hi!! I love ur work sm and I wanted to ask how you think the lads would do in no nut november? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) stay frosty!!!
hi beautiful, thank you so much!!! i’m gonna do a real headcanon at the end of the month about NNN, but i will 100% tell you how they’d do :3
CALEB — less than a day
caleb would want to participate, i think. he would really try, but the second he sees a sliver of your bare skin or hears you call him ‘baby’, he’s so bricked and ready to throw the plans he had for no nut november out the window. i just think caleb is the easiest to fold merely because he’s wanted you forever and he hates not being inside of you when that’s his favorite place to be. so yeah, as soon as he’s off work and comes home to you in a big shirt with nothing but panties on underneath, you’re getting split in half and he’s filling you up. fuck no nut november, he’d rather just fuck you instead :3
XAVIER — three days
xavier is constantly in heat… maybe it’s an alien thing… or maybe sex is something that helps him recharge, but i give him three days TOPS before he loses. he doesn’t even know why he agreed to the stupid challenge anyway—he really just does whatever you tell him to. but you know him and you know xavier lacks patience and self control for this month-long challenge. the first 3 days without being buried inside you felt like a lifetime for him and you think he could really handle 30 days of no sex? absolutely not. xavier, also possessive by nature, can’t stand the thought of not being able to claim you and fuck you full of his cum… so on november 3rd, he’s pounding on your door and he practically ravages you in the doorway.
ZAYNE — 8 days and 23 hours
contrary to popular belief…. zayne can barely make it past a week. yes, he has self control and he knows how to restrain himself, but he can’t do that with you. zayne says i love you in many ways, but this is how he says it the loudest. he needs to be pressed against you with your hands in his while he kisses you everywhere. he needs to be unravel inside of you after a long day at work. in short, he just needs you. i can see him trying his hardest not to crumble—work keeps him busy and his mind off of you, but the longer he goes without his girl, the snappier he gets. so when he gets home late from a bad day at work and you’re in his bed welcoming him home, he just can’t take it anymore and takes you right then and there.
RAFAYEL — 16 days
i might get tomatoes thrown at me but i think raf could go awhile without sex especially if he’s being challenged and… it’s impressive, honestly. you doubted he could last a week and he proved you wrong when you didn’t see a text begging you to come over. but then day 16 comes and you get spammed with texts that read, “cutie…. please” and “i need you” and “pls come over i cant take it” and then come the pictures of his hard, aching cock that you admittedly miss more than anything. and when you finally see him, you notice he’s flushed everywhere—his ears, his cheeks, his neck are all a shade of deep red—he looks just as bad as he did on ebb day and that’s when you know you’re in for a long, LONG night.
SYLUS — lasts all month
now… sylus is actually very patient man when it comes to pissing you off. if you challenge him to no nut november? well, okay then. he won’t cum for the entire month of november. easy. the flaw with this is you didn’t think that it would turn into a punishment for you. sylus ends up denying you everyday of the month with the excuse of “we have to wait till December, sweetie.” and the whole challenge just makes you realize that every time you and sylus have had sex, it was initiated by you and damn him and that stupid smug smirk and his nonchalance. as soon as the clock strikes midnight on december 1st, you’re on top of him making him cum over and over and over again. the honest truth is, sylus doesn’t really care about the challenge, but watching you get so angry and pent up made it so worth it. (he loves to ragebait you)
but not in the way you’d think; not in a perverted loserish way.
he watches with intent. hopes to learn tricks that he might use on you one day, if he’s lucky.
he doesn’t even click on anything that looks slightly male-centered, because he knows that will never help him learn to please you.
instead, he opts for videos focused on cunnilingus, fingering, and the like.
as he opens up a more fitting video, his eyes go wide and his pupils dilate. this girl looks like you. she’s beautiful.
he finds his attention fixed on her throughout the entire video, the way her small hands flex around her lover’s biceps, the way her mouth falls open to let out tiny screams, the way her thighs quiver as she gets close.
he shudders, imagining you doing the same. you’d be so gorgeous like this, so sweet melting from his touches.
he finds himself reaching down his shorts, wrapping his rough hand around his length.
he keeps his eye trained on the girl, noting the way her back arches when her partner angles his hips down.
fisting himself with a sort of desperation, he closes his eyes to picture your face. without realizing, his pace quickens as he drags his thumb across his tip.
caleb sighs out your name, bucking his hips up into his palm. his chest falls and rises rapidly, each tiny breath drawing him closer to the edge.
he glances over to his screen again as the girl’s body contorts and twists. he knows you’d do the same—squirm from the pleasure. it would be soooo good, too much cock for you to handle.
he continues moving his hand up and down his shaft, and that familiar coil in his stomach tightens.
he grits his teeth, vision blurring hot white as he releases his spend all over his hand, his sheets, and his screen. lazily wiping his hand on his bedding, he picks up his phone.
Everything had gone wrong. It rained during his run, he forgot to bring his lunch, and his favourite scrub nurse called out sick. By the time he manages to drag himself home, he's so tired he doesn't even have the energy to warm up the dinner you'd made for him.
"Hi Zaynie." You smile when you see him. You're curled up in bed, book in hand, the warm lamp light illuminating your face. A small part of him relaxes. No matter how bad a day he had, at least he got to come home to you.
He doesn't have the energy to respond just yet. You don't seem to mind as he undresses in silence, pulling on a pair of pyjama pants. He forgoes a shirt. Joining you in bed, he tugs you close to him. Your book lays forgotten on the nightstand as he settles on top of you.
You're so warm, even in the t-shirt and shorts you sleep in. He presses his face into the crook on your neck, the smell of your lotion easing his racing heart. But still, the contact isn't enough. His hands slip under your shirt and, though his intent was really only to hold your waist, you sit up to pull the fabric off.
It's exactly what he needs. He hugs you tightly, chin hooked over your shoulder as you gently pat his back. His chest is pressed against yours, the steady beating of your heart matching his. Your free hand is running through his hair and the feeling makes him shiver. Something about your touch energizes him in a way unlike anything he's ever felt. In just a few minutes, he finally finds it in himself to speak.
i hc that all the boys prioritize your pleasure over theirs, but they do cum differently from each other.
⭐ xavier - average cummer. won't cum too fast or too slow. he probably hasn't fucked in forever though so if he goes rough, he'll cum a bit faster than usual but can pleasure you in other ways. after cumming in you, he may fall asleep on top of you at times, his softening cock still inside you, and you honestly love it.
🐟 rafayel - unpredictable cummer. can cum fast or can cum slow, it depends on how worked up he is. if he cums fast, similar to xavier, he can pleasure you in other ways (with his tongue and fingers) until he can fuck you all over again. if he cums slow, and you get too overstimulated to continue, he'll let you pleasure him in other ways (blowjobs, boobjobs, handjobs, he's all for it honestly).
❄️ zayne - self-control cummer. can cum and can stop his orgasm with pure will. if he's got exemplary self-control outside, then that applies in the sheets. good luck when you take control though—zayne always wants to make you cum first. if you wanna make him cum first, you'll have to tell him, so that he'll loosen up and let you handle his orgasm. if you try to act cute in the middle of sex though, then his self-control goes out the window; he's instantly cumming inside you. congrats, you found a loophole.
🐦⬛ sylus - a big tease cummer. has no problem with cumming anytime he wants. he loves having power over you and making you think that you have power over him. he likes teasing you with his orgasms too. you wanna ride him and make him cum? he'll smirk up at you and enjoy it, not letting you make him cum just yet, just so he can see when you start furrowing your eyebrows in concentration. when you catch on, chances are, he won't stop, but pout at him enough and he'll assure you that his orgasms are all yours and he won't hold them back anymore for the fun of it (just until he wants to tease you again).
🍎 caleb - massive cummer. cums inside you fast but has a nonexistent refractory period. when he cums inside you, he fucks you through it until he's hurtling into another one. every time you have sex raw, you'll always feel so full during it, and he won't stop even when his cum practically gushes out of your hole around his cock. yes, he likes making love to you and taking it slow, but he also loves rutting into you like a dog. can you blame him? being inside you is heaven on earth to him. it's pure bliss, and he's waited for it for so long. of course, he's gonna keep emptying his balls inside you, his cum belongs inside your hole after all.
this all started because i was thinking of caleb's cum whew, i think i've typed the word 'cum' enough for the rest of the day
Praise tastes different on every tongue– holy, filthy, cruel, hungry, and obsessed.
Content Warnings: MDNI, degradation & praise (slut mostly), dacryphilia, man whimpers, angst if you squint, rough oral/face-fucking/throat use, overstimulation, public/semi-public sex, religious stuff(church defiling), Xavier is a soft-spoken menace, cross dressing (maid outfit), exhibitionism (cameras/observers), size kink/stretching, anal (spit prep), cumplay, spit, pain/pleasure dynamics, CNC-flavored, alien sex (tentacles, oviposition, breeding themes).
A/n: This was supposed to be a gentle little praise kink thing, but it got derailed– and you got railed– into another 10k words. So bone apple teeth, babes.
Happy Kinktober <3
tagging my mootie @bluetoska ♡ thanks for being the brave pioneer in this unholy land. <3
On your knees, but God's not listening
The booth smelled of incense and dust, stale wood and candle smoke. It was too warm, too cramped, the kneeler digging into your knees as you shifted. The carved screen between you threw shadows across Father Xavier’s sharp cheekbones, but his eyes were steady, fixed, unflinching as his voice rumbled low.
“Speak.”
Your thighs pressed together, nerves sparking. You wet your lips, tilting your chin just enough to make sure he noticed the flutter of your lashes.
“I want to be a good girl,” you whispered, breath hushed in the dark.
His jaw flexed. Silence stretched, heavy. “Do you?”
“Yes.” You leaned closer, voice dripping, coaxing. “I’ll do anything you tell me.”
His breath hitched– barely audible through the lattice. For a heartbeat, he stayed perfectly still. Then the sound of fabric scraped faintly; he’d turned, checking beyond the confessional curtain, scanning for movement in the pews. Empty. Safe.
When he turned back, restraint was hanging by a thread. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, voice low, wrecked.
“Don’t I?” You leaned back, sliding your hand up your thigh, slow as confession, fingertips brushing your heat. You let out a soft, trembling sigh, tilting your head until your throat was bared to him.
“Say it again,” he murmured, the edge of a prayer in his voice.
Instead, you brought your fingers to your lips and gave them a tentative lick, locking eyes with him before letting out a soft moan that sounded like, “please”.
That was his breaking point.
For a moment, he looked heavenward– begging for self-control or forgiveness. Then his hand punched through the lattice, fingers seizing your chin. His other hand worked at tearing away more of the wooden screen.
“You should’ve never let me hear you beg.” He forced your face up, thumb pressing furious against your bottom lip until it split open around the pressure.
“Open,” Xavier said. His voice was rougher than before.
You obeyed, lips parting, tongue flicking out to taste. His thumb slid over your tongue, deeper, until you gagged softly, drool sliding down your chin. He watched the way your lips wrapped around and sucked it, eyes darkening, and when he pulled back, spit glistened on his digit. He smeared it across your cheek with deliberate contempt.
“Slut.” The word was sin and salvation in one. “Good girls don’t beg. They prove.”
The blunt head of his cock pressed through the gap, flushed and slick with precome.
He pushed in.
Your lips stretched around the thick head, already salivating. The first thrust was shallow– testing– and then he drove deeper, forcing half his length into your throat. You gagged, eyes watering, nails clawing the kneeler as his cock pulsed against your tongue.
The confessional rattled as Xavier used your mouth, wood groaning under the sharp snap of his hips. His hand gripped the back of your head through the screen, forcing you forward every time you tried to pull back. Your gagging was loud, obscene, wet sounds filling the booth as drool dribbled your chin and breasts.
Your cunt throbbed, your panties beyond soaked by now. Moving the kneeler so you could straddle it, you ground down against the wood, rutting like an animal, moaning around his cock as he hit the back of your throat again and again. Each gag sent sparks racing down to your clit, the sharp ache of choking turning into dizzy pleasure.
“Pathetic,” Xavier hissed, slapping your spit-slick cheek through the makeshift window. The sting bloomed hot and you whimpered, grinding sharper, your thighs shaking. “Crying, drooling, choking on it– and you love it.”
You tried to speak, to agree, but it came out as a gurgled moan around his cock. He let out a rough and broken sound, as your throat convulsed around him.
When he came, it was sudden– thick pulses flooding your throat, hot and salty, drowning you. He held your face there, cock buried, watching your throat bulge as you swallowed every drop.
But you didn’t let go.
You shot your hand through and trapped him, pulling his hips closer, tongue lapping greedily at his tip as if to clean it. His eyes widened, a rumble tearing from his chest.
“Enough,” he barked, trying to pull back.
You gasped, spit dripping from your chin, eyes glazed. “Not enough,” you moaned. You stood and drove your fist into the fragile wood, splinters biting your knuckles as you tore a hole wider. You caught his wrist, and yanked him closer, so he hung heavy past the broken partition, and you started rubbing your soaked cunt back against his cockhead.
“Mmm…Fuck me, Father. Make me your good girl.”
Xavier cursed, low and furious, but the sound broke into a groan as his cock slipped into your dripping pussy. You cried out, clawing the booth as he buried himself fully in one push.
The wooden screen shattered as he punched through what remained, hand gripping your hip with bruising force. “Ungrateful little slut,” he snarled, slamming into you roughly enough to rattle the wood of the confessional. “You think this makes you good? You think this is obedience?”
You cried out, bouncing back on him with every thrust, slick making it easy for him to drive in further. “Yes,” you sobbed, shameless. “Yes– fuck me harder– please, I've been so bad.”
The booth shook, wood splintering under the force of his hips as he pounded you raw. His breath was ragged in your ear, his composure long gone, your body used like an offering until the whole church might collapse around you.
Xavier’s cock split you all the way to the base with every thrust, his hands gripping your hips, dragging you back onto him until your ass smacked back in time with his rhythm. You were sobbing and grinning all at once, your cunt clenching wet and tight, gush after gush dripping down your thighs onto the booth floor.
“You’re mine,” he snarled, teeth bared, his voice unholy. “My good girl. My filthy, ruined– ” He broke off with a guttural curse as your pussy milked him.
The confessional cracked with every thrust, hinges whining, wood splitting beneath the force of him. One last slam and the booth gave way– splintering apart as your orgasm hit, the sound of cracking wood swallowed by your cry. Your body convulsed around him, cunt spasming so tight he cursed, hips stuttering as he drove deeper, grinding his cockhead against your cervix like he meant to fuck straight through the wreckage.
“Good girl,” Xavier rasped into your ear, broken and reverent now. “Take it– take it all– ”
His cock pulsed, hot spend flooding you. You whimpered, slick and cum rivuleting down your thighs, grinding back on him desperately, chasing more even as his cock twitched and emptied inside you.
The heavy wooden door to the sacristy creaked.
“Father Xavier?” A woman’s voice, tentative. The swish of fabric. “Are you– ”
You both froze, locked together, bodies slick with sweat and sin. The nun stepped into the chapel, a cardinal just behind her. The air snapped taut.
Xavier’s cock was still buried in you, his grip iron on your hips, chest pressed against your back. Your pussy flexed involuntarily around him, and his breath hitched hot against your neck. The confessional booth in ruin framed you both like an altar of filth.
The nun gasped, hand flying to her mouth. The cardinal’s sharp intake of breath echoed off the stone.
Xavier didn’t pull out. Couldn’t. Instead, his fingers dug deeper into your flesh, his cock twitching inside your still-quivering cunt. His voice was hoarse, defiant.
“She’s– confessing,” he ground out, hips jerking once more despite himself.
You moaned, shameless, pulsing around him on purpose, arching against him. More cum leaked down your thighs, dripping audibly to the chapel floor. The cardinal hissed a prayer under his breath, the nun whispering nonsense in horror.
But Xavier didn’t stop. His hips rammed into you again, and again, skin slapping, echoing in the holy air.
You sobbed out loud, the sound filthy, triumphant. “Your good girl,” you cried, your orgasm crashing over you again right as his cock spilled another hot pulse inside you.
The nun turned away, the cardinal crossed himself, but neither could move away. And Father Xavier kept his cock buried inside you, utterly spent, a low, broken sound tearing from him, as he sagged against you panting. Unrepentant.
Frills don’t soften the way he fucks.
You weren’t even trying to sneak up the stairs– the music from Caleb’s room was loud enough that he wouldn’t have noticed if you stomped. But you still tiptoed, attempting to scare him. When you pushed the door open, the sight that greeted you stopped you dead.
Caleb. Six-foot-hunk-of-something, broad shoulders, thick thighs– stuffed into a frilly black-and-white maid outfit. Lace garter digging into muscle, a skirt flouncing mid-thigh. He froze, wide-eyed, halfway through adjusting the little headband in his hair.
“Uh,” he said eloquently, ears going crimson. “This– uh– it’s for a thing. With the boys. Like…a group costume, don’t make it weird.”
You leaned against the doorframe, biting back a grin. “Group costume, huh?” You let your eyes roam slowly, deliberately, pacing around him like a shark scenting blood. His face burned brighter with every step.
“You– uh– don’t look weirded out?” he tried, scratching the back of his neck.
“I kind of like it.”
His head snapped toward you. “Yeah?” The eagerness in his voice betrayed him before he tried to recover, coughing and tugging at the skirt like he wasn’t glowing. “I mean. Yeah. Cool. Whatever.”
You stopped in front of him, close enough that he shifted on his feet. Your hand dragged down his chest, over the frilly apron, landing on the hard bulge under lace. “Cute,” you murmured, giving him a slow squeeze.
Caleb inhaled sharply, head dropping, breath hot. “Shit.”
You pushed him back onto the bed, skirt riding up as he fell onto the pillows. He looked ridiculous– ridiculous and gorgeous, flushed in satin and lace, thighs spread.
“Oof, even got the panties on too?” You murmured, caressing his straining length through the black lace.
Caleb whimpered, muffling it with his palm, ears peaking red.
You hummed in approval and straddled his lap, tugging his cock free from the panties. Thick, heavy, flushed dark, it twitched in your hand as you stroked.
“Baby,” he whined, trying to play it off but unable to stop his hips from jerking.
You stroked him slow, deliberate, thumb dragging lazy circles over the slick head. His hips twitched, but you kept the rhythm torturously steady, savoring every broken sound he made.
“Look at you,” you murmured through your own lust. “All dressed up, dripping for me.” You twisted your wrist, dragging your fist down his shaft and back up, smearing the wet across his flushed skin. His breath hitched audibly, thighs clenching as he tried not to buck.
“Please…” he whined, voice cracking. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, as if he didn’t know where to put them. He keened softly when your thumb circled his slit, cock twitching in your palm.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered, leaning close enough for your breath to ghost his ear. “You want it, but you’re holding back. Let me feel how bad you need it.”
He whimpered your name, low and broken, head tipping back, a guttural sound catching in his throat. “I can’t– please, I can’t–” His words dissolved into another moan when you squeezed, slow and deliberate, your praise a soft knife. “So big in my hand,” you murmured. “You’re leaking like you’re ready to lose it. Show me. Show me what you’ve been hiding.”
His thighs trembled violently now, cock jerking with every stroke, precome running down your knuckles. When you tightened your grip and gave three quick pumps, his whole body bucked helplessly, a choked, shameful cry breaking out of him.
He came with a shuddering moan, hot spurts striping your hand, the skirt, the apron. His eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy, lips parted around soft little gasps as he tried to catch his breath, still trembling from the wreckage of it.
You leaned in, kissed his cheek, and whispered against his ear: “Good girl.”
His whole body jolted. The soft, embarrassed Caleb vanished. In his place: a growl, his hands gripping your hips hard as he flipped you on your back under him. “Say that again,” he rasped, cock still hard and messy against your thigh.
You smirked. “Good girl.”
He snapped.
Yanking your clothes aside, he fumbled with just enough force to bare you for him. Then he drove in, no hesitation, stretching you in a single harsh thrust, nearly knocking the wind out of you. Caleb was huge, big enough that you never got used to it. Still hard even after spilling in your hand, his cock split you open in one long, messy push. Lace scratched your thighs as he bottomed out, his sounds turned rough, almost feral.
You gasped, clinging to his forearms as he grinded into that thrust before sliding out a bit.
“You think I’m your good girl?” he growled, before his hips slammed into yours, cock stretching you wide again. “Fuckin’ take it, then. Take it all.”
“Ah– fuck– Caleb–”
Caleb’s groans turned guttural, his hips driving into you with relentless force.
“Shit, you’re so tight,” he rasped. “So wet for me– fuck.”
You grasped at him, the ridiculous frills of his outfit turning into anchors as he pounded into you. Each thick drag of his cock made you gasp, then faster, sharper, until the bed squeaked and the little headband slipped off his hair and on your chest.
“Good girl,” you taunted, voice breaking, flicking the discarded piece to the floor. “My pretty maid– ”
Caleb’s breath tore out rough, hips snapping forward, fucking you harder, sweat dripping down his temples. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him as he pounded you.
“You think a good girl could fuck you like this?” he growled, voice low and rough. Another thrust, burying deeper, your cunt clenching tight around him. “Huh? You think a good girl would ruin you like this?”
You sobbed, nails digging into his back with every snap of his hips. He shoved your thighs wider, cock hitting even deeper, his words ragged against your mouth.
“Say it,” Caleb demanded, grinding in until you could feel him everywhere. “Say who’s being the good girl now.”
Both of you a filthy mess as he fucked you through the question, every thrust daring you to answer, every moan swallowed by the golden-retriever-turned-maid pounding you raw.
Caleb’s thrusts grew more savage, more consuming, until the frame of the bed creaked. Then with a growl, he pulled out, grabbed your waist, and flipped you onto your hands and knees as if you were a rag doll.
“Stay there,” he rasped, voice breaking. His hand tangled in your hair, urging your head back until your eyes locked on the mirror across the room. The sight made your stomach drop– your own flushed face, mouth open, tears shining at the corners of your eyes; Caleb behind you in that ridiculous, ruined maid outfit, cock slick and heavy, dragging through your folds.
“Fuuuck,” He growled low, half a moan breaking through, eyes dark in the reflection. “What a sight.”
Then he slammed back inside, the girth of him punching a cry from your throat. He didn’t ease in this time– he was too far gone, pounding into you with relentless force, the outfit clinging and wrinkled as his cock drove you forward against the mattress.
