And there he is, perched behind his PC, playing. You approach from behind and shake his chair.

"He said I'm too young and that he doesn't see me like that. That I'm his son's best friend and this isn't 'right'. Whatever that means." You rest your forehead against the chair backrest and squeeze your eyes shut. The world is too blurry, has been too blurry since you left Senior's house. "How's that fair, huh?"

He doesn't say anything for a while. Then, you hear the honking and the rumble of the engine from his game stop and a large hand rests on top of your head. Fingers card through your hair.

"Want me to take your mind off it?"

You consider his offer for a moment. He's offering to fuck you stupid because his father won't. It's stupid. It's insane. It's absurd. It's everything between and more and you feel so stupid, laying your soul bare in front of Senior only for him to tell you he looks at you like his son's best friend. Like a child.

"Yeah."

You place your bag on the floor and your phone on top of his PC, then climb onto Junior's lap, your back to his chest and settle in. He adjusts his chair, gives you both a little space away from the table and pulls the keyboard and mouse closer to you. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his snout in the junction between your neck and shoulder. His nose is cold.

This feels nice. Safe. Like you're in college again and spending a Friday night in his dorm room because neither one of you were all that interested in drinking out. All you're missing are the array of lukewarm takeout boxes littering the desk.

You stare at the mission prompt on the top left of the screen. The bright yellow lettering mocks you like it did last week. And the week before that. And the week before that.

Meet Hanako at Embers.

"How long has she been waiting?"

"I've seen people with nearly 400 finished quests; let the hag wait."

You want to tease him but you let it slide today. So, you choose to run around Night City and off every single gang member that crosses paths with you. When you enter stores to change V's clothes and appearance, or fuck around with weapons and cyberware, Junior says nothing. He stays with his chin leaning on your shoulder, fingers toying with the buttons on your blouse.

He slides the topmost one out of its hole and then the next one, slowly making his way down the row of buttons, claws carefully grazing your tender skin and fuck — you could think of several holes he could be a lot more reckless with. Heat pools in your underwear and you adjust yourself. His chest rumbles against your back.

You undo the front hook of your bra. Junior's hands are on your tits in an instant, kneading and groping. You stifle the giggle that wants to escape but you're not that successful. Junior pinches your nipple between his fingers, gives it a little tug. The small gasp leaves your mouth involuntarily and then his fingers are in your mouth, prodding at your tongue. You wrap your lips around his digits, let your tongue swirl around them. They push forward, down to the knuckle, fingertips pressed against the back of your throat.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and you feel spit dribble onto your exposed chest. Junior grabs your right breast in hand, slicked fingers smoothing over your nipple. He pinches it between his fingers. Your breath hitches in your throat and you jerk your hips back involuntarily.

His cock swells under your ass, hot and heavy even through the layers of clothing that separate you — he's always run hot and he's so warm when he spills inside your cunt. For good measure, you grind down against him. He shudders against your back, hand on your breast tightening, your nipple caught between a harsh pinch, half pleasure, half pain. A small, high-pitched mewl escapes your lips.

"Sorry."

He places his tongue against the side of your neck, drags it up to your jawline, along your carotid artery. Your pulse rabbits under your skin as his teeth graze your skin. He keeps his office cool at all times but you hardly feel it now, just the way his spit cools against your heated skin.

The shape of his cock presses against your cunt and fuck — you want to rip his pants off and let him have his way with you. Not like he hasn't done it before. Not like he won't do it again. You grind down against his cock, feel the fabric of your underwear stick to your slick cunt.

Junior's arm around your waist tightens, fingers of his other hand prodding at your lips. You don't object. He slides them in with ease, pinches your tongue between the pads of his fingers, gives it a little tug. Saliva pools in your mouth, escapes from between his fingers. Your hips buck down against him again.

He pulls his spit-slick fingers from your mouth and slides them underneath the band of your underwear. "If he wants to miss out on some preem pussy, that's on him."

"Please go outside and touch some grass."

"There's a bush right here." His hand dives into your pants, slides over your clit and comes to a rest on your vulva. He taps his fingers against your sex, pressing against your entrance. You make a noise in the back of your throat, grind your hips down. His cock jumps in his pants and his fingers in your underwear tease your cunt. "Better than grass, I'd say."

You try to focus on the game, try to go back to what you were doing before but his hand in your underwear won't stop its administrations. Petting and rubbing but never quite pushing in. It's infuriating and you can barely focus on the game, scrolling through the weapons in your cache instead of dodging the NPCs trying to beat V up.

He presses his fingers against your entrance again, but not fully inside, and your patience snaps.

You feel around for the band of his sweatpants and yank it down. Junior's cock springs out, slapping against your clothed cunt. Precum beads at the tip and you see a drop slide down the length of his shaft and land on your underwear. You buck your hips against his fingers resting on your clit, whine in the back of your throat. You just want him to stuff you until you're leaking his cum. You'd let him fuck it back into you. You want him to fuck it back into you.

"Can I make an eclair out of you?"

What you want is to laugh at his stupid wording but you also really, really want him to turn you into a human eclair and you nod, nod so hard the world starts spinning.

Junior's hand on your jaw stabilizes the world, and he ushers you up with a low whisper in your ear, hot breath fanning your cheek. Your legs feel like jelly as you stand, heart thundering in your chest and you trust him to guide you until you feel the cold surface of his desk against your chest. You grab the edge with both hands. His hands on your hips are large and warm as they knead and grab and push you forward. Your toes barely graze the ground. You rise onto your elbows.

