↳ Pairings: Adult Film Star!George Russell x Adult Film Star!Lando Norris
↳ Duration: 35 minutes
↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, basically an 'adult video' in text format (these characters are acting for your entertainment), dom/sub dynamics, dom bottom x sub top, Lando's first time being a sub, canon big dick Lando, canon bossy George, brat taming, size kink if you squint, oral sex (forced deep throating), crying, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, slight humiliation, hair pulling, finger sucking, use of lube, protected anal sex, pulling off the condom.
INT. PENTHOUSE BEDROOM - AFTERNOON
The door to the bedroom closes behind them amidst their friendly chuckles. Lando glances back over his shoulder as George follows him farther inside.
“I just don’t get the appeal.”
George raises an eyebrow, “How can you say that if you’ve never tried?”
“Because I don’t need to.” Lando shrugs, dropping his bag onto the chair in the corner with an easy confidence, “I’ve done just fine doing things my way.”
It’s effortless, the way George leans his shoulder against the bedroom wall, arms folded over his chest as if he were analyzing him deeply beneath a quirked brow, “It’s your whole brand, isn’t it? Big Dick Lando convincing everyone you’re the one in charge.”
Lando’s response is simple, curt, “Because I am.”
“You’re too used to getting what you want, doing things your way.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me, mate,” he’s got a bit of an edge to his voice—not hostile but just firmly matter-of-fact—as he takes off his cap and ruffles a hand through his messy head of curls, “It’s worked for me so far.”
“You know,” George pushes himself off the wall and tucks his hands behind his back as he takes a sauntering step closer to him, all while speaking to the floor in this slow drawl, “there’s something almost cathartic about submitting to someone…giving up the control.”
Lando is watching him but his expression is flat, unwavering, “I’m fine the way I am.”
George stops in place with such suddenty that the sole of his tennis shoe shrieks across the marble floor. Then, an awfully pitiful, “That’s a shame.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, because it means you’ve never found someone convincing enough to make you listen. Never worked with someone who made you feel safe enough to open up to the opportunity.”
“You think that’s going to be you or something?” Lando asks, amused.
George shrugs, “We’ll see.”
Lando finally looks away and fiddles with the strap of his cap in his hands as he scoffs, “I’m not being anyone’s submissive, mate. And I certainly don’t bottom.”
George’s reply is easy, “You don’t have to bottom to be submissive.”
“I know that.” Lando snaps back, but his words feel breathy, shallow. His eyes are still downcast.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why?” Lando asks, finally meeting his gaze with a newfound sense of bravery, of confidence, an unbeatable smirk on his face that looks too big to be genuine given the circumstances, “Planning to tell me what to do?”
George’s expression barely changes, “You know I never turn down a challenge.”
There is a pause. It’s hardly noticeable but Lando shifts his weight, standing there in the middle of the bedroom, cap still held uselessly between his fingers. He’s faltered, just slightly, but he hasn’t shied away. He’s still staring at George, unwavering, across the two meters of distance between them.
George takes a slow step closer, and then another, his voice rolling like velvet, “I’ve broken in a fair number of stubborn, dominant men in my time. You certainly wouldn’t be the first.”
He’s standing in front of Lando now, a good few inches taller than him, almost towering, one might argue. His hands are still behind his back, his shoulders squared in a confident set, and he’s staring at him like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like he knows just how to get what he wants without as much as lifting a finger.
Lando breaks their intense eye contact first to look to the side with a nervous laugh, “Broken in? You?”
George’s head cocks slightly and he raises onto the balls of his feet ever so slightly, just for a fraction of a second, as if there is a buzz of energy building within him that can’t be held in any longer. He sounds completely calm and composed when he asks, “Do you not believe me?”
Lando scoffs and tosses his cap onto the chair as well, muttering casually, “No offence but you don’t really look like the dominant type, mate.”
“I’ve heard that a lot,” George chuckles, warm and low, as he takes one more step closer until they are almost entirely chest to chest.
There’s hardly a breath between them; George is looking down at him and Lando looking to the side behind a stubborn furrow of his brow. Lando is not shying away but he is not braving the intensity of his eye contact just yet either. Certainly doesn’t help the fact that George has a few inches on him, and, this close, it feels like a few feet.
And yet, George is far too comfortable. There is this suaveness about him that keeps his actions as smooth as silk, his hand drifting through the air of the bedroom to caress Lando’s cheekbones with the tips of his fingers. Up, slowly, tracing his sideburns and the edge of his hair, and then his fingers card through his unruly curls until he reaches the crown of his head.
“Don’t worry,” George purrs, just before his fingers suddenly grip a fistful of the roots of his hair and tugs his head back to look up at him, “I can change your mind.”
Lando has no choice but to look at him now, especially as George’s free hand raises to cradle his face between thumb and slender fingers. He’s trapped. When he swallows, his throat visibly bobs. Yet, he does not break the intensity of George’s eye contact. It is clear he’s holding onto the last few shreds of his stubborn control.
“Already not putting up much of a fight, are you?” George tells him, still staring intensely into his eyes, even as his fingers press into the hollow of Lando’s cheeks to force his jaw open just enough. And then he’s looking past Lando’s parted lips, almost talking into his mouth as he adds, “Bigger man stands in front of you, gets his hands on you, and suddenly you forget how to be a brat?”
For a moment, Lando makes no move to argue. Until suddenly, he turns his head to the side, forcing George’s hand off of his face, and tries to shove him away with a snarky, “Fuck off, mate.”
Except George still has his hand in Lando’s hair and he does not move, keeping his fingers locked in his curls so only a half step later, Lando’s head is pulled back by his grip. He winces and stumbles a little and George capitalizes on it, yanking him back towards him until Lando has his back pressed flush against George’s chest. His free hand goes around Lando’s neck, truly holding his head back against his shoulder, restraining him, but he strokes the pad of his thumb across his throat as if to soothe the intensity of it all.
George leans his head down just enough to whisper against Lando’s ear, “I can get you to be obedient for me.”
When he nips at his earlobe, Lando shudders.
Stubbornly, Lando says, “I don’t want to be obedient for you.”
“Your mind may think that,” George hums, his hand sliding down Lando’s clothed torso to the front of his sweatpants where a quite obvious bulge is starting to tent the fabric, “but your body is telling me something completely different.”
When his large hand palms at his clothed erection, Lando withers a little. They are both still fully dressed but it’s still clear to see the shape of Lando’s cock through his pants with the way George curls his fingers around it.
“Tell me you don’t want me to touch you,” George taunts.
Lando swallows thickly but does not speak. Does not move. When George’s hand gives his clothed cock a firm squeeze, Lando flinches ever so slightly but does not let that sway him.
George’s lips are ghosting over the shell of Lando’s ear as he whispers to him, “Tell me you don’t want me to get my hand on your bare skin…stroking your big cock…”
“I don’t…” Lando tries, but it sounds nothing short of pathetic and unconvincing. The way his hips nudge towards George’s hand speaks far more than words ever could.
“You don’t?” George coos.
When he removes his hand, Lando pulls in a shaky gasp that’s half married with a whimper, eyes scrunching shut at the loss of contact. But then George is slipping his hand down the front of his sweats instead, disappearing beneath the fabric and finding home right there. Lando makes a small grunt behind a clenched jaw, physically holding himself back from the reaction that is bubbling beneath the surface.
George nips at Lando’s earlobe again, gives it a little suckle, and his hand rubs him down the front of his pants, moving beneath the fabric, “But I want to see what you’re hiding down here…what all the fuss is about. Don’t you want to show off for me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
It’s Lando’s attempt at being snarky but it doesn’t land the way he so obviously intended. The slight twitch in his voice at the end gives him away completely.
Instead, George grins like a cheshire cat against his cheek, “I would. I would, very much.”
His large hand slides around from where it had been gripping Lando’s curls to, instead, grab him by the throat, fingers framing his jaw, and he pulls his head back against his shoulder. It’s all too easy for George to manipulate him and Lando’s stubborn demeanor is cracking fast. Especially when George quite literally shoves his tongue in his mouth.
Lando’s body twitches in his firm grasp, making some strangled sound into their sloppy kiss but he kisses back as if not wanting to give George the satisfaction of leading one more thing. It’s a battle of wits and tongues, it seems, ungraceful and disgustingly lewd. As much as Lando tries to stake his control, George has the advantage: he has his hand down Lando’s pants.
One squeeze and Lando is going half-lax in his arms, pulling away from his glistening mouth with a furrowed expression and a tight groan. George all but smiles against his cheek, his hand moving a little faster beneath the fabric of his sweats.
“Yeah?” George preens, “Does that feel good?”
Lando grunts, eyes scrunched shut as if he can’t bear to face it.
“Feels fucking massive in my hand,” George’s breath falls against the shell of his ear.
Lando’s head falls back against his shoulder like he’s turning into putty, his bottom lip wedged tightly between his teeth. George nips at his jawline.
“Let’s see, shall we?” George removes his hand from Lando’s trousers and swiftly hooks his thumbs in the waistband. Surprisingly, Lando does not use that moment to escape his hold. Instead, he stays in place, letting George stretch the fabric of his sweats out from his body to pull down over his hard cock, letting them pool around his feet.
Lando isn’t wearing any underwear. He is baring himself to the room completely, only more so when George grabs a fistful of the front of his t-shirt and pulls it up and out of the way to show him off properly.
He’s hard already; so entirely hard and stiffened straight out from his body. And George wasn’t wrong; he’s massive. Pushing nine inches with an impressive girth, heavy and full. He’s almost fully shaved to show off every fraction of himself in all his proud glory, right down to his balls that are almost hidden behind his cock.
“There he is,” George grins proudly, peering over Lando’s shoulder to stare down his body at him. His one hand is still holding up the hem of Lando’s shirt and his other helps itself to his cock. It fits neatly in his fist, just on a bigger end of proportionate, and George grips it tight.
Lando mewls.
“Such a big boy,” George coos against his ear as he slowly starts to stroke him, pulling the foreskin back just enough to reveal the glistening head of his cock before pushing it forward once more, “So heavy and— ooh, was that a little twitch?”
It’s hardly audible with how softly he says it but Lando’s mouth forms a breathy, “Fuck.”
George lets go of his cock and, instead, rubs his hands across Lando’s exposed abdomen with a lighthearted, “Look at me…here just doting all over you, I think it’s only fair you return the favour a little.”
He doesn’t give Lando a chance to answer before he grabs Lando by the back of his neck and shoves him down onto his knees on the hardwood floor. Lando lands with an ungraceful thud and a choked gasp, left in nothing but his t-shirt with his round ass on display as he kneels face to face with George’s crotch. Startled, stunned, he just stares.
George’s shirt is discarded and his jeans are unzipped and kicked aside in a flash and then Lando is at eye level with his cock. Hard, rosy, and politely trimmed around the base, George is not wasting a second before he’s grabbing a fistful of Lando’s curls and dragging him closer to guide his cock into his mouth. Startled, Lando groans around him but doesn’t otherwise protest, merely grabbing onto George’s thighs as he lets him stuff his mouth full.
“Ah—” George hisses, face crumpling slightly as he stares down at Lando on his knees in front of him. With one hand around the base of his dick and his other still gripping Lando’s hair, he takes control with expert confidence, “There we go.”
He doesn’t force Lando all the way down but he’s certainly not gentle with him either. Rather, he uses his hand in his hair to guide Lando’s mouth like he’s a fucking toy, tugging him in before pulling him back in determined strokes. His panted breaths match the pace, although they’re easily drowned out by the sound of Lando’s messy mouth and lewd gags.
“Shh, breathe through your nose,” George cooed and let his other hand join his first in the messy curls of Lando’s hair, gripping firmly at the crowd of his head with each stroke, “That’s it.”
The pace is almost enough to make Lando dizzy but he lets himself be manipulated as he’s needed, mouth agape like he’s just a hole. It’s only once his spit starts dripping from his bottom lip that he finally seals his mouth around George’s cock to give him a tighter space to invade. George grunts prettily and his fingers tighten in Lando’s hair at the action, still keeping up the way he’s yanking his head up and down the length of him. Lando’s fingers press into the flesh of George’s thighs.
After a second, Lando pulls off with a cough, thick strings of spit breaking between his lips and George’s cock, dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. His hands are still clutching George’s thighs, teary eyes blinking up at him even with his dick still hovering right in front of his face—nearly poking his cheek. But he doesn’t move away.
In fact, it almost looks as if he parts his lips and sticks out his tongue a little in silent anticipation for more.
