Can you please make a drabble with Sehun x fem reader where sehun is blindfolded. Please can you also include thigh riding done by the reader and multiple orgasms. Feel free to ignore if you are not interested in it. 😊
I totally never write dom!Reader, but you totally got me with the blindfolded Sehunie imaginery. It's not really descriptive because I wanted to keep it short, but I tried to at least somewhat include all that you asked for. Enjoy!
Sehun x Reader // WC: 0.5k // G: Smut, bratty sub!Sehun // SW: brat taming, blindfolds, dry humping, overstimulation
You knew how much he liked to test your limits. He’d done it countless of times before – the little brat just never shut up when asked to, and no matter how much you punished him, it always felt like you were feeding exactly into what he liked.
And even now, tied with his arms behind his back and his eyes covered with a blindfold, he looked as smug as ever, a small smirk in the corner of his lip as if he still had the upper hand over you. In a way, he did.
Luckily for you, you knew how to make him regret this attitude.
You straddled his lap, taking all the time in the world to run your fingers down his neck and torso, his dress shirt already undone enough. You were tempted to leave some marks all over the exposed skin, but that was for another time – now, you stuck to leaving kisses that were nothing but pleasurable, and Sehun’s smile widened as if he just won a lottery, before he let out a moan when you nibbled on his neck.
You caught him biting on his lip and you could just tell what he was thinking. That if this was supposed to be a punishment, he didn’t mind misbehaving.
Unluckily for him, you knew well enough how punishments work.
You ground against him slowly, moaning into his ear. You felt him twitch underneath you, his own moan followed. You pulled him out of his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his length. He relaxed under your touch, letting the pleasure swallow him up. He didn’t think twice, letting himself harden in your grip, letting his hips buckle into you to chase it. It’s so easy, he must have thought. It’s so nice. It’s a reward, really.
“Hey, Sehunie” you purred into his ear and he hummed. “Since you wanted my attention so badly, I thought you won’t mind if I give you all I have, hm?”
His smile faltered ever so slightly, but he remained somewhat relaxed and pleased with himself, up until the moment he finally came all over your hand and his own stomach, panting and whimpering in delight.
It was only when your touch didn’t cease and you kept pumping his length, did he realize what exactly you meant. His moans turned into whimpers as he tried to angle his hips away from you. Fruitlessly, really.
And when your hand got tired after some time and you pulled out a vibrator, securing it to his member, aching already from all the overstimulation; only then, did you notice the smirk fully disappeared from his face.
The sounds that followed were much more your type. Desperate, pained whimpers filled the room, and the cockiness was nowhere to be found.
You wondered if it would teach him a lesson; if, in the end, your Sehunie would finally learn how to be obedient and not to talk back. If the memory of hours long torment would be enough to stop him from being a brat for once.
You had a feeling, unfortunately, that he was a lost case. But if you could break him like that in return over and over again, you didn’t even mind.
“you’re dripping all over my fingers already.” + “no one else gets to see you like this. no one.”
…with EXO Lay plss 🙈🫦
Hi love! I found out that fitting two prompts in a blurb is a bit of a challenge, so I only did the first one. Feel free to request more, though!
Lay x Reader // WC: 0.5k // G: Smut // TW: none // SW: semi-public (car) sex, sex with stranger, fingering
You were just a bit weak for the handsome man in a suit that was sitting a few stools away from you in the night club. Just a little – his fashion sense caught your eye, the bold red of his attire standing out in the crowd – but that was about it. But maybe – just maybe – when he smiled at the bartender, the dimples on his face simply made you swoon.
The smile was warm and innocent; something you would expect from a man who had not committed a sin in his entire life. It was pure, gentle, not matching the alcoholic and borderline obscure atmosphere of the club itself. In fact, you thought, it didn’t even match that bold choice of a suit, and that should have been the first sign that not all things are as they seem.
Yet, you decided to disregard these signs, and that’s how you found yourself in the dimpled stranger’s car, sitting in his lap with your back pressed against his chest and your legs spread by his thighs pushed in between, with his fingers taking you apart and his lips whispering sweet nothings into your ear, and – gods – did these dimples deceive you. The man himself was made of sin.
Your back arched off his chest when his fingers hit that particular spot inside of you, and his other hand gently wrapped around your neck, not squeezing but holding you against him tightly. You let out a loud moan.
“What’s that?” he teased, a hint of smile in his voice. “You’re dripping all over my fingers already.”
“B-because…”
“Hm? Tell me, baby, does it feel that good?”
The innocence in his voice, contrasting with his touch, gave you a whiplash, and you swore you couldn’t give a reply even if you tried. You opened your mouth and took a breath to speak, but his thumb pressed against your clit, turning your voice into a strangled whimper.
That feigned innocence didn’t disappear; not when he kept playing with you, not when he kept whispering into your ear, not when his hand held you pressed against him as if you could even think of fleeing, and not when he finally brought you over the edge, his voice soothing you as the reality slipped away, lips pressed into your temple, coaxing you into that sweet state of undoing.
Some time later, when your breath finally calmed down and your heartbeat somewhat returned to normal, you found yourself sitting sideways instead, with your fingers tracing the exposed skin of his chest as he let you come down and rest off your high.
“You’re the devil” you murmured.
He smiled and his precious dimples came into your sight again, but this time you absolutely didn’t believe them.
“Does it matter if I can make it feel like heaven?”
Warnings: s*xual content, verbal degradation, low-key exh*bitionism, power play.
Author’s note: The story is, mostly, PwP, however I hope you enjoy it~!
Knock, knock, knock.
Three knocks of a perfect volume and an interval in between, followed by silence. The sequence ends with a quiet “come in” – quiet only because you’re on the other side of the door; the voice itself is confident, almost harsh.
You take a deep breath and open the door. You don’t feel too nervous – only to an extent to which you know you should be; only to an extent to which he expects you to fear him, whether in these particular circumstances or on a daily basis.
You close the door behind yourself and stand in the entry, eyes downcast. You briefly spotted him sitting at the desk in the center of the room, before you acknowledged that, just as his own gaze is down in his own documents that he’s analyzing right now, you also ought not to stare without his approval.
However, you can’t help stealing small glances at the way he looks with his glasses on. You rarely see him wear these; he wears them when working and it’s a rare thing for him to allow anyone to intrude when he’s on the job.
Whether it’s as his employee or as his lover – no matter how ethical or not it would be, for it’s a family business, and no one can tell him what to do – you always do your best to not disappoint him. The company is big, but the highest floor is reserved only for his closest circle, including his friends who have co-owned and managed the company for years, and you. Outside of the building, you may allow yourself to take a break, drink, and do all the things that friends usually do. Here, on the other hand, you ought to obey the other’s decisions and stay moderately distanced, and although he’s a compassionate leader, you know that your employment greatly depends on your actual performance, not your relationship. He made it clear when he hired you; he wants you as his lover, but as his worker – you need to prove your worth.
So you end up standing there, at the door, with your hands folded neatly in front of yourself, waiting with feigned patience for the other to finally acknowledge your presence, as any employee would when called over by their superior.
And eventually, he does notice you. His eyes lift up, piercing through you, before you even register that shuffling of paper has finally ceased and you feel consequently brave enough to check the reason. The stare intimidates you and you quickly look back down.
“Why did I call you over?” He beckons.
It sounds like a silly question, and you really wish it was. You wish for your answer to be simple and oblivious, you wish that “I don’t know” was an option. You open your mouth, but the reply just won’t come – all you feel is shame, and you wish to erase the probable issue at hand from your existence; you know what he summoned you here for, even if neither of you say it. You really failed. Not at work, at least. But it didn’t seem to be an issue for him to use his power to call you out.
“Well?”
“I-I…” you start.
“Look at me when you talk to me.”
You wish it was the case that you had enough strength to actually speak. You look up nonetheless, your hair barely hiding you from his gaze. His face is stern, no emotion written there, only a small scowl at your apparent misdemeanor.
“You’ve got nothing to say now, do you?” His tone raises a bit higher, a bit louder, not startling you but sending an unpleasant tingle down your spine. He doesn’t wait for you to answer this time. “No, you don’t. The frisky bitch had a whole lot to say when she talked to my friends behind my back, and now suddenly she’s all but wordy. That’s rich.”
