Retired Tashi Duncan who keeps her trophies in a corner cabinet, never on display. When she dusts them off, she traces the engraved dates in silence, like she's living it all again. A quiet: Thank you & Goodbye.
Retired Tashi Duncan who gets quiet in museums because something about the stillness, the echoes, the framed softness makes her want to cry. You always reach for her hand without a word.
Retired Tashi Duncan who wears your perfume when she misses you. Sprays it on her wrist and inhales it before leaving the house for an important event.
Retired Tashi Duncan who watches cheesy rom-coms with you and pretends to hate them- until she starts mouthing the lines. (She always does that, since she was a child.)
Retired Tashi Duncan who reads your skincare labels before bed so she knows exactly which serum to hand you when you’re too sleepy to reach for it.
Retired Tashi Duncan who buys in excess the second she notices you like something. You mentioned liking the cherries she bought one day- she planted a whole cherry tree the next week.
Retired Tashi Duncan who stares at your reflection when you’re getting ready. Chin in her hand, quiet awe in her eyes. Never the type to say: "Why do you waste that much time in getting ready?" she's the type to say: "More blush, yes that one."
Retired Tashi Duncan who wakes up in the middle of the night just to pull the covers over you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Kisses your shoulder. Whispers, "Mine, mine, mine."
note: this might be one of the horniest things i’ve ever written and kicking my feet like a little pervert. tbh i might’ve wrote this in my notes app while half-humping a pillow but you will literally never know that for sure ;) like i’m actually so jealous of reader. why do i wanna be sandwiched between two hot older women like a little slutty capri sun. like i don’t wanna be the writer anymore. i wanna be the drunk little cum toy they carry out of the bar and ruin til she cries. anyway thank you for reading 🥰 i love women
You never planned to be blackout drunk this weekend. “No way in hell. I won’t get drunk, promise,” you said - especially to them, especially when they told you the three of you were going to a jazz bar. Tashi said she needed to destress from work, and Art agreed too, saying the mood would be nice. They looked at you quickly when you sounded like you were against it. Just a little sound, not even real disagreement, but still, they raised their eyebrows at you. Not that it’s bad. You are not just used to a calm mood… chilling vibes when you drink. Maybe that’s where it shows - the difference in age between you and them.
Art didn’t stop trying to convince you, but not in an annoying way. She was like, “Come on, baby. It’ll be fun, okay?” You just shook your head. Said you weren’t in the mood. What made you say yes in the end was when Tashi said, “If she doesn’t want to come, let her. Go ahead. Stay in this house and act miserable.” Like she was trying to use reverse psychology on you. Or maybe not even trying. Maybe she just meant it.
So now here you are. Sandwiched up between the two of them in a booth. One of Art’s hands on your right thigh, and Tashi’s hand on your left - stroking your lace stockings, casually playing with the hem of your skirt. They just keep you between them with a French 75 that Tashi ordered for you and you’re sipping it while they talk about something you don’t even know. You nod along, hum like you’re following, even though your head’s a little fuzzy already and all you really feel is their hands.
You’re not even sure when you finished the drink. One second the glass was cold in your hand, the next your fingers were empty, and your head felt floaty - you’re giggly now. But not the embarrassing kind. They keep you in your place, hands always somewhere on your body. You never order anything yourself. It’s always Art or Tashi who stands up from the booth and tells the bartender what you’ll be drinking next. Their fingers feel like heat, steady and grounding, and you let your lashes flutter low, not quite ready to admit how drunk you are.
And the hem of your skirt keeps riding up, and no one’s fixing it while the three of you keep drinking. But maybe that’s because it can’t be seen - your legs are tucked under the table, half in shadow, half hidden by their bodies. You think maybe you should fix it yourself, tug it back down, cover the lace. But your hands feel slow. So you don’t. And when you shift a little in your seat, you realize your thighs are damp. You know they can feel it too. Their hands are already there, resting on your inner thighs, so close to your panties - too close not to notice.
You don’t say anything when they don’t move their hands. Your body hums- warm, slow, too tired to resist. You lean in without meaning to, cheek brushing Tashi’s collarbone, lips grazing her throat. She doesn’t stop you. Just exhale, hand heavier across your thigh. The booth feels too warm. Their voices are slow. You close your eyes- just for a second. Long enough to miss the way Art glances at Tashi. Long enough that when Tashi tilts your chin, your body doesn’t respond.
You don’t say anything when they don’t move their hands. Too comfortable with them. They're your girlfriends so you let them. Your body pliant- warm, slow, too tired to resist. You lean in without meaning to, cheek brushing Tashi’s collarbone, lips grazing her throat. She doesn’t stop you. Just exhale, hand heavier across your thigh, and squeeze the flesh. The booth feels too warm, too crowded for you even though it's just the three of you there. Their voices are slow. You close your eyes- just for a second. Long enough to miss the way Art glances at Tashi like she's saying something to her. It's long enough when Tashi tilts your chin, but your body doesn’t respond.
You don’t stir when they leave the bar and carry your body. Don’t feel Tashi adjust your skirt, or Art curl her arm beneath your knees. You sleep through the keys, purse, and the way to the stairs. But you know when you’re home. Softer sheets. Your shoes are gone. Your head sinks heavier than usual. Their voices drift nearby. Like you know they're talking but it's gibberish and just whispers to you. The room is dark. You should open your eyes. You don’t. You can't.
Art is the one who touches you first. Just a brush to your calf to test the waters. When you don’t move, she keeps going- fingers tracing lace, breath shaky. Her sweater slips down her arms. She rolls the lace down from your hips until it's off. Kisses your knees. Behind her, a zipper slides. A belt unbuckles and a tug on the floor when it drops there. Tashi moves in silence- shirt on, rings flashing. She pulls the strap from the drawer like a ritual. Art doesn’t look. She doesn’t need to.
Tashi walks towards the bed and steps in. Art is kneeling between your thighs, her hands more certain now. She parts you gently and yanks your skirt up. Stare at it before her breath hitches. Still wet. She hums. Then bends low to lick- once, slow, carefully before her lips touch the bud. A kiss to the altar before he slides a finger inside. Tashi undresses while staring at the both of you. Shirt lifted, strap now buckled, panties on, chest bare. Art doesn’t look. She already knows. When Tashi walks past, thumb grazing her jaw, Art shudders. “You’re not putting her to sleep,” Tashi murmurs. “You’re waking her up.” Art’s fingers still- then curl deeper. Your hips twitch. Your body remembers.