George easily obliges, pulling Lando’s mouth back down around him with a white-knuckled grip and a lustful groan, “Look at you, already such a good little submissive for me.”
Lando makes some pathetic sound with his mouth stuffed with dick.
“Not so hard, is it?” George coos and starts to guide his head again, back and forth, back and forth, “Just gotta let someone take the reins a little…take all that pressure off you, hm?”
He’s taking it a little harder now, tugging Lando deeper until his nose is almost touching the trimmed hair around the base of George’s cock with every stroke, forcing noisy gags from his throat. George is just moaning, face tilting towards the ceiling with parted lips and flushed cheeks as he starts to thrust into his mouth simultaneously.
There’s a moment of silence between them apart from the lewd sounds of Lando’s mouth and throat constricting around him. The sounds speak for themselves.
After a few more strokes, George eases up, giving Lando a second to catch his breath without allowing him to sit back entirely. Lando coughs around his dick, messy and wet and dribbling, and blinks furiously.
“Fucking hell,” Lando slurs and then takes it upon himself to wrap his lips tight around George’s cock and slurps him up audibly. George sighs.
And then he’s manipulating Lando’s head so his temple is resting against his pelvis and his face is facing towards the camera, eyes boring into the lens, with his lips still wrapped taut around George’s cock. His eyes are shimmering in tears, slightly red along the lower lashes, and his chin is shimmering in spit and precum, and faint dusting of facial hair smattered in it. And there’s that bulge against his cheek from the inside out. The head of George’s dick still tucked warmly in his mouth. George gives a little thrust to draw attention to it. Lando blinks once, so slowly.
“Good boy,” George purrs, petting his messy curls back from his forehead before cradling his face in one palm, holding his head against his body.
Lando moans around him and his cheeks try to hollow, sucking and drooling around the head of his cock like he’s drunk on it. Until he’s tilting his head back, letting it slip from his mouth with a spitty pop and it bobs slightly in the cool air conditioning as Lando smothers his face into George’s pubic hair.
He blinks tearfully, pathetically, up at George and whines, “Lemme fuck you.”
“Should I let you?” George hums, stroking his hair.
Lando nods, “Please.”
Still on his knees, his large hands roam over George’s muscular thighs, up his hips, around to the firm shape of his ass, all without tearing his eyes away from his face. The way he’s knelt has George’s hard, saliva-smeared cock angled up the length of Lando’s jawline, stretching what looks like half his head.
George prods his fingers at Lando’s pouted lips and then slips two digits into his mouth, hooking them in his cheek to give him a tug, “C’mere then.”
Lando has no choice but to follow, dragged clumsily to his feet by George’s fingers in his mouth, stumbling over himself in the sudden hurry to the nearby bed. They clamour onto the pulled-tight sheets of the bed in a mess of limbs and bare skin. Lando is still left stupidly in his t-shirt but neither of them seem to care enough to remove it. Instead, George draws Lando’s face nearer to his before pulling his finger from his mouth, grabbing the back of his neck, and yanking his mouth onto his.
Lando mewls and accepts the invasion of George’s tongue. What had started as them side by side soon turns into Lando almost crawling himself over top of George who has no choice but to slump back onto his forearms against the mattress and allow it.
“Jesus,” George chuckles lowly between sloppy kisses, “Mm, you’re so fucking eager for it.”
The way they’re positioned—with Lando over top of him—causes their cocks to brush and, at the same time, they both suck in a gasp into their kisses. Lando’s hips flex to chase that momentary friction, rutting himself against George just once.
George looks down between their bodies to watch; the slide of Lando’s swollen cock against his, the way its girth almost hides George’s completely when it’s angled right. Lando starts to rub faster, thrusting against him like a man starved.
“Ah, ah, stop,” George warns, tightening a hand in the back of his curls.
Almost surprisingly, Lando obeys. His neglected cock twitches against George’s.
George holds him there, “Bet you’re such a bossy dom, aren’t you? Just take, take, take, whenever you please.”
Lando huffs, half-pleading, “Mate.”
“I’ll let you fuck me,” George assures him casually, “but we’re doing it my way.”
“Yeah, okay…fuckin’...whatever,” Lando groans impatiently.
George shoves him back so he can turn over to grab the lube and condom from the bedside table. No sooner did he turn, however, did Lando crawl over him once more. Shamelessly, Lando set his hands on either side of George and then rolled his hips against George’s plump round ass, sliding his cock between his cheeks.
“What are you doing?” George warns, glancing over his shoulder.
“Jus’ wanna put it in,” Lando whines.
“Don’t,” says George simply, “I don’t think you deserve that yet, do you?”
Lando groans but obeys and yet the rocking of his hips doesn't stop. Instead, he keeps going, humping George’s bare ass a little faster as he pants for breath. His fingers curl into the duvet on either side of George’s body, grounding himself, pulling himself along.
“God, you’re fucking pathetic, mate,” George genuinely chuckles.
Yet he still lifts his hips up off the mattress a little, giving Lando a bit more of an arch of his back, something proper to grind against. Lando makes some stupid sound high in his throat and presses a large hand to the small of George’s back to hold him in place as his hips rut faster, sloppier. His huge cock is hardly fitting between George’s cheeks and it clearly won’t unless it’s pushed between them properly. Instead, it’s just gliding along the seam between them, dripping precum here and there against milky skin.
“D’you think it’ll even fit?” George taunts over his shoulder.
“Can make it fit,” Lando mumbles.
“Yeah? You’d just shove it all in in one go if it was up to you, wouldn’t you?” George pushes himself back against Lando’s sloppy thrusts the best he can, “Make me take it just so you can get yourself off?”
The way Lando’s cock twitches is answer enough.
George tosses the foil condom square towards him, an invitation. Lando doesn’t waste a second before sitting back on his haunches so he can snatch it off the sheets and rip it open. In the meantime, George adjusts himself to lay flat on his stomach once more and his hands reach back to pull at his ass cheeks, spreading himself at the ready.
His hole is already glistening and prepped, nearly winking with anticipation. Lando groans and falls forward over him again, catching himself on one hand against the mattress while the other carefully lines up the protected head of his cock against George’s ass.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Lando breathes in near awe, prodding at his rim testingly. He’s so thick compared to the tight ring of muscle that it looks nearly impossible of a fit.
“Go on then. Don’t be scared. Slow.” George instructs.
“Not scared,” Lando grumbles but obeys.
He starts to push inside of him painfully slowly, pressing himself past the tight rim as it swallows him up with a squelch of lube. George’s hands pull firmer at his cheeks, knuckles turning white as he stretches himself open behind the invasion of Lando’s thick girth.
“Jesus…” George hangs his head, forehead pressed to the mattress, as Lando sinks in deeper, “Slow. Slow, slow, slow.”
“I’m going fuckin’ slow, mate,” Lando snaps, “Can’t go much slower.”
George’s face is screwed up, eyebrows pulled tight in the middle and his lips parted in a slight frown, half concealed by the duvet his face is nearly pressed into. He doesn’t speak as Lando keeps easing into him in testing, gentle thrusts, just letting himself take it. He works himself inside of George like he’s done this plenty of times before.
Lando bottoms out with a small grunt and one final flex of his hips and a strained, “There yah go.”
“Fuckin’ massive, that,” George groans. His hands finally release his cheeks to, instead, tangle themselves in the sheets as he props himself up on his forearms a little.
“Biggest you’ve had?” Lando teases cockily.
George scoffs, “Don’t flatter yourself, mate.”
“So that’s a yes?”
Ignoring Lando’s stupid smirk, George lifts his hips a little, arching for him properly, and says, “Let’s see if you know how to use it.”
It’s a straight shot up from the foot of the bed, capturing them from behind with the sight of Lando’s thick cock buried deep in George’s ass while George’s hangs uselessly between his legs. Almost right away, Lando starts to move, pulling back just before shoving back into him, trying to set a proper pace. George moans lowly from his forearms, head hung.
Lando is bent over him entirely, hands flat on the bed on either side of him, fucking down into him in long thrusts that give him every fucking inch. They’re glistening where they’re connected, skin shimmering and trimmed hair matted in lube and spit…right down to the base of Lando’s cock that is hugged snugly by the condom.
It starts off strong but before long Lando’s precision turns sloppy as he speeds up, fucking into him in almost reckless abandon. George huffs and looks back at him over his shoulder, “I know you can do better than that. Fuck me proper. Don’t you wanna please me?”
Lando grunts and slows down a little, shifting to, instead, press a hand down against the small of George’s back to angle him better before pushing into him in strong, curling thrusts. Putting in the effort.
George withers and moans, “Fuck, that’s it. Atta boy. Don’t rush, go nice and deep.”
Some pitchy almost-whimper slips from Lando’s lips as he works him slowly, hands molding to the unfair curve of George’s waist to drag him back into his every thrust. His head drops back with parted lips, panting. It’s like he can’t control himself, like his hips have a mind of their own, starting to pick up the pace again.
“Come on, use that cock properly,” George warns, but his words seem to fall on deaf ears. Lando has one and only goal in mind and speed is seemingly the only way to get there. George reaches back to try and grab his thigh with a firm, “Don’t get sloppy with it. Come on now.”
Lando recklessly swats his hand away.
And then George is moving.
He pushes himself up off his forearms to kneel straight up with a huff and a roll of his eyes, hardly giving Lando another look as he nudges him away, forcing him to slip out of his ass as he says, “You’re such a pathetic thing. All that cock and you can’t even use it properly.”
Lando, startled, doesn’t reply. Wide-eyed, he goes pliantly as George tugs him by the bicep and shoves him down on his back across the bed with a rough shove.
“Seems I’ll just have to…” George tosses a leg over Lando’s body and doesn’t waste a second as he grabs hold of his cock and sinks himself down onto it, “do it myself.”
Lando’s hands fly to grab onto George’s hips, legs jerking outwards and head tossing back with a gasping groan. It looks almost ridiculous—the view from the side—with all gangly limbs of George’s somehow manipulated to keep himself perched on top of Lando’s smaller frame. His feet are planted flat on either side of Lando, legs bent like a disproportionate frog as he starts to bounce himself on top of him, taking every inch of his cock in rhythmic succession.
“Yeah…” George exhales dreamily and plants his hands firmly on Lando’s chest, “that’s more like it.”
Lando is just gaping up at him behind an expression that’s painted in lustful disbelief, just laying there and letting George take it. George’s cock is bobbing in the air with every purposeful bounce, hanging untouched between his legs and his balls pressing against Lando’s abdomen every time he bottoms out. The sound is incredibly lewd; a symphony of wet skin slapping and panted breaths and groans, lube and sweat smeared between them and hands grabbing at limbs.
Lando’s head lifts from the mattress to look down his body and watch how George is riding him, watching every inch of his thick cock disappear into him in steady time. It’s not fast or sloppy but it’s purposeful and firm, George dropping himself down onto him hard every since time, taking it all. Lando groans, syllables dragged out, “Fuckin’ hell.”
“Does it feel good, huh? Bet it does.” George pants. He’s watching Lando as if staring down at him from a throne, a look of fiery pride in his eyes, “See how well you can fuck me when you do it right?”
Lando hips flex upwards just the slightest bit as if he can’t hold himself back.
George choked over a gasp, “Christ. Does my good boy need me to go faster?”
“Yeah…” Lando pants, sliding his hands down to grab George’s thighs, “Please.”
“Good fuckin’ manners. Asking so nicely.”
But George doesn’t change his pace. Not in the slightest. All he does is reach behind himself and spread his cheeks again, allowing each bounce of his body to reach deeper. His head tilts backwards towards the ceiling, long lashes fluttering and bottom lip between his teeth, skin rough down his cheeks and throat and chest.
In only a few more seconds, Lando’s hips try to flex upwards again, pushing against George’s rhythm clumsily with a whine, and George presses a hand down against Lando’s abdomen to hold him flat on the bed.
Lando is squirming and whining and trying to anchor his feet on the mattress in some pathetic attempt to fuck up into him himself. But George overpowers him all too easily, holds him firmly in place to take exactly what he wants from him. With one hand holding his hips down, his other reaches up to cradle his face, pushing two fingers into Lando’s mouth to try and smother his plethora of moans and groans.
George just keeps his pace; that tortuous consistent pace that isn’t quite enough for Lando. He pushes his fingers deeper into Lando’s mouth until they’re almost down to the knuckle.
