summary: your girlfriend tries to help you fix your broken office chair, but you got something else on your mind.
word count: 906
content warnings: 18+ only!!! FIRST TIME SQUIRTING (r!receiving). i have an addiction making clark a little tease. mentions of oral sex. clark overstimulates you with her strap 🤤🤤. soft!dom clark strikes once again. slight praise kink. so many pet names.
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, @whotfisthatsblog, @polkadotprint444, @starwarsbian & @lilacsandlavenderhaze! wanna be added?
a/n: sorry, this is not proofread (like always), but i have no energy at the moment to double check. i hope i got the major issues sorted out. please lmk if there’s any issues i missed! this isn’t my best fic since i’ve been battling against writer’s block. but thank you to the two anons who requested their ideas. <333
listen to the song for the full experience
“Can you pass me the screwdriver again?”
Clark was on the ground—kneeling on her left knee, her right leg bent forward for balance, leaning over your chair with one hand braced against her thigh.
You’d found her in your home office early that morning, mumbling a quiet “good golly” to your desk chair after you mentioned the night before that one of the back legs felt wobbly.
When she started to worry, you tried to reassure her that it was fine and that she didn’t have to fix it, but she responded, “And have it collapse under you while you’re working? No, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Now you’re sitting next to her on the floor, wearing her old shirt, your gaze lingering on the way her shoulders flex beneath her black sports bra every time she tries to tighten the leg.
You even start to chew on your bottom lip, thinking about how she could easily put you in a headlock with those ar—
“Darlin’?” she speaks again, her eyebrows furrowed, wondering where you just went off to.
You shake your head slightly, hoping to snap yourself out of the fantasy. You make eye contact with her baby blues, “Yeah?”
Her free hand gestures to the screwdriver lying beside your bare thigh, smirking as she notices the spike in your heartbeat.
“The screwdriver… Can I have it?”
You force a small smile, huffing as you hope she didn’t notice how your hand hesitated before passing her the screwdriver.
But as her fingers graze your own, you mumble, “I—yeah. Here,” and she hums a soft thank you.
You’re sure Clark knows exactly what she’s doing to you, or at the very least, can read your mind about what you’re thinking.
As her focus remains on your chair, you fail to sit still—making your girlfriend chuckle. All the while, she keeps her eyes on the stubborn leg.
“You okay there, sweet girl? Keep squirming over there. Leg bugging you or something…”
You let out another strained laugh, shaking your head. “What? Oh, totally… completely fine… just a little bit antsy.”
Clark works the screwdriver into the loose leg, continuing to smile slyly. “Oh, yeah? What about?”
“Shit, Clark… I don’t think I can do another one.”
Your shaky thighs were pinned wide open by Clark, her fingernails harshly piercing your soft flesh. You’ve been unraveling under her since she had her head between your legs.
Now she had you drooling onto your pillow, head all fuzzy. She kept abusing your poor overstimulated cunt with the strap, smiling wickedly at the way it bulged in your lower stomach.
Her voice was dripping with cockiness as her lips left soft bruises across your neck, “Yes, you can, pretty girl… You apparently thought it was so urgent to interrupt me, didn’t you?”
She then pulls the strap out somewhat, getting you to claw at her back. You whine as your bottom lip juts out slightly, “C-Clark… don’t fucking tease me.”
She let out a knowing chuckle as she let go of one of your thighs, to cup your jaw and guide your face toward hers to kiss you. “Language.”
When she slid the silicone back into your slick cunt, something felt off to you. You didn’t know why. But you began to squirm, hoping to get Clark’s attention. “Sweetie… something’s wrong. I feel like I need to pee.”
She pauses for a second, before giggling like she knows something you don’t know. Clark buries the strap back in, picking up the pace as she loses her breath, “You’re fine, baby… everything’s okay.. I think you’re about to squi-”
Despite being lightheaded and not having enough energy to even lift your head, you still manage to do so and cut her off, “What?”
