18+ only / all characters are 18+. corruption kink. tummy bulge. squirting. previous. | masterlist.
Simon Riley who says 'sorry' over and over while fucking innocent!reader, as though a crime were taking place as he hovers over your body.
It certainly feels like one: his big, bearish hands pinning your knees open while he carves inside of you with his mean, girthy dick, and a pair of adoring, wet eyes staring back at him making his chest pinch with guilt—and yet, makes his cockhead leak precum. This is an atrocity. Milky moonlit rays cloak the bedroom in a weak glow that don't quite reach his hulking, shadowy silhouette atop of you; a beast poised to strike. I'm sorry, he says at the ladylike bashfulness written across your face, at the panic that slowly but surely descends upon it when you realize that the danger your family tells you to steer clear of has already made its way to you, your breath growing short as you tussle with him shyly. Fruitlessly. You're powerless to stop him, and you think blissfully that that absolves you of responsibility for breaking your parents' rules.
'Sorry, sweetheart, I couldn't help myself,' he breathes out shakily, hardly able to look—at the naked expanse of your skin right beneath his fingertips, far too pristine for the likes of him. But he does look. He looks, morals be damned, with the hunger of a starved man. Nothing more, nothing less, because flowery words or elaborate metaphors aren't quite apt for a feeling so simple-minded and unembellished—so base as the appetite you stir within him.
He feels the bulge rise under his palm as he bottoms out, watches the outline of his dick through your soft belly in twisted fascination. It feels like going to the moon and staking a flag. It feels like he's taken estate over you, within you, squeezing his body into the tight space. Forcing it to fit. He wants to make a home right here, where his palm presses down upon, making your shaky thighs squeeze around him. Quivers going through your legs like a bowstring—the tension snapping in a messy release that sprays the sheets under your hips, trickling down your inner thighs. The embarrassment in your cherubic face does little to deter him, his palm steady in place as you feel his shaft sawing inside you, curved and thick. It feels like he's molding you to his cock; he feels like you're milking him.
Apologizing doesn't make him a better man by any means. It speaks less of a moral man than of a sick pervert who merely can't control himself. (A victim of his own desires, that’s all. There’s even a kind of indulgence in the effort—like a masturbatory pat on the back, that he tried and failed, sadly, to stay away from the pretty little thing—her, sweet and ruinous—)
He's sorry, he says, and the wrongness of it makes his dick even harder. If he had nothing to be sorry for, perhaps it wouldn't feel quite as transfixing.
𖧁୧ hi there ! gentle reminder that likes & reblogs are some of the best ways to support authors here, they make a huge difference! ♡
★ cockwarming simon whilst he’s watching a football match
“stay still, love.” his gravelly voice tickles the shell of your ear. “‘m watching ‘ere. can’t focus if y’r bouncing on my cock, can i?”
a hiccup leaves your lips, body too full to have room for anything other than his veiny cock. “sorry, si. just feels too -mm- good.”
you were supposed to behave today. he’d warned you long before the two of you ever got together: game day is sacred. simon has never missed one — he couldn’t, not when it’s the only real reprieve from the weight of his missions. and you were planning to listen. you swear!
intending to give him his space, you were just going to make some snacks, ready a pack of beer, and leave him to it. but then, you saw his spread legs, the way they looked so thick and sturdy in his sweats, and salivated. he’d pavloved you. it’s really his fault, now that you think about it. especially considering that he had chosen to forgo boxers, leaving the long length of his soft cock visible in his pant leg for you to ogle.
simon cocked a brow when you came crawling, eyes focused on one thing and one thing only. he patted your head as you rested it on his lap, lips grazing the tip of his dick through the material. “what’d i say, woman? hmm? told you not to be botherin’ me, didn’t I? needy little thing can't follow simple instructions, can ya?” he tuts.
