stepping up to the stand to talk about modern, history professor!duncan. he’s so sweet, he can’t even tell when his students are flirting with him because it’s just the last thing on his mind. he’s naturally polite, infuriatingly professional among other faculty and his coworkers. he tries to keep to himself.
but you make it really hard for him when you prance around the library in your little skirts, when you continue to wear that sweet perfume that seems to linger whenever you pass by. you’re not even in any of his classes. you’re just some mystery girl, trying to complete your work-study shift and stay out of everyone’s way while unknowingly becoming a huge distraction for him. he’s only trying to find good source material for his students, and instead he’s lusting over one and forcing himself to look away when you bend over one of the tables to help a peer of yours.
𝔰𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔩 & 𝔣!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 — some thoughts about duncan helping his pregnant lady when she’s uncomfortable.
𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱 ♱ 18+, breast play, smallest bit of lactation kink.
dad-to-be!duncan is so precious. ever since you found out you’re with child, he’s been dreamier than he already is. constantly smiley, always doting on you, helping wherever he can. when you’re sick first thing in the morning, he’s right there beside you with a cold rag and a hand rubbing between your shoulder blades. at night he massages your hips and your legs, eager to relieve any tension that your growing bump and the changes in your body left behind that day.
he keeps a close eye on you. he notices the way your features have changed before you do. your thighs are plumper, your bottom is rounder, and your breasts are undeniably heavier with each passing day as they prepare to feed a babe. and in the midst of all of this, you’re more mardy than you have ever been. huffing and puffing as you walk around with your hands on your bump or resting on your aching hips, a little scowl on your face.
he wants to help— he needs to help.
“duncan,” you whimper in frustration the second his hands find your growing waist and pull you into him.
you’re getting ready for bed, standing there in nothing but your chemise, looking like a grumpy and very pregnant angel. your hands fly to your chest and cover up your tender breasts as he examines you. his eyebrows furrow at your sudden movement, until he notices the wet patches where your nipples are underneath the thin material keeping you covered.
“lemme see, love—” he breathes out, gently coaxing you to let your hands fall away. and when they do, his own replace them with a delicate hold. far too delicate for the size of his hands, but that’s always been what you loved most about him.
he’s slow and worshipping as he palms your breasts, careful not to make you wince in discomfort. he’d never forgive himself if he only made your pain worse. with the way you’re melting in his hold and practically purring with relief against his chest, it must be working. your breath gets caught up in your throat as his thumbs softly caress your nipples— duncan feels the damp spots there, and he sees how the darkened material only grows under his touch. he wonders how sweet your milk must taste, but he shakes his head at himself for being so selfish even if it was only for a fleeting second.
little does he know you’re already trying to think of a way to ask him to put his mouth on you.
𝔰𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔩 & 𝔣!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 — a limited list of ser duncan the tall’s kinks / fetishes and how they might play out in your life.
𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱 ♱ 18+, overall debauchery and filth, dirty talk, public play, mentions of manhandling, mentions of crying.
❦ OVERSTIMULATION
Duncan— may the gods be kind to him— can’t keep himself from finishing within minutes when he’s with you. He gets excited so quickly, his cock is aching in his pants after a mere teasing look from you. It’s no surprise that he can’t contain himself at all once he’s finally buried in your sweet cunt and you’re melting in his hands beautifully.
It happens so often.
His willingness to fuck himself stupid, to feel you milk him dry, saves both of you. He can’t stop himself, even while he’s on the edge of cumming a third time he’s still making you dizzy, guiding you from one position to the next with bittersweet roughness. He feels you claw at his chest as he stuffs you full of every inch. You pant and whine and plead for more, and he finds it hard to believe that he’s eliciting such a reaction out of you when he barely has any sense himself.
“You feel— fuck— y’feel like heaven,” you hear him grunt as your nails catch his skin. He throws his head back, and you know it’s coming.
You know he’s about to fall off again by the way his lips part fully, the way he squeezes your hips under his big palms and deft fingers to lift you up like you’re only an object he’s fucking into.
The angle becomes something more perverse. More primal and animalistic as he flips you onto your tummy and pins you down under him, groaning in your ear over the sound of your mewls. You allow yourself to completely let go once his front is pressed against your back, because now you’re far gone together and that’s how you like it.
❦ SPANKING
“Tell me,” Duncan grits out, eyes trained on every inch of your dejected form, “tell me what you’ve been. No use in bein’ shy now, love.”
You’re draped over his huge lap, tummy pressed against his strong thighs with your bum in the air, skirts pushed up around your waist. Your cheek is pressed against the grass— the smell of lingering rain and dirt grounds you as you tremble.
Maybe you pushed him too far today.
Duncan is sweet. He tries to be as understanding as his heart will allow him to be when you’re difficult, leading with loving whispers and trying to pacify your mean streak with his hands gently. But there are times where you’re too mouthy. Times when you insist on whining and yapping despite the way his eyebrows furrow, his set jaw, and the flare of his nostrils— all quiet warnings that you actively choose to ignore. It’s how you end up thrown over his lap like this, crying and blubbering.
“I’ve been a bad girl, ser.”
“More than bad— you were rotten,” he mutters. His hands rub the swell of your ass before palming your soft flesh. His breath catches in his throat as he spreads you open for a split second, only to see your cunt already glistening— he tsks at that. “You’re going to be good ‘n count each of your lashings, am I understood?”
You nod and sniffle, mumbling a quiet ‘yes, ser’ before he delivers the first heavy handed smack.
❦ SPIT
It all started with some kisses. Sloppy, messy, more tongue and teeth than anything else. You’re dizzy as he takes over your senses— he’s all you can taste, smell and see as he keeps you pinned against his chest and his mouth devours your own with earnest. His tongue rubs over yours purposefully, obviously trying to get you to fall apart and become the whiny thing you are for him sometimes.
You moan his name into his mouth like a prayer that’s only shared between the two of you. Hushed and honeyed over with equal parts desire and affection. When you pull away, there’s a string of your combined saliva keeping your lips connected to his. You’re embarrassed by the sight, bashfully raising a hand to wipe your mouth, but he catches your wrist before you can blink.
Duncan leans in, practically licking up the mixture as his lips crash against yours in another syrupy kiss, huffing through his nose and mounting you to the wall behind you without trying too hard.
“Open your mouth, pretty girl,” he demands softly.
Your knees could give out at the sound of his voice all thick and raspy— your lips part, pink tongue on display as you look up at him with big eyes. His hand cups your jaw in a gentle but firm hold, eyes glimmering with something you’ve only seen in your dirtiest of moments together as he examines your mouth.
Then he’s puckering his lips, only to drop a fat glob of his spit directly onto your awaiting tongue.
❦ DEGRADATION
“You’re disgusting, Duncan—” your words are almost slurred, but the underlying bitterness and anger in your tone is still present.
He pissed you off thoroughly this time. It’s honestly rare that you two argue, but when you do it ends up with him begging you for mercy because his heart can’t handle his lady being upset with him regardless of what happened— you two will get into the details of it all once he’s paid his repentance. You refuse to sit on his cock fully and there’s little he can do about it but throw his head back, squeeze your thighs and feel the messy glide of your soft cunt against every inch.
“I know, m’lady.” He whimpers, eyes half lidded and jaw slack as he stares up at you with reverence, “Gods, forgive me, please.”
“You don’t deserve it,” you spit out, rocking your hips faster to prove a point as he shivers underneath you. You plant your hands on his chest for leverage, bawling the material of his tunic up in your fists as you lean down. His now wild and pleading eyes meet yours as your lips hover over his whilst you speak, “you don’t deserve my grace or my sweetness. You can’t help yourself, you’re unable to keep your hands off of me even after angering me. Have you no shame, Duncan?”
“I’m sorry— I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. He grips your thighs even tighter, and you’re sure his fingers will be leaving behind sore spots for him to kiss later. When he thrusts upwards, the force jostles your body on top of him and knocks a soft gasp out of you, and then you feel it—
Duncan’s thick spend covers your cunt and the bit of his lower stomach that’s exposed, making a mess of his happy trail as he shudders and his chest heaves.
i want to bite dunk … like i really just want to grab his face and bite on his cheekies and maybe even suck a big fat mark on one of them that makes him really embarrassed and kind of angry (˶>⩊<˶)
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