Your cheek pressed into the pillows, but Caleb yanked your hair again, forcing your gaze up to the mirror, every brutal snap of his hips reflected back at you. His cock glistened with slick and cum, disappearing into you again and again, your body shaking, thighs trembling as he fucked you open.
“Do you see it,” he grunted, rutting deep. “Do you see how well you take me. Fuck– what a good girl you are for me.”
The reflection was obscene: you drooling, eyes glazed, body jolting with every thrust; Caleb wrecked in lace, chest heaving, muscles straining as he pounded you like he wanted to break the bed.
His snarls echoed in your ear, his pace frenzied now, every thrust slamming his cock so deep your vision blurred. You clenched around him, sobbing, and he bent low, voice rough and reverent all at once.
“Fuck– my perfect girl. Look at you. Look at what I do to you.”
Caleb’s grip in your hair tightened, pulling a gasp from your throat as he drove into you again and again, the mirror catching every frantic snap of his hips.
Your body clenched hard around him, shaking, the rhythm of his cock pushing you past reason. He moaned raggedly in your ear, watching your face in the reflection. “That’s it… fuck, that’s it… you feel so good for me.”
The sound of him was desperate: heavy panting, curses spilling without restraint. His cock pulsed inside you, thick veins dragging along your walls until your vision blurred.
“God, look at you,” Caleb whispered hoarsely, the words tumbling out broken and reverent. “My pretty girl… my good girl… taking all of me.”
Your body tightened, everything coiling at once, every drag of his cock stoking the fire until it burst. The orgasm tore through you, blinding, your thighs clamping, your cunt fluttering so hard around him that it stole your breath. You choked on a sob as the pleasure refused to stop, refusing to let you come down.
Caleb groaned like he’d been gutted, hips faltering at the vice of your cunt. His cock twitched inside you, then he thrust again, desperate, sloppy, his breath breaking against your ear. “Fuck– baby– keep squeezing me– God, you’re perfect.”
He pressed deep, grinding, as if he could bury himself in your very bones. His release broke in hot pulses, thick spurts spilling into you, heat flooding your core. The mirror reflected it all: your tear-stained face slack with ecstasy, hair tangled in his fist, and Caleb wrecked in lace, chest heaving, cock jerking as he filled you to the brim.
His rhythm slowed only after he’d spilled everything he had, his hips rocking shallowly to keep it in, unwilling to let go. White leaked around the base of his cock as he moaned low, almost reverent.
“Look at us,” he managed, wrecked and awed. “Look what you do to me.” He kissed your shoulder, your neck, everywhere he could reach, still pulsing weakly inside you.
His forehead rested against your temple, breath hot, words soft and ruined:
“Still think I’m your good girl?”
You smiled faintly at the reflection, still twitching around him in aftershocks. “My best one.”
He can't dominate the world but he can dominate your body.
The lair was dark glass and cold steel, the city skyline spread beneath the windows like prey. Rafayel lounged in his chair at the head of the table, a monarch of ruin, voice velvet-lined cruelty as his henchmen slunk away to obey their orders. World domination didn’t pause for anything– except when he crooked a finger at you.
You, his loyal sidekick. His sharp little shadow. Always mouthing off, always rolling your eyes at his speeches. He let you play at defiance because it amused him– and because he knew how quickly he could snap you down.
He’d even dressed you for the part: a costume closer to an insult than an outfit. A strip of leather masquerading as a skirt, thigh-high boots laced so tight they bit into your thighs, and a corset that forced your tits up like an offering. Pearls strung across your chest in delicate chains– around your throat like a collar, looped between your breasts, threaded down to your navel. Pretty, fragile, slutty. Leaving you exposed by his design, a body meant for display and use.
You hated him. You loved him. Both truths sat like glass in your chest, cutting every time he looked at you with those sharp, amused eyes. You were nothing more than a weapon to him, a pretty blade dressed in pearls and leather. You wanted him, wanted him in ways that had nothing to do with orders or obedience– but Rafayel’s hunger was too big, too endless. His eyes weren’t on you. They were always on the city sprawling beneath his tower, on rules yet to bend, on power too vast to share.
And still, when his attention turned your way, you burned for it.
You had spat some barb about his “evil empire,” and before the words finished echoing, you were bent over the conference table, cheek pressed into polished steel.
“Bitchy little thing,” Rafayel purred, his breath hot against your ear. His gloved hand gripped the back of your neck as his other slid down, between your thighs, forcing them apart. “You know I could throw you off this tower and no one would miss you.” His fingers brushed your bare heat, finding it wet already. He chuckled darkly. “But you’d rather I fuck you first, wouldn’t you?”
You squirmed, muttering some half-hearted insult, but he only laughed.
Rafayel tugged at his belt with a sneer. “You think you’re so clever?”
“On your knees,” he ordered, and before you could quip back, his hand was in your hair, pulling you down.
His cock pressed against your lips, thick, flushed, heavy. He fisted your hair, tilting your head back until your throat was bared. “Open. Let me see how sharp that tongue really is.”
You didn’t get a choice. He pushed past your teeth, groaning as the first stretch of your throat sealed around him. You gagged, tears springing instantly, and he laughed low, cruel. His hips rolled, then snapped, cock sawing in and out of your throat until spit streamed down your chin.
“Mm, such a better use for this mouth,” Rafayel rasped, tilting your face toward the glass so you could see yourself choking on him. “Taking all of me.”
You moaned at the scrap of praise he gave you, the sound swallowed down his length.
His pace shifted, no longer just brutal but savoring, grinding deep enough to make you gag, then easing back just to smear spit across your lips before ramming in again. Every time your throat seized around him, his groan sharpened, like he was charging power from your ruin. He tilted your face toward the glass, thumb pressing into your cheek so the camera of your reflection showed every bulge and stretch. “Filthy little toy,” he hissed, rutting harder. “Made to choke on me.”
When he pulled you up, your jaw ached, spit slicking your neck. He bent you over the table, fingers prying at your ass, smearing slick from your dripping cunt across the tight ring. You flinched as his thumb pressed, but he only chuckled, leaning over you, breath hot at your ear.
“Relax. I'm being nice by even prepping you.” He spat, wetting his cock, then rubbed the thick head against your ass, smearing spit and your own slick until it glistened. His other hand pressed into your lower back, holding you down. Slowly, inexorably, he pushed inside.
Your hole resisted, tight and clamped, but Rafayel was relentless. He ground his hips forward an inch, then held there, forcing you to breathe around the burn. When your body tried to push him out, he only chuckled and shoved deeper, savoring the way your thighs shook. He spat again on your hole, slicking his cock with a slide, and dragged it back just enough to slam forward another inch. “You’ll take it,” he growled, hips grinding. “Every fucking part of you is mine.”
The stretch burned, and you clawed at the steel, gasping. He shushed mockingly, groaning as your ass clenched around him. “Tight little thing. You’re mine everywhere, you understand? Every hole.”
He fucked you there until you whined, until sweat dripped from your temples and the table screeched against the floor. His thrusts were deliberate, savoring the way your body trembled, making you feel every inch. He lingered there until your muscles fluttered helplessly around him, until the stretch was all you could feel.
Only then did he ease back, cock dragging free in a slick mess, and shove your thighs wide.
“Now the pretty part,” he said, lining up with your cunt and plunging deep in one smooth stroke. You sobbed, your body seizing around him, so full you could hardly breathe.
Every thrust sounded obscene, wet and punishing, your body jolting forward across the steel with each snap of his hips. The table legs screeched against the floor, your tits mashed flat, your cries muffled against cold glass. He bent close, voice curling hot at your ear. “You’re squeezing me like this was a reward.” His hand slid up your spine, pressing you down harder, cock driving in deeper. “I’m not giving you anything. I’m taking.”
Your orgasm tore through you despite his words, shameful and hot, slick gushing down your thighs. You spasmed, gasping, but Rafayel didn’t let you breathe. He dragged your hips back, cock rutting in sharp cruel strokes that wrung the climax out of you until it hurt. Tears streaked your face, slick streaming down your thighs, and he groaned low, savage. “Pathetic slut,” he rasped, watching your cunt gush for him. “You’d come on my fist, my boot – anything I gave you, wouldn't you–" His hips slammed harder, making the words shake against your ear.
His hands clamped on your hips, dragging you back onto his cock even as your body shuddered and clamped down too tightly. “Again,” he ordered, thrusting so deeply that your vision blurred. “You’ll break on my cock until I’m finished.”
The table squealed against the floor as he fucked you harder, every snap of his hips punishing. You sobbed, nails scraping uselessly at the steel as his cock drove into your sore, overslick pussy. The wet slap of it echoed, obscene, your thighs trembling, juices streaking down your legs in waves.
“Cry for me,” he taunted, yanking your hair so you had to see yourself in the glass wall, mascara running, lips open on a silent scream. “That’s the face of someone who knows her place.”
Your cunt betrayed you, fluttering around him, another orgasm surging before the last one had ebbed. Your cry cracked, body convulsing, slick flooding over his cock as he groaned in triumph. He never slowed, never let you down, each thrust dragging you through overstimulation into ragged, keening sobs.
Your legs buckled, cheek hitting the table again, wrecked and quivering. He pulled out with a lewd squelch making cum drip from your cunt down your thighs. He slapped the wet length against your ass once, twice, groaning at the mess he’d made. Then he dragged your limp body upright by the hair, forcing your back arched, your lips parted and trembling. “Still got more holes for me,” he muttered darkly, grinding the slick head against your spit-smeared mouth.
“Open again.”
You whimpered, but he forced you down, rutting into your mouth until your throat spasmed around him. His groan was guttural, head tipping back as he yanked you closer, cock shoved deeper down your throat. The pearls at your neck snapped under his fist, strings breaking as he spilled– hot and bitter down your tongue– beads scattering across the steel in the same instant his cum flooded your mouth.
He held you there until he was finished.
Pearls lay broken across the steel, his cum still hot in your mouth. You swallowed for him anyway, though his eyes were already on the city, glittering with promise he’d never share.
His voice was calm again, cold, as he tucked himself back in.
“Not a good girl,” he said simply, fastening his belt. “Not yet. But keep trying.”
All in the name of science...right?
The valley was silent, thick with mist that clung low over the moss. Zayne’s boots sank with each step, damp and springy, leaving faint glowing footprints where spores reacted to his weight. He swept his lamp across the field and froze.
At the center of the clearing loomed a bloom unlike anything in his records. Its size was absurd– easily large enough to swallow him whole. The lips of the structure were sealed shut, ridged like muscle, the surface glistening under his light. Clear liquid seeped from the seam, sliding down in heavy ropes to pool on the moss.
Zayne crouched, datapad balanced in one hand, the other tugging a vial from his belt. He dipped it into the fluid and watched it stretch, clinging in strings between glass and ground. His glove glistened when he smeared a drop across the pad of his thumb.
“Viscosity’s higher than mucilage,” he muttered for the recorder. “Composition unknown. Possible digestive fluid.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, brows furrowed at the sticky sheen. “Sweet odor. Volatile compounds?” He leaned in closer, breathing deep.
His pulse thundered in his throat. The smell wasn’t just sweet– it was alive, curling down his lungs, blooming in his chest like a fever. His tongue tingled, a phantom taste chasing the air. For a scientist, curiosity had always been his sin; now it felt like temptation itself.
He braced to collect another sample. The bloom shivered. You shivered.
You felt him before he ever touched you– the heat of his pulse against your flesh, the reverence in the way his light traced your lips. You tried to stifle your growing want, but it was a hungry thing.
