Jack Abbot comes home from work after a rough shift and sees you in the living room and has his way with you (it's all consented)
combining these :3 cw daddy usage, somno, little to no prep, established free use, Jack is rough and but loving n doting
Jack would sigh heavy, eyes shut as he gently closes the door behind himself. he strips off his jacket and bag, letting it hit the tile hard enough to make your couch table shake. he’s ready to slug on to your shared room, take you in his arms and collapse. but the daydream stops when he does in his tread, eyes shutting hard as he recalls the harrowing night he’s had.
he loves his job, he loves being busy. but god. sometimes, when it’s the happy hour rush of the night and patients are flying in faster than they can stand, he’s ready to face plant the cold pittsburg concrete.
Jacks eye is caught when they open, caught by you. it wasn’t surprising that you slept on the couch, you probably tried staying up to see him or talk to him throughout the night, or, you got caught up watching your shows. and with the sight of your phone loosely in your hand, and the “are you still watching?” on the tv, it’s clear you couldn’t decide.
his shoulder slump forward as he forced himself to relax, decompress, a little. he takes you in; you lie there with your face in the pillow, his green SWAT shirt rests over your body and rides up your back slightly, giving him a little look at your cotton white panties.
your one leg hangs out the throw blanket that’s too small fully cover you, you’ve got your fuzzy socks on, the ones he always teases you over because your feet get freezing cold at night and you always just have to plant them flat on his warm bare back.
Jack lets his arms sway as he looks at you, holding his breath so the room is quiet enough to try and hear yours. he gets a huge wave of cuteness aggression when he finds you like this, so unbothered, peaceful.
so peacefully, and fully his girl. his lady sleeping in his (probably dirty) uniform and her fluffy socks, not a care in the world. his wife resting on his couch, who fell asleep with the thought of bothering him throughout his shift on her mind. because you love him.
you love him in all his glory, all his flaws, all his faults, his anger, his depressive tendencies. you even love him after he defiles you, when he yanks the dirty scrub bottoms off and spits in his hand, other hand shoving his boxers down and lathering it on his hardening dick. like he was doing now.
the sun creeps in as he stand over you, hunched and kicking away his clothes as he pulls away the cover over your legs. he pulls his lips in to silence any noise from him, his calloused hand grabbing at the back of your thigh. you move like dough under him, you’re soft, warm, unconscious. malleable.
he moves your leg that hangs off the couch further, spreading your legs open and pulling you panties to hang off them. he could stay like this, jerking off over your ass, squeezing and grabbing at the soft flesh and getting little peaks of your cunt. but he knows he’ll give in. he needs you, honeybun. Jack had a long shift, you’ll let him play with you a bit, yeah?
“love your little pussy, baby.” he uses his thumbs to spread your ass, seeing your wet entrance stretch a little. “daddy’s gonna be a little rough baby, m’sorry.” he mumbled low into the room as he climbs overtop of you. “but daddy also had a rough night. you understand..”
he holds your ass apart as he rubs his tip along your cunt, wasting no time and shoving himself inside you halfway. the intrusion of his girthy cock forcing into your sleepy, unstretched cunt wakes you immediately, getting a shrieky oh!! out of you, your head turning as you squirm under him.
“m’sorry honey..” Jack mumbles, though holding your back down to stop you from lifting up. “j-Jack..? Jack??” you gasp, grasping at the cushions under you when he thrusts the rest of himself in you, a raspy groan exiting him. he fucks you harder when you clenched down, eager to push him out but he’s just so fucking big.
your hand reaches back to try and overpower him, push him off, something, “stop baby, stop,” Jack pushes you back down, ignoring your little mewls and moans and grabbing at your chin from the side. “s’just me, ok? look, open your eyes-yeah, see? just me,” he nods along to his words, looking into your sleepy, frightened eyes as you sport a pout, whimpering under him.
you let out a breath, relaxing in his grip while he continues to fuck you open, “Jaaack, m’sleepy, can’t do this when you’re so big..” you whine, wrapping your arms around your pillow and arching your ass up to him. “i know babygirl, daddys sorry. had a rough night..just lemme use my girl a second, kay?”
his meaty hands holds your hips down to the couch, and he throws his head back in a groan, mouth agape and brows reaching his hairline. “fuuuck baby that’s it, that’s fuckin’ it. she’s bein’ soo good…soo warm n wet for me.” “m’always good for you, jackie..” your little voice makes his head perk up, seeing you look up at him so sweet, sucking on your bottom lip as the sun creeps onto your face.
“yes you are baby, f’course you are,” he sports a little smile through his parted lips, “always so good for me, even when you’re sleep. always open up for me, welcome me with this wet pussy,” he slaps your ass, grabbing it and jiggling you in his grasp. “you still tired baby? can go to sleep if you want, ok? don’t worry bout me, i’ll be done soon.”
you hear the soft clap of his pelvis hitting your ass when he starts driving his cock in you, one hand flat on your back as the other pets at your head, laying you back against the pillow sweetly. “mhm, fuck-yeah, daddy’ll be done soon. so fucking good honey.” hes so sweetums ૮˃̵֊ ˂̵ ა
thinking of abbot!just the tip ^.^ thinking of him getting off work pent up and frustrated after a rough shit, waking u and saying he wont go all the way, but he gets teary eyed holding back until it’s tew much 💭
oh god yes…i literally love all things concerning “just the tip”. i’m clocked in i have to go to work tw daddy kink and he’s kinda pathetic and gross whatever i hate him sm
“jaaack,” you push at his bicep, feeling him paw at your panties from behind. “m’so sleepy..” Jack came home and immediately rushed to you, stripping off his scrubs and cradling you in his arms for a big, squeezing hug that’d wake you with a soft wince.
he didn’t waste anytime to come behind you and wrap his arms around you, muttering about what he went through at the ptmc, but it soon fell behind him when his little friend woke up, feeling your warm, plump ass snuggle close to him. “i know baby i know..” he coos, kissing at your shoulder, “just..wanna feel her. missed her, yknow..” he’s pushing the soft cotton down your thighs, his fingers padding up your sticky folds and down to your entrance.
“you always miss her, but she’s sleepy..” you say into your pillow, though Jack knows you better than that. he feels you grind against his hand as he works his fingers into you. “i know she is, she’s also a little sticky,” he perks a brow, pulling his cock out and stroking long and slow. “i won’t wake her up too bad. just wanna give her a lil hug. is that ok momma?”
you giggle softly at the word, the word he uses when he’s really trying to goad something out of you. “mm…i guess. only a small hug, though. just the tip.” fuck. “okay, just the tip. you can go back to sleep baby, i’ll be nice.” he’ll be nice alright.
it’s only when he’s thrusting his tip inside you, soaking his cock and watching your pussy clench around him each time, that he thinks about not being nice. gripping your love handles, brows pinched and lip tucked between his teeth watching you stretch around him, even if it’s just his tip.
“fuck baby, feels so good..” he’d mutter into the room, hearing you sleepily whine and mewl from the side. and he wants to keep this going. doesn’t want to disturb his sleepy girl, who was so kind enough to bless him with her tight pussy. but you just feel too good baby, way too good. he can’t take it.
he’s wiping a tear from his eye with his shoulder, the small groans turning into needy whines, stroking the length that was left without any love from you. he leans up a little watch you face, seeing how your brows crease with the little bit of pleasure, and how you’ve been playing with your clit under the cover the whole time. you probably want it too, pumpkin.
he doesn’t give it much thought after that, sweeping your hair off your neck and taking a light hold of it in his hand, gripping your waist and bending you the tiniest but forward. you don’t even have time to think about the action, because in the split second that it registers, he’s pushing his fat, long dick in you until he can’t anymore, your eyes shooting open you as your senses are intruded upon.
“oh-hooh fu—” you can’t even finish your words before you’re cutting yourself off with a pornographic moan, one that’d make the birds flinch. he groans loudly from behind you, eyes rolling back shut and head tipping backwards. and he’s so mean. not giving you a fraction of a second before he’s pulling out and plunging deep in you at the rate of a rabbit in heat.
“fuck, fuck! Jack!?” you moan out, your arms shooting up to grab whatever you could, sheets and cover in your grip as you clench down on him, your eyes squeezing shut so fast you see the stars. his groans are ragged, tired, raspy. like he’s been screaming all damn night. and his grip on your body is even worse, there’s probably gonna be a bruise there, pumpkin. you understand.
“i know baby, i knoww fuck,” he drawls out, biting his lip as he continued to thrust into you. “fuck you’re so good, you’re so fucking good i-i couldn’t do it pumpkin..” you can barely him him over yourself, and the clapping sound from under the covers that grew louder the quicker he fucked you.
he fucked you like he was running a race. funny for someone with half a leg, right? it was hurried, eager. just how long was he thinking of burying into you like this? “you lied, yer’ a fucking liar..” your words come out shaky, vocal cords moving in tune with the way your body jerked against the bed.
his eyes shoot open, mouth agape as he catches a look at your face: mouth agape in a frown, nose scrunched and eyes rolling to the ceiling. you’re fuckin’ lovin’ it. “i knoww baby i know, i’m sorryyy,” he whines through gritted teeth, and if you could look back you’d see the way his brows are pulled together tight and he’s giving his little puppy eyes.
“i’m sorry baby i just-” he huffs a breath, “you just feel so good. i can’t wait too long, yknow that…” his hand snakes to the front of your throat, hoisting you back against his chest as he palms at your tits, jackrabbitting his cock in you as he plants wet kisses on your shoulder.
“had a long fuckin’ night, needed my girl, ok? i just need you baby,” he puts on that sweet, doting voice he’d usually pair with the signature puppy eyes, he knows what works. knows what has you whining and submitting to his dirty tricks, telling him something like “i love you so much jackie u can use me whenever you want :’(.” like you were doing now.
“daddy’s sorry baby, daddy’s so sorry,” he’s huffing and puffing from behind you, groaning into your ear as he uses your cunt, stuffing you full, hips jittering as he approaches his peak quickly. “baby i-i wanna cum, wanna cum so fucking bad i can’t take it,” he pushes your head to the side, angling you just enough to catch your lips and kiss you hurriedly.
you moan upon impact, snaking your hand backwards to run your fingers through his hair. “i’ll-ill fuckin’ stop if you want but i wanna cum so bad baby, can daddy cum in you? pretty please?” how can you say no to him? you’re already putty in his hands, mouth open as you moan into each others mouth.
“you can cum daddy, m’all yours..always gonna let you use me..!” you whine, and he groans out in relief, whines getting raspy and weaker, bruising your tits in his hand as he comes in you, hips twitches while he fills you, panting over your shoulder as he runs his hand down to your stomach, caressing you lovingly.
“oh baby, you’re so fucking good. can never resist you..” he whispers, pulling his soaked cock out of you with a shudder. “wanna cum..” you whine, rolling onto your back as he lifts up. “i know honey, open your legs for me, mhm. gonna make you cum as much as you want,” us kissing down your stomach, his cum is seeping out of you onto the sheets, “promise.”
reader trains her new boyfriend, pope cody, how to kiss!
mdni, 18+, intense make out session with pope cody, dry humping, based off season one and two pope cody!
your boyfriend, pope, is a bad kisser.
like, really bad.
his lips are all stiff, head tilts the wrong angle, and teeth clash into yours all clumsy. it's like he's forgotten basic anatomy, like he doesn't know where his nose is supposed to go without smashing it into yours. his hands hover awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching, like he doesn't have anywhere else to put them.
the first few times you kissed were endearing, cute even. you told yourself it was nerves, that he just needed time.
and you get it. you really do. it’s been a while for him since he got out of jail, and this, him and you, is new.
but now, as he leans in again with all the confidence of someone about to absolutely miss the mark—
yeah. it’s time to train him.
that's how you end up splayed across his lap in his bed, bare thighs resting on either side of him, your mini skirt riding up, as you teach a grown man how to kiss. you place your palms flat against his chest, pushing him back gently, murmuring against his jaw to relax, to breathe, to let you take the lead.
and he does.
he listens to you like a lovesick puppy, eager to please.
your fingers drag through those soft auburn curls at the nape of his neck, tilting his head at just the right angle. his thumbs press into your bare thighs, drawing these shaky, absent circles into your skin, gripping tight enough to bruise, like he's terrified he'll lose control and just pounce on you if he doesn't hold onto something.
"just follow me, andrew. 'kay?"
"yeah." he swallows hard. "yeah, okay." his voice comes out rough, unsteady. his warm brown eyes are fixed on you, wide, intense. focused entirely on your mouth like he's trying to memorize whatever you're about to show him.
you lean in to give him a small peck first, soft, barely there then look at him. he looks back at you before he copies you, leaning back in, and this time his lips aren't so stiff.
progress.
then you part your lips carefully, slanting your mouth over his until they're molding together, until his warm breath seeps into yours.
you swipe your tongue slow along his bottom lip and he sighs, low, shaky, his fingers dig harder into your thighs.
"you like that?" you pull back just enough to ask, breathless.
he stares at you. eyes heavy-lidded, mouth slightly parted, breathing ragged. "yeah."
so you do it again. and again. slow and patient, until he catches the rhythm, until his jaw unclenches and he stops thinking so damn hard about it, until his mouth finally moves with yours instead of against it. his hands skate over your thighs higher, trembling, squeezing the soft of them harder.
"andrew, stick out your tongue for me." he does it. listens to you without a second thought, without an ounce of shame, just pure, raw trust. "yeah, just like that, such a good boy."
you watch his pupils blow wide at the praise, his cheeks flush all the way to the tips of his ears. cute.
you lean in again and lave your tongue over his, slow and hot. tasting him, him tasting you, and he lets out this broken, pleased groan that vibrates deep in his chest and against your body. his hands spasm on your thighs, trying to tug you closer.
you push him back immediately and he actually chases your mouth for a second before yoy press a finger over his lips. "uh-uh. slower, baby. follow my lead."
"sorry." he mumbles, a little shy.
then, when you give him the go ahead, he leans back in, kisses you exactly as you showed him, setting the pace real slow. he breathes through his nose while he does it, groaning all ragged and needy, as your tongues swirl together, like you've been edging him for hours instead of kissing him for minutes.
and then pulls back just a fraction, his eyes desperately searching your face for approval. "am i doing good?" his face is trying so hard to stay flat, face blank, but the dark flush blotching down his neck like a fever and wrecked voice gives him away completely.
"mhm," your pussy pulses at the sight of him so desperate, so utterly helpless beneath you.
your fingers scratch fondly at his scalp, nails dragging through the auburn strands and he whimpers. "doing really good, popey."
he gets all twitchy when you call him that and his hips jerk up as he starts rutting against you like a dog in heat. and, oh, you can feel him. the growing bulge through the rough denim, pressing right against the damp seam of your thin panties.
he's so huge that the thick, heavy outline of him drags deliciously between your folds through the clothes, catching right on your puffy clit, and a embaressingly loud moan slips out of you before you can stop it.
the sound flips a switch in him and he moves before you can blink.
his hands clamp down on your waist, and suddenly you're the one being flipped down into his mattress, the breath knocked clean out of your lungs. the sheer strength of him makes something warm and desperate pool low in your belly.
his heavy body settles on top of yours, all solid muscle and desperate heat. the new angle has him pressing right against your pussy, the rough seam of his jeans dragging over your soaked panties, and you both groan at the friction.
"ah—popey, wait—" but he just kisses you again, muffling your protests, arms wrapping tight around your torso.
the air gets thicker, heavier and you realize not only is your boyfriend a fast learner but he's terrifyingly observant too—those sharp, dark eyes of his catching every micro-expression, filing away exactly what makes you whimper, what makes your spine arch, what makes you grind up harder into him. you can feel him learning your body in real-time, using your own reactions against you.
you’re whimpering against his tongue now, making pathetic, wet sounds you didn’t know you could make, melting into the mattress and rolling your hips up, chasing the friction against your aching clit, completely at his mercy.
and the sounds only spur him on.
"'taste too good." he whines as he sinks his tongue deeper into your mouth. turning the kiss sloppy and wet as he laps at you, licking into the roof of your mouth like he's starving, swallowing every needy moan he pulls from your chest.
he sucks at your bottom lip until it throbs, biting down just hard enough to sting. you let out a high, reedy whine before he licks over the hurt, obsessive and soothing.
"mmnh—'s too much, popey—"
he can't hear you or either he does and just doesn't care. his hands just slide down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties, rolling them down slowly, too slowly, all the way to your ankles. and you hear the rustle of him unzipping his pants, the metal teeth parting loud in the quiet room before he presses his still clothed bulge against your bare pussy.
"oh."
so much for him being a bad kisser. huh?
but it's overwhelming, all too much, and you can hardly breathe. so you pull at his curls, hard, weakly pushing at his shoulders but he only groans low pleased at the feeling and presses you deeper into the mattress instead, one hand fisting in your hair to hold you exactly where he wants you.
he continues to tongue-fuck you stupid, devouring you until your eyes are rolling back and your lungs are burning, swallowing all your protests.
and his hips won't stay still either.
he's basically rutting against the slick folds of your pussy now, grinding down in these desperate, clumsy thrusts that bump against your clit every few seconds, making you jolt and whine each time. you can feel how wet you're making him, the fabric of his briefs damp where you're leaking through, and the filthy thought of it—of him wearing your slick, of marking him that way—makes you clench so hard your thighs shake.
only after what seems like hours, just when you're dizzy, about to black out from lack of oxygen, he finally pulls back. a thick string of spit connects your swollen, ruined mouths. he immediately leans in to lick it from the corner of your lips, greedy and hungry, panting heavily against your cheek.
"did– did i do good?" he asks all needy for praise, chin slick, those pretty brown eyes wide and utterly wrecked above you, his curls stuck to his sweaty forehead.
"mhm." is all you manage. a breathless sigh. your brain is mush, entirely fucked out from just the kiss.
he grins, a little too proud of himself. then he grinds into you. once.
You squeak out the question tentatively, but Ari does that thing where he pretends he hasn’t heard you. He does that a lot, and sometimes you forget what you’ve even asked him. Like now, as he guides your hand over his crotch.
“Ari, we shouldn’t…”
“Would you relax?” He snickers, brushing his chocolate brown mane back. “There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing. That’s what I told you last time and if I remember correctly, you didn’t have any complaints back then.”
You scrunch your eyes shut in embarrassment. Last week, he’d cornered you inside the guest bathroom during a dinner party. Your parents and their guests had been mere feet away while Ari had pushed you against the flowery tiled wall and pressed his crotch against yours, moving back and forth while he touched you everywhere, and his hand cupped your mouth shut as your moans vibrated against his skin.
“B-But you cornered me that time! And you locked the bathroom door.”
He shrugs wickedly, “So what? Would you have rather been at that stuffy dinner table with Mom and Dad and their stuck up friends?”
You pout, “No but… I almost burnt the chicken.”
“Because you were too busy dry humping your brother—”
“—HEY! Stepbrother!”
“Whatever. Now come here, I’m gonna teach you what a handjob is.”
He makes you feel his hard crotch through the denim of his jeans. Your cheeks burn, and yet curiosity brims inside you.
“What does it feel like?”
You mull over his question, trying your hardest to act cool and not freak out, “it’s… uh… it’s really hard.”
“You can thank your little shorts for that.” Ari snorts, snapping the waistband of your silky PJs. “Who the fuck walks around the house like this? I can practically see your ass cheeks.”
“It gets hot at night!”
“No, I think you just wear slutty shit like this to get my attention. Prance around and act all cute, and then you act surprised when I come into your room at night.”
Well, that’s exactly what had happened. After talking to your friend on the phone for a few hours, you’d hung up and realised it was close to midnight. Already in your cute little pink PJ set with the lace frills, you’d headed downstairs for a glass of water.
Except your stepbrother was at home this weekend. Ari had his own place up in the city, as well as some high paying job he’d got straight out of college. He’d gone to the same university as you, but he was older, having graduated a few years before you’d even begun freshman year. But you’d heard stories about him — the football coaches loved him, as did all the girls. You’d known of him even before his dad had married your mom last year.
What you couldn’t have known or predicted was the fixation your stepbrother seemed to have with you. He was always finding reasons to come home and stay for the weekend, always finding reasons to be around you. Watch you, touch you, fondle you, make fun of you. But he’d become a lot more touchy lately, and you didn’t know what to make of it except you didn’t hate it.
