Hello! You can call me Whimsy~! I'm a sick bitch that writes disturbing and fucked up fantasies. Sometimes when writing isn't enough, I will draw art inspired by it for my and my followers' visual pleasure (my art is mostly canon x oc centered!). I possess the most vile and unhealthy kinks so beware! If you don't like dark content and it makes you uncomfortable, leave and find something else to immerse yourself in.
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human!reader taking nude and explicit photographs of herself to give to the colonel 😩
Sweet like cherry – Chapter 1
Miles Quaritch x female human reader
Words: 3.1k
Summary: Miles has a secret admirer and apparently, she has a thing for photography.
Warnings: explicit smut, (mutual) masturbation (lots of it), voyeurism, degradation kink, body worship, misogyny / bullying if you squint, obsession, corruption kink, size & age difference
Notes: apologies for the header photo, i promise there aren’t any physical descriptions of the reader in my fics (such as skin color, hair, etc).
Cherry. A symbol of both, purity and innocence.
Technology had never been Quaritch’s forte. It wasn't even his strongest branch of knowledge; a strange piece of information that always came as a surprise to anyone who knew him, even to himself. He was usually too proud to admit this flaw of his to others. But he excelled in other things instead. Leading, for example. Leading troupes, soldiers, recoms. Keeping them safe.
On a typical day, the head of security ensures that security measures are properly implemented, educates and trains soldiers and develops security processes to reduce risk and limit liability for the RDA. Oh, and guns. Yeah, guns he knew how to handle.
And this was something that he took great pride in.
Miles knew that some people use technology to create all kinds of art, as useless as that may seem to him. They draw, they create, they write, whatever, you name it. Sometimes, people use technology to document things. They videotape or photograph stuff. All that unnecessary shit that he pushes into Wainfleets area of responsibility, because hell, he couldn’t even open a stupid document on one of those data pads everyone seemed to carry around these days.
Which is why this tiny, square piece of paper, right there on the floor of his living quarters, spiked his interest so much.
A polaroid.
Quaritch knew polaroids. He knew how to use a polaroid camera too, surprisingly. Learned it back on earth when he was young, when technology was as simple as pressing a button which resolved an instant result. A photo, in that case. They often came out looking a little blurry or foggy, he admits that was probably due to the outdated technology. Nothing compared to the quality that cameras could capture today. But that’s what gave them their charm, right?
He doesn’t remember them being this small, though, but that’s probably because the last time he held one of these was when he was a kid. And when he wasn’t a little over nine feet tall and blue.
Faintly, Quaritch wonders how it even ended up here. He wasn’t really the type to carry memories with him, photographs of all things. And a polaroid? Who even brings a polaroid camera all the way from earth to pandora? As far as he could remember his first time coming to this hell hole, the list of belongings he was allowed to carry with him was fairly short, limited to the necessities only.
Instead of breaking his head over an answer to where it may came from, the Colonel chose to continue observing this strange… let’s call it gift, his eyes narrowing and squinting throughout his thorough investigation.
But when he finally turns the polaroid, his eyes widen in surprise.
There‘s nothing blurry or messy or foggy about the picture, even under the dim light of the lamp that lit his dark bedroom. It was crystal clear.
Your tattoo is the first thing Miles sees of you. Thin, red lines adorn the flawless skin right on your hip, resulting in a cherry as a whole. Cherries. Miles loved them. Small, soft round, almost heart shaped and of bright red color. And so, so sweet.
He’s never been a big fan of lingerie, truth be told, but the way those panties matched the color of your tattoo, Quaritch couldn’t deny that this was one hell of a sight. You wore a set of thigh-high stockings, same color of course, to make the match perfect.
Too bad the photo’s frame cuts off right where your head would be, so he could only wonder if whoever the woman on this picture was, she was wearing the same color of lipstick too.
A nice little gift, he thought, not thinking much of it as he laid the polaroid into his nightstand drawer.
It doesn’t take more than a couple of days for him to find a new set of polaroids, slipped under the crack of his door while he was on a mission. With a huff, Miles set his gear down to pick them up from the floor. He might not have realized back then, but he was actually pleased to find not just one, but three polaroids this time.
Surprisingly, there was something written on them this time. A fine line of red ink, reminds him of your tattoo. Handwritten in cursive, with a small heart at the end of the sentence, like a love letter directed to him, stood, "to Colonel Miles Quaritch."
As if someone was trying to make it clear that those were meant for him. That the last time wasn’t just an accident or made by a perverted voyeur that gets off from sliding naughty little photos of herself under random peoples doors. No, they were made entirely for him.
If the first one he received was already a sight to see, the ones he was holding in his hands right now were straight up mouth watering.
Quaritch couldn’t help it.
He was still a man after all and it’s been one hell of a long time since he had last touched a woman. A life time, you could say. So even though his own bodies reaction to stirring alive at the sight of your photos took him by surprise, it wasn’t actually that surprising after all. Because how could he not grow hard at the sight of that faceless woman with the cherry tattoo, sprawled out on her bed, messy satin sheets underneath her picture perfect body, legs spread wide and angled so he could get a good view of her glistening folds.
The first polaroid he had received was nothing more than a little tease, meant to get him intrigued, maybe even rile him up and make him want to longe for more. But these, these photos were straight up pornographic.
The second one is enough to make Miles sit down on his bed and rearrange his pants, as they had suddenly grown suffocatingly tight around his crotch. In that one, you were bend over what looked like the edge of your bed, spine arched just the way he liked and with your thighs spread to make room for your hand that had two delicate fingers buried to the knuckle inside of you.
"Fuck…", Miles chuckled lowly. What a pretty pussy, he thought, as he started to palm his cock through his cargos.
He held the polaroid just a little closer to his face to catch all the details. How your walls seemed to clamp down on your fingers, spread wide to swallow them whole. God, what he would give to hold your legs open and watch your tight pussy struggle to take him down to the base.
He groaned at the thought, as his hands found the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down enough to free his hard cock. Throbbing painfully in his palm, he begins to move his hand up and down, stroking lazily as his eyes scanned over the polaroid like he was studying a fine piece of art.
Miles imagined how your voice would sound like. How cries would tumble from your lips, his name like a mantra as he fucked you until your entire body would tremble, unable to bear how good he was making you feel. The loose fist he’d made around his cock grew tighter, as his steady pace became a touch less steady, his body growing desperate for more friction than his lazy drag had allowed.
Miles stroked over his shaft, squeezing the blue tip of his cock just right, forcing the very first droplets of pre-cum to form and spill over his knuckles.
His eyes traveled over to the next photo, the same lithe body, biting his lower lip as his gaze settled on the way you were squeezing your soft breasts together for the shot, fingers teasing your perky nipples. A sight that would only be better if there was a cock, his cock, in between them.
While the pre-cum that leaked from his tip did serve to smooth the dry tug, it wasn’t enough to keep up with his pace, so he spat into his hand, the glide easier now, and the filthy sounds made his head spin. He could almost feel your pussy clamping down, tight and hot, around him. If he closed his eyes, it was like you were really here.
