2D make the kitty go purrr

The house isn’t silent — there’s the faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house, harmonising with the low hum of appliances in the background — but it’s not full of life, as one would expect from a family with many children. 

Sons. 

Immediately putting to use your training, you try to feel for any otherworldly presence, for something dark, something insidious. 

Nothing.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean this is another false case of paranoia. 

Demons can be tricky. They can obscure themselves from the senses very well, to the point where exorcists even more experienced than you wouldn’t be able to notice them at all. They can hide in plain sight, tricking those around them with a facade of passive harmlessness. 

“Please take me to him.”

They jolt at the command, as though they hadn’t expected you, a woman much younger than them, to be so forward, so commanding. Still, they nod faithfully. 

The two of them lead you down the hallway. Closer to the pictures hanging on the walls now, you see the children mentioned in the file: most of them are older than the Afflicted (or should you say, ‘potentially’ Afflicted’), certainly past living at home. The youngest is a toddler. He must be at school at this hour, or with relatives. 

The Afflicted, on the other hand, is around your age. He should be college aged. Yet, the file states that he lives at home, has no friends, no hobbies, no reason to be out and about. Which is why his parents were so concerned; they cannot fathom where he could have come into contact with a demon. 

That’s not always how it works, you wanted to tell them in your letter correspondence; demons can come to you. But the less they know the better. It wouldn’t help anyway. Not when they’d already made their minds up about what was going on with their son.

Soon, you come face to face with a door. It’s weighed down by thirteen locks. You cock a brow at that. Clinging rings out as the husband fumbles with a busy keychain. With a glance back at you to double-check that you’re really there or to make sure that you’re sure about this, he unlocks each padlock after your confirmatory nod, undos every chain, and loosens all the bindings. 

The door swings open slowly, creaking.

“Please be careful, Sister,” the wife warns, hand reaching out to clutch your elbow. “Forgive me for saying this, but you are small compared to t-that thing. It may overpower you.”

Reassuringly, you place your hand over hers and give her a small smile. “He, Mrs. Kamo.” She blinks. You clarify, “Not ‘thing.’ Not ‘it.’ Your son is still here. It will help to fight off evil forces, if any lingers, if you remember a pure, innocent soul remains, waiting to be saved.”

She nods frantically, pale with guilt or shame or another thing entirely. Her husband places a hand on the small of her back, just as disturbed by all of this. 

You lead the way down the stairs. 

It seems they’ve kept the ‘Afflicted’ in the cellar. If he is indeed possessed, that would have been a good decision — having a vessel freely walking about, when there is a child around, is dangerous. If he is not…

Well.

The bulb above you flickers, buzzing. 

Only when your feet touch the floor do you finally see him. 

A man lying on the bed, fully clothed, with his limbs spread and bound to the bed posts. Lazily, his eyes drag to the staircase, expecting his parents, but not you. He stiffens. 

“A nun?” he says, frowning. “You brought a nun?”

Mr. Kamo snaps, “You do not speak to us, demon!”

The metal restraints clink and clang as he tries to sit up, to no avail. He just groans, banging his head against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. “For the last time, I’m not possessed.”

“That is for me to ascertain,” you say, looking around. “Choso, yes?”

He huffs an affirmative. “Look, Sister, I’m sorry my parents made you come all the way here, but you’re wasting your time. I’m not possessed. I’m fine. Truly.”

You smile at him when your gazes meet. Something flashes in his eyes before he looks away, clearing his throat. Sweetly, you reply, “Even if you aren’t possessed, it is clear you need help. And as a son of our Heavenly Father and a member of our Church, it is my duty to see to it that you get everything you need to continue living a life of faith.”

Your words make him grimace. 

It seems the files are accurate, at least pertaining to one thing: he is not a believer.

The cellar smells faintly of damp concrete and something sharper beneath it. Sweat, maybe, or nerves left too long to settle. The space itself is sparse. A large bed which he lies on, a small table pushed to the side, a bare bulb overhead casting uneven light that leaves corners in shadow, and a thin blanket that covers most of his body.

Setting your bag down on the table, you move with practiced efficiency. 

One by one, you take out what you need — candles placed at intervals, a small vial of holy water, a worn book whose spine has seen years of use. A match strikes. Flame flickers to life. Then another. Warm light begins to bloom across the room, softening its harsh edges. 

A sweet, herbal scent wafts into the air. It overtakes the damp smell. 

“I’m not possessed,” Choso reminds you, frowning harder. He’s watching your every move.

“Silence, demon!” his mother snaps. She turns to you. “Please, can you do something? His evil influence is spreading to his brother; no longer wants to go to church or pray. Soon they’ll take control of the household!”

The file mentioned those symptoms: refusal to partake in prayer, reluctance to attend mass, marking his face and violating God’s temple, disrespect shown to mother and father e.g. talking back and questioning their orders. 

It’s obvious from the file alone that he’s simply being rebellious. Thinking for himself, and choosing to disassociate from a religion, a community, that’s never brought him joy. From their witness reports, it seems like he hadn’t even done any harm. Not harm commonly associated with demonic activity anyway. 

Choso merely displeased them.

You know what kind of people his parents are. Judgmental, controlling, misusing the word of God to spread fear, to subjugate, and showing no kindness in their actions. You see them every day. They come in different shapes, yet their spirit remains the same; damned. 

To have lived under their roof all of his life, to have felt the suffocation, the misery…

It must have been Hell on Earth.

Telling them he is not possessed would not suffice. They already made their minds up. In many ways, you were invited for them, not for their son. But you came for him. And, under your guidance, he will come for you. 

That is what it means to be a servant of God.

“Let us see, shall we?” you say. You open the lid to the vial and spray his body. Most land on his face. 

He hisses.

“See!” both parents yell, hugging each other tightly and backing away from the bed. “Demon!”

Choso grumbles, “It was cold.” 

Biting back a smile, you turn to the two and inform them, “You are right. He is possessed. It appears to be a Grade B demon. Nothing I cannot handle, but certainly not something you can face. So I urge you to leave the house. Go to a neighbour’s. Pray. I will call for you when I am done.”

Their son makes a noise. “What? No. I’m not possessed!”

His voice cracks with indignation, cheeks flushed deep with embarrassment, eyes darting between you and his parents as though searching for someone — anyone — to side with him.

“He lies,” you confirm, urging them out of the room. Then, making a show of praying, you look up and say, “Forgive him, Father. He is not himself.”

Mrs. Kamo nods enthusiastically, shoulders dropping in relief at being proven right as she lets you usher them both out. “Yes, thank you, Sister. Please, save our son. Bring him back to us.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take very good care of him.”

Your word is law; they cannot and will not argue with a Divine Servant. Their footsteps fade gradually, the front door creaking open and then shutting with a dull thud, followed by the faint murmur of their voices as they retreat further away, leaving the house steeped in a burdensome, expectant quiet.

Finally alone, you return to the cellar and face Choso, who looks less than pleased with you. 

“I’m not possessed,” he repeats, huffing in frustration. “I’m not possessed and you know it.”

Choso Kamo is a handsome young man in a way not many in this town are — lean yet not gangly, tall, exuding a darker energy to him what his brooding exterior and unimpressed eyes. Most of the men his age are pimply, clumsy, arrogant. He’s calmer and simultaneously clearly with a penchant for getting carried away and too excited. 

This’ll be a fun one, you think to yourself.

You come to sit on the bed, right by his hip. He stills and grows even more so, if it was possible, when you pull the blanket off his body. “No, Choso, you’re not possessed. But you’re also not well. A powerful force has taken over you, blinded you, taken you deeper into the dark. But I’m here now. I will save you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he grits out, growing more and more tired by the constant need to repeat the truth.

Tenderly, you say, “Then explain why you’ve permanently marked your face.”

“It’s a form of self-expression. My body is my own,” he answers haughtily. “No one owns me. That might offend you, Sister, and for that I’m sorry. But I refuse to conform to religious conservatism. And neither should my brothers, especially Yuji.”

You smile. “That doesn’t offend me at all; I’m a firm believer in self-expression.”

Choso rattles his chains as he adjusts on the bed. “I find that hard to believe when you’re wearing a uniform.”

“Oh? You like?” 

The candles you lit waft a sugary scent in the air. It makes your mouth water. Warmer down here now, you shrug your top layer off: a shawl. It reveals your habit. Black, ironed fabric covers most of you. It’s tight around the chest and waist, falling to your ankles, with slits up your both thighs. You feel the heat of his eyes on your breasts. They zero in on the imprint of your hardened nipples. 

“See? A pure soul would not be salivating at the sight of a Sister’s breasts.”

He blanches. Then flushes. Hard. “I-uh-I wasn’t…” he stammers out. 

You hum. “It’s alright.”

Choso’s brows knit together. “It is?”

“Yes. The starved energy inside craves flesh. It craves the softness of a woman’s tits.” 

He flinches, like you’d struck him — he’s never heard anyone be so vulgar, and a nun at that. It must be befuddling him to no end.

“Yes, tits, Choso. It’s not blasphemous to say, and so I can.” Cupping your breasts, you show him how they recoil in your hold, how they pudge when you squeeze. Choso’s mouth falls open, entranced. “It is normal for you to want a woman, for you to desire my body, my tits. Natural and expected, even.”

He can’t take his eyes away from the movement of your own hands, how they dig into your own ample chest, how your nipples poke out even more and he can faintly see the shape of your areola through the thin material, and how you gasp when you graze against the buds by accident, or on purpose. 

“You don’t wear bras?” he wonders aloud, breathless. But then he shakes his head, as though he had heard how dreamy his voice sounded and it was nothing short of humiliating. “N-no. No. I’m fine. There’s no ‘dark energy.’ You’re not needed here if you won’t believe me and convince my parents to let me out of here.” It’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself. He sounds so troubled too. 

Bless his heart.

“If you’re fine and free from any ailments, then explain to me why you’re pitching a tent with your cock.”

Panicked and horrified, Choso’s eyes flit down to his pants. Just as you had said, there’s a noticeable, undeniable bump at his groin. Chains rattle louder when he reflexively pulls his legs up to cover himself. He can’t. He can only lay down helplessly, vulnerable to your judging eyes. 

“I, um…I—Fuck!” he curses, beyond flushed now. He exhales through his nose. “Sorry. Please ignore it. It…It keeps happening. Ever since I stopped taking this tea my mother would give me, that keeps happening to me. It’s not a demon. I looked it up in the library. It’s puberty. It’s hormones. Urges. Biological urges.”

A hand placed on his thigh has him staring at you suspiciously. The muscles under your touch flex. You can tell he really wants to snatch his leg from you, if only because he’s unsure of what your intentions are and what the touch means. Maybe also because no woman has ever touched him there, and it’s frightening.

You nod, smiling. “Yes, you’re right. What you have is an erection. Science explains it as biological urges, yes. But we, at the Church, know it can also be caused by malignant energies.”

“It’s not anything,” he yells. Gritting his teeth, he glares up at the ceiling. “I thought you’d be different. I thought you’d see reason, despite your beliefs. I thought you would actually help me. Even just for a second, I actually believed someone would be on my side, would understand — I’m not a bad person. I’m not possessed. There’s. Nothing. Wrong. With. Me.”

Placing a hand on his chest, you firmly say, “I am on your side, Choso. I do understand. I am here to help. But we do things my way. Open your mind up. Listen and hear me out. I promise, you will soon come to see.”

He’s about to argue. You cut him off. 

Sharp nails walk up his clothed thigh, savouring their sudden tensing. His breath hitches. The moment your fingers touch his erection, his hips jerk. “W-what are you doing?”

“Cleansing you. Purifying your body. You may not be possessed, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t afflicted.”

“A-afflicted?”

The glint in your eyes has him gulping. You vaguely say, “With sin. One of the Cardinals. The worst of the worst.”

You lightly grip the chubby thing. 

“Sister!” he cries out, hips jolting and back arching. 

It’s hot. And big. One of the bigger ones you’ll be facing. Through the layers, you can feel the ridges of his cock. You palm it, watching how his eyes widen before he bites his lips. 

Oh, he must be so confused — all his life, he’s been taught pleasure is bad. Any hint of hedonism and sensuality must be condemned. Yet here you are, a representative of the Church, indulging in debauchery and convincing him it’s alright. How can he possibly tell right from left, up from down, wrong from right now?

“You were caught touching yourself, weren’t you?” you ask though it’s really not a question. “Was it your first time?”

He’s far too focused on the feeling of your hand stroking him to answer. You squeeze too tightly. Choso sucks in a sharp breath. “N-no,” he replies. “It was my, um, second. The -hah- first time, I was too scared by the sensation. I’ve never felt my…my… p-penis like this. I kept obsessing over it, and eventually tried again. I -ngh fuck!- could feel something building and building, and that’s when they caught me.”

“I see,” you hum, continuing to stroke him. “It felt good?”

Choso hesitates for a second. He’s gauging how honest he can be with you; honesty isn’t something commonly practiced in his home, obviously. But you are touching his erection through his pants so maybe you’re to be trusted. He nods. “Yes.” And despite his embarrassment, he adds, “This feels better though. You do it better. Your h-hand feels better.”

A small spot begins forming on his pants, right where his cockhead is hidden. You prod it. The chains rattle. His hips lurch.

“This is evidence of your possession,” you tell him. The glistening of the pad of your finger is all he can see after you bring it up to his face. “Taste your sin, Choso.”

Shaking his head, he tries to avoid your descending finger. “No, p-please. It’s dirty.”

“Yes, yes, it is. But if you complete this step of the ritual, then we can move on to the next, and it’ll taste so much better.”

That seems to entice him. He stops evading your finger, allowing it to rest upon his plump lips, not quite tasting just yet. Choso echoes, “Better? What tastes better?”

You grin mischievously. “Your reward.”

The slightest adjustment of your legs answers his question too — his eyes dart to the slither of skin showing, to the smoothness of your thigh. It’s a sight he’s never been allowed to see. A sight he knows instinctively he wants so badly. He knows if he ventures up your thighs, there’ll be something there waiting for him. 

It’s really a thing of wonder, how biology leads the way. 

Choso keeps staring, watching how candlelight dances on the shininess of your skin. Surrounded by boys all his life, he’s never known an adult’s skin to be so supple-looking. He only knows roughness, coarse hair, calluses, and scars. You promise so much more. 

His lips fall open, whether intentionally or absentmindedly. You dip the sullied finger inside his mouth, encouraging his tongue to reach for the droplet. 

He makes a face that can only be described as disgust when the taste registers. 

You laugh. “It’s salty, isn’t it?”

“I want my reward,” he petulantly grumbles, spitting out your finger.

Not wanting to drag it out any longer, you come to kneel on the bed.

The mattress dips beneath your weight. You cast a shadow over his body with yours. Choso observes every move you make, cautious and suspicious. He’s still not convinced that you’re on his side, that you know what you’re doing. 

Under your short guimpe, you unbutton the top part of your dress. Your breasts springs out, released from their tight constraints. 

“Oh, god,” he breathes out, shocked, appalled, and entranced in one fell swoop. 

This’ll be the first time he’s ever seen bare breasts. And up this close? 

He must be out of his mind, must have hit it on his way down as his father dragged him to the cellar.

As though something’s taken over him, his head lunges forward, attempting to latch onto a nipple. You grip his face, preventing him from making contact. “Behave. To be cleansed by a holy instrument is a blessing. A privilege. You must be patient.”

He blushes. “S-sister, forgive me. I can’t think, c-can’t seem to control myself.”

Massaging your own breasts of their aches, you moan out, “It’s alright. You simply need to give me a second to prepare my instrument.” After a couple seconds, when they’re ready, you bring a tit to his lips. “Here. Drink. My milk will begin the cleansing ritual.”

“Drink?” he repeats, surprised. He spots the opaque liquid dripping from the small holes in your areolas. “Oh, fuck. I can’t, Sister. This is too much. This is…this is bad.”

In moments of crisis, at his absolute lowest, he turns to what is familiar, even if he has never believed his parents’ teachings his entire life. He knows what his body wants, but it’s so new, so sudden, that he cannot comprehend how any of this is possible, how this could be the will of his family, of the Church, of the God you serve. 

But he needn’t worry about anything other than following your instructions. Anything beyond the confines of his cellar is none of his concern now.

Cradling his face, you coo, “I know, Choso. I know. Will you just try, for me? I made all this milk for you and it hurts. It makes my breasts ache, makes them so sore. Don’t you want to help me, to relieve me, to make me feel good?”

Choso follows the wasted droplets, which travel down the curves of your breasts and fall to the bed. He licks his lips. “Help…yes…yes, I want to help. I want to make you feel good.”

“Such a good boy, thank you.” You brush his unruly, raven hair from his face. You lean closer. A nipple’s fed to his parting lips. The moment skin touches skin, he dives forward and sucks you towards him. “Ngh! Choso!”

He’s no longer listening to you — his eyes have rolled to the back of his head, lashes fluttering against your breast. The force in which he’s suckling on your tit has milk rushing out, swirling in his mouth for only a second before they travel down his throat and sink to his stomach where warmth pools. 

Moans after moans mingle together. It feels good. Really good. A mix of relief with exhiliration from his flicking tongue. 

This may be his first time sucking on a woman’s breast in his adulthood, but he’s basically a pro. 

Your hand returns to his clothed cock. 

He grunts, the vibrations piercing your chest and whirring down to your core. 

The small damp spot has grown. Shlick! Shlick! noises resound as you stroke him again. His cock throbs in your grasp in time with the waves of milk oozing out onto his tongue.

“We need to -hngh good, such a good boy- n-need to drain the sin from you,” you tell him. “My milk will purify you from the inside, but you need to be empty. We’ll work hard together, yes, Choso?”

“Mmm,” he hums, not quite processing your words. 

Choso’s hands fight against his restraints; he yearns to touch your breasts, to knead the flesh, to squeeze out more milk, to feel even more of you. It’s driving him wild. 

Juices soak the inside of your thighs, leaving a sticky mess. 

To know that his parents are in the next house — worried sick for their son but trusting you to deliver him to salvation, none the wiser that your pussy’s fluttering in anticipation for the devious ways you were going to put their son through it — has you resisting the urge to just take him right here, right now. To hell with the proper means of purification.

This is truly the best part of your job; misusing lost, confused individuals for your own excitement. 

Your body is for pleasure. That is how you will save humanity from sin, by absorbing all of the dark energy with your cunt, by taking the brunt of their frustrations, and feeding your body the salty ploughing of cocks and pussies in dire need of your holy guidance.

There is no greater Church, no greater sisterhood, no greater cause. 

Unable to take it anymore, you pull away from Choso. 

A whine leaves his lips. “No, Sister, please!” 

Milk drips down his chin, leaving his skin and lips glistening. He cranes to take your breast back into his mouth. The chains don’t let him. He moans, head banging against his pillows. His hips are chasing your hand too, throbbing pushing the material of his pants to their limit as his cock bobs uselessly.

“Oh, Choso,” you mewl, tongue licking over your sharp teeth, “I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

That’s all the warning he gets before his vision is completely obscured by the black of your habit and the shadow of the apex of your thighs. His surprised groans are muffled by your cunt, which you rub all over his face, smearing the wetness everywhere. 

“Sister,” he moans, tongue immediately slithering all over your pussy — through your slit, over your asshole, prodding your clit, wriggling inside your entrance. “Your smell…your taste…your warmth…I think I might pass out.”

Over his shirt, your fingers flick and pinch his nipples. His back arches. “No, Choso. It’s far too early to be tapping out. There’s still so much to do. Be a good boy and hang in there, alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be good. Mm, I’ll be so good,” he mumbles. As you rock your hips against his face, giving him reprieve to breathe here and there, he desperately says, “Tell me what to do. I-I’ve never done this before. Tell me what I’m supposed to do, please!”

You play with your own tits, spreading the milk over your skin. “Drink. Drink my holy water, Choso. Allow me to cleanse your body with my pussy’s juices.”

Your body’s getting hotter and hotter by the second. His breath’s fanning over your sensitive folds, tickling you. It didn’t even take a beat for him to follow your orders so diligently; he’s sipping your juices eagerly and enthusiastically. You squeal, pleased. 

“Do it, Choso! Lick my pussy!”

His tongue swipes through your soaked, puffy folds, gathering as much of your wetness as he can before he gluttonously swallows. With animalistic ferocity, he feasts on your overflowing juices. Sloppy slurrrrrrpsss! and squeeeeelccch!! reverberate. He’s downright drowning in your taste, in the sweetness and tang, and he can’t get enough — you can see how his tied up hands reach for you, uncaring of the metal digging into his raw skin.

“Ngh! You’re so good at this,” you moan out, riding his face. “If only the others could see you like this, could see how devoted you are to serving God. They’d understand. They’d see. They’d be moved to heavenly pleasure too!”

Choso thrusts his long tongue inside you, scooping out your juices. He probably can’t breathe. He definitely doesn’t care.

Squeezing your tits and imagining it’s his, and Father Nanami’s, digging their fingers in the fat mounds, you hop on his tongue. He’s got a sinful tongue, more so than even Lucifer himself. It wriggles against your spongy walls, curling against a spot he doesn’t realise is deliriously pleasurable for you. He only knows that it’s making your juices flood his face. They flow down his neck, soaking into the sheets. 

“My clit, Choso. Suck my clit,” you beg. He pauses, unsure of what you mean. “The small button here,” you say, grinding your cunt on his nose. You tap the bundle of nerves on the tip of his nose. “Suck here, Choso.”

“More juices will come?” he asks, breathless and sounding so innocent, one would think what you were doing was simply Bible study.

With a hum, you answer, “Yes, baby. So much more juices will come.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Choso wraps his lips around your clit, sucking intently. Your eyes widen. Your back arches into an unnatural bend. Your thighs clamp around his head. “Yes!” you cry out. “Yes! So, so good! Oh, your sinful tongue is driving me insane.”

You bend forward, hurriedly ripping his pants and underwear away with your sharp nails. His long, hard cock springs out. It’s so swollen it looks like it’ll burst with the slightest brush of the wind. The cockhead is so flushed it’s purple, and covered with a sheen of pearlescent cream. 

He already came in his pants.

Yet his cock is raring to go again. 

Good, you think.

Salty, swampy air fills your nose when you press your face to it. His sweat. His cum. His musk. It all shoots straight up to your brain. Your tongue lolls out. 

It’s the prettiest, most delicious looking cock you’ve ever seen. So delectably thick and girthy. It keeps bobbing towards you, booping your nose with its slick tip and leaving a dollop of cum there. 

“W-what are you doing?” he asks again, voice muffled by your cunt. 

Always so edge.

“I’m gonna suck out all the impurities.”

Choso makes an embarrassed sound. “But it’s dirty there, Sister.”

“Then allow me to clean it up with my tongue,” you say. Planting a kiss on the bulbous head, you open your mouth as wide as you can and take as much of him into your mouth as possible. 

“Sister!” he gasps. Beneath you, Choso trembles. His body’s straining against his restraints. His reflexes urge him to grab you, to take control, to wildly thrust in your mouth. But he can’t do anything more than lie here and take whatever you want to give him.

His cock is stretching your jaw to the point of soreness. You persist.

The fullness, the taste, the challenge — you want more. Greedily, you gobble his cock down your throat, reaching the base with experienced ease. You gag, throat clenching around his length. 

“Oh, Sister! It feels so good. Your mouth is -fuck!- so heavenly! Oh, god. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Hot cum explodes. 

Choso cries out.

He came so quickly, not that you’re very shocked; it’s his first proper time, after all, and his cock was already so sensitive after he had his accident in his pants from eating you out. You swallow it all, every drop, every spurt. It warms your mouth and throat, settling in your chest. The saltiness stings your throat and your eyes in the very best ways. It’s years of cum that’s been stored in his heavy balls, finally released. 

Spasms wrack his body. The chains rattle so loudly, causing the wood of the bedposts to creak.

Through it all, you keep sucking on his cockhead and tugging on his cock, making sure to get every bit out. 

“What was that?” he asks, so terrified of the phenomenon he’d just experienced.

“An orgasm, Choso. You came. It’s the peak of pleasure, the height of sin, and the purpose of sex. A gift from God. Be grateful.”

At the mention of God, Choso says, sentence punctuated by a sob: “T-this is wrong,” “We shouldn’t do this. I understand now I was wrong, so please, Sister, have mercy!”

The poor thing’s crying. He’s overwhelmed with the religious guilt washing over him. It’s a lot for him to take at once. Perhaps you shouldn’t have started in this position. It’s too late for regrets, however. You simply need to distract him now. 

“Shh, Choso. It’s okay. Trust in me. You are safe.” Rubbing your cunt on his lips, you muffle his cries. The taste of you which seeps onto his tongue halts his tears. As if remembering where he is and what he’s got right in front of him, he hesitantly licks your cunt again. “Thaaaat’s it. Good Choso.”

“You’re so -hah hah- sweet, Sister,” he murmurs between gulps of your wetness. 

“As is God’s will,” you say, shaking your hips. “Just like it’s his will for you to submit to me, Choso. Be not afraid. Listen only to me and your desire. Let it flow out of you. Then and only then will you be saved.”

Desire renewed, he resumes eating your pussy. Hungrily. Like a man absolutely parched. 

Quickly, he builds a rhythm back up — furiously assaulting your cunt with his wet tongue. You moan in time with his monstrous growls. He’s relentless, driven by his need to quell years of repression. “So sweet,” he gasps out in between beastly laps of your cunt. “So, so sweet.”

He slurrrrrrppss! on your clit until your orgasm splashes onto his face. 

“Fuck, Choso!” you squeal. “Yessssssss!”

The man hardly seems to notice you’ve orgasmed. Or perhaps he doesn’t recognise what a woman’s full-body spasms and stuttering hips mean. Your cunt’s swollen and on fire. You crawl away, biting back a smile knowing that the snarl that pierces the air is because he’s not done with your pussy. 

And you’re not done with him either. 

Maneuvering yourself around, you face him. 

Hair a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat and slick. Skin flushed under his face markings. Choso’s face is slippery with your juices. He doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are blown out and glazed over. Despite that, he’s honed in on your tits, which heave with your panting. They’re shiny with your milk too. The two of you are positively soaked. 

“W-what’s the next step, Sister?” he asks, voice deepening to something unrecognisable. Guttural. 

You straddle his hips, lifting your habit to show him how your pussy sandwiches his pulsating length. Choso’s hips rise to meet yours, hissing. You say, “You must give in. You must accept God.”

Choso whines, hips chasing the slow grinding of your cunt on his cock. “I can’t. I don’t believe in it, in Him.”

Stabilising yourself on his chest, you hump his cock mindlessly. It’s so stiff, so hot, and rubbing against your clit perfectly with the prominent veins climbing up his length and the bulbous head. “You will,” you tell him. “If you want to -mm- feel what it’s like to be snug -hah- inside my cunt, to be c-cleansed in and out, to be rid of -ngh!- to be rid of sin and free from your parents' control, you will accept Him.”

He tries to resist. His hands grip the metal of his chains. His wrists and palms are pink — raw from his straining. “No, I can’t.”

Although as he says that, you feel him rutting up at you, stretching as high up as he can go with his legs pulled taut. Lewd, sloppy sounds reach your ears like a symphony. Pouting, you swivel your hips around his cockhead. Your clit kisses his tip, digging into the small hole. 

“MmFuck!” He arches his back, and whimpers noisily. He’s panting faster and faster, throwing his head side to side.

“You can, Choso, and you will. For me?” you whine, grinding on his dick quicker and hastier. Pulling his shirt up to see more of his glorious body, you keep it tucked under his chin. “I want to feel you inside me. I want to help you. Don’t you want to join me? Don’t you want to feel good together?”

His cock spurts more cum, a lighter load than the first couple times; his balls can’t keep up with the rate that he’s emptying them. 

Jaw clenching. Sweat darkening his shirt. Veins on his arms popping. Choso writhes, growing dizzier and dizzier with the waves of his sudden orgasm. You keep grinding and grinding as though you want him to cum again so soon.

“No, please!” he sobs, tears streaking down his cheeks. 

“Aw, without me?” You drag your nails down his chest, feeling the stickiness of his cum which has painted his pale skin, splotchy with blood thrumming under the skin. “That’s not very Love Thy Neighbour of you, Choso. I’m so disappointed. You know, maybe you’re right.”

Choso blinks rapidly, tears coating his lashes. “W-what?”

“Maybe you’re right,” you repeat, hips halting. “Maybe you’re not ready to be cleansed. Maybe you’re better off. I have other cases to see; I should probably get going now, I suppose.”

When you make a move to get off him, Choso yanks on his chains so hard the wood threatens to splinter. He stammers, “N-no! No, stay! Please. I’m sorry. I’m ready. I want to be cleansed. I want to feel you. I want you to purify me. Oh god, I want it so bad. Your pussy’s so warm. You taste so good. You’re so pretty. So, so pretty. Please, I’ll be good. I accept, I accept! Do as you please with my unworthy body.”

In spite of the fact that he’s already cummed 3 times, he’s still ready for more, ready for whatever you think he’s worthy. 

What a good puppy.

You clutch him by the base, angling him to your pulsing entrance. “Oh, I will.”

And in he goes. 

The exact second that his cockhead worms itself into your gummy walls, streeeeeeetching your snug entrance, with a loud squeeeeeelchhhhh! he cums again. 

It’s instantaneous. He doesn’t even know it’s happening until your nails are digging into his abdomen and your moans are stuttering. Meanwhile, Choso’s agonised groans are interrupted by mangled blubbering. He’s barely intelligible.

Hot cum fills your pussy. It paints your insides with magma-like drippings. Juices flood out in response, addicted to the soothing burn of his heat. So much cum. Everywhere. You can taste it in the air.

“Congratulations,” you purr, cupping your leaking tits, “you just lost your virginity to me.”

His eyes have rolled to the back of his head. He’s spasming. Shuddering. Shivering. Trembling. His body is no longer his own. It’s a toy for you to work yourself down on. You force your pussy to adjust, to take all of him, inch by inch, until its cockhead is kissing your cervix and your clit is flushed to the coarse hairs at his pelvis, which are drenched in your combined slop. 

“No, no, no, please! It’s too much. I can’t take anymore. I just c-came.”

“Oh, Choso,” you mewl. “I don’t care if you came; I want to again, and I intend to, so keep yourself hard or we’re going to have problems.”

He agrees with some incomprehensible noises. Drool slips out of his mouth. You collect the wetness and rub it on your needy clit as you start bouncing on his still-hard cock. The bed creaks beneath you, wood complaining. Your claws draw long marks on his clammy skin. Goosebumps rise where you lay your claim. 

So much is happening at once. He can’t keep track. It’s like he feels you everywhere — on his face, on his tongue, on his chest, his hands, burrowing inside of him, nestling in the pit of his stomach, clutching his heart and squeezing as tight as your cunt is around his cock.

You’ve taken a lot. He’s ready to sleep, to give in to the exhaustion.

Choso’s softening. 

You growl. “No!”

SMACK!

His eyes widen. Redness blooms on his skin. 

His cock hardens to full mast quick as lightning. You moan in satisfaction, hips grinding down to swallow the growth in his girth and length. He fills you up even better like this. Perfect, you think. He’s no good to you soft. 

“Give me all -hah- your cum,” you command, the pleats of your pussy milking his cock ruthlessly. Another harsh smack! has his hips rutting up, driving him even deeper inside you. 

“Yes,” he chokes out, cheek welting. “Take it all. It’s yours. Every-ngh!-thing!”

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

He accepts each collision of your soft palm against his face with humble gratitude. Choso’s honoured you’d dirty your hand with him, delirious with the thought that the same heat spreading across his cheek is spreading across your palm, that you’re connected in divine pain, colouring each other ephemerally. You’re a Master deigning to carve him out of flesh and blood, and it’s so wondrous he thinks he’s already died and settled in a corner in Elysium.

The speed and vigour in which you’re fucking up and down on his cock rattles his chains, rocks the bed against the cement wall, and seems to shake the very foundations of the house. 

Earthshattering delight. 

Destructive, undeserving rapture.

Carnal, gluttonous excess of all the joy in the world blossoming from your transcendental pussy. 

You’re a marvellous, mind-melting Monet. A stone-turning marble statue carved by Bernini. A most cursed painting he can’t bear to look at and away from in equal measure. 

Lewd howls and grunts and shrieks pound against all the walls, no doubt seeping through to the outside. Apart from bestial sounds he doesn’t even realise he’s making, Choso’s been driven speechless. All he can hear, see, taste, smell, and feel is you. You’re driving him to heaven and back, and it’s far too much exposure to bliss than he’s worthy. 

“God, yes! Stretch my pussy out! So good, so fucking good!”

Hours must pass. Or maybe mere minutes. 

The muscles in your thighs ache, burning with the exertion. Sweat drips down your back. Your habit sticks to your skin. Your tits bounce with your body, and he can’t seem to take his eyes off them — except for when they’re rolling so far back into his head that his eyes appear perpetually white. 

Choso has been cumming over and over. His orgasms blur into one continuous burst of ecstacy; they start from his balls, rushing through the rest of his body: his sinewy thighs, cramping calves, curling toes, and up his torso, his chest, tickling his hardened nipples from inside, zooming up his tense arms, the veins threatening to pop, to the bruised wrists trapped by shackles, and his whitened knuckles. 

“This is -hah oh god- so, so wrong, Sister,” he cries. “But I don’t care -hngh!- anymore. I’m damned. I was damned when I rebelled. When you walked in and my cock throbbed back to life, and I felt a -fuck, don’t stop- a h-hunger I have never felt before rise in me. I-I knew when you uttered my name so angelically that I would follow you anywhere. God, take me, Sister. Please.”

He feels you everywhere.

And yet it isn’t enough.

Light grows brighter and brighter. It calls for him. Beckoning. 

More. 

More. 

More.

“Sister?” a voice calls out from a distance.

His parents. 

They returned.

Choso stares up at you, distressed and teary-eyed. He doesn’t want to be seen, to be caught. He expects you to stop. But you won’t.

“I-is everything alright? It’s been a while and the noises… We’re worried,” Mrs. Kamo says, hesitant and unable to hide her fear.

Smiling down at her son, you reply, “Mm, yes. The exorcism is -hngh- going perfectly. His powerful demon’s reacting just as e-expected — it’s putting up a fight. Best not to come down —fuck, Choso, you’re doing so good,” you whisper, then shout to his mother, “Don’t come down here.”

“Are you sure?” Mr. Kamo asks. “If you need our help, please—”

“It’s dangerous,” you yell, rolling your eyes. “The Church forbids the untrained to bear witness to an exorcism. Leave now and I will not inform the Father of your mistake.”

Choso knows they can hear his savage growling and groaning, that his shaky whimpers are reaching their ears, and he can’t do a thing about it; your devious cunt’s too powerful, too demanding, too tight. And with every bounce, he cares less and less that he’s sounding like nothing more than a whore. 

His parents can keep listening for all you care. 

They can watch if they want, and they can see how splendorous it is to desire, to sin, to be wrong.

You squeeze milk out of your tit, catching the ounces in your cupped hand. Maintaining eye contact, you slurrrrp! your own milk. He pants like a puppy in summer’s heat. You lean forward, nipples scraping his chest, and it’s an added stimulation he can’t handle. Choso’s eyes cross at the changed angle. 

Lips graze each other. Choso chases them each time you pull away. “Sister, please,” he pleads. “Deem me worthy. I want to be purified with your taste. Make me reborn anew.”

If only he knew you’d deemed him worthy the moment you laid eyes on him.

In a clash of tongue and teeth, you finally allow him to drink your breastmilk from your mouth. He greedily swallows with a pornographic moan, Adam’s apple bobbing with haste. He siphons it all. Relishing the sweetness. Savouring the refreshment. Delighting in his return to a more innocent time. Still wanting more, he licks the droplets from your chin and dives forward, sucking on your tongue. 

Choso drains your tongue like it’s a cock, like you had done to his. He can’t differentiate between the taste of your milk and the taste of your saliva; it’s as delectable to him as the other.

Satisfied, you both melt into a sloppy kiss as your hips ride his restlessly. He must have cum again from that alone. So much semen is squelching out of your cunt, sliding down his length, creating a creamy ring, drenching his pulsing balls and soaking into the sheets. 

You’re both so, so wet with each other’s liquids that your chests slip and slide together. But it’s still not enough. 

He hasn’t stopped yearning to touch you, to grab onto your waist, to hold your hips and guide you up and down his cock, to explore bodily pleasure he’s never been allowed to before.

The chains…

He’s never found them more irritating than now. 

“Fuck!” he roars.

Wood splinters in half. 

Your back’s pushed down to the mattress. Suddenly, your whole vision’s obscured by broad shoulders and a hulking torso. “Choso!” you yelp, surprised by the display of inhuman strength.

Choso rips his shirt off with a frustrated growl. The useless material falls to the floor with a wet splat. His wrists are still adorned with the metal, but the chains are no longer held back by the bed posts. Sweat from his messy hair drops onto your skin; you stick your tongue out to catch as much of the salt as possible.

His cock’s popped out of your cunt. It slides through your puffy pussy lips, rubbing your swollen clit. He doesn’t know. Choso continues thrusting all the same. He’s overwhelmed with the realisation that he can touch you. Groaning, he faceplants right between your breasts. He lays wet kisses there, as though he’s making out with your lips, licking the drying milk on the curves and valley of your breasts. 

“Oh, Sister,” he whispers, breathy. “You’re an angel. A miracle. My salvation.”

Scalding liquid spurts all over your stomach; his cock’s slipped under your thin habit, urged on by the clinging material. In spite of that, he keeps rubbing his dick on your slit and your clit, unrelenting and unsoftening. He can only whine weakly from the pain of having came too many times too soon.

Ankles locking behind his ass, you guide his slippery cock back inside your hungry cunt, which pitifully clenches around nothing. Choso sucks in a sharp breath, feeling the familiar tightness and, like something has been reawakened in him, he hastily ploughs his cock forward.

You scream, back arching. 

Skin slap, fwop! fwop! Fwopping!

With the force of his thrusting, the bed moves an inch.

Mr. Kamo pounds on the cellar door. “Are you alright, Sister?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, hips working in tandem with Choso’s. “God protects me! His blessing’s filling me up!”

“Sister, purify me,” Choso mutters over and over again. He doesn’t seem to have heard his father at all. He’s tuned them out. It’s just you. 

His mouth’s sucking and kissing where you’ve bared your chest to him before they, like a moth to a flame, find a teat and suckle hard. You feel your milk pulled from your ducts, trickling into his mouth, nipples tugged almost painfully. 

The air is humid. Steamy. Made hefty by the fusing of your tangy, salty, and sweet scents. It’s an addictive concoction. 

Purring in his ear, you say, “Make me cum, Choso. Be a good boy, yes?”

He nods furiously. Straightening up, cool air enveloping you, he grips the backs of your thighs, pushing them towards your chest. Like this, he can see where you’re joined so clearly. His lips part. You know what he’s thinking — he’d only recently discovered his cock and what it can do when uninhibited, and now it’s stretching a woman’s tight pussy out so obscenely. It’s like Christmas came early. 

