are you lost again?

“you don’t get to call me that.” you finally mumble.

“really?” he whispers, delightfully amused. “you don’t like that anymore?” he’s angling his hips toward your fist to shamelessly chase your touch. his long, slender frame slumps further against your headboard, a sleazy little grin curling his lips. “fffuck, not even when you’re jerking my cock like that, huh?”

your body remembers him, he knows it does. the way you handle his cock is instinctive, familiar, like muscle memory. the way he rocks his hips into your fist—how he curls into your touch as you ruin him for anyone else, it’s all so natural. this is how it used to be: just the two of you, up late, desperate for each other, pushing to see who would break and cum first.

a moan swells in your chest at the memory, the throb between your legs an incessant drum. you want so badly to press your cunt against the soft meat of his thigh that you straddle. to rock your hips and relieve the gnawing ache that’s now creeping up your shuddering spine, forcing that restrained moan past your lips.

you breathe unsteadily. “why are you here, satoru?”

“for the same reason you let me in.”

he’s closer now, close enough to kiss you. those pretty lips a hair’s breadth away as he attempts to decipher your torn expression. he can see your reservations, the subtle glint of indignation that darkens your irises, the furrow of your brow. but the way you’re arching into him—subconsciously leaning against his chest as you take care of that cock the only way you know how—he knows you missed him.

there’s a sort of desperation in the way he reaches out for you. his big, hungry hands extending to steal handfuls of the soft skin he’s missed so dearly. slipping them underneath your shirt to take your breasts into his palms, long fingers gliding over your hardening nipples.

he expels the breath he’s been withholding. “how i’ve missed you, pretty.”

with both hands, he’s pushing the fat of your tits together, drawing you closer. lips trailing over your chest, warm, sloppy kisses left in his wake. the heat of his breath seeps through your shirt as he inhales your very being. “how i’ve missed my girls.” he whispers.

“you’re handsy.” you breathe, picking his hands off of your body.

you almost lose yourself gathering enough resolve to shove him away, narrowing your eyes at him like that of a troubled dog. teasingly, you remove your hand, observing the way his cock stands on its own—stiff, heavy. rivulets of hot, syrupy arousal drip onto his abdomen, premature cum slipping between the ridges of muscle that heave with each ragged inhale.

“huh?” he pants, voice pitching in a whimper. “you won’t let me touch you either?” growing frustration furrows his snowy brows.

you shake your head slowly, eyeing him with a hunger that he finds oddly comforting, almost like he’s finally at home. he watches as you chew on your bottom lip, an electrifying heat coursing through your entire being. he’s missed you like this, and he knows you do too. he can see it in your hesitation, in your reluctance. in the way your body tells a different story.

but he knows it’s unlike you to give in so easily.

“please,” he all but whines. scattered wisps of ivory fall before his blinking eyes, something of a pout sagging his bottom lip. his hips rut toward you, searching for any semblance of friction. “why are you being like this?”

“how long has it been? two—three weeks?”

all he offers is an indifferent shrug, casting his gaze to avoid your dagger of a stare. you lean in closer, noses brushing as you tilt your head to better read his gaping expression.

“oh,” you frown. “she doesn’t touch you like this, does she?”

your concern is disingenuous, tone bitter, yet somehow, satoru only seems to grow harder, wetter. if it’s not the cut of your voice, it’s the fact that you know how much power you have over him. he shakes his head blankly, praying you’ll grant him mercy.

the soft hairs at the base of his neck stiffen, a gasp tearing from his open mouth as you slowly skim your finger along the curve of his twitching shaft.

“will you please just touch me, okay? please?” he expels a throttled breath, glossed eyes fluttering shut as he loses a little more composure, a little more sanity. “is that it, huh? is that what you want? me to beg you?”

you opt for silence as the soft pad of your index finger circles over his glistening cock head, collecting the accumulated arousal. your touch is fleeting, but something inside of him breaks—you can see it in the way his bare back lifts from the disheveled sheets, his big thighs spreading a bit wider, hips pushing.

his breath breaks like he could cry, “what? what do you want me to do, baby?”

“am i not touching you?” you act coy as you tilt your head. “greedy.”

you reach a bit lower, skimming along the vein that pumps thick and heavy near the underside of his cock. he’s hot to the touch, warm and wet against the pads of your fingers. satoru purses his lips, letting off a long breath of a whimper, nostrils flaring as his stomach caves in never ending arousal.

“god, it h-hurts,” he whines, swallowing thickly as his hips quiver. a glimmering sheen of sweat breaks across his forehead. briefly, he peers down to where you barely touch him, groaning before roving his eyes back up to yours. desperate, he presses his luck, “can you… can you spit on it?”

“i could,” you shrug noncommittally, reaching a determined hand toward his subconsciously parting lips. “but you’ve got a mouth of your own, don’t you?”

a loud, pitifully desperate groan is drawing his head back to rest against the wooden headboard, letting you invade his willing mouth. you’d almost laugh at the way he hungrily mouths your fingers, sucking so sloppily that saliva begins to cascade down your wrist if not for the way your wet, messy hole tightens at the sight.

god, how you’ve missed this—power. satoru always made you feel so powerful, and your entire body aches at the fond reminiscences of being in charge of a man with such stature. you’re hardly thinking as something irrepressible overcomes you. you settle yourself against his thigh, firmly pressing your cunt to his bulging quadricep, gasping when your clit catches against his skin.

“why don’t you use your mouth for something other than talking for once?” you hum, sinking your fingers a little deeper, pressing firmer against his salivating tongue. a pretty moan leaves your lips as you ghost a kiss, whispering, “spit on your cock yourself.”

it’s condescending in every sense, but the way his body viscerally reacts is like kindle to a rampant flame. your voice sweeps down his spine like a brook of cool water, flooding every fiber of his being as he heaves a breath and puckers his lips to drool onto the head of his cock. saliva runs down his fist as he begins to sloppily stroke himself, gaze fixated on the mesmeric whirl of your hips.

“yes,” he pants breathily, lips so close that you can feel the warmth of his bitten whimpers. he tenses the muscles in his thigh for you, squeezing tighter around the base of his cock before babbling on, “god, use me… use my body to g–get yourself off. ride my thigh until you cum ‘n i’ll leave, i swear.”

you laugh out a sweet, breathless moan, reading right through him. “no you won’t.”

“no,” satoru shakes his head while letting off a breath. “i won’t.” he smiles.

and there’s a part of you that really hopes he doesn’t. it’s the same part that has you eagerly fisting your panties aside. the part that’s humping a little bit harder against his body—that’s parting your lips in a pretty wail of rapture as you succumb to the pressure that pools inside of you—deep and devastating.

“yeeeaah—ah—use me however you want—oh my god,” he’s gasping, words tumbling from his mouth, an endless stream of consciousness as his mind blanks. “rub that pussy on my thigh however you—hah—however you fucking want, baby, please.”

he’s bouncing his leg in time with the depraved jerk of his cock, desperately flitting his gaze between the stretch of your lips around his flexed muscles, and the gape of your mouth as you give into all of that devastating pleasure you’ve been denying yourself.

“gaahh—you are so fucking pretty,” satoru gushes, completely drunk off familiar emotions. hearts flutter in his eyes as he rattles off. “i really, really missed my pretty girl.”

shut up, is what you want to say, but your jaw drops instead. words forgotten in a daze of what used to be, and suddenly everything feels so normal. it’s hot—his wolfish panting against your lips, wet tongue peeking out just a little to greedily taste your breaths until he’s so close that he’s kissing you properly, and you don’t move to push him away.

can’t.

you’re far beyond saving, like gone—using every morsel of your strength to fuck yourself against your favorite toy, arching into his body to feel more, fitting like the missing piece to a jigsaw. and he can feel how wet you’re getting, just making a fucking mess of him. dripping all over his thigh while he strokes himself stupid, inches from your cunt.

god, and those lips. still as sloppy as ever, wet mouth moving over yours in a way that renders you silly. you can hardly breathe, dizzied by his determined mouth, by his undying need to prove himself worthy of your mercy.

it’d take nothing for him to slip inside of you, to slyly pull your leg over his waist and stretch you out just how he used to. you’re so high that you probably wouldn’t notice if he stuffed you full just like this. possessing half the brain to even detect the hand that’s moving to haphazardly guide your frenzied hips, pulling you closer, grinding a little deeper, accidentally pressing the head of his cock to your stomach.

did you really think you could deny him the pleasure of touching you? you would’ve been better off tying his limbs to the bedposts because his hands are insistent. they’re greedy and blatantly needy, one splaying across your hip, the other rubbing his wet cock against your warm, perspiring skin.

his balls ache when you moan his name, poor cock throbbing so wickedly that a delirious moan of his own is forced past his gaping lips. pant after desperate pant falls from your mouths, your breaths synchronous, the grind of your bodies obscene. satoru thinks he might die when your hips begin to tremble, your whimpers unbroken, an omen of your impending orgasm.

“fuck, are you—god, are you gonna cum?” it’s breathless, his crackling voice warbling in his throat.

you nod dumbly, something caught between a delirious moan and a hiccup of pleasure spilling past your lips as you rock your hips sloppier, cunt tightening around nothing. his vacant hand squeezes your hip like he’ll lose you all over again if he lets go. talking in your ear so sweetly that you’re messily cumming all over his leg, body locking up as you arch your back, pressing up against the heat of his cock.

“holy fuck, that’s it—fuck it all out, pretty,” he groans between his panting, rutting up against you, cock dripping between your bodies. “god, i’m yours. use me and cum all over me whenever you want.”

slick smears of his arousal drench your skin, sticky beads of sweat mingling. his fist tightens around the base of his cock.

“can i… can i cum too, please?” he’s whining. “m’ so close—please can i cum for you?”

“yes, baby,” as you nod to him, his big hand cups the back of your head, pressing his forehead to yours and whining because it’s not him inside of you. 

“fuck—fuck, thank you,” satoru fists his cock once, twice—barely—and that’s all it takes. “t–thank you—hah,” body tensing, breaths trapped in his chest as his jaw falls, groaning out your name so prettily that it almost hurts to hear him say it. his hips stutter, thick, hot ropes of cum drenching the tight space between your heated bodies.

he drips from your chest to your stomach, your thighs, the outside of your pussy. beads of sweat stick your bodies together, and despite the heat, he doesn’t pull away. instead, he’s leaning in, pressing his forehead to your chest like a man praying—like cumming wasn’t enough. like this was just an offering, and there's still more to he's willing to give—lengths he’s willing to go.

“i miss you,” he breathes, gaze lidded and dazed. “that’s why i’m here.”

you don’t say.

you push the wooden stool toward him with an idle foot and he takes a quiet seat beside you, ordering a drink of his own. friendly words are exchanged between the blonde and the bartender. he must be a regular you think, watching curiously as he laughs with the handsome, raven-haired barman.

keenly, you leer around the bustling bar. a jukebox thrums and tipsy souls dance and sway. the dimly lit atmosphere is uncomfortably muggy and smells of alcohol and date night perfume. it’s overwhelming in a sense, and ironically, it doesn’t truly seem like his scene either, so why is he here?

“is this like… your spot?”

he shrugs noncommittally, a soft smile crinkling his eyes.

“sometimes i find myself here,” peering around as well, he takes a liberal sip of the amber liquor that sloshes in his old fashioned glass. “a good friend of mine works here. he made our drinks,” he nods to the handsome barman he had been chatting with earlier. “otherwise, i don’t think i would be here.”

“oh, of course,” your face grows considerably warm and you laugh softly but you don’t know why. he didn’t say anything that was particularly witty or humorous. are you flirting? nervous? “yeah, me either.” you finally mumble, consciously casting your gaze away to take another sip from your condensing glass.

some sick part of nanami is almost grateful that it was him who found you instead. he thinks you look beautiful, all dolled up for some loser. really, it’s a shame, but stumbling upon you tonight is nothing short of a blessing. there is static in the office that neither of you can dissent from, its gravitational pull indisputable.

you feel the heat of his lingering gaze during quarterly meetings. the trail of his dilated eyes watching as you saunter around like an angel in flesh. too often have you met his stare over the screens of your desktop computers; perilous, amber eyes peering over the golden rims of his glasses. those same eyes are reading through you right now and they can see your dismay.

it has to be him. nanami has to make this right—make you his.

“it’s a shame. you look beautiful tonight.” he admits, watching as you blush and turn away.

“god, don’t do that.” you groan, dropping your head into your open palms as you ward off the embarrassment that brews all over again.

the blonde laughs—rich and a bit puzzled.

“i mean it, he’s a loser.”

you shrug, not disagreeing.

a silent beat passes and then another.

“come home with me,” he then blurts, those golden eyes so soft and hankering. “please?”

all you can think is yes. your brain and heart scream in unison, pleading for you to nod your head and spend the night with your colleague—something that flaunts the reputation of being so foolish, yet somehow, all that you can ponder is the idea of leaving this stupid fucking bar with a man who actually gives a damn.

a sweet smile graces your lips and his heart throbs.

you nod. “okay.”

not even an hour later, you’re sluttily bouncing up and down the entirety of his cock on the expensively plush rug of his luxurious living room, failed date long forgotten. big, greedy hands encage your waist, guiding your crazed movements. his warm thumbs caress the even warmer skin of your stomach, committing your softness to memory.

“hic—he’s a f-fucking loser,” nanami hiccups, indulgently rolling his hips to meet yours in deep, deliberate thrusts. “yeaaah, he’s a fucking loser, huh?” he expels an unstable breath, nostrils flaring. “doesn’t matter, you’re all mine… mine, mine, mine.” the timber of his voice pitches progressively lower, trailing into something of a growl. “say it.”

“i’m yours.” you gasp, collapsing onto his chest from the force of his bucking hips.

he draws you closer, soft lips ghosting. “what’s mine?”

“my pussy, fuck.”

“what else?”

“my mouth, m-my tits, my body—everything!”

nanami groans, dragging you unbearably closer, slotting his lips against yours in a deep, filthy kiss. he’s gone, completely unabashed as he sloppily sucks on your tongue, glittery webs of saliva tethering you as one beautiful mess. he whimpers into the honeyed depths of your mouth as that pretty pussy swallows his cock the way it was always meant to.

your head spins when he’s drunkenly flipping you over, pressing you into the carpet with nothing but unfiltered lust. longing. firm, assertive hands are splaying beneath the underside of your quivering thighs, brazenly prying you apart as if you’re the last meal he’ll ever have. god, and the warm, pleasureful stretch that follows threatens to split you in two; it has you reeling.

“he wouldn’t fuck you like this,” he rasps, honed hips drawing back slowly, methodically. “don’t even know the fucking guy ‘n i could tell you he wouldn’t hah– fuck you like this, would he?”

you shake your head pathetically and nanami coos, whispering all of the horrible things he’s been waiting to do to you. he reaches an eager hand between your searing bodies, feverish fingers latching against your swollen clit and rubbing. you let off the prettiest cry, back arching into his touch like a whore.

“fuh— fuck me h-harder,” you’re so fucking pretty, brows furrowed as you pout for him, begging. nonsense tumbles from your pretty, parted lips and it makes his cock throb. “please… please. you feel soooo fucking good.”

obliging, nanami adds a little more of his body mass, fucking you with intention. the thick, pumping veins adorning the hooked length of his shaft twitch against the walls of your cunt and fuck, he feels it. he can feel the way you tighten up around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper and deeper. can feel how your clit pulses beneath the pad of his thumb, wordlessly begging for more. can even feel the way you’re about to make so much of a mess that it drips all the way down to the fat of his swollen balls.

“suuuch a p-pretty girl, fuck,” he babbles, messy brows knitting in his ever growing pleasure. woozily, his head is slumping to one side, something irrepressible overcoming him. “knew this perfect cunt would take allll that fucking cock… every fucking inch, huh?”

all you can manage is a slack jaw, a breath of incredulity leaving your lungs as you squeeze down the length of his cock. arousal pools in the lower half of your belly, creeping up the depraved arch of your spine in something heinous. nothing that leaves you makes sense anymore, only inaudible cries of how close you are and how good his cock is making you feel.

“i wanna cummm,” it’s whimpered between little your gasps of air as you tighten around him once more, swallowing all of his languid thrusts like your life depends on it. “please make me cum… wanna cum on your c—cock, goddd.”

a high-pitched wince falls from his mouth as he fucks you deeper, warm thumb dragging over your clit so tenderly that it makes you buck. you will be the death of him, he’s sure of it—if it’s not the way you’re crying out his name like he’s the only prayer you know, it’s the way you’re creaming down the entire length of his fat, glistening cock like you own it.

“yeeeah, cum on it… m-make a mess all over it—all over my cock,” deliriously, his lips are finding yours again, consuming the beautiful cries that tear from your sore throat. “soooprettysofuckingprettyfuuuck.”

like a gentleman, he’s fucking you throughout your entire orgasm, nursing you through it all before reluctantly sliding out with a groan. your hand finds fist as he desperately pumps his aching shaft. the sensation of your much smaller fingers attempting to match his pace is what has him emptying the contents of his sticky balls all over your cunt, your beautiful name on the tip of his tongue.

warm, syrupy ribbons of cum dribble between your swollen lips, your pulsing hole greedily sucking in his arousal as it creeps lower and lower. nanami watches drunkenly as you heave, plush thighs trembling in your overstimulation. he huffs an audible breath, wordlessly admiring you in this new, salacious light.

“you really do look beautiful tonight,” nanami smiles, fingers brushing your chin. “i mean that.”

wordlessly, his narrow eyes rake over your body, cock swelling at the sheer amount of exposed skin. he lets off a humorlessly breathy laugh. in his eyes you might as well be nude, sauntering around the office in a blouse that gives way to the shape of your breasts and a skirt that does little to hide the color of your pretty laced panties.

after some thought, he eventually grumbles. “do you… like pissing me off? does that get you off?”

coyly, you shrug, fingers reaching for the hem of your skirt in a vain attempt to make it appear longer. absentmindedly, the tips of your sleek, pointed heels dig into the tiled floor, your gaze falling away to avoid his. it’s rude, you know it is, but how are you supposed to maintain the eye contact that he so often demands when he looks at you like… that.

“look at me.”

and you do, peering up almost instinctively from the tiled floor to observe the way he tilts his head in thought, swallowing you whole with those low, authoritative eyes, his gaze perilous. a ponderous finger smooths over the stubble adorning his cheek, conjuring up the ultimate punishment for such a salacious crime.

“come here.”

now, you’re bent over his warm, burly lap, that pinstriped skirt hiked above your reddened ass while a big hand smooths over your prickling skin. thwack! you squeal, body shuddering from the force of the impact, an electrifying heat swirling deep in your core. thwack! this time you’re biting down on the inside of your cheek, swallowing the moan that threatens to pry your lips apart.

“how long must your skirt be to be considered appropriate?” the timbre of his cold, demeaning tone makes your stomach sink.

you swallow thickly, cunt aching. “f-fingertip length.”

thwack!

“again.”

“fingertip! fingertip length, fuck.”

nanami hums in what can only be described as satisfaction as you writhe against his lap, hips pushing into the air while he disciplines you the best way he sees fit. a hand is smoothing over your sore, achy skin, nimble fingers curiously skimming the soddened fabric of your panties.

a pretty little sound is leaving your gaped mouth when he mindlessly pushes them aside, baring your warm, sloppy cunt. he laughs in his disbelief, taken aback by the several, sweet gossamers of arousal that stretch between your lips and the cotton of your panties. so much for learning your lesson.

another hand his forcing your skirt further up the fat of your ass, the striped fabric bunching around your waist. the soft pads of his fingers are brazenly spreading you apart, putting that poor, sopping pussy on display and for him. nanami watches as your desperate hole tightens around nothing, wordlessly begging to be touched, fucked.

“ridiculous.” he mutters, yet his fingers are circling over your swollen clit once. twice. “you’re getting off on this, huh? oughta’ spank her too.” leaning down to whisper into your ear, nanami smiles something wicked. “look at you humping yourself on my hand like that… you want me spank that pretty pussy, don’t you?”

you’re nodding, pleading, begging as you nastily arch into his touch, shamelessly rutting your aching cunt against the hand that paws at you. god, you are just so fucking pretty and utterly desperate. bent over like such a whore, whining for him to punish you or fuck you or finger you. it doesn’t fucking matter.

a loud gasp is parting your lips when the tips of his fingers land against your pretty cunt with a lewd plap! your arousal clinging to the pads of his digits, splattering almost obscenely and staining his freshly pressed slacks. plap! plap! plap! your entire body is shuddering from the electrifying impact, a shameless moan spilling past your lips.

“god, you’re ridiculous.” nanami laughs, his breathy chuckle sinister in bass as he pulls your wet panties back into place before smoothing your skirt down. “you have an hour to go home and change your clothes. we’re done here.”

choso groans something feral, greedy lips closing around the swelled mound of nerves to suck feverishly. not a single fraction of him wants to stop the pitiful whines that escape his mouth, or the mindless rut of his wobbly hips, body pressing against the soft edge of the mattress in pursuit of friction.

he thinks he just might cum all over himself when you gasp his name, your back arching in such a way that he’s sure he would die if not for the way he’s drawing your closer for dear life. trembling hand working overtime to stretch that dripping pussy out with that measly piece of silicone, imagining it’s his cock instead.

he would fuck you better.

“oh, is that right?” you exhale in breathless laughter, slightly taken aback by his sudden edge.

of course he didn’t mean to say it aloud; you can see it in the way his eyes widen in utter mortification, the way he ceases his ministrations between your legs, but the cat’s out the bag and choso’s not backing down.

“yes,” he finally goes on to murmur. “i would. i could.”

“you sound sure of yourself.”

timidly, he shrugs, carefully shifting to begin fucking you full once again. his thrusts are heavier than before, a newfound sense of sureness guiding his hand as he leans in close, kissing your pretty clit once. twice.

a sloppy tendril of saliva weds his his bottom lip to your cunt and you whine.

“sure my cock could reach deeper,” he’s still soft in the way he speaks to you, still shy and a little unsure, but there’s something else there. something gut-wrenchingly sinister that lurks beneath his words, almost like a promise and it renders you breathless.

with his lips pressed to your cunt, he mutters, “i promise you i could fuck you better.”

a broken sound of unmistakable pleasure drags from your gaped mouth at his conviction, and he drones into the heat of you, embodying your rapture. panting and slurping and swallowing up everything you give him like this has been the only thing on his hazy mind since the day you moved in.

“i’d make this pussy feel so good,” he licks up the crevice of your thigh before sucking one of your pretty lips into his mouth. “make you cum on my cock so fucking sloppy—over and over and over again… god, i’ve always wanted that.”

there’s an indubitable hunger that haunts his gaze when his eyes shift to meet yours. stygian mauve clouds those dark, lovesick irises as he allows you to smear yourself all over his face and tongue, that poor cock leaking in his tightening briefs.

choso parts from you just barely, but only to choke out, “you gonna let me show you, huh?” he thumbs apart your sticky lips, dildo still sinking deep, and he’s utterly enraptured by how you’re taking it all. “fuuuck, please? i’d fuck you so good, so fucking good, i swear! you’d never have to use this piece of shit toy again.”

he’s losing himself in it, in you. begging all loud and reckless, hardly able to keep his mouth away from you to say what he needs to. doesn’t even grant you a breath to respond before he’s delving back in like a man starved.

the heat of his tongue is inebriating—indulgently trailing over your clit, down the slope of your tautly stretched lips, and over the silicone of your big, stupid dildo. and he can’t even find it within himself to care that he’s tasting you in the most obscene of ways.