Like tonight, his eyes had followed you as you’d moved around the kitchen. Your parents were asleep, and with predatory eyes Ari had stared you down, his tongue running over his lips as he’d eyed up your barely covered ass like it was a piece of meat.
“Little girls aren’t supposed to dress like this.” He’d said, his voice deeper than usual.
“Well good thing I’m not a little girl!” You’d shot back before skipping upstairs, forever trying to act nonchalant because you didn’t know how to deal with the fact that your stepbrother made you horny.
Of course, he’d followed you up to your bedroom. Sauntered inside like he owned the place. It didn’t help that he was just so hot. All your friends had a crush on him, and he was always dating models or whatever. In fact, you were pretty sure he was dating one right now.
“How’s Gabrielle?” You blurt out just as he makes himself comfortable on your desk chair. He’s got you in his lap and your hand still on his clothed crotch, and he barely pauses at the mention of his French model girlfriend of the month.
“She’s fine.” His finger nonchalantly traces up your bare arm before dipping down your front, tugging your top down to reveal more of your cleavage.
“Well how would she feel if she knew about the stuff we do?”
Ari smirks, “elaborate on stuff please.”
You shift on top of him, “Uh… you know… this kinda stuff…”
“You mean when I get you off?”
You shrug, feeling shy all of a sudden.
“I told you, there’s nothing wrong with this. We’re both adults and we both make each other feel good. That’s got nothing to do with my girlfriend.”
“What if I get a boyfriend?”
That makes him pause, narrowing his blue eyes, “You have a boyfriend?”
“Well, there’s this guy called Steve in my World Politics class. He’s pretty popular but he seems to like me. I’m gonna tutor him next week.”
“He sounds like an asshole.” And yet Ari doesn’t look worried at all, his finger brushing against your nipple through the thin material of your top.
“No, he’s pretty nice actually. Well. At least I think he is.”
“He’s going to take advantage of you during your little tutoring session.” Your stepbrother says plainly.
Your jaw drops, “No he’s not! Steve isn’t like that.”
Ari rips your top in half in one fluid motion, and you yelp as the buttons pop and fly everywhere. He pinches your erect nipple coolly, snickering when you wince.
“Baby, we’re all like that. Where are you gonna tutor him? In here?”
“I-In his dorm room,” you stutter, gripping onto his bicep as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly. His huge hands wrap around your waist, positioning you over his thigh and you automatically grind down because you feel all frustrated down there. “Steve says he wants privacy so he can focus on learning.”
Ari stands up suddenly, you tight in his arms. That was another thing about him — he was just so big and strong! He’s holding you up with just one arm, the other one still playing with your breast.
“You’re so naive, baby girl. You know he’s gonna try and fuck you, right?”
“No! He wouldn’t!”
He throws you down on your bed, your silky pink sheets crumpling as he climbs on top of you, your body completely dwarfed by his.
“He would. But I know you wouldn’t let him.”
“Wh-Why not?”
Ari slips your shorts down, revealing your full naked body to him.
“Because you and I both know I’m the one who’s gonna pop your cherry. And by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”
He says it so casually, and at the same time he grabs your hand and tucks it under the waistband of his sweats. You gasp when it touches something hard and smooth, and he makes you wrap your fingers around it. His cock.
“Take it out, baby.” His voice always gets so much deeper whenever the two of you are intimate.
You nod, wanting to show him you’re not affected by him. And yet you can’t help but widen your eyes when you pull it out. It’s huge — the way it slaps up against his abs all red and angry and thick. You’ve never seen it before, usually when the two of you fooled around it was just touching above clothes. But now… this…
“It’s big.” You whisper.
Ari smirks, “Yep, but don’t worry. I’ll prep you real nice before I take you for the first time. Good little girls like you deserve that.”
You gulp, “I-I don’t think I’m ready.”
He cups your cheek, patting it condescendingly, “I know you’re not, baby. But you’re gonna touch it for me, aren’t you? Make your big brother feel good?”
“Stepbrother!” You squeak.
He makes you move your hand up and down his big dick, and you can’t get over how small your hand looks in comparison to it. You can’t even wrap your fingers around all the way!
“Spit on it.”
Ari’s eyes are dark, like twin windows to his lustful soul. He’s staring you down hard, and when he gets intense like that you can’t help but obey. He’s older than you, smarter, bigger, stronger, wiser. He makes you feel all small and helpless. Plus, he knew everything about sex, and you were inexperienced as they come.
“S-Spit?”
“Yeah, baby. Makes it easier to rub it.”
You do as he says, and he lets out a guttural groan, increasing the pace of your hand as he makes you jack him off.
“A-Ari, what if mom and dad hear us?”
He grins, “You’re afraid they’ll find out what a bad girl you are?”
“I’m not bad!”
“Of course not,” he rolls his eyes, “it’s just me who’s corrupting you, huh?”
He guides your thumb to stroke his tip, and you’re almost entranced by how new all this is to you. But what turns you on more than anything is how in control Ari is. Guiding your hand to whatever pace he wants you to go at, and the whole time he has his eyes on you. Drinking you in, observing your every reaction.
It’s when you bite your lip that he surges forward and kisses you. And he’s kissed you before, of course he has. He took care of that ages ago, when he’d pushed you against the side of the pool on a different night and stolen your first kiss. He was obsessed with being your first everything, you’d realised. Maybe he was just obsessed with you.
And yet he seems so nonchalant for a man so obsessed.
He kisses you lazily, all the while making you pump his dick. His tongue is so soft, so slow yet purposeful against yours.
“You like kissing me, baby?” He smiles between kisses.
“Yes,” you sound breathless and needy.
“And you like jacking me off?”
“Yes!”
“So would you like it if I made you ride me?”
You gulp, “I told you, I don’t think I’m ready…”
He chuckles, pulling your cheek condescendingly, “Aww, don’t worry. I know the little baby isn’t ready for sex. I’m talking about something else. Something different. But you’ll need to take your panties off.”
Less than a minute later, he’s got you naked and on top of him. He’d taken his shirt off too, and you gape at his tanned, hairy chest and toned abs. Gosh, he was exactly like all those ripped men in the movies! No wonder all his girlfriends were supermodels.
“That’s right, sit on top of me just like that,” he says gently, like you’re just a little baby who doesn’t know how to do anything. It makes you even wetter when he gets like that. “Now, I want you to move backwards and forwards.”
“I don’t know how!”
“Yes you do. Just do what feels good baby. Your pussy’s all wet and throbbing, isn’t she?” Ari smirks when you duck your head at his lewd words. He runs his tongue over his dark lips, his eyes navy with lust.
“Um, yeah…”
“Yeah what?”
“Yeah she’s wet and throbbing, okay??”
“Then rub her against me. I’ll guide your hips and help you. And baby?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to call me daddy. And if you don’t do it, I’ll stop everything right now and leave you hanging.”
Your jaw drops. You’re used to Ari giving you whatever you want. He spoiled you a lot after all.
“D-Daddy?” You squeak, and you can practically see his eyes go ten shades darker in slow motion.
“Yeah, just like that,” he says darkly, squeezing your butt all slow and lingering, “God fuck baby you’re so hot. Nobody does it for me like you do. Hell, I even picture it’s you when I’m fucking my girl.”
You gasp, either from what he’s just admitted or because he’s started moving your hips back and forth. And your bare, wet pussy glides over his rock hard abs, and you can feel every ridge and dip and it feels like heaven. And fuck, he’s so hairy and manly and you can feel it, and your clit throbs with the need to go faster, feel more friction. But you and him both know he’s controlling the pace right now.
“She doesn’t do it for me,” Ari says, watching you like a hawk as your face contorts in pleasure, and you twist and writhe above him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you begin to move in earnest, “Not like how you do. There’s just something about how innocent you are, and how much you look up to me. It’s so fucking hot, baby girl. The idea of me corrupting you and ruining your innocence. All while you look up at me with those fucking sexy doe eyes as if I’m your God.”
You gasp at the picture his words are painting. Gosh, it’s getting you so hot and needy! You rut harder against him, chasing your release and nothing else. There’s just something about him being so in charge, so in control yet so nonchalant about it. You love being at his mercy, letting your stepbrother corrupt you like you truly are the helpless baby he always makes fun of you for being.
He spits down on your breasts before pushing them together and burying his face in them. He licks and nips and sucks till you’re crying from the torture. He’s bullying you nipples, biting and sucking and pulling till they feel sore and sensitive and it just heightens all your sensations. Your orgasm’s building up, just the feel of his hard abs on your pussy, how your clit drags against his hairiness. Fuck, he was such a man. And it’s driving you over the edge.
“A-Ari, it’s too much!” You whine.
He slaps your clit and you cry pitifully, so fucking close to your release.
“Call me daddy again,” he orders, “say it, and promise you’ll let me fuck you for real the next time I come down here.”
“Daddy,” you moan, clutching at his abs, his shoulders, his hair. All the while he’s dragging you back and forth over him, and you can feel his dick rock hard against your bare ass. Oh, the idea that he could overpower you and slip it in at any point if he so pleased. Fuck fuck fuck…
“Say it,” Ari commands through gritted teeth. “I can’t stand fucking anyone else anymore. It has to be you, baby. And you’ll let me do it won’t you? You’ll let your stepbrother fuck you? Teach you how it’s done?”
“Yes!” You feel delirious with pleasure, rocking back and forth on top of him, and his whole front is soaking wet with your cream. And it’s so fucked up, because your parents are asleep under the same roof. But at this moment in time you can’t even think straight. “Yes, you can fuck me for real next time! I’ll let you do anything to me! I just… ngh… daddy, I…I…”
You squirt so violently that you collapse on top of him, crying and whimpering as your slick covers his abs and chest. And the release is so insanely hot, so sexy, so fucking pleasurable that you can’t think straight.
“Good girl,” Ari praises, “good little baby, you’re so good for me. Doing exactly what I want you to do. Using your stepbrother for your own pleasure. Fuck, you’re so hot. Don’t know what I’ll fucking do without you when I go back home. You’re like my own little personal doll. I should fucking take you with me.”
He grabs your hand and puts it on his dick. And you’re sapped of all energy, so you just watch him use your hand to jack himself off. His dick feels so big and hard, and you wonder how it’ll ever fit inside you. Because now you’ve promised him that he could fuck you. And you couldn’t take that back.
He cums hard, making sure to coat your hand with his sticky hot cum. And you lie there on his chest like a baby, breathing hard and feeling like you’re in a dream. There’s still a dull throbbing between your legs, like the situation is just so fucking sexy that you can’t help but be turned on again.
And Ari just won’t stop touching you. Even now, as he lies there spent and his sticky cum is all over you, coating your ass and it feels so hot and sexy. Like he’s marked you as his and there’s no going back now.
“Thank you,” you squeak before quickly correcting yourself, “thank you, daddy.”
“You’re welcome, baby,” Ari kisses your forehead, his huge hand rubbing your back comfortingly. “But we’re not finished just yet. You promised to let me fuck you, and we’ve got to practice some other things before you’ll be ready to take my dick.”
You bite your lip, looking into his blue eyes, “O-Other things?”
“Yes.” Ari sits up, grinning wickedly, “We have all night to practice everything. And first, I want to see how many fingers daddy can fit inside that cute virgin pussy.”
A/N - this is fucking SHITTY. I realised that halfway through writing it. But consider it a practice oneshot. I’m really really trying to get back into writing y’all!!! This was like a little word vomit. I kinda just wrote whatever without any sense of where it was going and hoped for the best. Sooo idk. But let me know what you think. PLEASE. I just wanna be BACK INTO WRITING AGAIN AHHHHHH 🥹🥹🥹
cw: stepcest, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, piss
11.3k words
Toji's brain feels like it's throbbing inside his skull. His body doesn't feel particularly good either. He can't remember where he is or how he got there. In fact, all he does remember is taking his cute little step daughter out to dinner after you'd blown up his phone, telling him how much you missed him after you'd moved out. Now, he's sitting practically naked in what seemed to be a oversized dog kennel with no idea how he could've been stuffed inside without so much as waking up. The room he's in is unfamiliar, pitch black and quiet almost to the point of madness.
"G'morning 'Ji." Your familiar voice rings out behind him. The light flicks on somewhere behind where you're looming over him, smiling as if this is the most normal thing in the world. As if he had put himself in the damn kennel like a dog.
"What the fuck is going on?" He growls. Forgetting his limitations and extending too far up onto his knees, he hits his head on the bars above him. Your smile broadens, bordering on uncanny as you step closer to him— your slippers making an irritating sound against the fake wood flooring, a sound that makes his head hurt even more.
"Oh, don't be mean 'Ji. I told you I missed you, didn't I?" Your bottom lip juts out, body bent at a 90 degree angle with your elbows resting on the cage above him, peering down at him like a predator observing its prey.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" He spits, his back pressed into cool metal as he tries in vain to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. You cross your arms, tapping your foot like the spoiled brat he's always known you to be.
"Well if you're gonna be an ass, you can stay here all night by yourself," your voice flattens. The sweet facade you always have on dissipates, your maniacal smile falling until your lips are pursed into a thin line. You turn on your heel, slippers making that agitating sound against the floor again. He watches in horror as you flick the light off, encasing him in pitch black darkness once again. A cold sweat beads down his temple as the door opens, a small sliver of natural light peeking in like a tease. He calls out your name, hands banging against the bars, but you just flick your head over your shoulder with that pretty facade of sweetness pulling the corners of your lips up— but your eyes? They're devoid of anything, the little twinkle he'd always seen in them snuffed out.
"G'night daddy," you coo, waving your fingers at him. A chill spider walks its way down his spine, his mouth running dry. The cage is starting to close in on him.
"C'mon sweetheart, not gonna leave your daddy all alone in here, now are you?" It's rushed, like he'd barely thought out the words before they come flying out from between his lips like bile. They'd tasted just the same. His placating seems to have worked when you all but appear right back in front of the cage, squatted down so you're eye level now.
"See, was that so hard?" You giggle, "I just want us to be together 'Ji, I'm not asking for too much, am I?" You rest your chin in your hand, those pretty puppy dog eyes doing their best to sway him despite the uncomfortable position you've put him in.
"No. No, sweetheart. You're not asking for too much. Never, my sweet girl." He's smiling back at you, trying to feign excitement so hard that the scar on his lip feels like its gonna split all over again. "Let me out and we can do whatever you want. I'll stay as long as you like."
You laugh, but not in the cute way. No, it's vicious and exempt from anything remotely close to happy. "Oh, but we're already doing what I want." You let out a little tsk his way, "And I can keep you here forever."
His eyes blow wide, green with too much white surrounding it. Your sadistic side throwing him for a loop, you'd always been so well behaved in all the years he'd been married to your mom. Never speaking out of turn, never getting in to trouble, always playing nice and making both him and Megumi feel welcome.
"Why are you doing this?" His jaw is set tight, discombobulation twisting into anger that he tries to push down to attempt at reasoning with you. "You've always been such a good kid."
Your head cocks to the side as if you're truly confused, a little crease forming between your brow. "Well I want you for myself, of course." You say it like it's a very normal thing to say to your step father after locking him up to get your way.
"But I'm married to your mother. Megs is like your little brother." You shake your head at his words as if it'll erase them like an etch-a-sketch. "Baby, I think you're just confused."
"I am not confused." Your voice has dropped into that low, lifeless tone again. He can feel the frustration roiling off you. "You don't even love her, so what's the problem? I waited for years so she'd put Megs through school. I waited for you Toji."
The look in your eyes is pushing him somewhere beyond discomfort, his back still stuck against the the wall behind him. You weren't wrong. He didn't hold any romantic love for your mother, though he was grateful to her for putting his son through college. He was fond of her in the way you would be with a long time friend and didn't feel much else for her beyond it. But in no way did that mean he wanted you, her daughter.
"You realize how crazy this is right?" He watches as your fingers thread through the bars, reaching for him. "I can't be with my step daughter."
"But you can. And you're going to, one way or another." Your fingers reach his bent knee, tracing odd shapes on it he realizes spell out ' I ♡ U '. Goosebumps lick their way up his skin and you smile as you watch them map themselves out. "We're gonna be just like a real couple. Go on dates and live together and give Megs a little brother or sister."
It's his turn to laugh now, his anger bursting to the surface. "You're a fucking psychopath. Listen to me and listen good." His face comes up to the bars, his mouth barely clearing the space between them. "That is never going to fucking happen."
Your face inches closer, the smell of tobacco, cheap beer and sweat wafting over your skin. "Guess I'm just gonna have to train you real good." It's barely above a whisper and Toji doesn't realize how terribly he's fucked up until the hand you'd stuck through is wrapped around the hairs at the nape of his neck. Your face is smooshed against the bars, teeth pulling at his bottom lip before pushing his face smack into the bars and having a one-sided makeout sesh. You're moaning against his mouth, tongue poking at the small gap between his lips for entry that he won't allow. You find pleasure in it nonetheless, butterflies blooming in your belly and a heartbeat a few inches lower. He manages to get his wits about him, calloused fingers wrenching your grip free from his hair and pushing you as best he could through the small allowance his enclosure gave him.
You're breathless, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, heart pounding like a young girl in love. You fingers hook into the hem of your dress, bunching it up over your thighs so Toji can see the sticky mess your panties have become.
"Look, 'Ji." You coo, pulling your panties taut so the outline of your puffy cunt is on display. "I'm wet and aching for you. Just from a kiss." There's a deceptive little pout thrown on your face when he turns his head away.
"Get out. Just leave me here to rot for all I care." He grumbles, turning around and facing his back toward you. You stand to your feet, willing yourself to crocodile tears.
"You will love me. Not like I'm your sweet little step kid. You'll love me like a woman." You turn on your heel and leave, the door slamming so hard behind you it shakes in the frame.
That night Toji tries to recount all the ways he may have given you the wrong idea. He doesn't sleep for shit.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
The next morning, you come into the room with two plates in hand. Toji notices the way you hold one closer to your body, still alert as tired as he is. Your hair is wet, water droplets dripping against the floor, your shirt is flowy but see through enough that he can see your nipples peaking through, the shade made more apparent by the water that's soaked through. He snaps his gaze away, feeling like a dirty old pervert.
"Breakfast!" You sing-song, setting the two plates on the floor just outside his coop. "Point to whichever one you want."
He eyes you suspiciously, pointing to the one you'd kept close to you. This was his chance; you'd open the crate and he'd waste no time grabbing your arm and—
You have to hold back a smile as you slide open the hatch and pass the food through. He'd miscalculated, not realizing you were smart enough to have the cage custom made. All it had cost you was a picture of your tits to the pervy nerd in your Bio-Chem class. You'd always been smart, one step ahead and willing to do whatever it takes to stay that way. You were underestimated because nobody had cared to notice the dutiful daughter and her perverse interests.
You watch him carefully as he takes each bite, the fork sliding past his lips and the way his adams apple bobs each time he swallows. You're fighting the animalistic urge to pull your pussy out and demand he laps at you right then and there. But you've been a patient woman for years now, you can wait a little longer. You eat your fill, dropping your fork on your plate when you're finished and reclining back onto your palms to watch him.
"Gotta piss." He barks out, he glares at you and you have to pretend it hurts to see him that way. As if it's not going to make it more enjoyable for you to break him and watch him beg.
"Mmkay!" You smile, dusting your hands off on your sleep shorts before going to the corner and picking up something he can't see. He's shifting inside his paddock, angling his head as best he can to see what you could possibly be rummaging around for. His heart drops to his ass when he sees handcuffs glinting back at him as you swing them around your finger. You're teasing him and you both know it.
"I'm not putting those on."
"Well, I guess you'll just have to pee yourself then." You sound so sweet it makes him sick. "Save a little for me?"
He makes a disgusted face at you, wanting to hurl his breakfast right up but thinking better of it considering he'd have to sit in close quarters with whatever mess he makes. He puts his wrists up, a little taste of submission that feels so fucking good your head feels like it's spinning. You're giggling to yourself like an idiot, putting the cuffs through the bars and locking them around his wrists as tight as you can. You unlatch the three locks you put in for extra measure, letting him crawl out and helping him to his feet.
Your fingers hook into the chain and begin leading him by it, letting him breathe in the fresh air of your apartment and dragging him toward the bathroom. Your bathroom is larger than he'd been prepared for and he staggers his way to the toilet. You stand behind him, your face pressed close to his back. Even his sweat smells good, it has you rubbing your thighs together. You wrap your arms around his bulking frame, enclosing him in your grasp. Your dainty fingers hook into his briefs, your eyes roll back in delight as you praise yourself for removing the rest of his clothes before you'd stuffed him in the cage. The cuffs come down to halt your movements, the chain tinkling.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His tone is rough and mean, in that way it used to the few times you'd acted out on purpose to make him scold you. Your teeth graze the skin on his back before continuing your hands movements from before.
