Remy :p

“Mm, and still ass up like a whore.” You can’t help it, drunk on the power you have over him, if only in this moment.

Your fingers crook before he can bark out another nonsensical insult, and a whimper bleeds from his tongue.

“Oh? And what was that?”

“Fuh-fuckin’ nothin’—“

“Yeah? It’s nothin?”

You do it again, and he writhes on the rusted spring mattress, drooling into the pillow.

“Fuck!” He cries, pleading and defeated. “Too much, y-yer givin’ me too much,”

It’s like he’s trying to wriggle away from your fingers, and the sheer audacity of it has you bracing your other hand against his lower back and pressing him into the bed, fingers digging into him rougher. A steady, ruthless pace fueled by sick arousal.

“Nuh uh, Frankie,” you laugh, dodging his kicking leg. “You’re gonna take it, and you’re gonna like it.”

“Mama,” he wheedles, thin and tight, his breaths heaving.

“Yeah, keep that up,” it truly does something to you, makes you feel all hot and liquid in the belly when he calls you that. Always has. This place is ruining you, and you can’t find it in yourself to care.

His hips buck and rut against the stained sheets, clawing until the fitted sheet pops off the corners of the bed.

“Muh-mother, mother may I?” It’s slurred and lurid, drooling from his lips and he sucks it back up. It’s revolting. You want to make him cum his brains out.

“Sure, why not.” You settle, rubbing circles into the tender spot that makes him howl.

It doesn’t take him much longer after that, maybe a moment or two before he’s spilling with a guttural groan, dick completely untouched. Oh, that does things to you.

You don’t have too long before you hear the shuttle siren blare through the suburbs, and your fingers slide out of him quicker than it takes him to comprehend he’s spent the entire trial getting finger fucked.

“Ohh, that’s my cue,” you click your tongue against your teeth, an apologetic hum. You’re getting off the bed and he’s frantically pulling his pants up, belt dangling loose around his waist, fumbling for Lupara.

“‘Give ya an extra three second headstart,” he pants, stumbling off the bed.

“Oh please, it’ll take you at least five to buckle your belt.”

“Wastin’ time, toots.”