Big brawny brutal fucker, moss-green and thick-skinned like a toad with tusks curling up his lip.
He keeps quite a few different species on his farm. Nymphs, fauns, fairies, pixies, you name it. If it’s pretty and fuckable, he’s got it.
But the very best and rarest of all are, of course, elves.
The rest are dumb, easily subdued creatures—they get caught in traps running about the forest, and immediately cower and submit to their bigger hunters. There ain’t much sport in either capturing or training them.
Elves however. Those are the real prize. Godlike beauties that never seem to age, never spoiling, staying nice and tight and supple for however long you keep them.
You’ve got to be clever to bag an elf. They might look as harmless as the rest, but that delicate physique is all a trick; elves are sharp by nature and can kill you if you're not careful when hunting them.
They’re not all that strong, though, and so if you manage to get them while they sleep, they’re as easy prey as any.
His gang of bandits nabbed you and your troop when you’d made camp for the night. Your guards had been drinking wine and weren’t all that alert come dark. They were knocked out cold at their post before he even had to take things into his own hands.
That’s the fault in elves, really—haughty, arrogant things who forget to be wary, thinking they’re untouchable when really, they’re still just prey with a bit more brains.
He could tell you were an important bitch by the way you had your own tent, grandiouse as if hitched for royalty. He entered and had to scoff at all the furniture—rugs, mirrors, scented candles, and other bullshit—he can’t believe you elves bring all this with you every time you travel, as if spending a single hour in the mud is beneath you. Oh, but you’re going to get plenty familiar with the mud from now on as his new farm animal…
In any case, it’s not really the hunting and capturing that is fun. No, it’s the training.
You see, elves don’t submit that easily. Not even when subjected to endless hours of ruthless fucking. They don’t break. Must be something about being hundreds of years old. They’ve lived through so much that not much else can compare. But nothing’s built to last. And elves, no matter the nobility, no matter the age, all break in the end.
He starts you off with Goblins, watching as they rip into your silk dress, slapping your perfect skin until it welts, licking and fingering your tight cunt until it puffs up. They’re relentless little fuckers with dicks the size of your forearm despite only bing tall enough to reach your hips. They pry open your holes and teach them how to take a pounding, breaking them in for the bigger guys.
Hogtied, your cheek mushed in the dirt, ass in the air, wrists bound to your ankles as the filthy creatures stuff your cunt, pounding shameful slick out of you. Using your shins as a stepping-stool, standing at the perfect height—two fingers in your ass turning to three, then another three from another hand, all fiddling with the hole and snickering while at it.
For more humiliation, a hook is fixed to each of your nostrils, pulled back around your head, turning your nose up like a piglet—making you squeal like one as they proceed to fully neglect your cunt in favor of double-stuffing your pretty ass. Cheering when you take a third cock while one of them shoves his hand inside your drooling pussy, fisting it good until your thighs shake and you end up squirting.
They switch in the dozens, keeping it up for several hours, cueing up behind you, taking turns, before one of them sits himself down on your back, using your hair to pull your head back, fixing a ring-gag between your teeth, keeping your mouth open as they all fuck your skull and finish down your throat.
They leave you sweaty and cum-drenched in the mud.
He watches you for a moment, enjoying the sight of you lying there panting, so exhausted you’re actually falling asleep in the awful position, only for him to blow his fingers, calling up the next round.
A troll and two ogres step forth then. They wake you up by washing you down with piss. All three standing in a ring around you, pouring out their big bladders, revealing your pretty skin again, so glowy and pretty in the golden hue, despite the way you grimace and whine, feeling the sour taste invade your mouth—unsure if it’s worse than what the goblins spewed down your throat just earlier.
Unlike them, they untie you. With hands big enough to reach fully around your neck, it doesn’t matter how much you struggle. They might be dumb creatures, but they know what they want and help each other get it. Holding your legs apart as one of the ogres works his bulbous tip against your wet slit—pushing and prodding, failing to penetrate until it eventually succeeds in sinking inside.
You wail, but the ogre pays it no mind, bullying himself all the way into your cervix, only half of him fitting. He groans and shakes his head at the resistance, trying to force himself more inside. Annoyed at your body for not complying, he keeps himself there, nudging into your womb, thinking that if he just continued trying, your body would suddenly give in and accept the way he was trying to push himself up through your throat.
The other ogre lifts your thighs up, holding you sideways between them both while lining his own monstrous cock up with your ravaged ass—pushing inside with more ease than your pussy. He doesn’t seem to care that half of him isn’t getting squeezed, starting to shove himself in and out unlike the other—fucking you slower than the goblins did, but with a thickness that makes it feel like your stomach might drop and fall out.
The troll stands on top of the crate they’d kept you in, squeezing your soft tits, gathering them around his length while fucking his tip against your pretty face—softly poking into the plump your turned cheek. Hooking his thumb into the corner of your mouth, he guides you to look up and spits a heavy blob inside it. Twisting your nipple with a smile, pinching the fat of them while jerking himself against your face.
The ogres both finish inside your holes, whilst the troll sprays his worth over your tits—with much of it going inside your mouth just like the goblins.
But even after all that, when they drop you like discarded trash, letting your limp body fall and splash in the mud, you still fight your way up onto your feet.
Mildly impressed with your strength of will, he watches you try to make a run for it.
But he wouldn’t be a good slavemaster if he didn’t know how to wrangle strays back. Using a lasso, he throws and spins it around your throat like a noose and pulls you right back down into the mud, where you now belong.
Walking over, he places his foot down on your panting chest and smiles, having to hand it to you—he can tell you’re going to be a tough one to crack.
And it’s true. Even with his seal seared into your asscheek and a collar around your throat, you won’t obey unless he has all your limbs secured in rope. And even then, he has to all but strangle the life out of you with a leash to stop you from thrashing. No matter how many goblin orgies and orcs and trolls and ogres he puts you through, you don’t break.
Which is why he decided to handle taming you personally.
He puts you on a diet of cum and mead, keeping you sluggish—unable to stand without wobbling, unable to speak without slurring. And every time something he doesn't want to hear comes out of your mouth, he gives your cunt a firm slap—while every time something good comes out, he encourages it with rubbing that pretty clit of yours until you’re rewarded with a full-bodied orgasm.
It almost brings warmth to his cold heart, seeing you writhe around in pleasure—tongue out, whining and whimpering as he rubs through your pussylips with the grit of his thick finger. You’re beginning to look just like a pet—happy to be put in your rightful place, wagging your tail for your owner.
When he doesn’t have the time to train you at the farm, he brings you out with him. Wearing you around like a piece of jewelry—wrists strung up around his neck, hung there with your back to his chest, cock switching between your holes, but mostly in your cunt—for boding reasons. Molding your womb to his size, making your body adopt it like a baby. He was able to sink all the way inside balls deep after a few weeks. Roost inside you, keeping his cock warm and wet with your heat.
It’s true what they say, the tougher they are, the harder they break. But look at you now. My oh my, how broken you are.
You’re his finest work yet. Beautiful elven royalty on your hands and knees desperate for orc cock in your every orifice, always begging to be bred.
Of course, you can’t carry his offspring, but that doesn’t mean his cum has all gone to waste. With so much of it getting dumped and pumped up your system, your silly elven body has started thinking it’s pregnant even when it isn’t.
You’re even softer and more gorgeous because of it—round around the edges, breasts all swollen up with sweet milk, with your pregnancy brain keeping you horny for him every waking hour of every day. In his lap willingly, wanting your soft titties groped and sucked on—silken hands holding onto his tusks, pulling him close to your bosom, wanting his studded tongue to play with your nipple, suckle on them until they're sore.
You throw your head back with a blissful sigh, moving your pretty ass up and down his fat length, sitting down on it fully, cockhead in your guts, then lifting yourself all the way up to his fat tip, moaning as you sink down on it again.
You take your time—that’s how he can tell you’re enjoying yourself. And what a sight it is. Watching your eyes role back, body seizing up, cunt throttling around nothing before gushing—cumming from getting your udders milked and your prissy elven ass fucked.
He wished the old you could see you now—how mindlessly you pop off his lap, and settle down between his thighs, lapping at the deep slit shaping his cockhead, eating out his pre with a bite of pleasure to your bottom lip, shivering at the taste he’s taught you to love.
You suck on the tip, hollow cheeks and crossed bedroom eyes—looking like a calf sucking it’s mother’s teat for milk—before fully opening your mouth. Waiting for him with your pink tongue all rolled out and seeking, knowing you’re going to get your face drenched and wanting to catch and swallow as much of it as you can.
You keep rubbing yourself where you kneel. Both hands between your thighs, stuffing your cavity with all your fingers, using your thumbs to tickle your clit. Everything’s wet, and your head is swimming with the same sticky mess, wanting his cum like it’s the sole ingredient to your happiness.
Poor brainwashed pet—he’ll give you what you want, don’t worry.
He rests the swollen tip on the warm bed of your tongue, bathing it in your drool, the way it drips down your pretty chest full of his love bites. Balancing it on your tastebuds, you close your lips around it for a kiss, giddily shimmying on your knees, eager to be fed.
He strokes himself slowly, wanting to savor the sight of you, feeling it in his balls—how it’s going to be a big one. You’re going to have to swallow several times to get it all, gulp it down like the cum-hungry cock-slave he’s turned you into.
The way you do exactly that so naturally convinces him that this was always your true nature. You even shiver and cum on your fingers as you drink him up. Sucking the rest out of his tip until you’re certain there’s no more left for you to lick.
His heavy hand pets your head, and you nuzzle into the touch, leaning forward until you’re burying your face in his empty balls, kissing them with a pretty little “Thank you, master,” slipping out with a moan.
And still, you got your fingers in your cunt, continuing to make yourself cum.
Poor cock-addicted elf… don’t worry, he’ll let you ride his face, lap up all your sweetness, until his cock perks up again, then he’ll give your womb the pounding it so desperately needs.
cw: cnc • gun kink • spit • piss, belt play • facefucking creampie • humiliation • no aftercare • heavy dubcon
“money talks, dirty cash, i want you..💸”
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you don’t sleep anymore. not really. you just lie there in that rotting little apartment that smells like warm dust and dried sweat and the leftover scent of men who don’t come back. the kind of place that holds onto everything. cheap walls, peeling paint, floorboards that creak even when you’re not moving. you lie on that stained mattress in nothing but a tank top and cotton panties that keep riding up your ass, thighs damp from the heat, sticking together every time you shift. the fan broke two weeks ago. the window doesn’t open all the way. you sweat through your sheets every night, and you don’t even know if it’s the weather or the dread anymore. it’s been three days since you stepped outside. four since you checked your bank account. five since you made that second payment you couldn’t afford. your phone buzzes on silent, tucked somewhere under the blanket, screen cracked, notifications piling up from numbers that never leave voicemails. not even a single word. just the occasional call. blocked. no caller ID. breathing. always breathing. low, like a man watching you from the dark, one hand already wrapped around his cock and the other curled in a fist.
you owe him. and you don’t know how much anymore.
it started small. your cousin told you about him at a bar, half-drunk and laughing, said he helped her once when she needed quick money for her kid’s hospital bills. no questions, no paperwork, just fast cash. she told you his name like it meant something. toji fushiguro.
you met him the next night. you wore makeup to hide the stress, a little skirt you thought might help, heart pounding the whole way there like you were already in trouble. he took one look at you and smirked like he could smell the desperation. and you hated how hot he was. how tall. how calm. the way he spoke slow and deep, never raising his voice, like he didn’t need to. like everyone always ended up on their knees anyway. he gave you the cash. tucked it into your purse himself. brushed his hand against your hip just enough to make your breath catch. he didn’t even tell you when it was due. just lit a cigarette, blew the smoke toward your mouth, and told you not to fuck him over.
but you did.
you fucked up. again and again. begged for a little more. said you’d pay soon. said you were waiting on a deposit. said you’d figure it out. and each time, his voice got a little quieter. a little slower. and you could hear it that little pause before he hung up. like he was smiling. like he already knew how this was gonna end.
and now, tonight, you lie there in the dark, eyes wide open, legs spread slightly from the heat, stomach turning with the weight of it all. you haven’t eaten. haven’t showered. your pussy’s sticky with old sweat and stress, panties damp between your folds, and your nipples keep brushing the fabric of your tank top every time you roll over. everything feels raw. too sensitive. like your body’s betraying you, getting ready for something your mind keeps pretending won’t happen. you locked the door. you double-bolted it. you shoved the dresser in front of it just in case. but it doesn’t matter. because toji doesn’t knock. he doesn’t text. he doesn’t wait.
he’s not coming to talk.
he’s coming to collect.
you hear it before you believe it.
the sound of the lock turning. not forcing. not breaking. just turning, soft and casual like it was his place all along. you sit up too fast and your vision tilts. your thighs are damp. your mouth is dry. the dresser you shoved in front of the door doesn’t move, but the door still opens. slow. sure. steady.
he had a key.
your throat closes up.
you scramble off the mattress, bare feet slapping against the floor, heart hammering too loud in your ears to think. you don’t have a weapon. not a real one. there’s a fork on the counter, a bottle in the sink, but nothing that would stop a man like him. you remember the rock outside your building from the night before, the one you nearly used on a stray dog when it came too close. too late now.
his shadow moves first. then the silhouette of his body filling the doorframe. big. wide. calm. not a word, not even a breath. he steps over the threshold like he’s walking into a fucking store. like this is just a transaction.
your mouth moves before your brain does. you try to say his name, but it comes out small and wrong and scared.
he shuts the door.
then he kicks the dresser. not out of anger. just to move it. wood scrapes across the floor, shrieking like it’s screaming for you.
you back up, fast, toward the corner, hands trembling. he’s wearing a black tee that sticks to his chest like it’s painted on, jeans slung low, belt unbuckled already like he planned this before even getting in the car.
he hasn’t spoken yet. that’s what makes it worse.
then, slowly, one hand goes to the back of his waistband.
he pulls out a gun.
not flashy. not shiny. just matte black and heavy in his hand. he doesn’t point it. not yet. he just holds it like a warning, like punctuation.
you freeze. arms half-raised. legs shaking. throat thick with a scream you’re too smart to let out.
he licks his teeth and finally speaks. low. slow. smooth enough to make your stomach drop.
told you not to fuck me over.
you freeze.
you’ve never seen a gun this close before. not outside of a movie. not outside of the screen glow and staged screaming and fake blood. this one’s real. heavy and matte and worn around the handle like it’s been held too many times by someone who never hesitated. he doesn’t even raise it. he just lets it sit loose in his grip like it doesn’t weigh a thing, like it’s an extension of his hand. your knees buckle before your brain catches up, your body folding in on itself, sliding down the wall with a choked gasp as your palms hit the cold floor.
please don’t kill me.
your voice breaks halfway through, thin and shaking like a child’s. your chest is heaving and your stomach twists so fast it feels like you’re gonna throw up. your arms go up, limp and trembling like that’ll somehow protect you. like you even matter.
i was gonna pay. i swear. tomorrow. i was gonna borrow from my dad. i just needed one more day. please i wasn’t trying to run i just—
your mouth won’t stop. your voice turns to sobs, not dramatic ones, not staged ugly, wet, real. the kind of crying that cracks open your ribs and squeezes your lungs tight until nothing comes out but high, desperate gasps. you don’t even know if he’s listening. you can’t look at him. all you see is the floor, the gun, your shaking legs spread just enough to feel air where it shouldn’t be. you don’t think he came to talk. you think this is it. this is how you go. some dumb broke girl in a sweat-soaked tank top with her pussy damp and thighs sticky and nothing to show for it but bounced checks and lies.
you try to keep talking, anything that might delay it.
i was gonna call. i had the money almost ready. i swear i was gonna get it tonight. please i didn’t know it was serious i thought i had more time.
you say it like time was ever yours to begin with.
and the worst part is, he still hasn’t spoken.
he watches.
his boots step forward once and you flinch hard enough your shoulder hits the wall. you whimper. it’s not a scream. it’s not strong. it’s a sound you didn’t know your throat could make, raw and small and pathetic.
the gun is still in his hand.
his eyes trail over your body slowly, like he’s looking through you, not at you. like he’s studying something already dead, just figuring out what to do with the leftovers.
he doesn’t blink.
doesn’t sigh.
doesn’t threaten.
just looks.
like he’s done this before.
like he’s trying to decide whether to waste the bullet or not.
and it hits you, all at once, like a punch in the ribs. you’re not special. you’re not his exception. you’re not a girl with a soft voice and a good reason. you’re just another one who didn’t pay. and you’ve heard the stories. about girls who vanish. about the bodies that show up later if they show up at all.
you’re shaking so bad your teeth knock against each other. your legs won’t move. your mouth is dry and your lips taste like salt. you want to scream. you want to beg. but your voice is wrecked, hoarse and cracked and small, and all you can do is look up at him with your cheeks wet and your thighs trembling.
you don’t even realize your panties are soaked until you feel the cold press of fabric between your folds, the heavy heat of your body giving itself away.
he notices.
his eyes dip for a second. a twitch in his jaw. a shift in his grip. not on the gun on himself. something changes.
and that’s when you know.
he didn’t come here to kill you.
not yet.
he doesn’t say anything at first, just kneels in front of you with the kind of ease that makes your heart seize up, one hand dragging the gun down lazily between your brows until the cold barrel kisses your skin. he doesn’t need to push. just rests it there while your knees dig into the floor and your body hunches low like an animal, breathing shallow, chest twitching, mouth already parting in helpless, trained panic. your lips brush the metal and he watches your doe eyes go wide, lashes wet and trembling, tears starting to smear down the sides of your nose while your throat clicks on a sob. he finally speaks then, voice so low it scrapes against your bones, calling you a stupid little bitch with a wet mouth and no fucking sense. tells you if you’d paid him back, he wouldn’t be here like this, wouldn’t have to waste his time, wouldn’t be hard right now looking at you on your knees like a fucktoy someone dropped in a gutter.
you feel him shift, jeans unzipped, belt clinking heavy like chains sliding down a butcher hook, the thick sound of it dragging through the loops while he keeps the gun in place against your forehead, wrist loose, relaxed, like he’s done this before, like there’s no rush. your eyes flick down by instinct and your stomach lurches at the sight of his cock slapping out, thick and heavy, not fat but long and mean and veiny, a dark swollen head already leaking and smeared with sweat, shaft half-covered in hair that curls dense at the base and spreads up his stomach. he smells like skin and metal and heat, his thighs tense under your gaze, rough and strong, quads thick under his pants, stomach not shredded but solid, built like a man who doesn’t give a fuck what he eats because nobody would dare say a word. his voice cuts back in sharp, telling you to open wide before he cracks your teeth on the barrel, saying you’ve got one job now, and it ain’t talking, so you better fucking choke on it like it’s your last meal.
your lips part without thinking, throat bobbing, hands shaking as you grab the base to steady yourself and he hisses through his teeth, fist tightening on the grip of the gun. the first slap of his cock against your cheek is loud and wet, smearing precum and the sweat off his shaft right across your face, a second one cracking against your lips like punishment, a third dragging slow against your tear-streaked skin before he finally guides the tip into your mouth. he groans, deep and cruel, not because you feel good but because you look pathetic, mouth stretched, tongue flattened under the weight of him, your eyes rolled up just enough to catch the glint of metal shaking slightly above your face. the pressure at your forehead doesn’t ease. he keeps the gun there, keeps whispering things you don’t want to hear, calling you his little cum wallet, his late-fee whore, the dumb slut who thought she could hide behind daddy’s money and now gets to swallow instead of sign.
his cock fills your mouth fast, pushing in deep while your jaw aches and your throat gags and your spit starts dripping down your chin, but you don’t stop, not once, not even when your eyes blur from the pressure, because he hasn’t told you to. because the gun is still right there. because you don’t know if this is just a warning or a fucking execution and if this is the last thing you ever do, you want him to leave hard and leaking, not satisfied. you suck like it’s survival, mouth choking and lips raw, hands clinging to his thighs while he rocks his hips slow, fucking your face like it’s a payment plan, cock slapping against the back of your throat and pulling out only to slap your cheek again, cum trailing the skin like a filthy signature. he laughs once, rough and breathless, says you’re better use than he expected, and maybe he won’t kill you after all. maybe he’ll just ruin you instead.
he doesn’t stop once your mouth opens, doesn’t let you catch your breath or find a rhythm. he wants it messy. wants you ruined. the way he pulls back after a few deep strokes and lets his cock fall heavy across your cheek again, it’s not random it’s deliberate. the sound is obscene, a thick, wet thwap against your flushed skin that makes your whole face jolt sideways. you gasp, lips still open, spit and precum stringing from the corner of your mouth like drool, your cheeks red and raw and shining now. he does it again. thwap. again. thwap. the shaft smearing wet heat across your skin, hot and sticky, the veiny length dragging under your eye, over your nose, across your lips like a whip. you blink through tears and the weight of it, every slap a reminder that you don’t matter right now your mouth does.
you try to flinch but his hand grabs your hair, yanks your head back into place so the next slap lands with even more force, his cock bouncing off the curve of your cheek with a slick slap that echoes in the apartment like it’s mocking you. the texture of it is sickening. slick, soft skin stretched over something so solid and veined, ridged like a fuckin weapon, soaked in your spit now and smeared with his own precum. you can taste it even when your lips are closed. salty, bitter, thick. the smell of him is in your nose, deep and primal and hot like skin left too long in the sun. the base of him is hairy, untrimmed, the scent darker there, his balls heavy and tight, slapping softly against your chin each time he slides back into your throat.
he clicks his tongue and calls you names like he’s reading from a fucking receipt cock-dumb, broke bitch, debt-ridden mouthwhore, pathetic fucking slut. he says your face was made for this, that he should take a picture and send it to your dad along with your balance, let him know what his little girl’s been doing to scrape the money together. you sob again but it only makes him harder. he sees the tears and pushes deeper. your nose hits his pelvis. his balls tighten. he holds you there, mouth stuffed, throat stretched, drool pouring down your chin while your lungs scream for air. then he pulls out just to slap you again, this time across both cheeks, dragging the tip along your wet lips before spitting straight into your face.
you’re dripping now. spit, tears, precum. all of it smeared together across your cheeks, down your neck, sticky in the hollow of your collarbone. your mouth opens again without thinking. he doesn’t even have to ask. you want to live. that’s the only reason. you suck because the alternative is cold metal and silence and blood on your own floor. you suck because it’s the only thing that keeps him talking, and you’d rather hear his voice call you worthless than not hear it at all. every time he pulls out, it slaps against your cheek with a nasty squelch and bounce, fat and wet and loud, the sound sharp enough to make your pussy clench in shame. he feels it. he sees it. and he starts laughing.
you’re fuckin wet from this huh. you like bein slapped with my cock like a paycheck you can’t cash.
he presses the barrel harder to your head, not enough to bruise, just enough to remind you it’s there. he tells you to show some gratitude. to lick it clean. to use your tongue like you mean it. and you do, mouth stretching wide, licking along the shaft, tasting the sweat, dragging your tongue up the underside where the veins throb and twitch. you can feel every ridge. every pulse. every beat of his cock like a threat against your lips.
and then he slaps it again, just because.
he drags you by the hair. not fast, not brutal, just enough to make your scalp scream while your knees scramble across the floor, your mouth still open and smeared and leaking. you trip once, try to grab the edge of the coffee table, and he kicks it out of the way with one heel, gun still in his hand like a natural extension of him. he yanks you onto the couch face-first, shoves your head into the cushions, the fabric damp from old sweat and heat, your breath catching in it, lungs folding from the pressure. you feel his knee wedge between your thighs, forcing them apart until your panties pull tight against your cunt, the damp fabric digging into your puffy lips and splitting them through the cotton. the air touches everything your thighs sticky, your labia swollen and sore already, pressed against the cushion like he wants to make you feel every part of yourself. he lifts the gun and rests it across the back of your neck, not pushing, not threatening, just there. metal against hot skin. weight and warning.
then the first slap lands. not with the palm. with his fingers. four of them, stiff, snapping straight across the center of your cunt through your panties. the sound is sharp less a smack, more a dry, flat clap like knuckles against flesh and your body jerks hard as the sting radiates across your clit, lips, everything. you cry out and it’s muffled by the cushion. he does it again. harder this time. then again. each one lands right across your puffy folds, dragging your panties tighter against you like he’s using them as a fucking percussion instrument. by the fifth hit, you’re gasping, twitching, pushing your hips forward like you can crawl out of it, but his hand grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down again, voice low and quiet near your ear.
yeah, that’s what i thought. not even a dollar to your name but you got this wet little cunt bouncing on old men’s money.
he pulls your panties to the side like they’re nothing, bunching the fabric at your hip, and stares down at your exposed slit. puffy. flushed. glistening from shame and spit and sweat. your inner lips stick out slightly, too soft and too swollen from the heat and friction, trembling as the cool air hits them. his thumb spreads you lazily, not even to look just to make you feel how wide you are, how easy it would be to slip in and fill you with something you didn’t ask for. then another slap, this time right against your bare labia. it snaps so sharp you let out a sob. your hips kick, legs shaking, but he presses the gun barrel flat against the top of your head to hold you still.
you think loans are jokes? think guys like me give money to dumb little girls just because they’re cute? you thought you could run off with it, maybe suck some dick later and pay half back, maybe call daddy and bat your lashes?
another slap. this one lands right under your cunt, right at the spot where thigh meets mound, your whole pussy jiggling slightly from the impact, your hole twitching open and wet under the tension. he slaps again. and again. each hit cruel, targeted, not fast but hard. punishing. he doesn’t even have to grunt when he does it. just breathes steady, controlled, like he’s counting the rhythm of your education.
nah. this is what happens. this right here. you borrow from men like me, you end up face down with your pussy beat raw until you remember the value of a fucking dollar.
your tears are soaking into the cushion now. your thighs ache. your cunt is hot, stinging, burning, wet, everything at once. and still he doesn’t stop. doesn’t soften. he grabs your ass now, spreads it, stares at your folds again, slaps between them so hard it forces a choked moan out of your throat and he hums low not a laugh, not joy. just interest. patience. hunger. like he hasn’t even started.
he lets go of your neck only to reach for the belt. you hear the buckle before you see it metal clinking slow, a dry rasp of leather sliding through loops. that heavy, real kind of belt, thick and cracked at the edges, worn from years of pulling tight across someone’s waist, now curled in his hand like a leash. he loops it around your throat without warning, slips it under your jaw, cinches it with a single practiced tug. not choking, not yet, just pressure just enough to let you feel the edge of it digging into your windpipe when you breathe wrong. he pulls it back, anchors it over your shoulder, and uses it to hold your head still while he shifts behind you again, spreading your legs wider until your knees are slipping on the couch cushions.
he spits.
a thick drop lands between your folds, warm and slimy, trailing down your inner lips and sinking into your raw, slapped skin like oil into an open wound. you twitch, whimper, try to squirm, but the belt tugs harder and the gun shifts again laid back across the couch now, still within reach, still watching you like a second set of eyes.
he pushes two fingers into your cunt, slow and deep, no warning. you jolt forward, breath stuttering from the sudden stretch. your pussy is soaked now shame, fear, the spit he smeared on you all mixing into a slippery mess that lets him slide in too easy. his fingers curl. hook. spread. he starts pulling you open from the inside, no rhythm, just force. like he’s trying to see how wide you get. how far you stretch. how deep the debt goes.
yeah, look at that. soft little pussy all fat and leaking, spreading like it wants to get ruined. and you were crying about dying two minutes ago.
he leans forward, presses his chest against your back, breath against your ear while his fingers scissor you open and your thighs shake under the strain.
you owe me. not just money. time. body. this hole. you made it collateral the moment you took my fucking cash. now i’m collecting.
he yanks the belt tighter. your throat squeezes, not enough to black out, but enough to panic. enough to feel your pulse throb against leather. enough to make your cunt clench around his fingers, hot and dripping, fluttering under the grip of something you can’t escape.
he fucks you with his hand like he owns it. pushes deeper, pumps harder, drags your inner walls until you cry out again, voice cracking. every sob makes him groan low in his chest, like he’s getting off on how helpless you sound. how obedient. how open.
this pussy was probably born for debt. look at it. fucking swallowing me like it owes me rent. gonna fuck it like a receipt.
he spits again. right onto your asshole this time. lets it drip down into the spread mess below while his fingers slow down, drag out, and press against your rim just to make you twitch. not to enter. just to remind you he could.
you’ll pay it all off. with your mouth. your cunt. your fucking guts.
he pulls his fingers out slow, dragging slick strings from your cunt that stretch and snap across your thighs as he stands. the belt stays tight around your neck, leather biting into the skin, holding your head down against the cushion while he spits in his hand and strokes his cock once long, slow, watching it glisten from base to tip with the mix of your juices still coating him. you feel the heat of him between your legs before he even touches you. the slap of his cock against your puffy lips is sharp, fast, wet now not like before. each smack lands heavy between your folds, skin sticking to skin, the tip of him smashing against your clit and dragging down your opening until your hips jerk without permission. you’re whining already, face buried in the cushion, heat in your cheeks from the shame of how wet you sound when he slaps you again and again and again. your cunt is swollen now, lips parted and trembling, too open to hide anything. he slaps once more and growls.
act slutty for it baby. you wanted this, didn’t you. now take it like a fucking slut.
he pushes in slow at first, but it doesn’t stay slow. not when your pussy opens for him that easy. not when you start moaning like you’re losing your mind, every inch making your back arch and your nails claw into the cushion. he sinks into you deep, hips grinding against your ass as his cock fills every twitching inch of your cunt, the stretch so brutal and thick it feels like he’s forcing your body to change shape around him. the belt tugs your throat back just enough to keep your spine bent and your moans open-mouthed, desperate, animal. he thrusts once, hard, and the sound of your soaked flesh taking it echoes off the walls. your breath catches. he does it again. and again. wet skin slamming into wet skin, the slap of your cunt leaking with every thrust, your thighs trembling, stomach clenching. the cushion under you is soaked now, your slick and his spit and your tears all blending together into a dark wet patch that spreads under your hips.
