My "study buddy" has been flashing his cunt at me for the last half hour.
We're supposed to be body doubling while we catch up on textbook chapters and lecture materials, and I didn't give a shit when he laid down on the couch. Sure, his shorts were way too short and he wasn't wearing underwear, but whatever; I could still focus and take notes. While I had popped an Adderall and put my phone on silent, however, this undiagnosed dickhead had started fidgeting and texting non-stop and he had the audacity to have haptic feedback on, so each frantic tap of another message honked his procrastination at me.
I stare at the wall on the opposite side of my living room when I ask, "how's that chapter going?"
He hesitates before he answers and his legs are definitely canted open at that angle on purpose. "Sorry. Boyfriend's being a shit," he mumbles, like I don't know what that means. His boyfriend is probably the one who told him to wear those tiny shorts and wave his pussy at me, betting that either the little coward on my couch wouldn't have the spine to do it, or I wouldn't rise to the taunt.
I don't roll my eyes. Shifting my gaze to the ceiling while I reach for my phone is not the same as rolling my eyes. I open my conversation with his boyfriend and type out a message of my own: you understand this little shit is two weeks behind, right?
He's already flunked out of college once, accruing debt with fuck-all to show for it. Slinking away to a new community college, starting the whole game over again, dicking around because he's already taken these classes once, it should be easy-peasy, right? The textbooks would all say pretty much the same thing, just retype old assignments in a new doc for fresh metadata and call it a day.
Except it wasn't working, and he couldn't keep up with the class discussions, and his grades were getting docked.
Before I get a response, I add, you remember that YOU asked ME to help him study?
Before I send the message, I tap the attachment button and open the camera, then reach out and pinch his dick between my thumb and forefinger so I can take a picture of him as he squeals in alarm and send it along to his dumbass dom.
Study Buddy, part four. Parts one and two here, part three here.
Wait, is everything cool?
I demand an ETA instead of answering the question, and when I receive it, I dismiss the notification. His boyfriend had stayed close, which was funny. I wonder what he was expecting that he decided to lurk around – an SOS, or an invitation?
Eight minutes.
"What if I just sit here and fuck myself on your couch as my break?" He asks, his jaw tense and petulant. Like he's bracing. His phone is on the couch beside him, and I feel a little curl of satisfaction at the back of my throat.
"It's your break. You have ten minutes," I lie with a shrug. My breaks are usually half an hour, but he doesn't know that, and it won't matter anyway. A multi-layered lie, because he's pissed me off. "If that's enough for you."
I'm willing to bet it isn't, but he spreads his legs and pushes the crotch of those stupid shorts aside to stroke at himself. He stares at me, expectant, as he slowly rubs his cock and assumes that's going to break me. What interests me right then is that he isn't looking at his phone, at the notification he got from his boyfriend.
He audibly huffs, offended, when I lift my phone and make a show of dismissing notifications. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to avoid laughing. Predictable little shit. Hates the idea that someone's eyes could be anywhere but on him, especially when he's playing with his cunt, never mind that he's not really trying, just going through the motions until I "lose control" and take over for him. That isn't going to happen. His hands still as he watches me not watching him.
He thinks about it first. He considers what will happen, rolls the idea around in his mind for at least a half second, before he snatches my phone from my hand and tosses it aside. The motion is quick, haphazard, like my phone will bite him if he holds it for too long, and it skips across the couch cushion and bounces off of the arm before it hits the floor.
He's lucky my hand is open when I hit him.
This slap bites harder, partially for using my dominant hand and partially because he fucking deserves it. He gasps and before he can blink away the little stars in his vision, I bring my hand back across the other cheek to reignite it, as well. Rougher than he was expecting, his eyes water as I grip his jaw and bear down onto him, pushing him into the couch as I dig my fingers into his skin while it's still on fire.
"Disrespect my property again and I'll fucking kill you," I hiss, our faces close enough that I can feel his shaking breath against my lips. He's stunned, his hands dumb and useless, and I ease my grip on his face just a bit. Bring it back a little. One of us needs to stay in control, especially if his weak-ass boyfriend hasn't done this with him before. Even if he would look prettier crying.
My lips brush against the corner of his mouth, and he resists my grip only as much as he needs to latch onto my mouth. He's eager and needy even after I've scared the shit out of him and he sucks my tongue into his mouth like he intends to swallow it. He's clumsy with his teeth, and when he nips at my lower lip I move my hand from his jaw to his throat. "Mind yourself, boy," I warn him, pressing my mouth against the mark my thumb left on his jaw. His head lolls back, and I plant one knee between his legs. He offers me his throat, and I offer him something to hump.
