A/N short and sweet because I have so many people to credit, all from Rosie's lovely Discord server! Firstly, my two beta-readers, @confetti-cakemix and @fuckoffbard! LIZ, YOU ARE MY NORTH STAR WHEN I'M WRITING, THE BESTTT, and CONFETTI!!! YOUR DESCRIPTION OF IMAGERY, EVEN WHEN YOU'RE JUST BETA READING, IS PEAK. Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to tag each and every person in the server that also gave me suggestions and helped me in ANY way! @spikedfearn @somnolenthour @citrinedigital @eternalstrigoii @le-temps-viendra36 @iceemochaa @hyoscyxmine @otxiycohcoy @flixpii @faestunna Clown (also not sure if they have a tumblr but that's my twin!!) @cherryxhaze. If I forgot ANYONEEE please please comment or DM me and I'll add you immediately! I got so much help in the server, and I had to scour through almost a month of messages to find everyone!
The new pastor of your quaint village church was strange.
The village itself was old. You’d grown up with wrinkled hands drawing ash crosses on your forehead, strings of garlic hanging on doorways, barefeet in hot, red dirt. When you were younger, you were never allowed out after dark. No exceptions. Kids who went out after dark went missing. Their names became prayers on the congregation's lips at each church service.
The old pastor, Monsignor Quinn, had been so kind. He’d listen to your panicked confessions, fleeting feelings of lust with a boy from school. Brushes of fingers against skin that kept you awake at night.
He’d died so suddenly. He hadn’t been very old, not even past his thirties. And the weirdest part - the local sheriff wouldn’t tell you or anyone in your village how he died. You heard rumors of blood-streaked walls and screams that had only been heard by those awake that late into the night. You watched people cross themselves as they passed his boarded-up house. Little children crossed the street to avoid passing it.
And now, you were shaking the new pastor’s hand, rough and firm. Father Remmick. His lips curled like he could tell what you were thinking, his tongue running through the folds of your twisted mind. His eyes, calm and clear blue, never left yours when he introduced himself. Your father’s arm rested protective and heavy on your shoulders, the heat radiating from him comforting you like a blanket.
“Pleasure to meet y’all.” Father Remmick drawled, hand still wrapped around yours. His accent was strange - deep, and Southern, but mixed with something old that you couldn’t place. Something thick and gooey, honey falling slowly off a wooden spoon. “I’m sorry for what happened to Monsignor Quinn. Tragic… truly.”
He didn’t look sorry—not really. His other hand pressed to his chest in sorrow, but his eyes shone with a playful gleam that was sinister, bloody, and cold.
Your voice was dry when you spoke to him for the first time, having to turn your chin up to look at him. “What happened to him?”
“Oh,” Remmick’s smile fell, but the concern didn’t feel real. It felt mocking. You felt his thumb stroke your knuckle. “Nothing that needs to fall on ears as sweet as yours.”
Your father’s arm tightened, and you were grateful for his presence. When Remmick released your hand, you fought the urge to wipe your palm on your dress, to wipe him off of you. His crooked grin remained, and his tongue slowly ran over his bottom lip, licking the sweat from his chin.
“I can’t wait to get to know you.” He looked away from you like he had to force his eyes away, like it was painful not to be looking at you. His gaze left you feeling naked, the inside of your body tingling like someone had dug around inside and pulled out everything sacred. “All of you, of course.”
His sermon had been even stranger than he was. He said all the right words, but they came out of a twisted mouth. A serpent’s tongue ran over the words of God, words meant to comfort and uplift, but coming from him, made your stomach twist. Your fingertips ran over the silver rosary underneath your shirt as he spoke, his eyes never drifting down to the Bible before him. He knew the words by heart, and they still sounded so wrong.
When you got on your knees to pray, you felt something so deeply, internally wrong in your chest. You couldn’t help but look up while everyone else’s heads were down, their lips moving silently in prayer. You found Father Remmick, hands wrapped tightly around the lectern, looking at you. His knuckles were white, his eyes roaming over you ardently. A rust color flashed over the blue of his eyes, like the nictitating membrane of a reptile. His gaze violated you, drilled a hole through your chest.
For a single heartbeat you kept your gaze locked on his. When he smiled at you, you swore you watched something crawl under the skin of his forehead, two points—like horns—begging to poke out of his skin.
That night, and for many nights onward, you dreamt of Father Remmick.
The church was empty, save for you and him. His clerical collar glowed against the black of his button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal veiny forearms and slender fingers following it. Fingers that reach for your rosary beads, let them clatter to the floor. He spoke in a language you didn’t know, touching you in a way you’d never felt. A way that felt too good to be holy.
When you woke, you prayed. You prayed for hours into the early morning until the skin on your knees was raw and your eyes were sore from being squeezed tight. The rosary left a red and stinging imprint on your hand that would be there for days.
But what frightened you most was the throb between your legs, pounding rhythmically and making you yearn for… fullness. After every hour of prayer it seemed only to get worse.
At church, you couldn’t listen to the sermon. You couldn’t even look up at Father Remmick. Not without images flashing behind your eyes, sounds so vile and loud in your ear that you couldn’t even hear the words he was saying.
Throaty moans. A hot, wet tongue between your legs. The feeling of rhythmic thrusts, something pressing into a spot inside of you that made you feel more euphoric than God himself ever could. You felt weak every time you looked at him, your fragile body giving in with every glance.
“My child-” His voice echoed through the rickety church, but you knew he was speaking to you.
“You look distracted.”
Your throat ran dry as you stared at the scabbed-over skin of your knees, just below your dress. You could feel your father's demanding elbow digging into yours. Be respectful.
A flash of something else when you looked up at him again. Something softer, something tender. Lips pressed to your skin, dragging against the top of your breasts.
“What could be more important to you?” He was smiling. Smiling like he knew what you’d seen, and the devilish things you’d heard. “Than worshipping and praising God with your community… with me?”
His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he raised his arms to grip the sides of the lectern. The muscles under his shirt tensed, and your eyes lingered. By the way his smile widened, he noticed.
“Be sober-minded and alert, Miss.” He nodded his head toward you, like some kind of twisted teacher. “Your adversary, the Devil, prowls around like a roaring lion…” His eyes, gleaming again like something inhuman. “Looking for something to devour, like a lamb wandering from the flock.”
Remmick paused, smiling to himself. “Be glad that I arrived here at the right time, to lead you down the path of righteousness.”
Your skin had grown cold, like spiders were running up your arms and the back of your neck. But it wasn’t just what he’d said that made you rigid, a dripping of cold sweat rolling down your spine. It was the agreeing hums of the congregation, like they knew what you’d been thinking.
You couldn’t sleep that night. The pillow's satin fabric was coated in sweat, which clung to the back of your neck and made your butter-yellow nightdress stick to your back. You stood from your bed, bare feet pressed against the hardwood of your bedroom floor. As you left your room, you knew every creaky spot to avoid, opening the door with close precision to keep it from making a sound.
You could hear your father snoring from the cracked door of his bedroom as you slipped through the hallway like a ghost. You blindly slipped your feet into slippers in the dark, your hand wrapping around the gold door knob of your front door.
The cool breeze of a late July night kissed your skin, making your hair prickle against the fabric of your nightdress. The sky was black, stars spilled across it like bleached sugar against molasses.
The walk to the church was by memory, your feet crunching above the gravel road in the cool dark of your village. No light was lit in anyone’s homes; the only sound was the cicadas whining in the trees surrounding you. As you passed Monsignor Quinn’s home, the foundation seemed to creak before you, the sound almost like a weeping in the air. You didn’t cross the street and kept your head forward to pass by it. It was just another house. Just another death.
The church was dark but buzzed with an energy that made the air feel electric. You could see its indent in the darkness. It was made of white siding sun bleached from hundreds of years under the sun of the South. The smokey-colored brick spires reached out into the dark sky, pointing to the stars. Their elegance had entranced you as a child. Now it just made you feel sick.
A rectory with a gabled roof and dead bushes surrounding it stood next to the church, just a few yards away. There was no light to be seen, no sign of life. Father Remmick would be asleep in there, sleeping soundly despite his completely taking over your mind and your body.
As you entered the church, you didn’t make a sound, creaking the door open just wide enough to slide your body through.
You moved blindly down the pews, hands running across the cool wood, hoping it would comfort you. It didn’t. You fumbled around until you found a box of matches and lit the candlesticks at the table behind the altar. It didn’t provide much light, but you could at least see the flickering expression of Jesus on the crucifix before you, He who had died for your wretched, terrible sins.
Knees hit wood, your hands gripping the fabric of your nightdress as you prepared to grovel. But you wouldn’t get the chance to. Not to God, at least.
“Couldn’t sleep, sugar?”
A voice that echoed through the dark like it- he owned it. You stood, turning around and searching the dimly lit dark for him.
Father Remmick was sitting in the pew furthest from you, legs crossed and arms stretched long behind him. He was smiling; crooked,pointy teeth nearly glowing in the dim light. Your eyes roamed over the clerical that remained against his neck.
Your throat had gone dry. You swallowed hard, one hand reaching out to steady yourself on the altar rail.
“You could say that, yeah.”
Remmick’s legs uncrossed, spreading out in a way that felt like it couldn’t be anything but disrespectful. His eyes didn’t look blue in this light. They seemed almost amber, gleaming and ever-changing in the flickering candlelight.
“In peace, I will lie down and sleep,” Remmick said quietly, a teasing little smirk on his face. “For you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.”
Your knuckles had turned white against the altar railing, and the sudden realization that you stood before him in nothing but a nightdress made you freeze. You should have felt empowered by his words, but instead, you felt like prey under that violent gaze. You kept your expression blank.
“Yes, I will perhaps follow those words when I know peace.”
Remmick’s head cocked to the side, like a dog sniffing out a treat. His eyes rolled down your body, stopping at your bruised knees.
“You troubled, darlin’?”
He didn’t sound concerned, not really. He sounded starved the question dripping off his tongue like drool rolling down a chin. He looked at you with mock-concern, eyebrows just a little too furrowed, his lips just a little too downturned.
“Have somethin’ you’d like to confess?”
His eyes flickered to the confession booth. Two purple, velvet curtains opened to a small wooden box—one side for the priest, the other for the sinner.
You didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the throb between your legs, or the puppy-dog shine of his eyes in the candlelight that made them look almost like melted caramel. Or perhaps the way his voice lingered in the room like steam after a hot bath. But you nodded, quicker than you’d meant to.
Remmick stood on long legs, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to reveal curling veins that traveled along his forearms. He gestured toward the booth, lips curling deviously like he’d won something. Like he was collecting a prize he’d been patiently vying for.
“Ladies first.”
The confession booth was dark, except for the little light that flickered through the intricate carvings on the wood door. The worn leather cushion sank beneath you, full of cracks and creases from years of use. You could hear Remmick shuffling on the other side as you closed yourself in. You could hardly see him through the lattice-patterned window separating him from your booth, just the shadows cast over his face and the bright white of the clerical covering his throat.
Your hands were tangled in your lap, your leg bobbing up and down under your nightdress. You listened to Remmick’s calm breath as he settled into his seat, closed your eyes for a moment, and envisioned his hands running over his pants, his head bowing in silent prayer. The thought of it made more heat travel down your body, your heartbeat loud in your skull.
“Sign of the Cross, yes?”
His voice seemed even deeper, even more irresistible in the dark—something as velvet as the curtain before you. Your hands trembled as you made the Sign of the Cross over your face.
“Bless me, Father,” you paused, licking your dry lips. “For I have sinned. It has been… far too long since my last confession. These are my sins.”
Remmick was smiling. Hands clasped in his lap, burning eyes staring into the wood of the booth. He could hear every shift you made, every breath coming from your heaving chest and out of your beautiful throat. The throat that pulsed with your heartbeat. The heartbeat that hadn’t left his mind since he’d laid eyes on you. He thought of your blood pooling in the dip of your collarbone and shifted in his seat.
Your chest was heaving, your nails digging into the seat's leather. You pressed your legs together, glanced at what you could see of Remmick’s face.
“Father, I have impure thoughts. I fear that the Devil has his hold on me, making me yearn for…improper things.”
Remmick’s smile curled, teeth sharp against his lip. You were right where he wanted you. Hot, pulsing, panting. His hands unclasped, his palm pressing into the seam of his pants. His head fell back, eyes slipping closed at the pressure against him.
“Improper things?” he asked you, his voice leveled as much as possible, but you caught the hitch. “Do you think the Lord would accept this confession… if you can’t even say what sin you’re thinking of?”
Your throat bobbed as you realized he was right. You were a sinning coward, unable to tell God what He needed to forgive you for. Your hands left sweat marks on the seat, palms raised to grip the rosary around your neck. The marks on your knees from groveling for God had started to sting, as if the Devil himself scratched down your legs. Reminding you of who you thought of and who you wanted to be on your knees for.
“I think of someone… touching me. Their hands against my skin, defiling me in a way that-”
A sound, guttural and desperate, left Remmick’s throat. His hand had continued to press against him, thick tendons and veins straining under his skin. His eyes opened, pupils nearly flooding his entire iris. All that was left was a ring of red on the outside, the color of blood stained on satin white sheets. He was silent, marinating in how you gasped at the sound he’d released. You were so deliciously untouched.
“And who is that you think of?”
The question lingered in the air, heavy and charged with something dangerous. It felt as if the rosary in between your hands were being tugged from your grasp, until you looked down and realized that it was just you releasing it, letting it clatter onto the floor.
The point of no return. Letting the Devil take you by the hand and dance you into Hell. You’d called to God so many times and He’d never answered, but Remmick was here. Real, tangible, beautiful. You dug your nails into your palms, prayed for your soul one last time before diving into the deep end.
“...I think you know, Father.”
Silence, at first. Something that made the air hot, that made your breath catch in your throat.
The wood groaned as Remmick shifted, his feet scuffing against the floor. You could hear the screech of metal rings against a rod, Remmick pushing the curtain open.
He didn’t ask for permission. He pushed your curtain open slowly, filling it with his broad frame and slender fingers. His fingers gripped the velvet, and a brass ring around his finger caught the light. He was a wolf in wolf's clothing, teeth sharp and bright in the dim light.
One hand left the curtain, reaching out to touch the lines of your collarbone. He ran his nail up your neck to rest the pad of his finger against your pulse.
“I do know,” he hummed, applying pressure to the pulse, just enough for you to feel him there. “And I always knew you’d come.”
His other hand flew from the curtain with a speed that didn’t seem human, fingers gripping your hair and tugging your head back to expose your throat.
“God.” You moaned low in your throat, breath ragged as Remmick lowered himself enough to be straddling your lap, thighs warm and solid on top of yours. He leaned forward, his mouth finding your ear. You felt his tongue run over the shell of it, something long and cold like a serpent.
“Not sure your God is here, sugar.” His voice was low and sweet, rattling the inside of your body. “He woulda saved you by now, right?”
Remmick looked down into your nightdress, lip caught between his teeth. He was quiet as he raised his hands to the fabric, gripping it tightly before tugging. The nightdress split apart as easily as tearing paper, your skin prickling with goosebumps as the cold air hit your naked chest.
He looked at you like a sinner did the cross, eyes nearly glowing. He waited; waited for your invitation to touch you, thick drool rolling down his chin like a rabid dog. It dripped onto your chest as you nodded, your hand shaking when you wrapped your fingers around the white clerical collar at his throat. You tugged it off, letting it fall to the floor beside your rosary.
“Touch me, Father.”
Remmick was on his knees in a second, tearing away the rest of the ruined nightdress from your body as he nestled his shoulders between your thighs. The only thing that remained between you and him was a thin pair of underwear, lacy trim at the edges that he ran his fingertip over with a twitching smile.
The pad of his rough fingertip pressed over the fabric of your underwear, firm against your clit. Your body jolted forward, legs falling open for him as the pleasure traveled up your spine.
Remmick laughed, his head thrown back and mouth open wide.
