Every Heir Needs A Spare
Naoya x Reader requested by @rottmntrulesall a sequel to an innocent stroll cw: 18+ / sexual content / misogyny / dub-con elements / p in v / creampie / degradation / mommy kink / daddy kink / breeding kink / lactation kink / breastplay / spanking / overstimulation / strong language / plot with porn / canon!Naoya / unhealthy relationships / arranged marriage / mentions of anal / mentions of pregnancy / parenting / oc / fem!reader wc: 6.5k
It was in the early hours of a cool, spring morning.
Beyond the mosaic dewdrops of your double-paned hospital window was a gorgeous panorama of a quintessential Japanese spring. Strewn about the baby blue sky were delicate puffs of clouds, as if the endless blue canopy were a freshly brewed latte topped with a sweet, satiny whip. Daybreak filtered through the crevices of sugi leaves, bathing the pale pink blossoms of the sanshobara and azuma shakunage in a golden radiance. Dotting the lush, green landscape of the tranquil hospital gardens were smooth, grey slabs of river stone pathways.
The scenic landscape looked like a picture—pleasant and unmoving—humouressly contrasting the organized chaos inside room 237 of your hospital's maternity ward.
You lie breathlessly on a birthing bed, baby hairs curled and stuck to your forehead by the adhesive of sweat.
You had just started to regain consciousness, mind liquified and nerves shot from hours of intensive labor, giving birth to the heir of one of the Big Three sorcerer families—the 28th head of the Zen'in clan.
You aimlessly toyed with the thin material of your hospital gown, settling on tracing the diamond pattern of the polycotton blend to ground yourself amidst the bedlam of medical professionals.
Buzzing around your bedside table was a swarm of nurses checking your vitals and asking a plethora of questions. You could barely understand the words flying out of their mouths, coming at you faster than your husband's top running speeds.
You did your best to answer coherently, using a makeshift code, due to your postpartum handicaps. Your shoulders still had a modicum of feeling, so groggily shrugging was your go-to emote for most, if not all, of their rapid-fire questions.
Upon sensing your exhaustion, the nursing team reverted to basic maternity procedures, such as providing you with water and offering cold cloths.
It wasn't until you recovered an ounce of energy that you could even slightly rotate your head from right to left, and did your eyes widen at the spectacle taking place just a few feet away from your birthing bed. The sight nearly sent you back into a comatose state.
Looking like subjects who had just stepped out of a Renaissance painting, your good-for-nothing husband, Naoya Zen'in, was sitting on a chair, gently cradling your baby boy swathed in the hospital's cream-colored swaddling blankets.
He was as dressed down as you could get a highfalutin prick like him to be. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt, black dress slacks, black loafers, and a crisp black haori with dark blue floral accents—a birthday gift from you after you had invaded his personal space to track his online shopping habits.
He looked so at peace, for once, maybe even happy...
It would be a real shame if someone desecrated such a sacred moment.
"Aw, Naoya, I didn't know you were pregnant. Congratulations!" You croaked out.
Your ribbing shattered your husband's paternal reverie in an instant. The blonde was now looking at you like he had suddenly developed telepathic powers and was trying to explode you with his mind.
"Oh, you're finally awake. Could you go back to sleep? I prefer you better when you're unconscious."
"You should come up with something original. You always use that line when you're not quick enough to Google better ones."
"I should have told the doctors to use heavier sedatives. Drop the unbecomin' act already, would you? You wouldn't want to become a bad role model now that you're a mother."
"As if you haven't been planning to teach him all sorts of distasteful things to say to me when he becomes old enough to talk."
You scoffed at his threat.
Of course, Naoya was already using your son as a pawn for psychological manipulation. He wasn't even a day old yet.
Well, checkmate, motherfucker.
Your hushed banter continued until it didn't, bringing about a mutually appreciated silence, save for the faint click of a closing door. The doctor had stepped out momentarily to answer a call, and the nurses had quietly converted the room for the signing of paperwork during your quarrel with Naoya.
The only remaining inhabitants of room 237 were your already dysfunctional family of three.
You and your husband lamely stared at each other. You had not gotten a good look at the other spouse since you startled Naoya awake at midnight, flicking his forehead to tell him that your water broke.
