You overhear Konig jerking off and decide to investigate
You groan, rolling over and squeezing your eyes shut.
There it was a again.
It was faint, almost indecipherable, and initially you’d ignored it, told yourself it was in your head. The sweltering, desert heat (or ovulation) had gotten to you.
But now you were certain.
A groan, a delicious, thick groan dragging rough like barbed-wire through the thick, hazy air; rasping through makeshift walls and into your room— grating against your eardrums in a brutal taunt. You were feverish.
You’d heard König’s hoarse grunts countless times as he cleaned a fresh, gaping wound or heaved a particularly heavy load onto his colossal shoulders, but this, this was different. Under the cover of night it was different. Imagining what he was doing made it different; made your imagination run wild.
You bury your face into your old pullover, bunched up into a makeshift pillow— pulse beating deafeningly in your ear, yet you cant get the sound of him out of your head. There it was again, a strained, husky grunt. And wetness.
Oh—Fuck. So he was touching himself.
Heat diffuses across your shining cheeks at the sound. Eyes squeeze shut as your heart beat thrums. Ashamed, you strain to listen again. A moan, deep and rough as gravel, the rhythmic sound of his fist against his flesh. You were slick. Fuck.
You’re yolked to another side of yourself that keens away from the righteous path— dragged away by need and deprivation that only months of gruelling, violent work and near solitude can bring. You crave to go to him. To touch him, satisfy him. He’s been stationed here months, surrounded by grim, hardened men, surely he must be frustrated. Surely you would be a welcome sight to his lonely gaze. You ghosted over your clit, clenching at nothing but the hypothetical of him filling you up, stretching you out, pounding the air out of your lungs. Huge hands, rough and hot, groping at you in harsh, touch deprived handfuls.
You slid your finger down the split of your cunt, wetness coating your fingers, your thighs. He had no idea what he did to you — he was always so respectful, so quiet, eyes so focused on whatever work was at hand; but his reservedness only made you crave him more. Of course you desired what was out of reach — the only man who’d never made a move on you, never spat a snide suggestive remark in your direction, or blatantly stared at your ass. Typical. Man has always wanted what he can’t have, lured in by mysterious forces he can’t quite figure out. Our Achilles’ heel. You were pandora, and he was your box you were so tempted to crack open. What could be hiding inside that sibylline man?
You’re ashamed, perverse for thinking about him like this, yet you ached for more. For him. You press a finger inside, with a hot squelch, back arching. Another groan from the soldier. But his would be so much thicker. And longer. And his cock. Fuck. You know he’d stretch you so delectably…
You groan and roll over again. Slap, slap, slap… he is still going, fist to flesh— a soldiers stamina at work.
Studying a crack in the cement ceiling, you consider your options. You could lay here, and get off by yourself. Resort to imagining feeling his hand on your throat, cock in your cunt, groans in your ear… Or you could knock… with a slim, glimmer of a chance of him desiring you too, of him judging your ready cunt as a more desireable fit than his usual fist.
An unseen force dragged out of your cot, limbs heavy with nerves. Perhaps lust, adrenaline, or a mixture of the two. Spurred on by delirium from the heat, the late hour or clenching of your cunt you can’t be sure, but you somehow open the door and step out into the hallway. The moon is bright and you stare at your feet for a moment, feel them sticking to the rough wooden floorboards in the summer heat. Your heart hammers, each beat deafening. A humid waft tickles the baby hairs at the nape of your neck. Before you had a moment to mull over your decision, perhaps jot down a pros and cons list, you had knocked, knuckle and rough wood cracking dull against the silence of the empty hallway.
A deafening stillness. You flex your hand in apprehension. Then a rustle. Another pause. You hear him clear his throat, the creak of floorboards as he gets up from his cot, aged floor straining to support his immense frame. The blood drains from your face as your fantasy now condenses into the very real, colossal mass that is König. The door creaks open, you hold your breath. And oh, you bite the inside of your cheek as you look up at him, he looks so good.
He truly is a paradox. So enormous, yet reserved. So immense yet quiet, gentle. A man of very few words. A wave waiting to crash, or a volcano waiting to erupt. His hair is tousled from bed, curing around his damp brow, cheeks burning from what you know to be arousal. You’d only seen glimpses of his face. His features are still shrouded in shadow, but you can make out a vague picture. He’s younger than you’d imagined— and better looking. Each one of his features somehow exudes an enticing, rough crudeness, emanating true masculinity.
A large, strong nose, slightly crooked as if its been broken one too many times. Lips split, bitten and red. Inviting. A glint of teeth, an angled jaw and the whisper of stubble. A large scar slices up his prominent cheekbone towards his eyes. In contrast, soft, deep-set eyes framed with thick lashes. Effervescent, pale olive green— heavy with fatigue, they widen in surprise at the sight of you.
“Hey.” You look up at him through long lashes, chest rising with shallow breaths. You were suddenly aware of your nipples poking through a threadbare tanktop, and sleep shorts two sizes too small. You felt exposed, like meat on display before a hungry animal. There was nothing more you wanted than him to take you, but there was something holding him back from lunging.
You knew he would disregard his hunger, till starvation, until you give him assent.
He clears his throat. “Hi.” His voice is rough and deep—accent thick, but his eyes don’t meet yours. He looks sheepish, like a teenage boy caught with his uncles playboy. Like hes dirty before you— if only he knew the fantasies you conjure about him at night, awake and in dreams.
“Um, I thought I heard something… coming from this direction and I just wanted to make sure you were ok… in here.” Your voice sounds as small as you feel next to him. He was larger than life, a tower of solid muscle that could break you like a toothpick. It sounded stupid, now that it had come out of your mouth, but you reminded yourself you had the upper hand — you’d ambushed him.
A weighted pause.
“Oh, um… ja Im all good in here.” He rubbed the back of his neck— rippling arm bulging with the movement. You don’t miss the hem of his shirt rising above the waistband of his boxers. A trail of hair ghosting across taught muscle, leading down to… You quickly tore your eyes away before your imagination strayed too far, looking back up at his face. You swallowed, a click in your throat, and crossed your arms.
His eyes flickered, so fast you could’ve imagined it, to your chest, as your breasts bulge above your arms, the top you were wearing leaving little to his imagination. A welcome aid stabilizing your wavering confidence. Your heart pounded in your ears as you lean toward him slightly.
You smiled up at his nervous face, and his eyes finally yielded in meeting yours. “Sorry if I woke you, just cant sleep.”
The door gave way, just a little as he stepped away from you, as if he couldn’t let you get too close to him— or he’d be unable to keep things civil, your magnetic field too strong to resist.
You glanced at his bed: a threadbare mattress covered with tangled sheets, a book… and something… pink? It stood out harshly against the greyness of his room. You registered. Your stomach clenched. The incongruent lace among his muted bed things — your thong. You were lightheaded, thighs squeezing together. He’d been jerking off to your fucking panties.
It was dirty. Salacious. So fucking hot.
Your knees were weak as you ran your fingers through your hair. You feel his eyes studying your face, trying to make out your intention. A wave of confidence swells in your chest, playful smirk toying at the corner of your lips. “I got more if you want to start a collection.” Your fingers find the band of your sleep shorts, pausing as your pretend to pull them down.
He stutters, eyes dropping to your waist, “W-What?”
You nod towards his bed. He turns and his eyes widen, face growing hot with humiliation. “Scheisse, I am so sorry. They must have mixed up your laundry with mine—“ He grabs it from the bed, scarred fist swallowing it whole, the delicate lace almost amusingly mismatched in his cloddish grasp.
He holds them out to you, eyes glassy with shame. You don’t move.
He trails off as his gaze involuntarily falling to your hips, then to your thighs, back up to your hands still toying at the waistband of your tiny shorts. His tongue, blood red peeks between pink lips. A glint of a canine. So he is a carnivore. He cleared his throat, eyes meeting yours, holding your gaze vehemently.
He’s nervous, as if your are his alluring genie he rubbed into fruition, and one wrong step could ruin whatever shimmering wish you might be in the mood to grant him. He was waiting for you to lead— cautious.
He can’t read you. He shifts, studying your face.
The air is thick, and molten— time slow, coagulating around you, forcing you towards each other. The mood has changed and you both feel it, dizzy with desire yet waiting for the other to test the water first. You gazed up at him wanton through your lashes— you decided to dip your toe in. “Want them?” —your voice is sickly sweet syrup which he eagerly swallows. His adams apple bobbing in his throat, and your eyes blaze a trail along a thick pink scar, decorating the ivory column. You want to run your tongue up it.
He simply nods dumbly, a lock of dark hair falling across his heavy brow, wide chest rising with shallow breaths.
You ache for him, stepping inside as he closes the door, and you suddenly feel minuscule next to this behemoth of a man, the room far too cramped. You’d never been this close to him, or spoken more than a few words to him, he always kept his distance. His hands are brawny fists at his sides, still clenching your thong, as if he was unsure what to do with them. Veins and scars litter his knuckles. You wanted them on your neck.
You bite your lip, dying to feel his hands on you. In you.
He groans softly, as if you taunt him, merely by standing in front of him. You lick your lips, you want him to touch you: “Take them off then.”
He steps into you, hands rising to your waist, gripping you there, dwarfing your frame. The knowledge that he could bend you like a reed made you faint with desire. His fingers dig into the flesh at your ribs, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in their wake. You moan as he presses himself into you, thick cock straining against his boxers.
“You tease me.” His voice is cracked, as if your mere existence was unfair torment.
Your fingers trail up his abdomen, lightly over hard muscle, up his neck and into his hair. You ground your pelvis into his as your fingers fist his loose curls, tugging gently.
Your voice comes out a whisper. “I could hear you through the wall, König.” He grunts, blood rushing to his cheeks and his cock in both embarrassment and arousal, fingers inadvertently squeezing you tighter. Finding the swells of your ass, and he pulls the cheeks apart. You groan into him, the feeling of him splitting you open in such an unsatisfying way drives you wild. Your cunt is slick, clenching around nothing. His hips involuntarily buck softly into you and you can feel him, painfully hard. How long had he been edging. To you. Poor boy. You rise to your tip toes, open mouth kissing the ragged scar on his neck as you imagine what his cock looks like, thick and aching.
A crackled, “Please..” He trails off— its all he can muster. Unsure of what to ask for, unsure of what he wants you to do — of what he wants to do to you.
“Were you thinking about me while you touched yourself?” Your voice is an airy taunt. He looked away with a ragged breath, then back down at you, eyes searching your face, tongue wetting his lips. Then he nodded. Your stomach clenched. He smelled of smoke and musk, and you wanted to crawl inside his shirt and be skin to skin, consumed in him forever.
