Baelor Targaryen x Reader x Maekar Targaryen ✦ Vampire AU
Sent to Dragonstone as the price of your house’s uncertain loyalties, you arrive seeking the favour of two princes, who were powerful enough to help your dying brother. What you find instead is a court of gentle and watchful monsters.
Word count: 8.1K ✦ Status: In progress ✦ Next update: 14 August 2026
summary : i mean... its in the title. (basically frank is hung like a fkn horse and he's scared to hurt you)
word count : 11.3 k (mightve gotten carried away oops)
warnings : MINORS DNI please just don't, p in v, oral (m receiving) unprotected smut (wrap that shlong pls), swearing, reader uses she/her, praise, size diff kink if you squint, slight age gap, pet names, no use of y/n, pls lmk if i missed any :)
a/n : as usual my lovelies this is not proofread so please excuse any repetitions/inconsistencies or spelling mistakes ! also i loved writing this holy shit i'm nasty
It's clear to anyone dumb enough to spend time with you and frank that the two of you are completely enamored with each other.
I mean, it's hard not to tell when the man can hardly keep his hands to himself when you're near. It's like he's hardwired to constantly crave your touch, and that only gets worse when you're standing somewhere close and have the absolute gall to not sit on his lap.
Dating an older man has always scared you off. Until you met Frank. He's not much older than you, but enough for people to be skeptical when seeing the two of you together. But there's no denying that Frank loves you.
What started as a casual friendship because of Curtis, forcing the two of you to hang out a little bit more, and Frank showing up to Curtis's meetings just to see you, evolved into a soft understanding.
It wasn’t loud.
Nothing about you and Frank ever really was. Not at first.
It crept in—quiet, steady, almost invisible if you weren’t paying attention. The way he started sitting closer to you at Curtis’s meetings. The way his eyes would track you when you moved around the room, like he needed to know where you were at all times. The way his voice—usually rough, sharp, worn down to gravel—would soften just a fraction when he spoke to you. No one missed it. Not Curtis. Not Karen.
Hell, not even the guys who only saw Frank in passing.
Because Frank Castle—the man who didn’t linger, didn’t touch, didn’t stay—hovered around you like you were something he didn’t quite understand but couldn’t walk away from. And you… You let him. At first, it was small things. You’d patch him up without asking too many questions. He’d show up half-broken, blood soaking through whatever shirt he had left, and you wouldn’t flinch. Wouldn’t lecture. Wouldn’t ask him to stop. You’d just sigh softly, sit him down, and say,
“Take it off.”
And he would.
Every time. No fight. No attitude. No smart remark. Just quiet obedience in a way that didn’t make sense for a man like him. You were the only one he let see him like that. Not the Punisher. Not the weapon.
Just… Frank.
Bruised. Bleeding. Human. And somewhere along the way, that became your normal. You’d clean his wounds, your fingers gentle, careful—always careful—and he’d sit there watching you like you were doing something sacred instead of stitching him back together with shaking hands. Because you were different. You weren’t hardened. Not like the people he knew.
Not like him.
You still hesitated sometimes. Still winced when the cuts were deep. Still muttered soft apologies under your breath when he hissed in pain—even when it wasn’t your fault. And the first time he realized that?
It did something to him. Something quiet. Something dangerous. Because you weren’t used to this world. And he knew it. Knew it in the way your hands trembled just slightly the first time you had to dig a bullet out of his side. Knew it in the way you avoided looking at the scars that weren’t fresh. Knew it in the way you’d look at him sometimes—like you were trying to understand how someone could carry so much violence inside them and still sit so still for you. You weren’t untouched by life. But you were… soft. In a way he didn’t think existed anymore.
Frank Castle—impatient, relentless, brutal— Was impossibly gentle with you. Like he was afraid you’d break if he wasn’t. The first time he touched you—really touched you—it wasn’t greedy. Wasn’t desperate.
It was careful. A hand at your waist, slow, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t. Your breath caught instead. And that was all the permission he needed. Even then, he moved like he was learning you. Like you were something fragile and rare and completely unfamiliar.
Because you were. You weren’t like the women he’d known before. There was no practiced confidence. No ease. Just soft breaths, unsure hands, and wide eyes that flickered with something between fear and trust. Just Frank's soft voice as he bent you over your bed, and hoisted a pillow beneath your hips, muttering something about making it hurt less. All you could do was whine and crane your neck to try and look at him.
And God— The trust. That’s what got him. Because you trusted him.
Him.
Frank Castle. A man built from violence and loss and blood. And you let him hold you like he wasn’t. So he treated you like something sacred. Like something he didn’t deserve but couldn’t stop himself from keeping. He’d brush your hair back from your face like it mattered. Press his forehead to yours like it grounded him. Murmur soft, barely-there reassurances against your skin when you got overwhelmed—quiet “I got you”’s that sounded nothing like the man people feared. You brought something out of him no one else ever had.
As time went on Frank got my comfortable, slightly more rough in bed as he started to understand your body and it's needs, how that little shiver that passes through you means you're close. But the truth is-
You have never actually seen Frank's dick.
That sounds absurd.
I mean, after all, he's your boyfriend. Of course you've seen it.
Well, glimpses of it.
Pressing through his pants, the base of it as you crane your neck to try to look at him as he softly guides it through your folds.
Always the same thing. Your ass up in the air, facing him, a pillow wedged beneath your hips and then the inexplicable feeling of being so fucking full that you feel like you're floating until your knees start to shake and your pussy clenches around him- and then he's pulling out, kissing the backs of your thighs, murmuring praises as you come down from your high.
And then he vanishes into the bathroom- the sink turned on, not to be seen for another ten minutes- before emerging with his pants back on and a wet towel in hand to clean you up. Not to sound ungrateful- you loved Frank. You loved being intimate with him, grinding on his lap and feeling him go hard beneath you, his length pressed to your thigh. You knew he was big, I mean, he was inside of you almost every night. But you'd never actually seen just how big.
Everytime you dropped down to your knees in front of him, grabbing at his waist band, he'd tut and pull you up,
"Nah, don't wan' none o'that, sweetheart." Before splaying your thighs wide open and spending hours between your legs, beard tickling your thighs, tongue lapping at your cunt like a man starved, pulling orgasm after prgasm from you until his lips shine with the sheen of your juices. At first, you thought nothing of it. You thought it was sweet. He was so desperate to make you feel good.
But then your friend pointed it out.
“You’ve been with him this long and you’ve never actually… seen him?” your friend had said, brows raised in disbelief. You’d laughed it off at first. Shrugged.
“Of course I have,” you’d insisted, heat creeping up your neck. But even as you said it, something in your chest twisted.
Because… Had you? Really? You’d felt him. Knew the weight of him, the way your body reacted to him, the way he filled every inch of space until you couldn’t think straight. You knew how his hands felt, how his voice dropped when he got close, how he’d murmur soft praise against your skin like it was something private, something only meant for you. But seen him? Not properly. Not fully. And once the thought was there, it wouldn’t leave.
It replayed in your mind, over and over. The way he always guided you gently into position—always facing away, always careful, always focused on you. The way his hands would linger at your hips, grounding, steady. The way he’d press his forehead briefly to your shoulder sometimes, like he needed that contact before anything else.
And then after— He’d disappear. Like clockwork. Bathroom door. Running water. Silence. You never questioned it. Because it was Frank.
Because everything about him came with edges you didn’t push.
But now… Now it felt like something you couldn’t ignore.
Frank, who watched you like you were something worth memorizing. Frank, who traced your skin like he was learning it. Frank, who never once made you feel rushed, or used, or anything less than… cherished.
Why would he hide?
The question lingered. And it changed the way you noticed things.
The way his hand would stop yours if you reached too low, too curious. The way he’d redirect you—soft, gentle, but firm.
The way he always made it about you.
Always.
At first, it had felt like care. Like patience. Like love. And it still was.
But now there was something else underneath it.
------
You worry your bottom lip as you pace the length of your room, sighing annoyedly at the way your brain is running at a hundred miles an hour. You're convinced your feet have worn a dent in the hardwood floor, and your heart is racing so fast you can hear the blood rushing behind your ears.
Beyond the door, Frank is sat on the couch, legs spread wide, beer in hand- watching late night TV while waiting for you to come out of the "shower"- completely oblivious to what is really happening in the confines of your shared room.
Now or never.
It's now or never.
Determined, you tuck your hair behind your ears and make sure that the silk nightdress you slipped on is fitting you just right before tearing the door open and softly padding your way to the living room. Frank is lounging on the couch, shirtless and wearing a pair of gray sweats that hang deliciously low on his hips, legs spread apart like they're just begging for you to sink to your knees infront of him. The thought of feeling him, having the weight of his cock press against your tongue, feel the tip hit the back of your throat so hard tears fling to your eyes makes warmth pool in your belly and you clench your thighs at the thought. Frank's eyes snap up the second he hears you, sitting up properly.
"Hiya, sweet thing." He hums, grinning up at you as he pats his lap, an invitation for you to come sit on his lap.You can already see the hardening outline of his cock behind the sweatpants- meaning your night dress is doing it's job. "How was your shower, baby ?" he hums as you sit horizontally on his lap, curling into him. He kisses your forehead as he tucks you into him, his hand finding a familiar resting place on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the inside. The TV casts a sheen glow over the two of you, and you sigh into his chest, running your fingers along the hard ridges of his muscles.
"Would've been better if you were there." You hum, and despite himself, Frank chuckles.
"I'm sure it woulda been," He hums, chest rumbling against your cheek. He takes a small sip of his beer and sets it aside, sighing contentedly ash he pulls you in closer. Your thoughts are running faster than they ever have, your brain a whirlwind. You barely hear Frank when he asks,
"Did'ya eat ?" You nod wordlessly against his chest.
Frank frowns at the lack of response.
That's not like you at all. Usually you'd quip back something snarky, or witty- something to make him laugh, or make him frown and force you to eat something other than an PB and J made in a rush at seven am.
"Baby ?"
"I ate." You manage. You clear your throat and pull away from him slightly, gearing to get off his lap when he grabs your arm. He twists you to face him, your body wedged between his thighs. He sits up straight- and it's almost absurd how he's your full standing height like this.
"What's wrong ?" He asks.
Despite your best effort, your bottom lip starts to wobble. Frank's chest squeezes in worry and he softly drags his hands down your sides, palming at your ribs and waist to ry to guide you back into his lap.
"Baby ? What happened-"
"Do you not like looking at me ?"
The air between the two of you hangs suspended, filled with electric tension. Frank can't help but laugh,
"What the hell are you talking about ?" he mutters, shaking his head as he brings his thumb up to wipe a tear away from your eye before it has the chance to fall fully down your face. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You're fuckin' goregous baby. Matter of fact- this dress you got on has me fuckin' reelin-"
"But you don't like to look at me when you fuck me ?" You manage, arms crossing over your chest. Frank's hear feels like it's been ripped out of his chest, and he suddenly feels like he can't fucking breathe. He stares up at you, your teary eyes, the way you're biting at the inside of your cheek, leaning backwards despite being trapped between his thigh, as if you want to just get away from him. Frank's eyes blow open a fraction before narrowing as he frowns.
"Okay, now you're talkin' crazy." He huffs, shaking his head.
"Am i ?" You manage, your throat tight. You look down at your hands, toying with the satin hem of your dress. "You never let me look at you- you're always behind me when you fuck me. You never let me suck you off, it's always you eating me out and i-"
"Woah, woah." Frank leans forward, wrapping his hand around the back of your knees, dragging you forward towards him. He runs his hands over your thighs, sighing heavily. "Baby, that has nothing to do with how you look." he says, his voice dropping to the low, comforting octave he always takes with you when you're upset. His hand reaches up and cups the back of your neck, his thumb forcing under your jaw to make you look at him. "You get that ?" You sniffle, jerking away from him.
"I've never even seen you, Frank." You blubber, your words sounding more stupid as you go on- but you can't stop them now. "And you've seen every square inch of me. You only ever take me from the back-"
"Sweetheart." He rasps, head dropping. He sighs, his hands leaving you momentarily to drag down his face. "I do that so that it won't hurt you." You sniffle.
"I can take it. I'm not a baby." You rasp. He laughs, a short gentle thing. He shakes his head.
"I'm not saying you are." He sighs, his hands smoothing over your thighs. "Look, when I was with Maria- and other women before her- they always told me that certain positions hurt, that it was too much. That one was the only one that didn't." You look down, biting at your bottom lip.
"I can take it, Frank. I have before. All those other times-" He shakes his head, hiding a small smile.
"No, you ain't, baby." You frown.
"What do you mean ?" He groans, tilting his head back, clearly not wanting to have this conversation out of fear to upset you.
"I don't... fuck- i don't put all of it in." He says. Your throat goes dry.
"What do you mean ?" You repeat again, your breath wobbly. He sighs, looking up at you.
"It means the full thing doesn't fuckin' fit, baby."
Your breath stutters. For a second, you just… stare at him. Because the way he says it - flat, matter-of-fact, like it’s not even up for debate -knocks the wind right out of you.
“…What?” you whisper. Frank huffs out a quiet breath, dragging a hand over his face again like he regrets even opening his mouth.
“You heard me,” he mutters. But you don’t move on. You can’t. Your fingers curl tighter into your dress, your mind scrambling to catch up with what he just said—what it means.
“That doesn’t-" you shake your head slightly, brows pulling together. “That doesn’t make sense. I would know, Frank.” He looks at you then. Really looks at you. And there’s no teasing in his expression. No smugness. No exaggeration. Just… patience.
“You feel full, right? You feel good ?” he asks again, quieter this time, as he presses a hand to your stomach. You hesitate, but ultimately nod, the thought of having Frank buried inside you making your insides churn with deep need.
“Yeah…” He gives a small nod back, like that confirms it all over again.
“Yeah,” he repeats. “That’s you already at your limit.” Your stomach flips. Because now - now it does make sense. The way he always moves so carefully. The way he never rushes. The way he stops the second your body tightens too much, even if you haven’t said a word.
“…So you’ve just been…” you trail off, not even sure how to finish that sentence.
“Holdin’ back?” he fills in. You look up at him. He shrugs slightly, like it’s nothing. Like it hasn’t been a constant, conscious effort every single time he touches you. “Yeah.” Silence settles between you. Heavy. Different now. Not insecurity anymore—but something deeper. Something that sits right in your chest and refuses to move.
“You think I can’t handle you ?" you say after a moment, softer now. Frank’s expression tightens immediately.
“That ain’t what I said.”
“It’s what you mean.”
“No,” he says, firmer this time. His hand comes up, gripping your jaw just enough to make you look at him again. “What I mean is - I’m not willin’ to find out the hard way where your limit is.” That shuts you up. Because there’s something in his voice - something serious. “You don’t… always tell me when somethin’s too much,” he adds, quieter, sighing as he continues to run his hands over you. “You try to take it. Power through it.” Your throat tightens. Because again— He’s not wrong. “I don’t wanna be the reason you’re in pain and don’t say it,” he continues. “So yeah - I control it. I keep it where I know you’re okay.” You sniffle.
"So what you're saying - is that your dick's too big ? Wow, real small ego you got there, Frankie." Frank laughs out loud, shaking his head. You can't help it- a smile tugs at your lips too.
"Jesus, woman." He grumbles, shaking his head. Frank huffs, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying not to laugh again, but it’s already there - low and rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, real funny,” he mutters, shooting you a look that’s more tired than anything, but there’s warmth in it. Always is with you. “That’s what you took from all that, huh?” You shrug a little, the corner of your mouth still twitching.
“I mean… kinda walked right into that one,” you mumble. He shakes his head again, but his hand comes back to your thigh, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
“Christ,” he exhales, softer now. “You’re unbelievable.” There’s no bite to it. Just… fondness. The kind he doesn’t give out to anyone else. The tension that had been coiled tight between your ribs loosens, just a little.
“…You could’ve just told me,” you say after a second, quieter now. “Instead of makin’ me think you didn’t wanna—look at me or whatever.” That lands. It always does when it comes from you like that—honest, not accusatory, just… a little hurt. Frank’s expression shifts, something heavier settling back in.
“Yeah,” he admits. “Probably should’ve.” His hand stills on your leg for a moment before sliding up to your waist, grounding you closer without forcing it. “I ain’t exactly good at explainin’ things,” he adds, glancing at you. “You might’ve noticed.” A small huff of laughter leaves you despite yourself.
“Little bit.” He nods once, like - fair enough.
Silence settles again, but it’s different now. Not sharp. Not confusing. Just… quiet. Your fingers drift to his shoulders, pressing the pads of them into his collarbone.
“…So,” you start, hesitant but still curious, “that’s the only reason?” Frank’s eyes narrow slightly.
“What d’you mean ‘only’?”
“I mean,” you shift a little where you’re still half in his lap, “you’re not, like… avoiding it for some other reason?” There’s a flicker of something in his expression—brief, almost gone before you catch it.
“Like what?” he asks. You hesitate.
“Like you don’t want me,” you admit softly. That one hits deeper than the joke did. Frank’s brows pull together immediately, his hand tightening just slightly at your waist.
“Hey,” he murmurs, firmer now. “Don’t start that.”
“I’m just asking - "
“And I’m tellin’ you, no,” he cuts in, not harsh, just certain. His other hand comes up, nudging your chin so you’re looking at him again. “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with wantin’ you. You got that?” Your eyes search his face. He doesn’t look away. Your hands drift on his bare chest, and he grabs you by the waist and pulls you to him. He guides you so that you straddle his lap, and he presses your pelvis to his. "Feel that ?" He hums. "That's because you walked in, in that lil' dress of yours." He says, his voice a stark contrast compared to the hard length pressed against your thigh. You whimper as your hips instinctively grind against him, your nails digging into his bare biceps. He kisses a few open mouthed kisses to your neck. "Don't ever say that I don't want ya'. Fuck, baby, you're all i fuckin' want. You're all I crave. Day in and day out." He mutters and you whine, fingers digging into his hair.
"Frank.." He nods against your skin, arms wrapping around you before lifting you as he stands, before dropping you on the couch and placing you face down , your arms pressed to the arm rest in front of you.
"I know, baby." He hums. "Gon' make you feel good, hm ?" You're about to nod- to give in, to let him take you like this when your body jerks in sudden realisation. You wiggle away from him, and slide to the floor, landing on your knees. Frank laughs, sitting down with his arms stretched out, ready to grab you. "Baby ? Whatcha' doin' ? C'mere-"
"Frank." You say, your voice stern. "I don't want to do it like that." You manage. Frank freezes.
Clearly he had misread the conversation.
"Baby, c'mon."
"No I mean it. What I said earlier, i-" You gulp, shaking your head as you crawl over to him and kneel between his parted legs. You reach up and latch your fingers around the hem of his sweats, staring up at him. "I don't want you to hold back anymore." You mutter, shaking your head. Frank is about to protest, but then your soft hands find the curve of his V-line, and he turns to pure putty in your hands, his chest heaving as he watches you through heavy lids as you pull his sweatpants down his legs, his boxers following suit. His dick springs up like a solider at attention, the tip red and leaking with pre-cum that drips onto his stomach. Frank groans, a deep, chested groan at the feel of the cool air on his dick.
And you... Wow. You can't stop staring.
Not only is he big- bigger than you've managed to sneak a peak at- he's thick. Veins running up the sides of it, and you tentatively reach out and grab a hold of him at the base. He twitches in your hand, and you have to keep yourself from letting your hand snake down to pinch at your clit. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and Frank's hips buck involuntarily into your hand.
"Shit- mmph- okay, okay, fine. You win. You can jerk me off. Just please, fuckin' do something, baby, or i'm blowin' my load right now and it'll be embarassing for both of us."
But you don't want to jerk him off.
Softly, you reach up onto your knees and press a soft kiss to the base of him, and his eyes fly open at the contact.