"Need help, dontcha?" You giggle, easing the elastane off his bulky hips. He mumbles something about you being a little shit but doesn't hinder you further. He figures the more he gives into your whims, the faster you'll be done with your little game and set him free.
He's wrong of course.
Your mouth waters as his cock springs free, you wrap your digits around it and admire how heavy it feels in your hands— even when it's soft. Your hands moves across the soft skin, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth to hold back a groan when you feel it twitch in your palm as you stroke it.
"Told you I gotta piss, not bust a load." He gruffs. You let out a pouty little noise, deciding to exude kindness and restraint—holding it for him. Your panties dampen when that dam of golden liquid springs free, the way it pulses through the shaft. You want him to slide inside you and release himself there too, you want every little bit of him you can get your hands on. The worst part of it all is, you know you're fucking gross. Wasn't it Toji's fault for bringing it out of you?
"C'mon, shake it out." You can't see his face but his ears are tinged red, it gives you that warm fuzzy feeling inside as you oblige him. 'I made you blush!' you want to squeal, but you feign ignorance for now and do as he says, watching as the droplets make their way to the bowl.
Toji's vision begins to blur at the corners and his knees feel like jell-o. He's been in enough fucked up situations (usually on the other end of them) to know this wasn't exhaustion. His body wasn't connecting to his brain. It takes less than a minute for his vision to black out and his knees to buckle before he's falling to the floor below.
When he comes to he's sat butt naked on the shower floor, the water spraying just outside where his body is sat. He's groggy and out of sorts, he almost forgets the past 20 hours. But when his eyes refocus and he can really hone back in on his sensations, he knows where he is. He can still feel the cuffs around his wrists, his boxers are still gone, and instead of being alone in the shower— you're there. Your pink lips wrapped around his cock, bare ass hoisted up in the air and he doesn't need to see to know you're touching yourself.
You blink up at him, the soft squelching of your mouth around him echoing off the shower tiles. Your eyes crescent up into a smile as you open your throat, sinking all the way down to that coarse patch of hair right above his base. He's frozen, watching as your tits sway each time you gag on him. Your mewls reverberate through his shaft, his toes curling at the sensation. He calls your name and you pop off him, his brow creasing as you focus your hand around his sensitive tip.
"Hm?" You wipe at the corners of your mouth with the thumb on your free hand.
"Did you drug me?" You ogle at the clench of his jaw, his temples perforating. You nod slowly, plugging his tip up with your thumb. He sucks in a sharp inhale through his teeth at your movements. "Why?"
"Was just easier to get you washed up this way." You shrug, as if it's no big deal. "But you were so heavy in my hand, I wanted to see how you felt in my mouth."
He pushes past you, using his foot to kick his boxers into his hands, body dripping wet on the bathroom tiles. He waits for you to open the door and puts himself back in the kennel.
His dick throbs for the rest of the night but he refuses to touch it.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
The third day he barely talks to you, refusing any and all food that isn't sealed. You find it irritating but let it slide for the sole fact that you'd gotten the pleasure of tasting him last time. Even if it was just precum.
Sadly for him, that had the wheels turning in your head. Thinking of all the ways you could make him want to give you everything you'd been hoping for. You think maybe it's time to be a little nicer so you set up a shitty box TV right in front of his cage, you know the kind that only takes VCR tapes? His eyes light up but his mouth is still etched with a scowl.
"What's this for?" The way his mouth moves is lazy, like he can't be bothered to put more effort into his words. It feels good, both of you with you pretty little masks off. You ignore him, tinkering with all the knobs and buttons and sliding an 80's porn tape into the maw of the television. Your skin pricks with excited goosebumps as moans blare through the blown out speakers.
There's a thin woman on screen, big hair with a full bush to match. Her dexterous fingers tickle between her thighs as her breasts rise and fall through needy pants that turn into a mix of "daddy" and "I need you".
"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Toji's hand swipes over his face, he looks more tired than usual but it somehow adds to that 'older man charm' he's got going on. You crawl over, knees and palms alternating slaps against the vinyl floor as your hips sway toward him.
"Don't worry, if you don't like this one I bought more." You smile, fingers threading back through the bars in an attempt to reach out to him. He doesn't oblige you. Instead ignoring you and laying on his back with his knees propped up. "Gotta give you something to do when I go back on campus tomorrow."
"Listen, kid. You should put all this weird energy into finding a boyfriend, someone who's not me. I know your mom would pay for your therapy or whatever the hell else you need, this isn't the way to get what you want." His lecture falls on deaf ears. You're too caught up in the glowing light from the TV, watching as the older man on the static-y screen gets in bed with the much younger woman. They fit together like two oddly shaped puzzle pieces, your thighs press as he fondles her tits, pinching and pulling at the blushing peaks.
Your head turns back toward Toji, there's a little tent in his pants but you know he's not even halfway hard. It frustrates you beyond belief. Even more so with the all the drooling your pussy is doing while the man on the TV stuffs his fingers inside her, pulling them out and giving them a good lick.
"'Ji?" You call, lip jutting out into a pout, he lets out an uninterested grunt and continues counting the uneven globs of paint on the ceiling. "You mind if I play with myself?"
He freezes for a moment before slipping back into nonchalance, fingers drumming on his chest. "Don't know why you're asking. You're gonna do whatever the hell you want anyway."
To him it's meant as a very clear sign of disinterest, to you it's an admittance of attraction. A sign that if you just push and prod him just enough he'll give in to your whims. You keep your back to him, deciding that the lack of visuals have a better chance of spurring him into want. He watches your back, the way your spine curves and muscles tense as you pull your cloth shorts off and your underwear along with them. You give him a look over your shoulder before slingshotting your pink thong onto the cage. He grumbles as it sways back in forth in its momentum, like it's trying to hypnotize him.
He can see your legs spread from where's sitting, the way they arch and bend so delicately. Your left arm is positioned back so you can rest on it while the right is bent at the elbow. He doesn't need to guess what the gentle movements and the tinkling of your bracelet means, not when soft little sounds are escaping you. Toji tries to ignore the growing strain in his boxers. Tries even harder not to blame himself for it. He is a man after all.
The tape on the TV has stopped for no one, the 'stepfather' on screen fully sheathing himself inside the whimpering young woman in front of him. She tells him how big he is, how good it feels, how she belongs to him. Toji's unraveling behind you, his balls are full and achy. His cock is practically screaming at him to give it a tug and let go.
He can hear how wet you are, the sound of your fingers pumping in and out of that evil cunt of yours is bouncing off all four walls. Your head is slightly tipped back and your hips are moving in tandem with the sounds of the charms on your bracelet.
"Fuuuuck." You cry out, reaching that spongey spot inside you and pressing, pressing, pressing. It's not enough, especially when you're all too aware of how heavy Toji's cock felt, could imagine how stuffed full you'd feel with it inside you.
Your heads tipped back so far you look like a fucking nightmare. Like you're gonna contort your limbs and start walking on all fours toward him. "Toji, it feels so good."
He's white knuckling so hard he's pretty sure his nails are making his palms bleed. Your movements quicken, the squelch getting louder and louder as your hips lift off the floor. You're panting his name and his tip is leaking pre inside his boxers.
Your voice cracks and your ass makes a loud thud back on the floor below. Back against vinyl, your chest heaving up and down as you try to come back to earth— eyes locked with his green ones the whole time.
You crawl back over to him, holding your fingers up to the cage, spreading them apart to show off the sticky strings of your arousal. He watches a bead of wetness drip down your forearm and his balls are screaming. They hurt. He needs release.
"Wanna taste?" You're looking right at him, he's got half a mind to pop one of your digits in his mouth and suck the taste of you off them. But he can't. It's wrong. So fucking wrong.
Instead of giving into whatever 'male instincts' he's got coursing through him, he turns his nose up at you. He glares as he flicks your panties off the corner of his cage, a little act of defiance that doesn't make him any less hard. You capture his hand in yours— the one not coated with your release— and press and gentle kiss to his knuckles.
"Nighty night. I'll stop in to check on you before I head out." You turn on your heel and leave, naked and ass jiggling as if to taunt him some more.
On the third night, he reaches through the bars, straining to recover your underwear and huffing your panties as soon as you leave. Trying not to stroke himself through his briefs.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
On the fourth day you wake up at 5am, eyes still heavy with sleep as you walk your way toward the kitchen. You have a good feeling about the likelihood of Toji eating food you've prepared with your own hands. You keep it safe still, popping a couple frozen waffles in the toaster and booting up the coffee pot. You reach up high, stretching your spine as you wait.
College life was mundane. You didn't have any interest in your peers or parties. You were a bright student, sitting at the top of your class in most subjects. But it was boring. It was a struggle not to fall asleep during lectures or pretend you cared about anything anyone your own age had to say. The only interest you'd ever taken in anything was sitting in the lone room at the end of the hall, probably curled up like the perfect little pet.
You felt especially irritated with the fact that it was pulling you away from said pet. That you couldn't be there to play with him all day, to watch his grumpy expression ebb and flow as you did as you pleased. The waffles pop up and the coffee pot quits its whirring. You find yourself funny as you pour it into a mug labeled '#1 DAD' and giggle the whole way down the hall.
To your surprise, Toji is leaning up against the kennel eyes tired as they've ever been. He closes them and hums at the strong smell of coffee and syrupy waffles. You crouch down in front of him, teetering left and right ungracefully on the balls of your feet.
"Wanna come out and eat?" You cock your head to the side, lip pulled into your mouth as you hold back a toothy grin. "I'm gonna be gone most of the day so it'd probably be nice to stretch your legs a bit."
That handsome scowl is still plastered there, like it's the only face he knows how to make anymore. The circles under his eyes are dark, the usual bright green of his irises turned dim. Unbeknownst to you, he couldn't grapple with the fact that he had huffed your panties and humped the hard plastic underneath him like some kinda dog in heat. That sick little part inside you feels ecstatic that you made him this way— though the only thing you have any inclination of making him into is a sleep deprived old man. He shudders at the thought of you knowing what he had been up to for more than half the night. The only thing keeping him sane is the fact that he'd forced himself not to cum. The lie he was spinning to himself about not being such a piece of shit that he'd coat the inside of his boxers while licking your slick out of your panties was becoming hard to hold onto.
"What's the catch?" There was always a catch with you. You wouldn't give him a single thing easy.
"I have to chain your feet." You mumble, taking a sip of the dark liquid that was supposed to be for him and making a face. "Hands too once you've eaten. Y'know insurance and all that."
He sighs, he's walking a thin line and he knows it. He's on the edge of agreeing to anything if it'll give him just a bit more freedom. Hell, he'd take being drugged again. Anything's gotta be better than being cooped up in a dark room like a damn animal.
So he nods. Nice, slow and submissive. You grab the cuffs for the little bit of extra assurance while he makes his way to the seat and small table you have bolted into the floor and wall. You set the food in front of him and he lets you kiss his forehead like you're some freaky Stepford wife before you get onto your knees and chain them together and then attach it to the chair.
Toji's coming to terms with the fact that he may actually be going insane. The whole time you're on your knees he's picturing you with his cock your mouth, nose pressed to his pubes as you choke and gag around him. He remembers the way you smiled, mouth stuffed full with drool running down your chin. It's all your fault, of course.
He snaps out of it when your look back up at him, fashioning your finger in a come hither motion until he juts his hands out for you to remove the handcuffs. You oblige and stand to your feet, dusting your hands off on your bare legs. Your fingers fist the fabric of the shirt you had been nice enough to give him the day prior. His eyes blow wide, the crease between his brow dissipating into nothing. You bring your face close, feigning a kiss but stopping just as your bottom lip brushes his. His breath is ragged, eyes darting around your face as if there's answers hidden beneath your pores. There isn't.
"I'll be back to say bye. So be good and eat up." It's curt and to the point. He looses out a breath when you pull back and make your way to the door. He turns his body and watches you the whole way, pretending to both you and himself that his eyes aren't wandering your frame. Convinced he's only half hard because it's morning and he hasn't cum in days despite being stimulated. He says nothing as you leave the room, just stuffs his gob with waffles and washes the buttery-sweetness down with the bitter taste of coffee.
Once you've pulled yourself from depraved daughter to socially acceptable scholar you return to his side, he's sitting with a hunched back and bored look in his eyes. Your fingers run over the smooth surface of the little device in your hand, elation licking up your spine.
"Alright Ji, I'm off for the day." Your hands itch behind your back as they slip the little cylindrical shaped object in your back pocket. "Gonna miss you while I'm gone."
You unlatch a twin pair of cuffs from where they hang off your belt loops. They give him a larger range of motion, not large enough to hinder the plans you've made him for the day though. He's obedient and almost adorable as he pouts, listening to the click of the cuffs. "How long are ya gonna be gone?"
"Mmm…" You tap your chin, counting the hours in your head. "About 6 hours? Maybe less if I miss you too much."
You jut your bottom lip out in a mock kiss you know he won't return. He sighs and when you look at him he looks like a puppy who's begun missing it's owner before they've even left. It almost makes you go back on your plan. Almost.
"I lied a bit." You bite your lip as if it'll soften the blow. "Well it's not a lie— more like I just didn't tell you the whole truth."
"You're a fucking piece of work, you know that?" He hangs his head, laugh puffing from between his lips.
"It's what makes me so fun." You tease, your hand pulling the device from your back pocket. You wave it in front of him, putting it on display like you've got the best thing at show and tell. He looks up at you through his shaggy bangs, nostrils flared and baring his teeth but saying nothing.
Your fingers hook into his boxers and he pulls on his restraints. Your mouth waters as his cock springs free, slapping him in the stomach. His tip is red and leaky, you cant help but plug it up with your tongue. You hum when the salty flavor hits your taste buds, shaking your head and attaching the mini bullet vibrator to it and securing it with the medical tape in your other pocket.
You pull your phone out, turning the bright screen toward him to which he squints at. "You see this little graph here?"
He cocks his head to the right and you realize he really is. You wanna put a collar on him and hear him whine and moan about it. The thought excites you too much, your panties are starting to dampen between your thighs and you've only got five minutes before you have to leave to make it on time for your first lecture.
"I have the controls for our new little friend." Your fingers plays over the screen, putting it on the lowest setting. Toji's hips buck, pulling on his restraints as the sounds of vibrations fill your ears. "This is the lowest setting."
"You're gonna leave me here for six hours with this fucking thing on?" His chest is heaving as your finger slides against the screen, upping the intensity every other word. You ignore him, the answer is obvious. Yes, you were gonna leave him here to bask in the glory of edging. You want to tease and play until he's begging to cum. Until his balls are swollen and angry and his hips are bucking into nothing so he can play at the idea of an earth shattering orgasm.
"This," You smile, bumping the intensity as far as it allows. "Is the highest setting."
He falls forward, muscled shoulders shaking while his balls pull so close to his body he thinks they might settle back inside him. It's too intense. It hurts and it feels good. He hates you and he wants you to make him cum.
You bring it back down to the lowest setting, circling him in his chair. Your manicured pointer finger traces over his traps and down his chest. Goosebumps follow after your finger and he shudders. The dulled vibration from the toy you've forced onto him is less of a burden on his psyche, but a burden all the same. He's violently pushing out fat puffs of air from his flared nostrils, head hung and his scar down turned.
"I love you, Ji." You kiss him on the crown of his head, your sentiment makes him feel gross and muddy on the inside. "No cumming before I get home."
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Your palms sweat, elated at the idea of what state Toji would be in when you got back. The whole day you had been glued to your phone, messing with the intensity of his torture. Up and down. On and off. You wonder at the possibility of him cumming in the hour you had to take an exam and had left it somewhere in the middle on a pulse setting. You drum up a punishment, deciding that if he had cum you'd make him lick you through the bars of his enclosure. If he hadn't you'd offer him a night of luxury spent sleeping in a bed— next to you of course.
You can't hurry home fast enough, practically sprinting to your car and driving well over the speed limit. You're desperate and in need of a change of panties— the ones your currently have on had been soaked through by the end of your first lecture.
Meanwhile, Toji was sat huffing and puffing in his seat. Body folded in half as he uses the cool tabletop as a headrest. The skin on his face, chest and back was all tinged pink with both frustration and a desperate need to empty his balls. He wants to fuck something. Bad. To sheathe himself inside something to feel some sort of relief and fuck until his balls are emptier than they ever had been. He feels the vibrations quicken and the intensity ramp up just as he hears footsteps approaching.
When you crack open the door and sunlight peeks through he thinks he might cry out. His wrists are pulling as hard as they can against his restraints, corded muscle bulging out of his forearms. There's a vein blossoming through his pretty forehead that you want to kiss. You almost fall to your knees when you finally see him.
Big, burly and menacing as he always is, you expect him to glare and curse at you when you enter. He's like a dream. A wet one with tears and snot muddled together as his body spasms. He writhes like a corpse reanimated.
"Have you had fun today?" You coo, fingers carding through the hair sweat slicked to his forehead.
"You're evil. God I feel like my dicks broken." He gives you a non-answer. Glaring daggers at you, dull as they may be in his current state. His strong will was one of the many things you love about him and it was here painted like the renaissance in earth and jeweled pigments.
You had done well, brought him to the very precipice of mind numbing pleasure for hours. His balls were pulled tight, sitting close to his body with a tip that was bright red and gleaming with the sheen of precum. You wiggled out of your jeans, pulling your panties down along with them. Instead of discarding them on the floor you bunch them up, the little slice of fabric holding the excitement of the day being on the outskirts.
"Open." Your voice is soft, almost tinged with nurturing undertones as your nails hook into his jaw. He obliges. What else could he do? Wait for you to bring out another contraption that could make him forcibly comply? His mouth feels wet and dry at the same time. You stuff the panties in. His hips undulating into nothing as he growls at the fresh taste of your cunt.
With your back to him, you bend over. Your pretty manicured fingers digging into your ass cheek and pulling, your cunt on full beautiful display.
"Wanna cum in here?" You giggle and it's mean. You know he's teetering on the edge of want and responsibility. He's grunting and lapping at the fabric pressed to his tongue. He wants you. Wants to forget he's supposed to be mature and treat you like he's your father figure, but you've just about broken him. He's been ground down to his most basic instincts to fuck and cum and do as he pleases.
He turns his head, knuckles turning white in his forced denial. You laugh at him like he's just told you the joke of the century, the desperation in him is palpable. You sit on his lap, leaky cunt resting on his thigh just out of reach of his cock. You kiss along his jaw and he fights the screaming desire to let you— turning his head. You lick a bead of sweat that runs down his temple and savor the salty taste, though it's nothing compared to the savory notes of his precum you'd had earlier that morning.
Your teeth nip at his lobe and he fucking whimpers. A curse falls from your lips as you brush against the shell of his ear. "Fine, I'll give you your reward for being so good today."
You move off him, chaining the restraints at his wrists to each other and bending down to do the same for the ones attached to his ankles. You pull the panties from his mouth and smile at the strings of spit tethered from his mouth to the fabric. He had sucked the flavor out of them and as much as he'd hoped you didn't notice— you did.
You pull him to his feet by the interlocked cuffs around his wrists and pull him into the bathroom to shower him off. You take extra care washing his balls, massaging them with a delicacy you hadn't shown him thus far. You're both silent the whole time.
When you wash his cock he pushes you into the tiled wall, his head resting on the tile as he bites into your shoulder. It takes everything in him not to thrust into your hand. The pain of his bite grows and you can see blood trickling down your skin. It feels good, being hurt by him. You can feel the blood pulsing under his shaft and you know all too well he's trying to cum. You release him, pulling down the shower head and rinsing him off. You speed through the rest of the shower as fast as you can to keep yourself from shoving him to the floor and sinking down onto him.
Before you offer him the comfort of your mattress, you grab the food you'd been smart enough to order off the porch. Sitting opposite him at the table with his dominant hand uncuffed.
"Did you like your new toy?" You don't look up, forking a bite onto your utensil.
"Yeah, loved having my dick tortured by my step-daughter for six hours straight." It's sarcastic and mean, his words over exaggerated in the quiet of your home. "Y'know your old man's getting too old for this shit."