Now, the painfully prideful Naoya would rather die than shower you in genuine compliments; however, he couldn't help but be held captive by your radiant postpartum glow. Bare-faced, drenched in sweat, and hair tousled this way and that from hours of thrashing in pain...You never looked more gorgeous. He mentally praised the elders who chose you out of a long line of hideous, less conversationally adept women—yes, even your "wit" was growing on him.
Just a bit.
It was...all right having someone around to volley back and forth with his genius after growing up in a household of drunks and stuffed shirts.
You were unexpectedly in the same position as Naoya. The 27th head of the Zen'in clan prided himself on his looks and the supposed superiority of manhood before anything else, so, with dark circles and bloodshot eyes, the rakishly disheveled man lacking his usual traditional garb and rocking a baby with surprising deftness, was a striking sight to say the least.
As you were a great deal more kindhearted than your husband, you spoke freely, uninhibited by the embarrassment of sincerity, "You know, you look like a natural holding our son. I thought you would have dropped him on his head by now."
Remember, you were a great deal more kindhearted than your husband, not a kindhearted person overall.
"...I'm choosin' to overlook the second half of that statement, sweetheart."
"Huh, fatherhood really has changed you, Naoya. I was expecting something like..."
You contorted your face into one resembling the ever-so smug bastard sitting to your left, adjusting your voice to mimic his strong Kansai dialect, "Of course, I look like a natural. That's because I look better than the entire population of planet Earth! My name is Naoya Zen'in, and I think men should eat steak and women should eat salad! Also, real men fix cars, and women's be trippin'—"
"Stop it. That gratin' voice of yours is goin' to scare our son."
"Technically, it's your grating voice."
"You're incorrigible—here, hold him," Naoya carefully transferred the cream-colored bundle in his arms off to you. "My back is killin' me. These chairs must be cheaper than the hair products in our Prime Minister's bathroom."
While Naoya continued his mixed yoga session featuring the verbal assault of a hospital chair's non-supportive seat cushions, you took the time to admire your son's sleeping face.
Unfortunately, people are right when they say newborns look the same. You didn't see much of Naoya or yourself in the pudgy infant swaddled in your arms. His only distinct features, as of now, were a flat, wide nose, sparse eyebrows, and tufts of hair on his scalp.
You closed your eyes and prayed to the gods above that the 28th head of the Zen'in clan would favor you more than Naoya. It would be the greatest middle finger to the sorcerer clan since Naoya's older cousin, Toji, married into the Fushiguro family.
Still, your son was, without a doubt, more adorable than the typical newborns you've seen in pictures and videos on social media.
That was a problematic thought your husband would definitely verbalize at some point...but, were you much better for thinking it?
You leaned forward to kiss the slumbering baby's chubby cheeks, doing your best not to disturb whatever dreams 1-day-olds may have.
"Mm, you look sexy like that. I should get you pregnant more often," your slimeball husband said.
There it is—the karmic retribution for agitating Naoya when he was having his moment with your son earlier.
"Do you only think with your dick, Naoya? How is it even possible that sex is on your mind at a time like this?"
The blonde shrugged his broad, haori-covered shoulders, dismissing your protest against his crudeness, "It's just how men's brains are, sweetheart. You should know that by now."
With one last crack of his back, Naoya sidled up to your birthing bed with his decidedly least favorite chair in the world.
His trademark condescending smirk died on arrival, passing on into the ghost of fondness the longer he marveled at his wife and child.
"Do you have a name picked out yet? The redheaded crone in the scrubs told me we have fourteen days to decide, and I want to get that done sooner rather than later."
"I had a longer list of names in case we had a girl—"
Naoya gagged.
"You're not funny. Anyway, I had a longer list of names in case we had a girl and a shorter list for if we had a boy, but nothing felt right the moment we found out we were indeed having a boy. I ended up consulting Mai and Maki's mom, and she helped me find a perfect fit."
"And what did you settle on?"
"Manao. Manao Zen'in."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Tomorrow marks the first birthday of Manao Zen'in—a milestone in sorcerer history, delineating the longevity and power of one of Japan's most instrumental clans in shaping jujutsu society.
But for you, it was simply your baby boy's special day.
Originally, you and Naoya arranged a visit to the Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum for Manao, and to carry out all of his first birthday rituals at night—just the three of you.
