tom riddle loves how much smaller you are 18+
tummy bulge, pnv
Tom had always been acutely aware of the difference in your sizes. The way it bordered on obsession, a quiet, consuming thing that lived under his skin. It manifested in small, almost tender moments. You curled up in one of his oversized sweaters in the Slytherin common room late at night, the hem skimming the tops of your thighs, sleeves swallowing your hands until only your fingertips peeked out. He’d watch from across the room, jaw tight, imagining how easily he could scoop you up, pin you beneath him, make you disappear against his broader frame.
He loved carrying you when you dozed off in the library stacks, your body limp and trusting in his arms as he strode back to the dorms without so much as a hitch in his breath. Your head lolled against his chest, small enough that he could tuck it under his chin, legs dangling uselessly over the crook of his elbow. It fed something primal in him, the effortless power, the way you fit so perfectly against him like you were carved to slot there.
But nothing compared to this. To you spread out beneath him on his bed, legs splayed wide, trembling under the weight of his stare.
Your pretty whimpers filled the dim room as two of his long fingers sank knuckle-deep into your slick heat, stretching you open with deliberate slowness. He watched, transfixed, the way your tight cunt swallowed him so greedily, pink folds parting around his thick digits, glistening, clenching like you were trying to pull him deeper. The size difference made every movement obscene, his hand dwarfed your mound, wrist flexing as he curled those fingers just right, brushing that spot that made your back arch off the sheets.
Your hips jerked upward instinctively, chasing more, eyes glassy and half-lidded with bliss. “Please— ah!— more, Tommy,” you gasped, voice cracking on his name, small hands fisting the sheets.
He exhaled through his nose, a low, satisfied sound. Always so responsive for him. Always so his.
“Greedy little thing,” he murmured, voice velvet-dark and controlled, even as his cock throbbed painfully against his trousers. He withdrew his fingers slowly, letting you feel every inch drag out, slick strings connecting them to your fluttering entrance before he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean. Your taste coated his tongue, sweet and heady, and he groaned softly at the back of his throat.
Before you could whine at the loss, his large hands clamped around the backs of your thighs. Thick biceps flexed as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. Your knees pressed toward your chest, exposing you completely. Small, dripping, and so fucking vulnerable under his gaze. He lowered his head, breath hot against your swollen clit, and dragged the flat of his tongue from your entrance to the sensitive bundle in one long, firm stroke.
You cried out, hips bucking, but his grip was iron. He sealed his mouth over your cunt like he was starving, sucking hard on your clit while his tongue flicked relentlessly. The wet, filthy sounds of him devouring you echoed, slurping, moaning into your flesh, the vibration making your thighs quiver around his ears.
“Is this what you wanted, princess?” he asked against your folds, voice muffled and rough, lips brushing your oversensitive nerves with every word. “My mouth on this needy pussy?”
Your frantic nod was all you could manage, your words lost in a string of broken moans. One small hand flew to his dark hair, fingers tangling and yanking hard enough to sting. He growled in approval, the sound rumbling straight through your core, and doubled down. Tongue plunging inside you, fucking you with it while his nose ground against your clit. Your walls fluttered desperately around the intrusion, trying to grip something thicker, something more.
He pulled back just enough to speak, chin glistening with your arousal. “Look at you,” he rasped, eyes black with hunger. “So small… so fucking perfect. Taking everything I give you like you were made for it.” His thumb circled your clit in tight, merciless rings while two fingers plunged back in, scissoring you open wider. “Gonna stretch this little cunt until it remembers only my shape.”
Your second orgasm crashed through you without warning, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing, a keening wail tearing from your throat as you gushed around his mouth. He drank it down greedily, lapping every drop, holding you through the aftershocks until you were limp and whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.
Only then did he rise, looming over you, broad shoulders blocking out the lamplight. His cock strained tight against his trousers, the outline thick and long enough to make your breath hitch all over again.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, before murmuring against your lips, “I'm not done with you, love. Not even close.”
He rose above you like a shadow given form. Broad shoulders eclipsing the faint lamplight, dark hair falling into eyes gone molten black with want. His chest rose and fell steadily, but the restraint was cracking; you could see it in the flex of his jaw, the way his large hands trembled just barely when they gripped your hips.
He shed the last of his clothes with economical precision. His shirt tugged over his head, trousers shoved down, cock springing free thick, veined, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. The sheer length of him made your breath catch every time; even now, after months of this, the sight of how much he had to give still sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.
You reached for him instinctively, small fingers wrapping around as much as you could manage. He hissed through his teeth, hips jerking forward once before he caught himself. “Careful, princess,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “You keep touching like that and this ends too fast.”
But he let you stroke him once, twice. Your palm gliding over hot, silky skin before he pried your hand away and pinned both wrists above your head with one massive palm. The position arched your back, pushed your chest up toward him, made you feel even smaller beneath the cage of his body.
He settled between your thighs, knees spreading you wider, the blunt head of his cock nudging your soaked entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Instead he dragged the length of himself along your folds slow and teasing, coating himself in your slick until you were squirming, hips lifting in silent plea.
“Look at me,” he ordered softly.
Your eyes fluttered open. He held your gaze as he pressed forward inch by thick inch, watching every flicker across your face. The stretch burned sweetly; your walls fluttered and yielded around him, struggling to take the girth even after his fingers and tongue had prepared you. A low groan rumbled from his chest when he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, so deep you swore you felt him in your throat.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the rare curse slipping out like he couldn’t help it. “So tight… always so fucking tight for me.”
He stayed buried to the hilt for a long moment, letting you adjust, letting himself savor the way your small body clenched and rippled around his invasion. Then his free hand slid down, palm splaying wide over your lower belly, fingers spanning almost the entire width of your abdomen.
He pressed down gently.
You gasped at the sudden pressure, feeling the unmistakable ridge of him shift inside you. There, right beneath his palm, a soft, obscene bulge rose against your skin, the outline of his cock visible through the taut plane of your stomach.
Tom’s eyes darkened impossibly further. “Gods,” he rasped, thumb tracing the faint swell. “Feel that, baby? How fucking deep I am.”
He rolled his hips experimentally slow, deliberate, and the bulge moved with him, sliding upward then down again. Your head fell back on a choked moan; the visual combined with the drag of him against every sensitive spot inside made sparks burst behind your eyelids.
“Tommy—” Your voice cracked, small hands twisting in his grip.
He pressed harder, pinning the bulge in place as he began to thrust in long, punishing strokes that pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. Each time he bottomed out, his palm felt the swell rise again, proof of how completely he owned you from the inside out.
“Can't get enough of you,” he growled, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “You take me so fucking well,” He sped up, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. “Gonna fuck you so full you’ll feel me every time you breathe for days.”
Your legs trembled around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as you tried to pull him deeper. The pressure of his hand never left—pressing, rubbing circles over the distension like he was mapping his claim. Every thrust made it more pronounced; every retreat left you aching to be filled again.
When your orgasm built again sharp, overwhelming, he leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Come for me, princess. Squeeze this cock so tight I can’t think of anything but breeding you full.”
The words tipped you over. You shattered around him, your walls clamping down like a vice, milking him as you cried out his name. He groaned low in his throat, thrusts turning erratic, chasing his own release while watching the bulge pulse with every spasm of your body.
He followed seconds later, hips grinding deep, burying himself to the root as he spilled inside you in hot, thick pulses. His hand stayed pressed over your stomach the entire time, feeling the faint twitch and swell as he filled you until it leaked out around his base.
When he finally stilled, he didn’t pull out. He simply shifted his weight, rolling so you were draped across his chest. Still impaled, still feeling every inch of him. His palm returned to your belly, fingers splaying possessively over the now-subtle swell.
“Mine,” he murmured against your hair, voice soft but unyielding. “Every part of you.”
You shivered, boneless and sated, and pressed a weak kiss to his collarbone. He tightened his hold, like he never planned to let go.