Zayne blinked, straightening. The petals had not opened, but something in the moss shifted beneath him. A rustle. The faintest movement against his boot. He turned, lamp cutting through the mist– nothing.
He exhaled sharply, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. “Likely reactive root system,” he told himself. He bent again, datapad raised to sketch the seam of the flower.
The ground flexed over your roots, and you reached for him. Tendrils unfurled, tasting the air, tasting him. His fear hit you first– sharp and electric. Delicious.
Zayne froze, breath caught, then snarled, jerking back. Another slid up his calf, cool and strong. The datapad slipped from his grasp, tumbling into the moss as the first pull dragged him off balance.
“The fuck– ?” he hissed, twisting to break free. The tendril tightens, and you lift him a foot off the ground. A second, thicker coil wound his thigh, squeezing, dragging him higher.
Panic kicked in, raw and instinctive. He grabbed for the nearest root, nails raking moss, but the ground slicked under his fingers. Every tendril that found him seemed to learn him– mapping muscle, following the path of resistance. When one coiled higher, brushing his hip, he realized the thing wasn’t hunting to feed. It was testing.
By the time the third snaked up his waist, it was too late.
Zayne cursed, twisting against your grip, but your strength was unyielding. His datapad fell uselessly to the moss as more of your tendrils slithered from the flower’s core, winding around his arms, prying at the seals of his suit.
“Shit, shit– no signal,” he snarled, slamming at his wrist console. The static hum swallowed his voice. The air buzzed, pheromonal, the spores flaring in rhythm with his heartbeat. The world felt like it was breathing with him– and waiting for him to give in.
“Let– me– ” His voice broke when his chestplate hissed and slipped free, then his undersuit.
You peeled him open like a fruit, layer by layer, savoring the hiss of his breath as the air kissed what you’d uncovered. Your slick coated him in long, glowing strands, draping his chest, his thighs, shining across the rigid lines of his stomach.
Your bioluminescence crawled over his skin like worship, tracing veins, lighting each breath he took. It was obscene, how beautiful it was– how his body lit up like a constellation in the dark. When the first drop of your slick slid down the curve of his cock, he groaned, a sound too low to be all resistance.
“Fuck– stop,” he growled, straining against the bonds. You only stroked him harder, sliding over his nipples, circling the flushed head of his cock, smearing fluid down the length until he was dripping. His body betrayed him, cock twitching under your attention.
He told himself it was reflex. Nerve stimulation. A trick of adrenaline. But when your tendril slid higher, teasing the edge of his slit, his hips lifted to meet it. “Not– fuck– not that,” he gasped, but the plea sounded like need.
You coiled his shaft, pumping slow, deliberate. Another part of you cupped his balls, rolling them, squeezing until his breath hitched. He bucked against your hold and a third tendril slapped slickly across his slit, smearing pre-cum into glowing strings.
Zayne’s head fell back. A ragged sound tore from his throat as you opened wide, petals glistening, and drew him in. He hit your tongue like lightning– salt, sweat, growing submission.
Heat wrapped him, your wet tongues lapping the head of his cock, curling, stroking, sucking with greedy insistence. Suction pulled at him from all sides, a dozen slick textures dragging over every vein, every ridge, until his hips jolted helplessly. He choked on a moan, eyes wide, muscles quivering as the tendrils forced him to hold still while your mouths worked him over.
“Ah– no– ” His protest collapsed into a gasp as you sucked him harder, milking the thick first spurt from him. He spilled in hot pulses, swallowed instantly by your tongues, licked clean before the next came. You didn’t stop, didn’t slow– just kept sucking, lapping, dragging more out of him until his cock was raw and his moans broke into whimpers.
You moaned through him, every sound he made feeding back into you until neither of you could tell where one ended and the other began. His hands twitched uselessly, the strength gone from them, replaced by something that trembled with surrender.
Your tendrils lifted his legs higher, folding him back. His ass brushed the slick lip of another of your openings, heat pressing in. He thrashed once– then groaned when you pushed a tendril inside, hot and thick, fucking him in rhythm with the suction around his cock. His thighs trembled, pinned to his chest, every thrust forcing a cry from him as he was used from both ends.
Fluid streamed down his body, soaking the moss beneath. His belly slick, his chest smeared, his cock swelling and twitching even as he spilled again and again, milked until his eyes rolled. His hands were forced into your other slits, fingers swallowed and sucked until his knuckles disappeared, each of your cavities pulling hungrily. You shoved past his lips. He groaned and let your thick tendril in, sucking desperately as it pulsed slick down his throat.
The man who had barked commands into a recorder an hour ago was gone. In his place was something pliant, glazed, hips jerking uselessly while you wrung him dry. He didn’t fight anymore. He couldn’t. He was nothing but soft sounds and leaking cock, body open wherever you wanted him.
That was when you split wider, grinding down harder, your walls rippling as you rode him deep. His scream cracked as another orgasm was dragged out, cum swallowed greedily, his body shaking. He was egg-soft now, pliant, trembling, but not resisting.
The glow pulsed in time with his heartbeat, as though your body had synced with his. Every exhale fogged the inside of your slick walls, every inhale dragged in the scent of sugar and decay. He should’ve been horrified. Instead, his lashes fluttered and his hips rolled weakly, chasing your warmth.
When the first orb pressed into him, he sobbed. Thick, heavy, stretching him as it slid past his cock from your slick depths. His belly swelled under the weight, glowing slick smeared across it as you pushed another in, and another. His eyes fluttered, tears streaking down his temples, lips parted around the tendril fucking his throat.
You stroked his hair, your hum resonant and satisfied, as you patted the bulge in his belly.
“Good girl.”
Zayne’s wrecked eyes widened, confusion flickering through the haze. “I’m not– ” His protest broke into a moan as another egg slipped inside.
You shushed him, smiling against the glow in his skin, coaxing the egg in place. “Yes,” you whispered, curling around him like worship. “My good girl.”
When the mist closed again, you left your first believer, a man claimed by something older than science, glowing where your touch had enlightened him.
Pornhub's favorite cock breaks in a new toy.
The lights burned hot, the cameras humming. The set looked like a bedroom but smelled like powder and sweat, and you sat on the edge of the bed with your pulse rabbiting in your throat.
Sylus stepped into frame like he owned it, precum catching the light, cock already heavy and half-hard. He didn’t ask if you were ready; he just tipped your chin up with two fingers, smirking like he’d seen this a thousand times before.
“First-timer,” he murmured, low enough the mics barely caught it. “Relax. Just follow my lead. I’ll make you look like a natural.”
The director’s voice snapped: “Action.”
Sylus guided your head down, cock brushing your lips. “Open up, princess,” he said for the camera, voice drawled, practiced. You obeyed, mouth wrapping around him, and the crew’s murmurs went quiet as your throat worked to take him deeper.
He gripped the back of your head, pace steady, hips rolling with just enough force to make your eyes water. “That’s it. Breathe through your nose. Smile for the lens.” Professional lines, the kind meant for footage. His expectant gaze locking on you made you eager to please him.
You moaned, taking him in deeper, drool sliding down your chin, and he groaned low in his chest. “Fuck, you take me better than most of the vets. Damn.”
When you gagged on him, he angled your face toward the camera. “That’s it. Open wide for the lens. Show them how good you suck my cock.”
Then, low, where only you could hear: “Fuck, baby, that throat was made for me. I'll be back for it, I promise.”
His cock slipped from your lips with a lewd drag, spit and precum stringing between you. He tapped it against your swollen mouth once, twice, smirking at the mess on your chin. “Look at you. First day and you’re already a pro.” He thumbed over your bottom lip, then shoved his slick fingers into your mouth, groaning as you sucked them down. “Yeah… that’s the hunger I like. Let’s show them what else you can do.”
He pulled you up, spun you onto the mattress, and pushed your thighs wide. The cameras crowded close, catching the way his cock dragged through your folds, smearing you open. “Angle up,” he told the cameraman absently, but his eyes never left yours. “Yeah. Let ‘em see how wet she is already.”
The first thrust drove a cry from your throat, your back arching. He should’ve slowed, but he didn’t– his rhythm was steady, relentless, nothing staged about the way he rutted into you.
“Keep your face up for the camera,” he grunted, hand wrapping around your throat to tilt you toward the lens. “Yeah, that’s the shot. Perfect, baby.” His words were still for show, but his eyes had gone sharp, narrowed on your shaking body like this wasn’t about the shoot anymore.
He didn’t rush the rhythm– he stretched it out, hips dragging slowly to grind every inch against you before snapping forward again. The cameraman muttered a curse under his breath at how obscene the wet slap sounded through the boom. Sylus leaned down, biting at your jaw, whispering hot against your skin: “Not acting anymore, baby. You feel too fucking good.” His thrusts grew faster, rougher, until sweat dripped from his temples and your moans filled the room.
His thrusts built until your nails clawed at the sheets, each snap of his hips punching sound out of you. He slowed suddenly, grinding deep, his cock thick and pulsing inside you, making sure the cameraman caught your trembling thighs. He pulled back, not all the way, just enough to let you feel the drag, the ache, before slamming forward again. Your body jolted with the impact, and he laughed quietly, eyes dark on yours. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let's see what else you can do, hmm?”
He pulled out, flipped you, propping you onto your knees, and shoved your face down into the mattress, your ass arched for the camera. He spread you open with both hands, dragging his cock back through your slick folds before slamming back inside. The cameraman crouched low for the close-up, the wet squelch of every stroke caught by the boom.
“Fuck, look at that,” Sylus growled, hips pounding into you.
His big hands spread your ass for the close-up, he rasped for the cameraman: “Get in tight– you see that? She’s dripping for me.”
He yanked your hair back, forcing you to arch until the camera caught your face twisted with tears and pleasure.
His lips brushed your hairline, whispering, “You’re clenching like you need it deeper. Don’t hide from me. I know you love this cock.”
He kept you pinned there until your legs shook from holding yourself up, every thrust shoving you further into the mattress. “Stay right there for me,” he told the cameraman, prying your wider with one hand as his cock pistoned into you. The lens zoomed in on your cunt sucking him back in every time he pulled out. Sylus bent close, lips brushing your ear, voice dropping: “You’re practically milking me. Can’t get enough, can you?” You sobbed a broken ‘no’ against the sheets.
He didn’t let up, your cheek pressed flat to the mattress, drool wetting the fabric. “Fuckin– too good,” he rasped, hammering in faster, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the set. Your pussy gushed around him, slick dripping down your thighs. Only when your body sagged from the strain did he ease back, palm sliding down your spine as he kissed the back of your shoulder. “Keep me in, pretty girl, don’t lose me.”
Then he rolled you onto your side, hooked your leg over his hip, and drove back in at a deeper angle. “Hold that,” he told the cameraman. His hand turned your face towards him, his gaze glued to you, watching every flutter of your lashes as his cock bottomed out. His teeth grazed your jaw, and his voice dropped, urgent: “Forget the cameras, baby– I’m the only one fucking you like this.”
You whimpered, thighs clenching, and he groaned and kissed you hard, swallowing the sound.
