he opened the duffel bag and stuffed it all inside over spare uniforms without an issue, since he only packed a meager few. zipping it all back up, he pulled on his boots, tugged a hood over his head, and made sure to leave a key beneath the doormat. simon had never given you a copy, hadn't had one made, so he left his own, making sure to fire off a quick text message he knew you’d wake up to.

› simon (creep): got deployed, don't know how long, key under the rug luv'.

you had known he was in the military since your very first meeting, back when he mentioned it was the sole reason his flat was such a disaster. he hadn’t told you what exactly he did for a living, but it hadn’t mattered much, as long as his payments cleared. now, however, things had changed.

pacing through the empty, spotless flat that no longer required your daily attention felt entirely wrong, there was no loud snoring vibrating from the gloomy bedroom, the one where he kept the drapes bolted tight because he couldn't stand the daylight, and the tv wasn't blasting some trashy reality show loud enough for you to yell a commentary at the screen from the bathroom.

forgetting for a moment that there was no one left to cook for, you cracked the fridge door to start prep only to find it completely bare. there wasn't a single container left inside, the massive mountain of food, enough to satisfy a small family or keep his heavy muscle mass fueled for a week, had simply evaporated.

reaching for your phone where it lay on the kitchen countertop, you pulled up your chat with simon. your brief, polite understood in response to his sudden deployment was already flagged with two blue checkmarks, and you began typing out a new sentence, never anticipating the near instant vibration of an answer hitting your screen.

› my witch: did you eat all the food?

› simon (creep): packed it with me, shared some with boys, they told me i'm lucky to have you.

› my witch: okay. thanks.

johnny and kyle were not only surprised to see so much homemade food, but practically wept with joy as they shoveled it down, polishing off the entire haul in one single sitting and licking their forks clean. they repeatedly told simon he was a lucky bastard, more so kyle, who kept rubbing it in that he’d been the genius to suggest hiring a housekeeper in the first place.

once the plastic tubes were spotless, bearing no trace that food had ever been inside, with even the creamy sauce completely licked from their edges, simon snapped a picture to send you. the photo showed the boys slumped back with their palms flat over their full bellies, the stacked, empty containers balanced right on simon's thick, muscular thighs.

› my witch: wow.

when your blunt, unbothered answer lit his screen, a slow, genuine smirk pulled at his lips at your response under skull balaclava. he scratched idly at the back of his fabric covered nape, looking entirely too soft for a man in full tactical gear, a slip that had johnny opening his mouth to throw a mocking jab. though the taunt earned him a wordless warning that glinted bottomless in simon’s coal irises, looking easily noticeable when accented by blonde, wispy lashes.

the flat required a sweep once or twice a week, there simply wasn't enough furniture in the place to hold dust, but you still found excuses to turn the key in his lock far more than necessary. you had grown used to driving there every day, only to be greeted by an empty silence instead of the broad, toothy grin that usually tugged at his scarred face whenever he looked you up and down, calloused hands reaching out to eagerly grope your delectable curves.

meanwhile, simon was being run ragged at the base, his eyes growing bloodshot from a lack of proper sleep, mind too wired to let him rest when he finally hit the mattress. even locking himself in a stall and jacking off until his fist was tired and his cock went dead limp, picturing your drooling pussy stretched thin around his throbbing cock and ass bouncing from his hips, didn't take the edge off, not at all.

his bunched muscles and scarred limbs put up an aching protest with every step, driving his temper through the roof, though none of it was enough to compromise his work, he was still sharp and moving, the rot trapped strictly behind the skull. john had informed him that this operation would take months, and upon hearing the news, simon had chewed his bottom lip raw at the words.

uneven edge of his teeth tearing skin until the metallic taste of copper flooded his mouth, thick eyebrows drawn into a tight knot. he knew it would take time, deployments were always a matter of months, only the digits on the calendar changing, but still, it ate at him that you were left entirely alone back there.

he hadn’t possessed the heart, rotten one or not, to tell you how long his deployments actually lasted, having settled for a simple lie that he could be gone for a week. messaging you whenever managing to find a free moment, given a two hour window to crash on a sleeping bag in some ratty, dark outpost room.

hadn't expecting a notification back, considering the clock had long since cleared midnight, but you did, having been huddled under your own sheets, restlessly scrolling through your phone, his screen litting up instantly.

› simon (creep): deployment will take about three months, still paying you though.

› my witch: okay, it's no issue.

a small square displaying a ridiculous sum of money flashed in your thread, sent by him to cover the months ahead. in truth, a girl could have taken the cash and vanished, ghosted him entirely, but simon didn't seem to give a damn about any possible risk.

the notification made you remember how he had laughed, the loudest you’d ever heard it and more genuinely than ever before, at the stubborn way you had furrowed your brows, scowling at the price tag of the ribeyes he’d requested for a dinner. it hadn't even come out of your own wallet, he’d handed you the cash himself, but you’d still managed to treat his budget like a personal crisis, fretting over.

such deposit was easily double your standard rate, you knew the exact math of it because your ongoing financial struggles forced you to count every single penny. overdue rent notices stacked away in a neat, suffocating pile, waiting for the moments you would inevitably sit and look them over and over, until a sickening nervousness churned restlessly in your gut.

this single transfer could cover your every need, perhaps even allow you to buy something new for the apartment, a proper couch, or a bigger, softer bed. but the longer you stared at the glowing font, the more the inheritance felt like a beautifully designed cage.

› my witch: the amount is bigger than it should be.

› simon (creep): know it, doesn't matter, if i give then it should be like that.

your thumb hovered frozen over the button to send the excess money right back to him, dragging a palm across your face, desperate to soothe the hot, stinging burn behind the lids. a tight, cramping lump gathered in your throat, ribs feeling crushed, making it agonizingly hard to even choke down a breath, chest tightening as you wavered at the very edge of tears.

and simon, sitting miles away, noticed your lingering silence, remembering all too well how fiercely you had bristled the first time he tried to pay double when you only started working for him. panicking in his own way, he scrambled for something to say, to break the tension and steady you, settling on playing the hard ass, trying to force some reassurance, but slipping embarrassingly in the process.

› simon (creep): won't accept any attempts at sending those back. you need to restore your magic with something, ain't ya?

the teasing came easy to him, tied to that witch nickname he’d branded you with, and the light banter actually made the pressure under your ribs dissolve, as though someone had finally uncuffed your lungs, letting a faint, genuine smile edge onto your mouth.

a tingling warmth began spooling deep in your belly, thighs shifting restlessly against the sheets, and it felt so incredibly foreign that a mere dialogue, this small shard of care you allowed him to show and subsequently received, could cause your skin to pebble with goosebumps. you simply weren't accustomed to such dedicated attention.

simon texted nothing in response, staring blankly at the screen, agonizing over whether he had made you uncomfortable or had crossed the strict boundary you had drawn on your very first day, a line you hadn't established for nothing. he didn't want to seem weird, let alone predatory, there was, after all, a undeniable gulf between you, one that would make any civil folk look askance, a problematic reality by most standards, both in age and status.

he was a hardened military lieutenant with a fat bank account and a scribbled mess where a normal romantic history should be, you were a struggling, cornered college girl he had every resource to exploit. you were smart, dangerously so, but the real joke was that you didn't even have to try, for all his size and power, you had the man completely, utterly wrapped around your finger.

he rubbed two roughened fingers over his bristly jaw when another quiet ping rattled the silence, no words, but a picture that made him choke on a heavy groan. eyes widening, umber irises glinting as they absorbed the cool toned light the screen cast, slowly turning into tiny voids, pupils blowing wide.

in the photo, your shirt was rucked up, the fabric stretched thin but remaining soft and comfortable to sleep in, caught firmly between your teeth. it left your pretty tits bounced right into the frame, nipples rigid and peaked close to the lens. with belly bare, your panties dragged low on your hips, the tiny ribbon bow stitched at the center perfectly visible.

simon’s cock thickened instantly at the sight of your tits, giving a kick so violent he had to clench his jaw tight, molars cracking together as his cock twitched hard against his burly thigh. but it was the view of your hand reaching down, two fingers parted across the clothed, plump folds of your sweet pussy, that sent all the blood rushing to the swollen crown, oozing sticky pre come and leaving his subsequent text littered with typos.

› simon (creep): chris, tbag' a gift for me, lovei?

› my witch: mm, thought you'll like it.

he took a deep drag of the air, getting so drunk on the image that his head spun, reaching a massive hand down to palm his heavy bulge, hissing low through clenched teeth. canines grinding together as his vision grew bleary all too quickly, utterly lost in a sudden surge of arousal that made it near impossible to string a single word together.

swiping a messy, trembling thumb over his phone screen while his other hand gripped his clothed cock tight, he found the call button, listening to the muffled, long tones ring into the dark. perhaps he had hurried, or maybe you thought that was the only remedy he deserved, but you picked up just as a ragged moan escaped his throat.

the surprised, breathless hiccup you let out in response had sent his fingers into a panic as he yanked down the brass teeth of his cargo zipper. growling like a caged animal, his focus drilling to catch the faint rustling coming from your end, though the rapid, thundering leap of pulse in his ears almost turned him deaf.

leaving his corded muscles heavy and numb as he breathed a raw, desperate prayer into the receiver “tauch yaurself, luv” he almost pleaded, voice strewn raucous and molassed with desire.

it was impossible not to obey a voice that sounded so close to being needy, you had never heard a man sound this way for you, a man who usually carried himself like a dog, all bared teeth, crushing hands, and territorial purrs whether you were wearing clothes or completely bare, sounded so brokenly desperate for you. you could have just stood there and done nothing, and that would have been enough for simon to haul you into his arms, chapped lips pressing to your throat and kneading your ass, completely unbothered by distracting you from your chores.

with all your worries banished and your head dizzy from his tender command, you obeyed, fingers pressed firmly against your clothed cunt, tips tracing gentle swipes along the sensitive, soppy seam. pelvis rolling in a slow, instinctive arc, rocking against your own warm palm as a high pitched, desperate whine welled up in your throat.

“saund so pretty when ya pussy teased. . rub that' littl' clit' f'me” simon let out a low grunt, hand already wrapped tightly around his hefty girth as his hips bucked upward in a frantic rhythm. even the hard ground beneath him, with his thin sleeping bag doing absolutely nothing to soften the stone digging into his tailbone, could not halt the relentless pace of his palm dragging up and down.

every single callus and scar etched into his skin only served to heighten the raw sensation even more, foreskin pulling back with pearlescent drops scattering around. you hummed something, a tangled thread of garbled words that bled together until they formed his name, sounding so deviously broken over the line that simon had to tighten his grip. ivory fist squeezing hard where the blood pulsed violently from the base of his cock all the way to its gorged, aching tip.

obscenely wet sounds that followed his every wanking motion flooded the speaker, causing your shoulders to curl inward as your toes flexed in a helpless reaction. the heel of your palm pressed firmly against your fattened clit, which twitched restlessly until it was trapped beneath the intense pressure, forcing a strangled, breathless noise from your throat.

as your fingers circled your entrance, the cotton fabric of your underwear gone translucent and clung to lacquered skin, drenched from the slick. loosened hole clenching around nothing but empty air, before gushing a fresh spill of warmth that caused your woozy movements to quicken in a rush.

simon hears it all, and it brings him too quickly to his peak, driven over the edge by nothing but the dazed, shy whimpers you let slip into the call, your ragged gasps, and the soft, slick noises filtering through the speaker the moment you slid your dainty fingers beneath the cloth. cotton gusset bunched and crumpled under your hand, creating an awkward discomfort that chafed against swollen, too tender skin, but your frantic pace never wavered.

breaking climax hit you both at once, a sharp, choked back scream ripping through. he even had to slam his teeth down into his own wrist, clamping his jaw shut to kill the raw, needy grunt that threatened to echo your dazed whimpers.

waiting for the trembling to leave his chest before he could drag up a voice that sounded like gravel “christ', yau did so good, sweitheart'.. the absolut' best' for me’’ simon soothed over, but you could only let out a small sniffle. face nuzzled deep into the pillow by now, mouth slightly drooly and parted, while one hand still cupped over your mound, feeling the throbbing aftershocks.

you didn't even bother with the sticky wetness or the way your thighs shook in the aftermath, instead reaching up with your other arm, two fingers finding one hardened nipple, pinching it firmly through your shirt and letting out a loud, deliberately dirty moan.

it caught his attention anew, as he sat there in the gloom of his outpost, cum splattered across his flexing belly, tight shirt riding up just enough to expose the haired, firm pudge of his stomach, cargo pants a complete mess. but who was he to turn away what you gave to him so eagerly? he drank it all in hungrily, hoarding the memory before your pride kicked back in and you turned into his sharp tongued, sassy witch.

time bled on, weeks passed in a blur, you kept up with your work, answering whenever he texted to ask how you were doing, sending him routine pictures of his clean flat, initially saying no whenever he demanded face pictures, but inevitably sending them anyway.

your eyebrows creased in a stubborn scowl in every single shot, a view that kept him grinning like a complete idiot in the middle of a briefing. sometimes, you would even send a nude or two, bent over on a rug with your butt perched up, panties pulling taut over puffy folds, or captured right as you exited the shower, twirling in front of the mirror before snapping a photo where the towel covered you strictly from the front.

breasts and pelvis shielded from the greedy eye, but your damp shoulders and glistening hips were exposed, skin looking so delicate and edible, so terrifyingly biteable that his throat bobbed hard, forcing him to swallow the sudden flood of saliva that filled his mouth.

you had stopped counting the days, or noticing them at all, growing thoroughly exhausted as your college workload turned more demanding than ever before. It had leaving you feeling caged, clawing at the walls of your own mind with no outlet for the panic, causing you to close off entirely.

› simon: how are you, witchy?

› simon: you're busy?

› simon: it's been days, luv, is everything okay?

no words, no answers, simon was on edge, less than a week away from clearing the base and flying back to his flat, back to you, when you suddenly disappeared, and simon was a remarkably paranoid man when it came to losing tabs on the few things he kept close.

you had no proper sleep and insufficient nourishment, the skin beneath your eyes bruising, while a simple assignment had you clawing at your temples because you simply could not fail. the lock clicked at midnight, the exact hour he’d vanished weeks ago, heavy duffel bag shuffling against his side, the only sounds around being the nocturnal hum of crickets and distant music booming from a few floors below.

his massive shoulders were locked tight under the weight of a bone deep fatigue, front door giving way, but the interior was a black vault, no lights, no noise, a dead unmoving space. yet, he immediately noticed the shoes by the entrance, not his combat boots, but your sneakers, the same worn pair he’d watched you slip into for months.

not bothering at ripping his mud caked boots off, he let the duffel drop to the floorboards, bending his knees low to let the nylon land without a sharp crack. simon circled the open kitchen and living room until his eyes caught your silhouette balled up miserably on the couch, face buried as you grunted into the cushions.

you woke slowly, dazed and heavy limbed, the sudden fog clearing just enough for you to realize your afternoon nap had swallowed ten full hours of the day. your head twisted aside, body bolting up so violently that simon lunged forward, his instinct tearing. he hadn’t taken that cursed balaclava off yet, and it terrified you.

had you cornered against the armrest, wide eyed, blinking frantically at his shadow and then at his massive, exposed hand, your vision blurry, unable to see him properly through the dark, but his voice broke the paralysis.

“easy, luv. . it’s me, it’s simon, yau’re alright'” the low, gravelly rasp hit your ears and had you easing immediately, staring at his outstretched palm, open and waiting, and didn't run when his heavy stride closed the distance, hovering over your small frame. his other hand reached up, thick fingers hooking into the tattered hem at his throat to yank the fabric up and over his jaw, showing bit by bit his patchily stubbled, scarred jawline and crooked nose.

he’d barely dragged the mask over his outgrown, flattened hair before your hands flew out, sharp fingernails clawing into the fleece of his hoodie to haul his weight down to your level. he caught his balance with a surprised grunt, chunky arms hovering in mid air as the skull balaclava spilled onto the rug by his boots, your face already buried into his hot skin with a frantic, desperate haste.

simon didn't waste another second in wrapping his toned forearms around your waist, heavy body flopping onto the couch, pulling you securely over his wide lap. he didn't speak, simply burying his mouth and nose against your temple, dragging in a sharp, lung filling breath of you.

you stayed pinned to his chest, clawing at his torso, and then, in a rough, cracked whisper that you’d spent months trying to choke back, you let the truth slip “missed you” stammered around a confession that was supposed to remain blocked behind your pride, but it tore out anyway, a whine for help.

fingers tightening around you, blunt nails biting firmly into your waist, but you didn't mind the roughness, instead, your muscles went entirely slack, turning limp under his palms. as if you’d been suspended by taut ropes for weeks and he’d finally stepped in to cut the ties and catch your fall. his lips pressed into the soft skin of your ear, breath hot while murmuring “i’ve got' yau, witch, i’m her'”

he didn't tease you about how needy his sharp tongued, sassy girl had gotten in his absence, indeed, he’d been ready to grunt a wicked jest, a shift that usually would have had you pinching his chest and hissing at him, but had refrainied instead.

hearing you already snoring gently against his throat, feeling your wet, clumped lashes swoop over his skin as your eyes closed for real, slackened face tucked safely under his chin. he knew there were tears on your cheeks, but he’d let you sleep, having all the time in the world to clean up tomorrow.

broken whimpers and breathless sobs hitched behind your teeth, stuttering until you were panting under your breath, head dangling down and eyes bleary with pleasure, you watched the shallow, rhythmic movement of his digits drawing in and out, the bulging bands of his tendons flexing with every stroke.

arousal stretching thin in glimmering strings as your drenched cunt squelched lewdly around his fingers, his calloused thumb finding your clit, already pulsing and twitching restlessly, rubbing in firm, relentless circles until you sobbed out a choked, close to be agreement “a—ah! p—please!”

the flat was too small for his massive shadow, and könig felt as though he could barely fit in. a fluffy carpet lined the entrance and the living room, every wall and shelf meticulously decorated. on the kitchen island sat a bouquet of withered flowers, the sight of those blossoms making him wonder with an ugly, spiking jealousy if they had been gifted by some secret admirer.

his broad palm tightened possessively over your hip in response, though his jaw lost its tense, rigid edge the moment you leaned up on your tiptoes, plump lips catching his weathered, bristly cheek in a kiss that smoothed out his scowl. there were photos scattered about too, kept in delicate frames, some captured at formal events, some at rowdy parties, others during your concluded college years.

he lingered to study each one, turning the frames restlessly in his massive hands while you went around the flat, gathering what you needed. following your retreating scent into the bedroom, he stepped in just as you knelt by the bed, folding clothes across your lap with the same neat, meticulous care you always showed at his place, ensuring no wrinkles would form.

könig watched you pack your shirts, pants, and those cute skirts he already starved to make you parade for him once you were back under his roof. he certainly wasn't against the underwear you began placing into the cardboard boxes, not at all, there were lacy, plain, and flower embroidered pieces, some so sheer he could see right through them.

they were devastatingly sexy garments, the view making his blood run hot and prompting to let out a petulant, slightly angry grunt “who did you buy these for, kleines häschen?” thick eyebrows scrunching together in troubled line. you looked up at him with gullible eyes, lower lip rolling out into the most adorable pout, your chin raised to project all the mock hurt you could muster.

reaching up, your hands cupped his prominent cheekbones, fingertips mapping the rough tracks of the scars lining his jaw, batting your eyelashes and gazing directly into his striking, baby blue irises. his massive head tilted under your touch, the coarse bristles tingling against your palm as he nuzzled affectionately into your skin, a lopsided, uneven smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“there wasn’t anyone worth showing these to” to him, you looked like a darling, helpless little prey rabbit, tooth purring so, his restraint snapping and hands reaching out, broad palms kneading your curvy ass, blunt nails digging firmly into the fat there.

jaw dropping slack when his lips smashed over yours, tongue sliding past teeth to claim your mouth immediately, sloppy and unrestrained, your fingers curled tightly around his bulky shoulder blades, digging deep into his shirt as your broken, smothered whimpers made his length thicken with a violent pulse against your thigh.

packing should have gone much quicker, especially with his help, carrying on every single bottle he found in your bathroom. he stood there looking utterly bewildered by the sheer volume of them, lotions, bubble baths, creams, and scrubs, and that was before he even realized the entire second shelf was just for your face, at which point he didn't understand a damn word.

you giggled, promising him that you would pamper him with an evening face mask once you were back home, to which he nodded with a boyish excitement, though he knew his rough mug was never going to match yours, and he didn't care to try, just wanting to keep his hands busy groping your skin anyway.

when you moved to the kitchen to collect your pots and pans, könig watched you with a thoroughly puzzled expression, leaning against the counter. his muscular arms were folded tight across his stocky chest, one eyebrow cocked upward, curious as to why the hell you could possibly need those when his own kitchen was already stocked, and you had already been cooking with them anyway.

“yours are ruined, everything burns on them” you explained plainly, holding up your skillet to show him the intact non stick coating, reminding the big soldier that his own cookware was covered in scratches and looked a hell of a lot cheaper than your spotless, rubber handled sets, so convinced, he nodded in agreement.

you were already babbling happily about what you wanted to cook for dinner this evening, reaching up into the cupboards to grab a collection of mugs and drinking glasses adorned with silly drawings and shapes, when his massive bulk swamped you from behind, pinning you down. prickly chin rubbing over your exposed neck, mouth pressing in to suck wet marks into the tender skin at the crook of your shoulder before his hot breath drifted right to your ear.

unsurprisingly, you get bend over the kitchen cabinet, hoisting your weight into his chest until your toes were left barely brushing against the cold floorboards beneath. gorged cock hammering in your drooling cunt, countertop digging into your tensing tummy, mouth agape with blabbered squeals and keens “h—hnh, k—könig, too much!”

puffy clit pulsing relentlessly, but he reaches with his fingerpads only when about to burst, slipping easily with the tacky wetness that oozes out, teasing the sensitive nub back and forth. you slump bonelessly, his muscular hips slamming against your juddering ass, scorched by the harsh impact.

throbbing tip jerking at your gooey insides with grinding, dragging thrusts, growls growing deeper “schh, take it wie das brave häschen, das du bist” veiny fingers knuckled tightly into your cotton shirt, bunching the material in his fists over the swaying curve of your breasts as his hands scrambled hungrily at them.

when könig was done, he hoisted you up to sit on the counter, your weight suspended as creamy globs of his release dripped from between your thighs, chapped lips finding your forehead. pressing down with soothing, gentle kisses, and he smiled softly against warm skin as your fingers tracked their way into his hair, curling through the thick strands until you finally felt steady enough to stand on your own.

he carried every single cardboard box out to the vehicle, never letting out so much as a grunt at how heavy they were, while you huddled contentedly into his side, eager for the ride back to his place, leaning back and preening like a coddled thing when he hauled you onto his lap in the car, showering your flushed cheeks with tender, lingering kisses.

somehow, a few pairs of panties had gone missing from the box containing your underwear, perhaps you had simply forgotten to pack them. yet, when those very same garments began to reappear beneath the pillow he slept on, the deep, ragged groans he let out in the dead of night, right before he would turn over to cradle your tits in his sleep, suddenly made perfect sense.

your profile had been remarkably simple, a straightforward list of what you could do, cleaning, laundry, shopping, and meal preparation. you had listed no demanding requirements, and for some inexplicable reason, your requested salary was incredibly low. it was an absolute dream, though he had been fully prepared to pay an inflated price just to have his squalor managed.

following a characteristically brief, dry exchange of messages on his part, he scheduled an evening meeting with you. not making the slightest effort to clean up before your arrival. when he threw the door open, his hair was a shaggy mess, a week's worth of patchy stubble shadowed his square jawline, and a pair of stained gray sweatpants hung low on his wide hips beneath a crumpled shirt that was entirely too tight for his massive form.

yet, you didn't even blink at the sight of the jagged scars marring his face, nor did you falter at his unkempt clothes. instead, you fixed your gaze strictly on the surrounding mess, doing so without a single grimace or frown, an unbothered composure that pulled a rare grin from his lips behind your back.

“what', no scream?” simon grunted, clearly amused now. he took a slow step closer, tracking the way your eyes flitted about, systematically scanning the wreckage of his living room and kitchen with the callous efficiency of a trained robot, only looking back at him when you let out a fickle, noncommittal hum.

“seen worse” you answered shortly, offering a small, indifferent shrug, craning your neck at an angle to look directly into his face, holding a steady, unblinking gaze with his honey speckled irises. the blackout curtains were parted just enough to let in the fading light, the amber sunbeams catching the edges of simon’s messy hair and bleeding into his eyes.

“yau look a bit' too yaung to hav' sein much” he remarked, and it was the truth, you looked far younger than him, and certainly younger than the hardened faces he was used to surrounding himself with. your expression didn't even flicker, holding his stare, maintaining a heavy, awkward silence that nearly made his skin crawl.

“i’m a witch” you finally grumbled, tone blunt and clipped in a lazy drawl as you quirked a single eyebrow upward. simon went dead silent, mirroring your stillness for a heartbeat, before he suddenly barked a loud, booming laugh, baring his crooked teeth in genuine entertainment, and the tension dissolved there.

you moved on to discuss the payment, admitting that he was right about your age, a student simply looking to earn what she could when your schedule permitted. when he offered a significantly higher rate than you had asked for, you declined politely, fixing him with a scowling glare that openly labeled him a creep. leaving your number in his phone, you agreed to return tomorrow, once again in the evening.

what simon had expected would take no less than a month to clean had been thoroughly tidied up in less than a week, every single corner scrubbed bare and dust cleared from places he hadn't even known existed. for the first few days, he had slept through most your shifts, knowing you were there and setting his alarm strictly for the hour you were about to leave.

every night he’d wake to a new miracle, finding you’d somehow hauled the heavy sofa across the floorboards to clean the dust bunnies beneath it, and had dusted behind the television without breaking a wrist or even a sweat. amused, he changed your contact name in his cracked phone to witch.

when you accidentally caught a glimpse of the screen one evening, you flashed him a smile so unexpectedly sweet that it nearly gave him a stroke, accustomed as he was to seeing you either plain faced or frowning in deep concentration over chores.

your cooking was something he would actively brag about to johnny and kyle, never in his life had he wanted to lick a plate clean, yet whatever you prepared whether roasted, baked, meat, fish, or soup he devoured it like a starved stray dog, licking his lips and declaring aloud “shit', nevuh tasted anything bettuh than this”

crucially, you never commented on the cum stains on the boxers he frequently dropped into the laundry basket when sorting out the clothes. nor did you find it strange when he abruptly altered his sleep schedule just to stay awake while you were cleaning.

watching you patiently from the couch, his long legs spread wide and his head cocked, while the television hummed with the very show you had earlier dismissed as utter shit out in the background.

