Loser! Nerd! Choso Kamo , Mean Girl! Bully! F!Reader!
After Choso's last strange tutoring session that ended with him leaving his pencil case, he returns for them. Except they both know what they want. And maybe the box of condoms he has finally can come to use. How much does he have to beg this time? Thank goodness Choso is such an easy (and pretty) crier.
Authors Note!- Last part! Lots of degrading. Cum Control. Bottom Choso. Riding Choso while he cries! Dacryphilia. Teasing. Praise and Degradation kink. Slapping. All the good stuff, yum. Excessive use of the word please BTW, I wrote him as a complete begging, crying, whimpering disaster because it just fits. You can all judge me but I have never been happier! I dont regret this. I wrote it on a spur of college burn out and adrenaline. '~'
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Choso had lasted exactly two days. Two days of sitting in calculus with his pencils borrowed from other people. Two days of catching you watching him with that knowing smile. Two days of text messages that ranged from cruel to suggestive to outright mocking.
"you know where they are if you want them back 😘"
"or are you too scared to come get them?"
Wednesday afternoon, he'd finally broken. He'd texted you: "Can I come get my pencil case?"
Your response had been immediate: "my house. 7pm. don't be late."
And now here he was. Again. Standing in your massive bedroom with its pink and leopard print rugs and crystal chandelier, watching you sit in your desk chair wearing tiny sleep shorts and an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder. "It's on my desk," you'd said when you let him in, gesturing casually. "Right there." The pencil case was indeed there. Right in the open. Easy to grab and leave. But Choso hadn't moved toward it. And you'd smiled, slow and cruel, that made his stomach drop. "Or," you'd said, your voice honey-sweet, "you could stay for a bit. Keep me company."
Five minutes later, Choso was back on his knees on your plush rug. Not because you'd ordered him to. You hadn't said a word. You'd just sat down in your chair, crossed your legs, and looked at him with those expectant eyes. And his body had moved on its own, sinking down to the floor like it belonged there. Like this was his natural position now. His hands rested on your thigh, bare, smooth, warm under his trembling palms. You were wearing shorts that barely qualified as clothing, the fabric so short that it made his heart race and face flush. "Eyes up here, perv," you said lazily, and his gaze snapped to your face. You were looking down at him with that smug, evil expression that made him feel about two inches tall. "So," you said, tilting your head. "You came back."
"I—I needed my pencil case—"
"Bullshit." You leaned forward slightly, your hand coming to rest on top of his head, fingers threading through his hair. "You could have asked me to bring it to school. Could have bought new pencils. You came back because you wanted to." Choso's face burned. "That's not—" Your fingers tightened in his hair, just enough to make him gasp. "Don't lie to me, Choso. We both know why you're really here." Your smile widened. "You've been thinking about Monday night, haven't you? Been thinking about touching me. About what it felt like to have my tits in your hands. About my tongue on your fingers." His hands tightened reflexively on your thighs. "I... yeah," he admitted quietly, unable to meet your eyes. "Of course you have." You tugged his hair gently, forcing him to look up. "Because you're pathetic. And desperate. And you'd do anything for another chance, wouldn't you?" Choso's throat was tight. "...Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I'd... I'd do anything." Your eyes lit up with that cruel delight he was starting to recognize. "Anything?" you repeated. "That's a dangerous word, virgin."
"I know." You studied him for a long moment, your fingers still in his hair, your legs slightly parted under his hands. "Maybe I'll be nice," you said slowly, and Choso's heart leapt. "Maybe I'll let you touch me again. Maybe I'll even give you more than that." His breath caught. "Really?"
"Maybe," you emphasized. "But first, I want you to tell me something."
"What?" Your smile turned predatory. "When you texted me asking to come over, what did you think would happen? What were you hoping for?" You leaned closer, your face inches from his. "Did you think I'd just hand you your pencil case and send you home? Or did you have other... fantasies... about what might happen when you got here?" Choso's face went nuclear. "I... I don't—"
"Don't lie." Your fingers tightened in his hair. "I want the truth. Tell me what you really thought would happen. What you were hoping for in that pathetic virgin brain of yours." He couldn't. He couldn't possibly tell her. "Tell me," you commanded, your voice soft but firm. "And maybe—maybe—I'll be nice and make some of those fantasies come true." Choso's hands were shaking on your thighs. His whole body was shaking. You were looking at him with those cruel, beautiful eyes, and your fingers were in his hair, and he could smell your perfume and feel the warmth of your skin. "I thought..." His voice came out barely above a whisper. "I thought maybe you'd... that we'd..."
"Use your words."