Through the fingers in his mouth, Lando tries to speak around them, words rushed out clumsily, slurring together, “Please, lemme do it. Lemme fuck you. Please, Georgie. Fucking…please.”
George pushes his fingers deeper, still bouncing on his cock, and tuts, “I can barely make out what you’re saying. You can do better than that. I know you’re all dumbed down, but try to be a little coherent.”
Lando huffs and whines around his fingers and he reaches down to wrap a hand around George’s cock.
“Oh—” George chuckles breathily, movements stuttering for a second until he slows to a stop, seated fully on Lando’s dick, “Helping yourself?”
“Yeah…just…please…” Lando groans as he starts to stroke his cock hurriedly, sloppy.
For a second, George doesn’t respond. His eyelids flutter and it almost looks like his eyes are rolling as his mouth falls agape, holding himself in place on top of him. He takes in a deep breath to steady himself.
“Just wanna pleasure me, hm?” George purrs, his voice a little shaky with the quick flicks of Lando’s wrist, his fist pumping him firmly, “Good boy. I guess I’ll be nice and let you…fucking hell…fuck me.”
In a sudden fit of momentary composure, George pulls his fingers out of Lando’s mouth and they tangle themselves in his curls again and then, with a firm tug, he drags him after him as he rolls them over. Now on top of him, Lando’s eyes are wide with near-excitement, his cock still tucked inside him, big enough that he didn’t even slip out as they switched positions. Instead, he helps George hoist his legs up to rest on his shoulders before he’s grabbing the discarded bottle of lube from across the bed and squirts some extra right where they’re connected.
It’s quick and efficient and in only seconds, Lando is leaning over him and starting to fuck him properly again as the squelch of the added lube fills the air between them. George moans prettily, head dropping back, eyes screwed shut and throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. For a second, he just takes it, letting Lando pick the pace, letting himself savour the feeling of being stretched open fully. His hand is still locked in the back of Lando’s hair, holding him in place, and his other hand slides up Lando’s bicep to join it.
With a two-handed grip on his curls at the nape of his neck, George flutters open his eyes to peer up at the man above him, dilated blue eyes framed by long lashes, just begging to be fucked properly. Lando makes a small growling sound at the sight of him and hangs his head as if not wanting the look of him to ruin the pace he’s got going.
“Fuck, that’s it…” George pants, “Look at me.”
Lando forces himself to meet his eyes again.
George gives him a small nod, “There we go. Look at me when you fuck me with your big cock. Watch me take it.”
“So good…” Lando whines. He looks spacey, eyes glassy, his large hands fisting the sheets on either side of George’s head as he ruts into him hungrily.
“Yeah?” George gives him a little condescending nod as he stares up at him, watching him struggle to hold himself together, “Does it feel good? You like fucking my ass?”
Lando shudders and his hips stutter at the vulgarity of his words. When he tries to look away, George’s hands tighten in his hair and force his attention back.
With George’s legs over his shoulders, Lando has the perfect angle to fuck down into him, balls slapping against his ass with every firm stroke. George’s asshole is just sucking him in, stretched out wide around his impressive girth and yet still clutching it tightly like it doesn’t want to let go. Above him, Lando’s a moaning fucking mess.
George speaks up at him through his teeth, fingers tight in his hair as he takes it, “I know, baby. It’s so hard to listen, isn’t it? Poor thing, you can’t even hold yourself together.”
One of Lando’s hands moves to grab George’s thigh, fingers pressing indentations into the muscle as his face screws up, his quivering voice choking out, “So…fuckin’ close.”
“Come on, make me come,” George grabs Lando’s wrist and drags his hand down to his abandoned cock, forcing his fingers around himself, “Make me come and then maybe I’ll let you.”
Lando moves as if on autopilot, still fucking into George in sloppy, desperate thrusts, and now furiously pumping his cock in a desperate fist. It’s ungraceful and almost pathetic, really, how obvious Lando is wanting to please; panting and grunting and whining behind the creak of the bed and the lewd slap of skin.
George’s fingers are back in his hair, dragging Lando’s head down towards him until they’re forehead to forehead, “Yeah…come on…come on…”
“Come for me,” Lando almost begs.
George’s face screws up suddenly in complete silence, mouth dropping open in an expression that almost looks pained. Then, with one more barely-there nod and an inaudible ‘yes’, he’s coming right up his abs. His head tosses back against the pillow with a pitchy groan, the tendons in his neck straining visibly as his orgasm washes over him in strong waves. Lando’s hand is still feverishly beating him off between their bodies, even as George shoots thick streaks of creamy white up his abs and almost reaching his pecs, even as it fades into thick dribbles that leak all over Lando’s fingers still wrapped snugly around him.
“Fucking christ, George,” Lando’s voice breaks.
“Pull out,” George demands simply, urgently, pressing a firm hand against his abs to force him, “Out.”
Lando’s mouth opens as if to protest but he obeys, pulling out with a displeased grunt. But then, right away, George reaches out and pinches the top of the condom to give it a tug, dragging it tautly, impatiently, off of Lando’s cock until the latex snaps clean away. It’s tossed aside in exchange for George’s hand around him instead and Lando falls forward onto his hands once more with a strangled gasp.
George’s fingers can barely fit entirely around the girth of Lando’s achingly hard cock but he still pumps it feverishly in his fist, even as it throbs and twitches, red and swollen, in his grasp. It doesn’t take long for Lando to come, hips stuttering as he thrusts into George’s strokes a few times, groaning and whimpering shakily, just as the first shot of cum spurts out of him. He just adds to the mess that is already streaked up George’s abs, coming all over him and leaking down his hand.
“Good boy,” George groans through his teeth as he keeps pumping him, fingers slicked up in cum and lingering lube, “Good fucking boy. Give me everything.”
Lando lets out a blubbering cry of overstimulated pleasure, his face screwed up in almost a wince as George keeps stroking him, even when he has nothing left to give. His eyebrows are knitted together and his lips are swollen, parted and glistening, rushing out a panted, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
When he slows his hand to a stop, George presses the pad of his thumb against the sensitive slit in the head of Lando’s cock and the pressure makes Lando twitch and hiss. George just smirks. He finally lets him go and, instead, plants his feet against his chest to shove him backwards, making him catch himself on his hands against the rumpled sheets. For a second, they just stare at each other from opposite ends of the bed—panting, flushed—skin slick in sweat and cum and lube.
Then, Lando’s crumpled expression melts into a disbelieving grin and his head drops back towards the ceiling with a breathy laugh, “Fuck, mate.”
George just licks away his smirk and wipes his sticky hand across his chest.
FADE OUT.
—BLACK SCREEN W/ TEXT—
“Starring MrSaturday, L4NDO
Written & Produced by @chilling-seavey
Requested by Anonymous
This production was created for mature audiences.
All participants were over the age of 18 and consented to their involvement in the production. Boundaries, consent, and ethical considerations were communicated and respected throughout filming.”
—FADE TO BLACK—
THE END
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↳ A/N This might be one of my favourite pieces I've done to date—
↳ Pairings: Adult Film Star!George Russell x Adult Film Star!Unnamed Female Character
↳ Duration: 22 minutes
↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, basically an 'adult video' in text format, 'amateur' self-tape vibes, exhibitionism, outdoor sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, praise, dirty talk, spanking, breeding kink undertones, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, hints towards hyperspermia.
EXT. YACHT SUNDECK - DAY
The coastline of Monaco and the French Riviera looks like something straight out of a postcard; colourful buildings dotted along grassy hillsides beneath clear blue skies. From a substantial distance from the harbour, the city of Monte Carlo looks like nothing more than a colourful smudge behind bobbing dots of white yachts taking up the glistening waters of the Mediterranean. It’s quiet and serene.
Panning to the right from the bow sundeck, George is revealed beneath the canopy of the yacht, standing behind the wheel, shirtless, in only red swim trunks. He looks effortless there as he slowly guides the yacht across the crystal waters, sunglasses perched on his nose and the sea breeze rifling through his hair. The camera zooms in until his head is taking up the frame and it is then that he glances over at it and offers a smile.
A small giggle comes from behind the camera and it zooms out again to capture the picturesque backdrop as the feminine voice says sweetly, “Pretty gorgeous view.”
George slows the yacht to a stop and ensures the anchor is dropped before he steps out onto the sundeck. He towers over the camera from where she is sitting with it and it pans up his body from bare feet to amused face.
“Having fun?” he asks with a smirk.
“Yes,” she replies.
His hand reaches for the camera and it is shakily exchanged before turning down onto the woman instead. She is sitting on the padded sundeck on the bow of the yacht, lounged in a blue bikini that doesn’t leave much to the imagination, tied with only thin strings. In the direct rays of the sun, she shields her eyes to look up at him despite her sunglasses, seemingly content under the stare of both him and the camera.
“Look at you,” he compliments cheekily, zooming in on her body in the tiny bikini.
She shifts a little in place, stretching her legs out as she rests back on her hands to show off her body, glancing down at herself, “You like it?”
“Yeah, you look gorgeous.”
He crouches to join her down on the sunbed and reaches out to drag a hand down the front of her, ghosting over the thin tie of her bikini top and down her abdomen. She doesn’t move, just bites her smiling lip as both he and the camera take her in. Then, he reaches to cup a hand over one of her breasts, giving it a squeeze through the fabric of her top.
Just then, he adjusts the camera to get them both in shot as he leans in and slides a hand around the back of her neck and tugs her lips onto his. Their kisses are noisy and lewd, already shoving their tongues together as if this wasn’t the first time. When he pulls away after a few seconds, she looks a little dizzy. Or maybe that is just the swaying of the yacht.
“Mm,” his fingers trail down her jawline before tracing her collarbones and then, finally, toy with the string of her bikini top.
She seems to push out her chest towards him. An invitation.
George gives the string between her breasts a little tug and the bow unties with ease, allowing her top to fall away, revealing her chest to him and to the camera. Her skin is shimmering in the sun and his hand is all over her, groping one breast and then the other, pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger.
Then they’re kissing again. Sloppy, tongue-led kisses that take up most of the camera shot, albeit slightly off-centre. His hand is still groping her chest until it moves up effortlessly to wrap around her neck. He’s not squeezing per se, just holding her, but it's enough to have her melting into his touch. When he pulls away, her teeth nip at his bottom lip.
Her eyes stay on his face even as his attention focuses downwards to her tiny bikini bottoms. The camera follows his stare, capturing his greedy fingers tracing the thin strings along the sides before his hand slides down between her legs. She lets out a small sound as his hand rubs her over her bottoms, right over her pussy.
When he moves to tug at the string of her bottom with anticipation to untie them, she stops him with a grab of his wrist.
“Your turn,” she sing-songs as she takes the camera back from him and turns it upon him.
He is sitting there on the padded sundeck of his yacht, bathed in sunlight, miles of bare golden skin on display, standing out against the striking red of his swim trunks. The way he is sitting—with his legs comfortably apart, one knee raised and the other folded beneath him, looking perfectly at ease—his trunks are pulled night between his legs, showing off the sizable bulge hidden beneath the fabric.
And then it’s her turn to reach for a feel, sliding her hand over his pecs and down his abs and he lets her. She takes her time but she makes it downwards until her hand is rubbing over the front of his swimtrunks, cupping the shape of him in her hand.
No words have to be spoken before he is shifting himself to hook his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and she steadies the camera as he shuffles out of them. He strips so effortlessly, trunks discarded across the sundeck without care, his handsome face smiling warmly at the camera and the woman behind it. He is fully naked now and his legs part to show off his body, right down to his half-hard cock and nice round balls between firm thighs.
It’s almost instinctual, the way he reaches down to take hold of his cock, giving it a few strokes for the sake of the camera. She focuses in on it, keeping it perfectly in frame.
From behind the camera, she offers a small, “Wow…”
“Yeah?” George chuckles, “Think you wanna come put it in your mouth?”
“Yes.”
The camera is passed back into his hand as he lays himself back against the sunbed and he turns it onto her. Staring down his body now, his other hand is still wrapped around his cock, holding it up from his pelvis with a little wiggle in the afternoon sunshine. She is between his spread legs and she crawls closer with a giddy smile, placing her hands on his thighs to steady herself against the swaying of the yacht.
He only lets go once she wraps a hand around his cock herself, holding him in place so she can lean down to drag her tongue up the side. With his hands out of the way, she has full reign and she seems perfectly content with that. Her tongue swirls around the head still tucked in its wrap of foreskin but after only a few seconds, she’s rolling it back to see all of him. The tip is pretty pink and glistening and she slicks it up more with a dribble of spit before stroking it in with twisting tugs of her hand.
