man i totally forgot how weird people are about the “female orgasm.” like when I was younger i heard it talked about like an anomaly of science. and specifically people would ask shit like “what is the ‘evolutionary purpose’ of the ‘female orgasm’”. i dunno man its not hard to conclude that sex feeling awesome results in having more sex. but I guess that question seems more interesting if youre a fake intellectual and see men and women as different species and not made up of the same flesh and nerves. come on now.
i'm soooo glad you're back!!! love your writting so much, was thinking about some ghostface¡ tate or shit yk...like everyone who flirts with reader end murdered
i’m sorry this took me so long to do 😔 but i sorta did my own twist on this request, hope you don’t mind… i love it… anyway… :)
~~~
Lovefool
Tate Langdon x f!reader
warnings: murder, smut, stalking, obsession, very toxic, manipulation, very minor talk of drug use… virgins, yeah idk what else it’s just stalker tate being crazy for you
summary: tate’s loved you since the first moment you met, and he would do anything to be with you… anything…
word count: 4.4
~~~
2011
You stare at the boy in front of you, a mix of emotions stirring inside you. He’s your age still, you aren’t too surprised at that. You’re more surprised at the fact that he’s in front of you. It’s been so long since the last time you saw him. You remember the pain, the pure fear that paralyzed your body the last time the two of you had an encounter. It still makes you uneasy.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice weak.
He shrugs. “It’s Halloween.”
“There’s been plenty of Halloweens Tate and this is the first time I’ve seen you here. What do you want?” You reply in a harsher tone than.
Tate shrugs again and starts to play with the sleeves of his sweater. You can’t believe this is real. You want to close your eyes and pretend this is all a sick dream, though you haven’t slept in years. After a few seconds, you cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.
“Tate the fact you even have the balls to try to find me is crazy, what happened? Did you suddenly feel some sense of guilt? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I don’t even care if you are sorry, I don’t care about anything except the one question I’ve wondered since the night it happened,” you say.
“What question?” He responds.
“Why?” Your eyes start to burn. “Why did you kill me?”
~~~
1993
Tate had never seen any girl as beautiful as you. Never. Not in a movie, not in a magazine, nothing. From the first time he saw you in kindergarten, he knew there was something special about you. Of course, he didn’t know it would grow into what it did until middle school when his hormones took over. His feelings for you quickly transitioned from a pure crush to a sick obsession. And the best and worst part of it all was that you had no idea.
You never really spoke to him. He was out of your league. You were popular, but not braindead popular like the people you surrounded yourself with. Tate had seen you in some of your classes. You were smart, you got the best grades in those classes. You had plans for yourself after high school, unlike your friends. That knowledge only made him admire you more.
The problems began when you started going out with one of the popular boys in your group, David. He was awful for you; Tate didn’t understand why you chose to have such a relationship with someone like that. He’d watch how David would wrap his arms around you in the hallways, leave small kisses on your cheeks, and whisper words in your ears that made your face turn bright red. It made him furious.
What did David have that he didn’t? Why was he so special? Tate knew he could give you more than David ever could. So, why were you with him?
Tate quickly became blinded by rage and jealousy.
At night he’d lie awake, the knowledge that you might’ve been out there opening your legs for another boy making him sick. That’s when the fantasies began. He imagined killing David. How would he do it? Where? In what way would leave the least amount of blood on his clothes? The image of his mutilated body consumed Tate’s thoughts. He liked it.
It was around that time that he had found the mask.
It was a strange mask he found in the basement. It had a long white face with black holes for the eyes and a long mouth. He wondered which resident of his house had left it there for him. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew from the second his eyes fell upon that mask was that bad things were going to happen.
He started going out at night and driving by David’s house. The mask he wore gave him a sense of power he never knew he could feel. At first, it was innocent. He’d simply drive down the other boy's road and look through his window for a few minutes before leaving. But all it took was one second of seeing you inside to blow the whole thing up. He was livid, seeing red. He decided he needed to bring his fantasies to life and get rid of David for good.
Halloween was when the opportunity to kill David became undeniable. By that point, Tate had been stalking the two of you for a month so he knew the basics. Which room was Davids, how to get into his house, and where his parents were most likely going to be. He had it all planned out. So, on Halloween night he put on the mask along with black robes that covered his entire body and ventured to the other boy's house, ready to kill.
He brought a knife, and when the time was just right, he snuck in through one of David’s open windows and started his game. He crept through the empty house, not making a sound. Getting to David’s room only took him a few minutes and what he heard from outside the door made him not regret his choice at all.
“Yeah, I know, listen she’s so close to finally giving it up to me and that’s what I’ve been working for this whole time. Once it happens, I’ll dump her, easy,” David spoke into his phone. His voice was cocky. It made Tate clench his jaw in frustration.
“Because dude, do you know how many girls from school I’ve already got under my belt? Y/N is just gonna be a name on my list. Yeah, whatever, I gotta go anyway I need to shower for the party, maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll drink too much. Okay bye.”
Before David could even get up from his chair, Tate kicked the door down and stormed in, too overpowered by his rage to think about anything but slitting the other boy's throat. He pounced on him, stabbing the knife into any part of his body he could reach. David screamed, but Tate quickly silenced him by shoving the knife down his throat. He felt empowered, he felt thrilled at the sight of his dead peer. It was amazing.
Tate didn’t waste much time gawking over his achievement, however. Once he was sure David was dead, he quickly pulled the knife out of the boy and fled out the window and back to his car. As he drove through the small neighborhoods of your guys' town, he wondered how big the news would be. Would you cry? He hoped you wouldn’t. Not over that asshole. You would move on, and Tate would wait however long it took.
~~~
The news of David’s death spread faster than wildfire and consumed Westfield High’s drama for weeks. Out of all the kids in the school, you took his death hardest. Seeing you so depressed almost made Tate regret his actions. He couldn’t bear seeing you tear up in class or show up to school two periods late. You weren’t like that.
However, as the days turned into weeks, you started to appear healthier and happier, and soon enough you were back to your normal self. Tate was glad, you were always so much prettier when you paid attention in class. He decided it was time for the second part of his plan to finally act. Though he was incredibly nervous, he knew it was then or never. He couldn’t risk you getting a new boyfriend that he’d have to kill again.
So, one day, he followed you into the library when the two of you coincidently had a study hall during the same period. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears. There you were. sitting at one of the tables alone studying, and he was going to speak to you. He’d thought up conversation starters all morning along with taking a few extra hits off his bong to help with the anxiety.
He shook the nervous thoughts from his head and grabbed his notebook from his backpack before walking in your direction. Your head was down, your hand moved aggressively across the paper as you wrote your notes. Tate stood at the other side of the table for a few seconds simply admiring you. His hands were shaky, his breathing uneasy. God, you made him lose his composure by existing. It was excruciating.
After he was done staring, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Hey y/n, do you mind maybe helping me with some of that psych homework?”
Your head shot up, your eyes instantly meeting his. He swore he couldn’t breathe. You, y/n, were looking at him on purpose. At that moment he didn’t care about what you were going to say, he didn’t care if you completely rejected him. All he cared about was how good it felt to have your eyes on him. Such innocent, loving eyes.
“Oh, yeah of course Tate that’s actually what I’m working on right now. Just sit, we can do it together. Unless you’re like super behind,” you answered.
“Are- Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the uncertainty. Did you really say yes to him?
“Yeah... should I not be?” You replied with a smile.
“No- sorry.” He sat down across from you. He could smell your perfume; he’d never been this close to you. “I just wasn’t sure if you even knew who I was.”
You chuckled. “How could I not know who you are? We’ve literally been in the same school system together since kindergarten.”
“I don’t know. You’re you know popular and stuff,” he said as he opened his notebook.
“Not really, besides even if I was that wouldn’t automatically make me forget anyone. But anyway, you can use my notes in a second, I’m almost done with the page,” you responded. You looked back down at your work and started writing again.
Tate nodded despite you not paying attention and watched as you wrote. He felt like that whole conversation was another one of his daydreams about you. Was he really sitting across from you? Or was it another mid-class nap? He cracked his knuckles to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and thankfully, he wasn’t. It was all real life.
“Sorry if this comes out as creepy, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while. I mean, when was the last time we even spoke?” You suddenly spoke, your eyes back on his.
“I guess you weren’t looking hard enough to see me,” he said with a shrug. All his confidence was a facade because on the inside he was losing his mind.
He noticed the way your cheeks slightly turned pink before you replied. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t. But I should have been.”
He knew deep down you were going to be his for so long, but at that point, he knew he had already achieved his goal. You were his.
~~~
“What is this place?” You asked as you clutched your cardigan around your body.
Tate smiled and grabbed both of your hands in his. “I told you it’s a surprise. Patience is a virtue.”
“I have patience, but I also have a lower body temperature than usual and it’s bothering me so I would really appreciate it if you’d just take me to the surprise already,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.
“It’s seventy degrees.”
“Yeah, but it’s also windy at the beach and it’s probably colder than seventy because of the ocean’s temperature.”
Tate sighed and leaned his head down to press a small kiss on your lips, a feeling he still hadn’t gotten over. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Terrible, naughty things I hope,” you replied, kissing him again. “But please lead me to your special surprise beach spot.”
Though he wanted to stand there and kiss you all night, Tate obeyed your request and began to lead you further down the beach. It had been a few months since the two of you started talking, and to say it progressed would be an understatement. Tate had truly underestimated how easy it would be to capture your attention. All you wanted was a sweet, caring, genuine boy and he could be all those things easily.
So, after a month of being friends, he asked you out and you said yes. The relationship grew deeper with each day, and it didn’t disappoint him one bit. He loved everything about you. The way you’d lie on your bed with him and talk for hours, the way you’d make your relationship with him public by holding his hand in the halls, and most importantly the way you never expected or wanted him to change to fit in with your friends. You liked him for who he was, and it melted his heart.
It was your three-month anniversary, and Tate wanted to make it special. Even though he knew before the two of you got together that you were a virgin, he didn’t know to what extent you were. He quickly became aware you had done most things already, just not full sex. At first, he was annoyed at the fact that you weren’t completely his because he had never done anything with a girl before you. But after the first night, you went down on him, he wasn’t that upset anymore.
On this night he planned to take the next step with you. He had it all set up. The blankets, the lights, all of it. As the sight of his setup came into view, he watched your face light up. You squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.
“Is this really for me?” You asked.
“Yeah, do you like it?” He replied.
You nodded and sped up to reach it, dragging him with you. Once you made it you dropped down to sit on the blanket, urging Tate to do the same. “This is so cool. You’re the first boy to ever do something like this for me. I love it.”
“I’m glad, I know how you like sentimental things,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “And I’ve been wanting to show you this spot for a while. I used to come here a lot as a kid and watch the waves with my dad... before he left. I wanted to make it special with you because you’re not like my dad. Right?”
“No, I’m not. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you like that. I lo- I like you Tate, a lot.”
Tate only stared into your eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his life. You almost said you loved him. He knew then that night was going to be the night you finally gave yourself to him. Something in your eyes made him certain. Your eyes were dark. You stared up at him as if he were the only boy in the world. There was a feeling in the air, one of lust and fear.
“I’ll never want to hurt you either,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I doubt I ever could.”
You gave him a small smile and placed one of your hands on his cheek. You caressed the skin with your thumb as you slowly started to lean your face toward his. He accepted your lips on him, kissing back instantly. It was the moment he’d been working up to for years. He was finally going to lose his virginity to you, and you to him. Nothing would ever compare.
~~~
The sound of Nirvana mixed with skin slapping filled Tate’s room. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips when he looked down at you. Your back was arched so perfectly, your waist looked impossibly small, and your ass looked incredibly big. The side of your face was smushed against one of Tate’s pillows. You were so red, so loud you had to bite your hand to spare the whole house from hearing. Tate took in a deep breath and slapped your ass, his thrusts not faltering for even a second.
“Fuck baby, you look so pretty right now. You take me so well,” he whispered. He wrapped some of your hair around his hand and yanked you up, making you practically scream. “Yeah, you like that. You like being manhandled y/n?”
You let out another moan but didn’t reply. Tate slapped your ass again and threw you back down to the mattress. He leaned over you, your sweaty body feeling perfect against his. He was close to finishing. He’d already made you cum a few times that day, so he wasn’t too concerned about where you were. All he was concerned about was getting closer to you before he came.
“I love controlling you, you’re so helpless. Fuck I’m so close,” he mumbled in your ear. “You’re mine, all fucking mine forever. I’ll kill anyone who even tries to take you away from me.”
You made a noise and Tate couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside you, his cock pulsing heavily. You groaned; his cock was hitting your cervix too hard it hurt. He waited a minute or so before finally pulling out and moving to the spot next to you on the bed. He’d never felt anything as amazing as having sex with you. He was breathless.
