𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙳𝙴
most girls your age spend their summers hanging out with friends and enjoying the sun. you have a little bit of a different summer experience when you end up needing uncle issei's help. my one of two for the deal with the devil collab,, rhi ily, thank you so much for making this collab because i loved writing it
.wordc. 5.5k+ tw incest, uncle issei, age gap, panty sniffling, a lot of spit, size kink, teeny bit of anal, oral (receiving), organized crime, blood, death mentions
“Not too scary for you, is it?” the tall man in front chuckles, low voice bouncing around the cold, dim room with too much mirth to put you entirely at ease.
Really, it is too scary for you. This place is eerie, making your blood drum through your veins hard and fast with each step. You’re not sure how long you have to work here for the thought of dead bodies not to scare you, but the truth is that this wasn’t your first choice. Or your second, for that matter. Still, you put on a smile as he looks over his shoulder, dark eyes meeting yours with a sort of curiosity that you can sniff out from a mile away.
“I’ll handle,” you just breathe back, speeding up your steps a little to stay right in toe with him as you leave the dungy cellar and walk up the stairs, cringing a little at the sound of his shoes scraping the metal surface. “I’m just not too used to the idea of having so much,” you pause, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and swallowing, “death— around me.”
Your new boss hums, softly, deep, reaching out a hand to help you up the last step and back into the -now- much more comfortable feeling parlor that you’d been shaking in half an hour prior. Honestly, you could do worse for a boss. You’ve heard of some of the things that girls do to pay off family debts and this— this hardly seems like anything compared to that. This, you can handle. However begrudgingly. You slowly pick some dust from your sweater when he turns to you, avoiding that deep, calculating look just slightly.
You can tell that it’s ringing through his mind, knowing what brought you begging him, and how much of it makes you a good or a bad person. Everyone does when they find out that you’re this short on money, your mom is this far in debt. You’re just wondering what exactly it is that he sees when staring so intently at every twitch of your lips, every brush of your fingers. He finally drops his eyes from you when the ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth corners, picking up a pen and clicking it against the desk a few times as he moves to stand behind it.
“So, you’ve seen the place,” he catches your eye again, before running his long, pretty fingers through his curls. “What do you say? You still want to work here?” A small part of you hesitates. You know what this will entail. You know that when Kyoutani grunted under his breath that you could ask your uncle for a place to ‘work’, well meaning, it wouldn’t be one of the most savory of jobs. That there’d be a certain secrecy you’d be expected to keep. The thought of seeing it still scares you, makes rows of goosebumps break out on your arms, hidden under your flimsy sweater.
But you nod anyway, because this is all you got. And this is about as good as you’ll find the jobs, when it’s your situation. Matsukawa’s thick brow lifts just slightly, before the casual expression slips back on and he just shrugs, signing something onto the stack of papers in front of him. “‘Kay, sign here then. I need your name and your signature here and here.” And though your hand shakes a little writing down your name, the heavy hand on your shoulder is a welcome comfort.
“I won’t- see any- d-,” you clamp your mouth shut again, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks when he takes a breath, cutting in.
“Dead people?”
“You know what I mean,” you huff, looking from your wobbly handwriting on the page back to him, his hand squeezing some of the nerves out of you despite everything. Your mom’s brother is charming, he’s easy to talk to and despite his very, very intimidating appearance, there’s a joy to his expression, making him seem genuine enough. You lean into him a little more as you lower your voice. “You do the same thing Kentaro does, right? I won’t have to… shoot anybody?”
A moment of silence passes, before he laughs- really laughs, his shoulders shaking and face splitting into a blinding grin that takes you aback a little, as he continues entirely too long. You even find yourself smiling along, even though it’s mostly out of surprise at his reaction. When he quiets though, he straightens up and towers back over you to place a hand on your head, shaking his head a few times. “I don’t think you could even if you wanted to, little girl.” It’s paired with a slight narrowing of his eyes when you brush his hand off, but he smiles.
“No shooting, no stabbing, no torturing. You have my word. All I ask is that you don’t go downstairs without me. Piece of cake, hm?”
You hum back, and he smiles.
You’d never seen a lot of your mom’s younger brother, having long been shunned out of the family by the time you were old enough to understand that was something that families could do. Banish the apples falling too far from the tree, the inedible bunch. Your mom didn’t talk about him, and your dad never had anything good to say when he did. Most you’d gotten was a flash of his tall, muscular posture on a rainy day in May, his obsidian gaze meeting yours for a split second from the other side of the casket when your mom’s dad— his dad, was about to be put into the ground.
