Tease. Tease him to delirium. You love the way he whimpers, so needy, so slutty. Face flush, back arched for you as you tease him to the edge.
But when you take it too far, Rafayel decides its time to teach you an important lesson.
“There comes a point when everyone reaches their limits, cutie.” He pulls on his leather gloves.
“It’s time we explore yours.”
Warnings: MDNI! Heavy on the 18+, Switch Rafayel, Blowjobs, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Knife Play/ Knife Kink, Light Dom/sub, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Glove Kink, Pure Smut
Dividers by @cafekitsune
Slurp
He whimpers as you swallow him once more, all the way down to the base.
Rafayel is a needy mess. Whimpering, with a slutty blush, biting his knuckle with tears in his eyes as cock enters your throat.
“Please.” He always begs so pretty.
You've always chased the rough, burly types… the ones who could pin you down and fuck you senseless, leaving bruises like badges of honor. But Rafayel? He's different. The first time your lips wrapped around his cock, sucking slow and deep while he whimpered like a desperate slut, you were ruined. That blush creeping up his neck, the way he bit his lip until it swelled, his back arching off the bed as you edged him mercilessly… it hooked you hard.
Your fantasies twisted overnight and you became someone you don’t recognize, scouring the internet for ways to dom from below. You craved those new, filthy sounds he'd make when you pushed him to the brink like water on a scorching day
Tonight, in the dim glow of his bedroom, you're lavishing his throbbing cock with your tongue, swirling around the head, taking him deep into your throat until he chokes out whimpers that make your pussy clench. He's flushed red, lilac hair drenched in sweat, hips bucking weakly, begging in that broken voice. “Please... fuck, let me cum... I can't—" You pull back just as his balls tighten, denying him again, grinning at how he trembles, sweat-slicked and delirious. His eyes flutter, slutty moans spilling from his lips as you stroke him feather-light, keeping him teetering on the edge.
You've got Rafayel right where you want him, sprawled on the couch, pants shoved down to his thighs, his lithe body trembling under your control. You've pinned him underneath you; his hand tangled in your hair so tight it hurts, but it's you calling the shots. Your mouth is latched onto his cock, tongue swirling greedily around the swollen purple head, sucking him deep into the wet heat of your throat. He's been rock-hard for what feels like hours, veins pulsing against your lips, pre-cum leaking salty on your taste buds. But every time his hips jerk, balls drawing up tight as he's about to explode, you pull back with a wicked pop, denying him release.
He's a mess, face flushed crimson from his cheeks to his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. Those pretty lips part in a whine, high and desperate, as he bucks futilely into the air.
"F-fuck... please, don't stop... I need it so bad," he whimpers, voice cracking like the slutty little thing he's become under your teasing. His hands fist the couch cushions beside your head, knuckles white, back arching in that way that makes your pussy throb. You love it, this power- how he blushes deeper with each edge, body quivering, reduced to begging whines that echo in the room. You've pushed him too far tonight, lavishing his shaft with slow, torturous licks, hollowing your cheeks to suck just enough to drive him delirious, then retreating to blow cool air over his twitching length.
Another whine spills from him, louder, more broken, as you take him back in, bobbing your head faster, feeling him swell impossibly harder. His thighs quake around your shoulders, breaths coming in ragged pants. But just as his cock throbs warningly, you slide off again, grinning up at his wrecked expression.
"Not yet, pretty boy. Beg a little more." He's yours, utterly, whimpering, red-faced, on the brink of tears from the torment.
Another denial. Another shaky breath leaving him.
For a second it looks like he’s going to fall apart completely. His chest rises hard, lips parted, eyes glossy with frustration and want. His fingers curl tighter in your hair, not quite pulling, just holding on like he might lose himself otherwise.
“Please,” he says again, voice cracking.
You hum, deliberately slow, letting your fingers trace along his thigh like you’ve got all the time in the world.
“Not yet.”
His whole body goes still.
Not relaxed. Completely still. Quieter, even.
The hand that was once tight in your hair has released you only to come down and cup your jaw, pushing it up so that your eyes meet his.
And there you meet something unhinged; a dark glint in his eyes that has shifted from a rosy sunrise to a deep red and dark sunset. His breathing is heavier now, but steady, like he’s forcing it back under control. His jaw tightens, a faint flush still across his cheeks, eyes darker than before.
You give him that same teasing smile.
“Aw. What happened, baby? Thought you wanted—”
He laughs.