moan louder. let the whole fucking building hear what a broke slut sounds like when she gets treated better than his wife.
his voice is tight, panting, raw now. sweat drips from his temple. he lets go of the belt just long enough to yank his shirt off over his head, muscle flexing under the dim light, chest covered in faded scars and sweat that shines across his shoulders. he drops down over you, skin to skin, his chest pressing into your back as he grinds in deep, cock twitching inside you, hands gripping your waist so hard you know it’ll bruise. the weight of him crushes you into the couch, stomach squished, tits mashed against the cushion, every breath a struggle under the heat of him pounding into you.
you try to scream, to moan louder like he said, but it comes out broken, like your lungs forgot how. his hand slips between your legs from behind, fingers smacking your pussy from below, palm grinding your clit as he fucks into you hard and steady, the sound of it filthy now pure slop, every thrust forcing another wave of slick out of you, down your thighs, into the cushion.
then it happens.
you lose it.
your body clenches, cunt spasming, and you can’t hold it anymore. your pussy gushes wet heat, too much, too fast, a sudden stream of piss leaking out around his cock while your whole body convulses. it hits his thighs, his balls, drips down both of you in a shameful splash that soaks the couch and stains your thighs. your mouth opens in a sob and he groans loud, hips bucking as the sensation makes him twitch deep inside you, cock jerking, not pulling out.
fuck, you just pissed on my dick. dirty little slut.
his voice is wrecked. not disgusted turned on. beyond it. he pulls back just enough to watch the mess, both hands gripping your ass now, slapping your cheeks hard, one after the other, while his cock slides in and out of the soaked heat like a goddamn piston. you’re leaking everywhere, sobbing, moaning, choking on air, his name tangled in your throat and forgotten. he presses his palm flat against your lower back and fucks you faster, slapping your pussy again from below as it twitches and leaks around him.
yeah, cry for it. make me feel it. you’re not leaving this couch till i break this pussy in.
his mouth is at your ear now, breath hot, one hand tangled in your hair, the other spanking your pussy again and again, your whole body jerking from the impact. your clit is swollen and screaming, your walls clenching around him like a fist every time his hips slam into you. the wet slap of skin on skin sounds like violence now. like a warning. like ownership. he’s not even close to done.
he leans in heavier, full weight pressing down on you now, chest sticking to your back, his skin hot and slick with sweat, every thrust driving the air out of your lungs. the belt slips loose, tossed aside now, not needed anymore. he doesn’t need it to choke you not when his hand wraps around the front of your throat and pulls your head back against his shoulder, his fingers digging into the pulse point under your jaw, thumb pressing under your tongue from the outside like he’s testing how much breath you’re allowed to take. your mouth opens without choice, drooling down your chin, your voice gone to wet gasps and helpless whines.
the smell is everywhere. your piss soaked into the cushion, his sweat dripping off his chest, your cunt leaking around his cock with every slam of his hips. the squelch of it is loud, sharp, embarrassing your pussy clapping back around him every time he bottoms out, your labia raw from friction, stretched and battered and fluttering around the thick base of his cock. he never pulls out more than halfway now, just keeps grinding in deep and circling his hips, like he’s stirring you up from the inside.
he moves his hand again slides two fingers into your open mouth, presses down on your tongue and groans when you suck them without thinking. his other hand slips under your stomach, palm dragging over your clit, not to play with it. to press. to control. to trap you between pain and pleasure so tight it all blends together until you’re crying into the cushion. he doesn’t slow down. his thrusts are steady, brutal, hips slapping your soaked ass so hard the sound bounces off the walls like applause.
you feel it start to build again, your body twitching uncontrollably. your hole clenching. your stomach tightening. everything tingling from your scalp to your toes. he feels it too. pulls out for one second, just long enough to slap your cunt from behind with the thick, slippery head of his cock, watching it bounce off your puffy lips, watching your thighs shake, then rams back in with a growl that rips out of his chest like a fucking animal.
you want it again, don’t you. want me to pump you full. want this cock to stay so deep your pussy doesn’t close right after.
his voice is low, breath hot in your ear, and then he bites. not soft. hard. his teeth sink into the space between your shoulder and neck as his hips jerk and thrust faster, deeper, like something’s snapping inside him. he’s moaning now, real, low in his throat, not because it feels good but because of what it means. because your cunt is sucking him in like it wants it. because you’re still here. wet. broken. and leaking. he says it again, louder, slapping your ass and burying himself all the way in.
gonna fuck this hole till it milks me dry.
your whole body shakes when it hits. when his cock jerks inside you, when the first thick shot of cum spills deep, hot and slow, flooding your insides like punishment. he doesn’t pull out. he doesn’t ask. he just presses his hand flat against your lower back, grinds into you hard enough you see stars behind your eyes, and groans with his face buried in your hair while he spills everything. the heat of it spreads up through your stomach, down your thighs, slick already dripping out around him before he’s even done. your body gives out beneath him, twitching, crying, your cunt still clenching on instinct like it’s trying to keep it all inside.
yeah. keep that shit in. let it fuckin soak.
his voice is slurred now, drunk on the high of it, his hips slowing only slightly as he stays deep, cock twitching in the mess he’s made, sweat running down your sides, one of his hands still on your throat like a collar, the other cupping your cunt from behind and slapping it one last time, firm, loud, a single crack that makes you cry out against the cushion.
this hole’s mine now. debt paid in full.
he pulls out slow, letting his cock drag through your soaked cunt one more time, fat head nudging your entrance on the way out, dragging thick strings of cum with it. it leaks instantly. no resistance left in your body. no control. your hole twitches and flexes, trying to close, but it can’t not around the mess he’s left in you, not with how raw and stretched and used you are. it oozes out in lazy trails, down your slit, over your thighs, sinking into the ruined couch cushion beneath you. you can feel it, hot and slippery and wrong, dripping off you like spit.
he steps back without a word, his breath still heavy, cock still out, half-hard and shiny with slick and piss and cum. he picks up the gun from the edge of the cushion and sets it down on the table like it’s just another tool. something he didn’t need in the end. he grabs a cigarette from his back pocket, lights it with one hand, flicks the lighter shut with a sharp metallic clack, and leans back in your shitty kitchen chair like he owns the whole place. the smoke curls around his face slow, his eyes never leaving you.
open your ass.
his voice is hoarse, deep, half-spent but still cold. you’re laying on your stomach, face pressed to the wet cushion, legs trembling, cunt leaking, brain empty but he says it again. slower. meaner.
part that shit and show me what i left you with.
your hands move without thinking. you reach back with shaking fingers and spread yourself, thighs twitching, fingertips sliding over your own skin still tacky with sweat and spit. you can feel the cum leaking between your cheeks, down over your entrance, warm and thick and humiliating. your pussy’s swollen, sore, ugly. he doesn’t care. he watches like he’s judging the quality of meat. like this is the final check before a return policy expires.
play with it. show me how much you fuckin liked it.
your fingers slide down slow, brushing through the mess, catching on his cum. it’s sticky, clinging to your knuckles, wet and warm against your thighs. you drag your fingers through it again, rubbing the mess over your folds, your rim, your raw clit, hips jerking when the touch hits too sharp. your legs shake. your hole clenches. your face burns.
say it.
you hesitate.
he exhales smoke. taps the ash off the end of the cigarette onto your floor like he owns it.
say it or i start filming. and next time i collect, you’ll be working off a bigger bill.
you choke on your breath and lift your head. you turn, slowly, eyes wet, chin shiny with drool, face streaked with sweat and filth. your fingers are still between your thighs, dragging cum through the mess he made, leaking down your hand, thighs spread, ass up. he watches, eyes half-lidded, mouth set. the gun glints next to him, the belt hanging off the table.
i’m your dirty slut.. i’m toji’s slut.
your voice cracks.
and i like sucking your cock. and getting fucked.
his eyebrow lifts slightly. another pull from the cigarette.
fuckin finally.
he grins around the filter, watching you stroke the mess between your legs like it’s natural now. like you were always meant to end up like this. like you’re not even done. and maybe you aren’t. maybe this is the part where he puts the cigarette out and gets back on top. or maybe he just watches you fall apart for another hour. either way you’re not getting up.
☆〜（ゝ。∂）thank you for reading babes, this is one of the filthiest things i’ve written in a while. it was requested, it was nasty, it was exactly the kind of deranged energy i needed. hope it made you clench <3 feel free to reblog, scream, or sit in silence and question everything. all reactions welcome.
you’re all filthy. stay that way, tagging system’s open if you wanna be on my wildest shit list🎀
“Good girl,” he mutters, voice thick with it, and your cunt clenches around him in response. “God, you take me so—” you whimper, rolling your hips to meet his, and he hisses. “Yeah,” his mouth finds your ear. “Show me what you can give me—”
WARNINGS - 18+ mdni. smut. so much smut. darker themes ie death. a super deep and twisted interpretation of a solider who’s being reckless in attempt to run from their feelings. captain price is bred to hunt so it’s futile. piv. mirror sex. multi orgasms. size kink. dirty talk. dubcon slightly. we shouldn’t be doing this trope. slightly morally grey. a lot of sleep token references. fingering. reader afab. mentions of blood, injury. slight brat/dom dynamic. overstimulation.
The first thing you register is the weight of him.
Not his hands, though they’re there too — firm around your arms, holding you steady — but him. The heat of him at your side, sweat and cigarettes filling your muddled senses with each laboured breath you gasp for. The quiet, infernal energy that pours off him, taking up too much space, too much air from your already airless lungs.
“You with me?” His voice rumbles close to your ear.
You try to nod, but the motion sends a fresh bolt of pain ricocheting through your skull. Your breath hitches, and his grip tightens.
“Easy.” A low murmur, meant to soothe. “Almost there.”
There being the med bay, where fluorescent lights paint everything sterile. Too bright, too fucking loud alongside the offset drumbeat in your ears. He doesn’t let you sit on your own — eases you down onto the cot himself, hands as steady as they always are, even when yours are the furthest from.
You wince as you shift, and his eyes flick over you. He’s still assessing.
“Shouldn’t’ve let that bastard get a hit in,” he mutters, half to himself.
You know what he’s thinking. The result of your own impulsivity. Reckless. “Yeah, I’ll try to avoid that next time.”
He exhales sharply. A shake of his head. “Could’ve been worse.”
You know that. Just like you know he’s only saying it to ease your dread. But you can see it in the way he looks at you, something unreadable tightening at the corners of his mouth, that he’s seen it. Many more times than you think.
“I’m fine,” you tell him. “You don’t have to—”
He doesn’t let you finish.
Just gives you that look, the one that shuts people up without him having to say a damn thing. It’s something you’re still learning about him — the way he often communicates without words. How his silence and pointed stares hold more meaning than most people’s shouting. You’ve also learned the effort to argue with him when he’s like this is a futile one. You’re a part of his team. He’ll be with you through it all.
Then, without asking, he reaches for you — because he knows you’ll let him. One hand bracing your chin, tilting your head so he can get a better look at the damage.
And even through the agony, it’s all too much.
The touch, the closeness, the way he hasn’t taken his eyes off you for one goddamn second since you’d been hit. Your throat goes dry at the realization that it’s doing more to you than it should. But you’ll never get used to how he does it. How a man like him — a wartime killer with more bloodshed on his fingertips than skin covering his limbs — can still look at you with something even remotely soft, when he’s bred to be everything but.
“You always this stubborn?” His voice is quieter now. A rough rasp against his throat.
You swallow, pulse hammering. “You always this persistent?”
His lips quirk, but his grip stays firm, fingers cool against your fevered skin.
“You’ll get used to it.”
You wondered then, if you ever really would.
———————
Months later, you’re still wondering the same thing.
It’s been months since that night in the med bay. Months of keeping yourself at arm’s length. Of keeping things professional. Of projecting platonic renditions despite the cursed thing threatening to take its place.
Or, well, trying to.
Because if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that tension like this doesn’t fade. It festers.
No matter how deep you try to bury it, perseverance is its ally. Helps it crawl out of the grave you dug for it in every brush of his fingers against yours when he hands over a magazine clip, every order spoken gravel in your ear, every glance held a second too long when neither of you are fast enough to look away. It leaves claw marks in everything, has been ever since the day he carried you through crumbling stone and mortar — ever since you felt him so fucking close and you realized you didn’t mind it. Since the moment you learned more about him in twenty minutes than you have in the entire year by his side.
That night relinquished something. Made you see him in a new light. What was once a beacon is now a solar flare for dead gods.
And it erupts here. Now.
In the barracks washroom after a mission gone sideways. After a fight that took too much out of you — left your bones aching, your skull pounding with the remnants of a concussion you’re beginning to suspect never fully healed — skin still humming raw, soaked in adrenaline and something a little too fucking reckless.
After he follows you in.
The door slams behind him, the sound ricocheting off the tiles. You don’t turn around, just strip your tac vest off with more force than necessary, breathing hard, hissing under your breath as exhaustion begins smothering out the fire in your blood.
“You got a fucking death wish?”
You can feel him staring at you. You know he’s seeing red — the heat of his eyes on your back incomparable to the even the greediest hellfires.
You exhale, press your palms flat against the edge of the sink. “Don’t start.”
“Don’t start?” He steps closer. “You ran straight into that firefight without cover.”
“I handled it.”
“You barely walked away.”
Finally, you turn, glare at him over your shoulder. “That what this is? Another fucking lecture?”
He doesn’t scowl. Doesn’t snap at you like your previous COs would. He just watches. And somehow, that’s worse.
“That what you think I’m doing?”
You scoff, shake your head, turning back toward the sink. The mirror in front of you is cracked down the middle, splitting your reflection in two. And you think, rather ridiculously, that it’s a perfect fucking picture of how you feel. Torn. Between the persistence of him and the need to keep your distance. Between what you’ve spent months trying to ignore and the way it still catches you off guard—how you keep finding yourself watching him, noticing him, like something inside you has already made a decision you can’t retract.
Behind you, he exhales slow. You hear the shift of his boots against the floor.
“Can’t keep doing this,” he mutters. “Won’t.”
Something in your chest tightens.
“What, watching my back?” You force your voice to stay even. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“Not like this.”
The simplicity of that response has currency, and you know the behaviour. The familiar silence that tells you there’s more to this. Syllables pleading behind his teeth which he isn’t quite yet dignifying — but that slice along the back of his throat all the same. You meet his gaze in the mirror, and you see it then. In the dim light of his ocean eyes.
An emergence.
“I can’t watch you go down again.” There it is. Words coaxed out in that thick accent of his that inflicts them like a wound. He’s moving closer now, extinguishing the space. Stepping up behind you. “You haven’t been right for months. I need to know why.”
At that, you almost recoil — each syllable thrusting the knife deeper into your resolve, and you realize it’s not his accent that makes them cut, but the way he speaks them. Certain. As if he’s looking at you bare. No layers left to protect you. Like you’re nothing but sinew and marrow. Like your eyes and limbs are instruments to pick apart.
You stare at the sink. “So you are always this persistent.”
It leaves your lips exactly as you mean it — a callback, a test. You don’t watch his face, but the silence stretching long tells you it landed exactly where you wanted. A synapse snap back, an echo from the depths of whatever is eating you from the inside out.
“And you,” a pause, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. “Are always this stubborn.”
He says it like an indictment.
You’re sure it’s because he knows you. Because he sees how you bleed and pretend you don’t. How you’ve been keeping yourself at arm’s length for months. Because you’ve cornered yourself — because you let the bruises fade without ever acknowledging how deep they burrow.
Your fingers tighten around the porcelain, like if you hold on hard enough you can keep the charade going. Pretend you don’t feel what you feel. But then, you glance up, and there it is — your reflection wavering in the split mirror, cut through by the fault line of your own indecision. Your own internal warfare.
“Yes,” you whisper. “But you knew that long ago.”
“I did.” His hand braces against the sink beside yours as he all but cages you against it. “But I keep thinking, sooner or later, you’ll let yourself stop.”
Another pause. A breath suspended in air too thick, in a space that feels too small.
“You want me to stop?”
He exhales through his nose. “I want you to want to.”
It’s an invitation. A quiet demand.
You swallow against the burn in your throat because it’s clear he knows what’s hiding behind your eyes. He’s just asking you to be honest. To pull the words from where they’ve been buried, to stop dissolving them like acid on your tongue. To let him in.
“Then you want for nothing.” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be, dangerously close to breaking. “Because you know I’d tell you anything if you asked.”
His eyes meet yours in the mirror.
“Tell me what’s making you reckless.”
You’d expected that — or something like it — but it still takes you apart. Thread by thread, a rope cinched through the hollow of your ribs. Pulling, pulling —waiting for you to give.
And you almost do. Almost let it spill, let it take shape in the open air between you. The truth of it. The rot you’ve kept pressed beneath your tongue, the slow, patient decay of something you know you shouldn’t feel.
But instead—
“It’s the head injury,” you lie.
A hollow offering. Brittle. A crumbling thing in place of the real answer.
His fingers twitch against the porcelain, reflection sharpening in the mirror — cutting through the fractures he’s causing. He doesn’t scoff. Doesn’t accuse you of lying. And that’s worse. So much worse. Because it means he’s seeing you. Means he’s waiting — sifting through the hollow, the fractions of you that no longer fit together in search of the thing you hesitate to give him.
“You can’t lie to me.” It sinks deep. Sticks somewhere you can’t pull it free. He’s right. “We both know it isn’t just that.”
You exhale something like a laugh except it’s boneless and bitter, just nerves spilling out because they’ve got no where else to go.
“Didn’t know you were a medic now.” You break your eyes back to the sink. “Or a mind reader.”
“I don’t need to be.” The words come fast. Convicting. “I just need to know you.”
And that. That makes you look up at him again. Makes you meet his eyes. Makes you burn.
“Price—“
His lips are against your ear. “Tell me.”
Your throat closes. The rope pulls tighter. You know what he wants — what he’s asking. But the answer feels like it won’t fit in your mouth. The swell of truth too large. Too longly suppressed because god this is your Captain and all he did was save your life. You know you should just be grateful and yet the only thing on your mind is granting him more than the debt you owe.
Because when you can’t swallow your demons, they don’t just disappear. They turn to hunger instead.
It was his hands that had fed them. They’re still starving now.
“The truth will ruin everything, Captain.” The words tear from your throat like he’s ripped them out himself. “This isn’t something you, or anyone, can help me with.”
You feel him go still the moment the words leave you. Feel it in the hand bracing against the sink, the exhale of his breath against your neck.
“So that’s what this is.” Your stomach coils, something twisting tight as you turn your head to face him. He doesn’t move back. Just dips his gaze to your lips. “You’re feeling too much, yeah? Think by being reckless you can run from it.”
It’s startling, the way he sees right through you. Your silence is a telling confession and he reads it like scripture.
You’ve always known it would be hard with him. Knew it from the beginning, because he’s as sharp as he is skilled, because he knows how to look at a situation and read the words left unspoken.
You nod. All while wishing it was anyone else.
“You can’t outrun this.” His voice drops, dragging his free hand up the nape of your neck. “Can’t outrun me.”
He tugs you toward him, something dark flashing beneath his eyes — something like possession, something that makes your bones ache as his mouth ghosts over yours. A torturous, drawn-out motion, withholding what you know he’ll take.
A breath passes between you, your eyes closed, a million things unspoken. Spinning. Thrumming in the silence.
Then, he brushes his lips to yours. And there’s fire.
A slow-burning ruin, heat licking through your stomach, curling in your spine, and it devours you — every breath, every instinct screaming at you to pull away, to run. It’s all gone. Gone until the moment he pulls back. Presses his forehead against yours.
“I know.” You reply, and for a second you think he’s backing off.
He doesn’t.
Lips against yours again, he takes. Your mouth parts on a sharp inhale. Shock, surrender, his tongue slipping against yours, before he kisses you hard. Like he’s been waiting for this, waiting for your admittance. Like this is something he’s fought against just as much as you have.
Your hands find his shoulders, something to brace against as he pulls you in deeper. The breath is gone from your lungs, your pulse pounding for an entirely different reason now. You open your eyes as he pulls back again. Take in the sharp cut of his features — the shadow of a beard against his jaw, the darkness of his gaze, drinking you in like he wants to keep you there.
“You don’t get to die on me,” he murmurs, and it makes your world tilt. Makes you wonder if you hit your head harder than you thought, all those months ago. Makes you wonder if you’re hallucinating. “Christ.” His fingers flex at your waist. “You don’t get to be careless.”
There’s something in him you’ve never seen before. Something undone. Something you don’t understand but do at the same time — because you feel it too. The decades of loss. The battle scars. The countless near misses that linger for life. You weren’t thrusting yourself into open fire with some raging death wish — but you weren’t being as methodical as you should have been either, all to chase that fucking adrenaline spike. You didn’t think he’d have this reaction.
And there’s so much you need to say. So much you need to do. But all you can do is whisper, breathless against him. “I’m sorry.”
There’s a pause. A click of his tongue.
“I’m not done with you.” His mouth finds yours again, something softer this time, but no less demanding. You don’t fight it. And when his free hand dips down your back, you tilt your head up into him, hands fisted in his shirt, wishing you didn’t miss the feel of it so devastatingly when he pulls back again. “You want reckless? I’ll show you fucking reckless.”
You don’t have a chance to answer before he spins you around and shoves you against the counter. A groan slips from your lips, but you relish the feel of him — the warmth of his chest as he steps into you, crowding you until all you know is his heat.
His hands slide down your sides, gripping at your hips, the heat in your gut burning hot as he holds you in place.
“This what you want?” He mutters against the side of your throat, his nose nudging your jaw. “Or do you still want to run?”
You swallow, mouth parted, breath coming hard. It’s a question, but you know he doesn’t really want an answer. Not with everything he’s doing. Not with the way he’s holding you, the way his hands slip beneath your shirt, calloused fingers grazing bare skin as he tugs the fabric up.
Your breath hitches. “Christ, Captain—”
You feel his mouth brush against your neck, tongue lavving out to taste you. Like he’s hungry and you’re a goddamn four-course meal. You moan. It’s all you can do to stay upright, legs going weak when he nips at your jaw.
“No Captain.” A demand. His hand sliding lower, dipping under the fabric of your cargos. “John.”
John. You shudder at the implication of it. John is a rare thing—something you’ve only ever heard him give to a handful of others, and no one else. John is personal. John is when he’s no longer your superior, but instead, your equal.
“John.” Somehow, it rolls off your tongue like breathing, like it had always been waiting there for this moment. Another moan follows it, just as his fingers find your clit. “Ohgod, John—”
He hums, teasing you, fingers moving in paced, languid circles like he’s got nothing but time despite the way his chest is pacing against your back. Pressure building beneath his skin. You feel the tension in him — the way his muscles shift, the way he tenses in response.
“That’s it,” he grinds out, fingers speeding up just enough. “You like that?”
Your answer is an afterthought. You don’t speak, don’t need to. Your mouth finds his again, and he swallows the breath you try to take. All you can do is nod.
And you know you have no fucking right to know what he sounds like. How he tastes as your tongue wrestles his. Your head spinning too fast for you to think because he is everywhere, a heady mix of lust and need as you desperately try to chase the way he makes your blood race. It’s all so new. So fucking wanton. Needy. As if all the months of wanting have finally caught up to the moment, a wildfire that seems to burn all logic. You know this is wrong — but fuck you don’t care.
You know in a second, he’ll be pressing you against the granite and you’ll have to make a thousand apologies to whatever god may be listening.
But then he pushes a finger into you, and you only have one prayer on your tongue. “Oh, John.”
He exhales against you, a quiet growl that goes straight to your head. It’s the same sound he makes when he’s in a combat, and there’s something about the idea of being able to make him feel the same as he feels when he’s a man of war that makes fireworks light up behind your eyelids.
“Mm. She’s fucking tight.” He mutters as he curls his finger and presses deeper. You gasp, the sound swallowed between you. “This is what you needed, hm? Needed me to pin you down. Make you fucking feel.”
That— that’s exactly it. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror because yes. In the fractures he’d caused he’d found what you were too afraid to verbalize. And it makes you keen — the way it’s like he can rip out your soul and hold it in his hands. You know you can’t hide it in your gaze, the desperation that comes with that kind of dependency.
Of course.
“You. Mm. You always know just what I need.” You moan out, as teasing as possible, while your climax barrels closer.
And he relishes it. Every second. It’s obvious in the sharp inhale he takes, the way his pupils dilate until the blue in his eyes look like a halo in a sea of blackened lust. Your head feels like it’s splitting in two, caught between the pressure building inside you and the heat that seems to be coiling so tight you could implode.
He adds a second finger, and you have to grip onto the counter if you want to still find your feet.
“Ohmygod—fuck, John—“
You don’t know how you look, can’t bring yourself to face your reflection — but you know how it feels, the way the world is tipping like you’re on the deck of a ship, the way your stomach clenches and your nerves light like fire under your skin. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. You spent months running from him just to end up here. You realize now that he’s always been a step ahead in a way you can’t understand, and you know you’re playing a game you won’t win.
“Let me feel it.” He purrs against your ear, fingers pumping. “Let it happen.”
You moan loud at that, clenching around his fingers because it already is happening. The pleasure is hot and blinding.
“Ohgod—“ your voice breaks between words, your head falling back against of his shoulder. “Fuck. I’m—“
He knows. The heat building in your gut so bright it seeps through your skin. So, he dips his other hand back beneath your shirt, palming your breast and you know it’s to make you fall even harder — and christ, he manages it. You erupt, climax hitting you like a train.
The bliss is blinding, and you want to scream — but can’t because his mouth is on yours, capturing every strangled gasp you give as you try to catch your breath. You’re trembling, legs shaking, your body trying to find some sort of ground as you gasp for breath — but then he’s pulling his hand out and sliding off to one side. You feel empty. Breathless. You think, in some dim place in your mind, that you should feel embarrassed now, but you’re too distracted to care. As your breathing returns, you can hear him sucking on his fingers.
Tasting you.
You can barely stand it, the noise curling through the fog in your head. You hear a soft pop, and suddenly his hand is on your jaw, tilting you towards the mirror, and you finally look.
You think you almost look the same. You can almost pretend that that this is what it’s always been — something fleeting and nameless and reckless — but there’s a flush on your cheeks, a gloss in your eyes, that you can’t deny. In fact, the only thing that breaks you out of the fantasy is the way John’s eyes meet yours.
As if there was ever any mistaking what you would allow to happen here. You know, looking at him, that that the hunger in your gaze would always give away the truth. That he would always know how to read you.
“Reckless.” He mutters, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, as if it’s something he’d known all along. You watch his jaw clench, his fingers digging into your cheeks. It’s not angry — it’s something more. A possession. “You do not get to leave me.”
You’ve known this man for barely a year, and yet he understands something you cannot. Something different from all your previous CO’s. Something that goes deeper than protection of a superior. And for the first time, you realize you can’t hide—not from him, not from whatever this is.
“Is that an order?” You whisper. Smirking.
He leans in, the heat of him branding against your spine, and you feel his words before he speaks them, rough and low on your throat.
“An order,” he echoes, hands sliding down to your hips. “And a threat.”
Your breath stutters, head spinning too fast to think. This is dangerous — whatever this is. It’s like the two of you are careening off the edge of a mountain, barreling toward something irreversible. You should stop this. You should pull away.
“Mm.” Instead, you arch your back, pressing against him with a low, breathy hum. “Now who’s being reckless.”
“Mhm. Knew you’d like that,” he mutters, mouth dragging against your jaw. His hands are already working, tugging down your zipper. “Brat.”
You should hate that word. Before him, you would have even more so. But something about the way he says it makes you bite your lip.
“You want to be put in your place.” His hands are purposed. Tugging down your cargos, undoing his belt. “That it?”
“Depends.” Your breath hitches. “Where exactly is my place, Captain?”
“Right here.” He presses you forward, palm splayed between your shoulder blades. His other hand grips your hip, dragging you against him, the thick weight of his need sliding along the slick between your thighs. You swallow a moan. “Right underneath me, Sergeant.”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Your head is spinning too fast to think. Then, he’s pushing inside you, and you lose the last of your breath.
“Fuck.” Your eyes catch in the mirror, watching as he sinks in, stretching you wide, splitting you open. The breath punches from your lungs, knuckles strained where you brace against the counter. Your head falls back, and he groans — a low, guttural sound that ripples through you. “Price—“
His fingers press into your jaw, turning your gaze back to the mirror. “Look at me.”
You do. And God. You wish you hadn’t.
Dark, blown-out pupils devour the blue of his irises. His chest heaves, the cords of his neck pulled tight. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more wrecked, more devastating, than the way he looks at you now.
“Good girl,” he mutters, voice thick with it, and your cunt clenches around him in response. His breath stutters. “God, you take me so—” you whimper, rolling your hips to meet his, and he hisses. “Yeah,” his mouth finds your ear. “Show me what you can give me—”
You try. You really do. But fuck—
“Huge,” you gasp, tipping onto your toes for respite as he buries himself to the hilt. “Fuck—John—”
“Mhm. Don’t run—” his hand slides up your throat, fingers curling, just enough to make it dangerous. You gasp, pulse hammering against his palm. He knows. Of course he does. The way he knows everything about you. “You’ll get used to it.”
You’ll get used to it.
The words echo back at you. The same ones he murmured the first time you asked him if he’s always this persistent. If you could think, you’d laugh. But you can’t. Because now you know the answer. Yes, he is always this persistent. And no, you will never fucking get used to it.
Your moans have long since lost restraint, spilling from your lips in time with his thrusts, raw and wanton and so fucking desperate. He takes you like it’s not the first time, like he’s not far too big to be this deep — his grip bruising in the best way, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. You feel the fractures of yourself, a thousand pieces of you suspended midair, trembling on the verge of shattering. You’ve never been this close to the sun. And god, if it doesn’t feel like fire.
