arthurmorganslove

“This is — harder — than it looks." You pout, your dampened brow drawn with focus. The warm rasp of Arthur's laugh, layered like a full-bodied bourbon with notes of smug mockery, makes desire war with indignation in your core. But the feel of him as you ride — so deep as to stipple your vision with stars — favors desire.

“You’re doin’ good, sugar. Real good.” He soothes, roughened palms making plush indents in the fat of your ass as he spreads you, wetting his lips, watching himself vanish and reappear from within your tight, gleaming rim. “Christ, look at’chu…”

You’ve never found yourself in this particular position before, but you can understand the visual appeal — for him. All you have to look at are his well-muscled legs and your own panting, disheveled reflection in the mirror opposite—

You grimace and shut your eyes.

Arthur was your first. And you were his first in... well, in longer than a man cared to admit. He took you in a bed of moon-dipped lavender; nervous; gentle; attentive to the point of apology. You cried and laughed and bless him, he didn't run. But you quickly learned that while you wore your shame as a second skin, his was like a shackle, and though your heart sank when he told you he shouldn't, couldn't be with you, it was not with surprise.

The surprise only came when he chose you anyway.

Not over the gang — that, you'd never presume. But despite his burdens he makes time for you, and you both seem to accept the quiet accord that you'll cling to this goodness until its inevitable end. It's all either of you have.

Huffing with effort, stamina drained, you still — as does the headboard, much to the relief of your neighbors, you're sure — and lean your weight on your hands in capitulation to the roaring protest of your thighs.

“Woah now, you ain’t done ‘til I say.” Arthur teases, rendering a light spank to the apple of your rump. And though you can’t see him you just know your whimper makes that maddening, crooked grin of his curve slow above his chin scars. “C’mon, cowgirl — up y’get. Put them pretty hips to work.”

“I — I’m tired, Arthur.” Then, with a bit more honesty, “I’m… not good at this one, I don't think.”

He’s quiet, smoothing his hand over the lingering sting. “Y’need a minute?”

You nod. You slide off, a dull, achy void where his cock belongs. Silently cursing your gracelessness, you shift with limbs like gelatin to lay beside him instead. You don’t meet his eyes, and perhaps with mercy on his mind, he doesn’t insist. Just rolls so his chest is flush against your back, drawing you close with arms fit for hoisting hay bales, hauling his hunt, full of strength to lift grown men as heavy as their crimes over his shoulder — yet for the gnawing pit of your swiftly-spiraling thoughts you can’t fathom why they’d ever bother with holding you.

"Talk." He prompts without ceremony.

You swallow. "S'nothin'."

"Liar." He snorts softly. "I keep tellin' you, princess, you lie about as well as—"

"Oh, fine." You groan, curling away from him on instinct as if recoiling from your own impending truth. "…I kept looking at the mirror."

In the silence you can hear his understanding. He sighs heavily.

“Want you to feel good…” His voice on the shell of your ear is as tender as his touch, big hands cradling your belly, your softened fullness like baker’s dough rising between his fingers. “Wish I could — I don’t know… let you borrow my eyes, or somethin’, if it’d help y’see yourself different. Like how I do.”

Your throat tightens. “Thank you, Arthur. That's kind."

Another wash of air on your neck as he huffs in dismissal. “Shut up. I’m tryin’ to tell you—“ He pauses, lifting his head to better see your face, the lines around his eyes creasing with something like determination. “To hell with me. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say you’re pretty.”

You scoff but his hand finds your chin, tilting it back towards him with gentle insistence. “You heard me, woman. C’mon. Let’s hear it.”

“Arthur…”

“Christ alive, just — do what I tell ya.”

You purse your lips, the sentiment false on your tongue as you flatly acquiesce, “…I’m pretty.”

“That’s it.” He murmurs approvingly, pressing a scratchy kiss to your temple. “Again.”

“I don’t—“

His hand slips below your belly, massaging your clit between the calloused valley of his first two fingers. Your voice catches on a breathy sigh. “I’m… pretty…”

“There y’go… now say it like y'mean it...” The soft sounds of him playing in your mess reach your ears as your hips roll to his touch. The phrase doesn’t ring quite so hollow this time and so you repeat it, seeking his praise.

“Now you’re gettin’ the idea.” He rumbles, curving those two fingers inside you with ease. You steal breath with a soft gasp, lips parted, pleasure flourishing outward from his touch like wildflowers set aflame. You reach back, fingers carding through untidy tawny locks as you draw him into your kiss.

"That's right... don't gotta look at no mirror... just me."

And as you stare into his half-lidded eyes, full of tenderness rarer than the gemstones that envy their hue, the only word you can conjure between the heated press of your lips is, "Pretty... pretty... pretty..."

taglist: @anotheroutlaw; @arthurmorganslove; @babygirlarthur; @everlongingheart; @photo1030; @stupidgaynerd; @thedilfdiaries; @thorst; @thundermartini; @vickylamborghini; @yaboyguzma69

It started a few months back.

Arthur leaned against the brick wall, tracing a crack with his calloused fingers. The cell smelled of stale whiskey and tobacco either from former inmates or the sheriff’s breakfast. When the wooden door creaked open, he straightened, hoping Dutch had finally shown up to pay his bail.

Instead, he saw you.

A proper little lady, all ribbons and lace, stepping into that dim sheriff’s office like a patch of sunlight. You closed your parasol and set it beside the door, your gloved hand carrying a wicker basket.

“Y’ forgot your lunch, Daddy,” you said with that sweet voice as you placed the basket on the desk.

“Ah, thanks, sweet pea.”

Arthur didn’t dare move, though his pulse kicked up. You were one of the most beautiful and best-dressed women in Valentine—your father made sure of that. In a town of dust and mud, he wanted you to shine. Dresses pressed clean, sun hats tied with silk, gloves that never saw a stain. He hoped you’d catch a traveling businessman’s eye, settle down, and live a respectable life for a respectable woman.

You didn’t so much as glance his way, but Arthur felt like the air had left the room.

After kissing your father on the cheek, you took your parasol and left, your skirts brushing the doorway. He shifted on the cot, craning his neck to watch you walk down the street from the window. He studied the sway of your hips as you disappeared.

The sharp cock of a revolver snapped him back.

“I know damn well you ain’t lookin’ at my daughter!” the sheriff barked, gun aimed dead at his head.

Arthur raised his hands lazily, leaning back against the wall. “Now what would possess me to be that stupid?”

The sheriff grunted, lowering his gun with a scowl.

After that day, Arthur didn’t mind getting caught anymore.

“Headin’ to town. Don’t bail me out till tonight!” he’d call to camp at least once a week, before kicking his horse toward Valentine.

Even if he only saw you for a minute, it was worth the iron bars.

“Evenin’, Daddy.”

Arthur sat up straight, pretending not to care.

“Whatcha doin’ here, sweet pea?” your father asked.

“There’s a caravan of spices in town. Could I get some?”

He sighed, rummaging through his drawer, grabbing some coins for you. “Fine. Just don’t go buyin’ everything you see like last time.”

Then came a gunshot outside, followed by hollers and cheers. A drunken fight, no doubt.

Your father stood, strapping on his gun belt. “Stay here. And don’t talk to the prisoner!”

“Alright,” you said, watching him hurry out.

The office fell quiet. You lingered near the window, peeking through the glass at the commotion. You could just barely make out a group of men wrestling in the mud while townspeople gathered around.

“You’re an awfully pretty thing.”

The deep, gravelly voice catches your attention.

You turn, finally meeting the outlaw’s eyes admiring you through the bars. He’s lounging on the cot like he’s got nowhere better to be.

“That’s kind of you,” you say politely, “but I’m not allowed to socialize.”

You turn back to the desk, pretending to study the pile of wanted posters and ink-stained papers on your father’s desk.

“I won’t tell,” he drawls.

Surprised, you glance over your shoulder. No one ever dared speak to you like that, knowing damn well who your father was. Especially not a man sitting in your father’s cell.

“You’re a criminal.” You say it as a fact, not an insult, before looking back down.

However, you could still feel his heavy gaze roaming your body. He shifts, the cot creaking under him. “I wouldn’t hurt ya, miss. I'm a gentleman believe it or not. ‘M only here for foolish reasons.”

Silence.

“Your daddy just don’t like me much.”

Still nothing. A moment goes by as he tries to think up something else to say.

“I couldn’t help but notice you ain’t got a ring on that finger. Nor any gentleman escortin’ you.”

You let out a small breath through your nose. “You’re not very bright if you think talkin’ to me is a good idea.”

That earns a low chuckle from him. “Tell me, how’s it possible a pretty thing like you’s walkin’ ‘round Valentine without an intended?”

You turn then, leaning back against the desk, doing your best to look indifferent. “I have high standards.”

He stands and strides closer, resting his forearms on the bars. “’Suppose I don’t meet ‘em, huh?”

You can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Not even close.”

“Lemme guess,” his eyes the curves of your body. “You’re waitin’ for some city boy with a briefcase and a fancy tie. He’ll sweep you off your feet, take you to the city, buy you a big white house with painted shutters. You’ll live a quiet life, raise five kids… till he finds himself a mistress.”

You scoff, “Not all city men are like that.” You sounded more defensive than you meant to.

“Most are,” he says simply. His fingers tap the metal between you. “You wouldn’t have any fun livin’ like that. City boys just want a pretty thing to show off. Someone to help ‘em carry out their family name and make ‘em look good.”

Your gaze drifts away despite yourself. You’ve seen it—couples who don’t speak, wives who smile only for show. They look beautiful together, but looking back, it looks like an act.

He studies you, his tone lowering. “But us country men, outlaws even… we don’t need all that status nonsense.” His lips twitch into a near-smile. “We just want a woman we can worship proper.”

Heat rises, burning the tips of your ears.

“No city boy’s gonna come home n’ bury his tongue in that sweet pussy at the end of a long rough day, just for the hell of it.”

You should have turned away. You should have ignored him like your father told you to. But no one’s ever spoken so lewd and vividly to you. Even when you got the birds and bees talk it was vague. When you asked about sex with some other ladies in town, they’d all say the same vague things as well. “It’ll be quick.” “You’re lucky if he knows what to do with his pecker.” “We just do it once a month.” “It’ll hurt.” “It ain't all that.” “I didn’t even know he was in there.”

He could tell your mind was racing. “I could show you.” His deep drawl hypnotizes you. “Show you what it’s like to be with a real man.”

You froze. The room seemed smaller, the air thicker.

Before you could gather a reply, the door banged open—your father dragging in a bloodied drunk by the collar, two deputies with their own drunks crowding behind him. The spell shattered in an instant.

You straightened, forcing air into your lungs and your hands to still. The sheriff barked orders, the sound commotion quickly filled the once quiet room. Luckily, he was too busy to notice your flustered state or the way you couldn’t quite look at the man in the cell again.

“Move over, Mr. Morgan. You’re gettin’ a roommate.”

The sheriff shoved the drunk into the cell, and Arthur’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Moment ruined.

Mr. Morgan. You hadn’t known his name until now.

“Well, Daddy, I best be on my way before the caravan leaves.” You gathered the coins from the desk, slipping them into your skirt pocket.

“Yep, see ya tonight, dear,” he said distractedly, wrestling the drunks into compliance.

You hesitated at the door, then glanced back over your shoulder. “Goodbye, Mr. Morgan.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up, his posture straightening like a man who’d just been handed back a bit of hope. The sound of his name on your tongue replayed in his head long after you’d gone.

The following weeks, you'd almost always found Arthur in your father’s cell. And every time you walked in, his eyes would light up at the sight of you. You tried to tell yourself it was ridiculous, that there was nothing cute about an outlaw flirting from behind iron bars… but the flutter in your chest betrayed you every time.

There had been a few times he’d put a flower in his hat, slipping it to you when your father wasn’t looking. You always kept the wildflower, hiding it in your room like it was contraband. In a way, it was.

One afternoon, Arthur sat on the cot, listening as you chatted with your father about dinner plans.

“Just a friend from town,” you said, fixing the wrinkled lace in your dress. “We’re meeting at the saloon at 5, won’t be home till a little late.”

Arthur said nothing, but an idea quickly bloomed in his mind.

After Hosea came to bail him out, he rode straight back to camp and found John and Javier. By sundown, the three of them were striding through Valentine toward that very saloon.

Inside, the air was grey with cigar smoke, music, laughter, and arguing gamblers. He spotted you almost instantly, sitting with a friend at a corner table. He kept to the bar, a bottle of whiskey in hand His eyes flicking between his drink and you as John and Javier chatted beside him.

“Y’ should go over there,” your friend teased, nudging your arm. “He’s been eyeing you for at least 10 minutes.”

You followed her gaze and froze when you saw him. That same man from the cell, leaning against the mahogany on his elbow.

“I’m fine here,” you murmured, though your pulse quickened.

“Oh, come on. He’s handsome.”

“Not my type.”

“Bullshit.” She grinned. “Go on, talk to him. I’ll be fine”

You sighed, muttering something under your breath as you gathered your empty glass and stood. You made your way to the bar, careful to keep a few feet between you and him. Setting your glass down, you cleared your throat softly.

“Just water, please.” You ask the bar tender.

“Funny seein’ you here,” he drawled, watching you from the corner of his eye as he took a swig.

You turned just enough to meet his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t a man enjoy a drink with his friends?”