He stayed in that angle for long minutes, grinding deep, hitting a spot that made your thighs tremble uncontrollably. His cock dragged slowly, then hammered in hard, alternating until you were gasping and shaking under him. “Eyes on me,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours. “Stay with me, baby, I’m not letting up.” You clutched at his shoulders, every muscle straining, and he growled when you clenched around him again. The director shifted in his chair, voice rough:
“Alright– let’s cut for a reset. Take five– ”
“No,” Sylus shot back, not looking away from you. His hips never stopped moving, driving his cock deeper, harder, as though daring anyone to intervene. “No need, right baby?”
He nuzzled your throat, breath breaking against your skin: “Don’t make me stop. I can’t stop. Tell me you don’t want a break either.”
Your body seized around him, the answer ripped from your throat in a broken moan. The cameraman swore under his breath, lens still rolling. Sylus smirked, kissed your jaw, and fucked you harder. “See? She’s not going anywhere. Such a trooper, let's see what else she's got.”
He pulled out suddenly and rolled onto his back. “Climb on,” he ordered. You rose slowly, his hand steadying, and straddled him. Thighs shaking, you sank onto his cock as the lights caught every inch of stretch. Sylus grinned, both hands gripping your hips tight. “Ride me. Show them what a natural you are.”
The cameras caught everything– the way your tits bounced with each rise and fall, the way your cunt clung slick and hungry to his cock. Sylus let you move for a moment before he took control again, thrusting up hard, making you sob and fold forward onto his chest.
“Fuck,” he groaned, slapping your ass, driving you down on him. “Good girl, taking it all. Bounce on it. Show them you’re mine.”
He supported you back upright, letting you ride until your thighs burned, every bounce squelching loud enough for the whole crew to hear. His hands left your hips to roam your tits, squeezing, thumbing your nipples, groaning when your cunt tightened around him. “Fuck, that’s it. Keep going, baby,” he whispered, too low for the mics. When your body gave out, slumping back against his chest, he kissed your temple. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” He whirled you down into the mattress, never slipping free, shifting you fluidly into the next position.
He folded you in half, ankles pressed by your ears in a brutal pile-driver angle. The cameraman gasped as Sylus pounded into you from above, sweat dripping down his temples, muscles straining as your body shook beneath him.
His voice ragged in your ear: “That’s it, baby. Come for me, right here in front of everyone.”
You cried out, tears streaking, the sound caught raw in the mics.
Your orgasm hit hard, slick gushing on his cock, thighs trembling uncontrollably. Sylus groaned, fucking you through it.
The room was silent except for the sound of rythmic squelching and your cries echoing off the studio walls.
His hand brushed your hair, soothing as he stayed buried in you for a long, obscene moment, his hips grinding slow circles that had your belly quivering. His cock slid out with a slick drag, your cunt fluttering around the loss. He smeared himself against your folds one last time, groaning at the mess dripping from you, before yanking you up by the throat. “Not done yet,” he growled, guiding your face down to his cock, wet and glistening. “Open that mouth. Let me finish where we started.”
He shoved it back into your mouth, holding your head steady as he fucked your throat with the same relentless rhythm, your eyes watering, drool streaming down your chin.
“Open wide for the camera,” he growled, cock twitching. “Let them see what a perfect little slut looks like.”
His hips jerked, and then he came– thick, hot ropes spilling down your tongue, across your lips, dripping messily over your chin. The cameraman zoomed in on the strings of cum shining down your throat. Sylus leaned back, chest heaving, and smirked down at you, thumb wiping the mess across your cheek like war paint.
The director broke the silence first, voice hoarse. “Fuck… okay. That’s a wrap. Christ, even I’m hard just watching that.”
Sylus ignored him. He brushed your hair off your damp face, tilting your chin up with two fingers until you met his gaze. His cock was still wet against your skin, your lips swollen, spit and cum smeared across your mouth like paint. He smirked, but his eyes burned serious now, locked only on you.
“Star material,” he murmured, just for you, thumb pressing into your cheek possessively. “But don’t forget who made you shine.”
A/n: Happy Kinktober loves. May all your pity be soft and all your dicks be hard. Amen.
An apple a day...is foreplay?
The orchard was quiet, almost sleepy, rows of trees rustling in the breeze. Baskets dotted the grass, the sweet bite of cider still clinging to the air. You’d meant it to be nothing more than a detour– pick a few apples, take in the view, something wholesome to break the drive.
Sylus leaned lazy against the trunk below, sleeves shoved up, sun catching the scar on his forearm. He watched you climb the ladder, smirk tugging at his mouth like he was amused you even bothered.
“You’re reaching too far,” he called up, voice thick with teasing. “Apple’s not going anywhere.”
You stretched higher, fingers grazing red skin, the basket bumping against your hip. “If I waited on you, we’d starve,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you plucked it free.
He chuckled low, head tilting, gaze lingering on your legs where the ladder rungs forced your skirt to ride higher. “Could live on worse things than waiting on me.”
You balanced on the ladder, stretching for one of the last apples high on the tree. The season was ending; most of the low fruit was gone. Your fingers brushed it, almost–
The ladder jolted. You gasped, clutching for balance, only to find Sylus steadying it with one hand, smirk tilted up at you.
“Careful,” he teased, voice lazy. “You fall, I’ll have to carry you outta here.”
You rolled your eyes, plucking the apple, tucking it into the basket hooked over your arm. You started down, careful on the rungs– until his hand wrapped your ankle.
In a breath, you were yanked off balance, back slammed to the tree. The basket clattered to the grass. He kicked the ladder away with a casual shove, metal clattering uselessly.
“Sylus– ” you hissed, panic sparking.
His weight trapped you fully. One arm braced across your middle, the other hooked under your thigh, yanking it high against his shoulder to bare you open. You clutched at his hair for balance, bark biting into your back as he held you wide and helpless.
“What if someone sees?”
“Good thing you climbed high.” His grin sharpened. “No one will notice, not unless you scream.”
His mouth was on you before you could argue, shoving your skirt up, dragging your panties to the side. Bark bit into your back as he pressed you into the tree, one hand locked under your ass to hold you open. His tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, hot and wet, and you jolted hard enough to rattle the branches above.
“Sylus– !”
He groaned into your clit, sucking hard, tongue merciless. Your fingers clawed at his hair, the rough bark scraping your shoulders as you writhed, half hanging, half pinned. The orchard’s quiet air filled with your gasps, his laugh muffled in your folds.
“God, you’re dripping– ” he rasped, lips slick, before diving back in. Teeth grazed, tongue curling, making your thighs shake in his grip. “Think I like this harvest better than the apples.”
Your protests died as his tongue worked deeper, curling, flicking, sucking until you couldn’t stop the cries spilling out. You were going to be loud enough to draw attention, but Sylus didn’t care. If anything, it made him hungrier.
You came hard, thighs clamping around his head, body arching so violently bark tore your shirt at the shoulder. He groaned at the sound, devouring you through it, swallowing down everything you gave until your body sagged boneless in his arms.
You barely had time to breathe before he spun you, chest shoved into the tree, rough bark scraping your bare skin. He tore his fly open, cock already thick and leaking, and shoved inside with one punishing thrust.
You cried out, the stretch merciless, walls clenching tight around him as he buried himself home. His laugh was low, half-choked.
“Fuck– so tight I could break you out here.”
He set a savage pace, fucking you into the tree so hard your tits bounced, your cheek scraping bark as you sobbed his name. Apples thudded down around you, shaken loose with every snap of his hips. Your knees buckled, but he kept you upright, one hand locked in your hair, the other gripping your hip bruisingly tight.
“Look at you– ” his voice was wild, filthy, broken by groans. “Dripping down your thighs in a goddamn orchard. Anyone could walk by, see you stuffed full on my cock like this.”
You whimpered, nails digging into the bark, cunt spasming around him with every thrust. Slick coated his balls, smeared down your thighs, wetting the bark beneath you.
Your orgasm ripped through you again, raw and shuddering, milking him until his rhythm faltered. He groaned against your neck, biting down hard as his cock twitched deep inside you. Heat spilled into your cunt, thick pulses of cum pushing out around him, leaking down your legs, smearing into the tree.
And still he didn’t stop– thrusting through the aftershocks, messy, ruthless, until cum dripped to the grass with the fallen apples.
When he finally pulled back, panting, he tucked himself away and slapped your ass, watching his cum ooze down your thighs. His grin was wicked.
“Guess we got more than we came for.”
Tailored to perfection, ruined by your hands.
The atelier was hushed, sun bleeding through tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the golden light. Crown Prince Rafayel stood on the low platform before the full-length mirror, shirt sleeves rolled, jacket set aside. He looked carved there– meant to be admired, measured, perfected.
You circled him with your tape, the brush of your fingers precise, professional… at first. Across his shoulders, down his spine, tracing the line of his waist. He stood proud, chin high, gaze locked on his own reflection like it was another audience.
When you bent to check the trouser break, your knuckles brushed higher than necessary. The muscle in his jaw flexed. His reflection betrayed him– just a flicker, a catch of breath.
You straightened slow, sliding behind him. One hand smoothed over his hip as if adjusting fabric, then wandered forward, bold, cupping the growing bulge beneath his fly.
His throat bobbed. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.
“Don’t fidget,” you whispered, lips grazing his ear as you slid the tape along his arm.
You circled fully behind him now, adjusting the line of his shirt, smoothing your palms over his shoulders as though checking the fall of fabric. The mirror caught everything– your reflection ghosting behind his, the way your hands lingered, fingers dragging down the ridges of his torso.
You bent closer, lips brushing the back of his neck, pretending to eye the fit across his waist while your hands drifted lower. Your capable fingers traced the seam of his trousers, your knuckles grazing firm heat beneath the fine cloth. His breath stuttered, shallow but sharp, his reflection flickering with the crack in his composure.
Still, he held himself stiff, head high, like he could will his body into obedience.
You abandoned the tape, both hands sliding over his hips, palms cupping him through the fabric. His cock was already thick, pressing hot against your fingers. A stain bloomed where precum bled through, dark against the fine wool.
“Mm,” you hummed into his ear, voice velvet and cruel. “So hard already. And you’re still standing here like a mannequin.”
His jaw tightened, lips parting, eyes glued to the mirror as though the sight of himself coming undone was punishment enough.
You stroked him through the cloth, steady, teasing, until his hips betrayed him– just the smallest rut forward. That was all the excuse you needed.
Your fingers worked at his fastening, slow, deliberate, tugging his trousers open until his cock sprang free.
The mirror made it unbearable. Rafayel staring at himself– hair slipping loose, chest rising uneven– as your hand wrapped around him from behind, stroking deliberate and slow. His own eyes widened in the reflection, fixed on the sight of your fingers pumping his cock while he stood trembling, powerless.
The sensation was filthy. His cock slid hot and slick in your fist, precum smearing across your palm, dripping down to your wrist. Every vein dragged thick under your grip. The wet slide made your cunt clench, panties sticking damp between your thighs. Your nipples ached against your blouse, fabric dragging rough as you pressed yourself to his back, grinding into him.
He groaned low, guttural, vibrating into your chest where you pressed close. You sucked at his neck, teeth scraping, tasting salt while you pumped him faster, milking every twitch, every throb.
Your thighs rubbed together unconsciously, desperate to match the friction you gave him, drunk on the power of watching him shatter. His perfect reflection fogged the glass with each ragged breath, a crown prince undone by your hand alone.
“Look at you,” you whispered, your lips dragging up his throat. “So perfect. So untouchable. And here you are, dripping for me.”
