warnings: innocent!reader x various, stepbro!steve rogers, frat!bucky barnes, ari levinson, marc spector, ransom drysdale, curtis everett, lloyd hansen, andy barber, thor odinson, scott lang, miguel o'hara, frank castle, billy russo, professor!reed richards, professor!logan howlett, professor!peter parker, dark content (dubcon/noncon and other dark elements), essentially everyone is soft!dark, college au, polyamory, idk what to tell you this is just really nasty porn
polls for the au
asks about the au
moodboards for the au
thots and blabber about the au
101, guide to the au | pinterest board
masterlist | join my taglist
FICS:
the many firsts
something in return
locked out
i dare you
what i say goes
too big
the basement
a long-awaited lesson
you’ll like it eventually
toying with her
the last one to know
the hotel room
training
mister president
happy halloween, stepsis
REQUESTS:
gaming + intox kink (headcanons)
billy & frank catch you discovering billy’s toy collection (headcanons)
desperate to help (headcanons)
curtis helps you fall asleep (headcanons)
just the tip with professor reed richards, alternative ending to "a long-awaited lesson" (headcanons)
a gift for professor richards (headcanons)
somno with all of the boys (headcanons)
catching y/n watching porn (headcanons)
you better answer it (blurb)
johnny walking in on you cockwarming reed (headcanons)
cockwarming bucky while he gets a new tattoo (blurb)
everyone's favourite kinks + position + location + way to make y/n orgasm + roleplay scenario + nicknames for y/n + place to cum + punishments + partner for a threesome + aftercare + nicknames for the guys + dacryphilia + ass or tits + random audience + turn ons + porn + toy in the basement (headcanons)
god!Ari Levinson x god!Curtis Everett x female reader x god!Steve Rogers
summary: Perhaps it's pitiful to pray for the gods' mercy when they've been deaf to all the sacrifices made for them by the anointed zhrets, but you wanted to try.
warnings: Consensual. Gangbang (but a soft one). Inexperienced Reader. Loss of virginity. Oral (both m and f receiving). Unprotected sex. Spitroast. Multiple creampies. Praise kink. A bit of coercion. Very light D/s undertones. Feels and softness are here too.
word count: 7k
Author's Note: The gods in this story are the result of these three polls (1, 2, 3), so you can only blame yourself and other voters. But I believe you will like them and their hoe ways anyway 😆 Honestly, I'm surprised how soft this story turned out, despite being also kinda filthy. It's been a while since you got from me something that's not dark. Happy spring, I guess! 😂
It's very vaguely inspired by Slavic paganism and folklore, but it serves only as the background.
*zhrets is a pagan high priest
Main Masterlist
It wasn’t unusual for the weather in March to sway like a tide - flowing with waves of sunshine warmth only to pull back and leave freezing cold instead. Sometimes the frost and harsh rains dominated the whole span of the month, not the least bothered by the supposed burst of spring.
However, unusual was the year-long devastation that tore your region.
Seasons seemed to warp, folding in on themselves and changing into unexpected harshness. Droughts that burnt the soil and crops, leading to some fires as well. Hail that roughened softer plants. Then blessed rain turned into floods, which ruined more fields and preserves.
People starved. Animals fled the woods for more suitable areas. Prayers to the gods brought nothing, no matter how much blood was spilled to appease the deities.
Just last week the zhrets killed one of the last lambs at the altar, so the gods would see devotion in giving up what’s most precious.
But not even the slightest change came. The earth remained frozen cold, hard and unyielding. No seed would take root in it. The sun stayed hidden behind the gray heaviness of clouds that seemed endless in the sky. Not a single plant in the gardens and woods blushed with the first bud.
A full year without fresh crops, without safety and balance. A few families already left the villages, taking a risk in wandering far away in search of better conditions. If change didn’t come this spring, it would be the end for most of you.
So you wrapped the worn-out pelt around yourself and shuffled across the frost-covered fields and up the hill. At this time of year it used to be already covered in patches of crocuses and snowdrops. It remained a dark, lifeless peak.
The basket in your hand wasn’t heavy, since you didn’t have much to give. You didn’t fool yourself thinking that your pitiful begging would be any better than that of the anointed zhrets, but you felt desperate.
Maybe if the sacrifices and prayers came not only from the delegate of the village, but from every person separately, the number of voices calling out to the gods would catch their attention.
At the top of the hill a circle of stones, with runes painted on them, wrapped around three vertical slates of stone.
Pristine white, with a single crack that shimmered gold - for the god of sun and fire.
A grey one, with strokes of blueish and white - for the god of air and rain.
Reddish overgrown with moss - for the god of earth and fertility.
Dark spots still marred the bottom of the stones from where the blood sacrifice was spilled. No other marks of worship were left, though in the past it wasn’t uncommon to find bouquets, sweet buns, or nuts placed at the gods’ altars.
Especially on the spring equinox.
It was the moment when winter was supposed to recede, so the new life could begin. Celebrated with happiness, food and laughter. But people were too hungry, too angry, to bother with customs. They didn’t even have the plants to make bouquets with. Last of the nuts were saved for the kids to munch on.
With hands trembling from the cold, you placed the basket on the ground and knelt down. Slowly, you took out your modest offerings. Since your garden was barren, you weaved bouquets of what you could gather.
Anise stars tied to thin twigs with a thread and clumsily painted yellow to resemble marigolds. All tied together with a red ribbon, which you ripped off the hemline of your best dress. For the god of sun and fire.
For the god of air and rain: bird feathers stuck in a chipped, glass vial in which, once upon a time, your mother had perfumed water that your father bought from a southern merchant as a gift for giving birth to you.
Last living sprigs of raspberry bush that grew in your garden and a handful of mistletoe. A drop of your blood sank into the strap of linen with which you tied them, from prickling yourself on the raspberry’s thorn. For the god of earth and fertility.
Perhaps they looked laughable. Perhaps, as some of the people whispered in bitterness, the gods didn’t care for offerings like that and were laughing at your misery. If they even paid attention to the region they decided to decimate. But it was all you got. Along with your determination to try.
You placed each bouquet on the ground, holding each for a few seconds in place in case the wind decided to swipe them right away.
“But wouldn’t that be the sign from the god of air that he finds the offerings disrespectful?” You muttered to yourself as your fingertips sank in the harsh frost coating the ground.
The wind didn’t strengthen. In fact, the air felt warmer and lighter as you knelt there at the altar. Considering it was the top of the hill, with no trees surrounding the clearing to form a shield, the gods had to keep the place in some protection.
A swipe of warmth enveloped your fingers and for a fleeting moment you considered staying there on your knees, prostrated on the ground, just to soak up the warmth and lack of wind; and less to pray to the gods.
“Nah, Curtis can be a cold bastard, but he wouldn’t diminish such a cute offering.”
An unexpected voice made your head snap up. It was masculine, low, but somehow light and pleasant. And as your gaze settled on its source you found yourself blinking away what had to surely be a mesmer.
It was a man. Unlike any you ever saw. Tall and broad. All golden skin that seemed to shine from within. He was bare-chested, his lower half clad in pristine white, linen pants. Across his pectorals, as well trailing down from his navel, thick thatch of dark blonde hair curled in soft temptation. His beard had all shades of gold. His eyes were a sparkling blue, vibrant and enticing like a summer sky.
Even if you convinced yourself a human male could be as reckless as walking around half-naked when it was freezing cold, the tendrils of flames licking his skin betrayed him as something beyond human.
Your eyes widened, mouth parting in silent astonishment.
Were you so starved and cold that your mind created illusions? Was it an edge of death when you witnessed a god take you over to the fields of the underworld?
But wouldn’t that be a god of night and death then, who comes for you? You didn’t think he’d look so radiant and carefree, so much like the sun and fire personified.
“It’s a genuine offering, I never scoff at those.” Sounded another voice, somewhere from behind you. “It’s the reckless spill of resources that annoys me.”
Still on your knees, you turned. So fast you lost balance and landed on your butt. Your gaze traveled up from his bare feet, up long legs and thick thighs that strained the dark fabric of his pants, and over the wide chest marred with scars.
His skin was paler, appearing colder, yet had something refreshing to it that called out to lick and taste if it would provide a fresh sip of a spring rain. His beard was trimmed; dark, with spots of grey. His hair was cropped short, close to the scalp. The blue of his eyes was an ongoing storm - changing from light blue to inky darkness, flashes of lightning cutting the irises.
Everything in you screamed in terrified recognition. No one ever saw the gods. Not even zhrets who was the direct line to them, though he claimed that sometimes they came to him in his dreams. But with every fiber of your being you felt the crushing power surrounding you, as well fascination stronger than any desire you experienced before, and you knew who they were.
As quickly as you could, you rolled onto your front and pressed your hands and face to the ground.
“My gods! I apologize for daring to look at you!” You expressed.
“If we didn’t want you seeing us, we wouldn’t show ourselves to you.” A third voice resounded somewhere to your left. Deep and soft.
“Sit up and look at us, Swallow.”
Comparing you to a small, nimble bird associated with incoming spring evoked a flash of heated shyness. It was almost sweet. A pet name. No man has ever referred to you using one.
Gulping nervously, you slowly lifted your upper body. Your gaze traced the ground which was covered in frost when you first stepped onto the hill, but now bared the inner softness of soil readying itself for first seeding. It landed at the feet of the third god, and cautiously moved upward.
He wore pelts, like hunters often did. Sculpted hip lines low on his abdomen disappeared beneath the fabric in a shape of V, arrowing your attention to the bulging curve beneath tight leather. His waist was narrow, especially compared to how wide his shoulders were. Each muscle of his abdomen and biceps appeared carved by a sculptor. He could carry the whole world on his shoulders, you thought.
He was sitting atop the stone altar in his name, so his face was closer to your line of vision. You noticed speckles of green in the blue of his eyes. His curved eyelashes seemed tipped with green, as well.
“It’s been a while since anyone gave us thoughtful, sweet offerings.” He smiled at you and something bloomed within your chest; like the joy at the sight of the first flowers in your garden.
“They’re nothing,” you whispered, feeling embarrassed that the gods themselves looked at the pitiful bouquets you made.
“Most certainly not.” The god of sun stepped closer to your right.
Warm fingers curled beneath your chin, turning your face to him. When you looked up at him it felt as if the sun was caressing your cheeks, even though you didn’t have to squint your eyes to stand it.
Gently, he urged you to stand up. A big hand slid beneath the pelts wrapped around you, resting on your waist. Where he touched you, your skin tingled with sunkissed heat that chased away all the cold you suffered for months.
If only for that comforting, warm feeling, you were ready to die at the hands of the gods.
“You’re most honest and precious,” he said softly, tracing his fingers up from your chin and over your cheek, “a most valuable offering.”
“I-” your eyes couldn’t shift away from the brilliant blue of his eyes, even as a gasp ripped from your chest when another set of hands slithered beneath your cloak and pulled it off of you in an unrushed but swift move.
A tickle of air teased the shell of your ear. Both ears. At the same time. The same ghost of breath evoked goosebumps across your chest.
“We’ll be good to you, Swallow.” Curtis rumbled softly, his hands squeezing your hips as he pressed his chest to your back.
When his lips pressed to the hollow where neck curved into shoulder, it felt like a splash of summer drizzle. Slightly cool, but refreshing rather than freezing. Paired with the sunlit warmth wrapping around you, it brought the sense of awakening after a year of hanging in dark limbo.
“We promise, don’t we Ari?” A chuckle tickled your skin, rushing your pulse into a wicked response.
“So good.” The god of sun and fire - Ari - confirmed with a wicked grin. “Over and over and over again.”
He dipped his head, lips nearing yours. His body inched closer, too. His heat at your front combined with the excitingly thunderous presence of the other god at your back made your head spin.
You weren’t naive to not realize what they wanted. They didn’t just imply, they acted on it right away. Honest and direct in their approach. A grip of fear clenched around your heart. Partly of them, because you had no idea if a mortal woman could survive being taken by a god. By three! But also because - just like your material offerings - you weren’t sure if you’d be a satisfying lover. What if you disappointed them and thus angered them further?
“I just- I have never-” you blurted out, eyes closing at the shiver of pleasure as a warm hand brushed under the swell of your breast.
Ari paused, sunlit sky encapsulated in his eyes staring back at you. Then he bowed his head with a groan, as if in defeat.
Curtis’ chuckle seeped beneath the collar of your shift. He didn’t pause in his ministrations, working his hands at your sides to release the bindings of your outer layer.
“I’m sorry. Is it bad that I’m, um, inexperienced?” Regret that you felt had less to do with potential repercussions for the crops and more with the prospect of not being touched by them anymore.
“No, Swallow.” From the side, the god of earth sounded amused. “Ari’s just disappointed that he has to wait his turn. You’re a virgin. That means your first breaking belongs to me.”
“Oh!” You turned your head to the side, eyes wide in surprise at the revelation.
The god of earth and fertility was sitting there calmly, watching you caged between the other gods. He didn’t rush to rip your clothes off and ravage you, to take what was supposedly his by some incomprehensible laws. Yet the hunger in his eyes was prominent.
A dark glint of a predator that has already picked his prey and knew it wouldn’t stand a chance fleeing from him.
The swirl of heat low in your abdomen suggested you wouldn’t want to run away from his claim.
A hand gripped your chin, turning you to face the god of sun again.
“Steve’s a lucky bastard like that, but I get to have the first taste.” Ari grinned. Then surged forward.
Heat erupted in your veins as his mouth took yours. He didn’t kiss you like a first time lover might their shy partner, but a man who owned you. You had no doubt that was exactly the passion you occasionally dreamed about. Better even.
There was no particular taste to Ari’s lips, but still it reminded you of ripest strawberries, sunkissed earth, honey, and burning wood.
Ari licked between your lips, opening your mouth to plunge deeper. One hand on your cheek moved to grip the back of your head, while the other tugged your loosened dress down. Curtis’ hands were helping along, or rather leading the undressing part in which Ari marginally helped.
Then all of your clothes were gone. Instead of cold biting into your skin, you were surrounded by warmth and the softest breeze. Two pairs of hands moved over your naked body, exploring and memorising. Unfamiliar touch that roused your body, yet made it shiver with thrill of unknown and anticipation.
A strong hand gripped your thigh and pulled it to the side, making you spread your legs wider. Soft, tickling blow of wind brushed your inner thighs then licked along the juncture of your thighs. A gasp escaped your lips, your hips rocking against the invisible touch.
At the same time, strokes of heat swiped down your chest and kissed the swell of your breasts. Right after that sensation, Ari’s mouth trailed down your neck and lower, toward one of puckered nipples.
“Such a pretty, delicious offering.” Steve hummed in appreciation.
Somehow, the fact he was watching you being ravaged - being prepared for him - made you moan louder. Your core fluttered, wetness pearling between your thighs.
“You’re going to be so good to us, won’t you?”
Though hands and mouths were distracting, you still felt the very soft tickling beneath and around your feet. With your eyes half-closed and head thrown back, resting on Curtis’ shoulder, you didn’t see the grass sprouting nor the bloom of tiny flowers around you. A soft cushion on which you were going to be splayed.
“Yesss,” you gasped as Ari sucked harder on your nipple.
“Good girl.” Steve’s praise washed over you in a ripple that dripped more welcome where Curtis’ fingers were inching closer.
Suddenly you were falling backwards. Steady hands eased you onto the green carpet of grass these lands haven’t seen for years. Your back barely met the ground when Curtis’ lips were stealing your breath. Your little cry of surprise at the brush of Ari’s breath on your pussy was swallowed by Curtis.
Your toes curled, calves tensing, yet your legs eagerly spread wider for the god that settled between them. Your fingers clawed at the fresh grass before you couldn’t stop yourself anymore and reached your arms to touch Curtis.
His tongue teased yours just as Ari’s made the first lick between your folds.
It was overwhelming, and scary in a way, and you wanted more more more of it.
Ari’s fingers were digging into your thighs as he feasted on your pussy, Curtis kept cupping and kneading your breast, all the while kissing your breath away.
You let out a whimper when Curtis pulled away for a moment. Then the air was truly constricting in your chest, your heart pounding with a new kind of fear, as you saw him undo his pants and take out his cock.
He knelt beside you, fingers gently combing through your hair but taking a firm grip at the roots. With his other hand, he stroked his dick. It wasn’t his own fist over it, but the sight of your widened eyes and sweet, glistening mouth that made him so hard.
Then Ari sucked on your clit and thrust a single finger into your tight hole, and your face reflected an even more beautiful ruin.
Your lips parted wide to let out a cry and Curtis surged forward.
He pushed his cock between your lips, pressing its velvety weight down on your tongue. He groaned in pleasure when your muffled sounds vibrated along his length and your tongue desperately wiggled beneath it.
“You can take it, Swallow,” he looked down at you. “Breathe through your nose and suck on me. Hollow your cheeks. That’s it, you’re doing so good.”
You tried to follow instinct and Curtis instructions, even if your throat constricted and saliva pooled into your mouth when he pushed forward. He fucked your mouth in a steady, merciful rhythm, watching you the whole time as if it brought him more pleasure than your mouth enveloping his cock.
But it became harder to focus on that when your body was tensing and shivering from the sensations stirred by Ari’s mouth. He switched from sucking to licking again, then back to sucking. One, thick finger inside of you pumping faster and faster.
You’ve never-
The thought didn’t manage to form fully before your brain switched off.
Eyes rolled to the back of your head, your whole body cinched in pleasure so hard it was almost painful.
Your moans reverberated along Curtis’ cock, and he pushed in deeper to feel your throat constrict. More wetness spilled out with each spasm of your pussy, coating Ari’s finger and beard as he kept slowly pumping into you.
“Pull out of her for the next one,” Ari grunted, lifting his head from between your legs, “I want to hear her screams.”
You didn’t register there was mention of another orgasm, you were too floaty. A state all too soon pierced by intensity as a second finger was added to the one already stretching you and the cock in your mouth forced to the back of your throat.
They sped up; your untried body unable to catch up with the ferociousness. Curtis held your head in place as he fucked your face, drool seeping past the corners of your mouth and trickling down your chin. Ari’s fingers crooked, pressing against a spot that burst the heart of the sun beneath your eyelids.
Strings of saliva stuck in pearly strings between your chin and Curtis’ balls which hit your chin with each thrust. Then, suddenly, he was pushing deep and stilling with a loud grunt. Salty warmth filled your mouth, your throat barely able to swallow all of it.
A god has cum down your throat. The thought was so surreal, the taste of him somehow sating and refreshing, that your body ignited into another climax.
Curtis pulled out, dragging his cock along your sticky chin. Your shiny lips remained open, the tip of your tongue flicking out to chase him. It took a heartbeat for your vocal chords to reclaim their ability, and a string of cries growing in volume followed.
Ari was mercilessly pressing on that spot, his tongue lashed your sensitive nub and you felt your walls tightening. Then his lips closed around your clit, sucking hard. You gave him the scream he wished to hear. Along with a flood of wetness staining his beard.
“Just like I thought,” his raspy voice rumbled through the cloudy buzzing in your head, “delicious.”
“I want a taste.” Curtis grumbled.
Your body laid boneless, tingling and heavy in the most pleasant way. Not fully controlling your movements, your head rolled to the side and you blinked away the blurry lightness. Steve’s eyes were burning into you, so bright with vibrancy yet dark with primal intent.
The sight of him got obscured when Ari straddled your chest. His massive thighs bracketed your shoulders, but he kept most of his weight off your ribcage. The girth of his cock right in front of your face made you gulp. Just as he tapped the crown against your wet chin, Curtis’ groan vibrated right against your drippy pussy.
He was harsher than Ari, but not brutal. The way he mouthed on you made it feel as if he was thirsty for your flavor as the source of his pleasure, rather than turning into a sexual torment for you. Curtis didn’t shy from licking and nibbling all over, chasing every creamy drop - even if it slithered down to your asshole.
Above you, Ari fisted his cock and tapped it against your lips. He put it between them for a moment then withdrew again. Until your own tongue started peeking out and eagerly chasing his cock.
“Ask him for it.” Steve’s voice lowered to a growl. And it sounded much nearer than before.
But you didn’t twist to seek his presence, your focus on the god of sun and the beautiful dick he was keeping away from you.
“Please,” you obeyed instantly. “Please, Ari, feed me your cock. Let me suck it.”
“Fuck, you beg so prettily.” Ari groaned. “So prettily I don’t even care if it’s because you’re so hungry for my cock, or because you’re such an obedient, good girl for Steve.”
“Nghh- both!” You whined, stretching your neck to bring your lips closer to Ari’s length.
He chuckled, his gorgeous face turning more radiant and glowy as a grin stretched his mouth. Finally, he eased the tip into your mouth. Eyes fluttering close as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. His hips rocked forward, helping you swallow more of him where you couldn’t bob your head further.
He let it slip out when another orgasm shook your body; your wet moans tickling his throbbing cock. Curtis’ tongue drove into your clenching hole, lapping and prolonging the aftershocks in the gentlest way he was capable of.
Ari wrapped his fingers around his dick. He nudged the head against your bottom lip. You opened wider, tongue out and flat. He stroked himself faster. When he spilled, you tried swallowing without closing your mouth, so he saw it go down your throat.
“So innocent, yet knows how to please a god,” Ari hummed softly. “You know why you’re so good for us and why your offering lured us?” He touched your cheek tenderly. “Because it’s not about performance but about eagerness and trust.”
When Ari stood up, your gaze fell to Curtis who was kneeling between your spread thighs. He wore the shine of your click on his beard like a warrior might the symbols of victory.
“He speaks the truth.” Curtis squeezed your thighs. “Despite what your lands went through, you still came here with trust and thoughtful gifts.”
Your chest seemed to expand with exquisite lightness. For the first time since your parents death, you felt seen and appreciated for who you were.
“Let us reward you, Swallow.” Steve stepped into your line of vision, towering over your splayed form.
Curtis stood up and moved to the side as the god of earth filled the space between your legs. Holding your gaze, he undressed. It was both a signal for what was about to happen and a show just for you. A god disrobing for a mere human.
Your pussy was already oversensitive and pulsing from the previous orgasms, yet it clenched in anticipation when Steve’s cock sprung free against his belly.
When he knelt down between your thighs you wanted to close them out of instinct, but without a single word from Steve you kept yourself open. Heat scorched your face in shyness and embarrassment as his gaze slowly traveled the whole length of your soft body, down to your puffy, glistening folds.
“So pretty,” he cooed, placing both palms on the junctures of your thighs and spreading your folds with his thumbs. “So wet and ready.”
Your hips bucked up, a tiny moan bubbling on your lips as he circled your clit.
“So ready for the taking,” Steve chuckled at your body’s eager response.
He gripped your hips tighter and yanked you toward him. Your legs went over his thighs, your butt resting right against him, and his cock slid between your pussy lips.
“Do you want to watch, Swallow?” Steve’s voice held an undertone of teasing, but there was undeniable need in it, too. “Do you want to watch your virgin cunt take a cock for the very first time? Want to watch it disappear inside you?”
Your pupils were blown so wide that black seemed to swallow all the color of your irises. Your breath quickened as you stared at the beautiful god and his dirty words sank into your consciousness.
“Or-” he used a hand to guide the head of his cock right against your entrance- “do you want to just feel how your pussy stretches around a god’s dick?”
You couldn’t decide. You couldn’t make a single coherent thought. Your gaze was trapped in those blue eyes, in the green and gold speckles in them. All awareness narrowed down to the burning pleasure that stung as he slowly filled you.
It was a stretch. Gods, it was a stretch!
Not hurtful beyond what you could take, but more than the two fingers Ari had inside you. You panted, clawing at the grass, as the arousal grew with every breaching inch. It was too much, yet you didn’t want it to stop. Didn’t want it to pause before you felt full right to your womb.
Steve’s gaze remained on your face, but yours finally snapped away to stare at where his pelvis pressed between your splayed thighs. Where his big cock was disappearing between your puffy folds.
“Oh!” Your brain suddenly connected all the sensations, immediately seizing from the overwhelming intensity of it.
You dropped down, head thrown back as you let out a string of cries at the fulness. It wasn’t pain. You didn’t even think there was any virginal blood some said to appear during the first coupling. It was pleasure and pure insanity.
“That’s it, Swallow. You’re taking me so well.” Steve praised. “You’re going to take all of it so well.”
When it felt as if you would burst at the seams, he stilled. Bottomed out. He held you there, rubbing his thumbs up and down the creases where your abdomen met your thigh. When he withdrew a little, you mewled an objection. Only to welcome his surge forward with a lewd moan.
“Fuck! It’s like she was made to take it.” You weren’t sure which god said that, but you wanted to nod along - yes, yes you were and you wanted more, now, please, more more.
You didn’t voice it out loud, yet it seemed Steve had heard you. Or maybe he read your mind, because a heartbeat later he snapped his hips forward. Wet readiness welcomed each thrust, accompanied by your moans and gasps.
At some point it stopped being enough for both of you, the deep gentleness and a stretched-out display of conquest. Steve’s grip tightened. He yanked your body harder, fucking into you faster. Rougher.
