current main interests: fallout, cyberpunk 2077, baldur’s gate 3, mass effect. I’m a big RPG fan!!
Anyone freaky about fiction is allowed on my page and encouraged to follow me. NSFW FRIENDLY 🔞
SEARCH FOR #my photos for my virtual photography!
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
$LAYYYTER
Mike Driver
hello vonnie
Keni
trying on a metaphor
Show & Tell
i don't do bad sauce passes
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
taylor price

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

PR's Tumblrdome

Origami Around

Discoholic 🪩

Janaina Medeiros
Jules of Nature
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Kaledo Art
occasionally subtle

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@wuzianwei
current main interests: fallout, cyberpunk 2077, baldur’s gate 3, mass effect. I’m a big RPG fan!!
Anyone freaky about fiction is allowed on my page and encouraged to follow me. NSFW FRIENDLY 🔞
SEARCH FOR #my photos for my virtual photography!
It is hilarious making hookup arrangements as a busy adult… looking forward to seeing your pussy in ten business days
I bet it feels real good to be a sailing ship when they tighten the rigging
wrong. everyone get more perverted about marine vessels now and I'm not kidding
this post reaching Actual Ship Captains is beyond delightful holy moly
always funny to me when superheroes have carefully crafted secret identities but supervillains go unmasked because they do this as a fulltime lifestyle. like if the entire world knows you as a supervillain whats your grocery situation look like. do your henchmen do the shopping. do you get doordash. does the joker get doordash.
i think its funny how if you imagine something scary enough your brain starts treating it like its real and out to get you. its really cool and not annoying at all
someone: i made up a guy called the Scary Getter! He's real spooky when he tries to getter you!
me: wow thats scary.....the Scary Getter.....what if hes real....what if he getters me???
gonna start reblogging this every time i start worrying about about the Scary Getter
hey. if someone tries to smear you on the internet for something asinine, what you need to do is block every single person engaging with the post and remind yourself that absolutely under no circumstances are you obligated to draft a PR response defending some out-of-context screenshot or kink fanfiction or thing you said when you were 15 or whatever put your blood in the water. you are not a public figure or a brand. you do not have to respond to something if you know in your heart it is bullshit.
Dropped everything to doodle this 🙏
I hate ruminating on what could have been. Out here thinking "if only I locked in when I was 13" are we serious
who’s got the tweet that goes like “skinny people will never know the joy of hitting this neutral pose” and it’s a drawing of a guy going like this
FOUND IT
𐔌 . ˚ IN YOUR FANTASY ┆LOVE & DEEPSPACE ֹ ₊ ꒱
the lads men discover your secret kink when they stumble upon all the x-rated videos you’ve been hoarding on twitter. busted... but why hide it when your boyfriend’s more than willing to take a seat in your fantasy? — wc. 6.1k
STARRING ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb
WARNINGS ♱ X-RATED VISUALS ARE LINKED. must be logged in to twitter/x to view. fem!reader, ungodly amount of pet names, heavy praise — (sylus) free use, bondage, cum eating/swapping, switch!sy, oral (f. receiving) — (zayne) spanking, meanie!zayne, heavy praise, use of good girl, lowk cervix fking — (rafayel) dubcon-ish (?), somnophilia, degradation (use of slut), mean dom!raf, some yandere themes — (caleb) facesitting/fucking, some use of gravity evol, brief mention of insecurities — (xavier) sub!xavier, begging, edging (m. receiving) — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+
KIT’S NOTE ♱ hehe new year, new medicli layout >:3 i hope you all enjoy my first multi hc of the year! if u see any mistakes, no u didn’t! reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, i’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts on this :)<3
ᯓ 秦彻 ⟢ SYLUS ˖᯽ ݁˖ — big bf lets you have your way with him #freeuse
sylus shouldn’t pry—this much he knows. there are boundaries that should never be crossed and this? this is one of them.
your phone is open to a twitter profile. some blank account with an obscure user and the locked symbol next to your name. it’s a private twitter account following 20 people with 5 followers. but it’s the most recent tweet that catches his attention—a man naked and bound to a chair with a blindfold covering his eyes and a woman using him how she pleases.
he picks up your phone with a dry throat and his cock hardening under his slacks. the retweet reads, ugh wish he’d let me use him like this </3
you walk out of his bathroom to see his back facing you and you perk up immediately. “sy, you’re back!” you say, cheerily, but when he turns around with his jaw clenched and your phone that quietly plays the sound of one of the many videos you were watching on twitter moments prior, your smile drops.
“i didn’t realize you were into amateur adult films, sweetie.” he drawls nonchalantly, like his cock isn’t aching for your touch. but you can sense an edge that isn’t typically there.
you stammer on an excuse, feeling your face burn in mortification at having been caught retweeting porn on your alt account. “i—it’s… well, i-it’s not what it looks like.”
“yeah? because it looks like you want to use me… just like this.” he stalks towards you and waves the phone in your face, a small smile pulling at his lips. “is that true? you want to tie me to a chair, blindfold me and have your way with me?”
you pull your lip between your teeth, gnawing at the flesh anxiously. you avert your eyes, staring at your sock clad feet before you feel his fingers tip your chin up and force you to look him in the eye.
“c’mon, sweetheart. you’ll tell me, won’t you?” he murmurs, thumb pulling your bottom lip from your teeth.
“yes,” you respond, throat dry and voice wavering in lack of confidence. “i want to have my way with you.”
he gives you a wolfish grin and all he says is, “okay then.”
—
you never thought you’d see sylus like this. in a chair with rope wrapped around his torso and one of his silk ties covering his eyes. there’s a permanent smirk plastered on his face and it makes you buzz with excitement.
“don’t make me wait for so long, kitten.” he drawls, his cock bobbing up and down in dire need of attention.
you grab his neck, tipping his face up and pressing your lips against his for a sloppy kiss. you push your tongue into his mouth, savoring the deep groan that rumbles in his throat. the kiss doesn’t last long—you pull away just as he starts to get needy, watching how he chases your lips with a growl.
your hand trails down his chest, squeezing at his peck before turning around, back facing him, and grabbing his cock. a small gasp of surprise fills the room right before it’s replaced with the sound of your paired moans as you sink onto his cock.
“shit,” he curses, the word coming out breathless. his hands itch to grab you and they could if he really wanted to. he could break free from the lousy restraints, but he knows how much you want this and he wouldn’t dare rob you of this experience.
and you take him like you were made from it, bouncing on his cock, your ass clapping with every thrust. you whine for him, testing his patience. “does it feel good, sy?”
another deep growl fills your ears and shoots straight to your core. “you know it does, sweetheart. what about you, hmm? does, hah fuck, does using my cock like this satisfy you?”
you choke out a sob, sitting on him completely and grinding your hips against him with vigor. “mmhm, you’re such a good boy, baby,” you moan out, feeling his cock throb at the praise. “b-but you know what would make me feel even better?” you ask, voice cracking.
he tries to thrust into you, but you don’t give him a chance. he’s stuck in this chair with you on top of him so all he can do is pant out a strained, “what?”
“if you—mmm, if you came inside of me,” you whimper. “fuck, sy, please? please fill me up with your cum. want you to shoot it so deep inside of me, please please please?”
your pleas are so desperate, almost as if you aren’t already taking everything you want. as if you aren’t already making his cock twitch and his stomach tighten. as if you aren’t already milking him dry while he lets out a drawn out groan.
a happy moan rips from your throat when you feel his cum spray inside you, filling you so deep just how you wanted. you let him empty himself, waiting till every drop of cum is spilled into you before pulling off his cock, grabbing a fistfull of his hair and bringing his face to your messy, filled cunt.
his surprised moan is muffled by your pussy. you figured he’d rip through the rope and push you away, but he happily laps and sucks at your hole, licking up every bit of your mixed arousal that leaks out of you.
you whine, heat flooding your body as you grind your ass against his face. “y-yeah, eat your cum out of me, just like that, sy,”
“dirty girl,” he murmurs against your cunt before devouring you whole, the sounds of smacking and slurping and groaning resuming.
your knees nearly give out, the only thing holding you up is the death grip you have on his silver locks. you jolt and tremble before him and he doesn’t need to see to know you’re close.
all it takes is a raspy, “cum on my face, sweet girl,” for you to completely unravel, legs shaking uncontrollably as you paint his face in syrupy arousal. you’re reduced to whines and whimpers of his name and sylus just wishes he could see you.
and his wish is granted mere seconds later when you’re weakly tugging the blindfold off of him, taking his gleaming face in your hand and pressing your lips to his to taste the two of you on him.
he groans, passing the release into your mouth while pulling on the restraints in a need to grab you.
“you did so well for me, sy.”
“mmm, thank you, sweetie. and,” his voice drops to a whisper. “next time you want to recreate something… just tell me.”
ᯓ 黎深 ⟢ ZAYNE ˖᯽ ݁˖ — meanie!bf makes you ask for permission to cum #spanking
zayne never uses social media. especially not twitter. but you convinced him to download it so you could send him funny tweets and cute cat videos. he shook his head and downloaded the app just to get you to shut up, but he never actually opened it.
one rare and quiet day, with nothing on his schedule and you stuck at work, curiosity finally got the better of him. he made an account on a whim, and that’s when he saw it: suggested accounts. yours, right at the top, labeled as someone he “may know.” a small, fond smile curved his lips as he tapped on your profile, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of your cute icon staring back at him.
but that smile fell just as quick as it came when he scrolled a bit too far and found a quote retweet captioned, “does anyone wish their bf would do this to them too??? :((( being spanked then doted on… sigh.”
he watched the video with a dry throat and widened eyes. the first thought that came to mind was that you posted this on your public profile—but then he noticed you only had 15 followers. still, he’ll have to remind you of your digital footprint.
once the initial shock wore off… he watched the video again. is this what you wanted? to be ruthlessly fucked from the back and spanked… by him?
zayne closes the app, clears his throat and throws his head back against the couch he’s sitting on. he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a shaky exhale.
if that’s what you want… then that’s what you’ll get.
—
he waits patiently for you to trudge past the door, trying to keep himself busy with god knows what till he hears it. the sound of your keychains rattling and the click of the door as you unlock it and walk in.
“hi, zaynie,” you breathe, skipping towards him and pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. one whiff of you and all he can think about is doing all the naughty things you’ve been secretly wanting. his cock aches. his blood thrums. he needs it now.
“are you okay?” you pull back, concerned by his silence and even more deterred when you see his hardened face.
when he speaks, it’s low and stern. a voice you’ve only heard a handful of times. “bedroom. now, please.”
you let out a confused chuckle. “what for?”
when he raises an eyebrow at you, you cower, nodding your head and scurrying to the bedroom like he asked.
it’s nothing like what you expected. you didn’t expect zayne to walk in and strip you bare without a word, didn’t expect him to bend you over the bed and press himself into your tight, waiting warmth. and you definitely didn’t expect his hand to come down hard on your ass—the sharp, thunderous crack filling the room, followed instantly by your startled squeak.
“this is what you wanted, is it not?” he pants, fucking into you with vigor melting at the sound of your sweet, surprised moans. “this is what you were talking about on your twitter, right?”
your voice comes watery, confused. “wh-what?” you ask, hands fisting at the sheets, your body jolting with every sharp, rough thrust.
his hand comes down, your other cheek meeting the same fate and it has another desperate moan crawling out of you. “you wanted to, what was it? get spanked and doted on, huh?”
and then it hits you suddenly—vividly. you remember the video. it was a faceless man taking a faceless girl from behind, ruthless, almost cruel in the way he fucked her. you remember the sharp smack of his hand against her skin, how badly you’d wished it were you and zayne instead. but what turned you on the most—what lodged itself deep inside your core—was the contrast of it all. the way the stranger’s rough, unyielding actions clashed with the softness of his words. the concept of being fucked like a slut while being praised like a good girl. it made you spin.
it only made you think of zayne. zayne and his large, calloused hands. zayne and his sweet voice. zayne and his cock that stretched and fucked you so good that it makes you cry.
and you’d be lying if you said the thought of him realizing this… realizing it’s what you’d wanted all along… didn’t make heat pool low in your stomach all over again.
you clench tightly around him, turning your heated face into the pillow that smelled just like him. this only makes him laugh, humorlessly.
“yeah, you’re remembering now, aren’t you, my darling girl?” his throaty voice only turns you on further. you arch your back and wiggle your ass as an invitation. an invitation for him to give you more. to go hard. “that’s it. good girl.”
you shudder at the praise. “f-fuck,” the curse is whimpered against the silk fabric of his pillow. “fuck, zayne, it’s s-so—god! so deep. feels so good!” you feel him everywhere, but especially in your tightening stomach. you’re already at the precipice of an orgasm and it only makes zayne want to fuck you right to the finish line.
zayne hums, spanking you again just to hear a giggly moan and it makes his heart want to beat out of his chest. “you’re so precious,” he whispers before his hand laces in your hair and pulls your face away from the pillow. “did you want me to find that tweet, sweetheart? so i could spank you and pull at your hair? so i could fuck you stupid on my cock?”
you don’t bother hiding it. you wanted this more than anything. you craved this more than anything. “yes, yes, yes! please!”
“gooood girl,” he murmurs softly. it’s a perfect contradiction to the way his cock drives into you, the tip just barely brushing your cervix. it’s too much. you’re wound tight as hell, a dam on the brink of bursting, and zayne feels it instantly.
“you wanna cum?”
you can barely form the words, desperation breaking your voice as you beg, “can i…? please?”
“yes, baby. cum for me,” he grunts, fist tightening in your hair, pulling you into a deeper arch. “come on. cum all over me.”
you shatter almost instantly. your body trembles as you come apart on his cock, a needy, broken moan slipping free while the tight knot in your stomach unravels and you soak him completely.
he doesn’t stop—he only fucks you through it, steady and relentless, before pressing a gentle kiss to your spine.
“you did so well,” you feel his lips curve into a smile as he murmurs against your slick, overheated skin, “he but we’re not done yet.”
ᯓ 夏以昼 ⟢ CALEB ˖᯽ ݁˖ — bf lets you sit on his pretty face #facesitting
it was no secret that caleb kept tabs on you. he was very open about it—he has all your post notifications on, he knows where you are at all times, and he always knows what you’re up to. it didn’t bother you in the slightest, he’s always been protective of you—watching over you like it was his life’s purpose.
but there’s one secret that you keep from caleb. and it’s nothing major, truly! it’s just… an alt twitter account you use to retweet your soft porn. while there’s no reason to keep this from your boyfriend, you don’t have the heart to show it to him. it’s the home of all your fantasies, more than anything, it’s embarrassing.
even so, the last thing you want is for caleb to know. you’ve done everything in your power to keep this secret. you used an obscure email to create the account, a password with a series of random numbers and letters that he’d never be able to guess and an alias. it was practically impossible for him to trace it back to you.
one day, you were scrolling on said account, thighs pressed together as you came across a video of a girl sitting on a guy's face, tugging at his hair while she glided across his mouth and nose. all you could think about is caleb—how good it would feel to fuck his face like you were in heat.
it was something you thought about often. you’ve had caleb eat you out before, yes, but you’ve never asked to try this in fear that you’d either A. suffocate him or B. he’d be turned off.
so you do what you always do, quote retweeting it with a caption that read: “wanna sit on my bf’s pretty face just like this :,(”
you shut out the app and flop back onto your bed, trying—failing—to chase the thoughts of him away. especially the image of him stretched out against these very pillows and you hovering over him while your arousal drenches his face. you lose yourself in the fantasy, hands sliding down your body in need.
but then your phone starts to blow up—message after message lighting the screen, all from your boyfriend:
caleb ♥︎: baby, are you serious?
caleb ♥︎: is that really what you want?
caleb ♥︎: you wanna sit on my face?
caleb ♥︎: forget it, I’ll be there in an hour. we’ll talk about this when I see you.
your breath hitches and brows knit in confusion—then it clicks. your tweet. maybe you should’ve been more careful before hitting send. maybe the app glitched. either way, when you open the app again, dread crashes over you as you confirm that you’ve posted it from the wrong account—the account where caleb has your notifications on. meaning he saw it immediately.
you delete it in a panic, humiliated, praying none of your other mutuals caught it in time. there’s nothing you can say or do to stop caleb from coming over. so you stand, pace, draw in a shaky breath and wait.
—
caleb lets himself in, shuts the door, and locks it behind him. the talk he mentioned in his text never comes. no greeting. no anger. instead, he strips down to his boxers and climbs into your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
you’re frozen where you stand, lip caught between your teeth, thighs pressed tightly together. when he settles against the pillows, he lifts his gaze to you so calm that it almost scares. he looks at you expectantly.
“well?” he starts. “what are you waiting for? i’m here. you wanted to sit on your boyfriend’s pretty face, did you not?”
you exhale a sharp, nervous laugh, “c-caleb, we don’t have to…” you let shyness take over. “i’ll—i’ll suffocate you. it probably won’t feel good for you either…”
he scoffs incredulously. “come sit on my face before i make you. you do remember my evol, don’t you?”
you barely have time to process it before you feel weightless, a surprised yelp slipping out as he drags you toward him with nothing more than a flick of his hand.
you give in instantly, nodding as you stumble, “okay okay!”
he lets go and watches with hungry, unblinking eyes as you push your shorts and panties down, letting them pool at your feet. you climb onto the bed and crawl toward him slowly until you’re hovering just above his throat, suspended in the tension and your own personal fear.
“caleb, are you sure i won’t be too heavy?” you whisper.
“i’m sure, baby.” he says reassuringly, his hands grabbing your hips and lifting you till your cunt is just inches away from his face. “come on, sit. lemme taste you.”
you let out a shaky breath and start to lower yourself before you can talk yourself out of it, but his arms hook beneath your thighs and force you all the way down, drawing a satisfied moan from him and a startled gasp from you. your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the silky strands as you cling to him, grounding yourself before your strength gives out entirely.
you bite your lip, desperate to keep your moans quiet, but the drag of his nose against your clit paired with the warm suction of his mouth has your resolve shattering. it feels even better than you ever imagined. and when his hands come up to palm at your breasts? his fingers tweaking your nipples? you’re a goner.
“fuck,” you whimper, fingers tugging at his roots hard enough to draw a pained groan from him, though it barely registers. all you can focus on is the way he devours you like he’s starving, the vibration of his moans coursing through your body and lighting your nerves on fire, the relentless grind against your swollen, sensitive clit.
“caleb,” you cry, breathlessly, “ah! feels so good.”
“keep fuckin’ my face, pretty girl,” he moans, the words muffling into your cunt. “wanna taste you cummin’ all over me. you can do it.”
he pulls you onto him harder. like he wants to run out of oxygen.
and you obey—even if you wanted to stop, you couldn’t. not when you’re this close—not when caleb wants this just as bad as you do. you hump his face desperately, like a woman depraved, chasing your orgasm. you let your moans out freely, high pitched and needy, letting them join the sounds of slurping and smacking.
your body trembles violently, fingers fisting in caleb’s hair as you shatter, a mix of arousal and slick cum painting his face while you squeal his name like a broken record. “caleb, caleb, caleb—” his name is all that exists—all you can cling to at the moment.
he groans into you, relentless, licking and sucking every last trace, his hips lifting off the bed with desperate urgency. his cock throbs in his boxers, twitching with need for a taste of your cunt.
a sob tears from your chest when he doesn’t slow. “w-wait!” you gasp, legs shaking, body on the verge of giving out. “i’m s-sensitive, ca-caleb!”
“no, baby, please,” he whimpers, raw and earnest. “please let me keep going. you don’t know how bad i’ve wanted this.”
“w-what?” you breathe, dazed.
“for so long, pips,” he admits softly. “just sit there… let me do all the work. please?”
ᯓ 祁煜 ⟢ RAFAYEL ˖᯽ ݁˖ — crazy bf fucks you while you pretend to be asleep #somno
despite his bubbly, sassy exterior, rafayel carried his demons quietly. the kind that kept him watching you—both in real life and through the glow of a screen. the thought of losing you makes something dark twist in his chest. you’re his cutie, his heart, his muse, his entire world wrapped into one person.
he knows it’s wrong to have all your passwords. knows it crosses a line. so he tells himself he’s careful—only checks when he has to, when the ache gets too loud to ignore.
it’s been a while since he last logged into your account, but it’s also been days since he’s seen you. that has to count for something, right? just a quick look. just to scroll through what you’ve seen, what you’ve liked. just enough to feel close to you again.
a smile touches his lips when he sees all the silly tweets you’ve liked.
but then he sees it. a tweet that looks so out of place in the midst of cute cat videos and senseless jokes. a tweet that reads “gf who pretends to be asleep x bf who was gonna fuck her either way,” along with a video of just that. the smile falls immediately, his lips pressing into a thin line while his brows furrow.
his darkened gaze catches on the yellow bookmark, curiosity winning out before he can stop himself. the moment he opens your bookmarks aka the little trove of soft porn, his cock hardens. it’s all amateur and intimate, but worse, there’s a pattern. a theme. every two minute video was a girl getting fucked while she slept. fucked. bred. all while she laid pliant, eyes closed.
rafayel’s eyes drag over the captions again and again, each one making his thoughts spin faster. he loses track of time, an entire hour slipping by as he clicks through every video, cock aching and heart racing, torn between guilt and the thrill curling tight in his chest.
he pictured you like that—lying awake at night, thoughts circling him…his cock… until you finally drifted asleep. he imagined the wetness that pooled in your panties when you drifted off, the way desire followed you even into your dreams. it made something deep in him ache.
how long had you wanted this? with the sheer number of tweets tucked away in your bookmarks, he can’t help but think this fantasy has lived with you for a long time now, growing quietly… patiently.
but why not make your fantasy a reality?
—
rafayel asked you to spend the night, and of course you said yes please. you’d been missing your boyfriend like crazy, and with work constantly getting in the way, time together had become frustratingly scarce.
when you arrived, he’d planned something sweet—movies, cuddling, takeout you both loved. an innocent night in. except you wanted more. every subtle advance you made was met with a gentle deflection. he ignored them all, letting the tension build until you were needy with it. you were wound tight, and he still refused to touch you the way you ached for.
by the end of the night, you felt coiled and restless, yet too perverted to voice what you wanted aloud, especially after being brushed off. so you climbed into his bed with a sulky “goodnight,” a pout tugging at your lips, and tried to will yourself to sleep.
it didn’t come easily. all you could think about was him. your eyes squeezed shut, brows knitting together as the ache lingered, basically impossible to ignore. you were wet beyond belief. and only after you felt slumber slowly pulling at you, you felt your boyfriend press against you.
you felt his hard cock through his pants as he slowly, subtly rocked himself against you with barely steady breaths. your heart raced, holding in the little gasp that’s threatening to spill out of you.
“i saw all the videos you’ve been watching on twitter, princess,” he whispers, rutting against you a little harder, the words hitting just as deep as the motion. “all those videos of girls getting fucked while they sleep… is that what you want?”
both your heart and your thoughts stutter at once. for a split second you think you’re dreaming—but you can feel him, and you can differentiate fantasy and reality. the truth finally settles in as his hand slides beneath your sleep shorts, drifting lower, touching you in a way that leaves no doubt at all. this is real.
he hums when his fingers are immediately met with your slick arousal. “the idea of getting fucked while you’re unconciouis gets you this wet?”
you swallow the whimper trying to break free and let your deepest fantasy unfold. you force yourself to relax, to go pliant in the way you’ve always imagined this—but the moment rafayel circles your clit, your body betrays you, tensing on instinct.
“this slutty pussy wants me to fuck her, doesn’t she, baby? your body’s practically begging for me…” he groans into your ear, grinding deeper into you. “it would be so bad for me to fuck you while you sleep, though. i’d be such a bad boyfriend…”
you want to scream when he slows down. when he starts to retract his hand like it’s some bad idea.
“i shouldn’t touch you while you’re trying to sleep.” he murmurs, a hint of amusement threading through his words.
his hand nearly slips away from your shorts when a frayed plea falls from your lips. “please,” you whimper—and that’s really all the confirmation rafayel needs. he flips you onto your stomach and presses over you like a man starved.
your shorts are barely tugged down and his sweats are pushed just low enough for him to free himself. his hot, thick cock slaps against your bare skin and the contact makes you squeak. he pushes into you, filling you in one deep motion. gasps and moans spill from both of you in tandem, but he doesn’t give either of you time to settle. his hands grip your ass, fingers digging in as your flesh spills through the gaps all while he drives into you relentlessly.
“i knew you were pretending to sleep,” he grunts and it’s barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of his skin slapping against yours.
you’re breathless when you manage to answer. “h-how?” the question breaks on a whine as his cock drives deeper with every hard thrust.
“i could hear how fast your heart was beating,” he chuckles darkly, never slowing, his pace mean. ruthless. “the way your breathing changed the second you felt me behind you.” his grip tightens as he leans in. “you were just waiting for me to take your clothes off and fuck you, weren’t you?”
you whimper, utterly exposed. “yes…”
“naughty, naughty girl.” he laughs. “should’ve told me you wanted to get fucked while you slept.”
you moan, clamping tightly around him and taking the painful stretch in stride. your back arches for more. like your body needs his cock or you’ll die. the knot in your stomach has been winding tighter all night, waiting for this exact moment, and you’re already embarrassingly close.
“no need to hold back,” he whispers. “soak my fucking cock like the slut you are.”
his sharp words tear a mewl from you, your walls clenching around his cock so tight it steals the breath from his lungs. you break as he drives into you without mercy. you fall apart around him with a beg, “please, please, please—” the word dissolving into a wrecked sob that fills the room.
“good girl,” he breathes. “now go back to sleep and let me have my fun, yeah?”
ᯓ 沈星回 ⟢ XAVIER ˖᯽ ݁˖ — dom!bf lets you edge him and begs you to cum #edging
tara is your best friend in the entire world. the kind of best friend who knows every corner of your life, including the private parts you don’t share with anyone else. especially when it comes to you and xavier.
at first, her curiosity overwhelmed you. her questions were invasive, relentless, sometimes overly embarrassing. but over time, you got used to it. more than that—you started to look forward to it. your weekly dates where you can rant about work at the association and the gory details of your relationship with xavier.
telling tara everything became its own kind of thrill. the late night giggles when she’d come over, the hushed voices so he couldn’t hear anything while he lived in the apartment above you, the way she’d squeal or gasp at every insane detail. it felt good to have someone who wanted to hear it all.
you’d even told her about wanting to try something new with him—something you were pretty sure he’d never agree to. you wanted xavier to be the one begging you for once. he was always so dominant in bed that the idea of flipping the script… of him giving in and taking everything you had to offer, felt almost absurd… which was exactly why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
you remember when you saw the video of your ideal fantasy on twitter. a video of a guy being dominated by a girl. she made him beg for permission while she rode him and all you could think about was him. how cute he’d be with his blushy cheeks and the yearning look in his eyes. how pretty he’d sound whimpering out pleas and begs to cum inside of you. it shook you to your core. you saved the video to your bookmarks immediately and came back to it from time to time just to fantasize.
the night after you told tara about said fantasy, you decided to send her a visual, just so she knew exactly what you wanted. it’s not like you wanted to tie him up, you just wanted to watch him break underneath you.
@/starringmc: this is exactly what i want to do to xavier!!!
you hadn’t heard anything from tara for a while. you half expected her to open your dm immediately. she’s basically chronically online whenever she’s not on a mission or training, but there was nothing.
a knock at your door pulls you from your scrolling, brows knitting as you get up to answer it. when you swing the door open, your breath catches. xavier stands there, cheeks flushed, posture oddly sheepish.
“xavier? come in.” you step aside automatically, shutting the door behind him before turning back, confusion etched across your face. “what are you doing here? did we have plans?” worry slips into your voice.
he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he lifts his phone and turns the screen toward you—the twitter dm meant for tara, unmistakable.
your throat runs dry. heat rushes through you, mortification blooming in your chest, your face, the tips of your ears.
“i-i can…” you start, words tangling as his gaze pins you in place. “i can explain?”
he cocks his head to the side and asks. “so you don’t want to do this to me?”
“no! i mean—y-yes, but i… i just didn’t mean… i didn’t mean to send that to you.” you splutter. “this is not how i envisioned telling you that i wanted to try something like this. i’m sorry.”
“let’s do it.” he says, tossing his phone on your couch. “let’s recreate it—i want to.”
—
xavier sensed you were nervous. it took you a minute to fully get into it—the headspace, the dominance, but you eventually got there and he believes it’s the sexiest you’ve ever been.
you sat on his cock, slowly grinding against him like you were trying to tease him. your hands gripped at his pecs, palming and squeezing them in a way that made him breathless.
it was a struggle… to let his guard down, to let you dominate him. his hands were on your hips and he urged you to move faster. he wanted you to bounce on his cock till he came, but you said no.
“beg for it.” you whisper. “i won’t move the way you want me to unless you beg.”
he whimpers, the beg slipping past his lips all mumbly and cute—just the way you imagined they would. “please. please, go faster. i want you to go faster.”
you hum, delighted, your walls hugging him nice and tight as his words shoot straight to your core. you kindly oblige, lifting your hips and dropping them to which xavier lets out a blissed out moan. his brows knit in the utmost pleasure and his eyes flutter close.
his hands slide up to your waist, gripping you tight and holding you in place while his cock rams in and out of you. you let out little squeaks with every thrust and it only makes his cock throb intensely, loud whimpers following your sounds in suit.
he tries to hold back. to not get so close, but he can’t help it. you look so pretty riding him with your tits bouncing in his face and your pussy tightening around him like a vice. it makes him twitch frantically.
and you can feel it. the way he jerks and shakes—you know he’s close. you find it oddly endearing…how he’s been reduced to this, but you bite back the smile and school your features into something firm instead. “don’t cum,” you warn quietly. “you can’t cum… not yet.”
his hands still you, keeping you grounded and speared on his length as he begs for permission. “fuck, please—please let me cum.” he pleads, voice broken.
“no, not yet.” and the sound it pulls from him makes your chest ache—the choked, desperate sob torn from his throat at the denial, raw enough to make your heart constrict. “keep fucking me, xavie.”
he shakes his head incessantly, “i c-can’t, baby—fuck, i’ll–i’ll cum!”
“you can hold it.” you say, breathlessly, resuming your wicked motions. “be good ‘n fuck me faster.”
he clenches his teeth, pounding into you just the way you want. his hips snap against you with vigor while his cock helplessly throbs. he wants nothing more than to press deep inside and spill his load into you.