You rise up on your tip toes, fingers gripping his shirt to keep yourself grounded in him, and he leans down. A hair of buzzing space between your lips. Breaths raspy. His hand finds the base of your head and he pulls you towards him. Lips searing. He’s gentle, firm. You run your tongue along his lips and he opens his mouth to you. He tastes like mint and cigarettes. Intoxicating.
Your hands run over his bare stomach, muscles clenching under your light, fervent touch. Your hands find the hem of his shirt and hes pulling it off, muscles rippling below searing, scarred flesh, formed through constant use and necessity — through years of arduous work.
Your hands fall to his lower stomach and his hips buck forward. You snap the waistline of his pants and he grunts. You couldn’t get enough of his paradox. So terrifying yet gentle. Sensitive. More dangerous yet safer than any other man two heads shorter.
You find his cock, palming it through fabric, thick and aching. He raises his arm to stabilize himself against the wall behind you, as if he can barely stand. You want to make him feel good so fucking bad your mouth waters. You kneel down, and his eyes widen slightly. “You dont have—“
“Lemme make you feel good, König.” You gaze up at him lustfully, a behemoth of a man, bending at your touch. He lets out a raspy breath of air as you slide his boxers down, his hard cock slapping up against his stomach. Eager and painfully hard, he’s engorged a dark red, precum leaking from the slit, tricking down the underside, along a vein. Your cunt clenches. Fuck— hes thicker than you’ve seen before.
You lick a stripe up his length, along the vein bulging on the underside, soft skin. He bites his fist. Wrapping your lips around his mushroom head, a briny bitterness bites at you and you instinctively want to shove down your throat. It goes right to your head.
You take him deeper, hands gripping his thighs, solid and hot. Deeper, bobbing your head. A small whimper from above as his head drops forward; you can tell hes doing his best to keep from bucking into you, shoving himself down your throat, pale fingers digging into his palm. You looked up at him and he grunts— youre a vision gazing up at him, lashes clumped together with glistening tears.
His hand finds the back of your head, hand so large it palms your crown, swallowing you whole. Fingers softly intertwine with strands of hair. The sounds of you choking on him pornographic against the quiet of night, your cunt clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs, onto your heels for want of attention. All you wanted to do was take him deeper, bob harder, choke louder. His hand reflexively pushes your head down onto him, bobbing you faster. Faster, deeper. His caution gave way to brainless need— and you loved it. You sputter, gagging as he hits the back of your throat, jaw aching to accommodate him.
Hes grunting—“Im f-fuck, sorry—” His eyes were glassy, brows knitted with pleasure. Your cunt clenched as you looked up at him. One of your tits was bouncing out from the neckline of your top and his eyes flicked down to it, fingers tightening sharply at your hair, then back up to your shining, drool covered face. You an his angel, his nymph. The answer to a desperate, agonizing prayer.
He suddenly groans, pulling you harshly off his cock to keep from spilling down your throat. His heavy cock twitches above your face— a spurt of precum landing on your rosy cheek. He lets out a strangled sound, pornographic, he has to tear his eyes away, embarrassed, as you smile up at him. All you want to do was submit. Let him use you how ever he wanted, bend you like a reed in any which way he wanted. Stretch you to your limit, ruin you for any other man.
Hes breathing heavily as he smears it off with his thumb. You clutched his brawny hand, bringing it to your mouth. You suck the cum off his thumb and his cock jerks again at the sight of your delicate lips sucking his tanned, scarred finger.
Your voice is hoarse, throat raw, “I want you to use me Konig— however you want.” He looks down at you, expression pained and needy. “Can you do that for me.” He lowered his chin in a fucked out, decisive nod. You rose, and blushing as he tugs your shirt down reflexively, your other tit bobbing out. His eyes are glued to your chest, calloused hands dwarfing you as he gropes at them. Yyou whine as he squeezes them tight, his strength has you teetering deliciously on the precipice from pleasure to pain. You love it.
You tug your shorts down and he groans at the sight of you bare before him, at your smeared, puffy cunt. His hand instinctively drops to your slit. He drags a rough forefinger up and down it, watching in admiration as you buck when he catches on the split of your clit. Your head falls back against the wall, shallow moans in the quiet air.
His voice is quiet, “So wet. So wet for me.” Half question half statement. As if he is unsure whether this was simply a dream. Two of his fingers suddenly split you open and you keel into him, moaning at the divine stretch. Hell, two of his were four of yours.
He made no move to wait for you to adjust. Not because he was cruel but because he didn’t understand the extent of his size, didn’t realize how he stretched you. So thick, larger than life, gummy walls spasming as they attempt to take all of him in, be good for him.
“Fuck, so big, König.” His eyes were fixed on your face, as he slowly thrusts in and out, the obscene squelch making you dizzy. Your hands find his broad shoulders, nails gripping onto him to steady yourself— he hisses at the sharpness. He reaches in further, past the knuckle, pumping in and out. You angle your hips instinctively towards him and he brushes that spongey spot deep inside you. He smiled crookedly at a loud, airy moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders. His mouth fell open, mirroring your slack jaw.
Suddenly, another finger. Hes three fingers in and you would’ve died at the sounds you were making if you weren’t so fucked out. His name a chant on your lips.
He grunts at your clench around him, imagining it around his cock. “Schleib— so tight… and h-hot inside.” Heavy lidded eyes study yours, brows furrowed as he hits that spot, deep inside you. His rough, calloused thumb finds your clit and you jerked away in over stimulation, breasts press against his hard chest, hard nipples grazing his chest hairs. His other hand gropes your ass, pulling the cheeks apart as he works your puffy, sensitive cunt. Your embarrassingly wet, leaking down his wrist.
Your moans increase, “Have to be quiet Liebling,” his tone serious. You ignore him, mouth agape, sounds uncontrollable. Every rut of his fingers, every bounce of your chest forced the air out of your lungs.
You whine. Salty, cum stained fabric is shoved in your mouth. Your eyes widen.
Your thong. So he’d cum to you already, into your panties. It was disgusting, perverse. There is jest in his expression, eyes shining with a tease that has you clenching down on his fingers.
Your name, soft, tugs you back towards earth, your glassy vacant stare struggles to focus on him. You must’ve looked a mess. Hair mussed, tits hanging out from your top, thong stuffed into your mouth, but he looks down at you with a furrowed, ardent need. Below him you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. You were his. His pupils were blown wide, drinking your glowing vision in like a man parched.
His voice comes out strained and hoarse, adams apply bobbing against his thick, scarred neck. “Please…” he trailed off. He wanted to take you, fill you, fuck you. His cock stood tall and waiting eagerly. But he didn’t know how to ask. His brows furrowed, breath ragged, “Please… let me.” His hands tighten painfully at your waist, as if clutching you making sure you stayed here, with him.
You wanted to hear him say it. You furrowed your brows in question, his makeshift gag keeping you from speaking. You brushed his cock, painfully hard with your hand. He bucked forward, the touch pushed him over the edge— “Let me have you.” His voice was rough, strained, as if there was a chance you’d say no. You shivered at his choice of words. Let me have you. Give yourself to me.
Gladly.
You nod up at him, eyes sparkling. You could have easily taken the thong out of your mouth but you hated to admit it turned you on— his attempt at dominance, calling instead of forcing your submission. He tugged your shirt over your head. He leans back, staring with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide, his gaze trailing down over your figure. His mouth parts as he if he is literally drinking you in. Normally you’d feel insecure at being so bare infront of a man but his expression is pure adoration, it makes you want to further expose yourself to him. Your insides crave his stare, his touch, his consumation.
Huge, hard, rippling muscle looms over you. His hardness exaggerates your softness. His immensity making you feel small, although you weren’t particularily so. And yet he feels safe. A shield from all outside forces lurking, waiting to pounce on you. His broad shoulders blocking out danger, bullets, peering eyes— the rest of the world. Here it was only him and you.
He gripped your waist, and lowered you to the bed. You were a rag doll in his iron grasp, pliable clay. Your only desire was to do his will. Make him feel good, let him revert to carnal impulse.
A halo of hair encircles your face on the hard mattress, cheeks glowing, eyes shining with desire. You are a vision. His vision. Splayed bare before him. You trust him fully, a killer to all but you. He suddenly feels as if you didn’t belong here. In his room, surrounded by cement, and rusty metal and dirty roughness. He wants to protect you, take you away, devour you whole.
Your thighs part instinctually, pussy bare and sopping for him. Your hand falls to your cunt, parting your lips for him in a V. His eyes are glued to your hole, drinking in your display. He tears his eyes away, as if to keep from orgasming right there, at sight of you, spread open for only him.
He guides his cock, painfully hard, to your aching hole, gently pressing it against the split. You moan with needy anticipation. He slides the mushroom head up, precum smearing across your lips. He groans incoherent german, “I’ve waiting so long for you Schatz… wanted you so bad… think about you all the time.” Your heart jolted at his words— his head caught on your clit and you groaned around your gag. His eyes were glued to your pretty little cunt, and he pressed into you, your thighs instinctively moved together at the feeling, his massive torso forced you open.
He grunts, forcing his way in. Hes big, bigger than you’d ever taken. And the stretch, the sharpness of the pain made the pleasure all that much better. Another inch. Another. You squirm, fingers clutching at the sheets. An airy moan, your torso keens upward. Another inch, you spasm around him— when he finally pressed himself all the way in, the air was knocked out of you. The hair at the base of his cock tickled your clit, you clench hard around him— he jolts with a barbed grunt.
Stuffed so full, stretched so deliciously— you feel wild.
He stayed there for a moment as you spasm around him, muscles straining to accommodate him— his hair fell over his forhead, mouth agape, breaths rough— desperate to ravage you, pound into you, put your furrowed brows and brimming tears hold him back. He stares at the connection. The way your skin stretches tight around him, taking him so well.
He pulls out slightly, your cunt clutching at him, unwilling to let him go. He begins rocking back and forth.
“So tight maus—Scheiße, so hot inside.” His gaze still on your little cunt, stretched so wide for him, straining to suck him back in. His eyes flicked to your breasts, watching them bounce lightly with each gentle thrust. Desperate for more, his pace quickens. He grunts at the bounce of your breasts.
Harder, faster.
His hard pelvis ruts into you. The wet slap is obscene, hips recoiling with each thrust. Your nails scratch as his back, mimicking the sting of your stretched cunt, straining to take him.
Deep grunts join your airy moans, and your head is light. No thoughts plague your mind, just pleasure, stretch, fullness. His pace was getting rougher, more needy.