"I thought maybe you'd let me kiss you again," he said in a rush, his face burning. "Or touch you. Or—or maybe you'd touch me. I don't know. I just... I couldn't stop thinking about Monday, and I thought maybe if I came back you'd…"
"I'd what?" You pulled his hair gently. "Finish the sentence."
"That you'd want me," Choso whispered, and immediately felt like an idiot because, of course, you didn't want him. You were just playing with him. Using him. He was nothing to you but a dog, a little idiotic loser nerd to mess with because he gave all the right reactions. "Want you?" You laughed, not meanly, but amused. "Oh, Choso. That's so cute it's almost sad." His eyes burned with humiliation. "But you know what?" Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone. "I do want something from you." He looked up, hope and fear warring in his chest. "I want to see how far you'll go," you said quietly. "How much you'll debase yourself. How pathetic you'll get for just a chance that I might touch you again." Your other hand joined the first, cupping his face, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to beg. Really beg. Tell me all those pathetic fantasies you've been having. Every dirty thought you've had about me since Monday night. And if you're honest—if you really humiliate yourself properly—then maybe I'll give you something."
Choso's heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. "But if you hold back," you continued, your voice dropping to something dangerous, "if you're too much of a coward to tell me the truth, then you can take your pencil case and leave. And I'll make sure everyone at school knows you came here begging for more and I sent you home with nothing." The threat hung in the air. Choso looked up at you, at your cruel smile and your perfect face and your hands cradling his cheeks like he was something precious, even though you were about to destroy him and made his choice. "Please," he started, his voice shaking. "I've been thinking about you constantly. About Monday night. About how your skin felt and how you tasted and the sounds you made and—"
"Go on," you encouraged, your smile widening. Choso, kneeling on your floor with his hands on your thighs and his dignity scattered somewhere far away, told you everything. Every fantasy. Every desperate thought. Every pathetic hope. While you listened with that evil, satisfied look on your face, knowing that with every word, you owned him a little bit more. Your hand shot out, fingers gripping his chin hard enough to make him gasp. You yanked him up roughly, forcing him to scramble for purchase on the armrests of your chair to keep from falling forward completely. Now he was hovering over you, arms braced on either side of your body, his face level with yours, breathing hard. "Listen to me very carefully," you said, your voice cold and sharp. "If—and I said if—I let you do even one of those pathetic fantasies you just confessed, how can I know it'll be worth my time?" Choso's eyes were wide behind his glasses. "You're a virgin," you continued, your grip tightening on his chin. "A pathetic loser who's never touched a girl before Monday. I'd be doing you such a massive favor letting you anywhere near me. And if it's not worth it—if you disappoint me—I will fucking kill you. Understand?"
"I—I'll make it worth it," Choso stammered. "I promise, I'll—"
"Promises mean nothing." You released his chin with a slight push, and he had to catch himself on the armrests. "You have to show me." You leaned back in your chair, your eyes never leaving his face, and deliberately you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your sleep shorts. Choso's breath caught. You lifted your hips and shimmied the shorts down your legs, taking your time, watching his face the entire time. The shorts hit the floor, leaving you in just your oversized hoodie and a pair of pink lace panties. "Well?" You spread your legs slightly, your feet planted on either side of him where he knelt between them. "You said you wanted to worship me. Said you'd do anything. So prove it." You gestured down at yourself with one hand, that cruel smile playing on your lips. "Show me how desperate you are, virgin. Start small. Work your way up. And maybe if you're good enough, I'll let you have more." Choso's hands were shaking as they left the armrests and moved to your calves.
"That's it," you murmured, watching him like a scientist observing an experiment. "Show me." His lips pressed against your ankle first, tentative, reverent. Then higher. Your shin. Your knee. The inside of your thigh. Each kiss was desperate, worshipful, his hands sliding up your legs as he moved, his glasses slipping down his nose with each forward motion. You threaded your fingers back through his hair, not pulling, just resting there, feeling him tremble under your touch. "Look at me while you do it," you commanded softly. Choso's eyes lifted to yours, and God, the desperation in them was intoxicating. He looked at you like you were everything. Like he'd die if you told him to stop. His lips traveled higher up your thigh, his breathing ragged, his hands gripping your legs like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. And then, because apparently he'd gotten brave, or stupid, or too lost in the moment, his teeth caught the edge of your panties. He started to pull them down with his mouth.
Smack.
Your hand came down on the side of his head, not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to stop him immediately. "Tsk." You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him back. "Did I say you could do that?"
"I thought—"
"You thought wrong." You forced him to look up at you, your grip tight in his hair. "You don't get to just take what you want, Choso. You have to earn it. Every. Single. Thing." His face was flushed, his lips swollen from kissing your skin, his glasses completely crooked now. He looked utterly destroyed, and you'd barely even started. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm sorry, I just—I got carried away—"
"You got greedy," you corrected. "You think because I let you touch my tits once that you can just do whatever you want now?"
"No, I—"
"Then act like it." You released his hair with a slight push. "Start over. From the bottom. And this time, don't do anything I don't explicitly tell you to do. Understand?" Choso nodded frantically. "Say it."
"I understand. I won't—I won't do anything you don't tell me to. I'm sorry. Please." You smiled, satisfied. "Good boy. Now..." You leaned back in your chair, spreading your legs a bit wider. "Start again. And if you're very good, and you beg very nicely, I'll let you do what you just tried to do." You watched him lower his head back to your ankle, his hands shaking on your calves, his breathing unsteady. "But you're going to have to earn it, nerd," you added softly, running your fingers through his hair almost gently now. "You're going to have to show me just how desperate you really are. How much you want it. How pathetic you're willing to be for me." His lips pressed against your skin again, softer this time, more careful, like he was terrified of making another mistake. "That's better," you murmured, your eyes half-lidded as you watched him worship his way up your legs again. "Much better." As Choso kissed and trembled and looked up at you with those desperate, devoted eyes, your finger traced across his lips slowly while your other hand kept his chin tilted up toward you. "You know what?" you said, your voice still carrying that cruel edge but softer now. "You're actually not completely terrible at this. For a pathetic virgin who's never done anything before." Choso's breath hitched at the backhanded praise. "Still desperate though," you continued, your thumb pressing against his bottom lip. "Still so fucking obvious how badly you want this. Look at you, shaking like a leaf."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize." You leaned forward, your face close to his. "I like you desperate. It's entertaining." Then you pulled him closer, gripping his chin firmly, guiding him until he was kneeling up higher, his face level with yours. "Don't move," you commanded. Choso froze, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You kept your eyes locked on his as your free hand traveled down his chest, over his stomach, to the waistband of his jeans. His breath caught audibly. "I said don't move," you repeated when his hips twitched involuntarily. Your fingers found his zipper, pulling it down with agonizing slowness. Then you worked his jeans down just enough, not off, just enough to access the black boxers underneath. And the very obvious bulge straining against the fabric. "Jesus Christ," you muttered, your hand palming him through the cotton. "You really are desperate, aren't you?"
Choso made a strangled sound, his whole body going rigid, but he didn't move. Didn't pull away. Just stood there trembling while you touched him. Your hand pressed harder, feeling the shape of him, and… Huh.
You kept your expression carefully neutral, your face still set in that cruel smile, but internally you were... surprised. He was bigger than you'd expected. Significantly bigger than you'd imagined when you'd been picturing the stereotypical "virgin loser nerd." Not that you were going to tell him that. "This is what happens when you're a loser virgin," you said instead, your voice mocking as your hand stroked along his length through the fabric. "Touch you once, and you're hard as a rock. Pathetic."
"I—fuck—" Choso's voice cracked. "Language," you tsked, squeezing slightly. "Such a dirty mouth for someone who's supposed to be a good boy." His hips jerked forward despite his best efforts to stay still, seeking more friction.
Smack.
You slapped his cheek with your free hand. "I said, don't move."
"Sorry, I'm sorry—" He was panting now, his glasses fogged up, his face flushed. "I can't help it, you're—"
"I'm what?" Your hand stilled, and he made a sound of protest. "Finish that sentence."
"You're—you're driving me crazy," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I can't think, I can't—please—"
"Please, what?" You resumed your movements, slow and deliberate, watching his face contort. "You want me to stop? You want me to keep going? You want me to actually touch you properly instead of through your boxers like you're some idiot who can't control himself?"
"Yes—any of that—all of that—I don't care—" You gripped his chin harder, forcing him to focus on your face even as your other hand continued its torment. "Look at you," you said softly, cruelly. "So desperate you can't even form coherent sentences. You'd let me do anything right now, wouldn't you? You'd let me ruin you completel,y and you'd thank me for it."
"Yes," Choso breathed without hesitation. "Yes, please, anything—"
"Such a good little nerd," you murmured, and felt him pulse under your palm at the words. "So eager to please. So pathetic." Your hand squeezed again, and his eyes nearly rolled back. "But you know what the best part is?" You leaned in close, your lips almost brushing his ear. "I'm barely even trying. I'm barely touching you. And you're already falling apart." A whimper escaped him. "What do you think would happen if I actually took these off?" Your fingers hooked in the waistband of his boxers, pulling slightly but not enough to actually remove them. "If I actually put my hands on you properly? You'd probably cum in thirty seconds like the desperate virgin you are."
"I wouldn't—I'd try—"
"You'd fail," you said with certainty. "Because you have no control. No experience. You're completely at my mercy." You released him suddenly, both your hand on his chin and the one touching him, and leaned back in your chair. Choso swayed slightly, looking lost and desperate, and completely wrecked. "But I'm feeling generous tonight," you said, examining your nails like you hadn't just been touching him. "So here's what's going to happen." You looked up at him, your smile sharp. "You're going to beg me—really beg, like your life depends on it—to let you finish what you started. To let you actually please me instead of just worshipping my legs like a desperate puppy." Choso was already opening his mouth, already starting to beg, and you held up a hand. "But," you continued, "if I let you do that, you have to promise me something."
"Anything," he said immediately. "You'll do exactly what I say. When I say stop, you stop. When I say more, you give me more. You don't get to make any decisions. You don't get to take control. You're mine to use however I want. Understand?" The word "mine" made something flash in his eyes. Desperation mixed with something darker, needier. "I understand," Choso said, his voice hoarse. "I'm yours. Whatever you want. Please." You studied him for a long moment, drawing out his anticipation, watching him tremble. "Good boy. Now..." You spread your legs wider, settling back in your chair. "Show me just how desperate you really are."
"Take off my hoodie," you commanded. Choso's hands moved immediately, trembling but obedient, gripping the hem of your oversized sweater and carefully pulling it up over your head. And there you were. Bare from the waist up. Your breasts were exposed to the cool air of your room, nipples already hard, and Choso made a sound, a high, desperate whimper that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Just from seeing you. You laughed sharply and delightedly and slapped him across the face. Not hard. Just enough to make his head snap to the side, to remind him of his place. "Did you just fucking whimper?" You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you. "Oh my God, you're so pathetic it's actually funny." His face was completely flushed, his eyes glossy behind his fogged-up glasses, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. "I'm sorry, I just—you're so—"
"Shut up." You released his face and stood, pointing at your bed. "Sit. On the bed. Now." Choso scrambled to obey, moving so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet as he sat on the edge of your mattress. You followed slowly, deliberately, letting him watch as you approached. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, one knee on either side of his thighs, and his hands immediately flew to your waist before hesitating, hovering uncertainly. "You can touch," you said, placing his hands on your hips. "For now." You settled your weight on him fully, and the contact made him groan. You could feel exactly how hard he was through the thin fabric of his boxers, pressing against your barely-covered core. Your hands gripped his shoulders, holding him in place, keeping him beneath you. "Look at you," you murmured, your nails digging slightly into his shoulders. "Fully clothed while I'm sitting on you in nothing but panties. How does that feel, virgin?"
"It feels—fuck—it feels—" Your finger traced down his chest, over his stomach, following the trail down to where his jeans hung open and his boxers stretched obscenely over his erection. You traced the outline with just your forefinger, slow and light, and watched him twitch and shudder beneath you. "These must be so uncomfortable, hm?" Your voice was saccharine-sweet and poisonous. "How many times have you touched yourself since Monday, loser?" Choso's face went even redder. "I... every night," he admitted in a whisper. "Every night since then."
"Every night?" You pressed harder through the fabric, and his hips bucked involuntarily. "That's so fucking sad, Choso. Touching yourself every single night thinking about me? About the one time I let you feel me up?"
"I couldn't stop," he gasped. "I tried, I—"
"You're addicted," you said, leaning in close, your breath hot against his ear. "Addicted to something you barely even got to experience. That's how pathetic you are." Then you bit down on his neck, hard, aggressive, your teeth sinking into his skin until he cried out. Not a gentle love bite. An actual bite, meant to hurt, meant to mark, meant to remind him that you could do whatever you wanted to him. "Fuck—" Choso's hands tightened on your hips, his whole body tensing. You pulled back, examining the red mark blooming on his neck with satisfaction. "Everyone's going to see that tomorrow," you said cheerfully. "Everyone's going to know someone marked you up. They'll probably ask who. What are you going to tell them?"
"I—I don't know—"
"You'll lie," you said simply. "Because you're too much of a coward to tell them the truth. That the girl who bullies you is also the one who owns you." You leaned back, sitting up straight on his lap, and gestured down at his legs. "Take your pants off. Just the pants." Choso didn't hesitate. He lifted you slightly, careful and easily, as he worked his jeans down his legs and kicked them off completely. Now he sat there in just his boxers and his oversized shirt, and you were back on his lap, grinding slightly just to watch him struggle to stay still. "Shirt too," you decided. "Take it off." His hands went to the hem of his shirt, and you helped, gripping the fabric and pulling it up over his head, tossing it aside. You stopped. Actually stopped and stared. Because Choso Kamo, nerdy, pathetic, virgin Choso who wore baggy clothes that hid his entire frame, was not what you'd expected underneath. He wasn't ripped. Wasn't a gym rat with bulging muscles. But he had definition. Clean lines. Lean muscle that suggested he actually did do something physical, contrary to what you'd assumed. His shoulders were broader than they looked in those shapeless shirts. His chest was defined. His stomach had visible muscle tone, not a raging six-pack, but flat and firm with subtle definition. He looked like someone who did bodyweight exercises. Pushups. Pull-ups. Maybe ran. Not like someone who spent all his time hunched over textbooks. "Did you lie about not working out?" you asked, your hands spreading across his chest, feeling the firmness beneath your palms. Choso looked confused. "I... I told you I don't go to the gym."
"But you do something." Your hands explored his shoulders, his chest, his arms, which had more muscle than you'd realized. "What, do you do pushups in your room like a fucking Boy Scout?" His face flushed. "I... yeah. Sometimes. And pull-ups. On my door frame. I just... it helps me think." You laughed, genuinely surprised. "So you've been hiding this the whole time?" Your nails dragged down his chest lightly. "Under those tragic baggy clothes?"
"I didn't think—I mean, it's not—"
"Shut up." You pressed your body against his, skin to skin now, and felt him shudder. "This is actually... not terrible. Still pathetic, but not terrible." It was barely a compliment, but you watched it hit him like a drug anyway. His hands tightened on your hips, his breathing ragged, his eyes locked on yours with that desperate devotion you were getting addicted to. "Please," he whispered. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need," you interrupted, rolling your hips against his deliberately. "The question is, have you earned it?" And you smiled, completely in control as Choso fell apart beneath you. You grabbed his face and kissed him. Not gentle. Not sweet. Hungry. Your mouth crashed against his, all teeth and tongue and dominance, and Choso kissed back desperately, graceless and eager and so obviously inexperienced it would have been embarrassing if he wasn't so pathetic about it. Your hand fisted in his hair and pulled. Hard. He whimpered into your mouth, high and needy and broken. "You like that?" You pulled harder, forcing his head back, exposing his throat. "You like it when I hurt you, little bitch?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, I—fuck—" You kissed him again, swallowing whatever he was about to say, your hips rolling against his in slow, deliberate grinds that made him shake beneath you. Every movement, every rock of your hips, every pull of his hair, every bite to his lip, made him shiver and whimper and fall apart a little more. And you were eating it up. The power. The control. The way he responded to everything you did was as if his body belonged to you now. "So fucking pathetic," you murmured against his lips between kisses. "Shaking like a leaf. Whimpering like a puppy. Is this what you fantasized about, virgin? Me using you like a toy?"
"Please—" His hands gripped your hips desperately.
"Please, what?" You bit his bottom lip hard enough to make him gasp. "Use your words."
"Please don't stop—please—I need—" You pulled his hair hard again, and he moaned so loudly you had to kiss him to muffle the sound. Then you shoved him. Both hands on his chest, pushing him down onto your bed. Choso fell back against your pink comforter, his chest heaving, his hair a mess from your hands, his lips swollen, and his glasses somehow still clinging to his face. You stayed straddling him, looking down at him with cold assessment. "You know what?" you said quietly, your hands resting on his chest. "You don't deserve to fuck me." The devastation that crossed his face was delicious. "I—what? I thought—"
"You thought wrong." You tilted your head, considering. "You're a virgin. You'd probably last thirty seconds, and then it'd be over, and I'd be left unsatisfied. That's not fair to me, is it?"
"I could—I'd try—please, I'd—"
"Shh." You pressed a finger to his lips. "I'm thinking." Your eyes traveled down his body, his flushed face, his marked neck, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and lower… To where his boxers were tented obscenely, a dark spot of precum was already visible on the fabric. A slow smile spread across your face. "You know what? Let's see what we're working with here." Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers. Choso's breath stopped completely. You pulled them down agonizingly slow, watching his face the entire time. And then his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and… Oh. Oh shit.
You kept your expression carefully neutral, but internally? You were genuinely surprised. Choso was big. Like, noticeably, undeniably bigger than Ryota. Bigger than any of the guys you'd been with. Not pornstar huge, but definitely above average. Thick. Long enough to make you reconsider your earlier assessment about not letting him fuck you. Well, fuck. You looked back at his face, at his humiliated expression as he waited for your judgment, and decided not to tell him. Not yet, anyway. Instead, you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, not stroking, just holding, and watched him nearly levitate off the bed. "Fuck—!" His hips bucked up involuntarily. "Don't move," you commanded, pressing your other hand to his chest to hold him down. Your thumb brushed over the tip, just the tip, collecting the bead of precum there, and Choso made a strangled sound. "So sensitive," you murmured, tracing around the head with your fingertip. "So desperate."
"Please—" His voice broke. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?" Your finger circled the tip again, barely touching. "Be specific."
"Your hand—please—I need you to—"
"To what?" You pressed your thumb directly on the slit and he keened. "Say it."
"Please jerk me off," Choso begged, his hips trying to thrust up into your barely-there touch. "Please, I'm begging you, please—"
"That's better." But you didn't give him what he wanted. Instead, you just kept teasing, light touches, circles around the head, occasionally running a single finger down the underside of his shaft just to watch him twitch. "Please—" He was actually crying now, tears of frustration leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Please, please, I'll do anything—"
"You'll do anything anyway," you said matter-of-factly, still just teasing the tip. "Because you're pathetic. Because you're desperate. Because you'd let me torture you like this all night if I wanted to."
"Yes," he sobbed. "Yes, I would, but please—"
"Beg harder." Your finger traced the ridge of the head so lightly it was barely contact at all. "Beg like the little bitch you are. Make me believe you deserve it." And Choso did. He begged and pleaded and whimpered and cried, his body trembling, his cock twitching in your barely-there grip, completely at your mercy. While you sat there, straddling him in nothing but your panties, and enjoyed every single second of his torment. You didn't give in, even as Choso begged, his voice broke, and his hips jerked desperately seeking more friction, you just kept teasing. Light circles around the head. Occasional strokes down the shaft that were too light, too brief. Your thumb pressing against the slit just to watch him gasp. "Please—" His voice was wrecked now, barely recognizable. "Please, I can't—I need—please—"
"You can," you said calmly, your finger tracing the ridge again. "You can take it. You're going to take whatever I give you and be grateful for it."
"I am—I am grateful—please—" A sob actually broke through. Real tears now, not just the frustrated moisture from before. Actual crying. "Please—" You watched in fascination as the tears spilled over, running down his temples into his hair. His face was completely red. His glasses were crooked and fogged up. His chest heaved with broken breaths that were half-sobs, half-whimpers. He looked destroyed. And it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. "Oh my God," you breathed, genuinely delighted. "You're actually crying. You're crying because I won't jerk you off properly. That's so fucking pathetic I almost can't believe it."
"Please—" Another sob. "Please, I'll do anything, anything, just please—" Your hand stayed maddeningly light, just teasing, watching as more tears fell. "Please—" His voice broke completely. "I need—I've never—please—" He was sobbing now. Actually sobbing. His whole body shaking with it, tears streaming down his face, whimpers and broken pleas falling from his lips in an endless stream. Your hand never stopped its torture or gave him enough, never let him have what he needed. "Look at you," you murmured, your free hand coming up to cup his wet cheek. "Crying like a little bitch. All because you're so desperate to cum. So desperate for me to actually touch you properly."
"Yes—" He turned his face into your palm, his tears wetting your skin. "Yes, please, I'm begging you—"
"I know you are." You wiped away a tear with your thumb. "And it's adorable. Really. But I don't think you've earned it yet." A broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a wail, tore from his throat. You, sitting there straddling him, watching him fall apart so completely, so beautifully, felt something shift in your chest. This wasn't just entertaining anymore. This was addictive. You leaned down, your lips close to his ear, your hand still teasing mercilessly. "Here's what's going to happen," you whispered. "I'm going to keep touching you like this. Just like this. Barely enough to feel good but not enough to finish." Choso sobbed. "And if you can hold out—if you can keep yourself from cumming—I'll let you fuck me." His eyes snapped open, glassy and desperate and disbelieving. "What—?"
"You heard me." You pulled back to look at him. "If you can resist. If you can show me you have even a shred of control. Then I'll let you inside me. I'll let you feel what it's like to actually fuck a girl instead of just your hand." The look on his face was pure desperation mixed with determination. "But," you continued, your hand finally wrapping properly around his length, "if you cum before I say you can, then you don't get anything. I'll make you get dressed and leave and you'll go home knowing you failed. Knowing you were too pathetic to control yourself." You started stroking. Properly this time. Firm, steady strokes from base to tip. Choso's whole body went rigid, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. "No cumming," you reminded him, your hand moving in a steady rhythm now. "Not until I say."
"I—I can't—it's too much—please—"
"Yes, you can." Your hand twisted slightly on the upstroke. "You want to fuck me? You want to know what it feels like to be inside a girl? Then you're going to hold out." His hands fisted in your comforter, his back arching, tears still streaming down his face. "That's it, loser," you encouraged, your voice cruel and sweet. "Fight it. Show me you're not completely useless."
"Fuck—" His whole body was trembling. "I can't—I'm going to—"
"You're not," you said firmly, your hand never stopping. "Because you want this. You need this. You need to feel me around you more than you need to breathe right now." A sob tore from his chest, part pleasure, part desperation, part pure overwhelming sensation. "Please—let me—I need to be inside you—please—" His cock was leaking steadily now, precum making your strokes slick, and you could feel him getting close, could feel the tension building in his body. "Don't you dare cum, Choso. Don't you fucking dare."