He was so caught up in his thoughts about what just happened that he didn’t notice your sad expression. When he eventually looked at you, he saw your frown. Immediately he turned to his side and faced you, reaching out one of his hands to brush a few of your hairs behind your ear.
“What’s wrong baby?” He asked.
“Nothing,” you replied.
“It doesn’t look like nothing you look sad; you can tell me whatever it is.”
You sighed and turned your head to meet his gaze. “Why do you like hurting me? Like during sex and stuff. You’re always so rough and I don’t know you’re really mean and sometimes the stuff you say is… scary.”
“How is it scary?” He laughed.
“You said you’d kill anyone who would try to take me away from you,” you said.
“Yeah, I would. I swear I’ve said this shit to you before. I would do anything for you, or to keep you,” he responded.
“Don’t joke about that Tate, you know I’m scared of killers because of what happened.”
“Oh, so this is about David? Why are you even thinking about him y/n he’s been dead for months. Do you miss him, or something is that it?” He questioned; his tone harsher than before.
You scoffed and sat up. “You’re seriously making this about me missing David?”
“Well, is that what this is about?”
“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered before you stood up and started to get dressed.
“Oh, my fucking God y/n I’m sorry for whatever I said wrong while we were fucking. Can we just move on already? I don’t see what the big deal is,” he snapped.
“No, we can’t just move on. You scare me sometimes Tate like genuinely. I know you mean it all in a sweet way but it’s weird. I love you but you don’t hear me saying I’d kill people if they talked to you or looked at you a certain way. That’s not normal.”
Tate sat up. “I wish you would say those things. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. I’d do anything you ask; I would shoot up the fucking school if you wanted me to.”
You looked at him, he could see the terror and fear in your eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Of course, I am. I don’t get why you’re acting so scared. I’d never hurt you I don’t even think I could if I wanted to, you mean more to me than any person alive or dead,” he answered.
“You’re sick,” you mumbled. You grabbed your bag and walked to the door. “I think we need some time apart; you aren’t sane.”
His heart practically stopped. “What?”
“We need to stop seeing each other for a little while, I can’t take this insane shit Tate. I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I need you to get some help before I can be with you.”
Before Tate could reply, you left. All he could do was stare at the door, a million thoughts roaming his head. Did you really just break up with him? Was that it? Did you just throw away everything the two of you had because you felt his love was too strong? It didn’t feel real.
As the night progressed, he tried to call you, dozens of times. But each call was either declined or rang out. His anxiety grew with each ring of the phone. Why weren’t you replying? Who were you seeing? Did he really mean so little to you that you could leave so easily? His mind spun with scenarios, each one worse than the last. By the end of the night, he had convinced himself you were cheating on him, and the following days only worsened his state of madness.
You ignored him completely in school. Every time he tried to talk to you, you either turned away or walked away completely. It hurt him terribly. He couldn’t understand what had changed so fast. He chased you around the halls for days, trying his hardest to get your attention. But it never worked. And so, his love for you began to fade into an awful rage.
He couldn’t let you just walk away from everything the two of you shared. You were his. Only his. He couldn’t let you leave him, not like his dad. He hadn’t spent his entire life chasing you just to end up losing you. No. So, he began to formulate a plan. He’d leave you alone for a few days then calmly ask you to meet him at the beach, in the special spot he once made for you.
He wasn’t surprised that his plan worked. You were predictable.
When the night came, he made sure he was prepared. He snorted a line, packed his bag full of your favorite things, and set off. As he walked down the beach, he made sure the knife he hid was secure in his pocket. It was smaller than the one he’d used on David, but it would do the job just as efficiently.
You arrived a few minutes after him, a sad expression on your pretty face. He fought the urge to run to you with open arms.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. Only a few feet separated your bodies, he wished he could close it. But he needed to be patient.
You took a deep breath, you looked nervous. “Yeah, look Tate I... I’ve thought about it and I... I really think we should stop seeing each other for some time.”
“Why Y/N? I love you, so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I said, I can change, I won’t say shit like that ever again. I’ll be gentle, I swear. Just give me the chance I can be whatever you need me to be,” he replied desperately. He opened his bag and pulled out your favorite candy. “I love you; I really do. Please give me another chance.”
He watched your eyes fill with tears. You wanted to give in, he could see it in your eyes. But you only shook your head and wiped a fallen tear from your cheek.
“No. I’m sorry. Tate, you aren’t gentle, that’s not who you are. And I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you aren’t.”
Tate swallowed hard. “You promised me you’d never leave me; you said you were nothing like my dad. Was it all a lie?”
“Of course not!” You exclaimed and took a step closer to him. “I love you; I really do. That’s why this is so hard.”
“If you love me, why can’t we work this out? Don’t lie to me Y/N.”
He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor could he stop his lips from quivering. He dug the bouquet of your favorite flowers out from his bag and held them out to you.
“Please,” he mumbled. “I need you.”
You caved. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight. He could feel your muffled cries on his chest, it pained him. You were a sensitive sweet girl; it was both your blessing and curse.
“Maybe in a few months, we can try again, I don’t know.” You looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “We just can’t be together right now. And I mean we’re going to graduate soon, and I might go to a college far away, how would that even work? But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s too late for that Y/N, you’ve already hurt me.” He dropped what he was holding and dug one of his hands into his pocket. He touched your face with his other hand, your tears covering his palm. “You’ve planned on leaving me this whole time. I wanted to give it another try you’ve made up your mind. I guess it just comes down to one thing.”
“What?” You asked.
“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he whispered before he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the side of your neck.
~~~
2011
“I killed you because I loved you,” he answers. “Because you were going to leave me and find someone else.”
All you can do is stare at him in silence. You think back to everything that happened. How could you have been so blind? It couldn’t have been your fault though. He would’ve killed you anyway. You think back to all the times Tate made you uneasy, all the times he would say things that creeped you out. Deep down you must’ve known that’s who he is. Maybe you knew all along.
Maybe you loved him because of his darkness.
You exhale a long breath. “We don’t have that long till midnight.”
Shadow's days were filled with small victories and bigger frustrations. He would fumble with utensils, spilling food on himself and the floor. His attempts at dressing were comical, with buttons mismatched and shirts inside out. You found yourself laughing and sighing in equal measure, your heart swelling with a mix of exasperation and affection.
One afternoon, as you sat on the couch, Shadow perched on your lap, you noticed his teeth. They were stained with remnants of his last meal, a gory mess of half-chewed food and crimson streaks. You sighed, knowing you had to address his dental hygiene.
"Shadow, let's take care of your teeth," you said gently, reaching for the floss. He looked up at you with those big, green eyes, a mix of trust and confusion swirling in their depths. You guided the floss between his teeth, his breath warm and slightly metallic against your fingers. He grimaced, his tiny hands gripping your wrist.
"Almost done," you murmured, your voice soothing. "You're doing great."
As you worked, you couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between his delicate, human form and the alien strength that lurked beneath the surface. His skin shimmered faintly, a reminder of the otherworldly being he truly was.
A few days later, Shadow presented you with a gift. In his small, trembling hands, he held a half-dead blue jay. Its feathers were a vibrant, electric blue, speckled with flecks of crimson blood. The bird's eyes were glazed, its beak slightly agape. Shadow beamed at you, his teeth stained with the bird's blood, a few blue feathers clinging to his lips.
"For you, M-master," he said, his voice filled with pride. "A gift."
You took the bird carefully, trying to hide your horror. The feathers were soft and silky, the blood still warm and sticky against your fingers. You thanked Shadow, praising his thoughtfulness, even as you wondered how to explain the concept of a more appropriate gift.
As the months passed, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with Shadow. His innocence, his resilience, and his unconditional devotion were intoxicating. You spent hours teaching him, guiding him, and cherishing every moment together.
One evening, as you sat on the porch, Shadow in your lap, you watched the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink. Shadow leaned against you, his head resting on your chest. You could feel his heart beating steadily, a rhythm that matched your own.
"You're my everything, M-master," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you more than words can express."
You tightened your arms around him, a lump forming in your throat. "I love you too, Shadow. More than you'll ever know."
Despite your growing love, you never stopped searching for a way to help Shadow. You scoured scientific journals, consulted with experts, and even reached out to shadowy figures in the world of alien biology. Each lead was a dead end, each expert a dead end. But you refused to give up.
One night, as you sat at your desk, poring over research, Shadow crept up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your neck, his chin resting on your shoulder.
"Don't worry, M-master," he murmured. "I'm happy, no matter what. As long as I'm with you, I'm home."
You turned to face him, cupping his cheek in your hand. "I promise, Shadow. I'll find a way. I won't let you suffer like this forever."
And so, your journey continued, a tangled web of love, care, and the unending quest to heal the one you held dearest.
synopsis. getting two sex-addicted hot demon bitches as your roommates wasn't exactly part of the contract, but they might just be the second best part of it. oh. and the best part? they are utterly, uncontrollably obsessed with you. wc. 5.3k
tags. top master! reader, bottom succubi! gojo & geto. reader has a cock. hardcore dom/sub. mean dom! reader, masochistic! gojo. threesome, womb tattoos, breeding kink, creampie(s), rimming, face-sitting, rough anal sex, multiple orgasms, riding, blowjob, male squirting, spanking, dacryphilia, somnophilia (slight dub-con), slut-shaming, degradation, praise kink, voyeurism, jealousy, felching, yandere! gojo undertones, aphrodisiacs, both of them are whiny, needy and hungry for your cock.
a/n. this might just be the filthiest thing i've ever written. do enjoy <3
In hindsight, you really, really should have known that your two roommates were promiscuous, sex-obsessed freaks before moving in with them. No, scratch that. You should have long known that they weren’t even entirely. . . human.
Not that they were exactly being subtle with it. Once, you had walked in on Satoru naked in the middle of ‘certain peculiar activities’ with his door half-open, wings, tail and dark pink womb tattoo on full display, stretching across the expanse of his lower abdomen in obscene heart-shaped swirls. You were taken aback at first, sure, but you weren’t mean with it, even offering to keep his identity a secret—and he had taken your politeness for something more.
Now, he didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. In point of fact, he flaunted it.
Satoru would curl his tail around your thigh playfully whenever he would walk past you in the house, stretching his horned fuchsia wings while shooting you a sultry over-the-shoulder glance whenever you were behind him, even purposefully wearing shirts a size too small around you so that the fabric would ride above his waist whenever he had to ‘stretch’ or reach for something—perfectly showing off his pretty womb tattoo.
It drove you insane with desire. And if that wasn’t bad enough for you, Satoru’s best friend, who also happened to be a succubus and your other roommate—Suguru, decided that the white-haired succubus accidentally outing himself was his cue to start courting you.
You didn’t even know that succubi courted. You supposed there was always a first for everything.
Suguru was far from being openly vulgar like Satoru was, but just as indicative of his wants. And that happened to be you. With long black hair, dark wings and a sharp, swift tail of the same colour, he was eerily gorgeous. He took his sweet time courting you, laying blooming red peonies all over your bed that worked as aphrodisiacs, spending his weekends making you wine-flavoured chocolates in the shape of hearts, hoping to get you drunk and all to himself. You would also constantly find missing pieces of clothing from the underwear section of your wardrobe, the distinctive mouth-watering scent of an aroused succubus left behind in their stead.
Satoru and Suguru were beautiful in a way that most things were—poisonous and addictive. You had told yourself that you wouldn’t get swayed by their honeyed façade and fall into their trap. You had told yourself, but. . .
The last thing you expected to wake up to was a wet, searing mouth on your hard cock.
You groaned, shuddering as mind-numbing pleasure wracked through your body in overwhelming waves, reaching out blindly to hold onto something before it consumed you—fingers digging into the sheets so hard you heard it rip. You couldn’t explain why or how it felt so good, the pleasure almost other-worldly—the sensation of an incredibly soft tongue licking up your length, dragging a trail of heat and drool on sensitive skin. The air smelt sweet, like roses and cherries, the sharp sting of arousal zipping up your spine as you took a deep whiff.
“D-does it feel good, master?” a voice panted, whined, “am I doing good for you?”
You looked down to find two teary, dilated blue eyes staring up at you, and two you knew very well. “Satoru,” you managed, fighting down a shiver as his hot breaths smothered your shaft with unbearable warmth. Everything felt fuzzy and smelt too sweet, like someone had sprayed intoxicating perfume in your bedroom a thousand times over. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He gripped your cock tighter with a pout, like he was worried that you would take away his favourite toy. “I just… I just thought I could make you f-feel better. Some de-stressing after a hard day, y’know?” He sighed, rubbing his cheek against your spit-soaked length, raised tail quivering behind him, shyly curling forward to show off the heart-shaped end of it.
