Ryland fucking you prone with his bicep wrapped tight around your throat, kissing and biting the back of your neck and licking the shell of your ear while telling you how much of a good girl you are <33
cw — afab!reader, light bondage (just wrists being tied!!), blindfold, light overstim, some aftercare, not proofread, lowercase intended!
begging ryland to use his work ties to tie you up and to blindfold you while you have sex and he’s so apprehensive about it at first. ryland grace does not want to harm a single hair on your head, so tying you up and blindfolding you while he fucks you sounds completely preposterous to him at first. but you insist, telling him you absolutely want him to. you want him to take control and it’s not going to hurt you, that you know he would never do that to you. that you trust him.
it would take a lot of back and forth, open communication to show you actually wanted what you were asking for and what boundaries were going to be put into place. he would take it seriously, requesting a safe word to be established for if it ever became too much for you. he would research different knots, see which ones would keep you bound securely for long periods of time, but not be too tight or too uncomfortable for you. ryland is all about making the experience pleasurable for you while also being safe.
the first time he puts his skills to practice—he quickly understands why you requested this. losing two of your senses makes you hypersensitive—his usual kisses that he trails up your leg create goosebumps on your skin. your legs jolt involuntarily when he places a wet kiss against a spot you weren’t expecting. your breath hitches every time he ventures further up your thighs and closer to your cunt. and by the time he reaches it, you’re sopping wet for him. he still takes his time with you, working you open with his two fingers while his tongue circles your clit. your soft little moans and mewls travel straight to his cock, he has to grindhis hips down against the mattress to try to alleviate some of that pressure he’s feeling. before he knows it, your soft noises have turned into breathy moans as you cum all over his fingers. he doesn’t stop until the breathy moans have broken down into faint little cries from overstimulation. if you weren’t blindfolded, he would be able to see the tears that have welled up in the corners of your eyes and collected in your lashes.
“i’m going to keep going now, okay?” he says, his breath fanning over your sensitive cunt, causing you to clench around nothing now that he has removed his fingers. he knows you want him to be more direct, but the statement still ends in a question—a way to give you an out if you need one. his eyes are settled on your face, the black tie that covers your eyes and forbids you to see what he’s doing to you. his eyes travel to your hands and how they struggle in the red fabric of his tie. he’s never going to be able to look at that specific tie and not think of this moment ever again.
“yes, please.” your voice is quiet, but sure. ryland appreciates that.
“that’s my girl.” he praises, raising to his knees and taking hold of his hard cock in his palm and giving himself a few pumps. with how wet you are, he knows that the lube sitting in your bedside drawer is not a requirement tonight. he uses one hand and hooks it under your knee to raise it and give himself more room to slot himself between your thighs. he watches your chest, how quickly it rises and falls, then his eyes drift to your hands again. he notices how you’re twisting your wrists around in anticipation, how the knot is secure enough to keep them in place through all your movements. he gives himself a mental pat on the back for that.
he pumps himself lazily a few more times before taking the thick head of his cock and rubbing it through your folds, coating himself in your cum to lube himself up. you’re so warm and wet that he knows your cunt will have no issue with swallowing him whole. he continues the motions a few more times, teasing himself and you. he watches as you grow more impatient, how you shift your hips down to try to take in even the smallest bit of him to feel some sort of relief. he lets out a laugh, it sounds a little meaner than he intends for it to be and you whine, your cheeks turning red in frustration. he figures he’s teased you enough, wants to put you out of your misery, so he finally gives you what you so desperately want.
“biiiiig stretch.” he hums, pushing in until you’ve taken him to the hilt. you let out a broken gasp as you adjust to his size, but just as he expected, you’ve taken him without any issue or need for lube. he gives you and himself a moment, hooking both of his hands under your knees and holding them so the sides of your calves are resting against his hips. he knows your impatience has returned when you begin wiggling your hips to signal that you want him to move.
he begins to rock his hips slowly, creating an easy rhythm that’s not too much to start out with. you feel so good, wrapped around him so nice and tightly. he slides in and out so easily with no resistance, evidence of how much you enjoy letting him take control with the added restraint and blindfold. he gains more confidence, snapping his hips against yours quicker and rougher. his hands slide down from your knees to your hips, gripping the flesh between his fingers and squeezing, his nails pressing crescents into your soft skin. ryland is enjoying this more than he thought he would, watching how your mouth falls open, then how your teeth nip at your bottom lip when you try to hold in your desperate little sounds.