“please, si? i won’t distract you, promise. you won’t even notice i’m here.”
he sighed, hand dragging down his face. “go on then. sit yer ass down. can't just stand there, blocking my view.”
of course, he won’t admit that he’d been waiting for your resolve to snap, that he’d been eyeing you from across the room all this time, and that the fact you lasted till half-time had him damn near ready to stalk across the room and pin you against the nearest wall, ramming the reminder that you’re his no matter what into you.
that’s how you ended up here, with the commentators’ discussion going through one ear and out the other, droning on in the background whilst filthy squelches are wrung out from where you’re connected. you’re leaning against his chest, holding tight to the sinewy arm he has draped over your hips. it pins you down, keeping you from grinding in tight circles like an iron bar.
“thirsty, love?” simon grips your jaw, turning your head towards him so you can see him pour beer into his mouth. he doesn’t swallow. you know that look in his blue eyes — without needing him to say the word, you open up. tangy, wheaty alcohol pools inside, dripping down from his lips onto your awaiting tongue, mixed with the distinct taste of him. calloused, he palms your throat, making sure you swallow every drop. “good girl. stay just like this, alright? ah, who knows, maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”
giggling like you’re already drunk, whether from the beer or the delicious way his cock is stretching your gummy wall you can’t tell, you wonder, “si? what if i’m bad luck? what if your team loses?”
the deep rumble of his chuckle vibrates against your back.
“better hope that doesn’t happen, lovie.” the pads of his fingers seek out your pulsing clit, not rubbing but the mere threat sends your back arching and your pussy clamping down on him. you moan. “for every goal the other team scores, that’s an orgasm your poor cunt’ll be missing out on.”
Move your ear away from the wooden door and take light steps toward your bedroom, promptly forgetting whatever it is you heard.
But you can’t.
Your feet are planted, unwilling to move as you listen just outside your roommate Simon's door.
Inside, you hear his soft groans, and the wet sounds of him stroking his cock travel under the door, shooting straight into your ears.
You feel like a fucking creep.
And, unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time.
Ever since your dad pushed Simon into your house some weeks ago to be your bodyguard while he campaigns state to state for reelection, you have partaken in some questionable escapades.
Like stealing one of Simon’s work shirts and laying it over your face, his scent still fresh as it floods your nose as your work at your aching cunt with your fingers. Your fresh arousal meshing with the soft cotton of your panties leaving a large wet spot in its wake.
Or when you sat in the living room, watching him through the large glass sliding door as you peered into the backyard. With only a blanket covering you, you grounded yourself against a small pillow while watching him work out.
Shirtless, sweating, and with bulging biceps, he did curl-ups with a heavy set of weights. You had coaxed an orgasm so intense that you had forgotten your surroundings, and didn’t smother a loud yell.
Simon sprinted in, throwing open the sliding door. His hand rested on the gun tucked in its holster at his side.
“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice breathy yet firm.
Your skin burned, but you managed to issue a quick yes before your eyes drifted to his sweaty bare chest.
His light chest hair was matted, and his shorts rode low on his hips, revealing a strip of light hair that extended from his belly button to his pubic area.
“You need me to put a shirt on, cupcake?” he taunts with a quipped brow.
You had almost passed out, but it was harmless.
Weird, but harmless.
But, this.
This was completely different territory.
You were intruding on something so profoundly personal, intimate.
And yet, that fact didn’t stop you from slipping your cold fingers into your panties. Your pointer finger slipping inside your soaked cunt without much force.
A curse slips off his tongue as you hear the slick sounds pace increase. You can almost imagine him behind the door.
Lying in his bed, his body tight and itching for relief. Head tilted back against his headboard, as he strokes himself lazily, eyes hazy and teeth digging into his lip.
Your slip another finger inside your cunt, grinding your clit as you lean against the wall just next to his door.
Your start to think of what he would do with you if you were inside his room, bare knees pressing into the vinyl flooring as you took his cock inside you mouth, his fingers threading through your hair.
“So fuckin’ good, cupcake,” he mumbles, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. He lets out a rough noise as he comes in your mouth, eyes darkening when he sees you swallow his come on your tongue.
