Tags - big dick Carmy Berzatto (specs in the fic), talking you through it, oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, hella size kink, dubcon aspects, gentle dom!carmy, painful sex, you’re kind of a crybaby. 2k words
You’ve never been much for fluorescent lighting. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Migraine-inducing, though what isn’t migraine-inducing here? Between all the constant fucking yelling and the unending onslaught of demands and problems, well. It’s enough to make anyone fucking nuts. You wonder daily what the hell you got yourself into, and when’s a good time to leave.
The clock on the wall shows the time, 1:57 AM. You can do five more minutes, at least. Five more minutes of this - Carmy’s tongue lapping at your folds, his strong nose rubbing against your clit - and you’ll be cumming. The fluorescent lighting of Carmy’s kitchen doesn’t much bother you when your eyes are squeezed shut as he fucks you on his tongue. The once-cold marble counter is now warm with your body heat, and there will be a mess left on it when Carmy’s done with you, cleaned away with the rest of the day’s work.
“Carmy,” you pant, looking down at him as he eats you. He’s got two fingers deep in your cunt, stroking away at that delicate place inside you. You can’t see the lower half of his face, only his gorgeous, striking blue eyes. It’s amazing how much of his iris has been eaten by pupil, all that endless, sparkling black.
Carmy’s half-naked, and one of your knees is tossed over his broad shoulders. His free hand is on your thigh, squeezing you to keep you still when you start to shake, losing yourself to your own pleasure. Carmy draws circle after circle onto your throbbing, aching clit, steadily pushing you to meet your peak. You’re making a mess of him, you know. Dripping down his reddened, swollen lips and his chin, dripping down his calloused fingers and into his palm, too. It’s a good thing. He’ll need you soaked. You’ll need yourself soaked.
He holds you tight when you cum, fucking you through it all on his skillful tongue. His messy curls are tangled around your fingers, and you’re tugging hard enough to hurt him - not that Carmy minds any, no. He’s all but numb to physical pain at this point, that tolerance built up through years of burns and sliced fingers and aching feet that stood for too many hours on end. You’re moaning incoherently until you’re not, instead moaning broken whimpers of his name, in between breathy pleas to stop, Carmy. S - too much, too much. M’done, Carmy. Fuck, fuck, please…
Carmy pulls away finally and wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, then stands up. You kiss him then, tasting yourself on your lips. Your hands are on his cheeks, flushed the most gorgeous shade of red, then travel lower. Down his thick neck, taking care to trace the pulsing veins in his throat. They stop at his shoulders and you allow yourself to squeeze his biceps before sliding down his toned torso, reaching for the button of his pants. Carmy stops you, and you give him a look.
He’s hiding something. You can see in his eyes that he is, and you wonder what’s up. “Carm?”
“It’s okay,” he says. “Just close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to, okay? Would you do that for me? Please?”
You smile, tilt your head. “Is it a surprise?”
Carmy exhales shakily, pulling his tattooed hand down his face. “Yeah, maybe. Just close ‘em, okay?” You look at Carmy skeptically, but gently close your eyes anyway, nerves on fire as you anxiously anticipate what comes next.
Carmy takes a deep breath, then unbuttons his pants and reaches into them. He knows he’ll hurt you, that’s all, and he doesn’t need you to be intimidated by his size. That’s why he doesn’t let you look, and it’s why he doesn’t let you feel. It’s like getting bloodwork done, right? You’ll feel that pinch either way, but it’ll be worse if you watch it happen. So don’t look.
He pulls himself out and reaches between your thighs, using your arousal to lubricate his length, then repeats the action. He spits into his palm for good measure, too.
Carmy spreads your legs and tilts your hips and god, you’re feeling fucking electric. You feel it everywhere, in your fingers and toes and in your fluttering stomach. It’d be a disservice to yourself not to witness his cock parting your folds, right? And fuck Carmy, anyway - how many times a day does he ignore you?
He positions himself at your entrance, then slides his cockhead through your slippery folds. Right as he notches himself inside you and you feel the initial, painful stretch of that, you open your eyes to get a look at that completely gorgeous and utterly erotic sight.
Your face drops and your lips part, at a total loss for words. You shake your head and try to squirm away, but Carmy keeps you right at your place on the countertop, holding up a hand. “Carmy–”
“No, no, no, don’t get all fuckin’ freaked out, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”
“Mm-mm, Carmy. You’re fucking - you - you’re–”
“It’s gonna be fine,” he repeats. “Hey - it’s. Fine. You can do this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
You should have expected it, honestly. It was naive to think Carmy would be anything less than above average, when the rest of him is so fucking…big. All that man, those big fucking shoulders and his thick thighs, that big personality. His hands are big too, knuckles are thick and his fingers are long.
Eyeing his cock, it looks maybe eight inches in length, give or take. Fuck, not that that’d help you any. He’s girthy, and thick like a fucking beer can. Maybe even more than that. You’re not sure you could wrap one of your hands all the way around him, and that scares you. He curves gently to the right, and his pubic hair looks like it’s not been trimmed in a while.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispers.
“You already are,” you reply. Carmy looks up and away, sighing heavily. He runs his hand through his hair and then firmly holds your hips, making you squeak when he inches himself a hair further into you. And this is exactly why he didn’t want you to look. But hey, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, right? Does he not experience that law every day in this godforsaken restaurant?
You cry out, watching in distress as Carmy readies to fit himself deeper into you. “Hey, relax, okay? Don’t look, honey. Eyes on me. Can you do that, hm? Can you look at me?” Carmy stops you from shaking your head, then holds your cheek in his large palm. “You can look at me. Right here. We’ll do it a little bit at a time, yeah?”
“I don’t know, Carm,” you tell him. “Fuck, it’s scary.”
“Nah, it’s not scary,” Carmy murmurs, pushing into you a little more. “You got thick skin, don’t you? You’d have to, right? Working here, for me,” he jokes, though you don’t laugh. Humor never was his strong suit.
“No,” you mumble.
“Oh, I think you’re full of shit. Yes, you do.”
The argument stops there for no reason beyond that’s simply Carmy’s will. If he lets it go on, you’ll be here all fucking night crying with his cock all but an inch inside you. He’s not mean about it, he’s not forceful. He’s just…assertive. And you need that, don’t you? His gentle yet firm hand nudging you into place. Carmy gives you a kiss, then tells you that you can do this.
Your eyes drop to where his body begins to meet yours as he slides into you so excruciatingly slowly, all that length stuffing you nearly full already, and he’s not even a quarter of the way in. You moan in pain, wriggling in his grasp as he fills you.
“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, maintaining steady eye contact with you as he guides himself into your slick, aching cunt, ignoring the pain of your nails digging into his muscled shoulders. “Easy - woah, easy. Let up,” he tells you when you squeeze him. Not that he doesn’t love your tight fucking pussy, but you really are only making it worse for yourself. And Carmy’s not a psychopath, despite what Richie says. He doesn’t want to hurt you. God, never. You already have such a low pain tolerance to begin with. You can’t handle a cut or a burn the way others usually can, and that’s not a flaw on your part, but it is something that probably needs to be worked on. He’s just helping you, is all.
Your face breaks, the pain written in your expression. It’s your furrowed brows, your frown, your worried eyes. Carmy slides maybe four inches into you, about halfway there. “We’ll take a minute,” Carmy says, pausing. He keeps you where you are and reaches for a nearby plastic takeout container full of ice water, taking a sip for himself before offering it to you.
You’re a fucking wreck. There’s tears streaming down your cheeks, which Carmy wipes away with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says, waiting patiently for you to finish. He takes the container back from you and sets it down.
“I know it hurts,” Carmy says, breathing deeply. “But you’re doing good, okay?” His neck and chest are flushed, too, all red and splotchy. His skin is damp with his own sweat. He feels for you, really. He wouldn’t want to be in your position either, truth be told.
“Promise?”
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” Carmy rubs your cheeks, offering you a sympathetic look. And you’re still fucking squeezing him, even while he’s not actively pushing into you. Poor thing, only hurting yourself. Carmy knows what your answer’s gonna be when he asks you, “How about I rip off the bandaid, huh? Let me do that?”
Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No, no, Carmy–”
“Yes, yes. Yes, because we’re gonna get nowhere if you keep fuckin’ squeezing on me like that, huh?”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I know you’re not trying to. Just let me–” Carmy sighs and wipes sweat off of his brow, then takes your hips and thrusts into you quickly and smoothly, eliciting a sharp noise of pain from you. You feel him deep inside yourself, and it’s painful in every conceivable way. The stretch, the dull ache that comes from his cockhead hitting your cervix.
“Carmy!”
“Mm, my fuckin’ girl,” he groans, bottoming out inside of you. “Yeah, there. There, okay? Worst is over,” he tells you, knowing that’s probably not true. The song and dance happens all over again as he pulls out of you and then pushes back in, the pain dissipated then renewed. He hushes your whines as he moves his hips, looking down at his cock all coated in creamy rings of your arousal.
Pleasure comes eventually, which makes it all easier, though only marginally so. Carmy’s thick fucking cock fucking you in half is a sensation you never get used to. The ache and the fullness is ever present, never vanishing. It’s so big and so fucking commanding, so inevitable. “Oh, Carmy. Fuck me, oh my god.”
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Carmy moans, steadily snapping his hips into you. “So fuckin’ - fuck, you’re tight.”
Carmy rubs your clit to bring near your orgasm while chasing his own, losing the rhythm he had going. He fucks you wildly, pulling your hips off the counter, his heavy balls slapping against you. When you cum, the fierce pulsing of your cunt coaxes his own, and Carmy empties himself into you. He makes the most beautiful noises as he does so, breathing heavily through his nose when he’s done.
You whimper when he pulls out of you, feeling satisfied by your orgasm, and relieved that it’s over. Carmy reaches for a nearby dish towel and wets it with water, then comes back to you. He nudges your thighs apart, then crouches down. “Let me see, let me look,” he says, assessing the damage. Your poor cunt is gaping, dripping his cum, and your folds are all puffy and swollen. He gently cleans you with the towel, then has you press the cloth against your center. “Hold that there for a minute, yeah? You’re okay, dude.”
Carmy cleans himself up, then goes back to cleaning the kitchen. He’s got a few things left to do before locking up for the night.
Ty for reading 🩵 comments, asks, and especially reblogs would be muchly appreciated if you enjoyed
ETA - shutting off anons for the night. You know how it is 🙁 if you have something horny to say, they’ll be back on in the AM 7/2/25
Tags - big dick Carmy Berzatto (specs in the fic), talking you through it, oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, hella size kink, dubcon aspects, gentle dom!carmy, painful sex, you’re kind of a crybaby. 2k words
You’ve never been much for fluorescent lighting. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Migraine-inducing, though what isn’t migraine-inducing here? Between all the constant fucking yelling and the unending onslaught of demands and problems, well. It’s enough to make anyone fucking nuts. You wonder daily what the hell you got yourself into, and when’s a good time to leave.
The clock on the wall shows the time, 1:57 AM. You can do five more minutes, at least. Five more minutes of this - Carmy’s tongue lapping at your folds, his strong nose rubbing against your clit - and you’ll be cumming. The fluorescent lighting of Carmy’s kitchen doesn’t much bother you when your eyes are squeezed shut as he fucks you on his tongue. The once-cold marble counter is now warm with your body heat, and there will be a mess left on it when Carmy’s done with you, cleaned away with the rest of the day’s work.
“Carmy,” you pant, looking down at him as he eats you. He’s got two fingers deep in your cunt, stroking away at that delicate place inside you. You can’t see the lower half of his face, only his gorgeous, striking blue eyes. It’s amazing how much of his iris has been eaten by pupil, all that endless, sparkling black.
Carmy’s half-naked, and one of your knees is tossed over his broad shoulders. His free hand is on your thigh, squeezing you to keep you still when you start to shake, losing yourself to your own pleasure. Carmy draws circle after circle onto your throbbing, aching clit, steadily pushing you to meet your peak. You’re making a mess of him, you know. Dripping down his reddened, swollen lips and his chin, dripping down his calloused fingers and into his palm, too. It’s a good thing. He’ll need you soaked. You’ll need yourself soaked.
He holds you tight when you cum, fucking you through it all on his skillful tongue. His messy curls are tangled around your fingers, and you’re tugging hard enough to hurt him - not that Carmy minds any, no. He’s all but numb to physical pain at this point, that tolerance built up through years of burns and sliced fingers and aching feet that stood for too many hours on end. You’re moaning incoherently until you’re not, instead moaning broken whimpers of his name, in between breathy pleas to stop, Carmy. S - too much, too much. M’done, Carmy. Fuck, fuck, please…
Carmy pulls away finally and wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, then stands up. You kiss him then, tasting yourself on your lips. Your hands are on his cheeks, flushed the most gorgeous shade of red, then travel lower. Down his thick neck, taking care to trace the pulsing veins in his throat. They stop at his shoulders and you allow yourself to squeeze his biceps before sliding down his toned torso, reaching for the button of his pants. Carmy stops you, and you give him a look.
He’s hiding something. You can see in his eyes that he is, and you wonder what’s up. “Carm?”
“It’s okay,” he says. “Just close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to, okay? Would you do that for me? Please?”
You smile, tilt your head. “Is it a surprise?”
Carmy exhales shakily, pulling his tattooed hand down his face. “Yeah, maybe. Just close ‘em, okay?” You look at Carmy skeptically, but gently close your eyes anyway, nerves on fire as you anxiously anticipate what comes next.
Carmy takes a deep breath, then unbuttons his pants and reaches into them. He knows he’ll hurt you, that’s all, and he doesn’t need you to be intimidated by his size. That’s why he doesn’t let you look, and it’s why he doesn’t let you feel. It’s like getting bloodwork done, right? You’ll feel that pinch either way, but it’ll be worse if you watch it happen. So don’t look.
He pulls himself out and reaches between your thighs, using your arousal to lubricate his length, then repeats the action. He spits into his palm for good measure, too.
Carmy spreads your legs and tilts your hips and god, you’re feeling fucking electric. You feel it everywhere, in your fingers and toes and in your fluttering stomach. It’d be a disservice to yourself not to witness his cock parting your folds, right? And fuck Carmy, anyway - how many times a day does he ignore you?
He positions himself at your entrance, then slides his cockhead through your slippery folds. Right as he notches himself inside you and you feel the initial, painful stretch of that, you open your eyes to get a look at that completely gorgeous and utterly erotic sight.
Your face drops and your lips part, at a total loss for words. You shake your head and try to squirm away, but Carmy keeps you right at your place on the countertop, holding up a hand. “Carmy–”
“No, no, no, don’t get all fuckin’ freaked out, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”
“Mm-mm, Carmy. You’re fucking - you - you’re–”
“It’s gonna be fine,” he repeats. “Hey - it’s. Fine. You can do this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
You should have expected it, honestly. It was naive to think Carmy would be anything less than above average, when the rest of him is so fucking…big. All that man, those big fucking shoulders and his thick thighs, that big personality. His hands are big too, knuckles are thick and his fingers are long.
Eyeing his cock, it looks maybe eight inches in length, give or take. Fuck, not that that’d help you any. He’s girthy, and thick like a fucking beer can. Maybe even more than that. You’re not sure you could wrap one of your hands all the way around him, and that scares you. He curves gently to the right, and his pubic hair looks like it’s not been trimmed in a while.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispers.
“You already are,” you reply. Carmy looks up and away, sighing heavily. He runs his hand through his hair and then firmly holds your hips, making you squeak when he inches himself a hair further into you. And this is exactly why he didn’t want you to look. But hey, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, right? Does he not experience that law every day in this godforsaken restaurant?
You cry out, watching in distress as Carmy readies to fit himself deeper into you. “Hey, relax, okay? Don’t look, honey. Eyes on me. Can you do that, hm? Can you look at me?” Carmy stops you from shaking your head, then holds your cheek in his large palm. “You can look at me. Right here. We’ll do it a little bit at a time, yeah?”
“I don’t know, Carm,” you tell him. “Fuck, it’s scary.”
“Nah, it’s not scary,” Carmy murmurs, pushing into you a little more. “You got thick skin, don’t you? You’d have to, right? Working here, for me,” he jokes, though you don’t laugh. Humor never was his strong suit.
“No,” you mumble.
“Oh, I think you’re full of shit. Yes, you do.”
The argument stops there for no reason beyond that’s simply Carmy’s will. If he lets it go on, you’ll be here all fucking night crying with his cock all but an inch inside you. He’s not mean about it, he’s not forceful. He’s just…assertive. And you need that, don’t you? His gentle yet firm hand nudging you into place. Carmy gives you a kiss, then tells you that you can do this.
Your eyes drop to where his body begins to meet yours as he slides into you so excruciatingly slowly, all that length stuffing you nearly full already, and he’s not even a quarter of the way in. You moan in pain, wriggling in his grasp as he fills you.
“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, maintaining steady eye contact with you as he guides himself into your slick, aching cunt, ignoring the pain of your nails digging into his muscled shoulders. “Easy - woah, easy. Let up,” he tells you when you squeeze him. Not that he doesn’t love your tight fucking pussy, but you really are only making it worse for yourself. And Carmy’s not a psychopath, despite what Richie says. He doesn’t want to hurt you. God, never. You already have such a low pain tolerance to begin with. You can’t handle a cut or a burn the way others usually can, and that’s not a flaw on your part, but it is something that probably needs to be worked on. He’s just helping you, is all.
Your face breaks, the pain written in your expression. It’s your furrowed brows, your frown, your worried eyes. Carmy slides maybe four inches into you, about halfway there. “We’ll take a minute,” Carmy says, pausing. He keeps you where you are and reaches for a nearby plastic takeout container full of ice water, taking a sip for himself before offering it to you.
You’re a fucking wreck. There’s tears streaming down your cheeks, which Carmy wipes away with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says, waiting patiently for you to finish. He takes the container back from you and sets it down.
“I know it hurts,” Carmy says, breathing deeply. “But you’re doing good, okay?” His neck and chest are flushed, too, all red and splotchy. His skin is damp with his own sweat. He feels for you, really. He wouldn’t want to be in your position either, truth be told.
“Promise?”
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” Carmy rubs your cheeks, offering you a sympathetic look. And you’re still fucking squeezing him, even while he’s not actively pushing into you. Poor thing, only hurting yourself. Carmy knows what your answer’s gonna be when he asks you, “How about I rip off the bandaid, huh? Let me do that?”
Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No, no, Carmy–”
“Yes, yes. Yes, because we’re gonna get nowhere if you keep fuckin’ squeezing on me like that, huh?”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I know you’re not trying to. Just let me–” Carmy sighs and wipes sweat off of his brow, then takes your hips and thrusts into you quickly and smoothly, eliciting a sharp noise of pain from you. You feel him deep inside yourself, and it’s painful in every conceivable way. The stretch, the dull ache that comes from his cockhead hitting your cervix.
“Carmy!”
“Mm, my fuckin’ girl,” he groans, bottoming out inside of you. “Yeah, there. There, okay? Worst is over,” he tells you, knowing that’s probably not true. The song and dance happens all over again as he pulls out of you and then pushes back in, the pain dissipated then renewed. He hushes your whines as he moves his hips, looking down at his cock all coated in creamy rings of your arousal.
Pleasure comes eventually, which makes it all easier, though only marginally so. Carmy’s thick fucking cock fucking you in half is a sensation you never get used to. The ache and the fullness is ever present, never vanishing. It’s so big and so fucking commanding, so inevitable. “Oh, Carmy. Fuck me, oh my god.”
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Carmy moans, steadily snapping his hips into you. “So fuckin’ - fuck, you’re tight.”
Carmy rubs your clit to bring near your orgasm while chasing his own, losing the rhythm he had going. He fucks you wildly, pulling your hips off the counter, his heavy balls slapping against you. When you cum, the fierce pulsing of your cunt coaxes his own, and Carmy empties himself into you. He makes the most beautiful noises as he does so, breathing heavily through his nose when he’s done.
You whimper when he pulls out of you, feeling satisfied by your orgasm, and relieved that it’s over. Carmy reaches for a nearby dish towel and wets it with water, then comes back to you. He nudges your thighs apart, then crouches down. “Let me see, let me look,” he says, assessing the damage. Your poor cunt is gaping, dripping his cum, and your folds are all puffy and swollen. He gently cleans you with the towel, then has you press the cloth against your center. “Hold that there for a minute, yeah? You’re okay, dude.”
Carmy cleans himself up, then goes back to cleaning the kitchen. He’s got a few things left to do before locking up for the night.
Ty for reading 🩵 comments, asks, and especially reblogs would be muchly appreciated if you enjoyed
ETA - shutting off anons for the night. You know how it is 🙁 if you have something horny to say, they’ll be back on in the AM 7/2/25
Tags - big dick Carmy Berzatto (specs in the fic), talking you through it, oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, hella size kink, dubcon aspects, gentle dom!carmy, painful sex, you’re kind of a crybaby. 2k words
You’ve never been much for fluorescent lighting. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Migraine-inducing, though what isn’t migraine-inducing here? Between all the constant fucking yelling and the unending onslaught of demands and problems, well. It’s enough to make anyone fucking nuts. You wonder daily what the hell you got yourself into, and when’s a good time to leave.
The clock on the wall shows the time, 1:57 AM. You can do five more minutes, at least. Five more minutes of this - Carmy’s tongue lapping at your folds, his strong nose rubbing against your clit - and you’ll be cumming. The fluorescent lighting of Carmy’s kitchen doesn’t much bother you when your eyes are squeezed shut as he fucks you on his tongue. The once-cold marble counter is now warm with your body heat, and there will be a mess left on it when Carmy’s done with you, cleaned away with the rest of the day’s work.
“Carmy,” you pant, looking down at him as he eats you. He’s got two fingers deep in your cunt, stroking away at that delicate place inside you. You can’t see the lower half of his face, only his gorgeous, striking blue eyes. It’s amazing how much of his iris has been eaten by pupil, all that endless, sparkling black.
Carmy’s half-naked, and one of your knees is tossed over his broad shoulders. His free hand is on your thigh, squeezing you to keep you still when you start to shake, losing yourself to your own pleasure. Carmy draws circle after circle onto your throbbing, aching clit, steadily pushing you to meet your peak. You’re making a mess of him, you know. Dripping down his reddened, swollen lips and his chin, dripping down his calloused fingers and into his palm, too. It’s a good thing. He’ll need you soaked. You’ll need yourself soaked.
He holds you tight when you cum, fucking you through it all on his skillful tongue. His messy curls are tangled around your fingers, and you’re tugging hard enough to hurt him - not that Carmy minds any, no. He’s all but numb to physical pain at this point, that tolerance built up through years of burns and sliced fingers and aching feet that stood for too many hours on end. You’re moaning incoherently until you’re not, instead moaning broken whimpers of his name, in between breathy pleas to stop, Carmy. S - too much, too much. M’done, Carmy. Fuck, fuck, please…
Carmy pulls away finally and wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, then stands up. You kiss him then, tasting yourself on your lips. Your hands are on his cheeks, flushed the most gorgeous shade of red, then travel lower. Down his thick neck, taking care to trace the pulsing veins in his throat. They stop at his shoulders and you allow yourself to squeeze his biceps before sliding down his toned torso, reaching for the button of his pants. Carmy stops you, and you give him a look.
He’s hiding something. You can see in his eyes that he is, and you wonder what’s up. “Carm?”
“It’s okay,” he says. “Just close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to, okay? Would you do that for me? Please?”
You smile, tilt your head. “Is it a surprise?”
Carmy exhales shakily, pulling his tattooed hand down his face. “Yeah, maybe. Just close ‘em, okay?” You look at Carmy skeptically, but gently close your eyes anyway, nerves on fire as you anxiously anticipate what comes next.
Carmy takes a deep breath, then unbuttons his pants and reaches into them. He knows he’ll hurt you, that’s all, and he doesn’t need you to be intimidated by his size. That’s why he doesn’t let you look, and it’s why he doesn’t let you feel. It’s like getting bloodwork done, right? You’ll feel that pinch either way, but it’ll be worse if you watch it happen. So don’t look.
He pulls himself out and reaches between your thighs, using your arousal to lubricate his length, then repeats the action. He spits into his palm for good measure, too.
Carmy spreads your legs and tilts your hips and god, you’re feeling fucking electric. You feel it everywhere, in your fingers and toes and in your fluttering stomach. It’d be a disservice to yourself not to witness his cock parting your folds, right? And fuck Carmy, anyway - how many times a day does he ignore you?
He positions himself at your entrance, then slides his cockhead through your slippery folds. Right as he notches himself inside you and you feel the initial, painful stretch of that, you open your eyes to get a look at that completely gorgeous and utterly erotic sight.
Your face drops and your lips part, at a total loss for words. You shake your head and try to squirm away, but Carmy keeps you right at your place on the countertop, holding up a hand. “Carmy–”
“No, no, no, don’t get all fuckin’ freaked out, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”
“Mm-mm, Carmy. You’re fucking - you - you’re–”
“It’s gonna be fine,” he repeats. “Hey - it’s. Fine. You can do this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
You should have expected it, honestly. It was naive to think Carmy would be anything less than above average, when the rest of him is so fucking…big. All that man, those big fucking shoulders and his thick thighs, that big personality. His hands are big too, knuckles are thick and his fingers are long.
Eyeing his cock, it looks maybe eight inches in length, give or take. Fuck, not that that’d help you any. He’s girthy, and thick like a fucking beer can. Maybe even more than that. You’re not sure you could wrap one of your hands all the way around him, and that scares you. He curves gently to the right, and his pubic hair looks like it’s not been trimmed in a while.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispers.
“You already are,” you reply. Carmy looks up and away, sighing heavily. He runs his hand through his hair and then firmly holds your hips, making you squeak when he inches himself a hair further into you. And this is exactly why he didn’t want you to look. But hey, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, right? Does he not experience that law every day in this godforsaken restaurant?
You cry out, watching in distress as Carmy readies to fit himself deeper into you. “Hey, relax, okay? Don’t look, honey. Eyes on me. Can you do that, hm? Can you look at me?” Carmy stops you from shaking your head, then holds your cheek in his large palm. “You can look at me. Right here. We’ll do it a little bit at a time, yeah?”
“I don’t know, Carm,” you tell him. “Fuck, it’s scary.”
“Nah, it’s not scary,” Carmy murmurs, pushing into you a little more. “You got thick skin, don’t you? You’d have to, right? Working here, for me,” he jokes, though you don’t laugh. Humor never was his strong suit.
“No,” you mumble.
“Oh, I think you’re full of shit. Yes, you do.”
The argument stops there for no reason beyond that’s simply Carmy’s will. If he lets it go on, you’ll be here all fucking night crying with his cock all but an inch inside you. He’s not mean about it, he’s not forceful. He’s just…assertive. And you need that, don’t you? His gentle yet firm hand nudging you into place. Carmy gives you a kiss, then tells you that you can do this.
Your eyes drop to where his body begins to meet yours as he slides into you so excruciatingly slowly, all that length stuffing you nearly full already, and he’s not even a quarter of the way in. You moan in pain, wriggling in his grasp as he fills you.
“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, maintaining steady eye contact with you as he guides himself into your slick, aching cunt, ignoring the pain of your nails digging into his muscled shoulders. “Easy - woah, easy. Let up,” he tells you when you squeeze him. Not that he doesn’t love your tight fucking pussy, but you really are only making it worse for yourself. And Carmy’s not a psychopath, despite what Richie says. He doesn’t want to hurt you. God, never. You already have such a low pain tolerance to begin with. You can’t handle a cut or a burn the way others usually can, and that’s not a flaw on your part, but it is something that probably needs to be worked on. He’s just helping you, is all.
Your face breaks, the pain written in your expression. It’s your furrowed brows, your frown, your worried eyes. Carmy slides maybe four inches into you, about halfway there. “We’ll take a minute,” Carmy says, pausing. He keeps you where you are and reaches for a nearby plastic takeout container full of ice water, taking a sip for himself before offering it to you.
You’re a fucking wreck. There’s tears streaming down your cheeks, which Carmy wipes away with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says, waiting patiently for you to finish. He takes the container back from you and sets it down.
“I know it hurts,” Carmy says, breathing deeply. “But you’re doing good, okay?” His neck and chest are flushed, too, all red and splotchy. His skin is damp with his own sweat. He feels for you, really. He wouldn’t want to be in your position either, truth be told.
“Promise?”
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” Carmy rubs your cheeks, offering you a sympathetic look. And you’re still fucking squeezing him, even while he’s not actively pushing into you. Poor thing, only hurting yourself. Carmy knows what your answer’s gonna be when he asks you, “How about I rip off the bandaid, huh? Let me do that?”
Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No, no, Carmy–”
“Yes, yes. Yes, because we’re gonna get nowhere if you keep fuckin’ squeezing on me like that, huh?”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I know you’re not trying to. Just let me–” Carmy sighs and wipes sweat off of his brow, then takes your hips and thrusts into you quickly and smoothly, eliciting a sharp noise of pain from you. You feel him deep inside yourself, and it’s painful in every conceivable way. The stretch, the dull ache that comes from his cockhead hitting your cervix.
“Carmy!”
“Mm, my fuckin’ girl,” he groans, bottoming out inside of you. “Yeah, there. There, okay? Worst is over,” he tells you, knowing that’s probably not true. The song and dance happens all over again as he pulls out of you and then pushes back in, the pain dissipated then renewed. He hushes your whines as he moves his hips, looking down at his cock all coated in creamy rings of your arousal.
Pleasure comes eventually, which makes it all easier, though only marginally so. Carmy’s thick fucking cock fucking you in half is a sensation you never get used to. The ache and the fullness is ever present, never vanishing. It’s so big and so fucking commanding, so inevitable. “Oh, Carmy. Fuck me, oh my god.”
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Carmy moans, steadily snapping his hips into you. “So fuckin’ - fuck, you’re tight.”
Carmy rubs your clit to bring near your orgasm while chasing his own, losing the rhythm he had going. He fucks you wildly, pulling your hips off the counter, his heavy balls slapping against you. When you cum, the fierce pulsing of your cunt coaxes his own, and Carmy empties himself into you. He makes the most beautiful noises as he does so, breathing heavily through his nose when he’s done.
You whimper when he pulls out of you, feeling satisfied by your orgasm, and relieved that it’s over. Carmy reaches for a nearby dish towel and wets it with water, then comes back to you. He nudges your thighs apart, then crouches down. “Let me see, let me look,” he says, assessing the damage. Your poor cunt is gaping, dripping his cum, and your folds are all puffy and swollen. He gently cleans you with the towel, then has you press the cloth against your center. “Hold that there for a minute, yeah? You’re okay, dude.”
Carmy cleans himself up, then goes back to cleaning the kitchen. He’s got a few things left to do before locking up for the night.
Ty for reading 🩵 comments, asks, and especially reblogs would be muchly appreciated if you enjoyed
ETA - shutting off anons for the night. You know how it is 🙁 if you have something horny to say, they’ll be back on in the AM 7/2/25
Tags - big dick Carmy Berzatto (specs in the fic), talking you through it, oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, hella size kink, dubcon aspects, gentle dom!carmy, painful sex, you’re kind of a crybaby. 2k words
You’ve never been much for fluorescent lighting. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Migraine-inducing, though what isn’t migraine-inducing here? Between all the constant fucking yelling and the unending onslaught of demands and problems, well. It’s enough to make anyone fucking nuts. You wonder daily what the hell you got yourself into, and when’s a good time to leave.
The clock on the wall shows the time, 1:57 AM. You can do five more minutes, at least. Five more minutes of this - Carmy’s tongue lapping at your folds, his strong nose rubbing against your clit - and you’ll be cumming. The fluorescent lighting of Carmy’s kitchen doesn’t much bother you when your eyes are squeezed shut as he fucks you on his tongue. The once-cold marble counter is now warm with your body heat, and there will be a mess left on it when Carmy’s done with you, cleaned away with the rest of the day’s work.
“Carmy,” you pant, looking down at him as he eats you. He’s got two fingers deep in your cunt, stroking away at that delicate place inside you. You can’t see the lower half of his face, only his gorgeous, striking blue eyes. It’s amazing how much of his iris has been eaten by pupil, all that endless, sparkling black.
Carmy’s half-naked, and one of your knees is tossed over his broad shoulders. His free hand is on your thigh, squeezing you to keep you still when you start to shake, losing yourself to your own pleasure. Carmy draws circle after circle onto your throbbing, aching clit, steadily pushing you to meet your peak. You’re making a mess of him, you know. Dripping down his reddened, swollen lips and his chin, dripping down his calloused fingers and into his palm, too. It’s a good thing. He’ll need you soaked. You’ll need yourself soaked.
He holds you tight when you cum, fucking you through it all on his skillful tongue. His messy curls are tangled around your fingers, and you’re tugging hard enough to hurt him - not that Carmy minds any, no. He’s all but numb to physical pain at this point, that tolerance built up through years of burns and sliced fingers and aching feet that stood for too many hours on end. You’re moaning incoherently until you’re not, instead moaning broken whimpers of his name, in between breathy pleas to stop, Carmy. S - too much, too much. M’done, Carmy. Fuck, fuck, please…
Carmy pulls away finally and wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, then stands up. You kiss him then, tasting yourself on your lips. Your hands are on his cheeks, flushed the most gorgeous shade of red, then travel lower. Down his thick neck, taking care to trace the pulsing veins in his throat. They stop at his shoulders and you allow yourself to squeeze his biceps before sliding down his toned torso, reaching for the button of his pants. Carmy stops you, and you give him a look.
He’s hiding something. You can see in his eyes that he is, and you wonder what’s up. “Carm?”
“It’s okay,” he says. “Just close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to, okay? Would you do that for me? Please?”
You smile, tilt your head. “Is it a surprise?”
Carmy exhales shakily, pulling his tattooed hand down his face. “Yeah, maybe. Just close ‘em, okay?” You look at Carmy skeptically, but gently close your eyes anyway, nerves on fire as you anxiously anticipate what comes next.
Carmy takes a deep breath, then unbuttons his pants and reaches into them. He knows he’ll hurt you, that’s all, and he doesn’t need you to be intimidated by his size. That’s why he doesn’t let you look, and it’s why he doesn’t let you feel. It’s like getting bloodwork done, right? You’ll feel that pinch either way, but it’ll be worse if you watch it happen. So don’t look.
He pulls himself out and reaches between your thighs, using your arousal to lubricate his length, then repeats the action. He spits into his palm for good measure, too.
Carmy spreads your legs and tilts your hips and god, you’re feeling fucking electric. You feel it everywhere, in your fingers and toes and in your fluttering stomach. It’d be a disservice to yourself not to witness his cock parting your folds, right? And fuck Carmy, anyway - how many times a day does he ignore you?
He positions himself at your entrance, then slides his cockhead through your slippery folds. Right as he notches himself inside you and you feel the initial, painful stretch of that, you open your eyes to get a look at that completely gorgeous and utterly erotic sight.
Your face drops and your lips part, at a total loss for words. You shake your head and try to squirm away, but Carmy keeps you right at your place on the countertop, holding up a hand. “Carmy–”
“No, no, no, don’t get all fuckin’ freaked out, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”
“Mm-mm, Carmy. You’re fucking - you - you’re–”
“It’s gonna be fine,” he repeats. “Hey - it’s. Fine. You can do this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
You should have expected it, honestly. It was naive to think Carmy would be anything less than above average, when the rest of him is so fucking…big. All that man, those big fucking shoulders and his thick thighs, that big personality. His hands are big too, knuckles are thick and his fingers are long.
Eyeing his cock, it looks maybe eight inches in length, give or take. Fuck, not that that’d help you any. He’s girthy, and thick like a fucking beer can. Maybe even more than that. You’re not sure you could wrap one of your hands all the way around him, and that scares you. He curves gently to the right, and his pubic hair looks like it’s not been trimmed in a while.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispers.
“You already are,” you reply. Carmy looks up and away, sighing heavily. He runs his hand through his hair and then firmly holds your hips, making you squeak when he inches himself a hair further into you. And this is exactly why he didn’t want you to look. But hey, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, right? Does he not experience that law every day in this godforsaken restaurant?
You cry out, watching in distress as Carmy readies to fit himself deeper into you. “Hey, relax, okay? Don’t look, honey. Eyes on me. Can you do that, hm? Can you look at me?” Carmy stops you from shaking your head, then holds your cheek in his large palm. “You can look at me. Right here. We’ll do it a little bit at a time, yeah?”
“I don’t know, Carm,” you tell him. “Fuck, it’s scary.”
“Nah, it’s not scary,” Carmy murmurs, pushing into you a little more. “You got thick skin, don’t you? You’d have to, right? Working here, for me,” he jokes, though you don’t laugh. Humor never was his strong suit.
“No,” you mumble.
“Oh, I think you’re full of shit. Yes, you do.”
The argument stops there for no reason beyond that’s simply Carmy’s will. If he lets it go on, you’ll be here all fucking night crying with his cock all but an inch inside you. He’s not mean about it, he’s not forceful. He’s just…assertive. And you need that, don’t you? His gentle yet firm hand nudging you into place. Carmy gives you a kiss, then tells you that you can do this.
Your eyes drop to where his body begins to meet yours as he slides into you so excruciatingly slowly, all that length stuffing you nearly full already, and he’s not even a quarter of the way in. You moan in pain, wriggling in his grasp as he fills you.
“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, maintaining steady eye contact with you as he guides himself into your slick, aching cunt, ignoring the pain of your nails digging into his muscled shoulders. “Easy - woah, easy. Let up,” he tells you when you squeeze him. Not that he doesn’t love your tight fucking pussy, but you really are only making it worse for yourself. And Carmy’s not a psychopath, despite what Richie says. He doesn’t want to hurt you. God, never. You already have such a low pain tolerance to begin with. You can’t handle a cut or a burn the way others usually can, and that’s not a flaw on your part, but it is something that probably needs to be worked on. He’s just helping you, is all.
Your face breaks, the pain written in your expression. It’s your furrowed brows, your frown, your worried eyes. Carmy slides maybe four inches into you, about halfway there. “We’ll take a minute,” Carmy says, pausing. He keeps you where you are and reaches for a nearby plastic takeout container full of ice water, taking a sip for himself before offering it to you.
You’re a fucking wreck. There’s tears streaming down your cheeks, which Carmy wipes away with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says, waiting patiently for you to finish. He takes the container back from you and sets it down.
