Welcome to the dungeon

“Pleeeease, Joel,” you pouted, laying it on thick, with the biggest puppy-dog look you could muster, the one that always melted him, the one he could never really say no to.

“I ain’t doin’ it again,” he kept his eyes fixed stubbornly on the TV, refusing to even glance your way because he knew the second he did, he’d fold.

“But you don’t even gotta act this time,” you argued, scooting closer, your voice sweet and coaxing. “You’re a contractor. It’d be like any normal day at your job.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “A day in my job doesn’t include… whatever it is you’re plannin’ to do.”

“All you gotta do,” you leaned down over him on the couch, sliding your palms to his cheeks, “is swing a hammer and follow my lead.” You pressed your forehead to his until he had no choice but to look at you. “Please. For me?”

And Joel knew he had no saying when you had your mind set on something.

You put on the nicest lingerie you owned, the set that made your skin look like something meant to be unwrapped, and over it you slipped into that silk robe, the fancy one you bought years ago with your first real salary, just because you wanted to own something expensive. It made you feel sinfully glamorous, but somehow everyday felt too mundane to wear something so fancy, so the robe never earned its moment until now.

The fabric flowed over your body like water, you added heels, tall enough to change the tilt of your posture, making your legs stand out, making you walk like a supermodel. You pinned your hair up, exposing your neck, making your earrings sparkle with every breath. A martini in hand completed the picture.

You looked like the kind of woman who never lifted a finger. A woman who spent her afternoons lounging around her mansion, waiting on men she paid to do the heavy lifting. A rich housewife about to “inspect” the work of the contractor she’d hired for a kitchen renovation.

When you finally walked down the stairs, each heel clicking loudly, you found Joel standing in the kitchen exactly where you told him to be.

And he was wearing the damn tool belt. The leather riding low on his hips, with the heavy metal tools clinking faintly when he shifted, the weight tugging his jeans just enough to show the deep cut of his pelvis. He stood there bracing his hands on the counter, looking every bit the rough, hardworking contractor you were supposed to be hiring, because he indeed was one.

He lifted his eyes when he heard your steps, and the moment he saw you, wearing that silk, those heels, your lips painted… his breath stalled, and he parted his lips just a fraction.

You let your fingers trail down the stem of your martini glass and said in the lazy voice of a woman who always gets what she wants, “Mr. Miller. Right on time.”

He flicked his eyes to yours, his pupils already betraying him, the faintest crack in his resolve showing as his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile… and losing.

“I… uh… I’ve been talkin’ with your husband bout the ideas he had in mind for the renovation an’ I—” Joel started, clearly trying to pull himself back into character, even though this was literally his day job. The poor man sounded like he was reading from a script he’d never seen before.

“Forget my husband,” you cut in, lifting your martini to your lips with a dismissive flick of your wrist, running your eyes down his body and back up again. “man has no clue about anything. No vision whatsoever.”

Joel blinked. “But he approved the plans f’the new kitch—”

“Do I look like I care, Mr. Miller?” You stepped closer, pinning him with a sharp look. “It’s my house. And in my house, people obey me. I’m paying you. That makes you my employee. So you will do whatever I ask you to do. Am I clear enough?”

You felt the thrill of it, the power, the dominance, the way he straightened a little under the force of your voice.

“Clear as water,” he cleared his throat, a little shake in his voice betraying him, he was still not very good at improvising, that much was clear. “Just… don’t think your husband will be too pleased when he comes back an’ sees a kitchen he did not agree with.”

“Don’t worry,” you took another slow sip of your martini, the cold glass sweating against your fingers as you dragged your tongue across a single drop on your lip. You saw the way he bobbed his throat. “I’ll handle my husband. I recommend you stick to what you’re ordered to do.”

Joel shifted, the tool belt clinking, he was trying hard to keep his eyes anywhere but the soft V of silk slipping open along your chest and legs.

“What… uh… what do ya want me to do with the kitchen, then?”

You rested your back against the counter, arching just enough for the robe to glide open along your thigh, exposing a long stretch of bare skin and the faint outline of your lingerie beneath.

“Well,” you purred, dragging your fingertip down the stem of your glass, “I’d like to hear your ideas, Mr. Miller. I’m sure they’re far brighter than my stupid husband’s.”

His breath caught, he had his eyes glued to the line of your leg, and he swallowed again like he’d forgotten how to do anything else.

“Alright,” he cleared his throat in that contractor voice he was trying out, “so, the way I see it, ma’am, we can knock this wall out, open up the kitchen to the livin’ room. Might cost a little extra, but it’ll give you more space. More light comin’ in, too.”

“Mmm, more light sounds nice. It does gets so dark and lonely here.” You looked at him like you wanted to devour him, as if you were starving to put your hands on the handsome contractor while your husband was away from home.

Joel side-eyed you, twitching his mouth like he was fighting a smile. “Lonely, huh? Well… that’s the nature of a house. Ain’t much company in drywall and wood beams.”

You sighed dramatically, swirling the glass. “It’s not the house that’s the problem, Mr. Miller. It’s the man who’s supposed to live in it. Always away. Never… present.” You let your robe slip just a little off one shoulder, tempting him more and more. “Never takes care of me.”

Joel shifted on his feet, tightening his jaw. He wasn’t entirely sure of what to say, improvising wasn’t his area of expertise… but still, he couldn’t deny the adrenaline of feeling like he was flirting with this rich, beautiful, and very much married woman.

“Now, ma’am, I’m just here to talk remodelin’. Walls, cabinets, fixtures. Don’t know nothin’ about your husband.”

You pouted, watching him over the rim of the glass. The hot contractor was going to be yours tonight, damned be your fake husband. “But don’t you ever wonder what happens to a woman when her husband’s never around?”

Joel set the rolled-up plans down on the counter a little too hard. “Darlin’—”

“Housewife,” you corrected him brightly, breaking out of character for just a moment. “Desperate housewife. Try to keep up, Joel.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Lord help me,” but you saw the way his cock twitched in his jeans when your robe slipped further down, exposing the lace strap of your bra.

“What about you?” You teased your fingers over the collar of his work shirt, pulling it open just enough to hint at his skin and the chest hair you loved so much, “Do you have a girl waiting for you at home, Mr. Miller?”

“Yes.” He said it firm, like he didn’t even have to think about it. It was like a reflex after so many years together, he was used to women asking that question, and the answer always left his mouth before he could process it. He never hesitated for a second whenever it came to letting people know he had a woman. You were his woman, and he couldn’t be prouder.

You laughed with mock disdain. “Bet that old ugly witch doesn’t know the first thing about keeping a man like you satisfied, does she?”

Joel shot his brows up, because technically you were the “old, ugly witch”, except it wasn’t you, because now you were the hot housewife, were you? Hell, roleplaying was even more confusing than he’d anticipated. Conflicted didn’t even cover it, his whole face tightened like you’d just handed him a live grenade.

“Does she?” you repeated, leaning in, pushing him, hungry for him to keep the scene alive.

“Darlin’…” he said, breaking character immediately, with guilt all over his voice, “doesn’t feel right to talk that way about you.”

“It’s not really me, Joel,” you insisted, waving your hand. “It’s all made up. Just follow my lead.” You cleared your throat, sliding right back into the sultry purr of the housewife. “Bet she’s not as pretty as I am.”

“Are you sure this ain’t one of those tests where everythin’ I answer is wrong?” He said, clearly miserable with the idea of bad-mouthing you, even fictionally.

“Jesus, Joel, it’s just an act!”

“Fine,” he grumbled, giving in. “Yeah, she’s a goddamn pain for the eyes. Can’t even look at her face when we fuck, gotta close my eyes and think of someone else ’cause she repulses me.”

Your smile vanished like he’d slapped it off. A frown replaced it. Because he sounded way too confident saying it, a very real and convincing act. “…Oh. That came out really naturally, Joel. You sure you’re still acting?”

He lifted his hands instantly, with panic all over him. “Darlin’—darlin’, wait a minute, you just told me to—”

“Ugh. Forget it.” You said rolling your eyes and changing the topic quickly. “So, tell me, what else would you… recommend for my kitchen?” You asked him as you brushed a hand over the counter beside him.

Joel cleared his throat, darting his eyes from your cleavage back to the improvised plans he’d drown minutes before. “Uh—could update the counters. Granite, maybe. New sink, too. One of them deeper basins, for… uh… pots and pans.”

“Mmm.” You leaned in closer, your vanilla scented perfume clouding between you. “Deep sounds good. I’ve been in need of something deep lately.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you bit your tongue to stop a giggle from escaping your lips, clearly subtlety wasn’t your thing.

Joel groaned under his breath, gripping the edge of the counter. “‘Scuse me, ma’am, but is all’a this bout your kitchen, or somethin’ else?”

You took a step closer. “You’re very sharp, Mr. Miller. My husband? Not so much. He doesn’t notice things the way you do. Doesn’t notice the woman he married anymore.”

Joel exhaled through his nose. “Now, ma’am, that’s not somethin’ I oughta be hearin’. Shouldn’t speak that way bout him. I just came here to do my work.”

You leaned on the counter so your robe gaped scandalously low. “Work, hm? That’s what my husband always says. He’s always ‘working,’ always too busy. By the time he drags himself home, I’m just… invisible.”

Joel swallowed hard, almost like a warning, “Careful.” He snapped his eyes to yours dangerously. “You keep pushin’, I ain’t gonna be talkin’ about no cabinets.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Oh? What will you be talking about?”

Joel stepped closer. “’Bout how you’re a married woman, sittin’ here beggin’ for attention. How maybe I oughta teach ya a lesson for flirtin’ with the hired help.”

“Flirting?” You forced a laugh. “You’re delusional if you think a woman like me would ever flirt with the contractor.” But you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing your thighs together under the robe, because you were definitely flirting with the contractor. “Mr. Miller, that would be highly unprofessional.”

He gave you a wicked, wolfish grin. “Well… I ain’t never claimed to be professional, sweetheart. Just a strong man, very good with my hands.”

“Good with your hands, you say? Oh, my husband… it’s been so long since I’ve last felt his hands, he doesn’t touch me, Mr. Miller. Doesn’t make me feel like a woman at all. Do you know how it feels to lie awake at night… aching for something the man you married can’t give you?”

Joel flexed his hand against the counter, his knuckles going white. “Now, darlin’, I got a big patience, but you’re testin’ it now .”

You knew his patience wasn’t the only big thing about Joel. “Maybe that’s what I need. A man with patience. A man who actually knows what he’s doing.”

He narrowed his eyes, but you caught the dangerous heat sparking in them. “An’ you think that’s me? Some contractor just here to fix your kitchen?”

You straightened, letting your robe fall open wider now, so he could see the sheer lingerie beneath. “I think you’re the kind of man who’d know exactly what to do with a lonely housewife. The kind of man who wouldn’t leave her unsatisfied.”

Joel groaned, dragging a hand over his stubble like he was trying to restrain himself. “Jesus Christ… You really ain’t givin’ up, are you?”

You shook your head slowly, biting your lip. “I need more than granite counters, Mr. Miller. I need a real man. Not some boy who pretends he’s busy with work. Someone strong. Someone who’d bend me over the nearest surface and remind me what it means to be alive.”

Joel closed the space until he brushed his chest to yours, the tool belt clinking as it knocked against your thigh. “You talkin’ dangerous, darlin’. A woman sayin’ things like that to a man like me… she’s beggin’ to get more than she bargained for.”

You felt the heat starting to pool slowly between your thighs.“Maybe that’s exactly what I want, Mr. Miller. Maybe I’m tired of being disappointed.”

Joel whispered almost to himself, “Goddamn… you’re somethin’ else.” Then, louder, in character again: “Well, ma’am, sounds like what you need ain’t new counters or a fancy sink. Sounds like you need a man who’ll… remodel somethin’ else.”

Your breath hitched. “And what would you suggest, Mr. Contractor?”

“First thing I’d do is bend you over this counter. See if it’s sturdy enough to take a good poundin’.” Your whole body shivered. Joel pulled back, smirking at the look on your face. “Maybe it’s time somebody shows you what real satisfaction feels like. What it’s like to be fucked by a man who knows how to use what he has.”

You clutched his shirt collar, playing your role perfectly. “Mr. Miller, you don’t know how much I want to… but this is so inappropriate… What if my husband—”

“Your husband ain’t here,” Joel cut you off. “You just said it yourself, he don’t notice you. Don’t touch you. Hell, from the way you’re lookin’ at me, I reckon he don’t even know what to do with a woman like you. But I do.”

His words made you shiver, and your slipped your robe all the way down. “So… you’d be willing to help me, Mr. Miller?”

Joel gripped your jaw with his hand, tilting your face to him. “You got no idea what you’re askin’ for, ma’am. But since you keep on beggin’…”

He slid his free hand between your thighs until he was pressing his calloused fingers against the damp lace of your panties. Feeling him so close to the part of your body that needed his attention made you gasp.

“Already wet?” Joel pushed the fabric of your underwear aside so he could drag two digits through your folds, finding you already drenched, your pussy lips slick and slippery from how aroused the man in front of you made you.

“Goddamn. Don’t take much to get you goin’, does it?” What a smug fucker, he knew damn well how quick he could make you wet for him.

Hit touch made you jerk your hips, searching for more. “He never— He never makes me like this. Never this fast.”

