dolly 𝜗ৎ

"m'sorry, m'sorry..." Dex sobs, voice muffled against your neck, his words dissolving into broken breaths.

He won't pull away from you, not even when your nails rake down his broad back, drawing red lines and tiny beads of blood. The slap of his hips against yours is relentless, drawing filthy, broken sounds out of both of you.

"Can't stop — don't want to—" he whines, hips snapping harder, chasing the feeling. The wet noises of your cunt echo through the room, slick and obscene.

"Dex!" you cry out, back arching off the sheets, oversensitive, shaking, “ m'so close, too much, pleaseee stop—"

He shakes his head like he's the one falling apart, a choked sob breaking out of him. He can't stop, not when you're squealing out his name so prettily, not when your cunt is trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

His grip on your hips tightens enough to bruise, fingertips digging in like he's terrified you'll vanish if he loosens them for even a second. The rhythm of his thrusts falters, his balls slapping heavily against your ass, hips stuttering as desperation overtakes the control he had moments ago, bleeding into every messy, uneven snap of his hips. His breath hitches wetly against your skin, and you realize he's crying again, silent tears dripping hot onto your shoulder.

"You never—" he gasps, voice cracking, "—never made those sounds with me” The words spill out between ragged breaths, raw with something that isn’t quite anger but aches just as deep, “Not once. Not like you did with him “ he spat.

His words were swept away, lost somewhere between the ringing in your ears and the white-hot haze still clouding your head. You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted, trying to catch up to whatever he just said.

“Huh?"

Dex's face is wrecked above you — flushed, lashes wet, that same broken sob still caught in his throat.

"Your window," he pants, tongue dragging wet over your pulse point before his teeth sink in again, sucking another bruise into your skin, “ South side. The blinds were— fuck— always crooked “ His hips jerk forward again, slower now but no less insistent, grinding into you with a groan as he felt your cunt squeeze around him, “ Every Tuesday. Thursday nights too”

The realization creeps over you slow, sick, like cold water seeping into your bones. You go rigid beneath him, fingers twisting tighter in his sweat-damp hair, “ Dex—"

He whines, high and desperate, rutting against you like an animal, his cock twitching inside you, still sensitive, "Saw everything," he confesses, breath hot against your jaw, “ Every time— Every fucking time” His voice cracks open on the last word, ragged, raw, “ The way you— the noises—" He shudders, eyes squeezing shut, and you feel the fresh spill of tears against your cheek, “ Never with me. Never once”

You're pulling at his hair now, nails scraping his scalp, and he just moans, loud and broken, hips stuttering against yours. His lips are slick and messy against your skin, spit-wet kisses that trail down your throat, his teeth catching on your collarbone, “ Stop— Dex—" you gasp, but your voice comes out weak, trembling, because your body's still clenching around him, still squeezing him tight, betraying you.

"You squirted for him," he mumbles into your shoulder, delirious, hips jerking shallowly, “ Twice. I saw—" His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider, and you sob, oversensitive, shaking as another wave crashes over you, “ Wanted to— fuck— wanted to make you—" He breaks off with a groan, burying his face in your neck, shuddering as he spills inside you again, hips twitching weakly.

The squelching 'pop' of him pulling out echoes obscenely in the quiet room, followed immediately by the warm spill of his cum trickling between your thighs. Dex doesn't give you a second to breathe—his hands are already dragging your hips up, his mouth latching onto you with a desperate, messy hunger.

His tongue swipes broad and flat through the mess he left behind, tasting himself mixed with your slick, and the broken sound he makes vibrates against your oversensitive cunt, “ m'gonna— fuck— m'gonna make you," he slurs between wet, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, his grip bruising-tight as he spreads you wider.

"Nonono— Dex, stop—" Your legs jerk uselessly against his shoulders, heels skidding against sweat-slick skin, but he pins you down with the full weight of his body, tongue working relentless circles where you're oversensitive and trembling.

The vibrations of his groan against your clit send another jolt of pleasure-pain up your spine, your thighs clamping around his head instinctively even as you try to squirm away.

"Taste so fucking good," he mumbles into you, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass dragging you closer. "Gonna make you— fuck— gonna make you cum right—" His words dissolve into a wet, obscene noise as his tongue dips inside you, fluttering shallow and fast, and your back arches off the bed with a punched-out whimper.

You claw at the sheets, toes curling, breath coming in ragged gasps—but Dex just growls against you, the sound dark and possessive, and doubles down. His lips seal around your clit, sucking hard enough to make you yelp, and suddenly his fingers are there too, pressing in deep, curling just righttt— "Dex, please—" you sob, but it's too late, your body betraying you again as heat coils tight in your belly, your hips jerking against his mouth uncontrollably.

The orgasm hits you like a delayed aftershock—sharp and sudden, tearing through you with enough force to leave your vision momentarily white. Your thighs clamp around Dex's head instinctively, heels digging into the small of his back as you arch off the bed with a choked cry, but it's not the same.

Not the gush of wetness he'd confessed to watching through your crooked blinds, not the mess he'd fantasized about for weeks. Just a shuddering, ordinary climax that leaves you twitching beneath him, breathless and spent.

Dex pulls back immediately, lips swollen and wet, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His eyes dart between your face and the space between your legs like he's waiting for something—some proof, some sign—but when nothing comes, his expression cracks, “ Why?" he rasps, voice raw, hands tightening on your thighs hard enough to leave marks. His cock twitches weakly against his thigh, still painfully soft, the flush on his skin deepening with frustration, “ Why not with me?"

The question hangs between you, jagged-edged and desperate. You reach for him, fingers brushing his sweat-damped cheek, but he jerks back like you've burned him. "Dex, it's—"

"Don't “His laugh is brittle, fingers dragging through his own hair as he sits back on his heels, his cock bobbing against his stomach, red and leaking, “ Don't fucking say it's fine. It's not “ His throat bobs as he swallows hard, eyes darting away from yours, “ I saw you. I know what I saw. So why—"

His voice cracks, fingers digging into his own scalp now like he's trying to physically pull the thoughts out, “ Is it me? Am I not— fuck— not good enough? Not rough enough? What is it? “

You push yourself up on shaky elbows, still catching your breath, “ Dex— baby please”

" Do you still love him?," he interrupts, voice breaking, and suddenly you understand the wet shine in his eyes isn't just sweat, “ You let him. You— fuck” His hand fists around his own cock now, stroking roughly, his hips jerking into the tight circle of his fingers, “ But not me. Never me “His breath hitches, his strokes turning punishing, “ What's wrong with me?"

Your stomach twists, “ Nothing's wrong with you “You reach for him again, but he flinches away, his jaw clenching, “ Dex—"

"Then what?" His grip on himself tightens, precum smearing over his knuckles. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to— fuck—" He cuts off with a groan, his free hand dragging down his face, smearing tears and spit, “ I watched you. Every time. The way he touched you, the way you—" His breath stutters. "I did exactly what he did. Exactly! “ he cried out

"So why—" His voice drops to a whisper, raw and shattered, “Why aren't you giving me what I want?" he whines

Dex doesn't let you mutter another word out. His hands clamp around your wrists, pinning them to the mattress with a force that makes your breath catch. His weight presses you deeper into the sheets, the heat of his body scorching where it touches yours. You can feel the tremor in his grip—the sheer restrain he was holding from lashing out at you.

"You don't get to lie," he grits out, voice ragged. His thumbs dig into the delicate bones of your wrists, not quite painful but close enough, “Not when I saw it. Not when I fucking counted” His breath hitches, wet against your cheek, “Twice, you did it twice— for him!” he cried out.

His hips jerk against yours, his cock dragging through the mess between your thighs with a filthy, wet sound.

You lift your hands gently to frame his face, thumbs brushing away the wet trails on his cheeks as you press soft, feather-light kisses to his trembling lips, “Shhh, baby," you murmur, the words warm against his skin, your voice honey-sweet, "It's okay, I'm right here. I love you so much, Dex—look at me, sweetheart” His breath hitched when your fingers slide into his hair, scratching soothingly at his scalp the way he likes, and you lean in to nuzzle his nose with yours, grinning when his lashes flutter.

Your thumbs trace slow circles along his damp cheekbones, to the scars on his skin, pressing delicate kisses to each eyelid, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his quivering mouth.

"Love you," you whisper against his skin, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your fingers card through his tangled hair, "Love you so much it hurts, Dex. My sweet boy” His breath shudders when you nip playfully at his jaw, grinning against the stubble as he instinctively tilts his head to give you better access, “ That's it, baby. Just breathe with me, yeah?"

His fingers twitched as they slide towards your palms intertwining your fingers together. You squeeze gently, bringing his knuckles to your lip, kissing each one while his chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, “Think we've had enough for today, hm?" you murmur, stretching up to peck the furrow between his brows, smiling when it smooths under your mouth, "Got all tomorrow to—"

"No. No, no, no—" the words tumble rapidly out of his mouth, desperation cracking through every syllable.

His hands tremble where they're clutched around yours, gripping tighter instead of letting go, like he needs the anchor of your fingers laced through his to keep himself from spiraling.

"You don't—you don't get it," he chokes out, shaking his head violently, strands of sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead. His pupils are blown wide, dark with something frantic and wounded, “I can—fuck, I can do better. Just—just let me—" His hips jerk forward involuntarily, still achingly soft despite his wants, body too spent to follow where his desperation wants to take it.

His words dissolve into a wet, desperate whine as he presses his forehead against yours, trembling fingers scrabbling at your hips like he’s trying to carve himself into your skin. "Let me—" His voice cracks, raw and broken, "Let me be enough, just this once—"

You barely have time to inhale before he’s pushing into you again, his cock still half-hard and oversensitive, the swollen head dragging against your walls with a shuddering gasp.

His whole body shakes with the effort, muscles twitching under sweat-slick skin as he forces himself deeper, teeth gritted against the overwhelming sensation. His fingers dig into the bruises already purpling your hips, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in their wake.

"Dex—no” you start, but he cuts you off with a ragged groan, his hips jerking forward in shallow, uneven thrusts. His breath hitches wetly against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point in something that might’ve been a kiss if it weren’t for the way his teeth catch on your skin moments later.

"Please," he whimpers, the word muffled against your collarbone, his voice so small it barely reached your ears. His cock twitched inside you, still soft enough that every movement draws a broken noise from his throat, his body trembling with the strain of chasing a pleasure that’s just out of reach. "Please, please, pleaseee—"

His plea dissolves into a wet gasp as his hips stutter forward, the swollen head of his cock dragging against your oversensitive walls.

The sound is obscene—wet, squelching—as his cock drags in and out of you, still half-hard but relentless in its pursuit. Each thrust is uneven, desperate, his hips jerking forward with a broken rhythm that makes his breath hitch.

His fingers dig into your hips, dragging you closer, as if he could fuse himself to you if he just pressed hard enough. "Fuck, fuck—" he whines, voice cracking, forehead pressed to your collarbone as his cock twitches inside you, still oversensitive but refusing to stop. His hands scramble upward, palms rough as they grope your tits, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

"Feel—feel so good," he slurs against your skin, tongue laving over the sweat-slick curve of your breast before his teeth sink in, sucking a bruise into the soft flesh. His cock pulses inside you, still struggling to stay fully hard, but he pushes deeper anyway, hips stuttering as he grinds against you with a choked sob. "Wanna—wanna make you—"

His words dissolve into a wet moan as his fingers pinch your nipples sharply, twisting just enough to make you arch beneath him, your cunt clenching around him reflexively. He groans, loud and wrecked, his hips snapping forward like he's chasing the sensation, even as his body trembles with exhaustion.

Dex's body gives out all at once—his arms buckle, his knees slip, and he collapses onto you with a ragged groan, his sweat-slick chest pressing flush against yours. His breath comes in harsh, uneven gasps, his muscles trembling with exhaustion as he nuzzles weakly into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your pulse point in a silent plea.

“m’sorry, m'sorry," he slurs, voice thick with tears, his hips twitching weakly against yours even now, as if his body refuses to accept defeat, “ I'll—I'll be better, swear it, just—just lemme—" His words dissolve into a broken whimper, feeling your pussy clamp around his spent cock, jizz oozing out of your dripping hole.

You pant beneath him, your own limbs heavy, skin tingling from oversensitivity, every inch of you aching in the best and worst ways.

Your thighs quiver where they bracket his hips, your cunt still fluttering around him in aftershocks, and you wince at the sensation—too much, too soon, but Dex doesn't pull away. Instead, he presses closer, his fingers tangling in the sheets beside your head as he shudders, his entire body wracked with exhaustion.

“Gonna—gonna be good," he mumbles, lips dragging wetly along your collarbone, his voice wrecked. "Gonna—fuck—gonna make you—" His hips jerk again, but it's weak, pathetic, his body betraying him as a fresh wave of tremors wracks his frame.

Dex's voice scrapes out dry and cracked, throat raw from overuse— every whine and broken syllable he's spent the last hour pulling out of himself leaving him parched, "We're gonna go again”

His hips shift weakly against yours, a half-hearted grind that barely stirs him inside you, “ I’m gonna get it right this time”

The ceiling stares back at you, blank and indifferent, while something heavy settles low in your ribs, cold and creeping.

"Stupid rabbit," Shane muttered, spitting a glob of blood onto the damp leaves. It landed with a quiet plop, dark against the moss. His tongue probed the split in his lip—coppery. You'd clocked him good with that rock. Not enough to hurt him, though.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing red across his greying stubble. His breath came ragged, not from exhaustion but from the fury simmering beneath his skin.

The blood welled up again, thick and warm, seeping between his teeth like old rust. Shane chuckled, low and rasping, as it dripped down his chin in lazy streaks. He didn’t bother wiping it this time—let it pool in the hollow of his throat, sticky under the collar of his threadbare shirt.

His tongue flicked out, catching a drop at the corner of his mouth, and the taste of iron made his pulse jump.

"Stupid fucking bunny," he breathed, the words garbled by the blood and spit clotting his tongue, “Think you can just... hop away?"

He exhaled slow, letting the rifle settle against his shoulder, the cold metal kissing his cheekbone. Through the lens, the forest stretched in shades of green and shadow, branches weaving a latticework of escape routes.

His teeth clicked against the scope's edge. "C'mon, bunny," he murmured, breath fogging the glass, "Show me those pretty little paws”

A flicker of movement—there. Behind the rotting oak, where the ferns grew thick enough to hide a trembling body. Shane's grin split his lip wider, fresh blood beading along the seam. The taste was better than whiskey. He adjusted the focus, dialing in until he could see the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath that stupid flimsy dress he bought you on a whim, “ There you are” he crooned, voice honey-thick with false gentleness. The kind of tone you'd use to coax a spooked animal from under a porch.

The scope traced the line of your bare calf where you'd torn your stockings scrambling through brambles. His tongue clicked, “Shoulda’ dressed for the weather, bunny” Not that he minded the view—the way the damp fabric clung to your thighs, the shudder that went through you when a branch snapped somewhere to your left. You flinched so prettily. Shane's finger hovered over the trigger guard, tapping once, twice. He could take the shot now. Pop you right through that delicate collarbone, watch you fold like paper. But where was the fun in that?

Shane pursed his lips and let out a sharp, lilting whistle—the kind that could cut through wind and leaves, the kind you’d hear even with your pulse hammering in your ears. He knew you’d catch it. Knew you’d freeze mid-step, breath hitching, because the sound was too deliberate, too close.

He let the note linger, then dropped it low, muttering underneath his breath, “ Run rabbit, run rabbit—“ The words slithered out between his teeth, singsong and taunting.

He couldn’t help the grin that split his face wider, fresh blood welling at the corner of his mouth. The sting was delicious. You bolted—a frantic scramble through the underbrush, dress snagging on thorns, feet slipping in the damp earth. Shane exhaled through his nose, tracking your clumsy movements through the scope. The crosshairs danced over your back, your legs, the nape of your neck where sweat-slick hair clung to your skin. He could almost taste the panic rolling off you, thick as the copper on his tongue.

But he's afraid that if he asks, you'll shy away from ever doing it again. Oddly enough, he's begun to enjoy a soft, feminine hand holding his most intimate part while he's so exposed.

Perhaps it's just a phase.

So long as you don't try to accompany him to the men's room at work again—yes, he had to shoot you down when you tried to discreetly follow him in one day, only for him to shatter your hopes by asking you to please wait outside—he figures he's got little to complain about.

So you like aiming his cock toward the toilet bowl when he's relieving himself. Could have far worse problems to contend with.

Straddling Robby's bare tummy, you gently knead fatty skin that's smattered with dark brown hair while nervously chewing your lip. "There's something I've been wanting to try..." you mutter while studying him shyly from beneath your lashes.

He runs his calloused hands up your bare thighs. "Alright. I'm all ears."

You slide your hands up his chest, then tug gently at his beard. "I'm scared you'll look at me differently after I tell you."

He fails to see how it can be any odder than you insisting on being his constant bathroom buddy. "Sweetheart, we've tried a lot of new things together. Most of which were your idea given how..." He chuckles. "Old-fashioned I can be."

Meaning vanilla missionary so that he can gaze into your eyes and watch your face as you clench around his cock while you finish.

He cups your cheek. "My mind is open and I'm listening."

Your cheeks have grown so hot that you're sure you'll start sweating soon.

"While we're having sex..." Say it, say it, say it. "I want you to go in me."

He snickers. "Well, I technically will be—"

You groan quietly. "No. Go. I want you to go."

Surely you're not actually asking for what he thinks you are. Given the field you both work in, he's honestly surprised such a thought ever crossed your mind. "Honey, I can't begin to tell you all the reasons why that is a horrible idea. Likelihood of infection alone—"

"Please," you plead while scooting further up. "Can't you just try?"

No, baby, I am not using you as my own personal urinal, he thinks to say. But with the way his cock twitches at the thought, he wonders if you haven't been conditioning him for such a reaction this whole time since you started this whole business of holding him while he pisses.

He scrubs his hands down his face. "This is an ED case just waiting to happen," he states.

"Can't you prescribe me something if I end up with a UTI or other?"

This conversation feels incredibly surreal. "You're willing to risk that?" he asks with a raised brow, expecting you to break at any moment and devolve into a fit of giggles.

Instead, you nod.

Clutching helplessly at Robby's forearms, you whimper excitedly while he pounds away between your spread thighs. So vigorous are his thrusts that the mattress is rocking against the headboard, which is quietly knocking against the wall behind it.

At least you both stripped the bed earlier, leaving only the fitted sheet and protective cover on for when he hopefully makes a big mess.

"Are you gonna go soon?" you whine.

He shakes his head, then brackets his forearms on either side of your head, leaving your fingers to sink into his biceps. "Not yet."

"M'kay," you whisper before lifting your head to meet his lips.

"You're sure about this?" Robby huffs while his hips stutter.

You nod eagerly, and with a toothy smile for an extra dose of reassurance.

Forcing himself into an upright position where he's sat back on his haunches—accompanied by a groan when he presses a palm to his lower back when it twinges—Robby takes a moment to catch his bearings, then grabs your hips and yanks you forward. With your hips lifted and his cock bottomed out completely, your walls flutter in anticipation.

Oh, it's going to be deep, deep.

Slipping a hand between your thighs, you rapidly strum your clit while he squeezes his eyes shut in concentration.

"You want all of it, or just a little?" he rasps.

"All. Every drop."

He snorts and shakes his head. "Can't believe I'm actually doing this."

"Hazards of never telling me no," you murmur with a grin.

He straightens his spine. "I spoil you too much."

"Still gonna keep holding it," you remark.

He presses a finger to his lips, so you quiet again.

Rolling his hips to get into position, he leans his head back. "Fuck, honey, here it comes."

Your eyes flit between your thighs and you hold your breath in anticipation.

It begins as a slow, methodical dribble which slides along your fleshy walls like a tear down a cheek, then it suddenly increases when the flow morphs into a rapid stream which shoots directly at your quivering core. Warm liquid soon begins to spill out of your cunt and down your ass and thighs instead while Robby's mouth falls open. He releases a guttural moan of utter relief and you sigh at the sight of him so relaxed while he goes inside you.

A chill runs up his back and Robby shudders in pleasure.

"Fuck me," you pout while carefully bouncing your hips.

Once a constant, languid stream has been established, Robby leans over you and knocks your legs so far apart with his knees that your muscles burn.

Pounding away once again with utter abandon, he pumps his piss impossibly deeper inside of you.

The wet noises are to be expected, but the way it hisses like a hose left to run wide open is what really does you in.

Urine pools beneath your ass and back and you dig your nails into Robby's shoulders while your finish overcomes you.

Given that he's at just the right angle where his bush keeps brushing continually against your swollen, vulnerable clit, you eagerly lift your hips to meet his every thrust, wanting so dearly for a release of your very own.

"Gonna—gonna—" you pant breathlessly.

"Such a filthy li'l thing," he mutters while tracing his lips and coarse, scratchy beard across your neck. "Being turned on by this."

You yank at his facial hair until he gives you his lips, and you squeal against his open mouth as your cunt repeatedly contracts and milks him for every last drop of urine and cum he has to offer.

Giggling at the feel of his member twitching inside you while thick spurts of semen coat your abused walls, you sigh contentedly and throw your arms lazily around his neck. "Who needs a urinal when you have me?" you whisper.

Robby grips the backs of your thighs before folding your legs back. Easing his cock out, it falls back against his thigh with a wet 'splat', followed by him spreading your labia apart with his calloused fingers.

"You're a mess, you know that?" he mutters while studying you from beneath dark brows.