✧ tags ; taking intimate pictures, subbottom mr. reca, domtop reader, sex toys (vibrator usage), dacryphilia, edging, mentions of bites and bruises, slapping, begging
Photography was one thing, capturing fleeting moments not just in memory, but also in pictures. It was your passion, but using it during sex? It wasn’t something that you’d ever considered— at least, not until you met Mr. Reca.
Everything about him intrigued you, from his appearance and presence to the way he carried himself as one of the mighty director of the universe. But now, as you sat on your chair, camera in hand, the image before you couldn’t be further from his usual self.
You never intended to use it for anything beyond its original purpose. But things changed when he entered your world of art. Now, he wasn’t just a subject; he became the center of your existence, your muse in every sense.
As you scrolled through the various pictures, ignoring the cries and sobs that escaped from the man, the thought of imprinting him on every passion you hold dear makes you want to hold even his life. As if the mere click of the shutter was no longer just the sound of a photography being taken, but also the sound of you claiming him, capturing his essence, and weaving him into every piece of everything you loved.
It was a turn in your life you had never anticipated, a path you hadn’t intended to tread. But as you scrolled through the pictures on your camera, one caught your eye— a perfection. You pressed onto it, your thumb hovering for a brief second before marking it as a favorite.
“Mr. Reca,” you called softly, lifting your gaze from the camera to look at your beloved. He was on his knees on the bed, his flushed cheeks and parted lips betraying the pleasure that coursed through him as the toy vibrated deep inside of him. A whimper escaped him as he tilted his head toward you, the haze in his head interrupted by the sound of your voice.
“What do you think of this one?” You ask him, rising from your chair and holding up the camera to show him the photo you’d just taken a few moments ago. His hair was disheveled, his teary eyes rolled back, and drool dribbled down the corner of his mouth. His skin was flushed with red, adorned with bite marks and bruises. “Pretty good, don’t you think?” you teased with a grin. He tried to respond, but only a soft moan escaped him, his body trembling under your lustful gaze.
“Please, [YN],” he sobbed, his voice cracking under the weight of his desperation. Even saying your name was a struggle, not with the vibrator buried deep inside him, its medium setting relentlessly tormenting him, gazing those sensitive spits but never enough to tip him over the edge. “Please… let me cum,” he cried, his tear-streaked face turning up to you, eyes glossy with need. His pleading carried hope and prayer— a silent prayer for mercy.
However, you were not merciful. Instead, a sharp slap met his cheek, the sting making him gasp as his head snapped to the side. The sound echoed through the room, leaving only his broken sobs to fill the silence. “Not yet,” you murmured coldly, watching as his tears fell faster, his body trembling.
“Naughty boy,” you growled as you grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. His trembling lips parted, a soft gasp escaping him. “What did I tell you?” you frowned, your thumb pressing firmly against his lower lip, feeling the warmth of his shaky breath as he shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Master,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. However, the apology wasn’t enough. Not for you. And he knew it.
“Master, please, I’m so sorry— ah!” His apology was abruptly cut off as a strangled cry tore from his throat. You had switched the vibrator to its maximum setting, the remote now in your hand where the camera was previously held. He didn’t even noticed the chance until now.
“Please! It’s— hng!— too m-much..! he begged, his voice breaking as his body convulsed under the vibrations. His hand clutched desperately at the sheets, knuckles turning white from the strain. He wanted to reach out, to touch you, but he didn’t dare. The unspoken rule hung heavy in the air— if he so much as laid a finger on you without permission, there would be consequences.
“It’s okay, puppy,” you cooed softly, a smile gracing your lips as you gently caressed his tear-streaked cheek. Your knee sank unto the soft mattress as you moved closer. “You can touch me,” you murmured, and his hands flew to your shoulders, gripping tightly.
You could feel him trembling and as your gaze lowered, you could see his cock twitch uncontrollably, aching for release. A sly smirk tugged at your lips as your hand lowered before slapping the tip of his cock, the sharp sound cutting through his cries.
His reaction was immediate— his head snapped back, his eyes rolling with a loud scream. His body convulsed, and he came. Hard. His release spilled out in thick pulses, his grip on your shoulders tightening briefly before his arms gave out, leaving him overstimulated as the vibrator further continued.
Finally, you turned the vibrator off, and he collapsed onto the bed. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, relief washing over his face when he thought that it was finally over. But that was short-lived.
Without warning, you grabbed his hips and flipped him over, positioning him on all fours. “W-wait—“ he was caught off as his flushed face pressed against the sheets as he whimpered, already overstimulated when he felt the tip of your cock on his rim. “I’d like to help myself,” you purred, slapping your cock against his asscheeks teasingly.
Suddenly, your cock slid deep inside him in one swift motion, his walls clenching instinctively around you, making you groan. A loud, broken moan escaped his lips as his body convulsed, and he came, again. His release spilled onto the sheets beneath him, his trembling arms barely holding him up as you began to move, arms wrapping around his fragile body as you continued to finally fuck him.
Feathered wings behind his ears and a halo behind his head, colored in white and gold, complemented his fair skin. Before you stood a vision of ethereal beauty, radiating tranquility from his serene expression and graceful posture. Yet, despite the divine light that enveloped him, the chains binding him were obvious.
He was a stunning bird with clipped wings, unable to soar through the sky he longed for. Confined in a thorn-adorned golden cage, the delicate bars contrasted with his beauty, trapping him with a distant dream. You yearned to be the one to unlock his cage, helping him experience the true meaning of freedom— paradise.
You had pure intentions— to simply free a bird. With your keen perception and ability to see through the illusions that shroud reality, it was hard to overlook. After all, you were an angel, a high-ranking one at that, destined to protect and nurture these beings. However, shouldn’t a divinity be as pure as the others?
Why do you seek to confine him within the cover of your wings?
…
He was not pure either, so why should it matter if those pure thoughts turned impure the moment he fell from his stage? Why should it matter if he seeks refuge in the confines of the Astral Express or in your room? Why should it matter if he is on your sheets, bent over the bed with your cock slamming in and out of him?
Gray wings were formed from your back, their muted tones contrasting sharply with Sunday’s pristine white ear wings. Perhaps this is your punishment, and you wondered if these striking wings, once symbols of beauty and divinity, would soon succumb to decay, their delicate plumes drifting away like whispers in the wind. You wondered if the act of giving in to pleasure, entwined in the arms of another, would corrupt every inch of your essence to the point of no return. You also wondered what force could have pulled you away from the divine serenity of the heavens, plunging you instead into the murky depths of desire and temptation, as your larger hands tightly held the other man’s wrists behind his back.
His skin was a flawless canvas, fair and smooth. Pink hues highlighted his cheeks, contrasting starkly with the glistening tears that flowed like tiny rivers down his face. His mouth wide open as a series of moans and whimpers escaped his lips like a harmony that stirs your deepest passion, all while you fucked him through submission and corruption. As if you weren’t divine to begin with.
So pretty. You thought. From his silvery soft gray hair and his teary golden irises down to his glistening body, covered in both his and your cum, a warm hue of red across his skin, and the notable bite marks imprinted on his skin. These marks, heavy on their meaning, painted his skin as a symbol of ownership.
He was yours. In and out.
You have finally locked him in your cage.
“Beautiful,” you murmured, your fingers which held his waist tightly moved upward to his chin, and grabbed it firmly. You tilted his face up, forcing his gaze to the mirror that reflected both your images, ensuring he could see how thoroughly ruined, tainted, and fucked up he’s become.
He whimpered in response and your hips brutally snapped once again, causing him to let out a loud moan and orgasm harder than the previous as your cock hit his prostrate one last time before halting, your cock swallowed deep into his once virgin walls. Then, you came hard, spurting your seeds into his hole until it could no longer keep them inside, forming a circle as it spilled with your cock still inside. As soon as you two came down from your high, you shoved your fingers into Sunday’s mouth, forcing him to choke on it while your other hand moved down to hold his already hard, leaking cock.
“One more time,” you said, a smile forming your lips as your gaze met his hazy ones in the mirror, face thoroughly fucked out as tears stained his pink cheeks and droll escaped his lips. “Please,” you continued with a whiny tone, and that alone was enough to earn you a nod despite the fingers that choked him, even though he had been overstimulated for quite a while now.
“Thank you,” you said before pulling your fingers out and grabbing his hips with both hands, once again fucking him into a pit of lust, with no regard for your divine identity nor punishment.
It’s fine. You thought.
Heaven is with me. You thought.
“Heaven is under me,” and you whispered. Now you wonder— can the saint save the tainted?
