Tags: Armpit Kink, Scent Kink, Ruined Orgasm, Oral Sex, Body Worship, Role Reversal, Licking, Switching, Naked Woman Clothed Man
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“Gee, chuckles,” crossed his arms, foot hooked onto the opposite ankle, “I thought you liked me or something.”
“I like not being drenched in sweat more.”
“I’ll make you sweat all over again, anyway,” Cam said, stretching the hem of your tank top.
God, but it pissed you off when he got presumptive. “You want me smelling nasty the whole time?”
Looking down at you, Cam bit his lip. “You smell good to me. Like fuckin’ flowers and vanilla.”
“You are a gross little man,” unknowingly balling up your fists in that way he thought was sooooo cute, when you got testy and he knew a real explosion was coming — you could tell because it made him hard, having come to associate the minutest beginnings of your wrath with an angry pounding, “And… and I can shower whenever I want, actually. As soon as I take these,” being your dateviators, “off.”
“Okay, so why don’t you do that instead of harassing me?”
Good fuckin’ question. So good it threw you into a micro-crisis about your life choices up to now. Did the behaviour of a hot, greasy man who was literally trapped in your home really affect you so terribly? “Like, I’m sorry for respecting your autonomy,” you tried, so, so aware that Cam simply wasn’t buying it. “I thought you wanted me to talk to you as a person instead of a sex object.” Something he’d only ever said once moments before he came deep in you, enduring a mean wave of post-nut clarity.
“Get your ass up on the counter already,” he huffed, closing in on you.
It was so much easier to obey than to stoop any closer to his antagonistic level. Your shorts fell into a hunk of useless fabric on the floor, followed by your top, followed by Cam’s jacket, baring broad shoulders you liked to hang on to when things got overstimulating. He placed one thumb under each of your breasts, implanting his face into the space between them with a long inhale.
Never one to drag out the fun with such tedium as kissing, this one — as if to emphasise his earlier statement, he shifted gradually to the right, with eyes closed so serenely he may well have been in deep slumber, sinking into the space where ribs met arm crease, his tongue flicking ticklishly at your flesh as he eased that same arm over his shoulder.
Nude and more miserably horny by the second, you mashed your legs around Cam’s waist tight enough that he had no choice but to pay attention — to no avail, it seemed, with him wedging his nose into your underarm, lapping up the drops of perspiration clinging in the miniscule space. Hot breath joined it against your skin, alongside hypnotic whisper-moans that had you burning up as if to compensate for his shamelessness.
Wet, inquisitive licks and jarring prickles of teeth and a pulling at the unshaved hairs growing from your armpits and Cam’s right hand traced winding pathways up your side while his other hand got down to the real work: Finger at your clit, finger at its hood, meeting in the middle with a hard, obliging pinch as if to apologise for having dared to keep you waiting. With a gasp, you angled your leg up for better access, amplifying the sensation just that little bit, though his tongue was a real damn expedient, invading all your tangy crevices. Tugging his hair, you pulled Cam from his submerged state, demanding “what the fuck are you doing?” even though, conversely, no explanation was needed.
“Flowers and vanilla, chuckles. God, I’m getting fuckin’ lightheaded.”
Neither of you acknowledged how your thighs clenched at that — such a strange compliment, but from Cam it felt like the world. “Looks to me like you’re sticking that tongue in all the wrong places.”
Creased brows, but nothing like the truly pissed expression that typically decorated his pretty face. “Demanding much?”
Would it be so terrible if you were demanding, considering how lazily he kneaded your clit, how he retaliated against your attempt to get his palm in on the action with hip-thrusts that served no one? Cam must have seen the error of his ways, what with his teeth grating tender spots — you, flinching, surprised little breaths punched out of your throat — all the way down between your thighs.
Except that he didn’t stick his nose where it belonged, no. Kneeling low and awkward, he hung your left leg over his shoulder the same way he had with your arm, and you knew what was coming before it occurred, Cam’s stubble prickly as a cactus in the space behind your knee. It hadn’t sweat half as much as your upper body, but Cam had a canine’s sense of smell, inhaling like you were a bouquet.
Smarting little nips kept you from growing bored with anticipation; Cam spread your vagina’s lips with the same two fingers that’d touched you far too briefly a minute ago, tracing its interior like he'd never touched you before. Your clit pulsed insistently for a few seconds too long, seconds you cut short with an annoyed grab at Cam's wrist. Amber eyes peered up from below, glittering but with a surprised expression that implied he'd honestly forgotten why you were here. Without a word, he slid you to the very edge of the counter — a rug-burn-like sensation tugging at your ass —, stuck his tongue against your clit and, with tightly shut eyelids aflutter, dragged a long, wet strip from bottom to top. Your shrill howl only encouraged him further, hot exhales and indistinct little whispers billowing against the insides of your thighs.
You could tell Cam was still taking in the smell of your skin, what with his wide nostrils flaring like a determined bloodhound’s. One of his hands — the other busy stroking that protruding bit of ankle on your left leg, sort of a feathery ticklish feeling you found too comforting to wriggle out of — interlaced with yours, squeezing, a strangely soothing pressure that made you feel warm and incredibly, thrillingly close, whimpering his name down deep in the depths of your throat; he was your saving grace, his pretty iridescent eyes boring into your soul, provider of purest pleasure, a–
“What,” so thoroughly astonished as to yank a fistful of sandy mane, “the actual fuck?!”
Cam wasn’t miffed any; pleased, in fact. “Do me a favour, babe: Hold out your arms. Like that,” he looked you all the way down, special attention to your ‘pits before rifling about in his neglected jacket. “Attagirl. If only you listened to me this well when you weren’t horny…”
Why did you listen to this passive-aggressive fucker, or let him bind your wrists, for that matter? Your arms — Cam had lifted them above your head, had supported you back to your prone descent — hurt, all the skin twisted and cold.
Reinstalled to his rightful place between your legs, he inhaled extra loud as if to piss you off further, teasing your clit with the tip of his pink tongue. Joke was on him — the hot air soothed your throbbing something nice, something delicious, something pussy-clenching.
“God,” Cam whispered, likely thinking you were too deep in his throes to have heard, “your pussy smells like hea-ven.”
“It helps that I’ve been wearing the same underwear for three days.”
His amber eyes met yours, divided from the rest of his face by your bush. It looked silly, like bad facial hair, but he’d have had a real swipe at you if you said anything. Suddenly, Cam clapped your legs shut and, like a siren from the depths, rose to rest his chin on your thighs. “Do you mean that, baby?”
“I–” he’d like that, wouldn’t he? You hoped your shaking legs didn’t give away how desperate, how self-conscious you felt, fixed under his ogling, “You’re sticking your face in it. Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
And in two shakes, it all turned leering. “The fact is, babe,” he folded his arms atop your legs, made himself nice and comfortable and thoroughly enjoying your attempt to fight him only for the ties to keep you in place, “I can tell when you’ve let it stew down there for a while. All I wanna know is how long and we can get back to business.”
That cocky voice couldn’t cover up shit. At an angle you saw the tent shine through taut plastic, wondering most of all if it could be torn through. Corny unless he was making you edge him on purpose — maybe that was his approach. It was unlike Cam to deny himself pleasure, but he was full of surprises. Greasy, debauched surprises.
“You know my body inside and out by now. It’s on you if you can’t tell.”
“Was it really three days?”
His stubble scratched you uncomfortably, only reminding you further that you were trapped and fucking losing it and he’d had the audacity to stop eating you out, the bastard, and you kicked him lightly in the chest and groaned could he fucking talk about this later, God.
Put a smile on him, if it achieved anything at all. “Is this why you haven’t been taking care’a your pussy? Huh? You wanted to attract me with your pheromones, spicy?” But he obeyed, at long fucking last; his hot, hot tongue slipped deep inside you, moulding itself to your shape, then descended newly lubricated to glide like a swan over your sensitive clit. Far better than all that straight licking he’d performed earlier, though Cam was never bad at pleasuring you, really — it wasn’t in him not to put in the effort. In return, you plowed your pussy into his nose, full of vigour and a signature raunchy frustration that only occurred around him.
He was still inhaling you. Whimpering into your flesh while you sobbed his name, ever more pained the deeper you arched towards the ceiling with your skull aching on the marble countertop — whole lot of nothing with Cam sucking the smack-dab center of your clit, fingers playing mindlessly with your folds. Fireworks spiralled on the blank ceiling before you. You fought your bondage as if it’d shake off the impending overwhelm, strangled Cam’s face in your plush thighs the entire time it pummeled you, and you shuddered, and you writhed, and Cam drank down your cum like everything else your spasmodic body threw at him.
You kept your eyes shut tight all the spectacular way through; only the irritating ruffle of plastic woke you from your post-orgasmic languor. Panting against your groin, one of Cam’s hands had vanished mysteriously below the counter. He was a precious, desperate sight, but you nudged him with your foot — “untie me.”
“Gimme a sec, baby,” he sighed; you nudged him again before his ceaseless pumping could turn you on all over again.
Awaiting freedom, you stretched. Rubbed your sore scalp indignantly and your sore neck even more so. That shower you’d hoped for — hot, massaging steam, Johnny’s croon — lie feet away, except that Cam wasn’t getting the fuck off of you. “Hey,” you insisted as he nuzzled into your calves like a worshipper, “lemme go, Cam. You don’t need me around to jerk off.”
But when he pulled back, you found a tear dribbling down his cut jaw.
“Are you… okay?”
“All good, chuckles. It’ll stop hurting soon.”
“What hurts?”
