https://Freakmeter.com !!!
on the scale of 1 to 10, how much can they match your freak?
— including.ᐟ Percy Jackson, Jason Grace, Leo Valdez, Frank Zhang.
— warning.ᐟ fem! reader, cunnilingus, body worshipping, edging, literally since all of them ends in a cliffhanger, praises, petnames (just baby though), swearing and profanity, but this is tumblr so..., SLIGHT size kink on Jason's part, phone call smash, masturbating, overstimulation, dirty talk, specified relationship, all of them are aged up!
— word count.ᐟ 5.9k
— a.n.ᐟ first fic on tumblr dot com! Sorry if Percy's part's too short... also had a lot of fun writing for Frank on this one! And can you tell I have a favorite?
「 ✦ Percy Jackson ✦ 」
Too focused on doing his hero duties, being the gods errand runner and all that has lessen your sexual activities with your boyfriend. He always discourages you from thinking any negative about his rowdy schedule and always ensure a brief make out before Chiron would call him. It doesn't bother you though, because you know by how he keeps texting you at night—via a smartphone the Hephaestus kids just made—he's not fine with the shits that's thrown at him either.
It'll always start with him checking you in, a few jokes and banter typed in, then it eventually ends up with you playing with your own squelching intimacy as he listens to every sound with a call. Every gasp from your mouth when he'd tell you just how he would handle if you if he's there instead. Every drip that your pussy floods when he's barely holding himself together. Every cry that slips out of your sweet lips coaxes him to abandon his studies and reach for his pants instead. Finger eagerly releasing his pants just before his hardening cock springs out, squirting tiny spurts of whites against his finding nemo t-shirt.
"Shit," he curses under his breath, and your back arches just when he lets a chuckle slips out, "You doing good there? Are your fingers better than mine?"
He'd say that, and when you just shakily whisper out a quiet no, you could practically imagine his crooked stupid grin. His own ragged breath matches yours, though it's clear that your moans and pleas are music to his ears than any of the rock bands on his room's wall could be.
Maybe your pussy might sing a little better than you do. He's observant enough to catch every filthy slaps and how your pussy sings just a much heavenly squeal with your whimpers. Fuck, maybe he should record the call in case he ever gets these nights again.
So yeah, based on that quip, Percy Jackson's a total 8.5 to match your heinous freak. It's pretty high for a boy who spends his sleeps wearing cartoon pajamas. You even sarcastically mocked at his choice of fashion when your first slept together, well—he quickly proved you wrong by shoving your face in his shark pillows and slam your cervix each time he pounds in behind your back. You weren't complaining, never with him. Cause he'd give you a thousands of munch to your raw and swollen pussy right after as an apology. Determined to make your pussy sing better than you.
「 ✦ Jason Grace ✦ 」
It's no secret that Jason Grace is good at leading; how his voice would lower into that authoritative tone when he's in battle, how his eyes seems to inject the graphic of lightning itself in the irises, how his brow would furrow slightly, and how the air changes to a steady flow that faintly circles his steps. That's the same Jason that appears when's all he's all buried in your deep, warm pussy.
To be real, he's not that clingy or thirsty eyes when you're outside in the day. But when you do catch him slip up one time, you waste no time to take the opportunity to confront each time he done it. Each time his gaze lingers slowly on your chest while you adjust your armor, each time his finger twitch when you're all sweaty after practice—light eyes suspiciously too fixated on how a sweat dribbles down past your armor. And he's already imagining on how lucky it is to be that useless dew of sweat to be able to kiss you pretty cleavage.
Because one thing about Jason Grace? He doesn't voice out his opinions immediately (unfortunately). And he'd definitely feel awkward about dreaming you in such position under the clear sun.
Of course, you decide to confront him today.
The talks of schedules, impromptu tournaments, and quest are filling up the room as Jason discuss with other campers. Right in the big house, you tug his sleeve. And Jason abandon all of his chatter when glances to you. Not even Mr. D's rantings are audible when you demand for his attention. He's a weak man when it comes to you. Though his expectation about your intentions are purely curious.
