✦ . Note: This one is a doozy guys. Lots of tags here, lots of warnings, be mindful!! Everything that happens is consensual, you just have to read between the lines a bit. Don’t read if you’re not comfortable, but also don’t complain to me about it if you don’t like it!!! Anyway, here starts Kinktober in November, wish me luck!
Tag: #rainykinktober2025
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Toby has always had a thing for vulnerability.
It’s not just the thrill of power—though he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed that too. No, it’s deeper, more primal, a fascination with the fragile line between trust and surrender.
Ever since you and Toby started this twisted little relationship, he’s found himself drawn to those moments when you’re at your most exposed, your defenses crumbling under his touch.
In sex, it’s intoxicating. The way your body yields to him, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as he pins your wrists above your head, his tics jerking his shoulders in erratic rhythms that only heighten the unpredictability. You arch into him, eyes wide and pleading, trusting him not to break you—even though you both know he could, if the urge struck.
Day to day, it’s subtler but no less addictive. The way you lean into his side during quiet evenings in the decrepit cabin you share, your head on his shoulder as rain patters against the warped windows. Or how you let him wrap his arms around you from behind while you’re cooking, your laughter soft and unguarded when his fingers twitch involuntarily against your waist.
“T-Toby, that tickles,” you might murmur, turning to press a kiss to his scarred cheek, oblivious to the storm raging in his thoughts—the urge to hold you tighter, to claim every inch of that trust.
But his favorite thing?
God, it’s when you’re asleep.
Curled up next to him in the narrow bed, your chest rising and falling in slow, even waves, so utterly at peace. The moonlight filters through the cracks in the blinds, casting silver shadows over your skin, highlighting the curve of your hip under the thin sheet, the way your lips part just slightly as if whispering secrets to the dark.
You’re so vulnerable then, aren’t you? Trusting him completely to keep you safe in the dead of night, when the woods outside whisper threats and the monsters—real ones, like him—could so easily take advantage. Toby lies there, propped on one elbow, his dark eyes tracing every detail: the flutter of your eyelashes, the pulse at your throat, the way your fingers twitch in dreams he can only imagine.
He can’t help but watch you, his breath stuttering with each tic. Sometimes, he leans in closer, his hand hovering before gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“S-so pretty,” he whispers to himself, voice cracking like static on an old radio. And then, because the pull is too strong, he kisses you—soft at first, a ghost of lips against your forehead, then trailing down to your neck, where he lingers, inhaling the warm scent of your skin. His touches grow bolder in these stolen hours—fingers skimming the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath to trace lazy circles over your stomach, feeling the heat of you, the softness that yields without resistance.
You stir sometimes, a sleepy murmur escaping—“Toby?”—but you never fully wake, drifting back into oblivion, leaving him aching with the knowledge that you’re his to protect, to adore, to tear apart if he wants.
And that’s when it all really began.
It started innocently enough—or as innocent as things get in your world. One night, after a brutal mission left him wired and aching, Toby had stumbled back to the cabin late, the scent of blood and forest clinging to his hoodie. You were already asleep, curled under the blankets like a gift waiting to be unwrapped, your breaths soft and even. He hadn’t planned it, not really; he’d just meant to collapse beside you.
But seeing you there, so trusting, so exposed… it ignited something feral.
His hands had trembled as he peeled back the sheets, his shaky fingers tracing the curve of your thigh, dipping lower until he was between your legs, mouth watering at the thought.
You’d stirred only when his tongue delved in, lapping at you with desperate hunger, the taste of you pulling a guttural groan from his throat. Your eyes had fluttered open, hazy with sleep, finding him buried under the covers, his shoulders jerking as he devoured you, your panties snagged around your ankles.
“T-Toby?” you’d murmured, voice scratchy and confused, but then understanding dawned, and you’d arched into him, fingers tangling in his messy hair.
“Don’t stop… please.” He’d made you cum right there, your moans shrill and loud, until you were trembling and spent, pulling him up to kiss you fiercely.
From then on, it became his obsession—your obsession. Toby gets off so badly on it, the way your body responds even in sleep, pliant and warm, no barriers between you.
He’d wait until you were deep under, drooling slightly on the pillow, your limbs heavy and relaxed, before sliding into you slowly, savoring every inch as you enveloped him without a word. The friction, the heat, the absolute surrender—it drove him wild, his hips snapping erratically as he fucked you into the mattress, whispers spilling from his lips like confessions.
“S-so perfect… all m-mine…” And when you’d finally wake, eyes widening at the feel of his cock buried deep in your cunt, you’d cling to him immediately, legs wrapping around his waist, nails digging into his back as you gasped his name.
“Yes, Toby—harder—fuck—” It was his favorite, that moment of transition from dream to reality, your trust turning into raw need.
You loved it just as much, encouraging him with sleepy smiles in the mornings after.
“You can do it anytime, Toby,” you’d whisper, nuzzling into his neck during lazy afternoons. “Fuck me when I’m asleep all you want. I like waking up to you like that—feeling you already inside me. It’s so good.”
It made him feel powerful, needed, in a way nothing else could. Sometimes he’d come home from missions in the dead of night, still buzzing with adrenaline, and head straight for your sleeping form. No words, just shedding his gear and diving under the sheets, his mouth on you before you could even register the intrusion. Your eyes would flutter open to the sight of the blanket tented over his head, his hands gripping your thighs as he licked and sucked, bringing you to a shuddering climax that blurred your vision terribly.
So, of course, something like this would happen to him.
“It’ll be alright, Toby,” you say softly, thumb brushing over his stubbled jaw. “EJ just needs some material for his study. He said it’s just a little medicine to make me sleep for a bit, and I’ll stay on his medical bed until it wears off. He’ll keep good watch, I promise.” Your voice is steady, but Toby’s fingers twitch against your hips, a nervous tic betraying the calm he was trying to exude.
“N-not sure I like this,” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly, punctuated by the occasional jerk of his shoulder. “Y-you, asleep, down there with h-him? What if somethin’ goes wrong?” His protectiveness wraps around you like a heavy blanket, warm but suffocating.
Toby’s always been your shield, his hatchet a promise of safety in a world crawling with things that go bump in the night. Letting you out of his sight, especially in a place as the Slendermansion, feels like a betrayal of that unspoken vow.
“He’s your friend, Toby,” you remind him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, where the scar tissue pulls tight. “You trust him, don’t you? And besides, I’m the only true human around, so Jack was very eager.”
It’s a gentle nudge, and though Toby’s jaw clenches, he nods reluctantly, his hand squeezing yours.
“F-fine,” he says, exhaling sharply. “But I’m comin’ with you. N-no way I’m lettin’ my ba-baby sleep in some creepy b-basement without me.” His resolve is unshakable, and you can’t help but smile.
The trek to the Slendermansion is quiet, the forest swallowing the crunch of your footsteps under a canopy of gnarled branches. Toby’s hand stays clasped around yours, his hatchet slung over his shoulder, its blade catching slivers of sunlight. The mansion looms ahead, a decaying monolith of cracked stone and shadowed windows, its presence oppressive yet all-too-familiar. You descend the creaking stairs to EJ’s basement abode, the air growing cooler, tinged with the sterile tang of antiseptic and rust.
Eyeless Jack waits in his makeshift lab, a cavernous space lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs. Stainless steel tables gleam under the light, littered with vials, syringes, and notebooks scrawled with cryptic notes. His eyeless mask tilts toward you as you enter, the black voids where eyes should be unnervingly blank, though his voice is calm, assertive.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, his tone devoid of the menace his appearance suggests. “This won’t take long. I’m studying physiological responses under induced sleep—heart rate, blood pressure, neural activity. The sedative is mild, FDA-approved for short-term use. You’ll be out for about fourty-five minutes, and I’ll monitor everything from here.” He gestures to a medical bed in the center of the room, its white sheets crisp and uninviting.
You glance at Toby, who’s eyeing the setup with suspicion, his fingers twitching against the handle of his hatchet. “J-just data, huh?” he asks, voice sharp. “No weird s-stuff? You’re not cuttin’ her open or nothin’?”
Jack shuffles off his old mask, placing it onto his desk in the company of friends. He smirks, just enough to aggravate the boy.
“No cutting, Toby. Just sensors and vitals. She’ll be safe, I swear.” He holds up a small syringe filled with a clear liquid, tapping it lightly to dispel air bubbles. “This is the sedative. It’s fast-acting but wears off quickly. She’ll sleep, I’ll collect my data, and she’ll wake up feeling rested.”
You squeeze Toby’s hand, stepping closer to the bed. “See? It’s fine. Just a quick nap, and you’ll be right here.” You climb onto the bed, the cold leather creaking beneath you, and Toby follows, perching on a stool nearby, his gaze darting between you and Jack.
“Alright,” Jack says, approaching with the syringe. “You’ll feel a small pinch, then it’s lights out for a little over half an hour.” The needle slides into your arm, a brief sting followed by a cool rush through your veins.
Toby’s hand tightens around yours, his breathing uneven as he watches. “I-I’m right here, okay?” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost tender. “Not goin’ anywhere.”
The world begins to blur, your eyelids growing heavy as the sedative pulls you under.
Damn, that was fast.
Jack’s voice fades into a distant hum, explaining something about monitors and baseline readings, but all you can focus on is Toby’s thumb stroking your knuckles, grounding you as you slip into the dark.
The last thing you hear is his stuttered, “S-sleep tight, baby,” and then you’re gone.
—
Toby’s grip on your hand is tight enough to bruise, but he can’t help it.
Your fingers are slack in his, warm and soft, the way they always are against his always cold ones. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, too clean, and the air smells like bleach and metal and enough rust to make his stomach twist. Jack’s gloved fingers move over your skin, and every time those fingers brush your collarbone or the inside of your wrist, Toby’s shoulders jerk hard enough to rattle the stool he’s perched on.
“Easy,” Jack murmurs, not looking up from the electrode he’s pressing just above your chest. “Just a sensor. Heart rate, nothing invasive.”
Toby’s jaw clenches. “I know wh-what it is.” He doesn’t. “J-Just don’t linger.”
Jack’s face tilts—a silent acknowledgment—and his hands move faster. The beeping starts up, matching the rise and fall of your chest. Toby watches the line on the monitor like it’s a lifeline. Seventy-two beats per minute. Seventy-one. Seventy-three. Your pulse, alive and thumping.
Jack starts up an IV drip, and slides a blood-pressure cuff up your arm, velcro rasping. Toby’s free hand twitches toward the pocket knife tucked in his belt, then curls into a fist instead.
He’s not gonna do anything reckless. Jack’s his friend. Jack swore.
He has got to calm down.
But the sight of you laid out like this—shirt skewed up just enough to expose the soft skin of your stomach, legs slightly parted on the bed—makes something dark and hungry coil in his gut. Same as it does when he crawls into bed at 3 a.m., still reeking of dirt, and finds you drooling on the pillow, thighs warm and open under the sheets.