When your body arched in a shot of abrupt climax, your walls clenching around him in eager worship, Steve cursed aloud. Then he dropped forward, crushing your body to the ground with his weight. But it felt so good, hot and safe and dominating. He fucked you more savagely now, kissing you as hungrily and groaning his pleasure against your lips.
You had your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, desperate to keep him inside of you as long as possible. Your sweaty palms mapped the wide span of Steve’s back, ecstatic at every ripple of muscle as he moved above you.
The constant pleasure was addictive, sating in a way that you didn’t need another spike of climax to feel blissed out.
But it came. A second after Steve drove into you with a rough thrust and stilled with a deep groan. His cum flooded your belly, bringing with it a new kind of heat. Your toes curled, your core throbbed, and you succumbed to waves of ecstasy.
“Breathe, Swallow.” Steve’s eyes twinkled as he pushed up a while later. “Can’t have you falling unconscious when we’ve barely begun.”
He chuckled at you when you just stared back, still panting and a little out of it. His fingers drummed down your body, until settling right atop your tingling clit. Then he pressed, starting slow, tight circles.
Your pussy clenched in response. A trickle of white cum slipping out and down the curve of your ass.
“Spring equinox lasts until night takes over. Besides, you take cock and cum so well, it would be rude to not give more of it to you.” He gripped one of your knees when your legs moved to close. “Ari and Curtis await their turn. It’s only fair. And I want you again already, too.”
It’s not that you didn’t want it. You felt drunk on the new world of sensations they showed you. But it felt too much. You didn’t think you’d be able to take it.
Soft coos, praises, and seductive coercion kept you compliant.
With just a little whimper you let Ari rest your calves on his shoulders and push his thick cock into your sore cunt. He folded you almost in half, surging deep with each thrust.
Curtis rolled you onto your front. Then helped you up onto your hands and knees. When he filled you from behind, your elbows nearly gave out and toppled you face first into the ground. But a hand gripping a fistful of your hair held you up.
Your mouth was in the perfect position to fill it with cock, an opportunity Steve didn’t miss.
From then it turned into a dizzying blur of wicked, filthy pleasure. Your body felt exhausted, yet responded to every touch, every kiss, every bite. Your muscles turned into cotton, but the gods didn’t need them functioning to manhandle you into any position they wanted.
Their cum was dripping out of you. Your thighs were sticky with your own juices and their spend. When one was done filling you, another cock slid inside right after. Your mouth and hands were used in intervals. Sometimes a thumb was pressed into your tightest hole. A shower of praises and dirty words messed with your mind and enchanted your body, keeping your arousal at boiling point.
They were still taking you when the dusk settled in. Your was voice raspy and choked from all the sounds they ripped from you, but you still made those tiny whimpers as Steve fucked you prone bone, with your cheek pressed to the grass.
It was the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, warm cum adding to the mess filling your belly, that your eyes closed and consciousness left you.
When you stirred from deep sleep your body was sore and tired all over, but a sense of rest and comfort made it into a satisfying kind of exhaustion. You turned and stretched, suddenly freezing as an unusual sense of toasty warmth and softness registered. You blinked your eyes open.
You were back in your small cottage. But the pillows you rested on weren’t filled with hay. No, they were fluffier, softer. As you groped the one right under your head, you felt the lightness of feathers filling the cotton pillowcase. On top of you, two new layers of pelts provided warmth. Buttery soft and trimmed with fur.
A crackling sound from the side shifted your attention to the hearth. Where fire was dancing contained, spreading warmth through the house.
Shock boosted your movements as you sat up right away, throwing away the covers and planting your bare feet on the wooden floor. The boards creaked as you stood up. Your muscles protested, still carrying exhaustion from what clearly wasn’t a fever dream.
It couldn’t be. Not when you still felt them.
Slight throbbing in your sore core reminded you of the debauchery. A thought that you should look more of a sticky ruin came to you. But your body was clean. Not only void of any remnants of cum, but freshened up in a luxurious way.
The gods had to clean you, you realized. It stirred warmth and joy in your chest.
They could’ve just fucked you and leave you there on the hill, not care for what happened with you after they were done. Instead, they cared for you; washed you and brought you home.
Moreover, they started the fire in the hearth. Well, considering one of them was a god of fire it probably wasn’t a hardship.
You plopped down on the bed. As you did, your eyes fell onto a stool placed next to your bed. It didn’t stand here before, someone had to move it from the other side of the room. On it was a tin cup filled with fresh water, and a jar in which a bouquet of brightly colored wildflowers bloomed proudly.
A smile curved your lips, your heart fluttering like a swallow swaying in the sky. It’s been so long since you felt happiness. The gods may have used you, but they gave you back the sense of joy and safety.
In weeks after the equinox nature returned to the right course. Frost receded, allowing the soil to soften and accept seeds. Plants sprouted buds and flowers bloomed. Rain clouds disappeared from the sky. The sun caressed the earth and people turned their faces toward the sky to soak up the warmth they’ve been deprived of.
You looked up at it, too. Always with a smile in the corners of your lips.
That smile was present when you worked in your garden, digging your fingers into the soil and touching the plants.
If it rained, you would slip outside to let the drops cascade over your face and hands, smiling at the sensation, as well.
You never spoke of the equinox and your encounter with the three gods to anyone. Not even when people patted the sheets and thanked him for the sacrificial ceremony he performed, which in their eyes bought the gods’ mercy and brought back spring.
No one knew that the fire in your hearth never died out. You brought logs just to appear you needed it, but the fire simply continued without using up wood. Warmth never ceased. The flowers in the vase remained alive and you doubted it was because you changed water frequently.
Plants in your garden grew a little faster. When it rained, soil soaked it up, but didn’t form heavy mud in which you’d get stuck and dirty.
You would never reveal your secret. Not only in fear of people’s reaction. You just wanted to keep it as your private treasure. Your own source of happiness to remember and smile about as you settled into bed in the evening.
But you would have to come up with something. Soon.
Because your monthly blood has been gone for three cycles now.
Placing your hand on the slight curve of your belly became a habit as you cooked something over the hearth, or looked at the flowers. You tried controlling yourself when you were outside, to not draw the curious attention of a few gossipy hens in the settlement.
You were stirring soup, thinking up some ridiculous story about a hunter you passed in the woods when looking for nuts, who made you swoon but then left you - that bastard! - when you sensed a particular change in the air.
Somehow, you knew one of the gods was here.
You licked your lips before slowly turning around. By the open window that looked right onto your thriving garden stood Steve. Relaxed in his posture, he watched you with easy affection.
“Hi.” You squeaked out.
Your face heated up with embarrassment, but you had no idea how you were supposed to greet a god. A god who took your virginity and participated in a carnal ruin of your body. Who also showed you care and protection.
“Hello, Swallow.” Steve smiled, his blue eyes twinkling.
He moved towards you, taking steady, unrushed steps. Nothing changed about him. He was still tall and impressively built. Solid comfort and lively energy pulsed from him, tempting you to simply lean against him and feel like you belonged.
Steve traced your cheek with the back of his hand, which then slid down your side. When he splayed it over your belly your breath hitched in your chest.
“Hello, tiny chick.” His gaze flicked down for a moment, before returning to your face.
“How do you know?” You asked.
Steve tilted his head to the side slightly, giving you a pointed look. Right. God of fertility.
“Is it a general godly power, or is it because you’re the god of fertility?” You weren’t certain yet if your nervousness increased because of his presence, or because you feared what he might make of your state.
“It’s mine.” He replied, moving both of his hands to hold your waist and pull you a little closer to him.
Heart paused in your chest then restarted with a wild flutter. Your own hands rested on Steve’s chest, and the god made no indication of displeasure at the contact.
“You mean the power is yours, or-”
“Both.” He said with certainty, pulling you so close that your belly touched his.
You were about to ask how he could be sure of that - after all, two other gods filled you aplenty that day - but you remembered who Steve was. Though it made you a little curious if he would have to not fuck you at all to give the other gods a chance to breed you.
“Are you going to take away my baby?” Your gaze dropped down as you asked him, fear clutching at your throat.
While you were anxious how the community would take your pregnancy out of wedlock (out of any relationship), you didn’t even consider not having that baby. Maybe it wasn't the creation of love, but still came from a day full of intimacy and happiness. It wasn’t a regret.
A frown marred Steve’s forehead, eyes narrowing as he looked at you in confusion. After a moment his face cleared into understanding. Your heart would call it affection, even.
“No, pretty Swallow.” He smiled. “I’m taking you both home.”
“What?” You stared up at him, not sure if you heard him right.
“You’re growing a little god. Even the most supportive community won’t be able to care for you, or help you enough when he grows into his powers.” Steve explained calmly.
“Besides-” corner of his mouth curved in a cheeky smirk- “I wouldn’t miss the opportunity of watching you grow with my child. Or filling you more.”
Somehow you knew Steve wouldn’t hurt or punish you in any way if you protested, though you weren’t certain he would honor your refusal. He was a god, he got what he wanted at all times. However, his words pulled on a string of longing that stretched from your ribcage ever since you lost your parents.
Steve said he wanted to take you home. Not to his domain, but a place where you could belong and build a connection with someone who would care for you and for your child.
The prospect of spending nights in the arms of the god wasn’t repulsive either.
“Will I survive it?” You asked quietly.
The question was loaded with layers of worries; from the basic wariness about human carrying a god in her womb, to potential heartbreak if Steve discarded you after a while.
“No harm, no sadness, no cold will ever reach you again.” He vowed. “You will grow children and gardens. And mercy in gods’ cynical hearts.”
Tears stung beneath your eyelids. You curled into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face into his chest. A single tear slid down your cheek as you felt Steve press a kiss to the crown of your head.
A smell of moss and sun-warmed earth filled the air. Beneath you the floorboards creaked and dissolved. On your next blink your surroundings were completely different. No longer the walls of your cottage, no view at the small garden, no sounds of the chickens clucking.
You were in your new home. With someone to build an infinity with.
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female!Reader
Word Count: 6,259 (sorrry, I could not cut anymore without impacting the story 🫣)
Summary: You were just trying to do the right thing–give someone a second chance–but as they always said: no good deed goes unpunished.
Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Soft!dark ex-con!Curtis. Reference to incarceration, gang elements, murder, attempted murder, and violence (none of this is shown). Boss/employee dynamic. Creep behavior & non con touching (not by Curtis, well, at first lolll). Slight angst. Touch starved!Curtis. Dry humping. Pre-mature ejaculation. Unprotected sex. Rough sex. Breeding kink if you squint. Simp!delulu!Curtis. Non con oral sex (f receiving). Non con sex. Cum play.
A/N: This is for the Be Mine (And Only Mine) dark simp writing challenge hosted by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor I was so excited to participate in this event. Thank you for hosting and for entertaining my screeching in your DMs about my idea lol. Hope you enjoy this! ❤️
Prompts: “I don't think you realise the hold you have on me.” + Delulu for you you + One night stand turned forever + Cums in your panties
“So, um, I guess that’s everything!” Your voice sounded overly chipper–due to your nerves–as you paused between two small square tables in the tiny dining area of your bakery.
You only had enough room for eight two-seaters, but that was fine by you. The main draw of Hearth & Honey Bakery was the breads, treats, coffee, and limited array of food stuff you produced. Which meant most of your space was reserved for the bakery cases that sat across from the dining floor, along with the various coffee and espresso machines that lined the counter along the wall.
Hearth & Honey was more of a stop and get your quick fix vs a dine in experience, but it was successful none the less–and pretty much your dream come true.
A dream that you were now sharing with your very first employee–Curtis Everett.
He loomed a few feet away, as quiet as he’d been the entire time you gave him a tour of the space–mainly the supply room and kitchen–where you would need his help the most.
The bakery was closed today, so it was just the two of you, which you thought would be a nice way to introduce Curtis to you and your business. But his quiet, intimidating demeanor was only making you more flustered by the second.
It wasn’t because he was an ex-convict, it was because he was so big and scary looking, so reserved and difficult to read. Curtis seemed a complete mismatch to your cutesy bakery, with its dark wood and black decor and bright pops of color.
But Curtis was here because you truly believed that he deserved a second chance, and on the recent one-year anniversary of your beloved aunt’s death, you decided to do something in her honor, something that would have made her so happy.
Since your aunt had spent most of her career as a therapist and advocate for the incarcerated, you decided to sign up for your state’s prison release support program–providing employment opportunities for those recently released from jail.
In addition to his new job as your assistant, you were also renting Curtis the apartment above the bakery at a discounted rate, because you wanted to help him get back on his feet as he started this new chapter of his life.
You weren’t sure what you had expected of Curtis, but you had been a little thrown when he first arrived.
Because he was gorgeous.
Tall and lean and obviously built beneath the heavy drape of his black winter coat. His face was pale and shadowed by a dark beard that made the vivid, ice blue color of his eyes pop. He was handsome, devastatingly so, and when Curtis’ wary gaze had first met your own, you felt a bolt of electricity zip up your spine.
You hadn’t recovered since.
“Do you have any questions?” you asked, clenching your hands together behind you as you twisted back and forth, unable to stand still.
“So, I’m your assistant?” Curtis muttered as he turned to face you. “What will that look like?”
“Well, I think you’ll mostly be helping me in the kitchen, prepping and baking.”
You felt your face warm as you noticed how intently Curtis was watching you, his eyes fixed on yours as you spoke, unwavering, all-seeing.
“It will be so great to have someone big and strong to lift and move the supplies, especially!” you babbled. “I’ve been bribing the supplies delivery guy with free treats and coffee to get him to store those 50-pound bags of flour in the supply room for me because there’s no way I can move them myself.”
It was subtle, but you definitely noticed the way Curtis’ eyes drifted lower, taking inventory of your stature, probably trying to picture you moving bags of flour that were bigger than you.
“Well,” he said, a slight tilt to the corner of his lips as he finally glanced away. “Not sure how much help I’ll be on the baking and prepping front, but I’m willing to learn, and if you need muscle, that I can definitely do.”
“Great! Thank you.” A sudden thought occurred to you, and you clapped your hands together excitedly, making Curtis’ gaze fly back to you. “I want to show you the apartment upstairs, but first, I have something for you!”
“For me?” he echoed in disbelief as he watched you hurry across the floor and around the counter.
“Mmhmm!” You chirped before ducking out of sight.
You made a quiet sound of effort as you rose, setting a big basket on the counter. It was filled with various food, drink, and baked treats you had spent the weekend making for Curtis.
“It’s a welcome basket!” you gave him a tentative smile as Curtis slowly moved closer, until he was looming on the other side of the counter from you, his stoic gaze lingering on the basket and its contents. “There’s a bunch of treats that I made, like cookies and pastries and some petite cakes. I also included different sandwiches and chips and threw in some packaged snacks and drinks and stuff since I wasn’t sure what you like.”
After a long, awkward moment of silence, Curtis’ eyes lifted to meet yours. There was something different about his gaze now as he watched you–it wasn’t quite warm, but it was less guarded–and it had your belly swooping sharply, then fluttering, because it was such a noticeable difference from how he looked at you before.
“You made all of this, for me?” he murmured.
You nodded, feeling unsure as your smile faltered. “Is that weird? I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable or–”
“No,” he cut you off so firmly, you snapped your mouth shut as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Sorry, it’s…it’s very kind. I’m just not used to that, I guess. So… thank you.”
Those last two words had so much weight behind them–were so genuine–that warmth flooded your cheeks, your own eyes falling to the counter because it was too hard to maintain Curtis’ gaze as you smiled and shrugged, “You’re welcome.”
Another stretch of awkward silence dragged on for a moment before you shook yourself, shooting Curtis a small smile as you thumbed over your shoulder, toward the hallway that led to your small office, the supply room, and the inside entrance to Curtis’ apartment.
“Ready to see your new place? It’s very lightly furnished, just the basics, so feel free to make it your own! I’m not a strict landlord, just, yanno, don’t wreck the place or anything.”
“I’ll keep the wild parties to a minimum,” Curtis deadpanned.
You giggled, watching as Curtis’ eyes warmed in a way that conveyed he was pleased that you laughed at his joke. Then you were shaking yourself again as you reached for the basket. “We can bring this up with us.”
Curtis gently tugged it from your grip, lifting it with much less effort than you had expended a moment ago. “I got it,” he said softly.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m the hired muscle, remember?” he teased.
Grinning, you nodded in agreement before turning to lead him down the hall, much more aware of Curtis’ looming presence as he followed you than you probably should have been.
As the weeks passed, both you and Curtis settled into this new routine together–him at being your bakery assistant, and you at having so much help for the first time since you opened your bakery two years ago.
You grew less nervous by Curtis’ mere presence, and he seemed to warm up to you considerably, still gruff and mostly stoic, but with these glimmers of humor and softness that seemed reserved for you.
There was also this air of protectiveness that Curtis started to exude when it came to you–which you weren’t expecting at all.
First, it was him insisting on walking you home each night, even though he lived right upstairs and was so obviously going out of his way. No matter how many times you told him it wasn’t necessary, and you’d be fine on the quick 10-minute trek, he insisted, and Curtis was stubborn enough that it wasn’t worth trying to talk him out of it.
There were also these moments when it was just the two of you–usually early in the morning or later in the evening–when you were prepping together. Now that Curtis was gaining the hang of things, he wouldn’t let you do anything strenuous, like kneading dough or lifting anything he considered too heavy for you. “You hired me for a reason, right?” he’d always remind you if you tried to object.
Something about someone so scary–an ex-con, of all people–being protective of you made your belly swoop, and in this moment, part of you yearned for Curtis and his protectiveness as you tried to encourage one of your regulars, Pete, so be on his way so you could finish closing.
But you knew that Curtis was in the kitchen, dutifully prepping all the doughs on the list you had written out this morning, and he had no idea that you had an unwanted shadow as you flipped the last chair atop its table before turning toward where you had left the broom leaning in the corner.
You pulled up short as you found Pete blocking your way–looming in your personal space and making you uncomfortable as he watched you. His expensive suit was a little rumpled since it was early evening, and it was strange seeing him this late to be honest, as he usually stopped in for his morning coffee and pastry before being on his way.
“Er, excuse me,” you chirped, shooting him a half-smile that was forced as you ducked around him and scurried to swipe up the broom.
“I know I’m in your way,” Pete drawled as he tucked his hands into his pockets and continued to stand in the middle of the dining floor, watching you work. “But I have something I want to ask you.”
All you wanted was to finish up so that you could go home and collapse after such a long day, but you shook off that thought, reminding yourself that it was because of regulars like Pete that your business was successful.
“What’s that?” you murmured as you continued to diligently sweep, ignoring Pete’s heavy gaze as he watched you without reserve.
“Go out with me,” he said in that casual way of his, his statement not much of a question at all.
You froze, glancing up at him with wide eyes.
He gave you a smile that was more of a smirk as he sauntered closer. “Come on, sweetie. One date.”
Feeling your face warm and your insides flip unpleasantly–because you hated confrontation–you gathered your courage, giving Pete a kind smile as you replied, “Um, that’s so sweet of you to ask, but I don’t date customers, I’m sorry.”
Your eyes caught a glimpse of his frown before you quickly looked away, turning your back to him as you returned to sweeping the floor.
There was a long, drawn out moment of silence that felt suffocating, and then you squeaked as you suddenly felt a warm press at your back, and two big hands framing your hips, pinning you against the nearest table.
“I think I’m more than just a customer,” Pete purred against the curve of your jaw.
You shuddered as his nose skimmed along your warm cheek and you could feel the way his chest expanded as he noisily inhaled the scent of you with a quiet groan.
“Pete, please…” you trembled, trying to elbow him away.
But he only pressed closer. “Come on, let me wine and dine you,” Pete insisted, pushing flush against your back in a way that made you feel violated. “We can get to know each other better. Maybe indulge in some dessert that doesn’t come from a restaurant, if you catch my drift.”
His hands squeezed your hips before one wandered around. It trailed along your belly, making you jerk and try to recoil as your brain began to cloud with fear.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you quavered, dropping the broom and trying to twist away from Pete’s grip.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Pete countered, his touch skimming higher, along your sides–overly familiar in a way that made bile burn at the back of your throat–as you cowered and tried to curl in on yourself with a whimper. “The best idea I’ve ever had–”
Pete’s words suddenly turned into a grunt as he was violently yanked away from you.
Gasping, you spun around, eyes big with shock as you watched Curtis snarl, “She said no,” as he bodily propelled Pete away from you and across the bakery toward the exit.
“Man, fuck off and mind your business,” Pete tried–and failed–to struggle out of Curtis’ grip.
“Oh, I am,” Curtis growled, his smile more of a sneer as he opened the front door and threw Pete outside.
His voice lowered, and you couldn’t hear what he said to Pete, but whatever it was had the other man paling considerably, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard before turning and practically running away.
Your heart rate was just starting to slow as Curtis pulled the door shut. He locked it and flipped the sign to Closed before turning off the overhead lights to dissuade anyone else from trying to come inside now that you were closed.
He turned and slowly walked toward you, something about his gait cautious, like he was approaching a spooked animal. That ever watchful gaze of his took inventory of you and the way you were still trembling as you struggled to meet his eyes while you fought back tears.
“You okay?” His voice was a soft rumble, the familiar sound soothing and instantly making your hitched shoulders drop away from your ears.
“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your voice too high–unnatural–and making you wince.
Curtis watched you for a beat, quiet, unsure of what to say, before crouching to pick up the broom from the floor. He turned and leaned it against the wall before his concerned gaze once again found you.
“Come on, let’s make some tea. You like that lavender chamomile blend when it’s later at night, right?”
You blinked at him, gobsmacked. “How did you know that?”
His lips curled, but he didn’t answer your question. “Come on,” he said again, his voice softer than before as he touched a hand to your hip and urged you toward the brewing equipment. “I can take care of sweeping before we head out.”
You didn’t argue as you stepped behind the counter, hugging yourself tightly as Curtis set about making your tea.
There was something so soothing about watching him and the confident way in which he moved. Of course you knew that he tended to join you behind the counter during the morning and lunch time rushes to help you knock out orders, but you were always too busy to really watch him or the way he worked.
But right now, it felt almost intimate, watching Curtis make you a cup of tea to help calm your nerves.
His hands were big and rough and sure, his arm muscles flexing as he moved. His body was so tall and broad and took up so much space, but not in a way that felt intimidating–in a way that made you feel safe, especially after what just happened with Pete.
At last, Curtis turned to you, his eyes still shining with worry as he offered you the steaming mug.
“Relax for a few minutes while I finish sweeping,” he told you. “I also squirreled away some of today’s sandwich specials for us so neither of us would need to cook dinner after a long day.”
That made you smile, it always did when Curtis appreciated your culinary skills. And he was once again taking care of you in some way–even something as simple as thinking of you and how tired you’d be and making sure you had a good meal to go home to.
“Thank you, Curtis, for everything,” you murmured as you carefully cradled the mug of tea to your chest. Your eyes were soft as they met his. “You’re so good to me.”
You saw the hint of something intense flare in Curtis’ gaze as he watched you, but it was gone before you could process and identify it. His lips curled into the slightest of smiles as he said, “You were good to me first.”
Then he gave you a small nod and moved past you, but not before his big hand touched your shoulder–gave it a soft squeeze that made your insides feel alive and vibrant in a new way–a way that stuck with you for the entire rest of the evening.
A week or so later, it was an errant, inappropriate thought as you watched Curtis during closing time–that he looked so good in his simple white tee and jeans beneath a black Hearth & Honey Bakery apron.
Your eyes lingered once again on his arm muscles, on his big, rough hands, as he kneaded the last batch of dough, and you couldn’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like touching you–really touching you–not just a stray shoulder squeeze or to keep you in place as he moved behind you to grab something.
You weren’t quick enough to school your features before Curtis glanced at you, going still at the way you watched him–the moment charged like so many other moments between you and Curtis had been as of late.
His eyes locked on your guilty ones before flickering down to your lips for the briefest millisecond, and you felt your insides swoop then throb before you squeaked about grabbing your things before scurrying back to your office.
Things felt less charged and intense a little while later as Curtis walked you home, and given the way your dynamic had changed–the way the two of you had become closer–you couldn’t help but finally ask a question that had been on your mind since you met him.
“I know we’ve never talked about it, and I don’t want to pry, but I just…can’t help but wonder why you were locked up for so long. You’re just so kind and protective, it’s hard to imagine you being a convict.”
Curtis remained silent for so long, that you were afraid you had offended him and made him angry. When you peeked over at him, it was to find him staring straight ahead–avoiding your gaze–his sharp jaw tense and ticking under your observation.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” you started to back track, but Curtis shook his head, finally turning your way.
“No, you have every right to ask considering you spend most of your time with me.”
He went quiet again, the silence dragging on between the two of you, and then Curtis started to speak–to quietly confess–keeping his eyes firmly away from you as he answered your question.
He told you how he had been in a gang since he was a pre-teen. How he had talked his step-brother, Edgar, into joining too. How the two of them were inseparable. How Edgar idolized him. How when Curtis was twenty, and Edgar was seventeen, he'd been brutally murdered by a rival gang–and how Curtis had nearly beaten his brother’s killer to death with his bare hands.
“I wanted to. Kill him. For taking Edgar from me,” Curtis muttered as he paused just outside of your home. He kept his gaze away from you–distant–as he continued. “I wanted to kill him for drawing it out and making Edgar suffer. Despite being in a gang, he was a sweet kid. He didn’t deserve what was done to him. I made it easy for the DA to charge me with attempted murder, for the judge to give me twenty to life, and now here we are–I wasted half my life behind bars, and Edgar’s still gone.”
“God, Curtis, I’m so sorry,” your voice trembled with the tears you tried to blink back as you watched him.
You couldn’t even imagine what he had been through. He’d been so young and lost so much, and had paid a very severe price for the way he grieved his loss–for his need for vengeance.
It felt like a reflex you couldn’t deny as you moved toward Curtis and pressed close, wrapping him in a hug. He was rigid for a few seconds before you felt the tension ease from his body as he tentatively wrapped his arms around you and returned your embrace.
Curtis’ body heat enveloped you completely, and you could feel the warm press of his hands through your coat as he touched your back, tugging you closer. His head dipped, his nose sinking into your hair, and his big body wracked with an intense shudder that left him trembling against you–overwhelmed by touching and being touched by another for the first time in years.
You just hugged him tighter, burying your face against the front of his coat–knowing the dark material soaked up the few tears you couldn’t blink back as you held him until he finally straightened and shifted away.
“I’m sorry,” Curtis’ voice was rough, his eyes shining as he sniffed hard, avoiding your soft gaze.
“You don’t need to be sorry.”
“You should get inside,” Curtis rumbled. “It’s cold out here, and I’m sure you’re tired.”
As he went to step away from you fully, you went with him. You weren’t sure what made you do it, but you just needed him to look at you–to look into your eyes and know that his truth hadn’t changed anything for you.
Before your brain caught up with your movements, you framed Curtis’ face between your hands and tilted his gaze to meet yours.
“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered before kissing his bearded cheek.
And maybe it was the way Curtis’ breath hitched at the innocent kiss that had you lingering close, that had your fingers twitching against his beard as you breathed the same air, your lips hovering mere inches from his as your eyes met his and found his gaze dark and wanting.
You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly you and Curtis were kissing. You could feel his fingers tremble as they touched your face, not quite cradling so much as tentatively touching–like he was making sure you were real, that this was real.
Curtis drank from your mouth like he hadn’t quenched his thirst in years–and you supposed that was true in a sense. As his tongue touched yours, a primal groan spilled from his lips to yours, and you kissed him more eagerly, consumed entirely by his obvious desire for you.
You had no idea how the two of you made it inside your place with your mouths still fused together so passionately, but suddenly you were in your bed–as naked as Curtis–as he pinned you to your mattress with his weight and kissed you with a hunger that literally stole your breath away.
You gasped, desperate for oxygen between frantic kisses, your cunt weeping an endless river as you felt Curtis rut against you eagerly. His cock was hard and trapped against your belly, the dribble of his pre-cum making a sticky mess against your skin, but it was the kind of mess you reveled in, and a distant part of you committed to spending the entire night getting filthy with Curtis.
There was such a frenetic energy to Curtis as he moved over you–kissed you without relent–his hands touching every inch of you that he could trap beneath his fingers.
You touched his face with purpose, firmly framing his cheeks as you pulled away and met his dark, dazed gaze. “It’s okay, I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m right here with you, Curtis.”
He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat as he dropped his forehead to yours, curling an arm over the top of your head. Almost mindlessly, he rutted against you, gasping in ragged breaths before he rocked against your belly more urgently with a long broken groan.
You felt warm, sticky ribbons of cum spurt along your torso, gasping in surprise at just how quickly you had unraveled him. Biting back a giggle at Curtis’ humiliated groan, you gently pet along his head as he hid his face against the crook of your neck, your free hand smoothing up and down the warm curve of his back.
“It’s okay,” you whispered as you cupped his side.
Heaving a ragged breath, Curtis eased away so he could meet your gaze. His face was flushed pink, his eyes still dilated and his features sheepish as he mumbled, “I don’t usually do that. It’s just…been a really long time for me.”
“I don’t mind,” you assured him. “There’s no rush. This is nice too,” you said, tipping your face up to catch his lips in another kiss, keeping this one slow and savoring and much less frantic than before.
When you let your lips trail away from Curtis’ lips, pressing kisses all over his handsome face and giggling while you did so, his eyes softened. The tension eased from his shoulders as he watched you with something that was so much more than fondness it made your chest flutter and expand.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Curtis whispered, voice tinged with awe as his fingers carefully caressed your cheek.
The way Curtis looked at you made you feel like the most special and beautiful person in the world, and it was addictive, being under that kind of admiration. It was overwhelming, too, and a part of you wanted to hide as much as you wanted to bask in Curtis’ attention, so you tugged him in for another round of eager kisses to split the difference.
With each quiet grunt and primal groan that you drank from Curtis’ mouth, you grew more wet. Hitching your knees around his hips, you tugged him against you more firmly, and now you were the one desperately rutting against him, seeking more.
When your hand found Curtis’ cock, he gave a sharp gasp, his hips jerking into your grip as he pulled away so he could watch you. His eyes were so dark now they looked unnatural, his lips cherry pink and parted as you slowly began to stroke him, your eyes fixed on his.
He made a quiet “hnnngh” sound when your thumb swiped over his tip, smearing the pre-cum along his head before you guided him to your entrance. There was an intensity in Curtis’ gaze that you had never experienced before–his eyes so avid and heavy-lidded as he watched you as he slowly sank into you, inch by inch.
Your breath hitched on a muffled moan as his thick cock stretched you open, gliding against your warm, tight walls until he was settled to the hilt and groaning as you clamped around him hard.
“You feel so good,” Curtis breathed, his hand gentle as he cupped your cheek and shifted his hips enough to make you gasp.
“So do you,” you whispered, tilting your hips in silent encouragement.
Curtis was slow and tentative at first, keeping his thrusts shallow. You weren’t sure if he was afraid to hurt you, or afraid of not being buried as deep inside of you as possible, but regardless, you couldn’t suppress a whine as you writhed beneath him, desperate.
“Give me more, Curtis,” you pleaded, rocking up against him and making him moan. “You won’t break me. I wanna feel you. Make me feel you. Make me take it.”
“Fuck,” Curtis droned, dropping his forhead against yours. Blindly, he reached for your hand with his free one, until your palms were as flush as your bodies and he could lace his fingers through yours, squeezing tight.
It was all the warning you got before his hips retreated until just the head of him stretched your hole, then he shoved inside of you hard and deep, trapping your broken keen against his lips as he really started to fuck you.
There was a feral air to him now as Curtis pounded you into the mattress, his mouth parted and hanging open as he greedily drank you in, grunting every time he was gifted a new sweet sound spilling past your tempting lips.
“More!” you begged, head falling back and eyes rolling as you groped along Curtis’ bare ass with your free hand, spreading your legs wider and shoving up into the relentless plowing of his hips.
With a quiet snarl, Curtis went at you even harder–faster–making your bed creak as the headboard slammed into the wall, emphasizing the tempo of your ruin.
When Curtis’ hand fell away from your sweaty cheek so he could caress along your belly before rubbing circles along your clit, your climax detonated within you, sending tremors of pleasure erupting from your core and rattling through the rest of your body as you gave a ragged, broken keen of ecstasy.
It was that sound of visceral annihilation that broke Curtis, that sent him hurdling over the edge along with you. Burying his face against your neck and greedily inhaling your scent, he gave a wrecked shout as he came, his hips moving with a different purpose now–not to fuck you but to fill you, with every last drop of his cum.
You were still gasping for breath as Curtis collapsed against you, keeping his face tucked against your neck as he trembled and clung to you like he was afraid you would suddenly disappear.
Trailing your fingers along his back, you touched Curtis so gently, with a quiet knowing that this man was so beyond touch-starved, and you could give him the comfort and reprieve he needed–that he deserved.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he rasped as he finally pulled away so he could see your face. “So perfect. I could stay lost in your forever,” he murmured as he gently stroked your cheek.
Your smile was warm and a little shy as you leaned into his touch. “Let’s start with tonight,” you told him, reeling him in for a soft kiss before encouraging him to settle against you.
Your body still thrummed, impossibly sated, as Curtis laid his warm, stubbled cheek against your chest. As you drifted off to sleep, it was with a small smile curling your lips and not a care in the world…
Or any idea that Curtis tipped his head up, his eyes even more fervent than before–devoted and possessive–as he watched you sleep.
For hours and hours.
You tensed as you heard Curtis enter the bakery kitchen, and you hated that your body had that reaction to him.
But in the days following your night together, he had been so intense–so unprofessional–and you were starting to regret sleeping with him.
Starting to panic over it, too.
You were his boss, and it was so unprofessional of you to allow these lines to be crossed. Especially since you knew Curits was in a vulnerable position as he started to rebuild his life post-incarceration. You knew he needed this job, and you felt like you had taken advantage of him, no matter how unintentional.
You did care about him. You tended to care about everyone, and you had so much empathy for Curtis, and appreciated him and how he helped you so much.
But you didn’t like the way that he kept cornering you at work, stealing stray kisses and touches–even in front of customers–that made your face burn hot and ashamed.
This wasn’t how you wanted to run your business. This wasn’t the type of boss you wanted to be.
So as you heard Curtis approach you as you paused in your early morning prep, you steeled yourself, knowing that you had to speak up.
You had to set some boundaries to salvage this experience for you both.
The fact that Curtis pressed close to your back, his hands framing your hips as he kissed your cheek, only solidified your decision. He was treating you like a committed partner, like the two of you were dating, and it was so obvious that you were not on the same page here.
“Good morning,” he hummed, his voice smoky and warm and making your belly flutter even though you wished it wouldn’t.
“Hey,” you murmured, taking a deep breath before turning in his embrace. You felt yourself wilt under Curtis’ watchful gaze–which had this new glint to it that you couldn't quite decipher but it made your insides skitter and flutter all at once. “Curtis… we need to talk.”
You watched as his features shifted from a warm kind of openness to shuttered and stoic–indifferent–as his shoulders hitched ever so slightly, his jaw ticking with tension.
And you felt awful.
He had already been through so much and you didn’t want to hurt him. You were so mad at yourself for screwing this all up that you couldn’t help it as your eyes filled with tears and your nose burned along with them.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft despite the wariness now shadowing his gaze.
“Look, I,” your voice broke and you shook your head, sniffing back your tears as you forced your eyes to meet his. “I think we just need to pump the brakes a little, okay? That night was… great, but I’m your boss, and I just…I shouldn’t have let that happen, and I’m so sorry for–”
“No,” Curtis snapped so sharply, you recoiled from him on instinct.
He sighed, gently petting your hips as he took a deep breath, “You don’t need to be sorry. All of this happened for a reason. We’re meant to be together.”
“Curtis,” you feebly tried to interrupt him, but he stubbornly spoke over you.
“Out of all the program assignments I could have gotten, I was placed with you. I know that was for a reason and… and you’ve become my everything, the bright light at the end of a really dark tunnel that I didn’t think I’d make it through.”
You couldn’t help it as a few tears spilled over, feeling more horrible and helpless by the second.
Curtis shushed you, his touch so soft as he swiped away your tears. “When you know, you know, and I know you’re it for me.” He shifted closer to you, his hands rounding your hips and sliding along your back, urging your body flush to his as he whispered your name. “I don't think you realise the hold you have on me. We’re meant for each other, I know it. I’ll show you.”
You opened your mouth to object, but you weren’t quick enough, squeaking instead when Curtis kissed you hard–hungrily–like he had something to prove and he was determined to do so. He didn’t pull away until you were gasping for breath, sagged back against the metal prep table and dazed as you stared at him.
“I’ll show you,” he husked as something sparked to life in his dark gaze.
You shuddered, squealing as Curtis suddenly spun you around and bent you over the counter.
“Curtis, no–” you started, whining as he roughly pulled down your pants and panties in one go.
It was shameful, the way he could so easily make you wet, just a few brushes of his fingers along your cunt, a few teasing circles around your hole, and you were dripping for him as you buried your face against your arms to hide.
Curtis shoved your legs apart as much as he could with your pants and underwear still tangled around your knees, and you moaned into your arms as he shoved his face against you from behind and devoured your cunt like it was his own personal feast.
You came embarrassingly fast, trembling hard as Curtis hummed against your slick folds and lapped up your cum.
Too boneless to move, let alone resist, you could only whimper as you felt him stand and press against you, lining his cock up and shoving inside of you to the hilt and groaning as you whimpered.
“I need to show you,” he panted as he started to fuck you with a feral edge that toed the line of pain. “That you were meant for me.” He shoved into you hard and deep, taking you up onto your toes. “That I love you.” Another rough, determined thrust that made you whine even as your pussy rejoiced and fluttered wildly.
Curtis curled over you, clinging to you as his hips pounded against your ass, as he filled you with his cock over and over again–fucking you like a man possessed–making you take every hard, throbbing inch of him without reprieve.
“You’re mine. You’re mine,” he snarled, nipping at your earlobe, then groaning as you came with a helpless keen and a fresh wave of tears. “See, your body knows it already.”
A few more harsh ruts of his hips, and Curtis reached his own release with a groan. You sniffled as you felt the first wave of his spend filling you up, and then he pulled out of you, painting your slick, puffy cunt with a few ribbons of cum before spilling the rest into the gusset of your panties.
For a long moment, it was silent–the heavy, suffocating kind that even drowned out the static filling your ears.
Then Curtis pushed away from you, putting himself back together before his hands touched your bare hips, giving a possessive squeeze. He leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your tear-stained cheek before tugging up your pants and panties.
He patted between your legs, making it impossible to ignore the fact that your underwear was filled with his cum and sticking to you uncomfortably.
Curtis was gentle as he helped you straighten, turning you around to face him so he could steal a soft kiss from your lips. “Now those donuts you made won’t be the only thing stuffed with cream today,” he teased, giving you a wink before stepping away.
You watched in a kind of shocked daze as he turned and easily lifted the large tray of donuts from the counter across from you. Curtis’ smile was playful and in complete contrast with the dark, predatory look in his eyes as he watched you, almost like he was daring you to start talking your nonsense again.
You didn’t.
Instead, you shuddered as you hugged yourself tightly, your gaze falling away from his as you tried not to cry.
“I’ll go set these in the case, and then I’ll be back to help you with the breads, okay?”
“Okay,” you nodded, still staring at the floor as you felt the weight of Curtis’ gaze on you.
He shifted closer, making a pleased sound before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good girl,” he murmured against your skin before he turned and strode from the room.
Leaving you trembling in his wake, feeling numb and out of place in your own kitchen as you grimaced at the feel of Curtis’ cum filling your panties–marking you as his.
I meeean, look. Look. I’m here for him 😌 He’s just a smitten kitten. Let him love you!
—
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✦ Pairing: Curtis Everett/fem!Reader
✦ Word count: ~4k
✦ Rating: Explicit
✦ Warnings/tags: plus size!reader, demon king!Curtis, Curtis is like 250 cm/8,2 feet, Curtis has horns, kidnapping, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex, belly bulge, dirty talk, cum marking, pet names (lamb).
✦ Summary: For Lloyd, that meant more work and less play, and he was not happy about that at all. So he devised a plan to ease the king's temper.
✦ Note: Is this among the dirtiest things I've written? Probably... but it was so much fun! If you like it please reblog it. Comments and asks are always welcome!
✦ I don't keep a taglist, but you can follow @veltanawrites and turn on notifications to get notified when I post something new.
Masterlist | AO3
The demon named Lloyd looked on with dismay as the Demon King threw yet another of the lesser demons into the abyss of no return. It wasn't that Lloyd disliked the king’s actions. No, it was just that over the course of a thousand years, since the king had been betrayed by his then betrothed, his patience with mistakes had grown shorter, and the number of lesser demons in the realm had started to dwindle.
For Lloyd, that meant more work and less play, and he was not happy about that at all. So he devised a plan to ease the king's temper. If there was one thing Lloyd knew, it was that the king needed to get laid and to have someone to care about. Despite being the ruthless king of the demon realm, Lloyd had been there when the king and his betrothed were together, and the king showed a softer side, and a more even temper, back then.
But another problem was also that, since the betrayal, the king had refused to consider an alliance with any of the other factions that inhabited the demon realm. So Lloyd had done the only thing he could, and looked to other realms, close to the demon one.
No demon alive today had been there when the veil between the realms had been thin enough to pass through regularly, but many attributed that to the demon's humanoid bodies. The fact that humans and demons could mate and produce viable offspring both Lloyd and the demon king were living proof of.
And as such, the demon Lloyd looked to the human world. And he found you.
You stand still just inside the door to the apartment you share with two other people. The air is suffocatingly hot outside, and you looked forward to the cool air inside as you walked home. Except your roommates are having a party, with the windows wide open for people to smoke from. It's as hot inside as outside. You're already sweating through your shirt, blazer, and skirt, and you want to take a long, cool shower, but not when there are twenty other people in the apartment.
You make your way through the throng towards your door, happy that you locked it before going to work. Some of your things have started to disappear lately. Inside, with the door locked once again, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a tad cooler in your room with the blinds pulled and the window closed. You turn on the fan and stand in the breeze while taking off your clothes and throwing them in the hamper. No reusing those for another day. You need to do laundry too, if you want to have something to wear to work at the end of the week. Exhausted, you lay on the bed in just your underwear, limbs spread, waiting for the fan to cool your heated skin.
Everything seems to crash into you all at once. Your shitty work day, your stealing roommates, the never-ending tirade of chores, the unbearable heat you won’t be able to escape until winter, and then the apartment will be freezing cold instead. Tears run down the side of your face. Also, there is a gaping hole in your chest from feeling lonely. There are only so many romance books a girl can read before starting to long for that kind of connection of her own, and you really want a connection like that. You just want someone who cares about you and wants you, despite all your flaws.
“Is that really too much to ask?” you say out loud to no one in particular.
“Of course it’s not,” a voice answers, startling you up from your bed. Standing by your desk is a man, dressed smartly in well-fitting clothes with a mustache that could be from an eighties porno, with his hair combed back. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy your roommates would hang out with.
“Who are you?” you ask, voice trembling with fear, throwing your arms up to cover your exposed chest as you back as far away from him as you can, but in the small room, you don’t get far. You’re sure you locked the door behind you. The man must have been in your room before you entered, hiding somewhere, and now he’s going to rape and kill you. The music is blaring from the party. No one is going to hear you scream. You eye the door, but you have to pass him to get to it. The window is not a quick escape since it’s closed.
“I’m Lloyd,” the man answers, and you realize just then how tall he is, a good bit over two meters. “And I’m here to take you somewhere better.”
You’re frozen stiff. “No,” you manage to press out.
“I can assure you that no harm will come to you, if that eases your mind,” he says, and you notice that his eyes seem to be unnaturally blue, almost glowing.
“What?”
“You will not be harmed, you have my word.”
“I don’t understand,” you say, more tears are running down your face now. The man is clearly insane.
“There is no need to cry, you will have a much better life than whatever this is,” he says, looking around your room with clear distaste. “I guess humans like their earthly belongings, so if it makes you feel any better, we can take all of it with us.”
Then he holds out his hand, “Come on, let’s go.”
But you don’t move, you can’t, fear is gripping your chest so hard you can barely breathe.
When he takes a step closer to you, your body suddenly switches to flight mode. With a burst of adrenaline, you go for the door, needing to try at least to save yourself. You feel an arm band around your waist, and the world turns upside down and somehow also inside out. It’s like you're on a roller coaster for zero point one second, screaming as you drop down into nothing, before you’re suddenly in a room again, except it’s completely different from before.
“What in the actual fuck,” you say, before throwing up.
Demon king Curtis stalks through the winding corridors of the ever-changing castle on his way back to his room. He needs a drink and to not see anyone else for a good long while. All day, he’s spent dealing with emissaries from the nearby realms, trying to negotiate trade deals so his people can continue to thrive, but all their offers involve some kind of marriage, and he is not doing that. He shouldn’t even be in those meetings. It’s Lloyd’s task to manage that, but Lloyd claimed he was busy. Whatever the fuck that means.
Think of the demon, and he shall appear, Curtis thinks as he nears his room, because waiting outside is Lloyd, with one of those shit-eating grins that can only mean trouble.
“What have you done now?” Curtis asks, irritation thick in his tone.
“Only what I deemed necessary.”
“That can’t be good, then.”
“We’ll see,” Lloyd’s smile widens, and then continues, “There is a present waiting for you in your room, and I hope it will bring you much joy.”
After staring at Lloyd a moment longer, Curtis opens the door with some trepidation. A present from Lloyd could mean anything, literally, and he isn’t sure he would like any of it. To his surprise, he finds a woman standing in the middle of the floor. A red band covers your eyes, while a soft robe drapes your body, tied at the waist. Curtis can feel the nervousness radiating off of you, and you jump when he closes the door.
Walking up to you, he takes you in more carefully, noticing that without a doubt, you are human. It’s an odd present coming from Lloyd. A human woman. But he also can’t help but notice how the robe hangs off your voluptuous body in a way that makes his mouth water. Even if it’s Lloyd’s doing, Curtis is king for a reason, and a present never comes without an ulterior motive.
“Who are you?” Curtis asks, and you jump again, before stuttering out your name.
“What are you doing here?” is his next question.
“Your… friend, Lloyd, was in my apartment. He brought me here. He said you needed a… companion.”
“And what’s in it for you, human?”
You swallow.
“I don’t know. No work? No chores? I won’t be lonely anymore.” Curtis can sense no lies in your words. “And Lloyd said that… that you’d bring me pleasure.”
Curtis can’t help but give a small laugh.
“And what if I just kill you instead, human?”
You stiffen even more, if possible.
“Lloyd said I wouldn’t be harmed,” you manage to answer, voice tight with fear.
“Did he now. You’re under his protection?”
Curtis glances back at the door, and for a second, thinks of calling for the other demon to make him explain, but if he knows Lloyd right, the demon is already gone.
“I guess,” you confirm.
Curtis muses on that for a moment. It’s not that he wants to hurt you or kill you, but he is big even by demon standards, taller than Lloyd, and his touch could break your bones.
“He gave me a ring,” you hold up your hand and show Curtis a black band around your middle finger. “He said it would protect my body, make it strong enough to withstand whatever you’d want to do with me.”
Now, the faint smell of arousal rises from you. You clearly don’t know what's good for you, but that only makes Curtis want you more.
“And what else did Lloyd tell you about me?”
“That you’re the demon king, ruler over this realm, and that you’ve been alone for a very long time. And that you won’t hurt me.”
Curtis hums and reaches for your face, dragging his finger over your cheek, but you don’t flinch or pull back. The fear coming from you actually lessens.
“No, I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “Remove your robe for me, my sacrificial lamb.”
With surprisingly steady fingers, you undo the knot and let the robe fall open, revealing your body that he’d only guessed at, and it’s far from disappointing. As the robe floats to the floor, Curtis takes you in, now only covered in a bra and underwear. Your breasts will fit perfectly in his hands, he knows right away, and his face will fit just as well between your plush thighs. With all your soft curves on display, there is no keeping Curtis’s cock from hardening.
That a human would undo him is hard to believe, but you seem to be removed from the politics of the demon realm, and therefore, he decides to take a chance and accept the offering given to him. You’re here because you don’t want to be lonely, and Curtis is quite fed up with that himself. It’s been a long time since he felt lust as he does now.
He lets his finger go up to your blindfold.
“Let’s get this off so you can see what the king of the demon realm looks like, before I take you to bed, lamb.”
He slips it off your face, but your eyes are squeezed shut.
“Are you sure my face won’t melt off when I see you?”
Curtis chuckles, “I’m quite sure.”
The light in the room is not bright, but your eyes still take some time to adjust from being closed. When you finally see the demon king, you have a hard time taking it all in.
He looks human-ish, except for his height and the horns on his head. They sprout from his forehead, curving back over his skull and the short buzz, before curving back up and slightly forward again, sharp points pointing upwards. It just adds to his height, and he is the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and you thought Lloyd was big. He is best described as massive, with thick, broad shoulders and a wide torso left bare to reveal hard muscle beneath a scattering of dark hair.
After you took a bath and got new clothes, Lloyd had been kind enough to conjure a picture of the demon king while he explained everything, and you thought Curtis looked good then. But up close, he's gorgeous, and so big your knees feel weak from both nerves and arousal. So what if the majority of your romance books on the shelves had monsters in them?
“Hi,” you manage to croak out.
He smiles, and you're relieved that he doesn't have sharp teeth; neither does he have claws or cloven hoofs.
“Hello, my sacrificial lamb,” he reaches out his hand, and you take it. His skin is much warmer than a human's, but not uncomfortably. With a yank, he pulls you into his body, right into his bare upper body.