But Quaritch rather kept them open, half lidded at least, just to keep staring at those filthy little pictures, like a pathetic sailor looking at pinup posters taped on his bunk bed.
Soon, he was actually fucking into his hand, faster now, as he imagined exactly how you would take him. Perhaps you’d look best, sitting prettily on his lap. Riding him, rolling your soft hips while he gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, lifting you up only to slam you down on his cock. Wrenching cries from those spit-glossed lips, skin shiny with sweat and a lustful gaze through thick lashes.
Spurting his thick, warm cum into his fist definitely didn’t feel as good as pumping you full with it would, he determined that day.
Cherry, Miles named the mysterious woman of his late fantasies. Because no matter the pose, you always managed to leave your face out of your photos. Instead, you sneaked your fruity little tattoo on every single one of your shots. Like a trademark, as if he could somehow recognize you like this.
Ever since then, the days Miles received cherry's little gifts had piled up quite a bit. So much so, that the Colonel couldn’t even deny anymore, that he even grew a tad excited about coming back home from his missions just to find a new set of naughty little polaroids on the floor right behind the door.
And even when he wasn’t specifically looking at your photos, he sometimes caught himself thinking about you. With so much shit going on in his life, it was nice to have a little something to let his mind drift off to.
His sweet little cherry, for example.
Miles washes himself mechanically. Shampoo, rinse. Conditioner, soap, lathered across his blue skin. Sliding over his board chest, balancing on the cliffs of his hips, dripping down to where his cock hangs hot and heavy, tingling under the pelting water as if they were an angel's kisses. Pecking, spreading on his skin. Drowning him in drowsy heat as he slips rough fingers through his short hair.
He washes away all the grime, sweat and dirt that had clung to his body after spending most of his day in the sultry heat of pandoras jungle. Looking down at his palms, as he rinses them under the spray of hot water, he thinks about your latest polaroid, from two days ago. It was a shot of you, standing in the shower, too.
The camera was set somewhere behind you. Both of your hands against the tiled walls, you stood entirely on your tip toes, back arched and chest pushed against the wall to give him a good view of your backside. You really had a delicious looking, peachy butt. Especially delicious, if said butt was covered in soap.
Placing a hand against the wall to steady himself, Miles other hand traveled down over his toned stomach, until he reached his cock, that was now standing proud and tall, his tip an angry color of purple, as pre-cum already oozed from its slit.
There used to be times when it was a lot harder to rile him up like that, he thought with a scoff. You made him feel like he was a teenager once again. Back in his old room, on his parents farm, where he had just discovered his old man's playboy magazine. When his body was pumped full and overflowing of hormones and testosterone that desperately searched for a way out. Or when he was in college, bending over every pretty girl that willingly got into his old mustang and spread her legs for him in the backseat.
Miles thought he’d grown up since then. That he had better impulse control now. Had his fair share of women so that things like seeing one naked wouldn’t immediately get him this hard. Hell, he was a completely different man now, he has responsibilities, a team to lead, a whole damn planet to colonize.
But as he furiously pumped his cock, lubed with pre-cum and body wash, he thought that maybe he was just acting like some horny teenager because it’s been an awful while since he had last buried his cock into a wet little hole. Or maybe it’s something about those damn Na‘vi and their fucked up dna that was used to clone him. Maybe they’re so hormone driven and that’s why he has those borderline animalistic urges to fuck that faceless woman into the mattress of his bed, any bed.
Or maybe it’s just because of you. Because cherry looks just so perfectly edible, so bite sized and delicious. A pretty little thing made for him. Needy enough to send him those downright pornographic polaroids, because you were thinking about him, thinking about him stuffing his cock so deep into your pussy that you could taste him on your tongue.
Miles exhaled a shaky breath, hips stuttering to fuck into his fist at a faster pace as he continued to recreate the last photo he had seen of you in front of his minds eye.
The second polaroid of your previous set showed you in a squatting position, legs spread wide, while the water of the shower was running down over your curves, over your tattoo and pubic bone to dribble onto the white-tiled bathroom floor. Quaritch swallowed thickly, tongue lapping over his pointy canine as he imagined to dive head first between your thighs to get a good taste of you. Fuck, he bets you would taste so damn delicious, truly living up to your little nickname.
In this shot, your own hand was wrapped around your throat, almost as if you were taunting him.
I wish that was your hand instead.
"Jesus, cherry", Miles groaned in a hushed whisper, "Bet you’d love my hand around your throat. Filthy little slut."
His eyes squeezed shut even tighter as he imagined you in this exact position, squatting in front of him in the shower, your hands on his thighs as he fucked your throat, until your voice was raw and hoarse.
Unfortunately, in this moment there was no one to swallow his thick load of cum, but the tiled wall of his shower and the drain after the water had washed it down.
In his youth, and even sometimes in his years as an adult, the morning after was often filled with an emotion that his current self didn’t even possess anymore. Shame, sometimes even guilt. He took what he desired, made a pretty girl see stars and then ditched before the first ray of sun could even shine through the ugly smog that was once a white cloud in the sky –before the humans fucked up.
But ever since his sweet Cherry had bought him her little gifts and once in a while gave Quaritch a way to release all of his pent of frustration, he was in a surprisingly good mood. Not that good, of course, because Quaritch wouldn’t be Quaritch if he was running around like a brainless bimbo full of sunshine and butterflies. But good enough that he didn’t immediately growled something along the lines of "watch where the fuck you’re going" or something like that, when a small body bumped into him in the hallway.
Yesterday nights shower activities left him in a good enough mood, that all he did was scrunch his nose and scoff at the pathetic sight in front of him.
White lab coat, black pencil skirt, blouse and clipboard in a tight death grip, clasped over her chest like she thought he would snatch it from her, stood one of those scientists that were running around all over bridgehead like little ants.
Looking all the way down at you, Miles realized that you must’ve dropped a few of your books and other paperwork when you accidentally ran into him, as they were scattered across the floor all around you.
There was a long moment of painful silence, as you stared up at him with wide eyes.
Eyes, that were filled with something that looked like panic to him, like a deer caught in headlights and you blushed, blushed so much that your whole face turned red. Oh god, Quaritch thinks to himself, she’s one of those kind of lab coats. Those nerds that never see the sunlight because they’re always cramped into their little labs, studying whatever fucking plants and stuff they could get their hands on, like it’s their only purpose in life. One of those nerds that he made fun of when he was still in college, virgins he’d call them, because that’s what they were. So smart, yet too stupid to socialize and actually get their hands on another human.
You, too, looked like a virgin to him. Albeit a little too pretty to be compared to the other scientist freaks he had crossed ways with so far. Less like a sun starved vampire, with dark circles under their eyes and greasy hair that made him wonder if they even had showers down at the labs. No, you looked more like those kind of girls you’d see in those weird roleplay porn movies, dressed down to make them look nerdier, as if they were someone completely different outside of work, wearing those fake glasses that weren’t actually needed for anything other than the sheer purpose of covering them in cu—
"Oh god, I’m s-so sorry, Sir!" You finally snatched out of your trance when he crooked a brow at you, hastily hurrying to fall to your knees and collect the papers that were littered across the floor like confetti.
