Leland Coyle x F!Reader. Of Bitches and Masters.
Twisted little thoughts Iāve had about Coyle. Just a little ramble of words Iāve spewed out without much thought. Just pure filth. Grammar issues but itās late and I have work in the morning. Enjoy and give me your thoughts. Targeted towards female readers.
Now that itās officially established and canonical that Leland likes butt stuff (like it wasnāt obvious enough) while receiving head, I like to imagine if your fingers werenāt exactly big nor long, heād more than gladly accept an empty beer bottle to get off.
Get it wet and slick with saliva, and rub it on the entrance of his asshole. Make sure to tease him by pushing the rim of the bottle into him, and removing it. Make sure to suck him and nuzzle āLittle Justiceā while youāre at it, and heāll forgive your naughty teasing.
Stretch him, and push the dark glass in, and wiggle it inside him. Have him bucking his hips every single press of warm glass against his prostate. Every buckle of his hips pushes his penis deeper into that cavernous, delightfully moist, plush and warm mouth, eager for its salty homecoming.
Gagging or not, youāre a good little bitch for your master. Little bitches donāt whine or complain, they simply look to their master and waggle their tails and present their ass until their blooming, tingling vulva and pulsing clitorisās gets fed and fed with long, hot strokes.
Heāll pet his Little Bitch, stroke her hair and caress her ear with that rough, burned and scarred hand of his. Such a gentle caress from such a violent creature, such as himself. Leather never felt so soft and sweet, like the silkiest of fabrics.
Even a strict daddy has a gentle touch for his sweet, Little Bitch.
āOh, sweetnessā¦ā heād say, his words slurred by pleasure, as the bottle continually pressed into his most sensitive spot. The heavenly swirl of pleasure at the feeling of your mouth taking in his pink flesh - it was all so perfect.
Thereās no need for him to grab the back of your head and push his penis into the deepest parts of your throat, you do it on your own.
Relaxing your throat, you swallow him. Swallow him until your throat is bulging with his penis. Somehow, he goes even deeper when his muscles tense, standing on his tiptoes, and pushing himself in even further.
His pubic hair stunk of piss, blood and cum, and body odor and perhaps the smell of your own odor, after heād taken his from your nether regions. You stink, and so does he.
His spunk spills deep in your throat, and you donāt even get to taste its saltiness. Down the gullet, straight into your growling stomach.
āWhen was the last time I even ate a proper meal in this place? Besides Coyleās spunk?ā You think.
The corners of your eyes begin to darken, and the world slowly becomes more and more silent. The faint ācling-clingā of the bottle hitting the ground reverberates through your mind.
Thereās a brief second where nothing exists, until Coyleās flesh leaves your mouth, and the air fills your lungs once again, awakening your brain and firing up your neurons with oxygen. Still, the world is a whirl of colors and sensations.
Heated iron presses under your chin, and lifts your face to its owner. Coyle looks down at you, the reflection of his glasses show a messy-haired, sweating and flushed, dreary and watery eyed woman, half-mad and half-dreamy.
āNow, where on Godās gracious Earth have you been hiding?ā He said, his voice low and almost tired.
āWhat am I gonna do with youā¦ā there was a genuine contemplated tone to his voice.
You choke, and cough and reply with, āanything you want, Master.ā
He chuckled, āis that so, Little Bitch? Anything I want?ā
His electric rod pushed harder into your chin, lifting you to your knees.
āHow ābout you wash my dick?ā His electric staff left your chin, and he began to stride away. He looked over his shoulder and tapped his rod against his calf.
His beckoning was met with obedience, and your raw knees ached as you followed him to the showers.
Yes, good. Wash away the grime and sickness. But you can never truly baptize a true sinner.
germansingergirl
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romaincrisis
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