MDNI 18+ 〃 Squirting for the first time ft. Toji
You tell him without meaning to, blurted out between the kisses and his hands palming your tits and the thoughts running rampant through your head as you fumble to explain yourself before he finds out the way everyone else has.
“I’m not always.. reactive,” you admit, cheeks hot, eyes on the rumpled sheets instead of him. “Like, the guys I’ve been with before, um.. it doesn’t always feel like much, for me. Any of it.”
It’s embarrassing. Like you’re apologizing in advance.
Toji just leans back, scar tugging when his lips curl. His gaze pins you in place, all steady and unbothered.
“That so?” He hums, gravelly. “Good thing I’ve got patience.”
Then his hand is between your thighs, big palm cupping you through your panties like he’s claiming your cunt. He strokes over the fabric, slow and heavy, pushing it against your folds and spreading out the damp patch until you’re writhing under the weight of it. And when his fingers finally push the cotton to the side and meet your bare skin, your breath hitches.
Toji smirks without looking up, two languid digits spreading your folds wide. “Not reactive, huh?”
You want to deny it. Stammer out some sort of excuse. But then his thumb grazes your clit – barely any pressure, just a brush – and your hips twitch hard enough that he chuckles. A deep, amused sound, rumbling from his chest.
Toji doesn’t give you the usual fast, frantic rhythm. That feeling of needing to get past the foreplay – which is usually what you hate, but right now, you secretly crave it.
No. Instead, Toji takes his time. He teases. His thick fingers trace up and down your puffy folds, spreading your slick around, pressing just enough to keep you hovering. And every time you rock your hips, searching for more, he eases back. Dragging the sensation out until your thighs are trembling from pent up tension.
When he finally pushes a finger inside, it’s slow. Deliberate. He stretches you out gradually, curiously, curls upward until he finds that spot that makes your breath hitch and your hands fly to his shoulders.
He feigns innocence, but the corner of his mouth lifts. He curls his finger again, pressing against your walls, rubbing over that spot steadily. “Feeling it, aren’t you?”
You nod through a whimper, walls fluttering around him.
Then he adds a second finger, filling you up and stretching you out as he spreads the two apart within your cunt. Working up a rhythm – long, deep strokes, followed by shallow, quick thrusts – keeping you just on the edge. And every time you start to climb up to something, sharp and ascending and desperate, he slows. Grinds the heel of his palm into your clit without quite enough pressure, forcing you to buck against him, whining.
It’s unbearable. Too much and somehow not enough, over and over and over until your body aches with it, every nerve lit.
“Toji, pleeease, I– fuck! I can’t–”
“Yes you can,” he muses, pressing a kiss to your temple like he’s soothing you. With his fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and pistoning in and out. “Hold it in, baby. Don’t cum yet.”
You cry out, tears pricking. From the sharp denial, from how raw and overwhelming and strange it feels to be this sensitive all of a sudden. Every stroke drags lightning through your cunt, makes your stomach flutter like you’re about to break.
And then – without warning – he changes.
His fingers sink in deep and curl, grinding against that spot, relentless, thumb rolling over your clit with enough pressure to have your toes curling.
Your body quivers. And then your legs kick like reflex, a broken cry ripping out as you crash into your high – followed by a sudden rush of wetness, gushing out all messy and uncontrollable, soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. Your vision whites out, a faint ringing in your ears as the world blurs.
You collapse against him. And he holds you through it, fingers pumping lazily in your spasming cunt, muscled arm wrapped around your waist like you’re something precious.
When you come to, you cling to him. Staring wide-eyed down at the soaked mess beneath you. “I’m sorry, I.. I don’t know what–”
Toji doesn’t let you finish. He’s grinning like a man starved, hair falling in a way that has his expression all hooded and dark, voice hoarse with hunger and an awed sense of adoration.
“That’s you, sweetheart. That’s me making you squirt.”
He pulls his fingers free and watches the slick drip down his wrist before licking the digits clean, groaning low at the taste. Then they’re pressing right back into your cunt, settling in like they belong there.
His smirk sharpens when you offer a dazed little nod.
Your body’s trembling, oversensitive, but he doesn’t stop. Not now that he’s cracked you open.
“Gonna do it again,” he hums against your throat, fingers working you back up with brutal steadiness. “Make you squirt, pretty girl. Gonna keep you right here ‘til you learn how good you can cum for me.”
And you – mind muddled in a post-orgasmic daze, cunt fluttering around every merciless twist and thrust – believe him.
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