"Sweetheart-" he barely has time to fully voice his protest before your tongue darts out to drag against his tip, gathering the precum and tasting it. God the taste makes you moan around his tip, and Frank's eyes screw shut again as his hand darts down to wrap in your hair, pulling it away from your face- and effectively keep ing your lips away from his throbbing dick. He shakes his head, ragged breaths tearing out of him as you continue to move your hand alone him, your hat breath fanning of his length and making him go dizzy.
"You can't- fuck- you can't do that again, mama." He hums. "I won't be able to control myself- I'll hurt you, and I don't- " He rasps, shaking his head. You pout, shaking your head.
"I don't want you to control yourself. I want you to fuck my throat, Frank." Frank chokes on air.
His girl.
Such dirty things, falling from her perfect lips.
Usually Frank was the one spewing dirty things in your ear until you were spent frofromriding the fuck out of his fingers, leaving a wet patch on his pants.
"Baby-" His grip in your hair has loosened, probably from shock of your words, and you surge forward again, sucking him into your mouth. Frank throws his head back, a ragged moan escaping his lips. Your lips barely fit around him, and you bob your head up and down, trying your best to take more and more of him as you go.
You hollow your cheeks and try again, this time flattening your tongue more, tasting salt and skin and something so Frank it makes you whimper around him, and god—he wasn’t kidding.
You feel the stretch at the corners of your mouth, the push against the roof, the impossible thickness, and there's something about struggling a little that makes you shudder. You blink back tears when he hits the soft part at the back of your throat. Frank’s hand tenses in your hair, not shoving, not guiding—just holding, steady and warm.
“Jesus Christ, honey,” he hisses and you hear it, the roughened edge of his voice, the way it sounded so close to breaking. You choke a bit, eyes watering, but you don't stop.
You wanted this.
There's a different kind of ache now, low in your belly, a need that makes you bold as you drewdraw him in again, saliva gathering fast.
Frank is going to die.
This is it.
This is the end of him, right here on his own couch - his sweet girl on her knees, spit-slicked lips stretched around him, and not a single thought in his head except how goddamn perfect you look.
Christ, your jaw is trembling with the effort, tears clinging to your lashes, but you don't stop. Not even when he swears, not when he pulls you hair tight enough to make you gasp, not when his thighs start to shake.
He wants to stop you.
He really does.
He knows his own size, knows the thickness was a fucking problem for a mouth that small. But every time he starts to say something, you moan or squeeze his base a little tighter, and he looses all conviction, his brain reduced to static.
"Fuck, baby-" he rasps, hips bucking up into your mouth. Whatever doesn't fit that far is wrapped in your fist, and you give him a little squeeze before popping him out of your mouth, panting. His eyes fly open, staring down at you. "Shit, shit-" He pushes himself up, taking in the dazed look in your eyes and the way your whole body is shaking. "Was it too much ? Baby, did I hurt you ?"
You shudder, wiping tears from you cheek with your wrist, and look up at Frank through your damp lashes. He looks panicked. His hand hovers an inch from your face like he’s afraid to touch you, as if the mere graze of his palm might finish the job and knock your jaw clean off. His other hand grips the farthest end of the couch cushion, knuckles bone-bright, the way a drowning man might clutch a lifeline.
“Didn’t hurt,” you manage, voice shredded, throat raw. your lips feel bruised, stretched wider than a smile ever had, but you mean it. You give him a grin, a little shaky, and that seems to make it worse. He makes a noise—half relief, half terror—and pulls you up by the underarms, settling you in his lap like he needs to reassemble you from the mess you’d made of yourself at his feet.
“Jesus Christ,” he says again, kissing his way to your body. “You did so good.” You roll your eyes.
“I didn’t even finish the job.” You hum.
“Later.” He rasps, shaking his head. You shake your head in reply, grinding down on him.
“No, Frank. Now.” To Frank's horror- or pleasure, he’s not sure, thetwo seem to have melded into one by now, he can feel your folds gliding against him.
Fuck, you’re not wearing fucking panties.
Frank’s hands come to your waist, but there’s a caution to them now, a tremor of restraint that makes your skin prickle with want and frustration.
“Easy, honey,” he says, voice split between gravel and velvet. “Let’s just- let’s take it slow, yeah? Play it safe.” But you’re already tilting your hips, already grinding down on him, making the leaking tip of his cock glide slick against your folds. You’re soaked, thighs sticky with it, and you want nothing more than to see how much you can take—if you can take all of him. The idea of it, the challenge, makes every nerve in your body light up with electricity.
"M' tired of playing it safe." You whimper, hand reaching up to trace Frank's chest. Frank’s grip tightens, but not enough to stop you. If anything, it feels like he’s holding you steady, like you’re a hurricane he’s volunteered to brace against.
“You don’t have to,” he says, barely above a whisper, and it sounds like a warning, but there is barely any resolve there. You’re about to answer when you roll your hips one more time, and the tip of him breaches your entrance with a squelch, and Frank has to physically lift you off of him to stop you from trying to take all of him in one fail swoop. Frank’s hands lock around your waist as if you’re glass and he’d just caught you mid-fall.
“Hey, hey,” he grunts, face going taut and white as bone. “That’s enough. That’s—fuck, that’s not playin’ around anymore, sweetheart.” You want to laugh. You want to say,
You think I’m playing? but the words stick somewhere in your throat, knotted up behind want so abject it leaves no room for anything else. It isn’t just the ache between your legs or the rubber-band tension up your spine. It’s the way he keeps looking at you, mouth hard and tight with need and worry, the way his thighs tense and twitch beneath you like your body alone makes him nervous.
If you weren’t so wet you might’ve been offended.
Truth is, Frank has dreamed of taking you like this. Being able to move your hips in sync with his, watching your sopping cunt sink down and struggle to swallow all of him up, the way you would writhe and whine. But having it, right now- when he wasn't prepared for it ?
He can't helo but feel a little terrified.
You lift your hips off of his, softly reaching down between the both of you and grabbing his cock in your hands. He hisses at the contact, one hand wraped flimsily over your throat and jaw. He looks up at you, his chest heaving.
“You’re sure, baby ?” He rasps. You nod, whimpering at the emptiness.
“I’m sure, Frank.” You whine. He nods, his eyes wide. He gathers your nightdress up in his hands, bunching it up near your waist so he can see what you’re doing.
“Alright.” He groans. “We go slow, kay, baby ? Slow.” You're barely braced above him before Frank’s got both hands at your hips, the pads of his fingers digging into the soft flesh there, like he’s expecting you to take off running. You feel it, the tremor in his grip—less a warning, more a reminder, like he’s still not sure if you’re going to change your mind. But you won’t. Not when he’s looking up at you like that, mouth parted, breath coming just a little ragged at the edges. Frank runs his hands up and down your sides, steadying you with slow, broad sweeps.
“You gotta promise me,” he murmurs, voice so low it barely vibrates the air, “if it hurts too much, you say it. Don’t try to tough it out for me. You get me?” His eyes are dark, serious, but there’s a worry in them that makes your chest ache.
“I promise,” you whisper, and it’s the only thing that soothes his fear. He holds you steady, big hands bracing at your waist, eyes on your face instead of the place you’re both so desperate to look.
“Breathe, baby,” he says. His voice is as rough as the pad of his thumb stroking your hip, and shit, there’s more care in it than you can stand. “Nice and slow. You lead, I follow.” You nod, even though your hands shake against his chest.
Hell, your knees shake, your insides shake, but you want this.
You want every inch of him, even if it means tears streaking down your face and your jaw locking up. Even if it means he has to see you ugly-cry your way through the best sex of your life. You hover with his tip pressed right at your entrance. The stretch is immediate, so much more than what you’re used to, enough to make your whole body tense. You barely start to sink down before you freeze, breath catching in you throat. He tips his head back, a lewd moan slipping from his lips.
“Jesus, baby.” The stretch is a white-hot ache, harsher than you’d dreamed, like someone’s hollowed you out with a blunt instrument. Your nails dig into the meat of Frank’s shoulders and he hisses, but his hands on your hips don’t budge, a steady anchor. You try to breathe through it, slow and shallow, but your thighs tremble, teeth gritting against a whimper. Frank’s voice is a low, shuddering growl.
“That’s it, baby,” he says, and there’s awe tangled in his filth, like he’s seeing something sacred. “You’re doin’ so good for me. So fuckin’ good.” His thumb rubs a circle on your hip bone, coaxing, and the pressure’s so gentle it almost hurts worse. “Let it stretch you, honey. I got you.” You force yourself to open your eyes. He’s watching your face, jaw tight, forehead furrowed, his own lips parted. “Look at you. My pretty girl, taking my cock so good.” He hums. You huff out a quiet laugh- he’s not even halfway in. Thighs shaking, you dig your palms into Frank’s shoulders and push yourself down a little more. It’s impossible, how much of him is left - how much you want to take, even as your vision blurs at the edges. Frank tracks every change in you, every twitch and stutter of your body. The way your lips wobble, brow crumpled in something between agony and pure want. He holds you steady, lets you set the pace, but you can feel him trembling under your hands, like it’s costing him everything not to just grab your hips and slam himself home.
"S'it to much ? You gotta tell me baby." He rasps, and you quickly shake your head.
"N-No. Can take more. Want more, Frankie." You whine. He groans, low and heavy, his chest heaving, his knuckles whitening.
"Alright, baby." You force yourself down another inch, then another. The pain and the pleasure are so wrapped up it’s impossible to tell them apart anymore. You’re already crying, little noises you didn’t even know you could make, and yet you can’t stop, can’t stop even as your thighs shake, moisture slicking his lap and your own skin. He’s so deep you swear he’s up in your guts.
“That’s it, fuck,” Frank groans, the sound ripped straight from his chest. “Ya got it, mama, you got it.” he hums. You throw your head back, spreading your thighs wide, and you slide down the other inch. An unabashed moan rips through you as your clit nestles against his pubic bone, and your body falls forward.
"Mmph- Frank !" Frank’s gripping onto your thighs, sitting up properly to kiss your cheeks. Frank kisses the salty streaks off your cheeks, his calloused hands steadying you, one on your lower back and one splayed across your thigh, thumb tracing the soft inner seam. You can hear his heart pounding, a frantic, drumline thrum right beneath your sternum, your ribs nearly pressed together with his. The world’s closed down to just the two of you: your thighs quivering around his, your hands clawed into the sweat-slicked muscle of his shoulders, the sharp, dizzy ache of being ripped and made new around the kind of cock you’d never believed possible.
“Fucking - goddamn,” he rasps, his voice so low it crackles. “There you go, there you go, baby. C’mon, that’s it. Fuckin’ take it, just like that.” The praise is a hot, electric wire down your spine. You can barely catch your breath, mouth open wide, gulping air with each new surge of pleasure. Your hips give a tentative roll, and the pain that shoots up your thighs and ricochets into your pussy is like never before. You bite your lip to keep the whine from escaping, but you can’t help it. It tumbles past your lips, and Frank gives your ass a small slap.
“Hey. Hey, look at me, baby.” He kisses your forehead. “Take your time.” You whine, rolling your hips again, the pain subsiding.
“Feels so good, Frankie.” You whimper. “M’so full. So fuckin’ big.” Your hips jerk and the movement sends another slither of pain up your spine, but this time it feels… better. Not all the way good yet, but on the right side of addictive. You can feel yourself stretching to fit him, the way every tiny shift sends him deeper, fuller. You cling to his shoulders, forehead pressed to the crook of his neck, panting through the burn.
“Christ, that’s it,” he breathes, hands splayed wide on your hips, not moving, not pushing, just holding you steady while your body learns what to do with him. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Didn’t think it was possible, but look at you. My girl.” The way he says it makes a jolt of pleasure rush up your spine. Frank rocks his hips up, buried deep, and it’s a punch to both your lungs and your ego that you can even take his whole length. Your walls clamp around him, and the sweet, mean stretch lands somewhere between a cramp and a revelation. Sweat beads along the curve of his neck, his breath gone ragged. The hand at your hip slides up, spans your ribs, steadying you as you circle your hips again, chasing whatever sensation comes next.
“Christ, listen to you,” he mutters. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you whimper.” He slides a palm up your spine, fingers kneading at the handful of your back until it’s not clear if he’s holding you up or holding you together. “Never seen anyone take it like you do, baby. Shit, you’re perfect.” You want to laugh, to tell him you’re a mess—sweat-slick, trembling, nearly sobbing as he works you open. But what comes out is wordless, a string of broken syllables that might be his name or might be just a sound, a plea, a warning. You don’t know anymore. You don’t think you care. Frank holds you there, his breath ragged against your temple, his hands so big around your hips that you could almost believe he’s the only thing keeping your insides from spilling out. You’re still adjusting, still shaking, but the burn’s gone gold at the edges—sharp at first, then molten, then a kind of desperate, addictive ache. It’s hunger. It’s grief. It’s a craving that lives in the marrow, not just the skin.
“Never thought you’d take it like this,” he says, voice rough, barely more than a growl. The words crack against your ear, and you shudder all the way down. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ the life outta me.” You can’t stop shaking. Your knees are spread wide, bracketing his hips, the insides of your thighs slick with sweat and slick with everything Frank’s ever dragged out of you. You thinks you'll never get used to the feeling of him, never stop being wrecked by the way he stretches you open—fuller than full, the kind of full that scrapes at yout sanity and sends sparks arcing up her spine. You try to move again, to work him deeper, but your body stutters, shudders, clamps up so tight you're afraid you'll never let him go. Frank’s hands slide beneath your ass, rough and steady, and he’s whispering again.
“Still good, baby? Still with me?” You hear herself answer before you've even thought about it.
“Yeah. Oh, fuck—”
“That’s my girl,” he growls, and his hands flex, digging into the meat of your ass, helping you find a rhythm. His hands force your ass up, switching from slow rolls to you bouncing up and down on his cock, the length splitting you open every time you fall back down. You whine, nails raking down his chest as he sets a cruelly slow pace. You nod wordlessly, as if saying, yes this is what i wanted, yout nails digging into his chest. He keeps his pace slow, hands bracing you, letting you ride out every inch.
The way you move is desperate, hips frantic, but you're still so fucking tight it’s like every thrust stretches you all over again. Frank can feel it in the way you shake, the way your nails score frantic down his chest, each movement another little gasp from you.
“That’s it, baby,” He says, rough and low. “You’re doing so good. You’re perfect.” IHe yanks down the top of your dress and softly coaxes your breast into his palm, rolling your nipple between his fingers and it makes you arch, your head falling back, mouth open in a silent moan.
“Fuck, you like that? You like being full like this?” He can’t help it, he want you to know, he wants you to hear yourself and know how fucking hot you are right now.
He reaches for your face, brushes the hair out of your eyes, and maks you look at him.
“Look at you. So pretty riding my cock.” You gasp, your body rocking forward.
“Fuck, Frank-” A desperate whine pulls from your lips, pussy clenching around his impossibly hard length. "Mmph- I need-" Your words are cut off by a whine, and your head falls back as Frank runs his lips over the plane of your neck.
"What is it, sweet girl ? What d'ya need, hmm ?" He asks, catching your face in his heads and tilting it down to force you to look at him. "Ya need me t'stop ?" You shake your head, slamming your hips down to accentuate your point.
"N-No ! Don-Don't you dare fucking stop." You whine, leaning in to press your lips to his. Frank’s mouth finds yours, heat and need and all the things he never says out loud, and he kisses you with a rough, desperate edge that’s never come out this way before. His hand tangles in your hair, holding you there, letting you bite and gasp and moan against his lips. You pull away, fingers tangled in his hair as you look up at him. You roll your hips again, and Frank’s head falls back, groaning as your pussy clenches around his thick length- buried inside you to the hilt.
“Need- Need to go harder, Frankie.” You whine. Frank’s hands squeeze your hips, bruising, and his voice unspools in a low, dangerous note:
“You sure about that, baby? I don’t wanna hurt you.” You dig your nails in harder, clinging to his shoulders like a life raft, and shake your head so he’ll quit asking, quit holding back, and just—fuck, just let go.
“Need it. Please, Frankie. Please.” That’s all it takes. Something in him snaps. A groan wrenches out of his chest, and his hands slide down, rough palms spanning your ass, and he’s pistoning up into you, hips snapping so hard you see stars behind your eyes. You yelp, then moan, shock and pleasure shooting through your body in a white-hot flash. He’s relentless, slamming into you, hitting so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.He’s all breath and teeth now, his resolve snapping with every desperate roll of your hips.
He bucks up, his cock splitting you open even wider—impossible, you think, but then you feel it: the way he bottoms out, the edge of his blunt head pressing so deep it’s like he’s rearranging every nerve ending you have. You cry out, the sound ugly and perfect, but Frank’s hand is at the back of your head, his mouth over your mouth, swallowing the noise.He loses the last of his restraint and plants his feet, his thighs up and hips off the couch, and now every grind is harder, meaner, his cock punching into you until all you can do is sob and clamp tight around him. The sound is obscene: the wet slap of skin, the ragged gasps, the squeal of couch springs. Frank hauls you in, his mouth at your ear, his voice nothing but a ragged scrape.
“Fuck, you’re a mess for me,” he growls, each word a brand against your skin. “All that attitude, and you’re fuckin’ sobbing on my cock. So fuckin' tight f'me, huh ? Such a good girl.” His hand slides up, fingers digging into the back of your neck, holding you steady as he rams up into you, relentless, and the pain is gone now, replaced by something blinding—a pleasure so sharp it makes your vision white out, your whole body hollowing and clutching around him.You rock in rhythm with him and it’s obscene, the squelch of where you’re joined, the slap of skin on skin as he pounds up into you, the guttural noises you can’t keep inside.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, baby. Been dreamin’ about this, you taking all of me. Didn’t think you’d—I mean, Jesus, look at you.” He grabs your ass, kneading it and pulling you down, forcing you to take every last millimeter. “You’re squeezing so tight, you’re milkin’ me, fuck—” He grits his teeth, eyes half-lidded and hungry. “You wanna come? Wanna let go for me?”
“Yes. God, yes, please.” You whine. “M’s close, Frank-mmph.” Frank’s voice shudders into your ear, all rough pride and awe:
“Yeah? Gonna come for me, sweet thing? C’mon. Give it to me. I wanna feel you .” He doesn’t let up, hips slamming up so hard the world blurs at the edges, the couch frame groaning beneath both of you. You can’t move, you can barely breathe, his hand fisted in your hair and the thick length of him splitting you open again and again. The pleasure builds in your spine, a searing hot pressure that crests and breaks with each brutal thrust, and you’re babbling, words running together,
“Frank, fuck, Frankie, please—” He’s greedy for it now, for your noises, for the way your body clenches around him. His hand slides between your bodies, finds your clit with thick, callused fingers, and rubs it raw and fast. The touch is too much,paired with the rough upwards pistoning of his hips, and your thighs fly closed to clench together as your orgasm crashes over you, desperate spasms taking over your whole body. You can’t hear anything except the sound of your own heartbeat, pounding in your ears, synced up with the steady, brutal pace Frank sets. His cock drags out of you slow, then slams up so hard your vision goes black at the edges, every shockwave through your pelvis making your toes curl.
“Attagirl. That’s it baby, ride through it. Attagirl.” He’s making noises he’s never let you hear before—deep, raw, hungry things that sound like they’re being torn out of his chest. The look he gives you is wild, desperate, like he’s not sure if he wants to devour you or worship you. He pulls you down until your foreheads touch, the sweat on his brow mixing with yours.
“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he rasps, and something hot and dangerous sparks in your belly. You’re clawing at his shoulders, leaving half-moon imprints in the flesh, riding the edge of pain and pleasure so sharp you can’t find the difference anymore. Frank’s hand clamps around your throat to keep you steady, his other hand still clenched at your waist.
"Shit, baby, i'm close." He rasps, and you whimper as you try to move your hips along with his, but the overstimulation wracks up your spine and you tense, letting him drive his cock up into you. You feel Frank’s cock twitch inside you, the urgent pulse of it syncing with your own rapid heartbeat, and you know he’s close even before his hips stutter and the muscles in his thighs go taut beneath you. The fingers at your waist grip tighter—near bruising—and his other hand comes up, thumb tracing a line along your jaw, anchoring you. You want the mess, the loss of control. You want him to stop speaking in careful half-steps and just fucking let go.
“Where d’ya want me sweet girl ?” He rasps, his restraint showing, his hand already drifting down towards where the two of you are conjoined to get ready to pull out. The question wobbles in your throat, half-swallowed by the slick heat and the way Frank’s fingers press into the curve of your jaw. He looks you dead in the eye, searching your face like he can find a map to this, too. Some secret code in the way you blink, the way you sway and curl tighter around him.
“Want it inside,” you gasp before he can break the stare, before self-doubt or good sense or whatever kept him guarded can muscle in. “Please, Frank. Please.” For a half-breath, it seems he might refuse you anyway—might white-knuckle that last scrap of control for the sake of gentleness, for your own good.
“Yeah? Want me to fill you up?” His voice is unsure, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You nod wordlessly and he shakes his head, the gentleness he showed earlier resurfacing. “Baby, i need ya to tell me, kay ? Use your words.” Frank watches your face like its a code he can finally solve. Sweat tickes along his brow, not just fatigue, but the kind of focus he reserves for dismantling bombs and patching artery bleeds—urgent, precise, a little terrified. The request hits different coming from your mouth: raw, pleading, no filter. He gets it in his bones, even if his brain lags behind.
Inside. You want it inside.
His girl.
He wants to tell you no. Not because he doesn’t want it, but because he’d convinced himself he’d break you if he let go—like every inch of himself he held back was the difference between love and violence. But your face, flushed and wet and so fucking sure, said you’d survive it. Would probably haunt him if he didn’t.
“I mean it, Frankie.” Your voice cracks, the words sticking. “I want to feel you. All of it.” He doesn’t answer, just locks his hands tighter around your waist, and for one split second you see all the war in him: the need to protect, the need to ruin, the need to have you in every way. Then he grips your hips, braces his thighs, and surges up into you with a force that makes your vision shatter. Everything in you clamps around him, every nerve ending you have going off at once—pain, pleasure, something between the two that has no name, no anchor. You’ve never felt anything like it in your life. You think you might die from the stretch alone, but when the heat of him floods you, pulsing in hot, deep shocks, it’s like being electrocuted from the inside out.
“Shit, shit, fuck-!” Frank cries out, his pinned to yours as you feel him twitch and empty himself inside of you. You slump against him and his arms come around you immediately, his breath ragged as he thrusts lazily a few times, just to make sure he's all spent. His lips press to the crown of your head, kissing the area there softly as he runs his hands down the small of your back. Your breathing is ragged, a statcatto rythym as you bury your face in the crook of Frank's neck, hand resting on the other side of his neck, craving the gentle closeness.
"Jesus- fucking - Christ." He rasps, shaking his head. "You're fucking crazy, yknow that ?" He hums. You giggle- a shirt thing interrupted by hiccups, and you lick at your dry lips. He kisse your forehead again. "Lemme go get ya some water, baby." He hums. His hands settle at your waist, and the sound that follows is so insanely obscene that you almost want to go again. The sound that your bodies make when they disconnect, squelching and liquid squirting as he slolwy pulls his length out of you wakes you clit hum with anticipation.
That hum though is quickly replaced with the sharp pain of emptiness.
Frank stills the moment you make that soft, broken sound. Not the kind you’d made before - not the desperate ones, not the breathless ones - but something smaller. Quieter. It catches in your throat when he carefully, carefully slips the last of his length out of you, hands firm at your hips like he’s handling something fragile.
“Hey—hey,” he mutters immediately, all the air knocked out of his lungs. “Shit—did I—?” You cling to him before he can even finish the thought. Your arms wrap tight around his shoulders, your face pressed into his neck, a small whimper slipping out as your body adjusts to the sudden emptiness. Your fingers curl into his skin like you’re trying to anchor yourself, like letting go might send you drifting somewhere you can’t quite follow yet. Frank freezes. Actually freezes.
Every muscle in his body locks up, his hands hovering for half a second like he doesn’t know where to touch you without making it worse.
“Baby,” he says, rough, bordering on panicked now. “Talk to me. Did I hurt you? I told you—fuck, I told you—”
“No—” your voice comes out soft, a little shaky, but not distressed. You nuzzle closer instead of pulling away, tightening your grip around him. “No, no… it’s not that.” He doesn’t relax. Not yet. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you gently into his shoulder like he’s trying to shield you from something—even if that something is himself.
“Then what was that?” he presses, quieter now, but there’s an edge to it. Worry. Real worry. You huff out a tiny, breathless laugh against his skin.
“It just—” you shift slightly, wincing just a little, and his grip tightens instantly again, like he’s ready to stop the world for you. “It just feels weird when you’re not there anymore,” you admit. “I was… really stretched out, Frank.”There’s a pause. A long one.
“…Good weird?” he asks finally, cautious, like he’s stepping across thin ice. You nod against him, then realize he can’t see it and mumble,
“Yeah. Good weird.” That’s when he exhales. Not a small breath—no, it’s deep. Heavy. Like he’s been holding it in his chest this whole time and only now feels allowed to let it go.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, pressing his lips to your temple. “You scared the shit outta me.” Your arms loosen just enough to look at him, your expression soft, a little dazed but warm.
“I’m okay,” you promise. He searches your face like he doesn’t quite believe you yet. Like he’s cataloguing every little detail—your eyes, your mouth, the way your breathing’s evening out. Then, finally, he nods.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I know you are.”
But he still pulls you closer. Carefully, he shifts the two of you, easing you down against the couch so you’re not straining, making sure you’re comfortable before he even thinks about anything else. One of his hands stays firm at your waist, the other brushing your hair back from your face, slower now. Grounding.
“You sore?” he asks.
“A little,” you admit, voice soft. He hums, like he expected that.
“Yeah… figured.” His thumb traces along your side in slow, steady strokes. “That was… more than we usually—”
“I wanted it,” you cut in gently.
“I know,” he says immediately. No hesitation. No doubt. “I know you did.” That’s not the issue. His jaw tightens slightly, and his gaze drops for a second before coming back to you. “But next time,” he adds, quieter now, “you don’t just decide that on your own, alright?” You blink at him.
“Frank—”
“I mean it.” Not harsh. Just firm. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye. “You tell me. Before. So I can take my time with you. Get you ready proper. Stretch you out properly so that it don't hurt when we're done.” There’s something in his voice—something protective, but not controlling. Careful. Thoughtful. “I don’t ever wanna be guessin’ with you,” he continues. “Don’t wanna be sittin’ here after wonderin’ if I pushed you too far.” Your chest tightens a little at that.
“I wasn’t too far,” you say softly.
“I know,” he murmurs. “But I need to know know. Not just hope.” That lands.
“Okay,” you agree. His shoulders loosen just a fraction.
“Okay,” he echoes. He shifts you so that your in his arms, he carries you into your bedroom. He sets you down on the bed, sighing sofltly. He brushes your hair away from your face, humming. "Don't fall asleep, baby. I'll be right back." You make a small noise of protest immediately, your fingers catching weakly at his wrist before he can pull away.
“Don’t go far,” you mumble, already half-melting into the mattress. He huffs out a quiet breath—something between a laugh and a sigh—and leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.
“Ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he mutters. “Just gimme a second.” You squint up at him suspiciously, even as your eyes threaten to close.
“You better not be doing your disappearing act again.” That earns you a proper huff.
“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. “One time I clean up and suddenly I’m a flight risk.”
“Every time,” you correct sleepily. He pauses at the edge of the bed, glancing back at you, one brow raised.
“…You keep trackin’ that?”
“Mm,” you hum. “Suspicious behavior.” He lets out a low, amused exhale through his nose.
“Yeah, real suspicious,” he murmurs. “Man takes care of his girl, real criminal.”
“Debatable,” you mumble, already sinking deeper into the pillows. That pulls a quiet laugh out of him.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he reminds you again.
“Frank…”
“I’ll be back in two seconds,” he promises, already easing out from under you despite the way you try to follow him. “Don’t go passin’ out on me yet.” You squint up at him, unimpressed.
“Bossy,” you mumble again, voice thick with sleep. He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah, yeah. Says the one who nearly killed me ten minutes ago.” Your lips twitch.
“I did great,” you mumble. He pauses mid-step, glancing back at you with a look that’s half disbelief, half reluctant amusement.
“‘Did great,’” he repeats under his breath. “Jesus.” He disappears into the bathroom, and you can hear the sink running, cabinets opening—familiar sounds, but slower now. Less routine. Like he’s still thinking about you, even when he’s not in the room. He’s not gone long. When he comes back, he’s got that same warm cloth in hand, and a glass of water balanced carefully between his fingers. The second he sees your eyes drooping, he clicks his tongue.
“Hey—hey. Don’t you do that.” You groan quietly as he sets the glass down on the nightstand and sits beside you again.
“M’tired…”
“I know,” he murmurs. “C’mon, up a little.” He slides an arm behind your shoulders, lifting you just enough so you can lean against him. You go willingly this time, head lolling against his chest as he brings the glass to your lips.
“Drink,” he says. You take a few slow sips, then pull back, already trying to sink into him again.
“That’s enough,” you mumble.
“Few more.”
“Frank—”
“Few more,” he repeats, softer, but there’s no budging him. You sigh dramatically, but you listen, taking another couple of sips before he finally nods, satisfied.
“Good girl.” You hum at that, eyes fluttering shut again.
“See? Not so bossy now.”
“Don’t push it,” he mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. He sets the glass aside and reaches for you again, guiding you back down onto the bed properly this time. The cloth in his hand is warm, and he’s careful—extra careful now, his touch light, attentive. You twitch a little at the sensitivity, and his brow furrows immediately.
“Still okay?” he asks.
“Mm,” you nod sleepily. “Just… sensitive.” He grunts softly.
“Yeah. That tracks.” There’s a pause, then—more teasing, but quieter— “Maybe next time you don’t try to prove a point all at once, huh?” You crack one eye open at him.
“I wasn’t proving a point.”
“Oh yeah?” he raises a brow. You shrug lazily.
“…Maybe a little.” He snorts.
“Unbelievable.” But his hand smooths over your thigh right after, gentle, reassuring. “You hurt anywhere?” he asks, trying to sound casual and failing just a little. You shift slightly, testing, then shake your head.
“Just… sore.” His jaw tightens for a second.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s on me.”
“No, it’s not,” you say immediately, reaching out to catch his hand before he can pull it away. “Frank.” He stills. You tug his hand gently, making him look at you.
“I liked it,” you say, quieter now. “All of it.” His eyes search yours again—that same careful, thorough look.
“…Yeah?” he asks. You nod.
“Yeah.” A small pause. Then you add, a little teasing— “Even the part where you looked like you were about to pass out.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “I was not—”
“You were,” you insist, smiling now. “Little bit.”
“Was not.”
“Little bit,” you repeat. He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no heat in it. He finishes up, then pulls the blankets over you, tucking them in. You immediately reach for him. He doesn’t make you ask twice. He climbs back into bed, settling behind you this time, pulling you into his chest so your back is pressed against him. One arm wraps around your middle, anchoring you there, his hand splayed warm against your stomach. For a minute, he just holds you.
Then— “You really okay?” he murmurs, voice low near your ear. There it is again. That thread of worry he can’t quite shake. You shift slightly, turning your head just enough to glance back at him.
“I said I am.”
“I know what you said.” You huff softly.
“I’m good, Frank. Promise.” He studies you for a second longer, like he’s debating whether to push it again. Then he exhales.
“Alright.” But his hand tightens just a little around you anyway. Your fingers drift down, resting over his where it’s spread across your stomach.
“…You were kinda panicking,” you mumble, a hint of teasing slipping back in. He scoffs quietly.
“I was not.”
“You were,” you insist, smiling a little. “You looked like I broke something.”
“Well,” he mutters, “you were lookin’ at me like you just went twelve rounds with a truck, so forgive me for bein’ concerned.” You laugh softly at that, the sound muffled by the pillow.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” he says, nudging his nose lightly against your hair. “You keep sayin’ that.” There’s a pause. Then, quieter— “…Still gonna worry.” Your chest softens at that. You turn aroun and curl into him, head tucked beneath his chin.
“I know.” That seems to settle something in him. His thumb starts moving again—slow, absent circles against your hip, the same steady rhythm from before.
“Next time,” he murmurs, softer now, “we do it my way first.”
You groan softly.
“Frank.”
“I’m serious,” he insists, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice now. “We doin’ that again, I’m takin’ my time with you.”
“You always take your time,” you mumble.
“Not like that,” he says. “I mean really takin’ my time." You tilt your head just enough to look up at him.
“…How much time are we talking?” His mouth twitches slightly.
“Enough that you ain’t givin’ me that look like you’re about to pick a fight with physics.” You blink.
“…That’s not what I was doing.”
“That’s exactly what you were doin’.”
“I was being adventurous.”
“You were bein’ reckless,” he corrects. You smile, nudging your nose against his jaw.
“And you loved it.” He goes quiet for a second.
“…Yeah,” he admits, softer this time. Then, after a beat— “Doesn’t mean I ain’t gonna do it right next time.” You hum, satisfied, your eyes finally slipping closed for real.
“Okay, Frankie.” His hand starts moving again along your back, slow, steady, grounding.
“And you tell me,” he adds quietly, more serious now, pressing a light kiss to your hair. “Before you go doin’ somethin’ like that again.” You nod faintly against him.
“I will.”
“Good.” A pause. Then, softer— "Ya did real good, baby,” he murmurs. You yawn, nodding against his chest.
"Told you I could take it." Frank rolls his eyes, peppering your face with kisses. You crack open an eye at him. "The only thing too big about you is your ego." You hum.
Frank lets out a quiet, offended huff at that, pulling back just enough to look down at you properly.
“Yeah?” he mutters, one brow ticking up. “That what we’re goin’ with?” You give him a sleepy, satisfied little nod, clearly pleased with yourself.
“Mmhm.” He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no bite to it—just that familiar, rough-edged fondness.
“Alright,” he says slowly. “Careful now.” You smile, eyes already drifting shut again.
“Why?” you mumble. “Gonna prove me wrong?” He snorts softly, shaking his head as his hand slides back into its place on your back, steady and warm.
“Nah,” he murmurs. “Already tried that tonight.” That pulls the faintest little laugh out of you.
“Didn’t go so well, huh?” you mumble. He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
“Debatable,” he says. You hum, too tired to argue, curling further into him. There’s a quiet beat before he adds, softer now—
“…And for the record—” You make a small noise, somewhere between a groan and a hum.
“Frank…”
“—ain’t my ego you gotta worry about,” he finishes anyway, voice low and teasing. You crack one eye open just enough to squint up at him.
“Oh yeah?” His mouth twitches.
“Yeah." A pause. Then, with the faintest hint of a grin in his voice— “Pretty sure we already established what’s actually too big.”
word count: 14.2k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, extremely dubious consent, fem!reader, sex work (obviously!), age gap (20/40), size difference (he calls you “little one” and tosses you around a bit oop-), coercion, lust/love at first sight, misogyny (by other ppl, not pope), very insecure!reader (bc ppl are mean! but don't worry, pope takes care of them), murder (re: previous), inexperienced!reader (and pope loves that you are), praise kink, first kiss, unprotected sex, squirting, fingerfucking, forced orgasms, loss of virginity (on camera!), threats of anal (but no actual anal play!), choking, breeding kink, cnc/rape roleplay, fear play, sex toys, humiliation/degradation kink, he matches your freak (and you bring out his), kind of a slow burn all things considered
summary: andrew cody, better known as his stage name “pope”, is a rising star in the porn world. people love his gritty, dark, aggressive demeanor. so when you, an amateur porn producer, pitches an idea to him that aligns a little too well with his kinks, he finds himself wanting to only work with you.
to the point where he won't fuck anyone on camera that isn't you…
a/n: oh porn star!pope, he has been on my mind and I just had to write him out. he's too yummy (especially when he's fucked up)!
hope it's a sick read ♡
Andrew “Pope” Cody has a very strict routine. He wakes up, has a glass of water with his pre-workout supplements, then runs a few miles before heading back to do a few weight-lifting sets. When he feels like he has let the pent up energy out of his body, he'll shower and then eat a protein heavy breakfast so he can take the rest of his pills.
Because if he doesn't take his meds, he'll surely go crazy when he's on set. The medication numbs the worser parts of himself. The ones people usually are afraid of.
The ones directors tend to tell him to “tone down” when he's fucking whatever actor or actress they're asking him to for the week.
They're lucky he even cums. It doesn't feel good. Hasn't since he started working as a porn star.
But it pays the bills better than robbing people.
It also keeps him away from his family, since most of his shoots are in Los Angeles.
So, he deals with the fact sex is muted now. The medication helps him not feel some type of way about it, thankfully, because he doesn't have sex for fun.
It's all for work.
That is, until he meets you.
You're sitting off to the side, legs dangling off a dressing table, laptop resting on your beautiful exposed thighs.
It's hot on set. You're wearing flimsy little shorts and a halter top that lets Pope see much more than anyone should for a girl your age.
“Who is she?” He asks one of the producers on set.
Could you be his newest co-star?
Why is he…excited over that prospect?
Pope hasn't felt any kind of attraction in a long while, so if you are, maybe he'll actually get to enjoy himself for once.
He's curious to know what your pussy feels like.
Are you a loud performer or a more subtle and shy one?
Do you actually cum or do you just fake it for the camera?
He wants to make you cum for real.
But his desire gets shut down immediately when the producer he asked answers, “oh her? I don't know who she is. Probably one of the director's kids or something. Wannabe producer. Been trying to pitch a script but no one's biting.”
“Why's that?” Pope doesn't know why he's so curious about you.
The producer laughs, in that grating kind of way that makes Pope want to knock his teeth out. Especially when the guy goes, “because she wants to make girly porn. As if that shit will sell. Men aren't going to buy into any of that cutesy femme shit.”
Pope knows there's a female audience for porn. He has a lot of followers online. Plenty of them are women. And he is fully aware of the many comments he has read on his posts where some of his fans wish he would do more work that “catered to the female gaze”. He never understood what that meant. He has worked with plenty of female directors and producers before, but apparently they focus on making sure male audiences are satisfied first and foremost.
He's never read a script made for a woman's interest before.
Now, he's even more curious about you.
So much so, that he's walking over to you before he can stop his legs from doing so.
You look up and are startled to see Pope. You've never seen him in person before. You didn't know he'd be on this set. Your aunt is one of the directors and she didn't give you much notice on what exactly the production was.
“Oh, hi.” You put your hand out and introduce yourself. “You must be Pope, right?”
“Have you seen my work?” He asks, shaking your hand, his lingering in yours for a beat longer than he normally would.
“Clips here and there.” You seem a little flustered at his question. How cute.
“I heard you've been trying to pitch a script.” Pope is more direct than he intends.
You're surprised he knows about it. “I am, but it's probably not going to sell much.”
“Can I see it?” He leans back on the edge of the table next to you, gesturing to your laptop. “My shoot isn't for an hour. Wouldn't mind something to kill the time.”
“Oh, sure!” You scramble to pull it up.
Pope glances over your shoulder, seeing how many scripts you have written already. You're sifting through them, parsing out which one you'd want him to see. You decide on one where you had based the main lead on him and hand him your laptop.
“You can fold it over to use like a tablet.” You show him, your hands brushing against his as you do, your heart skipping a beat when you feel how big his fingers are.
Pope is so close to you that he nearly leans in and kisses you. He doesn't, but he does take a brief inhale, liking the smell of your perfume mixed with the sweat that's trickling off your neck from your nerves.
You sit there in silence, his big bicep casually resting on yours as he scrolls through your script. You take out your phone to distract yourself, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat from his proximity.
You never thought you'd ever get the chance to be near anyone in the industry. You always figured you'd be behind a camera. But Pope is right next to you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.
It almost makes you dizzy how hot he is…
Pope is worried his skin is growing too red. He hasn't felt this turned on in years. Reading this script has him needing to resist getting hard, which is usually not the case for him. Most of the time, it's difficult to get hard and he'll end up needing a pill or some help.
But what you've written is too well-aligned with the fantasies that haunt his mind.
“What would you consider this?” He asks you when he finishes reading, handing you back your laptop.
“Ah, like a dark romance, I guess?” You had shown him the plot where the main lead, a distant family friend whom the other lead refers to as her uncle, lures her to his private estate for the summer so he can hold her captive until she agrees to be his forever.
“I like it.” Pope tells you in that flat tone of his that has you questioning whether or not you heard him correctly.
“Really? You might be the only person who thinks so.” You're elated to hear that but then immediately talk yourself down. “Everyone else I've shown it to thinks that it's too focused on his obsession with her and that it should be the other way around because “why would anyone want to watch a man throw himself at a woman”. Men wouldn't buy it, I guess.”
You bite your lip after you say that, wishing you hadn't just dumped all of that onto Pope.
You open your mouth to apologize but then Pope goes, “then those men just don't get the appeal. I think it's good and you should make it.”
“Wow.” You can't stop the big smile that forms on your face. “That's so sweet of you to say, Pope. I hope I get the chance one day.”
Pope wants to tell you that he'd make it happen but they're calling his name to get ready. So, instead, he tells you, “do you want to come over after this and talk more about it?”
You're speechless. No one has ever invited you over to their place before.
And it's Pope, of all people.
He never invites people over.
His house is his sanctuary.
But he wants you alone.
He wants to get to know you more.
He wants to see if your desires truly align with his own.
“I'll have to check in with my aunt first, since she drove me. But I'd like to.” You reply, reaching your hand up to touch your warm cheek.
You must look so flustered right now.
Pope loves the sight of it. Such a shy girl. To think you're on a porn set right now and about to watch him fuck someone else.
He'll have to put on a good show for you.
“I'll come find you after, little one.” He calls you what the uncle in your script calls his pseudo-niece and it has your skin flushing with more heat in response.
Once he's out of your line of sight, you bury your face in your hands, muffling a scream because what was that!
Did he really just…
You loop him calling you “little one” over and over in your head, wanting to memorize the sound of it for when you touch yourself later. You have to resist touching yourself now while you watch Pope at work.
You've, of course, seen him naked before. You've watched plenty of clips of his porn online. For research purposes, of course!
But there's something different about seeing him in person.
About knowing how his hands could feel, how warm his body is, how big he is compared to you that makes watching him pound his huge cock into his co-star all the more enjoyable.
Then, your heart stops in your chest when he locks eyes with you from across the set when he cums deep inside of her.
That wasn't in the script. Not in the one he's performing right now, because rarely does male centric porn ever “waste” a cumshot.
It's in yours, though, because you like the idea of getting filled and you're certain other people do too.
But for a shoot like this one, they want to see his cum on his co-star somewhere, for the visual.
Pope couldn't help himself, though. He wanted you to see what he could do to you. He hasn't cum that much in a long time, which might be the only saving grace for the shoot because when he pulls out of his co-star, so much leaks out that they don't have to fake it for the shot.
All in all a successful shoot so the director yells “cut” and it's done.
You meet Pope out in the parking lot afterwards, since your aunt didn't seem to care if you wanted to go home with a porn star. She knows he's clean, because he has to be for work, and that you're an adult so she's letting you make your own decisions. Her only warning to you was that you will likely get your heart broken dating a porn star.
But you wave off her concerns because you don't believe he's interested in you.
Pope just likes your scripts…right?
That seems to be the case when you come over to his house and he spends the entire time reading through every idea you've written.
You're both sitting on his couch together. He has on some kind of nature show, the one that follows a pack of lions throughout their day.
You watch one of the lions chase after a gazelle before it pounces on it and the gazelle becomes its next meal. You don't know why watching that has your heart racing so much.
Maybe it's because you're currently in a lion's den and he's looking to make you his next meal…
But you're oblivious to it, to Pope resting his hand on your thigh casually as he scrolls through your writing, asking you questions about it here and there like what you're looking to do, etc.
“I'd like to make a truly indie production.” You explain to him your dream shoot. “Like maybe only me and the stars on set. The script just being a loose guideline. Going with the flow, seeing where the scenario takes us naturally. I'd like for it to be organic and less “produced” than the stylized porn available now.”
“Have you ever thought of starring in it yourself?” Pope poses a question that has you stammering out your reply.
“I-I…um…” You shake your head, the nerves apparent in your voice as you admit, “I don't think I could. I've never…”
“No one has ever touched you before?” He can hardly believe that.
In his eyes, anyone would be lucky to have the chance to be near you. He can barely keep his eyes off of you as is.
“Why would they?” You chew on your cheek after you say that, wishing you didn't let your insecurity slip out so readily so you pretend to shrug it off, “it's not a big deal. I'm not in a rush to experience anything.”
“Shouldn't you experience the things you want to produce?” Pope doesn't mean to sound so coercive but it definitely doesn't help that his hand slides higher up your thigh as he asks, “wouldn't it be nice to know for your writing?”
“But no one would want to…” The words get caught in your throat when he leans in, his lips so close to your own that you can taste his breath.
“I'd want to.” His voice is so low, so intoxicating that you almost melt when he says, “if you'd let me, little one.”
This is all too similar to something you've written before. It's like he's roleplaying your own words back to you.
You don't know how to react to it…
“I don't think this is a good idea.” You tell Pope as he leans in closer to you, pressing a kiss on your jaw, making your whole body shiver as he trails upwards to the shell of your ear. “Oh god…”
“We don't have to do anything today.” He whispers right into your ear. “But I'd like to see you again.”
“Why?” You feel so stupid asking that, your insecurity leaking out again.
Pope cups your face, turning you to look at him, his gaze so intense. “Because I want to know what you look like when you feel good.”
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, seeing the way you're trembling, the nerves overtaking you.
You're so precious, so scared, so perfect for him. He can't get enough of you.
“I'll probably be really bad at it.” You want him to be prepared. “You might not have a good time. I won't know what I'm doing.”
That makes him chuckle lightly. “I've got enough experience for the both of us.”
“I've never even kissed anyone before.” You admit with your eyes locked on his lips.
The lips you've watched go down on his co-stars. The lips you've seen leave marks on their skin. The lips you're desperate to kiss right now.
“Do you want to?” He brushes his lips against yours. A simple brush, not a true kiss, but it has your whole body quivering just from that light touch. “I think you do.”
“Will you go slow?” You have to ask because you're so nervous you'll get swept up in him.
“I'll go at whatever pace you want.” He pulls away and you don't like how disappointed you feel. But then, he pats his lap and gestures, “come here, little one.”
This is truly everything you've dreamt of and he's feeding into it. You stand up, staring down at his lap, trying to figure out how exactly you should sit.
When you've stalled for long enough, Pope just grabs you by your waist and tugs you down onto him. You're straddling his lap now, his large thighs becoming your new chair.
Your breath catches in your throat when his lips land on your neck all of a sudden, causing you to grip onto the thin black shirt he's wearing that doesn't leave anything up to the imagination. His chest is flush against yours and he can hear your heartbeat thrumming so quickly, like your heart might burst at any moment.
Pope smiles against the column of your throat, pressing a kiss there. Just one, right in the center, so he can feel the air get caught before it can reach your lungs.
“Stay calm.” He instructs, his words warm and oddly gentle. “It'll feel better if you aren't so worked up.”
“I'm sorry.” You don't know what you're doing…
You smooth out his shirt, worried you've wrinkled it from how hard you were gripping it for leverage.
“You can hold onto me, little one.” He takes your hand and places it onto his shoulder. “Lean on me.”
His other hand splays across the small of your back beneath your shirt, practically engulfing your skin. Every touch is sending signals to your core that you've never felt before. Anxious signals, screaming at you to stop this before you start feeling more than you should.
“Maybe we should stop.” You say out of concern, your nerves getting in the way.
“Just one kiss and then we can stop for today, okay?” He already has you on his lap. He can't lose out on this golden opportunity.
One kiss will be enough to convince you. Pope is sure of that, sure of himself and his skill.
He just needs you to say yes. And to stop squirming on his lap or he might have to do something about how hard he's getting.
“Okay.” You nod, gripping onto his shoulders like you might fall off his lap if you don't. “Just one kiss.”
“Atta girl.” He shifts slightly, pulling you closer until there's not an inch of space between the two of you. “Why don't you try?”
You shake your head immediately. “I'll fuck it up.”
That draws another chuckle from his lips, which you feel very prominently on yours from how close he is to you. “I doubt that. I want to see you try. Then I'll take you home.”
You take in a deep breath, your chest rubbing against his when you exhale. Pope's eyes drift down to your chest, loving how your top lets him see much more than he'd want anyone else to be able to. He'll have to make sure you only dress like this for him.
His eyes go back up to look into yours, that intense gaze of his making you even more nervous than you were already.
“I don't think I can do this.” You tell him as your hands ball up the fabric of his shirt beneath your fists. “I'm scared. My heart feels like it'll explode.”
So cute. Pope can't help thinking how adorable you are, so frightened by the prospect of a little kiss.
“And you want to produce porn?” He smirks at you, nudging your nose with his own playfully. “You need to be able to do this if you want to direct it, little one.”
“Okay, okay.” You know he's right.
You have to find the confidence to push forward, to make things happen.
So, you press your lips against his. You don't do it hard. It's the lightest kiss Pope has ever felt, laced with fear and anxiety.
Exactly the kind of kiss Pope has been dreaming about. Everyone he has ever kissed before you has been so full of themselves.
You are the exact opposite. So careful, so worried you'll do it wrong that you barely do it at all.
Just the gentlest little tap on his lips.
Now he needs to know how frightened he can make you.
So, Pope slides his hand up to the back of your head, securing you in place so that the moment you lift your lips away from his, he can press them right back down.
Your eyes widen, not expecting for him to kiss you back again right away.
It's not harsh. His lips just stick onto yours, keeping steady right there. Then, when he starts to move them, you start to panic, the blood rushing straight to your head and tension forming in your core.
You're wriggling in his lap like a scared little mouse caught in a trap.
Just the way he wants you to be.
“Easy.” He breathes against your lips. “Don't get scared. Just pay attention to what I'm doing and follow me.”
He tilts your head a little, angling himself a bit to get a better hold on your lips. You're gasping between each feverish kiss and Pope loves it.
Loves how inexperienced you are, how easily provoked you are.
Like when he grinds his hips upwards just as a tease and you moan against his lips unexpectedly, your face heating up in reaction.
“Oh god, I'm sorry.” You can't believe you're reacting this much.
“Don't be sorry.” He says, sliding his hand over to cup your jaw. “I like that you feel good. I wanted to see it, remember? I like hearing it too.”
“It's embarrassing though…” You feel like such a virgin.
You are one but you feel it a hundred times more because you're in the presence of someone who fucks for a living…
“Is it?” He nips at your bottom lip, liking how you shiver when he does. “I think it's cute.”
“You think I'm cute?” You don't believe him.
Not until he says, “I don't “think” it. You are cute, my precious little one.”
His precious…
Bad thoughts are running through your mind. Of hoping he means it and it's not just part of some roleplay of his. But you know that can't be true.
What could you offer him that he can't already get?
Pope can see the warring thoughts in your eyes. So, he leans in and kisses you again, which snaps you out of your own head. Especially when you feel the tip of his tongue flick your bottom lip.
“Let me in.” He says, his tone sultry. “I want to know what you taste like.”
Pope smiles when you grab onto him tighter, unable to keep yourself still otherwise. Then, you nod, since you can't bring yourself to say any words.
His tongue flicks at your lip again and this time, your lips part, allowing him in. You expect him to go slow, to let you adjust to the idea of his tongue in your mouth but he does the exact opposite.
He just ravages you, his tongue tangling with your own, stealing your every breath away. His kisses get rougher, his movements too. You can't hold in your voice when you feel him grip your ass with his hands and roll his hips against yours, forcing you to feel how hard his cock is beneath you.
You know how big he is. Porn star big.
Impossibly big for someone who has never had sex before.
Big enough that it feels like he's fucking you already.
“Wait, wait!” You gasp out onto his lips, trying to get him to stop because you don't think you'd be able to live with the embarrassment if you came from this. “Please, Pope, I can't—”
“Are you going to cum, little one?” He smirks at how scared you are of your own orgasm. “It's okay if you do.”
You shake your head. “No, I can't, not like this…”
“There's nothing wrong with cumming from this.” He keeps rolling his hips and since your lips aren't plastered to his, you can't stop the moan that leaves your lips. “Let it feel good. Stop resisting.”
“But I shouldn't—” You bury your face in his shoulder, dry heaving as the friction against your clit becomes too much to bear. “I don't want to cum, I don't want to—”
Suddenly, you feel his hand slip into your shorts and without any warning, Pope pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers until you cum so hard that you see stars in your vision. You're reeling, clinging onto him, your whole body shaking from the sudden surge of pleasure.
“There you go.” Pope starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, making you whimper into his shoulder as another orgasm builds inside of you all too quickly. “Let it happen again.”
He grabs your face with his free hand, pulling you up so he can kiss you again.
Kissing him feels very different when his fingertips are playing with your clit.
You're lightheaded, unable to breathe, so close to cumming that you're nervous you might pass out…
Then, he moves off your clit right when you're about to and you whine uncontrollably before catching yourself. He laughs lightly, almost menacingly, at your reaction to getting teased.
“Did you want to cum?” He asks you, wanting to hear you admit it.
You chew on your lip. You shouldn't tell him yes. You shouldn't even be doing this. You should have him take you home like he said he would.
But you want to cum.
It's addictive, that wave of pure bliss that he gave you. It was unlike any of the orgasms you've given yourself.
You want to know what it feels like to be made to cum by Pope.
So, you tell him the truth, “yes, please make me cum, Pope.”
“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” He says with a smile that could kill. “Can I make you cum with my mouth?”
Pope wishes he could take a photo of your shocked expression, all wide eyed and beautifully nervous.
“I-I've been on set all day. It's probably—”
“Then take a shower here.” Pope offers, if you're really that nervous. He likes that you didn't say no.
He likes that you're so easy to convince.
“Okay…” You can't possibly decline getting eaten out by a porn star. People would think you're crazy to miss out on something like that.
“Mmm, good girl.” He praises you, making your whole body yearn for his affection. “Now, I'll make you cum one more time before you shower.”
“Wait, what—” You squirm when Pope suddenly dips his hand into your underwear and slides a finger inside of you, “Pope, stop—!”
You can't stop gasping when his finger curls at the same time as he starts palming your clit, giving you the friction you were desperate for just moments ago. But now his thick finger is buried inside of you, searching for the spot that makes you cry out his name.
“Andrew.” He demands, thrusting another finger inside of you. “Call me Andrew when you cum.”
“Andrew, please, please, not there—” You cry out when he grazes the right place inside of you, your stomach tensing at the feeling, “your fingers are—oh god—”
You're saying his name on repeat into his shoulder when his fingers keep pounding right where you need them to until you're bursting at the seams, cumming all over his lap because he won't let you stop.
“No, no, I can't cum anymore!” You tug at his arm but he keeps fucking you with his fingers against your wishes, “please, Andrew!”
Pope's too strong. He has you locked on his lap with his other arm wrapped around you, pinning you to him as his fingers ravage your insides until you're squirting so hard that you drench his hand.
It's only when tears start streaming down your face that Pope finally lets you breathe, pulling his hand away.
In your daze, you watch him lick his hand clean, grinning so happily at you with your lovely glazed over eyes, so lost in your orgasm.
Pope leans in for a kiss and for the first time, you lean into it, kissing him back the way he taught you to. You're a bit sloppy with it, but he adjusts you until you're kissing him exactly how he wants you to.
“Someone's a fast learner.” He compliments you again, which gets you wriggling, your heart racing once more.
You glance down, at how wet you've made his lap, humiliation coursing through you at the sight.
Pope catches it and says, “do you feel bad for almost ruining my couch?”
“I'm sorry.” You do feel bad. You've never squirted before in your life.
You thought that was just something that happened in porn…
“How sorry?” He wonders aloud.
“Very sorry…” You definitely wouldn't be able to afford to buy him a new couch.
“Then help me get out of these pants.” He points to his lap. “Take them off before your cum can touch my couch.”
You stare at how daunting of a task this is going to be. But, you listen, grabbing a hold of his belt buckle and undoing it. Then, you unzip his pants.
“Now get on your knees in front of me and pull them off.” Pope's tone is so commanding that you do it without a second thought, moving to the floor in front of him. He stops you before you can tug at his waistband. “Wait a second, little one. Look up at me.”
You do, your eyes meeting his. He likes the way you look on your knees. You would look even better with his cock in your mouth.
He'll shelve that for another time, when he has trained you so well that you'll be begging to put him in your mouth yourself.
Pope nods, gesturing for you to continue. You tug off his pants by his waistband, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. You notice the spot of precum leaking from where the tip of his hard cock is pushed up against the fabric of his underwear.
You can't help but wonder what he tastes like…
It doesn't look like Pope will have to train you at all because you ask him, “can I try making you feel good with my mouth?”
“Sure.” He says, reaching over to grab his phone. “If I can film it.”
“W-What?” You weren't expecting that.
“If it's your first time sucking cock, we should get it on camera. It'll fund our future film.” Pope knows how much authentic first time content goes for, especially when he's an experienced star and you're just an innocent inexperienced reluctant woman who never thought she'd ever star in a porno.
“Y-You want to make my film?” You hadn't asked yet if he was interested.
“If you star in it with me, I will.” Pope doesn't want to do it with anyone else.
He only wants you.
“What?” You sound like a broken record at this point.
But he likes how cute you are, all surprised. “You heard me, little one. I'll finance it myself, just be my co-star.”
“But I don't know a thing about…being filmed…” You know there's a whole learning curve to it, of knowing where the camera is and what angles look best.
It's something you've never thought about for yourself. You've only considered it in the context of filming others.
“You'll learn. I'll teach you. Like right now.” He hits record on his phone, holding it steady in his hand. “You're going to suck me off for the very first time in your life.”
Pope grabs your hand, putting it back at his waistband, inviting you to take his underwear off.
You do it, leaving him bare from the waist down. He looks incredible like this, his cock hard and leaking precum. His shirt clings to his upper body beautifully, reminding you that you were just grinding on his lap with his chest pressed flush against yours.
You feel so small knelt in front of him like this. He hovers over you like a giant, engulfing you completely, consuming you with his eyes locked on yours.
“Now, do what you think is right. You've watched plenty of videos. You know what to do.” Pope wraps his hand around his cock, pumping it a few times for the camera, before leaving you to do the rest.
You shake away the nerves so you can lean in, dragging your tongue along the bottom of his shaft until you reach the tip, swirling around it, tasting him for the first time. He chuckles at how stunned you look at how pleasant he tastes. You expected it to be more musky but it wasn't at all.
It's oddly…sweet.
“Do you like how I taste?” Pope takes a hold of his cock again, pushing the tip of it against your lips. “Let me feed it to you if you like it so much.”
You part your lips, letting his cock slip into your mouth. He's so big that your jaw nearly locks up trying to take him. You're careful with your teeth as he slides deeper inside, until he's so far down your throat that you gag.
“First time and you're already taking me like a porn star. Good girl.” His praise is so addicting that you start to suck on his cock in hopes he'll reward you with more. He does, which makes you so happy, “fuck, just like that, use your tongue too. You're doing great.”
You alternate between sucking on his cock and using your tongue to lick up and down his shaft. You try to pay attention to what triggers him to groan and focus on doing that. You know you're doing well when Pope puts his hand in your hair and grips it tight.
“God, I want fuck that face. Can I fuck your face?” He wants to use your mouth for his pleasure.
You nod, not really knowing what that entails. You know it's harsh from the videos you've seen but…you want to know what it feels like for Pope to use you to make himself cum.
So, you let him fist your hair rather roughly before he pounds his cock into your throat over and over again. You're gagging and crying but to Pope, you've never looked more beautiful.
He might not be able to post this video. It might just have to stay in his personal collection. Your first time taking his cock in your mouth.
Your first time swallowing his cum.
You gulp it down as he coats the back of your throat with his release.
“That's it, drink it up, don't waste a drop.” He slowly slips his cock out of your mouth and he can't stop himself from smacking your face with it a bit, so the camera can see how big his cock is compared to your face. You make him groan when you eagerly lick along his shaft again, since you assume it would look good on camera.
“Fuck, get over here.” He ends the video and drags you up onto his lap again. He grabs a hold of your face, looking at you fiercely as he asks, “who the fuck taught you how to suck cock like that?”
“You did.” You say the only correct response.
Pope lets out a dark chuckle. “Good girl. You're making me very proud.”
You want him to praise you more so you find the confidence to cup his face like he's doing to you and kiss him, applying the right amount of pressure against his lips that causes him to just start grabbing at your flesh, needing to touch you when your tongue flicks at his bottom lip.
“Oh, I'm going to fuck you.” He's looking forward to seeing how eager you'll be to please him once his cock is deep inside of you.
"Do you think you'll fit?” You look down, seeing the way his softening cock is still huge, pressing into your lower stomach.
“Don't worry, you can take it.” He presses his fingertips into your belly, massaging right where your womb must be, which draws out full body shudders from you. “You'll feel it right here and you'll love it.”
You meet his eyes and then, quietly, you ask him, “can we…do it a different time?”
Pope's jaw tenses at your question. “Why?”
You bite back a nervous sigh, your stomach churning from what you're about to say, “because I don't want this to be a one night stand…”
You let go of his shirt, not wanting to cling onto him when he'll likely kick you out for being so needy.
“I'm sorry.” You shake your head at him, deciding for him that you should leave. “I-I should know better. I'll just head out.”
“Wait.” He wraps his arms around you, keeping you in place. “Who says you get to leave?”
“Pope—”
"Don't call me that.” He doesn't want you to use his stage name. He wants you to use his real name.
You're the only one he'll let call him Andrew.
Which is why he doesn't understand why you can't see how special you are to him.
Maybe because no one has ever made you feel special before.
He'll have to change that.
“Andrew.” You saying his name allows Pope to relax his jaw. Though, he tenses again when you tell him, “I don't think I should stay. I'm going to do something stupid…”
“Like what?” He wants to know what you're running from.
“Like…” You look down at his slightly swollen lips, at how you wish you could just freely kiss him without the worry that he'll have to kiss someone else for show.
But you can't want that.
Your aunt is right. He'll end up breaking your heart.
So you need to push him away now, “I'm going to fall in love with you if we sleep together. I'm already…feeling too much from just…this. I'll fuck it up. I can't keep things casual. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”
“Then fall in love with me.” Pope states so nonchalantly that you think he must not have understood you.
“Andrew, I can't.” You shake your head at him.
“Why not?”
“Because you'd never…” You don't want to break your heart by saying it out loud but it feels like your heart has already decided to break.
“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” He asks, again with that flat tone of his that has you feeling like he doesn't understand the weight of his words.
“You won't.” Your answer isn't what he was looking for.
“Answer the question.” He's more stern now.
You pinch your lips together, tears welling your eyes. You should say no, because then you could run from this. From the desire to be his.
But you can't bring yourself to lie so you confess, “of course I want you to fall in love with me. But you won't—”
“Okay.” Pope hugs you tighter. “Let's fall in love.”
“What?” You're more astonished than you've been all night.
“What?” He parrots you.
“Andrew…don't fuck around with me.” You don't like whatever kind of joke he's making.
“I'm not fucking around with you. I want to fuck you, though. It doesn't have to be tonight but I'd like you to stay the night regardless.”
You blink at him. You're unsure if your hearing is fucked or not but did he really just say…
“Are you being serious?” You need a clear answer.
“Yes, little one.” He leans in to press a kiss on your temple. “I'd like you to stay the night. Sex is optional. I fuck for work. I wouldn't mind not doing it but I want to cuddle at least.”
“You want to…” You're speechless.
Pope laughs at how absolutely baffled you are. You turned out to be more fun than he thought possible.
“Is that bad? Would you not like to cuddle?”
“Of course I would love to cuddle.” You say it like that's the most obvious thing ever. “But, but…why do you want to cuddle with me?”
“You gave me a great blowjob.”
“Andrew!” You smack his chest and he laughs again. “I'm being serious!”
“I am too.” He smirks and you glare at him, making him smile even bigger. “You are so fucking cute. Come here.”
You're suddenly hauled up into his arms. You have to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips to keep yourself from slipping as Pope carries you past his bedroom and then sets you down in his bathroom.
“What are we doing here?”
“Well, you probably shouldn't have your first time in the shower but I want to shower with you.” Pope strips off his shirt, leaving him completely naked now.
He is used to people ogling him but knowing that you're so noticeably overwhelmed by the sight of him, he actually enjoys being looked at by you.
“You can touch me if you want.” Pope takes your hand and places it onto his chest.
You feel his steady heartbeat under your fingertips. It's calming but also worrying because if he felt something for you, shouldn't he…be more nervous?
It seems like you're the only flustered one, which you don't like. It has you feeling super insecure. But it makes sense that Pope doesn't react much, given his profession.
So, what makes you different enough that he wants to do this with you?
You can't wrap your head around it, your hand lifting off of him.
Then, out of a need to push him away, you demand something you doubt he'll give you, “I don't want to do this if you're just going to throw me away when you're bored of me.”
“Is that what you think I'm going to do?”
You nod, wishing you didn't feel this way.
“Hmmm.” Pope steps closer to you, grabbing a hold of your chin, lifting your face up to look at him since you've been avoiding eye contact this whole time. “How do I show you that I'm serious about you?”
You shrug. “I don't know…”
“Is there something you want?” He'll give you anything you want.
“Nothing that isn't super selfish.” You're honest there. Pope likes that you're honest.
“Tell me.” He wants to know.
“I want you to only kiss me.” You just spit it out but you don't think he'd actually say yes to this. “And I want to kiss you whenever I want.”
“So you don't want me to kiss anyone at work?”
You nod.
“But I can still fuck them?” Pope finds your conditions interesting.
“I'm not that selfish. I know what you do for work. I'm not looking to take away your livelihood but…if you only kiss me, I think that would be enough for me.”
“Alright.” He agrees way too easily for your liking.
“Andrew, I'm serious.”
“And I'm serious.” He leans down to press a kiss against your lips. “I won't even go down on anyone else. My lips are all yours.”
“Really?” You look at his lips, wanting to kiss him again but your nerves stop you. “Are you sure?”
“Only if you kiss me right now.” Pope needs you to seal the deal.
You kiss him immediately and he smiles against your lips, loving how visibly excited you are now. You're much more relaxed, which allows him to unbutton your shorts and tug off your bottoms, leaving you bare from the waist down. Then, he tugs off your top, his lips never parting from yours.
Pope drags you into his shower, turning it on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough. He presses you up against the tiled wall, his hands roaming your naked body. You're no longer holding back, moaning against his lips when his hands cup your breasts.
“Just so you know,” Pope leans down to flick one of your nipples with his tongue, “you aren't allowed to wear such a low cut top around anyone but me from now on.”
“I promise I won't if you keep doing that.” That feels way too good.
He swirls his tongue over both of your nipples until they're nice and hard then he slides his hands up to tug at them. Before you can react, his mouth is back on yours, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, his thigh spreading your legs apart. You're so shy about how wet you are but Pope grinds his thigh into you, wanting to get you even more wet for him.
“Cum all you want, little one.” He says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “We'll wash up after so no need to hold back.”
It's destructive that Pope knows what he's doing. You wonder if he's been this way with anyone else. You can't possibly be the only one swept up in his charms.
But you are.
Because Pope hasn't felt desire like this before.
There's something about how absolutely overwhelmed you are by his actions. He finds it too entertaining. He can't get this from the people in his industry, nor would he want to.
He has been searching for someone like you. Close enough to understand what he does for work, but far enough away that you haven't been exposed to the sides of him that he's trying so hard to hide.
Does he need to hide them from you?
The things you have written have shown him that there's a darkness lurking in your mind that is on the same frequency as the needs in his.
Shall he test you?
You feel his hands slide up your chest and wrap around your neck. Pope can feel your breaths quicken, fear suddenly causing your body to tremble in his hold as he squeezes around the delicate column of your neck.
“Are you scared of me?” He looks at you with the blankest stare you've ever seen.
And you can't believe how turned on you are.
Because he's performing your script, albeit with a bit of improv since this scene doesn't happen in a shower. But it's the same concept.
Hands wrapped around your throat, thigh between your legs, nerves on high alert.
So, you answer just as you wrote it, your voice the right amount of shaky, “d-do you want me to be?”
Pope doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.
He just steps aside, letting the warm water of the shower suddenly hit your face. You shoot your hands up, trying to stop the water from getting into your eyes but then Pope squeezes your throat and you gasp, swallowing water uncontrollably instead.
“Wait!” You can't push his hand away before it slips between your legs, dipping a finger back inside of you. His thigh keeps your legs apart so you can't resist him adding another one. “Andrew!”
“Scream my name louder.” He grips you by your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Let me see how scared you can get.”
In all his content, you've never heard Pope sound so frightening before. He usually plays the rougher, harsher characters but the producers never let him show this side of himself. The one he developed in prison.
The one that yearns for the dark.
Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as his fingers drive into you over and over again. You cling onto him desperately, trying not to topple over completely but it's so hard to stay still when he's fucking you with his fingers like this.
The steam is getting to your head. The look in his eyes is heating up your core. The desire he has to see you completely unravel is messing you up inside, more than his fingers already are.
You should've known better than to expect vanilla sex from Pope.
This is what he truly likes. He only wishes it were his cock getting milked by your tight pussy instead of his fingers. But you need to loosen up a bit or you'll never take him.
You need to be able to handle him at his worst because the moment he puts his cock inside of you, he'll surely lose all rationality.
Like he does right now, when you kiss him out of nowhere.
Pope did promise you that you could kiss him whenever you wanted but he would've never guessed that you would do so while he was abusing your pussy with his fingers.
And now, he has to fuck you up.
You moan when Pope kisses you back, his tongue flicking at your lips, his movements rougher and sloppier than before. It helps that the shower washes it all away, making his rather aggressive kisses much more enjoyable since there aren't layers of spit to contend to.
You cum so much when he curls his fingers just right and he basks in how your pussy clenches to his fingers. “I need you to do that on my cock.”
“I think I'll die if you fuck me.” You might die right now because his fingers haven't stopped moving inside of you despite your blatantly obvious orgasm. He moves his fingers rapidly side to side until you're close to collapsing, your head so dizzy from cumming so hard all over his hand and thigh.
You're clinging onto him for dear life and it's only when he thinks you actually might pass out that he slows his fingers and pulls out of you.
Then you feel a light slap against your cheek. “Stay with me, little one.”
“I'm…dizzy…” You feel so lightheaded from the steam and the orgasms.
“I've got you.” Pope helps you wash up.
You find it odd how gentle he's being in the shower now. He's almost too focused on making sure you're taken care of from head to toe.
He even helps dry you off after the shower. He seats you down on his toilet so he can plug in his hair dryer and blow dry your hair for you.
You feel utterly spoiled, especially when he pulls one of his shirts over your head so you have something to wear and aren't cold while he finishes up with your hair.
It smells like him. You like that a lot.
“All done.” He pats your head. “Feeling better?”
You nod. “Refreshed.”
“Want some water?”
“Can I come with you?” You put your hand out then realize what you're doing.
Were you seriously going to try to hold hands with Pope?
Would he even—
Pope grabs your hand and yanks you to your feet, interlocking his fingers with yours as he walks the two of you out of his bathroom. Your heart is beating out of your chest at the sight of him leading you to his kitchen, hand firmly clamped around yours.
When you're close enough to him, he picks you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off like you had them earlier on that dressing table. He likes the look of your bare legs. Maybe he'll have you stay pantless at his place.
“What do you want to drink?” He opens his fridge, gesturing to the few options he has.
Protein shakes, water bottles, beer and some juice. Usually he doesn't drink anything besides water. Tonight, he feels like a beer.
“I'm not old enough to drink.” You hadn't thought about that.
Pope didn't realize you were that much younger than him. “Do you want one?”
You shake your head. “I want to be sober when we cuddle.”
That makes Pope put his beer back in the fridge and grab water instead. “Then we'll both be sober.”
You don't know why that makes you so happy but the butterflies in your stomach are going nuts.
He rests his hand on your thigh, massaging it gently as the two of you drink water. You like the casual touching.
You like Pope, a lot.
So you set down your half-finished bottle of water then put your hand on his chest. It's bare. He's only wearing underwear. He looks way too good like this.
It makes you almost frustrated that this sight has been seen by millions…
“Like what you see?” He steps closer to you, tossing his bottle of water aside so he can place both of his hands on your thighs. “You can touch me as much as you want.”
“You aren't tired of being touched?” You're worried that after the shoot, he must not want to do this for much longer.
But then he says, “I'd never get tired of being touched by you.”
“Have you always been such a flirt?” You chuckle, your hands roaming his bare skin more freely now. “I hope you don't regret this. I might never want to let you go.”
You say it like a joke but Pope says it back like a promise, “I'm never letting you go.”
“We just met.” You remind him.
“You don't believe in love at first sight?” He thought you'd be more of a romantic type than a realistic one, given your aspirations.
“Love…” You blink up at him. “Are you saying…?”
Pope doesn't hide his truth. “I knew you were special the moment I saw you. I was hoping you'd be one of my co-stars.”
“I…still can be…” Your skin heats up when you say that, not believing that it actually came out of your mouth.
“Do you want to make content with me?” Pope wouldn't mind that.
As nice as it is to get paid regularly to do bigger porn productions, he knows he could pull the same numbers if he started making videos on his own. Or with you.
Especially with you.
“What if you get sick of fucking the same person?” You let your insecurities flood out, sighing.
“I could ask you that.” He spreads your thighs open with his big hands, settling his hips between them.
You glance down, surprised to see that he's hard. His cock is practically begging to burst out of his underwear.
“Are you going to get tired of being fucked by me?” He grinds his cock against your bare pussy. You can feel so much warmth radiating off of him despite the layer of fabric between the two of you.
It has your heart leaping out of your chest when you answer, “I doubt I could ever get bored of you.”
“I feel the same way about you.” Pope wants to reassure you that he's choosing you.
He can't help it. He hasn't wanted anyone like this before.
He would give it all up for you.
But he knows you're too sweet to let him. “You don't have to stop making porn for me, Andrew.”
“Say my name again.” He likes hearing it from you.
No one ever calls him Andrew, especially not in porn. And he is grateful for that because now the only memory he has of someone moaning his name is you with your lovely voice.
“Andrew.” You wrap your arms around his middle, tugging him to you. “I'm serious. Don't throw away your livelihood for me.”
“I'm not throwing it away. I'm shifting to a new style. You can help me. It would be good filming practice.”
You can't believe what he's offering you. “You'd let me direct you?”
“You said you wanted to make an independent production. Doesn't get more independent than just you and me.” He leans down to press a light kiss on your forehead to comfort you, since you're staring back at him so baffled. “I'd like to film with you. Only you.”
“I'm unsure if I'm star material…” You've never even had sex before.
How can Pope be so sure you won't drag him down?
Because he made that video of you going down on him earlier, looking like such a beauty that he's sure anyone would get riled up seeing you on camera.
“Why don't we practice?”
“How?” It will probably take you forever to get comfortable in front of the camera.
“I'll teach you everything about sex one step at a time. We'll film the whole thing, leading up to the first time we fuck.” His words have your heart racing unbelievably fast. “We won't fuck until you're ready to film it. Until you know your angles and what you want to show the world.”
“You would…wait that long?”
“Would that make you happy, little one?” Pope wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer to him.
You nod. You'd like that a lot.
So, that's what you and Pope do.
You help him set up an account on a reputable adult content sharing site. You shouldn't have been shocked how quickly he builds a hefty fanbase willing to buy his personalized content but you are.
He's making so much money. More money than you'd ever need for a simple production like you've been planning.
And Pope thanks you for his success.
He has you do all the filming. All your ideas sell very well to his audience, who love the jerk off videos where he's talking about how much he wants to kidnap you and rape you until you're his forever.
It's easy for Pope to make this content because he doesn't have to pretend. He's being completely honest and his fans can feel it through the screen. But he isn't talking to them.
He's talking to you, his pretty girl behind the camera who he has a vibe strapped to. He doesn't let you cum until the filming is over. He wants you wet and aching for him the moment the camera shuts off.
It makes for incredibly authentic videos when you're so desperate for him after all the edging. He has gotten a little too good at making you cum on his tongue.
You cum so well for the camera. You never have to fake it. And everyone who follows Pope wishes they were you.
You satisfy them by filming from your point of view, letting the world watch your porn star boyfriend eat you out and finger you until you're squirting all over his face, which he licks up in a way that has people begging for more content like that, where they can pretend to be you.
You've been faceless thus far. You're worried about showing yourself, that it might kill the fantasies of the viewers.
“Let them be envious.” Pope tells you while you're both cuddling in his bed. “I want to be able to see you in those videos too.”
“You might be the only one who would, Andrew.” You smile at that, though.
You really like him. He really likes you. And you believe he does because he is always making these kinds of comments. About how he wants the world to know that you're more than just his co-star.
But you urge him against it.
It's better for him if people don't know he's dating anyone.
You know this because you've been deleting all the messages that he's been getting where they complain about you being there. They want Pope content, not you. And if you are there, they want less of you and more of him. Which makes sense, since it is his account.
Pope can tell you've grown more apprehensive about filming content together. You insist on just filming him. But he doesn't want to film alone anymore.
He likes filming with you. He likes having you on camera with him.
He would like it even more if he got to fuck you but you're scared to do it.
Because you've read several comments telling Pope that they'll unsubscribe if he fucks you. A lot of them are sick of you “capitalizing his time and attention”. They miss when he made porn with different people because at least then, they could pretend he belonged to anyone and everyone.
But he belongs to you.
And you're starting to feel bad about it.
You don't want his career to get stunted because of you. Even though you can't possibly leave him. You love him.
These last few months have been incredible. You've learned so much about filming and about your own body.
You want to have sex with Pope but you're afraid that the moment you do, you'll never be able to let him go.
You feel selfish for wanting him all to yourself when there's so many people willing to throw ridiculous amounts of money at him as long as he stays “available” in their eyes.
But you don't know Pope.
Pope doesn't give a fuck about any of those people. He only cares about you. He has enough money. He doesn't need to make porn anymore.
If anything, the porn is just an excuse to keep you in his life because he worries you're not as crazy about him as he is about you.
Any time he tries to initiate sex, you worm your way out of it. He even tells you that you don't have to film your first time but that still doesn't persuade you.
You don't come over as often anymore. Only when he wants to film content and you don't stay the night. He can't convince you to, either. You always have some kind of excuse.
Your behavior is making him lose his mind.
He misses you when you aren't with him. He tells you this and you believe him but you also keep up the self sabotage because you delude yourself into thinking that he'll get sick of you eventually, especially when you're acting like this.
Why would he want you when you're being a burden? You keep it up, in hopes he'll finally see that you're not good for him, that you're making his life worse.
Even though Pope's life feels empty without you…
So empty that he has to fill the void somehow.
And he starts when he catches a comment on an old video of his.
You haven't been over in a week. He missed you so much that he went back to watch a video that he uploaded of you cumming on his tongue for the first time. He likes that video a lot because you're so shy about how hard you came and he chuckles on video. It's such a natural interaction between the two of you. Beautifully intimate, which is why Pope wanted to rewatch it. He figured other people would like the genuine connection you and him have.
But apparently, some people don't like this video at all.
He clicks on the profile of the person who left a comment saying that they wish Pope would stop making videos with you because they don't like you. He sees all the comments you deleted from his account from this person, since they're only deleted on his end, not theirs.
They're all hateful, disgusting comments that make his blood boil.
Pope realizes then that you've been hiding this from him. He doesn't get why.
Don't you know that he'd take care of these people for you?
These aren't people you need to worry your lovely head about, little one.
Pope will handle it.
He'll handle each and every one of them.
Then, you won't have anything to worry about anymore…
You find it strange that Pope's house smells like bleach. It never used to smell like bleach. You know he likes to clean but it's been more excessive lately.
You're concerned so you ask him the next time you come over, “is everything okay, Andrew?”
“Everything's great.” He's getting through his list quicker than he thought he would.
Killing people was something he figured would take him a while to get back into the groove of but he's been disposing of bodies left and right without much extra effort. Though, it helps that he feels incredibly motivated to kill, versus before where he was forced to kill for his mother Smurf.
This is easy. He'd do anything for you.
The next jerk off video Pope posts is…dark.
You didn't plan any of the dialogue. Usually you have a light script written up for Pope to follow along with but today, he just improvised.
He talks about how much he wants to fuck you, that he would do anything for you, including torture and kill people who are bad to you and dispose of their bodies so you don't have to see them ever again.
As long as you belong to him.
It's the most fucked up video he has made thus far.
And it sells like hotcakes.
People eat it up, loving that he's so crazed in it. He cums hard for the camera too, harder than he has in a long time.
Though, his audience has no idea it's because Pope was looking at you and that haunted expression on your face that he wishes he could see while he's buried inside of you.
That frightened expression never leaves your face.
Because you ask him, “were you being serious in that video?”
And Pope answers without flinching, “yes.”
You're laying beside him in bed. You decided to stay the night after editing and posting that video because it's been a while and you've missed sleeping next to him.
But now you're…scared.
More scared than you've ever been.
Because you saw what looked like a fingernail in the bathtub. A whole fingernail, caught under the stopper. Like it couldn't get washed away fast enough.
His bathroom reeked of bleach and other chemicals.
But you have no reason to believe that Pope would actually kill people…
“That was a pretty creative concept.” You try to make light of it but it falls flat.
Especially when Pope furrows his brows at you. “Concept?”
“Yeah, for the video.” You blink up at him, confused. “You were just acting, right?”
“Do you think I'd cum that hard if I was acting?” He chuckles at your horrified look. “You should know I'd kill for you.”
“Andrew, that's not funny.”
“It's not a joke, little one.” His grip around your waist tightens because you attempt to wriggle out of his hold but he won't let you. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I want to go home.” You tell him because you're actually super freaked out right now.
He has to be joking. There's no way…
You can't be here if he's being serious.
“You promised you'd stay the night.” Pope has worked so hard these last few weeks for you. He deserves a treat. He wants to fall asleep with you in his arms.
“Andrew, I want to go home.” You push at his arms but he won't budge. “Andrew, please!”
Pope is tired of this. Of you fighting him and his needs.
He knows you want him too.
You'll appreciate what he's done for you someday.
Even if you're afraid of it right now.
You shriek when Pope pins you down on the bed, his body weight making it impossible for you to move. You feel how hard his cock is, rubbing up against your lower belly, making it known what he wants to do to you.
“I'm going to fuck you and you're going to enjoy it.” He's done waiting.
“No!” You shout at him, shoving at his chest. “I want to go home!”
“This is your home!” He shouts back at you, his words silencing you completely as he exclaims, “you loved it here, you loved being with me! Until those stupid motherfuckers put it in your head that you weren't good enough for me. It's okay though. I took care of them. They won't bother you anymore, little one.”
“You…what?” You're going to pretend you didn't just hear that.
But then Pope makes it very clear what he's done, so you can't avoid it any longer. “I killed anyone I could who said anything mean about you.”
And now you're left with that shocked look on your face that has his cock throbbing against your belly.
“Thankfully, a lot of them were local.” He continues detailing what he's done for you. “I cleaned up the vermin. You're welcome.”
“You're…you're sick.” You think back through the last few months.
Has Pope been taking his pills?
He hasn't. Because why does he need to when you'll accept him as he is?
You love all of him, don't you?
Don't you?
“Andrew, you need to get off of me.” You push at his shoulders but again, he doesn't dare move.
“Why?” He likes being on top of you. It's one of his favorite places to be.
“Why?” You repeat back to him, baffled that he doesn't get why you're afraid of him. “You just told me you killed people.”
“So?” He doesn't know what the big deal is.
Pope grew up around killers. He grew up killing people. This isn't anything new to him. Just a part of himself that he revived for your sake.
You seem ungrateful though…
“You can't just murder people for being mean to me!” You scream at him, pounding your fists against his hard chest. “Get off of me!”
“I can and I will.” He snatches your wrists and holds them above your head. “I'd do it again and again if you needed me to.”
“I don't need you to kill people for me…” You can't move at all. He has you locked down tight right now.
“That's how I know you're perfect for me.” He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “You would never make me do what needs to be done. You care so much about me.”
You are in complete disbelief.
Of course you care about Pope but…do you care enough about him to let him murder people?
People who specifically were rude and nasty to you?
Do they even deserve to live?
You shake that deadly thought away. No, that's wrong. You shouldn't be happy that Pope killed those assholes for you.
You shouldn't encourage this behavior.
You shouldn't feel so…good that he would do that for you.
This is fucked up, beyond fucked up.
It's your wildest fantasy come true.
But some fantasies should stay fantasies…
Because if you indulge in any more darkness, you'll surely never find your way out.
Is that really a bad thing?
Can't you just…enjoy being his?
Pope wouldn't do this for just anyone. You're obviously special to him. You are fully aware of that now.
And it makes you sick how much you like it.
“Andrew, we can't be together.” You want to see how crazed he can get about you. “I don't want to be with you anymore.”
Something fucking snaps in Pope when you say that.
He lets out a low, menacing growl. Like you've triggered the beast in him that he's been trying his whole life to keep caged.
“You think you get to run from me, little one? You think you have a choice here?” He starts laughing maniacally and your entire body freezes up. “I don't give a fuck what you think. You're mine whether you want to be or not.”
Then, Pope gets off of you. He stands up, at the edge of the bed, and looks at you staring up at him with wide eyes, so full of that delicious fear.
“I'll give you until I'm done setting up.” He's being generous. You won't get very far. “But just know, the moment I catch you, I'm raping you on camera.”
Your chest tightens. Every breath you take is a struggle. Your body is trembling all over.
The thrill is unlike anything you've ever felt before.
Pope ignores the fact that you're still laying in bed, stunned. He focuses on getting all the cameras set up.
Why would he care if you decide not to run? Makes his life easier if you don't.
You scramble to your feet when you see him pull out several toys, including a butt plug, so he can clean them and get them ready.
That's when you start to actually panic.
Because you told Pope you don't want to do any kind of anal play until you've gotten used to sex.
But it looks like he has stopped giving a fuck about what you want.
He's going to take both of your virginities, right here, right now.
Live on camera.
You shriek when he tries to grab you. You duck under his arms and sprint out of the room. You should've ran sooner. He's so much faster than you are.
You barely make it to the front door before Pope slams you against it. The wind is knocked out of you immediately which is why you can't fight back when he grabs you by the hair and drags you back towards his bedroom. You have no strength left. Or rather, he is so much stronger than you.
He tosses you onto the bed without breaking a sweat and he does it again and again, each time you try to get out of it. You're immediately thrown right back down.
“Stay put.” He commands but you don't listen, making him click his tongue in irritation. “This would be easier if you stopped struggling. I can make you feel really good.”
“I don't want to.” You shake your head at him, trying again to get off the bed but this time Pope is done with fucking around.
He grabs you by the throat and holds you down onto the bed. You flail beneath him, kicking at him, screaming at him but the words don't come out.
The only words that can be heard are his, “you know I could just kill you.”
You still completely at that. He smiles down at you, caressing your face with his free hand. It's not comforting. It's so fucking scary. He's so fucking crazy…
“What will it be, little one?” He grips your throat with both his hands now, tightening his hold, making you choke for the cameras. “Do you want to die or do you want to get fucked?”
He lets go of your throat for just a moment so you can tell him, panic in your quiet murmur, “I don't want to die…”
“Good girl.” Pope praises you for making the right choice, giving you a light kiss on the temple. “You're going to let me take your virginity, then?”
You nod reluctantly.
“Including your ass?” He wants the camera to catch you consenting to this, even if it's obviously coerced.
“Please, Andrew, not my—” His hands don't allow another word to leave your lips, gripping your neck so hard that your eyes feel like they might pop out of your skull.
“Don't be a bad girl.” He shakes his head at you, full of disappointment. “Tell me the right answer.”
He loosens his hold and waits for you to tell him what he wants to hear.
Heat flashes in his gaze when you answer, “no.”
“No?” His lips curve into a big smile, a smile so wide that anyone could tell it's an evil one.
“I don't want this.” You tell him and you're unsure if you're acting or not. It's a little bit of both… “You're going to rape me. I didn't sign up for this.”
“Oh?” He moves his hands to the side of your head, leaning down until you can feel every word he breathes out on your lips, “what did you sign up for, then?”
Pope isn't expecting you to cup his face with your hands. Nor is he expecting for you to rest your forehead against his before kissing him on the lips.
He has missed the feel of your lips on his.
It feels like it's been too long since the last time the two of you kissed.
“You.” You whisper to him, so softly so the cameras can't hear it. “I love you, Andrew.”
“Are you being serious?" He won't let you live if you're fucking with him right now.
You nod, smiling up at him. “I love everything about you.”
“I was about to rape you.” He wants you to realize what you almost made him do.
“I was going to let you.” You nuzzle his nose playfully before telling him, “you still can.”
“Don't push me.” He refuses to let you tempt him any further.
But you entice him too much. “I want you to, Andrew. Take me like you've always wanted to.”
His breaths grow heavy, desire clouding his judgment. “We're going to have to cut this part out of the video.”
“Want to kiss me a little first?” You say with a lovely grin.
“Fuck.” He finds you so adorable. “I love you so much.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The two of you lay there, tongues tangled, hips grinding against each other until you're aching for him to fuck you already.
When Pope can't handle it anymore, he tells you, “we make love for us. Then we fuck for the camera.”
“I like that idea.” You giggle happily when he tugs off your clothes until you're bare beneath him. “My turn.”
You strip him and Pope knows then that you're the one for him. Because you're so gentle with him, with every touch. You treat him like he's precious to you. It's all he has ever wanted.
You're beautifully bashful when he starts kissing up and down the length of your body, his hands roaming your skin, wanting to memorize what you feel like.
“I hope you know the moment we fuck, we're never stopping.” He warns you because he's been waiting for this for too long. He's going to need to have his fill of you.
“Don't tease me with a good time, Andrew.” You spread your legs for him, dipping your hand between them to show him how wet you are. “Will you touch me? I've missed you.”
“You have?” Pope hadn't realized how desperate he was to hear you admit it out loud.
“I'm sorry I was being distant.” You feel really bad about it.
“It's okay.” He would've suffered as long as you needed him to. “Just don't do it again.”
“As long as you don't kill any more people.” Your words make him snap up to look at you.
“But what if they're mean and deserve to die?” He says between gritted teeth and you hold back a laugh.
Pope can be like a vicious puppy sometimes. It's so cute.
“I don't want the love of my life going to prison over a few internet trolls.”
He grumbles. “Fine. Then I'll take out my frustration on your pussy.”
You gasp when he dives between your legs without warning, his tongue dipping into you immediately. You squirm when the tip of his tongue starts flicking that spot inside of you that has you begging him to stop or you'll burst.
“Wait, slow down—Andrew!” You push at his head, trying to get him to stop because your orgasm is building too quickly. “Stop! I'm going to cum, I'm going to—”
Your orgasm hits you right then and Pope has a little too much fun licking it up, the sounds surely getting captured on camera.
“Cum as much as you want, little one.” He says as he thrusts two fingers inside of you, curling them right where his tongue just was, sending shivers through you. “Show me how good I make you feel.”
You grab a hold of his hair when Pope starts sucking on your clit while his fingers pounds into you. You're trying not to be too vocal. You know the audience doesn't like it. But Pope likes it, so he makes you cum so hard that you can't hold back your voice.
And he does that over and over again until you're begging and crying for him to give you a break.
“I can't cum anymore, Andrew.” You won't survive if he makes you cum again.
You're so overstimulated…
Pope lets out a sigh. “Fine, we'll take a break.”
Though, a break in his mind really just means he's going to take his time marking every inch of your skin with his teeth. You don't know if this is any better than cumming your brains out. Now you're sensitive all over. Everywhere he touches sends sparks to your core.
Pope's prepping you to cum hard on his cock. He wants your first time to be so good, you become addicted to fucking him.
So he has to pull out every trick in the book.
Edging you until you're dripping wet and aching for something deep inside of you.
“Finally ready for my cock?” He asks, smirking at the desperation in your eyes.
“Please.” You want him so badly.
Pope settles his hips against yours. He grabs his cock, dragging it up and down the length of your wet slit, coating himself in your slick.
“Deep breaths, little one.” He instructs as he pushes the tip of his cock against your entrance. “You're about to take a porn star's cock for your first time. You'll need to relax.”
Easier said than done because it feels like he's splitting you in two from just the tip of his cock pushing past your entrance. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life as he slips more of himself into you slowly.
“Too much.” You cry out, shaking your head, feeling overwhelmed. “You're too big.”
Your words cause his cock to twitch inside of you which only makes you wriggle even more. It's so intense, the pressure of being pried out like this.
“Focus on me.” Pope leans down to kiss you, distracting you with his soft lips and loving words. “You're doing so well. Your pussy feels so good.”
“Yeah?” You like that he feels good too. “Do you like my tight virgin pussy?”
He growls low. “I love it.”
His cock barely fits inside of you. He'll need to fuck you a bit to loosen you up. So, he grabs your hips and looks at you with so much need in his eyes.
“I'm going to fuck you now.” He gives you a moment to prepare yourself. “Until you're covered in my cum.”
You shake your head. “I want you to cum inside of me. Pump a baby into me, Andrew.”
The moment you say that, it's like any remaining rationality Pope had left completely crumbles.
He pins you down by your shoulders and just starts ramming into you. You've never felt such forceful thrusts before that your body doesn't even know how to react.
You just cum. That's all you can do.
“Oh god—” You grab a hold of his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as he pounds you into his mattress. “Too rough, you're being too—!”
His hands slide to your throat and the moment he cuts off your air, you squirt on his cock and he laughs. “Someone likes it rough.”
You're clawing at him now, drawing blood, unable to handle the orgasms he's pulling out of you. Your vision is going blurry. You can't think straight.
And you see stars when he whispers in your ear, “how does it feel to get raped for your first time?”
Your body convulses under him in response and Pope loves how your pussy is clenching around him, milking his cock, begging for his cum. When he finally gives it to you and lets go of your throat, you're gasping for air, cumming your brains out on his cock pumping hot ropes of cum inside of you. You love how warm you feel, completely filled up with his release.
You don't want it to end.
You want to be wrung out like this for the rest of your life.
Pope pulls out of you and you expect it to be over but then you feel three of his fingers replace his cock. You're so sensitive that an orgasm washes over you just from him idly stroking your insides. He's merely resting his fingers inside of you, to keep you plugged up, but you're cumming on them too easily, drenching his hand.
“You're spilling my cum, little one.” He thrusts as much as he can back inside of you. “I need you to hold it in.”
“It's hard…” Especially when he keeps curling his fingers on purpose.
“Who taught you to cum like a porn star?” He can't even count how many orgasms the cameras must've caught by now.
“You.” You answer honestly, earning yourself another orgasm when his fingers start fucking you faster. “Andrew!”
“Don't cum.” He thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you with every stroke. “If you cum, I'm going to rape you.”
You glance down. Pope is hard again already. Usually it takes longer but when he looks at you, his body is just ready to fuck.
Especially now that his cock has had a taste of your pussy.
He can't possibly quit now!
Your whole body tenses in a poor attempt to stop the orgasm that will inevitably shatter you. But Pope is ruthless with his fingers.
Then he tugs at your perky nipples with his free hand and you burst like a dam, cumming all over his fingers.
You don't get a second to collect yourself before Pope flips you onto your stomach and pounds every inch of his cock inside of your still spasming pussy. His weight keeps you held down to the bed as he fucks you like an animal desperately needing to breed. He wants you pregnant.
He needs you to have his baby.
You don't know how many times Pope cums inside of you. The batteries in the cameras all die at a certain point but he doesn't stop fucking you.
It's a compulsion at a certain point. The moment he's hard again, his cock is buried inside of you. Your pussy has molded to his shape. Your body yearns for his release.
The two of you don't stop fucking until you take a pregnancy test and it's positive.
Pope is the most excited he has ever been about anything.
And you're happy to see him like that.
So, you'll wait a bit longer before you tell him it's a false positive. You had to figure out how to create a false positive or he would've never let you leave his bed.
He surely won't once he finds out.
And you're looking forward to it.
a/n: you know this idea started as one of those crack ideas but then I just ended up writing so much for it, oops! I just fell in love with porn star!pope, he's such a lovely guy (who will be very angry when he finds out you aren't pregnant hehe the next part will be fun ~)
Jack spends an entire post-sex cuddle session emotionally suffering from the fact you’ve figured out he used to be ginger because…despite all the silver curls and stubble, there is a very incriminating copper color that still exists south of the border.
Or, to put it frankly, you realize he used to be a ginger from his pubes that haven’t gone fully gray.
You’ve been brushing up against them enough to notice.
“Jack Audrey Abbot, You seriously expect me to find out my silver fox boyfriend used to be ginger and not demand evidence? This is the best day of my life!”
You, naturally, react like you’ve found God. Jack wants to die, because you become obsessed with the idea of young ginger Jack. He gets gruffly, pathetically flustered in ways you’ve never seen before.
“You know what, you wanna talk about pubes? Let’s talk about how you thought shaving down there would be a fun surprise for me. That was stupid.”
“Shut up. I want photossss!!”
Fuck. Apparently all it takes to reduce him into a blushing mess is his hot girlfriend nurse young enough to be his kid is her being too delighted by the fact that he used to look like a fucking stocky Irish farm boy.
“I have some…I have some photos. Hopefully you’ll stop sexually harassing me.”
“Yay!”
But unfortunately for him, the more embarrassed he gets, the much more attractive you find him. Which, that should be impossible by now.
Pairing: Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader x Titus Danforth (but this time, you're their niece! oops!)
Summary: After a terrible accident leaves you all alone, you have no one else to go for help except your twin uncles. They're the only ones who understand. They lost their families too. They only have each other, and now you. You may not be related by blood, but you're their family. So, they take care of you. It's easy to, since they're growing to love you.
But what happens when you stop seeing them as your uncles and they stop seeing you as their niece…
Word Count: 9.0k
A/N: I thought to myself what would happen if I put the two psychos together without a moral buffer of Jack and well, this is what happened! Whoops!
This is like so nasty, so filthy, so horrid so please avert your eyes if you are a pure soul because you will surely be tainted after reading this!
I highly suggest checking the warnings for this fic on my AO3. I do not advise you going into this one blind (but again, you're an adult so you do you bestie!)
I will warn that there is a rape/non-con warning, along with a horrific age gap and fauxcest (obviously lol). Just overall a very clearly dead dove: do not eat fic!
This is mostly really fucked up porn LMAO ! Hope it's a sick read ♡
“She's Baz's kid.” That's what Pope says on the phone to his brother Titus. “He gave her up for adoption when she was a baby. She's about to turn eighteen.”
“Doesn't that make her an adult?” Titus can't believe he picked up the phone.
He hasn't talked to Pope since they found out that their father had left everything to Titus and Ursula in his will. Though, technically, Titus ended up with everything because the accident that killed their father killed Ursula as well.
A helicopter malfunction.
Terribly unfortunate for them that Titus refused to go to that stupid mansion that their father always insisted on going for the holidays. It can only be traveled to and from by helicopter. There are no roads. So, they met their demise on that mountaintop.
Since Pope and Julia are technically Chester's children, they were present at the will reading but their mother Smurf was the one who raised them since they split the children evenly in the divorce. Not a traditional thing to do but when both girls and both boys are a set of twins, it works out.
That was the first time Titus met Pope. He didn't realize that they were identical twins. His father had no clue. He hadn't seen Pope since he was a baby so there was no way of knowing that they'd grow up to look exactly the same. They never met until right then.
And now, a few months later, Pope is trying to get Titus to take some kid off his hands. “I can't raise her alone.”
“What is there to raise?” Titus can't wrap his head around it. You're practically an adult.
It is a tragedy that your adopted parents died suddenly but he doesn't understand how this is somehow his problem. Especially when you're not even a blood relative. Baz is Pope's adopted brother. Titus shouldn't get involved in this.
“Just help me get her situated. I have a record. I can't be her legal guardian. It has to be you.” Pope wouldn't be asking for help if he could do it.
He doesn't want you placed in the foster system, even if it's only for a few weeks until you turn eighteen. He knows how bad it can get. You deserve to be around people who will take care of you, like him.
“Just until she turns eighteen.” Titus caves but for a price. “Then, you never call me again. Got it?”
“I'll send you the paperwork.” Pope hangs up before Titus can take it back.
He looks up at you, seeing the haunted look on your face. You've never met him before. You don't know anything about your biological parents. Pope told you that you had a half-brother, Joshua, but he died in the house fire that took your father's life, along with your other uncles and your grandmother. Your Aunt Julia had overdosed just a few weeks ago.
Pope was the only one left. Just like Titus. Just like you.
You all are the last of your pockets of family.
And now you're all together.
“Your Uncle Titus will be adopting you, so you won't get put in the system.” Pope tells you, trying to reassure you.
But you just survived a horrific car accident, where you watched your parents scream and bleed out in front of you while you were trapped in the backseat.
You aren't really in the state to talk.
“I'm sorry this happened to you.” He sits down beside you. “Everything will be okay. We'll take care of you.”
You're unsure about that but you don't have the mental capacity to think about anything right now.
You stay like that for more than a week, completely mute.
Titus pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck. She hasn't said a word this whole time.”
Him and Pope are standing in the middle of the kitchen, discussing what to do about your silence. You're fast asleep in your room. Titus ended up buying a three bedroom apartment near a highly rated private school, so when you start your final semester, you will have graduated from a top ranked school. Better for your college applications.
But they need you to start talking by then.
Because you have to pass the interview.
“I've already sunk the tuition cost. She hasn't said a word to you at all?” Titus has plenty of money, since he's a billionaire, but he's just irritated that he has to waste it.
“Nothing. She did watch her parents die, Titus. Give her some slack.” Pope is sure it will be a long time until you feel okay. The people who raised you are gone and you're living with two people you've never even met before.
“I'm putting her in therapy.” He pulls his phone out, dialing his assistant to find the best therapist for you. Not because he cares about you, but because there's no point in not getting the best of the best if he can afford it.
“Maybe we just homeschool her for the last year. Isn't that an option?”
That is a good option, especially if you need the flexibility.
Titus tells his assistant to research that as well. He never knew dealing with a kid would be so difficult. Though, again, can he call you a kid when you're only a few weeks away from being eighteen?
Why does it matter to him? You'll be out of his way when you turn eighteen and he'll never have to think about you again.
But that is growing more and more difficult to separate himself when he hears you crying in your room every day.
Titus had picked the room in the apartment that had a bathroom attached to it, since he didn't want to share a bathroom with you or Pope. In retrospect, he should've just bought a bigger apartment. But he figured he wouldn't be staying here long and this would be easier to rent out later than some extravagant luxury high rise apartment.
But because he picked this room, it's right next to yours.
And you cry a lot.
It's the only time you make noise.
Other than when you cry at night, you barely make a sound. You stare blankly at your uncles during meals. You go to your room whenever you're done eating. You don't interact with them beyond the brief nod.
Pope tries to talk to you but you don't answer him. If he asks a yes or no question, like what you'd like for dinner, sometimes you'll move your head but other than that, you don't do much socializing.
You've never been a very social person. Your parents really were your whole world. You have always been shy, more shy than most. Talking to people scared you before, but it scares you even more now. You lost your safe space.
And now you're on the other side of the country, living with two men who aren't even related to you, who look exactly alike, and you're more nervous than you have ever been in your life.
The therapist helps. You manage to talk little by little every session, though you mostly type out your words on your phone.
By the time you turn eighteen, you're finally saying a few words here and there.
Pope pulled Titus aside the day before your birthday to plead to let you stay for a bit longer, since you're showing actually improvement and he can't possibly take you away from here now. Titus hates to admit it but he has been grateful you have spoken a little. He doesn't know why, but it gives him a strange sense of accomplishment.
So, he agrees.
And they take you out to celebrate your eighteen birthday.
You've taken to texting them when you want to say something. Texting makes things a little easier for you, so you all have a group chat now.
You: Thank you for the birthday gifts.
You send that then give them both a little soft smile when they read it.
“You're welcome.” Titus didn't know what you're supposed to get a girl on her eighteenth birthday. He got Ursula a necklace so he bought you one too.
You're wearing it right now.
You look beautiful with it on, though that might just be because you are beautiful.
A thought that hadn't crossed Titus's mind until now.
“Do you want me to show you how to unload and reload it?” Pope had bought you a gun.
You nod and watch as he shows you everything. You never thought you'd get a gun but apparently your uncle is very good at using guns and he always carries one. Force of habit. You don't know why, though. You haven't asked. Maybe you should.
“Just keep it in the case until we go out shooting, okay?” Pope puts the gun away and locks the case. He couldn't think of what to get you but he figured teaching you how to shoot would be a good idea in general, so you know how to defend yourself.
“Okay.” That's one of the few words you say.
Pope likes hearing it. He likes hearing your voice. It's like a small win every time he does. The sound of it is growing precious to him.
You look down at your phone and then text them again.
You: Can I skip school tomorrow?
“No.” They both say at the same time, which startles Titus and Pope. That's never happened before.
Pope is surprised Titus said no. He thought Titus would be the more lenient one since he doesn't really care about you. But maybe he's starting to care. A lot more than he thought he would.
Because you are a very sweet girl.
You pay attention to small things. You polish Titus's cufflinks in your free time because he likes them shiny. You keep Pope's boxing gear clean so it's ready whenever he wants to use it.
You had always done chores around the house for your parents so you do the same here. You don't make a fuss about anything. You actually go out of your way not to be a burden of any kind.
It's something you've been talking about in therapy.
“You seem to like your uncles very much.” Your therapist says, inviting you to talk about it.
You've started talking a bit more, so you tell her, “I do like them. They're very nice. But…”
You play with your hands, nervous. You want to talk about this but it's been hard to. Your therapist is patient though, letting you take your time.
Then, you admit, “I'm eighteen now. My parents left me some money that I have access to now. My uncles don't…have to help me anymore. I'm not even their real niece. They shouldn't be wasting their money on me. I don't want to take advantage of them any longer.”
“Are you taking advantage?” Your therapist doesn't like the way you're wording that.
But that's how you feel.
Because the last few weeks, you've been spoiled by your uncles more than you want to confess in therapy.
Since you've started speaking, they talk to you a lot more. You have most of your meals with them unless Titus and Pope have things to do. They tell you the craziest stories because they like your little giggles and your shocked faces.
You all watch movies together. Sometimes you fall asleep in the middle of one and Titus lets you rest on his shoulder while you sleep until he falls asleep. Then Pope will carry you to your room and tuck you in. Sometimes you'll wake up and he's sleeping beside you.
There are times where you'll cry in the middle of the night and Titus will come in and you let him get into bed with you, letting him hold you until you fall back asleep.
Whenever you ask for something, they get it for you. Your phone was acting up so Titus bought you a new one the next day. Latest model, pretty case, screen protector, the works. Whenever you want a sweet treat, Pope will happily take you out and share a cup of ice cream with you.
They don't let you pay for anything, even though you've said on several occasions that you have your own money now. They tell you to save it for college and to focus on your homeschooling. You do because Titus hired the best homeschooling teachers to come see you three times a week. The other four days a week, he takes you on trips around the world with Pope.
Him and Pope have started a side business of robbing rich people's unguarded vacation homes. Mostly for fun, since neither of them really needs the money. They find it cute when you ask them where they got all the new clothes and jewelry for you.
You've gotten a lot of gifts since you turned eighteen.
You checked the prices for most of these things and they are worth way more than what your parents left you.
That's why you feel like you're taking advantage of them. They keep giving you so much but you have nothing to give them in return.
You try explaining this to your therapist but she just tells you, “you're their family. You don't owe them anything. Maybe they just want to spoil you after everything you've been through. You don't have to feel bad about it. Just enjoy the attention.”
But it's growing harder to enjoy it when you find yourself flustered every time you look at them. You've never been…attracted to anyone before. You've never found anyone attractive before them. It's hard not to be when they both share the same handsome face.
It's worse when you see one of your uncles shirtless. Especially Pope. It feels like he's constantly walking around without a shirt on.
You've told him on several occasions to put on a shirt but he thinks you're just being cute when you go, “please put on a shirt, Uncle Andrew!”
“I just worked out. I'm not getting a shirt dirty.” He chuckles, unscrewing the lid of his water bottle and gulping it down.
You hate that you stare at him when he does, watching the water drip off the side of his lip, wishing you could lick it up. You slap yourself for even thinking that.
What is wrong with you!
It's not normal to imagine him, hot and sweaty like he is when he works out, on top of you, pinning you down, spreading your legs open and—
You jolt in your seat on the couch when you feel Pope's hand on your cheek. “Is it too warm in here? You're burning up.”
“I-I'm okay.” You do feel heat pooling at your core but it's not because of the temperature in the room… “I probably should shower.”
“Do you want to go first?” He's asking since you and him share a bathroom.
“Oh, no, it's okay. I'll just use Uncle Titus's bathroom.” Sometimes you do when Pope is using yours.
“Do you know when he'll be back?” Pope hasn't seen him, since he was just at the gym.
You shrug because you were on a field trip today to a history museum with your homeschool teachers.
“Whatever.” Pope couldn't care less about what his brother is up to.
You do, though.
Because you go to Titus's room, so you can go take a shower, and as you walk up to the bathroom door, you hear the water running already.
Is Titus home? You had no idea—
You clamp your hand over your mouth when you hear him say your name all raspy. The bathroom door is open just a smidge and you can't help but peer inside.
The sight leaves you speechless. He has his hand splayed wide against the tiled wall of the shower with his other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it vigorously in his hand until he cums. You've never seen him naked before.
You've never even seen a cock before right now. Are they normally…that big? Is that supposed to fit inside you—
You feel his gaze on you and you look up, locking eyes with him. You quickly shut the door completely then you want to say something but…the words won't come out.
You just stand there, mortified that he caught you watching him. Why did you watch him?
And why is your underwear soaked?
You jump when the door to the bathroom suddenly opens and Titus has a towel wrapped around his waist, holding onto it securely. Steam filters out of the bathroom, making your skin warm. Though, maybe that's just from the sight of water dripping off his bare body. He must've gotten out in a hurry, his hair slicked back.
Your heart is pounding in your chest from all the horrid thoughts that are rampaging in your mind. Like how he could stalk towards you and grab a hold of you and—
“What are you doing in here?” He keeps his voice neutral, flat.
Because he has no clue how long you have been watching him. But from how flustered you look, you must've heard him calling out your name before he came. He doesn't want to scare you away by sounding angry.
But he really wishes you hadn't witnessed that.
“I-I…” The words are getting caught in your throat.
“Where's your phone?” His eyes trail down your body then point to your pocket. “Type it out.”
You nod and then quickly pull your phone out from your pants and start typing out a message into the group chat.
You: I came in here to take a shower. I didn't know you'd be in there. I promise I didn't see anything.
You don't realize when you turn the phone to show Titus, you accidentally hit send. So Pope gets that text message when he's getting out of the shower.
“What the fuck is going on?” Pope comes into Titus's room, also with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “When the fuck did you get home?”
“I've been home. When did you get back?” Titus didn't hear either of you come in.
“A few minutes ago. I had to leave the gym early to pick her up since the museum had to close early for an event.”
Ah, so that's why Titus's sweet alone time was interrupted. He thought he had at least another hour all to himself.
“What is this text about?” Pope meets your flustered gaze, gesturing to his phone. “Tell me now.”
You shake your head. You are definitely not typing that out.
Titus notices the way your body is trembling. Though, on closer examination, it seems more like you're vibrating. The nerves must be rolling through you. You did just watch your uncle jerk off to the thought of you.
But you didn't scream. You didn't run away.
You stayed and you watched…
Because you liked it. That much Titus is sure of now.
“It was nothing.” Titus places his hand on your shoulder. “I left the bathroom door a little open and I heard her close it so when I asked her what happened, that's what she typed.”
You don't know why Titus is covering for you. You thought he would tell Pope the truth. But he just presses into your shoulder with his thumb, rubbing little circles into your skin that is causing more heat to pool in your core, imagining him doing that somewhere else…
“You can shower now.” He tells you, patting you on the shoulder before letting you go. “Unless you want to go to your bathroom.”
“I-I'll shower here.” That way you don't have to walk past Pope while you're all feverish like this. You shut the bathroom door behind you, locking it, breathing out a sigh of relief.
Your uncles start talking the moment the door is closed.
“She watched me jerk off.” Titus tells Pope what really happened. “That's why she wrote that.”
“What the fuck, Titus? You didn't know she was there?”
“Not until I finished. I don't know how long she was there for. She might've been watching the whole time.”
“She was already sweating from me with just a shirt off. I'm surprised she didn't pass out seeing you jerk off.” Pope knows how much seeing his body affects you. That's why he does it. He likes the way your eyes stay plastered onto his body whenever he comes home from the gym.
“How much longer do we wait?” Titus is getting impatient. “Did this fuck the timeline up?”
“Her therapist said she likes us a lot.” Pope shrugs. “I think everything will be fine. Just don't do that shit again.”
“I won't. Just give me a heads up next time you're back early, for fuck's sake.” Titus goes to grab some clothes. “Now get the fuck out of my room.”
Pope leaves, shutting the door behind him.
You cling to the bathroom door, your heart hammering in your chest. You heard that whole conversation.
What were they talking about?
What timeline?
And why do they know what you talk to your therapist about?
What is going on…
Everything has been normal since that day. Completely normal. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
Except, your uncles have been touching you a lot more.
You thought you were making it up in your head but…you definitely aren't.
You notice the way Pope's foot brushes against your ankle under the dining table. You catch Titus's hand lingering on the small of your back. You try your hardest not to react when they both place their hands on your thighs when you sit between them during your movie nights.
You don't say anything about it because you don't want it to stop. But you should want it to stop.
Because you can't get them off your mind. This is unhealthy. They're your uncles. You can't be lusting after them like this.
But you keep imagining their hands drifting higher up, pulling your underwear aside so they can slip their fingers into you. Or bury their cocks inside of you. Both of them…
You curl into yourself in bed, your fingers soaked from touching yourself for the fifth day in a row. You can't handle it. You must be ovulating. You always feel pent up when you're at this stage of your cycle.
You get up from bed so you can go out to the bathroom across the hall. But when you open your door, Pope is outside. He must want to use the bathroom too.
“You can go first.” You tell him, hiding your hands behind your back. You can't let him see how wet it is. He'll wonder where it's from and you can't possibly explain it.
But he sees the way you have your legs crossed. He watches your chest rise and fall too quickly.
You must've just touched yourself. He had come out to check if he was hearing things or not. He's glad he was right.
He likes the sight of you squirming like this.
So, Pope decides to make you squirm a little more by snatching your wrist from behind your back. Your eyes widen when he stares at your wet fingers.
“Did you spill something?” He asks, even though he can tell by how slick it is what's coating your hand. “Why is your hand all wet?”
“Uncle Andrew, please let go…” You can't take how embarrassed you are right now.
“Answer my question.” He tugs you closer to him, bringing your hand right up to his face. “What is this?”
You shake your head, not able to say anything.
What the hell are you supposed to say?
You can't possibly tell him it's from you touching yourself to the thought of him and his brother.
You gasp when he drags his tongue up along your palm to your fingertips, licking your hand clean. Then, he hums, the sweet taste making his cock throb in his sweats.
“I think I know what this is.” He steps towards you, backing you up against the wall of the hallway. “It's what's dripping between your legs right now, isn't it?”
He lets go of your hand so he can slide his hand into your pajama pants, slipping past your underwear. You bite down on your lip when his fingers graze your wet folds before going to tease your swollen clit.
He leans in, whispering into your ear, “why is my niece's clit so hard? Have you been touching yourself?”
You feel his cock rubbing up against your thigh as his thigh holds your legs apart. His fingertips swirl little circles around your clit, playing with your bundle of nerves. You're already getting close again.
You need to tell him to stop. He can't be touching you. He's your uncle!
“Please stop.” You tremble, your hand gripping his shirt, trying to push him away but failing miserably. He's like a rock wall. You can't get him to budge…
“It's a yes or no question.” He looks at you with that harsh glare of his. “Have you been touching yourself?”
You blink back tears as you nod in response. He rewards your honesty by slipping two thick fingers inside of you before he starts palming your clit. You clamp your hand over your mouth, a moan nearly escaping. You can't let Titus hear what Pope is doing to you out here.
“Are you afraid your uncle is going to catch us?” Pope taunts, liking the fear in your eyes. “Or, are you afraid he's going to join us?”
You cum so hard from the thought of Titus coming out here and touching you too, squirting all over Pope's hand, soaking through your pants. Your breaths are ragged against your palm, barely muffled. You're so dizzy from your orgasm but Pope won't stop touching you.
“What a mess you've made.” He shakes his head, his words humiliating you. “We might as well take these off.”
He yanks your bottoms off with his other hand, dropping them to the floor. Now you're bare from the waist down and you have a clear visual of his hand between your legs.
You cum again from the sight of him fingering you. He smiles at how easily you cum. You're so sensitive. So precious. So malleable. So easy to corrupt.
Maybe that's why Pope pushes you a bit. “Do you want me to do that again?”
You should shake your head. You should tell him no. You should not let this happen again.
But when your eyes meet his and his gaze is full of lust, you nod.
That's when he drops to his knees, tossing one of your legs over his shoulder so he has clear access to your dripping pussy. Your fingers slip into his hair the moment his tongue flicks your clit, your other hand permanently clamped around your mouth. His fingers curl inside of you, pushing you close to the edge again.
And his words push you right off the cliff, “I want my niece to cum on my face.”
Your eyes go blurry when you cum, drenching his face, giving him ample to lick up eagerly. The wet sounds fill the hallway and there's no way Titus doesn't hear it. He's bound to come out soon and catch you.
He definitely will when you let out a scream when Pope seals his lips over your clit and starts sucking as his fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm.
“Oh god, Uncle Andrew, I can't—” You have both hands in his hair now, holding him steady, grinding against his face, cumming so hard that you see stars in your vision.
That's when Titus swings his door open, huffing angrily the moment he sees the two of you.
“What the fuck, Pope?” Titus comes up to the two of you, seething. “I thought we were going to wait.”
“Does it look like we need to wait anymore?” Pope licks his lips, pulling his fingers out of you, showing Titus how slick they are before he puts them into his mouth, savoring the taste.
“Did you like having your uncle eat you out, my little niece?” Titus grabs a hold of your face, making you look at him.
You nod, heat flooding your system when he smiles so devilishly at you.
“She was touching herself.” Pope explains to Titus why the two of you are out here. “She tried hiding it from me.”
“What were you thinking about while you touched yourself?” His eyes trail down, seeing how much your legs are trembling. “Were you thinking about us? Were you fantasizing about your uncles fucking you?”
Again, no words leave your lips. You can only nod, so bashfully.
Titus could just swallow you whole. You're so cute and innocent, but also filthy at the same time.
To think, they didn't have to persuade you. You already want them.
“Show me.” He steps back, gesturing for you to touch yourself. “I want to see how you do it.”
You swallow, the nerves locking your throat.
“Ah, but first,” he reaches forward, gathering your slick in his palm, “I need some of this.”
Then, you watch as Titus pulls out his hard cock, wrapping his wet hand around it, stroking himself to the sight of you shaking. Pope sees where this is going so he does the same, grabbing some of your wetness so he can touch himself while looking at you.
You stare at them, rubbing their cocks, both of them so hard because of you. Because of their niece. And you're dripping wet between your legs because of your uncles.
You dip your fingers into your pussy, curling them as your other hand grabs one of your breasts over your sleep shirt, pinching your nipple.
“Take off your shirt.” Titus demands and you shake your head, making him snarl. “Do it now or I rip it off.”
You're scared at how much slick drips out of you when he says that, your arm tugging off your shirt, leaving you completely naked in front of them.
“Now rub your clit. We'll handle your breasts.” Titus gets close to you again, his free hand grabbing your left breast, pinching your nipple exactly how you did earlier, making you cum on your hand at how rough his touch is. “Hurry up, Pope. She might cum again without you.”
Pope growls in annoyance, grabbing your right breast with his free hand, rolling your nipple between it as he continues to jerk himself off. Then, he leans in, whispering into your ear, “I want to fuck you so badly, my little niece.”
You bite back a moan as you drench your hand again, aching from how hard you're rubbing your own clit.
“Please fuck me.” You let out in a little whimper, your pussy desperate to be filled.
Your uncles catch that, turning to look at each other. The look they share is evil.
Pure evil.
“Say it clearly.” Titus looks right at you, searing you with his hot gaze. “Say you want your uncles to fuck you.”
“No, she should say she wants her uncles to take her virginity.” Pope corrects, his words shooting such a thrill through you. “Our niece wants us to defile her. Isn't that right?”
You nod but the words won't come out. It's like they're locked up in your throat. That pulls a sadistic laugh from them both.
“Aw, she's shy.” Titus leans in, giving you a small peck on the cheek before whispering into your ear, “and yet so naughty, dreaming about her uncles taking her virginity. Why don't you let us make your fantasy a reality, sweetie?”
“All you have to do is say it and we'll give you everything you want.” Pope tells you, his voice low, seductive, intoxicating.
You can have them both, buried inside of you, filling you up. Your eyes dart between them, at their similar handsome faces that have been the subject of all your darkest fantasies.
Then, you breathe out, all airy, “I want my uncles to take my virginity, please.”
Pope immediately lifts you into his arms and carries you back to your bedroom. Titus doesn't follow behind because he needs to go grab something they had bought to help prep you.
He comes back to the sight of you straddling Pope, your lips on his. Pope kisses you softly, liking how eager you are to meet his lips now that you've completely given into temptation. You know you shouldn't be doing this but you're grinding your bare pussy over the swell in his pants, wishing he was buried inside of you already.
“Are you being impatient, sweetie?” Pope nuzzles your nose playfully before scolding you. “You're getting my sweats all dirty.”
“Sorry, Uncle Andrew.” You can't help it.
The friction feels so good, especially when his cock throbs at you saying his name.
Titus climbs into bed and since he's behind you, you don't see what he's carrying in his hands, setting it down behind you. But you do let out a shriek when you feel cold lube on your ass.
“Quiet, sweetie.” Titus presses a finger against the tight ring, rubbing along the circle. “You'll wake the neighbors. And then how are we going to explain this to them?”
“B-But…” You whimper when he pushes a finger inside, filling your ass up in such an unfamiliar way.
“You wanted us to take your virginity.” Pope has you pay attention to him and his words instead of Titus prepping your ass. “That means both holes, sweetie.”
“It'll feel good to have us both inside of you.” Titus slowly starts to thrust his finger, trying to loosen you up enough to add another one. “Our little niece is going to cum so hard on our cocks.”
You pinch back tears when he fits another finger inside of your ass. Pope leans in to kiss you, his fingers trailing down to sink back inside your pussy. You gasp against his lips, feeling full on both ends all of a sudden.
You cling onto his shoulders for leverage, your whole body shaking from their fingers thrusting in sync, the rhythm making your hips buck. You're going to cum from this.
From your uncles fingering you at the same time.
You muffle your cries into the crook of Pope's neck when your orgasm hits, squirting all over his lap from the intensity. He pulls his fingers out of your pussy and Titus starts to move his fingers more in your ass, spreading you open, stretching you out.
“No, no, no—” The sudden onslaught of pressure sends heat straight to your core and you cum uncontrollably again, this time just from him playing with your ass.
“Cum one more time, sweetie.” He wants you to learn to let this feel good. “Then I'll put the toy in and we can play with your pussy again.”
The what…
You turn around, squirming the moment you see the dildo on the bed. Pope grabs your hips, holding you still, not letting you run away.
“It's too big, it's too—” You scream when Titus stuffs another finger into your ass, your body gushing against your will. Pope rolls your clit between his fingers, helping you ride the orgasm that's crashing through you.
Then, you feel more lube on your ass when Titus pulls his fingers out and the silicone tip of the toy pushes passed your tight ring to replace them. It's shaped just like a cock, making you feel like someone is fucking your ass right now.
“Breathe, sweetie. You can take it.” Titus knows you can because you'll have to. His cock is much bigger than this dildo and you need to be able to take him. “Just relax. It'll be completely inside soon.”
When you feel the toy hilt, you breathe out a sigh of relief. Pope wipes the tears away, kissing your cheeks lovingly.
“Good girl, you did so well for your uncles. Now we're going to reward you.” Pope thrusts his fingers back inside of your pussy, curling them. “We're going to make you cum a lot with your pussy before we take your ass.”
You grind your hips against his hand, your orgasm building so quickly from how full you feel. You cum when Titus comes back from washing his hands and he smiles at you, enjoying how dazed you look.
“I want to kiss her now.” Titus gestures for Pope to trade with him.
Pope flips you around, so your back is pressed up against his chest, the toy being held firmly inside of you now. Titus climbs into bed, loving how wet you are between your legs. You're practically begging to be fucked.
“Who do you want to take your pussy, sweetie?” Titus asks since he doesn't care. Either way, he's taking one of your virginities. Might as well let you pick.
“I don't want to pick…” You can't make that choice. It's too difficult.
“Pope?” Titus defers to him, then. “What do you want?”
“I want her pussy.” Pope decides. “I want my cum to fill up her womb.”
Your eyes widen. “W-Wait, you're not going to wear a condom?”
Titus laughs menacingly, the sound sending chills down your spine. “Did you expect us to?”
“Yes!” You can't get pregnant. You're only eighteen. You especially can't have your uncles’ children…
Titus tilts your chin up to look at him, letting you get a clear shot of him shaking his head at you. “We are going to fuck you raw, sweetie. That's what you agreed to.”
“I didn't—” He doesn't let you say another word, his lips hungrily sealing over yours.
Titus doesn't kiss you like Pope did. He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive, every kiss swallowing you up completely, his tongue darting into your mouth, taking up as much space as possible. It doesn't help that Pope is rubbing your clit while his other hand plays with your nipple, making your body enjoy the rough kissing.
You cum while Titus is kissing you, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing. You're aching to be filled there but you have to get them to use protection.
“Please, Uncle Titus.” You beg him when he finally lets your lips free. “You have to use a condom.”
“I don't have any.” He smirks, liking how defeated you look. The sadist in him is peeking out, ready to play. “Are you not going to let us fuck you without a condom?”
“I can't get pregnant.” You still need to finish high school. You want to go to college.
“It's okay if you do.” He tries to reassure you. “I have plenty of money. You don't have to do anything for the rest of your life except have our children, sweetie.”
“No, no, no, I don't want—” You yelp when Pope tosses you onto your back, pinning you down, glaring at you.
“You already told us you wanted us. No take backs.” He kicks off his pants, his cock desperate to fill your virgin pussy right now.
You squirm under him, the toy in your ass pressing further up inside of you now that you're on your back. His cock rubs up and down your folds, gathering up your slick.
“Please don't.” You try to shove at him but Titus pins down your arms, holding you steady. “No! We can't, Uncle Andrew, we can't—”
You choke on your own sob as Pope pushes the tip of his cock past your entrance. He groans at how tight you are. He wants more already.
Pope gets greedy, thrusting another inch of himself inside of you, making tears drip down your face that Titus leans down to lick up.
“Don't cum inside me.” You plead to Pope as he slips more of himself in. “Please, Uncle Andrew.”
“Okay, I won't.” He tells you, bringing such relief to your body, allowing him to fit more of his cock inside of you before you tighten up from his next set of words, “as long as you don't cum either.”
“W-What?” You shake your head. “That's impossible!”
“Why?” He smiles at you, wickedness coloring his features. “My naughty niece can't resist cumming on her uncle's cock?”
“No, don't—” You wriggle when he pulls his cock out a bit before thrusting back in, hitting that same spot where he would curl his fingers. “Oh god, stop, please stop.”
“Don't cum.” Titus caresses your face with his hand, his gentle touch not comforting at all. “It's that simple. If you cum, it means you want us inside of you raw.”
“No, it doesn't! I don't want—” You bite back a moan when Pope grabs your hips and starts fucking you finally, his cock pounding into you with such force. You scream out, “Uncle Andrew!”
You pinch your eyes shut, trying your hardest to ignore the tension coiling in your lower stomach, but he keeps slamming his cock right up against there, focusing every thrust on hitting all your sweet spots.
You shake your head, sobbing, not wanting to cum but he's going to force it out of you, his cock fucking you exactly the way you dreamed of.
You couldn't hide your orgasm even if you wanted to, your body betraying you by squirting all over his cock like a fountain. You can't stop cumming, convulsing under him, driving more of the toy into your ass, which only makes you cum harder.
“You're squirting from getting fucked by your uncle.” Titus berates you, letting out that dark chuckle of his. “And you were going to say you don't want this? Look at how much you're cumming. Who would've thought you were a virgin, sweetie.”
It won't end. He keeps fucking you, his cock prying you open with every thrust from how big he is, your body loving every second of it. You've drenched the sheets beneath you beyond comprehension. You didn't even think it was possible to cum this much, especially not during your first time.
They're corrupting you, the pleasure overwhelming your senses.
That's why you nod when Pope tells you, “I'm going to cum deep inside my little niece and she's going to take every last drop.”
You do. You take all of his hot release, letting it flood your insides. You're doomed now. There's no going back.
There's no way you aren't pregnant from how much he came inside of you.
If he doesn't get you pregnant, Titus surely will when Pope pulls out of you and he flips you onto your hands and knees. You feel Titus line up his cock against your entrance and you can't stop him from ramming every inch of his cock inside of you, making you squirt all of a sudden. You sob into the sheets below you, clawing at them as he starts to fuck you roughly from behind, loving the way the toy looks buried in your ass.
Pope lifts your head up from the sheets, pulling you until you're level with his face so he can kiss you while Titus fucks you. His lips distract you from Titus grabbing the dildo and pressing down on the button that turns it on, vibrations suddenly filling your ass. You moan against Pope's lips as another orgasm slams through you.
“Oh god, oh god…” You whimper, your whole body quivering from Titus fucking your pussy and the toy vibrating deep in your ass. “Uncle Titus, it's too much, please turn it off, please—”
He turns it up, the vibrations ripping through you even harder, his thrusts growing even more violent. Pope cups your face, wanting to memorize how glazed over your eyes are as you cum from every rough movement.
“You love this.” Pope says to you so sweetly. “You love your uncles. And we love you, our little niece. Say it.”
“I-I—” You can't form words anymore, drooling from all the orgasms shooting through you against your will.
Pope slaps your cheek lightly, trying to keep you sentient. “Come on, sweetie. I need you to say it.”
“I…I love this.” You tell him, and you believe it. “I love my uncles. They make me feel so good.”
“Good girl.” Pope kisses you then and you lean into it, giving in, letting them take control of you completely.
Titus groans, bending over, placing kisses along your spine as he releases everything inside of you, not letting a single drop drip out.
“Get under her, Pope.” Titus gestures for him to fill you back up.
Titus maneuvers you until you're right above Pope now, sinking you down onto his already hard cock again.
“Now ride him, sweetie.” Titus nips at your earlobe as he whispers, “cum as much as you'd like.”
You grind your hips against Pope, who loves the sight of you on top of him, using his cock for your pleasure. You slowly find a rhythm that has you gasping, driving his cock right up against the vibrating toy inside of you with every bounce.
Titus grabs the base of the toy and when you're so lost in your rhythm, he starts fucking you with it, drawing such loud moans out of you that he nearly cackles, loving the depraved sight of you.
“Say you love it when your uncles fuck you.” Titus drives the toy so deep into your ass, your orgasm splitting you apart in response.
“I love it when my uncles fuck me.” You keep bouncing on Pope's cock, not wanting the pleasure to end. “Please don't stop. Please ruin me.”
That's all Titus needs to hear for him to pull out the toy completely from your ass, making you cum from the sudden loss. Then you cum again when Pope scoots the two of you over so he can sit up at the edge of the bed, which gives Titus the perfect angle to push his cock into your ass after he pours lube all over it. The cold lube makes goosebumps form on your skin as he thrusts the tip of his cock passed your tight ring.
You cling onto Pope, whimpering into his shoulder, “too big…you're too big. I can't—”
“You can, sweetie.” Pope cups your face, pulling you off his shoulder so you can look him in the eyes. “Stop resisting. You know you want this.”
Your nails dig into Pope's shoulders as Titus continues his slow relent into your ass, his cock splitting you open. You're so full, too full, impossibly full on both ends.
“Why are my uncles so big?” You whine, making them both laugh.
Pope kisses you on the cheek, smiling. “You'll like that we're big soon enough. You'll be happy we are, so we can reach all the places that make you feel good. Like right here.”
Pope presses his hand into your lower stomach before he rolls his hips upwards, grinding the tip of his cock against that spot by your womb that sends full body shudders rippling through you. That loosens you up enough to take more of Titus's cock, letting him finally hilt.
“Fuck.” He groans into your ear. “You shouldn't have given me her tight ass. I want to fuck her so rough, she'll probably break.”
“No, no, no…” You shake your head vigorously. “Please, Uncle Titus. Be gentle. I'll be a good girl. Just be gentle.”
“Mmm.” He kisses your shoulder blade. “You'll be a good girl? Does that mean you won't be saying stop anymore?”
You nod. “I promise I won't. I want this. Just not rough, please.”
Titus clicks his tongue then settles. “Fine. For today, I'll be gentle. Because my little niece asked so nicely.”
He kisses the base of your neck before he starts to slowly fuck your ass, being as gentle as he can, even though he desperately wants to tear you apart. You moan into Pope's neck, sighing into his skin, growing to like the feeling of Titus moving inside of you.
“Can I move now too?” Pope asks you, checking in with you. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
You nod. “I'm good, Uncle Andrew. You can move too.”
Pope smiles at you, pulling you in for a kiss. “You really are a good girl.”
He holds your hips, slowly thrusting his cock upwards into your pussy and somehow, him and Titus match paces unintentionally.
You're building towards such a crazy orgasm from the rhythm of them fucking you from both sides. Your back arches, pressing up against Titus's chest, as you grind your hips, meeting their strokes. Pope leans in, taking your nipple into his mouth, nibbling and sucking on it while he fucks you. Titus lifts your chin up so he can kiss you, slipping his tongue inside of your mouth, making you moan.
“I'm going to cum.” You say against his lips. “Please cum with me. I want my uncles to cum with me.”
They both groan, unable to hold themselves back after you say that and you all cum at the same time. You're so overwhelmed with bliss, collapsing into Pope who catches you, cradling you in his arms.
Then, just to make sure you don't hate them, he tells you, “we'll get you a Plan B, okay? You won't get pregnant.”
You smack him on the chest. “Why didn't you say that earlier!”
“Because you came way harder thinking we were fucking a baby into you.” Titus chuckles, kissing you on the cheek.
“You both are mean…” You glare at them, pouting.
“You liked it.” Titus pulls you off of Pope then lifts you into his arms. “Now, it's hot tub time.”
“I'll be out there once I clean up here.” Pope wants to make sure you have a made bed to come back to.
Titus carries you out to the apartment's balcony, where there's a hot tub set up. He turns it on then sits down at the lounge chair with you, placing you on his lap, waiting for the water to heat up. He peppers little kisses along your exposed skin, tickling you with his stubble.
“Why are you being so nice right now?” You feel such whiplash.
Titus shrugs. “Can't I be a good uncle to my niece?”
“Don't do that again.” You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest. “You scared me, Uncle Titus.”
He wanted to scare you, so he won't apologize for that. But he will say, “you have nothing to be afraid of, sweetie. We would never hurt you.”
“My sore ass says otherwise.” You squint at him, making him laugh so loudly that you have to cover his mouth with your hands. “The neighbors will hear!”
“There are no neighbors. I bought the whole floor. And the one above. And the one below.” He figured that would be the safest option, given what him and Pope planned to do with you.
“You…” You shake your head at him. “Why did you keep that from me?”
“You came way harder thinking people could be listening.” He smirks at your shocked face.
“Can't I just cum a normal amount…” You don't know if your body can possibly take that many orgasms again. You feel like jelly.
“Do we look like normal people to you?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you giggle in response.
“Definitely not.” You hold onto Titus as he lifts you back up, taking you into the hot tub with him, resuming the same position on his lap but this time with warm water bubbling around you, soothing your sore muscles. “This is really nice. I can see why Uncle Andrew soaks in here all the time after working out.”
“You could've joined him any time.” Titus knows you haven't used the hot tub at all.
“I was scared to bother him.” You admit. “Scared to bother you too…”
“Why? We're family.” Titus says it out loud and for once, he actually means it. He hasn't felt like he has had a family until right now.
You let out a sigh. “I know you heard what I told my therapist…”
Titus widens his eyes. “You know we know?”
“I overheard you and Uncle Andrew…” You don't want to have any more secrets.
“We're your family. We will take care of you, forever.” Titus didn't think he'd ever say that but he grew to love you over these last few months. He adores you, his precious niece.
“But we're not actually family.” You frown.
“We can be, if you marry one of us.” He flashes you a grin and you scoff.
“I'm so much younger than you two. Wouldn't you want to marry someone your own age?”
“Do you?” Titus holds you a little tighter then, possessiveness unconsciously tainting his movements.
You shrug. “I don't know. I never even thought about dating before.”
“You're never going to date.” Pope suddenly chimes in, finally finished with the chores so he can get into the hot tub too.
“Uncle Andrew, you can't say that.” You're an adult. They can't tell you what to do…
“We just made you cum like crazy and you're thinking about other people.” Pope grabs a hold of you, yanking you off of Titus's lap and onto his own. “Do I need to punish my niece?”
“No…but I want to go to college.”
“You will.” Titus can obviously afford for you to go anywhere you want. “And we would come with you.”
You groan. “Don't you two have more important things to do than revolve your lives around me?”
“Nope.” They both say in unison, making you chuckle.
You sit between them in the hot tub, taking their hands in yours, squeezing them.
“Do you really love me?” You've only known them for a little while. Have they truly grown to love you this quickly?
“Yes.” They both say in unison again.
You realize then the situation you've gotten yourself into. Your uncles are both psychopaths, actual crazy psychopaths. And they love you.
You're so fucked.
A/N: So there is totally a second part to this where you try to leave them to go to college and they definitely do not let you do that LOL go figure! In the original draft, that was going to be a part of this but then it grew a mind of its own so…if you liked this and want to read more, let me know and I'll continue this!
Please don't disown me for writing this…I can't control what the pen desires to write, I am only the vessel ♡
