-`quinn´-

(A/N): hello there, lovelies!

“oh i'd kill for one of those.” a smooth voice nearly makes him drop the cigarette from his lips, startling him into opening his eyes and nearly activating his fight or– well, fight, response.

“huh?” internally he chastises himself for saying it so stupidly. it's you, something about your demeanor and an easy smile during shoots, even when instructions are being barked all around you, flusters him, makes him talk weird. makes him act stupid.

“the smoke? i'm not allowed to hold them, even with gloves.” hanma hardly takes in your words, the way those fingers twirl a strand of your hair and tuck it behind one ear send his mind spiralling. gods, he needs to feel them on his skin, needs to see his cum stringy and sticky between them. he needs to stop. already saving this moment into his mental wank bank, ready for later when he’s finished picking out and editing photos from today, he extends his arm and holds the lit cigarette in front of you.

“i’m not allow–”

“no just take the drag.” he’s a professional. at this point he’s photographed hundreds of hot women, each prettier than the next. he’s done lingerie shoots, he’s done boudoir, he’s done everything and anything under the white hot tokyo sun. so it truly puzzles him that he’s getting so hot and bothered by the way you lean in and wrap your pretty lips around his cigarette, cheeks sucked in as you take that drag and lean back, exhaling it with your eyes closed. 

“mhm… that’s good. told ‘em three days in a row are too much, but my agency is shit like that.” you complain a little, a weak attempt at maybe bonding with the man who’s spent a long time looking at you almost exclusively through a camera lens. and another lens. and then a different lens. and each time that bright flash lit up your skin, he thought of just saying fuck it and taking you right there in the studio, sitting you down on that stupid stool and spreading your thighs just far enough to slot his face in between them and stick his tongue between your squishy folds. he thought about those perfect fingers of yours carding through his hair, tugging on it a little when he’d flick against your clit, he’d nibble on it gently, with the intent of making you grip onto his hair harder. all that thinking is making it difficult having a casual conversation with you now. 

“yeah most are that way,” he puts the cigarette back between his lips, taking a moment to enjoy the fact that they’re touching the exact place yours touched, “trust me, i’ve dealt with them for years.”

he offers you another drag and you take it, almost instinctively trying to grab for the hand that holds the cigarette, but not quite getting there, not allowed to hold it. hanma feels your breath on his fingers, they’re so close to you it would be so easy to just slip them into your inviting lips. he’s had plenty of girls begging for it, whining voices pleading with him to just wrap those large tattooed hands around their throats and coax out lewd moans, almost shocked at how good it felt when he squeezed them by the necks. he’s always been on the receiving end of the admiration, so readily flaunting those nimble digits setting up camera after camera to get a perfect shot of his subjects even outside of the studio. in the dark, in the crumpled sheets of his bed. they always asked to be put under the mercy of his palms, and now he tries not to recall those moments, but suddenly every girl in his memory wears your face. 

suddenly he can’t remember any of them, instead it’s you he’s pulling by the hair, exposing your neck for him to bite down on it while his hips snap against your ass, it’s you on your back with legs up, held tightly by his hands under your thighs as he parts your precious pussy repeatedly slamming into you. he can clearly see in his mind the faces you would pull, the noises he’d drag out of your throat with just a little pressure to the side of your neck.

“hah, yeah, mine insisted on working with you, apparently.” he watches as you turn directly towards him, opening the communication between your bodies. he can see more of you now, when you’re not bringing all the attention to your most prized feature, he can see the shape of your body. even better, he can imagine his hands on you more, fantasize just how good it would feel to squeeze those tits of yours as he gives you all of his inches. 

“that’s because i’m the best, doll.” he braves a little pet name, testing the waters, raising an eyebrow to see how you’d react. and bingo. the little flush spreading your face and the way you tilted your head as if to hide from him tells hanma everything he needed to know. oh he’s got you where he wants you; seeing you shift on your feet, pressing your legs a little tighter together, he’s willing to bet that you’re imagining nearly the same things as him, being put into your place by someone strong, by him. 

“how so?” your innocent tone does nothing but make him more hell-bent on taking you for himself. hanma’s brain seems unable to relax and give up on the images that keep running through it, the images of you in just a pair of translucent stockings with your own panties rolled up and stuffed between those precious lips, images of your ass so tastefully bouncing on his hips as he helps you ride him. since he can’t do anything to stop his mind racing, he leans into it. he’s testing the waters to see how you’ll react, feeling out how much he can get away with.

“models love me, managers fear me. simple as that.” he throws the finished cigarette onto the ground and steps on it with the toe of his shoe. it’s safer if he shoves his hands into the jacket pockets, he thinks. safer if he can’t reach out and grab your face to pull you in for a damaging kiss. “i’ve managed to satisfy all of them… in one way or another.” but some of them in both ways, he thinks, once again recalling the whiny moans under his toned body, the thin arms wrapping around his neck, and the drag of their nails along his back. but he doesn't recall the faces, all of them look like you now, all of them a blank canvas upon which he paints your eyes, so wide with flustered excitement, your nose, blushing from his words, your lips, gently parted as you sigh and whimper his name…

“another?” how innocent can you be? oh hanma nearly lets out a laugh. or maybe you’re playing him, maybe you know exactly what he means, but you want to tease him and make him work for it. 

“yes, another, what don’t you get?” hanma’s lips tug into a grin and with a step towards you he closes the distance. seeing as you make no move to get away, he reaches around your waist and pulls you closer. “you want a demonstration?” the honking of cars and the rush of traffic underneath doesn’t break the tension between you, it’s like you’re in a little bubble of your own, ten storeys above the rest of the world. 

hanma watches you closely, dipping his head down to brush lips against the side of your head and hear you inhale sharply, as if battling with yourself about how to continue. 

“of what?” you clear your throat, looking down for a moment before returning his gaze. “a demonstration of what?” damn, he’s so much taller than you, his lean frame is slouched to get near you. it makes for even more thoughts carefully being put into a folder with your name on it in his mind.

his chuckle is so low, right against your ear while his one hand reaches to hold your chin, tilting it up so he can see you better. his fingers squeeze your cheeks a little, making your lips pout so deliciously.

“of how i satisfy little princesses and dolls who might not be too happy with posing for so long…” he trails off, leaving the rest up to your imagination, knowing that you’re smart enough to understand, to pick up what he’s laying down. 

from the way your cheeks redden even more, your eyelashes bat a little quicker, and you make no move to pull yourself away, even shift on your feet so you come a little closer, it’s clear to him that it’s a good move. 

“and how are you going to show me that?” your voice is too soft, he almost doesn’t hear it, but the way your lips move in between his thumb and index finger is making his already straining erection feel more painful than ever. despite it, he lets go of your face and stands up straight. one tattooed hand, sin, brushes through his unruly blonde-streaked hair, he forces his feet to move away from you and start walking back inside the studio.

“come to my office, i’ll show you what i mean.” hanma makes himself sound casual though the level of obsession in his mind is reaching new heights. he’s counting seconds as he strides through the studio, ignoring the questions coming from the people on set, even his own team. he must not lose focus. 

throwing himself into the office chair, he rubs those pretty hands over his face. focus, damn it. his knee bounces, looking down he subtly fixes the way his cock is constricted, moving the seam of his jeans a little to the side, counting down seconds until–

you slowly walk in and close the door behind you, like you’re a schoolgirl in trouble walking into the principal’s office expecting to get shouted at or suspended. so submissive, so perfect for him to unwrap.

you approach him with that same redness on your cheeks, standing in front of his desk as if unsure if you should sit or not. hanma beckons you to circle the desk and lean against it, your legs slotted in between his knees. he slides forward on the wheels of the chair, bringing himself closer to you and now his face is level with your chest. his hand sneaks around to caress the back of your thigh, your bare legs shiver under the warmth of his touch.

“tell me, doll…” he drawls, looking you over, admiring your thighs as they peek out from under the hem of that cute little skirt you wear, “are you happy with the set conditions, hmm?” he leans forward, the leather of his chair creaking as he moves, now ghosting his breath across your stomach, across the thin knitted jumper you’re wearing. “the lights are okay, yeah? you got some food, you got drinks, you had breaks… is there anything you want that i didn’t give you?” his tone gets lower, the rasp of his voice sends shocks through your spine as his large hand reaches the underside of your ass. it’s embarrassing how much he wants to just turn you around, tug those panties off, and shove his aching cock inside you, but he’s nothing if not a teasing motherfucker. a bastard that will prolong your and his torture if only to toy with his prey.

“n-no” your answer is a simple one, and even that you manage to stutter, “no, everything is n-nice.” 

hanma chuckles in reply. nice. he hates that word. it means nothing, anything can be nice, he doesn’t want that. he wants amazing, fun, interesting, perfect.