He tried to shut his eyes, but you caught his jaw, forcing him to look. He had to watch as your fist blurred over his cock, wet and obscene, your hand sliding messy and fast. He whimpered, his hips rolled now, abandoning restraint, grinding into your grip with wild, hungry thrusts.
You whispered filth into his ear, voice breaking with your own need. “I’ll ruin this suit. I’ll make you paint the glass. You’ll remember what I’ve done to you every time you stand here.”
That broke him.
The growl he gave was shattered, helpless. His cock jerked in your fist, spilling over your hand, streaking his pristine shirt before splattering the mirror in front of him. His reflection blurred in fog and streaks of cum, every inch of his elegance painted in his own ruin.
You kept stroking through it, milking him raw, smearing the mess across his stomach, your cunt spasming at the sight. His knees almost buckled, body trembling, and still you dragged every last drop from him, rubbing it into his skin until he gleamed with it.
When you finally let him go, his chest heaved, hair clinging damp to his temple, the mirror showing a man cracked wide open.
You kissed his shoulder, smug, wet hand sliding down his belly. “Looks like the suit isn’t the only thing that needed fitting.”
Mat work, but the lesson isn’t self-defense.
The gym was quiet, just the hum of lights and the thud of your gloves against the pads. Xavier stood opposite you, calm as ever, his voice low and steady as he corrected your stance. “Keep your guard up. Elbow tighter. Again.”
It should have been routine. You were just another client, he was just your trainer. His hands on your hips, on your shoulders, adjusting, guiding– it was supposed to mean nothing.
But you couldn’t stop testing him. Every jab a little too sharp, every dodge a little too close. The brush of your shoulder against his chest, the way you panted too hard then laughed like you’d done it on purpose. It wasn’t sparring anymore– it was provocation.
And he endured it. That was the worst part. The way he swallowed every slip, kept his composure even when his hand lingered an extra second on your waist. The way his gaze flicked once to the line of your sports bra before snapping back to your footwork. He never broke. Not until you slipped.
You lunged too wide, glove grazing his jaw. For a heartbeat you smiled– until his hand snapped out, catching your wrist. A twist, a pull, and the world inverted. The mat slammed your back, air leaving your lungs in a gasp.
That’s when it happened.
Fabric tore sharp at the seam, his knee wedging between your thighs as he pinned you down. The rip spread, baring more than it should– slick glistening through the tear, the heat of you exposed under the harsh lights. Just a glimpse. But enough. Far too much.
His gaze lingered there, hungry, furious, and for the first time Xavier looked undone. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as if holding himself back burned.
You whispered his name, but it only made it worse.
“Do you even realize what you’ve done?” His voice was low, ragged. “How long I’ve been holding this back?”
The fabric gave way under his hand, the seam ripping wider with one harsh tug. You gasped, thighs trembling as cool air licked your soaked cunt, slick pooling dark against the mat. Humiliation spiked hot in your chest. You wanted to close your legs, to hide, but he wouldn’t allow it.
His mouth was on you before you could plead– devouring, ravenous, weeks of restraint pouring out in every flick of his tongue. He sucked your clit so hard your back arched off the mat, nails clawing at the padding above your pinned wrists. He lapped at you like he’d been starving, teeth grazing, tongue thrusting inside until your thighs shook around his head.
Every whimper you gave made him groan into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you. When you tried to twist away, overwhelmed, he growled sharp against your skin:
“Don’t run. Take it.”
You were already gushing when he pulled back, lips wet, chin glistening. He shoved your legs higher, folding you brutally, and freed himself with one hand. His cock slapped against your cunt– thick, flushed, dripping precum that smeared over your slit as he ground against you.
The blunt head pressed in, stretching you inch by inch, until the burn made your mouth fall open in a scream. He didn’t wait, didn’t soothe– he buried himself deep with a guttural groan, forehead pressing to yours as if even he couldn’t believe how tight you felt around him.
Your walls clutched him desperately, pulling, fluttering, slicking the base of his cock. His hips snapped, hard, sharp thrusts that drove the breath from your chest. The mat squealed beneath you, every slam of his body against yours shaking the floor.
“Not supposed to– fuck– ” he muttered against your mouth, each thrust harder, deeper, as if he could erase the words by fucking them out of himself. “I tried. I fucking tried.”
Your moans turned high, broken, your cunt spasming around him, milking every brutal stroke. Sweat dripped from his jaw to your neck, his grip bruising your wrists until they tingled numb. He leaned in closer, voice a hiss, filthy and desperate:
“You wanted to tease me? This is what you get. My cock splitting you open on the same mat you thought you could beat me on.”
You shattered first– writhing, sobbing his name as your orgasm ripped through you, cunt clamping so tight his rhythm faltered. His jaw locked, curse torn from his throat as he slammed in one final time, spilling hot inside you, grinding down so deep your body shook with the force of it.
He didn’t stop. Even as you trembled beneath him, wrecked, he fucked you through it– shallow, relentless thrusts, cock pumping cum deeper until it leaked down your thighs and smeared the mat beneath you.
When he finally slowed, both of you breathless and shaking, his hand released your wrists only to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His voice was hoarse, soft again, but still dangerous:
“You ruined everything,” he whispered. His thumb stroked your spit-slick lips, smearing them open. “Now I’ll ruin you.”
He fixed the door…then broke your back.
The hallway smelled faintly of dust and wood polish, the door still hanging slightly crooked on its hinges. Caleb crouched low, tool belt rattling as he worked the screws with quick, easy turns, sweat clinging to the curve of his neck.
“Should be good as new,” he muttered, smirking up at you from under his lashes. “Not that you couldn’t have called a real handyman, but…”
He leaned back on his heels, cocky grin widening. “You’ve got me.”
You rolled your eyes, but your gaze caught on the flex of his forearms, the grease smeared along his fingers, the way his shirt clung damp to his back. Something in you coiled tight, sharper than it should’ve been.
When he stood, testing the door’s swing with a hard shove, you were suddenly trapped against it. His palm flattened by your head, his chest crowding yours. The wood thudded, the hinges rattled, and your breath stuttered out of you in a gasp.
“Solid as a rock,” he said, satisfied. “Door’s not going anywhere now.”
Caleb backed up, wiping his hands on a rag, grin tugging sharp at the corner of his mouth.
“See? Didn’t even need the big guns for this one.” He gave the hinge another light tap with his knuckle like it was a trophy. “Told you– no reason to waste money on a guy with a van when you’ve got me.”
He crouched to tuck tools back into his bag, shoulders loose, voice light. “Careful, though. You keep calling me for every little thing, I’m gonna start charging you in coffee and home-cooked meals.”
He flashed you a boyish grin as he straightened, rag slung over his shoulder. “So– what else around here needs saving?”
“Actually…” you started, voice thinner than you wanted. “The sink’s been acting up, too.”
He raised a brow, chuckling. “You sure you’re not just trying to keep me around?” But when you bit your lip, he dropped his bag, crouched, and slid under the counter with a grunt.
“Alright, princess. Let’s see what’s wrong.”
His body stretched long beneath the sink, tool in hand, shirt riding up to reveal a strip of skin over the waistband of his jeans. You hovered for a second, heart hammering, before impulse took you.
You straddled his hips, pressing down until your core met the thick ridge of him beneath denim.
“Woah– ” Caleb froze, his head bumping the underside of the counter. “The hell are you doing?”
But then you rolled your hips, hitting your clit just right on the bulge beneath. The moan slipped out before you could stop it– desperate, filthy, echoing off the kitchen tile.
His breath hissed sharp, the tool clattering from his hand.
“Fuck,” he growled, voice wrecked already. His hips jerked up against you once, testing, and when your head tipped back with another shameless whine, his laugh was low and hungry. “You’re a goddamn menace.”
His hands locked on your waist, grinding you harder against him, dragging your soaked panties over the rigid line of his cock until you were both panting.
“Knew it,” he groaned, watching you roll over him. “You didn’t make me stay for the plumbing. You just wanted a good fuck on the tiles.”
But it didn’t last long– because Caleb never gave up control for more than a heartbeat.
He yanked you down, unzipped fast, and freed his cock, thick and flushed. In one rough motion, he shoved your panties aside, the head catching your entrance before he dragged you down onto him.
“Jesus, fuck,” you gasped, stretched full in one brutal thrust.
Caleb groaned under you, head thudding back against the cabinet. “Goddamn– you’re already dripping.”
He made you ride him there, knees braced on the kitchen floor, your thighs burning from the pace he set, his hands forcing you up and down until you were crying with it. Slick squelched obscenely every time you dropped back down, his cock hitting so deep it made you see stars.
When he was done with you grinding, he shoved you higher, mouth finding your cunt, tongue fucking you greedy and rough until your legs shook against the counter. His laugh was muffled into your folds, fingers digging into your ass as he licked and sucked like a man starving.
And then he flipped you. One second you were gasping against the counter, the next your knees were on the hard tile, your chest shoved forward as his cock slammed back into you.
The kitchen filled with the slap of his hips, the wet clap of your body taking him. He fucked you harder than you could handle, each thrust dragging you forward until your hands scrabbled at the floor, your body literally scooting under the kitchen table.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Caleb panted, dragging you back onto his cock with bruising force. “Crawl for it while I split you open. Can’t even stay on your knees when I’m fucking you this hard.”
Your cries bounced off the cabinets, raw and wrecked, your body clenching down tight around him. The table legs rattled against your shoulders as he drove into you, balls smacking wet against your cunt, until your orgasm tore through you, violent and desperate.
Caleb cursed, slammed deep, and spilled hot inside you, grinding it in with filthy satisfaction. You collapsed, trembling, his cum seeping down your thighs onto the tile.
He chuckled behind you, wiping sweat from his brow, still buried in you. “Guess I’ll add plumbing to the bill. Pipes aren’t the only thing I unclogged.”
Rush hour, blush hour.
The train was packed so tight it felt like you were breathing other people’s air. Suits pressed in from every side, bags digging into ribs, everyone clinging to the overhead bars and pretending it wasn’t unbearable.
Zayne was jammed against your back, as awkward as ever, his hand gripping the rail above your head like it might keep him from collapsing. You knew him from campus– quiet, sharp, always hiding behind glasses and books. Now his chest pressed flush against you, thighs locked tight to yours, breath stuttering hot at your nape every time the train jolted.
At first, it was nothing. Just bodies pushed too close. Then you felt it– hard, insistent, straining against your ass through his slacks.
You tilted your head just enough to catch his profile. His face was crimson, eyes fixed desperately on the floor, jaw tight with the effort of pretending it wasn’t happening.
You shifted your hips back into him. Just a little. Just enough.
The sharp inhale he gave was worth it.
“Don’t– ” he whispered, barely audible over the clatter of wheels on rails. His hand trembled above you, knuckles white.
But you did. You rocked back again, deliberately now, grinding against the hard line trapped between you. The movement was subtle in the crush of bodies, invisible to anyone else, but he felt it. God, he felt it.
His cock twitched, straining, pressing against the thin barrier of your panties beneath your skirt. He tried to shrink away, shoulders hunched, eyes darting nervously to the commuters packed around you– but there was nowhere to go. The crowd held him tight against you, forcing him to feel every slow roll of your hips.
You reached back, bolder this time, tugging your hem just enough to bare a sliver of thigh. The motion was hidden by the crush of bodies, but Zayne’s breath caught sharp, his whole body tensing as though the whole car had seen.
“Please,” he hissed, the word trembling, caught between panic and want. But his hips betrayed him, rutting shallowly against your ass, cock grinding harder through the fabric.
The car swayed, pressing you tighter, his hard length sliding right against your soaked panties. His glasses fogged faintly, cheeks burning red as he buried his face toward your shoulder like he could hide there.
“Stop, they’ll notice– ” he whispered, but it cracked into a groan when you rocked back harder, grinding the ridge of his cock through the damp gusset until your clit throbbed with the friction.
Around you, people shifted, oblivious or pretending to be. A businessman adjusted his tie, earbuds leaked tinny music, someone cleared their throat. The world stayed normal, polite. No one looked. But you were being filthy, reckless, grinding Zayne’s cock against your cunt until the front of his slacks were smeared with your wet.
You tilted your head back slightly, catching his reflection in the dull glass of the window. His lips were parted, eyes wide behind fogging lenses, trying desperately to hold still.
“Good boy,” you breathed, too soft for anyone else, just for him.
His knees buckled. A strangled whimper escaped his throat, swallowed by the sway and shuffle of commuters who pretended not to notice. His cock surged, thick and throbbing, making his pants wetter and messier against the heat of your panties with every shallow thrust he couldn’t stop making.
Your breath hitched, body vibrating with the risk. You could feel his restraint snapping, the last of his timid dignity breaking under your grind. And when the train rocked again, your skirt rode higher, baring more thigh, the damp fabric of your panties plastering tighter to your cunt as his cock slid through the mess he’d made.
His hand gripped the overhead bar like a lifeline, knuckles white, body trembling. His other hand hovered uselessly at your hip, like he wanted to push you away but couldn’t– wouldn’t.
“Don’t… don’t do this to me here,” he begged, voice cracking, but his hips rolled with yours, trapped cock jerking against your slit with every sway of the train.
His trembling hand fumbled suddenly at his fly. A sharp rasp of zipper, hidden by the screech of the rails, and then the thick heat of him pressed bare against you. No more slacks– just cock straining through the soaked cling of your panties, every rut smearing precum into your wet until the fabric went translucent against your folds.
And you smiled, wicked, because his shame only made you wetter.
The train jolted hard, and suddenly his cock slipped just right, hot and rigid, grinding where you needed him most. You moaned, muffled by the press of bodies, your hand reaching back to guide him– fingers brushing the swollen head where it had already worked its way under your panties, sticky with your slick. You pressed him up into you, trapping him there, the fat head grinding tight against your cunt with every sway of the car. Cock sliding through the slick freely now, skin to skin, catching on your folds with each shallow rut– obscene enough to make your knees buckle.
Zayne groaned into your shoulder, biting down hard enough to stifle himself. His hips jerked helplessly, grinding between your soaked panties and wet pussy, cock sliding easily, stickier with every drag.
“Fuck– oh god– ” His whisper was broken, desperate, muffled by the crush of commuters who swayed oblivious around you.
Your panties clung slick to his cock rutting through them again and again until you were both shaking. He came first, stifled curse burning hot against your neck, cock jerking against you as his release flooded the fabric, soaking through until you were drenched with him.
You bit your lip, grinding down harder, milking every twitch, every pulse. Cum smeared between you, sticky heat squelching as the train rocked on.
When it slowed at the next stop, no one looked twice– just another crowded morning, just two students pressed close. But your panties were ruined, soaked with his cum, his head still bowed low in shame and wreckage.
And you smiled. Because you knew next time, he wouldn’t be able to pretend it was an accident.
Zayne's got you pinned beneath him, hips grinding slow, deliberate, maddeningly controlled. His fingers press into your waist, holding you exactly where he wants you- missionary, eye contact, submission.
But you? You're squirming, whining, arching your back just enough to slip out from under him with a cocky little grin.
You twist, rolling onto your stomach, ass up -doggy, just like you wanted- but before you can even taunt him and wriggle your ass, his fingers tangle in your hair and yank gently. “I don’t recall giving you permission to move,” he murmurs, voice filled with amusement as he flips you back flat against the mattress, his cock sliding back into you.
You huff, kicking back like a petulant goddamn cat- attempting to slither from him again. But he just laughs lowly, one arm hooking under your thigh to keep you spread. “You can keep trying to runaway all you like, I'll just keep dragging you back,” he murmurs, snapping his hips up hard enough to punish.
pairing ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb [ separate ]
content warning ♱ filming, dom/sub dynamics, cockwarm¡ng, student/professor roleplay, creamp¡es, sir kink, light pet play + use of kitten (sylus), pet names, body worship, heavy praise, corruption kink (if you squint)—MINORS DNI 18+
kit says ♱ went overboard on caleb’s again (prefacing i do not play overwatch) </3 anyway, please forgive me if this is horrible… it’s been a rough month feedback + comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated ⭑.ᐟ
xavier is dominant by nature. that’s not a surprise— both of you know your dynamic very well. but something about the camera being on shifts him into someone else entirely. the xavier who usually makes you beg, who relishes in telling you what to do… isn’t the same xavier that sits in front of the camera with you.
take now, for instance. the little red light glows, signaling that his stream is live, and the comments are already going insane— but not half as insane as xavier himself.
you’re pumping his length with your hand covered in his previous loads listening to the dings indicating generous donations from your loyal viewers. he’s in tears, mumbling out, “too much…” yet he’s constantly bucking into your hand because your sweet boy wants— needs more.
you swipe over his messy slit with your thumb, reveling in the way he gasps and whines at the contact. “but, baby, look at how much they’re paying just for you to cum again,” murmuring the words with your lips pressed against his rose-tinted ear. “if not for them, you’ll do it for me, right? you’ll cum for me?”
xavier, ever the good boy, nods his head incessantly, whining when your hand pumps harder. “y-yes, for you– anything for you.”
your lips stretch into a wide smile and you coo, “good boy, always so good for me.”
he gasps again, twitching uncontrollably against your palm, “fuh-fuck, please, p-please! ‘m so close,” he moans. “so fucking close— ah, angel-”
you can’t help but giggle as the tip jar chimes ceaselessly. squinting at the screen, you scan the stream of comments— most of them gushing over how beautiful your lover is, the rest shamelessly begging him to cum for you.
you stroke him faster, the beautiful schlick sound of your hand wrapped around his soiled dick and his moans filling your ears. he’s absolutely losing his mind and you can see it when you watch his face on the screen. eyebrows furrowed, cheeks pink and his mouth hung wide open. it’s no wonder he’s so popular on the site when he looks this breathtaking.
“my little star,” you hum, noticing the way he bucks into your hand, your gaze zeroing in on his cock. “hmm, gonna cum, pretty boy? y’know everyone’s waiting for it.”
“y-yeah, ‘m gunna cum– can i…? please, baby?”
you flit your eyes back to the screen and tilt your head. “should i let our pretty boy cum again?” you ask, faux pout etching into your lips.
the comments flood with pleas and affirmations, the tip jar going off even more and it has you biting back a smile. not a single person wants you to deny him. and how could you when he’s making that face. silver brows pulled in, eyes screwed shut and his pink, plush lips in the shape of an ‘o.’
“you can, baby, cum for us– cum for me, hmm?” you purr, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. “make a big mess for me ‘n maybe i’ll let you fuck me… if you’re not too tired.”
at the promise, he’s throwing his head back, the prettiest cry leaving his lips. he immediately does as told, nearly clear ribbons of cum spurting out of his flushed, sensitive cock.
he’s gasping, spent from the back to back orgasms and all you can do is coo praises, calling him good and pretty and oh-so sweet, trying to ignore the dull ache in your cunt.
you note his panting and whining in overstimulation and decide he’s had enough for the night, pulling your hand away and cutting off the livestream with a curt ‘see you next time’ and a wink.
you turn back to him once the camera’s off and the laptop is closed, taking in his disheveled state. “alright, my love, let’s clean you–“
he cuts you off, tilting his flushed face up toward you. his pupils are so blown you can hardly catch the cobalt of his eyes— though the raw, carnal desire in them is impossible to miss. “wan’— hngh, wanna fuck you…” he moans out, face scrunched together in pleasure. his hand grabs at your hip, urging you to move and straddle him. “please, please, please— let me, please.”
your face softens and you offer a teasing, saccharine smile. “such an eager thing…you sure you can go again?”
you know he can. xavier’s stamina is otherworldly. and he confirms this when his eyes darken further and his cock twitches back to life between your bodies.
“i— fuck, i can. let me fuck you,” he pants. “i mean… don’t you think it’s my turn to make you beg for it?”
sylus loves calling you kitten because that’s exactly what you are. playful, mischievous, energetic— absolutely adorable even as feisty as you are.
sylus also loves to record you. dressing you up, putting you in cat ears– the cute, fuzzy ones with the bells so he can hear the jingle with every thrust of his cock. a cute collar choker around your neck, the kind that has the heart and prints the pretty shape into your skin.
and he loves when other people watch his pretty little kitty get fucked by the man that always taking care of her.
you’re in his lap, spread open with your legs hooked over him with his cock fully sheathed inside of you and you’re practically already gone– cockdrunk and drooling.
“look at the camera, kitten.” he orders softly, words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. you obediently oblige, eyes crossing but finally landing on the little green light on his laptop. “that’s it, that’s a good girl. fall apart on my cock and tell everyone how much you love it.”
you clench around him at the praise and even tighter when the prospect of being on hundereds— maybe thousands of phone and laptop screens across the world dawns on you.
your reply comes out watery, like you’d had a few too many drinks. “love it— mmph, i-i love it.”
he hums in content, bucking his hips up into you, “such a sweet girl, didn’t even put up a fight. you must love all this attention, huh?”
and his words, although laced with a hint of condescension, make you want to nuzzle into him, to press your face into his neck and let him fuck you till you’re nothing but a puddle of babbles and cum. his effect on you is a case that needs to be studied.
“only yours,” you manage to say, lolling your head back to rest on him. “l-love your attention.”
he inhales sharply and cock throbs in your tight pussy and you can’t stop the pretty whine that falls from your lips. “is that so?” his arms snake around your body, one of his hands wrapping loosely around your throat while the other rubs your lower belly palm pressing down on where his length resides. his lengthy fingers reach down and rub at your swollen clit.
you jolt at the contact, grasping at his arms and sinking your nails deep into his skin to keep yourself from convulsing further. this has him hissing and squeezing your throat tighter. “watch your claws, kitten.” he murmurs into your ear, grinding the tip of his cock into that spongy, sweet spot.
you arch your back, gyrating your hips for more friction— for anything, really. the desperate movements have the bells on your headband jingling, eliciting a groan from the big man behind you.
“ah, please… please gimme more. i—i’ll be good, promise.” you beg, continuing to hump and grind on him for something. anything. you’ll take whatever he gives you as long as it’s more.
sylus will never say no to you. sure, he’ll give you that deep, rich laugh and tease you a bit, but in the end? you’re his girl and he’ll break his back to make sure you’re the happiest person in the whole wide world.