"I can't—" He was crying harder now, completely overwhelmed, his hips jerking erratically. "It's too much—I've never—please—"
"Do you want to fuck me or not?" Your hand squeezed slightly.
"Yes—God, yes—please—"
"Then HOLD IT." Choso threw his head back with a broken wail, his entire body shaking violently, fighting with everything he had not to tip over the edge. And you watched, fascinated, aroused, drunk on power, as he sobbed and whimpered and begged while your hand worked him mercilessly. Testing him. Torturing him. Seeing just how far you could push him before he broke completely. Because if he could hold out, if he could actually show some control, then maybe you'd give him what he wanted. But if he came? Well. That would be entertaining too.
You stopped completely. Your hand released him, and Choso made a devastated sound, his body trembling violently, teetering on that edge but not falling over. He'd actually done it. Held out. Suffered through your torture because he wanted this, wanted you, more than he needed the relief. "Well," you said, genuinely impressed. "Look at that. The pathetic virgin actually has some self-control." Choso could barely respond, just sobbing and shaking beneath you, his cock still painfully hard and leaking. "You did what I asked," you continued, trailing a finger up his shaft just to watch him jerk. "So I guess I have to keep my end of the deal." You lifted yourself off his lap and stood beside the bed.
Choso's eyes tracked your every movement, desperate, worshipful, disbelieving. You hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs. The sound Choso made was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. His eyes went wide, fixed on you with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if it wasn't so pathetic. "Oh my God," he breathed, fresh tears spilling over. "You're—I've never—I can't believe—"
"Shut up," you said, but there was less bite to it now. You climbed back onto the bed, straddling him again, and reached for your nightstand. The drawer opened smoothly. You pulled out a condom, one of the ones you kept for Ryota, though you'd never tell Choso that, and tore it open with your teeth. "Hands up," you commanded. Choso immediately raised his arms above his head, wrists together, completely obedient. You wrapped your hand around his base, he twitched violently at the contact, and rolled the condom down his length with practiced efficiency. "There," you said, positioning yourself over him. "Now you don't have any excuses." You grabbed both his wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head against your pillows. Choso's eyes were so wide, so glassy, tears still streaming down his temples. "I can't believe this is happening," he whispered. "I can't—thank you, thank you—"
"I said shut up." But you were positioning yourself now, your other hand guiding him to your entrance. And then slowly you started to sink down onto him. The head pushed inside, and Choso's entire body went rigid. His mouth fell open. His back arched. A sound came from his throat that was barely human. "Oh my God—" His voice broke completely. "Oh my God, oh fuck, oh—" You kept going. Inch by inch. Taking him deeper. And he was, fuck, he was stretching you more than you'd expected. More than Ryota ever did. The stretch burned slightly, that edge of too much that bordered on pleasure-pain. You had to pause, breathing through it, adjusting to the size of him. "Thank you—" Choso was sobbing again, full-body sobs that shook his chest. "Thank you, thank you, oh God, you feel—I've never—thank you—aah!" He was praising you. Actually, thanking you for letting him inside you while tears poured down his face. It was the most pathetic, beautiful thing you'd ever experienced. "Shut. Up," you gritted out, because you were trying to adjust, and his babbling was distracting. "I'm trying—fuck—you're bigger than what I usually take, so just—shut up and let me—" You sank down further, and the stretch intensified. God, he was filling you completely. Stretching you in a way that hurt just slightly but felt good. Felt right. Choso's wrists strained against your grip, his whole body trembling, more broken sounds falling from his lips. "Please—" he sobbed. "Please, I need to—can I touch you—please—"
"No." You tightened your grip on his wrists. "You don't get to touch. You don't get to move. You just lie there and take it." Finally you took him completely. Fully seated on his lap, his entire length inside you, and the feeling was overwhelming. For both of you. Choso actually screamed, a choked, desperate sound, his body spasming beneath you. "Is this—" His voice was completely destroyed. "Am I—am I inside you?"
"Yes, you fucking idiot," you gasped, because he was so deep you could feel him everywhere. "You're inside me." Fresh sobs tore from his chest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—" You leaned forward, changing the angle slightly, and used your grip on his wrists for leverage as you started to move. Up. Slowly. Until just the tip remained inside. Choso made a sound of pure desperation. Then down. Fast. Taking him to the hilt again. "FUCK—!" You established a rhythm, pulling up until he was almost out, then slamming back down, taking him completely. Each thrust punched sounds from his throat. Sobs. Moans. Broken words that might have been pleas or prayers or just your name. Your free hand braced against his chest as you rode him harder, faster, chasing the friction and fullness and the intoxicating power of watching him fall apart beneath you. "This is what you wanted?" you panted, your hips rolling. "To feel what it's like inside a girl?"
"Yes—" He could barely speak. "Ngh!~ Yes, oh God, yes—"
"You're never going to forget this," you told him, leaning down so your face was close to his. "Every time you close your eyes, you're going to remember how this felt. How I felt. You're going to be fucking addicted."
"I already—fuck—I'm already—aa!" His hips jerked up involuntarily, trying to meet your movements, and you immediately stopped. Completely still, fully seated on him. "What did I say about moving?" you asked coldly. "No—I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—please don't stop—Ngh!~ please—"
"Then stay. Still." You punctuated each word with a slow roll of your hips. Choso sobbed, his body trembling with the effort of staying motionless beneath you while you moved above him. "Good boy," you murmured, and felt him pulse inside you at the praise. You started moving again, harder this time, faster, taking your pleasure while he lay pinned beneath you, crying and whimpering and completely at your mercy. His wrists strained against your grip. His glasses had fallen off at some point; you didn't even know when. His face was a mess of tears and sweat and desperate pleasure. He looked absolutely ruined. And you'd never felt more powerful in your entire life. "Don't you dare cum yet," you warned, feeling your own pleasure building.
"I—I don't know if I can—it's too much—please—"
"You will." You squeezed his wrists hard enough to hurt. "Because if you cum before me, I'll never touch you again. Ever." That seemed to focus him. Terror mixing with the overwhelming sensation. "I won't—I'll try—please—"
"Good." You leaned back, changing the angle, and rode him harder. Using him. Taking what you needed. While Choso sobbed and shook and fought with everything he had not to finish before you gave him permission. Because he was yours now. Completely. Utterly. And you were going to make sure he never, ever forgot it.
You kept thrusting onto him. “Ngh!~” another desperate whimper. Another thrust. “Ah!” another tear falling from those sweet brown eyes, his head thrashing around. His fingers dug into his palms; you were sure his palms would bleed. He was a red, crying mess, moaning and whimpering with every thrust with such loudness and pleasured agony. Choso was having the time of his life, really. His legs ached, and his core felt weaker. He felt that familiar ache in his muscles and balls, except he would feel you pulse around him, and it’d make his back arch up into you, hitting another spot that caused them both to moan.
“G-gonna– cum– cum. Cum!” He whimpered out, he was still stronger than you, and he was now thrusting upwards, bouncing up into you, switching control for a mere second as he twitched. “Cum– p-please— please– please cumming cum… your pussy… so so good. Ah~” He was slobbering and crying and whimpering as his mouth dropped open, hips sputtering rather quickly, and all you could do was bounce to his rhythm, holding onto his forearms as you felt him twitch one last time before he came into the condom. He settled like a ragdoll, going limp as his breath heaved rapidly. You werent done, though. You roughly grabbed him by his hair and continued bouncing at a rapid pace. You were close, so it wasnt long. But Choso mewled, hand going up to grab your wrist of the hand in his hair, “Ngh~ T-too much… too much, aa!” But he just whimpered as you continued, looking up through his wet, tear-soaked lashes as you held his head up. “What you deserve for cumming before I said, loser–” You came, throwing your head back as you rode it out on his spent cock, he cried along too, small whimpers as he felt the whole thing. You clenching then the gush of juice, it was like heaven, he wished he could have cum again.
You went limp, falling on top of him, head on his heaving chest. Your body twitched from aftershocks and stayed lying there, him still half inside, though now soft. “Okay, loser, you can shut up now.” Choso was still whimpering, the aftershocks of his first orgasm inside a girl really taking a toll on his body. He hadnt even realized he was still whimpering and quietly sobbing, “S-sorry.” You sat up, your hands on his chest. If you were pretty before Choso thought you were otherworldly, right now. Skin dewy and cheeks flushed, hair framing your face, looking down at him with that glazed look on your own face. You rolled your eyes, “Whatever. Once youre done with this, clean up and get the fuck out.” You then grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you, “And don't tell a fucking soul or I swear I will spread the worst rumor about you, Choso.” He could only weakly whimper a response. God, you really turned him on.
"Real men code in Assembler." Look at that glorious mustache and plaid shirt combo, even if I didn't reference the year, most could already guess the decade. This is peak 1981 tech-bro energy. He's probably calculating how many 5.25-inch floppy disks it will take to store a single low-res image, all while glowing in the warm radiation of his CRT monitor. The giant red lamp is strategically positioned to highlight his utter dedication to reading a spiral-bound manual thicker than a phone book.
Source: 1981 Atari Computers Assembler Editor Cover Art