Joel didn’t say anything, he just slipped one finger inside you. The stretch of the digit was delicious. Joel had thick fingers, rough from so many years working with his hands, and your pussy welcomed his fingers, hugging them instantly, like it had been waiting for exactly this. “That right? Poor little wife, starvin’ for attention. No wonder you’re actin’ out.”

You let your head fall back, parting your lips as he pumped his finger deep into your greedy hole. He curled it just right, hitting that spot that made sparks shoot straight up your spine. Every part of Joel was designed to fit you perfectly. “Oh my god, Joel—”

He pulled back, giving you a sharp look and correcting you when you broke character. “Mr. Miller.” 

You whimpered, playing along. You couldn’t believe Joel was the one making you stay in character this time. “Mr. Miller… god, yes. Please. You’re already so much better than him.”

“Better than your husband?” And then slid a second finger inside you, such a big stretch, opening your little hole until you buckled your knees. You clamped your pussy down around him instantly, and the added width made your breath hitch into a helpless moan. “Say it.” He demanded you.

“Better than my husband. He never touches me like this… he doesn’t know how—fuck, Joel, you’re—” You moved your hands to his wide shoulders, clutching at them.

“Mr. Miller,” he corrected again as he worked circles over your swollen little nub, spreading more of your wetness over there to make it more slippery, teasing it just enough to make you whine. Then he bore down with real pressure, grinding ruthless motions over your pearly clit that made you tremble and squeeze his hand.

“Mr. Miller!” you squealed, half-laughing, half-pleading. “Please—please don’t stop—”

Joel had a wolfish smirk on his mouth and sweat gleaming at his temple from the effort of holding back and not shoving his cock inside you like an animal right this second. “That’s right. Contractor knows how to get the job done, huh? Knows how to use his hands.”

You writhed under his touch, grinding shamelessly against his palm, smearing your slick all over his fingers as you chased every bit of pressure he’d give you. “Yes—yes, god, you’re so much better. You’re the first man to ever—oh my god—”

“You gonna cum on my fingers, sweetheart? Right here on your fancy kitchen counter? Bet your husband’s never made you drip like this.”

You clenched your whole body around him, your thighs clamping his wrist and your pussy squeezing his fingers. The filthy words, and seeing how into the roleplay Joel was, pushed you closer to the edge. “Never… never—he doesn’t even try—”

Joel scissored his digits deep inside you, driving them up until he pressed hard against your cervix, the blunt pressure making you jolt. He kept the rubs on your clit the whole time, flicking it in bursts that left you gasping under the double assault.

“Then it’s a damn shame he left his wife for me to handle. ‘Cause I’m about to make you cum so hard you won’t even remember his name.”

Your cry ripped straight out of your throat, convulsing as pleasure slammed through you, so intense it wouldn’t stop burning. You trembled violently while he kept his hand on you, grinding his fingers and thumb through every pulsing wave he dragged out of your shaking body.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, coated and glistening in your arousal, then he brought them straight to his mouth, sucking them in with a satisfied groan. He kept his eyes locked on yours the whole time as he tasted you, savouring every slick trace like the salty flavour he could never get enough of.

“Sweetest thing I ever tasted.” He took his now clean fingers out of his mouth with a wet “pop” sound . “And I ain’t even started remodelin’ you yet.”

You didn’t give yourself a single second to recover. You turned around in a rush, bending over the counter with your chest pressed flat to the cool surface, parting your legs just enough to show him everything. Your pussy was swollen and shining, the lips all puffy and slick, offered up to him like you were begging to be taken exactly the way he wanted.

You arched your back more, looking at him over your shoulder with a wicked grin. “You’re the one who said you know how to use your hands. Now show me what else you can do, Mr. Miller.”

Joel fumbled with his belt like a man possessed, his hands were shaking, and it only made him more angry and impatient to finally feel the heath of your cunt wrapped around him. Like a wild animal, he shove his jeans down just far enough to free his cock. He wasn’t about to waste a damn second, not with you bent over for him, with your cunt swollen and dripping, practically begging to be filled.

His veiny cock was already smeared with pre-cum, sticky at the tip. It always happened when he took his time with you, when he fingered you open first, or when he buried his tongue in you until you were shaking. He ended up covered in pre, so much it looked like he’d cum already. You just wound him up too easily and too fast.

He wrapped a hand around the base, not even bothering with some teasing strokes first. He just guided himself to your hole, nudging the fat and flushed head to your soaked slit. He pressed it lightly to your entrance, and then dragged it slowly through your folds, up and down, parting your folds with the broad crown of his cock, teasing you just because he loved hearing you whine and squirm, but also testing how ready you were for him, he knew his cock was a big stretch, and the last thing he’d want is for you to hurt, still he always found you open and ready to take him.

“Goddamn, you’re drippin’. Bet he’s never even seen you like this, has he? Too busy ignorin’ his wife.”

You whined, pushing back against him, you needed to feel the burning sensation of his cock splitting you open. “He doesn’t even try. Doesn’t touch me, doesn’t care—” You gasped the moment Joel pushed the first inch inside you, stretching you wide around him, the blunt pressure was forcing a helpless sound out of your throat as you tried to pull him even deeper.“—But you, Mr. Miller… oh god, you feel so big.”

And Joel did exactly what you needed, he pushed in deeper, forcing his cock through your clutching heat inch by inch until he had every last bit of himself finally buried inside you, pressing his hips flush to your ass. He was fighting not to lose control right then and there.

You scraped your nails on the granite. “Harder. Fuck me harder, Mr. Miller. I can take it.”

Joel yanked his hips back until only the head remained inside your heat, and proceeded to slam forward until he was balls-deep into you again, pushing you forward onto the counter with every brutal stroke. “Pushy little wife, givin’ orders to the man doin’ all the fuckin’ work.” He held you exactly where he wanted you while he kept hitting the tip of his cock against the same spongy spot over and over. “But hell—” he thrusted harder, “if that’s what you want…”

You cried out. “Yes! Yes, that’s what I want—fuck me like he never does, Mr. Miller. Please!”

He pressed his chest to your back so he could whisper against your ear. “Your husband ain’t got a clue, does he? Leavin’ a woman like you unsatisfied. But I know. I know exactly how to fuck you.”

Every thrust bounced your body, making you rub your stiff nipples against the cold marble, adding to the mix of sensations in your body. “Yes—yes—you’re so much better. You’re the only one who knows how to use me.”

Joel slid his hand up your back, into your hair to yank your head up. “Say that again. Say it real slow and clear f‘me.”

“You’re better than him. My husband’s useless—he never fucks me like this. You’re the real man, Mr. Miller. The only one who can give me what I need.”

He responded to you by hammering his cock even deeper, battering your insides as if he couldn’t get enough. Joel moved his grip from your hair to your chest, engulfing your tits as he squeezed your flesh hard, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers until they ached from the assault. He snaked his other hand around your waist, and lower, finding your clit with certainty so he could rub fast circles that matched the pace of his hips.

“Fuckin’ shameless. Beggin’ your contractor to ruin you. And look at you… soakin’ my cock like you were made for it.” He looked down at the place where his member disappeared, swallowed by your hungry cunt. You were creaming on his cock, leaving white rings all over his shaft that only made him even more feral.

The imminent climax was barreling down on you fast, and so you pushed your ass back against him to fuck yourself on him. “Harder—harder, Mr. Miller, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Joel obeyed, grinding his thumb over your clit like there was no tomorrow, so fast he was sure he was gonna leave your shiny nub burning and completely overstimulated. “Cum for me, darlin’. Cum all over this cock. Contractor wants to see what kind of mess this pussy makes.”

A scream ripped through the kitchen as you came hard, clenching your walls tightly around him. Joel kept fucking you straight through the aftershocks, getting desperate, snapping his hips and heavy balls against your ass in uneven slams until he finally buried himself to the hilt, spilling his hot cum, pulse after pulse, filling you so completely you felt the warmth bloom through your womb.

He collapsed against your back, keeping his dick buried deep inside you, softening but his erection not fully gone yet. “Jesus Christ, darlin’… what the hell you doin’ to me? Contractor ain’t supposed to work this hard.”

But you weren’t done. Not even close. The high of your orgasm thrummed in your veins, but beneath it was still an ache. You shifted under him, pulling away from the counter, slipping his cock halfway out. Joel tried to steady himself. “Wait—hold up—”

You turned to watch the tired look on his face. “I told you, Mr. Miller. My husband hasn’t satisfied me in years. You think one good fuck is gonna fix years of being neglected just like that?”

“Darlin’, I just—You’re not really neglected and I— hell, I just filled you—”

You didn’t care, because you knew Joel could take it. And so, you shoved him into one of the kitchen chairs, straddling his lap before he could protest. You slid his cock, wet with a mix of his creamy cum and your arousal from the first round, right back inside you with a lewd squelch. 

“Jesus, fuck! Too much—” He felt too much sensitivity on his cock, the burning made him feel like the red tip was on fire, every dragging velvet ripple of your walls over him, each pulse was multiplied until it felt like your pussy was devouring every last nerve he had left.

“Not enough,” you cut him off as you sank to the hilt. “Not nearly enough, Mr. Miller. You don’t know how starved I’ve been. I’m not done until I say I’m done.” It was as if the character of the lonely housewife had taken over you, and you could feel the desperation as if it was your own.

Joel gripped your waist with bruising force like he was trying to ground himself and slow you down. “Sweetheart—fuck—slow down, I just came—”

Maybe in his twenties he would’ve been fresh as a lettuce, ready to go again without blinking. But now, late forties, not so much. He could still fuck you like a champ with multiple rounds, but after a release like that? Fuck, he needed a second not to feel like his cock was being strangled and set on fire at the same time. But damn it, if he didn’t love it when you acted like a wild little cat, pushing him to give you more, so desperate and greedy for every inch he had to give. It made him want to pin you down and feed you exactly what you were begging for, no matter how sensitive he was or how hard he’d just came.

You lifted your hips and slammed back down on him, riding him with ferocity. Joel squeezed his eyes shut, allowing you to do anything you wanted with his body, overstimulated and trapped in your slick and gripping heat.

“Goddamn woman, you’re—fuck—you’re gonna kill me,” he was breaking as you bounced on him as if you were at the rodeo. “Ain’t right—too sensitive—”

You grabbed his face to force his eyes open. “Look at me. Look at the wife her husband forgot about. Look at how much better you are than him. You’re the only one who can fuck me like this, Mr. Miller. You hear me?”

“I hear you, darlin’. Loud and clear. Fuck—you’re squeezin’ me too tight—”

Joel wanted to reach out and grab your bouncing tits, play with your nipples, but his body didn’t respond to him. He was a mess under you. “Harder,” you demanded. “Grab me harder. Don’t you dare hold back.”

He was overwhelmed to the point of shaking, but still powerless to stop you. Joel clamped his hands down on your ass, digging in hard as he tried to control the chaos of your pace. Every time you dropped down on him, he cried out and jerked his pelvis up involuntarily to meet your lethal rhythm. He felt his member pulsing inside you, and suddenly he was fighting not to cum again so fast. “Shit—shit! I can’t… gonna—”

“Don’t you dare finish yet,” you snapped through your moans. “You’ll give me every inch, every drop. I’m not starving anymore.”

Joel was caught between agony and ecstasy. “God almighty, you’re insatiable… fuckin’ insatiable—”

You made sure to ground your clit against his pubic bone with every slam. The overstimulation of him inside you was pushing you higher and higher, until you broke, cumming hard all over him again. You soaked his thighs with the juices that gushed out of you, milking his cock, aching for another one of his big and thick loads, those that made you feel warm all over your lower belly, knowing he was painting your womb and insides in white.

“Fuck, darlin’, I—” Joel cracked, and he came for the second time tonight, helpless against the force of his release, seizing as he spilt warm ropes of his seed inside you again. He was overstimulated to hell, but he couldn’t stop pumping you full until there was more than your tight little hole could even hold, until he was sure he’d emptied his balls.

His cum overflowed almost instantly, so sticky, dripping down his balls in pearly trails. You clenched around him, trying to keep it all in, but it was useless. Between the first load and this one, you were far too full, and his seed pushed out around his still-buried cock in messy streams, coating both of you in a milky spill.

Still, you didn’t stop. You rode out every shudder until Joel was holding you like his life depended on it, gasping into your neck. Finally, after a couple of minutes, you slowed and collapsed against his chest. He instantly wrapped his arms tight around you, splaying one hand across your damp back, still gripping your hip like he wasn’t quite ready to let go with the other. Every tiny movement of his softening cock inside you made him wince.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’,” he scratched his stubble against your temple, pressing his face there. “You’re tryin’ to kill me. That’s what this is. Not roleplay, goddamn homicide.”

You laughed against his neck. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Joel huffed, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if he should kill you or kiss you senseless for being the best girlfriend a man could ask for. “Sweetheart, I came twice in a span of fifteen minutes. Twice. You damn near rode the soul outta me.”

You smiled, but your arms wound tighter around his shoulders, melting against his. “And you loved every second.”

Joel rested his forehead against yours. “Yeah. I loved it. Don’t mean I ain’t walkin’ funny tomorrow.”

You laughed again, softer this time, kissing the corner of his mouth. His lips chased yours lazily, pressing a lingering kiss to your jaw, then another to your cheek. He sighed into your skin, smoothing his rough palms over your back in long strokes like he was trying to calm both of you down.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet. “You get so into it.”

“Into what?” you traced lazy patterns on his chest with your fingers.

“This roleplay stuff,” he said, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Nurse… contractor. Hell, I thought I’d feel stupid as hell, but you just… you dive right in. Don’t even hesitate. You make it feel real.”