He remembers last week. Came in from a job, knuckles split, head buzzing. You’d been out cold, one arm flung above your head, mouth slack. He’d peeled your panties down with his teeth, buried his face between your legs before you even twitched. The way you’d woken up gasping, hips already rocking against his tongue, fingers scrabbling at his hair…
“Toby, fuck, don’t stop—”
But this isn’t the cabin. This isn’t his bed. This is Jack’s lab, and Jack’s watching your vitals like they’re a puzzle to solve, and Toby’s trying not to think about how easy it would be to slide his hand up your thigh right now, just to feel you clench around his fingers while you’re still gone.
“Toby.”
Jack’s voice cuts through the static in his head. The demon’s standing at the foot of the bed now, arms crossed. “Youre zoning out.”
Toby drags his eyes up. “I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re about to pass out. Calm down.” Jack nods at the monitor. “She’s stable. She’s dreaming, probably. See the REM?”
Toby glances at your face. Your eyelids flutter, just barely, and your lips part on a soft exhale. A thin line of drool glistens at the corner of your mouth. His cock twitches, traitorously hard against his thigh, and he shifts on the stool, hating how obvious it must be.
Jack notices—of course he does. “Fourty-five minutes,” he says, softer now. “I’ll have what I need. Then you can take her home. Alright?”
Toby’s throat works. “Yeah.”
The silence stretches, thick and humming with the monitors’ steady beeps. Toby’s thigh bounces under the stool, the hard line of his cock trapped against his zipper, impossible to ignore. Every time you shift—just a twitch of your hips, a soft, breathy sound that might be a dream—he feels it like a jolt straight to his groin. Your fingers flex in his grip, limp and trusting, and he squeezes back harder, knuckles whitening.
Jack’s head tilts. The demon doesn’t have eyes, but Toby feels the stare anyway. A low, amused exhale hisses through the demon’s teeth as takes several deep breaths of the air.
“Jesus, Toby. You’re stinking up the whole lab. I can smell your hormones from here.”
Toby’s shoulders jerk. “F-Fuck off.”
Jack chuckles, the sound wet and gravelly. “Relax, I’m kidding. But seriously, how many times have you two fucked while she’s out cold if you’re this horny watching her sleep. You’re practically vibrating.”
Toby’s jaw locks. He knows Jack meant it lightheartedly, but Toby was never very good at covering his true feelings. He doesn’t answer. Just stares at your mouth—parted, glossy with a thin line of drool—and remembers the way you’d whimpered last night when he’d pushed in slow, your body clenching around him before your brain caught up.
Jack groans, realizing. “Oh, you are a freak. Please tell me you’re not just feeling her up while she’s unconscious.”
Toby’s head snaps up. “S-She likes i-it.” The words come out sharp, defensive, but there’s pride in them too. “She a-asks for it, di-dipshit.”
Jack leans back against the counter, arms crossed. “Elaborate.”
Toby’s eyes flick to you and he swallows.
“I-I mean, it’s not… n-not all the time,” he starts, voice cracking on the first syllable. His thumb keeps rubbing the same small circle over your pulse, grounding himself. “Just… som-sometimes. When I come in late. Or, uh… when s-she’s already out.”
Jack doesn’t move. Doesn’t laugh. Just waits.
Toby swallows. “She-she’ll be on her side, or… or her stomach. Mouth o-open. Little wet spot o-on the p-pillow.” His shoulders jerk once, hard. “I just… pull the sheet down. She’s n-not even wearing clothes ha-half the t-time.”
He risks a glance at Jack. The demon’s head is cocked now, listening like he’s taking mental notes.
“I’ll… touch her f-first. Just-just fingers. See if she’s…” He trails off, cheeks burning under the hood. “Wet… She always is. Even i-in her sleep. L-Like her body knows.”
Jack hums, low. “And then?”
Toby’s voice drops to a near-whisper, glaring. “Then I… I go d-down on her. Under the blanket. She-she makes these li-little noises. Just… dreaming. Her hips move on their o-own.” His stutter worsens, words tripping over each other. “I-I keep going ‘til s-she’s close. Then I… I slide i-in. She clenches around me b-before she even opens her uh-eyes.”
He stops. He can’t look at Jack now, just focuses at your face—peaceful, lips parted, a flush on your cheeks from the sedative.
“She wakes up needy,” he mutters. “Al-Always. Wraps her legs around m-me like she’s scared I’ll stop. Tells me—tells me not to. Every t-time.”
Silence. The monitors beep. Thirty minutes left.
Jack finally speaks, voice neutral. “And she remembers?”
Toby nods, jerky. “Y-Yeah. Says it’s like waking up i-inside a dream. That she feels m-me even when she’s not conscious. Likes it.”
He risks another look. Jack’s still, but there’s something in the set of his shoulders—fascination, maybe. Or recognition.
“Interesting,” Jack says quietly. “The body responding before the mind. Physical actions manifesting through brain matter.”
Toby’s grip tightens on your hand again. “Don’t… don’t make it weird.”
Jack huffs a laugh. “Too late for that.”
Jack’s boots scuff across the concrete as he crosses to the desk, the sound too loud in the humming quiet. Toby’s pulse is in his throat now, a frantic drum against his collar. He tries to think of anything else, but your soft exhale pulls him right back. Your lips part on a tiny, sleepy sound, and his cock jerks so hard he has to shift his hips to keep from groaning.
Jack scribbles something on his clipboard, reading the monitors, then pads back. He stops just outside Toby’s personal space, voice low.
“Fuck her.”
Toby’s up in a flash, stool clattering. “F-Fuck off,” he snarls, body jerking so violently his neck cracks. “You don’t g-get to—”
“Purely medical,” Jack cuts in, palms raised. “I want the spike in her limbic system when she climaxes under sedation. Arousal response without conscious filter. Thirty seconds of data, max. Then you take her home.”
Toby’s laugh is sharp, cracked. “You’re a f-fucking weirdo.” He’s already leaning over the bed, sliding one arm under your shoulders, the other under your knees. Your head lolls against his chest, warm and heavy, and the feel of you limp in his arms makes his stomach flip with something between panic and hunger.
Jack doesn’t move. “Can’t get weirder than you bragging about railing her unconscious, Toby. I keep my back turned. Won’t look. Just the readings and vitals. One orgasm. You walk out and I never mention it again.”
Toby freezes. Your hair brushes his neck, your breath fans warm across his collarbone. He can smell your shampoo, and the thought of sliding into you right here, with Jack ten feet away pretending not to listen, makes his vision blur at the edges.
He stands there a beat too long, arms full of you, heart hammering against your ribs.
Jack’s voice drops, a velvet rasp that makes Toby’s skin prickle. “Think about it, Toby. How good it’d feel to make her cum and she doesn’t even realize it. No waking up mid-thrust, no sleepy eyes blinking open to pull you closer. Just her body giving in.”
Toby’s breath hitches, your limp weight in his arms suddenly heavier, warmer. He can picture it too vividly: your thighs trembling under his hands, the slick heat of you pulling him deeper, your pulse spiking on the monitors as you shatter around him. A shiver races down his spine, electric and wrong, making his knees buckle just a fraction. Nervous sweat beads at his temples, his tics firing off in erratic pops of his joints.
“She’s always so fragile when you do it at home,” Jack presses, stepping closer, his eyeless voids swallowing the light. “You go gentle, don’t you? ‘Cause one wrong move and she’s waking up. But now? With this?” He nods at the IV drip in your arm. “She won’t wake. You could pin her down, fuck her raw—no holding back.”
Toby’s mind fractures.
What would you want? The question loops, frantic. You’d laugh it off in the morning, maybe—cup his face, kiss the scar on his cheek, murmur, “Toby, baby, if it feels good, do it. I trust you.” Or you’d arch a brow, teasing, “You know I love waking up wrecked. Don’t stop on my account.” But this isn’t the cabin’s creaky bed, isn’t your shared sheets tangled with familiarity. This is here, with Jack’s gaze on the data, your vitals beeping erratically. His teeth grind together, molars aching, as the old permission echoes back. “You can do it anytime, Toby.”
Jack sees it—the crack in his armor, the way Toby’s arms tighten around you like he’s already imagining the leverage. The demon leans in, voice a conspiratorial purr. “Come on, Toby. Give her the kind of orgasm that brands her insides. The one where she squirts without knowing why. You know you’ve always wanted to push that far.”
Toby’s hips jerk involuntarily, a low groan clawing up his throat. Heat floods his groin, sticky and insistent—his cock leaking pre into the front of his jeans, soaking through the denim in a dark, shameful patch. He’s crumbling, vision tunneling to the curve of your neck, the flutter of your pulse.
Twenty-seven minutes left. Fuck.
Jack opens his mouth, but Toby’s had enough..
“Shut. The fuck. Up.”
Jack’s jaw clicks shut.
Toby stares at you. Long. Too long. Your head lolls against his forearm, hair spilling over his skin like silk. Your lips are parted, breath warm and slow. His eyes trace every inch like he’s memorizing a map he’s already burned into his brain.
Then he looks at Jack. Hard. Dead in the mask.
“Nobody ever k-knows,” he grunts. “Not a word. Not a jo-joke. You keep your back turned. You don’t s-speak. You don’t look. You see t-the numbers, that’s it.”
Jack nods, slow. “Done.”
Toby’s chest heaves. One more beat. Two. He closes his eyes, jaw clenched so tight the scar pulls white. Then he moves.
He lays you back on the table with a gentleness that he reserves only for you, your body settling into the padded leather. He angles your hips toward him, one knee nudged between yours, your thigh brushing his. The sheet pools at your feet. Your shirt rides up, exposing the dip of your waist, the soft skin just above your shorts.
Jack turns and shuffles to his desk, sitting down on his chair, back facing the two of you.
Toby doesn’t look at him again.
Toby’s hands settle on your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft inner flesh just above your knees. He spreads you open slowly, trying his best not to let you lay too uncomfortably. Your legs fall apart with no resistance, knees bending, hips tilting up toward him in unconscious invitation. A low, animal sound rumbles in his chest.
He steps in, knees nudging the table’s edge, and presses. The hard ridge of his cock, trapped behind denim, drags along the seam of your shorts. Heat blooms through the layers, and he can’t stop the shudder that rips up his spine. His hips roll forward once, testing, grinding the length of himself against the clothes. Fuck. You’re warm even through the fabric, and the friction is maddening.
“Sh-shit,” he breathes, barely a whisper. His fingers flex, digging into your thighs hard enough to leave pale prints that flush pink when he eases up.
His hands slide upward, palms skating over the curve of your hips, thumbs hooking under the hem of your shirt. He pushes it higher, higher, until the fabric bunches beneath your breasts. Cool air kisses your stomach and goosebumps rise in its wake. Toby’s mouth waters. He leans down, forehead brushing your sternum, inhaling the scent of your skin. His tongue darts out, tasting the salt just below your ribs, and he has to bite back another groan.
