content warning: smut, edging/denial, cumplay, fluff, brat taming, handjobs, teasing, restraints, implied safewords (none used but there’s intermittent check-ins), subspace
word count: 4.4k
notes: consent so enthusiastic you’d think he has something wrong with him (he does). please remember to like, reblog and comment. interaction as a whole in the isaac fandom is waning, so make sure to interact with fics/art/headcanons. any content you want to see more of.
preview: You fix him with a deadpan stare. “Way to make it sound completely sexless. Extreme turn on. We can’t ever just have sex like normal people?”
In most circumstances the mass of the imposing edifice would have sufficed, its familiarity lending a gravity Isaac seemed to be fond of. This was his laboratory, the one place where he’d become inured to the utilitarian austerity. But tonight the clock tower strikes you as too impersonal, brumal in the marrow. Farcical, really: you’re projecting your own unease onto him, imagining his detachment as an echo of your own discomfort. He chose the venue, after all. A test of endurance, he’d elusively called it; his comfort irrelevant, yours negotiable… he has a way of talking you into things.
“Out of all the places, you choose this. It feels so…” You shake your head, rummaging through your internal lexicon, languorously blowing air out through your lips when you come up empty.
“Clinical?” Isaac supplies unhelpfully. “Well. That was the intention. Comfort is a variable to be introduced later. I just want to see how much this body can take as it is with no other factors involved.”
You fix him with a deadpan stare. “Way to make it sound completely sexless. Extreme turn on. We can’t ever just have sex like normal people?”
This amuses him greatly, he scoffs out a laugh, mirth glittering in his eyes as he steps closer to you. “The irony isn’t lost on you, I hope.”
“Excuse you. My ideas are hot,” you retort with mock indignation, draping your hands at the nape of his neck, fingers teasing the soft curls there. He tilts his head, not conscientiously, but enough to bare the column of his throat, that pale expanse so often guarded and clothed, now a knowing vulnerability. “And they don’t involve you pinned to a cold table like a frog in science class.”
“I have a feeling…” his voice dips into a lower octave, “you’ll enjoy it more than you know. Have I ever led you astray?”
“Only all the time.” You sigh with exaggerated resignation, stealing a page from his repertoire of melodrama. Then, softening, you tilt your head, lips curling into a smile both mischievous and conciliatory. “Wouldn’t it be better if you were comfortable, though?”
His eyes are blown stygian-black, swallowing the brown when you pull back just far enough to look at his face. He drags air in through his open mouth, shallow, greedy little pulls, breaths you can hear even with the tower’s droning hum.
“Sounds good, huh? Don’t you want that?” you coax, pulling him closer.
He blinks, the haziness clearing for a moment and then he laughs. “Ah, nice try. Almost had me too.”
You groan, forehead dramatically pressing into his chest. “This is such a tedious way to say you have a kink.”
Isaac smiles, dimples punctuating the angles of his face, arms curling around you in a hold that is tender, knowing, and completely undenying of your accusation. “And you’re still going to indulge me.”
You roll your eyes with the affectation of an exasperated lover, like you weren’t already familiar with this. “You’re ridiculous.”
When he pulls away to lie down supine on the surface, the movement is almost routine. His body tenses only momentarily at the glacial bite of the slab beneath him, pallid skin leeching warmth on contact. He arranges himself with the composure of someone rehearsing compliance. He is betrayed by the manicly fervent glint in his eyes and the anomalous rise and fall of his chest. “Ridiculous — and flat on my back, waiting.”
You trail your fingers over the expanse of one of his arms, charting the tendons, bones and veins before the restraints snap shut. “You’ll last five minutes before you start complaining.”
“Then, you’ll just have to keep me still, won’t you?” He lifts his hand to check the restraints are secure and then humming satisfactorily when he is pleased.
“Yeah,” you agree, planting your whole palm against his face and nudging until his head tips back onto the surface. “I guess I will.”
“Heavy-handed,” he notes in a breathless muffled sound, lips open against your hand.
You shift your hand to look at him. “Don’t sound too excited,” you say, the words come out low and teasing. You move your hand deliberately, letting your palm explore the planes of his body tracing a familiar map, each brush over his chest, the slight dip of his stomach, sending faint shivers through him. Your fingers linger, pressing just enough to feel the tremor beneath.
His eyes follow your hand, dark and alert, tracking each motion, betraying the taut line of anticipation coiled along his spine. You notice the slight tilt of his head, the subtle arch of his chest, the way his fingers flex slightly at his sides, preparing to resist but eventually surrendering to your attention.
“Enough with the build-up,” he snaps impetuously.
“You’ll take what I give you.” You parry without hesitation, brows raising. “Now. Repeat that back to me.”
His breath comes out in a rush. For half a second you believe he’ll acquiesce to your request, and the anticipation ferments, only for him to shut his mouth with stubborn deliberation.
“Isaac.” Your warning lingers.
He grins up at you. An intentional provocation.
It’s enough to engender a modicum of irritation; you tongue the inside of your cheek and allow the feeling to gather heat. Then you try on his expression, a simulacrum of his smile, only yours has teeth. Sharper, meaner, it courts as much as it threatens.
His falters. What he meant as a smirk curdles, a fissure of doubt cleaving the expression. An eyebrow twitches before he gathers himself. Too late.
Your palm glissades lower, brushing over his abdomen, and you feel the tiniest jolt beneath your touch, a shiver that runs through him despite every effort at composure. You pause, just long enough to let him feel the weight of your deliberate presence.
Isaac inhales sharply, chest rising with a rhythm that quickens in the faintest increments, and you notice the micro-movements he cannot conceal: the twitch of muscle beneath your fingers, the faint curl of his lips, the way his eyes darken with focus and desire. You press a little more insistently against his stomach, hand steady, not forceful, but enough to command attention, and feel the muscle contract, and then the abrupt twitch below, graceless and undeniable, knocks the breath out of you.
You take his dribbling cock in your hand. At once his body locks, shoulders snapping tight as if he’s bracing against some unseen strike. His breath catches, shallow, truncated, before he forces it back into the rhythm of his clockwork heart. The tension runs through him in rigid lines, from the hard plane of his abdomen to the clamp of his thighs against the metal surface.
You begin to move your hand. For a while he manages it, breath rising in neat surges, chest taut as he tries to stay even. But the carefully constructed mask wavers: a ripple quivers beneath your palm, his stomach contracting against the touch, his breathing edging louder, more uneven. You keep your pace measured, cruelly steady, the slick sound of it rising in the brief hush between his breaths. His throat bobs, words swallowing themselves down. .
