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Synopsis: Your boyfriend Jayce forgets to close a lingerie shop webpage he'd been staring at on your shared laptop. All you have to do is click the place order button.
Tags/warnings: sub!Jayce Talis (wearing pretty pink lingerie), degradation, spanking , name calling, praise (Jayce receiving all), frottage, mirror sex, handjob, masturbation, anal fingering, prostate milking, coming untouched, nipple play, light dacryphilia/crying during sex, bad jokes during sex and aftercare
Notes: Take this as me dipping my toes into kinkier stuff in honor of Kinktober! Dedicated to beloved @glass-instrument for infecting my brain with Jayce in lingerie and helping me unstick this bad boy whenever it got stuck, as well as to my meow meows @heraldeez and @valaruakars for beta reading and hyping this fic up <3
“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”
That statement can apply to just about anything related to Jayce, really, but you find it to ring true now more than ever.
He should have known better than to leave his browser history uncleared, should have known better than to leave a lingerie shop’s web page open on your shared laptop.
You’re glad he didn’t.
Based on sizing and color (a lovely pastel pink) you’d guessed that the set he’d probably been wistfully staring at was for him. You’d simply pressed the place order button, and now, here you were.
Twirling the delicate cage bra and lace panties between your fingers, sitting back on your shared bed, looking up at Jayce with something that burns ravenously in your gaze. An invitation, a challenge, something in-between that leaves him electrified, eager, and hesitant all at once.
“What, uh—“ He plays it safe, as always, when he tilts his head, crosses his arms, but still steps closer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come here,” you say, and now it sounds less ravenous, and more reassuring. “I’ll show you.”
And he does. Of course he does — Jayce is compliant, always.
He almost trips on his way to your sitting form at the edge of the bed, eagerly takes the spot you offer between your parted thighs.
“Strip,” you tell him, and his belt clinks before your lips even get the chance to touch on the p. It drops just moments later, along with his pants. His shirt is next; he practically rips it off of himself while he kicks his pants away simultaneously, clumsy but endearing in his hurry.
There he stands now — nearly in all his naked glory, peering down at you expectantly. You almost get lost in the rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his stomach, begging to be nuzzled. But those can wait. You have something much better planned.
“I said strip, not undress down to your boxers,” you jab, thumbing at his hip through the fabric.
He opens his mouth to protest — but it comes out jumbled, barely-there. Something about you still being fully dressed, but he still does as told. Shimmies out of his underwear, swallows thickly once you eye his half-hard cock.
And nearly chokes on said swallow once you spread out the lace panties in front of him, at just the right height for him to step into.
“Are those—“
“Mm-hmm.”
He looks like he’s on the verge of losing his mind. Poor thing, you haven’t even started.
“When did— I mean, shit, how’d you… “ Jayce gives a nervous chuckle, looks down at them, then back up at you. Something in his head clicks (about time, you think) as he breathes in through his parted lips. “Oh. Oh, no, I left that webpage open, didn’t I?”
Red-faced with embarrassment once it settles that you’ve not read his mind, but just his browser history, his hands clench into fists at his side, as if he’s trying his damndest not to bury his face in them.
“I knew you’d figure it out, pretty boy,” you coo, leaning forward just enough to brush your nose against the grain of his happy trail. Your heart swells when his knees buckle just from that. Through your lashes, you glance up at him, spread the panties between your hands once more. “Well, gonna keep me waiting?”
And of course he won’t. Jayce Talis is not the kind of man to deny anyone but himself anything — giving and giving and giving until there’s no piece of him left.
It’s a process he’s internalized by now, and one you’re not going to break him out of. But one you’re going to meet halfway. Whenever he gives, he also receives.
Right now, receiving comes in the form of your generous praise as he steps into the panties, bracing himself against your shoulder. It comes in the form of your fingernails scratching at the soft, thick hair of his legs, it comes in the form of your indulgent squeezing of the meat on his thighs and hips as you settle the panties into place.
The pastel pink suits him — something to reflect the softness within him on his hardened exterior — and contrasts his tan.
You hum, delighted, as you drag him closer by his hip bones, revel in his surprised intake of breath.
“Do I look weird?” he asks, a vulnerable display of how he longs for your affirmation, in spite of the attempted playfulness in his voice’s upswing.
His cock, now nearly at full mast, peeks over the ruffled, elastic edge of the panties, burgundy tip leaking on the material, and on the soft hair below his navel. Jayce’s grip on your shoulders grows tight; sturdy frame rendered a desperate, shaky mess when you duck to kiss away the clear drop of precum.
“You’ve never looked better,” you reply, lips brushing his cockhead with every word. “Let me put the bra on you.”
“You got me the–” Jayce blinks down at you in disbelief, finds it disputed in your mischievous smile. “F-fuck, yes, please do,” he grits out, doubling over you with a desperate little mewl once your tongue circles his leaking slit.