“I’m not -hah- hurting you, am I, Sister?” he wonders, though as he breathlessly asks that, he’s nudging his cock deeper and deeper inside. It’s clear Choso doesn’t care much for the answer. 

You grin ear to ear. “Not in a way I don’t like.”

The parents must have left; you hear no more from them. Or perhaps you’ve blocked them out. All that matters is the euphoria resonating in your core. How can anything else matter when you’re being stuffed full by a fat cock?

Choso’s ramming it inside irrhythmically. He’s clumsy, only chasing what feels good. But your pussy’s so sensitive from the orgasms you’d been having that you find it all downright blissful. 

“So tight,” he groans out. “You’re so tight. I s-shouldn’t be able to fit inside, and yet you’re sucking me in. I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” you coo, watching his abs contract, beads of sweat travelling down the hard contours of his body. “You’re doing so well for me, Choso. You’re nearly rid of sin, I can see it. Keep going.”

Panting faster and faster, Choso warns you of his next orgasm with a pained whimper. “N-not again!”

But nothing comes. No cream paints your walls. Despite that, he still shudders and digs his callused fingers into the plush of your thighs, certain to leave bruises. Apart from that, there’s no evidence he’d cummed at all. 

You’d manifestly emptied his balls out of every drizzle of cum. All of it is either coating your skin and habit or being absorbed by your spongy walls, replenishing your soul directly.

He’s still prodding that sensitive spot inside that has your chest heaving and your eyes crossing. And every thrust pushes you further and further down the bed. Your head starts to hang over. 

Blood rushes down. 

Tingles exploding behind your eyes. 

Peering up at him, you run your nails over the bump he’s poking through your stomach. He feels it; he throbs at your touch, and again when you press down. Tears are streaking down his face steadily, blurring his vision. “Sister!”

“Do you know what this position is called, Choso?” you quiz him. He shakes his head, biting his lip till it bleeds and red stains his chin. “It’s called, ‘mating press.’ Do you understand? You’re mating me, Choso. You’re fucking a baby inside. Will you take responsibility?”

Choso throws his head back, sobbing. “Yes, yes, Sister! I’ll do what you need me to. I’ll be a good father.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” you say, giggling.

As though enamoured with the thought of planting his seed in your womb, he replaces your hand and gropes his own cock through your belly. He presses down harder. You gasp. The pressure’s intense. You feel every part of him — every ridge, every vein, every pulse, every bullying of his mushroom head scraping his cum out. 

You explode with a scream and a splash!

The rapid clenching of your cunt has Choso barking a plea. 

The two of you spasm together, hips rutting and elongating your orgasm. It’s wet everywhere. Sweat, milk, cum, cream, tears, and blood from his lip and from his nose are mixing together. The heat and the exertion of every energy he had went straight to his head and burst a vessel. 

He falls on top of you, woefully spent. 

Limbs tangle together, limp and exhausted. 

For a while, neither of you moves. The room is quiet save for the slow return of breath, the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours. The frenzy has ebbed, leaving behind a stillness, warm and almost fragile in its calm.

Choso shifts just enough to ease his weight, though he doesn’t pull away. His hand finds yours without thinking, fingers loosely threading together, as if anchoring himself. You let him play with your fingers.

Down here, it’s hard to tell what time it is outside. Is it night, the next day, or has barely any time at all passed? 

Air cools the wetness all over, drying until they cake. His cock’s still inside you, softening. He doesn’t pull out. You don’t ask him to. 

“Am I,” he starts, trying to catch his breath, “cleansed now, Sister?”

Raking your fingers through his hair, you answer, “Yes, Choso. Sin has been rid. You are free.”

Choso hums. There’s a disappointed note there. “So I’ll never see you again? I’ll return to the life my family wants me to live?”

“Not necessarily. You’ve accepted God, in your own way. You can join our religious order, live as we do. You see, I started out just like you — lost, out of place, angry, and with nowhere to release my energy. It is through the Church that I have been liberated from sin, and continue to be. Sin returns, always. So you must be dutiful and ensure you regularly expel it.”

Although his arm is dense with the weight of his chain, he still lifts it and cradles your breast. He tenderly massages it, eyes fixed on the milk that drips out. He licks it. You sigh. Then he asks, “I can do this more often? With you?”

“Uhuh, and with whomever else you’d like. We all owe a duty to each other to help, of course.”

He looks up at you, smiling. “I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, both of his cheeks, and finally his lips. 

“You’re very welcome.”

.

.

.

You breathe fresh air in. 

Dawn has broken, and the world wakes. 

Birds tweet and fly overhead, a distant bell rings, chatter thrum under the wind. You feel lighter than when you arrived, younger, stronger. You always do after a case gone well.

“He’s free now? You’re sure, Sister?” Mrs. Kamo asks again, clasping a rosary in her hands. 

Looking back at the house and the couple seeing you off, you incline your head, and respond with. “Yes. The demon that’s been holding him back is gone. He’s found clarity and peace with himself.”

She smiles, relieved, as does her husband, who nods in gratitude.

Behind them, Choso stands in the doorway. Washed, composed, new. He doesn’t sulk or brood. Doesn’t roll his eyes with rejection and dismissal. He simply folds his hands, quiet and still, as though he’s finally learned where to place them. “Thank you, Sister,” he says softly. “I’ve never felt closer to God.”

The morning light catches on his face, serene, devout. Transformed.

“I’m so glad.” A knowing glint in your eyes is shared. And, like it’s an afterthought, you hand them a brochure from your bag. “The Church holds a training course to join my order, if you’d permit Choso to attend. He can follow in my footsteps and rid the world of sin. At the very least, listen to a lecture and grow even more connected with our community. I think it’d be good for him.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Kamo exhales out excitedly, “yes! Yes, that would be perfect for him. It’d give him a purpose, a calling. Oh, how wonderful!”

Mr. Kamo adds, turning to look at him, “I would be most proud to have a son who’s an active, participating member of the Church, upholding our values and protecting other families from the tragedy we faced.”

Choso smiles. Not at his father, nor his father, but at you. 

“Anything to repay my gratitude and service you,” he says coyly, “and the community, of course.”

If they notice the hidden meanings, they don’t show it. They merely look beyond pleased at the son they’ve always wanted — or rather, think they want. They have no idea that, soon, Choso will leave this house, enter the world as an adult in his own right, and fuck the sin out of the neediest, most desperate women. 

He’ll bring more and more people to the Church, but not using means they’d support. 

For the era of their puritanism is coming to an end. 

And the era of hedonism your race has sown into the world, one drained lustforce at a time, is beginning. 

“I look forward to it,” you say, still tasting his salty cum on your tongue. 

Choso’s eyes drink up your full figure through your habit, flashing red as he licks a forked tongue over his sharp row of teeth. 

“As do I, Sister.”

You sniffle and nod, just a beautiful, ruined, tear streaked mess, your lips are so swollen and bruised when you pull back and he lets you get a breath, just to suck him down obediently, letting him choke you with his length. Your pretty, lidded eyes are all glassy, that saliva slipping down your chin.

You’ve never even looked more beautiful, never been more his than on your knees, swallowing every fucking drop he pumps inside your throat, greedy and eager to please, your nails pressing hard into his thighs, digging in and making him suck in a breath, cock throbbing now.

“F-fuck… that’s it, greedy lil girl aren’t you?” You pull back with a messy pop, tongue lapping the undervein that wraps his thick cock. “You’re slutty for me… Love my cock ruining your throat?”

“I do,” your voice is weak and shaky, shifting on your thighs.

“Touch that pretty lil cunt while you take me, while you swallow me,” you reach down and blush, he laughs softly, cupping your face. “I want you to cum, wanna feel you scream around my cock, can you baby? Be good f’me?”

You nod quickly. “Y-yes, Kuna. Wanna be good for you.”

You swallow him so good, you drink every bit down, opening your mouth for his spit to join it, taking his greedy fucking kisses.

Once Sukuna has you in your bed all tucked in and tugged against him, he can’t help but let his mind race, to observe your pretty face quietly.

He can’t help but wonder just what was going on in your head.

“What is it, Kuna?” You murmur, voice all rough from where he’d fucked your throat.

“Just wondering if I should go ahead and fuck your ass,” you gasp and he smirks. “I can’t have him getting any hole first.”

“You’re toxic!” You shove him playfully but he cups your face, looking right into your eyes, making you pause, your lips parted. “Kuna?”

“I won’t let you fucking go,” his voice is harsher than he means, his grip on your face is too tight, you’re trembling. “You’re mine, all mine, fuckin’ need you, okay?”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving you at all,” you lean up, frowning now, kissing his lips softly. “I need you.”

“Do you need me, baby?” He whispers, you nod quickly, eyes slipping tears. “If you fuck that dumb white haired shit, would you tell him I hit it better?”

“Kuna!”

“Tell him he can’t make you cum, too,” you snort and roll your eyes.

“You’re insane.”

“Don’t fuck him till he stops bringing those sluts near you,” you nod and snuggle against him. “I’m serious.”

“You assume I’ll fuck Gojo.”

“It’s obvious he’ll beg enough, but I want you to remember who split you open on their cock first,” he whispers, watching your eyes go dazed. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Kuna.”

He knows you’ll let him in, but Sukuna sure the fuck was gonna make sure that dumb fuck didn’t hurt you, and that he was in control. He can’t not have you – all of you – and if he has to share, Gojo needs to learn that you’re his first.

****

𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖚

Satoru can’t stand the fact that you look so goddamn happy when you go off in the morning to box with Sukuna, how you get all peppy and do your hair, getting ready to go meet him. You’re making breakfast when he gets up the next morning and walks over by you, remembering the taste of your cunt on his goddamn lips – the way he desperately licked your thighs.

You were ruining him just existing, and now you couldn’t be his – just his – if that really was what he wanted. Was it?

Did he want to pump you full of his cum, have his babies, all those Gojo heirs his parents had pushed on him but instead of the perfect kids, they’d help take down shit parents like yours and his. The mix of your sweetness and Satoru's ruthless nature, kids of his own he could raise and try not to fuck up anywhere close to what your parents and his had done.

What a fucking insane dream, before he knew it your hips would widen – those hips that just beg for his hands, breedable ones he can’t stop imagining, he’d seen your pretty cunt, your tits, but imagine you folded in half? He’s sure it’s how Sukuna had you, part of him wants to see it – this sadistic goddamn part of him that he can’t explain away with any reason.

Satoru Gojo wishes he never pushed you away, he wishes he gave whatever the fuck this is some chance rather than shoving you into Sukuna’s arms, willing to get little crumbs and pieces of you at best. You shouldn’t even have let him taste you, shouldn’t have let him near you – yet you did.

Sukuna did.

What was his motivation, some fucking control, some way to torture Satoru? Did he think Satoru wouldn’t try to make you his if he got the chance to, that he wouldn’t sink to his knees if you just commanded him to? For as sweet and precious as you are, you have Sukuna Ryomen ready to do anything for you – including beating your parents and letting Satoru himself touch you.

He sees why, when it would merely take a few words and he’d do anything you asked, too, your tentative smile all shy and sweet like you weren’t wrecking his mind, like you didn’t have his dick utterly broken. He can’t even think of another woman without disgust now, and it’s all your fault.

“Good morning,” you say softly, tentative as if you’re not sure when or if he’ll snap, say something mean as fuck to you.

Of course you think he would.

“Yeah,” he can’t even say good morning to you, not when he heard slurping noises coming from your room last night, gagging and choking, and your lips are fucking swollen today. He walks behind you, making you tremble just a bit, an arm on either side of the counter. “Where’s your lover?”

“He’s at the gym,” you barely manage to speak, clearing your throat. “Where’s Jennifer? Chloe?”

“Fuck if I care or know,” you turn to him now, a little bit of batter on the corner of your lip, he swipes at it, pressing it between yours and watching as his thumb parts those lips. “Suck.”

You bite him.

“Fuck,” he laughs then as you glare, teeth indentations in his skin. “Guess that only works for Sukuna.”

“He always gives me a choice,” you blush furiously now. “Also… he only just let me do that.”

“Haven’t you two been fucking?”

“Yes,” you turn again, stirring the batter quickly, feeling his breath against your neck. “My lip was busted and he was worried. But also I never have… so… my only experience was watching you.”

Satoru pauses.

“Watching me?”

“Well not spying but I saw Chloe on her knees when you didn’t shut the door all the way, and that random girl you brought… they both did,” you clear your throat, Satoru’s heart sinks. “I um… wanted to try something that made him feel good like that I guess.”

“Ah,” how does he respond? When the pain is written on your face as he steps to the side and looks at you, when your lip is trembling. “You were curious, hmm?”

“How to please you at first? Yes,” you start pouring the batter into the muffin tins, clearing your throat. “I thought very foolishly that you’d eventually want me that first month, that you’d just let me try and I’d be able to make you like it.”

He can’t speak again.

“It was stupid,” you sigh and lean over to set the timer, placing the pan in the oven and letting it whir. “I was stupid then, so fucking stupid.”

“You weren’t –”

“On that you were correct,” you shut the door and look at him, the oven rushing warmth and making your cheeks flush. “That I was so pathetic I’d have dropped to my knees for you.”

Satoru Gojo hates himself.

