White Elephant: Joy
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as deep throating, and noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are involved in a game you want no part in.
Characters: multiple, this chapter is Lloyd-centric; the reader is 'Joy'. There will be a different reader featured in each part (that you will see included here as side characters).
Note: This was more ambitious than I thought. This is the first of five. This chapter is 5k, probably the longest bc the setup.
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
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Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
The phone call comes as you’re packing up. You roll the vacuum to the door as you check the caller ID. You nearly drop the cell as disbelief and anxiety crash down simultaneously. Mr. Laufeyson never calls. You only have his number for emergencies; more a formality. After all, there’s many more important people in his contacts than the housekeeper.
You answer as the thought strikes of what might happen if you don’t. The call must be important and you know better than to miss a single detail. Your employer has a keen eye for error.
“Hello?” You greet stiffly.
He sighs and clears his throat. “I believe you would still be on the property.”
There is no courtesy. That’s more typical than the call. You swallow dryly.
“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I was only just finishing up–”
“I’ve forgotten something important. Marcel is unavailable. You will bring it to me.” He demands.
“Um, sir–”
“I’ll add a stipend to your pay,” he tuts. “I will forward your task.”
“Mr. Laufey–”
He hangs up before you finish his name. You pull the phone away from your ear and stare at the screen. The holidays tend to bring about the unusual. Marcel, the stalwart assistant, is out of town. His absence is felt by all in Laufeyson’s sphere.
Your phone vibrates. The text preview pops up at the top of the screen and you tap it. You read it quickly.
‘Garment bag; green with gold moniker. Upstairs closet in main bedroom. Bring to linked address.’
You might be more upset if you had plans for the holidays. Your parents flew out to see your sister and her kids and you weren’t invited since your fallout at Thanksgiving. Neither of you has given in and apologised to the other; not that you were in the wrong. You’re not stubborn, you just have a hard time lying.
You leave the vacuum by the door with your rolling bag of supplies. You turn and look up the steep stairs. The antique style of the house is sophisticated but at times intimidating.
You go upstairs, not realising you’re holding your breath. Of course, you clean every part of the house but this extracurricular task makes you feel as if you’re trespassing.
You go down the hall to the main bedroom; Mr. Laufeyson’s. You hesitate before you enter. You were just in there vacuuming and yet it feels so forbidden. You go to the closet. You fold the door and tug the cord for the light inside.
The garment bag is waiting for you, turned out against the tailored suit jackets in a spectrum of emerald to ebony. You take it. There’s something weighty in the bottom. You shut off the light and close the door then quickly retreat, looking back to make certain you haven’t undone your hard work.
At the front door, you put your boots and coat on. You take the garment bag out first. Somehow, you feel like Laufeyson would know if you don’t treat it as a priority. Then you return for your own things and shove them all in the hatch.
You lock up the house and pull the gate shut behind you. You fall into the driver seat and sigh. The day isn’t over yet. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve but your holidays never come early.
You open the linked address. You start the route and rest the phone in the cupholder so the audio funnels from it. You start the engine and set off down the frosty road. Just one more thing.
The weather blows with the spirit of the year. Snow drifts down from spindly branches and carpets of white decorate lawns and trim the sidewalks. It all sparkles in the setting tint of daylight. Sure the days are shorter but the nights feel longer.
Your curiosity piques as you follow the android directive chirping from your phone. You never think much about your clients or their lives. You're better off just doing your work and nothing else.
As you pull up to the luxurious hotel, you can’t help but wonder. It’s not unheard of for companies to book the event room for their holiday celebrations. It’s a bit late in the year and you don’t think Laufeyson works in a typical 9-5 office.
You rub your eyes and yawn. Get in, get out, go home. That’s your unofficial motto.
You get out, teeth chattering as the sky dims deeper, and you snatch the garment bag from the back seat. You drape it over one arm and hold the hanger hook with your other hand. You shut the car door with your hip then hurry toward the front doors of the hotel.
As you enter, the gargantuan ivory tree decorated in silver and gold paralyses you in awe. You drink it all in with the sophisticated decoration of the hotel and blink. Epiphany breaks through your astonishment.
You have no idea where to find Mr. Laufeyson. Maybe you could just leave it at the desk. You kick yourself into motion and approach the sleek front desk. One of four clerks greets you.
“Um, I’m dropping something off for… Loki Laufeyson,” you sniff. “Can I leave that with you?”