The pulse in him grows frantic; your hand glides over the spill, each pass slicker, lazier, indulgent. You’re in no rush and neither is he, but his body doesn’t seem to register that when he jerks under your hand, a tremor runs through his thighs. You press your thumb to the leaking head and he flinches, jaw tightening as though he’s holding himself back from speech. When you draw your hand down again, he exhales on a sound perilously close to a groan.
His composure buckles by degrees: the arch of his back collapses, his breaths turn guttural. He’s coming apart, body caught between wanting to retreat and wanting more of what’s undoing him. You drag it out slowly, until his hips start to move without permission, small, involuntary thrusts seeking your hand.
When you start to pick up on the fact that he’s close, his abdomen seizing, mouth open on a soundless curse, you release him. The sudden absence makes him shudder.
It takes him a moment to reconstitute himself, to retrieve his breath from wherever it scattered. With a final exhale, he turns to look at you, a fervent glint in his eye that makes him look a little crazed and feverish.
A breathless demand: “Again.”
“That was fast,” you comment, eyes as dark as his own.
“It was,” he concedes, gaze skittering from one of your eyes to the other, appraising, pausing only long enough to deem the verdict satisfactory. “Restraint on my part is unnecessary. You’re taking care of that.”
You hum.
Then you start again. A hand carefully circles around the length of him, and this time you can feel the throbbing more insistent, the veins protruding.
“So pretty,” you whisper.
“Yeah?” His voice fractures under the strain, coming out wrecked.
Your eyes lift, meeting his, and your free hand drifts to sweep the curls from his brow, fingers tracing a path that is at once tender and inquisitive, wandering across the contours of his face. “Yeah. Even prettier when you come. Not gonna keep me waiting too long, will you?”
“I-“ He opens his mouth to speak, hesitating: the articulation of his desire momentarily suspended by that internal clock that governs him, a man perpetually mediating between impulse and restraint. Finally, with a careful, almost reluctant exhalation, he yields with a compromise: “Let’s get this out of the way first.” The faintest quiver betrays the friction between what he wants and what he’s personally conducted.
He lifts his hips, a subtle elevation, as though in this minute shift he might summon some hidden cadence from the unrelenting pumps of your hand. You do not falter, do not temper the fluid insistence of your rhythm; it pulses on inexorably. His breath deepens and presses warmly against your skin, a living current that stirs the nerve-endings in exquisite awareness, while his torso twists with a sinuous, hypnotic grace into your hold, every curve and taut line of muscle revealed in sharp relief. You feel the gentle quiver along his arms, the faint shiver undulating beneath the skin, the delicate pulse of blood and life beneath the surface.
It endears you so much: this lack of composure under your hand, the way his body opens itself up to you and then seems to pull itself back. Fingers twitch, muscles coil and uncoil with a subtle insistence, and his chest rises unevenly, proof of how exquisitely short-lived his fortitude really is. “You have a very low tolerance,” you comment fondly.
“When it comes to you…” The pause is unnecessary, but then again, much of his syntax comes with emphasis and flourish. “I’m not surprised.”
You press your lips to the side of his face, lingering over the mole that resides there as if it were a secret you had been entrusted with, a small geography of him you carry in your mouth. Then your mouth finds his, soft and unhurried, a kiss offering of closeness so quiet it almost trembles.
He meets you with astonishing gentleness, lips cloud-soft against yours, as if afraid to disturb the fragile intimacy. When you pull back, even slightly, there is an instinctive tilt of his head, a brush of his lips toward yours, chasing the warmth you left behind before you twist your hand at the head of his length, spreading the streak of translucent fluid across it and his mouth falls open.
“You’re being so good,” your voice dips into a reverential tone before you open your mouth, almost mockingly, as a parody of his own, brows creasing in faux sympathy.
“I’ll take what you give me,” he finally concedes breathlessly, leaning up for contact.
Your eyes soften, voice lowering into that insinuating register that is almost an amalgamation of compassion and threat. His defiant postulating isn’t for show, it’s in the marrow of him but you, you’ve learned the infrastructure, the way it bends and collapses, and you know where to press until he turns pliant. “You were always going to.”
The words fall between you, preordained. Silence convenes around them. You watch the minute disturbances and let them crest and ebb before you move. The brief frown that ghosts across your face dissolves as you read the tension along his body, gauging his disposition and allowing the silence for the word to leave his mouth, until you find no misgivings, no hesitation that he’s unwilling to take whatever you offer.
“Keeping that big mouth of yours shut was never going to convince me otherwise,” you say at last, almost tenderly. “It only taught me where to listen.”
He grits his teeth when you tighten your fingers slightly, a sound too soft to be a growl catching in his throat. Heat gathers where your skin meets his. The clocktower plocks somewhere above, its pendulum steady, while the rest of the room collapses into a narrow corridor of sensation. You feel his cock pulse against your palm, the tick fast and insistent. The moonlight pools in the hollow of his collarbone, and for a moment you can’t tell whether the tremor that passes between you belongs to him or to you.
You lean forward, a slow line of saliva slips from your mouth and over the head of his cock. His eyes flutter open, half-lidded; they’re glassy with effort, trying to keep the world in focus through a lens that keeps fogging. He tilts his head up to look at you properly, a quiet groan slipping past his lips when you rotate your grip slowly, deliberately, letting your fingers trace a spiraling path that coils through him like molten silk.
A sudden wave overtakes him, and his foot slams down, bracing itself onto the cold metal, the sharp impact sending a ripple through every coiled sinew and muscle. His knee bends instinctively, thigh arching and folding and a shiver runs along the line of his torso, quivering beneath your hand. Heat pulses from him in thick waves, glistening across skin.
“C’mon. C’mon—fuck me!” he snarls out, half out of his mind, lifting his hips to thrust himself into your hand.
Your body feels hot all over, something molten coalescing in your core, a thick, undulating heat. He thrashes against the restraints. The veins in his neck protrude, his muscles straining. His head jerks from side to side, his face contorts. You pin his hips to the table, and speed up, teasing the precipice of release, then withdraw, releasing him.
“No!” he shouts, skull striking the hard surface with a dull echo.
Your mouth is too dry to even summon a laugh, tongue pressed thick against the roof of your mouth as the heat pooling low in your body hums like restrained electricity. His hips jerk frantically and your eyebrows shoot up in a flash of startled recognition before your fingers splay on his hip, nails digging into the cadaverous planes of his skin, pressing just enough to impede the relentless writhing.
“Stop,” he gasps, the decadent sting of pain making him delirious. “Stop, that won’t do anything.”
The plea fractures on a gasp; his whole body jerks, then folds into stillness. For a moment he seems not to know where he is.
You realize the pain is accelerating the impending release and let go. The heat between you disperses into the air, sharp and metallic, the room itself seeming to breathe again after holding its lungs too long. There’s a lapse of silence save for Isaac’s labored breaths, eyes closed as he tries to regain his composure. he exhales shakily, eyelids fluttering.
You observe the incremental recalibrations of his body: a swallow convulsing the slender column of his neck, fingers flexing as if slowly regaining dominion over them, the chest’s fitful rise rehearsing the idea of calm. The rigidity ebbs from him, molecule by molecule, and color returns in waves, a slow marbling of vitality across pallor.
Only then does he turn his head, eyes fluttering open with a wild lucidity, febrile and manic still flickering behind them.
“Again,” he says hoarsely. “Let’s go again.”
You scoff, a disbelieving laugh spilling from your lips, cadenced like wind rattling the eaves of a long-abandoned building, eyes tracing the minute convulsions of his frame. Only when you have adjudicated every quake, every quiver of sinew and pulse, do you incline your head with a slow, deliberate nod of amused assent. “Alright.”
Your hand’s descent acts as an invocation, and a strangled sound absconds from him, curling upward into the vaulted air. His teeth seize upon his lower lip while the body beneath your gaze stiffens and yields in oscillation, a reticent liturgy of restraint and want.
His wrists strain against the leather, the motion taut and convulsive, as though some private storm were gathering in the sinews. The straps bite into his skin, embossing it with the raw, reddened crescents.
“You’re hurting yourself,” you murmur, the words less reprimand than observation, your voice slipping into the charged quiet between you. It hangs there, tremulous, like light caught in dust motes.
He doesn’t answer. He scarcely registered it. The breath saws through his throat, his body vibrating with a fervor that seems to reject the very idea of containment.
“Isaac.” You intone his name as a command, each syllable measured, sovereign, with an authority that brooks no argument. “You need to calm down.” Your palm rises, deliberate, and settles against the curve of his jaw, warmth grounding whatever it is that coils through him like a restless current. He inclines toward it, leaning into it, searching for the tether of your presence. “Breathe.”
He listens with a shaky exhale, lips trembling, perspiration accumulating on his brow, tension unspooling.
“That’s it. Look at that, you’re doing good,” you praise fondly. “Keep holding on, we’re going again.”
He wets his lips.
The skin on the length of his cock moves under the glide of your hand, and he shudders, an involuntary spasm that travels up his spine and radiates to the tips of his fingers and toes. Each deliberate glide is a spark and he is helpless against it, body coiling and uncoiling like a living thing that has forgotten all purpose except this one sensation. His chest heaves with shallow, uneven breaths catching in his throat, and his lips part in wordless gasps that flutter like butterfly wings, half sounds, half moans, as though even language cannot contain what wracks him.
His hands grasp at the air, at the slab beneath him, at nothing at all, fingers curling and unclenching in a rhythm dictated entirely by the tidal wave rolling through his body. The veins along the shaft pulse insistently under your palm, slick and vibrant, each beat of his heart is a need that reverberates into your own awareness. He thrashes subtly, hips twitching in futile, half-conscious attempts to chase the impossible high that slides down his spine in molten waves. Every brush of your thumb, every teasing pressure, drives him deeper into the chaos of his own release, until his mind is a haze, fogged and delirious.
A low, guttural sound escapes him, rough and ragged, spilling from his throat in defiance of all composure. His eyes half-roll, glassy and unfocused, and he cannot think, cannot form a sentence, cannot do anything except feel, feel, feel, as your hand orchestrates the tremors that run through him in unrelenting succession. The world collapses, until it is only you, only him, only the relentless, consuming flood of sensation that leaves him shaking, undone in your grip.
You let go.
The sob that falls from his lips is nothing short of mirific, raw and unguarded, spilling from him in a tremulous cascade of sound that makes your chest ache with a strange, avaricious fondness.
When the restraints finally click open, your brows lift in mild surprise, the noise startling in the quiet of the tower.
“Really? This whole time you could've just opened them yourself?"
He doesn’t grace that with a reply. The subsequent movement is instinctual — a surge, a lunge; he catches you in his arms, hands clutching, twisting you into his lap, you tumble with a peal of laughter escaping you before you can stop it. The kiss that lands on your mouth is fevered, graceless, so full of need that it startles you before you melt into him.
“Oh,” you croon, pulling back just enough to let your gaze roam over his twitching body. “Baby. Baby, you’re alright. I’ve got you.” Your hand drifts along the taut line of his thigh, a gentle stroke, feeling the muscle contract under your fingers, warmth spreading from the contact like spun silk. Your voice softens, threaded with adoration and amusement. “Been so good holding on, letting me have you like this,” you murmur against his lips.
“I need to come,” he says finally.
Your lips twitch into a wisp of a smile as you begin to draw back, only to feel his grasp harden, a possessive vise that yanks you nearer, hauls you in, as if he could fuse your very flesh into his own. “It’s okay,” you laugh. “Gonna give you what you want. I’m a little hot, gotta lose the shirt.”
There is no balletic flourish, just the brisk yank of fabric over your head, the shirt flung to the floor like a discarded thought. Then you’re on him again, your bare skin pressing into his, an anchor of heat that seems to dissolve his rigid edges until he thaws, molding to the contours of your form. His back is a sweat-slick and feverish constant against the softness of your chest, your legs twining around him with a tender, confident hold, as if you're claiming a space that already feels like home.
“You’re being quiet,” you note.
His curls tickle your neck with the impetus of the movement, shaking his head briefly. “I’m fine.”
“Isaac.”
He’s reticent for a beat. “Overexertion,” he concedes. “Nothing serious. Just mild cognitive dissonance… tired, mostly.”
“You wanna st—”
“No.” He interrupts, clipped, effectively truncating your sentence. “I need to come.”
When your hand slides down his body and grips his cock, the sigh of relief is a quiet hymn to capitulation, His head lolls back, heavy with abandon, and you shift instinctively, rising just enough to offer a cradle for his fall, your body a gilded sanctuary for his unraveling. The heat of it pulses under your fingers, already slick with his precome that smears itself across your palm. “Fuck, you’re a mess already,” you mutter, your breath hot against his ear as you start to stroke, slow at first, letting the wet slide build. His sigh is ragged, a broken sound, and his head drops back again, heavy and helpless.