*****

𝖄𝖔𝖚

He says nothing as you start heating up butter for the eggs in the pretty diamond coated pan – Satoru was nothing if not great for the finest items in the kitchen, the finest of everything. He studies you in a way that makes his blue eyes feel like a physical touch, making you remember his desperation last night, making you remember so much about it.

You’re utterly confused.

“It wasn’t pathetic,” you scoff then, looking at him in shock, he curses and shuts his eyes, hand rushing through his white locks. “Wanting to please your husband was what you were raised for, and it was all you really knew.”

“You think that was all of it?” You hardly hold your emotions back, but he looks at you in this way that destroys your soul. “You think I didn’t have feelings long before we got married?”

“How could you? You didn’t know me.”

“I knew of you, I saw you – so sweet I thought,” you laugh without humor, stirring the eggs up and trying to keep your composure. “I always thought you’d rescue me from them, that you’d show me love, that I could give you your heirs. And make you so happy you wouldn’t regret me.”

He’s quiet.

You’re quiet, but he studies you carefully, with aching reverence as you busy yourself more. “I was stupid.”

Satoru shuts his eyes, before he tugs you to him, cupping your face and trying to ruin you, his eyes glittering with emotion. “You weren’t stupid, you just didn’t know what a disappointment I would become.”

You can’t speak, you can’t say anything, heart hammering in your chest as he leans low, pressing a kiss on your brow that has no right being comforting, sighing and then stepping back, his hands shaking.

“You shouldn’t do that…” He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound, hands finally falling from your face.

“I could suck you off my fingers but not kiss your forehead?”

“It hurts more,” you admit, shutting your eyes, he sighs quietly.

“You’re going to train?”

“I am,” you murmur softly, looking back at him finally. “You’re going to work?”

“Yeah…”

Satoru walks away without another word.

*****

You bring the muffins and breakfast in a little warmer for Yuuji and Sukuna. The gym has started to feel like a little sanctuary, especially with the lingering confusion of Satoru Gojo. Sukuna is punching the bag and Yuuji is stretching, looking like a young carbon copy of his uncle, waving at you all bright and chipper as Sukuna just smirks at you.

“Good morning!” You smile and walk over, holding up the little lunchboxes now. “Ooh, for me?”

“Mhm! I made plenty too,” you look at Sukuna and grin. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” the way he says it makes your core tighten, he knows what he does with his words, when the three of you go over and sit, eating in Sukuna’s little office. “Fuck, you cook this good?”

“I love to bake,” Yuuji is on his third muffin, moaning.

“I love you. I mean!?”

“I’ll kick you through a wall, brat,” Sukuna glares and Yuuji looks frightened, you’re just giggling, handing him a little thermos.

“I made coffee too.”

“Oh it’s so sweet!” He’s happily sipping, before looking at you carefully, something feels so perfect about sitting here with both of them, even if you’re constantly being pulled in another direction.

Is this what it feels like to be split in half?

“Are you still hurt?” Yuuji breaks your heart, you shake your head and touch his shoulder.

“I’m okay, I promise!” He sighs and then peers over at Sukuna, clearing his throat.

“I’m going to clean up a bit, I have a class to get to.”

“Go ahead kid.”

“Thanks again,” he smacks a little kiss on your head, making you smile with affection, Sukuna carefully studying you, his expression unreadable as he leans back in his seat, raising a brow.

“Kuna? What is it? You’re quiet.”

“Did he eat these fucking muffins?” You snort in laughter, shaking your head and walking over, sitting on his thigh and letting him roughly tug you against him on his lap. “I’m serious.”

“No muffins for him, silly man,” Sukuna shoves one at you. “Not a single one actually.”

“You need to eat, I don’t like that you lost weight when you’re needing to gain muscle and train,” you flush at just how much he cares, snuggling closer and taking the muffin in your hand, biting it. “You haven’t been eating for shit.”

“It’s because I’m a little stressed,” his lips quirk up, his hand brushing against your thigh, making you wince. “Ah…”

“And stiff. Do I need to come over and massage you tomorrow night?”

“You could,” he sighs, swiping a little blueberry off your lips, humming to himself. “Are you doing a match tonight?”

“Yeah but if you need me…”

“Gojo isn’t going to bother me.”

“Mhm.” He’s glaring as you take another bite. “He doesn’t give a fuck if you eat or not, and I have to worry because you’re not living with me.”

You blink at that, his big arm wrapped tightly around you, you thoughtfully chew the muffin, his eyes unreadable. “Would you want me to live with you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You blush now, he chuckles a bit. “Don’t blush when I say I’ll fuck your ass, but you blush about that?”

“Hush!” He’s breaking out in a laugh that pisses you off, you shove off him and he tugs you back, kissing you mean and brutal, the way that steals your breath.

“Thanks for breakfast, brat,” he murmurs softly. “I’ll be over to give you that massage tomorrow night. Yeah?”

You bite down on your lower lip, nodding. “Yeah.”

****

𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖚

He supposes now is his payback for the two months he’s spent fucking girls in your house and having you listen – to have Sukuna come over as if this goddamn place is his too, and look at your pretty face brighten up. Your eyes are all dazed like he’s got you hypnotized, your giggles louder once he’s apparently ‘massaging your sore muscles’.

Sure, that absolutely sounds like you’re getting ‘massaged’ – the squelching of your loud little cunt, the soft whines and sounds of skin smacking, to the point he’s dripping precum from his tip. He rushes over and opens the door, scowling at the both of you, before pausing, the sight of you like that ruining him.

“Do you all have to be so fucking loud?”

It sounds ludicrous to his own ears as he stands there, Sukuna’s got you bent over, cock buried deep, your tits are slipped out of that sweater, the big loose one he has tugged down, when your eyes lock with his. He hates that his cock is aching, hates another man’s hands on what’s all his, the way you look up at him somehow innocent and sweet even while you’re actively getting split open.

Sukuna pauses his strokes, pulling you up on your knees, taunting Satoru with the image when he slowly pulls that sweater up and off you. He can see the bulge of his cock in your tummy, something he wanted for himself, something he was dying to have when he took you the first time.

Now, who knows how many times you’ve been fucked by Sukuna?

You look back at Sukuna for just a moment, your expression entirely unreadable, he wraps a huge tattooed arm around your body, kissing you possessive, before he eyes Satoru. His brows lower and his smirk shows, slamming up into you again, your tits bounce with the movement, further making Satoru ache.

“Gonna stand there and watch?” He says then, Satoru scoffs, looking away now. “Didn’t you make her watch?”

“Yeah,” he supposes he put you through this too, but the difference was your goddamn eyes, and the way you roll your hips now just so. “I did.”

“Bet you’re gonna jerk it to this, huh?” Sukuna makes Satoru wanna kill him, cut his arms off that are wrapping yours. “Jerk it to her all the time don’t you?”

“Tch, can you two just…”

“Come on then,” Sukuna brushes a hand down your back, pushing you on all fours. “You don’t deserve it though.”

“Deserve…” He sees your hands clutching the blanket, your lips parted, he walks over tentatively, Sukuna’s eased his movements, far too familiar with your body already. Satoru stands in front of you and your hand slips up his cock over his pants, making him suck in a breath. “You’re this slutty already?”

“Only I call her that,” Sukuna murmurs, Satoru quickly tilts your chin back up, staring at the girl he knows he fucked up with, knowing he doesn’t deserve a touch from you.

“What do you want?” He asks for the first time ever, you pause and blink just a bit, sighing as Sukuna slowly fills you up.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly. “Just to… forget. To… not think.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out ever so softly, undoing his belt, his cock is dripping pre right on your blanket. You whine out, this sound he can’t get out of his fucking mind, a hand brushing your hair back and holding it. “I don’t want to think either.”

“Say please, because she’s doing you a favor,” Satoru scowls right at the giant pink haired man in his wife, but then falters as he sees your eyes.

“Please, suck me… if you want - ah,” your tongue laps at his tip, his grip tightens hard in your hair, as your mouth wraps him, and fuck he could almost bust from just that. He’s whimpering from one little suck and a kitten flick of your tongue, as you’re forced to take him deeper, Sukuna’s thrusts jolting your body. “Fuck… feels s’good I just…”

“Should thank me, I taught her,” Satoru wants to kill Sukuna, but he also wants to fuck your throat until it’s stretched out, till it burns and you think of him, he wants to look into your pretty eyes and imagine you’re only his, that he didn’t ruin it all. Instead, he’ll take anything from you, anything at all. “Praise her, don’t just fuckin’ stand there, she deserves it.”

You moan around his length, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers dig into your hips, pressing in the flesh there, and then you look up at him all cross eyes, his pink tip against your uvula. “You’re doing such a good job.”

You suck him deeper and whine around him, he wishes you didn’t know how, that he was the one to show it to you, but he fucking knows that’s insanity. He knows he had the chance and actively shoved you off, turned you down every moment you tried, and that he doesn’t in any way deserve to have you choking on him, your soft little moan echoing in his ears as his own mixes with your sweet sounds.

Even sucking cock and getting fucked you somehow are sweet, cute, the way your nails press into his thighs and your lashes flutter – how is someone this pretty mid blow job? Satoru has shared women with his best friend, he’s not new to it, but he’s never been fucking furious that another man existed, that he was getting to feel your surely pretty cunt wrap him.

Satoru is so lost in your eyes he hardly notices the giant man he hates easing into your cunt, he doesn’t fuck you hard, it seems more intimate than that, the way his hand slips down the curve of your spine. Your moan around Satoru’s length, eyes damn near unreadable when he brushes your hair back, going to pull it and then stopping himself.

“Do you want me to pull your hair?” You pause and pull back, saliva dripping down your lips in a thick string, connected to his tip, Sukuna’s hands tighten their grip on your hips visibly dimpling your flesh.

“You can, I like it,” he wishes you didn’t know that you did, but he’s too needy and aching too much to say anything.

Does he have a right to wish that?

He’s had how many girls suck his cock since you all ‘got married’?

At least three women, so what if you got with Sukuna, he gets it. Deep down he doesn’t even fucking resent you for it, he deserves much worse for all the terrible things he put you through – but there’s another part of him that’s feral, that’s tugging your hair and fucking into your throat, wanting it to have his shape.

He wants you to know him, have his cum pouring inside you, but for the moment he’s sucking in a breath, fucking into your tight little throat now, tugging your hair back.

“Fuck you’re doing s’good,” you whine out, he takes one of your hands, sucking your little fingers in his mouth, shoving his cock deeper and feeling you drool. “So good. fuck…”

“She is,” Sukuna murmurs roughly, fucking into your cunt with the loudest noises. “That praise has you soaked, brat, is he finally doin’ something right?”

“Fuck off, Sukuna.” Satoru moans out though, you’re taking him fully, to where your nose is flush in his white nestle of hair, choking on him so your throat constricts. “Are you wet for me, sweetheart?”

“Mmm,” you let him fuck your throat now, clinging to his wrists, letting him rock his cock faster, the sounds filthy, along with the slams of your cunt from Sukuna. You’re swallowing around him, ass arching back for more.

“Gonna cum around my cock, milk me?” Your little hum is your answer, but when your eyes lock with Satoru’s?

Satoru can’t handle the way that look fucking ruins him – how he’d do anything to keep it in his brain forever, that look of devotion he wasted mixed with this look of fucked out pleasure. He doesn’t think anything will ever hit him like your eyes, his cock twitching inside your throat in response.

“Go ahead and cum,” Satoru whispers, brushing your cheek with a finger as he pulls back and eases his cock back in your throat. “Let me see you.”

****

𝖄𝖔𝖚

You shatter with one more stroke of Sukuna’s cock in your snug, messy cunt, Satoru’s eerie blue eyes looking down at you with something akin to reverence, something you wonder must be your imagination. Yet his eyes, his cock choking you out mixed with Sukuna’s thick cock wrecking your hole sends you over the edge, you feel Sukuna grip your hips, Satoru cupping your face.

A girl who just a week ago was a virgin now has two nine inch cocks inside her – Sukuna’s buried to the hilt, a thumb pressed in your other hole, Satoru Gojo with his pretty pink tip buried in the back of your throat. You’re moaning around it when Sukuna angles his hips and has your cunt gushing, squirting down his thick, veiny length and dripping down his heavy balls, full of cum.

Pleasure has you dizzy, almost falling if Satoru and Sukuna didn’t hold you up, your hands clinging to Satoru’s dress shirt, trembling and quivering around Sukuna as your orgasm ruins you. Have you ever cum this hard before, you can’t say you have, there was nothing like having blue eyes on your face, and red eyes boring holes into your skin.

“Look how much you came, messy, slutty girl,” Sukuna cooes like a sweet name, for Sukuna he did mean it that way, scooping up some of that slick now, leaning forward to press his cock impossibly deep. “Squirting for us again.”

Satoru exhales, pulling back and twitching hot and heavy against your mouth, his voice breathy. “So p-pretty when you cum.”

Your tummy clenches, already weak from the pleasure Sukuna has brought you, with the added insanity of the man who ‘hates you’ and ‘doesn’t want you’ whimpering as you suck him. Satoru eases back now, tip glossing your lips with his salty pre, your tongue laps it up eagerly, feeling Sukuna’s own spurting light little trails against your puffy cervix.

“Where do you want this,” he asks softly. “I’m close.”

