đà§ Sucking simon's soul through his sweet cock :p
cw. mature content.
Simon never thought he'd love someone's mouth on his cock, ever. Just the thought of being so intimate with someone has him shuddering, sure he doesn't hate it. His past hookups were decent enough, he never went down on them because that wasn't really his thing and he never forced them to do the same either but when a few of them insisted, he gave in. But ofcourse it didn't really get him going.
So when you came along and sink down on your knees for the first time, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes, simon can't help but caress your hair. You unbuckled his cargo, pulling down the zipper as you stared at the prominent bulge straining against his boxers. You eagerly pulled them down, just enough to reveal his massive throbbing cock, "woah.. it's big" you whispered in awe. Your hands gently took the bulge in your palm, feeling it twitch to life in your hold.
He bit back a groan as you rubbed your small thumb on his swollen tip, the bead of precum smearing on your fingers as you let out a giggle and pulled away, bringing the finger to your mouth as you licked it clean, making simon grunt, "Fuck, don' do that luv." But you couldn't help but smirk as you looked up at him and while maintaining eye contact, you pushed his cock down your throat in one go.
Simon couldn't stop the groan that slipped as his large hand gripped your hair tightly, "Fuckin' hell", you choked around him, your spit dribbling past your mouth as you tried to hollow your cheeks but just the sheer girth of it has the inside of your cheeks stretched wide as you gagged. You could barely breath as he quite literally had blocked your windpipe, your hands fisted into simon's jeans as tears burned in your eyes. You pulled back before trying to take more of him but you just couldn't! He was just too big!!
You fully pulled back now, sputtering as you tried to catch your breath but simon groaned in frustration, "Bloody hell!" His hips bucked, chasing your warm mouth, "can't sii, you're so biiig!" You coughed as his tip poked your cheek but simon's hazel eyes looked down at you, wide with new found obsession, "ya can take it." He muttered before gripping your hair and thrusting his cock in.
He let out a grunt, pushing your head deeper onto his cock, not caring if you gagged or cried. Would it be sadistic if he happened to like the sounds you made as you struggled to take his cock down your throat, it did hurt him seeing your poor jaw slacked open as you tried your best to take him but he's make sure to kiss your face better, his poor dovie. Your cheeks sucked on his girthy length while your hands travelled to his heavy balls, squeezing them as he bucked his hips in sudden excessive pleasure.
"Jesus!" Simon's hand gripped your hair as his stomach scrunched and he came right down your throat, making you gag as you pulled back. His cum flowing down the side of your mouth as you coughed, sniffling as tears and snot ran down your face. It was such a mess and honestly as simon stared down at you, there was just hearts missing in his eyes, this had just become his new favourite view. "Ya were amazin', luv."
After the life Simon Riley has had, itâs really not surprising that he just canât get it up anymore. Heâs tried, time and time again, but the blood doesnât pump through him the same way it did. And it isnât that he doesnât have a sex drive, god no, one look at you and he wishes he could fuck you into the mattress until your tears stain the pillows and the only sounds falling from your mouth are screams of pleasure.
You walk around the apartment, his big t-shirt on, no panties underneath, and it drives him insane. Youâre an entire decade younger than him, young and sexy, and he canât help but feel guilty for letting you stay with him knowing that he canât give you what you want in bed.
It doesnât stop him from eating you out until your clit is puffy and your walls are rubbed raw by his calloused fingers. When his head is between your legs, he tries, he really does. He gets so worked up, grinding his soft cock against the bed, willing it to get hard so he can fuck you right after, but it never does.
All it ends in is you cumming on his face one too many times and him walking out of the room without saying a word in pure humiliation.
You donât take it to heart, you know he beats himself up for it, saying he isnât good enough, that you should find someone who can actually give you what you want and keep up with you at that. Every time you reassure him, that he does satisfy you, that he never fails to make you feel good regardless of how he does it, but it seems to go in one ear and out the other.
But tonight, tonight is different and you will find a way to fuck your man.
You lay naked on the bed, legs spread, juices glistening off your folds while Simon hovers above you. His arms cage your head in as he kisses you rough, his tongue sliding over your soft lips, yours entering to explore the expanse of his mouth. He kisses the length of your jaw, down your neck where he licks the salty-sweet skin, bites just hard enough for you to writhe beneath him, and sucks until purple bruises are left to ache in the best way possible.
Before he can lower himself between your legs, you let your fingertips brush just under the waistband of his sweatpants, and his mouth stills against yours.
âSi⊠just let me try something tonight. I really want to,â you say breathlessly, pulling away from the kiss, gazing up at him with a look that is more of a beg than anything.
He kisses your forehead, moving his hand down to pull yours away, but before he can you reach in deeper, squeezing the base of him and earning a rumbling groan from him instead. His fingers wrap around your wrist, not moving you, just simply holding on like he has to steady himself.
âLovie, please. Donât embarrass me now,â he whispers, voice rough and low, wavering ever so slightly when your hand begins to trail further up his limp cock.
You donât reply, but you do run your thumb against his tip, swiping the precum beading from his slit, evidence of his arousal despite him remaining soft. Lips meeting him again, heâs reluctant, but eventually he finds your rhythm.
Pushing his sweatpants down, you pull his cock out, stroking it gently and your warm, soft palm against him feels like you're touching his raw nerves. Even if he couldnât get it up, it is still incredibly sensitive from months and months of pent-up need and no sex. Not that you hadnât tried before, because you have, and every time he gets frustrated.
Thereâs not much you can say to convince him to try again on the same night.