So he follows you right outside, thinking about how you probably want to talk about the crowd of sticky notes plastered all over your desk in the cabin. About the simplified notes of your school subjects that are served like a Michelin star on it. He's hoping to help you through your academic comeback during this year. While he believes you're smart, well, anyone smart must need someone as their assistant, right?
"You just need to repay me by acing that grades." He intents to say that as soon as you're between the bushes, though some harpies and demigods who doesn't have their own love life are trying too hard not to glance at you both. Jason's all ready to puff up his chest and smile the widest on his cheeks as he explains the reason for all the study bazaar in your room.
That is not what you called him for.
"Oh, no," he clears his throat just after a saliva got stuck in his own throat, "No, I mean..." his foot shifts to the other, breaking away your eye contact, "Are you uncomfortable with it? If I looked at you like that?"
Not really, you think.
So that explains the whole chronological order of how you are now getting your cervix smashed while desperately holding onto the crumpled bedsheet underneath. His hands are splayed on the either side your hips, locking you down as if you'd run away from his grasp when his bulbous cock is all the way in your tight heat. Making a transparent bulge in your abdomen that he can't help but shudder at the sight.
Your legs are cradled around his waist, diminishing any distance that doesn't involve you gasping and writhing your claws to paint a delicious painting on his back. As testament on how good he's getting your pussy to open up and take him in. Almost like he's pushing to shape your squelching walls based on the shape of his cock—that you almost swear you could not fit in earlier.
Well, it's not Jason if he doesn't usher you sweet praises and kisses all over your tears while he quite literally wrecks your senses to oblivion. His glasses are fogged up, sketching a hint of restraint on the lenses. He's trying so hard not to overwhelm you, really. But when your moans are the only sound filling this room and you're in front of him, all needy and wet—he just couldn't help it.
Besides, he trusts you more than anything to drop his guard and love you so good. Your cries are wanton, and you feel hazy with all the blood gathering in your walls—coaxing more fluids from your pussy that sucks him in with impeccable tightness. Every exhale of his mouth that hits your own almost feels like an unspoken language only the both of you understand. You see the clench of his jaw, how his hips are moving with a tremble like he's holding back.
So you tap his shoulder, just before caressing your hand on the flesh, "Jason," you inhale, "Faster."
"You're sure?" he croaks, the sound so vulnerable, "I'm not hurting you, aren't I?" his lips are agape, eyes wide behind his glasses as if he's searching for any hidden discomfort in your face.
You're not, though.
A sigh left his mouth, a long and trembling one. You crooked a smile when you witness how slowly his facade crumbles, just in the face of your sweet and clenching heat. Though that grin on your face? Gone just right as his one sharp piston hit the weakest spot inside, your freaking g-spot.
He doesn't to be willing to let you breathe and adjust to the sudden impact, because all you know by now is how good he's making you fly—wait, fly?
You could feel your hips raised up with your legs on top of his shoulders, what's abnormal is the fact that your back is raised from the sheets too. Your eyes immediately widens at the realization, but he does another thing that made you realize just how much of a freak he's hiding from you.
His glasses are placed upon your brow, and its lenses doesn't take too much time to blur when his breath are mingling on your face. Especially when he jolts your body by another one of his slam and startles the glasses to jump slightly.
And you could swear a low, "Fuck." could be heard from his line. Alongside a crooked smile on his cheeks.
Yeah, you should double check his purity test and see if it goes up to 7.5 now.
「 ✦ Leo Valdez ✦ 」
Leo freaking Valdez. Being a freak is his zodiac sign, his MBTI type, or whatever personality tests both of you take in leisure times. That should be no surprise to anyone, really.
It's deep in winter season; crystal falls like seeds that rain during pollination, and the air is crisp with jolly and hot chocolate's smoke. In your case? The only thing hot is the chocolate who's nuzzling his cheek to your neck. A blanket is splayed on your shoulders, enveloping you both like a cocoon.
It's understandable if getting down is the least on your mind at times like these. But knowing Leo...
It seems like he's determined not to pay attention to the movie you're watching right now. Courtesy of the TV screen that he stole from the Hermes Cabin (which is an impossible mission anyway). Usually, during these times, you'd play your favorite or absolute defect musicals, nothing in between. Sometimes, you'd have a bet on who could sing best of the songs from the theatrics (which you both sing horribly). The reward? Kisses and make out and cuddles until night.
"Leo." you warn, tapping his knuckles where he takes that as a sign to intertwine both of your hands instead. Which is ... not what you want but you're not complaining about that specific physical touch currently.
"Hmm, yeah?" his reply is one of that very raspy and lazy voices. It makes sense since you only got to interrupt his all night working (probably more than a night) today. The only sound coming out of his mouth is a sigh and whimper—which you're not sure where that comes from. That must be from exhaustion, right?
Wrong, because now he's slipping his hand right under your shirt.
"Leo!" a startled inhale escapes your throat, and you jump slightly in your position. That encourages him to curl his arms around your waist tighter, bringing you much closer than before.
"You said," he exhales, shifting in his seat to press a gentle kiss on your fluttering pulse. His hot breath is all over your skin, and the heater shaped as a cake in front of you might not be needed when he's the definition of flame itself.
"You said I should take my rest." Leo repeats, finally pulling away from hiding space to look up at you. His brows are scrunched together in an almost desperate image, his pupils are slowly dilating, and he puffs his cheek as if he's not a grown man currently, "So shouldn't I take a rest inside you?"
Then his eyes trails down, specifically to your thighs that are crossed right now, "Or maybe..." his tongue juts out to hydrate the dry lips, "What do they say? That it's better to eat first before sleeping?"
You're pretty sure it's the opposite.
"I've never heard of that—"
Your words are quick to fade down just like how the noises from Highschool Musical The Musical in your TV has gone to hollow. Blurry and static to your ears. Reason? Leo is quick as a bolt to sweep over all the stuffs on the desk, some tools are clanging against each other (which you're sure some are flammable). Even the makeshift heater displayed as a cake lets out a 'GAME OVER!' ring tone when it fell down.
There goes your beautiful popcorns too. And to Troy Bolton who is now going to witness something not very high school musical...
"Get on the desk." he says, almost like a breathless plea.
You do get on the desk.
His light honeyed eyes rakes over your form when you sits just upright the desk. He almost feels like a man who just got his Christmas present, or maybe a devout man who just witnessed his goddess for the first time.
"If I knew I could have you like this," his hand traces faint touches to your bare foot. Voice too reverent to fit for someone who just exploded a whole toaster earlier. "I'd ask you to pull me away from that toaster a lot sooner." his gaze meets you, and he really wants to watch your reaction when he lifts one of your foot and bring his lips to your midriff.
That brings a surprised stunt on your face.
A shaky exhale tumbles out of his lips like he just found an equation for his automatons. Though this is different. You're you and you're definitely made from more than just physics theories and equations. His lips are splattering tender kisses across your shin, each one a silent prayer and praises.
Leo flutters his eyes close, lashes brushing against your skin when he trails much higher. This time, with each kiss, he mutters a small quote, "Beautiful." and also, "So sweet." which you're more confused with the last prefer, are there any scientific proofs on thighs having a sweet taste?
Time to throw away all rational thoughts. Because one thing about Leo Valdez? Is that his words can pretty much nonsensical.
"Why have you been hiding this from me all the time?" he shudders. While you don't exactly agree with his accusation. He literally already ate you out when you know nothing but the fact that it's eight in the morning, and he's under the covers in your shared bed.
Oh well, told you to throw away all your logic when you're with him. Especially if he's needy.
Leo stops his mouth on your knee, he leaves one open mouthed kiss on the spot just before his hand splays over your other thigh. Slowly, he pushes your thighs apart—revealing a scenery of dessert that he's been craving ever since you got in the bunker looking all pretty. Which you technically are everyday.