When you asked if he would like to invite the rest of his family, Naoya confided in you that he disliked the idea of sharing such an intimate moment with his dense older brothers, drunkard father, and gaggle of detested relatives.
Somehow, your father-in-law, Naobito, managed to convince Naoya at the last minute to gather the entire household for cake and sake, so they could all celebrate Manao's isshou mochi and erabitori—two birthday traditions that would determine your son's security, career, and personality.
You had no proof to back your theory, but you held the sneaking suspicion that Naobito appealed to his son's apparent paranoia surrounding his own son's development.
"The sin of the insignificant is ignorance of strength," Naoya's words echoed.
As Manao's mother, the brunt of party planning fell onto your shoulders. You spent the day cleaning the house, organizing tomorrow's dinner menu, placing an order for Naobito's favorite strawberry shortcake, and procuring birthday decorations and candles; all while keeping the newest addition to the Zen'in family on your hip.
This supposed "signifier of longevity and power" was currently in deep conversation with his favorite Anpanman plush doll.
"I don't know how you picked your favorite character so quickly. I'm still deciding between Shokupanman and Currypanman, but then I can't pick between just those two because Melonpanna is so adorable!"
"Bah!"
"Yeah, Rollpanna has better lore than Melonpanna, but I don't know Manao. Melonpanna has the better design."
"Bah!"
You never expected to be debating Soreike! Anpanman with a one-year-old.
You never expected to be debating Soreike! Anpanman with a however-old Naobito was!
A well-known fact about the 26th head of the Zen'in clan is that he is a huge anime buff, possessing extensive knowledge about and intense respect for the medium. If he wasn't delivering tirades about the "inutile" Gojo family, you could find him in the living room, binging reserves of sake as well as every anime under the sun from Astro Boy to Paprika.
Consequently, Naobito allowed you access to his Criterion Closet of anime DVDs, wanting nothing more for his grandson than to be a capable clan leader with a refined taste in movies and television, unlike his spoiled, shounen-obsessed son.
You appreciated Naobito's efforts, but now your son was an otaku before he even turned one.
"I cannot believe the amount of labor your first birthday requires," you said to the portly baby, talking as if he were a colleague and not a one-year-old who has no firm grasp of language.
You had been roaming the halls in search of Naoya to tie up any remaining loose threads that—you hoped—wouldn't unravel the day of Manao's celebration.
You hoisted Manao higher onto your hip, then shifted your bag of erabitori items to hang more comfortably on your shoulder.
Your husband had better be in one of these hallways' rooms or else.
Your poor body was hurting all over. Your shoulders were sore, your arms ached, your breasts were engorged with milk, your feet were killing you, and the day wasn't even over yet!
The fool wouldn't answer his phone, which probably meant that he was—
"Aha! Say hi to your useless Daddy, Manao," you said in a sing-songy tone.
You turned to slide the shoji screen closed as Manao paused his exchange with Anpanman to wave a pudgy, closed fist at Naoya.
"Boe!"
"Don't call me 'useless' if you don't want to be called somethin' far worse in return."
It appeared that Naoya had holed up in his favorite study room in the house. It was a scarcely decorated room the size of a walk-in closet, only housing a squat wooden table with a lamp, a small merlot-colored sofa, a bookshelf overflowing with loose-leaf papers, and a vintage piano.
Naoya looked up from the black-and-white keys, eyes brightening at the sight of Manao, and darkening once they landed on you, but not in a hostile manner.
His gaze was sinful—territorial in a way.
Did he have the libido of an incubus?
"Hold your son. I need to store the erabitori items in here. I don't want Manao getting into this bag and misplacing everything before the ritual."
Naoya happily accepted Manao from your outstretched arms and positioned the one-year-old on his lap, gently puppeting your baby's hands to play the simple piano piece "Der Flohwalzer" in G-flat major.
"You should go through them to make sure you didn't miss anythin'."
"I went through them a thousand times, Naoya."
"And not a single one of those times was I present. Go through them again."
You rolled your eyes, but complied, spilling the bag's contents onto the tatami mats of Naoya's study room.