Nonetheless, you focus on his tip, gliding your thumb under the ridge, rubbing against his slit, and you feel his cock twitch barely in your hand. You pull his body closer to yours, resting his cock on your folds, and he hisses from the sheer pleasure of that alone. Your body heat, your slick, the thought of him touching your aching clit like this has him beyond needy.
âJust slide against me. Itâll feel good, yeah,â you say, nodding your head slowly in encouragement.
His hips roll against you, his cock sliding underneath your palm and through your folds, and he bites back a whimper while shivers run down his spine. Simon can feel his cock hardening, just barely, just enough that he might actually be able to feel your walls wrap around him, so he wastes no time in finding out.
âPlease, please,â he says under his breath, begging his body to let him pleasure you in ways he usually canât, just for tonight if thatâs what it takes.
He grabs the base of his cock, positioning at your entrance, and it takes a few tries but his semi-hard tip pushes through your entrance. You gasp softly, the feeling foreign and orgasmic, and your walls clench hard around him. A guttural groan rips from his chest when he begins to rock into you, his eyes meet yours, passion and desire swirling around as his pupils dilate from the sight of you taking him regardless of the conditions.
âYou feel so good, Si,â you moan, lifting your hips to give him easier access, glancing down every few seconds to watch the way his impossibly large and yet still soft cock rubs through your walls.
âYou feel like a dream,â is all he can get out before his eyes are shutting tight and his fingers are tangling in your hair.
Your body meets his, helping him through it, helping him get to where he needs to be so that just for tonight, he can feel man enough for you. And when he cums deep inside of you, his tip pulsing with long, thick ropes of warm cum, âthank youâsâ fall from him repeatedly before he kisses you with a newfound confidence.
âAgain Si, donât stop.â
He doesnât. He stays rocking inside you, cumming again and again until his cock is too raw, until your pussy is full of his cum, and you feel every last bit of him. When heâs done, he lowers himself between your legs, cleaning his mess and sucking your clit, watching you cry from pleasure, watching you squirm away, but there is nothing he could give you that would ever come close to the feeling of showing him that he is enough for you.
âMasterlistâ
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A/N: since someone had an issue with the fact that i said the reader is a decade younger than simon and "young and sexy" let me clarify that i never specified an age anywhere in the fic lmao the reader could be 24 and simon be 37 the reader could be 35 and simon be 50 for all i care thats for you to decide and that is why i dont specify certain aspects of the reader i simply wanted to emphasize an age gap to make the guilt simon feels more profound simon finds the reader sexy and shes younger than him there is nothing to read in between the lines or imply about that literally at all
a glorious, strawberry-stained, unapologetically chaotic mess.
chubby fists full of crushed fruit, cheeks stained red like a tiny dionysus on a sugar high. the kid is perched in the front of a shopping trolley, squealing with unfiltered joy as she squishes another berry against her lips and thenâperhaps in a fit of generosityâsmears it into her father's shirt. you coo.
coo, like something soft and maternal has cracked open inside you, and simon watches it happen in real timeâwatches you light up like youâve just witnessed the first sunrise in human history. âoh my god,â you whisper, slowing your pace beside him. âlook at her. look at her face.â
simon is already looking.
he canât not look.
that baby is a walking portrait of everything he doesnât have and everything heâs been trying not to want.
the pink sneakers with velcro straps. the milk-drunk eyes. the chubby elbow rolls. the cartoon rabbit on her bib, now stained a bloody red from berry carnage. she's a masterpiece of mess and joy, and simonâs knees suddenly feel like they've gone soft.
heâs staring. hard.
âsi,â you tease, nudging him. âdonât gawk.â
â'm not gawkin',â he lies, mouth dry. âjust⊠watchinâ. 'lil gremlinâs got a good arm.â
as if to prove point, the baby flings half a strawberry across the market lane with frightening accuracy. it lands near the produce stall. she shrieks with delight.
you laugh. and something in simon cracks.
he can see it, clear as anything: your laugh at the kitchen table, a baby in your lap, sticky fingers tugging at your shirt, the sound of little feet slapping down the hall in the morning.
simon's not just looking at a baby.
heâs looking at a blueprint for the life heâs never let himself build.
and suddenly, he wants it so badly he could scream. âbloody hell,â he mutters, turning away like the sight physically pains him. âsheâs killinâ me.â
you tilt your head. âwhatâs that, soldier?â
he looks at you with the wide, haunted eyes of a man on the edge. âi want one.â
Dude, just in case you're not used to wearing rings.
So you take it off every night before you go to bed.
So every morning?
Ghost will hold up the ring and ask you again.
âWill you marry me?â
âWhat does it mean when we sleep together every day? Strangers who have gotten a marriage certificate?â
âI just want to ask you again.â
âAgain and again, the answer will be yes.â
hmmm könig acting like an excited but desperate puppy, asking you âdoes that feel good? do you like it? tell me, is that the spot, my hase?â constantly because he has slight doubt. except he underestimates his size and already, his seemingly âslowâ pace is drilling into you so youâre unable to answer him.
now youâre being fucked dumb and you havenât said anything, by his own knowledge of sex, he simply assumes heâs not pounding you good enough. his âslowâ pace becomes almost impossible to take when his thrusts begin to speed up and fuck you deeper.
still, könig is asking if that feels any better but youâre face first burying into the pillow, biting the sheets, given up on asking so you just end up taking his fat cock til you both cum. (aka til you feel like youâve met death)
nsfw. 40s könig. come eating. pussy slapping. voyeurism. manhandling. degradation. squirting. sex work.