"And this?" He laughs out loud, the sheer excitement carving a smile on his cheeks before he looks up to you, "You might as well not wear any panties coming right here." he points out, referring to your choice of clothes where you're not wearing any pants and only a baggy sweater (his sweater, by the way) to shield your body from the cold.
And as if he's not enough on bullying you—his fingers moves over to play around the waistband of your panties, pulling it and snapping it. "Not that I'm complaining." he notes, voice evident with that teasing tone, "I know that you're wearing a new one, and don't get me wrong," Leo flings his hands to the air, like a criminal who just got caught robbing a dessert store, "I like—no, love it so much with that little ribbon in the middle and the way your pussy is basically transparent—" he stops when you glare at him.
Though that classic Leo Valdez's grin appears on his lips, all teeth and slight dimples (if you squint hard enough), and it basically paints mischief over the apple of his cheeks. "But you know I'm just gonna rip it off in the end," pause, "Or steal it to keep for myself."
Wait, so that's why your underwear quantities are decreasing miraculously?
Before you could protest, Leo's lips are off your thigh and on your clothed center—the damp fabric is already a delicious taste for his mouth. You could hear an audible moan from him as he presses a kiss and pulls away from your wet panties.
His gaze locks up then, cheeky with that crooked grin and a lick of his tongue. Like he had won the best thing that ever happened to him (and in this case, it's you).
"Don't worry," he mumbles, eyes widening in haze, "I'll buy you a new one."
His mouth is back on your closed pulse, and his teeth tugs lightly on the wet fabric—which accidentally nibbles on one of your folds. That earned a quick gasp out of you.
"Leo." you call out, hands trailing to find anchor just before it tugs to his dark curls. Your pussy is practically sending warning signals to your brain—get it fucked or it might just get swollen and cry alone.
Well, who's to say no when your own brain tells you to get eaten out, right?
"More." you say.
And that's all it takes before he tugs down the panties with only his teeth. Pulling from the waistband while he directs his head down to string it away from shielding your heat any longer. Besides his hands, he's no amateur when it comes to his mouth it looks like. Now you're all bare under, panties halting on your knees, and your drowning heat shivers under the cold snowy air that hits it.
Leo's determined to change that temperature.
"Look at that." he laughs, "She's dripping already."
Did he just refer to your pussy by a subjective pronoun?
His calloused palms moves to your thighs to hold them apart. It doesn't take long seconds for him to press his lips onto your pulsing lips. A sigh immediately cracks out like it's always been natural. His mouth is gentle, but not without a tinge of hunger when he flutters his eyes back open and gaze up to you. Like he's all at your service.
You tug his curls much tighter.
Leo takes that as a sign to suck on your clit, not quite satisfying but enough for a moan to slip out of you. He works his mouth more harder then, using his expert tongue on pressing all over your folds that leaves a squelching sound. Your face shifts into a squirm as his hands draws closer to your heat.
He uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips apart, and the expansion is impactful. Your eyes shots wide, back arching off when the perfect pleasure hits you like a scorching flame. The tip of his tongue flicks over your clit, and only now does he decide to bully it. His lips closes around it, and he finally kisses all the fluids and trembles that your heat emanates. Only giving you a time to breathe just to say, "One kiss and she's already crying."
You'd smack his head if it weren't for his mouth working so good in your intimacy.
Leo dives back in with another whimper of his, and he has no right to sound so cracked when you're the one getting ravished here. His focus is all on your clit for great minutes, determined to reach you over the heights of stars you wouldn't generally see in the night.
This is so much higher.
"Gah!" a gasp finally breaks out like a broken lyre, and your tug turns to a pull so he could dive deeper as if he's swimming through the fucking Mariana Trench. His tongue has curled and slipped into your clenching walls—you could hear a muffled groan below when his tongue just started to trace your hole.
Plump and sticky against your throbbing pulse.
He pulls out of the cavern, heavy breaths dropping from his slick—stained mouth like a lipgloss, literally. Just that it's made specifically from the sour fluids your pussy cried out. His honeyed eyes trails back upwards, almost dilated black from the angle you're viewing him.
"Come on," he breathes, almost delivering it like a plea with how wide his pupils are, "You can give me more, right? Get more nice and sloppy for me?"
Who are you to deny him?
His mouth is back on your fluttering heat when you pushes him back on your own tug. And it seems like the action is just another turn on besides the way your pussy must've felt to his tongue. Like even in this state, you couldn't resist to command him.
Leo may not be good at taking orders from others, but from you? You might as well make him an obedient puppy.
The folds of your pussy are screaming when he bites on it—because holy shit, who the hell goes aggressive at the first foreplay? The bite is sending another arch to your spine, it's not that harsh, but still torturous to your sensitive ache. Then his tongue involves in like he couldn't get enough of you. Swirling past the bitten folds before his thumb brushes against your clit.
Who the fuck ever goes this rough at first foreplay?!
"Ah! Oh, L-Leo—!" you couldn't see clearly with all the pleasure basking in your sight, so you close them instead. Lashes fluttering against your cheek when another loud moan rips out of your throat. Both of his thumbs now moves to spread your pussy lips wider, serving an entrance for his tongue to sliiide in like it's always belonged in your drowning walls. With him basically making out with your pussy, you could feel the slope of his nose brushing against your clit. And it took everything in you not to combust like his exploding mechanics.
And he does all that while whimpering like he's the one being undone right now. The sounds out of him are muffled and high pitched, like he lose all sense of control and just lets his voice pitch to mewl however he wants. He's not ashamed of being loud, it sounds like a perfect duet between him and your squirming lips (both on your face and between your legs).
"Leo, I swear—" you choke out a cry, head thrown to the back as more moans broke out of your throat, "Slow down—" which quickly turns into, "Haaah...! Mmm!"
He does halts. Mouth pulling out with a lewd pop! while his gaze fixates on your ache. He looks like he just got high on hundreds of drugs and drinks. His eyes lingers on the way more pre-cum drips out of your swollen folds, some even spurting out in a small burst.
"What's 252 divided by 7?" his question took you off guard more than the accumulative blood that clenches your muscles when it seeks for stimulation. You look at him wide eyes, like a deer in headlights as your brain processes his words dizzyingly.
"Uh... 36?" you stammers.
A shuddering laugh tumbles out from him right after. His eyes are hooded now, lips peeking flashy whites as the laugh continues on like he just watched Sherman Yang speeding around camp with fire in his pants.
"Smart girl," he coos and the praise goes straight to your impending release.
"But that means," he pokes his finger on your clit, that immediately drives your nails to shape crescent moons on the roots of his curls. His voice is low and breathy when he proclaims, "I haven't treated her good enough," did he just seriously mention your pussy by a subjective pronoun, again?! "That you can still think with your brain," he pecks a small kiss on your folds, "And not with her."
Huh?
He wastes no time to take advantage of your confusion by plunging his middle finger to your startled walls. And if that's not shocking enough? His tongue presses flat on your upper labia. Swirling around your squirming bud as he lets out a guttural moan.
"Ah! Wh-Wha—oh!" you swear you could've seen the starry night and the constellations that decorates them when you feel it. His finger is deft inside you, like he's maneuvering through an engine's hole to fix the correct spot.
That spot is the bundle right at the top of your curved muscles.
Of course it doesn't take a minute for him to find it like the mastermind he is. He doesn't even brush against it, no. He's down bad pressing on it, igniting crackling flames that sparks up all over your veins and shuts off your brain. Your legs are now tied around his head, mushing his cheeks with your trembling thighs when you could only stare dumbly at the ceiling.
He has the audacity to pull out with a chuckle.
A lopsided grin graces his face, all the more frustrating with that low crackle of his voice that seems to spark chills down your spine, "Let's get her ready for something bigger, huh?"
Yeah, something as big as 9.0 inches. Oh wait, is that his dickmeter or is that just the number on how freaky you think he is for you?
「 ✦ Frank Zhang ✦ 」
Frank Zhang is the type of guy who's famous with his bold yet sweet upbringing, he'd always light up the room—not with the usual frightening smoke that circles around children of Mars—Frank's more tamed. He'd bring you some new polished weapons from the forge to your cabin, too sweet with that big smile on his face. Suddenly, it's a must for you to have a duel with him every morning like a maniac. You love him, of course. You'll do anything for him.
But... there are days where you're just not in the mood, and rather much basking in your comfy covers and cold pillows. You know that Frank wouldn't mind, maybe a small downturned smile—but that's all it will. He'd probably knock on your door with a hushed whisper. And when no one comes to abide his entrance? He'd just slump slightly and move on with his own practice, he's respectful like that.
Him busting down your door (and nearly making all the birds turn to your cabin) while looking like he ran all across the long island was not in your morning agenda. Frank—friendly and thoughtful—Zhang wouldn't come to your room, surprising your groggy half awake-half asleep state, and drop to his knees at the corner of your bed.
He'd speak your name softly, as if he hadn't strut in here with rough steps and breathing. It took three calls of your name before he drops his head low and sighs.
That defeated sigh is what gets you up, fluttering your eyes slowly with a low hum. Because as much as you love to fly in your dreams, there are some things that makes it worth to stay on the ground. Him being quiet for example. Not quiet like the kind and awkward quiet that he usually is with you. But quiet like he's prioritizing you over his own needs. That's not how this should work.
"Frank," your word is a dim whisper to the chirps of the birds, "Why are you on the floor? Especially kneeling?" you pushed your elbows to dig onto the mattress, just so you could rest your chin on your palm and take a sight of him more clearly.
If he's mad about you not going to your usual morning practices, shouldn't he be dragging you out of the pillows and not doing this?
"Look," Frank breathes out. Short black locks falling slightly to his upper forehead when he shakes his head, "First of all, I'm not mad about you skipping our practice." he finally peeks upwards to meet your eyes, and there's a way his pupils dilate that makes you frown a tad bit. "So don't get the wrong idea."
He shifts in his kneeling position, his palms holding onto the edge of your bed. And your brows knits even more, your hands are just beside his, why would he hold on to the bed instead of your hands?
"Second of all, did a certain bird left a note on your desk?" he asks nervously, eyes searching for any white objects on the desk across from him.
There is. A folded cream note on your small desk beside the bed. It doesn't look that suspicious at first, but now that he mentioned it...
He'd already grabbed onto your wrist when you attempt to grab the paper. His knee leaves the floor and climbs to the bed, his chest brushing slightly against your arm, and the way his every exhale fans over your neck makes you pause in your move. You know that Frank is excitable and sometimes impulsive, but since when is he hiding things from you out of all people?
"There's nothing there, trust me." he says each word with an emphasis. His eyes are peering down to yours, and there's almost akin to pinning down when it comes to what he's doing with you.
You try to slip out and act faster this time.
"No, no," he grabs your extended arm again, nearly flipping you over to flap your back to the mattress. That makes you realize in your still sleep-induced state, that he is pinning your wrist to the bed and places one knee to the space between your thighs.
"Trust me." he sighs, and you understand the context of this whole situation.
Your hand trails up to reach his own arm, brushing your palm against the muscles of his skin. Slowly, you traverse higher, massaging his beautiful, mouth watering biceps. Even your hand pauses at that area for a moment, feeling the faint veins tensing under your touch.
"Then tell me what's in it." the mutter left your mouth like a soft command. And Frank can't help but perks his ears at the tone.
"It's not—really, it's just a bunch of doodles and—"
"Frank." your hand slips into the space behind his neck, just before you pull him in so he'd stop right in front of your face. A breather away from nuzzling your noses together.
His eyes dilates for a fraction. Suddenly being pulled into a half embrace and stare lovingly into his lovely eyes seems like a perfect method if you ever want to shut off his brain and let his mouth do the thinking.
"I was just—" he pauses, voice uncharacteristically quiet when he clears his throat, "I was in one of those hormonal phase. Like I just dreamt about you this morning and I woke up—well—needing you."
He blinks several times, a nervous gleam evident in his eyes as his mouth presses into a thin line.
You knew it.
"You don't need to keep it to yourself, you know?" your words attracts a shuddering exhale from him.
"Then can I..." he pauses, letting the variables linger in their shared warmth, "Can I take you?" it sounded more like a rhetorical question than a plea.
"I don't know," a cheeky smile curls its way on your lips, your finger twirling around his black locks, "Can you?"
With that, it feels like you just woken up the beast, as corny as it sounds.
His lips crashes to yours in an instant, stealing a sharp gasp from your end, especially when he sucks on your upper lip. His single hand wanders to your waist, brushing his thumb to your shirt without slipping its way underneath the cloth. He'll need your permission first.
"Baby," he exhales in a form that almost sounded like restraint, parting from your lips for a moment before catching your mouth with his own open wide. Brushing his tongue against yours.
You pull your own hand to his calloused palm on your waist, guiding him to touch the flesh underneath willingly.
His mouth shapes into a circular, a shuddering breath escaping his mouth as the kiss turned more open-mouthed and breathy. Like they're sharing air rather than sucking it from each other. His palm is like a touch of arousal to your skin, sending shivers down your spine.
It arouses you even more when the said big palm of his is traversing to the pulsing beat of your heart. Cupping your breast in one single grab. It doesn't help either that your hips presses against one another, brushing your dangerously thumping heat to his own.
Soon enough, your shirt is forgotten quickly on the floor. Your legs are hiked up to wrap around his bare waist, trembling with each dry thrust he pushes when he grinds onto your damp pants. His mouth is still eagerly sucking on your bundle of nerves, even giving a small bite before he moves on to the next breast.
"O-Oh," is all your mouth could utter, shamelessly.
"Gods, how did I get so lucky?" Frank mumbles, most likely to himself. As he is too far in trance when he grinds his hips back to yours, purposely pressing his bulge to your already sensitive center. Each brush is like torture wrapped in bliss, sweet with honey like the groan he slips out when he bites your nipple hard, and hot with spice like the words he whispers to you.
"You wanna know what I wrote in that letter?"
You could only reply in another mewl.
"I dreamed," his hand slides to your thigh, gripping the flesh under his large palm, "Exactly like this. Except..." Frank's mouth parts away from your bundling hard nipple, licking his tongue on it before speaking once again, "I'm handling you, backwards." another thrust to your squealing clothed pussy, "And I'm kissing you all over, from your back to your..." he blushes, as if you weren't the one being violated. His next word is a shudder, "Ass..."
Huh, he says it like you'd be uncomfortable by it.
Well, someone's gotta be the shameless one in this relationship, right?
"Make me come," you say, "And I might let you eat me out from behind."
In the span of seconds, he's ripping off your short pants.
"You can't just say that..." his face is burning red, black eyes dropping hazily while evident exhales are running off from his mouth. The only walls between his cock and your pussy is the pants he has on, and the panties he only left you in. A moan quickly broke out from your throat when you could feel him getting harder. Humping harsher and more desperately—the motion is almost animalistic. You'd think he shape-shifted, especially with his fingers now tugging on your hair.
Your folds are basically translucent to your fabric, highlighting your dripping lips and pulsing clit. It's half parted, like it's been too sensitive ever since he denied your pleasure and focused on his own instead. That relieves you though, at least he allowed himself to be selfish with you.
"How about," his next thrust almost makes you sob into his shoulder, your arms clinging around his muscular and wide back. You could feel every muscle of his tensing when you snap your hips upwards. The bed creaks under you both, and you worry the sound might wake up the dryads slumbering next to your cabin.
"You ride me," the outline of his hard cock presses like a charcoal to an ember, electrifying your body in a harsh arousal as your pussy lips physically squelch against his pants.
"And I might just let you come." Frank smiles against your lips, adding another smoldering snap to your clenching heat before he smashes his lips onto yours.
If you think your boyfriend is still oh so sweet and kind? Maybe you've lost your mind when he cracks your back with a score of 8.0.