You look up into his face, and his eyes glow with the same eerie blue that Lloyd’s did. Power and strength radiate from him, but you're not afraid. This whole thing is crazy and fucked up, but if you don't take it at its word, you're going to drive yourself insane.
Therefore, to calm your mind, you place a chaste kiss against Curtis' skin and tell yourself it's going to be alright. Strong hands close around your waist, and you're suddenly lifted. A shriek escapes you because you've never been lifted before. Sure, some dudes have tried, but it mostly ended with them grunting with failure and you feeling miserable. Curtis does it effortlessly. He only says, “Come up here and do that instead,” with a wicked grin.
As you're face-to-face with him, you realize he is even more gorgeous up close. You wrap your legs around his body, and he holds you with one hand on your ass, while the other grips the back of your neck.
A low rumble seems to come from Curtis' chest.
“Your ass fits perfectly in my hand, it's like you were made for me, my lamb.”
You stroke your hands over his face, feeling the scruff of his beard, making his rumble louder, which you think means he likes it. The grip on your neck hardens, and a second later, he's pressing your mouth against his.
He's not shy about kissing you in any way; he knows what he wants, and he takes it, opening your mouth, exploring with his tongue, which is human-like, if a bit more pointed. You wind your arms around his neck, holding on as he starts walking towards a bed that is bigger than any you’ve seen before. But you're not surprised since Curtis is so big. He sits down on the edge with you in his lap, straddling him, and the unmistakable feeling of his bulge presses right into your cunt.
You want to blame the fact that it's been a long time since a man touched you, and that's the reason why you're already so horny and wet. But it's not. It's everything about Curtis. The way he feels, smells, and tastes. And the way he handles you like you weigh nothing.
Experimentally, you grind down, and when Curtis moans into the kiss, the whole room seems to vibrate with it. You find you need to ask an important question, though, before this goes any further.
“How…,” but you feel a little embarrassed at asking. He raises an eyebrow.
“How is it gonna fit?“
A slow smile creeps up his face, his thumb caressing your cheek.
“Don't worry, my lamb. I will make it fit.”
That shouldn't turn you on even more, but it does. Your eyes flutter for a moment as a moan unbidden falls from your lips. With a growl, Curtis flips you onto the bed, then tears the bra and panties from your body, leaving you naked and exposed.
“Does my lamb like that idea?” he asks as he kneels between your spread legs. But he's not looking at your cunt, he's keeping eye contact with you as he picks up your foot, kissing your ankle. You have a hard time forming words, even thoughts, so you just nod as he moves higher up your leg with kisses and licks.
“Do you want me to force my demon cock into your human cunt? Want me to watch as you struggle to take it?”
Ashamed, you hide your face in your hands before nodding again.
“I'll have to thank Lloyd for finding the filthiest little lamb in the human realm for me,” he chuckles. His kisses stop in the middle of your thigh, and you peek from your fingers to see why.
Now his gaze is glued to your exposed cunt, his chest heaving heavily, the grip on your leg hardening. Without looking away, he commands, “Clench.”
For a second, you're confused, and then you do what he wants, clenching the muscles in your vagina. As you do, more wetness leaks out.
“I'm going to enjoy ruining that wet cunt after I've feasted on it,” he says, letting go of your leg and lying down on the bed.
His massive hands spread you open, but he's not hurting you; he's careful with his touch, you can tell that, despite your mind being overrun by lust. The moment his mouth lands on you, all thoughts go out of your head, though. There is only the feel of his tongue and lips, exploring all the most sensitive parts of you. His eyes are closed, and there is a content, constant hum coming from him. You try to keep your eyes on him, because he looks divine nestled between your full thighs, but he's doing things you've longed for, and it's hard not to sink back into the bed and just let him do what he wants until you break.
He suckles on your clit, using his tongue to play with it, before sliding his mouth down and pressing his thick, long tongue into your channel, over and over again, driving you insane with pleasure.
You're scrambling for something to hold onto. The sheets on the bed aren't enough, and you want to touch him, but you're not sure you're allowed to touch his horns, and you're not coherent enough to ask. But still, your hands creep down your body, itching to feel him, and before you know it, your hands close around the ribbed surface of the horns, right as he does something devilish with his mouth, and you use the grip to pull him even closer and grind against his mouth.
He looks up at you, and your eyes meet for a second. Your chest rises and falls, but he doesn't look mad.
“It feels so good,” you say, almost pleading, even though he's giving you everything.
He hums in response, because he can't talk with his mouth so closely pressed to you, before continuing like before.
When a thick finger slides into you, searching, then finding, there is no way for you to hinder the orgasm crashing into you. With a strangled cry, you come around Curtis' finger and against his mouth. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure envelopes you until the only thing you feel is the point of contact, where his finger is still working you over, and his tongue plays with your bundle of sensitive nerves. And he doesn't stop, even when it starts to become too much, and you whimper instead. When you try to push at his head and move away, he simply pulls you back.
For every orgasm after that he pulls from you; you get more delirious, but something is missing. Even with two fingers in you now, fucking you in times with his tongue, you want more.
“Curtis,” you plead, again, “I need more!“
He pulls back, kissing your cunt one last time, before sitting back on his knees. His mouth and chin are wet with you, and he licks his lips as he undoes his pants.
Curtis’ cock is, well, it's a monster, bigger than anything you've had before, bigger than your toys, and fucking gorgeous. You're scared and aroused at the same time. His massive hand closes around it, stroking it a few times, and precum leaks freely from the tip. At least it's one; you've read books where the main male characters have had two, and you're not ready for that yet.
“The ring will protect you,” Curtis says, his voice tight, clearly holding himself back. “It will only be good for you. Now turn over, on your knees, head down.”
You do as he says, nervous energy fluttering in your chest despite your previous orgasms.
Curtis places a steadying hand on your ass, and you take a deep breath as you feel the nudge of the big cockhead against your opening.
The ring might protect you from splitting in two, but it doesn't take away the feel of the delicious stretch as Curtis pushes into you. Your body somehow gives, and there is no pain, only pleasure. He takes his time. You can hear him breathing heavily behind you, and if you look over your shoulder, his eyes are fixed at the point of connection, watching your body swallow inch after inch of his cock, until he bottoms out with an almost painful groan.
He leans forward and grabs one of your hands, guiding it in under your body and pressing it up against your soft stomach, until you feel what he wants you to feel—the bulge of him.
“It fits perfectly, my lamb. You're filled to the brim with me now.”
“I- I love it!” you confess, and you keep your hand there as he starts fucking you, feeling the bulge in your belly over and over again. His heavy balls slap against your exposed cunt with every thrust, and it's so sensitive from previous orgasms that you're quickly on the brink of another again.
“I feel you, lamb, pulsing around me. Are you going to come with a demon's cock in your tight cunt?”
“Yes, Curtis!” you answer with a moan.
Suddenly, you hear him spit, and cool saliva hits your skin, right against your asshole. A moment later, Curtis' big thumb enters you there, too.
It's simply too much for you. You come like you've never come before, cursing and screaming, losing all strength in your body. Your arms and upper body lie limply against the sheets, drool seeps from your mouth, as Curtis continues to fuck you. It's a miracle you can stay on your knees, but you do it for him, because it continues even after, the pleasure he brings you over and over again never stops. It could be the fact that you're in a whole other realm, or it could be because of Curtis, or maybe both. He's unstoppable, pulling many more orgasms from you, until your head is empty of any other thoughts than that of his touch. But finally, it's his time too.
The walls of the chamber rattle and shake the louder his moans get, things fall from shelves, and you hear glass breaking somewhere. With an inhuman growl, he flips you onto your back, and then he comes inside you with a roar until it overflows, and he pulls out to continue coming over your stomach and tits, painting you and marking you with his seed.
“Mine,” he says, over and over again.
Curtis' eyelids feel heavy, but he doesn't want to sleep. Even though you're already snoring softly in his arms, he doesn't want to look away from you, his lamb. His chest has felt so hollow for such a long time, so it's a strange feeling to now have it filled with contentment and a bit of happiness.
He sent Lloyd a message that he won't be available for anything, for the foreseeable future. Curtis might have made you come multiple times tonight, but he also needs to take time to show you the realm, or more importantly, show the realm you. They need to know what their new queen looks like after all.
༊*·˚ main materlist | pete’s place’s opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚
⁀➷ next chapter.
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ pairings & future pairings:
pete brenner x female!reader.
lloyd hansen x female!reader.
ari levinson x female!reader.
curtis everett x female!reader.
steve rogers x female!reader.
jake jensen x female!reader.
(and others that will be revealed at a later date.)
word count: 9083 | series rating: explicit. ༊*·˚
warnings: implied abusive relationship, homelessness, alcohol, general sadness, advances, pete being a scumbag.
this is a dark au. minors are not welcome here.
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ notes:
two years later and the first chapter is finally here.
i really have missed you all dearly and i'm so excited to share this with you.
the second chapter will kick off the darker elements, but enjoy the set up! and i promise to not take two years to give you the second chapter.
as always, please tell me what you think, i really enjoy hearing your thoughts, opinions and guesses on whats coming up next.
adore you, mwah!!!
all mistakes are my own. already had to go back and take out a section. that's what i get for not separating my notes from my actual writing. whoops.
A year after you packed brown boxes scrawled with black ink, clothes stuffed into various bags, and the hope of your true love, into the back of your car, to move across the country to live with your ex-boyfriend, you find yourself one night in a heart pounding screaming match. Thrown dishes, broken glass, picture frames on the floor. The remnants of a lost love etched by the sounds of your cries into the tattered walls of the home you shared.
With pleading cries, tear stained cheeks, and heart in your throat, you’re grabbed and shoved out the door in nothing but a pair of sweats, and shirt with a coat being darted at you whilst you laid on the ground. One too many hours were spent afterwards pounding your fists against the front door, begging to at least have your purse so you can get a hotel room.
Just as you were about to leave, looking down at your battered, red hands from pounding on the door, your purse dropped out of a window; the contents spilled onto the grass below. With a sigh, either sadness or relief; you weren't sure which, you bent to pick up your scattered belongings, cursing the man during.
Luckily, you had everything you needed; cash, ID, and your shitty, overused phone.
You called around for a cab, numb fingers shaking as you pressed the blurry numbers, but with it being Friday night, you were looking at a long wait so instead, you decided to cut your losses and walk to find the nearest hotel.
The downside of moving, and being essentially trapped within the same four walls for months on end, is that you quickly found yourself lost– and being lost on Skid Row was the last place you wanted to be. You willed your tears to not fall after you walked by tent after tent, stranger after stranger, clutching your purse tight, old keys spread between your fingers, and finally found yourself outside a rundown hotel. You laughed to yourself in disbelief of having to head inside and get a room; but nonetheless, you did just that.
Lying on a dingy bedspread, surrounded by more nicotine-stained walls, you muffled your cries behind your hands and slowly fell into a somber slumber and wondered just how the fuck you had gotten yourself here.
Over the next few days, you walked around, getting to know your surroundings and applying for jobs left and right. You were forced to ration your food while you looked around for cheaper hotel rooms. You were trying your hardest to avoid the sprawls of clubs begging for dancers but after finding yourself downtrodden as you’re dismissed after applying for yet another job and getting immediately dismissed, and it was then when you were suddenly blinded by a huge, purple neon sign:
Pete’s Place.
Underneath a small notice hung from the sign read: Dancers Apply Within.
You looked around and whined quietly while you watched patron after patron enter the club. Two heavily built doormen eyed you. You shook out your bundling nerves, hung your head and followed the thump of the bass into the belly of the seedy club. You handed over your last twenty bucks to the red-head woman that was sitting behind a platformed desk, smiling sheepishly and giving a small nod before pushing through the curtains that framed a doorway. Purple and blue hues guided you into the belly of the club where you found red booths filled with drunk bodies that circled small stages. Girls with perfect form swirled around the pole, capturing the attention of everyone inside.
‘’And who might you be?’’
You turned to find a man staring intensely, glass warm in hand, sharp suit and sea-blue eyes. Your mouth hung, mind blank for a moment before sputtering out,
‘’Oh, I– I’m looking for the owner– I was hoping to… Audition…’’ You trailed off as the man began to circle you, fingers pried away your coat slightly, gaze wandering over your body. Calloused fingers tilted your chin upwards while he inspected your face before a slight smile appeared on his lips. ‘’If you’re still looking for dancers.’’
‘’Oh, we’re always looking for new girls, Sugar.’’ He gave you another once over before grinning, voice low and honeyed, ‘’Yeah, you’ll do,’’ He concluded, hand dropping from your chin before he began to walk away. ‘’Follow me.’’
‘’I take it you’re the owner,’’ you inquired as you followed the man to the other side of the club and down a dimly lit hallway, smiling back at, what you assumed was, one of his girls. ‘’You’re Pete?’’
‘’That’s me,’’ he confirmed as you’re led into an office. ‘’Gonna need to see ID, need you to sign a couple contracts, and for you to take your clothes off,’’ he quickly fired as he sat himself in his chair and threw a small stack of paper across the table.
‘’Contracts?’’
‘’All my girls sign to stay loyal to the club, I don’t need anyone running off and taking my profits with them– helps limit competition, and I need to see what I’m working with here, you’re not exactly gonna be wearing a winter coat out there. Usually you’d come during the day, work the pole but, I got three of my regular girls out tonight, so it’s your lucky day.’’
‘’Oh,’’ You answer simply, pausing before a moment. ‘’Right, yeah, lucky me– Of course,’’ you stumble out as you reach into your pocket and slide your ID on to his desk before peeling your jacket off and taking in a heavy breath before lifting your shirt over your head and sliding down your skirt with shaking hands.
‘’You got any experience?’’ He asked simply.
‘’Uh, no,’’ You answered, kicking your skirt to the side, fussing with your hands due to having no idea what to do with them. ‘’I’ve never done this before.’’
You dropped your head, feeling your cheeks heat up. When you finally looked back up, Pete was lounged back in his desk chair, eyebrow raised with a slick smile on his face. He didn’t look disappointed, he looked delighted, like the idea of a novice seemed to amuse him. Pete stood with a long intake of breath, leaving his station and stepping around the desk and moving towards you with a slow, almost predatory grace. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander the same way he did, eyeing the well tailored suit that left nothing to the imagination, large biceps crinkling the fabric as he crossed his arms. You let out a small gasp as he began to circle you, hand reaching out to smooth down your back, fingertips ghosting your sides. The floorboards creaked with each footstep until he was standing back in front of you. He reached out a hand to pluck at your bra.
‘’Loose this,’’ he instructed casually.
You gave a shaky nod, reaching behind to unclip your bra, slowly letting it fall down your arms before it was discarded on the floor with the rest of your clothes. You eyed him shyly, unsure if you were wanting the ground to swallow you up or if you wanted him to reach out and touch you.
And touch you, he did.
The back of his hand stroked down your stomach, knuckles grazing the softness of your lower belly. Nerves began to take over, you felt yourself trembling a little, and you knew he felt it by the way his mouth poked up at the side. Although, he was very obviously attractive, the bile still rose in your throat when you felt a familiar warm ache tug at your legs.
‘’I-I’m a hard worker,’’ You said hesitantly, desperately needing to fill the silence.
‘’Hard worker,’’ Pete snorted, lips tugged up in a mocking smile. ‘’I don’t care about your worth ethic, Sugar. I care about the view.’’
‘’And?’’ You probed.
His hand slipped around to your back, pulling you in close as he stared down at you, eyes flickering across your face.
‘’Views are good,’’ He judged. ‘’You’ve certainly got a… Desperate innocence vibe going on. Guy’s are gonna eat that up.’’ He nodded as he stepped back, moving back towards the desk, propping himself against it. ‘’Here’s the deal: You’re gonna show me what you got, so I know whether you’ll need a few days with some of my best girls to work on those skills. Doesn’t mean you can’t work, but it means you’re limited to laps, and it’s just a bit less money. Base pay at the end of the week, tips are handed in and the house takes a cut and redistributed back to the girls. Be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.’’
You stood awkwardly nodding, arms crossing over your chest which made Pete laugh.
‘’Drop ‘em,’’ He ordered, wagging a finger downwards. ‘’Just me and you, Sugar, how are you supposed to handle it being out there? Put ‘em down.’’ You complied as Pete carried on explaining: ‘’Pay the door, same way you did to get in, but my girls pay half to work. You gotta give to get in here, baby. VIP is for my more seasoned girls, better money, but we’ll talk about that further down the line. The contract…’’ He reaches behind himself to grab the small stack of paper. ‘’...Is so you understand that every single cent that your hand touches goes through me. No making deals with my clients, no outside work with the men that step into my club. That’s what VIP is for. There’s no need for you to be bent over in the back of some rented Bently, okay? You fuck me and you’re back on that street and you can’t go to any other club.’’
You nodded. ‘’Didn’t plan on it.’’
‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised. ‘’Or, you will be, when you sign.’’
‘’So, I would start tonight?’’
He nodded and rattled the paper.
With some hesitancy, you took the paper and the pen that quickly followed and stepped around him to lean and sign the dotted line, looking back up to find him staring down at you. He slipped the contract off the desk and stood straight, moving around the other side to slide into a locked draw before grabbing his glass and wandering over to a small couch in the corner of his office. He sat down, thighs spreading open, gaze locked on yours as he took a long swig of the amber liquid that sloshed in the crystal.
‘’Come show me what you got, Sugar.’’
You let out a shaky breath, attempting to rid your body of the nerves, as you slowly stepped towards Pete’s open thighs. You turned in a fluid motion, hoping to God that it looked good, and lowered yourself onto his lap. Using the muted thumping from the club's belly, you began to wind your hips, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. The cigarette smoke that clung to his suit assaulted your senses, mixing with the alcohol on his breath, making your head spin. Your eyes closed, breathing unsteady as you continued your dance. You heard the soft thump of his glass being placed down and soon felt his fingers on your chin, guiding you to look behind.
Your eyes fluttered open and were met with his intense gaze. Your breath hitched as his hands then found your waist, helping to guide you into a better rhythm. He hummed low in his throat, taking in a deep breath as his other hand slid over your thigh, goosebumps following in a traitorous line.
‘’There we go, just like that,’’ He coached, voice low and breathy. ‘’Gotta look at ‘em, Sugar. Gotta make sure they feel like the only man in the world, but they don’t touch you like I am, okay?’’ You begged your heart to slow as his hand smoothed over your stomach, heavy and strong. ‘’You’re good, Sugar, but you’re not ready to be out on the pole yet. You gotta put in some work, gonna set you up with one of my girls.’’
He tapped your thigh and motioned for you to stand. He followed suit, getting to his feet and looking down at you. He swept a stray lock of hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.
‘’You can work tonight. You got anything to wear?’’
You shook your head. He let out a little laugh.
‘’Didn’t come very prepared, did you, Sugar?’’
‘’I– I used my last 20 bucks to get in here. I didn’t plan on coming in–’’
‘’You did what?’’ He questioned sharply, eyebrows raising. He sighed when you nodded your head.
‘’S’why I really needed this to go well. I promise I’ll get better–’’
‘’Yeah, yeah, I don’t care about that right now,’’ Pete cut off. ‘’Where are you staying?’’
‘’The hotel at the end of the street, the–’’
‘’Yeah, the shitty one. How long have you got the room for?’’
‘’Three more days,’’ You confessed.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the silence was heavy with the weight of him knowing the situation; with admitting just how fucked you were. You searched his expression, he didn’t look even the slightest bit sympathetic. He looked like he had just found a really good loophole in his contract that made a smirk tug at his lips.
‘’Totally broke? Not a dime?’’ He asked, and nodded his head and let out a slow hum of contemplation when you confirmed. ‘’Alright. I can help.’’
You reached down for your shirt as he walked to his desk.
‘’I can’t really have you sleeping on a park bench. I need my girls at their best, so, here’s what I’m gonna do.’’ He sat down at his desk, elbows resting on the wood, his gaze getting more intense as he lingered on you as you dressed.
‘’I’m gonna give you… An advance, you could say…’’ He trailed off, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a book and an envelope. He plucked a pen from a pot and clicked it before flicking open the ledger, and scrawling inside. ‘’I’m gonna take a little bit more of a cut until it’s paid off, but it means you can pay your door fee, you can eat, have a roof over your head and have a bit of time to work on those skills. It also means, you won’t actually have to work tonight if you’d rather rest up and spend the day practicing.’’
‘’Are you sure?’’ You raised a brow. ‘’Why would you–’’
‘’Consider it good faith, taking a chance,’’ He quickly interjected. ‘’Shows how sure I am that you’ll be one of my best.’’
There was a look in his eyes, predatory, and you weren't sure if he was throwing you a lifeline or a noose. ‘’What do you say, Sugar?’’
He held out the envelope. You hesitantly reached out for it, feeling like you were signing a deal with the devil. Your eyes locked on his as your fingers gripped the paper, an easy smile pulling at your lips in response to the smirk on his.
‘’’Atta girl.’’
You lowered your head, looking down at the dusty patterned carpet. The weight on your shoulders felt heavier than ever, but at least you could get a decent meal.
‘’I really don't have to work tonight?’’
‘’Nope,’’ He said, popping the ‘P’ and reaching over the desk to hook a finger under your chin as he stood, drawing your gazes back to each other. ‘’But, I wouldn’t mind a ‘thank you’.’’
He didn’t release his hold as he guided you around the desk, the smell of stale cigarettes, alcohol and a woody aftershave assaulting your senses again. Your heart kicked up speed, like someone had set off a tiny jackhammer in your chest, as you stepped into his space. You lifted onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, sucking in a breath and praying that it’ll be enough to please him. His touch moved to the side of your neck, his hand heavy and splayed across the column as he leaned down.
‘’S’that all I get, Sugar?’’ He teased, hushed and sickly sweet. ‘’Not got anything else for me?’’
You swallowed the lump in your throat and opened your mouth to speak, but nothing wanted to come out. You took to shaking your head instead and gripped the envelope tight and pushed it against his chest as you turned your head. Your eyes closed and shoulders sagged when he let out a laugh, dropping his head to your shoulder and releasing the hold he had on your neck.
‘’I’m fucking with you,’’ He chuckled darkly. ‘’Go on, get out of here before I decide to charge you for breathing the same air as me.’’
You stepped back, a small smile tugging at your lips and you reached for your bag from the floor.
‘’I’ll walk you out, actually. Need to check on my girls.’’
He walked to the door, swinging it open and motioning for you to step through. As you did, his hand found the middle of your back, heavy and guiding. The thumping base hit you as you walked back into the neon-lit chaos of the club, the night still in full swing. Pete nodded to several men on the way to the exit, hand slipping to your waist, pulling you close and keeping a tight grip and by the time the cold night breeze hit you, his warm palm was sitting on your ass.
‘’I’m gonna be here at twelve tomorrow, I want you here,’’ He instructed, guiding you to face him, his voice taking on a sudden professional coldness. ‘’Do not be late, hmm?’’
You nodded. His eyes scanned you one last time, sea-blue eyes still holding that uneasy glint that made your stomach turn and your toes curl.
‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised with a tap to your backside before stepping away. ‘’See you tomorrow, Sugar.’’
You sucked in a breath and began your walk back to your hotel, the envelope weighing down your bag and filling your throat with bile. The neon sign buzzed in your ears as you watched the purple hue on the sidewalk fade. The rest of the walk was a blur, your mind filled with the flashing of lights, the booths of men, the smell of smoke and sweet drinks and the terrifying anxiety that clawed at your chest when you thought of having to sit in those men’s laps, strip down on a pole, vulnerable and exposed, for the sake of a roof and warm food; all while owing a man you’ve just met.
The next day, you made your way back to Pete’s Place.
The seedy club seemed less terrifying in the daylight. The neon sign hung unlit, the velvet red rope enclosed the open air and not the multiple bodies of men waiting to feast their eyes on women who couldn’t give a single shit about them, and Pete… Stood with his hand in his pocket, the other lifted to his lips as he took a long drag of a cigarette, eyes gleaming as he caught your eye.
‘’There she is!’’ He greeted, cheerful and honeyed. ‘’My new favourite, fresh and ready for the day. How’d you sleep, Sugar? Room booked for a little longer?’’
You nodded, ‘’All secured for the next two weeks, and I’m gonna go and get some groceries when I’m done–’’
‘’Yeah, sounds all golden, Sugar,’’ He laughed. ‘’One of my best is waiting inside for you. She’s gonna show you the ropes, how to shake that ass good enough to empty some wallets for me. I’m gonna come and see you in a few hours and see how you’re getting on and hopefully we’ll get you on that pole and not stuck in laps.’’
With that, he stepped out to the curb as a black Sedan pulled up.
‘’Off you go,’’ He ordered.
You nodded once again before heading inside of the club.
You searched the club’s belly for the woman but she was seemingly nowhere to be found until you made your way into the dressing room. The atmosphere was stifling despite it being empty. It stunk of hairspray, multiple different perfumes blending together and smoke. The vanities were a thing of chaos, make up strewed, rollers and different hair tools. Rails of sequins and fishnets and a wall of lockers that were decorated in different styles, showing off the aesthetics of each woman that owned them.