“She’s that good,” you look back at Sukuna, biting your lip, his red eyes are dark, his thrust possessive, as if to remind you that you’re his. You push back on him, earning his eyes rolling back. “Fuck, backing it up on me? Learn so well…”

Satoru tilts your chin back to look at him, cock twitching and leaking white trails of his seed down in rivulets. “You pick where, I’ll cum in my hand if you want, or anywhere on your body.”

“My mouth,” he shuts his eyes and exhales, Sukuna chuckles just a bit, pressing that thumb in your other hole deeper, making you suck in a breath. “Mnh! W-want you both to finish inside.”

“That’s my pretty little brat,” Sukuna leans over you, tilting your chin to kiss you all messy, tugging at your hair, before murmuring in your ear. “I’ll fill you up, fuck all that cum back inside, all you want.”

“Please,” you’re trembling now, lost in how good you feel – you can’t think about anything else, just how good he feels, Satoru’s stroking his cock and you can’t help but bite your lip then. How would he feel inside you?

Should you feel terrible wondering?

“Swallow all of it, like a good girl,” Satoru’s words fuck you up, Sukuna surely feels you clenching around him, pushing him to get closer with every quiver. “Fuck I mean… Please?”

“Mhm,” you open your mouth and he spits right in it first, the action filthy, his eyes damn near going cross as he slips his cock back inside, and Sukuna drags your ass back to slam your cervix. “Mnph!”

“Takin’ both of us so well,” Sukuna’s praise is rough, it’s sensual, the way he controls your body, while Satoru’s strokes are easier, tentative.

“So well,” Satoru agrees softly – praise, from him? You never thought you’d see that, have that, it almost feels like there is no reality where it exists. “Can you swallow all of me?”

He pulls back again, letting you speak. “Mmhmm.”

Satoru’s cock is back dragging heavy on your tongue, the soft tip gliding against the roof of your mouth as Sukuna twitches inside you, you’re moaning and making Satoru more sensitive, eyes rolling back when Sukuna slams against your cervix so hard it hurts. You cum again, sending Sukuna and Satoru right with you, one flooding your throat, the other your messy cunt.

You’re so full of them you can hardly think, swallowing somehow sweet cum, as so much floods your hole, Sukuna’s other finger easing out of your ass with a pop, his cock gliding in and out and pushing into your cunt. “Fuck… takin’ it like that, such a good girl…”

“F-fuck…” Satoru’s stuttering, his hips bucking as you drain him, glides his cock right down your snug throat and feels it contracting, you suck every drop down eagerly. When he pulls back he exhales, kneeling and kissing your lips.

Satoru’s kissing you.

Sukuna eases out with a wet, messy pop, gliding two fingers in the creamy mess he made and pulling you back, slipping his own release in your mouth. You suck them eagerly while Satoru kisses down your neck, exhaling and whispering your name in your ear, Sukuna does the same while you suck his fingers, glossy against those rough, calloused knuckles.

Your eyes meet Satoru’s carefully, still trembling and kneeling, his hands glide across your breasts almost worshipful with his movements, thumbs brushing against your nipples. You feel split into two pieces then – no you haven’t forgotten what he’s done, you don’t pretend to know who he is, but for a moment you see it – what could have been, what you could have felt.

It hurts more knowing there was something there.

Sukuna’s fingers leave your lips, now you have both men in your mouth, on your tastebuds – overwhelming you. You swallow nervously as Satoru kisses across your collarbones, one of your hands tentatively brushes his hair back, the other reaching back for Sukuna’s sure grip, feeling it wrap around your wrist.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she,” Sukuna says lovingly, even as he’s gruff, kissing across the back of your shoulders where you’re slick with sweat. “Too good for you.”

“She’s too good for you,” Satoru says, Sukuna raises a brow then smirks.

“Yeah, she is.” You go to protest when he nips your shoulder, your thighs and arms are trembling, his lips on your ear. “You’re all mine, even if I let you have him too. Mine, just mine, had you first, didn’t I? Came inside, I’ll fucking keep cummin’ inside you too.”

“Sukuna…” You trail off softly, sometimes his ruby eyes are insane, like right now, his huge hand cupping your face.

“You don’t get to fuck those other girls then come here and use her,” Satoru scoffs at that. “I’m serious, I won’t have her getting something off your slutty secretary.”

“I use condoms,” he admits quietly, looking at you now. “You certainly don’t – slutty don’t ya think?”

Why does the way he says that fucking ruin you?

“Why would I use a condom when I can cum inside her?” Sukuna chuckles, the two men silently scowling at each other. “Besides, it’s only her I’m with.”

Only you.

It screams the truth – that Satoru was up until the other day still actively fucking other women, and now you are with Sukuna, but Sukuna just gave you the opportunity to suck Satoru, he shared you even though he’d not have anyone. It means a lot to a girl who’s wracked with insecurities, leaving you to look at Satoru curiously.

“I’ll give you a moment, but just one.” He smacks your ass and grips either side, nuzzling your neck. “If you want one.”

You nod shyly, turning to kiss him, tasting his cum right off his mouth, easing to kneel and feeling how sore you are. “Yes if you’re okay with it, Kuna.”

“Yeah well, let’s see if his dumb ass stops inviting messy sluts over,” you expect Satoru to lose his shit about that statement – but instead his gaze is fixed on you, and you can’t read those goddamn eyes.

Who even is your husband?

Sukuna walks around blatantly naked when he shuts the door, Satoru helps you up, heat rises in your cheeks when his eyes see the creamy mess of your pussy, you see his cock is already hard again, twitching with his tip so pink it’s almost red. Satoru sits on the bed then, hand brushing across your face, eyes completely unreadable when they study you.

“You can still be with who you want,” you whisper softly, sighing now.

“Who I want, hah,” he laughs without humor, confusing you more than ever. “You think I want them?”

“Well, yes? Sukuna just gets…”

“Psychotic and possessive?”

“Yeah,” you blush even more now. “It makes me feel really special. I guess that wouldn’t make sense to you.”

“No it…” He sighs and looks back down, hand slipping across your tummy, it trembles underneath his touch, the sticky mess coating your inner thighs. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“I feel fucked for wanting it,” you admit, blinking rapidly as he studies you, tilting his head. “It doesn’t change what’s happened, or everything you did. I want Sukuna, and… I want…”

“Me?” He finishes softly. You look away again as his fingers brush the sticky mess of your cunt. “Hah, another man’s cum inside my wife.”

“Temporary wife,” you correct softly, before you cry out, his fingers grazing your clit, making your eyes jump up. “Remember?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, finding your clit with ease and rubbing, spreading Sukuna’s cum so that it’s sticky, staring right into your eyes as he runs circles, your own eyes flutter shut. “Look at me.”

“Why?” He uses his free hand to tilt your chin up.

“I wanna see if it’s different when you cum for me,” he whispers, earning your look of shock.

“Why would you care, wasn’t it just fun?”

“Fun,” he laughs without humor, slipping two fingers in your sore cunt now, you suck in a breath at the sensation, as Satoru peers down at the mess you’re making, white and gossamer just gushing down. “Fuck you’re so tight… pretty, beat up cunt, look at you, shit…”

He’s shoving them deeper, tugging at your hair now, rocking them up and down. “Gojo…”

“Satoru, fuck please,” he’s desperate now, lips parted, hovering over you and pressing your back into the bed. “Got me so pathetic I’m fingering Sukuna’s cum inside you, at least call me Satoru.”

You swallow, unable to speak or think, it was one thing to suck him – another for him to rock his fingers inside, looking at you with insane, desperate eyes. You swallow nervously, Sukuna had let you have Satoru but what does this mean? You easily fuck Sukuna alone, and Satoru is your husband, but it feels so different with him, when he kisses your lips.

“Bet you'd feel so perfect wrapped around me,” his voice is hoarse, toxic, laughing as his fingers rock up and down, faster and faster, making you dizzy, lashes fluttering. “Wish I could have broke it, fuck wish it was all me. Now look, your cunt is a mess, stretched out, ruining these sheets.”

Every word fucks you up more, his kisses bruising, teeth clicking it’s desperate, a hand tugging your hair.

“Can taste myself,” he hums, tongue swirling, hitting this spot that makes you hiss, clinging to him, pussy drooling. “I'd fuck you so hard you wouldn't be able to walk. Fuck every thought out of your head till you're dumb. God the things I'd do to you.”

“Gojo you're so – ah!” His eyes go dark, feral grin on his face – the man that didn't want this now desperate, insane, obsessed, making your cunt squelch so loud it's obscene.

“Just lemme feel it grip me,” he sighs now. Cock leaking pre all over again. Moaning when you tense up, teeth sinking on your lip, his long fingers pressing against your cervix. “Cum for me, just once for me.”

He curves them deep again, you let out a moan that’s embarrassing how loud it is, fingers fucking you faster and faster, heel of his hand grinding right on your clit, watching you shatter for him. You’re twitching, squirting down his hand, he moans at the sight of it, studying you with dark eyes so unreadable, pulling those fingers out to run up your slit.

“You do look different,” he whispers, rubbing all that mess and shoving his fingers in your mouth like Sukuna did, you wrap your lips around them obediently, his own part at the sight. “Fuck…”

“Hmm? Mnh!” Satoru’s kissing you again, drinking your cries up, thumb pressing your clit in circles. “Sensitive!”

“God I could watch you cum all day,” he whispers, you shake your head, tears suddenly hitting your eyes when he looks at you, pausing. “So fucking pretty…”

“You’re so fucking confusing, Satoru Gojo…” He sighs, resting his forehead on yours, fingers entwining in your hair and tugging.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs and pulls back a bit when Sukuna walks back inside, crossing his arms in the doorway. “Lemme guess, my time is up with my wife?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not an object to give or receive,” you cut them off then, Sukuna smirks a bit at that.

“I like you standing up for yourself,” he comes over, tilting your chin up, thumb brushing across your jaw, studying your slick thighs and tensing a bit. “Did he at least make you cum, or is he shit at it?”

“He did,” you whisper, Sukuna hums and leans over you, cock already leaky and hard again, your hands grip his hair as you let him kiss you, he eyes Gojo over your head now.

“When will he beg for your forgiveness though?”

Satoru tenses as you pull back, looking down just a bit. “Kuna, I really want a shower. Can we take one?”

He cups your face and nods, picking you up and carrying you the way he does, leaving Satoru in the room. When he is running that water you hug his chest, letting his arms wrap around you tightly, the steam filling the bathroom. 

“Why are you letting him… letting me…”

“Listen,” he tilts your chin up, your head falling back to look at him. “You haven't done shit before me, and you had feelings long before I met you. I'd rather you figure this out with me here to protect you.”

“Kuna,” you're in tears now, he shushes you and guides you to the shower, where the hot water beats down on you both. “I'm fine if it's only us. I am.”

“I know,” he tilts his head, hands coming to wrap your waist. “You were in love with him, and I'm brand new.”

“I didn't know him then, it was like some fairy tale to keep myself alive,” he frowns at that, ruby eyes narrowing. “I'm falling in love with you and it's really fucking scary.”

He says nothing and you immediately feel anxious, taking shaky breaths as he studies you. “And I am with you, all of you – including that sado masochistic part that likes that white haired fuck.”

You giggle then, shaking your head. “Sukuna!”

“You're mine, I'm your first,” he whispers possessively, turning you around so your ass presses against his thighs, kissing down the side of your neck. “First in your mouth, in your perfect cunt, had you bleeding all down me huh?”

“Insane,” his words ruin you, the heavy spray of the water beating down, his hands cupping your tits which are sensitive with your ovulation. “You are my first.”

“Remember that when he's inside you,” you blush at the thought, he runs a thumb across your nipple and bites your neck. “Mmm, I'll only share if he gets his shit together though, I swear to god if those secretaries come over again I'll make them cry.”

You giggle at that, grinning over your shoulder. “I feel so at home in your arms.”

He pauses now, sighing. “Yeah?”

“That and the boxing ring, it's the only place I've felt at home ever,” your lips tremble now. “If he's inside me, I would never forget where I feel at home.”

“Fuck, you ruin me every day,” he groans and kisses you roughly, desperate, needy kisses, before pulling back and laughing. “He really fingered my cum out of you?”

“You're so sadistic!”

“Should get him a fancy cuck chair.”

“A what!?”

“You're cute,” you have no clue what on Earth he's on about, his hand possessive on your tummy. “Imagine the Gojo heir with pink hair.”

Sukuna is truly batshit crazy.

*****

𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖚

Satoru can’t stop picturing your mouth wrapped around his cock the next day, how could he have pushed it all away, let you fall in love with Sukuna all to ‘save you’ and ‘protect you’. Perhaps it was the best thing, to protect you and keep you away from himself, give you the choice to find love with someone who clearly is obsessed with you, who you moan for and look at with hearts in your eyes.

Yet how the fuck does he explain the look you gave him when you sucked him, when he fingered your lover’s cum right from that pretty cunt? The one he could have had first easily, but he was so set on making sure you had your choice – well you chose him until he made sure you ran off.

Perhaps Satoru didn’t account for how he’d feel, how when he looked down in your eyes and you whispered that you wanted babies he wanted to fucking give you them. He wanted to give you anything and everything just to forgive him and forget all the horrible fucking shit he did, the time he wasted on women not even close to your caliber.

 The clock ticks on the wall with the little sounds echoing loudly, his fingers tapping on the cherry wood of his desk, unable to focus on anything without you running through his mind. Perhaps before he tasted you, before he had your throat swallowing and gagging around him, before he cupped your face and saw the pain he inflicted…

Perhaps then he could act unaffected, act as if any of this was acceptable or normal to him in any way. Satoru couldn’t help but think to himself how terribly he fucking treated you, and he’s never even apologized – sure, that night he did, after taking you away from your parents, but couldn’t he have done more? Couldn’t he have done what Sukuna did?

All this talk of being different, was Satoru different from his shitty father and what he did to his mother? Or did he turn into the very fucking thing he hated?

His door knocks, drawing his attention away. “Come in.”

You are opening the door with a box, his heart hammers in his chest, lips parted as you pause at the door, clearing your throat. It was normal for you to ‘show up’ for the aesthetics of a wife, but you usually just brought something now from take out, that looks like one of the damn boxes you made that he fucking made you cry over, with that note.

How much can a man loathe himself? Satrou asks himself that as you hesitate and don’t walk in fully, a flush on your cheeks. “Is it okay if I…”

“Yeah,” he breathes out the words and stands, you shut the door behind yourself with a click and walk over to him, hands trembling when you hand him the little box. “You… made me something? Why the fuck would you?”

You flinch and he curses, shutting his eyes.

“As in I don’t deserve anything from you, not that I’m irritated,” you ease just a bit, it’s so clear the way you must remember the last time you came in, everything about you is tense and on edge, you’re fidgeting with your hands nervously, looking all pretty in your little dress today.

“I am bringing Sukuna one later,” you answer, earning his jaw setting.

“Oh so your husband and your lover?”

“Yes,” he sighs, shutting his eyes and setting it on the desk. “I felt like we… am I stupid to think that we had… a moment or something and… maybe it’s nothing…”

Satoru cups your face, his hands overtaking it, looking down at you with his lashes lowered, looking into your eyes, anxiety filled ones already glimmering with your emotions. “I can’t stop thinking about last night. Thinking of your mouth,” his thumb trails across it carefully, breath ghosting yours as he leans down. “Your slutty cunt and how she gripped my fingers.”

“Gojo…” You trail off now, chest rising and falling with your breaths, he’s pressing you against the desk now, his hands sliding down your neck, your shoulders, the sides of your breasts.

“Why do you still look at me like you could ever not hate me? Why not look at me like I fucking deserve?” You swallow and look down at his mouth, then flicker back up to his eyes.

“If we didn’t meet like an arranged couple, do you think you’d have hated me so very much?” You whisper softly, making him pause when his hands slip to your hips, gripping and tugging them close, your hands fall on his chest.

“I don’t hate you,” you shake your head now. “I don’t – I fucking hate myself.”

“You love yourself more than anyone I’ve ever seen,” your hands grip his dress shirt now, little shaky breaths escaping your lips. “Do you love to confuse me?”

“As if you don’t confuse the fuck out of me, think I ever thought I’d finger some man’s cum? That I’d damn near beg to eat it out of you?” Your eyes get dazed, your pupils dilated, but your jaw is set, even as he bars you against that desk, arm on either side of you.

“You, eat someone out? Laughable,” he snorts just a bit, blue gaze flickering across your face, your throat, your pretty tits barely visible in that neck line. “Do you hate me less because I made you cum?”

“I don’t fucking hate you –” you scoff and he slams his lips on yours, moaning into the kiss as the door opens, and you both hear a gasp.

“Satoru!” He glares at the door as Jennifer rushes in, coming right up to the two of you now. “What’s she doing here!?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He says now, at his wit’s goddamn end with this girl, at least Chloe fucked off when he sent her. “I’m kissing my wife.”

His wife.

You’re his wife, for now, until you left him for Sukuna – until you gave him babies and were happy, Satoru could only hope to worship you until then, to beg for any bit of you that you gave – the pieces that he doesn’t deserve. Your pretty eyes looking up at him in that way that ruins his soul, your taste on his lips.

“The wife that is with another man?” You blink and look at her when she comes right up to you, snatching you up. “You want him suddenly, huh?”

You flinch once more – Satoru knows that’s your response even after the way you’ve changed, Satoru snatches Jennifer’s wrist so quickly she almost falls, tugging her off you and seeing her trembling lips and fake ass tears. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

She pouts as you rub your wrist, curling into yourself and hurting his fucking soul.

How could he have hurt you like your parents did? Not physically, but didn’t he do his damage?

“Satoru, I’m just-”

“Get your shit and go home, you’re fired,” you blink a bit and look at him incredulously, as Jennifer gasps.

“You want the world to know that I slept with you, what she is doing!?”

He laughs softly, walking over as she tries to fucking cling to him, opening the door. “Say what the fuck you want, like I give a fuck. Get out.”

“Satoru please I-”

“Suguru?” He shouts for his partner in his office across the busy room, he stands up curiously, the whole of the floor staring at the scene happening. “Can you please help Ms. Jennifer with her things and give her a letter of recommendation?”

“You can’t be serious!” She hisses, Satoru rolls his damn eyes, Suguru immediately comes up and sees you curiously behind Satoru, curiously clearing his throat.

“Sure, Satoru,” he says, gently taking her arm and shutting the office door, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet, his head resting on the door for a moment.

“Did I ruin that for you?” He looks back, narrowing his eyes and seeing you trembling, hugging yourself just a bit. “I know you were with her-”

“I couldn’t care fucking less, she shouldn’t have barged in and put her damn hands on you,” he walks over and takes yours in his own, studying them quietly. “I should have done more with your fucking parents.”

“I don’t think so,” you whisper, looking where his hand joins yours.

“Sukuna beat your dad, the night he fucked your pretty little cunt first, didn’t he?” Your eyes dilate, his voice breaking in the middle with his desperation about to ruin him utterly. “That’s what you wanted.”

“It’s not! I asked him not to, he just…”

“Loves you?” You look down again, earning him tilting your chin up. “He is in love with you.”

“He hasn’t said that yet but he cares for me, yes, very much so,” you suck in a breath when he rests his head on yours, breaths mingling together in the quiet of his office, with the sunlight filtering in.

“You love him.”

“I’m falling in love, yes.”

“Could you ever not hate me?” He asks now, tears filling his own eyes, you bite your lower lip, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I’m not asking you to not love him, not fuck him, I earned that shit, I know.”

His fingers slip your dress up, gripping the smoothness of your thighs, the tension making him fucking ache, cock throbbing and leaking pre, dying to bury himself inside you. “What are you asking then?”

“For a taste of you, a goddamn piece of you until you finally get to leave me,” he sinks to his knees and looks up at you with his hands slipping your panties down, watching your thighs shaking, that slick on the inner parts of it. “Any of you that you wanna give me, I know I don’t deserve it.”

“Y-you want to… but you don’t…” You’re bare to him, he’s looking right at you, inhaling that sweet scent, you jerk when his breath tickles your skin.

“Let me lick your pretty cunt,” he murmurs, he never thought he – Satoru Gojo – would be begging to eat pussy, with his arranged, cheating little wife of all people, but he can’t imagine not lapping you desperately. “Let me drown in you.”

“You want to drown in me?” Your thigh shakes when he puts it over his shoulder, the noise of his office drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears and the heart beat racing.

He sighs, lashes fluttering when he inhales you. “Let me, fuck just let me taste you, how pathetic do you need me?”

You lean back on his desk, arching your hips and making him moan out loud, parting your plump lips and watching wetness trickle out, hearing your little gasp when he touches you.

“You’re soaked, sweetheart,” he murmurs, nose bumping your clit when his mouth kisses on your cunt – Satoru’s never bothered to be down like this, never cared to put in that much work with a woman.

Until you.

He’s dying to have you shatter for him, just once before you go.

Your answer is to blush all cute like you’re not ruining two grown ass men, hand gripping his white locks, and a little nod.

If Satoru wasn’t already fucked mentally from you before, he was now.

****

𝖄𝖔𝖚

Satoru looks at you with those blue eyes, the ones you can’t figure out to save your damn life, then he surges forward, clumsy and starving.

It's not skilled like with Sukuna, who knew exactly where to lick and suck to absolutely destroy you, it’s messy and desperate. His mouth presses against your clit as he targets it, sucking the twitchy little thing in it – wet and hot, his tongue lavishing you without any rhythm. He’s not even close to your spots but the way he whines out, the way he whimpers against you.

It’s impossible to not fall for those bright blue eyes, burning gaze as he’s drowning in you, his hands dragging you against his face. Your own are flying to his hair,  his clumsy mouth devouring you so goddamn desperately, your own slick dripping across his pretty face as you lose yourself, arching further into him, your hips pressing against his face further.

“Why do you have to taste like this?” He whispers, voice thick with desire and his mouth full of your slick. His eyes darken as those pupils blow out, sliding a finger into your needy cunt, fucking right against your cervix and making you gasp, hands tugging at the roots of his hair. "See what you fucking do to me?”

You can hardly register the devastating way he learns your body, your eyes fluttering shut, Satoru adding another, stretching you out, scissoring them inside that needy, messy cunt that squelches. “Gojo…”

“Satoru, fuck,” he muffles those words against you, tongue flicking faster on your clit, his other hand stroking himself, before he sucks it and starts moaning, all messy with your cunt drooling on his face.

You’re overheated and dizzy as his fingers – long and thick – start pressing against your spot, he keeps analyzing you even while he’s messy, needy, honing in on every way you arch and tremble.

“Cum, fuck… just cum on me…” You’re crying out when he accidentally flicks his tongue just right, whining out when he’s standing and turning you around, sinking his fingers right back inside as he bends you over his desk. “Don’t think of him right now, don’t.”

“Did you fuck her on here?” You look back even as your cheeks are flushed, his fingers moving up and down, his lips brushing your neck, teeth sinking in your delicate skin. “How many times since we’ve been together?”

“I couldn’t count,” he admits now, pulling his fingers back just before you can cum, sucking your taste off them with his cheeks hollowing. “How many times has he cum inside you?”

“I couldn’t count,” you answer, his lips messy and mean as you unwillingly arch for him.

"Does he make you this wet?” Satoru’s undoing his belt, lifting your thigh and toying with that slit slowly, watching it drip down. “So wet you drip on the floor?”

“He does,” you admit now, whining out when you feel the blunt of his tip slipping down your slit, making you tremble. “He eats pussy better than you, he makes me squirt all over.”

“I can’t stand you,” he says with a soft laugh, tugging at your hair hard, making your head fall back, his tip hitting your clit and making you jolt. “I told you I didn’t fucking know how, mean little brat.”

“Me, mean? W-what a fucking joke, ngh,” you can’t do this, you can’t fucking do this, even if Sukuna told you that it’s fine, even if he swears that he’ll still want you. How can you fuck Satoru Gojo?

How can you fuck the man that broke you?

How is he the same man that just begged to taste you, the one positioning himself, making your eyes roll back. “I wish I fucked you first, wish your blood slid right down my cock like it did his.”

“Psycho,” you whisper out, scowling right at him, your hands gripping the desk as his hand lifts your thigh, tip taunting you. “Just fuck me, what are you waiting for? Wanna chat and have lunch?”

“You are mean now, fuck,” he’s moaning as if you being mean makes him harder, before he slams his lips on yours and shoves his cock inside you. “Oh my… f-fuck… you’re so…”

He says nothing for a moment, length buried all the way inside your cunt, as you’re throbbing around him, desperately trying to handle how full you are. “How many women were you inside, h-huh?”

“None of them fucking matter,” he gasps out, pulling back and slamming in, the sound messy and filthy. “None felt like you, god no one… perfect little cunt, fuck you for it.”

“Fuck you, Satoru,” he whimpers as he fucks into your cunt, and you can feel his tip dragging your spot, making you sensitive, gasping out for a breath, ass arching despite your words.

“You hate me, don’t you? You fucking hate me,” he moans now, burying his face in your neck, slamming into you harder, a hand coming to wrap your throat, squeezing ever so gently. “You should hate me, you shouldn’t let me inside you, shouldn’t even let me w-watch you with him.”

You hate his words and how desperate they are, you hate how good he feels when he steals your breath, you hate that you both could have been doing this instead of what he made you endure. You hate him utterly and completely, even as your eyes roll back in your skull and his pelvis slams that thick, lengthy cock even deeper inside your walls.

“I do hate you,” you whisper – nothing like with Sukuna, who you’re falling in love with every moment more and more, with Satoru it’s hatred, it’s toxic and terrible, even as he feels so sinfully good. “I do.”

“Good baby, you should,” he kisses you and squeezes your throat, shoving so deep inside that you almost scream out if he didn’t shush you with his kisses. “Cunt was made for me.”

“No it wasn’t,” your answer makes him glare, fucking you harder, mean with it, somehow reverently kissing you as his cock wrecks you, and you feel yourself even closer. “Mnh!”

“Was it made for Sukuna, baby? Does he hit your spots like this?” He slams in again and you whine out, looking into his dazed, psychotic eyes.