With an amused huff, Miles was about to turn on his heels and continue his way to meet General Ardmore at the corporate hq, when his gaze flicks to a tiny, square piece of paper on the floor. The sheer horror on your face, when he crouched down to pick it up, was actually quiet an amusing sight to him.
"Well, well. Look what we have here." Quaritch chuckles as he flips the paper over, that in fact turned out to be a polaroid, just as he assumed. It reveals the picture perfect shot of a body, with a small tattoo he’s grown very familiar with.
PLEASE MAKE A PART 2 TO YOUR NAVI OC. THAT SHIT WAS SCRUMPTIOUS, your like one of 3 authors who makes their own oc and not canon characters. That makes it better because I dont have to suspended disbelief when canon characters do things that are ooc. When instead its just part of the ocs character. I have been fiending for a part 2.
I can't give you an unfinished story buuuut I can give you a little taste of his POV~🥰😉
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; A bit of Dex's sadism shows through despite his best efforts.
⋆ tags/warnings. benjamin poindexter x female reader. SMUT!!!! PURE PORN. im so tired of the "bullseye is innocent" crowd, that man is a SADIST, so warnings for sadism, lowkey sheltered dex, slightly rough dex, insecure dex, obsessive dex, you're his north star, he's having sex with the love of his life and lowkey doesnt know what to do, some HEINOUS things, dex is probably a virgin but knows how to use his talents during sex LMAO, swearing. i love this man, but he's such a hard character to write for. I hope i did him some justice.
♫ “What is mine, What is all mine. / Ain't a man in this world who can pull me down from my dark star. / Hold you just a little while, i'm gonna give her all my life.” Dark Star by POLICA
"Don't. Move."
The low, husky baritone of his voice commands just above a whisper. There's a tense expression on his face, one of his hands brought up to hold you still. Despite the bark in his words, the hold he has on you is weak. Like a fumbling boy trying not to damage a prized vase. A prized vase he just wants to throw against a wall and break.
Two of his fingers come up to spread the lips of your pussy with a swallow. His jaw is clenched so tight it might crack. His focus is unwavering, unable to be split on anything else other than that little sensitive bud of nerves of yours.
Intrusive thoughts rear their way through his head.
Touch her. Lick her. Fuck her. Shove your fingers down her throat. Take out your cock. Line it up like a shot. Just up until the head pops past that tight little ring of hers, and she spasms like you pulled the trigger.
His thumb brushes over your swollen clit- once, feather-light- and your hips twitch involuntarily.
There it is. No guesswork. Always so easy to find. You could pinch it until she screams. You could rub it until she blacks out. You could slap it raw. You could suck it between your teeth and finger-fuck her until she twitches. He thinks and thinks and thinks.
He doesn't register your pleas at first, trying to focus. Push these thoughts out of his head. But when he does, Dex’s eyes snap up to yours, dark and fixated.
“I said. Don’t. Move.” The words come out rough, but the warning is soft, almost gentle. It's that strict familiar edge underneath that makes your stomach flip. “You’re dripping down my fingers. And I’ve barely touched you. Look at this...mess.”
He says it like he's annoyed- but he's not. Not in a million years. But he takes the opportunity to degrade you, knowing it's one of the few times he'll allow himself to. God, if only he didn't feel guilty. He wars with himself most nights.
You are his North Star. He would kill any man, any woman, any child that looked at you wrong. He protects you. And you protect him from all these...impure thoughts.
So why is it, the more time he spends with you, all he wants to do is use that perfect aim of his to fuck you out so filthy he feels sick after?
The thought sits there, ugly and heavy. Dex hates it. He hates how hard his cock is, how his fingers are already soaked past the knuckle, how his mouth is watering at the thought of destroying the only person he’s sworn to keep safe.
His thumb stays glued to your clit, pressing with that terrifying accuracy. No wasted movement. He starts rubbing tight, mean, perfect circles that make your legs jerk.
“Stop twitching,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “I told you not to move. You can’t even do that right?”
Fuck. It gets him hot, talking to you like that.
His fingers curl hard inside you, stroking that same devastating angle with machine-like precision. The wet, obscene squelching fills the room.
"Look how easy you open up for me." He scoffs, but his lips twitch into a crooked smile. His voice drops even lower. “I could aim my cock right here-” he presses viciously against your g-spot, and out comes a groan from him.
He begins to abuse the spot uncontrollably, not even looking at his fingers ramming into that perfect place. No, his eyes are all on you, his breathing heavy and his teeth gritting, fighting for some semblance of composure. To make you proud.
But you're squeezing him so tight. And you're arching into his touch. And he's fucking his North Star. The thought makes his eyebrows pull together and a ragged breath fall from his lips.
“You want me to lose it? Huh?”
His thumb rubs your clit faster, merciless and accurate. Deep down, somewhere inside him, he knows you can't answer. He knows you can't do anything to resist even if you wanted too. And he likes that.
“Answer me.”
He pushes. Harder. Rougher. He hopes you know how sorry he is for this. But he knows that it would be all a lie. How can he feel sorry, when you're trapped up against him like this?
“Thought so.”
He yanks his fingers out, flips you onto your back with rough hands, and shoves your thighs wide apart. His cock is flushed dark and leaking as he lines himself up. No more waiting. He pushes in with one rough, thick thrust, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps as he stretches you open.
“Don't… don’t move,” he hisses through gritted teeth, repeating, voice strained and mean. “Just take it. Take it.”
Every time you cry out, he has to close his eyes, still buried deep inside you. His intrusive thoughts tell him if he gets one more look at you, he might just give in and fuck you like the animal he really is.
synopsis- due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
starring- benjamin poindexter and psychiatrist!reader
rated- x (18+) for explicit sexual content, graphic nudity, and strong language
run time- 2.8k
“When’s the last time you got laid?”
Instantly your hand stilled, and your inked thoughts came to an incomplete halt on the page of your notebook. Lifting your head, you locked eyes with your patient, who was already watching you with a hint of mirth in his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“You seem tense, Doc. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much to relax-”
“This session is for you, Mr. Poindexter, not the other way around.”
Benjamin let out a quiet chuckle while leaning back in his chair, the chains connected to the cuffs around his wrists rattling.
“Sweetheart, I’ve told you my favorite ways to kill people. I think we’re way past formalities.”
He’d gone through several psychiatrists already. It was mandatory for his sentence, but he’d refused to participate. He was already in prison, and he had no delusion they would ever let him out. What could they really do if he just sat there and ignored everyone they assigned to him?
The entire time he’d been here at Riker’s Island, that’s exactly what he’d done. Every time someone new was brought in, Benjamin would sit there silently, sometimes barely blinking, and just stare them down. He never said a word. Until you.
You were lucky number thirteen.
You’d been made aware of Benjamin’s refusal to participate in therapy prior to being assigned to him. You had expected to have the same experience as your colleagues. But for some reason, he was different with you. He did talk to you. Sort of. He could be incredibly evasive, and sometimes he made comments just to see if they’d provoke a reaction, but he would participate just enough to keep seeing you and you hadn’t been able to figure out why. It was as puzzling to you as it was to everyone else.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you gripped your pen and continued to write.
“I’d appreciate if you focused-”
“Little hard to do when you look like that, Doc.”
His blue eyes wandered appreciatively over the half of your body he could see sitting across from you, and a wicked smirk stretched across his mouth when he met your gaze again. His remark caught your attention. You weren’t wearing anything out of the norm. It was a dress you’d worn in a session with him before. He’d never made a comment on it before, or on your appearance, until now.
All of a sudden, a lightning strike of clarity cracked through the clouds of mystery that surrounded him, illuminating an epiphany that made you feel stupid for not considering it before. Pausing your notetaking once again, you lifted your head to look at him, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
“Are you only participating in these sessions because you desire me sexually?"
Benjamin pursed his lips faintly with a casual shrug, that smug smirk of his never fading.
“If you’re asking if I wanna fuck your brains out, then…yeah.”
He’d never been anything but blunt and shameless the entire time you’d been around him, so you weren’t sure why that cavalier comment affected you the way it did, but it sparked something within you that made your cheeks feel warm. Attempting to appear nonchalant, you calmly set your pen down in your notebook and leaned back in your chair while holding eye contact with him.
“So that’s why you’ve been so well behaved.”
“Good boys get rewarded.”
“You’re not exactly a good boy, Benjamin.”
“Oh, but I can be.”
He didn’t bother to hide the hunger that darkened his eyes considerably, and it was audible in the sudden huskiness of his voice. He leaned in closer until his forearms were resting on the desk, loosely gesturing around with his hand, making the chains rattle again.
“See? A little good behavior, a little cooperation, and now we’re alone. No cameras, no nosy guards, no two way mirrors. Total privacy.”
Because of his cooperation, and decent behavior, he’d been given a few more privileges. The big cuff that covered both of his hands was reduced to just cuffs around his wrists. No more guard supervision was required, they now waited outside. And recently, your sessions were able to be moved to an office instead of an interrogation room.
Everything started to fall into place, and his revelation made you let out a scoff of disbelief. He’d planned this.
“And what exactly was your end goal, here? You thought you could just talk me into sleeping with you?”
Benjamin let out an amused laugh, his lips spreading into a tooth bearing grin.
“You don’t strike me as someone who can be talked into anything, Doc. I thought making an offer would be more realistic.”
“An offer.”
Your voice was dry as you repeated his words, sounding as uninterested as you looked.
He stared at you for a moment silently, and for some reason the intensity of his eye contact made something twist in your stomach. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounded louder, like it was right by your ear, a clandestine countdown you weren’t privy to. He didn’t look away, and you couldn’t. It was like you were stuck in some silent staring contest.
“Let me eat you out.”
Of all the things you expected to come out of his mouth, that was not one of them. Your shocked surprise must have shown on your face, because he smirked as he leaned in closer and dropped his voice to an intimate whisper.
“C’mon, Doc. It’s a mutually beneficial offer. You get to relax, I get to taste you.”
A dry incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn’t keep it from escaping. Arching one of your brows, you crossed your arms over your chest.
“You really expect me to believe you’ve been playing the long game just to go down on me?”
“It’s not just for you. Like I said, it’s mutually beneficial.”
You couldn’t believe it. He was serious. As far as you could tell, he was actually serious. Very rarely did you find yourself speechless, but you genuinely had no idea how to respond to that. There was the entirely plausible idea that he was fucking with you, just to see how you’d react. He didn’t exactly have many opportunities for entertainment, and being in solitary confinement, you were the only person he “socialized” with.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you attempted to redirect the conversation.
“Benjamin-”
“Again with the formalities. How many times I gotta ask you to call me Dex?”
“Nicknames are generally reserved for friends.”
“We could be friends. We could be very good friends, sweetheart.”
Leaning back in his chair casually, he clenched and unclenched his fists, making the metal of the chains connected to his handcuffs rattle once again.
“Look, I’ve been in prison for a while now, sweetheart. Certain needs I can take care of with a little imagination, but not that one. And I really miss pussy.”
You were supposed to be getting the conversation back on track and make him focus on the session. You should’ve threatened to end it early for how inappropriate he was being. But when he’d clenched and unclenched his fists, it had made his biceps flex, and you unexpectedly noticed just how taut the orange jumpsuit was over his arms and broad shoulders. Had he always been so…big?
“C’mon, Doc. I’ve been good, don’t I deserve something sweet? I promise I’ll make you come. You know I never miss a target.”
Flashing you a wink, Dex’s wicked smirk stretched wide across his mouth once again. That should’ve been the end of the conversation. You should’ve ended it before, honestly. But you’d been curious, and now your curiosity had put you in a confusing situation, because you should be getting up and calling the guards to come take him. But you didn’t. And he noticed.
“You’re considering it.”
“I am not-”
“You didn’t say no. You’re not walking out. You don’t even look offended or disgusted. As a matter of fact you look…interested.”
This time when he let his eyes wander over you with evident lust, you felt a shiver that straightened your spine despite there not being a draft in the room, and your skin prickled in response. He slowly tilted his head to the side, and it would’ve been menacing if he was threatening to harm you instead of offering to pleasure you.
“When’s the last time someone made you come with just their tongue?”
The heat that bloomed in your cheeks betrayed your silence, and his brows lifted, amusement breaking through the clouds of desire in his eyes as his words dripped with mock sympathy.
“Oh…no one ever has. Now that is a crime, Doc.”
A part of you felt ashamed for being attracted to him. You knew what he was, what he had done. Your brain was screaming at you for even entertaining the thought, for looking at him in anything but repulsion. But the guilt and shame that should’ve settled in your gut and made your skin burn was nowhere to be found. In its place was heat born from reckless curiosity, a carnal chemical demand, and a youthful thrill of doing something you weren't supposed to.
All at once you felt like a teenager again, sneaking out for the first time to meet up with someone you weren’t allowed to be with. What the hell was wrong with you? This was your patient, and he was a dangerous and violent criminal. This wasn’t just crossing a professional boundary, it was crossing a moral one too. But why did it feel so…exciting? Why did it have you pressing your thighs together and your body buzzing with anticipation?
Why did you want it?
“I won’t hurt you.”
His voice interrupted the flurry of conflicting thoughts and feelings he’d shaken up. He was still staring intently at you, but his smirk had faded into a more serious expression. There was a conviction in his voice that made you feel like he meant it.
“I don’t know that.”
“Trust me, Doc. You’re the last person I want to harm.”
Holding your gaze, he leaned forward again, dropping his voice to that intimate husky whisper that had a flame of desire igniting in your lower belly.
“It can be our little secret. You don’t have to take the handcuffs off. I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to. All you have to do is come sit in front of me, take off your panties, and spread those pretty legs for me.”
You glanced at the closed door. It wasn’t locked. Anyone could come in unannounced, and that would be the end of your career. That should’ve been the moment the logical side of your brain took over and made you walk out. But instead you glanced over at the clock, noting that you had twenty minutes left with Dex, and your eyes fell on him again. The tension between you was like a dense invisible fog that made it almost difficult to breathe. He didn’t say a word, he just stared you down with his offer dangling in the silence.
You weren’t sure if it was even a conscious decision when you stood. It was like you were bewitched, your body moving of its own accord. Dex tracked you with his intense stare like a predator as you floated around your desk. He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs wide for you to fit between, and he eyed the hem of your dress hungrily. As you hauled yourself up onto the edge of your desk, you realized you’d never been this near to him before. He was even bigger up close.
He licked his lips as he watched you hike up your dress. Your fingers were trembling as you lifted your hips slightly to slip your lacy panties down your legs. When you slowly spread your thighs, Dex inhaled sharply, and his gaze zeroed in on your glistening cunt.
“Goddamn, Doc. You’ve been holdin’ out on me.”
He didn’t hesitate to lean in, dragging his tongue languidly through your drenched pussy, letting out a groan as he savored your taste. The warmth of his eager tongue and the vibration from his groan made your eyes flutter, and you gripped the edge of the desk with a soft whimper.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about how good you’d taste, how pretty you’d be.”
He took his time, taking another slow lick before turning his head slightly to gently nip at your inner thigh, earning another whimper from you. His pupils were completely dilated when he looked up at you from between your thighs.
“But I gotta tell you, sweetheart, the real thing is so much fucking better.”
Immediately his tongue found your clit, giving it a few swift flicks before suctioning his lips around it, and your eyes nearly rolled as you dipped your head back, your hand instinctively flying down to grip at his hair. He growled when you tugged at his roots, and the obscene sound of slurping was the only noise that combated your breathy panting and moans. The metal chains connected to his cuffs were cold against the backs of your thighs, digging into your skin in a way that was sure to leave indented evidence.
“Oh God-”
It was a subconscious reaction when you started to roll your hips, but he didn’t seem to mind that you were essentially riding his face. He groaned against your pussy, his tongue spreading you open and slipping inside you while you grinded your clit against his nose and clamped your thighs around his head.
You hadn’t realized you’d grabbed onto one of his cuffed hands until you felt him interlace your fingers together and squeeze your hand, a silent gesture of encouragement. You tried to be mindful of the fact that there were guards outside, but God it just felt so good. Dex was tearing noises from you that you’d never heard yourself make, and he made you feel things that only a battery operated toy had ever been able to conjure.
“Fuck…Dex…”
He pulled away just for a moment to glance up at you and growl out a command.
“Let me touch you.”
You were nodding fervently in an instant, and Dex hooked his hands under the backs of your knees to pull your legs over his broad shoulders. His reach was limited by the handcuffs, and the metal was biting into his skin as he pushed the boundaries of his restraints to be able to touch you, but he didn’t stop. One of his hands firmly gripped your thigh, and with his other he slipped two of his fingers inside you right as he wrapped his lips around your clit again.
Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream when his skilled fingers swiftly found that special spot inside you, stroking it in a ‘come hither’ motion while pumping his digits and suckling at your clit. Both of your hands were now tangled in his hair, and your thighs had started to quiver around his head while your breathing was reduced to choppy, staccato gasps.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-”
Dex grunted at how roughly you tugged at his hair, tightening his grip on your trembling thigh. He was fingering you faster and harder, flicking his tongue over your clit like a metronome at high speed. When his teeth just barely grazed over your sensitive bundle of nerves, you completely shattered.
By the time you climaxed on his tongue, you were practically hugging his head between your shaking thighs, hunched over as a wave of raw pleasure cascaded throughout your body, leaving a tingling feeling of bliss behind. One of your hands had let go of his hair to clamp your own hand over your mouth to muffle a euphoric cry that was accompanied by wrecked whimpers as Dex kept licking your pussy, drawing out your orgasm, swirling his tongue like he was collecting sweet cream dripping down an ice cream cone.
“Dex…fuck…please-”
You begged for mercy with a whine as you pushed at his head, trying to escape his delectable torment. He still had his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, and the hum he let out that vibrated against the hyper sensitive bundle of nerves felt like getting shocked with a jolt. He chuckled against your core at how your body jerked in response. Releasing your clit with a soft pop, he finally leaned back to look up at you with a glistening grin. The lower half of his face coated in your wetness, and when he licked his lips, his eyes were almost as hazy as your own.
synopsis- due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
starring- benjamin poindexter and psychiatrist!reader
rated- x (18+) for explicit sexual content, graphic nudity, and strong language
run time- 2.8k
“When’s the last time you got laid?”
Instantly your hand stilled, and your inked thoughts came to an incomplete halt on the page of your notebook. Lifting your head, you locked eyes with your patient, who was already watching you with a hint of mirth in his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“You seem tense, Doc. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much to relax-”
“This session is for you, Mr. Poindexter, not the other way around.”
Benjamin let out a quiet chuckle while leaning back in his chair, the chains connected to the cuffs around his wrists rattling.
“Sweetheart, I’ve told you my favorite ways to kill people. I think we’re way past formalities.”
He’d gone through several psychiatrists already. It was mandatory for his sentence, but he’d refused to participate. He was already in prison, and he had no delusion they would ever let him out. What could they really do if he just sat there and ignored everyone they assigned to him?
The entire time he’d been here at Riker’s Island, that’s exactly what he’d done. Every time someone new was brought in, Benjamin would sit there silently, sometimes barely blinking, and just stare them down. He never said a word. Until you.
You were lucky number thirteen.
You’d been made aware of Benjamin’s refusal to participate in therapy prior to being assigned to him. You had expected to have the same experience as your colleagues. But for some reason, he was different with you. He did talk to you. Sort of. He could be incredibly evasive, and sometimes he made comments just to see if they’d provoke a reaction, but he would participate just enough to keep seeing you and you hadn’t been able to figure out why. It was as puzzling to you as it was to everyone else.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you gripped your pen and continued to write.
“I’d appreciate if you focused-”
“Little hard to do when you look like that, Doc.”
His blue eyes wandered appreciatively over the half of your body he could see sitting across from you, and a wicked smirk stretched across his mouth when he met your gaze again. His remark caught your attention. You weren’t wearing anything out of the norm. It was a dress you’d worn in a session with him before. He’d never made a comment on it before, or on your appearance, until now.
All of a sudden, a lightning strike of clarity cracked through the clouds of mystery that surrounded him, illuminating an epiphany that made you feel stupid for not considering it before. Pausing your notetaking once again, you lifted your head to look at him, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
“Are you only participating in these sessions because you desire me sexually?"
Benjamin pursed his lips faintly with a casual shrug, that smug smirk of his never fading.
“If you’re asking if I wanna fuck your brains out, then…yeah.”
He’d never been anything but blunt and shameless the entire time you’d been around him, so you weren’t sure why that cavalier comment affected you the way it did, but it sparked something within you that made your cheeks feel warm. Attempting to appear nonchalant, you calmly set your pen down in your notebook and leaned back in your chair while holding eye contact with him.
“So that’s why you’ve been so well behaved.”
“Good boys get rewarded.”
“You’re not exactly a good boy, Benjamin.”
“Oh, but I can be.”
He didn’t bother to hide the hunger that darkened his eyes considerably, and it was audible in the sudden huskiness of his voice. He leaned in closer until his forearms were resting on the desk, loosely gesturing around with his hand, making the chains rattle again.
“See? A little good behavior, a little cooperation, and now we’re alone. No cameras, no nosy guards, no two way mirrors. Total privacy.”
Because of his cooperation, and decent behavior, he’d been given a few more privileges. The big cuff that covered both of his hands was reduced to just cuffs around his wrists. No more guard supervision was required, they now waited outside. And recently, your sessions were able to be moved to an office instead of an interrogation room.
Everything started to fall into place, and his revelation made you let out a scoff of disbelief. He’d planned this.
“And what exactly was your end goal, here? You thought you could just talk me into sleeping with you?”
Benjamin let out an amused laugh, his lips spreading into a tooth bearing grin.
“You don’t strike me as someone who can be talked into anything, Doc. I thought making an offer would be more realistic.”
“An offer.”
Your voice was dry as you repeated his words, sounding as uninterested as you looked.
He stared at you for a moment silently, and for some reason the intensity of his eye contact made something twist in your stomach. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounded louder, like it was right by your ear, a clandestine countdown you weren’t privy to. He didn’t look away, and you couldn’t. It was like you were stuck in some silent staring contest.
“Let me eat you out.”
Of all the things you expected to come out of his mouth, that was not one of them. Your shocked surprise must have shown on your face, because he smirked as he leaned in closer and dropped his voice to an intimate whisper.
“C’mon, Doc. It’s a mutually beneficial offer. You get to relax, I get to taste you.”
A dry incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn’t keep it from escaping. Arching one of your brows, you crossed your arms over your chest.
“You really expect me to believe you’ve been playing the long game just to go down on me?”
“It’s not just for you. Like I said, it’s mutually beneficial.”
You couldn’t believe it. He was serious. As far as you could tell, he was actually serious. Very rarely did you find yourself speechless, but you genuinely had no idea how to respond to that. There was the entirely plausible idea that he was fucking with you, just to see how you’d react. He didn’t exactly have many opportunities for entertainment, and being in solitary confinement, you were the only person he “socialized” with.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you attempted to redirect the conversation.
“Benjamin-”
“Again with the formalities. How many times I gotta ask you to call me Dex?”
“Nicknames are generally reserved for friends.”
“We could be friends. We could be very good friends, sweetheart.”
Leaning back in his chair casually, he clenched and unclenched his fists, making the metal of the chains connected to his handcuffs rattle once again.
“Look, I’ve been in prison for a while now, sweetheart. Certain needs I can take care of with a little imagination, but not that one. And I really miss pussy.”
You were supposed to be getting the conversation back on track and make him focus on the session. You should’ve threatened to end it early for how inappropriate he was being. But when he’d clenched and unclenched his fists, it had made his biceps flex, and you unexpectedly noticed just how taut the orange jumpsuit was over his arms and broad shoulders. Had he always been so…big?
“C’mon, Doc. I’ve been good, don’t I deserve something sweet? I promise I’ll make you come. You know I never miss a target.”
Flashing you a wink, Dex’s wicked smirk stretched wide across his mouth once again. That should’ve been the end of the conversation. You should’ve ended it before, honestly. But you’d been curious, and now your curiosity had put you in a confusing situation, because you should be getting up and calling the guards to come take him. But you didn’t. And he noticed.
“You’re considering it.”
“I am not-”
“You didn’t say no. You’re not walking out. You don’t even look offended or disgusted. As a matter of fact you look…interested.”
This time when he let his eyes wander over you with evident lust, you felt a shiver that straightened your spine despite there not being a draft in the room, and your skin prickled in response. He slowly tilted his head to the side, and it would’ve been menacing if he was threatening to harm you instead of offering to pleasure you.
“When’s the last time someone made you come with just their tongue?”
The heat that bloomed in your cheeks betrayed your silence, and his brows lifted, amusement breaking through the clouds of desire in his eyes as his words dripped with mock sympathy.
“Oh…no one ever has. Now that is a crime, Doc.”
A part of you felt ashamed for being attracted to him. You knew what he was, what he had done. Your brain was screaming at you for even entertaining the thought, for looking at him in anything but repulsion. But the guilt and shame that should’ve settled in your gut and made your skin burn was nowhere to be found. In its place was heat born from reckless curiosity, a carnal chemical demand, and a youthful thrill of doing something you weren't supposed to.
All at once you felt like a teenager again, sneaking out for the first time to meet up with someone you weren’t allowed to be with. What the hell was wrong with you? This was your patient, and he was a dangerous and violent criminal. This wasn’t just crossing a professional boundary, it was crossing a moral one too. But why did it feel so…exciting? Why did it have you pressing your thighs together and your body buzzing with anticipation?
Why did you want it?
“I won’t hurt you.”
His voice interrupted the flurry of conflicting thoughts and feelings he’d shaken up. He was still staring intently at you, but his smirk had faded into a more serious expression. There was a conviction in his voice that made you feel like he meant it.
“I don’t know that.”
“Trust me, Doc. You’re the last person I want to harm.”
Holding your gaze, he leaned forward again, dropping his voice to that intimate husky whisper that had a flame of desire igniting in your lower belly.
“It can be our little secret. You don’t have to take the handcuffs off. I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to. All you have to do is come sit in front of me, take off your panties, and spread those pretty legs for me.”
You glanced at the closed door. It wasn’t locked. Anyone could come in unannounced, and that would be the end of your career. That should’ve been the moment the logical side of your brain took over and made you walk out. But instead you glanced over at the clock, noting that you had twenty minutes left with Dex, and your eyes fell on him again. The tension between you was like a dense invisible fog that made it almost difficult to breathe. He didn’t say a word, he just stared you down with his offer dangling in the silence.
You weren’t sure if it was even a conscious decision when you stood. It was like you were bewitched, your body moving of its own accord. Dex tracked you with his intense stare like a predator as you floated around your desk. He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs wide for you to fit between, and he eyed the hem of your dress hungrily. As you hauled yourself up onto the edge of your desk, you realized you’d never been this near to him before. He was even bigger up close.
He licked his lips as he watched you hike up your dress. Your fingers were trembling as you lifted your hips slightly to slip your lacy panties down your legs. When you slowly spread your thighs, Dex inhaled sharply, and his gaze zeroed in on your glistening cunt.
“Goddamn, Doc. You’ve been holdin’ out on me.”
He didn’t hesitate to lean in, dragging his tongue languidly through your drenched pussy, letting out a groan as he savored your taste. The warmth of his eager tongue and the vibration from his groan made your eyes flutter, and you gripped the edge of the desk with a soft whimper.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about how good you’d taste, how pretty you’d be.”
He took his time, taking another slow lick before turning his head slightly to gently nip at your inner thigh, earning another whimper from you. His pupils were completely dilated when he looked up at you from between your thighs.
“But I gotta tell you, sweetheart, the real thing is so much fucking better.”
Immediately his tongue found your clit, giving it a few swift flicks before suctioning his lips around it, and your eyes nearly rolled as you dipped your head back, your hand instinctively flying down to grip at his hair. He growled when you tugged at his roots, and the obscene sound of slurping was the only noise that combated your breathy panting and moans. The metal chains connected to his cuffs were cold against the backs of your thighs, digging into your skin in a way that was sure to leave indented evidence.
“Oh God-”
It was a subconscious reaction when you started to roll your hips, but he didn’t seem to mind that you were essentially riding his face. He groaned against your pussy, his tongue spreading you open and slipping inside you while you grinded your clit against his nose and clamped your thighs around his head.
You hadn’t realized you’d grabbed onto one of his cuffed hands until you felt him interlace your fingers together and squeeze your hand, a silent gesture of encouragement. You tried to be mindful of the fact that there were guards outside, but God it just felt so good. Dex was tearing noises from you that you’d never heard yourself make, and he made you feel things that only a battery operated toy had ever been able to conjure.
“Fuck…Dex…”
He pulled away just for a moment to glance up at you and growl out a command.
“Let me touch you.”
You were nodding fervently in an instant, and Dex hooked his hands under the backs of your knees to pull your legs over his broad shoulders. His reach was limited by the handcuffs, and the metal was biting into his skin as he pushed the boundaries of his restraints to be able to touch you, but he didn’t stop. One of his hands firmly gripped your thigh, and with his other he slipped two of his fingers inside you right as he wrapped his lips around your clit again.
Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream when his skilled fingers swiftly found that special spot inside you, stroking it in a ‘come hither’ motion while pumping his digits and suckling at your clit. Both of your hands were now tangled in his hair, and your thighs had started to quiver around his head while your breathing was reduced to choppy, staccato gasps.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-”
Dex grunted at how roughly you tugged at his hair, tightening his grip on your trembling thigh. He was fingering you faster and harder, flicking his tongue over your clit like a metronome at high speed. When his teeth just barely grazed over your sensitive bundle of nerves, you completely shattered.
By the time you climaxed on his tongue, you were practically hugging his head between your shaking thighs, hunched over as a wave of raw pleasure cascaded throughout your body, leaving a tingling feeling of bliss behind. One of your hands had let go of his hair to clamp your own hand over your mouth to muffle a euphoric cry that was accompanied by wrecked whimpers as Dex kept licking your pussy, drawing out your orgasm, swirling his tongue like he was collecting sweet cream dripping down an ice cream cone.
“Dex…fuck…please-”
You begged for mercy with a whine as you pushed at his head, trying to escape his delectable torment. He still had his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, and the hum he let out that vibrated against the hyper sensitive bundle of nerves felt like getting shocked with a jolt. He chuckled against your core at how your body jerked in response. Releasing your clit with a soft pop, he finally leaned back to look up at you with a glistening grin. The lower half of his face coated in your wetness, and when he licked his lips, his eyes were almost as hazy as your own.
Hi! I just got into the predator franchise and everytime I see your posts simping for the yautjas I inevitably think "there she goes, living her best life". IDK, I guess that i wanted to thank you for bringing so much unhinged joy to my scrolling.
I got you, anon ☺️! Living my best life indeed 🌟!
It's very sweet that I bring you some level of joy with my yautja posts ❤️. As a fellow alien/monster conoissuer, my blog will always be open to people like us, sweetheart 💋!
Caught a glimpse of True Form Sukuna in the latest episode. LAWD HAVE MERCYYY 😩🫦~! He's built like a fucking house and that fucking grin ngh! AAHH~ ❤️ It's a good thing I bought new batteries and lube to prepare for tonight.
Summary: The Small Council pushed him to the edge. You wait in the firelit chamber — naked, dripping, ready to be his outlet. Baelor unleashes everything: throat-fucking, ass-bruising thrusts, filthy words, and thick ropes of cum painted across your skin until the day’s tension finally breaks.
Additional tags: fem!read; no use of Y/N; +18; MDNI
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The crackling fire in the Hand's chambers is the only sound breaking the silence of the night. The flames dance across the lavish Myrish rug — woven with threads of gold and crimson, soft as sin under your bare skin. You've been waiting like this for hours: naked, heels tucked beneath your thighs, knees parted wide enough to expose the glistening heat between your legs. The room is dim, lit only by the hearth's glow, shadows playing over your body like teasing fingers. Your nipples are hard from the cool air and anticipation; your cunt aches, slick and ready, every minute of waiting building the need until it's unbearable.
The door creaks open.
Baelor enters — tall, broad-shouldered, still in his black tunic and breeches from the Small Council, the three-headed dragon sigil gleaming faintly on his chest. His dark hair is tousled, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, jaw clenched from whatever frustrations his father, the king, threw at him today. He stops when he sees you — freezes, actually — his gaze raking over your posed form like a starving man sighting prey.
“By the Seven,” he breathes, voice rough and low. He bolts the door behind him, eyes never leaving you. “What is this?”
You rise slowly — deliberately — thighs still parted as you stand, letting him see the slick trailing down your inner thighs. You cross to him, hips swaying, and press your naked body against his clothed one. Your hands start on his tunic laces, pulling them free with practiced ease.
“You had a long day,” you murmur, voice husky. “I know you need to unwind. Use me, my love. Shake it off inside me.”
He groans — deep, guttural — as your fingers brush his hardening cock through the fabric. You kiss him then — deep, desperate, tongue sliding into his mouth like an invitation. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you flush against him. You guide one of his hands between your legs, letting him feel how soaked you are — fingers slipping through your folds, coating him in your arousal.
“Mmh,” he growls into your mouth. “You're dripping. Been waiting like this all evening? My perfect, needy little cum-dump.”
You nod, whimpering as his fingers circle your clit once — teasing, not giving. You strip him faster now — tunic off, breeches shoved down, his cock springing free: thick, veined, already leaking. You drop to your knees before him, mouth watering.
He fists your hair — not gentle — and guides your head forward.
“Suck me,” he orders. “Slow and deep. Show me how much you want this.”
You take him in — lips stretching around his girth, tongue flat against the underside as you sink down slowly. The taste of him — salt and musk — makes you moan. You start slow, as he said: bobbing gently, sucking with hollowed cheeks, letting saliva drip down his shaft. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what your mouth can't reach yet.
He watches — eyes dark, jaw tight — hand in your hair controlling the pace.
“Faster,” he growls. “Deeper. Choke on your husband's cock like the desperate whore you are.”
You obey — taking him deeper, gagging as he hits the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes; you breathe through your nose, sucking harder, faster. The heat between your legs is unbearable now — you can't resist. One hand slides down your body, fingers finding your clit and rubbing frantic circles. You moan around his cock — the vibration making him hiss.
“That's it,” he rasps, hips starting to thrust. “Touch that greedy cunt while you suck me. But don't you dare come. That's for me to decide.”
He fucks your throat now — hard, sloppy, relentless — hand fisting your hair, pulling you down onto him until your nose presses against his pelvis. You gag, drool dripping down your chin onto your breasts, fingers plunging into your cunt as you chase the edge. The degradation — being used like this, on your knees for him — only makes you wetter.
“Filthy girl,” he groans. “Moaning like a whore with my cock down your throat. You love this, don't you? Love being my secret fucktoy while the realm thinks you're pure.”
You whimper around him — yes, gods yes — fingers fucking yourself faster, clit throbbing under your thumb.
He pulls out suddenly — cock glistening with your spit — and hauls you up by the hair.
“On the rug,” he orders. “All fours. Now.”
You drop to the Myrish rug — soft, lavish threads cushioning your knees — ass up, face down, thighs spread wide. The fire crackles nearby, heat licking your skin like his gaze.
He kneels behind you — hands gripping your hips — and rubs the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance.
“Beg,” he says.
“Please—Baelor—fuck me—use me—empty everything into me—“
He slams in — one brutal thrust that fills you to the hilt. You scream — raw, desperate — back arching.
His hand clamps over your mouth instantly.
“Quiet,” he snarls. “The guards are outside. You want them to hear the Hand's wife getting railed like a bitch in heat?”
He starts fucking you — hard, punishing, hips snapping so violently your body jolts forward with every thrust. His free hand rains down on your ass, sharp, stinging spanks that bloom into heat. He bites your shoulder — teeth sinking in, marking you — then your neck, your back, leaving bruises that will ache tomorrow.
“Take it,” he growls, voice animal. “Take your husband's cock like the filthy slut you are. Scream into my hand, let me feel how much you love being used.”
You do — muffled screams vibrating against his palm as he pounds you, cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside. His other hand snakes around, rubbing your clit in furious circles.
“That's it,” he rasps. “Come on my cock. Milk me like the desperate whore you are.”
You shatter — body seizing, cunt clamping down, squirting around his cock as you come so hard you see stars. Nails rake the rug; tears stream down your face.
He doesn’t stop, fucks you through it, spanking harder, biting deeper.
“Good girl,” he groans. “Now again. Come again for your master.”
The overstimulation is agony — ecstasy — you come a second time almost immediately, screaming into his hand, body convulsing.
He pulls out, flips you onto your back, and straddles your chest. One hand fists his cock — slick with your release — stroking hard and fast.
“Open your mouth,” he orders.
You do — tongue out, eyes locked on his.
He comes — roaring — thick ropes painting your face, your tongue, your breasts. He strokes through it, milking every drop, marking you like territory. Then he slides down your body, grips your thighs, and pulls your cunt to his mouth.
“Eat,” he growls — but it's for you. “Sit on my face.”
You straddle him — thighs around his head — and lower yourself onto his waiting tongue. He devours — sucking your clit, tongue-fucking your cunt, hands bruising your ass as he pulls you down harder.
You lean forward, take his cock in your mouth, and suck him deep, choking yourself on his length while he eats you like a man starved. The 69 is filthy — wet, messy, desperate — you grinding on his face, him thrusting up into your throat.
You sometimes pull off to catch your breath — gasping, moaning — your hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking him hard and fast, twisting at the head while spit drips from your lips.
“Don’t stop,” he growls into your cunt, the words vibrating through you. “Suck me harder. Choke on it.”
You dive back down — gagging, tears streaming — while his tongue lashes your clit without mercy.
He comes first — spilling down your throat again — and you swallow greedily, milking him with your mouth, hand stroking the base until he’s spent, twitching.
The vibration of your moan tips you over — you come on his tongue, flooding his mouth, thighs clamping around his head.
You collapse forward — spent, shaking — but he’s not done. He flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, spreads your legs wide, and kneels between them.
His cock — still hard, glistening — rubs against your clit, slow, teasing slides that make you arch and whimper.
“Watch me,” he growls. “Watch your husband use your clit to fuck himself.”
He grips his shaft, angles it, and starts thrusting, rubbing the length of his cock against your swollen clit, the head bumping it with every stroke. It's external, intense — the friction brutal, the pressure building like fire.
You scream — hips bucking — but he pins you down with one hand on your belly.
“Take it,” he snarls. “Let me use this little clit to get off. This is how I release the day — fucking my wife's body like a toy.”
His movements turn sharp, fast, brutal — cock slamming against your clit like he's trying to bruise it, growls ripping from his throat like an animal possessed. He lets go completely — no restraint, no control — hips jerking wildly, face twisted in raw, frustrated release.
“The council—” he growls between thrusts, voice shattered. “Those simpering, spineless lords—Dondarrion droning on about borders like a child, Corbray whining about gold, my father sitting there doing nothing—fuck—ignoring every word, letting them bicker like dogs over scraps—fuck them all. Let them rot in their weakness. This—this is power. Using my wife's worthless little clit like my personal cum-rag while they waste my time.”
It's so good it hurts — the pain-pleasure line blurring — your clit throbbing, oversensitive, every slide sending shocks through you.
You come again — screaming, body seizing — squirting across his cock and stomach as he rubs harder, faster.
He roars — primal, unhinged — and comes so hard it feels endless: thick, endless ropes erupting across your skin in hot, heavy lashes. He keeps pumping his fist through every pulse — slow, deliberate, milking himself dry — until your thighs, your belly, your tits, your throat, and even the hollow of your collarbone are drenched, streaked, claimed. Cum drips down your sides, pools in the dip of your navel, slides between your breasts like obscene jewelry.
He growls: “Look at you — painted like a common whore. My cum all over your tits, your face, your worthless little body. This is what you’re for. My personal fuck-hole to empty the day into.”
He angles the last spurts deliberately, painting your face last, one thick stripe across your cheek, another catching your parted lips. “Stay still,” he snarls, voice shredded. “Don’t wipe it off. Let it dry. Let every servant who sees you tomorrow smell me on your skin and know you’re nothing but my cum-rag with a crown.”
You moan — loud, broken, wrecked, loving it — voice shattered, body shaken and spent. The heat of his release on your skin feels like a brand; you arch into it, trembling, fingers digging into the rug as aftershocks ripple through you.
When he’s finally spent — cock twitching, hand slick — he collapses beside you, buries his face in your neck, and holds you tightly — arms wrapping around you like iron bands, breath hot against your skin.
Neither of you speaks.
You’re both trembling — aftershocks rippling through your bodies, hearts pounding in unison, the world reduced to the crackle of the fire and the feel of each other.
His cum cools slowly on your skin, sticky and obscene, a silent testament to how completely he’s used you tonight.
