John Price, Simon Riley. continuation of this fic!
CW: power exchange, brat taming, degradation, dumbification, forced submission, psychological domination, impact play (belts, spanking), breath restriction, throat-fucking, overstimulation, and rough anal/vaginal penetration. Heavy themes of ownership, humiliation, and body betrayal, alsoo a hint of breeding.
"That's the fifth fucking time you've rolled your eyes at me today." Price's voice was low, the kind of calm that meant trouble. He didn't raise it—didn't need to. The weight of it filled the room like smoke.
You shifted your weight, arms crossed, chin tilted up just enough to be defiant without outright challenging him. "Maybe if your orders weren't so stupid, I wouldn't have to." The words tasted sharp on your tongue, reckless. You knew better. That was the point.
Ghost's gloved fingers tapped once against the stock of his rifle, a slow, deliberate rhythm. He didn't speak. Didn't have to. The way his head tilted slightly, mask shifting as he studied you, was worse than any reprimand. Price exhaled through his nose, the sound thick with patience wearing thin.
Price moved first, his boots scuffing the concrete as he closed the distance between you in three measured strides. The smell of gun oil and worn leather clung to him, thick enough to make your pulse stutter when his calloused hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Not rough—not yet—but firm enough to tilt your head back until you were staring up at the overhead lights, the glare forcing you to blink. "Let's try that again, pet," he murmured, thumb pressing just under your jaw. "Properly."
Your breath hitched when Ghost's shadow fell over you, his broad frame blocking the light as he stepped in close behind. The heat of him pressed against your back, his rifle now slung across his chest as his hands settled on your hips—not guiding, just there, a silent reminder of how easily they could crush you between them. "Think we’ve been too lenient," Ghost rumbled, the vibration of his voice skimming down your spine. "Mouthy little thing like you needs reminders."
Price's grip tightened fractionally, his thumb dragging up to press against the hinge of your jaw, forcing your lips apart. "Open," he ordered, and when you hesitated, Ghost's fingers dug in hard enough to make you gasp—just what Price wanted. The first spit landed warm on your tongue before you could protest, bitter and thick. "Swallow," Price murmured, watching your throat work with dark approval. "Good girl. Now, let's hear that apology."
The apology caught in your throat—not from refusal, but from the sudden press of Ghost’s knee between yours, forcing your legs apart as his hand slid up to fist in your hair. "None of that hesitation shit," he growled, yanking your head back until your spine arched. Price’s spit was still slick on your tongue, and the humiliation burned hotter when Ghost leaned down, his masked mouth brushing your ear. "Or d’you need us to fuck it into you?"
Price chuckled, the sound dark as his free hand unclipped his belt with a sharp snick. The leather slid free with a whisper, and your stomach dropped when he folded it lengthwise, the buckle dangling like a promise. "Seems our little brat forgot her place," he mused, testing the weight against his palm. "Gonna need more than words to jog her memory."
The first sting came without warning—a swift, biting snap across your thighs that left a searing line of fire in its wake. You jerked against Ghost’s hold, but his grip was iron, his breath hot through the mask as he pinned you in place. "Count," he ordered, voice rough. Price didn’t wait for compliance; the belt came down again, higher this time, and the whimper that escaped you was swallowed by Ghost’s hand clamping over your mouth.
The sound that tore from you was muffled against Ghost's palm, the leather of his glove pressing hard enough to taste the grit of cordite and sweat. You tried to count—two—but it came out garbled, drowned under the suffocating weight of his hand. Ghost tsked, the vibration of it humming against your back as Price's belt bit again, higher now, the buckle grazing the tender skin just below your ass. "Counting's not optional," Ghost murmured, easing his grip just enough to let you gasp before clamping down again, your next attempt at three dissolving into a wet, choked noise.
Price’s belt landed again—four—this time with the buckle twisted just right to leave a welt rising under the fabric of your pants. Your hips jerked forward instinctively, only to grind against Ghost’s thigh still wedged between your legs. The friction sent a jolt through you, sharp and unwelcome, as Ghost’s fingers tightened in your hair. "Tryin’ to cheat?" he rumbled, his free hand sliding down to pinch the inside of your thigh hard enough to bruise. "Count proper, or we start over."