“Look at this,” you say, dragging your palm back up, letting the slick skin of his cock glide under your touch, the friction teasing out another bead of precome that spills over the tip and rolls down the shaft. It’s leaking nonstop now, a slow, constant dribble that coats him, making every pull of your hand wetter, sloppier, until your fingers are practically slipping through the flood of it. You tighten your hold, dragging down again, feeling the heat and the pulse of him as more precome seeps out, dripping onto your wrist in warm, messy rivulets. “You’re soaking my hand. Can’t even hold it together, can you?” His hips jerk under your touch, a shuddered gasp slipping out as more of his fluids spill over, making the mess worse, trickling down to pool at the base. Your fingers drag it back up, the slickness letting you twist your hand just right until he’s trembling, barely holding on.
His hips twitch, a sharp jerk into your hand, and a choked groan tears out of him. “Don’t—fuck, don’t stop,” he rasps, voice raw and wrecked. Your hand keeps working, dragging slowly along his cock, the skin glistening as precome keeps spilling, soaking everything — your fingers, your palm, even dripping down to wet the inside of your forearm. “Just like that,” he chokes out, barely coherent, his body shuddering with every wet, dragging stroke. “Keep going.”
His body’s trembling now, hips jerking into your hand with desperate little thrusts, and his breath comes in sharp, broken pants. “I’m—I’m close,” he hacks out, voice shredded at the edges that your cunt aches hearing him.
“Then let go,” you coax into his hair, tightening your grip, sliding faster through the wet heat, the squelch loud and obscene with every drag down his length. “Come all over my fuckin’ hand.” Your thumb swipes hard over the tip, smearing the dripping precome back down, and that’s what breaks him. His whole body locks up, a raw moan ripping out of him as he comes, hard and violent, thick ropes of his release flooding out, splattering across your knuckles and spilling over your fingers. It’s a deluge, hot and sticky, pouring out in heavy spurts that coat your hand, dripping down to pool at the base of him and trickling onto his trembling thighs.
His orgasm seems endless, his cock twitching with aftershocks, each pulse pushing out another dribble that seeps into the mess already covering your skin. His eyes are shut tight, face twisted in raw unadulterated pleasure, but yours are wide, blackened with lust, pupils blown as you drink in every inch of body, ruined in its debauchery.
Your hand finally lifts from him, sticky and saturated, but Isaac doesn’t flinch or snap out of it. He lets the residue smear further, letting you trace it over his stomach, careless, indulgent. His chest rises and falls like a fragile drum, shallow breaths catching at odd intervals, and he hums a low, half-lost sound somewhere between a chuckle and a moan.
He lets his head tilt back, curls brushing against you, eyes half-lidded, glassy with haze. “Very… modernist,” he drawls, tone teasing, though the words stumble over the subtle quiver in his lip.
You lean closer, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, letting your hand linger, thumb proprietorially tracing the glinting streaks of him. “Still talking? Must’ve gone easy on you.”
“Mm. That’s debatable,” he breathes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re—ah—alarmingly efficient.”
You laugh, and his smirk curves into something quieter, but still pointed. His lips part in a satisfied sigh that carries your laughter with it, as if the sound were a balm.
Warnings: Smut..., sub! Ricky (fun fact: My cousun got a girl pregnant and named it Ricky), dom!f! Reader, mommy kink, pet names (baby, pretty boy), tittie sucking, hairpulling, and thats about it.
Friday. Gosh, you hated them. All because of your dad. He was very abusive with your mom, and treated you like shit. You never understood why he was like this with you guys, but it is what it is.
So, there were you, smoking outside the school.
"Hey, Yn" Says Paula
"Hey, Paula" Says Yn, blankly
"Arent you suppoused to be at home?" Says Paula
"Dad came home, I aint going thru that hell hole" says Yn, blowing the smoke out of her mouth
"Well, you know you can go to my house whenever you want, right?" Says Paula, putting a hand on her shoulder
"Thanks, but im going to stay here for a while" Says Yn
"Ok, see ya" Says Paula leaving
Paula then left you alone. You kept minding your buissness, until he came out of the building. Ricky Hobbs. You think hes cute, and a nice gentelman. Hes glasses make him look cuter than he already is. Hes perfect.
"Ricky?" Says Yn
"Ah! You scared me" Says Ricky
"What are you doing at 5:37 in the school bulding?" Says Ricky, sitting down on the bus stop
So you went and sat down next to him. His mom was sick, and his dad was always working. He was lonely. Maybe you could change that.
"Well, im gonna head home" Says Ricky, standing up
"Can I go with you?" Says Yn, blowing the cigarett out of her mouth
"Sure" Says Ricky, nervous
His house was pretty close, so it wasnt a problem. Soon, you guys arrived at his house, you sat on the couch, while Ricky was on the kitchen... doing stuff.
"You good?" Says Yn
"Come up stairs with me" Says Ricky
You follow him to his room, and sit on his bed, while he sits on his chair.
"What are we doing here?" Asks Yn, looking around the room
"I dont know" Says Ricky, playing with his hands
'This guy sits like a girl' Says Yn, on her mind
"So... what do you do.. around here?" Says Yn, looking around his bedroom
"Well, I like reading... sometimes smoking, you know, boring stuff" Says Ricky, fixing his glasses
"Wait. You smoke, theres no way. Ricky, the perfect boy smokes?" Says Yn, surprised and happy
Yn then takes out her packs of cigarette, and gives one to him.
"Here" Says Yn, giving him the match
"Thanks" Says Ricky, smiling
His smile is beautiful
Ricky lits up his cigarette, put it in his mouth, and blows out the smoke. Then, he walks up and sits next to you, in the bed. You finished your cigarette, and threw it out the window.
"So, this the first time you talk to a girl" Says Yn, gigling
"Yep" Says Ricky, blowing the smoke out of his mouth
Yn, takes his cigarette, take a hit, goes close to Ricky putting her hand on his jaw, opening his mouth, and blowing the smoke in his mouth.
Ricky was blushing. Hard. He never thought a girl would do this to him, or vice versa.
"Never done that before?" Says Yn, giving him the cigarette back
"No. I havent even had a girl with me before" Says Ricky, giggling
"Well, I got to admit. You are very cute, nice, adorable, sweet to the elder. A nice young man." Says Yn, making him, yet, again, blush
"Well, You are very attractive too, and I always saw you, and think to myself 'Ill never have a chance with that girl'" Says Ricky, laying on his back, in the bed
Yn, sits on his lap, and leans down to kiss him. Soon, to be turned in a make out session. Ricky puts his hands on your waist, making you moan.
As futher as it goes, you starts unbotton your blouse, leaving Ricky to stare at your chest.