“On your knees,” you tell him. His tall frame sinks seconds later, thighs flexing while he settles on the carpet at your feet. You cup his stubbled cheek, reel him closer by slipping your fingers under his jaw. “Good boy.”
He tries to meet the kiss you press to the corner of his lips; to no avail. Once he turns his head, you’ve already pulled back. The only thing that keeps him from whimpering is the fact that you’ve brought the next piece into view.
A cage bra, pastel pink to match the panties. He eases into it intuitively once you hold it out in front of him, closes his eyes once it’s against his chest, enjoying the novel sensation. He’s thought about this for god knows how long, you can only assume; you’re happy to go at his pace, happy to let him indulge in it. Dainty straps sit snugly around and below the flesh of his tits, tightening as you reach around his wide ribcage to clasp it shut. Jayce takes the opportunity to bury his face against your neck, grinding his cock against your shin.
Adorned with ruffles below his pecs, the bra frames them just right. Offers a lift to render them plump when he relaxes enough to stop flexing them.
Gorgeous.
Your mouth starts to water at the sight, at the thought of feeling him writhe below the thick of your tongue, flattened against the peaks of his nipples. You ache to give him what he wants, bridled only by the fact that you have one final detail planned.
One you’ve come up with unprompted, without any help from his search history.
“Touch me,” he pleads, as if you don’t fully intend to.
“Soon,” you coo, and he lifts his head to look at you, eyes glossed over but ever so attentive still. “There’s one more thing. Raise your chin for me.”
His thick swallow moves his throat under the palm you settle against it. You use it as leverage to push him away from you just enough to look him in the eye, then give a gentle squeeze.
“What—“ his voice strains under your hold, he inhales through his teeth, “what is it?”
“Close your eyes.”
Strong shoulders slump as you let go of his throat and raise his chin instead, while thick dark lashes fall shut delicately. Jayce yields easily for you not just because it’s in his nature, but because he places his trust in you. You’ve proven time and time again that you have nothing but his pleasure at heart, even when your methods border on cruel. The fact that he doesn’t question what you have in mind, but only complies, is testament that he knows so, too.
A pink faux leather collar, straps bound together by a metal heart, comes to rest neatly above his Adam's apple. Jayce’s breath catches in his throat at the sensation, but he leans into it regardless, lets out the faintest of hums when it’s clasped shut.
“There you are. My good, pretty boy,” you breathe, slipping one finger below the tight squeeze of the collar around his thick neck. With it, you draw him into a kiss, one he’s moaning into, especially once his cock brushes against your shin once more. You let him have his pleasure, even if it’s desperate, brief and dry. Let him grind his leaking cockhead against your leg, watch as his strong hands grip your calf to steady himself. “You look so handsome like this, it makes me wonder how long you’ve had this idea in that pretty little head of yours.”
“For, ah, too long,” he admits. His forehead falls against the top of your thigh and his thrusts do not relent, you realize he’d be content to simply come like this.
But that’s not what you have in mind. He’s a sight to behold, and it would be a shame to have him find his release against your leg, when you could treat him to something much better.
“And why didn’t you tell me about this, then?”
Your question is enough to have him stopping mid-thrust, glassy gold meeting your gaze through thick lashes.
“I just–” he shakes his head, suddenly shy as he looks away, down at the carpet. “I didn’t think you’d… be into it.”
You resist the urge to scold him, and instead simply rise from where you’re sitting, trying not to think about how he slots his chin between your legs, and how he noses at the front of your pants, a suggestion. The fire in the pit of your stomach burns all the brighter when he opens his mouth against your crotch in a kiss, far beyond being subtle.
It’s incredibly difficult to tug on the now warm metal heart sitting at the front of his collar instead.
“Up,” you command. His hands grasp your hips in an instant, finding stability in his shaky grip on them as he gets up off his knees. Jayce chases your lips with a kiss, one you ease him out of by settling your thumb on his bottom lip.
His little whimper nearly has you giving in.
You have half the mind to tug him to the other side of the room, where your body length mirror awaits. Curious, Jayce watches your reflection make its way around his back, one hand still lingering at his throat, while the other drags up his stomach. You stop to grip the subtle but soft layer of pudge sitting snugly atop strong, well built hips, circle your thumb over the silvery stretch marks that line the crest of them. Through it all, he can only watch, and press himself into your palm wherever and whenever possible.
That’s what makes his body so appealing. In all its strength and glory, it still finds a way to be soft, pliant.
“Look at you,” you encourage, and he does. Stops to marvel at the give of flesh below your hands like it’s something new, shivers when you scratch at the soft trail of hair connecting his chest to his tummy. You slip your thumb under the bra strap that hugs his tits from below, pull it just enough to let it snap back into place. Breath hitching, his entire frame twitches with the sensation. “How could I not be into this, Jayce?”
A full body shiver rattles Jayce’s spine once your hand travels higher, while the other envelops the front of his throat, pulling him against your frame.
