FUCK THE BEAT INTO YOU billie eilish
synopsis; You’re stiff, nervous, you need to learn the rhythm of the song you’re making with Billie for a collab, when she notices, she decides to help you both, learn it and calm yourself.
warnings; Gip!Billie, dirty talk, no ask for permission, p in v, unprotected sex, squirting, degrading if you squint, you tell me if there’s anything else I should put.
The studio in Billie's LA house felt like a cocoon of creativity and quiet intensity, tucked away in the sprawling modern home she called her sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the twinkling city lights, but heavy curtains were drawn, keeping the outside world at bay. Inside, the air hummed with the faint scent of incense and fresh coffee, mixed with the subtle musk of long hours spent chasing perfection. The grand screen set up dominated the space, its polished black surface reflecting the soft amber glow from the desk lamps. Posters of Billie's past tours and album covers adorned the walls, a testament to her empire, while scattered notebooks and a half-empty bottle of water cluttered the nearby table.
You'd arrived that afternoon, nerves buzzing like the synth lines in the track you were building together. As industry colleagues, your paths had crossed at industry events—quick hellos at the Grammys, nods during producer meetings—but this was different. This was intimate, collaborative, just the two of you hammering out a song that blended her edgy vocals with your piano-driven melody. The track was sultry, pulsating with a rhythm that demanded precision, especially from the keys. You'd been at it for what felt like eternity, your fingers aching from repeated attempts, but every run-through ended in frustration. The notes slipped, the timing fractured, and the whole piece fell apart.
Billie lounged against the edge of the piano, her black hair falling in loose waves over her forehead, those striking blue eyes fixed on you with a mix of amusement and impatience. She wore her usual oversized aesthetic—a baggy black hoodie that swallowed her slim frame, loose sweats that hung low on her hips, and chunky sneakers kicked off by the door. At 24, she carried an effortless cool, but up close, there was a raw energy about her, something magnetic that made the room feel smaller.
"Alright, let's take it from the bridge again," she said, her voice that signature low rasp, laced with a teasing edge. She pushed off the piano and paced a slow circle around you, hands tucked into her pockets. "You're overthinking it. The rhythm isn't in your head—it's in your body. You gotta feel it, like it's breathing through you."
You nodded, wiping sweat from your brow, and positioned your hands over the keys. The melody started strong in your mind: a steady pulse building to a crescendo, evoking late-night drives through the city, hearts racing in sync. But as you pressed down, your timing wavered. A note hung too long, another came too soon, and the whole sequence crumbled into dissonance. You slammed your palm lightly on the wood in defeat, exhaling sharply.
Billie stopped pacing, her smirk widening as she leaned in close, her breath warm against your shoulder. "See? Too stiff. You're like a robot trying to dance. Loosen up, yeah? Let me help you find the groove." Her tone was playful, almost mocking, but there was an undercurrent of something hotter, more insistent. Before you could respond, her hands were on your hips, firm and guiding, steering you to bend forward over the piano bench. The cool surface of the keys brushed your forearms as you braced yourself, heart pounding not just from the failure but from the sudden proximity.
"Billie, what are you—" you began, voice catching as you felt her press against your back. The bulge in her sweats was unmistakable, hard and unyielding, nestling right against the curve of your ass. She was different—everyone in the inner circles whispered about it, but feeling it was another thing entirely. A girl with a cock and balls, thick and ready, hidden under that casual exterior.
"Shh," she murmured, lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm gonna show you the rhythm. Trust me, it'll stick this time." Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your skirt, tugging it up slowly, exposing the soft skin of your thighs. The air in the studio felt thicker now, charged, as she slid your panties to the side with a casual flick. You were already damp—frustration and her teasing presence had done that much—and she let out a soft hum of approval.
She freed herself from her sweats, the sound of fabric rustling followed by the heavy drop of her length against your skin. Her cock was impressive—thick at the base, veined along its length, the head flushed and leaking a bead of precum. Her balls hung low, full and swaying slightly as she gripped your hip with one hand. She dragged the tip along your folds, coating it in your arousal, teasing your entrance without mercy. "Look at you, already wet for the lesson," she whispered, voice dripping with that small, dirty tease. "Think you can play while I fuck the beat into this pretty pussy?"
You gasped, gripping the edge of the piano, but nodded, determined to try. With a single, deliberate thrust, she pushed inside, stretching your walls inch by inch. The fullness was overwhelming, her girth filling you completely as she bottomed out, balls pressing flush against your clit. She held there for a moment, letting you adjust, her breath hot on your neck. "That's the intro," she said, starting a slow, measured pump—deep in, slow out, mirroring the song's opening pulse.
Your fingers trembled as you tried to match it, pressing the first notes. The keys responded under your touch, but her movement disrupted everything. Each slide of her cock dragged against your inner walls, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. She picked up the pace slightly, hips snapping in time with the required rhythm—steady, insistent thrusts that had her balls slapping lightly against you. "Feel that?" she teased, one hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple through the fabric. "That's the groove. Sync to me."
But you couldn't. The sensation built too fast, her thickness hitting deep with every drive, coiling heat in your core. Your hands faltered, keys clashing as a moan escaped your lips. She didn't stop, pounding steadily from behind, her free hand now gripping your waist to pull you back onto her. The wet sounds of her cock plunging into your pussy filled the studio, mingling with your ragged breaths. Pleasure crested, and your first orgasm hit like a wave—your walls clenching around her shaft, milking it as tremors shook your body. You slumped forward, fingers splaying across random keys, the piano emitting a chaotic jumble.