He straightens just enough to watch your face. Your lashes flutter, your lips part on a soft, breathy sound that isn’t quite a moan but close. It goes straight to his cock. He grinds again, harder this time, the denim rasping against you, the pressure exquisite. Pre soaks through his boxers, sticky and hot, smearing against the inside of his jeans with every roll of his hips.
His fingers find the button of your shorts. They tremble—just once—before popping it open. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and tugs, the fabric dragging over your hips, catching for a heartbeat on the swell of your ass before sliding lower. He has to lift you slightly, one arm sliding beneath your lower back, arching you up so he can peel the pants down your thighs. They pool at your ankles and he kicks them aside.
You’re bare to him now except for the thin scrap of panties, darkened at the center with arousal you don’t even know you’re giving. Toby’s breath stutters. He palms himself through his jeans, squeezing hard, trying to rein in the urge to rip everything off and bury himself to the hilt. Not yet. He wants to savor.
His hands return to your thighs, pushing them wider until the muscles tremble. He drops to his knees beside the table, eye-level with the soaked cotton. One thumb traces the edge of your panties, teasing the elastic, then slips beneath.
The heat of you is staggering enough to make him smile. He drags the pad of his thumb up your slit, parting your folds, coating his finger in your slick.
He looks up at your head turned slightly, cheek pressed to the padding, mouth lazily open. Another soft noise escapes you, dreamy, and Toby’s vision whites out at the edges. He presses the heel of his hand against his cock, grinding into his own touch, his hips jerking helplessly.
Jack’s chair creaks. A low, muffled grunt comes from across the room, followed by the shuffle of his palm dragging over the lower half of his face. The air is thick, drenched in the sour-sweet scent of your arousal and the heady, muskier note of Toby’s own need. It clings to the back of the throat like smoke, and he thinks he’ll choke on it.
Toby doesn’t look up, doesn’t care. His world has narrowed to the slick heat between your thighs, the way your skin flushes under his mouth, the soft, involuntary roll of your hips when he drags the flat of his tongue up your slit.
He hooks two fingers into the soaked crotch of your panties and tugs. The elastic snaps against your hip, then gives, and he bunches the fabric in his fist, holding it aside like a curtain. Cool air kisses your bare folds and you shiver, thighs twitching open another inch.
His first kiss lands on the tender inside of your thigh, teeth grazing, then soothing with a slow lick. He works inward, open-mouthed presses of lips and tongue mapping every inch of soft skin until he reaches your center. He exhales, hot and shaky, against your folds, and you make the smallest sound—a breathy ‘mmph’ that isn’t quite a moan but makes his cock throb so hard his vision blurs.
He licks you open, slow and filthy, tongue curling up to circle your clit with the same lazy rhythm he uses when you’re half-awake and clinging to his shoulders. Your body answers without thought—hips tilting, a tremor in your thighs, slick coating his chin. He keeps the pace gentle, even as his own need claws at his spine. His free hand drops to his lap, palming the rigid line of his cock through denim, squeezing in time with each swirl of his tongue.
Toby has never made it to fucking you without you waking up. He’s only ever gotten the tip in before you’re blinking awake and smiling lazily at him.
He loves it, he does.
But knowing that he’s about to fuck your cunt as hard as he wants—without you waking up—he can barely hold himself back.
Your clit swells under his attention, flushed and glistening. He sucks it softly, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, then releases with a wet pop. Another slow lick, base to tip, savoring the taste of you just like he always does. Your fingers twitch against the padding, your head turns, cheek pressing deeper into the table, lips parted on a silent gasp—but you still don’t wake up.
Toby’s hips jerk forward, grinding into his own hand. Precome leaks steadily now, soaking through layers of fabric, making the slide of his palm slick. He groans against you, the vibration rumbling through your core, and your thighs try to close on reflex, but he wedges his shoulders between them, keeping you spread.
He could stay here forever. Could lick you open until the sedative wore off and you woke up mid-orgasm, confused and dripping and begging. But the monitors beep faster now, your heart rate climbing, brain waves flickering into theta, and Jack’s pen is scribbling just as fast.
Toby doesn’t care. He licks you again, slower, deeper, and feels you flutter against his tongue.
His mouth seals over your cunt, tongue spearing deep, curling inside you like he’s trying to taste your heartbeat. The wet heat of you clenches around him, tight and pulsing, and he groans into your folds like he’s stumbled upon water in the desert. His fist loosens on your panties, the elastic snapping back to press against the jagged gash on his cheek, the fabric soaked and clinging to his skin. He doesn’t care, doesn’t feel it. He only feels you and your walls fluttering, your hips rocking in tiny, unconscious thrusts.
His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs small, frantic circles the way he knows you need when you’re close. Your thighs tremble and your breath hitches in a soft, sleepy whine. He answers with a harder press of his tongue, fucking into you in short, sharp thrusts, then dragging back up to lap at your clit again.
He pulls back just long enough to slide two fingers through your folds, giving him an eyeful of your messy cunt, then pushes his middle finger inside. One knuckle, two, curling hard against that spot that makes your back arch even in sleep. Your cunt grips him like a vice, and he adds a second finger, stretching you open, scissoring gently before curling again. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking in time with the thrust of his fingers.
He’s moving so fast he’s dizzy.
Your body responds like it’s been waiting for this—hips rolling, thighs tightening around his shoulders, a soft, breathy “ah—” slipping from your lips. The monitors spike, your heart rate stuttering, brain waves flickering into sharp, frantic peaks. Toby feels it in the way you clench around his fingers, the way your slick coats his thick fingers and drips down his wrist.
He doesn’t slow down, just fingers you faster, tongue lashing your clit, thumb pressing hard circles until your thighs quake and your cunt flutters wildly around him.
Come on, baby, he thinks, teeth grazing your clit just enough to sting. Come for me. Let me feel it.
You’re close. So close. He knows it. He knows you.
Toby’s eyes snap to your face the second your moan slips out, soft and drowsy, like you’re half-lost in a dream you don’t want to wake from. Your head rolls back against the padding, neck arching as your lips drag open into a lazy gasp. One arm lifts, fingers curling near your cheek before flopping back down, and your feet kick once, twice, heels scraping the leather in tiny, helpless jerks. It’s so you, so fucking cute even when you’re drugged and forcibly open for him, that a crooked, lovesick grin splits his face against your cunt.
He doubles down—tongue spearing deep, thumb grinding hard circles over your clit. His fingers pump faster, curling against that spot inside you that makes your hips buck. Your thighs clamp around his ears, trembling, and he feels it, the tell-tale lock-up of your muscles, the way your breath catches in a high, broken gasp.
There it is.
He pulls back just enough to mumble into your slick folds, voice muffled and raw, “C-C’mon, baby, give i-it to m-m-me. Fuck—”
Your body seizes. A full-body shudder rips through you, thighs clamping down, back arching off the table. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, pulsing in hot, wet waves as you cum, disgruntled moans and whines spilling from your lips. Slick gushes over his tongue, dripping down his chin, pooling under your ass. He drinks it, lapping greedily, tongue flicking through your folds to catch every drop, thumb still rubbing your clit in slow, soothing circles as the aftershocks roll through you.
Your hips twitch. Your toes curl. Your head lolls to the side, mouth open, drool glistening at the corner, and Toby groans into you, the sound vibrating against your oversensitive skin. He doesn’t stop until you’re limp again, until the last tremor fades and your thighs fall open, boneless.
He pulls back slowly, lips shiny, chin dripping.
The monitors are screaming now, brain waves spiking into sharp, shaky peaks, heart rate fluttering like a trapped bird. Jack’s pen hasn’t stopped moving the entire time.
Eleven minutes left.
“That’s it,” Jack says, turning. “We’re—”
Toby’s already on his feet, belt clanking, zipper rasping down quickly. His jeans shove down just enough to free his leaking cock, the tip a terrible shade of red, twitching wildly in his palm. His hand wraps around the length, jerking once, twice, hips stuttering forward like he can’t not move.
Jack’s mouth opens. “Toby—”
“Shut up.” His growl is low as he speaks. “Stick t-to your fucking n-notes.”
Jack’s gaze hones onto your spread thighs—still trembling, slick and swollen, panties twisted to the side. Toby drags the head of his cock through your messy folds, coating himself in your release, smearing it up and down your slit. A broken moan tears from his throat when the tip catches on your entrance.
“Toby, the sedative’s wearing off in—” Jack starts.
Toby pushes in. One smooth, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your cunt flutters around him, still sensitive, still dripping. His head falls back, eyes rolling, a guttural “Fuck—” punched out of him as he bottoms out.
Jack spins on his heel, chair creaking as he drops into it, back rigid and facing the wall. The monitors spike again with your heart rate jumping, a sharp, involuntary clench around Toby’s cock bullying into you.
Toby doesn’t wait. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging bruises into soft flesh, and he thrusts. Hard. Deep. The table rocks under the force, leather squeaking. Your body jolts with each snap of his hips, breasts bouncing under your rucked-up shirt, head lolling to the side. A soft, confused sound slips from your lips, but your eyes stay closed—but you stay asleep.
Toby leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding up to palm your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. His thrusts turn erratic, desperate, hips slamming into yours with wet, filthy sounds. “Dammit,” he rasps, voice cracking. “M’sorry—”
Jack’s pen scratches furiously, pretending he can’t hear the slap of skin, the broken moans, the way your cunt squelches around Toby’s cock with every brutal thrust and the mind-numbing smell of it all.
Toby doesn’t care. He fucks you like he’s trying to brand you from the inside out.
He watches the back of Jack’s head like a predator, eyes narrowed, breath ragged. Jack’s claws rake through his own hair, dragging over the scalp in sharp, frustrated pulls. One hand drops to his face, palm pressing hard over his nose, trying to block the thick, heady scent of sex filling the room. His leg bounces, boot tapping a frantic rhythm against the floor.
Toby smirks, crooked and vicious, and lets the moan rip out of him, loud, shameless. “F-fuck, yeah… take i-it, baby—” His voice cracks on the stutter, but the words are clear. Another thrust, deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing off concrete. “You w-wanted this, Jack. Science, right?”
Jack’s shoulders stiffen. A low, uneasy sound escapes him, cursing under his breath. His claws scrape over the desk, leaving faint gouges in the wood. Then his hand drops, fumbling at his belt. The clink of metal, the rasp of a zipper. He doesn’t turn around, just hunches forward, forearm pressed to the desk, one clawed hand wrapping around his own cock. He strokes once, slow, then faster, hips jerking into his fist.
Toby’s eyes lock on the movement, the way Jack’s back arches, the way his claws dig into his own thigh for leverage. The sight punches a fresh wave of heat through him, cock throbbing inside your oozing cunt.
“Shit, l-look at you—” he rasps, voice breaking. “J-jerking off to me f-fucking her. Freak.”
Jack doesn’t answer. Just strokes harder, claws clicking against the desk, breath hitching behind bared pointy teeth. His leg stops bouncing. His whole body tenses, coiled tight.
Toby leans over you, one hand sliding up to grip your jaw, thumb brushing your skin. He thrusts harder, faster, the table rocking dangerously. “G-gonna fill her up,” he growls, eyes never leaving Jack’s hunched form. “Gonna make h-her drip with i-it. You’ll sm-smell me on her for d-days.”
“Fuck—” Jack’s claws scrape the desk as his fist pumps faster, hips jerking into his grip. His arm presses harder against the wood, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to disappear into the shadows.
Toby laughs, breathless. “Y-you were all gung ho about t-this five minutes ago,” he pants, hips snapping forward, your cunt squelching around him with every thrust. “N-now you’re j-jerking off to it? Nasty f-fucker.”
Jack’s hand stutters, but he doesn’t stop. His claws dig deeper into the desk, leaving fresh gouges.
Toby leans up, sweat dripping from his brow. He slides his hands under your knees, hooking them in the crooks of his elbows, spreading you wide. Your legs dangle, limp and open, hips tilted up to take him deeper. The new angle drags the head of his cock against your front wall with every brutal thrust, and your body answers with a loud, dreamy whimper, thighs trembling.
“T-turn around,” Toby rasps, voice cracking on the stutter. “L-look at her. Look how g-good she’s taking it.”
Jack doesn’t move. His fist keeps moving, faster now, the wet sound of it gentle compared to the mess behind him.
“Jack.” Toby’s moan is filthy, teasing. “L-look at what you s-started. She’s dripping for m-me. F-fuck, she’s gonna cum again—”
Your cunt clenches hard, a fresh gush of slick coating his cock, and Toby’s head falls back, scarred cheek twitching up into a nasty smile. “See?” he snarls, hips slamming into you, the table scratching against the concrete floor. “She’s amazing, and you’re h-hard as fuck listening t-to me ruin her—”
Jack’s shoulders jerk. A broken sound tears from his throat, but he still doesn’t turn.
Your head lolls off the table’s edge, neck crooked, hair spilling messily over the side. Each thrust punches a loud, broken moan from your throat—raw, unfiltered noises that even Toby has never heard before. The sound ricochets off concrete, wet and desperate, and it’s the final crack in Jack’s restraint.
His chair spins. Head tilted, sharp teeth bared in a snarl that’s half-hunger, half-rage. His cock juts up, flushed dark, slick with precum that drips over his knuckles as he fucks his fist in frantic, uneven strokes. His nostrils flare, drinking in the thick, heady cocktail of sex and sweat and both of you.
Toby laughs, breathless and vicious. “Th-there he is,” he pants, hips snapping harder, the table creaking. “F-fucking look at her, Jack. Look h-how she moans for me.”
Your moans climb, louder, sharper, hips jerking in tiny, helpless circles. Your cunt clamps down, fluttering wildly, and Toby’s grin turns slack, eyes widening. “She’s g-gonna—”
You cum. A full-body shudder rips through you, back bowing off the table, thighs quaking in the crooks of his elbows. Slick gushes around his cock, dripping down your ass, pooling beneath you. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, then another broken moan, “T-Toby—”
It’s so slurred, and breathy, and garbled through sleep-thick air—but it’s enough to make both boys crazy.
Toby’s moan cracks into a growl. Jack’s follows, breathy and snarled, claws digging into his own thigh as his fist flies over his cock, precum splattering his jeans.
Their faces lock over your writhing body, then flick back to you, then to each other again, a silent, electric circuit.
Jack’s chest heaves. “Fuck, that was hot,” he rasps, voice gravel against the strain not to moan.
Toby’s grin is all teeth. “Y-yeah? Told you she’s perfect.”
Jack’s fist slows, slick with precome. “G-gonna cum?”
“Fuck yeah.” Toby’s hips stutter, cock dragging through your spasming cunt. “C-cum with me, Jacky.”
Jack’s nod is sharp, desperate. His claws dig into his thigh as he pumps himself faster again, eyes glued to where Toby disappears inside you.
Toby leans in, voice low and filthy, mocking his Jack spoke to him before this whole fiasco. “Imagine that f-fist is her tight little cunt, Jack. Warm. W-Wet. Squeezing you dry.” He thrusts hard, your body jolting. “She’d milk you, wo-wouldn’t she? Beg for it in h-her sleep.”
Jack groans, hips bucking. “God, yes, keep talking.”
Jack’s head drops back, mask tilting to the ceiling. “Fuck, Toby—”
“Cum in her,” Toby hisses, thrusting deep, grinding against your cervix. “Paint h-her insides. M-Mark her.”
Jack’s moan rips free. His cock pulses, thick ropes of cum splattering his fist, his hoodie, his jeans. It drips over his claws hot and messy as he rides it out, hips jerking into his grip.
Toby follows a heartbeat later. “Now—” He buries himself to the hilt, cock throbbing as he unloads, pulse after pulse flooding your cunt. “Take i-it, baby—” He grinds deep, milking every drop, eyes locked on Jack’s spent, trembling form.
The room is thick with the after-scent of sex—sweat, cum, and the sharp tang of everyone’s arousal. Toby’s chest heaves, his cock still twitching inside you, every pulse a lazy throb against your oversensitive walls. Jack’s claws are slick, hoodie streaked, head tilted back just enough to show the glint of sharp teeth as he catches his breath.
They’re both opening their mouths to make some awkward statement or nasty joke, when a sound cuts through the haze.
A low, drowsy groan. Your arms shift, hands dragging up to rub at your eyes. Your knees tug weakly, thighs trying to close, but Toby’s still got you folded open in the crooks of his elbows. Your body jerks once, confused, then stills as the awkward angle registers.
Your eyes blink open, slow and syrupy.
Jack’s right there face slack-jawed, cock still in his fist, cum dripping from his claws onto the floor. You blink again, pupils blown wide with sleep and confusion, gazing at him upside down from where your head hangs off the table’s edge.
“…Jack?” Your voice is hoarse, cracked from unregistered moaning. You shift, and that’s when you feel it—Toby buried deep, stretching you, filling you, the wet heat of his release starting to leak out around him.
Your head lifts, hair sticking to your cheek. Toby’s grinning down at you, smiling like an idiot stupidly in love. “H-Hey, baby,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Welcome b-back.”
Your eyes dart from Jack’s spent cock to Toby’s smug face, then down to where your bodies are still joined. A slow, sleepy smile curves your lips.
“…Did I miss something fun?”
Jack lets out a long, mortified groan that echoes off the concrete.
“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” he mutters, yanking his hoodie down over the mess on his lap and shuffling sideways like a crab. One clawed hand fumbles for a cupboard handle, towels spill out in a frantic white avalanche. He snatches a fistful and turns his back, ears burning deep purplish.
You laugh, absolutely delighted.
“Filthy perverts, both of you,” you tease, voice still husky from misuse. Toby hasn’t moved an inch, he’s still buried deep, hips flush to yours, cock twitching every time you clench around him. His fingers brush damp hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your chest flutter.
“I thought I was having the best dream,” you murmur, grinning up at him. “Turns out it was just you two being gross.”
Jack shuffles beside the table, cheeks flaming, and starts peeling monitors off your skin. The sticky pads come away with little rip sounds, one wire is hopelessly tangled around your arm from all the rocking.
He untangles it with careful claws, muttering, “Got everything I needed. The data’s gold. I, uh… don’t need anything else. Sorry for the, um… fuss.” He gestures vaguely at the cum-streaked table, the puddle on the floor, his own sticky claws. “My perversion, not yours.”
Toby snorts, leaning down to press a lazy kiss to your cheek. “T-told you she’d be cool with it.”
“Did you now?”
Your hand snakes up and back, fingers hooking into Jack’s belt loop with a lazy tug where he stands a bit away from you. His jeans are still open, zipper half-down, and the motion drags him forward until the bulge in his boxers is right at your face, the heat of him radiating through the thin cotton. Toby’s grip on your thighs tightens, nails digging crescents into your skin as he watches, pupils blown wide.
Jack’s hands hover in the air, claws flexing, unsure where to land. “I—I’m good, really—”
“Shh.” You cut him off, voice syrupy and drowsy. “You didn’t get to touch me, right? And since Toby’s always a greedy little hog…” You roll your hips in a slow, deliberate circle, making Toby’s cock slide shallowly inside you, he whines your name, high and wrecked.
“Hush,” you murmur, then tug Jack’s boxers down just enough to free him again.
His cock springs out, flushed dark, still slick with his own release, a fresh bead of precome pearling at the tip. You wrap your fingers around him, and Jack jerks, a sharp, startled moan ripping from his throat. His claws finally settle on the edge of the table, knuckles white.
Toby’s hips stutter, shallow thrusts chasing the heat of your hand on Jack. “F-Fuck, you’re evil,” he pants, but he doesn’t stop you, just watches, transfixed as you stroke Jack slow and steady, thumb swiping over the head to spread the mess.
Jack’s head drops forward, head tilting, breath fogging the air. “Shit, I—” Another moan, broken, as you twist your wrist just right.
Your smile is wicked, still drowsy around the edges.
“Aw, I’m sad I missed the fun,” you murmur, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Tell you what… if I pretend to be asleep again, will you two fuck me as hard as you want?”
Toby’s grin is feral. Jack’s head leans back, a low, hungry growl rumbling behind it. They lock eyes—a confirmation, a challenge—and both nod like starved wolves.
You hum, satisfied, and guide Jack’s cock to your mouth. The slick tip slides between your lips, salty with his own release, and you take him in just past the head. A soft, sleepy moan vibrates around him as your eyes flutter shut, lashes fanning your cheeks. Your body goes lax again, head still hanging off the table’s edge, mouth slack and open.
Toby’s hips snap forward once, hard, burying himself to the hilt again. Jack’s claws dig into the table, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as your tongue flattens against him, warm and wet and perfect.
They don’t wait.
Toby sets a brutal rhythm, hands pressing under your knees to fold you open further. Jack threads careful claws into your hair, guiding your mouth down his length in shallow, greedy thrusts. The room fills with the wet slap of skin, your muffled moans, their ragged breathing.
Asleep, you take it all, and they give you everything.
✦ . Note: This one is a doozy guys. Lots of tags here, lots of warnings, be mindful!! Everything that happens is consensual, you just have to read between the lines a bit. Don’t read if you’re not comfortable, but also don’t complain to me about it if you don’t like it!!! Anyway, here starts Kinktober in November, wish me luck!
Tag: #rainykinktober2025
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Toby has always had a thing for vulnerability.