You watched your nieces and nephews, aunts, elders avoid him like the plague, whispering behind clasped palms. About his shady business, his men, a danger. When he’d come up to your parents after the ceremony, ignoring your mother’s displeased glares in favor of being civil, he leaned down to reach a tattooed hand your way with a sad smile and you shook it. “If you ever need anything,” he had mumbled, setting your mom off into a hateful whirlwind of insults, yanking your smaller hand back into hers. Matsukawa vashined from your parents’ conversation entirely after that, right up until they split and the letters kept coming, final notices, extended payments.
But you never forgot, and eventually— who else could you have gone to, if not him?
Turns out that Matsukawa’s word counts enough, to a certain degree. The pay is good, and though receiving a grieving bunch of people every few days isn’t easy, the days without much activity at all. Only sometimes he comes home with a darkness in his expression, mumbling for you to hand him a drink when he walks in, or sometimes grabbing your cheeks and pressing a drink into your hands with a grin, two opposite ends of the spectrum.
You don’t know if it is Mattsun honouring his promise or not, but it only happens twice the first month, where you have to rush to pull the curtains down as a bunch of men carry in an unmoving body from a car. They douse the floors with deep red blood, smelling of metal, sharp and pungent. It’d stain the floors if they weren’t already an ominous reddish brown, leaving you mopping up the evidence with your lip tucked hard between your teeth. Even when he comes back from the cellar and tells you to call him ‘uncle Issei’, he’s gentle with you, and you’re grateful for that too.
“Thanks, kiddo,” he only mumbles as he pats your head with that heavy, large hand that you shook once on a rainy day, and you give a tense smile in return. It doesn’t stay that easy though, and with each time more and more heavily tattooed men pass through the parlor and cast questioning glances your way, you get more and more uneasy about it. Uncle Issei clearly does as well, if the tight line his mouth pulls is anything to go by. The whispers sometimes go into full on talking about you right in front of your face— in front of the boss’ face, and it’s only a split second before that ugly, demanding flash glides over his features when that happens.
You’re just glad he doesn’t take it personally. Each time he comes back, blood splattered on his shirt and sitting stained under his nails, you can’t help but wonder if he ever will. If he’ll ever just turn around and set his eyes on you, hate you the way your mom hated him. If you’ll end up like blood under those nails some day as well. You hope not.
Days turn into months, cleaning up till late after hours, sitting in his office- next to him on the chair with his hand rubbing small circles into your back while he reads over paperwork you filled in. You paint his nails black, hands shaking slightly under his gaze in the small, cramped space of his crappy apartment bathroom. You let him drive you around the city after particularly long days, squeezing your hand in his, eventually daring to link pinkies on the drive back. Anything to pretend like he isn’t your executor as well, with his noose wrapped too tight around your neck.
The cold air breathing up from the cellar through the staircase floats your way, pulling goosebumps from your legs and arms, the echo of nothing. You got used to the soft bangs of the boiler that used to spook you, got used to the dark, damp feeling of the hallway there— of feeling trapped like a bird in a cage with no means of escape. But sometimes the feeling of that cold travelling up your spine without your consent still frightens you a bit, and you ache for the second uncle Issei peeks his head back from under those gates of Hell to soothe you, tell you you can lock up soon.
It hasn’t happened yet, the sun is starting to set. You trust him. You do, so when a nagging sense of curiosity grows heavy, doubt prickles at the back of your mind. You turn to stare at the hallway. You don’t go there. You never go there, not even now— because Issei is the one with his hands wrapped around people’s neck, you’re innocent, oblivious, naive. That’s the deal you made. But with each passing minute on that ticking clock and no sign of life from him, your heart grows heavier— your mind more curious.
Once the sun passes by the horizon and leaves only the faintest shimmer of orangey-red on the walls behind you, dusted over your fingertips and cheeks, you swallow. Thick and heavy, it sits at the back of your mouth as you turn to the hallway, now with trembling hands. “Uncle Issei?” you softly call down, not nearly loud enough to reach the back rooms. Your voice gets stuck in your throat when you stand peering down into the darkness. He probably won’t be happy to have you there, but you’ve never asked for much, right? Just a quick check can’t hurt.