"You wanna do this?" Asks Yn
"Yes, please, I beg" Says Ricky
You stood up and took your skirt off, while Ricky just went to lay on the pillows. Once your skirt was off you went to straddle Ricky, leaving him with his eyes wide, and blushing.
"You want to take em off?" Says Yn, reffering to her bra
"Ok" Says Ricky, nervous
Rickys, warm hands goes to your back, and unclasp your bra, leaving your breast free from there comfort. Rickys hands flew to your breast, playing with them. Who knew he'd be here playing with your tits, and finding comfort in them. Sudenly, Yn feels Ricky hard thru his pants, and started grinding on his bulge.
"Can I, please?" Asks Ricky
You knew what he was reffering to. He wanted to suck them titties, until he creamed his pants.
"Please what, baby" Says Yn
"Please, 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺" Says Ricky, desperate
"Go on, baby. Suck 'em" Says Yn, giving the poor boy permission
Rickys lips flew to your left nipple, he was in heaven (uve never been to heaven have u?)His hands started playing with the right one, you couldnt help but moan at the pleasure this boy was giving you, it wasnt much but it was something.
"I want to eat you, mommy" Says Ricky, fliping you both over
"Go ahed, pretty boy. Im all yours" Says Yn
Ricky took off your panties, throwing them somewhere in his place. He got hesitant at first, but then he didnt reggret anything. His tounge. His tounge was lapping at your clit, at a fast pace. Then, an idea popped in Rickys head, he pushed two fingers inside you, his actions made you moan so loud that you think all the neighbors heard it. Soon enough, you were squirting all over his face. Ricky didnt knew what to do, but just accept that he is lossing his virginity. Tonight.
"That was... hot" Says Ricky, panting
"Your turn, baby" Says Yn
Ricky goes and lays on the pillows, while you start unbottoning his shirt. Then, when Yn finished unbottoning his shirt, she started running her hands on his torso. Then, started un-doing his pants, and pulling of his underwear. And, for your surprise, hes big. Big.
"Mommy, please" Whines Ricky
"Hold on, baby" Says Yn, positioning herself on his cock
Soon, Yn started going up and down, Ricky couldnt help but stare at your tits. You leaned down and started kissing his neck, leaving purple hickeys all over.
"Momma, im- im cumming" Says Ricky, fixing his glasses
"Hold on, pretty boy" Says Yn
"Ok" Says Ricky
The pleasure was so much that Rickys eyes were rolling to the back of his head.
"Ok, baby, go on, cum for me, ok" Says Yn
"MmM" Moans Ricky
Yn cum first with Ricky following her. Then, Yn collapesed besides Ricky, on the bed.
"That. Was. Amazing." Says Ricky, breathing hevy
"Im happy you liked it, baby" Says Yn, running her hands thru his hair
"Want a cigarette?" Says Ricky, getting his pack
"Sure" Says Yn
Ricky hands Yn the cigarette, and lits it up. They both get dressed, and lay on his bed. Ricky lays between your thighs, with his head on your chest, while Yn runs her fingers thru his hair.
And before Yn knew it, Ricky fell into a deep sleep. And Yn, left her worries behind.
Warnings: Smut, getting caught, sub! Ricky, Dom! Reader, Rickys dad hates Yn, pet name, momma kink, yk the rest.
It was a sunny sunday, everyone in town was in church, minus Yn.
Ricky is a good boy, he helped people, took care of the little kids in the church, and was there for everyone who needed him. Although, he was shy, he still helped around.
Ever since his mom fell sick, he was very upset. So, Yn being his best friend started baby-ing him and comforting him. Ricky loves it, being a mommas boy he felt like he was in heaven.
So, you sat on the front porch of Rickys house, waiting for the church bus to arrive. Once it arrives, Ricky gets off the bus and sees Yn sitting on the chair of the porch. Ricky's eyes lit up when he saw her, a smile split on to his lips. He got closer to her and he sat besides her. They watch as the bus leaves, then Yn decided to speak up.
"So what did you learn at church today, Rick" Says Yn, lighting up her cigarette
"It went great" Says Ricky, Admairing Yns beauty
"What did you learn today ?" Asks Yn, blowing the smoke out of her mouth
"About marrige and what you should do" Says Ricky, bitting his nails
"Mmm, fun. Lets go inside, Shall we?" Says Yn, taking a hit of her cigarrette and blowing the smoke in Rickys face while he starts giggling
Yn and Ricky go up to his room, Yn lays on her stomach on the floor, while Ricky is reading a book. 20 minutes passed and Rickys dad starts knocking on his door, Yn rolls over and hide under Rickys bed.
"Come in!" Says Ricky, not taking his eyes of his book
Rickys dad comes inside, examinating the room, then he procides to sit on Rickys bed.
"How you doing, Champ?" Asks Rickys dad
"Ok, i guess" Says Ricky, with his eyes glued to the book
"Listen, I know I havent been home lately and you have been lonely-" Starts Rickys dad before hes cut off by Ricky
"I havent been lonely dad, I have been with Yn" Responds Ricky, driedly
"Ricky, ive told you to not be with that girl, Shes bad knews Rick-" Says Rickys dad to be cut off by him again
"Dad, shes the only one that accepts me. She doesnt throw me aside like everyone! She doesnt treat me like garbage! She doesnt call me a loser, a pussy, a-a asshole, or stupid square! None of that she treats me right, and better than everyone else!" Shouts Ricky, with watery eyes abd breathing heavy
"Why didnt you tell me all this?!" Shouts Rickys dad
"Because you always come drunk from work! And you always ignore me! Yn is the only one that’s there to comfort me and what do you do? Nothing! Nothing! Now please get out!” Says Ricky, crying his eyes out
Ricky’s dad leave the room, Ricky locks the door and sits back down. Yn, under the bed, felt bad for him. First his mom, now his father, he was incredibly upset. Ricky opened his cabinet and took out a pack of cigarettes. He took one, put it in his mouth, and littet up.
Yn couldn’t believe her eyes, Ricky was smoking. Yn rolled out of the bed and went up to him.
“Ricky, I didn’t know you smoked” Says Yn, massaging his shoulders
“Well, everyone has secrets, no?” Responds Ricky, blowing the smoke out of his mouth
“Yn, do you like me?” Asks Ricky, turning in his chair to look at Yn
“Of course Ricky, you are the best” Responds Yn, hugging his shoulders
“C’mon, let’s sit on the floor” Says Yn, sitting on the floor
Ricky sits with Yn on the floor, and lay's his head on Yn’s shoulder and throws his cigarette out the window. Ricky was so close to Yn he could smell her perfume, Yn started stroking his brown hair and started saying sweet nothings on his ear. Ricky started to feel loved by someone, someone who isn’t always yelling at him, who isn’t calling him names. He was at peace and he liked it.
Thats when he started feeling things, arousment. Yn turned to look at him and starts kissing him. Ricky lays on his back while Yn sits on top of him, she starts kissing his neck. Ricky puts his hand in his mouth to stop him from moaning. Yn starts grinding her hips, getting a thrust in responce from the needy boy. Yn started feeling more wet than before, while Ricky was hard as a rock.
"Oh, Yn... MmMM... please..." Says Ricky, reaching to grab your hips, but you slapped his hand away.
"Wha-" Says the boy desperetly
"You need to be patient, baby boy" Says Yn, grinding her hips on his.
"Please, I want to see you... momma" Says Ricky, shyness taking over him
"Ok, come one. Lets go to bed." Says Yn, lifting up her hips. Ricky whines at the lost of contact.
"Get on the bed Ricky, Im gonna become you mommy tonight!" Says Yn, taking her shirt and skirt off, while Ricky watches her in 'aw'
"Oh momma... please! I cant wait anymore" Says Ricky, while Yn sits on his lap running her hands along his chest.
"Lets take this off, shall we?" Says Yn, unbottoning his shirt
"Yes, please" Whine Ricky, touching Yn breast
As Yn finishes unbuttoning his shirt, she runs her hands up and down his chest, admiring him.
"You are so pretty, baby..." Says Yn, flicking his nipple making him moan
Ricky got so red, at Yn comment, that he fogged up his glasses, he covers his face with his hands, Yn lets a small chuckle escape from her mouth.
"Oh Ricky, you are just so cute... Do you want me to take this off?" Says Yn, signaling at his pants
"Oh please, PLEase... I need you." Says Ricky, playing with the hem of your panties.
Yn starts un-doing his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. She is surprised of what she sees... a Big, Fat, Cock. Long and Hard. Yn mouth waters at the sight. She puts him in her mouth, without a warning, and what doesnt fit her she strokes it with her soft, warm hand. Yn starts bobbing her head on his length, Ricky arches his bavk of the bed and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
"Oh, Momma im cumming... I CAnt HolD it iN" Moans out Ricky, he cums all over Yn's mouth while she sallows it all.
"Baby boy... Momma's goimg to ride you, ok?" Says Yn, in sudective tone
Rickys cock twiches at the nickname. Yn runs her hands, up and down, at rickys chest in a comfort matter.
"Yes mommy" Says Ricky, in a pretty sweet tone
Yn aligns herslef in Rickys cock and without a warning she slams herself down on Ricky. Both of there eyes roll to the back of there heads, while espresing a moan out of their mouths. Yn starts riding Ricky at a fast pace, then she noticed that they werent home alone, so Yn puts her thumb on his mouth to shut him up, he moans at her actions, as in return he place his hands on her breast and starts massaging them. This action made Yn ride him faster, his soft, pink tip, hits her soft spot deliciously, bringing her close to her orgasm
"Oh Ricky, mommy's cumming... Fuck! Momma's going to cum.. ShiT!" Moans out Yn, Riding him faster making the bed squeak, yet not caring about Rickys dad.
"Oh momma.. I cant hold it in no moreeeee." Whines out Ricky, squezing your chest
"C'mon baby boy, cum with moMmY" Says Yn, releasing her spent on Rickys cock, while he relizies himself on her tummy
Yn gets besides him and he moves to lay on her chest...
"That was awsome..." Says Ricky, breathless
"Yeah... we should do this more often... want to?" Says Yn, looking down at Ricky
"Of courseee" Says Ricky, passing out while snuzziling closer to Yn's breast
"*small chuckle* Silly boy.." Says Yn, going to sleep too..
summary: warren returns from his assignment with books theft, experiencing a huge amount of emotions, mostly panic and anxiety. you try to support your boyfriend
warnings: dry humping, joint smoking, vaginal sex, curse words, not proofread, sad spencer
word count: 1587
“God, it’s all gone!” Warren bursts loudly into the room, slamming his door. In surprise, you bounce on the bed, turning around at the sound. You was at your boyfriend's house, insisting that you cheer him up after the operation, or at least not let him go crazy on his own, how he could, smoking on daily basis. “What's happened? Is everything okay?” you put the magazine aside, watching him walk around the room in circles, almost tearing out his curls.
“It's not fucking okay! We screwed up!” he screams hysterically. You grab his sleeve, causing him to fall next to you on bed. It sags under his weight, he sits next to you and you moves to his knee, saddling it and cupping his face with hands, frowning.
“Warren, I'm sure everything will be fine. Did you manage to steal at least anything?” you stroke his cheeks with your thumbs, trying to calm him down.
“Yes, three books, but we couldn’t take away what we came for!” he started to get nervous again and raised his voice, his dark eyes were widened with anxiety and you could see drops of sweat on his temples. And you didn’t like it, because the only thing he should have sweat on his face after is after sex. Or the gym. But not from a panic attack.
You put your forehead against Warren’s, who became silent and wearily closed his eyes, rubbing his face a little against yours when you again tried to come him to senses. “This is already good. You was preparing for this for so long and did what you could do. For your first time, I’m surprised that you could even make your way home,” you laughed at the end of the sentence, to which Warren snorted, rolling his eyes and trying to hide his smile.
“Well, my Forest Gump, you are tense, should I relax you?” you narrowed your eyes and smirked, looking first at Warren eyes, then at his lips. He leaned towards you, touching yours in a needy kiss and grabbed your waist with his hands, to which you closed your eyes and buried your hands in his hair on the nape, pulling them a little. Warren growled softly and squeezed his fingers on you and you felt how his erection under material of jeans twitched.
Suddenly an idea came to your mind and you moved away from Warren and reached into his old backpack near the bed.
“Hey, y/n?..” he whimpered and clung to your hand, pulled his face in pain, and you brought the joint to him and set it’s edge on fire.
“Oh, okay,” you both smiled and inhaled the smoke in turn, gradually feeling how bliss fills you. You put the joint back on the table, again straddling his hips, continuing to run your tongue over his, deepening kiss. You started to move your body back and forth, riding over the mounting bulge under the clothes, feeling a rush of heat in the lower body, which began to spread from the touch of the clit to the rough tissue.
