simply thinking lots about how sae loves to tie your arms to the headboard while he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you.
bound at the wrists and secured to the center posts of the frame, you can’t help but arch your back as thick fingers part your pussy lips, exposing your sticky hole to his wandering middle finger; it swirls over your swollen clitoris for the agonizing nth time and prods your gummy entrance. your jaw slacks with every slip of his finger over your heat, moaning loud enough that your voice cracks. your eyes are screwed shut, a broil between your hips as your thighs long to tighten shut but unable to due to sae’s own thick thigh parting them.
you can’t help the squeal that tears from your throat when his middle and ring finger finally dip into your gash, the burn of the stretch making your breathing turn labored in a desperate attempt for control.
“finally satisfied?” he rasps, pupils blown as he leans down to press his lips against your neck, zapping the nerves awake at the delicious feeling. your eyes droop open, crossing in the center as pleasure surges through you. sae’s fingers don’t stop as they swirl and caress deep inside of you, along the trembling walls of your wet cunt. “you’re always so dramatic for my attention.”
teeth sink into the delicate skin of your throat as he turns the slowly curling digits into more of a thrust of his wrist. “sae!” you cry, fingers grabbing the ropes tying your arms up. you feel yourself cinch around his digits, and your head tosses against the pillows when he finally touches your demanding g-spot. it’s delicious agony, it makes you wrench in your suspension and scream loud enough your body trembles.
“be quiet,” he demands. “you don’t want the neighbors to hear you getting fucked, do you?”
it’s a rouse, deep down you know this, sae itoshi loves a noise complaint.
but the challenge of keeping your euphoria under control makes you whimper. it makes your eyes screw shut in focus, lips tucking into your mouth in an eager attempt to prove him wrong.
a wail tumbles out of you as his thumb plops on top of your swollen bud, rubbing it expertly, the illustrious movement something only sae itoshi can do, the stimulations being the closest to euphoria you've ever had the honor of feeling.
somehow, he takes you higher and higher every time, dragging you through headspaces of pleasure you could dream of, effortlessly.
sae's fingers are deep as they scissor and prod your hole, exploring for new ways to make you squeal. your thighs tremble as your body does its best to accommodate so many feelings at once. your nerves scorch every centimeter of your flesh as you turn hot to the touch. your breathing turns labored as his thumb rolls over your agonized clit, back arching into a deep crescent. "beautiful," sae whispers against your neck, vibrations of his praise quivering your skin. "you're so close, aren't you? i can feel it."
"sae!" you bray, "i'm g-onnahhh-!"
"cum then," he says, sirenic coax making your mind melt as the coil between your hips snaps and you absolutely release, body convulsing as the overwhelming sensation pulls you under. you feel your juices slip down your sensitive skin as the sound of his knuckles slapping against your puffy folds turns downright pornographic.
but even over your wails of delicious agony, you hear him whisper a casual "i'm not done with you yet, anyways."
when atsumu hears your goal is to be a little more stern with your workout routine, he’s sure to give you what the support, guidance, and love that you need.
he tells you that he's gonna be coach atsumu. not loverboy atsumu.
and you can't stand coach atsumu sometimes.
on the treadmill, he checks in on you briefly to make sure you can handle it before betraying you and increasing the goal time in 10 minute increments. “just give me 10 more babe, come on.”
when you’re using the leg press, he’s in your ear, cheering firm encouragements out to you to keep going, “give me one more round babe, go, go- don't you dare lock your knees-”
one time, you'd practically begged him to skip gym day, your stomach far too upset to conjure the idea of doing crunches in front of so many people on the cold machine. he merely scooped you up off the comfy bed and offered to change you into gym clothes himself.
coach atsumu is a fucking asshole.
it's not your fault that loverboy atsumu has to pay for coach atsumu's poor choices.
“please,” he whimpers, body trembling under you. “‘m sorry-“
you’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve milked from your fiancé, elbows pinning his thighs down as you lazily jerk him for the nth time. doey eyes blink up at him, eyelashes batting innocently as you stroke him slowly, but deeply, through another one of your torturous orgasms. cum dribbles down your fist like an ice cream, shiny and mixing with the lube that makes his cock tingle in addition to providing you with the most lethal amount of slick to tease his throbbing cock with. his balls ache, drained and now dry from orgasm after orgasm in the grip of your cruel hands. his thighs are tense, trembling under your elbows that keep him firmly down. his head flails back and forth against the bed, chest heaving with shuddery sobs as he tries to ground himself from the crushing pleasure crumbling him to bits. his hands tear up the once made bed, heels digging into the mattress to form some method of escaping- with every shift of his body, his skull becomes 50 pounds heavier and his mind catapults far into a subspace he can only claw his way out of.
his body quivers in stimulation, crackles of pleasure making his vision fade momentarily as an exhaustive heat flares throughout his cock, once again coaxing another orgasm from your poor fiancé. his jaw widens enough to crack, eyes crossed in the center as jizz shoots weakly from his tip, purpling from extreme arousal that atsumu grits his teeth for.