You couldn’t help but look. Satoru was dressed in a satin white shrug shirt that fully exposed his plump chest while allowing his wings to stretch out prettily, and you followed the tempting curves of his toned torso down to where his womb tattoo was pulsing and glowing red, as though showing off that he was eager to be bred. He was wearing the sluttiest, tiniest pair of lingerie underwear that barely covered his ass, the cute bulge of his cock visible from the front, his weeping cockhead poking out, strapped to his stomach. His outfit gave you the perfect glimpse of his soft milky thighs, before the rest was obscured by cream lace stockings that hugged his legs perfectly, leaving you wanting more.
Sweet Lord. If this wasn’t heaven, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what heaven would be like.
The succubus trembled under your scrutinizing, squeezing his thighs together as though he wanted to hide the evidence of his arousal. “A-are you done looking?” he mumbled, glancing at you through his lashes. “Can I continue? Please, I’ve been so good and you know it.” You could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate even more when his gaze returned to your erect cock, a line of drool running down his chin as his throat bobbed, as though he were imagining what it would feel like to swallow your cum.
“Hold on,” you breathed, carding your hand through his soft hair to gently stop him from getting closer to your crotch. “Does Suguru know about this?”
Satoru’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, his pout fading into something more. . . wary. “No,” he said, quietly. “He doesn’t.”
“I’d thought so. Suguru wouldn’t—”
“Stop talking about Suguru,” he whined, like he was actually hurt over this. “Suguru’s not about to suck your cock.”
You frowned. And what gave him the right to sneak into your room and do blasphemous things to your body while you were sleeping, then? You tightened your grip on his hair, just enough to make him let out a low, pitiful whimper. “And you’re going to be the one to do it, then, Satoru?”
His eyes widened like a guilty child.
“I’m impressed,” you scorned, “You actually think you deserve it.”
Satoru bit his lip, as though he was turned on by your sudden change in behaviour. “I… Master, please. I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been asking for it for ages, I just couldn’t wait anymore—I needed you so bad. Please let me make it up to you. Please, please,” he stammered, hands grasping your knees and thighs in almost desperation while looking up at you with a forlorn expression.
You looked at him, steering your expression into something like a leer.
“You want to make it up to me? Is that so?” You pretended to think, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp, and he moaned softly, leaning into your touch. “Fine. Get on the bed.”
The succubus clambered onto the bed clumsily, settling on all fours as he looked at you over his shoulder with a deep flush, tail quivering with arousal. “L-like this?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you muttered, hands coming to rest on each of his asscheeks, kneading the flesh softly. Satoru whined, back pressing into an arch as he pushed his rump towards you, eager to please. “So, tell me, Satoru. I’m curious. What makes. . . a good slut?”
“S-someone who listens to orders,” he replied, obediently.
“That’s correct.” You whistled, hooking two fingers over the waistband of his underwear, slowly sliding it down to his knees until you completely exposed his leaking cock and hole, the latter clenching and dripping with… slick, like a pussy would. You went back to playing with his ass, ignoring it for the time being. “And does a good slut ever talk back to their master?”
“No,” he whimpered.
“What about,” you began, stroking his sensitive inner thighs, “taking what they want without permission?”
“No,” he repeated, biting back a whine as a slow sense of dread filled him. “That’s what… that’s what n-naughty sluts do.” The words sounded strangely obscene in his mouth, and he flushed, ears turning red.
“Very good,” you praised. “Last question, Satoru. You’ve answered every question perfectly so far—this one will be easy.” You flashed him a vicious smile, taking great pleasure in his ordeal. “Do you think naughty sluts deserve to be punished?”
The succubus shivered in both fear and anticipation, swallowing harshly. “Y-yes,” he whispered. “They do.”
Satoru didn’t even have time to beg for mercy because your hand fell hard on his ass, the force of it sending a loud smack echoing across the room, making him jerk forward with a pleasured cry.
The pain was electric, and so was the pleasure, a white-hot burn curling in his lower stomach as his cock gave a violent lurch—Satoru doesn’t think he has ever felt pleasure this good before in all his years of being a sex demon. You were a hard hitter too. The skin on his ass stung pleasantly, and he moaned out loud at the thought of you slapping his ass again and again until your handprint was burnt into his flesh, wanting more already.
“You really are a slut,” you whispered, almost in awe.
“Please,” he whined. He would take anything you were going to give him—praise or punishment. He was yours.
You gently massaged the bruised area on his ass, leaning down to give it a tender kiss. “Turn around for me, baby.” You opted for a softer tone, trying to coax him into letting you see his face after the harsh treatment. You couldn’t believe you ever thought that he was the danger here. Things were turning out in the most perfect way, you would believe it was a dream if not for how solid Satoru felt under your touch.
Satoru parted his lips, as though he wanted to argue—but quickly remembered your words. The pain was good, incredibly good, but it was also fleeting. If this was his first and last chance with you, then he would make the pleasure last.
He flipped over on his back, removing his underwear and quietly spreading his shaky legs for you. His cock gave a weak twitch as your gaze swept across his body with interest, letting a low whine.
“Good boy, Satoru,” you muttered, eyes zeroing in on the heart-shaped swirls of his pulsing womb tattoo. Admittedly, you had looked it up on the internet and found out all sorts of things about succubi, terms that ranged from ‘breeding’ and ‘fertility’ to ‘cum-addiction’, and you couldn’t wait to experiment them on him. “Gonna open you up now.”
You rubbed your fingers against his soft and wet entrance, slathering them in his slick, before starting to push two in, just to be mean. The succubus was already panting, mindlessly arching his back and pushing against your fingers. “Hah… Master… please, more…”
“More what? Tell me what you want, Satoru.”
Satoru let out a lewd cry as you rubbed at his sensitive walls, hips jerking. “P-Please!” he squeaked. “Want your cum… inside my womb.”
You could feel a sadistic smile pulling at your lips. So this was his true objective. To be bred like a cockslut—no, an animal. An animal bound by divine instruction to reproduce again and again and again, brainlessly offering up its holes to be filled with semen until its belly swells with the early stages of pregnancy. Perhaps the rumours about succubi on the internet were true, after all.
You weren’t going to give him what he wanted so easily, though. You weren’t that nice—he hasn’t earned it yet.
“Greedy,” you settled for a simple comment, leer morphing into something more innocent. You made sure to crook your fingers at a certain angle while pumping them in and out of his drooling hole, searching for the spot that made his toes curl and back arch, a filthy wail forcing his lips to part. “You sure you can handle that, baby?”
His womb tattoo glowed brighter, scorching hot underneath your touch. Satoru looked fucked out already and the night was still young, lidded eyes unfocused and glassy while he continued to grind down against your fingers, as though searching for something wider, thicker, deeper.
“Slut,” you snarled, and the word was barely fitting for how the succubus was acting. You pulled your fingers out, the emptiness making him ache. He gave a loud whine, his hips giving a desperate buck into the empty air, neglected cock red and hard, smearing pre-cum all over his womb tattoo.
“‘m your good slut,” he babbled, slurred for how drunk and stupid he sounded. You were sure anyone standing outside your bedroom would hear him with how loud he was being.
His mouth felt empty, you decided. A little too empty. You hooked a thumb into the stretchy side of his mouth before rubbing your fingers on his bottom lip, and he gave a soft keen, parting his lips for you to slide them inside, before lightly sucking on them—tasting his own juices.
“If you keep this up,” you warned, “Suguru will hear. You don’t want him hearing me making you scream, do you, Satoru? Or are you more of a pervert than I thought?”
“No,” he said, muffled by your fingers stuffing his mouth full, tears dribbling down his cheeks.
“Good sluts don’t talk with their mouth full,” you reminded him, gently brushing away his tears.
He shook his head quickly, whining. Satoru didn’t like to share, and you knew that. You were his bond, his human. You didn’t need another succubus. Right?
You bit down a smile at his blatant jealousy, pretending not to notice the presence right outside your room, the rustle of fabric unmistakable—barely covered by Satoru’s loud whimpers. It was a little too early to reveal it, with how both of them were enjoying themselves. You would indulge them a little longer.
You coated your fingers with his spit generously before pulling them out, a string of drool connecting the two, before reaching down and unceremoniously plugging them back into his needy hole. Satoru yelped, trying to snap his thighs shut at the sudden intrusion, and you took the opportunity to guide them to wrap around your waist. He flushed, stammering out an apology, but you wouldn’t miss this chance to tease him.
“Look at you, Satoru.” You continued to scissor him, occasionally pulling out to slather your cock with his sweet-smelling slick. “I haven’t even put it in yet, and here you are, drooling like we’ve been at it all night. Messy cockslut.”
“Your cockslut,” he whimpered, and it sharpened into a keen when you slowly drove forward to dip the head of your cock in his hole. It clenched around you greedily, and it felt incredible even with only the tip in, soft and wet and hungry, warmth oozing into you, making you burn with desire. What was even more incredible was the fact that Satoru was crying, tears spilling over red, flushed cheeks as he struggled to stay still for you, wanting to please, wanting forgiveness. “Hnngh… master…”
He was right. Satoru was your cockslut.
You leaned down to caress his wet cheek, the action only causing your cock to nudge deeper inside, the warm tightness nearly sending you into overdrive—making you moan. You had never been inside a hole this heavenly before. The snug stretch around your girth was insane, and if that wasn’t enough, his hole kept on fluttering and clenching around you, making delicious sensations bleed into you.
So the myths were true, after all—succubi were demons crafted for the sake of providing pleasure.
Your vision was growing hazy with lust, the heat in your belly growing. The pleasure was almost too much—but you held on. You would drain him before he drained you.
Grabbing him by the thick of his hips, you buried yourself to the hilt in one go, and Satoru let out a wrecked cry, fingers bunching up the sheets at the sudden stimulation. His womb tattoo sizzled and pulsed obscenely, and you reached down to gently press your palm against it, making him whimper loudly.
You didn’t know if you would be able to hold it in for much longer—with how the poor thing was squirming on your cock, sweet slick coating your cock with every thrust in and drive out, the carnal smell of it all making your appetite grow tenfold, making you want to strip him of all dignity and devour.
“Satoru,” you murmured, thrusting forward, and he answered with a keening wail of your name. “It seems like… we have a rather eager spectator. Should we invite him inside?”
“Wh-what…” Satoru said dumbly, whines interrupting his words as his eyes struggled to focus. “Spectator…?”
“Yeah.” You grinned as he realised who you were talking about, stiffening and shaking his head with a cry. He wanted to have you all to himself for a little longer… you haven’t even cum inside him yet. This wasn’t fair. “Let’s see if he’s just as much of a cock-hungry slut as you are, mm?”
You turned your head to the door. “Suguru. Come in.”
The door hesitantly creaked open, and Suguru stepped inside. Immediately, the sweetness of aroused succubi intensified in the room, a clash between Satoru’s sugary scent and Suguru’s honeyed one making you dizzy with want.
“Master,” Suguru swallowed, a red flush on his cheeks. He was dressed in a revealing dark purple night-robe, a ravishing complement to the long, black hair that cascaded down his shoulders. He looked at the two of you calmly, but you didn’t fail to notice the shine between his thighs, giving away how bothered he really was. “How long have you known?”
“Quite a while. Get on the bed and prepare yourself,” you ordered, turning back to the other succubus who was currently grinding himself senseless on your cock, little whines and pleas plucked out with each desperate roll of his hips. “I’ll deal with you after I’m done with Satoru.”
Suguru listened obediently, laying down on the bed on his back, night robe gracefully falling open to reveal his purple womb tattoo, already throbbing and glowing with heat and need. He reached down between his parted thighs, rubbing and pleasuring his hole while watching the two of you, soaking the mattress with how much slick he was producing.
You turned back to Satoru, the sight of his red, crying face sending a jolt of heat straight into your abdomen. “What?” You grinned, gripping his waist and starting to thrust into his tight heat again. “I did warn you.”
“S-so mean,” he sobbed, arching his back at the pleasure. He was whimpering again, warm walls hugging your length firmly every time you drove in, and you could tell he was getting close again, had been close before you had so cruelly stopped to indulge someone else. Satoru turned his head to look at the other succubus, their simultaneous pants and whines serving to make each other even more aroused, Satoru’s slick drenching your cock while Suguru’s messily dribbled all over his hand, obscene squelching noises like heavenly music to your ears.
“Gonna cum,” you announced, and both of them answered you with needy, high-pitched whines, Suguru fingering himself to your thrusts while Satoru laid there, moaning and sobbing, reduced to nothing but a pliable body made to take and take and take.