It’s not just the thrill of power—though he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed that too. No, it’s deeper, more primal, a fascination with the fragile line between trust and surrender.
Ever since you and Toby started this twisted little relationship, he’s found himself drawn to those moments when you’re at your most exposed, your defenses crumbling under his touch.
In sex, it’s intoxicating. The way your body yields to him, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as he pins your wrists above your head, his tics jerking his shoulders in erratic rhythms that only heighten the unpredictability. You arch into him, eyes wide and pleading, trusting him not to break you—even though you both know he could, if the urge struck.
Day to day, it’s subtler but no less addictive. The way you lean into his side during quiet evenings in the decrepit cabin you share, your head on his shoulder as rain patters against the warped windows. Or how you let him wrap his arms around you from behind while you’re cooking, your laughter soft and unguarded when his fingers twitch involuntarily against your waist.
“T-Toby, that tickles,” you might murmur, turning to press a kiss to his scarred cheek, oblivious to the storm raging in his thoughts—the urge to hold you tighter, to claim every inch of that trust.
But his favorite thing?
God, it’s when you’re asleep.
Curled up next to him in the narrow bed, your chest rising and falling in slow, even waves, so utterly at peace. The moonlight filters through the cracks in the blinds, casting silver shadows over your skin, highlighting the curve of your hip under the thin sheet, the way your lips part just slightly as if whispering secrets to the dark.
You’re so vulnerable then, aren’t you? Trusting him completely to keep you safe in the dead of night, when the woods outside whisper threats and the monsters—real ones, like him—could so easily take advantage. Toby lies there, propped on one elbow, his dark eyes tracing every detail: the flutter of your eyelashes, the pulse at your throat, the way your fingers twitch in dreams he can only imagine.
He can’t help but watch you, his breath stuttering with each tic. Sometimes, he leans in closer, his hand hovering before gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“S-so pretty,” he whispers to himself, voice cracking like static on an old radio. And then, because the pull is too strong, he kisses you—soft at first, a ghost of lips against your forehead, then trailing down to your neck, where he lingers, inhaling the warm scent of your skin. His touches grow bolder in these stolen hours—fingers skimming the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath to trace lazy circles over your stomach, feeling the heat of you, the softness that yields without resistance.
You stir sometimes, a sleepy murmur escaping—“Toby?”—but you never fully wake, drifting back into oblivion, leaving him aching with the knowledge that you’re his to protect, to adore, to tear apart if he wants.
And that’s when it all really began.
It started innocently enough—or as innocent as things get in your world. One night, after a brutal mission left him wired and aching, Toby had stumbled back to the cabin late, the scent of blood and forest clinging to his hoodie. You were already asleep, curled under the blankets like a gift waiting to be unwrapped, your breaths soft and even. He hadn’t planned it, not really; he’d just meant to collapse beside you.
But seeing you there, so trusting, so exposed… it ignited something feral.
His hands had trembled as he peeled back the sheets, his shaky fingers tracing the curve of your thigh, dipping lower until he was between your legs, mouth watering at the thought.
You’d stirred only when his tongue delved in, lapping at you with desperate hunger, the taste of you pulling a guttural groan from his throat. Your eyes had fluttered open, hazy with sleep, finding him buried under the covers, his shoulders jerking as he devoured you, your panties snagged around your ankles.
“T-Toby?” you’d murmured, voice scratchy and confused, but then understanding dawned, and you’d arched into him, fingers tangling in his messy hair.
“Don’t stop… please.” He’d made you cum right there, your moans shrill and loud, until you were trembling and spent, pulling him up to kiss you fiercely.
From then on, it became his obsession—your obsession. Toby gets off so badly on it, the way your body responds even in sleep, pliant and warm, no barriers between you.
He’d wait until you were deep under, drooling slightly on the pillow, your limbs heavy and relaxed, before sliding into you slowly, savoring every inch as you enveloped him without a word. The friction, the heat, the absolute surrender—it drove him wild, his hips snapping erratically as he fucked you into the mattress, whispers spilling from his lips like confessions.
“S-so perfect… all m-mine…” And when you’d finally wake, eyes widening at the feel of his cock buried deep in your cunt, you’d cling to him immediately, legs wrapping around his waist, nails digging into his back as you gasped his name.
“Yes, Toby—harder—fuck—” It was his favorite, that moment of transition from dream to reality, your trust turning into raw need.
You loved it just as much, encouraging him with sleepy smiles in the mornings after.
“You can do it anytime, Toby,” you’d whisper, nuzzling into his neck during lazy afternoons. “Fuck me when I’m asleep all you want. I like waking up to you like that—feeling you already inside me. It’s so good.”
It made him feel powerful, needed, in a way nothing else could. Sometimes he’d come home from missions in the dead of night, still buzzing with adrenaline, and head straight for your sleeping form. No words, just shedding his gear and diving under the sheets, his mouth on you before you could even register the intrusion. Your eyes would flutter open to the sight of the blanket tented over his head, his hands gripping your thighs as he licked and sucked, bringing you to a shuddering climax that blurred your vision terribly.
So, of course, something like this would happen to him.
“It’ll be alright, Toby,” you say softly, thumb brushing over his stubbled jaw. “EJ just needs some material for his study. He said it’s just a little medicine to make me sleep for a bit, and I’ll stay on his medical bed until it wears off. He’ll keep good watch, I promise.” Your voice is steady, but Toby’s fingers twitch against your hips, a nervous tic betraying the calm he was trying to exude.
“N-not sure I like this,” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly, punctuated by the occasional jerk of his shoulder. “Y-you, asleep, down there with h-him? What if somethin’ goes wrong?” His protectiveness wraps around you like a heavy blanket, warm but suffocating.
Toby’s always been your shield, his hatchet a promise of safety in a world crawling with things that go bump in the night. Letting you out of his sight, especially in a place as the Slendermansion, feels like a betrayal of that unspoken vow.
“He’s your friend, Toby,” you remind him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, where the scar tissue pulls tight. “You trust him, don’t you? And besides, I’m the only true human around, so Jack was very eager.”
It’s a gentle nudge, and though Toby’s jaw clenches, he nods reluctantly, his hand squeezing yours.
“F-fine,” he says, exhaling sharply. “But I’m comin’ with you. N-no way I’m lettin’ my ba-baby sleep in some creepy b-basement without me.” His resolve is unshakable, and you can’t help but smile.
The trek to the Slendermansion is quiet, the forest swallowing the crunch of your footsteps under a canopy of gnarled branches. Toby’s hand stays clasped around yours, his hatchet slung over his shoulder, its blade catching slivers of sunlight. The mansion looms ahead, a decaying monolith of cracked stone and shadowed windows, its presence oppressive yet all-too-familiar. You descend the creaking stairs to EJ’s basement abode, the air growing cooler, tinged with the sterile tang of antiseptic and rust.
Eyeless Jack waits in his makeshift lab, a cavernous space lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs. Stainless steel tables gleam under the light, littered with vials, syringes, and notebooks scrawled with cryptic notes. His eyeless mask tilts toward you as you enter, the black voids where eyes should be unnervingly blank, though his voice is calm, assertive.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, his tone devoid of the menace his appearance suggests. “This won’t take long. I’m studying physiological responses under induced sleep—heart rate, blood pressure, neural activity. The sedative is mild, FDA-approved for short-term use. You’ll be out for about fourty-five minutes, and I’ll monitor everything from here.” He gestures to a medical bed in the center of the room, its white sheets crisp and uninviting.
You glance at Toby, who’s eyeing the setup with suspicion, his fingers twitching against the handle of his hatchet. “J-just data, huh?” he asks, voice sharp. “No weird s-stuff? You’re not cuttin’ her open or nothin’?”
Jack shuffles off his old mask, placing it onto his desk in the company of friends. He smirks, just enough to aggravate the boy.
“No cutting, Toby. Just sensors and vitals. She’ll be safe, I swear.” He holds up a small syringe filled with a clear liquid, tapping it lightly to dispel air bubbles. “This is the sedative. It’s fast-acting but wears off quickly. She’ll sleep, I’ll collect my data, and she’ll wake up feeling rested.”
You squeeze Toby’s hand, stepping closer to the bed. “See? It’s fine. Just a quick nap, and you’ll be right here.” You climb onto the bed, the cold leather creaking beneath you, and Toby follows, perching on a stool nearby, his gaze darting between you and Jack.
“Alright,” Jack says, approaching with the syringe. “You’ll feel a small pinch, then it’s lights out for a little over half an hour.” The needle slides into your arm, a brief sting followed by a cool rush through your veins.
Toby’s hand tightens around yours, his breathing uneven as he watches. “I-I’m right here, okay?” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost tender. “Not goin’ anywhere.”
The world begins to blur, your eyelids growing heavy as the sedative pulls you under.
Damn, that was fast.
Jack’s voice fades into a distant hum, explaining something about monitors and baseline readings, but all you can focus on is Toby’s thumb stroking your knuckles, grounding you as you slip into the dark.
The last thing you hear is his stuttered, “S-sleep tight, baby,” and then you’re gone.
—
Toby’s grip on your hand is tight enough to bruise, but he can’t help it.
Your fingers are slack in his, warm and soft, the way they always are against his always cold ones. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, too clean, and the air smells like bleach and metal and enough rust to make his stomach twist. Jack’s gloved fingers move over your skin, and every time those fingers brush your collarbone or the inside of your wrist, Toby’s shoulders jerk hard enough to rattle the stool he’s perched on.
“Easy,” Jack murmurs, not looking up from the electrode he’s pressing just above your chest. “Just a sensor. Heart rate, nothing invasive.”
Toby’s jaw clenches. “I know wh-what it is.” He doesn’t. “J-Just don’t linger.”
Jack’s face tilts—a silent acknowledgment—and his hands move faster. The beeping starts up, matching the rise and fall of your chest. Toby watches the line on the monitor like it’s a lifeline. Seventy-two beats per minute. Seventy-one. Seventy-three. Your pulse, alive and thumping.
Jack starts up an IV drip, and slides a blood-pressure cuff up your arm, velcro rasping. Toby’s free hand twitches toward the pocket knife tucked in his belt, then curls into a fist instead.
He’s not gonna do anything reckless. Jack’s his friend. Jack swore.
He has got to calm down.
But the sight of you laid out like this—shirt skewed up just enough to expose the soft skin of your stomach, legs slightly parted on the bed—makes something dark and hungry coil in his gut. Same as it does when he crawls into bed at 3 a.m., still reeking of dirt, and finds you drooling on the pillow, thighs warm and open under the sheets.
He remembers last week. Came in from a job, knuckles split, head buzzing. You’d been out cold, one arm flung above your head, mouth slack. He’d peeled your panties down with his teeth, buried his face between your legs before you even twitched. The way you’d woken up gasping, hips already rocking against his tongue, fingers scrabbling at his hair…
“Toby, fuck, don’t stop—”
But this isn’t the cabin. This isn’t his bed. This is Jack’s lab, and Jack’s watching your vitals like they’re a puzzle to solve, and Toby’s trying not to think about how easy it would be to slide his hand up your thigh right now, just to feel you clench around his fingers while you’re still gone.
“Toby.”
Jack’s voice cuts through the static in his head. The demon’s standing at the foot of the bed now, arms crossed. “Youre zoning out.”
Toby drags his eyes up. “I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re about to pass out. Calm down.” Jack nods at the monitor. “She’s stable. She’s dreaming, probably. See the REM?”
Toby glances at your face. Your eyelids flutter, just barely, and your lips part on a soft exhale. A thin line of drool glistens at the corner of your mouth. His cock twitches, traitorously hard against his thigh, and he shifts on the stool, hating how obvious it must be.
Jack notices—of course he does. “Fourty-five minutes,” he says, softer now. “I’ll have what I need. Then you can take her home. Alright?”
Toby’s throat works. “Yeah.”
The silence stretches, thick and humming with the monitors’ steady beeps. Toby’s thigh bounces under the stool, the hard line of his cock trapped against his zipper, impossible to ignore. Every time you shift—just a twitch of your hips, a soft, breathy sound that might be a dream—he feels it like a jolt straight to his groin. Your fingers flex in his grip, limp and trusting, and he squeezes back harder, knuckles whitening.
Jack’s head tilts. The demon doesn’t have eyes, but Toby feels the stare anyway. A low, amused exhale hisses through the demon’s teeth as takes several deep breaths of the air.
“Jesus, Toby. You’re stinking up the whole lab. I can smell your hormones from here.”
Toby’s shoulders jerk. “F-Fuck off.”
Jack chuckles, the sound wet and gravelly. “Relax, I’m kidding. But seriously, how many times have you two fucked while she’s out cold if you’re this horny watching her sleep. You’re practically vibrating.”
Toby’s jaw locks. He knows Jack meant it lightheartedly, but Toby was never very good at covering his true feelings. He doesn’t answer. Just stares at your mouth—parted, glossy with a thin line of drool—and remembers the way you’d whimpered last night when he’d pushed in slow, your body clenching around him before your brain caught up.
Jack groans, realizing. “Oh, you are a freak. Please tell me you’re not just feeling her up while she’s unconscious.”
Toby’s head snaps up. “S-She likes i-it.” The words come out sharp, defensive, but there’s pride in them too. “She a-asks for it, di-dipshit.”
Jack leans back against the counter, arms crossed. “Elaborate.”
Toby’s eyes flick to you and he swallows.
“I-I mean, it’s not… n-not all the time,” he starts, voice cracking on the first syllable. His thumb keeps rubbing the same small circle over your pulse, grounding himself. “Just… som-sometimes. When I come in late. Or, uh… when s-she’s already out.”
Jack doesn’t move. Doesn’t laugh. Just waits.
Toby swallows. “She-she’ll be on her side, or… or her stomach. Mouth o-open. Little wet spot o-on the p-pillow.” His shoulders jerk once, hard. “I just… pull the sheet down. She’s n-not even wearing clothes ha-half the t-time.”
He risks a glance at Jack. The demon’s head is cocked now, listening like he’s taking mental notes.
“I’ll… touch her f-first. Just-just fingers. See if she’s…” He trails off, cheeks burning under the hood. “Wet… She always is. Even i-in her sleep. L-Like her body knows.”
Jack hums, low. “And then?”
Toby’s voice drops to a near-whisper, glaring. “Then I… I go d-down on her. Under the blanket. She-she makes these li-little noises. Just… dreaming. Her hips move on their o-own.” His stutter worsens, words tripping over each other. “I-I keep going ‘til s-she’s close. Then I… I slide i-in. She clenches around me b-before she even opens her uh-eyes.”
He stops. He can’t look at Jack now, just focuses at your face—peaceful, lips parted, a flush on your cheeks from the sedative.
“She wakes up needy,” he mutters. “Al-Always. Wraps her legs around m-me like she’s scared I’ll stop. Tells me—tells me not to. Every t-time.”
Silence. The monitors beep. Thirty minutes left.
Jack finally speaks, voice neutral. “And she remembers?”
Toby nods, jerky. “Y-Yeah. Says it’s like waking up i-inside a dream. That she feels m-me even when she’s not conscious. Likes it.”
He risks another look. Jack’s still, but there’s something in the set of his shoulders—fascination, maybe. Or recognition.
“Interesting,” Jack says quietly. “The body responding before the mind. Physical actions manifesting through brain matter.”
Toby’s grip tightens on your hand again. “Don’t… don’t make it weird.”
Jack huffs a laugh. “Too late for that.”
Jack’s boots scuff across the concrete as he crosses to the desk, the sound too loud in the humming quiet. Toby’s pulse is in his throat now, a frantic drum against his collar. He tries to think of anything else, but your soft exhale pulls him right back. Your lips part on a tiny, sleepy sound, and his cock jerks so hard he has to shift his hips to keep from groaning.
Jack scribbles something on his clipboard, reading the monitors, then pads back. He stops just outside Toby’s personal space, voice low.
“Fuck her.”
Toby’s up in a flash, stool clattering. “F-Fuck off,” he snarls, body jerking so violently his neck cracks. “You don’t g-get to—”
“Purely medical,” Jack cuts in, palms raised. “I want the spike in her limbic system when she climaxes under sedation. Arousal response without conscious filter. Thirty seconds of data, max. Then you take her home.”
Toby’s laugh is sharp, cracked. “You’re a f-fucking weirdo.” He’s already leaning over the bed, sliding one arm under your shoulders, the other under your knees. Your head lolls against his chest, warm and heavy, and the feel of you limp in his arms makes his stomach flip with something between panic and hunger.
Jack doesn’t move. “Can’t get weirder than you bragging about railing her unconscious, Toby. I keep my back turned. Won’t look. Just the readings and vitals. One orgasm. You walk out and I never mention it again.”
Toby freezes. Your hair brushes his neck, your breath fans warm across his collarbone. He can smell your shampoo, and the thought of sliding into you right here, with Jack ten feet away pretending not to listen, makes his vision blur at the edges.
He stands there a beat too long, arms full of you, heart hammering against your ribs.
Jack’s voice drops, a velvet rasp that makes Toby’s skin prickle. “Think about it, Toby. How good it’d feel to make her cum and she doesn’t even realize it. No waking up mid-thrust, no sleepy eyes blinking open to pull you closer. Just her body giving in.”
Toby’s breath hitches, your limp weight in his arms suddenly heavier, warmer. He can picture it too vividly: your thighs trembling under his hands, the slick heat of you pulling him deeper, your pulse spiking on the monitors as you shatter around him. A shiver races down his spine, electric and wrong, making his knees buckle just a fraction. Nervous sweat beads at his temples, his tics firing off in erratic pops of his joints.
“She’s always so fragile when you do it at home,” Jack presses, stepping closer, his eyeless voids swallowing the light. “You go gentle, don’t you? ‘Cause one wrong move and she’s waking up. But now? With this?” He nods at the IV drip in your arm. “She won’t wake. You could pin her down, fuck her raw—no holding back.”
Toby’s mind fractures.
What would you want? The question loops, frantic. You’d laugh it off in the morning, maybe—cup his face, kiss the scar on his cheek, murmur, “Toby, baby, if it feels good, do it. I trust you.” Or you’d arch a brow, teasing, “You know I love waking up wrecked. Don’t stop on my account.” But this isn’t the cabin’s creaky bed, isn’t your shared sheets tangled with familiarity. This is here, with Jack’s gaze on the data, your vitals beeping erratically. His teeth grind together, molars aching, as the old permission echoes back. “You can do it anytime, Toby.”
Jack sees it—the crack in his armor, the way Toby’s arms tighten around you like he’s already imagining the leverage. The demon leans in, voice a conspiratorial purr. “Come on, Toby. Give her the kind of orgasm that brands her insides. The one where she squirts without knowing why. You know you’ve always wanted to push that far.”
Toby’s hips jerk involuntarily, a low groan clawing up his throat. Heat floods his groin, sticky and insistent—his cock leaking pre into the front of his jeans, soaking through the denim in a dark, shameful patch. He’s crumbling, vision tunneling to the curve of your neck, the flutter of your pulse.
Twenty-seven minutes left. Fuck.
Jack opens his mouth, but Toby’s had enough..
“Shut. The fuck. Up.”
Jack’s jaw clicks shut.
Toby stares at you. Long. Too long. Your head lolls against his forearm, hair spilling over his skin like silk. Your lips are parted, breath warm and slow. His eyes trace every inch like he’s memorizing a map he’s already burned into his brain.
Then he looks at Jack. Hard. Dead in the mask.
“Nobody ever k-knows,” he grunts. “Not a word. Not a jo-joke. You keep your back turned. You don’t s-speak. You don’t look. You see t-the numbers, that’s it.”
Jack nods, slow. “Done.”
Toby’s chest heaves. One more beat. Two. He closes his eyes, jaw clenched so tight the scar pulls white. Then he moves.
He lays you back on the table with a gentleness that he reserves only for you, your body settling into the padded leather. He angles your hips toward him, one knee nudged between yours, your thigh brushing his. The sheet pools at your feet. Your shirt rides up, exposing the dip of your waist, the soft skin just above your shorts.
Jack turns and shuffles to his desk, sitting down on his chair, back facing the two of you.
Toby doesn’t look at him again.
Toby’s hands settle on your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft inner flesh just above your knees. He spreads you open slowly, trying his best not to let you lay too uncomfortably. Your legs fall apart with no resistance, knees bending, hips tilting up toward him in unconscious invitation. A low, animal sound rumbles in his chest.
He steps in, knees nudging the table’s edge, and presses. The hard ridge of his cock, trapped behind denim, drags along the seam of your shorts. Heat blooms through the layers, and he can’t stop the shudder that rips up his spine. His hips roll forward once, testing, grinding the length of himself against the clothes. Fuck. You’re warm even through the fabric, and the friction is maddening.
“Sh-shit,” he breathes, barely a whisper. His fingers flex, digging into your thighs hard enough to leave pale prints that flush pink when he eases up.
His hands slide upward, palms skating over the curve of your hips, thumbs hooking under the hem of your shirt. He pushes it higher, higher, until the fabric bunches beneath your breasts. Cool air kisses your stomach and goosebumps rise in its wake. Toby’s mouth waters. He leans down, forehead brushing your sternum, inhaling the scent of your skin. His tongue darts out, tasting the salt just below your ribs, and he has to bite back another groan.
He straightens just enough to watch your face. Your lashes flutter, your lips part on a soft, breathy sound that isn’t quite a moan but close. It goes straight to his cock. He grinds again, harder this time, the denim rasping against you, the pressure exquisite. Pre soaks through his boxers, sticky and hot, smearing against the inside of his jeans with every roll of his hips.
His fingers find the button of your shorts. They tremble—just once—before popping it open. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and tugs, the fabric dragging over your hips, catching for a heartbeat on the swell of your ass before sliding lower. He has to lift you slightly, one arm sliding beneath your lower back, arching you up so he can peel the pants down your thighs. They pool at your ankles and he kicks them aside.
You’re bare to him now except for the thin scrap of panties, darkened at the center with arousal you don’t even know you’re giving. Toby’s breath stutters. He palms himself through his jeans, squeezing hard, trying to rein in the urge to rip everything off and bury himself to the hilt. Not yet. He wants to savor.
His hands return to your thighs, pushing them wider until the muscles tremble. He drops to his knees beside the table, eye-level with the soaked cotton. One thumb traces the edge of your panties, teasing the elastic, then slips beneath.
The heat of you is staggering enough to make him smile. He drags the pad of his thumb up your slit, parting your folds, coating his finger in your slick.
He looks up at your head turned slightly, cheek pressed to the padding, mouth lazily open. Another soft noise escapes you, dreamy, and Toby’s vision whites out at the edges. He presses the heel of his hand against his cock, grinding into his own touch, his hips jerking helplessly.
Jack’s chair creaks. A low, muffled grunt comes from across the room, followed by the shuffle of his palm dragging over the lower half of his face. The air is thick, drenched in the sour-sweet scent of your arousal and the heady, muskier note of Toby’s own need. It clings to the back of the throat like smoke, and he thinks he’ll choke on it.
Toby doesn’t look up, doesn’t care. His world has narrowed to the slick heat between your thighs, the way your skin flushes under his mouth, the soft, involuntary roll of your hips when he drags the flat of his tongue up your slit.
He hooks two fingers into the soaked crotch of your panties and tugs. The elastic snaps against your hip, then gives, and he bunches the fabric in his fist, holding it aside like a curtain. Cool air kisses your bare folds and you shiver, thighs twitching open another inch.
His first kiss lands on the tender inside of your thigh, teeth grazing, then soothing with a slow lick. He works inward, open-mouthed presses of lips and tongue mapping every inch of soft skin until he reaches your center. He exhales, hot and shaky, against your folds, and you make the smallest sound—a breathy ‘mmph’ that isn’t quite a moan but makes his cock throb so hard his vision blurs.
He licks you open, slow and filthy, tongue curling up to circle your clit with the same lazy rhythm he uses when you’re half-awake and clinging to his shoulders. Your body answers without thought—hips tilting, a tremor in your thighs, slick coating his chin. He keeps the pace gentle, even as his own need claws at his spine. His free hand drops to his lap, palming the rigid line of his cock through denim, squeezing in time with each swirl of his tongue.
Toby has never made it to fucking you without you waking up. He’s only ever gotten the tip in before you’re blinking awake and smiling lazily at him.
He loves it, he does.
But knowing that he’s about to fuck your cunt as hard as he wants—without you waking up—he can barely hold himself back.
Your clit swells under his attention, flushed and glistening. He sucks it softly, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, then releases with a wet pop. Another slow lick, base to tip, savoring the taste of you just like he always does. Your fingers twitch against the padding, your head turns, cheek pressing deeper into the table, lips parted on a silent gasp—but you still don’t wake up.
Toby’s hips jerk forward, grinding into his own hand. Precome leaks steadily now, soaking through layers of fabric, making the slide of his palm slick. He groans against you, the vibration rumbling through your core, and your thighs try to close on reflex, but he wedges his shoulders between them, keeping you spread.
He could stay here forever. Could lick you open until the sedative wore off and you woke up mid-orgasm, confused and dripping and begging. But the monitors beep faster now, your heart rate climbing, brain waves flickering into theta, and Jack’s pen is scribbling just as fast.
Toby doesn’t care. He licks you again, slower, deeper, and feels you flutter against his tongue.
His mouth seals over your cunt, tongue spearing deep, curling inside you like he’s trying to taste your heartbeat. The wet heat of you clenches around him, tight and pulsing, and he groans into your folds like he’s stumbled upon water in the desert. His fist loosens on your panties, the elastic snapping back to press against the jagged gash on his cheek, the fabric soaked and clinging to his skin. He doesn’t care, doesn’t feel it. He only feels you and your walls fluttering, your hips rocking in tiny, unconscious thrusts.
His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs small, frantic circles the way he knows you need when you’re close. Your thighs tremble and your breath hitches in a soft, sleepy whine. He answers with a harder press of his tongue, fucking into you in short, sharp thrusts, then dragging back up to lap at your clit again.
He pulls back just long enough to slide two fingers through your folds, giving him an eyeful of your messy cunt, then pushes his middle finger inside. One knuckle, two, curling hard against that spot that makes your back arch even in sleep. Your cunt grips him like a vice, and he adds a second finger, stretching you open, scissoring gently before curling again. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking in time with the thrust of his fingers.
He’s moving so fast he’s dizzy.
Your body responds like it’s been waiting for this—hips rolling, thighs tightening around his shoulders, a soft, breathy “ah—” slipping from your lips. The monitors spike, your heart rate stuttering, brain waves flickering into sharp, frantic peaks. Toby feels it in the way you clench around his fingers, the way your slick coats his thick fingers and drips down his wrist.
He doesn’t slow down, just fingers you faster, tongue lashing your clit, thumb pressing hard circles until your thighs quake and your cunt flutters wildly around him.
Come on, baby, he thinks, teeth grazing your clit just enough to sting. Come for me. Let me feel it.
You’re close. So close. He knows it. He knows you.
Toby’s eyes snap to your face the second your moan slips out, soft and drowsy, like you’re half-lost in a dream you don’t want to wake from. Your head rolls back against the padding, neck arching as your lips drag open into a lazy gasp. One arm lifts, fingers curling near your cheek before flopping back down, and your feet kick once, twice, heels scraping the leather in tiny, helpless jerks. It’s so you, so fucking cute even when you’re drugged and forcibly open for him, that a crooked, lovesick grin splits his face against your cunt.
He doubles down—tongue spearing deep, thumb grinding hard circles over your clit. His fingers pump faster, curling against that spot inside you that makes your hips buck. Your thighs clamp around his ears, trembling, and he feels it, the tell-tale lock-up of your muscles, the way your breath catches in a high, broken gasp.
There it is.
He pulls back just enough to mumble into your slick folds, voice muffled and raw, “C-C’mon, baby, give i-it to m-m-me. Fuck—”
Your body seizes. A full-body shudder rips through you, thighs clamping down, back arching off the table. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, pulsing in hot, wet waves as you cum, disgruntled moans and whines spilling from your lips. Slick gushes over his tongue, dripping down his chin, pooling under your ass. He drinks it, lapping greedily, tongue flicking through your folds to catch every drop, thumb still rubbing your clit in slow, soothing circles as the aftershocks roll through you.
Your hips twitch. Your toes curl. Your head lolls to the side, mouth open, drool glistening at the corner, and Toby groans into you, the sound vibrating against your oversensitive skin. He doesn’t stop until you’re limp again, until the last tremor fades and your thighs fall open, boneless.
He pulls back slowly, lips shiny, chin dripping.
The monitors are screaming now, brain waves spiking into sharp, shaky peaks, heart rate fluttering like a trapped bird. Jack’s pen hasn’t stopped moving the entire time.
Eleven minutes left.
“That’s it,” Jack says, turning. “We’re—”
Toby’s already on his feet, belt clanking, zipper rasping down quickly. His jeans shove down just enough to free his leaking cock, the tip a terrible shade of red, twitching wildly in his palm. His hand wraps around the length, jerking once, twice, hips stuttering forward like he can’t not move.
Jack’s mouth opens. “Toby—”
“Shut up.” His growl is low as he speaks. “Stick t-to your fucking n-notes.”
Jack’s gaze hones onto your spread thighs—still trembling, slick and swollen, panties twisted to the side. Toby drags the head of his cock through your messy folds, coating himself in your release, smearing it up and down your slit. A broken moan tears from his throat when the tip catches on your entrance.
“Toby, the sedative’s wearing off in—” Jack starts.
Toby pushes in. One smooth, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your cunt flutters around him, still sensitive, still dripping. His head falls back, eyes rolling, a guttural “Fuck—” punched out of him as he bottoms out.
Jack spins on his heel, chair creaking as he drops into it, back rigid and facing the wall. The monitors spike again with your heart rate jumping, a sharp, involuntary clench around Toby’s cock bullying into you.
Toby doesn’t wait. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging bruises into soft flesh, and he thrusts. Hard. Deep. The table rocks under the force, leather squeaking. Your body jolts with each snap of his hips, breasts bouncing under your rucked-up shirt, head lolling to the side. A soft, confused sound slips from your lips, but your eyes stay closed—but you stay asleep.
Toby leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding up to palm your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. His thrusts turn erratic, desperate, hips slamming into yours with wet, filthy sounds. “Dammit,” he rasps, voice cracking. “M’sorry—”
Jack’s pen scratches furiously, pretending he can’t hear the slap of skin, the broken moans, the way your cunt squelches around Toby’s cock with every brutal thrust and the mind-numbing smell of it all.
Toby doesn’t care. He fucks you like he’s trying to brand you from the inside out.
He watches the back of Jack’s head like a predator, eyes narrowed, breath ragged. Jack’s claws rake through his own hair, dragging over the scalp in sharp, frustrated pulls. One hand drops to his face, palm pressing hard over his nose, trying to block the thick, heady scent of sex filling the room. His leg bounces, boot tapping a frantic rhythm against the floor.
Toby smirks, crooked and vicious, and lets the moan rip out of him, loud, shameless. “F-fuck, yeah… take i-it, baby—” His voice cracks on the stutter, but the words are clear. Another thrust, deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing off concrete. “You w-wanted this, Jack. Science, right?”
Jack’s shoulders stiffen. A low, uneasy sound escapes him, cursing under his breath. His claws scrape over the desk, leaving faint gouges in the wood. Then his hand drops, fumbling at his belt. The clink of metal, the rasp of a zipper. He doesn’t turn around, just hunches forward, forearm pressed to the desk, one clawed hand wrapping around his own cock. He strokes once, slow, then faster, hips jerking into his fist.
Toby’s eyes lock on the movement, the way Jack’s back arches, the way his claws dig into his own thigh for leverage. The sight punches a fresh wave of heat through him, cock throbbing inside your oozing cunt.
“Shit, l-look at you—” he rasps, voice breaking. “J-jerking off to me f-fucking her. Freak.”
Jack doesn’t answer. Just strokes harder, claws clicking against the desk, breath hitching behind bared pointy teeth. His leg stops bouncing. His whole body tenses, coiled tight.