"no m-ore," he croaks, voice cottony and crackled from pants clawing out of his throat. "no more! no!"
and to any normal person, atsumu's anguish would be taken seriously, a mercy thrown his way, he's learned his lesson, he won't push you again-
"oh, come on baby," you coo, drawled in a gooey tone that makes atsumu's toes curl. the verbiage is intentional.
it's the same croon he gives you when you're begging him for rest.
you practically see his pupils form into hearts as betrayal melts over his gaze.
eight times out of ten, when osamu looks at you, he sees the strong, beautiful woman who he spent years working up the courage to propose to.
he sees his right hand, his best friend, his better half.
other times, when osamu looks at you, he can't help but see the way your tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, eyes batting up at him innocently as if his cum isn't tempted to spill down your throat. he can practically feel the tingle in his thighs as your sinful hands caress them, trying to coax them into being relaxed, only to quiver in your grip. he feels the vibrations of your throat as you moan teasingly around him. your fingers searched out his sac, rolling his balls and using the tips of your nails to tease them into tightening- he shudders and sighs shakily at the memory.
the other times he lets his brain flicker out of focus, he can see the way he threw you on top of the kitchen table after you'd been an absolute menace after an important event, touching up on him and whispering in his ear about how you'd take him right here if you could; the second you'd crossed the threshold and into the kitchen for wine, he'd wasted no time in shredding the dress he spent entirely too much on to bits, hands dragging you complacent body to the edge and fucking you to the point of the most delicious agony smearing your makeup. your gummy walls sinched around him torturously, your nails biting into his skin with a vengeance.
but those other eight times remind him you're not just a doll for him to fuck and demolish, not just a common whore who gives him the most soul wracking blowjobs that have him on his hands and knees to worship.
you're his wife.
and as he stares at his beloved wife, it's not his fault that at first glance, he nearly salivates over the mere memory of your sweet, sticky cunt.
tw // for bisexual moments and panic staring atsumu miya but im high thinking about atsumu teaching kageyama how to eat a girl out (let me have this)
kageyama has no game. nothing. kageyama is, for all intents and purposes, a liability as a wingman, and barely able to talk to women in the first place. he’s aloof, blunt, he’s awkward, and when women approach him, he tenses.
and while kageyama doesn’t seem to care about the fact that he, an olympic athlete, representing all of japan’s volleyball players gets no action-
it’s beyond embarrassing for atsumu.
the second hand embarrassment atsumu gets from watching kageyama dryly talk to a pretty girl to the point she’s wincing in boredom?
he’s never felt anything like it. nauseating, would be the closest.
and listen, atsumu knows he shouldn’t care, but it’s so pathetic, it’s so lame, and atsumu just simply can’t deal with the fact that he has no shame or interest in the romance scene- it makes them all look bad! (and it has nothing to do with the way his mouth got dry when he saw the divots of his hips the other day; it’s unrelated (he felt really guilty and told you- you laughed and kissed him, assuring that, not only do you not care, but you enjoy the idea.))
atsumu miya is not heartless.
and he is not selfish.
and he likes to think anyone who has the honor of being between your thighs should take pride in it.
which is exactly why atsumu miya's hand is locked in the dark, silky locks of kageyama tobio's hair, guiding his teammate's face and focus onto every mewl and moan you let out. sticky praises fall from his lips and aimed at both of you while he watches kageyama’s tongue wander your trembling pussy.
“doesn’t she taste so sweet?” he murmurs, chuckling as kageyama nods excitedly. “best damn cunt around… and it’s all mine.”
kageyama says nothing, merely lapping your juices from your dribbling gash as you twitch and moan. atsumu clicks his tongue, “you need to focus on that little clit of hers too, tobio. that’s where she gets real noisy.”
kageyama obeys, angling his head to lick a broad stripe against your throbbing clit, and atsumu watches with delight as your jaw slacks and your eyes roll back into your skull in relief.
“ohhh, good boy, tobio,” atsumu coos.
he watches with sick delight as kageyama palms himself through his sweats in reply, but this is about learning, after all. he yanks kageyama’s hair, shooting his head up with a guttural groan. “tobio, you can touch yourself later, right now, you gotta focus on our girl.” he leans down to whisper into kageyama’s ear, “don’t make me tell you again, yeah?”
kageyama nods, hands instead coming up to push your thighs open wider, allowing him more access. your breathing quickens and your moans pitch in excitement, back arching and thighs quivering at the pleasant stretch. atsumu’s mouth waters at the sight of your juices glimmering in the light, so juicy and plump and clenching around nothing as kageyama worships you.
“yeah… just like that…”
he can’t help but break his own rule, hand sneaking down the band of his boxers to stroke himself, hissing at the contact of his fingers wrapping around his thick cock. he pulls himself out of his restricted fabric, thumb swiping over his leaking tip and eyes fluttering close at the sensation. sticky warmth coats his hand, slicking his shaft and providing the perfect lubricant for jerking himself.
three moans mingle in the air harmoniously, slurps and smacking of lips from kageyama making the space all the more pornographic. atsumu sinks his teeth into his lip hard enough to draw blood, gripping kageyama’s hair as a means of grounding. kageyama whines, taking it as an indication of treating you more-
and you leap out of your skin as a slender finger traces your slit and slowly pushes in. your pussy swallows the digit, yipping at the stretch. kageyama tips his head back to groan at the feeling of your snug walls, trying to find the spot hidden inside of you that makes you scream.
it doesn’t take him long to find it.
and it doesn’t take him long after that to add another finger.
you whimper, thighs spreading to accommodate for the delicious ache inside of you, singing in delight for every prod against the strawberryish wall inside of you that makes you writhe.
“gonna cum!” you wail.
“me too,” atsumu confesses. “c’mon, tobio… be a good boy, make ‘er cum nice and loud.”
kageyama is egged on by the command, the praise melting his brain like chocolate, and he gives your clit firm suckles and kitten licks to push you to a final gush of pleasure. it overtakes you, body thrashing in overstimulation as you succumb to the urge to cum. your own hands fly to kageyama’s head and one paws for the now messy, knotted locks of raven hair, the other, for atsumu’s hand. it squeezes his fingers tight enough to crack, but he squeezes right back, and he curls his toes and groans in delicious agony as he cums right after, jizz splattering on his hand and your thighs and the side of kageyama’s face.
the latter whines but doesn’t stop to scold atsumu.
he finishes his meal.
when your tugging hands become frantic, instead a gentle nudge to ward kageyama off, he obeys, lifting his head to look at atsumu. his blue eyes are glittery with desire, lust, he needs more praise, more attention, more of whatever atsumu is doing to him.
atsumu pants, but smirks down at the younger player, smoothing his hand down the tousled hair before thumbing a splash of cum clinging to his cheek. kageyama winces at the sensation but instead of disgust, he only offers atsumu a raspy sigh.
“how was that?”
atsumu grins.
“almost as good as me, tobio-“ he brings the sticky, smeared thumb to kageyama’s mouth, pushing it in. his dick twitches as kageyama allows the digit into his mouth, tip of his tongue prodding atsumu’s thumb.
“don’t get cocky, though. still got lots to teach you.”
blowing kita has got to be one of the most satisfying things to come from the universe.
plopped on the couch with his legs spread wide to accommodate you, one hand gently cradles the back of your head as it bobs up and down on his cock sloppily, the other covers his face in utter pleasure and embarrassment. the noises are pornographic, slick and guttural as you take him deeper and deeper down your throat, which constricts and squeezes the tip of his dick as it adjusts to the stretch. your hands, now free from jerking him, gently squeeze his thighs, nails digging into the chubbiness with every gag around him.
“ba-haa-please, sssslow down!” he begs, jaw slacked as your tongue massages the underside of his cock. your composed shinsuke breaks down at the flood of sensations, hips rutting up every couple of seconds in response to your ministrations- you know he’s embarrassed about it, loosing his mind and trusting into your mouth as you sloppily give him the head of his life, his balls tight and neglected.
but it isn’t until you get creative at that fact and slither one of your hands down to play with his balls that his head falls back against the couch, he can’t help but completely shove himself down your throat with a swift thrust. you manage to keep composure as you destroy your man’s wall of strength and he loses his mind, hands flying to the back of the couch to grip the cushions and try and ground himself.
when it doesn’t work, he begins to babble.
“s-shit, oh god, s’ good, fuck,” he wails, jaw slacked and letting out waterfalls of moans and pleas to cum and spill down your throat. “please, let me? fuck, i can’t-“ his head lulls forward to look at you, “gonna let me, right? gonna swallow it f’ me?”
you don’t answer, merely letting your eyes gaze up at him, a silent promise that your only goal is to make him feel euphoric, give him an orgasm that’ll make his mind blank and body tremble in the glorious heat of aftershock.
your cheeks puff slightly as he cums down your throat, hot, sticky spurts of his seed coating your mouth and throat. you eagerly swallow, taking it down your constricting throat just as he likes.
you wipe your bottom lip free from the saliva and jizz clinging to the plush flesh, coyly blinking up and smiling at him before resting your head on his thigh. his chest heaves, face broken in a flush as he tries to blink away the crackles of pleasure that cloud his vision. a hand scrubs down his face, the other gently caressing your cheek as it rests. you purr and nuzzle into his palm.
“you’re a deviant,” he rasps.
“and you get more sensitive after you cum,” you hum, biting his thigh. he hisses and glares playfully down at you.
“you are truly so bad for my wellbeing.”
“yeah?” you challenge.
“i think im the best damn thing to happen to you.”
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