You roll your eyes, it's your turn to glare daggers at him. "Seemed like you liked it well enough when you were sucking me off my own panties."
He doesn't have anything to say to that. What excuse could he have to have been so willing? He spends the rest of your meal in silence.
You wash up, leaving him to stare out your large floor to ceiling windows in silence. The first he had seen of the outside world in days. He almost feels relaxed, closing his eyes but keeping his ears alert. They snap open when he hears the water shut off, head turning to watch you slink down the opposite hall. Your head ticks in a silent request for him to follow. He stands, chains tinkling with every loud step. He's still completely nude. And hard. His dick bobs up and down as he approaches, an immature part of you wants to laugh. At the risk of him not taking you seriously, you swallow it down.
He stops at the threshold of the door. Your bedroom. It's not overly girly and frilled with lace. There's a corkboard with pictures of the both of you that you've cropped your mother and Megumi out of sitting above a messy desk littered with reading material, your laptop and empty redbull cans. A normal set up for a very fucking twisted college girl.
"The hell did you bring me here for?" He grunts. You walk past him into the room, opening your dresser and pulling out a large pair of sweats and throwing them at him. Confident in his ability to pull them on with his hands interlinked as you undo the restraints on his feet.
"Your reward, obviously." You say like it's the most logical thing in the world. He looks around as if the reward in question will jump out at him before wondering if the gift of pants had been it all along.
"And that is…" He trails off, waiting for you to connect the dots for him. He bends down to pull the sweats over his feet and you watch as he jumps into them. He hisses through his teeth as the fleece brushes over his sensitive head.
"I'm letting you sleep in my bed." You smile, ditching what's left of your clothes into the hamper by the door. "Aren't I so kind?"
He looks away to keep himself from drooling over your nakedness. He feels like he's in heat, like the sight of an ankle could send him into a frenzy.
"I'm sure you'll also be sleeping here." He sounds less than excited. To be fair, he is. His dick is still throbbing and your bed is only a full size. He can only imagine what rewards await him.
"Well, of course." You snort, pulling a thin tank top and a pair of boyshorts on. He sighs, settling onto the bed to put himself to sleep as quickly as possible. He's on his side, teetering on the edge to put as much distance between you as your small bed will allow. He feels the mattress dip beside him, the warmth of your body radiating over him like a blanket despite the space between you. You let him.
"G'night, daddy." You whisper, turning your bedside lamp off with a click.
That night, Toji dreams it's you in the cage. His dick between the bars, leather leash in his clenched fist. He pulls it taut, the grid from the bars embedding into your pretty face as he fucks his thick cock into your throat.
"C'mon baby, open up for daddy. Let me play in that pretty throat." He's smiling. The scar on his lips elongating with a vicious flash of canines as he watches drool push past the corners of your mouth. Your lashes are coated in tears, the mix of fluids is dripping down your chin onto your chest. His hips stutter and he can feel the cum inching from his balls to his shaft. He pulls out of your throat, a pwah! sound and drool falling from your swollen lips as he does.
His calloused hand wraps around himself, choking his length in a death grip as he strokes it. A sound between a cry and a growl cracks in the back of his throat as he paints you with his cum. Thick white ropes landing in your hair, across your forehead and cheeks. He finds joy in using his tip to smear it over your lips. You look so fucking pretty. Morals be damned.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
His eyes fly open, his hand is gripping his cock like a vice. He feels unclean. Beyond perverted and fucked up. He wants to say it's your fault. That you had somehow come up with a contraption that could fabricate such a dream and torture him. Any excuse not to hold himself accountable for the sticky feeling inside his pants. He lifts the elastic, peering in and relishing in the fact that he hadn't cum in his pants. But more than feeling warped beyond saving, he's disgustingly horny.
He tells himself it's alright that he's flipped over to face you, scooting closer so your ass presses into his dick. The pressure feels like a god send. He deludes himself, blaming you for the way he pulls his pants down so they sit just below his heavy balls. You did this to me he thinks as he slots himself between the meat on your thighs.
"Down boy." Your voice crashes into him like a bad accident. He thrusts anyway, pre coating the inside of your thighs. "You hear me? If you keep going I'm gonna fuck you."
He groans into your shoulder. You try to wriggle away but he uses his shackled wrists to circle you. His beefy arms are around your waist in needy protest as his hips continue to seek fulfillment.
"Toji." Not daddy. Not 'Ji. Toji. The sound of his name rolling off your tongue has him biting the inside of his cheek.
"I need it. Fuck. I need to cum." He pants out, his teeth sink into the same spot they had the night before— reopening the wound. He laps at it, collecting the blood and humming at the metallic taste on his tongue. "I'll do anything you want, baby. Just let daddy cum okay?"
You smile to yourself, that depraved sadistic part of your heart swelling. Your eyes roll back in euphoric delight. You pull it back to neutrality before unslotting him from between your thighs. He hisses at the loss of contact. You turn to face him, cupping his face in your right hand while wrapping your left around his cock. His hips are stuttering into your hand, skin throbbing against your palm.
"Once you do this you're mine old man. You got that?" You flatten your hand against his tip and smoosh all his precum back against him. He nods, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring.
You make quick work of fastening his restrains to your headboard, pulling your tank and underwear down quickly thereafter. You want to give him foreplay. Relax your throat and feel him full and heavy inside your mouth as his cock makes friends with your uvula. But you're far too greedy. You want him inside you. To feel his girth stretching out your walls as he writhes underneath you.
He stares at your pretty tits and how they sit so perfectly on your chest, the expanse of your stomach all the way down to your pussy mound. Your pussy lips tease him. He wants to lap at your clit and drink your slick straight from the source instead of being force fed the remnants on your panties.
You hover over him, a violent glob of spit shooting from your mouth down to his twitching cock. You spit on the tips of your fingers as well and — though you don't need it— lather it against your patiently waiting hole. You hold him firmly, rubbing the spit you'd just given him over his shaft for an even coating before giving it a few passes between your folds.
"C'mon, don't do that." He whines. Toji Fushiguro whines. And you had made him. "Let me in. Let me feel your cute little cunt."
You smile down at him, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. His mouth opens in his desperation, shoving his tongue into yours and licking the back of your teeth. He has no one to blame anymore. He's about to fuck his step-daughter and he'd asked for it. Begged for it is more accurate, but that's something he is yet to admit to himself.
He moans against your mouth, your tongue wrapping around his as you ease his dick in. He's big. Just the tip has your mouth watering and he enjoys the spittle you transfer into his covetous maw. He's lifting his hips off the mattress, the balls of his feet digging into your sheets. You're mean and spiteful, using his chest to push yourself up further and further just to tease him. He groans, wrists red and raw from pulling at the restraints. Your headboard sounds like it's going to give out soon.
"All that protesting just to be so eager, hm?" You taunt, rolling your hips in a circle on his cock head.
"You're being a fucking brat." He spits, slamming back into the mattress with a pout.
"Hmm, I wonder who I learned it from." You laugh. He thinks you look beautiful, he wants to ruin you and make you cry. Swat your ass until it's red and raw with his hand print. To prove his point, you drop down with one fell swoop. A strangled sound comes from the back of his throat akin to the cry of a wounded animal. He fills you so deliciously that you can't help but cry out, your fingernails digging into his pecks.
His hips stutter, "Oh fuck."
Warmth pools inside of you and you're looking at each other like you'd been wronged by the other in some way.
"How naughty. Cumming inside your step-daughter like that." He looks mortified, like he wants to dissolve into nothing. His lips are wobbling and you wonder if he might cry. What a beautiful sight. Bringing the big, mean Toji Fushiguro to tears with your cunt.
You're glaring at him as you rotate your hips, finding a motion and rhythm that feel good. To hell with him and his one-sided pleasure.
"Sorry." He mumbles. You pretend you can't hear him and send an inquisitive hum his way. "I'm sorry, okay?"
"It's okay, 'Ji." You smile, grinding your clit into that black tuft of hair on his pubic bone. "You can go again right?"
"Yeah baby, lemme take care of you." His mouth is moving faster than his brain, too eager to please in his pussy drunk state.
Your hands find purchase on his chest, slamming down onto his now half hard cock. He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Every time he catches his breath you bring your hips down to steal it away again. He think he might die inside you. And what a beautiful final resting place. All nestled snug inside where everything is warm and good. How kind of you to let him decay and rot within your beautiful walls.
He's so sensitive and you're using your cunt like a machine. Milking him as you purposefully make your walls spasm. He watches tentatively as his cum seeps out of you and pools onto his pubic bone.
He's pulling and pulling on his restraints, your headboard groaning with his forceful ministrations. You hear the wood snap before you realize what's happened. He has you flipped over, your tits pressed against cool sheets with his palm spread over the bottom of your spine. You purr like a cat when his hips come flush against your ass. His fingers thread into your hair too close to the scalp. It stings when he pulls you up, his abdomen pressed into your back. Deciding last second he'd rather have you close.
"You've been so mean to me baby." It's low and threatening. You turn your head to give him those pretty, pleading eyes that have always seemed to work on him. They don't. Not anymore. "It's daddy's turn."
His hips pull back, slow and sultry, before snapping forward without any consideration for your much smaller body. Not caring that you were rather unused to a man of his size. You watch his hand wind up, smacking your ass with reckless abandon. It stings, but more than that it feels so fucking good. You can feel the skin swelling as his palm soothes the wound.
"Count." He barks, nipping at that same spot on your shoulder. He sinks his teeth even deeper, reopening the wound. His hand winds up again, his thrusts quickening before his palm connects with your asscheek again.
"One." You breathe out, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. His teeth grind down harder, he groans as another slap meets skin and your pussy clenches. "Two."
He continues on like that until you reach ten, eyelashes wet as sobs wrack through you. Your shoulders shake and your ass throbs. Toji finally unlatches his jaw, his teeth stained with your blood as he smiles down at you.
"You like it don't you?" His hips meet your ass even more brutally. "You made me like this. Tell daddy you like it, baby."
He's spiraling, descending into madness as you wrap around him. Little sobs of his name falling from your lips.
"Quit your crying, sweetheart. I wanna hear the words come from that pretty little mouth loud and clear." He pushes you deep into the mattress, your tears darkening the sheets below.
"Love it, Ji. I wanna love all of you. Give me everything." You're babbling, looking at him through your peripheral with a lazy smile plastered on your face. His fingers reach down and play with your clit, using your slick as lubrication. The last thing you need is more stimulation, you're already teetering on the edge of euphoria. He's hitting what feels like the back of your pussy with no room left to thrust, yet he still pushes forward. Tries to make a home for himself inside you.
This wasn't just sex or even anything close to making love. No, this was animalistic. This was fucking.
"You gonna squeeze me tight when you cum? Make me feel how badly you've wanted me to take you like this?" His words alone spur you to a place beyond pleasure, pressed against your back and saying every dirty thing you'd ever imagined. He pinches your clit and your vision goes white and starry. You hear a crackled yelp and realize it's you, all whiny and drawn out. Your body slumps into the mattress below with a solid thud. He doesn't stop his movements, just puts his hands under your belly and lifts you back into an arch.
"Oh baby, we're not done yet." He coos, swiping stray strands of hair from your sweaty forehead. Enjoying himself too much as he watches your legs tremble and shake underneath you like the little fawn you are.
"My legs won't stop shaking." You cry. Your fingernails dig into his bicep and he finds you disgustingly endearing.
"It's okay, baby. Daddy's got you." He soothes, kissing your hair as his hips slow. Your cunt is still fluttering around him. You feel like you're half way outside your body when he flips you onto your back. His thumb comes up and wipes the saliva that's beginning to dry on the corner of your mouth. You look so pretty laid on your back, hair fanning out around you. It feels wrong, sitting deep inside your wet cunt and staring down at your nakedness. But that makes him enjoy it all the more, the wrongness of it all.
His palms lay flat against the underside of your thighs, pushing them until your knees are touching your ears and your belly rolls in on itself. Your eyelashes are still wet as you stare up at him lazily, mouth parted and inviting. He presses his body weight down on you, it feels good to be crushed by him. You want him to chew you up and spit you out. To be meaner to you than you've been to him for the last four days.
"Look so pretty sweetheart." He coos, pulling his hips back slowly. You gasp when you feel his dick slip out, whining and pawing at him.
"Put it back. Please put it back." You mewl. He ignores you, using the mix of cum and slick to glide against your pussy lips. "Toji."
"You've been teasing me for days but the moment I do it, it's a problem." He laughs, "I'm trying to control myself here."
Your arms are reaching up, pulling him down by his neck with a look that makes him wanna crawl inside your skin and never leave. "Don't be gentle with me, 'Ji. I told you to give me everything."
His eyes blow wide, heart hammering behind his chest. He's deluded himself into thinking he can come back from this. That he can fill you with cum, fuck you until you're battered and bruised just to slip back into a fatherly role. He can't, of course. Not without imagining you choking on his fingers while he fucks you behind everyone's backs.
"Daddy's greedy," Toji coo's in your ear, "I want this pretty hole too." He reaches down between you, past your pussy to thumb against your asshole. You let your calves rest against his shoulders, using them to raise yourself up and give him easier access. He follows you up, pressing his dick in at the same pace he pushes in his thumb. It's uncomfortable so you squirm as he pushes in to the knuckle.
His finger sits in its place inside you, his cock moving in and out. He can feel himself just a bit, girth stretching your walls thin. He thinks that alone might make him cum. He wants to shove a couple more digits in and make you cry, but he decides against it. You'd definitely like it though, begging for more through tear filled eyes.
The angle he's fucking you in is hitting your bladder, pistoning hard as he begins to curl his thumb in your ass. Your toes are curling and you can feel all the water you drank the night before begging to burst free. You clench around him, thinking that if you can just make him cum you can run and relieve yourself.
With every pulse you're drawing him deeper and deeper into whatever sick little world you live in. The world where step-daddy's can fuck and fill their step-daughters to their hearts content. He no longer hears that little voice in the back of his head that tells him its wrong to be filling your ass and cunt in tandem. No, that little voice is telling him to shove the fingers on his free hand down your throat until you choke and gag. Spurring him on to be mean and vicious, everything he has always known lives inside him but has stuffed down to pretend at being a family man.
He doesn't care about any of it. He wants to fill you with him to the point of bursting. Wants to press down on your stomach and watch his cum leak out and smile at the thought of putting a baby in you and ruining your young fucking life.
That's who he really is at his core. Dirty, disgusting and depraved enough to reach for your jaw with his free hand and wrench it open. Your tongue lolls out as if this is all natural and normal. He watches the way the back of your throat opens and closes, the way your uvula wriggles. He wants to stuff his cock in but instead collects his saliva and spits right into the back of your throat. You almost choke on it and the feeling of your stomach clenching involuntarily fills him with a deep satisfaction. He gives an especially hard stroke directly into your bladder, you feel a little trickle out at the abuse. A flush heats your cheeks all the way down to your chest.
"Toji, I gotta pee." You croak, your fingers clawing at his sweat slick back. It's like he doesn't hear you, his hips keep pistoning at that same cruel pace with eyes that seemed to have glazed over. "Toji."
"Oh just shut the fuck up and pee on me already. I'm not done." He groans as your cunt constricts him even further. You like it, the facade of a kind and caring father slipping off to reveal a monster only you have become acquainted with. Your body refuses to give way despite the pressure and strain building below your belly.
He looks down at you, face painted with fury with his top lip pulled up in a snarl. "I can't. It won't come out." You sob. Your body won't fully relax. Not with the object of your desires slotted deep inside you.
What he's thinking is splayed all over his features, 'Who the fuck can't just piss if they need to piss?' He pulls his thumb out of you and lets your body fall roughly down onto the mattress. You think he's gonna let you go. Let you scurry off to the bathroom and maintain some semblance of your dignity. Not that you had much to begin with.
Unfortunately not. Instead, he fucks into you harder. Hits that yummy little spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your bladder ache even more. "Pee."
The demand makes you flush even deeper, you try to wriggle your way out of his grasp but his hands lock you in place. You feel too good on his cock for him to let you go and your bladder is taking up too much of the room inside you he wants to make his own.
"I told you I fucking ca-"
He slaps you. Hard. Your jaw hangs open and your ears ring. The damn of yellow threatens to break free as you focus on the stinging on your cheek and he looks at you like he's done a very good thing. "Watch your mouth, kid. Now piss for daddy, yeah?"
His palm comes to rest on your lower belly, pushing down and slowly increasing the pressure. It had been fine and dandy when you had held his dick and watched him piss. All the while you were too ladylike to piss on him? To hell with that.
He hips snap with a newfound ferocity, his green eyes sending you a silent threat to disobey him. His fingers work your clit like he's known it for years. You can feel the scrape of his tip at your entrance as he threatens to pull out of you, every vein as he carves out your insides to mold to him. It's overwhelming even without him using his full body weight to press on you. His dick throbs inside you and you know he's close. You want it. He makes you want, want, want. Always wanting for him.
He hits a spot inside you that the monstrous dildo in your bedside table had never even hit, and that's when he gets you. His ruthless cock soothes every tense nerve in your body. You don't even realize you're cumming until you see the slightly yellow tinged waterworks spray over him. It's coating everything. It's in his hair and dripping down his chin. He's gross enough to open his mouth and you watch his adams apple bob as he swallows, eyes rolling back.
Toji falls forward, hiking your legs back up over his shoulders as you quake underneath him from the aftershocks of your orgasm.
"Oh, you're so fucking gross." He coo's in a way that feels more like a compliment than an insult. "Did so good for me. That felt good didn't it baby?"
"Toji…" You cry, fingers leaving more red scratches down his chiseled back. "No more. You're gonna break me."
"Then fucking break for me sweetheart." He grunts, but its him that breaks. He's biting and nipping at any inch of skin he can. Fingers digging into the plush meat on your hips like it's gonna bring him down to earth any faster. That pool of warmth is seeping into you and it feels even better than the first time. His lips find yours again, drooling and growling as he rocks his hips to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He bites down on your bottom lip so hard it splits, he licks at it and hums to himself.
Once his cock has spit every last drop of cum into your greedy little cunt he pulls out of you. Covered in piss and sweat and pussy juice as he flops next to you, panting. He sits up on his elbows big and burly as ever in your tiny bed as he watches his fluids leak out of you. He frowns, pushing them back in with his middle and pointer just for it to come leaking out again. He stands to his feet, bending down and giving you a nice view of his muscled ass and empty balls hanging between his legs. He smiles, thinking himself rather smart as he picks up your panties and flops back down next to you again.
"Open up." He teases. You raise a brow, maw opening slightly with a confused look on your face. He sighs, swiping a hand over his beautiful visage like you've got half a brain. "Your legs."
You glare at him for the silent insult, hooking your arms under your legs and spreading them. He collects what he can of what's leaked out on his two fingers before stuffing it back inside. He chuckles, watching you bristle as he stuffs the panties in after.
"What the hell are you doing?" You bite, slapping his hands away despite the fact he'd already accomplished his goal.
"Said you wanted to give Megs a sibling, right?" He smiles at you like he'd just said something mind-blowingly smart.
"Yeah. Okay old man, you need to brush up on sex-ed." You snort, standing to your feet and pulling his weird baby making contraption out of you and into the laundry hamper. "Let's go shower so we can get back in here and make sure it takes."
usually, the man has a patient of a saint. he's been trained to maintain control in the most dire and stressful of scenarios. he could be delivering shocks and trying to prevent a patient from dying, and he'll keep his cool. but throw in a pretty nurse with some daddy issues and a big mouth, and he loses it all. all his carefully crafted composure.
his hips drive into yours roughly as he fucks into you from on top, his chest pressed to your smooth back, his hand grabbing a fistful of your soft, fruity scented hair. fuck, your stupid shampoo has had his brain foggy all day...
his other hand is shoving two fingers into your mouth, pushed deep enough in your mouth for you to feel it, but not enough for you to choke. "feel that?" he pants in your ear as his tip presses into a spongey spot deep inside you. each rough thrust has him hitting the spot each time, sending so much pleasure through your body that you can't even control the gush of juices seeping out of you and coating his cock anymore.
"mm, mhm!" you slur out around his fingers, swirling your tongue around the digits before closing your mouth around them. "that's what you do to me." he hisses in your ear. "my cock's never been so swollen up and wet in my whole life. you proud of yourself for getting me like this?"
you nod eagerly, words breaking off into a loud moan as he pushes you forward, that long, thick cock of his stuffing you up to the hilt each time he bottoms out. you feel so full, like there's not a single inch of space left inside you when his dick is squished in your soft pussy. "calling me daddy and hangin' off my arm the whole damn shift. fuck." he grits, balls twitching against your ass. he knows he's about to cum soon, and in his haste to correct you, he hadn't bothered to put on a condom.
" 'm sorry!" your voice is pitchy and saccharine sweet, "just wanted to mmh! ge-get your attention..."
" 'm too old for you, you stupid little thing." he snaps, adjusting his hands so that one wraps firmly around your throat and the other spans over your eyes, blocking your vision. your moans become exponentially louder without his fingers gagging you, and you start pushing your ass back onto his dick like a real whore, swallowing up his cock each time you move back to meet his rough thrusts. you're clearly trying to prove you're not too young for him, that you can take all of him and be good for him if he just gives you a little more attention...
he gives your throat a little squeeze, feeling how the motion has you tightening around him, and his face screws up in pleasure. "fuck, im gonna cum. you gonna let me pull out, or do you want a baby in you, huh pretty?"
"fill me up please-" you beg, and he lets out a loud groan, tilting your chin up so he can kiss you from above before pushing his cock in you all the way, stuffing you with his hot, thick cum.
꣖ mdni! ꣓ 💬 .. ꕤ * .゚ thinking abt gross, pervy !rabbot neighbors who jus wan a third..
fauxcest. head empty reader
u jus moved in next door nd decide to bake them some pastries to say hello. nd u didnt need to come in, but they immediately liked what they saw. little cutie at their doorstep, lacy bra peeking underneath ur babydoll top, little skirt twirling as u twisted side to side, wide eyes looking up at them, excited nd giddy to say hi.
so they tell u, they have no business eating all of the sweets by themselves, not with their age nd all, so ure more than happy to step in and taste some with them. robby’s opening the little box as jack circles u, taking peeks at ur body. tells u ur skirt is cute. how u look like a daughter hes never had, just wants to scoop u up nd put u in his pocket. nd u love the attention. from these two attractive men? yeah.
when u guys start eating, robby asks u how many sweets u usually eat. tsks then tells u “u better be taking care of ur teeth. if ur dad isnt reminding u, i will. be a better one than him.” nd ure smiling, agreeing ur dad doesnt remind u. nd jack’s still behind u, sniffing at u. “smell so good. better than the sweets. mind if i have a little bite?” nd u love!! when people compliment ur scent!
so jack jokingly nibbles at ur neck, placing his hands on ur waist to steady himself, groping nd squeezing where he doesnt have to. “what if i jus ate u instead? my pretty new daughter?” theyre both all smiles like what theyre saying is normal. ♡
“u guys are so silly!” u look to robby whos stepped closer, a hand rubbing over his groin. “no, ure silly, silly goose. u like how jack’s touching u? let dad know it feels good.”
“jack..? it does feel nice.. whats ur name?” u pay no mind to ur skirt lifting at the back, something prodding at u, rubbing all over ur panties. u feel so.. safe with them. u dont mind at all.
“can u say daddy, baby?” robby pulls himself out, stroking right in front of u, watching jack’s hands wander to ur front, groping at ur tits. “daddy nd.. jack?” u look back to the man, feeling ur underwear lower and jack spreading ur cheeks, slipping in.
“no, no, baby. cant call me by my first name, not polite. if ure my sweet little girl, then that makes me..?” he raises a brow, waiting for ur answer. u feel so proud of urself when the lightbulb goes off in ur head. “dad!” u answer excitedly.
hes all smiles, guiding ur hand to robby’s cock, moving it a leisure pace, letting u get used to it. “good job, baby. my smart little lady.. can u see how hard daddy is? ure helping him so much by touching. keep going, ure gonna make it alll better. ure such a quick learner, howd we get so lucky?” he presses a kiss to ur head.
u giggle at the praise, quickly gasping, “are u.. hard too? how do i make it better?” u whine. such a people pleaser. hes quick to shush nd reassure u, “u are, sweetheart. but instead of u touching, dad’s touching. hes got his big man part in ur pretty pussy, yeah? he feels so much better already. ure so tight for dad, so good, dont worry.”
ure biting ur lip, so happy ure making them feel good. what a good idea u had. ur neighbors needed u more than u thought! ♡
robby buying you new stuffies when he’s too mean or rough, so you keep your mouth shut to jack
robby fucking you while he buries your head in your stuffies / has you hold them while he fucks you
vs jack who turns the stuffies away so they don’t have to watch
꣖ mdni! ꣓ 💬 .. ꕤ * .゚ hope i got this idea right.. i <3 mean !robby propaganda :3
fauxcest. i got sweary w this one!
when ure looking up at robby, teary eyed, lip wobbly, inching away from him like ure abt to run off to tell on him to jack. but ure too fucked out, he knows u can’t move. “dont go running to dad like u always do, ure a big girl.. wha’dyou want? stop the tears.. so fuckin’ spoiled..”
nd only smiling when he agrees to get u more stuffies, swiping at ur eyes, little sniffle, and a quick hug bc ure still mad at him, then scurrying off.
hes always grumbly when he has to do it, u give him the warning eyes, nd no, robby doesnt wanna hear jack’s mouth. telling him off like theyre not practically the same age. hes not scared of the guy, just wants him to shut up for once. thinks hes mister know it all when it comes to u.
but robby cant stand the sight of the stuffies. knows theyre there bc of his money. knows theyre there bc of what he did to u. how easily u get to him, can make him do anything with those eyes of urs. so when he has u on ur stomach, u couldnt even hold urself up he was pounding so hard.. babbling incoherently, jack in front, stroking at ur face, telling u how pretty u look with him in ur mouth, what a good girl ure being, does robby suddenly push ur head into one of the stuffies, a bunny one.
nd jack immediately looks up, face stern. “brother, what the fuck? u know she doesnt like it rough when shes mumbly. get off ‘er, mike.”
“she can take it, quit babying her. 's why shes so spoiled, u coddle the shit out’ta her,” robby lets up, but ure still pressed down, mouthing on the bunny’s fur, eyes glossing over, meekly glancing up to jack.
“because, shes my baby..” jack looks down to u, cooing. “robby’s being mean? push ’im off, he doesnt get to cum tonight, not in this precious cunt..” his eyes wander to what ure gnawing on.
he turns to robby whos hands rest on ur waist, slowly pulling out. “whats up with all the little stuffed guys? she holds them to sleep, whyre they facing us? dont need to see..” jack takes one, turning it around, soft frown on his face.
robby scoffs, lifting u up at the hips, readying u to keep taking him, ignoring jack’s earlier protest. but jack catches him, “nuh uh, i was serious. u dont get her tonight, think abt ur fucking actions, stop making my baby cry.”
“ur baby?” robby lifts a brow, disbelieving. jack ignores him, lifting u from the stuffie, gathering u in his arms, “mhm.. dad’s sweet girl.. daddy needs a time out, huh..? say bye, daddy,” he guides ur limpy wrist to motion the waving gesture at robby. ♡
divorced soft dom frank langdon x younger inexperienced female reader
cw: age-gap relationship, dryhumping, langdon is a praising machine and reader has a praise kink
frank langdon loves to brag about you, his controversially younger girlfriend. he's had enough of his coworkers teasing him for being a single ken with two kids, so when you two finally dated, he bought hotdogs for everyone in day shift to celebrate his first day of being your boyfriend.
a lot of people wonder why would a sweet little angel like you want to date a guy like frank. he isn't exactly easy to deal with. meanwhile, you couldn't help but wonder, why would abby dump this man? frank is gentle, caring, and he's gorgeous too. he never let you down.
he always asks for your consent in anything he's about to do.
"angel, can i kiss you there? i can feel your pulse. your heart is pumping blood so fast," his warm breath ghosts the side of your neck. you're currently sitting on his lap, both your hands are clutching his shirt. frank smells like sea salt and you love it. his scent always grounds you on moments like this.
when you nod, frank presses his mouth on your neck, right on the pulse. he stays like that for a few seconds before switching between soft nips and licking. you never felt so wanted before.
his hands slip under your shirt, tracing your back, unclasping the lacy bra he bought you a week ago. you flinch a little in surprise and he stops immediately. "easy, bunny. too soon?" you can tell he tried to make his voice sounds softer but failed because you can still hear the hoarseness.
"just surprised..." you mutter.
"yeah? should've talked you through it, hun. i'm sorry, alright?" he peppers apologetic kisses on your neck and chest. "won't happen again, sweetheart. i promise."
right. he also talks you through everything. you're rather... inexperienced, compared to other girls around you. you once told him about this as your insecurity, thinking he'd be upset, but he didn't. he found it adorable."what a good girl you are, darling. keeping yourself pure, baby? for who, i wonder? for me, yeah? i'll take care of you, i promise. ain't nothing to be sad about, baby." that's what he said a month ago when you two started dating officially.
he nuzzles your neck, his stuble making you giggle. he chuckles at that, "tickles?"
you nod.
his hands continue their journey up your back, stroking the soft skin there. "i unclasp it already, honey. can i keep going?"
a soft whimper left your mouth, "yeah..."
"good girl. thank you, baby. i'll take off your shirt now, okay? can i see my pretty baby?"
another nod from you and sighs in relief, "atta girl. my brave little bunny. arms up."
he slides your shirt off your head, then your bra. he takes a moment to admire the view, wetting his lips because the air suddenly feels too hot and humid around you two.
frank's hands move to cup your breasts, giving them a slow squeeze that makes your stomach tingles. his lips meet yours as he does that and you swear you can feel the dampness between your thighs.
"can i use my mouth, angel? just like last time," his voice is gruff from arousal. you can't help but nod. "my beautiful angel..." were his last words before his lips close around your nipple. your fingers find his hair, gripping them as you whimper and moan.
he switches from one breast to the other. your head is dizzy with pleasure and you subconsciously rock your hips forward against his crotch. frank chuckles, "ah-ah, little lady wants more, huh?"
"feels good..." you whimper, hips still rolling slowly.
"then keep going, baby. use me 'till you come."
then his mouth is back on your breast. suckling and nipping as his hands brush your hair. he's not guiding your movement, he wants you to find your own rhythm, setting everything at your pace. he knows that this much of stimulation is enough to make you finish.
you can feel his hardness pressing against your damp panties. frank can feel it too, but his focus is still on you. on making his baby feels good, so he ignored it.
"feeling good, bun?"
you gasp, "frank— ngh!"
he bit down a little harder on your nipple and your eyes roll back, whole body shaking as you come clothed. slick fluid coating your panties, leaving a wet spot on his pants. frank brings your head down to his chest, stroking the back of your head gently.
"ssh, easy..."
you whimper in his chest, catching your breath. frank plants kisses on the top of your head. "you're getting so good at making yourself come. my smart baby," he holds you there tightly.
after a few moments, you lift your head up, looking at him with glassy eyes from the pleasure earlier. he notices that and raises an eyebrow, "what's that look for?"
"wanna help you come, frank."
oh, he was right. his sweet baby is a fast learner, after all.
—
hey so this is my first fic ever i'm lowkey nervous
his dick is heavy in his hand, flushed and leaking, the head slick as he runs it slowly through the slippery mess between your thighs. your folds are swollen, twitching with every brush of his tip.
his voice is rough when he whispers, “gonna ease it in, baby… s’gonna feel big. you tell me if it’s too much, alright?”
but you’re already nodding, legs spread wide, cunt stretched open and aching for him. the first inch pushes past your entrance and your body clenches around him immediately, sucking him in with a wet, squelching noise that makes his whole body jolt.
“oh—oh, sweetheart…”
his dick is so fat it forces your walls to stretch around him, snug and slippery and tight, and he’s biting his lip hard to keep himself from rutting deeper too fast. the air’s full of heat and moans, your gasps high and breathy while his are low, cracked, almost desperate.
he’s panting into your neck, trembling from restraint as he feeds you more. your pussy gives a sticky noise each time his hips nudge forward, and you can feel the drag of every vein along your inner walls, your muscles fluttering like you’re trying to spit him out but pull him deeper at the same time.
by the time he’s halfway in, your nails are digging into his back and your thighs are starting to shake. there’s a thick pressure deep in your belly, like your body’s being filled too full, and when you glance down, you can see the faint outline of him under your skin, stretching you out from the inside.
“just a lil’ more,” he groans, voice cracked. “you’re taking it—so good, baby, so soft down there, you’re squeezing me real tight…”
you whimper as he finally bottoms out, dick buried to the base, the thick root of it pressed firm against your overstretched entrance. he doesn’t move, breathing hard against your cheek, both of you dizzy from how deep he is.
your cunt pulses around him, dripping mess down onto the hairy base of his cock.
his hand finds your lower belly, palm spreading over that swollen spot where his dick bulges inside you.
“look at that,” he murmurs, in awe. “my sweet girl’s stuffed so full.”
he doesn’t even need to move. just the feeling of being buried inside you for the first time, the sight of your pussy stretched wide around him, your gasping mouth, your fluttering lashes, your slick dripping onto his thighs—it’s all too much.
he grinds in once—just to feel the way you tremble—and you both moan at the same time, breath tangled, filthy and flushed and soaking the bed.
and when he finally pulls back to push in again slow and deep, your whole body arches.
“there you go,” he groans, voice ruined. “that’s it, baby. open up f’me.”
you approach everything clinically, including poorly constructed sex scenes in books. dr langdon decides to take that as an invitation to give you a proper sex ed lesson.
pairings: nerd!reader x frank langdon
warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, reader reading smut, virgin!reader (kind of implied more than outright stated), innocence kink, corruption kink, langdon supplying reader with an sex book?, literally so freaked out and for what, female masturbation, phone sex, langdon talking you thru it!!!
wc: 6.2k
You’ve always had a somewhat fraught relationship with imagination. People say you lack it, to put it plainly. They say you’re too literal. As if being literal isn’t the reason airplanes stay in the air and bridges remain standing.
But you just happen to find reality plenty beautiful. More than beautiful, actually. Reassuring. There is dignity in a thing that can be tested, reproduced, and counted on.
Newton’s law. The sodium-potassium pump. Entropy. Even the grimmer systems at least are consistent if nothing else.
So naturally, medicine was what you pursued in college. Everything means something. Everything is attached to something else. Symptoms are not random; bodies are not whimsical.
Even if an answer is hidden, it exists, and if you are willing to stay with a problem long enough, turn it over enough times, peel it apart layer by layer and build it back from the inside out, eventually it reveals itself.
Fiction does not afford you that courtesy. Fiction wants you to tolerate blank spaces and gaps. You hate gaps. You love knowing.
Fiction gives you half a scene and waits expectantly, like congratulations, now you do the labor.
Build the room. Place the bodies. Infer the angles. Ignore, apparently, that the human body is not an abstract concept but a heavily regulated system of hinges and limits and gravity and very obvious spatial constraints.
You are experiencing one of those gaps now, staring so hard at the page your eyes begin to sting a little, focus tightening to a punitive little point. You think if you look at it severely enough the scene might resolve into something you can understand.
The book says the woman is “on top,” which should be clear enough on its own, except the next sentence immediately ruins that clarity by describing angles that do not, as far as you can tell, exist in three-dimensional space.
And you have so many questions.
Is there a bed involved here? A couch? A floor? Any surface at all?
You reread the line. Maybe you overlooked a prepositional phrase hiding in plain sight. A detail that will clarify whose leg is bent and why it apparently now has the range of motion of a paper clip.
Nothing. No luck. Still opaque.
Possibly more vague now, because repetition has begun to dissolve whatever confidence you had in your own reading abilities.
It is difficult to overstate how humiliating it is to be bested by mediocre smut.
You sigh and look to your watch. 9:18 p.m. Late. The bus is always late. That’s why you have this book in your hand in the first place, wanting to turn dead time into something educational. Unfortunately that’s not how it’s going.
You blow out a breath as another gust of wind snakes over the exposed strip of skin between your socks and the hem of your jeans.
They used to hit lower on your ankle, but courtesy of your building’s shitty communal dryer, they don’t do that anymore.
“Interesting reading choice.”
It is not a voice you prepared yourself to hear. You weren’t prepared to hear a voice at all, really.
So when you hear the familiar pitch of Landon, your body overcorrects, sending you backward like a startled deer losing traction on ice.
You see the next ten seconds in a flash: the hollow thunk of your head on the pole behind you, the stuttering apologies delivered as your vision tunnels, the concussion protocols that will surely haunt you for weeks, months, possibly forever.
But those ten seconds never actually happens.
Instead, you cautiously peer up into the flat, coolly appraising expression of Langdon, whose hand is placed behind your head, taking the brunt of the impact.
“Oh. Hi. Dr. Langdon. I, um, this isn’t — I’m not —” You’re already floundering, trying to assemble something defensible out of a situation that is not defensible. “It was recommended,” you say at last, which is true, though not in a way that sounds remotely exculpatory once spoken aloud. “By Javadi. She said it was good, which I assumed meant, like, well-written, not — this. Which I know sounds — I hear it, I hear how it sounds, but I didn’t just, like, seek this out independently. I was curious from a clinical standpoint.”
Shit.
You just lobbed Victoria under the bus didn’t you? And unlike the literal bus, this metaphorical one arrived enthusiastically on time, probably even honked.
You add it to the growing ledger of things you owe her. Coffee, at the very least. Something artisanal, thoughtful, handcrafted.
A note, handwritten in apology, because email would be cowardly and texting would feel insufficient, and really — after what you’ve just done, you’re not sure anything short of ink, paper, and a tangible record of shame could suffice.
He removes his hand, the pressure at the back of your head disappearing as he shifts to rest it along the bench behind you instead.
“Clinical,” he repeats. His eyes flick briefly to the book in your hands, then back to you, unimpressed. “And what have you concluded so far, doctor?”
“Not a doctor yet,” you point out. Not sure why you do. “But, um, just that it’s just not very clear? Like, the scenes move really fast, and I feel like I’m missing steps in between, so I keep trying to visualize what’s happening and I just end up getting stuck on, like… where everything is supposed to go and —” You stop, frowning now. “You — you probably didn’t actually want an answer to that, did you?”
His mouth pulls just enough to suggest he’s entertained despite himself. “Not initially.”
You nod. “Okay, good, because I definitely wasn’t planning to provide detail. Just, you know — general plausibility stuff. Realism concerns.”
“Let me see,” he says, and before your frazzled brain can form an adequate objection, he's already reaching forward, extracting the paperback from your suddenly slackened grasp.
You stand abruptly, the bench scraping in a terrible sound against concrete as you reach for the book.
“You really don’t have to do that.”
A correct statement. Useless, however, as he lifts the novel out of reach without even looking at you, arm extending just enough to make it clear that this is not a negotiation, and also, somewhat insultingly, not even difficult.
You briefly consider climbing him. Scaling him like a distressed, socially compromised marsupial and retrieving the book by force.
It feels like a viable solution. You dismiss it only on the grounds that in the last five minutes alone, accumulated enough embarrassment to sustain a normal person for at least two lifetimes.
And theoretically there should be a cap.
There is not, apparently.
Because after a brief glance at the page, he starts reading aloud: “She sank down on him with an aching slowness, savoring the stretch of it, the sweet friction that made her pulse flutter faster with every roll of her body. His hands gripped her waist, guiding her, keeping her there while the pleasure mounted in teasing waves until she was shaking with it, desperate and almost there.”
You feel the heat spark up your spine and towards you neck before saturating your face. The intensity momentarily blurs your vision.
Your hands tighten uselessly at your sides, a strange, unfamiliar tightness coiling low in your stomach.
You try your very hardest not to let your mind start making substitutions. You try not to let the faceless bodies on that page acquire identifiable features. A chin dimple, for instance. You try not to let the voice in front of you fuse itself any further to the text than it already has.
You wrench your gaze upward, fixing it somewhere behind his left ear, hoping that physical distance might somehow dilute your newfound imagination that just five minutes ago you were bashing.
He closes the book with a snap, eyebrow arched. “Sounds perfectly reasonable.”
“I mean, maybe,” you respond, a little too quickly. “If there were just… more specifics? Like, about the positioning. The angle, or where —” You take a quick breath. “Never mind.”
“And exactly how would you clarify it?”
“I’d probably just… add another line,” you say. “Like, specify that her hips are lower, or that her weight is shifted forward so her center of gravity is closer to his. Just so it’s clear what’s actually happening.”
He doesn’t say anything right away and when his eyes flick forward again, they look a little different beneath the dark of the sky, the blue of them deepened into something richer. A little less straightforward, you think. Lapis held in low light, saturated in silver strips and a little too pretty.
You watch as his tongue drags across his lower lip, the briefest glimpse of moisture highlighting the subtle contours and fine, shallow ridges of texture there.
“If you’re that concerned with accuracy,” he murmurs, “I’m sure there’s ways to run a practical demonstration.”
You have a hard time understanding what he means by that and when your mind does attempt to furnish the words with imagery, you have to recoil from your own thoughts.
Does he mean with him?
No, surely not, that is not where he wanted this conversation to go, and besides, that interpretation feels reckless, egotistical even, considering he is almost certainly saying it in the most neutral, solution-driven sense possible.
If that’s what he’s saying at all. He might not be. You can’t tell.
He is offering a suggestion for you.
You are the one making it weird.
“Oh. Well, it’d probably end up being more complicated than it’s worth. I’d need a controlled setup, probably multiple attempts, and at that point it’s less a demonstration and more a full reconstruction.”
A muscle feathers along his jaw as he tips his face towards the moon-lit sky. He seems to do that a lot. Like he’s appealing to some higher power for fortitude to deal with you. Or maybe not you specifically, which would be preferable, expect it does feel rather like you are the central to the current crisis, you just aren’t sure how.
Then he exhales a small laugh, thin with disbelief, and shakes his head once.
“You’re right,” he says, voice deadpan. “Clearly I wasn’t thinking this through. Practicality first.” He glances pointedly at his watch. “It’s late. I’ll give you a ride home.”
You accept his offer without arguing, you’d be a fool not to, and trail him out toward the parking lot. A step behind, then a half step, then back again. You can’t quite decide on the appropriate proximity.
When you reach the row of cars, you realize you’ve never seen his before.
It’s nice. Grey, practical, a four-door SUV that screams fiscal responsibility and weather-appropriate footwear, a vehicle with divorced-dad energy so specific you can practically invent the rest of the man around it: patient at youth soccer, quietly resentful in a grocery store parking lot, pretending not to be wounded by logistical disappointments.
The interior only deepens the impression. It is clean, but not in a forbidding way, not scrubbed of personality.
There is a toy in the cupholder, a crumpled napkin tucked into the side compartment, a few fast-food receipts scattered near the floor like the residue of a life conducted at speed.
It feels lived in, which is somehow more intimate than if it had been spotless.
It is, disconcertingly, human. More human than you expected from a man who often carries himself like a sealed document.
Nice, you think again, and then, unhelpfully, him, the two notions beginning to blur together before you can stop them.
It’s a relatively quiet drive to start. The radio tuned to some Catholic station it must have picked up nearby, murky and hard to decipher, while streetlights drift past in bands of orange and green, staining the inside of the car with color and then taking it back.
“Javadi really recommended that?” Frank asks suddenly, piercing the silence.
“Yeah,” you admit, then wince almost immediately. “Well, sort of. I mean, I probably should not make it sound like she shoved it into my hands in some kind of corrupting-the-youth campaign. She mentioned it, but I was already curious. It was not not my idea.” You glance down, suddenly very interested in your own hands. “I’ve just been trying to do a little research, I guess.”
His fingers tap once against the steering wheel.
“And what, specifically, are you hoping to learn?”
Your mouth presses thin for a second. You’re not sure if you should continue.
“I was mostly just trying to get a better sense of... how certain things work in real life,” you say, picking each word carefully. “As opposed to in theory. Or in whatever version of reality people usually pretend is self-explanatory.”
He says nothing at first. Then through grit teeth: “You mean because no one’s explained it to you?”
You glance over, caught a little off guard by the question. “Well, not in any useful sense.”
His jaw flexes.
“And the alternative,” he says slowly, “was assigned reading.”
You wince. “When you phrase it like that, it does sound bleak.”
“When I phrase it like that, it sounds like you’re trying to teach yourself something most people learn by experience.”
“Well,” you mumble, “yes. More or less.”
The light changes and he brakes, the red wash from the signal pouring through the windshield and across his face, tinting his skin rose-gold.
He screws his eyes shut for a brief second, hands drawing tighter on the wheel before he exhales.
“In that case,” he says, opening his eyes again, “I’m not entirely convinced that’s the most reliable educational resource.”
“Why?” you ask, with enough sincere confusion to make it clear you are not arguing so much as requesting clarification.
The light turns green.
“Because it’s not source material. It’s entertainment.” His tone stays level, but only just. “It takes whatever is most dramatic, most flattering, most appealing, and presents it like it’s standard. It leaves out the parts that are inconvenient or unsexy, which means if you treat it as educational, you’re going to come away with a very distorted sense of how any of it actually works.”
“I guess that makes sense,” you say. “There were definitely sections where I kept thinking, surely that cannot be how that happens. Or at least not without significantly more preparation, flexibility, or orthopedic intervention than the text was willing to acknowledge.”
“So I gathered.”
You fall quiet after that, though not for lack of further questions. In fact the opposite is true, because now he has accidentally positioned himself as a person with knowledge of how sex works.
But that would be inappropriate on at least six different levels.
He is driving you home as a favor, not volunteering to become some kind of after-hours consultant on the mechanics of sex, and there is no universe in which asking for elaboration would make you seem anything other than catastrophically unwell.
You almost ask him anyway.
But before you can make what would almost certainly be the worst possible decision available to you tonight, the car slows, turns, and then stops.
You stare at the windshield, disoriented by the fact that you are suddenly at your apartment.
“Right,” you say, gathering your bag with the abrupt, clumsy movements of someone trying to recover from her own thoughts. “Thank you. For the ride.”
He gives a brief nod, one hand still resting on the wheel. “It was no trouble.”
You do not believe that for even a second. Still, you murmur goodnight and let yourself out, hurrying inside with as much dignity as can be salvaged after a conversation like that.
A couple days later, you’re sitting in the breakroom with your head propped in your palm, devoting a frankly heroic amount of effort to not drop face-first into the laminate.
You are exhausted, which is surely unrelated to the fact that you stayed up too late conducting what can only be described as independent research.
There is, it turns out, an astonishing amount of positions.
More than seems necessary, honestly. Far too many names. Far too many diagrams. So many that appear to require either exceptional upper body strength or a level of mutual coordination that feels statistically unlikely in the average civilian population.
Some are perfectly straightforward. Many are not. Several seem just down-right wrong.
The door opens and you glance up, prepared to offer some vague nod of recognition to whoever has come to interrupt your private collapse.
Langdon.
“Oh,” you say, straightening a little too quickly. “Hi, Dr. Langdon.”
That seems to be your automatic response to his presence.
His eyes narrow. “Rough morning?”
You give a small shrug. “M’fine.”
“You’ll have to excuse my skepticism.” He drags the chair across from you and sits.
“Just stayed up too late.”
You hope that doesn’t inspire follow-ups.
He slides something across the table toward you. A book. You stare at the cover. Then at him.
“This,” he says, tapping two fingers once against the cover, “is at least designed to explain things.”
Slowly, as if touching it too fast might make this more real, you pick it up and turn it over.
The back is dense with tidy paragraphs about desire, arousal, and the science of how women’s bodies actually work, all written in the reassuring language of expertise, which would be comforting if your pulse were not currently behaving like it had something to hide.
“That’s… unexpectedly thoughtful,” you murmur. “Thank you.”
“Don’t make too much of it.”
“I won’t,” you say, which is a lie so poorly constructed it barely qualifies as one.
You are, in fact, almost certain to make too much of it later, probably in bed, probably while staring at the ceiling.
Then the door opens again. You nearly jump. You pull the book against your chest like you are protecting classified material. Langdon’s eyes narrow a fraction.
Garcia steps inside a second later, pauses, and looks between the two of you.
“...Am I interrupting something weird?” she asks.
You stand so quickly the chair legs scrape against the floor.
“Nope,” you say. “Not at all. Nothing weird. Not even slightly.” You clutch the book tighter. “I do, however, suddenly need to go be elsewhere. For work-related reasons. Very legitimate ones.” You nod once. “Okay. Bye.”
It’s late when you finally start to read the book Langdon gave you. Your first mistake, really. You have to be up in four hours. Four.
But the book turns out to be more useful than expected. It has information. Real information. Terminology and diagrams and explanations that move in a sequence a human brain can follow, one thing leading intelligibly to the next instead of that gauzy, vague, everyone-just-knows-what-to-do, magical event nonsense.
And this all should, theoretically, be enough to satisfy you.
Except every answer you get splits open into three more questions, hydra-style, the whole thing multiplying the second you think you have a grip on it.
And yes, sometimes Google is enough. But sometimes it is not.
Too broad, too contradictory, too many tabs open at once, too many Reddit posts written by men with misplaced confidence.
So now you are sitting on your bed staring at your phone, typing a message, deleting it, retyping it, deleting it again. Because this is weird. It is weird to text him.
But then again, he did hand you the book.
He did, in a very real sense, amplify this situation. And maybe giving you additional reading material counts as tacit approval for further questions. A follow-up. Continuing education.
You hit send.
hi dr. langdon. sorry. i have a question about the book!
It takes only a couple seconds for him to answer.
Go ahead.
You sit up so fast the book slides off your leg and drops onto the bedspread with a soft thump.
You stare at the screen.
You expected eventuality, a response tomorrow morning maybe, sometime after sunrise, sometime under the polite cover of daylight when everybody involved could collude in pretending this was a normal academic exchange and not you texting a senior resident after dark about sex-adjacent material like you were requesting clarification on electrolyte imbalance.
You glance at the clock and frown.
What is he even doing up?
Surely you didn’t wake him. You cannot imagine he sleeps with his ringer turned up loud enough for that. No, he feels like a phone-on-silent, notifications-curated, emergency-contacts-only kind of man.
You spend four minutes composing the question. You send six words.
what does “building sensation” actually mean?
Need more context than that.
You photograph the page. You send it. You put your phone face down on the quilt and do not look at it for a full minute.
When you finally make yourself turn the phone over, he’s answered.
It’s the physiological buildup to orgasm. Increased blood flow, heightened sensitivity, pelvic muscle tension. Sustained and constant stimulation. The sensation compounds on itself.
Your thumb catches idly on the hem of your pajama shorts, worrying the fabric back and forth while you stare at the screen. It takes a long amount of time to realize you’re doing it. You stop. Then start again without meaning to, fingertips slipping under the edge to press against your thigh.
is consistency about location or pressure or both? the book implies they're interchangeable.
Both. Generally location first, then pressure. If you keep changing where you’re touching, it’s harder to build anything. If the location is consistent but the pressure is erratic, same problem. They’re related, but not interchangeable.
Your free hand has drifted north to the waistband of your shorts, thumb pressing little crescent moons into overheated skin. Almost feverish.
Location first.
An unfortunate instruction to receive while being aware of the exact location in question, muted now by two thin layers of cotton.
You should stop there. Obviously.
You should set the phone down, turn off the lamp, go to sleep, and revisit all of this in the morning when you are less suggestible.
Instead your hand keeps moving, slow enough that you can perhaps pretend you have not consciously decided anything, slipping lower until it hovers over your underwear, where your clit presses back against the fabric. Swollen. And then lower than that, wet.
That startles you more than anything. From what, exactly? A sex manual? A few texts? Him?
No. That last one is inadmissible. Wildly inappropriate.
So you drag your mind back to the book instead, using it as a kind of corrective, something technical to blunt that he is, however indirectly, implicated in this.
Start with indirect stimulation. Let the body acclimate. Don’t rush the thing. Let the thing, apparently, arrive on its own like a skittish woodland creature you are trying not to scare off.
Fine. Whatever.
You press your thumb down and make a circular motion, sucking in a breath so sharply it almost hurts, mostly because the sensation is immediate and strange and good. You wouldn’t say overwhelming. Though maybe you would. You can’t think straight. Surprising, then. Concentrated.
Like pressing a bruise, except the complete inverse of that, if they lit up instead of aching. It makes you want to do it again.
So you do.
Small circles. Experimental. Testing the waters.
And it’s not like this is technically new. You have tried before.
But before was rushed and graceless and was the sort of thing done half-curiously and abandoned quickly, with no patience for your own body.
You were raised sheltered, and beyond that, serious. Preoccupied with things that seemed more pressing, more worthy of your attention, as though this part of yourself could be indefinitely postponed without consequence.
You pick the phone back up with your unoccupied hand.
okay. that makes sense.
You stare at it, dissatisfied. Too final. Too capable of ending the conversation. You add another line before you can overthink yourself out of it.
and if the sensation is building, when are u supposed to switch? like to inner stimulation, i mean. or are you not supposed to unless what you’re already doing stops working?
The typing bubble appears instantly.
You don’t have to switch. That’s the first thing.
External stimulation is usually more important, especially early on. Inner stimulation is optional, not a required next step.
Little gasps keep escaping you as you refine the motion, not changing much, just enough pressure to sharpen it, back arching into the mattress.
It feels good. You don’t remember it ever feeling this good.
Maybe because before did not involve a very attractive doctor explaining your own body back to you in real time.
It is getting harder to text. Harder to think in complete sentences. Still, you manage, so if it’s working, is it better to not change anything? even if it starts feeling a lot more sensitive?
Your phone starts ringing.
You freeze when Frank's name flashes across the screen.
For a moment you can only stare. Your pulse jumps in your throat, fluttering there like something trapped, and then you are yanking your hand from your shorts and grabbing for the phone with fingers that suddenly seem to belong to someone much less coordinated than you.
“Hi —,”
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” you ask, though your voice already sounds guilty, chest rising and falling unevenly. “I’m — nothing. I’m just reading.”
“You’re not a very good liar.”
You frown at the dark ceiling. “I hate the confidence with which you say things.”
“It’s usually earned.”
You make a face at that, even though he cannot see it.
“I wasn’t prepared for a pop quiz,” you mutter. “You called out of nowhere.”
“A call seemed appropriate,” he says through the soft buzz of static.
“Why?”
Your whole body feels keyed up now, strung too tight, humming with a surplus of energy like you have been plugged into the wall and simply left there to glow.
It's hard to keep still under the blankets. Harder with his voice in your ear, that low grain of it roughened by the hour, touched with that tired edge that makes him feel closer than he is. He sounds warm. He sounds half-undone.
You can picture him without trying. In bed. Hair rumpled from sleep or from his hand shoved through it one too many times, one stray piece fallen near his eyes. Maybe in pajamas. Maybe not. Either option is equally disruptive. You brain offers a shirt pushes up a little, one arm behind his head, a strip of stomach, a line of hair disappearing into plaid boxers.
You shift on the mattress. Your hand trails back down your front, fingers resuming their place on your underwear.
“Because your last text didn’t read like a theoretical question,” he says. “I wanted to hear whether I was right.”
The words move through you, like he has reached through the phone and pressed a hand flat to your lower stomach.
“And were you?”
Your hips shift on the mattress again, angling into your own touch.
You bite your lip around the small throb of pleasure that follows.
“Yeah. I was.” His voice comes through coarser now, the line fuzzing around it, but not enough to hide the change. “And if I’m hearing you correctly, you haven’t stopped.”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“...maybe.”
There's a brief pause on the line. You hear the rustle of him moving, before he speaks again. “Tell me exactly what you're doing.”
“I’m, uh…” You mouth goes dry. “I mean, you know.”
“I can’t tell you what to do if you won’t tell me what you’re doing,” he says. “You need to be specific.”
You swallow.
“I’m touching over my underwear,” you admit finally, the words coming out hushed and a little uneven. “Just with my thumb. I’m not really… doing anything more than that.”
A soft exhale crackles through the phone.
“That’s good,” he murmurs. “Tell me if it feels good.”
Your lashes flutter at the words. Your thumb keeps tracing the same spot, a little more rhythmically now, and every so often your hand falters when the sensation catches unexpectedly bright, a live wire under your skin.
Flashing hotter and hotter and hotter until you can barely stand it.
Your thighs draw in on instinct, then ease apart again, restless, unable to decide whether they are trying to hold the feeling or escape it.
“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage.
You start to picture him again. Existing in real time in the dark on the other end of the line now.
It sends the throbbing in your cunt up tenfold, sharp little bursts of color flying behind your eyelids, green and orange and something almost gold.
You use your imagination to conjure up the image of him doing the same. Him with the phone in one hand and the other moving in lazy unhurried strokes around his cock, like this is no great strain for him, like he is as controlled in private as he is everywhere else.
You wonder what it looks like. His cock. Probably big and pink and veiny.
You know, rationally, that he is probably not doing that at all. He is probably just lying there in the dark, listening, talking, being composed for both of you.
But it is a nice thought anyway. More than nice, really. Your body answers it before you can caution it otherwise, your clit going heavier and more swollen, as you move to touch yourself without the barrier of your panties. It’s more sensitive that way. And your whole lower half seems to lean vainly into your own hand, practically preening toward the touch.
“Now I’m, um, touching myself directly.”
“Alright. Want you to try something. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah,” you say quickly. A little too eager. “I can.”
“Good girl.” The praise makes your stomach tighten. “Want you to slide two fingers into yourself a little. Not all the way, just enough to get them wet, okay? Then bring them back to your clit and keep using your thumb, or your fingers if that feels easier. Same pace as before.”
You nod even though you know he can’t see it and slip two fingers down, enough to feel the sticky warmth of yourself, coating your digits.
You bring it back up, smearing it over your nub.
“Oh,” you mumble breathily.
“Yeah?” he teases quietly. “That better?”
“A lot.”
“Good. It’s easier like that. Less friction. If you’re getting more sensitive, too much drag starts working against you.”
He’s right. He’s always right. You feel a little strange and floaty now, like your whole body has narrowed down to one incandescent point.
“How do you know all this?” you prod.
A pause. Then, “Experience.”
“Right. That.” Another circle, another spark of pleasure down your spine. “I don’t exactly have that.”
“I gathered.”
Something in his tone makes you go a little still. Not enough to stop, but your hand falters, tightening around a thought before you can even identify it.
He notices immediately. He has some terrifying sonar for you specifically, some private frequency calibrated to every tiny shift in your breathing, every dropped beat, every half-second hesitation.
“Hey,” he says pointedly. “Don’t get in your head now. Never said it was a bad thing. Keep going. Think about something else.”
“Such as?” you whisper.
There’s the sound of breathing from the phone before he answers, “that’s up for you to decide.”
You suck in a sharp breath, squirming as you adjust phone closer to your ear
“Can you just… keep talking to me?”
There’s a huff on the other end, almost a laugh. “That’s not very specific.”
“I know.” You’re sure you’re not making much sense right now. “I just — don’t stop. Please. Just wanna hear you say anything.”
He’s quiet for a second, like he’s trying to decide what, exactly, you’re asking for. The problem is, you’re not entirely sure either.
You only know there’s a strange, tightening warmth low in your stomach, something gathering there, and his voice seems to nurture it instead of breaking it apart.
You hear something clang on the other end of the phone.
“Fuck. Okay. First need you to breathe, okay? You're tensing up, I can hear it. Relax your legs.”
You try to do as you're told.
In. Out. In. Out.
Each breath feeding the whole thing oxygen, driving you nearer and nearer to the vanishing point until your eyes threaten to roll back and your body feels like on extended nerve.
“I —” A breath. “Sorry, I just —” Another one. “Frank I think I'm — I'm close, I think, I don't — It's really intense and I don't know what I'm —” You lose the thought entirely. “I just don't know what I'm supposed to do when it starts feeling like this. Do I stop, or —”
“Shit baby, you've never gotten there before? Not even —”
“No,” you manage.
“Oh, poor thing.”Quiet. Almost to himself. “Okay. ‘S okay. Don't stop. I need you to stay with me and just let it happen, can you do that?”
“I think —”
“Don't think,” he cuts you off. “For once in your life, don't think. Just feel it.”
Something in you finally gives.
You feel all of it at once.
Your orgasm peaks so fast it almost feels like losing power everywhere at the same time, every room going dark together, and your back comes off the pillows and your hand presses harder before you even mean for it to and a gasp tears out of you, high and helpless and so unlike anything you have ever heard from yourself that for a second it barely sounds like yours.
“That’s it,” Frank says, low in your ear.
It rolls. That's the only word for it.
It rolls outward from your pussy in a slow, stunned series of tremors moving through your thighs, your spine, your chest, each wave its own distinct thing and yet not distinct at all, each one its own event, its own brief undoing.
You cannot do anything except lie there and take it, receive it as it passes through you, because there is nothing else available to you now, no other function left online, no thought, no dignity, no language, only this long bright aftershock and your body answering it whether you understand it or not.
Your breathing takes a while to come back to anything recognizable.
At first it is just air dragged in and let back out. Sweat has glued a few strands of hair to your forehead. Your hand has gone slack.
“You still with me?”
That is when your brain comes back. All at once. Hard. Fast.
Because now you are not just a body coming down from an orgasm.
Now you are yourself again. And Frank Langdon just talked you through getting off.
Frank Langdon, your coworker. Frank Langdon, your superior. Frank Langdon, whom you have just used as a combined anatomy instructor, practical demonstration guide, and live sex education resource.
“Yes, yeah, sorry.” You swallow, wipe at your forehead with the heel of your hand. “I'm here.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says. “Your sensitivity's going to be elevated for a minute, so just let your muscles relax and let your breathing even out. If you feel shaky, that's normal. If you heart's racing, also normal. Get some water when you can. Sit up slowly if you're going to move.”
“Okay,” you murmur, because he sounds so certain that for a second it is easy to borrow some of it. You try to unclench by degrees, thighs, stomach, shoulders, one thing at a time. “I am a little shaky, which is good to know is normal and not, like, a sign that I’ve accidentally broken something."
“No,” he says, and there is that low note of dry amusement under it now, just enough to catch. “You didn’t break anything. If you had, trust me, we’d be having a very different conversation.”
“Right, no, I know. Though sex-related injuries are not exactly unheard of. Do you remember that girl in the ER who had a condom stuck in her for over two months and didn't realize it? That would suck."
"Mm. It would," he agrees. "Protection is important. Equally important to make sure it actually comes back out with you."
You let out a small giggle at that and shift on the bed, drawing yourself up a little slower this time, careful like he told you to bed. The quilt bunches under your legs.
A quiet opens up. And it might be comfortable if it with anyone else. But it is not with anyone else.
You break first.
“So what happens now?” you ask, trying for light and missing by a little. “Do we pretend this was a totally normal educational exchange and never speak of it again?”
“I don’t think you’re capable of pretending that,” he says.
You flush hot all over.
“And you are?”
A pause.
“No.” The room goes still around you. You wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t, but he does say: “You should get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” you murmur. “Probably.”
You have to be up in three hours now. Have to see him in four.
Another beat. Neither of you hangs up.
Then, very quiet, very even, he says, “Next time, ask sooner.”
“Next time?”
“If you’re going to use me as a reference source,” he says, all dry composure again, though now it feels a little put on, “I’d prefer a more reasonable hour.”
Your cheeks heat with the power of a thousand suns.
“Oh, well, Dr. Langdon, I think —”
“Goodnight.”
The line clicks dead.
You lie there staring into the dark, phone still pressed to your ear, and understand with awful, perfect clarity that this has not ended anything at all.
More gaps in your knowledge.
And you really hate gaps.
A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts 4 ten thousand yrs!!!!!!!! thinking about writing a part two but we shall see. anyway thanks for reading!! love ya always
content warnings: oral sex (f rec), cheating, manipulation kinda, medical setting, praise, implied cucking(?)
you're a little stressed after spending the night with your boyfriend. he simply could not get you wet, even though he tried soooo hard... so you head to your physician, dr jack abbot.
jack listens with restrained satisfaction at the desperate note in your voice, at that hint of concern, like you're worried that something is wrong. he wants so badly to tell you that your boyfriend is just fucking useless, that it's nothing to worry about, that you're being a good girl…
but first, he wants to be sure. "let me see, honey."
he lays you out on the exam table, then his hand withdraws from your trembling thighs, moving down to grip the back of your knee. "spread a little more for me. i wanna check something."
you watch as he pushes his stool forward, his head and shoulders lowering between your legs. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, positioning himself closer to your pussy, his gaze roaming over your skin.
he presses a warm peck to your inner thigh. "there," he murmurs. "let me take care of you, honey. do you trust me?"
"yes," you reply, and you barely have time to exhale before he's pressing a feather-light kiss to your clit, making you gasp. "doctor abbot?"
his chuckle vibrates against your skin as he lifts his head just enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze. "just making sure everything's working right," he mutters, the innocence in his tone at odds to the way his tongue flicks over your clit in a quick, teasing stroke.
his hands slide up to grip your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin there. "relax," he orders, lips brushing your inner thigh again. "let me show you what your boyfriend should've been doing."
then he lowers his mouth to your cunt properly and licks a hot, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit. "what– what's this test for?" you breathe out, your chest heaving with arousal.
his mouth moves against you, tongue taking broad, languid laps. "it's called the clitoral glans test," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "to see how responsive you are. and you're being a very, very good girl, i must say."
it's not long before you're leaking all over his tongue, your slick pooling onto the paper sheets. "sweet girl," he praises. "taking my mouth so well. your boyfriend ever do this to you?"
you exhale shakily, the shame gnawing at you again as you shake your head. "no... he... he said he doesn't like doing it..."
his tongue swipes over your hole again, almost thoughtfully lapping up your juices, the ones that spilled out of you just for him. "he doesn't like it, huh? well, he's an idiot, honey, because you taste incredible."
"t-thank you," you stutter out at the praise, your hips bucking up against his mouth. "ah- sorry-"
"no apologising, sweetheart," he says, his breath hot against your folds, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin for reassurance. "i like your desperate little movements. keep going, honeygirl. let me see just how responsive you are." then his tongue is back between your legs, stroking slow, up and down, as he gauges your reactions.
"and don't you worry, honey," he says conversationally between licks, as if he wasn't making a mess of your pretty little cunt, "you make another appointment, i will be teaching your boyfriend how to eat your pussy very thoroughly, no matter how much he says he doesn't like it. cunt like this deserves to get eaten."
he hums, low and thoughtful. "maybe i'll even make him take notes. have him write up a full report on the experience."
— (baby, there's no other superstar) you know that i'll be (m);
modern!baelor targaryen x fem!reader.
summary: lights, camera... action? baelor targaryen has the best numbers in the business, and, finally, also has you, away from the cameras and in the backseat of his car, with your pretty legs wrapped around his head.
themes and genres: smut (+18, MDNI!). modern!au, pornstar!baelor, pornstar!reader. age diference relationship. co-workers to lovers, he's yearning!
word count: 1.80k words
content warnings: canon divergence. age difference (ages not directly stated but baelor is implied to be in his late 40s and reader in her mid to late 20s), semi-public sex, oral (female receiving), whole lot of praise, humping, cumming in pants.
author's note: chapter two is finally here and baelor is even more pussydrunk than before! the song recommendation (metal again hehe) for this chapter is thornhill's cover of lady gaga's paparazzi. seriously, guys, this cover is so fucking sexy. anyways, i hope everyone enjoys this! also, let me know if you'd like to see more parts for this au!
part one | crossposted on ao3.
He had only meant to give you a ride back home.
It was the right thing to do, after all. His apartment was not too far away from yours, but he had still picked you up at the beginning of the night, and he’d be damned if he let you walk back on your own in the middle of the night. He was a gentleman. And he was courting you.
Besides, the night just had to end in the same way it had started: absolutely perfect. Absolutely perfect, with his breath catching in the base of his throat every time he set his eyes on you, and wondered just how lucky he was to even have you wanting to go on a date with him.
He had picked you up: knocked on your door just as his watch signaled six, holding a bouquet in his right hand while he rested his left inside the pocket of his trousers. He had taken you back to his apartment in his vintage Mercedes, and cooked you dinner while you listened to music: white truffle risotto, roasted asparagus, a bottle of Dornish red, and a David Bowie vinyl. He held your hand over the table and caressed your knuckles with his thumb before serving the coffee and passing the dessert.
He talked, and listened, and reveled in the domesticity that encompassed the moment. He talked, and listened, and let himself be overcome in the bliss he felt at merely being allowed to exist by your side.
He had taken you on a date. He wanted to ask you on a million more.
And he had really, truly only meant to give you a ride home, give you a kiss as you stood on your front porch, and ask you out to breakfast as soon as tomorrow.
He took your hand in his as he drove, kissing the base of your knuckles when the first drops fell over his windshield, and The Smashing Pumpkins were playing on his stereo when rain began to pour harder; but it was dangerous to keep driving when it rained this hard, and so Baelor did the responsible thing and parked by the side of the road with his blinkers on to wait for the rain to mellow down.
It continued to rain, and his lips found yours over the console. His hand caressed the side of your torso before you climbed over the space between the seats to move over to the backseat, with your pretty fingers holding onto his tie as if it were a lifeline, and he followed.
And the clock had not yet signaled twelve by the time he had your pretty legs draped over his shoulders, with your dress bunched up at your middle and his lips trailing up the inside of your thighs.
This was not how he thought the night would end. But by the Seven, he sucks on your cunt over the fabric of your panties and realizes it does not matter. He’s right where he wants to be.
“Been thinking about this pretty pussy all night,” he mutters, voice low and slurred as he lays his tongue flat against your covered clit. “Missed her taste so much, pretty girl. She’s always so sweet for me.”
A whine breaks past your lips, and your hands find the back of his head. Your fingers curl around short, soft strands, and your digits trace upon the edge of a scar: old, and fading, and smooth under your touch. Your fingertips dance over it for a moment in a gentle caress, and then flex again when his tongue circles your pearl.
“Please,” you whisper, quiet and desperate. “Please, Baelor.”
Baelor pecks your clit before he chuckles. Hot. Quick. Tender.
“Oh, you know you don’t have to worry, pretty girl,” he mumbles, tracing his fingers up the side of your thighs. “You just—mhm, just have to ask, my love. I’ll give you anything you want.”
He runs his tongue down your slit, coating the whole of it in your juices, and is sure he’d bring down the moon for you to hold upon the palm of your hand if you wanted to feel its weight. He sucks on your clenching hole over the fabric of your panties, and he knows he’d carve his own heart out of his chest if only you wanted to feel its beating.
“I’ll give you everything you want, won’t I?” He whispers, and uses the tip of his pointer finger to drag your panties to the side, exposing the whole of your cunt to the hunger in his gaze. “You’re my pretty girl.”
And you know he means it. You know he means it when he finally sucks your clit into his mouth, your fingers curling against his scalp and pulling his face closer to you as the pleasure grows in the bottom of your stomach. His mustache grazes your folds, rough and prickly and completely covered in your arousal, and you want more.
You want more, and more, and more, and he’s sucking on your clit, his eyes set on yours, pupils blown wide with desire and want and need, and you know he'll give you anything you need.
“Mhm, I really have been thinking about her the entire night,” he mumbles, and enters you with his tongue. Your walls clench around him, and he kneads the flesh of your thighs as he pulls you even closer. “You made me feel so good, pretty girl. Made me feel really good.”
A pause. A breath. “Yeah?”
He nods, laving up the velvet of your walls with his tongue while his nose bumps against your clit. He cannot help the way his hips move against the seat at your taste. “Yeah. So, so good, looking all dolled up and pretty for me. You—mhm, you always look beautiful, don't you? But it was just for me, and I—All I could think of was how much I wanted to eat this pretty cunt out as a thank you.”
Your head falls back against the car seat.
Your eyes fix on the windshield for a moment, gaze following a raindrop as it falls down the glass in a straight line. And another. And another. And another, and Baelor’s lips trail up your slit until he’s circling your clit with his tongue. He leans back to spit on the bud before he sucks on it again and it’s too much.
It’s too much, and it feels too good, and the inside of his car smells of worn leather and a trail of his cologne: vanilla, amber, spiced rum? You close your eyes and he nips at your clit with his teeth, your hips bucking up against his face and your legs wrapping around his head, and everything threatens to swallow you whole. Vanilla, amber, spiced rum. Pleasure grows with each swipe of his tongue, your heart beating against your ears, your entire world consisting only of him.
“Please, pretty girl,” he whispers, breath hot as it drapes over your skin. “Let me make you cum. Let me make you cum when it’s just—just me, yeah? No cameras, no crew. Just us, as it should be. My pretty girl.”
It’s enough.
Everything around you fades into white noise when your orgasm rips through your body. The softness of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the way the seat moves when he rubs himself against it—You sink further into the leather as an entire galaxy erupts in the back of your eyes with the force of a supernova, and it all feels like him.
A hoarse, breathless moan breaks past your lips when he grunts against your cunt, lapping at your release like a man starved while he continues humping his hips against the seat. Baelor keeps his eyes on you, tasting your pleasure as he revels in the sight of it. God, you’re so beautiful. Such an ethereal creature, coming undone over his touch.
His cock is hard under his pants, hot and throbbing as it strains against his briefs. He cannot help himself. He replays the date in his mind, and he conjures the same image he’s but engraved in the back of his mind: you, in his bed, with his ring adorning your finger.
And he plays it all back. He thinks of the way in which you had wrapped your pretty lips around your spoon when he brought out dessert. He thinks of how you complimented his cooking and asked for seconds, and remembers how he had wanted, oh so badly, to bend you over the table and eat your pretty cunt until you came.
He remembers the way you looked, having dinner in the middle of his kitchen, and thinks of how perfect it felt. How fitting.
It materializes before him in a ray of light. Translucent, brilliant, all-encompassing. He feels its warmth and allows himself to close his eyes, resting his forehead against your thigh as he humps the bottom of the seat one more time. He turns his head, pressing a kiss on your fluttering cunt, and spills inside his briefs in ribbons of white.
He does not care. He’s overcome with pleasure and made up of want, and pants against your skin as he rides out his orgasm. He moves his hips and thinks of you, and feels your warmth under his touch, and tastes your sweetness on his tongue. He does not care about anything else.
And you can taste yourself on his mouth when he straightens, lips glistening with your slick, and pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his mouth when he sticks his tongue deep inside, caressing yours in slow, tender motions, and your hole clenches around nothing. You can taste yourself on his mouth when he cups your jaw with his hands, big and veiny and yet uncharacteristically soft, angling your face upwards so he can suck on your tongue. He bobs his head up and comes back down, his mustache kissing the top of your lip when you open your eyes, and all you can see is him.
And you can taste yourself on his mouth as he swallows, his digits tracing the line of your jaw, claiming you as his, declaring himself as yours.
It lingers when he pulls away, grinning and panting, lips swollen and red and still coated with you.
His left hand moves, tracing his thumb over your lips as he keeps his gaze on yours. The tip of his digit breaks past your lips, and he takes in a breath. His other hand travels down your body once more, greedy in its descent, gently caressing your pussy over your ruined lace panties after he’s put them back in their place.
{Baelor Targaryen x f!Reader}
Newly married and still untouched, you seek out your husband in the tower of the hand. Luckily, the prince is always willing to set aside his duties... for a hands-on demonstration.
♡♡ He's so fine... dark haired targ supremacy!! ♡♡
2.7k words - Warnings: smuttttt, age gap, teaching, virgin!reader, innocent!reader, heavy on consent because I don't play about that, fingering, daddy without saying daddy lol, lots of praise && more lessons to come...
"Your Highness," You dipped into a curtsy at the threshold of the Hand's office.
The sight that greeted you made you pause. Papers carpeted the floor in drifts, quills lay scattered like fallen branches after a storm, and an open inkpot teetered at the very edge of the desk, one careless elbow from disaster.
Baelor hunched over his work, scratching at parchment with single-minded focus. An empty glass sat by his side, a half-empty bottle of wine beside it. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles, and his tunic bore wrinkles that suggested he had slept in it. Or simply never bothered to change.
"You needn't call me that in informal settings, my dear." Baelor did not even glance up. "I am nothing but your husband when we are alone."
You still did not know quite how to behave around him. He was a good deal older than you, a widower with two grown sons. The rushed wedding had been more treaty than ceremony, your house’s loyalty in exchange for your hand. In the fortnight since, you had shared meals, exchanged polite conversation, and slept alone in chambers that felt far too large.
But you remembered how he had looked at you in the sept. Not with the cold appraisal you expected, but something softer. Almost wondering.
You stepped further into the room, picking your way carefully over the strewn papers. You reached for the empty wine glass, intending to fetch a clean one from the kitchens. You were not much for politics, but you understood enough to know his position was stressful. The least you could do was bring him fresh wine.
He watched you fuss from the corner of his eye, setting down his quill as you collected his empty plate. "You do not need to do that." His voice was quiet, gentle, though still he had not fully turned to face you. "There are servants who can tend to it."
"I want to." You smiled, moving the inkpot to safer ground and wiping at the black splatters staining the wood.
He rose and rounded the desk, his hand closing over yours. The touch sent a strange tightening through your belly, a knot pulling taut, low and warm. You were still learning the weight of his hands, the way they dwarfed yours completely.
"Leave the papers be." He squeezed your fingers, smiling gently down at you. "Come and sit. Tell me of your day."
"You have been busy. I did not wish to disturb you."
"You are never a bother."
He led you to the chaise by the window, where the afternoon sun cast warm light across the cushions. He sat and tugged your hand, urging you to join him, you sat a respectful distance from him. Your hand was still clasped in his, his thumb tracing a line over your knuckles.
"You have been married to me a fortnight," he said, "and I have been locked away with ledgers and ravens. I wish to make it up to you."
You flushed, feeling the heat creeping up the back of your neck. "It is your duty to rule. I would not expect you to abandon that for me."
"I am your husband first." His hand settled on your hip, heavy and warm through the fabric of your gown. "And I have neglected my duties to you."
You swallowed hard. You had heard the whispers…servants who thought you could not hear. Still not consummated. Poor thing, probably terrified of him. Or perhaps he is too old to-
You shook the thoughts away, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. He was strikingly handsome, with dark hair and mismatched eyes. His face bore the marks of his years, the lines beside his eyes when he smiled, but they only made him look distinguished. Powerful. His chest was broad, his hands large and gentle. It did not matter what the servants said. They were not the ones married to him.
"What are you thinking, sweet girl?" His thumb stroked the curve of your hip.
"Nothing important."
His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, fingers splaying wide. "Let me try again. What are you thinking?"
Your face burned. "I... the servants talk. They say we have not…that you have not-"
"Taken you to bed?" He said it plainly, without shame or hesitation. "Consummated our marriage?"
You nodded, unable to meet his gaze.
His sigh was soft, not frustrated but something tender. "You were forced to wed a man near twenty years your elder and brought to a court you do not know. I wanted to give you time. Time to know me, to trust me, to want me.... Not because duty demands it. Because you choose it."
You sat silent, his words settling over you like a warm cloak. Your flush deepened. Choose. No one had ever asked if you would choose.
"Have you chosen me?" he asked quietly.
Slowly, your hands reached out and came to rest against his chest. You felt his heartbeat there, steady and strong. You were still learning him; his warmth, his patience, the way he watched you like you were something precious.
"Yes," you whispered. The word felt enormous. "I choose you."
His arms came around you, drawing you closer until you found yourself in his lap, knees bracketing his hips. You could feel him beneath you, solid and warm, and you leaned in, pressing your lips to his, all gentle and questioning.
He answered by kissing you back, soft and slow, letting you set the pace. His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.
Then his hand slid from your back to grip the curve of your backside, and the sudden boldness startled a gasp from you. He took the opportunity, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his fingers kneaded the soft flesh through your gown.
That strange feeling in your belly had returned, hotter now, spreading like honey through your veins. You clutched at his shoulders, unsure whether to pull away or press closer, that terrible knot drawing ever tighter.
"My prin-husband," you gasped, breaking the kiss. "I fear I ...feel strangely."
He chuckled, low and warm against your ear. His hand crept to your stomach, pressing gently against the tension. "This is what you should feel, sweet girl." His palm slipped lower, fingers sliding down to brush against the apex of your thighs. "It will only grow from here."
"I - ah." You grasped his arm, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
He smiled, kissing the hollow of your throat. His fingers moved in slow, firm circles, the friction growing warmer and wetter by the moment.
"A woman is different from a man," he explained, his mouth pressed against your ear. "When we touch each other, it is not the same."
"Yes," you said softly. "I know how it's supposed to happen. My husband... I mean- you put your cock inside me."
He chuckled, a sound that rumbled through his chest. "A crude description, but yes."
A wave of embarrassment washed over you, and you hid your face in the crook of his neck.
"Tell me, my dear," he whispered, "did your mother explain it to you?"
"She...she told me not to struggle."
He stiffened, his fingers pausing their gentle motion. "What else did she tell you?"
"She said...she said that once the lord finishes, I will be bound to him." You felt foolish, reciting the words as though they were a poem or a lesson.
"My dear girl." His tone was pained, and you dared to look up at him. "It is a good deal more than not struggling."
He drew his hand back and cupped your face, his mismatched eyes searching yours. "Your husband should never hurt you."
You swallowed. "Is ...is it not painful? your highne-"
"Baelor," he corrected, his lips curving into a smile.
"Baelor." Your heart fluttered, your skin prickling at the way his name sounded on your tongue.
He leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. His hands moved to the front of your gown, finding the delicate laces that ran from your chest to your waist. He did not rush. Each tug was slow, deliberate, his knuckles brushing against your breasts through the fabric.
"I have thought of this," he murmured against your mouth. "Since the moment I first saw you in the sept. The unwrapping. Like a gift I do not deserve."
Your heart hammered. "You deserve everything, my prince."
He shook his head slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I deserve nothing. But I shall endeavor to earn you, all the same."
The laces loosened, and his fingers slipped beneath the edges of your gown, pushing the fabric aside. Cool air kissed your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms and chest. You wore a thin shift beneath, the linen so fine it was nearly transparent.
Baelor's breath left him in a long, slow exhale. His hands smoothed over your shoulders, pushing the gown down your arms until it pooled at your waist. The shift clung to you, revealing the shadowed peaks of your nipples, the curve of your breasts.
He bent his head, his lips skimming the bare flesh above the neckline. His beard scratched pleasantly against you, and you squirmed. His hands moved to your breasts, cupping their weight. His thumbs circled your nipples, and they tightened into hard points beneath the thin linen.
"So soft," His voice was thick with admiration.
He nudged the shift down with his chin, his tongue darting out to flick against your nipple. You gasped, your back arching. He closed his mouth over you, sucking gently, and you felt the wetness between your thighs growing, that terrible pressure building.
You had never felt anything like it. It was a pleasure so sharp it was almost painful, a wanting that was both a comfort and a torment. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, holding him to you.
"Baelor," you gasped, your hips moving unconsciously against his, seeking something you did not understand.
He released your nipple with a soft pop, switching to the other, giving it the same attention. His hands slid down your back, gripping your backside again, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him, hard and thick against your stomach.
"That's it, sweet girl," he murmured against your skin. "Move with me. Let your body feel."
His words were a permission you didn't know you needed. You let your hips rock against him, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through you.
He guided your movements, his hands on your backside, until the rhythm was set. He trailed kisses from your chest up your throat, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
"Can you feel it, my love?" he breathed.
"Yes," you gasped.
"Good. Do not be afraid of it."
His hands slid beneath your skirts, his fingertips tracing slowly how your bare thighs, his palms warm and rough against the soft skin. He urged you to part them, his fingers dipping between your legs.
You gasped as his fingertips brushed against the source of the ache, your most private place.
"It is alright," he murmured, stroking the seam of you, his thumb teasing the nub at the top. "Your body knows what to do. Let it."
His touch was a revelation. Your hips canted forward, searching for more of the sensation. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the soft linen of his tunic.
He dipped his fingers lower, tracing the edges of your entrance. You felt the wetness gathering there, coating his fingertips.
"That is how it is meant to feel," he said softly. "Not a duty, not a burden. Pleasure. For you and for me."
He gathered the wetness, dragging it back up to that sensitive spot, his movements smooth and sure. He watched your face, his gaze intent, cataloging every shift in your expression.
His fingers dipped back down to circle your entrance, testing, teasing. Then, slowly, one finger pushed inside you.
You gasped at the foreign sensation. His finger was thick and calloused, stretching you as it slid deeper.
"There," he whispered, his middle finger slipping inside you. "Does that feel good?"
You could only whimper in response, the sound needy and high. He curled his finger, stroking the velvety walls of your cunt, the heel of his palm still pressing against that sensitive spot.
"It will be a stretch at first," he murmured, sliding his finger out before pushing back in, all the way to the knuckle. "But we will take it slow."
You had heard the whispers, the jokes, the lewd suggestions. But the reality was different. It was not some awkward tumble in the dark, a quick, painful thrusting. It was this, the press of his palm, the rasp of his beard against your collarbone. Not just one sensation, but many, all working together to build something new and wonderful inside you.
He added a second finger, and the stretch was more pronounced. You felt your walls flutter around him, and his soft chuckle tickled your skin. "Easy, let it ache a moment."
You forced yourself to breathe, the pressure giving way to pleasure as you followed his guidance, rocking your hips against his hand.
"Yes," he breathed. "Just like that. Ride my fingers, sweet girl."
Your blush returned, but it was distant. Your body's needs eclipsed any sense of shame, and you ground against him, your eyes squeezing shut as the tension coiled ever tighter.
"Eyes open," he murmured, his voice gentle but insistent. "Look at me, my love."
You forced yourself to open them, looking into his eyes. They were darker than usual, swallowed by his dilated pupils. He watched you, his gaze roaming your face, your chest, his lips parted slightly.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let it take you."
You did not know what that meant at first, but then it struck you all at once, a wave crashing over you. The tension snapped, a flood of wetness coating his fingers as pleasure radiated from your core, spreading to every inch of you. Your hips stuttered, no longer able to keep a rhythm, and a soft moan from your throat.
He held you as the wave crested, murmuring soothing words against your hair. He slowed his fingers, drawing the sensation out, his palm pressing gently.
You collapsed against him, breathing hard, and he slipped his fingers from you. They glistened with your slick, and he brought them to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste them.
"My sweet wife," he murmured. "You honor me."
The haze of pleasure had not yet left you, and you blinked at him, your stomach twisting at the sight, a fresh heat blooming within you.
He smiled and kissed you softly. You could taste yourself on his tongue, a bitterness that was not unpleasant.
"That is only the beginning," he said. "You will learn, and I will show you."
You nodded, dazed, unable to find words. He kissed you again, lacing your dress back into place. "But for now, let us stop there."
"I-" You did not know how to tell him the way his touch still made you ache, the way your body seemed to crave more. "You're still..." You gestured vaguely to the place where his breeches strained.
"I am." A rueful smile. "But that is not your concern tonight."
Before you could argue, he shifted you gently from his lap. He stood, adjusting his breeches, it was quick, almost private, and you felt a strange pang at being shut out.
He turned, offering his hand, helping you to your feet. His hands found your hips and he pulled you close, his lips finding yours.
"Will you join me for dinner tonight?" he asked, his nose brushing against yours. "In my chambers?"
You nodded.
"In a few hours." His thumb traced your cheekbone. "Wear nothing beneath."
You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your hands clutching at his chest. He chuckled, low and warm, and kissed you once more before stepping away.
You hesitated, feet rooted. He stood by the desk, papers waiting, but his eyes were still on you.
A smile tugged at his mouth. "You can walk down the steps, can you not? Or do I need to carry you?"
"Oh- no... I can walk." You flushed and turned, forcing yourself not to look back as you stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind you.
As you walked toward your chambers, you couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his words. His tongue. And the promise of the evening.
You couldn't wait for all the other lessons to come.
You can hear the whoosh of Toji taking a piss in the en-suite bathroom.
You waltz over with a yawn and lean against the doorway, his big shirt dangling off your shoulder. Toji doesn’t bat an eye at your presence.
You tilt your head at the beautiful sight of your big man in nothing but undies, cock out. He’s not even holding his dick as he pees.
“You got a license for that thing?”
His stream is undisturbed, side glancing at you with a sleepy gaze. Minutes ago, Toji’s loud groan and the rumble of the bed as he sat up awoke you. It’s still dark out, the middle of the night.
“We this comfortable already?” He speaks like it’s more of a statement, making you shrug with much amusement on your face.
“I can’t watch you pee? You’ve literally been inside me.”
He turns back to idly stare down at his dick. “I have,” he agrees and scratches the side of his abdomen.
Toji notes that you often seem to bring that up, like it makes you happy to reminisce with him on that fact out loud.
Your bare feet lead you to stand right beside him with your hands held behind your back, facing the side of the toilet. You stare down at his cock, he briefly eyes you.
“You don’t hold your dick when you piss?”
Toji huffs and shakes his head at your ability to be silly after being woken up mid REM. “You havin’ fun, baby?”
You idly teeter on the tips of your toes, glancing up at his panty-dropping, lopsided grin.
You nod with a smile. “Yeah.”
“Mmm,” he hums, content with your blatant joy, glancing back to his dick. “Don’t have to,” he answers your question.
You lean down and get a closer look at his sparse black hair leading up to his bellybutton and veiny, dark-pink cock with a steady stream coming out of the little slit. It’s a monster of a thing, really, but it fits a man of his size.
“How are you not getting pee everywhere like a flyaway hose? Do a lot of guys not have to hold it?”
He snickers as his stream turns into dribbles. “What kind of force do you think I’m pissing with?”
You chuckle and shrug. “I don’t know how it works. I can’t even tell if you’re hard right now. Are you hard right now?”
A little smirk befalls his lips as he gives his dick a little shake and flops it into his underwear. He drops the lid and flushes. “Questions, questions.”
He stretches his arms overhead with a loud grunt before pushing into your personal space, purposely making you stumble. He leans down and presses a kiss to the side of your neck.
“You want it to be?”
You hold back a laugh and push at his chest. “Toji, wash your hands. You still touched the toilet.”
He snags his sharp canines on your neck to hear that little squeak before pulling away to face the sink with self-satisfaction.
“You didn’t even wipe,” you tease, hopping up on the counter with your feet dangling.
He side glances at you as he washes with soap. “Don’t need to.”
“But isn’t your tip all wet?” You cringe. “Your underwear is gonna get all— bleh.”
He dries his hands on a small towel, sighing. He tosses the towel and pushes in between your thighs, leaning over you.
“The only way my tip gets wet is when you’re in a good mood.”
You roll your eyes, smiling. “Shut up.”
He grabs your hand and slides it down his hard tummy to his clothed cock. It’s warm, hard, and thick.
“I’ll tell you everything you wanna know, baby. Feel hard?”
You swallow, lightly squeezing his dick as you eye it. “I don’t know, it’s squishy and kinda hard but I can’t tell.”
He hums, moving his hand aside to let you feel his cock up as you please.
“Morning wood keeps it just hard enough to point downward some. Enough to piss with no hands.” He hisses when your little hand caresses the sensitive underside of his tip, “Easy, baby.”
“Oh,” you mumble glancing up at him with gleamy eyes, “So holding it for you while you pee is off the table?”
His brows furrow a bit, amused. “That’s what you want?”
You shrug, curious caresses turning into an idle, but thorough stroking of his dick over his boxers. “Maybe just curious if you’d let me.”
“You’ll get piss everywhere.” He loosely holds one of your hips, rubbing his thumb back and forth, soothingly.
“What happens if you get really really hard in the middle of peeing?”
“Why would I get hard mid piss?” He licks the corner of his lips, abs lightly flexing when your hand gives a particularly proper stroke.
“Like— if I kissed the side of your dick while you peed.” You smile, playful and adorable. The two of you aren’t really acknowledging the fact that you’re basically giving him a handjob now, it’s slow enough to be more of a heavy tease anyway.
“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, butting his head into yours, softly. He loves the domestic intimacy of you and him in times like these.
“Yeah c’mon, hypothetically.” You nudge your head into his in return, eyes briefly fluttering shut.
He leans back with a heavy exhale, wracking his thoughts.
“Well,” he looks down at you, “I’d have to hold it down so I don’t water the ceiling. You might get wet, baby.”
“Your dick never points up when you’re hard though, it’s so heavy.” You bite your lip, smiling and leaning into his lips to lay a nice wet kiss. “But, I don’t mind getting a little wet.”
He nudges your thighs wider and pushes a large hand between your legs to cup your thinly clothed pussy. You softly gasp, eyes trained on his calm eyes and scarred lips.
“You wet right now? Seeing me take a piss get you all horny?” He gently strokes your warm slit. “My dirty girl want some ‘heavy’ cock now?”
Your eyes roll back as his fingers and voice work tingles up your tummy.
“Fuck,” you urgently yank his boxers down, making his weighted arm of a cock twitch like it just knows its favorite girl is ready to give it a nice, wet hug. “Okay, yes actually. I wanna fuck. No more playing, wanna feel you inside me.”
Toji’s head sags as he chuckles, patiently watching you yank your panties to the side and shimmy to the edge of the counter.
“Ah ah ah,” he stops you just as you’re lining his tip to your throbbing folds, “You sure? Might have some piss drying on my tip, sometimes it gets stuck in there and drips out. Thought it was— ‘bleh’?”
He grips your chin, tilting your head upwards. He exhales right into your face and presses his lips to yours. “You don’t want my piss in your pussy, do you, baby?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you slur, aggressively smashing your lips harder into his. He leans over you as you lick and lick into eachother’s mouths, truly indifferent to how sloppy it is.
“Jesus,” he laughs, not truly expecting you to be so eager when he’s teasing you.
You jerk your hips forward to the best of your ability and the tip of Toji’s cock penetrates your pulsing entrance.
You moan right into his mouth as Toji slams his hands down to grip the counter behind you, coping with the warm, smooth pressure of your insides. His jaw ticks with the pressure of clenching his teeth, groaning in his throat.
His hips jerk forward, forcing your deeper insides to make room for a whopping half of his monster cock.
“Oh fuck!” You cringe breaking your stringy kiss to slap and grip his chest. “Have to— to go slower, Toji, fuck.”
“Shhh,” he hushes you, nudging your head to the side with his face to mouth wetly at your neck. His hips make nice little thrusts to aid your hole in warming up to him.
“Gonna feed you the rest,” he warns into your ear in a raspy soothing tone, “you’ve got it. You’ve got it. Gotta do it quick, baby.” He knows it hurts less when he gets this part over with.
You gasp as he shoves the rest in, but the warm sturdiness of his hips pressing into the bottom of your thighs helps to calm you. You’re so full, it’s slightly cramping right above your bellybutton.
“Ahh,” Toji breathes, throwing his head down over your shoulder. His cock jumps inside you, happy to finally be completely encased in its warm home again. “Shoulda spread your pretty little legs earlier so I coulda saved up some piss for your sweet pussy as a thank you for being so fucking good. Want me to say sorry?”
He chuckles with that lopsided grin, waiting for you to slap his chest and scold him for being gross like he intended with such a fuck ass joke— but you don’t! In fact, it seems.. did you enjoy that?
Your back arches dramatically, letting out a loud, breathy moan with eyes shut in wonderland.
Toji lifts his head to eye you with a quirked brow, a little confused and slightly wincing when your insides clench so hard around his sensitive dick.
His eyes widen when you slap both hands onto each of his asscheeks and use all the force you can muster to force him to thrust forward, into you.
“Oh,” Toji says in amused, mild shock, but it quickly turns into a groan as you force him to fuck you.
He drops his head back and closes his eyes blissfully, letting you do all the work with your own hands and arms that must already be aching. It’s like you’re reverse riding him. It’s more of a subtle rocking since Toji is quite heavy, but it feels fucking good to be pushed in and out of that slimy gripping heaven between your legs like this.
“God, fuck, feels fucking good. Okay, I got it, I’ll do what you want, give you what you want. It’s okay, shh,” he soothes your frustrated whine as he finally begins to do the work, brutal jackhammers that make your body literally jerk up and down. Your legs and arms curl around his big back for any semblance of balance as you whine and moan for the sleeping neighbors to complain about later.
His brow is furrowed in concentration as his hips snap on and on, gripping the counter rather than you, which makes you look like a little flesh light that can manually hold on like a spider monkey.
He huffs as sweat falls down his brow, kissing your neck affectionately.
“Look at me, Toji. God, you feel so good,” you whine, making him pull away enough to look you in the eye. With a dazed expression, you connect your lips like second nature, but the kiss is more of a choppy rubbing of your lips at best due to his relentless humping.
“Thought of my piss in your cunt really got you going, huh?” he chuckles into your mouth, unable to resist teasing.
But again, he does not expect such a drastic reaction of obvious pleasure from his fucked up joke. Your eyes visibly roll all the way back and you shove your tongue across his lips and begin licking his cheek and jaw like a feral cat, moaning and clawing his back. You even start to fuck your hips down into his with every thrust, making the mean impact of his tip smashing into your cervix that much harder.
“Jesus Christ,” Toji huffs in disbelief, eye wincing at the pleasure you’re enforcing.
“Do you have a piss kink, baby?”
You shove his hand down to rub your clit with his fingers, head thrown back and the next second you’re—
baelor accidentally stumbles upon your only fans account
warnings: incest. daughter x father incest. dark. non con. dub con. smut. modern au. 18+
a/n: i read this fic here and it inspired me. also sorry for not being super active i've been busy and we'll get round to replying to you all soon. Not proofread.
you are responsible for the content you consume. make sure to read warnings before proceeding with any of my fics
Just imagining modern dad!Baelor stumbling across your only fans account one night. Only he doesn’t realise it’s you.
Well not at first anyway…
He’s never been in to this thing really, he’s used to going on dates and charming women in person. He only found out about the damned app through his son, wondering why Valarr's credit card bill was strangely high one night.
It’s only when he comes back completely drained from a long work trip, that he finds himself scrolling through the app himself, deciding on a faceless video of a woman that was half his age with the most gorgeous body. He didn't really date younger, and yet watching you struggle with the mere tip of this dildo had him on the edge.
He timed his strokes with each push of your hips down onto the dildo, his breathy sighs mixing in with your wet whines. When he came, it was a hot mess, white liquid covering his hand and hitting against his chest.
After weeks he's addicted to you. Top tipper, requesting custom videos of you in all sorts of positions.
Months go on and he's paying for new lingerie sets, new sex toys and messaging you throughout the day like your some dirty secret. His mood is genuinely changed and when you visit for the holidays, you ask him who's the new woman in his life.
Both of you are none the wiser.
He finds out when he's visiting you for the weekend, treating you to some new things in your oddly familiar dorm room. Sure he's been here to help you first move in but he can't help that shake he knows this room better than he should do.
That night in his hotel he sees your new video and closes his laptop immediately. He opens it again and then does a double take of the surroundings. He's sick to his stomach.
Let's just say he's on the first flight back home and you don't even see him that morning. Not even leaving a text.
Another month or maybe two go by where he's back to his old ways, dating women his own age and fucking them after it. But he can't make it work until one night pressing a woman down on her stomach and fucking her from behind reminds him of you. Your hair, your skin tone and for a few moments he allows himself to slip to that dark place.
The shame he fills after cumming is horrid. And yet he can't help but go back to your page to do it all again.
Your big tipper is back. More requests and even more money to apologise.
He knows he shouldn't keep doing this but he can't stop.
The requests get stranger...
One week he's sending a dildo replica of his dick. He delightfully enjoys the way you squirm and struggle to stuff him all in but when you do, he can't help but ingrain the image in his memory.
Then comes the request for pictures throughout the day, just normal pictures of your outfits at first and then pictures of your tits or ass in the bathroom and when the money was really generous, pictures of your pussy.
The worst is when he asks you to send him a video calling him dad.
Not daddy. Dad.
You really don't like the idea at first. But with the amount of money he offers you, you're not in a position to refuse. It's like what you make in four months.
The video sends him feral. Eventually you start to refer to him as dad in your messages all the time until it becomes second nature.
Until one day he calls you by his nickname, something your real dad has only ever called you. You freeze, the texts coming to a halt immediately as you run over the nickname again and again...
You cross reference messages and can't help but feel sick at the thought of it. Things add up in your head, the fact you barely hear from your own dad, certain phrasing in messages that feel oddly familiar.
It can't be.
Yet it freaks you out so much you block him. Remove him from all forms of contact he has with you and go back to the rest of the fan base you had created. It may be quite a loss in the money department but you don't care.
Baelor doesn't like that. He also doesn't like how his own calls go to the answer machine every time he tries to reach you, or how you always message back with the most simplest of answers. No more I love yous anymore.
Maybe he visits you or maybe you have nowhere else to go back to apart from home in the summer. But eventually you have to face him, he is your father after all.
Yet you try everything to avoid him. Until one day he picks you up from town drunk, and in the car ride home everything spills.
He's so sorry.
So sorry as he pushes your frame on his mattress.
So sorry as his clothes fall into a pile with your own.
And so sorry as he thrusts himself into you.
Only you don't think he's really sorry at all.
a/n: i may be going to hell but im taking you all down with me.
dividers by @ chrisssiren
decaying wouldn't be so bad if im with you @ktchie - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag