Hi I'm the anon that asked about the stealth exhibition and I've got something! A centaur prince is trotting in a parade wearing a fancy caparison but underneath all that is you, his secret lover all tied up with his cock up your pussy.
That’s a great idea! Ah, my first centaur fic~
Kept Under Wraps
Contains: past tense, prince centaur x afab!reader, mutual consent, secret relationship, stealth exhibitionism (not actually seen, but both are turned on by the possibility of being discovered), p in v, edging, big 🍆, lots of 💦, 1.6k words, NSFW & MDNI
✧ Good to know: Being “kept” can refer to a person not working and instead being financially supported by a wealthier partner in exchange for companionship and/or physical intimacy.
✧ Good to know: A “wrap” also refers to a loose outer garment or piece of material, which the pattern of a caparison (decorative / protective cloth covering for animals like horses) can be printed or embroidered on.
Divider by @angeliicide
He looked magnificent. You were sure of this. His long hair artfully braided, glittering jewelry adorning his hands, and wearing a set of finely embroidered coat, caparison and shoes of silk and velvet as he followed the parade led by the king and queen... There was no one more handsome than your prince.
If only you could’ve seen him.
But then again, there was nobody closer to him than you. Only you knew how he was in private, how firm his grasp when he hugged, how tenderly he kissed, how soft the fur on his belly felt when you lay against it with your bare skin... just like now.
Tied to the prince's underside and securely hidden beneath layers of breathable fabric, his nearly floor-length caparison concealing any hint of your figure, your pussy was stuffed with his long, erect cock. Every step subtly rocked you back and forth, grinding your bare nipples on his fur and his flared tip against your g-spot. The long-lasting stimulation, from his chambers out of the palace and finally down the street once the parade assembled, left you so wet and needy you couldn’t think, and your prince wasn’t any better.
He knew this parade would consume a lot of his time. Just preparing took half a day, much less actually walking the streets and waving to the excited citizens. As such, he, greedy for your company, had asked you for this favor. Simply knowing you were right by his side, feeling your presence, he would feel reassured.
That’s what he thought.
Then he prepared your pussy with his tongue and fingers, and the moment he entered you with his big flared cock head, he almost came.
It took him a lot of effort to hold back, especially with your delicious moans filling his ears and your tight walls twitching around his veiny length. Yet he didn’t have time to take you right then and there. He needed to be patient, to wait until the end of the parade, until he was back in his chambers where no one would see or hear you when you came undone on his cock.
In the meantime, his flared glans would keep grinding against that slightly rough patch of flesh within your sopping pussy, leaking incessantly and producing subtle squelches that seemed louder than they actually were, as if anyone he passed could hear.
These thoughts kept him on edge. The prince even couldn’t help swaying his ass a little more as he walked, just to secretly rut into you under the eyes of his family and subjects.
And you?
You had to keep quiet.
Sweating as you bit your lip, desperately hoping no one noticed you while at the same time absolutely thrilled by the notion. All it needed was a single strong gust of wind, and the entire royal family, their guards, the capital’s citizens, and eventually the entire nation and beyond would know that the kingdom's one and only prince was impaling an unknown commoner on his erect cock while walking the celebratory parade. They’d see your cock-drunk expression, your parted folds, your prince’s length glistening with the slick of your stretched pussy...
Your pussy twitched at these thoughts, tightening around the prince’s big horse cock so much you could feel his fiercely bulging veins pulsing within your walls. If only he’d thrust…
But right then, the parade came to a halt.
You had no clue what happened, unable to see anything from beneath the caparison and a little lightheaded from the warmth. All you knew was that the prince stilled, his cock motionless. The lack of stimulation when you were so close to coming was maddening. How could he do this? No, how could he bear it? He’d already been leaking all the way back in his chambers, so now he must be absolutely eager to rail you and cum until it came gushing out.
And you were right; your centaur prince was slowly but surely reaching his limit. Unseen by anyone, sweat was beading on his back beneath the thick, richly embroidered uniform, and his breathing had deepened in an attempt to control himself.
It was agonizing, being inside you yet having to refrain from fucking you. The way your wet walls embraced his length drove him crazy, tempting him to properly take you right then and there. But your affair was a secret one, not to be known, at least during this time. Yet if he were to be exposed at this very moment, he would not hesitate and fuck you for everyone to see. Even being gawked at by his people, he’d pump you full of his cum, until it gushed out of your glorious pussy and became filth on the streets. Just the thought, the image of it in his mind, made his beautifully maintained tail flick impatiently and his cock throb with eager anticipation.
Though… he didn’t really want anyone to see you like that. Especially when he had difficulty doing so. And what he couldn’t see, no one else was allowed to see, either.
When the procession finally started moving again, the way the prince’s cock rocked into you nearly made you bite your tongue off. The large size, the flared head, the bulging veins…! All of it left you wanting, needy to the point of dizziness. Even worse, parts of your body were staring to feel numb, tingling like a bunch of ants crawling around under your skin. If only you could…
You felt like you were going crazy as you hung there.
It seemed to take an eternity for the sound of regular footsteps on cobble streets to change to the echoing of the castle’s marble hall. Your attention snapped back at the noise, knowing well that the prince would soon walk up the ramp and return to his chambers. You could hear him chat a little with his family, then claim tiredness and start his retreat. This was entirely reasonable, of course. After all, one just had to take a look at his sweaty face and listen to his trembling voice...
Only you knew that he wasn’t tired from walking. Only you knew that the moment he returned to his chambers, the real exercise would start.
The prince tried to appear calm as he hurried upstairs and impatiently waved his servants away. He couldn’t risk them seeing you, even if it was just your sweaty outline beneath his silk wrap. Any chance of your affair being known needed to be nipped in the bud. And... he needed you so badly, he felt like he was about to explode. There was really no way for him to wait any longer.
The moment the door to his bedchamber closed, he started stripping. His gorgeous yet heavy coat and caparison fell to the ground, the noise muffled by the thick carpet, followed by the sound of him ripping his wet with sweat shirt off of his upper body.
Clothes fell, and you were exposed to the world with a gasp for air. Hair stuck to your flushed face and limbs to numb to move, you were placed on his bed. His weight pressed down on you as he knelt on the mattress with his front legs, and both of you stretched to gaze at each other, tenderly yet lustfully locking eyes as he started to thrust.
At first, he was still holding back a little, trying to be gentle, yet neither of you could hold back.
You clenched your pussy, and your prince responded by ramming his cock into you, making you swallow more than half of his monstrous length. He knocked the air out of your lungs with a broken moan, his flared tip kissing your cervix and rearranging your guts with how deeply he penetrated. The pattern of his bulging veins was already firmly imprinted in your walls, wonderfully stimulating you into a cock-drunk mess as his shaft throbbed.
His pace quickly got faster and messier, making your breasts bounce and nipples rub against his belly. He could feel you claw at his coat of fur, hear you moan and see your eyes roll, all of it urging him to go even harder. Low groans and murmurs spilled from his lips, tears blurring his sight while his cock leaked eagerly and his balls tightened. The need to cum was so strong it almost hurt, leading him to bury himself as deep in your pussy as possible just before he came.
You reached your climax at the same time.
Your walls fluttered around your prince’s length like a massage. The rhythmic tension felt as if you were milking him, extending his eruption and squeezing until it spilled out of you.
Exhilaration exploded in your body and blinded your senses, but you still noticed how his slowly softening cock gradually slipped out of you. His weight on top of you made his thick cum gush out of your hole, and tensing your muscles you could still hear the liquids inside you slosh and squelch. It was a sensation that filled you with new arousal despite your exhaustion.
Meanwhile, your prince groaned as he got off the bed and knelt down before it. With a prime view of your ravaged pussy, he felt his dick give a twitch in the desire to go again despite his refractory period. Forced to ignore his want for a while, he swallowed and grabbed your legs to pull your closer. Legs hanging off the bed and straddling his human half’s waist, you were in the perfect place to share a kiss with.
And so, sweaty skin stuck together, his large hands gently massaging your tired body while his tongue tangled with yours.
Hannibal and Will had settled into domestic bliss post-fall. Each day, they woke up together and cooked breakfast. Hannibal read the paper and Will took Winston for a walk. He missed the rest of the dogs, but he was glad that Hannibal had given Chiyoh one last mission before paying her off handsomely for all her help.
They reconvened for dinner each evening, table set, mineral water poured, and either Hannibal would craft something elegant with human flesh or Will would make a simple but hearty meal with human flesh except if he was in the mood for fish. It didn’t matter. They were content and their wounds were healing and both of them took doctor-prescribed antidepressants to avoid anything nasty like head-sawing or sending someone to kill the other. It was nearly idyllic…. but there was one thing that was missing.
Yes, there was casual intimacy, but their clothing stayed on and their kisses were chaste. Will began to feel a certain restlessness at night and he could tell Hannibal was struggling too, sometimes kneading their homemade bread a bit too evocatively. God, Will wanted to be that sourdough boule, wrestled into delighted glutenosity by Hannibal’s veiny hands.
Things couldn’t continue this way. Something had to change or they’d end up quoting Dante at one another until they sprained something.
“Hannibal…,” Will started but trailed off. He blew out a strong gust of air too forceful to be a sigh.
“Beloved Will,” said Hannibal. “Am I right in thinking that you and I have arrived at the same threshold of concupiscence? Are you ready to consider going… all the way?”
Hannibal’s pupils loomed large and dark, desire palpable on his normally impassive visage.
“God. Yes. Hannibal, I want to take you to bed and consensually engage in coitus in a socially-permissible way.” Will’s ears turned a delightful shade of pink as he blushed. Although he’d been a hardened special agent at one time, he still felt shy mentioning the marital mambo.
“I cannot tell you how I have longed for this moment, dear boy. And now there is only one thing more we must do before we ramble down to pleasure town. I shall call my lawyer post-haste!”
“Your lawyer??” asked Will incredulously. Did Hannibal want a nookie pre-nup?
“Do you trust me, Will?” queried Hannibal.
“How could you ask that after everything we’ve been through? But yes, I trust you, Hannibal.” Despite Will’s brief pique, he still went to embrace Hannibal. He wasn’t expecting to be rebuffed, however.
Hannibal held up his hand as his phone began to ring. “I shall make this as quick as possible. Leonard is extremely capable and he will ensure that we proceed properly.”
Proceed properly? Will was more mystified than ever, but he held his tongue as he listened to Hannibal’s side of the conversation.
“Leonard? Yes, it is I. Yes. Klaipeda is lovely in summer. Listen…. Remember what we talked about before my trial last time? Oh no, the other matter of concern. Yes. That one. How soon can you be here? Tuesday? I must then disclose that it is a matter of some delicacy and a fair amount of urgency. I would be more than happy to add a generous bonus atop the normal retainer if you would grace us with your presence by Sunday at the latest. Yes. Of course. I shall send a car for you. Hmm yes. Yes. It will be a pleasure to have your legal expertise and the gravitas of your witness to the contract. My best to your family. Yes. Good evening.”
With that Hannibal hung up and embraced Will. Meanwhile, Will’s head was spinning. He struggled to read into what Hannibal could possibly mean with all of that. His golden pendulum was silent which is why the syringe to the neck came as such a surprise before he was rendered unconscious.
He awoke with a start and wasn’t certain if he’d been knocked out for a few hours or if it was longer than that. He went to sit up but his arms and legs were bound to the bed. I thought Hannibal wanted to get freaky, so why all the subterfuge and rope? Was this the end of HanniGram?
“Ah, Hannibal? I believe Will is awake now,” came a vaguely familiar voice.
Will blinked his eyes open and managed to focus on the blur in the corner that resolved itself as Leonard Brauer, Esquire. He was sitting in one of their plush armchairs that normally faced the fireplace in the living room.
Hannibal bustled into the room in a silk bathrobe and brought Will a glass of water with a straw in it. He was too parched to protest immediately, but then quickly found his voice.
“So, Will, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here. Let me enlighten you. I’m here for the fucking contract.”
“The what now? What fucking contract??” snarled Will. “What the fuck, Hannibal?”
“Hannibal, you really didn’t tell Will anything? Will. You have every right to be upset if Hannibal hasn’t filled you in about the details of the Fucking Contract. Capital F, capital C. It is a Lecter family tradition.”
“Then why did Hannibal knock me out and tie me down?”
Hannibal replied before Will could work himself into a proper snit.
“Will, when you told me you wanted to consummate our relationship in the bedchamber, it set my loins aflame. I knew I had only a brief window to knock you out and get us both into chastity before we succumbed to our passion. And we cannot engage in coitus without the coital contract. Leonard, must we use that vulgar term?” and Hannibal sighed. That word was soooo inelegant.
Well, at least Will knew why his nether region felt so confined.
“Let’s get this over with then,” grumbled Will.
“Yes, Leonard. We are ready to begin,” said Hannibal as he sat down on the bed next to his trussed-up beloved.
“Wonderful,” said the lawyer from the chair conveniently set at an angle at the foot of the bed.
“Let us begin. Hannibal first, and then Will. Please state your full legal name. And Hannibal, are you the proposer or the consenter in this?”
“The proposer. Hannibal Castiza Ungoliant Bartholomew Lecter VIII, PhD PsyD.”
“William Shannon Clovis Graham.”
“And is this a one-time contract with a set duration or open-ended?”
“For myself, I am happy to leave the date of completion open. Will?”
“Oh uh, yeah. Don’t want to have to call you back every time we want to tangle the sheets together, right?”
Leonard carefully updated the document on his laptop as they worked their way through the consent form.
“How do you both feel about ‘full body touching (external only)’ – yea, nay? And remember, you must answer verbally for the purposes of this document.”
Hannibal and Will both gave an enthusiastic yea.
“And what about kissing? And with the kissing, tongue or no insertion of tongue into mouth?”
“Tongues definitely.”
“Yes, Will, I concur.”
“Will or Hannibal, do either of you want to stipulate contraceptive methods?”
“Uh, I’m good. No uterus, just a cock,” said Will.
“Myself as well, Leonard, but I must commend you on the thoroughness of the contract. I believe we may strike section IV without issue,” Hannibal said. He truly had an expert in his cuck chair.
“Hannibal, can you loosen one of the ropes to make it easier for Will to add his initials next to everything you agreed to?”
“Ah, yes. A fine idea, Leonard.”
And so it went until every item of the contract had been properly recorded, annotated, revised, redacted, initialed, signed, and notarized.
At last, Hannibal and Will were able to consummate their love and they did so with metaphorical (and literal) relish. Leonard agreed to a 10% discount on his usual fees for the privilege of watching from the cuck chair.
• Alphas, betas, omegas exist, but it’s considered private temple talk rather than public identity. Clerics sell sachets/teas to take the edge off ruts/heats; it’s seen as health care, not scandal.
• Scenting = intimacy shorthand. Cheek-to-cheek is public-safe; throat or wrist is considered deeply personal. Asking permission is etiquette 101.
• “Bond” isn’t a magical collar—more like a steadying thread two people choose to tie. Easily honored, hard to fake.
Our pair:
• Astarion: alpha who hates the word claim but loves the word choice. Keeps his scent buttoned up unless asked.
• Tav (bard): omega who treats composure as a stage costume; curious, rule-literate, shy about needs.
• Signals they already share: The Tap (tease/redirect), The Squeeze (grounding), The Brush (I see you), The Stroke (breathe with me). Three taps = stop.
one-shot: “cheek her out” (act 1, abandoned house by the swamp)
The house smells like wet wood and old rosemary. The floorboards remember feet—too many—but tonight they remember us. Karlach’s laugh rattles the shutters once, then wanders off toward Wyll and the campfire. Doors settle. Night folds in.
I sit on the windowsill and try to breathe like a normal person would: in, out; pretend my ribs aren’t a birdcage. My leg bounces in eights. Heel-toe, toe-heel. I press my thumb to the heartbeat in my palm and miss.
Astarion appears in the warped glass as a pale sliver, then turns into himself—solid, careful. He doesn’t speak. Just leans a hip to the sill, close enough that the heat from his body finds my shoulder.
“The water’s stopped arguing with the reeds,” he murmurs after a moment. “Even the swamp knows when to rest.”
“I’m working on it,” I say, which is not what he asked. My voice comes out textured—words fighting their way through wool.
He watches my hands. The Stroke—his thumb traces slow across my palm, two beats on, two off—until my eight becomes a four. He does not crowd. His body is a proposition, not a wall.
“You’re humming wrong,” he says gently. “May I help you hum right?”
I look at him through our reflections. It would be easy to joke about it, to snap the tension with a quip. Instead, I nod. “Yes.”
He matches my breath for a few rounds, then tips his head, almost bashful—a rare tell. “More specifically,” he says, tone careful, “may I scent you? Cheek only. Public-safe. You can say no.”
The word scent makes my stomach do a strange, pleased spiral that I try not to show. Heat is not here yet; it’s a weather system offshore, a pressure change I’ve been pretending is “just a breeze.” I’ve been pretending at a lot of things.
“Cheek only,” I echo. “And if I tap—”
“Three taps and I’m Switzerland,” he promises. The corner of his mouth tilts. “Infuriatingly neutral and ten steps away.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. “All right.”
He moves like the answer to a question I’m still asking. The Brush first—fingers at my temple, a slow tuck of a curl behind my ear. Reverent. He waits until my shoulders drop a fraction and then—his cheek finds mine.
It’s the lightest press. Cool skin, then warmth, then—
Oh.
Sandalwood and something that reminds me of dusk in the city—smoke on old stone, a sweetness not from flowers but from the idea of them. His breath skims my jaw, steady as counting. He doesn’t chase; he lets the scent settle like a shawl I can shrug off if it itches.
“I’m here,” he murmurs into the space beside my ear, not touching my throat, not assuming. “You’re safe.”
My fingers twitch. He waits. I lift them—small gravity—then choose boldness and lay my hand over his, threading our fingers. The Squeeze: one, two. I’m here, too.
Outside, a frog remembers it’s a tenor. The world keeps being itself. Inside, my ribs loosen their grip.
“You do realize this is terribly unfair,” he says softly, cheek still resting against mine. “You smell like honey on rain. I’m bound to do something undignified.”
“You’re doing great,” I say, and mean it. My voice isn’t frayed now. “You may… continue.”
A pause—his chest shakes once with quiet laughter. Then he does, gentle as prayer. The scent deepens where our skin meets, a conversation my body understands better than my mouth does. Something low in me—skittish, stubborn—uncurls a fraction. He doesn’t pounce on that. He guards it, like you cup a small flame.
“May I try the other cheek?” he asks, because he would.
“Yes.” My yes is a little breathless. It feels like a secret I finally want to be caught telling.
He turns my face with two fingers at my jaw—slow, obvious, ask-and-wait. The Stroke returns to my palm. When the second press comes, he leaves a kiss at my temple, barely there—I love your mind. Rest. My eyes sting in that embarrassing way that makes me grateful for dark rooms.
“You’re very good at this,” I say, because I don’t know how to say thank you for not making me smaller to be close to you.
His smile warms against my skin. “I had an excellent teacher.” He means me. I shake my head, but he catches the deflection with a feather-light Tap to my chin. “No rambling tonight, darling. Not unless you want to.”
I want to. I don’t. I want—
“I keep trying to be… easier,” I confess. “Quieter. Like if I fold small enough people will stop tripping over me.”
“Hmm.” He tilts his forehead to mine—The Lean, equal weight. “Tripping over you is half their good fortune.”
I bark a laugh that does something reckless to my lungs. He looks delighted with himself, then contrite for the delight, which is ridiculous, which makes me smile more. He sighs, relieved at the little chain reaction he’s set off.
Outside, a door thumps—Karlach, probably, accidentally proving once again that stealth is a social construct. The moment doesn’t break; it expands.
“Question,” he says lightly. “If I were to”—his thumb circles once on my wrist, asking level two permission—“scent your wrist as well, would that be too forward?”
Throat and wrist are different countries. I know this. He knows this. The flutter that answers is not fear. It’s… want, wearing its good coat.
“Not tonight,” I say, carefully. “But ask me again when the weather changes.”
“Gladly.” His smile goes soft around the edges. “I do adore a forecast.”
He eases back, gifting me air and not making it a test. He doesn’t perform his restraint like a favor I owe him for. He just… rests his hand at my waist—The Pull, soothing rather than claiming—and lets me drift closer if I like.
I like.
We stand there with the swamp hush and the moon doing its best impression of a coin flicked into the river. My body maps him with new coordinates: cheek, temple, the neat line of his shoulder under my palm. The shawl of him stays, subtle, a steadying note under the noise.
“I should sleep,” I say.
“You should,” he agrees. “Shall I take first watch?”
“Will you actually watch, or will you pout handsomely at the stars and call it work?”
“Both,” he says, scandalized I’d make him choose. Then, softer: “Lie down. I’ll be here when you wake.”
My mouth says, “Bossy.” My body says, thank the gods. I curl onto the bedroll; the canvas smells like dust and adventure. He tucks the blanket up with one knuckle, absurdly careful, like I’m an artifact he has the privilege of guarding.
“Sleep,” he says again, and puts the barest kiss in my hair. Rest your mind.
I do.
…When the weather changes (and it will; the pressure’s singing at the edge of me like a kettle), there are a dozen places this could go. There are teas on the market and temple doors that don’t judge and a vampire who hates the word claim but loves the word choice. There are my rules (three taps, gate before wall) and his patience (knocking, always). There is my hand, finding his cheek in the dark, and the way his breath stutters once—a lovely, human mistake.
For now, the house remembers us as quiet. For now, the night holds.
Contains: male fallen angel x male incubus reader, mutual consent, blow job + anal for reader, edging and crying during for fallen angel, aphrodisiac bodily fluids, lots of 💦, many orgasms, slight belly bulge, NSFW & MDNI
✧ Good to know: sweat angel refers to a snow-angel shaped mark of sweat remaining on a surface indicating that one has perspired profusely, generally as a result of intense exercise
Outside, thick snow blanketed all available surfaces, and ice bloomed on the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing city. Outlined by the blurry lights, your profile was hazy as you leaned closer to the window, blowing a warm breath against the cool glass pane and making it fog up.
Azza couldn’t help smiling when he saw you like this. “Bored?”
You turned towards the approaching fallen angel and hummed lazily, “A little.”
He stood next to you, imitating your motions to blow on the glass and leave a little cloud of fog. The amber liquid in his glass swirled with his actions and the rising bubbles sparkled in the warm light, though they stood in no comparison to Azza’s dazzlingly bright eyes when he looked at you.
You couldn’t help swallowing, your throat feeling parched all of a sudden.
Just how was it possible for your best friend to be so hot? It really made you want to…
Glancing at his little cloud of fog, you reached out and drew a heart. It was unsymmetrical, the two halves not connecting properly, and both your finger pad and nail had left a clear trail.
Azza chuckled. The low sound of his voice made your ears burn.
“Are you drunk?” he wondered.
You shook your head, feeling slightly dizzy and overly confident, “No.”
Azza hummed, though it was unclear whether he believed you. He twirled the stem of his glass between his long fingers, then turned around to put it down nearby. As he bent over, his tight white pants wonderfully outlined his ass, making you swallow subconsciously.
Feeling heat pool in your abdomen, you quickly looked away.
It was nothing new that Azza was very attractive to you, both in appearance and personality, but somehow, this evening, the fallen angel seemed to have a truly bewitching quality to him.
As you were thinking, thoughts slowed by the alcohol, Azza looked at you. He tried to be discreet, yet his eyes were practically glued to you. His heart pounded as he gazed at you and your reflection in the window.
Your face was flushed, eyes and lips glistening with moisture, while your casual posture nicely showed off your figure and… your bulging crotch.
Azza’s heart skipped a beat.
Suddenly, your red face, lowered eyes and pursed lips appeared a little suspicious, a little more… enticing.
“You…”
You glanced at him.
Why was his voice so hoarse?
After waiting a while for him to continue speaking without hearing anything, you finally wondered, “Are you alright?”
He raised a brow, “Are you?” Then he meaningfully looked down.
You followed his eyes.
Fuck.
You looked back up at Azza, panic flooding your mind. “That—“
“Are you hard for me?”
Your heart jumped. ”What??”
“I asked,” Azza took a step closer to you, making you subconsciously scoot back a bit, and his voice was suddenly so hoarse, so low it sent a tingling current from your ears to your heart and crotch, “are you hard for me?”
For a moment, you thought about embarrassedly denying it. But what would he do then? Just thinking that it could somehow end badly gave you so much anxiety you admitted it with a nod and a direct gaze gauging his reaction, “Yes. You’re so damn hot tonight, it would be a sin for me to not get hard.”
After all, you were an incubus. There was nothing wrong with being honest.
You saw Azza’s Adam’s apple bob. He came even closer, so close you meant to feel the heat radiating from him and recognized your figure reflected in his eyes. “Really?”
You nodded.
And with that, you were pressed against the cold window pane, your lips caught in an ardent kiss.
Hot bodies pressed together, tightly clinging to each other in a passionate embrace. His tongue pried open your mouth and brushed past your teeth to entangle with yours, and his hands kept groping up and down, teasing your waist and the base of your thighs, tenderly caressing your neck and cheeks. All his longing and yearning was put into this kiss, brimming with years of unspoken feelings.
He left you utterly breathless.
When your lips parted, his were reddened and glistening, and his bright eyes seemed to sparkle in the warm light.
It made you want to kiss him again, and again and again, until your lips were numb and his red as blood. Better yet if you really managed to make him bleed…
Azza pressed a kiss to your neck and sucked hard. The sensation sent another tingle into your crotch, making your erection press painfully against your pants, and you couldn’t help moaning.
Satisfied with your reaction, the fallen angel smiled gently. Then, he unexpectedly kneeled. One hand on your hip and the other fiddling with your zipper, he looked up at you, his smiling lips tantalizingly close to your dick and the way he blinked his eyes felt like cupid’s arrow hitting your heart.
“May I?” he asked.
The low tone of his voice was so sexy you nodded without hesitation.
So he unzipped your pants, gently freeing your cock. His warm touch on your shaft and his hot breath hitting your tip made you leak.
“Azza…”
He hummed, parted his reddened lips, and stuck out his tongue. Warm, wet, and soft, the flexible appendage licked up the drop of milky white pre cum, slowly gliding over your glans. The tip of his tongue even dipped into your little slit.
Leaning back against the cold window yet still feeling unsteady on your legs, you groped a bit and finally gripped Azza’s shoulders.
What happened after proved this move was one of great foresight.
Azza tenderly licked along your erect cock, leaving behind trails of warm saliva that quickly cooled on your skin and made you tremble. Once your cock was covered in his saliva, he kissed the base and lightly sucked, working his way along your shaft in this way. When he finally reached your tip, he licked again, by the way parting his lips for your glans. His tongue slid along your underside and then retreated, allowing his mouth to close around you for a slow, strong suck.
“Azza— ah…!”
He took your cock into his mouth.
The way you twitched made him moan, the low vibrations resonating through the flesh and into your bones.
It wasn’t much, yet he made you unable to resist. Your light pink lust markings deepened in color at visible speed, your spade-tipped tail writhed within your pants, and your bat-like wings directly tore your top apart as they burst from your back.
More cum leaked from your dick as he took you in. Azza reflexively swallowed, and the naturally aphrodisiac fluid caused his eyes and cheeks to gradually flush. It was a sinfully beautiful sight, constantly enticing you to wreck the fallen angel with frenzied thrusts until he was cock-drunk and saturated with your scent.
His tongue curl against the underside of your shaft as he forced you further into his mouth. He was so tight and warm you already felt like you’d ascended to heaven, yet he didn’t stop. With some effort, he deep-throated your cock. The muscles constricted around your length and his neck bulged from the effort, and his lips gently enveloped your base.
Your cock throbbed in his mouth and throat, causing him to moan and you to throb again. And then he bobbed his head and swallowed repeatedly, and that was all he needed to make you cum.
You bit back a groan and glanced down at him, watching him narrow his eyes and gulp down your seed in enjoyment, his Adam’s apple moving with the action.
At that moment, the fallen angel looked particularly innocent yet obscene, like a pure angel obliviously drinking he forbidden nectar, unknowingly sinking into the depraved arms of lust and greed.
It made your throat itch and body pulse.
Guided by the innate instincts of your bloodline, you grabbed Azza by his hair and pulled him up. Your cock slipped from his lips and drew a line of shimmering saliva that you had no capacity to care for, and you entangled him in a sloppy kiss, drool dripping as you tasted yourself on his tongue.
While kissing, neither of you stayed idle. Hands groping and tugging, you somehow managed to pull of enough of your clothes that your chests and dicks were directly pressed together. You could feel his hot skin against yours, hands caressing your abdomen and throbbing heartbeat synchronizing with yours. The feathers of his wings tickled as they enveloped you, making you instinctively shrink your bat-like wings to fit into his embrace.
There was a certain dominance to this posture, stuck between his heat and the cold window, but with the way Azza was blushing…
You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him lift you by your thighs, allowing you to cling to his strong waist with your legs while his erect cock rubbed against your bare ass. Your spade-tipped tail subconsciously swayed, the tapered, velvety tip teasing his balls, and your nails dug into his tensed back as his warm, slender fingers carefully circled your puckered asshole.
“I can take it,” you breathed.
Azza looked at your eyes, nose, lips, and back up at your eyes, looking utterly enchanted. His voice was hoarse, “Are you sure?”
You gave him a deep kiss and mumbled quietly between your lips, “Sure as hell.”
Then he pulled back, lifted a hand, and made you suck two of his fingers. He played with your tongue, gently pinching and pressing down, thoroughly coating them in your saliva before removing them from your mouth. As his hand moved towards your rear, you could feel his touch without any contact. When he finally reached your little bud, the cool wet touch made you shiver, and the first finger was clasped tightly as he made to unfurl your tight petals.
Azza paid close attention to your expressions, all the while showering your face and neck with kisses as gentle as spring rain. In this way, he quickly noticed that whenever his finger brushed over a particular spot within you, you’d tremble and tense and flush, breathing harder and moaning softly while your tip leaked milky drops.
The seductive scent of your lust nearly drove him mad.
Your asshole had barely adapted to the first finger when the second followed, opening you further.
Under the influence of your aphrodisiac and the eruption of his repressed emotions, it took all his patience to stretch you. Yet when he was finally done, he was still restraining himself, not wanting to accidentally hurt you.
His leaking tip nudged your asshole and slowly pressed inside. The girth of his curved cock smoothed out your wrinkles and teased your sensitive spots as he entered, stuffing you to the brim. He was so big bottoming out meant being buried balls deep within your tight ass, and when you tensed your muscles, the rim of your hole clamped down on his hilt.
Azza buried his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his sweet moan. “Gods, you feel divine…”
“And you feel hellishly good; do you even know how fucking big you are? Any more and you’ll make my stomach bulge…” you groaned.
Hearing this, he raised his head, looking at you with watery eyes and pursed lips. He appeared moments away from crying.
“…or you fuck me really hard.”
The fallen angel’s breathing got rougher, and then he gave you a deep and lingering kiss that made the base of your tongue numb as he started moving.
His feathers rustled and brushed over the thin skin of your wings, and his muscles flexed from holding you. Glistening with sweat and completely focused on you, he looked sexy as hell, making you crave more than just his tentative thrusts.
You kissed and bit and the tip of your tail teased the inside of his thigh. The shudder it sent through him translated into a throbbing of his cock, particularly obvious against your sensitive walls. Your resulting little moan, like everything of you, was pure seduction to him.
And so, Azza fucked you against the cold window pane, the pump of his hips scooting you up a little against the smooth surface fogging up from your body heat. His hot lips slipped from yours and covered your neck, his hands gripped your ass and thighs like you were his anchor, and the way his glans dragged over prostate made you constantly leak pre cum all over his abs. The milky white liquid ran down, snaking along the bulging veins above his crotch, disappearing into his pubic hair, and finally staining his tight balls, which your tail had at some point wrapped around.
His balls and face reddened more and more and his thrusts grew fiercer. Finally, he went so hard he really made your belly bulge as you arched your back in your first orgasm of the night.
Your entire body tingled, like a gentle current of electricity running along your nerves and magic humming in your bones. Fingers digging into Azza’s back and abdomen tightening, throwing your head back in a choked moan, your release erupted. Milky drops of cum splattered across the fallen angel’s toned chest, a few even reaching his lips. Feeling the sticky liquid, his tongue swept over the corner of his mouth in a quick lick.
“Fuck,” you grabbed the back of his head and kissed him fiercely.
Want and need entwined so intimately it was impossible to distinguish them from each other, coalescing in an emotion beyond words, defying any and all possible explanations. Yet whatever it was, it ran so deep it might’ve as well been an intrinsic part of you, and it was absolutely, utterly inseparable from Azza.
Your tail clenched and you clawed at his back. You wanted pain, wanted pleasure, wanted to mark and possess him.
And he ravaged your tight ass with his girthy, curved cock as if he wanted to mold you to his shape. His rhythm matched your heartbeat and overtook it, going fast and hard to vent his desire. He made you climax again and again, throbbing and groaning and crying every time you squeezed him.
Seeing his eyes reddened by lust and tears, you only felt more aroused. You couldn’t help teasing him, nibbling on his neck and playfully relaxing your tail only to tense it again just before he could cum. The way he bit his lower lip and begged you to let him cum stoked your bad taste. Licking away his tears, you said, “Cry for me.”
Azza whimpered, then intensified his efforts.
Drowned by the frenzied onslaught of pleasure he brought, your mouth hung open and your eyes rolled. He made you come so many times your dick ached and your cum was turning translucent, smeared across your chests and dripping down your stomachs. To you, it was just sticky, but for him, it burned on his skin and brought him ever closer to exploding.
Finally, after one last orgasm, you relaxed. You slipped a bit, wings drooping a little and spade-tipped tail releasing his balls.
The fallen angel roared. He rammed his cock balls-deep into your ass, throbbing and pulsing as he came, hands clenching hard enough to bruise. Load after load of cum was pumped into you and slowly dribbled with his shallow thrusts riding the afterglow of his climax.
You caressed his tear-stained face and kissed him.
Azza responded tenderly, even as his legs softened and you slowly slid down, leaving a trail on the fogged up window.
Sweaty and satisfied, you leaned against each other.
1. Murabahah is a particular kind of sale where the seller expressly mentions the cost of the sold commodity he has incurred, and sells it to another person by adding some profit or mark-up thereon.
2. The profit in murabahah can be determined by mutual consent, either in lump sum or through an agreed ratio of profit to be charged over the cost.
3. All the expenses incurred by the seller in acquiring the commodity like freight, custom duty etc. shall be included in the cost price and the mark-up can be applied on the aggregate cost. However, recurring expenses of the business like salaries of the staff, the rent of the premises etc. cannot be included in the cost of an individual transaction. In fact, the profit claimed over the cost takes care of these expenses.
4. Murabahah is valid only where the exact cost of a commodity can be ascertained. If the exact cost cannot be ascertained, the commodity cannot be sold on murabahah basis. In this case the commodity must be sold on musawamah (bargaining) basis i.e. without any reference to the cost or to the ratio of profit / mark-up.
The price of the commodity in such cases shall be determined in lump sum by mutual consent.
Example (1) A purchased a pair of shoes for Rs. 100/-. He wants to sell it on murabahah with 10% mark-up. The exact cost is known. The murabahah sale is valid.
Example (2) A purchased a ready - made suit with a pair of shoes in a single transaction, for a lump sum price of Rs. 500/-. A can sell the suit including shoes on murabahah. But he cannot sell the shoes separately on murabahah, because the individual cost of the shoes is unknown. If he wants to sell the shoes separately, he must sell it at a lump sum price without reference to the cost or to the mark-up.