you never planned on doing porn.
you don't think anyone does, really. you had a whole different life mapped outâ degree, stable job, retirement.
but college was bleeding you dry. bills stacked faster than you could pay them, textbooks cost more than your monthly groceries, and your financial aid office had the efficiency of a broken vending machine. part-time jobs barely kept the lights on. dinner was whatever was cheap and lasted the longest.
you worked, studied, scraped by, but it felt more like drowning in slow motion.
camming started as an experiment. a shot in the dark born from desperation.
you bought a cheap ring light from amazon, found a secondhand webcam on facebook marketplace, and set up your little filming space in the corner of your apartment. it was nothing fancy. the lighting was bad, the camera wasnât great, and instead of a tripod you had a stack of books.
but it worked.
you slipped into the only matching lingerie set you ownedâ soft pink lace, delicate ribbons, tiny bows stitched in all the right places. sheer enough to tease, but still leaving just enough to the imagination. the bra straps slipped down your shoulders as you posed in front of the mirror, lips parted, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.
picking the best ones, you captioned them with something playful then posted them to onlyfans, shut your laptop, and forgot about it. you werenât expecting much. maybe a few subscribers, a little extra cash, nothing major.
then, your account blew up.
someone with a bit of reach had apparently found your photos and posted them to a a ddlg subreddit, and suddenly you were everywhere.
at first, you didnât notice. but when you woke up to hundreds of new notifications, dms, and tips flooding in overnight, you started digging.
thatâs when you saw it. a post on reddit. thousands of upvotes. hundreds of comments dissecting your photos in excruciating detail.
[r/ddlg] found this new onlyfans girl and i'm losing my mind. sheâs so soft. look at her. look at her.
đș14.3k upvotes đŹ 793 comment
u/daddysfavorite456: this is the most perfect little babygirl iâve ever seen wtf
đș6.2k
u/sirspanksalot: the way sheâs tugging her panties down just a little⊠i need a moment
đș4.9k
u/subsugarplum: her little pout in the third pic is actually ruining my life
đș3.3k
u/softdom_daddy: how do we make sure she never pays for anything again in her life?
đș7.1k
your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled. every detail of your photos was being analyzed. obsessed over.
the way you tilted your head just slightly, eyes wide and doe-like. the way your fingers curled in the hem of your panties, like you were hesitating. like you needed permission. the little pout in the last photo, lower lip caught between your teeth, the faintest furrow in your brows.
suddenly, your subscriber count was doubling by the hour.
new subscribers flooded in overnight. your follower count jumped by thousands. dms piled up, requests, tips, compliments, outright begging.
"you're perfect. please let me take care of you." ($20 tip)
"youâre the softest little thing iâve ever seen." ($50 tip)
"tell me you do custom videos. iâll pay whatever." ($100 tip)
the sudden influx of attention was overwhelming. you barely had time to process it before people were demanding more.
demand skyrocketed. they were practically clawing at your metaphorical door, begging for more content, more varietyâ more, more, more.
for now, solo work was fine. it was safe. comfortable. easy to control. but you knew it wouldnât be enough forever. you saw it in the comments, in the messages, in the ever-growing list of requests. they wanted more than just you and a camera. they wanted another presence. another body in the frame.
you debated your options. a studio would be the safest bet. you had the budget nowâ painstakingly built, every small tip, every renewal adding up until you finally had enough that you didn't need to comprise comfort.
but finding the right studio was another thing entirely.
you didnât want the overproduced, garish lights and cheap theatrics of mainstream porn. you wanted subtlety. intimacy. something with taste. good lighting, soft edits, angles that captured the feeling rather than just the act.
something that matched the persona you had so carefully built.
you thought about it for weeks before finally bringing it up to valeria, a girl you often had collabs with.
she tilted her head when you mentioned it. "professional production..? you know there are a lot of seedy guys out there."
you nodded, worrying your lip between your teeth. youâd done enough research to know that most so-called "professional" setups were just glorified scams, with sleazy directors who treated performers like props.
valeria watched you for a second, then clicked her tongue. "but, if you ever actually follow through, i know a guy. a lot of the girls have worked with him before. big name in the business. respects his actors. good guy." she pulled out her phone. "iâll send you his portfolio. put in a good word."
you meet könig a few weeks later, after countless back-and-forth emails, late-night calls hammering out details, discussions about setups, plot points, pricing. every conversation had been strictly professional so far and you appreciated the distinct lack of attempts to try and get in your pants.
you donât expect to spot him the moment you step into the airbnb you rented for the shoot, but there he is, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the crew. and the first thing that strikes you isnât his height (though jesus, heâs massive). itâs how out of place he looks.
he doesnât carry himself like someone in the industry. doesnât exude that easy sleaze, that over-familiar smirk youâve come to expect from men in this business. no tight black tee straining over biceps, no carefully curated air of supremacy with just a hint of nicotine.
instead, he looks like someoneâs dad who got lost on his way to a hardware store and somehow ended up in the adult industry instead.
his glasses are perched high on the bridge of his nose, pushed up with the absentminded shove of a knuckle. his sweaterâ soft, thick, comfortableâ hangs loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick forearms dusted with silver hair. heâs dressed like he should be standing at a backyard grill, not directing an erotic film.
heâs older than you expected. forty, according to his portfolio, and he wears it well. silver threading through black, crowâs feet at the corners of sharp, washed-out blue eyes. his nose is crookedâ like it had been broken once and never quite set rightâ makes his face look lived-in, a little rough around the edges. his stubble is light, a soft dusting of salt and pepper.
he looks warm.
heâs talking to someone. one of the crew, maybe, head dipped slightly, listening intently. but even hunched, even relaxed, his sheer size makes him loom.
and then the door clicks shut behind you, and he hears it. könig's head lifts, pale blue eyes settling on you in an instant.
he excuses himself with a quiet murmur. hands tucked into the front pocket of his pants, broad shoulders rolling slightly like heâs trying to make himself smaller, less imposing.
it doesnât work.