You turned to leave when you bumped into a woman, already kitted out in something Pete would absolutely have chosen, she gleamed brightly, seemingly genuinely happy to be here.
‘’So, you’re the new little lamb Pete picked up?’’ She asked sweetly, cigarette hanging from her lip and adjusting the band under her bust. She moved into the room and towards the railing of clothes with a grace and confidence you prayed to acquire as quickly as possible. ‘’I’m Rachael, Pete’s asked me to show you how to not get eaten alive tonight.’’
She plucked a simple, sheer black slip and held it out, ‘’Let’s see if you can actually move, or if you’re just a pretty little lamb.’’
After you changed you gave yourself a second, third and fourth glance over before she playfully rolled her eyes and pulled you out to the club floor and towards one of the smaller side stages. She left to flick on the club lights, shy under the sunlight that waved through the balcony windows and clicking around inside the DJ booth until the bass rattled through the floor. The polished chrome gleaned under the purple and blue lights, cold and intimidating as she made her way onto the stage. She demonstrated multiple moves with an effortless ease, her heels clicking softly against the platform floor, fluid and languid.
‘’You see, it’s not about dancing, not really,’’ She said as she swirled around, leg hooked around the pole. ‘’It’s about the tease. You never give it away all at once, you gotta make them ache for it. You gotta make ‘em think that if they throw just the right amount, they might just get a chance to touch you, have your attention.’’
You nodded watching her closely.
‘’Now, get up here and try a basic spin. Just copy exactly what I did.’’ Rachael slid down and stepped off the stage, motioning for you to step up.
‘’I’ll try my best,’’ You said earnestly.
‘’Your best doesn’t pay the bills, honey. Confidence and ass does.’’
You stepped onto the platform, the polished surface feeling slippery beneath your heels. You wrapped your hand hesitantly around the pole. You attempted the spin she had demonstrated, but instead of a fluid glide, your foot caught the edge of the stage and stumbled. You cursed yourself as she smiled and waved for you to try again which while the second attempt was better, the grace Rachael had exhibited was nowhere to be seen. She circled you like a hawk, eyes watching every move, often reaching out to make you arch your back more, to drop your shoulders, to reposition your legs.
‘’You’re like a newborn lamb, stop thinking about it so much,’’ She giggled, sweet and light until her tone suddenly turned serious. ‘’Never look them in the eye for too long. Makes ‘em think they own you. Keep it light, fleeting, make them chase it,’’ She coached. ‘’The pole is a tool, it’s your friend, use it to hide what you don’t like and highlight what you do like. Use it to your advantage. Do not fear it.’’
The next few hours passed in a blur of twirls, clicks of heels and red knees. Exhaustion clung to your skin, damp and slick under the spotlights, the sun dipping behind the clouds casting a golden glow into the club as you spun and dipped for the hundredth time, finally gaining some semblance of control of the cold metal. Rachael gleamed and squealed when you would find your footing, hit a dip in time to the music and get through at least a minute without a stumble.
You were trying to follow another of Rachael’s demonstrations when a familiar voice cut through the air and drifted its way over to the stage. Pete had returned, leaning against a pillar on the far side of the club floor, drink in hand and watching with an amused glint in his eyes, tracking you carefully.
‘’What a clumsy little thing you are, Sugar. Tell me, baby,’’ He said, a tinge of playful annoyance coating his words as he sauntered forward and towards the edge of the stage. ‘’You always like this or is it the thrill of being in my presence?’’
Rachael rolled her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
‘’She’s getting there, she’s just… A little cautious… Shy– It’s cute!’’ She defended, a sweet grin as she returned the kiss to Pete’s cheek and then looked back at you with a wink.
‘’I don’t need cute, I don’t need cautious. I can’t sell that,’’ Pete spoke, short and to the point. ‘’It doesn’t make me money. Desire does.’’
He made his way to the base of the stage, looking up at you. The spotlights casted deep shadows across his face, making his eyes seem black. You let out a breath as he eyed, not as a person, but as a product that was ineffective. He rapt his knuckles on the platform floor, his voice dropping,
‘’Get down here.’’
You practically leaped from the platform, steading yourself on his arm as your footing faltered, your chest heaving from a mix of exhaustion and nerves. Up close, the scent of his cologne overwhelmed your senses, your head spinning as he pulled you in closer. He looked you up and down, shaking his head with a disappointed frown. You couldn’t help the shakes that swam under your skin as he peered into your eyes. He walked you back slowly, the back of your thighs digging into the edge of the stage.
‘’Look at you,’’ He began to scold gently. ‘’Shaking like a leaf, like you’re waiting for the firing squad rather than a paycheck.’’
Pete then reached up a hand, finding the back of your neck, his thumb pressing firmly into the dip at the base of your skull, forcing you to keep your gaze on his. The amusement was long gone and replaced by a demanding, icy intensity. He leaned his head down, breath hot against your cheek.
‘’The men that come through those doors do not pay for ‘nervous’. They pay for a fantasy. A fantasy of a woman who knows exactly how to drive them crazy. If you walk out there looking like a lost puppy, they’ll smell the fear, they’ll take advantage, and then you’ll owe me for that nice advance I gave you and I’ll want it in full and I know sure as shit…’’ He leaned down further lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered in your ear. ‘’You don’t have it, and we’ll have to work something else out, won’t we?’’
He released you abruptly, and you fell against the edge of the stage, willing the tears to stay at bay as he stepped back and guested at Rachael and then towards the stage.
‘’Keep working her. I want her ready.’’
The next two hours were full of exertion, exhaustion, sweat and damn near tears until it finally came time to go back to your hotel to rest up for your shift. Rachael seemed happy with where you managed to get to, she had taught you how to use your shyness as a weapon, how to perfectly arch your back and how to breathe through the nerves but whether Pete would end up sharing the same feelings was still to be determined. Your muscles ached and cried out with each step back to your hotel, palms raw from the friction of the pole, and the fear of ending up on the street sat heavy in your stomach along with the feeling of feeling less like a woman and more like a piece of property, catalogued and highly priced.
The night swept in with a heavy tension, the club hummed; scattered voices from the line outside as you walked through the front with a nod to security and a crisp ten slipped into the hand of the woman on the door. You shucked up your bag higher on your shoulder, watching as the staff at the bar moved with a frantic energy, attempting to keep up with the hoards of men tapping their fingers for a drink while their eyes leeched on the dancers at the pole.
You made your way to Pete’s office, rapping your fingers on the doorframe and smiling when he looked up at you with a grin.
‘’Hey, Sugar, what d’ya need?’’ He asked, stepping from around the back of his desk and moving towards the door.
‘’Is it okay if I borrow an outfit for tonight? I didn’t get a chance to run and grab anything– Maybe a pair of heels as well?’’
Pete nodded, ‘’Yeah, take what you want from the rails in the dressing room, shoes are underneath. Just make sure they’re returned or I have to charge you for it.’’
‘’Thanks,’’ You replied sweetly.
Pete then pressed his hand to the small of your back, leading you towards the dressing room. The girls were in full swing, the clatter of make up and the clicking of straighteners and curlers mixed with their laughs and banter as they applied finishing touches.
‘’Alright, my lovely ladies, this is Sugar,’’ Pete addressed loudly, adopting the nickname he gave you as your dancer name without giving you a chance to argue about it. ‘’She’s the newest addition. Be nice, look after her, she’s a shy one… And get out there and make me some money.’’
You felt cornered as the other dancers scanned you from head to toe, receiving a mixture of curiosity, warm welcome and cold competition. You wrung your hands together as Pete stepped away to grab an outfit from the rack, bending to snag a pair of shoes and walking back over to you. It may as well have been a collection of strings rather than an outfit; baby pink and covered in sequins.
‘’You’ve got twenty minutes and then I want you on that stage,’’ He ordered, firm but oddly sweet. ‘’I’ll be watching from the balcony booths so don’t fuck this up, alright, Sugar?’’
You hummed in agreement as he bent down, presenting his cheek to which you quickly pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Pete grinned and gave a wink, and without saying another word, he laid a soft tap on your ass and walked out the door, leaving you with a tightness in your chest and a sinking feeling in your stomach. You walked to a spare vanity, setting your bag down and started at the reflection, finding a girl you barely recognised anymore. Even more so once you had changed, the baby pink set Pete had chosen, clung to every curve and valley, and left nothing to the imagination. The soft colours contrasted painfully with the dark circles of fatigue which you had tried your best to cover with multiple swipes of concealer.
You wondered if this is exactly how Pete wanted you; looking like a daydream on the verge of a deep, dark nightmare.
‘’Hey,’’ A voice spoke, drawing you away from your thoughts, and you looked up to find a woman standing behind you, a smile on her face and dressed in green. ‘’He’s really trying to push the ‘barely there’ look tonight, isn’t he?’’
You nodded, a shy smile on your face as you smoothed down the outfit.
‘’I’m Crocki. Like, crocodile. Pete found a stuffed crocodile in my bag once– totally forgot it was there, and hasn’t let me live it down since,’’ She laughed, genuine and comforting. ‘’Just do your job, keep him happy and you’ll have no issues. Most of the girls here are really nice. They just wanna make their money and dip. It’s not all bad, okay?’’
You nodded again, struggling to find the words to speak, nerves were eating at your vocal cords and tugging at your throat.
‘’I’ll see you out there, you’ll be great, don’t worry,’’ Crocki reassured, giving a comforting rub to your arm before disappearing out of the dressing room.
The other girls soon left, leaving you on your own. You took another minute to breathe deeply, eyes closed; the thumping of the lion’s den pounded in your ears.
The transition was jarring to say the least; one moment you were safe in arms of bulb lights, perfume and mirrors and the next you were willing your footing to not falter as you stepped into the club’s belly, the music shifting and deepening into something primal, visceral. The lights were a bruised purple, the smoke from cigars and cigarettes acted as a map to the men huddled around the stages and perched in the booths. It merged into a hungry roar and you were the meal.
High above the main floor, a singular familiar figure leaned over the railing, elbows propped against the metal, swirling a drink with keen eyes locked on your every move. Pete gave you a grin, nodding towards the stage, that predatory glint on full show; it crawled over your body like a physical touch, sending a shiver down your spine and forming a lump in your throat.
You made your way to the stage as another dancer collected the cash from the floor, the crowd dying down a little as the smell of alcohol, flashing lights and the sea of hungry eyes waited in a subdued anticipation as you climbed the steps and clicked onto the stage. You smiled weakly at the dancer as she passed you and gave one last glance at Pete before gripping the pole.
A heavy, industrial beat slammed into the room, the bass rattling the panels of the stage as your body began to react to the rhythm. The sequins caught the strobe lights, sending shards of glitter and gold dancing on the floor and faces of the crowd. You focused on the pole, remember your tutelage, hiding your sloppy footwork behind the pole and using it as a grounding point amidst the chaos, spinning and arching your back.
The atmosphere shifted to expose a raw hunger, men leaned forward, their eyes fixed on your every move. You earned whistles, dollar bills and captivated silences from others. You dared to glance again up at the balcony, finding Pete still stood in the same spot, watching you with an intensity you just couldn’t pinpoint, the cigarette in his hand glowing a cherry-red as he took a deep drag and blew out the smoke slowly. It didn’t seem like he was looking at you like just another dancer; more like an investment he was ready to wring out for as much cash as possible.
The next song started, giving you no time to recover, switching to a slower, haunting ethereal pull. The lights dimmed a bit further, the purple lights casting a shadow across your body which helped you feel more hidden. You relaxed a little, finding a hidden ease in the slower, more languid movements. You transitioned into a slow descent on the pole, body arching, a softness that was stark against the grit of the club. The air felt thick and charged as you locked eyes with Pete once again, a smug satisfaction written across his face as he stubbed out the cigarette and took a swig from his glass.
As the song reached its end, you gave a slow swirl around the pole with a lingering, new found seductive grace, and slowly dropped to your knees. Your chest rose and fell heavily, hand still gripping the pole as money rained and Pete grinned. He didn’t move an inch, his stare was like a physical weight, like he was claiming every inch of your skin by his force of will.
You stayed in that pose for a short moment, before getting to your feet, and quickly scooping up the bills. You didn’t dare to give another look towards Pete as you left the stage. The adrenaline hummed through your veins, crumpled bills sticking to the sweat of your chest as you made your way back to the dressing room to have a moment to gather yourself before heading back out to the floor.
The transition from the blinding lights, to the grim reality of the backstage area was discordant and bleak, but the weight of the cash in your hands felt like a small victory, one worthy of essentially selling your soul. The other dancers glanced with small smiles and nods of newfound respect. As you reached your locker to stow your earnings until the end of the night, the door to the dressing room opened with a slow, deliberate creak. The girls quickly cleared out, pressing kisses and giving hugs to Pete as they exited.
He stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, hair disheveled and shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, his large biceps bulging under the thin fabric as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. He looked less like the shady business man you met the night before and more like a predator who had decided to stop watching and start pouncing. He didn’t say anything at first, simply stared at you, eyes seemingly peering through you and the way you clutched the money in your hands.
‘’Quite the show, Sugar.’’ His voice was low, dangerously sweet. ‘’Didn’t know you had it in you. Proves hard work pays off when you really want something.’’
He stepped into the room, the click of his shoes sounding like a countdown. He stopped just inches away, his presents suffocating and overwhelming; the scent of bourbon and expensive tobacco enveloping the air around you both. He reached out, fingers sliding under your chin to keep your gazes locked.
‘’You enjoy the attention, baby? The money make you move like that?’’ He asked in a hushed tone, breath ghosting your cheek. ‘’You playing me, Sugar?’’
You shook your head, ‘’Beginners luck, I guess.’’
Pete let out a soft, dark chuckle. The grin didn’t reach his eyes as he grazed your lower lip with a gentle, but possessive pressure.
‘’Beginners luck,’’ He parroted, husky and contemplative.
He didn’t release the hold on your chin; his grip tightened, ensuring you couldn’t escape his eyes. It was heavy, stripping you bare more effectively than the skimpy bundle of strings of your costume ever could. He seemed to be savouring the simplicity of your answer. He then shifted his weight, pushing you back against the cool metal of the lockers. The heat from his body crept over your skin, pricking at your senses as he leaned down, his voice barely a whisper.
‘’You’re a terrible liar, baby. I saw the way you looked at them; saw the way you looked at me.’’ His lips grazed your ear, his other hand gripping at your waist, bringing your middles together, eliciting a muted gasp that settled in your throat. ‘’You played the room, the hunger… And now, you’ve got me wondering how much more of that ‘luck’ you have hidden away.’’
He looked down at your hand as he stepped back, his expression shifting to something more demanding; the softness vanishing and replaced by the cold authority of the man who owned your entire being.
‘’Hand it over, Sugar,’’ He commanded, gesturing to the cash bundled in your hand, palm up and waiting.
You placed the money in his hand and sighed as he counted the bills with a rapid, well seasoned motion, eyes flicking over the amounts. The soft snap-snap-snap of the bills drummed in your ears and drowned out the muted thump of the bass as you waited with bated breath to see how much your cut would be.
Once he reached the total, he folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket and then reached out to pull a smaller, measly stack from the other, holding it out to you with a satisfied grin. You took it, splaying out the few bills between your fingers, a lesser amount than what would even be considered a fair pay, but regardless of your feelings you looked up and smiled with feigned gratitude.
‘’I had to deduct your newcomer's fee, and the prime slot on the main stage, of course,’’ He said casually, arms folded across his chest again, he watched for your reaction with a cruel sort of curiosity. ‘’An investment in your future here. You understand, right, Sugar?’’
You nodded with a strained smile. He didn’t wait for you to say anything else, he turned his gaze towards the door, checking you were still alone, before he looked back at you with that same predatory, hungry gaze.
His voice dropped to a low, purr. ‘’You’ve got a lot of potential, Sugar. I can’t wait for the day I get to be on the receiving end of it.’’
He reached out again, his hand sliding around your waist and pulling you flush against him for one last, possessive moment. He lingered, nose brushing against your temple, taking in a small inhale and making your heart jump in your chest.
‘’Get back out there, Sugar.’’
Pete released you abruptly and sauntered out the room, door clicking shut behind him. The tension that had brewed broke instantly and you exhaled sharply, unaware of the breath you had kept clutched in your chest. The silence in the room felt a thousand tons heavier than the atmosphere on stage, the few bills in your hand felt like a slap to the face; the feeling of the effort you had put into being stage-ready felt wasteful and sour. You wondered if this was going to be worth it, if you should keep putting all you had into pleasing a man who wanted you rob you blind and keep your livelihood wrapped in his hands.
You were pulled out your thoughts by a group of dancers making their way back into the dressing room, some giving empathic glances.
‘’Welcome to Pete’s Place, babe. Hope you like pennies,’’ She said simply, a tight smile on her lips.
Another was re-applying her eyeliner when she spoke; ‘’Don’t let him see you cry. It’s like he smells it, like a shark.’’
She didn’t offer anything else; in this place, empathy seemed to be a luxury only a few could afford. They all continued their routines like the small conversation never happened, the sounds of brushes and small talk the only sound in the room. You stuffed the cash in your bag, shutting the locker with a frustrated slam before sucking in a sharp breath and heading back out into the club.
A few hours later, after spending the rest of the night in laps and grinning sweetly at horrible men, you moved in front of your locker as you changed, movements mechanical as if all parts that were human had been stripped away and shoved inside a box. As you pulled on the clothes you had arrived in, you felt a cold knot forming in your stomach; the desperation that had dragged you through the club's doors was starting to form into a quiet rage.
As you stepped out of the club and into the night's cool air, the neon sign flicked overhead and the meager amount in your pocket laughed at you as you sulked back to the dingy hotel room. The click of the lock sounded like a gavel, finalizing your sentence of struggle. You slid down the door, the cold wood pressing against your spin as you melted into an exhausted puddle. You stayed there for a while, staring down at the carpet, breath coming out in ragged hitches as the adrenaline of the night wore off.
You looked down at your shaking hands as you mulled over the contract, the debt, the sick smile on Pete’s face— his hands, his arms, his smell. You groaned and covered your face with your hands, hating how he continued to invade your thoughts despite the hatred that pooled in your guts.
With the adrenaline long gone, it left behind the crushing weight of exhaustion. You let out a long, suffering sigh as you got to your feet. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that your first big night wasn’t just a hurdle to get over, but the beginning of a slow, wretched descent into Pete’s sordid world.
The following weeks were a blur of exhaustion and frustration. Every night followed the same pattern: the blinding lights, the squeak of the pole, the hungry eyes; the exhilarating rush of the dance, the red knees, bruises and blisters and the crushing disappointment at the end of the night when Pete handed you your pitiful earnings. Pete became increasingly bold with his touches, promises of bonuses were always tied to how much you were willing to tolerate his advances in the office, and having to deal with his monetary retaliations when you refused.
The heavy bass vibrated under your feet, tickling your toes through your high-platform shoes. Your hands clutched at the cold, silver pole as you delicately swirled yourself around. The past few weeks your skills had improved; although, not enough according to Pete; though you were dead sure that his thoughts were an excuse to pull you into his lap for impromptu lessons.
You kept your gaze loose, swinging from patron to the girls sat in laps with glowing smiles and fingers twirling through their hair as the grasped dollar bills. Blue and purple hues danced over your body as your hips swayed the best they could in time to the beat as you prayed for the song to finally be over.
The interest in you was dwindling; the allure of a shiny new girl was fading fast and you were no longer receiving tips just for being there. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, but you damn sure hoped it’d last long enough to pay your bill at the hotel. You had five days to come up with three hundred bucks, and by the measly few dollar bills in your pocket and the couple of fives on the floor; things weren’t looking good.
You made your way into the dressing room after your set, finding girls in various stages of getting ready and touching up their hair and walked over to Rachel's chair.
“Can I talk to you about something?” You asked, standing behind Rachel's chair.
“Yeah, anything, babe.”
She set her brush down and turned back to face you.
“I know I need to get better on stage, but how did you get Pete to let you into the VIP section?”
“You have to pay, didn’t he tell you that?”
“Yeah, I know that, but he keeps wanting me—“
“Oh, yeah, you need to pay him. Treat him well, look after him…” She trailed off as you looked completely lost. “Head, Sugar. The man wants head. Just do it. You’re gonna be doing more than that in VIP.”
“I thought it was just more private—“
“Nooo. No, no, no,” She snickered, grinning brightly. “They want more than just a dance, which is why you’ve gotta pay Nick to get through the door because they have to work harder to keep you safe.”
“I have to pay security?” You whined, throwing up your hands. ‘’Am I gonna have to start paying to breathe?’’
“Pay, tip, all the same. He’s really explained none of this to you?”
You shook your head as she gave an empathic smile before tapping your arm as she passed you to leave to go out the club floor. You stood for a moment, trying to find any other way to survive the next week that didn’t require sulking into Pete’s office and grovelling for another loan. You let out a pained groan when you realised you had no other choice.
You trudged into Pete’s office, heavy heels weighing down your steps as if trying to pull you back from your impending doom.
‘’Pete, I have a favour to ask,’’ You spoke sweetly as you stepped into his office.
‘’Shoot,’’ Pete replied, sorting through papers on his desk, brows knitting together as he discarded one after another, letting out huffed sighs. ‘’Quickly, now. Things to do,’’ Pete prompted sharply.
‘’I– I don’t have enough for rent– Well, the hotel bill–’’
‘’You’re still there?’’ Pete paused, eyeing you with a slight disgust. ‘’Why are you still there?’’
‘’Yeah, it’s cheap and no point wasting time finding somewhere else,’’ You explained, sighing and wringing your hands. ‘’I was wondering if you’d let me work in the VIP section, the girls said they make more money–’’
‘’Not happening,’’ He cut in sharply, pulling on his suit jacket.
‘’Why?’’ You asked, feeling already defeated and slightly offended.
‘’Because you refuse to do what the other girls do in order to work in VIP,’’ He snorted, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a familiar envelope. ‘’Gotta treat me like a VIP to get to the VIP’s, Sugar.’’
‘’I really need the money,’’ You pleaded.
‘’Work harder,’’ Pete said bluntly. ‘’Learn how to actually dance, you’ve gotten better, but the shy, innocent, little baby out of place act isn’t gonna get you far, it doesn’t last long–’’
‘’Yeah, I know,’’ You muttered under your breath.
‘’What was that, now?’’ He questioned, making you shrink as if you were a child that had just been scolded and before you could say anything else, he waved a hand; ‘’Doesn’t matter. Look, you’re no good to me if you end up on the street and get swiped and thrown into a van, so I guess I can loan you the money.’’
‘’Thank you,’’ You gushed, rushing over to him and placing your hand on his forearm. ‘’Thank you so much. I swear, I’ll work it off for free–’’
‘’I’ll just take a higher cut until you’re paid up. Not much good to me either if you don’t have the energy to stand on the stage and do whatever it is you do. And it means you can spend more time here working on your skill… Oh, do you need more lessons, sweetheart? I’m always available for practice, you know that, right?’’
‘’I just need to work on my confidence, but thanks for the offer, Pete,’’ You said earnestly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and taking the envelope. ‘’And thank you for the money. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’
‘’Oh, you’re not done. It’s barely 1 A.M.’’ Pete huffed out a short laugh, hands stuffed in his pockets.
‘’I’m really tired and I’m just not getting any attention,’’ You replied, exhausted and pouting to hopefully gain a little sympathy.
‘’So work for it,’’ He commanded and guided you out of the office and departed with his usual tap to your ass.
You parted from him at the dressing room doorway, watching him as he disappeared into the club, the money feeling sickly heavy in your hand. You huffed as you sat in your hair, stuffing the cash into your bag and shoving it under your vanity.
‘’My advice,’’ Crocki said, matter-of-fact but sympathetic. ‘’Stop borrowing money from a man that already underpays you. There’s better things you can do.’’
‘’You can always find work on the side,’’ Alexa said, fiddling with a curl that wouldn’t sit just right.
‘’I thought we couldn’t go to any clubs. None of the restaurants or anything I can do during the day want to hire me. I mean, I get it, all I have are stripper outfits and a leather jacket,’’ You huffed as you threw down your makeup brush, smoothing out the edges of your eyeshadow with your finger.
‘’Not talking about another club, not talking about waitressing,’’ Alexa laughed. ‘’The girls do home visits, parties, entertainment; others do more. You just gotta talk to Pete, he sets it all up.’’
‘’I don’t think I could do that, I can barely give a lap dance, and plus, I asked about VIP, he won’t let me unless I sleep with him.’’
‘’He ain’t bad in bed,’’ Rachael smirked, hand on the back of your chair as she popped her hip, her brow jumping teasingly.
‘’I sleep with him for free,'' Navy cut in, giggling as she joined Rachael, smoothing a finger over her lip gloss.
‘’I did not need to know that,’’ You groaned, a little laugh. ‘’Seriously, how am I supposed to be alone with these men?’’
