Subtle obsession is so wild actually
It starts off as a small thing, really. Just wanting to talk a lot. Text between doing things, maybe staying up a little too late in the night. Little do I realize you're making notes (all the easier to make when I yap and yap and yap when you really get me going)
Then with that, you start proposing "outings" (read: thinly veiled dates)
You take me out barhopping because I tell you it's something I enjoy, despite never having thought I would. You subtly note my tolerance (and, by that same account my physical intolerance and make sure I don't drink too much, just enough)
And then at one point you lure me over. You say something about this new weed vape you got- tastes really sweet and you think I'd like it (obviously, you remember me nonchalantly saying I have a hell of a sweet tooth, of course I'm gonna be down)
You don't get me crossfaded. This time. You'll hold that for another occasion
I don't notice how you've only taken one hit off this thing when I'm over, and I've accidentally repeated the mistake of not consciously thinking and instead hitting the thing like it's a cigarette (you remember the story I told you about one of my vapes I had, that because it was a cylindrical thing I did the same thing with that. You made sure this vape was the same)
You also remember me faux complaining how horny weed gets me
We're sat on the couch and I'm getting almost incessantly cuddly, definitely a lot more than just my usual like of you being the one touching me (you made the very short list of people I actually enjoy touching me, but you know I'm not someone who gets this touchy)
As I'm laying against your side, head on your shoulder as we're watching something on the TV, you slowly wrap an arm around my waist. I don't say anything- which is good. You know if I'm not liking something I make it very much known the second it's going on. Sure that might make some think I'm a bitch, but it definitely works in your favor for knowing exactly how to get your hooks in me.
I still don't say anything when your hand wraps around to rest on my belly, and when it brushes lower you just hear a whine followed by me burying my now more flush face into your neck. Oh yeah, that weed's definitely working its magic.
You pull me onto your lap, and I don't stop you. I'm already halfway gone- but the fact I don't fuss is still a good sign. You wanna be able to get your hands wherever you want them to be.
You pull more whines from me as you get bolder. Thighs, hips, I don't even stop you when you inch your way to my tits. All I have in me is to whine because I've gotten to that level of high where I'm little more than a ragdoll that can feel what you're doing.
You continue to make mental notes, too, about which places get me to whine the most. The answer is a tie between inner thighs and my tits for now.
It's hard for me to move, but after a bit you realize I'm pathetically trying to rut my hips into yours where you pulled me to be straddled in your lap. Everything you're doing just feels so good, I can't help it. You take it as a greenlight to go further.
You manage to get me down to my bra and panties, my panties being soaked from your touch and the weed. Though, when getting things off, you realize I'm starting to sober up a bit and pressure me to take another couple hits to put me back down. And just one for yourself- why not?
Actually, those additional hits? You decide to shotgun them to me. You haven't actually kissed me through this, and it's something you've been dying to do. Perfect excuse, right? Besides, your tolerance is definitely sturdier than mine in the weed department, you'll be just fine.
And, it didn't seem like I was complaining much when I tried to lean into you while doing them.
You've got me right where you want me. High out of my absolute gourd and perfectly pliant and wet. This isn't the final step of your plan, but it is definitely a crucial part.
You pick me up to scoot me around, where I have my back to you. You then get your cock out from your jeans- which is almost painfully hard at this point- and you pick me up by my hips. You carefully move my panties to the side and are slow at letting me back down on your cock. It's a little hard when I feel so good to be inside of, but you don't wanna scare me... today. And you know I'm funny about sudden movements and such.
I whine and moan with every inch. And fuck if I don't feel full. Tears spill from my eyes- not because I'm in pain, but because I feel too fucking good.
... something about me in tears turns you on more and I can feel your cock twitch inside me from it. I don't question it- hell, I can't even fucking think at all with how high and how deep in the pleasure you got me.
There's a few minutes where I'm just warming your cock before you start fucking me in earnest. Your hands are easily getting me close to cumming already and the only other thing you're doing is playing with my tits. I'm leaning my head back against you, and then you realize I'm fucking drooling on myself. How cute that I'm that brain dead at the moment. It doesn't take much more for me to let out a sharper whine and for my pretty cunt to be tightening on you.
And that's only the first in several you get me to- and you're rather proud of yourself. You've heard me bitch and moan about how everyone else I've slept with couldn't get me to cum even once, not without me doing 90% of the work on my own pleasure. Which at that point I might as well have just been masturbating, really.
And maybe when I'm reflecting later, I'll chalk up the fact you "forgot" a condom to both of us being high and impulsive. I wanna see the best in you at this point- I don't think twice about it.
You absolutely did it on purpose though.
You know my silly little self has frequent and horrendous bouts of baby fever and I let slip at one point about my god awful breeding kink. If you're the one to fulfill that wish, with how things are going? I don't get a choice in if I stick with you or not, not really anyway.
You rut your hips up into me as deep as you get when you cum inside me, maybe a small whine from yourself as you bury your face in my hair and grip me tight around my torso. Just the feeling of you cumming tips me over one final time too- all the better chances for your seed to take, then.
We sit still for a long minute, and then you carefully pull me up and off and set me to the side for a second while you put your dick up. Once taken care of, you carry me back up to your room. Dolls are meant to be held by the people who claim them, aren't they?
And you remember when I was yapping about medical facts about how being held releases oxytocin- the love chemical. And you were definitely gonna use that shit against my touch starved ass.
You get woken up by me a couple of times in the night, but it wasn't anything that breeding me again didn't fix for at least a little while. I couldn't help waking up whining and wet and more than ready for another round- even if this was definitely something I'd never ordinarily do. And who were you to say no to your pretty fuckdoll, all cute like that even if I was still absolutely high as balls?
I'm still a little high in the morning- but I'm functional. I only kinda half remember things, but I don't seem upset in any capacity. Which was good, it means everything you've been doing has been working like a charm. Hell, I openly express reluctance to get out of bed because that means being away from you which is all the better.
A couple weeks go by, and sure you use condoms while I'm sober, but it also doesn't take very long for me to start getting nauseous in the mornings.
You convince me to move in, for a plethora of reasons of course. And now you really have me where you want me.
Loving, clingy, and carrying your baby.
