Mercy-Bound ⸸ Sir Jimmy Crystal
masterlist
You better fuck for your life, literally!
Sir Jimmy Crystal x Fem!Reader
Summary: After you witness a brutal attack on your housemates, jimmy spares you. But you're about to find out the price of mercy.
Warnings/Themes(18+ themes MDNI): DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT dub-con/non-con/coercion, gore, violence, murder, blood, cult activities, blowjob/facefucking, unprotected p in v, creampie, fingering, humping, outdoor sex, spit kinda, lowk needy jimmy, Stockholm syndrome? no beta reader, no use of y/n, no mention of race
Words: 7.7k
dude ive edited this top part a million times and tumblr keeps deleting the warnings
please be graceful and nice i havent written in 7 months
You were supposed to be back a while ago. You know this because the sun is now much lower in the trees than you'd intended, dragging long shadows across the ground like sharp claws, and now it would be dusk before you returned.
It irritates you more than it worries you.
Adjusting the grip on your too-light supply bag, you'd hardly found anything, not enough to justify straying so late; you pick up your pace along the narrow path you and the others had worn into the ground over the past few weeks. It should feel familiar. But something feels off. The hairs on the back of your neck prick up, and every step closer to the hut you can feel a slightest of sinking in your stomach.
Then you could smell it.
It was undeniably smoke, but the scent of it wasn't strong enough to be a full fire, it didn't blanket or assault your senses. It was more like a thin, lingering burn that sits at the back of your throat the longer you breathe it in. Your feet hesitate on their course and the pace you were keeping slows down automatically. Tired fingers start tightening around the strap of your bag, head tilting, trying to listen for anything out of the ordinary.
It's only a few moments before your ears register the commotion.
It isn’t your group, there was no way that this was the quiet middle-aged couple who’d let you stay here for the past two weeks. They could barely manage conversation above a polite murmur, let alone this— this rising, overlapping noise of shouting and laughter. The noise was so energetic, and you could feel a sort of giddiness coming from the direction you were heading.
Your pace stops entirely now.
As the hut comes into view through the thinning tree line. You see the shitty old door hangs wrong on its frame; lopsided and bashed in. The fire outside is still burning, but it's flames climb too high now, being left untended. Your eyes strain to see further and through the window, shadows move. The shape of things inside is wrong, silhouettes that don't match the people you should have expected to see.
Every instinct in your body resists moving any closer to the hut. Something is wrong— deeply fucking wrong, and your body responds before your mind can catch up, locking you in place like you've stepped into a vat of tar.
You already know, deep in your bones that stepping any closer would tip something irreversible into motion, something life-altering, or possibly even life-ending. But whether you go forward or not doesn't feel like a choice anymore, it's something your body is already doing. You find yourself forcing your feet forward, knees wobbling like jelly as you take one step after another, until you're close enough to see clearly through the busted door.
Inside, it’s crowded. The space is barely accommodating, with space for only a handful of people to navigate comfortably. But now several bodies in velvet tracksuits, all of them wearing the same blonde wigs stood around the room. You could tell which one was their leader, because he stood with more authority than the rest. He's faces away from you, so all you can observe is his deep plum tracksuit; around his neck are gold chains, clinking against each other as he spoke. A small tiara set on top his messy dirty blonde waves.
Then you can hear an individual voice cutting through the mess, his voice, and all the others hush and look at him with regard as he begins.
"And Old Nick saw that the world of man had failed, and knew only disharmony. And so Old Nick released his demons unto the world of man."
His back is to you, but the way he moves oozes with practiced theatricality. You can tell he had done this before, probably many times. The cool confidence in his voice commanding the attention of the followers who crowd around him.
"And the world of man fell before the demons, and his world became like the guttering candle flame. And God did nothing…for he was invisible. And couldnae punch his way out of a paper fucking bag anyway."
His circle of devotees erupted into a strangely merry laughter. Clearly entertained by the story, shouting and whooping in a way that feels unhinged, like it had no conscience left to hold it back.
The man shifts, creating a gap in the group and now, now you can see better. The pit in your stomach drops even lower as the scene in it's entirety, is placed before you. Your group is there, too.
Both of them.
Tied, at the ankles and the wrists. One of them is on the floor, dragged in front of the group of intruders. The other is slumped upright against the wall, head jerking in fear whenever someone laughs too close.
They're not dead yet. Somehow that's somehow worse than if they were.
"And so… " The story goes on without missing a beat. He knows exactly when to pause and for how long, keen on when they'll laugh, he somehow even knows when one of his hostages is going to jerk around, interrupting his sermon.
"The world of man became Old Nick's dominion… And his dominion was Hell."