You kissed his collarbone, feeling your lips curve against his skin. “That’s the fun of it. I get to play someone else for a while. And you…” You lifted your head, catching his eyes. “You get to let go a little.”

Joel studied you, brushing your damp hair off your face. “Maybe I do.”

You pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Of course you do. Look at you today, you nailed it. The whole ‘’m gonna give ya what’cha husband can’t’ act?” you added, slipping into a playful imitation of his drawl, exaggerating his accent just enough to tease him. “Was spot on.”

Joel chuckled. “Yeah, well. Don’t get too excited. ’m too old to be fuckin’ like this on a counter, sweetheart. My back’s gonna be talkin’ to me all week.”

You laughed softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Guess we’re gonna have to call a chiropractor so she can pay you a visit soon. Lucky for you I know a good one who will treat you real nice. Great hands too.”

Joel groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder with a laugh that vibrated through your chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And your life would be very boring if it wasn't for me.”

If you want some more you can read my Nurse x Patient roleplay fic with Joel

Follow my updates account @cinnxmxngxrlupdates so you won’t miss any new fics

A/N: Currently enjoying a little vacation at the beach, but I was sooo excited to write another roleplay fic so I prepared most of this waiting at the airport before my trip, and finished it here. Is there anything better than writing with the sound of waves crashing? Probably not.

His jaw worked as if he could chew the blame out. “Meant to… got distracted. Thought we had enough to make it back.”

The truck sputtered like it was laughing at him before finally giving out altogether, and Joel cursed under his breath as he guided it to the side of the snowy road. The snow was hammering against the windshield, and it was impossible to ignore it.

“Perfect,” you said, hugging your arms to your chest as the cold seeped in. “Really perfect, Miller.”

Joel tipped his head back against the seat, sighing through his nose. “You done?”

“Not even close.”

But as the wind howled outside and the frost crept across the inside of the glass, your argument dwindled into silence. Joel switched off the useless ignition, “Alright, we’ll wait till the storm passes.”

“In here?”

“You got a better idea? We’ll head out when it clears.” He glanced at you. “Ain’t safe walkin’ out there right now.”

You swallowed, looking at the snow clawing at the windows. He wasn’t wrong. Still, your fingers were already numb. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Joel climbed into the backseat first, pushing bags aside to make space, then tipped his chin for you to follow. You crawled back, curling beside him under one of the old wool blankets stashed behind the seats. It wasn’t enough, but it was all you had.

“Christ,” you muttered, shivering hard.

Joel slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him, his body radiating heat. He rubbed slow circles on your arm through your coat. “Better?”

“A little.”

“Need t’keep warm. Stay close.”

“Joel,” you said, as his hand started straying down your side.

He smirked against your hair. “Ain’t doin’ nothin’. Just tryin’ t’help. Gotta keep warm, don’t we?”

He didn’t stop moving his hands, they were rubbing up and down your arms, then smoothing over your sides, sneaking lower to grip your hips through your coat. He kneaded you there, brushing his thumbs so close to the seam of your jeans that you shot him a sharp look.

“It’s freezing here, you even think about takin’ off my pants and I’ll cut your hand off.”

Joel chuckled. “What? I’m just touchin’. Nothin’ wrong with a little extra heat.”

“Joel.”

“Alright, alright.” He lifted his hand, but there was mischief in his eyes. “Ain’t takin’ nothin’ off.” A beat. “Even if my balls are ‘bout to fall off from how goddamn cold it is in here.”

You snorted despite yourself, burying your face in his chest to muffle the laugh. “You’re disgusting.”

“Just honest,” he said, grinning. “Can’t sit still when you’re shiverin’ like that.” He pressed his palms flat against your stomach, sliding up beneath your coat until he could feel the heat of you through your sweater. “See? Warmin’ you up.”

The blanket shifted as he tugged it tighter around both of you, curling his big arms protectively over you. “Fine. Do whatever you want, but clothes stay on, it’s too cold.” You said.

Joel’s eyes darkened in a way that made warmth flicker low in your belly despite the frost. “Yeah? Whatever I want?”

“Clothes stay on,” you repeated firmly.

He didn’t waste time, he slid his palm down your hip, over your thigh, and between your legs where the fabric of your jeans was cold. You gasped, shivering at the contrast of his heat rubbing gentle circles.

“Your poor pussy’s freezin’,” he murmured, almost mockingly tender. “Gonna warm her up f’you.”

You shifted. “Then I get to warm you too.”

Joel’s grin cracked wider. “That right?”

You swung one leg over his lap, straddling him in the cramped backseat. His hands immediately anchored to your hips, guiding you down until you could feel the thick press of him straining against the denim.

“Jesus,” he groaned. “You’re hot as a damn stove.”

You ground down, settling him right against your cunt. He was hard, and the slow press of you over him made both of you tremble with something that had nothing to do with the cold. Joel slid his hand back between your thighs, cupping you over your jeans with the rough heel of his palm, tracing lazily his thumb along the seam, pressing right where you ached. You could feel him already, hard against your stomach through both your layers, and his smirk deepened when he noticed you stiffen.

“See that?” he drawled, pressing up just enough for you to feel the shape of him. “That’s me sacrificin’ what’s left of my blood circulation to keep us warm.”

“Mm,” you breathed, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “Better.”

“Better,” he echoed roughly. “Goddamn storm might just kill me if you keep this up.”

You rocked over him, his cock nestled against you through denim. Joel’s hand never left you, his palm was keeping your cunt warm while you kept him hot and heavy inside those jeans.

“You’re so good t’me, baby,” his voice was raspy. “Keepin’ me alive out here.”

You bit his neck lightly, muffling your own sound of pleasure. “Don’t get too overexcited. Clothes stay on, Miller.”

“Mm,” he grunted, gripping your ass tight with one of his big hands. “Just warmin’ you up.” He slipped it lower again, cupping you right between your legs. “See? Can’t have my girl freezin’.”

You gasped, twitching your hips into the heat of him. “Joel—”

“Shhh.” He cut you off with his mouth, kissing you roughly, sweeping his tongue into yours, his beard scraping your chin. He kept his hand firm between your legs, rubbing lazy circles over your jeans.

“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your body betrayed you, it was grinding down on its own against his hand.

Joel groaned. “That’s it. Use my hand. Ride it. Warm yourself up, baby.” He pressed his thumb right against your seam, the friction was maddening through denim. “Fuck.” He used his free hand to grab your ass, dragging you harder against him. “You’re burnin’ me up, girl.”

He rocked his hips again, slower this time, making sure you felt every inch of him through. “Better than freezin’ our asses off sittin’ still, ain’t it?”

You narrowed your eyes, though your pulse thudded hard in your throat. “You’re unbelievable.”

His palm smoothed down over your thigh, urging you to move faster. “C’mon, baby. Little friction never hurt anybody.”

His breath caught as you picked up speed, and he gave a rough chuckle that sounded half-strangled.

“There you go,” he murmured, cupping the back of your neck, holding you close as he thrust up gently to meet your grind. “That’s it.”

The truck windows rattled with the wind outside, snow battering down hard, but in that cramped backseat, the world narrowed to the slow rub of his cock against your core.

Joel groaned. “Christ, feels like I’m seventeen again.”

You stilled, blinking at him. “What?”

He grinned. “Back of a truck, clothes on, a pretty girl in my lap. All we’re missin’ is a six-pack and some bad country music.”

You smacked his arm, harder than playful. “You’re an ass.”

“Hey now,” he said, laughing as he rubbed the spot you’d hit, though he never stopped moving his hips under yours. “That was unprovoked.”

“Don’t wanna picture you doing this with another woman.”

“Darlin’, that was two lifetimes ago.” He said, chuckling low. “And none of them were as pretty as you are. You got no reason to be jealous.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile, but your body betrayed you as you ground harder down on him. His hands shot to your ass, gripping it tight, guiding your rhythm until the rub turned steadier.

“Goddamn,” he pressed his forehead to yours. “This—fuck, this is better’n any fire.”

His jeans were rough under you, but the thick bulge beneath gave you just enough pressure to make your clit throb. You rolled your hips faster, and Joel slid his hand back between your thighs once more, pressing against your pussy through the fabric until you gasped.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed, stroking you with his thumb in slow circles. “Keep ridin’ my hand. Keep me warm.”

The friction built between you, each drag wetter, every time you rolled your hips, he bucked up, your breaths fogging up the glass until Joel gave a strangled laugh. “Jesus,” Joel rasped, as you rocked harder, chasing the friction. “Feel that, baby? Soakin’ me right through.”

You bit down on your lip. The truth was undeniable, the front of your jeans was damp, and so was his.

Joel smirked. “Look at you, makin’ a mess with your clothes still on. What’s that say about you, huh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, rocking harder against him, earning a ragged groan.

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” he teased, though his voice was breaking, strained with the effort of holding back. You clutched at his shoulders, moaning as the pace grew filthier.

“Y’know,” he drawled, “it’s gonna be a hell of a lot warmer for both of us if I just put it inside.”

Your whole body went hot at his words, even as you clenched tighter on his shoulders. “Joel,” you warned.

He grinned against your cheek, his cock grinding thick and insistent against your soaked core. “Think about it, baby. You keep me warm, I keep you warm. Fair trade, ain’t it?” He shifted his hips, letting you feel the full weight of him straining through denim, the blunt head dragging right over your clit. “Don’t need t’take a damn thing off. Just slip in… stay there. We’d both be toast in no time.”

You fumbled his jeans open just enough, tugging them low so his cock sprang free into the chill air, making him grunt at the cold.

“Christ,” Joel hissed, teeth bared. “You’re really tryin’ to kill me.”

You shoved down your own jeans just far enough, pushing your panties to the side to bare your wet heat to the frigid air. You both hissed at the cold, but then you straddled him again, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, and sank down just enough to sheath him inside you.

The stretch stole your breath, and the second he was seated deep, both of you groaned at the same time.

“Jesus,” Joel breathed, “Like a fuckin’ furnace. You’re savin’ my life right now, baby girl.”

You clutched his coat, burying your face in his neck as his arms locked around you. The heat was perfect, your cunt clutching him tight, his cock pulsing steadily inside you. Neither of you moved, you were just soaking each other in, sharing warmth in the most intimate way.

Joel’s hand didn’t leave your pussy. He cupped you even with him buried inside, keeping his palm pressed against your mound, rubbing little circles that warmed every inch of you. Stroking this thumb over your clit over the stretched fabric of your panties.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “My hand keepin’ you warm, my cock keepin’ me alive. Hell of a system we got here.”

You whimpered, shifting slightly and squeezing him tighter in the process. “God, Joel.”

He kissed you again, sucking your lower lip before biting it lightly. His hips twitched despite himself, grinding up into you with a curse.

He was buried deep inside you, his length was filling you perfectly, making your thighs lock tight around his hips. The only barrier left was the half-bunched denim clinging to your legs and your underwear pulled to the side. You could feel him twitch now and then, just a little pulse that told you just how much he was holding back.

You smiled into his coat and pressed your cheek to the fabric. “You’re warm.”

“You’re warmer,” he said without missing a beat, giving your mound a gentle squeeze with his hand. “Like a little oven between your legs.”

You snorted. “Romantic.” The truck groaned again as the storm pressed harder. “You think the storm’ll last long?” you murmured.

“Could be hours,” Joel said, giving your pussy another small rub, not sexual so much as grounding. “Maybe all night.”

You hummed, and the movement made you squeeze him without meaning to. Joel sucked in a breath, tightening his hand on your thigh.

“Careful,” he warned with a rough voice. “You clench like that, we ain’t gonna be talkin’ no more.”

The silence settled for a few minutes, the only sound your breaths mingling, the wind howling, and the creak of the truck.

“You warm enough?” he asked finally.

“Yeah. You?”

Joel huffed. “Sweetheart, you’re sittin’ on my dick. I’m about as warm as a man can get.” That earned you a laugh that made your body shake around him, and he groaned dramatically. “Storm like this…” He exhaled, trying to regain his composure. “Reminds me of one back when me an’ Tommy got ourselves stuck outside Austin.”

You tilted your head against his chest, smiling faintly. “What, you two forgot to fill the truck then, too?”

“Mm,” his lips twitched against your forehead. “Don’t start. Weren’t my fault this time. Back then, we were huntin’, got caught up in a rainstorm, ended up stranded in some old shed.”

You shifted slightly, and the motion made him groan under his breath. “What’d you do?”

“What d’you think? Built a fire, argued over who got the biggest blanket, near froze our asses off anyway.” He chuckled. “Tommy wouldn’t shut up. Kept sayin’ he could hear wolves. Swore he saw eyes in the treeline. Wolves in Austin, how ridiculous is that? Told him if the wolves wanted us, they could have him first.”

You laughed softly. “You’re terrible.”

“Survival of the fittest, darlin’,” Joel smirked.

“Very fit,” you teased, giving his chest a playful pat. “Even if you’re forgetting to fill the tank these days.”

Joel scoffed. “You ain’t ever lettin’ me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He brushed your hairline again with his lips, and he flexed his hand over your pussy almost unconsciously, reminding you exactly where you were. The warmth of his palm, the solid weight of his cock pulsing inside you, it all blurred together, teasing at the edge of stillness.