You shuddered, swallowing the taste of panic thick on your tongue, but when Price lifted the belt again, your throat locked around the number. Silence stretched, broken only by the creak of leather in his fist. Ghost exhaled—slow, disappointed—before his grip shifted, yanking you upright with a brutal tug. "Pants. Off," he ordered, voice flat. "Now." Your fingers fumbled at the button, hands shaking too badly to manage until Price caught your wrist, his thumb pressing into the pulse point as he popped it open himself. "Should’ve listened," he murmured, dragging the zipper down with a metallic rasp.
The cold air hit your exposed skin before the belt did—five—this time landing bare, the crack echoing off the walls as your knees buckled. Ghost held you up effortlessly, his arm banded around your waist while Price circled, the belt dragging teasingly over your hip. "D'ya still think my orders are stupid?" he asked, tapping the leather against the welt rising on your thigh. You shook your head violently, but Ghost’s hand clamped over your mouth again before you could speak.
Price’s chuckle was low, approving, as he unhooked his knife from his belt—not to cut, just to tease, the flat of the blade trailing icy down your spine. "Gonna need more than nods, love," he murmured, twisting the knife to catch the light. Ghost’s grip on your waist tightened, his teeth grazing your shoulder through the fabric of your shirt. "Words," he growled.
The belt came down again—six—this time diagonally across the backs of your thighs, the buckle leaving a branding sting. You gasped into Ghost’s palm, the taste of leather and his sweat thick on your tongue as Price leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Try 'sorry, sir,'" he suggested, voice dripping with mock patience. Ghost’s fingers flexed against your ribs, counting your rapid breaths. "Or we can start again from one."
Price didn’t wait for hesitation. His thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, pressing down until your jaw ached, forcing it wider. "Eyes up," he ordered, and when you obeyed, he slid two fingers past your lips, the calloused pads rough against your tongue. The salt of his skin mixed with the lingering bitterness of spit, your gag reflex twitching as he pushed deeper. Ghost’s grip on your hair kept you from pulling away, his growl vibrating through your skull. "Suck."
The drool spilled over your chin before you could stop it, thick and shameful, dripping onto Price’s wrist as he worked his fingers deeper, the scrape of his wedding ring against your teeth sending a shudder through you. Ghost’s grip tightened in your hair, his other hand sliding down to palm the front of your half on underwear—not to soothe, but to press the heel of his hand hard against the throbbing ache between your legs. "Bet you’re fucking soaked," he muttered, the disgust in his voice making your stomach clench. "Pathetic."
Price withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, your lips clinging uselessly as he wiped them on your cheek, smearing spit down to your jaw. "On your knees," he ordered, nudging your shoulder with the toe of his boot until you sank down, the wood biting into your bare skin. Ghost’s shadow loomed over you, his belt already undone, the thick outline of his cock straining against his jeans. "Open wide, brat," he rasped, thumbing the mask up just enough to reveal the cruel twist of his mouth. "Gonna fuck that attitude right out your throat."
The first thrust punched the air from your lungs, his grip on your hair forcing your nose into the coarse fabric of his tactical vest as he bottomed out. You gagged, tears springing hot at the corners of your eyes, but Ghost didn’t slow—just rocked deeper, the wet sounds of your struggle filling the room. Price crouched beside you, the cold steel of his knife tracing idle circles on your inner thigh. "Breathe through it," he instructed, voice calm as if discussing the weather, not your wrecked whimpers around Ghost’s cock.
The knife's edge bit lightly—just enough to make you freeze—as Price dragged it higher, the metal catching on the damp fabric of your panties before slicing through with a soft tear. Cold air hit your exposed cunt, but the humiliation burned hotter when Ghost shoved deeper, his groan rough above you as your throat convulsed around him. Price’s fingers replaced the blade, spreading you open with two calloused digits, his laugh dark when you flinched. "See how she’s dripping?" he mused, rubbing his thumb through your slick with deliberate, smearing circles. "Like a fucking whore."
Ghost’s thrusts turned punishing, his grip on your hair yanking your head back to force eye contact as he fucked into your mouth with sharp, shallow jerks. Spit and tears streaked your face, the salt sharp on your tongue when Price suddenly shoved two fingers inside you, curling them just enough to make your hips jerk. "Quit squirming," Ghost snarled, using your hair like a leash to drag you forward onto his cock again, the head bumping your gag reflex. "Take it."