Art stays knelt-bent low at the bed’s edge, arm hooked under your thigh, mouth buried like scripture. She licks slowly, steadily. Her fingers curl patiently and wet. She doesn’t hear Tashi move- only feels her hand in her dress, tugging gently until she arches. Her panties slide down by Tashi. Feels the coldness of the air. Then Tashi’s warm hand. Then the strap- warm, thick, pressed between her folds but not in. Just grinding. Slow. Cruel. Art moans into you but doesn’t stop. She gives even as she’s taken. “Keep her open for me,” Tashi murmurs. “Or I’ll make you watch.” Art whimpers, kisses your clit goodbye, and leans in again- cheek to your thigh, back arched, ass offered, slick dripping down her legs. Tashi grinds against her, measuring. “You’re dripping,” she says, smiling. “Already?” Art bites your thigh to muffle her moan. Her fingers never stop. Then Tashi enters her- no thrust, no force. Just reading. Steady. Deep. Art shudders, forehead to your skin, mouth whispering sweet girl like a prayer. Still, her fingers curl inside you. Always. Still preparing you for Tashi.
Every motion is restrained. Calculated. Tashi moves slowly, deep- each thrust a drag meant to be felt. Her hands grip Art’s hips, using her like leverage, and Art takes it silently- moaning into your thigh, not the air. Mouth open. Breath caught. Your head turns in sleep. A soft breath escapes. Tashi stills. Art freezes. Then- softly- your body relaxes again, and Art resumes. Gentler. Softer. Like she’s thanking you. Tashi fucks her harder- when you go back to slumber but still quiet. Still careful. Art’s fingers move in tune with your breath. But Tashi’s hips threaten to undo her. The strap pushes deep, claiming her inch by inch. She bites your thigh... more like teething and grazing to the skin when it builds. Tashi knows. Of course she does. The tremble in Art’s knees. The arch of her spine. The grind of her clit. Every breath. Every tell.
Tashi fucks her just a little deeper. “Don’t stop,” she murmurs- not to Art, but to the rhythm of her finger between your thighs. Art comes like it hurts. No sound. No cry. Just a sharp shiver against your thigh, lips parted around a moan she never lets go. Her fingers don’t leave you, even as she jerks- slick pouring down her thighs. Her breath stutters. Her eyes flutter shut. She holds still. Tashi doesn’t move either- not yet. She just breathes with her. One palm gliding up her back. “You’re okay,” she says, rough and low. “You did good.” No pressure. Just a pause. Then they move- not to fuck. Not yet. But to touch. To see.
Art lifts her head. Kisses your thigh. Her hand slides out, fingers trembling, stroking once more like an apology. She rises, standing in front of the bed- undressing slowly. Her sweater dress. Her panties. Her bra. Stays in her thigh highs. Always does, like feeling fuzzy. Tashi kneels, tugging your skirt down. Art unbuttons your blouse after she undresses. Quiet. Careful. Her hands still shake. She kisses your ribs. Pushes your top aside. Your bra. Her thumbs trace under your breasts, lifting them free. You’re bare- except for the flush on your skin, the previous marks they left by their mouth, the glisten between your thighs.
Tashi exhales- clearly turned on by the sight. Her palms stroke your thighs- rougher than Art’s. More certain. She holds them open. Just to look. But she's dying to touch them. To open those lips. “She’s so wet already,” Art nods, humming before whispering. “She’s ready,” Tashi answers.
You are. Even in sleep. Blacked out drunk. Open. Soft in the way only trust allows. Tashi lifts your leg over her shoulder. Her thumb drags lazy circles through your slick slit. Not pressing in. Just spreading the line. Watching you twitch faintly, even now. “You’re soaking, baby,” she murmurs- not to wake you. It's more than just for herself. Art kneels beside you, naked. She kisses your breast- then the other. Soft. Careful. You stir. Barely. A shift. A breath. A furrow. Then stillness. She sucks gently at your nipple, tongue flicking slow, while Tashi slides the strap along your slit- gathering slick to make it wetter despite it just came from Art's cunt. Not in. Not yet. Just rocking. Your lips part. A sigh. Then, groggy, slurred: “…‘m not in the mood…”
Art stills, gasping. Her nose brushes your sternum. Her hands hesitate. But Tashi doesn’t pause. She only hums- low and amused. “You don’t want to help me and Art?” she murmurs, voice velveted and pitying. Like she knows how to get you. The strap drags again, pressing between your folds- a statement. “That doesn’t sound like our girl.” Art says nothing, but her grip tightens. Want. Agreement. Hunger.
“You’re so warm for us,” Tashi adds, lower now. “So wet, baby. I think you do want to help.” You whimper- maybe protest, maybe not. But your hips tilt. Reflex. Memory. Like your body remembering who you belong to. Tashi smiles. “That’s better.” Then she slides in. Still moving. Still inside you. Tashi watches her. Slow, like a hush. Her eyes flick down to your face- flushed, lips parted. Then back to Art who's already looking at her with those adorable eyes like she's begging for something. Something like... can I sit in her face? Yes, your face. Tashi smiles. Not kind. Not cruel. Just knowing. Then nods.
That’s all Art needs. She rises, wiping her mouth. Her sweater’s long gone- only the thigh highs remain. Her skin is flushed. Her breath was ragged. She climbs up and her hands are placed on the headboard. One hand slides under your head, tilting your face. Your hand that was placed on the headboard is now on your cheek just to steady herself. Then she swings her knee over and settles. Her cunt hovers above your lips- slick, flushed, needy. Tashi’s pace never falters. Hips rolling, strap dragging deep. “Go on,” she says, voice like velvet on smoke. “Sit on her mouth, sweetheart.” Art shudders. Then obeys.
You finally become conscious of the taste of Art. Not fully- just enough to whimper, a soft, muffled sound caught between her thighs as your lashes flutter open. Shock at the sudden weight and slickness on your lips and cheeks, basically on your face. Everything’s hazy. Wet. Warm. Your mouth parts instinctively beneath her, tongue twitching, and Art exhales- shaky, stunned- fingers tangling in your hair like she’s clinging to a dream. Behind you, Tashi doesn’t stop. Her grip on your hips is steady, strap rolling deep in that same punishing rhythm your body already knows. The rhythm that hits back on your walls. “There you are…” Art breathes, hips stuttering forward. “Hi, baby.” You whine again- more reflex than language- and Tashi laughs low behind you, a sound like silk splitting at the seams. “See?” she murmurs, snapping her hips hard enough to make your thighs jolt. “Didn’t even need to ask.”
Art rocks against you, gentle but desperate, her slick cunt grinding against your mouth as if it’s instinct, not choice. You lick like it’s the only thing you’ve ever been taught- slow, soft, open- and Art moans, broken and breathless, hips stammering forward in gratitude. Your eyes can't even fully open but you just lick, suck, and kiss her cunt. “She’s so good like this,” she gasps, her thighs trembling. “So soft. So- fuck- eager.” Tashi leans in, cock driving deeper as her voice spills low and cruel into your ear. “She’s ours. Even half-asleep, she knows what to do.” And you do. God, you do. Because your mouth stays open. Your tongue keeps working. You let them use you, take from you, fill you- because you’re theirs. You always have been.