Junior yanks your underwear to the side, one hand on either cheek, pulling them to the side, thumbs just barely prodding your entrance. A low, drawn-out whistle escapes his lips. You clench around air.

"C'mon," you whine.

"Just…" he exhales, breath hot and heavy and your skin pebbles at the sensation, "appreciating the view. Old man doesn't have a clue what he's missing." He places his cock against your cunt and slowly, slowly presses forward.

You have to take a slow, deep breath in as he pushes past your entrance. He's so big and so warm as he inches his way in. Something pathetic slips past your lips as you take him in, take in the intrusion, the delicious stretch of his cock in your drooling cunt. His grip on your ass is tight, the pinprick of his claws digging into your flesh as you adjust to his size. Sweat beads on your brow and your temples and the back of your neck. Your skin sticks to his desk.

He stops when his knot nudges against your pussy. His hot breath fans your skin. In the brief moment of reprieve, you realize you can feel the way his cock throbs inside you. It's faint but it's there and you groan, and press your hips backwards.

Junior's hand collides with your left cheek and you gasp, halfway ready to hiss at him to pick up the fucking pace already when he plunges in deeper for just a moment and then withdraws. His hips ease into a pleasant pace, cock plunging into your weeping pussy and then out again, almost completely out.

"Junior —" you nearly choke on your spit when he thrusts in all the way only to pull out almost immediately, "just fuck me already, you stupid mutt."

"Tough crowd," he mutters. He circles his hips, presses forward just enough to give you a moment of blissful friction before he stops again. "Well, what can ya do."

He lays a sharp slap against your ass and grabs your hips in a bruising grip. He thrusts in harshly. His thick cock — fuck, you swear you can feel the blood rushing in the veins — bullies its way into your drooling cunt, heavy balls slap against your clit with every thrust. The desk bangs against the wall and your arms don't want to hold you up anymore. A clawed hand rests on the back of your neck, forces your head against the desk.

Junior yanks your hips, pushes you forward on the desk. You don't have anywhere to go and you want to yell at him but you really just want him to manhandle you and force you to move. You jerk your hips in tandem with his, meeting his thrusts as much as you can, thighs slick. You want him to cum, want him to cum inside your pussy and knot you for good measure, stuff you like he promised and keep you anchored on his knot for hours and hours. You clench at the thought.

You can't speak, can't tell him to fuck you harder, all you can do is give him pathetic little mewls of please, half-baked gasps that get stuck in your throat. Junior smacks a hand against your ass — it stings but it stings so good — and forces you forward, has a hand wrapped around your thigh, pulling your legs apart. Your thighs burn. Your cunt aches.

"J-Junior — fuck —" He's suddenly so deep, cock plunging into your wet cunt, the sound so wet and erotic and disgustingly pathetic — that you'd get so wet for werewolf cock. You know the grooves of his cock so well your insides might just be melded to accommodate him but fuck it, the sex is good, you'll gladly be a slut for werewolf cock. "Please —" you sob, reaching a hand towards your clit, fingers shaking. Your pulse is loud in your ears, body on fire, Junior's balls slapping against your clit with every motion but it's not enough. The pit of your stomach feels hollow but it's not enough and you're so close, so close, fingers frantically toying with your clit to get over the last hurdle —

A hard smack lands against your ass. It reverberates in your ears, loud and crisp against the disgustingly wet sounds your pussy makes as he bullies his way in.

You come with a choked gasp, spittle flying from your lips and running down your chin and pooling on the desk. Your cunt clenches around his cock, milking him for everything he has to offer. He growls, low and sudden, hands on your ass, claws digging into the flesh, bucking into your cunt, chasing his own high. His pace speeds up, erratic, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix like he's trying to bully his way past it. You do your best to keep pace with him, cunt spasming around his cock, hips slapping against his.

"Kn — knot, knot, knot," you babble, "please, knot me, knot me, knot, knot, stuff me like a fucking pastry, please, please, please."

He snaps his hips against yours harshly, slips his knot in, and cums.

Fresh heat floods your cunt. You gasp at the sensation — so full, so warm, so full, you don't want him to pull out, you want him to stay inside, keep you plugged and full and happy. Like a stupid cock-drunk whore who doesn't need to think about anything but when she'll get a new load of werewolf cum.

Your head clears one sense at a time.

The sound of his PC fans and that of the low hum of the game over screen.

The dim red light from said game over screen.

The feeling of wetness on your thighs and the sting of your left cheek. Junior's hand rubbing between your shoulder blades.

Your elbows and knees ache, limbs like jelly.

The room smells like sex and sweat. Ew.

"You with me?" Junior's voice is a low rumble. That's good; you think your ears would start bleeding if it were any louder.

"Yeah." You clear your throat. "Yeah." There's just enough room on the desk to let yourself go lax, one knee propped against the edge of the table, chin resting on your folded arms.

"Want to watch me play for a while?"

You have to laugh at that. But you're not uncomfortable yet. "Gimme my phone first."

Junior hands it over, picks up the controller resting on its stand and connects it. And just because he's a little shit, he places it against your clit just as it turns on and vibrates as it finishes calibrating. You swing a leg at his shin.

He picks up wherever V bit the dust and you scroll through your phone. There's an unread message taunting you.

From: Senior I'm sorry. Can we talk?

—a/n: anon is on if ya feel like sharing if you liked it👀. part 2 w werewolf dilf coming hopefully before next week