She smiles and types on her slender keyboard. She hums and flicks her lashes. “Oh, he is an attendee in the Windsor Ballroom. I’ll show you in.”
“Oh, but it’s… just a delivery–”
“He said to bring you in when you arrived. It’s in the notes,” she insists.
“He… did?” You murmur. You don’t think she heard.
She’s already coming around. You hold in your disappointment but you’re not surprised. Mr. Laufeyson is a stickler. He prefers things done right and if they aren’t, he better be able to reprimand whoever has messed it up.
You step back and turn, following the woman in her pencil skirt and sleek satin blouse. You don’t envy the height of those heels. Your beat up off-brand sneakers are your best friend.
She takes you behind the elevators to a set of double doors. She knocks and waits. You stand slightly behind her with the garment bag across your arms.
The doors open. It’s not Mr. Laufeyson. It must be another guest. He has bright blue eyes, brown hair, and a thick beard. His broad figure strains his suit jacket, the fur lapels standing out against the tailored black fabric.
“Darling?” He tweaks a brow.
“Delivery for Mr. Laufeyson,” the clerk announces.
“Oh?” The man’s eyes find you. “Wonderful. This is her?”
You wince slightly. The way he asks makes you feel like an object.
“She has it, yes,” the clerk answers, “I’ll leave you to it.”
She preens before she turns away. The man watches her go then his eyes drift to you. His cheek dimples as his smirk grows.
“Come, sweet one,” he beckons you in.
You follow warily as he holds the door. He clears his throat and raises his voice. “Laufeyson.”
You look around quickly. There’s a table draped in white silk with green and gold trim. There’s a centerpiece of pinecones, fir branches, and berries; a refined rustic aesthetic. The room is trimmed with thick tails of velvet ribbons dangling from extravagant bows and small fir trees stand in marble pots along the walls.
“Ah, yes,” Mr. Laufeyson pulls your attention from the room. “There you are.” He approaches you. “Kravinoff,” he waves the other man away. He gets a scoff in return before the brown-haired man retreats. He mutters something in another language.
“You took your time,” Laufeyson reproaches.
“Sorry, sir, I’ve never been in this part of–”
He pinches his fingers in the air to silence you. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
“Oh, uh, here’s…” you pause and look him over quickly. He wears a green jacket with black and gold swirls; his hair is slick and combed back, a gold clip in the shape of a snake clings to his emerald tie. If he’s dressed so finely, what’s in the bag?
He puts his hand on the garment bag. “Come. You will need to change quickly.”
“Change?” You frown.
“You will be compensated for the hours.” He assures as he spins away. “Come, come.”
“Mr. Laufeyson?” You don’t follow until he’s almost across the spacious room.
He doesn’t stop until he’s at a door with a gold placard; a restroom. He turns back to you.
“You will be sure that you fit the attire,” he gestures to your face and hair.
“I don’t…”
“You have good manners. Remember them.” He snips. “And be quick. Our other guests will be here shortly.”
You have no time to ask about what’s in the bag, or who that other man is, or the guests. Or even what he expects of you. He’s already strutting across the room.
You look at the door, then the garment bag. Well, you could use the extra money. What’s one night of theatre?
❄️
The green satin pinches around your thighs and waist. You wouldn’t say it’s too small, just tighter than what you’re used to. You shiver and run your hand up your arm as you shift your weight in the pointed heels. The high neck of the dress balances out the deep cut of the back, exposing you to the chill of the room.
The first to arrive is a woman in a strapless black dress with a white fur stole wrapped around her, exposing her decollatage. A chain of rubies string around her neck; each stone forming the petal of a poinsettia centred by a sparkling emerald. A festive and showy piece.
She greets the other man, Kravinoff, with a kiss. You can guess by the big diamond on her finger how she knows him. She purrs at him as she rubs the fur of his jacket. He grins and tilts his head toward you.
She looks over and brightens up as she sees you. She prances over in her heels. “Ah, oh you are lovely! And I am so happy to meet you!”
She has a thick accent. You can’t guess from where. She grabs your wrist as she approaches. You shiver again.
“I’m Holly!” She introduces herself. “Sergei is my husband.”
You glance over, “Sergei?”
“You haven’t met?” She pouts.
“Briefly but…” you shrug. You’ve been mostly left alone as Laufeyson disappeared and you didn’t even notice her husband until her arrival.
“And you are?”
“Joy,” you answer nervously.