You begin the descent slowly and very unsurely, your responsibilities banging in the back of your skull as you tiptoe down. If someone where to find the parlor abandoned right now, you’d get in trouble. But you don’t think as you still scoot forward more, letting your eyes adjust to the lack of light. Even with the small spots that illuminate the stone staircase, there’s so much darkness that it seems to swallow up any brightness left. You call out for him again, still not receiving an answer.
It’s eerily silent again. You’re freaking yourself out. You know you are— looking at your trembling hands, feeling the hairs standing up on all your limbs, but you really can’t help it. You tap a few buttons on your phone again, but the call goes straight to voicemail. The metal squares hiding some gruesome truths are still all closed, and the chill you feel is the freezers running on full power. Everything is fine. You make it to the back rooms only just, skittish as you yank open the door to them and hide away into it, letting yourself take a few deep breaths.
“Mattsun?” you try one last time, now louder.
Nothing. A pristine room, two empty seats and a few bottles of amber alcohol on a coffee table. No uncle Issei, no screaming, no sign of life. But across the way there’s another door, heavy and metal that you huff at when it doesn’t budge. Deciding none of this is worth the effort, you wipe your hands on your skirt and turn on your heel right when a large figure appears from behind the door.
You jump so hard you slump into the wall with a choked scream, only to drop your shoulders as tears well up in your eyes. The familiar face doing little to keep your heart from slamming against its' bone cage. “I was looking for you,” you choke out, gripping your own fingers with your other hand, swallowing. Uncle Issei is — covered in blood. Head to toe, with blood running down from under his hair over his brow and eye, his shirt and pants drenched in thick, dark blood; his hands, dripping.
You’ve always had a bit of an obsession with his hands, ever since that first time. Strong and big, wrapping around yours with roughened, thick skin and keeping you close. Tattoos crawling down from his sleeves to his knuckles, covering each stretch of him in swirls or red, black and blue. Hands that wiped your tears on nights where you felt lowest, and ones that you spent too long studying when they were pressed up against your shoulders to steady you. But you’ve never seen them like this, so much blood that it drips down onto the floor, droplets looking more light claws than anything else. Rings glittering red.
Your first instinct is to worry for him, but the second is to worry for you. “Who’s watching upstairs?” he asks with a low hum, rubbing his face into the crook of his elbow. He only lifts a single eyebrow towards you when there’s no answer, shifting on your feet. You bite your lip in shame, sucking it into your mouth, before finally shrugging.
“I w- I thought that y- just wanted to know why you hadn’t come up yet.” He keeps your gaze a few seconds longer, then walks towards you and further, looking out into the rest of the cellar with a tense sigh. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, uncle Issei,” you mumble again, feeling like a scolded child. But he clicks his tongue and leans down to press a kiss at the edge of your hair, affectionately, before he stands up and motions towards the other end.
“Come with me.”
There’s a soft press to the space between your shoulders as he walks behind you, leading you into the next room with a deep breath. There’s no warning offered for what you walk into, but you don’t think there is any that would suffice anyway. You clamp your eyes shut, stopping right in place and staying pressed back to his chest, lip shaking, your heart beating like it’s trying to remember the feeling of life.
“Is this what you wanted to see?” he asks, you feel the swell of his breathing against you and the warmth of his body, but you shake your head. “No?” You shake your head harder, trying to banish the view from your memories. Blood, so much, on the table, the chair, dripped down the sink. And a heap in the chair that must be a person, but you don’t dare open your eyes again to confirm. “You didn’t let the curiosity get the best of you, brat?”
“No, no, I wanna leave,” you beg, reaching behind you to cling to his pant leg, balling up your hand so hard it aches. The fabric is still tacky, it leaves your mouth dry and your touch feeling gross. “Uncle Issei, please, I wanna leave,” your voice is high pitched and squeaky by now, betraying the full range of your distress. You almost collapse from relief as his hands wipe on his own clothing before grabbing your shoulders and leading you back the way you came, following his path until the grip loosens and he lets out a deep breath, one that betrays his frustration.
“We’re cleaning up.” He watches you as your eyes crack open again, narrowed and teary, but his own expression is just as hard. “I’m not asking, come on.” He opens the door into the small bathroom tucked all the way into the far of the room and already starts unbuttoning his shirt to place it onto the sink, paying you little mind as you follow him into the room.
The water drums hard on the surface of his skin as you wait with damp hair until he’s finished, about ready to be done and shimmy into the oversized shirt of his he’d offered under his breath. There was nothing coy about the way he pulled you into the same shower, you with your eyes kept strictly on the ceiling as you scrub the shower gel over your arms and legs and down your belly, hoping he’ll do the same.