Joel’s voice dropped. “Back then… couldn’t’ve imagined this. Bein’ stuck in the cold with somebody worth sharin’ the heat with.” He shifted, just a little, and the stretch of him inside you made you gasp. His eyes flicked down. “Now looka’me. Got the best goddamn heater sittin’ right in my lap.”

“Joel,” you whispered, but he kissed you before you could say more, sliding his tongue against yours, scratching your chin with his beard. The kiss deepened quickly, and he pressed his hand harder between your thighs until your hips rocked helplessly.

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, breaking the kiss to bury his mouth against your throat. “Can’t just sit here anymore. You’re drivin’ me crazy, baby.”

You braced one hand against his shoulder, the other clutched at the blanket slipping from your body. Joel’s big hands gripped your hips, and they guided you steadily as you sank down again, burying him to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s it, baby girl. Take me. Just like that.”

Your coats were brushing, sweaters rubbing together, the friction hot despite the freezing air. You rolled your hips, and you quickly found a rhythm that had his breath catching. Joel’s gaze snapped back to you, sliding his hands up from your hips to your waist, then even higher, spreading his palms over your sweater-covered tits. He squeezed them roughly, kneading the soft flesh through the wool until you moaned. His thumbs dragged across your nipples, and even through the sweater, it made you arch into him.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Knew these tits’d keep me warm. Look a’cha, bouncin’ on me, makin’ me lose my goddamn mind.”

You whimpered, grinding down harder, the angle felt perfect with his cock dragging deep against your walls. His hands never left your chest. He kept kneading, groping, and playing with you like he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Joel,” your voice was breaking as you rode him faster.

“Mm, I hear you, baby,” he leaned forward to suck at your neck. He slid back down, one of his hands between you, pressing it over your mound again, his thumb found your clit, and it rubbed tight little circles that made you cry out.

“Oh my god—”

“That’s it,” Joel encouraged. “Clenchin’ on me so good. You’re gonna cum f’me right here.”

Your hips stuttered as the pleasure built. He kneaded your tits harder, grunting into your throat as he thrust up to meet your bounces, the rhythm turning frantic and messy.

“Take it, baby girl,” Joel panted. “Take my cock. Ride me ‘til you can’t breathe.”

Your moans came higher now, your body was tightening around him with every grind. The blanket slipped off completely, but Joel was everywhere, inside you, under you, around you, keeping you hot.

“Fuck—fuck, Joel—” you gasped as you felt your climax tearing through you, making you clutch his coat in both fists. Your pussy fluttered around him, soaking him as it did, and your whole body shook as you came hard on his cock.

Joel groaned deeply. He dragged you down to grind himself into your spasming heat. “Good girl. That’s it, baby. Cum on me. Warm me up, fuckin’ ruin me.”

You collapsed into his chest, trembling, while Joel kept working his thumb in gentle circles over your clit, drawing out every last wave until you whined from overstimulation. You were still shaking from your orgasm when you felt him buck hard underneath you. His cock was still rock solid inside, twitching, and you realized he was barely holding himself together.

“Goddamn, babygirl… squeezin’ me so tight… not sure how much longer I can hold it.”

Your cunt still fluttered around him, despite being overstimulated, and that alone nearly finished him. You shifted on his lap, rolling your hips, feeling his cock drag inside you again, and Joel hissed through his teeth.

“That’s it. Don’t you stop now,” he clamped his hands down on your ass, dragging you harder against him. “Ride me, baby girl. Milk me dry. Want me to keep you warm? I’ll do it, fuck, I’ll do it the only way I know how.”

You whimpered, starting up that rhythm again, rocking back and forth in his lap. The fabric of his sweater rasped deliciously against your clit, still sensitive, but Joel’s cock filling you over and over made it impossible to stop.

“Good girl,” he groaned, leaning his forehead to yours. “Gonna pump you full’a my cum, sweetheart. Let it spill outta you. Fill you so deep it keeps you warm all goddamn night.”

Your moan broke, and Joel cursed, jerking his hips up beneath you. “Fuck, that’s it—bounce f’me, c’mon, lemme feel it—”

You obeyed, riding him faster, bouncing messily on his cock, your thighs were burning, and every movement was pushing him closer.

“Oh, fuck—can’t—gonna fill this sweet cunt—” Your body clenched again, and Joel lost it. “Fuck—fuck, here it comes… take it, baby, take all of it—”

He slammed you down hard, burying himself deep, his cock throbbing as he spilled inside you with a groan that shook his whole chest. His cum shoots in massive ropes, coating your insides with his hot seed.

“Goddamn… warm you up real good,” he panted, bucking his hips through the aftershocks. “Fillin’ you so deep… can feel it spillin’ out already. That’s it. Keep it inside. Stay nice an’ full f’me.”

You whimpered, clutching his coat, grinding slowly as you felt his thick release flooding you, mixing with your own wetness, soaking both your bodies despite the layers of clothes still clinging.

Joel kissed your temple, still breathless, still deep inside you, spreading his big hand wide over your pussy possessively.

“Storm can last all it wants,” he whispered. “Ain’t nothin’ warmer than keepin’ my cum in ya.”

You stayed like that, with his cock still buried inside you, his hand cupping your pussy, his cum leaking between you, as the truck rocked gently with the wind outside. But Joel didn’t let go. Didn’t even think about pulling out.

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A/N: AHHH FIRST JOEL FIC OF KINKTOBER!!! I really hope you enjoy it🩷 I’m such a sucker for dry humping and cockwarming (I don’t think I’ve ever written cockwarming before), so I absolutely loved writing this one.

Thank you so much for reading! Any support would mean so much to me! I worked really hard throughout September to keep up with my usual updates and to pull together 15 fanfics for Kinktober. So please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts on the fics, reading your comments makes me so happy🥹🥹

“For the love of God,” you mutter, sitting up on your bed. “Couldn’t he at least, move his bed away from the shared wall? Or schedule the symphonies for…” you glance at the red-glowing digits on your nightstand. 1:00am. “…hours that aren’t to sleep.”

Your pillow is already half off the bed as you bury your face in it to muffle the sounds. Sex couldn’t be thatgood, you think, as another thump reverberates like a strange, patient earthquake.

You clamp the pillow over your ears harder—but it’s no use. You can still hear a rhythm, distant but steady, and beneath it, the tiny, infuriating detail: Caleb’s laughter, bright and boyish, cutting through. 

That sound snaps whatever polite restraint you’d been patching together into sharp little pieces.

You fling the pillow aside. Tights twisting, heart pounding, you march out of your room and aim straight to his. 

You don’t hesitate, you raise your fist and knock so hard the cheap wood answers back with a hollow thud. “Do you know what time it is, for fuck’s sake?!” you bark, voice raw and flat with fury. 

No answers come.

The only thing that tells you you’ve been heard is the groan of the mattress like an old ship settling. And for a ridiculous, furious second you consider that this could be your victory. 

You already picture yourself trudging back to your bed, collapsing, sleep swooping—

The door swings open before you can celebrate. 

Caleb stands there in the doorway, half-naked and annoyingly unbothered, a pillow strategically pressed to hide whatever decency remains. 

“What the—” escapes you, but it dies in your chest when your eyes sweep his room: clothes in a chaotic spill, a lamp askew, and a girl sprawled over his bed. Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets when you notice several used condoms on the floor.

Heat stabs your face—not from embarrassment but from acute, stupid fury. And maybe… arousal.

Caleb tilts his head, amused. He doesn’t look remotely embarrassed too—even though, he should be. He smirks, that infuriating, cocky half-smile that says he knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t care.

“Wanna join?” he says, the words sliding out with casual malice

You feel your jaw tighten until it hurts. “Are you kidding me?” you snap. “It’s one in the morning, you inconsiderate—” your voice drops venomous. You step forward until you’re a breath from him. “Do you even own a clock? Decency??”

He laughs, leaning into the doorway to be a smug silhouette and hiding the girl’s quivering thighs. “Relax, you’re dramatic tonight. Go back to bed and stop being so uptight.”

Uptight.

Up.tight.

The word skitters off him like oil and echoes in your head. Your hands ball into fists at your sides. “Uptight, huh?” you spit. “You think I’m dramatic? You’re the one playing percussion with our shared wall like it’s the rehearsal for a porno.”

He blinks, still smiling. “We’re adults,” he says, as if it settles everything. “We do adult things.”

“Adults don’t keep other adults awake,” your eyes narrow at the sweat dripping down the side of his neck. “They respect shared spaces, Caleb. They respect roommates.”

“Noted,” he shrugs, dragging the word out, deliciously insincere. “But, maybe, next time you can join the fun instead of policing it.”

Your blood rushes. For a dizzy second you imagine saying the worst thing you can think of… and for another dizzy second you find yourself wondering if sex could really be that good, again. But this time with Caleb’s broad frame over you and—

You shake your head, biting your nails into your palm, trying as much as you can to tether yourself to earth. “You moved your bed against the wall on purpose,” you tell him, meeting his bright purple gaze. “Move it back. Or I’ll file a noise complaint and won’t be nice about it.”

He shrugs again, the pillow still pressed under his lower body. “I’ll think about it,” he takes a step back, and before turning away he tosses: “Thanks for the midnight visit. You always bring such energy, pipsqueak.”

Then, as if punctuation were unnecessary, he flashes you his round ass and doesn’t even bother to close the door.

“Talk of delirious conversation.” You talk through your teeth, returning to your room fluming harder than when you left. 

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Next morning you’re gone before the sun even bothers to rise fully, slipping out of the apartment with your bag slung over your shoulder. No breakfast, no coffee, no ‘good morning.’ You don’t even give yourself the chance to hear if he’s snoring or not. You’re absolutely not in the mood to look at his deranged face after last night. 

And Caleb? Oh, Caleb is disappointed. His eyes flutter open to an empty living room and the sound of your bedroom door firmly shut. No playful banter, no glaring, not even a muttered insult for him to feed off.

“That’s cold he mumbles into his pillow, rolling over with a groan. But then his expression shifts… “Well, at least this gives me plenty of time for my favorite hobby.”

He stretches like a cat, drags himself out of bed stark naked, and announces to absolutely no one, “PANTIES TOUUUUUUR!!” His voice booms through the apartment with an enthusiasm that belongs more to a game show host than a man living with another human being.

He marches to the laundry basket. Going to your cleaned clothes wasn’t an option—he wanted something freshly worn by you. He digs through it with the reverence of an archaeologist on the brink of discovery, lifting each piece of clothing one by one. A sock? Tossed aside. A hoodie? Boring. 

His grin widens, boyish and filthy as he plucks up a delicate scrap of fabric.

“Ohhhhh, my sweet little roommate,” he croons, holding your laced little panties up in the air. He presses them to his face, inhaling, eyes rolling back. “Ah, smells like pure divinity,” he sighs.

He parades around the apartment with his prize, his bare feet slapping lazily against the floor. The pillows he’d used last night, and the crumpled sheets are already tumbling in the machine, sacrificed to the illusion of cleanliness, but this little trophy? This, he’s not letting go of.

He hums tunelessly as he twirls the fabric on his finger, the way someone else might spin car keys. When he flops onto the ouch, he does it with a dramatic groan, one arm thrown over his forehead, the panties clutched to his chest. 

“Why’d you leave so early, huh?” he says out loud, talking to the ceiling. “You know I need my morning fix. A glare, a curse, a shove into the fridge door… anything!” he shifts suddenly upright, shaking the panties in accusation. “Don’t you get it, pipsqueak? I need you.” 

His voice dips, carrying the filth that feeds his disturbed mind. “Even if it’s just to scream at me while I do this—”

muffling the sound directly against your panties. He presses his mouth hard to the fabric, kissing them. His lips drag along the lace, open-mouthed and hungry, leaving damp heat behind. He bites the edge gently, then sucks it between his teeth as it was your tongue.

 His tongue was slow at first, but it quickly became rougher—obscene and sweet in his own way of savoring. He licks up the seam, hips twitching faintly as if his body can’t help responding.

His mouth isn’t moving with careful curiosity. 

It’s confident.

The confidence of a man who’s done it before. Many times. Every motion has that practiced filthiness—the greedy inhale against the pantie, the way he turns it in his hands so he can mouth at the gusset more deeply, dragging his lips over it again and again. 

His breath turns ragged the longer he goes. His free hand slips down without hesitation, wrapping around his cock and dragging it out hard and heavy, flushed to a painful red. The obscene sound of his pre-cum lubing him up fills the quiet apartment as he fists himself with desperate speed, sloppy—just raw need. 

“Fuuuck—” he gasps against them. “That’s it… that’s so fucking good…” His tongue pushes through the lace again, lapping at the damp seam like he could taste you on it if he worked hard enough. He drools onto the fabric without shame, saliva soaking in and smearing across his face, making it stick wetly against his skin. He laughs — cracked and manic — his hips bucking into his own fist, precum spilling over his knuckles and dripping down his shaft.

He shuts his eyes tight, grinding the panties harder into his face, biting the fabric like he wants to eat it whole. His voice is broken as it pours out between clenched teeth: “Fuck—fuck, give it to me… give me that smell… oh god, I fucking need it.”

He strokes faster—the wet slap of his cock in his hand, the snuffling sorts against the lace, the breathless whines breaking out of his throat is a filthy mixture echoing around the apartment.

It’s disgusting.

The kind of feral, degrading ritual of a man who’s done this way too many times, who’s ruined too many pairs of your underwear in exactly this way.

