it was past midnight when you shivered awake, teeth chattering softly, turning towards the warm body laying beside you. you expected simon to pull you into his arms, but instead he slid your panties down your thighs, and lifted your leg just enough to guide himself in, cockwarming you.
you fought the urge to rock against him. his face was exhausted from the long mission, dark circles carved beneath his eyes, so you'd bitten your lip, in an attempt to conceal your moans.
you tried to fall back asleep but every time you shifted your body, his cock would brush that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back in pleasure.
he'd unconsciously thrust, groaning in his sleep, whenever your walls squeezed around him, and you'd feel his hot, thick cum filling you again and again.
by the time morning came, your limbs felt sore. simon had cum inside of you five times, keeping you warm and full to your satisfaction.
He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Every time you leave, I’ll find a way to get you.” He murmurs, referring to your apartment’s door that he broke to get in.
“You can’t keep doing this, i told you—“
His eyes flash with dark amusement as you grip the towel tighter. He likes that you're trying to protect yourself—trying to maintain some control. It only makes him want to dismantle it all the more. “Cute.” He chuckles lowly, his hand reaching out to slowly pry the towel from your grip. “But pointless.”
“Hey!”
He silences you with a sharp look, his hand finally succeeding in pulling the towel away. You're left standing there naked, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest to cover yourself. He tosses the towel aside carelessly. “Shh.”
His eyes roam over your body unabashedly—you're completely naked now, exposed in your own home. The contrast of power is obvious—you're vulnerable, and he knows just what buttons to press to keep you compliant. “Turn around.” He orders suddenly, his voice firm. “Face the wall.”
You murmur his name in objection, trying to reason with him, but he cuts you off.
His eyes darken with warning. “I said turn around.” He repeats slowly, his voice dropping into that dangerous register—like he's no longer the nice man he pretended, just your stalker. The room suddenly feels smaller, colder, suffocatingly cramped. Your heart pounds—you've never seen him like this before. So, you turn around slowly.
He watches you, his eyes scanning over your naked back—your sore shoulders, the bruises on your hips from earlier, your trembling legs. “Good girl.” He approaches you from behind, pressing his chest against your back, one hand sliding up your spine while the other grips your hip tightly.
His breath is hot against your neck as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Keep your hands on the wall.” He instructs, his voice low and commanding. You nod weakly, pressing your hands against the wall to stabilize yourself. His fingers dig into your hips possessively, making your breath hitch. He stays like that for a moment, just pressing against you—his hard chest against your bare back, his fingers digging into your skin. Then, without warning, he spreads your legs roughly with his knee.
You stagger slightly, your legs forced apart, leaving you completely exposed to him. He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck—right where your pulse is pounding visibly. “You look so pretty like this.” His voice is dark, possessive. His hand slides down your side, over your curves, mapping out every inch of your naked body like he's claiming territory.
You say his name, as sternly as your voice allows. “I’m being serious. Please, just stop this and leave…” You attempt to turn around.
His grip on your hip tightens painfully as you try to turn around, holding you in place. His other hand moves to your throat, applying gentle pressure—warning you without actually choking you. “I said keep your hands on the wall.” His voice is rough, against your ear. You do as he says, begrudgingly.
He watches your reluctant compliance, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. He likes that you're doing what he says—even if you're doing it begrudgingly. It's a small victory for him. Cause he knows he’ll break all your inhibitions down bit by bit, till you realize you’re his. “Atta girl.” He murmurs, his thumb tracing along your jawline. He leans down, pressing his lips against your shoulder
Your blood runs cold and impossibly hot at his words and actions. Because he just won’t let it go. He had a taste of you and now he simply can’t fathom the idea of not having you again, over and over, all to himself.
His lips curve into a satisfied smirk against your skin. He presses his nose to the curve of your neck, your damp hair, and breathes you in. He squeezes your breast possessively before sliding his hand down your stomach, towards your hip.
His fingers splay out over your hip bone, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the apex of your thighs. He pauses, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You're mine to do with as I please. Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine to fuck.”
“You know that’s not true. I’m not yours, you’re insane–“
His hand slams over your mouth, muffling your protests. His other hand pushes between your legs, thrusting two fingers inside you roughly without warning. You gasp against his palm, your body clenching around his fingers. “I didn’t wanna have to do this, baby… but you leave me no choice…” He says vaguely.
You frown in confusion, a muffled “what” leaving your lips, but your thought trail is cut off when his thumb moves faster over your swollen clit.
His fingers curl inside you deliberately, hitting that spot that made you scream earlier. He leans close, his lips brushing your ear. “You keep telling me I'm insane… keep pushing me away…” His thumb rubs your clit, spreading your slickness. “Every time you say 'no'… every time you try to leave…” His fingers move faster, relentless.
“It makes me wanna prove you wrong.” He murmurs darkly against your neck, his fingers pistoning in and out of you. “Makes me wanna show you who you belong to. Maybe if I fuck you enough times… you'll remember who owns this pretty little pussy… maybe i’ll finally slither my way under your skin like you did mine.”
His words are a blur as his fingers work you towards the edge, playing your body so well like he owns and knows every crevice. You tremble in his arms, head thrown back on his chest. “No no no no…” You whimper.
His fingers don't stop. They push you closer, relentless. He leans down, whispering against your ear as you tremble. “No no no...” He repeats mockingly. “All you do is lie… your pussy tells me the truth. Let her do the talking” His fingers curl and thrust, hitting that spot with perfect precision. “You're so close, aren't you?”
Your body betrays you completely—your back arching, your breathing becoming ragged as the pressure builds dangerously fast. The combination of his hot breath on your skin, his rough grip on your hip, and those relentless fingers working inside you relentlessly. Your walls clench. “That's it...” Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing in his arms. He doesn't let up, his fingers continuing to move inside you through the waves of pleasure. He swallows your muffled cries with his hand still covering your mouth. “There it is...”
You’re so caught up in the aftermath of your orgasm, you barely notice his hand moving away from your mouth. You don’t even notice the needle he pulls out. You feel a sharp prick on your neck, followed by a warm sensation spreading through your veins. The room starts to spin as the sedative takes effect. You try to struggle but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. He holds you close, his voice low and soothing. “Shh...”
“What did you do…” it comes out weak, barely above a whisper.
“Had to. You keep fighting me... keep trying to leave.” His voice is calm, almost sadistic in its serenity. “This way... you'll stay. You'll be good. You’ll learn to be.” He nuzzles his face against your neck, inhaling deeply. He kisses your neck softly where he injected the sedative, his arms wrapping around you possessively.
It’s the last thing you feel before everything goes black.
𝒹𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸 ! 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑜𝓎 who smacks ur ass a little too hard while ur standing at the stove cooking a meal for the both of you, savoring that stunned, half annoyed half prudish expression on ur little face
domestic soldier boy who thanks you for starching his jeans “real nice and good” by bending you over the washer the next time ur loading the laundry in. his hands grip ur hips tight after lifting ur skirt, grinding his thick cock against ur ass as he groans in ur ear.
domestic soldier boy who buys u little sets of delicate lingerie for your birthday and holidays, just for him to shove the soft fabrics out of the way when he’s got his cock buried in u. ur folded in half beneath him on the bed, taking each thrust with little girlish uh, uh, uhs that makes him grin.
domestic soldier boy who occasionally makes you kneel under the desk in his study, his leaking dick in ur mouth as he signs off at monthly bills. because he refuses to have shit automated, much less digitally. you brush ur tongue flat against his cockhead, lazily stroking the untended inches. and when he’s about to cum, he grabs your hair in his fist and shoves you down until u gag, ur nose buried in his pubes as he shoots thick ropes of hot cum down ur throat- and u have no choice but to swallow.
domestic soldier boy who holds u flush against his chest, his boner pressed against your back. one hand grips ur tit, infrequently pinching your nipple through your shirt as his arm holds u in place with no escape. his fingers plunge inside your tight cunt, switching between quick little juts and slow, steady up and down thrusts that absolutely should not have happened before he’s obligated to head out.
and you already know what his face will twist into if u ask him about washing his hands after u cum, crying out, clenching ur fists and eyes shut: positively offended and confused. he’d let you go, smirking as your legs wobble, and he’d kiss your forehead before leaving, keeping the smell of u on his fingers all day as a sweet reminder.
a/n: genuinely why is it so much easier for me to write for homelander than soldier boy. and the gag is i want to write so much for him. idk. hope u enjoy i havent watched the finale yet i will the day this gets posted with my friends and i’ll definitely have stuff to say. love yall gn
You tiptoe, pressing your lips to his in a timid kiss. His eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch of your lips meeting his own. This is bad, he told himself again. This was wrong on so many levels. His friend's daughter. So young and sweet.