‘’Because here you’re surrounded by people, you’re both watching and being watched. You might find it easier within the privacy of someone's home. You could make some serious money,’’ Alexa explained, standing and fluffing her hair.
‘’Come on, we better get back out there,’’ Crocki probed, shooing you up and out of your seat.
It was on a rainy Tuesday night that an opportunity presented itself in the form of a man who eyed you all night. You were finishing a slow, grinding set when the man dressed in a charcoal suit with a look of wealth and hunger in his eyes approached the edge of the stage as you were collecting the cash. He didn’t toss any himself, but he leaned in with a low, urgent plea:
‘’You’re breathtaking,’’ He breathed hotly. ‘’I have a private booth, if you want to join me. I can pay you for your time, more than whatever that boss of yours would give you.’’
You contemplated, knowing the rules were explicitly clear: No off the book dealings. Then you thought of the dwindling cash in your pocket, your overdrawn account and the money you already owed Pete. You knew it was risky, but you found yourself offering a different deal.
‘’Not here. Write down your address and I’ll come get it from you after I give a few dances,’’ You instructed quietly and then motioned for the man to leave.
The man nodded frantically, excitement crossing his face and his gaze lingering on your body before he stepped away, blending into the crowd and up to the balcony booths. You navigated to the dressing room with a sharp focus, not paying any mind to the other dancers as you quickly stuffed the cash away and made your way back into the club and passed the time on a few laps before making your way up to the man. He slid his address in with a wad of twenties and you spent a song or two in his lap before rushing to change and leave.
You hailed a cab and met him back at his apartment.
With that single night, that simple exchange, began your secret hustle– right under Pete’s nose.
The following weeks became a dangerous dance of their own. You honed your art of your side hustle. You began to keep a mental note of regulars that eyed you with the specific, desperate hunger; the ones who had more money than sense and a certain distaste for Pete’s heavy-handed management. With folded bills containing addresses and phone numbers, the whispers of something more and thick envelopes pressed into your palm at the end of your nights, your stash began to grow.
You had to be careful how you spent your money, having excuses at the ready when you showed up with new outfits and shoes, passing it off as second-hand or cheap online purchases. For the first time in a long time, you felt a shred of agency; you were no longer having to beg, no longer having to be a victim of Pete’s scraps– you were creating a life of your own. However, the risk grew with every encounter, having to be wary about where you met them, how you kept in contact, keeping yourself hidden from them inside the club.
The most dangerous part though, wasn’t the logistics; it was the change in your own demeanor. As the list grew, so did your confidence. The desperation that once made you easy to intimidate was quickly replaced and you started to look at Pete with a secret, mocking amusement and no longer with fear.
Friday night was a blur of shimmering pale blue lace and the suffocating scent of cigars. Pete had suggested the outfit, claiming he just knew the attention it would attract and sadly, he was right. It drew in a specific breed of predatory men. You felt less like a dancer and more like a piece of sordid art that was subjected to lingering touches and hungry whispers. You spent time moving booth to booth, lap to lap, your movements fluid and hesitant, playing your usual role of the trembling innocent to practiced perfection while counting the seconds until the night was over.
As the night progressed, you made your way back downstairs, heading over to the bar to grab a drink of water when you caught the eye of possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen; the kind of man people wrote about, the type that you thought couldn’t possibly exist.
The man was an absolute mountain of a human being.
He had to be an easy six-foot-nine, he towered ridiculously over the other men at the bar, his broad shoulders blocking out the purple lights behind him, casting a halo around him. His open flannel showed off his tight black shirt, stretched thin over his muscle. His face was set in a stony, grumpy expression until he noticed you were looking right back at him which made him break out in a grin as you stepped closer to him. You took in the thick beard, long hair and sucked in a sharp breath as a warmth spread over your stomach.
You smiled shyly up at him and offered out your hand to him, and happily let yourself be guided into his space as he spoke in a low rumble which vibrated in your chest.
‘’You’re the new one,’’ He stated, wetting his lips as he pulled you closer.
The smell of expensive sandalwood and aged leather clung to him, making your head spin as he leaned down to hear you in the deafening noise of the club.
‘’Hi,’’ You said breathlessly, ‘’I’m Sugar.’’
‘’Hi, Sugar,’’ He replied, voice gravelly and honeyed. ‘’I’m Ari.’’
Summary: A new king means new oaths of allegiance and
Word Count: 1.1k words
A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.
Warnings: Implied violence, Royal politics. Please let me know if I missed any!
Part 2
After many painful years of bloodshed, Curtis has finally been crowned king of the realm. after the old king had killed his family, making an example of them for not paying their taxes, Curtis had sworn revenge. He'd even made a pact with the Spirit of the Forest, gaining the power he would need in exchange for making it illegal to hunt in the Great Glen.
The power he'd received made him part beast. Strength, endurance, senses, instincts, all we're improved upon. Especially when he let the beast take over, becoming a creature that inspired fear in his enemies. A creature with a seemingly endless bloodlust.
But now he was king and, aside from honoring his pact, he has no idea what to do.
Amongst the few people Curtis trusts, Gilliam is the only one who has anything akin to court experience.
"I would recommend you marry one of the nobles," he suggests. "The people will see it as you showing an interest in the kingdom itself and the nobles will appreciate some level of status quo. A usurper king who marries a foreign bride is seen as not interested in his own people."
"A bride..." Curtis grumbles.
A mate, the beast thinks.
"We can have each duchy bring their tribute, swear their oaths of fealty. If they're smart, they'll send their daughters to help present those gifts. I'll choose from them."
"Good plan, Your Majesty," Tanya teases. "And I can get you more information on the ladies the day before; who's polite, who can kiss my ass. That sort of thing."
"Good thinking," Curtis nods, hiding how his inner beast is practically frothing at the idea of a mate.
"You're not going!" Father orders. "The new king is rumored to be a beast, a monster! How can I send my daughter, my only child, into his claws?"
"I have to go, Father," you argue, trying to keep your voice level. "You need to stay because Duke Snyder is trying to push you out. If you go to the palace, he'll seize the opportunity. We don't know anything about this new king so we can't trust he'll support you should Snyder make a move "
Father's shoulders slacken in defeat.
"I wish your mother were here to go with you," he sighs.
Placing a hand on your shoulder, Father looks you in the eyes. "I will send the best of guard with you," he promises. "You are my greatest treasure. I will see you safe."
"Thank you, Father. I will get things ready for the trip "
Despite the risks you were far more afraid of King Everett than the journey. Father sent you along under the protection Sir Conrad, well versed in combat and loyal to his last breath. Initially you were supposed to go with both Conrad and his half brother Pine but you insisted Pine stay with Father. He will need the protection and insight of the older brother. And the journey wasn't so far that you worried about Conrad and his small squad becoming too tired to keep you safe.
For added protection you were dressed up as a young man. Should any ask, you were soldiers doing your duty and bringing your Duke's tithe to the new king. The britches are a bit uncomfortable but you're grateful for the protection from prying eyes.
As you make camp the first night you feel truly helpless. You can't assemble a tent. You don't know how to make a fire and you can barely cook. The best you can do is simply stay out of the way.
Then you notice the berry bushes. They're low to the ground, easy to miss. Perhaps you can gather some and share them with your protectors.
Kneeling in front of the bushes you ask in a whisper, "may I be allowed to pick some of your berries? My friends and I would love to try them as they taste much better than travel rations." Many would consider you crazy but you're not one to give up wisdom your mother taught you before her passing.
Several berries drop and you make sure to thank the bushes before gathering them up. Though Sir Conrad warns you against going off alone again, he does not begrudge your addition to the night's meal.
The next day's journey is cut short by a rainstorm. It's too dangerous to travel and camp must be made up early. It's slow, wet, tiring work and the rains are too heavy to light a fire to warm up with.
In the privacy of your own tent you shiver in just your undergarments as you manage to light a lamp. Your blankets are a small comfort as you force yourself to drink water and eat some of the travel rations. All you can do is wait for the rain to let up.
Amidst the thunderous rain you hear mewling cries and they're getting closer.
Carefully you take a peek through the flaps of your tent. It could be a predator luring you in, but it could also be a poor creature in need of shelter. You need to keep the light from the lantern minimal for your safety and dignity.
As the mewling gets louder you're able to make out a baby fox.
"Oh you poor thing," you gently call to it. "Please, share my tent. We'll get you to your mother when the rain stops."
Lifting the tent flap more, the kit is drawn to the light of the lamp and quickly joins you.
"Here, I have some food as well. Not as good as fresh game, I know. But you'll need your strength if you're going to find your mama."
The kit accepts the food offered, seeming to eat it too fast to taste.
"Let me get one of my cloaks so we can try to dry you off. Must be hard to keep warm when you're soaked."
After you've dried off the little fox to the best of your ability it curls up in your lap and falls asleep. You feel honored and hum it a lullaby you remember your mother singing to you.
"Your Grace! We need to get an early start on the day to make up for yesterday."
Conrad's voice pierces through your slumber and you quickly sit up.
"I'm up! Give me just a few minutes to dress!"
As you get up to get dressed you quickly look around for the kit only to see that it's gone. You're disappointed but hopeful that, once the rain stopped, it went and found its mother.
It isn't until late in the morning, well on your way to the castle, that you spot fox and her three kits. Your heart leaps at the thought that one of them was the one you shared your tent with.
Featuring: Ari Levinson x curvy Female!Reader (and others, see notes below)
Word Count: 12.2k
Summary: Having embraced your own new tradition of traveling for some kind of solo adventure for the time between winter holidays and having to return to real life, work, and responsibilities, this year you land in Chepstow, South Wales, to experience the merry mischief of Mari Lwyd.
General Content/Warnings: sex with strangers, coercive elements, EXPLICIT SMUT (manhandling, oral: female and male receiving, rimming: female receiving, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, nipple play, cock stroking, overstimulation, unprotected sex all around), praise kink, small amount of dirty talk, small amount of objectification, use of pet names (sweetheart), dacryphilia, implied/actual somnophilia, possessive behavior, implied manipulation
WARNINGS THAT WILL SPOIL SOME OF THE MAJOR SURPRISE ELEMENTS OF THE STORY - SCROLL PAST IF YOU WANT THE FULL EFFECT:
dubious consent to additional partners: Curtis Everett + Andy Barber + Lloyd Hansen, gang bang, double penetration, tripple penetration, voyeurism, implied exhibitionism, coerced abduction
Author Notes: This was intended to be my second offering for Hoes for the Holidays, but I blew way beyond the word count limit for that. Shout out to @stargazingfangirl18 for indulging my insanity while crafting this.
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
You’d always felt the lull that was final week of the calendar year existed out of standard time and space, a potential purgatory of unstructured days where hope and boredom collided, and your tongue never quite lost the taste of the leftovers from holiday meals. But two years ago you’d decided to do something different, and this was now the third you’d flung yourself on some kind of solo trip adventure, and at least this year your mother had stopped taking it personally.
You’d spent your first solo trip on a beach two years ago, luxuriating in warm sea air, then last year in a Frankfurt to immerse yourself in the charm of its Christmas market, where the music was so sang through your bones long after you’d left. The point wasn’t to escape, exactly. It was to go somewhere that wasn’t home, and to become another person, or at least an unexplored version of you. And tonight, that person would be a woman who braved the Mari Lwyd procession—the famous one, the wild one, with the papier-mâché skull and the singing and the drinking until dawn.
Maybe not dawn for you though.
You weren’t as young as you used to be and not only did sleep call to you, you needed, craved, and valued it.
You’d bought the plane and then train tickets to Chepstow with a kind of daredevil resignation, imagining the new woman for yourself: braver than last year’s model, but not completely unrecognizable.
Your first night at the Beaufort Arms—a 16th-century coaching inn with enough wood paneling to suffocate a fire—was spent drinking sticky ale and eavesdropping on a pair of middle-aged men debating the mechanics of badger hunting. The room you’d booked was named "Fourposter," and contained a bed so tall you had to take a running leap to reach it.
The Mari Lwyd was unlike anything you’d pictured, and more. A small crowd gathered at the edge of the square, where a copse of men wrestled a bedsheet-covered frame with an ostentatious horse’s skull on top. Its eyes were bottle caps, and its mouth was rigged to snap open with a satisfying snap. An old man banged on a drum and the townspeople sang in a sort of call-and-response. You couldn’t pick out more than a few words, but they sounded old and fierce and teasing, and you were instantly captivated. The whole affair was supposed to be a kind of contest: the Mari and her crew would rhyme their way into your home, and your only defense was to best them in verse. If you lost, you let them in for cakes and ale. If you won, they left—but you had yet to observe anyone actually winning. The point, in any case, appeared to be surrender.
You hovered at the periphery, sipping mulled cider, your hands cold and sticky. The horse skull danced maniacally and people shrieked, half in real terror and half in delight. The men who switched in and out maneuvering her—her, because you’d quickly started to think of the horse thing as a woman, though she clearly wasn’t—were perhaps somewhat drunk and but altogether determined. The group kept up their rowdy show, but then the tallest of the Mari’s handlers caught you watching him, and his eyes widened like he’d just realized you were real. He seemed to have a sense for being observed, not in the way some people preen when they catch a stray stare, but as if he’d been lying in wait for a gaze to return his own. A grin cut his bearded face—knife-sharp, a little mean, a little impish, exacting like the buzzcut of his hair. He elbowed the mustached man beside him, nodding once without breaking his rhythm, the two of them caged inside the horse’s body. The other turned, looked you up and down with slow intent, and then, as if on cue, both men tilted their heads in perfect predatory unison, an unspoken dare clear in the set of their jaws.
You felt the heat of it in your chest, a slow glow climbing your neck. It should be ridiculous, especially since the second man had a lollipop poking out of his mouth, but the connection was thick and electric.
A teenager in a parka stumbled backward into you and mumbled an oddly formal apology, breaking the moment, the tension, maybe the trap, and you were grateful to get back to the innocent revelry of the crowd. The evening was full of such collisions, small and harmless, making you feel loosely held by the crowd and connected even as you kept to yourself.
The procession gained steam. It devoured streets, doubling back on itself, the skull’s jaw clacking out its own beat, and your own sense of place and intent was swallowed along with it. You let yourself be swept. That was the only rule you’d set for the trip: go wherever the night led.
By ten o’clock, you’d sung along with nonsense lyrics three times, lost one glove, and received two kisses (one on the cheek, one on the hand) from strangers whose names you couldn’t remember even as they introduced themselves. Everyone in Chepstow, apparently, was desperate for a little warmth.
Eventually, and you could not have reconstructed the time or route, you found yourself collapsed onto a wooden bench inside a squat pub at the edge of the old stone bridge. There were three other people at your wobbly table: an ancient woman with hair like a parsnip and a voice like she chewed gravel for breakfast; a man with a beard so red it looked fake, but which you later confirmed to be real by touching it; and then a third, who you noticed only when the other two stood up, locked arms, and sang “Calon Lân” until the windows rattled.
He was somewhere near your age, and though you couldn’t quite guess, you pinned him to be older or younger than you by no more than five or ten years. His face had that handsome ambiguity that made you briefly uncertain if you were a predator or the prey. You were, you realized, also touching knees under the table, and found that you didn’t mind that one bit. After another moment, you realized recognized him as yet another of the Mari’s handlers who’d taken over at various points throughout the procession.
He leaned in close—closer than you would have tolerated back home, but the pub was all noise and press and heat—and said, “You’ve got cider on your lip,” he said.
You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand, but he shook his head and leaned in closer, so close you could smell the sharp, salt-and-yeast tang of his sweat mixed with the spiced cider and a kind of animal warmth. “No,” he said, “here—” and instead of getting the spot himself, he bit at the air an inch from your jaw, then laughed into the hollow under your ear. There was something unplaceable in the sound, less a laugh than a purr.
“They say if the Mari bites you, you have to do her bidding for a year and a day,” he said, lowering his voice so it was lost to all the noise except yours. “Lucky for you, I’m not a horse, but I do take requests.” He gave you a once-over so obvious it bordered on parody, but you found yourself preening just a little under the scrutiny.
You shot back, unsure of where it came from, but glad your brain provided the quippy, “For rides, for bites, or for handling?”
His grin widened, and his knee pressed a fraction harder against yours. “They call me Ari,” he said. “Ari Levinson.”
You told him your name and he repeated it twice, once in greeting and once in something that was not quite mockery, but a kind of taste test: he wanted to know how it felt on his tongue. You watched him roll it, then swallow, and felt something—anticipation, or suspicion, or both—coil in your gut.
“Do you usually spend holidays letting folkloric demons drag you through the streets?” Ari asked. He was holding his pint with both hands, as if keeping it from being stolen, but you’d yet to see him drink from it.
You shrugged. “I like an excuse for a spectacle, a bit of an adventure this time of year.”
“And you’re staying at the Beaufort. I saw you in the lobby earlier, didn’t I? With the patterned scarf?”
His memory startled you. You’d checked in barely an hour before the street festivities, and had barely looked at anyone on your way through reception. “You have a good eye,” you said.
“I have a room. Number twelve. If you want a ghost story, or just a nightcap, you can always knock.” He said it in a soft, conspiratorial voice.
You had not expected, not even once, to be flirted with so directly, and certainly not by a man whose shirt was nearly bursting from his broad shoulders and thick biceps.
You tried not to let your smile go crooked with nerves, but something about the bluntness of the invitation—room number twelve—made you want to laugh, or run, or tip your glass over to reset the narrative direction. Yet for a moment you imagined yourself swaggering into his room.
But that would never happen.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, and then, because you could not help yourself, “I’m sure I won’t remember the number, but I doubt you’ll let me forget.”
His answering grin was all teeth and heat, the suggestion of a man both hungry and patient. You were, to your own surprise, tempted. “You’re right,” he said. “I won’t.”
There was something in the way he said it. You won’t. The words got stuck right behind your breastbone, a little bit of dare, a little bit of invitation, and not the kind of line you could safely file away and forget.
You lasted at the pub for an hour, which was at least forty minutes longer than you’d intended, but not quite until closing.
You closed out the night with a final lap around the square, but now even the horse’s skull looked drowsy. You watched as a group of teenagers coaxed the Mari to pose for a selfie, the ancient mythical horse blinking awkwardly in the blue-white electric glare of their phones. You caught Ari’s eye in the crowd—he was holding a tray aloft with one hand and, with the other, guiding the skull out of a particularly narrow doorway. He saw you, smirked, and winked. You should have been embarrassed at being caught watching, but the heat of it was just another flavor in your bloodstream.
Once back at the Beaufort and tucked into your room, you closed the door and dropped your scarf and gloves in a heap on the nearest chair. The radiator was doing its best but the room still held a chill, so you huddled under the heavy duvet with your phone, scrolling news and social media with a mindless compulsion. But it all felt staged and brittle, like the outside world had lost its edge and narrowed to a dumb, recursive loop, while your blood was still keyed up with cider and adrenaline and the memory of Ari’s knee pressed to yours under the table.
You told yourself that you weren’t going to think about it, but of course, you did. The flirtation, the possibility, the way your body had lit up at the friction of his knee. The idea of him—of letting go for a night, of letting yourself be wanted, held, even devoured—kept you awake far longer than jet lag or the too-loud radiator ever could. It was a kind of slow, indulgent torture: every time your mind wandered, it landed back at the pub, at the sly way he’d looked at you, the dangerous promise in his mouth.
You were not the sort of woman who chased after men, or let yourself be chased, really. You’d had your entanglements with guys here and there, but anything that brewed had usually ended with mutual disappointment and a minimum of drama, and none of them had ever made you feel so instantly electric, so deliberately seen. It was embarrassing, even a little humiliating, how much you wanted it, wanted him.
When you finally checked the time and saw it was just after midnight, you thought, fuck it, and slipped your boots back on.
The corridor was empty, silent except for the faint tick-tock of the grandfather clock at the landing.
You told yourself you would only walk by his door, just to see if you could hear him through the old wood. You told yourself you would sleep on it, that you would be rational, that you would not give in to a fleeting flutter of the pussy.
Instead, you stood outside room twelve for a stupidly long time, hands in your pockets, trying to listen through the door and only just realizing that your own breathing was the loudest thing around. The halls were lined with ancient portraits and all of them seemed to urge on your trespasses, their painted, beady eyes daring you.
But there was no sound from within. You were turning away to retrace your steps when the door swung open.
He stood there, hair damp from a shower, a plain t-shirt clinging to his chest, and he looked at you as if he’d been expecting this very moment all along. “Well?” he said, and he could have left it at that, but for the second time that night he let the silence rest, waiting for you to fill it.
“Regretting the offer already?” you said, hoping your voice was drier than your throat.
“I was only wondering if you’d knock or just let yourself in,” he replied, and his mouth curled at the edges, softening the line of his jaw. “Either option had its charms.”
Ari looked you up and down, his eyes resting on your hands, your hips, the curve of your waist, every glance an inventory. If you’d worn anything other than your black jeans and a thermal, you might have flushed; as it was, the scrutiny made you feel taller, sharper, and alive. He appreciated your curves, and you knew it.
“I want to say something really clever, but…” you trail off, gesturing vaguely, unsure of what to do next.
“Don’t worry,” he said, reaching for your hand and inviting you inside. “You don’t need to say anything.”
You crossed the threshold, trying not to think of how this was the kind of decision that usually went wrong for women in books, or documentaries. The room was almost exactly like yours, with a four-poster bed and a view of the river, but it held a sense of easy occupation: his boots by the radiator, an opened bag on the desk, a half-drunk glass of whiskey glinting in the light by the window. It was a mess, but a charming one. Lived in. Warm.
Ari closed the door, then pressed you up against it. He tasted of whiskey and oranges, and the warmth of his mouth on yours made quick work of any pretense at demurring. You kissed him back without irony or even self-awareness, both of you crowding the space by the door until your shoulder bumped the heavy latch, and then his hands were on your face, your hair, cupping the back of your neck as if to keep you anchored, or maybe to keep himself from floating off.
You’d been kissed before. This was not that. This was an occupation, a siege, a negotiation in which all terms were surrendered up front. Your hands, uncertain for a moment, found his hips, then drifted higher under his shirt, discovering the slope of his back, the downy line of hair that trailed south from his navel. He was warm, solid, and nothing about him ever once seemed unsure.
He didn’t ask permission, but he didn’t need to; you’d already surrendered. There was something about the way he held you—direct, not possessive, but as if he’d picked you out of the noise and named you his singularity for the night—that let you shut off the noise in your own head. You were, for once, exactly where you wanted to be.
He kissed you until your head spun, and only then did he let you come up for air, both of you panting in the soft hush of the old inn. Ari’s thumb traced the line of your cheekbone, then your lip, as if confirming you were real. “I wanted to do that all night,” he said, and the honesty of it disarmed you more than the kiss ever could. “And I wasn’t the only one with my eye on you.”
You don’t have even half a second to register that bit of information before you were lost to his next actions. There wasn’t even a pretense of slow build, or of pretending there was anything else you wanted tonight. He pulled you by the hips until you collided again, mouth on mouth, this time harder, messier, open-mouthed and hungry. You pressed your body to his, hands up his chest, nails tracing the salt and heat of his skin under the thin cotton, and he shuddered, encouraging you, murmuring something indistinct but pleased into your mouth. His hands moved from your waist to your ass with a possessive, unembarrassed certainty, and you let him, enjoying the newness and the audacity of it, the way you could feel him hardening against your hip and neither of you made a move to slow down.
You let yourself be kissed backwards across the room, only half-worried you’d trip over his boots, then up onto the edge of the bed. He did not undress you all at once. He palmed your chest through your shirt, and when your nipple pebbled under the layers, he smiled against the rise of it, then nipped gently through the fabric. You cursed quietly, breathless, heat rising through you in a wave. You’d forgotten how immediate lust could be, how it made you a stranger to yourself—this woman who let a near-stranger tug her shirt over her head and then instead of feeling cold, burned with a kind of fever, Ari’s eyes and hands both greedy and unapologetic. You could not remember the last time someone had made you feel so much in the center of their appetite.
His hands stayed busy, unsnapping your bra like some kind of magician, and you felt yourself flush at the way he looked at you—like you were a dish he’d waited all year to eat. He bent to your chest, the prickle of his beard against your soft skin making you gasp, and an embarrassingly needy sound escaped you as he sucked your nipple into his mouth and bit, just enough to make your back arch. You ground your hips against his thigh, unselfconsciously greedy, and he rewarded you by rocking harder, one thick hand slipping into your jeans to cup you, the heel of his palm pressing right where you ached.
You squirmed under Ari’s touch, panting and powerless, your jeans half-undone and your shirt somewhere near the foot of the bed. He was kneeling between your legs, hands working you open, mouth hot on your throat, and you didn’t notice the shift in the room until the first foreign hand landed at your ankle—soft, assured, the touch of someone who knew they were welcome even though you’d never met their eyes. You jerked from surprise, but before you could pull away, Ari caught your chin in one hand and turned your face back to his.