Clark straightens her upper body, letting go of your jaw to quickly grab your right leg and rest it against her shoulder. She kisses your ankle as she hits a spot that you didn’t know existed.
You gasp loudly, your head falling back as your body turns to putty once more. “Clark! I’m—fuck—so close.. Gonna cum again.”
Your girlfriend has to hold back another laugh as she uses her free hand to grab a pillow near you and place it under your hips. “Goodness, hold still… You’ve been such a good girl for me. Just another minute… alright, honey?”
You nod, but your hips try to match her pace and fail. Soon, you feel your toes curl as your body goes rigid. The tension coiled in your stomach snaps, melting into a deep, pulsing release that rushes out of you like a broken dam.
You scream into your pillow, “Clark—Oh God…”
Clark chokes out a moan as she can actually feel your pussy gripping the silicone. Your liquids continue to soak everything as she fucks you through it.
Once she pulls away, you feel utterly lost in the afterglow, completely breathless and boneless. You feel the dampness of your bedsheets, the sticky, cool fabric contrasting with the warmth of your bodies.
She gently puts down your leg that was resting against her shoulder while making sure she hadn’t pushed you too far.
In your haze, you mumble as your head rolls slightly, “Clarkie… how did you know I was about to—”
Clark grins as she smiles at your endearing expression, brushing the hair out of your eyes. “Not the first time I’ve seen that happen, darling.”
hello your local femme here to request a full strap on butch clark fic thanks
inside of me
pairing: butch!clark x reader
summary: your girlfriend clark puts you in the mating press position.
word count: 588
content warnings: 18+ only! this is just pure smut. nothing else. strap on sex (r!receiving). praise kink. clark is a little shit in this. not really proofread since i am on a road trip rn.
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, @whotfisthatsblog, & @polkadotprint444! wanna be added?
a/n: thank you anon for requesting this. i <3 the strap!! i got the mating press idea from this post.
“Good golly, sweetheart… look at how she’s sucking me in.”
Clark had you on her bed, pinned in the mating press as she pushed the silicone—that was too big for your cunt in and out of you.
You whimpered pathetically with each thrust. Your knees that were against your chest were aching, but you didn’t care, or even realize it. Your mind was basically putty at this point.
Her big calloused hands kept her body wide open, stretching out. With each slow, deliberate roll of her hips elicited a sharp gasp out of you.
Her hand cradles your face, smiling down at you mischievously, “Greedy little thing, isn’t she?”
You nod, leaning your head backwards against her pillow. You then mewl as her lips attach to your neck, sucking onto your skin. Your cunt flutters around her when she hits that one sweet spot.
Clark felt your thighs tremble as she applied the most pleasurable pressure, getting you to chant pleas for her to go faster. “Oh, fuck… f-fuck. Clark.”
She hums against your neck, nipping at it. She pulls the strap out and grins when you whine. Your hands harshly drag down her back, but she doesn’t even feel it. “Oh, is it not good enough for you, pretty girl?”
You shake your head, drooling while you hiccup, “No, no, Clark.. It was p-perfect. Just need—”
You almost hate yourself for how badly you need it, especially when you see your girlfriend’s shit-eating grin. If you weren’t so cockdrunk on her strap, you’d say something about how you know Ma Kent didn’t raise her to be like this.
She nodded, teasingly dragging the tip across your slick folds. It catches on your clit when she speaks again. “Oh, I know, baby…. I was just trying to be nice. You know how sensitive you get sometimes.”
You released a low, aching note as your back arched against her bare chest, “I can take it.”
Clark smiled slyly, tilting her head—inching it back into you, “Oh, yeah? You can?”
You nod vigorously as you cry out, feeling her stretch you out again. “Yes, stop toying with me.”
She chuckles softly, creating a faster pace, “Ain’t my fault, love. You make it too easy.”
The strap somehow sinks deeper than before, probing against your G-spot. If your brain wasn’t short-circuiting before, it sure is now. The angle overwhelms you in the best way.