You feel his hands tightened around your face, thumbs pressing against your jaw as he deepened the kiss, parting your lips with his own. He tasted like whiskey and cigarette smoke, rough and raw. It was a mistake. It was a fucking disaster waiting to happen. But you liked him oh so much, for oh so long. And you think— you know—he feels that way, too.
You whimper against his lips and it’s like it shattered his remaining willpower. His hands slid from your face to your waist, gripping the soft curve there. He should push you away. He really fucking should. But instead, he groaned against your lips, leaning down so you didn't have to tiptoe. His rough stubble scraped your soft skin, smelling of tobacco and determination. “Sweetheart...”
One hand slid from your waist up to your neck, thumb pressing against your pulse point as he tilted your head back further. The kiss turned hungry, his tongue pushing past your lips to tangle with yours. He tasted innocence and light, everything he wasn't. Yet, everything he craves now that he tasted it. He swallows all your breathy sounds and every whimper that escapes your mouth and meets his.
His other hand slid down to grab your ass, lifting you up so you’re pressed against him. He could feel every soft curve against his hard body. You finally pull away for breath, panting, your eyes meet his.
His hands stayed on you, one gripping your neck gently and the other squeezing your ass. He stared down at you, pupils blown wide and face flushed. “Fuck...” He muttered, sounding torn between regret and desire. He took a deep breath, trying to push you away. He could feel your soft body pressed against his hard on. God, you were so fucking sweet on his tongue. “Go home.”
You quickly shake your head, one hand curling onto his shirt. “No… I don’t wanna go home…”
His grip on you tightened involuntarily. No. Not that tone. Not with those pretty lips pouting at him. He was losing his mind. He knew your dad would fucking murder him—both literally and figuratively. “You don't know what you're asking, sweetheart.”
“I’m a grown woman. I know what i want.” You say, trying to sound as confident and as mature as you can, lifting your chin up.
“Yeah?” Something primal flickered in his chest at those words. Fuck, you were right. You aren’t a little girl—he knew that in his head. But in his heart, you were his friend’s daughter, all soft and inexperienced. And he wanted to ruin you.
“Yeah” you say with a firm nod, his eyes on you making heat pool in your belly.
He scoffed, but his thumb was still tracing your jaw. He could see the determination in those wide eyes—that sweet, pliable girl trying to be firm. It was adorable. It was infuriating. It made his dick twitch. “You're my friend’s daughter.”
“So what?”
Your stubborn little attitude was turning him on. Fuck, he was a sick bastard. His voice was a low growl. “So fucking nothing. You're off limits.”
“I’m legal. And consenting. I don’t see the issue, really.” You argue back, voice steady. You lean in, lips brushing his.
The moment your lips brushed his, he snapped. All his self-control, all his morality, all his fucking conscience shattered. He grabbed your face roughly, crashing his lips against yours in a brutal kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth like he wanted to claim every inch of you. He groaned into your mouth, his hands roaming over your soft body—up your sides, under your shirt, cupping your breasts through your bra.
He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin. He could hear your breathy little whimpers, feel your nails digging into his chest. He lifted you up, carrying you to his bed and throwing you down on it. He loomed over you, panting heavily.
He stared down at you spread out on his bed, looking so pretty and innocent against his dark sheets. This was his last chance to stop. His last chance to be a good man. But looking at those parted lips and hooded eyes, he knew he was fucked.
trailer park. dubcon/noncon. creepy socially inept simon. kitchen sex. predatory behavior. tattoo sleeves simon is canon. thumb sucking. breeding kink-ish. pulling the panties to the side is hotter than taking it off. all characters are 18+. DDNE.
You're pretty sure the dad you babysit for is a creep. Alternatively, he hates your guts, wearing a perpetual, nasty scowl as his eyes drop to your skirt's hem, replying only in wordless grunts. Of course, you're a self-respecting girl. You don't stand for any disrespect. You stick your nose up a little and keep away from him unless absolutely necessary, because the pay is good and Simon can't fire you because you're good at your job. At least, that's why you think Mr Riley hasn't fired you yet.
He owns a caravan on the edge of town, totally off-the-grid. Military guy sensibilities. Simon does what he does to keep his daughter safe, and you don't ask questions. It's a nice enough unit and bigger than the whole world when you're a 3ft tall three-year-old.
Your friends urge you to find another job the more they hear about this burly brute with tattoo sleeves you work for in the middle of nowhere, but at the end of another moping phone call, you find a 40% bonus tucked into the envelope with your pay and your fate is sealed.
The thought of him overhearing your qualms—and worse, compensating you for it—makes you feel bad, so you start to work extra hard. Leaving a plate for him from the meals you make for Beth, accompanied by sticky notes; seeing him out the door, etc... all in hopes you'll get tipped. Okay, maybe a conscience isn't the only reason for your good behavior—the financial incentives are great too. The tips keep coming, and your doe eyes only get sweeter. To you, it's good customer service, no flirtations involved. You're a professional, after all.
Simon, famously, is bad with social cues and sees more than there is in your hard work. Doesn't register that the extra sweet 'Good morning, Mr Riley,' and happy-faces drawn in honey on his pancakes only come with payments, not for his mean mug. It starts with casual touches: a hand on your shoulder while you chop Beth's veggies into bite-sized pieces, on your waist in passing. I mean, you're practically a hired wife at this point, so what's the trouble, right? You'd be the perfect mother for Beth.
“Beth's been calling you her Mummy,” he says it one day, all casual-like, hands busy with unlacing his boots. The lights are off save for a small lamp in the kitchen while you pack your laptop and charger into a slouchy shoulder-bag, the air humming with Beth's absence. You fuss with the zipper, the mechanism staggering. Simon pretends not to notice.
“I keep telling her not to--” A breathy laugh slips past your lips—a nervous sounding thing. Your face burns up against all reason and you can't place your finger on what it is about that remark that makes you feel defensive. Surely you wouldn't think twice if somebody else said it, but a strange implication seeps in through the cracks of his noncommittal demeanor. There's always something just slightly off, slightly off-kilter when it comes to him. This is wrong, you think, before anything has happened.
“Nowt to worry about.” He shakes his head dismissively and you fancy that he's almost good at pretending to be a normal person. A real person as opposed to a ghost. The leathery couch squeaks under him as he hauls his weight off, unfolding to his full height.
The zipper finally gives when Simon stops in front of you. Your lips part to say something—announce your departure, maybe—before his long fingers tilt your chin up slightly. “You'd be a great mother,” Simon says, evenly, like he's measuring the words—or rather, you. It's the first solid piece of praise he's given you thus far, and it disarms you just a bit after all the stonewalling you've been subject to.
As if sensing the casual shift in the air, Simon capitalizes with an off handed question: “Ever thought about it?”
“About what? Having my own? Erm, no.” You wave your hands like the notion is ridiculous, laughing awkwardly. You're living on a babysitter's wages and busy getting your degree, a child has no part in the equation.
The way Simon eyes you says he has a different idea entirely. It feels wrong, knowing you have your whole life ahead of you, but he can vividly picture you barefoot and pregnant under that same sundress.
“I love working with kids, but I don't think I'll have a baby any time soon,” you ramble, sounding distracted as you back up against the counter. You know it's unreasonable, but a part of you would rather people-please than be downright rude, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch his hands warily.
You ignore the red alerts, telling yourself maybe—just maybe—you're wrong, and Simon is simply a well-meaning, harmless dad. But that's how you ended up here in the first place; you never let yourself truly read into the way he looked at you, never let it dissuade you from working hard, until now. You even stopped complaining to your friends weeks ago.
“Huh.” Simon nods in consideration, pretending to think for a moment. Your feet remain rooted to the spot as Simon's hands find the hem of your dress, teasing it upwards slightly.
“Stop-” Your hand shoots to his wrist as the air hits your thighs, neither pulling nor pushing. Your soft fingers look insignificant next to his arm, pearly manicure to tattoo ink.
“Calm yer tits.” A wry laugh stirs the top of your hair, his shoulders crowding you against the countertop. “Beth's fast asleep.”