“I know it hurts,” Carmy says, breathing deeply. “But you’re doing good, okay?” His neck and chest are flushed, too, all red and splotchy. His skin is damp with his own sweat. He feels for you, really. He wouldn’t want to be in your position either, truth be told.
“Promise?”
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” Carmy rubs your cheeks, offering you a sympathetic look. And you’re still fucking squeezing him, even while he’s not actively pushing into you. Poor thing, only hurting yourself. Carmy knows what your answer’s gonna be when he asks you, “How about I rip off the bandaid, huh? Let me do that?”
Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No, no, Carmy–”
“Yes, yes. Yes, because we’re gonna get nowhere if you keep fuckin’ squeezing on me like that, huh?”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I know you’re not trying to. Just let me–” Carmy sighs and wipes sweat off of his brow, then takes your hips and thrusts into you quickly and smoothly, eliciting a sharp noise of pain from you. You feel him deep inside yourself, and it’s painful in every conceivable way. The stretch, the dull ache that comes from his cockhead hitting your cervix.
“Carmy!”
“Mm, my fuckin’ girl,” he groans, bottoming out inside of you. “Yeah, there. There, okay? Worst is over,” he tells you, knowing that’s probably not true. The song and dance happens all over again as he pulls out of you and then pushes back in, the pain dissipated then renewed. He hushes your whines as he moves his hips, looking down at his cock all coated in creamy rings of your arousal.
Pleasure comes eventually, which makes it all easier, though only marginally so. Carmy’s thick fucking cock fucking you in half is a sensation you never get used to. The ache and the fullness is ever present, never vanishing. It’s so big and so fucking commanding, so inevitable. “Oh, Carmy. Fuck me, oh my god.”
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Carmy moans, steadily snapping his hips into you. “So fuckin’ - fuck, you’re tight.”
Carmy rubs your clit to bring near your orgasm while chasing his own, losing the rhythm he had going. He fucks you wildly, pulling your hips off the counter, his heavy balls slapping against you. When you cum, the fierce pulsing of your cunt coaxes his own, and Carmy empties himself into you. He makes the most beautiful noises as he does so, breathing heavily through his nose when he’s done.
You whimper when he pulls out of you, feeling satisfied by your orgasm, and relieved that it’s over. Carmy reaches for a nearby dish towel and wets it with water, then comes back to you. He nudges your thighs apart, then crouches down. “Let me see, let me look,” he says, assessing the damage. Your poor cunt is gaping, dripping his cum, and your folds are all puffy and swollen. He gently cleans you with the towel, then has you press the cloth against your center. “Hold that there for a minute, yeah? You’re okay, dude.”
Carmy cleans himself up, then goes back to cleaning the kitchen. He’s got a few things left to do before locking up for the night.
Ty for reading 🩵 comments, asks, and especially reblogs would be muchly appreciated if you enjoyed
ETA - shutting off anons for the night. You know how it is 🙁 if you have something horny to say, they’ll be back on in the AM 7/2/25
Roman offers you money if you just let him put the tip in. Just the tip, that's all (it's not all).
Tags - smut, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, virginity kink, big dick roman roy, dare i call that cock gargantuan, ludicrously capacious, even? Unprotected piv, fingering, blow jobs, cunnilingus, hand jobs, nipple stim, just the tip (it’s never just the tip) dubcon, manipulation, deception, coercion, betrayal, Roman solicits sex from reader and is also insensitive about stds, pay him no mind. I made myself soaking wet every day while writing this so. Do what you will with that information. 5.8k words.
A/N - This is just...smut. Beginning to end. I’m gonna be working on stepdaddy after this, probably write a stepdaddy sick fic cuz I feel kinda like shit. Kisses to all yall sluts 😘
Finally, some fucking quiet. For now.
The couple in the hotel room next to yours has been going at it all night, a marathon of fucking. Endless moans, rhythmic squeaking of the bed becoming louder and faster, then quieter and slower. This couple makes you wonder if their room is the honeymoon suite or something, the way they’re fucking like a couple of newly-wed bunnies. You rest against the plush headboard, closing your stinging eyes momentarily.
You dipped from the wedding an hour or so ago, maybe closer to two hours at this point. It’s about midnight now. You’re alone in your room, crinkling the once neatly made bedding as you play a dumb little game on your phone. Your mind wanders as you mindlessly tap the screen, thinking about what the couple next door is doing. What he’s doing to her, what she’s doing to him. How good it all feels, probably. You wonder what it’s like.
Knock. Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock–
Roman. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to know it’s him. Nobody else knocks like that, and nobody else would show up at your door at this particular hour. You sigh as you get out of bed, taking heavy steps toward the door before opening it.
“Evening, sexpot. You have something of mine and I’d like it back, please and thank you.”
Roman’s still wearing the outfit he wore during the wedding, though missing his suit jacket and tie. The sleeves of his white button down shirt are rolled above his elbows, there’s an extra button undone. Once neatly slicked back, his hair is now disheveled, a few loose strands falling over his eyebrows. His eyes are half-lidded, lips curled into that smug, casual, infuriatingly handsome smirk he always wears. He looks gorgeous.
“I do?” you ask, thinking before remembering quickly. “Oh, shit. Yeah, I do.” You open the door wider and make space to allow him to follow behind you, Roman first closing the door. You unplug his charger from the wall outlet and wrap the cord in a figure-eight around your fingers, some habit you’re not sure where or when you picked up. Roman holds out his hand and you place the charger in his palm. “So is the wedding finally over?”
“Mhm. You vanished on me, though, Cinderella. I thought I’d get at least a dance out of you but you stood me up, you heartbreaker, you. Felt like a virgin on prom night,” Roman laments with a dramatic flair, no real hurt in his tone. “But I’ll live. Me and some bridesmaid-chick totally dry humped on the dance floor, so it all worked out.”
You know he’s teasing, probably lying. Embellishing the truth. But it makes you squirm just the same, and you’re not totally sure why. You could be a little jealous, maybe. But there’s another reason, too.
“Anyway, uh. Thanks. I’ll leave you to it,” Roman says, toying with the charger cord.
“No, thank you. Came in hand–”
“Oh, fuck, like that. Just like that, harder, harder, fuck, ohhhh!”
You’re interrupted by the sounds of your temporary neighbor’s moans that you’ve become very well-acquainted with. “Oh my god,” you mumble, rolling your eyes.
Roman’s lips curl into an even wider smile, his eyes lighting up as he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, nice!” he says, giggling, “Man. That’s awesome. Lucky you, with your front row seat to the show. Maybe there’s a hole in the wall behind this mirror or something. You should see if you can watch.”
“They’ve been going at it for hours,” you deadpan.
Roman nods in approval, that big, stupid smile still on his lips. “Awh, fuck yeah. Good for them. You should ask to join. We both could, actually. Let’s go knock.”
Your cheeks heat up at the idea, even knowing Roman’s not serious. Probably not serious, at least. Roman notices this, takes mental notes of your flustered expression, how you look anywhere but at him. The shifting of your feet, the unnecessary movements your body makes as you squirm. “Ahh, too shy. I get it,” Roman says. “So you’re just - you’re…what, jerking off to it in here, all by your lonesome? Fuck, did I interrupt? How rude, let me get out–”
“No!”
“No? You want me to stay?”
“No - you - I–” you huff, closing your eyes as you inhale and exhale a deep breath. “I meant that I’m not…you know. Doing that.”
Roman’s eyes sparkle. “It’s okay, you can admit it. I know you ladies are more, you know - audio than visual.” He wiggles his fingers by his ears as he paces slowly around the room, inspecting the slice of cake you brought back with you from the wedding, swiping a bit of frosting off the plate with his finger before sucking on it.
“Stop it, Roman.”
“I think I’m gonna stay a while, if you don’t mind. Listen to the music.”
“Whatever, knock yourself out. I’m not sleeping as long as they’re still doing it.”
True to his word, Roman listens intently to the sounds of the couple fucking. You wouldn’t expect anything else from him. He makes little faces of intrigue or surprise at the noises, the extra loud moans or the occasional smack. You regret allowing him to stay. This is so fucking awkward, so you distract yourself by tidying up your already-pristine hotel room. Rearranging some glasses that haven’t been touched, then pouring yourself another glass of water even though you’re not actually thirsty. Roman notices all of this, too. At some point his attention shifts from the muffled noises coming from the other side of the wall to you, how you nervously flit around the room. He decides to up the tension, to make it all worse for you.
“We should fuck,” he says plainly. “You know, louder than them. Establish our dominance. There’s a bed right there.”
It takes you a second to reply. “Funny,” is all you say, your voice coming out quietly and not very confident. Fuck.
“You’re very shy about it, you know that?”
“Shy about what?”
“Oh, fucking - c’mon. You know what,” he deadpans. “Sex! Coitus. Fornicating. Love mak–”
“No, yeah. I got it–”
“Fucking,” Roman interrupts. “So why are you all shy about it?”
“I’m not - I’m not shy,” you stutter.
“But you are. Because you don’t talk about it, ever. You like, clam up, get all fuckin’ weird and quiet,” Roman says, gesturing to you. “And like right now, you won’t even look at me. It’s almost like you’re nervous or something. Are you?” he pauses, “Nervous, that is?”
You’re feeling defensive now, cornered, as Roman’s wedged himself deep under your skin. “No, I just - what does it matter, Roman?” you snap. Sighing, you sit on the edge of the bed and cross your arms.
“I just wanna know, that’s all. Just curious,” he replies, tempering his tone to be much less pointed, less mocking. “You know me. No judgement here.”
“I just…don’t feel the need to talk about it, I guess.”
“You can’t even say it,” Roman digs, crossing his arms. “Are you a prude? Is that it?”
“No, Roman, I’m not a prude. It’s just a very personal thing for some people.”
“Naturally.”
“Not that you’d understand,” you bite.
Roman presses a hand against his chest, pretending you’ve just shot him. “Ouch. But yeah, no, I get it.” Roman pauses, then joins you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Is it herpes?” he whispers. “It’s herpes, isn’t it? You know, there’s no shame in it. I’ve actually created new strains of STDs myself in the course of all of my sexcapades. And look at me, I’m not ashamed,” he smiles, stifling a giggle at his own joke.
“If that’s true, Roman, you really should be. And don’t be facetious. That’s not something to laugh about.”
“No, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he concedes, the apology devoid of any sincerity at all. “So are you saving it for marriage, then? Gonna give Mr. Right your most precious gift?”
You freeze then. Roman’s getting warmer, burning hot. It’s not the truth, but it’s not…not…the truth. An inch away from uncovering your big secret, that you’re a virgin. Never had sex, not once.
It must be written all over your face in big, bolded letters or something, because Roman’s face twists in realization. His eyes are sparkling, jaw dropped in an open, wry smile. “Holy fuck,” he scoffs. “You’re shitting me. Virgin?! You’re a virgin? Oh my god, gross. Ew,” he laughs, turning your cheek to force you to look at him.
It makes you feel bad inside. Insecure. Your bottom lip quivers a little as tears well up in your eyes, that awful feeling of embarrassment taking over every one of your senses. Face hot, ears pounding, the walls closing in. “Roman,” you whisper, tilting your chin down to hide yourself.
“Hey - heyyy. Don’t fuckin’...don’t be like that,” he says, tilting your face back up. Roman laughs, then makes a sympathetic expression as he pulls you close, wrapping his strong arms around you in a tight hug. Some of your tears soak the collar of his shirt as he presses your face into his shoulder. “I’m very sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I took it too far, that’s on me. I’m sorry. Hey–” Roman nuzzles your hair, “I mean it. I’m sorry.”
You don’t say anything. You’re too pissed to speak but even if you weren’t, you’re not sure that you could conjure up any sort of response to…whatever the fuck just happened.
“It’s not so terrible, being a virgin.” Roman offers, rubbing your back soothingly as he kisses the top of your head. “There’s worse things to be.”
“Yeah? Like what?” you ask, voice muffled as you mumble into his shirt.
“Like…fuckin’ dead, I guess.” Roman thinks for a second, “Or ugly. And you’re not that, so…”
“Thanks, Rome,” you reply flatly.
“And guys like virgins,” he adds. “Like, do you know how much some creeps would pay to fuck virgin pussy?”
“Uhh…”
“Millions. They’d pay millions,” Roman says, taking note of how your ears perk up at the statement, the incredulous look you give him. “Yeah, now that’s interesting to you, isn’t it? Shit, I’d pay you for it. Let’s skip the middleman, huh?”
“What? No.” You pull away from Roman’s arms.
“Yes. Why not?”
Why not? Just the littlest amount of pushback from Roman and you’re already questioning the lines you’ve drawn in the sand for yourself. For a moment, you contemplate the idea of having sex with Roman, and you’re tempted - his naked body on yours, pleasuring you in a way you’ve never felt at the hands of someone else before, his attention all on you. His perfect, soft lips on yours as he swallows your moans, loving you the way you deserve. But ultimately you decide no, it’s not happening. It can’t happen. Not like how he’s suggesting. He doesn’t have the capacity to handle something like this with any amount of respect or tact.
“I don’t know, Roman. I guess that I always envisioned my first time having sex being with someone that I love. Or trust, at the very least.”
“And you don’t trust me?”
You scoff “Fuck, no.”
“Yeah, that’s smart,” Roman nods. “Okay, fine. I won’t pressure you. You save that special little gift of yours for someone who deserves it.”
You nod as you look down at the floor, tracing the pattern in the carpet with your eyes, gasping when you feel Roman touch your bare knee. “Or…” he murmurs.
“Or?”
Roman’s had the idea of screwing you in his head for a while now, and by his own admission, is especially turned on at the prospect of being the first one to fuck you. It fills him with a primal sort of feeling, knowing that at least for a moment, you’d be his. Your first lover’s name you’d moan would be his, your first orgasm at the hands of another will belong to him only, forever. There’s something about taking your virginity that fills him with a sickening, all-consuming sort of need. He’ll do it, too. By any means necessary.
“Just the tip,” he whispers, his warm hand sliding up your thigh to toy with the edge of your pajama shorts. He wriggles them even higher, not stopping even when you hold your breath and grab his wrist to keep him from traveling further. “Chill. I’m not doing anything,” Roman mumbles, sliding his hand out from under yours to take your hand and put it flat on the bed. He holds your thigh again and speaks slowly, quietly, “You just let me put the tip in and I’ll pay you the same. Whatever - whatever fuckin’ number you want, alright? Put however many zeroes at the end, and it’s yours…if you just let me put the tip in. Sounds easy enough, right?”
“Just the tip,” you repeat quietly, thinking…thinking that it sounds like bullshit, and yet, you’re kind of falling for it anyway. He makes you feel stupid, even when he’s not insulting you.
Roman speaks again before you can talk yourself out of it. “Just the tip,” he lies. “So long as I don’t - you know, fully penetrate you - technically, you’d still be a virgin by the end of our little thing.”
“You’re saying it wouldn’t count?”
Roman nods his head. “Wouldn’t count at all. It’s…a loophole of sorts,” he says, tracing his fingertips up and down your thigh, inching closer and closer to where he wants to feel you the most. “Virginity stays intact. C’mon,” he urges.
You’re fighting yourself. Roman can see the temptation and the self-preservation fighting each other in your mind, and he can’t let the smarter, safer side of you win this.
“You’ve got nothing to lose,” he adds. And he’d get to satisfy a curiosity, but that’s not something he needs to tell you.
“I don’t know, Rome. It - something about it makes me nervous.”
“I know. But I’ll be gentle with you, alright? I’ll take it nice and fuckin’ slow, walk you through the whole thing. No surprises.” Roman shifts a little and reaches into his pocket for his wallet, then pulls out a stack of bills, all hundreds, and places them on your nightstand. “There. Call it a fuckin’...deposit or whatever, I don’t know. Now do we have a deal or not, virgin?”
You bite your lip as you think - or do something resembling thinking, rather. You can’t think clearly, not with Roman’s hands now on your waist. He doesn’t have to touch you anywhere private or sensitive - just his hands on your body is enough to make your brain fucking melt, you poor thing. Don’t even know how badly you need it, need him. Roman will make it all better. Fix you.
“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. He presses a couple of kisses against the side of your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his tongue as he licks you there. You let out a broken moan in response, nodding urgently. Roman smiles against your skin in satisfaction. “Attagirl,” he murmurs, then pulls away from you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted. Perfect.
He dims the lamps around the room and turns off the overhead lights, casting the room in a warm, orange glow before joining you on the bed again. “Let’s fuckin’ do this thing. You ready?”
“I don’t - I don’t -”
Roman calms you down before you spiral. “Shh, relax. Relax. We’re going slow, like I said,” he reminds you. “God, you’re so fuckin’...c’mere.”
Roman puts both of his strong hands on your face, thumbs on your jaw, the rest of his fingers firmly pressing into your neck. He pulls you close and kisses you, and his lips feel even better than they look. You let out a little noise that Roman doesn’t acknowledge; he only continues to move his lips tenderly against yours, deepening the kiss when you begin to reciprocate.
He’s an excellent kisser. The way he uses his tongue makes you feel dizzy and sets your whole body on fire, and you feel his hands everywhere. Your face, your neck, your waist, digging his fingers into you and squeezing you like he loves you. “Gimme these.” Roman takes your hands in his own and puts them on his own shoulders, his silent way of showing you how it all should be done as he inches closer to you.
He’s warm, warmer than you imagined. Warm in a comforting way. He smells so…him. Slightly sweaty, but not in a bad way, with his cologne worn down to its base notes. He tastes good, but you couldn’t even begin to describe. You’d be content with just this tonight, really.
Roman deepens the kiss and lays you down gently, caging you in with his body. You’re still feeling out of your depth, unsure of where or how or if you should even touch him, though Roman doesn’t seem to mind. Of course he doesn’t mind. He’s got only one thing on his brain, and that’s ruining you. Touch him however you like or don’t touch him, he doesn’t give a fuck.
His fingers crawl beneath your shirt, climbing up your body until he’s squeezing gently at the flesh of your breasts. You gasp when he rubs his thumb in circles over your nipple, feeling it harden with his touch. “Rome-” you breathe, clutching his bicep.
“It’s okay,” he tells you, repeating the action with your other nipple, causing you to writhe beneath him. “I gotta get you ready for it, sweetheart.”
Roman pushes your shirt up as high as it’ll go, and kisses your neck, dragging his tongue down your skin. He uses the muscle to tease one of your nipples, putting to use his lips and teeth as well. His hands travel down your body, fingers passing over the neat little bow at the front of your pajama bottoms as they slide down towards your center.
You gasp when you feel him touch you there, just over the fabric. Roman groans as he rubs his fingers, feeling how you’ve soaked yourself. “Yeah, you weren’t fuckin’ lying, were you? Made a goddamn mess down here,” he mumbles, pressing little kisses against your neck.
“Lying about what?” you breathe.
Roman has to stifle his laugh so as not to embarrass you, but you are such a cliche, absolutely drenched from a bit of kissing. Too easy. “Shh, nothing,” he says. “Nothing. You’re fine.” Roman pulls your panties and shorts to the side, exposing your cunt to himself. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?”
You shake your head. “Mm-mm.”
Roman only nods as pulls your thighs apart, and your heart pounds hard. He traces your lips only momentarily before diving between your folds, feeling the pool of arousal he’s caused.
“Fuck,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. “R-Roman, Roman…”
“Ohh, man, you’re sensitive,” Roman laughs quietly, rubbing lazy circles over your clit. “Holy fuck. That feel good? Huh, virgin?”
“Yeah,” you whimper, squeezing his forearm and bicep with your hands as if to anchor yourself or something. You feel like you’re gonna break. Everything feels heightened, but sort of sharp and fuzzy at the same time. Your head spins, and you can’t keep track of your thoughts.
You whine when Roman pushes his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out slowly. “How does that feel?” he asks.
“Good, kinda - uh…kind - kind of hurts.”
“You gotta relax,” he tells you, “ It’s okay.”
Roman shifts a little and smiles at you before curling his fingers, stroking that special, sensitive little place deep inside your cunt you’ve probably never found on your own before. By the way your eyes roll back into your head and how you squeeze your legs shut around his arm, Roman guesses he’s right. “Oh my - fuck, Rome, that - you–” Your voice comes out in broken, breathy moans and you don’t bother finishing your sentence. All you can do is bury your face into his neck and try not to shatter into a million pieces.
Roman fingers you like that for a minute or two longer, listening to those wet noises your cunt makes for him, then slows down his movements before pulling away. “You’re ready for it,” he tells you.
“I am?”
“Absolutely.”
Roman leans back and sits you up, then pulls off your shirt without saying so much as a single word. He does the same to your shorts and panties, tossing them into a crumpled pile on the carpet. The way you squirm and hide yourself makes Roman smile. “Don’t be shy. I need to be able to see what I’m working with, right?”
“Yeah, no. That makes sense.”
“Hold on.” Roman unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, pulling off his undershirt too. His bulge is sizable in his black slacks, and when he unbuckles his belt and pulls the rest of his clothes off, his hard cock slapping against his tummy, your eyes widen. His dick is massive. The tip reaches his belly button, and it’s curved beautifully, slightly to the right. Roman wraps his fingers around it and squeezes, knuckles whitening a little.
“Y-you’re fucking huge,” you stutter.
“I know, right? It’s Roman Roy’s best kept secret.” He smiles wide, pleased with himself as he winks at you. “Alright. Spread those legs and let’s fuckin’ party.” Roman reaches for your ankles and pulls them apart, eyebrows raising when you fight to keep them closed.
“No! No, don’t.”
“...No?” Roman drops your ankles and sits back, eyeing you. “Scared?”
“Very.”
He chuckles. “You’ve never even felt a cock before, have you?” Roman asks, stroking his cock slowly. You shake your head and he nods in understanding. “Wow, it really is all new to you. That’s my bad, sweetheart.”
Roman lays down next to you again, this time flat on his back. He shifts a little and grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock. “Get to know it a little. Just touch it, however you want,” he instructs. Roman waits for you to touch him, but you’re frozen. He raises an eyebrow, “It’s not gonna bite you.”
“I know, I just don’t know…don’t know what to do.”
Roman says nothing, only presses your fingertips against the large, blunt head of his cock. “Like this,” he says, dragging your fingers down his shaft. He wraps your fingers around his length, then lets you go. Your turn.
You slide your palm up and down his dick, just…taking it all in. His cock feels heavy in your hand which doesn’t surprise you, but you’re struck by his warmth, the heat radiating from him. You trace his veins, then squeeze him slightly in your fist, feeling him throb a little.
Roman patiently lets you explore, despite it being an excruciating tease, groaning softly as he tilts his head back. “Now when you do this for real, with your Mr. Right or whoever,” Roman says, “Don’t just tease him like this. You’ll piss him off,” he warns.
“I will?”
“Oh yeah. No, you’re even pissing me off a little bit. Like, if this weren’t a teaching moment, I’d fuck you in two for this shit.” Roman words scare you a bit, and you stop touching him. “Relax, will you? It’s not gonna happen. You’re in good hands.”
“Okay.”
“Let me show you what to do instead.” Roman takes your hand again, this time spitting in it. “You grab it like you mean it,” he says, wrapping your fingers tightly around his cock, tighter than you would have done yourself. “And–” Roman slides your palm up and down his length, helping you to maintain that firm pressure, “You go all the way up, all the way down. Like - fuck - yeah, like that. You’re a fuckin’ natural, virgin, look at you.”
Roman lets you work him on your own, simply enjoying the feel of your hand on his cock. He thinks it’s cute when you circle his tip with your fingers - it’s not something he taught you to do, but he doesn’t mind it.
“Does this feel like, good?”
“Feels awesome. But,” Roman purrs, “You know what’d feel even better?”
“What?”
“You gotta be brave, sweetheart. Do you want to be brave for me?”
You’re not feeling very brave or adventurous but you nod a little anyway, and Roman jumps at the opportunity. He moves you down the bed, sitting you down between his thighs that are spread wide. “You’re gonna suck my dick,” he tells you, grabbing your face with one of his hands. “Don’t freak out, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Open your mouth.”
Roman holds his thick cock between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He taps the head against your bottom lip, encouraging you to open wider. When you open your mouth more, Roman lowers your head and fits himself between your lips, simply letting you get used to the feeling of him there. It takes a lot of patience on his part, to not fuck your mouth here and now.
You’re not sure what to do, and Roman knows this. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he bounces your head just a little on his cock, your tongue sliding over his weeping slit. The taste of his precome surprises you - it’s a salty, warm, masculine sort of flavor that you don’t really mind. You’re pleased by how soft his skin feels, how he smells. Gaining confidence, you take him deeper into your mouth.
If Roman were a better man, he’d stop you - he’d warn you that you’re going to choke on his cock, that it’s gonna be too much too quickly. But that’s not Roman, not by a long shot. He inches you further down his cock with each bob of your head, grinning at the way you gurgle and sputter a little. “Little more,” he says. “Keep going.”
Cock in mouth, drool dripping down your chin, you look at Roman, searching for some sort of approval or encouragement. “You got it. And use your tongue, sweetheart. You can make a mess on me. You should, actually.”
You move your tongue in inconsistent patterns, swirling it around his length as Roman moves your head. “Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. “You’re doing so well.”
He lets out soft little groans and his eyes shut for a moment, lips parted. Saliva is running down his cock and your jaw is beginning to ache from his girth, but Roman ignores your noises of discomfort and the tears in your eyes. He fucks himself deeply into your mouth, pushing you far past the point he should. Then suddenly, you gag and cough harshly, pulling yourself off of him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck,” you spit.
Roman rubs your back and stretches across the bed, reaching for your glass of water. “You’re good, you’re alright,” he says, pressing the glass against your lips. “Have some water. You’re not supposed to take me all at once, virgin. That’s how you choke,” he taunts.