It’s quiet. A little breathless. But there’s heat in it now.
“You’ve been pushing your luck all night,” he says.
You tilt your head, playing innocent. “Yeah?”
That rubber band finally snaps.
In one swift movement he shifts, pulling you with him and pinning you down against the bed. Suddenly the balance you’d been enjoying flips, and he’s above you now, hair falling forward, eyes locked on yours with a sharp intensity that sends a pulse of adrenaline through you.
“Raf?” you ask, breathless and just a little worried.
His hand drags once through his damp hair as he exhales before reaching into the bedside drawer. Muscles that you forget exist when you torture him with your tongue ripple as he keeps you pinned and your stomach drops when you see what he is reach for.
The leather gloves.
Rafayel picks them up slowly, turning one between his fingers like he’s made up his mind.
When he looks back at you, there’s still that blush on his face, still that heat in his eyes, but the desperation has sharpened into something else entirely.
“There comes a point when everyone reaches their limits, cutie.”
He slides the glove on, tugging it snug.
“It’s time to explore yours.”
Rafayel's whines are gone. Instead, you are the one whimpering; trapped as he pins you down firmer with his thighs. A guttural growl escapes him, pre-cum still leaking from his angry purple cock. He grinds his hips against your thigh, his hard length smearing pre-cum on your skin, but he doesn't seek his own relief. Not yet.
He shoves your skirt up roughly, yanking your panties aside to expose your dripping pussy.
“It’s my turn,” he rasps, voice thick with promise.
His gloved hand descends immediately, two fingers plunging deep into your soaked folds without warning. You gasp, walls clenching around the intrusion as he curls them expertly, stroking that sensitive spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. He pumps them in and out, fast and brutal, thumb circling your clit with punishing pressure. Leather slides against your slick skin, the friction adding an edge of roughness that has you arching off the couch, moans spilling from your lips.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, leaning close, breath hot on your neck. “You've teased me for hours. Now you get to squirm.”
“N-not,” You start and studder, shuddering as his thumb digs deeper into your sensitive, swollen clit. “Not fair!”
He builds you up mercilessly, fingers thrusting deeper, twisting to hit every nerve, his glove-sheathed palm grinding against your pretty mound. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the building pressure as your pussy flutters around him, orgasm coiling tight in your core. But just as you're teetering on the brink, body trembling, breaths ragged, he yanks his fingers free, leaving you empty and aching. You whine, high and needy, thighs quivering from the denial. “Please... Rafayel, don't stop...”
“Not fair, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, wiping his gloved fingers through your wetness, spreading it over your inner thighs like a claim. “Begging already? We're just getting started.”
He dives back in, three fingers this time, stretching you wide as he fucks them into you with relentless speed. The leather warms from your heat, slick sounds filling the room as he scissors them inside, rubbing your g-spot until tears prick your eyes. You claw at his shoulders, pussy spasming, so close.
Then nothing.
He pulls out again, slapping your clit lightly with his palm, the sting making you jolt and sob.
“Not fair? But you’ve weaponized my weaknesses. Teased me for hours. Made me beg with whispered promises that my torment will end.”
He smacks your clit harder, the sting sharp with echoes of jolting pleasure make you cry out. Keening whimpers accompany desperate tears.
“Please… Raf, please—”
“But it never ended.”
Time blurs into an endless cycle of torment. He edges you over and over, gloved fingers plunging deep, hooking and thrusting until you're a writhing mess, sweat-slicked and delirious. Your clit throbs under his thumb's assault, walls gripping him desperately each time, but he denies you every peak.
“Look at you, so wet and desperate,” he taunts, voice husky as he watches your face contort.
“Whimper for me like I did. Tell me how bad you need to cum.” Each minute drags, each breath burns. Your begging turns frantic, voice breaking into slutty pleas.
“Fuck, please, let me cum... I'll do anything... Rafayel, I can't take it...”
His eyes darken with satisfaction, free hand pinning your wrist above your head while the other continues to tease your entrance, dipping in shallowly, just enough to make you grind against nothing. Your body betrays you, hips rolling shamelessly, every denial amplifying the ache until you're reduced to trembling, red-faced begging, utterly at his mercy.
“But look at how pretty you are, so wet and crimson and slutty,” he rumbles with a smirk directly into your ear before pulling back, his eyes glimmering a thousand shades of azure and dusty rose.