“s-spread your legs,” he pants and god, when you do—woozily hooking your arms beneath the crook of your knees without hesitation—choso can’t help but to squeeze his thighs together, trapping his achy his cock between muscle, his underwear sopping.

“fuuuhh— fuck yes, just like that… let me see that pussy.”

your body stiffens in shock when a searing dollop of saliva plaps! straight against your clit, quickly being smeared by the pad of his thumb before he’s swilling it back up. he’s humming, audibly lapping up whatever seeps out of you. his greedy tongue nearly wraps around your dildo in his ravenous hunger, a hunger he swears he’s never felt in his life.

and it almost isn’t enough, not even as he’s making an utter mess of you. a sinful amalgamation of saliva and arousal drip, drip, drips down his chin, between the valley your ass, and onto the sheets. god, if he could lick the mattress clean, he would.

he might.

every move he makes is clumsily intentional. wrist twisting in the slightest as he plunges in and out of your cunt, mouth slathering over the entirety of you to taste it all, the pad of his thumb pressing firmly against the twitch of your aching clit. his undying need to prove himself is at the expense of your sanity, and you’re losing it.

“want you to cum so that i can fuck you,” he pants, breath hot against your quivering lips. “wanna show you how i fuck… how a real cock fucks.”

your nod is sweet and pitifully hasty, desperate hips following the warmth of his tongue and the stretch of your dildo.

incredulous, he wheezes. “yes?”

“yes, choso! fuck.”

now overtly determined, the warm pad of his finger shifts to circle over the palpable pulse of your swollen nerves. over and over and over again, he fucks you full of cock, admiring the way your body reacts to his touch, the way your chasing pleasure—chasing that orgasm.

“oh my god, please cum for me,” his voice breaks, too dazed by his incessant desire to please that he’s forgotten to breathe between words. “on my tongue, huh? cum on my tongue n’ i’ll fuck you how you deserve, i swear to god.”

your chest caves as you fight to catch your breath, stomach tightening in a horrendous need to release when one of his hands are falling over your abdomen and pressing.

“c— choso,” you gasp, choking on your own bated breaths.

“yeah? are you cumming?” his eyes widen, a lilt of excitement threading his words. “you cumming so that that i can fuck you? mmmm, let me taste it… i wanna taste that, please.”

his cock twitches when you stifle a response, back arching as your head sinks deeper into the pillow, your eyes threatening to cross. you’re cumming so shamelessly and messily, and it may be the most erotic thing choso has ever seen.

he can see the rapture in your face, pleasure evident in the thread of your brows and the gape of your lips. incoherent words of praise tumble from your mouth, and choso finds himself spiraling as your voice goes straight to his cock. he’s moaning in response to the sound of you, climbing farther up the bed to chase your cunt. he’s even humping himself against the sheets in hopes of relieving the ache.

he thinks he might cum too when you blindly grab ahold of his hand to force the toy deeper, rutting your hips toward his face, taking exactly what you need from him and of course, he lets you. he’d let you do whatever you want to him.

he wouldn’t care if you snuck into his room in the dead of night, crawled between his legs and fucked him stupid. definitely wouldn’t care if you called him horrible things or talked shit to him. wouldn’t even give a fuck if you slapped him or bit him or suffocated him between your thighs; he wants that, and now that he knows how nasty you like it, he can only imagine what else you’ll be willing to do.

the desperate little whine that leaves you as he slips the dildo from your drooling hole is brief; the sight of him drunkenly wrapping his lips around the head to suck it clean is enough to make you cry out his name instead.

“you’re so fucking nasty,” you gape, pressing your thighs together to dull the new ache that looms deep in your core. “like overly.”

you can’t help the gasp that parts your lips when his hands are pushing your thighs back apart, pressing himself between them. his long, pretty cock rests upon your stomach, the promise he made earlier looking more like a threat now than anything.

you swallow thickly.