After finishing the water, Roman takes your glass and sets it back on the nightstand. “Alright. Back to you, sweetheart. Lie back and spread your legs for me.”
You tremble a little as you lie down, parting your legs only a little. You feel the bed shift with Roman’s moving weight and close your eyes, nervously anticipating the inevitable.
Roman pushes your knees toward your chest and lowers himself, smirking at how tense you look with your short breaths, your fingers fidgeting with the comforter. He could warn you of what’s to come with a couple of kisses pressed against your inner thighs, but it’ll be more fun to surprise you.
He licks your sex from bottom to top with a flat tongue, dragging it slowly through your folds. “Roman,” you gasp, hands darting for his head. You tangle your fingers in the sleek strands of his hair, tugging on them tightly. “You - you’re–”
“Shh,” he interrupts. His stubble scratches your inner thighs as he teases you, tongue circling your clit. Roman buries himself in that softest and most private place on your body, rubbing the tip of his perfect nose against your clit as he tastes you. He circles your entrance a couple of times before dipping inside, tasting your arousal right from the hole it trickles from.
You’re babbling incoherently, whimpering his name as he then drags his tongue up and down your folds. He circles your clit once, then twice, then pulls the hood back and laves over the sensitive bud repeatedly, forcing you to lie still with a strong hand holding you down. He savors you like this, how you shudder and shake, muscles tensing as you fight to close your legs, not used to a feeling so intense. Roman fucks you with his tongue, guiding you through the first orgasm you’ve ever shared with another as you gush into his mouth, clit throbbing under his tongue.
When Roman pulls away, you feel like you could cry. You bite your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling and try to will away that pressure building behind your eyes, but it’s hard. You wonder if Roman notices.
“Now you’re really fuckin’ ready,” he tells you.
“Okay,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Just the tip?”
“Mhm. Just the tip,” Roman confirms. He hovers over you and reaches between your legs to gather your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your slick. When he presses the thick head of his dick against your pussy, your heart races. You can’t conjure the words to tell him what you need, and urgently take his free hand in yours.
“You wanna hold my hand?” Roman smirks and laces his fingers between yours, pinning your hand against the bed. “We can hold hands, sweetheart.” And then, in one swift, brutal motion, Roman fully buries his cock fully inside you.
It sends you reeling. He’s so huge, it feels like he’s splitting you in two. You feel betrayed and try to squirm away, but Roman forces you to stay down with a hand on your ribcage. Forces you to take it, to feel it all. “Shhh, shh. You’re - hey - you’re fine.” Roman catches the free hand you use to try and shove him backwards and pins it to the bed with the other.
“Y-you–” you sob, unable to form a sentence.
“Ohhh, I know, I know, I know,” Roman coos mockingly. “I played a dirty trick on you, huh? Wasn’t very nice of me, was it?”
You look at Roman and cry, tears falling down your temples and into your hair. With his hand still clutching yours, he uses your own knuckles to wipe some tears away. “Poor thing. You’ll get used to it.”
“But you said–”
“I know what I said,” Roman interrupts. “It’s never just the tip, baby, you know that. Or–” Roman pauses, thrusting into you deeply, “Maybe you really don’t know that. But this is real life, sweetheart. It’s a cruel fuckin’ world out there.”
Roman sets a pace then, drawing in and out of you. Not particularly harshly or quickly, because the penetration alone hurts enough. He rocks his hips, pulling out of you and filling you up all the way with every stroke.
“Roman, stop–”
“No. Fucking take it.”
Roman ignores your sounds of discomfort, going so far as to cover your mouth instead. Your sobs are muffled under his palm, skin dampening with tears and saliva. Roman builds the tempo, lips curled into that awful, lopsided smile. “Listen to yourself. You’re fuckin’ soaked, do you hear that?” he taunts through a strained breath.
The pain is utterly blinding, until it isn’t. You almost resent the way the hurt is replaced with pleasure now, because the betrayal is still there. Betrayal by Roman, and now by your own body. This…this isn’t what you were promised. You trusted Roman and he exploited that, but you’re fucking enjoying it.
Roman’s palm tastes salty over your mouth. When he removes it, a moan slips past your lips, and Roman grins. “Yeah, there it is. Not so terrible, huh, baby?”
You free your hands from his grip and wrap your arms around his shoulders, which is the only thing that feels right. You don’t entirely know why, you just know that you need him close. Roman pulls back a little to watch you, his greenish, hazel eyes darkened with something primal as he pulls out of you and pushes into you, again and again and again. You bury your face in his neck as he fucks you, and one of his hands slide up your torso to grope your breast and tease your nipple.
“Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good,” Roman grunts, rutting his hips into you. He’s in love with all of this, in truth. Addicted. How soft your body is for him, for his hands to squeeze and his fingers to dig into. He could fucking eat you.
He fits his hand between your bodies, the heel of his palm pressing into your pubic bone. He rubs your clit in circles, thrusting into you harder, faster, deeper. “Look at me. Right here” he pants, using his free hand to hold your face. “Come on my cock. Come for me, sweetheart.”
He pulls your orgasm from you effortlessly. Roman’s name spills from your lips in choking sobs as you come on his cock, feeling impossibly full as your cunt pulses around him. It’s the heaviest, most overwhelming feeling, washing over you in waves, muscles spasming and twitching. Roman’s thrusts turn frenzied and frantic, and there it is - he’s coming too. Milking himself inside you, spurting thick, hot ropes of his come, and you take all of it.
Roman pulls out of you then, and uses two fingers to push his escaped spend back inside your poor, raw, throbbing cunt. This time, you do cry. “Ohh, come here,” Roman says softly. He scoops you up into his arms and holds you tightly, stroking your hair. “You okay?”
“No,” you sniffle.
“No?” Roman repeats, momentarily moving you to lean over the bed. He reaches for his pants and grabs his phone out of the pocket, then takes his place next to you again, pulling you into his side tightly. “You’ll get over it. Watch,” he murmurs, unlocking his phone and opening Venmo. He pulls up your profile and shows you the screen, the little blue cursor blinking. You type in a number, then give the phone back to Roman, who adds an extra zero before tapping Pay.
If you enjoyed, please lmk ♡ i love when you reblog and send me asks. It means the world to me ♡
Read this twice last night then thought about it until i went to sleep AND THEN woke up fantasizing about the aftermath of romans dirty little lie 🫡
Now I don't know about you guys but he has ruined me for other men and I will be hoping and praying he finds another way to manipulate his fingers in me...
also big dick roman roy representation i love to see it 😫
Roman offers you money if you just let him put the tip in. Just the tip, that's all (it's not all).
Tags - smut, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, virginity kink, big dick roman roy, dare i call that cock gargantuan, ludicrously capacious, even? Unprotected piv, fingering, blow jobs, cunnilingus, hand jobs, nipple stim, just the tip (it’s never just the tip) dubcon, manipulation, deception, coercion, betrayal, Roman solicits sex from reader and is also insensitive about stds, pay him no mind. I made myself soaking wet every day while writing this so. Do what you will with that information. 5.8k words.
A/N - This is just...smut. Beginning to end. I’m gonna be working on stepdaddy after this, probably write a stepdaddy sick fic cuz I feel kinda like shit. Kisses to all yall sluts 😘
Finally, some fucking quiet. For now.
The couple in the hotel room next to yours has been going at it all night, a marathon of fucking. Endless moans, rhythmic squeaking of the bed becoming louder and faster, then quieter and slower. This couple makes you wonder if their room is the honeymoon suite or something, the way they’re fucking like a couple of newly-wed bunnies. You rest against the plush headboard, closing your stinging eyes momentarily.
You dipped from the wedding an hour or so ago, maybe closer to two hours at this point. It’s about midnight now. You’re alone in your room, crinkling the once neatly made bedding as you play a dumb little game on your phone. Your mind wanders as you mindlessly tap the screen, thinking about what the couple next door is doing. What he’s doing to her, what she’s doing to him. How good it all feels, probably. You wonder what it’s like.
Knock. Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock–
Roman. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to know it’s him. Nobody else knocks like that, and nobody else would show up at your door at this particular hour. You sigh as you get out of bed, taking heavy steps toward the door before opening it.
“Evening, sexpot. You have something of mine and I’d like it back, please and thank you.”
Roman’s still wearing the outfit he wore during the wedding, though missing his suit jacket and tie. The sleeves of his white button down shirt are rolled above his elbows, there’s an extra button undone. Once neatly slicked back, his hair is now disheveled, a few loose strands falling over his eyebrows. His eyes are half-lidded, lips curled into that smug, casual, infuriatingly handsome smirk he always wears. He looks gorgeous.
“I do?” you ask, thinking before remembering quickly. “Oh, shit. Yeah, I do.” You open the door wider and make space to allow him to follow behind you, Roman first closing the door. You unplug his charger from the wall outlet and wrap the cord in a figure-eight around your fingers, some habit you’re not sure where or when you picked up. Roman holds out his hand and you place the charger in his palm. “So is the wedding finally over?”
“Mhm. You vanished on me, though, Cinderella. I thought I’d get at least a dance out of you but you stood me up, you heartbreaker, you. Felt like a virgin on prom night,” Roman laments with a dramatic flair, no real hurt in his tone. “But I’ll live. Me and some bridesmaid-chick totally dry humped on the dance floor, so it all worked out.”
You know he’s teasing, probably lying. Embellishing the truth. But it makes you squirm just the same, and you’re not totally sure why. You could be a little jealous, maybe. But there’s another reason, too.
“Anyway, uh. Thanks. I’ll leave you to it,” Roman says, toying with the charger cord.
“No, thank you. Came in hand–”
“Oh, fuck, like that. Just like that, harder, harder, fuck, ohhhh!”
You’re interrupted by the sounds of your temporary neighbor’s moans that you’ve become very well-acquainted with. “Oh my god,” you mumble, rolling your eyes.
Roman’s lips curl into an even wider smile, his eyes lighting up as he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, nice!” he says, giggling, “Man. That’s awesome. Lucky you, with your front row seat to the show. Maybe there’s a hole in the wall behind this mirror or something. You should see if you can watch.”
“They’ve been going at it for hours,” you deadpan.
Roman nods in approval, that big, stupid smile still on his lips. “Awh, fuck yeah. Good for them. You should ask to join. We both could, actually. Let’s go knock.”
Your cheeks heat up at the idea, even knowing Roman’s not serious. Probably not serious, at least. Roman notices this, takes mental notes of your flustered expression, how you look anywhere but at him. The shifting of your feet, the unnecessary movements your body makes as you squirm. “Ahh, too shy. I get it,” Roman says. “So you’re just - you’re…what, jerking off to it in here, all by your lonesome? Fuck, did I interrupt? How rude, let me get out–”
“No!”
“No? You want me to stay?”
“No - you - I–” you huff, closing your eyes as you inhale and exhale a deep breath. “I meant that I’m not…you know. Doing that.”
Roman’s eyes sparkle. “It’s okay, you can admit it. I know you ladies are more, you know - audio than visual.” He wiggles his fingers by his ears as he paces slowly around the room, inspecting the slice of cake you brought back with you from the wedding, swiping a bit of frosting off the plate with his finger before sucking on it.
“Stop it, Roman.”
“I think I’m gonna stay a while, if you don’t mind. Listen to the music.”
“Whatever, knock yourself out. I’m not sleeping as long as they’re still doing it.”
True to his word, Roman listens intently to the sounds of the couple fucking. You wouldn’t expect anything else from him. He makes little faces of intrigue or surprise at the noises, the extra loud moans or the occasional smack. You regret allowing him to stay. This is so fucking awkward, so you distract yourself by tidying up your already-pristine hotel room. Rearranging some glasses that haven’t been touched, then pouring yourself another glass of water even though you’re not actually thirsty. Roman notices all of this, too. At some point his attention shifts from the muffled noises coming from the other side of the wall to you, how you nervously flit around the room. He decides to up the tension, to make it all worse for you.
“We should fuck,” he says plainly. “You know, louder than them. Establish our dominance. There’s a bed right there.”
It takes you a second to reply. “Funny,” is all you say, your voice coming out quietly and not very confident. Fuck.
“You’re very shy about it, you know that?”
“Shy about what?”
“Oh, fucking - c’mon. You know what,” he deadpans. “Sex! Coitus. Fornicating. Love mak–”
“No, yeah. I got it–”
“Fucking,” Roman interrupts. “So why are you all shy about it?”
“I’m not - I’m not shy,” you stutter.
“But you are. Because you don’t talk about it, ever. You like, clam up, get all fuckin’ weird and quiet,” Roman says, gesturing to you. “And like right now, you won’t even look at me. It’s almost like you’re nervous or something. Are you?” he pauses, “Nervous, that is?”
You’re feeling defensive now, cornered, as Roman’s wedged himself deep under your skin. “No, I just - what does it matter, Roman?” you snap. Sighing, you sit on the edge of the bed and cross your arms.
“I just wanna know, that’s all. Just curious,” he replies, tempering his tone to be much less pointed, less mocking. “You know me. No judgement here.”
“I just…don’t feel the need to talk about it, I guess.”
“You can’t even say it,” Roman digs, crossing his arms. “Are you a prude? Is that it?”
“No, Roman, I’m not a prude. It’s just a very personal thing for some people.”
“Naturally.”
“Not that you’d understand,” you bite.
Roman presses a hand against his chest, pretending you’ve just shot him. “Ouch. But yeah, no, I get it.” Roman pauses, then joins you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Is it herpes?” he whispers. “It’s herpes, isn’t it? You know, there’s no shame in it. I’ve actually created new strains of STDs myself in the course of all of my sexcapades. And look at me, I’m not ashamed,” he smiles, stifling a giggle at his own joke.
“If that’s true, Roman, you really should be. And don’t be facetious. That’s not something to laugh about.”
“No, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he concedes, the apology devoid of any sincerity at all. “So are you saving it for marriage, then? Gonna give Mr. Right your most precious gift?”
You freeze then. Roman’s getting warmer, burning hot. It’s not the truth, but it’s not…not…the truth. An inch away from uncovering your big secret, that you’re a virgin. Never had sex, not once.
It must be written all over your face in big, bolded letters or something, because Roman’s face twists in realization. His eyes are sparkling, jaw dropped in an open, wry smile. “Holy fuck,” he scoffs. “You’re shitting me. Virgin?! You’re a virgin? Oh my god, gross. Ew,” he laughs, turning your cheek to force you to look at him.
It makes you feel bad inside. Insecure. Your bottom lip quivers a little as tears well up in your eyes, that awful feeling of embarrassment taking over every one of your senses. Face hot, ears pounding, the walls closing in. “Roman,” you whisper, tilting your chin down to hide yourself.
“Hey - heyyy. Don’t fuckin’...don’t be like that,” he says, tilting your face back up. Roman laughs, then makes a sympathetic expression as he pulls you close, wrapping his strong arms around you in a tight hug. Some of your tears soak the collar of his shirt as he presses your face into his shoulder. “I’m very sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I took it too far, that’s on me. I’m sorry. Hey–” Roman nuzzles your hair, “I mean it. I’m sorry.”
You don’t say anything. You’re too pissed to speak but even if you weren’t, you’re not sure that you could conjure up any sort of response to…whatever the fuck just happened.
“It’s not so terrible, being a virgin.” Roman offers, rubbing your back soothingly as he kisses the top of your head. “There’s worse things to be.”
“Yeah? Like what?” you ask, voice muffled as you mumble into his shirt.
“Like…fuckin’ dead, I guess.” Roman thinks for a second, “Or ugly. And you’re not that, so…”
“Thanks, Rome,” you reply flatly.
“And guys like virgins,” he adds. “Like, do you know how much some creeps would pay to fuck virgin pussy?”
“Uhh…”
“Millions. They’d pay millions,” Roman says, taking note of how your ears perk up at the statement, the incredulous look you give him. “Yeah, now that’s interesting to you, isn’t it? Shit, I’d pay you for it. Let’s skip the middleman, huh?”
“What? No.” You pull away from Roman’s arms.
“Yes. Why not?”
Why not? Just the littlest amount of pushback from Roman and you’re already questioning the lines you’ve drawn in the sand for yourself. For a moment, you contemplate the idea of having sex with Roman, and you’re tempted - his naked body on yours, pleasuring you in a way you’ve never felt at the hands of someone else before, his attention all on you. His perfect, soft lips on yours as he swallows your moans, loving you the way you deserve. But ultimately you decide no, it’s not happening. It can’t happen. Not like how he’s suggesting. He doesn’t have the capacity to handle something like this with any amount of respect or tact.
“I don’t know, Roman. I guess that I always envisioned my first time having sex being with someone that I love. Or trust, at the very least.”
“And you don’t trust me?”
You scoff “Fuck, no.”
“Yeah, that’s smart,” Roman nods. “Okay, fine. I won’t pressure you. You save that special little gift of yours for someone who deserves it.”
You nod as you look down at the floor, tracing the pattern in the carpet with your eyes, gasping when you feel Roman touch your bare knee. “Or…” he murmurs.
“Or?”
Roman’s had the idea of screwing you in his head for a while now, and by his own admission, is especially turned on at the prospect of being the first one to fuck you. It fills him with a primal sort of feeling, knowing that at least for a moment, you’d be his. Your first lover’s name you’d moan would be his, your first orgasm at the hands of another will belong to him only, forever. There’s something about taking your virginity that fills him with a sickening, all-consuming sort of need. He’ll do it, too. By any means necessary.
“Just the tip,” he whispers, his warm hand sliding up your thigh to toy with the edge of your pajama shorts. He wriggles them even higher, not stopping even when you hold your breath and grab his wrist to keep him from traveling further. “Chill. I’m not doing anything,” Roman mumbles, sliding his hand out from under yours to take your hand and put it flat on the bed. He holds your thigh again and speaks slowly, quietly, “You just let me put the tip in and I’ll pay you the same. Whatever - whatever fuckin’ number you want, alright? Put however many zeroes at the end, and it’s yours…if you just let me put the tip in. Sounds easy enough, right?”
“Just the tip,” you repeat quietly, thinking…thinking that it sounds like bullshit, and yet, you’re kind of falling for it anyway. He makes you feel stupid, even when he’s not insulting you.
Roman speaks again before you can talk yourself out of it. “Just the tip,” he lies. “So long as I don’t - you know, fully penetrate you - technically, you’d still be a virgin by the end of our little thing.”
“You’re saying it wouldn’t count?”
Roman nods his head. “Wouldn’t count at all. It’s…a loophole of sorts,” he says, tracing his fingertips up and down your thigh, inching closer and closer to where he wants to feel you the most. “Virginity stays intact. C’mon,” he urges.
You’re fighting yourself. Roman can see the temptation and the self-preservation fighting each other in your mind, and he can’t let the smarter, safer side of you win this.
“You’ve got nothing to lose,” he adds. And he’d get to satisfy a curiosity, but that’s not something he needs to tell you.
“I don’t know, Rome. It - something about it makes me nervous.”
“I know. But I’ll be gentle with you, alright? I’ll take it nice and fuckin’ slow, walk you through the whole thing. No surprises.” Roman shifts a little and reaches into his pocket for his wallet, then pulls out a stack of bills, all hundreds, and places them on your nightstand. “There. Call it a fuckin’...deposit or whatever, I don’t know. Now do we have a deal or not, virgin?”
You bite your lip as you think - or do something resembling thinking, rather. You can’t think clearly, not with Roman’s hands now on your waist. He doesn’t have to touch you anywhere private or sensitive - just his hands on your body is enough to make your brain fucking melt, you poor thing. Don’t even know how badly you need it, need him. Roman will make it all better. Fix you.
“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. He presses a couple of kisses against the side of your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his tongue as he licks you there. You let out a broken moan in response, nodding urgently. Roman smiles against your skin in satisfaction. “Attagirl,” he murmurs, then pulls away from you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted. Perfect.
He dims the lamps around the room and turns off the overhead lights, casting the room in a warm, orange glow before joining you on the bed again. “Let’s fuckin’ do this thing. You ready?”
“I don’t - I don’t -”
Roman calms you down before you spiral. “Shh, relax. Relax. We’re going slow, like I said,” he reminds you. “God, you’re so fuckin’...c’mere.”
Roman puts both of his strong hands on your face, thumbs on your jaw, the rest of his fingers firmly pressing into your neck. He pulls you close and kisses you, and his lips feel even better than they look. You let out a little noise that Roman doesn’t acknowledge; he only continues to move his lips tenderly against yours, deepening the kiss when you begin to reciprocate.
He’s an excellent kisser. The way he uses his tongue makes you feel dizzy and sets your whole body on fire, and you feel his hands everywhere. Your face, your neck, your waist, digging his fingers into you and squeezing you like he loves you. “Gimme these.” Roman takes your hands in his own and puts them on his own shoulders, his silent way of showing you how it all should be done as he inches closer to you.
He’s warm, warmer than you imagined. Warm in a comforting way. He smells so…him. Slightly sweaty, but not in a bad way, with his cologne worn down to its base notes. He tastes good, but you couldn’t even begin to describe. You’d be content with just this tonight, really.
Roman deepens the kiss and lays you down gently, caging you in with his body. You’re still feeling out of your depth, unsure of where or how or if you should even touch him, though Roman doesn’t seem to mind. Of course he doesn’t mind. He’s got only one thing on his brain, and that’s ruining you. Touch him however you like or don’t touch him, he doesn’t give a fuck.
His fingers crawl beneath your shirt, climbing up your body until he’s squeezing gently at the flesh of your breasts. You gasp when he rubs his thumb in circles over your nipple, feeling it harden with his touch. “Rome-” you breathe, clutching his bicep.
“It’s okay,” he tells you, repeating the action with your other nipple, causing you to writhe beneath him. “I gotta get you ready for it, sweetheart.”
Roman pushes your shirt up as high as it’ll go, and kisses your neck, dragging his tongue down your skin. He uses the muscle to tease one of your nipples, putting to use his lips and teeth as well. His hands travel down your body, fingers passing over the neat little bow at the front of your pajama bottoms as they slide down towards your center.
You gasp when you feel him touch you there, just over the fabric. Roman groans as he rubs his fingers, feeling how you’ve soaked yourself. “Yeah, you weren’t fuckin’ lying, were you? Made a goddamn mess down here,” he mumbles, pressing little kisses against your neck.
“Lying about what?” you breathe.
Roman has to stifle his laugh so as not to embarrass you, but you are such a cliche, absolutely drenched from a bit of kissing. Too easy. “Shh, nothing,” he says. “Nothing. You’re fine.” Roman pulls your panties and shorts to the side, exposing your cunt to himself. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?”
You shake your head. “Mm-mm.”
Roman only nods as pulls your thighs apart, and your heart pounds hard. He traces your lips only momentarily before diving between your folds, feeling the pool of arousal he’s caused.
“Fuck,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. “R-Roman, Roman…”
“Ohh, man, you’re sensitive,” Roman laughs quietly, rubbing lazy circles over your clit. “Holy fuck. That feel good? Huh, virgin?”
“Yeah,” you whimper, squeezing his forearm and bicep with your hands as if to anchor yourself or something. You feel like you’re gonna break. Everything feels heightened, but sort of sharp and fuzzy at the same time. Your head spins, and you can’t keep track of your thoughts.
You whine when Roman pushes his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out slowly. “How does that feel?” he asks.
“Good, kinda - uh…kind - kind of hurts.”
“You gotta relax,” he tells you, “ It’s okay.”
Roman shifts a little and smiles at you before curling his fingers, stroking that special, sensitive little place deep inside your cunt you’ve probably never found on your own before. By the way your eyes roll back into your head and how you squeeze your legs shut around his arm, Roman guesses he’s right. “Oh my - fuck, Rome, that - you–” Your voice comes out in broken, breathy moans and you don’t bother finishing your sentence. All you can do is bury your face into his neck and try not to shatter into a million pieces.
Roman fingers you like that for a minute or two longer, listening to those wet noises your cunt makes for him, then slows down his movements before pulling away. “You’re ready for it,” he tells you.
“I am?”
“Absolutely.”
Roman leans back and sits you up, then pulls off your shirt without saying so much as a single word. He does the same to your shorts and panties, tossing them into a crumpled pile on the carpet. The way you squirm and hide yourself makes Roman smile. “Don’t be shy. I need to be able to see what I’m working with, right?”
“Yeah, no. That makes sense.”
“Hold on.” Roman unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, pulling off his undershirt too. His bulge is sizable in his black slacks, and when he unbuckles his belt and pulls the rest of his clothes off, his hard cock slapping against his tummy, your eyes widen. His dick is massive. The tip reaches his belly button, and it’s curved beautifully, slightly to the right. Roman wraps his fingers around it and squeezes, knuckles whitening a little.
“Y-you’re fucking huge,” you stutter.
“I know, right? It’s Roman Roy’s best kept secret.” He smiles wide, pleased with himself as he winks at you. “Alright. Spread those legs and let’s fuckin’ party.” Roman reaches for your ankles and pulls them apart, eyebrows raising when you fight to keep them closed.
“No! No, don’t.”
“...No?” Roman drops your ankles and sits back, eyeing you. “Scared?”
“Very.”
He chuckles. “You’ve never even felt a cock before, have you?” Roman asks, stroking his cock slowly. You shake your head and he nods in understanding. “Wow, it really is all new to you. That’s my bad, sweetheart.”
Roman lays down next to you again, this time flat on his back. He shifts a little and grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock. “Get to know it a little. Just touch it, however you want,” he instructs. Roman waits for you to touch him, but you’re frozen. He raises an eyebrow, “It’s not gonna bite you.”
“I know, I just don’t know…don’t know what to do.”
Roman says nothing, only presses your fingertips against the large, blunt head of his cock. “Like this,” he says, dragging your fingers down his shaft. He wraps your fingers around his length, then lets you go. Your turn.
You slide your palm up and down his dick, just…taking it all in. His cock feels heavy in your hand which doesn’t surprise you, but you’re struck by his warmth, the heat radiating from him. You trace his veins, then squeeze him slightly in your fist, feeling him throb a little.
Roman patiently lets you explore, despite it being an excruciating tease, groaning softly as he tilts his head back. “Now when you do this for real, with your Mr. Right or whoever,” Roman says, “Don’t just tease him like this. You’ll piss him off,” he warns.
“I will?”
“Oh yeah. No, you’re even pissing me off a little bit. Like, if this weren’t a teaching moment, I’d fuck you in two for this shit.” Roman words scare you a bit, and you stop touching him. “Relax, will you? It’s not gonna happen. You’re in good hands.”
“Okay.”
“Let me show you what to do instead.” Roman takes your hand again, this time spitting in it. “You grab it like you mean it,” he says, wrapping your fingers tightly around his cock, tighter than you would have done yourself. “And–” Roman slides your palm up and down his length, helping you to maintain that firm pressure, “You go all the way up, all the way down. Like - fuck - yeah, like that. You’re a fuckin’ natural, virgin, look at you.”
Roman lets you work him on your own, simply enjoying the feel of your hand on his cock. He thinks it’s cute when you circle his tip with your fingers - it’s not something he taught you to do, but he doesn’t mind it.
“Does this feel like, good?”
“Feels awesome. But,” Roman purrs, “You know what’d feel even better?”
“What?”
“You gotta be brave, sweetheart. Do you want to be brave for me?”
You’re not feeling very brave or adventurous but you nod a little anyway, and Roman jumps at the opportunity. He moves you down the bed, sitting you down between his thighs that are spread wide. “You’re gonna suck my dick,” he tells you, grabbing your face with one of his hands. “Don’t freak out, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Open your mouth.”
Roman holds his thick cock between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He taps the head against your bottom lip, encouraging you to open wider. When you open your mouth more, Roman lowers your head and fits himself between your lips, simply letting you get used to the feeling of him there. It takes a lot of patience on his part, to not fuck your mouth here and now.
You’re not sure what to do, and Roman knows this. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he bounces your head just a little on his cock, your tongue sliding over his weeping slit. The taste of his precome surprises you - it’s a salty, warm, masculine sort of flavor that you don’t really mind. You’re pleased by how soft his skin feels, how he smells. Gaining confidence, you take him deeper into your mouth.
If Roman were a better man, he’d stop you - he’d warn you that you’re going to choke on his cock, that it’s gonna be too much too quickly. But that’s not Roman, not by a long shot. He inches you further down his cock with each bob of your head, grinning at the way you gurgle and sputter a little. “Little more,” he says. “Keep going.”
Cock in mouth, drool dripping down your chin, you look at Roman, searching for some sort of approval or encouragement. “You got it. And use your tongue, sweetheart. You can make a mess on me. You should, actually.”
You move your tongue in inconsistent patterns, swirling it around his length as Roman moves your head. “Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. “You’re doing so well.”
He lets out soft little groans and his eyes shut for a moment, lips parted. Saliva is running down his cock and your jaw is beginning to ache from his girth, but Roman ignores your noises of discomfort and the tears in your eyes. He fucks himself deeply into your mouth, pushing you far past the point he should. Then suddenly, you gag and cough harshly, pulling yourself off of him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck,” you spit.
Roman rubs your back and stretches across the bed, reaching for your glass of water. “You’re good, you’re alright,” he says, pressing the glass against your lips. “Have some water. You’re not supposed to take me all at once, virgin. That’s how you choke,” he taunts.
After finishing the water, Roman takes your glass and sets it back on the nightstand. “Alright. Back to you, sweetheart. Lie back and spread your legs for me.”
You tremble a little as you lie down, parting your legs only a little. You feel the bed shift with Roman’s moving weight and close your eyes, nervously anticipating the inevitable.
Roman pushes your knees toward your chest and lowers himself, smirking at how tense you look with your short breaths, your fingers fidgeting with the comforter. He could warn you of what’s to come with a couple of kisses pressed against your inner thighs, but it’ll be more fun to surprise you.
He licks your sex from bottom to top with a flat tongue, dragging it slowly through your folds. “Roman,” you gasp, hands darting for his head. You tangle your fingers in the sleek strands of his hair, tugging on them tightly. “You - you’re–”
“Shh,” he interrupts. His stubble scratches your inner thighs as he teases you, tongue circling your clit. Roman buries himself in that softest and most private place on your body, rubbing the tip of his perfect nose against your clit as he tastes you. He circles your entrance a couple of times before dipping inside, tasting your arousal right from the hole it trickles from.
You’re babbling incoherently, whimpering his name as he then drags his tongue up and down your folds. He circles your clit once, then twice, then pulls the hood back and laves over the sensitive bud repeatedly, forcing you to lie still with a strong hand holding you down. He savors you like this, how you shudder and shake, muscles tensing as you fight to close your legs, not used to a feeling so intense. Roman fucks you with his tongue, guiding you through the first orgasm you’ve ever shared with another as you gush into his mouth, clit throbbing under his tongue.
When Roman pulls away, you feel like you could cry. You bite your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling and try to will away that pressure building behind your eyes, but it’s hard. You wonder if Roman notices.
“Now you’re really fuckin’ ready,” he tells you.
“Okay,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Just the tip?”
“Mhm. Just the tip,” Roman confirms. He hovers over you and reaches between your legs to gather your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your slick. When he presses the thick head of his dick against your pussy, your heart races. You can’t conjure the words to tell him what you need, and urgently take his free hand in yours.
“You wanna hold my hand?” Roman smirks and laces his fingers between yours, pinning your hand against the bed. “We can hold hands, sweetheart.” And then, in one swift, brutal motion, Roman fully buries his cock fully inside you.
It sends you reeling. He’s so huge, it feels like he’s splitting you in two. You feel betrayed and try to squirm away, but Roman forces you to stay down with a hand on your ribcage. Forces you to take it, to feel it all. “Shhh, shh. You’re - hey - you’re fine.” Roman catches the free hand you use to try and shove him backwards and pins it to the bed with the other.
“Y-you–” you sob, unable to form a sentence.
“Ohhh, I know, I know, I know,” Roman coos mockingly. “I played a dirty trick on you, huh? Wasn’t very nice of me, was it?”
You look at Roman and cry, tears falling down your temples and into your hair. With his hand still clutching yours, he uses your own knuckles to wipe some tears away. “Poor thing. You’ll get used to it.”
“But you said–”
“I know what I said,” Roman interrupts. “It’s never just the tip, baby, you know that. Or–” Roman pauses, thrusting into you deeply, “Maybe you really don’t know that. But this is real life, sweetheart. It’s a cruel fuckin’ world out there.”
Roman sets a pace then, drawing in and out of you. Not particularly harshly or quickly, because the penetration alone hurts enough. He rocks his hips, pulling out of you and filling you up all the way with every stroke.
“Roman, stop–”
“No. Fucking take it.”
Roman ignores your sounds of discomfort, going so far as to cover your mouth instead. Your sobs are muffled under his palm, skin dampening with tears and saliva. Roman builds the tempo, lips curled into that awful, lopsided smile. “Listen to yourself. You’re fuckin’ soaked, do you hear that?” he taunts through a strained breath.
The pain is utterly blinding, until it isn’t. You almost resent the way the hurt is replaced with pleasure now, because the betrayal is still there. Betrayal by Roman, and now by your own body. This…this isn’t what you were promised. You trusted Roman and he exploited that, but you’re fucking enjoying it.
Roman’s palm tastes salty over your mouth. When he removes it, a moan slips past your lips, and Roman grins. “Yeah, there it is. Not so terrible, huh, baby?”
You free your hands from his grip and wrap your arms around his shoulders, which is the only thing that feels right. You don’t entirely know why, you just know that you need him close. Roman pulls back a little to watch you, his greenish, hazel eyes darkened with something primal as he pulls out of you and pushes into you, again and again and again. You bury your face in his neck as he fucks you, and one of his hands slide up your torso to grope your breast and tease your nipple.
“Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good,” Roman grunts, rutting his hips into you. He’s in love with all of this, in truth. Addicted. How soft your body is for him, for his hands to squeeze and his fingers to dig into. He could fucking eat you.
He fits his hand between your bodies, the heel of his palm pressing into your pubic bone. He rubs your clit in circles, thrusting into you harder, faster, deeper. “Look at me. Right here” he pants, using his free hand to hold your face. “Come on my cock. Come for me, sweetheart.”
He pulls your orgasm from you effortlessly. Roman’s name spills from your lips in choking sobs as you come on his cock, feeling impossibly full as your cunt pulses around him. It’s the heaviest, most overwhelming feeling, washing over you in waves, muscles spasming and twitching. Roman’s thrusts turn frenzied and frantic, and there it is - he’s coming too. Milking himself inside you, spurting thick, hot ropes of his come, and you take all of it.
Roman pulls out of you then, and uses two fingers to push his escaped spend back inside your poor, raw, throbbing cunt. This time, you do cry. “Ohh, come here,” Roman says softly. He scoops you up into his arms and holds you tightly, stroking your hair. “You okay?”
“No,” you sniffle.
“No?” Roman repeats, momentarily moving you to lean over the bed. He reaches for his pants and grabs his phone out of the pocket, then takes his place next to you again, pulling you into his side tightly. “You’ll get over it. Watch,” he murmurs, unlocking his phone and opening Venmo. He pulls up your profile and shows you the screen, the little blue cursor blinking. You type in a number, then give the phone back to Roman, who adds an extra zero before tapping Pay.
If you enjoyed, please lmk ♡ i love when you reblog and send me asks. It means the world to me ♡
just having fun thinking about gyno!roman on this fine evening
After thoroughly walking his fingers over the flesh of your breast, Roman squeezes your shoulder. “You can sit up, now,” he says, now finished with your breast examination.
You sit up, breathing out a shaky breath. Your legs dangle over the edge of the table, bouncing your mismatched sock-covered feet against the metal. Roman rounds the table, then pulls up a stool and his instrument stand, covered in paper and sterile utensils.
“Say ahh.”
“What?”
“Your legs, genius. Open them,” he says, but doesn’t give you time to actually do so. Roman lifts one of your legs and puts your foot in the stirrup, then does the same to your other leg. His hands are strong on your body, fingertips digging into your flesh. "I suppose you could open your mouth, too. Vagina, mouth. No real difference there."
His words, how he moves your body like a puppet. It feels like a blatant display of dominance, a display of who has the upper hand here. It makes you sick and makes you hot.
Roman sits on the black stool and spreads his legs wide, thick bulge evident in his black slacks. There’s a box of blue nitrile gloves on his instrument stand, and you wince at the sharp snapping sounds as he puts them on, wiggling his fingers as he tugs the material down his wrist. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Oh, fuck off. You’ll do fine,” he tells you. “You always do. Scoot down.”
You scoot a little down the table, looking up at the ceiling. Roman scoffs and rolls his eyes before standing up, sliding both hands under your paper gown before lifting you and situating your bare ass right at the edge of the examining table. “Yeahhh, there she is. Oh, that's perfect. You shaved for me.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment and Roman’s subsequent snickering.
Before warning you of what’s to come, Roman dives right in, touching, pressing against the soft folds of your labia with gloved fingers. “Just relax,” he whispers. “It’s just me. Doctor fuckin’ Roy, no big deal. Relax.”
You interlace your fingers, resting your hands on your tummy as Roman feels around, experimentally rubbing your clit so he can watch your reaction. The twitching in your thighs, your breath hitching in your throat. “Good, good girl.”
Roman reaches for the Surgilube and the speculum, then squirts a generous amount of the jelly on the tool. He turns it to the side before inserting it all the way inside you, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. “You need to relax,” he reminds you with a voice firmer than before, before widening the instrument. With those loud clicking sounds comes an increase in pressure, you’re tightening around the speculum. “You’ve got a niiiice fuckin' cervix, you know that?”
Charlie honestly can't stand to see you walk through the church doors every sunday.
He tends to linger on you a few beats too long as he walks down the aisle, eyes dragging along your clothes.
Between the skirts that never kiss your knees and those sweaters you just absolutely spill out of, it's too much.
Then you have the audacity to smile so sweetly at him as he delivers his sermons, as if you're even listening to what he's saying.
If you had, you'd understand that when he preached about the virtue of modesty, it was to protect you.
And himself, from his own mind which tended to wander.
To protect himself from his mind, the mind that tells him to wrap his hand around your pretty throat and fuck you within the confessional booth as your penance until your lips are swole and your cheeks are stained with tears.
To protect you from the mind that wants nothing more than to bend you over the altar and spank your ass until it's red and your yelping out,
"I'm sorry father," so loud that it rings in his ears long enough to get him to the next Sunday.