“He does,” your answer makes him moan, squeezing harder and burying his cock to the hilt, his hand snatching up yours, putting it on your clit. “Ah…”

“Play with that slutty lil clit f’me,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut when you spasm around him. “He showed you, huh? What to do?”

“Yes,” you whisper softly, letting his long fingers guide your own, the mess of your slick falling, when he whimpers, kissing you desperately, the pressure of his cock in your cunt making you shatter. “Ngh!”

“Don’t stay quiet,” he whispers – psychotically as fuck when you try to bite your lip, your clit twitching underneath your fingers as he slams deeper. “Make that noise, let ‘em hear me fucking you, your slutty cunt’s so goddamn loud.”

“You’re… whimpering l-like… a bitch,” he grins at that, laughing and kissing you. “Don’t make me like you.”

“You like my cock,” you’re spasming, his fingers taking over when yours fall, pinching your clit between two of them and watching you fall apart again, sucking in a breath for a moment at your rolled back eyes, the way your brows draw together. “Fuck you’re beautiful.”

“D-don’t… say that… please,” you barely manage coherent words as you squirt down his length, hips twitching, Satoru cups your face and looks at you with those blue eyes that were once cruel, now they’re desperate, his pupils so big they look black.

“So beautiful, fuck you are, god I w-wish I said it before,” you feel your emotions hit when he buries his cock to the hilt, crying out with his weight pressing you onto the desk.

“Gojo…” He pulls back and his cock slips out, dripping down on the floor with the creamy mess you two have made, sitting you on the desk and fucking you face to face, eyes tortured and so black they’re terrifying with those white lashes.

“Satoru,” you shake your head, even as he kisses you desperate and needy, slamming his cock so deep you feel him all over, curved tip bruising your puffy cervix, you’re crying out into his mouth, nails digging into his back over the dress shirt. “Perfect, you’re perfect, fuck you’re s-so… tight, so wet, so…”

You don’t answer him, you can’t think when he takes you over, ruining your mind just like Sukuna does, making you not think.

You can hardly breathe with his kisses, nose brushing against yours, breath ghosting your swollen lips. “Lemme cum inside, fuck… please, please…”

“You shouldn’t get to,” he sighs and pauses, hands tugging you even further down, shoving up your dress to look at the bulge move, moaning at the sight.

“I’m inside you, filling you,” you swallow – throat gone dry, his tie is crooked, collar coming undone, his hair falling out of its usual perfect place. Satoru is a mess, a whimpering mess for you, whispering your name like a devotion, his lips still taste like your slick. “Wanna fill you, have my cum coat those slutty walls. Please, what the fuck do you do to me?”

Sukuna asks that – what do you do to them?

You take a shaky breath, hand brushing over his undercut, his tip leaking as he thickens inside you, tugging him down for a kiss, making him moan into your mouth, tongue bullying yours, sucking all your oxygen till you can’t breathe. “Satoru.”

“Oh my fuck,” he busts inside you, burying his face in your neck as he takes over your body, teeth sinking into them as he bites and sucks, as if he’s marking you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… god… n-never felt it that good…”

He’s mumbling as he floods your cunt with white, the warmth spreading in your core, you cling to him weakly, thighs spasming as he spills down his own length with the force of your orgasm. His teeth nip under your chin, his eyes drugged when he looks down at you, cock still pulsing as your aftershocks milk him for all he’s worth.

It’s quiet, then.

You hate Satoru Gojo even more now.

You hate that you could have had this if he wasn’t so horrible.

He brushes a tear aside, sighing and kissing your closed eyelids. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“For what this time?” You ask then, swallowing when he rests his head on yours. “For everything?”

“Yes,” he breathes out the words, pushing into your sore cunt. “Sorry I sent you to another man, now I have to watch you with him and dream you’re mine.”

You don’t know how much pain you can take, wanting to forgive and love a man that did this to you, torn now between what’s toxic and terrible, and what’s toxic and loving.

Sukuna was toxic too, but he loved you.

What did Satoru feel?

“I won’t stop seeing Sukuna,” he sighs and glares at you. “Just because we fucked. I am falling for him.”

“And what do you feel for me?” He asks, slipping his fingers across your cheek, blue eyes drinking in your face as his words brush over you. “Just hatred?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper brokenly. Taking a breath he eases out of you, his fingers slipping through the creamy, gooey mess, pressing it back in. “What are you doing, mnh!”

“His turn to play in my cum,” Satoru smirks as you glare at him. “Will you hate me less if I tell you I’ll never fuck Jennifer again?”

“And Chloe?” You stand up with his help, he sucks the mess of you two off, kissing you with it, your hands crumbling that fancy dress suit.

“Never, don’t care if I have to share you,” he sighs those words into your mouth.

“Really?” You look up at him, and he’s dead serious, nodding.

“No one,” you swallow nervously, backing off finally, thighs trembling. “Lemme guess, you gotta visit your boyfriend?”

“I do…” You adjust your dress, taking a shaky breath, laughing just a bit.

“What?”

“I guess since we’re all gonna be…” You trail off, what the fuck even are you three? “Well, what are we all going to do for dinner tonight?”

He smirks a bit. “I’ll let you and fucking ‘Kuna’ pick.”

*******

You swallow nervously as you walk over to Sukuna in his office after the gym is closing, and his gaze drifts across your neck, your shoulders, seeing how tense you are.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper now, he just sets your lunch down and tugs you onto his lap, you gasp when you straddle him right in that chair. “Kuna I need to tell you-”

“He fucked you,” you swallow and nod. “I told you it was fine if you did, why are you panicking?”

You bite down your lower lip, entire body trembling when he cups your face. “How are you not disappointed, mad?”

“Why the fuck would I be, hmm?” He smirks now, his hands pressing so hard into your thighs they’re bruising. “Question is, did you tell him he sucked?”

You laugh with tears in your eyes. “I told him he sucks at eating pussy, and whimpers like a bitch?”

“Good girl,” you both laugh softly, your hands slipping up his chest, when he shoves your dress up, his pink lashes flickering, jaw setting as he gets serious now. “Pull my cock out.”

You bite down on your lip, doing just as he commands with his gaze serious now, crimson eyes flashing dark once he’s in your hold. He tugs your panties aside and eyes the mess your cunt is, raising one of his brows as he pulls the elastic.

“He cum inside that needy little cunt?” His voice is hoarse, you exhale, nodding, when he sits you on his cock and shoves all the way in, no prep, no touch, just slams it to the hilt, making it burn. 

“Ah!” You’re trembling as he grips your hips bruisingly, lifting you and slamming you down once more, the burn and stretch making tears prick your eyes, ones he kisses off your cheeks, the little salty drops on his lips as you cry out from the stretch, the pain that’s so sweet.

“I told you I’d fuck his cum out, huh?” A little gasp escapes when Sukuna bounces you up and down his length, Satoru’s cum slipping down on his own cock with the mess of your own. Your eyes roll back, desperate gasps escaping your lips. “Slutty cunt didn’t need my fingers, did she? She wants all that cum, doesn’t she?”

“W-want yours, please,” he slams you down so hard you’re crying, sniffling out, nails digging into his bare shoulders. “Please, please…”

Satoru begged for you.

You’re begging for Sukuna.

“Show me you want it, brat, lemme see,” you rise up and down, your thighs sore and aching, Sukuna’s teeth biting where Satoru sucked. “I’ll mark you worse, fuckin’ bruise every beautiful inch of you.”

“K-Kuna… ah!” He sucks hard on your neck, moaning as you drip down his heavy balls, ready to breed your hole better than Satoru could, his words filthy, whispering your name like a mantra as he guides your hips, you’re lost in him, dizzy and floating, the pain the only thing keeping you tethered.

You fucked Satoru and he came inside – now Sukuna is fucking his cum out, and letting it drip down his cock.

You’re utterly torn, lost in the high that Sukuna gives, with the lows that Satoru is trying to fix, wondering if you can love two men, wondering if either of them could truly love you. Sukuna slams you down and pins your hips, making you wriggle and cry out,  sniffling from the pressure, he groans.

“So pretty crying, is it too much, baby?” He taunts, gaze flickering. “Can’t you take me?”

“I can,” you sniffle more, trying to ride him, thighs shaking, head falling forward as he bites your neck again. “Kuna…”

“Make yourself cum,” his hand slips up your throat, tightening and squeezing, voice devastating. “Milk me for all that cum your slutty cunt needs, that’s it – take what’s yours.”

The maddening rhythm of you working him as he sits there, watching you ride him, grinding your cunt right on him so you drip down his pants, dress rumpled from two sets of hands on it – you’re lost in it, cunt aching.

When Sukuna pumps cum inside, teeth biting harder until a little bit of blood drips down your neck, you’re almost about to faint. Dizzy when he’s kneeling and you’re up on his desk, your thighs spread – you hardly realize he’s videoing it, the sight of all that white pouring, scooping it up and shoving it back inside.

“Kuna why’d you video?” You murmur, just for you to get a text from Satoru. You glare at him and he’s chuckling like a psycho. “You sent it to him!”

“I sure did,” he shoves his fingers deep in your sore hole, his lips trailing up your neck, your phone falling from your hand. “So, what are we having for dinner, brat? Are you cooking?”

Your phone keeps going off, you take a shaky breath, cunt a mess of both men pouring out of you. “Satoru said you pick?”

Sukuna snorts and kisses you, tilting his head. “I’ll pick then,” he nudges your neck, sighing and tugging you close. “Did you really tell him he sucks at eating pussy?”

“I really did!”

“I guess I’ll have to teach the little fuck, but,” he trails off and tilts your chin up. “He won’t ever make you cum like I can.”

Sukuna kisses you, he’s so rough you’re weak, not gentle or easy – like he’s kissing every frustration out, all you can do is fall into his arms, unsure of just what the fuck happened, and how you make any sense of it. You’re married and you have a boyfriend, one who is laughing sadistically as he marks every spot Gojo did even harder.

How does this end up?

plz be respectful in the comments as this was a LOT OF WORK - and I'll repeat again - THREE ENDINGS LMAO

You smile blissfully. “You- hck- you can be meaner, Cho, I can take it-“

Your voice is cut off by a sharp thrust from behind, Choso’s pelvis smacking into your ass hard enough to leave a mark. He fills you ruthlessly, the whites of your eyes fluttering behind your eyelashes as he relentlessly ruins your cunt.

You're on the verge of something good, so, so good, and your moans come out in tangled, wrecked little huffs. Saliva smears across your lips and the pillow, cotton dampened under the damp lacquer of blissed-out drool seeping steadily from your parted lips. You're almost in disbelief- he's really doing it, your sweet, caring Choso is degrading you for all he's worth, and reaping the rewards.

"Fuck, fuck-" you wail, eyes screwed shut as another swathe of slick decorates the base of Choso's swollen cock. Oh, how you wish you could see- see the gloss spread across his pelvis, coo up at him, but your neck is immobilised.

Not just in pleasurable shock at his harshness, but you physically cannot move. Choso has taken it upon himself to weave one of his big hands through your messy hair and slam your face down into the cushion below, rendering you unable to do anything but lie there and take it like the dumb girl he keeps saying you are.

"You're so needy." He breathes, taking in the arch in your spine and the way your pussy clenches tighter around him. He hisses at the squeeze. "Fuck, you are needy, aren't you? All you can do is whatever I tell you, isn't it?"

"I- I-"

"Can't speak?" He moans from behind, palm still splayed hungrily across your hips. "Fuck, you really like this?"

"I'm gonna- fuck, Cho-"

“Shut up.” He continues shakily, “shut up, you don’t deserve to speak, do you? Just lie there like the slut you are-“

You moan. Never, never would you have dreamed to hear that little piece of degradation drip out of Choso Kamo’s beautiful mouth, and the surprise pushes you over.

“Look at you cumming all over my cock, too stupid to even hold it-“ a whine tangles itself around his speech, then a sob-

A sob?

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so so sorry-“ he bleats, wretchedly big tears working their way down his cheeks as he still manages to fuck you through your orgasm.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it, you’re pretty and perfect-“ he keeps going, reverting back to his default (and only, apparently) setting of doting praise, emptying himself out inside you until it’s splurging out onto the sheets.

You lie there and shake through it, back still arched under his big hands. You don’t even realise he came until you hear the noise, a high-pitched whimper muffled against the sweaty skin of your nape while Choso plasters his toned front to your back.

“I’m sorry…” he keeps whispering into your skin, “I tried, baby, I really tried, but…” his lip quivers like an overgrown toddler and your heart aches through the onslaught of giggles you’re trying to hold back.

“Choso-“

“You aren’t a slut, you never could be, you’re the furthest thing from it-“

“Cho-“

“And I didn’t mean what I said about you being greedy, you can have me any time you want, if anything I’m the greedy one and you should- should punish me for it-“

“Choso, I know you didn’t mean it.”

He blinks at you. “You do?”

“I asked you to be mean, Cho- and if you don’t want to be, then that’s fine.” You assure him, naked and gorgeous and all his.

He nods, hair flopping out from behind his ears. Then, he clears his throat. “But, baby…”

“Yes?”

“Can you be mean to me next time?”

Is he fucking serious?

ೃ࿔*:･

masterlist

a/n: all credit for this idea goes to @f33bs because she’s been asking me to write this for MONTHSSSS!! <33

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