The latter blinked up at you with glossy eyes, tears dotting on his lashes and crying out lewdly while you continued to pound into him like a rabid animal. Satoru loved it, how rough and careless you were treating him, your gentle hands telling a different story as they caressed his face, the contrast of pain and pleasure making him shiver. No one had been able to satisfy him like this before. You were perfect for him.
“Please… your cum…” he pleaded, laying a hand on his pulsating womb tattoo, begging for you to fulfil his only purpose in life—to be filled and bred like the dumb slut he was. “I w-want it inside…”
You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, his warm hole sucking you deeper in with every flutter, every clench, showering you in waves of stimulation to the point where it teetered between pleasure and pain. Just when stars began to float across your vision in hazy swirls, a sign that you were close to orgasm, you pulled out hastily, ignoring Satoru’s desperate, keening sob, yanking Suguru towards you by the hips before roughly plunging your cock into his needy hole.
The startled moan that you pulled out from the other succubus was enough to drive you to the peak of your arousal, and you thrust a few more times before spilling into warm wetness with a loud, guttural groan.
When you came to be, there were two kinds of noises rebounding in the room—Satoru’s cries and Suguru’s whines.
“Master!” Satoru sobbed, bucking his hips into empty air as tears messily dripped down his face.
“M-master,” Suguru whimpered, drooling and panting, stuffed so full of cum and cock he could barely speak.
You moaned as you drew out from Suguru’s heat, watching as cum dribbled out from his puffy hole and onto the soaked mattress—and he let out a soft, needy whine, plugging two fingers inside himself to stop anything more from leaking out, as though to replace the fullness that he had felt before. You watched as he lay there shivering weakly, glowing womb tattoo tainted with streaks of white, and you realised that he had come just from you releasing inside him.
You swallowed, feeling your cock fill out again. Suguru really was a good slut. Perfect, even.
“Master…!” Satoru cried out again, gaze lingering on you and Suguru with an expression that could only be described as heartbroken, and you would feel sorry for him, if not for you catching sight of the softening cock resting against his heaving abdomen. The perverted thing had orgasmed from watching you cum inside someone else. If that wasn’t a sight.
“I never promised you anything, Satoru.” You looked down at the mess you had created, smiling innocently. “Plus, Suguru’s a far better slut than you are, don’t you think? After all, he waited patiently for his turn to be bred, unlike you.” You slumped down onto the bed with a heavy sigh, turning to Suguru and patting your lap. “Sit on my cock, baby.”
Suguru rubbed at his eyes, compliantly trudging over and straddling your waist, the length of your cock rubbing lewdly between his cheeks. He bit his lip, raising his hips until the tip of it nudged against his sore hole, the growing stretch more pleasurable than anything. Your cum turned out to be the perfect lubricant, and the intrusion was met with little resistance, allowing him to slowly sink down with a hungry whine.
“F-feels so goood,” he slurred, his eyes rolling back as you bottomed out, making the both of you moan. He mindlessly rubbed at his stomach, right above his womb, where you had gifted him a baby.
“See?” You looked at Satoru lazily, the poor thing watching in a mixture of arousal and frustration. “Suguru’s been so good for me. What have you done?”
Satoru wanted to cry again at your demeaning tone. This was too much. You were being so mean to him, when he was trying his best to atone for his wrongdoings! He didn’t deserve this treatment, not one bit. If Suguru gets a baby, then he should get one, too.
“I’m s-sorry,” he snivelled weakly. “Please, master… I promise I won’t ever misbehave again. I’ll be a good slut… I’ll do anything you want.”
You smiled. “Anything I want?”
He nodded, desperate.
“Sit on my face and I’ll think about it.”
Satoru wanted to protest, yank Suguru off your cock and ride it himself until you spurted heavy into his womb, showing you that he could please you just as much as the other succubus did, maybe even more. You were his, and naturally, your pleasure belonged to him as well. Suguru might be his best friend, but that didn’t mean Satoru liked to share his toys with him. But. . . if this was his last shot at gaining your forgiveness, then he would do whatever it takes to please you, even if it meant suppressing his needs for the time being.
He scrambled over to where you were lying, carefully placing one knee on each side of your face, trembling with effort as he slowly lowered himself onto your face. He let out a soft, whiny keen as his position pressed his hole directly against your parted lips, and he struggled not to rut against your face—holding himself back from chasing after the addictive pleasure.
You gently lifted him by the hips to breathe, before pressing a light kiss to the twitching hole. Licking around Satoru’s swollen rim in an attempt to loosen him up, you rolled your hips up into the welcoming warmth of the other succubus, jolting out an erotic moan.
“You can start riding me, Suguru,” you muttered, closing your eyes and letting out a drawn-out moan as he gave a filthy clench around your length at the mention of his name. “Don’t hold back.”
“Yes, master,” Suguru whined, rolling his hips against yours in smooth, circular motions, and you could feel the slick leaking out from his hole, smothering your length with the abundance of it, sweet and sleek and thick. The succubus rode you like he was made to do it, his cock slapping against his womb tattoo messily with every bounce, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure—letting out a stream of whimpers and pleas while his hole fluttered around you tirelessly, trying to get you to cum inside him a second time.
You returned to your task at hand—giving a broad lick over Satoru’s dripping hole to gather some of his slick on your tongue, making him sob out a whine. It was sweet and intoxicating, addictive flavour melting in your mouth like sugar, and you couldn’t get enough—shoving your entire tongue into him before eating him out in earnest.
And sweet lord, did he taste good. He was squeezing around you deliciously, releasing so much slick that it dripped all over your chin and down the column of your throat, making a mess. It drove you crazy. Before you knew it, you were making animalistic noises against his swollen entrance as you made love to it with your tongue, the vibrations making him croon with pleasure. And by now, you were sure that succubi slick had aphrodisiac effects, because with every mouthful that you swallowed, you found it harder and harder to control yourself, wanting to just give in to your arousal and take.
“Please,” Satoru was sobbing loudly, feeling wet and loose and dirty, thighs trembling with little restraint as you lifted him up and down your tongue with ease, reaching so deep one would think you were trying to plunder his soul. “Gonna… gonna cum already…”
“M-me too,” Suguru chimed in with a moan, hips growing wearier with every lift, his impending orgasm making him weak, the fullness of cock giving him the illusion of heaviness, and he held his belly as though he were pregnant already.
You continued to pleasure the both of them the best you could, tongue curling inside Satoru with precision to press against his sweet spot until he was shaking and whimpering with overstimulation—while rolling your hips up to meet Suguru’s, feeling him needily clench around you every time you rammed up just right.
You could feel yourself getting closer as well, the noises that your two obscene lovers were making serving to turn you on even more. Combined with the sinful pressure of Satoru’s sopping hole clenching around your tongue and the searing tightness of Suguru jumping on your cock, this was practically heaven.
Reaching over to grip Suguru’s hips, you thrust up repeatedly into his tight warmth, leaving the other to ride your tongue on his own. You groaned your pleasure into Satoru’s hole, and the succubus answered with a keening cry of “Master!”, grinding down against your face with wild abandon. Both of their womb tattoos were glowing brighter than ever, screaming at you to breed them, take them, devour them—and you did just that.
You rammed your hips up with a muffled shout, gripping Suguru’s waist so tightly you were sure it would leave dark bruises for days to come—unloading everything into his womb for the second time tonight—your seed, your love, your legacy. Suguru cried out loudly at the feeling of your cum filling him up, shuddering as his cock squirted all over the three of you—his stomach, your chest, Satoru’s back—while Satoru clenched around your tongue so tightly as his orgasm crashed over him like a hurricane, cumming all over your face and the mattress with a hoarse scream.
You gasped for breath the moment Satoru slid off your face and collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily, black spots swirling heavily in your vision—the aftermath of the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. Succubi—no, your succubi really were something.
Suguru was too tired to even protest as your softening cock slid out from his sheath, dragging out a trail of slick and cum. Yawning, he shifted to lay on the bed on his stomach, mumbling “Thank you, master,” before his eyes drooped shut in exhaustion. You watched him fondly, reaching out to card a hand through his silky hair, before a soft, almost petulant whine caught your attention.
Satoru was glaring at the other succubus with jealousy. Sure, he had gotten a mind-blowing orgasm out of it, but he wanted you filling him up until he felt bloated with your cum, wanted to be bred.
You let out an amused laugh. “You want my cum that bad?”
He nodded his head frantically.
“Well, then…” You turned to where Suguru had fallen asleep, cum trickling out of his asshole and sliding down his perineum steadily. You guess it would be somewhat of a waste to just leave him be. “Since Suguru took your share for the night. . . there you go. Have a taste.”
Satoru’s face was slightly pale when you turned back to look at him, a sick grin stretching at your lips. He didn’t question you, however, quietly crawling over until he was kneeling between Suguru’s legs. His heart was pounding, your words earlier that night replaying in his head again and again like mantra—a good slut listens to orders.
Making eye contact with you, he poked his tongue out, slowly leaning down before giving the excess cum a tentative lick. . . and swallowed.
You were sure those were hearts exploding in his eyes.
SUMMARY: You dominate your slutty submissive boyfriend, Neil Lewis
WORD COUNT: 2.2k
WARNINGS/ADDITIONAL INFO: Smut 🔞, face slapping, verbal humiliation, body writing, references to orgasm denial, facefucking (female-on-male), cunnilingus, rimming, anal fingering, cum eating, praise kink (if you squint), hand job
Beta read by @sasybanana
It was always a treat when you got to see Neil like this: naked and kneeling, with his neck adorned by a heavy leather collar that only seemed to emphasize his thin frame as it dangled loosely. His cock was at half-mast, already hardening at the mere thought of what was coming.
“Does my little slut want attention?” you cooed as you sauntered forward, wearing nothing but a matching lace bra and panty set. His head shot up and his body tensed, his bright blue eyes desperately meeting your gaze.
“Yes, Mistress.” There was a breathy, needy quality to his voice that sent a tingle down your spine.
“Does my needy little slut deserve attention?”
He didn’t even form words this time, just whined and nodded. That wouldn’t do.
Smack
Neil’s cheek flushed and he reeled from the impact.
“Use your words, baby.”
“Yes, I deserve your attention.”
Smack
You saw the same flush to the other side of his face, the same scramble to regain balance.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been good all week. I haven’t come without your permission. I’ve been so, so good for you. I’m a good boy and I need my Mistress to touch me.”
He was so pleading and so sincere, and it was true, he had been obedient for you all week, but you couldn’t indulge him just yet.
Smack
“And what do you deserve?”
His eyes were watering now.
“I deserve to have my c-c-cock ignored and to w-worship your p-pussy.” He was tumbling over his words now, overly eager for any sort of response.
Smack
“Because you’re a desperate slut who’ll cherish any sort of attention you’re given, aren’t you?” At this point, you were just gloating, basking in the power you had over him.
“Yes, Mistress. So desperate.”
You knelt down to level yourself with him and pulled a tube of lipstick out from your bra. You scrawled the word SLUT across his chest in bright red letters, feeling his heart race under your fingers as you steadied him to write. The dense pigments would stain his skin long after he showered and the lipstick was gone, at least for the next day or so. You secretly hoped that he and his coworkers would play a “shirts vs skins” pickup game in the alley while the writing was still visible, so everyone would know how willing he was to debase himself for you.
Neil let out a sharp, hissing whimper as you yanked on one of his tiny nipples. You couldn’t help but make a mental note of how pretty he is when he suffers. You had never imagined that you’d be the one taking such a dominant role in the bedroom, but what had begun as begrudgingly indulging Neil in one of his fantasies had quickly become a highlight of your sex life. You were made to be worshiped, and he was made to kneel.
You pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek as you stood. He gazed up at you as sweet and willing and as pathetically as ever, his pouty little mouth hanging open. As badly as you wanted to grab him by the hair and ride his face until your pussy exhausted itself, you were having too much fun tormenting him and didn’t want the scene to be over. However, it did give you an idea.
“Open up.” you stroked your hand down his face towards his mouth, and toyed with his plush bottom lip with your thumb. Once his mouth was sufficiently open, you pushed your thumb inside, pressing down on his warm, wet tongue. He groaned invitingly at the sensation, and massaged the pad of your thumb as best he could. Satisfied, you withdrew your thumb and replaced it with three of your fingers, gently thrusting them further and making him gag.
“Okay if I facefuck you?” You dropped the Big Bad Dom Voice for a while to genuinely check in. Facefucking wasn’t something you’d done with Neil before, at least not with him as the recipient, so you had no idea if it was off-limits or not. However, the way Neil very enthusiastically moaned, sucked your fingers, and attempted to nod let you know that it was very much on the menu tonight.