“Oh, is that what it is?” you teased, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“That’s the truth, ma’am,” he tipped his chin toward John and Javier on his other side. Then that smirk crept back. “But… I think you’re glad to see me here.”

You let out a small snicker. “Glad? Now, I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, come on.” He leaned closer, and gave you all of his attention. “Was it really necessary to remind your daddy where you’d be tonight? And so damn loud, too. Thought the whole town heard you.”

“I didn’t want him to worry.” You try to defend yourself, trying to be as casual as possible.

He chuckled, eyes lingering flicking down to your lips. “You missed me. Been thinkin’ about what I said, huh? That no city boy could give you the kind of life you deserve.”

“That’s not true-“

“Then why do you keep coming to see me?”

You met his gaze, pulse quickening. “You think quite highly of yourself, Mr. Morgan.”

You certainly amused him, there was no denying that. “Maybe.” He shrugs. “Or maybe I just know you’ve been thinkin’ about me near as much as I’ve been thinkin’ about you.” His voice dropped lower. “Don’t you ever wonder what else is out there? Besides those white fences.”

You hesitated, the air between you thickening, making it harder to breathe. For a moment, you almost forgot the noise of the saloon, the laughter, the piano, the boots scraping the floorboards.

His words hit harder than you’d expected. How could some outlaw have such an effect on you?

You steadied your voice, not wanting to let your nerves show. “There are rules to society,” you said carefully. “Not everyone’s a deviant, Mr. Morgan.”

Those dark and dangerous eyes of his only put you in a deeper trance. Was this the devil everyone spoke of?

“Perhaps not. But the world’s a whole lot bigger than what you’re told, darlin’. You just ain’t seen it yet.” Finally, his hand lifted, knuckles grazing your arm. A touch so light it almost could’ve been imagined. “Let me show you what your daddy’s world keeps you from,” he murmured. “Then you can run back to your precious little society and find yourself a husband, if that’s what ya still want.”

Your breath caught, his fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps down your skin. “I- uh- I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you said softly, the truth tumbling out before you could stop it.

He smiled, not mocking. If anything, he found it sweet. “Didn’t figure you would.” His hand shifted, taking your gloved ones into his.

He played with fabric that divided you before taking the tip of the glove and pulling it. He took his time, giving you every opportunity to pull away, reject him, even slap him if you wanted. But you didn’t. Once the glove was off, he shoved it into his back pocket and did the same to the other before delicately cupping your soft hand.

“I gotta room upstairs. Just say the word, darlin’.” He lifts your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

Your heartbeat thumped louder in your ears.

Three months ago, you’d have laughed off a man like him. Three months ago, you’d have followed every rule set before you.

Now, you just stood there, torn between what you were taught to want and what this outlaw made you feel.

Then your gaze flicked from your hands, to his eyes before whispering, “Show me.”

Arthur whistles to John and Javier, giving them some sort of signal. They exchange knowing looks before tossing come cash on the bar and slipping out into the cool night.

He turns back to you, his hand finding the small of your back as he guides you up the creaky staircase to his room.

Inside, the room was dim and cozy. A single oil lamp burns on the table, making a warm, flickering glow across the walls. Arthur turns you to face him, hands move to your cheeks, cupping your face like you were made of porcelain.

“You sure you want this?” His gaze holds yours, searching yours for any doubt.

You swallow hard, your lips parting as you breathe out, “I do, Mr. Morgan.”

“I’ll do right by you.” He whispered in that gravely voice of his.

With your confirmation, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is softer than you ever imagined.

He takes his time, molding your lips together. It was like he was afraid to ruin the moment by wanting too much too soon. His hand stays at your cheek, thumb brushing slow circles against your warm skin. He wanted this to be sweet for you. Wanted it to mean something.

Arthur had known plenty of wrong things in his life, but this, he wanted to make right. Perfect, even. So perfect you’d never consider another man again.

Your hands come up to fist in the fabric of his button-up as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to capture your upper lip. The world narrows to the sound of your kiss and the creak of the old floorboards as he leads you to the bed.

One of his hands leaves your cheek, sliding down the length of you until it finds your waist. He pulls you closer like he’s testing how much of you he’s allowed to touch, but you willingly give it to him.

You hum against his lips, “Mr. Morg-“

“Arthur.” He breaks the kiss.

“Arthur.” You try it now, making him grin like a school boy.

“‘M gonna have you moaning that all night.” He captured your lips again.

This kiss was different, nothing like the first or what you’ve heard before. Perhaps you’ve seen it once or twice in the alley of a saloon. Never, did you expect for a kiss to have such a physical reaction on you. A fire burned in your veins and traveled down to where your core started to ache. An ache you weren’t familiar with, but one that was possessing you.

His hands reach for the ribbon holding your dress together and slowly tugs, unraveling it. Your dress slackened down your shoulders, exposing more of your cleavage, but not enough to fall on its own.

He backs you onto the bed, carefully lowering you onto the comforter. His hands grew bolder, trailing down your leg and to the hem of your dress at your ankle. His lips moved to your cheek, then jaw, then neck where he was rewarded with a sweet gasp.

“Ohh, Arthur.” You sighed and let your head fall back.

“This ain’t nothin’, darlin’.” He nips at your neck, not enough to form any hickeys. “Lemme taste that pussy of yours. I know it tastes sweeter than sugar.” He breaks away to carefully take your boots off and kneel on the floor boards between your legs.

You yelp when he suddenly grabs your hips and tugs you to the edge for better access. Those rough hands of his find their way up your soft legs, pushing the skirt of your dress up at the same time. When he finds your undergarments, his fingers hook them and tug them off. Your thighs shut on instinct once the cloth is gone.

“Awe, come on, now.” He looks up at you, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it slide off. He wasn’t going to risk anything getting in the way.

“I- I can’t. It’s embarrassing.” Your face was hot.

“I assure you, there’s nothing embarrassing about this.” His hands move to rub your thighs to slowly encourage them to open. “I’ve been dreaming about this pussy of yours since I first saw you.”

Slowly, you gain the confidence to part your legs. When you do, Arthur’s eyelids grow heavy with lust.

“You’re soaked.” The confidence starts to fade and your thighs move to close, but he catches them, holding them open.

“That’s a good thing.” He chuckles and props your thighs on his shoulders.

“Oh.” You watch him nervously.

“I’m just gonna taste ya. Nothin’ to worry about.” He kisses your inner knee before working his way down. “You might even be begging for more later.”

The scent of your core, alone, was enough to have him salivating. With a lick of his lips, he closes the gap. His tongue laid flat against your slit, licking a long stripe up, curling his tongue ever so slightly to collect your arousal.

Your jaw immediately drops and hands grip the blankets. Your voice, once so soft and sweet, now, needy and desperate.

“Arthur! Mmmm! Arthur!”

There was no need for hesitation; he ate you like a starving man. There was nothing else that mattered at this moment except making you feel good.

He moved his mouth up to your clit, circling it with his tongue. He pressed against it, giving it a flat, hard lick. Then closed around your clit and he began to suck viciously, pulling mewls from your lips.

He moaned against you. Your taste was addictive. Everything he imagined. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. His tongue kept moving, alternating between flat strokes on your clit and sliding down to press inside of you.

You didn’t know pleasure like this was possible. It made you second guess why you’d ever resist. “You’re makin’ me feel so good!”

His mouth was aggressive, but so precise. Arthur knew exactly what he was doing. He moaned against you, the vibrations adding to the pleasure already building inside you. It was like he wanted to devour you.

Your hands shoot down into his hair, knocking his hat off his head. He groaned against you at the feeling of your hands, and his eyes flickered up to watch your jaw go slack.

His tongue moved against you, licking and sucking in all the right ways that had you writhing and moaning under him. His cock was straining against his trousers, begging for mercy, but he was too focused on you.

“You’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. Just gonna give ya a little more, okay?”

Your hips jerk as his rough finger slides through your folds, collecting your juices. It pushes past your lips and into you in one slow motion.

“God, you’re tight.” Arthur groans, watching your cunt flutter around him.

That thick finger starts moving in and out. Almost immediately, your thighs shivered. He picks up the pace. You could hear the faint squelching of your sopping wet pussy.

Arthur was in heaven. He leans back in and tackles your clit with his tongue. Your walls instantly clench around his finger and toes curl. You were on the edge and he knew it. He nuzzled his face deeper, not caring if his beard was scratching your thighs.

Not even a minute had passed before you were blinded by pure ecstasy. Sounds you didn’t even know you could make, rip from your mouth. He works you through it, helping you ride out those waves while slurping up every drop.

As you come down from your high, Arthur climbs back up over you, wiping his chin and beard. “Y’ alright?” He cups your cheek as you catch your breath.

“Mhm.” You hum.

“You think you can handle my cock?”

Your eyes open again, brows raised. “I- I think so.”

He carefully maneuvers you to lay in the center of the bed. His hands roam your body, taking your dress and peeling it off. With every inch of skin being exposed, he pressed tender kisses, worshipping you.

“So beautiful.” He hums.

Once you’re fully naked he works on his pants, tossing his belt onto the floor with a clang. You study his lower abdomen as more skin is exposed. Your heart rate picked up as you saw the girth of his cock.

“Still sure you wanna do this?” He chuckles as your wide-eyed reaction.

“I’m sure, it’s just…” He settles between your legs and leans over you, planting his arms beside your head. “Is that really supposed to go in me?”

“It is.” He answered simply.

“I don’t think it’ll fit.”

“I’ll make it fit, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

The aching red tip of his cock presses against your clit, making you jump a little.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ll go slow.”

Arthur takes his heavy cock in his hand, giving it a pump before pressing this thick head to your opening. Slowly, he slides in.

Your eyes seer shut as you take it. “Mmm, it’s big, Arthur." You groan.

He breaths heavily through his nose as your tight cunt squeezes around him. “I know. You’re doin’ good, girl.”

Your nails dig into his biceps as he feeds you more inches. Finally, he bottoms out, both your breaths already labored. Once he feels your pussy relaxing around him, he slides out slowly, keeping only his bulbous head in then sliding back in.

Arthur watched your head fall back and your back arch. He took in every expression you made as he slowly sank inside your tight wet pussy again. This was the sight he had been fantasizing about every night for the past few months. Here you are now, under him, taking each thick inch.

That uncomfortable stretching and pressure subsided into bliss. Moans roll off your tongue now, hands grabbing whatever they could; biceps, shoulders, back.

His pace started to pick up, his hips snapping to meet yours with more force. His breathing was growing increasingly labored, his face contorted in pleasure.

“Ooh, god- ngh!” He grunted, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through him. He was starting to lose himself in the feeling, his mind going fuzzy.

“Arthur,” you moan and tug him down for a kiss. He happily responds, deepening the kiss and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

With the shift of his hips, he finds your sweet spot. You break the kiss, letting out a pathetic mewl.

“I know, sweetheart. Ngh, that feels good don’t it?” He loved taking something so pure and watching it unravel for him. He let out a low feral moan as he picked up speed. “I- ungh fuck! I think you’re ready for the next part.”

“I- I am?”

“I wanna teach ya to ride me.” He grunts with every sharp thrust. “Think you can do that for me?”

You nod, unable to get words out.

With that, he rolls you both over, settling back and admiring the way you sit on his cock.

“Come on, now. Be a good girl n’ bounce on me.” He encouraged, hands moving to rest behind his head.

You whimper as you attempt to ride him, sliding up and down. Every move was electric. The sight of him beneath you, the way his muscles flexed under your hands with every move. It was almost too overwhelming to continue.

“Oh, Arthur, I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re doin’ so good.” He cooed. “Keep going, you got it.”

You keep riding him. It wasn’t very fast as you were still trying to get the hang of it, but lord was it incredible. You landed with a wet plap every time. It made Arthur’s eyelids grow heavy, trying everything in his power to keep them open and watch how beautiful you looked.

“That’s it.” He groans. “Keep on ridin’ me just like that!”

Your thighs were starting to burn. While your body moved on its own, possessed by the need to cum again, you weren’t sure how you were going to keep this up.

“Oh, Arthur. I can’t.” You whimper between moans.

“That’s okay- ngh ngh, j-just a little more, alright? Then I’ll make ya cum nice n’ hard just like you did earlier.”

You bite your lip and nod. He grabs your hips to help you, bringing you up and yanking you down. Your head fell back as you moaned.

You were losing speed, he knew it. So, he flips you both back over. Without wasting a second, he pistons in and out of you frantically.

“Y-you did s-so good, ridin’ me like that. ‘M gonna give you the best reward, now, okay?”

“Yes! Ahh! Don’t stop!” Your nails scratch at his back.

Arthur was gasping and grunting with each snap of his hips, the pleasure building inside between you.

“You feel so damn good." He growled, each word punctuated by a hard thrust.

His hand reached between you, his fingers finding your clit and starting to circle it roughly, adding to the waves of pleasure. The other hand hitched your legs higher on his waist, allowing him to get even deeper. You swore his cock was up in your chest with how deep he was.

“There we go,” He grunts, fixated on the way your face twisted with pleasure. His balls slap against your ass with every animalistic thrust.

“More, Arthur! I wanna cum again!” You plead between cries.

Your pussy squeezed his thick cock the closer you got. Every slam of his hips had moans rolling off your tongue. He was a possessed man, needing you more than air. He’d give you anything you needed to make you feel good.

“Look at ya, ‘bout to cum all over my cock.” Your legs shake around his hips now. “Just this morning, you were being a proper little lady of society. Remember that? N-now you’re fucking begging for my cock. Begging me to make you cum. Is that right?”

“Mhm,” you whimpered.

He drove into you like a mad man. “Cum for me- oh fuck!”

You came instantly, screaming his name and throbbing around his cock. Arthur didn’t last another second, cumming right after you. His body shuddered, muscles clenched, and a deep groan escaped his lips as he came deep in you. He kept fucking, slower now, just helping you enjoy those last waves of pleasure.

As you come back to reality, you hear your labored breaths and the distant, muffled music from downstairs. A low groan escapes when Arthur pulls out, the ache in your muscles reminding you just how worth it it was.

He lays down beside you, an arm looping around your waist to pull you against his still-heaving chest. His voice is gentler, but hoarse, now. “You holdin’ up alright?”

You nod, letting yourself melt into the warmth of him for a moment longer than you probably should. But then it hits you. The time.

“Oh, goodness!” You bolt upright, eyes darting around for a clock. “What time is it? I gotta get home before my daddy finds out-”

Arthur only chuckles, catching your wrist and tugging you back down to his chest. “I got it covered.”

“You- what? Arthur, I’m serious.”

He smirks, tracing lazy circles on your arm. “My friends are out distractin’ him. I told ’em to stir up trouble on the outskirts of town. Your daddy’ll be plenty busy tonight and into the mornin’.”

You look at him in awe. “You set that up?”

He hums, leaning in to kiss you. “They owed me a favor or two.”

A/N: TY again for 1000 followers! I’ll be redoing my taglists after kinktober so if you’d like to be on an Everything list or Arthur list lmk!

Dividers: @strangergraphics

Kinktober 2025 Tag List: @plu0725 @iristheplanet16

You don’t move from where you’ve curled on his cot, tucked under the heavy wool blanket. The camp’s noises have thinned to little more than the occasional murmur by the fire and the low hum of night insects. You hear the flap rustle, and then it’s lifted - Arthur stooping to enter, his shoulders nearly brushing both sides at once.

The tent’s small space fills with him immediately. The faint scent of cigarette smoke clings to him, mixed with the dry, metallic cool of night air. His hat comes off first, landing with a muted thump near the upturned crate you’ve claimed as a table. Then he’s shrugging out of his coat, folding it over one arm as he glances toward you.

“You’re already in bed,” he says quietly, voice warm and a little tired.

You make a slight noise of agreement. “It’s cold.”

It’s an excuse, actually. It is more that your insides feel like they are tearing apart at the seams. Again. The crescent moon comes and you know you’re in for it.

Arthur sets his coat on the crate and starts working at the buttons of his shirt. The lamplight softens the harsh lines of his face, but the tiredness stays. You watch the movements of his hands, the easy slowness of them, the way his sleeves slide back over the broad bones of his wrists.

When his boots hit the ground beside the cot, the fabric dips under his weight. He moves carefully - you’ve never known him to be careless with your space - but even so, the blanket tugs toward him. He eases himself down fully next to you, the heat of his body spilling into yours without contact.

You breathe him in before you touch him - the warm, sun-baked smell of his skin under the smoke, the faint tang of sweat, the heady scent of someone who’s been moving all day.

He doesn’t speak again at first. Just curls an arm around you, pulling you gently toward him. Your cheek finds the roughness of his shirt, and the steady thud of his heartbeat under it.

When his mouth finds yours, it’s not urgent, not yet at least. It’s the kind of kiss that starts slow and builds without either of you noticing until it’s too late to stop it. His hand comes up into your hair, the pad of his thumb brushing the curve of your temple, and you can’t help tilting closer.

The kiss deepens. You feel the shift in his breathing, the subtle roll of his hips toward yours. That’s when you pull back, your lips still tingling.

“We can’t,” you say softly. “I’m… bleeding.”

Arthur’s gaze holds yours without blinking. The corner of his mouth quirks, not in mockery, but in something close to disbelief that you think it matters to him. “Don’t bother me none,” he says, quiet but sure.

Your stomach knots. You’ve never liked this time of the month. You feel heavy in your own skin, achy in your belly, your face prone to puffing under the eyes. You’re aware of every shift in your scent, of the way you move less easily. You do not feel like the kind of woman men pull close in the dark.

But Arthur’s eyes don’t change. He looks at you the same as he did the night he first kissed you by the creek, as the night he first pressed into the grass with his hands buried in your skirts. As though none of it, the ache, the blood, the things you dislike about yourself matters in the slightest.

“It’s messy,” you tell him, frowning, half hoping that he will be as disgusted by it as you are.

He brushes his thumb along your jaw. “So’s most things worth doin’.” His voice is so certain, so matter-of-fact, that it’s hard to think of an answer. Then he adds, softer, “Ain’t gonna want you any less.”

Something in you loosens, though you’re not sure if it’s relief or disbelief. You’ve never felt like much during these days - bloated, sore, unkempt in a way you can’t quite hide. But Arthur looks at you the same as ever, like there’s not a thing about you that could shift his wanting.

When he kisses you again, you don’t stop him.

His hands are slow, deliberate, as he pulls back the blanket you had buried yourself in. He lifts your long chemise first, bunching the fabric around your hips before sliding his palms up the backs of your thighs. He murmurs something low, half compliment, half claim, and then takes his time tracing the lace trimmed neckline of that chemise. The swell of your breast stutters as you inhale a shaky breath.

“You’re beautiful,” he says when he pulls that neckline lower, his eyes roving the skin he’s uncovered.

You almost laugh, not because you don’t want to believe him, but because it’s such a foreign thought right now. “I don’t feel it.”

His lips cut off any further retort from you. Windchapped and a little rough, but addicting all the same. Arthur pulls back, pressing his forehead to yours as your eyes flutter shut. 

“Let me show y’ then.”

His hand, large, warm, calloused, slides to your belly where the waistband of your bloomers rests. He doesn’t flinch when it passes the tender ache low in you, just smooths his hand there a moment like he’s reminding you he knows exactly where you hurt.

The way he touches you is patient but intent, each pass of his hand making you feel more like you’re allowed to exist in this body without apology. When he slides his fingers to the waistband of your bloomers, he pauses, not for his own sake, but to give you the last chance to change your mind.

You breathe out nervously, opening your eyes to find nothing but love there. You nod, the heat in your belly starting to feel pleasurable instead of painful.

He peels the fabric of your bloomers down slowly, his knuckles grazing the tender inside of your thighs. You reach downward and pull away the scrap of linen that is stained with the evidence of your femininity. You frown, embarrassed, but he simply takes it and places it on the upturned crate, as if it was just another piece of clothing.

There’s a faint warmth between you already, and the scent of your own body rises with it. You tense for half a second, but Arthur leans down and kisses you through it, swallowing your self-consciousness in the sure press of his mouth.

By the time he gets to pushing his own trousers down, you’re already shifting to meet him. He settles between your thighs, bracing himself on his forearms so his weight doesn’t press too heavily. You feel the heat of him against you, and he watches your face as he begins to push inside.

It’s different - slicker, warmer - but he doesn’t flinch or pull back. His breath catches, not from discomfort or distress, but from the feel of you taking him in.

“You alright?” he asks, low and rough, soaked in want.

You nod, though your throat is tight. “Yeah.”

You’re swollen. You’re sensitive, but god almighty, as he slides into you, the ache of your womanhood makes you tear up, blinking away water from your eyes as you clutch at his shoulders.

He starts to move, slow enough that every inch feels drawn out. The faint sound of your bodies meeting blends with the soft rustle of canvas walls, with the night’s quiet outside. He presses his forehead to yours, murmuring things you don’t even catch all the way - your name, soft curses, small truths.

And all through it, the knowing sits deep in your chest: that he is here, with you, in the very state you’ve been taught to hide. That nothing in him has lessened.

He nips at your chin, and you look up at him, and he smiles at you you don’t think you deserve. He catches your mouth and kisses you deep, as if between his tongue and his cock he could melt into you.

His lips hover over yours as he continues to thrust, slow and heavy and full. 

“I get to come in you now-” he growls, and you whimper in return, “I get to fill you up and stay inside you.”

“Yes,” your voice cracks, and Arthur places his forehead against yours once more, gyrating his hips as he is seated fully within you.

When you come, it takes you by surprise. Arthur breathes your name like a vow, his thrusts growing heavier until he follows, holding himself deep as he fills your aching womb with warmth. You cry out into his shoulder at the sensation. 

The two of you stay tangled together for a long moment, his weight a comfort instead of a burden.

When he finally eases back, you both feel the warm, damp mess between you, but Arthur doesn’t so much as glance down. He pulls you in against him, tucks your head under his chin, and strokes a hand over your hair.

“You’re mine,” he says into the dark. Not a demand, not a warning. Just a simple, unshakable truth.