“just nice, hm?” those long, pretty fingers that touch you so gently make their way over the swell of your ass, rubbing it in tender circles as he looks up, leaning his chin on your stomach. “anything i can do to make it better than nice?” he purrs, reaching out with his other hand to touch your other thigh, this time from the front. that hand also disappears under your skirt rather quickly. you grip onto the edge of his desk while he explores your soft skin, fighting yourself to keep your eyelids open and connected with his eyes. you don’t answer, just keep your juicy lips parted slightly, letting out a tiny whimper when his fingers reach the edge of your panties. it brings back the smile on his face, the mischievous smile that says got you when he sees he has you right where he wants you. his index and middle fingers gently hook under the edge of that soft fabric, testing out the boundaries though there don't seem to be many. he closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing saliva when he realises how soft your skin is, how wet you are already. hanma trails those two clever fingers up and down your precious slit, smearing your wetness around, enjoying the texture of it on his fingertips. a small groan rips from his throat, you're so warm under his touch, he’s barely keeping himself together, barely stopping himself from ravishing you immediately. 

“looks like you’re enjoying yourself more than you thought, yeah?” he soon pulls his hand away while the one on your ass stays, kneading the soft flesh as he pops his middle finger in between his lips. “mmm fucking delicious, i knew you would be.” his finger prods at your bottom lip, making it part more to place his two fingers on your tongue. your lips immediately close around the digits, tongue swirling as you taste yourself, but most of all enjoy the feeling of those slender fingers in your desperate mouth, finally starting to get put in your place, finally being touched and used. as hanma pulls his fingers out, his movements speed up. he’s been patient, gentle, even, but his erection is getting painful to the point where he needs to get it out, and he’ll be damned if he sits there with his cock out and it’s not getting sucked or being used to fuck you. 

with a quick tug, he pulls your panties down, revealing the sweet piece of heaven that is your tender pussy. he wants to kiss it, wants to make out with it for hours, wants to lay you down on his desk and spend the rest of the day with his lips drowning in your juices, have them drip down his chin until there is a puddle on the floor. he wants to tease you so damn much , but it feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t have his cock inside you right now. with a groan, he undoes his jeans and stands up, sliding them down to his mid thighs as you look down and– gasp.

the look in your eyes says need you now . it shows your desperation, even more so when he takes your hands and brings them to his mouth. hanma can tell you don’t expect any softness from him, but his lips gently brush over your knuckles, kissing every finger as he leans forward, rubbing his bare erection against you.

“so pretty,” he murmurs, “so damn beautiful i need t–” a groan stops his words, the urge becomes too strong. your pretty little pout makes him want to take you immediately, so badly it’s unnerving. it takes him a few quick seconds to have you turned around facing the desk and pressing up against his chest. one of his hands parts your supple thighs while the other gently wraps around your tender neck, holding you in place with your head tilted back. “doll… tell me something.” his raspy voice flows into your sensitive ear, so low and seductive he wonders if you just got wetter from the sound.

“a-anything… ‘m gonna tell you anything.” you desperately respond, swallowing saliva and feeling your throat bob under his large palm. gods, his hands are pretty, they look so perfect wrapped around your slender neck, tightening the grip with his thumb on the side so gently. 

“anything? fuck, you’re a greedy little one, aren’t ya?” he chuckles, but the hardness of his cock is rubbing against your lower back, making it difficult to stay as cocky as he wants to. with one hand, he picks up your leg and lifts it up on the desk, opening up the path to insert himself into your heat as he tilts your head, making it easier to lock eyes. “look at me… there you go, you want this just as much as i do, don’t you?”

you nod, nearly salivating at the prospect of finally feeling what it’s like being one of those girls that the famous photographer hanma shuji takes home and rewards for being such good models. 

“out loud, need to hear you.” he coaxes, bending his knees slightly to get the angle right, to align his fat cock head with your drooling little cunt. 

“y-yes, i want this… please, want you so much.” you hold onto the flat surface of the desk, your pretty fingers balancing you as your slick covers hanma’s tip. his strained chuckle glides over your cheek as he tilts your head a little to the side, perfectly placing his lips against yours, but not kissing you. no, the bastard has to tease you first.

“that’s a good doll.” only after he whispers his little praise does he sink his thick cock into you, kissing your pouty lips at the same time. it’s a harsh kiss, demanding entrance into your mouth as his hips meet the plump flesh of your ass. the noise is addicting, skin bouncing against skin, the buckle of his belt jingling with every movement, your moans in his mouth, his curses in between hungry kisses. hanma is gone. one thrust into your weeping cunt and he’s a dead man. he’s sucked in so snug, your warm walls accommodate him only just, making the squeeze that much more intense as he pulls almost all the way out before pushing himself back in with a muffled groan. 

“fuck… so warm for me, hmm? so tight around me,” his voice gets lower as the hand holding your throat moves you again, letting him speak into your ear while the other hand holds your thigh, “so tight and perfect, aren’t you?” hanma chuckles, barely holding on to sanity. he speeds up a little, moaning every time his balls smack against your clit. “tell me, princess…” he pauses talking to hear more of those melodic whines coming from your sweet mouth, so perfect that he has no choice but to squeeze your neck a little tighter, making for the noises to get higher in pitch. “ah… i could just– mmm bottle up these little whines of yours… tell me doll, you doing good, hmm? y-you having fun, huh?” 

he extends his index finger from your throat and pushes it into your mouth, pressing down onto your greedy tongue while his hips keep colliding with you, his cock drags out squelching sounds form your sopping pussy, hitting every sweet spot in your warm little cunt that contracts around him. “put your damn finger in my mouth, doll, come on.” he demands in a gravelly voice, a little out of breath as he feels his hips twitch. 

hanma is used to taking his sweet time, making his pretty girls beg, whine for him until he feels merciful enough to give them what they crave. but as you shakily remove your hand from the desk and bring two slender, perfectly manicured and clean fingers to his lips, he greedily takes them in, sucking on them like it’s his favourite lollipop. like the answer to the meaning of life is buried deep inside your cunt and under the skin of your hands. his tongue shows off, swirling around your fingertips, sending shivers throughout your body. 

deeper moans join the symphony of noises in the office, he licks between your digits, continuously snapping his hips forward, thrusting so deeply into you that you feel the edge of his desk dig into your front. your cute little skirt is hiked up around your waist, giving him a good view of your round ass whenever he lets his eyes wander away from the knuckles of your hand resting on his chin or the sight of his tattooed hand, punishment, squeezing your throat harder, tighter, making whiny little whimpers slip though your lips and past his index finger stuck in your mouth. 

the sensation of your cunt tightening around him is almost too much, so he nearly collapses, knees giving up, when he hears your pleading voice vibrating against his index finger. he pulls it out of your mouth, letting you speak up, oh how he wants to hear you plead for him.

“p-please, haa– i need t’...” a groan escapes you when hanma pulls his head away, letting your fingers slip out of his mouth and onto the desk where they were before. he dips his head closer, tugs on your earlobe with his mean teeth. “need t’ cum, please, can i?” 

hanma has struck gold. a sweet little thing like you with a tight pussy almost made for him that can take his cock so well, a gentle thing with puppy eyes and perfect hands that he just wants to capture stroking his thick, veiny cock… begging to cum. if he were to die today, he would die a happy man. hanma drags his lips down to your cheek, taking a playful bite of your face before tilting your head again, not slowing down the relentless movement of his vicious hips. he chuckles raggedly, his energy is focused elsewhere, but he needs to give you some cheek before giving in. 

“hmm, already? mmm alright, doll, i-it would be my honor if you did. whaddaya say, you gonna cum on my dick here? y-you gonna make a mess in m-my office, yeah?” his teasing tone is followed by a speedier pace of his hips. he places a hand on your abdomen, feeling for the little bulge where his cock keeps hitting, chuckling a little as he feels it right at the glorious moment when your cunt contracts, making him stutter in his movements and almost immediately follow your orgasm. pretty, he thinks, sounds so gorgeous when she cums. with those words on his mind, he topples over as well, groaning out into your hair as he spills inside you, gradually slowing down his messy thrusts. his hand releases your throat while the other rubs little circles on your abdomen, large hand covering most of your skin. feeling brave, hanma presses a few uncharacteristically gentle kisses along your neck where he squeezed you moments before. once he stills, once you’ve both come down from your orgasms, he pulls out, hissing at the lack of contact and the sight of your cute little hole oozing his silvery white release.

he wants to take a photo of it, but it will have to wait, he has a feeling he’ll get to take you like this again. catching his breath, he reaches down and pulls his jeans and boxers up, buttoning himself up before smacking your tender exposed ass with one tattooed hand, punishment . looking down, he realises that he feels more at ease around you now, having dealt with his overflowing need for you. hell, maybe he’ll even give you a moment before asking you to put your gentle hands on his cock and get them sticky with his cum.

“think the break is over, doll.” hanma drags one hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before helping you get back onto your wobbly legs and pull your panties back up. “we got another ten pages of poses to go through… or you’ll be back tomorrow for another session.” a wicked grin spreads along his face. another session, he’s almost getting giddy at the thought of having you here again, another day, another chance to find himself balls deep in your wet cunt, walls fluttering as y– he needs to get a grip.

maybe not during a photo shoot, maybe he’ll invite you over next time, get some food in you, share a drink or two before he makes you pose for his private collection. before he fills all of his memory cards with lewd photos of you in every position imaginable, before he deletes all the other ones he took before. deletes all the photos that don’t have your precious hands in them.