ꨄ︎ OVERSTIMULATION!
content warnings: brief nipple play (chigiri), handjob (bachira), riding (vast majority). gender neutral reader!
He tried – really fucking tried, but after the third time of cumming, he was fucked. Pants, whines, and moans all leave his lips at once, and your hips aren't stopping.
He shudders and sobs, jittery hands trying to stop your hips from going any further, but all the words leaving his lips say otherwise.
It's as if his body is telling him one thing, that he physically can't take any more before he explodes, but his brain is telling him another, saying that he needs it – craves it. He can't choose a side. He's stuck on the bridge between heaven and hell – purgatory, maybe? Doesn't matter. He can't even think straight enough to decide whether this is torture or not.
"Shit–... baby! Can't– fuck... I can't– more–... I don't even know what I'm saying anymore!"
After the fifth climax, he's a mess. He pretended that after the third orgasm, it didn't burn – that it still felt good, which it did, but he couldn't ignore the pain that accompanied the orgasms following the first one.
He's crying – full on sobbing, but he's also laughing – somewhat? You think it's a laugh. You can't determine if it is or not. It's choked and raw like he's confused about how to feel.
His hips buck upwards, right into your cum-soaked hand. He's trying to chase another orgasm, regardless of how painful it is. He wants it – needs it. He doesn't care how stupid he looks right now, trying his best to fuck your fist to get what he wants.
"Baby– hahah– shit! Please— need it. It hurts so good– please! Let me cum!"
Embarrassingly so for him, he's ruined after the second orgasm.
He's always so confident he can take it, but when he's face-to-face with the overstimulation itself, it screws him over within seconds. Tears streaming down his face, hair scattered all over the pillow, hands braced up on your waist.
He seems a mess, and yeah, he's quick and all, but the pace you're pushing him at? Harsh – almost cruel. What's even harsher is when your hand moved up his waist to flick his nipple. Are you really trying to tear him apart?
"Shitshitshit! You're 'n asshole! Can't even think straight– fuck– cumming!"
Surprisingly, held himself till the fourth orgasm.
The first and second orgasm? Pure bliss. Third or fourth? Amazing, but far too overwhelming.
After the fourth one, the subtle buzzing of the vibrator you're pressing down onto his cock causes his head to spin, in a good and a bad way. Cum and pre-cum soaked the sheets below, some of it splattered his pelvis and thighs. He's a mess, hiccuping uncontrollably and flat-out sobbing.
His hand rushes to clutch at your wrist, trying to pull your hand away, or closer? He doesn't know either, and you take it upon yourself to make the decision for him, turning up the intensity of the vibrator. He practically screams when you do.
"Baby– I can't! Wait– nononono! Don't turn it– oh! Oh, fuuuuck–"
Two orgasms and, poor thing, he's already met his limit. He was finished from the start when he agreed to let you ride him while he played around with his phone.
Now, his phone is long forgotten on the bed, his arm drapped across his face, little whimpers and broken moans leave his lips as you bounce up and down his cock.
He doesn't even know what to do with himself anymore. He's just lying there and taking it. He doesn't fight back – nothing. Just biting his lip hard enough to break skin and using his other hand to grip the sheets, grabbing a good chunk of it to twist and pull at while you ride him with increasing speed.
You're completely ruining him, making him go from nonchalant to chalant real fast. He literally cannot stop begging.
"Nghhh– slow down! Going too fast– can't keep up. Fuck– cumming again!"
He was so sure he could take it. He promised you he could. He even placed money on the line for it.
Yeah, he's losing that money, though, because after the third orgasm, he's done for. He couldn't even pretend that the pleasure isn't insufferable and that's not tearing him apart, inside and out.
He's chewed the skin on his bottom lip so much that it's torn and left it bruised and bleeding. His eyes are glassy, hands flexing – nails digging into his palm, teeth digging into his tongue to try his hardest to suppress his ruined, little mewls, but there isn't even a point in trying because the muffled noises only make him sound more pathetic.
The more you move your hips, the more he's turning limp. He's seconds away from passing out at this point. Shit, even picturing the amount of orgasms to come has him feeling more lightheaded.
"So fucking evil– like a damn demon– can't stop for shit, huh? Slow down or you're gonna make me– haaah!"
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