Sam

It was all you could do to pace from one side of the living room to the other as you waited for him to get home. You'd tried to mitigate the damage - forcing yourself into the set of lingerie he'd packed for his victory lap and dimming the villa's lighting into something more romantic, something more forgiving. Still, your heart was beating too loudly for you to hear the front door open, to catch Satoru's heavy footsteps as he made his way to you. Your only warning was a deep breath as the loitered in the living room's doorway, a soft call of your name. Immediately, you swallowed your nerves down and ran to him.

Of course, Satoru welcomed you with open arms. His heavy coat crinkled as you through yourself against him, the beads and rhinestones of his costume somehow biting into you through the thick fabric. He was cold to the touch, but you'd come to expect that. He lived on the ice. The rest of the world, including you, was only a way to pass the time.

"Princess," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. He caught the hem of your babydoll, toying with the lace. "All this for me?"

You flashed a plastered-on smile up at him. "I thought you might need a little cheering-up."

"And why's that?"

Your heart clenched. "I-- I know you had a hard night," you managed, before the lapse was too noticeable. "I saw your skate."

He hummed, fishing something out of his pocket. "Not too bad. Look at this," he said, holding up his medal by the strap. The circle of polished, gleaming bronze felt like an accusation. Evidence of your wrong-doing. "Something new for the trophy case. I was getting tired of gold, anyway."

Right. Because Satoru had never gotten anything less than gold. Ever.

You felt like you were going to vomit.

Thankfully, he was already pulling away from you. Dropping the medal some athletes worked their entire lives to see thoughtlessly to the ground, he took your hand and tugged you toward the sofa. "C'mon. There's something I wanna show you."

Satoru traveled. A lot. He had high-end preferences, and after you became his favorite carry on, another requirement was added to his long list of necessities - the largest possible flat-screen T.V. Sometimes, he'd tow you to his competitions and make you cheer from the side of the rink, but he normally didn't want you getting so close to so many people. Somewhere to watch live, but at a distance, was more reliable. More within his control.

He fell onto the center of the couch. You moved to sit next to him, but he shook his head, pointing towards the ground. You grimaced, but you reminded yourself that things could be worse. A blowjob was leagues better than, you didn't know, being flayed alive with the blade of his skates or something.

You settled onto your knees at his feet. The steps were mechanical and familiar. Wrestle with the drawstring of his pants. Free his cock, already half-hard and leaking into your palm. You brought your lips to the flushed tip, lapping over it in short, quick swipes while your right hand worked his shaft. Satoru groaned, running his fingers through your hair. His free hand found the remote, the bulk of his attention still lazily focused on the flat-screen.

You tried to turn your brain off as you took him into your mouth. Mentally, you were somewhere else. The thing that felt the weight of Satoru's head on its tongue, the thing bobbing gently on a monster's cock - that wasn't you. Except, it was hard to disassociate when you could see color flashing in the corner of your eye, hear the ostentatious music and pretentious commentary of Satoru's chosen passion. His performance. He was watching his performance.

Whatever. That didn't matter. You sunk as low as you could, but admittedly, the depth wasn't very impressive. Your motivation was low and Satoru was big. You only had half of him in your mouth by the time his tip hit the back of your throat, and already, your jaw ached with the strain of it.

Normally, this was when you would find a rhythm, a pattern to fall into. Satoru would purr, laugh, praise you. Eventually, he'd cum and you'd slink away to find something acidic enough to wash the taste out of your mouth. Messy, but fast. That was what you'd gotten used to. That was your new normal.

But, Satoru wasn't feeling like himself, tonight. That was he'd fallen.

That was why he was doing this to you.

His cock twitched on your tongue as he pressed his palm down on the back of your head. You gagged around him, your throat struggling to accommodate an inch of his length, then two. You beat your fist against his thigh, trying to warn him, but Satoru's attention was elsewhere.

"There it is," he said, a minute or so into his routine. In the background, you heard a body slam against ice, commentators wincing in second-hand embarrassment. Satoru rewound, then let it play again. "Fuck, it looks so much worse from this angle. It hurt, y'know. Figure skating's pretty dangerous. I could've broken a leg. I could've broken my neck."

A mix of spit and arousal welled at the corner of your lips, dripping over your chin, your chest. Satoru only forced himself deeper. You felt your bottom lip split and start to bleed.

"I wasn't worried about that, though. To be honest, it's kind of hard to think about anything out there. You're listening for your cues, keeping track of where you are in the rink, smiling at the judges..." He let out a breathy laugh which trailed into an airy moan. His veins were like tracks of molten lava against your tongue, your throat. All raw heat with no room to flinch back. "But that's the weird part. Right..." He paused in the middle of a jump. "...here. I was doing fine, and then, I had this thought."

His nails bit into your scalp. Your nose pressed into his lower stomach.

You couldn't breathe.

"She doesn't love me." Another laugh, this one crueler than the first. "I don't know. It was just that, then I was on the ground. She doesn't love me, then I lost."

He shifted underneath you, leaning back. Your vision blurred, then began to darken around the edges.

"It's not true, obviously, but I'd love to hear you say it. Can you do that for me, princess? Can you tell me how much you love me?"

You couldn't. You couldn't, but you tried - mouthing the words around his length. The sound you made was intelligible, nothing more than whines and wordless vocalizations, but Satoru didn't seem to mind. His hand went stiff against the back of your head. He hunched over you, and then, something thick and choking and hot enough to blister was flooding down your throat. Satoru held you there for a second, then another before pulling back and letting his cum splatter over your face, your neck, your chest. If you'd been braver, you might've lunged at him, tried to do what his fall couldn't. If you'd had any strength left at all, you might've screamed.

But, you didn't. You collapsed against him, gasping for air. Satoru only cooed, combing the hair out of your face. Trying to get a clear of the misery he'd caused. "My pretty girl," he sighed. He leaned down, pulling your crumpled body into his lap.

His lips came to rest against the top of your head. You could feel the sharp edges of his smile, the low warmth of his breath as went on.