“Fuck,” Warren groaned, running one hand under your T-shirt and lifting it up, lightly squeezing your breast. He found a nipple and kitty licked it, which made you moaning harder, snuggling closer to him. With his other hand, he squeezed your thigh, closer to the pretty ass cheek, slipping under your thin shorts and guiding your movements. You loved to rub through clothes, you couldn't understand what gave you so much pleasure, but as long as you were with Warren, everything suited you and you didn't need to know the answers. You tilted your head back, breathing fast and biting your lower lip as Warren pulled away from your chest with pop sound and moving to your neck, leaving hickeys that will be seen in the future. You loved when Warren marked you, and he himself liked to leave bloody purple spots so that everyone could see that you had a good night with him, even if it seemed stupid to some of your friends. You liked the aesthetics of hickeys, even though you didn’t like when someone bites you painfully, but Warren mostly always tries to do it gently, but in such a way that the stain was visible on pale skin. And you are glad to have the same opinions on this case.
So glad also by the fact that you was approaching orgasm, while Warren moved his hand under your shorts further, touching your wet slit. “Fuck, y/n, you're so wet,” he hissed between your moans, picking up your juices with his fingers and driving one inside of you. He pushed his fingers in and out of your being until your face contorted in bliss and you held your breath. “Here it is,” Warren grinned, adding a second finger and hitting exactly on your favorite spot, not having pity on you at all. You were getting closer and closer on the way to orgasm, a knot in the lower abdomen was getting tighter, Warren’s fingers squished louder and louder, more and more lubrication stood out from you. You clung to his shoulders, desperately looking for his lips, and this kiss turned out to be chaotic, but passionate. “Warren… oh, fuck-, Warren, I–” his fingers moved faster, your hips began to tremble, but did not stop moving.
“Come on, baby, cum on my fingers,” encouraged Warren, watching you and helping you with all the excitement and admiration in his eyes, until that very knot was finally untied and you reached your peak. You let out a long moan, slowing down your movements and resting your head on the Warren’s shoulder, trying to come to your senses, while he pulled out his fingers with a squelching sound, again. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed that he raised his hand to his face. “Warren!" you cried out in embarrassment when you saw that he was licking your juices from his fingers, giggling playfully and smiling. You lightly push him in the chest, to which he recoiled a little, but turned you onto your back, being on top and hanging over you. He helped you pull off your shirt, then pulled off his things while you got rid of your shorts and underwear.
When Warren hung over you again, you ran your hands over his torso and shoulders. “Your body is incredible,” you whispered under your breath, and smiled as he grabbed one of your wrists, squinting slyly in response. “You only like me because of my body,” he kissed the outside of your palm without looking away from you, you laughed as you had a drag on the joint, passing it to him. “Well, I confess, that was one of the reasons,” he silently made a puff, twisting smoking in fingers and staring at you, not blinking. then he slowly approached you closer, raising his eyebrows in frisky surprise. You could feel his breath, the tips of your noses were practically touching, he teased, but didn’t kiss. “...but not the main one,” you added and he smiled again, showing his teeth and abruptly threw your legs up to his hips. He ran his hand along his boner a couple of times, adjusting himself near your slit and collecting your wetness. He looked into your eyes, asking if he could do want he wanted to – you nodded, and in the next moment you felt him, not only in deep down of soul, but also in body. At first you both stilled for a moment and then his movements became more confident and more insistent.
Warren buried his nose into the crook of your neck, putting his hands on both side of you, snarling in your ear with each thrust. You clung to his back and shoulders, out of touch with reality, feeling the euphoria of sex with Warren, spurred on by a recent joint. Your eyes were closed, you saw colored circles, and between the deep thrusts of Warren, you tried to breathe normally with your slightly opened mouth, from which constantly sounded moans. “Fuck, you, y/n… you, damn–… uh–… yeah–… you’re awesome,” Warren’s movements got sloppier and faster and you felt his fingers finding your throbbing clit. You squeezed the hair at the back of Warren’s head again, pulling hard as you felt your second euphoria. The walls of your pussy clenched, you constantly inhaled and exhaled catching the buzz, opening your eyes and rolling them up, uttering a long whimper, reaching orgasm for the second time that evening. It felt Warren, which after a couple of movements also poured into you, biting your neck near your shoulder, without pulling out his dick. You know that in the morning there will be a mark of his teeth too, but this does not cause you discomfort. You both tried to catch your breath, he slides off you, rolling onto his back, finally getting out of your body. “You know, I'm feeling better now,” Warren laughed softly, turning his head towards you. You shyly smiled in response. “You are always welcome,” you rested your head on his chest, he hugged your waist, covering both of you with a blanket and sighed with satisfaction.
In the morning, Warren’s phone rang, and it turned out to be Spencer, who had no one to calm him down yesterday the way you calmed down Warren and now it was your boyfriend’s turn to be peaceful and easy in this situation.
Warning: oral (f receiving),exhibitisom, filming during sexual acts, mommy kink,light nipple play,exhibitism, sub! Ethan, dom! Reader
Summary: reader lets Ethan be a part of her livestream <3
Our boy eating the reader’s pussy while she has her camera out above him <33 his eyes and nose the only thing in view as he devours her cunt, eyelashes fluttering and hips thrusting into empty air as he listens to her praise him. Usually people would be embarrassed of doing this, of showing their face and body like this, but Ethan just can’t help but love it. He loves basking in the attention, loves being watched.
Especially when he’s being watched as he does things to her.
“Oh, my pretty, pretty baby..” the reader’s hands softly stroke the boy’s messy curls, and she looks down at him lovingly. “You’re so beautiful like this. So good for me.”
Ethan’s mouth comes off of her with a pop as he looks submissively into the camera. “I am?”
“Mhm. my perfect little boy.”
The sounds of the livestream on her phone show that the money count is increasing. Ethan whimpers at the praise she gives him. She grins, and he holds eye contact with her (those damn puppy dog eyes), as he goes by down to lick at her greedy pussy again. She begins to grind her hips, moaning, and he moans too at the sound of her. She’s so wet, juices trailing down the boy’s chin and all over his beautiful face. he’s not allowed to touch without her permission, and he’s doing such a good job at following directions. His hands stay firmly at his sides, gripping the sheets. She can feel her orgasm approaching, and when his tongue goes down to her sloppy hole, she snaps, body bouncing up and down in pleasure as he moans into her. He doesn’t hesitate to lick her walls clean of her own cum, and then when she gets off of his face she shows the viewers his cum soaked face. The chat goes crazy.
User 3838292: aww, he’s soaked
User 288383: poor boy hasn’t came yet :((
User 092828: he’s so hot wtf
She smiles at the comments. The fact that she’s the only one who can touch him is the best part of all of this. They can’t have a damn thing.
