Melinda‘s naked body feels so warm, soft, comfortable beneath me. My hard cock is embedded deep inside the magic of her pussy. With each thrust of my cock, I feel the slick walls of her pussy stretching around the girth of my cock, filling her most intimate space with the length of my stiff shaft, the head of my cock pressing against her cervix, my balls swinging against the outer lips of her cunt.
Melinda wraps her arms around me, running her open hands up and down my back, pulling me against her, her soft breasts pressed against my hairy chest. Her legs are spread wide, knees drawn up, bottom rolled up towards my plunging cock splitting her pussy open, wanting, needing my cock as deeply inside of her as possible. Melinda moans and cries out involuntarily from her sexual pleasure building in her pussy, filled with my thick cock. She whispers frantically into my ear, “Fuck me! You thick cock feel so good inside of me! Make me cum on your cock! Oh my God! I want your cum, fill my cunt with your sperm! God you turned me on so incredibly!”
I can feel Melinda trembling with sexual pleasure, my own need to cum, to reach my orgasm, my cum spurting from the tip of my shaft inside of her, driven by my prehistoric urge to claim her, mark her as mine by filling her pussy with my sperm.
I rise up, looking into her eyes, thrusting harder into her cunt, fucking her harder, and tell her, “Fuck me, Melinda! I’m going to cum! Oh, god! I’m cumming inside of you!” My balls contract, my cock pulses with orgasmic pleasure, my seed jetting from the tip of my cock, splashing against her cervix. Melinda is trembling, thrashing against me uncontrollably, her pussy rhythmically contracting around my cock, her orgasm running through her sensitive clit, through her breasts, her hard nipples, staring into each other’s eyes as we cum together as one. Our sexual union consummated, my hot sperm mixing with her slick juices, overflowing her pussy stretched around my girth, running down between the cheeks of her ass, dripping onto the sheets beneath us.
We kiss, softly, tongues intertwined, my cock buried balls deep inside of her, holding each other close, desperately wanting to hold onto this moment of mutual relaxed sexual satisfaction faction…
The sight above you is quite… unbelievable. Though, you’re a little too lost in pleasure to really admire how they look. The black leather of Zayne’s belt stands out boldly in contrast to Valko’s warm skin.
The make shift collar should be restricting, suffocating even. But Valko only seems fueled by the feeling of being under the doctor’s strict control. “Remind me…?”
It wasn’t smart, it was genuine. You could see by the look in his golden eyes. Your fingers dig into your palms, aching to hold his face, but his hands are pinning your wrists down to the mattress.
A sharp click of Zayne’s tongue sends a whole new wave of heat through your body, whimpering as Valko’s hips stutter in their pace.
The very pace that Zayne so thoroughly instructed him on, slow yet steady. Not slow enough to hurt, given his girth, the stretch was enough to have your teeth clenching if he thrusted too leisurely.
“No marking her, dog. Your teeth stay here.” You watch Zayne’s free hand come around to grab Valko’s chin, one finger hooking in his cheek and pulling. Revealing the sharp canines that are all too eager to bestow you with the fated bond mark.
To make you his mate, to drive Zayne absolutely wild and make you Valko’s one and only.
“Got it this time?” Zayne releases his cheek with a slick pop, his other hand still gripping the makeshift belt-collar with a white knuckle grip.
“Y-yeah, doc.”
“Good dog.”
The pleasure between your thighs is steadily building, every sinful drag of Valko’s cock as your head reeling. “You still with us, princess?” He’s panting, pupils blown wide and nose visibly twitching as he inhales every bit of your intoxicating scent.
“You’re being such a good girl for us, my love.” Zayne adds behind him, peering over the broad expanse of Valko’s frame to smile down at you. The rosy hues covering his cheekbones as you clenching.
“Oh shit…!” Valko shudders, head falling forward but getting restricted by Zayne’s grip. The sound is a choked gasp, nearly a gurgle as his cock pulses between your fluttering walls. “D-don’t… you can’t look at her like th-that it makes her all tight…”
“Keep moving, dog. Don’t let her lose her orgasm.”
Zayne’s knee comes up, pressing into the muscles of Valko’s ass and forcing him to bottom out into you. The guttural sounds that escape both of you has his cock standing at attention, twitching and leaking precum as Valko audibly pants and tugs at the collar.
Without clear instruction, Valko begins taking the reins with slight hesitation. “Val, please…” you manage to gasp out, eyes watering as you struggle against the death grip on your wrists.
That alone seems to be enough, though you’d wager that Zayne’s silence is all the confirmation the wolf needs before truly pouncing.
Valko’s hips drive into you with new vigor, still mildly held back by Zayne’s grip, but still. Your breasts bounce embarrassingly hard, your eyes screwing shut as you’re unable to swallow any of the noises slipping past your slackening jaw. “Atta boy, fuck her good.”
Zayne’s words send you over the edge, back arching off the mattress as your orgasm unexpectedly slams into you. Stars explode through your vision, so lost in the moment that you barely register the painful swelling between your spread thighs.
By the time Zayne processes what is happening, it’s already too late. He yanks the collar, whipping Valko’s head back until it hits his shoulder. “What are you doing?” There is an icy edge to his tone, one that mildly sobers you up. Valko, however, looks blissed out.
“You said no marking, but you didn’t say I couldn’t knot her, doc.”
I hope this doesn’t suck… I hope I actually cooked… I’ll tag everyone who wanted to be tagged in the comments :3 - Soul
synopsis: valko is in deep heat with the supermoon occurring, and he wants a solution that requires restraints, a collar, and you.
warnings: valko is in heat, sub!valko, good boy!valko, collar use, bondage, riding, overstimulation, biting, licking, scent marking, edging, knots, rutting, monsterfucking.
wc: 2,3k
a/n: i love him already, he's such a cutie. he deserves endless cuddles, BE NICE TO HIM! i want to devour him. I NEED HIM TO EAT ME OU– enjoy a pre-release celebration of our handsome wolf, valko!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
He must be in heat. that’s the only way Valko can describe this feeling. The moon has been full for less than an hour, and he’s already twitching. Usually he can handle himself. But that’s not gonna work out well for him if all he can think about is you.
Your scent is delicious, beyond the scented lotions and perfume, he’s talking about your natural aroma, amplified by sweat and other smells your body emits. It draws him in. He can’t help but sniff the air every time you walk past him. His cock won’t stop twitching in his pants, tenting at the sight of you catching his gaze.
Valko wants to bite you. Valko wants to slather you with his saliva until you smell like him. He wants to rut his cock so deep inside you, cuddle you so close and keep you so warm with his hot body that you just have to call him a good boy.
“…ko,” He must be imagining you saying his name so nice and breathless.
“…alko.” There it is again, louder, your nails could drag down his back until he bleeds and he’d thank you.
“Valko!” He blinks, the mirage of a heated embrace disappearing from his perception to be replaced by your fingers snapping very close to his face. Such pretty fingers, he wants to lick—
“Yeah?” His voice is gruff and hoarse, almost like he’s keeping a whimper tight in his throat. His leg bounces as fast as his heart pounds his chest. You’re so pretty, with your pretty parted lips, and how your saliva keeps it just wet enough to shine in the warm lamp light. So plump for him to kiss and bite—
“As I was saying,” You pull your hand away, not hearing the small whine that leaves him from the lack of contact. “We need to make sure you’re comfortable for the next few hours. You said you can get agitated when there’s full moons, right?”
“Mmh.” Better a grunt than a moan. You brush it off assuming the effects of the celestial event are starting to mess with him internally.
Of course, you’re well aware that he’s got an extra pair of fluffy scratchable ears on the top of his head, an even fluffier tail protruding from the base of his spine, and sharper canines. You’re not ignorant.
What you don’t know is that he’s much more prone to getting heated in these hours. Especially in the presence of someone who his body, mind, and soul are attuned to completely. It’s you. You're that someone.
But he has to behave for your sake. He can’t be bad, he can’t be too rash and aggressive or he might scare you off. You might not like it. But he wants you so damn bad, he can’t even hide it anymore.
You’re rattling about restraints, something to tie him to incase he goes berserk.
Restraints. Belts. Muzzle. Chair. Tie him to a chair. He wants you to tie him to a chair.
He wants you to restrain him. He wants you to sit on his lap and feel how hard his cock is for you, feel it throb just below your cunt, grind his hips up to you still so retrained and held back that he has to beg you to ride him. He might as well ask for it.
“…unless that’s too extreme.” You mutter, expecting a response. Nothing. Did he zone out again? What’s going on with Valko to be so distracted? He wasn’t like this last month. “Look, I know the full moon can be a messy time for you, and now that it’s a supermoon it could be worse, but I’d prefer you to actually respond— oh.”
Valko is drooling. Valko’s eyes are glazed over. Valko is blushing beyond relief. And Valko is sporting a rock hard boner.
The silence that stretches between you would have been uncomfortable, it should have been. But you seem to enjoy the rough pants that escape his lips, how his hands are balled into fists to keep himself at bay. How the veins on his neck are far more prominent now.
You sink your teeth into your lower lip, hoping you won’t say anything foolish.
“Don’t laugh.” Valko grits, his fluffy ears drooping a little.
“I wasn’t going to.” You say, trying to ignore the fact that your lips are twitching into a smile.
You glance down from his agitated golden eyes to his neck, to his large muscular chest covered by the black tank you always find so attractive on him, to the taper of his waist, to the pulsing print of his cock bulging against his pants.
Now that you think of it, you two haven’t shared the bed recently. You’ve both been so busy with work that neither of you have had time for each other. And you’ve been very wound up these last few days.
“I think we should figure out what restraints will be good for you.” A purr follows your words as you rest your hands on his chest. Muscular, warm, huge chest that you love to sleep on. You’re making this much, much worse and you know it. You can hear it in the groan that rumbles in his chest.
“Oh, is it getting worse?” You play an aloof demeanour, reaching to caress the soft ears on his head, making sure to rub on that sensitive spot where his hair is its softest. A soft moan escapes Valko’s lips as his golden eyes flutter closed.
“Please…”
“What do you need me to do, my love?” Your lips ghost the shell of his fleshy ear, tongue peeking out to trace the shell. He shudders, head lowering to give you more access, hips rocking towards you so you can feel just what you need to do.
You don’t want that, though. He has to say it.
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”
A pained moan rushes right into your ear as he drops a part of his weight on you. Valko doesn’t want to say it but he also wants to say it. It doesn’t make sense. This heated state is driving him insane, and you’re giving him such a clear path to relief. But what he wants is different from what you usually do… will you agree?
With a shaky breath, Valko nuzzles the side of your neck, mustering the will to confess his desire. “You have to tell me no if you can’t do it.”
“I will.” You reassure him, stroking his soft hair. His arms wrap tight around you, grounding himself in your presence as the words unknot themselves to flow out.
“If you’re grossed out—“
“I won’t be grossed out, Val.” You softly say, rubbing circles into his lower back. “Nothing about you grosses me out. I trust you, so you need to trust that I’ll handle whatever you need and that I’ll tell you if I can’t. Outside of cannibalism, I'm not doing that.”
That makes him chuckle. “You’ll tell me the second you’re uncomfortable?”
“The millisecond.”
His next request comes out more sheepishly. “You’ll tell me I’m doing good?”
“I’ll put a poet to shame.”
“Pull my hair?”
“Put a collar on you too if you’re feeling feisty.”
A sigh of relief escapes Valko’s lips. Oh, he loves you. Finally, he pulls his face away from your neck to level your gaze with fresh determination on his face. “I want you to tie me to the chair, and ride the shit outta me.”
Ask and ye shall receive, as you hear them say.
It was easy to put Valko on a chair especially when he's drunk on your kisses, hungrily biting marks into your bare chest and stomach, gripping your hips so tight you’d think he’s terrified that you’ll run. It was easier to get soaked just from watching him strip for you— that, and having his fingers curl so good inside your cunt as he slurped and lapped at your clit.
The only ‘difficult’ part was restraining him to the chair, legs, arms, and torso roped tight, and that’s just because he’s antsy whenever the full moon happens.
But something about this supermoon has got him more riled up than usual. Why, you ask?
You’ve been bouncing on the man’s cock for two hours.
You’re not complaining, you love every second of this. Your walls are fluttering around him as he slides in and out of you so easily, caught by you keeping his fat tip inside leaking all that sticky, hot precum before you drop into his lap again and again and again.
“Val— ooh, fuck!” Your praise has otherwise become mush, slurred moans of his name and whatever adulation could come to mind. Valko doesn’t mind since he isn't doing any better. If anything, he’s lost the need to think.
“S-So good,” His throat is torn from how loud he’s been, his hips jutting into you even with his thick, corded thighs roped down to the chair. His tail is slapping the floor, his fluffy ears are twitching. He can barely move, limbs strapped down and a collar wrapped around his neck at his own request. And he loves it.
He wants to cum so bad. But then he’d end up swelling so much that he’d be stuck for hours, just grinding and grinding and plugging his seed inside instead of feeling you slap down on him with each rise and fall of your full hips. He wouldn’t have your soft breasts bouncing in his face, or feel your hands scratch his undercut and pull his hair, or hear the hiccups in your voice or the ragged moans in his own.
Why make this pleasure so short-lived when he can prolong it?
His cock is leaking like a faucet, keeping him smooth and wet for you to use him as you please, pulsing with the desire to just release. His sacks are drawn up tight, literally clenching with enough cum to repopulate a country, and yet he still won’t give in.
Valko drags his tongue up your jaw all the way to your cheekbone. “ ‘m I fuckin’ you good?”
“Hah— mhm. Such a good boy.” You ramble into his lips as you kiss him, slipping your tongue inside to taste him as if he isn’t all that you can sense. “So big and thick and hot… so— Valko— so full ‘f you, want you deeper, you’re so good!”
You’re on orgasm number five by now, gripping onto Valko’s strong shoulders for dear life, back arched, tugging his hair like you want to rip his red locks off. It’s the supermoon, you tell yourself, it must be shooting his stamina through the roof.
It fucking has to be if he’s been rutting into you like a bullet train without cumming even once. His girth twitches with every rock of your plush hips, it leaks and weeps inside you every time you squeeze him hard enough to cut off his blood flow. It has to hurt, prolonging his climax for this long.
Valko likes it that way. He likes the hurt. He likes the way his body just responds to you so well, like you’re made for each other. You have to be.
Your knees are starting to ache. Your thighs are burning from the constant bouncing up and down his thick length but the feeling of him dragging through your walls with each vein pressing against your walls is too good. The overwhelming bump of his cockhead kissing your cervix may just tip you over the edge again. The fucking curve of his cock and the angle just lets him reach the sensitive nerves of your g-spot so good every damn time!
You love these fucking supermoons.
“Valko,” You hum, licking his lips then his chin and jaw, your breath heavy as you maintain your pace. Just a few more and you’ll be in pure bliss. But you need him there with you. “I’m close. I’m so close. Hnn, need you— cum with me.”
“You— oh, you sure?” He whimpers, nuzzling you as you lick the tears off his cheeks. “I’ll—“
“Knot me, mhm.” You nod, rubbing your nose into his cheek, inhaling his scent. This man’s frenzied behaviour has been rubbing off on you too much, not that there’s reason to complain. “You’re gonna swell up so fuckin’ thick, yeah?”
He nods. “Gonna plug all that cum in me, keep it warm inside while you grind ’n rut into me?”
“Yeah,” He affirms, his arms pulling against the restraints. Is this what you want? You want him to bond with you to that much of an intimate extent? You must truly love him. “ ’m gonna stay in you the whole night, snug inside. But I like when you ride me.” You can feel him pouting as he pecks your skin. So cute.
“Then you’ll be a good boy, right?” You coo, your hands cupping his face as you press your thumbs on his lower lip. “Cum with me, and stay inside all night.” You fight every urge to give in to the pleasure when he bites your fingers.
