John Constantine dub-con, collaring, and pet play?
Opinion?
Incredible combination.
Have a little something to chew on, cuz I've been rotating this one in my brain.
He really should not have come to poker night.
John knew it was a bad idea, of course; walking into enemy territory to cheat who-knows how many old 'acquaintances' out of their coin. But, as always, he was tempted by the promise of booze, smokes and the thrill of risk and danger.
To be fair though, he was expecting something more along the lines of a brawl, perhaps a proper murder attempt– Hell, maybe even a good-ol' fashioned kidnapping scheme.
But not this. Certainly, not this.
"Enjoying the view from down there, Constantine?" Your looking down at him, a mocking lilt to your tone as you smirk. Perched lazily in your great armchair, looking like a king upon a throne, with a polished gold chain wrapped loosely around your palm. It connected perfectly to the black and gold leather band secured snugly to his throat, its tightness and weight notable with every breath John took.
He was certainly not expecting this, but God, if he wasn't rock-hard already.
Suddenly, Constantine is jerked forward by his lead. "Fuck–!" The blonde man collapses forward on his hands and knees with a choked gasp, before his head is forcefully yanked upward by the chain. Constantine sputters, scrabbling to claw at his collar just as he meets your eye.
"I did expect an answer to my question, you know," You drawl, leaning over to your face-to-face with your captive. "Please, do rate your experience."
"Well–," Constantine chokes out, struggling for breath "I'd just think a bit more highly of the service— if I were planning to be here."
You hum consideringly, "I understand that. But I'm afraid your preferences aren't a priority this time 'round, pet." You slack the chain, and John collapses at your feet with a wheeze, panting. Fuck, he's so hard. He feels like hes about to spill in his pants like a bloody teenager. And clearly, you must see it too.
"Though honestly, you seem to be enjoying it either way," You push your foot forward, sliding it right up against the tent in John's pants. He jerks forward, of his own accord this time, and curses as soon as he catches himself.
"Christ- hah, I think I've meet succubi less fuckin' dick-hungry," John taunts, but it comes out shakey— his body has betrayed him, as you can feel the dampness, the texture of wet Khaki against your leather shoes.
"And yet you seem all for it," You apply a sudden, heavy pressure, and the magician keens loudly, before curling over your outstretched leg, leaning forward against it for support. "Like a rabbit in heat, you are. Isn't that right, bunny?"
"Gah, hauhh– uhn, no, not a- not ah bunny, you cunt–" John pants out, tilting his head back to glare up at you. Unphased, you simply twirl a length of his golden leash around your point finger with a lazy disposition. Without acknowledging his protest, you move the hand not occupied with the lead to your own slacks, which you begin to unbutton. John looks between your crotch and your face, raising an eyebrow incredulously.
"You can't be serious" You smirk, finishing your unbuttoning and pulling down your pants and undergarments together in a single flourish.
"Oh, I'm nothing if not serious, pet," Your grasp on his leash is tight again, dragging him forward against his grunting protests. "Now, be a good little bunny, and hop to it, won't you?"
John Constantine glares at you like hes trying to set you on fire with his mind. "That was awful," is all he says in the end though, settling forward with his hands resting on your thighs. Your cock is fully out, and partially erect, which John admits would certainly be an entirely pleasant view under better circumstances, but as is, is only still painfully arousing.
Tentatively, he latches his mouth around the bulbous head of your cock, suckling gently, before beginning to work his way further down the shaft. Little by little, he takes your cock, spit pooling over the edges of his lips and coating your dick in shiny, sticky strands. "Oh, yes," You breathe, quiet but edged with a certain intensity. Well, at least he's knows he's still got it.
All of a sudden, though, you pull the leash again. Hard. John sputters gagging and choking as your cock is abruptly shoved down his throat, violating his mouth with a speed and harshness he failed to anticipate. You thrust in and out at a brutal pace, only tightening your grip on John's leash, forcing his throat to tighten around you.
Its at this point that John begins to fall apart properly— His face is a mess of drool and tears as he struggles to breath through his nose while on hand claws at his neck, pulling weakly at the pretty collar still wrapped firmly around his neck. Meanwhile, his other hand's got a death grip in the fabric of your pants, anchoring himself to you. Without realizing, the magican began to rut up against your leg, still positioned between his. The delicious friction of it makes him moan and whine, which reverabrates through your dick and spurs you on further.
"God, you're so hot and wet, my pretty bunny," You pant, still fucking his mouth with vigor, "Its just like fucking a cunt, your mouth is– really quite good. Fuck– I'm gonna cum down your throat, so be a good pet and keep fucking my leg like the filthy animal you are, Constantine."
Just as you finish speaking, you do as you promised and cum down his throat. At the same time, your degrading words push John over the edge along after you, spilling into the front on his pants like a damn virgin. His back arches and muscle tense like he's being electrocuted, and fuck, its so good, he can't help but moan, loud and long. Ropes of salty white cum overflow John's stuffed throat, spilling out past his lips as you pull away, leaving him to spit out whatever he had not already instinctively swallowed.
A beat passes as you slump down in the chair and Constantine sits back on his haunches. The magician is fully disheveled, blonde hair messy and sweat-slick, face wet with tears, drool and snot, eyes glassy and pupils blown out wide. You catch your breath first, straightening up slightly, and pulling gently on the leash again. John looks up at you, huffing.
"What, didn't... didn't get enough?"
"Hardly. Besides, you did make quite the mess of my pants," You sniff, haughty, before it morphs into a smirk.
"Seems only fair you clean it up."
He's definitely going to be coming to poker night more often, after all.
















