That boy is a monster!
nauseaxe_404/“your biggest fan” x you (fem)
porn with no plot, one shot
Spending more time in the hotel, you started calling him Nick. Every time you said that name, he became euphoric and excited, grabbing his axe to calm himself down. You loved to see him like that, especially when he suffered from being touched by you.
You often tease him by touching him a little, especially his toned pectorals or his big biceps. He moans, writhed, pressed against you. He is extremely sensitive. But the moment he crosses that line and actually begins, any trace of hesitation completely vanishes. There are no apologies, no checking in, no pulling back—he enters a state of pure, unadulterated fixation where he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. It is terrifying how someone so massive can be so utterly consumed by his own hunger. The sheer contrast between his intimidating, muscular frame and this mindless, unstoppable drive is intoxicating. He doesn't beg for permission; he just takes and gives, whimpering not out of guilt, but from the sheer, overwhelming sensory overload of finally having his deity beneath him.
He is entirely driven by a raw, pathologically relentless instinct to possess you, his heavy pants and rough grip making it clear that you are completely at his mercy until he is entirely done with you. He is incredibly loud in bed, completely unable to contain the embarrassing, desperate sounds breaking from his throat. He loses all control over his voice, whimpering and stuttering your praise like a broken record, vibrating against your skin with a breathless, shaky: "S-s-superstar, you're sooo good... sooo good for me, I love you, I love you, I love you!”
You like to play with his cock, but many times you have to stop otherwise he would kill you from pleasure, literally opening you up. One thing is for sure, he's great with his hands. He lives to touch you and reach your depths. Sometimes you had to stop him because he pushed too deep inside you. He opens you up, he consumes you like a gourmet meal. You are his superstar, his deity. You are everything to him and he shows it to you, overwhelming your boundaries whatever he does. He is always too strong, too wet, too open, too slow, or too fast. He gives you too much pleasure and you can't make him stop.
He wants you to feel as much pleasure as possible, giving you too many orgasms. His fingers are already huge, his tongue is even more so, and he pushes, pushes, pushes until he hears you whimpering with pleasure. You try to make him stop by moving his hood, but it's no use. He remains still, doing his job, devouring you completely. In fact, he gets fiercely protective of that fabric covering his face; if your fingers stray too close to the edges, trying to pull it off entirely, he gently but firmly pins your wrists down, whimpering in protest. He is terrified of you seeing whatever lies beneath—afraid his raw, monstrous vulnerability might disgust his deity. Instead, the heavy fabric of his mask stays on, quickly becoming damp with his hot, ragged breaths and sweat as he works over you. The only thing he allows you to see are his eyes through the rough cutouts.
When he's finished with his fingers and his tongue, his cock quivers to enter you. It's huge, veiny, and wet with cum (he probably came already while licking you and getting hard again at the mere thought of you).
(He can get excited in very little time, it's endless.)
When it sinks into you, you can't move, you feel completely open and filled. The pace of his thrusts is completely erratic, dictated only by his overwhelming emotions in that exact moment—shifting from desperate, slow friction to frantic, bruising speed. He absolutely adores missionary because he can look at you, with those heart-shaped eyes of his. In fact, he watches you most of the time, attracted by how you react or how your breasts bounce with his strong thrusts. He has a sort of obsession (seriously..) for your breasts, he loves touching them, licking them, squeezing them while he continues to push, push, push inside you.
When you're done (after a loooong time), he hugs you, his face buried in your neck. He clings to you with a desperation that borders on terrifying, his massive arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost takes your breath away, as if he’s genuinely convinced you might vanish into thin air the second he loosens his grip. He starts making those low, almost non-human sounds in the back of his throat—a needy, vibrating hum of pure contentment, completely drunk on your scent and your warmth. You can feel the heavy thump of his heart against your chest, still racing, still worshiping you. And if you move even a fraction, accidentally brushing against his cock, it becomes hard as a rock in seconds, ready for another round. He doesn't care how exhausted he is; his body reacts instantly to you, driven by a bottomless, insatiable need to be consumed by his deity all over again.
cr art: pyanyasha