The sound of Clark’s pelvis hitting against yours echoes throughout the room. The thick base of the strap continues to widen you in a way you didn’t know was possible. Your eyes squeeze shut, almost screaming, "Oh my God, Clark—"
Her hips shudder as your inner walls start to spasm around her cock. She speeds up, chasing your peak. “That’s it, darling. Taking it so well—squeezing me so good.”
Then you feel your entire body locking up. A broken very escape from your mouth, pulsing around her. Everything feels so fucking humid and endless around you two. You begin to sob as the coil in your gut snaps, “Clark… I’m cumming. Oh, God—”
It hits you so goddamn hard that vision whites out. You come around the strap like a thunderous force. But it doesn’t get Clark to stop. She keeps fucking you, calling you a good girl under her breath. You’re not sure if she’s trying to help you ride it out or taunt you.
Once she eventually pulls out, she laughs at the white rings around the silicone dick. “Gosh, you soaked me completely, babygirl.”
content warnings: 18+ only!! reader and clark are obviously married. both of you are seriously WHIPPED. this fic is just domestic bliss mixed with a little bit of smut. brief descriptions of oral and strap on sex (f!receiving). kinda proofread. i just fixed the major grammar issues.
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam & @unabashedlyinlovewithyou! wanna be added?
a/n: i heard this song last week and it’s been stuck in my head since. loosely inspired by @barbienextdoor’s “let me ask my wife” fic. i love me some devoted clark :))
link to the song if anyone wants to listen to it while reading this
Clark Kent was your white feather hawk tail deer hunter.
It was a week after your heavenly homespun wedding. You two were both in your new summer farmhouse in Smallville—only a few miles from Ma and Pa Kent—enjoying your month-long honeymoon.
Not only did Perry allow you guys to work remotely, but the Justice Gang promised to take care of all of Clark’s Superwoman duties, especially after seeing how whipped she was with you.
The wedding was also in Smallville, in a barn Ma and Pa Kent rented from a friend. There were string lights everywhere. A table of homemade food from both sides of your families. Golden light coming through the cracks and windows of the barn. Only a small number of guests.
Clark was in a dark red tailored suit with rolled sleeves and a loosened tie that had you wanting to jump her bones in the middle of the ceremony. Luckily for you, she took care of your craving the second you locked the front door of the farmhouse. It was everything you dreamed of.
And since then, it somehow got better. Clark’s the type of woman who’s half myth, half Midwest. For the past week, she has already fixed everything around the house with her sleeves rolled up, which gave her more time to watch you work on your new rose garden while she made tea.
Once you came back inside and began cooking dinner, she walked up behind you and slipped her arms around your waist—running her cold hands over your heated skin through the fabric of your clothes.
She kissed your neck, mumbling softly against it, “I still can’t believe you’re my wife now—that you’re mine forever.”
You in the kitchen is one of her favorite sights, even if your cooking could give somebody food poisoning. She’d lean against the counter, arms crossed, with a smirk plastered on her face. She loves it when you mutter things to yourself, or when you burn something in the frying pan and laugh it off.
When you reach for something dangerous or hot, her hand is immediately around your wrist—even if she was across the room. Thank you super speed. It’s never forceful, just instinctual. Like protecting you is her second nature.
Every so often, if you’re lucky, she would back you up against the counter—her knees dropping to the floor. Her calloused hands are dragging your panties and kissing your inner thighs. You're back on the cool surface, moaning as her lips latch onto your clit.
She would happily eat you out for hours, then later joke that you’re the best dinner she has ever had.
You only call her your deer hunter as a joke, but it sticks. Who could blame you? Besides the obvious fact that she’s America’s superhero, she’s always in red checkered shirts and brown combat boots. She has a star-shaped carabiner that you gave her on your second date.
Clark’s dangerously domestic too. Not in the soft, nonchalant way. In the most loud, possessive, this is how I take care of you sort of way. Even when you two were dating, she was always touching you.
Lois and Jimmy sometimes joke that if she weren’t able to touch you for more than thirty minutes, she would shrivel up and die. You were her kryptonite.
As cheesy as it is, she doesn’t look at you like you hung the stars. She believes it. She also didn’t believe in Cupid or love at first sight. But you walked into the Daily Planet one autumn morning, and something in her just went: there.
You swear the world bends slightly in her favor. Every day with her feels so magical but grounded. You are each other’s home. For some reason, she treats you like you’re the extraterrestrial one in the relationship.
On most of your mornings together, she would wake you up with breathy sweet nothings against your ear, her hand wrapped around your waist. Once you were completely awake, she would lean over you towards the nightstand and pull out the strap.
When it was securely harnessed onto her hips, she let you ride her. She’d put her hands on your hips and guide you, allowing you to set the pace. Clark would grin as you almost screamed her name when the silicone bumped your cervix perfectly.
She’d give you at least two orgasms before you tired yourself out again. She’d pick you up from the bed, bridal style, and take you to the bathroom. As you sat on the toilet, she drew a bath for you—all warm and relaxing, just for her sweet girl.
And when she went to leave an hour or so later, after Ma Kent called her to tell her that she’d made extra cookies and wondered if you two would want them, she’d kiss you on the cheek as she left.
Clark would then see you through the kitchen window, in her oversized Mighty Crabjoys shirt from high school, with wet hair—waving to her as she pulled out of the driveway. She could have sworn she heard you say, “I love you!”
summary: while trying to break your smoking habit, you desperately need a new oral fixation. somehow you get addicted to eating your girlfriend out.
word count: 1.0k
content warnings: 18+ only! talks of a smoking addiction. oral sex (clark!receiving) obviously. bottom clark if you squint. porn with a little bit of fluff. reader’s kinda insane in this one but clark just accepts it. not really proofread.
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, @whotfisthatsblog, & @polkadotprint444! wanna be added?
a/n: i was listening to this song on sunday and got this idea. i fear i’m addicted to writing fics now. whoops. sorry if this is shit. i’ve been battling brain fog for the past two days. i rewrote this like five times. if there’s any errors, please comment so i can fix it.
link to the song if anyone wants to listen to it while reading this
You had a nasty habit.
And Clark Kent smelled it on you the second you walked into the Daily Planet for your first day of the internship.
While Cat Grant was showing you around the busy newsroom, she introduced you to a beautiful, broad-shouldered woman who extended her hand to you.
“Hi, I’m Clark.”
As you took her hand, bashfully saying your name, her gaze lingered on you. Unknowingly to you, her vision had slipped involuntarily. It always seemed to happen at the most unconventional times.
Her grip loosened on your hand as she cursed herself mentally for seeing something she wished she hadn’t. For the rest of your first week, she noticed everything—your gum, your bouncy leg, and how you never sat still.
One afternoon, Clark walked up to your desk with her sleeves rolled up, showcasing her veiny forearms. “Hey. I hope I’m not bothering you, but, uh, I enjoyed your last piece.”
“You did?”
She nodded with a grin, her dimples appearing. “Yeah, I did. It had bite.”
You roll the gum between your teeth, avoiding her piercing blue eyes. “That’s a first.”
Clark lets out a shy laugh, scratching the back of her neck. “Really? That’s funny. I, uh, I think you’re a really good writer.”
Your body went still as your eyes slowly glanced up at her. Something about the way she said that in that low Kansas accent made your chest tighten—not to mention all the goosebumps. It almost felt as good as your last cigarette.
“Thanks, Kent.”
Later that evening, you ended up at a cafe a few blocks away.
You start the conversation. “So do you do this with every new intern?”
Clark replied, “Only with the ones that I like.”
On your way home, Clark slipped her jacket over you.
“I had a nice time tonight,” she spoke as you both stood in front of your apartment.
You hesitated. “Me too.”
Clark inched closer, her hand gradually cupping your face, steadying you right where she wanted you.
