ā¢ g!p megan x mean!fem!reader
summary. moments when your girlfriend megan is so fucking pathetic and needy, and you're cruel and love making her suffer
content. established relationship, p in v, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, humiliation, dirty talk, oral
Here you are on top of megan, and she's already trembling.
You haven't even really started moving, just a slow rock, just a pressure that's not enough, never enough, and megan is shaking like she's about to come apart at the seams. Her hands are at her sides, gripping the sheets until her knuckles go white, her mouth slightly open as those little whimpers escape, the ones she loves to hate that you pull out of her.
"Baby," you say, your voice a calm whisper, falsely sweet. "You need to calm down, or I won't be able to help you."
She whines. It's a broken, desperate sound. She nods, but her hips lift on their own, seeking more, seeking everything.
"You're not calming down," you observe, and you stop moving entirely.
The sound she makes is almost a sob.
"No, please don't stop," she says, her voice already shaking, her eyes glassy behind the glasses she still hasn't taken off. "I'll calm down, I'll calm down, I swear."
You look at her. You don't move. You wait.
And she forces herself to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Her hands are still clenched in the sheets, but her hips stay still. Almost.
"That's it," you say, and you start moving again. "There's my good girl."
So slow. So cruelly slow. Each rise and fall is a precisely designed torture, and you can feel her coming undone beneath you, her muscles tensing, her fingers twisting in the fabric, her breath turning into a stuttered pant that she tries to control and can't.
"Please," she whispers. "Please, faster."
"Yes, please, baby, faster, harder, anything, whateverā"
Her hands leave the sheets and find your hips. She wants to grab you, wants to speed you up, wants to take control.
Your voice isn't a calm whisper now. It's sharp. It's a warning.
Megan's eyes snap open. Her hands freeze against your skin, but they don't move anymore.
"Don'tā¦ don't touchā¦"
"Don't touch me, or I stop," you say, as if it's the simplest thing in the world, as if you're not about to drive her insane.
Her hands fly off your body like she's been burned. She presses them back against the mattress at her sides.
"I'm not touching," she says, her voice a thin thread. "I'm not touching, I promise, I won't touch, please don't stop, please, I'm begging you, don't stop, don't stop, don't stopā"
She's on the verge of tears. Her eyes are bright behind her fogged-up glasses, her cheeks burning, her lower lip trembling as she clenches her jaw to keep from completely falling apart.
"Are you going to disobey me again?" you ask, and you start moving once more, just as slow as before, as if nothing had happened.
"No," she says, the word cracking. "No, no, I'm not going to disobey you, I'm not going to touch you, I'll stay still, I'll be good, I'llā please, please, pleaseā"
Each "please" is more desperate than the last. She's not trying to hide anything anymore. She doesn't care. She just wants you not to stop, not to leave her like this, to help her get to where you've been leading her for what feels like an eternity to her.
"So you can be good when you want to," you say, and there's something in your voice that's almost like approval.
Megan nods so hard her glasses slip down her nose.
"I'm good," she says, sounding like she's trying to convince herself. "I'm good, I'm good, justā¦ just don't stop, please, I'm begging you, give me more, I need more, I need you, pleaseā"
And you, because you're generous when she behaves, start to move faster.
"Princessā¦" Megan says, her voice already a thin thread. "Iā¦ I can't play like this."
You don't answer. You hook your fingers into the elastic of her pants and pull them down just enough for her cock to come out. The head appears, flushed, slick, her skin soft and warm against the cool air of the room. You exhale over it and watch it twitch, harden a little more.
"y/nā¦" she repeats, and this time there's a whine caught in the word. "I'm going to get distracted, I'm going to lose, I can't play like this, please, I'm asking youā"
You run your tongue over the tip.
It's a slow, deliberate movement. The tip of your tongue traces the edge of the head, slides up the side, draws a circle around it before going back down. The taste is salty, clean, warm. At the base, you can see how taut everything is.
The typing above becomes frantic. Her fingers slam the keys without rhythm, without strategy, just making noise.
"If you don't play," you say, your voice rough, close against her skin, "I'll stop. I'll go to bed. And you'll stay here alone."
"No," she says, quick, desperate. "No no no, don't go, I'll playā"
You hear her fingers readjust on the keyboard, hear her take three deep breaths, trying to focus. The screen casts a blue glow over your legs, over her knee, over the skin of your neck.
"Good," you say, and you open your mouth.
You take her all the way in.
Not fast, slow so she feels every inch. You feel her fill your mouth, slide against your tongue, the head brushing the back of your throat as she lets out a moan.
You start to move. You rise slowly, letting your tongue press against the underside, and when you're almost at the tip, you sink back down. A slow, steady, relentless rhythm. Each ascent is a sigh, each descent a muffled whimper from above.
"Princess," Megan says, her voice no longer a thread but a tremble. "If you keep going like that, I'm going to come, I swearā"
You hold her in your mouth, still, your tongue pressing against her frenulum, and you can feel her trembling, feel how her hands have left the keyboard and are now gripping the edge of the desk.
"If you lose," you say, speaking with her in your mouth, the vibration of your voice running through her, "don't even think about coming. Understand?"
"Yes," she says, the word a moan.
"If you lose," you continue, moving your tongue just slightly, just enough to make another moan escape her, "I'm going to sleep. And tomorrow, you won't either. Understand?"
"Noā¦" she's crying now. Not heavy tears, but her eyes are bright behind her glasses, her voice breaking. "Don't be mean."
You don't listen, and you start moving again.
This time faster. You take her all the way in, let the head hit the back of your throat, and as you rise, your tongue wraps around her, squeezing, pressing, feeling every inch of her vibrate against your palate. The sound she makes above is almost a sob. Her fingers hit the keyboard but there's no rhythm anymore, no game. She's just pressing random keys, anything, while her hips lift off the chair seeking more contact, more depth, more of everything.
One of your hands slides up her thigh, squeezing, feeling how she tenses each time you go down. The other finds her base and you squeeze, just barely, feeling her pulse against your fingers, the skin stretching and contracting with each movement of your mouth.
"Stay still," you say, and you feel her tense.
But her hips keep searching. She can't help it. Every time you go down, she pushes up. Every time your tongue presses, she trembles all over.
"Megan," you say, your tone a warning.
"S-sorry, babyā" and now her hips do stay still, but her hands grip the desk so hard her knuckles go white and the wood creaks. "I'm not moving, please don't stop."
This time there's no rhythm. It's pure desire. You have her all the way in, your tongue moving fast against her underside as you move up and down without control, feeling her harden more, pulse against your palate, every inch of her on the edge of collapse.
You stay still for a moment, waiting. But there are no keys, no game, just her breathing, stuttered, trembling. And then, very slowly, her hand releases the edge of the desk.
"Iā¦ Iā¦" she says, her voice barely a thread, broken, wet.
"You lost," you say, your voice flat. It's not a question. It's a verdict.
"Yes, butā" she says, the word soaked in tears. "Yes, I lost. But it was just one round, I can play another, I can win the next one, give me another chance, pleaseā"
You get up from under the desk. She stays there, sitting, her fingers still on the keyboard, her breath ragged, her body burning, looking at you with eyes full of tears and palpable need.
"Whatā¦?" she says, confused, when she sees you stretch and yawn.
"I'm going to sleep," you say, as if nothing had happened.
"You didn't win," you say, your voice calm, definitive. "I already told you what would happen if you lost."
You turn and walk toward the bed. Megan stays in the chair, rigid, trembling, the mark of your lips still burning between her legs.
"Baby, please," she says, her voice a plea, a supplication, a contained sob. "Please, don't leave me like this, pleaseā"
You get into bed, pulling the sheets up to your neck.
"Maybe tomorrow," you say, and close your eyes. "If you win."
"You like what you see, mei?"
You were naked in front of Megan, legs spread wide enough to leave nothing to the imagination. She was tied to the headboard, black straps around her wrists, ankles secured to the posts below. Unable to touch you. Unable to touch herself.
Her glasses were fogged up. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, lips parted, eyes locked on you as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. She was there, hard, the tip pink and glistening, the skin stretched so tight it looked ready to burst.
Slowly, you brought your hand down to your center. You were already soaked. You ran two fingers through your entrance, gathering the wetness, then lifted them so she could see how they glistened under the lamp light.
"Look how wet you make me," you said, your voice a rough, intimate whisper. "With that pathetic needy face. Those sad puppy dog eyes."
You brought your fingers to your clit and started moving. Slow. Lazy circles, barely grazing, just enough to make your body start to respond. The moan that escaped your lips was soft, restrained. Megan heard it and her whole body tensed.
"Princess," she said, her voice a thread, breaking from the first syllable. "Princess, please."
"Please what?" you asked, not stopping. Your fingers kept that slow, torturous rhythm, the one you knew was driving her insane.
"What do you need? Tell me."
"I need to touch you," she said, the words breaking into a moan as your fingers pressed harder against your clit. "I need to taste you. I need to do something. Anything. Please, princess, anything."
You shook your head. You sped up just slightly, enough to make your own breathing grow more ragged, and your other hand went to your chest, pinching a nipple between your fingers.
"Mm, Megan," you said, your voice a whisper that ran through her entirely. "It feels so good. I wish it was your dick, you know? You inside me. Feeling you fill me up."
"Yes," Megan said, tears starting to form at the edges of her eyes. "Yes, princess, let me, let me fill you, let me do it, please, I'm begging youā"
"But," you interrupted, "you've been so bad that you don't deserve it."
The sound she made was almost a sob. Her hands pulled at the straps, not with force, just an instinctive tug, a desperate need to grab something. The straps didn't give.
"I wasn't bad," she said, her voice a wet thread. "I wasn't bad, princess, I swear I wasn't, I swear I was good, I was good, please, let meā"
"Good?" you repeated, laughing low, a sound that made her tremble. "Good girls let themselves get felt up by girls on campus?"
Megan's eyes flew open. Her glasses slid down her nose, but she didn't fix them. She couldn't. Her hands were tied.
"I didn't let anyone touch me," she said, panic rising in her voice. "It was justā¦ I was distracted, I didn't notice, it wasn'tā"
"Oh, you didn't notice?" you cut in, starting to move again, your fingers returning to your clit with a faster rhythm now. "You didn't notice when that bitch put her hand on your shoulder? You didn't notice when she grabbed your arm? You didn't notice when she pressed up behind you and whispered in your ear?"
"Princess, it wasn't like that, I swear it wasn't like that, I didn't look at her, I didn't pay attention, I didn'tā"
She shut up. Not because she wanted toāyou could tell from the way her lips kept moving, forming words that wouldn't come out, the way her breathing stayed ragged, the way her hands kept grasping at nothing. But she didn't say another word. She just watched. She just trembled.
"None of those bitches," you said, your voice sharp, sweet poison, "compare to me, do they?"
"No," she said, the word a sob. "No, none of them, none, it's you, it's always been you, only you, princess, only you."
"Then why," you said, speeding up, your fingers moving faster inside yourself while your other hand kept working your clit, "do you let them touch you, huh? Why do you go around giving away what's mine?"
"I'm not giving anything away," she said, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "I'm not theirs, I'm no one's, I'm yoursā"
"Look at yourself," you said, your voice a rough whisper between moans. "Look at you, so pathetic, dripping for me. You're so hard it hurts, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said, the word choking into a groan. "Yes, princess, it hurts, it hurts so much, please, let me, let meā"
"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, that, anything, whatever you want, but please, let me, I need, I needā"
"You don't deserve it," you said, your voice final.
Megan cried as she watched you, watched your fingers moving inside yourself, watched your own orgasm start to build.
"But I do deserve it," you said, moving faster, your fingers finding that rhythm you knew would push you over the edge. "After putting up with your bullshit all week. After dealing with all the stupid girls throwing themselves at you. After watching you play dumb whenever someone touches you. I deserve this."
You sped up. Your fingers pumped in and out with an urgency you weren't pretending anymore, your other hand rubbing your clit in fast, frantic circles. The bed started moving with you, the mattress creaking beneath your knees. You didn't care how you looked anymore. You just wanted to get there. You just wanted her to watch.
She couldn't look away even if she wanted to. Her eyes were fixed on your hand, on your fingers disappearing inside you, on the way your other hand wouldn't stop moving. Her breathing was a constant, ragged pant, and her hips moved on their own against the mattress, searching for something she wasn't going to find.
"Baby," you said, your voice breaking, your body starting to tense. "Baby, I'm going to come."
"I'm going to come," you repeated, your voice growing higher, more desperate, your fingers moving so fast you couldn't think anymore. "I'm going to come looking at your stupid face. That pathetic puppy dog face."
The orgasm hit you like a wave. Your whole body tensed, back arching, head falling back, and a rush of hot liquid spilled out of you, soaking your fingers, soaking your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath. You cried out, a raw, releasing sound, as your body convulsed over and over, your fingers still moving inside you, unable to stop, as you felt yourself drenching everything around you.
When the orgasm passed, you stayed there for a moment, trembling, panting. The sheets beneath you were soaked. Your thighs glistened. Your fingers were still inside you, but you'd stopped moving.
"My loveā¦" Megan said, the word a moan. "I need you so bad, please, it hurts."
Her moan was so desperate it almost made you feel sorry for her.
The past few days, you hadn't been able to see Megan because she was studying for a huge exam. But today she came home ecstatic to tell you she'd gotten a perfect score.
So you figured, she deserved a reward, right?
You were on all fours on the bed, completely naked.
The idea was to let her take control for once. After so many days of studying, of sacrifice, of earning it, you were going to be good. You were going to let her do whatever she wanted, take whatever she needed, let out all that pent-up tension to show her her hard work was worth it.
Megan was behind you, knees on the mattress, hands on your hips. She hadn't entered you yetāshe was right there, the tip hot against your entrance, both of your wetness mingling.
"Megan," you said, your voice coming out softer than you intended. "Go slow, it's been days sinceā¦"
You didn't finish the sentence.
It wasn't slow or gentle. It was all at once, all of her, without warning, without pause, without the time you knew you needed to adjust. The cry that escaped you got muffled against the mattress as she shoved you forward, her pelvis slapping against your ass with a sharp smack, as you felt yourself filled completely in an instant.
"Megan," you tried to say, but the word got cut off because she was already moving.
There was no rhythm. Just pure desperation. Her thrusts were deep, fast, brutal, each one pushing you further into the mattress, each one pulling a moan out of you that you barely recognized as your own.
Her hand found your back and pushed you down. Your face flattened against the sheets, arms stretched out in front of you, ass in the air, back arched at an angle that left you completely open for her. You couldn't move. You couldn't do anything but take it.
"Megā" you tried, but she grabbed the back of your neck with her other hand and pressed you harder into the mattress.
"Shh," she said, her voice rough, different, broken. "Shh, princess, I need this, I need this, it's been days since I've felt you, days sinceā"
She didn't finish. She didn't need to. You felt it in every thrust, in how her fingers dug into your hip, in how her breathing was a constant pant against your neck. You'd lost count of how many days. Five. Six. Too many for her, that much was clear.
You wanted to scold her. Wanted to tell her to calm down, slow down, let you breathe. But every time you opened your mouth, another thrust slammed you into the mattress and the words dissolved into a moan. You couldn't form a sentence. Couldn't string two words together without them breaking in your throat.
"Meg," you finally managed, your voice barely a thread. "Tooā¦ too bigā¦"
She groaned. A low, guttural sound that vibrated against your back. And instead of easing up, she gripped your neck tighter, arched your back further, pushed deeper.
She wasn't listening to you. She couldn't. She was out of her mind, all those days built up, the exam pressure, the sleepless nights, all of it transforming into this: how she grabbed you, how she fucked you, how she held you against the mattress like you were the only thing keeping her grounded.
"Sorry," she said, the word grinding out between her teeth, broken. "Sorry, baby, but I can't, I can't stop, I can'tā"
Her hand on your hip tightened, fingers leaving bruises that would last for days. Her rhythm grew more erratic, more desperate, the sound of her skin against yours filling the room along with her moans and yours, which you'd stopped trying to hold back.
It wasn't just her. It was everything. The pressure in your stomach, the built-up heat, the way she filled you so deeply you couldn't tell where she ended and you began. The orgasm hit you without warning, without permission, sweeping through you completely while your face stayed pressed to the mattress and your back stayed arched and she didn't stop, didn't stop, didn't stop.
"God yes, squeeze me like that," Megan said, her voice a sob. "I'm going to come, I'm going to come, I can'tā"
She pulled out abruptly. You felt the emptiness, the loss, and then you felt the heat. One spurt, two, three, landing on your back, your ass, your lower back. So much. So much it ran down your sides, soaking the sheets, soaking your thighs. All those days built up, everything that hadn't been released, all of it spilling onto you while she moaned your name over and over, her hands trembling on your hips, her body folded over yours.
When she finally finished, she stayed there. Her hands still on your hips, but weak. Her forehead pressed to your back. Her breathing ragged, wet.
A minute passed. Maybe two.
"y/n," she whispered, her voice so low you barely heard her. "Sorry."
"Sorry," she repeated, the word trembling. "Sorry for not obeying. Sorry for not listening. Sorry forā¦"
Her voice cracked. Her hands slipped from your hips, and for a moment you thought she'd pull away, but instead you felt her lie down on top of you, her chest against your back, her face buried in your neck. She was hugging you. Apologizing with her body before she could find the words.
"I couldn't stop," she said, and now she was crying, hot tears against your skin. "I tried, I tried, but I missed you so muchā"
You sat up slowly. Your back was sticky, the sheets soaked, your whole body trembling. But you turned around, cupped her face, made her look at you.
She was a mess. Red eyes, wet cheeks, lips swollen from biting them. She looked at you like she expected to be scolded, punished, told she'd been bad.
And she had been bad. Very bad.
"Perfect score," you said, your voice a whisper. "You got a perfect score. So just this once, I forgive you."
Megan let out a sob that was almost a laugh, and she hugged you so tightly you felt her arms wrap completely around you, squeezing you against her chest, burying her face in your neck and staying there, trembling, breathing you in.