Once he finally says it out loud, the whole heaviness on your shoulders falls to the ground. It’s as if there were figurative thick chains that were previously wrapped around you, dangling heavily around your neck, which finally lift, and even though you don’t need to carry them anymore, you still feel pulled down and prevented from moving on. But it’s true. He knows what happened: you showed your weakness. A bit drunk, a bit emotional, a few thoughtless comments spilled out.
“Get on the couch. Undress.”
You neither question nor hesitate; you know you’re in absolutely no place to do that. You take the pants off before sitting down and folding them nicely on the floor, and then off goes your shirt. Your movements begin to slow down, but only for a short moment. You glance up – he’s not concerned with you anymore, but you know that he won’t take it well if you don’t hurry. The underwear goes off as well, then. Everything is folded, by your hand, nicely by the couch which you sit on naked, covering your intimate parts with your hands, eyes downcast to stop yourself from looking at him every few seconds to check his reaction. Because there’s no reaction to check.
“Lay down. Back.”
He doesn’t say too much, only what’s absolutely necessary, short commands reminiscent of what would be said to a dog – and you do feel like one. You lay on your back on the couch as told to. The piece of furniture is at the side of the room and he didn’t specify if you should lay in the direction of the door or face him. Manners tell you to arrange yourself so that when you raise your head, you’ll see him more easily – although you’re not so sure if it’s truly due to manners or just a practical choice.
“Masturbate.”
The word sounds emotionless, rolling off his tongue. It’s not a “touch yourself”, it’s not a “please yourself”, there’s no frills to it. The command is simple, the word – embarrassing without any sexual overtone to it. You feel awkward. But you know you’re to comply. It’s nothing out of the ordinary; only a bit more unusual and shameful, but nothing that he wouldn’t have asked of you earlier after all. It’s a command you can comply with easily.
And that’s exactly why you’re worried. The command is too easy for it to be all.
You can’t get yourself to relax, or to feel nice. Nerves nipping at you prevent you from indulging in the sensation that would have been so nice otherwise. You become frustrated; what’s wrong? He’s there, and he’s your biggest turn-on. But you just can’t get wet when you’re this stressed. Your fingers rub the dry surface, trying to get it to release at least a bit of moisture to ease the discomfort, but you can’t even count on that. At least, after a few minutes, the sensation itself becomes bearable and you can focus on it, totally aware that the man is ignoring your efforts regardless. He’s back to his documents, reports and forecasts that have little to do with your person. How is he managing to focus on them when you’re naked a few meters away? – you’ve got no clue.
Knock, knock, knock.
You panic and sit up. Your gaze goes straight to the man sitting there, not your lover in this setting, but he doesn’t reciprocate the glance, although he does look up – in the door’s direction.
“Come in.” He states simply.
You feel a pang of jealousy at the gentle, friendly tone that he uses, nothing like how he spoke to you earlier. But the thought rapidly disappears when a more urgent issue arises.
The door opens and you quickly sit up to cover yourself – but no command is spoken. You might expect him to tell you to lay back down and continue; you know just how twisted he is. But he doesn’t, nor does he tell you to leave; the permission to do so is not granted and you’re stuck in between all these circumstances, without a single idea as to what to do.
A familiar silhouette appears in the doorway, a man in a suit smiling softly.
“I’ve got your documents, you got mine?”
“Ah, Myeon, sure.”
He comes in. Whether he doesn’t notice you or it doesn’t even phase him to see such a thing at this point – you have honestly no clue. But he passes by the couch, not even sparing you a glance, although you can tell he’s careful not to step on your clothes. He delivers the documents to Chanyeol, who stands up to receive them out of courtesy. They exchange a few polite comments, a few smiles, signs of respect that you know you’re not about to experience anytime soon.
Your nerves slowly settle down, but you’re still just as confused as earlier. None of this makes any sense – was it planned ahead? Was it a scheme to embarrass you? Unbelievable.
Junmyeon leaves, but you’re, in turn, left unable to go back to your previous act. You stare at the man sitting at the desk, expecting an explanation that never comes.
“Chanyeol-ssi…?”
The title sounds foreign on your tongue – it always does – but you say it nonetheless.
He finally spares you a glance. His eyebrows raise in contempt, a quiet disdain at your foolishness. He waits for you to speak, to form a question.
“Chanyeol-ssi, what should I do…?”
He rests chin on his palm, staring at you with an almost bored expression.
“That must be so confusing to you, right?” You hesitate, but nod. He licks his lips, not hurrying the words that are about to come. “To not know what other people are up to. Confusing. Maybe even saddening.” You feel even more shame now, realizing how much you underestimated your own wrongdoings. “Communication is the key after all.”
“I’m sorry…” you whimper. You want it to sound sincere, but it turns out to be nothing but pathetic, even to your own ears. What can you do? – it’s too late to take that back. You never meant any harm, but it doesn’t mean you didn’t cause any. “I’m really sorry…”
“I started doubting you, you know?” He doesn’t let you speak now, and you try to be grateful, because it means you don’t need to take the responsibility for the conversation upon yourself. “How can I trust someone who acts disrespectfully as soon as I’m not around?”
“It wasn’t like this, I swear…”
“I know how it was. I saw it. But you’re lucky.”
He stands up from his seat. You cower under his gaze as he approaches you and stares you down, but his tone of voice now seems as though things won’t end badly after all. You feel a simple need to endure whatever is to come.
“You’re lucky because I know that, with how stupid you are, you wouldn’t survive a day without my guidance. Look at you now. It was enough that I didn’t look at you for a minute and you’ve already made a fool out of yourself.”
He grabs your face and pushes you back down onto the couch, kicking your legs so you get the cue to get back into your previous position.
“I never told you to stop. Keep going,” he barks.
Your hands tremble as you reach down again; maybe the trembling will help you accomplish the task, you think bitterly.
He crouches down at your side, one hand reaching behind your head and holding the couch’s armrest there, ensnaring you in. He watches your movements with unreadable expressions, even as you glance up and stare at him intensely, granted a perfect perspective to view his jaw and the close proximity allowing you to see the texture of his skin and hair, and, God – the smell of his perfume. He’s close. You missed him so close. You don’t dare to reach to him, though you crave him hopelessly. But it’s enough – it starts to feel good. Fuck, just having him so close feels good. What else could you want?
“You’re so fucking horny. Are you seriously getting off because I scolded you? You perv.” You hear his breathy laugh. You want to argue, which seems so immoral, but the way his words turn you on even more make you realize he’s nothing but right and that he knows you just too well at this point. It’s not like he didn’t know such a reaction would come from you, but calling you out on it just stirs your mind further, messes with your emotions, rids you off any defense you ever had against him. It’s not like you needed such defense anyway. “Whore.”
You nod fast in response, agreeing to every single thing; you don’t dare to do anything but what he tells you to, but you still want to let him know that you’re active and fervent, and that you hear his words and take them in with gratitude.
“Say that. Say what you are.”
His lips twist into a grin as you moan out loud before you manage to say a single word. You fight to catch your breath as your wrist starts to ache and your fingers begin to lock.
“I-I… W-whore…”
The hand holding the armrest grabs your hair instead, pulling your head up roughly and forcing you to look at him, his eyes on fire as if he were a madman now. The other hand, before you can see it happening, presses into yours, maneuvers your fingers around your clit harder and faster than you alone are capable of.
With a loud scream, your pleasure unravels and your back arches off the couch, hands flying around and grasping onto whatever there is, yet – head held tightly in place, scalp burning, eyes not leaving his even for a second until slowly, slowly, everything comes back down and stills.
He spits in your face.
You accept it with gratitude.
“Know your place.”
Your hair is released, your emotions fall down. His hand rests upon your forehead, stroking it gently as you lie there, breathing heavily. A gentle kiss to your lips follows, however short, but it’s enough to set you at peace, and you just know that there’s no better place for you than the one you’re in right now.
Warnings: explicit sexual themes, teacher x student relationship, DD/lg & BDSM (breath play)
“Does this turn you on?”
And you’d be lying if you said that it doesn’t. The man’s grip on your hips was lethal, the tenderness you’ve grown used to – nowhere in sight. He held you tightly, pressed against his desk, your own paperwork right in front of you, yet so meaningless now.
How long ago had it started – you couldn’t tell. Yet, after all this time, you grew used to the way he could make you feel humiliated and appreciated at the same time, or to how good it felt to be the only one he felt about this way, among so many clueless students around.
And you’d be lying if you said there’s no strings attached. His interest in you was fairly sincere, so were the first few meetings when you were nothing but curious about each other. Yet, it was all in the past. Right now, while bending you over his desk, none of his careful demeanor was left. He was usually gentle and considerate, yet he knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid of showing it to you. You briefly thought that maybe the feeling of dominance was the exact reason he chose this job among many others.
His fingers tangled in your hair and pushed your head down, against the unwelcoming surface of his desk. You could only whimper pathetically, your cheek pressing into the sheets of other students’ paperwork.
“I’m sorry~” you whined, but you knew well enough that he wasn’t happy with you. On other occasions, he’d still be somewhat tender while handling you. Now, none of that was left. It was a sign, and not a good one.
“Oh, you are? And care to explain to me, why you’ve done it in the first place?”
His voice was calm, even as his hands pushed at your head, making it hard to speak with your face against the desk.
“I-I didn’t have time to study” you explained pathetically. “I was busy with other subjects, and the topic was so difficult I thought that…”
“What?”
You hesitated, but only for a moment.
“I thought that I can pass it if I cheat, and even if you catch me, you won’t doom me…” you mumbled.
In fact, you really didn’t have time to study. And, since he seemed busy with something by his desk during that exam, you thought it’s a good occasion to slip the phone out of your pocket and look for the correct answers. You thought that maybe, due to your relationship, he would turn a blind eye towards your doings. And at first, he did. The bastard waited till everyone turned their papers in before making you stay after exam and exposing your sins.
Yet, you found yourself fairly positive that the sort of punishment you were in for was way better than if the things were to go smoothly.
“Are you honest with me? Because I feel like you were just hoping to get my attention with acting up like this” he whispered into your ear, letting his fingers trail the hem of your panties. Reaching the front, he pushed the fabric aside, running a finger down and up your folds, smirking at the wetness. “How far can you go only to get my hands on you, hm?”
You whimpered once again, your hand reaching down to press against his, which earned you a smack on your ass, not too hard, just a warning.
“You don’t touch me, understood?”
You nodded quickly, letting your hands grasp onto the desk’s edge for any kind of anchor.
“Words, baby girl.”
“Y-yes…” His free hand squeezed your hip harshly, and you recoiled, whimpering against the desk’s surface. “Yes, daddy” you corrected yourself, recalling all the rules he’d given you before, yet some of which completely slipped your memory, exchanged with the thoughts of him alone.
Without another word, he flipped you over, spreading among the papers that scattered around, some of which fell onto the floor. Your hands automatically reached to his own, but you stopped yourself on time, quickly letting them rest flat on the surface instead. His smirk was daring as he watched you do so, as if he almost wished for you to act up again, to give him yet another reason to put you back in place.
“Well, then” he casually spoke, as if he didn’t just take pleasure in your pathetic composure. “If you think you can do so much on your own, how about you tell me what else you can do without anyone’s help? Should I check what exactly is there in your phone’s history? Because something tells me Wikipedia won’t be the only source I find there.”
You couldn’t help a smirk forming on your face.
“What else are you hoping to find there~?”
The comment earned you a rough slap on your ass, one that wasn’t followed by a gentle rubbing that would soothe it in any way.
“Every time I think you finally learned something, you have to pull off something unbelievably stupid. I wonder, are you purposefully trying to rile me up or are you just this naive?”
You opened your mouth, actually urged to say something that’d probably dig you an even deeper grave, but he never let that happen. His hand suddenly found itself on your mouth, two fingers pressing your nostrils together and the palm covering your mouth.
“Behave” he said shortly, and you clutched onto the desk’s edge, desperately fighting the instinct to struggle out of his grasp. The feeling was lethal, even more as his other hand traveled to your thighs and rubbed your clit through the fabric of your underwear; the pleasant feeling had been drowned out when you started to suffocate, and his hand released you when you were seriously concerned with your well-being. You inhaled sharply, the friction disappearing in an instant, making you whimper through the throbbing in your lungs.
You allowed yourself to relax a little, trying to slow your breathing before it’d be taken away from you again. But you found yourself too shaken to do that, and when his hand covered your mouth and nose once more, more than twice faster had it started to become unbearable, and the feeling of his fingers against your clothed core did close to nothing to relieve the overwhelming torture.
It was your punishment, you’ve learned to recognize it. What he was doing now, wasn’t meant to satisfy you in any way. But if you were strong enough and endured it, he’d reward you – and that was the reason why you forced all your instincts down, submitting completely to his cruel treatment, learning to not move a muscle, even when your head spun when you had been breath-deprived for the third time.
“E-enough…” you choked out. Tears already escaped your eyes, and you were sure that if you were to lose air one more time, you’d faint in a span of few seconds. You shut your eyelids tightly, trying to recover from the punishment. It wasn’t a thing he did often, punishing you happened only in the worst of cases. Even though you definitely deserved it, it was still something you didn’t expect to actually happen – a treatment that would actually cause you more pain than pure pleasure. But there was something primal in it, something humiliating, something you desired as well; something that was strictly related to the trust you had in that man, and the fact you knew that even if you felt like you’d faint any second, he would never let anything bad happen to you.
Junmyeon’s hand caressed your thigh, the other gently wiping the tears off your face. He was standing between your legs, both of which were hanging off the desk’s edge.
“You did so well” he said in a quiet, soft voice, one that made you nod unwittingly. You slowly calmed down and forced your eyes open, staring at him expectantly. He didn’t hurry though, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into your skin, and the hand on your face gently brushing your hair aside. “I can’t let you pass though, you’ll have to retake that exam” he announced firmly and you let out a dramatic sigh.
“I’m surely not the only one who cheated though…” you mumbled, forcing your tired body to sit up, matching the other’s face level. “Or could you not look away from me all along?” you asked daringly, reaching with your hand to play with the necktie of the other, and Junmyeon observed you for some time before casting you a charming smile.
“Of course I couldn’t. You’re a sight to behold” he admitted, his lips leaning into the crook of your neck, brushing it gently, as if testing the waters. The gentle demeanor was back there, and your professor took a great pleasure in handling your body like a treasure, a precious sculpture that could be ruined by the least of harshness. Slowly, he grew more confident in his gestures, putting his hand on the nape of your neck and bringing you towards him, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing your chest against his and wishing that there were no clothes in between.
He dragged his mouth from your neck, up to your jaw, and then brushed your lips, not giving in even as they followed his own, demanding for the touch, the kiss, to last.
“Baby, you have your next class in five minutes” Junmyeon murmured against your ear, his hands resting on your hips, and you couldn’t help but grind against him in a way that made the grip tighten in a warning. “Behave.”
“I can be a tad late, I’ll say you told me to help me with the tests” you said carelessly, already reaching to his pants to get rid of that nuisance.
A breathy laughter escaped the man’s lips as he slapped your hands away, reaching between the two of you instead and rubbing you through the fabric of your underwear. You let out a pleased moan.
“You really are desperate, aren’t you?” he smirked smugly, letting you grind against his hand, and you almost dozed off in the pleasant sensations, with your eyes clouded from the euphoria growing inside of you. “I could just bend you over this table with all the students around, and you wouldn’t even mind. Or maybe I should let them take turns with you? I know there are some you look at more often than not. Or even other teachers, tell me, would you like that? Having all your holes filled while I watch you come in this classroom, over and over again, until you pass out?”
“Jesus… fuck…” You let out an incoherent moan, grasping onto his arm for any sort of anchor, and your brain was already going fuzzy with the sensation, and it was too much, just too much…
Until suddenly, when you’ve finally reached your peak, the touch disappeared, and you let out a groan, trying to press your thighs together in a desperate attempt to get some sort of friction, but Junmyeon’s body in between your legs successfully prevented you from doing so.
“J-Junmyeon…!” you whined pathetically, at which the man offhandedly pulled you off the table, dusting off your clothes and straightening them in such a carefree way, as if he didn’t just without any remorse ruin your long-awaited orgasm.
“Now, babygirl.” He suddenly pulled on the collar on your shirt, bringing you close to him, and your breath hitched at the proximity, his warm breath hitting your face, almost intimidating. Junmyeon only patted your hair, and left a single peck on your cheek. “If you want to come properly ever again, make sure you pass that exam. Now, hurry up, your next class starts in a minute~”
And with these words, he pushed you out of the classroom.
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