[doeidawn]

NAVIGATION ༉‧₊˚.

જ⁀➴ ABOUT

⟢ call me clown. twenty-two, any pronouns, US-based

⟢ my main (personal) blog is @ghouls-teeth and all interactions come from there

⟢ this blog is 18+ only. minors please do not interact, you will be blocked for following and/or interacting with any explicit posts. this is for my safety and yours

⟢ my inbox is always open!

જ⁀➴ MY WORK

⟢ all of my fics can be found under the tag #clown writes. more specific guidance can be found through my fic masterlist

⟢ all works are marked with appropriate content and/or trigger warnings. dark content is explicitly marked as such

⟢ writing reqs are currently: closed ❤︎

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[romanceslasher]

CAPTAIN PRICE Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 4

[doeidawn]

when i finally lock in and write this ghoap x reader fic i've had in my drafts for months....it'll be over

[doeidawn]

happy holidays to all who celebrate ! otherwise, i hope you have a good thursday and wonderful rest of the year ♡

i want to thank everyone who found my account this holiday season and over the course of this year. even if you found me in 2024, hello and thank you ! i didn't expect this to last for over a year, but here we are :') i appreciate all the support so much, yall make it enjoyable to actually participate in my fav hobby. we freaks must stick together !

have a happy day, stay warm, and celebrate today to the fullest extent you can ! ❆⋆｡˚₊

[doeidawn]

dec. 24 ❆ jingle bells

2025 HOLIDAY MASTERLIST | KINKMAS 2024 | MAIN MASTERLIST

dressing up as a reindeer for a friend's holiday party wasn't your favorite idea, but at least you pull it off. soap, however, has a different plan for your getup when he sees the bell on your collar. 3.3k.

❆ pairing: soap x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; established relationship; reader is wearing makeup but it's like meant to mimic a reindeer, not be glamorous, but i didn't describe it much so imagine whatever you want lol; soap's a cheeky bastard and i love him; fingering; riding; piv sex; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); creampie

♡ support me here !

The whole thing was Johnny’s idea.

Not the party itself—that was being put on by a few of his mates. Dressing up was entirely optional, too. But Johnny wasn’t one to do things the boring way. The moment costumes were brought up, he jumped at the opportunity. And though it took some convincing, you finally relented. It only took a thousand reminders every day and multiple bribes on your boyfriend’s behalf.

But that’s how you ended up here, in front of your bathroom mirror, painting…something resembling a reindeer pattern on the sides of your face. Brown streaks, white spots, and an internal debate on whether or not to paint your nose red. It grows irritating after a while; the brown contour on your face doesn’t match the shade of your clothes, the white spots are uneven, your hands won’t stay steady long enough to even attempt making it look professional. Fuck it, you have to tell yourself eventually, it’s just some of Johnny’s mates, who cares.

“Ye fall in or somethin’? Been in there a minute.” Johnny's voice carries through the walls, a tease woven into his concern. 

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes as you snort at his words. “I’m almost done dressin’ up as your…reindeer, I guess.”

The next thing you hear is the patter of footsteps, excited and hurried, headed in your direction. You brace yourself for his reaction—an overexcited compliment, a cheeky tease, or a zealous proposal for sex. If you were lucky, maybe all three. You could’ve painted your face like a clown and he’d be all over you, no doubt. It didn’t take much on your end to earn some kind of…encouragement.

Johnny’s so damn excited his socked feet nearly slip past the door as he sprints to the bathroom where you are. He braces against the doorframe, filling it with broad shoulders curiously tipped in your direction. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s wearing that boyish grin of his.

“Ah, lookit you!” He sounds like an excited parent coddling a haphazard paint job.

“Don’t start…”

“Nae, m’serious! Y’look good.” His arms drop from the doorframe as he takes a step into the room, which you only catch in the mirror’s reflection. “Always do.”

You spare yourself the energy of another eye roll. Leaning back from the mirror to judge if the white freckles on your cheeks look even, Johnny takes another step in. His eyes never leave yours, even as he turns to the mirror. 

“Should I paint my nose red?” You face him, now, pointing at the tip of your nose. “Would that be too much?”

“Ah, no such thing as ‘too much’.”

Johnny sidles over, slinking behind you like he’s trying to be sneaky about the movement. His hands land on your hips as he presses himself close. His head cocks to the side, barely hovering above your shoulder, watching you in the mirror’s reflection as you hesitantly dab red pigment on the tip of your nose. It’s brighter than you thought it’d be.

He seems to love it, though. While you cringe at the harsh contrast, Johnny still has that lopsided grin that makes your worries fade away. “Gonna be my li’l Rudolph, aye?” He mutters hot into your ear, his voice carrying that rumble that makes the most innocent joke sound filthy. He squeezes your hips before his hands slide to your waist. “Already lightin’ up my Christmas lookin’ like that…”

He moves quick, planting a flurry of kisses on your cheek. He doesn’t seem to mind the paint as he nuzzles so forcefully that it makes you stumble. The scruff on his jaw tickles your skin, no doubt smudging what you’ve drawn on. “John!” You giggle, unable to feign a stern voice as you squeal his name. “You’re gonna ruin my hard work!”

That doesn’t deter him any. He gives you a few more hurried kisses, practically smashing his face against your cheek. Strong arms wrap around you to hold you upright. He only moves with you when you try to bend away. 

When he does finally relent, you catch a glimpse of his face in the mirror before he moves. Sure enough, there’s a smudge of brown, a few white streaks near his lips where his stubble rubbed off your painted freckles. He pays it no mind; you aren’t sure he’s even aware of it. Before you can scold him, though, he pulls away from your body. But not without grabbing a handful of your ass, a cheeky squeeze before scurrying away like a misfit. 

“Get dressed!” You call after him. “I’m not gonna be the only one lookin’ ridiculous.”

When the whole thing is said and done, you actually find yourself rather proud of what stares back at you in the mirror. Despite the constant reapplication and the smudging Johnny had done, the paint came out even and cute. Even better, the accessories you’d bought on a whim tied the whole look together. The headband that had little antlers attached might’ve been a little tight, but at least it looked good.

The last thing to put on was the collar. It was simple—just a thin strip of green fabric with a little bell sewn on the front. Not too flashy, not too obnoxious. Just right for the “reindeer” look you were going for. 

With that, you gave yourself one last silent pep talk and sidled out of the bathroom. The collar jingled with every step, the little bell swaying as you moved. You could already tell that would get annoying quick. But it was festive and on-theme. What harm could it do?

Walking out to the living room, you’re met with Johnny sat on the couch, scrolling his phone while he waited for you. A pair of red pants—hemmed with a white fluff that looked super uncomfortable to wear—sat on his bottom half. The matching jacket was still slung over the back of the couch and (what looked to be) a fake beard was balled up on the coffee table. Whatever “Santa Claus” look he was going for, he’d certainly pulled out all the stops. 

You aren’t sure if it’s your steps or the jingle of the collar, but something alerts him of your presence. His phone became the last of his worries, then—tossed to the side in favor of looking at you. That same grin splayed across his face that made him look like a kid in a candy shop. 

“Aw, look at you!” He sounds twice as excited despite seeing you mere minutes before. “Didn’t think you could get much cuter.”

You can’t hide the smile that forces its way onto your lips. “Hush.” Every step you take as you walk over to the couch makes the bell in the hollow of your throat jingle. “Are you ready? Or does ‘Santa’ need some extra time to get ready?”

“You wearin’ a collar?” Even though he ignores your question, Johnny sounds genuinely intrigued. He sits up, elbows propped on his knees, peering at your neck like he’s trying to solve a mystery.

“Yeah..? Is that okay?”

The smile he gives you is all the response you need. “S’got a bell on it?” He nods towards you, eyes still zeroed in on your neck. “I wanna hear it ring.”

“You just did—”

“C’mon. I’m curious.”

The sigh you let out is exasperated, but you concede. Whatever fascination he had with your accessory certainly wasn’t going away anytime soon. You hop on the balls of your feet to jostle the bell until a soft sound rings out. Johnny looks more than pleased with the tinny sound. He sticks a hand out, beckoning you closer.

“Oh, that’s cute.” When you step closer, his hand lands on your hip, heavy with his strong grip. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“You suppose it rings every time you move..?”

“Well…yeah.” You shrug, and the little jingle that sounds out compliments the thought. “Feels like I can’t breathe without it ringing.”

“Mm,” he hums as he eyes the collar. His hand kneads your hip with far more interest than a casual caress.

“Johnny—”

“We don’t have to leave yet,” he interjects before you can scold him. “Just…let me have a little fun?”

Fun. You knew damn well what that meant. But, truth be told, you weren’t as opposed to it as you let on. You roll your eyes, but it’s soften by the smile on your face. “And what does that entail?”

“Gettin’ you on top of me,” he mutters as he uses his grip on your hip to pull you closer. He guides you into his lap, situating your knees on either side of his hips. The groan he lets out when you settle on top of him is absolutely filthy. “And I wanna see how loud that bell can get.”

From the first press of your body against his, you can feel him start to stir underneath you. It’s endearing, in a way; he gets worked up so easily when it comes to you. Your hands slide over the solid expanse of his chest, settling on his shoulders as he palms your hips. He pulls you closer just to encourage you to start a gentle, rocking pace in his lap. Every swirl of your hips makes him firmer underneath you.

As much as you want to tease him and poke fun at how easy he gets riled up, you aren’t much better. Just the feel of him underneath you—his cock stirring with every press of your hips and his strong hold on your body—is enough to get you worked up. The friction, though dry, is just enough to ignite that throbbing ache between your legs. As if Johnny can sense it, his hands slide up your body until they cup your breasts. He gropes and kneads through your clothes just to hear the soft noises that puff from your lips.

He leans up to kiss you, then hesitates. “How mad are ye gonna be if I mess up your makeup?”

“Furious.”

“Worth it.”

He leans in, mouth attacking yours with sloppy kisses and bitten-off moans. His hips push up into yours, swallowing the gasp that leaves your mouth. You feel him smile when the bell on your collar jingles with the movement. It doesn’t take long before he’s tearing at the clothes on your hips, tugging with an impatience he only ever had for you, listening to the bell ring out as your body jostles on top of him. 

When you pull back to look at him, the first thing you notice is the smidge of red pigment on his face. But before you can laugh about it, one of his hands slides between your legs to cup your cunt and stifle the words with a moan. Thick fingers glide through the slick coating your sensitive skin until they land on your clit and press just right. Every tight circle he presses against you has you grinding against the callouses on his hand.

You can feel him throbbing beneath you where his cock tents those obnoxiously red pants he still had on. You reach down to cup the bulge there, squeezing him just enough to make him groan into your mouth. The way he bucks into your hand is impatient and filthy, but it’s exactly what you want. 

“Fuck, you’re eager, eh?” Johnny pants against your mouth, smirk still tugging at his lips. 

“That’s rich, comin’ from you.” His fingers slide through your cunt like he’s trying to interrupt you. One of those thick digits prods at your hole, feeling it flutter against his insistent touch. “We’re supposed to…leave soon…”

“The party can wait. I can’t.”

His mouth finds yours again as he slips a finger into your cunt. All you can think is how thankful you are that he’s honest about it. He can’t even wait long enough to let you get used to the intrusion of his hand, slipping another finger inside just to feel how your cunt flutters around it. You’re slick enough to make the movement easy, but the stretch still manages to make you gasp. It’s not until he pushes deep, curling his fingers to rub that sensitive spot that makes you tremble, that you whine and rock your hips into the movement.

The tinny ring of the bell is nearly drowned out by the pathetic sounds that leave your throat. Johnny leans in to nose along your jaw, but you’d wager it’s just to hear you pant into his ear. He speeds up just enough to make you keen, reveling in the slick that leaks around his fingers. 

“Johnny,” your voice breaks on his name, “c’mon, I don’t wanna be late.”

Your hand tightens around the outline of his cock just to get a reaction out of him. His hips push into your hand, groaning hot against your neck. Instead of pulling out of your cunt, his fingers prod that spot deep inside like he’s desperate to tip you over the edge. 

But you’re not having that. You take matters into your own hands, tugging at the waistband of his pants until you can reach your hand in and fish out his dick. He doesn’t put up a fight. He’s lifting his hips, inching closer, slowing down enough to let you catch your bearings. He doesn’t slip his fingers out until you practically force him to, pushing his wrist away from your body with all the strength you can muster. He opens his mouth to retort, but when you settle on his lap—your bare, slick cunt grinding against his heavy cock—his own moan cuts the words off.

“Jesus, hen. Got me soaked,” he laughs against your mouth. His hands find their way back to your hips to help pace your jerky rhythm. “Never thought I’d find reindeer so hot.”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect you to.” 

“Only ‘cause it’s you.”

The head of his dick brushes your clit, hot and throbbing and just as impatient as you are. You take the initiative to raise your hips, though you both shudder at the loss of heat and friction. He didn’t need your instruction; wrapping a hand around himself to spread your slick, he guides his cock to your entrance. A jerk of his hips pushes the blunt head inside with a force that takes your breath away. 

Johnny seems more tense than you do—hands holding your hips tight while he pants through gritted teeth. The first, thick inch of him forces you to sink slowly and savor the stretch. Your cunt flutters around him in tight, rhythmic pulses that make his cock throb in response. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” His voice is strained with the effort of holding back and keeping still. 

His hands skirt up, slipping underneath your shirt, coming to rest on your waist. He holds onto you like you’d slip away if he let go. When you sink down, your eager cunt swallowing him to the root, he nearly whines. He jerks into you, burying as deep as he can, holding you so tight you can already feel the bruises forming. 

“Easy,” you coo softly, your hands raising to cup his cheeks and tilt his face towards yours.

“Nothin’ ‘easy’ ‘bout it.” His hands slide down, brushing over the swell of your ass, easing his grip only slightly. “Can’t think straight when this cunt’s ‘round me.”

You scoff at that. While he’s distracted kneading the plush of your ass and thighs, your hips lift slowly. Slow enough to savor the drag of his cock, fast enough to make your breath hitch. As soon as you lift, you sink back down, earning a ragged moan from both of you. 

The shudder of your body when his cock hits deep makes your pace jerky and unsteady. It’s hard to catch your breath long enough to keep consistent. Johnny doesn’t seem to mind it, though—his hips meet yours on every off-beat, rutting into you whenever he gets the chance. 