The room hums with it, this rhythm, this reverence- slick sounds and shaky breath, the holy weight of bodies shifting above yours. You’re barely awake, but your mouth knows better than your mind, moving with that aching, learned hunger. Art trembles as your tongue curls, her breath catching in her chest. Her thighs tighten. It almost suffocated her and she crashed her head into those thighs. Her hips rock. She grinds like she can’t help it, seeking more. Tashi doesn’t let up- she drives into you steady, cock slick, hands firm as she spreads you open like something sacred. “That’s it,” she breathes, her mouth brushing your ear. “Taking cock like you’re supposed to. Don’t lie to me about being ‘not in the mood’ when your pussy’s this wet.”
You whimper into Art and she gasps, fingers flexing hard in your hair. “She’s right,” she pants, cunt grinding low and slick over your lips. “You woke up dripping, baby. You were dreaming about it, weren’t you?” Tashi grins- sharp, mean, proud- and thrusts again, harder now. “Dreaming about this cock splitting you open. Filling you up so good you forgot how to think.” You try to protest- moaning something soft and muffled- but your body gives you away. You’re wet. Open. Needy. They’re everywhere- inside you, around you, above you- and all you can do is take it.
“That’s it,” Art moans, voice cracking. “Tongue out, sweetheart. Keep it soft. She’s so good- Tash, fuck- she’s so good- ” Tashi’s eyes stay fixed on where she disappears inside you, voice rough with pride. “She’s our little pillow princess. Always ready. Always willing. Look at her- fucked dumb and still trying to please.” Art shudders above you, her thighs twitching as her hips chase the pleasure. “She’s licking me like she means it. Like she wants to be good for us.”
“She is,” Tashi growls. “She’s ours. She always will be.” She says it again, quieter this time- almost to herself. “Ours.” Art gasps, cunt grinding harder against your mouth as she starts to lose control. “Feel her tongue- she’s so soft- God, she’s licking like she’s starving- ” Art’s voice cracks, thighs shaking, caught on the edge of it. “She likes it messy,” Tashi says, thrusting deeper like a reward. “Don’t you, sweetheart?” You can’t answer. You just moan against Art’s cunt, licking harder, sloppier, like devotion made flesh. Like prayer. Tashi groans behind you, fucking you harder, cock dragging wet through your cunt as she claims every inch of you. “This pussy’s mine,” she says- not to Art, not to you, just to the room. A truth.
Art nods, breath ragged. “I know it is. Just look at her- she’s not even thinking. Just taking you. Sucking me.” Tashi leans in and spits between your shoulder blades- slow, deliberate- and you cry out against Art. Her thighs jump at the sound. “She’s not gonna come until I say,” Tashi says, drawing out until only the tip remains, then slamming back in. “But you can. Go on, baby. Use her. I know you want to.” Art gasps, stunned- but her hips move like instinct, like she’s waited for permission. “Can’t help it,” she whispers. “She’s so soft. I want to come all over her mouth, I want- ” “Then do it,” Tashi growls. “While I fuck her. She’s full and quiet and obedient. Let her feel how good she is.” And you do. You feel all of it- the heat, the weight, the praise. Their voices wrap around you like silk. Their bodies are like chains. You’re owned. You’re used. And you don’t say a word. You don’t need to.
It happens slowly. Not all at once- but in waves. A soft unraveling. Like your body already knows how to come for them. Like you’ve already given everything. Art breaks first. You feel it in the tremble of her thighs, the flutter of her breath, the sharp gasp that punches out when your tongue catches her just right. She doesn’t even mean to, maybe- doesn’t mean to grind so hard, to moan that loud- but she’s losing it, right above you, and there’s no hiding it now. “Oh- fuck,” she chokes, hips jerking. “I’m gonna- I’m- ” You moan into her, helpless, to give her more, just to feel her ear from the sound. Her body seizes; she clutches your head, rocks once more, then goes still, panting through her teeth as she gushes across your tongue.
“God,” she breathes, wrecked. “She made me come. Tash- fuck- she licked me until I came- ” It makes you ache, the way she says it like a confession, like she’s been made holy in your mouth. “I know, baby,” Tashi murmurs behind you, smug and fond in equal measure. “She’s perfect.” Her thrusts never falter- still steady and cruel, cock dragging through your soaked cunt with humiliating ease. You can’t move, can’t breathe; limp, boneless, fucked open and wet with everything. Your face still buried between Art’s thighs. Still licking- slow now, weak and sloppy, like it’s all you’ve got left. Tashi strokes your hair once. “You can come now,” she says. “Go on, sweetheart. Show her how good it feels to be used.”
You come like it’s been stolen from you. Not loud, not wild- just a breathless shudder that empties you out. Your breath stutters against Art’s cunt. Your thighs seize around Tashi’s waist. Everything goes white, hot, slick. You don’t cry out- you just whimper, soft and slurred, as your cunt flutters around the strap, dripping like you’re trying to prove you need it. “There she is,” Tashi groans, hips stuttering. “There’s our good girl.” Art’s shivering above you, fingers feathering your cheek. “She’s still licking,” she whispers. “She’s still trying.” And that- God, that- breaks something in you, or maybe builds something new, something sweetly wrong. You don’t know. You just know this: you’d die like this. Like a mouth that won’t close. A body broken open and shared. Something they both decided to keep. “She’s always trying,” Tashi says, slow and proud. “Even when she’s full. Even when she’s spent. That’s why she’s ours.”
They don’t move. Not yet. Just stay close, curled around you like you’re precious, like they’ve earned you. You lie there, dazed and leaking, lips slack against Art’s cunt, Tashi’s cock still buried deep. For a long, golden second, no one speaks. Just breathe. Just heat. Just that holy quiet in the space between three people undone. They let you have it- just a moment- before they begin again.
Your legs are trembling when Tashi pulls out. She does it slowly. Too slow. Her cock drags against your walls like it knows you’ll miss it, like it wants to leave an echo behind. Your cunt clenches on nothing, fluttering, aching open. You make a noise- soft and wounded- and Tashi watches the spill drip from you with a pleased groan. Her hand sweeps your back like she’s proud of the mess. “Aw, I know,” she murmurs, mock-sweet. “Empty now, huh?”