“It’s okay,” he murmured against your lips, “it’s okay, just let go, just let us—” and the half-stranger was already unbuttoning your jeans the rest of the way, sliding the denim over your legs with a slow, practiced efficiency. You stared, stunned, then twisted again—Ari letting you move this time, and through the low gold lamplight caught three more figures crowding in around you: two men you half-recognized from the Mari Lwyd procession—one of them the big-shouldered brute who’d carried the horse’s head, and the other you assumed had to be one of the group who’d processed with the horse as well.
You shivered, hands clutching at the bedspread, mind scrambling to catch up, looking back to Ari, but he only smiled against your skin, the look in his eye practiced, lustful, and utterly unconcerned. He didn't so much as glance at the new arrivals, as if he'd expected them all along, as if they were merely another part of the night he intended to give you.
You should have been frightened. Maybe a little bit outraged, or at minimum, mortified by the idea of being undressed by strangers, men you’d only glimpsed by mad torchlight and public chaos a few hours ago. But your sense of danger, or decency, or whatever internal mechanism you’d used to check your wilder impulses before tonight, had shorted out. It didn’t help that Ari kept his hand firm at your throat, and with every small movement he kept your focus on him, let you feel how much he wanted this, wanted you, and how right that felt in the context of this whole night: as if this was yet another ancient tradition and you were simply the one chosen for this year’s sacrifice.
None of them waited for you to answer or accept, but none of them moved with haste. The new men shed their coats and gloves, shirts, trousers, every stitch of clothing, then joined you on the bed, the four of them moving with the loose, graceful choreography of people who’d done this before, more than once. There were so many hands suddenly, and mouths, and you gave up counting because there was no use for numbers anymore, only sensation.
The one with the mustache was clever with his fingers, running them over the inside of your thigh, teasing every inch until you trembled. The biggest one with hair shorn to his head, Curtis, you learned from a muttered instruction from one of the others, was content to watch for a moment, his hand stroking your head for a spell. When your eyes locked, you couldn’t help a shuddery breath from the intensity in his lust-blown irises. He licked his lips, and it was all you could do not to whine.
A new mouth closed over your right breast, suckling harder this time, drawing a helpless sound from your throat. Your hand went instantly to thread through his hair, dark and soft between your fingers. He, too, had a beard and mustache, and it only added to the sensation.
Ari’s hand fished your panties down, tearing at them with more urgency than care, but then the second man with his hands near your sex slipped the pad of his thumb right over your clit, then pinched, gentle and then sharp, in a way that made your hips buck before you could stop yourself. The surprise of other bodies in the room faded as heat outpaced any doubts—there was simply too much stimulus: hands in your hair, lips at your nipples, thick fingers inside you stretching you open while a low, gravelly voice in your ear just kept telling you how good you tasted, how wet you were, how ready. You should have been embarrassed at how quickly you were losing yourself, but all of them—no, all of you—were past that threshold.
Curtis gathered you up with hands that seemed to span the entirety of your back. He manhandled you onto his lap—God, he was huge—and there was a moment of weightless wrestling, three men’s bodies pressing you into the mattress while Ari’s teeth scraped at your collarbone. There was a kind of violence in their desire, but it never tipped into threat; they handled you as a group, steering your body through the varied sensations applied to you from one man to the next.
This was not a situation you’d ever even let yourself daydream about, and yet you understood instinctually that the only way forward was surrender.
You let them move you, let their hands find your knees, your shoulders, the back of your neck, let yourself be lifted, positioned, pinned. Ari’s mouth, already so familiar, found your clit, and you arched into the heat of his tongue, shuddering as two thick fingers slid inside you, stretching you wide and filling you in a way that made you gasp. Curtis’s cock was thick and fiercely hard at your back, an undeniable fact, and you were squirming in his lap, your cunt leaking and pulse thrumming nearly out of your skin. He rutted his cock against your ass, testing the space between your cheeks.
A giant hand threaded your hair, tilting your face up, and a thick cock — curtained by a pretty, veiny fist — brushed against your lower lip. You parted your mouth because you had no better plan, and that was what the hand wanted. The taste was salt and a metallic tang, the head heavy on your tongue, and you sucked at it, eager to please, or just eager to fill your mouth. The man attached to it, Lloyd someone else said, let out a grunt, not of dominance but approval, and when you flicked your tongue along the slit, he shuddered as if you’d stuck a live wire in him.
He was fully inside your mouth now, and your throat fought him for every inch. The heat of it forced your eyes wide, watering, but you found yourself greedy for it, angling your jaw up so he could fuck your face properly. A thick hand braced at the nape of your neck, guiding the rhythm — never choking, not quite, but insistent, letting you know the only way was forward. Ari’s tongue was unrelenting between your legs, swirling and flattening and coaxing you up to the edge, then pulling away at the exact moment you needed him most. When you tried to grind against his face, he laughed into your sex.
Curtis’s voice in your ear broke into your consciousness. “Look at you. Pretty little mouth full of cock, taking it so sweet. We knew you’d be a good girl.” His hand was a vice on your hip, his other arm tightening around your ribs, squeezing off half your next breath. There was no insult in the words, only awe, and you responded in kind, daring yourself to open wider, to let Lloyd fuck you deeper until your eyes blurred and the only thing you could see was the rapid bob of his fist at the base of his shaft.
Meanwhile Andy was not letting up, not for a second, and you were squirming from the way his tongue tortured your nipple, flicking, sucking, teasing. He alternated between your breasts, switching sides with a greedy, insistent rhythm.
By the time Lloyd withdrew from your mouth and slapped his cock across your lips, strings of spit connected you. You licked them away, the bitter but not unpleasant tang a testament that this wasn’t some wild imagining. The way Lloyd watched you made it clear—this wasn't just a game. You were the night’s centerpiece, an offering, a treat.
Ari lifted his head from between your legs, beard shimmering with your slick, eyes glazed and greedy. He laughed, low and easy, and dragged his tongue up your thigh, biting at the soft skin just to see you twitch. He pressed your knees wide apart, pinning them to the mattress with his forearms, and leaned in again to suck your clit so hard your vision pixelated. You gasped around Lloyd’s cock, the velvet head throbbing against your tongue, and Andy’s mouth closed over your left nipple, teeth glancing off the areola as if to mark it, to claim it, to test the boundary between pain and pleasure. You lost track of everything except the spiral of sensation winding out from the center of your cunt, every nerve ending raw and alive, every muscle in your legs shaking as Ari devoured you, Andy mauled your tits, Curtis ground you down into his thick lap, and Lloyd resumed fucking your throat.
You came with a sound you didn’t recognize, a raw, keening howl that seemed to crack the air in the room. Your thighs clamped on Ari’s skull but he only dove deeper, tongue flattening and flicking as you shattered against his mouth.
Curtis held you steady, arms cinched around your waist, voice growling more filth in your ear and his teeth scraping your shoulder, leaving raw, blossoming marks. “You’re fucking perfect. So greedy for it, aren’t you?” He pressed his lips to your ear, humid and hot. “Bet you wish you could see yourself. Want to see what a good little plaything you are for us?” He punctuated the question with a roll of his hips, grinding his cock against your ass, pinning you to the present.
They didn’t even give you time to pretend at recovery. Before you could catch your breath, before you could even blink, the men were maneuvering you forward, onto your hands and knees.
Blinking blearily, you saw Andy on his back beneath you, the sharp yet soft handsomeness of him filling your vision. Andy’s blue eyes were the color of a dark winter sky when it promised either storm or miracle. There was also something that felt a little haunted in them, but also so nakedly wanting that you felt yourself held in place, a moth transfixed by the cold blue flame of his attention. He caught your face between his hands—gentle, reverent, hungry—while another set of calloused hands smoothed down your sides, humming as he squeezed your pudgy curves. Your mind darted for recognition, and landed on it being Curtis taking that position behind you, kneeling on the mattress with the weight of a mountain, forcing your knees even wider apart.
Curtis didn’t nudge so much as he commanded your hips, his massive hands gripping and directing them lower until Andy’s cock was aligned with your swollen, aching cunt. The head butted against your entrance once, then twice, and on the third, Curtis pushed you down—slow, slower than you could bear, so you could feel every ridge, every vein, every infinitesimal stretch until you were split open and full. Andy’s hands slid up your arms and he held you there.
You were suspended on your knees above him, the thick shaft of him filling you while you trembled, overwhelmed, nearly weeping from the precision of the sensation. Curtis and Lloyd both moaned in appreciation.
Ari’s voice broke through, rough and honey-thick, the only mooring in a world that had become raw sensation. “God, look at that,” he said, kneeling beside the bed, his hand stroking your cheek. “You look so fucking beautiful like this, stuffed full and hungry for more.” His fingers traced your jaw, then ghosted down to your throat, where he pressed lightly, a reminder of the edge you’d been skating all night. “Never seen anyone take a cock so deep their whole body sings with it. That’s it. Fucking perfect.”
The praise hit you in some hidden coil, shame and pride sparking through your chest, and you clenched down around Andy, squeezing an answering groan from him. He held you tighter, rolling his hips up into you, his cock hitting something that made your vision pinwheel. You whined, helpless, wanting more, the friction bordering on unbearable.
Curtis, behind you, only added to the narrative of the experience. “She’s a fucking natural. Christ, look at how sweet she splits open.” He kneaded your ass, thumbs spreading you wider, and you keen a little, the blunt force of Andy’s cock inside you impossibly sweet, every inch an ache you never wanted to end.
Lloyd, never out of the running, stroked your cheek, then pressed his cock again to your mouth, as if to remind you of your only job: to be open and wanting and good. You took him, and the rhythm set in. You rocked your hips, back and forth between Lloyd and Andy, lips stretched wide, cunt clinging tight, until you lost all sense of time, of propriety, of shame. You became only a set of holes to be filled and a collection of taut, twitching nerves eager for every scrape of attention.
One of the men, maybe Curtis, ran his tongue over your lower back, following the sweat-slicked line of your spine. Curtis’s tongue slid over the small of your back, then lower, and you thought it was another lazy, possessive lick—until it landed with shocking accuracy on your asshole. The wet, insistent pressure made you jerk upright, emitting a startled yelp, Lloyd’s cock popping free from your lips with a sticky gasp, strands of spit and precum snapping against your chin.
The laughter was immediate, a rough-edged bark from Lloyd that echoed against the ancient walls. “Well, hell, boys, looks like we’ve got a virgin ass tonight.”
Ari caught your face between his palms, steadying you, thumb soothing over your cheek. “Easy, easy,” he murmured, but there was laughter behind the words too, like he’d just watched a gamble pay off. You felt the heat in your cheeks, sure you were pink at the very tips of your ears.
Andy soothed his hands up and down your upper arms as well, drawing you down to his chest, where the heat of his skin and the sturdy thump of his heart steadied you. You found yourself blinking stupidly, breath catching, because you’d been properly shocked out of your own body for a moment. But Andy’s hands were gentle, brushing the damp hair from your face, and he kissed your forehead, your eyelids, your jaw, each press a small anchor to haul you back from the edge.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered into the shell of your ear. “You’re all right, aren’t you? There’s our pretty girl.” There was a sincerity to his words that made you want to cry, just a little, if your brain had even a scrap of bandwidth left for tears. Instead, you buried your face in his neck, letting yourself be stroked and soothed and admired fucked in turn.
Then Ari’s hand was at your jaw again, turning your face toward him with a gentleness that was, paradoxically, even more dangerous. “You want to take a break, sweetheart?” he said, and the way he used the word—sweetheart, in that low rasp—made it clear break was not what he hoped you’d say.
You shook your head, dizzy, and tried to say anything, but all that came out was a fuzzy, high-pitched whimper. Your head lolled, and behind Ari’s shoulder you glimpsed the smudgy reflection in the fogged-up window: four bodies and you in the tangled mass, limbs and backs and knees knotted up, your own face completely abandoned to pleasure, mouth slack and shining with spit. It was beautiful in a wild way you never could have anticipated.
Ari kissed you, slow and deep, tasting the salt from Lloyd’s cock on your tongue, and it made you shudder in his grip.
“God,” Ari said. “You’re good. You’re so fucking good.”
You melted under the praise. Andy resumed fucking you, at first slow, then picking up a steady rhythm again.
Ari caught your chin again, thumb stroking over the seam of your lips, and his voice dropped so low it seemed to vibrate through your chest. “We’re going to take care of you. You know that, right?” He framed your face, gaze nearly feral with want but steady, as if vowing not to lose you to the whirlwind of sensation. “It’s going to be a lot. But you want it. I can feel it.”
You nodded, or tried to, but Andy’s rhythm below you made you bite your lip instead, the pleasure so immediate it was like the air in your lungs had been stripped for parts. Curtis’s massive hands braced you as Lloyd stuck his cock back in to your mouth, now matching the rhythm of Andy’s thrusts. Feeling the synchronized pulses only drilled the pleasure that much more thoroughly through your consciousness.
You wanted them—wanted all of them, all at once, if only your body could be opened that wide.
Curtis was not idle in position, even as he waited for your body to recalibrate into them, gently squeezing your hips as he bided his time. Ari stroked his hand down your spine, and then backed up—but only a fraction. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see as he slowly fisted his cock, and you reached for him. Ari took your hand, wrapped it around his cock and twined his hand with yours so you both stroked him together.
Meanwhile, Curtis was digging his grip into your thighs to hold you open and still. Then he spat once, the heat of it landing exactly where his tongue had been minutes before, and you quivered but didn’t falter this time.
He pressed the pad of his thumb just below your tailbone and circled the muscle, not so much asking as warning, then applied a steady, relentless pressure. The sensation was obscene, violating by its newness, and your whole body arched, acclimating to the new sensation.
Curtis breached you up to the knuckle, slow but unwavering, and the stretch felt like nothing you’d ever experienced—an intimate trespass, a digit inserted where nothing had gone before, not for pleasure, not for anything. You gasped around Lloyd’s cock, nearly gagging, but the hand at the base held you steady, and the men’s words of approval were a chorus that flooded the corners of your mind and made your blood go molten. Ari caught your eyes over the slick, sweating clutch of flesh and muscle, and it was a lifeline you didn’t know you would need so desperately.
Lloyd’s cock slammed to the back of your mouth and you fought the urge to pull away, letting him use your throat as he wished. You’d never felt so greedy and so helpless at once. Your body was all pores and hunger, every boundary already breached, yet desperate for more. Curtis traded his thumb for two of his thick fingers, working in slow, deliberate movements, drawing you open, and the heat of the extra stretch began to bleed pure pleasure, lancing down your spine and into the shudders wracking your hips.
“Fuck,” Lloyd groaned, voice low and vibrating through his thighs. “Look at her take it—oh, fuck, that’s it, just like that—”
It was obscene how much you wanted this, how the anticipation made your whole body hum, how you split yourself wide open to take it all, to be entered and exploited and explored.
The pressure at your ass went from speculative to explicit, as Curtis pressed the thick, slick head of his cock against your tightest hole. A smear of something cool and viscous, then Curtis slid the tip in.
He pushed further in, and you froze.
Lloyd eased up, cupping your jaw with one hand, petting your forehead with the other, but it was Ari’s voice that wound through the thunder in your body. “Relax for him. Just breathe. There you go.”
You did. You let your head tip back and as Lloyd’s cock rode gently past your lips, you gave yourself up to the split, to the pressure, to the fire and then the impossible stretch of Curtis’s thickness opening you from behind. You thought there would be pain, and there was, a brief flare, and then a hot, raw pulse that morphed into a bloom of sensation, a fullness that felt so complete you whimpered around the cock in your throat. Andy held you steady, kept you pressed down on his cock, not moving, not fucking up into you but letting the quiver of your cunt transmit every shockwave. His hands found your tits, kneading, pinching your nipples until each jolt arced straight to where Curtis was working you open from behind.
Lloyd, emboldened, picked up the cadence of your breath and began to fuck your mouth again, but slower, savoring it, his other hand stroking your jaw, pulling out and then feeding you in again inch by inch. You sucked him in, hollowing your cheeks, determined to take him deeper even as your body trembled in the grips of overwhelming of sensation.
Ari stroked your hair, his hand closing around the base of your skull with a careful firmness. “You like it?” he asked, voice pitched low to thread only into your ear, as if the answer was for him alone. “Does it feel good?”
You could only moan, the sound caught on Lloyd’s cock even as you managed a nod. Curtis grunted behind you, hips pressed flush to yours, the burn of his girth sliding deeper with every slow push. Andy’s hands were everywhere—your tits, your shoulders, your hips, steadying you as you rocked between the men. No one let you float away. Each touch was a tether.
“Good girl,” Ari said, his thumb wiping tears from your cheeks. “We’re going to take such good care of you. All night.” His tongue flicked the shell of your ear and he added, “But we’re all going to fuck each of your holes before dawn, and we’re going to fill every one of them with our cum.”
The words—so filthy, so certain—made your cunt clench hard around Andy’s cock, and you whined, unable to hide the pulse of want that threaded up your spine.
You didn’t even have time to process the promise, the threat of it, because Ari’s hand found its way between your spread legs, fingers slipping along the seam between your cunt and Andy’s cock, and then the pad of his thumb circled your clit, firm and knowing, and you instantly seized, the new layer of sensation too much, too much, too much. Your whole pelvis lit up, white-hot, as you bucked and jerked, body spasming between the cocks inside you and the thumb that refused to let you escape your own pleasure. Total detonation.
You were open in every way, raw and ruined and perfect, and the men let you ride that crest for as long as you could bear it, as if this was the real ritual, the true tradition that the songs and skulls outside had only hinted at.
And then they continued in their revelry.
Curtis, now fully sheathed inside you, held your hips in place, his hands wrapping the excess of your flesh like it was something precious, something he’d traveled miles to savor. He began to move, just a little, the motion more grind than thrust at first, and the sensation bordered on unendurable. You tried to breathe, but the fullness was so total you couldn’t even whimper, just let the pleasure crest and recede in electric waves.
At the same time, Lloyd’s cock slipped in and out of your throat once more. But now with Andy thrusting up and Curtis pounding slow and deep from behind, Lloyd used both hands to guide your face to his cock, dragging you forward on each stroke, meeting your mouth with a sweet little grind that said he wanted more of you, every millimeter you could give. Your jaw ached, lips stretched wide and slickly obscene, but you wanted it—God, you wanted all of it—and when Lloyd groaned at how you sucked him, you felt a pride so illicit it made you shiver from scalp to toes.
Andy, beneath you, was lost to his own rhythm, his cock rutting up into your wrecked cunt as Curtis's, in turn, sawed into your ass, sharing, taking, every thrust met and magnified. Your body was simply a vessel for their pleasure, and in that, for your own.
Ari didn’t leave you untouched for so much as a moment. He hovered beside you, a hand sometimes cupping your throat or smoothing back your hair, sometimes just stroking himself, eyes fixed on you like he was memorizing a hymn. There was a hunger in him, but also a kind of stewardship, as if your pleasure was a thing he’d been entrusted to carry without breaking.
You came, again, with almost no warning—just a low, animal twitch in your belly, your whole body clenching from the center out, drawing them all deeper, higher, with you as the center of gravity of their orbit. Curtis’s next thrust made you sob, a rush of slick dripping down your thighs, and even Lloyd paused at the sight, balls drawing tight against your chin.
“Going to fucking come,” Lloyd gritted, voice rough. You barely had time to grab a breath before you felt Lloyd’s cock twitch in your mouth, his hips stuttering as he came, hot and thick, a salt-bitter flood hitting the back of your throat.
You swallowed, throat working, and the depraved satisfaction of it the only thing keeping you from collapsing. Lloyd withdrew, dragging the head through your lips with mournful reluctance, then caught your gaze with predatory tenderness. He thumbed a daub of his own slick from your chin, smeared it over your tongue, and you sucked him clean, eyes locked on his. He grinned, wolf-bright, before tumbling backward off the bed, a king momentarily spent.
You tried to catch your breath, chest heaving, nipples pebbling in the cold air as the sweat started to chill on your skin.
But Andy was still inside you, still rutting in shallow desperate thrusts, Curtis was relentless at your back, and the space at your lips was quickly filled by Ari, who pulled you up with an unexpected roughness. The press of his mouth was urgent and claiming, his tongue massaging yours until you couldn’t remember how to speak your own name. He bit your lower lip, then soothed the sting with a flicker of his tongue, tasting Lloyd’s come on you, and groaned into your mouth. He pressed you upright, hands spanning your ribcage, and pulled back enough to study your face, as if committing you to memory, your eyes wild and shining with the aftermath of pleasure.
Behind you, Curtis had only gotten more relentless. Each motion from him sent aftershocks through the deepest parts of you, the stretch of him in your ass combating the pulse of Andy’s cock in your cunt. Every thrust they managed seemed to find a perfect, overlapping rhythm. You were a trembling, oversensitive mess, the friction sparking nerve endings you never thought you possessed. Your scalp tingled, your toes curled, your body stretching, accommodating, yielding with every slick, bruising, glorious motion.
You could feel it coming from the way Andy was grasping your hips, how his breath turned raw and ugly, the way his cock started to pulse inside you with a rhythm that signaled total collapse. It made you even wetter, the urge to milk him, to wring every last drop out, taking over your muscles and your will. You clenched around him and he swore, surging up to meet you, and biting down on your shoulder as he came. It was hot and thick, the sensation flooding up into you, a spill you could almost taste in the back of your throat. You were still spasming around Andy when Curtis seized your hips and buried himself to the root in your ass, his cock pulsing in wild, uncontrollable spasms that made you feel absurdly, obscenely full. The double heat of it—Andy’s cock twitching in your cunt, Curtis’s in your ass—sent another aftershock through you, and you came again, sobbing and shaking, as if you would never stop.
But Ari wasn’t finished with you. He pulled you up and away with a rough, hungry hand, tumbling you to your side and then down, flat against the damp, twisted sheets of the bed. You landed sprawled, limbs askew, skin slick with sweat, cum sticky between your thighs, the angles of your own body unfamiliar in the flickering gold of the bedside lamp. The other men pulled away, leaving you open and raw and trembling at the center of the mattress. For a second, you expected them to crowd back in, to resume the onslaught, but they only hovered, catching their breath, admiration and heat radiating from their still-naked bodies.
Ari loomed over you, his eyes bottomless with wanting, but his hands were gentle, almost reverent as he gathered you in.
He pressed his palm to your sternum, pinning you, then looked to the others, voice gruff but gentle-edged. “Lloyd, get a cloth, would you?”
There was a shuffle of movement, the chill of the room suddenly apparent on your exposed skin, but then Ari draped himself over you, his body a blanket of heat and muscle, and the cold retreated beneath his weight. He kissed you, deliberately, a slow, savoring kiss that was almost shy in its earnestness. His tongue swept your own, revisiting the taste of everything that had just happened, and you sunk into the intensity of his attention.
He broke the kiss but kept his face close, lips brushing your cheek, your forehead, your eyelids. His hand wandered up your thigh, soft now, reacquainting itself with your body. “You good?” he asked, voice so low you felt it more than heard it.
You couldn’t find the words, couldn’t even fake a coherent answer, but nodded, and Ari seemed to understand the language of your shiver. He nuzzled into your neck, taking a deep breath, as if to savor the root and salt of you, then pressed his forehead to yours. For a moment, he did nothing more than stroke your cheek, letting the afterglow settle into the space between you.
You barely even noticed Lloyd return, but a moment later his broad, warm hands were gently arranging your legs apart, thumbs pressed to the inside of your knees. You should have felt exposed in the most humiliating way, but instead the tenderness with which they handled you made you ache in a new, curious spot—something sweet and sore at once. Lloyd’s eyes met yours as he knelt between your thighs, washcloth in hand, and wiped the sweat and come from your thighs, your stomach, even the sticky place just below your chin where he’d marked you. The roughness of his knuckles was bracing, a contrast to the softness in his gaze.
Ari kissed you again, a slower, molten thing, as if to prove he could do it for hours if allowed. His lips pressed yours in a long, decadent sweep, and you let yourself melt into him, arms automatically looping around his neck. His tongue flicked at your lower lip, requesting entrance, and you granted it, helpless to resist the wet insistence of his mouth on yours.
Lloyd, meanwhile, was not done. He shifted down the bed and, instead of using the cloth, licked a broad stripe up your inner thigh—hot, deliberate, and just a little bit cruel. Your entire body jolted, the aftershocks of orgasm making you hypersensitive, and you gasped against Ari’s tongue. Ari laughed, pleasure and mischief in the sound, and squeezed your thigh in reward. “That’s right,” Ari murmured, not missing a beat. “Let him worship your cunt while he cleans you up, you were such a perfect mouth for him you deserve to have his on you now.”
Lloyd’s tongue was generous, almost playful, lapping at you in slow, reverent strokes that left your whole lower half a trembling, hypervivid landscape. You couldn’t keep your knees together even if you’d wanted to. He pressed his mouth to you, first licking away the slick at your cunt, then circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. Every pass over your clit made you jolt at the edge, oversensitive, but the pleasure frayed into a kind of need you couldn’t name.