He stops for a second and tilts his head slightly, soaking in the approval from his followers. A smug smile stretching across his mouth.
"Howzat?"
The room answers in a chorus. None of them missing a beat, it was creepily synchronized.
“Howzat!”
Your brow furrows, and you duck behind the wall, stomach twisting. The people inside hanging onto their twisted preachers every word, smiles on their faces as he continues on.
"Then Old Nick did speak to his favored son, whose name was Jimmy Crystal."
His voice sounds different now. Still a precise part of his script, but when he tells this part of the story, it feels like he believes it a little bit more. He raises his hand slightly.
“And he said unto Jimmy, ‘You are now Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal.’” A very, very purposeful pause.
“‘And you shall be my right hand.’”
Everyone in the room is leaning towards him— Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal now, maybe they've heard this story dozens of times. But even you find yourself unwillingly creeping dangerously close to the doorway, hanging onto his every word.
“‘Which shall be strong, and you shall have seven fingers.’”
Your throat tightens. Your eyes darting around the room, counting bright blonde wigs.
“‘And each finger shall be a claw.’”
Now every instinct in you screams to back away, just turn around, to get the absolute hell out of there and cut your losses. You can't help your housemates now. But your body refuses to obey. It stays rooted in place, locked there against reason, as if some unseen force has decided you’re not allowed to leave.
“‘And you shall offer charity to the world of man.’”
His voice lowers, you don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until your lungs burn for it.
"'And you shall offer charity to the world of man. And for this, you alone shall be my heir! And your seven fingers shall hold your crown.'"
He pauses for even longer this time, his head doesn't turn but you can swear he's listening for you.
You stay just out of sight.
"Howzat?"
Another immediate response.
"Howzat!"
Inside the laughter settles down to an eerie calm once more, their focus on the words again like they were also just learning all these things. Waiting patiently for their Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal to continue.
"I am Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal…”
His hands gesture up and down his body, voice carrying without any effort. All of this monologue came naturally for him but now it had an intimate confidence.
“Favored son of Old Nick.”
A ripple moves through the group at that name. Not fear, and not really reverence either. It was like they were taking some sick kind of comfort in their worship of him.
“These are my Fingers.”
He gestures around him. At that, the blonde wigs shift. Some of them stand a little straighter, some of them grin wider, prideful now that they've been properly addressed.
“We travel the land,” he outstretches his hands towards the couple, almost kindly, like he was gifting something to them, “we search for souls to deliver to my father.”
The sides of your vision begin to take on a dark blue, and suddenly the blood rushing through your head is louder than this fucked up church service.
You stay, though, pressed to the rough wood of the door frame, barely breathing.
“And we offer you… charity.”
The word charity doesn't land like it should. It wasn't generous, it was twisted into something new and, you think, probably incredibly fucked up.
You swallow hard, leaning forward to peek in deeper again. Your eyes flick to your housemates tied inside.
You hadn't even known them that long. They were nice enough to let you stay with them after they'd caught you stealing from their back garden. None of your interactions had ever gone any further than polite small talk and sharing shifts on watch. You didn't know anything about their lives, you'd hardly cared to remember their names.
And now your stomach is lurching as you think of what was about to befall them.
From where you’re hiding, your nails dig into your palm so hard it temporarily stops your tunneling vision.
Sir Jimmy Crystal lets the silence stretch.
“Jimmies.”
A chorus of devoted voices immediately answer him.
"Yes Sir!"
"Yes Jimmy."
Your stomach flips hard enough you have to press a fist against it.
You shouldn’t be here.
Well, maybe you should be in there. If you weren't late.
But you know you shouldn’t be watching.
Part of you thinks, he must already know you're just on the other side of the doorway.
“Today’s charitable act…” he continues. You see his ear point towards the sky, as if listening to an unseen voice, “shall be…”
Your fingers curl tighter into the splintered wood of the frame. You force your gaze down to the dirt.
“The removal of the shirt.”
An eagerness courses through the room, offering a new vitality to the Fingers who grinned even wider, they bounced on the balls of their feet with a barely contained excitement.
Your eyes look up through the doorway despite every instinct begging you not to look.
The scene plays out before you in flashes.
Hands grabbing your housemates, jerking them to an upright position in the center of the room.
Whimpering, crying, begging, as the Fingers crowd in on them.
You watch the desperate attempt of the couple to find a last second of solace in one another. Their bound limbs not halting their bodies from wriggling in one another's direction. Only for a Finger to come in between them, kicking the man back. His spine hits the floor of the hut with a flat, cracking sound.
The Fingers erupt into laughter.
The wife erupts into sobs.
“Please—”
Her begging is cut short as a finger wrenches her head up by the hair, lifting her face close to their mouth so they could whisper taunts to her.