Then, he says your name.
Your name. Your real name.
And it’s like breaking the surface of water after nearly drowning—like oxygen flooding into starving lungs. It strips you raw, turns the world molten beneath you, sends you spiraling into release all over again, the pleasure so sharp it almost aches. His hand claps over your mouth, muffling your sob of a moan as your body locks up, trembling.
“Yeah. There we go. Let it all out f’me.” His voice is dark, rough with something that sends another sharp pulse between your legs. His hips slap against your ass, relentless. “I’ve fucking got you.”
And you know he does. In a way you don’t trust your breath or your bones. In a way that terrifies you just as much as it makes you need.
Your vision blurs, heat rippling through your limbs, but he—he is unmoving. Steady. Like steel. Like he can take you at your best and your worst. Like he could tame this thing between you, whatever reckless, nameless thing this is, and make it his.
“That’s right. You look at yourself,” he grunts, one hand digging into your hip, the other still clamped over your mouth. Your glassy eyes flick up to the mirror, catching his reflection behind you—pupils blackened, lips parted, gaze locked on you. “M’gonna dumb you out. Fuck you ’til you can’t walk, never mind run.”
Your nails scrape divots into the granite as he shoves you further over the counter, forcing you to take him deeper. A wrecked whimper slips through your teeth, body caught between overstimulation and desperate, eager want. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the slick drip down your thighs, soaking into your ruined cargos — you know he can feel it too.
“Shit.” He rasps, voice fraying. His hand leaves your mouth, slides down to your throat, not squeezing, just holding as his other moves. Fingers finding the mess between your legs, pressing slow circles over your swollen clit. “Tight little slut.”
Your body jerks. “Fuck—John—”
“That’s it. Gimme another,” he mutters, rolling his hips, hitting something deep inside you that makes your vision blur. “C’mon, sweetheart, I know you can.”
It’s too much. The thick, hot drag of his dick with every punishing thrust — the rough slide of his fingers. The weight of his body pressing you into the counter like he’ll never let you go. You can’t think. Can’t breathe—
And then he growls your name again, deep and needing, and it sends you over with a broken sob, body writhing, mind slipping into static as you cum again, clenched so tight around him it makes him stutter.
His hand fists in your hair, dragging your head back so his lips brush your ear. “Good girl. Fucking perfect—”
You feel it when he loses himself. Through the fog of pure bliss. When his grip turns almost punishing, when his hips stutter, when the ragged groan tears through his throat. He grinds deep, burying himself to the hilt, body rigid as he groans and spills inside you with a choked curse.
And then, there’s stillness.
Both of you breathing uneven — more so him, heavy against the nape of your neck. And for a long moment, it’s just that. Just the sound of your bodies slowing, just the lingering thrum of pleasure untwisting from both of your bloodstreams.
Then, his fingers tighten on your throat. Just enough. Just to make sure you feel it.
“You ever pull some reckless shit like that again,” he mutters, voice raw, scraping against your ear, “you won’t be able to fucking talk when I’m done with you.”
Your breath stutters, thighs twitching at the promise in his tone.
“You got a problem, you come to me. You don’t run. Don’t put yourself into the fire just to fucking feel something.” His hand slides up, grips your jaw, tilts your head just enough so you can see him in the mirror — blue eyes all pupil, sharp jaw clenched. “You’re mine,” he murmurs. “And I take care of what’s mine. No matter what.”
A slow, shuddering breath leaves you. He watches your lips part, watches the way your body reacts to his words. Then, his grip on your throat eases. A slow drag of his hands down your body, like he’s memorizing the feeling of you ruined under him.
“Understand me?” His voice is quieter now, but no less dangerous.
You swallow. Nod. “Yes sir.”
He hums. Seemingly satisfied, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the back of your shoulder.
you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.
you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.
there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.
at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.
midnight schedule it was.
it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.
the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.
and then there was him.
tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.
the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.
(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)
he moved through his workout with terrifying
efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.
you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.
“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.
you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”
“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”
you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”
he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"
“i do not know his entire workout routine.”
your friend raised a brow.
you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”
his brow lifted higher.
“…and arms on thursdays.”
silence.
“right.”
“shut up.”
you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.
the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.
and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.
What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.
so, you stayed quiet..
until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.
in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.
“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”
“i use it,” you protested.
“you walk through it.”
okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.
you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.
you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.
the bar didn’t budge.
you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.
okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—
"y’need a spotter?"
you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.
you swallow. "uh."
his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"
"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."
he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.
your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.
"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.
you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!
he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.
"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"
you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"
"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.
you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."
you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.
he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.
a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.
but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.
"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"
he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."
you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?
he hesitates. "depends."
"on?"
"the day."
you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."
"sure it is."
you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.
it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)
you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.
"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."
and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”
he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”
you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.
"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."
you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.
“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”
“drop it.”
“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”
“drop it.”
some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.
it’s unbearable.
like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”
you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.
you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.
the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."
you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”
he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."
you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”
his eye twitches. “just drink it.”
and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.
one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.
you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.
simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.
"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.
you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”
he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.
"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.
you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—
his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.
"fix that grip, sweetheart."
you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.
"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."
your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.
his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."
you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.
you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.
and then— "good girl."
barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.
your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.
you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.
and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.
"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."
simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"
your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."
his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"
"yes."
he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."
you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.
"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."
your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.
"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."
low, warm, approving—
"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."
simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.
"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”
“please.”
the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.
simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.
his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.
his hips roll up.
you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.
he does it again.
your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.
"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."
his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.
his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.
you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.
"fuck-"
he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.
"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."
your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.
"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"
you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.
his patience snaps.
one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.
simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.
he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.
the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.
simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”
he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—
he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.
"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"
"yes- yes, please-"
"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."
he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.
the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.
"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"
you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.
his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.
“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”
your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.
simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”
you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”
he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.
your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.
his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”
then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.
you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.
simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”
he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.
his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”
you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.
his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.
“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”
he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.
then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.
his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”
the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.
simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.
he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—
he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.
"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."
your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"
"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"
you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"
"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."
you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."
he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."
then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.
you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.
"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"
you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.
"s’not fair," you mumble.
"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.
"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."
you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.
"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"
you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.
when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.
then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—
you take him.
the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.
"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."
you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.
breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"
"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."
but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."
his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."
"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"
he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."
then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.
"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.
simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."
the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.
"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"
he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.
it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.
but you’re already gone.
your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.
"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"
you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.
he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.
"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."
"s-simon-"
"what, love? too far gone already?"
his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.
you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"
"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."
he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.
"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.
"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."
he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.
"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"
"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.
"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."
you knew it was bad when the queen herself insisted on interrogating you for information. you were already suspecting it was not going to be good when you were stripped naked and left tied up on a small bench in a dimly lit room. your heartbeat quickens as you watch the queen walk into the room with the calmest look on her face, the kind of calm that tells you the storm beneath is truly a hurricane but you don’t say a word as she walks over to you.
“as you already know, it would be a great favour to yourself if you just tell me everything you know,” she purrs as she grabs your chin and forces you to look at her. you swallow but don’t say anything because why would you? you have absolutely nothing to tell her. “hmm, what a shame. well, for you at least. i, on the other hand, was hoping you would be the defiant type and give me a reason.”
you struggle as she adjusts the ropes so you’re lying on your back with your legs spread open. the queen smiles as she slips two fingers into your pussy and curls them against your g-spot, making you squirm as she massages it.
“so sensitive and already so wet. this is gonna be fun,” she giggles as she pulls her fingers out and sucks them clean.
you hear heavy footsteps and right behind her is an orc. your stomach sinks as she removes the loincloth, revealing a huge cock that would definitely destroy you.
“no, please! i swear, i don’t know anything!” you scream as you try to escape your binds but your efforts are for naught.
“hmm, are you sure about that? maybe my pet here will help refresh your memory,” the queen hums as she rubs the orc’s arm, thick with muscle as his cock starts to drip with precum. “looks like he really wants to help. it’s only polite to accept his generous offer, wouldn’t you agree?”
you shake your head and squirm as the orc’s cock rests on your stomach, the precum leaking onto your skin as the queen watches.
“no! no, please! i swear, i know nothing! please don’t, i’m begging you!” you cry as the orc grabs your thighs and spreads them further than where the ropes are holding them.
the queen clicks her tongue, “i don’t think he believes you.”
the orc presses the tip against your pussy but when he tries to push it inside, it slips out and his cock slides against your stomach. he tries again but it slips out again making the queen laugh.
“hmm, maybe your pussy is too small, but don’t worry. that never stopped him before,” she says as the orc once again presses the swollen leaking tip to your pussy and keeps holding your thighs apart.
he growls as the tip finally sinks into your pussy and you cry out as you squirm to try and get it out. your efforts are futile against the beast as he pushes half of his cock into your tight pussy, making you scream as your back arches off the bench.
“oh, shit. your little cunt is so tight it’s choking his cock,” the queen laughs as the orc pulls out to the tip and thrusts half of his cock into your pussy again. “it’s a miracle you can even take half of it.”
the orc’s thrusts are slow but deep as your poor pussy struggles to accommodate him. his cock stretches you wide open and the bulge in your stomach catches the queen’s attention. she puts her hand on the bump and moans to herself as she feels it move as the orc’s cock moves within your walls.
“fuck, he’s just so big, i can see him moving in your stomach,” she moans as she puts pressure on your stomach, making you scream as it presses your g-spot harder against his cock increasing the feeling.
the swollen tip massages your cervix, making you cry out as the beast works you open while the queen watches as tears start to run down your cheeks.
“aw, tears already?” she asks with a fake pout. “but we’re only just getting started.”
the beast pauses his movements and adjusts himself and grabs your waist, his large hands covering a lot of skin with his thumbs placed on top of the noticeable bulge in your stomach. he shoves the rest of his cock into your pussy, making you scream as the tip forces its way through your cervix making itself at home in your little womb. the painful yet somewhat pleasurable sensation throws you over the edge and your body twitches as you fall headfirst into your orgasm. your walls squeeze his cock like a vice as you ride out your orgasm while the orc keeps his cock balls deep in your cunt.
“oh, fuck! that’s a first,” the queen eclaims with wide eyes as she watches the scene in front of her. “nobody has ever taken his entire cock before. and you came too. you must be a really tough bitch.”
the orc growls as he pulls out halfway and shoves the rest back into your pussy, into your womb. his thrusts are faster and even deeper as his thumbs press on the bulge, making you feel everything as he fucks your womb. your cries fill the room as the queen watches the orc ruin your pussy and open up your womb for himself to use as he pleases, pushing your body far beyond its limits. she bites her lip as she watches his hands cover most of your waist as he applies pressure against the bulge with his thumbs. she can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking with the feeling of his cock stretching your pussy, the tip opening up your cervix and fucking your womb, his thumbs pressing on the bulge from how big his cock is compared to your small body, forcing your g-spot against his cock. all those different sensations at once must be driving you insane!
her train of thought is interrupted when you release a high pitched scream, your body trembling as you cum again more intensely on his cock. she hears a long, low growl, the kind he makes when he’s getting close. his thrusts get harder and faster and she pushes him away from you, his cock slipping out of your pussy, still hard and throbbing as your pussy clenches around nothing. your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath while the orc growls at the queen for interrupting him.
“easy, pet. you’ll cum soon enough. let’s just have a little more fun with our guest first,” she coos as she strokes his cock that is now slick with his precum and your juices. she runs her tongue from the base all the way to the tip, licking up your mixture before she wraps her lips around the head, sucking and running her tongue all over it before releasing it with a wet pop. she looks at you with a wicked smile.
“maybe since you won’t tell me what you know, maybe you should use your mouth for something else,” she prompts and you whine as you ramble on about how you truly don’t know anything about what she’s talking about. “i’ll be nice today and skip that part of our little ‘interrogation.’”
she adjusts your binds so you’re lying on your side with one leg tied to the bench and the other held up so they’re still spread open. your hands are tied above you and you whine as she stands beside you and pats your twitching pussy.
“come on, pet. our guest still needs help remembering,” she hums as the orc approaches you and grabs your thigh, pressing it against your stomach while holding your other one against the bench, not that you would be able to move much even if he didn’t hold you in place himself.
he presses the sensitive tip to your twitching pussy, still meeting some resistance but able to enter on the first try. the stretch is still beyond what your body can take and when he shoves himself balls deep inside you, you scream as a clear liquid gushes out of your pussy and lands on the queen.
“fuck! you dirty little bitch!” she yells but she is actually amused when she watches your pussy squirt as the orc thrusts into you deep and hard.
your little cunt still chokes his cock as you ride out your orgasm but she knows you’ll always struggle to take him. that’s just how it is. he just has a big cock that will need to work you open every time he fucks you. she could have taken her time to prepare you and work you open herself but where’s the fun in that? also, it’s more fun to torture people with her pet’s cock when they’re not ready and have no choice but to take everything while he uses them as cocksleeves for him to fuck without remorse and cum buckets for him to dump his thick load.
“how about now? remember anything yet?” she asks as she leans closer to your face and smirks at the sight of your eyes rolled back and your mouth hanging open as your crying and screaming turns into pathetic moaning. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re enjoying this.”
the only answer she gets from you is a loud moan as the orc growls and speeds up his thrusts, fucking your deep and making your take every inch. the queen recognizes his urgency and pushes him away again but not without him letting her know that he’s not happy with her denying him his release once again.
“patience, my pet. if you be good, you’ll get a reward,” she promises and the creature moans at the sound of that. “good boy.”
she unties the ropes binding your legs and leaves the ones binding your wrists. she moves the bend away so you’re standing on shaking legs as your pussy throbs after taking so much abuse. she adjusts the rope so you’re standing on your toes and the orc stands right behind you. yours thighs are slick with your cum and tears run down your face as you shake your head.
“please. i don’t know anything,” you cry as the orc’s cock slides between your thighs, lifting you up off the floor while the queen laughs.
“oh, sweetheart, i know. i knew the whole time you didn’t know anything, i just wanted to watch you break. and my goodness, was it fun,” she says with a wicked grin as the orc grabs your waist and holds you up as the tip pokes your sensitive pussy. “you can cum this time, my pet.”
the orc growls as he shoves his entire cock into your abused pussy and doesn’t even give you a second to adjust before he’s fucking you hard, deep and fast like you’re nothing but a playtoy for him. the queen watches as he presses his fingers against the bulge in your stomach and you squirt again as your eyes roll back. you spread your legs on your own, accepting your fate. you don’t even remember that you were resisting and trying to escape but now all you can think about is orc cock.
“that’s it, pet. fuck her like you mean it. fuck her so hard she’ll feel it for so long after. fuck her so her pussy moulds to the shape of your cock. fill her up with so much cum she’ll look like she’s with child. fill her up with so much cum she’ll be leaking for days and you’ll just keep fucking her and fill her up some more. fuck her until all she wants is your cock,” the queen moans as she watches his cock brutalize your poor pussy.
a white ring has formed around the base and your juices drip down his heavy balls as he continues to fuck you. your tongue hands out of your mouth as drool drips down to your tits. the queen makes sure to commit the very sceen to her memory, you drooling with your eyes rolled back as her pet holds you up by the waist, his cock drilling into your tight pussy, creating a noticeable bulge that he puts pressure on as your juices drip down his balls and onto the floor making a mess while you spread your legs on your own. the queen bites her lip, her pussy throbbing as she watches the orc fuck you more frantically, growling as he get closer to the edge and doesn’t stop now that he had permission. he shoves every inch into your pussy, the tip breaching your cervix and he holds you there as he starts to shoot thick ropes of cum into your womb. you moan loudly as you subconsciously close your legs at the knees but the queen grabs your thighs and spreads your legs, watching the bulge in your stomach grow as he fills you up with his cum. the feeling of his thick warm batter filling you up pulls more pathetic moans out of you as his cum fills up your womb until there’s no more space. the queen bites her lip as she stares at your belly filled with so much cum anyone could mistake you for being a couple of months pregnant. the orc doesn’t stop cumming as it escapes from your pussy, leaking down his balls.
“so much cum and not enough room in your little womb,” the queen hums as she rubs your belly.
the orc puts you down and you sigh in relief when he starts to pull out so you can release everything he dumped inside you. but when he pulls the tip out, the queen takes a plug and shoves it up your pussy, making you cry out. the toy stretches your walls but also keeps you plugged up so his cum can’t escape.
“oh, you didn’t think i was gonna let you waste any of his cum now, did you? no, you’re going to keep every drop inside your womb until he’s ready to go again. and then i’ll let him fill you up with another load,” the queen laughs and you whimper as she puts her hands under your belly, slightly lifting and offering you just a slightest bit of relief from the weight of all the orc cum in your womb. “you know, you may not have had what i was looking for, but you’re a fun toy and an even more fun cum bucket for my pet. i’m gonna keep you and you’re gonna be his new toy for him to play with and fuck and dump his seed whenever he wants.”
Summary: You thought you could hang out and just be 'one of the guys'. You thought wrong.
Warnings: NSFW, Non-con, gangbang, degrading
Kicking back on a Friday night with beers in one of the guy's dingy basement has become routine for you. Mismatched chairs and couches are haphazardly gathering into a circle. You're the only girl of the group, though the four boys you hang out with don't seem to treat you any differently. Being kind of a tomboy anyways you're just 'one of the guys'. Sometimes you worry they secretly look down on you, but you chalk it up to unrational anxiety.
"So whatever happened with the dude you were seeing?" Your friend asks, lazily swinging his beer bottle in your direction.
"Oh him? Yeah it didn't work out. I called it off."
"Bet it was 'cause he couldn't last long 'nough before blowing his load!" A more drunken boy jokes to the others.
"You pathetic dipshits would bust if a woman looked at you for more than 2 seconds." You scoff. You're unsure why but you feel a little defensive. Like the quality of your previous partners reflects on you, and right now the guys are ridiculing you rather than your ex-fling.
"We could easily ruin you until you're just a dumb fuckdoll to pass around." One of them boasts, their speech slurring a bit.
Rolling your eyes you scoff, leaning further back into the couch crossing your arms. The abundance of alcohol in everyone's systems is clearly leading to a lack of inhibition. They're talking a big game but you doubt your friends could act on it. You've never seen them even talk to another woman let alone be intimate with one.
You're condescending tone doesn't sit well with them however. Beside you on the couch one of the guys jolts toward you, gripping your throat. Your hands jump up, trying to tug his hand away. You're appalled ; what's gotten into him?! His expression darkens as he tightens his hold and says,
"You think that's fucking funny, huh?"
Squirming a bit more he then releases you. Stumbling onto your feet you back away from the couch, frazzled. Your fingers reach up to ghost over the sides of your neck where you still feel the shadow of his hands.
"Dude, what the fuck? Hey!"
Your ass is spanked causing you to whip around to face the assailant. He has a sickly grin on his face that makes you sick. Unease rises in you. It feels like your heart is pounding in your throat as panicked confusion starts to bubble up.
The other two boys join in on either side of you, clamping their talons into each of your shoulders. You yelp, which only makes them giggle. One of them leans forward, his whisper in your ear making you shiver.
"You're gonna regret acting like such a brat." He hisses before grabbing your clothed cunt. Roughly rubbing you he bites at your neck leaving marks in his wake. The rest of the gang come to grope you as well: pinching, prodding, squeezing. You try to wiggle free but it's no use.
"Guys, come on, cut that shit it out!"
Your pleas are ignored. Responding on its own your body becomes sensitive to their touch. Flicked nipples send electric jolts through you. Your cunt leaks with arousal. Impatience and need get the better of them. Like feral animals they start to rip off your clothes.
"Hey! Seriously, stop it! Leave me alone!"
Your panicked cries are ignored. Now with more fervour they attack your delicate skin: sucking, scratching, biting. A chorus of whimpers and panting moans sings out, echoing throughout the cement basement. Fear sinks heavy to the bottom of your gut when you hear their zippers being pulled down. The two boys behind you shove and struggle for dominance, for the right to be the first to break in your tight hole. One of them finally gets the upper hand, positioning himself behind you. He takes a moment to rub his hard cock against your exposed ass, before harshly lifting you by your hips into the air. You sob and writhe midair.
"Shut up and take it bitch!"
He spears you onto his cock making you release a chocked gasp. The guys all cheer as your juices mingle and drip down your thighs. He starts to lift you off his cock until just the head remains inside you, then he drops you, letting gravity fuck him deeper into your pussy. Your brain is short circuiting. Gasps and moans are only response to what's happening to you.
In his drunken state his grip on you as he bounces you on his dick falters, causing you to slip and fall forward. Instinctively your hands reach out to catch your fall. Closing your eyes you wince, anticipating the painful landing on the concrete ground. To your surprise, however, you feel hairy flesh in your palms and a set of hands catching your falling form.
With a cock still buried in your cunt you weakly look up to see another of the guys holding you. He smirks mischievously down at you, your hands gripping his thighs, your face level with his erect cock.
"Damn, she's throwing herself at my dick! You hungry you little mutt?"
Opening your mouth to say 'no' was a mistake. He takes the opportunity to thrust his length to the back of your throat. Gagging, you protest and push off his legs but his strength overpowers you, easily holding you in place. He laughs as you drool and cry around his girth. Trying to breathe out of your nose proves challenging when your racing mind can't focus. Just when you think you're about to pass out he yanks your head back. You sputter as air rushes back into your lungs.
The small reprieve doesn't last long though as he slams himself back into your mouth. Behind you the boy buried in your cunt resumes his pacing, brutally thrusting you forward forcing the others' cock deeper into your throat. Through blurry tear-filled eyes you see the other two boys are seemingly enjoying the show, eyes glued on you as they jerk themselves.
Dangling limply, limbs hovering above the floor the two boys spit roast you. Their pistoning is fast and rough. The ghosts of their firm grip on you will be seen tomorrow in the bruises forming across your flesh. You're mind feels hazy as a knot in your core begins to tighten from the stimulation.
"Ah fuuuuck. God, we make a pretty good team eh?"
"Yesss. Man I've been waiting to fuck her for sooooo long."
They all chuckle, lamenting in the pleasure they're getting at your expense. It's all too much; being watched as you're fucked dumb between your 'friends', the stretch of your pussy, the hard drumming of cock pounding into the deepest most sensitive parts of you. The taut feeling in your abdomen winds even tighter. Your body feels so good even though your brain screams that it shouldn't.
Eventually you're unable to hold back your climax, the knot snapping. Waves of pleasure wrack your body as you spasm and writhe and twitch, sandwiched between your abusers. Your cunt clenches as it gushes, squirting on the floor.
"Jesus Christ. Did you just fucking cum you little rapeslut?!"
A loud smack reverberates throughout the room from the violent slap across your ass, cherry red hues blossoming on the skin. You howl despite being throat-fucked. The vibrations of your shout push the boy using your mouth over the edge. He hisses as his cum paints the back of your throat. Halfway through his release he pulls out, spurting semen all over your face. He uses his cock head to smear the slime of your saliva and his spend all over your face.
"There we go. Now you look like the whore you really are."
Behind you the one using your pussy pulls you back so your back is to his chest. Frantically rutting into you he orgasms, his sperm shooting up into your womb.
"Love to breed sluts like her. Bet she liked it too, didn't you?" He says in a condescending tone, lightly smacking your cheeks. You don't respond. Your mind is mush.
"Yo, bring her over here." Sitting naked on the couch one of the other boys looks at you with dark lust in his gaze. Shivers run down your spine as you see his dick standing tall, twitching in anticipation.
Without taking you off his dick you're carried over. Cum dribbles from your hole as you're lifted up and passed over to the boy on the couch. The ease that they throw you around, like you're a stuffed animal not an adult women, is baffling. Pinning your arms to your sides you're turnt around to sit on his lap. The other three gather around with crazed hunger in their eyes. The two that just came happily stroke their cocks, slowly getting horny all over again.
"Now I think we should punish her for cumming without permission, the filthy whore!" The boy in the couch restraining you says, ending his sentence with a slap to your clit. You yelp. They cackle.
"I think I know just thing..." He lifts you up. Bracing yourself you assume your poor cunt will be ravaged again, but you perk up when you feel his tip teasing your asshole.
"Wait! Wait! Wai-" Your desperation is silenced by another who stuffs your discarded panties in your mouth.
"Aren't you supposed to prep her or lube her up first so it doesn't hurt for her?"
"Nah, she's just a cumdump. Right now isn't about her. Her holes are purely for -MY- pleasure!" His last words are punctuated but his thrusts into your virgin ass. Head falling back you project muffled wails, searing pain shocking your system. He doesn't care. Futile attempts to break free, you shake your head from side to side as you sob. He doesn't care.
A hand from one of the observers twists your nipple. Another swipes at your clit. An empty beer bottle finds its way into your gaping pussy. You feel embarrassed and overfilled. Fuller than you've ever felt. Sparks zap through you at the plethora of sensations hitting you all at once. Eyes rolling to the back of your head you cum a second time.
Dejected, exhausted, humiliated you finally submit to the will of your rapists. They are too strong for there to be any fair fight. And you try not to think about how mind-blowing your orgasms have been from their forced advances. It's easier to shut off your brain and be their ragdoll to do with as they please.
Your resignation, the change in your demeanor, doesn't do unnoticed.
"Guys I think we finally broke her."
"Good. The quicker she learns that bimbos don't need thoughts the quicker she'll accept her place as our new free use slut."
The night goes on, the fucking continues. They fuck you on the counter, on the table, against the wall. At one point they contort your weak body to be bent upsidedown on the couch, puffy pussy swaying in the air. It's as if there's an unspoken rule between them that you aren't allowed to stand or rest, tossing you back and forth without letting you touch the ground like a hacky-sack.
Pushed and pulled in every direction your body aches. Every hole overflows with the many loads of cum that were fucked into you. Drenched in spit and semen you're tossed on the couch when the four have finally had their fill.
The following Friday you nervously descend down the stairs into the dingy basement once again. The stares from the guys makes you blush. The already present hard bulges in the pants makes you clench your thighs together...
MDNI, this is smut, 18+ only. Reader is AFAB, nongendered. CW: monsterfucking, cnc/dubcon, intox off of monster power, ovipositor, breeding via egg laying.
~*~*~
Your mother had always told you tales of the Monster under the bed. Warned you to never let your leg dangle put from under the blankets, nor to dare and let a limb hang off the bed. Swore that the monster would draw you into its realm and keep you there forever.
Yet, in the late summer heat that hadn't let up in days, you weren't thinking about the monster under the bed as you layed flat on your stomach. You hadn't thought about that since you were a child. Instead, all you could think of was the intense need for relief from the oppressive humidity as you stuck your foot out from under the blankets.
Maybe if you had remembered your mother's tales, you would have been better prepared for the fact that a hand wrapped around your ankle a moment later. You lived alone, but strange things happened in the city. You had a moment of blinding panic before suddenly your whole body relaxed.
A cool, tingling sensation ran across your skin as claws circled your ankle. It was such a sweet relief that your brain stopped trying to process what was happening as you felt your body be slowly dragged down the bed until your legs hung off the edge completely. Your hips snuggly pressed into the mattress, a distant thought reminding you about the lack of clothing you had decided on for bed.
"What have we here?" Oh, that was a voice that sounded so nice. You had a feeling that if you were in a right state of mind that you would have found it akin to sandpaper, but presently it sounded like the crackle of a warm fire. Fire that seemed to melt your insides yet cool your skin. It left you in a state of bliss as you felt its long, thin fingers begin to roam over your skin.
It took its time as you sank into the touch. It felt so wonderful, leaving a pleasant hum in your blood. Each touch seemed to be patient, gentle, yet it was firm and tested for boundaries. "My, it has been some time since I had a human. Might I try you?"
Your eyes fluttered and you let out a soft groan into the mattress. It massaged into muscles you didn't know had an ache, and left you pliant under each passing touch. It may as well have turned you into a puddle for all the fight you had in you. "Yes," You managed to find the words as sank further into the bed.
There was a rumble of laughter that would have made you quake in fear if you had heard it before you felt its touch, but now? You just found yourself excited at the prospect of what it meant when it said that it wanted to try you.
"Such an eager toy," it commented, and the words made you want to preen. Though, your brain couldn't quite figure out why. Not that it cared to as two hands slowly pulled your legs apart, and another set of hands spread your cheeks.
From the way your face was resting on the mattress, you couldn't see behind you. No matter how badly you wanted to look, you couldn't find yourself able to. Not a single ounce of will power existed in your relaxed body. You had fully given in to this monster, and there wasn't much that you could do, even if you had wanted to.
Not when it slowly used it's long fingers to slip between your lips, before it found that point that had you letting out a muffled groan. It let out a noise of awe as it began to toy with you more. It seemed to be engulfed in your body as it drew its fingers over your clit time and time again. It seemed to like your pleasure, enjoyed the way that your body was putty in its hands.
The pleasure was mounting, and for a moment, you thought you'd climax then and there on its fingers. Except, it let out a little noise that seemed to be a click of the tongue. "Such a good toy, let's not have this end so soon."
Suddenly, you were aware that the monster had more of a form than just arms and hands. A third set of hands found your body. One settled between your shoulder blades and pinned you to the bed, while the other fisted in your hair and tugged your head to the side. It would have been painful, if you weren't so lost in the lust and found the pain to just add to the pleasure.
That, and you could feel the large chest of the beast as it hovered over your body. You felt so small and frail in comparison. Especially as its tongue ran along the edge of your exposed neck. "You want me to keep playing with you, don't you?"
A whimper left your throat and you nodded like your life depended on it. How could you want it to stop when you had never felt this good in your whole life. "Good. Then be a good toy for me," it hissed before it's teeth found your throat and dug in. Somehow, the pleasure mounted, but it did not peak. It kept building, growing, but it never hit that crescendo as the monster buried its teeth into your neck.