You feel your orgasm building deep in your stomach, an iron hot clench waiting to uncoil. He presses your knees down, folding you in half, totally helpless against his bludgeoning into you. You are a ragdoll to his whims, a hole for his use. He’s gotten a taste and now he can’t seem to stop.
Your legs rise, knees bending against his chest— spreading you open embarrassingly wide. Your drooling. He’s impossibly deep— you feel him behind your ribcage, forcefully bludgeoning at your sternum. His hand falls to your lower stomach and he lets out a strangled sound at the feeling of his cock pressing up into his hand.
He’s repulsed at the roughness with which he pounds you, but he can’t seem to stop. “I’m so sorry, you’re so good for me liebling, i’m hurting you, i’m - ah!- so sorry.” His breaths become airier, more pathetic as his release nears.
You clench, pulling him down into you with grasping hands.
Closer. Deeper. More.
The sound of skin slapping together was wet, obscene. Disgusting. You’re close, hurtling towards a precipice. He grunts loudly.
From you, a muffled string of incoherent “Gonna come,”— it sounded distant, far away.
He pounds into you rasping a shamble of german and english, how you’re so small, so tight, stretched so wide, stuffed so full. He’s fucking drooling.
He’s hitting that spongey spot over and over again. Bludgeoning pleasure into you so forcefully you can’t help but take it. Engorged head pushing relentlessly towards the entrance of your cervix, so deep youd never felt anyone there before—cunt stretched so wide he’s splitting you in half with every thrust, breasts bouncing painfully with every rut.
It crashes over you like a wave, cunt spasming irregularly around him, breathy whines— impossibly tight. You writhe beneath him, pushing him away instinctively at the pleasure, but he barely feels it, his arms caging you beneath him as you ride out your orgasm.
You are a ragdoll, limbs spread, nails scratching blindly, a hole as he ruts into you, faster, jerkier, more erratic, still shaking with your orgasm, his colossal frame curling around you. He grunts, at the feeling of you tightening around him. You feel him twitch inside you. His breaths become airier, more pathetic as his release nears. Your wetness coats his pale lower stomach and rippling thighs. Brawny arms wrap around your body, holding you so fucking tight.
“So, -ah, so close- scheiße.” He lets out a pitiful groan as he stuffs himself into you with a final thrust, holding your pelvises flush as his cock lurches, mushroom head notching deep inside you. Your walls stutter around him, “C- cumming.” His voice cracks, cock jumping, spurting inside of you pitifully, impossibly deep— so deep you feel it in your guts, so deep it would be dribbling out for days. Hot sticky ropes pump into you, his hips stuttering against yours. Hes grunting into your neck, brows furrowed, eyes brimming with the tears of pleasure that mix with sweat. You fall limp, stuffed, belly full and warm with him, you sob at the delicious pressure.
He stills, shuddering slightly as your cunt clenches, the squelch making you blush. Its quiet, breaths against stillness.
Hes relaxed above you, your body still bent in half, cunt pressed up against his pelvis still agape, sucking him in. He rises, eyes soft and fucked out fall to your mouth, still stuffed with your panties. He groans at the look you give him, and pulls the panties out of your mouth.
He slowly fucks into you, a crackled groan at the feeling of shoving his cum back into you as you squirm— cunt clenching, spasming around him, always so willing, so good for him. His brows furrow as he pulls out, as if it pains him leave you. Your hole is gaping at the loss of him. Cum oozes from your red, abused slit, down towards the split of your ass. He stares, watching his cum spill out of you, committing the picture to memory, in case this is a one time thing. His face is flushed and sweaty, lips parted in focus. The image making him lightheaded.
He looks back up at your face, eyes heavy with pleasure. Fucked out, spread a mess before him, you look more beautiful than you ever had. You bring your legs together, more cum spilling out with a squelch.
Your voice was a hoarse whisper. “You can keep my thong.”
König is a grunting mess beneath you, cheeks flushed deep red, eyebrows furrowed in ardent need. Brawny, scarred fingers grip threadbare cotton sheets, white knuckled- green eyes glossy with tears as he gazes down at you with fervour, pleas spilling from puffy, bitten lips. He’s in full tactical gear, fresh from the field, completely covered from your gaze, save for crotch, on display between the zipper of his undone canvas pants.
He’s inexperienced- you could tell, even though he’d never murmured a word on the subject- it is laced thoroughly throughout his needy actions, the way his hips buck at the smallest touch you give his pale, rippling thighs, or how his heavy cock jumps when you praise him with sweet words. And there’s something so electrifying, having this beast of a man, in a killer’s uniform, writhing beneath you- it all goes straight to your head. He is colossal, infused with motor oil, brine and secondary cigarette smoke and the dirtiness of it- of him, cracks open the inviting door to even filthier actions.
His head is pressed harshly against the cool cement wall, damp hair curling around his brow. His mouth hangs agape, a glint of canine flashes in the dim light. His exposed his cock is tall and waiting eagerly under your hungry gaze. He’s embarrassed- you can tell by his flushed cheeks- embarrassed at how hard he is when you’ve barely even touched him- his engorged cock flushed deep purply red.
His voice is rough and strangled, an honest attempt to string coherent thoughts together, “-ah, bitte, please...” He trails off, unsure of what he want’s you to do, all he knows is that he wants you. You hold his gaze, removing a threadbare cotton shirt in a swift motion to reveal your naked frame to his widening eyes, you’re in nothing but a black thong and his glassy gaze is glued to your chest, he’s unable to tear it away, all gentile manners falling to perverse automatic action, he’s once more a teenager exploring his first playboy. Hair cascades around peaked nipples, and you’re a vision. He lets out a ragged breath at the soft swell of your breasts, truly questioning whether this was real- whether this was just another of his wet dreams and he’d wake up alone and have to shamefully clean sticky cum off himself. “You are…” he trails off on a ragged cliff, as if no known, spoken word could describe you, and the thought makes your heart swell against your ribs.
There’s a push and pull in him, you can feel it. Part of him instinctively wants to take control, have you his way, throw your body over the desk and ravage you- you both know that physically he can do whatever the fuck he wants with you. But something in him keeps him sat, under your control. He’s dying to do as you say, to follow your lead. The king has surrendered, and you are his unexpected successor.
Your hips bulge as your legs spread wide to fit over his massive thighs. Sinewy muscle tenses under you and the sight of his cock just waiting there for you makes your stomach clench. He’s staring at your crotch, at the small patch of wet fabric and the way it clings to the outline of your puffy cunt. There’s something pornographic about the way he’s fully dressed in tactical gear, complete with steel toed boots and dirty canvas pants, and you mount him bare, save for a sopping thong. Your airy, sultry voice cuts through thick, sweaty air, “Has it been a long time, König?” You’re being a bit patronizing, frankly, but you can tell he likes it, or he wouldn’t be this hard- pre-spend oozing out of his swollen slit.
His eyes rise to yours, and his pupils are blown wide, his voice breathless, “Ja-fuck-yes Maus, been so long. Please, touch me.” Your soft hands find his lower belly and its taught and veiny, skin scorching, you trace his abs, over his whisper of a happy trail, and you feel them tense beneath your fingers, littered with scars. Your softness melts into his roughness and you’re pulled into him as if he possesses his own gravitational force. You gather his pre-spend from his stomach on two fingers and he watches with bated breath as you raise them to your lips, you take them deep, and the poor man doesn’t know what to do with him self. He’s briny and bitter and you want to force the taste further down your throat. A pathetic sound leaves his mouth, and it makes your stomach flop.
You rise up slide your thong to the side, exposing your cunt and he’s eager to position himself for you. Ready to bend to your every need, all he wants to be is good for you. You feel your stomach flop in anticipation as you are struck again with how thick he is- the thought of him stretching you out makes thrum with anticipation. You’re sopping, and he’s dribbling from the tip. His cock slides deliciously easy, against the seam of you, right up against the choking split. Your fingers find locks of his hair and you ground yourself in him, as he catches harshly on the edge of your hole, right against your clit and pleasure swells deep in your belly. You’re both so sleep and touch deprived and that just makes you all the more fervid. You’re embarrassed at how fucked out you must look, but his head is thrown back and you can’t look more desperate than him.
You run his mushroom head over the split again, and when he finally breaches your hole, spliting you wide for him you let out a sharp sound, fingers harshly grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He sobs, voice ripping through his hoarse throat, “Ah-ah! Maus, fuck you’re so hot inside so… small.” It’s really he that’s large but you don’t bother correcting him. You tighten your fingers, fisting his hair, surely hard enough to hurt, as you inch yourself lower onto him. His fingers find the fat of your ass and hes pulling your cheeks apart, marks sure to bloom purple and blue tomorrow. His other hand finds the waistband of your thong and he’s pulling it, overstimulation forcing him to action, the feeling of it dragging against your clit makes you keel. You hear the fabric rip, and he’s murmuring a slew of apologies. “Ah- I’m sorry maus-” You kiss his cheek sloppily in forgiveness. Salty and warm- stubble brash against your lips.
You pull back and his eyes are drop to your little cunt, swollen lips stretching out around him and he’s in awe that you can take him so well. He’s definitely bigger than anyone you’ve been with before, but you can tell he doesn’t understand the extent of his size, and now is not the time to boost his ego, so you bite your lip and when your skin finally meets the cold metal of his zipper and he’s fully inside you sit there for a beat to adjust, feel him pulsing deep inside you and you can fucking see the outline of the head of his cock protruding from your belly, just below your bellybutton.
And when you point it out to him with a sickly sweet voice, “See you, so deep inside me König?” He grunts, “Fuck me,” having to tear his eyes away a second later to keep from orgasming right then and there.
You begin to softly bounce your body above him, you tell yourself it’s to go easy on him, but truly you don’t think you could do move more with how deep he goes. Cold metal of his zipper harshly grazes your soft skin. Your breasts bounce with every movement and he pulls you into him, groaning into your shoulder, sharp canines nick your flesh. Your grip in his hair mirrors your clench around him, painfully tight.
You speed up, slapping of skin fills the room, your flesh bubbles between his iron fingers and he’s whimpering into your ear, before you feel him twitch inside you and he’s suddenly blurting out, “Im sorry, I’m so sorry-ah, fuck.” And his hips are bucking up into you faster, you feel them stutter, and his mouth falls open to softly bite your shoulder. His cock twitches inside of you, and he’s so deep you can feel it in your stomach. He shudders all over, his huge form shaking with the strength of his orgasm, and then he blushes deep crimson. “I’m- A-ah,” Cum spurts out fitfully, and you feel it, hot and thick, filling your guts, and you can’t help but whimper into his hair at the feeling.