Billie slowed, but didn't pull out, grinding deep as you rode the aftershocks. "Fail," she said with a chuckle, voice husky from the effort. "Not even close. Restart from the top." She withdrew slowly, her cock slick and shining with your release, a string of your juices connecting you for a moment before snapping. You were panting, thighs quivering, but she gave you no time to recover. Positioning you again—ass up, bent over the bench—she rubbed her tip along your soaked entrance, teasing your swollen folds. "Dripping down your legs. Let's see if you learn."
She thrust back in with ease, the glide smoother now from your wetness. Her balls tapped your skin rhythmically as she resumed the pace, hips rolling in that perfect, unyielding tempo. You braced your hands on the keys, trying harder this time, forcing your fingers to follow the melody. The notes came tentatively—close, but not quite. Her cock filled you over and over, the head nudging that sensitive spot inside, making your focus shatter. "Come on," she urged, breath teasing your ear, "play for me. Or is this pussy too greedy, sucking me in like that?"
The dirty words fueled the fire, and soon your body tensed again. Her thrusts grew firmer, balls smacking with each drive, the friction building unbearably. Your second climax tore through you, stronger than the first—pussy spasming around her length, juices squirting lightly as you cried out, hands pounding the keys in a discordant frenzy. The piano wailed under the assault, the song lost once more.
"Nope," Billie murmured, pulling out with a wet schlick, her cock throbbing visibly, veins pulsing. She stroked herself once, smearing your essence along her shaft, before lining up again. "Restart. You're making me work for it, but fuck, you feel good." Her voice had lost some of the tease, edged with raw desire now, but she kept it light, professional almost, like this was just part of the session.
Third attempt: She sank in deep, the stretch still intense despite your slickness. Her body molded to yours from behind, sweat-slick skin sliding as she began pumping. The rhythm was hypnotic—thrust, withdraw, thrust—her balls heavy against you, swinging with momentum. You managed a full bar this time, fingers dancing in sync for precious seconds, the melody peeking through. But then she shifted her angle, grinding harder, her cock dragging along your g-spot relentlessly. "That's it, almost," she whispered, hand slipping between your legs to rub your clit in slow circles. The added touch was devastating.
Heat pooled low, your breaths coming in gasps as you fought to keep playing. But the dual pleasure overwhelmed—her thumb flicking, cock pounding, balls tapping—and your third orgasm crashed over you. Your pussy clenched vise-like, pulling her deeper as waves of ecstasy pulsed through, leaving you shaking, a keen escaping your throat. Keys blurred under your faltering grip, the music dissolving into noise.
Billie groaned softly, hips stuttering for the first time as your release coated her length. She eased out, giving you a moment to breathe, but her hand stayed on your hip, possessive. "Getting closer, but still a fail. Look at you, cumming so easy. Restart." She plunged back in without warning, the sudden fullness drawing a whimper from you. Your pussy was sensitive now, every inch of her cock sending jolts through your overstimulated nerves.
Fourth round: The pace was the same, always from behind, her chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around to steady you. She thrust steadily, balls slapping wetly now from the mess between you. "Feel how your body's learning?" she said, voice low and encouraging, the teasing softened but still there. "Tighten around me like that—match the beat." You tried, syncing a few more measures, the piano's notes flowing smoother, almost capturing the sultry pulse of the track.
But her hand returned to your clit, rubbing firmer, and the building tension snapped. Her cock throbbed inside, stretching you wide with each drive, the head kissing your cervix. Your fourth orgasm built slower but hit harder—body arching, pussy fluttering wildly around her as pleasure bordered on pain, tears pricking your eyes. You screamed softly, fingers slipping off the keys entirely, the bench creaking under your weight.
"Damn," Billie breathed, withdrawing carefully, her cock glistening, balls drawn tight. She was close herself, you could tell from the way she panted, but she held back, ever the teacher. "One more push. You're soaked, pussy begging for it. Restart." She entered you again, the slide effortless, your walls welcoming despite the ache. The studio smelled of sex now, heavy and intoxicating, the air thick with your shared heat.
Fifth attempt: Her thrusts were precise, hips snapping in perfect time, balls colliding with your clit in a rhythm that echoed the song. Sweat dripped from her brow onto your skin, mixing with yours. You focused through the haze, fingers finding the keys, pressing down with renewed determination. Notes emerged—clean, flowing, syncing to her movements. She noticed, a soft "Yes" escaping her lips, her hand on your breast squeezing gently.
But the pleasure mounted relentlessly. Her cock filled you completely, dragging out with a twist before slamming back, her balls heavy and full against you. The friction was too much; your body betrayed you one last time. The fifth orgasm ripped through, intense and shattering—pussy convulsing, milking her shaft as you wailed, but miraculously, your hands stayed true. The piano sang unbroken, the melody soaring in perfect harmony with her final, deep thrusts.
Billie followed seconds later, groaning low as she buried herself to the hilt. Her cock pulsed, hot cum erupting in thick ropes, flooding your pussy, her balls contracting against your skin. She jerked her hips, riding out the release, filling you until it leaked out around her base. You both trembled, the music fading as she stilled, breath ragged.
Slowly, she pulled out, a gush of her seed following, trickling down your thighs. She helped you upright, steadying you with hands on your shoulders, that smirk returning but softer now. Tucking herself away, she met your eyes, pride shining through. "See? I knew you could do it."
The words hung in the air, simple and affirming, as the studio settled into quiet satisfaction. The track was alive now, etched into your bodies as much as the keys. As colleagues, this was just another layer to the collaboration—intense, unforgettable, but professional at its core. Billie grabbed a water bottle, handing it to you with a wink. "Let's record that for real now. No distractions."
But the echo of her rhythm lingered, a secret beat only you two shared.
an; its my first time writting smut, i’m sorry cause it SuCkS so big omg, but i hope you at least enjoyed it. btw, someone, fuck me like that. please and thank you.
🏷️; @ovrhaetedd @thecuntiestangel @b1lsvrq