You pulled your fingers from his mouth and excitedly rushed to your toy cabinet in search of your dildo and harness. You found it quickly and took your time putting it all on, making sure everything fit as snuggly as it could for the most stability. It wasn’t the sexiest process, but it was necessary, as proven by past incidents where you put things on more haphazardly only for your fake cock to flop around in an unwieldy manner.
Neil looked absolutely giddy when you returned to him, grinning like an idiot and squirming in the spot where he was kneeling. His face was so happy and adorable you’d want it on a Christmas card, if it wasn’t for the whole “kneeling naked with a raging erection” aspect. Or who knows, certain friends of yours might actually put your card on the fridge this year if you chose this over gaudy matching sweaters.
“Open up, baby.” You pressed the tip of your fake cock to his lips and gave his cheek a light slap, as if he somehow didn’t get the message. His mouth fell open and he began bobbing his head over your length cautiously, looking up at you through his lush eyelashes. Fuck, as much as you knew it was just a piece of plastic and not a part of your body, you <i>swore</i> you could feel him sucking your dick. You snaked a hand into his hair and gripped as hard as you could, pulling him further towards the base as you fucked his wet, willing mouth.
“You’re such a fucking whore. All you want to do is sit there and be used, you don’t care how. Just a useless man who doesn’t even care if his cock gets touched so long as someone fucks and uses any part of him.” The harsher your words got, the more his eyes rolled back in pleasure. A deep, guttural groan formed in the back of his throat, struggling to get out around the toy being thrust in and out of him.
Neil began to gag as you pushed him further down, which only encouraged you to thrust into him harder. His throat was so wet and warm when you had your fingers in his mouth, you can’t imagine how good it would feel if you had an actual cock to fuck his face with. Still, he looked absolutely beautiful with his eyes full of tears and his lips stretched around the sizable toy that you had picked out together.
“It's a shame you don't suck real cock, you're such a good little cocksucker. Maybe we should put a glory hole in the adult section of Gumshoe. Start making the store some real money off of your slutty little mouth."
After a few more thrusts, you yanked Neil off of your cock. He looked absolutely debauched, his face flushed a bright red with tears streaming down his cheeks and a thick strand of saliva hanging down his chin. He panted and sputtered, desperate for air after having his throat abused, trying to recover as quickly as possible so he could speak.
“Need your pussy. Now." Unsurprisingly, his voice was hoarse.
“Good boys don't make demands." You felt drunk with power.
“Please, Mistress, I need your pussy. I need to make you feel good."
He was so cute, so pathetic, so desperate. You hooked a finger underneath his collar and pulled him towards the bed. Thankfully, the strap-on harness was easier to take off than it was to put on, you simply loosened the waist strap and stepped out of it along with your panties. The lace bralette was next to go, and once you were nude, you casually flopped onto the bed and spread your legs. Neil obediently followed, laying next to you and waiting for directions. As badly as he wanted to bury his cock inside you, he wanted to please you even more.
“You know what to do, my good boy." Your voice now soft, you tenderly stroked his face and guided him between your legs. Dutifully, he dipped his head down and began licking, sucking, and kissing your cunt, just the way he knew you liked.
Neil had eating you out down to a science: gently kiss and nuzzle his way up your inner thighs, start with broad, slow licks all over, and then alternate between sucking and circling your clit with his tongue. Occasionally he couldn't help but dip his tongue deeper inside of you, he knew it didn't do much to get you off but he wanted to taste as much of you as possible. It was absolute heaven for him, it made him feel so wanted, so useful, so worthy of your attention. You were so wet for him, it was all the affirmation he needed to know that he was the good boy he needed to be for you.
It didn't take long for your orgasm to start building. As you hit your first climax, you hooked one of your legs over Neil's shoulder and reached down to pull on his hair again, pulling him as close to you as possible. Although you couldn't see him, you could feel Neil's lips curl into a smile. The change in position gave him the perfect angle for teasing your rim, something he rarely got to do.
He pressed the pad of one of his fingers against the tight ring of muscle, not enough to stretch you open, but enough to let you know where he wanted to touch you without startling you. You moaned and lifted your hips, not only giving him permission but also easier access. His finger was soon replaced by his tongue, swirling and getting you as wet as possible.
Turning his attention back to your pussy, Neil slipped two of his fingers into you while massaging your clit with his tongue. It was such a delightfully wet and sloppy mess, Neil couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Once his fingers were sufficiently coated in your slick, he withdrew them from your cunt and once again pressed them to your rim, this time with enough pressure and lubrication to enter your tightest hole.
Having your ass penetrated was always a bit awkward but, while this was no exception, you were able to quickly relax and let him stretch you. It wasn’t painful, but the sensation did feel foreign and weird as you adjusted to the new fullness. Once you had time to adjust, Neil began slowly working his fingers in and out of you, working in tandem with his mouth, which was sucking and practically drinking your pussy, treating it like a source of fine nectar.
Once again, the familiar tightness started building in your core and your inner muscles clenched. You let yourself moan, welcoming your orgasm and the aftershocks that followed. As you returned to Earth from your dizzying sexual high, you pushed Neil off of you, albeit much gentler than how you had handled him earlier.
“You’re so goddamn good for me. How does my good boy want to come?” You panted out, thoroughly exhausted but well-fucked.
“I want you to jerk me off. If you don’t mind.” Neil averted his gaze as much as he could. Asking directly for what he wanted always made him a bit shy, much more than the begging or groveling he was used to during a scene. His face was bright red, although you had no way of knowing if it was from bashfulness or from eating you out like his life depended on it.
“Of course, you’re such a good boy. Come lay next to me and let me take care of you.”
You scooted to the side of the bed and patted the empty space next to you, inviting him to join you as an equal for the first time today. As soon as he flopped next to you, you turned your attention to his poor, neglected cock.
He was leaking a generous amount of precum, enough that you were able to collect it on your fingers and use it as lube. You wrapped your hand around him and began pumping gently, knowing that a quicker pace would overstimulate him. It didn’t take long for him to shoot thick ropes of pearly white come onto his stomach. His loads were always huge after a week of not being allowed to touch himself.
“Are you okay? Was that what you wanted?” You swiped some of the come from Neil’s stomach onto your fingers and brought them to his mouth to lick clean.
“Yes. Perfect. Exactly.” He answered quickly before sucking your fingers clean with a soft groan. “You’re perfect. I love it when you’re mean to me. Maybe next time you could step on my cock and tell me how fucking pathetic and worthless it is or put it in a cage or spank me and send pictures to–”
“Hey.” You cut him off and shoved him playfully. “I thought I was the one who got to make the demands around here.”
“See? Just like that. So perfectly goddamn mean to me.”
݈݇— pairings: The Creature(2025) x Duke's Daughter!reader
݈݇— themes: Forbidden Love, Longing, Yearning, Historical Setting, No use of y/n. SMUT: first time, foreplay, unprotected p i v, passionate sex, oral (m receiving), finish inside, outdoor sex (forest), size kink, non-human sex, your boy gets rough at the end.
݈݇— summary: Under your father's iron grip, you're confined to your own home with no means of contact the one who awaits you.
A/N: Y'all asked for a number two. I present you, number two. I don't know how many times I've proofread this but if I keep stalling I might keep finding more faults lol. I did my best not to have any reader descriptors but if i did let me know, I'll fix it. I hope I tagged everyone who asked lol.
Part 1
The weeks without him are an ache you wear beneath your bodice, a hidden bruise that startles at every sound.
Your father’s decree fell swift as a guillotine: no more midnight wanderings, no more garden keys, no more foolishness. Windows latched. Servants doubled. Your world narrowed to embroidery hoops and dutiful smiles—until the night his business called him away and the house folded at last into honest sleep.
A cloak over your shoulders, slippers soft, the little brass key pressed to your racing pulse.
You slip past the nursery corridor, past the ancestor portraits whose painted eyes judge nothing at all, and into the garden where the hedges keep the old path like a held breath.
Your lantern is a small sun cupped in your hand. The air has the bite of late autumn; the yews hold their shadows close.
The forest receives you as if it has missed you. You know the way by heart—down the wet slope, across the crooked root, through the break in the thorn where your gown once tore and he mended it clumsily, proud as any knight with a banner.
“Adam?” you call, not yet daring the words. “Adam…”
You reach the ring of trees that circles your clearing—a chapel of bark and branches, fireflies scattered in the air like constellations. Your voice is a steady thread you cast into the dark.
“Come into the light, Please.” you begged—your code, your vow, the first thing you ever asked of him.
Nothing answers but wind.
You swallow.
“Adam,” louder now, throat tightening, “come into the light.”
Still, nothing.
“Adam!” You yelled into the void.
Silence stretches so thin it hurts. You turn on the spot, searching, ready to beg the dark to give him back or else break and weep like a child—
“I am here.”
The words are quiet but they shake the world.
Your breath hitches as you turn around; the lantern slips from your fingers and thuds into the leaf-mould, its flame flaring, then steadying.
You run—no court’s daughter now, no patience left in you—and collide into him with all the graceless joy you possess.
He takes the blow with open arms. Great arms, careful as ropes around your body, close about you. He smells of cold earth and pine resin, of river water and a little smoke, as if he has been sitting out of sight for hours convincing himself to hope.
Your cheek finds the rough seam of his coat; beneath it his chest is a hammer striking true.
“I thought,” he says, voice low as a winter-thawed stream, “that I had… frightened you. Or that you were taken from me.”
“Never.” The word is fierce.
You lean back only far enough to see him—the planes and stitches of that solemn face, the gentleness that makes all the rest seem like a misunderstanding. “I was shut away. I had no means to tell you. I tried—Forgive me.”
His brows draw, baffled.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he murmurs, “Why do you ask pardon where there is no fault?”
Your throat tightens; tears sting. He lifts a hand, hesitant, to your cheek, and the contact unravels you.
“My chest—” he says, placing his other hand upon his heart as though uncertain it belongs to him. “It has a manner of aching in your absence, as though the bones are a gate too narrow for the heart within. The hours grow long and splintered. The trees keep your shape in their shadows, and I am made restless, pacing the dark like a hound that has lost the path. I feared the ache would be my portion until the end of days.”
Your face contorts of hurt at the image of him waiting for you. “You feel it too.”
“I do not know its name,” he answers softly, “only that it is you.”
Tears slip, soundless. He frowns, thumb brushing them as though bewildered by their existence.
“Don't shed a tear for me,” he murmurs. “You have already given me the world.”
And when he bends—slow, unsure, as though afraid the air might break between you—the forest itself seems to lean nearer.
The lantern lies on the ground, its small flame licking the glass. Above, the branches knit close, a chapel of pine and stars. The world is thin with hush.
You reach, sliding your palms over the breadth of his shoulders—warm, solid, beloved—and he bows further, as if some gravity in you commands him.
“Kiss me.”
For a heartbeat he is very still. Then instinct wakes.
His palm, wide and uncertain, finds the slope of your waist; the other lifts, trembling, to your cheek. He comes as you once bade him—into the light—only now the light is your mouth, your breath, your willing nearness.
His lips meet yours—gentle first, then bolder when your answering sigh parts you. Heat rushes your skin; you catch your fingers in the worn edge of his coat and draw him nearer still, and he learns you: the tilt, the press, the patient, seeking slide.
A sound breaks in his chest, helpless and low. He swallows it against your mouth and it shivers through you.
He braces you to him as though the forest might try to steal you back, his thigh firm between yours to steady what his kiss unsteadies.
When your teeth graze his lower lip, he answers with a startled groan and returns the slightest bite, clumsy and perfect, and the world tips—stars wheeling, sap sweet on the air, your name somewhere in the roughness of his breath.
“More,” he begs, surprised at himself; the word falls against your tongue.
“More,” you grant—and your hands go to work.
Buttons and ribbons become battlements you take together. Your fingers find the rough edge of his coat and push; he shrugs free, eyes never leaving yours as the garment slides to the needle-strewn earth. His shirt is a simpler war: you worry at the mismatched buttons until they part one by one, the lantern’s flame catching on damp, stitched skin, on broad planes that tense under your touch. He stills, searching your face for any flinch.
“May I?” Your hands hover, asking before they claim.
His answer is a small, solemn dip of his head.
Your fingertips trace the cartography of him—ridge and seam, the rise of muscle beneath pale skin, the history written where needle once traveled.
Gratitude stings your eyes—fierce, unashamed—that some maker’s sin has yielded this man.
At your touch he shivers, breath catching like a harp-string plucked.
“You are not… repulsed?” he asks, hoarse, as though bracing for the blow he has always known.
You answer with your mouth first, a tender press to the scar your fingers just mapped, and feel him tremble.
“No,” you say, soft but steadfast. “There is nothing in you that offends my sight. You could not, even if you tried.”
Something unknots in him. His hands—huge, careful—return to you. He skims your cloak from your shoulders; it falls with a whisper. Your laces are next. He hesitates at your stays, fingers fumbling at satin that glints like moonlit water.
“Here,” you murmur, guiding him through the labyrinth—this ribbon then that, the tug that loosens, the sigh that follows. He learns fast. The last knot gives and your breath expands; he looks almost awed by the simple miracle of it, by the way your ribs lift under his palms.
“May I?” he asks, voice roughened to something low.
“Yes.” You place his hand at the line where bodice yields to chemise. “Please.”
He draws the linen up—slow, as if it were silk—until cool air kisses your skin. The night is cold; his palm is not. He lowers his head, lovely without using the word, and breathes you in like you’re the first summer after a long winter. When his mouth finds the slope beneath your collarbone, your knees soften and he steadies you with a rumble that vibrates against your sternum.
“Speak if I am too much,” he says into your skin. “Speak if I must stop.”
“You will not be,” you answer, soft and true. “I will tell you.”
The forest seems to hold its breath while he learns the rest of you. He finds a rhythm between caution and need—a thumb circling, a kiss that deepens, a palm that maps your waist as if to memorize it. When you arch, he learns that too; when your sigh turns to a small, ruined sound, he repeats exactly what drew it out until your fingers curl in the open edges of his shirt.
“Teach me,” he murmurs, forehead to yours. “I will learn all your language.”
You take his hand and lead it lower. He presses—gentle, testing—then firmer when your hips answer. He is patient as tide and just as relentless; he draws you to the edge and holds you there by will and kindness alone, eyes on your face like it contains the only stars that matter.
“Lie with me,” you breathe, because the earth is tilting and you want to fall on purpose.
He lowers you to the cloak he abandoned, shoulders making a shelter against the bark, one arm cushioning your head, the other spanning your waist as if promising no wind will touch you uninvited. Need shakes him; tenderness steadies him. He kisses your mouth, then the hinge of your jaw, then the place just beneath your ear that makes your pulse beg.
You map him in turn, a ghosting path down the hard line of his torso—over the scars you have counted, the ridges you have blessed with mouth and hand—until your palm finds the unmistakable proof of his desire.
He jolts, a low sound torn from him, head tipping to your shoulder as though the weight of it is suddenly too much to bear.
“I—” The word frays on his tongue. “I cannot think.”
“You need not think,” you whisper, stroking slow, coaxing, delighted by the way his strength unspools beneath so little a touch. “Only feel.”
Moonlight lays him open in pale bands; the great chest heaves, ribs lifting that patchwork skin, and those impossible eyes never leave your face.
He was heavy, heated and alive in your hand. He shudders, jaw locked, as your fingers circle him and glide from root to crown, smearing the wet that beads there.
“Don’t—” he begins, then breaks on a groan. “Do not stop.”
You don’t.
You watch his face as you work him—thumb drawing a firm, gliding halo beneath the broad head; fist tightening as you descend; wrist turning at the base so every stroke ends as promise and begins again as mercy.
The tendons in his throat stand out. His hands fist in the moss. The night hums, and he is the loudest, sweetest note in it.
“Look at me,” you say softly. He does, as if the command has been sewn beneath his skin, “Don’t hold your breath.”
When his breath grows ragged and pleading, you bend to him.
Your lips brush the pulse at the head, tasting salt-warm and wild. He groans—low, rough—and your mouth parts in answer. You kiss him there again, slower, then draw the breadth of your tongue around him in a languid circle before taking him into your mouth.
“Ah—” It is a sound pulled from somewhere old as thunder. His hips tame themselves by will alone, halting inches from the thrust his body begs to give.
You sink deeper—hollowing your cheeks, smoothing your palm along the thick base to meet your mouth as you descend. He fills you, warm and weighty, and your lashes flutter at the stretch.
You set a pace fit for worship: slow descents, slower retreats; a soft seal at the tip; a swirl of your tongue beneath the ridge before you draw him down again.
Each time you rise, your hand keeps him from being abandoned; each time you fall, you let him feel how you welcome the length of him, how you shape yourself around what he gives.
“Milady,” he rasps, voice breaking, “you—”
You hush him with pleasure. One hand slides to the heavy sac between his thighs, stroking gently; the other steadies his hip when his great body trembles.
He is trying—dear God, he is trying—not to move, not to take, only to receive.
Your reassurance leave with a look: a brief lift of your eyes that says, it’s okay.
He exhales like a man reprieved and rocks once into your mouth—careful, measured.
You change the rhythm. You draw him deep and hold, swallowing around him until his spine arches and a broken, helpless sound escapes.
You ease back to his crown, tongue flicking the slit, stroking in tight, shameless laps that make his thighs jump. Then you work him in steady, silken pulls—hand and mouth in perfect accord—until his head tips toward the stars and his hands, those ruinous hands, dig into the earth instead of you.
“I am—” he warns, voice torn raw, “I am near—”
You hum around him, the sound a velvet command, Let it go.
He breaks. The great body bows; the cords in his neck stand; heat floods your tongue in thick, pulsing ropes as his climax wrings him from throat to heel.
You take him through it—never flinching, never looking away—your mouth softening to coax the last trembling spill while your hand soothes him, slowing, easing, praising with every stroke.
He cries your name and your heart swells, fierce and aching, at the wonder shattering his face.
When he falls back to earth, you release him with a final, tender kiss and crawl up the breadth of him, palms braced at either side of his head. You taste of him and the cold night air; he tastes of surrender when he draws you down into a shaking kiss.
“Will you—” he stammers, voice ruined with wonder, “will you be mine?”
You smile against his mouth. “I am yours for the taking.”
Adam rises to his knees before you, vast and strong, his larger frame bracketing yours beneath the cathedral of trees. Moonlight threads his scars with silver.
You swallow—half awe, half hunger—because you do not know how you will take all of him. He sees the flicker in your eyes and makes himself small in the only way a great man can: by asking.
“Are you sure?”
You nod. “Yes.” Your hand finds him, thick and hot in your palm. “Come to me.”
You guide him. The broad crown strokes through your slick, nudging at your entrance—once, twice—each pass stealing a breath. He groans, head bowing to your shoulder, as though the first kiss of your heat undoes the last stitch holding him together.
You angle your hips and hold him poised.
“Now,” you whisper.
He pushes. Only a little—an inch that burns sweet and bright—then stops at the first tremor of your breath and your hand digging in his skin.
“Speak,” he begs against your cheek. “I will not hurt you.”
“I tell you again, my love, you could never hurt me,” you answer, fingers threading the hair at his nape. “Slowly… let my body learn you.”
He obeys. He slides deeper by patience and care, one measured inch at a time, pausing to let you breathe him in, to let your body open and make a place for him.
You take it, quietly—willing the burn to ease, willing your body to stop trying to push the sheer size of him out.
He stays very still until the ache turns to a sweeter pressure, until your palm—curled at the nape of his neck—guides him to move.
The stretch melts heat into you, ache into hunger; your thighs tighten around his hips, your nails bite his shoulders, and the soft sound you make is not pain.
He groans—a deep rumble in his chest—and sinks the rest of the way, seating himself fully with a shiver that rakes his spine.
For a heartbeat there is only the shock of being filled: the deep, impossibly right weight of him, the way your breath leaves you in a broken laugh because the world has just clicked into place.
“Let me feel you,” you ask, lips to his jaw. “Please, let me feel you.”
He finds a cadence that is not clever but true: a slow withdrawal that makes you chase, a deeper return that knocks both breath and sense from you.
He learns where you break and how to mend you after. He learns the small sound you make when he grinds rather than thrusts, and he gives you that again until your mouth falls open, until the stars blur.
“Tell me,” he pants, voice frayed, “tell me what you need.”
“More,” you gasp, half-laughing at yourself. “please—more.”
He gives it—all he has, and all of it gentle. He braces one hand beside your head and takes your wrist with the other, lacing your fingers, pinning your joined hands to the cloak as if to anchor you to the soft ground while the rest of you drifts.
“Like this?” he asks, voice rough.
“Yes,” you gasp, your body answering before words can.
You wrap your legs around his back and change the angle; he groans, buries his face at your throat, and gives you that exact stroke again—deep, unhurried, unerring—until your lashes flutter and your mouth falls open on a shocked sound.
He answers you with his body: longer pulls, a firmer drive, that subtle shift of hips that presses him against the place that makes you tremble.
You cling to him—arms around his shoulders, ankles locking him to you—riding every careful thrust with a greedy lift of your hips. Wet sounds thread the night; the earth is cool beneath your spine; his heat is everywhere else.
He feels it in the shiver of your thighs, in the desperate clutch of your hands on the expanse of his back.
“Let go,” he asks, the words a request, not a command. “Let go for me.”
You do. It breaks like thaw—sharp, then warm, a rush that takes your hands and your heart both. You hear yourself call his name in the old way and some new one too; you feel him hold you through the shiver with a rough groan that is almost relief. He follows on the echo, burying deep, trembling, breath torn from him like cloth, your name catching on it as if he has just learned how to say it and intends to spend the rest of his days practicing.
He is shaking when the wave takes you, eyes wide as if he has witnessed a miracle and fears to breathe lest it vanish.
“What… what am I to do?” he asks, voice raw with wonder and panic both, like a man standing on a cliff at sunrise and unsure if he is meant to climb or fall.
“Do not leave,” you whisper, palms cradling his face, your thumb sweeping the seam of his mouth. “Stay inside.”
Something gives in him at the word.
He nods once—obedient, undone—and tries to hold steady, but the need that has hunted him all night surges up and breaks its leash.
His grip tightens on your hip; his breath turns harsh. He draws back and drives in again, deeper, rougher, a fretless urgency stealing the careful edges from his restraint.
The rhythm gathers: low, helpless sounds torn from him as he finds the angle that makes your body clutch and flutter around his girth, the pine’s resin-sweet air spinning with your breath, your name a litany on his tongue.
“Is this—” He cannot finish; he can only show you, hips snapping harder, the muscles of his shoulders bunching under your hands.
His face contorts with the goodness of it, with the shock of being allowed this—your heat, the way you open and take him deeper still. He watches your mouth as you gasp; he bows his head to yours as if to beg forgiveness for every rough stroke even as he gives it, losing what little composure he had left.
“Don’t stop,” you breathe, and the words finish him.
He thrusts once, deep, and breaks—spilling inside you with a guttural, helpless sound, hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt and holds there, every muscle trembling.
His forehead knocks gently to yours; your name tears from him again, and he stays—exactly where you asked him to—while the shudder runs its course.
He hovers above you, braced on his forearms as if fearful to lay his full weight upon you, breath unsteady, mouth kiss-bruised and wondering. For a heartbeat he only looks—like a man who has found a star close enough to touch and must make certain it is real.
He takes your hand in his great, careful palm and brings it to his chest. He sets your fingers over the seam and the living thrum beneath—astonished still, as though the proof of it surprises him every time.
“It beats,” he whispers, voice roughened soft, “for you.”
You press your palm more firmly to that steadfast drum, feeling it climb beneath your touch, and tilt up to meet his eyes.
That night with Carmen changed everything. After a few months of dating, I asked her to marry me. She only said yes if I can do whatever's necessary to help her feel comfortable about her changing body during the pregnancy. Which I have by only arranging a courthouse ceremony until after she had the baby, and by doing all possible research on what will keep her in good spirits. This hasn't been hard for me at all. Carmen looks as lovely as ever even with the growing baby bump. In fact with her being due any day now, I'll do whatever I can to make sure her labor goes without a hitch.
"Scott. I need to tell you something."
"Is it time?"
"Yes. It is."
I wait for her to finish.
"I need your big tip to satisfy me."
"Of course honey. I've heard this will get you ready to launch."
She raises an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
I start by massaging her breasts.
"Oxytocin is one of the key hormones behind labor induction. If we can start making some on our own, you won't need to be injected with as much if any at all."
"Mhmm. And you're not just saying that because you want me to lactate."
"Of course not. Nipple stimulation has so far been shown to reduce labor times."
I rub her nipples so they firm up.
"And you're sure about this?"
"Yes. At the very least I can help you feel better."
Carmen moans softly so my hands move lower. Once I find her wetness, I teased her.
"Oh my god."
"I found that clitoris?"
"Yes!"
Carmen arches her back as her body's begging for more. So I oblige by plunging into her with my thumb rubbing her clit. Carmen's moans fill the room, her body writhing in pleasure.
"I bet you're just aching to be inside me instead of just your thumb."
"Yes but you need to be in good form first. I always make sure you're warmed up right?"
But she can't answer me. Carmen's moans grew louder as her body tenses up. She's near her climax. So I work faster and with my thumb start applying more pressure.