You burned in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. You rocked your hips back, and wordlessly pleaded for more. It shushed you and continued to explore your body. Your legs now held in place by its own, which left its other hands free to explore. To find more places to draw pleasure from your body. To knead and press and pull at your chest as you let out pathetic noises of desire.
It had you exactly where it wanted you. Pinned under its weight and a writhing mess of desire. It fed off that deep-seated need for more. Drank in your lust, and slowly let go of its hold on your throat. Yet, even as it continued to play with you, you couldn't finish.
"Hush. We're almost there. I want you nice and ready. Trust me, you want to be a good little toy, right?" There was nothing you wanted more than to be a good little toy. You wanted to please it so badly that you thought you might go insane. Or perhaps you already had since you were letting the monster from under your bed fuck you.
It slowly dipped a finger inside of you and marveled at the way your entire body trembled. The way you whined and moaned as it tested what made your pleasure spike most. A breath of laughter ran along your neck as it added a second finger, then quickly a third to keep your mind pleasantly clouded.
"There we go. Such a good pet for me. I think you'll quite enjoy this." Seeing as you had already enjoyed everything else, you nodded blindly into the bed. You were so close, so very close, and just wanted to find that point of release. You'd do anything to be allowed.
"Anything?"
Oh, you must have spoke aloud without even realizing. "Anything," You cried out.
"Perfect," without any further notice, it withdrew its fingers from within and left you feeling empty and gaping.
Before you could so much as register that you were empty, you felt the monster shift. Its chest pressed into your back and grabbed hold of your hips. It lifted them slightly so that you toes were all that could touch the floor. Then, you felt it.
It was certainly larger than the three fingers that had been inside you, possibly larger than anything you had ever taken. You gasped as it pressed closer, and somehow began to slip inside of you.
Your walls were pushed to a point you hadn't known was possible as you were forced to accommodate the monster as it buried itself inside of you. It didn't tear into you, just kept a slow, relentless pace until it seemed to be fully sheathed. Or at least, as fully sheathed as it could be considering the head was brushing against your cervix.
Except, instead of pulling out and thrusting back in, it kept pushing forward. There was a pulse of pain that mingled with the pleasure, and then, oh fuck. You were suddenly reminded that this was a monster that was fucking you as its head seemed to split into four points. Each one embedded itself into your cervix and began to pull back.
You were breathless and tears pooled in your eyes as you felt your cervix give way under the monster's strength. And with a sudden popping sensation, the monster sunk even further into you. It was fucking your womb, and that thought was already enough to have your mind spinning.
Of course, that wasn't enough for the monster. "Perfect. Such a perfect little toy for me. I had no idea I'd be so lucky as to find an incubator tonight." Your brain couldn't comprehend what that meant. Not as it began to paw at your body again. It stroked your clit, toyed with your chest, and kept thrusting in a way that lit your nerves on fire with desire.
You were so blissed out, you almost didn't feel it at first. The way that your body suddenly had to accommodate something wider. Something of a round shape that began to slide past your entrance and further inside. Something that set off a soft warning bell in the back of your mind.
"Wha-" you broke off in a whine as it pushed past your cervix and was dumped inside your womb. Pleasure exploded through your body and you shook with it as a second, then a third egg passed into you. Not that your mind could comprehend that those were eggs, not when your body was having such a high from your orgasm.
By the time the monster had pulled out, you were limp and trembling on the bed. Slick with sweat, but no longer feeling the humidity. Fingers ran through your hair and perhaps you shouldn't have leaned into the affectionate feeling touch.
"Such a pretty little toy. You'll do very nicely," your monster whispered before it yanked you off the bed and dragged you under. Into its realm just like your mother had warned.
imagine getting fucked by your pack of werewolves, over a dozen strong, emptying their balls into you over and over again as they pound into you relentlessly chasing their own pleasure but not allowed to knot you. Their dicks are the biggest ones you've ever taken, stretching you to the brink and stretching you even more as they bully themselves inside of you, shoving their knots in and out until you scream for release, to finally have a knot inside of you, but they always stop right as their knots press against you, never pushing further.
Each of them are so thick they grind against all the right stops inside of you, making you moan and wail as they use you, face down and ass up, tied to the tree stump as you are. Even when you slump down in exhaustion their big clawed hands grab your hips hard enough to bruise as they bully their length into you, howling as they bottom out and start a relentless pace. You don't know how long it's been going on, the full moon shining above you as the puddle of cum keeps dripping out of you unto the ground, mixing with your own release as they kept going on and on without rest. You were deep into your orgasm, a knot halfway inside you as an intimating snarl echoed in the clearing.
The werewolf alpha, the biggest one of the whole pack, shoved the lower ranking werewolf off of you, ripping his knot out of you. Your empty hole clenched around nothing, used to the size and shape of them by now, moaning to be filled again. The moment the alpha pressed the head of his cock against you, you knew you were taking in more than you could chew. Just the head felt bigger than the knots that were pressed against your hole all night. He was huge. You wondered if you'd break. But he kept pushing in, pressing himself deeper than you ever thought possible, the cum from all the other making the slide easier.
The alpha growled as his cock hit resistance, pushing you head down unto the tree trunk. "I let all my wolves use you tonight. You will take me to the hilt."
You wailed as he bullied his cock deeper, with stronger thrusts than all the other before. Your hole was stretched beyond what you thought was even possible, clenching around his dick and the small protrusion of his knot. He chuckled slightly, pushing deeper. "There you go. Such a perfect cunt for us. I'm sure you'd like to pleasure us even outside of the full moon. Still so tight, trying to milking my cock."
The alpha pushed you down on the tree trunk, a clawed hand pressing into your skin, threatening to pierce if you moved. The other kept your hips raised as he started a brutal pace, Everytime he thrusted into you, your breath was punched out of you lungs from the savage pressure inside of you. It wasn't long before you wailed on his cock, gripping him in a vice grip as you came, being overstimulated and begging for him to slow down. But he ignored you.
"C'mon, you're our bitch now, we can use you however we want. And right now I want you to milk my knot as much as possible before I fuck you again and again." the alpha said as he thrusted even deeper, making you cry out as you came again, the third time in a handful of minutes on his massive cock.
As he kept pounding into you, releasing pleased grunts into the night, you could feel something change. Everytime he bottomed out, a pressure was pressed against your hole, insistent, constant. You had felt knots from the other werewolves, but nothing like this. It felt so big. So thick. As your insides were bullied into giving you another orgasm you could faintly think of what that would mean.
You only felt fully inflated knots before from all the other werewolves. They were thick and could've slipped right into you as they came over and over again. But this? It felt bigger than a fist, bigger than anything you had ever taken inside of you, and you were just gangbanged by a pack of werewolves. It kept pressing against you with more and more strength, harder thrusts, wanting to bury itself inside you as the alpha panted over your shoulder, repeating how good you are for him, how tight you still are after taking all of his pack.
A last thrust punched all the oxygen out of your lungs as the biggest thing you ever taken was shoved inside you and kept inflating.
You wailed and thrashed as the alpha kept you in place, bullying his knot in and out of your tight hole even as you wailed in pleasure, tears running down your face as hot cum filled the limited remaining space in your hole, the knot so big it was stopping anything from spilling out, no cum would be wasted while you were knotted on the alpha's cock.
He bent down and licked your cheek when the torrent of cum finally stopped, comforting you. "If you think we're done yet, the full moon is not even at half mast in the sky. I'll keep using you until I'm bored, and I'll let the pack use you as they want until I'm ready to go again."
maybe a short story on a human reader being taken by an orc army/camp and just absolutely used as their personal toy???
When I read your request, I couldn't help but hear, "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" from Lotr.
But let's be serious: I hope you will enjoy it. :)
Orcs x Reader
Warnings: filth, nothing but filth
The air is thick with smoke, mingling with the musky odor of sweat and leather. The scent of blood and violence still hangs heavy, fueling the heat and tension around the tents made of rough animal hides. The crackling flames of the campfire cast dancing shadows across the rugged faces of the warriors. Feral hunger glints in their eyes as they come closer. It feels like the ground rumbles and shakes under their steps. Their muscular, battle-scarred bodies pulsate with anticipation. The sounds of their gruff voices fill your ears, making you deaf to everything else. Your gaze jumps from orc to orc. The chieftain's large hand is heavy and warm on your shoulder as he pushes you deeper into the center of the camp.
The bounds around your legs and wrists make it hard for you to move, but it doesn't stop the warriors from closing around you. Their heat and raw desire surround you, making you shake and sweat under their primal gazes. Adrenalin fuels the fire in your bloodstream and thrums through your body until you almost buckle because of the throb between your legs.
The chieftain behind you reaches for the clasps and buckles that hold your armor together. The metal piece is dirty and beaten. His calloused fingers trace the edges of your armor before letting it fall to the ground. In other circumstances, you would feel relieved without its weight. Your undershirt sticks to your chest because of the sweat that still glistens in your heated skin, revealing the curve of your breasts.
Another orc steps closer, barely smaller than his leader behind you. You remember him. One of his eyes is milky-white with a long scar from his eyebrow to his nose. He rips off your shirt, dropping the useless fabric before reaching for the buckles of your pants. You can't even feel the cold night air between the orcs towering over you.
The warriors move in sync. Their hands work in unison to strip away the layers covering your body. They reveal the soft swells of your curves and the hard cords of your muscles. Your skin is decorated with old and fresh scars, injuries, and bruises. The others get louder and louder with each glimpse they get of your naked body. The clear signs that you are a warrior, a fierce opponent, fuel their desire.
Soon, you stand exposed among the orcs, ready to be ravaged by them. Your limbs are not tied together anymore, but it changes nothing. You can't make yourself to move. It would be futile anyway. You can't fight against them, and they would enjoy chasing after you too much.
The orc in front of you wastes no time. His rough hands eagerly reach out to grope and caress every inch of your body. His dark green fingers dig into the flesh of your breast, squeezing and kneading, pinching your nipple until you mewl and try to get away from him, falling into the arms of the chieftain behind you. The leader grabs your hip, making you grind down on his leather-covered erection. His unyielding grip leaves red imprints on your skin. The cold of his rings digs into the flesh of your hips.
One hand slips between your legs. Rough fingers slide over your slickness and prod at your entrance. Your stomach jumps with fear and excitement.
"Look at this juicy cunt, boys! She's all wet and ready for us!" The orc in front of you announces loudly to everyone around you to hear. The camp gets even louder with feral growls and words that make your heart beat faster in your ribcage. Whatever you want to say, to tell him to stop or to go deeper, dies on your tongue. The only thing keeping you standing is the chieftain behind you, still grinding his cock against your ass while his man explores your wetness. He smears it all over your mound and inner thighs before turning his attention back to your entrance.
"I knew the moment I saw her on the battlefield that she would be a good prize to fight for," he grunts, forcing each digit of his thick finger into your pussy. Your walls clench down around him, to keep him out or to force him deeper, you don't know.
"You like that, don't you?" The chief grunts next to your ear. His question fans over the curve of your neck. "I can smell your pussy, girl."
"We all smell her." Someone says from the circle of orcs surrounding you. Their eyes are heavy on your body as they watch you. You steal a few glances at them. A lot of them are already naked, tugging at their cocks hanging heavy between their thick thighs.
The male in front of you continues to bully your cunt with his finger, going deeper and deeper while his other hand reaches up to grip your hair. He pulls back your head, making you arch your body. "You're ours now, human," he snarles. "But do not fret. I saw you fighting, I'm sure you can handle a few orc cocks too."
A rumble of laughter waves through the air, and your pussy tightens at the thought.
"Oh, look at that!" He laughs, pushing another finger into your wet hole. A groan gets stuck in your throat at the feeling of your walls stretching around him. "She likes the thought."
"She does," the chief grunts, pulling his own cock out of his pants to force your hand around it. Your fingers curl around his thick rod automatically. If you could focus on anything, you would be surprised at its weight on your palm.
"She doesn't look like someone who backs out of a challenge." His words are followed by laughter again while you bend and turn the way they want you.
Before you know it, you are on your knees with their leader still behind you, shoving his cock into your pussy while his warrior is busy with your mouth. He taps the head of his erection against your lips, and you open without a second thought. At this point, your mind is too hazy, and your senses are full of their musky scent to do or think anything. You feel like a raw nerve under their pushes and pulls. They thrust in and out of you with a relentless rhythm while you moan and drool around their cocks. You slip in and out of your orgasms, getting more and more drunk on their relentless assault. They push your boundaries, both physically and mentally, until you are nothing but a warm body they can use as they want.
You don't even notice when they come inside you. Their warm seed seeps out of your abused holes, and you almost choke on the orc's cock when he pushes himself deeper into your throat.
The ground is dirty and hard under your weak body as you let yourself collapse. Your muscles shake and twitch while your pussy clenches around nothing. Your chest heaves with every breath you take as you try to clear your mind.
But they are not done yet.
"It's your turn, boys," one of them says, stepping away from you to give enough space for the others. "Keep those sweet holes full tonight."
The air crackles with anticipation and feral need. One by one, the orc warriors step forward, their rough hands exploring every inch of your body. Their calloused fingers trace the swell of your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples until you cry and wiggle. Your pussy pulsates between your legs while their fingers explore your folds and both of your holes. They feast upon your bare curves, their desires ignited by the sight of your vulnerable state.
The first orc doesn't waste his time. His massive frame towers over you, keeping his body up with his trunk-like arms next to your head while taking you fiercely, his thick length plunges deep into your wet and eager pussy. His heavy balls slap against your skin. Your walls grip him tightly even though you are sensitive, and the feeling of him pounding into you makes you tear up. A thumb smears your tears all over your face before pushing into your mouth. Your tongue laps at the digit.
When the orc between your legs reaches his peak, fucking you full of his cum, another one steps forward, hungry and ready for his turn. He turns you onto your stomach easily, positioning himself behind you when you force your knees to not give up under your weight. His hands are gripping your hips as he shoves his cock into your cunt. Ecstasy trembles through your body while someone else grabs a good chunk of your hair and forces your mouth down his hard length. More tears escape from the corner of your eyes as you gulp and suck around the orc's cock.
The orcs continue to take turns, their primal instincts driving them deeper and deeper into you. You become a mess of drool and cum until there is no part on your heated, sweaty skin that they didn't touch or use. They ravage your body with a ferocity that matches the intensity of the battle they had just fought while you scream and moan underneath them.
Going INSANE thinking about this post by @curiousmons :
So here we go!!
Your Centaur Boyfriend being embarrassed when he explains he’s never cum before because he can’t reach “down there”. You’re stunned and ask why he hasn’t told you before. You tell him you’d have at least given him a handjob before now so he could get some release! He sheepishly tells you that he almost didn’t tell you at all because he’s worried he won’t last long and he doesn’t want to disappoint you.
After a soft heart to heart session, you explain that even if he doesn’t last long, at least you’ll be doing it together so it’ll be wonderful. The kissing starts off slow and soft with him stooping down and you on your tiptoes. Then him pulling off your shirt, and you eagerly finishing undressing yourself when he hesitates. He eases you onto your back on the soft (but itchy, not that you’d tell him) hay he made into a bed for you. His front legs are tucked under him as he goes back to kissing you, pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly.
Despite never having been with anyone before, he knows that his massive cock would hurt you if you’re not prepped, which is another reason you two had waited for so long. Now you could easily take his fingers, and you were already soaking wet for him. His cock is so hard that he’s already leaking precum and it’s almost painful. He wants to be inside of you so badly.
“Please,” you whisper, breaking the kiss to look up at him.
He bites his lip before nodding slightly. He stands back up and you adjust, pushing yourself into doggy style so it’s easier for him to push into you. You have to help guide him a bit since you have to be so far under him, but as soon as the tip of his cock is pushed inside of you, he starts going crazy.
He jerks his hips towards you, nearly impaling you with his massive cock in one thrust. You yelp, not expecting that sudden and deep of a movement, but you don’t pull away.
“I’m sorry baby. You feel so good. I’m sorry,” he groans as he continues to slam in and out of you, driving you into the floor.
His cock slams deep inside of you, stretching you out in the most delicious way. He bullies your cervix in a way you never thought possible, his hot and slick precum already coating your womb. You whimper, trying to find something to hold onto. When you start to squirm, he uses his front hooves to keep you in place, setting them lightly on you, of course not his full weight, just so he can continue to cram himself into you.
Once he’s close, his thrusting becomes more sporadic. He thrusts roughly and sloppily, almost pulling out in his haste to push back inside of you. You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, every thick inch of that cock stretching you out even more as he already was.
“You’re so good baby. So tight. So wet,” he whines, picking up the pace even more.
“Keep going,” is all you can manage to get out between the rough assaults on your body.
He complies until he crams himself as deeply as he can inside of you, pumping you full of hot, thick ropes of cum. You can feel it filling you, extending your stomach and spilling out onto your thighs and the floor under you even as he’s still deep inside of you.
His front legs tremble before he buckles them, pulling them off of you so he can support himself on them. You can hear his deep breathing and panting as he recovers, his cock still throbbing inside of you.
“That was amazing baby,” you sigh, almost dreamily, before you try to wiggle out from under him.
However, he’s already rutting into you, grinding his hips against yours with his cock still buried inside of you. “Just one more baby. Please please let me do it just one more time.”
Another self-indulgent fic, but this time as a reward for finishing a kinktober fic.
Subject: OC, Kaenian Violetrest
Title: The Fucking Zombie Virus (NSFW, fem reader)
Trigger Warning: Non con, illness, going in dry, aphrodisiac, kidnap mention, delusional, end of the world zombie apocalypse shit, people literally fucking until they die, cum inflation, bath naughties, penis/balls expansion, implied necrophilia (mentioned)
He’d already know your body too well, exactly where to touch and how, seeing as he’s a seasoned doctor. It didn’t matter that you’d only visited him just this once, he knew exactly what ailed you.
An excuse.
You’d read all about him, as you’d heard he takes phenomenal care of his patients, but an unusual sense of pride kept you from submitting to your curiosity. Until now.
“It’s strange…” He began, his voice buoyant despite its density. He’d done all of the typical procedures, asking about your medical history, taking your blood pressure, but he feigned ignorance of your real intent. He wanted to entertain your coyness, as it’s nothing new… But you seemed particularly delectable, as he recognized you’re not one easily swayed.
His wanting to change the subject naturally had you alert, waiting for him to continue with suspended brows.
“You’d made this appointment with an air of reasoning as if I’d find something wrong?” His eyes did not raise, as his gaze was focused on his pen lacing ink into quick, ornate letters on the report. The sound of the dextrous and hasty ballpoint imprinting strings of words onto the page somehow spoke of his personality to you… It was oddly fascinating to watch.
You were skeptical of this remark, as you’d made no obvious note of this being your motive, it’s merely a regular physical, “I just haven’t been keeping up with my health, and you were recommended to me…”
He gently huffed out what almost seemed to be a smug scoff, setting his clipboard on the counter behind him. You still sat propped up on the observation table, feeling almost infantilized by the way your feet barely reached the step-down.
“There’s just one last step, I need to check your lungs and heart…” You noted that he didn’t keep the stethoscope around his neck but rather it was hung on the wall.
Within your reading up on him, you were quickly put on to why he was so ‘renowned’. Yes, he was genuinely an accomplished scholar, particularly in women’s health, but… Men and women alike would rave about how he’d ‘take care of them’ like no one else… You couldn’t snuff these thoughts out as he neared you from the side.
“If I may pry, who recommended me?” He hesitated to place the diaphragm against you. You felt disgusted by the way you were becoming increasingly aware of his proximity.
“Just a coworker, we were chatting about how negligent I am when it comes to my doctor visits… I know I need to pay more attention.” You gave an earnest response, trying to dilute any suggestive thoughts, though they were growing unbearably potent.
He hummed in acknowledgment with a considering pout, carrying on with checking your upper back, the cold of the bell piece cutting through your blouse, “Deep breath in…” He guided, almost lifting you with his voice
“And despite having a previous physician, you chose me?” He paused, “Breathe out.” He repositioned the diaphragm slowly against your back. He noticed your breath was tense instantly, trying to stifle any satisfaction in this. Your heart rate undeniably went up as he neared questionable territory with his interrogating.
“I was intrigued, my last doctor was not the most compassionate.” Your reasoning was quick, perhaps justified, but he liked the way your breath hitched as he moved around your back.
“One last breath in…” His voice rose as if he was holding the same breath, “And out.”
He rounded to your front, standing before you, “Just breathe as you normally would here.” He placed the piece in the center of your chest as you tried to avoid looking directly at his face. He was so close, you were in his sphere of scent, a delicately botanic, smoky kind.
“I said to breathe normally.” He asserted again with a small grin, “You just cannot seem to relax…”
“A doctor’s office isn’t particularly comforting.” Your eyes shot as far away from seeing his expression as possible, your cheeks tarnished with faint embarrassment.
“Is that what it is? Your blood pressure was entirely normal earlier… Perhaps there is something amiss with you…” His words dragged and coiled around you, reminiscent of his handwriting, aptly stringing you along.
You’ve been caught, pressing your lips together in a bashful attempt to not say something ridiculous, “And what might that be.” You maintained a level tone as best as you could.
He still held the scope in place, enjoying how you writhed, your breaths smaller, not so much frantic, but unsteady. He was surely staring at your face from his elevated angle, you could feel his gaze on you as if you were an ant under a magnifying glass.
His prior facade of professionalism dropped elegantly like a theater curtain, heavy as he leaned into you, his lips inches from your ear, “You know exactly why you came here, how long would you like to continue rehearsing this scene?”
Your frenzied heart rate was enough to drive him wild, but he knew how to keep tempo.
“... I…,” You were at a loss, not wanting to hear much more of your meek voice. His heat radiated over your whole body, voice seeping into you.
“I’ll show you compassion just this once,” His words were bowed with an audible grin, “Only if you can report to me what exactly brought you here. Truly.” He finally hung the scope to idle around his neck, wanting to hear your every syllable, even if they wavered.
Your words certainly didn’t come easily, “I was curious why you’d received such appraise… And I wanted to find out for myself.”
“You know what I am and what I do, and still sit here as if I have to evaluate you to find out your pitiful deficiencies.” You hadn’t noticed your legs instinctually parted to allow him closer, “You want me to assess your body, in more ways than one.”
“Is this not malpractice, you acting this way, doctor?” Your voice had surely withered under the weight of anticipation.
He was more moved by your calling him ‘doctor’ than he should have been, as it’s something he hears all the time… Your voice, strained and borderline needy, rearranged the word in his mind, “I’ll give you any version of malpractice you prefer, darling.” He finally distanced his face to align with yours, seeing your slipping guise from inches away.
“What would you prescribe to someone with my so-called pitiful deficiencies?” You playfully continued the bit, you both intertwined in the teasing like strands of a rope.
“Hmm… I may need a closer look, after all, just to ensure… May I?” You were caught off guard by his genuine concern about touching you.
“I can’t just go home untreated, can I? Whatever you need to do to cure me of these deficiencies, please…” You realized you’d properly left your decency and pride tied to a light post outside of the clinic.
He took in a breath himself, overwhelmed by your eager presence… No demon should have this much power without checks and balances… He salivated at the thought of ravaging you, tipped by your trailed ‘please’.
His hand, gloved in blue latex, rose to rest against your cheek as he showed you a doting look, “Stand up for me…”
You managed to still have a tinge of reservation, hesitating for barely a second. But, you both knew why you were here, there were no secrets to hang onto. You obliged as his hand fell, he stepped back allowing you some room. You had to admit, you were susceptible to his towering height as he scanned over you, somehow the silence served more to tension than awkwardness.
“To ascertain accurate results… These lovely clothes just won’t do, I regret to say…” He continued his character pretending to be upset by this. He stepped into you once again, an index finger pulling at your belt to undo the buckle, snaking it off of you through the loops. Even the mere sensation of this in tandem with your anticipation was starting to gnaw at you.
Along with the stethoscope, he hung your belt around his neck, “Perhaps this could be useful… Go ahead and strip for me darling, this could serve my research well.”
You committed to this energy, removing everything that clouded your bare form as he watched, head cocked observingly as he leaned back against the counter. Only the sound of clothes slipping against skin flooded the space. His eyes swayed and lingered over every detail, his hands anchored to the counter’s edge at either side of him, looking nonchalantly imposing.
“Any prognosis?” You called to him as he had to tear his eyes from your body.
“Oh, it’s severe, seeing as you just willingly stripped naked for someone of my ilk.” He closed in on you again, unable to resist playing with you.
His rubbery hands reached to entrap you, starting from your ribcage, thumbs briefly brushing over your nipples. He spared no specific attention to any one thing, sliding down over your waist, to your hips. He watched his hands as you watched his faded eyes, even his blinks were languid as he felt you observing him.
“Turn around.” It was an order, but his voice still floated above your head as you obeyed, turning in his grasp.
He hummed, pleased as his touch rose to your shoulders, then dragged torturously to your ass. Although you were not instructed, it felt as if you were once again holding onto a breath, releasing as composed as you could manage as his hands groped your flesh, “These are quite nice… Typically they look better in a red… Or maybe…” His words wandered off to somewhere unknown, a hand rising to push at your upper back, forcing you to bend forward.
“You’re very compliant, darling.” You felt an acidic wave of lust roll through you at his thoughtless praise.
By the silence, you judged he was certainly made aware of your most deficient parts, your cunt probably more obviously intrigued than anything else.
“Hmm… This is most likely where your problem lies…” A latex-clad finger made faint contact with your clit, causing your thighs to twitch at the attention, to which he chuckled through his nose, “Severe indeed.” His hand pushed you down further causing you to be on maximum display as his feather-light touch grazed up to find your glistening hole. You bit your lip, but harder on a groan you attempted to constrict.
“Don’t hold back, I need you to communicate with me so I can know what’s wrong.” You were still caught up by how nice his fanned hand forcing you down onto the observation table made you feel, let alone his meandering touch. You could envision how lewd it looked, the image making you falter.
His index finger still lingered around your hole in no particular manner, as if he was genuinely taking note of your anatomy, “Surely you’re aware… Typically when your cunt is this soaked…” His upper half leaned over your folded form, wringing you out with his heady demeanor, “It means you desire something desperately.”
Your head inadvertently raised to try and close any gap between you, craning up in aroused dejection. You could feel him pressed against you, he was undoubtedly having his fun.
“Does this align with your symptoms?” A hand wound under your left arm, snaking to wrap underneath your jaw, forcing you closer to his voice, “Tell me.”
“Yes, doctor.” You choked out, noticing his eyes bloom when you called him that earlier, you decided to use your own trump card.
He groaned above you, his voice blanketing you, “There’s only one thing I know of to treat cases like yours…” He pushed his hips ever so slightly into your backside causing your eyes to flicker, “But you self-diagnosed before you even came to my clinic… Dirty little thing.”
He lifted himself to straighten, “It’s phenomenal, this human form… But it seems you are more excited by my barbaric, obscene interior…” A pair of fingers played at your hole once again, barely pushing into you, “You can’t be satiated by just a human… You want something more. Something diabolic.” Slowly, his fingers progressed as he continued to whirl on, driving you mad with his words.
He could feel that you were clenching, smiling with amusement, “Is this true? You’d prefer to be fucked by a beast like myself?”
How you’d answer that outright, you were initially unsure, but his fingers curled down, adeptly pushing into a perfect spot, “I-I… Yes, I would.” You loved the idea of him fucking you with his latex gloves, something about how sterilizing and surgical it felt.
“You’d like that?” He pressed, establishing a crawling pace with his hand.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“Your cunt is so hot and wet, darling, you may just melt these gloves off…” He mused, basking in your pleasure.
You couldn’t help but let your body sway into his fingers, meeting his pace. Your whole being was throbbing, letting your satisfaction leave you as pants. You were growing more desperate to cum, wanting to coat his fingers with your release, though he pulled his hand away.
“Stand and turn for me, darling,” You did so, though slowly so as to not underestimate your delirium, forced to make eyes with him as he tasted you, “Utterly divine, you taste so sweet…”
You couldn’t help but feel scorn towards him, being made to watch him clean your juices thoroughly from his fingers, “Jesus…” He looked gorgeous, just like that.
“Not quite.” He jested, his fingertips reaching to play at your bottom lip until you allowed access, taking his lithe fingers in your mouth. He watched you intently, beyond himself as it set in that such a pretty little human would stoop so eagerly down to his level.
He gradually pulled his hand away, watching the way your lips wrapped so nicely until the heat of your mouth was but a ghost. He painted a trail of your saliva down your chin, making a mess of you, “Your breasts are lovely too, I must say.”
He stretched his gloves off, exposing skin with markings that resembled black, veiny cracks. You were not repulsed, quite the contrary, his skin looked like a glass mosaic, his bare hands cupping your breasts. Feeling the rough texture of his skin against yours only amplified his effect.
“Your reactions are too much for me, it’s making it hard for me to keep composure…” He played at your nipples between his thumb and index, making you squirm.
“I didn’t come here for your composure.” You placed your hands on his kintsugi skin, hoping to urge him on.
“I am… well aware, darling.” His hands left you, shouldering off his lab coat, setting your belt to still be within reach, “You’ll need to be fucked back into health.”
As he continued to remove his work attire, he continued to reveal his increasingly onyx skin, the closer to his chest, the more dense the black. It was incredible, you couldn’t help but gawk, to which he smirked almost sheepishly, “Why don’t you sit pretty for me back on the table…”
You were balancing on his every command at this point, loving the feeling that embraced your body in this moment. You hopped back up on the table to face him, spreading your legs to taunt him. He moved routinely to his lower half, adoring how you watched as his trousers fell for him to push aside along with his shoes. You wouldn’t say you were shocked, but his cock was surely not human, three knots that staggered in increasing size from his tip to the base. Immediately, the irresistible thought of him pushing you open, feeling those crevices move your insides… You didn’t think you could grow any wetter.