When he has no answer to give, finds no way to dispute your question, you squeeze at the flesh of his tits indulgently. Grab a handful of one, kneading the softness of it in your hand, before you move on to the other, pinching at the nipple. Jayce seeks your touch like he needs it, arches his back into your hand, mewls when your affections grow rough.
“Baby, please,” he mutters. You’d taunt him for his ambiguity, but, in truth, you know what he wants, what he needs.
“Kneel,” you say, smiling as his knees hit the soft carpet with a gentle thud. “Hands against the mirror. I’ll be right back.”
So he does, lets out a soft wince once he shifts his weight to his knees to curl forward and brace himself against the mirror with both hands.
To his credit, Jayce tries to be subtle as he stares at your reflection. In a pavlovian response, he’s already shifting to part his knees when he hears the lube bottle clicking open, muscles on his arms flexing with excitement.
“So desperate.” You chuckle, but get down on your knees behind him regardless. “Already spreading your legs for me like the needy little whore you are.”
It’s always a good thing to go easy on the degradation with Jayce at first, throw in just enough to feel out his reaction. Sometimes, his eyes roll into the back of his skull with pleasure at the most decadent of insults, but other times, they cloud with tears at even the slightest jabs. It’s not something he’s verbal about — he takes whatever you’ll give regardless of his wants. But that won’t stop you from trying to give him exactly what he needs.
This time, your words have their intended effect. His knees only spread wider, wide enough for his hip joint to click almost painfully.
“Only for you,” he repeats, like it reassures him. His desperate sigh, high and pitched, turns into a surprised hiss the moment you push the flimsy fabric between his asscheeks to the side, and squirt the cold lube between them. You don’t know if it’s the temperature, or the feeling of it dripping into his ass that makes him arch his back and hum.
But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s melting in your hands, willing and waiting to be squeezed dry of all he can give.
“Do you want me to fuck you on my fingers until you’re begging me to let you cum?” You tease, spreading him apart with a thumb on either side.
There’s something entrancing about how the clear slick drips further down, about how his hole twitches with it, begging to be filled. All for you to take.
“Fuck, yes,” Jayce groans, presses himself back up against your hands. His next inhale catches on its way in.
“Good boy. I want you to do something for me.” While you lower one hand to circle at his twitching entrance, you bring the other to his front, splaying out across his stomach.
“Yes, anything.”
“Look at yourself,” you demand. “Throughout all of this. If you close your eyes or look away, I stop touching you.”
“I’m– ah!” His hands twitch in their steady grip on the mirror once you slip in just the tip of your finger, and meet his gaze in the mirror. The upward curve of his brows – a sign of pleasure – softens, falls into a smugness. He’s about to say something smart-assy that’ll have you rolling your eyes and wanting to kiss him until he’s breathless, all at the same time. “I’m allowed to blink, though, aren’t I?”
With a wet squelch, you push your finger into him, all the way down to your knuckle, relishing in the twitching of his walls around the intrusion. It’s enough to turn his smug grin into an innocent little smile that earns your forgiveness. Well, what little of it needs to be earned – although you’d never admit it, you adore his playful moments just as much as those in which he submits to you wholly.
Breathless, he sighs as your lips ghost up the side of his neck. Your low tone resounds against tense muscle and tendons. “What do you think, Jayce?”
He laughs, a punched out little sound that morphs into a moan along with the sinking of your canines into the tender spot below his jaw. Blissed out, he leans into it, chases the pinch of your teeth like it’s soothing.
It’s near superhuman, a bit like moving a mountain, almost, to watch chiseled muscle and raw power fall under your touch with such ease, such willingness.
With a determination that’s impressive simply due to how desperately he holds onto it, Jayce stares at his own expression in the mirror, takes in the minute but telling shifts of it the moment you start to move your hand.
You’d thought it impossible for him to clench harder – but he is; hot, twitching walls of his hole drawing you back in the moment you stop to stretch the rim of him, index barely inside. A squeak slips from him when you push back in, and find the spot that makes his body sing.
“M-mmh, right there, so good, baby, don’t stop.” A whine, high and desperate, scratches at the back of his throat while he slumps against the mirror, cheek pressing up against the smooth surface of it, eyes falling shut. With a thrust of his hips, the sticky tip of his cock nudges the mirror, leaves a smear of clear liquid.
He looks just about ready to fall apart the way he is right now — dick drooling out more precum on the mirror, needy hole twitching around your finger. As much as you hate to interrupt his pleasure, you want to follow up on the rules you’d established. He’s stopped looking at himself, entirely too focused on his enjoyment, and that needs rectifying.
“What did I say?” you prod, simultaneously pulling out with a wet sound that has his hole clenching around nothing. However Jayce finds little regard for your words when faced with his needs. In a pathetic attempt to take what you’re denying him, he unbiddenly pushes back into your touch, only to find much more than he bargained for.
Your hand falls in a steady smack against the soft meat of his ass.
Once the shock passes and he manages to swallow back his yelp, Jayce loses himself in the sensation, draws in a steadying breath. His eyes, although watery and barely open, find a way to burn with desire when he looks to you, face and chest still pressed up against the mirror.
“More,” he says. “That felt so fucking good. Hit me again. Please.”
So you indulge him. Slap and grip the meat of his ass while he arches into your touch and mewls, casts his eyes down in what at first seems shame, but you soon realize is him watching his reflection, with his face still smushed up against its surface. He takes everything with surprising willingness, leans into every thwack until his ass is a red, sensitive mess, and you’re satisfied.
“Barely put my finger inside and you’re already acting like a bitch in heat, aren’t you?” You lay one final slap against the puffy skin, then stop to squeeze the hot, meat of it in your palm.
“M-mh—!” His hips jump, jerky movement mellowing into a soft shiver. Slipping two fingers under his collar, against the back of his neck, you pull, leaving him feeling very much like the bitch you’d just called him. Along with your insistent tug, his face and chest unstick from the mirror. Ever determined, he still stares at himself.
”Hm.” Your hum is short, lilts with satisfaction. “There you are — so obedient. All you needed to behave was a little incentive, wasn’t it?”
Jayce struggles to swallow with the collar still tight against his throat, takes in the way his body trembles with need and anticipation. Takes in how the bra straps have dug into his sensitive skin and left their mark: pink, raw lines between, at the side of, and below his tits. Takes in how you crane your head and puff out a cold breath that has his nipples standing for attention, as well as his heavy cock jerking against the pink, thin fabric of his panties.
“Such a desperate, gorgeous little whore you are, my love.” The praise and degradation taste bittersweet in their combination, have his cock drooling out a fat bead of precum. It leaks down the underside of his swollen cockhead, tantalizing in its featherlight stimulation of untouched skin. It doesn’t get far – catches on the light pink fabric on its way down and renders it a darker shade, instead. “So hard you can’t even fit into the pretty panties I got you. Leaking all over them, too. Is that how you show me your appreciation for getting you such a nice present? By making a mess of it?”
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. Jayce finds himself gasping for an entire lungful of air once you’ve let go of the collar to move on to his chest, cupping both his pecs in each hand. Your right index is slick – a reminder both of what he’s been denied, and of what he can hope to receive, if he follows your demands. His expression is one of understanding as he watches his tits being squeezed in your hands, watches the way flesh bulges in-between your fingers, curving into the meat of him. Understanding that you have him so tightly coiled around your little finger that he’d be terrified of it if he wasn’t horny out of his mind.
“I know,” you reply, managing to sound reassuring rather than disappointed, but remain unrelenting in your kneading of his chest. “You just can’t help it, can you?” It’s then that Jayce risks a glance at you – and it’s only then you realize he’d been dutifully following your demand after his misstep. He finds what he’s looking for in your gaze: adoration. Smiling like he’s made a great discovery (you suppose he has – with his unfortunate tendency to second guess the love others harbor for him, sometimes even including yours), he turns to chase your lips with his own.
“Please kiss me,” he breathes, licking at the corner of your mouth. “I– I need you so bad.”
You’d have to be far beyond cruel to deny him now; and you aren’t. Don’t want to be, either.
So you slip your tongue into his mouth, charting out the familiar shape of his tongue and teeth until you can’t tell what’s yours and what’s his – from your lips to your breath, all intertwined. Once you pinch his nipples, then give a tight, little roll, he gasps for air, and you remember where his body ends and yours begins.
“A-ahn, fuck—!” Jayce grits out, writhing under your attention. His entire frame jerks the moment you slip your hands under the straps, cold fingers soothing at the ache of irritated skin.
“So sensitive. We’ll need to get you a bigger bra next time, something that’ll fit your pretty tits properly, hm?” Your thumbs, gentle in spite of their textured fingerprint, lovingly circle his nipples, now puffy and red. You can tell he’s resisting the urge to lean into you and hide his face under your jaw.
“I-it doesn’t— it doesn’t matter, I’ll take anything, j-just—“ His dick is practically weeping, tip coated in droplets of his anticipation, that seep into a wet patch of fabric sitting right below the ridge of his cockhead. “Feels so good when you play with m-my tits, babe. Please, please don’t stop.”
As if to prove his point, he bows his spine to press his chest into your hands, while grinding his ass against your front. He flinches just barely — it would’ve easily slipped past you if he hadn’t been so flush against you — and you realize the skin on his ass must still be sensitive. In spite of it, he persists, rubs back up against the coarse material of your pants with a stuttered sigh. You can’t deny the heat that rises in your stomach at the prospect of being desired so desperately, beyond the point of comfort. It has you relenting, eager to give him what he wants.
“Such a good boy, begging so nicely for me,” you coo. “You need to be filled up so badly, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he whines out, cock twitching from nothing more than your suggestion. You let go of his chest with one hand, sliding it down between your bodies, to the back of his underwear, while bracing his balance with the other. Judging by the way his arms shake and eyes fog up with hazy pleasure, he needs it. “I… I want you to fuck me with your fingers until I’m… f-fucking brainless, just a dumb slut.”
At his words, you pause, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He’s called himself numerous things before — pathetic, desperate, needy — but not dumb. Never dumb.
You wonder if this new line is coming from a place of self-doubt. Possibly one you could help with.
When his eyes, now focused, start searching yours in a panicked frenzy, gauging your surprised reaction, you understand where his words came from. And how wrong you’d been in your first assumption. Always restless, always analyzing, always searching, wanting, thinking — his mind doesn’t stop in its unbidden pace. You understand, now, why he wants it to quiet down. Even if just for a moment.
“U-uhm…” He swallows, shakes his head. “Sorry. Sorry, that was—“
“Touch yourself,” you interrupt. “Don’t stop until I say so, even if you’re close.”
“But—“ Complying, although uncertain, he lets go of the mirror with one hand and trails it down his own stomach.
“I thought dumb sluts simply followed orders and didn’t question what they’re told.”
It’s captivating, to observe the way he initially staggers at your reply, then instantly relaxes — grip on the mirror slackening, pectoral in your hand softening, leaning into your touch not with desperation, but with ease and certainty.
You understand.
And he knows it.
Jayce nods, plainly (or dumbly, as he put it), and dips his hand into the pink panties, gripping himself gently.
“That’s a good little slut, there you go.”
He eases himself out of them until the fabric sits snugly above his balls, then, with your encouragement (and some lube you reach around to smear on his tip) begins stroking himself.
He’s sensitive – you can tell just based on the slackness of his grip, and how it makes him writhe every time he brushes the tip of his dick. Still, he complies, even when you tell him to grip himself a little harder, stroke a little faster. Only mutters out a high, squeaky “fuck” and does as told, then looks at you through his lashes. For approval, you can only guess.
“Mhm, just like that,” you praise, returning your attention to his ass, easing your thumbs into the elastic to drag them down.
“W-wait,” Jayce gasps out. You do, rubbing soothing circles into the still hot skin of his ass cheeks.
“Yes?”
“Keep–” He stops to swallow, both his nerves, and perhaps even some tears. You’re not jumping to any conclusions yet though. “Keep them on when you…” His voice fades out shamefully. Begging is not below him, but speaking his thoughts clearly when he’s too lost in the haze of pleasure is a frequent occurrence.
“Keep what on?” you tease, although you damn well know he means the lingerie.
“You know…” Jayce clears his throat awkwardly, doesn’t dare meet your gaze in the mirror. Time to remedy his reticence.
Easily, you slip them further down his hips while you wait for the rest of his answer, unable to stifle a smile when his hands come to rest atop yours, stopping them in their path.
“The panties.” He finally manages. “Can we keep them on? While you touch me?”
“Aw, want to see yourself all dressed up while I ruin you?” you lilt, but comply with his request regardless, tugging them up, back into place. “Or are you just shy?”
You don’t give him time to reply – not that the reply would matter, frankly, because you agree that the vision of him being absolutely spent while in his prettiest clothes would be a delectable sight. So you simply pull the panties to the side, sinking your index into him.
With his walls fluttering around you, he pushes into your hand to meet the intrusion with no resistance, you find that one finger isn’t enough anymore.
Jayce makes that fact known a moment later.
“More,” he gasps. “W-wanna be fucked full on your fingers, please.”
“So needy,” you taunt. “I’ve barely started and you already want your greedy little hole stuffed, don’t you?”
Coating your hand with more slick, you push two into him, deep enough for the heel of your palm to settle at his tailbone. He stops touching himself briefly, takes a moment to familiarize himself with the sensation instead. It’s something you find endearing about him; no matter how often you indulge in penetrating him, he always treats it like it’s new.
It takes him a few seconds at most to resume touching himself.
Although his hips sway with the pace of his hand, you keep your fingers inside him unmoving, stuffed in deep. Angling to push against the front of his walls grants you what you’re looking for. It’s swollen against the back of your fingertips, and circling it has Jayce curling forward with pleasure, his forehead falling against the mirror with a sound between a shriek and a wail, clenching taut around your fingers.
“Ah, hah, hnn, fuck,” he mewls, “fuckfuckfuckfuck–!”
His hand lands on his thigh with an urgent slap, gripping taut muscle until fingertips go white. Painfully tumescent, his cock pulses with the release he’d just denied himself. The thick pearl of precum only expands when you squeeze at his chest and push your fingers against the spot that makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. Succumbing to the pleasure you’re intent on wrecking him with, Jayce does what he does best. Plead.
“Baby, wait, w-wait, ‘m so close,” he tells you, voice hoarse from moaning and silent from held back tears. Whatever sentence he tries to get out disintegrates into monosyllabic segments – he’s both brainless and heaving with effort. “I don’t– not yet. Please. Want this, hnn, to last a little longer.”
“You think I’ll be done with you after you cum?” His hole clenches around you at the question, while the rest of him simply twitches at your suggestion. “I said not to stop touching yourself until I say so, Jayce.”