Toby leans over you, one hand sliding up to grip your jaw, thumb brushing your skin. He thrusts harder, faster, the table rocking dangerously. “G-gonna fill her up,” he growls, eyes never leaving Jack’s hunched form. “Gonna make h-her drip with i-it. You’ll sm-smell me on her for d-days.”
“Fuck—” Jack’s claws scrape the desk as his fist pumps faster, hips jerking into his grip. His arm presses harder against the wood, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to disappear into the shadows.
Toby laughs, breathless. “Y-you were all gung ho about t-this five minutes ago,” he pants, hips snapping forward, your cunt squelching around him with every thrust. “N-now you’re j-jerking off to it? Nasty f-fucker.”
Jack’s hand stutters, but he doesn’t stop. His claws dig deeper into the desk, leaving fresh gouges.
Toby leans up, sweat dripping from his brow. He slides his hands under your knees, hooking them in the crooks of his elbows, spreading you wide. Your legs dangle, limp and open, hips tilted up to take him deeper. The new angle drags the head of his cock against your front wall with every brutal thrust, and your body answers with a loud, dreamy whimper, thighs trembling.
“T-turn around,” Toby rasps, voice cracking on the stutter. “L-look at her. Look how g-good she’s taking it.”
Jack doesn’t move. His fist keeps moving, faster now, the wet sound of it gentle compared to the mess behind him.
“Jack.” Toby’s moan is filthy, teasing. “L-look at what you s-started. She’s dripping for m-me. F-fuck, she’s gonna cum again—”
Your cunt clenches hard, a fresh gush of slick coating his cock, and Toby’s head falls back, scarred cheek twitching up into a nasty smile. “See?” he snarls, hips slamming into you, the table scratching against the concrete floor. “She’s amazing, and you’re h-hard as fuck listening t-to me ruin her—”
Jack’s shoulders jerk. A broken sound tears from his throat, but he still doesn’t turn.
Your head lolls off the table’s edge, neck crooked, hair spilling messily over the side. Each thrust punches a loud, broken moan from your throat—raw, unfiltered noises that even Toby has never heard before. The sound ricochets off concrete, wet and desperate, and it’s the final crack in Jack’s restraint.
His chair spins. Head tilted, sharp teeth bared in a snarl that’s half-hunger, half-rage. His cock juts up, flushed dark, slick with precum that drips over his knuckles as he fucks his fist in frantic, uneven strokes. His nostrils flare, drinking in the thick, heady cocktail of sex and sweat and both of you.
Toby laughs, breathless and vicious. “Th-there he is,” he pants, hips snapping harder, the table creaking. “F-fucking look at her, Jack. Look h-how she moans for me.”
Your moans climb, louder, sharper, hips jerking in tiny, helpless circles. Your cunt clamps down, fluttering wildly, and Toby’s grin turns slack, eyes widening. “She’s g-gonna—”
You cum. A full-body shudder rips through you, back bowing off the table, thighs quaking in the crooks of his elbows. Slick gushes around his cock, dripping down your ass, pooling beneath you. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, then another broken moan, “T-Toby—”
It’s so slurred, and breathy, and garbled through sleep-thick air—but it’s enough to make both boys crazy.
Toby’s moan cracks into a growl. Jack’s follows, breathy and snarled, claws digging into his own thigh as his fist flies over his cock, precum splattering his jeans.
Their faces lock over your writhing body, then flick back to you, then to each other again, a silent, electric circuit.
Jack’s chest heaves. “Fuck, that was hot,” he rasps, voice gravel against the strain not to moan.
Toby’s grin is all teeth. “Y-yeah? Told you she’s perfect.”
Jack’s fist slows, slick with precome. “G-gonna cum?”
“Fuck yeah.” Toby’s hips stutter, cock dragging through your spasming cunt. “C-cum with me, Jacky.”
Jack’s nod is sharp, desperate. His claws dig into his thigh as he pumps himself faster again, eyes glued to where Toby disappears inside you.
Toby leans in, voice low and filthy, mocking his Jack spoke to him before this whole fiasco. “Imagine that f-fist is her tight little cunt, Jack. Warm. W-Wet. Squeezing you dry.” He thrusts hard, your body jolting. “She’d milk you, wo-wouldn’t she? Beg for it in h-her sleep.”
Jack groans, hips bucking. “God, yes, keep talking.”
Jack’s head drops back, mask tilting to the ceiling. “Fuck, Toby—”
“Cum in her,” Toby hisses, thrusting deep, grinding against your cervix. “Paint h-her insides. M-Mark her.”
Jack’s moan rips free. His cock pulses, thick ropes of cum splattering his fist, his hoodie, his jeans. It drips over his claws hot and messy as he rides it out, hips jerking into his grip.
Toby follows a heartbeat later. “Now—” He buries himself to the hilt, cock throbbing as he unloads, pulse after pulse flooding your cunt. “Take i-it, baby—” He grinds deep, milking every drop, eyes locked on Jack’s spent, trembling form.
The room is thick with the after-scent of sex—sweat, cum, and the sharp tang of everyone’s arousal. Toby’s chest heaves, his cock still twitching inside you, every pulse a lazy throb against your oversensitive walls. Jack’s claws are slick, hoodie streaked, head tilted back just enough to show the glint of sharp teeth as he catches his breath.
They’re both opening their mouths to make some awkward statement or nasty joke, when a sound cuts through the haze.
A low, drowsy groan. Your arms shift, hands dragging up to rub at your eyes. Your knees tug weakly, thighs trying to close, but Toby’s still got you folded open in the crooks of his elbows. Your body jerks once, confused, then stills as the awkward angle registers.
Your eyes blink open, slow and syrupy.
Jack’s right there face slack-jawed, cock still in his fist, cum dripping from his claws onto the floor. You blink again, pupils blown wide with sleep and confusion, gazing at him upside down from where your head hangs off the table’s edge.
“…Jack?” Your voice is hoarse, cracked from unregistered moaning. You shift, and that’s when you feel it—Toby buried deep, stretching you, filling you, the wet heat of his release starting to leak out around him.
Your head lifts, hair sticking to your cheek. Toby’s grinning down at you, smiling like an idiot stupidly in love. “H-Hey, baby,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Welcome b-back.”
Your eyes dart from Jack’s spent cock to Toby’s smug face, then down to where your bodies are still joined. A slow, sleepy smile curves your lips.
“…Did I miss something fun?”
Jack lets out a long, mortified groan that echoes off the concrete.
“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” he mutters, yanking his hoodie down over the mess on his lap and shuffling sideways like a crab. One clawed hand fumbles for a cupboard handle, towels spill out in a frantic white avalanche. He snatches a fistful and turns his back, ears burning deep purplish.
You laugh, absolutely delighted.
“Filthy perverts, both of you,” you tease, voice still husky from misuse. Toby hasn’t moved an inch, he’s still buried deep, hips flush to yours, cock twitching every time you clench around him. His fingers brush damp hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your chest flutter.
“I thought I was having the best dream,” you murmur, grinning up at him. “Turns out it was just you two being gross.”
Jack shuffles beside the table, cheeks flaming, and starts peeling monitors off your skin. The sticky pads come away with little rip sounds, one wire is hopelessly tangled around your arm from all the rocking.
He untangles it with careful claws, muttering, “Got everything I needed. The data’s gold. I, uh… don’t need anything else. Sorry for the, um… fuss.” He gestures vaguely at the cum-streaked table, the puddle on the floor, his own sticky claws. “My perversion, not yours.”
Toby snorts, leaning down to press a lazy kiss to your cheek. “T-told you she’d be cool with it.”
“Did you now?”
Your hand snakes up and back, fingers hooking into Jack’s belt loop with a lazy tug where he stands a bit away from you. His jeans are still open, zipper half-down, and the motion drags him forward until the bulge in his boxers is right at your face, the heat of him radiating through the thin cotton. Toby’s grip on your thighs tightens, nails digging crescents into your skin as he watches, pupils blown wide.
Jack’s hands hover in the air, claws flexing, unsure where to land. “I—I’m good, really—”
“Shh.” You cut him off, voice syrupy and drowsy. “You didn’t get to touch me, right? And since Toby’s always a greedy little hog…” You roll your hips in a slow, deliberate circle, making Toby’s cock slide shallowly inside you, he whines your name, high and wrecked.
“Hush,” you murmur, then tug Jack’s boxers down just enough to free him again.
His cock springs out, flushed dark, still slick with his own release, a fresh bead of precome pearling at the tip. You wrap your fingers around him, and Jack jerks, a sharp, startled moan ripping from his throat. His claws finally settle on the edge of the table, knuckles white.
Toby’s hips stutter, shallow thrusts chasing the heat of your hand on Jack. “F-Fuck, you’re evil,” he pants, but he doesn’t stop you, just watches, transfixed as you stroke Jack slow and steady, thumb swiping over the head to spread the mess.
Jack’s head drops forward, head tilting, breath fogging the air. “Shit, I—” Another moan, broken, as you twist your wrist just right.
Your smile is wicked, still drowsy around the edges.
“Aw, I’m sad I missed the fun,” you murmur, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Tell you what… if I pretend to be asleep again, will you two fuck me as hard as you want?”
Toby’s grin is feral. Jack’s head leans back, a low, hungry growl rumbling behind it. They lock eyes—a confirmation, a challenge—and both nod like starved wolves.
You hum, satisfied, and guide Jack’s cock to your mouth. The slick tip slides between your lips, salty with his own release, and you take him in just past the head. A soft, sleepy moan vibrates around him as your eyes flutter shut, lashes fanning your cheeks. Your body goes lax again, head still hanging off the table’s edge, mouth slack and open.
Toby’s hips snap forward once, hard, burying himself to the hilt again. Jack’s claws dig into the table, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as your tongue flattens against him, warm and wet and perfect.
They don’t wait.
Toby sets a brutal rhythm, hands pressing under your knees to fold you open further. Jack threads careful claws into your hair, guiding your mouth down his length in shallow, greedy thrusts. The room fills with the wet slap of skin, your muffled moans, their ragged breathing.
Asleep, you take it all, and they give you everything.
Saw the eridian hating committee by @edenisquiet and finally thought of a joke so I drew this up. I hope the little haters become just as big as the welcoming committee
Break the stereotype* of tumblr sexyman always being a skinny guy in a suit. It’s time for hairy muscled short fat muscular men with big beards to shine. Vote senshi. tumblr sexyman is whoever tumblr says is the sexyman. bring in the new era
He’ll make you bread
*(people keep poiinting out that sans won who is not a skinny suit wearer. i am not saying he did not win. i'm saying it's the common stereotype of what a tumblr sexyman is. sans winning only further proves my point that senshi can win)
This drawing really made me hate doing lineart... but I really like how it came out. I struggled a bit with the broken floor pieces, it was my first time doing that.
Do you believe that people can change? @itzyagirl-kyoka - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