He grinds into my leg and lets out a sad, desperate noise that I can taste in the back of my throat. I coo softly, and my free hand slips his phone – don't know why it's buzzing, but it's annoying – away from his side and I drop it to the floor. We're busy, he doesn't need to be pulled out of it.
He opens his mouth, panting, begging for me to push my tongue between his teeth again, and I spit in his mouth. Whore. His hips twitch and he sticks his tongue out, deterred not at all by the disrespect. I probably shouldn't be surprised.
I have to remind myself to loosen my grip, barely even realize I'd started squeezing, to let blood flow to his brain. I don't think much of it is going in that direction at this point, not when I can feel him soaking through my jeans, but what little he has should probably get a fighting chance. He writhes, and I indulge him by crushing my mouth against his again.
Somewhere between pulling back for air and biting his lip, he remembers he has limbs. His fingers hook into my belt loops and he tries to tug at me, pull my body into his. I squeeze his neck again, tutting softly, and his hands still. He doesn't let go, but he stops pulling, and I'm actually a little impressed with how desperately he's trying to fuck himself out on my knee.
He's so startlingly pliant, I get distracted again. I hardly need to, but could I restrain him? Tie him up? I could gag him, if he decides to talk shit. He'd look cute covered in his own drool, that's not a big leap of the imagination. How would he most like to be hit? Do I have to limit myself to my hands, or could he take a paddle, a cane? A whip? Would he bleed for me, if I thought he deserved to?
I've lost track of time, and the knock on my front door is a sharp correction.
To his credit, he ignores it, his hips stuttering as his body tries to flinch away from the coarse fabric between his legs, his sensitivity building. Shit, he'd probably ignore it if the fucking building was on fire. He blinks, baffled and almost betrayed, when I call out that the door is open.
He tries to sit up when his boyfriend closes the door, startled and excited and still grinding away at my knee. He wants this to go farther, harder, he wants so badly for the two of us to fuck him.
I push him back into the couch. "Ah-ah," I murmur. "Stay right here."
Watching his eyes track his boyfriend as he moves across the living room, circles the tables where we'd staked out space to "study" – lying little shits – tells me where he's at while I can't see him directly. When he's moved somewhere I can keep an eye on both of them, I toss Dumbass a withering look. "Useless cunt doesn't hurt you the way you want, does he?" I ask, my voice low and soft, almost intimate. "He doesn't want to scare you."
Well he doesn't appreciate that remark, but before he can move closer I hold up a finger to stall him. Then, I rotate it to point at his boy's phone, chucked disconsolately on the floor. He can collect that while we're busy, thanks.
"Eyes on me," I drawl, shifting my gaze back to the boy under me. When he complies, eyes bright and a little wild, I bring my face close enough to brush my nose against his. "You're so wet, you're so goddamn desperate. You want me to fuck you?"
His hips jerk and he barely remembers to nod, and from the corner of my eye I can see Dumbass sliding a hand over his own crotch, pleased with the show. God. He could at least have enough pride not to get on board immediately after I've insulted him.
It makes some part of me, the same part of my chest that wants to pull his boy apart like a winged insect, writhe gleefully.
"You want me to show him how to hurt you. You want me to show him how hard to push."
He nods again and a shitty grin slides across my face. I don't bother hiding it. I release his throat and slip my thumb into his mouth, and he tries to lap at it. I press his tongue down, hold his mouth open.
"I want you to understand something first," I murmur, my lips against his cheek.
He whines, and the rhythm and wind of his hips has changed. He's getting close.
My tone drops, sharp and hateful. "You don't get to waste my fucking time," I spit, driving my thumb down into his mouth until he lets out a pained noise. "I'm not your toy."
Dumbass startles at that, but his boy's jerking sharply against my leg, his eyelids fluttering.
"You want me to fuck you? Then pass your fucking classes."
I let go of his mouth and grab him by the front of his shirt, planting both feet on the floor and pulling him upright. He lets out a bewildered noise, startled by how easily I can tug him around. Like it's hard. "Now," I say conversationally as I push him into his boyfriend's arms, "he's useless like this. Take him home and fuck him. Or fuck him in the car, I don't care."
Neither of them like this development. "Wait, what?" Dumbass asks, stunned, while his boy wobbles and sticks a hand between his own legs to ease the sudden lack of sensation. Or maybe jerk himself off, I don't know. I was right, he'd be pretty crying – he looks like he's about to, though more out of offense and frustration than pathetic wailing. That's what I wanted, I want him hateful and rowdy for his dom. I want Dumbass to have to deal with the fallout of not asking first, not making a plan. Both of them need to be "taught a lesson," as it were.
I cup his face and bring his eyes back to mine. "I'll give you everything you want," I murmur, "but you have to work for it. And then all you have to do after that is ask."
My voice drops again as I look at his dom. "Now go fuck his brains back in, and we'll try studying next week."
It's weird to me that I still have time on my break, after they've tumbled back into their car. I could swear more time has passed than that, but I gave myself long breaks on purpose. And because assigned parking spaces mean that any guests of mine have to park in front of my living room window, it means that I get to prop myself against the windowsill and watch through the window as my "study buddy" tries to tear his dom apart or ride him to death, grabby and vindictive and trying so, so hard to convince his flustered boyfriend to choke the shit out of him in the backseat.
I could make his dom worse. I could push him, too, take all of that blustering and put real fucking spine behind it. Or break him, maybe, if it turns out he can't handle it. Wouldn't be much of a loss, if that was the case. But if Dumbass turns out to actually have it in him, we could make an incredible team. It's a fun idea, and I let it simmer while I watch. It's almost compelling enough to convince me that next week's study session could be postponed.
Study Buddy series, part three. Parts one and two over here.
He stays so still, I almost start to think I could train him. Coax him along, keep him attentive and hot, make him cum hard and often enough to give him a Pavlovian response to holding a book. Maybe then he'd actually fucking read without being bullied into it.
"What was that section about?" I ask.
I watch his throat bob as he swallows hard. "Um. Data... things..."
There are four chapters dedicated to "data things." Of course the section was about "data things."
He sees the look on my face and bristles. "You can't honestly think I can focus like this."
I could at least hope for obedience. A small part of me had, I guess, but I mostly expected this. He lifts his hips, my hand still resting on the crease where his thigh meets his groin, and flops back down with his pelvis canted up at me, trying to squirm my hand where he wants it. When I take my hand away and stand up, he looks appalled.
My phone chirrs where I've put it, a polite but distinct notification of the time. I feel a tiny part of me relax a little, though I can't name what specifically, as my brain understands the signal. I silence the alarm and glance at a text notification – I hope you're really teaching him a lesson 😈. I almost want to kick the little shit out on principle.
"What's that?"
"Break time," I explain, and he raises his knees toward his chest. He's still hard, his lips flushed and sticky. "You should stretch. Helps with blood flow."
He waits for a beat, expectant. When I don't move toward him and instead raise my arms over my head to stretch like a normal person might, his lip curls a little and the fucker glares at me. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
He closes his legs, sits up, and reaches toward me. His fingers tangle at the front of my hip, an ill-aimed grasp at my belt loop and pocket so he can pull at me. "If you want to get off first–"
It's reflexive when I slap him. My hand comes down smooth and hard but not quite in line and I hit low on his cheek, rack the outer edge of my hand against his jaw. It stuns him for a second, his eyes wide and his body still as he tries to process what just happened. I swat his hand off of my belt loop and watch his face, the little creep of tension across his shoulders and neck. He wasn't expecting this, and I don't even know if he and his boyfriend have ventured any farther out than base-level spanking.
That's what he gets for punching above his weight class.
It's fascinating to watch his pupils dilate, listen to the shaky way he inhales as he blinks away the surprise. I brush my fingers against his jaw, directing his face back up toward mine. I'm not a stone. He could touch me, and there's part of me that wants to pin him to the floor and suffocate him in my cunt, but he hasn't earned it. Still, I have to give him some signal that slapping the shit out of him isn't an end. My thumb brushes his lower lip, and he tentatively slips his tongue across the tip, a bare whisper of contact.
I release his face and drop his phone in his lap. "Break."
I do want to break him. He wants it, too, or he wouldn't be insufferable. If he was less pushy, if he was less of a shit, this would've been so much easier for him — I have a soft spot for true subs, and I could've had him shaking and fucked out by now. Being soft and pliant doesn't trigger my desire to bruise, the sadistic urge to bend and twist until something snaps. If he shows spine, it makes me want to find the breaking point.
If you wanna see snippets of what I've written, longer entries are tagged #tyrian tales, smaller items are tagged #swatches. Posting full works here will be rare. I rarely tag shit otherwise and do not guarantee the ability to filter content. Hard kinks abound, viewer discretion is advised.
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