You don’t know if his eagerness comes from wanting to follow your instructions or simply following his need to be touched, but it doesn’t matter. Jayce wraps his hand around himself, starts pumping his cock at a steady pace. One you’re hellbent on ruining. Angling your wrist to hit the spot he loves, you thrust your fingers forward, mimicking his rhythm. Pulling out when his hand settles at the tip of his cock, ramming back in with enough force to push him into his fist just a moment later. When your pace speeds up, he follows instinctually, almost like a well-trained dog.
Finding the tempo that steers him straight towards his release is a matter of tact, although you pride yourself in having developed a sense for it by now. It needs to be fast, but not erratic, never erratic. Jayce needs familiarity, comfort, to let go.
“Oh gods,” he hisses, shaking his head. “I’m, hah, I’m gonna cum. Please, please let me–”
You don’t get to give him your approval. Not that it matters right now, when you can’t help but marvel at how he clenches around your fingers, throwing his head back against the support your shoulder offers.
Back arched at the perfect angle to display both the sinew of coiled, well-worked muscle and pink silk, he’s a delicate and powerful display all at once, all for you to drink in. Hard muscle of his pectorals flexes below your cradling palm and against the straining bra, Jayce paints his reflection a translucent white that drips down the shiny surface of the mirror. The lace of his now ruined panties is soaked and covered in droplets on his own spend, cock jerking as he doesn’t stop stroking until he’s spent.
Jayce is warm usually — but positively scalding after he orgasms. It’s evident in the near-worrying heat of his chest, heaving under the your palm, and in how sweat pearls down his forehead, hair stuck to his face.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” he heaves out. You’re about to ask what for, far too taken with the view the mirror’s image offers to consider his missteps. “For not waiting, it… it just happened.”
“Don’t worry,” you assure, sliding your hand into the soaked panties to cradle his balls in your palm, still drawn up tight against his perineum. You let him catch his breath, massaging your thumb against the soft, delicate skin, while you let the fingers of your other hand drag against his prostate. “You’ll give me another, won’t you?”
Breathless, he turns his head to peek at you from the edge of his blurry vision. “Wh-what?”
You letting go of his balls to grip at his twitching, hypersensitive cock instead, clears up his confusion. Indulging in how his entire body jumps at the smallest touch, you drag a stroke up his length in one smooth motion, then squeeze his cockhead indulgently. He’s a sniffling mess now, but by the time you’re twisting your fist around it, Jayce is nearly screaming with pleasure-pain, shaking his head.
“Can’t,” he mewls. “It’s too much, I’m–, I can’t, I ca-ah, hnn.”
“Shh,” you soothe, nosing your way under his jaw to tip his head back, an encouragement to lean back against you, to trust you. And your intentions. “I’ve got a promise to keep,” you remind him, “to make you cum until there’s not a single thought left in that head of yours, other than how pretty you are right now. That’s all you’re good for anyway, isn’t it? Looking gorgeous and being stuffed full.”
He’s eager with his response; gains some fraction of coherence when you grip his cock steadily at the base with your index and thumb, using the rest of your hand to carefully massage his balls.
“M-mhhmm. ‘s all I want– to be your pretty slut, have you f-fill me up however you wa…ah, mmh—” He mindlessly nods, mouth falling open the moment you pinch and nudge at his prostate with your fingertips. He scrambles for a grip on the mirror, watery eyes shamefully cast down at his soiled reflection. He hiccups and sobs while you work the sweet spot inside him, all the while simply steadying his cock at its root. It twitches with every caress at his prostate — and as does the rest of his body.
“I think I can make you cum like this,” you whisper, squeezing his balls, entranced by the sight of his dick slowly swelling back to fullness, red and aching.
Jayce shakes his head — not to stop you, you realize, but because he’s uncertain. “I-I’ve never,” he squeaks. “Fuck. N-not untouched. I don’t know ‘f I can—“
“Pretty, brainless sluts like you don’t need to worry about a thing, Jayce,” you purr. “Let me take care of this. Of you.”
To punctuate your words, you let your hand hinge at the wrist, plunging fingers into him until you’re not even sure he can focus on what you’re saying through his sniffles and whines. He lets you have your way with him not because he can’t stop you, but because he would never want to.
He has no retort left to spare — partly due to the fact that the buzzing pain is ebbing, replaced by building pressure.
It takes him less than a few minutes to start clumsily riding your fingers, while his cock jerks and drools. If the clenching of his fists is anything to go by, he wants to touch it. Badly.
It’s warming your heart — and the pit of your stomach — to see him not even consider the option of going against your word, simply resisting temptation with all he has left in him. Based on how he squirms and winces, there’s not much left of it anyway.
You’ll be satisfied when there is nothing left.
“See?” You prod, briefly squeezing the root of his cock to draw his attention towards it, towards the leaking slit. He nods, head hanging to watch himself through his fluttering, damp lashes. “You’re already getting there. So good — letting me treat you like you deserve.”