Warm pressure blooms in your belly. His deep raspy breaths grate against cold stillness.
Tears are brimming in his glassy eyes when he raises his head, damp curls falling across his forehead. Your cunt clenches at the sight and you redden at the obscene squelch it makes. He swallows hoarsely, “I’m so sorry. I wanted to- I couldn’t- you just felt so good.”
Another open mouthed kiss to his cheek.
“‘S okay König.” Your eyes sparkle. “I can sit on your face, and you can make me cum then, yeah?” You smile, as his cheeks flush deeply once more.
König is a grunting mess beneath you, cheeks flushed deep red, eyebrows furrowed in ardent need. Brawny, scarred fingers grip threadbare cotton sheets, white knuckled— green eyes glossy with tears as he gazes down at you with fervour, pleas spilling from bitten lips. He’s in full tactical gear, fresh from the field, completely covered from your gaze, save for his bare crotch on full display between the zipper of his undone canvas pants.
He’s inexperienced- you could tell, even though he’d never murmured a word on the subject- it is laced thoroughly throughout his needy actions, the way his hips buck at the smallest touch you give his pale, rippling thighs, or how his heavy cock jumps when you praise him with sweet words. And there’s something so electrifying, having this beast of a man, in a killer’s uniform, writhing beneath you- it all goes straight to your head.
He is colossal. Infused with motor oil, brine and secondary cigarette smoke and the dirtiness of it- of him, cracks open the inviting door to even filthier actions.
His head is pressed harshly against the cool cement wall, damp hair curling around his brow. His mouth hangs agape— a glint of canine flashes in the dim light. His exposed his cock is tall and waiting eagerly for you and he’s embarrassed- you can tell by his flushed cheeks- embarrassed at how hard he is when you’ve barely even touched him- his engorged cock flushed deep purply red— glistening with a bead of pre spend at the sensitive head. Fuck.
His voice is rough and strangled, an honest attempt to string coherent thoughts together, “—ah, bitte, please...” He trails off, unsure of what he want’s you to do, all he knows is that he wants you.
You hold his gaze, vehemently, as you remove threadbare cotton in a swift motion, to revealing your naked frame to his widening eyes, you’re in nothing but a black thong and his glassy gaze is glued to your chest, he’s unable to tear it away, all gentile manners falling to perverse automatic action, he’s once more a teenager exploring his first playboy, struggling to take it in. Hair cascades around peaked nipples, and you’re a vision. He lets out a ragged breath at the soft swell of your breasts, truly questioning whether this was real- whether this was just another of his wet dreams and he’d wake up alone and have to shamefully clean sticky cum off himself. “You are…” he trails off on a ragged cliff, as if no known, spoken word could describe you, and the thought makes your heart swell against your ribs.
There’s a push and pull in him, you can feel it. Part of him instinctively wants to take control, have you his way, throw your body over the desk and ravage you- you both know that physically he can do whatever the fuck he wants with you. But something in him keeps him sat, under your control. He’s dying to do as you say, to follow your lead. The king has surrendered, and you are his unexpected successor.
Your hips bulge as your legs spread wide to fit over his massive thighs. Sinewy muscle tenses under you and the sight of his cock just waiting there for you makes your stomach clench. He’s staring at your crotch, at the small patch of wet fabric and the way it clings to the outline of your puffy cunt. There’s something pornographic about the way he’s fully dressed in tactical gear, complete with steel toed boots and dirty canvas pants, and you mount him bare, save for a sopping thong. Your airy, sultry voice cuts through thick, sweaty air, “Has it been a long time, König?” You’re being a bit patronizing, frankly, but you can tell he likes it, or he wouldn’t be this hard- pre-spend oozing out of his swollen slit.
His eyes rise to yours, and his pupils are blown wide, his voice breathless, “Ja-fuck-yes Maus, been so long. Please, touch me.” Your soft hands find his lower belly and its taught and veiny, skin scorching, you trace his abs, over his whisper of a happy trail, and you feel his muscles tense beneath your fingers, littered with scars. Your softness melts into his roughness and you’re pulled into him as if he possesses his own gravitational force. You gather his pre-spend from his stomach on two fingers and he watches with bated breath as you raise them to your lips, you take them deep, and the poor man doesn’t know what to do with him self. He’s briny and bitter and you want to force the taste further down your throat. A pathetic sound leaves his mouth, and it makes your stomach flop.
You rise up slide your thong to the side, exposing your cunt and he’s eager to position himself for you. Ready to bend to your every need, all he wants to be is good for you. You feel your stomach clench in anticipation as you are struck again with how thick he is- the thought of him stretching you out makes you thrum with anticipation. You’re sopping, and he’s dribbling from the tip— cock sliding deliciously easy, against the seam of you, right up against the choking split. Your fingers find locks of his hair and you ground yourself in him, as he catches harshly on the edge of your hole, right against your clit and pleasure shoots through your body. You’re both so sleep and touch deprived and that just makes you all the more fervid. You’re embarrassed at how fucked out you must look, but his head is thrown back and he’s almost drooling and you can’t look more desperate than him.
You run his mushroom head over the split again, and he’s unable to contain himself, softly bucking his hips into you, and when he finally breaches your hole, spliting you wide for him you let out a sharp sound, fingers harshly grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He sobs, voice ripping through his hoarse throat, “Ah-ah! Maus, fuck you’re so hot inside so… small.” It’s really he that’s large but you don’t bother correcting him. You tighten your fingers, fisting his hair, surely hard enough to hurt, as you inch yourself lower onto him. His fingers find the fat of your ass and hes pulling your cheeks apart, marks sure to bloom purple and blue later. His hand finds the waistband of your thong and he’s pulling it, overstimulation forcing him to action, the feeling of it dragging against your clit makes you keel. You hear the fabric rip, and he’s murmuring a slew of apologies. “Ah- I’m sorry maus-” You kiss his cheek sloppily in forgiveness. Salty and warm- stubble brash against your lips.
You pull back and his eyes drop to your little cunt, swollen lips stretching out around him and he’s in awe that you can take him so well. He’s definitely bigger than anyone you’ve been with before, but you can tell he doesn’t understand the extent of his size, and now is not the time to boost his ego, so you bite your lip and when your skin finally meets the cold metal of his zipper and he’s fully inside you sit there for a beat to adjust. Hes pulsing deep inside you and you can fucking see the outline of the head of his cock protruding from your belly, just below your bellybutton.
And when you point it out to him with a sickly sweet voice, “See you, so deep inside me König?”
He grunts, “Fuck me,” having to tear his eyes away a second later to keep from orgasming right then and there.
You begin to softly bounce your body above him, you tell yourself it’s to go easy on him, but truly you don’t think you could do move more with how deep he goes. Cold metal of his zipper harshly grazes your soft skin. Your breasts bounce with every movement and he pulls you into him, groaning into your shoulder, and sharp canines nick your flesh. Your grip in his hair mirrors your clench around him, painfully tight.
You speed up, slapping of skin fills the room, your flesh bubbles between his iron fingers and he’s whimpering into your ear, before you feel him twitch inside you. His eyes go wide and he’s suddenly blurting out, “Im sorry, I’m so sorry-ah, fuck.” His hips are bucking up into you faster, you feel them stutter, and his mouth falls open to softly bite your shoulder. His cock twitches, mushroom head notching somewhere deep inside you— and you can feel it in your stomach. He shudders all over, his huge form shaking with the strength of his orgasm, and then he blushes deep crimson. “I’m- A-ah,” Cum spurts out fitfully, and you feel it, hot and thick, filling your guts, and you can’t help but whimper into his hair at the feeling.
Warm pressure blooms in your belly. His deep raspy breaths grate against cold stillness.
Tears are brimming in his glassy eyes when he raises his head, damp curls falling across his forehead. Your cunt clenches at the sight and you redden at the obscene squelch it makes. He swallows hoarsely, “I’m so sorry. I wanted to…I couldn’t— you just felt so good—”
Another open mouthed kiss to his cheek makes him let out a soft puff of captive air.
“‘S okay König.” Your eyes sparkle, voice soft. “I can sit on your face, and you can make me cum then, yeah?” You smile coyly, as his eyes widen, cheeks flushing once more.
Baby hairs stuck to the sweat of the back of your neck as you padded down the stairs to the communal kitchenette on floor 3. A heatwave had swept through the desert valley, expanse of sand still warm from the blazing sun, long since set. You’d woken up with a parched throat, in search of a glass of water.
As you neared the kitchen, flickering phosphorescence of the 80’s refrigerator down the hallway revealed another sleepless soldier must be awake. You peered inside, with half a mind to turn around, depending on who you might discover; you were now painfully aware of your thin cotton tank top and threadbare sleep shorts that must be at least a decade old, and how a soldier may mistakenly perceive your attire as some sort of colourful welcome sign.
Your gaze fell upon König inspecting the contents of the fridge, and you immediately felt your muscles relax, knowing he would blush at a mere glimpse of your clothed chest, let alone bother you for it. It was known that the colossal man was always snacking, as the energy needed to sustain such a large body, as well as its profuse activity, was immense. Now he was basking in the cool air of the refrigerator, bent over to peer in, his arm draped over the door. The fluorescent glow illuminated the contours of his bare chest abdomen, and you found your eyes lingering.
You’d never seen him shirtless before, and fuck, he was attractive. A greek marble statue carved by an expert hand. Lean rippling muscle, a pale, broad expanse of solid back, formed naturally by constant use and necessity. A well oiled machine, complete with a sheen of sweat glazing his heated skin. Your gaze trailed down, to a thick waist, soft indents of relaxed abs, and muscled hips which disappeared below the waistband of his pyjama pants.
You’d had a crush on the Austrian soldier for a while now, but fate had never placed the two of you in a room together, or close enough for you to make true conversation with the introvert. He was friendly enough, but you’d never gotten past simple gentile greeting. His soft presence, however, always brought comfort with it. So large, yet unimposing, as if nothing could harm you with him there.
You breathed in, and took a step forward. Bare feet sticking to cool linoleum. He turned at the movement eyes darting, then relaxing when he saw you smiling at him. You now realized he wasn’t wearing his mask. Somehow, it felt natural, here, under the cover of night. The lightsource behind him left much to your imagination as he turned toward you, however you were bathed in light. He could see your face, flushed with heat, cheeks shining with perspiration.
“König,” Your voice was soft as you greeted him, “Couldn’t sleep either?”
He shook his head, his voice was deep and raspy with fatigue, and it nudged a quickened heart beat in your chest. “‘S too hot.”
“I know. That fridge feels nice.” You brushed passed him, barely grazing his hip with yours, it left a fuzzy tingle in it’s wake. He seemed decidedly too large for the tiny kitchen, like a lion in a cage. Unnatural.
You turned, filling a glass with water, and found yourself wondering if he was watching you, studying the curves of your body the way you just had his. Perhaps he was noticing the way your shorts were a size or two too small, riding up the split of your ass. Perhaps he felt this pull towards you, as you did towards him. Pole to pole. You glanced over your shoulder to see him fully engrossed in comparing the nutrient facts of two different fruit cups. You felt yourself flush, and downed your glass of water, cool water soothing your heated body. Slightly.
You filled it again, before turning to him, taking a another sip from your cup. “Water?”
He turned slightly, looking down at you, “Sure, thank you.”
Before you could think twice, you were handing him your own glass. His eyes flickered from the glass, down to you, and back to the glass. Before you could reiterate, correct yourself, grab him a new, clean one from the cupboard, he took it, a large pale hand swallowing it whole. It was littered with a collection of veins and small scars. You couldn’t help but imagine how it might look compared to your own. Holding yours. Perhaps on your thigh. Your windpipe…
As he raised it to his lips, his eyes held yours vehemently, the sight of his lips where yours had been moments ago made your head cloud slightly. You gazed up at him, ardent through your lashes, studying what you could see of his face.
Although bare before you, in face and body, his true form still escaped you. An enigma. You could make out broad, muscled shoulders, a pale, broad column of neck with a white, healed scar gracing one side. You wanted to graze it with your teeth. A glint of canines and a jaw, sharp, with a whisper of stubble. His nose was large and slightly crooked, in endearing way, as if it had been broken when he was a child. Flicker of an eye, green, which you knew all too well, as they were usually your only point of reference for his expression. His hair was light, tousled from bed, and looked in need of a trim, shorter pieces curling across his forehead and around his neck, damp with sweat. He was younger than you’d imagined. And, admittedly, more attractive.
He leaned into you, and your pulse quickened, before realizing he was only placing the glass on the counter beside you. “Danke.” You nodded up at him, words escaping you in the moment, his close proximity having an embarrassing effect on you. He was hard to read; you supposed that was part of his job. His true motives indecipherable, though laced throughout his subtle movements. Did he want to reach out? Touch you?
You were pulled from your thoughts, “Would you, uh, would you like a fruit cup?” His voice was hesitant, you could tell he felt as though he should offer you something in exchange for the drink. It was cute.
You smiled at him, and pulled yourself up onto the counter, feeling it cold against your skin. A reminder you weren’t wearing anything under your threadbare shorts. “Sure. Mango please.”
As he moved, chilled air swept across your body, goosebumps rose and you saw his eyes flick to your chest, the movement undetectable had you not been studying him. Your heartbeat quickened—your nipples must have been poking through your thin tank. He tore his eyes away quickly.
He cleared his throat and turned back to the fridge, as it illuminated his face you noticed a large scar running from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as well as a split lip. How strange, only hours ago he had been on the field. Ferocious. Violent. Yet here he was, presenting you with a fruit cup. He selected the one labeled mango, and you realized it was the one he had set aside to have himself, and the last mango. You watched as he attempted to open it for you, collossal fingers struggling to grasp the small tab.
You held back a grin. “Here, I can do it.” You opened it easily. Not wanting to dirty a spoon, you began to eat it with your fingers. You felt his eyes on you as you slipped the fruit into your mouth.
Now he was struggling to open his own, bent over to focus. You chuckled, “Let me help. ‘S difficult with your big hands, huh.”
Hair fell across his forehead as he raised his head to look at you, cheeks flushing at your remark, and it dawned on you that perhaps he was insecure about his size. The thought was almost funny to you —If only you could tell him it was one of his best qualities. Hell, it made you want him. Badly.
“Yeah, danke, liebling.” You opened it with no trouble, before handing it back to him. He stood in front of you, a foot of space between your thighs and his, thick with tension. You wanted him closer, the space feeling like both a mile and a hair’s width. Both of you were illuminated softly in the darkness, quietly eating packaged tropical fruit.
Your voice surprised you, breaking the comfortable silence, “What does that mean?”
“Hm?” The deep sound made your throat dry.
“Liebling.” You cringed at your poor imitation.
“Oh, uh..” he was blushing, avoiding eye contact. Your pulse quickened slightly with anticipation. What had he called you? His voice quieted with embarrassment, “It means ‘darling’.”
Your heart swelled at his words. Darling. König had called you darling. You leaned back against the cabinet, shoulder blades pressing into plywood, legs parting slightly. You saw his eyes waver from his snack to your thighs. Splayed out before him. Tilting your head up at him, your lips stretched into a smile and you blurted, “You’re cute.”
He flushed at your words, eyebrows raised slightly. “Really? No one calls me that.” His fingers toyed with the plastic in his hands.
You finished your fruit, and licked your fingers clean, eyes on his. “I think you’re very cute.” His vehement eye contact as you sucked your finger made you dizzy. It felt intimate, even a little dirty- cliche. A low budget porno.
Something urged you to keep going. Push further. Whether it was the heat, the late hour or clenching of your cunt you couldn’t be sure, but you wanted more. You wanted to touch him. “Can I try?” You nodded towards the last piece of fruit in his fingers. Your pulse hammered. He looked at his hand, and back at you, as you dared him to give it to you, feed it to you. Your palms were glued to the counter, making no move to do it yourself.
He swallowed hoarsely. You suddenly realized he was shy. Although he was an intimidating presence -colossal in comparison- you made him nervous. Your muscles tensed in anticipation, your jaw opened for him. “Yeah,” His voice was soft and raspy. He leaned forward, lips parted slightly, mirroring yours. Your abdomen tightened as he grabbed the counter in between your legs, as if to stabilize himself, still not courageous enough to grab you. You gazed up at him, wanton through damp lashes as his fingers entered your mouth, so gently. Afraid to be too rough, afraid to hurt you. Used to being a bull in a china shop-but you could take him. God you could take him.
His lids were heavy, pupils blown as he stared at your lips. You felt his breath hitch as your lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking gently. Sweet, rough, calloused. Hot and large. You felt high with fervour, something in you wanted to take him deeper, show him you could do it. But you held back, pulling away with a quiet pop. Lips wet with juice and spit.
He raised his fingers, brushing a lock of hair from your cheek gentle with veneration, before they found the back of your head, skimming, then intertwining, tugging. Need overtook his timid respect. Your scalp prickled as he gripped the back of your head pulling you towards him. Into him. Your lips parted as you looked up at his face, back arching as he tugged you into him, searing cunt pressing molten against the cold plastic countertop. He was looking down at you with furrowed brows, need etched into every feature. Hot breath fanned your cheeks.
“Bitte.” Please. “Don’t tease me.” A fervent murmur that made your stomach flop. He pulled you into him, dwarfing you, lips searing against yours, his mouth opening immediately, inviting you in, pleading for more. More of you. He tasted of peaches and blood as his lip re-split with his mindless movements. Sweet ambrosia collocating with metallic copper. Oxymoron of gentle and harsh. Sweet and bitter.
He was scorching in your arms, musk and sweat. Deep and heady. Months of built up need unwinding, finally. Hot lust satiated, slightly. His grip was white knuckled on the counter between your plush thighs. It’s proximity taunting you, reminding you how badly you needed him there. How your fingers hadn’t been enough for the past months, how you were too small. But he could do it. God he could. He could fill you up- stretch you out. You couldn’t help gripping his wrist, inching your way towards him, squirming, letting out a warbled whimper as your wet cunt dragged against the counter. He groaned into your open mouth, fingertips tightening in your hair when he found your puffy cunt bare for him, clenching, wet and waiting for him.
You jolted as rough fingers brushed your clit, letting out a quiet, pathetic whine. “Quiet, leibling.” His calloused thumbs rubbed circles around the sensitive spot, making you squirm. He groaned as his fingers glided slowly down your sopping slit. His head swam- all for him? This was all for him? He could hardly wrap his mind around the thought. He’d touched himself at night, shamefully, thinking about you-about this puffy little cunt just a few doors down. And here you were, spread and ready for him, wanting to take him. His cock flushed beneath his waistband, heavy and hot. Needy.
You cried out softly as he split you open on his finger, and he pulled you into his shoulder, your mouth agape at the feeling of being stuffed with him. His middle finger twice the size of your own, you squirmed as he sank, knuckle deep. He pushed another inside of you, and you spasmed around him, overwhelmed at the euphoric feeling of being stretched so easily. Gummy walls pulled him in deeper. Sweat prickled his forehead as he held back his need to feel you squeezing his pulsing cock, the want to spread you open, fill you up- see how far you could go. See if you really could take all he wanted to give. You let out an airy moan as he hit that spongey spot inside of you with his middle finger, thighs glued together in over stimulation, spine arching-
Suddenly, to your dismay, he pulled out, quickly stepping away from you. You blindly reached out for him as cold air hit you. Reeling with emptiness. Had you done something wrong? Then you heard it, a creak of stairs. Heavy footsteps.
He reached out and you jolted as he brushed your clit, tugging your threadbare shorts back over your gaping cunt. He leaned back against the counter, face composed as ever.
A figure emerged from the hallway. It was the Lieutenant. He was squinting in the darkness to make out your figures. Voice was rough against the silence, save for the buzzing refrigerator, “Ah, grabbing a snack too?” You could do nothing but stare at König, unable to believe he had been knuckle deep inside you just moments before.
König nodded, face relaxed, lids heavy. He raised his hand and your sopping cunt clenched as you saw him place his fingers to his mouth, to taste you. As the Lieutenant watched. Vulgar. Lecherous. Your spit, slick, and peach juice swirling together in his hot mouth.
You flushed down to your fucking thighs at his words, “Yes sir, just having a peach.”
i said i was never gonna write this kink but the idea of embarrassing könig makes my brain go brrrrrrrrrr in the WORST fuckin way
könig x reader | 18+ explicit sexual content. GN AFAB reader, no pronouns or gendered language used. switch!könig (WOOF WOOF BARK)
tw: dom/sub undertones, slight degradation, dacryphilia, breath play/choking, use of ‘mommy’.
You notice his posture is worse than usual that evening. He keeps making pained noises when he moves, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his shoulders.
“No, just hurts sometimes,” he explains when you wonder about a potential injury. A cruel melding of his lifestyle, his stature. It kills you to see him in pain, and you want nothing more to take it from him. Ease his anxiety and the rest of his burdens.
You have a few ideas on how to do just that.
König doesn’t seem particularly unhappy to end up face-first in your bed, stripped of everything except his boxers. He is especially unbothered when you sit astride him, balancing on his thick thighs.
“You said it was a game. What sort of game is this?” He asks. You can see the soft, curious smile gracing his mouth when his head turns to the side. His hair is coming out of the tie, an auburn halo around his face, son your pillow. You find those red hairs every where. Always get the sweet flutter in your stomach when you pick a strand out of your sweater.
“I promise it’s a good one,” you tease, laughing when he stiffens as oil drops onto his spine. “Relax.”
It’s a particularly cold night, but you’ve drawn the blankets up around your bare shoulders like a cape. The heat between you keeps you relatively comfortable, and the goosebumps racing up his arms are from your touch, not the temperature. The oil has been sitting out, and it’s definitely not as warm.
“Whatever you’re planning —“ König’s breath catches. He goes very still at the first firm press of knuckles into the broad, pale expanse of his back. When you dig them into a knot below the nape of his neck, his whole body jerks, a pained whine hissing through his teeth.
Just like that, he goes weak. Sinks into the bed as if he could fall through it. Like he wants nothing more. He moans, raunchy and loud, same as when you fuck him. You drag your thumbs down the center of his back. It twists high and breathy, like he gets on the edge of release.
“Okay,” you say breathlessly. “I’m taking that as a good sign.”
“So — s’ohhh, mein Gott. Yeah, unh. So good,” he rambles. Lets loose another sound that your neighbors will undoubtedly mistake.
You aren’t particularly skilled at this, but you know where he puts his stress, his anxiety. The worst knots don’t exactly hide, anyway. They’re concentrated at his spine, in his shoulders, the curve of which is a sullen reminder that he must constantly exist in spaces not made for someone of his size.
He deserves this, deserves to relax, and that’s your motivation, what guides your hands. You don’t stop until he’s totally loose, his back red in the areas that you work particularly hard. You dig your fingers into every inch, searching for even the barest hint of a bunched muscle, a corded, tight tendon. Coax it out of him.
At some point, König loses the ability to make noise at all. Simply buries his face into his folded arms, breathing deep and slow.
When you find a difficult spot along his flank, a tough sweep along his lats that requires a firmer touch, he cries out. You can see the glisten of tears on his cheek, the trail its leads along the gorgeous rise of his cheekbone. There’s a wet spot on the pillow next to his eye, and the evidence of this vulnerability sinks in your gut, heavy like a stone.
“M’sorry,” you murmur, ghosting over the sore spot with an apologetic kiss. Except —
“No,” he huffs, shifting beneath you, not quite frenzied or desperate but getting there. Close. He’s rocking his hips into the mattress. “More.”
Understanding dawns on you.
“Oh, I get it,” you laugh into his skin. Touch a series of nipping pecks up his flank. You hold him still with your fingers wrapped around his biceps, massaging, and put all your weight down as you grind against the back of his thigh. “You like that, baby? Like when it hurts a little?”
König huffs, clearly effected by the sensual lilt of the question, and nods into his arms.
“My poor boy,” you coo in his ear, tucking hair away from his neck to kiss there, too. “You were so wound up. Does it feel better?”
He grumbles. It’s a messy, mix of English and German, and neither tongue offers any coherency. Then: “Don’t need to be so smug about it.”
“I definitely do.” You laugh, bracing yourself with both hands above his tailbone now, arching and rolling your hips against his ass. Like you’re fucking him.
König whines when you push down, drag the splay of your hands all the way up his back to his shoulders. “Look how easy you are. How can I not be smug?”
He turns his head, cheek pressed to his forearm, and levels you with a glare. “Toying with me.”
“Absolutely,” you admit cheerfully, saccharine and mean in the way that really works him up. You press down again, shove his chest into the mattress. His eyes go hazy, slip shut. “Next time I do this, I’ll brush your hair too. Pull it a little so you can really get off.” You kiss down his spine. “How does that sound? I know you getting taken care of, König. Getting pampered. My pretty thing to play with.”
He shivers, but there’s a dangerous edge to his grin.“You do, too.”
Suddenly, he reaches back and tucks his cold fingers into the crease of your knee, digging in to grip your calf. He holds you firmly in place when you squeal, and you have to kick free, throwing yourself away. His hand trails after you, crawling threateningly across the sheets, and you scoot to safety, giggling high and wild like you’ve just received a fresh lobotomy.
“Stay away, asshole,” you shriek, dodging his fingers. You collapse off your perch on his hips to the side, accidentally dragging the blankets away from his body. At the chill, König whines around manic laughter of his own. You’re powerless to stop him as he yanks the covers away, rolling about until he’s successfully cocooned, leaving you bare.
“No! I was so nice to you,” you hiss in betrayal, any bite to it softened by your continuous giggling. You can’t stop, face warm with delight and hysteria, stomach starting to ache with the force of it. “And this is how you thank me?”
Muffled beneath his nested enclosure, König mutters a string of German. Most of which you can’t translate, but you catch the teasing bite of several amused swears.
“Asshole!” You accuse again, chest heaving as the laughs taper off. “König. Let me in.”
You rise to your knees beside him, clawing at the fabric over his shoulders, shaking him violently as you look for purchase to rend them back. He holds tight, but acquiesces when you pull at his arm to roll him over onto hs back. There’s a strand of ruddy hair poking out from the hole where is face is, and you tug it.
The big fucking idiot is grinning when he lifts the edge away, peers up at you from the sanctity of warmth. Pretty, pretty boy.
“Password please.”
You lean down close, nose touching his. “Fuck König.”
He shakes his head, eyes flashing. “Wrong. Hmm. What’ll you give me to get in?”
“A kiss,” you respond immediately, teeth chattering. He pretends to debate this a moment, then puckers his lips. You lean down to grant him the promised trade, grumbling when he still doesn’t part the blankets for you. “Come on.”
“Another one,” he demands, bottom lip stuck out petulantly. You couldn’t deny him even if you wanted to. This time, you lift one leg to settle in his lap, forearms caging his head on the pillow. The teasing glimmer in his gaze hardens, becoming dangerous and greedy, when your weight pins him. His fingers loosen on the closure at his chest, the tangle of sheet and blanket falling away to reveal his bare collarbone.
He notices when your eyes fall to it in the dark. Your open appreciation corrupts his grin into a lopsided smirk. Vain.
“Another.” His voice is pitched low, the tenor of it deepened. He only ever sounds like that here, in the privacy of the bedroom, or when he’s…working.
You shiver. Even though you’re on top, you feel like you’re the one held down, pinned in place by the sharp, lustful stare. You lean forward again, shifting in his lap to account for the height difference, and press your mouths together. The trajectory and angle of the movement means your core brushes over him through the blankets. You feel his cock twitch against your thigh.
“Ah. Maus.” One huge hand slides out, drawing prickles of heat on your cool flesh as it trails up your neck. “Ok. I am done playing now. Kiss me again.”
No question to it, no sweet request. A demand.
You do as asked, dropping your chest against his. The blankets aren’t rough, but they might as well be sandpaper against your skin, nipples peaked in the cold. You gasp against his mouth and König groans, a long, bone-deep noise that rises like steam from his chest. He licks into you, massive palm cradling your jaw, fingers tangled in your hair. You go limp with a sigh when he makes a fist, pain prickling over your scalp. König holds your face to his, using the grip to direct your head as he kisses you. Bites at your lip too hard, canine breaking the skin. He sucks at it apologetically, tongue lapping over the droplet and sliding against yours, when you whine at the sting.
Your own hands are fisted in the pillow on either side of his head, but you manage to push away the blankets to reveal the static-messed mop of hair. His smile is soft as you brush a lock from his face, a direct contrast to the filthy, wet heat of your mouths. He hums when you thread your fingers into the strands, massaging at his temples.
Well, less of a hum, and more the rumblings of a jungle cat. He’s the spoiled, evil thing that begs for your attention, lives in your lap, knocks trinkets off the counter just so you’ll raise your voice. He leaves mutilated birds on your porch, scratches on your skin, curls into your warmth at night.
“Come here,” he whispers, freeing his other arm to open the blankets. You do, snuggling in close as he drapes them back over your shoulders. A sweet, sweltering reward, the change in temperature making you shudder against his body. Beneath them, your naked skin pressed together, the heat is sweltering. Your face is warm already and the rest of you follows. You stick together in a way that would be disgusting without context.
You make out lazily for awhile. Frankly it would be a wonderful end to the night, falling asleep content in each other. But you shift, gasp. He’s tacky, nestled in the crease of your hip, and it makes you clench around nothing, around the space he could be occupying. That’s enough.
“Can you —“ you rock deliberately, hoping to get the message across, getting wet at each pass of your core over his thigh. “Want it.”
“So soon?” König teases, his eyebrows quirked demurely. “Need to get filled up again?”
“Always,” you whine. It softens his the teasing look on his face, and he pulls you into another kiss. “All the time.”
He lets you grind against him like that, eyes cataloging your expressions and noises, the cocky grin falling from his face as blood pools south. “Fuck. I will, I will. Here, come —“
There’s nothing unenjoyable about sleeping with König, but if there’s one thing you would change, it’s this — when you’re on top, speared deep with every unbearable inch, you can’t kiss him properly. He’s too tall to keep all of him in you and press your lips together. You know it’d be so good, too, and understanding that you can’t have it makes you wild.
“I know,” he murmurs, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, comfortingly cloying into the top of your head as you start to whine. “I know, Maus.”
Your lips are pressed into the hollow of his throat, panting as you grind on him, your hips stuttering each time he bottoms out. Leaning up on your elbows, you fit your mouth to his at the top of each stroke, head dropping down to his chest as you cry out.
“Sit up.” König demands, and you do with his help with shaking arms, elbows resting on his shoulders. When he grasps both your wrists in his each hand, it takes your balance.
“What —“ You gulp when he guides them to his neck, forces your arms straight. He covers the back of your hands with his palms, and squeezes in an obvious demand. “Fuck.”
“Mhm, s’the idea.” He sighs, self-satisfied, letting the air rush out of his chest before he takes another lungful in. Holds it there while you do as instructed, pressing in on each side of that lovely, smooth column. His mouth drops open, eyes shiny and lidded, and his cheeks begin to pink. The sight has you picking up the pace, a much quicker rhythm than before, each snap of your hips making him shudder as his cock slips out of you.
“Feels fucking good,” he whines, all breath, raspy as he slurs it out. You let him take another deep pull of air, wait for permission.
“Again. More, c’mon. Please, my love.”
You moan and give it to him as good as you can.