“So wet for having never been touched, little lamb.” Remmick’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down your smooth legs. “Do you want to be worshipped, as your God is…” He tucked your underwear into the back pocket of his black pants. “Or ruined, like the Devil would do to you?”
“I want…” Your words cut off with a whimper as he pulled his finger from you, only to open your legs wider. “I want what you want, Father…”
Remmick hummed, weighing his options. “Lil’ bit of both then, I reckon.”
His head dove in between your legs like he’d been starved of water for years, and you were the first drop of salvation he’d found. He groaned, deep and low in his throat, that sent a vibration through you that had your hands flying to the dark waves on top of his head, pulling him against you.
His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise as he licked against your cunt, long tongue rolling around your clit like he’d been made to worship it.
“So sweet,” Remmick smiled against you, warm and wet for him. “Like the Lord made you just for me.”
Remmick’s hands left your thighs, palms searching the floor as he continued to suck on your clit, pushing his tongue into you, curling it up in a way that didn’t seem possible. When he found what he needed, he pulled away, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes and your wetness dripping from his lips.
His hand raised, your rosary beads tangled between his fingers. With careful precision, he lowered the necklace against your cunt, the coolness of the beads making you shiver and scratch marks into the leather seat beneath you. As the beads pressed on either side of your clit, your head fell back against the wall, heat traveling up your neck as if the flames of Hell were already licking against your skin.
“Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.” He cocked his head to the side, eyes penetrating and sharp on your face. He could sense your impending release, the way your heartbeat quickened, your back arching off the seat.
“Don’t.”
Once low and ragged in the dark, his voice had become clear. He closed your legs with one large hand and dropped the rosary beads back to the floor so he could lean forward, pressing his other hand against the wall next to your head. His face was inches from yours, and his breath was hot on your neck.
“Not yet, darlin’. Not ‘til I say.” His lips found the pulse point on your neck, nipping before kissing tenderly. “The Lord teaches patience, lamb.”
Remmick’s hand left the wall to grip your hair again, tugging your head back. It made your scalp sting in a way that made you want more, your mouth parting to whimper against him.
“That bein’ said,” A crooked smile - lips baptized in your essence. “I’m bettin’ you sound real pretty beggin’.”
His tongue was long and rough against your cheek as he tasted your sweating skin, a deep rumble in his throat as if he was tasting the sweetest nectar. He stopped at your temple, placing a gentle kiss there. His lips remained there, teeth grazing skin.
“So go on, darlin’. Pray for me to fuck you.”
Your breath caught, your entire body going hot from his words. He laughed against your skin, like he could feel the very chemistry in your body change, the way you grew slicker from his twisted request. The way you knew that you would do it for him. You’d pray to be spread open by him, explored in a way not even God could do.
“Oh, you will do it, won’t you…”
It wasn’t a question. Remmick knew you’d beg; he knew how far gone you were. He laughed against your skin.
“Doesn’t matter how good of a girl you are… how much you love Him. You’ll give it all up just to get off, won’t you?”
Remmick pulled back, hands sliding down to hold firm on the flesh of your hips. He lifted you from the seat like you weighed nothing, turned both your bodies around until you were straddling him. Your naked core rested against the rough material of his pants and made your body shiver. He smiled.
“Go on… hands together in contrition. Do it right…” His rough hands grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands flat together between your bodies. When they were pressed together to pray, he let his fingers linger on the bare skin of your thighs, fingers just too long and nails just too sharp against your skin.
Your lips were dry, and Remmick’s eyes drifted to them like he wanted to lick across them, make them wet again.
“Heavenly…”
Remmick hummed in glee already, just from a single word. His head bowed, as if to join you in prayer, his eyes slipping shut.
“Heavenly Father… forgive me for what I am about to ask of you. I know I do not deserve such a blessing as being touched…” Your words faltered as one of Remmick’s hands slid up your thigh, gathering the slick in between your legs. His finger pressed against your clit, and you gasped, hands pressing together tighter. “As being touched by someone so good, so…”
Remmick’s finger pushed inside of you, pressing up to a spot that made your throat close up, the only sound coming out a pathetic squeak of a whine.
“Aww, darlin’, that’s so sweet of you. But you don’t have to lie.” His body leaned forward, his wet mouth pressing against your ear. “Tell your Heavenly Father what I am. What you know I am.”
“I’m…” You continued the prayer, voice deep and rasping. “I’m going to fuck the Devil… and Lord, I beg you to have mercy on my wicked soul.”
Remmick laughed against the skin of your neck, drawing thin beads of blood with the sharp points of his teeth.
“Are you now? Going to fuck the Devil?”
All you could do was whine at the pleasurable pain in your neck, your hands shaking with the desire to pull them apart, to grab at his skin and his hair.
Remmick hummed to himself, pulling his finger out of you with a slowness that made you bite the inside of your cheek. His cold hands slid up your arms, pulling your hands apart from their prayer.
“Get up.” He said quietly, with that same thick, gooey voice he’d had when you’d shaken his hand for the first time. You did as he asked, spreading your legs and backing off his lap. His eyes traveled up your bare body as he stood, towering over you inside the booth. With a firm hand on your hip, he nudged you toward the curtain.
“To the altar.”
Remmick’s breathing was heavy behind you, his gaze burning holes into the bare skin of your back as you slowly walked to the altar. You looked to the cross just above, and you felt no remorse, not anymore. Whatever God could do to punish you, you were sure Remmick could do worse. Maybe you wanted him to.
You ceased walking once you had reached the altar, your belly just close enough to feel the cool wood against your skin. Remmick was behind you, his breath hot and wet on your neck. His eyes ran over your skin, from the top of your head to the balls of your feet. The expanse of a human body that he was now free to ruin. That he’d be begged to ruin.
With one swift movement, he grabbed your wrists, raising them and placing them flat on the altar. Your fingers brushed the closed Bible there as your breath hitched. Remmick made no effort to remove it. He only slid one hand down your body, as soft and languid as a serpent, and pressed down on the arch of your back.
“Look at you…” Remmick murmured, fingers sliding into your folds, finding you warm and wanting there. Your legs quivered at his simple touch, so his other arm found its spot under your belly, assisting in holding you upright. “So nervous… shaking. You must honor God with your body, little lamb.”
Two fingers entered you, pushing in and out with a torturous speed. Your legs spread wider, your nails scratching into the leather-bound fabric covering the Bible before you.
“Please..” Your voice quivered as you tried to keep it level. Your head fell against the Bible, leaving sweat marks. “I need you inside me, I need it more than I need God.”
Remmick’s fingers pulled out of you, and you heard the faint sound of his lips licking his fingers clean. He moaned at the taste of you, his other hand pulling the clasp of his belt buckle apart.
“Aw, sweetheart, that’s so kind of you.”
By the press of him against you, hot and pulsing, you could tell that Remmick was big. But nothing could have prepared you for the way it felt when the head of his cock began to press inside you, hardly able to breach your entrance. He pulled back, body lowering to press lips against your sweat-slick spine.
“Gotta open up for me, baby.” He said against your skin, running the length of himself against your folds. His tongue was cold and barbed as it ran up the expanse of your back and to the shell of your ear. “Take me all at once, and maybe I’ll make you see Him. Denying yourself would be the true sin…”
Remmick tried once again, his cock slowly able to start stretching you, inch by torturous inch. Only babbles came out as your mouth fell open, tears beading at the corner of your eyes from the sheer size of him.
“Haven’t even fucked you good yet,” He groaned as he pushed in. “And you’re already speaking in tongues.”
When he’d bottomed out inside you, pressing deep on a spot inside you that only made a guttural sound escape your throat, his large hand pressed against your belly.
“Feel all that pain, lamb. You’re just getting used to me… your body will learn quick.” He slid back slowly and pushed back in with just as much resolve. Your legs nearly gave out, hands scrambling for purchase on the lectern as he fucked into you. “Soon, all you’ll feel is me.”
Remmick was right.
Soon, the only feeling that remained was deep, wicked pleasure. Every thrust of him inside of you felt like another ring lower into Hell, the souls eternally damned there shaking their heads at you as you made the same mistakes they did. But the problem was - you didn’t fucking care.
A whine escaped your throat as Remmick picked up the pace, just a little bit. One hand on your belly, the other gripping your hip so hard you were sure you felt the cold prick of blood on your skin. Every thrust was hitting something inside you that somehow made you wetter, something that had you dripping onto him like some kind of deranged baptism.
Remmick was grunting, getting louder with each thrust into you. He tried to hide with honeyed words, but you felt too good around him.
“So easy, aren’t you?” Remmick was grabbing one of your arms, pulling your hand into his to press onto your own belly. You felt the bulge of him with each thrust in, and the pressure on your stomach made your cunt flutter around him. He groaned, words faltering as you squeezed around his cock. “You…” He nearly whined, hand gripping yours on top of your belly. “Just a few words about your corrupt God and you... you spread your legs for me?”
He laughed, hand leaving your stomach to grab at your hair, tugging until your head reeled back just enough to see him. He was beautiful like this, pupils blown out, and the first few buttons of his clean shirt popped open. Blood streaked down the corner of his mouth from the wound on your neck, and his tongue was unnaturally long as it unraveled out to wet his lips.
“Do you know something, sweetheart?” He asked, dark eyes meeting yours. “Your God isn’t here.”
A whine broke through your mouth as he rolled his hips in a particularly torturous way, hitting the spot in you that he’d found with his fingers in the confession booth. There wasn’t anything you could do but let your body go slack against him, head kept in place only by his grip on your hair.
“What would your God say, hm?” Remmick asked, pressing into that spot again, making your vision go white. “If He saw you split open for me?”
Remmick released you, and your head fell forward to the altar. He leaned forward, and you felt the cold press of something against your neck, a chain or something of the like.
“Do you still believe in Him?” He asked against the nape of your neck, pressing deep into you. He nipped at you again and lapped the blood up with his tongue with a soft moan.
“Maybe you should apologize to Him, hm? How does that one go again?” Remmick pulled out, almost entirely. You felt the cold air hit the wetness of your cunt, and you whined at the loss of contact from him.
“Forgive me my sins, Oh Lord,” Remmick spoke, moved both of his hands to your hips, and thrust in with one swift move that made you cry out in shock, in pleasure, in shame.
“The sins of my youth.” Another deep thrust, and back out again. “The sins of my soul,” Another. “And the sins of my body-”
The last push inside of you made you see streaks of color in your vision, your mouth hanging open, and your lips wet with drool. You felt something like a spool form in your stomach, desperate to unravel. It was an odd feeling that you’d never felt before, akin to the feeling of nearly wetting yourself, and it made your face burn with embarrassment.
“Father,” Your voice was gone, raspy and unrecognizable. “Father, I feel…” You whined as the feeling grew, doing everything in your power not to let the spool unravel. “I think I‘m gonna pee… it feels like-”
Remmick chuckled, increasing the speed of his thrusts.
“Oh, my poor baby.”
You could hear the smile in his voice. He was the Devil himself.
“You don’t even know what your sweet little body can do, do you?”
And with that, Remmick was reaching around your body, pressing two of his fingers against your clit and rubbing, coaxing something out of you. The more he coaxed, the tighter the spool wound.
And then it snapped.
You didn’t recognize your voice as you came, nails scratching into the altar so hard that the wood began to splinter, piercing the tips of your fingers. Remmick was laughing as wetness coated him, the front of his pants and the fingertips at your clit. You’d provided an entire baptism for him, and he wouldn’t let it go to waste.
He pulled out of you, gripping your hips tightly and whipping you around so your back hit the altar. Remmick’s knees hitting the floor and his tongue diving inside of you happened in one action, in one second. He licked up everything you gave him, your essence leaking onto his face and dripping down his chin.
His cock remained hard, long, and red below you as he sucked on your clit. You wet your lips, a shaking hand lifting from the altar to grip at his auburn waves.
“Touch yourself,” You whimpered, voice coated in overstimulation. “Please… let me see the image He created you in…”
Remmick’s eyes slid open, peering up at you needily. His nose brushed your clit as his tongue pushed up inside you, and he grabbed at his cock with a strong, blood-covered hand. Immediately, he was moaning, the vibrations in his throat traveling through your entire body and making your head feel airy.
His hand was so beautiful pleasuring himself, pulling up and down the length of his cock and making himself leak. His hips thrusted up into his fist, and you found yourself longing to see the muscles that flexed beneath his shirt.
Your trembling hand scratched at his scalp, and Remmick sighed happily underneath your touch. He wasn’t even eating you out, not anymore, just nuzzling his face into your skin and breathing you in as he touched himself.
“Beautiful…” You whispered to him. “Like an angel.”
Remmick growled, hand tugging on your thigh and yanking you to the floor. Your back slid against the altar as he pressed the head of himself against your cunt. His forehead pressed against yours as he came with a groan. The warmth of him spilled against your clit and downward, and Remmick’s fingers gently pressed into you, making sure it stayed tucked away inside you.
Your body trembled as Remmick pulled his forehead from yours. His thumb came up to brush against your lips, and for a brief moment, he pushed it inside, humming as the pad of it pressed against your warm tongue. He leaned forward, replacing his thumb with his mouth. A small squeak sounded in your throat at the feeling of his tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth, licking away the last of the prayers that stuck there.
Remmick’s lips remained connected to yours as he helped you stand on shaking legs, his hands pulling you up effortlessly by your waist. His hand reached behind him, grabbing the underwear he’d tucked in his back pocket as he’d prepared to stick his tongue between your legs.
He leaned down, untangling the delicate material and holding it out.
“Step in, sweet thing.” He peered up at you through half-lidded eyes. “Gotta keep everything I gave you inside… keep you close to me.”
Your hand gripped his strong shoulder as you stepped into the holes of your underwear. Remmick pulled them up slowly, leaving soft kisses on your skin as he went. When they were fully up, getting soaked with the mix of Remmick’s and your release, he straightened. His lips pressed against your forehead for a brief, sweet moment.
“I’ll see you at Sunday service.” He said as he pulled back, his voice just as fucked out as yours had been.
“Front pews. Don’t think you can hide from me in the back.”
His hand grazed your arm, almost innocently.
“Or anywhere, for that matter.”
pls comment if you’d like to be tagged in part 2 <<3
For Sir Jimmy Crystal x Reader, how about fucking to keep each other warm, with Jimmy being clingy and cuddly, nuzzling his face to Reader's breasts?
sir jimmy crystal x reader smut drabble
thanks for your request anon, I hope this fits what you were thinking!
minors doi - I will block if I see ages in bio - smut 18+, clingy Jimmy wants to warm the both of you up in the best way he knows how, p in v penetration, cum inside, etc.
You cherished moments like these when Jimmy was soft. The abandoned village you had practically rioted over to claim as your own was frost bitten and secluded from the intense blizzard which howled through the night. Outside, the wind whistled, hail and snow aggressively smacking on the window, but the inside was a complete juxtaposition.
You sat within Jimmy's lap, bodies entwined and wrapped closely together, a mixture of arms and legs tangled as his throbbing member stuffed your hole full. The blankets of the previously used beds wrapped around your bodies, cocooning you in your own world as your hips rolled weakly against Jimmy's. Truthfully, you had been about to freeze, with your toes going numb and nose turning pink, each of your muscles seizing from the cold gripping at your bones. Without hesitating, Jimmy assured he would warm you up the 'only way left', leaving you whimpering and whining as he slipped his cock deep inside you.
''Jimmy.'' You cooed, gripping him closer as he thrusted his hips up in a languid rhythm to nudge himself deeper against the sensitive spot inside of you. He was so warm, his back now growing a layer of sweat as he fucked you through the night. Tonight, more than usual, Jimmy was clingy. Whether that was because of the way the villagers had looked at you, or the fact you were practically freezing to death, you couldn't be quite sure. Either way, you certainly were not complaining, not when he was lost for words, huffing and puffing as he nuzzled his face into the swell of your breasts.
