Imagine a group of three mermen find you, a human, stranded near their waters. They've never seen a human before, let alone one so cute! You're dehydrated and starving, so they take it upon themselves to nurse you back to health. They get you everything you need even before you need it, making sure you're always comfortable and satisfied. Once you're able to start walking again, the mermen start bringing you presents ranging from pearls, pretty shells, and large fish. You accept gifts from all three of them, to which they respond with confused expressions and clicks that you can't understand. They don't speak your language, obviously, but you've always been able to communicate through hand signs and pointing. They all start acting a little odd and you can't keep up with their conversations.
"She accepted all of our gifts! Does that mean she wants to mate with us all?"
"That must be it, there's no other explanation."
"She seems happy with all three of us as mates, but... Can a human truly handle our offspring..?"
The following evening, the biggest out of the mermen approaches you, cooing softly and clicking as he caresses your legs and thighs. It doesn't take you long to understand what he wants, especially when he starts spreading your legs and prodding his nose at your pussy. He eats you out with his long tongue reaching deep, webbed hands keeping your thighs spread wide so he can enjoy your cute little cunt, gushing and leaking for him. After he's made you come twice, he retreats a little, causing you to sit up in confusion. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the thing emerging from a slit located below his stomach. Not only is it long; it's also thick, curved, and intimidating. It isn't until you see that the other two mermen have appeared behind him, cocks also exposed, that you finally understand what's about to happen...
"Did you prepare her?"
"Yes, I think she's ready."
"She's our pretty mate, I'm sure she can take all three of us!"
Pervy Clingy!Tentacle Monster bf who has to be filling you at all times.
He tends to always run cold and your sweet fat cunt is so nice and warm. You can’t blame him for always wanting to burrow in and be close to you. Even when you’re not together he finds a way to be with you at all times.
Going as far as to unlatch a tentacle for you to act as a nice plug for your pretty pussy. He still has full control of it so at random times of the day he’ll wiggle around, nuzzle in deeper, and latch a suction onto that bundle of nerves inside you till you’re gushing your sweet juices all over for him to absorb.
Pervy Clingy!Tentacle Monster bf who has to have every last bit of your cum and slick for himself.
On the days you do manage to go without being filled by him, your bf can’t stop thinking about how much you’re leaking throughout the day. Especially when he sends you all those dirty texts and pics by the hour, spamming your phone and making sure you’re so turned on it’s painful.
When you finally get home for the day you always head straight to the shower to cool off and that’s when your bf strikes. Stealing your panties straight out of the basket and burying his face in the soaked cloth. His cock jerks and he moans as the taste of your slick floods his mouth. He sucks at the fabric until they’re wet with only his spit. All your essence fully down his throat. But then he panics, realizing you’re in the shower alone and he quickly rushes into the bathroom to get some more of your yummy taste.
Pervy Clingy!Tentacle Monster bf who can’t have you pleasuring yourself without him. How dare you deprive him of your cum?
He’s heard you during your countless talks about respecting boundaries and needing your alone time. But surely you don’t mean when you’re horny and in need of release. No one could take care of you better than he can. He hears your moans through the wall (because his ear is pressed up against it) and he knows you don’t feel as good with your toys than you do with him.
So he sees absolutely no problem with sneaking into your toy box and replacing all your dildos with varies sizes of his tentacles. With the room dark the next time you go to play with yourself, you don’t even notice the switch until your bf starts rubbing his length along that spot inside you that turns your world upside down. You shriek in both pleasure and surprise. You don’t even have the time to get angry at him because he’s fucking you dumb in an instant all without even being in the same room.
Pervy Clingy!Tentacle Monster bf who doesn’t think there’s anything that can’t be solved with sex.
You’re upset with him after all the stunts he’s been pulling lately. You’ve barely even talked to him let alone touched him and it’s practically torture. He needs to touch you, to feel your pleasure radiating off of you and knowing he’s the cause.
Not being able to stand it any longer (it’s been an afternoon) your bf snuggles up behind you, wrapping his tentacles tightly around your body and drawing you into his chest. Knowing how weak you are for him.
Like expected you melt in his embrace the longer he murmurs his apologies, even as his tentacles make their way to your hot dripping core. He knows you’re still upset with him, even as he plunges a few of his tentacles deep inside your perfect cunt, starting a pace so ruthless your body jerks with every snap of his tentacles.
He asks you after each orgasm he forces from your fucked out body if you’ve forgiven him yet. If you say no or just can’t answer he’ll take it as a no and fuck you again. Bringing you to release over and over until you can’t remember why you were ever even mad to begin with.
There is nothing more empowering than riding your enemy's cock while he spits and curses you. But he is hard. For you. For your body. You can see it in his blood-shot eyes. He is tied down, beaten by you, completely covered in cuts and bruises. The big bad monster defeated.
"Accept I'm your mistress now. You are mine to do whatever I wish with. My slave."
You bite his swollen nipple one more time while bouncing up and down against his shaft. He is sweating, furiously trying to break his bonds. You laugh. All his efforts are futile - you made these chains just for him. They fit him perfectly just like his dick fills your hole completely, stretching you just right.
He is trying to suppress his moans. But his desire is throbbing inside your pussy, betraying him. You rock your hips back and forth, moaning in pleasure, gloating in your victory. He hates your guts but can't mask how much he enjoys being fucked by you.
Just before you are washed over by your orgasm, you stand up, sliding off his erection, and squirt all over him, shaking from pleasure. He snarls and tense, chains dangerously vibrating from his strength. You moan in ecstasy, rubbing your wet cunt, and his exposed cock twitches before spurting his hot seed all over your thighs that arched above it.
"Aaaaah fuck! Fuck!" He is furious, humiliated beyond words. His own body failed him.
You laugh, licking your own arousal from your fingers while his cum tickles your skin. "Don't worry - you'll get used to this, my pet."
uhmm, could you continue the ghost stories, but like a ghost orgy? like you can feel so many hands and cold breathes against you, using everything hole and hand
Living in a haunted house has its perks and disadvantages. Living with multiple horny ghosts? That’s definitely an advantage.
Watching tv on your couch, you start to feel a set of hands feel you up. At this point you’re used to it living here. Except you feel another set of hands. Then, another.
Panicking you start to get up but are pushed down by what feels like three people. You’re home alone. It’s just you and three ghosts in your house.
One set of hands holds you down by your shoulders. Slowly making their way to your breasts. Removing your shirt, leaving your chest bare.
The second set of hands are pulling your shorts and panties off. Leaving you naked to the mysteries in the room. The third set of hands aren’t on your body but, you feel an erect dick slide into your hand.
Quickly you’re pulled to your feet and pushed to be bent over on your hand and knees on the floor. Before you could stand up you feel someone line themselves at your ass and slowly slide themselves in.
Letting out a moan, as your mouth is open, another cock enters your mouth. Before you could reach down to relive your now aching pussy from the sudden pleasure, your hands are pinned down.
Slowly, a third cock slides into your pussy. All three using your holes for your pleasure. Not being able to see the three mystery ghost men, it thrills you.
Moaning around the one from the pleasure from the two at your ass and pussy. Reaching your climax from being stuffed full, all three of the ghosts quickly follow.
Cumming in all three of your holes. Filling you with their green goo. Drooling the green oozing liquid from your mouth. Slowly dripping the green goo from your ass and pussy as well.
Imagine a monster that is trapped in a mirror. The mirror, one handheld, has been melted and used in a bigger project until he is split up into different things: a handheld mirror, a compact mirror, a wall mirror, a mirror chandelier, and a large floor-to-ceiling mirror, each one decorated with gold and small multi colored gems, creating a rainbow color on all of them. He sits, able to see the entire store with all the pieces spread out through the organized store.
Then he notices you. His mirror is at the front of the store, an eye catcher, but he sees nobody worthy to get even a piece of him, so he meddles the best he can using what little power he has yet. Whether cloaking his gold to look dingy and worn or rolling under shelves, furniture, anything he can. But the minute he sees you enter, he tried everything he could to be seen. He knew you were the right owner when you noticed he seemed to be a set of items thanks to the rainbow arranged gems and similar sigils. He knew that you were the one when you searched under everything finding the rest of him-although you had a little help with finding two pieces thanks to a perfectly timed light hitting the gold and catching your eye-literally. He always thought he was priceless even when he was alive but he scoffed at how little he was sold for to you, especially when selling him as a set the owner gave you a discount seeing how determined you were in finding the rest of him. However, he was quick to let go of his price when he got to your house, able to see everything you did in your home.
You carried him with you everywhere you went, always happy when you opened him in whether on a date or at an event or anytime you went out, able to see your beautiful face again. He loved seeing you cook in the kitchen, bouncing between the overhead view the chandelier gave him and the mirror you placed in the hallway. He adored when you would pose in the hallway mirror, almost as if you were asking him for his silent approval before going out—even having the blessing of seeing you change out of them, naked body on full display for him to truly appreciate. He found it hilarious when you needed to use the handheld mirror to do your hair, fix your mirror, or make any tiny adjustments you needed to see as close as possible. But everything paled in comparison when he was truly able to see all of you late at night or anytime you had time to yourself.
The floor to ceiling mirror hung in front of your bed, able to see everything as you prepared for tonight. He was able to see your calendar out of the corner of his mirror in the hallway. Today you were off, meaning you had a three day weekend, and he knew what was he in store for.
Watching you walk around naked, lock all the doors before getting in the shower and doing an everything shower. Soon, you were done as he waited patiently—not like he could go anywhere —as you placed a towel on your bed, hearing a buzzing sound, before you went to town. He always believed everyone should take care of themselves in every aspect: emotionally mentally, physically, but most of all sexually. Today, he knew what you wanted, judging by the vibrator being on a low setting and your slow movements, you wanted to edge yourself, enjoy your orgasm today.
He wanted a lot of things in life—his greed was one of the things that led to him being this way now—but he desperately wanted a body to actually be with you. He wished to touch you, kiss you, show you just how little you needed for your multitude of toys, especially show you how your dildo collection paled in comparison to his dicks. He was grateful how you managed to show every part of yourself as you pleasured yourself—the delusional part of his mind thinking somehow he knew he was watching and wanted his pervy self to see all of you. The jolt of your hips slightly off the bed, your fingers spreading your cunt to reach your clit better as you worked the vibrator back and forth, rocking your body against it. He was a little pissed off he wasn’t melted into tiles to be a mirror ceiling, being fed the smallest crumbs whenever you lifted your face before resting it back on the pillow of your bed. This fueled his want—no his need— to be not an inanimate object but in his true form, to see every part of you, but mostly your face and its sinful expressions as you touched yourself until your hands cramped and your head was dizzy.
He doesn’t stop watching until you are done, watching your hand go limp against your chest, legs still spread, the towel under you soaked. You and him were grateful you laid alone seeing how awkward it would be to stumble upon your body to see you had passed out from many orgasms—made him chuckle just thinking about it before becoming angry at the thought of someone else seeing you nude. He waited, placing his hand on the mirror like usual, until it slowly went through. He lept in joy once again as he exited the mirror, needing to be as quick as possible, not knowing when he would return to the mirror.
This monster wasn’t just a monster, he was once a god, specifically the god of lust and all things sex. He never knew he could cross over into the real world until one night after you had squirted on the mirror surface before falling asleep, he tapped mindlessly on the barrier between you. He was in the middle tracing this precious moment on the mirror when all of a sudden his finger went through. And the rest was history.
He learned slowly that he could bring things into his mirror realm and that the longer you masturbated in front of the mirror, the longer he could stay in the real world, estimating that each hour gave him about 10 to 20 minutes.
He rushed, first getting a washcloth and wiping you down. 2 minutes he thought, keeping track of every precious minute he had with you. He gathered you in his arms, helping you take a shower and wiping you down. He tucked you under your covers, about to get something but felt his body slowly being pulled back into the mirror. His claws clawed at the ground, trying everything in his power to stay longer but like always it was futile. He found himself in his mirror realm once again. Although sad, he was grateful with his new trophy, a sketchbook and a pencil. He placed it with his other trinkets he used scarcely whenever you would go days sometimes weeks without masturbating. Ever since he discovered he could crossover, he held his self back to only get one thing, making sure he could remember every trip—and to make sure you weren’t getting suspicious or been scared that you were being robbed right under your nose.
The first thing he took was the remote to some vibrating pantries you purchased, finding that it would be useful sooner or later—it would be soon. The second thing he took was small, a ring you took off while cooking but lost it since you didn’t remember placing it on the counter while you cooked. You didn’t remember where, but he did when he saw you knock it over accidentally as you fumbled to take off the vibrating panties, the feeling too much when the remote went on the fritz, setting on high. The more you started to grow on him, the more sentimental items he started to take from you. The third thing he took was a perfume bottle he saw you spray every time you left out the house. He knew what you smelled liked when he first left the mirror realm, committing it the best he could to memory. He could never bottle up what you smelled like so he took what smelled the closest to your natural musk, hence the perfume bottle. He only sprayed it once, on the fourth item he took from you, a pillow you always laid your head on that he loved to smell, jerking off with his face pressed against it. The fifth, sixth, and seventh items he took was a series of books you finished, wanting a glimpse into what you liked, finding how not so innocent you weren’t—some of the book made even him blush. The eighth and ninth items he took was a scrapbook that you always had open on your desk with a bunch of folders of printed out pictures and a handwritten love letter to yourself. He shed a tear seeing how ill you thought of yourself, and the goals you set for the new year. The tenth item was the sketchbook and pencil he took today. He made sure each item was lined up in chronological order he took them.
He was proud seeing all his trophies. He wasted no time, drawing what transpired tonight. Before he was a god, he was a human, a devoted follower to a god that he spent most of his time painting portraits, building shrines out of wood and stone , carving sculptures out of expensive slabs of marble, anything he thought was fit. When he died, he was dragged to hell before getting the opportunity to get power of his own seeing how devoted he was.
Once he has finished, he wrote down the exact time and date of today. He looked forward to many more nights like tonight, but he what he truely wanted was for you to see him and embrace him. He just wished it was under better circumstances.
It was a date gone wrong. He already knew how much he despised the guy when you ranted on and on about him to your friend one night, although all you did was say how nice he was and how you planned to go out and he wanted to pay for dinner. However, after he brought you home and you rejected his kiss, his true nature came out. He yelled, ranting on and on how nice guys finish last before calling you a bitch. You slapped him in the face before making him. You shouted for him to lose your number, a few more curses spewing out of your mouth as you slammed the door shut. He could see everything from inside the house since one of his mirrors faced your security cameras that alerted everyone of your devices movements and any sound outside.
You were in a bad mood but you both knew what could cheer yourself up real quick. But, you were soon interrupted when a loud alarm rang through the room, you alarm flashing sensing movement by your door before it escalated to hearing a broken window, your bedroom. He watched as the bastard rushed through your bedroom. You rushed to grab the gun in your drawer but it jammed as he threw you back onto the bed. The sick fuck grinned, brandishing a knife in his hands, whispering whatever brought a smile to his face and a frown to yours in your ear. He banged on the mirror, punching the barrier as hard and as fast as he could until he could see a small crack. It seemed to get both of yours attention until the next thing you knew a towering figure lept out of the mirror, arms already outreached as he pulled the guy off of you. He punched him over and over again, before tossing him around. However, the figure before you was slowly pulled back into the mirror but not before holding a firm grip around your assailant, hellbent on bringing him back with him into his territory along with a bag the man had dropped by your bedside.
He tied him, eager to have another thing to toy with and many things to torture him with thanks to his backpack of malicious things. He had something better to do in his free time and he was going to enjoy every last minute of it.
Imagine starting a new job and Werewolf CEO becoming infatuated with you, his new human secretary. It doesn’t help that the sight of you sends the blood rushing straight to his cock, nor does it help that he is only a few days away from his rut. Either way, you seem to be a temptation too great to resist.
By lunch, he has you bent over his desk, whimpers and moans falling from your mouth as you cum again on his thick cock. Your skirt is bunched around your hips, and your inner thighs are wet with your juices. Your boss’s large body presses you tighter against his desk, his nose buried in your neck as he growls in tandem with his harsh thrusts.
You whimper as his massive knot pushes against your slick entrance. You try to shift under him, thinking there’s no way it will fit inside you. The werewolf just presses more of his weight onto you, keeping you firmly in place as he ruts hard against you.
You moan out as he thrusts against your G-spot, your already shaky legs practically turning to jelly. Your moans peak as you start cumming again, only to turn into a broken whimper as he pushes hard against your spasming entrance, baring down until his knot slips inside you.
You cry out even louder as his knot grows even bigger, fully locking him inside your oversensitive pussy before he growls loudly and cums inside you. He cums and cums and cums to the point you can feel your lower stomach swelling slightly.
He leans back and sits in his chair, dragging you with him by his cock still locked firmly in your cunt. You moan from the shifting as you are pulled onto his lap. His clawed hands roam your body as he asks, “What time is my next meeting?”.
It takes you a moment to get your brain functioning correctly before you reply, “It starts in five mi-minutes, Sir”. He gives a low chuckle and says, “Well, my knot isn’t going down for at least another hour. I guess you’ll just need to come to the meeting with me. Show everyone how well you take my knot.”
You can’t deny the thrill that runs through you at his words, your cunt clenching around his still hard cock and making him growl as he strokes a large hand over your slightly swollen lower stomach.
He kisses the side of your head and says, “Let’s get this meeting over with so I can take my new mate home and breed her properly”.
ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ2,050 words, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), brief somnophilia-> so noncon, dirty talk, dry humping, no penetration, roommate is a pervert, denial, flash cut smut, abrupt ending, etcʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ
𐙚18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𐙚
You've been living with him—your roommate—for six months now.
At first, the idea of sharing space with a stranger made your skin crawl. You told a friend, "What do I look like living with a man I don't know? I might as well go on Tinder and end up on the First 48." But rent kept creeping up, and even with all the overtime, minimum wage wasn't cutting it.
The first few weeks were fine. You laid down rules, locked your door, and barely spoke. You thought you could keep it that way.Then the little things started to show... your bear hybrid wasn't bad, though.
He's all hair, warmth, and awkwardness.
He smells like cedar and soap, sometimes like the beer he drinks when he's nervous. He moves slowly in the mornings, hair mussed and shirt riding up to show that thick, fuzzy stomach—soft-looking but solid underneath. Always in some thermal that's seen better days, stretched across his chest, curls of fur peeking over the neckline.
You've seen the little trail of hair below his belly button too—once, when he reached for something on the top shelf and his shirt lifted. A soft, dark line running down into his sweats. You looked away quickly, pretending you weren't staring, but it stayed in your head longer than you'd like to admit.
He had ways that felt like nature creeping in. How he'd sniff everything—laundry, takeout, even the damn air when you walked by, nostrils flaring like he was trying to catch your scent and hide it behind a cough. He slept in long stretches, deep and dead quiet, like hibernation was creeping in early.
When he tried to focus on a book his lower lip would catch slightly between his teeth, and his cup-shaped ears—nestled beneath black curls—couldn't stop shifting, rotating faintly to catch the distant sound of a passing car.
Not that bad, right?
He was just... pathetic in a soft, almost endearing way. The kind of man who apologizes for taking up space in his own home. Who still keeps his ex-wife as his lock screen months after she left him for another man, and pretends it's by accident. Who keeps getting fired for things like "poor communication" or "low initiative," but always gets rehired within days because people take one look at him and think he needs this.
You can tell when he's lonely. He hovers by the couch, pretends to clean things that don't need cleaning, hums to fill the silence.
You've caught him stealing glances, too. The kind that linger. The kind he's not proud of.
You can tell by the way he avoids eye contact, scratching at his beard like he's trying to rub the guilt off. There's a perverted streak in him—gentle, clumsy, half-hidden. When you borrowed his phone to order groceries, you saw the tab he forgot to close. Something filthy and kind of desperate, starring a woman who looked a bit like you. Familiar enough that you didn't bring it up. Just one more quiet thing between you.
Not even because he lingers by your door some nights, mumbling something about cooking or watching a movie together, voice all low and hopeful—like a kicked puppy trying not to whine too loud. Like now.
"Please," he says, eyes wide, voice rough. "I just want to spend time with you. You've been working a lot."
"Yeah, you should try it," you shoot back, meaning paying rent on time. You glance at his beard—thick, uneven, still a little neat from when you trimmed it last week.
You two have a deal. Three movies a month, or a few hours doing something together to make up for it. It's domestic, weirdly comforting. Easy to get used to.
He's good company, in his way. Kind. Respectful. Always trying too hard. Maybe a little too aware of you.
"Please," he says now, voice lower. "Just one more. I want to spend more time with you. You know I'll be sleeping through winter."
You sigh. It's hard to say no to him round, soft, needy in that big, lonely way. He's too easy to read, all his wanting sitting right there on the surface.
"Fine," you murmur, brushing a hand through his thick hair, feeling the warmth radiate off his scalp. His tail gave a single, strong, involuntary flick. A silent, needy confession. "But I'm picking the movie."
He smiles then—slow, uncertain. Something flickers in his eyes, part gratitude, part hunger.
You tell yourself it's fine. Just another movie night.
But you can already feel the heat of him beside you, the weight of his attention. That soft, heavy presence that fills the whole room—and keeps you just warm enough to stay.
-
The movie's halfway through.
You're on your stomach, cheek buried in a pillow, and a carton of lo mein balanced beside you. He's next to you in the same position—shoulder brushing yours, arm stretched out close enough that his fingers graze the blanket every time he shifts.
He was originally at the head of the bed, but that didn't last long.
You could feel his stare on your ass, the quiet ache of it. When you glanced over and teased him, told him if he was going to look at you like that he might as well feel you up too, he lowered his head, muttered an apology, and scooted closer like being near you might make up for it. You laughed, shaking your head. Knowing if he didn't move, your ass and flattened thighs would be starring in his nasty fantasies.
Now, he's still trying too hard to look casual, like he isn't fighting the pull of it. The warmth between you hums. You can smell him when he exhales—warm, a little like cedar and fried rice.
"Outlast" plays softly against the low hum of the heater. It's a tense show. Building shelters, finding food, sabotage, and lasting the longest for a cash prize. Halfway through, you mumble, "I wouldn't survive that. I'd tap out."
He chuckles, a low sound that rolls through the mattress. "You'd want to leave in the first two hours," he says, "but you'd stay. Just to prove everyone wrong. Maybe stay a full two days."
You side-eye him, chewing a piece of cabbage. He's got sauce on his chin. You want to wipe it. Don't.
He's always been like this. Too near, too eager for your approval. You'll make some offhand comment, and he'll glow under it, tail flicking once like he can't hide how pleased he is. He always finds a way to lean close, to make sure you see him, smell him, feel him around you.
And lately, things stick out more. How when you fall asleep on the couch, there's always a blanket tucked over you that smells faintly of his detergent. How he likes to do your laundry. How your panties always end up missing like clockwork.
You'd joke about it if it didn't sit so heavy in your gut. If you didn't already find them under his pillow. If you didn't look through his entire room and stumble upon that clear plastic toy. You lingered for a second before sliding the drawer closed, but the damage was done.
For the next few days, you couldn't stop picturing him using it. You saw his hips bucking messily, the toy wet and vocal under his weight. He’d moan without a shred of shame, mouth agape, hips snapping into a blur. You could see him groaning as he pulled the toy flush to his pelvis, balls smacking, cock swelling to fill every inch of it. He’d go over the edge too soon—a hot release overflowing the sleeve and dripping over his thighs—yet he’d keep thrusting through the ruin of it. Finally, he’d collapse, flushed and spent, muttering about how he only really needs you. The image made you throb.
The movie winds down quietly. Neither of you move. The room hums low and warm. At some point, your lids grow heavy, and the warmth of him beside you makes it easy to drift.
- Flash Cut 1
You wake to the heavy weight of him. His body is a solid pressure against your back, rocking into you with a subtle, steady rhythm that makes the mattress groan. His breath is shaky against your neck—caught halfway between a growl and a sigh—while his hand rests heavy and possessive on your lower hip.
You could push him off. You could say something sharp and end it right here.
But you don’t. Not yet. You keep your eyes squeezed shut, staying perfectly still as you let him linger there, the rhythm of his hips soft and uncertain against your ass.
His scent wraps around you—thick fur, sweat, and that cedar-sweetness underneath. He’s so big and solid that he makes the bed feel smaller, the very air in the room thicker. You feel the tremor of restraint in the way he moves, a faint vibration of nerves and need as he tries to hold himself back even while grinding against you.
In the dark, he murmurs your name like it’s the only thing holding him together. "Mghn—fuck... I'm sorry, so sorry... I just—uhn," he pants, the whispered words broken as he pulls you tighter against the soft curve of his belly. "Please don't wake up... just let me... god, you're so warm." He’s twitchy. Needy. Filled with the kind of restlessness that makes his entire body ache with tension.
The thick bulge stretching his sweats grinds right against your center. You feel every roll of his weight, the fabric of your shorts rubbing and catching your clit with every pass—and it doesn’t help that you aren't wearing panties. You stay still, breathing slow, pretending to sleep like you don't feel that slick heat already dampening your shorts. Like you don’t feel his hand slide further down, his blunt fingers cupping your inner thigh, just inches from your heat.
In the blissful haze of it, he catches your scent—a change in the air he immediately latches onto. Arousal. He knows you're awake. His movement hitches, his heart hammering against your spine.
"H-hey... are you awake?" he whispers, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope. "I'm sorry, I just really needed you. I couldn't take it anymore—you're just so—"
He stops, waiting for a rejection that hasn't come yet. He let's out a shaky, broken breath against your skin, his eyes glazed and desperate in the shadows as he waits for you to acknowledge him.
"Say something," he pleads, his grip on your hip tightening. "Please. Tell me to stop or... or tell me to keep going."
- Flash Cut 2
You reach back, fingers digging into his jaw to jerk his face toward yours. You squeeze his cheeks, forcing his glazed, half-lidded eyes to meet your gaze in the dark.
"You really are pathetic, you know that, right?" you berate, your voice low and sharp. "Waking me up because you're too weak to handle yourself?"
He leans into your palm, eyes fluttering shut, shamelessly chasing the warmth of your hand even as you insult him.
"Y-Yeah… I know," he rasps, his voice wrecked and thick with shame. "Sorry… I just—god, I really need this. I need you."
He doesn’t stop moving. If anything, the verbal lash makes him push harder. He grinds slow, syrupy-slick against you. You can feel the head of his dick trapped and pulsing behind his sweats, weeping fluid like he’s never been touched in his life. He moans into the shell of your ear—a broken, needy sound—at the sensation of your wet fabric sliding against his.
His grip on your thigh tightens, his blunt claws pressing a desperate, soft indentation into your skin. His fingers tremble, clutching at you as an anchor while his hips start to stutter, moving in earnest now. It’s ragged. Animalistic. Each heavy roll of his hips makes your body jolt.
He drags his dick up against your heat, catching the seam of your shorts against your clit again and again. You gasp, your breath hitching, soaking through your own clothes now until the friction becomes unbearable.
He nuzzles into your throat, his mouth wet and open, kissing the pulse point with sloppy, worshipping desperation.
His hand leaves your thigh, sliding up your stomach, shaking with the effort of not simply taking what he wants. He hooks his fingers into the neckline of your tank top and bra, and yanks them down with a sudden, impatient tug.
Cool air hits your skin for a second before his hand is there. Your breasts spill out, soft and full, and he cups one in a firm, greedy motion—kneading the tender flesh, his palm rough and hot, thumb dragging clumsily over your hardening nipple.
"So soft," he whimpers against your neck, hips snapping forward as he loses the last of his rhythm.
- Flash Cut 3
The air in the room is stifling, thick with the smell of musk and the humid heat radiating off his massive frame. He’s hovering over you now, holding your thighs, his weight making the mattress dip so sharply you feel like you’re sliding into him.
Your hands slide over his chest, fingers grazing the soft bulk of him like you have every right to. His brown skin is impossibly soft beneath the dark, dense black hair that covers him, holding the heat in like a blanket.
His dick is bare, a heavy, pulsing weight that he’s dragging rhythmically across your wet folds. He isn't inside you—you won't let him be—but the friction is perfect. Every time he slides upward, the broad, weeping head of his cock catches against your clit. The slick dripping down is copious. His cum mixes with yours in creamy white strings and splats.
"So messy," you mutter, reaching up to thread your fingers through the thick, coarse hair at the base of his skull. You yank his head down, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are blown wide, the irises nearly swallowed by pupils, darting across your face with a look of pure, unadulterated worship. "Already came twice, and you're still humping me like a stray mutt."
A low, broken growl vibrates in his chest—not a threat, but a plea. His skin is slick with sweat, glistening under the faint light of the TV.
"Can't—can't stop," he gasps, his lower lip caught between his teeth just like when he’s trying to read, only now it’s bleeding slightly from the pressure. "Feels too good... please, just let me stay right here."
"Look at you," you berate him, your voice a low, cutting contrast to his frantic breathing. "Too stupid to know your own limits. You’ll fuck yourself raw before you give up, won't you? Just a big, needy animal looking for a place to hide."
"Yes—fuck, yes," he gasps, hips jerking faster. His cock drags through your slick folds, twitching with every grind, never slipping inside. "Need it—let me put it in—ah."
Your nails dig into the back of his neck, forcing his face against yours.
"I'm not letting a man this pitiful actually fuck me," you whisper against his lips, feeling him shudder. "You don't deserve it."
He curses, his movements becoming ragged and uncoordinated. You can feel the tremor in his thighs, the muscles corded and jumping as he nears a third breaking point without even being inside you.
He lets out a loud, wrecked moan, his head dropping onto your shoulder as his body finally gives in. You feel the hot pulse of him as he shoots ropes of white across your stomach and pussy for the third time tonight, his entire frame racking with a deep tremor. He ruts three more times—slow, heavy, and desperate—before collapsing into you, his heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs.
