「 the ledger of sins 」 「 the altar is: 𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓 」 「 sinners 」
currently fixated on: jude bellingham, djed spence, kimi antonelli
lights are off here, it’s a dark blog. proceed with discretion. i write dark content. every fic is tagged accordingly. i write what i want to write and i will not censor my work, tropes, or pairings for mainstream readers. if this space or my content unsettles you, block freely. my inbox is not a debate forum. heed the warning.
𖦹 jude’s love language is loud and physical. he’s the type to track your mood through the smallest shifts in your voice or posture before you even realize you’re tired.
𖦹 he’s a physical leaner — if you’re standing at the kitchen counter or doing the dishes, he will walk up behind you and attach himself like a heavy human backpack. he’ll rest his chin right on your shoulder, wrap his arms tightly around your waist, and gently sway both of you back and forth while whispering in your ear:
“sweetheart, when’s the last time you drank water? come on, take a break with me for five minutes.”
“you look stressed... do you need help with that, or do you just want me to rub your back?”
“are you hungry yet? tell me what you’re craving, i’ll make it for you.”
𖦹 he has zero concept of personal space when he’s at home — his favorite spot on earth is resting his head right in your lap while you scroll on your phone or watch TV. he’ll reach up just to mindlessly play with your fingers or guide your hand into his hair, letting out a soft sigh the second your fingertips brush his scalp.
𖦹 whenever he comes back into the warm apartment, his hands are always freezing. instead of warming them up himself, he’ll immediately slide his cold fingers under the hem of your oversized sweater or into your hoodie pockets, grinning impishly when you gasp at the cold while he buries his face into your neck to keep you from pulling away.
𖦹 despite having an entire wardrobe of his own, he insists on wearing your thick fuzzy socks around the house, stretching them out while he padded around the hardwood floor. when you call him out on it, he’ll just pull you into his lap and tuck your feet under his thighs to “keep them warm for you.”
𖦹 djed, on the other hand, rarely asks — he just acts. his observation skills are completely silent, moving around the apartment like a steady anchor.
𖦹 the second you walk through the door carrying heavy grocery bags, he appears out of nowhere, seamlessly taking them right out of your hands before you even have the chance to set them down.
𖦹 he’s the one who notices when you’re quiet; he won’t press you to talk, but he’ll walk past the couch, wrap his arms around your shoulders, and pull you back against his chest for a solid ten seconds just to let you breathe.
𖦹 you’ll casually mention craving a specific snack, and suddenly it’s sitting on the kitchen counter when you wake up, right next to a fresh cup of coffee he poured for you.
𖦹 he’s hyper-aware of your comfort in a way that’s completely non-verbal. if you fall asleep on the couch, he won't wake you up; he’ll quietly tuck a heavy blanket over your shoulders, adjust the pillow under your neck, and gently pick up your phone to plug it into the charger on the side table before softly pressing his lips to your temple.
𖦹 if you’re doing your skincare, makeup, or tying your shoes, djed has a habit of just leaning against the doorframe, watching you with that quiet intensity. if your hair keeps falling into your face while you're busy or cooking, his hands will silently reach from behind, gathering your hair up and tying it back into a bun or a small braid — yes, he specifically learned how to braid just for you.
𖦹 because jude is so vocal and expressive, djed sometimes quietly worries that his own low-key ways go unnoticed. he’d never voice it out loud, but every now and then he’ll just stand back and watch jude shower you with attention with a subtle look in his eyes.
𖦹 but you see right through him. every single time, you’ll catch djed’s gaze from across the room, walk over, and press a sequence of soft kisses to his jaw, his cheek, and his lips — quietly reminding him that his love is felt just as deeply.
𑣲. 02. living together as a three
𖦹 the apartment has a natural rhythm where neither of them fights for your attention. you were honestly impressed at first at how seamlessly the two of them could live together and tag-team taking care of you throughout the day.
𖦹 the media speculation is an absolute circus. keeping your relationship offline was the only choice — mostly because the thought of publicly labeling one as “the boyfriend” and hiding the other felt impossible to all three of you.
𖦹 paparazzi constantly capture low-quality pictures of the three of you grabbing coffee during their rare shared off-days. twitter threads run wild trying to figure out “who she's actually with,” while jude secretly scrolls through the theories at 2AM, wheezing into his pillow and reading the dumbest ones out loud to you and djed.
“look at this one,” jude snickers, showing you a blurry photo of djed opening the car door for you while jude carries your jacket. “‘is it a love triangle? or is she just the luckiest girl in europe?’... little do they know.”
𖦹 if you’re playing video games together, jude will talk endless shit, tease about being way better than you, and execute all the competitive boyfriend measures — only for djed to quietly mess with jude's controller so you end up winning every single match.
“i was going easy on her!” jude whines, throwing his head back dramatically into djed's lap while djed just smirks down at him from behind his phone. “i wasn't even using half my skills!”
𖦹 in minecraft, jude helps you design the village and care for the farm animals while djed mysteriously goes off-cam mining for twenty minutes and comes back with full diamond armor for all three of you. only for both of them to impulsively attack a nearby pillager outpost, accidentally triggering a bad omen raid that gets all three of you killed and your beautiful hours of work completely burned to the ground.
“it was djed's idea!” jude yells, frantically trying to re-spawn while djed just quietly sighs next to you, watching your village go up in flames. “he swung first, i was just protecting the team!”
𖦹 morning routines are a total pile-up: jude will cling to your side begging for ten more minutes of sleep, while djed is already up, leaning over the bed to kiss the crown of your head before handing you both fresh water.
𖦹 being the youngest of the three of you, jude definitely has that natural younger-boyfriend energy — not in a needy way, but in how seamlessly he falls into being pampered. you and djed both have a silent agreement to let him get away with a little extra complaining, whether it's giving him the biggest slice of dessert or fondly shaking your heads when he dramatically flops across both your laps after a long match.
“look, djed agrees with me,” jude says, leaning his entire weight against your side while djed just reaches over to ruffle his hair without looking up. “i'm literally the baby here, i shouldn't have to do the dishes today.”
𖦹 but your absolute favorite part of the day is waking up or falling asleep sandwiched between their warm bodies hugging you like a safe buoy. bonus points when both of them simultaneously nudge their noses into the crook of your neck on either side — instant butterflies, every single time.
𑣲. 03. behind closed doors — one-on-one
ᝰ.ᐟ Jude
𖦹 jude in bed is all about patience, deep eye contact, and making sure your body is completely attuned to his before he even thinks about moving faster.
𖦹 he whines a lot. at the very beginning, he used to try so hard to bite it back out of embarrassment, but you made it clear right away that those breathless sounds were the absolute hottest thing you’d ever heard. now, he’s completely vocal and unashamed.
𖦹 you love to deliberately tease him — holding back just out of reach, rolling your hips a little too slowly, or keeping your hands pinned to his chest — just to hear those desperate whines break out of his throat.
“please, baby... stop teasing me, i'm literally begging you,” he whimpers into your neck, his breath hot against your collarbone while his hips jerk helplessly into yours. “just give it to me, please...”
𖦹 he’s remarkably versatile depending on what you ask for, fully capable of pinning your wrists above your head if you tell him to, but his absolute favorite setting is slow, deep, and very affectionate.
𖦹 he loves to cradle the sides of your face while he slowly slides inside you, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone every time a shaky breath escapes your lips.
“look at me, baby... you’re taking me so well. tell me if you need me to slow down.”
“you feel so warm around me... just relax, i've got you.”
𖦹 his hands are anchored firmly on your hips, holding you steady in place while he fucks into you with a steady pressure that makes your toes curl.
𖦹 he will literally pause mid-stroke just to press kisses to your forehead, your nose, and your swollen lips, whispering quiet praise into your mouth until you’re completely undone.
“so good for me... so perfect. just like that.”
𖦹 he’s the type who strictly refuses to let himself come first — he genuinely treats your satisfaction like a high-stakes mission, adjusting his position and tracking every hitched breath to make sure you get your relief before he takes his own.
“you’re coming first-“ he pants, his thumb stroking your hip. “don’t even try to argue with me, pretty girl.”
ᝰ.ᐟ Djed
𖦹 if jude is a slow-burning flame, djed is an absolute thunderstorm — the contrast between his quiet domestic gentleness and his bedroom intensity will leave you completely breathless.
𖦹 he doesn’t do slow build-ups unless you explicitly demand it; the second the bedroom door shuts, his heavy hands are on your waist, lifting you right onto the mattress or pinning you against the wall.
𖦹 he’s acutely aware of every single sensitive spot on your body — especially your thighs. djed loves to abuse this knowledge in public, idly resting his palm high on your inner thigh under the table while you're out at a restaurant. he’ll slowly trace circles against your skin with his thumb right through your clothes, forcing you to shoot him a warning glare while he just takes a slow sip of his drink with a knowing smirk.
𖦹 he has an absolute obsession with marking you — his teeth dragging over the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave purple hickeys that linger for a week.
𖦹 when he flips you onto your stomach, his large palm comes down against your ass with a sharp slap that leaves a hot flush on your skin, his low voice rumbling right against your spine.
“you like being taken like this, don't you? show me how good it feels.”
𖦹 sometimes he gets so caught up in the heat, fucks into you with such force that your hands scramble for purchase on the headboard, forcing you to turn your head and sob out his name just to beg him to slow down.
𖦹 and the second you ask? that raw dominance melts back into his protective nature — he’ll instantly check his pace, pulling you flush against his chest so you can feel his racing heart while he slowly fucks into you until you both break together.
𑣲. 04. behind closed doors — all three of you
𖦹 when it’s all three of you in bed, the dynamic shifts into something overwhelmingly intense yet perfectly balanced, with jude giving you the gentle intimacy while djed keeps the raw and heavy pace.
𖦹 jude will stay right at your head, kissing your lips, whispering endless soft praise into your ear, and keeping your mind calm while djed takes control of your pussy, working his hands over your hips and setting a fierce rhythm from behind.
𖦹 djed loves watching how soft jude gets with you mid-act. his favorite part is when you suck him off while jude eats you out.
𖦹 there is never any rushing or awkwardness over who goes next; if djed gets too rough and brings you close to your limit, jude is instantly there to take over, pulling you into his lap to give you a moment to breathe while djed trails hot kisses down your spine.
𖦹 by the end of the night, you’re completely exhausted and well-cared for, sandwiched tightly between djed’s solid back anchoring you from behind and jude’s chest pressed against yours, both of them refusing to let you sleep anywhere except right between them.
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🕸️ synopsis: moving into your new nyc apartment a few months ago came with one unexpected perk: djed, the quiet neighbor two doors down. he’s soft-spoken, wears oversized hoodies, and always smells ridiculously good. you’ve had a massive crush on him since day one, but his constant exhaustion and sneak outs at the most bizarre hours of the night leave you with more questions than answers.
pairing: spidey!djed spence x reader(afab)
genre: spider-man au, smut, NSFW
warnings: tipsy reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, creampie, light praise, wrist bondage
wc: 8.3k
a/n: guys don’t yell at me but i’ve never watched a spider-man movie in my life..
“I love you! I have never loved anyone more than you, dear!”
“Oh, I wish we could be together, baby... but I’m already engaged!”
You sighed. The cheesy romance movie playing on the TV and the bottle of wine that you’d already chugged wasn’t doing a single thing to help fight the absolute cringe shit-show unfolding in front of you.
A jagged streak of lightning flashed outside the window, followed by a rumble of thunder that seemed to mock your exact mood. The wind howled hard enough to make the whole building subtlly sway, making you feel for a second like the entire tower might just tip over into the storm.
It was past midnight on a miserable Tuesday, and instead of sharing this dreary evening with someone, you were sprawled across your sofa, swirling the last lukewarm drop of red wine in your glass. Moving to New York a few months ago was supposed to be this exciting, fresh chapter, but right now, in the quiet of your apartment, the city just felt massive and lonely.
The weather was relentless. Torrential rain lashed violently against the balcony glass, whipped around by gusts of wind that rattled the frame. You yanked your fleece blanket all the way up under your chin and set the empty glass down on the side table. On screen, the dramatic couple was finally locking lips.
Your tipsy mind slowly drifted back to earlier that evening, specifically, nine o'clock in the lobby. You had been coming back from the corner bodega, when the heavy front door was held open for you.
“Let me grab that for you,” the familiar voice murmured.
You looked up, your heart doing a predictable little jump.
It was indeed him. Djed. The quiet, ridiculously attractive neighbor from two doors down. As usual, he was wearing an oversized dark hooded jacket, smelling like a dizzying mix of fresh cotton and woodsy cologne. Even with the persistent dark circles under his eyes, looking somehow even more exhausted than usual, his soft-spoken greeting had made your stomach do an embarrassing little flip.
He was already reaching out his hand for your single plastic grocery bag. It weighed practically nothing, literally just a carton of eggs, a box of pasta, and a bottle of wine, but you had handed it over without a second thought.
