#reader tops

[sirmaggott]

Kinktober Day 8 - Webcam⋆˚࿔

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── [Male] Reader gets angsty after a harsh mission; He drags the current barracks bunny in the base and has his 'fun' with him. He unfortunately was too pent-up to take off his uniform; or even turn off his Webcam. [Really, reader?....you're lucky your lieutenant is into it!] ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

You scowled, pissed at how horribly the mission went. You stormed through the hallways as soon as you got off the heli, grabbing the poor rookie's shoulder and dragging him to your single-barrack. The barracks bunny looked up at you wide-eyed—You're a pretty big man, like Ghost, but the snarl and pissed-off look in your face make you look more intimidating than usual, a look he's not used to—you kiss him passionately, pinning him against the wall. "You're- stressed tonight, sir-", the poor boy mumbled, you huffed, biting his shoulder and snarling "quiet", against his skin. You quickly un-do your zipper and then pull down his pants and boxers. You waste no time in picking the poor boy up and pushing your length in, you sigh deeply, burying your face in his neck. He squirms, moaning as you pound into him harshly, with how fast and rough you're going, you cum fast. Heaving against the boy's ear, eyes closed, he shakily sighs. You sit him in your bed, "You....can use my barrack, tonight....I guess.", you mutter, you try to let the barrack bunnies sleep in your more comfortable bed when you sleep with them as to let their body rest properly. You sigh, buckling up your pants and leaving your bedroom; you hear your coms going off. It's Ghost, who...wants you to meet him? You grumble, walking to Ghost's barracks. You close the door, standing in front of Ghost. "You called, L.t?", Ghost stares at you coldly, crossing his arms. He then slowly points at your webcam attached to your uniform; the one you swore you turned off before...spending time with the barrack's bunny. You freeze, throat closing, you stare at him. "Turn...it off, next time. Please.", Ghost huffed, rubbing his eyes, probably regretting what he saw. "And at least give the boy some aftercare.", he muttered under his breath, you nod, cheeks flushing, he excuses you, thankfully not punishing you—at least, yet. You scramble to get back to the poor barrack's bunny.

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

It's never about you.

Pairing: Darth Maul x You (AFAB GN) Rating: Explicit Summary: Let's talk about some c*ck sucking, shall we? And the lack thereof.

I think about Feral (with his two fingers down your throat while you're drooling and he's determining how much of his cock you can take) and Savage (who won't even make the attempt because he won't give you more than three inches at any given time, while his hand is fisted into your hair, keeping you from trying too hard), but mostly I think about Maul, who, given the opportunity, wants to see you struggle with the predicament the chassis of his pelvis poses.

If there is nothing to choke on, what is a good little slut to do?

It's simple. This is what you do:

Get it wet. Spit on your fingers. Rub it across his mouth and pull all the way out. Smear it across his bulge. His nipples. Your clit. Your cunt. Give him a taste of what he's missing with your arm braced across his throat. He can't feel it. He's your fuck toy. Your boy thing. Your accessory. He can't feel it. So don't worry.

Let him flex his hips. He remembers what he's missing. A hole to fuck. To fondle. To gorge himself on. He can smell it -- all your arousal smeared across his pelvis as you wet him with it. A warm sensation that's a distant presence.

Straddle his hips. Spread your lips. Smear your juices down non-existent ridges. It's fine. He can take it. Do you think he remembers the warmth of a good slit? Willing to take him? He's got nothing to give. But you can grind him. You can take your pleasure.

Hold onto his neck. Push your nub against all that cold hard durasteel. Rub. Circle. Flex. Smear your arousal across everything he can't feel. Get yourself off. Your release on his crotch as he grinds his teeth. He's not having any fun. He's actually... a little pissed off.

Did you forget the cuffs?

Do you feel his clawed finger tips, gripping your ass?

Pulling you flush?

Did you forget the most important part?

His determination. His strength. His frustration. His desire to dominate when you least expect it. The need to feel. The desire. The want. To feel strong. The Dark Side. Spilling into your mind as everything comes apart when he jerks you against him, splayed and wet, throbbing against the cold that penetrates where there is no flesh --

He doesn't need a cock. He has you draped against him. Clenching on nothing as he spreads you open with invisible fingers.

A sheathe for his will. A sleeve that stretches. Pain, but also pleasure.

You remember.

There are other ways to be broken -- not just the physical. But the mind. The desperation. The residual that remembers between flesh and feeling there is more than just pleasure, there is submission.

So yield to him, and let him take what he needs from this shared experience, bucking against him as he watches you tighten -- riding the edge of non-existence.