Your breath hitched as her thumb brushed against your cheek, but Clark caught it. As she leaned in, you stupidly blurted:
“I smoke.”
To your confusion, she didn’t recoil in utter disgust. Instead, she chuckled with a knowing smile. “I know.”
You blinked, eyes widening. “You what?”
Clark looked into your eyes, still amused. “I smell it on you.”
Your mouth opened, then closed again. “Oh.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Can I kis—”
You cut her off. “You don’t care? Most people wouldn’t want to—”
She rolled her eyes playfully and shook her head. “No. Can I continue now? Please.”
Your chest tightened as you muttered, “Um, sure, go ahead.”
Clark simpered as she leaned in, crashing her lips into yours.
At first, she was tentative, making you melt. She felt your hand clutching her shirt, causing her to deepen the kiss—slipping her tongue into your mouth.
You moaned as your knees buckled, and Clark caught you more securely. She grinned into the kiss, gripping the back of your neck now.
When you pulled back for some air, you leaned your forehead against hers. You sigh shakily. “Do you wanna come up?”
A few months later—you sat in front of your vanity mirror, slapping a nicotine patch onto your shoulder.
“Okay, please work now,” you said, scolding the medical object.
You hear Clark giggle at you. “You said the same thing to the last ten thousand ones.”
You pouted before glaring at her over your shoulder. She was in your bed, propped on one elbow, smirking at you.
It had been weeks of this. Patches. Gum. Mints. Anything to keep your hands—and your mouth—busy. Some days were better than others.
Clark hummed as her lips curved slightly. “Come back. The bed’s cold without you.”
Like today.
You scoffed softly as you were already getting up and slipping back into bed. “Cold? You don’t get cold.”
She pulled you closer instead, grabbing your hand to pull you in, getting you to straddle her lap. “You act like I don’t have needs.”
Your mornings now start like this. Clark Kent is in your bed, acting as your replacement for old habits.
Even when she’s all blissed out from the night before, your face still finds its way back in between her legs—hands gripping her hips as if you can hold her down.
You start with a slow stroke up her cunt just to tease her. You always enjoyed her little whimpers when you did that. Then you slip a finger or two into her—she could take it—as your tongue flicked against her puffy clit.
Her legs clamp around your head as you moan at the taste of her, sending vibrations through her aching core. Your fingers continued to probe at her G-spot while you tried to coax out just her first orgasm of the day.
You mapped out her soaking pussy, “Doing so good for me, baby. Just a bit longer please—give me one more.”
Clark’s head fell back against your satin pillow, tugging on your hair. “I’m trying,” she groaned breathlessly.
You spread her legs wider so you can get deeper, “Oh I know, honey. Like last night, huh?”
She nodded, her hips jolting as your fingers left her tight hole—getting her to whimper before replacing it with the tip of your tongue.
Her thighs begin to shake as you curl it. She grinds her folds against your face. She cried out, “Golly, sweetie… I’m gonna come.”
You growl at her confession, rubbing your nose against her clit. “That’s the point, Clark. Need you to cum—need to get my fix.”
She gasped, her senses becoming clouded. Her orgasm was inching closer as your tongue flattened over her cunt, savoring her as if she were your favorite wine.
She screeches, "I'm gonna—ah, please please don't stop…”
You tug on her clit, sending a spark down her spine. She pushes your face harder against her. You whisper, abusing her sensitive nub. “Breathe, baby. Breathe for me.”
Soon, Clark comes into your mouth with a broken sob as the coil within her snaps. Her thighs fully clamped over the sides of your face as you helped her ride it out.
You pull away a moment later, kissing her inner thighs before saying, “Just wait until our lunch break today.”
Hiii, I just love your recent story and I want to ask if you could write More scissoring with butch Clark 🌚
silk chiffon
pairing: fwb butch!clark kent x fem reader
word count: 439
content warnings: 18+ only!! this is pure smut. no plot whatsoever. scissoring (obviously). reader’s a bit of a yearner in this. soft dom!clark praises her A LOT!!