Anything to buy two extra minutes of his company in the creaky elevator. You remembered watching his broad shoulders under that jacket as he held the bag, listening to his chuckle when you made some stupid joke about the windy weather.
And then what did he do?
After he walked you to your door and handed over your eggs, he wished you a sweet good night, turned right around, and headed back down the hallway toward the stairs, slipping out into the windy street at ten p.m. without even pulling his hood up. No taxi waiting, no umbrella as a precaution, just walking out into the night like he had somewhere urgent to be.
You took a slow sip of your wine and groaned, staring up at the ceiling fan.
“Girl, stop,” you muttered to the empty room, thoroughly annoyed with yourself. “Seriously, get a grip.”
You’d been living here for months. You two exchanged polite smiles, held doors, made small talk in the hallway. If the guy two doors down was interested, he would have made a move by now. He was just being nice. A polite neighbor with a weird sleep schedule and terrible timing, nothing more.
Deciding to flush the thought of Djed straight down the drain, you reached for the remote to turn off the TV and finally head to bed.
THUD.
You froze. The remote hovered an inch above the cushion.
It wasn't thunder this time.
You knew you were tipsy, but you weren't that tipsy. It was a heavy wet impact right against the exterior glass of your balcony door, followed by the harsh scraping sound of something heavy sliding down the frame.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Every drop of wine-induced relaxation instantly evaporated, replaced by cold panic. You even pinched yourself just to check if you had actually fallen asleep on your couch and were just stuck in some vivid dream.
What the hell was that? You were six floors up.
Breathing shallowly, you pulled the blanket up to your nose, eyes wide and fixed on the sheer curtains blocking the balcony. Another flash of lightning illuminated the glass, and through the fabric, you saw the undeniable, dark silhouette of a body slumped against the floor of your balcony.
Adrenaline spiked through your veins. Your hands started trembling as you fumbled on the couch cushions for your phone, mind racing through every worst-case scenario. Was it a burglar? A jumper? An intruder trying to break in through the glass?
Your instinct for self-preservation kicked in before your brain could even process what was happening.
You scrambled off the couch and grabbed the empty wine bottle from the coffee table bit its neck, holding it like a club. You held your breath as you crept toward the balcony door, the short distance suddenly feeling like scene straight out of a horror movie. Every muscle in your body was coiled tight.
It’s six stories up, you reminded yourself frantically. No normal person can climb six stories in a rainstorm.
Another flash of lightning lit up the balcony illuminating the figure through the sheer curtains. Indeed the horror movie, you thought. He was curled on his side, one arm clutching his ribs, his head resting against the wet concrete.
And then you saw the red suit.
Even soaked in rain and smeared with dark grime, the unmistakable red and blue pattern stood out against the dark tiles. The eye lenses on the mask flickered in the dark as he struggled to lift his head.
Your jaw dropped. The wine bottle lowered an inch, but not entirely.
Spider-Man?
The city’s literal superhero was slumped on your balcony, looking less like a savior and more like a dying stray cat.
You stared in utter disbelief. Of course you’d seen him on the news, on TikTok clips swinging past Times Square, on front-page headlines… but seeing the actual guy, in the flesh, shivering onto your cheap outdoor mat was completely surreal.
A harsh cough rasped through his suit’s mask. He pressed his gloved hand against the glass, his fingers slipping down the surface as he tried to drag himself up.
Your fear melted away immediately, replaced by a wave of frantic adrenaline. He wasn't an intruder. He was hurt.
Unlocking the balcony door, you pulled the sliding glass back. A burst of freezing wind and rain instantly hit your face, along with the unusual smell of wet leather.
“Hey! Hey, get inside-“
You dropped the wine bottle onto the rug, reaching out into the freezing rain to grab him under his arms. The suit was soaked, cold, and surprisingly heavy, but you hauled him across the threshold into your living room.
He didn't fight you, letting out a breathy gasp as he hit your fluffy carpet. Spider-Man. The city’s literal superhero, the guy painted on billboards, plastered all over the news, and praised on every social media feed in New York was currently lying sprawled out in your apartment. You stared down at him in utter disbelief, taking in the textured web patterns of his suit, the vibrant red and blue fabric completely out of place against your freshly bought cozy living room decor.
What were you even supposed to do right now? Call an ambulance? Call 911? Offer the guy a cup of chamomile tea?
“Sorry- sh-shit, I’m sorry,” his voice came out muffled through the suit’s fabric, thick with exhaustion and a staggering amount of embarrassment. “Did not... mean to crash... your apartment...”
“Just stay still,” you said frantically, quickly sliding the glass balcony door shut to block out the roaring storm.
You turned back to him. He was lying on his side on your rug, breathing heavily, his chest heaving under the wet suit. The eye lenses on his mask were looking around your living room like he was desperately searching for an escape route.
“Are you- are you hurt?” you stammered, hands trembling as you motioned toward his hands on the ribs.
“Just... ugh- winded,” he rasped out. “The wind gust hit me crazy hard when I was swinging... missed the jump to my balcony and... slammed straight into your glass frame like a bird. Ribs took the hit.”
Wait…
What?
You blinked.
His balcony?
Before you could even begin to process what he meant by that, he reached up with his trembling, gloved fingers to the back of his head. He tried to pull the damp fabric of the mask up over his chin, but the rain-soaked material was stuck tight against his skin, refusing to budge. A frustrated groan escaped his throat as his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Seeing him struggle, you just couldn’t sit aside. You had to know who was behind the mask. And again… what did he mean by “his balcony”?
You stepped forward and dropped to your knees beside him on the rug, sitting back on your heels. Up close, the heat radiating off his body cut straight through the chill of the storm outside.
“Here... let me help,” you whispered, your own voice barely louder than a breath.
Your heart was hammering so quickly you were sure he could hear it. Who was under here? The chaotically tipsy thoughts in your head were racing a mile a minute. Was he some secretive billionaire? A famous supermodel moonlighting as a vigilante? Some random kid from the city? No… his shoulders were way too broad and his frame was far too thick and muscular for him to be a teenager. But who? Was he actually about to just show you his face?
Your fingers shook as they brushed against the textured material at the base of his neck. Finding the edge of the fabric, you carefully hooked your thumbs under the rim and slowly, very gently began to peel the mask upward.
He stayed completely still under your hands, as if holding his breath (you were actually the one holding your breath), his hands resting heavily on his knees.
You slid the mask up past chin, over his full lips, and past the dark skin of his nose.
Even before the fabric fully cleared his eyes, your brain hit a sudden wall of recognition. That familiar dark skin… The neat goatee… The exact shape of those lips you’d secretly stared at in the elevator…
Your breath hitched, mind completely refusing to accept the reality unfolding under your fingertips.
You yanked the soaked red fabric off his head, tossing it onto the carpet. His dark locs, damp from rain and heat, spilled free, tumbling down to frame his neck and forehead.
He leaned his head back against your sofa, taking a deep, greedy gulp of room-temperature air.
Every drop of wine in your system instantly vanished, replaced by a shock so sharp it felt like a slap. The world seemed to stop spinning, narrowing down to the exact face looking back at you.
Sitting right in front of you, drenched in rain, and looking at you with wide, flustered eyes... was Djed.
Djed. The same Djed? The quiet, ridiculously hot neighbor from two doors down? The guy who carried your groceries three hours ago?
“Djed?!” The name burst out of you.
His expression was an unreadable, chaotic mess: a mix of deep embarrassment, his brain frantically calculating ways to disappear through the floorboards, and the lingering shock of taking a full-speed hit to your balcony glass.
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the side for a second before meeting yours, looking entirely mortified.
“I... uh...” Djed rasped, rubbing a hand down his face and groaning softly into his palm. “Honestly? I was really hoping you were asleep so I could just... lay on your balcony for a minute, catch my breath, and sneak back over to my place.”
You blinked at him in sheer absurdity. “Are you serious? It sounded like a missile hit my balcony, Djed! Even if I was knocked out cold, I would’ve woken up!”
A flustered chuckle escaped him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked so thoroughly embarrassed, like a guy who knew he’d just ruined any chance of ever acting normal around you again.
“Yeah... fair point,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave as he looked up at you through his lashes, completely at your mercy. “Look, I’m... fuck. I’m really sorry about this. I shouldn't have crashed into your space.”
“I mean you’ve already said it was an accident so it’s fine.” you chuckled. “You can crash into my space any time you need, neighbor.”
You emphasized the last word, and a genuine laugh pulled at his lips, taking the edge off his embarrassment.
“Appreciate it,” he rasped, shaking his head at himself with a sheepish grin. “Though... you’d think Spider-Man himself would have better skills with his webs.”
“I’m just saying, the glass door won that round,” you teased, leaning forward slightly. “Honestly, though... how do those things even work? Is it coming out of your skin, or is it tech?”
Djed raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint entering his eyes despite his exhaustion.
“It’s all me. Comes straight out of my wrist,” he murmured, a low smirk pulled at his lips. “What, are you questioning my technique and my biology now?”
“I’m just curious!” you laughed softly.
“Wanna see?”
Without waiting for an answer, he flexed his fingers, clicking his middle two fingers sharply into his palm.
A thin, silk-white strand shot straight from his wrist, sticking instantly to the empty wine glass on your coffee table. With a quick, casual flick of his arm, Djed yanked the web back, snapping the glass effortlessly right into his palm.
You gasped. “No way! That’s actually cool.”
“See? Still got it,” Djed smirked softly, raising an eyebrow, and set the glass down. “Or are you still questioning my technique?”
“No-no, absolutely not! You’re amazing!” you laughed softly, holding your hands up in surrender.
The playful back-and-forth instantly broke the heavy tension, dissolving the lingering shock between you. The awkwardness melted away into something surprisingly warm and comfortable: it seemed like every Tuesday night Spider-Man was casually shooting webs off your living room furniture.
He uncurled his long legs, placing a hand on the floor to push himself up to his feet. “Alright. Point taken, though. I should probably head out and let you get back to your night before I destroy any more of your balcony-“
The second he stood straight up, his breath hitched. He winced, a sharp groan cutting through his throat as his hand slammed instinctively against his left ribs. His body stiffened, bent slightly sideways as his balance wobbled.
“Whoa, hey!” You rushed forward without thinking, catching him by his forearm to steady him. Up close, you could hear how ragged his breathing had suddenly gotten.
“Fuck,” Djed gritted out through his teeth, closing his eyes as he waited for the sharp spasm in his side to pass. “That... definitely pinched a bit.”
“You are not going anywhere,” you declared, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Sit back down. Let me check it out.”
Djed looked down at you, flustered all over again by your sudden proximity, but too sore to put up a fight. “I’m kind of... stuck in the suit,” he admitted quietly. “The rain shrank the material tight against my back so I can’t really pull it off on my own with my shoulder locked up.”
“I’ll help,” you said immediately.
The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up. And only after saying it did the full weight of the situation crash over you. You were going to have to peel that damp, skin-tight suit right off his bare skin.
You swallowed heavily, your pulse taking a sudden leap as you guided him toward the edge of your couch. “Just... sit.”
The air in the room felt heavy with the lingering scent of the wine you’d been drinking before he hit your window. You suddenly felt a flash of self-consciousness, hoping he wouldn't think you were just some sloppy mess who couldn't handle her Tuesday night. Outside, the storm was raging harder than ever: a brutal mix of howling wind and heavy rain that had forced the entire city to lock itself indoors tonight.
Djed didn't argue. Even though you could tell he was mortified by the whole ordeal, it seemed to you that the pain in his side left him with zero choice. He let out a low breath, lowering his frame onto the edge of the couch. His knees were spread slightly, his forearms resting on his thighs as he stared down at the carpet, his chest still rising and falling in heavy breaths.
You climed onto the couch behind him and sank onto your knees on the cushions, taking a silent gulp of air to steady your trembling hands.
The heat coming off him was intense: warmth radiated around him and cut straight through the chill of the apartment. He smelled like cold rain, leather, and that deep, woodsy cologne you always caught a hint of whenever you passed him in the hallway.
Just act normal, you told yourself.
He’s hurt.
You’re just helping your neighbor.
Your extremely hot, ridiculously handsome neighbor who is about to be half-naked on your sofa.
“Okay,” you murmured to yourself, your voice coming out slightly breathier than you intended. “Where’s the zipper?”
“Base of the neck,” Djed rasped. He tilted his head forward, exposing the back of his neck and as his damp locs tumbled over his shoulders to the side. “There’s a small metallic seam... should slide straight down.”
Your fingers brushed against his nape, and Djed instantly went rigid. A tiny shudder ran down his shoulders at the touch of your cool fingertips against his burning skin.
“Sorry- hands cold?” you asked quickly, your face flushing hot.
“No. No, you’re good,” he muttered into his chest, letting out a subtle cough to cover up the raspy edge in his voice. “Just... sensitivity. The suit’s like a second skin.”
A second skin. The mental image made your stomach do a dizzying flip.
You found the small metallic tab hidden under the collar. Hooking your thumb into it, you slowly dragged it down.