You don’t notice it at first, but every bounce has the bell on your collar ringing. Just another sound in the crude mix of your wet cunt squelching and your thighs hitting his. The jingle holds Johnny’s attention like a dog, who manages to tear his eyes from the bounce of your chest to the sway of the bell. 

“Listen to you, makin’ music.”

“Shut up.” Your hands fist in his shirt as your hips speed up, slamming down into his lap. The sudden change in pace takes his breath away. 

His gasp fades into a laugh, breathy and hot against your lips as you lean in. “Fuckin’ hell…not playin’ around, are ye?” One of his hands slides around your hip and brushes between your legs, fingers seeking out your clit.

The antler headband jostles and shifts, nearly falling off of your head when your body jerks. It’s the last of your worries, though, when his touch has you barreling towards that peak. You grind against his hand, clit throbbing from the friction of his calloused touch while his cock punches deep. The ringing of your collar compliments the moans and curses spilling from your lips. 

“Gonna cum for me, hen?” He coos much softer than the other grunts and taunts he’s spewed. “Gettin’ so fuckin’ tight.”

Sure enough, the heat pooling in your core grows with every brush of his hand and rock of your hips. You nod, jostling the bell on your neck, the faux antlers on your head slipping further. It’s all the encouragement he needs to keep the pace steady and work you over that edge. 

When it finally hits, your whole body shudders. Your cunt hugs his cock tight, clenching sporadically, milking his dick as it twitches inside you. Johnny groans a filthy sound that rumbles in his chest and shoots through you. 

“Fuck, yeah. Don’t stop, c’mon…Keep goin’, keep goin’.” He’s panting like a dog, huffing against your lips with a desperation he only ever had for you. His strong hands guide your hips when your pace falters, rocking you back and forth as he bucks up into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me, feels so fuckin’ good…”

His babbling is a mindless stream of consciousness, desperate as he works himself over. Even when you lean in to kiss him just so he has something to do with his mouth, he can’t stop groaning and mumbling something sweet about how you feel wrapped around him. 

Lucky for you and your exhausted limbs, he doesn’t last much longer. He ruts into you one last time, hips stilling long enough for you to feel the first few pumps of his cum deep inside. You don’t realize how hard he grips your thighs until he starts to come down from the high and ease some of the tension in his frame. His body jerks, the aftershocks running through him, pushing deep and shuddering when you clench around his now-sensitive cock.

He almost looks more exhausted than you. Though you’re both sweaty, clothes haphazardly strewn and pushed away messily, Johnny’s still struggling to catch his breath. He looks like a mess—hair mussed, sweat on his temples, the streaks of your makeup dotting his nose and cheeks in messy blotches of red and brown. You hated to think how you might’ve looked. 

“We’re gonna be late.” You grumble the words, but there’s no upset in your voice when you lean in for another kiss. Nor do you make any attempt to move. 

“Ah, suppose we can take a rain check,” he mutters against your lips, his smile matching yours between kisses. “Don’t think I’m done with this li’l getup of yours quite yet.”

“John—”

“If I’d have known you’d look this good I would’ve prepared for a quick fuck beforehand.”

For the hundredth time today, you roll your eyes. And for the thousandth time today, you shut him up with a kiss. 

[doeidawn]

dec. 22 ❆ christmas movie

2025 HOLIDAY MASTERLIST | KINKMAS 2024 | MAIN MASTERLIST

when you've seen one christmas movie, you've seen 'em all. when there's nothing else to do, why not make a festive film of your own. 4.3k.

❆ pairing: gaz x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; established relationship; kyle's a little shit and i love him; a lot of teasing/bickering but it's all playful/lighthearted; amateur sextape/recording sexual activity; fingering; piv sex; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); creampie; proud believer in "gaz talks a lot during sex" nation

♡ support me here !

When you and Kyle got the idea to snuggle up and watch a holiday movie together, you were picturing something sweet. Cuddling in bed, comfy under blankets and cozy pyjamas, the lights warm and low. Something that embodied the holiday spirit. And might’ve led to a less festive, but more exciting, ending. 

Getting cozy in each other’s arms was never a difficult task for the two of you. You were under those covers in record time, Kyle quickly following suit, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. It was sweet. But the most crucial part of the plan seemed a  little more elusive. 

“Nah, don’t like that one.”

That practically became the mantra of the evening. It was the third streaming app you’d scrolled through hoping to find something that spoke to both of you. But nothing clicked. It was either too childish, too boring, or too nonsensical to cater to either of you. 

Kyle, proclaimed in charge of the remote, hovers over what felt like the thousandth movie you’d looked at tonight. Before the question could even leave his mouth, you were shaking your head. “Eh. Not a fan.”

The selection changes when he scrolls down, but all you see is the same few posters recycled with different faces. The same genre, same storyline—with nearly identical titles to boot. It was damn near exhausting. He scrolls another two rows before the screen stills. 

“Y’know, I’m gonna be honest…” Kyle’s hand, still resting on your hip, squeezes gently as if to ask for your attention. “I didn’t plan on actually watching whatever we picked out.”

“No?”

His shrug is sheepish, if you could believe it. “No. Was kinda hopin’ we’d…get a little distracted with one another.”

“Ohhh, I see.” Your eye roll is greatly exaggerated. There’s no real annoyance behind it, or the way you cross your arms over your chest as you pretend to pout. “Don’t wanna spend the holidays being cheesy and watching a nice movie with me?”

“‘Course I do,” he coos before pressing a kiss to your temple, “but I also want to fuck you.”

“Wow. You’re shallow, Kyle.”

“M’not shallow.”

“Oh, you definitely are.” You draw out the tease, though your body leans into his. “We coulda watched a movie and then fucked.” 

His hand slides up, skirting over your waist, teasing the hem of your shirt. “Well, if we can’t settle on a movie…” he shrugs, “I’m fine skippin’ to the good part.”

You feign a gasp as you lean in and brush your nose against his. “‘The good part’. Are you hearin’ yourself? Shallow.”

“Jesus,” his annoyance is just as fake, his eye roll accompanied by a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, forgive me for wanting my beautiful girlfriend for the holidays. Gonna tear me apart for that?”

“Always.” You coo before finally closing the distance between your mouths, kissing him much sweeter than you led on. “Now get rid of that damn remote and get over here.”

Though there was barely any space between the two of you to begin with, he made a show of breaching the minuscule gap. Neither of you cares where the remote lands after it's thrown. All that matters is the way his mouth moves against yours as he guides you back against the mattress. His knee nudges yours, slotting himself between your legs as they spread. 

His mouth moves from yours to trail down to your neck, sloppier with each kiss he leaves behind. His hands find their way to your hips only to slide up your sides and rest just under your breasts. His body presses against yours until you can’t feel anything but the heat and weight of him completely enveloping you. One of his hands snakes under your top, tracing the arch of your back as it moves up your spine.

Nimble but rough fingers unclasp your bra, though there’s no rush to strip it off your body. Kyle just savors the press of your bare skin against his. He noses your jaw, pushing his hips against yours until you gasp a sweet sound and dig your nails into his biceps.

“Haven’t even got your clothes off yet,” you feel him smile against your neck as he mutters, “and you already sound pretty.”

You'd roll your eyes if Kyle hadn't interrupted the attempt with a sloppy kiss. The retort dies in your throat when his hand moves from your back to your ribs and then under the hem of your bra to grope your breast.

"Gonna help me out?" His voice is like a purr between kisses, so soft and sweet when he asks like that. It almost makes you give in. Almost.

You hum a dismissive sound against his lips despite your smile. "You don't deserve the help."

"Wow." He takes it upon himself to push both your shirt and your bra up your body until they uncover your bare chest. “‘Cause I’m ‘shallow’, is that it?” He can’t stop himself from grabbing at your breast, his palm warm as it envelops the soft weight, before maneuvering the fabric off of your body. 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum affirmatively as your clothes land…somewhere with a soft thud. “Can’t even get through a movie…”

“Christ…” Kyle’s grumble hits your mouth in a hot puff as he leans in to kiss you again. It’s sloppier, rougher than the last, something you’d tease proves how impatient he is. 

His hands find your thighs, just under the curve of your ass, hauling you even closer. Like he doesn’t even want the chance for space to form between the two of you. You can feel him—thick and heavy behind layers of clothes, pressing incessantly against your cunt. The dry friction is enough to make you moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up to grind against the solid weight of his cock still trapped behind his pyjamas. 

You swallow his groan as spit and hot breath swap between your eager mouths. He’s already rutting against you, like he can’t wait long enough to get you naked. Or he knows you can’t wait. Your hands brace on his biceps, nails digging into the muscle that flexes as he palms your hips. 

But then Kyle pulls back. Not much, but enough for his lips to leave yours parted and panting. Enough for you to look up and see yourself in the reflection of his pupils blown wide. “Y’know what,” he starts, hips stilling long enough to get the words out. “Why don’t we make our own movie?”

You stare up at him for a moment, confusion in your furrowed brow. “...what?”

“Well, since we’re not watchin’ one…” His head cocks towards the TV whose screen has now changed from a streaming service's menu to a screensaver playing on loop. He leans back even further, angling towards the side of the bed to fish his phone off the nightstand. “We just talked about how they’re all kinda borin’, so…” he waves the device in his hand as he settles back over top of you, “we can make our own li’l…holiday film.”

Yet again, your only reaction is a confused stare. You look at him, the expectant look in his eye, and then the phone in his hand. “Are you…askin’ me to make a sex tape?”

“Well, that’s kind of a crude way to put it.” Crude. You almost laugh. He’s shrugging and acting nonchalant like he isn’t asking if he can record the two of you having sex. “But…yeah, if you’re up to it.”

You do laugh at the idea then, though the sound delves into a stammer. It wasn’t necessarily an absurd idea, and it’s not like you were bewildered he’d ask you. It was moreso just the…abruptness of it all. Who knew trying to settle in and watch a cheesy movie would’ve resulted in figuring out if you wanted to be your boyfriend’s personal pornstar.

Kyle, sensing your hesitance, leans in to press a soft kiss on your cheek. “We don’t have to. Just thought I’d ask. I need somethin’ to keep me company on those long tours.”

Your scoff, when it comes, is more amused than annoyed. “You’re ridiculous.” You’re relieved to see him smiling down at you. There’s a look in his eye that tells you he knows exactly how ridiculous he is. And more importantly, he knows you like it. “Fine. But don’t expect a performance from me.”

“Just act natural, love. That’s what I like.”

Natural. Right. While he was thumbing through his phone to get to the camera, you were already overthinking. Worrying about how you looked, what angle the camera would catch you at. Not that it mattered much to Kyle—he was head over heels even in your worst moments. At least that could offer you some consolation. 

He turns the phone in his hand and you already feel like covering your chest. “How…how are you gonna record..?”

“Uhh…” He seems as unsure as you do, trading the device between hands, turning it from landscape to portrait then back to landscape. Then he holds the phone sideways in both hands as it points down at your sprawled figure. “I could just hold it—”

“Ew, no…” you interject. “If I gotta have my face in it, so do you. We’re both gettin’ embarrassed.”

He laughs, dropping his arms from their directorial position. “Yeah, yeah. Nothin’ embarrassin’ about the way you look, though…” One of his hands drops your hip, grabbing a handful of the soft flesh there as if to prove his point. A reverence he only held for you that was evident in the way he seemed to forget what he was doing in favor of touching your body.

He musters the strength to move and shuffle back from your body as he looks around the room. Your eyes follow his, but there isn’t much to see. Seeing as recording your sexual escapades wasn’t something you did frequently, neither of you had a stand propped up at the edge of the mattress to help out. Kyle moves suddenly when he looks over at one of the nightstands, shuffling over to prop his phone up against a bottle that one of you must’ve left. After a few attempts to balance it, he slides back over to you, slotted between your legs as he watches the preview on the screen. You only catch a glimpse of it before he jostles you with a force that makes you squeal. Pulling you by the hips to drag you closer, nearly folding you in half as he brings his face to yours, all in a quick movement that takes your breath away.

“Think it’ll hold.” He mutters, mainly to himself, before looking down at you with an excitement you can only describe as pure giddiness. “You ready?”

You shrug with the minimal space you’re afforded. “I mean…I suppose. Didn’t exactly prepare to shoot a porno tonight.”

“S’not a porno. It’s a…candid home film.”

You snort at that. “Kyle, don’t make it sound like we’re filming somethin’ sweet. It’s porn.”

“Who says porn can’t be sweet?”

“Can you just fuck me before I change my mind?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You barely catch the smirk on his face as he pulls back to shed his shirt. Like your clothes, you don’t see where it lands, nor can you be bothered to care when his body’s on display and you can see the play of muscles under skin every time he moves. Like when he moves back to his phone propped on the nightstand, all excited nerves and anticipation. You watch him tap the big, red record button before climbing back over to you. 

Knowing there’s a camera on you makes you feel…strange. It’s not bad, just different. A type of exposure you weren’t quite used to. Kyle, though, doesn’t seem to think twice. He wastes no time sliding his hands over your hips and up your sides, seeking out your chest with his strong and eager hands. His mouth finds yours, kissing you with that same sloppy fervor from before. He’s still hard, pressing his hips against you, grinding the bulge in his pants between your legs until he earns a whine from your throat.

One more rough squeeze of your chest and his hands fly down to the clothes still covering your bottom half. “Let’s get these off,” he mumbles against your lips, tugging your pyjamas off. “Let me see how wet that pretty pussy is.”

The retort dies in your throat as he maneuvers your clothes off and the cool air hits your skin. No doubt he could see how wet you were. You only wondered if the camera could, too.

Kyle laughs—not in mockery, but in pure adoration. “Look at that,” he coos as he slides a hand up your thigh. He props your leg on his shoulder—not in the way of the camera, of course—and brings his hand to your cunt, fingers gliding over the slick skin just to feel. “Christ, you’re soaked, love,” he coos, fingers parting your folds until he can see the way you clench at his words. “Bet I could slip right in, eh? This cunt always takes me so well.”

His hips roll forward, grinding the bulge in his pants against your cunt, dragging roughly over your clit. The friction makes you squirm, a pathetic whine sounding out from your throat. “You wouldn’t do that. You have too much fun prepping me.”