You suck his upper lip, letting your moans vibrate into his. “Can you do that for me?”
Valko’s a simple man. You ask for something and he’ll give it to you with a smile. Like he is now, canines bared, tongue lapping at your fingers before he attacks your lips with a bruising, hot kiss. He pulls away just for a second to mutter against your mouth, “I love you.”
“I know, baby.” You huff, smiling into the kiss as you scratch his fluffy ears. Valko’s hips rut up faster and you can feel his cock swell at the base, almost ready to be plugged into you. Oh, he is so going to eat his cum out of you once he’s soft. “Now be good and cum with me.”
waking up with your f/o’s chest pressed right against your back, slow notions of coziness present in the way they hum sleepily and bring you closer and nose at your hair, that morph into them roaming over your skin and pulling your hips back to grind against your ass and sigh against your shoulder, that turn into them rolling you onto your stomach to slip their hard cock into your soft heat and fuck you slow and steady, that becomes him kissing at the nape of your neck while you cum for him with a hushed “good morning, baby.”
zayne had a rough day at work—so many patients, too much paperwork, an excruciating surgery in between—he was absolutely beat. so when he trudges through the door with his tie loosened and very prominent bags under his eyes on his otherwise perfect skin, you tell him to go sit on the couch and relax while you finish whipping up dinner.
he wants nothing more than to shower the day off of him and crawl into bed with his wife, but you insist he needs to eat—the same way he would if it were you in his shoes. and because he can’t resist you—especially when you’re wearing a cute little apron—he begrudgingly obliges, letting his bag hit the ground and slumping on the couch, a single button on his crisp shirt unbuttoned showing off a beautiful sliver of skin.
he throws his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking of anything to take his mind off his grueling work, and he’s successful when his mind finally lands back on you. his sweet, sweet wife.
he tries to keep his thoughts innocent… tries not to think about you in your little apron looking like you came straight out of a male fantasy. tries not to think about all the things he could do to you. tries so hard not to think about how you could take care of his cock—the very same that’s growing harder and harder in his confined slacks.
he’s tired—can barely move, and yet, he still calls you to him.
“sweetheart,” his voice gruff, carrying a slight rasp as he beckons you. “c’mere please.”
a frown etches itself on your face, walking your way to him from the kitchen. “baby, ‘m almost done with din–”
you don’t get the chance to finish your complaint when he’s pulling you by the arm into his lap. a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sudden movement. then you’re settled, straddling the large expanse of his lap and you feel it.
he wraps his arms around your body, flushing you against his chest. his lips press against the shell of your ear and he whispers, “don’t care about dinner, just let me hold my wife, yeah?”
he swears it’s all he needs—to hold you close and inhale your scent—but his pulse is racing and blood roars in his ears all due to sheer desire and he can’t stop himself from shifting his hips the slightest bit.
you feel that, too. it elicits a sharp gasp.
you can almost hear the small smirk forming on his lips, “how was your day, beautiful?” he murmurs, hands moving to your hips.
and his movements are so calculated. from the way he ever so gently grounds you into him to the way his breath fans against your ear sending shivers down your spine.
“was fine…” you mumble, unable to stop the way you shift in his lap, body begging for more attention. “missed you.”
“yeah?” he asks, his voice is low and nearly unrecognizable. “missed you s’much more, my love. been waiting for this moment all day.”
you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. they’re tired. exhausted even, but they still hold that fire. that pure, burning desire. they’re his fuck me eyes. and, god, do you love them.
“zaynie,” you whisper, unable to trust your shaky voice.
he hums, and the soft, pitched noise has you leaking through your bottom, probably leaving a wet patch right on his pants. “tell me, sweetheart.” his hands squeeze at your sides and his hips slowly, but surely, roll into you. "what did you do today?"
you whimper, pussy clenching around nothing. "mmph, not much…" another roll, evoking another wet gasp. "fuck, just… cleaned, w-went on a walk—" he's pushing against you deeper now. you feel the outline of his cock push into you with every not-so-little thrust. "s-saw, saw that stray kitty in the park again."
"mmm, we should really take her in, shouldn't we?" he breathes, cock twitching at the sound of your voice breaking with every grind.
"zaynie," your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him back so you can look at him. his face is flushed, pink blooming over his cheeks and spreading to the tips of his ears. you gyrate against him, pulling a breathy moan from your husbands hung open mouth. "dinner's gonna burn."
"let it burn then." he says, the words coming out in a hiss. "need my wife—we can order takeout later, i'll even cook, don't care. let me just have you like this first."
a beg. to the untrained ear, you can't hear it, but you know zayne like the back of your hand. you know that heat curls in his stomach, that tension lies in every bone in his body, that pure desire is the only thing he feels right now. the need to be close to you is strong, but the need to be fully sheathed inside you, fucking you till he's completely stress free and you're completely full of his cum is much, much stronger.
it's why all the fatigue evaporates and he can't stop himself from flipping you onto the plush couch— rubbing into you you like he might die without feeling the outline of your pussy through your soddened panties and leggings . he can't even be bothered to rid you of your clothes… he craves the release. he needs it more than anything. needs you more than anything.
you let out a pathetic needy sob, overly worked up by him fucking you through your clothes. "z-zayne, more—ugh, need more. t-take it off, please."
his cock twitches helplessly at the sound. it's what he's been missing while drowning in work for hours on end.
"sweetheart," he moans brokenly. "promise i'll fuck you just the way you like—just need you to take this first. you can do that for me, can't you?" he whispers and the word shoot an immense amount of heat straight to your core. "you can be a good little wife, right, darling?"
you can never say no to him, especially when he talks to you like that. you respond wordlessly, giving your husband what he wants—no, what he needs—and wrap your legs securely around his slim waist.
"that's it, good girl." and the way zayne sounds is the polar opposite of the weight of his words. his voice is frayed, desperate. "f-feels, ha, feels so good like this, yeah?"
his hips move faster, imitating the way they would if he were actually inside of you fucking you with full force. your body rocks with every thrust, every grind, your tits bounce underneath your apron, the couch—even as firm as it sits—sways with you in tandem.
it goes on and on. endless, whiny praises from him, sobbing pleas from you, your bodies rubbing against one another effectively ruining his dry-clean-only slacks till you finally feel that tight knot form in your lower belly.
and he's close, too, but zayne's been close to coming undone—he just didn't want to let go without you.
it happens so quickly that you barely have the time to process it. "baby, baby," you gasp, nerve-endings coming alive while your heart pounds at the speed of light. "'m—oh, fuck, baby. 'm cumming, cumming, cumming."
"cum with me, sweet girl." he wheedles, never losing his momentum for a second. he grinds you both through it till he feels your body pull taut underneath him. till you're shaking and sobbing and clinging onto him for dear life.
then he stills and his orgasm is explosive. he's vocal, moaning out your name mixed with all the sweet pet names he's given you. his cum leaks through his boxers and said dry-clean-only slacks, beading out of the fabric in a taboo, yet very erotic way.
it takes you both minutes to come down till the smell of burning food fills your nostrils.
then you hear the unmistakable beeping of the fire alarm.
"oh, shit."
KIT SAYS... they took my yaoi/bl app away from me. if you guys know where i can read my yaoi ad free, email me. (dm me or send me an ask, I'm begging i need to fujo out over hot men that kiss) oh and this isn't proofread lol
You couldn’t quite figure out how you got into this position. 18+
One moment you were flooring it down the streets of the N109 Zone in one of Sylus’ many vintage cars. The next, every item on his mahogany desk was strewn across the floor. Your back — bare and prickling from the chill — pressed into the smooth surface.
Only your black polished leather heals remained on your body. The red bottoms faced the ceiling, slung over the broad expanse of Sylus’ shoulders and trembling with every devastating blow of his hips.
They sat upon his shoulders as if they belonged there, as if they were always meant to remain right there. Sylus surely seemed to think so, with the iron clad grip he had on your claves. Pressing his body weight further down into your own, listening to the satisfying creak of sturdy wood as he pounds you into its surface.
