NSFW ficlet ahead:
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"If you aren't topless in thirty seconds, I'm breaking shit."
The Deetz family asked you to housesit for them. Adam and Barbara would be there to reign in Beetlejuice, but Charles knew he liked you best.
Of course, they hadn't figured out why yet.
It had nothing to do with the fact that two weeks ago you rode his cock for the first time.
Nope, nothing to do with that.
Last time he'd made demands, you weren't tipping the pizza delivery guy fast enough so he broke one of Delia's favorite wine glasses and then fucked you on the kitchen counter.
Considering this, you were frantic to follow orders now. Trying to glue that thin glass back together had not been easy. Thankfully, Beetlejuice offered to use his powers to fix it...for a price. Your knees were bruised from how long he kept you on them.
Slipping the shirt off, Beetlejuice watches with a hungry expression. His jaw tightens when he notices you're not wearing a bra. Calmly leaning against the dining room wall, he licks his lower lip, pretends he isn't gawking.
"The pants. Unbutton them." At his words, you gape at him. "Now would be ideal, toots."
You'd worn a red lace thong...maybe in hopes he'd see it...but now your nerves got the better of you and you hope he just gets distracted and rips the clothes off instead of making you a spectacle.
No such luck.
He hums, two steps forward, inspecting. Index finger hooking under the elastic band on your right hip.
"Now, what've we got here?" A hand grips your hip, yanking the jeans down slightly to reveal the bright red fabric. "Well fuck me...you came prepared. Oooh, look at you." The glee on his face is gone moments later. "Strip."
You want to protest, but you're kind of turned on by the proximity. His gaze is alluring.
"Slow down," he urges when you grab at the jeans and start removing them. "Let me take you in."
As you undress, he walks around you like a predator. There's a low rumble in his throat and you swear he's growling.
Naked except the thong, you peer over your shoulder to see him ogling at your ass.
Two swift movements and he's got you bent at the hips, pinned against the dining room table where Delia hosts all her dinner parties. You feel filthy. You love it.
Beetlejuice is hard and he makes sure to let you know by grinding himself against your ass.
Seconds feel like minutes from the time he unzips to when you feel him rubbing the head of his cock against your cunt.
"God, please..." you huff out.
"No Gods here, darlin'." His gruff voice is against your ear as he shifts the thong to the side, shoves himself inside with no prep.
The stretch is painful yet glorious, the way he says your name burned into your memory. You can feel his facial hair against your back as he lolls his head forward, grumbling about how wet you are, how he's not going to last, how you should've never agreed to this weeks ago.
"You better get off before I fill you up, princess. Else you're not cumming all night."
It's a threat you know he'll follow through with. He has before.
A race to the finish always gives you a bit of a jolt. Being caught does also, but not by the Maitlands.
The slam above startles you, but Beetlejuice grips your neck, forces you back against him, groans when his hand cups your ass cheek.
"Those deadbeats are doing another aerobics thing or some shit. I dunno," he mutters against your neck. "Hey! Don't. Stop."
"You know this position isn't my favorite," you dare to groan out.
"Well you better figure it out quick, sweetness, because my balls are tightening and I'm not holding back."
You practically weep.
He snakes his hand around you, offers a harsh finger against your clit. His rubbing is sporadic and slightly distracting.
Slapping his hand away is probably not the best idea but you're acting on impulse, eager to cum with him stretching you so good.
He bites you - hard - draws blood. As you're about to yelp out, his hand covers your mouth, breaths coming out as gasps around his fingers.
"I'm not fibbing, honey," the growl is ever present in his voice. "You don't cum - now - you're not all night."
He knows - he knows - the urgency always gets you. His thrusts sloppy now, hand still over your mouth, you buck back against him to catapult yourself over that proverbial ledge.
"Oooooh, fuck, babe. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck." His thrusts are smooth now, hand pulling away from your mouth so he can grip both of your hips and slow his pace.
Your slick sounds are loud with every movement but the pace feels good, him hitting you deep and slow.
Clawing at the table runner, your breaths come out as gasps, quiet screams, praising him as your orgasm peaks.
Recovering and overstimulated, you're shocked Beetlejuice hasn't cum yet and with every thrust, he grips you tighter.
"Hey. Hey, no, toots. Stay there - just like that," you hear him through the ringing in your ears.
Throwing yourself back against him again, you almost feel the edge of the last orgasm prickling still and when he pulls out to just tease his tip, you're manic for a moment; enthralled by the sensation.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck, slam back on me, babes. Slam back on me!" He cries, forcing you backwards.
The pace he's thrusting into you has you breathless again and in mere seconds you feel him filling you up.
The sensation is overwhelming. Another orgasm rips through you. He holds you upright so you don't careen over the table, his strong hands another sensation on your sensitive flesh.
Breathless, you glance back at him.
"Not a fan of this position, huh." He chuckles, choking you momentarily before lazily pulling out of you.
"Guess I've just never been fucked proper in certain positions." It's a total bait.
A wide grin, "we can fix that."
As you're dressing, you notice the vase centerpiece is tipped over, a chunk missing from the lip.
Mouth agape, you realize you must've knocked it down.
"Get on your knees for me. I'll make it worth your time."
The devilish smirk on his face is hard to say no to.