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam & @unabashedlyinlovewithyou! wanna get added to the list?
a/n: thank you so much, anon. i’m glad that you enjoyed ain't no country boy quitter. it genuinely surprised to see how many people are liking it. if you guys want something with a little bit more plot, i encourage you to read it. please send more requests, this was so much fun.
Everything surrounding you at the moment seemed blurry.
Your head was resting on your pillow, hair splayed across your face. Your glassy eyes were focused on the floor, where Clark’s—now your—white dress shirt was.
The memory of how good she looked in it made you whimper, apparently one of the only noises you knew how to make now.
Your hips bucked as you felt her hand travel up to your jaw and grip it. She guided you to face her, making direct eye contact with you.
“Oh, pretty girl…. Where did you go?”
You stared at her beautiful, beautiful, beautiful face as you moaned softly and melted into her hand. “F-feels so good, Clark.”
Clark only smiled at you—something that you wished you could wake up to in the morning. “I know, sweetie. You’re doing so good for me.”
The wet sound of her slick folds sliding against yours echoed throughout your bedroom. Her nails dug roughly into your face, leaving bruises that would last for days.
The friction between your cunt and hers was both so perfect. Clark shuddered as her clit dragged across yours, burying her face into the side of your neck.
You lazily slipped your fingers into her jet-black curls, tugging on them with all your might. She groaned, lifting her head to kiss you passionately.
She swallows your moans as she smirks into the kiss, enjoying the sound of the wet slap of skin on skin.
Clark mumbled, pulling away slightly from your lips. “Gosh, baby. You’re soaking me.”
You can't think straight, no pun intended. She was scissoring you so slowly that, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say she was trying to savor it. Each rub against your clit made it throb even more.
“It’s too much, Clark… too much.”
You felt her kiss your cheek, moving her hand from your jaw down to your throat. Her grip on it was less to choke you and more to soothe you.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you can take it. You’re such a strong girl, y’know?”
She can feel your body begin to shake, your legs around her waist tightening. The pleasure in your gut continues to build, making you whimper again. You were so fucking close.
Then your body locks up, loud moans slipping from your mouth. You throw your head back, as your orgasm hits you like a goddamn wave.
Clark doesn’t stop though, now chasing after her own peak. You shake violently as she gets a little rougher with you. She groans:
"That's it. I’m so proud of you… I’m almost there, sweetie. Just hold on for a second.”
summary: you have a never ending situationship with your coworker and america’s beloved superhero, superwoman.
word count: 1029
content warnings: 18+ only!!! this is really sad, I’M SORRY!! so much self hating and angst. reader and clark obviously have no self respect. veryyyyy toxic relationship. situationship final boss fr!! mentions of oral sex and clark breaking into the reader’s house. switch!clark AND reader. strap on sex (CLARK RIDES YOU!!) you talk her through it kinda. depressing sex. this was barely proofread like always!
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, @whotfisthatsblog, @polkadotprint444, @starwarsbian & @lilacsandlavenderhaze! wanna be added?
a/n: hi everybody!! it’s two in the morning and i’m posting this 😭. i can’t wait to write for this series!! i think i’m gonna have so much fun with it. if you guys want, you can send requests for this series. i would love to see what you come up with. check out the series masterlist if you wanna learn more!
listen to the song for the full experience
The cold night air swept across the rooftop you stood on, tugging at your scarf—the one meant to be more decorative than practical. You looked out over the horizon of Metropolis, pretending you didn’t know why you were out there.
It was one in the morning, and you were still at work at the Daily Planet like some maniac. You would have gone home when your colleagues did, but your apartment is still tainted by last night’s rendezvous that was supposed to end that in-between thing with a certain blue-eyed farm girl.
Instead, it ended with her and your clothes scattered all over your living room floor—too impatient and risky to even ruin each other somewhere intimate after trying to cleanse yourselves of one another.
And when you came into work the morning after she left you in the chains of your own despair and she saw you—she didn’t run or look away, but she went still. It made you ache for the days when she woke you up with a chaste kiss to your lips and promises of bad coffee to come.
You feel the wind shift against your cheek. It’s colder this time, almost like a punishment from Mother Nature for not respecting yourself or your peace enough.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You want to ignore it. But if you wanted to, you would have taken out your earbuds and paused the late-night news segment.
The reporter’s urgent voice echoes throughout your skull as your gaze remains on the blinding lights below you: “The Justice League has been deployed. Superwoman was seen engaging with an unidentified threat over the eastern skyline.”
Suddenly, above you, you heard, through the man’s voice, a rush overhead, a flash of red and blue. Your head jerks up in an instant, noticing a stutter in her trajectory.
You don’t lose your breath like you once did before; rather, you close your eyes, wondering where she’s going first—the robots or the empty place you sometimes call home.
Either way, she’ll arrive there cold.
But when you swing your bag over your shoulder and head into the soulless elevator, you switch it over to a song you haven’t let her destroy yet for you.
As you pass strangers on the street who look similar to her, you wonder what you’ll be dealing with when you walk through your apartment door.
You know you’ll probably find her on your floor, bloody and bruised, mumbling that she didn’t have enough energy to fly to the Fortress of Solitude.
You wonder if you’re going to cave in, justifying it to yourself as you’re bending down to her, cupping the side of her face—knowing you already have.
Trying not to remember how she made you come undone by the curl of her fingers last night or how she referred to you as a friend after unintentionally bumping into her mother at church, despite being with her for a year.
You try not to really dwell on how you’re going to guide her body to your bed—half of her weight leaning against your shoulder. Or as she hits the comforter and you go to move, she grabs your wrist and pulls you back into her.
You know you’re going to hate yourself moments after this is over as her hand slips up to the back of your head, lightly brushing the corner of your mouth, whispering “I want you” despite your protests against it.
You’re already cursing at yourself when you allow her to slowly remove your clothes along with her suit while you get under her.
You especially despise it when she laboriously reaches over to your nightstand and pulls out the leather harness, the navy blue silicone already buckled into place.
You bite down on her tongue as she gets you to arch your hips and slip it on you before she straddles you—her knees resting against your bare thighs.
You watch her when she begins dragging the tip through her slick folds. She grabs your hands to put them on her waist, needing that extra guidance.
She groans, throwing her head back as she sinks downward and swivels her hips. You help her slightly, fingernails digging into her skin. You eye how her cunt swallows the dildo whole, moaning at the sight. Damn her.
Through your half-lidded gaze, you tell her breathlessly, “That’s it, honey… take what you need.”
She nods, letting out a shaky exhale as her pace quickens. You swear you can almost feel her pussy flutter around the base of it. Her desperation even smells so fucking sweet.
She becomes restless as the coil within her keeps tightening. On nights like these, it doesn’t take much for her—especially given how sensitive and weak she was before breaking into your apartment.
You smile bitterly to yourself, sliding one of your hands off her waist and pressing it down against her stomach, where you can see the outline of the silicone in her.
Her body twitches, almost glaring down at you as she holds back a scream. The friction of her attempted roughness sends a small wave through the harness to your core. You mewl, bucking your hips into her.
You two continue grinding together in a rhythmic harmony, swallowing each other’s moans. She gasps against your lips, “Sweetheart, I’m close… You’re gonna make me—”
Her body convulses. Those soft thighs that surround you shudder as she comes messily on the strap, while making sure you follow suit.
You do a minute later, forcing her to stay put on you as you did—making eye contact with her that screamed Stevie Nicks during the ‘97 performance of “Silver Springs.”
When you finally let her ease off you and she flops her tired body next to you, she glances over at you and goes quiet.
Neither of you moves yet.
You stare up at the ceiling, noticing a small spider that seems to be caught in its own web. You chew on your bottom lip, refusing to make the first move, or anything.
Then, against your will, you hear her gentle voice ask you something so harsh: “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