“S-s-Sylus!” He’s fucking you beyond dumb, your jaw so slack that you’d feel some level of embarrassment if you harbored any sense of shame around him. “You looked too perfect tonight.” Though, you couldn’t help but believe there was more of a motive behind this animalistic hunger. “Too many eyes were on you.”
He hits deep, driving that little bit of information home as stars explode through your vision. You barely register the pain of your head knocking against the desk. A garbled cry of his name leaving your lips as your nails dig into his skin, wherever you’re capable of reaching.
You’re so close to cumming, the wet slapping emitting between your bodies is more than enough to signify it. “Don’t even h-have to try to make me jealous, hmm?” He shifts, putting a knee up on the desk for better leverage to nearly fold you in half. “Just gotta look as beautiful as you a-always do… someone will look… their desires are so loud…”
You don’t restrain yourself as a harsh slap lands on your ass, nearly screaming as your entire body throbs with the need for release. Jealousy pushed him to this point and you didn’t even have to do anything… how cute. “S-Sy m’gonna…”
The desk is physically rocking with the force of his hips, and you barely have the strength to worry about it collapsing beneath you. All you can focus on is the never ending drag of his cock between your slick walls. The toe curling pleasure you desperately want to last forever, teetering right on the brink of euphoria.
♱⋅── about: Zayne has curated a perfectly polished reputation. He’s a renowned surgeon, the youngest of his graduating class, has a plethora of research papers in his name, and is well-liked and respected amongst his peers. And he would throw it all away to have you like this again, whining and desperate as he fucks you over a billiard table. It’s not fair, really, how easily you manage to get Zayne riled up. Especially when you call him sir.
♱⋅── word count: 8.2K
♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, light bondage, teasing, semi-public sex, praise kink, pwp, dom!zayne, sir kink, pool & billiards, oh he has pretty hands, exclusive tutorial card
Your negroni is fifty percent water by now.
The flock of past classmates, professors, and adorning fans has been relentless, swarming the bar where you and Zayne currently sit— or perhaps more accurately, swarming where the distinguished Dr. Zayne sits.
You sigh under your breath, fussing with the cocktail dress slit against your thigh before taking another sip of your drink, the melted ice dulling the burn of the gin. It has only been an hour since you arrived, and yet you can already feel your social battery reach its limits, tired of going through the same motions for every other person who bothers to acknowledge your presence: a smile, what’s your name, are you a surgeon as well, what’s your connection to Zayne, no we’re not together.
It’s not that you haven’t met fascinating individuals— your first round of drinks was shared with two sisters, old classmates of Zayne’s who were now Linkon’s top OB/GYN doctors and genuinely the sweetest women you’ve talked to today.
But everyone has limits. And with the relentless swarm sucking up to Zayne, it hardly gives you a moment of peace, let alone an opportunity to talk with your date for the evening.
Thinking about the stipulations of your relationship and what this night even means for the two of you sends your mind reeling further, and you finish the rest of your negroni in a shot, wincing.
As if sensing your frustration, the doctor in question looks up from his conversation with a classmate. Zayne gives a knowing, apologetic smile before returning to his conversation, the gesture leaving you with a fluttering in your chest.
Calling the bartender over, you place another drink on the tab before tuning in to the conversation next to you as you hear the echo of laughter.
“No, no, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen it myself!” An older man laughs again, his drink nearly sloshing over the rim as he smacks Zayne’s shoulder. You snort at the way he stiffens. “Our Dr. Zayne isn’t just a professional at work, you should see him play billiards. Let me tell you, he’s amazing at both the operating table and the pool table”
A deep sigh. “You drank too much…”
“Nonsense!” The man pats Zayne again before recounting a story from their residency days to the crowd of onlookers.
You yourself are rather engrossed too, more than happy to learn more about your elusive doctor, especially these hidden talents he seems set on keeping from you. Zayne, on the other hand, is far from impressed. Brows furrowed, he turns from where he sits against the bar counter to scan your face.
Leaning in closer, you inhale sharply at the feel of his cool breath against your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
His thoughtfulness would be sweet if it weren’t for the way Zayne had whispered it, lips brushing against your sensitive skin as you shudder at the slow, deep cadence of his voice.
Noticing your hesitation, Zayne’s hand comes up to rest on your knee, thumb slipping under your dress’ slit. He cocks his head, waiting for your response, drawing soothing circles against your bare skin, which is having quite the opposite effect.
Panicking, you shake your head. “I’m alright. Plus, I’d feel bad stealing you away from all your adoring fans so soon, Dr. Zayne.”
He scoffs under his breath, but you see the slight curl in the corner of his lips. Still, he has yet to let go of your thigh, and you decide to shift closer, turning in your seat so your knees brush against Zayne’s, his hand involuntarily sliding higher.
His fingers are calloused and worn, a testament to his many years spent in the medical field, and his grip is firm against your thigh. It feels familiar, and the memories of his hands on you in many different places sends heat rushing to your cheeks.
The thought doesn't seem to have left his mind either, judging by the way his eyes dart down to your parted lips.
Clearing his throat, Zayne looks away. He is about to say something when you decide to interrupt instead.
“Besides,” you hum, taking a sip of wine. “If the rumors are to be believed, then I’m missing quite a show. Is our Dr. Zayne really that skilled at pool?”
“Ah.” Zayne retracts his hand, clearing his throat as he straightens up in his seat. ”You’re trying to gang up on me.”
You know him well enough to recognize the hint of embarrassment in the way he avoids your gaze. But before you can tease him further, another cheery voice interrupts.
“We meet again, sir!” A young man practically bounces over to the bar, caught between a bow and a handshake as he stumbles into both, flashing a gummy smile at Zayne.
You raise a brow at his overwhelming enthusiasm, glancing at Zayne as you watch recognition flash across his face.
“Good evening. It’s Steven, yes? You don’t need to address me as “sir”.” Zayne nearly grimaces as he says the word, and you take a sip from your drink to hide your growing smile.
“Yes! I’m honored you remembered.” Steven nods vigorously. “But anything less would be inappropriate. After all, you taught me so much with your hands-on instruction, I owe my knowledge and successful residency so far to you, sir.”
Still, Zayne shuts him down. “I was only doing what I should have done. Any credit beyond that is your own.”
It’s almost like he’s allergic to praise.
“Humble and smart,” Steven laughs, winking all-too-obviously at you. “Regardless, I just wanted to thank you for everything formally, sir. You two have a wonderful rest of your night!”
“Yes.” Zayne frowns, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. ”To you as well.”
Quickly feigning ignorance, you pretend to be absorbed in the powerpoint some professor is giving on the opposite side of the venue, immediately lost in a diagram of a heart valve. You’re about to take another sip of your drink when something pinches your ear. Yelping at the sting, you jump in your seat, whirling around to face the culprit.
Zayne scoffs. “I could see you eavesdropping a mile away. Did you find anything interesting?”
“Oh, aside from learning that you are extremely humble, smart, handsome, and rather adept at hands-on instruction, nothing much,” you lean against the counter, blinking up at Zayne through your lashes as you sing the last word, “Sir.”
You watch his jaw clench, a rigid movement that makes your heart skip. Zayne laughs, a harsh, sharp sound. He shakes his head before his hand grips your jaw, tugging you gently but firmly towards him. His eyes narrow, and your heart stutters.
“Clever girl. What is it you want this time?”
This time. As if Zayne could refuse you anything, as if the mere sight of you isn't enough to make him go mad.
But you're not the only one who knows how to play. And he rather likes watching just how far you’ll go.
Smiling innocently, you rest a hand on Zayne’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin seeps through the silky material of his suit. You can't help but slide your hand further up, tracing the curve of his neck with your thumb. “Well…” You lick your lips, tasting the waxy remnants of your lipstick as you fight to keep your voice even under Zayne’s piercing gaze. ”You never did any hands-on training with me, and everyone says what an honor it’s been to be taught by you, sir. I wonder what I’ll have to do to experience it finally.”
Zayne sighs, and for a moment, he appears disappointed.
“It seems like you truly want to learn about surgeries.” A scoff, and Zayne’s face seems to fall back to its stoic facade. But he pulls you closer, tilting your head so his lips graze your earlobe once more. “Who knew my little hunter was so skilled at acting?”
You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in faux surprise. “What accusations, doctor. Besides, I was thinking about something with a… less steep learning curve.”
Zayne hums thoughtfully, thumb venturing from your jaw as it brushes across your lips. Once. Twice. Three times before he stands up, hand finally dropping from your face as he grabs your wrist instead.
“Then allow me to take our first lesson elsewhere.”
You don’t offer any sort of resistance as Zayne leads you through the crowd, opting to let go of your wrist and guide you away from prying eyes, hand instead lingering against the small of your back as he walks beside you. He opens the door for you, directing the two of you down one of the main venue halls, echoes of conversation muffled by the soft ding of an elevator. Zayne flashes his medical ID before clicking the top floor, the sensor buzzing green as it carries you up with the smooth flow of elevator jazz.
Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your waist. His thumb goes back to tracing soft circles against the divots in your back as though from habit, nearly touching bare skin due to the sweeping backless design of your dress. You fight the urge to lean further into him, already fidgeting in your heels at the thought of his touch, slow and careful and calculated, elsewhere.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the elevator.
Oh, god, snap out of it. You rush out of the elevator, hoping Zayne didn’t notice the furious heat you can feel rising from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.
Smoothing some loose hair back behind your ear, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, as if it’ll push all these obscene scenarios of Zayne’s large, perfect hands doing unspeakable things out of your mind.
It works for a moment, expelling all these potential scenarios and instead reminding you of every time Zayne has taken action. Memories of him after hours at the clinic, during movie nights when neither of you paid attention to the TV, and even the drive here where he decided to—
“Does the sight of a billiard table scare you that much?”
The heat from earlier is back in full force. Your eyes snap open, and you are greeted with Zayne’s signature eyebrow raise, feigning concern despite his amused smile that only grows more prominent when he notices the flush creeping across your skin.
“Hardly.” You force a smile, turning your head as you refuse to let him gloat. “I’m just so ecstatic that I’ll finally receive hands-on training from the Dr. Zayne.”
A low hum, “Yes, at least until you feel well enough to go back and socialize.”
He says this, yet you know Zayne is just as happy as you are to finally escape from the crowds below.
“Well,” you purr, “take care of me until then, sir.”
You giggle as he frowns at the title, waltzing past him to a corner pool table in the billiard hall. The floor is dedicated to different tabletop games, all lined up against numerous floor-to-ceiling windows aglow with a gorgeous view of Linkon City. The city lights bleed in since the entire room was rather dim, no doubt an artistic choice, adorned sensually with faux candlelight chandeliers and the low timber of jazz.
“Have you played before?”
“Once or twice– some call me a natural genius.” You brush imaginary hair from your shoulders as Zayne scoffs before handing you a cue stick. Lacing his hand into your own, you pull the stick and thus him closer. “Why? Are you going to be strict with me, sir?”
Seeing through your jab, Zayne responds without hesitation. “Strict teachers make outstanding students. Let’s start.”
You pout, about to walk to the other side of the pool table to observe his shot, when Zayne’s arm laces around your waist, holding you against him for a second longer.
“And no more distractions.”
Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching as he bends to aim the cue, muscles beneath his sleeves flexing with each calculated movement. You hear the sound of a cue stick colliding with its target, but your attention is too focused on his fingers to process any of the actual movements.
Another sharp click breaks the silence. You watch as the cue ball collides with a red striped one, sending the former skittering off the sides while the other sinks into the pocket with a dull thud.
“You’re unfairly good at this.”
Zayne raises a brow, “Maybe it’s because a surgeon requires steady hands.”
And the moment you glance down, any chance of salvation is lost.
You’re not a fool. You’ve noticed Zayne’s hands before, on more occasions than you’d care to admit. But it’s as he says and more.
Lining up for another shot, you watch him stretch forward, forearms exposed from his deliciously rolled-up sleeves and discarded blazer, your eyes tracing every prominent vein down to his hands, spread wide against the table, tense as the stick rests against his pointer finger and thumb. Even in the dim lighting you can see pale silver scars littering his forearms, and you swear you’ve never seen something so beautiful, like traces of frost against marble.
Again, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a surgeon must take good care of their hands, but it’s nearly unfair how gorgeous Zayne’s are. Not only that, but you remember how comforting his hands feel against your own, how they caressed your thigh earlier tonight, and just how attentive and precise they can be.
“You’re not focusing on my lesson.”
Shit.
With a single strike, Zayne tries to sink another ball, but the angle is just off, and the striped ball hits the corner of the pocket, ricocheting against the wood with a dull thud.
Zayne leans against the pool table, cue stick resting against his shoulder.
"Your turn."
Copying Zayne’s movements as best you can, you clumsily position your cue stick between your knuckles, aiming for what seemed to be a fairly easy shot. Only for the ball to ricochet far left as the white ball knocks into it. Even your cue stick wobbles after, as if shaking in laughter at your poor shot.
Frowning, you look up to see Zayne’s disapproving gaze locked onto the pool table.
“Is there not an easier way to do this? One more suitable for beginners?”
“There is.” Zayne leans in, his expression betraying nothing. “First, try adjusting your posture. You’ll see better results.”
Another sigh, and you halfheartedly drape yourself over the table again. “Like this? I’m not sure I fully understand, I think I need your help identifying my weak spots via more hands-on learning, sir.”
“Allow me to guide you, then.”
For a moment you think you’ll have to bait Zayne more, yet before you can figure out how to push the stubborn doctor any further, you feel the weight of his hands, heavy against your shoulder and hip.
Zayne shifts forward, and you can feel the fabric of his suit vest graze the bare skin of your back, his hands unnaturally cool against the dips in your waist as he nudges your back into an arch. You comply, Zayne’s body nearly folding atop yours as his chest brushes your back.
He takes the cue stick from your hand.
“You’re too tense,” Zayne pats your back two times. Your waist immediately bends, and you hear him laugh under his breath. “And now you’re too relaxed.”
With his hands still pressed against your waist, Zayne repositions himself and thus you as well, and you can feel the chill of each exhale against the crook of your neck.
He guides your aim, lining it up to the cue ball. The tip brushes ever so gently against the felt surface as it pushes, slowly and deliberately, practicing the gentle back-and-forth motion as you struggle to keep pace.
“Drop your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally.” He taps your elbow and waist. “Your head, dominant arm, and the cue stick should all form a straight line.”
You begin to shuffle according to Zayne’s instructions, hinging your hips backward before you realize what a wonderfully compromising position he’s placed you in. As discreetly as possible, you allow your right leg to step backward, movement forcing you further against Zayne as you press the curve of your ass into his hips. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a sharp inhale next to your ear.
But instead of pulling away or reprimanding you Zayne merely continues with the lesson, almost frustratingly unaffected if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel his reaction grow between your thighs.
Still, he is nothing if not a professional as he whispers against your jaw, "Behave.”
"I am," you reply, and one of Zayne’s hands comes up to guide your cue stick. “...It just hurts a little.”
You don’t have to see his face to know that Zayne is giving you a smug smile.
“That means it’s correct.”
You take a deep breath. You practice the same back-and-forth motions, thrusting the stick forward on the third, watching as your cue stick strikes the white ball, sending a solid orange one rolling.
Another click and a thud, and you successfully land a pocket.
Just when you feel like you’re finally getting the hang of it, you make the fatal mistake of looking down to where Zayne's fingers guide yours against the cue stick, and your brain turns to scramble once more. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, fleeting sensation.
And you miss.
Zayne is quiet for a long moment, tilting his head, letting the warmth of his cheek press against your neck. “Snap out of it. Are you even paying attention?”
Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Of course,” you retort, skin feeling uncomfortably hot even when Zayne finally steps back from you, your body searing the memory of his touch into every nerve. “I’ll score the next one myself.”
He hums and cocks an eyebrow as if telling you to go on, prove him wrong.
“Remember, move the cue stick to gauge the shot two or three times, then stop at the position closest to the ball.”
You do, gauging the weight of the cue stick, bending down over the table so your chest nearly brushes with the felt, narrowing in on the solid green ball.
“Stop and pull back the cue stick in three, two, one.”
On Zayne’s command, you strike, a satisfying click followed by the thump of the ball falling into the corner pocket. You scored. All on your own.
“It went in!” You jolt up, spinning as you laugh.
“So it did. Seems like your pool skills are less about precision and more… passion.” Zayne’s lips twitch into a smile, and you’re not foolish enough to ignore his double meaning. “Granted, you might need a little more than passion to come back and win this round.”
You scoff, attempting to change the subject without drawing attention to how red your face has gotten. “Well then, perhaps if you’re not too committed to this doctor thing there’s still a chance for you in the professional billiard space.”
“No, thank you. Now, think you can make another shot by yourself?”
“Wait a moment. When a student does well, shouldn’t they get a reward?”
“Very well,” Zayne relents, tone even despite the searing gaze he practically strips down your body. “What do you want?”
“There are a few balls blocking my next shot. Help me?”
A beat, and he blinks at you incredulously. “That is all?”
“What’s wrong, Dr. Zayne? Scared that if you give me too much help, I’ll steal this victory from you?”
“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”
“Then come here.”
God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pliant he is for you, obeying your command without so much as a moment of hesitation. His larger frame now towers above you, close enough that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. And you can’t help but tease him a bit more. It’s not your fault his obedience gives you a rush.
“Closer,” you whisper, teasing your fingers against his vest buttons. “Or else I can’t reach it.”
Still, Zayne complies. Although this time his brows furrow, shuffling closer so his knee slips between yours and your chest presses against his. “What exactly are you…”
You yank his tie, pushing him down atop the felt tabletop before he can finish his sentence.
There’s a dull thud, Zayne’s vest ruffled as you pin him to the table. He still looks frustratingly composed, not a hair out of place, but you feel his chest rise and fall uncharacteristically fast under your palm.
Smiling in victory, your other hand brings up your cue stick, making a show of tapping it on his broad shoulders. “Ah, look, the ball is so far away. I think I’ll need a cue rest.”
“Using cue rests would be overkill,” Zayne retorts, propping himself onto his elbows as you pout. You’ve been teasing him all night; surely just one more push, and he’ll finally give in?
Before he can escape from your hold, you lift the cue stick off his shoulder, letting the tip slip under his tie. Zayne watches with a tight frown as you tug his tie loose. “And this is inappropriate.”
“But are you not enjoying it too?” Your leg slides out from the slit in your dress, allowing you to straddle Zayne’s thigh as your arms cage him further against the pool table. “Sir?”
His brows furrow, almost surprised at your brazenness before he looks down with a huff, and you see the smirk he’s fighting to keep at bay. “I shouldn’t have taught you so much.”
Getting revenge for before, it’s your turn to grip his jaw, brushing kisses against his beautifully hooked nose and down his jaw, leaving smears of cherry red in your wake as you purposefully neglect his waiting lips. “What can I say? I have a very attentive teacher.”
Zayne is about to say something sarcastic back, no doubt, so you roll your hips forward, cutting off his words as you’re rewarded with a groan instead. The angle allows you to grind atop the rough seams in his trousers, nearly catching against his zipper and the heavy bulge you can already feel straining underneath.
His hand shoots out, gripping your thigh as you gasp. There’s a warning look in his eyes, but he makes no move to stop you.
Encouraged, you repeat the motion, rocking forward against him as you give an exaggerated moan. Zayne quickly cuts it off with his other hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip as he muffles your noises. You open your lips further, allowing the digit to slide against your lipstick and push against your tongue.
Zayne tsks, shaking his head.
You gently nip at his finger before beginning to suck the offending digit, flicking your tongue against the rough pad of his thumb. You watch his eyes narrow, the grip on your waist tightening. Zayne is holding himself back. Again.
You release his thumb with a pop. "Don't worry, sir, no one will hear." As if to prove your point, you stop grinding, instead bringing your hand up to cup at the bulge straining against his pants. “Besides, you’re too pretty like this. I'm the only one who gets to hear all the sounds you make.”
You smile so sweetly despite the way you torture him with every rough drag of your palm against his clothed cock. But it’s only when your smile breaks into something more genuine that Zayne feels himself flush, gazing up at you adoringly before he tries to play it off with a chuckle and a pinch at your hips.
"The things you say..." His expression changes to something unreadable, stone-cold and conflicted. The chances of losing you again are greater than he once thought. He doesn't deserve this, and he doesn't deserve you. Zayne is reminded of that every time he dares get too close.
But he can't help it. He’d eternally become a fool, a martyr, just for you.
Zayne’s jaw clenches, and a stuttered moan slips through his teeth as your hand squeezes his clothed cock. "Do you think I'm that weak to flattery?"
"No. I just think you deserve it sometimes." You smirk. "Plus, I'm not flattering you, I'm complimenting."
"And what's the difference?"
"The intent," you whisper, grinding your hips forward again.
This time, you catch him by surprise, and Zayne moans, the sound low and rough and so fucking addicting. Zayne grunts, head tilting back as he shuts his eyes, lips parting ever so slightly as more soft sighs and moans slip out, spurring you on.
You lean in, breath warm against his ear as you whisper, "What's wrong, sir? I thought you had a lesson to teach me."
Zayne’s grip tightens, and he yanks you down so your palms skid across the smooth felt of the pool table you’ve pinned him against, pulling your hips flush against his as his palm cups your ass.
“If you actually want to learn, there's another way I can teach you…” Zayne leans up on his forearms until his lips brush with yours, and right as his eyes begin to flutter closed, you shove him backward. Denying his kiss. Again.
“Sir, this seems to be highly unprofessional.”
And Zayne finally snaps.
“First you use your teacher as a cue rest, then you try to talk about professionalism?” He lets out a curt laugh, and you can practically feel his patience wearing thin. It’s terrifying, and your stomach flutters in anticipation.
“ Unprofessional ,” he spits, and your thighs clench at the growl undercutting his words. “Unprofessional, like that time you were screaming my name in the back of my car while we were still at the hospital parking lot? Or unprofessional, like that time you interrupted me during work hours, begging me to eat your cunt out in my office? Or perhaps it’s like when you decided to turn this lesson into an opportunity to tease me since you’re clearly so desperate?”
You can practically feel yourself drip at Zayne’s blunt words, each one harsh and true— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in to kiss you instead of pushing him away months ago.
Using this moment of weakness, Zayne lifts you up, flipping the two of you around so you’re the one pinned against the pool table as he reaches for his abandoned cue stick. And he finally- finally - claims your lips with his.
Zayne always kisses like he operates, slow and methodical, as if he could spend hours learning every inch of your body, and it never fails to leave you breathless. But today, the urgency in the way he licks into your mouth is palpable, and it has you whining and clutching his suit, legs wrapping around his waist as you try to bring him closer, the oak rim of the table forcing your back into a deeper arch as you whine.
A firm hand against your hip stops your movement, pinning you down. You feel so small, caged in between his much longer legs, his superior height much too obvious. The difference in size is almost laughable as he bends down to lick deeper into your mouth. You gasp against Zayne’s lips as his other hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles against the column of your throat and your fluttering heartbeat underneath.
You whimper into his mouth, futilely attempting to push him away even though your hips grind insistently against his thigh. “Zayne,” his name tapers off into a moan as he kisses you again, addicted. “We can’t–” another kiss. “Anyone could walk in.” Another.
When he does give you space to breathe, a thin string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. He pants heavily, lips shaded a hue of cherry red from your lipstick and teeth as the corner of his mouth tugs into a frown. “Hm, I suppose that’s true. But that didn’t stop you before, did it? So I see no reason why it should stop me now.”
And you realize your fate has long since been sealed.
Zayne returns to peppering your neck with kisses, teeth nipping the soft skin at your collarbone, and you yelp as he leaves a particularly harsh bite. Your hands come up to fist into his hair, and Zayne groans against your chest.
"Do not think I have forgotten our lesson," He whispers.
"Who, me?" You bat your eyelashes. "I would never. Sir."
His gaze darkens. "Then watch closely, I’m only doing this once.”
Leaning over you, Zayne positions the cue stick against your shoulder, not unlike you did to him before. But unlike you, he forces your hips up against his thigh, watching your eyes roll back from the delicious friction of his expensive trousers. “There are two striped balls left. As punishment for your attitude during my lesson, I want you to come on my thigh before I pocket both of them.”
Dumbstruck, you can only stare up at him, stammering at his demand as you feel your pussy flutter. “I- I don’t think…”
Zayne scoffs, silencing you by roughly thumbing at your lips again. “Don’t act so shocked. You’ve been humping me like a desperate brat all evening, so go on and come like one. Come for me.”
His words are demeaning, each one cold and seemingly emotionless as he stares down at you. But you can see the truth in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, their gentle green filled with an adoration so tender it terrifies you. You feel the truth in his touch, only moving with your consent, already having memorized your body to learn the way you tick and acting upon your every whim, only pushing you just as far as you wish to be.
Zayne has never told you he loves you, but he has shown you that he does in a thousand countless ways.
And he’ll prove it to you in a thousand more.
”Unless, you want more punishment?” Zayne twists his head towards you with his next statement, and he feels the way it makes you flinch— it makes him throb at the same time. You shake your head.
You can barely form sentences when he’s deliberately tensing the muscles in his thigh, each movement in time with every needy twitch of your hips like it’s a means to emphasize his point.
“Use. Your. Words.”
“No.”
His grip tightens, fingers tensing against your neck, and you stammer back out the correction. “No, sir.”
“Good girl.”
Your heart flutters at the praise, a quiet whimper escaping you as you buck against him. Your lips are pouty from being bitten between your teeth, and you still hear muffled sobs and moans slip past your lips as you begin chasing the friction against his thigh, the upward angle punishing your clit.
Despite how much Zayne likes to front that he’s in complete control, something tells you he’s having a harder time holding back than he’ll ever admit. You think maybe the bulge in his slacks and his low moans against your ear is proof enough of that.
Zayne’s not sure which is more distracting, the sight of your pretty pussy grinding against him, only just covered by the thin silk of your dress, or the sounds falling from your mouth. The room is filled with the wet sounds of your cunt, your whimpers, and Zayne's own groans.
Pressing his forehead against yours, Zayne leans in for another kiss, the tips of your noses barely touching. But the proximity makes you slow, and he clicks his tongue, reaching above you to line up his cue stick for the next shot. But he pauses, instead fully tugging off the tie you had loosed.
"Since you were so insistent on taking my tie off earlier, here. Keep it for me." Zayne grabs both your wrists with one hand, looping his tie tightly against your skin, skillfully making a knot without ever releasing your wrists.
“Maybe this will help you behave properly,” Zayne whispers, voice low as he mouths your pulse point, a fresh surge of arousal rushing to your core as you feel his length pressing further into you.
With a broken whimper, you hook an ankle around Zayne’s back as you begin to grind harder against his thigh, moaning at the new angle. It hardly compared to the feeling of his fingers or cock fucking into you, but you barely cared, arousal and lust spurred on by Zayne’s voice.
You soon fall into a rhythm, painfully slow, the mere friction sending jolts of heat through you until you’re certain Zayne’s trousers must be stained. You nearly beg for something to hold onto, hands writhing helplessly against his tie as your sobs are muffled into your red-bitten lips.
But just as soon as the pleasure builds, you feel it plateau, hips beginning to stutter as the dull friction becomes too little, the coiling heat inside you desperate to be properly filled up by something, anything.
Zayne, on the other hand, is faring no better.
He’s thoroughly distracted with the pretty little thing desperately fucking herself against his thigh, caging you down to the table as his hands clench against the cue stick, nearly enough to make it snap.
You continue to push yourself in desperation to fulfill Zayne’s order for you to come, his continuous praises mingling with the lewd squelch of your cunt, and your eyes roll back with a cry. Zayne’s voice is intoxicating, his steady tone rough with lust sending tremors down your spine, infecting you like an aphrodisiac. You were building further and further, mounting pressure in your core dizzying, desperation for release seeping through you, mind lust-drunk as you willed yourself to fall off the peak.
But the familiar sound of the billiard balls clicks somewhere above you, followed by two distinct thuds.
A hum, and Zayne pries himself away as you whine at the loss, cold air rushing in.
You failed.
“How disappointing.” Zayne scolds as if he wasn’t the one who nearly came from your grinding instead. ”But you know what happens to students who fail to follow clear instructions, don’t you?”
Standing back, Zayne discards the cue stick entirely as one hand readjusts his trousers, and you whimper at the sight of him cupping his bulge, stroking and coaxing it against his thigh just so he can stand straight.
“Turn around and lift your dress.”
You obey, propping yourself up on shaking arms before you flip around so the rough edge of the billiard table now presses against your stomach, the felt hot beneath your bound wrists.
Zayne hums in approval, almost apathetically observing the way you squirm before he nods at you to continue. Lowering your eyes from his, you allow your leg to slip out from the slit in your dress, spreading your legs back and to the side as the silk falls off the curve of your ass, Zayne’s piercing gaze following every movement.
“Didn’t think a game of pool would turn you on this much,” he muses, leaning against the rim of the table as he crosses his arms.
Unable to meet his stare any longer, your head falls between your still tied-up hands, every inch of your body burning in shame and lust as Zayne continues to wordlessly observe you. You swear you’ll burn up with the way he fucks you with his eyes.
Still, Zayne doesn’t move.
You nearly scream against the table, eyes scrunched as you snap. “Fuck! Zayne, I swear to god, if you don’t finally fuck me I’ll do it myself or find someone else who will.”
The words barely leave your mouth when a hand fists into your hair, pulling you backward until you arch back, and you gasp, mouth falling open at the sensation. Zayne's breath is cold against the shell of your ear, the growl undercutting his words sending tremors down your spine.
"Needy little brat," his fingers curl into your hair, pulling until your jaw goes slack. Zayne's other hand finds its way back to your underwear, the material so damp that it almost feels sticky beneath his touch, and you moan at the sensation, unable to formulate a retort as your eyes flutter closed. “I think you’re forgetting this is meant to be your punishment.”
He snaps the band of your panties, and you choke, knees wobbling.
"Remember to count, or we start over.”
Placing the flat of his palm in the space between your shoulder blades, Zayne pushes you down against the billiard table, the side of your face pressed against the felt.
You hear the sharp crack of his hand meeting your ass before you feel it, the burn returning with a vengeance as you scream into the table. The sting of his palm leaves a searing heat across the curve of your ass, and you bite down on the tie binding your hands to muffle the cries that escape you.
Then you remember his order, lips quivering as you say, "One."
Another smack. This time harder. The strike is so precise it nearly sends you toppling over, the sting and ache following pushing you further against the wood. You let out a sob, eyes beginning to water as you clench around nothing, the throbbing of your cunt only worsened by Zayne's firm grip on the base of your neck.
"Two."
The third strike comes down even harder than the last, the resounding echo of his slap followed by a strangled scream from you, the heat and pain making your knees give out, forcing you to rest fully atop the pool table. “Three.”
You feel tears running down your face, undoubtedly ruining your makeup. But before you can process the fourth smack, you feel the familiar sting against your ass and the paradoxically gentle rub of Zayne's hand against the aching spot, soothing the pain as you count.
"F-Four." You shutter as you feel sheer cold bloom against your skin, his Evol numbing your ass as you whimper from the pleasure-pain.
Zayne’s thumb dips past the seam of your panties, gathering the slick that has been dripping out of you for the entire night. You feel the heat of his stare on you and the weight of his hand heavy on the small of your back, his other hand still gripping your neck with his thumb tracing soft circles against your pulse.
"So wet. Is this what you were hoping for, hm? Testing me until I finally snapped and ruined you?”
You don't dare look him in the eye. "Please, sir. I can't—"
"Can't what? Take anymore? Can't take any more punishment like the disobedient brat you are?" Zayne's voice is low, and you shiver at his words, unable to respond as the tears continue to flow, the mixture of pain and arousal leaving your vision blurred and cloudy. He spanks you again, this time hard enough to leave a mark, and you keen, legs spreading even wider in desperation.
"I can't— ah shit — please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, just fuck me already.” you plead, voice trembling as you beg, desperate to be filled by anything other than the emptiness.
“Language.” Zayne reprimands, and the sting of his strike follows shortly after. “And you forgot to count.”
“Five! It’s f-five.” Your knees buckle with a sob, and Zayne has to hold your waist so you don't slide onto the floor, his touch paradoxically gentle compared to everything else he’s done.
“Shh, you’re far too noisy. It’s almost as though you want someone walking in to find us like this.”
Your dress is only noticeably bunched up from the back and Zayne is still fully clothed. Anyone walking by the billiard hall would just see a couple talking by the tables, but if they were to enter the room it would hardly take a brain surgeon to figure out what was happening. The realization has your walls clench around nothing.
Zayne hoists your wrists up, forcing you into a deeper arch before untying your restraints. You then watch him fist the purple silk into a ball before pushing it into your mouth, gagging you with it. “Don’t worry, this will help.”
It doesn't.
You moan against his tie, saliva pooling against the silky fabric as Zayne pushes the soaked garment deeper into your throat, his chest pressed against your bare back. You look up at him through watery eyes, sniffling, the tingling sensation of being punished in such a way overwhelming you completely. Zayne uses this opportunity to soothe you like he always does— never failing to find the perfect balance between rough and gentle.
"It's alright, I know, my little darling can’t make up her mind. I’ll help you, I’ll show you what you want." Zayne soothes, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his gaze gentle despite his steady and strict voice. Then, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “If anything hurts or becomes too much, tap the table twice."
You wouldn’t dare, not after finally getting what you wanted.
Zayne slips his hands under the backs of your thighs, easily lifting your weight against his chest as you whimper, the toes of your heels just barely grazing the tiled floor. The position is beyond embarrassing, ass up, face down, completely exposed and at his mercy.
He withdraws one hand, and you cry out, a garbled mess of pleas. The absence of his touch is torturous, the throbbing of your pussy and the soreness of your ass a painful reminder of the punishment you received.
The tent in his pants was tantalizingly obvious, even more pronounced once he pushed his pants down, taking out his length. He spits on his fingers, the slick sounds of him stroking himself making you whine in anticipation. It was oozing with precum, head red and flushed as he jerks himself off with sharp movements between your thighs. You grind your hips back, trying to tempt him, but all Zayne does is coo at your pitiful attempts.
"Look at you, so desperate. All that childish stubbornness just because you want my cock." He lines himself up, the head of his cock catching against your entrance as you shiver. The stretch burns, and you groan, eyes screwing shut at the feeling. "My beautiful, filthy girl."
Zayne whispers, curling an arm between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to finally alleviate the needy throbbing against your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues to fuck into you, torturously slow, allowing the blunt head of his cock to bully its way deeper and deeper still.
The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch of Zayne's cock combined with the sting of his earlier punishment leaves you a mess, fluttering around him as he finally bottoms out.
He lets out a long moan, a low rumble that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You're so full, the head of his cock pressing insistently against the bundle of nerves inside you.
Some distant part of you is mortified of every lewd squelch and moan that echos over the jazz in the public hall, but feeling Zayne gently cup your ass while the other brutally pins you down, hearing him come apart against the back of your neck, knowing that your stoic lover was pushed to such extremes has you keening.
You want to feel every inch of him, so you clench down, and Zayne bites the back of your neck in retaliation, his hips stuttering.
"You’re perfect." Zayne praises, and his breathless voice sends shivers down your spine. "So good for me, taking me so well."
Zayne finally starts moving, letting the tip of his cock pull back until the head catches on the rim of your cunt, trying desperately to keep him inside, until he thrusts back into you in a single harsh motion, watching you fall apart just as he knew you would.
Your scream muffles into the gag, and Zayne reaches down to push the tie deeper into your mouth, the knot catching on the back of your tongue as he sets a steady pace.
The hand against your lower stomach shifts, still pressing hard enough so Zayne can feel his cock throb through you, and yet now positioned perfectly to thumb against your clit too. He needs to make you come, to feel it around him.
Zayne knows your body better than his own, knows exactly what angle he needs to hit, knows exactly where to touch to send your hips jerking back, and knows exactly where to tease to have you clenching down and sobbing into his tie.
It doesn't take long until you're coming, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves until you're screaming, thighs shaking, and he has to hold them open as you fall apart around him, cunt gushing as you squirt over his suit and trousers.
Your orgasm has your walls fluttering, clenching around his cock as it nearly begs for him to be buried deeper inside, and Zayne grunts, a broken moan ripped from his throat as his grip on your thigh tightens.
The pace of his thrusts grows sloppier, and you can tell he's close, the wet squelch of his cock inside your cunt driving you mad as his rhythm becomes inconsistent. You can feel his breath fan against your neck, labored and shaky, with the way he chases his high.
Your cunt aches with how full you feel, overstimulated and sensitive, but you push your hips back anyway, meeting Zayne halfway as you both chase the release that's been building up all night.
With one final thrust, Zayne finally comes inside you, a choked gasp followed by a low moan as his hips stutter, almost fucking his cum back into you as a sloppy mixture of your release drip down his cock and your thighs.
Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your second orgasm takes you by surprise, your body convulsing at the overstimulation and the warm soothing sensation of being filled to the brim.
"Fuck." Zayne whispers, his hands holding your hips as his thumbs trace circles against the dimples at the small of your back. The chill and comfort of his hands is almost enough to distract you from the ache, and you groan, legs finally giving out beneath you as you fall forward onto the pool table, the hard surface unforgiving as the wood rubs against your bruised knees.
Ever so gently, Zayne removes his tie from your mouth, turning you around so you’re pressed tight against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and the way his hands tremble, and you smile, the familiar tenderness of his touch calming the both of you.
He slowly runs a hand down the curve of your back and you hum against the top of his head, your own hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. “I think I love you, Zayne.”
He doesn’t say a word, instead, you feel his other arm wrap around your waist, tucking you further into his embrace.
The two of you remain like this, tangled in each other until your breathing finally evens out and the fever that inflected you begins to cool. When Zayne finally speaks, his voice is muffled against your skin, and you shiver at the mere brush of his lips. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Hmm, not any more than I’d want to be.”
You mean it as a joke, but Zayne immediately stiffens in your hold, pulling back just enough to inspect your neck, then your wrists and hips as he kisses each bruise and remaining mark with hushed apologies.
"Did you mean it?"
You look down at him, his brows furrowed as you thumb at the stubborn crease that appears between them. You’re not sure why, but something in the way he stares up at you, waiting, longing, makes tears prick in the back of your eyes.
"Zayne," your voice is gentle, and you cup his cheek. "I do. I love you."
The tension in his jaw melts, his expression softening into something unnameable. His hand comes up to cup yours, scarred thumb tracing circles against your palm. " Say it again."
"I love you," you repeat, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "I love you. I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Zayne–"
The last syllable of his name is cut off by his lips against yours, and you smile into the kiss, pulling him up until his forehead finally rests on your again.
"As do I," Zayne whispers, voice thick as he holds you close.
mind fucking, but done literally. thin tendrils that go through your ears and directly give your brain electrical stimulus, rendering you however the tentacles want…
shh, just relax. it’ll only be a little prick in your right ear, and it goes away so quickly…
see, doesn’t that feel better? pretty soon you won’t have to think at all anymore! you’ll just be a brainless toy to use! and the best part is you won’t even consider disobeying, since you’re literally incapable of thinking about it!
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