George groans from behind the camera, keeping it angled down his body to capture every second of her as she finally lowers her head down to take him in her mouth properly. It’s quiet except for the lapping of the waves against the hull of the yacht and George’s soft breaths as she sucks on him slowly. She is on her knees and forearms, ass up, her bikini tucked between her cheeks and in full view of the camera. Behind her, the coastline stretches on.
She moans softly around him as she starts to bob her head slowly, working her way down with her hand still firm around the base. Her cheeks hollow around him on every up stroke, lips tight around his shaft. Her sunglasses conceal her eyes but it's clear she’s looking up at him as she takes him deeper.
“Yeah…good girl…” George exhales, reaching down to stroke a hand through her hair to tuck some behind her ear and out of the way.
She moans around him as she pushes herself deeper, her mouth squelching around his cock in steady rhythm in time with her hand. It helps the way his hand is in her hair, keeping the camera housing a nice view of the way she is going down on him.
Only a few moments later, she sits back on her haunches between his legs and her hands slide down his thighs. Abandoned, his cock falls heavy against his pelvis, fully hard now and desperate. His hand wraps around it himself instead, stroking lazily as he watches her body move in the sunlight.
Once she gets settled back on the sunbed, it’s clear what she’s expecting.
The camera is passed into her hands and she turns it back on him as he moves onto his knees. He’s smiling as if he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, as naked as the day he was born in the afternoon sun, toned body shimmering like he is something ethereal. He wastes no time in untying the strings of her bikini bottoms and pulling the thin fabric away, revealing her entirely to his hungry eyes.
“Let me see that pussy,” he mutters as if it were something said to himself as he pushes her legs apart for a proper look. Then, “There she is.”
He drops her bikini to the side without tearing his eyes away from her body. It’s instinctual, how he moves to lay flat out on the padded sundeck, looping his arms around her thighs to hold her in place, and he dusts a slow kiss to her inner thigh.
The camera has a perfect view of him like that, framed by her thighs as he latches his mouth onto her cunt. All perfect sea-ruffled brown waves of his hair and the faintest few freckles dotted across his nose, he is artwork to the camera. And to the woman behind it who moans softly at the vision.
When she flinches a little, her thighs bump his sunglasses askew. But he doesn’t let that deter him.
Instead, his hands grip tighter to her thighs and he doubles down his efforts. It’s hard to see exactly what his mouth is doing from that angle with the camera pointed down her body, but the flex of his jaw and cheeks give him away. And when he pulls back just a little, one can see the way his tongue flicks at her clit.
She moans prettily to the blue sky and reaches her arm out with the camera to capture a full shot of the both of them. Her, stretched out on her back in the sun with him between her legs and lapping at her pussy with an eager mouth. At the change in angle, he pauses just long enough to shoot a smile to the camera that makes her giggle.
He smiles right back—wholeheartedly enjoying himself—before slipping two fingers in his mouth. When they are wet enough, he, instead, sinks them inside her cunt. The camera catches the way her expression withers, and only more so as his mouth returns to suck on her clit.
His bicep is bulging with how he’s thrusting his fingers inside of her, two digits curled up just right to earn pretty whimpers and moans from her. She still has a firm hold on the camera, capturing both of them with the scenery of the coastline in the distant background.
“Fuck…” he huffs as he breaks his mouth away from her for just a moment, resting his cheek on her warm thigh as he watches his fingers thrusting into her, “so fucking wet for me…this perfect pussy taking my fingers so good…”
She moans a breathy, “Oh my God” to the blue sky and her free hand reaches down to tangle in his hair.
His mouth is on her again while his fingers keep their pace, lewd sloppy wet sounds of his tongue heard over the rapping of the waves against the hull of the yacht. He’s slurping at her like she’s fucking dessert and her body is writhing with pleasure, hardly able to keep the camera steady.
After a few more seconds, he pulls back and spits loudly on her cunt before rubbing it in with the pad of his thumb. While his hand keeps going—a balanced dance of fingers inside of her and thumb rubbing at her clit—he shifts to reposition himself on his knees between her spread legs.
“Need to get inside you,” he mumbles, almost as if he’s talking directly to her pussy as he’s knuckles deep, “Fucking need it.”
He takes the camera from her hand and then suddenly she’s in frame from his perspective, draped out across the bow of the yacht in nothing but her sunglasses, skin glistening in the sun. Her legs are spread to accommodate where he is kneeling between them, his right hand still nestled there with two fingers entirely inside her. The camera focuses there and he moves it a little closer, capturing his slow retreat of his fingers and the thick strings of arousal that cling to them when he pulls them out.
“Look at that…” he purrs, smearing it over her swollen clit just to catch the hitch in her breath.
“You’re unreal,” she says simply, arms draped lazily above her head.
He doesn’t answer as he shuffles closer on his knees, the camera angled downwards to capture how he lines up the head of his cock with her winking pussy. He’s far too focused, sliding it between her slick folds and nudging tauntingly against her clit.
“Please,” she exhales.
“Tell me you want it,” he whispers needily, pressing just against her cunt, teasing her with what he could give.
She doesn’t miss a beat as she replies, “I want your cock inside me.”
It’s all he needs to push forward, slowly but surely, letting the camera take in the way her lips part to accommodate him, the way she stretches around his girth. She makes a sound out of frame that is swallowed by the waves and the summer breeze. George’s low groan is picked up, however.
He gives her slow, shallow thrusts to work her in, stretching her open on his cock politely. Her hand reaches into frame to spread herself open between two fingers, encouraging him deeper and putting on a proper show for the camera. George’s thumb gently caresses her clit, now easily visible with how she’s spreading herself.
“Mm, good girl,” he praises lowly, “Let me in…just like that.”
“Fucking…feels so good…” she exhales.
When he is fully inside of her, she presses her toes into the upholstered sundeck to lift her hips up just enough to meet his angle. This way, she can ensure he is entirely inside of her, every inch buried deep, the camera privy to the way the trimmed hair of his pelvis presses against her fully. It is easy to even see the way her pussy flutters and throbs around him.
“Jesus Christ,” George mutters as he keeps the camera steady.
His free hand flattens over her abdomen as he starts to thrust into her properly and her arms return to their place above her head, gripping onto the edge of the upholstery. With her hips angled upwards like that, she is at the perfect spot for him to give her everything, shoving into her entirely before pulling out almost all the way; long, deep strokes. Every time he pulls out, his cock is glistening in the sunlight.
She whimpers from out of frame, hips moving a little against his thrusts to help build the sensations, “Yes.”
He doesn’t utter a word but lets his strokes speak for him, right down to the addition of his thumb slipping over her clit with his hand still splayed across her abdomen. Her legs quiver a little as she adjusts herself with a moan.
He pans the camera upwards just enough to catch the view of her body, her face, the way her arms are draped above her head and her hair is fanned out around her. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth as she stares back at him from behind her sunglasses. It’s a lot to keep herself up on her toes like that and so he doesn’t make her stay there for long.
The camera is passed into her hands and turned upon him instead, capturing the last few moments of them just like this. Then, he moves his hand to her side and rotates her hips ninety-degrees, forcing one leg over the other. He is still inside of her even when he moves to straddle her one straight leg, giving himself full control over her.
Her small moan is heard from behind the camera, along with the sounds of the upholstery squeaking beneath their adjustments. George doesn’t falter, steadying her with both large hands on the accentuated curve of her ass as he starts to thrust into her again. His expression almost looks so serious in that moment; furrowed brows in concentration, lips slightly parted.
He reaches a hand down to squeeze one of her breasts, keeping a firm grip as he keeps shoving into her. She holds the camera as steady as she can, even as her body bounces slightly against the intensity of his every thrust.
“Christ, you take it so good,” George pants.
“Want it,” she pleads breathily, her free hand reaching down to grab his thigh in some futile attempt to hold him deeper.
He’s not stopping, fucking greedily into her pliant body with his hands all over her, watching himself glide effortlessly in and out of her. He licks his lips before speaking, “Perfect, tight cunt just sucking me in. Just wants to be filled, hm?”
“Yeah…” she whimpers. Her hand lifts from his thigh to press against his tensing abs, “Please. Gimme it.”
“Uh huh?” George reaches for the camera with one hand while his other hoists her leg up to spread her open more. She shrieks at the adjusted angle and he doesn’t stop, even as he works to make sure the camera is capturing her body and where they are connected.
“You’re so deep,” she pants through a forming smile. She turns her head to the side with a giggle, “Fuck, I’m seriously tearing up.”
George laughs lightly along with her and—after a few more seconds of savouring the moment—pulls out as if to give her a breather. His hand rubs over her ass and hip and thighs and before she can even adjust her position, he’s leaning down to get his mouth on her. For a moment it’s as if he forgets about the camera as the screen goes dark where it bumps against her opposite leg and all that can be heard is his mouth on her, kissing and licking and suckling.
Her voice is distance, “Mm, fucking hell, George—”
The camera is jostled a bit before being shown the sun once more, taken by her hand to show exactly what he is doing. He has one large hand on the bottom of her thigh, holding it up and out of the way, while his head is half hidden by the curve of her ass still angled to the side while he goes down on her.
One particular touch has her hissing, “Shit—”
He moans loudly against her, shaking his head a little as if to get deeper into her, smothering himself between her legs and her cheeks. She tries to hold the camera up to get a better view of him but she’s far too beside herself to manage. Instead, she stretches her arm across the sundeck, camera in hand and facing towards them, capturing a perfect frame of her bare ass and his face between her legs.
The way she’s angled earns a sight of George’s tongue flicking at her clit and lapping at her pussy. He’s still holding her leg up with his body half draped over her outstretched leg as if to hold her down. His lips take as much of her in as he can, suckling greedily, before he breaks away to let his tongue take over in feverish flicks.
“Oh fuck oh fuck—“ she squeals. Her free hand reaches down to grab a fistfull of his hair to hold him there. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come—“
George groans against her but doesn’t change his pace. Not even as her legs start trembling.
The sound of her orgasm echoes over the water (or so it seems), as she cries out to the sky and arches uselessly against the deck of the yacht. George moans loudly against her right through it, tongue still going while his hands hold her on his mouth.
When he finally pulls away, he smacks her ass, wordlessly encouraging her to roll over onto her stomach. She heaves a breath but obliges, before propping her elbows on the upholstered sundeck with the camera facing the both of them as he enters her again from his knees.
They are both half in frame, the shot capturing the arch of her back and the curve of her ass and up to George’s chest, only the best part of the scene right in the centre. No sooner do they get situated does he start moving again, two large hands on her hips pulling her into his firm thrusts.
She gasps and groans beneath the camera and pushes back onto his every thrust until the sound of their skin colliding overpowers the lapping of the waves on the hull of the yacht. She’s so wet that it’s incredibly lewd; the plap plap plap of her ass against his thighs, his balls against her clit. George moans handsomely behind her and his hands knead the flesh of her ass before giving her another spank.
“Yes…” she pants, “just like that.”
George’s voice is shallow but interlaced with a smile when he replies, “Yeah? You’re taking it so fucking well. Taking my cock so good.”
She’s a moaning mess beneath the camera, arching deeper and pushing back on him. He spanks her across the ass again.
“Making me wanna fill you up,” he taunts between thrusts, bending over her just a little more. He grips her tighter and fucks her harder.
“Ohhhh my God,” she moans helplessly.
He whines softly at her reaction and then, suddenly, huffs and halts his thrusts as he says hurriedly, “Fuck, I don’t even care anymore…wanna breed you.”
“Please…oh, please,” she swoons.
He all but snatches the camera from her hand, making sure to get a nice view of her round ass and the way her pussy is squeezed around his cock, lips hugging the shaft. When he pulls out of her, it audibly pops free, bobbing in the afternoon sun and soaked in her liquids.
As he shifts from his knees to sit down, she waits patiently, giving him a little wiggle of her bare ass, showing off her soaked cunt. George spanks her once before groping her ass in his one free hand. Still on her hands and knees, she shuffles back a little and tucks her feet under his thighs to steady herself, to secure them together.
When she pushes back, she sits right on top of his cock, sandwiching it between her cheeks and his pelvis. George groans and uses his free hand to grab hold of it and help to angle it against her leaking entrance, slipping it between her lips.
“Think you wanna let me come in your pussy?” he taunts.
“Yes,” she purrs, arching her back just right.
“Yes? You do?” he smears the head of his cock through her lips, “Want me to breed you?”