“Nah, you’re right.” his hips pull back but his hand replaces the friction with rough, tight circles on your clit. “Can’t help it, you just look so pretty when you cum.” He bends just slightly, just enough to line up correctly for when he spits on your cunt. You feel the wet glob hit your skin, adding to the already-slick mess there. “But you know I’m bein’ impatient…”

His fingers slip down, mixing the mess of saliva and arousal against your skin, before pressing those rough fingers against your hole. He teases you with a slight press, then pulls back just to watch your hips buck and chase the pressure. The smirk on his face is absurdly proud. He pushes in, then, those two thick fingers stretching your cunt out. It’s not an unfamiliar sensation, but it still manages to wring a groan from your throat and a tight clench around his digits. 

His fingers curl just enough for you to feel it, pressing up against that sensitive spot he knew all too well. Your hands reach for him, beckoning him closer, a wordless plea that he recognizes immediately. Your next moan is muffled by his mouth as it crashes against yours.

“So fuckin’ tight, baby. Christ, bet you’d feel even better on my cock, huh?” You can only respond with a moan as his fingers hit deep. “Yeah, that’s it. Let me hear it.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, but Kyle doesn’t seem to mind. His focus is one-track, zeroed in on every twitch of your body and every sound that escapes your lips. Your hips rock into his hand until he catches the hint and speeds up. Already, your thighs start to tense, shaking with each press of his fingers. 

“Ky…” He doesn’t need the warning—he can feel you tightening around his hand—but you knew how much he liked to hear that break in your voice when you whined his name. 

“Y’gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna soak my hand with it?” 

Your arms wrap around his neck, holding him close. “Yeah…fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Kyle keeps up that rhythm with military precision, his thick fingers rocking in and out of your cunt, pressing right where you need it. The pleasure zips up your spine and rocks you to your core with every thrust. 

It only takes a few more of those focused thrusts of his hand before your orgasm hits you hard. Your body twitches underneath him as the waves of pleasure rush through you, your cunt milking his hand with rhythmic pulses. His breath hits your mouth as soft encouragement leaves his lips. A gentle that’s it, such a good girl f’me, let it out that you barely hear over the sound of your own panting. 

You nearly forget about the camera recording the scene until his mouth latches onto your neck and forces your head to the side. The image is fuzzy, but the phone is still propped up, still capturing every second. It doesn’t feel as awkward as it once did. But maybe that was the post-orgasmic haze talking. 

Kyle pulls back after littering your neck in kisses that you’re sure will bruise come morning. His fingers slip out of you only to find their way to your clit, lazily circling the sensitive nub. “Made a right mess,” he mutters softly. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, though.”

Your hands fall from his shoulders, sliding down over the solid expanse of his chest. “Stop stalling and fuck me.” It’s your turn to be impatient, tugging at the pyjama pants still sitting on his hips. 

You’re met with one of his worst shit-eating grins and an eagerness that outplays your own. He doesn’t strip completely, just shoves his clothes down far enough to let his cock spring free. Just as hard as you figured he was, thick and throbbing in his hand. His hips inch forward, closer to you, but not to push in. His cock slides through the slick mess between your legs until the head grinds against your clit.

“Fuckin’ soaked, baby, look at you…” The hand still wrapped around himself guides his dick, tapping the heavy girth against your cunt. “Y’hear that? Beggin’ for me, innit?”

You didn’t have to listen for the wet sounds to know that. Your hips pushed up, rocking the weight of his cock against your still-sensitive clit. “C’mon, Ky…”

“I know, I know. M’teasin’ too much, aren’t I?” You feel his cock slip down, traveling through your slick cum before resting against your entrance. Even with the stretch of his fingers it feels like an ordeal waiting to happen. “Let’s give this pretty cunt what it wants, yeah?”

His hands plant themselves on the backs of your thighs to hold them open. Despite the attempt at preparation and the hands spreading you open, the first press of his cock is still a stretch you have to relearn. Every damn time, you curse internally. Kyle doesn’t mind the sting of your nails as they sink back into his arms. All he can focus on is the silken vice around his cock. 

“Breathe f’me. That’s it.” His encouragement comes out breathy and strained despite his best efforts to appear unaffected. Still, you listened—to the best of your ability. Every inch of him that sunk deep took your breath away and forced a moan from your throat. “Fuckin’ hell, there you go. Good girl.”

Every time he bottomed out you swear he reached deeper. Whether or not he felt it too, he had to pause once your cunt swallowed him to the root, his forehead resting against your shoulder while he caught his breath. His cock throbbed inside you, just as impatient as the rest of him. It wasn't until your arms wrapped around his neck again, holding him tighter than before, that he got the gall to move. 

“Fuck me,” you groaned into his ear. “Fuck me, Kyle, please.” Kyle’s responding groan told you he didn't have to be asked twice. 

It started out easy at first. Slower, careful thrusts that let you get used to the way his cock stretched you out. Languid movements that let you feel how deep he could get before pulling back and giving you the chance to breathe. But once he leaned back, your thighs held so tight in his grip you could already feel the bruises forming, you knew all bets were off the table. When you asked, he delivered. 

His hips snapped against yours, rough and unforgiving, sharp enough to force pathetic little whines and huffs from your mouth. His cock burrowed through you, hitting deep until the head kissed your cervix. Your hands scrambled for purchase against him, scratching and gripping whatever part of him you could hold as your body jostled against the mattress. 

His hands dropped from your thighs and slid up your body to hold your waist. You wasted no time wrapping your legs around him, pulling him even closer (if it were possible). His cock sits deep, twitching and throbbing against that sensitive spot deep inside, when his hips still. 

Kyle leans in close again, nosing your jaw until your head tilts towards the camera. “See how fuckin’ pretty you look?” He pants against your ear. 

The phone screen is too far away to see the details, but you can make out your body spread underneath his, the curve of your legs wrapped around his hips. If you looked hard enough, you’d see the way your lips part and the rise of your chest on every breath.

“Christ, you're perfect,” his words come out in a growl against your throat. One of his hands slips down, the rough pad of his thumb seeking out your clit. The squeak you let out earns an encouraging nod from him. “Yeah? That feel good?”

His hips pull back, starting up their steady rhythm once again. Between that and the friction rubbing in circles against your clit, the pleasure mounts embarrassingly quick. The shake of your thighs is unintentional but absurdly obvious. 

“Shit, baby. Y’gettin’ so bloody tight ‘round me…” Kyle groans a sound that rivals your own, debauched and filthy. “Y’gonna cum for me again?” He sounds so expectant, like he’s pleading for it without asking. 

“Yeah,” you keen, back arching the hand wandering up to grope your breast. “Don’t stop, Ky, make me cum.”

That breathy moan of his name is all it takes. He’s rocking into you, with deep strokes that make your toes curl, keeping that steady pace. You can feel the way you tighten around him with each press, like your body wants to keep him buried. You can almost hear the wet squelch underneath that harsh slap of his hips against yours. 

“Cum for me, baby. C’mon, let me feel it.” If you were any more coherent, you’d tease him for begging. But he sounds so sweet, asking like that. Like it’s the only thing in the world that matters to him. 

Your body registers it before your mind does. His thumb swipes just right over your clit, just as the head of his cock kisses that soft spot deep inside. It hits you hard. Whites out your vision and leaves you trembling underneath him. You aren’t sure what you babble when it happens—some crude combination of his name, a few curses, and a satisfied yes.

But Kyle doesn’t stop that quickly. His pace keeps steady, drawing every ounce of pleasure out of you that he can. You swear you feel him throb inside you, his cock trembling just like the rest of him. The next thing you register is his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath is hot, faintly muttering something in proud encouragement. 

His groan is nearly louder than yours, deep and rumbling and hot against your neck. His hips jerk, then still, then push as far into you as your body will allow. His cum floods your slick walls, hot and thick, as he rides out his high. Your arms wrap around the sweaty expanse of his back to hold him close. The lazy, languid thrusts that follow aren’t necessarily for pleasure, just a reminder of how deep he hit, of how slick you were. 

His weight keeps you grounded, wrapped tight around your body. It’s not until you hear his breath steady out that he shifts to rise off of you. His face hovers close to yours, breath hot as it mingles in the scant space.

“Holy shit…” You pant, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

He’s the first to chuckle. One of his hands moves to your face, wiping the sweat off your temple. “You okay?”

“Yeah…you?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Great.” You nudge his shoulder with a playful push. “Now turn your bloody phone off.”

You can tell moving is the last thing he wanted to do. Truth be told, you didn’t want him to get up either. But adding an unintentional eight hours of sleep to your sex tape didn’t sound the most appealing. He groans as he moves, joints protesting no doubt, leaning over to the nightstand to fetch his phone. The recording stops when he presses the red button, finalizing your filth in all of its glory. 

Kyle settles on his back next to you when he returns to the bed. You watch as he immediately thumbs through his phone to find the photo album and seek out the video. Just seeing the thumbnail in the gallery makes you cringe, let alone the sound of your own voice coming through the small speaker. 

“Aw, lookit us,” he coos like he’s watching a heartfelt home video and not an amateur sex tape. You refuse to watch the screen, but you can hear the different moans and wet sounds as he skips through the video’s timeline. “Look at you. I’d wager you stole the show.”

“Turn that off.”

“You don’t wanna watch it?”

“No. I just lived it.”

“Suit yourself.” Thankfully, the sound pauses as he turns the screen off and tosses his phone to the side. He turns to face you, propped up on an elbow to look down at your spent figure. “I think it’ll make me plenty happy while I’m on the road.”

“Well, as long as you like it, I suppose that’s all that matters.”

Kyle hums an affirmative sound at that. His hand reaches out, splays over the curve of your hip. Not a greedy, rough grab—just a reminder of his touch. He leans down, nose nudging yours. “Still think I’m shallow?”

“Mm.” Your kiss is sweeter than the sound you make. “Always.”

[heladodavellana]

THE GHOST 💀

THE SOAP 🧼

[doeidawn]

dec. 20 ❆ the season of "giving"

2025 HOLIDAY MASTERLIST | KINKMAS 2024 | MAIN MASTERLIST

ghost is all about giving more than taking. 2.5k.

❆ pairing: ghost x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; established relationship; sorta kinda not really somno (reader is awake just very tired); f!receiving oral; fingering; simon's a MUNCH; multiple orgasms; slight overstimulation; aftercare <3

♡ support me here !

Decorating the entire house wasn’t exactly what you had planned yesterday. It was spur-of-the-moment, borne from a hasty desire to get in the festive spirit with Simon. And it was fun—undeniably cheesy, but fun. What you hadn’t expected was just how utterly exhausted it’d left you by the end of it. Turns out, garland and lights were more of a hassle than you anticipated. 

Maybe that’s why you crashed so hard. Sleep came quick and left you knocked out for the whole night. You probably would’ve slept in late, too. If Simon had let you.

It’s like he was waiting for the moment your eyes opened. Of course, he was already up and ready to go. You weren’t sure how he operated when he never seemed to sleep. The yawn had barely left your mouth before his hands were on you, big and heavy and sliding over the swell of your thighs. A tired grumble sounded out—a groggy mix between a greeting and Simon’s name. He didn’t bother responding. 

Instead, you felt your legs shift apart, maneuvered like they weighed nothing in his grip. The tired flutter of your eyes caught his movement as he shifted between your now-spread legs.  

“Mornin’…” His breath is warm against your thigh as he leans in. His lips press gently on the inner curve of your leg, the scratch of week-old stubble following the sensation. 

Your greeting is more of a tired groan. But the fatigue is no match for the zip of pleasure that shoots up your spine as Simon’s lips slowly move inward. It takes your brain a moment to register the movement—it’s not until his fingers slip under the hem of your pyjama shorts that you actually bother to look down at the man between your legs.

“Si…” Your head lolls as you watch him press a kiss to your stomach, just above the waistband of your shorts. “What’re you doing..?” The tone is more accusatory than you intend, but the question remains the same. 

He shrugs in response and the movement hoists your thighs atop his shoulders. “Breakfast.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like it was a simple observation.

That earns a laugh from you. Tired, but genuine. “Breakfast?”

He hums affirmatively as his fingers curl into the waistband of your clothing, pulling the fabric down your legs. The movement surprises you; you didn’t think he would actually wake you up this way. But as quickly as the surprise comes, it leaves. Simon acting like he needed you more than air shouldn’t be unexpected. He does all the heavy lifting, maneuvering your clothes over your knees and off your ankles. You don’t see where he throws them. It doesn’t matter when his breath hits hot against your cunt. 

“My favorite,” he purrs, close enough for you to feel the words puff over your clit. 

Before you can even roll your eyes at the ridiculous bit, his tongue slides up your cunt. Hot and wet and slow, like he’s already savoring your taste. His groan rumbles through you, zipping up your spine. Lips close around your clit and suck just hard enough to make you squirm before coaxing you down with softer laps of his tongue. 

His strong hands grip your thighs, kneading the softness he finds as he holds your legs. Not necessarily to stop the way you tremble, but to hold you steady. To ground himself while his tongue spreads you open. You aren’t sure if the wetness dripping down your folds is from your body or his mouth. Either way, he licks it up like it’s the only thing he can live off of.

“Si,” your voice hitches when you whine his name. His response is a mm-hmm? that vibrates against your cunt and makes you shudder. “Y’don’t have to…fuck—couldn’t let me wake up a bit first?”

He knew your annoyance wasn’t genuine. But he ruined any chance at real annoyance creeping its way in by flattening his tongue the next time it swirled around your clit. You’d swear you felt him laugh, the sound muffled and hot. Of course that idea was just plain ridiculous to him—why would he wait to get his hands on you? Judging by how goddamn feral he lapped at you right now, you almost believed he was starving.

You weren’t sure he was even breathing. Would’ve been hard with his face buried in your cunt, the crook of nose cartilage that’s been broken one-too-many-times grinding against your clit. The only confirmation you got was the hot groans and muffled growls that rumbled against your sensitive skin. Still, you were sure he would’ve happily suffocated if you’d have let him. 

As if to prove your point, Simon doesn’t ease up when your thighs start to tense against his head. No, he invites it. Strong hands holding your legs against his temples, keeping your body close enough to let him lick and suckle. 

“Fuck, Si. Like that, don’t stop.” The pleasure’s just as thick in your voice as it is in your body. Your fingers curl in the bedsheets, back arching off the mattress. He follows the rock of your hips with his mouth, never ceasing the steady swirl of his tongue. 

“Mm-hmm,” he rumbles—a sound you feel more than hear. “That’s it, cum for me.” It might be muffled and you might be too out of it to hear him, but you understand. His tongue coaxes everything out of you eventually. 