“I love that expression you’re wearing… The only thing I’ll allow.” His hand wrapped around himself, pumping his bulbous length. You had a paradoxically innocent urge to simply stroke him, of course never having seen this before. You felt sordid for being turned on at the sight of him touching himself right before you.
You took it upon yourself to let a hand find your clit, seeing if this would induce any reaction from him. It most certainly did, an inferno sparked in his chest, let alone his cock, as he watched you play with yourself so deviantly. He was debating… Should he keep dragging you around with his antics… Or are you in such a grave state that you must be cured right this instant? His own heart raved at the possibilities, mind flooded with a mirage of your pretty body doing such horrific things for him.
“What’s on your mind…?” He asked, his hand still cycling in a fluid motion in a stalemate.
“You.” You grinned, “What’s this cure you spoke of?”
Your being direct stoked him, causing him to chuckle deep from his chest, “I think I need to cure you until you’re properly bedridden, darling.”
You pushed your middle and ring finger into your beckoning cunt as you propped a leg up on the table, causing his eyes to immediately shoot to yours, almost in warning, “Please, doctor, I’m at your mercy.”
He let out an undeniable scoff this time, taking a few steps to near you as he grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away, “I fucking hate how you call me that.” He aligned the tip of his alien-looking cock with your hole, that being enough to send shockwaves through you, “Keep doing it.”
He decided to channel his teasing into you, only pushing his girthy tip inside at a molasses pace, finally coaxing out the most beautiful sounds from you. You both had unanimous thoughts of how good the other felt, your pussy was impossibly soft and plush, his length surprisingly velvety as he angled himself to hit that same delicious spot. You felt your hole stretch around his first, modest knot as he’d continuously remove himself completely to shove himself back inside you.
“Do you think you need more? How do you feel, darling?” His hand gripped your thigh that still rested on the table, squeezing out your reply.
“It feels so good, doctor, but…”
He was awed by the fact you could still be embarrassed to express your needs, he found it almost endearing, “But…?” He pulled out to admire his tip glistening with your creamy slick, waiting for you.
He was going to make you say it, regardless. Even just the sight of his shaft that curved upward so enticingly made you quiver, “I need more.” God, you sounded so whiny and small.
His strong grip on your thigh was alarming, but not unexpected as his first knot slid in with ease once more, though the second demanded more of you. Paired with the stretch, he was starting to push fairly deep into you, finally starting to reorganize your insides as you imagined. You couldn’t tie down a labored ‘fuck’ as he began to thrust at a steady pace. Every time he pushed back into you, an indescribably foreign feeling of being perfectly spread by each knot exploded inside you. You decided to place your hands on his shoulders to keep balance as he hunched over your starved form.
Your moans were of a heavenly timbre he’d never know otherwise as he experimented with pace and angle to see which would make you sing. Your wetness coated the very beginning of his final, large knot as he thrust into you, but you couldn’t imagine it actually managing to fit. Because of its shape, his cock accentuated the squelches from your cunt, the crude sounds seeming to bounce off the walls.
He found another spot deep inside you, concocting a burn, itch, smolder… Every sensation was being triggered as he sheathed into you repeatedly, knowing he had found your sweetest spot, “You can’t even cry… How adorable…” His hand found your cheek once more as his eyes seemed to reach into you, cradling your gaze.
He wasn’t unfazed, in fact, your broken moans were like shards of glassy pleasure in his lower abdomen, he felt deific as he took you. And you took him so well… He’d almost plead to the gods himself if it meant that you’d clench onto him like this eternally. For a demon, he was quite considerate, as he’d never force you, but he wanted so desperately for you to absorb all he had, his final knot prodding at your cunt.
His hands slid to your knees, urging you to wrap your legs around his torso, lifting you as soon as you followed. Gravity lent itself to the intensity as you were slammed down onto him, his hands spread on either side of your ass. While you found yourself nearly unable to make a sound, finally he seemed to begin to crack, his deep moans touching a whole new kind of place inside you.
“You look so cute, your wasted expression…” He held you with one arm wrapped around your back, his other hand playing with your lips, “I wonder how sweet you look when you cum…?”
You could only give him an imploring look, your body being split open.
“My sick little darling…” You felt his final knot manage to slip in a bit further, causing you to cry out in pleasure, “Cum on my cock…” His voice wavered in time with his thrusts.
If you were to refer to any orgasm as explosive, this could be the only one, having never been spread that wide. Luckily he could easily support your form as you convulsed and shattered around him. You could almost immediately be thrown over again as his last knot slipped entirely inside your cunt.
“F-fuck, darling–” He stammered, his face contorted with frustration as he tried not to cum just yet wanting to prolong this moment. You felt so complete as he held you, your head resting on his void for a chest, warming his knots. You wanted to feel his searing load paint your insides, but he merely held your hips in place as you felt his cock tremble inside you.
He managed to move, setting you back down on the table letting you lay back.
“How do you feel…?” His words sounded as if they were squashed and dragged under a shoe, so incredibly tense as he gave your gleaming body a once… or twice over.
You couldn’t control how your cunt continued to squeeze, “So good…”
He wanted more. More of your voice, more of your touch. He decided to pull out, painstakingly slow, somehow, much to his surprise, managing not to implode. You both shared a groan of delight as the sliding friction tore at each other. A ring of your creamy sweet decorated the base of his cock, he watched as your wetness seemed to pour from you as he vacated your hole.
You wanted him to feel good… You had a fiery urge to ensure he was satisfied, almost to a point of not being able to recognize your own mind’s voice.
“Can you stand up one last time… for me?” He sounded pathetic… No human had ever obliterated his senses like this before, he didn’t think it was possible. He found humans to be amusing little toys… Not that you weren’t, but…
You obliged without question, watching as he turned away briefly to grab your belt. Of course his body was chiseled, something he knew appealed to mortal toys like yourself, you got another chance to study him until he faced you again.
He grabbed your wrists, binding them with your belt, and raised them above your head in one hand. He turned you with his other, walking you to the landscape window in his third-story office, having always wanted to do something like this. A foot or two away, he stopped, pressing your top half forward at your wrists, the side of your face and breasts pressed against the freezing glass. You felt so shameless… And so empty as you waited for him to fill you.
“Do you like being humiliated?” His familiar tip danced at your used hole, “Answer.” His domineering words ignited you.
“By you.” You answered candidly, words slightly distorted from your face being held against the window.
“Such a good, slutty little patient you are.” He plunged the entirety of his cock back into you swiftly, obsessed with how his largest knot was absorbed so easily.
“I want you to cum inside me, doctor…” You whined impatiently, completely lost in him.
“I’m sure you fucking do.” His words were shredded between his teeth, “You’d love that. I wish someone could see how fucking bad you want my cum.”
“Please…” You urged him to move, still in disbelief that he buried himself so far.
He was nearly at his own wit’s end, thrusting himself up into you, his hips colliding forcefully against your ass. His free hand was soldered to your waist, ensuring you remain as a statue in this unpleasant pose, it being uncomfortable somehow adding to the storm surge brewing inside you.
“Are you going to cum again, darling?” Your eyes were squeezed shut, just nodding worthlessly against the glass as he cooed so sinfully. “I love seeing you dance so beautifully on my cock, give me all of you.”
His tactic of plunging his entire length into you repeatedly was something you were particularly susceptible to, his knots rolling effortlessly through you, “Fuck… Yes...” His voice was as smoky as his scent, fogging your mind. He slammed into you one final time, holding you tightly against him as you both reached your highs. His thick seed was so hot, coating your walls so deliciously, his pants raining down against your back. You felt strangely resolved like you had served a divine purpose by receiving his cum so impossibly deep.
He pulled your body close by your bound wrists, his chest flush with your back, potting sweet kisses from your neck to your shoulder. It felt as if you could nearly be bound to his pelvis from how tightly you were wound around his shaft. A hand dragged down, letting your arms finally rest as he delicately caressed your breasts, your head falling back against the top of his chest.
“I think you may need a follow-up evaluation,” He cracked softly near your ear, “Your case is particularly serious.”
ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!
🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader
🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, virgin!reader, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, some mild second-hand embarrassment perhaps, sex toys, edging, failed masturbation attempts, ghost takes your virginity and also maybe ruins you for literally anybody else ever again
masterlist
reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
The ceiling over your head is drab grey and water-stained, the old paint peeling away in strips. It’s an ugly sight, but you barely see it; you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.
The sheets beneath you are uncomfortably damp with your sweat, but you don’t have the energy to roll over just yet. You feel hot and itchy with frustration, and you scowl up at the ceiling above you as your fingers curl into fists. But even though you feel like laying in your now grubby-bedding for the rest of the evening, you can’t let yourself wallow. There’s going to be a knock on your door any minute, and this is not a position you want to be found in.
With an irritable groan, you haul yourself off the bed and to your feet. Your muscles ache and you feel too warm, but you reach for your clothes anyway. The worn cotton of your shirt feels scratchy against your skin, but maybe that’s just because you’re still over-sensitive and irritable.
You can never quite bear to look at the aftermath of what you’d been doing, so you avert your eyes as you gather up the bright silicone and plastic devices littering your mattress. It’s embarrassing now that the adrenaline has worn off and disappointment is beginning to set in, so you end up gathering them all up more roughly than necessary.
The term ‘toy’ seems incongruous to you. It sounds too childish, too immature. It makes you sound like a stupid kid, as though you aren’t a young adult past twenty fumbling your way through sexual self-exploration. It’s embarrassing, and much more frustrating than you ever would have predicted – despite all of your clumsy, desperate attempts at pleasuring yourself, you’ve never quite managed to reach that peak of pleasure you’ve heard other people talking about.
You grumble quietly to yourself as you try to wipe away the sticky lube that’s still coating your thighs. Your muscles are a little achy from all the tensing you’d been doing trying to come with that stupid vibrator, not even accompanied by the satisfaction you had been hoping for.
It’s not as though you’ve never gotten the opportunity to experiment with others; you’re not unforgivably ugly, you don’t think you have a bad personality, and for the past few years you’ve been surrounded by military men that certainly aren’t known for being picky. And it certainly isn’t like you haven’t received your fair share of offers.
It just never seemed right. You’re not overly concerned about ‘saving’ your virginity or anything like that; it’s just that putting yourself into such a vulnerable position is scary. You’re aware of the irony, of course, that you’d trust many of these people with saving your ass from catching a bullet in the field, but allowing someone to see you so intimately feels like a step too far.
You’re still sweaty and flustered and naked when a knock sounds from your door, and you freeze. The doorknob turns, but doesn’t open; in that moment, you’re deliriously grateful that you had turned the lock – it’s something that you’ve forgotten to do on far too many occasions.
“Lass, you in there?” Oh god, it’s Soap.
Cursing quietly to yourself, you jolt into action. Your pants are crumpled at the bottom of your bed where you had shed them, and you hurriedly gather them up and struggle your way back into them.
“Gimme a minute!” You yell, praying he doesn’t notice the somewhat frantic edge to your voice.
You stagger slightly as you worm your way into your pants, and then lunge to grab the stupid dildo you’d just been trying to use. You feel your skin prickle with humiliation as you try to force the stupidly large silicone cock into your already full underwear drawer, jamming it shut roughly to hide it from sight. You don’t want to even imagine what Soap might have to say if he were to see what you had been doing; you think you might have to go full deserter mode and abscond into the wilderness.
“Did ye forget about drinks?” Soap’s drawl carries through the thickness of the door. He doesn’t sound even slightly put out – if anything, he sounds a little amused.
You pause, close your eyes, sigh. Fuck. You had not, in fact, forgotten about drinks, you just thought you had more time.
“No, I– just a minute!” You yell back, shoving your shoes on and trying to fix your hair.
You had completely lost track of time, and now you don’t even have time to rinse your sweat-damp skin off – you’re going to have to sit through drinks with the squad all grimy, like a physical reminder of what you had been up to for the last two hours.
When you finally unlock the door and wrench it open, Soap is standing on the other side tapping a staccato rhythm on his thighs with his open palms. He’s dressed casually in just blue jeans and a black muscle shirt, and he gives you a look of semi-disbelief.
“What the hell were you—”
“Gym.” You interrupt, landing on the only explanation you can think of for your sweaty skin and messy hair.
Soap blinks, but apparently decides it’s not worth the effort to continue that line of conversation. He just shrugs, then turns and starts making his way down the hall, slowing his pace for you to catch up.
You exhale; Soap can be like a bloodhound when he suspects there’s gossip to be had, and you’re relieved to have dodged a round of his relentless questioning. You suppose he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes, and he knows you well enough not to press you. Or, perhaps it’s because you come across as such a non-sexual being that it doesn’t even occur to him that there may be another explanation.
There’s an unofficial tradition that when the squad is on base, everyone gathers in the sparsely decorated recreation room for drinks and card games on Thursday evenings. It usually makes for an enjoyable night; Gaz and Soap can always be trusted to supply whatever bottles of alcohol they’ve managed to get their grubby little hands on, and it’s always amusing to watch Captain Price get increasingly more irate as Soap pretends not to understand the rules of whatever card game they’re playing. The whole illicitness of having contraband on base only makes the whole thing more exciting; the CO’s on base often turn a blind eye to the activity, so long as it’s kept under control.
But tonight, you’re distracted.
The others had offered a bit of good-natured ribbing when you and Soap had turned up late, but before long you’re all settled in a loose circle on the poorly-stuffed couches in the corner of the room. Gaz has already unstoppered a bottle of bourbon, and is attempting to convince a visibly unimpressed Price to play a game of Kings with them. You curl up on one of the worn-out couches opposite them, watching with a small if slightly stiff smile.
The atmosphere is relaxed and pleasant, almost enough to make you forget about the irritating buzz of unfulfilled arousal under your skin. You shift, trying to keep your movements small, subtle, to avoid the notice of your team. Your denim jeans are nowhere near as comfortable as usual, and you wonder briefly if you should have simply worn your cargo pants just to avoid the harsh friction of the denim.
You sit there feeling… unmoored. You fidget, drink your smooth bourbon in sips in an attempt to avoid wincing, and try not to look as obviously out of place as you feel. It’s been like this, recently. Joining the task force has been an accomplishment for you, a source of immense pride – you’re the youngest member (just narrowly beating Gaz for the title) and a woman to boot, and though the squad has never treated you any differently it’s hard to kick the belief that you have something to prove.
You engage in conversations the best you can, but you’re distracted and you know it must be obvious. Your preoccupation gets you a couple of furrowed brows and glances, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to give you some space.
You don’t even realise the extent of your distraction until a big body settles down on the loveseat next to you, and you jolt. True to his name, Ghost had appeared near silently, escaping your notice until he lowers himself down to sit next to you.
And damn, you forget how big he is sometimes. It’s an average sized loveseat, but the lieutenant takes up over half of it. He’s obviously being mindful not to consciously crush you, but he’s not being overly cautious when it comes to avoiding touching you. He’s dressed unusually casually, and his thick, muscled thigh is wrapped in blue denim as it presses carelessly against yours.
“You alright?” He asks, his voice low and smooth as he nudges your knee with one of his big knuckles.
You haven’t been a member of the task force for long, but you would know Simon Riley by his hands alone, by the earthy salt-spice in your nose as he leans a little closer to peer at your face. You tilt your head up, unable to stop the small reflexive smile that breaks over your face at the sight of him.
“Yeah.” You breathe, hurriedly straightening up where you’re sitting. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”
His sudden proximity isn’t doing your current state any favours, and you take a quick sip of your drink in an effort to collect yourself. It’s taking a herculean effort not to stare at the way his biceps are bulging against the straining material of his black cotton t-shirt.
“What’re you thinking about?” Ghost asks as he stretches out his legs with a tired groan. The sound is gruff and gravelly, and you feel blood rush uncomfortably to your cheeks.
“Nothing.” You say quickly.
He doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious, but Ghost never pushes and he rarely speaks more than he has to. He just gives you a glance, brief and knowing and far more penetrating than it should be, before turning his head back so he can watch the boys playing their card game. He’s holding a crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid, but he hasn’t yet pulled his mask up to drink from it.
Your eyes drop to the thick, pale scars that mar the backs of his hands. You trace the path of the scar tissue, eyes lingering around the thick knuckles and broad palms, the way that he holds the glass so casually confidently. He’s got nice hands, probably made all the more attractive by the fact that you hardly ever get to see them. Seeing Ghost without his usual long sleeves and gloves makes you feel like a Victorian pervert snatching stolen glances at a passing lady’s ankles.
A quiet snicker causes your eyes to dart back to his face, and you’re mortified to find that he’s caught you staring.
“What’s got you in such a mood?” He asks. Even through the mask you can tell that he’s smirking, though it doesn’t feel as though he’s making fun of you.
“Just one of those days, I guess.” You say without meeting his eyes.
It’s an evasion at best, but Ghost nods ponderously as though he’s giving this great thought. His stare is penetrating, those big brown eyes watching you as though he can see right through you. Maybe he can. You try not to get too caught up staring at his pale eyelashes, darkened by smears of eyeblack.
“Did something happen?” He asks. The question is casual enough, asked as he lazily swirls his whiskey around in his glass, but his gaze is sharp and assessing.
“No.” You sigh, finally looking properly at him.
It’s a little frustrating, but the squad has been like this with you from the start – protective. Your whole military career has consisted of you veritably clawing your way up through the ranks, and you’ve been surrounded by coarse, gruff men that have underestimated you all your life. 141 is different – they don’t baby you, but the way they treat you is unmistakably softer than how they typically treat each other. The concern can be touching, if a little tiring sometimes.
And maybe it’s because he’s your lieutenant, but Ghost’s attention has always been just this side of overwhelming. It feels like you’re pinned beneath his dark eyes, his gaze somehow sharpened as he watches you from beneath his more casual balaclava, the skull pattern printed on his jaw adding another layer of intimidation. But his shoulders are relaxed as he sits next to you on the small couch, settling the weight of his attention over you like a blanket.
You’ve always respected him, admired him. How could you not? He’s practically a living legend, his reputation larger than life, and he’s scary as fuck. But he’s also softer than you had expected, gentle when he needs to be. He still rides you hard in training, pushing you to your limits and taking no quarter, but you can’t begrudge that. Not when you know he’s working to keep you alive. Perhaps that’s how the attraction had first bloomed; once it started, it was hard to stifle.
Ghost hooks one finger into his balaclava and pulls it up just high enough to expose his mouth, and he presses his glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink. You struggle not to stare like a moron, but he makes it so difficult. His lips are full and pink, and there’s a rugged scar bisecting his top lip. His stubble is dark blond and short, and it doesn’t hide the various scars and marks that decorate his strong jawline.
You almost jolt when he pulls the mask back down, hurriedly averting your eyes and forcing yourself to look out across the room. It’s not just the 141 that’s decided to take up in the rec room this evening; there are soldiers from other units littered all around the room, laughing and joking, playing lazy games of pool on the table in the corner and smoking. The smoke alarm has been jimmied off the ceiling and the window is open, and even Price is turning a temporary blind eye to the blatant disregard for regulations in favour of puffing on one of his cigars.
Ghost shifts on the worn-out fabric of the couch, and lays an arm over the back of the headrest behind you. It’s a casual, thoughtless movement, but it ends up pushing his body slightly closer to you in a way that makes you feel as though you’re about to catch fire.
You cross your legs, but the seam of your jeans presses into your pussy in a way that sends a frisson of heat up your spine. You hurriedly uncross your legs, and attempt to school your expression into casual neutrality as you force yourself to tune back into the conversation.
“–ach, c’mon, Captain,” Soap is saying in a wheedling tone that he probably thinks is endearing. “One round of strip poker won’t kill ya–”
“No.” Price says in a voice like thunder, brooking no argument as thick cigar smoke pours from his nose. It gives the impression of an enraged bull.
Soap either is ignorant to the warning, or is choosing to wilfully ignore it. Judging by the sly gleam in his eyes, you can guess which. He turns to you then, and waggles his eyebrows.
“C’mon, lassie, you’ll play, won’t ya?” He asks with a grin that promises trouble. “I guarantee you’ll be a sight better than any o’ these louts.”
“Speak for yourself,” Gaz pipes up, already grinning. “I was looking forward to seeing the Captain in his jocks–”
Price promptly knocks his drink back, before pushing himself up to his feet with a grim groan. “Right. That’s enough of you lot for one night.”
Gaz and Soap break into peals of laughter, settling back into their seats as they watch their captain march away.
“Offer’s still open, love,” Soap says, still snickering when he looks over to you. “Wanna play?”
Ghost shifts, his wide thigh knocking into yours as his arm stretches behind your shoulders. He lets out a short exhale through his nose, but when you glance up at him you find him as stoic and hard to read as always.
You just roll your eyes. It’s not the first time that they’ve tried to rope you into strip poker, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You can always trust Soap to start stripping his clothes off when he’s three drinks in, whether he’s playing a game or not, so it’s not surprising that he tries to involve other people in his bad decision making.
And it’s not a big deal, really. There’s been countless missions and operations that have ended up with all of you staying in uncomfortably close quarters with each other. You’ve seen them naked countless times, and the same with them for you. It’s never meant anything, and you know that Soap’s teasing is exactly that – you don’t think they’ve ever once looked at you through any sexual lens at all.
But even still, the joke flusters you more than it should.
“Think I’ll be joining Cap in going to bed, actually.” You say, clearing your throat and setting your glass down on the low table in front of the couch.
The playful booing from Soap doesn’t do much to change your mind, and you stick out your tongue at him and Gaz as you push yourself up from the couch. You try to ignore the loss of heat at your side when you move away from Ghost, though you can’t help but glance back at the lieutenant. He’s not looking at you, his gaze directed into his glass. You try not to feel disappointed about that.
You say your goodnights, and retreat from the rec room.
By the time you make it back to your dorm however, you’re already playing the conversation back over in your head and wondering if you had made the wrong decision.
Perhaps you should have just played the damn game. Despite your inexperience with all things sexual, you’re not actually all that shy about your body. On missions, you and the squad are often forced into tight quarters, and they've all seen you in various stages of undress before. It's hard to be self-conscious around a group of people that have seen you at your worst, whether that’s soaked in blood, unshowered, sleep-deprived, or injured.
But you were so keyed up from your earlier failed attempts at masturbation that the thought of being so physically exposed in front of your squad is mortifying. It feels as though your unresolved arousal is still simmering through your veins, turning your thoughts slow and soupy and stupid.
It’s not so surprising. Your preferred method of dealing with stress is coming back to your private bunk and messing around with your vibrator until you’ve forgotten all of your problems. The problem is, you’ve never quite been able to reach that climax you’ve heard so many talk about.
It’s not for lack of trying, and it’s not as though you haven’t come close to that toe-curling finish you crave so much. But it’s like there’s some sort of block, something that always holds you back before you can go plummeting over that edge. Something that makes the buzzing pleasure dissipate before your eyes like smoke, leaving you worked up and so frustrated. It’s probably inevitable that all those ruined finishes have built up like sludge in your veins, leaving you slow and distracted and irritable.
You eye your underwear drawer thoughtfully as you perch on your bed, before reaching inside and drawing out the same dildo you had been using earlier. You wonder if it would be too much to try again tonight – the muscles in your calves still feel a little bit over-worked from training all day, and you have a feeling that straining in an attempt to reach an orgasm you’ll likely never attain will only make it worse.
But the thought of Ghost in that stupid tight cotton shirt stays firmly stuck in your mind, and that really makes the decision for you. Before you can think too much about it, you’re sliding your jeans off and climbing atop your mattress. The sheets are dirty anyway, after all. May as well have some fun before you change them.
You slide your panties off next, then kick them to the side. It’s difficult not to feel a little pathetic, but you push those feelings aside. So what if you have an embarrassing little crush on a superior officer? It’s not like that’s unusual within the military, and you’re quite certain that dealing with all that unresolved attraction like this is the most sensible thing you can do.
You fish out the bottle of lube you had been using earlier, and drizzle it liberally along the dildo’s length before setting it aside on the blanket. While you’ve used your dildo plenty of times, you still struggle to grow accustomed to the stretch of it. It’s a good dildo – a vibrating one in the rabbit style, designed to stimulate your g-spot and clit at the same time. It was damn expensive too, but it’s one luxury you’re willing to indulge in.
You close your eyes, slide it between your legs, and hit the power button. A low bzzz emanates from between your thighs; you jerk at the immediate barrage of pleasure, your abs tightening and your legs twitching apart, creating more room between them.
Your body is quick to react, sweat prickling under your armpits and your heart thudding quickly in your chest. You can feel electric pleasure coursing through you as you press it against your clit, your toes curling into your sheets.
You bring the vibrator lower, your clit throbbing a little at its sudden absence before you press it inside, sighing. It slips inside much too easily – you’re almost embarrassed by the easy slide. You’re so wet, both from your failed attempt at masturbation earlier and from sitting beside Simon fucking Riley all evening. It’s a deeper, subtler pleasure now, and you clench around it with a quiet moan.
You cycle through the vibrator’s different settings, making it buzz at odd intervals or lower intensities in your usual attempt to build up an orgasm. You wish, with sudden and mortifying clarity, that it could be replaced with a person. More specifically, a person with big hands and firm muscles that still have some soft give to them, and a toe-curlingly gravelly voice.
You squirm, shifting your hips to change the angle of the vibrator inside you. Without meaning to, you imagine Ghost. It’s hard not to, considering your close proximity to him all evening. Your cheeks heat as you imagine Ghost actually being here, watching you all still and silent with that penetrating dark-eyed stare of his.
You huff out a breath, arching off your bed. This is always the best part. You have to ensure that you relish the build up, before it all fizzles out from between your fingers. You whimper, soft and quiet, clenching around the stiff silicone as it buzzes away inside of you.
Right as you press the soft little vibrating bunny ears to your clit, there’s a knock on the door. Then, horrifically, like a scene from your fucking nightmares, your door opens.
“Kid, you–”
Ghost is already half-way through the door when he lays eyes on you, and then he goes completely still in your doorway.
“Fuck.” You hiss, scrambling to knock the stupid thing off.
You fumble for it, panicking. The end is slippery and you can barely manage to grip it. When you finally do, it’s difficult to pull out, your body still attempting to hold it inside. It’s another agonising few seconds to turn it off, the vibrator unfortunately featuring one of those awfully thought-out designs that makes you have to cycle through every single one of the settings rather than hit an off-switch.
And then, finally, silence.
Ghost is living up to his name right now; he’s as stock still and silent as a dead man, stiff as a board as he stares unblinkingly at you. You’re not even sure that he’s breathing, but you can see the whites of his eyes as he gapes at you, frozen.
You stare back at him blankly, hoping that your bed comes to life and swallows you whole just to put an end to your mortification.
At last, Ghost blinks, then finishes his sentence. “You left your phone.”
He lifts his arm. In his large, thick fist, is your stupid goddamn phone. You must have left it on the couch when you had gotten up to leave. You might have wondered at the lieutenant voluntarily bringing it to your dorm for you, but you’re hit with a wave of humiliation so strong that it wipes your brain completely blank.
“Ah.” You say, and your voice cracks. “Thanks.”
There’s a moment of mortifying silence, and then Ghost steps into your room. Your heart jolts right up into the base of your throat as he closes your door behind him. The click of the door is as loud as a gunshot in the silence that’s settled over the room.
Ghost still hasn’t blinked. He’s watching you with eyes that look almost black in the dim light of your room, intense as a predator.
“I–” You attempt to speak, and your throat clicks dryly. “I didn’t–”
Far too late, you realise that your legs are still splayed open. You snap them shut, inhaling a choked breath through your nose.
“I thought I locked the door.” You finish lamely.
Ghost apparently decides to simply disregard that, which you’re honestly a little grateful for. Instead he steps towards you – the enormous bulk of him feels as though he’s completely filling every bit of space in the room, sucking out all the damn oxygen.
“...‘S this why you were so distracted this evening, hm?” He says as he approaches the bed. “You were in a mood ‘cause you wanted to get back to playing with yourself?”
It’s not a question, exactly. At least, it’s not phrased like one. Ghost’s tone is knowing, with an undertone of gruff amusement. You’re certain that you’re not imagining the rough, breathless quality to his voice either, though the thought sends nerves fizzing through your bloodstream.
“No.” You deny uselessy; it’s plainly obvious what you were doing, after all. “No, I just–”
He doesn’t wait for you to finish. His eyes are still glued to you, even though your thighs are now pressed together. Before you can stop him, he reaches down and takes a hold of your hot pink vibrator where you had been trying to hide it beneath your thigh.
“Cute little thing.” He comments, tilting his head to look at the dildo hanging between his thick fingers.
Mortification burns through you. A panicked sort of screech escapes you and you yank it back out of Ghost’s stupid big hand, shoving it under the blankets.
Perhaps if it had been anyone else, your humiliation wouldn’t be burning quite so intensely. But this is Ghost – your lieutenant, the gruff man that you’ve looked up to ever since you joined the task force. He’s not a man famed for his patience, nor for his eloquence, which is making this situation all the more unbearable.
“Lt,” You wheeze, scrambling to sit up and cover your pussy with your hands as you squeeze your legs closed. “I swear I didn’t– I’m sorry–”
But Ghost doesn’t seem interested in your apologies. He’s still watching you as though he can see right through the damn blanket, as though he’s measuring you up and trying to come to a decision about something. In that moment, you hate your reaction to him – no matter how humiliating this situation is, you want him to approve of you, even now.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He grunts, and then he sits down on your bed.
You gape at him. It feels as though your brain has stalled; you’re pretty sure you’re not reacting correctly right now. You probably should have screamed when the lieutenant walked right into your room without knocking. That surely would have sent him straight back out again. And even now, you should probably be ordering him out, telling him to leave.
But you don’t.
“I was.. um.. finished anyway.” You manage to croak out. You sound so pathetic that you nearly make yourself cringe.
Ghost doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches you, his eyes as dark as ever beneath the mask. For a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all.
But then he says, “Didn’t look like you finished to me.”