You both looked down in lieu of an answer. Underneath those layers, you could only imagine how red his dick must have been; pulsing, weeping precum like it’d never experience that sweet, sweet peak.
His silence-breaker hardly rose above the moment; there was shame in it, and sheepishness: “You didn’t tell me how long,” so thoroughly out-of-character that you believed something grave must have occurred in your time together.
“I said three days.”
One hundred percent true, if it mattered any — Dirk would back you up. Other objects kept you swamped with errands between all the banging.
“You mean it?”
“Yes, Cameron. Get off me already. Damn.”
“You smell so good, babe. It’s all I’m gonna think about for a while.”
“Awesome.” You gave him a conciliatory kiss on the cheek, invigorated by the sudden power swap even if you weren’t sticking around to enjoy it, “Tell me about it next time, okay? Quit acting all weird and pathetic.”
Interest affected Cam’s expression, but a brand-new downtrodden variety only a brow’s-crease divorced from his ‘offended’ face. Inelegant of posture, he jumped back to the task of licking you, whispering something that erupted blooming red all over his face.
“What’s that?”
“Fuck’s sake, chuckles,” louder this time, “tell me about it. If you think I’m so pathetic.”
“What– I don’t want to–”
“Baby, please. I’m asking you to.”
Rather an abrupt turn of events, but you’d work with it. All those times he’d snapped at you for insulting him only to beg for it now that his dick was on the line. Huh. “Well,” you pondered just long enough to earn a pleading, anticipatory whine, “if you’re going to lap up my sweat like a dog afraid of being whipped, you may as well do it right. You’ve completely overlooked the boob sweat.” Bristled, arched spine; Cam dove right for your nipple (typical man, not to know where boob sweat came from), filling the open kitchen space with his slippery tongue's noises like a spongy symphony. “Mm, good effort, but I meant underneath them. Come on, Cameron, you’re smarter than that when you really try to be.”
Given that every part of you had been licked clean, not many directions sprung to mind. You improvised where you could with mean smirks, with judgemental head shakes and exasperated sighs until enough really was enough. “Cam.”
He straightened up lightning-quick (like he really was a dog, obedient, adoring).
“You’ve done an acceptable job cleaning me up. Now get on your knees and eat me out some more.”
“I can’t reach the counter on my knees, ma’am.” A smile played at the corner of his pasty lips.
Thought he could drop the ‘submissive manwhore’ act just like that, huh? If you didn’t need to get off so bad, you’d have remained in character. Kicked him into the wall. But “Man,” you groaned, “just do it. You made me do all of this so you could get off. Give me something in return.”
“If we’re being technical, you awakened me with your dumb glasses so you could get off, but,” he shrugged, “whatever.”
Frankly, the sticky plastic holding your wrists together was a nice touch when utilised properly. So restrained, your legs were your only weapon, and by God, did you use ‘em. Cam looked good in the confined frame of your thighs, squishing his ears red. Veins appeared at his temples — he wasn’t inhaling enough oxygen, all absorbed in the musk of your pussy, and you could do nothing but enjoy the treacly overwhelm, forced as you were to take it. Something about earlier had taken just enough out of you that your formerly glass-shattering cries dwindled to hungrily calling Cam’s name. Really, half the fun was grab-ability — manoeuvring him deeper, wads of hair, crinkling plastic, stubble — a fucking sensory feast you decided was the ticket right on time to release a long volume of ejaculate on Cam’s chin. He opened his mouth wide for it, good boy that he was, and licked his lips, and swirled it around all dissolute on his tongue.
“Your cum tastes a lot better when you’ve worked up a sweat, chuckles. Do this more often and I’ll never keep my hands off of you.”
“I’ll, uh,” you breathed in musky air, “I’ll just tie you up like you did to me.”
No clue what he was doing; you’d said it with an implied “now untie me” buried underneath, but rather than tackling it from behind, Cam hooked his own chin over your shoulder. Silence hovered around you for what could’ve been seconds or minutes. You feared to disturb his moment too greatly to hug your arms around him as felt the correct move.
Eventually, making like it was the plan all along, Cam got to fiddling with your makeshift cuffs. “I wouldn’t stop you, you know? As long as you work on your dominatrix skills.”
“Hey,” you nudged him with a knee, “I’m much better at that when I know in advance. It’s hard to dominate when you can’t pull anyone’s hair, or, like,” holding Cam’s angular chin, you snapped his head domineeringly to face you, “force stuff around.”
“Starting to get it, babe. I was gonna suggest taking lessons from Sophia, but…”
“No buts, bitch. Go sit in the corner.”
Aw, and he really was flustered. “Shut up. Geez. You can shower now, or whatever...” Cam scratched the back of his neck all moody, bottom lip between blunt incisors like it really was disappointing, “Just don’t forget about me next time you hit the gym, y’know?” and left you, dateviators flicked atop your hair, with a half-assed engulfing of his lips around your own.