"Scott!"
"Orgasm?"
"Yes. Yes."
I smile.
"You know I'm not done yet right?"
"I do."
With a growl, I position myself between her legs and undo my pants.
"Now that's a big tip."
"It's all yours if you want it".
"I do."
I start to shudder with need myself when I use my penis to tease her vulva. Especially her labia. So many nerve endings to stimulate.
"Oh god. I need your big tip."
"Yes dear."
I don't need any more encouragement. After all she's already engorged. So I plunge into her vagina. Just feeling her natural lubrication from her first orgasm is heavenly.
"Now rock."
"Of course dear."
Instead of a typical thrust movement, I angle myself up and down. Carmen's moans once again fill the room, as I could feel my own orgasm building. However, I try to hold myself back since I want to make Carmen cum again.
"Oh god. Oh god."
"Are you about to orgasm again?"
"Yes!"
She does and starts to rub me down so I can orgasm myself. Which I do and refrain from pulling out. After all, semen has prostaglandins which help soften the cervix and-
"Scott."
"Yes dear?"
"My water broke."
I spring into action and pull out.
"What did it feel like?"
"Old Faithful."
I've been to the famous geyser before. I take the time to clean up to rule out my own semen and simple lubrication.
"Right. Your water did break. I'll have Tom get the car."
"You're very calm about this."
"I just had a release of endorphins, prolactin, oxytocin and hopefully not too much GABA."
Carmen rolls her eyes playfully as I help get my wife to the hospital. I'm glad to say her labor indeed went off without a hitch.
"Waaaa. Waaaa."
"Congratulations Mr. Heyward. You have a beautiful baby girl."
Tom and my father practically have to catch me after hearing the news. Carmen never told me what the baby will be even though she knew.
"How. How's my wife?"
"She's in good spirits. In fact she told us about your efforts to coax her along. You've done a splendid job. Now to take this little one to her mother."
I follow him to the room Carmen's in and watch her hold her daughter for the first time.
"I have the perfect name already picked out."
"You do?"
"Mhmm. Josée."
I pause and then realize the joke.
"Oh you."
"I was going to find a way to reference it somehow."
"You have. And she's beautiful. Just like you Carmella."
I think back to when I first met here. Almost a year has passed since then and I've become a changed man. No more doubting myself. I'm Scott Heyward: award winning chemical engineer, patent holder of Goop and now... a father.
An: Thank you all so much for following me during this series and throughout Kinktober. I'm glad to have ended this on a high note.
warnings: +18 mdni!, smut, pwp, fem!virgin!reader, make out, age gap (not specified but everyone is over 18), fingering.
a/n: inspired by this edit i’d made. pd: english is not my first lenguage!
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Your life was monotonous and boring, with strict parents who only let you leave the house for college things and no little siblings to play with. Everything was like that until one day the circus of monstrosites arrived in the city, and your father decided to take you and your mother to see what show they could offer.
Excited, you dressed in a beautiful white dress with pink flowers that they gave you for your 18th birthday, you subtly made up with a pink eye shadow and a gloss on your lips, you were ready to go out.
. . .
You got out of your father’s car and looked around, both excited and scared of what could happen there.
“Come on, honey, or we’ll be late,” your mother warned you while she and your father were starting to walk towards the circus.
You ran after them until you reached them and got by their side. Once inside the circus you were amazed, everything was full of colours and lights, the typical circus music sounded in the background while children rode the attractions, you were fascinated.
You approached the entrance of the tent of the show, your father paid for the tickets and you sat in the front row to be able to see the spawns up close.
. . .
The show was halfway through and everything was spectacular, you were delighted with those people with deformities. Everything was going perfectly until Jimmy Darling, the lobster boy, appeared on stage.
You were damned with his beauty, so much so that you overlooked the deformity of his hands. He began his monologue as usual and at one point you clashed looks, making him wink and make you blush, you just wish your parents hadn’t realised.
. . .
At the end of the performance everyone got up from the seat and left the tent, including you and your family. You escaped for a moment saying that you would go to the bathroom to actually go in search of that handsome boy who had darned you with his charms.
After a couple of minutes looking for him, you found him about to enter his caravan and accelerated the pace until you reached him.
“Mr. Darling?” You said once you were behind him, touching his shoulder to get his attention. He turned confused about who was calling him until he saw you and smiled.
“Oh, you, you’re the girl in the front row, right? What’s your name?” He said and you nodded your head, telling him your name.
“I just wanted to tell you that I loved your show, it was wonderful” you smiled cheerfully as you put your hands behind your back.
“You’re such a sweetheart. No girl had come before after a performance to congratulate me,” he replied winking at you once again, making you blush and look the other way briefly.
“Well, just... just wanted to tell you that. I’m leaving now” you said goodbye with your hand and turned around to go back to your parents.
“Wait!” You heard Jimmy’s voice behind you and turned your head to look at him “Is it okay if we see each other someday?”
You were very excited when he asked you that, you were excited to be able to spend more time with him.
“Of course yes,” you replied with a wide smile.
“Perfect, is it okay if we meet in the ‘Coffee and Jhons’ cafeteria? It’s a good place to see each other” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders.
In your head you were already making a plan to be able to leave the house without your parents knowing that you were going to see a boy, much less could they know that that boy was a spawn.
“Okay, I’ll see you there tomorrow at 12 am?” You said this time with a small smile.
. . .
You had deceived your parents by saying that you were going to your friend Alice’s house to study when you were actually about to reach your meeting point with Jimmy.
Your stomach was full of butterflies, you had never lied to your parents before, much less to go see a boy. But it wasn’t just any boy, it was Jimmy Darling.
You entered the cafeteria and looked around you until you found Jimmy sitting on one of the stools at the bar, waiting for you. You approached him from behind and touched his shoulder making him turn around.
“Hello Jimmy” You greeted with a small smile, you were very nervous.
“Hi darling” He said grabbing your hand and leaving a kiss on it, to which in response your cheeks were coloured.
When he saw how you blushed, Jimmy smiled from ear to ear making his cheekbones stand out. You sat on the stool next to him and asked for a cherry coke to drink and a cupcake, while he asked for a beer.
You immediately realised the leather gloves that covered his hands, and you frowned confused. “Why are you wearing those gloves?” You asked delicately, without wanting to offend him.
“Well, as you know, I have lobster hands and many people could be scared to see them,” he replied while still smiling.
You took one of his hands and stroked it over the glove. “I’m not scared of your hands” you said as you looked him in the eyes with a soft smile, which warmed his heart.
. . .
It had already been several weeks since your secret meeting with Jimmy, and you did not stop running away from home to go see him at any time. This time he had rented a motel room just for the two of you. Were you nervous? Yes, and a lot.
You stalled through the window of your room and ran down the street where Jimmy was waiting for you with his motorcycle.
“Hello, darling,” he said when you rode behind him on the motorcycle and grabbed his waist so you didn’t fall. “Ready to go?”
The road to the motel was quiet, it was night so there were not many people on the street and you could enjoy a small walk before reaching your destination.
You entered the reception of the motel and Jimmy asked for the key to your room and then go to the elevator to go to your room.
“You look beautiful today, more than usual” He said while the elevator doors closed.
“Thank you very much,” you answered with a smile while blushing, his flirtatious comments always made you blush.
He approached you and placed one hand on your cheek and the other on your waist, curiously today he was not wearing his leather gloves. “Can I kiss you?” He asked in a whisper as he brought his face closer to yours, to which you nodded.
He kissed your lips gently, he knew it was your first kiss and didn’t want to scare you. You corresponded to the kiss, nervous but excited.
The elevator doors opened, this time leaving you on the floor of your room. Jimmy slowly separated from you, “Come on” said as he grabbed your hand and guided you to the room.
Once inside the room he closed the door and kissed you again, but this time with more passion. You opened your eyes surprised at his action, you didn’t expect such a hungry kiss after that sweet kiss he had given you minutes ago.
He guide you to the bed, making you both sit on it while you were still kissing. You followed the kiss shyly until you gained more confidence, that’s when Jimmy licked your lower lip to ask for permission and be able to put his tongue in your vocal cavity, which you agreed to.
Your tongues were dancing inside your mouths in a heated and exciting kiss. Jimmy grabbed your shoulders and gently pushed you until your back collided with the bed mattress, leaving you lying down.
His large fused hands walked through your body being careful not to touch any inappropriate place until it reached your waist, stopping there and separating slightly from the kiss. “Is everything okay?” He asked looking into your eyes to make sure you were comfortable.
“Yes Jimmy, I’m great” You confirmed with a smile as you rested one of your hands on his cheek and raised your head to kiss him again.
He reciprocated the kiss gladly and his hands moved around your body again, this time leaving them right on your thighs and putting them a little under your dress. His thumbs drew small figures on your inner thighs while his hands moved very slowly — so as not to alarm you — towards your centre.
When the tips of his fingers grazed your underwear you shuddered and separated from the kiss, looking at Jimmy a little scared.
“Shh, don’t worry, darling” He tried to reassure you as he lowered his kisses to your neck and hid his face there. “Can I?” He asked as he wrapped his fingers in the strip of your panties, to which you nodded.
He slowly lowered the garment down your legs, caressing them in the process. “Tell me, honey, have you ever touched yourself down there?” He asked by taking his face out of your neck to look into your eyes with a smile on his face.
“Yes, but only a couple of times” You replied embarrassed as you looked away from him, to which Jimmy laughed.
“It’s fine. Does it bother you if I touch you?” You bit your lower lip repressing a smile at how understanding and respectful he was.
“Yes, please touch me” You begged slightly as you looked at him again with big and bright eyes.
Jimmy did not hesitate to start caressing your clit with two of his fused fingers to prepare you, to which you covered your mouth with both hands to repress the sounds that threatened to come out of your throat.
“Oh, pretty girl, let those beautiful sounds come out, I want to hear you moan” He said without any qualms making you blush, but you listened to him and took your hands away from your face.
His fingers went from caressing your clit to surrounding your entrance, which made you let out a little gasp. “Jimmy...” you whispered as your breathing agitated.
“Are you ready?” He asked leaving a small kiss on your cheek, you nodded and he began to put his fused fingers through your entrance very delicately so as not to hurt you.
You closed your eyes and hissed slightly while your fists clung to the sheets. At first it hurt a little but then the pain was replaced by pleasure little by little.
Your back bent over and moans and more prominent sighs began to come out of your mouth, your hands clung to Jimmy’s biceps while your face contoured with pleasure. Jimmy looked at your face with a big smile, proud of himself for causing you so much pleasure with just his fingers.
His wide fingers caused you an indescribable pleasure, they widened your vaginal walls deliciously. You couldn’t stop moaning loudly, and you were surprised when his thumb began to caress your clit again.
“Jimmy... I- I think I’m going to come” That phrase made him smile even more, and he began to speed up his movements.
“I know honey, I can feel it,” he said as he began to kiss your jaw and leave a path of kisses up to your neck. “You just let yourself go, let it go”
It didn’t take you much longer to finish, moaning his name loudly and closing your eyes tightly. Jimmy laughs slightly when he took his fingers out of your intimacy and saw how wet they were, and then put them in his mouth and savour your juices.
“Jimmy! Don’t do that...” You said covering your face with both hands because of the shame.
“Why wouldn’t I do it? You are delicious” He let out a little laugh at your reaction and then lay down next to you, passing an arm behind your shoulders and curling up with you. “Now let’s rest for a while, it’s been a very trying moment... but don’t think I’m done with you” He said the latter giving you a small spanking.
Shadow's days were filled with small victories and bigger frustrations. He would fumble with utensils, spilling food on himself and the floor. His attempts at dressing were comical, with buttons mismatched and shirts inside out. You found yourself laughing and sighing in equal measure, your heart swelling with a mix of exasperation and affection.
One afternoon, as you sat on the couch, Shadow perched on your lap, you noticed his teeth. They were stained with remnants of his last meal, a gory mess of half-chewed food and crimson streaks. You sighed, knowing you had to address his dental hygiene.
"Shadow, let's take care of your teeth," you said gently, reaching for the floss. He looked up at you with those big, green eyes, a mix of trust and confusion swirling in their depths. You guided the floss between his teeth, his breath warm and slightly metallic against your fingers. He grimaced, his tiny hands gripping your wrist.
"Almost done," you murmured, your voice soothing. "You're doing great."
As you worked, you couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between his delicate, human form and the alien strength that lurked beneath the surface. His skin shimmered faintly, a reminder of the otherworldly being he truly was.
A few days later, Shadow presented you with a gift. In his small, trembling hands, he held a half-dead blue jay. Its feathers were a vibrant, electric blue, speckled with flecks of crimson blood. The bird's eyes were glazed, its beak slightly agape. Shadow beamed at you, his teeth stained with the bird's blood, a few blue feathers clinging to his lips.
"For you, M-master," he said, his voice filled with pride. "A gift."
You took the bird carefully, trying to hide your horror. The feathers were soft and silky, the blood still warm and sticky against your fingers. You thanked Shadow, praising his thoughtfulness, even as you wondered how to explain the concept of a more appropriate gift.
As the months passed, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with Shadow. His innocence, his resilience, and his unconditional devotion were intoxicating. You spent hours teaching him, guiding him, and cherishing every moment together.
One evening, as you sat on the porch, Shadow in your lap, you watched the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink. Shadow leaned against you, his head resting on your chest. You could feel his heart beating steadily, a rhythm that matched your own.
"You're my everything, M-master," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you more than words can express."
You tightened your arms around him, a lump forming in your throat. "I love you too, Shadow. More than you'll ever know."
Despite your growing love, you never stopped searching for a way to help Shadow. You scoured scientific journals, consulted with experts, and even reached out to shadowy figures in the world of alien biology. Each lead was a dead end, each expert a dead end. But you refused to give up.
One night, as you sat at your desk, poring over research, Shadow crept up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your neck, his chin resting on your shoulder.
"Don't worry, M-master," he murmured. "I'm happy, no matter what. As long as I'm with you, I'm home."
You turned to face him, cupping his cheek in your hand. "I promise, Shadow. I'll find a way. I won't let you suffer like this forever."
And so, your journey continued, a tangled web of love, care, and the unending quest to heal the one you held dearest.
You came home from a long day at work, taking the bottle of wine in your hand because you knew you there was no need for a glass today.
Looking up to find A. Naked. Trembling. Boy.
And red all over the the tiles from the bottle you just dropped.
You immediately ran to get the stranger a blanket as you approached him you noticed his features, jet-black hair and piercing green eyes, you immediately knew .
SHADOW?!?
Something was horribly wrong. His skin was smooth and flawless, with a faint, shimmering quality that hinted at something unnatural.
As you approached with years in your eyes, he looked up at you with a mix of fear and longing. "M-master," he whispered with quivering lips, his voice soft and melodic. You blinked, trying to process the sudden transformation of your feline companion into this submissive human.
Shadow was no ordinary cat. He was a sentient, shape-shifting alien from the planet Zephyria, where beings could shift between animal and human forms at will. He had chosen to live as a cat on Earth, observing humans and learning their ways. Today, for reasons unknown, he had decided to reveal his true form to you.
As you stood there, taking in the sight of your new human companion, Shadow began to tremble more violently. Suddenly, his body convulsed, and black, shimmering tendrils erupted from his skin, snaking across the floor. They pulsed with an eerie, bioluminescent glow, casting twisted shadows on the walls.
"M-master, it's the transformation," he gasped, his eyes wide with pain. "It's not always... smooth."
You rushed to his side, trying to comfort him. The tendrils writhed and twisted, slowly retracting back into his skin, leaving behind a trail of iridescent slime. Shadow's body shuddered one last time before settling, his breathing returning to normal.
Shadow explained that his transformation was triggered by a biological clock, a natural process that allowed Zephyrians to adapt to their environment. On Earth, the transformation was more intense, requiring a host of biological and chemical reactions to adapt his body to human form.
"Earth's gravity and atmosphere are different from Zephyria," he said, his voice steadying. "It takes a lot of energy to maintain this form. I need... sustenance."
You raised an eyebrow, curious about what kind of "sustenance" a shape-shifting alien might need. Shadow's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he looked away.
"Energy transfer," he mumbled. "Through physical contact."
You decided to help your companion. You knew it was still Shadow inside there somewhere, and he was filthy, guiding him to the bathroom, swiftly rushing to close all the curtains and blindes, Shadow's eyes widened as you led him, his body trembling with anticipation. As you lay him down in the tub, he reached up, his fingers tracing the lines of your face.
"M-master, you're so kind," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I've never... experienced this before."
Stay still while your in the water I asked of him whilst leaning down, to capture his forehead in a gentle kiss, in hopes of caliming him, which only seemed to exasperate the situation. Shadow moaned, his body arching against yours. His skin was warm and smooth, his touch electric. You could feel the energy pulsing between you, a tangible connection that sent shivers down your spine.
As you took the soap in your hand, you quicklyrealised he wasnt gettinganywherenear close to clean ar this rate. Unbottoning your white officeshirt and unzipping your skirt you got in with him. Shadow's transformation seemed to react to the water. His spine under his skin shimmered and shifted, tendrils of energy dancing across his flesh. You traced them with your fingers, marveling at the sensation. Shadow gasped, his body trembling with pleasure.
"M-master, it's... it's too much," he panted, his eyes glazed with desire. "Cats and water dont mix, I can't... hold back."
With a final, pur, Shadow's body convulsed, and he came undone in your arms. The energy between you peaked, a blinding flash of light exploded between the two of you.
As the energy subsided, Shadow's body returned to a more stable form, his skin glowing softly. He looked up at you with a mix of gratitude and adoration. You realised what you had just done.
"Thank you, M-master," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "You've given me more than just energy. You've given me a connection I never thought possible. In my new form."
Your face twisted in horror as you instinctively started stroking his wet hair. With the back of his head against your chest, your heart quickened under your ribs as the realisation hit you.
summary: Roman has always had an affinity for keeping you on the edge for as long as possible-- still, will you be able to convince him to give you your needed release?
word count: 1,552
"Please," I breathed, my words coming out in small, choked pleas. "Please, please-- I can't!"
Roman's arm around me was warm, comforting, but his tone was more taunting than ever; "Yes, you can. Just a little longer, hm?"
No, no-- I wasn't sure I could take any more of this. My back was pressed flush against him, legs forced apart on the couch as Roman's fingers rubbed tight circles around my clit, making me gasp and writhe in his hold as I realized he was adamant about bringing me to the edge again.
"My fingers are practically soaked in you..." He pressed a soft, lazy kiss against my shoulder, his arm wrapped around me in a hold that didn't allow for much movement on my part. I was royally fucked-- stuck. "Just want to see how you'll get if I deny, deny, deny..."
Deny was the keyword here. I hadn't been able to keep track of time, but I was sure he had been teasing me like this for what felt like an hour. If I were to count the number of times I'd been denied my high so far, I would say we were closing in on nine times. Fucking maniac, keeping me in this state.
Still, I could only whimper-- my lips were parted, my breathing sharp and unsteady as my slick leaked down my sex, inching closer to the couch. It had my anxiety skyrocketing, not wanting to stain Roman's stupidly expensive new couch, but something told me he didn't give a single shit. I turned my head to watch his expression, the way his eyes never left the sight of my hips trying to buck up against his hand, chasing the release I knew I might not get tonight. It only made me desperate, not knowing whether he'd led me-- he had been mean like that before.
"Roman, please--" My breath hitched as his touch grew firmer, the slickened pads of his fingers continuously circling my clit as I trembled against him.
"Close?" he asked, words muffled against my neck as he placed a wet, sincere kiss on the side of my throat. "You've gotta keep telling me when you are, okay?"
I had half the mind not to. Now that Roman had gotten me this desperate, I couldn't believe he didn't expect me to somehow cheat myself out of this-- still, I knew there could be repercussions if I did. I knew from previous experiences that he'd either find out in the middle of my orgasm and retrieve his hand, leaving me squirming and crying out in frustration, or that he would refuse me for days on end to get back at me. The one time that had happened, we didn't do anything for about twelve days. It resulted in him pouncing me, locking me in what I could only describe as a mating press, leading to me limping the next day-- despite how much I enjoyed that, I couldn't bear to go through that tension again.
Hence why I nodded, whimpering as an all-too-familiar feeling built in my body. "Close," I breathed, voice breaking. "Close, Roman, so, so--"
I clenched my jaw, my hips bucking up into nothing as he removed his hand, a low, sinister laugh escaping past his plush lips. "Where are we, now? Ten?" Roman rubbed my thigh with his hand, probably in an attempt to comfort me through the aftermath of my denied orgasm. I nearly shivered as I felt remnants of my arousal streak along my skin, watching as Roman drew a trail all the way back to my core.
"Ten," I echoed, turning my head to nip at his jaw. I wanted him close, I wanted more, more-- My need only worsened as I felt Roman's hard cock throb against my back as I pressed my lips against his skin, clearly wanting to be let out of the restraints of his jeans. "Don't you think that's enough?" I had to try; "Ten is a lot... I don't think I can take this much longer, and I have a feeling you can't either." With careful movements, I watched his green eyes meet mine as I slowly slid my hand up along his thigh, heading right where I knew he needed me.
Roman's eyes narrowed as I placed my palm against his clothed cock, sucking in a sharp breath as I traced the thickness of his length with my fingers. His lips parted, ready to protest; "You--"
"Wouldn't you want to feel me cum around you?" I whispered, pressing a needy kiss against his jaw once more. "Don't you want to feel how wet I am for you, how I crave you?"
Roman was on the brink of getting swayed-- I knew he was close to his breaking point when I managed to dip my fingers beneath the hem of his jeans, past the elastic of his waistband, now feeling the tip of his cock poke at my hand. I pressed the tip of my finger against the slit, teasingly tapping at the drop of pre-cum; it was impossible to dull the smirk of victory that streaked across my face as I lowered my voice, a sultry whine escaping me; "Just fuck me, Roman... I know you want to,"
The second a shaky breath escaped him, my eyes shimmered up at him with hope. I knew I wouldn't last long if he finally caved, that he would fuck himself out of his mood to keep me on the edge if he could feel my walls clamping down around him with each orgasm-- but I immediately knew I was done for when Roman clenched his jaw, a slight twitch of his eye ensuing.
Oh no. I should've known better than to attempt a coup.
With swift movements, his big, strong hand grabbed my wrist, pulling me out from beneath his waistband. It didn't take long before Roman wrapped his arm around me again, pulling me tighter against him as he already knew what my reaction would be to the following; I let out a loud cry as he brought a flat hand down between my legs, giving my clit a few firm slaps that sent my hips flying up from the couch.
I could only whimper, a loud, broken moan escaping me-- this was always the confusing part. I could never put my finger on why it felt good when he did this, and why it also felt like I was getting electrocuted at the same time. Nonetheless, I was so overstimulated, I squeezed my eyes shut and felt a few frustrated tears come to my eyes. "Fuck, Roman, you!--" I had to bite down on my lower lip to hold back my many wished curses, knowing it could only lead to no good.
"What?" he urged, a low growl to his voice. "What am I, sweetheart? Spell it out for me."
I knew I shouldn't-- but it all came rambling out of my mouth as Roman started rubbing lazy circles around my clit again, this time torturously slow. "Cunt!" I yelled, bucking up against his hand as I let out a desperate whimper, attempting to kick my legs. "Fucking cunt, you!-- you, a-aah!--""
I let my head loll back against his broad shoulders as Roman's deep laugh vibrated in his chest. "That's harsh," he teased, pressing a kiss against my temple. "Just trying to make you feel good, am I not?"
He knew damn well. "I can't-- Roman, I need--"
"Need what?"
"Need to!-- Need--"
"Use your words," he cooed, smiling against my skin as he paused his circles, now gently tapping my clit with the pad of his finger. I let out a shaky moan, my legs giving in to a tremble as he continued to speak; "You're a smart girl, aren't you? Tell me what you need."
I had forgotten that I still had tears in my eyes-- a lonely drop made its way down my cheek as I panted, barely able to take his teases. "Please... I've gotta-- gotta cum, you have to let me,"
"I have to?" Roman shook his head, tsking. "I don't have to do shit, sweetheart. Could keep you like this for another hour, if I wanted to."
No, no, no! "I'll do anything," I pleaded, my hands grabbing at his thighs for support as the familiar knot in my abdomen appeared in record time once more. "I'll do-- shit, I'm close, I'm gonna!--"
"No, you're not," Roman removed his fingers from my clit as he pressed a gentle kiss against my cheek, listening to my cries of denial as he swiped his tongue along the tear to wipe it away. He pulled away, watching my brows draw together in frustration, now a broken mess in his lap. Surprisingly, his voice was soft as he spoke the most damning words of the night; "Actually, I think I'm gonna go take a shower. A cold one."
I whimpered at the loss of contact, my hands trembling as I turned my head to look at him in disbelief. "Don't you dare,"
The look on Roman's face told me everything I needed to know-- his eyes were big with intimidating victory, his dark grin wider than I had ever seen before. Something about it almost seemed unnatural, and the sight sent shivers down my spine.
Oh, the absolute glee shimmering in his eyes-- "Call me a cunt, and I'll be one,"
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