Blood rushes to your face so quickly that it makes you light-headed as you catch his meaning. Oh, what the fuck. This is just adding salt to the wound now.
“I wasn’t trying to–” You start, then cut yourself off. “That’s not why I was– I was just trying to relax.”
In the ensuing silence, you realise how silly you sound. At the very least, Ghost doesn’t laugh; he just tilts his head to the side, consideringly.
“Let me see.”
You gape at him. “I– sir–”
“Let me see, sergeant.”
It’s not an order. Not quite. Ghost’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You have room to refuse. You could tell him to get out of your dorm right now, and he’d do it. Knowing the lieutenant, he’d never bring it up again, either.
You drop your knees apart, spreading your thighs in an unpracticed, self-conscious sort of motion.
Under the lieutenant’s sharp gaze, your skin prickles and your nerves strain. Even sitting down on your bed, he’s a veritable behemoth of broad shoulders and thick corded muscle. His hulking form towers over you even now, and you feel so damn small as you lay there propped up against your pillows in nothing but a t-shirt.
Ghost has seen you naked before, obviously. You can’t afford to be prudish in the military, where you never know when you’ll next have true privacy, and you’ve changed out and showered with the squad countless times. It’s never meant anything, and the men in 141 have never made you feel anything less than comfortable with them.
This, however, is different. This isn’t just a case of catching a quick glimpse of your nude form as you shower in the group shower rooms when you’re out on missions – your whole damn pussy is out on display for him, still glistening wet and sticky from your ministrations and the lube you’d used.
Ghost’s inhale is as loud as a thunderclap. You’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in another person’s presence. You feel a little ridiculous laying like this as he watches you, but another part of you feels so humiliatingly desperate for some kind of approval from your lieutenant.
At first, that approval is nowhere to be found. Ghost is notoriously difficult to read, and you’re beginning to sweat as you lay there waiting for a response – any response.
At last, he makes a noise. It’s part grunt, part hum, and part groan.
“You’re still wet, sergeant.”
Are you imagining it, or is his voice an octave deeper than usual?
Your eyes trace his face, trying to imagine what he looks like beneath the mask. You can see the suggestion of his nose, the square curve of his jaw. His darkened eyes are watching you so carefully that you feel as though you’re physically being pinned in place.
You swallow. “It’s just– I–”
“You didn’t get to finish.” Ghost interrupts, with the air of completing your sentence for you.
You try to speak, but nothing more than a strangled sort of murmur escapes. You swallow hastily, then try again.
“I wasn’t going to. Sir.” You tack on the title at the end as an afterthought, but this whole situation is so far beyond professional that you probably needn’t have bothered. “Finish, I mean. I… I never do.”
You’ve admitted it before you can really think about it, and then you regret it wildly. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve overstepped a boundary, but then again the boundaries are currently so blurred that they’re virtually impossible to discern.
“You never finish.” Ghost repeats it. Slowly, staring right at your face, as though he’s confirming what you’ve just said.
It sounds so much worse in his deep, gravelly voice.
Embarrassment blooms, thick and sickly in your stomach. Your legs start to twitch closed, too embarrassed to be having this conversation with your cunt bared like this, but then Ghost’s big paw of a hand reaches out to settle over your knee, keeping you open and exposed. It’s so rare to see his hands ungloved, and the bare skin of his callous-roughened hand feels almost scorching hot against your inner knee.
“I don’t– I’ve tried,” You say, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re just digging yourself further into a hole, here. “But I don’t– I’m not able to. I mean, I’ve come close, I’m just not able to… you know.”
You trail off lamely, feeling like the biggest fucking loser ever. Why are you telling him this? Why the fuck haven’t you reacted properly, and kicked him the hell out of your room?
Deep down, a shameful little part of you already knows the answer to that. You’re feeling awfully, sickeningly hopeful. Having Lieutenant Riley in your dorm, sitting on your bed and staring so hungrily at the wet, swollen parts between your legs feels like something out of your wildest wet dreams.
His eyes flick towards your pink silicone rabbit dildo, half-hidden under your blanket, and he grunts consideringly before reaching out and taking it into his hands again. It’s standard-size, but it looks small in his big hands.
“You ain’t doin’ it right, then.” He says, so bluntly that you just blink at him. “Show me how you use it.”
For a brief, wild moment, you wonder if you’re experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations right now. Surely you can’t really be experiencing this right now – and yet the lieutenant is still watching you, and you’ve never disobeyed a direct order before.
He hands you the vibrator, then waits expectantly.
And… well. All you ever try to do is impress him.
You shuffle your legs open a little wider, ignoring the flustered heat that scalds your cheeks. You’ve never been all exposed like this in front of another person, and the weight of Ghost’s eyes on you is reminiscent of being under a spotlight.
You swear his eyes darken even further when you press the stiff silicone rabbit dildo to your cunt, if it’s even possible for that gaze to get darker beneath the thick balaclava and eyeblack smeared over the narrow strip of skin that’s visible.
The dildo sinks in so easily that it’s almost embarrassing, and your breath catches both from the stretch and the way Ghost leans in a little closer to see. Far from turning you off, you feel your body throb in response to his proximity, and your cunt flutters pathetically around the plastic toy. You shift, attempting to get a little more comfortable, but you can’t dispel the nerves fizzing in your blood as you attempt to push the dildo a little deeper under Ghost’s sharp gaze.
His big, hulking body is so perfectly still as he watches you that it’s making you a little nervous. The only reaction that you get from him is a small, considering hum, but even then you can’t figure out what it means. Your movements are a little clumsy, so hyper-conscious that he’s watching every single thing you do that you end up fumbling a little. He’s looking at you in the same way he assesses threats, his intense dark eyes examining every movement and reaction you make. It makes you feel small and jittery, especially when you realise that he’s judging you by what you’re doing.
“You gonna turn it on?” He asks, and oh god his voice has definitely dropped lower and huskier. You know you’re not imagining it.
You can’t even bring yourself to respond with words. You just make a strangled sort of sound of agreement, then clumsily hit the on button. The toy buzzes to life once more, and your toes curl absent-mindedly into the sheets as the soft silicone bunny ears pulse against your clit.
It feels nice, but you can’t manage to concentrate on the feeling. Hyper-aware of Ghost’s attention, you let out a quiet moan as you shift the vibrator inside you. It’s a little exaggerated, but you can’t help it – you feel like you should be putting on some kind of a show.
You glance back at Ghost’s face, trying to guess what he’s thinking; even through the mask, you can tell that he’s frowning. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. Have you done something wrong?
“This how you usually do it?” He asks.
You swallow thickly, feeling a bit stupid. “Um.. yeah.”
Ghost grunts. He doesn’t sound impressed.
“No wonder you can’t come.” He says wryly.
You go still, eyes widening. In the silence, the bzzzzt! of your stupid vibrator is louder than ever. A sudden wave of shame washes over you, and you start to close your legs again in an effort to block the sight of the toy stuffed into your pussy.
“Oh,” You snap sourly, your embarrassment making you irritable. “So you’re the pussy expert now?”
That startles a loud bark of a laugh out of the lieutenant, a sound so rare that you find yourself desperately trying to commit it to memory.
“Think I might know a bit more than you, sweetheart.” He says. He’s relaxed now, his wide shoulders rolling back. He’s always so effortlessly confident, always so assured in himself and his abilities in a way that makes you feel like a silly little girl.
Judging by the way the corners of his eyes are just slightly wrinkled beneath the mask, Ghost is smirking at you. He finds this funny.
“What about when you’re with other people, hm?” He asks, and his eyes drop back down to try and get a look at you again. When he realises that your legs are clamped tight together, he reaches out to guide your thighs apart again. “No one’s ever impressed you?”
His hands are big and rough and hot, and your willpower crumbles like wet paper as you allow him to open your legs all over again. The vibrator is still buzzing sadly inside you, mostly forgotten about; the stimulation is nice, but it’s never been enough for you.
You huff a weak laugh. You should have known that this would come up, and now you find yourself floundering a little.
“No one’s ever tried.” The confession comes out like a whisper, like a secret.
You can see the moment Ghost understands; realisation settles heavy over him like a physical weight, and the whites of his eyes flash as they widen just slightly. For a moment, he says nothing at all. He doesn’t move – it doesn’t even look like he breathes.
“No?” He says, except it doesn’t really sound like a question. It sounds rough, and you can feel the almost convulsive motion of his fingers tightening around your knee.
You shake your head wordlessly, beyond embarrassed now.
Ghost’s wispy blond eyelashes flutter softly as his eyes dart down to your pussy, still humiliatingly stuffed with your stupid little vibrator. He takes a moment to stare, then looks back up to your face. He’s so frustratingly confident about everything he does, not an ounce of shame in his posture even as you wilt beneath him.
“Never messed around with anybody?”
“No.” You say, and it comes out on a wheeze. He holds your gaze without faltering, and you realise that he’s expecting you to elaborate. “No, I– it just never happened. I was never… um, I was just always too busy, I guess.”
“Too fussy, more like.” He mutters, quiet enough that it seems like it’s a comment meant just for himself. You don’t know how to take that, so you chew your lip and stay quiet.
His eyes drop down to the vibrating dildo again, and you recognise something that looks like a flash of hunger. It feels like there’s pressure building up beneath your skin, tight and hot, and your thighs fall open a little further. You feel raw and so, so exposed, but you don’t even care when Ghost is looking at you like that.
“Let me try.” He says, the words falling out sharp and harsh as though he they’ve burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. It’s not like Ghost to speak without thinking it through, perfectly calculated, and your breath catches a little at the offer.
How could you ever say no to that? You don’t really think that he’s going to succeed in making you come – at this point you’re pretty sure your body is a little bit broken and you’re just not capable of orgasming at all, and that’s whatever – but the chance to get fucked by Ghost? To lose the lingering vestiges of your viriginity to your ridiculously hot, mysterious, massive lieutenant? It’s like something out of a dream.
“Okay.” You choke out, nodding stupidly. “Yeah.”
You want to be touched. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt the yearning for physical contact this strongly in your life; you’re practically holding your breath as you wait for Ghost to make a move.
Finally, he reaches out. His first move is to pull the stupid little dildo out of you, still vibrating, and you feel yourself clench convulsively around nothing as he leaves you empty and wanting. He spares it a brief, evaluating glance, and you feel yourself burn as you realise he’s examining how you’ve soaked the toy.
He tosses it to the side, barely even taking the time to switch it off first, then turns his attention back to you. He’s got that same kind of laser-focus he usually only gets out on the field, and you take a moment to feel incredibly grateful that you’re never going to be on the receiving end of that terrifying scrutiny on the battlefield.
It feels like your skin is too tight for your body, every nerve and synapse strained and primed as you wait for him to touch you. But he’s slow about it, as though he just wants to torture you a little bit.
When he finally reaches out to lay his hands on you, he doesn’t touch where you want him to.
His callous-roughened hands land on your hips, and pull you down the bed towards him. In the same move, he half-climbs up on the mattress, his huge form practically dwarfing you. Your head and shoulders are still cushioned by your pillows, but your legs are splayed open around Ghost where he kneels on your bed.
You glance down, unable to help yourself, unable to resist trying to catch a look at the outline of his erection pressing against his trousers, and oh. Fuck. He’s big. You knew he’d be big, of course, he’s big all over, but Jesus Christ, maybe you’re a little out of your own depth here–
His thick fingers tangle in the hem of your t-shirt, stretching the fabric out. “Take this off.”
You scramble to do as he says, grabbing at your top and pulling it up clumsily. You realise a moment too late that you’re not wearing a bra, but you suppose at this point it hardly matters. You drop your shirt to the side, and try not to feel too horrifically self-conscious beneath the burning hot gaze of the lieutenant.
Though you can’t see Ghost’s face, you can hear the soft exhale he blows out through his nose, just faintly muffled by the fabric of his mask. His eyes are trained on your chest, darting between each of your tits as though he can’t decide which one to settle on. After a long moment, he reaches forward and cups your left tit with one of his enormous hands, thumbing absently at one of your nipples.
It’s silly; Ghost has touched you before. Lots of times. A nudge of the elbow accompanied by a conspiratorial eye roll, a clap to the shoulder, rough hands pulling you to your feet after training or applying white-hot painful pressure to injuries. But this – you’ve never been touched like this before, not by Ghost, not by anyone.
The shaky breath you let out as his big, rough thumb rolls over your firm nipple comes out as a strangled sort of moan that honestly startles you a little. The noise catches his attention, and he snorts.
“Can’t be that sensitive.” He mutters, but then he reaches to thumb at your other nipple as though trying to be sure.
It’s because you’ve never been touched like this by another person before, you tell yourself. Truthfully, you’ve never even touched yourself like this before. You’ve never bothered to play with your own tits; you’ve always just gone straight to breaking out your vibrators. Now, with every brush of Ghost’s scarred fingers over the tight bud of your nipples, you think you must have been crazy to skip over this part of yourself. But then again, there’s no way that your own hands on yourself would elicit the same sharp jolt that shoots from your breasts down your spine.
“Sir–” You breathe, struggling not to squirm where you’re laying. You wonder, somewhat deliriously, if it might be rude to demand your lieutenant stuff his thick fingers into your pussy. You can already tell that they’re going to feel so much better than your own.
Ghost glances up at you, his eyes unreadable as he watches you bite at your lip. God, his little wispy eyelashes are so blond—
“What?” He says, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Say it.”
“Want to try your fingers.” You breathe before you can second-guess yourself.
The laugh that rumbles out of Ghost’s chest is low and smoky. It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, so big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. You’ve witnessed those hands crack bones and snap necks and break down doors, and yet you can’t help but wonder desperately what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.
He adjusts himself on the bed; he’s a big man, hulking and huge as he kneels on your mattress, his weight causing it to dip. His palms wrap around your ankles with ease, and he hauls you into place with a grim efficiency that goes straight to your pussy.
“Big brute.” You say, a little breathlessly.
He ignores you, using his arms to hold your legs open and wide for him. And all you can do is just lie there as he stares, because goddamn it’s like he’s been carved from steel and you can’t break out of his grip. Not that you want to break out of his grip anyway, but you’d really appreciate it if he actually got moving instead of just staring.
“Fuck,” He grunts after a moment, with the air of talking to himself. “Been hiding this all this time, huh?”
“Jesus.” You breathe in response, subconsciously letting your legs drop open even more.
He makes a low noise of appreciation, and finally reaches out to touch you properly. One thick thumb swipes through the seam of your cunt, and you feel the way he’s smearing the clear sticky wetness that’s been leaking steadily out of you. With his now slick thumb, he drags up towards your clit and circles it with agonisingly light pressure.
You let out an embarrassing choked whine, your toes curling at the sensation. Somewhat ironically, Ghost is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your attempts, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow.
“D’you always get this wet?”
You can’t even tell if he’s asking you mockingly or if he’s being genuinely curious; it feels like every inch of your focus has narrowed down to the feel of his big thumb rolling those tight little circles around your clit, his touch scorching against you.
It’s not exactly surprising that Ghost is good with his hands. You’ve seen the way he handles weaponry, locking and loading and aiming to fire with the kind of swiftness that comes from muscle memory, working with unwavering speed and precision. He’s the same in hand-to-hand combat, moving with aggressive fluidity that overwhelms his opponents. You’ve caught hits from him before in training, and you know from experience that a punch from those big hands feels like getting hit by a cinder block.
But even knowing how deft and skilled his hands are, it knocks the breath out of you when he slides his middle and ring fingers inside of you, still rubbing steadily at the swollen bump of your clit.
When you exhale, it accidentally comes out as a moan. Your cheeks burn, but there’s really no space in your brain right now for embarrassment to sink in. Two of Ghost’s fingers are the equivalent of at least three and a half of yours, and you feel yourself break out into an overwhelmed sweat when they twist and rub against the sensitive squishy spot in the front wall of your cunt.
You’re so damn worked up, your arousal coiled like a knot in your lower belly from your failed attempts to get yourself off all day. Your back curves, humping yourself near mindlessly back up into his hand as he plays you like a goddamn instrument.
You barely even have time to consider how unfair it is that Ghost is so good at playing with you like this when he doesn’t even have a pussy himself, because then he pulls his fingers out of you.
“Oh, no, don’t stop–” You start to protest breathlessly, your chest still heaving, but the quick glance the lieutenant sends you has you falling silent.
Ghost glances down at his fingers. They’re all glossy from fingering you, and he takes a moment to eye up the way they glisten in the dim light of your bunk. You might have felt self-conscious about it, if you couldn’t see the unmistakable gleam of hungry interest in Ghost’s dark brown eyes.
He wipes his hand on the crease of your hip, but you don’t even get the chance to protest before he reaches up to hook his fingers into his mask. You go still, holding your breath in surprise as he pulls the material up until it bunches up around the bridge of his nose.
And that’s– well. You’ve seen his jaw before, and his mouth (Jesus, you had seen it earlier that evening, when he had been sipping on his smooth whiskey of choice), but the sight of his strong jawline and blond stubble and corded scars on his pale skin always manages to knock the breath out of you. And this time, he’s rolled his mask up even further than before, revealing a nose that’s clearly been broken at least once before.
You probably shouldn’t stare so blatantly, especially knowing that Ghost always takes such pains to keep his face covered. You’re not even sure if the other guys on the team have seen his uncovered face, except for Price, and you know that they’ve developed a habit of averting their eyes when he pulls his mask up for whatever reason. It’s a habit that you never quite managed to develop yourself; you’re never able to stop yourself from gaping at him like a moron, drinking in all of the minutest details. He’s never said a thing about your penchant for staring, so you can only hope that he’s chosen to ignore it.
You’re so busy staring that it takes you by surprise when he grips your jaw with one massive hand and pulls you into a rough kiss.
The sound you make is small and startled, but it’s swallowed by Ghost’s demanding mouth. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but they feel scorching hot against yours. You reach up to grab at his arms – mostly just to ground yourself – but you find yourself almost immediately distracted by the firm bulge of his biceps beneath your hands.
Listen, you’ve kissed people before, plenty times. You’re in your early twenties, and just because you’re inexperienced sexually it doesn’t mean that you’re inexperienced full stop. But this, right now, kissing with Ghost, makes you feel as though you’ve been doing nothing but fumbling your way through all of those encounters, like you’ve been kissing wrong all this time.
It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body until you find your fingers grasping desperately at the short cotton sleeves of Ghost’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his thickly muscled arm.
Ghost doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. It’s like a full-body experience with him; he puts his hands, his whole damn body into the kiss. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backwards into the pillows beneath you. At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Ghost’s hands running over you, stroking you sides and squeezing at your breasts and groping at the soft flesh of your hips and ass.
“Hah,” You gasp out when Ghost’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you feel yourself grow embarrassingly wetter, just from a little kissing.
“You good?” Ghost grunts into your throat as he nips at the base of your jaw.
“Uh huh.” You manage to get out, still clutching at his meaty arms like they’re a lifeline. “So good.”
His breath is hot on your throat when he rumbles out a deep chuckle, and then his tongue flicks out against your earlobe. It makes you forget how to breathe for a second, and you’re distracted when Ghost’s hand changes course, easing beneath your legs so he can press his fingers against your clit again.
Then he pauses, and his fingers slide lower, lazily hooking back and inside you. You tremble, horny and humiliated as you realise that your arousal is glistening all over your damn thighs, impossible to miss.
“Fuck,” Ghost mutters. “All this for me, sweetheart?”
“Hnng,” You whimper like an idiot as his fingers return to your clit, now slick and slippery. “I’m just–”
He doesn’t wait for you to explain. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of you again and kisses you hard. The soft breathy noises you make are muffled into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist automatically. He’s built like a damn mountain, your thighs stretched wide to accommodate the bulk of him as he settles against the core of you.
He likes that – he presses in close, and you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing up against you through the roughness of his jeans. You’re so sensitive that the coarseness of the fabric is almost unbearable, but you’re able to ignore it because you’re so distracted by the sensation of his erection because holy fucking shit that can’t really be how big he is.
You gasp, the sound high and breathy, and you try to grind against Ghost, but it’s impossible because he’s so fucking heavy and he’s pinning you down on the mattress beneath him. Instead, all you can do is squeeze your legs and pull Ghost in even tighter, increasing the pressure between the two of you.
“I’m gonna ruin you,” Ghost whispers, and it sounds like a promise. He drags his lips up your throat, then talks against the corner of your mouth. “You won’t be able to touch yourself again without wishing it was me.”
The wave of desire that rocks through you almost pulls you under, and you swear you might have actually gotten so horny that you blacked out for a second, because from one second to the next Ghost has somehow managed to muscle his way back down between your thighs so that he’s eye-level with your cunt.
“What are you–” You start to say, but then he loops his forearms under your knees to tug your legs wider, and you realise just how close his face is to your pussy. You swear you’re actually pulsing with arousal, and you wonder a little wildly if he can see that.
“Oh, fuck, yes — please,” You blurt out, before Ghost has even gotten his mouth on you. He chuckles, low and amused. His grin looks predatory, but in this moment you really don’t mind being the prey — not if it means you’ll be devoured by that mouth.
Then Ghost’s mouth is against you, wet and burning hot. You cry out, barely noticing as Ghost throws one of your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open.
It’s just the right side of overwhelming. Ghost’s mouth feels like it’s going to swallow you whole – his tongue is huge and flat and firm as he licks over your clit, making your thighs quake on either side of his head. It’s entirely unlike any of the fumbling masturbatory attempts you’ve ever made – you always enjoy messing around with your various little sex toys, but you’re swiftly beginning to realise that it could never compare to real human contact. Or at least, contact with Ghost.
His hands move from your waist to your asscheeks, his big palms squeezing the plump flesh there before using his grip to pull your body closer so that he can bury his whole face between your legs. The rougher material of his mask presses harshly into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but you hardly even notice it.
Your pussy has never been this wet before; it feels like you’ve sprung a goddamn leak. You might have felt embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way Ghost groans against you, his wide tongue laving flat and rough against the seam of your cunt as he practically gulps down all the sticky arousal you have to give him.
“Oh god– fuck! Sir…” You sigh, spreading your knees farther apart so that Ghost can wedge his head further between your thighs.
Your ears burn as your room is filled with sounds of him tonguing at your cunt, the lewd wet squish of him working you over until you’re keening, your hips twitching clumsily until his hands tighten where he’s gripping the plump flesh of your ass to keep you still. Then all you can do is twitch as he licks over your clit in repetitive lapping motions, working in circles and then dipping down to shove his searingly hot tongue inside you. You can feel his teeth press against your labia even as he sucks at your clit, and the sensation sends hot bolts of pleasure rocketing down your spine.
Though you don’t mean to, you’re pretty sure that you make his job harder. You can’t stop wriggling, tossing your head back against your pillows and squirming on Ghost’s tongue in a wild overstimulated dance, like a fish caught in a net.
Finally, Ghost seems to have enough of your unco-ordinated flailing attempts to grind against his face. He reaches around your thigh with one arm to reach your clit so he can keep it stimulated as he gulps at the sticky sweetness of your cunt like a man possessed – the action also works to keep your hips pinned down and still. You stop your frantic moving, but your spasms and sounds increase tenfold.
You can hardly believe it, but you feel something coming. A sweet, torturous build up starts in your belly, and you sweat and gasp as he licks and suckles at you relentlessly. You’ve never found yourself in this state so quickly before, with your legs trembling and your breathing heavy and shaky.
“Oh.. oh…” You breathe, beginning to arch your back.
You know this feeling – this is where that sweet climax builds and builds, only to dissipate at the last agonisingly close moment. But this time, with Ghost’s big head between your thighs as his mouth moves against you, sucking, tasting, eating up everything you have to offer, the breath-taking pleasure doesn’t show any sign of slipping out of reach. It feels like for once you might actually reach that peak.
But then, right as you’re certain that you’re about to tip over that long-awaited coveted release, the bastard pulls away.
“No!” You practically shriek, attempting to sit up. “No, I was so close–!”
“Lie back.” Ghost orders, his voice like the crack of a whip.
You drop back obediently before you can even register that you’re moving, so conditioned to react instantly to that tone of voice coming from Ghost’s deep rumbling baritone. Your eyes are wide and betrayed as you stare at him, admittedly a little baleful.
God, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s staring up at you from between your legs like that. His eyes are dark and hungry beneath the mask, and since it’s all pushed up and rumpled around his nose you get a toe-curlingly good look at his lower face. His chin is wet and smeared with your slick, and his lips are plump and pink and swollen from all the kissing and suckling he’s done to you. In a moment of near-delirium, you think that you understand now why he covers his face – his mouth is pretty in a way that shocks you, in a way that needs to be hidden for decency’s sake.
“You’re gettin’ greedy,” He grunts, turning his head and sinking his teeth into the crease of your thigh just to make you yelp. “Wait for it, love. It’ll be worth the wait.”
You don’t think you have much of a choice, so all you can do is lay back and hold on for the ride. He presses his mouth to you again, and you whimper softly as he tongues at your clit.
“No one’s ever eaten you out like this?” He asks, the words muffled into the damp curve of your thigh. It’s stupid, because you know he knows the answer to that is a resounding no, but it seems like he just wants to hear you say it out loud.
“No.” You say, your breaths sawing their way out of your chest.
“Hnn.” He makes some kind of grunting sound against you, his tongue flicking out to taste you again. “That’s why you’ve been so tense, huh? So fuckin’ desperate for someone to touch you?”
“That’s not– ‘m not tense,” You manage to get out, your breasts heaving as your thighs tense up where they’re thrown over his shoulders. “Maybe.. Maybe you’re too relaxed.”
Ghost huffs a hot little laugh at your hip because you both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. You doubt anyone has ever accused Ghost of being too relaxed before, but you don’t have time to feel stupid for it – not when Ghost is devoting the full force of his attention on you, deep breaths huffing against the wet skin of your pussy and making you shudder.
“That’s it,” He croons, his voice uncharacteristically soft and lilting. The rumble of it ripples through your limbs like lapping waves, his battle-roughened palm stroking and smoothing down your ass and thigh as he hauls you closer. “Relax, sweetheart. Fuck, such a pretty pussy. Fuckin’ criminal of you to keep this hidden away all to yourself.” And then, quieter, “Fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet.”
You’re not even sure that he’s talking to you. It seems more as though he’s talking to himself, and it just happens to be you he’s talking about. Your cheeks burn as the feeling of vulnerability sets in, but you keep your legs spread wide as he kisses your clit with his swollen pink lips. You want so badly to be good, for him to be pleased with you, that you push past your embarrassment as best you can.
There’s a budding anxiety in your belly that Ghost is wasting his time here. As much as you crave his touch and the build up, you worry that he’s going to get frustrated with you and your inability to actually orgasm.
But Ghost doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He seems perfectly fucking happy between your legs, and even with his mask all clumsily rucked up around his nose he presses his face into your pussy with his eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. Even when you shift a little in an effort to get him to go a little harder or faster, he just pins you still and continues at his own leisurely pace.
When he reintroduces his fingers, pressing inside and stretching you out with a light sting, you hiss and try to lift your hips again. His rough calloused knuckles brush against the inside of your soft inner thighs, making them quiver as he goes three fingers deep.
“Shhh, atta girl.” He mumbles into you, his words coming out wetly muffled since he doesn’t even both pulling his face back. “Fuckin’– shit, so good.”
The praise shoots liquid and molten through you, and you have to bite back a pathetic keen as you pulse around his fingers. You’re sure he must feel it, because he lets out an answering rumble and laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks.
“Oh god–”
“Shhh.” Ghost scoots forward so your knee can hoist over his shoulder. Then he angles his chin to kiss the skin on the inside curve of your knee as he pumps into you with slow, slippery fingers and ungodly squelching noises that only sparks you hotter. You can’t even tell if it’s sweat or tears dotting your face anymore.
Though Ghost’s eyes are heavy-lidded and a little fogged over, he hasn’t looked away from you once. The focused intensity of his gaze spears you through, because you’ve never been looked at like that. No one has ever seen you like this, no one has ever put effort into you like this, no one has ever been so determined to please you before. You don’t know how you’re ever going to recover from this; you have a terrifyingly distinct impression that he’s going to live up to his promise to ruin you for anyone else.
It feels as though your blood is boiling beneath your skin, and you nearly sob when Ghost pulls back. You’ve never been so close, and you want to scream when he takes his gorgeous fucking mouth away from your clit.
“Fuck.” You wet your lips, realising you were panting like a dog and your mouth is bone dry. “Fuck, Ghost, just—”
“Quiet, lovie.” His reply is hoarse and firm, his throat working hard to swallow as he peered down between you, his clever thumb delving slick circles over the taut bump of your clit, his other three fingers fucking with easy rhythm and purpose. It’s maddening, it’s infuriating, it makes you feel as though you’re about to break apart.
His fingers are pulled out, and then you feel firm pressure pressing into you yet again. Your head lolls as you attempt to sit up, your eyelids fluttering as you realise that he’s pressing your stupid dildo into you again.
“Oh, you bastard–” You start to complain, but Ghost doesn’t give you the opportunity to speak properly.
The dildo slides into you so easily, your sticky slick mixing with his spit making the slide almost effortless. You sigh, a build-up of pressure making your whole body feel as though you’ve been stretched out and pulled tight.
Now that you’ve been pushed to the edge, you linger by it. Ghost keeps you on that edge for what feels like hours, until your breaths are burning in your chest and the ligaments in your calves are screaming from all the straining you’ve been doing. Every roll of Ghost’s thumb over your clit sends sparks racing through your nerves, and your breathing is harsh and uneven as Ghost starts fucking you with the stupid vibrating dildo. The rhythm he sets is firm and unrelenting, pushing the silicone toy in and out and visibly relishing the wet squish of your cunt as it takes it deep.
Ghost huffs against the wet skin of your inner thigh, making you shudder. It seems like he’s enjoying this as much as you are, judging by the subtle roll of his hips against your mattress as he absorbs himself in fucking you with the dildo.