And then he is rummaging through the drawer again, pulling out things that scare you. Like a knife, a paint brush and a blind fold.
“Raf, what are you doing?” you ask heatedly and if you sound worried, it’s because you are.
“Pick a safe word, cutie,” he says darkly before leaning in and kissing you just behind your ear, breath hot against your skin before adding a quiet promise. “I won’t hurt you.”
Your pupils dilate as the breath hitches sharply in your chest.
“Desert. My safe word is desert,” you say, voice shaking as Rafayel pulls a pillowcase off the pillow and threads it through the rungs on the headboard.
“Good,” he guides your hands to each end of the pillowcase. “Now hold on to this. Don’t let go. If you let go, you get punished.”
Punished how? But you can’t even finish the thought as he pulls the blindfold over your eyes.
Silence. It stays like that for a while and your senses sharpen to every little thing that goes wild in the quiet. Your heart beats loudly. He groans softly as he shifts. You can hear him stroke his cock a few times for relief and you imagine its still angry, purple and unspent because of you.
The sex in the air smells so all-consuming, like dew, salt, spray, moss and his unique scent. Rafayel smells like canvas, clean beaches, coconut and you can tell he is coming closer to you as his scent grows stronger.
“Shh. Hold still.”
You hear the blade unsheathe and jump slightly as the cool blade contacts your skin, tracing a dangerous game that makes you mewl and quiver as your muscles tighten and you gulp loudly. The blade starts at your neck, tracing patterns down your body, over the swell of your breast, tracing your ribs, tickling your belly button.
“Rafayel—”
“Lemurians see more colors than humans can,” Rafayel interrupts, blade turning, the leatherbound handle of his dagger now circling your entrance. “Your arousal is… iridescent. Beautiful really.”
You whimper louder as the handle is pushed slowly to the hilt.
“I’d use it to make paint if I could. Although only a Lemurian could see it.” He whispers as the blade hilt touches your clit.
“There,” he remarks, and you feel him lean back to admire you. “Now my blade will always have your mark.”
But he doesn’t remove it. He leaves it there, and you are petrified to move, or the blade might knick him… or you.
Then you jump as you feel the slight tickle of brush strokes, dragging across the slick mess between your legs.
Rafayel is painting you.
The brush drags across your skin again. You whimper before you can stop yourself, fingers tightening on the pillowcase.
Rafayel huffs a quiet laugh somewhere above you.
“Already?” he murmurs. “I barely started.”
Another slow deliberate, stroke. You squirm, breath shaky, trying so hard not to move.
“Stay still,” he says softly. “Or I’ll have to fix it.”
A small sound escapes you again, helpless and needy. He pauses. You can practically feel his eyes on you.
“…Yeah,” he says under his breath, sounding pleased. “That’s the sound I wanted.”
The brush moves again, slower this time. Teasing you on purpose.
Goosebumps erupt across your skin, as he paints his way up your breast, your nipples hardening painfully in response.
And just when you think he is about to stop, he sheath’s the dagger, hilt still inside you, and begins to plunge into you with it.
You buck against it, clit swollen and sensitive, pussy walls abused and aching for release.
“Mm, yeah. Didn’t know you’d be such a good girl for me, still holding on to the pillowcase. Maybe you deserve a reward?” His voice infuriates you as much as it turns you on and you moan loudly, bucking harder against the handle, feet firmly planted and seeking release.
Fuck… closer. Closer. You are so close. You feel yourself contract around leather and whimper as your toes curl and you hurtle towards release.
Then, Rafayel laughs, haughtily, nearly cruel as he pulls the handle out of you and tosses the blade across the room.
And that? That breaks you.
Tears escape you. First, you grimace, trying to hold them back as they sting your eyes, hot and relentless. Then, the dam breaks as you cry, ugly, frustrated burning tears. Tears you resent because they mean you are weak.
Your shoulders are still shaking when the room finally goes quiet.
The tears won’t stop. You hate that they won’t stop.
Your chest feels tight, frustrated heat burning behind your ribs, like your body betrayed you right at the finish line.
For once, Rafayel doesn’t laugh.
You hear him shift closer, quick this time. The mattress dips and warm fingers slide behind your head.
The blindfold lifts.
Light spills in and you blink through wet lashes, vision blurry until Rafayel’s face comes into focus above you, flushed and a little breathless, watching you carefully.
“…Hey.”
Your hands are still clenched around the pillowcase.
A small smile tugs at his mouth as he gently pries it from your grip, easing your fingers open one by one. Your hands tremble when they’re free.
“Still holding on,” he murmurs. “You really listen well.”
That almost makes you cry harder.
You turn your face away, frustrated, but he doesn’t let you hide for long. Rafayel leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then another just below your eye where a tear slips down.
You sniff, trying to pull yourself together. It’s humiliating how worked up you still feel, how your body hasn’t caught up with your brain yet.
“Too much, right?” he murmurs against your skin. “Doesn’t feel good?”
His thumb brushes under your eye, catching another tear before it falls.
You make a small, frustrated sound that’s half a protest, half a whimper.
He huffs a quiet laugh, softer now.
“But all you had to do was say the safe word. I’d listen.”
Another kiss, this one slower, lingering near your temple while you try to steady your breathing.
You’re still shaky. Still wound up. Still annoyed at him and he can absolutely tell.
“Sometimes you can’t just fly through this stuff on vibes, yeah?” he continues lightly. “Sometimes you have to talk about rules.”
His forehead nudges yours, and you huff, pouting. But you close your eyes and let him gently ground you.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
You let out a shaky breath that turns into another quiet, miserable sniffle, and Rafayel’s expression softens a little more.
But the teasing doesn’t fully leave his voice.
“Now,” he says, brushing your hair back from your damp face, “tell me what my cutie needs.”
He pauses, studying you, waiting patiently for you to catch your breath. And unfortunately for your pride, you’re still trembling in his arms.
Your lips part, but the words stick in your throat, tangled up in the mess of anger and need churning inside you. Rafayel's eyes are locked on yours, patient but insistent, his fingers still tracing lazy circles on your scalp, grounding you even as your body screams for more. The ache between your legs throbs relentlessly, a cruel reminder of how close you were, how he yanked it all away just to watch you shatter.
You whimper again, low and broken, your voice cracking as you finally force it out. "Please... Rafayel... make me cum." The plea comes out sharper than you intend, laced with that lingering frustration, your brows furrowing even as fresh tears prick at your eyes. You're mad at him. Indignant, really, for pushing you to this edge and leaving you dangling, for making you beg like this when all you wanted was release. But god, you need it. Your hips twitch involuntarily, seeking friction against the sheets, your pussy still slick and clenching around nothing.
He tilts his head, that small smile deepening, but there's no mockery in it now. Just a quiet understanding that makes your chest tighten further.
"There she is," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he shifts his weight, his body pressing closer, the heat of him seeping through the thin space between you. His hand slides down from your face, trailing over your collarbone, your breast, thumb grazing your hardened nipple in a way that sends a jolt straight to your core. You gasp, arching into the touch despite yourself, hating how desperate it makes you look.
"You're still pissed at me, aren't you?" he says softly, not pulling away, his fingers continuing their path lower, skimming your ribs, your stomach, until they hover just above where you ache the most. He doesn't touch you there yet, teasing the edge of your thigh instead, making your muscles tense and quiver. "I can feel it in how you're trembling. But you want this. Say it again, cutie. Tell me exactly what you need."
A frustrated sob escapes you, your hands fisting in the sheets as you glare up at him through blurry vision. "I... I need you to make me cum," you repeat, the words tumbling out in a whimpering rush, your voice thick with unshed tears and raw want. "Please, just... touch me. Fuck me. I don't care. Just do it before I lose my mind." Your body betrays you fully now, legs parting slightly, inviting him in even as your pride screams to push him away. The anger simmers, hot and unresolved, but it's drowned out by the pulsing need, the way your clit throbs under his gaze alone.
“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, his hand wrapping around your thigh to pull it higher, spreading you open wider. “Not when you’ve been such a good girl for me.”
You feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your inner thigh, thick and throbbing, already leaking pre-cum that smears hot against your skin. The sight of it, veins pulsing, tip flushed dark, makes your pussy flutter with desperate want, even as you glare up at him, still sniffling.
“You're going to cum on my cock,” he says, voice rough with promise, positioning himself at your entrance. No teasing now, no slow build. He thrusts in with one brutal snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt in a single, punishing stroke. You cry out, the stretch burning deliciously as he fills you completely, your walls gripping him tight, still sensitive from the edge he'd left you on. It's rough, unyielding, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, hitting deep enough to make your vision blur.
He doesn't give you time to adjust, pulling back almost all the way out before slamming back in, the force jolting your body up the mattress. Your hands fly to his shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, a mix of pain and pleasure ripping a gasp from your throat.
“Fuck! F-fu… Rafayel!” you whimper, mad at how good it feels, how he knows exactly how to wreck you, your hips bucking up to meet his despite the anger simmering in your veins.
He grunts with each thrust, pace relentless, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he pounds into you. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes in the room, your pussy soaking him, arousal dripping down to coat his balls, as he drives deeper, harder.
“That's it,” he rasps, leaning down to bite at your neck, sucking a mark into the skin while his cock spears you open. “Take it. Come for me, just like this.”
The friction builds fast, too fast, his thickness stretching you wide, the head of his cock battering that spot inside that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch in sobs. You're still pissed, furious at his control, at how he edged you and made you beg. But it only fuels the heat, turning your whimpers into moans as the pressure coils tighter. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him closer, deeper, urging him on even as tears prick your eyes again from the overwhelming intensity.
He shifts his angle, one hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in rough circles, matching the brutal rhythm of his hips.
"Look at me," he demands, voice strained, sweat beading on his forehead as he fucks you without mercy. You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, dark, possessive, softened just enough by the care he showed earlier to make your chest ache. The conflict rips through you, indignant anger and need crashing together, but it's the pleasure that wins, shattering you as your orgasm hits like a wave.
Your pussy clamps down on his cock, convulsing wildly as you cum hard, squirting around him in hot, messy pulses that soak his shaft and drip onto the sheets. He groans, thrusting through it, the slick gush making every slide even wetter, tighter, drawing out your release until you're shaking, crying out his name in a broken litany. Waves of ecstasy crash over you, your body arching off the bed, nails raking down his back as you ride it out, still whimpering from the aftershocks.
“Fucking, beautiful.”
Rafayel doesn't stop, not yet. His hips stutter, but he keeps going, chasing his own edge while you tremble beneath him, utterly spent but clinging to him all the same.
“Fuck, cutie. Fuuuck. That’s it. Take.”
SLAM
“My.”
SLAM
“Come.”
SLAM
And then he holds your hips against, his, balls drawn up tight, twitching with each spurt and he spends his release inside you.
The anger fades into a hazy glow, replaced by the raw intimacy of it all, your breaths mingling as he finally slows, pressing his forehead to yours.
Their breaths slowly start to steady, foreheads touching, the room quiet except for the sound of you both trying to come back down.
Rafayel’s hand slides up your back, slower now, grounding instead of teasing.
“…Hey,” he murmurs.
You sniff, still a little shaky, still a little annoyed. “You pushed me too far.”
His mouth twitches. “You were teasing me for hours.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” His tone is light, but there’s something thoughtful behind it now. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “You were enjoying it.”
You hesitate, then huff softly. “…Maybe.”
A small, quiet laugh leaves him, warmer this time.
“See?” he says. “We’re both trouble.”
Your fingers curl against his shoulder, not pushing him away, but not entirely forgiving yet either. “You still made me cry.”
That makes him pause.
“…Yeah,” he admits after a moment. “I did.” His thumb traces along your arm, absentminded.
“I got carried away,” he says. “You kept looking at me like that and I just...”
You study him for a second. He doesn’t look smug now.
“And you,” he adds, glancing down at you again, “kept pushing even when you were already shaking.”
“I thought I could handle it.”
“Mm.” His eyes soften slightly. “Next time we check in sooner.”
The words sit between you for a moment.
“Next time?” you ask.
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “But maybe we figure out the rules first.”
You roll your eyes a little, though the tension in your chest is finally easing. “Like… actual rules.”
“Actual rules.” He nods once. “Safe word, limits, boundaries the whole boring responsible thing.”
“That doesn’t sound very you,” you huff.
“It doesn’t,” he agrees, amused. “But you crying kind of ruined my cool image.”
That earns a weak laugh out of you despite yourself. Rafayel leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“We’ll build the fun part on top of that,” he murmurs. “Safety first, yeah?”
You nod against him, still a little flushed, still recovering, but the frustration loosening into something a little more calm.
My first contribution to the LADS community! I know there's a love for Professor Rafayel, so I took inspo from a few friends on Discord. PSA: Go check out Ninaxenchanted on TikTok!
yousharknotpass
izzy806
turnnoffyourmind
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
dailybridgerton
dededos
romaincrisis