“Yeah…wanna just…” she fades out as she lowers herself down onto him instead, sheathing herself on his cock. Her moan is gorgeous.
George’s hand slips out from between them to rub up her spine soothingly, “Fuck, good girl. Take it all.”
She leans forwards and places her hands flat between his outstretched legs, steadying herself on the deck as she starts to lift up slowly. She doesn’t lift off of him all the way, ensuring that the head of his cock is still tucked inside her, but it is enough to make a point of just how much of him had fit inside of her. When she pushes back down until her ass is flush on his pelvis again, he groans from behind the camera.
She leans forwards again and with a greedy hand, he tugs at the flesh of her ass to spread her open enough for the camera to get a proper look at her. The way her pussy is gripping around his cock is insane, stretched and swollen and filled entirely by him. The sight alone has him groaning and he dusts the pad of his thumb over where they are connected.
The shape of her ass takes up most of the frame, backed beautifully by the crystal waters of the Mediterranean as she starts to set her pace. With every rise and fall upon him, their skin colliding makes the lewdest sound, soaked so much so that they’re almost connected by strings of her arousal. She squares her shoulders to bounce on him properly, her ass jiggling with every stroke and the vision is caught perfectly by the camera.
“Fucking hell,” George breathes, his hand sliding to grip the dip of her waist as she takes over.
She rests her hands on his thighs to steady herself as she rides him that way, back arched just enough and hair tumbling prettily over her shoulders. With every bounce, she makes a small “uh” sound as if the noises are fucked right out of her unintentionally, barely heard over the clap of their skin.
George pulls his arm back so the camera can capture a wider angle, framing both of them in the shot. They’re soaked in sunlight and glistening in sweat on the bow of his yacht; him, laying back with his free hand tucked behind his head and her, riding him to her heart's content. He has this small, smug smile briefly come to his face as he holds the camera out like that, still shielded by his sunglasses and nothing else.
No sooner does his momentary smile arise does it melt away again, taken place, instead, by an expression of pleasure as she doubles down her efforts. He moans handsomely and brings in the camera again if he were risking dropping it. Besides, the up-close view of her taking every inch of his cock is far more impressive.
“Don’t stop,” he pants, returning his hand to her waist, almost tugging her down onto him over and over, “Just like that…there you go.”
“God, your dick is amazing,” she whines to the summer sky through her eager bounces. Her pace is dizzyingly consistent and intense, not faltering for a second even with her thighs starting to tremble.
George grunts tightly, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
And her reply is immediate, instinctual, “Come inside me.”
His hand grips her hip a little tighter, groaning a little louder, the pleasure building. Even at the angle of the camera, it’s clear to see the way his abs tense.
“Come on,” she begs breathlessly, “Come in my pussy. Fill it up.”
It only takes a few more bounces from her for him to be pushed into orgasm. His ragged breaths stop suddenly, muscles tensing, and then suddenly he’s letting out a quivering groan.
At the feeling of him releasing inside of her, her breath catches and her bounces stutter and he pulls her right down on him by his hand on her waist. He’s moaning loudly, holding her place despite the way his hips try to flex up into her, the camera capturing a perfect view of the way the base of his cock throbs through each pump. She gasps and shivers and grinds down on him a little to work him through it, ensuring she gets every drop.
“F-Fuck,” she exhales as if in breathless awe, still held right down on him, “holy shit, you’re still coming…”
George just groans, toes curling, barely able to keep the camera steady for a moment. She doesn’t move, letting him ride through his orgasm with the sweet squeeze of her cunt around his throbbing cock.
When he finally goes lax, breathing hard, his hand loosens on her waist and his other readjusts the camera. A little tap on her hip encourages her to slowly lift off of him, now letting his cock slip out of her and it lands heavy against his pelvis, slick and swollen. As soon as he pulls out of her, a creamy river of cum pours out of her and lands onto the shaft of his dick and the matted hair of his pelvis.
She gasps at the feeling and clenches her muscles to push more out, letting it drip in creamy strings from between her lips. His hand gropes one of her cheeks, spreading her open some more to really show off the mess of it all, his thumb slipping between her lips. The camera catches it all.
Then, suddenly, he sets the camera down beside them, keeping his entire body from the thighs up in frame laid out across the sundeck. She doesn’t have a chance to try and get off of him before both of his hands are on her hips and pulling her up his body. She shrieks through a giggle at his tug and wobbles as she shuffles backwards under his silent demand until he has her on his face.
Her smile melts into a dreamy expression at the first touch of his tongue, settling herself full on his face without shame. His arms wrap around her thighs to hold her there, her full weight on his face, burying himself in her. With a shaky moan and a bite to her lip, her hands fall flat against his chest and abs to steady herself, but her hips work with the movement of the yacht to rock against his mouth.
She’s so sensitive and worked up that it clearly doesn’t take her long to reach that peak. Her hips jump against George’s mouth as she gasps into her orgasm, letting out her pretty moans to the warm summer air as her body shudders on top of him. He moans right back, the sound muffled by her body but no less passionate, and his hands only grip her thighs tighter until there are indents of his fingertips left behind.
When she finally has to pull away in overstimulation—her legs trembling as she lifts up—she’s got the biggest grin on her face, “Holy shit.”
George spanks her once more with a smile of his own, his lips and shin glistening in more than just sweat from the sunshine.
She sprawls out gracefully beside him across the upholstered sundeck and his one arm tucks around her to draw her close while his other picks up the camera again. He holds it up above them both, leaving a square shadow to fall across their faces where it cuts in front of the sun. They smile proudly at the camera, breathless and spent.
“Might have heat stroke,” she mumbles lightheartedly as he lowers the camera and shuts it off.
FADE OUT.
—BLACK SCREEN W/ TEXT—
“Starring MrSaturday, MissFMC
Written & Produced by @chilling-seavey
Requested by @mocharoni12
Sunglasses sponsored by Police Eyewear
This production was created for mature audiences.
All participants were over the age of 18 and consented to their involvement in the production. Boundaries, consent, and ethical considerations were communicated and respected throughout filming.”
—FADE TO BLACK—
THE END
In case you were wondering, this was my George inspo x
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[Fem Dom Puts Two Bratty Boys In Their Place (feat. Mad Max)]
Mr. Saturday's Library
↳ A/N George was honoured to be able to shoot this video with the illustrious Mad Max (and vice versa)! Both of them have such busy schedules; they had been meaning to collab for a while. Don't forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed the video ;)
↳ Pairings: Adult Film Star!George Russell x Adult Film Star!Max Verstappen x Adult Film Star!FMC
↳ Duration: 32 minutes
↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, basically an 'adult video' in text format, mmf, fem-dom goes by 'mistress', brat taming undertones, use of rope/tying wrists, use of a paddle for spanking, humiliation undertones, degradation, rimming, anal fingering, choking, spitting, crying, forced deep throating, pegging/use of strap on, overstimulation, edging, denied orgasm, use of a double ended dildo, anal sex.
INT. PENTHOUSE LIVING ROOM - AFTERNOON
In the centre of the living room, amongst modest luxury finishes and furnishings, the cream couch houses two men wearing nothing but their underwear. On the left is George, all familiar toned muscle and lengthy limbs, hands folded neatly on his lap, legs stretched in front of him, and nicely styled hair sideswept out of his face. Beside him, on the right, is Max, less lanky and more broad than his counterpart, filled out around the edges, with his jawline peppered with blonde scruff and a focused furrow between his eyebrows. There is an obvious gap between them on the couch and they are focused on something behind the camera.
Or, rather, someone.
Then comes a female voice, “I’ve heard you boys haven’t been getting along.”
George rolls his eyes before she had even finished speaking, exhaling an exasperated and half-sarcastic, “Who told you that?”
Beside him, Max lets out a short laugh with a response of his own, “Maybe because you can't go five minutes without acting like an ass.”
“Pot calling the kettle black,” George grumbles, picking at a stray fluff on the seat of the couch before folding his arms across his bare chest. His attention focuses back on the woman behind the camera. And does not so much as spare a glance at Max.
Before Max can crumple his face into a scowl and/or offer any sort of snarky rebuttal, the woman behind the camera speaks again, “Are you boys done?”
Neither of them reply. Instead, they both look to opposite sides of the living room, arms folded across their bare chests as if not quite realizing just how alike they truly are.
“I’m sure I can make you get along just fine,” she continues in that sultry, purposeful drawl. A promise, if nothing else.
The two men don’t flinch, don’t look her way.
Then there comes two quick snaps of fingers from behind the camera and—almost instinctively, and yet visually displeased by it—the two look her way. Now with their attention, she continues, a touch firmer now, “You’ll do as I say, won’t you?”
The two squirm just a fraction as if both of them were struggling not to offer any hints of sass of defiance. George lets out an exasperated sigh. Max rolls his eyes to the floor. Then, at nearly the same time, they mutter a half-assed, “Yes, Mistress.”
“Sorry?” she cuts in sharply, “I couldn’t hear you.”
They both sit up a little straighter—reluctance seeping through their pores—and try again, a little louder, in unison, “Yes, Mistress.”
A satisfied hum comes from behind the camera, “Much better.”
For a moment, there is silence.
Then: “Now look at each other.”
Neither George nor Max move. One might have thought they had been asked to commit the most heinous crime by the way their faces contort and their bodies go rigid. She gives them five seconds but they, still, do not turn their heads.
So she says firmly, “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Slowly, reluctantly, George turns his head. Max follows a second later. The look they exchange could sour milk.
“There they are,” she says, amusement threading through her voice, “I know you are good boys deep down. All that attitude is just a front, isn’t it?”
George’s lips purse as if he’s smothering back the words that threaten to escape from his mouth, while Max keeps the most expressionless look on his face as if he is trying to look through George rather than at him.
Her next demand comes simply, calmly: “Kiss.”
They react as if they had been anticipating it but not quite expecting it, flinching slightly as if they had been struck. They haven’t looked away from each other but still squirm under the intensity of their counterpart’s stare.
When they make no move to obey her, she continues, “You have proved just how much you don’t like each other. The problem is that I don’t care.”
Max’s jaw tightens.
“Because right now,” her voice behind the camera is sure and methodical, “the only thing that matters is whether you can follow a simple instruction.”
A loaded pause stretched between them.
“Can you?”
Finally, through gritted teeth, the two answer dully, “Yes, Mistress.”
“Good,” a smile enters her voice, “Go on then. Show me.”
At first, it almost seems like they are going to defy her again as they sit there, staring at each other with mirrored frowns. But then—as if they know better—they both lean in. Their lips touch stupidly slowly, pursed and ungraceful, as if they had never done this before. When they break apart just long enough for a breath, they’re soon moving in once more.
“That’s more like it…” the woman speaks in a purr, “you’re so much nicer to deal with when your mouths are busy, hm?”
Once hidden behind the camera, she is suddenly emerging into frame, the click of her heels loud against the floors with every sway of her hips. She, too, is nearly naked, although far more dressed than her male counterparts in her one-piece lingerie set and thigh-high sheer tights that are clipped to a lace garter belt around her waist.
Behind her back—out of line of sight of the two preoccupied men—are two black ropes.
She is focused on them on the couch as she saunters in a slow circle around them, watching the way they share tight, closed-mouthed kisses with their hands clutched in their own laps.
“You look like mannequins,” she tuts, “Come on, touch each other.”
George makes a little displeased sound against Max’s mouth and yet Max is the first one to make a move. He reaches a hand forwards and grabs the back of George’s neck, giving him a bit of a tug into their kiss. It only takes a few seconds for George to give in and to slip his hand along Max’s side, his head tilting just enough to deepen their kiss a little more.
The woman continues her slow strides around the couch, watching them from every angle, closely, almost analytically. By the time she stops just to the side of their shot, they seem to have melted more comfortably into their circumstance.
She rests a knee on the couch behind Max first and then out come the ropes from behind her back. The two men are preoccupied and do not stop. Not until she’s grabbing Max’s arm to drag it behind his back, urging enough curiosity from the both of them to turn their attention to her.
“Ah, ah, I didn’t say stop,” she tuts, all without slowing the gentle twists and ties of the rope around Max’s wrists.
Max grumbles something unintelligible but George is already leaning back in with a smirk he hides against Max’s neck. He kisses wetly along the column of his throat, right up under his jaw, his slender fingers sliding up into the back of Max’s blonde hair to give it a tug enough to earn a groan from him. When Max turns his face towards him, George is already there and ready, allowing their lips to lock like second nature.