Every time you accidentally brush against his skin you shiver, not knowing how to break the silence. You're family, and this should be fine, shouldn't be making your cheeks hot and breathing taste sweeter. It does though. Once he’s clean too, you can feel the darkness of his eyes boring into the planes of your face, brushing some hair back ever so gently.
You wonder if he’ll bring up what he sees on your face- because you're sure he does. You kind of hope he has the good will to leave you pretending. After getting dried off and back into your skirt with a clean shirt of his over top he swallows, and clears his voice. “You’ve known since the start about what you'd see in there, don’t act so shocked.”
“‘M not acting anything,” you instantly whisper back, taking place against the wall of the impeccable office, hoping you’ll sink into the wall and never be seen again. There’s a difference between knowing something bad is happening behind your back, and actually facing it. A minuscule change maybe, but enough to have your lip shake as you suckle it. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, that’s all. I don’t want to.”
A tick in his brow is all that shows his agitation, but you still feel bad. Maybe for the distance you suddenly feel between the two of you, so close yet miles and miles of distance. You never had to wonder what made Mattsun a bad person, blocked it out in your mind like it was barely an issue. “Why?” he asks, slow and deep and raising goosebumps all over your skin when his large, imposing form gets closer and closer.
You stare at him, blinking away something deep inside. There’s no way the thing you’re feeling is heartbreak, so then why do you feel so damn heavy? “I didn’t know this is- I didn’t want to see it, Issei. I could have gone my whole life not thinking about it, and I don’t wanna end up like that too.”
With just two steps he’s before you, looking down as you flinch when he raises a hand, his lips pulling into a tight line. He hovers for a second, then slowly— so slow you swear the wait almost feels unending, his fingertips brush along your cheek, face nearing. “You really think I’d ever hurt you? Me hurting you?” It’s in the way he breathes, eyebrows stitching together into a sort of confusion that you’ve never seen on him. For once, he looks lost, and you can’t help but feel like crying when he presses even closer. “I would never think about hurting you.”
“Have you just been thinking this the whole time? About when I’d lay my hands on you and squeeze,” he grunts, narrowing on your expression as you instinctively follow his hands to your throat to cling to them. Your palms are clammy as you watch him take you in, your mouth slightly cracked and glistening, still swollen and puffy from biting your lips so much. He’s so much bigger than you, biceps bulging as he keeps you trapped in place, lungs emptying into the feeble space between you two. “Is that what you think of me? Just when I was starting to think someone actually cared, accepted me.”
The way his body is pressed to yours is overwhelming, face so close you can feel the breath of him along your cheeks, the warmth of his hands as he trails a hand down your spine. It’s intoxicating, more than anything, even though it doesn’t escape you how distinctly wrong your thoughts are. Because no, you don’t, you should and you don’t and it’s messing up your mind as you try to blink through your thoughts. “And if I did, what then?” he mumbles under his breath, pressing you further up against the cold wall. “Who would help you if I wanted to? Your mom? You think Kyoutani will go against me? Who helped you more than I did?”
Your hands shake against his chest as you keep them there, looking up at him like a god in the flesh. Because that’s really what it feels like right about now, the deep darkness of his blown out pupils, the electric touch of his hands along you, like the heavy metal rings make the soft surface magnetic. “No one, uncle Issei. I wouldn’t ask anyone else.” You keep his eyes as he hums, then seems to cage you to him between his thick thighs, the smell of his cologne and just his manly scent filling you up and spitting you out disgarted. “Only you, I promised. I- I trust you.”
His lips pull into a tighter line, before he smiles tightly, looking aside. “Such a sweet thing you are, hm? Always have been too loyal for your own good.” The praise makes you feel floaty, cheeks warming as you search for words, struggling to answer anything of use. “Almost makes me believe you feel the same, kiddo. Don’t do that to me.” He breathes out a tense laugh as he makes you meet his eyes, probably at the wide, teary-eyed way you don’t dare look anywhere else. You feel like you’re drowning.
Your mom once said that you’d be wise not to trust men like him, for your own good, that you weren’t old enough yet to really understand what people’s promises held. Maybe now for the first time, you get what she means. Because looking at him licking his lips so close to you, with his hand wrapped around your throat and your breathing constricted by the proximity of his own face; you wonder what exactly he promised you. And how much you’d do to give into him anyway.
“You’d forgive me if I did something stupid, right?” he whispers, and when you blink your lashes almost brush his, your wrists gripped so tight in his hand. You don’t get the chance to agree before he dips down his lips to peck you, stealing a second kiss and a third too, before he groans and gets to his knees. “I want you to be mine,” he confesses, too easily. Your cheeks, if they weren’t already burning hard and bright, flare up with all the embarrassment in your body until you choke on your words when uncle Issei pushes his face between your legs, nudging up your skirt with his nose.
“Fu—ck, princess, ugh- you’re so pretty. Drive my fucking stupid for you.” The noise he makes is loud and rumbly, hands gripping your thighs tight and kneading the tender skin between strong fingers. He sniffs under your skirt again, pressing his mouth to the heat between your legs and placing open mouth kisses, as you rest your hand in his hair and cling to him.
“Uncle Issei, w-what are you—” your thigh trembles as he hooks it over your shoulder, mouthing at your pussy through the thin covering, obnoxious kissing noises filling you with misplaced pride. He groans as he noses at your clit and licks a long stripe up, then pulls the fabric to the side to tuck it aside. “Why?” you breathe, throwing your head back against the wall and cling tighter to his wild curls, and he hums.
“Want me to stop?” You know what you should say. Looking back down as the heat of his mouth leaves and he meets your gaze head on, he raises an eyebrow, and you almost say yes. But the way he traces his fingers along your slit, long, thick fingertips prodding where your body lets out so much heat, getting wetter by the breath- it’s too much. You slowly shake your head side to side, pouting along when he coaches a noise out of you with the incessant press. “No? You want me to keep going?”
“Please.” That’s all he asks for before burying his face back between your legs with a sigh, repeating the long lick top to bottom on bare skin now, and you shudder when he slips two fingers ever so slowly inside. It instantly feels overwhelming.
“Mhm, s’all you had to say.” He grins into your thighs and hums, then flicks his tongue hard and slow. “Though I’d like to hear you beg.” Maybe it’s the idea of how wrong it is, how wrong he is for you, but the way he pushes his tongue between your bottom lips and sucks hard and messy, taking all of you and lapping you up like he’s been starved for weeks, it feels heavenly. “Y’taste so fucking good, holy fuck.”
You can’t help yourself. His tongue is doing miracles, feeling better than anything anyone’s ever done to you. Your hands shake as you alternate between keeping him close and tugging him back to allow a breath. “Uncle Issei,” you squeak when his fingers push past the ring of muscles a few times, curling into your softness and licking at the pussy nub at the top of your slit. “U-uncle Issei, please.” He moans your name back into your pussy as he seems to press even closer, not that he can, and pushes his tongue along into the clenching hole.
You mewl again, trying not to wrap your leg around him to keep him there, the perfect pressure on your clit, stubble on your most sensitive parts. He licks you clean until you can’t open your eyes without tearing up, before he finally pulls back for breath and drops your leg back to the floor, pulling at your skirt to rid you of it completely. You sink down without his support, sitting flat and panting, wet pussy dripping as you watch him unbutton his shirt much too slow for your taste. When he finishes, you start pushing it off his shoulders and crawl into his lap, aching for more closeness, and Issei smiles.
“My pretty girl needs more, hm?” He grabs your jaw and lays a soft kiss at the edge of your lips before pushing his wet fingers up to your mouth, letting you wrap your lips around them with a soft noise of displeasure. But it doesn’t last for long when you suck on the digits and let him push far back, gagging you. Spit drips down his fingers and hand as he watches you, breathes you in and lets you roll your pussy on the bump of his crotch until you get tired. Then he circles your lips with his fingertips, and nudges them apart. “Open up. Got a present to give you.”
You do, listen so well as you drop your mouth open and let your tongue lul out, barely reacting when he tugs it and more spit leaks down your tongue, your chin and his fingers. It doesn’t have the time to cool before he swipes it up and licks it off his own fingers, then hovering his mouth over yours. “So pretty, my pretty, little niece. Who would’ve expected the little angel of the family to end up grinding herself on her uncle’s cock like a whore, hm?” The grin on his lips glitters in this light, looking endlessly perfect to you.
“Y’like that?” he coos, still pinching your tongue and having drool mess up your face, run down his wrist. You nod, can’t help it. You try to mumble his name with your tongue out of your mouth, grinding yourself on him harder, pushing the fold of the fabric to push against your clit. And he chuckles softly at your eagerness, letting a softer look pass over his face before he hums back, helping your hips along his hardening cock. “Open wider,” he says when he leans in, you do.
Only a moment you think he’ll kiss you, but then something warm and wet lands on your tongue. Spit— his spit pools on the wet surface of your tongue and runs down, and Issei raises an eyebrow. The idea alone that he spit on your tongue, degrading you with no filter whatsoever shouldn’t turn you on, it shouldn’t have you trembling in his lap with your pussy spilling more slick onto the crotch of his jeans. But you can’t help it, you mewl as you let him push the wetness around on your tongue. “Drop it and I’ll give you something worse to drink. Now be good and swallow my fucking spit before I fuck that pretty pussy of yours.”
You aren’t allowed to close your mouth as he plays his fingers in your mouth like it’s nothing, pressing against the back of your throat as you swallow around them, unable to hold the wet sounds of your mouth and your cunny at this point. It’s filthy, and uncle Issei looks so pleased. You can’t look away. This time when he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he’s not gentle. He’s not patient. He just pushes you over onto your hands and knees and pulls your underwear down in one smooth pull, nudging your thighs apart. The sound of the zipper between your breaths is loud and makes your hole clench in anticipation, winking as he rubs a rough thumb over it again and again to spread around the wetness dripping down your cunt.
“Been thinking of you for so long, princess,” he leans down to kiss a line down the small of your back, before shuffling in between your legs as he shoves his pants and boxers down and lets you feel the thick, heavy press between your legs. So big, so heavy that you hold your breath, dropping your chin to your chest to look under your body at his cock. Swollen and flushes, it twitches against you, and you reach a hand below you to grip at him between your legs. He’s so hot and thick and heavy in your hand, feeling his heartbeat as you squeeze around the shaft, before moaning along with him.
“Holy fuck, uncle Issei, you’re so big. I- I don’t know if,” you choke, pushing yourself to rub your pussy along the top of him.
He snorts, though it’s lost in his groan when you rub your clit along his flared head, gripping your hips tighter. You don’t have much faith when he thrusts forward against you and his hips level with yours, only showing off how deep he’ll be. “You can. You can,” he whispers, letting you rub yourself along him until your slick and his precum is one wet mess between your legs. “That’s it, pretty girl. Gonna take your uncle’s cock so well, hm? Want it inside?”
“Yes, yes yes yes,” you whimper, letting go of him to stuff your own fingers into your mouth and taste your mixture of wet, taste him too. “Wan’it so bad. I wanna feel you.” Every touch to your clit makes you shiver on your knees, forgetting all about the hurt when he finally lines up and the fat head pushes against your hole, his one hand clamping down hard on your hips. “Ahgn- ‘ncle ‘Ssei, please. Feels so good.”
The press of his thick cock against you instantly stretches your walls, sinking down to rest your head on your arms and rolling your hips back against him. Tears leak out of your eyes when he pushes in more, and your voice gets even more tight and whimpery when his thumb pushes up to your puckered hole along with a shallow thrust. “Fuck, fu-baby, so fucking tight. God, you’re squeezing me so tight.” He thrusts deeper, spreading you open inch by inch as you shiver. It hurts, yet feels so good that you can’t think of anything other than his cock fucking into you, frow slow, shallow thrusts to deeper and harder, curling his thumb inside you for more pressure.
By the time he’s able to comfortably roll his hips into you, you’re a drooling, wet mess under him, pussy so full you feel him press up against your cervix and leave your legs barely supporting your weight. Your cunt and clit twitch for him each time his hips meet yours, bumping so deep into your walls you can’t even keep your eyes open. “Uncle Issei, ‘m gonna cum. Gonna cum, gonna cum, ah- ahng.”
“Yeah? Wanna cream all over my cock, pretty girl? Make even more of a mess?” You don’t get the chance to respond before he pinches your clit and sends you straight over the edge, vision going black as the wave of pleasure clashes down on you and he fucks you through it, pushing his cock so far inside you it should hurt. “That’s it, that’s it, cum for me.”
But it’s just amazing, a rush of pleasure as he fucks you open through your orgasm, walls clenching desperately around him. You feel him pull out to let some of your cum spill out and down your legs, before wrapping an arm under your body and pulling you up against his chest, pressing kisses along your neck.
“There you go, baby, so good for me.” He breathes deeply into your skin, before sliding his cock back into the mess between your legs, humming. “You’re warmed up now, right? I think it’s my turn.”