When he finally spills, it’s violent. No less. Hot cum is spilling over his red hand, his naked stomach, his pants. He jerks and bucks until it streaks across the couch cushion beneath him too, the mess soaking into the fabric. His moan rips out of him raw and guttural, teeth sinking into the gusset, smearing it with spit.

And when he collapses back, chest heaving, he’s grinning—completely satisfied. He drags the panties down from his face, strings of spit clinging, then presses one last sloppy kiss right to the soaked crotch. 

And as if it couldn’t get any filthier, Caleb puts the pantie on his own mess, cleaning himself the best he could before bringing back the fabric to his tongue. 

He moans, savoring the sour-salty taste of his own mess mingled with the faint ghost of your scent.

“Perfect,” he pants. “So perfect, you have no idea…”

He lays there in the wreckage, cum cooling on his skin, panties balled in his fist. 

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It’s late when you finally make it home. The hallway is quiet, the kind that makes you hope Caleb’s already asleep. You unlock the door slowly, bracing yourself, praying you won’t see him sprawled on the couch, smirking.

Or worse.

The second you step inside, you heart it. The worse.

A laugh, his laugh, floating from his bedroom. And then another sound follows: the high-pitched giggle of a girl. Thin walls don’t lie.

You stop in the entryway, keys clutched too tight in your hand. Already your stomach is knots. Of course he has someone in there. Just like every single night in the last two weeks. And of course, he’s doing this at the exact same time you come home. 

You’re starting to think he’s doing this on purpose. 

And right on cue, as if summoned, his voice carries through the drywall. It’s loud and exaggerated, dripping with smugness. “Ohh, fuck, yeah. Just like that. Open your mouth wider. . . Yeahhh, gooood.”

A wet, gagging sound follows, timed so well it makes you flinch. You move stiffly past his door, jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But the second you drop your bag beside your bed with a heavy thud, you freeze.

“Careful, princess,” Caleb calls, voice playful now. “My roommate’s home. She’s probably listening right now.”

Your whole body jolts with heat—fury, embarrassment, something sharper. You bite your lip hard until you taste copper.

The sounds keep going. Sloppy sucking, choked moans, his voice praising filthily between chuckles. And the damn headboard thudding at what seems an animalistic rhythm.

“That’s it, baby… take it… take it all.” He groans so loud it rattles in your teeth. “Mmm, fuck, my roommate’s probably red as a tomato right now. Cute little thing.”

You slap your hands over your ears, pulse hammering, face burning. You can’t tell what’s worse—that he’s doing it to taunt you, or that some ugly, humiliating part of you is reacting at all.

Your thighs rub together in frantic little shifts, desperate friction against nothing. Your chest rises and falls too fast, nails biting into your sheets. You hate it—hate that your body is betraying you while his voice keeps bleeding through the wall, gravelly and hot, every word landing right between your legs. 

“Just like that,” he growls out loud. And you swear it’s for you to hear. Not even for the girl he seems to fuck senseless. “You’re such a good slut.”

Your stomach drops. Your throat burns. But something in you snaps.

Your hand slips between your thighs before you can stop it. Shaky fingers drag over your underwear, already embarrassingly damp. The shame is instant, but the relief of pressure makes you whimper before you can choke it back. You circle your clit in tiny, frantic movements, shallow and light, terrified of making noise. 

Your breath stutters against your pillow, sharp little gasps swallowed into cotton. 

It’s just stress. Just so I can sleep, you lie to yourself.

You bite down on the sheet the second your fingers slip under the fabric and graze your clit directly. Your whole body seizes. He can’t know. He can’t.

You clamp your thighs tighter, slick and messy as your fingers move faster, louder, the obscene sound wetting the air. Shame curls molten in your belly, burning through you, and still, you can’t stop.

And unfortunately, it’s not enough. You’re too wound up, too far gone—too fucked out on his voice. You reach under the bed blindly, tugging out the vibrator you swore you’d never need because of him.

But here you are.

The hum fills the room, loud to your ears, and you panic—you shove a pillow over it and grind the toy against your sensitive part anyway. The pleasure hits hard, back arching at the electric shock. It rips through you so fast you moan before you can stop yourself. 

Mortification shreds through you. You clap a hand over your mouth, tears pricking your eyes, but your hips are rolling against the vibrator like they have a mind of their own. Your fingers slide inside you, messy and needy, fucking yourself in time with the rhythm of skin slapping on the other side of the wall. 

His rhythm. 

His game.

The thought makes you burn. 

You’re writhing above the sheets, a soaked, pathetic mess, shame and want tangled until you can’t tell one from the other. Every wet squelch of your fingers, every buzzing grind of the toy is louder than your heartbeat.

“That’s it,” Caleb’s voice cut through everything. It’s husky and curling right into your ear, halting your frantic movements. “Be louder for me, pipsqueak.”

Your heart slam in against your ribcage. Mortification chokes you, but it only fuels the need clawing under your skin. You grind down against the toy, your slick fingers working yourself open, sobs catching in your chest as shame pools hot in your gut. Tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision, soaking your pillow. 

You’re so lost in everything; your mind doesn’t wonder why he’s calling after you instead of the girl he’s supposedly fucking. 

Because right now, it feels like he’s inside your room. Inside your head. Inside you.

The headboard on his side slams again, so hard your wall rattles, perfectly in rhythm with the frantic buzzing between your legs. His voice comes again, ragged this time, like he’s getting off just from hearing you break. “Mmm, I can hear it, you know. The way you’re dripping all over your sheets. Filthy little roommate can’t even help herself.”

A strangled cry tears from your throat—you shove your face into the pillow, body arching, thighs shaking around the vibrator. The pressure building inside you is unbearable, so sharp it borders on pain. 

Your fingers curl deep, your wrist aching, the toy grinding ruthless against your clit, and you realize in some distant, horrified corner of your mind that not only you’re timing yourself with the endless slam of his bed but also his voice.

Every word he spits through the wall makes you go faster, harder. 

“God, you sound so pretty when you fall apart,” he groans, and this time it feels real. Not a performance nor a show. It feels it’s just for you and only you. “Cum for me. Right now.”

Heat detonates inside you, violent and overwhelming, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that makes your vision go white. You convulse against your bed, sticky and soaked, your thighs squeezing the toy so tight it squeals against your skin. Slick gushes down your hand, coating your fingers, the sound of it obscene in the room. 

It doesn’t stop.

Wave after wave, it keeps crashing into you.

And through it all, you recall little pants following with a single broken growl.

And just as you think you can breathe again, his voice drifts through, soft and poisonous, curling into the rawest part of you: “Sweet dreams, pipsqueak.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The shower runs longer than it should. Scalding water, steam filling the bathroom, your hands scrubbing your skin raw as if you can erase what happened last night. As if shame washes off as easily as sweat. 

When you step out, your body is red from the heat, hair dripping, towel wrapped tight around you. You breathe deep, trying to calm the hammering in your chest. 

You open the door—

“Well, well,” Caleb leans against the hallway wall, one shoulder propped, mug dangling in his hand, purple eyes cutting to you the instant you appear. His gaze sweeps down slow taking on your dripping hair, bare shoulders, towel clutched too tight against your damp skin, the thin strip of thigh peeking when you shift. “Morning really is good, huh?”

Your throat tightens. You grip the towel harder. “Move.”

His head tilts slightly, gaze lingering far too long where the terrycloth curves over your chest. “You always come out looking like this?” his voice drips, curling filth and amusement together. 

Heat flares up your neck, traitorous and hot. You force your eyes anywhere but him—at the mug, the floor, anywhere. “Caleb,” you bite out, “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Mmm.” He steps closer. The air crackles, your pulse jumping, his grin widening. “Funny, ‘cause last night you were doing a lot.”

Your stomach plummets. The words hit like a punch, shame flooding hot in your chest. You want to scream, shove him. But instead, you choose to play his games. If you were going to feel shame, being humiliated… you wouldn’t be the only one.

You lift your chin, meeting his stare head-on. “And what about you?” your voice comes sharp. “Jacking yourself off like some creep in your room? Using some poor audio to make me think a girl was with you? Pfff, pathetic.”

Caleb freezes for the briefest flicker of a second, smile twitching at the edges—before he darts out his tongue, licking his bottom lip. 

The tension spikes. His gaze doesn’t move from yours, but you feel it everywhere, crawling over your towel, tugging heat low in your stomach against your will.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric. You take a step forward at the same he does—your chests almost colliding, the air suddenly electric you find it hard to breathe. “You’re disgusting, Caleb. And if you think I’d ever let you touch me—” you let your eyes flick down to his mug, then back up, a sharp smirk of your own breaking through. “I’d rather pour that coffee over my crotch.”

For a moment, you expect another sly grin, another jab… but not seeing his arrogance draining from his voice and speaking with a voice that doesn’t sound like him anymore.

“You’re not really thinking that.” he says with such a petite voice… fragile. 

It throws you off balance. Your smirk falters. “…What?”

He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. His purple eyes dart down your towel, then snap back up to your face with a desperation so naked it almost looks like panic. “Don’t say that…” he whispers. “Don’t—don’t say you’d never let me touch you.”

The heat in your stomach twists into something else. The sudden crack in him makes your grip on the towel tremble.

“You’re not serious,” you try, forcing sharpness into your tone, but it comes out thinner than you want.

But he shakes his head so hard his fluffy hair shifts, and the mug in his hand clatters against the wall when he sets it down too fast. He steps in closer, eyes wide and glassy.

“The fuck is happening,” you murmur to yourself, taking a step back.

“You think I’m teasing but… I need you.” the last words are almost screamed at your face. “I swear, you don’t get it, do you? I can’t—fuck—I can’t stand it when you look at me like you hate me, because I know—” his hand lifts halfway, then stop, trembling in the air as if touching you would be blasphemy. “—I know I’d ruin everything just to feel you once.”

 Your throat dries. Your knees nearly lock. The sheer naked want pouring out of him knocks you back harder than any of his smirks ever could.

And then, before you can form a response, Caleb does something you never thought you’d see: he drops.

Straight down. His knees hit the hardwood with a dull thud, his head bowed for one second before snapping back up, eyes locked on you from below. The hallway light carves shadows into his face, but nothing can hide the wreck of him. His hands fist at his thighs, shaking with the effort of not grabbing your towel, not clutching your skin.

“Don’t tell me never,” he begs, voice breaking in a way you’ve never heard from him. “Say anything else, call me every name you want to, scream at me, hit me—fuck, pour the coffee if you have to. But don’t say I’ll never get to touch you.” his breath is ragged, almost delirious, his words tumbling too fast. He shakes his head, tears pricking up at the corner of his eyes. “Please, I’m just—I’m already half insane just imagining it.”

The towel feels unbearably heavy on your body now, every inch of exposed skin prickling under his stare. 

Your fingers clutch tighter at the terrycloth, knuckles pale. Your mind screams to step back, to slam the bathroom door and lock him out forever. But your body? Your body leans forward.

And maybe he feels it—because his hands twitch, fists pressed to his thighs as if holding himself down. His breath is sharp, uneven, every inhale rattling like he’s starved of air.

“Caleb,” you whisper, half a warning, half a question.

He looks up at you with eyes that no longer gleam smug purple—they burn, wild and frantic. His jaw clenches, unclenches. He looks like he wants to crawl inside your skin just to be closer.

“You don’t… you don’t understand,” he rasps. “Every time you walk past me in that tiny shirt, every time you glare, every time you slam your door—I’m losing my mind. I jerk off just hearing you breathe in your room. I fuck my fist like I’m drowning, imagining what you’d sound like if I had you under me. I don’t even care if you hate me. I just want—” His voice cracks, his head dips against your stomach, forehead brushing the towel. “—I just want to touch you.”

“That’s lame.” you say down at him, but your voice isn’t steady.

He shudders and you catch the twitch under his short. It makes you all more confused. He is fucking turned on by you degrading him.

His hands lift, shaking, hovering close to your hips but no daring to land. His lips part, teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Call me whatever you want, truly.”

Your hand finds its way on his soft hair. You let your nails graze his scalp, tugging his head backward. “And what if I like watching you crawl?”

His laugh is wrecked, breathless. “Then I’ll crawl until my knees bleed if that’s what it takes.” He drags a ragged breath, eyes devouring you. “Don’t shut me out.”

The words hang heavy. You feel dizzy. Alive. Cornered.

Every single emotions fight in you, your thighs press together under the towel, and his gaze darts down instantly, catching the subtle motion.

His breath quickens. His hands finally land—barely, fingertips brushing against the towel’s edge like he’s asking permission without saying the words. He doesn’t pull. He just waits.

And it’s unbearable. The silence, his kneeling frame, your own pulse thrashing. You hear yourself speak before you mean to: “You’re disgusting.”

“Then let me be disgusting,” he begs instantly, no shame, voice cracking at the edges.

Your mouth dries. And that’s when his lips curl again, trembling this time with much less confidence than usual. 

“Didn’t you enjoy last night?” his words drip into you, hitting the deepest part of you. “Just from me talking? From imagining me fucking you? Did you even imagine me fucking you?” His breath hitches, his voice breaking with need. “Tell me truth.”

Your jaw locks, your chest heaves—but the truth burns its way out of you anyway.

“…Yes.”

The word lands like a gunshot. His pupils blow wide, his chole body jolting as he’s been electrocuted. And then he’s closer, kneeling forward until his forehead pressed into your thighs.

“Then let me show you…” his hands clutch at the towel now, knuckles white. “Please, pipsqueak. Let me show you how much better it could be if you let me. I swear I’ll make you forget everything but me… fuck… just give me one chance.”

Your lungs tighten. You can feel the heat rolling off him, his mouth so close to your thigh that steam still clinging to your skin feels cold in comparison.

He leans in until his mouth is a breath from your thigh, inhaling the clean scent of your damp skin like it’s intoxicating him. “You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispers, his forehead pressing lightly against your leg. “I’m on my knees for you, pipsqueak. I’ve been holding this back for months—” His thumb strokes an inch higher, over the edge of the towel, slow enough for you to feel the tremor in his hand.

“Are you… clean?”

He nods hard. “Yeah... I mean yes. I take tests every couple of weeks. I swear, I even have the papers with me. I—” he starts to lift himself from the ground but your other hand clamp tight around his shoulder the other still buried on his hair.

“That’s okay. I believe you.” your breath stumbles. Your thighs spread just wide enough before you say: “Go ahead.”

He surges forward. His lips crash against your inner thigh in a fevered kiss, hot and wet, the sound of it obscene in the quiet hallway.

His big hands slip higher, finally peeling at the knot of your towel, tugging it loose to let it slide down your body. It crumples uselessly to the floor, and Caleb groans like he’s been handed salvation.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your skin, kissing higher, higher, his teeth scraping lightly. “Been dreaming about this—” another kiss, wetter this time, “—about tasting you—” his tongue drags along the sensitive skin, “—losing my mind between your thighs.”

Your knees nearly buckle, but his grip steadies you, pinning your hips to the wall. He noses shamelessly against your heat. He inhales you, taking on your raw scent and it’s damn better than your panties.

“Gonna ruin me, pipsqueak,” he rasps, lips brushing right where you throb most. “And I’m gonna love every second of it.”

His nose nudges your pubic bones as he kisses your clit delicately. Just his hot lips grazing your sensitive part in such a loving way your heart stumbles even more. He opens his mouth slowly, wrapping around your soft lips, creating a sloppy succession until you whimper above him. His hands slide further back, palms rough against the backs of your thighs, dragging you closer to his mouth until you’re trapped between him and the wall.

He moans into you, vibrating against your flesh. His tongue flicks out, trembling as if he’s holding himself back, but the tremor only makes the stroke more uneven and hungrier. He drags it up one side of your folds, down the other, then circles your clit, open-mouthed.

“Fuck, yes…” he mumbles into your skin, the words a hot breath you feel more than hear. “This is what I wanted. This is all I thought about. You… you taste better than I dreamed—”

He breaks off, groaning low, hands sliding up to cup your ass, kneading roughly. He pulls you impossibly closer, flattening his tongue, lapping long and slow, then sealing his mouth around your twitching nub. Your vision blurs in instant, your fingers gripping harder his hair.

He pulls back, chin already shining with your essence, the pretty shade of violet almost drowned under the hungry black of his pupils. “Should we—should we take this further? Up to your room?” his grip is bruising on your thighs.

“Yes, Caleb.” Your breath comes ragged, syncing with his. 

In one motion, Caleb rises on his feet, strong arms scooping you up. Your legs hook around his waist on instinct, your cheek finding its place against his shoulder as he carries you down the short hallway. His heartbeat drums against your chest, quick and uneven. 

He lowers you slowly onto the sheets, bracing himself on either side of your head, his necklace swinging loose, threatening to tangle in his shirt. His voice comes rough but quiet, trembling at the edges. “Might I kiss you? Please?” His breath is hot against your flushed skin, eyes flicking between your lips and your gaze. 

And you’re so tired of him always asking—of hesitation, of the restraint. You grab the back of his neck and crash your lips against his. The sound he makes is something lower, rawer, unnamable—a noise that shakes straight through you both.

Your tongue slides along his bottom lip, tasting yourself on him, salt and heat all over taste buds. His hands slide up your sides, fingertips tracing fire wherever they go.

He nudges your legs apart, slotting himself between your thighs, the press of him thick through his clothes. His left hand slides up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbones as his tongue parts your lips and claims the kiss fully.

“Caleb,” you break the kiss, panting onto his mouth, a string of spit linking you both. “Don’t be soft. I don’t want that.”

He snaps his eyes to you, searching your face. “…What—”

“Be yourself, want you whole.” You whisper, grinding shamelessly on his bulge.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His hands trace a slow path along your skin, leaving behind sparks that make it hard to breathe. His breath skims your collarbone; his words are a ghost against your pulse. “But as the lady wishes.”

He gets on his knees between you, getting rid of all his clothes—except his boxer. You twitch from anticipation.

His large hands roam your body, playing with your tits. He pinches them and turn them on his thumbs before his teeth close around it, tongue swirling and mouth clamping. While the other plays with the softness of the untouched one.

He leaves it with spit and glistening, he smirks—proud of him. He fumbles at his underwear, palming his hardened length, hot breaths contrasting with his cold necklace on your burning skin. 

He removes the only remaining thing keeping you on edge, and your eyes instantly widen. His cock is flushed and wet at the tip—pre-cum already drippling down his shaft. A long vein is lustfully pronounced from the base of his cock to the underside of his mushroom tip. 

Your mouth waters at the thought of him filling you completely—that delicious curve of him hitting your spots.

Leaning closer, he presses against you, letting you feel every rough contour. The tension between you stretches taut, the room silent except for your ragged, shared pants.

Your eyes drop, tracing the thick, throbbing length before you—stopping just beneath your bellybutton. It’s impossibly large, and the sight makes your hips buck instinctively, your clit brushing against the coarse pubic hair at its base.

“One little, greedy thing we have here,” he mocks, but the flush in his cheeks betrays him. “You will take all this, just fine, right?”

You answer without words, grinding harder against him, the friction sending sparks through both of you. Pre-cum slicks your lower stomach, and you coat his balls in a warm, wet sheen.

Caleb wraps his hand around himself, slapping his cock roughly against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and your cunt clenches around nothing—it’s already enough to make you shiver.

But not for too long. 

He lines his cock up at your entrance, pushing in sloooowly. Letting you feel every thick ridge, every vein pulsing along your hot walls. You find support on his strong back, nails digging crescents moon, your eyes rolling back from the stretch alone.

“That’s riiiight,” he pants into your ear, tongue darting out to lick your earlobe. “Let this pretty pussy take me all. You’re doing sooo good.” And Caleb might just as well be delirious now. Your cunt is spasming endlessly around him. The more he pushes, the more your cream coats him, dripping down onto his balls. 

Once he bottoms out, he’s on the verge of cumming hot ropes in your womb. The sensation is exquisite. His cock, beautifully and incredibly, wrapped in your warm, soft walls sponging him like in a dream.

His biceps are bulging, veins tracing down his forearms as lifts himself above you. He presses your thighs up to your chest, forcing his dick impossibly deeper in your heaven. 

The chain of his necklace brushes your face. Your eyelids feel heavy but you fight to keep them open, too gone on the full stretch he’s giving you, fuckin’ thick veins grazing your sweetest spots.

“C-caleb,” you whimper, voice ragged as you speak. “M-move—that’s so good and—mghn… not enough—” tears are sliding down your cheeks, feeling his cock hardening even more inside you.

“Pipsqueak,” he growls, his rough palms circle the back of your thighs, taking leverage as he slides out. The sudden release of stretch makes you cry out, hips chasing him unconsciously. “You’re insane…”

And in a strong, sharp thrust he’s back deep inside you, pushing the air out of your lungs. The cold necklace hitting your chin on the way.

“Fuck—!” your voices harmonizing. 

“S-such a fuckin’ tight pussy,” he pants, sweat glinting along his temple. You can’t hold back—your tongue darts out, licking him clean, desperate to taste every inch.

That’s when Caleb loses all restraint. Every ounce of control shatters as he rams into you brutally, the bed creaking beneath the force. You moan, loud and unrestrained, drowning in the pleasure he drives into you.

He angles his hips so each time he pulls out, he swollen tip of him drags along your G-spot, making your walls clamp down harder. An obscene white creamy ring circles his cock already, slick all over his happy trail and thighs.

And he’s so drowned in this obscene scene playing before him. With your mouth falling onto a prefect O, your nails likely to leave red marks on his back, your cunt greedily sucking him in. Caleb couldn’t help but animalistically rut into you, dragging more and more sounds from deep in your chest. 

“Stick out your tongue,” he orders.

Fuzzy-headed, desperate, you obey instantly, letting your tongue slide out to him. He gathers a generous drop of spit and lets it fall onto your eager mouth. “Swallow it. Like a good girl,” he commands.

You obey, lips closing, eyes squeezed shut, swallowing the hot, sticky liquid.

He folds you harder in half, until your knees are touching your ears. His balls slap and slap against your ass, stimulating you and driving you deeper in the abyss of pleasure. Your vision blurs, white on the edge as the perfect curve of his cock hits the deepest part of you. 

His palm travels down your belly, right where he’s bulging hard in your tummy. He presses heavily on the filthy mark he’s leaving. 

You feel helpless under his strong frame, mindlessly twitching and moaning under his rough assault. All you’re good at now, is taking his cock just the way he wants you to.

“I’m allll the way up here,” he says darkly, pressing his palm with the right amount to have you squirming. “You’re going to cum, ain’t you?” he teases, but he’s not better. His cock swells hard in your tight walls, bullets of pre-cum filling you. His teeth grit, arms bulging as he holds you down. 

“You’re squeezin’ me sooo good,” he bites his bottom lip, his happy trail brushing against your neglected clit, sending sparks through your already fried nerves. He licks a filthy, possessive path from the base of your throat to your lips—muscles taut, sweat coating his brow, the sound of your pornographic moans feeding the fire in him.

“Oh—Oh! Fuck, like that—jus’, fuuuuck!” you try to finish your sentence but it’s no use. Your brain short-circuited from the relentless pounding. Every nerve, every thought, every ounce of control melted away long ago. There’s only you, being fucked raw by his monstruous cock and stamina.

“Y-yeah… got you. Cum for me,” he says love-sick. He stiffens, whimpering as his own climax builds.

Your body spasms violently, cunt clenching. Your walls milk him for all he got, white-hot waves of pleasure crashing through you. Heat, wetness, and the smell of him fill your senses, every nerve ending alive, every inch of you surrendered.

He fucks you harder, plunging deeper. The bed shakes, the air vibrates with your cries and his guttural noises, both of you locked in a rhythm of feral pleasure. His arms tremble, his chest heaving, as he finally tips over the edge—spilling into you.

Even as he comes, he doesn’t pull back. He keeps thrusting, keeping you suspended on the edge of raw, animalistic bliss. 

🏷️ @dazed-lavender @toelady @nervouschaosgladiator @sluturu @applecaviar @xialoverr @heheheilovepedro @noyaswrld @laysoograpes @cadi-07 @kissandtellus @cosmiicj @loloncookies @sanzusdollie @gasolineyum @kakkunen @merm1sta @sadisticssslut

Sukuna had been pestering you about it since before the wedding. Nagging you puts your own mother to shame– almost. “You have a goddamn doctor for a husband, and you refuse to get checked up.” He scolded, crossing his arms and glaring at your pretty face. “Do you need a different doctor?” He tapped the side of his forehead. “Because it sounds like you do–”

You threw a pillow at his head. Maybe threatened him a little bit before brushing his words off to do whatever else.

You’d hidden the worst of it from him when his overnight shifts stretched into dawn. The dark circles under your eyes, the exhaustion— he didn’t see those when you were quick to cover them with makeup and half-assed excuses.

But one night, he caught you.

He shook you awake, and you’d gasped as your throat burned, taking in air it's been deprived of for a few seconds too long. If you looked in the mirror, you were half-expecting to be blue. He’d clicked his tongue and dragged you to his clinic the very next day.

The entire drive there had been an ordeal in itself. Sukuna had scolded you, until you threatened to jump out of the car. Which he knew you would probably do. Instead, he resorted to mumbling curses over his breath, veins popping on his neck as he muttered about “stupid patients” and his “even worse wife.” You know it was born out of worry yet he'd never admit it. so you rolled your eyes.

He gave you a very thorough look over, the appointment taking an hour (minus the scolding and the apologies you had given to his poor assistant). He had given you a quick prescription for sleeping medication, while also telling you to sleep on your side from now on.

That was a few days ago, and Sukuna was eager to know if you were actually doing as you were told. He never really knew, especially with a brat like you.

Sukuna came home well past midnight, shoulders heavy, white coat half off his arms, tie yanked loose. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the AC. He half-hazardly threw his shoes off, padding his way across the cold tile of the penthouse as he quietly made his way to the bedroom. From a few steps away, he could already hear the low and constant hum through the door, and he was ready to catch you snoring loudly, on your back, and no meds in sight. He clicked the bedroom door open to be proven wrong.

Snoring? Nope.

Vibrator left on? Apparently yes.

His plan was to strip, shower, crawl into bed, and maybe get an hour or two of sleep before he had to do it all again. But nah, lets throw that idea out the window, shall we?

Sukuna licked his lips, eyes trailing over every curve, every mark and dip in your body. Red eyes gleamed as he took in the gorgeous lace wrapped around your tits in a mix of elegance and lewdness.

He could recall that you’d texted him about a surprise waiting for him at home at the back of his head, before he had to disappoint you with news he had to stay late again.

A new set? Just for him? Oh, his wife was perfect.

You were perfect.

.. not that he'd say that.

“…you little slut,” he muttered under his breath, yet there was nothing short of perverted glee in his tone. He traced a thick and experienced finger against your skin, hooking a strap of your panties and pulling just to have it snap! on your skin.