Eventually he rolls you over, pulls your leg to hitch over his side. Situates your body so he can face you, so you can see every flutter of pleasure over his expressive face. He drives back into you, arms around your back, crushing you into his chest. He gets deep like this, almost too deep, and it breaks you out in a sweat.
“Sweet boy,” you gasp, rubbing your nose into his neck. “König, shit, my gorgeous boy. You feel so good like this, baby. I —“
“Oh, o-oh fuck. M’gonna cum,” he says suddenly, sounding shocked. His eyebrows pinch, mouth slack, and he squeezes your wrists desperately. Tilts his chin up, an open invitation. “Choke me again. Maus, fuck, please. I need it.”
It’s hard to fit just one hand around the thick expanse of his neck, but you manage somehow. Find a safe, effective angle and do as requested, tight in his flesh, leaving divots you can’t look away from. The scratchy, red stubble coming in pricks your fingertips.
König groans, his breath stuttering out in hiccupy, sobbing little puffs. They taper off into a strangled, silent moan when you slide your free hand over his shoulder, massaging into the pliant muscle as hard as your other hand chokes. The duality of your touch, cruel and reverent, makes him see stars. His rhythm starts to fall off, but the rolling, slow push of his hips into yours still has you shaking. You’re —
“Close,” he warns, eyes slipping open to find you. They’re nearly black, pupils blown, heavy-lidded and shiny. Two dazzling, glossy orbs slick with tears begging to spill over. His eyelashes are dewily stuck together. The sight of them, the streaks drying on his cheeks, makes something feral and devoted rear up in your chest.
“Yeah, baby? Are you?” You squeeze again, watching his eyes widen and then flutter, going blank and distant, lost at a point over your shoulder. “Look at you, König. Oh, you’re so beautiful like this. You want it so bad, don’t you?”
He swallows, chin bobbing. Those eyes roll back, so you let go. Pat his cheek until he sucks in a rattling, high breath. His fingers clutch at your ass, and he shifts again. Still fitted together, your leg over his hip, but now he leans over you a little more.
“C-come on, pretty boy,” you goad, smoothing both hands up his back now. Coaxing. “God. Nobody else could be this gorgeous, pathetic and begging.”
König goes still, his breath taken like you still have your hands around his throat. “Yes.”
“Does it hurt, baby?” You pet over his hair, kiss his cheek. “Does it feel good? Do you want to cum in me while it hurts?”
He nods blearily, that empty gaze finding your face once again. He’s so gone, somewhere else entirely, and you can’t help but giggle. König moans, his voice cracking.
“Please, please, fuck, I wanna…mommy, oh, I —” He blinks several times, tongue darting over his dry lips, and then frowns. Shudders all over, his huge form shaking with the strength of it, and then blushes very red. The tears spill over, and he starts to cry in earnest.
“Oh my God,” you whisper in disbelief, granting him another pet through his hair, a soft peck to his collarbone. “Sweetheart. Did you just —”
That’s all it takes, apparently. König buries his face in your neck, properly wet with tears now, hot with shame. His chest heaves on a sob as he finds that peak and hurtles over it. His noises are soft, slutty and relieved. The sound of them, along with the violent twitch of his cock as it empties inside you, has you shuddering into a wickedly strong orgasm. He groans and clutches at your hips, pushing away like he can’t stand the pulsing around his sensitive cock, and then dragging you back against him, embracing the pain.
It’s a very long time before either of you find your breath again. König’s eyes are squeezed shut, lashes dark and wet. When he feels you stroke over his cheekbone with your thumb, they pop open.
“I —“ he gulps, anxiety flitting over his face. “I’m so sorry. If that was weird, I-I…I don’t know where it came from. I have never —“
You grin, stroking your fingers over the red marks blossoming along his throat. He whimpers. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. It was cute, okay? You were feeling overwhelmed, and sometimes we say things in the heat of it.”
He blinks at you and then reaches up to wipe his eyes. “Just…”
You cuddle closer, biting your lip as her slips from you, leaking messy down your thighs. You wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts, soothing circles over his chest.
He looks up at the ceiling, mutters under his breath, several sentences in German. Frowns, is quiet for a long moment as he translates internally, then nods.
“Just felt good,” he finally says, laughing. He flaps a hand in the air, glances away and lets it fall to the pillow with a soft thump. “Felt cared for. And I just couldn’t…do anything. With it.”
“I understand. You don’t have to explain,” you whisper, pulling at his back until he rolls over, gathers you below him. No more chill, now. How could you ever be cold? “I’m not going to judge you, or anything.” You kiss him gently, hands cradling his face.
“You’re sure?” He’s smiling shyly, staring at you with wonder.
“Of course.” You gnaw at his jaw until he huffs out a chuckle and twists away. “But I’m also never letting you live it down.”
König rolls his eyes, groans the long-suffering sigh of someone who puts up with much more than he truly does, and punishes your tease by dropping his full weight on top of you.
Baby hairs stuck to the sweat of the back of your neck as you padded down the stairs to the communal kitchenette on floor 3. A heatwave had swept through the desert valley, expanse of sand still warm from the blazing sun, long since set. You’d woken up with a parched throat, in search of a glass of water.
As you neared the kitchen, flickering phosphorescence of the 80’s refrigerator down the hallway revealed another sleepless soldier must be awake. You peered inside, with half a mind to turn around, depending on who you might discover; you were now painfully aware of your thin cotton tank top and threadbare sleep shorts that must be at least a decade old, and how a soldier may mistakenly perceive your attire as some sort of colourful welcome sign.
Your gaze fell upon König inspecting the contents of the fridge, and you immediately felt your muscles relax, knowing he would blush at a mere glimpse of your clothed chest, let alone bother you for it. It was known that the colossal man was always snacking, as the energy needed to sustain such a large body, as well as its profuse activity, was immense. Now he was basking in the cool air of the refrigerator, bent over to peer in, his arm draped over the door. The fluorescent glow illuminated the contours of his bare chest abdomen, and you found your eyes lingering.
You’d never seen him shirtless before, and fuck, he was attractive. A greek marble statue carved by an expert hand. Lean rippling muscle, a pale, broad expanse of solid back, formed naturally by constant use and necessity. A well oiled machine, complete with a sheen of sweat glazing his heated skin. Your gaze trailed down, to a thick waist, soft indents of relaxed abs, and muscled hips which disappeared below the waistband of his pyjama pants.
You’d had a crush on the Austrian soldier for a while now, but fate had never placed the two of you in a room together, or close enough for you to make true conversation with the introvert. He was friendly enough, but you’d never gotten past simple gentile greeting. His soft presence, however, always brought comfort with it. So large, yet unimposing, as if nothing could harm you with him there.
You breathed in, and took a step forward. Bare feet sticking to cool linoleum. He turned at the movement eyes darting, then relaxing when he saw you smiling at him. You now realized he wasn’t wearing his mask. Somehow, it felt natural, here, under the cover of night. The lightsource behind him left much to your imagination as he turned toward you, however you were bathed in light. He could see your face, flushed with heat, cheeks shining with perspiration.
“König,” Your voice was soft as you greeted him, “Couldn’t sleep either?”
He shook his head, his voice was deep and raspy with fatigue, and it nudged a quickened heart beat in your chest. “‘S too hot.”
“I know. That fridge feels nice.” You brushed passed him, barely grazing his hip with yours, it left a fuzzy tingle in it’s wake. He seemed decidedly too large for the tiny kitchen, like a lion in a cage. Unnatural.
You turned, filling a glass with water, and found yourself wondering if he was watching you, studying the curves of your body the way you just had his. Perhaps he was noticing the way your shorts were a size or two too small, riding up the split of your ass. Perhaps he felt this pull towards you, as you did towards him. Pole to pole. You glanced over your shoulder to see him fully engrossed in comparing the nutrient facts of two different fruit cups. You felt yourself flush, and downed your glass of water, cool water soothing your heated body. Slightly.
You filled it again, before turning to him, taking a another sip from your cup. “Water?”
He turned slightly, looking down at you, “Sure, thank you.”
Before you could think twice, you were handing him your own glass. His eyes flickered from the glass, down to you, and back to the glass. Before you could reiterate, correct yourself, grab him a new, clean one from the cupboard, he took it, a large pale hand swallowing it whole. It was littered with a collection of veins and small scars. You couldn’t help but imagine how it might look compared to your own. Holding yours. Perhaps on your thigh. Your windpipe…
As he raised it to his lips, his eyes held yours vehemently, the sight of his lips where yours had been moments ago made your head cloud slightly. You gazed up at him, ardent through your lashes, studying what you could see of his face.
Although bare before you, in face and body, his true form still escaped you. An enigma. You could make out broad, muscled shoulders, a pale, broad column of neck with a white, healed scar gracing one side. You wanted to graze it with your teeth. A glint of canines and a jaw, sharp, with a whisper of stubble. His nose was large and slightly crooked, in endearing way, as if it had been broken when he was a child. Flicker of an eye, green, which you knew all too well, as they were usually your only point of reference for his expression. His hair was light, tousled from bed, and looked in need of a trim, shorter pieces curling across his forehead and around his neck, damp with sweat. He was younger than you’d imagined. And, admittedly, more attractive.
He leaned into you, and your pulse quickened, before realizing he was only placing the glass on the counter beside you. “Danke.” You nodded up at him, words escaping you in the moment, his close proximity having an embarrassing effect on you. He was hard to read; you supposed that was part of his job. His true motives indecipherable, though laced throughout his subtle movements. Did he want to reach out? Touch you?
You were pulled from your thoughts, “Would you, uh, would you like a fruit cup?” His voice was hesitant, you could tell he felt as though he should offer you something in exchange for the drink. It was cute.
You smiled at him, and pulled yourself up onto the counter, feeling it cold against your skin. A reminder you weren’t wearing anything under your threadbare shorts. “Sure. Mango please.”
As he moved, chilled air swept across your body, goosebumps rose and you saw his eyes flick to your chest, the movement undetectable had you not been studying him. Your heartbeat quickened—your nipples must have been poking through your thin tank. He tore his eyes away quickly.
He cleared his throat and turned back to the fridge, as it illuminated his face you noticed a large scar running from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as well as a split lip. How strange, only hours ago he had been on the field. Ferocious. Violent. Yet here he was, presenting you with a fruit cup. He selected the one labeled mango, and you realized it was the one he had set aside to have himself, and the last mango. You watched as he attempted to open it for you, collossal fingers struggling to grasp the small tab.
You held back a grin. “Here, I can do it.” You opened it easily. Not wanting to dirty a spoon, you began to eat it with your fingers. You felt his eyes on you as you slipped the fruit into your mouth.
Now he was struggling to open his own, bent over to focus. You chuckled, “Let me help. ‘S difficult with your big hands, huh.”
Hair fell across his forehead as he raised his head to look at you, cheeks flushing at your remark, and it dawned on you that perhaps he was insecure about his size. The thought was almost funny to you —If only you could tell him it was one of his best qualities. Hell, it made you want him. Badly.
“Yeah, danke, liebling.” You opened it with no trouble, before handing it back to him. He stood in front of you, a foot of space between your thighs and his, thick with tension. You wanted him closer, the space feeling like both a mile and a hair’s width. Both of you were illuminated softly in the darkness, quietly eating packaged tropical fruit.
Your voice surprised you, breaking the comfortable silence, “What does that mean?”
“Hm?” The deep sound made your throat dry.
“Liebling.” You cringed at your poor imitation.
“Oh, uh..” he was blushing, avoiding eye contact. Your pulse quickened slightly with anticipation. What had he called you? His voice quieted with embarrassment, “It means ‘darling’.”
Your heart swelled at his words. Darling. König had called you darling. You leaned back against the cabinet, shoulder blades pressing into plywood, legs parting slightly. You saw his eyes waver from his snack to your thighs. Splayed out before him. Tilting your head up at him, your lips stretched into a smile and you blurted, “You’re cute.”
He flushed at your words, eyebrows raised slightly. “Really? No one calls me that.” His fingers toyed with the plastic in his hands.
You finished your fruit, and licked your fingers clean, eyes on his. “I think you’re very cute.” His vehement eye contact as you sucked your finger made you dizzy. It felt intimate, even a little dirty- cliche. A low budget porno.
Something urged you to keep going. Push further. Whether it was the heat, the late hour or clenching of your cunt you couldn’t be sure, but you wanted more. You wanted to touch him. “Can I try?” You nodded towards the last piece of fruit in his fingers. Your pulse hammered. He looked at his hand, and back at you, as you dared him to give it to you, feed it to you. Your palms were glued to the counter, making no move to do it yourself.
He swallowed hoarsely. You suddenly realized he was shy. Although he was an intimidating presence -colossal in comparison- you made him nervous. Your muscles tensed in anticipation, your jaw opened for him. “Yeah,” His voice was soft and raspy. He leaned forward, lips parted slightly, mirroring yours. Your abdomen tightened as he grabbed the counter in between your legs, as if to stabilize himself, still not courageous enough to grab you. You gazed up at him, wanton through damp lashes as his fingers entered your mouth, so gently. Afraid to be too rough, afraid to hurt you. Used to being a bull in a china shop-but you could take him. God you could take him.
His lids were heavy, pupils blown as he stared at your lips. You felt his breath hitch as your lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking gently. Sweet, rough, calloused. Hot and large. You felt high with fervour, something in you wanted to take him deeper, show him you could do it. But you held back, pulling away with a quiet pop. Lips wet with juice and spit.
He raised his fingers, brushing a lock of hair from your cheek gentle with veneration, before they found the back of your head, skimming, then intertwining, tugging. Need overtook his timid respect. Your scalp prickled as he gripped the back of your head pulling you towards him. Into him. Your lips parted as you looked up at his face, back arching as he tugged you into him, searing cunt pressing molten against the cold plastic countertop. He was looking down at you with furrowed brows, need etched into every feature. Hot breath fanned your cheeks.
“Bitte.” Please. “Don’t tease me.” A fervent murmur that made your stomach flop. He pulled you into him, dwarfing you, lips searing against yours, his mouth opening immediately, inviting you in, pleading for more. More of you. He tasted of peaches and blood as his lip re-split with his mindless movements. Sweet ambrosia collocating with metallic copper. Oxymoron of gentle and harsh. Sweet and bitter.
He was scorching in your arms, musk and sweat. Deep and heady. Months of built up need unwinding, finally. Hot lust satiated, slightly. His grip was white knuckled on the counter between your plush thighs. It’s proximity taunting you, reminding you how badly you needed him there. How your fingers hadn’t been enough for the past months, how you were too small. But he could do it. God he could. He could fill you up- stretch you out. You couldn’t help gripping his wrist, inching your way towards him, squirming, letting out a warbled whimper as your wet cunt dragged against the counter. He groaned into your open mouth, fingertips tightening in your hair when he found your puffy cunt bare for him, clenching, wet and waiting for him.
You jolted as rough fingers brushed your clit, letting out a quiet, pathetic whine. “Quiet, leibling.” His calloused thumbs rubbed circles around the sensitive spot, making you squirm. He groaned as his fingers glided slowly down your sopping slit. His head swam- all for him? This was all for him? He could hardly wrap his mind around the thought. He’d touched himself at night, shamefully, thinking about you-about this puffy little cunt just a few doors down. And here you were, spread and ready for him, wanting to take him. His cock flushed beneath his waistband, heavy and hot. Needy.
You cried out softly as he split you open on his finger, and he pulled you into his shoulder, your mouth agape at the feeling of being stuffed with him. His middle finger twice the size of your own, you squirmed as he sank, knuckle deep. He pushed another inside of you, and you spasmed around him, overwhelmed at the euphoric feeling of being stretched so easily. Gummy walls pulled him in deeper. Sweat prickled his forehead as he held back his need to feel you squeezing his pulsing cock, the want to spread you open, fill you up- see how far you could go. See if you really could take all he wanted to give. You let out an airy moan as he hit that spongey spot inside of you with his middle finger, thighs glued together in over stimulation, spine arching-
Suddenly, to your dismay, he pulled out, quickly stepping away from you. You blindly reached out for him as cold air hit you. Reeling with emptiness. Had you done something wrong? Then you heard it, a creak of stairs. Heavy footsteps.
He reached out and you jolted as he brushed your clit, tugging your threadbare shorts back over your gaping cunt. He leaned back against the counter, face composed as ever.
A figure emerged from the hallway. It was the Lieutenant. He was squinting in the darkness to make out your figures. Voice was rough against the silence, save for the buzzing refrigerator, “Ah, grabbing a snack too?” You could do nothing but stare at König, unable to believe he had been knuckle deep inside you just moments before.
König nodded, face relaxed, lids heavy. He raised his hand and your sopping cunt clenched as you saw him place his fingers to his mouth, to taste you. As the Lieutenant watched. Vulgar. Lecherous. Your spit, slick, and peach juice swirling together in his hot mouth.
You flushed down to your fucking thighs at his words: “Yes sir, just having a peach.”
please can i request feral konig with a breeding kink
i've written and posted this before, but i'll have something new this weekend B^) feel free to throw more ideas in my inbox!
König x f!reader / 18+! MDNI / breeding, dirty talk, size kink.....filth.
You push the head down, lower and lower until it notches back into place, right inside of you. König’s eyes find yours, mutterings finally silenced.
“Again,” you tell him, but he’s searching, sure that he heard you wrong, even if his body understood. His heavy balls pat against your ass when he tries find sense in your demand. "But. But, what if--"
You push your arms over your head in a stretch, your breasts arching up to tease your nipples against the scruff on his chin. You want him to put his mouth back on you. He does too, but the hand that rubs the space below your navel makes his concern clear. You tilt your head at him. “But what? What if it takes?”
And just the words being out in the open has him reeling. His eyes snap back to yours, wide, caught. You meet him with a smile, pressing his hand down lower, firmer until it’s over the bump where his cock bulges from within you. “Isn’t that what you want?”
And it’s deserved, really, when König rips himself out of you just long enough to toss you onto your stomach, hips dug into the bed when he re-enters you in a swift, embarrassingly loud stroke. He pumps you twice before letting his weight sink him lower, deeper into you.
“You have no idea what I—want.”
The moans that he punches out of you are obscene, and you’re thankful you can smother them in the mattress. König rarely takes you from behind, always wanting to look at you. Was obsessed with your expression, the bounce of your breast, the view of him bulging your stomach, but flat on your front like this his cock kisses the very end of your cunt and threatens to fuck you right to your womb. It’s the deepest he’s ever been, the tip of him feeling like it would reach your throat if he kept pushing it in. Every slap of his hips has your ass shaking in response, and all you can do is let him bludgeon your little cunt, head shaking as he grabbed your shoulder for better leverage. “I’ve worn the shape of my cock into you, Liebling. It feels so good. I can feel your guts when I’m this deep.”
He’s bent over you, one hand gripping the head board hard enough that his tanned knuckles blanch white, the other lifting your face from where you’d burrowed it. You’re drooling, eyes unfocused until you look up and, oh lovely. It’s his black-smudged eyes that meet you, upside down. His face splits in an almost frightening smile. Now he can fuck you stupid and watch.
König meets every moan from you with the slap of his heavy balls to your clit, his head coming down to rest against your shoulder. The briefest prickle of stubble when he leaves open-mouthed kisses across your neck. It has you tightening, fingers twisting around the hand he’s used to prop himself up on. You can feel him smile against your pulse, the only warning before he bites into it.
When he pulls back you can feel his spit warm at your neck, the tender start of a bruise blooming beneath it. He’s snaked his arms around you in a gentle headlock, squeezing once just to laugh and let go. Another time, he promises. You’re buzzing, and that’s before his other hand takes one of yours, guiding it beneath your stomach to frame his cock. It’s hard to wrap your head around how big it is, how it disappears inside of you.
“Play with yourself. I want to feel it,” he urges, puppeteering your fingers with his own to roll your clit. You take over, but his hand stays, ghosting along with you.
“That’s it. I want to see you fat with my child, your little body taken with me. I’ll sow my seed until it’s deep, Liebling. Are you sure you want me to? Tell me that, please.”
You’re cock drunk, absolutely ruined off of this man. Not even sure what you’re sobbing out until it reaches your ears: desperate, pathetic little cries of fill me, fill me, fill me.
His thrusts are sloppy but no less accurate, the head of his cock grinding too perfectly into your squishy g-spot and sending you halfway off the edge. You’re spasming around him, the wet clutch you have around his cock outright crude, and he laughs, muttering almost to himself, “Messy girl, you always make such a mess.”
He’s pulling apart your cheeks, getting his fill of the sight of you speared on his cock.
“How are you still hard,” you whine, aftershocks wracking you. He can feel them, you’re sure.
König slurs against your neck, almost laughing. His hips snap back down into you, and your pussy welcomes him home.
It’s hours and hours later, when you’d been fucked half to sleep, sated and full with König resting inside of you. He’s spent, but the more come that leaks out, the more he has to put back in. When his hips shift, you don’t even stir.
Quietly, he whispers into the outline of his teeth pressed to your shoulder. “Your little quim can take more, Liebling. I’ll fuck you until you are full with a whole litter.”