You can’t answer. Chest heaving. Jaw slack. Too far gone to think. But you feel it when she shifts- arms sliding under you, lifting you onto your back like you’re made of glass. You go pliant. Boneless. And then Art leans in to kiss you. Soft. Sweet. Devastating. Her mouth brushes yours even though she knows what’s coming. Even though your lips are already parting around the phantom shape of a cock. Her kiss tastes like her. Like you. Like hunger and ruin. “Good girl,” she breathes, just as your lashes flutter, just as Tashi kneels beside your head and brings the strap back to your mouth.
You see it- still slick from your cunt- swinging heavy above your chest as she spreads her knees and claims the pillow on either side of your head. That same lazy confidence she fucks with, like your body’s hers to perch on. It looms, flushed and thick, your throat tightening before it even touches you. Tashi strokes herself once, slowly, then angles it toward your lips. You’re still glossy with spit. Still parted from before. But when the cock presses close, your face flinches, breath hitching. Your eyes flicker up pleading, wary- and your voice barely crawls out. “…N-no,” you whisper. “Don’t want that.”
Tashi just stares. And smiles. “Mmm,” she hums. “Funny. You liked it inside you a second ago.” Her hand cups your cheek, unbearably tender, fingers cradling your jaw like something fragile. Her thumb strokes your mouth once- then presses in, slow and firm, easing the tip just barely past your lips. You whimper, turn away, and try to resist. She sighs, disappointed. “Stop pretending,” she murmurs. “I just fucked your cunt open with it. Don’t act shy now that it’s your mouth.” You shake your head, breath stuttering- but your body gives you away. Your hips twitch. Your thighs flex. That needy heat still pulses in your gut. And that’s when Art moves.
She’s already sliding between your legs, one thigh slotting between yours as she straddles you, palm braced flat on your stomach, grounding you while the other dips low to guide her hips into place. She starts slow- grinding down in a smooth, heavy roll- and moans softly when the slick of your pussy kisses hers. Her cunt catches on your own, your folds messy and warm where they slide together. “She’s doing that thing again,” Art murmurs, voice velvet and mean. “You know. Where she pretends she doesn’t want it. Just to see if you’ll make her.” Tashi growls. Her hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back into place. “Oh, I’m gonna make her,” she mutters darkly. You gasp, body arching, hands reaching weakly for her thighs like you’re trying to stop her, but it’s already too late- her cock is back at your lips, smeared with your own come, nudging insistently like it belongs there.
“Open,” she says, low and commanding. “Or I’ll make Art do it for me.” You whimper- fragile, desperate- lashes fluttering, lips trembling. But then you feel it: Art’s cunt grinding into yours, her clit dragging in slick circles as her hips start to move. Her moan breaks softly above you, the sound curling around your ears like silk. “Go on, sweetheart,” she purrs, teasing and cruel. “Be good. Or we’ll both get mean.” Your head shakes. But your mouth opens anyway- just enough, just for the tip- and Tashi groans, deep and low, when she feels it. “There it is,” she mutters, sliding in a little further, cock thick and steady. “Always so mouthy until there’s cock in it.”
She feeds it to you slowly. Not rough- not yet. Her hips roll gently, just enough to push deeper into your throat inch by inch, your lips stretching pink and wet around her, spit already starting to leak down your chin. Your throat flutters helplessly, instinctively. Art moans again- louder this time- grinding harder, her clit catching on yours as the friction builds. “God,” she gasps, voice trembling. “She’s fucking soaking.” Tashi stays slow, controlled, savoring every reaction. Her eyes flick down, sharp and hungry, as she watches your face twist around her cock. “You hear that, brat?” she murmurs, sliding in just a little deeper. “She’s using you. Just like I’m about to.”
Tashi doesn’t fuck your mouth. Not yet. She owns it. Train it. Makes it hers. The cock that ruined your cunt- still swollen, still slick- presses past your lips in a slow, deliberate stretch. Not thrusting. Not plunging. Just… resting. Like it belongs there. You gag. And she still doesn’t move. Just holds you there- deep, weighted, far too thick- anchoring you by your throat. Your breath stutters. Your nose flares. Your body goes rigid, desperate for air, for mercy. Your palms twitch, flail, press weakly against her thighs, trying to push, maybe hold, maybe just survive- but she doesn’t budge.
Her thighs are solid, caging your head, muscles flexing as she sinks a little deeper into the pillow beneath her. Her cock stays rooted. You slap at her- but it’s pitiful, barely even lands. “Don’t fight it,” she murmurs, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw, her voice cruel and calm. “You’re gonna learn to live with it in your throat.” You sob around her. Eyes wet. Spine locked. One wild kick shoots out sloppy, desperate- and hits something soft. Art hisses, laughing. “Oh, she’s pissed,” she says breathlessly. “Baby kicked me.” Tashi smiles. She pulls out just far enough to let you breathe- a gasp of spit-slicked air- before sliding right back in, deeper, slower, crueler. Not fast. Just… corrective. Another warning. You gag again. She rests it there. Again.
And that’s how it goes. Pull out. Breathe. Push in. Gag. Rest. It’s a rhythm. A ritual. Your body stops resisting the way it once did- your fists still slap, still twitch, but there’s no force left in them. You’re stretched wide, gasping between thrusts, spit trailing from your chin to her cock to your chest. Every inch of you trembles. And then you try to kick again- worse this time, weaker- and Art catches your leg easily, pins it back down. “Don’t get bratty now,” she murmurs, mouth warm against your belly. “We’re being so gentle.” You don’t believe her. Not with your throat choked full and your cunt rubbed raw. But then she shifts- lower, hotter, wetter- and you feel the heat of her sex kiss yours again.
She grinds down slowly. Hungry. Her slick folds catch and drag on yours, her clit locking with yours in a perfect, filthy kiss. You whine. You can’t stop it. You’re gagging on cock and whining into it at the same time, the noise a wet, garbled mess in your throat. Your hips twitch- trying to pull back, trying to chase the friction- and Art just keeps going. Her hips roll with slow, steady intent, fucking you with obscene, velvet pressure. “She’s soaked,” Art moans, voice cracked. “Her clit’s throbbing. She’s kicking, but she’s loving it.” Tashi laughs low. Her hand tightens in your hair, angling your face better so she can watch every little twitch.
“Let her kick,” she says softly. “She always gives in.” Then she slides deeper, hips flexing with steady control. Your throat stretches. Your lips go glossy and red. You try to cry out, but it’s only a broken little choke, bubbling past the thick girth stuffed in your mouth. Your fists beat weakly at her thighs. Nothing changes. Her cock stays buried, heavy and pulsing against your tongue, coated in slick and spit and helplessness. Art moans again- louder, needier- her cunt grinding into yours, her clit dragging over yours in sloppy, filthy friction. Her nails bite your thigh. “God, she’s perfect like this,” she gasps. “All full and fucked and flailing.”
You twitch again- leg jerking, throat clenching- and grunt helplessly around the cock choking you. Even your protests sound like praise. Tashi groans low and starts the cycle over: pull out, gasp, push in, gag, rest. Your throat adjusts. Your cunt throbs. The fight drains from your limbs, replaced by tears streaking hot down your cheeks. “Good girl,” she murmurs, watching your lips stretch around her. “You’ll take it all. You always do.” Below, Art kisses your clit with hers- soft, sweet, merciless. And then suddenly, everything shifts. Tashi stills. Her cock stays buried. She growls- not playful. Not amused. Pissed.
She moves- fast, brutal. Her hips snap back, spit-webbed cock sliding wet from your throat, and before you can breathe, she slams back in. No warning. No mercy. You gag hard, whole body jolting. One hand clamps your jaw wide, the other grabs your breast, rough and possessive. “Oh, now you’re crying?” she snaps. “You had your chance to behave.” Her rhythm turns punishing- cock battering the back of your throat like your resistance is something to break. Each time you choke, her grip tightens on your tit.
Art doesn’t stop either. Her cunt stays pressed to yours, slick and frantic, rubbing harder now. Your clit screams, raw and twitching, but she keeps going, hips grinding like she’s chasing something she needs. “Fuck,” she pants, “she’s still soaking. She’s fucking dripping, Tash.” Tashi groans and drives deeper. Your eyes roll. A pitiful gurgle bubbles up, helpless. Art leans in, breath hot on your stomach. “You gonna come like this, sweetheart?” she whispers. “All full and crying?”
You can’t answer. Your body’s strung out, aching, soaked. Tashi pulls back only to slam deep again, nails digging into your breast as she growls, “You’ll fucking learn. You begged for this.” You twitch. Try to kick. But Art moans and grinds harder, her clit catching against yours with every roll. “She’s gonna break,” she gasps. Tashi doesn’t stop- fucking your throat with cruel rhythm, her hand mauling your chest like she wants bruises blooming there. You choke. You cry. You come.
It’s sudden. Violent. Like a snapped wire. Your hips jolt off the bed, thrashing under Art’s weight. Your throat tightens around Tashi’s cock as you try to scream- but nothing comes. Just broken gags and spit. Tashi groans, pulls out fast and wet. You collapse. Mouth open, sobbing, trembling. Spent. But Art keeps going, grinding her cunt against yours, clits dragging, friction brutal. “Can’t- fuck, can’t- ” you sob. “You can,” Tashi breathes, suddenly soft. “You will.” She leans in not to soothe, but to play. Her mouth closes over your tit, teeth sinking deep. Her hand grabs the other, thumb pinching until it peaks in her palm- and the cycle begins again.
You sob, shuddering beneath her. Art moans low- then she comes, folded tight against you, mouth to your belly, her cunt trembling where it grinds yours to ruin. Her nails dig into your thigh. Her whole body locks and shakes. “Fuck,” she gasps, rutting through it, “fuck, baby- ” but she doesn’t stop. She rides it out, clit throbbing, slick soaking into yours until the heat between you turns feverish, endless. Tashi hums against your breast, then sucks- slow, deep- like she’s drinking you in. Her other hand rolls your nipple between her fingers, soothing and claiming at once. You twitch. Cry out.
You don’t know if it’s a second orgasm or the first still cresting. It blooms again, sickly and sweet, like rot taking root. Your hips jerk, pussy spasming under Art’s grind, your body alight. Tashi pulls off with a pop and smiles, all teeth. “You’re twitching,” she says. “Such a good little mess.” Art slumps against you, her breath hot and ragged. You’re soaked. Wrecked. Still coming- or caught in it, helpless. You sob again, hoarse and shaking. Tashi leans in, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face to hers. Her eyes glint. “Good girl.”
Art stays pressed close, her thigh draped over yours, cunt still warm on your skin. The desperation has faded, replaced with something slower, hungrier. She lifts her head, finds your breast, and licks- not greedy, not rough. Reverent. Her tongue follows the bruises Tashi left- bite marks, flushed skin, fading indents. Like she’s jealous. Like she wants to taste what isn’t hers. Tashi watches, hand resting easily on your stomach. “Didn’t think you’d be the clingy one,” she murmurs. Art doesn’t answer. Just flicks her tongue over your nipple, slow and possessive.
“Oh, I see,” Tashi says, tilting her head. “Still catching your breath, but your mouth’s on my tit.” Art looks up, lips wet. “Yours?” she echoes, biting lightly. Tashi smiles, smug. “I fucked her mouth,” she says. “Seems fair.” Art glares. “Yeah? I fucked her too. So share.” You groan, breath thin and shaking. “Hello?” you rasp. “It’s my body. I just got fucked. And now you’re fighting over my tits?” Neither replies. They glance at you- briefly. Dismissively.
Then Tashi brushes your nipple again, slow and teasing, while Art sucks another mark into your chest. You sigh- loud, exhausted- but don’t stop them. Not really. You let your head fall back. Let them claim you again. This time it’s quieter. Slower. Not lust but aftermath. Not fucking but keeping. Tashi palms your other breast, thumbing it idly while Art traces what’s left. Her gaze stays on your face- tracking each flutter of your lashes like you might fall asleep beneath them. “She’ll knock out if we keep petting her,” Art murmurs. “Good,” Tashi replies. “She earned it.” Then softer- like a secret, like a prayer: “She’s perfect when she’s quiet.”
Your lip twitches. “Fuck both of you,” you whisper. Tashi smirks. Art licks again. And you stay there- naked, aching, soft beneath their mouths- as they settle in to touch what they just destroyed. Not to start again. Just to keep.
Here is the master list for all my fics! The date at the bottom is the last time it was updated (I try to keep it as updated as possible)
Thank YOU for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting! I appreciate and LOVE the reception and feedback and commentary more than you could ever know - it fuels me and keeps the inspiration flowing!
All stories have a face claim. However, with all my OCs, I encourage folks to see themselves in the story so feel free to read as a reader insert if preferred! Also I love angst BUT all my stories are happily ever afters so enjoy the emotional rollercoasters knowing everyone'll be ok lol Thank you again for reading! Love y'all!
MBJ Fics:
Built for Love Series - Michael B Jordan x Black Famous Actress OC
Face Claim: Grace Bryers
Series Summary: Charlotte Bennett was not looking for love when she moved to LA and landed her first role in Creed. Quite the opposite actually. However, her costar, Michael B Jordan, makes her question everything she once believed possible for herself and her future. As she builds a life and relationship with him, ghosts from her past threaten to destroy it all.
Series Warnings: Violence, Mentions of past experiences with DV, Angst, Mature Sexual Content
Completely random one shots that follow Charlotte & MBJ as they navigate the world as Hollywood’s Black power couple. Whether it be stardom, their work, parenthood, or relationship drama, the Jordans are building a love that will last a lifetime. (Not intended to be read in any chronological order but are listed below based on the story's timeline.)
Date Night**
Bleeding Through (1)
Oscar Night Part 2**
Falling Apart (1) (2)
Babies on Board (1)
Protective
Oscar Night Part 1**
Asks:
Nicknames
GQ Couples Quiz
Wicked Fantasies - MBJ x Black OC
Face Claim: Shannon Thornton
Series Summary: Raven’s life, as of late, was one unexpected turn after another. It seemed as though every time she got a break and could get her head above water, something came tumbling to knock her back down. As she struggles to get her foot in the door of LA’s call girl scene to make extra money, she stumbles upon her big break: Michael B. Jordan, Hollywood’s most famous, talented, and notorious actor, director, and playboy. One night of pleasure for him would solve many of her continuously mounting financial problems. However, an unlucky trip to the hospital and an ill-timed flash of a paparazzi’s camera snag her the proposition of a lifetime, one that would solve all her problems and allow her to live out her most wicked fantasies with the sexist man alive. However, she forgot one cardinal rule: fantasies and pretend never last and reality would always come around eventually.
Warnings: Mature sexual content (18+), BDSM (the whole nine), this is for the kinky girlsssssss, angst, emotional familial abuse
Double Trouble (Aaron Pierre x Black Reader x MBJ)***
Erik Killmonger Fics
Unbreakable - Erik Killmonger x Black OC - Paused
Moodboard: Coming soon!
Face Claim: Ryan Destiny
Series Summary: Naja, the younger sister of the Queen of Wakanda, hated few things. And at the top of that shortlist: Prince N’Jadaka. Well, if she were honest, he was the entirety of the list. Once destined to be a princess of Wakanda, Naja was the picture of kindness and grace. Now, she is hailed as Wakanda’s most fearless, dangerous, and reclusive war dog. After more than a decade of putting as much distance as possible between her and the life she almost had, Naja is forced to come face to face with the person she hates most again. With a threat looming over Wakanda and lives at risk, Naja must decide if trusting Prince N'Jadaka is worth the risk before it is too late.
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ you reunite with your ex, Elias “Stack” Moore, during an awkward movie night orchestrated by your ex–best friend—who also happens to be dating him now.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ hey! this based off “Deep” by Summer Walker because i love the song like wtf, and @decayingearf be motivating me to do more music based. enjoy!
sitting in the dark, AC vent blowing too cold on your collarbones, and that big-ass screen ain’t got nothing on how uncomfortable it feel to sit in the back row with your ex and your ex–best friend.
she two rows down, humming to herself while she looks over the snack menu like it’s a damn museum piece. talking about, “girl i just want us to hang again like old times.”
but it ain’t old times. it ain’t when you and Elias was up in your mama house watching Love & Basketball half-naked and arguing over who cooked the best food. this the version of reality where your best friend fumbled through your past, picked out the part that hurt you the most, and decided to hold it real close. like she ain’t know what she was doing.
you never pressed her about it. never brought it up, even when your chest got tight every time you saw her repost him. even when your homegirls asked, “ain’t that yo old dude?” and you had to lie like it don’t matter. it do. and it’s fucking you up sitting right here next to him like you ain’t still bitter. like you don’t still feel him in your hips sometimes when you close your eyes too long.
he ain’t said nothing since y’all sat down. legs spread wide, hoodie half-on, phone glowing low in his palm like he too busy to speak. he never was good at making things easy. always liked to keep you guessing—what he thinking, what he want, what page he on while you still tryna read the cover.
you glance at the screen just to distract yourself. it ain’t even started yet. just previews and background music that don’t match the vibe in your chest.
“yo,” he mutters low, breaking the silence. his voice got that same heavy-lidded smoothness like it always did. the one that used to whisper mess in your ear till your knees gave out.
you look at him sideways. “what?”
he don’t answer. don’t look at you either. just hooks an arm behind your seat like he own it, like he used to when y’all were still together. and then, as natural as breathing, he reaches over and pulls you onto his lap.
you freeze. lips parting, breath catching sharp in your throat. it don’t even make no sense. no warning, no permission, no nothing—just warm hands and heavy thighs under yours now, like you belonged there the whole time.
“elias—”
“shut up.”
his voice cuts low in your ear, firm but calm. “you talk too damn much. always did.”
you tense up, glancing down toward the row where your ex–best friend still standing. she ain’t turned around yet. probably still deciding between sweet or salty like y’all not up here doing something way worse.
his hand slides up your bare thigh, fingers dragging lazy over the skin just under your dress. you wore it to feel good about yourself. didn’t expect to be in his lap while it bunched up around your waist.
“you think i ain’t notice the way you been lookin’ at me all night?”
he’s whispering now, lips ghosting over your cheek. “sittin’ over there tryna act cute, tryna act mad. but you pulled up, didn’t you?”
you swallow hard. you should move. should cuss him out, go off, text her and tell her what the hell he on. but you don’t. because the heat between your legs is worse than your pride, and deep down, you never stopped being his.
you grind slow at first. barely moving, just rocking enough for him to feel it.
his hands slide to your hips, gripping you tight like he already know what you need. the movie starts playing, loud enough to mask the little breathy noises falling out your mouth.
“fuck,” he groans low, pressing his head back against the seat. “you feel that? pussy still wet like she missed me.”
you turn your head into his neck, hiding your face. too much heat in your cheeks, too much wet between your thighs. your fingers curl around the back of the seat, trying to hold on to something steady while he drags your hips down slow onto his dick.
you ain’t got no panties on. you never do in dresses. and now you regretting every choice you made tonight.
his lips brush your ear again. “look at you. already shaking. already tryna hide.”
you moan into his neck, muffled and sweet, and he laughs. low and mean.
“nah, keep that shit tucked in my neck like a good girl,” he mutters, biting your shoulder through your dress. “don’t need nobody seein’ how dumb you get when i touch you.”
you bounce just a little, thighs burning from the way he’s holding you steady. your knees press tight on either side of his, and the seats creak softly with every slow grind.
his hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just enough pressure to make your eyes roll halfway back. the kind of hold that says you mine even if you act like you not.
“don’t make no noise. unless you tryna get caught.”
your hips stutter.
he chuckles again, other hand sliding under your dress to palm your ass. “see? i say the word ‘caught’ and this pussy damn near jump.”
you nod into his neck, mouth open, moaning softly against his hoodie. you feel his dick slide deeper, stretch you open in a way you ain’t felt since last winter when y’all swore it was the last time. back when you said you was done crying over him.
but it’s different now. nastier. dirtier. you not his no more, and he don’t even pretend to love you while he fuck you. he just fill you up like he got a point to prove.
“ride it,” he hisses. “c’mon. you know what to do.”
your thighs shake as you lift yourself up and drop again, muffling a moan into his collar. you hate how good it feel. hate how cocky he sounds when he grabs your ass tighter and mutters, “there she go.”
you can feel every inch of him, thick and warm, pressing too deep inside. your lashes flutter, mouth hanging open in his neck. you try not to make noise, but it’s too much—he’s too much.
“f-fuck, elias…”
his hand grabs your jaw, tilting your face up. you won’t open your eyes. not while he’s looking at you like that.
“nah, keep lookin’ down. keep hidin’. like a lil slut who know she wrong.”
his hips buck up suddenly, sharp and deep, and you gasp, biting down on his neck to keep from crying out. he hisses through his teeth and laughs again. it’s low and dangerous.
“mmhmm. you don’t like when i fuck you like that, huh? too deep?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks from how good it feels.
“nah, you love that shit.”
your body shakes as he starts moving underneath you, fucking up into you slow and deep, deeper than he should in a place like this. every thrust got you seeing stars, grinding back down harder even though you told yourself you’d behave.
his hand slides to your stomach, pressing down right where he hitting.
“feel me here?”
you nod fast, whining.
you clench around him so hard he groans, pulling you down with both hands now, guiding your rhythm like he never let you leave.
“still mine,” he whispers. “don’t matter what you say. this pussy still mine.”
you cum with your teeth in his neck, body going limp in his lap while he fucks you through it. your thighs twitch, your voice barely above a whisper, and he holds you down tighter, chasing his own high.
his strokes turn rough, fast, deep enough to make you gasp. and when he cums inside, teeth clenched, you feel every pulse of it.
you stay like that after. still shaking, dress bunched up around your waist, your hands gripping his hoodie like a lifeline. his fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh, breath even, like this ain’t the nastiest shit y’all ever done.
and then you hear footsteps.
your ex-friend finally walking back up the steps with a popcorn bucket too damn big for her arms.
elias don’t move. don’t flinch. just leans forward and whispers against your jaw:
“fix your dress, ma. can’t let her see how deep i got in you.”
summary: i heard pregnant coochie is real good and smoke been #needing that everyday of the month.
warnings: explicit sexual content, breeding, pregnancy kink, voyeurism, exhibitionism, degradation (light), impact play (light). MDNI!!!!
authors note: i do have a very unhealthy obsession with both pregnancy and breeding so i had too much fun writing this aaaand, yes, we’re adding the smokestack twins to our rolodex. 🙂↕️
Pregnancy had done a number on you. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Your village, your husband, and everyone who loved you made sure that you were cared for and tended to at all times. It felt so good most days that, even though you were swollen and waddling, you found your mind wandering to when you would be pregnant next. Your belly had grown round and heavy, stretching you in ways that made every mirror stop you in your tracks. There was never one you passed that didn’t demand your attention⸻you couldn’t help but admire the new curves, thickened thighs, and full, soft shape that begged to be touched. You understood why he loved watching you walk away from him; you looked like you were “smuggling midgets” in everything you wore, as he would say. And it didn’t matter what it was, your mommy body filled everything out perfectly. Infamously, he’d begun calling you “Big Mama.” Depending on the setting, it made you blush but other times, you’d hear it leave his lips and you swore it was the same slick tongue that the Devil tempted Eve with.
Nesting had become one of your favorite pastimes. Ever since you’d found out that you were carrying his little boy, the both of you were delighted. His room was already painted. The walls a warm cream with powder blue trim, his name in big bold slate letters above his crib. It had become your favorite place in the house as you impatiently awaited his arrival. At the moment, you sat on the edge of the chair folding up another batch of brand new clothes that had been washed and dried, a handful of which had been previously hung in his closet. You ran your fingers over the soft cotton of each article of clothing, straightening tiny onesies, unintentionally counting little socks as you paired them up and put them in his dresser. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you ran a hand over your belly.
“Baby?” The sound of his father’s voice caught you off guard but sent baby boy into a sudden burst of energy, unleashing an array of kicks to you. “Oh god,” you groaned as you carefully stood to your feet. “Come get your son, he seems to think my ribs are the best place to be,” you huffed softly as you tottered out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind you as you followed Smoke's loud laugh until you found him in the living room. “I told you he wasn’t gon’ play no game wit’ you, but you ain’t wanna listen. What was it you said to me again?” Your brows furrowed deep, confusion settling on your bare profile as you waited for him to answer his own question because you genuinely had no clue. “Nut in this pussy, papa…” He mocked, but his words sent a shiver down your spine, your legs quivered. Yet, your jaw dropped, as if you were appalled that he would ever suggest you’d say such a thing. It was the honest truth though. Talking each other through your orgasms was exactly what got you here; you never knew when to shut up. You teetered on the balls of your feet before wobbling to him.
He laughed lightly as he watched you, shaking his head in all amusement. “You like my baby and my lil’ circus act all in one.” You swatted at him playfully. Even without looking up at him, you could feel his eyes on you. Drinking in the sight of your curves, the sway of your hips, and swollen breasts as you walked to him in your mumu. He caught your wrist before you could swat at him again and pulled you the rest of the way until your were between his legs then he pulled you down into his lap, a soft huff leaving his pair as he settled down under your weight comfortably. “You know you can’t be sittin’ on me like this, I be wantin’ to touch on you.” He said jokingly, though you knew he was telling you the absolute truth. There wasn’t a day that had passed that you didn’t end up panting his name.
Your brows furrowed deeply. “Who’s stopping you?” Your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. “She’s been waiting on you all day. I almost took care of her myself.” You taunted. Elijah’s hand collided with your ass. “Now you know you woulda been upset ‘cause you needed me to finish you, for you. Stop allat playin’.” He laughed. It was true. You couldn’t seem to cum without him and that was even before pregnancy. It was like your pussy only responded to him, fuck what you thought and how it was supposed to go. “You can have it anyway you want it, as long as you come find me.” You smirked, raising up from his lap and wandering off in another direction of the house. Since moving into the house, there was one place you hadn’t touched so you took your time waddling there and patiently waited until you heard his steps. You turned to face him with a mischievous smile. Outside, bent over the balcony while you overlooked the city and came? Sounded like heaven. The crisp evening air kissed your skin. “You just a horny freaky fuck,” Smoke laughed while he unbuttoned his pants. You grabbed at the bottom of your dress, lifting it up and bunching it at your waist as you leaned over the balcony, legs spread and ass poked out toward him. You glanced over your shoulder and locked eyes with him, seduction laced in your tone and lust in your eyes. “Mhm, and you love it. So come handle it.”
He didn’t play when it came to being back inside you, the shit was a drug for him. Something so sweet, so addicting. “She ready for me?” The question was rhetorical, your pussy watered like a mouth would at the sight of him. You were currently standing in a pool of cream. He sank into you with a low, deep breath. A shiver ran down your spine just as he kissed the back of your neck. His hand found its place right around it, just as it always did and he began fucking you slow. There was nowhere to be other than right here, right now. Your toes curled against the pavement, breathy moans left your lips, your fingers gripping the railing as you laid your head back against his shoulder and he rested the side of his face against your head. “It feels so good to have you back home,” you cooed. Your eyes rolling shut as you inhaled a deep breath and reached one hand back to grip his thigh. “It feels good to be right… back… home…” A deeper stroke for each of the last three words. The last causing a downpour of your honey to come rushing out as you gushed, a muffled whimper spilling past your lips like you needed to be quiet.
“Wave to the neighbors, pretty girl.” Your eyes shot open after a few seconds delay, a smile on his profile as he raised a hand to point in the direction of your neighbors who weren’t too far off watching you get fucked on your balcony, fully immersed and enjoying the scenery. “Wave, don’t be rude.” He dropped one hand and smacked your ass roughly. “Augh, fuck!” You raised your hand, waving it in their direction but also not, cause you didn’t give a fuck who was watching, just as long as he didn’t move, they could see everything they wanted to. “Stay right there, dada. You feel soso good.” He listened, always did. Elijah was the quietly slick at the mouth type, but it was in a such direct way that if you didn’t know him, you didn’t catch the underlying intent. He was that attentive. “Mm..mhm. That’s that spot ain’t it? Stay right ‘chea?” He beckoned, pulling his hips back slowly before puncturing through your walls so that the head of his fat dick kissed it, over and over and over again until you let out a high-pitched squeal. You stood on the tips of your toes, legs spreading more as you opened up further for him to dig in you. “Let that shit out, let them white folks see yo’ pretty ass cum on this dick.” His fingers went to your clit, rubbing it in skilled circles which made you tense up. He knew your body like it was the back of his own hand so you did, your body obeying his command without pause, all while he strummed your clit like the strings of his guitar that often lulled you to sleep.
But he wasn’t done with you yet, not by a long shot. Grabbing the back of your mumu, he pulled out, grumbling as the cool air hit his wood and made it twitch. He guided you to one of the chairs, pushed it up against the concrete wall and directed you to put your hands on it, so that you could use it to stay balanced and not tip over⸻as if he would’ve actually let that happen. “Hold up that dress so I can see this pretty ass pussy I’m diggin’ out.” Beautifully submissive. Shit like this is exactly why you ended up pregnant. You pulled it up over your stomach, and took a deep breath because you knew when he slid in you wouldn’t be able to breathe properly.
Smoke slapped his dick against your slippery folds, making you jump slightly, you shook your round ass from side to side, making it clap while you teased him and patiently awaited his reentry. You could see and feel the eyes of your neighbors on you still, even with the soft hustle and bustle of the night, you swore you could hear their whispers and gasps and it made a devious smile spread across your face. Smoke’s hand pressed against your lower back then trailed up your spine, you arched as much as you could and as he filled you up again, you unintentionally moved forward, the pleasure and pressure of him too much to take all at once. You heard him grunt as he repositioned himself and planted his feet firmly on the ground. “Pull’at knee up. I don’t know what you runnin’ fa’, but you know better.” He pulled you back to him, ass flush against his pelvis as you began throwing your ass back at him. You clasped around him, walls clamoring as you began dancing on his dick and he just stood there, taking it all in while you fucked him like you owned him, because you did. You rolled, gyrated, and popped, his hands slamming against your ass as a silent praise to the fact that he loved the way you were doing him. “Mm… my sweet, sweet boy. It feels like you’re about to burst.” You purred, you slowed hips rolling as you listened to the sound of your pussy talking back while she got played in. He gritted his teeth and sent another smack to your ass that was so hard it echoed off the concrete wall. “I’m finna, keep throwing that shit back just like that.” He loved watching your walls suction around him, loved seeing him come out covered in all white as you painted your masterpiece. Your belly bounced against your thighs, sweat beading on your back making the fabric that clung to your body heavier as he bent over you, chest pressed against you while he swung his hips back to pick up speed again.
“Look at you,” Smoke rasped against your ear, one hand back around your throat as he held your head steady so you could look out at the lowering sun as it set. “Big belly, fat ass, greedy pussy. I’d put another baby in this good shit right now if I could. You know I love this shit?” Your mouth gaped, walls clenching around him as an answer because you couldn’t. The chair scraped the ground with every thrust, threatening to slide but his weight kept you steady. His free hand slid over your stomach, resting just at the bottom so he could press against it and feel himself pushing from the inside. You gasped, eyes rolling.
“Eli—,” you whined, your voice high and cracking. “I can’t,”
“Yes you can,” he cut you off, his bucking harder, not letting up as he pressed into you. The last thrust was the one that broke the dam, you flooded his pole and you heard him shudder in your ear. “Milk this dick, baby. That’s right, Big Mama. Gon’ take all this nut, lemme hear you leaking when you walk back in the house.” One last, deep stroke and he was letting out his heavy load with a low moan. “Fuuuuck, this pussy so good to me.” He pulled out, watching his nut spill out of you before taking his fingers, and scooping it up before he shoved it right back inside, making you jolt. His dick followed immediately after, stroking his seed back. “Keep that, that’s all mine.”
You whimpered weakly as he leaned forward and kissed the side of your neck. He took your hand into his, carefully helping you up and resting his hand on the small of your back so he could walk you back in the house. “Good girl,” He didn’t bother fixing himself, just looked up and waved to the peeping neighbors once again with a satisfied smirk as you walked ahead of him. The sound of your love smacked between your thighs as soon as you crossed the threshold and he let out a chuckle. “Mhm. That’s what I like to hear. You need some more?”
hi guys i don’t usually come on here to talk about this, but it needs to be discussed. my friend kenzie, went missing on october seventh. she left a note saying she ran away. she hasn’t been answering anyone’s calls or texts, and claims she ran away to live with her girlfriend who lives two hours away.
she never said who her girlfriend is.
please, keep an eye out for her if you live in: pennsylvania, new york city, new york state, new jersey, maryland, and anywhere close to the areas listed.
this is her. we all really miss her, and want her to come home soon.
here is some information about her.
if you see her, don’t approach her. call 911 right away.
jacobvanloon
andulkaphoto
amandla
ellievsbear
germansingergirl