âgood to finally meet you,â he says, accent curling soft in his words.
oh, you think. you hadnât expected that, either.
his voice is deep, just shy of being harsh. it's a far cry from the sharp tone youâd imagined after hearing him speak over the phone. thereâs something smoother about it in person, a warmth undercutting the rough edges.
you shift the tray of coffee in your hands, balancing it carefully before setting it down on the small folding table near the entrance.
âbrought coffee for everyone,â you say, wringing your hands because you refuse to brush them off on your dress.
he glances down at the cups, and for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.
âthoughtful,â he murmurs, and though his face remains unreadable, you can hear the approval in his voice.
you exhale, trying to shake off the nervous energy thrumming in your chest, and clear your throat. âfigured caffeine would help. donât wanna be the reason your crew collapses mid-shoot.â
könig huffs something close to a chuckle, tipping his head toward the set-up behind him. âtheyâve worked under worse conditions.â
youâre not sure what that means, but before you can ask, he gestures for you to follow him further into the space.
the next few minutes are easy. professional. you go over the shot list, the angles heâs planning, how he likes to workâ efficient and minimal retakes unless absolutely necessary. he asks about your preferences, what you donât want, what you do.
itâsâŠcomfortable. smoother than you expected. heâs patient, but direct. no wasted words, no unnecessary small talk, just the work. you like that.
and then your phone rings.
you pull it from your pocket without thinking, glancing at the name on the screen. simon riley. your co-star. you press accept, bringing the phone to your ear.
âhey, you on your way?â you ask, already stepping away from könig, mind half on the conversation youâd just been having.
but simon doesnât answer right away. thereâs a beat of silence. âcanât make it.â
your stomach drops. you stop short, pulse spiking. âwhat?â
âsomethinâ came up. wonât be able to get there.â
you glance at könig, breath stalling in your throat. this cannot be happening.
âsimon, i canât reschedule,â you hiss, stepping further away, out of earshot. âi already paid for the location, the crewâs already here-â
ânothinâ i can do, sweetheart,â he interrupts, not unkind. ââm sorry.â
but sorry doesnât fix this. sorry doesnât change the fact that if you donât shoot today, youâre out thousands. your grip tightens around your phone. âsimon, please-â
the line clicks.
heâs gone.
panic creeps up your spine, cold sweat starting to form on your palms. you canât not shoot today. you canât afford it. the budgetâs already stretched thin, and a reschedule isnât just inconvenientâ itâs impossible.
you drag a hand to wipe the sweat on your forehead.
königâs eyes are on you and you can feel the heat of his gaze. when you turn, he asks, âproblem?â
you open your mouth, hesitate. because what the fuck are you supposed to say? every option you can think of results in you losing a few hundred dollars at the minimum.
you figure the truth is the best option you've got. âsimon's out.â
könig watches as your fingers tighten around your phone, knuckles turning white. you press your lips together, trembling just slightly before biting down.
he tilts his head, slow. "know anyone that can sub in?"
you shake your head immediately, too fast, too frantic. a sharp inhale makes your shoulders rise, lashes fluttering against the unshed tears that suddenly gloss your eyes.
fuck.
youâre going to cry.
könig shouldnât be looking this closely.
shouldnât be cataloging every shift of your body. shouldnât be tracking how your throat works as you swallow, how the delicate line of your jaw tenses under pressure.
itâs detail that shouldnât register. detail that has no purpose. no place. no right to send his thoughts careening somewhere they have no business going.
but there they go anyway.
because he's been watching you.
not in a way that's creepyâ könig tells himself that, over and over. he was just a professional doing his research, getting a feel for his clients. itâs good business practice, staying informed, making sure he knows who heâs working with, what they bring to the table.
and if that research led him to your socials, to hours of footage in soft, honeyed lighting, to endless clips of you sprawled out on pristine white sheets as you mewled into the cameraâ well. that was just part of the job, wasnât it?
but the truth, the thing he never says out loud, not even to himself is that heâs spent far too many nights with his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, watching you through the screen.
watching you in those tiny lingerie sets. pink and white lace, frilly little bows, the kind of girlish softness that makes his teeth ache.
könig's watched every fucking video. every stream. every post. hours spent with his laptop open, pants shoved down around his hips, hand working his cock as you bat your lashes and moan so sweetly it makes his head spin.