“stay for dinnuh next' tim', my treat', i’ll do the cooking” simon offered one evening. it had been nearly a month since you started working for him, and because you stubbornly refused all his attempts to raise your salary, this was the only compromise his mind could conjure, at least a dinner, a chance to treat you to something fancy.

“since when do you cook?” you had asked, your voice far more amused than curious, openly teasing him considering you’d been the one fixing every bite he ate, down to the chalky protein shakes he needed for his workouts, possessing far too much culinary expertise for your age.

“i can handl' a stov'” he let out a gravelly huff, rolling his shoulders as he watched you tie your shoelaces, bent over with your pert ass curved beautifully in his direct line of sight. your clothes weren't revealing, just simple jeans pulled taut against the swell and stretchy shirt, yet his cock stirred in response, chubbing behind the sweats and boxers.

simon knew damn well you caught the outline the moment you spun around to accept the dinner invitation. actually lingering behind the following evening for a flawlessly seared steak draped in a rich bourbon garlic cream sauce, paired with crispy roasted potatoes.

you finished the plate, warmed up and satisfied with your belly full, and ended up straddling his fuzzy thighs right there on the sagging couch. hips rolled down onto his brawny lap, and his swelled girth thrust in brutal and deep, plunging itself within your tight, sappy cunt. walls convulsing around his bottoming base as he pistoned in, your jiggly ass smacking against his heavy balls.

“christ', even yauh cunt' the best'” his humid breath hit your face in a thoroughly ragged rasp, hooded eyes wandering, darting from your eyes, which had gone completely glassy, veiled in a thick fog of pleasure, to the way slick rolls in tacky rivulets in response to how he rams in. scarred hips angled to hit deeper, battering the lumpy spot that makes your thighs cramp and shake.

you were uninhibited and deliciously loud, answering his heavy rhythm with nothing but breathless, sharp moans and high pitched whines as you rode him completely dry, tight walls contracting in a vice like grip around his veined girth, spilling an abundant, glossy slick that churned into froth.

this wasn't his first lay in weeks, but you were driving him entirely out of his mind, leaving him so dazed and overwhelmed that his vision blurred and his umber eyes nearly crossed. broad paw clamped flat against your hip, dimpling the supple skin as he kept your weight down, his fingers toying idly with the waistband of the panties you hadn't even bothered to take off.

he didn't tighten his grip to hurt, but his blunt fingernails still bit hard into your curves, branding your flesh with stinging raw indents. he slams in, and you leak out, strings of arousal stretching in glimmery strings, matting coarse pubes that rub across your pulsing clit, making your body seize taut, squealing “a—ahn, s—simon!”

heavy lidded eyes grew long since glassy with desire, even further as he nuzzled in to press his mouth hungrily against your sternum. peppering a path of biting kisses outward until his mouth was filled with the lush, bouncing swell of your breast, tongue swirling in demanding, drooling circles around your pebbled nipple.

simon cums quick, you don't know about that, but he acknowledges that his peak comes much more earlier than he's used to, heat pooling within his bulging veins and spreading mercilessly, rapture hot pressure gathering at the rise of his spine and traveling, your own tummy threatening to snap with feverish coil.

heat clenching sporadically around him, encouraging on, and he follows, jerking when your cunt wraps tight and spasms, creaming his length while his balls twitch. thick cum plugging you deep, the excess a creamy, frothing mess that coats your thighs in pearlescent dews alongside lacquering slick.

he let's out guttive groan, words ripping raw from his chest “that''s it — feiling so good, lovi', fucking best'” large hands had long since moved from the slope of your hips, roughened fingers now buried deep, kneading the round, plump curve of your ass, gripping to hold you flush to his pelvis while he floods your satiating hole, nicked lips pressed softly against your sweaty temple.

you shuddered on his lap, slumped heavily against sturdy chest, sore yet adorably content, huddling closer as hushed, exhausted whimpers slipped past your teeth. hiding your sweltering face beneath the rough scruff of his jawline, breath ghosting uneven against his blotchy skin, and he wished with all his horny heart that this could happen every damn day.

nothing changed outwardly when you left, just a polite goodbye and a brief, muttered “until sunday, yeah?” tossed between you in the hallway, a flat, unimpressed frown marring your face when you noticed your soiled panties stuffed casually into his pocket, despite his earlier claim that they had simply been ripped during the frenzy.

simon spent his weekends as usually, sleeping, eating the meals you had so lovingly prepared and packed for him, working out, and then fisting his leaky cock while single mindedly sniffing your stolen underwear, over and over again, until you finally returned on sunday.

both acting as usual, showing no avoidance and no lingering tension, but somehow you ended up with his weathered face buried right against your gooey cunt, bent over the kitchen counter while your fingers still gripped a microfiber cloth, now knuckling it. he knelt down behind you, calloused hands spreading your asscheeks to hold you open to his eager tongue.

by the time he let you up, you left his flat on wobbly legs, far later than you ever should have, the skin of your inner thighs raw and chafed from the relentless scrape of his rough stubble, making your muscles clench with ache. behind your back, simon had already pulled out his phone, display lit up and mirroring his toothy grin, thick thumb swiping to change your contact name once more, my witch.

arthur had rarely been interested in love affairs or the attention of women, if only because most of those he encountered were the corporate sort, women who would say any word and do any deed for a meager sum, even enduring bloody beatings while preferring to keep quiet rather than cause a public stir.

with the only woman who had truly captured his heart, the one who, perhaps unknowingly, still carried a piece of it in her pocket, he had botched with entirely. she was too good, too focused on a respectable life to ever belong to a man out such dangerous caliber, a man whose only dowry was nothing but constant peril and a lingering sense left only by paranoid fear that kept him forever scanning the treeline and crowds.

she possessed an unyielding spine that could not be crushed, one that had frequently made him hesitate and turn weak with an affection that simply did not suit him. back then, it had felt unnerving to notice how his tongue would tie into stutters around her, and how his carefully constructed reputation began to fracture.

raising questions, jokes, and mocking squints from the gang as he tried to become a man who could always be there, even though such a life proved impossible. that was his youth, a time when his features were more delicate, chin clean shaven, and a crimson blush could still find his cheeks, a period remembered by lingering glances from young ladies who giggled behind the thinnest palms.

now, those same respectable women looked at him with nothing but disdain, clicking their heels in a desperate haste to escape his shadowing company. yet, there is an exception to every rule. arthur knew it deep down by the sudden, heavy wrench beneath his ribs and the way his swaying stride slowed abruptly until his spurs jingled in the dusty air.

his aquamarine irises weren't merely tracking the refined line sloping your fit corset or the delicate ruffles at a flawless blouse dancing in the wind, he was staring because you had reawakened something starved inside him, snaring his attention at the lowest, most primal animal level, belly hollowing out.

coyotes are known to have a sweet tooth, and you, whether out innocent ignorance or stubborn avoidance, proved sweet enough to clog his fangs, prompting him to stalk the trail where your footprints still lingered in the dirt and dust before finally approaching, tilting his head like a hound playing at being tame, and wagging his tail.

he could evoke the most delicate delight in you, drawing out ringing laughter as you batted your lashes, bright smile rounding your heated up cheeks whenever he allowed himself to tip his worn out hat with a brusque compliment. arthur's mouth would pull back into a crooked smirk, spiky teeth bared, hooded stare dropping down to watch your chest heave against your collar from breath caught abrupt in the throat, cheeping a response.

he’d sunk his claws into you now, and he wasn't about to loosen his grip, swallowing greedy saliva, keeping a trained eye on you, a frequent visitor to a town that had no desire to see his face. through dense woodlands where grizzly bears and majestic elk roamed beneath looming tall trees, all the way to the serene clearing of manzanita post, the curious local dogs would peek out from their rest on the cushiony grass, lazily watching the trail and waiting for a kind hand.

when a carnivore wanders into a place it shouldn't, an isolated mountain settlement where everyone knows their neighbor's business and recognize every trespasser, the townsfolk typically lock themselves inside their wooden cabins until it leaves, or send armed men to deal with the threat. but arthur morgan wasn't the kind of beast you hunted with a rifle, no sane man in the territory would cross his path with steel out.

so the town chose cowardice, leaving you out in the open, a lamb offered for sacrifice while the folks kept silent, avoiding any mention about the dark truths they knew about him. they let you greet him with a wave and a toothy smile, completely oblivious to the paw closing around you, blind to any suspicion regarding how frequently he had begun to appear here, or how at ease he behaved, as though he truly belonged, owning the place.

leaving his horse tied to the hitching rail, arthur stepped close, landing a heavy hand against your back, mapping your spine until his palm rested flat just above your skirted buttocks. ducking his head, he greeted you with twinkling eyes etched with deep crow's feet that creased when he grinned a lazy smirk.

“was just passin' by, but aah saw ya havin' a hard time with that load” he crooned, his raspy voice carrying a smoky reek as his head tilted aside, nudging toward the heavy, stacked wicker basket slipping from your hands and the brown paper sack crumpled under your armpit, balanced traitorously “ain’t en mah nature to watch a pretty thin' struggle”

it was also far from his nature to follow a pretty thing all the way to her home, a tidied cabin with a welcome rug at the entrance and clusters of flowers that demanded daily attention. there was no dust in sight, only pretty dresses and thin chemises hanging to dry, and it was entirely too easy for a man like him to picture you in nothing but that thin linen, laid out on the sagging mattress with plush thighs wide and crumpling the cotton sheets in your tight fists.

inside, the air smelled like mouthwatering buttery baking and clean laundry, the floorboards groaning heavily beneath his weight and the filthy riding boots he didn't even bother to tug off. he wanted the house to remember he had been there, bringing in the dirt trapped under his fingernails and the clothes that had thoroughly drenched themselves in road grime and pungent sweat.

you were hellbent on showing your gratitude, though the walk from the general store had lasted barely a couple of minutes, accompanied by paranoid gazes drilling relentless holes into his brawny back, the locals wondering how soon the big, bad beast would finally tear into the naive lamb.

yet you merely fluttered your guileless eyes up at him, your sugary lips parting around a chippery inquiry “i’ve got a pie fresh out of the oven, would you care for a slice, mister morgan?” addressing him with total politeness, using his last name even though he’d given you his first the very day he’d taken a liking to you.

a broad smile cut across his rugged face as he nodded, agreeing right away before you could even finish your sentence, stepping past the door you held open for him in such an inviting, attentive manner. the pie was not small at all, it was a classic fruit pastry with a buttery, flaky crust stuffed with sweetly tart cherries.

the bright crimson filling smeared across his chapped lips and lingered on his nicked fingers as a few stray berries escaped, and as he licked his mouth clean, deep voice rumbling “that’s about the best damn pie i’ve ever had” he grinned, thoroughly satisfied to see you bow your head and giggle in tiny, shy gratitude.

arthur had no business stalling at the threshold on his way out, fixing you with that tight, calculating squint. he was playing dumb, eager to see what you would do upon noticing his sudden reluctance to leave. his gaze did not wander to the neat interior behind you, the plush armchair or the lace doilies covering surfaces, but remained pinned strictly to your teeth teased lips.

you took a cautious step, then another, stopping an uneven breath away from his stocky chest before stretching up on your tiptoes. your hands found purchase upon his bunched, muscular shoulders, feeling the flannel shirt beneath, neck angling so you could press a fleeting butterfly kiss to his scratchy, bearded cheek.

he let out a deep, granular grunt that vibrated in his throat, attempting to sound entirely unbothered, until his massive palms, shamelessly greedy, suddenly pawed at your ass. hands clamped over the pert curve, his blunt nails digging into your flesh as he hauled your skirt high enough to leave you nearly exposed, air sneaking underneath.

holding you flush against his weight, and even when an uncontrollable, embarrassed whimper “o—oh!” escaped your throat, you didn't try to jerk out his bounding hold. your limbs went wax and mellow as he planted a wet, smudgy kiss against your jawbone, and only then did he abruptly let you go.

catching his belt loops with his fingers, casting a lazy, arrogant smirk over his shoulder while you stood there like a cornered deer, shivering, your clothes wrinkled, completely paralyzed by the rough, purring tone to his voice “see ya around, sweethear'” then the door clicked shut, leaving you alone to stare at the timber panels and the clumpy mud staining the floor you’d spent all morning wiping bare.

down the trail, the amber sun turned his carob hair into liquid syrup, arthur's fingers gripping his hat and tugging it down against the glare, letting the cool wind wash over his sweat dampened neck as he kept a steady pace down the dirt road, a single calloused fingertip tracing the seam of his own mouth idly, still branded with the memory of how your delicate skin had felt.

arthur did not go to people when he was hurt, it simply was not in his nature. even in camp, if anyone started asking questions about his health, they’d get nothing but a scowl and a curse. to you, he ridden hard through the timber with a white hot ache in his side, bleeding wet from where a lead bullet had grazed too closely beneath his ribs, tearing through both his new shirt and sun baked skin.

he held a palm clamped against the ruby leak when he knocked on your door, letting out pained grunts that were much louder than what he actually felt, playing it up a bit, making it sound worse than it was, he’d survived more than this and had patched up his own entry wounds more times than he could count.

the look on your face was exactly what he’d been starving to see, that pure, terrified panic as you yelped out “gods, arthur, you’re bleeding!” the second the latch clicked. he shoved his way inside, and you caught him in your arms, barely able to support his massive weight, but desperately trying to do so, dainty shoulders buckling under his weight as you hauled him over the threshold.

you ushered him past the tiny living room and into your bedroom, lowering him onto the bed with its straightened sheets, neatly gathered pillows, and blooming floral patterns. leaving him there with breathless, soothing whispers to rummage frantically for bandages, water, and a clean cloth.

the injury did not require a stitch, he wouldn't have come to you if it had been a gut shot, but it took a steady hand to scrub the grime out and roll the bandages tight. fingers trembling and your eyebrows pinched inward as you asked how he felt every few minutes, pursing your lips whenever he hissed “ain’t nothin' but a scratch, missy, don’t fret” but you fretted nonetheless, urging him to lie down while you cleared away the blood stained rags, his square jaw flexing.

never hearing him get up, he crept up behind you like while you were busy putting the medicine back in the drawer, a sharp reprimand nearly left your lips in a wobbly tone, caught as a lump, but his hefty weight slammed you flush against the wooden table, pelvis ground hard into your backside.

you shivered, clutching at at the corded, scarred muscles of his forearm as he nuzzled his chin into your exposed shoulder, thick chest vibrating against your shoulder blade with a deep, territorial purr “ya're too damn good to meh, sweetheart. . 'n aah reckon aah haven't paid mah debts fo wah it yet, have aah?”

it was effortlessly easy for him to swoon you. reaching out, he placed his roughened fingers beneath your chin, tipping your head in his direction and grasping your jaw between his thumb and forefinger firmly. his eyes remained riveted to the way your lips parted as he leaned in, sealing his mouth over yours. you accepted him, welcoming all he had to give as the tender, teasing kiss quickly spiraled into a rapacious devouring.

feeling his lips curl into a smile when you let out a breathy whimper into the embrace, your lower lip caught behind his crooked teeth and dragged downward, denting raw divots. arthur swallowed a heavy grunt, chapped lips brushing against the corner of your mouth until his tongue slipped past, forcing your lips further apart so he could curl in your wet, warm mouth, against your teeth.

slumping helplessly against him, chasing the way he cornered you against the table with an insistent pressure, giving a shallow hump to your ass. he scooped you up effortlessly into his muscular arms, carrying you over to the bed to lay you down flat, your cheek smushed into the sheets so he could reach the complex laces on your patterned corset.

watching with narrowed eyes as your spine bowed toward him in surrender, his pupils expanding like pooling ink stains while a few wavy strands of hair fell messily across his wrinkled forehead. sinking his knee into the mattress, the bed groaned under his weight but grew quiet as he leaned closer, the stays of your corset finally giving out and loosening enough for him to tug the fabric away.

warm candlelight glow spilling across your bare skin, and his gaze traced the delicate lines of your body, his ears straining to catch the shaky way you stuttered his name “a—arthur. .” in response, his thewy arm snaked around your waist, hoisting you upward only to whirl you around, your own hands flying to his clothes, fumbling and tugging at the fabric in equal impatience.

arthur shrugged his striped shirt down his hulking shoulders, the fabric leaving a burgundy smudge against your pristine sheets. as your dainty fingers tripped over his belt bucking and trousers, he reached down to help you, enveloping your hands within his own calloused palms. showing you how to strip him properly, the leather belt, the worn buttons at his pants, until his scarred, weathered skin was completely bared for you to gaze upon.

your hand swept down his rippling stomach, tracing the pudgy, slightly thick layer where a brunet trail of hair ran through, down toward his coarse groin. it was there that he stilled your eager touch, gently tugging your hand away to pin it beside your head, his fingers entwining with yours as he pinned you to the linens.

undergarments had already been discarded onto the floor by the bedpost, your combinations soaked through with tacky arousal, and he drank in the glossy sight of just how aroused you were. his heavy palm encouraging your legs to part wider so he could bend over, pressing a trail of burning kisses across your jumpy stomach and heaving ribs, his wiry beard chafing your warm skin and making your pelvis arch in needy squirm.

though your eyes were drawn anxiously to his bandaged side, all distraction melted away the moment his teeth clamped firmly onto your hipbone, the biting kiss quickly soothed with a slow, wet stroke of his tongue, voice dropping into a hoarse, heavy rumble “so damn beautiful. . 'n all fo wah meh”

you hiccup when he studies your pussy too close, a humid breath away with his crooked nose hovering above, ring finger curling to probe at the drooling hole, calloused pad getting sucked in slow, coated by dampening slick. arthur soothes with a coo when his finger slides in fully, stretching you open enough to make you keen, clawing nails into his hand.

the other digging into the pillows above, pussy adjusting slowly, and he chooses a couple shallow strokes, his lips pulling into a slight smirk when you grind back into the press, spasming walls quivering around the intrusion, until there's another digit prodding beside, working you up.

as responsive as arthur expected, keening so loud it rings in the candlelit room, almost sobbing when his swollen cockhead spreads your puffy folds, notching at your gaping hole. his hand leaving yours so he could grasp your legs instead, hiking them up gently, almost to their very limit, before settling separately over his broad shoulders.

he rubbed up and down your calves in a slow, soothing rhythm, folding your body beautifully beneath his weight as he leaned in, his hips jutting forward. heat sticky between your thighs, ankles nearly hooking together across the broad expanse of his shoulder blades, gorged cock splitting you wide, having your tight pussy take more to swallow around the veins and ridges.

eyes drooping, clouded with tears that bead on your waterline, pussy making wet, sloppy noise as he lodged deeper, your kiss swollen lips parting around a soundless moan when plump his tip knocked up, reaching and rubbing that round spot inside you, tapping the gummy curve. arthur’s grip dimpled your thigh as it hung suspended in the air, fingers digging deep nail indents into supple skin.

his sweat slicked pelvis thrusting forward, the thicket of hair at the base of his rudy cock rubbing over your fattened pearl, having no need to stroke you with his thumb right then. instead, he pressed his heavy palm flat against the soft curve of your lower belly, feeling the slight bulge that formed beneath your skin when he bullied in, bottoming out with a satisfied rumble.

the fresh linen around his ribs leaked a dark, blooming crimson, the bloody stain spreading wider with each shift of his weight. his brawny muscles locked tight, shifting under his skin as he dragged himself backward until only his blunt cockhead rested inside, then pushing back in, punching ragged, sobbing hitches, making your cunt spasm in response, more wetness gushing around and dripping down to the crease where your ass met thighs.

heart leaping, hammering violently against your ribcage, despite the heavy heat still coiling thick behind your navel, a dull, thrumming ache that pulled and pulled at your nerves, you reached a frantic, scrabbling hand toward arthur's torso. voice slipping out as a hoarse whimper, thick and molassed with a heavy worry “a—arthur, your wound!” that distracted him instantly, pounding thrusts faltering and cock twitching within your velvety inner walls.

he grunts, reddish chest heaving and sweat catching glittery on the hairs dusted there, some slicking his temples and cutting down his high cheekbone, hand at your tummy retreating away, lidded eyes lingering on still prominent bulge, especially as his cock jerks, skin stretching over.

“reckon aah told ya not to worry, but ya just won’t listen, will ya?” he wasn’t angry, he couldn’t be, not while he had his hands all over you. yet, his fingers reached behind him, blindly shuffling through the tangled sheets until he got a firm grip on a piece of discarded cloth, his long worn, threadbare, and frayed bandana.

it carried the raw filth of the entire west, steeped in his musky sweat, stained with tobacco, and grasped by dirty hands too many times to count without ever being properly washed. he knuckled the fabric into his fist once, then twice, and brought it directly to your mouth, which was already hanging slack from the breathless cries he was wrenching out of you. shoving the grime stained cloth past your wet lips and teeth, he watched closely as your jaw worked around the makeshift gag.

brows troubled into a tight, panicked knot as your mouth instinctively fought the gag, eyes wide and glazed as a muffled, questioning hum escaped your throat. arthur only grinned, turbulent stare glinting with a look of pure satiety, as his deep thrusts suddenly resumed, breaking into a rhythm far rougher than before. hips arching in an exquisite curve beneath him, feeling pleasantly numb as your legs, long since gone limp over his broad shoulders, needed his sturdy support.

his fingers wrapped tightly around your shins to keep them up, toes curling in tight, helpless tremors each time he slammed forward, body jolting beneath his pressing weight. eyes close to become crossed, thin whimpers and moans punched out in muffledly hiccuping “hn—mnn—” every time his hips slapped wet, angled to wedge his leaky cock beneath the plug of your cervix, tears burning in your eyes, walls contracting and slick spilling out around the base every time he bottomed out.

arthur had too ill manneredly forgotten about the lush swell of your breasts, which were practically begging for his undivided attention with every tantalizing movement of your body. sliding his heavy frame upwards, hands finally releasing your legs, feeling your limbs remain comfortably heavy and suspended in their place over his shoulders, before he bent his head down.

closing his mouth hungrily around your breast, his tongue swirled in slow, demanding circles around your perking, hardened nipple, breathtaking tears breaking through and sliding down your cheeks as you felt devastatingly overstimulated.

arms shaky when you lifted them to wind around his flush dusted, scalding neck, your palms desperate for purchase on his nape. he drank in the rough, choked back whimpers and warbled sobs vibrating against his ears, watching the gloss of saliva leak from your parted teeth only to stain and dissolve into the grime of the black cloth wedged behind your jaw.

“yeah, hold on meh, gonna cum soon aah bet, aren't ya, pretty thing?” he whispers raggedly, his own stomach churning, cock twitching from where it sits deep and demanding, his lips finally leaving your swollen nipple, littering a trail of open mouthed kisses up to your collarbone, before his teeth nipped hard into the giving flesh of your throat.

you gave a weak, dazed nod, your head lolling back over the pillows, though your clenching, drooling hole spoke enough. you fought to cry out his name over and over, fingernails biting deep into the scruff of his neck, but the sound escaped your throat as nothing more than a rattling, strung wail, a fine, helpless tremor starting out across your thighs.

pussy walls snug around him, tightening and tightening with rapid clenches, sucking him even deeper, and then erupting, liquid pooling in your belly and out your gaping hole, triggering him, balls drawn up and twitching. it makes you roll your hips, pussy fluttering again, shifting the jolting head of his cock inside, deep thrusts molding to rutting, muscles locking taut, and he knows the exact moment tension releases from the pit of your belly by how your shiny eyes roll back into their sockets.

his freckled nose pressing to the shell of your ear, howling loud and letting the sound slink down your spine, humping shallowly into you. sloppy thrust after sloppy thrust into your oozing, wall tight cunt, pulsing cockhead catching against the bump at the front, as his cum spurted out in milky, hot ropes inside. his shuddering body curled heavily over yours, strength spent as he couldn't hold himself up.

heat bloomed beneath your heart and ribs, dewy hole foaming in slick, milky rings around his thick length, yet, his hips continued to move in a slow circles, drawing obscene, filthy squelches from your joined bodies, plugging you with his seed. it took him a breath, perhaps more, before his spine stretched slowly, tired joints popping and large palms returning to your body, hands smoothing downward from your sensitive breasts to still twitching hips.

you had stopped making any sound at all, nostrils flaring with ragged breaths and eyes hardly open, requiring him to gently tap your blistering cheek just to see them focus back on. his hand hovered over your mouth for a lingering second before he finally freed you, pulling his damp bandana out from past your teeth with stretching strings of saliva.

your jaw flexed and ached as you tried to slur his name, but he gently shushed you, knowing you would let out a incoherent mewl the exact moment he pulled his hips back, his softened length slowly slipping from your pussy. immediately, a frothing, pearlescent white mixture of your shared release pooled out, oozing lazily onto the crumpled sheets beneath. chilling too quickly against your sticky thighs, making you reach down in discomfort.

arthur, however, was quicker, gently pushing your hand away, turning back and letting it fall limp at your side while he murmured, breathing turning less labored “easy, love, deep breaths. . i’ll do it myself” and he did, using that very same filthy bandana. reaching down, gently dabbing it against your sore pussy, mindful of the way you hissed and winced, allowing the wet mixture of your blended cum to seep into the fabric until nothing shimmered on your skin.

he didn't discard the rag onto the floor or fling it toward a dark corner of the wall. instead, he brought the wet cloth up to his face, pressing it directly against his nose to cover his mouth and jaw, thick chest rumbling with a deep, territorial sound as he took a filling whiff with the smell and taste of you.

your lips wobbled at the sheer intensity of the sight, achy hole giving a helpless, pulsing flutter that oozed fresh slick. it was a display that bordered on the utterly deranged, but you could only twist your head away, hiding your burning face deep into the pillow, which drew a thundering, satisfied laugh from his lungs.

“i—it’s disgusting” you had managed to burble, peering up at him as he already crawled back over you. his limp length dragged purposefully through the slick warmth of your folds, a lazy friction that drew a soft breath from your lips. his mouth found yours in a slow, lingering kiss, no longer trying to devour you, but seeking only to soothe, turquoise irises captivatingly serene.

laying nose to nose, forehead to forehead, as his wavy strands fell softly into your eyes. you let your wispy eyelashes flutter shut, tender hands framing the rugged lines of his jawbone, rubbing up and down to let his coarse beard scrape your skin pleasantly. offering no resistance, completely silent in response to his low, telling whisper “yeah. . 'n so am aah”