You didn’t even stir.

He hummed, glad that you had actually taken your meds. Reaching over and clicking your vibrator off, he tossed that shit in the trash. You’d probably yell at him for that later, but why in the world would you need that thing when you had a very capable husband right here??

The thing didn't even get you to cum, seeing as you weren't even half as soaked whenever he left you creaming around his thick fingers. You even fell asleep! See? He had a proper defense for throwing away that poor excuse of a toy.

Sukuna slid his coat off, watching your peaceful face as the mattress dipped under his weight, his much, much larger form looming over you.

The air smelled faintly of sex and sweat. His eyes narrowed, taking in the mess of your thighs, the slight shine against the lace. Maybe guilt nipped at him just a bit, but lust overtook that. He wanted to apologize for another late night out, reward you for actually doing what he told you to and maybe to also taste your oozing slick against his tongue.

Sukuna’s cock twitched in his pants, his exhaustion burned away by the sight of you. He slid his hand over your hip, kneading the soft flesh.

He was tempted to give it a little bite, maybe surprise you awake with a new mark on your side. But no, sukuna had better plans.

He gently moved your leg to the side, eyes locking onto the sheen of your cunt. He knew you were asleep. Vulnerable in a way you'd only let him see. The thought of it made him dizzy.

He pressed two fingers against your bare cunt, lacey panties pushed to the side from your earlier ministrations.

“Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing your nub in slow circles, watching the way your body twitched even in sleep. “So tired that you passed out like this? My needy little brat…”

You stirred faintly, a whimper caught in your throat. Sukuna’s chest rumbled with a low growl of satisfaction. He hoped you stayed asleep, at least until he was in between your legs working you towards an orgasm.

His thoughts spiraled filthy and fast as he hooked his fingers into your panties and pulled them down your thighs. And like the pervert he was, brought them to his face and took a deep whiff– Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your scent, sweet and dragging his senses down under. He kept his eyes on you as he licked the fabric, strands of slick sticking to the corners of his mouth. He had half the mind to not shove them in his mouth while he jerked off on your pussy. Maybe qnother time.

For now, he shoved the stained fabric in his pocket, something he could use for later.

His focus went back to the leaking prize between your legs, glistening in the low light, swollen and needy, already drooling for him.

“Goddamn…” His voice was hoarse, reverent and disgusting. “Perfect little cunt, still begging even in your sleep.”

He spread your thighs wider, settling between them, and let himself stare. This was his. His wife. His (albeit reluctant) patient. His personal obsession. The thing he wanted, craved after fourteen-hour shifts, the reason he sneered when he saw happy couples spend time together while he's stuck behind a desk.

He lowered his head before he could think twice, dragging his tongue through your folds in one long, filthy lick.

The action made your hips twitch up before Sukuna placed a large hand on your stomach, keeping you still as he continued to lay his tongue flat against your cunt, dragging it up to circle around your clit. The taste of you hit his tongue like a drug. Sweet, musky, intoxicating. He groaned into your pussy, letting his eyes close as he tried to nuzzle further into your slippery folds.

He'd pay his entire fortune if it meant he could drown in your nectar, have your scent fill his senses till he was high on the feeling of you. His raging caffeine addiction was practically nothing compared to his addiction to you.

A pussy addiction (specifically yours only), and sukuna was proud of it.

You twitched against his mouth, lighting every nerve in his system better than any electrolyte. He laughed low and dark, sucking at your clit until his cheeks hollowed. “That’s it, baby. Its just me, let me do aaall the work.”

He rutted against the sheets with every pornographic squelch that came from his lips on your cunt. It got louder as your hole continued to drool all over your his face, his chin glistening in your slick. If you were awake, he was sure you'd be hiding your face in the pillows at the sight.

His nose bumbed into your mound, tongue pushing into you and tracing your insides. His brows knitted in concentration as if you were another anatomy class that his entire career depended on. Instead, right now, he felt as if he was eating you out with his life on the line.

You moaned again, louder this time, a breathy cry that made his hips jerk. He smirked against you. “Dreaming ‘bout me, pretty?”

He spat onto your hole before diving back in, relishing in the way your slick mixed with his spit. It was messy and desperate, sucking, licking and nipping against you just to lap it all back up. He spread your lips wide with his free hand, tongue dragging flat and slow, then flicking sharp against your clit until your legs moved to close around his head.

The pressure was suffocating as your thighs pressed against his ears. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Your body writhed more and more, reacting to the pleasure and chasing more. “.. S’kuna..” you whispered, voice breathy against the silk sheets.

He reached up, finding your hands and intertwining your fingers with his. “Mm, right here baby.”

The other hand pressed down against your lower stomach, holding you still while his tongue assaulted your clit in rapid, ruthless strokes. You whimpered, brows furrowing as your dream started to feel a little too real, a little too good for it just to be a dream.

You blinked awake, sleep dragging at your eyelids while pleasure clawed at your core– threatening to burst. You looked down, only to find a familiar tuft of pink hair in between your legs. You felt his tongue push against your insides again, the action having you scrambling to grab at his hair. “A-ah, sukuna–”

“Mm, y’ taste so good. Couldn't–” he let out a loud sluuurp! As his tongue glided up your slit to flick at your nub. “Couldn't help myself.”

You let out a whine, half-awake, body twitching at the pleasure and warmth ready to snap at your core.

Sukuna pinned you down harder, tongue moving faster, lips sucking harder around your clit.

Your orgasm spilled over his tongue, hot and messy, slick dripping down his chin as your back weakly arched into him. You threw your head back, eyes snapping shut with a broken moan spilling from your lips.

He drank your juices down like it was sacrament, not caring as it sprayed all over his hair and face– if nothing, he was even more spurred on to drain every drop out of you, judging by his stained slacks and his desperate rutting into the sheets.

He pulled away from you, licking his lips like the slick shower you had blessed him with wasn't enough for his insatiable greed. Not even the bible could've warned you about this.

You were still trembling, blinking your eyes open when you felt the bed sink beside you. You find his crimson eyes half-lidded and staring right through you. He places a kiss on your jaw bebefore taking your lips against his. It was soft, even as he slipped his tongue into your mouth and had you taste the mess you made of yourself.

“Mm, kuna..” you mumbled, voice quiet as his hands traced up your chest to knead the flesh of your tits.

“Feel good, baby?” his fingers easily pulled your bra down, pulling and pinching at your bare bud like he's done a thousand times before. You nod lazily. “Good.”

Before you could roll away or mumble another sleepy whine, his thick hand slid between your thighs again. Two fingers pressed at your entrance before he started pumping the digits in and out of you, curling just right to push against that soft spot inside of you.

“Fuck—” he groaned through his teeth, watching the way your pussy swallowed his fingers down to the knuckle, still so wet from his mouth and your release. “Tight. Always so fucking tight, even after I've eaten you out.”

You let out a soft, broken cry, hips shifting against the sheets. Your hand twitched weakly, reaching for him in your haze, and he caught it in his free hand, pinning it beside your head.

Sukuna leaned down to press his lips against yours, a mercy or a punishment for your lovely little mewls. He wasn't as gentle this time around, tongue pushing past your lips like how his fingers were pushing in and out of your cunt.

“Feeling awake yet?”

Your reply came as a garbled moan, your body tightening, pussy clenching greedily around the stretch of his fingers scissoring you open. You couldn't even think of a proper sentence, verbs, adjectives and adverbs were so lost in the muck of your brain that you could only think of the pleasure and who was giving it to you.

“That’s it,” he snarled, kissing you again, sucking your tongue into his mouth before breaking away with a filthy lick along your cheek. Maybe he should play a new game, how many licks would it take to get to your core? “Thats my girl.”

You whimpered, hips rocking without rhythm, trying to grind down against his hand in a silent but desperate plea for more. “Kuna– please, more,”

He groaned, his cock throbbing painfully against the fabric of his slacks. “You really are a slut, aren't you, brat?” He pulled his fingers out of you with a wet pop! Before landing a quick smack to your pussy. Your sharp cry filled the room, yet the painful emptiness as your hoke clenched around nothing felt worse. “Begging for me while half-asleep. Fucking pathetic.”

He pushed his digits back inside of you, wet shlicks echoing throughout the room as he pumped his fingers quicker, enough to get you seeing stars.

Your walls fluttered desperately, your moans breaking into hiccups as his fingers curled against that soft, spongy spot deep inside. Each thrust was brutal, relentless– A stark contrast to how he traced circles into the back of your hand with his other.

Your body jerked suddenly, a strangled cry tearing out of you as you clamped down around his fingers. Sukuna smirked, eyeing the way fluids soaked the sheets with a tinge of jealousy. What a waste, they would've been just fine in his mouth.

“Fuuuuck yes,” Sukuna moaned, groaning deep in his chest as he kissed you hard, devouring your cries. He didn’t slow, not even as you whimpered, broken and overstimulated. He kept pumping his fingers, stretching you, working you through every aftershock.

He pulled his fingers out, giving your clit a few soft taps. “Good job.” He cooed, but it was anything but sweet. It was condescending. Mean. And it stayed that way as he brought his fingers to your mouth.

“Open.”

You obeyed without thought, lips parting, tongue darting out. He shoved his fingers between your lips, and you moaned, sucking your own cum off his skin as if it were natural.

Distantly, you could make out the sound of clothes being shuffled off followed by the clink of a belt. Your eyes fluttered open wider, still hazy from your taste on your tongue.

Sukuna groaned as his cock sprung free, red and angry. With the amount of pre leaking out of his tip, you'd think he came already. (Maybe he did. But that was between him, god, and the stains on his pants.)

“Gonna fuck you now,” he growled, yanking his fingers free from your mouth and shoving your legs apart. “Think you can take it?” He traced his knuckles on your jaw, ever so slightly grinding his shaft on your folds.

You nodded, groaning as you pushed his hips closer with your ankles.

“I need words, pretty.”

You took a gasping breath, shaking as you let it out. “Y-yeah, I can take it.”

“There we go.”

He groaned, lining himself up to rub his thick cockhead at your entrance, smearing his pre all over. The sound was filthy, obscene, and if you had a little more braincells left in you, you'd be telling him to just put it in already. But no, you were just a whining mess, bucking your hips up weakly– just enough to have his tip prod a bit harder against you.

He didn't leave you waiting for long though.

The stretch was so so good, your body arching with a sharp cry as his cock split you open inch by inch. Sukuna’s head tipped back, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as he sank into you easily from how soaked you were.

“Fuck– tight– always so tight,” he cursed, grinding his teeth as he bottomed out. His hips slammed flush to yours, his cock buried to the hilt, and he nearly lost it right there.

He bent low over you, capturing your lips again, swallowing your whimpers as he rolled his hips. Your whines and sukunas grunts filled the room as he slowly sank in and out of you, barely pulling out an inch before pushing back in. It was almost lazy, almost soft as if he wanted to treasure the moment. As if he were patient in giving you the time to adjust and take a semblance of a break.

But sukuna wasn't a patient man. Nor was he merciful.

Soon, his thrusts grew frantic. Deeper and harder as he started slamming into you that you swore knocked the breath straight out of your lungs.

The slapping of skin was filthy, paired with your wanton moans and squelches every time Sukuna bottomed out.

You were warm, so so warm and wet and perfect. If sukuna was any lesser man, he'd have busted his load inside you the second he sank into you. But sheer will pushed him to at the very least make sure you cum before him.

His hand trailed down your stomach, thumb tracing quick and frantic circles against your clit. The action has your brack arching off the bed, static electricity shooting up and down your spine and straight to your core.

“S’kuna– Close, ‘m close,” you mewled, grabbing at his large biceps and raking your nails against them.

It hurt. And that's exactly why it had Sukuna twitching like mad inside of you.

“Go on, cum for me. Can't fill you up if you don't.” Beads of sweat trailed down his neck and onto his chest, shining perfectly with the inky tattoos peppered across tanned skin.

You wrapped your legs around him, shaking as you felt the coil in your stomach snap right then and there. With a broken cry, your hole pulsed deliciously around him, the feeling finally pushing sukuna off that teetering edge.

“Ah, fuck,”He gasped, slumping forward until his forehead rested against yours. “Fuckfuckfuck– you're perfect.” His voice was softer but no less possessive.

You two stayed like that, his eyes clasped shut while he filled you with his seed. The thick liquid leaking out of you and flowing down onto the already very stained sheets.

When he opened his eyes again, they were mimicking the same haze in yours. If you looked close enough, you swore you could see hearts in his eyes. Sukuna didn't have the strength to pull out, instead putting his entire bodyweight on top of you like you were a better replacement for a bed.

He hid his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and the proof of your deeds.

You weakly shoved at his shoulder, groaning. “You're heavy,”

He scoffed, shifting to make himself even comfier on your body. Still buried a good 8 inches inside of you. “Jus’ go to sleep.”

The man excessively consumed ale like it was a physiological need, made a point in emphasizing his comfort though never avoiding anything like a coward, and anyone could point out the selfishness emboldened in his personality as simple as the thick black lines streaking his wheat-tanned skin.

With you, his hands roamed every inch of flesh with a sadistic greed—always taking and never quite one to cease his gust. But you enjoyed it just as much as he did, eyes glossing over with saccharine glory and making a mess across his pelvis nearly every night.

Though now, he was dipping his toes into something abhorred, something nascent for the two of your sex lives. 

Something that would require him to relinquish something dear to him.

And though Sukuna was a possessive man, he was far from insecure.

Hence him pitching an idea to you one night in the throes of passion, mere hours after seeing you interact with his pragmatic colleague that never failed to perk up whenever you were around. 

Tonight, the pink haired man has his arms resting on a cuck chair molding leather seat in a dark corner of a dingy hotel room, eyes narrowed as he nurses his whiskey. The paint is peeling from the walls, the carpets are threadbare and stained, and if he can drone out the two other people in the room muttering between each other, he can hear the faint drips of water from the leaky bathroom faucet.

He eyes the way the blond fumbles with the strings along the back of your gown, fingers slipping ungraciously as he mutters apologies beneath his breath.

Like a fucking moron, quite frankly.

According to curly-haired singer Russ, women like to be treated rough in bed, to put it simply. He knows first-hand that at least you do, with the way he has you gagging in absolute pleasure around his dick while he cages his bulging thighs around your head.

But, for once, he wants to see how you look at the hands of a nice guy. The kind of man who keeps his distance and never quite jumps the gun until the lady does, who offers to pay the cut-price hourly fee of the motel room despite being invited, who takes things slow and dandy, who relishes in gentle, caring sex.

Nanami was a giver, who would sacrifice his own pleasures for others.

Something completely foreign to the near seven-foot tall man who practically only knew how to take.

Sukuna drags a hand across his jaw as Nanami’s fingertips linger along the bevel of your spine with caution lest he make you uncomfortable.

He huffs in irritation, strained impatience. His deft fingers would’ve had you bared long ago from the confines of your satin slip, but the guy before him can’t seem to get it right.

Though, you seem to enjoy it. Pupils blown and lips curled as you peer past your shoulder with a gentle coo. “Need help?”

A sigh of resignation leaves tensed-up Nanami, adjusting his glasses and motioning for you to take the reins with an outstretched palm and a frown.

Sukuna scowls, thumb digging into the prominent crease between his furrowed eyebrows at his colleagues' incompetence. “C’mere.”

You oblige, padding over to your boyfriend and taking a seat on one of his muscled thighs. Sukuna quickly works the fabric and has you undressed in moments. You perk up, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek before making your way over to the bed.

Nanami, who now has blush bleeding into his cheeks like he’d never seen any more than a woman’s ankle before, can’t tear his gaze from your nude form. There was no way in hell the guy was a virgin—he saw the way women fawned over him at the office.

But he’d clearly never been an addition to a couple before, tolerating an audience or throwing himself into depravity.

Desire shimmers in his auburn eyes opposing his stoic expression. He clasps his hands before him, lowering his head into a reverent stance. “If this is too much, Sukuna-san, we can stop here—.”

A challenging laugh leaves the claret-eyed brute, enough to have the junior straightening his back and keeping that likely flat expression Sukuna always found so intriguing. “What kind of man are you, Nanami? Hm?”

Your gaze bounces between the two of them, feeling the stiff tension that makes your scalp tingle and itch unattended.

“I’m sorry?” 

Provocative silence ebbing on offense lulls in the air as they glare at each other.

Placated now from baiting him, Sukuna takes a swig from his frosted glass. “Enough. If this is something you do not think you are fit to handle, you know where the door is,” Sukuna states curtly, motioning towards the locked door of the room with his glass in hand.

You watch Nanami’s usual aloof expression falter just for a moment, jaw clenching with enough tension you believed his teeth may crack. The silence spoke numbers, heavy with the weight of what he wanted to say but rationalized that he should keep it to himself. He lowers his gaze, mulling the situation over in his head.

But it’s not when you place your hand onto his forearm and send a gentle smile his way that he makes up his mind.

Without a word, he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, hazel irises settling on yours with such a finality it makes your body shudder. Then, he lowers his head, lips ghosting over yours and warm breath making yours catch in your throat.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this?” He whispers, a secret tied just between the two of you.

You hiccup at the confession, eyes bulging wide, before his lips slot against yours. Your lashes dust shut, an eruption of butterflies in your chest as his scent envelopes you like a promise, sophisticated but undeniably manly. He places one hand behind your head, cradling it fondly like a baby dove, and guiding you backwards until he has you laid out on the bed.

His frames bump into your forehead, earning a giggle from you that has you pressing against his shoulders and breaking the air-depriving kiss. You tug his frames off, folding them shut and sliding them into the pocket in his blazer above his heart.

He has to conceal the way his heart clenches at your beauty, eyes narrowing and committing the sight to memory.

And then he’s back on you again. Slow, passionate, enough to make your heart soar. He breathes you in like a physiological need, jaw opening and closing against yours with a laggard acclimation, as if your breathes are shared and your body has conformed to one.

Your fingernails drag against his scalp, a throaty groan leaving Nanami that’s sent straight to your loins and makes your skin buzz.

He pulls away to say something, but you tug him back by his tie and slip your tongue between his lips.

His hands come down beside you—a show of control, restraint. Like he can pull away at any time. 

But, you know he won’t if he’s enjoying this even half as much as you are.

Sukuna adjusts in his seat, watching as Nanami’s body shadows over your bare frame, movements languid and slacken. Carefully, he sets the glass down, and rests both arms over the rests and studies your writhing forms carefully.

You are clearly enjoying it—legs parted and wrapped around Nanami’s waist like a secured ribbon double-knotted and not coming undone any time soon, though there’s no grinding of your panties against his clothed pelvis. No rush, giving Sukuna the idea that you’re satisfied enough with Nanami’s mouth on yours.

Sukuna’s cock twitches in his briefs, the thought of slipping his cock into your tight cunt clouding his mind.

The blond’s hand finds purchase on your waist, perfectly-gelled hair now coming undone from your hands as silky strands feather over your skin. Nanami drags a calloused finger up your navel, enough to get you shivering and choking on your gasps.

A textured palm cups the mound of your breast, the fancy lace digging into his palm as he gropes you in a drawn out manner that has blood roaring in your ears. Your erect nubs catch on the fabric of your bra, a whine tumbling from your parted maw.

You tug on his bottom lip, hard enough to make his expression pinch in sexual frustration.

And then you feel it, his bulge pressing against your heat.

“N-Nanami—.”

“Kento,” he cuts you off curtly with a grunt, trailing down from your lips to right below the lobe of your ear, the warm fan of his breath making your skin flare. “Or Ken. I’ve known you long enough to discard such pleasantries.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, the slightest bit unsettled with how much his bedroom talk is turning you on. And it was true—you’d stop by the office to drop off lunch or paperworks for Sukuna routinely, running into Nanami plenty of times to strike up conversation that melted from small talk to catching up.

Never could you have imagined to see this side of him though.

“Waking up, going to work, drinking at h-home,” he huffs, tongue dancing across the slope of your jaw and making you tense up. “A meticulous routine I find quite exhausting.”

He pulls away for a moment, a hunger swirling in his irises glistening molten lava. “But when I’d see you,” he runs his tongue over the bottom of his lip, a hand coming up to pin one of yours above your head and intertwine your fingers, your world tilting on its axis from the notion he was on the verge of admitting. “I didn’t feel as lonely.”

Nanami doesn’t taint your skin with his touch, making a mental note when Sukuna pulled him aside privately and explicitly stated that he didn’t want to find any markings of this night as a reminder strewn across your body like a sullied canvas.

He was territorial in that sense.

So the kisses he peppers are gentle, never nibbling on the supple skin or sucking on it until it purples. He finds the valley of your breasts, his cheek pressing against the cup of your bra as he snakes a hand behind your chest to undo the clasp with a lot more precision compared to earlier.

His fingers ghost over your skin with enough reverence to make your chest bloom in need like an unfurled night flower, senses fuzzy as he peels your bra off and admires the gentle jiggle of your freed bosoms.

Leaning forward he swirls his tongue over the erect nubs, teeth grazing the areola and sending sparks up your spine.

You fist the sheets at his delicacy, his simple chasteness that has your mind spinning.

His free hand drags down your belly button, pressing against your abdomen and making you groan, tears prickling your vision.

“Let me see her.”

The sudden voice makes the both of you go still, nearly forgetting the looming threat of a man perched in the dark corner.

Nanami swallows thickly, before leaning up and brushing the hair from his face.

Sukuna’s lids narrow, shadows painting him in a menacing light that has your heart leaping into your throat.

But after the silence drags into what feels like an eternity, he lifts his whiskey glass and tosses the rest of it back in one thick gulp. “Spin her around. I wanna see your fingers slipping into that tight cunt.”

Moments later, you’re splayed out spread-eagle, panties tossed aside as the two men ravish you with their eyes.

Nanami peels his blazer from his stocky form and tosses it over the foot of the bed before curling a finger beneath his collar and loosening his tie.

Leopard print fabric in hand, he straddles you, hovering over your form with knitted brows.

“Have you ever been blindfolded?” He poses, a curious tilt in his head.

You stifle a snicker at his warmth, before tossing Sukuna a knowing glance. “Uh, yeah. I have.”

But that isn’t enough for the altruistic man.

“I, uh… need to hear you say it,” he states, swallowing his pride and averting his gaze while the crowns of his ears tinge a hot-red. “That you want me to do it.”

You nibble on the inside of your cheek, though the small flit of giggles leaving you is practically inevitable. “You can blindfold me, Kento.”

You can see the small way he lights up at that, though the guy isn’t much for smiles. He leans down, delicately wrapping the stiff fabric around your eyes with about fifteen pauses of asking “is this okay?”

Finally, once you're situated, he moves his way down the bed and you feel his hand curl around your thigh, tugging it flush against his waist. His weight settles in the space on the mattress between your legs.

His lips find yours again, a tender and chaste kiss before he murmurs in your ear. “Tell me you want this.”

Your stomach inverts at his gravely and gritty tone, pressing your cheek into the itchy pillow to hide your embarrassment, heat swelling to your face. You can’t even see the blatant adoration swirling in those hazel irises as he scans your pinched expression.

You whine, bucking your hips up to his dripping heat against his pelvis, putting a firm hand pressed your waist down. 

“I need to hear it, darling. Tell me how much you want this.”

Sukuna doesn’t know when, but his presence gone unchecked has him fisting his cock slowly, belt tossed aside and slacks tugged down. Pearly pre-cum trickles from his slit, all blood in his massive form rushed south from how much this debauched sight was turning him on.

His fingers curl and squeeze his base adorned in salmon-covered pubes, running a thumb over the tip of his angry, mushroomed cockhead, pants growing heavier in his isolation.

He wants to see where this goes, how your body responds to the touch of another man.

You feel Nanami’s hand come down and stroke your hair soothingly, your head leaning into his touch and melting from the unadulterated intimacy you’re nearly unfamiliar with. You didn’t know how much you craved this until now. “W-want this, Ken…”

Your lashes flutter against the fabric, tugging your lips between your teeth as you await his touch, stomach rising and falling with each shallow breath.

You clench around nothing, walls leaking a sappy fluid that’s soon collected by a cold fingertip.

You wince, a hiss trickling from your lips as the finger drags between your puffy folds. Careful, deliberate, gentle.

You feel lips against your jugular, legs closing in around the waist between your legs pressing you down into the sheets.

The thick finger dips into your entrance as the kisses turn rougher, breaths mingled heavier into heady pants. Your hands rake through his hair, head tilting back.

But it feels choppier now, no gel and tousled.

“K-Ken…?”

You don’t get the pleasure of an answer as the single finger doubles, stretching your sopping walls open with a scissoring motion that has you seeing stars, each curl and pump slow and deep enough to draw guttural noises from you.

A stilted grunt leaves you—hips canting and chasing the pleasure as the palm grinds slowly against your neglected bud desperate for relief. Your divinity is staining the fingers with slick, a greedy part of you reaching for more as your soles press into the bed and your waist moves with a sentient mind of its own.

Then, the fingers curl against the velveteen roof of your walls, dragging against the gummy muscle and nearly coaxing your orgasm from you, refusing to leave your trembling body quietly.

A grunt leaves their lips—one that makes you see red.

Ruddy and violent eyes, wild and spiky hair.

You see streaks of black, too. Not the shield covering your eyes, no. But rather thick black lines trailing a massive body like a stained canvas, defiled with manship and allure.

“Ryo,” you whimper, barely even taking notice of the name leaving your lips. 

Again and again, you call out for him like a decree binding you to the brute of a man.

Heat climbs up your nape, hot and passionate and downright humiliating.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, his lips leave your throat, curtly latching onto your clit.

The cry that leaves you is torn, ripped from you as your orgasm blinds you and numbs your ears into dull ringing.

You’re a mess on the sheets. Sweaty, limp, pathetic.

The blindfold is lifted from your eyes and you’re met with blown hazel pupils. He slips his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself, saccharine and syrupy.

Carefully, you turn your head to peer at the mirror hanging from the closet.

No evidence left across your body.

You peer to your other side laggardly, only to see Sukuna palming himself in the dark.

The smug grin is enough to make your heart leap into your throat.

“Think someone misses you,” Nanami breathes out in horror, sliding his frames back on and carding his fingers through his hair. He starts to gather his bearings, ignoring the prominent bulge in his beige slacks, tossing his clothes back on and regaining a sense of collectedness and returning to his old self. “The two of you have a good night.”

You and Sukuna don’t even bid him farewell, a thick tension strung between the two of you. One only to be cut by his curt and clipped words and rough touch.

He sets his glass down, unfussily. But he doesn’t get up.

He waits for you to come to him, claim what’s yours. 

Show him where you truly belong.