Your words end up doing the trick. Fists clenching almost as hard as he’s clenching around you, Jayce loses what little rhythm his hips have, erratically seeking the push of your fingers at his sweet spot. His sounds are a far cry – both literally and figuratively – from his usually eloquent self: all whines, wails, and the occasional but oh-so-sweet squeak when you work him just right. He yields at every touch, lets himself be stretched wide on your two spread fingers, gasps when you add a third.
Jayce doesn’t manage to get even his thoughts across, much less ask for permission this time. His mouth simply falls open in a silent scream, while his hands shoot up and behind himself, scrambling for a grip on you. He finds it, one hand at the back of your skull, threading into your hair, and the other gripping your shoulder so desperately it’s nearly painful. With his arms behind his head, tricep bulging, his pectorals are stretched taut, on perfect display, while the rest of him squirms, you have him exactly how you want him.
Unstrung, empty, thoughtless.
All he manages to let out is an incoherent garble of the words close and please. You appreciate the lengths he goes to still beg, even through a pleasure that’s wrecking him so thoroughly. When his thighs start to shake, you decide to give him what he needs – your encouragement.
“Come on,” you murmur, ramming your fingers in hard enough to have his drenched hole squelching. “That’s it, you’re almost there.”
“Can’t,” he gasps out, voice a mere squeaky tremor of what it usually is. When his cock spasms harder than it has before and he squeezes his eyes shut with a sob, you know for a fact you’re on the right track. “Hurts. Need you to– touch, please, fuck–!”
“Shh, I know it hurts,” you reply, nuzzling at the hollow of his cheek. “But it’s going to feel so good after you let go. Just a bit more, I know you can do it, Jayce. Open your eyes for me.”
Gritting his teeth, he cracks them open just enough to blink away his tears, pearling down his stubbled cheeks.
“There you are.” You tighten your index and thumb around the root of his cock faintly, but he still thrusts into it, whining. Your wrist is aching, but you’re hellbent on persisting, and hitting his prostate with every thrust of your fingers. “I want you to look at yourself when I ruin you. Want you to see yourself – and how lovely you are – when you let me reduce you to a dumb, needy fuckslut. My pretty boy.”
When he cries, unabashed and genuine and vulnerable, steady trickle of tears turning into a genuine flood, you wonder if you’ve overstepped.
It’s quickly disproven by the cordial shriek tearing from his lungs, the digging of his nails into your nape and shoulder, the arching of his back against you so hard it cracks, and the spasming of his cock. There’s nothing gentle about his oncoming orgasm, nothing gentle in how he sobs for it, nothing gentle in its unfamiliarity, or in the vehemence of it.
Jayce can only observe how his body bends to your will, rather than his own, solely because you know it intimately enough to make him rediscover himself anew.
“I’m gonna—“
“I know. Give me all you’ve got.”
Pearly webs of white spurt up all the way to his tipped back chin, then, with some angling you generously provide, splatter over his previous release on the mirror, making for a downright filthy sight. Jayce’s reflection, threshing with the strength of his orgasm, both himself and the mirror vulgarly dripping with the testament of his pleasure, drawn out of him in ways he had not even believed possible.
“I knew you could do it,” you say, slowing the pace of your hand to a crawl, barely massaging at his sweet spot with your fingertips. He lets his entire torso fall back into your arms bodily, forgetting his weight. Although it’s not easy by any means, you manage to keep both him and yourself upright as you continue touching him. Jayce loses his voice somewhere in the tightening of his raw throat under the influence of his tears. He can only twitch in your arms while you kiss him and milk his orgasm for all it’s worth.
You cease the movement of your hand when the evident relief on his expression morphs into pain and he chokes out a sound of anguish. Easily, you settle inside, palm at his tailbone – by now you’ve learned he hates you pulling out while he’s still basking in the afterglow – and you’re not about to cut his enjoyment short. Not after he’s worked for it so willingly.
You ask him how he’s feeling, but it’s entirely lost on him. You doubt he even registers the fact that you’ve asked him something. Leaning heavily against you, shaking with exhaustion in his entirety, he can wheeze out just enough words to get his point across.
“Oh, fuck,” is the first coherent thing he can manage, damp chest heaving with exertion. “That was– I had no idea I could even– hah. Fuck. Holy shit. Holy shit.”
“That good, huh?” You chuckle, kiss his damp cheek.
It takes him a good few seconds to figure out what you just said, and another few to come up with a semi-comprehensive answer. Jayce swallows thickly, nods. “Yeah. My ears are still ringing. Gods, I… gimme a sec.”
“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
You’re more than content to simply hold him, to scratch your nails through the hair on his sweat and cum-slick tummy and chest, to kiss the tendons of his damp neck.
Although you adore him when he’s submitting to you, you’d argue his best look is this. Chewed up and spit out reborn, undone and pieced back together, all by your loving hands.
You’re more than happy to take it all in. Devote it to memory.
“I–” He shakes his head softly, clears his thoughts. “You can pull out. I think I’m–mmh…” Guided by instinct alone, he still angles his hips into your touch when you gently remove your fingers with a wet squelch. You let him adjust to the loss, wipe your hand on his inner thigh while kissing a stray tear away. He sniffles, but you’re kind enough to not point it out.
“Can you stand, or would you rather we wait a little longer?”
“‘F you let me… hold onto you for a bit when I do, yeah, I can– I think I can stand.” He lets you rise first, unsticking his back from your chest, then takes the hand you offer. He’s endearing to look at; strength incarnate stumbling to his feet in a way much reminiscent of a baby deer, clinging to your hip and hand for support. “Shit. Can’t really feel my legs. Or my dick.”
“How about your ass?” you tease, letting him continue to use you for support as you walk him to the bed. The steps you take are small, even by your standard. By his, they must be minuscule — and it’s perfect that way. He doesn’t even stumble on his way to the mattress’s edge.
“You tell me,” he wheezes out, still playful. “You practically fingerblasted me to heaven and back.”
You receive an answer to your question regardless of his snarky reply; evident in how he winces when he plops down on the edge of the mattress. He’s far from unaffected.
Shaking your head with a laugh, you leave for the bathroom.
“Says the guy that asked me to fuck him on my fingers until he’s just a dumb slut,” you shoot back with a chuckle. You don’t realize the damage your jab had done, not until you return to the bedroom with a pack of wet wipes and kneel between his legs, only to have him avoid your gaze. Hand hovering above his soiled abdomen and pelvis with a wet wipe, you ignore the task in favor of positioning yourself so that he can’t avoid eye contact anymore.
The fact that you end up nose to nose with him is not your fault. He’s very stubborn; ends up looking you in the eye for just a moment, before he retorts to just squeezing his them shut. Damn him.
“Hey, Jayce, come on, you know I didn’t–”
“You think it’s weird,” he concludes, tone low with disdain – at himself. He cracks his eyes open to peek at you. Not for long. Leaning back on his elbows to pull away, he covers his face with one hand, lowers his head shamefully. “You shouldn’t have gone with it if you didn’t– Ugh. It was stupid, I’m sorry. Don’t do stuff you don’t like just for my sake.”
“Hey.” His chin is practically made to fit between your index and thumb, and although he lets you angle his face towards your own, his gaze remains avoidant. “I get it,” you say. “You have to be smart and put-together at work all the time. There’s no shame in wanting a break from that, no matter in what form letting go comes to you. I’m happy to indulge. And I did like it. For what it’s worth, you’re gorgeous when you’re enjoying yourself so hard you can’t even think.”
Finally, he looks at you. When he talks, his voice sounds the smallest hint choked up, and his damp eyes confirm that he’s successfully swallowed back a few tears of relief.
“Yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Jayce grins, wide and earnest. “In that case, I’ve also been thinking about a gold silk lingerie set — a bit kitschy, sure, but I really think it’d make my eyes pop.”
“I know,” you say. “You left the tab open for that one, too.”
hii, i'd love it if you could draw sevika with THE hk headphones and a pink highlights like those and a black hoodie? for science purposes i need to see gamer sevika
hi otter! i have a question, can we use your art as icons if we give you credit and everything? or would you prefer if we didn't do that.
Hello!! Yeah go ahead and use my art as an icon!! I would appreciate credit and all that 🫶🏽🫶🏽 it means a lot when people use my art. Thank you for asking
Hi sorry for not posting :((!!! I’m in college right now and it’s very difficult to draw on my own right now. I finished hw early so hopefully I’ll get to draw today!!
Hi my name's Raven, Im officially out of the hospital and in an overnight shelter unfortunately I… Katelynne Giroux needs your support for
Hey I got denied for emergency assistance, mass health and now I'm almost out of money due to needing food. I have some money left, but I only get 500$ a month please read the update if you can help.
I am not safe at the over night shelter and I just went to the ER for dehydration, malnourishment and heat stroke. I have alot of money in go fund me, but not enough for a hotel room, AND food. Hopefully I'll be accepted onto the dorms by the end of September I just want to survive until then.
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Hey guys please just a little bit more and I can afford an air bnb instead of a motel. They're a lot cheaper. Thanks to some suggestions I did find one so it should help me a lot. I have two months until I can get into a shelter so please help if you can.
I'm close to my goal, help is still appreciated but it's not as dire thanks to you all. We have some great people here I'm thankful to each and every one of you, not just who donated, to the reblogs, to the DMs, to the anons asking about sevikas pussy. I've had such a positive experience in this fandom and I hope to be writing more.
Hi my name's Raven, Im officially out of the hospital and in an overnight shelter unfortunately I… Katelynne Giroux needs your support for
More stuff happened: I'm at the er now due to the heat I fainted twice. I'm in hot weather for 10+ hours a day while I wait for my shelter to open. Please help me.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Otter ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @sevikasbunny - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
