a/n: this is just something i’ve had sitting in my notes for awhile. this concept made me weak ngl.
warnings: nsfw. fem reader. unfinished, probably a lil rushed. teasing. praise. guided masturbation. use of “good girl” and pet names (dear, angel).
"tell me, my angel," he whispers into your ear as his fingers find your clit, sliding his tongue across the tip of your ear while you melt deeper into him, "did you touch yourself while i was away?"
you shudder, feeling his fingers glide across the wetness that gathered in your core, whimpers escaping from your lips as his slickened fingers begin to circle your clit, hips lightly jolting to swallow his touches. you moan, throwing your head back into his chest. his grip tightens around your neck, fingers pressing gently to the sides to coax an answer.
you whimper, the sounds of your wetness brought to your ears, "yes." you moan, gasping as his pace quickens.
you feel a smile against your skin, writhing against his strong hold, arching as the incomings of an orgasm begins to burn within you—then he stops. your hand falls to the sheets, a whine forming in your throat.
“show me.” kusuriuri says, his voice low, fingers rising from your cunt to rest upon your breast, “touch yourself.”
you hum softly, turning to face him with a look of question, your cheeks burning with heat at his command. he’s serious—lips curled into a subtle smirk, his eyes exploring the expanse of your shivering body—all while his hand remains wrapped around your neck. your hand rises, fingers grazing your abdomen, lowering slowly to your aching cunt. a deep inhale enters you as your eyes close, leaning your head back into him as you start to pleasure yourself. heat overtakes your entire body as it burns against his, soft moans slipping out of your mouth as his words of encouragement—“good girl” “just like that, dear” “show me how good it feels”—spill into your ear, prompting you to hasten your touches. his hand travels down to your clit in favour of replacing yours, which you gladly retract as it flies to grip the sheets, surrendering under his fingers. a wave of pleasure washes over you, gasping as an orgasm arrives. the medicine peddler is intent on driving you mad with pleasure as he continues circling your delicate pearl, but your trembling hand seizes his wrist, whimpering with a weak effort to bring a pause to his pace, "kusu."