Jimmy thought he could suffocate happily in the mound of your tits, lips wrapping around one of your pebbled nipples as he offered your hips a simple squeeze, demanding you to keep grinding. An exhausted scoff left your mouth as you offered one last attempt to roll your cunt up and down his erection.
''M tired, Jimmy.'' You sighed, thighs trembling as they wrapped around the back of his hips. Jimmy pulled back, his lips glossy as he scanned over your flushed expression. ''If ye' stop ye' gonna get cold, aren't ye? Then who will be complainin' again?'' His words were a vague manipulation to keep you rocking against him so he could stuff his face between the warmth of your cleavage. Never one to disappoint, and craving that sweet release, you took one breath before bringing yourself further down his cock once more.
''Thas' my good girl.'' Jimmy could go back to the way he sucked and licked over your breasts, enjoying the bounce of them in his face as he gripped you tighter, guiding your movements with his arms around your waist, bouncing you up and down, up and down. Your breaths had turned into pathetic whines now, pleasured and exhausted, growing hoarse at both the cold and overuse. Your head tipped back, allowing him to help you thrust up and down in his lap, the slick of your movements creating an audible squelch every time you dropped lower onto his sex.
From beneath you, Jimmy was loosing the capability to remain in charge. Having you like this, your body so hot and your pussy so tight, gripping him like a vice, it was fucking mesmerising, and the second your walls gripped around him, Jimmy felt euphoric. ''Thas it, cum all over my cock and I'll give ye' what ye' need.''
The sound of skin slapping filled the room, alongside the groaning legs of the old bed, most likely awakening and frustrating all the other Jimmy's staying downstairs. Neither of you mattered, you were finally warm and now you were so stuffed full of Jimmy, you wanted nothing more than the sweet gush of his seed deep inside you. It wasn't smart, but you hadn't found yourself pregnant yet, it was an addictive gamble, the two of you played a dangerous game for the sake of pleasure and Jimmy fucking loved it.
''J-Jimmy.'' The sound of your sweet voice cracking had Jimmy moaning into the heat of your chest, forehead pressed there as your movements sped up, hips rolling and grinding, bouncing and chasing your orgasm as he felt the inevitable twitch of his cum ready to fill you. You were so wet, Jimmy was always surprised with how much you'd drip down his erection, down over his balls, coating him in a layer of your delicious juices. Your pussy was so slick and tight, taking him and gripping him over and over as the tip of his cock nudged at your g-spot making you see stars before your climax even reached.
''Oh god, oh my god, Jimmy, m' cumming!'' Some how, he didn't realise he could love you anymore until your legs were quivering, gripping his thighs painfully tight, at the brink of the edge of orgasm. Jimmy squeezed you, knocking the air from your lungs as he choked out a strained cry from deep within. You were his, completely and utterly his and no other fucker would get this from you.
Your abdomen tightened, your heat tightening as the coil snapped deep inside you, sending waves of red, hot pleasure throbbing through your body. Jimmy enjoyed the sound of your moans, loud and unashamed, broken from overuse and screeching as your wet spray gushed around him over his cock. Jimmy couldn't handle the heat anymore, at the sensation of you squirting your orgasm over him, he felt himself blow, his whole body seizing as he shot his seed deep inside you.
It was times like these when Jimmy was (for a change) speechless. His words had transformed into growls and groans, voice shaking as you both rode out your highs together. Your hips were still gently rocking over his cock, milking him for all he was worth as a pool of your juices dampened up and down your inner thighs. Perhaps if the two of you weren't so deeply entangled with one another, Jimmy would have got up and cleaned himself off, but not with you, not when it was this cold.
When your breath was spent and body collapsed onto his, Jimmy tucked you both deeper in the layers of blankets, gripping and savouring the heat radiating from your body which had began to chill at the loss of movement.
''Told ye' I'd keep ye' warm, didn't I?'' The blonde haired man muttered in a throaty manner, nuzzling his nose deeper into your breasts, nudging and burying his face between your cleavage. ''Uh huh.'' Was all you could manage, causing a smile to break on the mans face until he pursed his lips and kissed at your skin again.
''Gonna stay like this all night with ye', nice n' deep inside ye', keep ye' nice and warm.''
Jimmy rolled the two of you over, your legs still wrapped around his waist, his cock softening inside your pussy. ''And if ye' get cold again... I'll just keep fuckin' ye'.''.
🕊️ jimmy crystal x you (fem!reader)
🕊️ nsfw 18+
🕊️ dead dove: do not eat (rape/non-con elements)
🕊️ contents: finger fucking, overstimulation, p in v sex, unprotected sex, painful sex, creampie, large cock, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, fucked stupid/mind break, dirty talk, partially clothed sex, bound sex, forced voyeurism/exhibitionism, jimmy being mean
🕊️ 11.3k+ words
🕊️ read on ao3: link
🕊️ summary: Your boyfriend owes a debt. When he fails to pay up, you become the price.
🕊️ a/n: Hello, everyone, this is my first fic on here and I hope that whomever chooses to read this enjoys it! I got this plot bunny after reading @scannainscanrula's incredible dealer!Jimmy fics (found here!). This is not meant to be in the same verse but I think the influences are clear enough (Jimmy is a sleazy criminal and the setting is a modern, non-apocalyptic AU.) On account of this being an AU I've taken some liberties with the Jimmy Cult's appearances. Also, I'm really not familiar with Scots English/Scottish dialects and am mostly going off of what I've seen in other fics and cursory Google searches so please forgive me if anything looks off!
Anyway, that's enough yapping out of me. Hope you enjoy!
You sleep through the break-in itself, something that, ironically, keeps you up at night in the following weeks.
You’d had a long day out with your friends—Celeste's wedding is on the horizon, and she was determined to find a dress before the day’s end. Your group spent the day in and out of every wedding boutique in your city, and when those options were exhausted Celeste set her sights on the next city over. You swear every fabric that'd ever been woven graced her skin in a thousand different amalgamations, and yet none of it lived up to her standards. By the time she was done wearing on the patience of both yourself and the employees of the final boutique the Sun was beginning to sink in the sky. Dressless and exhausted, yet still buzzing with bridal exuberance, she insisted on enjoying dinner at a brewery you rarely got the chance to visit otherwise.
By the time your group finished eating, said your extended goodbyes (first in the lobby of the restaurant after taking care of your bill, then again outside the front entrance, and then a third and final time at your cars), took the drive back home, caught a shower, and fell into bed—well, it was well after midnight. You barely even got to wish your boyfriend a goodnight, who was still in his office hunched over his laptop when you arrived home, brow tight with stress so acute it almost looked like panic.
You wake on your stomach, alert and abrupt. It’s pitch black, clearly too early for you to be anything but asleep. Your bladder is empty and your throat isn’t dry, so you can’t pinpoint why it is you’ve woken up in the first place. You reach for your phone next to your pillow and click it on, flinching at the bright light: 4:07 AM. You frown at your boyfriend's side of the bed, still cold and empty. Maybe that’s why you’re awake—he should be here by now. You drop your phone back on the bed carelessly, debating whether you should look for him or let the warm, soft comfort of your bedding pull you back under.
The sudden creak of the floorboards behind you quickly brushes away the remaining cobwebs in your mind. You tense before you can help yourself, eyes wide in the darkness, breath held. David? you want to call out, but you feel foolish at the thought. Why would he be lurking behind you at 4:00 AM? You listen hard, barely daring to breathe, but there's nothing—just the ever-present hum of the house itself, the faint song of crickets outside your window, and your own slow release of breath. You tell yourself that you’re overthinking it: it doesn’t matter that you’ve never heard a noise quite like that in your thirteen months in this house, you’re still overthinking it. It was nothing—an animal stepping on a branch outside, or the house settling, or—
Your thoughts are cut brutally short when a hand clamps over your mouth, a heavy weight quickly bearing down on your back. Your scream is swiftly silenced, your attacker taking advantage of your parted lips and shoving a thick piece of cloth deep into your mouth. You buck, thrash, and jerk, but your attacker is stronger than you—they remain calm and silent as they sink all their weight onto you, clasping your forearms in a punishing grip and painfully twisting them behind your back. When their knees squeeze tight as a vise around your ribcage you get the message and go limp, heart thudding so hard you can feel it in your stomach.
"Thatta girl," they say, voice low, "Dinnae struggle and this’ll go quick."
They press a knee to the small of your back, ignoring your whine of discomfort, and make quick work of tying together your wrists. You kick your feet back against them, more out of a stubborn refusal to go down easy than the belief it’ll do anything, and find yourself regretting it when your attacker snatches your right ankle and pulls, extending your leg further backward than your flexibility allowed. You yelp high and pained through your cloth gag and they relax their hold.
"Fuckin’ idiot," they chide you, a faint thread of annoyance clouding their voice, "I said dinnae struggle."
You feel them shift atop you, turning so that they’re facing your legs, and they bind together your ankles while you moan in protest. Their weight leaves your back, but you barely have a second to feel relief at its absence before you’re being turned around and forced up, their hands painfully tight around your arms as they guide you to your feet.
"C’mon," they say, slinging an arm around your waist to help you balance on your bound feet, "He’s been waiting long enough."
He? The words disturb you, but you can hardly question them gagged as you are. You flinch at the sudden light as you’re half-dragged out of your bedroom into the hallway, and you finally get a good look at your attacker: a pale face looks back at you, topped with a dark buzzcut. They’re dressed insultingly casually to say they’ve just broken into your home and hogtied you in your own bed, wearing a simple orange and navy blue tracksuit and matching sneakers. They're pierced nearly to excess: they sport snakebites on their bottom lip and multiple barbells through each eyebrow, the helix of their ears completely covered in studs, and their lobes stretched by large gauges.
And then there's what marks their forehead: an inverted cross, inked in a startlingly solid black. It begins right above the bridge of their nose and stretches mid-way up their forehead, the arms of the cross connecting their eyebrows. The lines of it are so thin you could almost call it delicate—but the boldness of its ink and the intentional raggedness of its borders spoke to a different story.
Your attacker sneers at your gobsmacked stare and shoves you forward—you would have fallen flat on your face if they weren’t already half-carrying you. They guide you to the sitting room, and your throat dries in trepidation as the light spilling into the hallway brightens—nothing good waits for you beyond this doorway. You hear a voice coming from the room, words indecipherable but sickeningly sweet tone clear. It’s not David's voice. It’s not anyone you’ve ever heard before.
You’re pushed through the entryway, and like a magnet your eyes find your boyfriend's. The relief you feel at the sight of him is immediately crested by a wave of horror at the state of him: face swollen and discolored with bruising, clothes splattered in blood, arms and legs bound tightly to the chair he’s forced to sit in. His eyes bug at the sight of you and he jerks against his bindings.
"No. The hell is she out here for? She’s got nothing to do with this."
"Aye, she does," says a satisfied voice, the voice, the one you heard from the hallway.
Your horror had narrowed your brain’s input to the eye of a needle, you realize. As if that voice were a flood light illuminating the world around you, you suddenly become aware of the three men in the room who aren't your boyfriend.
Two stand sentinel on either side of him. The man to his right is tall, with a sharp, severe face and swept back blonde hair. Like your attacker he wears a tracksuit, navy blue patterned with flashes of royal blue. His coordinating royal blue driving gloves are stained wine red at the knuckles. The man to your boyfriend's left is shorter, with an impish face and messy undercut. He, too, wears a tracksuit, navy blue and dark red. His hands are bare but not empty: he’s peeling an apple—your apple, taken straight from the bowl you sat on the kitchen island just yesterday morning—with a red-handled switchblade. They both sport an inverted cross high on their brow, ink-black and permanent.
A third man stands apart from them. He stands not in the center of the room, not really, and yet—he does. The very axis of the room has tilted in his favor, his person the crux on which everyone’s attention hangs—including your own, before you can help it.
He’s blonde, though blonde doesn’t seem an adequate enough word. He’s golden, his long hair glowing even under the artificial light of the chandelier, the lower half of his face gilded with stubble. Gold glints at his fingers, each digit stacked with bright, gaudy rings. His neck is weighed down with it, at least half a dozen gold chains layered over his chest: the most prominent of them hangs lower than the rest, a large, inverse cross dangling from it. You check his forehead—bare. So either the leader of this little gang, or uninitiated. You can guess which.
The man turns as your attacker corrals you through the entryway, a wide smile splitting his face. A single gold incisor flashes at you.
"Jonesy!" he crows, spreading his arms wide, "I see ye’ve brought our guest of honor!"
"Yup," your abductor—Jonesy—replies, popping their p obnoxiously but otherwise sounding disturbingly bored. They're a second skin behind you, hands firm on your upper arms, and you get the sinking feeling that you aren’t about to be introduced to this man so much as presented.
He makes his way over to you leisurely, eerie blue eyes never once leaving your face. He doesn’t stop until he’s close enough that the fabric of his clothing—another tracksuit, his deep purple and a finer make than his underlings—brushes against the thin satin of your cami. You jerk away from him, fear instinctive, but Jonesy may as well be a brick wall at your back—you get nowhere, and the man grins at your squirming.
"Miss," he greets, tipping his head at you as if he were a gentleman and not a thug who’s invaded your home. You can’t speak, gagged as you are, so you respond with your eyes, glaring at him furiously even as you try not to cower where you stand.
"I’m so happy ye could join us tonight," he continues, as jolly as if you were old friends, "I’d apologize for the spontaneity of our meeting but, well, y’see," his smile goes flatter, his eyes several degrees cooler, "Yer boyfriend owes me quite a bit of money, and he can’t seem to figure out where it’s gone poof to." He spreads his fingers at the word "poof", wiggling them in the air. “So I thought I’d bring ye out here to help jog yer old man’s memory."
You stare at David, the words not even sounding real. He owes this man money? Who even is this man?
The man tilts his head, drinking in your disbelieving expression with thoughtful eyes. "Oh. Didn’t know, did ye? Hm? The kind of business yer man gets up to?"
You glare at him, still furious but less sure of the righteousness of it. He laughs at you and snaps his fingers.
"Right. Put ‘er over here, Jonesy."
Jonesy manhandles you over to the low sofa, dropping you down with little care. This sofa is your favorite fixture of the sitting room—a tufted tuxedo with matching bolster pillows, upholstered in a rich, emerald green velvet. It always seemed so elegant to you, but now feels akin to a padded cell: with your wrists and ankles bound as they are you find yourself sinking helplessly into the soft cushions, unable to move.
You're mere feet from your boyfriend now, who stares at you with wide, panicked eyes.
"Hey, man," he begins, stumbling over his words, “This is—this is fucked up, she’s got nothing—look, I’ll get you your money! I just need—just give me two days!"
"Two days?" the golden-haired man parrots. He inches closer, and dread fills you at his proximity.
"Yeah," David swallows, nodding. You've never seen him look so much like a rabbit in a snare. "I—I'll get it, I swear, two days, fourty-eight hours. Just don't—you don't need to hurt her. I'll do it."
"Ye'll do it?" the man parrots again, this time mocking, a sneer curling his upper lip. He walks forward until he's right before David's bound form, looking down at him with ireful eyes.
David cringes, breath shuddering. "I—,"
"Y'see, Davey, two days willnae work," the man interrupts him, "Two days willnae work because ye were supposed to have this money to me FUCKING YESTERDAY!"
You and your boyfriend both flinch at his sudden volume, the man bending forward to scream right in David’s face. He steps away as abruptly as he’d exploded, face flushed with anger, ringed fingers raking through his golden hair in agitation. His breathing is heavy, and you half-expect him to lay hands on your boyfriend.
He doesn’t. Doesn’t have to, you soon see. He calms himself, taking in a deep breath, the color of his face returning to normal. Then he snaps his fingers.
"Shite."
You don’t even have time to be confused by the abrupt swear—almost faster than your brain can process the man on David's right, the gloved one, is grabbing a fistful of David's hair, yanking his head back at a sharp angle. His other fist swings up, and then down, cracking right in the middle of David's face with a sickening crunch.
You scream beneath your gag, first at that terrible sound, and then at the blood—thick, bright rivulets of it, streaming from David's nose to cover his lips, his chin, his already-soiled shirt.
The gloved man releases David and steps as neatly back into place as if he’d never moved at all. He doesn’t react to your screams, doesn't even look at you.
But the golden-haired man does.
He steps towards you, and you flinch away harshly. He shushes you, approach almost gentle, as if unwilling to spook a frightened animal. As if you could go anywhere anyway.
"Poor hen," he murmurs, crouching in front of you, "I've been rude, havnae I?" He reaches forward, brushes the back of his fingers softly against your cheekbone, dragging them up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. He doesn't blink once as he stares into your face. You shudder beneath his touch and he smiles. He stands up, placing a hand flat over his chest.
"Name's Jimmy," he says with a winning smile. He jerks a thumb behind him. "The grim piece of shite's Jimmy Shite and the hungry piece of shite's Jimmy Fox. And, well, ye've met Jimmy Jones, havnae ye?" Jimmy Jones, Jonesy, whatever their name is, waves loftily from where they've settled on the floor: back against the wall, ankles crossed, head tipped back in shallow rest. They look almost as bored as Jimmy Fox, who's cut the apple—your apple—into neat slices and is feeding them into his mouth off the tip of his switchblade. Jimmy Shite stares off into space, not looking bored so much as, well, grim.
"Ye'll meet the others soon," Jimmy—just Jimmy, you suppose—adds, and your stomach drops. What others? Were there more people in your house?
Jimmy snaps his fingers, and his goons look at him with such synchronized immediacy that you would find it funny in any other situation. "Fox, Jones," he says, "Fuck off, eh? Yer work here is done."
"Yup," Jones pops their p again, pushing themselves to their feet as if they can’t get away fast enough, and Fox laughs under his breath, twirling his switchblade around his fingers as he trails after them. Neither of them argue, or hesitate, or question the order—they leave like the only thing tethering them to the room in the first place was the absence of those words, and you wonder what it is about this Jimmy that makes a group of dangerous young thugs take his name, and tattoo his necklace on their foreheads, and move at the sound of his voice the way a marionette moves on strings.
Jimmy settles next to you on the couch, and you can do nothing as your body tips into his side, the cushions dipping under his weight. He wraps a steadying arm around you, pulling you flush against his side. You make the mistake of looking up and become little more than prey caught in his gaze: his eyes are too-steady, too-bright, too-blue. Dilated.
You look away, breath shuddering.
"Bonnie thing ye have here," he says to David, breath gusting warm against your neck. There's a hunger in his voice that makes you feel faint. "Ye better hope for her sake that my girls find something valuable enough in this shithole to cover yer debt."
David can only groan, still disoriented from having his nose so brutally broken—not that Jimmy pays him any mind. No, Jimmy's attention is solely on you, his hands shameless on your body: he circles his thumb at the dip of your waist, slides his hand down to fit at the curve of your hip. Reaches lower still, past the satin of your shorts, to squeeze greedily at your bare thigh. He hums, voice rough, eyes intent on the way your soft flesh fills the spaces between his fingers. His other hand reaches up, brushing gently at the curve of your breast beneath your satin top, thumb flicking over your nipple. You flinch away from him, startled—not only by his touch, but by the bolt of sensation it zaps through your body. He tuts at you, pulling you back against him.
"There, there, hen," he soothes, "Ye've got nothing to fear from me. Not yet. And look—if it ain't Jimmy Ink and Jimmima, come to save the day!"
And like that he's gone, rising from the sofa so abruptly that you fall onto your side in the space he occupied, his absence both relieving and disorienting. You blink after him, confused, and are greeted by the sight of two more strangers in your sitting room—both young women, both wearing tracksuits, both with inverted crosses inked on their foreheads. You look over at David, who eyes the women with renewed awareness. He looks, to your dismay, frightened. He catches you staring at him and can barely hold your gaze for a second before looking away.
"Jimmy Ink," you hear Jimmy say, and your eyes dart back towards him. The woman he's greeting is a study in red: her tracksuit is a bright red, as are her shoes, as is the knapsack she has slung over one shoulder—but also her eyes, bloodshot with exhaustion, and her hair, bright curls tamed into an efficient bun. "Whaddya got, then?"
The woman—Jimmy Ink—slings the knapsack from over her shoulder, dropping it to the ground carelessly. It lands with a shockingly heavy thud.
"Check it," she says, opening the top and pulling out...a book? Next to you, David makes an odd, pained sound.
It doesn't take you long to recognize the book—it's one of many, a single volume in a series of encyclopedias that David keeps in his office, displayed proudly on the book shelf above his desk. It's an old, beautifully designed set with sprayed edges and gold leaf detailing, but not one you've ever paid much mind to. Jimmy watches as his subordinate pulls out one, two, three of the thick volumes, his ever-present smile fading.
"Ye found...books?" he questions, sounding as unsure as you feel.
"Vintage Britannica."
"I see," Jimmy says slowly, something stormy clouding his features, his voice gone mean with impatience, "And is this...Vintage Britannica worth a lot of money, then?"
Jimmy Ink smiles, thin and acerbic, and you wonder if she's not enjoying his frustration. "Not as much as this."
She tips one of the books so that its pages face the floor, and you watch gobsmacked as dozens of tightly rolled bundlesof cash come tumbling out. They're thick, bound with bright rubber bands, looking like something straight out of a crime series. She tosses the book to the side without care—it lands on its spine, pages spread, and you see how the insides of it have been gutted, roughly two inches of the page borders left behind to give the illusion of a complete book.
Ink empties the other two books of their hidden wares, then squats to spread the top of her knapsack wide, revealing it filled nearly to the brim with more rubber-banded rolls of cash. "Already emptied out all the rest. He had them all over the place.”
Jimmy's sharkish smile is back, his single gold tooth glinting bright against a backdrop of eggshell white. "Good job, Inky. Verygood job." He turns his smile onto David, who's gone pale, sweat beading on his brow. "How much is that? And dinnae lie, lad—we'll count it all later."
You hear David swallow. "Forty-thousand."
Your eyes bulge at the number—forty-thousand? In cash? Just laying around your house? You want to ask him a thousand questions, the when and why and where, but even if you could you doubt you would get anywhere: David still refuses to look at you, eyes bouncing between Jimmy and the wall and the floor and his own bloodied pajama pants—anywhere but you.
Jimmy kisses his teeth, not as impressed. "Still not enough. Shame." He looks towards the second woman, who's been patiently awaiting his acknowledgement. "Let's see if Jimmima can save you, hm?"
The second woman—Jimmima, is he fucking serious?—as good as bounces forward, rocking back and forth on her heels like a child at show-and-tell, a shockingly sweet smile on her face. She's all-blue in contrast to Jimmy Ink's all-red—blue tracksuit, blue nails, blue eyes, blue cat ears of all things, tucked into white-blonde hair braided into a single plait. She spreads her arms before Jimmy, presenting rows upon rows of gold and silver jewelry—some of it you recognize as David's, some your own. Most of it you've never seen in your life.
"Solid gold?" Jimmy asks.
"Nothing less than 18k," Jimmima says, "Most of the silver is fine." She wrinkles her nose and adds, "Some of it is sterling."
Jimmy takes something dangling loose from her wrist—David's favorite watch. He throws a smirk over his shoulder at your boyfriend. "Cartier, eh? Not bad, for a cheaper series. Ye've got good taste. Or is it yer lady keeping you stylish?"
"Don't talk about my lady," David spits, and you're surprised at the venom in his voice, especially after the way he's been avoiding your eye.
Jimmy freezes. Laughs. Hooks the watch carefully back over Jimmima's wrist. "Shite."
You flinch as Jimmy Shite’s gloved fist cracks against David's cheek with dispassionate brutality. David's head snaps to the side with violent force, a dark bruise immediately beginning to disfigure his face, and you groan in distress beneath your gag.
"I can say whatever I want about yer woman," Jimmy says, voice flat, all his faux charm and cheeriness gone, "I can do whatever I want to her, too. Remember that."
He turns back to Jimmima. "Anything else?"
"Just this." Jimmima digs in her pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. Jimmy takes it from her, and you watch with detached incredulity as he opens it to reveal a diamond-studded, gold ring. Jimmy whistles, turning to proffer it towards the two of you mockingly.
"Engagement ring, eh? Cute. Though I hate to run the surprise." On the contrary, he looks quite pleased that you’ve found out this way. "What kind of gold?"
David says nothing, jaw tight and trembling. Jimmy glances up at Shite, who takes a fistful of David's hair, jerking his head back roughly.
"18 Karats," David says through gritted teeth.
"And the diamond...what's that, eh? Four, five carats?"
"Five," David spits. Jimmy laughs, low and mocking, and snaps the box closed, dropping it back into Jimmima's outstretched hand.
"Fancy lad. Take care of yer woman good." His grin drops. "But yer still short."
He walks over to David, crouching down so that he's level with his bloodied, battered face. "I'll give ye one more chance: where's my money?"
David's responding silence twists your stomach into knots. He finally meets your eyes, looking past the golden fall of Jimmy's hair. You wish you could name the hollow, regretful look in his eye. You feel tears sting the back of your eyes, already knowing what's coming.
"I don't—I don't have it."
For a long, dreadful moment Jimmy is silent. You observe his profile from where you lay: watch the way his lips twitch before flattening into a tight line, the way his prominent nostrils flare even further in rage. He stands abruptly, turning towards his girls.
"Get back to the car. Ye did good, lassies."
"Thank you, Sir," they say in unison, Jimmy Ink blandly, Jimmima emphatically. They head out with their loot, Ink not sparing you a glance, though Jimmima turns to wave at you with out-of-place geniality. Jimmy Ink reaches over and grabs her by the sleeve without even looking, pulling her faster out of the room.
"And ye, Shite," Jimmy adds. Jimmy Shite leaves without a word, though he eyes you with naked curiosity as he passes by—the most emotion he's shown this entire time.
Which leaves just you, David, and Jimmy.
Jimmy circles around the back of David's chair, uncharacteristically silent. He brushes the back of his ringed knuckles across your boyfriend's swollen face and David flinches harshly, expecting pain. Jimmy laughs meanly. He circles back to David's front and tilts his head up, touch gentle. David looks up at him with swollen eyes.
"I thought ye'd be smarter than this," Jimmy says, "What were ye thinkin', eh? That ye'd just get a freebie from me?" Jimmy drops his hand and David slumps bonelessly.
"Yer lucky we found what we did," he continues, “Whoever that cash was meant for will hurt ye for losing it, but not as bad as I would have. That gold and silver's almost got you level. But ye still owe me."
David tries to speak, his words slurring. He pauses, spits out a thick glob of blood and saliva, and tries again, voice weak with pain and exhaustion. "I swear I'll get it to you, man, just...just give me some time, I—,"
"Oh, no, no, no, lad," Jimmy cuts him off, waving his hands as if in dismissal, "Ye don't need to worry about that. I’ve got everything I need right here."
You and David both look up, taken aback by his words and abrupt change in tone. Jimmy is smiling at David, a genuine smile that makes your skin crawl. He moves behind David and lifts his chair clean off the ground with shocking strength. He brings him forward, depositing him so that he's barely a foot away from the couch—you could reach out and touch him, if only you weren't bound.
Jimmy steps back, rolling his shoulders and neck, cracking his knuckles against his palms, looking for all the world like he's preparing for a fight. He smiles at you, gold flashing.
"Alright, hen. Let's get yer man’s debt settled, eh?"
You stare dumbly at him as he approaches, his words bouncing frantically between your ears but refusing to sink into your brain. It’s not until he lays his hands on you that you snap out of it, jerking wildly in an attempt to dislodge him—it’s a futile attempt, the rope around your wrists and ankles combined with the give of the couch effectively paralyzing you. His rings sting against your skin, the metal shockingly cold, and he handles your body with little care. Your stomach drops at the way he arranges you—face down, ass up, your knees and upper body sunk deep into the soft cushions, wrists still bound tight behind your back. You flinch at the gust of cool air that brushes against your stomach and breasts, gravity and the new position working together to humiliate you further as your satin cami falls forward, exposing you. You feel like a hog on a spit.
David stares at you with a horror that matches your own. You close your eyes, unable to bear his dark, wild eyes, but they snap back open at the feel of something cold and hard brushing against your face. You're terrified to be met with the sight of a gun, an aborted squeal escaping from behind your gag. Jimmy shushes you, eyes no different from the gunmetal—cold and steely and burrowing into your skin.
"Now, lass," he says, "I’m gonna untie yer ankles. But I want ye to remember what I have here. Dinnae do anything stupid. Nod if ye understand."
You nod, the presence of the gun at the base of your skull ensuring swift obedience. You feel Jimmy's hands work at your ankles, and it isn't long before the rope is loosening, and then gone entirely. Jimmy rubs circles on your ankle with his thumb, almost soothing, then slides his hand up your calf.
"Good lass," he praises. The pressure of the gun disappears, and you hear a clatter as it's sat on the console table against the back of the sofa. Then Jimmy wraps his hands around your thighs, right above your knees, and spreads your legs as far as the width of the sofa will allow. He settles between them, so close you can feel the warmth of his body emanating against the backs of your thighs.
"What—what the fuck are you doing?" David stutters, furious.
"I told ye what would happen if ye tried to fuck me," Jimmy says. You jolt in surprise as he touches you without preamble, fingers dragging long, slow strokes over the slit of your pussy. Even through your satin shorts and lace panties you can feel him in detail, his thick fingers sinking between your soft labia, the tips of them brushing teasingly against your clit. "D’ye remember what I said?"
David swallows. "You said you’d fuck me harder. But—but—," David shakes his head, helpless, "This ain’t right, man, she’s—,"
"Think of this as mercy, lad. Yer lucky ye’ve got sucha bonnie thing here to help settle yer debt. Be honest—would ye really rather I kill you than fuck this pussy?"
David doesn’t respond—or maybe you just don’t hear him, the roar in your head drowning out everything else as the reality of your situation comes crashing down. Fuck you? Fuck you. He's going to fuck you—no, he's going to rape you, take your body the same way he’s taken everything else of value in your home—with violence, because he can, because nobody is going to stop him. Because it's that or David is short on his debt and dies.
Your thoughts halt abruptly when Jimmy’s thumb reattaches to your clit—he first bears down, pressure firm and steady, then eases up, his thumb brushing over your clit in teasing, feather-light circles. He goes back and forth like this—heady, lingering pressure followed by playful, electrifying flicks. You whine with pleasure despite yourself, your clit growing erect under his touch. You try to jerk your hips away from him and succeed only in further rutting against his hand, bolts of pleasure branching from your cunt deep into your belly. You hear Jimmy laugh at you, low and breathy.
"How responsive ye are, hen. Ye’ll make this easier than I expected."
Shame and embarrassment crash over you, but the feelings are quickly replaced with alarm as Jimmy yanks your shorts down unceremoniously, letting them pool around your knees. He moans at what he sees, deep and primal, and heat floods your face from sheer mortification. You know how you must look from his point of view: bound and spread, back arched like a bitch in heat, plush ass spilling out of your cheeky-cut lace panties.
And wet.
You can feel your own warm slick dripping out of you, soaking into your panties. The thin fabric clings to the outline of your needy pussy, the folds of your labia as perfectly displayed as if you were nude. You've always been sensitive to touch, quick to arousal at even the slightest stimulation. You thought you were lucky to have a body so primed for pleasure, but now? It feels nothing short of cruel.
Jimmy hisses, shifting behind you, and for the first time you risk looking back at him. You regret it immediately—he's squeezing at his cock through the fabric of his trackies, brazen and indulgent. He's thick, based on the breadth of his fingers around it. Long, based on how close to his waistband he squeezes. You look away, anxiety curling in your gut.