Out came a miniature globe, a ruler, a silver hand mirror, a Japanese dictionary, chopsticks, a calligraphy brush, yen, scissors, a calculator, and an inoperable retro-style telephone.
"That...looks about right. Go put them on the shelf over there. There should be some room if you clear out the stacks of sheet music first."
Naoya shamelessly stared at the curve of your ass as you bent over and carefully placed the bag next to a file holder bursting at the seams with Joe Hisaishi's arrangements.
The blonde sorcerer, growing bored with the novice "Der Flohwalzer," transitioned to the considerably more intricate piece, "Fairy Tale" by Anton Stepanovich Arensky.
Manao squealed in delight at the faster pace.
You couldn't tell if you were reading too much into his expression, but your firstborn seemed focused on the way his father's nimble fingers recreated the Romantic classical composition.
You sat with your legs tucked underneath you, raring to find a camera to capture the endearing sight of your devilishly handsome husband playing the piano with your son.
Before Naoya could start the next piece of his piano recital, you asked, "What do you think about enrolling Manao in piano lessons when he's older? He looks like he's enjoying himself."
Naoya hummed in thought, removing his son's hands from the piano, playing with the boy's chubby cheeks before he could start crying.
"Aw, did you hear that Manao? Mommy already wants to get rid of you."
"Excuse me, that is not what I meant."
"That was a joke, sweetheart. Learn to take one. Besides, we won't have to worry about that for a while. Children typically develop their musical prowess when they reach 6 or 7 years old. Prodigies start even younger, at 4 or 5 years old."
"I'll start tutorin' him when he's ready. I'm a much better teacher than those music conservatories that think they know more than you. Manao won't learn anythin' at those snobbish institutions."
"And where exactly did you learn to play the piano?"
"...At a music conservatory..."
"Right."
Naoya redirected his attention from the piano and onto your folded form on the floor—his gaze lingering on your swollen chest pressing up against your light orange yukata,
"As a matter of fact, I want all of our children to play some form of classical instrument. I don't care if it's the violin or the oboe, as long as they're first chair. Children brought up knowin' how to play an instrument have significant cognitive advantages over those who don't."
"Am I hearing you right? Children? As in the plural form of child?"
"You didn't seem to have a problem with promisin' me five children when you drained my cock in the gardens," he said unabashedly. Naoya hooked a thumb at the window behind him.
The view of the imposing wooden torii gateway to the Zen'in gardens was clear as day.
You inched closer to Naoya, removing Manao from his lap and covering his ears with your hands to protect him from whatever vulgarity was about to spill from Naoya's mouth.
"Th-that was...the heat of the moment, all right? I didn't mean that then and I didn't mean that any other time we tried for a baby."
Naoya clicked his tongue, "You're not bein' a woman of your word. Regardless, you don't have a say in givin' me another child. Have you ever heard of the phrase, 'the heir and the spare'?"
"Yes, I know—"
"It means that for every firstborn child of an estate, a secondborn child is needed if the direct inheritor fails to fulfill their role." Naoya salaciously licked his lips, "Every heir needs a spare, Mommy. So, why don't we start tryin' for a second son, hm?"
"Would you knock it off? The last thing I want is for Manao to turn into a filthy pervert like his—"
You were interrupted by the sliding of the shoji screen behind you. A breathless older woman bowed to you and Naoya—her grey-streaked hairstyle looking haphazardly done up.
"Apologies for the delay, ma'am. There was an incident in the kitchen that I had to oversee. I've come to watch the young master while you finalize tomorrow's plans."
"Oh," you smacked yourself on the forehead, flustered by your temporary lapse in memory, "I'm ashamed to admit I forgot all about that, Ms. Fujie."
Saved by the nursemaid.
She nodded sagely, gesturing for you to hand over Manao, "That's quite all right. You're a young mother. Now, if you had the memory of an elephant, I would be advising Master Naoya here that he might have married a demon."
You laughed politely, nudging Naoya's leg to get him to do the same. You swear, the Zen'ins must have tightened their wallets when it came to etiquette lessons for your husband.
Ms. Fujie scooped up Manao with the grace of a swan—a move she probably mastered long before Naoya was born. Your baby looked like he was about to cry, but Ms. Fujie expertly shook his Anpanman plush around, softly cooing into Manao's ear. Your baby instantly quieted, entranced by his favorite superhero "flying" around his head.
"Myself or one of my girls shall return him to his nursery at the time you requested. I look forward to seeing you both at the young master's celebration tomorrow. Have a good night."
And with that, the kind, older woman exited the room, taking any of the remaining warmth Naoya's study had with her.
She had left you alone with the real demon in this marriage.
You slowly turned to face your husband, who was resting his head on his hand, smirking down at you from his seat on the cushioned piano bench.
"Don't look so scared, sweetheart. It's just me."
Getting down on all fours like a cat slinking through tall grass, Naoya prowled his way over to you. He pulled apart the opening of your light orange yukata—the soft cotton material deliciously rubbing against your pebbling, wet nipples.
"You look so tasty, Mommy." Naoya's thumb lightly encircled your leaking buds, "And you need Daddy's mouth, don't you?"
Naoya's ministrations gave way to thin rivulets dribbling from your large, milk-filled breasts down the length of your torso.
About three days after Manao was born, you started producing enough milk to increase your breast size by four cups. Not only was the pressure on your breasts an enormous pain, but you also felt like the phrase, "tits on a stick."
Naoya, being the man-child that he is, was beaming like a lighthouse during inclement weather when he observed your bodily changes. You had never seen that man in such high spirits, though the bar was so low, you could order chūhai at it in hell.
In fact, when the Kukuru Unit's reports came in, Naoya's Hei review had risen to one star. The members noted that he seemed a skosh nicer these days, openly praising his newborn son in place of his characteristic trash-talking.
Did Naoya's Mommy issues run that deep to the point where you breastfeeding him almost every night alleviated some of his mental blockage? That can't be right. Maybe he's just happy to be a father.
Naoya shifted his weight forward, forcing you to swing your legs out from under you and lie flat on your back. He then pressed his face into your cleavage, inhaling your lavender perfume mixed with the sweetness of your milk.
"I wonder how much more you can give me," he mumbled against your skin.
"You give me your body. You give me your milk—"
Naoya took your left nipple into his warm mouth, whining at the creamy, vanilla taste spreading across his tongue. You sighed in relief at the ability to finally express yourself after today's unrest.
"Mm, what else can I take from you before you're reduced to nothin' but a warm, wet hole?"
His words and his whines reached your ears, making you roll your eyes at his blatant hypocrisy. Naoya loved to posture as a domineering man with a no-nonsense attitude, but, truly, he was the one who was reduced to nothing by the mere sight of your body. He could call you a bitch or a whore all he liked. Naoya's insolence was negated by his incessant need for your affection and, perhaps more indecorously, your pussy wrapped around his dick.
Naoya's hand found its way under your robes, massaging your folds as he continued to slurp up pints of your milk. You throbbed at the presence of your husband's thick fingers, prodding at your weeping entrance.
Your husband briefly unlatched from your nipple to talk down to you, spurred on by the strong sexual tension permeating the room, "You're such a messy slut, baby. Mm, I could probably split you open on my cock right now. You would like that, wouldn't you? Does Mommy want Daddy's cock to fuck her pregnant again?"
As vexing as your husband could be, damn, did he have a way with words—and his fingers. The blonde proceeded to help himself to your overflowing tits, just as you felt him rip off your panties to push his middle and ring finger into your sopping wet core.
You moaned at the intrusion, reaching down to play with your beating clit that was rubbing against Naoya's muscly stomach.
He licked a long stripe up from your abdomen to your nipple, then back down to your middle, groaning out, "I miss when you were pregnant—when you were full of me. You've never been more beautiful."
That statement was...oddly vulnerable for him.
"You m-miss that?"
"I've missed it every day since you gave birth. I miss how everyone could tell you belonged to me just by lookin' at your swollen stomach. I miss how much you had to rely on me. You couldn't do anythin' for yourself. You were so weak—so helpless. And I need you like that again."
Naoya ground his hard-on into your thigh, humping your leg like the pitiful, pussy-whipped man he was.
"If it takes four more pregnancies, so be it. You can handle it. That's why you're such a good Mommy."
You forced a moan back into your throat at his admittance.
Truthfully, you missed being pregnant, too. The morning sickness, the back pain, and the actual birthing process you could live without, but for once, your husband seemed so very in love with you. The sorcerer was exceptionally doting by his own standards.
Was it because you finally embodied Naoya's idea of a perfect woman? Maybe your powerless condition validated his theoretical hierarchy.
He needs confirmation that he’s as powerful as he thinks he is.
"N-Naoya, stop drinking s-so much milk. You're going t-to hurt your st-stomach," you chided.
"Do you seriously think you can tell me what to do? You're beneath me in more ways than one. It's really a mystery why I have yet to buy you a gag when I need to get my dick wet."
You shut up and focused on the pure bliss that was his fingers working themselves in and out of you. Convincing a rock that it was Sugawara no Michizane in a past life was easier than arguing with Naoya. When Naoya does end up drinking himself right into a stomachache, you'll be babying him along with your actual baby. He never heeded your warnings.
The wet sounds of your soaking pussy were so loud that you were certain anyone standing right outside the shoji screen could hear your illicit activities.
You looked down at the blonde now nursing at your right nipple—your milk supply streaming out of the corner of his mouth and down his perfectly angular jawline. You sighed at the way his balmed lips enveloped your nipple. His skillful tongue flicked and flattened itself on the erogenous zone, capturing any droplets that escaped. You ran a hand through his coarse hair, scratching at his scalp in the way he liked.
He whimpered into your breast, "Ngh, Mommy, you taste so good."
Indeed, the pinnacle of the "alpha male" philosophy he championed.
Naoya briskly untied the sash of his hakama and undid the fastenings of his robes, quickly replacing his fingers with his rosy pink erection. His movements were so expeditious that he looked like a blur of pale limbs and dark teal and grey fabrics.
The initial stretch of Naoya's length was a deliciously tender torment. He eased his cock into your pulsing cunt, satisfying his raging hard-on by coating every inch of himself in your slick. You arched your rigid body into his at the sensation of his large, veiny cock rubbing against your walls.
Naoya bent down to kiss you, adjusting his body into a sort of plank position, causing him to drive into you even deeper, "Ah, tell Daddy what y-you want or," he smirked against your lips, "We're goin' to s-stay like th-this until I get bored with you."
Heavily aroused by your husband's paradoxical dominant and submissive energy, you subconsciously coaxed out a trickle of breast milk. Naoya's eyes followed the milky fluid, pupils dilating at the sight of your breast milk mixing into the ring of arousal at the junction of his dick nestling into your cunt.
"Fuck, Daddy, I need you to f-fuck me."
"And?"
"What do y-you mean 'and'?"
"You need somethin' else f-from me. You know precisely w-what I want to hear."
Naoya started to rock his hips, growing impatient with your obliviousness.
"Okay, okay, okay. Please, Naoya, I need you to get me pregnant. I n-need Daddy to keep me full of h-his cum!"
At your lewd words, Naoya hooked his arms under your legs and pulled them up to his shoulders, beginning to piston in and out of you at a breakneck speed and sounding like a malevolent spirit was erotically choking him out. That was your Naoya, a loudmouth in public and an even louder mouth in private.
As you lay there underneath your husband's formidable, muscular frame, his full and heavy balls slapping against your ass, the seed of a horrifying thought process bloomed into the flower of an identity crisis:
Would it be so bad to truly and wholly submit yourself to Naoya?
He can be cruel, yes, but he's shown you a softer, caring side to himself.
Maybe he really does have your best interests in mind.
What if you were a perfect porcelain doll that he could do with whatever he liked? You wouldn't have to think for yourself. You wouldn't have to dress yourself. You would only have to stay by his side, prim and proper, honoring his every need.
He's asked you for a second child, and here you are allowing him to rail you in his study like a common whore, knowing that you will be spending the next nine months going to bed stuffed with Naoya's cream and waking up with his cock inside you, intent on filling you again and again and again.
If he commanded you to suck him off in the hallways or let him keep you on his dick during clan meetings, would you do it?
Stop it. This is some sort of...sex-fueled fever dream. You're a person, not a doll.
A particularly hard thrust forced you out of your pleasure-induced limbo and back into the sweltering heat of your husband's study.
You and Naoya were covered in a heady mixture of sweat, arousal, and breast milk as he plowed into you, his hips setting a brutal pace—not caring if you came or not. He was self-serving like that.
He didn't deserve you.
Not. At. All.
"You're thinkin' s-so hard that I can hear some gears t-turnin'. Are you pickin' out names already? Th-that's a little early."
His right hand came down hard on your ass, the shock of the spanking making you contract around his pistoning shaft, "You know, I thought havin' kids would absolutely r-ruin this body, but y-you're still s-so tight, princess. Guess I got l-lucky with you. You're not like other women, in that r-regard."
Your long fingernails trailed up and down his back, hard enough to leave scratch marks, but still gentle enough not to draw blood.
Every dulcet moan Naoya violently ripped from your throat sounded more mellifluent than any advanced piece he could perform on the piano.
He studied your current predicament. His light brown eyes traveled down your body, starting from your teary eyes, to your gaping mouth, then to your swollen, lactating breasts, and finally, your sensitive, gushing cunt.
You were the closest thing to perfection in Naoya's world.
You could be so helpless and weak at times.
"Fuck, you're so tight, Mommy. You're always s-so tight for me. I can't wait for you to start showin' again. God, you have n-no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off of y-you," he made a sound that landed somewhere between mirthless laughter and a breathy moan.
"It's not like y-you could leave m-me alone, either. The sight of you wakin' up with my cock down your th-throat, gaggin' and chokin' on me—tryin' to fit all of me in your mouth..."
He tilted his head to mouth at your tits, ravenously indulging in your sweet milk.
"Fuck, I know you're d-desperate for my cum, baby. Give me another son, Mommy. Y-you were made for this. You want th-this just as much as I do—don't fuckin' pretend you don't. Tell me you w-want to make me a Daddy again. Say it!"
This motherfucker was going to cum already?
"God, you're a little degen—"
"That's not wh-what I ordered. You know what t-to say, Mommy. Beg for it like a bitch. Beg Daddy for a baby."
Fuck, he's going to cum.
"Daddy," you whined, grabbing his chin to direct his full attention to the most licentious face you could conjure up, "I want you to make me a Mommy again, too. You're right—you're a-always right. You need to breed me every day and keep me f-full of you. I want to feel you inside me in the sh-shower, in our b-bed, against the walls—anywhere! I have to f-feel you leaking down my legs every second of every day."
"I can do that for you, Mommy. I'll stuff every i-inch of you with my cum. I don't care if it h-hurts. I'll start fuckin' your ass if I have to. Ngh, I'm cummin', I'm cummin, fuck, Mommy, I'm cummin'!"
Perfect.
One of the few moments in life Naoya will ever let his guard down is during sleep and sex. He fucked the will out of you to kill him in his sleep a long time ago, and now that you two were forever linked through Manao, there was no way in hell you would try that again now. But that didn't stop you from getting away with lesser evils.
In the midst of him cumming his life away, you effortlessly rolled Naoya onto his back, taking great care to keep his semi-hard cock inside of you.
"Wh-what the hell are you doin'—"
"I'm cumming is what I'm doing, you idiot."
You did your best to match Naoya's earlier pace, rocking your hips back and forth to satiate your unsatisfied cunt.
"I didn't tell you you could d-do that. Get the f-fuck off of m-me!"
He didn't sound that upset. Actually, he sounded more like a pornstar.
"Just shut up and let me e-enjoy myself, honey. It's not like you'll have to carry a baby for n-nine months and do the hard work of pushing it out."
"You're actin' like that's the m-most painful—"
"If you even think about f-finishing that sentence, I swear to the heavens you'll never dr-drink a drop of my breast milk again."
You felt Naoya's cock twitch, veins bulging in defiance.
As you sank further onto his entire length, a spurt of breast milk dripped down to the crevice of your thighs and into the dip of your pussy, lubricating his cream-covered dick. There was little to no friction as you rode him into the light green flooring of his study.
Your husband's breathing grew ragged the faster you went. He looked so cute fighting his body, trying and failing to keep his tongue from lolling out of his wide-open mouth.
You got in close to his ear, sensually licking circles around the silver piercing in his earlobe, "You're being really quiet, honey. I just t-told you not to finish that sentence. I didn't s-say to stop talking completely."
"Come on, do the thing that I like," you playfully drew patterns on his glistening pectoral muscles, "I'm asking n-nicely, too."
Naoya groaned, covering his beet-red face with trembling hands, "Fuck, g-give me a second. You're naggin' isn't a-attractive."
"N-nagging? You had me begging you to get me pregnant—twice. I think you like my nagging."
You flicked his defined cheekbone just as his pulsating cock reached that deep, spongy spot that made you release a high-pitched moan fit for a pornographic film.
"Say it."
A hush blanketed the room for a few minutes, aside from the sounds of your and Naoya's mess between your tangled legs. The squelching of his cock and the sloshing of your pussy were having a more productive conversation than you two.
"You're such a good wife to m-me, princess." Naoya mumbled from behind his hands, pressing them into his face so hard that his knuckles turned white.
A devious smile graced your features. Finally, dirty talk that will get you off in seconds.
You rested your hands on his shoulders, sinking your nails into the soft, pale skin, "There it is. Keep going, honey. You're doing gr-great!"
Naoya rolled his eyes, but obliged, "You're the m-most beautiful woman in the world and you work so hard to please m-me and our s-son. I love you so much, sweetheart."
"Degrade yourself a little m-more. Oh, and say that l-last part again, baby."
"Absolutely not."
"Naoya!"
"...You deserve so much more than me. I don't appreciate the meals you c-cook for me or how much effort y-you put into takin' c-care of the house. I. Love. You."
He said those last three words through gritted teeth.
"Fuck, you're s-so sexy when you're like this, honey. Why can't you b-be this pleasant a-all the time?"
Even though his words were most likely devoid of any meaning, it felt nice to hear them every once in a while, though it was funnier to watch him squirm. It was equal parts ridiculous and pathetic as hell that he felt so much shame whispering such sweet nothings, but was willing to voice the filthiest, most depraved fantasies you've ever heard from another human being.
You pressed your kiss-swollen lips to your husband's, silencing your increasingly loud moans as you got closer to your climax. You could tell Naoya was teetering on the edge of his second orgasm, too. And you wanted this man drained.
You returned to sucking his earlobe, this time, the ear with zero piercings, so that you could run your tongue along the shell.
"Daddy, I think you're very close. Do you want to cum with M-Mommy? You can cum all you w-want inside again. I won't stop you."
Your silken folds massaged Naoya's spent cock. All he could feel was the mess you two made from earlier with every cant of your hips.
How do you always manage to get him on his back and fuck the soul out of his body?
Naoya's hands abruptly flew from his face to your hips. The muscles in his neck tensed, and he started to buck up into you.
"Fuck, I'm—"
"Just let g-go. I want every last drop inside of me. Can you do that for m-me, Daddy?"
Instead of just his neck, Naoya's entire body tensed. You felt the warm flood of his orgasm as soon as you hit your climax. You dropped your entire body weight onto his squirting cock, securing every driblet of semen inside of you.
Naoya's orgasms were never quick and clean. If it were anatomically possible, you were certain that every time he emptied his reserves into you, you would be dripping his ejaculate out of your mouth. But still, you rode him through your shared high, savoring the overstimulation.
Naoya squeezed your hips, yanking you down onto his pelvis to stop your movements, inadvertently kissing your cervix with his tip.
"Ow! Naoya, you need to be careful—ngh!"
Your husband was upright in seconds, already licking up the globs of milk beading at your nipples. His arms encircled your waist as he started nursing again, not caring about the puddle of cum forming underneath you two. His hands massaged the padding of your hips as he swallowed your milk like a parched man stumbling upon an oasis.
"You can be a real bitch, sometimes."
୨୧┄⋯┄୨୧ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴄᴇ. ᴀɴ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ ꜱᴛʀᴏʟʟ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ꜰɪᴄ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ-ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴄᴇᴇᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1'ꜱ Qᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ. ʜᴏᴘᴇꜰᴜʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ. ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ (ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴꜱᴀɴᴇʟʏ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴄᴋᴇᴛ).
୨୧┄⋯┄୨୧ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴛɪᴘ 💌
୨୧┄⋯┄୨୧ ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ @ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙɪᴛᴄʜᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ-ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄᴅᴜᴍᴘ
୨୧┄⋯┄୨୧ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏꜱ ꜱᴏᴜʀᴄᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴘɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ
