cw : nsfw, smut,oral (m & f receiving) , reverse cowgirl, doggy style, unprotected sex,
an: josh and pete’s are fem, bill and jerry are gen
you know he's loud. whiny as hell. you're kissing those crusty lips, chin scraping his busted stubble while your hand’s working him through his jeans, slow as hell. too slow. he's bucking up into your palm, groaning into your mouth, trying so fucking hard to get more friction, more pressure, more anything—like he’s not already getting more than he’s ever had in his life.
when he finally shimmies off those ratty jeans—finally—his dick flops out, borderline below average, thick head already leaking like a broken faucet. you glance up, and he's just staring down at you, chest heaving, face red, pupils blown wide like a kicked puppy. eyes begging. you say anything about it and he'd throw a tantrum, but you see it all over him. that silent, twitchy "please touch me" energy.
first few open-mouthed kisses, one lazy tug on his cock, and he's already fucking losing it. squirming. whining. hips jerking up into your hand like he’s trying to chase the high. fingers in your hair, not pulling—just there, like he thinks he's helping. hasn’t even been two minutes and he’s making noises like he’s never been touched before. (he hasn’t.)
and honestly? you weren’t expecting much. guy’s in his twenties and still a virgin, spends more time gatekeeping horror trivia than touching grass. not like most girls would even want to be near him—let alone have their mouth on his cock. but here you are. and he’s already shaking like you’ve ruined him.
your hand’s working his cock now, slow strokes, thumb rubbing over the fat tip just to hear him make that choked little noise again. he’s a mess already—moaning like he doesn’t care who hears, squirming like your touch is too much. hips stuttering, body twitching, hands useless at his sides like he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself.
and then, somehow, somehow, this loser finds it in him to talk.
“heh… fuck… knew a bitch like you couldn’t resist me,” he pants, voice shaky but smug, like he really believes it. “figured you’d come crawling the second you got a taste of a real man.”
he’s grinning through it—cocky, sweaty, half-delirious—and it’s almost cute how proud of himself he looks, flushed face all smug, like this is his moment.
and then you sink your mouth over his cock.
just like that. no warning. all warmth and spit and tongue, taking him halfway down in one go, and he fucking chokes.
his cock twitches violently in your mouth, thick head pressing against your tongue, and he lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve heard all night.
his hand grabs at your hair but it’s not dominant, not controlled—he’s scrambling, holding on like he’s about to fall apart. his whole body goes stiff, thighs trembling, breath catching like he’s seconds from unraveling.
“nghh—shit, shit, don’t move—” he hisses, voice breaking into a whine, “fuck, i’m gonna—gonna cum already, fuck—”
so much for that cocky attitude.
you pull back just enough to suckle the head, tongue circling, slow and mean, and he fucking loses it. eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open, a high, strangled moan spilling out like you’ve knocked every thought from his greasy little brain.
he’s barely holding it together
he’s already breathless before you even sink down on him. hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind, fingers twitching every time your skin shifts under his touch. cock twitching too—he’s so fucking hard it almost hurts. and the moment you start sliding down, the moment your cunt stretches around him, he lets out this wrecked little moan like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.
“holy fuck… holy shit,” he gasps, head thrown back against the pillow. you’re facing away from him, which just about kills him—he can’t even see your face, can’t kiss you, can’t do anything but watch the way your ass bounces and your back arches while you ride him like he’s nothing but a toy.
he whimpers. he’s fucking whining, trying not to buck up too hard, trying to hold back so he doesn’t cum embarrassingly fast. he’s babbling now—soft, breathless praises like, “so good—feels so good, fuck, you’re amazing—” voice cracked, high, completely overwhelmed.
you lean back just a little, give him a better view, start grinding your hips down with a slow, heavy roll and he loses his goddamn mind.
“fuckfuckfuck—don’t stop, please don’t stop,” and when you look over your shoulder at him, all flushed and trembling and needy, he’s staring like you hung the moon. like he’s never seen anything better in his life.
“you’re taking me so good, josh,” you say, sweet and mean at the same time, and that’s it. his fingers dig into your thighs and his hips twitch helplessly under you.
“yeah?” he gasps. “y-you like it? i’m doing good?” he’s begging for the praise, desperate to be told he’s making you feel good. he’s shaking, barely holding on, hips bucking up like he wants to be deeper even though he’s already buried to the hilt.
“you’re doing perfect, baby,” you coo, grinding down hard and circling your hips just to watch him fall apart. “your cock feels so good—stretching me out so nice, you’re making me cum so hard, josh.”
he whines, like it physically hurts how much he likes hearing that, how bad he wants to be good for you.
and when you start bouncing again, picking up the pace, ass slapping against his thighs while you fuck yourself stupid on him—he starts panting like a dog, sweat beading at his forehead, mouth hanging open, voice shaking.
“fuckfuck i’m gonna cum—i can’t—i can’t—y-you’re so—i’m—” and he’s gone.
his hips jerk up into you once, twice—and then he spills, thick and messy inside you, crying out like he just saw heaven.
and even through it, he’s still moaning out broken little compliments: “s-so good… fuck, you’re perfect… never felt anything like this…”
you don’t stop until he’s twitching under you, eyes rolled back, mouth slack—wrecked. and you just smile, still grinding slow and deep, like you knew he’d break this easy.
pete’s obsessed with your reactions. doesn’t even care about getting off himself — not when he’s got your thighs trembling and your pussy dripping all over his face. he’s eating like a man possessed, tongue deep, nose buried, goatee slick with spit and slick. he’s not gentle. not careful. he’s messy.
and when you cum the first time, crying out, thighs clamping around his ears? he doesn’t slow down. doesn’t stop. he leans in. doubles down.
“yeahhh, there it is,” he groans, mouth still on your clit, voice dripping with that filthy Staten Island accent. “that’s it, baby. lemme hear you. fuckin’ sing for me.”
you’re whining, overstimmed, hips twitching — but pete’s not done. his fingers are inside you now, thick and calloused, pumping deep and curling up just right. and his mouth? oh, he’s still there, lips wrapped around your clit, tongue working tight little circles. and then—
he grazes the tip of one sharp canine right against your clit — just enough to make you gasp, your whole body jolting. he doesn’t bite, not really. just brushes it. flirts with that edge between pain and pleasure.
“oh? that gotcha?” he grins, voice cocky, lips shiny, chin wet. “fuckin’ love that. could make ya jump just like that again. real easy.”
and then he does it again, a soft nip to your inner thigh — not enough to draw blood, just enough to make you squeal. he groans when he hears it. tongue flicking fast, fingers picking up pace, curling inside you while you writhe, barely able to form words.
“nah-uh,” he teases, voice low, almost a growl. “you don’t get to cum again til you ask nice. c’mon, sweetheart. lemme hear it. beg for it. tell me how fuckin’ good i make you feel.”
you’re panting, desperate, squirming under his mouth, right there, and he pulls his fingers out just enough to keep you aching for it — still playing with your clit, licking so slow it’s unbearable.
“nuh-uh,” he smirks, “not good enough. say it right. beg for my fuckin’ tongue. tell me how much you need me.”
and when you finally break — voice cracked, sobbing, pleading — “please, pete, please, it feels so good, i need it, i need you to make me cum again—”
that’s when he gives it to you.
fingers slam back into you, fast, deep, soaking wet, and his mouth devours your clit. he nips, sucks, tongues it like he wants to ruin you — and he does.
you cum so hard your vision whites out. you’re screaming, shaking, thighs clenching, body twitching like you’re short-circuiting. pete’s groaning into you like he’s getting off just from the way you taste.
“that’s fuckin’ right,” he growls, voice ragged, still mouthing your clit while you twitch. “good girl. good fuckin’ girl. look at this pretty pussy fallin’ apart for me…”
and you think he might stop now — but he’s still going. fingers still moving, tongue still teasing. and those teeth? right back where they started — gentle, dangerous, fucking addictive.
“think we’re done?” he mutters, lips hot against your slick, “we ain’t stoppin’ till i’ve got my fill.”
when he finally gets the tip inside, he goes still, chest heaving. you’re so warm, so wet, and he can feel everything. his voice shakes when he speaks:
“you okay, angel? you—you good?”
you nod, maybe whisper something like yeah, jerry, please — and his whole body just shudders.
“fuck. okay. okay…” he breathes, barely getting the words out. “jesus christ, you feel s-so fuckin’ good…”
the pet names slip out without him even thinking. baby, babe, angel — like they’ve been sitting on his tongue for years, and now they’re finally pouring out with every breathless moan.
he starts moving, slow at first — hips rolling into you in soft, shallow thrusts, his fingers gripping your waist like it’s the only thing grounding him.
“oh my god,” he gasps. “oh my god, this is—this is insane…”
your pussy squeezes around him and his knees buckle. he leans forward, chest brushing your back, panting into your shoulder, whining into your skin.
“uugh—fuck, i’m not gonna last, you feel too good, i c-can’t—”
and then it hits him — that he’s really inside you, that you want this, that you want him. the way your back arches, the little moans you let out, the way your body responds to every stuttering thrust — it’s all too much.
hips start slamming into you, rougher now, messy, his rhythm totally undone. he’s rutting, desperate, whimpering with every thrust, his forehead buried against your spine.
“fuck, angel, fuck—please—lemme, lemme keep going, i c-can’t stop—”
he’s not even trying to be cool anymore. his voice is high, needy, wrecked, cracking every time you clench around him or moan his name.
“s-sound so pretty, baby, makin’ those little noises, lettin’ me—oh fuck, lettin’ me f-fuck you like this, jesus—”
you can feel how much he’s shaking — his whole body’s trembling, hands tight on your hips, breath hot against your shoulder, and his cock is throbbing inside you, every thrust sending shivers up his spine.
“d-don’t wanna cum yet,” he whines, “but you’re s-so tight, angelp, so wet, fuck, i c-can’t—I can’t—”
and when you moan his name again, tell him to keep going, maybe even beg a little?
cums with a loud, needy cry, hips jerking hard as he spills inside you, body spasming, nails digging into your skin just to anchor himself.
he stays buried in you after, panting, overwhelmed, whispering breathless, adoring things like:
“angel… i can’t believe you let me—i didn’t mean to—fuck, i’ll be better next time, i swear, just—jesus, you’re perfect.”