"So wet for me already," Jimmy says, "I know I'm good with me fingers but that—that's something else. Yer old man dinnae treat ye well, I can see that now. But dinnae worry, hen—I'll show 'im how to fuck you right."
"Fuck you," David erupts. He bucks in his chair, face contorted in rage. "Fuck you, you cunt, you'd be nothing without your fucking cult, that's why you need me tied to this fucking ch—,"
You hear Jimmy sigh, soft and annoyed, and his warmth disappears from behind you. That's all the warning you get before the sound of a gunshot cracks through the room, sudden and impossibly loud. You scream, more in shock than anything, and your eyes immediately search for David.
He's fine—wild-eyed and clench-jawed, shoulders so tense you're afraid he might crack under his own pressure, but untouched. His head and shoulders are dusted with white, and you realize that Jimmy shot at the ceiling above him.
"Shut the fuck up," Jimmy reprimands, voice blasé, "or the next one goes in yer chest, and I fuck her anyway. Dinnae be stupid, lad."
You hear the clatter of the gun on the table, and then Jimmy is settling back behind you, the velour of his tracksuit soft on your skin. His hands land on your thighs, then slowly slide upwards to squeeze shameless handfuls of your ass. He hooks his fingers through your panties and pulls them down to join your shorts around your knees. He hums deep in his throat, voice thick, and you wince as his large hands spread the cheeks of your ass wide, exposing the parts of you he wants to see most—your clenching, wet pussy and shy, tight asshole. You turn your face into the cushion beneath you, humiliated beyond your wildest imagination.
"Perfect," Jimmy breathes. He spits right over your asshole, wet and messy, and your gag does little to muffle the embarrassing noise you let out. He rubs a finger over your hole, pressing his saliva deeper into you, pressure just hard enough to tease a breach. You tense, anxious even as your pussy throbs at the new and strange sensations.
"Relax, lassie," he says, "Yer boy dinnae touch ye here, do he? Shame. I won't either, then—not tonight. Ye wouldn't be ready for that." His finger leaves your virgin hole, and you tremble in the wake of his touch, though whether it's from relief or residual anticipation you can't say.
You feel him brush against your wet slit, trading one hole for the other. His fingers dip between your labia, dragging up and down the length of your pussy, pausing to circle teasingly around your clit at every pass. Your head is spinning—not only from his skilled touch, but from the unexpected sensations of his stacked rings. The cool, hard bands slide smoothly between your labia, their ridges and sharp edges providing a shockingly pleasurable contrast. The edges of the highest rings catch against your clit and you moan, high and shaky.
His hand is coated in your wetness now—you can feel it in the ease with which his fingers slide against you, and you can hear it: that loud, pussy-slick suck of where your bodies meet. You can't help but respond to him now, hips jerking sharply against his fingers, your gag barely muffling the moans you’re unable to stifle.
There's no warning before he breaches you, a single finger sliding knuckle-deep into your pussy. The digit is thick enough on its own to stretch you pleasantly, but it’s the addition of his rings that have you moaning like a whore, sudden and loud, your pussy clenching around him. The added girth of the rings, the strange coolness of their metal inside you, the way their textured edges rib at your walls—it's unlike anything you've ever felt before. Jimmy huffs a laugh, breath ragged with desire.
"Good girl," he pants, "Show me how good it feels."
He twists his finger slowly, his rings catching deliciously at your clenching walls. You whine, hips stuttering against him, demanding more. He gives it, pulling out one finger and giving two back. He sinks into you deliberately slowly, letting you really feel it—every gemstone, every ridge, every bump and angle. His fingers bottom out to the second knuckle, then retract with a filthy, wet twist. He settles into a rhythm, fucking you with his fingers and twisting with every backward pull, his rings scraping your insides raw. You get lost in a plethora of sensation, rolling your hips back before you even realize what you’re doing, riding his fingers. Wet and honeyed sounds fill the room.
You never knew a single hand could offer you so much.
"Knew ye would have a honeypot on ye," Jimmy says. You come back down to earth, remembering who that hand belongs to. "Soon as ye came through that door, knew ye were too sweet for this weak fucker 'ere. How much did ye know about yer man's double life? Not much, I reckon. Bet ye thought he was big fish, eh? A big man, feared on the streets?" Jimmy chuckles, mocking. "He's just the chum, lass. But I reckon ye can see that now."
You realize with great shame that Jimmy is right: you don’t know what David gets up to, not really, because you don’t want to know. You know that it’s under the table at best, illegal and dangerous at worst. You also know that David makes enough money to buy you gold jewelry, and designer dresses, and a gorgeous home. You had no interest in hearing about the real-life horrors that came with such a man if it meant challenging your own comfort. And in truth, though you were loath to admit it even to yourself, there was a part of you that enjoyed being wanted by such a man—wealthy and powerful, maybe even dangerous.
And now here you were: tied up and gagged in your own home, stuck on the fingers of a man who really was dangerous.
Your pussy clenches hard around Jimmy's fingers, and you tell yourself it's because of those rings. He laughs at you, pushes in deep, laughs again when you clench helplessly around him, over and over, wet pussy drooling all over his fingers and dripping down his palm.
"A honeypot," he repeats. Fingers still deep in your cunt he reaches beneath you with his free hand, rubbing hard at your clit in time with the pitiful jerks of your hips. You seize around him, screaming beneath your gag, coming so hard around his fingers that it almost hurts.
Jimmy's fingers slip out of your sopping cunt, and you slump onto your side, boneless. You feel him wipe his wet fingers off on the back of your thigh, and somehow this is the most dehumanizing thing you've endured so far.
You flinch in surprise when Jimmy's fingers ghost over your bottom lip, parted wide around the cloth gag. He pulls the gag out with shocking gentleness and tosses the soaked fabric to the floor. You breathe in deep through your mouth, relieved at the extra oxygen, flexing your aching jaw. Jimmy makes a lustful noise, the sound coming from deep in his throat, and you freeze. His glacial eyes are fixed on your lips.
"Perfect mouth," he murmurs, "Knew ye'd have one, sweet thing."
You've never felt more self-conscious than right now, with those eyes on your face. You turn away, though there's only so much you can hide like this. He tuts at you, the back of his fingers brushing against your cheekbone.
"Dinnae hide from me, sweet girl. Look at me. Dinnae make me say it again."
You look, vision blurry with tears—and your eyes land over his shoulder, right on David. Your stomach bottoms out: you'd forgotten all about your boyfriend, even as you came on another man's fingers right in front of him. You break down crying, the shame almost too much to bear.
"David," you gasp, "David, I—I'm so sorry, I swear, I didn't—I didn't want—,"
"It's okay." David cuts you off. He doesn't say anything else. Won't look at you. His eyes stare at the far wall, wet and dark and empty. You slump further into the sofa, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"D'aw," Jimmy's voice is cloyingly sweet, mocking and amused, "Aren't ye two just tragic? Me old dead heart cannae take it."
He shifts back behind you and wraps his hands around your hips, hauling you into your former position without any care for your tears. You cry harder at the reminder that this payment isn't over.
"Please," you beg, "Please don—," you yelp, cut off as a hard smack lands across your ass.
"Stop yappin' or I'll put that gag back in." Jimmy's voice is flat, devoid of emotion in a way that tells you he means it. You bite your lip and fall silent, though quiet sobs still shake your shoulders.
You hear rustling and look despite yourself: Jimmy is shoving his tracksuit bottoms down his thighs, allowing his swollen cock to spring free. It's even larger than you feared, long and thick, red and angry. Everything about it seems exaggerated to your fearful eye: the size, the leaking tip, the engorged vein running along the shaft, the thick thatch of (golden, of course) pubic hair at its base, the heavy sack nestled beneath it.
You can't take it. There's no way. You open your mouth, plead on the tip of your tongue, and remember Jimmy's threat just in time. You look away, tears stinging your eyes, body trembling in fear.
Jimmy laughs, soft and breathy, almost genuine. "Dinnae be so scared, honey. Tremblin' and shakin' like ye weren't loving it just a minute ago. Ye'll love this, too. I promise."
One of Jimmy's hands lands on your ass, spreading you open, and you feel the thick, hot head of his cock rub along your slit, parting your labia. He presses shallowly against your entrance, dipping just deep enough to tease, then drags himself down until his cockhead is kissing at your clit. You flinch away, clit still oversensitive from your climax, but Jimmy grips tightly at your hip, dragging you back into place.
One hand firm on your hip, the other guiding his cock, he slides back and forth between your folds, over and over, alternating between pressing his head against your slick opening and bumping it against your hard clit. You cry from the mixture of pain and pleasure, your swollen and overstimulated clit sending confused signals through your body. Jimmy presses a little harder every time he passes over your clenching hole, dipping in just a little deeper—but never deep enough to breach. Finally, you whine in frustration, your hips bucking back as he teases against your hole once again—you feel so empty, desperate for something to stuff you full to bursting.
Your desperation is what he was waiting on, it seems: his hold on your hip tightens, and this time when he passes his cock over your entrance he pushes. The head pops in with a delicious stretch: you moan before you can help yourself, shamefully loud and wanton. You flutter wildly around him, your pussy desperately trying to draw him in deeper yet. Jimmy moans and obliges, sinking in another inch, then two, before coming to a stop. You're less than a slut beneath him, cunt a dripping and clenching mess, needy and loud with no regard to the man tied to a chair barely a foot away—but even still you're too tight for him, the hot grip of your cunt almost painful. You feel it, too, the way the burn of his entrance threads your pleasure with pain. You're split even wider than you expected, if possible—wider than you've ever been split before.
Jimmy laughs, breathless and dazed. "Damn. Yer boy over there never fill you up like this, did he?"
You don't answer. You don't look at David, either, and for the first time the reminder of your boyfriend's silent, defeated presence does nothing to curb the pleasure electrifying your body. You buck against Jimmy, demanding, biting hard at your bottom lip in a poor attempt to stifle your desperate noises. Jimmy pats at your thigh, condescending.
"Dinnae worry, lass," he says, fingers finding your hard clit, rubbing slow, steady circles over it, "I’ll help ye through it—we’re in this together, ain’t we?"
You cry out, your clit over-sensitive and hurting so good. His free hand squeezes tight at your ass, blunt fingernails and stacked rings nipping sharply at your soft skin. You moan loudly, hips rolling back, chasing after the dual sensations: they combine in a way that goes straight to your pussy, your hole gushing slick around the tight seal of his cock, clenching desperately around him as he sinks in another inch. He makes a smug, satisfied sound.
He works at you like that for a while, one hand on your clit, the other at your ass, pain and pleasure opening you up to take him deeper, inch by inch, until he finally—finally—bottoms out. Jimmy moans, long and deep, leaning over you to rest his head against your back. You can feel the fine tremors running through his hands and thighs: a dangerous man made fragile by your body.
"Jesusfuckinheaveninhell," he breathes, nearly incomprehensible. He pants against you for a moment, regaining his composure.
His bliss is your discomfort: you’ve never had something so deep inside you, deep enough that you swear you can feel it in your chest, your guts and organs and beating heart pushed aside to make room for nothing but Jimmy. You jerk, panicking.
"I can’t—I can’t breathe." You wriggle underneath him, stuck and helpless. "Please, I can’t breathe."
Jimmy sits up, and you instantly feel less suffocated—but he’s still inside you, a sword through stone, deeper than should be possible. You've bitten off more than you can chew. You try to jerk away, to pull off, but your panic has tightened you back up and all you manage to do is make him tug at your insides, painful and unyielding.
Jimmy shushes you, his hands rubbing soothingly at your sides. "There, there, hen. Calm down. And we were doing so well. Ye can breathe. Do it with me, now, with my hands. Breathe in." He slides his hands up your sides until they curl high over your rib cage, just beneath your hanging breasts. You breathe in, breath stuttering.
"Now breathe out," he orders, sliding his hands back down until they rest above your hips. You breathe out.
He repeats these motions, your breath following the slow drag of his hands, until you relax—still overfull, still with a cock in your chest, but no longer making things worse for yourself. Jimmy huffs a laugh, thumbs rubbing soothingly over your hips.
"Poor honeypot. Yer boy there ain’t never fill ye up like this, did he? Bet it feels like it’s knockin' between yer lungs. But that’s just in yer head, pretty girl. Ye can breathe. Can’t ye?"
You nod, then gasp as his blunt nails dig into your hips.
"What did I take that gag off for, eh? Out loud. Ye can breathe, can’t ye?"
"Y—yes."
"Good."
He reaches underneath you, pinches lightly at your clit. You yelp, hips bucking.
"Stupid bitch," he chides, voice almost fond, "Ye’ve ruined all our progress, havnae ye?"
You shake your head, barely understanding what he's asking. His nails dig painfully into your hips again, and you groan.
"What did I say? Answer me when I ask ye a question. Have ye undone all our progress with yer little episode?"
"N—no," you whimper.
"No?" He leans back, spreading your asscheeks wide. "This little pussy here is still wet for me, then? I can fuck her any way I want to, right now?"
You moan, clenching at his words. You understand now: your progress—the slow, arduous process that was getting you wet and open enough to take him to the hilt. You clamp your mouth shut, fearful. Jimmy laughs and his fingers brush lightly over your clit before working at it in earnest, in the way that’s been working so well for you so far—your reaction is instant and embarrassingly predictable, a moan of sheer pleasure ripping out of you. Jimmy leans over you as he works your aching clit, body warm against your back, voice gritty in your ear.
"Sweet lass. Tightest cunt I’ve ever had, it’s a shame ye’ve been wasting away here all this time. No other cock will do once I’ve fucked ye proper, ye hear me? Feels like too much now but once I’ve got you sliding up and down this cock ye’ll see ye were made for it. Cannae breathe now but once I’ve got it in your throat ye’ll realize ye don’t need air more than ye need me. I’ll fill ye up every which way, honey—I’ll fuck this cunt, then that sweet mouth, then yer little asshole here. Ye want it, don’ ya? Don’ ya?"
He spits this filth at you as he works you into a frenzy. You don’t answer—can’t answer, your mind too fogged with pleasure, mouth hanging open, drool pooling over your chin. You couldn’t form a coherent sentence now if your life depended on it. Jimmy hooks two fingers over your bottom lip, forcing your mouth wider.
"Ye’ve got the brains fucked out of ye and I havnae even fucked ye yet. I know ye can do it, lassie. Answer me. Ye want me to fuck ye, don’ ya?"
You moan, mouth closing around his fingers, sucking on them mindlessly. Your pussy is aching, pulsing hot around his cock, your clit harder than it’s ever been as he grinds against it, hard and slow. He rolls his hips and your eyes roll to the back of your skull.
"Don’ ya?"
"Yes," you breathe, barely more than a sigh.
"What’s that? Ye want me?"
"Yes," you repeat, louder, voice shaky.
"Ye want me to fuck ye?"
"Yes."
"Want me to fuck this sweet cunt?"
"Yes!"
"Fuck ye better than yer man ever did, fuck ye full of my cum?"
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes—,"
"Good bitch."
Jimmy pinches at your clit, hard, and you come harder than you’ve ever come in your life: you clench around Jimmy’s cock and gush, fluid squirting from your pussy, drenching Jimmy’s velour tracksuit and the couch beneath you. You scream with it, though you can barely hear yourself through the cotton in your head. You slump, boneless, the lower half of your body held up only by Jimmy’s hands on your hips and his hard cock, which still penetrates through you like a steel beam. You come down from your climax slowly, a panting, twitchy, wet mess.
Your eyes land on David. His gaze isn’t avoiding you this time—he stares dead at you with dark, unreadable eyes. Shame and embarrassment crash over you like a wave.
"David, please—,"
You don’t finish the words—can’t because suddenly you’re overwhelmed with the hot drag of Jimmy’s cock pulling out of you, then slamming back in. It knocks the breath out of you, and you can do nothing more than brace yourself as he sets a hard, fast pace, each thrust in punching the breath out of your lungs. His head presses against your spine, a deep moan reverberating through him.
Your climaxes have done you good: you take him without too much pain or resistance despite his size, the repetitive drag of him along your walls sending faint sparks of pleasure through your body. You’re well lubricated, too, the sloppy wet sounds of him plowing your pussy loud and obscene. You, for the countless time since Jimmy first touched you, forget about David's presence.
Jimmy does, too. His hands flex at your hips, breath coming in hot, damp puffs against your back. For the first time he is not mocking, or goading, or taunting: he only pants and moans, his voice taking on a high, desperate edge as his hips stutter rapidly against you.
You hate the heat that curls in your belly at his erotic noises—hate that you’re still wet and yielding for him—hate that your body somehow still wants more.
Jimmy slows, lifting from your back. His hand tangles in your hair, clunky rings catching painfully at the strands—though truthfully your body doesn’t seem to know the difference between pain and pleasure anymore, the sensation going straight to your battered cunt. Jimmy uses his grip to turn your head, right towards David.
"Does he fuck ye like this, honey?" Jimmy asks, stroke changing deliberately—he pulls out of you with a long, slow drag, then rolls his hips forward, fucking back into you at an angle that has your toes curling, pathetic mewls spilling out of your mouth. It feels good—different from the pleasure of your clit, but no less efficient at scrambling your brains.
He tugs at your hair, impatient. "What was that?"
"No," you slur, the cruelty of the question barely registering—you’re no longer looking at David, anyway, eyes firmly in the back of your skull. Little more exists to your overstimulated brain than Jimmy—Jimmy’s cock filling you up, Jimmy’s hand tight in your hair, Jimmy’s voice in your ear.
Jimmy tsks and releases your hair, placing his hands on your hips and rolling them back to meet the thrusts of his cock. You moan and clench around him, wanting more and no longer of a mind to be ashamed of it.
"Shame, lass," Jimmy pants, "I know ye love it. I can—aah—feel it."
With no warning Jimmy spreads the globes of your ass, exposing and spitting right over your asshole. It doesn’t humiliate you the way it did the first time—now you moan like a whore, shuddering in arousal. You roll your hips back against him, pussy clenching, wishing in your fucked-out haze that he’d fuck your ass, too. You’ve never even had it there but you want it now, want it from him.
"That’s it, honey. Oh ye love it, don’ ye? Love me inside of ye, love me fucking ye like this. Say it."
You moan, swallowing the drool that’s collected in your parted mouth again, beyond words. Jimmy grips tight at the hair at the base of your skull and yanks.
"Say it."
You moan louder, toes curling, brain fuzzy. "Iloveit," you slur.
His hand twists painfully in your hair. "What?"
"I love it!"
Jimmy laughs meanly and lets you go. Your head drops, a marionette with its strings cut. "Good," he says, and then he’s pushing into you to the hilt, stilling once his hips are flush against your ass. You whine, not in discomfort, not anymore, but in protest.
"Needy bitch," he says, that almost-fondness from before back in his voice.
You feel his fingers at your wrists, tugging and unlacing, and it takes your brain a few seconds to catch up as the ropes around your wrists fall limply to the side. He’s unbound you completely now.
You lower your arms slowly, shoulders aching fiercely from the position they were held in, and cross them underneath you, resting your head against your forearms. You sag in relief, neck no longer strained from supporting your upper body against the cushions.
David calls your name, sharp but aborted, as if he didn’t really mean to say it at all.
You look at him. There’s more emotion on his face now than last time, his brows knitted and mouth parted. He looks almost pleading as he calls you again, voice unsure.
"Baby, I—I—," his mouth hangs open as he searches for words, "I’m sorry. I love you."
The words come to you muted, as if spoken through a wall. You can’t decide what his apology means to you, if it means anything at all. It certainly doesn’t mean now what it would have an hour ago.
You don’t say I love you back.
Instead—hating yourself, feeling the most cowardly you’ve ever felt—you turn away, using your newfound mobility to prop yourself up on your arms and hide your face in the back of the couch. You brace yourself against your arms, shift on your knees, and use this leverage to throw your hips back against Jimmy, once but firmly.
Jimmy laughs raucously. Laughs so hard he has to brace himself over you, his entire body shaking with it, hips twitching involuntarily. You sigh, even these crumbs filling you with pleasure.
"Tragic lovers, indeed," Jimmy wheezes, "Guess she’s made her choice, hinna she?"
You hate him. You wish he would shut up and fuck you.
Eventually he does, recovering from his laughing fit and reaching to squeeze lewdly at your ass, kneading the soft flesh leisurely. "Such a good bitch," he purrs, "Got this sweet honeypot all sticky on my cock. Yer mine now, honey. Now give me one more."
He grips you tight by the hips and rolls his own back, drawing out his thick cock slowly before slamming back in, deep and merciless. He sets a brutal pace, lifting your hips to fuck you how he wants. Your pussy is almost use to him by now, sucking him in with glee and clenching tight when he pulls out, reluctant to let him go. The sloppy, suckling sound of his cock drilling into you fills the room with filth—the only other noise is Jimmy himself, moaning and panting, loud and frantic.
His pace goes erratic, hips stuttering as he nears his peak. He moans deep in his throat.
"Come on, honey," he pants, "One more, I said. Come around my cock and I’ll fill ye up proper. Come on, c’mon, cmon—,"
You moan—you’re so close and you haven’t even touched your clit, Jimmy’s thick cock awakening nerves in your pussy you didn’t even know you had.
Suddenly, Jimmy gathers a fistful of your hair and twists, your hair tangling painfully in his grasp as he pulls your head back. You cry out, the sharp sting of your scalp sending you over the edge, pain the same thing as ecstasy. You clench hard, creaming all over Jimmy’s cock, and he follows right behind you, collapsing over you and moaning desperately.
Jimmy comes: it’s obvious from the sound he makes, a drawn-out moan spilling from his mouth like lava out the lip of a volcano—hot and molten, long and roiling.
But more than that you can feel it: his massive cock jerks inside of you, over and over, shooting wet heat deep in your belly. You marvel at it—you’ve never actually felt David come inside you before, and he’s done it hundreds of times. It goes on for ages, the hard twitches softening and spreading out until they cease completely.
Jimmy doesn’t move for a while, panting heavily against your skin, golden stubble scratching at your back. Eventually he sits up and pulls out, cock still large enough even in its softened state that the drag of him feels endless. You wince as he exits you—you feel your cunt gape, squeezing around open air, and a stream of hot cum dribbles out of you. It coats your swollen folds and abused clit, leaking down to drip onto the already-soaked sofa. You collapse onto your side, sore and exhausted.
Jimmy slouches against the arm of the couch, running a hand through his hair, golden locks sweaty and bedraggled. He pants as if he's just completed a marathon. Your eyes drift down his body despite yourself: his trackies are still shoved down the lean muscle of his thighs, and his cock hangs limp and shiny with your fluids. There's a large dark patch on his pants and the bottom edge of his jacket from your earlier wave of release. Jimmy doesn't miss your gaze.
"Still ain't had enough of it, have ye, honeypot?"
You look away, jaw trembling. Jimmy chuckles. "Dinnae worry, hen. Ye'll get more where that came from."
He tugs his trackies back over his hips and slips off the sofa, yawning and stretching exaggeratedly, his back and shoulders popping loudly. He reaches over the back of the sofa for his gun, and you're too tired to even feel fear at the sight of it. Jimmy turns to David, bound and silent.
"Howzat for a debt settled? I'd say we're even."
David doesn't look at Jimmy—doesn't look at you, either, his gaze firmly fixed on the floor in front of him. You've never seen him look so angry.
"You've made your point," David says, voice flat.
"Ay, I'd say yer woman made it for me."
"She's not my woman," David spits, and it’s now that you realize his anger isn't directed at Jimmy—it's directed at you. You flinch at his words, shame rearing its head, too little and too late. You realize that hot, silent tears are tracking down your face, wetting the hair at your temple. Jimmy grins, razor sharp.
"I'm glad ye understand—she's mine now. The last piece of settlement on yer debt. Be grateful—normally I ask for late settlements in blood."
Jimmy makes to turn away, then swings back around at the last second, gun tapping against his temple as if in thought.
"Let me ask ye—she always that tight?"
David looks away, empty-eyed. Jimmy taps his gun against David's temple. "Asked ye a question. Yer—apologies, my—little honeypot always feel like heaven?"
"Best I ever had," David says, emotionless. His eyes don't once lift from the floor.
"And she always come like that, eh? Squirt all over ye?"
This gets a reaction out of David, a muscle in his jaw jumping. He looks up at Jimmy, then back to the floor. Jimmy clicks the safety of his gun off, encouraging.
"I—I haven't...she's never..."
David trails off, chest rising rapidly as his breath quickens. Jimmy steps back, blue eyes wide with wicked glee.
"Och!I see. No wonder she was gaggin' for it."
Jimmy turns away from David, done with him, and walks to where you lay on the sofa. Your eyes track him silently—you haven't moved an inch since you collapsed. He kneels next to your head and settles the full force of his blue eyes on you: you forgot how exposed you felt beneath his gaze, your chest flayed open and ribs bared. But you don't look away. Not this time. The corner of Jimmy's lips lift into a half-smile.
"Can ye walk, honey?"
Your brows furrow at the question, your mind moving slowly. You try to move your legs and immediately cry out, a hot pain flaring that begins at your core and spreads throughout the rest of your body.
"No."
Jimmy's smile is sickening. He likes that he's hobbled you.
"Pull yer shorts up, then. I'll have to carry ye."
You push yourself up, slow and shaky, groaning in pain: everything hurts, especially your abused pussy. You wince as more of Jimmy's cum slides out of you, pooling between your legs on the ruined couch. You pull your panties and shorts up with trembling hands, cringing at the wet way they cling to you. Jimmy has crossed the room at this point, bending down to pick up something off the floor: David's robe, torn at one shoulder and stained with blood. He walks back over and throws it over your shoulders, guiding your arms through the holes. You're surprised at this gesture, which almost feels like kindness. Jimmy smiles down at you as you belt the robe closed.
"Very good. Cannae have those maggots outside seeing my honeypot still drippin'."
He bends over and hooks one arm under your knees, the other wrapping around your shoulders. He lifts you with that same shocking strength from earlier. Once he has you firm against his chest he brings his mouth to your ear, stubble scratching roughly against your cheek but lips soft where they brush against your skin.
"Yer real quiet, honey," he murmurs, voice too smug to be called gentle, "So I'll say it again to make sure ye heard: yer mine now. But dinnae worry—I take good care of what's mine."
You say nothing—but you sink into the warm, soft velour of his jacket. This must be good enough, for he brushes his lips against your temple—not quite a kiss—and swings around, walking you out of the house.
"Goodnight, ye piece of shite," he calls over his shoulder, "If I see ye again I'll kill ye."
The nighttime air is cold against your bare feet, the rest of your body shielded by David's thick robe. A black SUV with pitch-black windows sits on the edge of the property, nearly indecipherable in the dark. As Jimmy approaches someone slips out of the driver's side: a young man in a black and white tracksuit. He opens the passenger door for Jimmy, and you take in his appearance: shoulder-length black hair, black-painted lips, apathetic black eyes.
A black inverted cross, inked neatly on the middle of his forehead.
"Sir," he says simply, nodding his head curtly.
"Snakey," Jimmy greets, and you can hear the ever-present humor in his voice, "Thank ye much."
Jimmy deposits you onto the front seats—modified to comfortably fit three—and slides in after you. The young man closes the door behind you, and Jimmy positions you so that you're laid against his chest, his arms wrapped possessively around you. You glance into the backseat and are met by the faces of the people who invaded your home—Jones, Fox and Shite, Ink and Jimmima. They stare at you and Jimmy with expressions frozen in various stages of disbelief. The young man in black and white slips back into the driver's seat and cranks the car, which hums to life with a smooth, silent purr.
"Let's go home, Snake," Jimmy says, not offering any explanation to his cult.
"Yes, Sir."
Snake doesn't spare you a glance, expression cool as he puts the vehicle in drive. You notice a second tattoo wrapped around his neck: a black snake with white fangs spread over the knot of his Adam's apple. He doesn't turn on the headlights as he peels off into the night, the group's departure from the house as unnoticed as their arrival.
Jimmy's fingers are a cage around you, his thumb rubbing absentminded circles on your arm through the fabric of the robe. You allow yourself to sink into him, half-between sleep and fuzzy consciousness. You allow yourself to enjoy the warmth of his body, and the softness of the velour against your cheek. You don't allow yourself to think of who he is, or what he's done to you, or what he might do yet. Of what you've done.
Soon enough, you're lured into sleep by the gentle rock of the SUV as it speeds down the road ahead.
Uhh so if this character turns out to be a crazed cannibal on January 16th I take this back <3 Minors DOI or I will block. I've been reading @dxmurewrites Jimmy Crystal fic which is genuinely the BEST thing I've ever read- so I credit her for my inspo and encourage anybody who hasn't already to go read it cos wtffff it's so good. Also This is hardly proof read sooooo I feel like it's kinda shit but whatever, enjoy <3
The slam of a ringed fist had the room jumping out of their seats, startled by the abrupt noise, silencing the room in a near instant. Jimmy Snake lowered his gaze, his chair scraping back several inches whilst Jimima winced visibly in the seat beside you. The three survivors who's village and home you'd just stormed were now huddled in the corner, their shoulders held high and chins tucked downwards. If it wasn't for Jimmy's hand slipping onto your clothed thigh, then maybe you would've had the opportunity to feel something other than arousal. Maybe you would've turned to Jimmy and bargained with him, pleaded at him to stop his torment. The way he ran things were cruel, you knew that. But this world was changing now, without his sickening torment towards potential threats out in the wilderness, it left our home at threat. Jimmy eradicated any potential uprising from other survivors, and it had been working in his favour ever since he began this life.
''If everybody chats over each other, nothin's gonna get sorted, ey?'' Jimmy finally broke the stillness. This time, everybody else was listening, minus you. You knew Jimmy wouldn't have a good word to say about that, but the way his finger tips had travelled to your inner thigh, gripping and squeezing your flesh was a good enough excuse. Ever since your initiation six months ago, Sir Jimmy knew you were special. So special in fact he'd been the only 'Jimmy' he dressed in yellow, a stand out from the others. Whilst your initiation had been to prove yourself in many interactions with the infected and with other survivors, Jimmy often opted to his own rituals for you to complete. He wanted to test you. He liked to test you, to push you, to see just how far he could tip you to the edge.
You felt Jimmy glancing around the room, offering each and every person a menacing gaze until his piercing eyes lingered on yours. Whilst his outward expression didn't change, you could sense something inside him had. He knew you were there, attentive, listening. He could feel your body reacting to him, pliable and malleable to him and only him.
Turning away, his hand continued its exploration, ringed fingers tugging harder, forcing the separation of your legs. Your thigh now hung off the edge of your chair, unsettling you and causing you to fidget which only earned a sharp push from his hand. Behave. He was warning you. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with his tricks and wants, the man was a loose canon- but you loved it.
Stilling in your chair, his hand eventually settled from it's grip once more. ''You all hear me, dont ye'?'' He spoke again, and your head dropped now, knowing he was about to start from the beginning. His hand rested above your knee, resting their, almost gently- too gently for your liking. A couple of other Jimmy's and frightened villagers let out feeble 'yes's' and nodded along.
''Then why aren't ye' all fuckin' looking at me?''
Jimmy continued addressing the group, something you know wasn't aimed in your direction, not considering the way he was practically stroking the inside of your thigh, parting his hand between the crease between where both your thighs met as you sat. You focused hard on the table ahead of you, but you felt it once, then twice, the familiar throbbing of your core, the way you got when Jimmy would take charge like this. He was lecturing them all, asking them if they'd prefer it the easy way or his way, telling them how generous he'd been to take them all in, and to not set alight to the village you'd all 'stumbled upon'.
A nudge of his finger on the inside of your opposite thigh had you responding almost immediately. Spread them, he was telling you. When your movements were too slow he dug a finger into your flesh, making you squirm ever so gently until your legs were widened enough. Your breasts were resting against the top of the table, the rest of your body concealed from the onlookers by the wooden edge. If you moved or shifted you knew Jimmy wouldn't be happy to be exposed or made to look weakened by you. That had already happened once and resulted in three days of the cold shoulder until you'd begged on your knees for his attention.
So your legs parted, the thin material catching under his rings and finger tops as he smoothed a hand over the inside of the apex between your meaty thigh and warm core. If he could stuff his face down there and inhale the addictive scent of you he would. He yearned for nothing more than the heat of your pussy, the wetness just drinking him in, something you'd never deny him of.
''Do I make myself clear to ye all, or do you have more questions?!'' Jimmy snapped out the latter part of the sentence, driving you back into reality as you followed where he was looking. The middle aged man, looking aged well beyond his years was caught red handed muttering something to whom you could only assume was his wife.
''You don't talk over Jimmy...'' Jimmy Ink reminded, her tone tormenting, knowing, speaking like it was obvious. To you all, it was. Jimmy's hand froze from it's movement, and for a second you feared his attention was occupied elsewhere. He just stared, that same cold hearted look which had pierced straight through you at one time, was now daggering towards the trembling man. The man nodded, bowing his head slightly with a mutter of an apology.
Unbeknown to what Jimmy's reaction would be, your breath hitched quietly, but loud enough for the room to hear when he pushed his thumb up against your clothed core. You could feel the wetness move beneath his touch, pooling in your underwear, but it didn't matter. Jimmy didn't feel it, nor did he treat you to more of his touch. His hand completely retracted from your lack of good behaviour, leaving you cold and wanting to chase his hand back to where you needed him the most.
He left you throbbing, aching and hurting for him. You wanted to apologise, get down on your knees right here in front of all these people and beg his touch back, earn it back. Instead, he turned to look at you, meeting your gaze as you felt your brows pinch together, giving him a silent look of pleading.
''Have ye' got a problem too?'' He used the exact same tone on you as he did the villager who rudely interrupted him earlier. Glancing over both his eyes, you hoped he was getting some kind of mental message now, especially when you dared to knock your knee against his thigh.
After a moment or so, your head shook. ''No.. Sir.'' You didn't break eye contact once, a testament of your loyalty to him. Jimmy's hand disappeared once more beneath the table and a smile cracked on his face. This time, a real one.
''Thas' a proper response, ain't it?'' He grinned around the room, hand coming to grapple up your leg until he suddenly pushed his fingers against your pussy. The move almost startled you, but your hips reacted first by chasing his touch, and this time, he didn't reprimand you. Thrilled by your show of submission to him publicly, he knew the others would follow suit, desiring nothing more than to reward you for your good antics.
Of course Jimmy wasn't always this easily pleased, in fact sometimes it was rather impossible, dependent on what mood he was in. You never knew what side of Jimmy you'd be getting, but somehow that turned you on even more, the thrill of not knowing if he wanted to simply fuck all night or take part in something a whole lot more sinister.
The other Jimmy's nodded along as Jimmy began addressing the man again. His voice went right through you, you no longer looked around, but simply committed to the languid rubs over his large fingers on your core. You could feel yourself leaking with wetness, you were positive if he continued anymore he'd be able to feel it through your tracksuit bottoms, hell, you wanted him to.
You felt yourself clenching around nothing, gritting your teeth together with a quick swallow as his fingers rubbed lower and lower. He'd taken all your holes before, using them whenever he desired, leading to you which one he was aiming for. His fingers stopped above your vagina, resting them tucked under you for a brief moment until he pushed.
Your soaked lips sucked in the fabric of your thin underwear, something he could feel, tracing the outline of your perfectly shaped cunt. Dipping his fingers in and out he taunted you, taking his thumb and squeezing your outer lips together, applying just the perfect amount of pressure on your clit. You were positive you were blushing, heated by the very public exchange, too focused on not releasing any sound as he worked his fingers from top to bottom.
The room was left hanging when Jimmy mentioned something about staying for the night. The whole village spanned about four houses wide. The farmhouses were tended to inside, despite the out of date and weathered objects. Their pans were rusted and there seemed to be a thick layer of dust over everything they owned. Clearly lived in, and loved, part of you couldn't understand why Jimmy wanted to take from somewhere so small. Survival wasn't fair, he'd remind.
''We'll see what use our new friends have got in the mornin'.'' He glanced between the three villagers. He almost smirked at their puny shaking, the way their teeth chattered and goosebumps littered their arms. Still staring at the three of them, he knew some of the other Jimmy's were dealing with the other people living here, but now, fingers sneaking up and down your slit, his patience had run thin.
''Go.'' Without giving a direct instruction, the other Jimmy's knew the drill. Tie them up, lock them away for the night- ransack the place. His other hand rested on the table, pointing with his two fingers as the group kickstarted into order. From beside him, he felt you stand, prepared to follow his instruction, but a firm grip on your thigh settled you back down to the chair. From the lack of movement it was clear that this house was now Sir Jimmy Crystals. All the other Jimmy's knew to scram out of here as quickly as physically possibly, dragging the actual homeowners away, whether they screamed, kicked or spat.
''The rest o' ye' stay in the house next door.'' He instructed a little clearer, setting the boundary that nobody else was to step in here tonight. The Jimmy's agreed, some with knowing smirks or eye rolls as they dealt with the protesting homeowners. His hand had shifted to rest back upon your thigh, leaving you shamelessly rocking your hips back and forth against the chair. This time, he didn't reprimand you.
''You know how to listen to me, dont ye'?'' He turned to you now, giving you his full attention, just like you wanted. A soft moan left your closed lips as you nodded, your whole body turning in the uncomfortable chair in a bid to retain this mood he was in. Nodding, your eyes remained fixed against his dark ones, his hand pulling your left knee up to part and rest on his own lap.
''Not like the rest of 'em...'' He leaned closer, pushing his face into your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. His nose nuzzled against the sensitive skin of your neck, causing you to tilt your head, offering more of you. ''Always so sweet n' good f' me.'' He cooed out on his exhale. An agreement in the form of a mewl escaped your pouting lips, nodding along as he tucked his forehead in your warmth, staring like a pervert at your spread legs. Jimmy held your knee to hook over his lap, sliding the hand up and down, up and down as he moaned at the sight. You were throbbing painfully, your hips daring to roll up just the slightest bit.
He let it hang in the air, waiting for your reaction as he edged his hand closer to your core, tracing his index finger up your inner leg. ''Never waste my breath on you, always such a good-'' He pushed his finger against your clothed clit, ''-good girl.'' His voice was thick with lust, with want and craving.
Your breath hitched and dared to release as a quiet breathy moan, something Jimmy mimicked as he pulled his finger away, tracing it up your body, following the journey of the zip up your front.
''Sittin' so well f' me.'' His two fingers take hold of the zip, ''lettin' me finish-'' he began unzipping, ''-everythin' I have to say.'' If it wasn't for him moaning at your naked chest being revealed, then maybe he would've heard your desperate whine. The zip was dragged all the way to the bottom, slowly, patiently, like Jimmy sometimes could be when it came to teasing you. It was certainly working, your legs were flexing, daring to squeeze together as he pulled the jacket apart. shifting his hands now to free the swell of both of your breasts. Your nipples stood pert for him already, Jimmy drunk in the sight, his right arm coming to wrap over your shoulders.
Taking two of your fingers, he pushed them past your soft lips, working his way into the wetness of your mouth, pushing and pulling his fingers, rolling them against your tongue as his darkened eyes drunk the sight of you in.
You moaned feeling his two fingers push further back. Again, he was testing you, seeing how far he could get. ''Thas' it.'' He cooed as he began directing them towards the back of your throat. ''Jus' take it.'' The dirty talk yet slow moving of it all was driving you crazy, every inch of you yearned to be touched, you almost wanted to cry from how badly you needed him to fill you up. That's if he was even planning on doing that- Jimmy was a cruel lover in the bedroom, he loved to leave you hanging when you needed his touch the most.
His fingers hit the soft spongy part of your throat, causing your eyes to scrunch and a gag to work its way up. You choked and spluttered around his fingers, allowing him to pull back. ''Spit.'' He directed. You followed suit before inhaling sharply, allowing him to work with the wetness, turning down to your right breast as he rubbed your saliva over the nipple.
Your head fell back, resting against his arm that sat hung over your shoulders. ''Jimmy-'' you whined, a rush of sensitive pleasure sending shivers down your spine as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
''My sweet thing, ain't ye?'' He cooed, nipping a little harder. A moan passed your lips now, agape and hanging as you gasped in and out. Tormenting, Jimmy mimicked your moan, nuzzling his head against yours, playing with you, mocking you. Swapping sides, he then turned to your left nipple, rubbing over the bud gently to evoke more and more gasps and squirms from you.
''So ready for me, hm?'' He hushed into your ear, biting at the lobe as you leaned further into his touch. ''Yeah.'' You whimpered. ''Yeah?'' He mocked again. ''Aw.'' He dragged his coo out, pulling his head back to take a better look at you. You were practically writhing for him, fighting against your primal instinct, yearning to submit to his instructions. Removing his hand, he let out a breath of laughter through his nostrils as he watched your face contort into a look of annoyance. A huff passed your lips as you watched him lift either side of the yellow tracksuit, shifting both sides to cover your breasts with hums of tormenting laughter.
He could tell you wanted to cry, to moan and whinge at his taunting behaviour. But training only made you better, and he always enjoyed to watch you squirm. To make matters worse, Jimmy removed his arm completely, backing up to lean against the wooden chair and nudging your leg off his. You were left cold and isolated, your bottom lip agape as you stared back to him in disbelief.
''No, no, no.'' You hushed, making the mistake of reaching forwards to grab his hand. Jimmy didn't snatch his hand away, but he didn't react either. He just watched your discomfort as you attempted to guide his hand back to your aching core. '''S not fair, Jimmy.'' You gasped when his hand fell lazily over your thigh. He was smirking, finding amusement in the whole situation.
''Jimmy.'' You repeated, firmer, staring back to him. ''Stop ignoring me.'' There came your whining. You were pouting with those lips of yours, your top hardly concealing anything as it hung open at either side. Still, his eyes simply just shifted, moving down to your exposed chest and watching. He got like this sometimes, teasing you to the max, wanting to see you crack. But now? Now it just made you annoyed and desperate.
''Just-'' your hand reached for the erection evident in his trousers. His eyes followed your hand, feeling you grip around his length. ''Please.'' Your voice was breathy, airy and light. When he had no response, you felt your frustrations only grow. ''God- just stop fucking ignoring me.'' You regretted saying it as soon as Jimmy's eyes snapped up. He didn't take a second to grab you by the jaw.
''I thought ye were bein' good, ey?'' He growled, shaking your head forwards, closer to him until you felt his hot breath on your face. Your pulse raced, staring back to his demanding expression. ''I am.'' You huffed, voice muffled. Jimmy met your response with a rough shake of your face, resulting in a small cry to pass your lips. A smirk met his and quicker than you expected, you were pushed down to your knees. So he couldn’t resist after all…
Jimmy moved quickly, roughly, but you liked it. You struggled against the floor and his lap, your knees hitting the wooden planks as you fought for stability with your hands gripping either of his thighs. Freeing a hand, he worked to free his cock, his other hand pushing the back of your head in preparation to take him down your throat.
Whilst your mouth was occupied, trailing up and down his length, he put his to work. The warmth of your lips wrapped around him, deliciously sucking in a rhythm that sent Jimmy straight to the clouds. Any stress from the raid began to steam out of his body as your wet mouth sucked him deeper in.
“I know yer’ a good girl.” His voice cut off with a throaty groan. Jimmys head tossed back, the sensation of your plump lips against his sensitive heat sending a wave of heat radiating through all his body.
“But sometimes yer so fuckin’ spoilt.” He hissed, followed by a vocal moan. He used both hands, guiding your head up and down in whatever rhythm he wanted until he trusted you’d learn well enough to follow the pace he wanted you to keep at. You held back a choke, taking him deeper and deeper down your throat, resisting the urge to splutter and gag around his veiny manhood.
“Thas it.” Jimmy’s hands fell to either side of the rickety chair, observing your work as he felt himself leaking into your mouth. In retaliation to his praise, you moaned, pressing your lips as far down as possible until you retracted with a splutter. Fuck.
“No- don’t slow down.” You continued your movements, eagerly working him as he gently shifted a hand to brush your blonde wig out of your face. Craning his neck, he watched the drag of your soaked lips over his cock, enjoying the delicious slurps and suckles which escaped your throat whenever you’d push yourself too far.
“Now ye so fuckin’ perfect at tha- and ye know it.” Jimmy felt himself twitch when you took him particularly deep, trying your utter most not to smile around his erect member. Jimmy was cooing and moaning, eventually planting both hands on you, one on your shoulder, the other digging into your wig, causing it to dishevel out of place. Jimmy’s stomach twinged as he slowly removed it, much to your surprise. Sometimes he got like this, when he wanted to see you as you- not one of the other Jimmies. Under, your hair was slightly tussled, but he brushed it back down with a softness only you knew he was capable of. You didn't dare stop your rhythm now, not when he got like this, not when his groans had turned into throaty mewls.
Jimmy could be like this on the occasion. Oddly gentle, caring, a side reserved for you and only you. He admired you without the wig, and eventually the yellow jacket, which he had stripped off you with a tender nudge. If you were to ever point this side of Jimmy out, or have another person (even the Jimmies) see you like this, Jimmy would lash out, whether that was embarrassment or insecurity, you were not entirely sure. Jimmy never discussed his actions or emotions, never excused or explained them, he just did what he pleased and that was that. Of course when it came to you, that unpredictability of his soft moments had become a common occurrence, something he fought against constantly. But not now, not when you were taking him so perfectly down your throat
You moaned in response to a particularly vulnerable keen when you introduced one of your hands to the mix. After a few moments, he’d let out a breath of your name- not your Jimmy name, your actual name. His hands brushed back your hair, keeping now a relaxed hand on the back of your head as you completely had him at your mercy, drooling down his twitching cock.
That was until Jimmy saw a blur of movement outside the window and the door slammed open with such a suddenness it caused you to physically flinch. You released him with a gasp, turning timidly to see one of the men from the village had broke in, breathing heavily, vividly furious. When you looked back to Jimmy however, tucking himself away, the man looked meek in comparison to your stern-faced lover.
Jimmy rose to his feet, teeth gritted. “No.” He spoke like a curse, scraping the chair back to hard it stumbled to the ground. Panicked and exposed, you fished for your jacket, struggling to put it on as you heard the sound of Jimmy’s hands gripping the man, flesh on flesh, fabric being torn and ripped beneath his strength.
“Get out of my home!” He attempted with a roar, but in comparison to Jimmy’s youthful strength, he was being walked out the house like a dog. Jimmy was livid, beyond anything words could describe. It was one thing to ruin a moment like that, but it was another to walk in so selfishly to see you utterly exposed, no top, no wig, in the middle of such a ludicrous act. Worst of all, Jimmy had given up his guard, allowing himself to give into the pleasure of you. Well that would be the last time he was open like that.
As you zipped your jacket up, the area went quiet once more. You lifted your wig up, carefully placing the scratchy material above your head, your own hair mixing in with the shaggy blonde strands. With a sigh, you wiped your wet hand against the material of your bottoms, the fabric bobbling from overwear. You’d worked all day so painfully hard to try get some attention from Jimmy, and now that you got so painstakingly close, some man had to come in and ruin that. You knew it was deluded, this house was this guys home, but the way your core ached and stomach knotted made it difficult to remember or even care about anything but Jimmy's cock in that moment.
There was no way you were getting fucked today, you had more chance of getting away with touching yourself than Jimmy putting his dick inside of you. People from the towns you raided often fought back, sometimes they’d attack you first, but it ignited a fury in Jimmy like nothing else you’d seen. Realising you’d best get to work, considering you weren’t needed elsewhere, you evacuated the house to the front door step, giving yourself a breather in hope it would calm down your raging pulse and horniness.
Your mind was fogged with Jimmy Crystal, the sound of his groans and the way he moaned your name. It wasn’t a common occurrence that he was feeling so attentive, you didn't know the next time you'd see that side of him. In frustration, you let your hand drop to your lap, leaning back against the splintered, wooden doorframe as you took in the sight of the measly village. God you wished you were at home. There was a reason you never came out on hunts and this was why, there was always unwanted drama, always violence and sometimes it didn’t even pay off. You could only imagine what Jimmy was doing to that man right now…
Your eyes closed, wanting to rid the violent images from your mind and back the ones of Jimmy. Once you opened them again, the sight of a purple tracksuit filled your vision once more. It was as though your brain worked like magic. Jimmy was storming, eyes now set on you, fists clenching and shoulders tensed up high. The last thing you expected was to see him so soon after that experience, but he was there, making his way back to you.
Only this time he didn’t have that relaxed look in his eyes. Instead they looked glazed over, crazed and highly strung. His lips were almost pursed in a frustrated kind of pout, one that not even the sweetest kisses in the world could rid.
“Did I say ye could fuckin’ move?” Then, he began spitting out his words. Whatever had happened behind the scenes had clearly pissed him off beyond what you saw. You sat below him on the step, staring up with wide eyes, lips parted in surprise and your wig planted lopsided on your head.
Your brows pinched, a shocked kind of scoff going to leave your lips, but you were cut off by his words again. “Get on the fuckin’ table, now.” Your eyes glimmered, your lips perked, quickly, you scrambled to reaction, slipping back inside and moving towards the table. Carefully, you slipped to sit back on the wooden counter, legs hanging off the edge as you waited with a keen excitement you couldn't even begin to hide. Jimmy shut the door, dropping the wooden lock with a heavy thud. Then, he began moving towards the curtain nettings, peering out with a snarl before snatching them closed. Your thighs pushed together in apprehension, giddy that Jimmy did seem like he was going to fuck you after all.
“What did he say?” You innocently questioned, only adding to his annoyance. Jimmy knew you didn't truly want to know the answer, you were just being nosy, trying to seek out if he was still in a god forsaken, terrible mood.
What you didn't know was that the man had inferred you were doing Jimmy 'favours', only down there for a reason beside the bond the two of you shared. Jimmy didn’t like that- not one bit. He silenced the man overwhelmingly quick before sauntering back to you, pent up with frustrations he didn’t get to release before. A dismay weighed heavily on his chest, one which only transferred into tension as he felt his cock stiffen at the sight of you once more. Even like this, as pissed off as he was, he couldn't bring himself to be parted from you for a second. He had to claim you, to show you what you really meant to him.
With the door locked and nettings providing at least a blur of coverage, Jimmy turned back to you, content with the privacy he’d shrouded you with. He didn’t speak as he moved closer, shifting across the floor like a stalker until he stood before you, drinking in the sight of you. He looked at you top to bottom, noticing even the most subtle of your reactions, like how the smooth skin of your neck throbbed with the race of your pulse, or how the muscles in your legs tensed through your trousers.
After a moment of staring, he reached forwards, snatching you by the hip, his other hand coming to graze up your front, over your breast and to your throat. Closing his eyes, Jimmy shifted in, closer and closer until he inhaled the intoxicating scent of you once more. You so politely complied, a hand slipping up to wrap over his forearm which was squeezing around your neck. It wasn't enough to constrict your air fully, no, Jimmy could never see you suffer, but it was enough to make you red in the face, submit to him just the way he liked.
With your question going unanswered, you simply allowed him to play with you until you could get what you needed. Your gaze followed his every move, single strands of his hair flying in front of his face. Whether it was stupid or not, you still reached your fingers up, shifting and tidying the hair back into place. Jimmy felt his eyes widen against his own will. His cold heart jumped into an odd rhythm as his brows knotted together. Something shifted inside him, it made him startle and snatch a hand up to grip your own touch. Jimmy forced it back down to the table, pinning it beside yourself as his nostrils flared.
For a few seconds you worried you’d done wrong, that you shouldn’t have complied with the oddly intimate urge. Already on edge, Jimmy wouldn’t react well to something he thought was out of line, but it seemed you could push your luck all you wanted that day, because soon enough Jimmy had fallen forwards, lips colliding into yours with an insatiable need. He couldn't understand it, why his heart, mind and soul craved you this badly, it was as though he couldn't breathe without you here with him. Your bodies clashed together roughly, Jimmy's hands immediately moving to the waistband of your pants to work on freeing you. He needed you to be one, he had to be inside you, to gain the ultimate level of closeness with you.
Your teeth bumped a few times, tongues fighting as he nudged you further and further back. The hand he had once gripped reached back, supporting your weight from sliding back with the power of his kiss. Jimmy's kisses were always intense and overwhelming, now was no different, apart from the fact you practically drunk him in. Discontent with your lack of touch, Jimmy snagged at your wrist, tugging it to hold the back of his neck until he changed his mind and pushed it down again in order to free you from your jacket.
Completely bare, Jimmy wasted no time shifting his lips down, sucking and biting over your nipple, earning a harsh gasp of pain as he bit down over the sensitive flesh. ''Jimmy!'' You swatted the back of his head, again, getting away with murder as he let out a deep grunt of appreciation, sucking over the hardened nub. If Jimmy could feed from you he would, he wanted everything from you, especially when you were completely bare for him like this.
Your bare back shuddered at the cold breeze, reaching out to grapple the fabric of his shirt until he pushed you back with one harsh nudge to your chest. There was a momentary scuffle for dominance as you writhed and swiped your hand in his direction. Forcing your hands away, Jimmy pushed at your thighs, your sex deliciously glistening for him, smearing up your heat and into the hair covering you. He felt like a dog in heat, collapsing forwards into your pussy as his open mouth fell upon your heat.
Instantly, you moaned out, eyes rolling in a borderline disbelief he was eating you out. It wasn't a rare occurrence, but the fact Jimmy had been so pissed often made him selfish. Now, however, he was speechless for what you believed to be the first time as he licked and suckled, spitting down over your clit before slurping it up again, combining your delicious juices with his saliva. Jimmy loved it when you were so wet his cock would slip right in you. Your pussy was so painfully tight, you always sucked him right in, so with more lubrication, it was a recipe to send him straight to the heavens above.
Your hands found their way roughly into his hair, a mixture of tugging and pushing as you jittered and jerked beneath his rough movements. Jimmy wasn't the most gentle when he gave you oral sex, at least he wasn't straight away. Overtime you had taught him that going slow was the most orgasmic experience, but now, he moved with such an eager swiftness, there was no time to go easy on you.
''Jimmy! Oh- shit you're so good!'' Your praise led him onto growl into your sex, inhaling the scent which made him drunk as he sucked over the sensitive of your clit. He felt you squirm, more juices leaking out of you as his cock simultaneously throbbed. He needed you now, he needed to claim you as his. Without the time to do it over and over again like the first time he put his mark on you, Jimmy knew he couldn't go easy on you.
He detached from you harshly, thumbs roughly shoving the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms down which he wore with no underwear. His cock sprung free, swollen and red, angry by the lack of action, just screaming to be deep inside your cunt. Jimmy's lips were parted, wet and glossy from you as he licked them clean, savouring the tangy taste as he yanked you to the edge of the table.
''Mmmm, please.'' The sound of your sweetness only made him breathe harder. ''Please Jimmy, please...'' You were acting like you were saying a prayer, your voice so airy and eager for him, that Jimmy felt a rush explode in his abdomen. If you continued talking to him like that he was going to bust before he already got inside you. Reaching a ringed hand forwards, Jimmy covered your lips, preventing any moans or words from escaping your lips which would make him finish as soon as he entered you.
His cock slipped past your outer lips, sinking deep inside as he let out a hoarse groan, eyes rolling up to the ceiling above. If Jimmy were to die whilst inside you, he'd be a happy man. He filled you, inch by inch, your walls gripping him deliciously as you felt your hole being stretched out with the width of his manhood. Jimmy was big, there was no denying it, but when he began to thrust, that's when you were reminded just how large he was.
A noise was muffled beneath his palm, something between a pleasured screech and moan of shock at the sensation. This was all you wanted, to feel so full and complete with Jimmy. His legs began to shake as he fucked you to the brim, keeping one palm spreading your legs whilst the other continued to press against your mouth. If he was feeling naughty, he'd slip it over your nose too, punishing you, but on a day like today, he saw no sense in teasing you. Your eyes had rolled back and your wig had turned into some kind of pillow as you keened your head back into the table, trying to shake free from his grip on your face.
''None o' tha' now.'' He hushed, voice shaky from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. You settled, your hands moving to brace around his forearm as you stared directly back to him, eyes pleading, desperate, reflecting the way your hips ground back against him. Jimmy found himself smirking, halting his movements as he enjoyed the eagerness behind your movements. You were thrusting, rolling your hips in a frantic desire. Jimmy loved it when you got like this, so cock hungry you thought you were gonna die, and all crazed and fired up the same way he felt for you.
Jimmy's hand released from your mouth, allowing a groan to pass your now open lips. ''My sweet wee thing, ain't ya?'' Jimmy cooed as he began rolling his hips back into yours, cock slipping into the heat of your dripping core. Your thighs were spread wide now, completely open and exposed for him as you breathed deeply, trying to bite back the moans and pleads you so desperately wanted to let out.
''Such a good little thing for me.'' Jimmy's movements were slow, his cock didn't thrust in past his head and he drunk in the sensation of his sensitive head being swallowed by your pussy, gripping him tighter and tighter with frustration.
''Jimmy-'' you warned, but he cut you off with a harsh thrust, cock nudging deep inside you, against a sensitive, spongy spot that made you screech with surprise. He thrusted like that once, twice, three times, before he set off on an erratic pace, falling over you on top of the table as he finally gave into his cravings.
The table rattled beneath you, the legs scraping on the floor as the rickety wood sounded like it would break at any minute. Jimmy had his lips wrapped around your nipple, kissing and sucking whilst he allowed his hands to freely roam over your warm body. Left over cutlery clattered against the floor, chairs were bouncing on their feet, yet neither of you cared. The sound of you being fucked and the wet slick of his balls meeting the skin below your hole made Jimmy word harder, faster.
He was drilling into you, hands gripping at your shoulders in a frantic attempt to hold you in place. His mouth was so tantalizingly hot all over your chest and soon you were digging your nails in, spurring on his movements. You were letting out the most delicious sounds, screeches, keens, whines that fed Jimmy. With every hilt of his hips he could feel his mind calming, consumed by the scent, sight and feel of you. You were all he needed, the only one. Jimmy groaned at his own thought, not sparing you a second but to kiss you. You were crying into his mouth, sobbing and letting out drawn-out hums of pleasure as you dragged your nails up the skin, under his shirt.
Jimmy hissed, seething at the sensation, earning you a slap across your left breast as he stood upright again, using your hips as a grip to pound your body against his. ''Please, f-fuck, need it, Jimmy.'' You growled between clenched teeth, shifting your fingers down to rub over your lubricated bud. His eyes fixated to the way you rubbed and circled, moans catching and transforming into broken sobs as he continued his effort.
Your tits were bouncing, so perfectly. Jimmy spat down over your chest, rubbing in his spit to glisten against your perfect nipples, now bitten and sore from his earlier attack. The sight of you was so painfully hot, Jimmy couldn't handle it. The familiar swell and tightening of his balls made him seethe and groan louder, deeper, resisting the ecstasy he was prepared to feel. As his thrusts became sloppy and out of sync, you propped yourself up on one below, your other hand coming to pull him down and drag him into a kiss. Jimmy followed, enchanted by your presence as his manly groans turned into pathetic whimpers, ones which indicated he was painfully close to his release.
''I know you're close.'' You seduced, foreheads pressing together. ''I know you're about to fill me up, aren't you?'' Jimmy hadn't known where this confidence had come from, perhaps it was your attempt to take advantage of his vulnerability as all he could do was whine in response. Jimmy continued watched, mesmerised by the colour of your eyes as they momentarily rolled back.
''Make me all yours, fucking cum inside me, I need it. You know I need it.'' A finger hooked under his chin, keeping him in place until he felt the familiar tightening of his orgasm. Jimmy tensed, and with one final attempt to regain dominance, he threw a hand forwards, gripping around your neck as you squeaked at his move.
''Cum.. cum inside me, Jimmy.'' You still continued your attack, earning a slight rag from Jimmy as he pushed himself impossibly closer to you. His cock was buried deep inside you now, thrusts frantic and harsh as he chased his high. The head of him was consistently hitting your g-spot, your own tension rising as you watched back to your partner. Jimmy had returned back to his growls and grunts, teeth harshly digging together.
''Fuck!'' You squealed. ''Fuck, you're gonna make me cum too.'' Jimmy couldn't show his delight upon hearing your words, but with a drawn out groan, he worked you harder and harder, feeling every muscle in his body tense as his erection worked you from the inside, eventually releasing his seed, flooding your insides as you came with a screech, gripping him tighter and tighter. Your walls clamped around him, his cock leaking as Jimmy growled into your mouth, claiming you with another kiss as you attempted to come down from your high without completely losing control.
In the end, your body slumped back, his own collapsing on top of you, mouths moving together like you hadn't just fucked each other until you were both raw with overuse. Jimmy allowed himself to settle deep inside you, a heat tingling up and down his spine as his grip eased before tightening back up over your neck again.
''Ye all mine, ye hear me? Nobody else can see ye' like this.'' Jimmy cooed, breath hot and fanning over your pink cheeks as you nodded with a breathless eager. JImmy tutted, shifting his hold onto your face. ''Say it.''
''I'm all yours Jimmy. Only yours.'' Content with your words, he slumped on top of you once more, lips capturing yours, until he pulled back, holding your jaw open for him. Jimmy let a trail of his saliva drip into your mouth, closing your lips once you had tasted enough. ''Swallow i- oh... yes...'' He moaned at you swallowing the taste of him before he even had to tell you.
Sex never ended with Jimmy pulling out and leaving you cold. Perhaps at first when he didn't know what else to do he'd stiffly shuffle away, but now, he lingered, going in for another round, or opting for what he was doing now. Two of his fingers plugged his cum back inside you, pushing the sticky seed deeper into your vagina, hoping and praying one day, just one day that it would catch and have you swollen with his child. It was a thought he never expressed, but you could tell every time what he was doing.
After he had finished playing with you, his fingers lifted, coated in a mixture of you both. This time, Jimmy was feeling selfish, he dipped his fingers past his own lips, sucking and groaning in delight as he simultaneously slipped his semi-hard cock back inside of you. Below him, you whined in need of his attention, your cunt swollen and raw from the previous fuck.
''Taste so fucken' sweet.'' He cooed, eyes meeting yours. ''Ye don't get a taste...'' He drew his hips back, milking both of your pleasure as he felt the familiar throbs of your pussy around him. ''Not today.'' Sensitive, Jimmy pulled out once more, satisfied with how deep he had pushed his cum into you. Nudging your legs flat on the table, Jimmy finally let you rest as your eyes fluttered closed.
''Perfect fucken' picture right there.'' Jimmy tucked his cock away, watching over your nude body. You were fucking perfect, the most magical thing he had ever seen, so much so, he didn't even know what to do with himself or you afterwards. His seed leaked out of your hole, gripping down the apex of your sex, down to the hole he had yet to claim, and pooling on the table below. Whoever's house this was had been well and truly fucking baptised.
A noise of discontent filled you, lifting your sore body up and watching back to the blonde man with a fucked out expression. You were bitten and red, your chest covered in marks which made Jimmy proud of his adventure. Your eyes met, and after all that, you dared to smirk at him.
Hell, it was lucky he loved you, because with how much you liked to defy him, Jimmy could hardly cope with it...
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