“no, let them out, sweetheart. wanna hear how good i’m making you feel.” he encourages, his brain swimming with desire as he aches to hear you. you follow his instructions promptly, your teeth releasing your lip and your mouth falling open once again. only this time, sweet, broken moans fall from your lips as ryland works you up to yet another orgasm. his thrusts grow quicker, his skin turning tacky with sweat. the front of his thighs try to stick to the back of yours every time he delivers a deep thrust and they connect. he adjusts his angle, placing his hands down on the mattress while your legs are still hooked around his arms, bending you almost in half to where your knees are touching your chest.
the new angle allows him to reach even deeper, and it’s evident that you feel it from the way your broken moans have transformed into cries that turn louder with each snap of ryland’s hips. his own chest is heaving as he chases his own release, which is imminent. “give it to me, honey. let me have it.” he groans, waiting for the telltale signs of your orgasm before he allows himself to spill inside of you. it takes a few more deep snaps of his hips before you’re cumming, your legs shaking against his arms and your chest heaving as you try to retain oxygen.
his only complaint with this whole thing is that he can’t watch you as you cum. he so badly wants to reach up and rip the blindfold off of you, look into your pretty eyes as you cum around his cock, but he doesn’t, the need to respect your wishes and desires outweighing his own. ryland finally allows himself to cum, seating himself deep inside of you before he coats your gummy walls with his thick seed. he ruts into you a few more times, pushing his cum further up into you as you clench around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm. he’ll have to clean you up before the night is over.
when he finally pulls out, the two of you are breathing heavily and absolutely spent. he’s gentle with you, hands moving up to your head to slip the tie from your eyes softly, allowing your vision to return. he monitors your movements, sees the way your eyelids blink quickly to adjust to the light again. your lashes are wet and tears are still wetting the sensitive skin around your eyes. his thumbs come to your cheeks, wiping away the tears tenderly with the pads of his thumbs. once he’s satisfied with his work there, his hands move up, coming to your wrists to undo the knot that’s keeping them bound together to your headboard. once they’re free, he takes your wrists in his hands, his thumbs now rubbing soothing circles against the faint marks the fabric branded against your skin. he raises your wrists to his mouth, kissing at the red marks on your skin.
you watch him, admiring how soft he can be with you. how love pours from him and into you with every gentle gesture he gives you after following your wishes and completely fucking you silly.
“too much?” he finally asks, eyes coming back down to look at yours, which are already on him.
“no, never.” you answer slowly with a simple shake of your head.
ryland has a feeling that his ties are going to be incorporated into the bedroom a lot more often—but he’s not complaining.
One thing I love about Ryland is that, he has that desire and care to actually listen to your thoughts, and he would really show this to you. For people who have anxiety disorder (like me), people who were never listened to seriously before could understand this strong sense of security from him and the extreme power of praising. Whenever the panic attacks you, he holds your shaky hands, covering them with his palms. He talks you through it, pull yourself into his chest and planting slight kisses on your head, forehead, cheeks, lips. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m right here, not goin’ anywhere, just lemme hold you, sweetheart.” He may start to hum some notes or melody to calm you, “I’ve got you, went through so much darling, you’ve done so good.” He strokes your back slowly, with gentleness, “I’m so proud of my baby.”
I can’t. About listening. He just loves hearing you sharing things with him, anything. You chuckle, telling him that you’re not gonna talk about it because it’s so stupid or dumb, he doesn’t care, he needs to let you know that he’s the one who WANTS to hear you. Those amazing ideas coming from your mind, those voices rising from your heart melt him. Even if they are small or tiny, nothing special, they all are from you, his babygirl. He will hold you, because things you’ve been through were too painful to tell, the loneliness was so overwhelming you couldn’t curl yourself up, couldn’t find a tiny light. He will, guide you, showing that it wasn’t your fault, none of those were your problems, he knows who YOU are. You won’t be silent, and so does he. Cause we can see he loves sharing thoughts, he has the desire to speak too, and that’s the time you listening to him as well.
You prop each other, never letting either fall in solitude.
cockwarming ryland grace (or any other ryan gosling character)… that is all
Im gonna.. slide this here
Characters: Lars, Ryland, Colt, Holland, Driver.
Lars: he shakes a LOT and his big paw for hands are violently gripping your hoodie while you simply sit there and hug onto his shoulders. He probably cums from the close proximity in under 5 mins btw.
Ryland: Much better at this, definitely stern teacher mode when you try to move at all. Has you cockwarm him while he grades projects or just during movie night. Lasts a good while till you start whining at him and then he makes you beg <3
Colt: He wishes he was good at handling it LMAOO. lasts a solid 15 mins before he's slowly rocking up into you and he's obviously stronger so most of your attempts to get him to relax and just sit are futile, holds you in place to slow fuck into you while biting your shoulder.
Holland: If he's sober, oh hes so good at it and loves to rub your clit and make you cum on his dick without even having to move, if he's had alcohol...well..not so much. He first of all, very emotional like unbelievably so. sloppy sloppy kissing and he definitely doesnt cum while intoxicated so hes just whining and panting into your mouth ngh.
Driver: ...gloves. also the type to make you cum on his lap first, then he's fucking you and hitting your cervix HARD. Cant sit still with a pretty thing in his lap—usually ends up in lotus position with him fucking you into limpness ❤️.
professor!ryland who fucks you into the mattress while shaking his head “oh no, sweetheart, we went over this one, remember?”
you thought you had it right. thought being the key word here. your face is pressed into the sheets as he slowly drags out of you, leaving just the tip in.
dr grace whispers in your ear in a taunting, sickly sweet voice “amph—*thrust*—itrichous *thrust* has both, *thrust* the peri—*thrust*—trichous *thrust* has multiple”
every other syllable seems to be accentuated by a violent snap of his hips, each one sending lightning bolts of pleasure flooding through your body. you whimper his name and he presses a kiss to the side of your head, going back to his regular brutal pace.
“you’re supposed to be—oh fuck, that’s it baby—supposed to be my best student” dr grace purrs in your ear again, “can’t let you leave without making sure you know the difference”
- 😎 i hope this adds nicely to professor!grace
hi angel, please ignore the likely bad science talk because im not science smart i fear, but i’m gonna give you the biggest smooch for this because this is such a yummy thought.
mdni. professor!ryland grace x grad student!reader.
he talks to you oh so sweetly, so much praise in his tone but he always makes sure to correct you when you’re wrong. he’s not mean with it because he understands that memorizing everything can be difficult and you’re trying your best and you just look so good underneath him like this, but he can’t let it go. if he lets it slide you’re not gonna know the difference, and you’ll get it wrong, and he’ll have failed you as a professor which he can’t have.
so he slows down, trying not to let the way you whine at the loss of pressure inflate his ego, before trying to engrave the difference into your head. and when he picks the pace back up, he moves his hand to your jaw, gently pinching it between his fingers to make you look at him. when he meets your gaze—albeit a little fluttery—he cups your cheek. “now repeat it back to me. c’mon, you can do it.”
and you do! his prior words falling from your lips word for word, and he gives you a little kiss as a reward. “that’s it, good job. now can you tell me how else peritichous differs from the other flagella?”
you wanna say you should feel silly for having this conversation when he’s fucking you like this. who wants to hear about biology when a very handsome man is buried inside you and calling you such sweet names?
but maybe that’s it. every time you get something right he praises you in a way that makes your heart race. he can feel it beneath his palm, the way you radiate a pleased warmth when he tells you you’re doing a good job and that you’re so smart and that you’re his best student. it fills you which such vigor to pass, a motivation unlike any other that pushes you to nail every exam and make sure your lab reports are so spotless that no one would be able to pick them apart.
but when you speak again, he wants to make you falter a little. he leans closer, pressing his chest to yours, hovering close enough that his lips brush against yours as you speak. “when it–when it moves clockwise the organism—mmmmm, dr. grace!”
he interrupts your sentence by pressing down on your tummy, his smile growing when he feels your hand immediately cling to his bicep like it’ll save you. he might like this a little more than you do.
she’s so adorable i want to tie her up and watch a fucking machine ruin her until my pretty girl is overstimulated and begging me to give her my attention properly.
PUPPTPLAY WITH SEB PUPPYPLAY WITH SEB PUPPYPLAY WITH SEB ive been thinking about this for a WHILEEEE and like ugh i feel like hes just so sure of himself and wants a partner that will listen to him, do what he says, follow him round OH MY GOD IM GONNA DIE THINKING ABOUT IT i need to be sebs puppy
OUHFHEU okay.. so sfw and nsfw for this cuz i have sooo maby thots abt owner seb it hurts my mind often...
sfw!
The first time he calls you "good girl" is almost accidental. He's teaching you a simple piano melody, his fingers guiding yours over the keys. You mess up a note and look up at him with wide, eager eyes—waiting for correction. He pauses, something flickering in his gaze.
"Good girl/boy" he murmurs, low and testing. The way your whole body softens at the words makes his jaw tighten. From that night on, he uses it deliberately. Every time you follow his lead, every time you wait patiently while he finishes a sentence—he rewards you with that quiet praise, watching the effect it has on you.
He keeps a small stash of "treats" in his coat pocket.
Not for himself. Whenever you've been good—sitting still through a jazz set without fidgeting, walking beside him without pulling ahead, waiting at the curb like he asked—he'll fish out a wrapped caramel or a piece of dark chocolate. He holds it between his fingers, making you lean in to take it from his hand. "That's it..there you go." he says, a hint of a smile.
He loves when you follow him around his apartment. When he moves from the kitchen to the living room to grab a record, you're right behind him. He doesn't have to look back; he can hear your footsteps. He'll stop short once, just to feel you bump into his back. Then he turns, cups your chin, and says, "Didn't tell you to stop. Keep close." You do.
When he's stressed about a gig or a song that isn't working, he'll pat his thigh while he's hunched over the piano. It's the only signal you need. You pad over, sit at his feet, rest your head on his knee. He absently scratches behind your ear, tangles his fingers in your hair, and keeps playing. The music smooths out. He breathes easier. You stay there until he's done.
NSFW!
He makes you ask permission for everything. Before you can touch yourself, before you can come, before you can even kneel—you have to look him in the eye and say it.
"Please, Sebastian. Can I be good for you?" He likes you desperate. He'll let you squirm on the bed, legs spread, pussy wet and aching, while he takes his time unbuttoning his shirt. "Say it again," he says, voice flat. "Tell me what you are." And when you whimper "Your puppy" with your thighs shaking, he finally nods. "That's right. Come here."
He uses his belt as a leash. sometimes on your neck, always making sure it feels okay—he's not careless. He loops it around your wrist or threads it through your collar if you're wearing one, then holds the other end while he fucks you from behind.
Every time you try to crawl away or shift, he gives a sharp tug that pulls you back onto his cock. "Stay where I put you." he grunts, hips slamming deep. The leather creaks with each thrust. When you come, it's with his name breaking out of your throat, and he doesn't stop until he's filled you, holding the belt taut the whole time.
He rewards obedience with his mouth. After you've brought him off—swallowing every drop, keeping your hands behind your back like he taught you—he'll pull you up by the hair and lay you out on the bed. He parts your thighs with his thumbs and buries his face between them, licking slow and deliberate.
"You earned this.." he says against your clit. "Don't move. Don't talk. Just take it." He works you until you're sobbing into the pillow, and only then does he let you come, lapping up your arousal like it's his due.
His favorite position is you on all fours, head down, ass up. He'll walk around you, running his hand down the curve of your spine, giving your ass a hard slap that echoes off the walls. "Look at you," he says, almost to himself. "Perfect. Just like I knew you'd be." He doesn't rush.
He kneels behind you, drags the head of his cock through your slick folds, and watches you tremble. "Ask for it." You whine. He smirks. "Louder." When you finally beg, he pushes in with one smooth motion, groaning as your heat swallows him. He fucks you slow and deep, one hand gripping your hip and the other tangled in your hair, keeping your cheek pressed to the mattress.
Imagine, you laying on your bed. Writhing against the sheets. Your hands pulling at the sheets, moving in your hair, dragging down your face as you breathe heavy. You feel like you could cry and not even the bad kind.
The reason? Ryland Grace. One of his knees on the bed, the mattress dipping from the weight it's supporting. You can feel the warmth on your thigh from his skin. One of his hands on your stomach, pressing slightly as the other worked inside you.
Three fingers in. Dragging slowly against the inside, like he was scooping your soul out. Your hips moved under the pressure of both of his hands. A press of his thumb against your clit and you are blabbering-
"oh fuck- Grace- fuck.. oh- please, please, please- no, please -", you don't even know what you are saying. It feels like your tongue is loose. Your head tilts back. You are so close to sobbing from overstimulation or the lack of stimulation? You are sure, neither of you know.
"uh huh", he nods. You can see him lick his lips through your blurred vision, "I can't understand you. You're gonna have to use your words", he looks down at you from above his glasses.
"I wanna cum-", you whined. "You wanna cum?", he sounded way too proud.
You nodded way too eagerly, "please, please- yes, I want to", you closed your eyes. Head pressing against the sheets, lips pressed together as you focused more on the feeling of his fingers inside.
His thumb formed callouses from years of holding his pen wrong and it pressing directly against your clit. Making your jaw slack and mouth hanging open from a silent gasp.
"okay, okay", he was too proud. "You're gonna cum in five, okay?", you nodded, "nuh-uh", he shook his head. "I need words, com on. Your mouth still works, I know"
"yes- yes!", you forced out. "Good- now count with me"
"five", his thumb moved everytime he pulled his fingers out just to push it back in.
"four", every push in, he would curl them in and drag them out.
"three", your eyes felt too hooded. The knot in your stomach drawing closer and closer as you felt your hips push against his hand.
"two", the pressure of his other hand increased against your stomach. Oh, fuck.
One, didn't even have to voice it. You were already arching off of the bed. Your hand finding purchase on his arm, nails digging in as the other pressed against your mouth. Your hips moved on their own to ride the orgasm out.
After a few seconds of muscle spasm and your legs closing tightly around his hand, did you calm down. Chest still moving from rapid breathing. The hand on your mouth moved to your hair, slight damp against your forehead.
You finally glanced at Ryland when the hand on your stomach moved to wipe sweat or tears, you weren't sure, from under your eye. He had the biggest smile, "hi", he whispered. Fuck him.
can you guys tell I have a thing for hand against the stomach..
Henry, you are a fallen angel. Your tears soaking the blank canvas, your soul as fragile as crushed tissue paper, withering prematurely on the Brooklyn Bridge. Henry, the fog has rolled in today, yet it brings no whiteness—every scene is dusted with a layer of pink steeped in sorrow. Tristan Reveur told me this is art, but I don’t understand; nothing is more romantic than the walruses.
Henry, I want to give you all my love, yet I fear your fear will blur its weight, too thin to wrap you in my arms as you fall. So take my heart, my pessimism, my ending, the sweet medicine of my childhood, my hollowed-out spirit, the last shred of my will to survive.
Henry, please pile all of myself at your feet. At midnight, the asphalt which ignored by rain longs for Prussian blue. Henry, dying is an irreversible tide receding, and I stand on the shore, watching you walk barefoot into that deep sea, watching you die of everything this world has given you, melting into a black light.
Henry, we will meet in the freedom where death washes everything clean.
Henry, Henry, at the end where all things fade, we will finally meet again, innocent of all sin.
What hue does your heart turn when snowflakes fall on your face?
You hold so firm the belief that you are a child cloaked in miracles—no amount of my love could brush a fleeting solace across your eyes. All I want is to hold you recklessly:
Melt my body into yours, share my breath with your own, let my heartbeat lock to the rhythm of yours, let my life unchain you to chase every shade of existence, no more hesitations, no more wandering.
My dear K.
My dear Joe.
Your soul is so sacred. We shall meet in the Promised Land, singing odes to Moses’ glorious life. Or let us flee to Dilmont—there, by the holy river, I will kiss your cheek and watch the sun rise in your eyes. The wooden horse guides you to tear apart the cells that bind you; what binds you is no longer flesh and blood, my love. That is the first time you have ever sobbed for yourself. Where the neon light cannot reach, there is only filth, ruins, and endless goodbyes. Stay a little longer, long enough for your mistaken freedom to fill two lives.
✩ A/N: If there are any academic errors, please correct me. Just finished watching the movie, need this hot dork so bad.
Grace gives me the feeling that he’s the kind of man who would teach you science and biology while fingering you, circling your clit and says “Pollen is the male gametophyte of plants, carrying haploid genetic material and producing the male gametes involved in fertilization, so you see…” and then he realizes you’re not listening to him because he makes you feel so good, so he stops and lowers his head a bit. “You listening?” You bite your lips and nod slightly, grinding your waist a bit to show the urge. He pats your head, “then what did I say? Repeat it f’me.” You widen your eyes and try to keep your tones steady:
“P-pollen…”
“Mhm, and?”
“And um- gene…?”
He frowns, tapping your clit and folds playfully, “wrong answer kitten, and that’s one orgasm for not paying fully attention f’me, but gonna make you understand it first. Basically it’s…” He starts teaching and pressing again.
He’s definitely the kind of man who would whisper so fuckin’ softly to you but still ignoring your pleas to let him stop or slower. “Shh, no arguing. You can do it. Focus on what I’ve told you.” He would praise you a lot. “That’s it… cum for me, kitten. Let it all out. Good girl… so pretty when you cum.”
thinking of ryland holding you in a headlock… his chest pressed to your back, the weight of him pushing you down into the mattress as he ruts into you. the sound of the mattress creaking under your shared weight and the wet slap of his sweaty skin against yours ringing out through the room. his other hand moves down to grab onto the flesh of your hip while he groans into your ear, one particularly deep thrust makes you swear that you can feel him in your throat. feeling the way his arm flexes around your neck juuust enough to where you start to feel that lightheadedness creep in that you’ve grown to crave when he’s not holding you in this position. how your eyes lose their focus, vision blurring ever so slightly in the corners with each passing second.
ryland loves how soft and pliant you are when he has you like this, the way you melt under him and how easily he slips in and out of you with no resistance. his eyes are closed, but when his eyelids flutter open he sees the way your cheeks have grown red from the pressure and your eyes have turned glossy. he can’t help the way his lips curl up in the corners at the sight of you, such a pretty thing underneath him. he eases his grip around your throat, allowing the pressure to slowly dissipate. “breathe, baby. you’re doing so good for me.” he hums, leaning in to press a kiss against your sticky cheekbone as he continues the brutal pace of his deep strokes.
✩ A/N: You’ll listen to him, won’t you. After all, you’re his pretty little girl.
Soldier Boy is the kind of person with a natural dominant vibe, so I would say he’s gonna control everything from you. Like orgasms, he’s edging you of course, hearing you begging and whining so beautifully, “such an obedient little thing f’me, but not yet.” Although you’re sobbing, tryin’ to say things he likes, things you would only say when you surrender. He’s so cruel and mean about this, never letting you cum before he gives you the permission. Ben will ignore your pleas, any pleas, he might even tease you about it. “Can’t hold it in already? How’ve I been teaching you the whole time?” He just focuses on teaching you to only listen to him and let your body instinctively remember his commands. He loves seeing you purring, squirming and tryin’ everything you can to hold it for him, all for him. Always says “just a little longer babygirl” and never stops.
Would tease you with those nasty talks. “Gonna cum, hm? Did Daddy allow you to cum?” “Not very polite sweetheart, ask Daddy nicely.” “Who owns this sweet little pussy? Use your words doll.” “Couldn’t think straight right now huh, say ‘my pussy is only for Daddy’ yeah, good girl.”
When he finally decides to have mercy on you, he would lean down, lips near your ear and whisper.
Just one word.
“Cum.”
Calm. Low. Unquestionable.
Then he appreciates the way you bloom in the moment of climax, rubbing your clit and fingering you to prolong the orgasm. “Good fuckin’ job little champ.” And there’s next round. When he’s in a good mood, he likes to play with you until you’re thoroughly ripe and worked up before he starts fucking you hard.
I just know soldier boy and demon!dean would get along so much, especially when it comes to dp their doll, like imagine them both team tagging their pretty little girl and fucking her silly until she's nothing but a blubbering mess with their cum dripping out of her holes. Everything its just ahh- 😩🤤 (am I too sick to think about this?)
Also what are your thoughts on this?
I think I am creaming at seeing your vision!
They'd be so fucking mean about it. Like... somehow Ben would be the nice one? At least he knows not to break his toys. Ben makes it known that he's taking your ass because at least he (mostly) preps you for it. Ben would be laying on the bed with you on top of him, back resting on his chest, and Dean would be on his knees driving into your pussy and locking your ankles around his neck. He has one forearm banded around the tops of your thighs to haul your pussy back onto his cock, other hand locked around your neck to keep you quiet. One of Ben's hands would be shoved deep in your throat and the other would be rubbing at your clit, just enough to keep you relaxed so you can take them but not enough to push you over the edge. You feel like you're in orgasm purgatory, the pleasure mixed with the pain too much to stand but not enough for a climax. Ben knows that the second your orgasm is over you'll feel done, and he wants to keep you whiny and needy and sweet for as long as he can.
"Takin' us like a champ, kid," Ben cooed in your ear, smirking when you whined.
"A dirty fucking whore is more like it," Dean grunted, pausing his ruthless thrusts to land a glob of spit right on your pussy. You writhed as the wetness slid from your clit down to his wetness, squealing around Ben's fingers when Dean sank his cock back in you. They fucked you totally randomly, and you couldn't catch on to enough of a pattern to ever brace yourself or find your footing. Ben's finger on your clit was the only beacon of light, keeping you mostly on the side of pleasure rather than pain. Ben fucked into you slowly, lazily, letting Dean do most of the heavy lifting. He hammered into you like a man possessed, his cock reaching deep enough in your cunt to feel him in your stomach. You were totally full of them, and could feel them massaging at the wall between your ass and pussy from both sides.
"Pussy's squeezin' at me like you need to cum. Can you do it yourself or do you need your daddy's help?" Dean taunted, trying to see if you were going to beg Ben for your release. It was nothing you hadn't done before, but playing exactly into Dean's hands you shook your head, a new wave of determination hitting you.
"Aww, gonna try to be a big girl now?" Ben soothed, voice dripping with condescension.
You nodded, still unable to speak with the way Ben's fingers were shoved down your throat and experimentally rolled your hips as much as your conundrum would allow.
"Look at that Dean. Treat her like she can hang with the grown-ups and she'll act like it, too. How fuckin' sweet."
"Yeah? It seems like she also acts like a goddamn anal addict when you treat her like one."
To test Dean's point Ben thrusted up in you extra deep, his thick base stretching and tugging at your rim while the tip brushed far enough up to make you jump. His fingers started drawing tighter circles with his new rhythm, making you whine around his hand before you could realize what a bad idea that was.
"That's what I fuckin' thought," Dean grunted, keeping up his brutal pace. "Can't wait to feel you squeeze the hell outta me when you cum all fuckin' full."
"Yeah, you've earned it, huh doll? Took two big dicks like the needy little thing you are."
You nodded enthusiastically, figuring that agreeing didn't count as begging.
Ben kept the pressure on your clit, feeding the fire of pleasure growing in your belly. It spread through your limbs, and when it broke you felt your whole body tense up, vision going white and teeth clamping down on Ben's hand. Their cocks felt so much bigger through the haze of pleasure, the way your muscles tightened making them force their way back in your messy holes.
Ben shoved himself deep, finger still dragging you through the aftershocks while he bit at your neck and pumped your ass full. Dean wasn't far behind, the fluttering of your pussy pulling him into his high while he squeezed your neck and kept himself sheathed inside. You kept writhing, feeling impossibly overstimulated from the way you were sandwiched between their bodies and full of their spend.
"Jesus, doll. Never felt you milk my cock like that without the fuckin' waterworks."
Ben kept his fingers jammed down your throat, keeping you nice and still for them.
"Took us like a good and proper whore, baby. Guess you are good for somethin'."
a/n - no tears in this one but ben and demon dean will be back don't you worry
