Shameful Deeds
Arthur watches you bathe as he pleasures himself.
tags: f!reader, male masturbation, low honor arthur, pervert arthur, mild obsession, fantasies, p in v, breading kink, size kink, he's big, praise kink, dom arthur
wc: 922
a/n: any recommendations or tips, please, tytyty
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He was a bad, bad man.
He stood there and watched, watched when he first had stumbled across you as an accident, and watched when you dropped your final garment.
The sun beamed too hot and your clothes were too tight, having been long due for a bath and with Ms. Grimshaw being off your back, you slipped away, down the shore of Clemens Point. Arthur didn't expect to see you when he had the same idea.
He should have looked away, left even, when he first saw you. But your back was captivating. Glistening in a soft sweat, creasing beautifully around your shoulder blades, falling down to the slim of your waist, and curving out to the slopes of your hips. And oh God, your ass. As much as he tried to resist, his eyes fell to it. Perfect and plump.
He groaned knowingly, and much to his dismay. He felt it in his belly then in his cock, springing into a large swell under his pants. Blood rushed down to his growing bulge and up into his face. Shame consumed him. He didn't want to feel this way about you, especially like this. But the way you smiled at him every morning, greeting him with your sweet voice, and oh, that laugh; you were a soft melody to his silent and rough life. But this was perverted and desperate, and he was starved and sad. A miserable man, really.
He tried to stop himself but his cock pushed stronger than his will. He palmed himself through his trousers. Rubbing and squeezing softly, his greedy eyes never leaving your body. Never leaving when you slowly submerge yourself into the water and never leaving when you dive in, the peak of your ass and thighs breaking the surface; his hand squeezes harder.
When you rose from the water again, his breath caught in his throat. You were facing to the side now and he could see the humps of your breasts. Oh, how desperately he wanted to feel them, feel you. The squishy plush of your breasts fumbling in his hands while he slid his throbbing cock into your aching cunt. He can imagine it, your wet warmth enveloping him whole, he'd push in and out as you suck and squeeze him in. He'd make you feel so good. He almost moans aloud.
Enough. He tugs his belt loose, shucks his pants just barely down, and frantically grabs his cock out from his union suit. It protrudes, standing big and hard, rigid and aching. Veins ran up and down, thick and gushing, his tip flushed vibrant pink. Throbbing, another drop of precum pulses out from him and joins his slick mess. God, he had left a damp spot in his union suit and was dripping small drops onto his pants.
He exhales heavily, eyes trained on your hands as they drag through your hair and up your arm, imagining your fingers instead of his, he grips the head of his cock. Pressing his thumb into his tip, he groans low. Circling his thumb, then palm on his needy tip, and collecting his precum before he slowly pumps his hand up then down. Slow and tight.
Shakily exhaling, his eyes squeeze tight for a moment when his pace increases. He watches your hair stick to your wet skin; he would make your skin wet. He would make you sweat and pant, thrusting into you deep and fast. He would hit all the right spots and make you gasp. But only he is gasping.
His free hand juts out onto a tree, fingers aimlessly digging into the bark. Hunching over, he ruts his hips into his pumping hand. Watching your bare body, imagining fucking that sweet cunt. A sick, sick bastard.
He whimpers breathlessly, feeling his impending orgasm tingle through his body stronger. Moving his firm hand as fast as he can, he brushes his thumb around his tip again and- ‘Oh’. A broken moan falls from his lips, his hips canting up into his hand in small, fast, repetitive thrusts as his balls tighten.
He whimpers your name in a wrecked gasp as a thick rope of his cum spurts onto the grass. He groans as he works the rest of his spend out of his cock. He could give that to you. He could make you breathless, and he could make you gasp his name. He'd make you cum too.
He would ravish you and hold you tight as your cunt clenched uncontrollably around his big cock. You'd have trouble taking him, but he'd make sure you did; cooing sweet nothings into your ear as you whine and cry. He'd tell you how good you are. And when it's his turn, he'd put it wherever you'd like. Whether that's fucking his cum deep inside you and watching it drip out of your gaping cunt, pumping it over your belly or breasts or back and marking you with his spend, or shoving his cock down your throat and watching you gag on him as he thrusts cum deep into your mouth. But he's just a lonely bastard with his cock in his hand.
He hangs his head low and slips his soft cock back into his union suit, pulling up his pants and fastening his belt. He glances over to you only last time, beautiful and shimmering in the water, he sighs as his eyebrows furrow, his heart beats fast, admiring for a moment before forcing himself to step away.
A miserable, shameful, bad man.
