avid oscar isaac enthusiast

The house is empty. You've returned early from the market, so you carry the basket of dirty clothes to the brook.

And about halfway down the path, you hear it. Quick, choppy breaths.

You set down the basket and hide behind a tree. You peek first, not knowing what to expect. An animal? An intruder?

You see black curls, then the side profile of a sharp nose, a flushed cheek, parted lips.

Jason's shirt is untucked, shirt tails carelessly in the mud. His trousers have been shoved down. He's standing beside a tree, back to the water.

In his hand is his cock.

You've never seen one up close before. It looks big, even in Jason's already big hand. The tip is a deep crimson, slick with precum.

Jason's sounds are tight. You can barely hear him, but from the way he strokes himself, you see that he's very aroused.

"God, for–forgive me," he whispers, and speeds up. "I have given into t-temptation, ngh."

You squeeze your legs together, confused and alarmed by what the sight does to you. You can't tear your eyes from his hand and the thatch of hair peeking underneath his fist every time he moves.

You imagine him pushing into you. How full you would feel! And of course, impregnation. No doubt that Jason would impregnate you quickly.

Where would he take you? He's such a solemn, quiet man. You don't know if he'd take you anywhere but in his bed, between the sheets. Slowly, gently.

But as you watch him stroke himself, abuse himself and tug his cock hard, the thought of Jason taking you roughly flashes through your mind.

You'd like to be bent over in the kitchen, perhaps. Fucked on the table. You can hear its creaking as Jason thrusts into you, how he'd have to stop and steady himself so as not to snap the legs in two. He would pet your neck, your face, apologize as he wrecked you. And you would forgive him because he wouldn't be able to help it; all rational thought would leave your sweet knight once he pushed his fat cock into you.

You'd give him easy access that night. Serve his dinner and, in a moment of forgetfulness, bend down and show your puffy cunt, ready for him to push into.

You imagine how he'd stiffen, how he'd inhale sharply and pretend not to notice. Would he play with your cunt if you begged? Spread you across his lap and finger you until you shook with desire? Your beautiful knight, who so intently protects your honor. You'd give him your honor and more.

The sound of your name pulls you out of your head. Panic lances through you; have you been caught?

But no, Jason is still flushed and unaware. His eyes are a little wet. He says your name again and thrusts into his hand. More tears run down his cheeks.

"Forgive me," he says, then comes.

He's louder as he comes. He bites the soft curve of his thumb to muffle his sounds. Long spurts of seed coat his hand, and Jason soon forgoes muffling his moans and instead covers his cock with both hands to contain his release. But it's so much that it leaks through his fingers, dribbling onto his pants and into the dirt. He cries the entire time, cheeks dark. Eventually, the cries become high, sticky whines. He leans against a tree, cock soft.

Jason would breed you in the first go. You understand this. It's certain he would refuse you, were you brave enough to proposition him. You would be heavy with his child within the week.

He turns his head and you quickly duck behind the tree, holding your breath. You pray he hasn't seen you.

But Jason rustles in the grass after a moment, so you relax. You wish you could show yourself but whatever this is between you two is delicate and strange and won't be cured with sex. It won't.

You go further than normal and wash the clothes there, taking over an hour. You splash yourself with water before making the trek back to the house.

Jason isn't there when you return, so you hang the laundry alone, dreaming about a hot mouth on your neck and fingers inside of you.

You awaken the next morning to the sound of a whip.

The first time fades into the background. But the next three lashes make you get out of bed.

There's no sound that follows the lashes, which is the oddest part. No whinnies or animal squeals.

You go out barefooted, dirt already warm from the sun. Jason is in the yard.

In his right hand is the whip. On his back are four thin, bloody welts.

"Jason!" you say, hurrying to the yard.

He turns his head at the sound of your voice. Then he turns around and whips himself three more times in succession.

Your eyes widen. You grab his wrist with both hands, pulling hard. Jason drops the whip and stumbles back, slipping out of your grip.

He looks at you wide-eyed, chest heaving.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Have I... did I wake you?"

"Yes, of course you woke me! Why are you doing that?"

He immediately looks wracked with guilt. You soften, upset at yourself for being so harsh and frightened by your boldness. Have you forgotten your place so easily?

Then again, Jason's not so good at keeping you in your place either.

"It's alright that you woke me," you say. "I'm not angry about that."

Jason shakes his head. "I should've been quieter. Self-punishment deserves no spectator."

"Why are you punishing yourself?"

"Because I—" He shakes his head. "I have sinned. I have been... selfish. Desired things that aren't mine to want."

You reach for him, comfort like an instinct. Jason backs away.

"Please," he says, chest heaving. "Please don't touch me. I beg you."

His words sting. You drop your hand.

"You don't need to punish yourself," you say carefully. "You've done nothing wrong. You've... you've been nothing but kind to me."

Jason shakes his head. "If you knew..."

His eyes sweep over your body. You watch as guilt overtakes him.

"I have lost sight of my duty. I must overcome my desires."

"You're allowed to have desires," you say.

"Not these," he says heavily.

You watch him for a moment. He stares unseeingly in the distance. Blood from his back drips on the ground.

You take a deep breath and pull down one shoulder of your night shirt. Then you pull the other. Jason's head darts back. His eyebrows go to his hairline.

Neither of you move for a moment. Then you pull your shirt down further. Air hits your skin. You're almost to your nipples.

You look at Jason. He swallows hard and tries to angle his body away from you. It doesn't work. You stare openly at his bulge. Just the suggestion of your body gets him hard and ready.

"I'm sorry," he says, eyes wet. "Please—God, please forgive me."

Something alights in you at the thought of Jason's obedience. He may think his capacity to breed is a sin, but his body can't help but react. He's ashamed of how quickly his cock fattens, eager to spurt.

You wonder if he'd hardened shortly after he came yesterday afternoon. If he'd cried in embarrassment at how fast his body betrayed him, demanding he release his desire.

Even after a whipping, he's hard for you. Would he still be hard if you were the one holding the whip? Would he come if you struck him?

You pull down your shirt and release one breast. The air hardens your nipple.

Jason whines low in his throat, strangled and desperate.

"Please," he whispers. "Take mercy."

This is insanity. What will you do? Strip and have him take you in the mud?

Truthfully, you'd much rather he shamefully comes in the dirt. Even if it is a waste of seed. You like how dark his cheeks get.

So, you stop. Jason looks to the sky, likely praying for forgiveness.

"I'm going to make tea," you say, shirt still lowered.

He nods, body tight with tension. You walk across the yard and back inside. Then you pull up your shirt and prepare tea.