The stretch of Price’s fingers inside you sent a dizzying mix of pain and pleasure arcing up your spine, your muffled whines lost in the wet choke of Ghost’s thrusts. Price twisted his wrist, knuckles pressing deliberately against that tender spot until your thighs trembled, his other hand pinching your clit just shy of cruelty. “Look at her,” he muttered, dragging his thumb through your slick and holding it up to the light, the shine of it damning. “Fucking herself on my fingers while she gags on his cock.”
Ghost’s rhythm stuttered when Price crooked his fingers harder, your cunt clenching around them as a broken, wet sound vibrated against Ghost’s cock. He pulled out just enough to let you gasp, strands of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his tip before he shoved back in, his groan rough. “Fuck—greedy little slut,” he managed, hips snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt as Price’s thumb circled your clit faster, the pressure bordering on unbearable.
Your vision blurred at the edges, tears spilling freely now as Price’s fingers worked you ruthlessly, the squelch of your own slick loud in your ears. Ghost’s thrusts grew erratic, his grip on your hair tightening like a vice as he muttered a curse, his cock twitching deep in your throat. Price chuckled, low and knowing, his breath hot against your ear. “Gonna come with his dick down your throat and my fingers in your cunt?” he taunted, twisting them sharply. “Do it. Let us see.”
The orgasm hit like a gut punch—violent and involuntary—your body arching against Ghost’s hold as Price’s fingers milked every last spasm from you. Ghost snarled something filthy as your throat clamped around him, his hips jerking forward one final time before he came with a groan, the hot spill of it flooding your mouth as you choked. Price didn’t let up, his fingers still moving inside you through the aftershocks, turning oversensitive pleasure into a trembling, whimpering mess.
Ghost pulled out with a wet pop, his cock glistening with spit as he thumbed your swollen lower lip, smearing it further. “Swallowed every drop,” he observed, voice rough with satisfaction. Price finally withdrew his fingers, holding them up to your face so you could see the sheen of your own arousal before wiping them across your parted lips. “Taste that?” he murmured, watching your tongue dart out reflexively. “Proof of what you are.”
Ghost’s gloved hand tangled in your hair again, hauling you upright until your wobbly knees threatened to give out. Price’s belt slithered around your waist like a serpent, the leather still warm from his grip as he looped it tight, the buckle digging into your lower back. “Think she’s learned her lesson yet?” Ghost mused, his thumb swiping through the mess on your chin before shoving two fingers back into your mouth, the taste of his come bitter on your tongue. You shuddered, but the whimper died when Price’s hand clamped over your throat, not squeezing—just there, a silent threat.
“Not nearly,” Price growled, his free hand working his belt loose with a sharp snick. The metal teeth scraped your hip. Ghost’s chuckle was dark, his fingers twisting deep in your hair as he bent you forward over the edge of the cofffe table, the wood biting into your flushed skin. “Gonna fuck that bratty streak right out of you,” Price promised, his palm coming down sharp against your ass—once, twice—the sting blooming bright before his thumb pressed cruel against your slick entrance. “And you’re gonna thank us for it.”
Your throat burned raw, words scraping out between hitched breaths— “Please—” barely audible before Ghost’s hand smothered it, his fingers digging into your cheeks hard enough to make your jaw ache. “Begging now?” he mocked, the fabric of his mask brushing your ear as he leaned down. “Should’ve thought of that before you rolled your eyes at us, little brat.” Price’s grip on your hips tightened, his chuckle a dark rumble against your back as he lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. “Too late for easy,” he murmured, the words dripping with false sympathy. “But we’ll make sure you remember exactly why you shouldn’t have mouthed off.”
The stretch was brutal—no prep, no mercy—just the slow, inexorable burn of him splitting you open, your choked sob muffled into the table. Ghost’s hand shifted from your mouth to the back of your neck, pinning you down as Price bottomed out with a groan, his hips flush against your ass. “Fuck,” he gritted out, rolling his pelvis just to hear you whimper. “Tighter than I thought.” His fingers tangled in the belt looped around your waist, using it like a leash to yank you back onto him, the sudden drag pulling a ragged cry from your throat. “Count,” he ordered, pulling out just as slowly before slamming back in, the impact rattling your teeth.
Ghost’s free hand found your clit, his touch relentless—not to coax, but to overwhelm, his calloused fingers circling just shy of pain as Price set a punishing pace. “One,” you gasped, the number fracturing into a moan as he angled deeper, hitting a spot that sent white-hot sparks behind your eyelids. Ghost’s laugh was low, approving, as he leaned over your shoulder, his breath hot through the mask. “Louder,” he demanded, pinching your clit hard between his fingers. “Want the whole safehouse to hear how well you take it.”
Price’s thrusts turned jagged, his control fraying as your body clamped around him, the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls. His fingers dug into the belt cinched around your waist, using it to haul you back onto his cock with every snap of his hips. “Gonna come inside this bratty cunt,” he growled, the words rough with exertion. Ghost’s fingers dipped lower, pressing against your asshole just to feel you clench around them, his chuckle dark. “Bet she’d take both,” he mused, the tip of his finger breaching just enough to make you jerk. “Wouldn’t you, pet?”
Price’s hand slid up your spine to fist in your hair, wrenching your head back until you could feel his breath on your ear—hot, uneven. “Be a good girl, yeah?” he murmured, voice thick with something dangerously close to praise. “Take my come like you’re fucking made for it.” The implication sent a jolt through you, your traitorous body pulsing around him as Ghost’s other hand squeezed your throat, not cutting off air—just reminding you who owned it.
Ghost’s chuckle was a dark rumble against your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin there through the fabric of his mask. “Bet she’d look pretty swollen with you in her,” he mused, fingers still working your asshole in cruel little circles. “All fucked out and still dripping.” Price groaned, hips stuttering as he drove deeper, his grip on the belt tightening like a rein. “Think she’d whine if we kept her full?” he gritted out, the snap of his hips turning erratic. “Make her walk around with it leaking out—”
The words punched through you just as Price’s thrusts grew uneven, his cock pulsing deep inside as he spilled with a groan that vibrated against your spine. His grip on your waist kept you impaled, his hips grinding slow circles to milk every last drop into your clenching cunt. Ghost’s fingers never stopped moving, stretching your asshole just enough to make your breath hitch—not enough to breach, just enough to tease. “Could breed her proper,” Ghost mused, his free hand sliding down your stomach to press against the slight swell where Price’s cock pooled inside you.
Price pulled out, his breath hot against the nape of your neck as his fingers tightened in your hair. “Been too lenient,” he muttered, the words thick with satisfaction as he gave pinched you, just to feel you whimper. Ghost’s laugh was dark, his mask brushing your shoulder as he leaned in. “My turn,” he growled, finally withdrawing his fingers from your ass only to smear your slick across Price’s softening cock. “Gonna fuck her full of you,” he warned, the head of his own cock pressing against your abused entrance.
The stretch burnt worse this time—raw and overworked—as Ghost forced himself inside as Price pulls out. It hurt so bad, but you couldn’t scream; Ghost’s hand clamped back over your mouth, his fingers tasting of gunmetal and your own slick as he bottomed out with a groan that shook his chest. Ghost started a brutal rhythm, each thrust driving you harder onto the table until you felt stuffed to the brim.
Ghost’s teeth found your shoulder through the mask, biting down just as he angled his hips to hit that spot that made your thighs tremble. “Feel that?” he rasped, the vibration of his voice skimming down your spine. “Both of us in this greedy little cunt.” Price chuckled against your ear, his fingers trailing down to circle your clit again, the callouses dragging just shy of pain. “Think she’ll come again?” he mused, pressing down hard enough to make you jerk him both. “Like a fucking doll—just wind her up and watch her fall apart.”
The orgasm ripped through you like a live wire, your body clamping around him in helpless pulses as Ghost cursed, his thrusts turning erratic. Price held you still with an arm like iron across your waist, forcing you to take every inch as Ghost came with a groan, his cock pulsing hard inside of you. The heat of it spilled over, trickling down your thighs as Ghost finally pulled out, leaving you gaping and oversensitive.
Price’s hand slid up to grip your chin, tilting your face back to meet his gaze—dark, satisfied. “Next time you roll those pretty eyes at me,” he murmured, thumb swiping through the sweat on your lip, “remember how we corrected that attitude.” Ghost’s glove came down hard on your ass in a stinging slap, the sound sharp in the quiet. “And there will be a next time,” he promised, the mask doing nothing to hide the grin in his voice. “Brat like you’s made for it.”
a/n: should i do more of this trio? i think i really like it, its also a little continuation of couch!! anywho i hope you guys enjoyed these two!! here’s a link if you want this to be a series!!
tangentwithtanner
jbbartram-illu
dededos
kaledo-art
2087
jacobvanloon