âam i a good girl?â you breathe into the mic, like youâre talking right to him. like you know.
and god, does he know you.
heâs studied you. learned you. mapped out every twitch, every tell, every fleeting flicker of pleasure that crosses your pretty face. the way your brows pinch together when youâre getting desperate. the way your lips part right before you come, glossy and swollen, tongue darting out to wet them like you want something in your mouth, like youâre inviting someone to grab you by the jaw and fuck your throat until you canât think.
heâs seen how your thighs start to tremble when you edge yourself too long. how your back arches off the sheets when you finally let go, hips rolling into your own hand, breath catching in your throat as you fall apart in a mess of shuddery gasps.
könig has jerked off to all of it.
not just once. not just twice.
so many times heâs lost count.
sometimes slow, drawing it out to hear that little whimper you make at the endâ the one that sounds like youâve been fucked dumb.
sometimes rough. desperate. chasing his own release with one hand fisted in the sheets and the other pumping his cock.
it drives him fucking crazy.
itâs worse up close. worse when you shift on your feet, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, trying to hold yourself together.
stop.
he clenches his fists. drags in a breath through his nose. he is not some fucking rookie. not some kid who canât keep his head straight.
but then you make a sound that crawls under his skin and sinks deep. and suddenly his thoughts are careening somewhere they shouldnât goâ
places where that breathy little sound is choked out against his palm. where those fingers twisting at your sleeves are scrabbling at his belt instead, pulling, fumbling, desperate.
his cock twitches.
jesus christ.
itâs perverse. itâs wrong. twenty years between you. he shouldn't even be thinking about you like this. but then he thinks about how small your hands would look trying to wrap around his cock. how easily he could press you up against the nearest wall, let you feel how bad he wants you, let you know exactly what you do to himâ
and yeah.
heâs fucked.
his grip tightens on the coffee cup, knuckles white, cardboard crumpling in his palm.
"we can reschedule." itâs the logical thing to say. the right thing.
but you stiffen immediately, shaking your head almost violently, like the mere suggestion hurts.
"i canât." your voice wobbles. "i donât have the budget for it. the airbnb, the crew- if we donât shoot today, itâs done. i lose it."
he can hear the distraught in your voice, the panic creeping in, rising in your throat. and königâ könig has never been good at ignoring that kind of thing.
his jaw tightens. his fingers flex. his pulse pounds in his ears. and before he can think better of itâ
"i can do it."
your head jerks up, eyes locking onto his. wide. startled.
"what?"
könig lifts a broad shoulder, deceptively casual, ignoring how his pulse is hammering in his throat. acting as if he didnât just offer himself up like it was nothing.
"i can do it," he repeats. "you need a scene partner."
he pauses, just long enough to make sure youâre really listening before he adds, pointed: "iâve done worse for less."
itâs true too. könig had started shooting for money, not for passion, not for art. there were years where he took any job that paid, no matter how grimy, no matter how degrading. no dignity in it, no careful framing, no thoughtful direction. just harsh lighting, rough hands, the sound of too many bodies shifting in too little space.
itâs not like that anymore.
now, he works for himself. he makes art, in his own way. he only takes projects that meet his standards, only shoots what he knows will look good.
könig lets out a short, amused breath, tilting his head. "wouldnât offer if i wasnât."
your gaze flickers down to his mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up.
he notices. of course he fucking notices.
you hesitate, worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wantsâ god, he wants.
he lifts his coffee, takes a slow sip. watches you.
"think it through," he says, letting the accent curl around the words. "do you trust me?"
you stare at him, breath coming in short, uneven pulls. your fingers tighten around your phone.
and then, even though you probably shouldn't, you nod.
this is insane, is all you can think as your hands smooth down the dress, fingertips catching on the fabricâs delicate weave. it sways when you move, hem teasing the tops of your thighs.
the crew picked it because it feels normal, something someoneâs wife might wear on a lazy sunday, waiting for her husband to walk through the door. not lingerie, not tight or short or scandalous. innocent.
somehow, that makes it worse.
the set sprawls before you, carefully crafted to mimic home. the couch sits comfortably wornâ or at least looks like it, upholstery creased just enough to suggest years of use. a blanket lies draped over the back, fringes brushed out to seem effortless.
the coffee table holds small artifacts of a life: a half-empty mug with a faint lipstick stain, a book splayed open, pages curled, a pair of keys glinting under the warm overhead glow. off to the side, a framed photo perches, two strangers caught in mid-laugh, frozen happiness youâre supposed to claim as yours.
the lighting bathes it all in amber. soft, forgiving. like sunset spilling through a window that doesnât exist. everything is designed to feel. to pull the viewer into a scene that isnât real but wants to be. warmth. comfort. longing.
your pulse trips. nerves coil tight under your. stepping out, you inhaleâ
and there he is.
könig stands beside the couch, posture loose, almost as if heâs holding himself back from something. the uniform strains against him, fabric pulled taut across broad shoulders and the solid line of his chest. itâs glaringly obvious that it wasnât tailored for a man like himâ you doubt anything ever isâ but he wears it like it belongs to him anyway. the belt grips a tapered waist, dog tags resting cold against his sternum. they glint when he shifts, catching the warmth of the lights.
heâs big. that part you knew. everyone knows. but thereâs something about seeing him like this, the bulk of him filling the space, boots planted, arms crossed, sleeves clinging to thick forearms, that makes your breath catch in your throat.
he looks like he could hold the world in his hands. break it if he wanted.
then he lifts his head. and his gaze finds you.
it hits like a physical weight, gravity pulling you closer.
his eyes track the line of your body. starting from your face, drifting down, and back up again. for a moment you assume heâs taking inventory, cataloguing details you didnât know you were offering.
your skin prickles under the attention. heat pooling low, spreading outwards.
königâs jaw shifts. a muscle ticks. his fingers flex where they rest against his bicep, knuckles pale for half a second before he eases them loose.
you swallow. "do i look okay?"
silence stretches. then: "you look perfect."
his voice sounds like it's been scraped raw from something you canât name. and you know you shouldnât take his words to heart. shouldnât make something out of nothing. he was just being politeâ
but god, he doesnât stop looking.
you breathe out. "are we ready?"
that seems to snap him out. könig exhales, nostrils flaring. âyeah," he says, looking away.. "weâre ready."
you nod and he turns, clapping his hands together.
"quiet on set!" his voice cuts through the chatter. "lights- ready? camera?"
a muffled ârolling!â comes from behind the equipment.
he glances back, stepping into place. "sound?"
"speed!"
he nods, shoulders shifting under the snug uniform. "all right. action on me. three... two..."
his gaze flickers forward, locks onto you. his hand lifts, a silent âready?â
you nod.
"action!"
the front door creaks open.
you see him firstâ broad shoulders filling the doorway, boots heavy against the worn rug you picked out last fall. his bag drops with a dull thump, keys jangling, and for a beat, you just stand there, watching.
it doesn't feel real. something out of a dream. your husband looks older somehow. tired. lines carved a little deeper around his eyes, hair at his temples brushed with more gray than before.
it's longer now too, the ends curling where sweat and travel have left it mussed.
then his gaze lifts, blue catching yours. and thatâs all it takes.
you move.
your feet carry you faster than you realize, dress fluttering against your legs as you throw yourself into him.
könig catches you with a small grunt, part effort, part relief, hardly moving from his spot. strong arms close around you as he lifts you off the floor with an ease that's almost unfair.
his hand finds the back of your thigh, fingers splayed wide. "easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough from disuse, deepened by exhaustion and age. thereâs an edge to it, earned from years of barking orders and nicotine abuse. "still getting old, you know."
you huff a breath thatâs almost a laugh. "youâre not that old."
"hm." könig presses his face into your hair. "tell that to my back."
your chest tightens. god, you missed him. missed the way he smellsâ soap, leather, that faint trace of cologne youâd tucked into his bag months ago, almost worn off, but still miraculously there. you press your nose to his neck, breathing him in, and whisper, "missed you."
"missed you more." when he pulls back, his gaze traces every line of your face, eyes crinkling at the corners. "lemme take a good look at you, baby."
heat blooms in your cheeks, but you let him. thereâs something reverent about his gaze when you meet his eyes.
then, he kisses you.
and fuck.
itâs messy. warm. his mouth is rough against yours, stubble scraping your skin, tasting like coffee burned down to the dregs.
"god," you breathe, voice catching on a gasp. "i love you."
könig chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. "love you too," he murmurs, using that voice he saves for early mornings when youâre tucked against him, trading lazy kisses and whispered secrets.
his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you close. the world tilts, narrows, until thereâs nothing but him. his body, his breath, the scratch of his stubble when he tilts his head, brushing his nose against yours.
then his fingers slip under your dress. his breath hitches the moment he finds you bare, his touch grazing soft folds, sticky and warm with slick.
"no panties?" his voice dips somewhere between a laugh and a growl.
heat blooms in your stomach. you bite your lip, shrugging. "figured you'd appreciate it."
his gaze darkens, blue eclipsed by black. "oh, do i."
königâs fingers slide between your folds, dragging through the slick mess youâve already made. you flinch at the contact, hips twitching toward him before you can catch yourself.
he pushes it in, slow. the stretch punches a gasp out of you, walls fluttering around the intrusion. he pauses, ignores your whine, brows drawing together, finger knuckle-deep. "did you get tighter?"
his voice is soft, almost like heâs talking more to himself than you, words slipping out under his breath.
his finger curls, pressing snug against your walls, testing just how much resistance it meets.
you whimper, thighs twitching, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. "m-maybe if you fucked me more, i wouldnât be."
the words tumble out before you can think to stop them. your pulse skips as you process what you just said. heat floods your face.
königâs head tilts. his eyes flick up, narrowing, â not angry, not exactlyâ but his stare steals the breath from your lungs all the same. your lips part, trying to fumble out an apology stuck at the back of your throat whenâ
slap.
he pulls his finger free and smacks your pussy.
you squeak, body jerking as the sting blooms quick and hot between your legs, warmth spreading through your skin, rushing up your spine. youâre caught between shock and the low, simmering heat that pools in your belly.
"careful," könig warns although his tone is deceptively light. his fingers tap against your clit in soft, featherlight pulses of teasing pressure that makes your thighs jump. "keep that attitude and iâll slap this pretty little thing five times. make you count every single one. sâthat what you want?"
your cunt clenches, slick dribbling down to coat his knuckles. he feels it, of course he does. feels how your body betrays you, responding before your mind can catch up.
chest heaving, you shake your head, breath shivering out of you. "no-"
"no?" he echoes a soft mockery, fingers dragging through the mess between your thighs, spreading it just to hear the wet sound it makes echo in the space between you. "then behave, sweetheart. donât make me teach you."
your heart pounds, breath coming in little gasps as you offer him a jerky nod. könig only watches with lazy half-lidded eyes.
"now," he murmurs, finger filling you again. "gonna ask one more time. have you gotten tighter..." his thumb brushes your clit, just enough to make you twitch, "...or have i just left you empty for too long?"
heat surges through you. your hands clutch at his jacket, grounding yourself in the weight of him. your face burns.
"you were gone for so long," you whisper, voice small, shame curling in your stomach.
he sighs. something in his gaze softens, guilt threading through his voice. "i know, baby." his forehead presses against yours. âmissed you too."
you sniffle, nuzzling into his shoulder. "y-you canât go away that long again..." the words tremble, cracking at the edges.
he kisses your temple, breath warm against your skin. "i wonât," he lies, gentle. "let me stretch you out, yeah?"
könig guides you further into your home, coaxing you down on the couch. könig kneels between your legs, broad hands spreading you open and drinking in the sight of you laid out before him.
"look at you," he murmurs, thumb dragging through your folds, gathering your slick up to rub slow circles against your clit. "so wet for me already. miss having me inside, huh?"
your fingers clutch at the cushions as he begins to fill you, head tipping back. "yes-"
"you gotta watch, pretty," könig interrupts, fingers tilting your chin back down.
your gaze drops, breath catching when you see itâ his thick fingers buried deep inside you, slick dribbling down his knuckles. the gold band around his finger shines beneath the mess youâve made, drenched, the sight obscene and somehow more intimate than youâre prepared for. your walls flutter around him, clenching down like your bodyâs desperate to keep him there.
"look at that.â he grind. "look at your cute little cunny... makinâ a mess all over me."
your cheeks burn. you squirm, trying to close your thighs, but his other hand tightens on your hip, keeping you spread. "no hiding," he says. "told you to watch."
so you do.
you watch the slow drag of his fingers pulling out, coated in slick that strings between you. your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing, and you let out a soft, desperate whimper. könig hums, pleased, pressing back in. "look how well you take me," he says, dragging against that spot inside that makes your vision blur.
you whimper, head spinning, hips grinding down onto his hand. "feels so good-"
"yeah?" he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "gonna let me in now, sweetheart? let me fill you up nice and slow?"
you nod, frantic, words lost to the heat coiling low in your stomach. könig smiles, pulling his fingers free. you whine at the loss.
"shh," he soothes, wiping his slick-covered fingers against the head of his cock, spreading you over himself. "gonna take care of you. just lay back and be good for me, yeah?"
his hands grip your thighs, pressing them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him. your skin burns under the pressure, nerves sparking with every shift of his weight. the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance. heâs patient, achingly soâ dragging it along your folds, gathering your slick, smearing it along his length until youâre soaked enough that he doesnât have to rip you open.
königâs gaze drops to where youâre spread open for him. "ready?"
you nod, breath catching in your throat, but itâs barely a sound, barely a thought when he starts to press in. he breaches you, the thick crown of his cock pushing past your entrance. your cunt clenches on instinct, trying to force him out, but könig presses on.
every inch feels like fire licking up your spine, burning through every nerve until youâre nothing but sensation.
"gonna fill you up, sweetheart.â his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through your bones. "stretch you out every day iâm home-" he drives forward another inch, making your back arch, "-âtil this pretty cunt just opens up for me."
you canât speak. canât think. everything narrows down to the drag of him inside you, veins and ridges catching on the soft walls of your cunt. your mind spins, vision blurring as your hips jerk, instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming fullness. his fingers bite into your thighs, holding you in place.
"uh-uh," he murmurs, dark amusement curling at the edges of his words. "donât run, baby. you wanted this."
he braces himself, broad shoulders tense above you as he tries to sink deeper. but even with how wet you are, how pliant youâve gone beneath him, your body refuses to give. his hips stutter, pushing, pushingâ yet still, thereâs that impossible last inches he canât force past.
âp-please- need it, need you-â the words spill out as he pauses, pulling back an inch.
"i know, baby, i know," he pants, forehead pressing to yours, sweat slick between you, before rolling his hips back in, trying his damn best to bottom out, but your cunt clenches stubbornly. frustration twists across his face, the sight of you writhing beneath him, cunt stretched wide and still too tight to take him fullyâ it drives him insane.
"gonna have to fix that," he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.
you nod, dazed, tears slipping down your temples as you sob out a choked, "yes- yes, please-"
"shh," könig soothes, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. "youâre doinâ so good, baby. takinâ me so well. just need to open you up a little more, yeah?"
könig adjusts his grip, hands sliding beneath your knees, lifting you with ease. before you can even register the shift, heâs pulling you up against his chest, arms hooking beneath your legs, locking you back in a full nelson.
your breath stutters, eyes going wide as your body is left entirely at his mercy, weightless in his grip, spread open around him.
königâs lips graze your ear. "gonna let gravity help us, yeah? lil bit of science. letâs see if this pretty little cunt can take all of me now."
your toes curl, breath hitching as he angles his hips, smearing your slick between you.
then he lets gravity do most of the work.
your breath leaves you in a shattered moan as your body sinks down, forced open as he drops you down on his cock. your walls flutter, clenching around him, stretched impossibly wide, struggling to take him, but he doesnât stop, doesnât let you squirm away.
"thatâs it," könig groans, arms flexing as he holds you still, keeps you spread. "so fuckinâ good for me, baby. lettinâ me stretch you open- gonna make you take it all."
you whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back as the last stubborn inch finally, finally sinks in, his cock seated fully inside you for the first time.
"fuck," könig grits out. "thatâs my girl. knew you could take it, baby. knew you just needed a little help."
könig doesnât give you much of a chance to adjust. the moment he thinks you're ready, his arms tighten, muscles flexing as he hauls you up before slamming you back down.
you jolt, cunt forced to stretch and squeeze around him with every thrust. his strength controls everythingâ the pace, the depth, the way you bounce like a ragdoll, helpless to slow him down. heâs slamming himself inside, spearing you open over and over, forcing you to stretch wider than you ever have.
you canât keep up. your limbs go slack, muscles useless, brain short-circuiting. your vision blurs, eyes rolling back, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your mouth falls open in a silent scream.
könig chuckles, pleased, watching the way youâve gone completely limp in his arms. "gonna stretch you out like this every single day. keep you full, fuck you dumb, make sure this little cunt remembers who it belongs to."
your body convulses, wracked with sensation too intense to hold in. könig keeps moving, fucking you onto his cock like heâs trying to break you in, to shape your cunt to his cock.
"n-no-" your voice barely comes out. a sob caught in your throat as your fingers claw weakly at his forearms. your legs shake, eyes welling up, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. "g-gonna pee," you whimper, body locking up.
"no, baby." he drags you down harder, grinding the thick head of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. "youâre gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over me, aren't you?"
your sob turns into a choked wail as you gush, squirting hard, the release almost violent, soaking könig's thighs, dripping down to form a puddle on the floor beneath you.
könig watches you fall apart with hooded eyes, holding you up as your body jerks and trembles in his arms. "good girl," he praises, sounding utterly enthralled by the mess youâve made. "fuckinâ knew youâd soak me- knew you were just a little messy thing."
you slump against him, muscles useless. the aftershocks have you so dazed that you barely register the shift before youâre being turned, pressed down against the floor, cheek squished against the slick puddle you just made.
"könig-" you whimper, trying to lift yourself, but his broad hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, keeping you open.
he ignores you, fingers digging into your hips, adjusting your position, spreading you wider. he lines himself up and pushes in, stuffing you to the brim in one deep thrust. your fingers claw at the wet floor beneath you, the slick sound of him sinking into you obscene in the quiet.
"good fuckinâ girl," he drags his cock out before slamming back in, his thighs slapping against your ass. "just let me use you, yeah? just take it like my perfect little cumdump."
you sob into the mess beneath you. könig presses your face harder against it, his broad palm splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.
"lick it up," he orders, tone smooth, assured, the kind of voice that expects obedience.
your whole body burns, but the heat between your legs is hotter. könig feels the way you clench around him at the command, the way your body betrays you before your lips can even form a protest.
"kö-â
âdonât make me say it twice, sweetheart," he warns, hips pulling back, dragging his cock out until only the tip stretches you open.
"whatâs the matter?" he mocks. "you were so eager to make this mess- now youâre going shy?"
your breath shudders out in a small whimper before you obey, lowering your head, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing the puddle beneath you.
könig clicks his tongue. "thatâs not licking, thatâs teasing."
his hips snap forward, knocking you further into the mess, forcing your mouth against it. your lips part with a gasp, and könig watches, eyes dark and hungry, as you taste yourself properly for the first time.
"there we go," he hums, smug satisfaction. "now clean up every drop."
your cheeks burn as you press your tongue flat to the floor, licking a slow, tentative stripe through the mess. the taste floods your mouth and your stomach twistsâ but the weight of königâs cock inside you, the way he keeps you full and stretched and pinned beneath him, sends another rush of slick dripping down your thighs.
he notices. of course he notices.
"oh, sweetheart," he breathes. "you like this, donât you?"
your body betrays you again, a little shiver running down your spine, your cunt fluttering around him.
"mm, you do." he chuckles, dragging his fingers through your hair, tightening his grip. "filthy little thing. youâre gettinâ off on this."
you squeeze your eyes shut, shame crawling up your throat.
"könig-"
"uh-uh," he interrupts, grip tightening, making you whimper. "keep licking, schatz. donât stop âtil itâs gone."
your tongue flicks out again, lapping up another mouthful, swallowing it down even as heat prickles behind your eyes.
könig groans at the sight, his free hand stroking down your spine, over the curve of your ass. "thatâs it, baby," he breathes. "such a good little slut for me."
you whimper, thighs squeezing together, hips rocking subtly against him, desperate for friction, for anything.
he notices that, too. "oh, you poor thing," he coos, all false sympathy, fingers stroking your cheek where itâs damp with tears. "sâthis gettinâ you all worked up?"
könig pulls back just a little, dragging his length through your overstretched walls. "you gonna come just from this?" he asks, rolling his hips. your body tenses, toes curling. "from licking your mess off the floor like a good little bitch?"
your face burns, whole body trembling. too full, too overwhelmed, too muchâ and yet, you nod, a choked little sob escaping your lips.
his pace stutters, burying himself to the hilt with a ragged groan, holding you still as he spills inside, his cock twitching, pumping thick ropes of cum into your swollen cunt. "fuck," he pants, chest heaving, his weight bearing down on you. "so good, baby. took me so fuckinâ well."
his cum is hot inside you, sticky, leaking, seeping out around his cock as he slowly pulls back, watching his spend start to slip from your overstretched hole. könig hums, almost thoughtful. he presses a broad palm against your pussy, scooping it up, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, shoving his spend as deep as itâll go. "keep it in,â he says almost absentmindedly. he lifts his hand after a moment, tilting his head as he examines the way it drips from his fingers.
his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up. your lips part before he even has to tell you. "clean it up," he slides his ring finger past your lips.
your lashes flutter, heat prickling up your spine as you close your lips around him, sucking gently, swirling your tongue over the ridges of his finger, tasting yourself, tasting him.
könig groans, thumb stroking over your cheek, watching your lips stretch around the digit, tongue flicking against the band wrapped around his finger.
"good girl," he breathes, eyes hooded, cock twitching against your slick folds, already stirring again, already wanting more.
he presses his finger deeper, until it nudges against the back of your throat, until your breath stutters and your eyes go hazy, wet.
"so pretty like this.â his other hand slips between your legs again, rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit. "gonna keep you like this forever, wife. nice and full."
he pulls his finger from your mouth with a soft pop, watching the way your tongue flicks out after it, lips wet, eyes dazed. "gonna make you a mommy.â he grins. âfill you up every night until it takes.â