*foaming at the mouth like a rabid rat. I bang my fists on the table rhythmically chanting* "SUBBOT KEEGAN SUBBOT KEEGAN SUBBOT KEEGAN!"
Gonna get him pregnant. Gonna bite his ass.
He’s never let anyone do this.
Not even close.
No one’s ever seen him like this, flat on his back, legs trembling around your waist, arms laying above his head. His body is flushed, sweat-damp, twitching under your touch. The toy you’re easing into him is slow and thick, built to stretch him open, and you’re only halfway in when his mouth opens on a sharp gasp, his jaw tight, brows furrowed like he’s struggling.
"You’re okay," you whisper, your tone low and steady, like you’re talking to something wild and beautiful and scared. Your fingers stroke gently over the sharp slope of his hips, soothing him. "I’ve got you, Keegsy. Just breathe."
He tries. But the stretch makes his eyes flutter shut. His chest lifts, shaky and high, and his thighs twitch against your sides. You’re taking your time, easing every inch in slow, gentle, intentional. He’s quiet, but the silence is trembling.
And the way you look at him…
Not like he’s something to conquer. Not even like he’s just some lucky lay.
You look at him like he’s precious. Like he’s yours.
And Keegan?
That undoes him more than anything.
You bottom out slowly, hips flush with the backs of his thighs. His whole body tightens beneath you, back arching off the mattress. He’s not touching himself, his cock is flushed, straining against his belly, leaking without a single stroke, and he’s already gasping like he’s being edged within an inch of his life.
"Doing so good for me," you whisper, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Look at you."
He whines through his teeth, face turning away, overwhelmed.
“You okay?”
His voice is shredded. Raw. “Y-Yeah. Just-fuck. Don’t move yet.”
You don’t. Not until his body starts to soften beneath you. Not until he loosens his death grip on the sheets and the tremble in his thighs becomes a roll of his hips.
Then you move.
Just once.
A slow, deep grind. Smooth. Heavy. Right into him.
And he reacts.
His whole body seizes, shoulders pressing into the bed, fists clenching tight, a moan tearing from his throat so desperate it barely sounds human.
You feel it.
The way his body clenches around the toy, the way his cock twitches untouched, drooling onto his skin.
You smile.
You’ve found it.
You do it again. And again.
Steady, slow, deliberate. Your hips roll in a rhythm, hitting that perfect bundle of nerves inside him over and over until he’s writhing beneath you.
Keegan moans.
High, shattered, shameless. One hand flails out for you. He doesn’t know what he’s reaching for, just needs to hold onto something.
You take it.
Fingers laced. Steady. Anchoring him.
“That’s it,” you breathe. “Right there, huh? That’s the spot that makes you cry?”
He shakes his head, but his thighs twitch, his lips parting with a choked whimper. "Not crying~"
"Not yet," you whisper. "But you will."
His hips start rocking up on instinct, chasing every thrust. He’s not in control anymore. He’s chasing the sensation, drunk on it, his mouth open and breathless as you keep pressing deeper, grinding just right.
You lean in until your lips brush his ear.
"You gonna come like this?" you whisper. "Gonna let me fuck the cum out of you like a needy little whore?"
Keegan sobs.
It’s not a moan. Not a groan. A real, broken sob, torn from somewhere deep inside him.
And then he comes.
Untouched. Loud. Cock pulsing against his stomach, leaking across his abs in thick, hot stripes. His hole clenches down around the toy so tight you nearly can’t move. He cries out your name, again and again, and his body trembles with every twitch of his cock.
But you don’t stop.
You fuck him through it, slow and deep, letting every roll of your hips hit his prostate again and again. His body is shaking, jolting with overstimulation now, whimpering so sweetly it hurts.
"Please-please-too much-"
"I know," you whisper, kissing his temple. "But your body’s still begging."
You reach between the two of you and stroke him.
Your fingers close around the thick weight of him, already slick with his own release, still twitching against his stomach. He’s flushed dark from base to tip, the skin fever-hot, veiny, and swollen, gorgeous like this. His cock is long, girthy, heavy, the kind of weight that sits thick in your palm even as it trembles with overstimulation.
You drag your hand up the shaft, slow and deliberate, letting your thumb smear the bead of precum pooling at the tip. It pulses under your touch, the head an angry red, glistening. He gasps, no, chokes, on the noise that escapes him, hips jolting like he can’t decide if he wants to get away or fuck your fist.
His voice is barely a whisper, all wrecked gravel and desperation.
“Too much.”
But his cock twitches again in your hand, betraying him. He’s hardening again already, sensitive to the point of madness, and still, still, his hips buck into your touch like his body’s begging for more even as his mind tries to tap out.
"You’re so hard," you murmur, in awe. "Still leaking for me."
And he is, his slit drooling slick with every slow stroke you give him, pearly fluid sliding down the shaft and over your knuckles, mixing with sweat and the mess you’ve already made of him. The way he feels in your hand, hot, twitching, helpless, makes your breath catch in your throat.
He doesn’t respond. He moans. Long, low, broken. The sound a man makes when he's been completely conquered
You stroke him in time with your thrusts.
Not hard. Not fast. Just perfect. Slow drag of your palm over his shaft, grinding deep into his prostate with every rock of your hips.
He screams.
His back bows. His legs shake uncontrollably. His mouth opens, but no words come out, just these desperate, broken sounds as you work him back up.
"I c-can’t-can’t think-fuck-"
"Good," you whisper, your voice like velvet and smoke. "You don’t need to think. Just feel."
You lean in and kiss his open mouth. He whimpers into it, shaking. Melting. His body giving in completely.
You stroke harder. Grind deeper. Pin his hand back to the bed as his other tries to claw at your shoulder.
And then he comes again.
Dry. Ruined.
Every muscle in his body locking up, a strangled sob bursting from his chest as his cock spasms and leaks what little’s left. Yet again his hole clenches hard around the toy, drawing you in like he needs it there, and his whole body shakes with the force of it.
You don’t move.
You hold him through it.
You kiss his tear-wet cheek and cradle his face in your hand.
"So good," you whisper. "So fucking perfect."
Keegan is limp.
Completely. Utterly. Destroyed.
His body still twitches occasionally as you slowly, gently pull out. You take the toy aside to the bathroom when you emerge you take the time to clean him. Warm rag. Careful hands. Soft kisses. He doesn’t speak. He just stares at the ceiling like he’s left the planet.
You crawl under the blankets and guide him into your arms.
He goes easily.
Burrows into your chest with a long, shaking breath and a sigh that sounds more like a prayer.
You hold him close. Rub slow circles into his back.
"Still with me?"
He hums. Barely audible. "M’dead."
You kiss his temple.
"No, you’re just ruined."
He laughs. Weak. Hoarse. And wraps his arms around your waist like you’re the only solid thing left in the world.
"You okay?" you ask.
He nods slowly. "Too much."
You pause.
And then he adds, softer-
"...not enough."
You smile into his hair.
“Next time,” you promise.
But you both know he’ll be begging for it again before the night is over.