Literally. Thanks to his mouth, you’re left trembling. Cunt throbbing against his lips, slick cum gushing out to meet his eagerly waiting tongue. Your thighs fall away from where they were clamped around his head to fall back to his shoulders. Sweat runs cold on your skin where you hadn’t even noticed until you try to sit up. 

But Simon’s not letting up. His near-bruising grip on your thighs moves to your hips like he wants you to hold still. That damn tongue is still lapping at your sensitive skin, circling your hole and dragging slowly up your folds. Clean-up, he’d call it. You’d just call it greedy. 

Your hand drags lazily to his head, still bobbing zealously between your legs. The short strands of fine, blond hair flatten under your palm as it splays over the crown of his skull. “Okay, okay,” you pant, though you don’t do much to urge him off of you, “y’got me, I already came.”

Though your eyes are heavy, you look down to see his flutter open, staring back up at you. You swear you can see the battle in his mind when he pulls away. Not a lot—just enough to speak properly. “Okay..?”

“So…let’s get up. Have a proper breakfast now.”

His scoff hits your spit-slick flesh in a hot puff. “Got it right here.”

“Simon.”

“C’mon, jus’ one more.” You feel one of those strong hands loosen its grip on your thigh just to slide between your legs. Rough fingertips spread you open to seek out your clit, still sensitive and throbbing against his touch. “Look at you, so fuckin’ good for me. Can’t ask me to leave now.” He revels in the way you squirm under him, nuzzling a stubbled cheek against your thigh. 

“Christ, Simon…”

“Promise I’ll make you breakfast when I’m done.”

He doesn’t really give you the opportunity to deny, but you both knew you wouldn’t. Though his touch was overstimulating, you were still bucking into it without thought. It’s like your hips have a mind of their own, jerking away and then pressing into the rough pad of his thumb circling your clit. You weren’t sure if it was your cum or his spit that left you so slick; your body gave nearly no resistance when he eased a thick finger into you. 

The stretch was still enough to take your breath away, but he didn’t push hard, didn’t pump his hand in fast strokes. It was soft, barely-there curls of his finger that brushed against that sensitive spot deep inside. Right where he knew it would be. 

He laughs—actually laughs—at the whine that tears from your throat. “Y’like that, sweetheart?” He doesn’t need your words when your body does all the talking for you. Your cunt’s fluttering around his finger, adding to the slick mess already between your legs. “Yeah? You want another?” His voice is so sweet you almost forget he’s spreading you open. Hell, you almost ignore the second finger prodding at your entrance, slipping inside with a similar ease.

You keen, hips arching into the stretch. You’re chasing the high before your brain can even register it. The coil tightens in your gut, hot and heavy, spurred on by how overstimulated your cunt is. And just when you think it can’t get any more overwhelming, Simon’s mouth latches back onto your clit, replacing his rough thumb with the hot, firm wetness of his tongue. 

“Fuck! Si, I can’t…fuck, s’too much,” you can’t even process the babbling spewing from your own mouth. It’s a frenzy of curses and his name slurred on your tongue between heavy breaths.

Your nails claw at his shoulders, at the strong arm that’s wrapped around your thigh so his free hand can splay over your stomach. He doesn’t react outside of a sharp groan that rumbles against your sensitive skin. His mouth, his fingers, never falter in their steady pattern, drawing out every bit of pleasure he can wring from your body. If you were any more aware, you’d laugh at the concentration etched into the furrow of his brow. 

But his concentration pays off; the pressure builds in your core, mounting with each lap of his tongue and curl of his fingers. You can’t even verbalize a warning as it builds, but Simon knows. He feels the way your thighs shake as you tighten around his digits. It’s embarrassingly fast, hitting so hard it takes your breath away. Your thighs clamp tight around his head as you rock into his mouth. It’s overwhelming, bordering on painful, but so damn addicting. 

It’s not until you come down from the high that you realize how sweaty you are. Your chest heaves, muscles twitching with aftershocks of pleasure that zip through you. You’re spineless on the bed, your legs only held up because they’re still slung over Simon’s shoulders. His mouth slides off of you and you shiver at the loss of contact. Then, his fingers ease out of you with a slowness that feels too deliberate to only be for your comfort.

Simon hums a soft, content sound that you feel more than hear. “Knew you could gi’me another one,” he’s still so close, breath puffing over your slick skin. The sudden swipe of his tongue over your dripping hole makes you shudder, pushing back at his sweat-lined brow.

“Si—”

“M’just cleanin’ you up,” he interjects before you can scold him, “for real this time.” Sure enough, his tongue only laps over your cum-slick skin, purposefully avoiding your overstimulated clit. Though it’s still close enough to make you twitch, it’s less overwhelming than direct contact. You weren’t sure you could take much more of that. 

You lift your head just enough to look down at him as he pulls back, eyelids heavy as your fatigue hits you twice as hard. Thanks to him and his frenzy, you were ready to crawl back under your blankets and doze off again. His lips brush your thigh as he presses a soft kiss there—as if he wanted to be gentle.

“I’ll go get you a towel,” he mutters into your plush skin like he doesn’t want to pull away, “then make you that breakfast I promised.” He pats your thigh, then, forcing himself to pull back completely. Neither of you are very fond of the loss of contact, but you figure it a necessary evil. With your legs still shaking, there’s no way you could’ve gotten up on your own. 

He returns with a towel scrunched in his grip, beelining for your figure still sprawled on the bed just how he left you. You didn’t have the energy to move to a more comfortable position. It helped him out, anyway—legs still spread apart so he can wipe at the slick mess he left behind there. The towel isn’t as soft as you remember, but he moves gentle, carefully rubbing your skin until it’s dry and clean.

“You alright?”

You can barely loll your head to the side to look up at him properly. “Yes, I’m fine.” Though fine didn’t feel like the right word. Sated, sure, but utterly exhausted. “Even more tired now, though. Thanks.”

Simon just laughs. Bastard. “Means I did my job right.” The smirk is barely visible on his lips but smug all the same. “Go back to bed, then. I’ll bring breakfast to ya.”

“No,” you groan. Your foot pushes playfully at his shoulder until he stumbles back. “I gotta get up and…actually be productive.”

“Nah, nah. Not happenin’—”

“Simon…”

“—don’t want you liftin’ a finger today, love.” His free hand grips your thigh, giving your plush skin a cheeky squeeze. The towel hits your leg with a soft thwap as he backs away. He’s decent enough to find where your panties had landed on the other side of the mattress and toss them your way. He really didn’t want you moving an inch. 

You shouldn’t be surprised that this is the hill he chooses to die on. Simon does this—gets in these moods where he puts you on some pedestal. Appreciates you more than life, sometimes. You’ve noticed it tends to happen more around holidays or birthdays, like he has to celebrate you before anything else. Before himself, even. Just like now, as he walks away from the bed after kissing your knee, retreating with the soiled towel in his hand. You just know he’ll insist on laundry after making breakfast. He’ll insist until you relent. 

“Simon,” you call out before he can slink past the door. To your surprise, he pauses. Leans on the doorframe and waits for you to continue. “You gotta let me do somethin’.”

You hear him sigh. Not annoyed, but struggling to give up control. There’s a few moments of silence, and then he nods. “Alright.” You cock an eyebrow, unsure if he’s actually giving in. “You need somethin’ to do…I’ll be back after I’m done cookin’. You can take charge all you want with me.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes so hard your head flops back against the mattress. Not what you meant, but…it wasn’t an entirely bad idea. Baby steps, you tell yourself. 

“What’s gotten into you?” You groan as you force yourself to sit up. 

He shrugs. “Suppose m’feelin’ festive.” You can’t see it, but he nods towards the decorations you’d spent all day yesterday putting up. “Y’know…season of givin’ n’all that.”

“Oh, is that it?” Your legs, no longer trembling, slip back into your panties as you wiggle them on properly. “You a giver now?”

“Oh, you know that better than anyone, love. Now lie back down. I’ll be back before y’know it. Then you can do whatever you want.”

Cheeky bastard, you think as he slips out of the room. The thought is punctuated with a grumble of your stomach—right on cue. Settling back on the mattress, slipping under the rustled blankets, you listen for the sound of clattering in the kitchen. When it comes, you smile to yourself. 

Biggest giver I ever met.

[spurbleu]

I feel like John Price is accidentally slutty-

like he’ll send you a video of him on a hike, sweaty and breathing hard with messy, damp hair, rasping into the camera saying “missing you sweetheart.”

and doesn’t quite understand why you respond with a pic of your hand buried in your cunt, but he won’t complain.

[total-killer-brainrot]

Johnny's hands were all over you. Roaming over your back and hips as he tugged you closer. His breath was hot against your lips through the thick fabric of the mask. Of Ghost's mask. Ghost's favourite mask. Pulled over Johnny's face like he owned the damn thing.

Your tongue dragged over the outline of Soap's lips. Wetting the fabric until the man below you moaned and bucked upwards. The aching outline of his cock pressed against your ass through layers of clothing.

"Smells just like him..." You mumbled. Unable to pull away for even a moment to talk clearly. Your fingers curling up the mask at base of his neck so you could scratch at his scalp.

Johnny only whined in agreement. Holding you down now so that he could rut against you. Chasing the friction as you kissed him deeply. Feeling his tongue press back against yours through knit. Your own breaths quickening as the curve of his cock nudged against your clit. Too many layers. Too much fabric to really give you pleasure. But you didn't care. Humping back like overeager teenagers. The smell of your lieutenant filling both of your noses. Eyes fluttering happily when Soap reached down to grope at your ass.

"He's gawn tae be so mad..." He managed to gasp out. Squeezing you tight as he fucked the tent of his cock between your legs.

"Don't care. You wanna fuck my face while I wear it?" "Aye, o' course."

[doeidawn]

dec. 18 ❆ thigh riding

2025 HOLIDAY MASTERLIST | KINKMAS 2024 | MAIN MASTERLIST

the gift you got your husband this year has some…unexpected (and impractical) uses. 3k.

❆ pairing: husband!price x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; there's a lot of foreplay and build up sowwy; thigh riding (duh); praise; selfless john just wants reader to cum

♡ support me here !

note: NO i don't know if this is accurate. YES ik he doesn't wear a thigh holster. but i wish he did. and it gives me an excuse to write abt his thighs <3 ik we like to ignore MW3 (for good reason) but i like to imagine we're gifting him the holster he wears in his lil snow outfit teehee

You loved your husband. Really, you did. But, Christ, if John wasn’t one of the absolute worst people to buy for when the holidays came around. Never mind the fact that he was barely home for the season—the few times he was? The man never wanted anything. 

Now, of course, he was sweet about it. Every time you asked what he’d like, he shot it down with a soft ‘jus’ want you, love’. Shrugged at every suggestion because ‘if you wanna get it, feel free’ (though he’d insist you use his card). Never a concrete ‘yes’ or ‘no’ because, evidently, he couldn’t care less what gifts were involved. Bless him, the gesture was nice, but it didn’t help you out at all. 

Which meant you had to play detective to figure out something he’d genuinely like. Not the hundredth pair of socks or the fifth plain t-shirt that looked exactly like his others, but something he actually wanted. But for a man who worked his life away, he didn’t talk much about what he did. You knew, of course; it wasn’t a secret what John did when he shipped away for months at a time. But the details were sparse. The most information you got came from the few gripes he’d share when the annoyance got too much to bear. Lovely wife you were (his words, of course), you picked up on the same few complaints, the ones he’d stew over longer than others. 

So that was how you ended up on a surplus site ordering a thigh holster. It took a lot of research. A lot of comparison and detail and…frankly, it would’ve been easier to just let John figure out the details and offer to pay for it. Hell, you still weren’t positive if he’d even be allowed to wear the damn thing while he worked. He wasn’t exactly listing off field specifications over his morning coffee with you. 

But, somehow, you pulled it off. And while you panicked every second it was in transit, the stress alleviated by a fraction once it arrived. Not that you were the pinnacle of experience, but it felt right. Sturdy, strong, and the color was even better in person. The only worry now was whether or not it would actually fit. But, surely, it was about the gesture—he wouldn’t mind…

“Y’didn’t have to get me anythin’...”

It was probably the hundredth time you’d heard that sentence drop from your husband’s mouth. Too late for him to say it now; the gift was already wrapped under the gaudiest paper you could get your hands on. Maybe it was the nerves, but the box felt heavier as it sat in your hands, held out expectantly for him to take.

“I know,” you shrug, “but I wanted to.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Especially not as a man who always claimed “what my wife wants, she gets”. But you could see the concession on his face as he accepted the gift from your outstretched hands. He wasn't a man used to receiving. Certainly not on a holiday he’d barely had the freedom to celebrate most of his adult life. You knew John would’ve been satisfied if his only gift was the cheeky kiss you gave him this morning. You knew he was worth more than that. 

You smile at the furrow of his brow when he weighs the box in his hand. Heavier than he’d expected, too. “The hell did you buy?”

“Well, I’m not gonna tell you. Y’gotta open it.”

“Better be a cheap bottle of whiskey.” He mumbles, barely loud enough for you to hear. He shoots a smirk your way that you only catch for a second before rolling your eyes. 

“Just open it,” you urge, pushing on his shoulder.

John shakes his head, but his hands start to tear at the patterned wrapping paper, surprisingly gentle for such a strong man. The same fingers rough with calluses traced the edge of every fold in the same careful manner you saw when he touched you. It’s like the gift was an extension of you, as if he were afraid he’d mess something up if he tore into it too hastily. When he finally managed to free the box of its garish wrapping, he looked even more confused. He jostles the nondescript cardboard, looking over at you when he hears the clatter inside.

“Christ, John, you’re actin’ scared of it.”

“M’not scared, love, I’m confused.” He laughs, ripping the tape off the cardboard. “Can’t tell what it is…”

An indifferent hum sounds from your throat. “D’you need me to open it for you?”

“Oi.”

A few more rough tugs and the tape gives way. You find yourself suddenly anxious as your husband stares into the torn box. He’s quiet as he fishes the holster out, discarding all of the packaging in the box as it lands on the floor. His thumbs run over the material in a silent assessment far beyond your understanding—logistics you couldn’t even begin to consider. 

Your hands fidget nervously in your lap as the silence stretches for another agonizingly long beat. “I…I know you weren't dying to get one, but…you’ve been fussing about your draw lately.” The explanation feels flat with each word that leaves your now-dry mouth. “Figured…y’know, maybe you could try it out.”

John still doesn't say anything. He’s tugging on the straps, twisting and turning them around in his hands with a method that only makes sense to him. He doesn't like it, you panic. It’s not right. I should find the receipt—

“Nothin’ gets past you, eh?” He finally says. And when your eyes move from the holster to his face, you see him smiling.

The sigh that leaves your lungs releases the weight of the world from your shoulders. “I learned from the best.” His responding laugh is the softest thing you’ve heard all season. 

The sound of the buckles draws your attention back to the holster in your husband’s hands. He fumbles with the straps, loosening the material. John stands with a groan, joints popping with the movement, propping his leg to wrap the holster around his thigh. 

“I wasn't a hundred percent sure what size to get,” you admit as you watch the nylon band around the sweatpants he hadn't bothered to change out of. “Hopefully it fits…”

The clasps come together with a soft click. The holster sits on the outside of his thigh, held snug against his leg. He maneuvers the straps, loosening one then pulling it up. “Reckon that’ll do,” John purrs as he stands straight. You watch the muscles in his thigh flex beneath the bands of nylon. 

You clap your hands excitedly, though the feeling is more akin to relief. “Good! I’m glad.” He liked it, and it fit—that was all you asked for. You reach out, tracing a finger along the strap clasped snug against his thigh. The nylon is rough where it bunches the softer fabric of his sweatpants underneath. “Looks good.”

“Well, didn’t plan on wearin’ it for looks.”

“No,” you shrug. You slip a finger under the strap, tugging with force that he exaggerates by moving closer, before squeezing the thick muscle of his thigh. “But it helps.”

John scoffs, but you see the smile on his lips. “S’gonna take some gettin’ used to…” Another grunt, deep and rumbling, as he sits back down. Christ, he acted twice his age. “Might just keep it on.” The cushion beside you dips under his weight as he settles. 

“Yeah?”

John wasn’t kidding. He wore his gift for the rest of the day. Sort of. 

He’d removed the actual holster soon after. It had been nearly an hour of griping when it would catch on the furniture or scratch your own skin when he decided the hassle wasn’t worth it. The straps, however, remained on. Just as snug as the moment he’d put them fastened them. But not without commentary that the nylon kept digging into the meat of his thigh. Not to mention how inconvenient it was every time he had to go to the bathroom. 

But, he was a man of his word. Despite the ache and unfamiliar pressure, he kept it on. It’d take more than just one day to grow fully accustomed, of course, but it was a start. Stubborn as he is, though, that meant he insisted on wearing the damn thing the entire evening. Including when the two of you had retired to bed. 

“John…Seriously?” You gesture at his leg as he crawls into bed next to you. Sure enough, the black nylon was snug against his thigh, hugging his sweatpants to the muscle underneath. While you had forgone any pants in hopes that the day would end rather cozy, he looked like he was ready to suit up just to get under the covers with you.

“What?”

“You gonna sleep with that thing on?”

“Might,” he shrugs.

You snort at that, shaking your head even as you move closer. “Guess I’m glad you like it.”

John hums affirmatively as his arm slides around your waist. “Y’coulda got me dirt and I’d have been happy.” He hauls you closer, pulling your body against his until your noses brush and legs intertwine beneath the blankets.

“Maybe next year.”

His responding laugh rumbles against your hand as it splays on his chest, his breath hot on your lips. The sound muffles when he finally kisses you. His wandering hand finally stills on your hip, resting heavy on the curve. His touch turns greedy when he palms the fat there, fingers digging in just to feel how soft you were. Your leg bends, draping over his, as you lean into the touch. He wastes no time with that subtle confirmation.

A groan vibrates against your mouth as his arms wrap around you. You feel weightless when he maneuvers your body atop his, your knees landing on either side of his thigh. You settle over his leg thanks to his hands, which guide your hips as close to him as physically possible. There’s no space left between the two of you, just the hot breath and saliva traded between your mouths and the hurried touch pulling at fabric. 

Your fingers cup his jaw and thread through his beard to hold his head steady. John’s zealousness was endearing, but it made his kisses sloppy. He touched you like it was the first time all over again—his hands moving back and forth between your hips and thighs and ass like he can’t make up his mind. You could practically hear the impatience in the way he breathed, panting into your mouth as his thumbs teased the hem of your panties. Your hips rock at his insistence, dragging the heat between your legs over the nylon straps you’d nearly forgotten about still strapped to John’s thigh. 

The friction produces a soft sound that rumbles in your throat. You feel him smile against your lips, then the weight of his hands pushing your hips back only to pull them forward. “Look at that,” he purrs, “this gift’s got plenty of uses, aye?” His thumbs brush your hipbones in a gesture that’s much softer than his grip. “Multifunctional.”

“Hush.” Your hands slide down to his chest, sturdy beneath your fingers as you pull back. The look in his eyes staring back at you is the proudest you think he’s ever looked. Of course he’d be cheeky about using his gift to make you feel good. “It’s in the way,” you grumble and nod towards his strapped leg, “can’t take your pants off with that thing on…”

Another push–pull of your hips makes you shudder—a sound that John devours. “Ah, s’alright.” His hands dip beneath the waistband of your panties without warning, rough palms finding the soft swell of your ass. “I’m more worried about gettin’ you bare.”

With your help—and an awkward bend of your legs—he manages to maneuver the thin fabric off of your body. You settle on his thigh again, the nylon straps wrapped around his leg kissing your bare cunt. You shiver when his hands urge your hips back and forth once more, dragging your clit over the rougher texture. The straps are thin, just enough change from the soft sweatpants underneath that it steals your breath away. Your hands fall back to his chest and the gasp that rips from your lungs is shaky.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” John groans. “Feels good, yeah?”

“Yeah…” The next roll of your hips is deliberate, spurred on by the pleasure zipping up your spine. You can feel the wetness left behind with each movement, seeping into his sweatpants underneath you. 

John makes an affirmative sound that’s felt more than heard. “That’s my girl.” His hands slide up your body, slipping underneath the shirt sitting baggy on your chest. You swear you hear him laugh when you rut against his leg. “Look at you, makin’ a mess on me…”

You didn’t have to look down to know what he meant; you knew your slick was obvious, sticking his pants to the meat of his thigh with every grind. More important to you, however, was the hard-on he was sporting behind those same pants. They weren’t coming off so long as those damn holster straps were clasped tight, but that didn’t stop your hands from wandering south, seeking out the thick weight of his cock that’s barely concealed. 

His responding groan is hot against your lips. He doesn’t fight it or swat your hand away, but his hands grip you tighter, gliding up to grope your chest like he wants to bring the attention back to your body. The way his thigh flexes, pushing up against your aching cunt, only solidifies the thought. John swallows your moan with a sloppy kiss that drags his teeth over your bottom lip.

“Greedy,” the word is a growl out of his throat, but there’s no bite to it. One of his hands flies back down to your hip just to squeeze the fat there while his lips trail down to the curve of your jaw. “Movin’ too fast, love. Gotta let me savor this first.”

The scoff you let out is more of a whine as your hips stutter in their movement. “You’re bein’ greedy. Movin’ too slow.” The ache between your legs pulses in time with your heartbeat, hot and wet and impatient. You swear you can almost hear the drag of your cunt over his leg with how slick you are.

“Yeah?” He laughs, the sound vibrating through your collarbone. “Alright, alright. You’ll get me, love.” His hand moves from your hip to the swell of your ass, palming roughly until you squeal. “After you leave me soaked.” 

You groan, annoyed, but it’s hard to be frustrated with the pleasure pooling in your core. The hand on your ass guides you forward to drag your aching clit over the straps of nylon. The sudden movement makes you shudder, hands flying to John’s shoulders to steady yourself. You feel him smile against your neck before his teeth graze the sensitive skin. Another jolt of pleasure shoots through you, cunt throbbing and needy where you rut against his leg. A kiss follows the love bite on the curve of your neck—the gentle touch a sharp contrast to the way his hands grope your chest and ass with a fervor that betrays his own impatience. 

Despite the stubborn part of your brain demanding you hold out long enough for your husband to cave, the ache in your core grows too strong to deny. Your pace is stuttering on every rock, thighs tense and shaking when you grind back, jolting every time your clit drags over the rough nylon. If he wanted to be soaked, he certainly got it—the mess on his lap had his sweatpants sticky and slick, clinging to your flesh. 

“John…” The whine is much more pathetic than you wanted to allow yourself, but you can barely think straight anymore. Certainly not long enough to form a proper plea. His name was enough, carrying the weight of your desperation.

“I know, love,” he purrs gently against the line of your jaw. “I know. Take what you need.”

He knew better than to take control right now. The weight of his hands was nice, but he couldn’t replicate the sporadic jerk of your hips. It made sense to you, to your body, and he let you move how you needed, using his leg to reach that peak. You barely register the movement when his head pulls back; you only notice when you see his heavy-lidded gaze staring back at you. Even half-delirious with need you can recognize that look in his eye.

“Look at you, so fuckin’ gorgeous.” 

It’s the last thing you hear before the pleasure comes crashing down in waves that shake you to your core. You know he’s talking you through the high, those little pants and huffs of encouragement (there y’go, that’s my girl, cum for me), but you can’t hear it. The only thing your mind picks up is the zaps of over-sensitivity as your hips rock and twitch on their own accord. Even as the overstimulation turns to pain, you can’t seem to stop moving. The next thing you feel is the slick coating the space between your thighs, gushing on John’s leg. 

You hadn’t realized how tight you’d held onto his shoulders until your knuckles ached when you let go. He doesn’t react either way. Just runs his hands up and down your body, calloused fingers rubbing small circles into your hipbones. A pleased hum vibrates in his chest, through your fingers. 

“Well, now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He smiles when your languid laugh hits his lips. “Suppose this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Mm. It’s up there.” One of your hands slips downward, avoiding the much-more-obvious tent in his sweatpants to curl around one of the now-soaked straps around his leg. “Now, you promised you’d take this off. Hop to it, Captain.”

“Oi. Pullin’ rank’s no way to get what you want.” His scold falls on deaf ears as you take it upon yourself to unclasp the first buckle. 

“Don’t have to pull rank.” The second clasp comes undone with a sharp click. The straps fall away from his thigh, leaving behind a stripe in the fabric of his sweatpants where your slick hadn’t yet managed to seep through. “You’ll give me what I want. Always do.”

John knew better than to argue with that.

[doeidawn]

kinkmas didn't really work out this year, but i still managed to write some holiday-themed fics for the 141 boys. have fun, freaks ♡

MAIN MASTERLIST | KINKMAS 2024

❆ all of these works are nsfw/18+. minors please do not interact with these works or my account

dec. 18 ⟡ thigh riding

⋆⁺₊❅. price x fem!reader. the gift you got your husband this year has some...unexpected (and impractical) uses.

dec. 20 ⟡ the season of "giving"

⋆⁺₊❅. ghost x fem!reader. ghost is all about giving more than taking. 

dec 22. ⟡ christmas movie

⋆⁺₊❅. gaz x fem!reader. when you've seen one christmas movie, you've seen 'em all. when there's nothing else to do, why not make a festive film of your own?

dec. 24 ⟡ jingle bells

⋆⁺₊❅. soap x fem!reader. dressing up as a reindeer for a friend's holiday party wasn't your favorite idea, but at least you pull it off. soap, however, has a different plan for your getup when he sees the bell on your collar

wanna support me?

[colonel-worm]

Riding Ghost and he just looks so good under you.

His hands holding your hips but he’s too lost to actually lift you, his head thrown back, his eyes rolling, his chest sweaty…

The oh-so-scary lieutenant finally dropping the facade; he looks much better like this, needy and shaking under you, muttering something you can’t quite understand, so you lean forward to hear him softly going:

“fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me”

Well, since he asked…

[twinkhole-destroyer]

I need to press his bruises like it’s his gspot

[rusticfurnace]

as promised (on twitter), i slutted him out. but in a tired man in his late 30s being inconvenienced by small things kinda way

[doeidawn]

18+ MDNI

scent kink with ghost 😛

he wears his mask for a lot of reasons, one of which is to keep out all those nasty smells. death and rubble might be something he's used to at this point, but it didnt mean he enjoyed it.

cut to you, who he never wears the mask around. you're his favorite thing to smell

and he's nasty about it, too. just got back from a long walk, or a day out in the sun? he's burying his face in your neck before he gets between your legs. having a lazy sunday where you can't be bothered to get up and shower? no worries, he's actually begging to eat you out now

not to mention how many clothes of yours he's stolen. not just underwear—sweat stained shirts are part of it, too. stuffed under his nose, practically suffocating himself, while he jerks off to the scent.

he's so nasty about his favorite person <3

[doeidawn]

happy halloween

a walk through a forest at night turns out more dangerous than you could have thought possible when four men with unknown motivations get their hands on you. 9.2k

➠ pairing: 141 x f!reader

➠ tags: roleplay; fearplay; objectification; manhandling; restraints; CNC; dubcon; exhibitionism; semi-public sex; fingering; heavy degradation; humiliation; pussy slapping; unprotected piv sex (multiple times); extremely rough sex; overstimulation; spanking; spitroasting; oral sex [m receiving]; face fucking; face slapping; light choking; anal sex; facial; creampie

➠ disclaimer: this fic is dark and details rough, consensual-non-consent. multiple parts could be viewed as sexual assault/rape as consent is implied off-screen beforehand and not during sexual activity. reader objects to sexual activity throughout, but it is stated in the end to being completely consensual. if any of this makes you uncomfortable or may upset you, please do not read. your mental health matters more than a piece of writing. take care of yourself ♡

The forest around you was thick with trees that towered, branches and leaves tangled so tight that only small slivers of moonlight could peer through. Dancing shadows move over the trees in elusive patterns that make the forest feel alive. The night air was cold with a damp chill that bit through your skin. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, and an unknown tension grew with each deliberately careful step. 

It was eerily quiet. Your footsteps over dirt and crunching leaves was the only thing you could hear, but every sound seemed unnatural in the silence. A short gust of wind stirs the branches overhead and the rustle startles you more than the cold. The further you travel, the more the forest seems to close in. The air felt thick and heavy in your lungs.

The faint path through the woods was meant to be a shortcut but every second you were there felt drawn out for an eternity. You had to trust that you’d make it where you needed to be without any trouble, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was watching you. It made your heart pound in your chest, stealing your panicked breaths as your pace started to pick up.

Your blood runs cold when you hear the rustling of foliage and something resembling footsteps. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your shaky breaths leaving in heaves. Your feet stumble to carry you quicker through the maze of shadows and trees. Your eyes dart everywhere, desperately trying to adjust to the sparse moonlight, as you look over your shoulder and forward again. Even as you scolded yourself—don’t look back, just keep running—something fearful deep in your gut compelled you to. 

And then—bam.

A strong and rigid force comes in from the side, wrapping around you and sweeping you off your feet. Your scream would’ve startled the still peace of night had your mouth not been covered. It all happened so fast you didn’t register it was a person until you heard them grunt. With an arm wrapped around your waist and a gloved hand covering your mouth, they held you tight—though your struggle to breathe might have been from the shallow and panicked gasps for air. 

You wriggled and kicked, clawed at their arms, tugged at whatever fabric you could grab. Your heartbeat thumped so loud in your ears that it drowned out any hope of a rational thought. 

“Keep fightin’ and this’ll be a lot worse.” A masculine, gruff voice rumbles in your ear, striking fear into your heart that scares you into submission. Your hands fall from his body as you will yourself to stop struggling. Your heavy pants and panicked breaths are muffled behind his hand, still clasped firmly against your mouth. “That’s a good girl,” he mutters.

He whistles a sharp sound that cuts through the air. Then, a shuffling sound comes from the side, the brustling of foliage and dirt under boots. A figure emerges from the shadowy night and stalks closer, only visible at the edge of your vision. 

“Ah, fuck off. I woulda caught her first if y’weren’t hidin’ there.” A second man’s voice—distinctly Scottish—calls out as he approaches. The fear in your heart only spikes at the thought; two people stalking your path and waiting to strike and do…whatever it is they plan on doing. The other man whistles excitedly as he steps closer, now in your field of view. Blue eyes look you over while his excited smile tells you how much enjoyment he’s getting out of this. “Aw, she’s bonnie, ain’t she?”

Panic makes the blood in your veins run cold, thumping so loud you can hear it in your ears. Two men who were decidedly much stronger than you were treating you like sport. Hunted like an animal. The hand over your mouth made your jaw ache, clamped so tight that the suffocating material of his glove made air difficult to breathe. You couldn't think straight. All you could register was one man in front of you and the other holding you tight against the hard planes of his body.

“Careful, LT, don’t suffocate the lass,” the man before you continues. “The Captain won’t have any use for her if she’s dead.”

Captain?

“Y’gonna keep your mouth shut?” The gruff voice in your ear—the lieutenant—asks sharply. 

You nearly choke as you swallow thickly. A whimper escapes, muffled behind his hand, as you nod fervently. He lowers his hand from your face and frees your mouth from his suffocating grasp. You can feel the lingering pain on your cheeks as you pant desperately to fill your lungs.

Your arms ache as they’re forced behind your back. You didn’t have to see the man behind you to know he was probably twice your size, undoubtedly strong enough to tug you around like a ragdoll. “Soap, tell the Captain we found our little visitor,” he mutters.

Soap steps closer and makes no effort to hide the way he looks over you, eyes lingering on your body. “Now what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ out here all alone?” Any other time you’d roll your eyes at the cheesy line, but now, it just felt foreboding. His gloved hand reaches out, fingers skirting over your jaw. You flinch and recoil at the touch. “Walkin’ around a dark forest dressed like that…” his hand moves from your face to your hip, thumbing the fabric of your skirt, “well, you’re just askin’ for somethin’ bad to happen.”

“Don’t touch her till Price decides what we’re doin’ with her.”

“Oh, he’s gonna have fun with a pretty thing like her.” Reluctantly, Soap’s hand falls from your body. “Just his type, isn’t she?”

The lieutenant makes an affirmative grunt in response. With every passing mention, you grow more and more fearful of their Captain, whoever he is. Soap utters something too quick for you to understand into his earpiece. Call signs or coordinates, you couldn’t tell over the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears, but he was telling someone about your presence—someone you grew increasingly more nervous to meet. 

You wince as something tightens around your wrists just enough to be uncomfortable against your skin. You shiver to think what they could want with you; what could they possibly plan that would entail keeping you bound when they overpowered and outnumbered you by such a large margin? Or was it their Captain who wanted you restrained?

Your throat feels dry when you start to speak, the words coming out as a squeak at first. “Who…who is he? Your Captain? What does he want?”

“Ah, you’re gonna love ‘em, lass. He’s…real creative.”

It feels like a lifetime you’re left bound and under their watch. A target for an unknown goal. The ominous threat of the man in charge does nothing to quell your curiosity—or your fear. When you hear shuffling coming from another part of the woods, your heart skips a beat, pounding adrenaline through your veins. You brace yourself to see the aforementioned captain walk through the brush and trees, but instead, you’re greeted by two figures coming from the darkness.

The panic that was already stirring your chest doubles. Your heart pounds in your chest so hard it hurts, breath shallow and frantic. One of them—the one you assume is their captain given the way he carries himself—is narrowed in on you, while the other man heads for Soap. They excitedly greet each other (you note the other man’s name as Gaz) with a proud pat on the back.

Pressure on the back of your legs forces you to your knees with a yelp, dirt scratching against your skin. The earth under his boots crunches as the captain moves towards you. You’re terrified to look him in the eye, but the power he commands almost forces you to watch him as he approaches.

He stops before you, towering over you with his imposing figure. It’s silent save for the sounds of nocturnal nature all around. He looks at you with a curiosity you can’t pinpoint—studying you. He crouches down, still taller than you, but closer to eye-level. He follows your panicked stare as it darts wildly between the four men. His stern face doesn’t move, and it terrifies you to imagine what’s going on in his head.

“Why are you here?” His voice is deep and rough and makes you flinch when you hear it. 

You swallow thickly, lips quivering. “I…I didn’t know where I was going, I got lost—”

“I’m not lookin’ for excuses.”

“I’m sorry.” Your throat feels dry as you stammer through the apology. “I-I didn’t know, I swear.” Looking between the four men, your eyes pleading, you don’t find a single ounce of empathy or forgiveness. Hope slowly dwindled as their captain scoffs at your pathetic attempt at an explanation.

Shaking his head, the man stands straight up, turning his back towards you as he looks at the other three. “Right, well…if she’s not gonna be honest with us,” he looks down at you, “maybe she needs a little encouragement, yeah?”

You notice two of them—Soap and Gaz—nod eagerly at that. The insinuation makes your heart drop to your stomach. Your arms tug at their restraints as panic pumps thick through your veins. “I’m telling the truth, please—”

“Shut it.” Price’s voice is biting, leaving no room for argument. He doesn’t spare you another glance before approaching his men. “Ghost caught her, yeah? He gets first pickin’s.”

Soap scoffs, chiming in with a protest. “C’mon, Cap, I found her.”

“Sure, but Ghost got her bound an’ on her knees for us.”

“Soap can have her first,” Ghost says matter-of-factly. He gives Soap an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “He’ll fuck her like a dog—”

“Yeah I will.”

“—just let ‘im get it out of his system.”

You feel your heart stop, your jaw slack and eyes wide as you stare at the three. Fuck you? That’s what all this was about? Their captain gives the go-ahead and Soap’s excited whoop makes your stomach drop. The words of protest are stuck in your dry throat, coming out as nothing more than pathetic stammers, as the man stalks towards you. 

He couldn’t look more excited if he tried. You tense as he circles your body, stopping to crouch behind you. He sits far too close for your comfort as he slots his body against yours. You tense at the warmth and rigidity, feeling his abdomen press against your bound hands. 

One of his hands slides around your body and moves up to your chest. “Been wantin’ to tear this off since  the moment I saw you.” His voice makes you tremble, panicked breaths making your chest press against his hand. His other hand, holding a small blade, moves quickly to cut into your shirt. He chuckles at your terrified yelp as the cool air hits your skin. “Let’s see what you’re hidin’ under there, huh?”

Soap grabs the torn fabric and tugs hard. The sound of your shirt ripping grates on your ears. One of the men whistles approvingly as the fabric hangs off your shoulders after the front of your shirt is completely torn away. You cringe at the cool air, but the humiliation of having your chest exposed makes you hang your head.

“She’s got nice tits, ay?” Someone—you think it may be Gaz—calls out. 

Soap laughs excitedly in your ear. “Fuck yeah, she does.” He pockets the small blade before moving his gloved hands to your chest to grope and knead at your breasts. You think you yelp at his rough and eager movements, but your heartbeat thumps so loud in your ears that you can’t tell.

You’re all too aware of his movements as he shifts and his hands move to your arms. He tugs on your body—albeit gently—until you’re lying on the ground. Between fear and something morbidly curious stirring in your gut, you put up no fight, only hissing in pain as you lay uncomfortably on top of your bound arms. Your skirt is flying up before Soap can even bother moving it out of the way, but then he’s tearing it off and taking your panties with it. 

Each one of them groans or whistles or otherwise announces their excitement once you’re left exposed. Your face feels hot, eyes screwed shut to avoid seeing them ogle; even still you can feel their stares practically branding you as Soap holds your thighs apart in a grip that threatens to bruise your skin.

“Fuck, she’s already wet, isn’t she?” Says Gaz with a laugh. 

“She’s gettin’ off to this.” Ghost adds.

Soap’s fingers run through your slit, the shock of his bare skin making you gasp and twitch under his touch. “Yeah, she is. She’s soaked,” he groans. His other hand tightens its grasp on your thigh as you try to close your legs. The rough pad of his thumb rubs circles against your clit, fingers trailing through your slick. “Little slut wanted to be caught.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you whine. “N-no. No, I didn’t…” Your neck aches as you shake your head. Seeing Soap between your legs cupping your cunt, the other three men in your peripheral, sends a sick thrill through you. “I-I didn’t know—”

Two fingers pushing deep inside your cunt takes your breath away. You couldn’t deny that you were wet enough to make the movement easy, aiding the man’s efforts to stretch you out. His fingers curling and pumping in and out of you leaves you squirming and bucking your hips off the dirt.

“You hear how wet she is?” Soap’s voice is unmistakably giddy when he looks over at the other men. Your cunt squelches as he slides his fingers in again—almost like it was trying to prove his point.

“How’s she feel, Soap?”

“Tight.” He curls his fingers just right, making you squeal and wriggle beneath him. “She’s fuckin’ milkin’ my hand.” He spits on your cunt, watching it mix with your slick, while his thumb teases your clit.

“She’s gonna be a nice fuck.” A growling voice—Ghost, you realize—calls out. Soap and Gaz excitedly voice their agreement. You hate the way your cunt tightens at the thought.

"Oh, d'you like that, lass?" Soap's voice is mockingly sweet. "Knowing we're all so excited to get a turn with you?" A protesting whine starts in the back of your throat but it quickly turns into a sharp gasp of pleasure. Soap focuses on hitting that sweet spot deep inside, looking prouder and prouder with each moan and pulse of your cunt around his fingers.

You don't want to admit it, don't want to give any of them satisfaction, but it feels good, damn it. Pleasure pumps thick through your veins; heat begins to build in the pit of your stomach and your muscles start to tense. Your back arches and your hips buck, overwhelmed in every sense of the word.

"Y'gonna make her cum, sergeant?” Price's voice is a gruff murmur from the side—a grounding reminder of all the eyes on you.

"Aye. If she won't admit she likes it, her cunt can do it instead."

The heady mix of humiliation and lust leaves you confused, fighting yourself as you feel that familiar pressure start to build in your core. You didn’t want to give them the pleasure of seeing you come undone—couldn’t, for the sake of whatever modesty you had left—but it felt like an impossible battle. Biting your lip wasn’t enough to stifle your moans as your breathing grew heavier. 

Scolding yourself and clinging to fear didn’t matter anymore. And when you finally ignored it, that persistent defiance of the sensations between your legs, your orgasm hit you hard. There was the faint sound of encouragement from the men, egging you on as your thighs shook and your hips jerked into Soap’s hand.

“Aye, that’s it, lass…” Soap’s voice joined in, coaxing as much out of you as he could by hammering his fingers against that spot deep inside until you were seeing stars. He groaned at the pulse of your cunt around his fingers, your slick coating the palm of his hand. 

Soap pulls his fingers out harshly and delivers a wet slap to your sensitive clit that has you wincing. He inches back just enough to allow you to close your thighs and hide some of the shame you still had. You’re silently thankful for the respite until you realize the haste in which he’s unbuckling his belt. Shaking your head, whimpering a soft plea to wait, please, hold on, does nothing to deter him. He’s back to holding your legs apart as soon as his eager cock springs free, rolling his hips to slide it through the mess of your slick cum.

“Be good, aye? Give the boys a show.” He gives you a wink that sends a chill through you before the head of his cock kisses your entrance.

You try to shake your head again, wriggling your bound arms stuck against the dirt, but then he's pushing in and shoving himself deep. The stretch of his cock burns as he buries himself to the hilt with no regard for your comfort. It forces the air out of your lungs, keening as Soap fills you completely.

"Jesus, this cunt's fuckin' tight." Soap groans as he pulls back and slides his cock all the way in. One of the observers whistles supportively, the sound cutting through the air. 

For a moment, you think he might go slow and grant you some sort of reprieve. Then, in one quick movement, his hands are at your hips, lifting them off the ground just enough to give him the perfect angle to slam his cock as deep as he can. His hips snap against yours, a rough and fast pace like an animal in heat. It forces your restrained arms into the dirt, scratching and staining your skin. He’s so thick, hits so deep, it leaves you choking on your own gasps and whimpers every time his hips meet yours.

You can hear the other three just faintly, no doubt muttering something depraved about you, but you can’t hear them over the moans spilling from Soap and the crude sound of flesh slapping. Your shoulders ache and a sharp pain in your back makes you wince. 

Another rough and dirty groan spills from his lip as Soap tightens his grip on your hips. “Fuck, this pussy’s so good. Feels like fuckin’ heaven.” His hands move up your sides, over your stomach, back down to your hips, kneading every bit of skin he can grab. He can’t decide where to hold you while he feels your body tremble under him. “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

“Rein it in, Soap,” Price interjects.

“Ah, she can take it. Can’t you lass?” Soap looks at you expectantly, a smug grin on his face that makes you look away in defiance. “Yeah, this cunt can take a good, hard fuck, aye?” The warning from his superior does nothing to deter him. He keeps up that same rough, snappy pace that makes your head spin trying to catch your breath.

His wandering hands are rough and greedy, holding you tight as he ruts into you. The force keeps you pressed against the dirt until you can feel the dirt and rocks imprinting on your skin. 

“So fuckin’ good…” He’s babbling now, muttering mindlessly about how good you feel, how soft you are in his hands. He’s damn near reverent with his words, every depraved compliment accompanied by a lewd squelch of your cunt. 

Your attention is diverted to the sound of dirt crunching under heavy boots when Price starts in your direction. His steps are slow, calculated, as he moves closer. There’s an intensity behind his eyes as he watches your body shake and ripple from the force of Soap’s thrusts; it sends a thrill through you that has you clenching around the sergeant’s cock until he’s panting. He moves until his feet are right next to your head. He drops to one knee and grabs your face roughly, squeezing your cheeks tight and forcing you to look at him.

“You ready to talk yet?” The gruffness in Price’s voice commands your attention, makes you want to confess to an answer you don’t have.

But you shake your head, choking on your moans. “I don’t…I don’t know what you want…”

“Why are you here?” All you can offer is a whine, a pitiful sound as a result of the pressure in your cunt and the lack of a proper answer. “I’m fine lettin’ him go even harder on you if you don’t wanna talk.”

“N-no, don’t—”

“Fuck, she’s gettin’ tighter. Think she likes that idea,” Soap’s voice cuts in with a rough moan. “Christ, this cunt’s gonna make me cum.”

“Pull out.” Price doesn’t even bother to look his way when he gives the order.

“What? C’mon, Cap—”

“Pull out, sergeant.” He’s more stern—not entertaining any argument. “Don’t cum in her, I want her to look a mess.”

You can’t decide if you’re thankful for that or not. Something between a whine and a groan rips from Soap’s mouth as he pulls out hastily. His cum splays over your stomach and hipline in thick spurts, having waited too long to aim anywhere else. He pants, sweat beading down his face, his cock laying spent against your thigh.

With an encouraging squeeze of your hip, Soap flashes a lopsided grin. “Sorry about that, lass. Next time I’ll fill you up proper.”

“Soap.”

“Aye,” he concedes, tucking himself back in his jeans as he shuffles back and rises to his feet.

Price focuses his attention back to you with a stare that bores through you. “You let me know when you’re ready to talk, yeah?” He releases your face, your jaw aching with the force of his grip. “But maybe let my boys have a little more fun first.”

He rises to his feet, kicking up dirt as he saunters back to his men. Soap and Gaz exchange an excited look, the former clearly proud of the mess he’s made of you, while Ghost remains a quiet and terrifying sight. But Price simply leans against a tree and plucks a cigar out from one of the pockets of his jacket. He looked like a man of comfort and power, pleased to keep watching you just because it entertained him. 

“Go on, Gaz.” He orders with a cock of his head in your direction. 

Gaz steps forward then with an encouraging tap on the shoulder from Soap. He takes his time to really look at you, taking in every inch as he slowly makes his way over. Still, the excitement in his eyes as he surveyed your body seemed barely contained. Hands flexed eagerly at his sides as he knelt between your legs. 

You already start to cringe, preparing for Gaz to spread you open and take just as rough and fast as Soap did. Instead he runs a hand over your body to gently graze the soft curves. He’s whispering softly, something about how soft and beautiful you are; something far too sweet for the situation you’ve found yourself in. Trailing over your waist, down to your hips, he rubs his thumb against your skin with a careful touch that almost makes you forget you’re being watched and humiliated. 

Then he’s tugging on your body until you roll over onto your stomach. He’s gentle about the movement, but no matter how careful he tries to be, the dirt scratches against your face, sticking to the mess of cum on your skin. The new position relieves the ache in your arms but forces you to face the other three men as they watch Gaz run his hands over your body. 

One of his hands glides along your spine, pushing your tattered shirt out of the way, splaying his fingers over the small of your back. Positioning you just right so everyone can see the perfect arch of your back as Gaz lifts your hips towards his body. He kneads your plush curves and groans as he situates himself behind you. His hands move to grope and spread your ass, cursing at the sight of you. 

“Fuck, what a nice ass,” Soap’s voice commands your attention, low and intense. He stands so nonchalant, the only sign of interest being the way his eyes zero in on Gaz’s hands, no indication that he’d made a mess of you mere minutes ago. “I shoulda fucked that instead.”

You hear Gaz scoff. “That’s what you get for rushin’.” Then, the jangle of his belt coming undone. A whimper escapes you as his fingers run teasingly through your slit. 

“Look at her,” Soap shrugs, looking to the other two for support. “Can’t blame a lad for bein’ a little excited.”

Gaz runs his fingers along your slit in slow, teasing strokes that have you quivering. Your too-sensitive clit throbs with each brush. "Oh, I don’t blame you." One of his heavy hands rests on your ass, spreading you apart until you feel yourself clenching around air. "Gorgeous thing like her needs to be fucked good n' hard."

You hear him spit before the head of his cock teases your entrance. Thick and heavy, just waiting to stretch you open. He leans over your body, surprisingly soft lips brushing against the space between your shoulder blades as he kisses your back. 

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m not as mean as Soap.” A soft murmur against your skin that you almost don’t hear over the sound of your own heartbeat. 

Gaz pushes in slowly, savoring the way you wince and tighten around him. He’s thicker than Soap; that familiar burn of being stretched to your limit has you hissing and wriggling under his rough hold on your hips. He groans a deep, guttural sound when he bottoms out, stilling just long enough for you to catch your breath and really feel how he fills you up.

“Nice cunt, aye?” Soap’s grin when he calls out is the proudest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Gaz pulls back halfway before pressing in even deeper. “Fuck yeah it is,” he laughs. His slow thrusts do nothing to ease your body to the feel of him. Feeling him knead the fat of your hips and the curve of your ass so eagerly heightens each little movement. 

"Spank her." Price orders sternly, puffing on his cigar without a care in the world.

Gaz wastes no time obeying, his hand landing on your skin in a sharp spank that makes you yelp. Your reaction entertains all four of them—whistling and laughing at the way you flinch and whine when Gaz delivers two more harsh slaps to your ass.

You hear him curse, the sound turning into a moan. “God, she gets tighter every time.”

“Whore likes gettin’ her ass spanked.”

His hand comes down again, groaning when you clench around him. “Yeah, she does.”

The rough ground scratching your face, the burning stretch between your legs, and the ache in your spine leaves your body trembling. Your skin tingles with the lingering pain of Gaz’s palm. You’re left moaning pathetically against the dirt with each deep thrust. 

Your eyes flutter open long enough to notice Ghost creeping closer. Quiet footsteps you almost don’t hear over the wet, crude sound of your cunt squelching around Gaz’s cock. He disappears from your restricted field of vision, boots stopping by your head. Soap's amused grin and the soft jangle of a belt buckle sends a shiver down your spine that has your cunt fluttering. 

A sharp tug on your scalp forces the upper half of your body off the ground. You're immediately met with a cock in your face, thick and hard, brushing against your cheek. Ghost’s masked face looks down at you with a smoldering gaze, pupils blown wide in those brown eyes of his. His free hand cups your cheek before forcing his gloved thumb past your panting lips. Pushing roughly, he forces your mouth to open wide enough to fit his cock. 

Ghost curses, the sound a low rumble in his chest, sliding his cock deeper and deeper until you start to gag. He ignores your whines and the obvious sounds of struggle. He holds your head tight in his grasp, groaning at the suction of your hollowed cheeks, rolling his hips to slide his cock in and out of your mouth.

“How’s her mouth?” Gaz snaps his hips against yours to hear your muffled whines around the other man’s cock. 

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Ghost hisses through clenched teeth. “Didn’t even have to ask her to start suckin’.”

“Slut like her knows what she’s doin’, aye?” Soap chimes in. 

“Damn right.” Ghost pushes deeper until the head of his cock breaches your throat. The wet sound is disgustingly lewd, coupled with the guttural sound he makes—you hate that it sends a shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. “Get her ass prepped for me, Gaz. Fuck—make sure she’s nice and ready.”

You hear a scoff off to the side. “Where’s the fun in that?” Price mutters.

“Don’t wanna break her, boss. I’ll leave that to you.”

Another sharp smack to the swell of your ass makes you clench and whimper. Both men groan at the sensation, holding you tighter wherever they can grab you. Gaz pushes deep, until he can hear you whimpering around Ghost, before spreading your ass. He spits onto your hole before spreading the wetness with his fingers. The sensation makes you squirm, arms tugging at their restraints, tensing around the fullness from both ends. 

Ghost snaps his hips against your face as Gaz prods at your hole, each uncomfortable whine and protest lost as his dick bullies the back of your throat. The only sense of reprieve you get is when Gaz’s thrusts slow down as he focuses on prepping and stretching you.

“Ah, I think she likes it. She’s gettin’ tighter.” You can practically hear the smile in Gaz’s voice. You whine and tense around the two intruding forces, leading Gaz to spank you again just to hear you sputter. “Fuckin’ hell, no wonder you came so fast, Soap. She’s squeezin’ me.”

Somehow, Ghost seems to lodge his cock even deeper. He holds your head tight in his hands, keeping your face flush against his body, savoring the way your throat struggles to fit him. Try as you might to whine, the sound is muffled around him. And every thrust from Gaz pushes you further, forcing your throat to open. 

It’s all so overwhelming. Having all three holes used with no regard for your well-being, pushed to your limit and feeling so stuffed—it’s indescribable. Your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms, and your thighs tremble with exertion. Gaz slams his hips into you with a need you can feel as that familiar tension starts to build between your legs.

“She’s really gettin’ tight. Fuck, I think she’s gonna cum,” Gaz almost seems in awe, disbelief coloring his laughter.

“Yeah?” Ghost chuckles back. “Whore likes gettin’ all her holes filled, huh?” His hand comes down harshly on your cheek, his palm connecting with a stinging slap.

You’re a mess. Tears start to spill from your eyes as you gag and struggle to breathe properly. Gaz pushes another finger into your ass—the third to stretch you open—and you swear you’ve never felt so full in your life. You try to fight off the pleasure building in your core, but Gaz hits so perfectly deep, and both men are cursing and moaning because of you. The pain of being slapped and stretched is embarrassingly addictive, and it’s like they know it.

Your face goes flush when you cum, utterly humiliated and debased, your aching muscles far too weak to hold yourself up had it not been for the two strong pairs of hands on your body. It’s intense—white-hot and pumping thick through your veins. You can’t even breathe properly through the high. Both men groan as you tighten and swallow and tremble around them.

Gaz’s pace starts to slow, easing you through each wave. “Fuckin’ hell…” You can feel yourself dripping and leaking around his cock with each languid thrust.

“She ready yet, Sarge?” Ghost groans, fingers digging into your head as he holds you tight.

“Yeah…yeah, she can take it.”

“She better.” Ghost pulls back, his cock sliding out of your mouth with a lewd, wet sound of your throat. You cough and sputter, nearly choking, as your deprived lungs fill with air. “C’mere, you can take her mouth,” he grunts as he rises to his feet, leaving your head to hit the dirt.

Gaz follows suit, sliding out of your cunt and pulling his fingers out of your ass, leaving you feeling empty. You hate the way you whimper at the loss. Your muscles ache, your throat feels raw. Your head is light and too clouded to think straight as the two men switch places. Large gloved hands spread your ass as Ghost settles behind you while Gaz lifts your head carefully.

He laughs at the mess of spit and dirt and tears that stain your face. Though he holds you much gentler, his thumbs brushing at the mix of fluids on your cheek, it doesn’t feel any less degrading. “Poor girl,” he coos with a faux sense of pity, “she’s already a right mess.”

“She can take it,” Ghost grumbles, spanking you harshly until you yelp and squirm. You can tell he’d been waiting for his turn to do that. “She likes chokin’ on dick, you saw her.” 

Gaz makes a pleased hum at that. He guides his cock to your mouth, pleasantly surprised to see your lips part for him without defiance. Immediately you taste yourself on his flesh, your slick cum heady on your tongue, mingling with the scent of his musk. It's a mixture that has you swallowing and suckling without thought as he rocks his hips and glides his cock in and out of your mouth. 

"Shit, you were right, Ghost," Gaz pants, hissing through his clenched teeth. "Didn't even have to ask her to suck."

Ghost grunts affirmatively as he slides his cock against your ass. Coated in your spit, he glides easily against your hole, teasing you by prodding the thick head before pushing in. He moves just slow enough to avoid any pain, but the stretch is uncomfortable enough to take your breath away and make you gasp and whimper around Gaz. 

“Keep her quiet, Sarge—fuck…” Ghost orders.

Without a word, Gaz obeys. Pushing his cock deeper into your mouth muffles whatever protesting whines were building in your throat. The wet sound of you gagging has both men groaning—no doubt pleased with your ‘compliance’. You’re thankful that Ghost’s thrusts are shallow and slow, carefully easing his cock deeper into your ass.

Gaz, however, is snapping his hips against your face, holding your head down until your nose brushes his stomach. Each thrust forces your throat to open around the head of his cock until you’re struggling to breathe. Your muscles burn with every movement, struggling to keep yourself from going slack.

You hear Gaz curse before he slides out of your mouth. Coughing at the desperate intake of air, your throat feels raw and hoarse. He holds your jaw tight in one hand while he strokes his cock with the other.

“Fuck…open your mouth, there you go,” he looks down at you with a gaze so pathetically needy you feel it reflects your own. “Stick your tongue out—yeah, just like that…”

His hips buck into his hand, wrapped firmly around his cock. A few more rough and unsteady strokes and he’s spilling onto your face. He moans as thick, warm ropes land on your face, painting your mouth with deliberate precision. The salty-sweet taste coats your tongue, making you moan without thought. Panting, coming down from his high, he rubs the head of his cock against your lips, smearing the last of his load over them.

Gaz’s panting lips curl into a smile, clearly pleased with adding to the mess on your face. “You did good, love,” he coos. “Real nice.” 

A rough tug on your bound arms pulls you back. Before you can fully comprehend it, Ghost is holding you against his chest, a hand wrapped snug around your throat to keep your head upright, forcing you to watch Gaz as he tucks himself away and rises to his feet. The new angle forces his cock deep into your ass. You whine, squirming in his grasp at the unfamiliar fullness. 

The fabric of his mask rubs against your temple as he grunts in your ear. "Thank Gaz for makin' you cum, sweetheart."

You whine something between a protest and a plea. Just the thought of it makes your cheeks hot, embarrassed to acknowledge how good any of them make you feel. Your lack of a response makes Ghost tighten his grip just enough to make your head feel light.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he grumbles. His other hand comes down harshly on your clit, the roughness of his glove making the slap ache. “Thank the lad. Nicely.”

“Th-thank—thank you…” You manage to stutter, heavy eyes looking up at the sergeant. Your voice is almost unrecognizable, hoarse from being abused. “Thank you for…m-making me cum.”

Gaz just laughs. “Anytime,” he says with a wink before trudging towards Soap. He steals the man’s cigarette, content to watch whatever Ghost plans to do with you.

“Why don’t you thank Soap, too, huh?” Ghost’s fingers press into your jaw, hard enough you know it’ll ache. “He was so excited to have his way with you, wasn’t he?”

“Uh-huh…” You groan as Ghost pulls back and pushes deeper. “Thank…thank you,” you mutter in Soap’s direction. You catch his eyes long enough to see his smile grow at your ‘thankfulness’.

“There’s a good girl.”

Ghost’s hand runs down the front of your body, gloved fingertips making you shiver. You can feel the mess of dirt and cum smear under his touch. The rough friction makes you squirm when it brushes over your sensitive clit. You’re wet enough to make the movement easy, but it doesn’t ease the harsh burn of his glove. But when you whine and gasp for air, hips and twitching and hole fluttering around his cock, he narrows in on that reaction. 

His fingers move in tight circles to draw out your pathetic sounds and needy movements. His grunts and the sharp snap of his hips tell you how much he enjoys feeling you squirm. His hand comes down in another slap on your cunt when you try to pull away. The sting makes you jump, a choked sob stuck in your throat as you wriggle in his arms. Another smack, a little lighter this time, makes you moan and buck into his hand.

“You like gettin’ this cunt spanked, too?” You can hear the smug grin in his voice. “Christ, you’re a proper slag, aren’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question you both know the answer to, and he aims to prove it right.

You’re too far gone to bother hiding your reactions anymore. The loud smack of his hips meeting your ass fills your ears, his low, panting breaths at the crook of your neck. He’s back to circling your clit in rough strokes that feel overwhelmingly good. Cursing and biting your lip, panting and moaning with every touch, you nearly forget about the eyes on you until you hear one of them groan and make a comment about your body.

Ghost spanks your cunt again just to hear you whine about it. He must hear the way your breath catches in your throat, or maybe he can feel the way your thighs tremble and your body tenses. “Y’gonna cum again for us?” You curse at the thought. “Go on, then. Show ‘em all how much you like it.”

You hiss at the fabric of his glove rubbing your slick over your sensitive skin. Your cunt is sore, clit puffy and far too sensitive. The sharp sting sends shockwaves through you each time, building tension in your core that aches to cum again despite the pain. Far too gone to form coherent words, you whimper a mess of blubbering cries and pleasured moans. Writhing in his strong grasp, chasing the stinging pain of his hand.

When it hits, your orgasm borders on painful. Intense and far too much for your sore cunt to handle, mouth open in a silent scream as it rips through you. Ghost groans with you, holding you tight to rein in your tremors as his fingers work to draw out the last of your pleasure. His thrusts turn sharper as your body tightens around him; you can barely catch your breath long enough to feed much-needed air to your light head.

“You gonna thank me too, love?” You can tell he’s close, his voice strained with restraint.

“Th-thank you…” The words spill out without thought now, too fucked-out to care about shame anymore.

“Fuck, there you go…” 

Another guttural sound spills from his masked lips, hot against the skin of your neck. His arms wrap tightly around your waist as his hips slam into your ass. His cock drives so deep, stretching you out with each thrust. If your mind wasn't so hazy and your body wasn't near-boneless with exhaustion, you'd probably squeal and protest it all.

"Don't finish in her, lieutenant." Price’s voice orders. A grunt and a faint "rog'," is all Ghost manages in reply.

"You should paint her tits when you cum, LT. Fuckin' beauties." Soap suggests, followed by an agreement from Gaz.

A shaky grunt from Ghost in what you can only assume is agreement. Gloved fingers dig into you, the fabric imprinting patterns onto your skin. "Gotta give 'em what they want, eh?"

You don't bother trying to form a response. 

It all happens so fast; Ghost pulls out so abruptly it leaves you aching before tugging on your arm until you land on the ground. Your bound arms throb with pain as you lay atop them once more. Your eyes focus just long enough to watch him move to your side, knelt over your body and gripping the base of his cock. A deep sound from the pit of his chest leaves those masked lips as his hips buck and his cum lands on your chest.

Your eyes flutter shut, too tired and full of shame to even imagine looking at any of the men watching you. Each warm spurt of cum trickles down your skin, pooling at your curves, staining you with shame. Ghost mutters something to you—something about being a good fuck—but you’re far too gone to hear it properly. You can barely keep your eyes open long enough to watch him stand up and join his comrades. 

You lay there in the dirt, panting and hoarse, covered in spend. Every part of your body aches. You're so exhausted you can barely keep your eyes open. The cool air of the night sends a chill through you, muscles tensing as you shiver. You were utterly wrecked. 

But there was still one man yet to have you.  

"Cut her free." Price’s assertive tone cuts through your daze. “She’s too fucked out to try anythin’.”

Through your spaced-out, heavy-lidded gaze, you’re barely able to process who walks over to you. Whoever it is turns you on your side and cuts through the restraints that bound your wrists. The release is a relief that earns a shaky whimper from your lips. Your shoulders ache in protest as you move your arms, rubbing your wrists in an attempt to soothe the friction burn against your skin.

Laying flat on your back, you realize how right Price was. You were far too exhausted to get up, let alone try and escape or fight anything else. 

Movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention. Price, making his way over to you, flicks his cigar to the ground. He kneels beside you and commands your focus with his stern look. 

“Last chance to answer me honestly.” You can almost feel the threat in his voice. “Why are you here?”

All you can do is shake your head. Lying pathetically on the dirt, choking on your own excuse before you conjure enough strength to answer. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…I didn’t know anyone was here.” He scoffs, shaking his head, and panic bubbles in your chest. “Please believe me. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Right…” Price shrugs off his jacket, clearing his throat. “You got one more in you, then?”

“N-no…no, I can’t,” you shake your head as you whine in protest. You’re too weak to protest properly as he settles between your thighs. “I can’t, please—”

“We’ll keep at it all night ‘til you finally talk.” You watch him unbuckle his belt as his threat washes over you. Soap cheers excitedly in agreement. “Think they’d all kill for another round with you.”

“I-I don’t know what you want me to say. I didn’t know—”

Price makes a disapproving sound. “Not what I wanna hear, sweetheart.”

His thick cock brushes against your overly-sensitive clit in a movement that makes you squirm. He’s so heavy and warm, your cunt is clenching in preparation for him to force his way in and split you open. Despite the way you whine for him to stop, your hips are bucking into his, grinding your slick folds against him. 

His thumb moves over your sensitive skin, collecting slick on his fingertip before rubbing it in tight circles around your puffy clit. The head of his cock kisses your entrance in a teasing movement that makes you gasp. With a grunt behind clenched teeth, he pushes inside with one deep, rough thrust that forces all the air out of your lungs in a cry. 

Immediately his hands move to your thighs, pushing them back until your knees are next to your ears. He wastes no time pounding into you with hard and fast strokes that make you choke on your own moans. The ache in your back stings, your cunt far too sore to take another beating. But he hits that spot deep inside—already sensitive from all the abuse—that makes your body go slack. 

“See? Look at you, fuckin’ droolin’ while you get pounded.” Price’s words bite through you, embarrassingly true. “Never seen a slag so desperate to get fucked like you.”

You keen from the taunts, cunt fluttering around him, trying to suck him deeper. Your mind was too hazy to think of a lie or an excuse, anything to keep any last shred of humility you might’ve still had. It felt amazing—all of them felt amazing. All that mattered anymore was staying conscious long enough to feel yourself cum again.

“You knew we were here. Don’t lie to me.” You nod your head without thinking, an affirmative whine forced from your throat as your eyes roll back. “Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right, you wanted it, didn’t you?” Price slaps your cheek hard enough to snap you back to reality. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I wanted it, wanted you to find me…” The haze of pleasure feels too damn good to bother lying anymore. The wet squelching of your cunt and the guttural groans from the man on top of you, the fullness between your legs that prods at your core; everything is so heady and intense.

“Yeah? Hopin’ we’d come along and fuck you like you needed?”

“Mm-hmm…” Your hands seek out his thighs, digging your fingers into his trousers just so you can find purchase on his body. “Fuck, I needed it so bad. Needed you all to take me…”

“You liked it, huh? Bein’ tied up and used like a fuckin’ whore,” he moans as you tighten around his cock, the wet sound hitting your ears, “lettin’ my men fuck you like that…”

“Yeah, I wanted it, wanted all of you. S-so fuckin’ hot…”

You’re a blubbering mess, mindlessly whining about how good his cock feels, eyes rolled back in your head. The picture of debauchery underneath him. Every nerve feels alight and overwhelmed with pain and pleasure that mixes into something throbbing in the pit of your stomach. Too fucked-out to care about how desperate and needy you sound, not fucked enough to be satisfied. 

Price tightens his grip on your legs until you feel the indents of his nails in your skin. He plants a foot on the ground beside you—more leverage to hit even deeper. You swear the head of his cock kisses your cervix with each thrust, burrowing so deep you can feel him in your stomach. Your toes start to curl as that tension begins to build, deep in your cunt and so overstimulated it almost hurts.

Price groans at the feeling, no doubt sensitive enough to feel every twitch of your walls around him. “C’mon, you got one more. Give us one more, love.”

“I can’t, s’too much,” your words slur together as you hold his hips tight. He keeps up that perfect pace, that perfect mixture of rough and fast that has you hurling towards another high. “Please, it’s…fuck!”

You cry out louder than you thought possible with your sore throat. Your back arches off the dirt, hips twitching into his steady thrusts as he fucks you through your fourth orgasm. You don't even know what you grab as your hands claw for purchase on anything steady enough to ground you. The world goes white for a moment as pleasure shoots through your veins.

“Mm, fuck, that’s it. That’s a good slut, cummin’ for all of us like you were made for it.” The bellow of Price’s voice is enough to bring you clarity. You can feel yourself clenching around his cock, leaking slick and pulling him deeper. 

Your body goes lax underneath him. Between the spaced-out haze in your mind and the pain in your muscles and the ache in your cunt, you feel boneless—a pile of filth on the dirt.

But Price isn’t done yet. His hips slam into yours hard enough to draw whimpers out of your drooling mouth. He drives his cock so deep it’s like he plans to keep it there forever. At this point, he probably could. And you wouldn’t care one bit. 

“Can’t have you leavin’ here without a load inside you, eh? A proper whore needs to be filled.” You're far too gone to argue, to pretend like you care about making him pull out. You can’t even look straight long enough to watch his face smile down at you. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he groans, his breath turning heavier with each downstroke. “Take it, love. You can take it…”

In reality, it was all you could do. So blissed out all you could focus on was the way he hit so deep it forced your breath out in moans. With just a few more hard thrusts, Price buries himself in your cunt, balls-deep, and grinds his hips against yours. You can feel the first twitches of his cock as he spills inside you, throbbing with every pump of cum. 

His panting breaths hit your face, warm and thick with the lingering scent of his cigar. He’s careful to be gentle with your body as he inches back ever so slightly. Releasing your legs, easing them to the ground, massaging your hipbone with his heavy hand.

He snaps his fingers just in front of your face. “You alright?” Even through your hazy vision, you can see the concern on his face. “Didn’t push you too hard, did we?”

You smile lazily with a shake of your head. “No, not at all.” Your head lolls to the side as you hear the other three men trudge over. “Loved every bit of it.”

The way they dote on you is such a stark contrast to their earlier treatment. That faux-harshness that had them slapping and pushing and taking what they wanted from you had completely disappeared. 

Gaz, producing a handkerchief from one of his pockets, knelt down next to you. “C’mere, let’s get you cleaned up.” He runs the cloth so gently over your skin you nearly forget he’s the cause of some of the marks left behind earlier. 

While Price helps you sit up, massaging your sore joints to try and ease the movement, Ghost has found the man’s discarded jacket. He drapes it over your shoulders to shield you from the cool chill of the night air. His strong hands help ground your hazy consciousness.

“Your arms okay? Those bonds weren’t too tight?” You hear him ask. Before you can even respond, Soap is on your other side, offering you a small bottle of water.

“Drink somethin’ ‘fore you pass out, aye?” The sergeant presses a quick kiss to your temple despite the dirt. “You did so goddamn good for us, y’know that?” The other three voice their agreement at that. 

Your heart feels warm. After such a rough and careless treatment, it felt good to be reminded how much they actually cared. That all the harsh words and humiliation were only part of a role. You take a much-needed sip of water after Gaz finishes wiping your face clean of dirt and cum.

“You weren’t too bad yourselves, boys.” Already you begin to feel better, more present in reality, though the soreness will take some time to dissipate. “You lot play the part of perverted interrogators quite well.”

Price snorts at that. “Well, we’ve got you to thank for the idea, love.”

“Mm…maybe we can do it again sometime?” There’s a spark of hope in your voice when you share the thought. It was the first time doing something so extreme, so risky, with the four of them, but the thought of more was absolutely thrilling. Already your mind ran wild with different scenarios, different roles to play.

“Oh, I don’t think any of us would turn down that opportunity.” Price’s smile tells you all you need to know. And you didn’t have to look at the other three to feel their excitement about the prospect. “But let’s get you somewhere nice and comfortable before we start makin’ new plans, yeah?”

You take his outstretched hand and, with the help of all four of them, rise to your feet. Your trembling legs are barely able to keep yourself upright without their support. It’s a slow process, but they manage to slip your panties and skirt back on, too. 

Thankfully they had the foresight to get you to the edge of the forest before taking advantage of you. Though each of them offered to carry you there, the trek to the car wasn’t too long. And while the experience was exhilarating, you were dying to get in a comfy bed and sleep the pain in your muscles away. The only problem was choosing which of the four to sleep next to tonight.

With your luck, they’d figure out some way to get you squeezed between them.