“i wanna cum, please, please, please. baby, please—i’ll do anything.”
you can’t resist him… his pretty face, his sweet voice. you offer a saccharine smile, lean in so your lips ghost over his and whisper. “cum inside of me, xavie.”
a loud, relieved groan slips out of him, his hands grip on you bruising as he pounds into you before he stills. his tip kisses your cervix before he’s pouring his hot, long awaited release into your cunt.
he crashes his mouth against yours, allowing you to swallow his moans as his arms wrap tight around you. he pulls you flush to his chest before he rolls you beneath him, hard cock still pressed inside of you. you squeal into the kiss, breathless and startled as the world tilts.
when he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, foreheads pressed against one another. you catch the darkness in his eyes, the heat flushing his cheeks, the way restraint is barely holding.
“can i make you beg now?” he whispers, voice low. then, softer… much more vulnerable, “please?”
© all works belong to MEDICLI 2026. do not copy or repost.
5,915 words * ˛ ✦ ・ She'd given him permission eight months ago when she'd shown up on his doorstep with a duffel bag and tears in her eyes, when she'd asked if the offer still stood, if he still wanted to take care of her. "God," she whimpers, her hips bucking back, seeking more. "No." He works his fingers deep, scissoring them, finding that spot that makes her legs shake and her vocabulary reduce to single syllables. "There's no God here, baby. It's just me, just daddy."
WARNINGS: third person pov (fem!reader), alternate universe – modern, age gap, size difference, power imbalance — sugar daddy dynamics, pseudo-incest, brat taming, porn with no plot, overstimulation / edging, copious usage of "baby", hair-pulling + face-slapping + pussy slapping + spanking, marking, creampie / breeding kink, daddy kink, threat of asphyxiation.
Caleb's fingers tighten around the glass of Macallan, the ice clinking against the crystal as he watches her from across the penthouse living room.
She's sprawled on his leather sofa, legs kicked up, phone in hand, looking entirely too comfortable in the silk robe he'd bought her last week. The robe that costs more than most people's monthly rent. She hasn't even tied it properly, and the fabric slips open to reveal the curve of her thigh, the lace edge of panties his card had also paid for.
His jaw tightens.
The view from the seventy-third floor stretches out behind her, lights glittering with the skyscrapers and the nearby river's black mirror surface, but Caleb barely registers it.
His attention—his entire focus—narrows to the girl on his furniture, the girl who's become the centre of his gravity over the past eight months. Forty-three years old, a self-made aviation mogul who built his empire from one rickety cargo plane and sheer stubbornness, and he's reduced to this: hard and aching at the sight of small bare feet with painted toes, at the casual disrespect in the tilt of her head and her disregard of his presence.
He should be reviewing the quarterly reports for Skyhaven.
He should be on a conference call with the board about the new hangar in Minneapolis.
He should be anywhere but here, tethered by a chain of want that he personally forged link by link, starting with a promise to a dying woman and ending with this—this arrangement that makes him feel simultaneously powerful and utterly powerless.
"You missed our dinner reservation," Caleb says, his voice deceptively calm. He'd spent forty-five minutes in traffic, another twenty waiting at the restaurant before the maître d' had finally taken the hint and stopped asking if he'd like another whisky while he waited. "Again." The restaurant—EVER—had taken months to secure. He'd pulled strings, called in favours, made donations to charitable foundations he didn't give a shit about, all for the slightly breathless noise she'd made when he'd told her where they were going. All for the way her eyes had lit up, the way she'd said "Really?" in that soft voice that cut through every defence he had.
She doesn't look up from her phone. "Yeah, well, I got busy."
"Busy." The word lands like a stone in the quiet space. The city's glare spills through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the interior with its LED lights. Caleb sets his glass down on the marble bar with a deliberate click. "Busy doing what, exactly?"
"Just shit." She finally glances at him, and there's that spark in her eyes—the one that makes his blood pressure spike and his cock stir simultaneously. Defiance wrapped in innocence, brattiness disguised as nonchalance. "Chill out, old man. It's just a stupid restaurant."
His vision narrows.
Old man.
The curse word doesn't bother him. He's heard worse flying cargo planes through storm systems, listening to rookie pilots panic and snarl over comms. But the disrespect—the deliberate, calculated nature of it—while wearing his gifts, living in his penthouse, spending his money … that makes something dark and possessive rear its head.
It makes him remember that he's twenty-two years older, that he watched her graduate high school, that he held her hand at Josephine's funeral while she sobbed into his shoulder, and somehow, impossibly, she'd ended up here.
Under his control.
"Come here." The command is quiet, but she hears it. She always hears it, even when she pretends not to. Even when she pushes every boundary just to see if he'll still enforce them.
"Make me," she says, and her lips curl into that smirk that drives him fucking insane. That smirk that says she knows exactly what she's doing, that she's calculated every move in this chess game they're playing where the prize is his self-control and her submission.
Caleb moves before he's consciously decided to, crossing the space between them in three long strides. He towers over her—he's always towered over her, this girl half his age who somehow consumes every thought he has. She tips her head back to look at him, and even now, even when he's ready to put her over his knee, she's beautiful.
Not that he'll tell her that. Not yet. Not until she's begging, not until the brat has been tamed into something soft and pliant and his.
"Get up."
"Or what?" She stretches, deliberately, the robe falling open further. He catches a glimpse of bare stomach, and his control frays another inch. "You'll ground me? Take away my allowance? Oh, wait—"
He grabs her wrist, yanking her to her feet. Her phone clatters to the floor. She stumbles against him, all soft weight and sharp attitude, and his free hand finds her jaw. Not a caress, but a grip that reminds her that for all her bluster, for all her youth and fire, he's the one with the power here. The money. The experience. The control.
"Watch your mouth," he growls.
"Fuck you," she whispers, and he sees it, the way her pupils dilate.
She wants this. She's been pushing for it all evening, maybe all week. Missed dinners, sarcastic texts, that little jab about his age last night that had him jerking off in the shower like a teenager, fist tight around his cock while he imagined all the ways he'd make her pay for it.
"That's it." His voice drops lower, taking on the timber that makes his pilots snap to attention. "You've been asking for this."
He drags her to the bedroom—not roughly, but without giving her a choice. She could fight him; she's small but she's fierce when she wants to be. But she doesn't. Her feet move where he directs, her body pliant under his hands even as her mouth keeps running. Even as she maintains the fiction that she's still in control of this situation.
"Caleb, seriously, I was just—"
"Quiet." He pushes her through the doorway, then kicks it shut behind them. The sound echoes in the master suite, a sharp punctuation to the evening's transgressions. "Take off the robe."
She crosses her arms. "Make me."
He almost smiles. There it is, that challenge that makes his dick ache. He owns three private charter companies, has more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, and this twenty-one-year-old brat has him harder than he's been in years just from a few sharp words.
Just from the way she tilts her chin up, the way her eyes dare him to cross lines he drew himself, boundaries he established and then watched her dance across with a smirk.
"Fine." Caleb closes the distance between them, crowding her back against the wall. His hands find the belt of the robe, yanking it open with a sharp tug that leaves her gasping. The silk slides off her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and then she's just in the lingerie he'd selected. Black lace bra, matching panties, garter belt holding up sheer stockings. All his. All bought with his money, worn for his pleasure—even when she's being a goddamn menace. Even when she's testing every limit he'd carefully constructed to keep this thing between them from consuming them both.
"Better?" she asks, her voice breathless now, the bravado edged with something else. Something that sounds like anticipation. Like surrender waiting to happen.
"Not even close." His fingers trace the strap of her bra, down the cup, watching goosebumps rise on her skin. "You think you can disrespect me all week and there won't be consequences? You think you can throw my gifts in my face, miss reservations I spent months securing, call me 'old man' while wearing hundreds of fucking dollars of silk I put on your back, and I'll just ... what? Forgive you?"
"I think you're all talk." She lifts her chin, but he can see the pulse hammering in her throat. "I think you'll just lecture me and then fuck me vanilla missionary like you always do when you're 'disappointed.'"
The word drips with sarcasm, and his hand moves before he can stop it—not that Caleb really wants to. The crack of his palm against her cheek rings out, sharp and sudden in the quiet room. Not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to sting. Her head snaps to the side, and when she turns back, her eyes are wide, her breath coming fast; her hand flies to her cheek, fingertips tracing the warmth that blooms right there.
"Vanilla?" Caleb's voice is a low rasp that vibrates through his chest.
He grabs a fistful of her hair, not gently, not like he's been doing for months since he first gave in and touched her. He wraps it around his hand, pulls her head back until her throat is exposed, until she's up on her toes and breathing through her mouth, her lips parted in a way that makes him want to shove something between them.
Preferably his dick.
"Aha, you think that's what you're getting tonight, baby?"
"Don't call me—"
Caleb cuts her off with his mouth, kissing her hard and deep, swallowing whatever protest she was about to make. She tastes like the expensive wine he'd stocked the fridge with, like the privilege of youth and rebellion. His tongue sweeps past her lips, taking, claiming, owning every gasp and moan while his hand in her hair keeps her exactly where he wants her. She moans into it, her hands coming up to his chest—not pushing him away, but clutching at his shirt, her small fingers twisting in the expensive cotton.
When he pulls back, they're both breathing hard. "You're going to learn," he murmurs, his thumb tracing her heated cheek. "Right now."
He pulls her away from the wall, steering her toward the bed with his grip in her hair.
She stumbles, off-balance, and he doesn't let her regain it; keeps her teetering on the edge of control, just the way he likes her. When they reach the edge of the king-sized bed, the one they'd picked out together last month, after she'd complained his old one was too firm— after they'd tested three different showrooms and he'd watched her bounce on each mattress like a kid, her laughter echoing through the empty store—he releases her hair only to push her down, facedown, across the mattress.
She lands with a soft oof, her ass presented perfectly in those lace panties. The garter belt frames everything, the stockings still smooth and unwrinkled. His cock throbs against his zipper, demanding release, but he ignores it for now.
"Wait," she starts to protest, but he's already moving.
The first slap lands on her right ass cheek, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot. She jerks forward with a yelp that morphs into something else when his hand comes down again, left cheek this time. He's not holding back, not like the playful taps he'd given her before when she'd asked, giggling, if he'd ever spanked anyone, if he'd ever wanted to.
This is the reality of what she signed up for when she moved into his penthouse and let him pay her tuition and bought her first designer bag with his black card.
"C-Caleb!" Her voice is high, shocked, but beneath it he can hear the pleasure.
"Quiet." Another slap, then another, his hand falling in a steady rhythm that lands against her ass beneath the lace. The fabric offers no protection; if anything, it makes each blow sharper, the heat trapped against her skin. She squirms, tries to shift away, but he puts a hand on the small of her back, holding her down with ease.
"Fuck, fuck—"
He slaps harder, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing off the high ceilings. "Language."
"O-Oh my—fuck!"
"Language." The repeat of the word is a whip-crack, and he punctuates it with another smack, this one low, catching the crease where her thigh meets her ass. She whimpers, her body going lax against the mattress, the fight leaking out of her like air from a punctured tire. He can see the wet spot spreading on her panties, darkening the lace.
She hates it when he corrects her. She does it anyway. It's a game, a vicious cycle they both thrive on, both need like oxygen.
"You missed dinner," he says, his voice cold and level even as his palm burns. "You disrespected me in my own home. You used that filthy mouth."
"I'll d-do it again," she gasps, and he can hear the tears in her voice now, the pleasure-pain that makes her tremble like a leaf in a hurricane. "I'll fucking do it again—"
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties and yanks them down, tearing the delicate lace without a second thought. She cries out, but it dissolves into a moan when his fingers find her soaked. Hot and slick, pulsing around his touch when he pushes two inside without warning, without permission, because he doesn't need it.
She'd given him permission eight months ago when she'd shown up on his doorstep with a duffel bag and tears in her eyes, when she'd asked if the offer still stood, if he still wanted to take care of her.
"God," she whimpers, her hips bucking back, seeking more.
"No." He works his fingers deep, scissoring them, finding that spot that makes her legs shake and her vocabulary reduce to single syllables. "There's no God here, baby. It's just me, just daddy."
She's tight around his fingers, her inner walls clenching as he pumps them in and out with a rhythm that matches the beat of his own heart. With his other hand, he pulls her ass cheek aside, exposing her fully to his gaze. The sight makes his mouth water, makes his cock ache with a need that's bordering on pain.
But he's not done yet. Not nearly.
"You're soaking," he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles around her clit without giving her the pressure she needs. The pressure she's been silently begging for with every twitch of her hips. "All this because I slapped you? Because I put you in your place?"
"Fuck y-you—"
He pulls his fingers out, and she makes a sound of protest that dies in her throat when he slaps her pussy. Not hard, but enough. Enough to sting, to shock, to make her whole body jolt and fresh wetness coat his fingers.
Her hands fist in the thousand-dollar duvet cover. "Caleb, please—"
"Please what?" He slaps again, watching her lips swell, watching them glisten with her arousal. "Please stop? Please more? Use your words, baby. I know you have them. I know that smart mouth can form complete sentences when it wants to."
She's panting now, her face turned to the side, cheek pressed against the mattress. He can see her eyes squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. The mark on her cheek from earlier is still visible, and he leans down, pressing his mouth to her skin, sucking a bruise against her jawline. She moans, the sound vibrating against his lips, her hips making a small, involuntary circle.
"P-Please," she whispers, and it's the first honest word she's said all night.
"Please what?"
"Please let m-me cum, daddy."
Caleb laughs against her skin, the sound dark and cruel, edged with all the frustration she's caused him. "You think you deserve to come? After the week you've had? After the week you've made me have? After missing dinner, running up the credit card on shoes you don't need, sending me that picture of you at that club with your friends, the one where you're practically falling out of that dress—" His fingers slide back inside her, curling upward unerringly, and her back arches clean off the bed. He's merciless now, fucking her with his hand, his thumb finally pressing against her clit in tight, hard circles that make her writhe.
Her noises get louder, less controlled, more desperate. He's building her up fast, pushing her right to the edge, feeling the way her muscles tense, the way her breathing changes.
"You're close," he observes, feeling the flutter of her muscles, the way she gets impossibly tighter around his fingers. "I can feel it. You're about to fall apart, aren't you? You're about to make a mess all over my hand."
"Yes, y-yes—"
He stops. Just ... stops. His fingers still inside her, his thumb lifting away, leaving her empty and desperate. She screams into the mattress, a frustrated, animal sound that's music to his ears.
"Fucking hell, Caleb, you can't—"
"I can." He pulls his fingers out slowly, deliberately, brings them to his mouth, and sucks them clean while she watches over her shoulder with glassy, wounded eyes. "I can do whatever I want. That's the arrangement, isn't it? I pay, you obey. I provide, you behave." He says it like a mantra, like reminding himself as much as he does to her.
"Bullshit," she whispers, but there's no heat in it. Just desperate, clawing need. "The arrangement is you pay and I let you fuck me."
He grabs her hips, flipping her over onto her back with an ease that speaks to the difference in their sizes, their strengths. She bounces on the mattress, her legs splaying open involuntarily, her body knowing what it needs even as her mouth continues to defy, to snark, to brat out. Her bra is still on, though it's askew, one nipple peeking over the lace like a secret. Her thighs are trembling. Her pussy is visibly tender and swollen and so fucking wet it's dripping onto his thousand-thread-count sheets, making a mess he'll smile at every time he does laundry.
"The arrangement," he says, his voice low as he crawls onto the bed, settling between her legs like he's coming home, "is that I own you. Every inch. Every hole. Every fucking thought."
He leans down, his breath hot against her ear. "And you're about to remember that."
Caleb doesn't give her warning before he slides down and his mouth is suddenly on her. No teasing laps, no gentle buildup—just his tongue flat against her cunt, licking from her hole to her clit in one long, heavy stroke that has her hands flying to his hair. She pulls, hard enough to sting, but he's had worse from turbulence, from pulling G-forces that made his vision go grey at the edges.
He wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her open, and feasts.
She tastes like sex and sin and everything he's not supposed to want but craves anyway; like the strawberries she'd eaten earlier, like the particular flavour of her own cunt that's become his favourite thing in the world. He sucks her clit between his lips, flicking it with his tongue, feeling her thighs shake against his shoulders. When he pushes two fingers back inside her, she bucks so hard he has to pin her hips down with his forearm, has to use his weight to keep her from launching off the bed.
"N-No, oh! Fuck—"
"Language," he murmurs against her pussy, the warning coming as an afterthought when compared to how the vibration of his voice is making her sob.
Caleb curls his fingers, finding her g-spot again, and sucks harder, adding his teeth just barely, just enough. She's babbling now, incoherent streams of yes and please and fuck mixed with his name, with Daddy, with nonsense syllables that mean the same thing. He could listen to it for hours. He plans to. He brings her to the edge again and again, backing off just before she crashes over.
Each time, her curses get more creative, more breathless, and each time, his cock gets harder, his control thinner. She's soaked his face, his chin, his hand. The sheets are ruined, dark with her wetness. He doesn't care. He'll buy new ones. He'll buy a hundred new sets.
"Daddy, I-I can't," her voice breaks, tears thick in it. "I can't take it, p-please, I'll be good—"
"You can." Caleb kisses her inner thigh, bites down hard enough to leave a mark that'll bloom by morning, that'll have her remembering every time she moves. "You will. Because I said so, and what I say goes."
He adds a third finger, stretching her, fucking her hard and deep while his mouth works her clit relentlessly.
She's so close he can taste it, feel it in the way her muscles lock up, the way she holds her breath like she's drowning. This time, when he feels her start to tip over, he doesn't stop. He pushes harder, faster, his tongue a relentless point of pressure until she screams.
The orgasm rips through her, violent and beautiful. Her back arches clear off the bed, her thighs clamping around his head like a vise, her hands yanking his hair so hard that it makes his eyes water. He doesn't let up, doesn't give her a moment to breathe. He keeps licking, keeps pumping his fingers through the clenching, through the gush of wetness that coats his hand, the aftershocks that make her twitch and whimper. He drags it out until she's crying, actual tears tracking down her face, her words devolved into pure, animal nonsense.
"No, no, no—s'too m-much, daddy, s'too much!" She's pushing at his head now, weak and uncoordinated, her strength already gone.
He finally pulls back, his face smeared with her slick, his fingers still buried deep.
She's a mess. A gorgeous, wrecked mess. Her eyes are glazed, her makeup smudged, her cheeks smeared with too much tears, sweat, and probably a hint of drool. Ah, he wants to mark her everywhere.
"That's one, baby," he coos, and it makes her whimper, already oversensitive, already overwhelmed.
Caleb stands, unbuckling his belt with steady hands. Her eyes track the motion, fixated on his hands as he pulls it free of the loops. The leather slides out with a soft hiss that sounds like a threat. He doubles it over, slaps it against his palm. The crack makes her flinch, makes her thighs press together with an audible squelch.
"You think you're done, hm?" he asks, unbuttoning his slacks, letting them hang from his hips. "You think that little orgasm is enough to make up for the week you've put me through?"
She shakes her head, silent for the first time all night, her mouth is probably too tired to form the sharp words she'd been using as weapons.
"Good." He pushes his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It's hard enough to ache, the head wet with precum, the vein along the side throbbing with his heartbeat. He wraps his hand around it, strokes once, twice, watching her watch him, watching her eyes fix on the way his hand moves. "Because I'm not even close to finished with you."
Caleb crawls back onto the bed, kneeling between her legs. He grabs her ankles, pulling her down the mattress until her ass is at the edge, her legs draped over his thighs. He palms her ass, feels the heat radiating from the skin he spanked raw, the skin that will be bruised tomorrow. She hisses but doesn't pull away. Instead, her hips make a small, involuntary roll upward, seeking friction, seeking him.
"P-Please," she whispers, and it's the sound he lives for. The sound of the brat breaking.
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me."
He spanks her again, just once, right on her sore cheek. The sound is sharp, and her yelp is sharper. "Try again."
"Please fuck me, sir."
Better. But not quite. Not enough. Still a brat somehow, even if she already broke earlier.
He leans down, his cock hot against her stomach, his mouth at her ear. "That's not what you call me. You know what you call me. You've known for months, even if you've been too stubborn to say it when you're not cumming, when your pretty brain is still thinking straight."
Caleb has never asked for it outright, until now. But he's paid for this apartment, her tuition, her wardrobe. He's paid for her fucking manicures, for the appointments at the salon he schedules for her, for the cars she doesn't even appreciate. He's earned it. He's earned every goddamn thing.
She's silent for a long moment, her breathing ragged. Then, so quietly he almost misses it, a whisper that sounds earnest, almost genuine now that she's thinking clearly, saying it with all her little heart, "p-please fuck me, daddy."
The word hits him like a drug injected straight into his bloodstream. His cock jerks against her skin, and he has to close his eyes, has to count backwards from ten to keep from coming just from hearing it..
"Again." The command is steel.
"Please, d-daddy." Louder now. Her hips lift, rubbing against him, the wetness of her soaking his shaft. "Please, I'm so empty, I need—"
He slams into her.
No warning, no slow slide, no gentle preparation—just one brutal thrust that buries him to the hilt in one smooth, hard motion. She screams, her body bowing, her nails clawing at his chest hard enough to leave red tracks. She's so fucking tight after that orgasm, squeezing him like a fist, like she's trying to force him out and keep him inside at the same time, and it's all he can do not to lose it right there.
Caleb holds still, buried deep, feeling her flutter around him, adjusting to his size, to the intrusion, to the claiming. "Fuck," he grits out, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt. "Fuck, baby, you're so tight."
She's babbling again, his name mixed with please and daddy and yes and a stream of nonsense that makes no sense and perfect sense at the same time. He pulls back, almost all the way out, the wetness making the slide obscene, then drives back in. The rhythm he sets is punishing, hard deep strokes that rock the frame against the wall with a steady thump-thump-thump that echoes through the penthouse. Each thrust forces a sound from her, rough and raw. He grabs her hair, wrapping it around his fist again, pulling her head back so he can see her face, so he can watch the way she goes brainless happen in real time.
Her eyes are barely focused, her mouth slack and open, drooling a little, tears and spit mixing on her cheeks. There she is—he's fucked her stupid, fucked the brat right out of her, and the sight of it makes him thrust harder, makes him want to fuck her even dumber, until there's nothing left but this mess.
"Look at you," Caleb murmurs, his voice a mocking coo. "Look at this mess. My pretty little girl, all used up. You can't even think, can you? Can't even form a sentence. What's your name, baby? Can you remember?"
She moans, her hands falling limp to her sides, giving up even the pretence of participation, the feigned protests. She's just taking him now, just existing for his pleasure, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
He slaps her face—not hard, just a tap to bring her focus back, to make those eyes find his even if they're dazed to hell and back. "Who owns you?"
"Y-You," she whispers, and it's the truth, raw and unvarnished.
"Who?"
"Daddy's." The word is automatic now, programmed into her by his hands and his cock and his will.
"Uh huh, that's right." Caleb releases her hair, grabs her legs, pushes them back until her knees are near her shoulders, folding her in half. The new angle has him hitting deeper, rubbing against her front wall with every stroke, and she makes a choked sound, her eyes rolling back, her mouth opening in a silent scream.
"This is mine. This pussy is mine. This ass is mine." He punctuates each claim with a sharp thrust that drives the words home. "You're mine. Every part of you. Every thought you have when you're alone, every time you touch yourself, you're thinking of me. Aren't you?"
He can feel his orgasm building, that familiar tightness in his spine, the way his balls draw up and get heavy. He doesn't want to stop, wants to fuck her like this for hours, keep her in this space where she's just his, no attitude, no curse words, just need and obedience and the sweet sound of his name. But his body has other plans. She's too tight, too hot, too fucking perfect, gripping him like she was made for this, like she's been made for him alone.
"Come on," he growls, his hand finding her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, feeling her pulse hammer against his palm, feeling her life under his hand. "Come on, baby, one more. Give me one more. Milk my cock like a good girl."
"Daddy, I-I can't," her voice is reduced to a whimper, exhausted, wrecked.
"You can." He thumbs her clit with his other hand, rubbing in tight circles that match his thrusts, that build her back up from nothing. "You will. Because I said so, and daddy gets what daddy wants."
She breaks on command, exactly as he knew she would. Her pussy clamps down so hard it hurts, rippling around him in waves that drag him over the edge with her, that pull his orgasm from him whether he's ready or not. He slams deep and stays there, grinding against her as he comes, painting her insides with pulse after pulse of hot cum. The breeding kink he hasn't admitted to, the one that makes him groan as he imagines filling her up, making her swell with his kid, making her truly his in a way no piece of paper nor transaction ever could—it's front and centre now, and he can't stop the words from spilling.
"Take it," Caleb grunts, his hips jerking involuntarily with each spurt. "Take every fucking drop. Going to fill you up, make you so full, going to keep you pregnant and pliant and fucking mine—"
She wails, another orgasm ripping through her at his words, at the fantasy, milking him dry, her body greedy for everything he has to give. He collapses forward, catching himself on his elbows so he doesn't crush her, but stays buried deep, stays connected. He's still hard, still twitching, still leaking, and he can feel his cum leaking out around his shaft, mixing with her wetness, making an even bigger mess of his sheets.
They lie like that for a long moment, their panting breaths the only sound in the room. He can feel her heartbeat against his chest, can feel the aftershocks that make her twitch around him like little fluttering kisses.
His face is buried in her neck, and he opens his mouth, biting down on the tender skin there, marking her again, adding to the collection. She whimpers but doesn't push him away. Her arms come up, wrap around his back, hold him close. When he finally pulls out, it's with a slick, obscene sound that makes him want to shove back in, to start all over again.
Caleb doesn't. He rolls onto his back, pulling her with him so she's sprawled across his chest, her legs tangled with his, her face tucked under his chin. Her legs are still shaking. He can feel them trembling against his own, little aftershocks of pleasure and exhaustion.
"Fuck," she whispers into his skin, her breath hot and humid. "Fuck."
He smacks her ass, though it's half-hearted now, exhausted. "Language."
She laughs, the sound breathless and hoarse and so fucking perfect. "Can't. Can't think. You fucked all the words out of me."
"Good." Caleb kisses her forehead, his hand stroking up and down her back, feeling the bumps of her spine, the softness of her skin. "That's how I want you."
They're quiet for a while, the city continuing its endless hum outside, indifferent to what happens in this penthouse, in this bed. His hand finds hers, lifts it to his mouth. He kisses her bruised knuckles—she must have scraped them on the sheets when she was clawing for purchase. His other hand rests on her ass, feeling the heat radiating from the skin he'd marked.
"Are we still fighting?" she mumbles, her voice thick with exhaustion, with the kind of deep weariness that comes from being taken apart and put back together.
"Were we ever?" He feels her smile against his chest, feels the way she relaxes into him.
"You were mad."
"I'm still mad." He squeezes her ass, making her wince and squirm. "You missed dinner. That reservation took months to get. I had to donate to three different charities."
"Sorry, daddy." The word is sleepy now, sated, automatic. It still makes his chest tighten, still makes him feel like he's won something he didn't deserve.
"You're not sorry." He shifts, reaching for the nightstand where he keeps a bottle of water. He cracks it open, helps her sit up enough to drink. She gulps greedily, water dripping down her chin, her throat working. He wipes it away with his thumb, tender now where he was brutal before. "But you will be tomorrow when you can't sit comfortably. When you feel me with every step."
She shivers, her eyes fluttering closed. "Worth it. So fucking worth it."
Caleb watches her drift off, her body going limp and heavy against him, her breathing evening out into the soft rhythm of sleep. In sleep, she looks younger than twenty-one, vulnerable and small, all the sharp edges sanded away. He pulls the duvet up over them both, tucking it around her shoulders, cocooning them in warmth. His hand finds her hair, stroking through the tangled, sweaty mess he'd made of it, smoothing it back from her face.
The bruises are already forming. He should feel guilty—he's old enough to be her father, technically. He'd promised Josephine he'd look out for her, protect her, not fuck her senseless and mark her up like a territory map.
But Josephine was gone, and the girl in his arms was very much here. Very much his. Even if she drove him insane, even if she made him feel every one of his years with her attitude and her recklessness.
She was his, and he'd bought her fair and square—with tuition payments, with designer clothes, with a penthouse and a car and a credit card that never got declined.
Caleb kisses her temple, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat and his shampoo from her shower earlier, the smell of her coconut conditioner underneath. His hand drifts down to her stomach, splaying open there possessively, covering the space that in his fantasies might one day swell. She shifts in her sleep, pressing closer, making a soft noise of contentment. Her hand finds his chest, curls over his heart like she's claiming it right back.
He covers it with his own, his larger fingers dwarfing hers, and holds it there.
The phone buzzes on the nightstand—probably a text about tomorrow's charter flight, a pilot calling in sick, a client demanding something unreasonable at an unreasonable hour. He ignores it. Let them wait. Let them all wait. His empire can run itself for one night.
He has everything that he needs right here.
SAINT'S NOTES ! scheduled on queue, i'm busy studying — my board exam is next month so i have to lock in; this is put into queue along with a few others to be posted throughout february to march (maybe) considering that there's a lot going on. like. there really is something wrong with my brain to think about going to medschool after the whole shitshow four years of my undergrad, but anyway, it might be fun. who knows (i don't).
© skyizhou : do not claim, modify, copy or repost my works without permission. feeding my works to ai is strictly prohibited. minors do not interact.
Lads and their text pt.1
when I tell you I had to do a double take because I thought these were 2 parts of the same whole joke
jake nsfw links
18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI.
-twt/X needed to open the links
subby links •┈𖥔
ikeu eating you out because you weren’t paying attention to him, he’s so jealous and needy :(
tying jake’s pretty hands up as you jerk him off. you flick his sensitive nipples as he gets all whiny
stroking ikeu gently as you make out with him, then lowering your pretty tits in his face because it’s his favorite thing in the world
you got needy mid shopping, so you dragged sweet jake to the changing room and made him please you until you were satisfied
he got bricked seeing you first thing in the morning, so you decided to tease his morning wood, not letting him cum just yet
dom links •┈𖥔
you were teasing jake walking around the house naked, so he decided to teach you a lesson and fucked you right there
jake loves 69 as you get all whiny
jake couldn’t wait to get back to your hotel room and finger you roughly, you’ve been so bad
you thought it was going to be a shower, but he wanted round 2 after all
cuddling naked always turns into him fucking you hard
solo links •┈𖥔
*jake sent you an attachment*: “my schedule’s been so busy, i miss your pussy :(“
“was at a business meeting and thought of you, baby you make me so hard”
reqs are definitely open !
— arie
YOU GUYS IT’S DECEMBER 10TH YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS HAS BEEN IN MY QUEUE SINCE FEBRUARY
you have the rest of the day to reblog this