“you’re always good for me, kitten, aren’t you?” and you nod vigorously, causing your bells to go off again. “yeah, you are. my good girl.”
and then his hands move away from your abdomen and throat to catch the back of your knees, hoisting you up so he can pound his cock into you. you can’t stop the squeal of surprise at the abrupt motion. his precision is spot on— you can feel him hitting your cervix with every brutal thrust. you feel him in your stomach, your throat, your head— everywhere. every fiber in your being screams sylus, sylus, sylus!
and you can’t take it. grasping onto him for dear life as your orgasm hits you like a truck. you’re shamelessly drenching his cock in honeyed arousal, weeping his name and clenching around him erratically.
and it only triggers his own orgasm. he’s groaning, gripping the flesh of your body so tight that you wouldn’t be shocked if you woke up tomorrow with prints of his hand decorating your skin. he slams you all the way down before shooting warm cum right into you, warming your entirety.
you’re moaning softly, a blissful smile tugging your lips, contentment written across your face and he notices. sylus flashes the camera a knowing smile of his own.
zayne always seemed so busy, stoic even, to everyone but you and his close friends. his surgical interns respected him, of course, but some of them couldn’t even begin to imagine what doctor zayne was like behind closed doors. some colleagues doubted he even had a partner— he worked so much, how could you possibly be satisfied? in short, to many, zayne was boring.
they couldn’t be more wrong.
zayne loved you– adored you in a way he couldn’t even put into words. you were more than satisfied. every waking second of his free time was spent with you. spoiling you, loving you…
dressing you up and fucking you absolutely stupid on camera.
and you’re not really sure where the interest stemmed from—roleplaying on camera— but you didn’t bat an eye when he proposed the idea to you. it aroused you to know your kinky sextapes were being watched by thousands of people. to know that people would do anything to be in your position. and you knew it aroused him too.
tonight, you’re in his home office and he has his glasses tipping off his nose, a white button up and a loosened tie around his neck while you stand before him in the shortest pleated skirt and tightest top in your closet. you’re a uni student begging her professor for mercy during ‘office hours.’
“professor, i know i skipped your class, and i don’t deserve it,” you say, voice watery and hands tugging at the hem of your skirt. “but please give me another chance… i can’t fail this class. i can make it up to you.”
“you know the rules, though,” he murmurs softly, leaning back in his chair putting all the greek gods to shame. “attendence is worth 50% of your grade.”
“but sir… i’ll do anything. i-i’ll be a good girl. please?”
the crack in your voice does him in. every time.
it’s how you end up face smooshed against the cool, glass desk with your ass up with your skirt flipped up before him.
“if you want to pass, you gotta work for it, sweet girl.” he whispers, teasing your pussy with the head of his cock. “you want it?”
you nod, breaths coming out in shudders. you clench around nothing and he watches the way your bare cunt glistens in the dim lit room. “yes sir,” you say, deprived. “want it s’bad.”
“show me then.” and that’s all he says before pressing into you, hole taking shape to his length almost immediately. like you’re welcoming him home.
you rut back against him as soon as he slips the tip in, fucking yourself on his cock with breathless pleas and moans. you do your best for his approval and you’re rewarded with his kind praise and gentle hands soothing your ass and hips and lower back.
you fill yourself deep, pressing your ass flush against his lower abdomen and grind against him, allowing him to drink you in. and he just can’t help but praise you.
“you’re doing so well, sweetheart. keep going— yeah, fuck yourself on my cock, just like that.” he moans, his cock throbbing wildly in your tight heat. “shit, you feel divine. gonna milk me dry all for an A, aren’t you?”
the praise does something to you. it always does. every time he utters something sweet about how well you’re doing, your entire nervous system reacts. your stomach flutters, your body physically jolts, blood rushes right to your head and cunt and he revels in how you get off on a few hushed words.
you cry out, giving him exactly what he wants to hear. “yes–yes sir! ple-ase, fuck me, please,”
his hands find their rightful place on your hips and he rams himself into you, cock wedging in deeper than before so his tip rubs against your sweet spot. you yelp, pressing your palms flat against the table and arching your back. a smile spreads across his lips and he speaks, voice gravelly. “you’re gonna be a good girl ‘n cum for me, yeah?”
you sob out another ‘yes’, body buzzing with a sense of electricity. all it takes for a few more thrusts and it hits you— so hard and so fast that you lose the ability to speak or scream– only little squeaks and pants eject from your mouth.
and zayne keeps moving, fucking your trembling body till he’s releasing inside you with a soft groan. his chest presses against your back and his lips find your ear where he praises you endlessly, loud enough for the camera to hear.
then, with the softest whisper he can muster, “i love you.” and it’s only for you to hear.
you are rafayel’s princess— his most treasured love. pride and adoration swells in his chest when it comes to you. it’s why he loves to show you to the world. he wants everyone to know that you belong to each other, that he is endlessly fortunate to have someone as radiant as you in his life, and that together, the two of you shine so brightly it leaves others in awe.
it started off slow, little makeout sessions here and there that he’d record and put online. you both went viral, not so much for shock value or your looks, but for raw passion and desire that’s palpable even through a screen. then you started to do more— to show more. it became an entire production.
today, rafayel has you laid out on the floor, a sheet splattered in paint, the only barrier separating you from the hard ground. the setting sun pours through the large windows of his home, casting a beautiful, warm glow on your body. his hands, covered in assorted colors of paint, hover over your body with intent before finding you.
and it’s so easy to lose yourself with him– you don’t even remember that you’re on camera half the time, it’s always him on your mind— only him. it’s no different this time when his paint-covered hands press against your skin, leaving handprints on your bare body before fully sheathing himself inside of your tight cunt with a pretty moan.
“shit, princess— ah, you feel s’good,” he whimpers, hands moving from your waist to grope your tits, leaving more paint in their wake. “you’re s’perfect, baby.”
you tighten around him at the praise and he whimpers again, offering an experimental thrust. he takes pleasure in the way you arch into his touch, how you clamp around him like a vice and it encourages him to give you more. more until your entire body is covered in painted handprints and you’re biting back moans of his name.
your arms loop around his neck and legs wrap tighter around his waist, drawing him in closer. your forehead rests against each other, lips barely millimeters apart. his eyes bore into yours so intensely that you can practically feel his love pour into you. then you close the distance, moaning right into his mouth just for him to swallow them all.
he grabs the back of your neck, other hand finding solace on your upper back, right in between your shoulder blades. he holds you like this for awhile, lip sucking on your tongue like he’s trying to burn the taste of you into his mind—his cock still spearing in and out of you like both of your lives depend on it.
your stomach flips, feeling him fuck you this deep. you can’t stop your desperate whines and cries. the soft, “so–so deep, love your co—cock,” muffled by the weight of his mouth on yours.
he finally pulls back, your lips still connected by a sting of saliva and he smiles drunkenly.
“you’re such a cutie, you know that?” he pants out, pace quickening. “look so pretty covered in paint like this. the prettiest painting on the prettiest canvas— i’m so fuckin’ obsessed with you.”
your cheeks burn hot and your stomach knots up, you’re not sure if it’s because your orgasm is about to tide over or if it’s his words of idle worship. a mix of both, you think, because rafayel is now jackhammering into you as if he’s scared to stop and it only has your orgasm nearing closer and closer.
and you know he’s close, too. he’s whinier, nearly in tears as his breathing gets more and more shallow.
when you utter the words, “raf… raf, baby, ‘m so close, please don’t stop.”
he’s nearly hysterical, “stop? i can’t stop, baby. can’t ever stop, i’m addicted to you.”
then you’re there, his cock hits your g-spot eliciting something near explosive. your orgasm hits you and you get a rush of euphoria, nearly blacking out at the pleasure. he lets you ride it out, fucks you through it while you shake and tremble in his arms all the way until his abdomen tightens and his cock throbs between your pulsating, velvet walls.
he eases your back onto the floor before pulling out of your heat. his hand wraps tightly around his slick, aching cock, stroking himself desperately until ribbons of release splatter all over your paint streaked body. a broken moan slips out of him as he cums, gaze fixed on you and your fucked out face before it drops to the mess he’s left in his wake.
he finally comes down from his high, taking all of you in before smiling cockily.
caleb liked gaming. on his days off—when you were away on missions or trips—he’d sink into his chair, eyes glued to the glow of his high-tech pc, clicking away to keep his mind from wandering back to you.
he streamed often and he’d built a pretty solid following. most of his viewers were girls who fawned over your boyfriend, leaving thirsty comments or attempting to sneak their way into his private messages. you knew, as caleb would tell you immediately and you didn’t mind a bit—it wasn’t hard to see why he had girls tripping over their feet for him. caleb’s face and voice were undeniably sexy, but you knew he only had eyes for you. you never worried about faceless strangers. you were the one tangled up with him in his bed at the end of the day.
but caleb did mind. he hated the comments even if they were meant to feed his ego. more than once, he’d brought you up midstream, shutting down any advances without a single ounce of hesitation. “i don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate that comment,” he’d say flatly. or with a teasing smile, “you think i’m hot? my girl tells me all the time, but i always tell her she’s the pretty one.”
still, the comments never stopped. so caleb decided to take things a step further— the only way he knew to get it through some people’s thick skulls.
you’re sat on his lap now, his cock speared inside of you while caleb speaks to the camera on his monitor. “teachin’ my pretty girl how to play overwatch tonight,” he says, a bright smile etched into his lips and eyes filled with love and adoration. all his viewers can see the pure look of love on his face on their screens. “say hi, pips.”
you muster all the strength to give the camera a smile, offering a stuttered, “h-hi,”
and when caleb shifts slightly, you nearly give yourself away. give away the fact that you’re practically getting fucked in front of a decent sized audience. you’re glad the camera only catches your chest up so they can’t see how your arousal pools at the base of his cock and the pads of his fingers rub gently at your throbbing clit.
he laughs, the vibrations from his body causing your own to tremble. “she’s a bit shy, but i’ll break her in.”
and he means it because you swear he’s purposefully been thrusting into you and rubbing at your needy bud for an eternity, like he wants you to get caught.
and that’s mostly because he does. he wants everyone of his watchers to know who gets his cock every day. it doesn’t matter that you’re not jealous of his little fans— caleb still needs you to stake your claim.
still, he explains the game, the objective, the important keys you need to remember like he’s not inches deep in you but it all goes through one ear and right out the other. all you can think about is his cock lodged inside your cunt and the stimulation on your clit. you try not to let it show on your face, but what is one to do in a situation like this?
he snaps you out of your daze by saying, “ready to try?”
you aren’t, you have no idea what the game is about, you can barely remember what it’s called, but you nod your head anyway.
he sets you up with solo casual play and places your hand over his mouse and whispers a soft good luck before telling everyone to wish you luck.
the second you enter the game, his hand finds its place on your hips and you let out a sharp gasp when he rocks you back and forth. “caleb!” you squeak and then he stops when he notices you’ve already been eliminated.
“aw, c’mon,” he says, voice low and teasing. “you can do better than that.”
once you respawn, he continues, grinding you on his cock without a care in the world. he knows his viewers are suspicious because more and more comments are flooding in and none of them are about your skill– or the lack thereof. they’re all about the face you’re making and your shallow breaths or caleb’s lopsided grin and darkened eyes.
yet, he doesn’t stop, when people start to notice, it only encourages him. he bucks his hips into you, cock ramming into your cervix and you actually let out a strangled cry. you abandon the mouse and keyboard, your hands grip at the desk to keep yourself from flailing while he fucks into you.
“fuck, baby,” he grunts, showing his strength by lifting and dropping you onto him with ease. “feel so fuckin’ good.”
“o-oh, caleb, th-the stream.” you pant, gripping the wooden table so hard you swear you hear it crack.
“yeah, let ‘em watch how you take this dick, pretty girl.” he says. “because it’s all yours.”
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