You can think up a few other reasons why this is bad business, though you have a feeling they won't hold up well.
Your hand goes slack against his as he reaches up your dress, a shiver rippling up your spine. “We shouldn't-” You stumble against his chest as Simon languidly cups your ass, the heady scent soaked into his shirt flooding your senses until it blurs with the shameful pounding of your heart. “I don't...” Want this.
“You're a little bird, ain't ya?” You meet his heavy-lidded gaze with bated breath as his fingers hook under your chin again, his thumb creeping to the edge of your mouth. The absence of warmth when his hand slips from beneath your dress leaves you almost wondering, before he cups your tits through the flimsy fabric in spite of your shock. “Spook easy.”
“Can feel your heart goin' like mad, y'know?”
For the first time, he speaks more than he listens. Grabs more than he hears your stubborn whines, his fingers stuffing your mouth, before his hands soon find other work. Insistent and cajoling. His meaty palms roam wherever they land—thumbs dragging over the hardened peaks of your nipples through your dress, one hand sliding down to hitch your leg around his waist. The dull throb behind his fly is a demanding ache, a gnawing hunger that makes Simon feel impossibly patient after months of watching you frolic around his home without ever tasting you.
Simon lets out a guttural rasp over you as your writhing body presses against his hard-on, teasing him through rough denim. “Bloody hell.” He turns you by the waist and presses you against the countertop with a finality that draws a startled squeak from your throat. The noise dies at once. His daughter is asleep down the hall; the last thing you need is to make a scene. You swallow whatever words rise to your tongue, acutely aware of every sound in the trailer, jaw tightening as the counter edge nudges uncomfortably against your hipbones.
You blanch at the thick, hard bulge poking your backside, teething at your thumb nail skittishly. A sickening shudder rolls through you as his hips press forwards with a groan above you, lazily rocking you against the countertop.
“Don't make a sound.”
He'd been more action than words for the better part of the last couple minutes, but his voice seems enough to raise the fine hairs on your nape.
“Yessir...” The words slur together as you slip your thumb between your lips, pink-cheeked. The little bob of your head is all Simon needs before he's freeing his cock from the zipper of his jeans.
The ascent of the thin cotton fabric feels impossibly heavy as he lifts the dress up your hips and settles it around your waist. The pad of his thumb traces your slit through the gusset of your panties, moisture darkening the fabric, before he hooks his fingers through the leg holes and bares your cunt to his eyes.
He clicks his tongue to himself meaningfully and tilts his head as if sizing you up while you suckle on your thumb under him, legs dangling over the edge of the kitchen counter. A sight for sore eyes deserves appreciation, and Simon has only ever known one way to show it—one that'd leave you sore come morning.
“Not so flighty now, eh?” Heat skims the edge of your ear as he speaks in a low drawl, and you almost miss the hitch in his breath when he pushes inch-by-inch into the heat of your cunt. “Who's a good girl?”
Your brows bunch together with exertion at the tight stretch as you peek back at him, all hapless with your lips puckered around your own thumb. You hesitantly slip your thumb from your mouth to speak, the words feeling dumb and embarrassing. “I-I am,” you mumble between soft whimpers sheepishly.
“Yeah. You are.” Humiliation curdles low in your stomach at the sound of his amusement, a slick string of arousal dripping down your center. “Little bird stops complainin' soon as she feels this big dick. You love it, don't you? Just need a paci to shut you up.”
Simon's fingers knead into your flesh with an ease that feels strangely intrusive, as though they have no business being so familiar with you. His calloused palm cracks against the swell of your ass before he bottoms out, your toes curling into the cool tiles as he fills you up. The counter's edge bites into your hips as he pulls back, almost all the way out, before slamming home without any give. Your palms scrabble against the laminate, searching for purchase as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust knocking the breath from your lungs in short, punched-out gasps.
He's effectively everywhere. One hand splays across your lower back, pinning you down, while the other finds your hair, gathering it at the nape of your neck in a secure grip, enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.
“That's it,” he rasps, the words carried over the slap of skin on skin echoing through the kitchen's shadows. “Take it.”
Your knees wobble under you, but his grip on your hip tightens like a vice, holding you up, holding you open. The wet sound of him fucking into you fills the kitchen—obscene and rhythmic, drowning out your own muffled whimpers.
He leans over you, chest hot against your back, mouth brushing your ear.
“Thought you could get away from me, little bird. Where you gonna go now?”
— wah wah y/n in a sundress ... y/n with manicured nails ... yes IK i've seen every tumblr post making fun of the cliches but this is what you get when the author (me) likes those things!! crucify me 🙄 at least she's independent and educated!!
NOT PROOFREAD! i hatee the super rushed ending. also oops i realized i accidentally described reader as pink-cheeked in this, i usually avoid appearance descriptions but icba to edit it anymore. >_<
He scoffs, leaning down until his lips are inches from yours. His hands force your knees apart, slapping them open. He pins them down with his weight, settling between your legs. He unbuckles his belt fully now, the leather creaking. "Brat. You pushed and pushed…”
“I wasn’t—“
He cuts you off with a sharp slap to your inner thigh. He unzips his pants, freeing himself. He grabs his dick and presses it against your panty clad pussy. He leans down, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “What?”
“I obviously wasn’t gonna do anything with that guy!“ You begin to backtrack, noticing how worked up you got him after he found you at the bar with some guy, dressed in skimpy clothes.
He snorts, his cock pressing insistently against your panties. He grinds against you over the panties. His eyes lock on yours, dark and unforgiving. “Oh, you weren't gonna do anything?" His thumb finds your clit through the lace, pressing hard. “But you liked every fucking second of making me jealous… you did that on purpose… little minx.”
“You’re jealous?” You smile, glad your plan has worked— glad he admitted it.
He pulls your panties aside with his free hand, positioning himself at your entrance. He doesn't push in, just teases you with the head of his cock. “You're damn right I'm jealous. I'm fucking furious."
He pushes inside all the way—no warning, no gentleness. He bottoms out in one stroke, stretching you around him. His jaw clenches, eyes rolling back for a second before they snap back to you with renewed fire. "You wanted to get under my skin, huh?" He doesn't move, just stays buried deep, letting you feel every inch of him. "Congratulations."
A mewl of his name escapes your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.
He wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing gently. His other hand grips your hip, holding you in place as he starts to move with deep, punishing thrusts. Each snap of his hips is a statement—a reprimand for your behavior. "You fucking love this, don't you?" He slams into you particularly hard, hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. “Getting me all worked up?" His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing roughly. "Fucking brat."
“Please”
"Please what?" He laughs, knowing exactly what you need but refusing to give it to you easily. "Want me to make you come?" He shifts his angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you. "Or please forgive your little stunt?"
His hand squeezes your throat, holding you in place while his hips keep their relentless rhythm. He watches your face—the way your lips fall open, your eyes flutter shut, your back bows off. “There she is." He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he speeds up. He bites your shoulder, his teeth leaving a dent.
“Fuck— please please please”
His eyes snap to yours, loving the sound of you begging for him. He spreads your legs wider, lifting them up so he can get even deeper. His lips pull into a shit eating grin, his tongue wetting them as he watches you. Your dazed eyes just barely manage to focus on his face. “You want to come, baby?"
“So bad” You almost whine, it’s pathetic and needy.
He laughs darkly against your neck, the sound vibrating through your skin. "Then beg properly." He slows his thrusts, making them deeper, more deliberate, dragging out each stroke until you're whimpering with need. “Tell me how much you want it. Tell me how sorry you are.” He rubs your clit in slow circles, teasing you mercilessly.
You manage to glare at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Im not sorry” You retort.
He smirks, enjoying your little attitude. He pulls out completely, leaving you empty and needy. Before you can protest, he's flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you're on your knees. He slaps your ass hard, making you jump. “Not sorry? Keep that attitude up. See if I let you come." He grips your hips and slams back inside you, making you cry out. This angle hits even deeper, and you feel your body tingle. He leans over your back, his chest pressing against your spine.
He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. His other hand reaches around, fingers finding your clit again. He starts rubbing fast circles while thrusting into you roughly. Your thighs tremble, and he feels it. "There it is." He groans against your ear, feeling your walls start to flutter around him, then he stops.
“What the hell!” You twist your neck to look at him over your shoulder.