“What do I have to do now, momma?” Ethan questions, licking his lips clean of her spend. He lifts himself off the bed so he’s in a sitting position.
“I think you deserve to cum now, sweetheart..” She leans over to stroke his pretty throat with one manicured hand. “I’m so proud of you.”
Ethan’s heart flutters, and he excitedly presses a kiss to her lips.
“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you so so much!”
You then order him to sit up against the wall and slip off his sweats, which he obeys. His cock is hard through his briefs.
You bring the camera down to his bulge, talking seductively into the camera. “His cock is so big, isn’t it? And look!” She runs a finger over the wet patch on the front of his underwear, which makes him whine and thrust his hips up. “Little slut is so wet. He always gets wet.”
“Momma.. please..”
“Please what?”
“Please please let me cum.”
You stroke his cheek as you straddle his thighs. Your phone rests above you, filming his face once again, as you softly run your hand down his naked chest and press a light kiss to one of his nipples. He gasps softly.
“Show me that pretty cock, sweet boy.”
Later, when Ethan has orgasmed and the reader has cleaned him up, he sleeps soundly against her nude form. She checks the stats of the livestream from earlier. She smiles happily when she sees that the view count got to 500k.
omg can u write headcannons of bimbo! reader & pervy bsf! ethan 😣
Perv bsf! Ethan Headcannons (18+)
If some of these r too weird I’m sorry I jus couldn’t resist 🏃♀️💨 he’s also kind of stalker ish in this oops
Warning: dubcon, stalking, just overall creep behavior
Perv! Ethan bending down next to you at any given moment to “get something” (he’s actually looking up your skirt)
Perv! Ethan jacking into your used panties before wash day <3 sometimes even stealing them and keeping them in the little shrine he has of you
Perve! Ethan putting his cum in your lip gloss when you aren’t looking :(( gets a hard on watching you use it the next day, completely clueless
Perv! Ethan watching you shower:)seeing you through the crack in the door n seeing your reflection in the mirror. Also uses your shampoo so he can be surrounded by your smell all the time
Perv! Ethan sneaking into your bedroom and jacking off to you when you’re asleep
Perv! Ethan breaking into your room when you’re gone and humping all your pillows and plushies </3
Perv! Ethan taking pictures of you while you’re sleeping so he can use them to jack off
Perv! Ethan purposely giving you phallic shaped desserts just so he can see you put them in your mouth <3 of course you eat them every single time.
Perv! Ethan getting you both matching best friend necklaces bc he knows you’ll love them!! (He also knows that the chain on yours is long enough to reach down in between your tits and give him an excuse to stare).
Perv! Ethan putting sunscreen on your back over the summer!! If his hands accidentally drift too low,it’s just an accident!
Perv! Ethan drawing on your thighs as an excuse to touch them <3
Perv! Ethan stealing your perfume when you’re gone and spraying it on his pillows so he can smell you when he masturbates
Warning: oral (f receiving),exhibitisom, filming during sexual acts, mommy kink,light nipple play,exhibitism, sub! Ethan, dom! Reader
Summary: reader lets Ethan be a part of her livestream <3
Our boy eating the reader’s pussy while she has her camera out above him <33 his eyes and nose the only thing in view as he devours her cunt, eyelashes fluttering and hips thrusting into empty air as he listens to her praise him. Usually people would be embarrassed of doing this, of showing their face and body like this, but Ethan just can’t help but love it. He loves basking in the attention, loves being watched.
Especially when he’s being watched as he does things to her.
“Oh, my pretty, pretty baby..” the reader’s hands softly stroke the boy’s messy curls, and she looks down at him lovingly. “You’re so beautiful like this. So good for me.”
Ethan’s mouth comes off of her with a pop as he looks submissively into the camera. “I am?”
“Mhm. my perfect little boy.”
The sounds of the livestream on her phone show that the money count is increasing. Ethan whimpers at the praise she gives him. She grins, and he holds eye contact with her (those damn puppy dog eyes), as he goes by down to lick at her greedy pussy again. She begins to grind her hips, moaning, and he moans too at the sound of her. She’s so wet, juices trailing down the boy’s chin and all over his beautiful face. he’s not allowed to touch without her permission, and he’s doing such a good job at following directions. His hands stay firmly at his sides, gripping the sheets. She can feel her orgasm approaching, and when his tongue goes down to her sloppy hole, she snaps, body bouncing up and down in pleasure as he moans into her. He doesn’t hesitate to lick her walls clean of her own cum, and then when she gets off of his face she shows the viewers his cum soaked face. The chat goes crazy.
User 3838292: aww, he’s soaked
User 288383: poor boy hasn’t came yet :((
User 092828: he’s so hot wtf
She smiles at the comments. The fact that she’s the only one who can touch him is the best part of all of this. They can’t have a damn thing.
“What do I have to do now, momma?” Ethan questions, licking his lips clean of her spend. He lifts himself off the bed so he’s in a sitting position.
“I think you deserve to cum now, sweetheart..” She leans over to stroke his pretty throat with one manicured hand. “I’m so proud of you.”
Ethan’s heart flutters, and he excitedly presses a kiss to her lips.
“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you so so much!”
You then order him to sit up against the wall and slip off his sweats, which he obeys. His cock is hard through his briefs.
You bring the camera down to his bulge, talking seductively into the camera. “His cock is so big, isn’t it? And look!” She runs a finger over the wet patch on the front of his underwear, which makes him whine and thrust his hips up. “Little slut is so wet. He always gets wet.”
“Momma.. please..”
“Please what?”
“Please please let me cum.”
You stroke his cheek as you straddle his thighs. Your phone rests above you, filming his face once again, as you softly run your hand down his naked chest and press a light kiss to one of his nipples. He gasps softly.
“Show me that pretty cock, sweet boy.”
Later, when Ethan has orgasmed and the reader has cleaned him up, he sleeps soundly against her nude form. She checks the stats of the livestream from earlier. She smiles happily when she sees that the view count got to 500k.
Teasing Ethan in public <3 watching as he gasps loudly at the feeling of your palm against his aching cock underneath your shared desk in class. Some people turn to look at him and your hand quickly moves away. He smiles awkwardly at them, and when they turn back around your hand is back on his cock again. He breathes heavily, leaning in close to whine in your ear,
“S-Stop, mommy, don’t-“
His face, all blushy and pink, contorts in pleasure when you rub his cock just right. He cums in his pants then, completely and utterly embarrassed, and excuses himself to the bathroom .
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