"Seriously, if it weren't for your help, I'd probably fail this module-" you meet him at the door, your Salesman, who's come to play one of his games. He arrives just as you're ushering someone else out.

"It's honestly my pleasure," you say, "You've made me feel useful."

As you speak, you open your front door to reveal your Salesman standing on the opposite end of the threshold.

You hadn't been smiling, not until you saw him standing there in a crisp, well-fitted navy blue suit. He's not looking at you. Not immediately. His eyes are trained on the boy you're standing beside. The one who's slipping on his sneakers, still murmuring about how incredibly grateful he is for your tutoring.

'It's nothing,' you replied modestly, even though it was most definitely not nothing to dedicate your entire Wednesday afternoon to tutoring. The boy is a first year and budding with the need to get better in psychology. His essay would have been flawless, had it not been for the grammatical and spelling errors that plagued the page. You'd both sat for the majority of this Wednesday afternoon hacking through the issues and improving on his spelling. It was endearing. To be in university and still need a spelling tutor.

"Thanks so much for the help." The boy tries to maneuver his lanky frame past your Salesman who takes up the majority of the space by your little doorway.

"See you next week." He shoots you a small smile before giving an uneasy glance to your Salesman.

"Hello." Says the Salesman, so painfully formal it causes a wave of unease to swell. He peers down at the boy like a tiny little thing.

"H-Hey." Your student replies before thanking you once more.

When he leaves and it's just you and the man you're paid to please every Wednesday evening, an uneasy sort of silence settles between you both.

You're smiling up at him.

And he's smiling down at you but it's different somehow. Tighter. Not a genuine smile at all.

Although admittedly, none of his smiles were genuine. His entire face was a carefully orchestrated scam, to get any suspecting victim to trust him.

And yet somehow, this smile feels more phoney.

Like a tempest is brewing beneath.

Before you're able to dissect it further, he's already stepping closer, letting his large, elongated shadow fall on you. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"The last time you came to my house, you killed someone." You lean against the door, your hip leaning against the wood as you fold your arms over your chest. His eyes zero in on the movement and a rare occasion occurs: You feel powerful. That's the last thing you've ever been made to feel in his presence.

"It took a week to get the smell of blood and death out of my room." You continue.

He lifts his hands in front of you, showing the briefcase that hangs from his heavy fingers and the blisters coating his palms. Like a magician convincing you his hands were clean, "I come in peace." That deep and gravelly vibrato veneering his voice causes a tantalizing hum to run all the way down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You step aside, staring blankly ahead of you as he steps into your house, bombarding everything with his presence.

From his brisk walk alone, trudging into your apartment like he owns the palace (which he regrettably does) you almost immediately realize that something is wrong. You are not under the impression that you've done anything to make him angry but unease still rolls in your stomach like a tempest that's brewing. When you make it into your adjoining living that bleeds into the kitchen, you find him standing in the kitchen. He lowers his briefcase onto the counter before resting both his heavy hands there.

You move to the other side of the counter, leaning down- giving him a more than perfect view of the cleavage spilling from your dress. You hope it might appease him as you try to wrack your mind for possibile slip-ups that would've caused this terrible silence.

This little-to-no-conversation between you both makes your dynamic feel like the transaction that it actually is: a girl, who needs her university fees paid and a sadist who wants his needs met. Feelings weren't in the equation and yet, your heart stops when he asks,

"How was school?"

"School was school." You reply, sounding pathetically excited to finally hear his voice since the moment he entered your little home.

"Although," you peer down at your jittery fingers on the counter. Your nerves are shot to hell as you admit, "I don't know how proactive I'm going to be tonight-”

He was a ruthless dominant, never failing to leave you absolutely spent by the end of the night. It left you with great discomfort to not be able to perform to the greatest of your abilities during these sessions. “I'm so tired... I've got this psychology quiz and-"

"Who was that?" His questions cut through yours like the tip of a hot knife.

“Who was who?” You ask.

He only smiles before turning his back to you, frantically pulling open cupboards as he says, “Rice. Where's the rice? Do you have rice?”

“The cupboard in the bottom row- Who are you referring to?”

He pulls out your tall container of rice and you watch him round the counter with it in his hands. “This place is so fucking small.” He says, popping the lid of the container, “Reminds me of my childhood home.” He stands right in the only open space in your apartment and all you do is watch as he tips the container over, watching millions of rice grains scatter to the bare floor.

“THAT'S MY FOOD, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-”

His voice is like molten lava when he looks down at you and points toward the ground. “Kneel.”

You feel nothing but cold air slide across your exposed arms when he trudges back to your little kitchen. Your mind reels and your stomach sinks and sinks and sinks- burning a hole through the rest of your organs.

“Am I being punished for something?”

“Be a good girl and kneel on the rice.” He says and because you were nothing but a slave to the dominance in his voice, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. From behind the kitchen counter he watches your face contort into unmistakable pain as the rice grains dig into your knees. He takes a while but soon you're fully kneeling on the floor. He rounds the counter once again until he's standing before you.

“That… child that was just here,” his voice is eerily calm as he caresses your cheek, “Who was that?”

Had you been in any other situation, under vastly different circumstances, you might have looked for the urge to laugh. His blatant jealousy of some university first-year was nothing if not laughable.

“He's just a friend from class- ah.” It almost becomes unbearable but for the sake of your self preservation, you know not to get up.

He continues to caress you, loosening his tie as he asks. “Which class?”

“P-Pardon?”

“You mean to tell me you only go to one class?” He snaps and you fight off tears, “What the fuck am I paying for?”

“You're paying for me to get my psychology degree.” You reply with feeble words, trying to put away the thought of all the little stabbings plaguing your knees.

“And does that entail sleeping with your classmates?”

“What?!” You screech as he walks away. You're suddenly left without nothing to hold onto and you sway forward, your palms landing on more rice.

“Y-You know I don't do that.” You cry, feeling the sting more from the accusation than the pain of all this bloody rice, “Y-You know I don't sleep around- You know I don't talk to anyone-”

You hear his briefcase click open. From your vantage point on the lowly rice-filled floor, you cannot see what he's taking out. It fills you with more dread than you've ever experienced before. Which was utterly ridiculous.

With him, dread is a thing you ought to be accustomed to. Dread is where you live now. You ought to get comfortable with it.

“Such a shame.” He tsks as he finally rounds the corner to reveal whatever it is he's gone to go fetch. His dress shoes clack against your recently varnished floor and you breathe heavily. The pain had subsided- or perhaps you've gotten used to it- which scares you more than anything. He's messing with your pain threshold. Causing you to build a tolerance for certain things and that terrifies you.

Hidden under all that terror was unmistakable lust.

God help you.

“I thought we were making progress, you and I.” you see the cane first. Made of rattan, it hangs from his strong hand corded with tense veins. A gleaming watch is secured around his wrist and you're already shaking your head as you slowly look up at him. Now the tears are right by the doorway. No matter how much pain he forces you to get accustomed to you could never survive this. Your body still has limits.

“He just asked me to help him with his spelling- Please!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Spelling, you say?” he pats down on your head, eliciting a dizzying wave of subordination as he says, “I think you've just given us our game for tonight, Doll.” He bends down, knees bending until he's somewhat closer to your height. He's still far too big for you. Far too much. You try to crawl backwards, you try to crawl away but he grabs you by your face. You're quite literally being expertly manhandled as he turns you around until you're on your knees in the opposite direction.

“Please…” You're begging but you don't know what for. Once his games were set in motion, nothing could stop him.

Your movements still when you fill him lower his large hand onto your backside. It's so big and warm and you momentarily forget about the rice digging into your skin. He slowly lifts up the skirt of your dress, revealing your underwear beneath.

“Our little Spelling Bee,” he lowers your panties down your thighs, causing a shiver to wrack through your entire body. It's pointless to hide how affected you are by every little thing he does.

“For every word you spell right,” he lifts your leg for you, giving you momentary reprieve from the pain as he manoeuvres you out of the underwear, “You get to cum.”

You'd never felt more degraded: being forced onto doggy style onto a million grains of rice while this man lets his fingers graze over your exposed cunt. He parts your folds and a wave of embarrassment rolls over your face. It's all so normal to him though, just sticking his fingers inside your cunt. He does it with the professionalism of gynecology and all you're able to do is stare blankly ahead while he prods at you.

“We can't make things too easy, though, so you're gonna keep this little thing warm for me while we play,”

You're craning your neck back, trying to get a look. “What thi-”

You release one hoarse gasp when he inserts something round and bulbous and vibrating, straight into your cunt.

“Th-This isn't a game. It's a punishment.” You say through gritted teeth, trying to fight off a moan as the vibrator hums inside you, “I've only ever had sex with one person-”

You. That voice pipes up in the back of your head, feeble as you felt. You think back on the time you gave him your virginity. It had been a bloody affair.

The second his cock ruptured your hymen and the blood began to coat your thighs, it only made him ravage you more. You'd gone to bed crying that night, your tears soaking into your pillows. You were unable to get up and head to classes the next day. All that pain and yet you also felt so incredibly fulfilled. The pain was a godsend.

But this pain? It's angry.

He's angry and he's punishing you for it.

Silence follows your pleas.

“Are you done?” He asks and your shoulders slump as the tears begin to fall. The urge to grind down onto the vibrator coupled with the rice stabbing your knees puts you in an odd predicament. The inner workings of your body is being made a fool of and he's the root cause.

“I'm afraid you've gotten too comfortable with me-”

“Comfortable?” You scoff, whipping your head back to glare at the man watching you with calm eyes and raised eyebrows. “I could never feel comfortable around you.”

“And you've forgotten your place.” He smiles before standing to his full height, “Letting little boys over to your place-”

“We were studying-”

“I've gone soft on you as of late.” He lets his other hand drag across the length of the hard cane. “Shame on me. It's clearly deluded you into forgetting about our arrangement.”

He steps around you until he's once again standing in front of you. “You've forgotten your place as a thing.”

He grabs your face. “My thing.”

You do a very wrong thing then.

You moan.

It's soft and insecure and so dreadful but you moan

His eyes search yours. You can see the pleasure diluting them. Causing them to go as round as saucers.

He wants to lean into that sound you just made, but he's still furious with you and that sends you into a spiral.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay-”

“So you admit you're a slut?” He asks, inches the buttons of his blaze as he readies his assault. “You whore yourself out to that little boyfriend of yours.”

"Boyfriend?” It's laughable. “Me?”

“Are you condescending me?” He asks darkly and you screech in frustration.

“You know I don't talk to anyone- Why are you so angry with me!?”

“You haven't seen angry, Little girl.” His face is calm. Dangerously so. “You haven't fucking seen angry.”

A shiver wracks through your body as you look up at his cold dead eyes.

“Fine.”

Whatever it takes.

“I am a slut-” you really weren't and the words barely register as truth but you're scrambling as he steps away from you. His hands folded in front of him and he appears oh so in control as he says, “Your first word is Gorgeous.”

You breathe out as you try to refocus enough to successfully spell the word.

“G-Oh.. fuck.” Your cunt spasms around the device and your eyes roll back. You're rocking backwards and forwards, frantically searching for friction that just isn't there. He loves the show you put on for him, writhing on the floor like a puppy in heat. He barely contains his glee as he raises his hand and says, “Wrong.”

“W-What!?” you blink, trying to shake away your pleasure-filled daze, “N-no that wasn't my final-”

“G-o-r-g-e-ou-s,” he says smugly as he moves until he's behind you. Your body tenses and the world shatters when he darkly repeats, “Wrong.”

The cane cracks through the air before it ever lands on your backside. The word ‘sting’ doesn't begin to cover the utter agony that blossoms across your asscheeks. All you know for all those seconds is white hot pain. Everything is at attention, and your body vitaly tries to urge you to take care of the inflicted wound but you can't.

“Sane.” He's breathing heavily as he walks over to stand in front of you. He's getting riled up, a strand of black hair falls in front of his almond eyes. His shoulders rise and fall and rise and fall. Seeing you get caned once does unspeakable things to his resolve. “Your next word is sane.”

Too easy.

"W-Which one?" You blink through the pain, trying to will the tears away. The second you slipped into self pity, it'd be over for you. "S-Sane is a homophone.” You say thickly. The pain. The pain. The pain. “There's Sane,” you glare up at him through wet lashes, “Which you very much aren't-" that amuses him greatly. You're regrettably far too happy to hear the dark chuckle. “Then there's Seine, like the fishing variety-”

He places his hand on your head. “Clever girl. I thought you didn't have a dad.”

“I don't,” you hiccup, “I just like fish. Men aren't the only fishers in the fucking world.”

“Smart mouth.” He pulls away again until he's standing at his full posture. “You use it like that with the boy from Psyche?”

Your shoulders slump and you don't care about the desperation in your voice as you reaffirm, “I'm telling you I haven't done anything-”

“Seine as in the fishing practice. Spell it.”

“S-E-I-N-E” your eyes are squeezed shut as you take a strike from a whip that never comes. Your eyes that had once been squeezed shut, slowly flit open and you're amazed to see his grinning face right in front of you. Every wrinkle running like tributaries around his eyes. The smile lines. He's so handsome it's devastating.

“Correct.” He says. “You're allowed to cum. Congratulations.” Just those few words have your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you begin to rock back and forth. You lean into the pleasure like a warm and fluffy blanket during aftercare. It's a godsend and it has you moaning and whining into the air.

“Let me give you a hand,” he says, before stopping to deliver that signature, “My little winner.” He brings you in close, your hands cling onto his forearm while the other reaches behind you. He delivers a kiss to your forehead as his fingers find your puffy clit.

“I'm gonna-”

“Cum for me my Clever girl. Cum for me before I change my mind,” There is nothing but him. He consumes you as you fervently hump against his hand on all fours like the animal he reduced you to. Your hips move on their own accord and in his eyes, you can see his own pleasure mounting. Its in the gravel in his voice when he clears his throat and says, “Thank me for letting you cum.” your orgasm crashes down on you and it's ferocious. It's vicious. It's guttural. The rice underneath you still serves as a reminder of your punishment and that somehow has you coming harder.

“Thank you for letting me cum Sir,”

his eyes flutter shut and his chest expands as he basks in your servitude. He breathes it in, letting it settle in his bones, making him feel as important as he needs to.

“N-No more, please,” you whisper once the orgasm passes. He doesn't switch off the vibrator and soon the pleasure bleeds into a painful discomfort. the aftershocks rattle through your body as you drift into overstimulation, “Please-Done-” you became horribly useless with your words when he had you like this, and he watches you so intently as if not only turned on by your torture but so completely intrugued by it. You intrigued him.

“Stop-” You begin but he chuckles as he moves away from you. He straightens his suit and readies the cane, “Why? You’re not even bleeding yet.” He says, “Suck it up.”

“Oh my god, I need to come again,” it rolls through you quite literally out of nowhere and you gasp as you try to keep it at bay. Cumming without having won a round was a breach in the rules of the game and you didn't wanna do that.

“Well then, I guess you better spell the next word for me.” he says with a smile.

You swallow thickly. Your previous win elicits a tiny sliver of confidence and spelling is something you excel in so you steel your nerves. You breath in deeply and stare blankly ahead.

“Honorificabilitudinitatibus.”

You immediately look up at him.

“Latin words arent-” another aftershock rams through you. You're so close to cumming completely hands-free. “L-Latin words aren't allowed.”

Nothing but a dark chuckle escaped him at your expense. “I had no idea you were making the rules.” He says sarcastically. “Had no idea the cane's in your hand.” That draws your gaze to the cane, leaning in his palm.

Point made.

He could throw in whatever wild-card word he wanted because he held the cane.

“H-o-n-o-r-” you make the mistake of looking up at him then. He's gazing down at you with his head tilted slightly to the right. His cane behind his back as he leans down slightly.

“No cumming,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Disqualified.”

“B-But I didn't-” even as you say those words, you feel it. The lightning zipping through you like a phantom. A ditzy sort of smile flashes across your face as you succumb to the pleasure being forced out of you. “F-Fuck-” its so painful and so fucking good you're seeing stars. He runs a hand through his messy hair and the cane comes down on your backside. This time it draws blood.

“I'm a rusty old man, glad to see I've still got a firm grip,”

“P-Please-” You're still caught in the world of unicorns and rainbows. Your orgasm is center stage, in spite of all the pain. You didn't even know your body could cum for this long. You didn't think it was possible but here you are, riding wave after wave of pleasure induced by a vibrator in your cunt while he canes you almost mindlessly.

He transcended every realm of physical possibilities.

He's breathing heavily now as the cane falls to the floor. The end is bloody. You stare down at the floor while he moves behind you.

“Don't forget, this is a transaction,” Behind you he kneels behind you, his fingers graze your backside, “This is about you avoiding student debt for the rest of your miserable life. A life you'll probably spend married to some depressed drunk who beats you and doesn't even let you cum.” A hand pulls you back by your hair until you're seated on your haunches. Skin had broken.

Your blood drips down your backside like a marble statue in the rain. There were marks. Scars.

“You're indebted to me.” He says behind you. “Say it.”

“I'm indebted to you.”

“Thank me for hitting you, Doll.” His hands drift over your body. The softest touch after these moments of brutality.

Th-" You struggle to catch your breath as he digs his fingers in your cunt, finally freeing you of the vibrator that rattles to the floor, “Thank you… for hitting me.”

He hums into your hair, smelling you, feeling you. “You're welcome, my little winner,”

You hear the sound of his zipper, and frantic movements behind you. You're utterly spent. You'd let him do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

“You look so pretty, Baby. Look at you,” his fingers swipes down the arch of your back. He brings his hand around to show you the crimson dropping from his index. Almost automatically as if the two of you were in communication far beyond that of human understanding, he brings your finger forward the same time you dip your head lower and roll your tongue out. Until the taste of your own blood drawn from all his sadistic torture is wiped along your tongue.

He groans. “I wanna jerk off with your blood.” He admits, “Fuck-”

You gasp, beginning to rock on haunches as if you could still feel that vibrator inside you, “Please- don't say stuff like that-”

This was bad enough.

You were bad enough.

He's already corrupted you to a point where you didn't even recognize yourself.

Where is the quiet, shy girl you had been? She's drowning under all the blood he'd spilled to make himself cum. She's buried under all the pain, all the turmoil and all the damn torture.

You don't miss her

"Pl-lease fuck me, I need it." Your voice is hoarse and you realize you're making demands but still you peer at him over your shoulders. Your tired eyes plead with him.

“I never ever ask you for anything. I've let you control everything.”

While you speak, your voice deep and hoarse, his hand is already moving over his erection. He bends you forward, until you're in doggy style again. Fabric rustles. Your limbs are trembling.

“For once, just grant me th-” the words are barely out your mouth before he's shoving his cock all the way inside you.

“O-Oh God!” Your eyes squeeze shut as he fucks you on the floor like a rabid animal. You try to crane your head back, to watch him ravage you.

His hair is a mess, his tie completely undone. He's everything he tries to hide from the rest of the world. Nothing but an untamed beast.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight-” he says, resting his hands on bloody ass. He guides your movements, pulling you roughly down on his cock until you're screaming into the open air. You're both like animals. You've both regressed to the very basis of your instincts.

“I need to see your blood on my cock,” He's already pulling out of you. The sound reverberates with finality all around the apartment and you cry. It's all you're able to do as you crane your head back to watch him stroke his cock with a bloodied fist.

“Are you ready to cum for me again, baby?”

Your lips are quivering as you rock backwards urging his cock in, “L-Like you won't believe,”

“Then cum for me, Princess.” He says, sliding his cock back inside your overstimulated cunt. Your orgasm is instant and swift and it rocks through you, tightening your cunt around his cock like a vice. His movements grow more frantic as he fucks you through it, keeping a firm grip on your ass.

Your mouth falls open when you realize he's fucking his own cum and your blood back into you and its all too much. He throws his head back when he cums, letting his hips stutter against your ass and the world spins.

“You're s-such a fucking slut,” he laughs manically. You've quite literally given yourself to a sadistic monster and the post nut clarity is vicious.

“I want to take you out,” he says, way softer than he had been a minute ago.

Your body tenses. “Out? Where-”

“Dinner.” He says. “You deserve it… my little winner.”

If you knew anything about anything, you knew it wouldn't just be any ordinary dinner.

But who were you to refuse?

especially once he figures out just how much you love to be smothered, completely crushed, absolutely smushed under his weight— you’ll wrap your legs around his waist and pull him on top of you with little “no, no, no”’s if he pulls the slightest bit of his weight off of you, starting to cry and grabbing at his shoulders and arms desperately to pull him back, begging him to pin you down, to press closer *drools*

but one thing about steve is that he likes it messy — spit, drool, cum, def lots of cum play, all of it — loves it when he’s fucking you so deep and so hard you go quiet and limp and start drooling… loves leaving bite marks and hickeys all over you, marking you up everywhere he can no matter how visible it is afterwards because he knows you wear his marks with such obvious pride just like he does yours… loves to lick you all over, especially on your neck and tits just to see the full body shivers going down your spine… loves it when your cunt is messy with a mix of both yours and his cum that he keeps fucking deeper into you, pretty much fucking overflowing your pussy so much it starts to spill out of you and all over the bed, all over his thighs, down your ass, making the most lewd wet noises… *sighs*

the first stroke is his favorite, when he finally gets to touch his dick in a video he knows you'll cum to, painted nails toying with your pussy that he knows so well he can see behind his closed eyelids.

leaning back on one hand on his bed, ruffled black comforter framing his brown skin beautifully, he spits into his palm, looking up through his eyelashes with low eyes fixed on himself on the screen. "look a mess, playin' with myself for a camera," he chuckles, bringing his slick hand to wrap around his aching cock.

he looks the opposite of a mess, though, low lights in his room making his skin glow, illuminating his big, pretty cock for his and your eyes. wet hand sliding up and down his cock, his hips jerk up, chasing the pleasure he gives himself.

his toned stomach caves in, the hand that’s holding him up starts to shake as he finds his sweet pace, the one that has him cumming fast and hard. “fuck, feel s’good,” he grits, eyes finding the camera again as another fucked-out laugh rumbles through him.

he shakes his head at the image of himself, slim fingers wrapped around his long cock, eyes low and heavy, mouth open and panting, desperate sounds escaping him. slowing down, he brings his hand to wrap around his thick base, squeezing just a little. he slaps his cock against his stomach, purring, “can’t cum too fast, gotta make it worth it, make it good.”

he wants to make it good for you. he always does.

he leans farther on his other hand, stroking his cock again, slowly, shuddering out a moan with closed eyes. he works his way up, cursing and groaning, until he throws his head back with a pretty little whine, slick thumb swiping slow over his messy tip.

he focuses on his tip, now, hips jerking at the stimulation, eyes fixed on where he works himself. “‘m so desperate, need to feel good, need you t’watch me make myself feel good.” he confesses, whimpered words that you knew to be true already. his talk sends shivers down his own spine, the thought that you’ll enjoy his slurred words bringing him closer to spilling all over his hand.

“fuckfuckfuck,” he whines, far beyond moans and groans, fucked out and pleasure-full. hips jerking into his hand, fingers adorned with rings gripping his sheets.. he’s close. “can’t believe ‘m close already, god ‘m just a slut, jerkin’ myself for a fuckin’ video. but i’m your slut, ‘m yours.”

he’s rambling, perverted thoughts slipping to memories of you jerking him off, skilled hand wrapped around his aching cock, purring praises into his ear, other hand roaming his body while you litter kisses anywhere you can reach in between porn-worthy words. “‘m gonna cum, baby, gonna cum all over myself, jus’ for you. wish you were here to watch, t’make me cum instead.”

now, with thoughts of you flitting through his mind, he cums, gritting out jumbled up letters, from wishing you were here, to knowing you’d make him feel so much better, to plans of letting you jerk him when he sees you again.

regaining his breath, he can’t help but laugh again, eyes fixed on the mess he made of himself. he brings his hand to his chest, swirling his fingers around in his cum, depraved and disgusting. hazy eyes finding the camera, one of the only witnesses to his depravity, with a wicked smile on his face, leaning back on both arms now, he speaks, blissed and nasty.

To put it bluntly, the sight was pornographic. You were on your hands and knees while Peter was railing you from behind.

"Wanna see that pretty face when you come," Peter grunted, thrusting deeper into you.

Your body rocked forward. You grasped the sheets, trying to station yourself on the bed. For a brief moment, your eyes faltered away from the mirror.

The sensation of Peter's hand beginning to tighten it's grip around your ponytail brought your eyes back up. They trailed upwards, landing on Peter's reflection.

The sight left you breathless, if that was even possible. His other hand was firmly on one of your hips, gripping the flesh.

Peter's head was tilted down. Through the whisps of hair that had fallen over his forehead, you could see his brow knitted in concentration. His teeth were pulling the corner of his bottom lip. You could see the flex in his biceps as he thrusted into you.

You felt like you were looking at a Renaissance painting in motion. Peter's head tilted back up, his lips quickly forming into a smirk upon his honey glazed eyes meeting yours widened ones.

"Touch yourself," He ordered.

You slowly lifted up a hand, your eyes never leaving the mirror. A gasp escaped as your fingers met your clit.

Peter leaned down, his chest hovering over your arched back.

"Don't stop, okay baby?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded your head, your mind barely processing his words.

Your other hand gripped the sheets in anticipation of your impeding orgasm.

Peter leaned back, sitting on the lower half of his legs. He pulled you back too. The new position allowed him to thrust deeper inside of you.

You felt a hand wrap itself around your throat. You could feel the cool metal of his wedding and engagement ring against your skin.

You looked back at the mirror. The sight of his cock thrusting in and out of you brought you to the blink. You still remembered his words about not stopping.

You collapsed against his chest, the sensation of his hand around your throat, combined with coming around his cock too much.

You could hear him grunting, a sign he was close. You felt something wet and sticky on your inner thighs.

"Aww, look at you, squirting all over my cock," He whispered in your ear, his tone nearly mocking. He gripped your throat again, his rings providing a different kind of pressure.

"Don't stop touching yourself. Wanna see if I can make ya come again."

You followed his orders.

"Ya like it when I fuck you like a slut?"

"Y-yes," you managed to get out in gasps, "W-want y-you to fill me up. Please, D-Daddy."

"Fuck," he grunted, thrusting into you one more time before emptying himself out inside you. Peter's reaction confirmed the suspicion you had about that nickname.

"I think you like the mirror," Peter chuckled.

"I think you like being called Daddy," You remarked back. Peter titled his head down to pepper your jawline with kisses.

"Another successful, informative session," He grinned, earning a laugh out of you.

"Don't forget messy. We need to wash these sheets," You reminded him, motioning to the very evident wet spot on the bedsheets.

"We should also wash ourselves," Peter sighed, resting his head on your shoulder.

"You might have to carry me to the shower."

If you asked Peter what his favorite part of your body was, he would say all of it, which isn’t a lie. But there were some parts he liked a little more than others. And right now, all those parts were on display. Your shoulders were bare and so was your back, other than those two thin straps that kept your dress up. Those two straps deserved a medal considering your tits looked like they were dying to get out of the dress. The dress came to the middle of your thighs and of course to look down at your thighs, he also had to notice your hips and fuck.

He slowly stood up from the couch, using his long fingers to adjust his pants to help better cover up his growing erection. He felt like a teenager again, crossing his legs and arms to conceal the physical indicator that he was horny for you.

On any other day, Peter had no issue picking you up and having his way with you.

But he also knew how unhappy you would be later if y’all put off buying a new showerhead again. You two also needed to buy groceries because this was the fifth week you and him had ‘decided’ you would stop eating out so much.

Errands first. Then fuck insanely hot girlfriend. That’s what being a responsible adult was, right?

“You okay Tiger?” Your sweet voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” if he repeated it enough, maybe he could convince you and himself, “Uh….I’ll be right back. Gotta go check something in the bathroom.”

“Weren’t you just saying that we need to leave?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah but that was before nature called!” Peter all but ran to the bathroom, hoping the cold water he was about to splash on his face would calm down the tent in his shorts.

Be a responsible adult first, he kept reminding himself. That way he could fuck you for as long as he wanted, without having to go do errands. Just be a responsible adult.

Being a responsible adult sucked. In fact, Peter didn’t even feel like an adult, despite all the errands you and him were doing. He felt more like a teenager, with how everything you did was turning him on.

Every time you turned your bare back to him, it made him imagine your back on the bed or against a wall while he fucked you. Every time you titled your head to look at something, it exposed your neck that was currently unmarked which Peter thought was a real shame, as he could easily fix that. Not to mention how every time you kneeled down to look at the flowers, your dress rose up a bit, which was causing him to think about how badly he wanted to bury his head in between your legs and-

“Peter!” Peter looked up to see you standing there, holding two different bouquets.

“Which one do you think May will like better?” You asked. You brought flowers with you when you first met May and it was now a tradition you insisted on whenever the two of you had dinner at her place. Peter was incredibly thankful that this dinner wasn’t happening until tomorrow night.

“S-She’s…. go-going to love whichever one we bring babe,” He stuttered through. He really felt like a teenager again and not an almost thirty-year old.

You lowered the bouquets, raising an eyebrow, “Are you okay? Is the heat getting to you? You’re sweaty.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m great! Just need…need to go to the bathroom.” Maybe if he splashed his face with water, he could focus. Or maybe the smell from the portables would do it.

“Again? Also the bathrooms are rancid, are you sure you want to go in there?” You asked as you put a bouquet back.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! I’ll be right back y/n.” Normally he’d kiss you on the cheek or forehead but not this time. He was too busy running his shaking fingers through his hair and biting his lip, almost like he was-

Oh.

You had heard the joke. That sundresses to men were what rolled up sleeves were to women. Well, Peter just proved that it wasn’t a joke, it was an actual thing, a thing he was experiencing right now. Your boyfriend was turned on by just what you were wearing. You had done nothing intentional to turn him on.

At least, not yet.

You still had several errands that needed to be done before the two of you could go home. And you were determined to have some fun with this.

Turning Peter on was incredibly easy. Mostly because it was things that shouldn’t turn him on. Running your hand through your hair, stretching your arms, which caused you to stick out your chest. Even just reaching up to hold onto the railing while on the subway got him flustered.

Of course, that didn’t stop you from doing more intentional acts. You may or may not have stuck your ass out more than needed when you had to kneel to check the price of something. You may or may not have also tied your hair back so that your neck and collarbones were always on display. After years of dating, you knew Peter had a thing for marking you.

You couldn’t lie, Peter was simultaneously adorable and hot right now. His stuttering, running his hand through his hair, and hardly being able to make eye contact brought back so many memories of when you first met him. At that time, you were stunned someone so attractive was so nervous talking to you. Even to this day, sometimes you still had a hard time believing it. Believing that someone so amazing, so handsome, so incredible was attracted to you.

But it was times like these where you weren’t just aware of that fact, you were relishing in it.

Which is what gave you the confidence to slip off one of your undergarments while you were in the bathroom. You had suggested that the two of you stop by to grab some coffee and sit down to rest for a bit. You were almost done with your errands, you just had to a few things from your favorite deli.

You may or may not have suggested this specific place because they have long tablecloths that reached the floor.

“You good, bunny?” You couldn’t stop the grin on your face once you heard his nickname for you. Apparently, it had to do with the fact that one of the first things he noticed about you was how your nose would scrunch up when you laughed, like ‘a cute little bunny’.

“Yeah, I’m good,” You said as you sat down, gripping the sides of your dress so your surprise wouldn’t be ruined.

“So…. after this, we just have one more errand to do, right?” He asked before taking a sip of his tea. His hands had stopped shaking but making eye contact with you was still difficult-which alerted you that yes, he was still turned on. You toyed with the table cloth, pulling it so that your lap and legs were covered by it.

“We do! After that we can go home and do….whatever,” or whoever.

You reached your purse and started to fish out your chapstick. You found it-finally-only for the tube to slip out of your fingers and roll under the table.

A total accident.

“Babe,” you looked up through your eyelashes, “Can you get that please? I don’t want to flash the whole place.”

It wasn’t a lie. He just didn’t know yet how much you would have shown the café.

His brown eyes widen before he could mumble a mix of ‘yeahs’ and ‘sures’. He bent down to put his head under the tablecloth. As he did so, you couldn’t help but grin as you spread your legs.

Peter Parker knew he was not subtle when it came to how much he liked you. He nearly ran into a wall when he first met you because he could not stop staring.

You, on the other hand, had gotten much bolder when it came to making it known that you wanted Peter.

As soon as he ducked under the table, the scent hit him. He’d recognized it anywhere, as it was his favorite scent. It was your arousal, but why could he smell it here-

Oh. Fuck.

Well, that would explain it. Your legs were spread wide open and somehow you no longer had on underwear.

Peter had a feeling you knew how much this sundress turned him on. Now he had confirmation that yes, you not only knew but were teasing him about it. His eyes were burning into your exposed core and if you weren’t in a public place, he’d had no issue burying his face in between your thighs.

“You good babe?” You asked innocently from above.

Peter gripped the chapstick, taking one last look before he got out from the table. He placed the chapstick on the table, with a bit more force than usual. There you were, smiling away as if you had no idea what he had just saw when you totally did.

Fuck being a responsible adult, Peter needed to fuck you now.

“Yeah,” He grunted out, “All good. We need to go home. Now.”

You titled your head to the side, feigning confusion, “But we have to-“

“We’re going home now.” His eyes were dark and narrow. It felt like they were burning a hole through you.

“Okay,” You said, smiling before you took another sip of your iced coffee. You considered arguing, prolonging your teasing. But with how he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you right then and there, made your reconsider.

Peter’s arm never left your waist the whole way home. You could feel his long fingers gripping the hem of your dress, most likely to ensure that you didn’t flash anyone. It also had to do with how horny he was right now.

You walked through the door of the apartment you two shared, slower than usual. You knew it wouldn’t be long before Peter had his way with you, so you were determined to enjoy your teasing while it lasted.

“We should put the produce away first. Do you still have the video about installing the shower head-“

A large hand snuck up from the nape of your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling it, forcing your head to tilt back. You looked up to see Peter there, pupils blown and a hungry look on his face.

“Bedroom. Now.” He grunted. You nodded your head as he walked you to the bedroom, keeping a tight grip on your hair.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered as soon as the door opened. You nodded and began to grab the hem of your dress to begin taking it off.

“Keep it on.” Oh. Okay then.

You walked over to bed you shared with him, sitting down. The look on his face was nothing but devious and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t turning you on.

You loved how sweet and gentle Peter was with you. But you also loved when he was desperate and rough.

He leaned over and in that moment, you felt so small. He gripped your shoulders, pushing you back so you were lying down. You then felt his hands move from your shoulders down to the hem of your dress.

You hissed at the feeling of the cold air hitting your core when he hiked your dress up to your waist, exposing how soaked you were.

“Someone’s been a fucking tease,” he whispered as he traced his fingers along your thighs. He leaned over, his face inches away from yours. You didn’t dare move, not unless he told you to.

“See, my original plan was to just fuck you,” you felt his fingers get closer and closer to your soaked cunt, “But after that little stunt you just pulled?”

He leaned in, his breath hot on your ear, “I’m going to wreck you.”

Without warning, his fingers were filling up your cunt, curling just so to hit that sweet spot. You were already an incoherent, rambling mess which should have had you worried considering Peter had just started.

“You like being a fucking tease?” You felt his other hand tighten around your throat. You did your best to nod, which was hard with how relentless his fingers were on your cunt right now.

“C’mom bunny, use your words,” his fingers stilled inside of you, keeping you filled but not giving you what you needed. His grip on your throat loosen, enough to make it easier to talk.

“I-I like being your tease, Peter,” you got out, praying it was what he wanted to hear.

He smirked, “that’s right, you are mine bunny.” God, you hated that nickname when he first started calling you that, and now it was getting you even more wet.

Peter’s hand left your throat and trailed down to meet his other hand. His fingers began moving once again, in and out of you. You then felt another finger drawing circles on your clit.

Your back arched as you moaned obscenities, which was probably going to get you another complaint from the neighbors but at this moment you didn’t care. You were too focused on the knot in your stomach that was building and building

“Peter.”

“Hmmm?” He looked up at you, his hands still working on your pussy. Fuck, why was he so hot?

“I-I’m c-close,” you buried your head into the pillow, bracing yourself for what would happen next. It wasn’t your first time getting punished for teasing Peter.

“Good girl.”

Suddenly, you were empty, his fingers gone. You bit your lip, knowing better than to whine at the loss of contact. Even though your eyes were closed, the sound of the bottle of lube opening told you everything you needed to know.

“Look at me,” you opened your eyes to find Peter hovering over you. He had one hand on his leaking cock, which was lined up at your entrance.

“Tell me what you want,” He whispered as he pushed a strand of your hair out of your face.

“You Peter, I want you.”

He chuckled, “I’m right here. You gotta be more specific bunny.”

Your whole body felt like it was going into heat. Your mind was racing through a million different thoughts, though they all had to do with just how badly you wanted Peter to fuck you.

“I want….I want your cock inside of me. Please, please, fuck me, please.”

Peter chuckled, “you’re so cute when you beg.”

Before you could say anything, he began pushing inside of you, slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size.

Your back arched as he fully buried his cock inside of you. Your hands reached from him, grabbing onto whatever part of his body you could get. Peter rested his forehead on yours, wanting to be as close as possible.

“This okay baby?” He whispered, dropping the facade for a moment. No matter how heated things got, the last thing Peter wanted to do was hurt you.

You nodded your head, “please…please move.”

“If you insist,” he began to pull out, almost all the way before he slammed his hips into yours.

“Fuck! Peter!” He felt amazing, you never wanted it to end.

“Fuck bunny, always so tight for me,” he buried his head into the crook of your neck.

His pace was relentless and you loved that all you could do was just lie there and take it.

Peter gripped your thighs as he leaned back, adjusting so he was now on his knees. The change in position allowed him to spread your legs apart even more. Fuck, it felt like he was splitting you open on his cock. You were going to feel this for the next few days but you didn’t care.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he shoved two fingers in before you could get a word out. You moaned around his digits, sucking on them as best you could.

Peter knew he wasn’t going to last long, he had been horny all day. Which was why he was done with teasing you and now focused on getting you to finish. He was generous like that.

Totally didn’t have anything to do with how your cunt got even tighter whenever you came.

The fingers left your mouth. You then felt them rubbing your clit, eliciting even more obscenities from your mouth.

“You gonna tighten up for me?” You nodded your head. Between the pressure he was placing on your clit and him rutting into you hard, you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

That knot building in your stomach finally unraveled, hitting you all at once. Your walls contracted around his cock, as if your pussy was desperately trying to keep it from leaving you. He never stopped his movements, which prolonged your orgasm.

“Peter, please, come inside of me,” you whimpered. All you could focus on was how good it was going to feel when he filled you up.

It didn’t take long. You already felt amazing, but when you came around Peter’s cock, you felt incredible.

Within a few more thrusts, you heard him groan, which was a sign. You moaned at the sensation of him filling you up with his seed. You grasped his shoulders and pulled him closer to you.

The two of you laid there, trying to catch your breath. You snuck a hand into his hair, massaging his scalp as he placed gentle kisses along your now very marked neck.

“You should wear sundresses more often,” Peter said, breaking the silence.

“Noted,” you laughed, “I’ll order some more.”

“Can…can I help you pick them out?” He asked shyly. It was hard to believe that the guy who just fucked you senselessly was now nervous to ask if he could pick out clothing for you. But that was one of the many things you loved about Peter.

“Of course you can,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Cool,” he paused, “I was looking some up while you were in the bathroom at the cafe.”

You let out a laugh, “if you’re going to fuck me like that, I’ll wear them for the rest of summer.”