Get Up Coward

“perfect.” click.

“great job, princess.” click.

“atta girl.” click.

you were confused by the sound at first, you can’t lie. you thought maybe it was in your head, or one of the animatronics ticking at coincidentally the same time. you don’t know.

what you do know, is that you’ve been associating this strange clicking sound with each one of his quaint praises. he has you wrapped around his finger. his dumb little girl.

soon, after your relationship kicks off, you can hear it at more convenient times.

when you’re wrapping your soft lips around his tip under his desk, and you do this thing where you suckle on it for a moment before taking it deeper, click!

or when he takes you by the hair and pulls you down to where your nose rubs the stubble on his pelvis and you’re gagging, click!

or — most importantly — when his fingers are playing with your weeping pussy and your back starts to arch, plush thighs shaking around his wrist (or his head), and your moans start getting higher, and higher…

“ahh— will, I-I’m close, please—!”

click!

and with each new twitch and spasm of your body as the coil in your core grows tighter, and tighter, you hear it. click, click click click!

until you’re finally pushed over the edge.

william will never admit it to you, but training you has proven to be extremely helpful.

especially in situations where he’s had a long week running the restaurant, and all he wants to do on a friday night is make his baby feel so good that she can’t take it anymore, drawing orgasm and orgasm from you nonstop, any way he can, until beads of sweat roll down your temples as you flail underneath him, overstimulated.

“come on, just one more.” he’s encourages in whispers to you, “i know you can do it.”

you cry, “I can’t!”

you’re so, so close again, but your body won’t give in. teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure, you grind down against him, chasing your own teasing release.

“yes, you can,” he urges.

click!

your whole body twitches at the sound.

click, click, click!

slow, daunting, until you finally crest over, juices spurting all over him with a loud sob.