He pulls you up, setting you in his lap, teeth nipping at your lips and lips sucking yours. He presses his finger against your clit as you grind yourself on his thigh.
“You were squirmin’ down there, huh? Need it that bad?” he grunts, his warm breath fanning your cheek. “Needy fuckin’ girl.”
Your hand presses over your mouth as you feel your body convulse around your fingers and you hear him sputter a choked noise.
You hear the soft creak of the bed as he gets off, and with your chest still heaving, you spin on your heels and pad back to your room.
After you reach your room, your body tingling, your phone chimes. You take it out, the screen glowing, and see a single text from Simon.
“Should have come in, sweet girl. Had your picture in my hand.”
imagine police officer! simon stopping seemingly drunk y/n near the end of his late night patrol shift.
he tells you to blow into the police breathalyzer test, but you end up blowing him differently.
that's how you got into this... situation...
kneeling in front of him between his muscular thighs as you look up at him, admiring his uniform and the way his face twisted in pleasure when the tip of your tongue slides up the vein of his shaft, slowly swirling around his precum-seeping tip.
I have a little thought, virgin!reader getting her first hickey from Simon?👀 🫶
PRETTY BRUISES
𝜗𝜚 the one where simon gives you your first ever hickey
𝜗𝜚 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x virgin!gn!reader
𝜗𝜚 cw: soft smut (minors—DNI), slight!dom!simon, biting, hickeys, slight dumbification? (if you squint hard enough)
the thought of being spread out across simon’s lap, one of his massive hands gripping at your hip and the other tilting your head up and to the side for him.
“still doin’ okay?” simon purrs softly as he trails his aquiline nose down the side of your throat, eyes fluttering closed at the way your scent hits him. the urge to rock his hips up, to grind his fattening cock up against your barely clothed cunt is maddening, near driving simon up the wall.
but he knows to take things slow. he doesn’t wanna scare you off, doesn’t want you fleeing too quickly—at least not until he sinks his canines into you.
you offer him a broken whine in response, fingers fisting at the fabric of the black henley hanging off of his muscled torso as a shuddered breath leaves your lungs. you’re sure you’ve never been this on edge, never felt like one sudden movement and you’d melt through the floorboards like ice cream in the sun, never felt so hot, so desperate.
“jus’ relax fer me, baby,” simon breathes softly against your throat before pressing soft kisses down its column, fingers trailing up your sides and dragging your body closer. “promise it won’t hurt—might leave a little bruise, but s’okay, yeah?”
and you find yourself nodding dumbly, nails scratching and pawing uselessly at the base of simon’s neck in an attempt to make him move faster, to make his teeth dig into your flesh quicker, to somehow will his cock out of his boxers and make him fit it all inside of you in one go. but all it does is make his jaw unhinge the slightest amount to suck part of your neck between his teeth slightly, groaning softly as he nibbled at the sucked flesh.
simon doesn’t expect the lewd noise that falls brokenly from your mouth, doesn’t expect the way your body is already nearly boneless in his lap, but it makes him chuckle softly against your throat nonetheless. his thumbs press gentle circles against your hips as he pulls his lips away with an audible and wet pop.
“see? wasn’t bad, was it? ‘nd you already have a pretty little red mark showin’ up. y’gonna let me add some more? yeah, ‘course you are. come ‘ere, then—i’ll even let ya grind against my fingers while i do it.”
cw: (MDNI-18+ ONLY) explicit sexual content, dark themes, allusions to stalking, manipulation/coercion, dubcon
mdni banner: @cafekitsune
-
You were just trying to be nice to the guy, show him a little customer appreciation. You should've known better.
Whenever the big blonde Manc showed up at your shop, he always ordered a hot cuppa and a slice of lemon pound cake. Didn't matter what was on special that day or what was in the display case, he always asked for the pound cake. Nothing else would do.
You hadn't seen him in a couple of months, which over the past year or so you had learned was sort of his MO. He'd stop in every day for several weeks in a row, then poof! He'd vanish until, months later, he'd just suddenly reappear again. You never asked why; it wasn't that kind of relationship. He never was much of a talker, that one.
So, yesterday he showed up again—just suddenly out of the blue, like always—and wouldn't ya know it, you were completely sold out of the pound cake. Usually you wouldn't be, but it just so happened that an old bird had popped in before lunch and bought the last of what you had for an afternoon tea she was hosting for her knitting circle.
You obviously had no way of knowing that would happen, but still you felt bad because you could tell he was disappointed. You even offered him some free macarons to make up for it, but he just grunted and shook his head, then paid for his tea and left.
Well, of course, you wanted to make it up to him, him being one of your regulars and all. It's simply good business, you told yourself, looking after your loyal customers and what not.
So, the next day you were ready for him. You even went so far as to set out the tin of his favorite brand of earl grey in anticipation of his arrival. You then fretted for hours, keeping a close eye out for him, until he finally showed up. You were all smiles as he approached the counter.
"Got any uh tha' pound cake left t'day?" he'd asked in that grumbly, gruff way of his.
"I do!" you told him, giving him a coy smirk.
"Gimma a slice then, an' my usual brew."
You were on pins and needles while making his tea, giddy with nerves as you slid the green-and-white striped cake box across to him with his to-go cup. You were keen to see his reaction. His dark eyes squinted at it, darting back and forth between you and the box.
"Wha's this, then? I asked fer a slice, not a whole bloomin' cake, ya muppet." He scoffed and pushed the cake box back towards you.
Well! Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for. Feeling a bit peeved, you pushed it back. When he glared, you shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it.
"I felt bad that you left empty-handed yesterday, so I wanted to make it up to you. That's an entire lemon pound cake, made just for you."
He blinked, his pale brows furrowing into a bothered little frown. He eyed the cake box, looking a bit perturbed, then reached for his wallet.
"No no!" you blurted out, waving him off. You gave him a sheepish look, suddenly feeling put on the spot. "It's um—It's on the house." You scratched at the back of your burning neck, eyes sliding off to the side. "Gotta take care of my loyal customers, don't I? Wouldn't want to lose ya."
And he just stared at you. Didn't say a word in response.
In fact, he stared at you for so long, you started to fidget. Sweat began gathering in your pits, your body tense and overheated. Had you overstepped, offended him somehow? Your mouth fell open, but nothing came out of it. You weren't quite sure what to say to him, so you just gaped up at him like a stupid, daft cow.
He tilted his head, eyes hooded and lazy. "Ya sayin' ya made this especially f'me, pet?" he finally asked.
The situation was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. "Um... Well... Y-Yes, I suppose I did."
Planting his hands on the counter, he leaned forward, his dark, glinting eyes raking over you as he hummed in consideration. Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust from embarrassment, he straightened to his full height and the corners of his mouth curled up into a wicked little smirk.
"Wha' time do ya usually get outta here?"
Your breath gusted out in a rush, and you realized you'd been holding it the whole time. "Around seven," you croaked, then cleared your throat. "S-Seven o'clock..."
"Christ," he grunted, making your eyes bug when he reached down and shamelessly adjusted himself. "Olright then. I'll be back 'round seven f'ya." His eyes bore into yours as he took his tea and cake from the counter. "I'll walk ya home."
Then out the door he went.
Your mind was in a daze for the remainder of the day, the passing hours little more than a blur. He's coming back; he's walking me home, your mind kept repeating.
Your anxiety eventually got the best of you. You'd pretty much talked yourself into nicking out early to avoid him, but your plan of escape went completely awry when he walked back into the shop at six-thirty.
Oh, dear God...
"You're early," you squeaked.
He rolled his massive shoulders, then took a seat at one of the tables. He stretched his long, tree trunk legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "Figured I'd wait while ya finished closin' up. Care t'make me a brew first, though?"
Your body went on autopilot, making him a tea while your mind screamed into the void. Then you shuffled off to finish closing up for the night while he sipped his tea. He helped you turn up the chairs to speed things along, and was right on your heels when you finally locked up for the night.
It was all you could do to keep up with him as he led you by the hand a few streets over to your flat. You were so flustered, it didn't even occur to you at the time that he somehow already knew the way.
The next thing you knew, he was herding you up the stairs to your floor, taking the keys from your trembling hand to unlock the door himself. Maybe it was an attempt at self-preservation that gave you the courage to balk at the threshold and turn to face him.
"Thank you for walking me home, Mister..." Your lashes fluttered and a nervous titter bubbled out. "I'm sorry. I never even asked for your name."
Heavy hands landed on your shoulders, sliding down to your biceps as he smirked a wicked grin and walked you backwards through the doorway.
"Name's Simon, lovie. Simon Riley."
The gravel in his voice sent a chill shuddering down your spine. He laughed low and wicked when you jumped after he kicked the door shut behind him.
"'S olright, li'l girlie. 'M gonna take real good care uh ya. Jus' relax an' let it happen, yeah?"
That was the extent of your conversation for the next few hours. You really weren't capable of speech during that time, and he mainly just growled out orders at you.
"Get yer knickers off an' spread those pretty thighs, doll."
"Fuck. Tha's it, lovie. Keep suckin' it just like tha'. Told ya you could take more."
"Quit squirmin' an' keep them legs open. Can't eat properly wiff ya squeezin' my head."
"Just breathe, sweet'art. You can take it all. I'll make it fit."
"On yer belly, arse up, princess. 'M not done wiff ya yet."
"Quit yer whingin' an' come f'me again."
That's not to say he wasn't generous with the praise too, though...
"Ya look s'pretty wiff my cock in yer mouth. Like a fuckin' angel."
"Mmm... Never tasted a pussy this good. Could eat ya all night."
"Bloody hell, 's tight. Feels like heaven."
"Good. Fuckin'. Girl. Nngh! Knew ya could take it all."
"Christ... 'Got me 'bout t'come olready, lovie."
"Look bloody gorgeous sittin' on my cock, lass. An' lookit how yer tits bounce. Fuck... FUCK!"
"Not gonna last—feel too bloody good. Gonna fill this pussy up!"
And he did. He filled you up to the brim and left you a boneless, quivering mess. Then he cleaned you up and tucked you into his side. Best sex ever, you thought before drifting off to sleep.
It was so good, in fact, that you didn't even get mad when he ghosted a kiss on your cheek and slipped out of your bed then out of your flat before dawn. He never was much for chatting anyway, so you figured he'd rather skip the awkward goodbye the next morning. It was a bit disappointing to know you'd probably lost a good customer, though.
And yeah, maybe you were a little sad when he didn't stop in for his usual slice and cuppa the next day, but honestly, it was probably for the best. He always did strike you as a little too intense, maybe even slightly unhinged. Yet it was probably that hint of danger that drew you to him in the first place, like a moth to a flame.
It might be fun to dance in the flames on occasion, but his brand of fire would consume you if you stayed too close for too long. Ah well. At least he left you with some good memories to keep you warm at night.
By six that evening the store is dead, your last customer having departed a half hour ago. Deciding to close up early, you flip the sign on the door and turn the lock, then head to the back to clean. You're already planning on a long soak in the tub with a glass of wine once you get home. Simon left you with sore muscles and a bone-deep ache between your thighs. You swear you could still feel the shape of him impressed into your inner walls.
You're in the process of shelving a stack of loaf pans, dithering over Chinese or pizza for dinner, when you hear the telltale jingle of the bell above the door. Startled, you gasp and loaf pans go scattering across the floor, making a terrible racket. Hissing a curse, you toss your hands up in frustration before stomping back to the front.
"Sorry! We're closed," you call out as you shove through the kitchen door, then come to an abrupt halt.
Wait. Didn't you lock the door?
"'Ello, lovie."
Simon's leaning against the counter, a devilish little quirk on his lips.
"How did you get in here?" is all you can think to say.
"Took yer spare set uh keys before I left this mornin'. Needed the key t'yer flat, but didn't wanna wake ya, so I helped myself. What was oll tha' racket?"
"I dropped the loaf pans," you mutter, in a daze.
He huffs a dry laugh. "Sorry if I startled ya. Was gonna call, but figured ya'd be busy closin' up the shop." He starts flipping the chairs up onto the tables. "Ya almost done? 'M ready t'go home an' relax. Been movin' house all day."
"Moving house?" you parrot, a sense of dread settling like a stone in your gut.
"Yeah. Figured I'd move tuh yers since yer flat's bigger than mine. Nicer, too." He smirks. "But don't worry. I didn't toss any uh yer shit. Got rid uh mine instead. 'S all secondhand junk, anyway."
You feel like you're in some sort of surreal dreamscape, where up is down and right is wrong and nothing makes sense anymore. Alice taking a header right down the old rabbit hole.
"You... You moved into my flat? But... But—why?!"
He rounds the counter, steps slow and steady, a predator stalking his prey. Scared little rabbit that you are, you tremble but don't move, some deep-rooted, primal instinct warning you to stay very, very still. Your head tilts back, eyes wide and unblinking, fearful of what you see smoldering in the dark depths of his eyes. Hellfire. Damnation.
"Shh..." he shushes you, placing a rough palm against your cheek. "We both know why. Yer just scared 'cause now ya know that I can see ya. But I've always seen ya, lovie. Always knew what ya wanted, what ya needed. Was just waitin' f'ya tuh figure it out."
Wrapping his fingers around your throat he draws you close, licks into your mouth like it's his to possess, like you're his to claim. He then spins you around and swats your bum to get you moving.
"Go grab yer stuff. We'll take care uh the rest uh this in the mornin'. 'S time t'go home."
You stumble to the back to get your things, mind numb, thoughts empty.
Later that night, eyes staring blindly up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, you quake as he sinks slowly between your thighs, listen to the filthy praise he mumbles against your lips. His breath tastes sweet, like pound cake, and you swallow it down, make it your own.
You were just trying to be nice, but you should've known better. You can't feed a feral stray like him without consequences. Because a beast like him is bound to follow you home.
cw: dubcon elements, rough sex, SELF-INDULGENT and therefore weird mermaid biology, (suspend disbelief idk and idc about mermaid biology, i just wanted to write ghost fucking a mermaid.), forced?-ish breeding (both parties were aware of the risks)
Merman!Ghost who's actually a selkie... of sorts.
Merman!Ghost who took the coat of a GREAT Greenland shark over three centuries ago and has lived as a shark ever since...
Merman!Ghost who's a deep dweller and has become quite the hunter, using the darkness of the depths to attract dumb prey so he can kill them.
Merman!Ghost who's not above mauling humans, in fact he despises them, especially when he finds them hurting animals. Sure, he kills them, but he's an animal himself.
Merman!Ghost who when he's bored causes issues on purpose, including scaring fish and other underwater life, and finds great humour in it.
Merman!Ghost who constantly gives trouble to fishing boats by trying to sink them, slamming his tail on the side of them to send them rocking side to side... and by ripping their nets with his teeth...
Merman!Ghost who has had horror stories and cautionary tales told of him by many navigators, pirate captains, sailor crews... who has become somewhat of a legend, a myth, and gets referred to as "The Creature".
Merman!Ghost who's not immune to mermaid song, surprisingly enough, but who can resist it plenty well.
Merman!Ghost who hears the lilting of your voice through the dark water but doesn't seek you out.
Merman!Ghost who succeeds in resisting... for days, weeks, months...
Merman!Ghost who awakes to the endless sound of your singing bubbling into his ears, and gets lulled to sleep by it as well.
Merman!Ghost who finds himself going insane by your voice, that follows him like a backdrop for every waking moment of his life, and cannot tune it out.
Merman!Ghost who eventually bites the bait and allows himself to rise from his domain.
Merman!Ghost follows your voice as it carries for miles upon miles.
Merman!Ghost who comes across a natural cave by the beach. Way too close to the beach. Close enough for him to know he'll end up washing up and getting stuck.
Merman!Ghost who checks both sides, making sure the beach is empty before he tentatively strips off his coat for the first time in years.
Merman!Ghost who stashes his coat between the rocks, covering it with algae before he dares venture into the cave.
Merman!Ghost who can't see as easily without the shark eyes, who can't swim as well without the shark fins, who can barely walk because all his human muscles are atrophied.
Merman!Ghost who wades in waist deep water into the darkness of the cave, looking around for you, his burly, calloused hands using the rocks as crutches to seek you out.
Merman!Ghost who only notices you when it's too late... when your song suddenly stops and the water splashes as you dive back in.
Merman!Ghost who watches you zoom past him in the water, a slippery fishtail propelling you in a zigzag amidst the rocks before you emerge out of the cave.
Merman!Ghost who watches you grab his shark coat and try to make off with it...
Merman!Ghost who takes his sweet time returning back to the mouth of the cave, watching you bob on the water with a mischievous smirk on your lips.
Merman!Ghost who demands "Give it back."
Merman!Ghost who scowls when you tell him "No." and "If you want it back, you have to marry me."
Merman!Ghost who crosses his arms and glares at you, shaking his head and refusing.
Merman!Ghost who scowls even more when you tell him "Then I guess it's bye bye to your skin.".
Merman!Ghost who despises being a human more than he despises the prank you're pulling on him.
Merman!Ghost who tries to negotiate and offers you something in exchange for his coat.
Merman!Ghost who pushes you against the rocks at the entrance of the cave as the cold water and seafoam wash over you both while he kisses you, pressing his tongue, the only warm part of his body, into your mouth, toying with yours.
Merman!Ghost who licks at the salty sea water glistening on your skin and the scales adorning your pretty neck, an arm wrapped around the small of your back.
Merman!Ghost whose human fingers, pale and wrinkled from the salt water, wrap around your exposed breast, softly tugging on the pert nipple while his mouth kisses and sucks at the patches of skin amidst your scales.
Merman!Ghost who tsk's at you for having been singing for so long to attract him, and scolds you for getting him so riled up for weeks on end with your song.
Merman!Ghost whose hands push you up onto the rocks so he can dip his head down your chest, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, sucking it slowly and watching you mewl and cry so beautifully.
Merman!Ghost who gets a reminder of the one positive side of being a human, as his human cock rises up suddenly and stiffly, large and thick, already oozing precum against your tail scales.
Merman!Ghost who carefully grinds his leaking cock against your slick cunt, right before the spot your thighs meet and blend into a tail.
Merman!Ghost who turns you over, bending you over the rocks, one hand on the back of your neck, the other steadying you around the bones of your hip...
Merman!Ghost who plunges his hooded cock deep into your cunt, causing you both to cry out in delight, eyes rolling and jaws going slack as he bottoms out.
Merman!Ghost who bullies his cock deep into your cunny, feeling how your warm, gummy walls contract and squeeze around him while he groans loudly.
Merman!Ghost who pounds away at you again and again, hearing your voice go high-pitched and squeaky with each snap of his hips, finally shattering the mind-numbing and intoxicating mermaid song he's had stuck in his head for weeks.
Merman!Ghost who watches you squirm and whine as you cum around his thick cock, nearly choking it with how tight you get, before he slams his hips against the back of your tail a few more times, and shoots his cum deep inside you.
Merman!Ghost who watches smugly how blissful, quiet and calm you are after he's done, breathing heavily and your body buzzing.
Merman!Ghost who snatches his shark coat from your hands as you're too fucked out to remember you're meant to keep it out of his reach.
Merman!Ghost who puts his shark coat back on and morphs back to the shape he's comfortable in, then wraps his maw around your tired body, beginning to drag you underwater with him.
Merman!Ghost whose body rumbles with a laugh when you try to get free and loosen his grip on you, demanding he let you go.
Merman!Ghost who tells you "I thought you wanted me to be your husband? Well, I made you my broodmare too... Now I have to take care of you."