“I wanna make you bleed.” he mutters softly.
Another one joins in, blue tracksuit circling around as they crouch down, getting in her face.
“Go on. Scream.”
You can't tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding in the hut. The wife is screaming now, just like the Finger wanted, her cries muffled by a gag thrown over her mouth.
They yank her arms, forcing her to bend forward at the waist as they work to tear the fabric of her shirt from her back. You feel a cold sweat trickle down your spine as you watch them work. The couple's fear is palpable, their bodies rigid with tension, looking frantically to the exists like they could still somehow escape.
But the Fingers are too powerful, and chillingly coordinated. You watch, frozen in terror, as the cult members tear the shirts to shreds, exposing skin to their violence. The man screams, struggling against his bonds as they advance. The way The Fingers crowd in obscuring your vision, making it had to see the details of their act.
The Fingers work in a ritualistic synchroneity, their movements equally as brutal and unhinged as they were practiced and familiar to each of them. One grips the woman's hair, forcing her head back as another pulls their arm back, ready to strike. As it lowers back down towards her flesh, feeling her softly, before being gripped tight and viciously yanked downwards.
Blood curdling screams bounce off the walls, her pure terror making tears prickle at the back of your eyes as you witness them peel her flesh back to reveal the raw, red, bloodied mess underneath
Every time a Finger tugs through skin, the sound reverberates through the air. A sick, wet ripping of flesh, paired with incoherent, shaking screams and sobs.
The stench of blood and sweat fills your nostrils, making your stomach churn; the bile in your stomach burning its way up through your throat, but you force it back down. Your gaze is frozen solid, fixated fully by the horrific display of colorful tracksuits skinning these poor people.
Jimmy Crystal, all the while, was relishing in it all. Silently brimming with glee while he soaked the screams of the innocent couple into his pores. His lips curl up into a cruel smile, and something tells you that the performance was going just as planned.
Suddenly, an especially nasty tug on the man's skin rips a piece of flesh from his chest, leaving a gaping wound. He howls in agony, his head thrashing against the floor. The Fingers cackle with glee, their hands stained crimson as they continue.
As the Fingers' knives slashed and hacked, the couple's forms contort in anguished pleas for death. The man's eyes bulged, his mouth frozen in a silent, blood-curdling wail as the cultists flayed into the skin from his heaving chest. His wife's panicked thrashing only intensified, her limbs flailing like a broken marionette.
Their screams seem to be just so funny, to them. One of the fingers smirks wide as he kneels beside the husband, poking at him with the knife.
"Look at them, boys," he taunts, his voice dripping with malice. "They're screaming for Daddy now, aren't they?"
A high pitched, manic, laughter fills your ears as the other Fingers erupt. Guilt seas hot in your stomach at the idea that you could've maybe helped… or at least tried to. But self preservation and fear ruled you, and now it was too late.
You force your hand to ease its grip on the wooden frame. The wood creaks, protesting the sudden release.
You wonder if the Fingers heard that tiny sound, if Sir Jimmy Crystal did; you're sure that the chaos inside covered your one, tiny, noise, but you're almost sure that you see him ever so slightly turn his face.
You swallow hard, forcing your gaze back down to the dirt beneath your feet. The sound of flayed skin tearing, of weakened whimpers and pleas, continue to reverberate through the air, all conducted by Sir Jimmy Crystal.
The sickening squelch of flesh meeting blade in the air, your heart pounding in your chest, threatening to burst free. The couple's cries for mercy muffled, their bodies twitching in their restraints as the Fingers continue their twisted act of "charity".
You feel a tear escape down your cheek, mixing with the dirt and grime on your face.
Suddenly, the screams die down, replaced by a wet choking, and then a low gurgling sound. The Fingers step back, their tracksuits now stained with blood. Sir Jimmy Crystal approaches the couple, a perverse satisfaction gleams in his blue eyes.
You hold your breath, gaze locked on the deep red stains on the tracksuits as they step back, revealing the couple's lifeless forms. The husband's chest is a gory mess, the wife's body is slumped over, limp, her skin torn and lacerated. The Fingers stand in a semicircle, their faces twisted in cruel grins, basking in the carnage.
As the cult members continue their celebration, you feel a cold sensation trickle down your spine. You're acutely aware of your own vulnerability, huddled in the shadows just beyond the broken door. The Fingers could turn their attention to you at any moment, and you'd be powerless to stop them.
And like he heard your thoughts, Sir Jimmy Crystal's gaze suddenly shifts, his eyes narrowing. You hold your breath, hoping against all that he won't spot you amidst the darkness. But then, a blood chilling smile spreads across his face, and he turns to face the door.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he purrs, his voice low and menacing. "A little mouse, hiding in the shadows, watching us have all the fun?"
The Fingers all quiet down now, celebrations hushing as seven blonde heads turn with their leader, looking for what he sees.
Sir Jimmy Crystal's smile widens, revealing his crooked teeth. "Come out, come out, little one," he coos, his voice singsong mockery of a lullaby. "Let's see what we have here."
With a deep breath, you slowly emerge from the shadows, keeping your movements deliberate and calm. Sir Jimmy Crystal's eyes gleam with excitement as he takes in your appearance, his gaze lingering on your face before traveling down your body, his smirk widening as he takes you in.
"Ah, a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he remarks, a hungry gleam finds it's way into his eyes. "Come, let's get a better look at you, shall we?"
With an exaggerated flourish, he beckons you closer, his fingers tapping against his thigh. The Fingers part down the middle, creating a path for you to approach their leader.
You hesitate as you draw nearer, you can see the anticipation in their eyes, the way they lean forward, eager to witness whatever their leader has in store for you. Your mind races, trying to think of a way to escape, but your body seems to move of its own accord. You also know that you have no choice. One wrong move, one misplaced step, and the others will be on you, tearing you apart with their knives.
So you stand there, frozen in terror, as Sir Jimmy Crystal reaches out to stroke your cheek. His fingers are cold and clammy, his touch repulsive. You want to flinch, to pull away, but some part of you manages to stay still.
And now you take him in.
Up close, Jimmy Crystal was sort of like an anomaly.
Was he clean? Absolutely not.
He was fucking filthy.
The smell came first now that you were up close. Earthy, sweaty, layered above the tinge of something metallic. It's not really stomach churning, but it is a constant and distinct feeling in your nose.
And his teeth…
When he spoke you could see glimpses of it, yellowy-brown rotting enamel. But now that he's smiling at you, the extent of the damage is easily noticeable.
But the rest of him seemed weirdly put together.
The rings he adorned on his fingers, several, thick, gaudy, and gold, crowd his fingers. He moved his hands when he speaks and they glint catching slivers of firelight outside.
Your eyes drag down to his chest. His chains, all of them tucked deliberately over the collar of his tracksuit. Laid out so they can be seen by all.
It was so carefully coordinated. Put together in its own right, this man was clinging to something the world hasn't yet been able to take away from him, and it was dictating his every action.
Your thoughts are halted by the voices of the other Jimmies, his Fingers, begin to make their way to your ears. You snap your attention towards them as they close in.
“There she is…”
“Thought she’d get away.”
“D'ya see her face?” one of the Fingers laughs, voice high and giddy, “She's seen it!”
Another one crouches in front of you, close enough that you can smell him.
His wig lopsided on his gaunt face.
“Sir,” he says, but he’s already looking at you, not Jimmy. “Sir, please—”
“Let us give her charity.”
The others jump on the idea like starving animals.
“Please, Sir Jimmy—”
“Just a little!”
“We’ll make it quick!”
“No! No, not quick; she’ll learn.”
A hand grabs your chin, jerking your face up. Comfortable enough to touch you shamelessly, the Finger sneers in your face.
"She’s perfect for it,” he insists, chest doing summersaults at the idea of being able to hurt someone else. “Look at her… she’s hardly even crying.”
“For now." Another mutters.
Their sinister laughter ripples through the hut again, they were all in on the joke except for you.
“Let me do it,” one of them begs suddenly, falling to their knees in front of their leader. “Sir, let me— I’ll make her scream, I swear to God."
“Please,” another echoes, stepping closer, almost trembling with it now.
Sir Jimmy turns his ear to the sky, like he did earlier, and you wonder if he's truly communing with a higher power or simply indulging his own delusions of grandeur. After a moment, he lowers his head, a slow, creepy smile spreading across his face.
"Old Nick says…no charity for the girl," he declares, the answer comes out a slow drawl, his voice laced with a sense of righteousness.
The Fingers hesitate, clearly disappointed by their leader's decree. They glance at each other, then back at you, their expressions a mix of hunger and frustration. It's clear they want to tear you apart, to make you scream and beg for mercy.
But Sir Jimmy Crystal just shakes his head, a stern glint coming across his expression as he sees their silent protest.
"Howzat?"
The Fingers repeat the phrase back to him, a slightly more defeated, "Howzat…"
He takes a moment to turn his crowned head to look into the eyes of each of his followers, searching for any sign of defiance. Once he's sure that they understand the weight of his command, he speaks again.
"As I was saying, Old Nick has decreed that we will not be showing our new friend any charity. She's to come with me, and I'll make sure she's… taken care of."
The other Jimmies murmur in agreement, they don't question him. You glance at them, taking in their gaunt faces, upside down cross etched into each devoted forehead.. You're not much older than them, yet their eyes hold a cruelty that's terrifying.
With a satisfied nod, Sir Jimmy turns back to you, a cruel smile spreading across his face. He offers you his arm, his fingers curling around your elbow in a possessive grip.
"Shall we, my little mouse?" he asks, his smile widening to reveal the mosaic of miscolored teeth.
You're unsure what to do. The smallest part of you thinks to tug your arm away, refuse his twisted 'protection' and reject his perverted ideals. But another part, the part that wants you to live a few days longer, whispers that perhaps this is the only way to survive in this fucked up world.
As Sir Jimmy leads you out of the hut, the Fingers remain behind. You can't help but steal a glance over your shoulder, a cold dread creeping down your spine at the unsettling sight. Their skeletal faces seem to glow in the dim light, those unblinking eyes bore into you, just waiting for a command to tear into you.
Jimmy Crystal acts oblivious to the tension, however. He takes confident, long strides as he guides you off the property and towards the woods. The moon casting eerie beams of light across the path, the leaves rustling like whispered warnings.
Your breath is stuck in your throat, you can't help but feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
After a while, Jimmy slows his pace, turning to face you with a knowing glint in his eye, Tiara glinting in the moonlight as he tils his gaze towards you.
"You must be wondering why I chose to leave," he says in his posh Scottish accent, his voice low and mischievous.
"After all, we could have made quite the scene back at the hut, no?"
You swallow down the urge to lash out, take your chance with defiance and see where it lands you. But the cold grin on Jimmy's face stalls your tongue. It's clear he's reveling in this, it was all a game for him, and confronting him head-on would be like stepping into his trap.
Jimmy's hand grips your elbow tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh like claws.
"I knew you were there, watching," he continues, a sly smile spreading across his face as leads you even deeper into the wilderness. "I could sense your presence, even when you thought you were hiding so well."
You can't shake the feeling that you're being herded towards some unknown fate. And as if sensing your unease, Jimmy's grip on your elbow tightens.
"Let's take a rest," he decides, guiding you towards a clearing surrounded by gnarled trees.
He sits you down on the ground, his touch surprisingly soft when his hand moves from your arm to the small of your back, easing you onto the dirt floor. Twigs and leaves press into your ass, crunching under your weight.
He moves quickly to sit beside you, his hand sticking itself to your knee, his grip just firm enough to keep you in place.
He turns his head to face you, his blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"My father— Old Nick, well his plan is simple: to remake the world in his image, bring order to this chaos through chaos itself. And I, Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, am his chosen instrument. The Jimmies, my loyal followers, are the first fruits of this new world order."
The more he speaks, you realise his performance back at the hut was more than an act. The sincerity in his voice, the fire in his eyes, this was his very being. He didn't just believe in what he was saying, it was a fundamental part of who he was, and he took pride in that.
"Old Nick says the old ways are dead," Jimmy continues, his voice low and hypnotic. "That the weak and the meek must be purged to make way for the strong. And I, his chosen son, will be the one to wield the blade of justice."
He squeezes your knee, leaning in closer, thick breath hot against your ear.
"I've been very… generous with you, lass. I could have had my Jimmies tear you apart the moment we found you. But instead, I've decided to keep you safe. Doesn't that deserve some… reciprocity?"
His hand slithers dangerously high up your thigh, your body instinctively clenching and legs drawing together. When your body flinches away from his touch, his eyes, once hinting at desire, burn instead with a sinister gleam that makes your blood run cold.
"Dinnae want to play along?" His voice drips with frustration as he tightens his grip, boxing you against the tree trunk and yanking your leg back to its original position. "Of course, we can always offer you… charity instead."
you freeze at his implication, your blood running cold. Your eyes dart around frantically, desperate to see a way to win this, to come out on top; but its only darkness, thick forest surrounding you, who knows what else is out there?
The rustling of leaves is the only sound aside from Jimmy's heavy breathing. The cult leader's blue eyes gleam with a sinister light as he leans in. You shake your head softly and finally speak, your voice comes out dry and wavering.
"B-but you told them… you said Old Nick said no!"
Jimmy Crystal leans in close to your ear, voice dropping into a growl.
"Old Nick can change his mind."
Your eyes widened as panic rose in your chest as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear.
"You see, wee one, in this new world order, there is no room for hesitation or defiance. Those who submit to me, to Old Nick, will be spared. But those who resist…" His voice trails off, the implication clear.
A breath catches in your throat, your heart sinking as Jimmy's hand slides under your shirt, cold fingers tracing the curve of your breast. You're trembling under Jimmy's touch, his cold fingers sending shivers through your body as he palms your breast.
Panic claws at your mind, part of it beat out by the distraction of his touch. His other hand grips your wrist, keeping you in place.
"This is your chance to prove yourself," he continues, his thumb and pointer finger coming together to pinch your nipple. "To show Old Nick that you're worthy of survival in this new world. All he asks is… a small token of your devotion."
As if he could hear the argument your brain was having with itself, Jimmy's grip on your wrist tightens. He guides your hand to the bulge in his tracksuit, making it clear what he expects.
This is your one shot at living through this, a gut-wrenching decision staring you down. Your eyes lock with Jimmy, he's hungry. His eyes gleam when he shifts under the moonlight, he licks his lips slowly as he just barely contains his urges.
Your mind reels with conflicted desire as you give a barely perceptible nod. Jimmy's grin stretches like a satisfied cat with your answer. The chains around his neck chime against each other softly as he closes the distance in between the two of you, your elbow scrapes against the tree trunk as he pulls you back into a standing position.
With a swift twist, Jimmy rips your shirt open, the sound of fabric tearing echoing against the trees. You cry out, cold air raising goosebumps across your body as he leans in, his mouth finding the tender flesh of your neck.
"You're a good lass, obedient and quiet," he murmurs against your skin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "I'll make sure you're taken care of."
He pulls you towards him, his body pressing against yours. You can feel the hardness of his arousal through his tracksuit, pressing eagerly into your thigh. He grinds his hips against you, rubbing his velour against your jeans, a groan escaping his mouth.
Without wasting another second Jimmy pushes the tracksuit down, revealing his cock to you in the darkness. It's large and thick, the head a deep pink, weeping with pre-cum. He strokes his length once, twice, his eyes never leaving yours.
Jimmy's eyes bore into you, licking his lips as he breaks into a smile, cocking his head to the side.
"Well, don't just stand there, little mouse. Get on your knees and show Old Nick the respect he deserves."
He steps back, his cock bobbing obscenely as he waits for you to comply. In the end, it's a simple, primal choice. You drop to your knees, cool, hard ground wearing into your jeans. Your fingers trembled as they reached for his cock, hesitant but obedient.
Jimmy's eyes flashed with need as you made contact, his hips jerking forward eagerly. Your hands shaking as they wrap around his shaft. It's warm to the touch, pulsing around your grip.
He lets out a low, animalistic moan, hips jerking forward into your grip. You've never seen a man react this way before, so intensely, so desperately.
His cock throbs against your lips, smearing them with pre-cum. The taste of him is musky and unfamiliar, but you swallow it down, determined to please him. Jimmy's eyes roll back, his hips bucking as you take more of him into your mouth.
At first, it's awkward, your lips stretching around his girth. But with each passing second, you grow more comfortable, your technique improving as you focus on the rhythmic motion of your head bobbing up and down.
"Mmm, yeah, that's it," He groans, his hands find their way into your hair.
You continue to bob your head, taking more of him into your mouth with each passing second. He moans and grunts, the sounds echoing through the quiet forest. You can feel his cock pulse and throb, the veins along its length pressing against your tongue as you explore every inch of it.
You prod his tip with your tongue and with an almost pathetic moan, he surges his hips forward. Plunging the full length of his cock down your throat. The suddenness of his movement makes you choke, eyes stinging as you struggle to breathe around him. The hands in your hair tighten even more, his fingers twisting against your locks as he grinds against your mouth.
"Yes, little mouse," Jimmy grunts, his breath leaving his mouth in short. frenzied spurts. "Show Old Nick how much you want to live."
The words are muffed against the sounds of your wet gags, his cock slams repeatedly against the back of your throat, your nose presses to his pubic bone. The sounds of your desperate chokes fill his ears but he doesn't stop. His hips work harder, the soft flesh of your throat squeezing and releasing him as he fucks your throat.
Just when you think you can't take any more, Jimmy pulls away from your lips with a wet POP! You gasp for air, coughing, drool and precum sputtering down your chin as his elbows grasp you firmly, steadying you on your knees. His chest heaves as he breaths shallow, short, breaths, his blue eyes alive with a crazed intensity. His hands frantically reach for the jacket of his tracksuit, ripping it open.
Jimmy's hands roam over your body, his fingers digging into the flesh of your arms and shoulder. He pulls you to your feet, pressing your back against the rough bark of the tree. He rubs his length against your stomach, leaving a sticky smear of precum on your skin.
He grips your chin, tilting your head up to expose your throat. Jimmy's tongue darts out, licking a path from your jaw to the hollow of your neck. His tongue is rough and textured as he drags it across your flesh. The sudden chill of the air against your damp flesh skin sends a shiver of anticipation rippling through you, your heart pounding in time with the steady throb of his touch.
Jimmy's hands search your body fervently for something he needs now, his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your jeans, still looking. He palms your ass, kneading the flesh roughly as his hip still buck needily at your hip.
"You're a lucky little mouse, aren't you?" he moans, his hips jerking forward. "Old Nick has so generously spared your life."
You nod vigorously, determined to convince him you're being earnest.
"I am…lucky."
You tremble under Jimmy's incessant touch, his neediness showing in his every act, as he searches your body for a way to satiate his desperation. He digs into your flesh, the grip he takes borders on painful, as he yanks your jeans down your thighs. The cold air hits your exposed skin, you suck in a sharp breath at the chill.
He beholds you in pure awe, moonlight bouncing off your curves, your exposed flesh all for him. His desperation to fill the void inside him was like a festering wound. He needs you, craves you. A groan of pure desire comes from deep in his throat, his uneven teeth pulled into an expression of nothing less than bliss.
Jimmy's hands roam over your hips, his thumbs brushing against your ass cheeks. He gives them a rough squeeze as he groans, his grip on you tightening and nuzzling into your neck. Your hand comes up to stroke his neck with a gentle touch, before you even register what you're doing.
A guttural moan spills from his lips, all his muscles tense up as he feels how wet you've gotten, you let out a soft moan as Jimmy's fingers enter your folds; and that gives him all the encouragement he needs. Jimmy's grip tightens, his body pressing into you as he pumps his fingers deeper, his scent envelops you as he presses his body against yours. His hands roam your body up and down, leaving trails of heat behind in the cool air.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "So perfect. You were made for me, weren't you? Designed to satisfy my every desire."
As he speaks, his hips are still moving against your thigh, pace quickening in a desperate rhythm as he continues to finger you.
You can only answer with another moan.
At first you had been confused by your role in all of this. But you quickly realized that Jimmy is the needy one, his craving for affection and validation was a deep, festering wound that he can't heal on his own. It's a twisted version of affection, but you can't deny the strange power it gives you.
As Jimmy's lips brush against your neck, his warm breath sending tingles down your spine, you feel a strange sense of power despite the reality of your situation.
He withdraws his fingers, the emptiness he leaves behind almost hurts. But then He spins you around, pressing your tits against the rough tree bark; the eager head of his cock nudging your entrance. He grips onto your hips desperately and then, he sinks himself, filling you completely.
"Ahhh, fuck," his voice only comes out as a shaky whimper, his hips jerking as he starts to move.
As he moves within you, the jagged bark that protected the tree digs into your breasts, it might hurt; but in this moment, with Jimmy's hands roaming over your body and his hips pumping into you, you can't bring yourself to care.
You hardly even register the noises you're making, moans and whimpers and small squeals as you feel Jimmy fill you out. Your back arches pressing your ass against him, his cock throbbing inside you with each thrust. Jimmy's hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading your flesh as if he's trying to absorb you into his skin.
You tilt your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he nips and licks at your skin. His teeth scrape against your pulse point, causing you to cry out and clench around his cock.
His touch is frenzied and rough, but there's an uncanny sort of closeness as his body presses against yours, his whines are too eager; prodding inside you trying to reach a new depth. It's like he's trying to merge your very being with his.
"Mmph, Jimmy!"
Jimmy's need for you is all-consuming, every tiny groan and whimper that leaves your body fills him with validation as he strokes inside you faster. There's no denying that He's a monster, a predator, but in this moment, you're not afraid of him. Instead there's this unexplainable pull, all of the aching, desperate parts of him that need you to need him.
His breaths hits the side of your neck in ragged gasps, each one hot against your skin as he leans in to nip at your earlobe. His cock is throbbing inside you, stretching you to your limits. The jagged bark scratches your skin, and it hurts so fucking good. He kisses and licks at your neck, his uneven teeth grazing your pulse point. Your walls clench around him as he hits your sweet spot. The only noise leaving your lips are broken whines.
"Ahhh, that's it," he groans, his voice husky with lust.
His hand yanks your hair, snapping your neck backwards with startling force; he cranes your face back and leans in, his mouth finding yours in a brutal kiss, his tongue forcing its way past your lips.
You moan into the sloppy kiss, your body responding to his, hips moving against his in their own unique rhythm. You can taste the metallic tang of his blood on his breath, feel the scrape of his jagged teeth against your lips.
You break free from his mouth to cry out, your moan resounding in your own ears.
"Oh God, Jimmy," you gasp, you can hardly hear yourself over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "ugh… I'm gonna cum!"
"Please, little mouse," his voice is strained as he begs you to let go. "Show me how much you want this. How much you need me."
Jimmy feels your walls clench around him, His words pushing you over the edge. Your cries echo deep through the forest, body jerking and shaking uncontrollably around Jimmy's still-thrusting cock.
He doesn't let up, or give you a second to catch your breath. His weight keeps your tired body up, continuing to fuck you against the tree, his pace quickens in a panicked sort of way. You can feel his climax building, his cock throbbing inside you. Jimmy's grip on your hips tightens, every thrust growing more desperate. He's chasing his release, and you're his only means way to get it. His pace doesn't slow, doesn't let up. He just keeps fucking you through your climax, his own need still unsated.
"D-don't stop," he gasps, his voice a ragged whisper against your ear. "I'm so close… need to be inside you…"
The edges of your vision are blurred as white stars float in and out of your sight, his back against your torso, his heartbeat syncing up with yours. Your body convulses every time he ruts into you. The noises leaving you are prolonged, primal groans, accentuated by his every stroke.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," a ragged, chant leaves his mouth as his cock fills you out.
With a final, harsh thrust, Jimmy explodes inside you, whining as you feel hot cum coating your insides. He grunts and groans in ecstasy, pushing his hips against your to stay as deep as possible. You shudder as his cock twitches and spasm inside you, each pulse sending another wave of his thick, sticky seed flooding your body.
He collapses against your back, breath shuddering as he struggles to catch it. His chest heaves against you, his eyes close as he tries to conserve his energy. His face stays nuzzles in your neck, and you remain sandwiched between him and the tree. The scent of sweat and sex hangs thick in the air, covering you, mixing with the earth of the forest floor. Jimmy's cum leaks down your thighs.
In the clarity after the sex, you're not sure what happens next. Everything that just passed washes over you all at once. The brutal fucking, the violence, the fear that gripped you moments ago, it all feels like a surreal fever dream.
It's a jolting realisation that you're not afraid of him anymore. At least, not in this moment; you've seen the extent of what he's capable of. But it doesn't feel like a threat to you in this second, he seems… Content, at the very least.
Jimmy's still inside you, his heartbeat vibrates into your back, sticky cum dripping down your thighs With a sigh, you carefully untangle yourself from his embrace. Your body maneuvers out from between him and the tree, wincing as his softening cock slips out of you. He grunts in protest and his hand wraps around your arm, pulling you back.
"Stay," he commands, his voice low and authoritative. "You can't just leave me like this."
He can see it in your eyes, recognizing the hesitation; you know you shouldn't stay. His grip tightens ever so slightly, but enough to send the message. So you nod, taking a few small steps back towards him, His eyes light up with victory as he welcomes you back into his embrace. He pulls your body in against his chest and sighs.
He's quiet for a second, listening once again to that voice that only wants to commune with him.
"Old Nick is… Pleased by you." He murmurs into your ear, brushing your hair out of the way. You find yourself leaning into his touch, feeling a twisted sense of obligation to this man, you need to be the one to satisfy the hunger that consumes him. You can feel the sweat drying on his skin, faint tremors still course through his body in tiny jolts.
"I know this was… much," his low voice murmurs. "But you understand, old Nick's hunger is a beast that cannot be tamed."
Despite whether you actually so understand or not, you nod, your body moving on its own to press closer to his skin, again offering yourself up to his desires. A weird part of you believes him, or at least, you want to. Maybe it could give you a purpose, something to fucking do around here.
He takes his time, holding you there against him. He relishes in all of this, the game he played, the power he exerted. But after a few minutes he stands up straight, bringing you along the way. wiping his cock clean with a handful of leaves before tugging his pants back up. You do the same, smearing away the mess between your legs.
His hands tangle around the crumpled fabric of your clothes, picking them up off the damp forest floor and handing them back to you.
"Get dressed, lass."
You take the garments from him, the fabric has gone cold against the ground, and you shiver as you pull them up over your body. Jimmy eyes you intently, his eyes never leaving yours as you pull your clothes on, one item at a time. With a quiet sigh, observe as Jimmy gathers his scattered garments, trying not to meet his eyes as he bends to retrieve his pants. His movements are languid, his smirk is content, and you know he's been sated by the violence and sex that just transpired.
He starts to get dressed, pulling on his velvet tracksuit, the gold chains clinking as he moves, straightening the gold tiara that had been knocked askew in his golden hair. You also see him compose his being, taking deep breaths as he regains his powerful air of confidence.
Once he finishes getting dressed, he turns to face you, his blue eyes piercing through the dim night of the forest.
"Come now," he commands, extending a hand towards you. "We've much to attend to."
So yeah haiii guys I'm back I haven't written anything in like 7 months but here's some porn and maybe I'll write some more soon :)
