𑣲 nsfw somnophilia w chris . . . kinktober day one
chris jolted awake with a gasp, chest heaving, sweat glistening over his skin. his heart thudded so violently it almost drowned out the ache below his waist, but not quite. the problem throbbed heavy and insistent in his sweatpants, the fabric damp where precum had already leaked through. he pressed a shaky hand against the bulge, hissing as sparks of raw sensitivity shot through him.
“shit…” he whispered into the dark, forehead creasing as his hips twitched helplessly upward. the dream still clung to him—your lips, your hands, the way you looked at him, all stitched together in a feverish haze. waking up hadn’t stopped it. if anything, the real you lying right there beside him only made it worse.
he turned his head, and there you were—soft in sleep, your chest rising and falling slow, your body curled slightly toward the wall. you didn’t stir at all as he shifted, but when he moved closer, the mattress dipped and you gave a faint sigh, a little toss of your head. chris froze, guilt fluttering in his stomach, but then you went still again. peaceful. unaware.
that should’ve been his cue to stop. to take a cold shower, to bury his face in his pillow until the desperate ache eased. but the sight of you, the warmth of you right there, just inches away… it tore the restraint from him.
“need you,” he whispered hoarsely, voice breaking as he pressed his chest against your back. his dick was hard and leaking between his stomach and the curve of your ass, leaving damp streaks against the cotton of your shorts. he rutted forward before he could think, the friction both agonizing and perfect. a sound slipped out of him—half whimper, half moan—that he tried to smother into your shoulder.
you stirred faintly, a hum in your throat, but your eyes stayed closed. chris’s pulse leapt.
“so needy f’you,” he murmured into the dark, breath warm against your ear. his hips rocked again, greedy little thrusts that had his dick straining for more. “can’t even—fuck—can’t even keep it in my pants.”
your only response was another sleepy murmur, something unintelligible, but to chris it felt like permission. his hand slid down, trembling as he palmed the curve of your thigh, fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shorts. heat radiated against his skin, making his dick twitch violently. he could barely breathe.
“dirty boy,” you mumbled, barely audible, caught in that foggy space between dream and waking. the words were soft, unshaped—but they detonated inside him.
chris’s head dropped forward, hair brushing against your neck as he let out a sharp, needy moan. “yeah,” he gasped, rutting harder against you, precum smearing through fabric. “jus’ yours… gettin’ off on you half asleep. y’don’t even know what y’do to me, baby.”
he couldn’t wait any longer. his hand fumbled down, pushing his sweatpants low enough to free his dick. it sprang against your body, hot and slick, sliding between your thighs as he pressed closer. his entire body trembled as he rocked forward, coating himself in your warmth.
“y’so wet already,” he whispered, though he knew most of it was him—pre-spilling over, making a mess of both of you. his forehead rested against your shoulder, every thrust dragging desperate, broken sounds from his throat.
he shifted lower, guiding himself with an unsteady hand until the head of his dick nudged against your folds. his breath hitched hard. he pushed forward slowly, easing into you, the stretch making him moan loud enough he had to bite down on his lip to stifle it.
the heat of you nearly undid him.
“fuck, fuck, so—mmh,” he whined, burying himself inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you. his chest pressed flush to your back, his arms locking around your waist like he needed to hold you there or risk falling apart. “oh my god… you’re perfect. always so perfect f’me.”
you shifted faintly, a soft exhale spilling from your lips, but you didn’t wake. chris kissed the back of your neck, hips giving a small, helpless thrust. “feels s’good,” he whispered, tears pricking hot at the corners of his eyes. “can’t stop… need you too much.”
he started to move, shallow rolls of his hips at first, testing, savoring the drag of your walls around him. but the restraint didn’t last. his pace grew faster, messy, his dick driving into you with wet sounds that echoed in the quiet bedroom.
“mm, my needy boy… couldn’t keep your hands to yourself,” you breathed in your half-sleep, the words slurred but clear enough.
chris whimpered, head falling back, his thrusts stuttering as the filthy praise washed over him. “i-i no, couldn’t—so fuckin’ needy, always for you.” his voice cracked, high and desperate, every word spilling out between ragged moans. “can’t even wait ‘til morning, had to h-have you now.”
your body took him, pliant, shifting only with the force of his thrusts. It drove him wild—the illusion of your sleep, the way you didn’t push him away, just let him use you, let him fill the silence with his filthy confessions.
“love when you let me do you like this,” he gasped into your ear, hips snapping forward harder, cock twitching deep inside you. “my pretty girl, always mine. fuck—forever mine.” his hands roamed frantically—your waist, your hip, your thigh—like he needed every inch of you under his touch.
the orgasm built too quickly, unbearable in its intensity. chris tried to hold it off, biting at your shoulder, but his body betrayed him. his pace grew erratic, moans breaking into sharp whines. “gonna—o-oh, fuck, m’gonna cum—can’t hold it—”
he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a low, strangled cry. his dick pulsed hard, release hot and endless, his whole body shuddering as he held you tight. the aftershocks had his hips jerking in small, involuntary thrusts, whimpers spilling from his lips even as the pleasure overwhelmed him.
it took a long time for the waves to ease, for his breathing to slow. he stayed pressed against you, dick still softening inside, face hidden against your neck.
“love you,” he whispered, voice cracked and small, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. his arms tightened around you, clinging as sleep began to drag him under again, sated and messy.
⤷ in which . . . a simple, and innocent sleepover with your best friend chris escalates quickly when the topic of sex comes up in your conversation.
bsf!chris, mutual masturbation, (m&f) praise, use of pet names, dirty talk.
𝔀ritten by @/delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)
the night starts out like any other with chris. the two of you have had this unspoken routine for years. he comes over to your place, or you go to his, snacks in hand, some half-baked excuse about a movie or a new youtube video to watch. you end up in his bed, side by side, laughing, talking about nothing important until the hours blur.
tonight is no different, except maybe it feels heavier. the air. the way he’s stretched out shirtless next to you, one hand tucked behind his head, the other scrolling lazily through his phone. you try not to notice how the muscles in his arms flex when he shifts. you try not to notice the way the blanket barely covers his hips.
you shouldn’t notice. because this is chris. your best friend. but you do. you know chris better than anyone, but you also observe way more than you should. it’s wrong, god it’s so fucking wrong. but in your heart? it feels so right.
you and chris always share stuff with each other. even the details that seem TMI, but that doesn’t exist in your friendship. you’ve told him about people you hooked up with, he’s told you about his experiences with other girls. and for some odd reason, it really turns you on.
“you’re quiet,” he mutters, glancing over at you. his voice is rough, soft from how late it’s gotten. you shrug, fiddling with the hem of your sleep shorts. “just tired, i guess.”
his eyes narrow like he doesn’t believe you, but he lets it go. silence settles in again, and you think maybe you’ve dodged whatever it was threatening to slip out of your mouth.
but then he sighs, tossing his phone aside. “i have a question.” you hum, eyes still fixed on the blanket.
“do you…ever think about…like, i don’t know, sex?”
the question is blunt. blunt enough that your head snaps toward him, eyes wide as you hold in a laugh. “what kind of question is that?” you smile. he smirks at your reaction, but his gaze is steady. “you heard me.”
your throat feels dry. “i—yeah? i mean, obviously.” he leans onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “with anyone specific?” your heart thunders. you shake your head quickly, too quickly. “no. i don’t—no.”
chris tilts his head, studying you. “you’re lying.” you scoff, hugging a pillow against your chest. “am not.”
“you are,” he says simply, like he knows you better than you know yourself. which he probably does. “you’ve got someone in mind.” you swallow hard, heat creeping up your neck. “what about you?” you deflect, desperate to shift the spotlight.
his smirk deepens. “course i think about it. i’m a guy.”
“that’s such a dumb excuse,” you mutter, but your cheeks are burning.
“it’s true, though.” he shrugs, shameless. “sometimes i even—” he pauses for effect, waiting for your reaction, “—jerk off when i’m thinking about it.”
your mouth falls open. “chris!—”
“what?” he says innocently, though his eyes glint with mischief. “don’t even tell me you don’t touch yourself.” you clutch the pillow tighter, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. “i—I mean—sometimes—”
“thought so.” his grin widens, triumphant. then, softer: “what do you think about?” your eyes dart to his, but you can’t hold his gaze. “mmmm…that’s none of your business.”
“so it’s me, then.”
the words hit you like a sucker punch. your head jerks up, mouth opening to deny it, but nothing comes out. his smirk fades at the silence, replaced by something heavier. something that makes your stomach twist. “fuck. it is me.”
“chris—” you start, but he cuts you off, sitting up straighter. “don’t freak out. i’m not mad.” his tone is steady, serious now. “i just…kinda glad, actually. because i’ve thought about you too.”
the world tilts. your chest feels too tight. “you’re—what?”
“i’ve jerked off thinkin’ about you,” he says plainly, no hesitation. “more than once.” your thighs press together without meaning to, heat pooling low in your stomach. he notices. of course he notices.
“wanna know something even more fucked up?” his voice drops, low and husky. you can barely breathe, but you nod.
“i’m hard right now just talking about it.” your eyes flick down despite yourself. and fuck, he’s not lying. the outline of him is obvious beneath the thin blanket, straining against his sweatpants.
your body feels like it’s on fire. “chris…” fuck, your whole head is messed up. you hate how aroused you are. he sits up fully now, leaning closer, his voice calm but firm. “we don’t have to do anything. but if you’re curious…we could try something. nothing too much. just…” he pauses, searching your face, “…together.”
your brain stutters, but you’re eager. “like what?”
“you touch yourself,” he explains softly, “and i’ll touch myself. right here. together. no pressure. we stop if you want to stop.” your pulse hammers in your ears. “i—”
he tilts your chin so you’re forced to meet his gaze. “only if you want to, sweetheart.” the nickname makes your heart ache. you nod slowly. “…okay.”
his eyes darken. “say it.” you swallow. “i want to.” his grin returns, but it’s different now, hungrier. “good girl.” he leans back against the headboard, tugging the blanket down until it pools at his waist. his sweatpants tent noticeably, and he doesn’t hesitate to slip his hand beneath the waistband, adjusting himself.
your breath catches. “c’mon,” he urges, nodding toward you. “shorts off.” you obey without hesitation, sliding your sleep shorts down your legs until you’re left in your underwear and oversized t-shirt. chris’s eyes linger, unashamed, and the weight of his gaze makes your skin prickle.
“god, you’re pretty,” he mutters, almost to himself. your thighs press together.
“spread your legs for me.”
the command makes your cheeks burn, but you do it, knees falling apart slowly. your panties are damp already, the fabric sticking to you. chris groans. “fuck. you’re wet just from this, aren’t you?” you nod, too embarrassed to speak.
“show me,” he says. “hand in your panties.” your breath shudders as you slide your hand down, fingers brushing through your slick folds. the contact makes you whimper, hips jerking slightly. “oh…oh shit..” you gasp.
“perfect,” he praises, eyes locked on you. “rub your clit. nice and slow.” your body obeys before your brain can catch up, your fingers circling the swollen bud. your head tips back, a soft moan slipping out.
chris’s hand moves beneath his waistband, his breathing heavier now. “fuck. that’s it. keep going. let me see you fall apart.” you peek through half-lidded eyes and nearly choke. his hand is wrapped around his cock now, stroking slowly, deliberately, his thumb swiping over the tip.
your hips buck at the sight. “chris—”
“eyes on me,” he grits out. “watch me while you touch yourself.” the room fills with your combined sounds, your breathy moans, his low groans, the wet slick of your fingers, the steady rhythm of his stroking.
“take your panties off,” he orders suddenly. you obey with trembling hands, tossing them aside. now you’re bare in front of him, fingers glistening as you return to your clit. “jesus christ,” he groans, stroking faster. “you’re fucking perfect.”
the praise makes you whimper, your free hand clutching the sheets as your hips grind against your own touch. “two fingers,” he instructs, voice strained. “slide two inside. curl em up.”
you do as he says, gasping when the stretch makes your walls clench. “good girl. fuck yourself. just like that.” your moans grow louder, the pace of his hand matching yours. you’re both lost in it now, eyes locked, bodies trembling.
“chris—” you whimper, teetering on the edge.
“i know, love,” he rasps, pumping harder, precum dripping down his cock. “cum for me. let me see you cum.” the command pushes you over. your back arches, a cry ripping from your throat as pleasure crashes through you, your fingers thrusting desperately as you unravel.
chris groans at the sight, his own orgasm hitting. his hand jerks faster, and then he’s spilling over himself, hot ropes of cum striping his stomach as he moans your name. silence fills the room, broken only by your panting breaths.
chris wipes his hand on the blanket carelessly, then reaches for you, pulling you against his chest. “holy fuck,” he murmurs into your hair. “best sleepover we’ve ever had.”
your cheeks burn, but you can’t help smiling against his skin as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. it seems like you and chris are more than best friends now.
💌: HELP ME i can’t stop writing bsf tropes but this one isn’t as good as my first kinktober fic i’m sorry i had no ideas for a halloween/spooky plot either :(((
in which . . . you and chris broke up months ago, but the chemistry has never gone away. when you run into each other at a mutual friend’s party, the tension rises until he corners you in a hallway, and taunts you about how no one else has been able to fuck you like he can.
warnings . . . bigdick!chris, dacryphilia, riding, unprotected sex, praise + degradation mix, making out, argument, a bit pf angst (unresolved ?) use of pet names, overstimulation, drinking, rough sex, use of “slut.”
written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)
.ᐟ .ᐟ requested by anon!
the music is too loud, bass rattling the floor, the smell of alcohol and sweat clinging to the air. the house is packed, every room buzzing with bodies pressed together. your friend you came to this party with was long gone, probably hooking up with some random dude in a spare bedroom. you couldn’t care less at this point, you just needed to let loose tonight. but, you spot him before he spots you. chris.
he’s across the living room, leaning against the counter with a beer in his hand, talking to a couple of guys you vaguely recognize. his cap is low, curls spilling out from underneath, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up to his forearms. he looks good. too fucking good.
your chest tightens immediately. it’s been months since the breakup, months of pretending you’re over it, months of trying to convince yourself you don’t still crave him. memories of him still flash in your mind every now and then. him buying you flowers, making you laugh, kissing you everywhere. it was back when you were his, and he was yours. but now? you’re nothing but toxic exes. and god, you hate that more than anything.
but the way his jaw flexes as he laughs, the way his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip…yeah, he still ruins you without even trying. you can’t stand the thought of him catching you staring. so you do the first reckless thing that comes to mind.
as if on queue, a guy, someone you don’t even know the name of, smiles and whistles at you from the couch. this is it, this is your opportunity to get back at chris. you slide next to him, let his arm drape over your shoulder, and when he leans in, you let him kiss you. it’s not at all enjoyable, and gosh, you wish it was chris you were kissing. this guy tastes like whiskey, his lips sloppy and careless against yours.
you feel chris’s eyes before you even look, it’s like you can almost sense him everywhere. and when you pull away and dare to glance back, he’s staring right at you with no shame. his jaw is tight, his knuckles white around his beer bottle, his chest rising like he’s trying to keep himself calm.
satisfaction twists in your gut, it worked. but it’s immediately drowned out by nerves. because you know that look. you know what’s coming. the guy on the couch reaches for you again, but you only scoff and push him away, getting up immediately and walking further into the party.
a few moments later, when you’re pushing through the crowd toward the back hallway, you feel it. his hand, rough around your wrist, pulling. “chris—” you snap, trying to tug free, but his grip just tightens. “save it,” he mutters, dragging you through the swarm of drunk bodies, ignoring the way people shout and stumble out of his way.
he doesn’t stop until he shoves you into the narrow hallway upstairs, your back hitting the wall, chris doesn’t care who’s watching at the moment. you glare at him, heart hammering. “damn it—what the fuck is your problem!?”
his eyes flash. “my problem? my problem is watching you shove your tongue down some random guy’s throat like you weren’t moaning my name in that exact position a few months ago.” you scoff, even as your body betrays you by heating up. “you don’t own me, chris.”
his smirk is sharp, cruel. “don’t need to. nobody else is ever gonna fuck you like i did, and you know it. that guy you were makin’ out with? you know you didn’t enjoy that shit one bit, baby.”
your stomach twists at the familiar name, fury sparking because he’s right and you hate that he’s right. “you’re such a fucking asshole!”
“oh yeah?” he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. “then why’s your heart beating so fast?” he murmurs, you look down, you don’t even realize his thumb is against your wrist, feeling your beating pulse that quickens. your breath hitches. his hands slam against the wall on either side of your head, caging you in.
and before you can stop yourself, you’re grabbing his hoodie, yanking him down, kissing him like you hate him, teeth clashing, tongues fighting. he groans into your mouth, one hand moving down to your waist, then around to your ass, kissing you like he’s starving.
you rip your mouth away, panting. “we shouldn’t.”
his gaze is molten. “then tell me to stop.” he almost whispers, looking down at you deeply, with a fierceness you can’t describe. and fuck, it turns you on more than you’d like to admit. you can’t stop him. the words won’t come. instead, you crash your mouth back to his, desperate, reckless.
after a few moments, he doesn’t hesitate. he grabs your wrist again, pushing past a few people loitering in the hallway with red solo cups in hand, shoves open the nearest door, and drags you into a dark, empty bedroom.
the door slams shut, and then he’s on you again. kissing you hard, pushing you back until the back of your knees hit the bed. he shoves you down onto the mattress, looming over you.
“strip,” he orders, voice low and rough.
you look up at him, breathless, as if you’re testing the waters to see if he’s real, that you aren’t dreaming. his hand slides under your shirt, making you gasp. “now.”
your body obeys before your brain can argue, pulling your top over your head, fumbling with your sparkly sequin filled skirt until you’re bare except for your underwear. he yanks his hoodie and shirt off in one motion, jeans shoved down just enough to free himself. his cock is already hard, thick, flushed. just as big as you remember.
“cmon,” he growls, sitting back against the headboard, stroking himself slowly, deliberately. “show me you still know how to ride me.” your body moves automatically, climbing into his lap, thighs bracketing his.
the moment you sink down onto him, your walls stretching around his cock, you choke on a cry. it’s so big, your pussy clenching around him, but it feels so good. it’s him, it’s always been him.
“fuuuuck,” he groans, head falling back for a second before his eyes snap to you. “so tight…no one’s been here since me, huh?” you bite your lip, refusing to answer. he grips your hips hard, dragging you down to take him deeper. “say it. say nobody else has fucked you since me.”
you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “no one—oh my fuck—chris!” a dark smirk curves his lips. “that’s my girl.” you rock against him, riding him slow at first, then faster, desperate for the friction. he’s big, stretching you just right, hitting every spot that makes your vision blur. he alternates between praise and cruelty, his voice dripping in your ear.
“look at you—taking me so good, riding my cock like you were made for it, hm?” you nod, bouncing on his cock faster, taking his entire length. you bury your face into the side of his neck, letting out moans and cries of pleasure. “fucking slut—moaning this loud already? what would everyone say if they heard you?” his words make you clench harder, your body betraying you.
your pace falters as the pleasure builds too fast, too sharp. “fuck—s’big…” you murmur. “don’t slow down,” he snaps, smacking your ass, making you yelp. “keep ridin’ sweetheart, take what you need.” you do. you bounce on him, moaning his name, tears stinging your eyes from the intensity. “gonna cum chris—“ you warn, he nods, adjusting your position on his lap, jerking his hips up slightly to meet yours, making you moan out.
the coil snaps, your orgasm crashing over you as you scream his name, your whole body shaking. but chris doesn’t let you stop. he holds you down, thrusting up into you, dragging you through it, making you sob with overstimulation as he fucks you harder. “yeah, that’s it,” he groans, his grip bruising on your hips. “cry for me, baby. let everyone hear who still owns this pussy.” you sob, pleasure and pain tangling, clinging to him desperately.
his release comes with a sharp groan of your name, his body tensing as he spills inside you, holding you down on his cock until you feel every hot pulse. he finally lets his head fall back, chest heaving, his hands still gripping you like he’ll never let go. and all you can think, even as your body shakes and tears streak your cheeks, is that he was right.
no one else compares to the way he makes you feel. not the random guy on the couch downstairs, not all the other people you tried getting with after things ended with him, absolutely no one. he’s always been the one for you.
the air in the car felt so stuffy, hard to breathe with chris casting sidelong glances at you the entire drive. his otherwise uninterested demeanour, headphones in as he chewed away at his gum all disappeared as soon as matt and nick went into the store.
you don’t need to communicate through words. as soon as they disappeared into the store, his pants were off in record time, bunched around his thighs along with his boxers as you jammed yourself between his legs on the floor of the car.
“thaaaat’s it,” he breathes softly, hips pushing towards your mouth as you wrapped your lips around his tip, suckling softly.
“fuck,” he whines, head tipping back as he adjusts his hat sitting backwards on his head, free hand coming to hold your hair out of your face.
you work fast, loud and obscene as your mouth licks and slurps around him, your hand working what your mouth can’t fit. you both knew you didn’t have a lot of time, at all.
but with the way chris is already squirming, hips bucking into your mouth as you whine softly around him, you don’t figure you need that much time anyways.
his fingers tense and flex in your hair, fisting it into a ponytail as his cock ruts desperately into your mouth. “gonna let me cum down that pretty throat?” he asks with a gentle tug of your hair.
when you nod, his breath hitches, head dropping forward with a quiet moan.
he releases your hair to again, lift his hat off his head to tuck his hair back under it, arm bent to grip the top of his hat as he whispers out that he’s gonna cum.
you look up at him through your already wet and sticky lashes to find him looking down at you, jaw slack to the point where you can see the piece of gum he’s been chewing all day poking from his lips before spilling into your mouth.
caroline speaks: HE CANT KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
it’s been three days since you’ve last seen chris.
but to him—it feels like three months.
you’ve been so busy recently. both of you know how life can get—but still, it sucked not being able to see each other everyday.
though you two usually do see each other everyday.
you and chris had a rule in your guys’ relationship—you aren’t allowed to touch yourself without the other one’s permission. but chris was feeling so horny. and he couldn’t help himself.
you posted a picture of yourself on instagram. it was a sweet picture—a mirror picture of yourself in a new dress you bought, one that hugged your curves perfectly.
you didn’t think much when you posted it. but chris—when he saw it—his dick practically jumped in his sweatpants.
he was playing fortnite on his playstation when the notification popped up. that you added to your story.
and that’s how he got to where he is now.
his boxers and sweatpants are pulled down to his thighs, his dick hard and flushed.
he scrolls through your instagram and pictures of you and him together.
he slowly wraps his right hand around the base of his dick, his eyes never leaving his phone screen. he gives it one slow stroke from the base to the tip, squeezing lightly. he shudders as the pad of his thumb smears the precum over his tip, the sensation almost overwhelming. he lets out a quiet, pleasurable groan.
he switches apps to his camera roll. he finds one of his favorite photos of you. and oh, fuck.
his dick twitches in his hand, his jaw falling agape and he begins to stroke his length faster. his breathing deepens as he gets lost in the moment.
“f-fuckk—“ he whines breathlessly as his hand speeds up on his dick. soft squelching noises from his hand can be faintly heard from outside of his room—it’s obvious what he’s doing.
his eyes roll into the back of his head as he quickly gets closer to his orgasm. he lets out a loud whimper, his hips bucking into his fist, practically fucking it.
he couldn’t control it. not really. he’s always loud in bed. whether it was moaning or begging—he was loud. he can’t hide his sounds of pleasure even if he tried.
precum drips consistently, dripping down his length, making it twitch. he shudders again, his muscles clenching in his lower stomach.
he gets to the tip of his dick, teasing his tip. he clenches his jaw, teeth gritted.
he hasn’t came in days. he’s tried to hard not to. the poor boy is so desperate; so needy. he puts his phone on the mattress, the picture of you still on it. more so engraved in his mind.
“o-oh my—“ he moans, his eyes squeezing shut. he throws his head back in ecstasy, his hand a blur over his dick. his free hand grips the sheets as if he’s trying to ground himself.
“mommy—m’so close,” he warns as if you’re actually there. he says it more out of habit if anything.
the bands in his stomach are taut, his hips thrusting into his fist, chasing more pleasure.
“f-feels so—“ he begins but interrupts himself with a choked moan, his orgasm crashing over him suddenly—and it’s intense.
he lets out a loud cry, his jaw falling agape. his eyes roll into the back of his head, his hips studdering once, twice, and that’s when his dick twitches and pulses in the air. thick ropes of cum spurt out of his length.
after a few moments, he falls limp on the bed. he pants as he tries to catch his breath. he takes his hand off of his dick—the post-orgasm bliss he felt was almost heavenly.
he opens his eyes, looking at the mess he made. he groans quietly.
he shakily grabs his phone, exhaling as he unlocks it. he goes to your contact, snapping a picture of the mess he made.
mommy i’m sorry
i got horny and i made a mess :(
he types out shakily with his thumb. he presses send then lets his phone fall as he shuts his eyes, his chest still heaving.
a.n. - this is rlly bad cuz i haven’t wrote in over like a month lmfao but hii i’m back !
In my dream I was literally caressing Chris’ neck and jaw with my hand and I could tell he liked it. Why the fuck didn’t I kiss him?! I mean, it was just a dream I could’ve literally grabbed his dick or something
Why didn't you choke him a little and grind on him.
#DOWNBAD ◞ @/CHRISTOPHERSTURNIOLO sub! chris, use of pocket pussy, dirty talk, use of “mommy”
The second Chris closed the door behind you, his composure cracked like glass under pressure. He’d sat there with you on his bed just minutes before, feigning calmness while his entire body burned with tension. You hadn’t given off the slightest indication that you wanted anything more than conversation tonight, and Chris, observant as ever, had taken the hint without a word.
He’d tucked his hands safely against his own thighs, had leaned back and smiled at you like his chest wasn’t tight with need, like he wasn’t struggling to keep his hips still every time you shifted beside him. He’d done what he always did—controlled himself, no matter how desperate he was for you.
But now you were gone. And that restraint, that self-control, evaporated the moment his door shut. His body throbbed with pent up hunger, the kind that had him nearly stumbling as he stripped out of his clothes, tugging his shirt over his head and shoving his sweats down to free his aching dick. His breath was uneven, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything he hadn’t let himself show you.
He wasn’t supposed to want like this, not this badly, but it was impossible to ignore when the ache sat so deep it made him shake. His gaze flicked toward the corner of his room—toward the toy he’d tucked away. His jaw clenched, and then he moved, grabbing it with a shaky urgency that betrayed just how close he was to breaking.
He threw himself back onto the mattress, settling flat against the sheets as he dragged the toy onto his lap. His dick strained upward, red and slick at the tip, already leaking from the tension he’d held inside.
He lined himself up with the hole of the silicone toy, one hand gripping the its hips to hold it steady, and then he bucked up into it with a strangled moan. His head tipped back, curls sticking to his damp forehead, eyes fluttering shut as the wet heat enveloped him.
“O-oh, shiiitt, y’feel so—oh my god. So tight and w-warm around me,” he gasped, hips driving up again, faster this time. His back arched hard off the bed, thrusts snapping sharp and desperate, his body moving like it already knew exactly how to chase you. Each upward grind made his abs flex, sweat glistening across his skin as he clung to the toy, fucking up into it like he was buried deep inside you.
“F-fuck, mommy, I’ve been holdin’ back all night,” he whined, the plea spilling broken from his lips. “Couldn’t even touch you, jus’ sat there while you looked so—so perfect. C-can’t—can’t take it anymore, need you so bad.” His thighs trembled beneath the strain, his rhythm messy and uneven, his moans tumbling higher as he lost himself completely in the fantasy.
“Please—please let me cum,” he begged, head tossing side to side, curls damp with sweat. “I’ll be good, mommy, I p-promise. Jus’ f’you, s’only you, fuck—”
The edge snapped. His whole body bowed off the mattress, hips jerking violently upward as his release tore through him. A guttural cry ripped from his throat, loud and unrestrained, as hot ropes spilled inside the toy, his dick pulsing with every frantic spasm. He held the toy tight to his lap, rutting weakly up into it as the aftershocks dragged him through, leaving his thighs quivering and chest heaving.
When it finally slowed, he collapsed against the sheets, slick in sweat, heart hammering. Shame and satisfaction tangled in his chest, leaving him boneless and wrecked, still clutching the toy as though it were you.
CONTENTS: fingering (up to four fingers), overstimulation, tears, begging, condescension (smart girl/dumb girl talk), praise & degradation mix, sorta kinda handjob (chris) + more . . . WC: 3.4k
the room felt different once the camera shut off. the usual chaos of nick and matt bickering carried out into the hallway with them, their laughter fading as the door swung shut behind them. you stayed put, curled in the same chair you’d claimed when they started filming, your body buzzing.
chris hadn’t moved yet. he was still sitting there, shoulders dropped against the back of his chair, one leg bouncing lazily while he stretched his fingers out, flexing them like he was working out the stiffness. your eyes caught on the way his knuckles shifted, the long pull of tendons beneath his skin, the absent way he bent his thumb into his palm and rolled it back again. you knew you were staring, but it was like trying to look away from something you weren’t supposed to see—every little twitch, every stretch, settling heavier in your stomach until your thighs pressed together without you meaning to.
you didn’t realize he was watching you until his voice cut through the quiet. “how many do you think you could take?”
your head snapped up, heat flooding your face, his words not connecting right away. “huh?”
his mouth tugged into a slow smirk, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. he lifted his hand, flexed his fingers once, deliberate. “you keep staring at my hands like you wanna fuck ’em,” he said, voice low, almost conversational. “so i’m asking—how many do you think you could take?”
the air felt like it shifted all at once, your pulse beating so hard in your ears you barely caught the way his gaze dropped, flicking down your body and back up again, like he already knew the answer.
you froze, not sure if you should laugh it off or pretend you hadn’t heard him right, but chris didn’t give you either option. he leaned forward in his chair, elbows braced on his knees, eyes locked on you like he was waiting.
“c’mon,” he pressed, tilting his head. “you’ve been staring all night. don’t go shy on me now.”
your mouth opened, closed, no sound coming out. he watched you squirm for a second, then lifted his hand higher, palm out, stretching all ten fingers like he was offering proof.
“two? three?” he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, slow, like he was thinking about it. “fuck, i bet you could take four easy. maybe even the whole hand if you were desperate enough.”
your thighs pressed together tighter, a tiny shift you couldn’t stop, and his eyes darkened instantly.
“yeah,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, leaning back again like he needed the space. “that’s what it is, huh?”
you tried to play dumb, leaning back in your chair like you hadn’t been caught. “i dunno what you’re talking about.”
“yeah, you do.” his tone was flat, almost bored, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. he shifted, spreading his legs wider, hand resting heavy against his thigh.
“wasn’t doing anything.”
“right.” he lifted his hand, stretching his fingers slow, watching the way your gaze dragged after them before you could stop yourself. “sat there staring holes through me, squeezing your thighs together, you’ve been eye-fucking my hands since we sat down, but you ‘weren’t doing anything’ ?” his mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh. “try again.”
“you’re making shit up.”
“am i?” his voice stayed steady, a little rough at the edges. his hand dropped back to his thigh, fingers tapping against denim like he had all the time in the world. “look at you right now. you can’t even keep your eyes off.”
“you’re annoying.” it came out weaker than you meant, more like a whisper.
“yeah?” he leaned forward just enough to make you press back against the chair. “so how many?”
your breath caught. “how many what?”
he didn’t answer. he stood, closing the space between you until you were looking up at him. his hand brushed along your cheek, almost gentle, before his fingers tightened around your jaw and tipped your face higher, thumb pressing until your mouth fell open.
his fingers stayed firm, holding your face where he wanted it. he looked down at you like he was waiting for something you couldn’t quite give.
“c’mon,” he murmured, thumb dragging slow at the corner of your mouth. “use that brain. smart girl like you should be able to answer a simple question.”
“m’not sure what you’re talking about.” the words came out muffled against the grip he still had on your jaw, your eyes darting anywhere but his.
his thumb pressed deeper into your cheek, tilting your face until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. “then i guess i’ll have to show you, huh baby?” his voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, his breath brushing against your lips.
he let go just long enough to drag his fingers down, pressing past your chin and resting against the hollow of your throat. you stayed frozen, heart hammering, until his other hand caught your knee and pushed it wide.
“let’s see,” he muttered, half to himself, sliding down between your thighs. his hand slid up and pressed right over your pussy, the heel of his palm grinding down through your shorts until your breath caught. “we’ll start with one.”
his hand slipped under the fabric, two fingers sliding through your folds, rubbing up and down until they were shiny with your arousal. he dragged over your clit just once, the faintest brush, and you couldn’t stop the noise that broke out of you.
“soaked,” he muttered, dragging his fingers lower, spreading you open just to feel the mess between your legs. “been sitting there whining in your chair like this the whole time? fuck—look at you.”
you whimpered, hips lifting, chasing the pressure, trying to guide him down where you needed him. he let you grind against nothing for a second before pulling back, tracing over your clit again, slower this time.
“needy little thing,” he said, tone mocking. “lifting your hips, trying to fuck yourself on my hand. how pathetic“
your cunt clenched around nothing, your thighs twitching, until finally he pushed a finger inside. the soft gasp that left you made his lips part, his eyes glued to the way you took him in.
he curled it once, pulled back, then pushed in again deeper. “you think you can count for me, baby? or you gonna sit there all dumb while i do all the work?”
your walls fluttered around the single digit, gripping tight like your body was desperate to keep it. he twisted his hand, dragging his finger out to the tip before sliding it back in, knuckle-deep. “that’s one,” he muttered, watching the way your mouth parted even though it was barely anything. “and you’re already acting like it’s too much.”
you shook your head quick, breath catching as he curled again, brushing that spot that had your hips lifting off the chair. his grin was sharp, his hand steady, pace unhurried. “not even close to finished, baby. don’t start whining yet.”
his free hand pressed down on your stomach, holding you in place when you tried to squirm closer, his thumb grazing your clit just enough to make your thighs shake. “say it for me,” he pushed, voice low. “one.”
your lips parted shakily around the word, “one.”
he hummed like he was satisfied, sliding the finger out, letting you feel the loss for a beat before pressing it back in. his eyes stayed locked on your face, like every twitch and gasp was something to memorize. “good girl,” he said under his breath, almost like it wasn’t meant for you to hear.
then he shifted, his hand sliding lower until a second finger pressed against your entrance. he didn’t push right away — just circled the rim of your cunt, coating himself in the slick already dripping out of you. “look at this mess,” he said, dragging it higher to smear across your clit, making you jolt.
your hips lifted, a whimper slipping out before you could stop it. “please—just—”
his other hand cracked against your thigh, sharp enough to sting. “don’t be greedy,” he snapped, pressing your leg down to the chair. “we’ll get there eventually. you’re gonna take what i give you.”
without warning he pushed the second finger in alongside the first, stretching you open slow. your gasp broke into a moan, your walls fluttering as you clenched down around him.
“there you go,” he muttered, twisting his wrist until both fingers were buried deep. his pace stayed steady, dragging them out, pressing them back in until you were rocking helplessly against his hand. “say it.”
you only managed a soft moan, head tipping back against the chair.
his pace didn’t falter, but his eyes cut up to yours. “if you keep making me tell you to say it, i’ll stop right now.”
your eyes flew open, panic rushing through your chest. “nonono—please, m’sorry—two—it’s two.”
you scrambled to make up for your slip, stammering out the number, but he didn’t let you off easy. his fingers kept moving, fucking into you harder until your breath hitched. every thrust had you clenching down tighter, chasing the friction.
he fucked the two fingers into you steady, letting you grind down on his hand, letting you think you had what you wanted. but then he shifted, dragging them out slow until only the tips stayed inside. the sudden emptiness made your cunt clench, desperate.
“think you can handle three?” he asked, already pressing the third finger against your entrance, pushing just enough to make you stretch around it without giving it to you fully. “hm? or is my greedy girl tapped out already?”
your whole body jolted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i can! i can do it, promise—please—just give it to me.” your voice cracked around the whine, hips rolling helplessly against his hand, trying to force him deeper.
he let you grind down against nothing, his fingers holding steady just at your entrance. “listen to you,” he murmured, soft but cutting. “about to cry over it.”
he pressed the third finger in slow, stretching you open until your cunt swallowed all three. your mouth fell open, a broken moan tearing free, and he cooed low in his throat like he almost felt bad for you. “thaaaaats it, baby. knew you could do it.”
he set a steady pace, dragging his fingers out and driving them back in until your chair creaked under the way you were moving against him. the stretch had you whining, head falling back, every sound you made feeding the smug curl of his mouth.
“tell me,” he said after a beat, his eyes locked on your face. his fingers curled deep, making you gasp. “all that staring earlier—what were you thinking about? hm? be honest with me.”
your chest rose sharp, words catching in your throat. “i—i don’t—”
he fucked his fingers into you harder, the heel of his palm grinding over your clit until you gasped. “stop playing dumb. you needed this. so say it.”
you stuttered around the moan that broke out of you, your face hot, tears pricking your eyes from how overwhelming it felt. “was—was thinking about your fingers—inside me—couldn’t stop—”
his laugh was quiet and cruel. “see, that wasn’t so hard was it? sitting there soaking your panties just watching me move my hands.”
you nodded against his grip, words tumbling out broken. “couldn’t help it—just kept watching—kept thinking about how they’d feel—”
he pumped his fingers deeper, curling them hard enough to punch another moan out of you. “and now you know,” he muttered, thumb brushing over your clit in slow, mean circles. “does it feel like you thought it would?”
your answer came out high and shaky, more a sob than words. “better—f-feels so much better—”
he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, voice dropping low. “look at you. all fucked out and i’ve barely given you anything.” his pace never faltered, three fingers driving into your cunt, his palm grinding your clit until your thighs shook.
“you’ve got no idea what you look like right now,” he muttered, eyes flicking down. his cock was straining against his jeans, the dark patch spreading at the tip where he’d already leaked through. “got me fucking aching just watching you lose it. leaking all over myself like a teenager while you whine on my hand.”
he curled his fingers deep, dragging another broken cry out of you. “can’t stop thinking about how good this pussy’s gonna feel around my cock.”
your head tipped back, voice cracking as the words spilled out. “want your cock, chris—please, need it so bad—”
he clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. “not ready yet, baby. gotta see how many you can take, remember?” his pace slowed just long enough to make you whimper before he pressed a fourth finger against your cunt, stretching you open around it. “four,” he breathed, watching your face twist as he pushed it inside.
“f-four,” you choked out, the word breaking into a moan when he shoved all the way in, his knuckles pressing flush against you.
his jaw clenched, the muscles ticking as he started to fuck his hand into you rough, driving all four fingers deep with each thrust. the sound of it was obscene, your pussy squelching around the stretch, wet dripping down onto his wrist. “listen to you,” he growled, snapping his hips forward against the back of the chair, trying to ease the ache in his cock. “taking four like it’s nothing. greedy little slut just can’t get enough.”
your eyes rolled back when he curled them hard, thumb grinding over your clit, and your legs shook under the force of it. “look at this pussy,” he bit out, voice ragged, “so fucking wet, so stretched—fuckin’ hell”
he shoved harder, knuckles battering your cunt with every thrust, your body jerking up the chair. “crying on four fingers like you don’t fuckin’ love it,” he spat, sweat gathering at his temples as his cock strained painful in his jeans.
his thumb circled your clit mean and steady, no rhythm but enough pressure to make your whole body seize. your back arched, a sob breaking out of you, and you couldn’t stop the way your cunt clenched down, milking his fingers like it was cock.
“fuuuuuckkk—there it is,” he snarled, slamming into you through your orgasm, wrist slick and shining with how much you were dripping. “squeezing the life out of me. soaking my fucking hand.”
you gasped through it, trembling, tears wetting your lashes as your thighs shook and your hips jerked helplessly against his palm, riding every wave until you were spent.your cunt still clenched around his fingers like it didn’t want to let go, sucking them back in every time he tried to pull out.
“chris—” the word fell out broken, your chest heaving. “please—kiss me, fuck me—do something—need you, need it so bad—” you didn’t even sound like yourself anymore, just a blabbering mess, words tumbling over each other as you clawed at his arm.
he laughed low, rough in your ear. “i am doing something, baby.” his wrist snapped harder, driving all four fingers back into your pussy until the wet slap echoed in the room.
you cried out, the sound breaking into sobs as the pressure built again too fast, your body wrung out and trembling. tears slid hot down your cheeks, your hand grabbing at his wrist, nails digging in. “chris—it’s too much, please—just kiss me, i can’t—”
he held steady, jaw tight, eyes flicking over your tear-streaked face. “can’t what?” he taunted, fucking you harder, thumb dragging cruelly over your clit. “can’t take it? thought you wanted my cock. can’t even handle my hand, baby.”
another sob spilling out as you clung to his wrist, trying to slow him down and drag him closer at the same time. “please, chris—just—kiss me, i’ll take it, i swear—please—”
he groaned at that, the desperation in your voice hitting him harder than anything else. “fuck,” he muttered, finally crashing his mouth against yours, still fucking you rough through it. the kiss was messy, teeth knocking, his tongue forcing past your lips while his fingers kept working your pussy like he wasn’t going to stop until you broke all over again.
your moans bled into his mouth, wet and frantic, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as another orgasm ripped through you, harder than the first. he swallowed every sound, panting against your lips. “that’s it,” he growled into your mouth, “cry on it for me, baby. show me how bad you need it.”
your moans bled into his mouth, wet and frantic, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as another orgasm ripped through you, harder than the first. his fingers never slowed, dragging against that spot over and over until you were sobbing into the kiss, your whole body clenching down around him.
you came undone messy on his hand, slick gushing down his wrist, your nails raking his arm as you tried to hold on. every aftershock had your cunt gripping him tighter, like it was begging him not to leave.
finally, finally, he eased the pace, slowing the thrust of his fingers until you were twitching under the drag of each shallow push. your body shook in the chair, breath ragged, sweat cooling on your skin.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, lips swollen from the kiss, tears still shining in your lashes. “ready for my cock,” he asked, “or you need a minute?”
your chest heaved, head tipping back against the chair as you tried to breathe through the tremors still running up your thighs. “i—i need—” your voice cracked, too shaky to finish.
he brushed his fingers over your cunt again, slow, lazy, just enough to make your hips twitch. “what, baby? need me to stop?”
“no—fuck no—don’t stop,” you whimpered, grabbing at his shirt with weak fingers. “just—just give me a second—please, chris, i still want it. need your cock so bad.” your voice was wrecked, half-plea, half-sob, like you couldn’t even tell the difference anymore.
he exhaled slow, finally easing his hand out of you. his fingers sticky with your cum, dripping down his knuckles, but he didn’t say a word about it. instead he leaned in, kissing you softer this time, mouths brushing lazy until you could catch your breath.
“you did so good for me,” he murmured against your lips, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, then another just under your eye where a tear had streaked. his hands rubbed slow up and down your trembling thighs, grounding you. “took everything i gave you. so proud of my girl.”
he leaned back just enough to get his hand on his jeans, undoing the button with one hand while the other smoothed over your skin. the zipper came down, the weight of his cock heavy as he pulled it free.
the first tug had him hissing against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “shit,” he muttered, voice raw, jerking himself slow while he let you breathe. he kissed along your jaw, down the side of your neck, soft pecks that didn’t match the way his fist worked his cock.
“m’ready,” you whispered, the words shaky but certain, your fingers clutching at his shirt like you were afraid he’d stop.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes narrowed. “you sure? i can just cum in my hand, honestly. you look exhausted.” his tone was half-teasing, half-serious, his fist stroking lazy down the length of his cock. “don’t need to fuck you tonight if it’s too much.”
your eyes went wide, panic flashing across your face as you shook your head quick. “what? no—please, don’t say that—i want it, chris, need it so bad—” your voice cracked, tears threatening again.
he kissed your cheek, shushing you softly, his cock still heavy in his fist. “hey, hey, breathe. if you’re sure, i’ll give it to you.”
“i’m sure,” you stammered, clinging to him like proof. “want it—want you inside me—please.”
his jaw tightened, his cock leaking against your thigh where it brushed. “alright then, baby,” he muttered, pressing one last kiss under your eye. he lined himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your folds until it caught on your entrance. the both of you groaned at once, the blunt pressure alone enough to make your whole body jolt for the umpteenth time tonight.
slowly, he pushed in, the stretch brutal after his fingers, your cunt fluttering around him as inch after inch sank inside, his forehead pressed to yours.
inexperienced!matt using readers panties to get off…
⚠︎︎ male masturbation, needy behaviour, lowkey using panties as a gag
matt wasn’t even trying to get worked up, it just happened.
it started when he stumbled across you new instagram post. it was nothing special, just a mirror selfie. casual. pretty. but to him, it felt lethal.
before he could think twice, his thumb swiped onto your page, flickering through each post until he found his favourite, the one of you in a blue bikini.
it wasn’t just a blue bikini, it hugged your tits in the most perfect way and it so happened to be his favourite colour.
his brain started to scramble and he felt that familiar heat pool in his crotch. he groaned quietly, pushing the heel of his hand over his lap for some friction as your photo lights up his face.
he shoved his phone aside, rolling onto his side, forehead pressed into the pillow with a dramatic whine.
but then he remembered.
tucked away in the bottom drawer of his nightstand was the soft pair of panties you'd accidentally left the last time you slept over. he'd told himself he'd give them back, but now... he couldn't stop thinking about them.
his pulse spiked as he scrambled out of bed, digging them out like a guilty thief. he brought them to his face, breathing you in like he'd been starving.
“she’d probably hate me if she knew-” he muttered to himself, ashamed as he rolled back onto bed.
the hand that wasn’t holding your panties fumbled down, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats and underwear, yanking them to his knees.
he dragged the panties lower, gasping when he let the fabric graze his sore tip. god he’s so pathetic.
his body throbbed with need, twitching in his hand as he wrapped them around himself.
he didn’t waste a second, he was way too needy to go slow. his hand moved at an uncoordinated and desperate pace, biting back moans.
he squeezed tighter, hips jerking up into his fist, sloppy and wet. every time he imagined it was you instead of the panties, his hand sped up, and his whimpers grew louder.
he’s inexperienced, but his imagine runs wild: your mouth, hands, your body moving on top of him. its all he’s ever wanted.
“f-fuck you’d feel so good- wish it was you b-”
by the time he could feel his orgasm approaching, he brought the panties up to his mouth to muffle any sounds. he whimpered your name into them, shame and pleasure tangling until he thought he might actually cry.
the heat broke all at once, his hips jerk off the mattress, body arching, and he came all over his hand. he bit down on the panties to muffle the cry of your name that spilled out his lips.
he collapsed back against his mattress, chest heaving, drool pooling out his mouth from biting on the panties. his face burned red and eyes were glazed.
he’s so dazed he doesn’t think, just pulls the underwear from his mouth and wipes his mess up with the already-damp fabric.
it’s only when he tosses them aside that it hits him. he stares, wide-eyed, at the now ruined pair of panties.
“…shit,” he mutters, his face blazing red. “yeah, can’t give those back now.”
if this is ass im sorry, i wrote it literally tonight. don’t be shy to send requests for inexperienced!matt or ask what he’s up to cause he’s getting bored 😝
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
vaporwave