He experiments with the angle, adjusting the dildo until you cry out, jerking against the bedding, and whining “There!”. You needn’t bother telling him, though; Ghost has a sharp eye, and he’s so goddamn attentive. He’s already repeating the stroke, pushing the dildo in and bumping it against the same sensitive spot he had hit before.
It feels good, but it’s not enough. Now that you’ve felt the firm hot pressure of his fingers spreading you wide and the wet hunger of his mouth devouring you, you don’t think anything else will do.
He shifts, you catch the rolls of his hips against your mattress again, and you feel as though you’ve caught fire. You think of the glimpse you had caught of his hard cock, pressing against his jeans and making the fabric stretch taut, and you find yourself speaking without thinking.
Ghost pushes the dildo in once more, and you reach down to grab at his wrist as you ask breathlessly, “Can I try yours?”
He pauses; goes so still that it’s honestly uncanny, his eyes practically boring holes into you as he stares at your face. You grow flustered, your own eyes widening in response to your own words. Just because he’s deigning to touch you with his fingers and his mouth, doesn’t mean he’s actually planning to fuck you. Jesus, he’s your fucking superior officer. What were you thinking?
“I’m sorry,” You squeak. “That wasn’t appropriate. Fuck, forget I said that–”
Even beneath the mask, you can see the bob of Ghost’s Adam's apple as he swallows thickly.
“You sure?” He interrupts your rambling before you can get started. “I don’t... ‘m not good with virgins.”
There’s… there’s so much you could say in response to that. Namely, he certainly doesn’t seem like he’s bad with virgins, as evidenced by the throb of arousal still pulsing through your soaked cunt. He’s just had you sobbing at the mercy of his fingers and mouth, and all he has to say when you ask for more is that he’s not good with virgins?
Instead, what you say is a rather lame, “I’m not technically a virgin.”
Which is true. Sort of. Based on a technicality – you had bullied your damn vibrator through your stupid hymen years ago, and you’ve always thought the idea of virginity was a stupid one, anyway.
“Plastic cocks don’t count, darlin’.”
Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel light-headed as humiliation burns through you. Jesus, okay. That’s just mortifying.
“Oh, you think your cock is special, then?” You scoff, attempting nonchalance.
Ghost shifts, letting your legs drop from his shoulders, and kneels up on the mattress so that he’s looming over you. Fuck, every time you get a visceral reminder of how big he is, you feel a little faint. It’s like having a veritable wall of muscle caging you into your bed. Your thighs are spread wide to accommodate the size of him, and you find yourself absolutely captivated by the sight of him with his muscles straining against that stupid tight t-shirt, still panting lightly from his greedy gorging on your cunt.
He reaches out and drags a hand slowly from your cunt up over your belly, between your breasts, up over your sternum, to rest over your collarbones. It’s gentle – he doesn’t put an iota of pressure against your throat – but all you can fucking see is the swell of his bicep and the dark ink of his tattoo and the prominent veins running down the chiselled muscle of his forearm.
Good fucking lord.
“You’ll find out.” He says.
And oh. Okay then. Yeah, you sure fucking will.
He reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, and you can’t help but strain to try and watch. He pushes them down carelessly around his thighs, but doesn’t make any move to strip them off any further. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re laying on the bed completely nude and exposed, while Ghost has only pushed his jeans down far enough to pull his cock out, but you don’t have any time to feel self-conscious about it.
His cock curves up against his belly, red and twitching. He’s fucking rock hard, and bigger than you had been expecting, bigger than any of your stupid little toys. Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen comically. Fuck. No wonder he’s confident. He’s not lacking in any way.
“D’you’ve a johnny?” He asks, one big paw of a hand taking his cock and stroking lazily at it until a bead of pearly precum oozes from the angry red head.
You’re distracted for a moment, staring at the way he fists his cock, before you blink back to yourself. “What?”
“A condom.” He enunciates slowly, as though speaking to someone he thinks is a bit thick.
“I know what you meant,” You snap, embarrassed. “But– no. Why would I? I’ve never…”
You can see the way his eyes crease and realise that he’s frowning beneath the mask, and you’re hit with a sudden bolt of panic – is he going to change his mind now? You can see the hesitation in the lines of his shoulders, but you think if he changes his mind about fucking you, you might just die.
“It doesn’t matter,” You blurt, “You don’t need one. I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”
Ghost cocks his head, but remains still. It’s almost unnerving, and you feel your toes curl into the bedsheets as you wait for an answer. He looks fucking predatory, hulking over you like a fucking behemoth as he watches you assessingly. You try your best to look confident, but you have a feeling that you just look desperately hungry.
He reaches up and hooks his fingers into the fabric of his mask and pulls it back down to cover his still slick-shiny mouth and jaw, and you’re gripped with sudden overwhelming panic and dismay that he’s changed his mind, that he’s about to leave you here wet and empty and wanting. In that moment, you throw your dignity into the wind.
“Please,” You beg pathetically, wriggling a little bit against your sweat-damp bedding in an effort to grind yourself against him. “Please, please, it’s fine, I swear, you don’t need one–”
“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost grinds out, his voice rough and a little hoarse. “How can a virgin be such a fuckin’ slut?”
Some part of you wonders if you should be offended by that, but instead a frisson of heat runs down your spine. You know you’re not a slut – you’ve never searched for any sexual attention, and you’ve never even experienced someone else’s touch – but goddamn you want to be a slut for your lieutenant right now.
Despite his harsh words, when Ghost hooks your legs over his hips and aligns himself with you, he’s gentle. He’s acting like you’re something fragile; he’s so big that your legs are spread wide around his waist, his shoulders so broad that he’s blocking out the dim light from your lamp, and yet his touch is light against you as though he’s afraid to break you.
He’s still gripping his cock hard, and he slides the tip of it against your slick heat. You have a brief moment of alarm; even through the haze of arousal, you can recognise that this is going to be a tight fit. You breathe deeply, then begin to wiggle your hips in an effort to take him inside you.
He hisses, then one of his big hands grabs at your hip. “Fuck, stay still.”
“Put it in.” You beg, your voice coming out thick and stupid-sounding. “Fuck, please, c’mon, c’mon–”
“Kid,” Ghost bites out through clenched teeth, his voice low and gritty. “Need you to shut the fuck up for me.”
You manage to bite down on your lip, but you can’t stop yourself from pouting mopily at him with wide, wet eyes. You don’t understand why he’s making you wait – can’t he see how mean he’s being? You’re so fucking wet, so empty as you clench down on nothing, and your clit is so desperate for any kind of stimulation that it’s throbbing needily. The head of his cock catches at your opening, dipping in for a second before resuming its maddening slide up and down.
Ghost is still watching you closely, his brown eyes flickering from where the head of his cock drags through your sodden folds up to your pleading pouting expression. You can only imagine what kind of a sight you make, because his chest growls with a choked sort of groan.
“I know,” He murmurs, almost mockingly soft with you. “I know, you want it. Gotta give it to you slowly.”
You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to give it to you slowly, that he can go as fast and hard as he wants to, but some sense of self-preservation shuts you up. Instead, you nod clumsily as he rubs his cock over the slick folds of your cunt, lubing himself up with your own arousal. The feeling of his cock dragging over you, iron hard and velvety soft, so close to where you want it, is enough to have your head spinning dizzily.
You want to beg again, but you’re still trying to follow his order to be silent. You shift restlessly, biting back a whimper when he taps his cock thoughtfully against your clit.
Finally, he decides to put you out of your misery.
The thick crown of his cock pushes against the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of your cunt, and the gasp you let out is positively punched out of you. He goes slow, just like he promised, but you can still hardly believe it. He goes in and in and in, and yet he’s somehow not even halfway inside.
“Fuck,” You wheeze, punctuated by a strange little yowl. “Oh god, wait–”
You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the quiet little grunts he’s making. The stretch and the sting and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him and you can’t even decide if it’s good or if it’s too much. Your eyes are hot and wet as overwhelmed tears begin to overflow, and you find yourself arching in a weak attempt to flex away from him and the devastating stretch.
God, he’s massive. You knew he would be, of course, but his size seems so much more significant when you’re being impaled on the end of his cock. Fuck, you can feel your vision go blurry as your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears. You’re mortified when a sob is ripped from your chest, harsh and thick.
“Shh, shh.” Ghost coos, his deep voice syrupy thick as he leans over you, the enormous bulk of him caging you into the mattress until your whole world consists only of him. “Just a little bit more.”
“Fuck,” You choke out, trying to arch away again but failing because he’s so big that there’s nowhere to go. “It’s not gonna fit!”
“Shh, lovie,” He rumbles, ducking his face down so that the rough cotton of his mask is pressed against the sweaty skin of your neck. “Relax’n let me in.”
“I– ‘m trying–” You whine, clutching at his biceps. “Jesus–”
You blink your eyes open, vision blurry from the tears clumping your lashes together, only to be met with the sight of Ghost’s deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath the black mask. He’s looming above you, his gaze made all the more intense by the fact that it’s the only part of his face you can really see.
“All that messin’ around with those plastic cocks, but you’re still this tight for me,” He says, his voice so deep that you feel it reverberate into your bones. “Deep breath.”
The breath you inhale at his instruction is rough and ragged, and he snorts a low breathless laugh in response.
When he finally drives his cock all the way in with one smooth stroke, all the breath is driven from your lungs. It feels as though his cock has been pressed all the way up into your chest, and the noise you make when you squirm on it is utterly pathetic.
Ghost’s hands are like steel clamps when they close around the plump flesh of your thighs, holding them up and pressing them back until they’re pressed against your belly. He looms over you, still almost entirely clothed as sweat beads over his thickly muscled neck. It’s like getting pinned down by a mountain, and you whimper as you’re speared open and prone by the weight of Ghost pressing down upon you.
He hasn’t even started to move yet, but you still feel overfull and raw.
“Too big,” You mumble, struggling to catch your breath. You choke on a sob and feel your eyes burn with unshed tears as your back arches. “Ghost–!”
“Shh.” He grunts. “Call me Simon when I fuck you.”
That… that does something to you. Molten heat rockets up your spine and pools in your belly, and you swear your pussy floods. It’s stupid, how being granted permission to call your lieutenant by his first name is somehow so much hotter than anything else he’s done so far.
“Simon,” You try it out. It comes out a little shaky, your voice little more than a weak whisper, but you swear you can see his eyes sharpen.
Apparently having come to the decision that you’ve adjusted enough, Ghost pulls his hips back only to drive back in.
“Oh!” You yelp, hips jumping, but there’s nowhere to go.
All you can do is lie there as he slides out, out, out, slow and careful and long, and then his hips snap forward and he impales you, pressing all the way into him. He does it again, and again, and you try to bite down on your tongue, try to not sound so pathetically wrecked, but you can’t. It’s like Ghost is puncturing your lungs and every time he fucks into you, you let out the most pathetic little mewling ah ah ah sounds.
You’re not quite prepared for how different this feels; it’s nothing like your stupid plastic dildo. Ghost’s cock is bigger, but it’s also hotter and with more give than you expected, and you’ve never been able to fuck yourself like this. Your plastic toys could never compare to the sensation of being pinned by your giant of a lieutenant as he ruts into you.
Ghost reaches up and roughly pushes his mask up so his mouth is exposed again before he leans in deeper, almost folding you cleanly in half, stretching in to claim your mouth in a kiss that’s not quite a kiss, but rather a fierce mash of lips and tongue as his rhythm picks up, riding you down into the mattress until you realised the screaming noise isn’t coming from either one of you, but the cheap standard issue bed frame.
All you can do is gasp with each deep, raw fuck. There are tears tracking lazily down your cheeks, having overflowed from your burning eyes, and you honestly think your lungs might collapse. You’re bent like a fucking pretzel, in a way that’s making the muscles in your thighs scream, as Ghost pounds into you.
He’s fucking relentless, but also shockingly aware of you beneath him. He doesn’t put too much pressure on you when he holds you, he never goes hard enough to hurt, and he knows just the right amount of weight to pin you down without being too much.
Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishing noises getting louder and louder as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls. Your whole world of awareness has been narrowed down to Ghost and Ghost only; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours.
He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just enough to make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.
“Yeah, you needed this,” Ghost grunts, his uncovered mouth nipping at the hinge of your jaw. “This’s why you were so fuckin’ distracted earlier, hm? You thinkin’ about how much you needed to cream around a real cock?”
“Uh huh, yeah,” You slur out, not even sure what you’re agreeing with. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, every nerve in your body raw and sparking. You must sound so pathetic, but Ghost seems to like it.
“Ain’t gonna be distracted anymore, are ya?” He rumbles, laving his tongue over your jaw in a way that feels filthy. “Just needed your little pussy filled, that’s all.”
You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges into you. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving slick trails along his shaft. But gradually he gets bolder, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.
You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You swear you even feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.
Then he leans back, lifting his weight off of you so you can breathe properly. He leaves his hand on your collarbones like a placeholder, his palm spread over the base of your throat like a reminder, a way to keep your attention on him.
“Fuck,” He grits out, “That’s it, doll.”
You’re vaguely aware of the fact that Ghost’s gaze has shifted, no longer focused on your face but now instead fixed firmly between your legs as he watches the thick shaft of his cock sink into you. He obviously likes how you feel inside; you can hear him cursing and grunting quietly as his free hand grips your hip for leverage.
With his mask rumpled up around his nose, you’re gifted with an incredible view of the way his teeth are sunk into his lower lip. Each time he sinks his cock into you again, he makes a raspy little groan, eyes fluttering briefly shut. It’s so painfully endearing that your heart quivers in your chest.
Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist — any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless, your legs slipping everytime his ass flexes with his thrusts. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time he ruts into you. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. Part of you marvels how you’re even able to fit him inside you.
“Never seen you look like this,” he grunts. “All fucked-out and perfect.”
Ghost leans in again, grips your legs so he can rearrange them over his shoulders, and you think you might die. The angle is different and somehow, impossibly, Ghost is fucking into you even deeper. You think you might actually be crying. There’s no question as to whether you’re drooling.
Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life. He doesn’t even seem to notice the sting of your nails scratching him; or perhaps it only urges him on, because his movements take on an edge of desperation.
“Gorgeous girl,” He grits out, jaw clenched. “Squeezin’ so tight. Fuck. Gonna make you cream.”
You had forgotten about his promise to make you come, too lost in the hazy pleasure of his cock. But now it seems as though he’s been seized by the compulsion to fuck you to the edge; he reaches a hand down so that his thumb can join the fray, and it startles you into moaning breathlessly aloud.
His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you, and he takes full advantage. His fingers are thick and blistering hot as he rubs at you, and you choke as your toes curl.
“Simon–” You manage to eke out before you lose the weak thread of your thoughts, scattering into nothing as he stimulates the stiff bead of your clit.
He grunts to show that he’s heard you, but he doesn’t seem any more capable of words than you are as he rocks into the cradle of your hips. You’re practically blinded by your wet eyes, blinking frantically to try and clear your vision as you reach out clumsily to throw your arms around Ghost’s blisteringly hot neck.
It feels as though your skin is stretched too tight over your body, hot and prickly and too much. You’re trembling, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as agonising pressure builds in your lower belly.
“Fuck, love.” Ghost says, his voice little more than a snarl. “You gonna come?”
No, You think hazily. No, you never come. But even as you think it, part of you recognises that it’s never felt like this before. Your stomach tightens, toes curling, your lungs burning, your eyes rolling. You hardly even know what’s happening.
You recognise that something is building, but it almost seems secondary to the way that Ghost is rutting into you like a man possessed, hitting that spongey spot in the back of your pussy that you’ve never managed to reach yourself and making your legs spasm every time even as his thick thumb rubs frantic circles around the bump of your clit.
“Fuck, fuck–” You wheeze, bucking your hips against him.
It doesn’t grow and dissipate in the way you’re used to. Rather, it creeps up on you almost without you noticing, until you’re whimpering and clinging to Ghost like he’s a lifeline. Your bottom lip trembles as you sob weakly, practically on the brink of diving into an oncoming tidal wave of desire. Then that coil in your stomach snaps like a rubber band, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face.
Your back arches, your vision whites out, and you cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Your cunts sucks tight around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. It feels so sweet, that white-hot buzzing pleasure rushing over you and wiping your brain completely clean.
You’re a little delirious from being stuffed with such a fat cock; every thrust just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your very first orgasm out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, your nails burrowing into the skin of his biceps as you desperately clutch at him for some kind of leverage. Ghost doesn’t falter, his hips continuing to work into you, wringing your orgasm out until you feel as though your brain is melting.
You sob – an actual, genuine, wet-sounding sob as your chest heaves for air and your eyes burn with overwhelmed, rapturous tears. Your head is spinning even as your climax subsides, leaving you limp-limbed and weak as Ghost continues rocking into you.
“Look so lovely when you come, sweetheart,” Ghost grunts into your ear, his bulky chest weighing you down as you clutch feebly at his shoulders. “God, that’s a sight. All for me, yeah?”
His praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes sting until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids. He sounds so smug, but you can’t deny that he has reason to be. He’s the first man to ever touch you, first man to ever fuck you, the first person to ever tip you over the edge and wring an orgasm out of you. Fuck, you think your brain might have been reduced to mush permanently; you wonder wildly if you’ll ever be the same after this.
Despite the sting of Ghost’s punishing thrusts into your already oversensitive cunt, your body sings for him. The rhythm of his hips is getting gradually sloppier, as though he doesn’t care as much for precision now that he’s succeeded in making you come. Soft, guttural little grunts fall from his mouth, and his arms wrap around your waist to reposition you so that he can fuck quick and shallow. It’s almost tender, as though he’s aware of your growing sensitivity as you mewl under him.
There’s a profound, instinctual pleasure in seeing Ghost lose himself in your embrace. His dark eyes are heavy-lidded and his mask is still all rucked up, revealing the way his mouth is lolled softly open as he pants. You find yourself wishing feverishly that he had taken off his clothes too, because you think you would give anything to watch the roiling muscles of his chest and shoulders as he ruts into you.
Then just when you think you’re beginning to recover from the shattering, mind-numbing oversensitivity, Ghost comes inside of you.
He stops rutting to ride out his orgasm, his cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. And he comes a lot.
You’re stuffed so tightly with his cock that his cum has nowhere to go, and ends up leaking thickly from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he groans, blissed out as he finds release in your cunt.
The minutes afterwards are a blur.
You close your eyes for what feels like only a second, but the next time you blink your eyes open you find yourself feeling miserably, uncomfortably empty and sticky as all that oozy cum leaks out of you. You somehow missed Ghost pulling out of you, and your thoughts are muzzy and embarrassingly slow.
For a moment, you think you’re alone. You’re becoming more aware of yourself, and you realise that you’re shivering weakly alone in your sweat-damp sheets. Where did Ghost go? Part of you, still a little hazy, wonders if he had left you alone as soon as he had come, and you feel your lower lip tremble at the thought.
God, you feel pathetic. You shift feebly on the sheets, and suck in a sharp breath when you feel the ache inside you, proof that you’re going to feel the shadow of Ghost’s cock for days. You feel drunk off the afterglow, yet you’re swiftly becoming more and more aware of yourself and all the aches and pains that are coming to the fore now.
It feels like you’re too big for your body, and you’re clumsy when you try to sit up. Pushing yourself up makes a whole new set of aches light up, and you let out a quiet keening grumble.
You’re so caught up with trying to ground yourself that you jolt in surprise when big, paw-like hands land on you, pushing you back down onto the bed.
“Shh, hey, lay down.” Ghost says, the rough edges of his accent softened. To your bewilderment, he has a damp cloth in his hand; he went to the bathroom, you realise hazily.
Maybe it’s just because you feel raw after your experience with him, pulsing like an open nerve, but you sniffle and blink and then suddenly there are tears dripping down your face.
“Thought you left.” You mumble, trying not to sound like a needy little idiot.
Ghost glances up at you, unblinkingly. His mask is fixed firmly back in place, and he looks annoyingly put-together; it’s an embarrassingly stark contrast to the way you’re still nude and shivery and teary-eyed.
“No.” He says simply.
The damp cloth is warm when it makes contact with your skin, and you relax as he drags it along your sweaty back and over your legs. He’s a little rough about it, but you don’t think it’s on purpose. Gentleness doesn’t come naturally to Simon Riley, and yet you can feel that he’s trying and that makes a warm glow settle in your stomach, replacing the cold anxiety that had settled in when you thought that he had left you alone.
When the cloth reaches the tender skin of your pussy, you hiss and try to pull away. It all feels too sensitive, and you feel your face crumple up as he wipes away the mess of slick and cum between your thighs. He gentles his touch as much as he can, but you still mewl at the electric zaps of oversensitivity that jolt up your spine.
When Ghost pauses and pulls the cloth away from you, you blink your eyes awake. Your vision is still all wet and blurry from tears, but you can still see the shape of Ghost as he stares down at you. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, even after having been cleaned up, and Ghost’s stare is burning.
You wonder if he’s about to leave now – you can recognise this whole thing had gotten out of hand, and you just about manage to stifle the panic at the creeping realisation that you’ve just fucked your superior officer. Ghost must have realised at this point that the two of you had just ripped through all those fraternisation rules, though it’s always been difficult to tell what he’s thinking. But you trust him – you have to, in your line of work. You have to trust that he’ll handle things.
Ghost tosses aside the cloth, and his big overbearing body climbs back into bed beside you. It’s a standard-issue bunk, and yet it feels comically tiny when Ghost has been added to the mix. He’s surprisingly agile, even despite his big size, and you barely have time to realise that he’s joining you in bed before he’s wrapped a thick arm around your middle, hauling you closer.
You’d love to act chill and cool about the fact that he’s now essentially cuddling you, but you miss the mark by a long mile. You take a breath, and allow yourself to relax into his big burly chest. He’s still fully clothed, and the rough texture of his jeans against your tender bare skin makes you shiver lightly from oversensitivity.
Your hips are sore from being stretched so wide, your joints weak and watery, and you’re perfectly content to close your eyes and forcibly ignore all your concerns about fraternisation or how you’re going to face Ghost in training. It’s a problem for another time.
“You still alive?” Ghost grunts, and his palm coasts down over your back to settle at your ass, his fingers squeezing absent-mindedly into the soft flesh there.
He sounds amused, which makes you grumble in irritation. He takes up so much space, his big body filling up all the free space on the bed and making you feel so fucking small as he holds you so that your back is pressed against his stomach.
“I dunno,” You mumble, words a little garbled. “Think… think you might have fucked me stupid, Lt.”
Lying like this, with his front pressed against your back, you can feel his laugh rumble into you. He’s touchy too in a way that surprises you; his hands are constantly moving, swiping over your sides and groping at any part of you that’s squishy-soft.
“Think I might have,” He agrees, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even if you can’t see it. “But I think you needed it, sweetheart. You were practically cryin’ out for it all day.”
You feel your face heat at the insinuation that he had noticed the arousal you thought you had hidden so well. But you still feel so fuzzy inside, and you can’t manage to drum up any genuine reaction.
Ghost’s roaming hand slips down between your legs, and you hold your breath as he reaches your swollen, tender pussy. His fingers are so big, but he’s aware of his strength and keeps his touch light, cupping rather than groping, his calloused palm catching on your puffy clit.
“Told you a real cock would be better,” He rumbles, and you feel the soft material of his mask rubbing against the back of your sweaty neck. “You’ve got a fussy little cunt – ‘s only gonna be satisfied by the real thing.”
You’d love to jab back at him, but the feeling of him rough palm against your oversensitive clit has your thoughts fizzing out into nothingness. All you can do is let out a quiet little whimper, and rock your hips into his touch. To your utter bewilderment, you feel your arousal, which you had previously considered entirely sated, pulse back to life.
As if Ghost can feel your cunt throb beneath his hand, he snickers. “Yeah. Fussy and greedy.”
He leans down, and you feel his lips brush against the back of your neck through the cotton of his balaclava. You quiver, and part your legs without conscious thought to give his thick fingers more room to work. Despite your exhaustion, and your soreness, and your sensitivity, you find yourself wanting. You wonder, with an edge of hysteria, if your body has somehow managed to rewire itself to only accept pleasure from your commanding officer’s hand.
“Ghost– Simon–” You breathe, your hips jumping as you grind into his palm.
“Yeah,” He says again, as though he knows exactly what you need and want. “One little orgasm wasn’t enough, was it?”
“No.” You choke out, throwing your head back so that it’s resting against Ghost’s broad chest. “No, ‘t wasn’t.”
You can hardly believe that your body is winding up for more, but Ghost’s touch is searing hot against your tender skin, and you can already taste the pleasure he’s going to bring you. This time, without the edge of urgency, you think you might even enjoy it more.
“Gimme five minutes,” He drawls, his voice low and muffled in your ear. “And I’ll give you your second.”
Silent Hill Fic
Rating: 18+
Pairing: Pyramid Head x Female Reader
Synopsis/Excerpt: His helmet had jerked your way, the sudden movement making your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn't look away from him, mouth agape at the towering menace. You didn't understand how, but you felt him peruse your form--nausea hitting you when he let out a guttural growl and headed straight for you.
WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, explicit content, blood play, heavy NSFW, teratophilia(?), monster/human, choking, dacryphilia, rough sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, tummy bulge, creampie, very obvious size difference.
⚠️ READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags (no minors). ⚠️
A/N: I had to make sure to finish this one before Halloween! Sorry for the long wait, you guys! I got no tricks with me so I'm just going to hand over this little treat right here ! 🍬
You hid beneath a large table, hands over your mouth to control your breathing as the floor shook. You could feel your heart beating intensely, the organ wanting to burst out of your chest as pure terror seized you when the footsteps paused near your hiding spot.
He was right in front of you. The only being you encountered in the desolate town of Silent Hill.
The monster.
~
He had emerged out of an alley, swarmed by bugs as he trudged his way through, his massive frame freezing you in place. His head was encumbered by a steel frame, pyramid in its shape and heavy in appearance if his tortured groans were anything to go by. His scarred torso and bulging arms were bare, showcasing the immense power he held as he dragged a massive knife behind him.
You couldn't contain your gasp when you caught sight of it.
His helmet had jerked your way, the sudden movement making your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn't look away from him, mouth agape at the towering menace. You didn't understand how, but you felt him peruse your form--nausea hitting you when he let out a guttural growl and headed straight for you.
Fuck!
You bolted then, nearly tripping over your own feet in your desperation to get away from him. With the amount of blood soaking him and those unnerving growls, you weren't willing to take a chance and find out what he would do to you. Too afraid to look back, you continued running in the abandoned town, losing sight of where you were as you tried to find somewhere to hide.
What buildings you could make out were old and rundown, their windows smashed and doors creaking ominously. They would not provide you with the cover you needed. You could faintly hear him behind you, breaking into a cold sweat when you turned your head and couldn't spot him in the dense fog.
When you caught sight of the abandoned school, your lungs felt like bursting and your legs ached from overexerting yourself to run. Your body needed to rest before you collapsed from the fatigue. It was a large enough building that finding you would be a tasking ordeal for the monster. Perhaps he would give up his search for you and allow you to find a way out of this hellish place. You could only hope that you lost him earlier and he wouldn’t know where you crawled off to.
Running up the steps to the entrance, you were met with the despairing sight of chains wrapped around the steel doors.
“No, no, no…” you pleaded, grabbing onto the chains in hopes they were loose enough to open the doors. Luck was on your side, because they were– chains pulling taut around the doors, opening just enough to allow someone to squeeze through with some difficulty. Struggling to wiggle your way through, you pushed with all your might and breathed a sigh of relief when you fell inside.
Taking deep breaths, you looked around and tried to make sense of your surroundings. Needing to squint your eyes to adjust seeing in the dark, you could see a narrow hallway with dirty and rusty lockers lined along the walls. It was an uncanny sight, the broken down doors of the classrooms and splintering wood of the floor making you realize how decrepit this place was. It was so unkempt and old that you flinched when the floorboards creaked with every step you took. You felt like dying every time the floor protested your weight and critters ran spooked by the noise.
The hall turned a sharp corner to the left, more lockers and doors appearing on either side of the walls as before. It was then you noticed the broken elevator, the metal frame twisted in sharp angles and torn cables dangling from tears in the ceiling. If there was an elevator here, then that must mean there was a way up!
Not caring this time about the noise you made, you hurried to the end of the hall trying to see if you could find some way to get to the second floor. If you could just get there, you would have the advantage of viewing who (or what) was below you on the ground. Maybe even spot a route or path out of this place. Passing by the restrooms, you nearly gagged when a putrid stench hit your nose. The buzzing of flies and roaches in the area made you squeamish, your face scrunching into a disgusted grimace at the dirty facilities before continuing your trek forward.
Finding the stairs was a much harder task than you expected. Faced with multiple locked areas of the building, you were forced to backtrack and navigate through other sections of the building to find another way up. It seemed like a dead end everywhere you turned.
Just when you were about to give up, you finally spotted stairs leading to the upper floor.
“Finally,” you muttered in exasperation. Your turtle neck shirt was damp with your sweat, clinging to your body so uncomfortably that you would definitely need a shower soon. Placing a hand on the cracked wall nearest you, you took a breather, closing your eyes as you tried to get your energy back up again.
“Just a little bit more. Don’t give up yet.”
Forcing your aching feet to move, you headed tiredly towards the stairs. Once you reached them, you walked up to the landing, turning left to continue climbing forward when you noticed something.
“You have got to be kidding me?!”
A disbelieving look crossed your face. In front of you was a dilemma that nearly made you scream in frustration. The only way to the upper floor was barricaded with chairs and tables, furniture piled up haphazardly along the second set of stairs as if to ensure no one could get by it. It effectively put a stop to your plans.
Maybe you could climb over the obstruction? No, you couldn’t risk something falling out of place and crushing you with its weight, causing you harm in the end. You thought about using the railing to skip past the hurdle of furniture, but hearing the creak of the brittle handrail when you held it had you rethinking that idea. Placing your hands on your hips, you tried thinking of how to get past this obstacle. Maybe taking it apart little by little would help?
Seeing as you had no choice, you started dismantling the barricade one chair at a time. The tables were too heavy and had your arms shaking from the effort of pulling them so you left them for last. Once you piled up enough chairs to give you room to move one of the tables, you shook your hands to prepare them to take the brunt of the weight.
While you were busy with this task, you didn’t know you damned yourself.
What you didn’t know was when you squeezed through the gap of the entrance, your sweater caught on an edge and tore a strip of the pink cloth. You didn’t know it was like a beacon, its vibrant color contrasting from the dull and bleak setting of the school. You didn’t know he held it in his bloodied hand, bringing it to his hidden face as if to smell you. You didn’t see the shudder that went through him. You also didn't see him bursting through the shackled entrance of the school, breaking the chain to pieces as the steel doors lay bent beneath his foot.
However, you did feel the building shake following a loud crash.
Startled at the muffled explosion, you released the legs of the table you were holding, crouching as you looked around wildly. The echoed sounds of doors being forced open could then be heard even from a distance. Lockers were slammed and torn off the walls, the clash of metal producing an awful screeching sound that resonated across the empty building.
What?! What was that?! You panicked internally, palms sweating as you hid behind the railing. What could’ve made that thunderous sound? Was it him?! It couldn’t be, could it? Trembling with fear, you realized you were a sitting duck. You couldn't go back the way you came or you’ll risk facing what caused that loud commotion.
When you heard a familiar growl, you couldn’t stop the tiny sob escaping your lips. It was HIM! When his steps edged closer to your location, your eyes wandered desperately around your cornered space and spotted a clothed table at the bottom of the stairs. Running down the stairs, you all but crawled beneath the table, tucking your feet in as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. You didn’t have any other option. The cloth provided you with enough cover to pull off not being seen and you could only pray you weren't found.
Eyes wide with fear, you held your breath when he turned the corner, the floor trembling with every heavy step of his boots. You could also hear the scrape of the giant sword he dragged with him, the shrill sound hurting your ears. You nearly bolted when you heard the locker doors being opened one by one before getting slammed shut.
Oh God, please, don't let him find me. Please, please, please. You shut your eyes tightly, clasping your hands against your mouth as you tried to keep as quiet as you could. The corner of your eyes teared up, a lump in your throat wanting to give way to sobs of distress the closer he got.
~
His trudging steps slowed as he surveyed the area.
Pyramid Head tilted his head curiously, his helmet creaking with the action. He didn’t know where you hid but he could sense you near. When he pressed that piece of fabric to his helmed head, your intoxicating aroma set his nerves of fire, twisting his mind into a lustful haze–the urge to pillage and kill you getting stronger by the minute.
When he heard that soft gasp earlier in the alley, he was stunned by your feminine form mere meters away from him. You were a small thing compared to him, the top of your head not even reaching his chest. Whatever surprise he felt was momentary, desire quickly flooding his veins as he drank in your lovely shape. How long since a pretty thing like you entered this infernal domain? How easy would it be to subdue you and make you a slave to his lust? What sounds could he coax from those wet lips of yours? His member twitched to life beneath his withered skirt, the thought of possessing you clouding his mind with lascivious images of your naked body beneath him.
When he took a step towards you, you ran like a frightened lamb.
Watching you turn around to flee– the distance growing between you with every passing second– Pyramid Head gripped his weapon tightly, anger consuming him as he followed right after you.
As if he would allow you to escape him.
He would take you. Tarnish that soft flesh and desecrate your soul until you were nothing but a bloody heap beneath him.
He just needed to catch you first.
Opening the lockers one by one, he couldn’t suppress his frustrated grumbles when you weren’t there. Where were you? He shifted his attention to the familiar clutter of furniture on the staircase, noting how neatly some chairs were piled in a corner–knowing that the times he’s ventured here, the chairs were never tampered in such a way.
Realizing how close he must be to capturing you, he started up the stairs, dropping his weapon without a care as he tore down the barricade in a frenzy to find you.
When his search proved fruitless, the veins in his arms and neck became more prominent from his fury. WHERE WERE YOU? Blind with rage, he smashed his fists against the broken furniture and the rotting walls, tearing everything in his wake as he roared loud enough to make his helmet vibrate violently from the sound. It hurt enough to cause him to rupture something and bleed, trails of blood dripping down his neck to mix with the blood of his other victims.
As he stood breathing heavily on the landing of the stairs, trying to shake off the cloud of anger consuming him, a faint creak was heard downstairs. He twisted his body to look behind him, crazily observing the area where he heard it from.
There was a lone table. The once white cloth adorning it was an ugly shade of brown, time not being kind to as it had torn holes ruining it. He could care less about the useless piece of cloth. What had his undivided attention was the dainty fingers that could be seen poking out beneath it.
There was a moment of silence before he charged down the stairs.
Gripping the sides of the table, he flung it across the hall, old wood shattering to pieces when it smacked against the railing of the stairs. He paid little mind to the destruction he created, his focus landing entirely on your meek figure below him. A look of horror crossed your face, mouth open in shock as you stared up at him. A rumble of contentment echoed within his helmet having finally found his prize, quickly dropping down to his knees to grab you and pin you between his legs.
It didn’t take much to overpower you, Pyramid Head sitting on your thighs to lessen your squirming. Bunching the pink fabric in his hands, he tore your sweater apart like paper, your startled scream doing little to deter him. His bloodied hands groped the exposed flesh hungrily, smudging your torso with the red substance as you shrieked in disgust. The way the softness of your tummy gave under his firm hands had him addicted. He loved how weak and pliant your flesh was.
Your mounds were a sight too, spilling off the cups of the small band around your chest. He tore that off easily too, your bust jiggling from the action and making him groan at the sight. Much to his pleasure, he saw your skin pebble with goosebumps, the cool air of the room turning your nipples into tight buds.
His hands moved, thick fingers stroking over your breasts to test the doughy texture. You gasped, arching from the pressure, unknowingly pushing your chest against his palms. Much to your chagrin, the rough pads of his fingers sent a fire bolt careening from your nipples and through your quivering belly to ignite heat into your core. You bit your lip, ignoring the sensation as you tried shoving his hands away with your feeble strength. When he tugged harshly on the tips of your breasts, you let out a pained whine, the kittenish sound sending a shock of pleasure down his spine. He wished to tear you apart, bathe in your essence as he drank up your tortured cries.
He was reluctant to pull his hands away from you, your body smeared in a beautiful canvas of blood, but his need to fully claim you could not be denied. Pyramid Head removed his hands from your breasts with a final rough squeeze, shifting one to rub his erection to alleviate some of his need, while the other hand trailed down to caress your clothed hip possessively.
He was bewitched by you, reverently stroking your skin with bloodied hands to dirty your purity. Shielding your breasts from his view, you were a vision with your head turned to the side, choking on a sob as you realized that despite how your mind protested his brutish touches, your body betrayed you when slickness dripped between your thighs.
At war with yourself, you didn't pay attention when his attention turned to the last article of clothing preserving your modesty.
Easing up on his weight, he shifted his body down to tug at your black jeans. When the tight fabric stuck around your hips, he grew irritated at the minor inconvenience. Before you could voice out a protest, he roughly flipped you over onto your stomach, shock coursing through you when he tore the denim to shreds at your sides, dragging the rest of it down your legs and taking your panties and shoes with them.
You could feel the heat in your face at the state of your nudity. He caressed your ass then– forcing an undignified yelp from you at the offensive touch– squeezing the globes on either palm, his nails digging into the fat hard enough to leave lasting bruises on your unblemished skin.
"N-no! You're hurting me!"
You hissed between your teeth, sharp aches blossoming from where his fingers pressed on your ass. You shivered with disgust when the blood on his hands dirtied your globes, matching it with the mess of your front.
Brushing a calloused finger along your vulva, he was met with the heat of your pussy. It had your body jerking to attention, the blood draining from your face in an instant. When he tried to insert the bloody finger inside you, you shook erratically, your hands scrambling for purchase on the floor to get away from him.
Tired of your antics, he twisted you to your back, uncaring of the yelp that left you when the back of your head hit the floor with a loud thud. Holding you down with one hand around your neck, he nearly choked you as he began pulling impatiently at the fastenings of his long skirt to jerk himself free with his other. His body shook with excitement, enticed by your naked flesh even as you begged sweetly under him.
He paid little mind to your frantic scratching on his arm, the pain miniscule when compared to the hard throbbing of his cock— the twitching member pulsating so strongly that it had his mind blazing from the painful pressure, a groan of distress escaping him the longer it was kept confined. Pain that would only be soothed once he was encompassed by the tight walls of your pussy.
~
The state of your mind went into a panic when you saw it. What lay between those muscled thighs was a monstrosity. It would bring you nothing but pure anguish and misery, the way it could barely spring upward with its heavy weight. Accompanied by an equally heavy set of balls and prominent veins lining the length of it– it was more of an instrument of pain than that of pleasure, meant to punish and brutalize those that fell victim to it.
A whimper left you before you started thrashing in earnest, clawing away at his arm to get away from that.
"LET GO OF ME! NO! Y-YOU CAN'T-!"
You didn't care that he could snap your neck in a second, didn't care that he could rip you limb from limb or crush your head with his bare hands. Those were much better options than the alternative he was hellbent on pursuing.
What the hell?! How can he be that bi-!!? Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt monstrous hands grip your knees and pull them apart savagely, screaming at the painful ache in your pelvis following the rough motion. He knelt between your spread legs, his large thighs forcing you open and leaving you unable to close your legs.
"W-wait! Wait! Think about what you're doing, please?! It's not possi-?!"
The blunt head of his cock tapped your entrance, the pearl of precum mixing with your wetness as he tried to nudge his way in. His size proved too much for your smaller frame, his dick sliding up your vulva in a failed attempt to penetrate you. The insistent push of his hips had you holding your breath, body freezing in place when the head of his cock threatened to breach your cunt only to slide along your labia once more.
The rough motion had you panting, the repeated nudging on your clit causing your pelvis to twitch from the erotic stimulation. You couldn’t stop your body’s reaction to him, a pulsating heat shimmering beneath your skin. Taking a glance down, you shuddered at the sight of his cock sandwiched between your spread lips. It had your feminine channel burning for him despite your fear of him. Shame accompanied your arousal as you felt more of your natural fluids coating the underside of his dick and flowing down your ass in rivulets.
While you lay gasping at the dizzying sensation, you were ignorant to his growing agitation when he missed his mark again. He raised your hips higher, giving himself a better view of your leaking hole before grabbing his wet shaft with one hand and lining himself up once more. This time he was determined to properly defile you.
Your eyes fluttered open when he adjusted you, looking up at him in confusion as you tried to clear your mind. The momentary pleasure he had given you was obliterated in a second when you felt the press of his cock head stab its first inch inside your dripping pussy.
Like a bucket of cold water hitting your face, you shrieked when the reality of your situation set in. Flinching from his touch, you tried twisting your hips away from him hoping to dislodge the stiff cock from its journey inside you.
"No! You won't fit!"
Bucking your hips uselessly, you failed to realize that your swirling hips moved pleasantly around the tip, a dribble of cum shooting out of his cock to coat your insides– making you gasp when you felt it and him shudder strongly at the feel of your sweet cunt. Seeing how you were so lubricated for him, he repositioned himself above you, bracing a foot on the floor while keeping the other leg bent at the knee. Grabbing the back of your knees, he pushed them forward near your head, effectively placing you in a mating press of sorts.
Not giving you any time to protest, he thrusted half of himself in one diligent push.
You yelped at the sudden pain, eyes nearly popping out of your face as you felt your pussy stretch beyond its limit. Glimmer of tears rushed to your eyes, the pain making your mouth wobble as he pulled away– the drag of his cock against your inner walls nearly causing you to faint– only to cry out when he thrusted back in with more force. More of his cock violated your sore insides, rendering you a screaming mess as he continued to plunder your wrecked form. Too scared to look at the damage between your legs, you pushed against his firm stomach, pleading for him to stop or he'll kill you.
A sharp jab into your swollen flesh had you crying out, arching your back as tears trailed down your face. No manner of preparation could’ve made his passage bearable, the stark difference between his gargantuan size and your regular size evident as you struggled to accommodate him.
He took you like a brute. Not caring about your distressed wails.
It hurt.
Maybe the pain was making you delirious, but beneath the agony, there was a thread of pleasure seeping through the cracks. You refused to believe it, the thought of your body betraying you in such a way nearly crumbling you.
…
…
Then why were your hips moving timidly alongside his?
~
His hands bit into your sides, Pyramid Head lifting your lower body off the floor to smack against him, driving the rest of his cock inside your spasming pussy with a low groan.
It was a tight fit.
Once the entirety of his throbbing cock was seathed inside your warm heat, he took the time to glance down at you. You were a sweaty mess of blood and tears, pained gasps emerging from your trembling lips as your body twitched uncontrollably from his claiming of you. Your entrance was stretched taut around his engorged cock, the blood smeared on your pelvis making him wonder if it was yours or from him.
He was immune to your choked sobs, not feeling the least bit remorseful of his violent taking of you. Rather, he was pleased you survived. Many didn’t make it past this stage, but you proved to be a pleasant surprise.
The snug walls of your cunt suddenly clenched around his dick, nearly making him cum on the spot.
He pulled his hips back, hissing when your walls clamped down on him, making the task difficult before driving forward with purpose. Before long, your soaked entrance made his movements easier, his dick sliding much faster inside your straining pussy. Pained cries turned into soft mewls, your hips eventually moving in tandem with his with every brush of your clit.
He paused midthrust to stare at the bulge in your tummy in fascination. It was a ghastly sight– the way your lower belly distended from his cock penetrating you. He pressed on the bump in an inquisitive manner, jolting in shock when your channel clenched around him erratically, a stream of fluid splashing on his lower belly following your loud shriek.
The shock was momentary, Pyramid Head rubbing your secretion between his fingers to play with the strings. Bringing them beneath the helm of his helmet, he was overtaken with the smell of your lust. Even though you couldn’t meet his gaze, you could feel him staring at you in a hungry manner. He gave you little time to be embarrassed, hunching over you to place your legs above his elbows, spreading you further and spearing into you with brutal thrusts.
He couldn't stop the rapid succession of thrusts, driving into you faster and faster as his release built up with every plunge inside you.
~
You twisted helplessly, opening your mouth to voice out your pleasure as fire spread throughout your body. His fierce pace had you writhing wildly beneath him, shaking your head at the growing tension in your stomach– signaling another approaching orgasm. You didn’t want him to stop. Your womb clenched with every harsh jab of his monstrous dick against it, the pressure escalating with every second of your ruin.
“O-oh! Please, please, please–!!” You sobbed, not knowing if you wanted him to stop his rough onslaught on your poor body or begging for more as his hips collided violently between the juncture of your thighs. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed along the hall, your passionate cries and his low groans forever imprinted on your mind. Your legs grew tired, falling lax on either side of him, unable to keep up with his vigorous pace.
He used you like nothing more than a cocksleeve, molding the shape of his cock in your tight pussy, his sac slapping lewdly against your ass.
It became too much.
Your mind went blank when the knot in your belly finally snapped, letting out a scream of completion when intense heat spread throughout your shaking body. Your vaginal walls gripped him tightly, trying to milk him for all his worth, the sudden tightness forcing a growl to emerge from him. Tears escaped you, the painful pleasure driving you mad in his embrace.
White lights danced behind your eyelids, your orgasm turning you into a puddled mess of ecstasy even as he continued to ravage you.
The last thing you felt before closing your eyes in exhaustion was a scorching heat filling your insides, calloused fingers rubbing the bump in your tummy in wonder.
❣️🖤❣️Thank you for reading~! ❣️🖤❣️
I got another treat for my dear followers! You gotta know I'm posting NSFW Art to go with my fics as well~ (*^ ‿ <*)♡
You're a scientist working on a centaur breeding program. They're extremely endangered because only males occur in the wild, and they need human wombs to reproduce. Not many people want to carry a foal, but you've nearly perfected an artificial womb.
You've captured a male, 15 hands high and so deep into his heat he can't be reasoned with. You have all six of his limbs shackled, and every hour you inject more hormones into him to keep him hard and aching. It's physically painful for him to go longer than an hour without ejaculating, but you're a good doctor and you milk him every time he starts to bellow.
He's bellowing now, the straps that keep him in place creaking. His two foot cock twitches to life, thickening as you watch. Your eyes lock with his, and you see desire in his eyes. "Please," he growls.
"Just a moment," you tell him. You need to collect another vial, but there's none in the cupboard. He's already filled all four gallon jugs, and his heat hasn't abated.
"I need to fuck," he pants. Already his cock is dripping with precum. "Let me grind," he begs. He shifts from foot to foot, hooves clattering against the floor. You ignore his fidgeting and cross to the supply closet.
There's a crunching noise as he tears his restraints from the wall. You whirl around, and he's already on you. His hands lay you out on the exam table. He shreds your lab coat, yanks your pants down to your knees. His breathing is harsh and loud in the room.
"Please," you stammer. "I'll get you off, I promise--"
"Too late," he growls, and rolls you over so your bare breast press against cold metal and your cunt is exposed to the room.
"It won't fit!" you cry. You've been the one milking him all day, you know intimately that he's larger around than a pop can, that he's as long as your arm. But he rears up and positions himself over you, his hairy barrel chest pinning you down, and then he's inside you, bruising your cervix in one thrust.
His groan of pleasure echoes in the room. "That's good," he moans. "Nothing like a frigid boy's cunt to get off on."
You bite your arm to keep from crying out. Your cunt burns from the stretch. It's impossible that he's inside you. It's even more impossible that it feels good.
He jackhammers into you, wrecking your cunt for anyone else ever again. His grunts are the only thing louder than your hammering heart as he forces himself past your cervix, locking himself inside of you. His cock throbs as he comes, rope after rope of seed filling you up. It's more than your womb can hold, and your belly presses into the table.
He softens, and you shift your hips, desperate for freedom. Cum runs down your legs, dripping onto the floor.
"Please," you gasp. "Please, please--" you aren't sure what you're begging for.
His cock twitches inside you. "Beg more," he growls.
"It hurts," you whimper.
He half pulls out, and then thrusts back in, already hard again. "Too bad," he says. "You said you'd get me off, and I'm not satisfied yet."
He cums in you five more times. You're a shaking mess by the end of it, so overstimulated that every brush against your skin is torture. Your tdick throbs. You've been on the edge of orgasm for an hour, and he knows it.
He pulls out finally and rolls you over. Your belly is so distended you look six months pregnant. He lifts your knees in a mating press, even though your legs are coated in his slick. He bends his face between your legs and licks across your dick, then takes it into his mouth and sucks it. You cum so hard your vision goes white, but you can still hear him as he croons, "That's right, take all of my seed. You'll get your foals, don't worry."
Soft classical music draws you subconsciously to your master's bedroom, where you pad silently on bare feet across the dark wood floor to the bathroom door. You don't bother knocking before you turn the brass knob and step inside. Within the dimly lit room sits your master in a large, black claw-foot tub, whose golden accents have worn and faded through the many years it's belonged to him. If you didn't know any better, you might think that your master was sleeping. His pale skin seemed almost to glow as the moonlight filtered in through the tall window opposite you to light upon his face. He looked like a statue, chiseled expertly from marble by the deft hands of a master sculptor.
You were suddenly very aware of your own presence in the room and how much of a blemish you seemed to be amidst this picturesque scene. For the briefest moment, you wanted to sneak out of the bathroom without your master knowing you were ever there. But you stayed. He already knew you were there. He always knew when you were there.
"Master?" you called quietly.
He didn't respond, only lifted his hand out of the water and held it out toward you. He liked to wear gloves, your master, and while no one else knew why, you did. His hands bore the sign of his age. They were a roadmap through the many centuries he had been alive. Deep lines crossed his wide palms like canyons, and his fingers were thick and long, tipped with crimson nails. You padded forward and rested your hand in his. His skin was gray, almost translucent here, thin, and pulled too tightly over pronounced tendons and bone, like a corpse. He is a corpse. You knew this, and yet, despite the lack of a heartbeat, the absence of breath in his lungs, and the cool of his skin, he always seemed so very alive to you. Warm, despite no blood to flow through his veins, with bright eyes and a smile that could bring gods to their knees. Alive, dead, undead, it didn't matter. These were just words to you; they held no weight. He was perfect.
His fingers curled around yours, firmly, but not tightly. Pink peonies floated on the surface of the water, and the faint aroma of vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and other warm spices drifted into the air, carried by the steam. He liked to use oils in his baths to keep his skin from becoming leathery, and this one was one of your favorites. The water was so still, it looked like glass, and didn't obscure any of what your master had to offer. Long legs with strong thighs, a thin waist and stomach with just the barest definition of abs partially hidden by dark hair leading down to his crotch, where his cock rested, always semi-firm, between his legs. His chest was covered in the same dark hair as his belly, strong and toned, and he had muscular arms that he, unfortunately, liked to keep hidden beneath dress shirts made of expensive fabrics.
Your gaze wandered toward his, where he peeked at you through one half-open eye, a smirk on his delicate lips. Your face heat up in embarrassment, and you looked away. He only chuckled, a deep reverberation through the room akin to the first rumbles of thunder that precede a storm.
"Are you going to get in, or not?" he asked, and your heart skipped a beat. His voice was music.
He gave your hand a squeeze and you looked back at him. No matter how many times you had slept together, how many times he had touched you, how many times he had looked at you with those pale green eyes, it always felt like the first time, and you felt how David must have felt when he stood before Goliath. You were so small in comparison to this man, this creature, that stood taller than life.
All the same, you nodded, then lifted a foot over the edge of the tub. Your master took very hot baths, but a dip of your toe confirmed that it had cooled enough for you to enjoy the water comfortably.
"Can I sit on your cock?' you asked sheepishly, like a child asking for a second cookie.
"Of course," he smiled, and sharp teeth glinted in the moonlight.
He knew you would ask. You always do.
He scooted back to make room for you and helped you keep your balance as you stepped into the tub. You settled between his legs. The water reached well past your chest, and you could feel the weight of his manhood on your lower back. You knew he would need a moment to get himself ready, so you sat upright, making sure not to obstruct his access to himself. His fingers brushed against you, sending a chill up your spine, as he curled them around his cock. The stillness of the water was broken as he began to stroke himself, creating little waves, one of which carried a fluffy peony right to you. You cupped the flower gently in your hands, and lifted it to your nose, where you breathed deeply, picking its scent out from the rest. You closed your eyes, enjoying the heat of the water and the soft melody drifting through the air.
Your master groaned behind you, and his legs tensed around yours. It never took him long to get ready. You imagined it wouldn't take you long either, if you were always ready to breed someone like he was. Sometimes you wished you had the ability to have sex for hours on end and still be aroused when the session was over. Other times, you saw the look on his face, and knew that he was only barely winning the fight with his instincts. You saw how he would shift throughout the day to try and get comfortable, how he would squeeze his legs together to try and give his greedy cock some friction. In those times, you pitied him. You wished you could give him more of what he needed. You'd told him that you would never say no to him, that he could do whatever he wanted to you, but still he held back. If he didn't, he would break you, and so he was never truly satisfied.
You felt his cock throb against your back, and your own legs clenched in response.
"You can sit in my lap now," he said.
You set the flower back in the water, then used both sides of the tub to lift yourself up just enough for him to position himself beneath you. His hands found your hips and he pulled you backward. Your arms shook as you held your position, waiting for him to line up. His cockhead found its way between your folds and prodded at your entrance. He wiggled, only ever so slightly, but his knee collided with your leg, and you lost your grip on the tub.
You collapsed onto him with your full weight, and his cock slid inside without warning. You cried out and tried to stand, but his arms snaked around your torso like prison bars. He laid back and pulled you with him, holding you firmly against his chest. Your eyes watered and you clenched around him in pain. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and gently rubbed your stomach.
"Hush, love, hush. Stay still. The pain will pass."
You relaxed as best you could and let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Almost instantly, the pain began to subside. Your master insisted over and over that whatever magic or powers he had weren't for healing, but you knew that his touch could relieve pain at the very least. You had experienced it more than once.
You whined and turned your head to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. His soft beard, neatly trimmed and shaped, brushed against your forehead.
"There, that's it," he purred.
One of his hands traveled up your body to play with your nipples, pinching and rolling them around between his fingers, while his other hand found its way between your legs and gave your clit the same attention. Just when you began to think that you were getting used to the size of him, you were reminded just how big he really was. His cock alone made you feel full. He stretched you well, and even while his cockhead was pressed hard against your cervix, he wasn't completely inside of you. You could feel the thick vein beneath his girth massaging your g-spot as he adjusted to get comfortable.
You hummed and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into him, to give yourself to him fully. You were limp in his arms, a toy to be played with, nothing more, and he took full advantage of that. His nails were more akin to claws, but he kept them filed down for you, and you were silently grateful for it as he worked your clit. He moved his fingers just right, and the pleasure that traveled up your spine was like lightning, causing your back to arch involuntarily..
You whined as he pulled you back down with a strong arm and a chuckle.
"Already so sensitive to my touch, and I've only just begun."
You knew he was grinning without needing to see it. He liked to tease you, and he was very good at it, and you had come to know exactly how he responded to certain things. In this case, a grin was predictable. You only wished you could see it, see those fangs that he cared so diligently for.
You buried your face further into the crook of his neck, breathing him in as he rubbed your stomach, massaged your clit, and began moving gently in and out of you. Pain came first, as it always did, but quickly gave way to pleasure as his cockhead kissed your cervix with each thrust, and the girth of his cock filled you deliciously. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and nuzzled against you with a content hum. When you finally managed to contain your squirming to the occasional buck of hips and tensing of abs, he released his hold around you and brought his hand up to card his fingers through your hair. He took a fistful and pulled gently, and you moaned in reply.
He found a comfortable pace for you and settled into it, moving quickly, but gently, providing just the right amount of friction inside of you. Paired with the slow, almost lazy attention to your clit, it took no time at all for the embers of arousal to ignite in your core, burning low, but hot.
You closed your eyes and released a small whine, to which he responded with a groan of pleasure.
“You always feel so good… You hold me just right, pet.”
“Master…” you breathed as your walls clenched around him tightly. “I’m close… Please fill me. Please, Master.”
He pressed his lips to your temple and you felt him smirk as he placed a gentle kiss there. Wordlessly, he picked up the pace, and water splashed over the edge of the tub. Strong waves carried the peonies over as well, until it was just you and your master in the tub, with him thrusting into you hard. Your breathing picked up as the coil in your stomach tightened and tightened ready to spring. Your master groaned again, and his cock was hot inside of you. With each growl he let past his teeth, your climax came closer and closer, with each moan and whine, the spring tightened, until he was panting in your ear as he fucked you and you were milking his cock with your walls.
“Oh god… Master… I’m gonna cum. Please can I cum?”
“Fuck, yes…” he breathed. “Cum for me sweetheart. Milk me.”
His breath was hot on the shell of your ear, and you cried out as your climax tore through your body. You tried to arch your back, but his arms were wound tightly around you, holding you fast.
“Fuck… fuck,” you swore as you felt him still, pushing hard against your cervix.
Pleasure clouded your vision as he thrust farther inside, forcing his cockhead to open your cervix and push into your womb. The edges of your vision darkened as his cock throbbed, unloading thick ribbons of hot cum directly into your thirsty uterus. He growled loudly as his climax overtook him, and he held you so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe. Still you came, waves of pleasure washing over you in time with the throbbing of his thick cock.
You could feel it moving inside of you, pulsing, and the warmth of his cum seemed almost hotter than the water around you. You squeezed your eyes shut to stop the room from spinning and rested a hand over your stomach. It began to grow beneath your palm as your womb filled with his seed, stretching to accommodate as he filled you with more and more, until you were bulging and braindead. All you could think was “Yes, Daddy, yes!” as your stomach swelled like a balloon, spurring your orgasm on.
After what seemed like ages, your master let out a whine and sucked in a deep breath. He relaxed back and you fell, limp, on top of him. Your hand slid from your stomach, which was so large, the top of it sat well above water-level. One of his strong hands replaced your own, and he rubbed soft, comforting circles over your swollen belly, soothing the taut skin there and bringing you down from your orgasm.
You couldn’t move, and as you gasped for air, you became very aware of his cock still nestled firmly inside of your cervix.
“M-master…” you whined.
“Hush, darling.”
A moan escaped your lips when he shifted to get more comfortable, and he chuckled.
“I know, darling. Doesn’t it feel nice?”
You nodded. “Mmm… feels nice…”
“Good, we’re going to stay here for a while, okay?”
You nodded again and he kissed your temple once more.
“My good pet. My sweet little cum-hungry toy,” he purred. “You and I are firmly knotted together, aren’t we?” he mused. “Well, that’s no trouble to me. It looks like we’re just going to have to stay here until I soften enough to pull out of you.”
You whined.
“B-but..”
“But I’m never soft?” he smirked. “Yes, I suppose that could be a problem… for you.”
He settled in, holding you and stroking your big belly with a smile on his red lips as you clenched around him. Each movement he made was a mix of agony and ecstasy, and you couldn’t stop your walls from reacting in kind. It wasn’t long until he was hard again, filling you full with his cock, stretching you wonderfully. He was inside of you fully, every last inch of him, and he used this rare opportunity to his advantage, rutting into you gently.
While your eyes drooped and sleep tugged at the back of your mind, he used your body to pleasure himself. You didn’t complain. He felt amazing, and the spring in your core was tightening again. You would do anything for your master, including remaining thoroughly stuck on him so that he could use and fill you as he pleased. You sighed and relaxed back. There was no fight in you, not that you wanted to fight it anyway. You smiled as he moved inside of you. It was your purpose in life to please him. You were, after all, his good pet.