The sound was agonizingly loud in the quiet room. As the zipper slid down his spine, the tight fabric parted, revealing the smooth dark skin of his broad back. You stared at the deep cut of his spine, the flex of his muscles every time he breathed, and the faint sheen of rain and sweat lingering on his skin.
A sudden urge hit you to just rest your palm flat against his shoulder blades, to trace the warm line of his muscles and see if he’d shiver under your touch again.
But you forced your hands to stay steady, swallowing hard as you genuinely wondered if he could feel your frantic breathing against his bare skin.
From the outside, Djed looked completely unfazed, sitting motionless, staring straight ahead at your dark TV screen as if he were just waiting out a dull doctor's appointment. But his hands remained clamped tightly over his knees, his knuckles tensed as he held himself rigid.
“Okay... top half is unzipped,” you whispered, leaning in just a fraction closer to help him peel the damp sleeves down his shoulders.
The movement brought your face right beside his ear. Being so close to him made the feeling of intense heat coming off his skin almost overwhelming, a flush deepening the tone around his neck and jawline.
“Gotta... peel the arms out,” Djed muttered. He carefully shrugged his left shoulder forward. “Can you grab the sleeve?”
“Yeah. Yeah, got it.”
You reached over his shoulder, your forearm brushing against his bare chest as you grabbed the wet suit material.
You could feel him looking at your face, his eyes scanning yours, but you avoided eye contact at all costs. You wouldn’t be able to handle it right now.
With his arms finally pulled free of the sleeves, the heavy top half of the suit pooled around his waist, leaving his chest, shoulders, and back completely bare.
You swallowed hard, thoughts chaotic and racing in your head as you tried to keep your focus strictly professional. The fabric slumped forward, and you saw it — the landscape of damage. A bruise blooming purple-black across his left ribs.
You probably should be getting ice, bandages, something. Instead, your palm flattened against his body.
“Can I...?” you asked softly.
Djed gave a slight nod, his jaw clenched as he stared straight ahead.
Very gently, you pressed your fingertips against the bruised skin. His skin felt impossibly smooth and soft under your hands — warm and dark, taut over carved muscle. You lightly traced your fingers along his ribs, trying to gauge the swollen area. You dragged through it slowly, feeling the involuntary flex under your touch.
But as your hand drifted a little lower, your fingers tracing a delicate, feather-light touch so you wouldn't embarrass him even further, Djed instantly flinched, a ragged breath catching in his throat. You looked at him with a sudden spike of worry.
Surprisingly, he wasn't looking at you at all. In fact, he had turned his head completely in the opposite direction, hiding his profile so you couldn't read his face. Was he really that embarrassed to admit he was in pain?
You could feel the rigid tension in his abdominal muscles as you slowly dragged your hand back up his side. But underneath your palm, something else caught your attention: his heart was hammering against his ribcage at a frantic, breakneck speed.
“Djed, your heart rate is crazy high,” you said, your brow furrowing with genuine concern as your hand lingered against his chest. “And you’re still flinching. Are you sure nothing's broken? We might actually need to get you to a hospital…”
“No, no hospital,” Djed turned his head quickly. “I promise... the ribs are fine. It’s already… feeling better. Perks of the spider bite. Accelerated healing and stuff.”
You blinked, looking from his face down to the bruise. “Wait... really?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Honestly, the worst of it was the wet suit. The rain shrank the material so tight against my chest it was basically suffocating me. That’s why I was panicking... couldn't get a full breath in.”
“Oh,” you breathed, relief washing through you. You relaxed your posture, though your palm was still resting flat against his bare skin. “Okay. Good. That’s... really good.”
Then you hesitated, thoughts jumping back to the feeling of the rapid rhythm of his pulse thudding under your fingers.
“But… if the suit’s off and your ribs are healing...” you murmured, looking up to meet his eyes, “...then why is your heart still beating out of your chest?”
Djed went completely quiet.
The silence between you stretched, heavy and thick with the rain storming outside. Slowly, his eyes shifted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, stripped entirely of his usual guarded cool-guy facade. A smirk began to spread across his face, his dark eyes sparkling with a teasing look that practically screamed: Are you seriously this dense?
Your body seemed to realize it before your brain did. A wave of intense heat rushed to your cheeks with an overwhelming speed.
Oh.
Seeing your face and the wide-eyed shock in your expression only made Djed’s smirk widen.
He didn't pull away from your hand. Instead, his fingers came up and gently wrapped around your wrist: not to push your hand off his chest, but to hold it there, right over his pounding heart.
“Well,” Djed muttered, a raspy whisper sent a shiver straight down your spine. “Part of it’s the adrenaline from almost smashing my head open...”
He seemed to stretch the words out on purpose, deliberately drawing out what you’d already pieced together, stretching the tension thin, as if teasingly delaying the very moment you both were dying to crash into.
He paused, his thumb lightly tracing the delicate skin of your inner wrist, his breath fanning hot against your face as he leaned in just an inch closer.
You completely forgot how to breathe.
“...but mostly? It’s because you’re touching me right now.”
Only now, with your faces mere inches apart, did you realize just how intoxicatingly close you’d gotten to him. Somehow, without you even noticing, you’d shifted from kneeling safely behind his back to practically sitting in his lap — that was how seamlessly the distance had closed.
Your mind completely short-circuited. Under normal circumstances, if you weren't currently tipsy and hopelessly attracted to him, you would never in a million years be sitting here, tracing his bare chest with the unbothered confidence of a medical professional. What were you even doing right now?
Part of you wanted to panic or play it off, but the unfiltered heat in his gaze had you completely rooted to the spot.
Every single excuse and attempt at playing it cool disintegrated into thin air. His eyes flicked down to your mouth one last time, and a second later, his hand slid up from your wrist to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling deep in your hair as his lips finally covered yours.
Your eyes fluttered shut with a soft, helpless gasp against his mouth. The sudden warmth of his lips made your entire body melt, your hands instinctively tightening their grip on his bare shoulders as you leaned fully into him, kissing him back.
Any hesitation he’d had seconds ago was finally wiped out.
The kiss quickly became messy, chaotic — an uninhibited collision unlike anything you’d ever experienced in your life, overflowing with raw need, pure desire, and a starving kind of hunger.
The utter desperation with which his hands wrapped around your body, hoisting you right up into his lap, knocked the remaining air straight out of your lungs. You found yourself straddling his thighs, the searing heat of his skin burning straight through the thin fabric of your clothes.
You gasped against his mouth, and Djed immediately took advantage of it, his tongue sliding deep inside, tasting you, tasting the faint lingering sweetness of the wine on your breath. A dizzying moan escaped you as your hands slammed onto his bare shoulders, gripping him tight to pull him even closer.
He was so big, so intoxicatingly hot against you. His hands moved over you frantically, sliding up the curves of your hips, gripping your waist, and pulling your lower body flush against his.
Boldness took over, and your hands slid down from his shoulders, trailing over the defined ridges of his abs. You let your fingers wander lower, teasingly tracing the line where his smooth skin met the fabric of his suit at the bottom of his stomach. A strangled groan broke from the back of Djed’s throat, vibrating straight against your lips — a sound so raw it made your core clench with a sudden ache.
Hearing that sound come out of him only made you bolder. You dragged your fingertips across his lower abdomen again, pressing deliberately into the firm muscle, testing how much control you had over him.
“You like that?” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless and laced with a confident tease.
Djed’s response was a needy drag of his teeth against your lower lip, his fingers digging tight into your waist as if he were trying to pull you straight through his skin.
The kiss deepened, becoming harder and more urgent as your mouths worked together in a rhythm that left both of you breathless, your senses completely overwhelmed by the taste of him and the sound of his ragged breathing.
Before you could even process the sudden rush of movement, Djed shifted, effortlessly tipping you backward, pressing you horizontally into the soft cushions of the sofa. His chest pressed flush against yours, trapping you completely between his warmth and the couch. His body settlled over yours with a weight that should have been suffocating but wasn’t. It felt like being anchored.
“Fuck...” Djed gritted out, breaking the kiss for a split second just to drag his lips down your jawline, his hot breath searing against your neck. “I’ve been... losing my mind over you for months.”
His teeth gently nipped at the sensitive skin right under your ear, making your back arch with a breathless gasp. His mouth moved down to pull the soft flesh of your throat, sucking slightly. His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head to give him better access, while his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist.
With his weight hovering over you, you could feel the rock-hard ridge of his erection straining against the bunched-up fabric of his suit pants. It was pressing directly against the center of your hips.
Unable to resist, your hand slid down between your bodies, your fingers wrapping around his heavy length through the material. Djed’s hips bucked instinctively into your palm, a broken groan vibrating through his chest at the direct contact.
He paused, his breathing a total mess as his eyes flicked up to meet yours — completely consumed by desire, yet holding that vulnerable intensity underneath.
“You have no idea...” he rasped, his thumb lightly tracing the side of your waist as he pressed his hips down against yours, “...how many times I stood next to you in the elevalor just wishing I had the nerve to say something more than how the weather is today.”
You giggled, your thumb stroking slowly along the hard ridge under your palm.
“You could’ve just asked me out,” you whispered, leaning up to brush your lips against his jaw. “Saved us both a lot of waiting.”
Djed chuckled. “I’m making up for lost time right now.”
Your hands slid down his bare back as you pulled him back to you. His tongue swept past your lips again, and you sucked on it, hard, and the sound he made was half growl, half whimper.
This was what you’d wanted. Months of hallway encounters, of watching his hands when he carried groceries, those long fingers wrapping around paper bags with a grip that looked like it could crush but never did. Months of wondering what he looked like under the quiet demeanor he wore like a second skin.
Now his hips rolled against yours and there was nothing quiet about the thick ridge straining through his suit.
“You feel that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Another roll followed, but this time it was slower, grinding. “That’s what you do to me. Every time I see you.”
He set a slow and punishing rhythm, his hips rolling over steadily, dragging his hardness straight against the sweet spot between your thighs. Every roll sent a fresh shockwave of heat straight through your body, the friction pressing you flat into the couch until you were squirming helplessly beneath him.
Your head fell back as you closed your eyes for a second. Your throat exposed itself even further and now you could feel the bruised pressure blooming over your skin. Meanwhile his mouth dropped to the collarbone: a wicked mix of teeth scraping and tongue soothing that sent another wave of heat to your pussy.
As he worked over you, his palm traced soothing circles over your waist, smoothing down the curve of your hip before his fingers dug lightly into the outer flesh of your thigh. Slowly, his hand slipped inward, his knuckles brushing over the skin of your inner thighs.
You were ridiculously sensitive there, and the feather-light drag of his fingers sent an electric shiver through your entire frame. In that exact second, the teasing arousal you’d been holding onto completely dissolved, morphing into an actual desperate ache in your soaked pussy. You could literally feel the heat building between your legs, the wetness and the way your underwear slowly started soaking through as your body readied itself for him.
You pulled his face back to yours, kissing him again but this time deeper, messier. A chaotic mess of tongues and teeth and the salty taste of his skin when you bit his lower lip and dragged your teeth back over it.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
The room filled with the wet sounds of your kiss, his low groans, and the quiet whimpers escaping your throat every time his hips rolled against yours. It felt like neither of you wanted to break the heated make-out, but the wet clothes and lingering fabric were rapidly becoming unbearable.
His hands slid down from your waist, gripping the elastic of your pants and underwear together. With one smooth tug, he dragged them down past your hips and over your knees. You kicked them free, your skin cold for only a fraction of a second before the intense heat of his body filled the space between your legs again.
Djed paused on his knees, his eyes trailing down your exposed body.
“So wet already. Is that all for me?” It was almost reverent, and the hunger underneath made your inner walls clench around nothing.
“Yes.” Your voice cracked on the syllable. “Fuck, Djed, yes.”
He lowered himself slowly, the broad spread of his shoulders parting your knees as he settled firmly between your thighs. His large frame blocked out the rest of the living room, hovering over you until his face was just inches from where you needed him most. His breath hit your swollen folds, making your pussy flutter in anticipation. As he paused to look up at you, his thumb smoothed over the hyper-sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, tracing a slow, grounding circle that kept you pinned right where he wanted you.
“I’ve thought about this.” His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. “Thought about having my face right here...”
“Then do it.” You panted. Your hips squirmed against his grip. “Stop fucking teasing me, Djed.”
His eyes locked onto yours for a fraction of a second before he leaned down and buried his face straight between your legs.
The first stroke of his tongue was flat and slow and so fucking precise you nearly screamed. He didn’t lap at you like he was testing, he licked like he already knew your body, like he’d mapped this moment in his head a hundred times and was just executing the plan. His locks spilled over your thighs, heavy and cool against your heated skin, swaying with every motion of his head. His tongue curled around the swollen nub, flicked once, then dragged down through your folds to spear inside you.
You moaned his name as your hips bucked up off the sofa instinctively. Djed’s hands came up immediately, pinning your thighs down, holding you completely steady while his mouth worked over you.
“Oh my god.” You panted. “Your fucking mouth.”
You could feel him smirk against you, the hot puff of air escaping his nose and fanning over your wet folds.
He hummed in approval, the deep vibration rattling through your clit and up your spine, and your back arched off the mattress without permission.
The contrast was dizzying. The quiet neighbor who usually barely said a word in the hallway was eating you out with a desperation you thought you could only dream of. His starved rhythm, and every low groan he let out vibrated straight through your core, the hot wetness of his mouth driving you toward the edge before you’d even had time to adjust.
Djed ate pussy like it was the only meal he’d ever wanted. His lips sealed around your clit and sucked in rhythmic pulses while his tongue swirled, and when your thighs started to shake he just pressed more weight down, kept you spread, kept you helpless. His jaw worked steadily, relentlessly, and the wet sounds of his mouth fucking you filled the room obscenely. You came to the sudden conclusion that you had never been eaten out like this in your entire life. Every movement sent a jolt through your system that wrenched a gasp from your lips. Djed didn't pause. His tongue parted your labia with a deliberate sweep, gathering the slick that coated your inner lips, making sounds that were already giving you dark ideas for the next time.
“That's it,“ you breathed. “Right there. Rightfuckingthere-“
He licked deeper, tongue plunging into your entrance, lapping at the slick walls that gripped and fluttered, then dragging up to your clit again in one long, unbroken stroke. Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn't stop, didn't even slow down, your praise and sounds only seemed to make him more eager. His mouth sealed around your clit, sucking until the pressure became so intense, so hyper-focused, that your vision whited out at the edges.
Sprawled flat across your own sofa while your impossibly hot neighbor literally ate you out between your thighs — this was definitely not how you’d imagined your evening ending.
“Please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for anymore. More, less, deeper... you just needed this to never stop. You needed him.
Djed pulled back just long enough to speak. His lips glistened with your slick. “Please what?”
“I need-“ Your brain short-circuited when his tongue found your entrance again and pushed inside, curling upward, searching. “Fuck. I need you to tie me up.”
Djed’s mouth stilled. His eyes lifted to yours, dark and unreadable.
“Tie you up?”
“Your webs.” The words tumbled out — a shameless craving you would never have possessed the nerve to voice in any other scenario, but the madness of the night and a bottle of wine had untied your tongue completely. “You can do that, right? I’ve seen you shoot it... I want it. I want you to bind my wrists so I can’t move, and then I want you to keep fucking eating my cunt before you fuck me until I come all over your dick.”
Djed’s eyes blazed with that quiet fire. The dark intensity behind his gaze deepened, but he didn't ask a single question more.
His hands moved with deliberate purpose, sliding up to grasp the hem of your shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulled it over your head, tossing both it and your bra aside until you were stripped completely bare beneath him.
He took your hands, raising them above your head and pressing your wrists together. You watched his arm, the way it flexed back, his fingers curling toward his palm in a gesture that looked practiced, strange, and impossibly hot all at once.
A silk-white band of organic webbing shot from him, wrapping tightly around your wrists and binding them securely together. It gleamed in silver-white, and impossibly soft where it draped over your skin. The consistency was strange: not sticky like glue, it had a tensile, almost organic give, adhering to your skin without pulling. The web bound your wrists with elastic patience; when you tested the restraint, the strands stretched slightly, but did not snap. When you relaxed, it held tight, entirely unbreakable.
Your pulse thudded in your throat and your cunt clenched as you realized you were completely pinned, entirely at his mercy.
Djed looked down at your bound wrists, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Like that?”
“Yes,” you breathed.
Djed didn't keep you waiting. He reached down, dragging the damp suit pants off his hips. Then, the briefs slid down his thighs until his rock-hard length sprang free toward his belly. The sight alone made the air leave your lungs. It was long, curved slightly upward. The head was a swollen, dusky plum that glistening with a bead of moisture at the tip. Thick veins ridged the dark length in branching relief, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his rapid heartbeat.
He groaned at the new sensations of cool air. A raw sound, scraped from somewhere deep.
You looked up at him, and a sharp pang of regret suddenly hit you for asking him to tie your hands so soon. His length looked so agonizingly hot, so inviting, that your mouth literally watered at the mere thought of taking him between your lips.
You could already picture it: feeling the dick swell even further under your hands, the head darkening as blood surged to the tip. You craved tracing your thumb over the flared ridge, circling the sensitive underside where his frenulum sat, watching his entire body react, his abs snapping tight, his hips bucking up off the mattress as you swallowed him whole.
“Fuck-“ you groaned just at the thought of it, your eyes drinking in his broad physique from below.
He was truly breathtaking. Dark locks spilled over his shoulders as he finished stripping off the last scraps of his suit. His chest heaved with every intake of air, and you noticed the nasty bruise over his ribs had already faded into a faint shadow just a few centimeters wide — a silent reminder of the superhuman hovering right over you.
Djed settled back down between your knees, the heavy heat of his body anchoring you to the couch.
He positioned himself between your legs and guided his head to your drenched entrance. He looked up, holding your gaze with a raw focus that made you catch your breath as he began to push inside. The first nudge of his cockhead against your entrance was barely pressure — just the suggestion of entry. Your pussy, swollen and slick, gripped at the crown, your outer lips parting to welcome him while the inner ones stretched in a slow drag.
He pressed in an inch and stopped.
The sound you made was not dignified. You were so ridiculously turned on, so desperate to feel the full weight of him inside you, and the constant reminder of your bound wrists only added fuel to the fire in your mind.
He stayed still, watching your face intently, checking your reaction. You had to bite your lower lip hard to keep from begging him to hurry up, desperately holding it in. You knew if you started pleading with him right now, you’d be far too embarrassed to ever face him in the hallway again.
Another inch. The shaft found the channel of your cunt, the ridge of the head dragging against your anterior wall with a friction that lights up your nerves in cascading sparks. Your hands twitched, trying to reach for him, but the webs held firm. You were pinned. Open. Helpless in a way that made every single nerve ending scream with hyper-sensitivity.
He sank deeper, stretching you with every millimeter of that thick, veined shaft. He filled you up until your inner walls fluttered and clenched in involuntary pulses around him. Every ridge. Every vein. The slight upward curve of his length pressing deep inside you made your vision blur.
“Look at you,“ he breathed. “Taking all of it so well.“
His pubic bone pressed flush against your clit, and you let out a breathless, muffled cry, your bound hands pulling uselessly against the web constraints above your head.
Djed let out a raw, broken groan as his forehead dropped to rest against yours, his hips beginning to roll.
“You’re so perfect around me,” he gritted out through his teeth, his hands digging firm into your hips. “Fuck...”
A slow grind first, his pelvis rolling against yours, the wet sounds of your joining obscenely loud in the quiet.
The sight of his parted lips, the edge of his teeth, the way his breath caught every time he bottomed out inside you—it only made you wetter for him. His shaft glistened with your shared fluids every time he pulled back. The room filled with the soft slap of skin, the wet suck of your pussy gripping and releasing him, and the quiet praise falling from his mouth.
Your clit throbbed again. Every downstroke ground his weight directly into your core, building the pressure into something white-hot and inevitable. You looked down, watching his cock disappearing into you — the shaft veiny and slick, the dark plum of his head buried deep, your pussy lips stretched tight around him, drenched and clinging with desperate suction.
The dark hair at his base was wet with your slick, curling in dark whorls against your skin. As you watched, he pulled back — the shaft emerging glistening, coated in your fluids — then pushed all the way in again. The visual of that penetration, of your puffy, drenched folds gripping and releasing him, drew a low moan from somewhere deep in your chest.
“That's it,” his voice roughened, his eyes darkening as he caught you looking. “Keep watching.”
He built the rhythm with a patience that bordered on torture: a slow entry, a pause at the deepest point where his pelvis ground hard against your clit, then a withdrawal so gradual you felt every single centimeter sliding against your clutching walls. Your breasts swayed softly with the motion, the air cool against your skin. His hand came up to cup one breast, his thumb rasping over your tightened nipple — and that double impact of the fullness stretching you inside and the rough friction on your breast made your back arch straight off the cushions. He pinched the nipple lightly, rolling it between his fingers until a helpless whimper broke from your lips.
“More,” you gasped, squirming under his weight. “Djed, please-”
His hips rolled in a circle, grinding against your swollen clit, and the direct pressure there detonated mini-orgasms — not the full crash, but flaring pulses that made your cunt spasm around him and your thighs tremble.
He did it again. And again. Each rotation a slow, devastating grind that built the heat in your core to an unbearable level. You were babbling now — words that could be his name, could be curses, could be prayers. The webs at your wrists stretched with your struggling, the strands thinning but holding steady, and the slight bite of them against your skin only added another layer of sensation to the overwhelming whole.
His pace began to fray. The measured thrusts grew longer in stroke, his withdrawal pulling him nearly free of your entrance before the return plunge sank him all the way to the hilt in a single, fluid motion. The sound of it — the wet, sucking clench of your cunt, the slap of his hips against your thighs, the creak of the mattress — filled the room like music.
“I’m close,” you gasped out. Your thighs were quaking now, the rhythm breaking into something jagged and frantic. “Djed, I’m-”
Your words broke something in him. His hips snapped forward, the rhythm shifting from measured to desperate in the space of a heartbeat. The pounding intensified — his cock driving into you in long strokes that hit your cervix with an almost painful spark. Your bound wrists strained against the webs as the wet sounds of fucking grew louder, sloppier, your slick coating his shaft and dripping down onto the sofa beneath you.
Through the haze of pleasure, you noticed how intensely he was watching your face, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to hold your gaze through the absolute chaos of it. But every time your eyes locked with his, he suddenly flicked his gaze away, a shy flush creeping up his neck despite the aggressive way he was working his hips into you.
His sudden endearing shyness mixed with the sounds coming out of him — guttural, broken, half your name and half something wordless — pushed you right over the cliff.
His thumb found your clit, pressing down in tight circles — and that was it.
Your orgasm detonated. It seized you in a full-body clench, rippling through your cunt in waves, each spasm milking his shaft as your back arched and your vision whited out. A breathless scream tore from your throat, echoing through the small apartment.
Your inner walls gripped him so tight he moaned. And then his own climax hit, his cock jerking inside you, pumping ropes of hot cum deep against your cervix, pulsing and pulsing again until he was completely empty and shuddering over you.
Finally, his strength gave out, and he literally collapsed onto your chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel the frantic rise and fall of his chest against yours as he tried to catch his breath.
A few quiet minutes passed as the room settled. He remained joined with you, his weight heavy and comforting. You could feel his sperm pooling inside you, and that realization alone sent a familiar warmth spreading through your lower stomach.
Slowly, Djed lifted his head. His eyes were soft and full of that quiet affection as he reached up with one hand. With a quick touch of his fingers, the organic web binding your wrists dissolved, releasing its hold and falling away like harmless silk.
As soon as your hands were free, Djed buried his face right back into the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, your fingers tangling deep into his locks, holding him close.
His cock softened inside you, still twitching faintly, still leaking into your warmth while your cunt fluttered around him in fading aftershocks. He didn't pull out, and he didn't seem to want to.
He just lay there, connected, his heavy breathing slowly evening out to match the already steady rhythm of your heartbeat.
Somewhere outside the window, a distant siren cut through the night, echoing through the city streets. Djed didn't flinch. He didn't tense up or move an inch.
For tonight, the world outside could wait.
Right now, he was just yours.
-> reblog to support me, if you enjoyed reading this and please let me know your thoughts in the comments! ཐི❤︎ཋྀ
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pairing: ishowspeed x reader(afab)
genre: smut, NSFW
warnings: livestreamed sex, heavy cnc, audience control/paid requests, public humiliation, verbal degradation, extreme overstimulation, orgasm control/denial, tears, bondage (cuffs to headboard), multiple penetration, internal vibrators, piv, anal, heavy clit stimulation, impact play (spanking, slapping), rough sex (obvi), mouth gagging. please let me know if i missed any warnings!
The chat log scrolls faster than your eyes can track, a ceaseless waterfall of text. You’re on your knees on the bed, the duvet bunched beneath your shins, and the camera’s red eye stares from its tripod like a patient predator. Your wrists are already tender from the padded cuffs Speed fastened ten minutes ago, attaching them to the headboard with a theatrical flourish that had chat spamming laughing-crying emojis.
“Yo, chat, slow the fuck down,” Speed says, leaning toward the monitor set up on his desk. His face tilts, eyes scanning the chat with precision. “I can’t read that shit when it’s moving like that. One at a time, bruh.”
He’s shirtless, gray sweatpants slung low, showing the prominent V-line.
The overlay on the stream displays the donation ticker climbing. $50. $75. $120. A hornet’s nest of arousal and money and ten thousand strangers watching you breathe.
Your typical Tuesday.
A donation pops up with a text-to-speech ping that cuts through the room: Speed, slap her ass and call her a good little slut.
Speed grins, that wide, slightly chaotic grin you know from every thumbnail. “Bro! Y’all are wild tonight.” He turns to you, one eyebrow arching. “Chat says you’ve been too quiet. You okay with this?”
You nod, the word catching in your throat.
“Say it. They need to hear you.”
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Louder.”
“Yes, Speed. I’m okay.”
His hand comes down on your right cheek before you’ve finished exhaling. The pain is sharp and immediate, the sting blooming a half-second later like a struck match dragged across skin. Your hips jerk forward involuntarily.
The chat explodes.
“Ooh, she felt that one!” Speed’s voice pitches higher, cracking into laughter. “Damn, girl, you jumped. Look at that red mark already.”
He angles the handheld camera closer, and you know your ass is filling the frame, the skin already swelling hot beneath the shape of his palm. The feeling of humiliation sends a hot wave pooling low in your stomach.
“Speed, dude, read my donation,” he is already back to the monitor, muttering and mimicking the chat’s tone as he reads another TTS. “‘Put the egg vibrator in her pussy and then her ass.’ Bro, which one first? Y’all gotta specify.”
The chat devolves into a war. PUSSY FIRST scrolls alongside ASSHOLE CREW and strings of skull emojis. Speed holds the vibrating egg up to the camera, a small pink silicone teardrop connected to a remote control on his phone.
“Pussy is winning,” he announces after a moment. “Democracy rules, baby.”
Your thighs are already slick. He doesn’t prep you — never does, not when chat’s impatient.
He hitches your hips up slightly, spreading your legs with a firm hand on your inner thigh to expose you. The egg’s tip presses against you, cool and smooth, and then it’s inside with a single push that makes your breath stutter. Your inner walls clench around the intrusion, and Speed doesn’t wait for you to adjust. He taps his phone screen, unlocking the app control, and the remote clicks on.
A low, steady buzz.
Your head drops forward, chin nearly touching your chest. The vibration is a deep hum that seems to settle deep in your lower abdomen, making your hips twitch involuntarily. Clearly not enough to come — Speed’s too smart for that — but enough to make everything feel swollen and urgent.
“Look at her,” he says, tilting his head. “She’s already losing it. Chat, what level we on?”
A flurry of numbers. Seven. Eight. Ten.
“Level ten? Chat, that’s crazy.”
But he’s already tapping the screen, holding his phone up to show chat. The egg’s hum escalates to an insistent, thrumming whine inside you. Your thighs snap together, but his hand wedges between them, prying you open again. The sound that leaves your throat is not quite a moan — thinner, needier, something you’d be embarrassed about if your brain had room for anything beyond the vibration.
Speed cackles. “You hear that? They want me to gag you with my boxers.”
Even though he’s pretending to ask, you can hear in his voice that he’s already decided. He takes off his sweatpants, tugging the black boxers down. “Open up.”
You do. The fabric tastes faintly of salt and him, and he pushes it past your teeth until it fills your mouth, muffling the next vibration-induced whimper that tears from your throat. Spit gathers at the corners of your lips.
“That’s hot,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before catching the camera again. “Okay, ass egg now? Chat, vote. Ass egg yes or ass egg no?”
The yeses cascade.
He retrieves a second egg from the box, this one slightly smaller, already slicked with lube. The first one is still buzzing inside your cunt, a relentless rhythm that has your arms trembling against the cuffs. When his finger circles your ass, the dual sensation makes your vision double momentarily — you blink hard, the room swimming back into focus.
“Breathe,” he says, quietly. Then, louder: “Chat wants it. C’mon.”
The second egg slides in with a pressure that borders on pain before tipping over into something else entirely. Something that makes your toes curl and your bound hands clench into fists. You’re full now, doubly so, and when he clicks the second remote both eggs hum at different frequencies — a dissonant and maddening feeling that has you bucking against nothing.
Your eyes water. The vibration is a storm with no eye, no calm center. You can’t think anymore, can’t form words around the gag. All you can do is kneel there, thighs trembling, a slick mess running down your inner legs, while thousands of strangers watch you come apart.
A donation dings: $100 ASK HER WHO SHE BELONGS TO.
Speed grabs your chin, tilting your face toward the camera. Even through the blur of overstimulation, you see the intensity in his eyes — part performance, part something fiercer. “You heard it. Who do you belong to?”
He pulls the boxers from your mouth.
You gasp, sucking air. “You.”
“Louder, so the whole chat hears.”
“You, Speed. I belong to you.”
The eggs shift inside you with every word. Your voice breaks on his name.
A new donation, the highest yet: $200 FUCK HER ASS WHILE BOTH EGGS ARE IN. DON'T LET HER CUM UNTIL YOU SAY SO.
Speed reads it aloud, and his smile changes, transforms into something sharper at the edges.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, chat. You want a show?”
He reaches for the lube, and his hand wraps around the back of your neck.
The lube clicks open. Cool gel slicks between his fingers, and then his hand is gone from your neck, leaving your skin tingling where the pressure used to be. You sway forward, caught by the cuffs, the duvet a wrinkled mess beneath your knees. The eggs hum their mismatched song — one a deep thrum in your cunt, the other a sharper buzz in your ass — and your thighs are so wet now that the slick trails down to your kneecaps.
Speed's palm lands on your hip, steadying you. “Chat, watch this! Watch her try to stay still.”
The head of his cock presses against your ass. Just the tip for a few seconds.
You squeeze helplessly around the intrusion, and the eggs shift inside you, the vibrations suddenly angled against new nerve endings you didn't know you had. A muffled sound escapes you: half-whimper, half-sob.
“Ooh!” Speed's voice goes up an octave. “She is vocal again! Chat, did you hear that?”
He doesn't push in yet, just holding there. The head of him stretching you the barest fraction, and the chat scroll becomes a blur of capital letters and fire emojis.
A donation dings: $25 DON'T LET HER CUM YET LMAO.
“Bro, I wasn't gonna,” Speed says like he is genuinely offended. “Y'all think I don't know how to run a stream? This is art.”
He withdraws. The absence is almost worse than the fullness. Your hips twitch, squeezing helplessly around nothing while the constant, mismatched frequency inside you drags out the ache.
Staying calm is getting harder by the second, and you know that if you show just how unbearable this agonizingly slow pace is, the chat will get even more hyped and start spamming donations just to drag it out as long as possible. Your arms tremble. You exhale through your nose and the cuffs creak. While you try to compose yourself, getting used to the constant dual vibrations, Speed’s voice carries from the desk as he bickers back and forth with the chat.
A minute later, he finally dismisses the stream with a loud laugh. The bed dips under his weight as he crawls back between your knees, his warm hands gripping your hips to hold you still.
“Bunch of kids, man…” he mumbles to himself.
Finally, he's at your entrance again, and this time he slides in with one long, excruciatingly slow thrust.
Your vision whites out for a second. The double vibration, the stretch of him filling your ass while both eggs hum — it's too much and not enough, a plateau of sensation that has no peak, no release. Just endless, maddening pressure.
You’ve learned the pattern by now: whenever chat manages to ragebait him or push his buttons, he loses whatever tiny bit of patience he had left. The subtle shift is immediate: his grip on your hips tightens past the point of comfort, his rhythm growing far less careful, driven by that leftover spike of irritated adrenaline.
“There it is,” Speed murmurs, his voice dropping and finally losing some of its chaotic energy. This is the voice he uses when his own needs override the performance. “There it is, baby. Take it.”
He moves. Not fast, not yet, but each stroke is deliberate, pulling nearly all the way out before sinking back in, and you can feel everything: every ridge of him, every pulse of the eggs.
Your clit is absolutely throbbing, left out and ignored — an ache that is constantly there and can’t be relieved because your hands are still tied and chat is still obsessed with multiple penetration.
When you try to shift your hips to find friction against the duvet, his hand clamps down.
“Nuh-uh. Chat said no cumming.”He removes the gag from your mouth, knowing damn well you’re going to argue.
“I wasn't-“
“You were trying. She was trying, chat! She thinks I didn't see that!”
The humiliation blooms hot and red across your chest. It’s an embarrassing, intoxicating mix: the constant state of exposure, the way your body betrays you in front of thousands, being handled like a toy for their entertainment, while your brain scrambles just to keep up with the sensory overload.
The camera's red eye doesn't blink.
A new donation: $75 FUCK HER PUSSY NOW. KEEP THE EGGS IN.
Speed repeats the donation aloud as soon as the TTS reads it, drawing out the words for the camera. “Ooh, chat wants a rotation. Y'all are nasty tonight.” He pulls out of your ass. “Hold on. Let me- yeah, okay.”
He unclips the cuffs from the headboard but leaves them on your wrists. “Turn over, baby. On your back.”
Your limbs are slow to obey, muscles quivering from being in one position for too long.
When you're on your back, he hooks the cuffs to the headboard again. The stretch is different now — your shoulders ache, your breasts are exposed to the cool air, and when you look up, Speed is staring down at you with an expression that makes your stomach flip.
“Legs up,”he says. “Hold them. Show chat what we're working with.”
You obey and pull your thighs toward your chest.
The position is obscene. The wires from the eggs trail out of you like thin pink tails, your cunt is swollen and glistening, and the vibration is visible in the faint tremor of your pussy lips.
Speed lets out a low breath. “Damn.” He turns straight to the webcam, gesturing down at you. “Y'all seeing this? Look at that!”
You can only imagine how the chat is losing its mind right now. They always go wild whenever you have multiple things stuffed inside you.
He lines himself up and slides into your pussy in one smooth push. Immediately, the egg in your pussy shifts deeper, pressing against your cervix while he fills the remaining space. The sensation is… there's no word for it. Too full. Stretched past capacity. The vibration is everywhere now, conducted through his cock, and he groans, a sound that makes your clit throb in sympathy.
“Shit,” he manages. “Shit, that's- chat, I'm not gonna last if-“
A donation interrupts him: $50 EDGE HER WITH THE WAND. VOTE NOW.
The chat erupts. WAND CREW scrolls alongside NO WAND LET HER SUFFER and a cascade of eggplant emojis. Speed glances at the monitor, still buried inside you, and grins.
“Wand's winning,” he announces. “Lemme grab it.”
He doesn't pull out. Just stretches toward the box that is toppled on its side on the bed, his cock shifting inside you with the movement, and your hips buck involuntarily. The eggs hum louder — or maybe you're just more sensitive now, every nerve of yours is screaming.
The wand is large and white, its head the size of a tennis ball. Speed flicks the switch, and the buzz is audible even before it touches you. The rumble makes the egg vibrations seem polite by comparison.
“Ready?” He doesn't wait for an answer.
The wand presses against your clit.
“Agh!” You can’t help but moan.
Your back arches off the bed, the cuffs yank taut. A moan turns into scream and tears from your throat, and Speed has to lean his weight into you to keep you from bucking him off. The vibration is a freight train, a seismic event, a thing that erases thought and language and leaves only the animal fact of sensation.
“That's it,” Speed says, and his voice comes from very far away. “That's it, take it, don't you fucking cum.”
He's fucking you now, matching the wand's rhythm. Inside you, the double eggs buzz like trapped wasps, driving the pressure higher and higher until your thighs start to shake. Your toes curl into the sheets, every nerve ending pulled taut as you edge right on the brink of completely breaking apart.
And then- It’s gone.
Speed pulls the wand away.
You can’t help but sob. Actually sob, tears streaking hot down your temples. The absence feels like a physical pain with your clit still pulsing. The ghost of the vibration is still there, and the eggs keep humming inside you, but the pleasure is not the same.
“Chat.” Speed stares directly into the camera with wide eyes like he just invented fire. “She almost came. Did you see that? She was right there.”
A donation dings: $100 DO IT AGAIN. EDGE HER THREE TIMES.
“THREE?” Speed's voice cracks. “Y'all trying to kill her? Okay. Okay, fine. Three edges. Chat mods, count them.”
The wand returns.
This time, you're already sensitized past the point of sanity. The first touch sends electricity jolting up your spine, and Speed's cock is still moving inside you, and the eggs are still buzzing, and you're going to die here, you're going to come apart at the seams while ten thousand strangers watch.
“First edge,” Speed announces, pulling the wand away just as your vision starts to tunnel. “Mark it down.”
Air rasps in your throat as you try to catch your breath, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
“Second one coming up. Breathe for me, baby.”
The wand returns, and the sensation is instantaneous. The dual buzz of the eggs, his cock stretching into you, the pressure snapping back with double the force.
The heat coils instantly in your gut, tighter and faster this time. You’re already so undone that it takes less than half a minute for the wave to start crashing over you again. Your hips strain upward, muscles locking as helpless whimper tears from your throat-
“Second edge,” Speed says, and the vibration vanishes.
Tears spill over your temples. You're crying openly now. From the thing beyond pain, beyond pleasure, a place where your body has stopped belonging to you and become a raw nerve suspended in buzzing, trembling purgatory.
“She's crying,” Speed tells the camera, and there's something almost reverent in his tone. “Chat, look. She's actually crying.”
A donation: $200 THIRD EDGE. MAKE HER BEG TO CUM.
Speed leans close to your ear, the wand hovering an inch from your clit. The heat of it radiates against your swollen flesh.
“You hear that? They want you to beg.”
A stubborn sliver of pride still flickers somewhere inside you, but it’s hopelessly drowned out by muscle memory. You’ve played this exact game in front of his lens a thousand times before. Your body already knows the script, and right now, the agonizing need feels a million times heavier than your dignity. You just want it to be over. You just want to cum. The words spill out of you before you can even filter them.
“Please.” Your voice is ragged, barely recognizable. “Please, Speed, I can't- I can't do another-“
“You can.”His lips brush your earlobe. “One more. One more and I'll let you fall apart.”
The wand touches down for the third time, and your body completely gives up the fight.
You shatter, your whole body seizes. The cuffs bite into your wrists, the duvet is somewhere beneath you but you can't feel it anymore, can only feel the industrial-grade roar against your clit and Speed's cock buried inside you and the two eggs still buzzing their dissonant duet. You're making a sound but you can't hear it — a sound coming right from your throat as a massive wave of orgasm violently rips through you. Your thighs lock around his hips, and every muscle in your stomach spasms against his cock.
Speed holds you down through the whole thing, riding out the aftershocks while the wand keeps buzzing ruthlessly against your overstimulated clit until you're literally weeping from the intensity.
“T-too much-“ you manage to gasp out.
“That’s what happenes when you cum before you’re allowed to, baby. You know the rules.” Speed’s voice sounds breathless as he looks at the monitor. He deliberately presses the vibrator a fraction harder for a split second, and your hips jerk violently off the bed.
“I’m sorry-“
“She’s sorry, chat! Do you hear that? Do we forgive her?” Speed shouts as he finally pulls the wand away.
You collapse back against the mattress, your vision is blurry. But there's no actual rest — the two eggs are still humming inside you, turning what should be a peaceful comedown into a continuous, agonizing thrum of hypersensitivity. Every tiny twitch of your inner walls feels amplified a hundred times over.
“Look at her, chat. She's completely fried. Look at her eyes. She's gone.”
You don't sob this time. You just lie there, chest heaving. Speed is still hard inside you, not moving, just watching your face. It’s an absolute miracle to you that he hasn't cum yet.
A donation dings. The text-to-speech voice is robotic and cheerful: $150 TAKE HER TO THE BALCONY.
Speed freezes, his eyes locking on the monitor as he thinks. “The balcony? Bro, we're on the third floor. People can see that shit from the street.”
At his words, your heart spikes all over again. The realization hits you — the risk of being out on a third-floor balcony with strangers below. Through the exhaustion and the raw throb between your legs, an absurd pulse of heat hits your stomach. Inside you, your pussy gives an involuntary, desperate clench around his cock at the mere thought of being seen.
Speed freezes. His grin flickers, eyes darting down to where you’re joined before snapping back to the camera. A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face.
“Yo, chat! She just squeezed the shit out of me!” he laughs. “Y’all hear the donation and she literally clenching on my dick. She wants it. Look at her — she’s acting scared, but she’s lowkey turned on.”
He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “You nasty, fr.”
The chat explodes. BALCONY CREW scrolls alongside DO IT PUSSY and strings of laughing emojis. Another donation pings: $50 BALCONY OR YOU'RE A COWARD.
Speed pulls out of you. The sudden emptiness is jarring, your pussy clenching around the egg that remains. He stands, wand in one hand, the other running through his hair.
“Y'all are trying to get me banned bro,” he says, but he's already looking toward the sliding glass door. “For real. This is how channels get deleted.”
A donation: $200 I'LL DONATE $500 MORE IF YOU BLINDFOLD HER AND TIE HER TO THE RAILING.
Speed reads it aloud.
“$500? Hold up. Let me do the math. That's- that's seven hundred total with the other ones. Chat, is this for real?”
The donations pile in. $50. $75. $100. All of them variations on the same demand: balcony, blindfold, now.
Speed stares at you, taking in the sight. You’re pinned on your back with your arms stretched overhead, the wires from both toys dangling in plain view. Tears track down your wet cheeks while your entire body twitches with a lingering ache.
“You hear this?” he asks, and his voice has dropped again, the real voice, the one beneath the performance. “They want me to take you outside.”
You manage a nod.
“Words, baby.”
“Yes.”It comes out as a croak. “Yes, Speed. I heard.”
He unclips you from the headboard. The cuffs stay on your wrists. He helps you sit up, and the change in position makes the eggs shift — a fresh wave of sensation that makes your eyelids flutter. Your legs don't want to hold your weight. Speed wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you upright.
“Alright, switch up,” he announces, grabbing the webcam tripod with his free hand as his streamer persona flips right back on. “Chat, we're going mobile. Y'all better appreciate this.”
part 2 is coming up soon!
-> reblog to support me, if you enjoyed reading this and please let me know your thoughts in the comments! ཐི❤︎ཋྀ
to the anon who sent the ask i’m sorry i misunderstood your message!
i changed that sentence, i’m sorry i didn’t notice it at first 🥹🙏🏻🙏🏻 it should be good now! please let me know if i accidentally added something else that is hinting at reader’s skin color
i want to make a small announcement to get a few things off my chest.
i have a chronic illness, and for the past 7 days straight i’ve had a headache that just won’t go away. it’s a miracle how i’ve been able to work so consistently on my fics and push through the pain to keep writing. this is not in any way a cry for a wave of asks in my inbox or anything like that.
i’m writing this because i promised to post a lot of fics, and i know you guys are waiting and asking for part 2s, new requests, etc. (which is absolutely fine and i love it!!). but i guess all that pressure has been building up, and me wanting to write more, push more, think more, and brainstorm more led to this constant headache. on top of that, i’ve been stressing that the football hype will die down soon and no one will read my fics, which is probably why i had this crazy week of posting every single day...
i have a pile of ideas and requests sitting in my notes, and i really fucking wish i could work on them. i was hoping i could finish part two of “the baddest bitches ain’t in la” so i could post it tomorrow, but i think it’s time for me to take a pause.
i don’t want to post sloppy writing (and i lowkey wish i had held onto the spider-man au fic because i kind of hated it, but posted it anyway knowing you guys were waiting). so while i wait for my doctor’s appointment, i’m just going to lay down, stare at the wall, and let my brain rest for a second—even though it’s still actively brainstorming ideas.
if anyone is curious, here are my current WIPs:
• poly jude x djed (intro is kinda finished, but i hated it so i set it aside)
• the baddest bitches ain’t in la (chapter outline is finished + smut ideas, but i still have to write the actual text)
• roadtrip/car sex vibe with sub!jude
...and these are what i'm currently working through, on top of 7 requests in my inbox + 4 of my own ideas that i haven’t started!
this isn't me complaining at all, i just wanted to share what’s been going through my head on a daily basis!! i genuinely love when you guys send requests and ask for part 2s. i think it’s just been a bit overwhelming to go from 0 to 100 in the span of a single week.
i’ll still be active here and replying to asks, just don’t expect any new fics for the next few days 🥹
hi! yes i will write more djed! it’s just that the second i post a djed fic people ask for jude, and as soon as i post jude people ask for djed 😆 i have a very long list of drafts so dw anon <33
woahg... sweet torture is just perfection. like genuinely CHEF'S KISS! i love the way jude is sooo determined to prove that he's not absolutely loving being dommed 👀 👀 im obsessed
not to mention your writing is just so good, i will happily eat up whatever you post!
- 🎀
thank youuuuu 🥹🖤🖤 i’m so glad you liked it!!
yesss i love writing sub men (esp when they deny being sub) 😩😩 #needthat
pairing: jude bellingham x reader(afab)
genre: smut, NSFW
warnings: sub!jude bellingham, handcuffs, teasing, face slapping (once), slight orgasm denial, praise including “good boy”, mentioned that jude is younger
wc: 2.4k
“This is the worst idea of your life,” Jude rasps, but he doesn’t even attempt to move.
You stand directly in front of him, arms crossed over your chest, taking your sweet time to soak in the view, examining him with a mocking smile. Jude — though still a young man whose face practically broadcasts that raw, boyish vulnerability —has a body that is... God.
He sits in front of you on the chair, his hands locked securely behind his back in handcuffs, a position that forces his broad shoulders forward. His fitted black muscle tee hugs the contour of his chest tightly, highlighting the insane muscles of a professional football player.
And the stark contrast between deep brown skin, his wild physical strength, and his absolute, submissive helplessness before you is completely driving you out of your mind.
He’s a powerhouse, thick-set and effortlessly strong, which only makes the sight of him completely helpless and utterly compliant look so devastatingly hot.
“Hmm... is it?” you hum as you take a step closer to his enticing body. Planting your knee right between his, you forcefully nudge his legs out in opposite directions.
You smirk. If he truly wanted to, he could have clamped his thighs together around your knee so tightly that you would never have been able to break free. But Jude just continues to sit there, staring up at you with the eyes of a devoted puppy.
Catching your smirk, he tries to pull off a detached, annoyed expression, even rolling his eyes at you, desperate to make you believe he doesn’t care. He turns his face to the side, stubbornly clamping his jaw so hard the veins stand out on his neck, biting his puffy bottom lip. But you see right through him.
“We haven't even done anything yet, and you're already breathing like you've run a marathon for me, Jude?” you tease, tracing your index finger slowly along his jawline.
It all had begun with a joke about tying him up, followed by a bet that he couldn't remain completely unaffected by it. You were so ready to prove him wrong, because you knew the truth — Jude wanted to get tied up. The idea had first popped into your head weeks ago when you accidentally opened incognito windows on his phone filled with porn videos. At first, there was nothing shocking, but the more you scrolled, the more insane his search history became. “Submissive men”, “women tying up men”, “handcuffs on sub men” the titles said. Later, when you brought it up, he aggressively denied it, but you had seen the truth in his eyes. You can read him like an open book.
Right now, you can see how his budge is already clearly forming beneath his pants. You glance down, tracking the unmistakable outline pushing hard against the fabric. He is starving for it, completely at your mercy, and he knows it.
“Don't look at me like that,” he hisses, his voice cracking from the heat rising in his throat. “You're older than me, but you're messing around with this stupid bullshit. I only agreed to this because...”
“Because you love to submit and be a good boy,” you interrupt, leaning down until you are right in his face.
Jude chokes on his own breath.
It is an understatement to say that Jude looks absolutely fucking hot sitting in front of you, completely restrained. He is still trying so hard to show you that he is entirely steady, while aggressively biting his bottom lip. How cute.
Deciding not to hold back anymore, you sink your fingers into his hair, tilting his head back to completely expose the long line of his neck. You slowly drag your nails across his prominent collarbones, deliberately grazing the faint marks you left on his skin the night before. Jude shivers from head to toe, the muscles in his thighs tightening like guitar strings under your gaze, but he keeps his promise — his bound hands don’t even attempt to twitch behind his back. He just takes it. Like a good boy.
To be honest, you are holding yourself together quite well for being so completely turned on. But who could blame you? Jude — quite possibly the sexiest man alive — is currently entirely immobilized with an embarrassed look on his face. He looks utterly gorgeous, and all yours for the taking.
“Please...” he whispers, and it sounds so pathetic and sweet that it makes your own underwear feel damp and heavy.
“Please what, baby? I haven't even done anything yet.”
“Please, I-“ he trails off, still not at the level of desperation needed to voice his desires aloud.
You bury your lips into his neck. You don’t play nice; you bite down firmly on his skin, pulling at it with your teeth, leaving a mark right over his sensitive collarbone. Jude jerks his hips forward instinctively, trying to catch any shred of friction against his pants, and a whimpering moan tears straight from his chest.
The stubborn athlete is completely gone and that single sound is his total surrender.
“Oh, look how beautiful,” you murmur against his skin, coating the bite mark with a wet kiss. “Look how pretty you sound when you stop fighting it. Eyes on me, baby.”
He opens his eyes, completely filled with a wild, hungry longing.
“Good boy,”you praise softly, and at those two words, Jude completely fractures. He lets out a desperate, high-pitched, choked sound — a noise you have never heard him make before. His chest heaves heavily as he fights to catch his breath.
You move higher, trailing light and biting kisses behind his ear, tracing back down his jawline and making his Adam's apple bob heavily every time your lips brush his sensitive skin. Then, you step over him and carefully sit down on his lap, completely cutting off his last bit of space.
Jude lets out a ragged breath as your weight settls against his thighs. You don’t even bother taking care of his pants; you simply slide your hand down his flat stomach, feeling the abdominal muscles violently quiver and jump under your palm.
“Remember what you said? You won't even get a slight hard-on hm?” you tease, slowly shifting your weight, rolling your hips right against his hardness. “Then what is this?”
His breath hitch, his entire torso shuddering beneath you. “Fuck- you are cheating...”
His long eyelashes flutter and he throws his head back for a second.
“Am i? I didn't even touch you properly and you're already leaking.”
Your words make him let out a broken whine. The demanding need radiates off him in waves, his eyes locked on yours, refusing to let you go. Jude can’t deny it anymore: the cheeky look on your face and the mischievous glint in your eyes is turning him on to the point of agony.
He blindly pulls against the metal of the handcuffs behind his back, a sudden, desperate urge spiking through him to break free and take you right here on the chair as his length strained painfully against his pants.
He is getting so impatient; you can tell by the way the dense muscle of his thighs lock up tight under you.
Finally giving in, you lean down and press your lips to his, engaging him in a deep, passionate make-out. You slide your tongue past his lips, claiming his mouth thoroughly, and his response is instantaneous and starving. You press closer, your mouth taking control, tasting the frantic heat of his breath while your hands trace his bare waist, tugging his shirt up to expose his quivering lower stomach. The intensity of the kiss — the slide of your lips against his, the hot friction — makes him groan directly into your mouth as he desperately tries to match your rhythm.
Instinctively, he tries to lift his hands again to touch you, but fails. The burning feeling of the handcuffs holding his wrists makes him moan again so desperately. There is nothing you wanted more than to free him right now and let him ruin your wet pussy, but you have to stay strong, even though you were throbbing in your panties. He buckles under you, mouth opening under your kiss. You bit his bottom lip and drag your teeth, making his hips move even more.
“Does that feel good, baby?”
“Mhm.”Jude makes a noise that sounds more pained than you've ever heard from him. It lights something up inside you.
Jude’s forehead falls limp upon your shoulder, breath tickling your skin. you smiled in satisfaction. You smile in pure satisfaction. Watching Jude — the world-famous athlete who could have anyone he wanted with a single look — fall apart so completely under your body is the ultimate power trip.
You chuckle, leaning back to admire his flushed face. A gorgeous crimson bloom has crept all the way from his collarbones up his throat, painting the dark skin of his cheekbones and spreading clear to the delicate tips of his ears. His lips are swollen and glistening from your kiss, parting slightly as he pants, his long dark lashes fluttering heavily over dazed eyes. He looks so wildly undone, so impossibly soft and cute in his vulnerability, that it makes your chest ache right along with your aching core.
“You look so beautiful like this, pretty boy,” you murmur softly.
That's it. You've really done it now.
“Untie me,”he mumbles, trying to frame it as an order, looking directly into your eyes with his head still hanging low, desperate to regain an ounce of control.
“I think you are enjoying it quite a lot right now, so there is no point for me to untie you yet, baby.”
You watch as he swallows hard, the visible gulp traveling down his throat. The pulsating sensation of his cock pressed tightly between your legs has made you thoroughly wet by now, making you a bit dizzy with how good it feels. His panting is getting quicker and quicker, but the persistent burn on his cheeks and those crimson ear tips are a clear signal that his pride is still desperately trying to hold out.
“It's okay, baby. Just let go. I see that you are enjoying this.”
You make direct eye contact with him again before pressing your lips back onto his, parting them open with your tongue. He gasps into your mouth, hips bucking up hard, trying to fuck up into you through his clothes.
“Oh, fuck... I'm so hard... it's embarrassing...” he whiningly confesses, breaking the kiss to hide his face.
“No, it's not. You look fucking gorgeous like this. Stop fighting it, baby.”
You bring your hand up to his throat and gently circle your fingers around his neck, applying just enough pressure to make him whine with chest-deep desperation. The noise that spills from him is beyond anything you've ever heard him make on or off a pitch — raspy, high-pitched, and laced with deep, heavy pants.
“I- I'm gonna- oh god-“
“Don't,” you chastise him firmly, your thumb pressing against his pulse point.
Jude squeezes his eyes shut with a pitiful whine. He gulps in a few deep breaths, his thighs quivering as his hips keep trying to grind up against you, eager for any sliver of friction.
“You will when I say so. Look at me.”
He obeys instantly, opening his eyes to look up at you with a frantic gaze.
“Good boy.”
He whines out loud at the praise. “Fuck... you're too good at this...”
You chuckle softly. It is almost hard to believe what you are seeing. Your usually dominant Jude is locked in handcuffs, desperately humping up under you while your hand is wrapped lightly around his throat — and he is clearly loving every single second of it.
“Want me to slap you?”
He doesn't answer verbally — he only looks up at you with those wide, pleading eyes, practically dripping with raw need. His face is flushed, dewy with sweat, and utterly gorgeous as his broad chest heaves for air. Lost for words, you deliver exactly what his desperate gaze requested.
Without warning, you bring your hand down, slapping him firmly across the cheek.
The sharp sound startles you for a fraction of a second, ringing out in the quiet room. Jude's head snaps to the side with the impact, his jaw falling open. It sounds harder than it felt, but as you open your mouth to ask if he's okay, he turns back to look at you — and the way he stares completely takes your breath away. The absolute desire and sheer desperation burning in his eyes goes straight through you, making a fresh wave of heat simmer beneath your skin.
“Did you like that? Getting slapped like you've been bad?”
Suddenly, he gasps. He squirms violently under you, leaning his head back against the chair as a massive tremor runs straight through his thighs. You widen your eyes in genuine surprise, feeling flustered. Did he just...?
He didn't even need direct touch — a few minutes of this sweet torture and the sound of your voice were enough to push him completely over the edge. Jude arches his back, throwing his head toward the ceiling to expose the taut line of his neck, and comes straight into his boxers with a loud groan that is entirely stripped of his usual composure. His hips buck upward in a series of helpless tremors, his knees shaking violently while the metal of the handcuffs clinks loudly against the chair as he instinctively tugs against them, utterly shattered and submissive. You hold him steady, feeling the remaining pulses fade beneath his skin. The room fills with the smells of sex, heat and of his ragged breaths.
You watch in awe as he furrows his brows, letting out a final shuddering sigh as his entire body goes completely lax beneath you.
“Did you actually just-“
Jude refuses to look up, utterly mortified. The crimson flush on the tips of his ears turns a deep, dark red once more.
“Fuck- I-“ His voice is low, raspy, and completely out of breath. He closes his eyes tight and bites down hard on his bottom lip to ground himself. “Felt too good...” he suddenly groans out. “Fuck... I didn't even get fully undressed...”
“Baby, it doesn't matter to me as long as you felt good, okay?”
You gently cup his hot cheeks in your hands, thumbing over his cheekbone before pressing a sweet peck to his lips. He nods submissively into your palms, agreeing with you.
“Plus... it was really fucking hot,” you whisper against his mouth.
Jude blushes even harder, hiding his face in the crook of your neck with a soft groan.
“Guess you lost the bet.”
-> reblog to support me, if you enjoyed reading this and please let me know your thoughts in the comments! ཐི❤︎ཋྀ
pairing: ishowspeed x reader(afab)
genre: smut, NSFW
warnings: livestreamed sex, heavy cnc, audience control/paid requests, public humiliation, verbal degradation, extreme overstimulation, orgasm control/denial, tears, bondage (cuffs to headboard), multiple penetration, internal vibrators, piv, anal, heavy clit stimulation, impact play (spanking, slapping), rough sex (obvi), mouth gagging. please let me know if i missed any warnings!
The chat log scrolls faster than your eyes can track, a ceaseless waterfall of text. You’re on your knees on the bed, the duvet bunched beneath your shins, and the camera’s red eye stares from its tripod like a patient predator. Your wrists are already tender from the padded cuffs Speed fastened ten minutes ago, attaching them to the headboard with a theatrical flourish that had chat spamming laughing-crying emojis.
“Yo, chat, slow the fuck down,” Speed says, leaning toward the monitor set up on his desk. His face tilts, eyes scanning the chat with precision. “I can’t read that shit when it’s moving like that. One at a time, bruh.”
He’s shirtless, gray sweatpants slung low, showing the prominent V-line.
The overlay on the stream displays the donation ticker climbing. $50. $75. $120. A hornet’s nest of arousal and money and ten thousand strangers watching you breathe.
Your typical Tuesday.
A donation pops up with a text-to-speech ping that cuts through the room: Speed, slap her ass and call her a good little slut.
Speed grins, that wide, slightly chaotic grin you know from every thumbnail. “Bro! Y’all are wild tonight.” He turns to you, one eyebrow arching. “Chat says you’ve been too quiet. You okay with this?”
You nod, the word catching in your throat.
“Say it. They need to hear you.”
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Louder.”
“Yes, Speed. I’m okay.”
His hand comes down on your right cheek before you’ve finished exhaling. The pain is sharp and immediate, the sting blooming a half-second later like a struck match dragged across skin. Your hips jerk forward involuntarily.
The chat explodes.
“Ooh, she felt that one!” Speed’s voice pitches higher, cracking into laughter. “Damn, girl, you jumped. Look at that red mark already.”
He angles the handheld camera closer, and you know your ass is filling the frame, the handprint rising pink against the paler skin. The feeeling of humiliation sends a hot wave pooling low in your stomach.
“Speed, dude, read my donation,” he is already back to the monitor, muttering and mimicking the chat’s tone as he reads another TTS. “‘Put the egg vibrator in her pussy and then her ass.’ Bro, which one first? Y’all gotta specify.”
The chat devolves into a war. PUSSY FIRST scrolls alongside ASSHOLE CREW and strings of skull emojis. Speed holds the vibrating egg up to the camera, a small pink silicone teardrop connected to a remote control on his phone.
“Pussy is winning,” he announces after a moment. “Democracy rules, baby.”
Your thighs are already slick. He doesn’t prep you — never does, not when chat’s impatient.
He hitches your hips up slightly, spreading your legs with a firm hand on your inner thigh to expose you. The egg’s tip presses against you, cool and smooth, and then it’s inside with a single push that makes your breath stutter. Your inner walls clench around the intrusion, and Speed doesn’t wait for you to adjust. He taps his phone screen, unlocking the app control, and the remote clicks on.
A low, steady buzz.
Your head drops forward, chin nearly touching your chest. The vibration is a deep hum that seems to settle deep in your lower abdomen, making your hips twitch involuntarily. Clearly not enough to come — Speed’s too smart for that — but enough to make everything feel swollen and urgent.
“Look at her,” he says, tilting his head. “She’s already losing it. Chat, what level we on?”
A flurry of numbers. Seven. Eight. Ten.
“Level ten? Chat, that’s crazy.”
But he’s already tapping the screen, holding his phone up to show chat. The egg’s hum escalates to an insistent, thrumming whine inside you. Your thighs snap together, but his hand wedges between them, prying you open again. The sound that leaves your throat is not quite a moan — thinner, needier, something you’d be embarrassed about if your brain had room for anything beyond the vibration.
Speed cackles. “You hear that? They want me to gag you with my boxers.”
Even though he’s pretending to ask, you can hear in his voice that he’s already decided. He takes off his sweatpants, tugging the black boxers down. “Open up.”
You do. The fabric tastes faintly of salt and him, and he pushes it past your teeth until it fills your mouth, muffling the next vibration-induced whimper that tears from your throat. Spit gathers at the corners of your lips.
“That’s hot,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before catching the camera again. “Okay, ass egg now? Chat, vote. Ass egg yes or ass egg no?”
The yeses cascade.
He retrieves a second egg from the box, this one slightly smaller, already slicked with lube. The first one is still buzzing inside your cunt, a relentless rhythm that has your arms trembling against the cuffs. When his finger circles your ass, the dual sensation makes your vision double momentarily — you blink hard, the room swimming back into focus.
“Breathe,” he says, quietly. Then, louder: “Chat wants it. C’mon.”
The second egg slides in with a pressure that borders on pain before tipping over into something else entirely. Something that makes your toes curl and your bound hands clench into fists. You’re full now, doubly so, and when he clicks the second remote both eggs hum at different frequencies — a dissonant and maddening feeling that has you bucking against nothing.
Your eyes water. The vibration is a storm with no eye, no calm center. You can’t think anymore, can’t form words around the gag. All you can do is kneel there, thighs trembling, a slick mess running down your inner legs, while thousands of strangers watch you come apart.
A donation dings: $100 ASK HER WHO SHE BELONGS TO.
Speed grabs your chin, tilting your face toward the camera. Even through the blur of overstimulation, you see the intensity in his eyes — part performance, part something fiercer. “You heard it. Who do you belong to?”
He pulls the boxers from your mouth.
You gasp, sucking air. “You.”
“Louder, so the whole chat hears.”
“You, Speed. I belong to you.”
The eggs shift inside you with every word. Your voice breaks on his name.
A new donation, the highest yet: $200 FUCK HER ASS WHILE BOTH EGGS ARE IN. DON'T LET HER CUM UNTIL YOU SAY SO.
Speed reads it aloud, and his smile changes, transforms into something sharper at the edges.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, chat. You want a show?”
He reaches for the lube, and his hand wraps around the back of your neck.
The lube clicks open. Cool gel slicks between his fingers, and then his hand is gone from your neck, leaving your skin tingling where the pressure used to be. You sway forward, caught by the cuffs, the duvet a wrinkled mess beneath your knees. The eggs hum their mismatched song — one a deep thrum in your cunt, the other a sharper buzz in your ass — and your thighs are so wet now that the slick trails down to your kneecaps.
Speed's palm lands on your hip, steadying you. “Chat, watch this! Watch her try to stay still.”
The head of his cock presses against your ass. Just the tip for a few seconds.
You squeeze helplessly around the intrusion, and the eggs shift inside you, the vibrations suddenly angled against new nerve endings you didn't know you had. A muffled sound escapes you: half-whimper, half-sob.
“Ooh!”Speed's voice goes up an octave. “She is vocal again! Chat, did you hear that?”
He doesn't push in yet, just holding there. The head of him stretching you the barest fraction, and the chat scroll becomes a blur of capital letters and fire emojis.
A donation dings: $25 DON'T LET HER CUM YET LMAO.
“Bro, I wasn't gonna,” Speed says like he is genuinely offended. “Y'all think I don't know how to run a stream? This is art.”
He withdraws. The absence is almost worse than the fullness. Your hips twitch, squeezing helplessly around nothing while the constant, mismatched frequency inside you drags out the ache.
Staying calm is getting harder by the second, and you know that if you show just how unbearable this agonizingly slow pace is, the chat will get even more hyped and start spamming donations just to drag it out as long as possible. Your arms tremble. You exhale through your nose and the cuffs creak. While you try to compose yourself, getting used to the constant dual vibrations, Speed’s voice carries from the desk as he bickers back and forth with the chat.
A minute later, he finally dismisses the stream with a loud laugh. The bed dips under his weight as he crawls back between your knees, his warm hands gripping your hips to hold you still.
“Bunch of kids, man…” he mumbles to himself.
Finally, he's at your entrance again, and this time he slides in with one long, excruciatingly slow thrust.
Your vision whites out for a second. The double vibration, the stretch of him filling your ass while both eggs hum — it's too much and not enough, a plateau of sensation that has no peak, no release. Just endless, maddening pressure.
You’ve learned the pattern by now: whenever chat manages to ragebait him or push his buttons, he loses whatever tiny bit of patience he had left. The subtle shift is immediate: his grip on your hips tightens past the point of comfort, his rhythm growing far less careful, driven by that leftover spike of irritated adrenaline.
“There it is,” Speed murmurs, his voice dropping and finally losing some of its chaotic energy. This is the voice he uses when his own needs override the performance. “There it is, baby. Take it.”
He moves. Not fast, not yet, but each stroke is deliberate, pulling nearly all the way out before sinking back in, and you can feel everything: every ridge of him, every pulse of the eggs.
Your clit is absolutely throbbing, left out and ignored — an ache that is constantly there and can’t be relieved because your hands are still tied and chat is still obsessed with multiple penetration.
When you try to shift your hips to find friction against the duvet, his hand clamps down.
“Nuh-uh. Chat said no cumming.”He removes the gag from your mouth, knowing damn well you’re going to argue.
“I wasn't-“
“You were trying. She was trying, chat! She thinks I didn't see that!”
The humiliation blooms hot and red across your chest. It’s an embarrassing, intoxicating mix: the constant state of exposure, the way your body betrays you in front of thousands, being handled like a toy for their entertainment, while your brain scrambles just to keep up with the sensory overload.
The camera's red eye doesn't blink.
A new donation: $75 FUCK HER PUSSY NOW. KEEP THE EGGS IN.
Speed repeats the donation aloud as soon as the TTS reads it, drawing out the words for the camera. “Ooh, chat wants a rotation. Y'all are nasty tonight.” He pulls out of your ass. “Hold on. Let me- yeah, okay.”
He unclips the cuffs from the headboard but leaves them on your wrists. “Turn over, baby. On your back.”
Your limbs are slow to obey, muscles quivering from being in one position for too long.
When you're on your back, he hooks the cuffs to the headboard again. The stretch is different now — your shoulders ache, your breasts are exposed to the cool air, and when you look up, Speed is staring down at you with an expression that makes your stomach flip.
“Legs up,”he says. “Hold them. Show chat what we're working with.”
You obey and pull your thighs toward your chest.
The position is obscene. The wires from the eggs trail out of you like thin pink tails, your cunt is swollen and glistening, and the vibration is visible in the faint tremor of your pussy lips.
Speed lets out a low breath. “Damn.” He turns straight to the webcam, gesturing down at you. “Y'all seeing this? Look at that!”
You can only imagine how the chat is losing its mind right now. They always go wild whenever you have multiple things stuffed inside you.
He lines himself up and slides into your pussy in one smooth push. Immediately, the egg in your pussy shifts deeper, pressing against your cervix while he fills the remaining space. The sensation is… there's no word for it. Too full. Stretched past capacity. The vibration is everywhere now, conducted through his cock, and he groans, a sound that makes your clit throb in sympathy.
“Shit,” he manages. “Shit, that's- chat, I'm not gonna last if-“
A donation interrupts him: $50 EDGE HER WITH THE WAND. VOTE NOW.
The chat erupts. WAND CREW scrolls alongside NO WAND LET HER SUFFER and a cascade of eggplant emojis. Speed glances at the monitor, still buried inside you, and grins.
“Wand's winning,” he announces. “Lemme grab it.”
He doesn't pull out. Just stretches toward the box that is toppled on its side on the bed, his cock shifting inside you with the movement, and your hips buck involuntarily. The eggs hum louder — or maybe you're just more sensitive now, every nerve of yours is screaming.
The wand is large and white, its head the size of a tennis ball. Speed flicks the switch, and the buzz is audible even before it touches you. The rumble makes the egg vibrations seem polite by comparison.
“Ready?” He doesn't wait for an answer.
The wand presses against your clit.
“Agh!” You can’t help but moan.
Your back arches off the bed, the cuffs yank taut. A moan turns into scream and tears from your throat, and Speed has to lean his weight into you to keep you from bucking him off. The vibration is a freight train, a seismic event, a thing that erases thought and language and leaves only the animal fact of sensation.
“That's it,” Speed says, and his voice comes from very far away. “That's it, take it, don't you fucking cum.”
He's fucking you now, matching the wand's rhythm. Inside you, the double eggs buzz like trapped wasps, driving the pressure higher and higher until your thighs start to shake. Your toes curl into the sheets, every nerve ending pulled taut as you edge right on the brink of completely breaking apart.
And then- It’s gone.
Speed pulls the wand away.
You can’t help but sob. Actually sob, tears streaking hot down your temples. The absence feels like a physical pain with your clit still pulsing. The ghost of the vibration is still there, and the eggs keep humming inside you, but the pleasure is not the same.
“Chat.” Speed stares directly into the camera with wide eyes like he just invented fire. “She almost came. Did you see that? She was right there.”
A donation dings: $100 DO IT AGAIN. EDGE HER THREE TIMES.
“THREE?” Speed's voice cracks. “Y'all trying to kill her? Okay. Okay, fine. Three edges. Chat mods, count them.”
The wand returns.
This time, you're already sensitized past the point of sanity. The first touch sends electricity jolting up your spine, and Speed's cock is still moving inside you, and the eggs are still buzzing, and you're going to die here, you're going to come apart at the seams while ten thousand strangers watch.
“First edge,” Speed announces, pulling the wand away just as your vision starts to tunnel. “Mark it down.”
Air rasps in your throat as you try to catch your breath, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
“Second one coming up. Breathe for me, baby.”
The wand returns, and the sensation is instantaneous. The dual buzz of the eggs, his cock stretching into you, the pressure snapping back with double the force.
The heat coils instantly in your gut, tighter and faster this time. You’re already so undone that it takes less than half a minute for the wave to start crashing over you again. Your hips strain upward, muscles locking as helpless whimper tears from your throat-
“Second edge,” Speed says, and the vibration vanishes.
Tears spill over your temples. You're crying openly now. From the thing beyond pain, beyond pleasure, a place where your body has stopped belonging to you and become a raw nerve suspended in buzzing, trembling purgatory.
“She's crying,” Speed tells the camera, and there's something almost reverent in his tone. “Chat, look. She's actually crying.”
A donation: $200 THIRD EDGE. MAKE HER BEG TO CUM.
Speed leans close to your ear, the wand hovering an inch from your clit. The heat of it radiates against your swollen flesh.
“You hear that? They want you to beg.”
A stubborn sliver of pride still flickers somewhere inside you, but it’s hopelessly drowned out by muscle memory. You’ve played this exact game in front of his lens a thousand times before. Your body already knows the script, and right now, the agonizing need feels a million times heavier than your dignity. You just want it to be over. You just want to cum. The words spill out of you before you can even filter them.
“Please.” Your voice is ragged, barely recognizable. “Please, Speed, I can't- I can't do another-“
“You can.”His lips brush your earlobe. “One more. One more and I'll let you fall apart.”
The wand touches down for the third time, and your body completely gives up the fight.
You shatter, your whole body seizes. The cuffs bite into your wrists, the duvet is somewhere beneath you but you can't feel it anymore, can only feel the industrial-grade roar against your clit and Speed's cock buried inside you and the two eggs still buzzing their dissonant duet. You're making a sound but you can't hear it — a sound coming right from your throat as a massive wave of orgasm violently rips through you. Your thighs lock around his hips, and every muscle in your stomach spasms against his cock.
Speed holds you down through the whole thing, riding out the aftershocks while the wand keeps buzzing ruthlessly against your overstimulated clit until you're literally weeping from the intensity.
“T-too much-“ you manage to gasp out.
“That’s what happenes when you cum before you’re allowed to, baby. You know the rules.” Speed’s voice sounds breathless as he looks at the monitor. He deliberately presses the vibrator a fraction harder for a split second, and your hips jerk violently off the bed.
“I’m sorry-“
“She’s sorry, chat! Do you hear that? Do we forgive her?” Speed shouts as he finally pulls the wand away.
You collapse back against the mattress, your vision is blurry. But there's no actual rest — the two eggs are still humming inside you, turning what should be a peaceful comedown into a continuous, agonizing thrum of hypersensitivity. Every tiny twitch of your inner walls feels amplified a hundred times over.
“Look at her, chat. She's completely fried. Look at her eyes. She's gone.”
You don't sob this time. You just lie there, chest heaving. Speed is still hard inside you, not moving, just watching your face. It’s an absolute miracle to you that he hasn't cum yet.
A donation dings. The text-to-speech voice is robotic and cheerful: $150 TAKE HER TO THE BALCONY.
Speed freezes, his eyes locking on the monitor as he thinks. “The balcony? Bro, we're on the third floor. People can see that shit from the street.”
At his words, your heart spikes all over again. The realization hits you — the risk of being out on a third-floor balcony with strangers below. Through the exhaustion and the raw throb between your legs, an absurd pulse of heat hits your stomach. Inside you, your pussy gives an involuntary, desperate clench around his cock at the mere thought of being seen.
Speed freezes. His grin flickers, eyes darting down to where you’re joined before snapping back to the camera. A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face.
“Yo, chat! She just squeezed the shit out of me!” he laughs. “Y’all hear the donation and she literally clenching on my dick. She wants it. Look at her — she’s acting scared, but she’s lowkey turned on.”
He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “You nasty, fr.”
The chat explodes. BALCONY CREW scrolls alongside DO IT PUSSY and strings of laughing emojis. Another donation pings: $50 BALCONY OR YOU'RE A COWARD.
Speed pulls out of you. The sudden emptiness is jarring, your pussy clenching around the egg that remains. He stands, wand in one hand, the other running through his hair.
“Y'all are trying to get me banned bro,” he says, but he's already looking toward the sliding glass door. “For real. This is how channels get deleted.”
A donation: $200 I'LL DONATE $500 MORE IF YOU BLINDFOLD HER AND TIE HER TO THE RAILING.
Speed reads it aloud.
“$500? Hold up. Let me do the math. That's- that's seven hundred total with the other ones. Chat, is this for real?”
The donations pile in. $50. $75. $100. All of them variations on the same demand: balcony, blindfold, now.
Speed stares at you, taking in the sight. You’re pinned on your back with your arms stretched overhead, the wires from both toys dangling in plain view. Tears track down your wet cheeks while your entire body twitches with a lingering ache.
“You hear this?” he asks, and his voice has dropped again, the real voice, the one beneath the performance. “They want me to take you outside.”
You manage a nod.
“Words, baby.”
“Yes.”It comes out as a croak. “Yes, Speed. I heard.”
He unclips you from the headboard. The cuffs stay on your wrists. He helps you sit up, and the change in position makes the eggs shift — a fresh wave of sensation that makes your eyelids flutter. Your legs don't want to hold your weight. Speed wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you upright.
“Alright, switch up,” he announces, grabbing the webcam tripod with his free hand as his streamer persona flips right back on. “Chat, we're going mobile. Y'all better appreciate this.”
part 2 is coming up soon!
-> reblog to support me, if you enjoyed reading this and please let me know your thoughts in the comments! ཐི❤︎ཋྀ
every time im demoralized by men actively hating women im also reminded there are dudes like djed spence that will refuse to look at or shake the hand of a rapist on a global stage even though the world is watching. every single commentator saw that and commented on it. i had no idea who he was until that moment but i was so moved by the gesture that i want to support him for his whole damn career
