Sakusa has found a way for you to spend some quality time together whilst he trains.
c/w: lots of fingering, overstim, lil spank, "darling"
a/n: brainrot 2k23!! enjoy~ (´ ∀ ` *)
Many volleyball enthusiasts around the country had, after many hours of studying and analysis, concluded that Sakusa Kiyoomi’s incredible success at spiking was in large part due to his weirdly strong and flexible wrists
Like many athletes, our Omi-kun understood the importance of training, conditioning, of practice. Despite his icy demeanour and aversion to other human beings, he was very dedicated to his craft and spent many hours making sure he was in top condition for his matches
Our ISTJ King of course has developed over the years a very precise routine to keep on top of his game, having tried various stretches and exercises throughout his career
“Is there a ritual that you like to follow before an important match, sir?” “What is your preferred warm-up routine?”
He can’t help but respond with a smirk cus ha ha ha-
“Mmmf- ngh- Omi! Omi, it’s too much, i-it’s too much, it’s-!”
“We have another ten minutes,” Kiyoomi drawled, running his thumb over your lip before shoving it into your gaping mouth. “And maybe another set after. There’s a big match in a couple of days, darling.”
You couldn’t stop the whine that tumbled from your mouth, clamping your lips around the invading digit as Kiyoomi’s other hand rammed unrelentingly and rhythmically into you, as he had been doing for the last 30 minutes.
“You said you were missing my company,” he pointed out flatly, nuzzling into your neck as you wrapped yourself around him, tugging gently at the roots of his curls. “Isn’t this a great compromise?”
You were quiet as you stared into the distance for a moment, a rumble of a chuckle in your chest as you considered his offer. “You horny little shit.”
Kiyoomi perches himself up on his elbows, catching your eye with his usual deadpan expression. A minute ticks by as you stare each other down. He tilts his head, prompting you to answer his original proposal, as he neglects to respond to your accusation. his eyes seem to say ‘and?’; eventually, you break and a full laugh escapes you.
“I don’t see really how this could be considered exercise for you,” you said dryly. As he opened his mouth to explain once more why exactly fingerblasting you every other day and before a match was conducive to his career and both of your overall health, you continued. “I will consent to a trial period of said training routine. You have one week.”
Being an incredibly serious matter, Kiyoomi would start a timer for each ‘set’. 20 minutes of various crafty finger and wrist movements, high speed and power directly and expertly into your g-spot
His left hand went first for 2 reasons: being marginally his weaker and less dominant hand, starting left in his opinion ‘eases you into it better’
(You thought this was bull because you’re sent to high heaven at the same speed no matter which hand he starts with)
His second reason being if he wants to go for a third set then his left is ‘trained’ more with a built in break time
“Get over my knee, we’re doing one more,” Kiyoomi urged, shifting you over slightly as you failed to move along to his command in your exhaustion. Your mouth was dry, you were breathless, your pussy felt wet and swollen and was leaving a small puddle wherever you sat as Kiyoomi ripped orgasm after orgasm out of you.
“Mmmf,” you mumbled, unable to focus as your legs trembled and your core clenched weakly at each aftershock that rolled through you. “O-oh!”
Kiyoomi slipped two fingers back into your overworked cunny again. Starting slow, he began thrusting into you purposefully with each targeted movement of the wrist, assaulting your g-spot much too intensely after what you’d been through that evening. Your vision burst white and your senses faded as another orgasm washed through you, a gasp catching in your throat, your mind scattering as Kiyoomi pinned your thrashing hips down to keep you in place.
“Great job, darling, but hold still,” he demanded, delivering a sharp smack on your backside. “I’ll be sure to give you credit when we win,” Kiyoomi smirked, glancing momentarily at the timer. “But you have another six minutes."