“There we go,” the woman praises, giving the rope around Max’s wrists a gentle tug before asking him quietly, “How’s that? Too tight?”
Max breaks away from George’s mouth just long enough to answer with a breathy, “It’s fine.”
George nips at Max’s earlobe, making his wrists pull taut against his restraints as he tries to grab for him. George’s small chuckle does not go unnoticed, even as Max smothers it into a heated kiss.
Amidst their rivalry, the woman helps herself to the opposite end of the couch, now behind George, and she is repeating the same process with him. His hands are pulled behind his back—despite his small huff of protest—and his wrists are bound with the second black rope.
When the final knot is tied and she gives it a testing tug, she asks him, “This okay?”
“Yeah, it’s good,” George answers softly.
“Good.”
She stands up once more, taking in the sight of them turned towards each other on the couch, leaning half-awkwardly against the back of it with how their wrists are bound behind them. Under her stare, they both shift to sit properly on the couch, as if they are awaiting instruction. Max’s hair is a little mussed where George had his fingers in it.
“Now that we’re well acquainted, I think it’s time we see what we’re working with,” she says smoothly and steps closer to them.
The two watch her with attentive eyes, trailing her every movement as she draws nearer. George is her first victim as she reaches down to hook her manicured fingers in the sides of his briefs and begins to tug them down. He leans back awkwardly against the couch to lift his hips to help her, half-struggling to maneuver himself without the use of his hands. She isn’t deterred and she slides his underwear down his legs with ease, discarding them to the floor, and George’s thighs naturally part once he settles.
He is already hard, cock swollen with a slight curve upwards, the glistening tip peeking out beneath the foreskin. Max is staring. George doesn’t flinch.
Without wasting a second, Max is next. Her purposeful hands guide down his underwear and he, too, wriggles ungracefully to help her take them off of him. He’s an inch or so smaller than George but a touch thicker, flushed an unmissable red of arousal that stands out against his pale skin. George glances in return.
One—or both—might have reached for themselves but their binds prevent it. Instead, the woman sinks to the living room rug in front of them, right between them. Her hands wrap around the base of each of their cocks—palm pressed against the trimmed hair of George and the freshly waxed skin of Max—and she takes a moment to look between them, analyzing.
“Hm,” she says, a tinge of degradation in her tone, “I guess this’ll do.”
She stands, leaving them untouched, and the two of them huff out a breath and they squirm at the lack of the pressure of her hand. But they do not argue.
“Turn around,” she orders simply.
George and Max hesitate for a moment, almost as if they are trying to figure out the least embarrassing way to turn around with their hands tied behind their backs. Really, there’s no easy way. So they relent to wriggle themselves around like ungraceful fish, forcing their knees beneath themselves to push themselves around, flopping against each other to use each other for support. They grumble about it, snark at each other a little. She watches.
Finally, they make it onto their knees, facing the back of the couch, showing off their bare asses and bound hands still tied in that stark black rope against pale skin. Once they are in place, she approaches again. This time, she has a leather paddle in her hand. It looks inconspicuous enough and she gently caresses it over the shape of George’s ass…and then Max’s…running the cold, smooth leather along the heat of their skin.
Then, suddenly, she smacks it down firmly against George’s cheek with a sharp thwack. He flinches in surprise, oblivious to the pale imprint the paddle has left behind—the word BITCH standing out against the angry red flush of his skin.
When he pushes his ass back against the paddle as if requesting more, she only gives him another caress with the leather, “Good boy.”
She doesn’t give him another. Instead, she reaches over to give Max the same treatment; a sharp spank of his own. Two matching brands of bitch.
Neither of them have any clue what has been labeled across their asses as they stayed there bent over the back of the couch with their hands tied. When she spanks them each once more, right over the same spot, they groan and squirm and arch for more.
“Look at you two…not so obnoxious now, are you?” she taunts, giving them each another swat with the paddle. The bitch label only grows more prominent against their pale flesh. “Taking your spanking like good boys. I knew you could be good for me.”
She takes turns between them, spanking one and then the other, alternating cheeks, brandishing them equally in rosy red. When she thought herself to be satisfied with her work, she then set the paddle aside to crouch down in her heels and rub her soft hands around the shape of George’s ass.
Almost instinctively, he pushes back against her palms, arching his back the slightest amount. His head drops forward, almost disappearing behind his broad shoulders and toned back. She gives him a squeeze and then pulls at his cheeks, spreading him open to get a proper view of his asshole. Just like the front of him, he’s trimmed and tidy but not bare. She caresses his hole with the pad of her thumb, inspecting.
“So perfect.”
When she pulls away, she spanks him once on one cheek and then once on the other, punctuating.
Then, she stands and mirrors her position on Max’s side, crouching down beside him and repeating the same. She gropes his ass and spreads him open, getting a close view at his pristinely waxed asshole.
No sooner has she done so before she is speaking, “You can’t grow pubes like George can’t grow a beard.”
“I can,” Max retorts, “I just chose not to.”
She spanks him once to shut him up, “Unfortunate, frankly.”
George smirks at Max who frowns back at him.
Before Max can open his mouth to retort, she spreads him again and nuzzles her face between his cheeks, getting her tongue on him fast enough to have him choking over his next breath. He withers, eyelids fluttering, slumping forward against the back of the couch a little more. George almost looks envious.
She works her tongue over him in purposeful circles for a few more seconds before she is pulling away and giving him a second spank. The sharpness of her hand immediately after the softness of her tongue has him flinching. And then she is sliding two fingers into her mouth, moistening them up just enough before they, too, were swirling around the tight rim of his asshole.
As her two fingers push steadily into Max—who muffles his groan into the back of the couch—she moves closer to George, and he instinctively slides nearer to Max to make room. Their thighs press together, but for once, neither man seems concerned by it. Her free hand tugs at the flesh of George’s ass to spread him open as her tongue laps at him and prods at his asshole. Both of the men are making small, strangled sounds now as if they are trying to keep themselves composed, arms tensing in their restraints. And she just keeps her face buried between George’s cheeks, absolutely devouring him with her fingers still tucked two knuckles deep in Max close beside.
Her fingers sink deeper into Max, moving in short thrusts to slowly work him open, pushing against the friction that has him arching. When she moves away from George for just a moment, she taunts Max, “You like it when it hurts a bit, don’t you?”
His retort is immediate, “Fuck off.”
His snark earns him a spank across the ass and she scolds him sharply, “Try again.”
Max swallows his pride and corrects himself, “Yes, Mistress, I do.”
George chuckles and mutters mockingly, “Yes, Mistress.”
It is clearly a mistake on George’s side because no sooner did he utter those words did she stand up, leaving them shockingly untouched. George goes mute at the realization and Max shoots him a glare.
She wraps a hand around George’s thick neck and tugs his head back so he is looking up at her, given no choice with his hands still tied. His eyes are wide and startled as he stares up at her upside down.
“Do you think you’re in charge?” she scolds.
He doesn’t answer but when she doesn’t continue, it’s clear she is expecting a response.
George swallows thickly, his throat bobbing with how his head is tilted back, just above where her hand is gripping him, and he manages, “No, Mistress.”
“No, Mistress,” she mocks right back at him, right to his face. His expression crinkles just slightly. Then, she continues, “You won’t be one to talk for long when I have you whining like a bitch on my cock.”
George swallows once more.
She tightens her hold on his throat and pulls his head back a little more, just to watch how he winces, “Tell me what you are. Tell me you’re my little bitch.”
“I’m your little bitch,” George parrots through a shaky voice.
Max watches the interaction from where he was left knelt over the back of the couch with his hands behind his back. It is as if he does not dare to step out of line and suffer the same fate as his counterpart.
With George still under her control, under her hand, she spits on his face and he flinches in surprise, eyes shutting quickly. He has no hands to wipe it away and, instead, it’s left dripping down his face as she grabs him by his tied arm and manhandles him around to get off his knees and, instead, shoves him lengthways across the couch on his back. Max barely is able to scramble out of the way before George’s head falls on his calves.
Max stumbles as he stands up from the couch, off balance after the beautiful tightrope of pleasure and pain they had been walking. He’s naked and hard and there’s a flush across his cheeks beneath his wide blue eyes, watching how all six feet of George is thrown around like a ragdoll.
Both men still have their hands behind their backs and, now, George’s are trapped beneath his body. He squirms uselessly, trying to adjust himself more comfortably on the couch with how he’s bound, unable to even wipe her spit off his cheek. It would be a moot point anyway once she grabs Max’s arm and tugs him back onto the couch so he is kneeling above George’s head.
He is knelt so close that George only has to look straight up and he’d be able to see Max’s cock above his face. Clearly that was the idea by the way she fists Max’s dick and then guides it down towards George’s mouth.
“Let’s make proper use of that snarky mouth of yours, hm?”
Max chuckles at her statement as if in agreement and adjusts closer to help guide himself into George’s mouth without toppling over with his hands still bound behind his back. George groans around him, head tilting back a little more to help Max deeper, and his feet press harder into the cushion of the couch as his mouth gets filled.
“Much better,” she praises as she moves her hand down to gently rub George’s throat and just beneath his jaw as if to help him relax.
And then she’s disappearing behind the camera once more.
Max seems unperturbed by being left to his own devices. He’s got his entire cock stuffed in George’s gaping mouth with his balls resting on his face and, frankly, he looks as though he’s right where he wants to be. Biting his lip, Max gives a testing little thrust and George gags around him.
Max mutters down to him with a smirk, “Should have figured your mouth would be good for something.”
Despite the fact that George’s face is mostly hidden between Max’s legs, it’s clear when he makes a disgruntled sound in response.
By then, the woman has returned to their set up on the couch; now with the addition of a harness and strap-on fastened over her lacy set. In her hand is a bottle of lube, already being squirted out onto her fingers. George seems to know what to expect without needing to see her and he sets his feet flat on the couch, spread enough for her to kneel between them. And she does.
“This is how I like you,” she purrs as she slicks the strap-on up in lube, smearing it in with her hand along the silicone shaft until it is glistening, “Quiet and at my mercy, hm?”
George makes another little sound around Max’s cock and when Max gives him another little thrust, his sound cuts into a jagged gag. His chest heaves desperately, back arching awkwardly with his bound hands stuffed beneath him, but there is no room to complain.
She gathers his legs and pushes them back towards his chest, manipulating him how she desires until she is satisfied. Then, she pushes two fingers inside of him to smear him in the remainder of the lube before she is aligning the tip of the strap-on with his glistening hole.
George writhes a little across the couch as she starts to sink inside of him bit by bit. She’s holding his thighs back against his chest with her gaze focused downwards to watch how his body accepts her purposeful invasion. At the same time, Max mirrors her short, testing thrusts with those of his own into George’s mouth, taking him up on both ends.
In the middle of it all, George’s cock is left abandoned, resting heavy up against his pelvis and leaking against flushed skin, untouched. It twitches—needy and wanting—but is not given the satisfaction of the friction it craves.
Once she’s nestled inside him right down to the hilt, she wastes no second before starting to thrust into him properly. George makes some gurgling noise around Max’s cock and his legs instinctively spread wider to accommodate her.
“That’s it…” she praises lowly as she shoves into him at a consistent pace.
Max matches her from the other end of the couch, unable to move too much but still nudging just enough into George’s mouth to keep him occupied. Still with his hands tied behind his back, Max wobbles on his knees on the plush couch as he tries to keep his balance and she reaches out a hand to press her palm against his chest to steady him.
“Easy,” she coos.
Max huffs out a breathless, “Fuck.”
George whines from beneath them, chest inflating as he takes a deep, audible breath around Max’s dick in his mouth. With one hand still steadying Max by his chest and her hips still shoving the strap into George’s pliant body, she reaches down with her other hand to help to guide Max’s cock farther into his mouth until he’s gagging.
“Just like that. I want you to take every inch.” she says.
Max watches the man beneath him as he keeps himself nudging into his throat, lips slightly parted and eyes dilated wide over flushed cheeks, watching. George’s body is rocking against the couch with every thrust from the woman between his legs, arms still sandwiched beneath him, moaning and whining around Max’s cock until he’s properly drooling down his own cheeks, rivers trailing along the veins of his neck.
The sight of him is something else and with her hand still steadying Max by his chest, she asks him, “Isn’t he doing a good job, taking your cock?”
Max only grunts in acknowledgment.
“Tell him he’s doing a good job.”
Max has to take a second to get his wits about him before he manages to echo the words down to George, “You’re doing a very good job.”
George preens at the praise, his swollen cock twitching up off his pelvis for a second, bringing with it a thin string of precum that breaks from his skin. Suddenly, he turns his head to the side, forcing Max’s cock out of his mouth and to, instead, drag across his face. With an expression that almost looks pained, George whines, “Christ, I can’t…can’t take much more.”
“No?” the woman taunts, ignoring the way Max hisses at the sudden lack of George’s warm mouth around him. She thrusts into him a little harder and George writhes on the couch with a pitchy groan, her words loud to be heard over him, “You better not come. You better fucking hold it, understand?”
George’s jaw clenches for a second and then he nods from between Max’s thighs, “Yes, Mistress.”
Max looks almost pleased by this view, staring down at George beneath him, watching him get fucked while he is simultaneously dragging his cock and balls across his face. It’s a power trip, perhaps. A sense of winning. Seriously…with the way George is whimpering and crying and writhing as she fucks into him harder, faster…who wouldn’t feel thrilled by it?
But then she stops. Pulls out. Immediately.
George heaves for breath like he had been drowned and just been allowed to come up for air. His cock twitches achingly in the air, precum dripping down the shaft.
She hardly gives him another look as she stands from the couch and slaps his thigh, “Up. Get up.”
George rolls off the couch, struggling to get his quivering legs underneath him with his hands still bound behind his back, but somehow he manages. When he’s out of the way, she grabs Max’s arm and tugs him closer, uncaring the way he stumbles, forcing the men to switch places. Incredibly clumsily, she manages to get Max on his knees in front of her on the couch, right where George had once been. Since his hands are tied, he is forced to lay on his shoulders and face, ass up, bent at the waist and at her mercy.
“You didn’t think you were in the clear, did you?” she taunts as she pops open the bottle of lube again.
Max groans into the couch cushion but offers no verbal response as she sinks two slicked up fingers inside of him.
Somehow, George ends up at the far end of the couch, lounging against the armrest; one leg stretching the length of the cushions, the other hooked casually over the front. His arms are still tied behind him. Max’s shoulders are between his legs, his face awfully close to his thigh. As she presses the strap-on inside him slowly, his face contorts and he hides his face into the couch cushion.
It is never that easy and she reaches forward to grab a fistful of his hair and yanks his head up, forcing him to be eye level with George’s dick as she warns, “Don’t hide.”
Max blinks languidly, staring at the man in front of him as he gets stretched and filled. When she gives him the last inch, she punctuates it with a firm thrust to bottom out, forcing him to jerk forward and his nose bumps against George’s balls. Max grunts.
“There you go,” she purrs, grinding into him deeply with her hand still in his hair to hold his head up, “Open up. I’m not playing favourites.”
Max opens his mouth and she guides his head in until he can take George’s cock against his tongue. She shoves his head down and he gags around it loudly, half coughing. George sucks in a sharp breath, eyebrows pulled together in the middle and his bottom lip between his teeth, so clearly over sensitive that the simple addition of Max’s warm mouth is enough to earn a reaction out of him.
She’s got one hand holding the back of his head and her other grabbing the ropes binding his hands behind his back as she’s thrusting into him. His moans are muffled around George’s cock, wet and lewd, but there is nowhere for him to go with his mouth entirely sheathed upon him in such a way.
George’s breaths are ragged and he’s splayed across the corner of the couch and hardly has to move as the woman holds Max’s mouth on him. He groans softly and his hips nudge up into his throat just a bit, hissing out a tight, “Christ—”
The sound of wet skin on skin fills the living room with a steady rhythm as she thrusts into Max’s submissive body. He takes it gladly; although it doesn’t appear as if he has much of a choice.
When she yanks his head up from George’s lap, a thick string of spit drips down his chin and onto George’s thigh but she doesn’t falter. Instead, she degrades him through her every thrust, “Such a good cockslut, the both of you. Just my little toys, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Max rasps through a cough.
When she shoves his mouth back down onto George’s dick, he sputters. George tosses his head back against the couch with a gape to the ceiling, arms straining in his binds with his mouth hung open with silent pleasure. Every thrust from her seems to shove Max deeper into his lap and George almost looks beside himself with how he is trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control.
His lips move as if he’s trying to obediently reply too but it takes a second for his words to actually come out, “Th-Thank you, Mistress.”
She speeds up her thrusts a little more, earning a disgruntled squeak out of Max with his mouth still busy. He arches a little for her and the prick of a smile on her face shows that she noticed the slight change. Instead of pointing it out, she just pushes his face deeper into George’s lap until his cock is entirely down Max’s throat and his body is lurching from the invasion. George’s eyes fucking roll.
“Good boy,” she praises loudly down to Max as he chokes and gags around it.
She makes him stay there for only a few seconds before she is pulling him up by the hair and he heaves for breath. George seems to do the same. And then suddenly, she pulls out and gives Max a spank across the ass.
CUT TO
George and Max are on their backs on the couch, legs spread, heads on opposite ends, hands now bound in front of their bodies. The shot is angled closer, downwards, with the woman knelt on the rug in front of the couch between them, beneath the camera. She holds into frame a long silicone dildo, both ends housing the familiar shape of a cock, already slicked up in lube.
“Is this what you boys want?” she taunts slowly, reaching it between their spread legs and teasing both of them with it simultaneously, “Is this why you were being so mouthy?”
Both George and Max are breathing hard in anticipation, bare chests flushed with arousal and glistening in a faint sheen of sweat. They’re both looking down their respective bodies to where she has the toy between them, the ends of it nudging at their well-prepped holes but not quite pushing in yet.
“Just wanna get fucked, don’t you?” she then demands, “Ask.”
The two of them chorus a breathy, “Please, Mistress.”
But it’s not enough for her and so she corrects them, “Say ‘please give me your cock, Mistress’.”
Slightly out of sync with one another, they try again, parrotting pathetically, “Please give me your cock, Mistress.”
She accepts their retry and begins by pressing one end of the dildo into Max before guiding the opposite end into George. They’re just far enough apart that only the tips are in. She wraps an arm around Max’s thigh to urge him closer and he shuffles closer the best he can with his hands tied in front of him. The men are nearly entirely ass-to-ass, only enough space between them for her fist to fit around the shaft of the dildo.
She starts to move her hand side to side between them, guiding the dildo into one of them and almost entirely out of the other before mirroring the action in the opposite direction. Back and forth. The men are panting and gasping, legs spread wide and tossed aimlessly over each other’s, fueled by lust.
“Fuck—” Max grunts, fingers splaying wide from where his wrists are bound, clearly struggling not to touch himself no matter how tempting it is.
Opposite him, George’s face is crumpled into that of pure pleasure and restraint, fists clenched over his chest with his wrists bound too. His mouth is slightly open in a gape, staring down at the way she tends to them.
“Good boys…holding yourselves back like this,” she praises in nothing short of a purr, “I think I should reward you.”
Neither speak, as if not wanting to push too much.
She relents anyway, “Stroke your cocks for me.”
Both of them huff out a breath of near relief as their tied hands drop down their respective bodies to grab hold of their cocks. It’s slightly awkward whilst having their wrists bound but they manage, of course. After so long of holding back, they would certainly make do any way they could. Only from the first touch, they are already both moaning at the friction, gladly touching themselves to the same pace with which she is thrusting the dildo into them.
It doesn’t take long for George to speak up, voice shaky and pitchy, “Please, can I come, Mistress?”
“No.”
George’s toes are curling and he genuinely looks like he might cry, “Please…Please?”
Opposite him, Max tosses his head back against the couch with a strangled groan, his jaw clenched and neck muscles tight with how he’s restraining himself despite the quick strokes of his hand on himself.
Her reply is immediate, “Hands above your head. Both of you.”
There is a delay in their responses, as if they don’t hear her. Or, don’t care to. Their hands keep going.
She orders firmly, using her free hand to yank at Max’s wrist and then George’s, “Now, or I stop.”
The men lift their bound hands above their heads; Max grabs the arm of the couch behind him and George’s fingers thread through his own hair in tight fists. They’re both watching her, chests flushed rouge with arousal that stretches up their necks to their cheeks, uncaring of how entangled they are at the moment.
Her hand is still between them, thrusting the dildo back and forth, reaching just deep enough into each of them to have them moaning so loudly. It is almost as if they can hardly control themselves.
With a stern voice, she says, “Who should come first?”
Both of them reply at the same time, hurried and desperate, “Me.”
“Neither of you can come until you agree. Who should come first?”
Suddenly, the men say each other’s names, uncaring of their own internal selfishness anymore for the sake of their long awaited orgasm. But their switch up is still not what she needed.
“You have to agree,” she said, hand moving a little faster between them, “Come on. Who is coming first?”
“Max,” George answers again.
“George,” Max pants at the same time.
“Fucks sake,” George whines, fists bunching so tightly his knuckles are turning white, “Max.”
“Fine, me,” Max groans, relenting, “Please, Mistress.”
“That wasn’t so hard,” she chastises before using her free hand to wrap around Max’s swollen cock, helping him out the last little bit while her other keeps thrusting the end of the toy into him, “Come then.”
George is left watching in envy as Max gets his permission first, witnessing how his head arched back against the couch with a strangled groan just as he came all over himself in messy bursts. She just keeps stroking and thrusting, working him through it, praising him loudly through his moans. When he winces in sensitivity, she tightens her fist around the head of his cock just to squeeze out one final dribble of cum and he lets out a hiss.
Even when she lets go of his cock, he’s still stuck there, still taking the thrusts of the dildo as she then turns to give her attention to George. George, who has been nearly crying for it for minutes now.
Honestly, the second she gets her hand around his cock—slicked up more in remnants of Max’s cum—he’s huffing out a shaky, “Thank you, Mistress.”
And she only needs to pump him twice and he’s coming too, spurting up his abs in messy streaks of white, clenching around the toy tucked inside him. Tucked inside both of them. He’s perfectly silent when he comes but the look on his face is enough; eyes nearly rolling as his whole body trembles right through it. His bound hands cover his face for a moment but then just as quickly pull away as if to show off the way his face falls into waves of ecstasy.
“There you go,” she praises, slowing her hand down to also squeeze the last drop out of him.
She sits back on her haunches, leaving the toy tucked inside both of their clenching holes, cum splattered up their abdomens, their chests heaving. A sight. The men are panting but sated and they catch each other’s eye from opposite ends of the couch and share a breathless smirk.
FADE OUT.
—BLACK SCREEN W/ TEXT—
“Starring MrSaturday, Mad Max, MissFMC
Written & Produced by @chilling-seavey
Requested by Anonymous
This production was created for mature audiences.
All participants were over the age of 18 and consented to their involvement in the production. Boundaries, consent, and ethical considerations were communicated and respected throughout filming.”
—FADE TO BLACK—
THE END
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↳ A/N I was so inspired during today's grand prix to write what happened today, behind the scenes, in our TWIG universe x
↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)
↳ Word Count: 3.1k
↳ Warnings: 2026-WDC related angst, if you're a GR63 fan :')
The blue skies stretched above the glistening coastline of Monaco; a picturesque day for the highest anticipated Sunday of the year; race day.
On a Mercedes branded small boat, you and George sat with a few other Mercedes personnel on the way across the harbour to the paddock port. Fifteen-month-old Lawrence was sitting happily on George’s lap, secured by his father’s arms tucked snugly around him. It was his first Grand Prix of the season; his first since he was a baby and, thus, now at least he was old enough to enjoy the weekend a little more.
In his mini sized Mercedes cap (donning a 63 on the brim) and a white linen polo shirt and khaki shorts, he looked like a little fashion star, right down to his Adidas sneakers. The toddler was very excited to point and announce every “boat” they passed by which—in Monaco—was a lot. But both you and George only praised him earnestly every time, so pleased with how his vocabulary was growing little by little almost every day.
Once the boat was docked at the paddock, George lifted Lawrence up onto the dock first, one of the Mercedes staff helping to corral the toddler while George stepped out after him. Then, your husband turned to you to offer his hand and helped you step up out of the boat onto steady land with your purse and Lawrence’s bag over your shoulder.
It was incredibly crowded there that day, as expected. Crew and press and fans were bustling in every direction and the noise of machinery and cars and voices and music were overlapping into something overpowering for such little ears. Lawrence wrapped his little arms around George’s leg right away, clinging onto the comfort and safety of his father in the face of the surrounding chaos.
“You’re alright,” George pet a hand over his head soothingly.
Lawrence held his arms up to him and made little grabby hands.
“C’mon, you can walk like a big boy, can’t you?” George reassured him and simply took one of his little hands in his own.
Despite his pout, Lawrence didn’t argue and, instead, he reached for you with his other hand. So the three of you walked into the Monaco paddock hand in hand, taking the quieter route where you could to avoid the full wall of photographers that would normally meet you.
You ran into a few other drivers on the way, Lawrence squealing at the few he knew best. Lando even crouched down to give him a proper hug while Alex plucked his hat from his head in exchange for his Williams ‘23’ cap. Lawrence giggled as it fell over his eyes and his little hands pushed it back up. (The moment you got to Mercedes, George made sure Lawrence got a new ‘63’ cap, thank you very much).
The last time most of the Mercedes team saw Lawrence, he hadn’t even been a year old, so your arrival to hospitality was met with excited greetings and lots of visitors. Lawrence was always a bit of a shy boy so he stuck close between you and George and batted his big blue eyes up at those who came over to say hello, offering his bravest little smile.
Race day was always busy for George but he made time for you and Lawrence wherever he could; getting you settled in the morning before stopping for lunch with you at catering and checking in between meetings. You had brought plenty of Lawrence’s toys for him to entertain himself but more than anything, it was clear he was growing antsy to explore.
So, with enough time before the drivers’ parade and before he would have to begin warmups, George decided to take you and Lawrence on a little tour of the garage. It was a bit of a walk to get from the paddock to the garages in Monaco but George knew the route like the back of his hand; with Lawrence on his hip and his other hand holding yours, he made his way proudly across the track and towards his team.
Lawrence had his headphones on by then of course—huge oversized noise-canceling ones that made his head a little wobbly. He looked so cute.
You had seen the garage plenty of times over your years with George so you followed a step behind as he had his moment with your son. Of course, you had your phone out to capture some photos and videos of the sweet father-son moment; content that would be for your private family only and not something to be flaunted to the public. Not everything had to be shared. Certainly not this.
And George was the epitome of pride with his son perched in his arms, showing off his car and his team and all the thrilling computer screens that Lawrence took in with wide eyes. He spoke to him right up against his headphone to hope the toddler could hear him, pointing out things and introducing him to his crew. And Lawrence got so many high fives from George’s mechanics which he absolutely loved.
It was so sweet to watch from a step behind, the visual of George in his racesuit with his son on his hip, looking like copy-paste. Your most favourite view.
By race start, you and Lawrence had been set up on the Mercedes balcony overlooking the pitlane and swimming pool section of the circuit, perfectly shaded by the surrounding trees and awnings. The energy was palpable and even Lawrence could feel it as he sat on your hip with his headphones on, little legs kicking with excitement as the formation lap drifted past your viewpoint.
“Car!” Lawrence announced, pointing to the first few that drove past. Well, it sounded more like “cah”, but you knew what he meant.
“Yeah, cars. Lots of cars,” you encouraged. Then, you pointed yourself to the second Mercedes zipping past, “There goes Daddy’s car.”
You couldn’t quite tell if Lawrence was old enough to connect the fact that George was actually inside that car and that it was him, but Lawrence humoured you with a small applause anyway.
Lawrence was entertained enough for the first few laps of the race but his attention span soon dwindled. Well, until one of the Mercedes hospitality bartenders brought you over a complimentary lemonade that you offered Lawrence a sip of. It wasn’t often that you gave him sweet drinks so one sip and his eyes were lighting up, little lips smacking contentedly. You shared the lemonade with your toddler in the Monaco sunshine, overlooking the crystal blue harbour to the sound of Formula 1 cars along the streets below. Could it get any better?
Midway through, Lawrence entertained himself at your feet with some of his toy cars. You had learned by that point in your motherhood journey how to divide your attention between the race and your son; unfazed even as he rolled his toy cars over your feet.
After the disappointment that was George’s DNF the prior race weekend in Canada, you were hoping for his luck to return. Seems it was not on his side. After being stuck being Hadjar most of the first third of the race to then receiving a 5-second penalty that his team did not serve correctly, he ended up being given a drive-through penalty. With such tight margins in Monaco and with so many drivers already facing DNFs that weekend, it wasn’t looking good.
The red flag was a good reprieve and you passed the time just inside the hospitality suite above the garage with Lawrence eating a snack at one of the tables. The live stream was being played on the large screen TV at the head of the room and once the camera focused on George in the garage below, Lawrence shrieked and pointed at the screen with a proud, “Dada!”
A few other patrons smiled over at him endearingly.
“Dada,” Lawrence repeated a bit softer, staring at the screen with the sweetest smile, “Daddy.”
“Yeah, that’s Daddy,” you wiped his messy mouth for him, “What’s Daddy doing, hm? Is he working?”
Lawrence nodded and reached for another piece of cheese and cracker to munch.
The red flag seemed to take ages and by the time it was finally time to restart, there wasn’t much left to keep the toddler’s attention. He ended up falling asleep in your arms in one of the dining chairs before the race ended, leaving you alone to watch George serve his penalty and end up crossing the line in third-last. Your heart just sank. It was going to be another dreary evening for George. And—by extension—for you.
You waited for him in the hospitality suite above the garage like usual, until one of the crew members came to get you, “He’s tied up having to visit the stewards. He asked me to escort you back to the paddock, if you want?”
She helped you carry Lawrence’s bag (despite your protests, not wanting to inconvenience her) while you carried the napping toddler back to the paddock. George’s drivers room was just how it had been left earlier that day and you sat down carefully and cradled your son in your arms as he napped. He was getting bigger, but in moments like that, he still resembled your tiny baby.
George returned almost an hour after the race had ended. He came into his driver’s room like there was a small grey cloud above his head. You stood up to greet him with a tiny kiss and you didn’t have to offer any words of consolation. Instead, what you knew would be enough, was to pass over your sleepy toddler.
George’s expression softened and he gladly accepted him into his arms, cuddling him close to his chest. Lawrence stirred slightly at the shift but didn’t wake entirely, nuzzling himself into George’s neck and slinging his little arms around his shoulders. You could see the way George melted, resting his head atop his son’s and closing his eyes as if to bask in the moment of peace.
You just watched them for a moment, appreciating the silence, and hyperaware of George’s every flicker of emotion on his face. Because in only a moment, his expression was furrowing and he turned his head to bury his nose into Lawrence’s hair, swallowing back forming tears. You stepped closer to them and wrapped your arms around your two boys, pressing a kiss to your husband’s cheek.
“It hurts,” George croaked out softly.
“I know,” you whispered, petting your hand through his sweaty hair at the nape of his neck.
Just then, Lawrence started to wake from his lengthy lap, rubbing at his eyes with his fist.
“Hi, bug,” George greeted him quietly, reaching up to stroke the pad of his thumb over Lawrence’s flushed face.
“Daddy,” Lawrence cooed and slung his arms around his neck and smushed their cheeks together.
“You had a long nap. You’re not gonna be easy to put to bed tonight, are you?” you said lightly, rubbing the toddler’s back. George just chuckled softly and peppered a few kisses to his cheek.
He had to set Lawrence down so he could change out of his race suit to prepare to leave. Lawrence—now well rested—had a newfound energy and was entertaining himself around the driver's room on little toddling feet, sneaky hands trying to get into everything if you didn’t keep a close eye, following him around the small room like a shadow. George moved around you both effortlessly as he packed up his things.
When everything was ready, Lawrence seemed prepared to walk the paddock back to the harbour, but, selfishly, George didn’t want that. So, he slung his bag over his shoulder and then bent down to scoop up the toddler with a dramatic groan and a, “Up you come, my big boy.”
Lawrence certainly wouldn’t complain about being carried by his daddy; especially not with the lovely views he would get from so high up.
You walked in step with him back through the paddock, Lawrence babbling away in George’s arms with one of his favourite toy cars in hand. George humoured him with nods and affirmations even if almost nothing the toddler was saying made any sense. And, even though it looked like his full attention was on his son, George also had eyes elsewhere. Enough that when he spotted a fan with their phone out to sneak a picture, he was able to use his free hand to shield Lawrence’s face from the shot. All without missing a beat.
George was quiet on the journey home, but not overly out of sorts. You knew he was putting on a bit of a façade for the crowds, for Lawrence, and to be able to take the time to process on his own.
It was nice to be able to return home after a race; to immediately be thrust back into the sense of normalcy that hotels never offered. The three of you ate dinner together and then you and George shared the responsibility of bathing Lawrence, letting the toddler get the last bits of his energy out with extra bubbles and play.
George wanted to put Lawrence to bed so you let him have the responsibility while you got yourself washed up and changed into pyjamas. He was gone a while, taking his time in the nursery probably reading at least three storybooks to the toddler and soaking up a few more minutes of sleepy cuddles than usual.
By the time George entered your bedroom, you were already plugging in your phone on your bedside table. You glanced over at him, “He go down okay?”
“Yeah, surprisingly quickly after such a late nap today,” George replied quietly, closing the door behind him and then reaching for his watch to unfasten it.
“It was a busy day for him…and I can’t blame him for falling right to sleep with a snuggle from you,” you walked over to him and tucked your arms around his middle from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder, “I do the same.”
George smiled faintly and set a hand over yours for just a moment before he was shifting out of your arms and tugging off his shirt before drifting to the ensuite to wash up.
You followed him and lingered in the doorway as he took his spot at the sink, “Did you wanna rant?”
George met your gaze through the mirror and a timid smile pricked at his lips, “You know me too well.”
“Well, I just know that I’m pretty mad so I can only imagine how you are feeling,” you said and stepped farther into the bathroom. You sat yourself on the vanity as he turned on the faucet and started to wash his face.
“I dunno,” he mumbled through his process, “there’s so much I want to say but also nothing at all. I don’t know what to say that will make it better.”
“I can’t assure you that words will make it better, but it might make you feel a little lighter.”
“It’s just…” George sighed and rested his hands on the edge of the vanity, staring into the sink basin as he collected his thoughts for a moment, “I know that I’m still confident. I know I can do it. I know I can win a championship. It’s just…all these other factors that seem to be going wrong…”
When he faded out with a shake of his head, you finished for him, “It’s disheartening.”
“It is,” George glanced at you, “It’s so disheartening. It feels like it’s not up to me whether I win a championship or not.”
“I can see that. It’s hard to see it as fair. Your season started out so strong and now…” you sighed, “We know it’s not you.”
“Mercedes has been my life for ten years now, you know? They have given me so much, helped so many of my dreams come true, I don’t want to doubt them but…I am.”
“You’re allowed to. That doesn’t make you ungrateful for all the other things.”
“It just hurts,” George’s voice broke a little and he stood up straight, blinking a little faster as he looked to the side.
It nearly broke your heart to see him so upset and you held out your arms, “I know, my love. Come here.”
He stepped in between your legs as you sat on the bathroom counter and you took his face in your hands, swiping away a stray tear that escaped down his cheek.
“It will be yours. I swear it. If it’s not this year, then maybe the next. Or even the one after that. Do not let this get to you. You’re not a quitter. You are a fighter.”
George nodded and took your hands from his face to hold in his own, speaking down to them in a voice so soft you almost missed it, “I just want to make you both proud.”
“You always make us proud, George,” you responded easily, without an ounce of hesitation, “Lawrence, especially, is so proud to have you as his daddy. You should have heard him during the race today, pointing at the screen and telling everyone who you are. He’s one-year-old, he has no idea what any of this means; you just need to successfully locate your own nose and he’s proud of you.”
George smiled softly and then met your gaze, “And you?”
“And me? Well I’m also proud of you when you locate your nose,” you teased.
With a chuckle, he leaned in a little closer, hands on the countertop on either side of your thighs, and gently bumped his nose against yours, a brief show of affection.
“We’re still only in the first third of the season. We’re nowhere near over. Don’t give up on yourself yet,” you whispered to him, giving his shoulders a squeeze.
He preened slightly under the squeeze of your hands and you kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Finish washing up…and then I can give you a massage, how about that?” you offered.
“Sounds so good,” he exhaled.
You slipped off the counter to give him his space in the bathroom to get washed up but before you could leave, he grabbed your wrist. You looked back at him.
“I love you,” George said simply.
The look in his eyes was full of sincerity that it almost knocked the breath from your lungs. You stepped towards him again and pressed a tiny kiss to his lips before replying, “I love you too. Always.”
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Having friends on tumblr is really great. I often refer to you guys in real life as “my friend from england/autralia/california/new york” and it makes people think I’m very well traveled when really I’ve just spent a lot of time on the Internet.
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