He smirks, watching your reaction—the frustration, the desperation. He's teasing you mercilessly now. His cock throbs inside you, but he doesn't move, just stays perfectly still while his fingers still torture your clit. "What?" His voice is mocking, entirely too smug. "You were so confident earlier."
He chuckles darkly, finally moving his fingers again. He rubs your clit fast and hard, bringing you right to the edge before he stops again. His hips stay perfectly still inside you. "I could keep doing this all night, baby." His free hand slides up your back possessively. “All you gotta do is say sorry”
“Jerk”
He laughs, a full, genuine laugh against your neck. His fingers move again, rubbing your clit in slow circles. His hips start moving again too, but only shallow thrusts. He's teasing you, dragging it out. “Say you're sorry." His voice drops to a low whisper.
He sees your silence, your pout. He knows you're not going to apologize. He smirks and pulls back his hips completely. He watches your face, your body language. He knows you're not going to give in easily. He slaps your ass again, making you jump. “Come on, baby, stop being stubborn. Apologize so i can see my pretty girl come all over my cock.”
His words make your stomach and heart flutter alike, a whiny sound leaving your lips. “Jus’… please let me come… I’m sorry”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He smiles, leaning over to kiss your cheek. He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. His thumb presses against your clit with perfect pressure, rubbing in fast circles. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, tightening. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you come.”
When you started dating your were-rabbit boyfriend everything was peachy. He was the cutest and most adorable guy you’ve ever met. His fur was extra soft, and his long fluffy ears fluttered adorably every time he got flustered. You fell for him fast. And he fell for you hard. You two were in love, and everything was wonderful.
The first time you two fucked you were surprised by his stamina, he made you cum three times before he got to his own release. You were on cloud nine about it. He was a gentle lover and it was overall a fun experience. But little by little he started showing more of himself, more of his never-ending stamina, more of his dominant tendencies. A part of you was awoken.
You didn’t know that about yourself. You didn’t know you liked to be called a good girl until he said it and you came. You didn’t know you had a thing for dominant guys until your adorably were-rabbit boyfriend turned into a sex crazed dom. And good Goddess if it didn’t make you hot for him. At first it was a bit of praise kink, a bit of spanking and a lot of ordering around. You ate that up. He made you feel naughty and desired and so fucking aroused you lost your mind to it.
But even then, even after having crazy sex, dominant sex, kinky sex… Nothing prepared you for the first time he had a rut.
You arrive home early, Wednesday are slow days. He’s nowhere to be seen, but you guess he’s still at work. You send him a quick text telling him to get some supplies from the store. He answers telling you he can’t, he has a problem and would be home soon. You start texting him frantically, worried sick about him. He says nothing, just sends some cryptic emojis and leaves it at that.
“Honey, I’m here. You need to run,” his voice is frantic and has an edge to it that you can’t identify. He looks you up and down and his ears stand up, twitching at every breath you take. Your heart starts beating fast.
“What do you mean?” You ask, looking at him worriedly.
He breathes deeply and slowly says: “I’m entering my rut and you need to be out of here.” You look at him confused, not really knowing were-rabbits had a rut. You thought that was a thing only werewolves had.
“Wha- why?” You try not to sound too hurt, but you don’t succeed.
“I- I don’t know if I would be able to control it, I don’t want to hurt you. Please, go. Go stay with your friend, I’ll call you when it’s over.” His voice is pleading and you want to give in, but you love him, you two can get through it together.
“No. I’ll stay,” you tell him, stubborn. You don’t tell him you are a getting turned on by the idea of him not being able to control himself around you. “I can take it. I can take you.”
His eyes are filled with heat and worry. “Are you sure? It’s going to be very intense,” he warns.
You don’t think about it too hard before you are nodding. “Yeah. I’m sure.” He tries to argue but you don’t let him, pulling your shirt and sports bra over your head in a second, exposing your breast. His gaze zeroes on them instantly, his ears twitch some more as your heartbeat speeds.
“Take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed. I need to calm down a bit before I do something I’ll regret.” The danger in his voice makes your pussy tingle. He smells the air and grunts, pointing to the room as he turns around to stop staring at your tits.
You ran all the way there and you aren’t even on the bed when his arms go around your middle and he pulls you against his furry chest. He wastes no time, pinching and rolling your nipples as you try to get your panties down your legs. You are almost done when he pushed you on the bed and jumps over you.
“I love you,” he says, but there’s an edge to it. You whimper, your pussy getting wetter by the second, his rough paws touching your face softly. It lasts just a second before his eyes turn dark and you know there’s nothing adorable about him anymore.
He positions himself over your chest and pulls on your hair, making you arch your neck to the right angle. His erection is right there, hitting you on the cheek as he takes it in his hand. He passes it around your face, marking you with his precum as he tells you how pretty you look under him. You preen at his praise, smiling up at him.
“Open your mouth for me.” You comply immediately, pushing your tongue out and looking up at him with your softest eyes. He growls at you and pushes his dick inside your mouth. As soon as he’s all the way in, you groan and he pulls harder on your hair.
Game’s on.
He fucks your mouth at the speed of light, his hips moving so fast you are lost in the hypnotizing movement as you feel his cock slide in and out of your throat so fast you lost sense of anything around you. He stops every once in a while and lets you breathe, but it’s not nearly enough. “I wish you could see yourself right now, lips wrapped around my shaft, tears rolling down… You look beautiful.” Your brain is fuzzy by the time he cums down your throat. You think he’s going to stop, but he keeps fucking in and out of your open mouth as you choke lightly on him.
His cum tastes bitter in the back of your throat, but you barely register it before he’s coming again. “You look perfect like that. Open for me, dripping wet. Your mouth feels so good,” he praises. You groan around his shaft when he leans back and forces your legs open, slapping your pussy with his whole hand and making your eyes roll back into your skull. “That’s it. So wet for me, so needy. Yes. Good girl.” You groan around his shaft, his words turning you on even more. “I’m going to fuck you so many times you won’t know where my dick ends and your pussy begins. Do you want that?” He doesn’t let you answer, pushing his dick all the way down your throat again. “Of course you do. You are a naughty girl for me.” You groan around his erection, he keeps fucking your mouth restlessly, drool and tears mix on your face as he takes his pleasure out of you, his hand softly massaging your clit. It’s not nearly enough.
He comes down your throat again. “You took a few loads already, such a good girl for me.” He pulls out and you miss him already, your brain fuzzy with arousal. “I’m going to use your tight pussy now, do you want that?” You try to nod, but he grabs your hair again. “I don’t care. I’m going to fuck your wet hole either way and you are going to love it, aren’t you?” You whimper as he chuckles. He never acted so cruelly around you, but god goddess if it’s not doing it for you.
He moves as fast as lightning, pulling you up the bed and positioning his still hard dick over your opening. “Don’t forget to scream my name.” That’s the only warning you get before he’s fucking you faster and harder than a machine. Like the rabbit he is.
He cums so fast you can’t even process it. But he keeps going. That happens so many times you lost count of how many times he comes and you come. It’s like a never ending orgasm for both of you. It’s so good and so intense you start to lose your mind a little bit.
You don’t know how much time passes before your pussy feels overused, oversensitive. You can’t take it no more. “Stop, please, stop. I can’t…” You try to beg, tell him to stop, even use your mouth again if he wants to, but you need a breather. You need him to stop fucking your poor abused pussy. You feel so full with his come and so completely used, the pain and pleasure mix completely at every one of his thrusts.
He looks down at you and wipes away your tears with his thumbs, a tender gesture even though he doesn’t stop. “One more, baby, just one more.” You aren’t sure you can comply, you can’t even move anymore.
“I- I can’t,” you cry, so spent already. He keeps fucking in and out of you, coming every few minutes and filling you with a new load. His cum gushes around his shaft, there’s probably a mess under you, but he doesn’t seem to be thinking of stopping anytime soon.
“Yes, yes you can. You are doing so good for me.” You cry out his name as you come once more and look at him pleadingly to stop.
But he lied.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop for what feels like days but probably are just a dozen hours. You pass out at times, you cum so much you think you are going to die from it. But he keeps going. Fucking rabbit stamina.
Date a were-rabbit they say. He would be cute they say… But they don’t tell you about the frantic fucking. Or the nerve-rending stamina. Or the rut. Nobody tells you about their rut. And good Goddess you suffer from it… But you’d offer yourself to spend it with him again and again and again…
His breath catches in his throat at your shrug. The way you nonchalantly dismiss the age gap sends a shiver down his spine."You don't mind?"
You smile, your lips wrapping around the straw as you take a sip from your drink, the bar bustling around you. “Nope”
He stares at you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of jest or manipulation. Finding none, something shifts in his expression—vulnerability giving way to something hungrier, more desperate. He leans in closer, voice dropping low. "Come outside with me then."
Was it dumb to go with a man you just met at a bar? Yes. Did you still follow him outside? Also yes.
He leads you out into the cool night air, the neon lights of the bar casting a red glow over the parking lot. He stops beside his pickup truck, turning to face you. In the dim light, his features are stern, but his eyes betray a quiet desperation. "Get in."
He climbs into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a rumble. The cab of the truck is filled with the scent of leather and cigarettes. He drives in silence for a few minutes before pulling over to a secluded spot by the river. Turning off the engine, he turns to face you.
The silence stretches between you, filled only by the distant sound of water and crickets. He grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. The streetlights are too far now—no one can see them. His profile is etched hard against the darkness. He finally speaks, his accent thick. "I ain't gonna lie to ya, sweetheart. I ain't exactly... gentle."
He turns his head to look at you, his eyes piercing even in the darkness. There's a warning in them, a challenge. His hand reaches out, calloused fingers tilting your chin up roughly. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, a silent question. “You understand what I'm sayin'?"
You nod quickly, almost too quickly. You swallow, your mouth suddenly feeling dry as you look at him. He’s so handsome, and older than you. It makes something hot and visceral stir in your belly, the moonlight and an old lamp the only thing illuminating the night.
His gaze lingers on your throat as you swallow hard. He can see the goosebumps on your skin, the way your breasts rise and fall slightly faster than before. He unbuckles his seatbelt abruptly, the metal clicking sound echoing in the silence. “Come here." He doesn't ask nicely again. His large hand reaches across the cab, grabbing your waist and dragging you over the center console into his lap. The truck shifts under your movements. He's hard already, pressing against your core through his jeans. His hands grip your hips roughly.
You look down at him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest. You lick your lips, your faces so close you can see how dark his eyes had become, his pupils blown. The hand on his shoulder moved to his jaw, then the hair on the back of his head.
He groans softly as your fingers thread through his hair, his head tilting back slightly into your touch. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer until you're sitting right on his erection. It has been quite some time since he has done this, felt a body so nice on his. Those dark eyes watch your every move, tracking the way your lips part. His jaw clenches beneath your fingertips, the stubble rough against your skin. A muscle jumps in his cheek. His breathing grows heavier, more deliberate—like he's trying to keep control.
At the sound of his name passing your lips in a soft whisper, something inside him breaks. His self-control snaps like a dried-out tree branch underfoot. Before you can blink, his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss—the kind of kiss that tastes like whiskey and unfulfilled desires. His hands grip your hips, pulling you down harder onto his length as he devours your mouth. The kiss is punishing, desperate—like a man who's been thirsting in the desert finally finding an oasis. His tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth hungrily.
Your hips grind down against his bulge, your skirt lifted so far high up your thighs that the zipper of his pants catches against your panty clad clit. He almost growls against your mouth at the sensation, his hands tightening almost painfully on your hips. He starts to thrust upwards involuntarily, the zipper of his jeans catching against your sensitive nub with each movement. The fabric of your underwear is already dampening, the lace sticking against your wetness.
Breaking the kiss, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. One of his hands leaves your hip to grab a handful of your ass, squeezing. “Fuck,”
The truck cabin grows hot and steamy as he kisses and bites your neck frantically, trying to stay quiet. He's rough, messy, his hips bucking up against yours like a man possessed. His voice is a low, dirty whisper against your ear. “You like that, sweetheart?" He asks, and you nod frantically. He smacks your ass hard enough to leave a handprint, the sound echoing in the truck cabin. His movements are urgent. "Backseat. Now.”
You scramble over the seats, your movement haste and uncoordinated. He watches your every movement with hungry eyes, then follows you. The backseat is spacious for two, and he climbs in after you, his large frame taking up most of the room. He moves quickly, crowding you against the door before you can even get comfortable. His hands roam over your body, pulling your top over your head.
Your bra comes off next, tossed carelessly onto the floor of the truck. His large hands cover your breasts immediately, squeezing and kneading roughly. Your back arches into his touch. He looks down at your naked chest with pure appreciation, his thumbs circling your nipples. “Fuckin' perfect tits,”
His mouth dives to your breast, tongue swirling around one tight nipple while his fingers pinch the other. His hips grind against your thigh, his erection a hard, insistent pressure through his jeans. The truck creaks under his weight as he pushes you down onto the seat. He breaks away from your breasts, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest and stomach. His hands hook into the waistband of your skirt and panties, shoving them down roughly. He throws them aside, revealing your bare lower body. “Spread your legs,” he commands hoarsely.
Without hesitation, you part your thighs, giving him an unobstructed view of your wet pussy. He lets out a low groan, his fingers digging into your inner thighs as he spreads you wider. He leans down, inhaling deeply before his tongue swipes through your folds. "Fuck,”
His hair is soft between your fingers as you grip it tightly while he eats you out like a starving man. His tongue laps at your juices hungrily, circling your clit before sucking it into his mouth. He pulls one leg over his shoulder, opening you even wider. Your eyes roll back as your body writhes under his ministrations, a breathy sound escaping your parted lips. “Oh my— yes, yes, please! Right there”
He growls against your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you. He doubles down on his efforts, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit while two fingers slide inside you without warning. He curls them upwards, hitting that spot deep inside that makes your legs shake. “Just like that?” You just nod, feeling a warmth spread over your body, teetering on the edge of an orgasm.
He senses you getting close, his tongue pressing harder against your clit, circling faster. His thumb finds the spot and presses hard, rubbing in tight circles. The wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth echo in the cramped backseat. His fingers pump inside you, curling deeper, hitting that sweet spot over and over. He looks up at you, dark eyes watching your face fall apart. Then he pulls away.
“What the hell!” You let out a frustrated whimper as he suddenly pulls back, his warm mouth and skilled fingers leaving you empty and aching. He smirks wickedly, his chin and cheeks glistening with your juices. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He chuckles at your frustrated whine, the sound rough and deep.
Before you can protest further, he's unbuckling his jeans with one hand, freeing his hard length. It springs free—thick and heavy, glistening at the tip. He lines it up against your entrance, rubbing the head through your wet folds teasingly. “The only thing you’re coming on is this,” His words make you wetter, if that's even possible. He pushes the head inside slowly, letting you feel every thick inch as he stretches you open. His hands grip your ass, lifting your hips off the seat to get a better angle. He groans as he sinks deeper, his eyes rolling back. “So fuckin' tight, sweetheart.”
You can only mewl in surprise, clawing at anything your hands can reach— his back, arms, the seat— feeling him so deep and snug inside you. His large hands hold you firmly in place, preventing you from pushing back into his invasion. He feels your inner walls clenching around him. His face contorts as he fights back a moan, his grip tightening. The truck rocks slightly as he starts to pump himself in and out slowly, testing his limits. “So nice and wet for me…”
He’s working your body so well, you’re feeling things— places— you’ve never felt before. Everything so amplified that it blurs the edges of your vision, your eyes glued onto his face. His expression is intense, almost pained as he watches himself disappear inside you. His eyes meet yours, dark and hungry. He starts to move faster, his hips snapping forward with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the truck cabin, mixed with your breathy moans and whines.
Hearing his name fall from your lips in that breathy whine sends a jolt through him. He captures your mouth in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue pushing inside as he starts to thrust harder and faster. Your eyes flutter shut, arms looping around his neck to pull him even closer. He breaks the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. His hands move to your thighs, pushing them further back as he hits deeper angles inside you. Your name sounds like a prayer when he says it, so entranced by you, followed by a lewd murmur of a curse.
His pace becomes frantic, his large body covering yours as he snaps his hips forward, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. He pulls back just enough to look down at where you’re connected, watching himself disappear and reappear inside your tightness.
“Please, don’t stop,” your voice comes out whine and sweet. “I’m so close.”
The truck becomes a sauna, filled with the scent of sex and sweat, the windows fogging up. His thick length hits your g-spot with each thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing loudly. He feels your inner walls starting to clamp down around him. “Can’t even if i wanted to— fuck…”
He reaches down and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, his thumb finding your puffy clit. “Come then. Come all over my fucking dick, sweetheart."
Your back arches off the seat as the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, your toes curling around the back of his shoulder. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you finally crash over the edge—you're coming hard, your walls pulsing and gripping him desperately. He groans against your neck, biting down as he chases his own release. “Fuck— fuck—“
Your climax hits hard and long, your thighs wrapping around his waist, pulling him even deeper inside you. Your pussy clamps down on his length like a vice, milking him for all he’s worth. He groans against your neck, his hips stuttering and jerking against that sweet spot over and over.
He follows you over the edge immediately, his hot release flooding deep inside you with thick, pulsing bursts. He shudders against you, his face buried in your neck, teeth marking your skin. For a long moment, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing against each other, and his mouth peppering kisses on your neck and shoulder.
(I was lowk imagining joel miller while writing this)
Thinking about bunny darling… and the mighty bear who’s taken you captive.
Of course, you’re piss-scared to anger him. Goosefleshed when he’s close, shivering from lips to knees—unsteady and speechless—only able to barely nod your head when he asks you if you’d like his big fat cock whilst rubbing the huge clothed pound against you needily.
You close your eyes when he smiles—terrified of those strong teeth, how a bite could easily snap your neck.
But there is one saving grace in it all, in how all type of shame disappears in knowing how there would be no sense in fighting back. He’s way too massive for you to even humor the thought. It would just be too silly.
The understanding makes you pliant in his bed, nice and soft. He doesn’t even need to use threats or ropes, only sweetly suggestive language, which you listen to all too keenly.
“Can you spread your legs for me?” he’ll croon, and you’ll answer by doing just so—spreading them wide to allow him space between them.
He knows he’s hunted you down and taken you against your will, but your display is nearly enough to make him forget—how you wrap your tiny arms around the breadth of his back, barely long enough to braid your fingers behind his neck—holding onto him for dear life like a lover would—moaning oh-so-sweetly when he preps you on his thick fingers. One is enough to make you squirm—wet and warm and velvety in the palm of his hand as he kneads the heel against your clit. Two has you bucking your hips in return, and three makes you all but fall apart—tears on your pretty face, staining your cheeks raw, begging him to give you the real thing, to breed you, to fill you up with his babies.
Bunnies make such sweet little sluts. So easily drunk on pleasure and the promise of more, you go completelydumb in the wait. When you get like that, there isn’t a single sliver of fear within you—too numb to care about anything but the fatness bullying its way within you, so warm you feel like melting around it like a lollipop on a stick.
You suck his tongue with moans while he pounds you. Your legs hooked over his hips, trying to hold on—but his pace is brutal, and you’re not strong enough to withstand it. Luckily, his paws hold your ass steady—one on each cheek, squeezing you firmly, holding you just right to ram your womb on each heavy hard thrust.
You tell him the sweetest things as he makes you cum—how much you love it, how you adore his big bear dick, how you want it to go on forever.
You know no limits when he’s pushed you into heat. The fever reduces you to nothing but an animal seeking to have its every desire sated. The way you ride him is nothing short of shameless—with your back turned, showing him your cotton tail, your feet in the bed, standing while you hop on his lap, in bliss like you’re bounding about a flower field in your head.
You make no protest as he maneuvers, laying you down with your face mushed in the mattress. He stands behind you, mounting you—holding your puffy tail in a fist, squeezing it while rutting into you with enough weight to make you sound like a squeaky toy.
“Please, fill me up—breed me full—” you all but whine against the sheets, curling it in your fists—feeling his cock run you through, making putty out of your insides.
Yeah—in moments like these, it’s impossible for either of you to remember you’re his captive. It feels too good, too right—so euphoric, it’s anything but forced. He drapes you with his body, holding you tight with his cock balls-deep, giving you his all, every last drop of his love, right inside your starving womb.
And the feeling is so fulfilling, you might as well have hearts in your eyes, panting, “Thank you, thank you, thank you~”
His hands sliding up to cup your face in the mirror. His thumbs brushed your cheekbones, tilting your head back slightly. In the reflection, you saw your bare skin against his hard chest—your tiny frame completely dwarfed by his. His other hand moved down, unhooking your bra slowly. “Such a good girl..."
He tossed your bra aside without looking, his hands moving to squeeze your bare breasts gently. His large hands dwarfing them, his fingers playing with your hardening nipples. In the mirror, you could see his rough, masculine hands on your soft, skin—an odd, intimate contrast. “So pretty..."
When you attempt to cover yourself, so shy under his gaze, his hands immediately moved down to your wrists, gently but firmly pulling them away from your chest. He kept them trapped in one of his large hands behind your back, forcing your breasts out and exposed once more. “Shy little thing, aren't you?"
His free hand came up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing your nipple gently. His touch was soft, patient. "Don't cover yourself, pretty girl. I want to see you." His voice was gentle, but there was an edge to it—a quiet command beneath the softness. His eyes met yours in the mirror reflection.
He held your wrists behind your back with one hand while the other traveled down slowly. His free hand trailed down, his thumb hooking into the waistband of your white panties, tugging them down slowly— agonizingly slowly. His eyes never left yours in the reflection, watching your reactions with a predatory patience. "Just relax, sweetheart. I'm going to make you feel real good." He flicked them down your thighs, leaving you completely exposed.
“I’ve never…”
He paused, tilting your head up in the reflection. “I know. That's why I'm going to take such good care of you." His hand moved to your inner thigh, stroking the sensitive skin. His voice was low, reassuring.
"Such a sweet, innocent thing." His voice was almost reverent as he touched you, his large hand spreading your thighs gently. You were completely open in the mirror—his hand between your legs, your body pressed back against his hard chest.
He watched your face in the mirror, gauging your reactions. His other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him as he touched you. “Look at how pretty you are down here... and i get to be the first to have it.” He murmured, his voice low and approving.
His fingers pressed against your entrance slowly, testing. In the mirror, you could see his knuckles disappearing into your untouched flesh. Your eyes widened—your body was trying to close up but his firm hold kept you open. His thumb circled your clit slowly, applying gentle pressure. Your mewl turned into a whimper as he used his other hand to spread your thighs wider apart. You lean back against his chest, watching as he explores your body. “Does it feel good, sweetheart?” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.
You swallow, eyes meeting his, and nod. “Yeah…” your voice comes out breathy, barely above a whisper.
He held you close, his large body supporting your frame as you watched his fingers explore you. His thumb worked your clit while one finger slowly pushed inside you—stretching you gently. You could feel his hard chest against your back, his breath hot on your neck.
He didn't flinch at your nails digging into his forearm—instead, a dark smile spread across his face as he watched your reaction in the mirror. Your pupils blown wide, chest heaving, the way your body was reacting to his touch—it all delighted him. “There’s my girl” He praised, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit, making you see stars.
(Another older guy x inexperienced girl! I got many requests for another one. Glad im not the only one that loves these)
You didn't know such a normal guy could turn out to be so insane.
But thinking about it, you realized his actions had always seemed a bit too timed. As though he’d practiced – the awkward smile, the sorry laugh, the small apologies, even the blush, and those giddy puppy eyes – creating the perfect disarming cute goof you’d never possibly find threatening even in the slightest despite him being a tank of a man.
He'd been so sweet – so boyfriendly and kind.
His behavior was just disturbing now. Acting normal with you – ignoring how he’d tied your wrists up too tight...
The room was dim – moody, with the movie playing loud in front. He had his heavy arm resting around your shoulders with your body placed snugly into his side – uncomfortably so. He’d duct-taped your mouth shut a while ago after he’d grown tired of your crying – having stuffed one of his socks in there first.
He gripped a sixth or seventh beercan in his other hand, the one not currently squeezing your upper arm – letting it rest on the dungaree of his thigh, making a dark blue ring where the dewdrops had slid down.
Something happened in the movie you were too tense and panicked to watch, but either way, whatever it was, it seemed to make him lose interest – scoffing out a gruff “Puh-” before raising his beer to his lips, chugging the rest of it down before slamming it to the ground.
“This movie is fucking boring-”
You flinched and would probably have screamed too if you could – all your nerves making you feel sick, close to giving out at the sound of the crash. Your eyes peeled with terror and tears, watching the empty can slowly roll around to a stop on the wooden floors.
He groaned, using his free hand to grab his groin – giving it a tug and shake, manspreading a little wider than what he was already.
Then, he lazily flipped the tail of his belt out of the loops, popping the buckle with a clatter of metals.
You wanted to whine or will yourself to move, but you knew it would only end in more bruises – so instead, all you dared do was breathe a little faster through your nose.
The hand kept at your arm brushed past your shoulder to cup your head, messaging your scalp in big fingers – with such pressure, it made your entire head bobble on your neck. The other hand undid his button and unzipped his fly – then moved to hook the rope tying your wrists together, pulling them to the bulge for you to finish the job.
You didn't refuse, wishing to keep him calm – so you dipped past the band of his boxers with shaking hands, put trembling fingers around his thickened shaft, and gently pulled him out.
He gave a rusty sigh, releasing a damp and sour breath of beer that clouded your head.
Grimacing at the stench, you nearly made the mistake of coughing as your fingers enveloped his fat erection in both hands – intertwined with each other neatly down along his shaft.
He jerked his hip, prompting you to start – stroking up slowly and down again, rubbing over forked veins plump with blood, making him stiffen harder in your grip – soon so hard it stood on its own in your hands, pilling with precum getting caught on your digits.
He pulled your head to his chest and rested his chin upon your cheek – watching your small hands work his cock – your skin so smooth and good compared to his, caressing him so tenderly in such a sweet and loving way.
You listened to his heart hammer on your ear, pressed tight against the tough muscles of his torso with his prickly chin stubble digging into the soft side of your face. The whole position was awkward, but you kept your hands going – rubbing him like you knew he liked until his hands gripped your arm and pulled you off, planting both paws on your hips as he lifted you onto his lap – your thighs spread to straddle him.
He'd been keeping you in just a silk babydoll – one he could easily lift for his pleasure. Gruff fingers rubbed the glassy texture of it before slipping beneath the light thing – gliding up your thighs to hold you by the fat of your ass.
He pulled you forward – tight – close enough for him to lick your collar and bite onto the strap on your shoulder – pulling it aside for him to suck your sweet little nipple into his mouth.
Your nails pressed smiles into your palms, looking down at him suckling new blotches into your sensitive skin as he rolled your nip between his teeth teasingly with a lusty growl – his hand making moves beneath the skirt of your nightie, grabbing his shaft and pushing it immaturely against your unprepped pussylips – forcing a kiss to your taut entrance before further driving himself inside you.
You couldn’t help the sounds now – whining out a pained moan into your gag as you doubled over against his chest, soon sobbing on his shoulder as he nudged himself nice and deep against your womb – fitting snuggly in your tight-knit walls.
He paid your wails no mind. Squeezing the soft flesh of your butt in his hand, with the other coming to join the action once more – digging his fingers into the supple flesh and making you rock back and forth on his lap – feeling as though he was ripping your hole apart.
“It’ feel better if you just got wet like you used to-” He said casually – fucking your dry cunt like he did your dry palms earlier. You don’t think it bothers him at all as long as it’s tight.
But soon, the slick started to form anyway, like it always did whether you wanted it or not – a protective maneuver your body conditions itself with to make the assault feel somewhat less miserable.
“There you go- now you’ll feel good, so stop your crying.” He cooed, raising a hand from beneath the tent of your dress, wrapping it in the hair at the back of your skull, forming a fistful of it – pulling you from his chest to lash your neck full of new lovebites.
He started making you hop now instead of riding – aiding you by the hand lifting your ass and the other pulling your hair. He jerked his own hips to meet you, slamming your poor cervix like a punching bag – he knows that’s how he makes your pussy cry boohoo, soaking his cock with pleasant warmth.
A moan springs from your throat each time it runs you through – feeling it kick you in the stomach each time you slapped down on his lap – and soon you gushed in spite of it, abruptly halting your tempo before squirting violently – quaking in spasms, tits doing spins with him buried up to the hilt.
“That’s it- that’s my little whore-” He purred with a rumble in his chest, humming at the feel of your tight cunt fluttering from orgasm as you leaked sweet pussyjuice on his jeans. “Now, that’ll never get boring.”
He unraveled the fist in your hair and began petting your back, letting you slump back against his chest as he kept doing slow lifts with his hips to squeeze into you despite being swallowed down to the base – leaving your cunt now would just be a waste of a nice throttle.
“Since your mouth’s in a timeout, I think this pussy’s the winner of today’s load- fuck knows you deserve it after that.” He continued in a strained voice – the length of his cock desperately curling to make space for its whole length, stretching your gummy walls until they stung from the workout, making you buck your hips in revolt.
But he only took it as an eager approval of his comment. Leaving his prints on your ass with how hard he clawed his hand into it while his other arm hugged you tightly to his chest – keeping you seated and himself bottomed out as his cock sprung within in you, busting out thick hot ropes of cum deep inside the comfort of your tight cunt.
He held you there long enough to make the ache of it mellow out into a numb tickle – feeling just the warmth as he finally slumped out.
Face dewy, still with a taped x marking your lips. The pain had made you nearly chew right through the sock stuffed in your mouth, but now you just sucked on it – jaw lax from exhaustion where your head felt heavy, resting on his shoulder.
He panted for a few minutes, sweaty hands rubbing circles into your equally slippery skin until announcing, “It’s almost dinnertime, huh?”
Your eyes kept blinking softly, feeling the slow trickle of cum leave your cunt along with wetness of your own, seeping out onto the softening cock keeping warm between your thighs.
You barely even jolt when his hand comes down on your ass in one of his kinder slaps.
“How ‘bout we untie those hands again so you can shimmy this little ass into the kitchen, hm? I’m starving.”
It’s been a month since your new owner brought you home, and despite expectations, you’ve yet to be eaten by the predators you share your den with. On the contrary, the six hybrids seem to have accepted you as their seventh pack member despite you being at the very bottom of the food chain.
You’ve come to trust that, despite the look of hunger in their eyes… food isn’t exactly what they have in mind.
The hyena seems to be the only one your age. But he’s also a bit of a bully. Always goading you with ticklish poking until you stomp your feet and whine at him to stop.
He never listens to you, though – he just cocks his head, finding it funny how you try giving him orders – only grinning as he pins you instead, chewing some on the lops of your ears while squeezing your cottontail – smirking and giggling at your pouty face getting all frustrated.
Your weak kicking is so cute, and so is how you try clawing at him despite having but blunt nails – he can’t help but laugh at the way it tickles him.
It’s so painstakingly clear you’re not made to fight back, and it’s so adorable how you don’t even realize you already surrendered the moment you rolled over on your back with your belly up.
It makes him go absolutely feral when you pull on his ears and mane, begging him to stop as he laves at your slit and clit, delving his long tongue deep within your walls until the tip prods your womb. It’s course against your skin and harsh on your insides and scratches your poor clit until it’s all swollen and throbbing for him – making you sob as his feral smile teases your chubby mound with a bite – only satisfied when you cum in his mouth.
But while the hyena enjoys play-fighting with you, the rest are more prone to fight each other…
The panther and leopard are good friends, whilst the fox and wolf seem to tolerate each other – and you don’t know whether it’s unfortunate or a blessing in disguise that both pairs only want you for themselves and often end up fighting over you.
You’d say the four are the most trigger-happy of the pack – always hissing and barking at each other. But everyone knows that cats and dogs don’t get along.
The canines are a little scarier, you think. They’re rougher with you.
The wolf especially. He’s older than you, a big heap of hulking muscles that bear down over you with the daunting superiority of a seasoned hunter.
He doesn’t take lightly to you talking back to him – acting as though he’s actually offended when you so much as open your mouth if it’s not to swallow his tongue. Even if all you ask is for him to go a little slower, he’ll just growl at you – threatening your neck with fangs while chewing your collar – and otherwise ignore your cry completely. Calling you his bitch while telling you to quit your whimpering even though he’s been breeding you sore for the past hour, ramming your poor cunt so hard your muscles have all given out and left you to lie on the floor with only his paws keeping your hips upright.
He's always extra rough when you reek of cat – as though it’s your fault. Huffing and puffing as he now has to spend so much effort scenting you again.
It’s a never-ending war between them all. You go from camp to camp, getting marked again and again like territory, only for your owner to clean you up at the end of the day.
But the wolf is the worst. One time he’d gone so far as to piss on you…
But he was later scolded by the owner – bonking his head with a rolled-up newspaper, telling him he had to learn to share or else he’d have to go sleep out in the doghouse. He’d also been told he had to stop breaking skin when biting you unless he wanted to be muzzled.
It only made him all the more grumpier. Growling in your ear that the one who ought to be muzzled is you and your snitch-mouth always crying wolf like some bitch who never learns her place – that next time you go talking to the owner, he’s going to eat you like the piece of meat you are.
You come to learn that he’s more bark than bite after a while.
When you get used to him and his stamina, you stop crying and start holding onto him instead. And it’s when you’re burying your face in his neck and begging for his seed that he softens up for you.
He stops biting and starts sucking instead – laying hickeys all over your neck and chest, blushing with closed eyes when suckling your tits like a pup. You learn he’s a sucker for being called good boy and will wag his tail when you sit on his face.
He’s also the one with the most owner-sickness of the pack, always clinging to you, growling when others get close, and never ever sharing when his turn.
He only begrudgingly allows the fox to eat his scraps afterward.
You can only mew as he mounts you next.
His tempo is always a bit of a shock – a bit juvenile, but who can blame him when he’s had to wait for so long? He’s a little younger than you – eager and desperate for it every single time.
Pounding you sharply – hard and fast with howls and heavy panting – even whimpering as you hold you tighter and tighter, squeezing you free of air as he savors the feel of your wet pussy clamping down around him.
He doesn’t growl too much when you whine. Instead, he laughs – elated and frenzied – eyes manic as he sticks his tongue as far down your throat as he can – drooling uncontrollably as he sinks his knot inside you and spills his worth inside your womb.
It’s a relief he doesn’t last as long as his bigger partner.
He’ll suck love-bites on the chubs of your cheeks as he unswells – lick all the sweat from your skin and come down by the sweet taste. Laying sloppy kisses all over your body and lapping over all bruises and soreness in gratitude – looking at you somewhat sheepishly with big puppy-dog eyes as though suddenly embarrassed that he’d been so feral.
The felines are less spastic.
But they also like to lick you – with sand-textured tongues scraping at your fur and skin until they’ve made sure you’re coated with their scent. They seem to enjoy grooming more than anything, always snuggling with you.
But they get flirty, too… you’ll know when they start kneading your softer parts – blinking at you slow and expectantly until you return the favor.
They’re the same age and have known each other all their life, practically brothers, and do everything together as though they were a pair of Siamese – including when they mate with you.
They’ll lay you down on one lean chest while the other is poised above you. Purring as they take turns with you – both so gently.
The panther always has a sly smile on his face when looking down at you – his claws retracted while he sticks his slender fingers inside your mouth to play with your tongue. He says it’s one of his favorite things about you – so soft and so silky, so different from theirs when you lick his skin.
It makes the leopard pout behind you, nuzzling you tight, his cheek to your cheek, asking the other if he doesn’t like it when he grooms him.
The panther only smiles down at both of you, promising that he likes both your tongues until he proceeds to swap between which one of you he kisses.
When the leopard kisses you, he also admits he likes your tongue – whispering all depraved things that come to mind – loves how smooth it feels in his mouth and on his lips and neck and nipples and cock and balls.
Eventually, the heat gets to their heads, and their pointy ears start to droop, looking at you with such dark glossy eyes, opium-blown with pleasure and lust for more – kissing each side of your face, asking whether you won’t allow them both inside you at the same time – their pretty pleas making your head go silly, panting while nodding your head for them, bucking your hips stuck between the two while begging for both of them.
You feel their slim tails coil around each of your thighs as they sink inside your drooling heat together – their breaths deep and shuddering while they feel your tightness squeeze around them.
They coo at you – telling you how perfect you look trapped between them like that – as their pretty little double-stuffed toy. And you’re too cock-drunk to do anything but agree.
After flooding you with cum, they go back to cuddling – sleeping – the both of them purring with lanky limbs all tangled on top of each other and you in the middle.
The bear is also a lazy fellow – a gentle giant. Something you’re grateful for – you don’t think you’d survive if he ever tried mounting and pounding you like the other boys.
He’s the eldest of the pack. Twice your age. You feel the seniority in his movements – all unhurried, savoring every second with a warm smile.
He’s satisfied with having you on his lap – cock-warmed by your tight bunny-cunt while you hand-feed him berries. You feel a little safer with him knowing you have the same appetite and that he isn’t thinking about eating you.
He hums, a rusty sound that comes from his gut – telling you he likes seeing you eat – that it’s cute how you take such small bites – and the way your nose scrunches and your cheeks fill.
Sometimes he’ll tell you to hop on his lap – his massive warm paws placed on your haunches with large black claws gently denting the plush flesh found there, encouraging you as you ease up and down the great length that bulges from your belly.
The size of it makes you pant.
You’re glad he’s happy having you at the end of the day – after you’ve been loosened up by the others. You fear he’d split you in two if otherwise.
The owner collects you before bedtime after everyone’s had their share – clips a leash onto your collar, and leads you to the bathroom – crawling on all four like an actual animal. You’ll often collapse halfway there, but he doesn’t mind scooping you up to carry you instead – always with a few patronizing words leaving him while mollycoddling you, almost speaking baby to you, telling you how proud he is of how domesticated you’ve become.
There’s always a bath waiting for you – a gift for being such a good little pet, he says.
It reminds you of when you were first brought here, as he washes you with his own hands – rubbing the filth of spit, cum, and sweat from your sore limbs, messaging your flesh into nice limber softness again.
He’s always mumbling about human matters under his breath – money, business, estate – ruffling your hair when you give him a blank stare. Apologizing while saying he won’t trouble your pretty head with such complicated topics.
All you have to worry about is being his stress-relief – something clueless and dumb and dependent on him. You realize that without him needing to say it. It’s communicated through all the other things he says anyway.
He’s always whispering in your ear before bed – sweet nothings about what a good bunny you are – how you’re the cutest, softest, sweetest little thing in the entire world – telling you how much he loves you and how happy he is that you’re finally settling in – how you’ve become the most precious little housebroken pet for him.
It feels different when he touches you. The other hybrids make you feel small, but there’s a familiarity with them – something about being hunted fairly and squarely, like out in the wild.
With the owner, you’re reminded you’re a pet eating out of his palm – something tame warming his bed at night with your leash tied to the bed frame.
He doesn’t fuck you with the same intent as the others do – there’s no rut behind his cold movements. It’s not mating or breeding. It’s something else you can’t put your finger on. Something human. Something alien to you.
Something in the way he has his hand fisting your leash as he sinks inside your heat – something in how he babies you, calls you cute when you shake and cum around his cock like you can’t control yourself.
It all makes you feel like some mindless animal.
Impulsive and primitive in comparison to him and his calculated thrusts and how he only cums inside you after you’ve all but begged him to breed you.
Your legs were spread wide over his shoulders as he pounded into you relentlessly. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin, your desperate moans, his rough grunts. Each deep thrust made your breasts bounce, your nipples rubbing against his chest. You were leaking around his cock, your juices dripping down your ass. It was humiliating.
Your orgasm hit you like a thunderbolt—violent, overwhelming, completely against your will. Your walls clamped around his cock like a vice, milking him desperately as your back arched off the mattress. Your whole body shook, screaming with pleasure. He watched your face twist in ecstasy, his pupils blown as he took it all in. "Already?" he grunted, not slowing down.
Your hands pushed at his chest—weak, trembling, futile against his solid mass. Your orgasm had left you hypersensitive, every thrust now pushing you closer to another shattering peak. “Slow d-down!”
He ignored your weak pushes, his pace slowing only slightly—enough to draw out your sensitivity but not enough to ease the overwhelming sensation. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling them wider as he hit you deeper, slower. "You were begging for this earlier," he growled, his voice mocking.
His slow, deep thrusts made your clit grind against his pelvis with each movement, sending electric shocks through your overstimulated body. Tiny whimpers escaped you, tears streaming down your face—overwhelmed. "Look at you," he breathed against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.
His name on your lips—pleading, desperate—made his cock twitch inside you. He loved breaking you down, loved hearing that sweet voice beg for mercy or more. His hands moved to your hips, holding you still as he picked up speed again, hitting that spot deep inside that made your eyes roll back.
“Oh, god!”
Your cries filled the room, sweet music to his ears. "God isn't here, sweetheart," His thumb pressed against your clit, grinding in circles as he thrust. The dual stimulation was too much—your body screamed, another orgasm bubbling just beneath the surface. Your nails dug bloody crescents into his shoulders, your thighs trembling violently around his neck. "Just me," he growled, his voice rough.