“Oh, my,” she drags her hand up your arm. “You are coldddd.” She drags out the word and lets the fur fall from around her. “Take this.”
“Oh, I can’t,” you insist. “Really, keep it–”
“No, no, I run hot.” She assures you as she drapes it around you. “In my country, this is summer!”
You nod and thank her as you latch onto the fur. Her warmth cloys from it, and the scent of her perfume.
“And you are with… hmm, let me guess…” she squints as she looks you over. “Rumlow?”
You frown and shake your head. “Uh.. Laufeyson? Loki.” You correct yourself.
She snorts. “Truly? I didn’t think he had anyone.” She brings her hands up to your cheeks. “Please, smile, my love. You are a very pretty woman and you have darling lips.”
You swallow but force yourself to obey. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your boss, though you are starting to question why you’re even doing this. The money… well, how much is this worth?
The doors open again. The man who enters cackles as he squeezes a woman around her waist. She squirms and pushes her elbow into his side.
He wiggles his mustache at her as she mutters something between her glossed lips. He’s in a bright red suit with a crisp white shirt and tie with flashing lights. The getup is tacky but seasonally appropriate.
The woman’s attire is subtler. Red velvet with long sleeves, a slit down the right tie, a deep vee in the front. Her gold necklace is a cluster of golden spheres of various sizes.
“Sergei,” the new arrival greets the other man. “Merry Fuckmas.”
The other man shakes his head. The mustached one passes him by as his eyes find you and Holly. He approaches as the woman catches his hand before it can find her ass.
“Holly,” the man greets. “Who’s your friend?”
The way his gaze crawls everywhere but your face makes you uncomfortable. You pull the fur snugger around you.
“Joy,” she proclaims. “She’s with Loki.”
“Loki?” He snickers. “We’ll see about that. Noelle,” he gestures to the woman on his arm. “Holly, Joy.” He flicks his fingers carelessly. “Now you’ve all met.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” she says as she moves her arm from around her. He rolls his eyes.
“Don’t mind Noelle. She can be a real grinch.” He sneers.
“This is Lloyd,” Holly leans over to whisper in your ear. You nod.
Her lip twitches but she says nothing. The doors open again. Another couple; a man with short dark hair and a shadow of stubble. He’s in classic black and white, but his tie is silver and gold. His escort is in red tulle cut above her knees.
He approaches the forming group as you search for your employer. Sergei appears at his wife’s side, startling you. The new guest stops beside Lloyd.
“Nicky,” Lloyd booms.
“Hansen,” the other man retorts.
“Nick,” Holly whispers again. “But I don’t know her…”
“Look at all these beautiful women,” Nick drawls smoothly. “And another to add to the party.”
The woman on his arm wiggles in excitement. “Hi, I’m Vixen.”
He purrs and rubs her hip. “Nick,” he introduces himself. “And I know you, Holly.”
Holly tilts her head. “This is Joy and Noelle.” She introduces you and the other woman.
“Who are we waiting on?” Lloyd asks.
“Laufeyson is around…” Segei murmurs.
The doors shut heavily and you jump in your heels. A dark haired man marches across the room. He’s all in black; suit, shirt, shoes, even his hair and the shadowy stubble on his jaw. A small woman trails after him; her dress is simply cut. Black, to her mid-thigh, with pearls sewn all over and a pearl collar as well.
“Brock,” Nick glances over. “This is a new one?”
“Tinsel,” the man growls and reaches back to drag her forward.
She rubs her knees together as she clasps her hands behind her. She squeaks, “hi.”
“And where the hell is…” Lloyd begins.
“We are all here,” Laufeyson slithers as he appears from the opposite door.
“We are!” Holly claps. As Laufeyson stops beside you, she goes around the circle and announces everyone’s name. “I think that’s all?”
You bite the inside of your lip. It’s an awfully small group for a room this big. You peek over your shoulder. It’s then that you notice the row of chairs. Something about them seems off. The straight row in front of the table, not behind.
“Ladies,” Sergei purrs. “Would you like to have a seat and we’ll be started.”
You turn back and look at the other women. Holly bounces giddily, Vixen looks at her escort for approval, Noelle is unimpressed as she lifts her brows, and Tinsel shakes visibly.
Holly goes first. Then Noelle. Vixen follows but you wait for Tinsel. You near her.
“Are you cold?” You ask.
She shakes her head. She passes you and follows the others to the chairs. You look at Laufeyson. He doesn’t return your gaze. You go to take the last chair.
“Well then,” Laufeyson reaches under his jacket as the men come together. You shift. Something is off. “We will draw straws. Shortest to longest, yes?” He brings out a fistfull of toothpicks.
The men all reach for the tip of one. They bring them out and Laufeyson catches the one left in his fist. They compare lengths and mutter rolls through them, with your employer presenting his proudly.
“Well, what a decision…” he hums as he glances over the row of women.
You look over at Holly. She smiles but taps her tapered nails together. She leans forward as her eyes glimmer. Tinsel stares wide-eyed; Noelle curls her lip, and Vixen flutters her lashes.
“I suppose…” Laufeyson struts along the row of chairs then snakes behind. He stops behind Tinsel and rests his hand on the back of her chair.
“Is this… a game?” You ask.
“Sh,” Sergei hushes you. “You will spoil the fun.” He nudges Nick. Your turn.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Nick struts forward, hands in his pocket and stands behind Holly. She looks back at him, still smiling.
Sergei tuts, “of course you would, Fowler.”
He strides forward and taps Laufeyson’s shoulder. Your employer huffs but gives up his place, returning to the group of men. Sergei stands behind Tinsel, looming over her as he grips the chair back.
Lloyd wags his toothpick and approaches. He circles around and stands behind you. You press your palms together. Your face is hot and your ribs are aching. Something is wrong.
Then it’s the last man. Brock. He flicks away the toothpick and nears silently. He stands behind Noelle. Only for a moment before Laufeyson nears and nudges him away, standing behind Noelle instead. Brock growls but moves behind Vixen.
“That it?” Lloyd asks.
“Think so,” Sergei says. “Unless we have any challengers?”
“I’m all good,” Lloyd reaches to touch your shoulder. You flinch.
“Let the party begin…” Sergei intones.
Brock grabs Vixen’s upper arm. She squeals as he hauls her up. You look at Nick. He doesn’t even notice as he leans over Holly and whispers to her. She stares at her husband as he pets Tinsel’s neck and coos at her from behind the chair.
“What…” you begin.
“Hey!” Noelle snarls and smacks Laufeyson’s hand away. “The hell is this?”
Lloyd comes around and hums until you look at him. You stand as panic surges through you and try to step around him. He catches you around the waist.
“Woah, where are you going?”
“I can’t–” You grab his hands and try to shove them off. “I gotta go–”
Vixen cries out and you crane to see her. She’s slung over Brock’s shoulder as he stomps to the door. You shove Lloyd’s hands but he doesn’t budge.
Sergei guides Tinsel to her feet, her legs buckle and he catches her. He picks her up in his arms, cradling her as her glassy eyes stare off into nothing. Holly stands to follow her husband, calling after him but is yanked back by Nick.
Lloyd’s hand snakes around you and you wrestle with him to keep them off your ass. “What– no, stop–” You lose track of the other women as his strength easily circumvents your own. His hands stretch down behind you and he pulls you against him, groping your cheeks.
“Merry Fuckmas, baby face. Ready to unwrap your gift?” He growls.
“Get off– Mr. Lau–”
You look over as your employer drags Noelle by her wrists. Her heels slide over the polished floor. Holly battles with Nick as her voice fills with tears.
Your throat clogs up as Lloyd rubs his pelvis against you. You gasp and hit his chest.
“Let me go! This isn’t–”
“Sh, sh, shhh,” he leans in and lowers his voice. “I don’t gotta be mean… I don’t wanna be. You should know, Joy… it’s the happiest time of year.”
You pull back and wriggle. “You can’t do this–”
“Up to you, Joy Toy. I can bend you over one of these chairs or we can go somewhere private… got a nice room, with drinks. I hear tequila makes me hotter.” He snickers at you.
“Please..” you beg. A hot wave of terror and disbelief bubbles in your veins. How can this happen? How can Laufeyson do this? Not say anything about his intentions? Or these men’s. “I didn’t… I didn’t agree to this.”
He purrs and chuckles as he curls his fingers under your ass, digging into the crease beneath. “Well, that just makes it even more fun.”
“Stop, I don’t want this.” You writhe. “You’re hurting me. I’m… I’m scared.”
“Keep talking dirty,” he bends his knees as he slides his hands down your thighs. “But I’m rock hard and I’m tired of talking.” He hauls you up over his shoulder and you exclaim. “This is supposed to cut out all the chatting, you get me?”
You kick your feet as he starts across the room. He smacks your ass and chortles. You slap his back and screech.
“Someone! Help!”
He spanks you harder as he gets to the door. He keeps an arm around your legs and turns to open the door.
“Sweet cheeks.” He rubs your ass as he pushes through with his other shoulder. “And these cheeks are sweet, we rented out the whole place. No one to hear you scream, but… you can keep it up. It’s got my tip throbbing.”
“No, no, no. Get off of me–”
“I’m tryna get on you,” he pinches you through the satin and snarls. “Bet those thighs are tender and juicy. I do like my meat rare-”
“You’re disgusting! You can’t do this–”
“You’ll be surprised what I can do, baby cakes.”
He carries you through the halls as you reach out for any snag. There’s nothing. The fur falls down behind him and you watch it fade around the corner. You whine as he stops. A door opens behind you.
He carries you into the suite and kicks the door shut behind him. You once more pound on his back. He grunts and hurries up. He flips you onto the couch and you land so hard, it knocks the air from your chest.
You wheeze and rock as you touch your chest.
“Look, baby, I don’t want to hurt you. That’s rare for me but I’m feeling jolly.” He stands over you. “Hence why I dressed like ole Chris Dingle or whatever.” He touches his red lapels. “I was even gonna offer you a drink before we get down to it. So… it’s your choice. Get loose now or let daddy Lloyd loosen you up.”
You stare up at him as you catch your breath. “Please… just let me go–”
He clucks and shakes his head. He pulls his jacket open and down his shoulders. “Fine, let’s just get to it.” He looks down. “If you can’t tell, I’ve been a good boy and I’ve been waiting for this.”
You look at the front of his red pants. The fabric bulges and there’s a wet spot.
“You’re on my wish list, honey buns.”
You push yourself up as he throws his jacket away. You go to stand and he shoves you back down. He points in your face.
“Stay. It’s your last warning.” His voice deepens and a stone sinks in your chest. You believe him.
You look at him. Really look at him. He’s bigger, stronger, probably faster.
He rips off his tie and drops it. He huffs as he unbuttons his shirt. Another swell dissolves your complacence. You can’t just let this happen.
You stand as his shirt catches on one wrist. He sighs and catches you around your neck as you try to scurry past him. He growls.
“Guess it’s gonna be this way,” he drones.
He wraps the loose sleeve around your neck before you can react. You whimper and grab onto the fabric as it tautens. He tugs slightly, free his other hand and knots the shirt at the back of your neck. You reach back blindly and he swats your hand away, yanking on the shirt like a leash.
“Now,” he leads you around the end of the couch. “You’re on the naughty list now!”
He forces you over the armrest, bending you until you’re on your stomach. You grab at the cushions as your toes bounce off the floor. He rips your skirt up your legs and your whine. He groans and drags the satin up above your ass, clutching it there with the other end of the shirt.
“Really?” He snaps the edge of your granny panties. “Not really the vibe.”
He trails his finger up the back of your underwear and tears them down by the elastic. He lets them sit under your ass as he growls again. He brushes his palm over your ass and you tense. He snickers.
He pulls his hand away, leaving your skin cold, only for a strike of heat to crack through you. You kick your feet again as the reverberation of slap radiates through your flesh and echoes in the air. You yelp as he presses his hand to your hot cheeks then peels his touch away.
He smacks you again. You gnash your teeth and brace yourself for the third. The fourth. The fifth… you lose count as he leaves you raw and shaking.
He groans and rubs your ass. His fingertips wiggle down along your folds and he hums. “I really didn’t wanna be like that, baby. I wanted that joy from you… Joy.”
You snivel and reach back shakily. He pushes your hand away. You let him.
He pets your tingling skin and groans. He tuts. “Baby, let’s change the mood a bit, alright?” He kneads your ass as he shifts behind you.
He keeps the shirt taut as the tension keeps you in place. You shudder as your head reels. Everything is so intense yet so dull. It’s like your body is disconnecting from your mind.
He gets down to his knees and runs his fingertips along your thigh. He stretches two fingers up your cunt and pushes your folds apart. He pushes his nose into you and tilts his head. He delves between your lips with his tongue as you whimper.
Your thighs twitch and quake. You clench at the mingling of cool and hot. You dig your nails into the couch cushion.
You close your eyes and exhale into the upholstery. You sink into the shame and helplessness. You drown in it as his tongue flicks up and down your folds. He pushes his hand under you and toys with your clit as he explores you.
He pokes at your entrance with his tongue and a moan drips from your mouth. You try to catch it between your lips but it’s too late. He chuckles and sucks on you before he pops his lips off you.
“That’s it, sweetness, you enjoy yourself.” He growls and nips your ass. “Lloydly poo got gifts to give too.”
He buries his face in you again. His fingers swirls around and tease you as he laps you up. He hums and purrs, devouring you. Your legs hang limply as your feet rest sideways on the floor.
You inhale and hold it in. You reach back blindly as he tugs on the shirt, drawing your head up. You arch your back as you press on the top of his head. No…
You fight it. You bite down on it but the orgasm breaks through as ripples crash over you. Your legs shake as the tension snaps and gushes out of you. He drinks it up sloppily, humming and groaning and growling.
He rubs his mustache against your slick cunt before he pulls away. He smacks his lips.
“Just like fucking candy.” He grips your ass and pushes himself to his feet. “Now, baby, it’s my turn. That’s the rules. You give some…” He tugs the shirt and you slide off the armrest to the floor. “You get some.”
You push yourself up on hands and knees, puffing shallowly. Your head bobbles as he drags you around with the shirt. You grab onto it and he smacks your hand away.
“Uh uh. Don’t fucking touch that.” He snarls. “Touch me.” He tilts his pelvis. “Get me out. Now. I’m losing circulation.”
You flick your lashes as your eyes burn. Don’t cry. You won’t. You can’t.
Your hands tremble as you lift them. You watch them as if they’re not your own as you pick open his fly. He purrs as you do.
You tug on his pants until they fall on their own weight. You stare, senseless at what’s beneath. A red velvet thong with white fur around the waist. He chortles. His hard dick has it strained to its limit.
“Just pull that right to the side.” He growls.
Your lip quivers and your insides churn. You touch the seamed pouch of the thong and tug it to the side. He wiggles and chuckles. He leans in until he nearly hits your nose.
“Now open wide.” He grabs the base and angles down. He bends his knees as you recoil and he yanks on the shirt, twisting the other hand until you’re contained. “Baby, no teeth or you’re not leaving with them.”
You shudder as he touches his tip to your lips. He drags it around, smearing precum over your lips. He centres his dick and pushes into your mouth. You push down a gag and close your eyes again.
He tilts your head back as he sinks in without hesitation. He slides his hand down to your neck and slips his fingers under the noosed sleeve. He hisses and rubs the front of your throat.
“Relax, baby, I know you can take it.” He bends his knees deep and forces himself deeper.
You spasm and gag. He growls.
“I said re-fucking-lax,” he snarls.
He tweaks his hips, pushing even further. Your throat strains and burns around him. Your head pounds and you can’t breathe.
He sinks down until your lips are against his pelvis. Your eyes flick open as they overflow and threaten to roll back. He quakes and groans, wiggling as looks down at you, cradling your head from behind as he keeps petting your throat.
“There you go, baby cakes,” he slowly slides out and you suck in air through your nose. “Santa’s coming down the chimney tonight.”
He rams back in and you twitch. Your muscles constrict and you latch into his thick thighs. He growls and fills your throat again. He holds himself deep and once more drags his dick out slowly. He pulls you off him until his tips hovers before your lips, dripping with your saliva.
“It’s rude not to accept a gift so when I pump mine out, you swallow it down nice and sweet,” he sinks back into you. “Maybe a little salty.”
He cackles and stills his hips. Instead, he drags your mouth up and down his length. He does it again and again. At first, careful and slow, pushing down to his limit and keeping you there until your vision speckles black. Then fast, hard.
He bobs you around him as he grunts and groans, squirming as his grip tightens on the back of your head and he twists the shirt until it chafes. You scratch down his thighs as he uses you. Spit dribbles over our lips and smears across your cheeks. The blackness of behind your eyelids stirs and spins.
“Here I go, baby face.” He slams down your throat. “Holly– fucking– jolly.”
He growls and grunts sharply. His hips roll into you over and over as a deluge fills your throat and bubbles up around his dick as he pounds it into your throat. He fists your hair as he shakes and slows.
“I said swallow,” he sneers.
You quiver and force your throat to tighten. You swallow around him, squeezing him with your throat. He shudders and slides out of you, keeping his tip in your mouth. You swallow again, choking on the excess.
He pulls out of your mouth and spreads his cum around your lips, drawing a smile from the corners.
“Sleigh bells are goddamn tingling,” he taunts.