Ari drank in your whimpers, kissing your face with the slowness of a person who had come into sudden excess of time. He had nowhere to be and nothing to do but savor you, and the absence of urgency let him turn every movement into an exploration. His hands, greedy and calloused, mapped the round of your hip, the slope of your belly, the ruined circuits of your exposed throat. Andy and Curtis had melted away to the periphery, collapsing into a heap at the foot of the bed, but even in repose their eyes were fixed on you, hungry, bemused, and a little reverent.
You felt Ari hard against your hip, but he held himself in check, even as you tried to reach for him. He caught both your wrists in one hand, pinned them above your head, and then bent low to reclaim your lips, a man seemingly obsessed with this intimate aspect. His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking the pulse in your cheek, and the gentle possessiveness of it made you want to weep, already wondering how many hours were left in the night, how you could ever go back to anything else after it ended.
Lloyd’s tongue was steady, each swirl a measured invitation, the tip flicking lightly at your clit in a way that was less assault, more conversation. He savored you, and your body responded with an ache that was all the more intense for how slowly he coaxed it out of you. The wash of sensation built in lazy, rolling waves; not the violence of the earlier orgasms but something richer, slower, a low burn that caught and held, threatening to stretch forever.
He hummed into your cunt when you whimpered, his hands splayed warm over your shaking thighs. You felt the world reduce to his mouth, his tongue, the unhurried sweetness of the pleasure he delivered. When it finally crested, it came as a long, unraveling shudder that left you boneless, your palms scrabbling uselessly at the sheets. Lloyd licked you through it, slower now, and Ari’s hand tightened at your wrists, keeping you pinned as he watched the work of Lloyd’s tongue. He kissed you with the ownership of a wolf who’d already marked a kill, slow and steady but always a little closer to your mouth than any previous moment, as if he would devour even your afterglow.
You rode the aftershocks, letting yourself be wrung out again, and when Lloyd eventually withdrew, he did so with a wet, smacking sound and a victorious sigh. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then grinned at you, a lazy, conspiratorial look that said he’d scored exactly what he’d hoped for.
All of them touched you in the aftermath—a hand on your calf, a brush of fingers at your shoulder, a palm cupping your hip, as if the only way to keep you from dissolving was to anchor you with their hands. You drifted in the warmth of their attention, the kindness that came only after the storm.
Ari gathered you up once again, rolling you both to your sides.
He pressed his chest flat to yours, your nipples grazed by the thick chest hair over the hard plane of his pecs. He hooked your knee up and over his hip, anchoring you against him. The head of his cock nudged your slick entrance, pausing only long enough for him to slide his fingers down and part you with a slow, patient care.
He speared into you in one long, claiming stroke. The motion was smooth, unhurried, but the fullness was an undiluted shock—he was thick, hot, stretching you fresh despite everything that had just been done to you. Ari groaned, low and desperate, the vibration of it in his chest echoing through your sternum. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, nose pressed to your temple, his breath dragging heat over your ear. “You make me want to ruin you a hundred different ways.”
Though your brain was drawing all of these moments in, etching them into your memories, your output was reduced to only being able to clutch him fiercely and moan his name over and over.
He fucked you like this, side-to-side, skin welded together from collarbone to ankle, his hand at vise and an anchor at the nape of your neck, his mouth open over yours as if he could draw your soul straight through your parted lips.
You could not have stopped the grind of your hips even if you'd wanted to—the need for friction, for closeness, overpowering. Ari drove you steadily, fucking you until you lost track of the room, of the world, of past and future. Only the heat of his hand at your throat, the catch of his thumb on your lip, the push and pull of his body anchored you in time. It was all you wanted—all you were. Even the ache, the overstimulated, torn-open desperation, became another thread in the tapestry of your want. You wanted to be consumed entirely and you were.
You came for him, a softer but no less powerful thing, an intense wave that then froze you in your moment of ecstasy. Ari bared his teeth in delight as he felt it, his cock swelling to impossibility in your cunt. He fucked you through it, relentless, muttering curses and prayers into the damp of your hair, and when he finally lost himself, his cock spasmed and emptied into you in thick, molten pulses that left you gasping and spiked through with afterglow. Every ripple of his orgasm lined up perfectly with the faint aftershocks in your own body, and his arm crushed you to him, his hips rutting helplessly through the last, frantic thrusts.
He sagged against you, his weight a comfort, pinning you in place as if he could hold you together by sheer intent. He stayed there, pressed tight, cock still pulsing inside you, until your breathing had returned to something resembling normal.
Ari nuzzled into your neck, rubbing the sweat away with his beard. He murmured something in a language you didn’t recognize; you didn’t ask for clarification, but tucked it away like a charm. After some time, you realized the other men had arranged themselves in a loose arc around you both.
Ari’s cock never went all the way soft inside you. Even as his breathing calmed, you felt the twitch and throb of him, still hungry. The other men’s bodies told the same story: Lloyd’s hand curled loosely around his own shaft, Curtis’s erection prodding at your calves, Andy’s dick stiff with a slick sheen already leaking from the tip. The air shimmered with the promise of more—Ari had vowed that each of them would fill all your holes by dawn after all. And though there was no impatience, there was anticipation.
The night outside pressed its cold face to the windows, but inside you were wrung out and warmed and wanted, bodies radiating in the small pool of lamplight.
Lloyd was the first to fold you away from Ari. He rolled you onto your stomach with a fluid turn, his hands coaxing your hips high, your face pillowed on Ari’s chest, his arms still heavy around your shoulders. You were so used, so open, that the first slide of Lloyd’s cock was less a shock than a slide into place. He sheathed himself to the hilt in one practiced motion, then gripped your hips and fucked away.
And with that you tumbled into the next explorations of the night. Hands, everywhere: splaying you open, holding your hips aloft, massaging the bruised, tender flesh of your thighs and ass. You were so open now you barely registered any moment of shame.
Any time you faltered, any time you hesitated, one would fill the silence with praise—“Good girl, just like that,” or, “So pretty full of us,” or, “Knew you’d be perfect”—and it startled you, the way those words worked on you, how they kept you wanting to comply, how good it felt when you did, how easily you let them use your body even when your drifted into exhausted bits of sleep.
In the hours that followed, you lost all sense of time except as it was measured by the ache in your body and the way your cunt wept every time you were entered. You let them reposition you as they wished, let yourself be folded open, bent, split, and filled. Sometimes you screamed. Sometimes you simply panted, mouth pressed to pillow or skin, hips high, the entire world reduced to the tender violence of their fucking. Sometimes you softened, head cradled in a stranger’s lap, a palm smoothing sweat from your brow, only to be relished then ruined and used again and again.
No one called you by your name anymore, but by midnight you had ceased to care. You were cunt or Girl or Sweetheart, and you answered to each with a fervor that would have shamed you in any other life. The men kept up their banter, their dark jokes, but always folded you in, always made you feel like the center of some orbit, not just a fuck or a prop in their game. There were rituals to their touch, rhythms to their use, each time more orchestrated, more intense, more exquisitely overwhelming.
In the darkest hour, nearing four, the pace turned inward. Ari lifted you up—quite literally this time—wrapping your legs around his waist, your cunt so loose and wrecked from hours of shifting entry that you sobbed as he bottomed in, bent your head to the hollow of his neck and bit him there, and the way his body shuddered, the way he bit you back, was more intimate than any conversation you’d had in years. You lost yourself in the animal work of it, fucking and biting and kissing until your mouths stung, and by the time he came for the third or maybe the fourth time it spilled out the seams of you, running down your thighs and over your bruised, radiant skin.
They passed you between them, never so much as a pause, and the layers of sensation smeared together in your body’s memory until pleasure and pain and pride and humility were a single, sharp-edged note.
As the grey of dawn unfurled the first of its fingers through the windows, the fucking became more frantic. There was always another mouth to claim your lips, another palm to spread you wider, another cock to fill or to taste.
By the time the sky ghosted into a bluish, reluctant morning, you were sore and emptied and trembling all over, stretched to the limit, pussy and throat and jaw aching with brutal, delicious memory. You’d come too many times to count. Even moments of rest had been no more than long, trembling intakes of breath before you were circled back to the center again, welcomed with both roughness and reverence.
The bedsheets beneath you were hopelessly ruined, all starch and cold pressed out by hours of sweat and come and the frantic displacement of four fully grown men and your own thrashing body. But as the room brightened, you were already dreading the inescapable end, the unwinding. If you looked at the clock—nearly seven?—the number a mockery and threat. The world outside was waking: car tires on wet streets, the far-off thump of a delivery truck, the first hesitant vocalizations of morning birds. With every minute, the spell wore thinner, and you could feel the old life, the normal one, scrabbling at the window to resume its claim on you.
You lay on your back with Ari’s arm a heavy band across your chest, his cock still lazily twitching inside you. As exhausted and wrung out as you were, in desperate need of respite, the dread of never again was seeping through your veins, and it was chilling. The men would put on their shirts, their boots, their public faces. They would make tea or coffee, or check their phones, and you would excuse yourself to the old, cold bathroom down the hall, wash your face, see the rawness in your own eyes and the bruises at your throat, and you would know it was all of it no better than a dream.
You lingered. Against every impulse and the discomfort of your own raw, sliding insides, you stayed there, pressed under Ari with the sore bulge of him still inside you, legs tangled, skin sticky, your own come and theirs painting your thighs. You kept your eyes closed and pretended for a minute longer that if you simply never rose from this bed, the night could last a second lifetime. But the pressure of dawn was inescapable, and inevitably, you felt the slow, ungainly withdrawal of bodies. The men shuffled in exhaustion, piling up in a lazy menagerie across the ruins of the mattress.
A hand—Andy’s, you thought—tucked the duvet over your torso in a half-hearted gesture of modesty. Curtis rolled away to the edge of the bed, then immediately curled back, as if he, too, was resisting the draw of the everyday. Lloyd exhaled a sigh that could have rattled the windows, and then he just lay there, hands folded behind his head, eyes shut in an utter contentment that bordered on the angelic, if angels spent the night with their cock in someone’s throat.
Ari shifted and bit your shoulder, sharp enough to make you hiss and flinch. He soothed the mark with his tongue, then nuzzled his nose along the shell of your ear. “You alive in there?” he said, and the question was not rhetorical. His hand, heavy and broad, petted your cheek, then traced fingers down your collarbone to rest over your heartbeat.
You blinked through the haze, unsure how to answer—if you even needed to. Maybe he saw the uncertainty in your face, or just felt your pulse, because he kept quiet for a moment, merely breathing with you.
Your brain was a slurry of endorphins and exhaustion, your body a patchwork of raw and humming. “I think so,” you managed, but the words felt like they belonged to someone else—a luckier, filthier woman who’d been handed a new life overnight. “I might need a minute to confirm.”
Ari’s arms locked around you. He held you so snugly it knocked the air from your lungs, a squeeze both fond and possessive, and you realized that if you’d wanted to, you could have wept. Instead, you burrowed against him, letting the ache and the pleasure and the aftertaste of the night before fuse together.
Andy and Lloyd had drifted back to a half-doze, but Curtis was off the mattress, padding barefoot across the slats of the ancient, wooden floor. He returned with a cup and set it in your hand—a gesture gently domestic, unaccountably moving. You drank, and Curtis grinned, his rough voice declaring, “Good girl,” on a low rumble that twisted sweetly through your midsection.
In the fresh daylight, the four men looked less mythic and more real, their faces streaked with lines of fatigue, the delicate folds of humanity in the way that you knew too well from your own mirror. They looked like men you could pass in the street, or meet for pints at the pub, or spot drowsing in a train compartment, and you’d never guess what they’d done, or what you’d become for them, or how the memory of it would trail you for the rest of your life.
You needed a shower. God, you needed a shower. There was no way your thighs could touch for the rest of the day without sparking a memory, and the crust of sweat caked in the bends of your arms was starting to itch. But the bed was still warm, your muscles were still so spent the very idea of standing seemed laughable, so you remained curled in a dense little heap with Ari’s arm pressing you to the mattress, even as his cock managed a lazy, teasing twitch against your hip.
You let your head fall back to the pillow. The ceiling was an old, timbered affair, beams turning gray in the morning light. You watched the dust motes for a second, then sighed—an honest, childlike sigh that turned all their heads.
“I don’t want to go,” you said. Your voice was hoarse, your lips roughened by hours of use, but the sentiment was clear.
Ari’s laugh was more of a grunt, a roll of vibration against your back and ribs. “Go?”
Ari rolled you beneath him so swiftly you could only blink, the abruptness of his movement snapping the morning’s spell as he pressed one palm to your chest, the other pinning your hands above your head, holding you flat beneath him. You were too wrung out to fight, your limbs twitching with the aftershock of exhaustion, but it wasn’t the weight or even the heat of his body that held you—it was the change in him, a narrowing of his eyes, and the sudden alteration of the air in the rest of the room that matched, three other pairs of eyes focused at once on you.
“Doesn’t work that way,” he said, voice roughened to a rasp, mouth so close yours felt the drag of air with every consonant. You saw the shift in him: the focus, the hunger, some deeper animal resolve scrimmed behind the mask of revelry. “You think we’re done with you after one night?”
Your heart stuttered in your ribs, not in the pleasant, fluttering way it had when four sets of hands wandered your skin, but an icy, wild plunge, a drop straight through the floor of your own control. The weight of Ari’s palm on your chest became invocation, the press of his cock against your thigh both a warning and a promise.
“We’re not letting you leave,” Andy said, voice gentle, almost matter-of-fact, as he propped himself up on one elbow to watch you from the foot of the bed. There was no threat in it, not exactly, but the certainty was a harness that cinched your lungs tight. “Not until we’ve done everything we want. We said a year and a day, didn’t we?”
The reality you should have recognized hours and hours before of your own true helplessness rolled over you, the fact that you were alone here, no phone within reach, no one on earth who knew where you were without backup, and these four men—these four strangers—had all the time, muscle, and stamina to do absolutely anything they pleased with every inch of you.
Lloyd’s smile was lazier than before, but his words landed with unexpected seriousness. “Old tradition, you know. If the Mari’s crew gets in, the house belongs to us until we finish our business.” He reached across the ruined sheets to trail a knuckle down your throat. “And you’re the house. Our new home.”
You should have been terrified. You shouldn’t have been able to swallow, or breathe, or even blink. But instead the fear—real, sharp fear—collapsed into the same deep, molten well as your desire, mingling so profoundly it was indistinguishable. There was nothing more excruciating, or more perfect, than the absolutely unqualified fact of their power over you. You were outnumbered, outmuscled, and entirely at their mercy, and the way Ari smiled—slow, lazy, predatory—said he’d known this from the first moment you’d caught his eye across the square.
In the microsecond before Ari crushed his mouth to yours, you wondered if this was how it would be, if you’d ever be able to sleep alone again after this—if you’d ever want to. The kiss was a blue-hot slice, a demand and a communion, and you surrendered so completely there was no residue of the woman you’d been before all of this. Just muscle memory and fever, just their touch, their collective will.
They did not let you up from the bed. Ari pinned your wrists, his knees bracketing your hips, his cock somehow harder and more punishing for the hours of use. He took you as if he needed to push the shape of himself into every rib and hollow, and you took it because you had nothing left to lose—because every harsh, beautiful thrust was a note in the song of your own erasure. Lloyd and Curtis and Andy closed in, caging you with their heat and hands, mouths on your tits, your throat and your mouth, filling you with sensation, touch, pleasure, need until you couldn’t orient yourself to the space or time or meaning of anything but the hunger they made of you.
WELP.
HAVE FUN IN YOUR NEW LIFE.
SPOILER: YOU'RE NEVER GOING HOME. At least not your old home...
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a/n: thank you for sending in this prompt, Stormy!! it inspired some fun and filthy smut with grumpy boyfriend Curtis (who might actually be my favorite version of Curtis??). i just have to imagine that he'd be so grumpy about wearing a onesie, even if it's for his girl, but of course, she proves to him how fun it can be 😈 anyway, i hope you enjoy what i came up with—thanks for playing my blizzard bacchanal game ♡
"I look ridiculous."
The growled statement came from your boyfriend, Curtis Everett, who'd just stepped out of the bedroom the two of you shared wearing a red and black buffalo plaid onesie.
It matched the one you wore exactly, but, in your opinion, it suited him much better.
The flannel fabric pulled tight across his broad shoulders, the sleeves hugging his biceps and broad chest so deliciously, you started drooling a little bit. And that was before your gaze trailed down to his thick, tree-trunk thighs that were testing the limits of the pajamas—not to mention the far-too-enticing bulge nestled between his legs.
Somehow, the onesie made him look even bigger and burlier, like the big, handsome beefcake you always knew your man was.
"No, you don't," you said honestly, rising from the couch and padding over. You stopped right in front of Curtis, pressing a hand to his broad, beefy chest and brushing a kiss to his cheek above his beard. "You look hot,” you murmured in his ear, letting your voice go husky with desire.
"No, you look hot," Curtis muttered, grabbing your ass in his big hands and hauling you into his strong arms. "Don't think I didn't notice the flap in the back, doe—you better believe I'll be fucking you bent over on the couch before the night's through."
With a breathy giggle, you pressed your soft curves flush against the hard lines of his body, feeling his cock thicken and grow between you until he was hot and hard against your stomach. Smirking, you rubbed yourself against Curtis shamelessly, feeling his hard length twitch with need.
"Mm, don't threaten me with a good time, bear," you purred before giving him a deep, lingering kiss.
Heat built between the two of you as the kiss went on for a small age. Curtis groaned when he slipped his tongue into your hot mouth, his hands groping your ass shamelessly while you rubbed your body enticingly against his. Already, you were as wet for him as he was hard for you—and you were eager for more.
Before you could decide what exactly you wanted to do with your man, though, Curtis pulled away with a growl of frustration, his pale face flushed pink. He yanked at the collar of his pajamas, swearing. "Jesus, do these things have to be so warm, I feel like 'm suffocating."
His words gave you an idea and you jumped into action, tugging at the zipper beneath his chin. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Oh so slowly, you bared his broad, hairy chest for your hungry eyes. There was so much pale skin and dark hair, so much soft flesh and hard muscle, that you felt your desire dripping down your thighs. But still, you kept going, revealing more and more of your boyfriend’s body.
When you lowered yourself to your knees, Curtis finally seemed to catch on to what you had planned and his eyes darkened, his hands falling to your head. He held you like you were something precious, his fingers brushing reverently over your cheeks and chin as he stared down into your upturned face.
“You had this planned all along, didn’t you, doe?” Curtis teased, his voice low and gruff like an animal’s growl. “Get me all hot ’n bothered, then suck me off so I won’t change out of this fucking onesie.”
You tugged his zipper the rest of the way down, then reached inside the warm flannel to pull out his thick cock. He was already leaking precum and you ducked your head forward to lick it up like it was a dripping ice cream cone, reveling in the low groan Curtis let out.
"Maybe," you teased right back, pressing a kiss to the underside of his hard length and closing your eyes as you breathed him in. You loved the smell of him, warm and musky and all Curtis. When you opened your eyes again, they were glassy and unfocused as you looked up at your man. "Is it working?"
“Fuck, better than it should be," Curtis confessed, his head hanging low and his eyes going impossibly dark as he watched you press kisses all over his cock. “Jesus, just look at you, doe, so pretty on your knees for me.” His fingers shook slightly as he stroked your cheeks affectionately, making you smile.
For the moment, Curtis was content to leave you to your own devices. He simply watched you with that dark, hungry gaze of his while you worshipped his cock with your lips and tongue, getting him nice and wet with your spit and kisses.
His sounds of pleasure were music to your ears, and you were eager for more, so you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock and took him into the tight heat of your mouth. Curtis moaned, low in his throat, his fingers flexing against the sides of your face as he fought to let you remain in control.
You worked his cock deep into you throat, bobbing on the shaft and taking him just a little bit more with every inhale. After a few moments of this, your nose finally brushed the hair at the base of Curtis’s cock, and the edges of your mouth curved upward in a pleased smile.
Looking up at your man, you found Curtis nearly undone above you, chest heaving with heavy breaths, his eyes dark with a feral kind of lust. His handsome face was twisted into an expression of pure desire, and you felt his fingers tremble that much harder against your cheeks as he kept his control on a tight leash.
But you were ready for that tether to snap. You wanted your bear of a man to let loose and take what he needed from your mouth, so you braced your hands on his thick thighs and peered up at him with wide eyes. Then you hummed, the vibrations of your throat making Curtis’s cock twitch violently in your mouth.
“Fuck,” he cursed viciously. "Want me to fuck that pretty throat, doe?" he rumbled, brushing a tear from your cheek that had fallen from the corner of your eye.
Even though he was practically shaking with need, Curtis waited until you nodded your head as best you could before he finally gave in to the beast inside him.
In a split second, Curtis grabbed your head in a firm grip, bracing you between his hands while he pulled his hips back, until only the tip of his cock remained on your tongue. Then he shunted forward, burying his thick cock back in your throat with one brutal thrust, his balls slapping against your chin, which was already coated in drool.
“That’s it, fucking take it, doe. Take my cock deep in that tight throat,” Curtis growled, pounding into your mouth with a ruthless strength, making you gag as tears streamed down your cheeks. “Choke on it, baby, choke on my fat cock.”
Since he had such a good grip on your head, there was nothing for you to do but take his cock as he skull-fucked you—and you fucking loved it. You knew you that if you pinched his thigh, he would’ve stopped immediately, but you were happy right where you were.
There was something so glorious about seing Curtis Everett completely unleashed.
It made your own slick desire drip from your cunt, and you moaned around Curtis’s pounding cock, drawing a grunt from the big man, who fucked your mouth harder.
“You’re so pretty crying on my cock, doe, y’know that?” he cooed down at you, his voice a deliciously patronizing growl as he rubbed your tears and spit into your skin. “Such a pretty, slutty little mess.”
You moaned, long and low, around Curtis’s thick cock, and he rumbled a pleased sound low in his chest. It felt so good to let him use you that your hips began rocking, humping the open air between your spread thighs, trying desperately to rub your clit on the seam of the pajamas with no luck.
“Shit, fuck,” Curtis cursed, catching what you were doing at his feet, his eyes growing sharp and intent on your body as his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Your throat feels good, doe, but do you know what I really want?”
A second later, Curtis pulled his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, and then he was hauling you up from your knees and tossing you onto the couch.
You bounced once, gurgling a gasp as you tried to catch your breath, your head hazy with pleasure, before Curtis was grabbing your hips and flipping you over onto your hands and knees. Your cheek pressed against the couch cushions while he ripped open the flap covering your bare ass.
Without anymore warning, Curtis shoved the full length of his cock into your needy, dripping cunt, and you pressed your face into the cushions and screamed your pleasure. The stretch of his girth in your tight hole, the hot, heavy weight of him inside your slick hole—it was glorious.
"Fuuuuck, that's good,” Curtis groaned, pulling his hips back and slamming forward, wrenching another cry from your parted lips.
You turned your face to the side, panting with pleasure as he began to ramp up his thrusts, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass filling the room.
"Sooo good," you agreed in a slurred, blissed out voice.
You were right where you wanted to be, ass up and head down, your cheek pressed against the couch cushions so you could watch over your shoulder as your man rutted into you like a beast.
His teeth bared in a feral grin, Curtis curled his big body around yours, his chest to your back, and wrapped his hand around your throat, tucking your head against his shoulder. Then he set a brutal pace, fucking you hard and fast, his hips clapping against your ass in a cacophony of pleasure.
It wasn’t long before you right on the precipice of your release, your entire body wound tight, only needing another little push to send you crashing over the edge.
"Cum on my cock, doe, give it to me,” Curtis growled in your ear, choking you with his big hand. “I want to feel you cumming all over my dick before I fill you up." His other hand slipped between your thighs and rubbed your clit over your matching pajamas. "Fucking cum for me."
The dam of your pleasure burst and you came with a choked scream, pleasure crashing over your body violently, making you shudder and shake and weep in his arms. It was all you could do to cling to your man as you weathered the storm of ecstasy as you came.
Curtis followed you over the edge a moment later, pumping you full of his cum while your pussy sucked him deeper, milking him dry. He fucked you through your releases, brushing sweet kisses to your cheeks, his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle softly, your throat feeling raw and ravaged.
Once both of you were spent, Curtis gently pulled free from your body and closed the flap of your pajamas, ducking down to press a kiss to the base of your spine—a promise of another round later in the evening. Then he tucked his cock away and zipped himself up to his belly.
Your legs were still shaking when Curtis pulled you into his lap and cuddled you tight, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You threaded your fingers through his beard and held him close, kissing your man until your lungs were aching for air.
“Told you matching pajamas would be fun, bear,” you murmured huskily when you finally pulled away, looking up into Curtis’s handsome face with a pleased smile on your lips.
Curtis Everett had the grace to admit when you were right, and he nodded solemnly. “I’ll wear matching pajamas any time you want, doe,” he promised, stealing a quick kiss before he tucked your head under his chin and held you tight. “Especially if it always ends like this.”
thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡
