teaching simon riley anatomy of his own dick !!
MINORS DNI, NSFW BELOW THE CUT ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
Simon Riley is used to danger.
He’s trained in torture resistance, knows half a dozen ways to kill with household items, has faced down death in more countries than you’ve had birthdays. But right now, sitting shirtless on the edge of your bed, legs spread and brows knit together while you kneel between them with that look on your face—
He’s suspicious. Immediately.
“…What’re ya up to?” His accent is flat, suspicious, but there’s a twitch in the corner of his mouth that betrays amusement.
You shrug innocently. Place one hand lightly on his bare thigh. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel the muscle shift under your touch.
“Gonna teach you somethin’,” you say sweetly.
He narrows his eyes.
“Don’t need any lessons, love. Think I’ve got the basics down.”
You raise a brow. Reach for his boxers.
Simon freezes.
“…You’re joking.”
You don’t answer. You just pull them down.
His cock—thick, flushed, intimidating—is half-hard already. He sits there, trying so hard not to react, though his jaw clenches and his eyes fluttered shut.
But the pink at the tips of his ears?
Dead giveaway.
You rest your hand at the base of his cock, light, nonchalant, and grin up at him.
“Alright, Mr. Riley. Let’s begin.”
He breathes in through his nose. Controlled.
“I swear to God—”
“Here we have the glans,” you say, as if delivering a lecture to a university class. “Also known as the tip. Extra sensitive. Tons of nerve endings. Real good for, you know—”
You flick your thumb gently over the slit.
Simon grunts.
You look up at him. Innocent. “Stimulation.”
He says nothing.
His jaw is tight, hands gripping his thighs, as if he was restraining himself from taking over this lesson. He wanted to. Wanted to
But right now?
He lets you teach.
“This—” you wrap your hand around the shaft, slowly stroking from base to head “—is the corpus cavernosum. Two spongy chambers that fill with blood to form the erection.”
He stares at you.
“I know what an erection is,” he mutters, flustered now.
“Mm. I’m giving you a refresher.”
You stroke again. He sucks in a breath.
Then, quietly—“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”
“Maybe. But you’ll die educated.”
He laughs—low, dark—chest rumbling under the scar-laced skin. His head tips back just slightly, lips parted as your hand works him with maddening slowness. Precise. Like you’re the trained marksman and his body is your target.
And it’s working.
He’s rock hard now, the flush spreading down his chest to his abs. His cock is heavy in your palm, leaking, twitching every time your thumb presses just under the head.
You lean in close and lick a stripe up the underside.
Simon groans—hands flying up to fist the sheets behind him.
“And this,” you say, licking your lips, “is your frenulum. Tight little band under the glans. One of the most sensitive points on your dick.”
He exhales through his teeth, muttering something filthy under his breath.
“Fuckin’ hell—where’d ya learn all this?”
You smile sweetly. “A chef never reveals his recipe.”
Simon chokes.
You laugh. Press a kiss to the tip of his cock, just to watch him shudder.
He looks down at you, eyes dark, pupils blown, teeth clenched.
“You’re enjoying this,” he grunts.
“A little.”
“You’re cruel.”
“And you’re hard as hell.”
He shakes his head, breath hitching as your mouth finally envelops the head—soft, warm, slow. But just before he can buck his hips, just before he lets that groan escape his throat—
You pull off.
He actually whimpers.
You blink up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “Would you like a pop quiz, Lieutenant Riley?”
Simon exhales. Laughs once. Dark and wrecked.
“You keep this up, love, and 'm flipping ya over the bed. You’ll feel every anatomical structure you just described.” He murmured, half-warning and half-threat.
You hum, licking your lips.
“Mm. Tactile learning.”
He scoffs.
And then?
He does flip you.
kruegerspillow © 2025 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work to post it around. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ
