Tu nuevo jefe te contrató para trabajar en su granja.
Lo que no te dijo es que su hijo Sunday, el hermoso híbrido vaca, lleva semanas sin producir suficiente leche.
Ahora te han encargado "ayudarlo"... y Sunday parece más que dispuesto a que uses cualquier método para que vuelva a dar leche.
(esta es mi primera historia, espero le guste 🥹)
El sol caía fuerte sobre la granja cuando el padre de Sunday te llevó hasta el establo especial.
—Mi hijo ha estado teniendo problemas últimamente —dijo el hombre mayor con tono serio—. No produce suficiente leche. Es muy importante para la granja. Intenta ayudarlo como puedas. Tiene orejas y cola de vaca, pero… bueno, ya lo verás.
Cuando entraste al establo privado, lo viste.
Sunday estaba sentado sobre un montón de paja fresca, con el torso desnudo. Tenía bonitas orejas blancas y negras de vaca que se movían nerviosas, y una cola suave que se agitaba de un lado a otro. Llevaba solo unos pantalones cortos holgados que apenas cubrían sus muslos. Sus pechos estaban hinchados, pesados y llenos, con los pezones rosados ligeramente húmedos.
Al verte, sus ojos dorados se abrieron con sorpresa y un leve sonrojo.
—Tú debes ser el nuevo trabajador… —murmuró, cruzando los brazos sobre su pecho, lo que solo hizo que sus tetas se presionaran más y gotearan un poco de leche.
—Tu padre me dijo que tienes problemas para producir leche —dijiste, acercándote lentamente.
Sunday apartó la mirada, claramente avergonzado.
—…Duele. Están muy llenas, pero no sale casi nada. He intentado ordeñarme yo mismo pero… no funciona.
Te arrodillaste frente a él. El olor dulce de su leche ya flotaba en el aire.
—¿Quieres que te ayude?
Hubo un largo silencio. Luego Sunday asintió lentamente, mordiéndose el labio.
—Por favor…
Le quitaste la poca ropa que llevaba. Sunday se recostó sobre la paja, respirando agitado. Sus pechos eran grandes, pesados y sensibles. Cuando presionaste suavemente uno de ellos, un chorro grueso y caliente de leche salió disparado, salpicándote la mano.
—Ah… —gimió Sunday, arqueando la espalda—. Es… demasiado sensible…
Te inclinaste y atrapaste uno de sus pezones con la boca, chupando con fuerza. Sunday soltó un gemido agudo y placentero, su cola enroscándose alrededor de tu brazo. La leche era dulce, cremosa y salía en abundancia mientras succionabas.
—N-no pares… —suplicó, sujetándote la cabeza contra su pecho—. Se siente tan bien…
Mientras chupabas de un pezón, tu mano bajó entre sus piernas. Su coño estaba empapado, hinchado y goteando. Deslizaste dos dedos dentro con facilidad.
—Estás muy mojado aquí también —murmuraste contra su pecho, mordiendo suavemente el pezón.
Sunday tembló entero.
—Es porque… llevo días excitado… pero no podía correrme…
Lo acostaste completamente y te quitaste los pantalones. Tu polla, dura y grande, quedó presionada contra tu vientre. Sunday la miró con ojos vidriosos.
—Es… muy grande —susurró, pero abrió más las piernas, moviendo la cola con anticipación.
Lo penetraste lentamente al principio, disfrutando cómo su coño apretado te tragaba. Cuando estuviste completamente dentro, Sunday soltó un largo gemido y más leche empezó a salir de sus pezones sin control.
Empezaste a follarlo con fuerza. Cada embestida hacía que sus tetas rebotaran y salpicaran leche por todos lados. Sunday gemía sin vergüenza, las orejas de vaca temblando.
—Más fuerte… ¡por favor! —suplicó—. Quiero que me saques toda la leche… quiero que me folles hasta que produzca como antes…
Lo agarraste de las caderas y lo embestiste profundamente, golpeando su punto más sensible. Sunday se corrió con un grito, su coño contrayéndose alrededor de tu polla mientras chorros de leche salían de sus pechos.
Pero no te detuviste.
Durante toda la tarde lo follaste sin parar: primero en misionero mientras chupabas su leche, luego de perrito, sujetando su cola mientras lo penetrabas desde atrás. Cada orgasmo hacía que produjera más y más leche.
Al final de la primera sesión, Sunday yacía exhausto sobre la paja, con el vientre ligeramente hinchado de semen, los pechos rojos y brillantes de saliva y leche, y una expresión de pura satisfacción.
—…Creo que ya estoy produciendo bien otra vez —murmuró con voz ronca, acariciándose un pecho y haciendo salir otro chorrito—. Pero… vas a tener que “ayudarme” todos los días… ¿verdad?
Te inclinaste y le besaste una de sus orejas de vaca.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Can you do some overstim with ftm char... Maybe the cutie house husband or someone else. Holding up a vibrator to his clit and making him cum over and over again ❤️
enter— your misbehaving boyfriend !!
status: edited + proofread
synopsis: ^^^
word count: 1.8k
cw: porn with no plot, GN reader, FTM char (AFAB terminology used), dom!reader, sub char!, masochist char, mean reader, established relationship, overstimulation, toys (vibrator wand), multiple orgasms, crying, physical restraint/bondage, neglect play
note: so sorry for the long wait! quite a few things happened for me over the span of the last couple of days. anyhow, hope you enjoy.
you lounge on the couch, thumb idly flicking through your feed, the blue glow of your screen painting shifting patterns on the ceiling. every so often, you glance over your phone—just to catch the sight of him sprawled awkwardly on the floor, limbs at odd angles, chest heaving as he tries to steady his breath. his hair is sticking to the sweat on his forehead, and his entire body trembles with sensation; you are responsible for that.
soft, desperate mewls tug at your attention.
his knees dig into the floor, thighs shaking with the strain of holding still, toes curling into the carpet in search of something to ground him. the real show, though, is the mess you’ve made of him: frog-tied, legs bent, and ankles lashed to his thighs, arms trussed behind his back so he’s forced wide open, helpless and exposed. there’s nowhere for him to go, not when you have him like this.
the rope bites into his skin, leaving deep, angry impressions, making every twitch force his folds apart even wider—so wide you can see the way his hole pulses and leaks.
you went a step further—strips of tape stretch him open, adhesive biting into the delicate skin at the edges of his folds. they force his lips wide, exposing every glistening contour, every vulnerable line, the soft pink of his insides stretched to the brink. parted so far you can see the eager, shining slick pooling at his center.
each shudder wrings more slick from him, thick and sticky, painting wet streaks down his thighs and soaking the carpet below. he’s making a mess and he can’t help it—can’t stop it, not with you watching, not tied up and spread open like this.
his clit juts out, swollen and flushed a furious pink, throbbing in the cool air, so sensitive that even the slightest draft of air seems to make him jolt. every twitch of his hips, every humiliating spasm, makes it jump some more, forces another helpless squirm. the skin is puffy, glistening with slick and tears—so overworked it looks bruised, trembling on the edge of another wave. the rope digs in further with every quiver, holding him so obscenely wide you can see everything. maybe it’s a bit much, you admit, but you can’t bring yourself to regret it.
you take a moment just to look at him, how ruined he is, entrance flushed and swollen from your (in)attention, rim glistening with arousal and a new swell of slick. the folds tremble, held so brutally apart by your handiwork, while the base of a heavy vibrator wand is wedged mercilessly against his exposed spot. the head is pressed snug, its low, relentless hum rattling through his core, making his thighs jerk and his fingers curl uselessly behind his back. you watch him shudder, broken noises spilling from his slack mouth.
the vibrations are deep and ruthless, rumbling straight through his pelvis, making his thighs want to clamp shut, and his breath catch on a whimper.
every so often, you lean over, reaching out to nudge the wand back into position, pressing it even more firmly against his clit for good measure. there’s no escape for him, not with the rope and tape holding him wide and the toy unceasing. sometimes you do it without a thought, just wanting something else to keep your hands busy, brushing against his wetness, never looking up from your phone, letting his whining and the noises made from his needy cunt fade into the background.
he tries to brace himself against the onslaught of his angry bundle of nerves, but his muscles just seize and relax in helpless rhythm, his whole body jerking through each wave of pleasure and shame.
that is, most of the time, you don’t even have to lift a finger—he does it to himself, thrashing and twitching, the toy shifting minutely from his involuntary jerks or the tautness of the tape. every spike in sensation makes his thighs quake, his whole body shudders, and moans spill from him whether he wants them to or not.
it’s relentless: every few minutes, you watch as another orgasm wracks his body, his hips jerking and his voice breaking into ragged, desperate sobs. the wand never lets up, true to its design, its merciless buzzing pressed to his most sensitive spot without pause, even as his body shakes with the aftershocks of his last. there's no reprieve, no time to catch his breath—just the endless, overwhelming sensation that has him teetering on the edge between pleasure and madness.
his body trembles violently with each release, resembling intermittent seizures—thighs clenching and back arching as he writhes helplessly, unable to stop the spasms that shake him apart, each one more intense then the last.
the first orgasm was sharp and overwhelming, his entire body seizing as the wave crashes through him, a guttural cry escaping as his hips buck uncontrollably. a gush of cum spilling from his entrance, wetting the tape some more and glistening in the light, droplets running down his thighs, drooling over his hole, or pooling beneath his trembling body. his folds twitch and flutter, stretched wide and exposed, the swollen rim pulsing with each aftershock. you watch as his inner walls do the same, flushed dark with arousal, the tape holding him open so every orgasm is on display for your amusement—if that.
the second one came even faster, his body barely recovering before the relentless vibration rips another orgasm from him. this time, his sobs are louder, legs kicking weakly against the floor, thighs trembling as his muscles tense and relax in rapid succession. his entrance clenches tight around nothing, the gush of his creamy cum even messier, leaking white steadily onto the carpet, his rim throbbing with raw, over-sensitized nerves.
by the third, his voice is hoarse, pleas dissolving into broken moans turned into cries of pain. he tries to twist away from the toy, but the restraints hold him tight, forcing him to take every surge of pleasure. his body convulses, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as he begs for mercy, the tape biting deeper as he bucks helplessly against the unyielding stimulation. his hole, never given the chance to close, each orgasm leaving him more raw and sensitive than the last, his body shivering with exhaustion from the overstimulation.
he’s sobbing now—shameless, broken noises pouring from his lips, his whole body rocking with the force of it. the room is filled with the cacophony of his cries, sobs, and whimpers, each one rising in pitch and urgency as the sensation grows. it’s so loud you’d think it would be impossible to ignore. you barely glance up, letting his desperate pleas blend into the background with the relentless hum of the toy and the buzz of your phone. tears streak down his cheeks, mingling with sweat, his chest hitching with every ragged gasp. his voice is raw, each plea more frantic than the last as he begs—“please—please, I can’t—” the words dissolve into another broken sob as another climax rips through him. “please, stop it, just for a second—please, it’s too much—” his voice is thick with tears, pleading, desperate, a string of “i can’t, i can’t, please, just a break, i need—i need—” until he’s lost in the sensation again, body wracked by another shuddering orgasm, reduced to a trembling, weeping mess, with all matter of soggy expulsions running down his face, completely at your feet.
he can’t move away—he’s trapped, forced to endure every wave of pleasure, every overwhelming climax, every humiliating sob to the point of numbness.
the room is filled with the constant, needy sound of the toy, the wet, broken edge of his breathing, and the occasional, sharp clink of the cuffs as he shifts helplessly.
he shoots you a pleading look, his eyes are glossy, a faint sheen of sweat dotting his brow, the flush on his cheeks now spreading down his neck. his chest rises and falls in uneven, shallow breaths. you just smirk, pretending not to notice as you swipe past another video that fell onto your for you page, your indifference making his blush deepen—a visible pulse throbbing at his throat.
he squirms, his hips jerking involuntarily as the vibrations make him shudder, his thighs clenching and unclenching as he tries in vain to close his legs. the tape and wand ensure complete exposure and utter helplessness, his entrance twitching and leaking with every surge of sensation. he whimpers softly, body curled and trembling, desperation mounting with every passing second.
you sigh, finally setting your phone aside, letting it drop onto the armrest with a soft thud. “need something? what are you whining for?” you ask, your voice dripping with amusement as you look him over.
he huffs, cheeks flushed a deep red, lashes damp as he bites down hard on his trembling lower lip to keep from embarrassing himself further by moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear. his chest quivers with every shallow breath, and his thighs tremble as he presses himself into the floor, desperate for any kind of relief.
he seemed preoccupied. you simply arch an eyebrow. you don’t even bother conjuring up something resembling sympathy.
maybe you’ll keep him waiting a little longer. watching him struggle—his shoulders shaking, toes curling, eyes, which were half-rolled back showing the whites, flashing with sparks—as he tries to keep more bulbous tears from tumbling down his face, is almost as satisfying as anything else.
you lean back, reassuming your grip on your phone, letting your gaze linger momentarily on the trembling line of his back, the way his spine arches, and his hips twitch in a futile attempt to escape the overstimulation before ripping them away as his breath came in short, ragged gasps, punctuated by broken whimpers that fill the room.
you continue to ignore his desperate, pleading noises, eyes fixed on your screen as he writhes helplessly. you force him to find release again and again, pretending to be utterly uninterested in his plight—each orgasm wracking his body with fresh waves of exhaustion and sensitivity, his cries muffled by your disinterest.
though, now that you’re thinking about it, you should probably schedule an appointment to drop off your carpet at the dry cleaners.
Hi I was wondering if you could write another bratty frat bottom like your Gojo fic. It really moved something in me. Like maybe bratty frat college (sport of your choice) Captain getting his ass destroyed in the most rough and sexy way ever. And maybe by a rival captain that just beat them. Maybe some crying, some teary eyes, loud moaning, and risk taking cuz maybe the hotel walls are a bit thin.
Rival captain is reader maybeeee.
Anyways regardless of whether you write my crazy ask, I really love your work. You're so cool.
Rival's Reward
────────────────────────────────────────────
synopsis: rival captain teaches gojo about losing
pairing: gojo X top male reader
note: any comments or reblogs are appreciated, creds to howtodriveacar on x
warning: dacryphilia, spanking, brat gojo, rough sex, manhandling, degradation, marking
─────────────────────────────────────────────
The rivalry between your universities has always been ugly, loud, and personal- especially on the basketball court. Gojo Satoru, captain and golden boy of his team, embodied everything frat culture loves: tall, unfairly athletic, flashy white hair, cocky smirk permanently glued to his face, and a mouth that never shut up. He threw the wildest parties, charmed (and fucked) half the campus, and played with the arrogance of someone who knew he was the best.
You two had been hate-fucking for almost a year now.
It started after a particularly hard game last season- both of you stayed behind in the empty locker room, adrenaline and anger boiling over until Gojo shoved you against the lockers and you ended up with his legs wrapped around your waist.
Ever since, the “rivalry” was complicated. On the court you wanted to destroy each other. Off the court you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Secret hotel meetups after away games, late-night drives where he’d blow you in the backseat, quick and dirty fucks in empty classrooms or his frat house when everyone else was blackout drunk.
Gojo was an absolute brat about it every single time- teasing, mocking, pushing your buttons on purpose because he loved how hard you’d wreck him once he finally got under your skin. He’d send you cocky selfies after his wins, then show up at your door later with that same smug grin and zero shame, practically daring you to put him in his place.
Tonight was the sweetest version yet.
Your team had just handed his team a decisive loss in the championship game. Gojo played like shit in the final quarter he was frustrated, distracted, and clearly affected by the way you’d been locking him down. After the game he disappeared from his team’s celebration, only to show up at your hotel room still in his post-game sweats, hair messy, cheeks flushed from more than just the game.
The second the door closed, the mask slipped back into place.
You barely had time to lock the door before Gojo was already leaning against the dresser, arms crossed, wearing that signature bratty smirk.“Congrats, captain,” he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “Beat us by fifteen and suddenly you think you’re hot shit? Cute.”
Even after losing, he was still running his mouth. Typical.
You crossed the room in two strides, grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and slammed him back against the wall hard enough to make the cheap hotel artwork rattle. Gojo’s breath hitched, but his eyes sparkled with challenge and heat.
“Been waiting for this since the third quarter,” You growled, shoving a thigh between his legs. “You played like a bitch tonight. Got distracted every time I touched you on the court.”
Gojo laughed breathless, and already a little strained. "Maybe I just like it when you get rough with me in front of all those people,” He shot back, hips rolling once against your thigh like the needy slut he was. “Bet your whole team would lose their minds if they knew their captain’s been fucking me raw for months.”
You gripped his jaw, forcing his head back so those bright blue eyes met yours. His pupils were already blown wide.“Keep talking,” You warned, sliding your free hand down to roughly palm his ass through his sweats. “See how loud I can make you scream within these thin fucking walls.”
Gojo’s smirk faltered for half a second when you shoved two fingers between his cheeks, pressing against his hole through the fabric. He was still sweaty from the game, skin hot, and you could feel the way his thighs trembled.
“F-fuck… at least prep me this time, asshole,” e muttered, but he was already arching his back, pushing his ass into your hand like he couldn’t help it.
You spun him around, pressing his chest flush against the wall. One hand pinned both of his wrists above his head while the other yanked his sweats and boxers down in one rough motion, exposing that perfect, toned ass. You didn’t bother being gentle—two dry fingers circled his rim before pushing in, stretching him open with the kind of roughness you knew he secretly craved.
Gojo’s forehead hit the wall with a thud. A shaky, broken moan slipped out before he could bite it back.
“Shit-! Slow down, you fucking animal-” But his hips were already rocking back, chasing your fingers, greedy as always. You curled them hard against his prostate and his whole body jerked, a much louder moan tearing from his throat.
The walls really were thin. You could hear people laughing and music thumping from nearby rooms. If he got any louder-and you planned on making him much louder- the entire floor was going to hear the great Gojo Satoru getting his ass destroyed by his rival captain.
His eyes were already starting to water at the corners, lashes clumping together as he panted against the wallpaper. “Still gonna run your mouth, brat?” You asked, scissoring your fingers wider, deliberately rough.
Gojo let out a wet, teary little laugh, voice cracking. “Make me shut up then… if you can.”
He was already falling apart, and you’d barely started.
Gojo’s bratty challenge hung in the air for all of two seconds before you shoved a third finger into him without warning, stretching him wider. His body tensed hard, a choked gasp ripping from his throat as his walls clenched greedily around your fingers.
“F-fuuuck-!” His voice cracked beautifully. “You’re such a dick-ahh!”
You curled your fingers again, brutally targeting his prostate with rough, punishing strokes. Gojo’s hips jerked forward against the wall like he was trying to escape the intensity, only to slam back down on your hand a moment later, chasing more.
His white hair was already sticking to his forehead with fresh sweat, and when you glanced at his face, you saw the first hints of glassy tears clinging to those long lashes. “Always acting like such a fucking brat,” You growled against his ear, biting the lobe hard enough to make him whine. “Even after I just embarrassed your whole team on the court. You came here knowing exactly what was gonna happen, didn’t you?”
He tried to laugh, but it dissolved into a broken moan as you sped up your fingers.
“I just… hah… wanted to see if the winner had any balls- ngh!”
You pulled your fingers out abruptly. Gojo let out a pathetic, needy sound at the sudden emptiness, his hole fluttering around nothing. Before he could complain, you spun him around, shoved him onto the bed, and yanked his sweats completely off.
He landed on his back, legs spread, looking up at you with flushed cheeks and that defiant, watery smirk still clinging to his lips.You stripped fast, cock already aching and leaking as you climbed over him. It was a good thing the hotel came stocked with lube,. Gojo’s eyes flicked down, pupils blown wide with lust and a flicker of anticipation.
“Don’t go easy on me now, captain,” he taunted, voice breathy. “Wouldn’t want you to ah-!”
You hooked his legs over your shoulders and after a quick pour of lube pushed inside him in one rough thrust, burying yourself to the hilt. Gojo’s back arched off the bed, mouth falling open in a loud, broken cry that definitely carried through the thin walls.
“Shit-! Too big, you fucking- mmph!”
You didn’t give him time to adjust. You pulled back and slammed in again, hard and deep, setting a brutal pace that made the cheap hotel bed creak loudly. Every thrust punched a moan out of him loud and shameless. His eyes were watering for real now, pretty tears spilling down his face as he clawed at your shoulders.
“Fuuuck slow down, asshole!” He sobbed, but his legs tightened around you, heels digging into your back like he’d die if you actually listened.
You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you while you railed him.“Tell the whole floor how much you love getting destroyed by the guy who just beat your whole team,” You hissed, angling your hips to hammer his prostate relentlessly. “Louder, Gojo.”
A particularly hard thrust made him wail, head thrown back against the pillows. His voice cracked high and desperate, echoing off the walls. You could hear the faint sound of a door opening somewhere down the hall, someone was definitely listening now.
Gojo’s cock was leaking all over his toned abs, untouched and twitching with every brutal snap of your hips. His usual cocky grin was gone, replaced by teary, fucked-out bliss and an open mouth that couldn’t stop moaning your name mixed with curses.
“Gonna hah.. gonna cum-fuck, I’m so close-!” He cried, voice hoarse and loud enough that half the team probably heard it.
You leaned down, biting his neck hard enough to leave a dark mark as you pounded into him even harder, chasing your own release while pushing him over the edge. “Cum for me, Satoru. Let them all hear who owns this ass tonight.”
Gojo’s whole body seized up. A loud, broken sob tore out of him as he came untouched, stripes of white painting his chest and chin. His walls clenched rhythmically around you, milking your cock as fresh tears streamed down his flushed face.
The sight and feeling pushed you over right after him and you buried yourself deep and filled him up with a low groan. For a few long seconds the only sounds were both of you panting, the distant thump of music, and muffled voices from neighboring rooms.
Gojo’s chest heaved, eyes glassy and unfocused as he tried to catch his breath. A shaky, little smirk tugged at his swollen lips.
“…Round two in the shower?” He rasped, voice wrecked. “Or are you scared they’ll file a noise complaint?”
---
You stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby the following morning, legs still a little loose from last night’s marathon. Your team was already scattered around the breakfast area- some nursing hangovers with coffee, others loading up plates at the buffet. The energy was high after the championship win, laughter and shit-talking filling the space.
The second you walked over to their table, half your teammates turned with shit-eating grins.
“Yo, Captain!” one of your forwards, Marcus, called out loud enough for the whole lobby to hear. “What the fuck, man? You trying to get us kicked out the hotel or what?”
Your point guard, Tyler, leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Bro. I swear the walls were shaking. We heard that girl screaming through like three rooms. She was loud as hell.”
Marcus laughed, slapping the table. “Nah, not just loud she was getting destroyed. All that moaning and crying? ‘Fuck- ahh!’” He did a terrible high-pitched impression that had the whole table cracking up.
You kept your face mostly neutral, though the corner of your mouth twitched. “You idiots done?”“Hell no,” Tyler grinned wider. “So who was it? That cheerleader from their school that’s been eyeing you? Or the one with the braids from the front desk? She sounded fine as hell, bro”
Another teammate, Jacob “Sounded like she was getting her soul taken. We were all in the group chat last night debating if we should bang on the wall or just let you bw.”
You shrugged, grabbing a coffee from the table and taking a slow sip, trying not to think about how Gojo had been sobbing and moaning your name into the pillow just hours ago while you railed him into next week.
“Mind your business,” You said casually, but your voice had a hint of smugness you couldn’t quite hide. “She was… enthusiastic.”
“Enthusiastic?” Marcus barked a laugh. “Bro she was getting wrecked. You broke her or what?”
Before you could answer, the elevator dinged again.
Gojo Satoru stepped out looking far too good for someone who got his ass absolutely destroyed the night before. His white hair was messy in that deliberate way, neck covered by a hoodie he definitely hadn’t been wearing last night (probably to hide the bite marks), and he walked with that usual cocky swagger even if his steps were just a little careful.
He locked eyes with you across the lobby for a brief second. That familiar bratty smirk tugged at his lips, eyes still a little red-rimmed from all the crying. He looked thoroughly fucked and entirely too pleased with himself.
Your teammates hadn’t noticed him yet.
Tyler nudged you. “For real though she coming down for breakfast? We gotta give her a round of applause. Poor girl probably can’t even walk straight.”
Gojo, now close enough to overhear, let out a soft, amused huff as he passed your table on the way to the coffee station. He didn’t stop, but he made sure you heard him mutter under his breath just loud enough for you: “Tell them I’m free later if they want an encore, captain.”
Your team kept laughing and pressing you for details while Gojo poured himself a coffee, glancing back over his shoulder with those bright, mischievous eyes that promised he was absolutely going to brat out again the second you two were alone.
You took another sip of coffee, hiding your smirk behind the cup.
Last night’s “noise complaint” was definitely going to haunt you for the rest of the tournament stay… and you couldn’t wait to make him scream even louder tonight.
He keeps fighting you for dominance every time you try to do anything intimate
Bondage? He’s going to struggle and wriggle like crazy
Orders? Of course he’s disobeying
A slap, a spank…? Hah, he’s taunting you and saying “it didn’t even hurt, hit me harder next time”
It’s a struggle, truly a struggle. Not once can you have a peaceful, soft play. He just had to run his mouth with no filter. But fuck— you liked that power play. All of it was worth it. The punishments, the toys, your sadistic side that gets to be fulfilled in the process of earning that moment where you get him all docile and submissive. And you knew— both of you knew— that he’s deliberately playing this losing game.
To watch his snarky remarks melt into the most pathetic whimpers, that fierce gaze producing glistening tears that roll down his cheeks. Or his mind and body slowly being conquered by you, turning into a lewd mess that couldn’t do anything but beg you for more. And the reward for every successful taming? Watching him all dazed and blushing uncharacteristically so, heaving because you were so rough he couldn’t breath. It was truly a wonderful sight.
“Such a dumb, stupid toy… always starting this meaningless fight. You just want to make me angry, don’t you?” You’d say, degrading him with insults that makes him snap back, yet also makes him shudder in ecstasy. He was so down bad.
“I don’t care ‘bout you getting angry, I just want a good time. And your normal self is way too boring—ahhNghh ♡” …and another slap, leaving behind a red imprint on his skin. No matter what he said, his face didn’t lie, and this bastard was smirking at you so annoyingly.
Guess this time, your objective will be to make him eat his own words and beg you for forgiveness ♥︎
Hello, I love your writings! I saw your req is open and Im craving for some Satoru fic :3
Just reader that kinda enabled FTM!Satoru to do whatever he likes (umm we are just too in love and trusting), but let’s say Satoru went overboard at one point and we need to remind him to behave.
We gotta include spanking in this one OwO just imagine him soaking the mattress from oversensitivity and pleasure, body twitching uncontrollably and fat tears going down his soft face. Ughhh ><
In Hand
────────────────────────────────────────────
synopsis: satoru brats out and gets spanked and fucked.
pairing: ftm! gojo X top male reader
note: any comments or reblogs are appreciated, a bit short but oh well
warning: dacryphilia, squirting, spanking, ftm gojo, rough sex, overstimulation
────────────────────────────────────────────
The club was packed with sorcerers and civilians alike, with the occasional flare of cursed energy in the corners where people were showing off. You were relaxed against the bar, drink in hand, when it happened.
Satoru had been glued to your side all night, one arm draped possessively around your waist, occasionally pressing lazy kisses to your temple like he was marking territory. A visiting sorcerer from another clan, clearly a few drinks deep and overly confident, approached you while Satoru was momentarily distracted ordering more drinks.
The man leaned in too close, voice low and flirtatious. “Didn’t expect to see someone like you here tonight. Mind if I buy you another drink?”
His fingers brushed against your arm.
The temperature in the immediate area dropped. Satoru was suddenly there, Six Eyes glowing dangerously bright behind his sunglasses. Without a word, he activated Blue and cursed energy surged forward, aimed directly at the man’s face.
The man stumbled back with a shout, hands flying up to shield his eyes as the technique nearly blinded him. Gasps and yells erupted around you. People scrambled away, creating a sudden circle of empty space.
Immediately your hand shot out to clamp down on Satoru’s wrist like a vice before he could escalate further. “We’re done here,” you said, voice filled with anger.
You dragged him through the crowd, ignoring the stares and whispers. Satoru didn’t even try to resist, but he was still vibrating with jealousy, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips even as you pulled him outside into the cool night air.
The car ride home was dead silent. Satoru kept glancing at you from the passenger seat, that cocky little grin never fully disappearing, like he was waiting to see exactly how you’d punish him for the mess he’d caused.
The moment the apartment door clicked shut, you didn’t waste time.
“Bedroom. Now.”
Satoru obeyed, but he moved with deliberate slowness to tease you, hips swaying just enough to test you. Once inside, you told him, “Everything off except my shirt.”
He stripped slowly, peeling away his clothes until he was left in nothing but your oversized black button-up. The hem barely covered the tops of his thighs. He looked up at you with bright, expectant eyes, cheeks already faintly flushed.
You sat on the edge of the bed first, then pointed to your lap.
“Face down. Ass up. Legs spread.”
Satoru’s breath hitched. He crawled onto your lap, pressing his chest and cheek into the pillow, arching his back deeply so his ass was presented high. The shirt rode up completely, exposing his smooth, pale cheeks and the slick, puffy folds of his cunt already glistening with arousal.
You took your time rubbing slow circles over his ass, letting the anticipation build until he was squirming. “You don’t get to decide who looks at me, Satoru,” you said calmly, voice low. “That’s my job.”
The first hard spank echoed sharply. Satoru jolted forward with a gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets. You didn’t pause, raining heavy smacks one after another, turning his pale skin a bright, stinging pink, then a deeper red.
Every impact made his ass jiggle and forced more slick to drip from his cunt onto your lap. His thighs eventually started trembling. When you felt the familiar flicker of Infinity trying to wrap around him, you reached between his legs and pinched his swollen clit hard in warning. Satoru cried out, hips bucking wildly as the technique vanished.
“No hiding,” you growled, spanking him harder. “You caused a fucking scene tonight just because someone looked at me.”
Tears quickly gathered in his eyes. His soft, flushed face pressed harder into the pillow as broken moans and whimpers spilled out. The more you spanked him, the wetter he got, forming a growing soaked patch beneath him.
By the time his ass was a vivid, glowing red, Satoru was sobbing openly. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, soaking the fabric. His whole body twitched uncontrollably with every strike, cunt clenching and drooling messily.
You kept the rhythm merciless, pushing him straight through his first orgasm. His pussy pulsed hard, squirting messily onto the mattress as violent shudders ripped through him. You didn’t stop, spanking him through the overstimulation until a second, even stronger orgasm crashed into him. His hips jerked and twitched wildly, another gush of slick flooding out while broken apologies and moans filled the room.
“I’m sorry-! I’m sorry, I won’t do it again- please- ahh~!”
Tears streamed freely down his pretty face. Only then did you decide to take mercy on his ass. You let the silence linger for a moment, one hand gently rubbing over Satoru’s glowing red ass while he continued to twitch and whimper into the pillow.
His cunt was a complete mess- puffy, flushed dark, and still pulsing visibly. He looked utterly debauched: face buried in the tear-soaked pillow, ass raised high, legs trembling, your shirt bunched up around his waist.
You took a long moment just to admire him- your strong, untouchable Satoru reduced to this trembling, leaking, teary-eyed mess because of you.
Only when his breathing started to even out slightly did you move. You lifted him up and repositioned him to be lying flat on the mattress. You shifted behind him, knees planted on the bed as you gripped his hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. The head of your cock nudged against his dripping entrance, sliding slowly up and down along his slick, puffy folds.
Satoru let out a broken, needy whine, hips instinctively trying to push back against you, desperate for more. “Stay still,” you ordered quietly, voice low and firm. Your grip tightened on his hips, holding him exactly where you wanted.
He whimpered in protest but obeyed, fingers twisting tighter into the sheets.
Then you pushed in.
A wrecked moan tore from Satoru’s throat as your thick cock stretched his oversensitive walls. Even though he was soaked and sloppy, the slow stretch made his whole body jerk and shudder violently. His cunt fluttered and clenched around every inch you gave him, greedy and pulsing like it couldn’t decide whether it was too much or not enough.
“F-fuuuck…” he sobbed, voice hoarse and cracking. “You’re so deep ahh-!”
You kept pushing until you bottomed out completely, hips pressed flush against his reddened ass. You stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting him feel every thick inch stretching him open while his body twitched and spasmed around you.
Then you started moving- slow, grinding rolls of your hips that dragged heavily against every sensitive spot inside him. You forced him to feel exactly who owned him.
Satoru’s moans turned into broken, hiccuping cries as you fucked him through the overstimulation. Fresh tears slipped down his flushed cheeks while his cunt continued to pulse and leak around your cock with every slow thrust.
“You’re mine,” you murmured against his shoulder, voice rough. “I spoil you rotten because I love you… but I guess I always need to remind you who you belong to when you need it.”
He nodded frantically, babbling soft, teary apologies and “yours, yours, only yours” between moans as you continued fucking him slow and deep.
When a weak orgasm finally hit, his cunt squeezed around you like a vice, squirting messily around your cock and dripping down onto the bed.
By the time you finally chased your own release, Satoru was barely coherent- moaning and whimpering your name like it was the only word he remembered. You buried yourself to the hilt and came hard, filling him up with thick, deep pulses. His body shuddered violently at the feeling, another small twitchy orgasm ripping through him.
You stayed inside him for a long while afterward, gently stroking his back and sides while he trembled beneath you. Eventually you pulled out carefully, a thick trail of mixed cum and slick leaking from his used cunt.
Satoru collapsed completely onto the soaked mattress with a broken little sigh. You flipped him over gently and pulled him into your arms. He immediately clung to you like a lifeline, face buried in your chest, legs tangled with yours, arms wrapped tight around your waist. His whole body was still twitching faintly, soft sniffles escaping as the last tears dried on his cheeks.
You pressed slow kisses to the top of his head, his damp forehead, and the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got you,” you whispered. “Behave next time, baby.”
Satoru nodded weakly against your chest, already half-asleep. “…Love you,” he mumbled, voice tiny and hoarse.
His breathing evened out within minutes, body heavy and exhausted in your arms. You held him close, one hand gently rubbing his sore ass, the other carding through his messy white hair as he slept.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Woah... Can you do more pussy slapping stuff it's so yummy 😋😋
enter— your misbehaving boyfriend !!
status: edited + proofread
synopsis: punishing him after he goes against one of your rules. ♥︎
word count: 2k
cw: porn with no plot, GN reader, FTM char (AFAB terminology used), dom!reader, sub char!, masochist char, mean reader, established relationship, pussy slapping, spanking, slut-shaming, dom/sub dynamics
note: of course, anon! hope you enjoy! (if you are opening this in public, i’m so sorry, but you should know better, man 😭😭)
it’s late, the room dimly lit by the city lights filtering through the curtains. you stand on the edge of the bed, your presence commanding, and he kneels eye level at your waist—already flushed, already trembling in anticipation. tonight is different, though. tonight, he’s here because you caught him finding his own release while you were gone—something that’s strictly against the rules unless you give permission when he knows better.
you recall the look on his face when you walked in and found him, sprawled out on the bed, one knee bent and his hand shoved between his legs, his other hand gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles were white. his head had been thrown back, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut in desperate pleasure, hips rocking upward in frantic little thrusts against his own palm. the slick, wet sounds of his fingers working his cunt filled the room, mingling with his ragged breaths and the faint, needy whimpers he couldn't hold back. it was unmistakable.
his legs were spread wide, feet digging into the mattress for leverage, his muscles visibly tense as he chased his own release.
he froze mid-movement when your presence registered, eyes flying open in panic, cheeks burning as he was caught in the act—fingers still buried deep, knuckles slick and glistening, his whole body going rigid. for a split second, you took in the sight: his shirt rucked up under his arms, chest flushed and heaving, nipples hard and sensitive from his own touch, thighs spread shamelessly wide, the sheets beneath him already damp with arousal.
guilt and shock warred on his face as he yanked his hand away quickly, breath hitching, legs clamping together in a futile attempt at modesty, his slick coating his inner thighs and staining the sheets, his cunt swollen and dripping, every inch of him betraying what he'd been doing.
he tried to explain, babbling apologies, voice trembling with fear and hope you wouldn't be mad. still, you simply told him to sit. the command was enough to make him shiver, your authority instantly reasserted—his body responding almost involuntarily, thighs shaking as he pressed them together, hands still sticky from his own mess. now, with him kneeling and exposed, the memory of his transgression is still raw and present between you. he feels guilty, truly, he does, but it’s hard to help himself when this is his punishment.
that being said, you want to make sure he remembers why your rules matter. your mood is palpable, thrumming through the air, even as you deceptively run a gentle hand through his hair, letting your fingers tangle before giving a sharp tug. his eyes flutter shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips, betraying just how much he loves the sting.
“you need to use your words when you want something,” you remind him, voice even, unhurried. “tell me what you want.”
he squirms, thighs pressing together, trying to stifle the urge to rock forward and seek more contact. the silence stretches, your gaze unwavering. finally, he whispers, voice small but eager, “i want you to use me. i want to be your good boy.” the words hang between you.
“mhm. but you haven't been today, have you? you’ve been bad.”
“‘m sorry...” not good enough.
that answer didn’t please you but you decided to reward his honesty. if only he’d been good. he knows what happens next.
with a slow, teasing caress between his legs—your fingers tracing featherlight patterns over sensitive skin, feeling the heat radiating off him, his body already trembling with anticipation. you draw out each touch, your fingertips mapping the soft curve of his thigh, lingering over the places you know make him shudder. he tenses and arches into your hand, a strangled whine slipping free, desperate for more but holding himself back for you.
pausing, you let your breath ghost over his heated skin, your lips barely an inch from where he needs you most, and you can see goosebumps rise across his thighs. his hips edge forward, seeking contact, but you deny him, moving tantalizingly slow. you drag your knuckles up his inner leg, feeling the fine tremor that runs through him, stopping just short, close enough for the warmth of your hand to make him ache. you watch his chest rise and fall, breath growing ragged, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he tries to hold still for you. but you withdraw your hand just as quickly, a wicked smile curving your lips as he whimpers in frustration, hips lifting helplessly off the mattress.
“you really are a needy little slut,” you taunt, voice low and sharp. “look at you—already making a mess, squirming and desperate for attention. is this all you think about when i’m not here? just stuffing your greedy cunt full like a filthy thing?” your words make his cheeks burn, shame and longing mingling in the flush that spreads down his chest and throat. you watch as he bites his lip, swallowing another needy sound with a bashful nod, fighting the urge to grasp at you.
instead, you decide to reposition him, palms splayed across the backs of his thighs, guiding him into place, face down against the bed, legs spread wide and vulnerable. his knees dig into the sheets, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he tries to hold the position you’ve arranged him in. the sheets beneath him rustle as you shift his weight, baring him completely to your gaze—his glistening cunt exposed, lips puffy and swollen from anticipation, your teasing, and his own desperate fingers from earlier, the flesh flushed and almost throbbing with how worked up he already is. you scoff. even without seeing your face he knows your upset. the evidence of his earlier disobedience is clear: his folds are engorged, flushed dark with blood, and already slick with need, practically begging for more attention.
his ass is raised high and inviting. you take a moment to admire the faint sheen of sweat gathering on his lower back, the way his breath quickens when he feels your eyes on him. your hand traces down the line of his spine, making him shudder, before you start with a firm, open-handed slap on the curve of his ass.
the sound cracks through the quiet, sharp and satisfying, and you watch his skin ripple beneath your palm. he gasps, back arching, the sting radiating through him, a rosy handprint blooming across his flesh. you alternate cheeks, each blow landing with a deliberate rhythm, the echo of each spank hanging in the air. his hips rock forward with every strike, the impact resonating straight from from his ass to his cunt. pleasure and pain mixing in the moans and broken cries that spill from his mouth. his fingers twist in the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto I'd not you.
when he's shivering and breathless, cheeks streaked with tears of pleasure and the effort to hold himself together, you slide your hand lower, letting your fingers glide over his soaked folds before delivering a sharp, teasing slap directly over his pussy. the sound is different—sharper, wetter, and his whole body jolts in response, a strangled cry escaping him, hips jerking forward as if seeking more. wetness glistens on his thighs, thick and sticky, proof of his arousal and shame, each mark you leave a visible reminder of what he’d done.
you spank his ass again, skin already hot and bruised, then return to his cunt, alternating between the two, marking him with both your praise and your punishment. your words are just as sharp as your hand. “you want this, don’t you? you want to be punished like the filthy little slut you are? i should make you beg for every slap, make you say thank you for all i do for you. ha, i don’t even ask for much.”
your words go in and out his ears as your brutal rhythm builds, his breath grows ragged, moans dissolving into something else, every muscle tensing beneath your hands as you ravage him. each strike of the red marks on his ass and the sensitive, swollen flesh of his needy pussy—send him closer and closer to the edge.
cruelly, you drag your nails over the reddened skin, soothing and taunting at once, and he shivers violently at the contrast, breath coming in short, needy gasps that border on sobs. another quick slap to his pussy leaves him arching, thighs trembling, the line between pain and pleasure blurring until he’s nearly sobbing with need.
you see the moment it overwhelms him: his back arches sharply, toes curling into the sheets, his whole body tensing and then shuddering as the orgasm hits. his thighs quiver and then clamp together reflexively, trapping your hand for a second. slick gushes from his cunt, a sudden, obscene wet rush that splatters over your palm and drips down his thighs, soaking the sheets beneath him in a messy, undeniable display of his pleasure. he really is a slut getting off to this.
his ass clenches, muscles twitching, and his cries echo in the room—raw, wrecked, almost unbelieving, each strangled sound filthy and desperate. his cunt spasms around nothing, clenching and pulsing helplessly just from some meager slaps, juice smearing your fingers as you keep him spread open.
his slick, sweet, and musky, the evidence of his surrender pooling between his legs and shining on your hand. tears streak his flushed cheeks, mouth open in a broken gasp as his body gives in completely to the release. the marks of your hands stand out stark and red on his skin, shining with sweat and his arousal, evidence of how thoroughly you’ve used him. he collapses, shivering, breathless, face buried in the sheets, every line of him slack and spent, still twitching from aftershocks, your hand and the sheets beneath him sticky with his mess.
his voice cracks as he begs you not to stop, his submission total, his body trembling under your control, completely at your mercy.
you’d indulge him, just for now, because he came so well for you. his good little pussy didn't even need any other stimulation to gush all over you.
you continue, alternating your rhythm—sometimes punishing, sometimes caressing—letting him feel every subtle shift in your mood. each slap and caress is measured, calculated, keeping him guessing, keeping him desperate and off-balance. you lean in, your breath hot against his ear, your lips just brushing the shell as you speak in a low, biting tone. “such a greedy boy, touching yourself without permission. you like being punished for it, don’t you?” your hand cups his cunt, palm pressed firmly against the aching, swollen flesh, and he whimpers, nodding, desperate for more, he’d admit to anything if it’s enough to get you to continue. in fact, you can feel his pulse racing beneath your cum-laden fingers.
you drag your fingers down, gathering his slick and smearing it over his sensitive clit before delivering another sharp smack, the sound wet and immediate. his body arches, seeking you, eager for any scrap of contact, and he trembles with the effort of holding himself still, thighs quaking, toes curling into the sheets. you continue, mixing gentle praise with stinging reprimands, enjoying the way he melts for you—how every harsh word, every firm touch, makes him crave more, makes him yours. you watch the tears slough down his face, the way his body yields, utterly pliant beneath your capable hands.
he looks up at you, breathless, grateful, flushed from the ordeal, eyes shining with tears. the ache is visible in the way he moves—slow, ginger, blissed out and sore when he shifts back up into your hand for more.
all of your handiwork is on full display: bruises beginning to bloom along his ass and upper thighs, purpling where your palm landed hardest, red handprints fading to mottled marks. his skin is streaked and splotched, each mark a reminder you hope he remembers next time he feels the urge to please himself. or not. punishment is half of the fun.
"Come on you can take it, you begged for it remember." You gently swatted his hand away as he tried to push against you. He whined so prettily at the sensation of you pounding him. Everytime you thrusted in him you hit that sensitive bundle of nerves.
He huffed at you in response- well as best as he could in between moans. You can see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and it caused you to let out a guttural groan. He was such a pretty sight in the lingerie he was so hesitant to wear. It was baby pink and complimented his skin perfectly and made him seem like an angel.
In this position, you could clearly see the outline of your cock imprinted in his lithe stomach and when you placed a hand over it- he shuddered. Your dick was coated in his juices yet you weren't stopping until he squirted all over you.
The second he had shyly admitted he’d never squirted before, you decided right then and there that tonight was going to change that. Your thumb pressed firmly against his clit, rubbing circles while you pounded into him without mercy. He twitched and writhed underneath you, body twisting and arching as he tried to escape the sensations.
But you didn't let up instead you quickened your pace as you could tell he was close to orgasm. You watched his face twist, mouth dropping open in a silent cry, his whole body seized up beneath you. A broken, high-pitched keen tore from his throat as his walls clenched violently around your cock, pulsing in rapid waves.
“That’s it- come on, baby, let go for me,” Your voice was thick with lust. You didn’t slow down though, didn’t ease the relentless grind of your hips or the slick circles your thumb was drawing over his swollen clit. “You’re gonna squirt for me. I can feel it.”
His eyes fluttered, lashes wet with unshed tears, and he shook his head frantically even as his hips jerked up to meet every brutal thrust. “N-no ahh- too much-!” he sobbed, but the words dissolved into another desperate moan when you pressed down harder on the bulge in his stomach, feeling your cock drag against that spot inside him with every stroke.
His thighs trembled violently in your grip, the delicate pink lace of the lingerie sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. Then his back arched clean off the bed, a cry ripping out of him.
A hot gush of clear fluid suddenly sprayed against your abdomen, soaking your skin and the sheets beneath him. He squirted hard, pulsing around you in messy, uncontrollable waves while his clit throbbed wildly under your fingers.
“Fuck yes, just like that,” You groaned, the sight and feeling of him losing control pushing you dangerously close to the edge. You kept fucking him through it, drawing out every last shudder and spurt until his voice cracked into hoarse little whimpers and his body went limp, twitching with aftershocks.
Only then did you slow your thrusts, still buried deep inside his fluttering heat, and lean down to kiss the tears from his flushed cheeks. “Look at you… such a good boy. First time and you soaked everything.” You nipped at his earlobe, voice low and teasing. “Think you can do it again for me?”
He could only answer with a weak, broken whine, his body still clenching greedily around you even as he tried to catch his breath.
Warnings: reader has a cock (otherwise no gender specified), (kinda) mean reader, top reader fucking bottom character, milking, breeding, orgasm denial, nipple play, sex toys, dacryphilia
One of your cows isn’t producing the minimum amount of milk required of him anymore… there seems to be some kind of problem?
Word count: ~2k
Running a farm sure is difficult. You had to wake up early everyday and get lots of physical work done. Not only that, you also had to care for all of your hybrid animals, each with their own individual needs and problems. You did hire employees to help lessen your workload, but there were still things only the owner can solve. Like today, having to deal with the mystery of one of your best cows producing results atypical of him.
“Ahhn— ahnnghh~ ♡ mmHghff, n-not so roughhhh..!! T-too much too g-guuud ♥︎♡” He mewled, nails digging into his own thighs as he whimpered around the stretch. His knees were raised up to his chest and your cock already bottomed out inside him, causing him to kick his legs futilely. It’s been so long since he last had someone else play around with him in the hay like this. Just the tip alone was enough to make his eyes roll back, his mind all fuzzy with pleasure.
Now with the entire thing inside, his couldn’t hold back his voice anymore, “ahh.. ah—ahNgh, ha,,uuhNnh~ b-big, so biiig ♡ so deep~ h-hurts~!!♡♥︎♡” At this rate, he could swear you were fucking his stomach, reaching places he only gets to experience with you. No matter what he moaned out, he couldn’t fool no one with that big, stupid grin plastered across his face. “You are kind of pissing me off.” For some reason, you felt like you were being played by him. “Spread yourself wider.”
He did as you said, using his hands to hold his legs apart, faint red lines appearing from where he gripped too hard. The hay below was digging into his back and getting into his hair, yet he didn’t care one bit. He couldn’t think of anything but you right now, not when his lovely, favourite farm owner was personally showering him with so much love! You don’t even know how long he’s been waiting to get manhandled by you again.
And fuck, he wasn’t just imagining it, he could totally see the belly bulge apparing and disappearing from his lower abdomen with each thrust. “mhhHffgg~ r-right there, ahhNn～ I-I’ll do anything, so pleassee!! Ha-harder, more, gimme all of it~♥︎” Someday, he was going to make you snap. “Don’t get cocky. I wouldn’t be here fucking your desperate self if you weren’t acting like some bitch in heat.” You snapped at him. That’s right, you were supposed to investigate his milking problem, but the upper half and not his lower, stupid half.
It’s not like you didn’t try solving it in a civil manner first. At first all you did was asking if anything happened or if he felt sick, while he was using the milking machine as per procedure. He replied no to each and every one of the questions, yet only produced a quarter of what he usually did, so it’s understandable that you got concerned.
“Maybe… it’s because of the machine?” That cow hybrid suggested upon your inquiry, gently pulling the pumps off of himself and holding his squishy tits with both hands. It was obvious that these got bigger over the course of the last few days. “Are you saying we should try hand milking?” You wondered, and he nodded quickly. You even felt like his eyes lit up for a split second. So you decided to give it a shot, since you did start off in the traditional way first and just recently adapted the more modern method.
You then quickly proceeded with the experiment and began tracing your fingers around his areola. After a few circles, you pinched his nubs softly with two fingers, trying out the flow. Nothing much happened apart from the low, breathy gasps coming from the male, which was why you began pulling and twisting a little. But once you started doing that, he just immediately moaned out, “aAaHnngg~♥︎♡♥︎ mMhnnh— uHhn,, huUhmff ♡”
After having his nipples sucked by the machine for so long, they were already super sensitive. Then to have his favourite caretaker the one he really really liked ♡ hand milking him again? Who could blame him for getting hard! By then he was already leaking precum onto the hay below. Your fingers were just so skilful, so much more intimate and warm than any device could ever hope to replicate. He just adored having your hands on him. “G-gentle… nghhHgg, l-love it~~ mhmm~! ♥︎”
He glanced down at the spot between his legs, a small puddle of precum already forming there. “I-I can’t help it…! It feels too good when you touch them.” Seeing that the wrong part of him was getting milked dry, you felt this realisation clicking inside, “did you suggest the hand milking just to get off? Don’t you know I have other things that needs to be done too?” The boy stayed quiet for a bit, before smiling sheepishly, noticing your hands were still on his nipples, “nnhhGahhh-ahnn!!♡♡ ha-haaa,, maybe…?”
Needless to say you were at your wits end with him, which is what got you into your current situation. With you holding his waist while slamming your hips against his, lewd squelching sounds echoing through the barn. “You know, this is how you get real cows to produce milk. By breeding them.” You whispered, his walls squeezing your length all snuggly. “Will it work for you too? Though I’m starting to think you were faking it all for attention.”
The way you stared down at him gave him chills. Oh how he loved it when you frowned at the sight of him, your eyes focused on him only. His words were slurred as he babbled with his tongue lolled out, “n-noo, no..!! M’wasnt, i r-really couldnt~ nGhhn ♥︎” look at that, he was thoroughly enjoying himself, wasn’t he?
“So, you are telling me you didn’t see this coming?” He didn’t answer, but his body revealed everything you needed to know. “Cheeky bastard.” You sighed and pulled out until only the tip remained inside, before slamming it all back in, making him curl his toes. “GuuUhhGnn~♡♥︎♡ ah-HnnGh—!!“ His moans turned into a whine when you abruptly grabbed him by the chin, “Since you’ve got so much time on your hands, fix that milking problem.”
“Yuu are sho… mhmm..!!! sho mean…!” He gasped out while you were still squeezing his cheeks. His hands finally released his now bruised thighs and landed on his nipples, his legs wrapping around your waist. The spot where he gripped them before has been decorated with a bunch of red nail-indents. “Ha-haaahh~ like this?” You did let go of him the moment he fulfilled your command.
Unsurprisingly, he kept smirking while he rolled his nips between his digits, licking his lips as his own sweet milk flowed down his wrists. The entire barn smelled of sex and warm, fresh milk. “hey… isn’t this suuuuch a-ahh~ waste?” He brought one of his soiled hand up to his mouth and sucked his own fingers clean, sticking his tongue out afterwards, “you want to make money with this, no? Heh… nghh ♡ So we shouldn’t waste it…!”
He was actually hoping for you to touch him yourself again, but to his dismay, you instead handed him the pumps of the milking machine, forcing him to reapply them to his own chest. “You think I’m that stupid? I won’t fall for the same trick twice.” You raised his hips up a little, getting a better angle before pounding into him even deeper, with surprisingly quicker thrusts. “AhNghhn ♥︎♡ d-don’t stop, ahhh so guuud, too good mghhnnff, m’love you, love this, right t-there ♡♡♡!”
You were hitting his sweet spots with the accuracy of someone who knows how to play his body like an instrument. The way you abused all his favourite places, rolling your hips with each rut into his sloppy hole…? It was simply heavenly ♥︎ his moans bounced off the thin wooden walls of the stable, echoing back at him, though he didn’t care at all. He was getting the privilege of being fucked by you, why would he be ashamed of that~?
Even the low humming of the milking machine was like music to his ears, the soft pressure of the suction pumps constantly stimulating his chest. His body was like on fire. Wherever you touched, heat would blossom beneath his skin. His vision was swimming, brain melting from the absolutely overwhelming ecstasy. It was to be expected that he’d sooner or later reach his limit.
“I’m close… ah~ I’m c-close, hnNhh, gunna cum, m’cummin’~♥︎♡!!— ah, n-nooo!” Right before he could shoot it all out, you wrapped your hand around his neglected cock and pressed your thumb into his slit firmly, denying him his much anticipated climax, “don’t you dare cum before I do. I’m not done breeding you yet.” “Wa— n-no…! L-lemme cum, I wanna— ah, ahNhhhgg, uHHhn!!!”
With that being said, poor thing was forced to endure the ruined orgasm and deal with the consequences of his actions. Shudders coursed through his spine as he cried out with each thrust, pleading so, so so so sweetly for his release. But you stayed firm the whole time, saying you were only going to let go of his now weeping cock once you’ve emptied your load inside him.
This time, you were going to fill him up until he learns how to behave. It didn’t stop him from trying his shot by begging even more submissively though. “P-please… cum already… b-breed me, fill me♥︎ hnNgh, like you said…!! I-I can’t anymore, m’wanna cum, ahh please~♡♡♥︎”
Gradually, you approached your own limit. He’s been getting really good at squeezing around you, shaking his own hips in a poor attempt to speed things up. You took a glance at the machine, then back at him. It seems your little ‘breeding therapy’ bared fruits, there was so much more milk coming out of his tits now. It was filling the tanks up all nicely. The same couldnt be said about his face though. With tears, sweat and snot running down his chin, his eyes glazed over and pleasure-ridden— even his pupils turned into little hearts♥︎!
One of his hands was just shy of grabbing your wrist, the other one clutching at anything within reach. His body was shaking heavily, his breath hitching audibly when you suddenly quickened your pace and mumbled, “fuck… I’m close.” Shortly after you also finally let go of his swollen dick. The shade was an angry red as it leaked precum everywhere, twitching with a mind of it’s own as he whimpered, “y-yes, yes…!, finally, ah- ahnGhh I-i’ve been wa- ah— waiting, gonna cummm ♥︎♡♥︎ f-fuck me harder, Nghh~ deeper, fill me up with your babies ♡♥︎♡”
Soon enough, both of you tipped over the edge. With you filling him to the brim, making his belly distend even more, and him making a mess everywhere. His head thrown back, eyes rolling until only the whites remained, thick ropes of cum coming out of his still jerking cock, splattering everywhere. “MhHmghhn~~ ♡♥︎” he bit down on his inner cheek, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his tongue as he heaved heavily. Chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
You also took a moment to catch your breath, before pulling out of him with a quiet pop. The moment you left him empty and wanting, your cum began spilling from his entrance and dripped down his ass in an undeniably erotic display. His hole fluttered and clenched around nothing, small whines of residual bliss slipping past his lips from time to time. You couldnt help but chuckle at the debauched display, mocking him, “so that’s why you couldn’t produce any milk… it’s because you are such a slut that you need a dick to perform.”
After fixing yourself up until you were presentable again, you stuffed a plug vibrator inside him, to keep your seed trapped inside him. Then you turned it on to the max level alongside the pumping machine, since his breasts were carrying the milk from multiple weeks. This earned you a meek sob from the cow hybrid, but he was way too tired to even argue! All he could do was lay still while letting himself be milked like a good, obedient cow ♡
He still had so much more left until dry anyway, so it wouldn’t be a problem to set the timer to a few hours, no?
thinking about that one hungry, sloppy cock-eating slut that just can’t get enough of you.
mouth wide open. tongue stuck out. cock fully devoured. knees spread apart. eyes rolled back. he’s letting out choked little whines as his fingers pump and curl relentlessly in his own tight hole, evidently greedy for something else.
he’s slurring unintelligibly, hips rocking back and forth at an awkward angle as if seeking friction from your leg. anything to have your touch on him, even if it means reducing himself to an animal in heat. you tighten the grip you have on the back of his neck and he whimpers, ceasing his movements immediately. a simple warning to behave. one he understands.
he hasn’t done anything to deserve this. he knows this, because you’re smiling at him in a way that shows you’re having fun—not the sadistic, angry smile he sometimes catches glimpses of when you have him bent over your lap, delivering blow after blow onto the tender, bruised flesh of his backside until he’s shrieking and weeping, repenting to you.
sometimes, it isn’t simple pain or pleasure that you enjoy. no. you’d rather have his desperation.
one gentle push on the back of his head is enough to fully guide him down the thick, spit-soaked length of your cock until he feels it pushing at the back of his throat, and then extending past it… and he takes that moment to plunge three of his fingers deep into his all-too-empty hole, imagining you filling him in their stead. the second your fingers tighten impossibly in his hair and lava-like warmth begins to spurt down his throat, he’s shuddering and cumming all over the floor, never far behind.
he knows what he looks like. knows that you’re enjoying it, if the deep, rewarding groan that makes his entire being vibrate has anything to say about it. and the moment he parts his lips to exhale, thinking that all of this is finally over and that you’ll give him what he wants—you’re feeding the wet, cum-sticky tip of your cock into his mouth again, making him swallow it with a protesting cry.
YO I’m the free use anon)?) if I did set it to anon anyways. Just wanted to add on to my previous ask because it automatically got sent.
Your writing has me hooked and I thought it’d be cool to send you an ask. If you decide to do it, let loose and do whatever you want with it!
enter— your pretty house husband !!
status: edited + proofread
synopsis: your friends come over for a game night, and you can’t help but want to show him off.
word count: 3k
cw: porn with no plot, AMAB reader, FTM char (AFAB terminology used), established relationship, dom! reader, top!reader, sub!char, bottom!char, free use, exhibitionism, voyerism, pussy slapping, fingering, praise kink, possessiveness.
note: thank you so much for the request! i hope it met your expectations! 🫶
the living room buzzes with laughter and the clatter of dice as your friends settle in, but your attention keeps drifting to him.
he—your beautiful, obedient boy, your pretty house husband, the perfect display of submission and want—moves through the kitchen with practiced ease: refilling glasses, offering snacks, wiping crumbs from the counter with a gentle, almost absentminded grace that makes your chest tighten and your cock throb.
he’s meticulous, always making sure every glass is full, every snack perfectly arranged, every detail attended to just the way you love. the house sparkles under his care—pillows fluffed, candles lit, the faint scent of his favorite cookies wafting from the kitchen. he anticipates your needs, bringing you your favorite drink before you even ask, checking that you’re comfortable, giving you that sweet, adoring smile that says he lives to please you.
the curve of his ass as he bends over the table is a private invitation, a promise, making you shift in your seat and clench your fists to keep from dragging him into your lap right there.
every time he moves it’s for you, whether he knows it or not—every flick of his wrist, every dimpled smile, every time the hem of his shorts rides up, showing off the soft swell of his thighs and the barest hint of his pussy beneath the fabric.
he tucks stray hair behind his ear, cheeks pink, and his eyes dart to you—always checking, making sure you want for nothing, and always craving your attention.
you do notice—every detail, every shiver, every unconscious arch of his back that presses his ass out for you to admire.
his shirt clings to him just right, outlining the curve of his waist and the soft skin you want to mark up all over again, and you don’t miss how the fabric of his shorts hugs the fullness of his thighs, the hint of wetness darkening the inseam.
he’s so soft, so pretty, and when he fusses over napkins or straightens a stack of games, you know he’s doing it for your praise.
"do you need anything else, love?" he asks quietly, voice gentle and eager as he leans closer. the question is for you, but his eyes flick to your friends, as if hoping they, too, will notice just how attentive he is.
you grin, letting your hand brush his hip. "you're perfect, baby. keep showing off for me."
he blushes deeper, ducking his head as he returns to his tasks, a little smile tugging at his lips.
when he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips linger a second too long, and his fingers skim your waist as if asking you to claim him. sometimes he leans in so close you catch the faint sweetness of his skin, the unique scent of him and his soap of choice, and you wonder if your friends can see the flush on his cheeks, the evidence of your teeth on his neck just visible where his collar falls open.
later, as he passes you another drink, one of your friends jokes, "careful, he'll spoil you. wish mine took care of me like that."
you smirk, pulling him gently into your lap for a second. "maybe you should take notes."
he laughs, barely above a whisper, "i like taking care of you."
every time he glances at you, it’s a plea to be seen, to be shown off—your boy, your house husband, your needy little thing.
you adore how he blushes under your gaze, how he soaks up your praise, desperate to be recognized as yours, his ears burning pink when the others tease him about being the perfect host.
you want everyone to see how lucky you are, how much you crave him, how you’d bend him over the kitchen table or the back of the couch at any opportunity—spread him open, mouth on his pussy, tongue buried deep until he’s shaking, sobbing, begging, just to remind him—and everyone else—who he belongs to.
he’s yours. he wants the world to know it, and you’ll never tire of letting him put himself on display.
your friends sometimes complain, half-joking and half-envious, about the way you and he disappear together at gatherings or the not-so-innocent marks he tries to hide the next day.
they tease you for being insatiable, for how you can’t seem to keep your hands off him even when company’s over, for the way you look at him like you’re always moments from dragging him away.
sometimes you catch them rolling their eyes or making snide comments about your lack of self-restraint, but you only feel a surge of pride—why should you hide your desire, your luck, the way he’s yours in every way?
what a useless thing to do.
you want them to see, to know just how thoroughly you adore him, how much he craves your attention and how gladly he gives himself to you.
there’s a part of you that wants to show off, to let everyone witness the way he melts for you, the way you can make him blush and squirm with just a look or a whispered word.
their complaints only make you bolder, eager to prove that what you have with him is something worth envying, worth flaunting, a love and hunger so intense it can’t—and shouldn’t—be hidden.
you want them to imagine what it’s like when you pull him onto your lap and make him ride you, slow and deep, until he’s shaking and sobbing into your shoulder—how his pussy clenches around you, greedy for every inch, how you hold him open and watch him drip all over your cock, gasping as you fuck him through wave after wave of needy pleasure.
you want them to know how he begs for you to fill him up, how he whimpers for your tongue, your fingers, desperate for the stretch and the praise, all the filthy words that make him come undone.
you want them to imagine the nights where you bend him over the kitchen counter or pin him against the wall and fuck him hard without so much as a word, where his cries echo through the house, and you make sure every mark you leave is one he’ll wear with pride the next day.
you want your friends to see, to really understand, how you own him—how he’s yours to tease, yours to ruin, yours to show off however you please. he’s the perfect display, your favorite prize, and you’d let the world watch if it meant they’d know just how beautiful, how desperate, how absolutely wrecked he is for you every single night.
and you notice it—the way your friends shift in their seats, the way their eyes linger, the flush on their cheeks or the subtle bulge in their pants betraying just how much watching turns them on.
sometimes you catch them glancing away, embarrassed to be caught, but you know they’re imagining what it would be like to have him, to see him come undone for them the way he does for you.
their hands sometimes drift to their laps, knuckles pale as they try to discreetly adjust themselves, biting back groans. they're not sneaky with it at all. the gall, really.
you see the hunger in their eyes, the way their lips part, breaths shallow, as they witness the two of you together.
tonight, you can’t help yourself. you'd indulge it.
when the conversation grows loud and everyone is focused on the board, the urge becomes too strong to resist.
you slide your hand around his waist, fingers curling possessively against his soft skin, and tug him gently further into your lap, right there in front of your friends.
at first, he freezes—shocked, flustered, his breath catching as he processes the sudden intimacy.
you steady him with a firm hand on his hip, guiding him to straddle you.
his cheeks burn as your friends notice and laugh, egging you on with teasing whistles and catcalls, their playful jeers mixing with the nervous energy between you.
"damn, get a room!" someone jeers, but you just smirk and hold him tighter.
"nah, i like it here," you say, voice low but clear. "want everyone to see how pretty he is for me."
your hands wander boldly, squeezing his bare thighs as his shorts ride up, the muscles beneath your fingers tensing with each touch.
you press kisses to his neck, lips skimming over flushed skin, and you savor the faint, shivery whimper he lets out.
from where he straddles you, knees bracketing your hips, his back arches, chest rising and falling with fast, shallow breaths.
your friends can’t help but stare; his shirt has ridden up, exposing the soft curve of his waist, the marks you’ve left behind from earlier.
you shift him so he’s facing the room, to his surprise, straddling your lap with his back pressed tight to your chest, every inch of him on display for your friends.
you push his legs wide, planting your hands firmly on his inner thighs, keeping him open.
his shorts barely cover anything now, riding up so high that the soft skin of his inner thighs is completely exposed, and you let your friends catch every trembling breath, every flush across his cheeks.
"what're you doing?" he whines.
you whisper in his ear, low and teasing, letting everyone else hear: "let them look, baby. you're perfect like this."
with a slow, deliberate motion, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and pull them down over his hips, letting them slide to mid-thigh.
the room falls silent as you expose him—soft, pretty, dripping for you—his thighs spread wide and nothing left to hide.
the flush on his face deepens, lips parted as he sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting between your friends and your hand.
for a moment, you pause, letting the anticipation build, then you take his hand and guide it between his own thighs, urging him to spread himself open for the audience.
far from shrinking away in shame, instead, with trembling fingers, he obeys, like you knew he would, pulling himself wide, revealing his slick, needy entrance to everyone watching, his breath coming in fast, shuddering gasps as he shows off the most intimate part of himself.
the soft pink folds part easily under his fingers, glistening with arousal, the delicate rim fluttering each time he breathes or you whisper in his ear.
his entrance is flushed and swollen, slick with need, the inner walls pulsing and glossy in the light—so wet you can see the sheen of it catching on his knuckles.
it’s a beautiful, obscene sight: the way his hole clenches and relaxes, shiny and inviting, on full display for everyone in the room.
you keep a possessive arm wrapped around his waist, whispering filthy encouragement into his ear while your other hand joins his, rolling your thumb over the sensitive, wet seam and angling his hips so the room has a perfect view of how ready he is for you.
letting your friends witness every detail, you murmur, "show them how much you love this, baby. let them see you inside."
each time he spreads himself wider, exposing the flutter of his entrance and the shine of arousal, your pride grows.
every breath he takes is visible, chest fluttering, his body straining to stay still despite the attention.
your friends watch, rapt and silent, as you make a show of it—of how easily he gives in to you, how much he trusts you.
"look at him," you murmur to the room. “all mine. just for me to play with."
your fingers trace over the slickness between his legs, and you feel his whole body shiver in your arms.
nothing to hide—your pretty house husband, shuddering as you let your palm cup his heat, thumb circling, pressing just enough to make him choke on a gasp. it was this strange feeling that everyone was looking at him, which was uncomfortable.
perhaps because there were so many people whose attention were only on him. it rivaled nothing else. even deep breaths didn't clear his clogged chest, so he tried taking a big breath to expand his lungs. but there was still a sticky feeling as if his alveoli weren't fully expanding.
nothing comes out.
his head falls back against your shoulder, eyes fluttering, mouth open as you whisper, "that's it, let them see how perfect you are for me."
you can feel how wet he is for you, slick and needy, and you let your fingers slip lower, teasing at his entrance with slow, deliberate strokes.
the anticipation makes him tremble, thighs quivering as you slide one finger inside.
his walls flutter around you, every pulse a silent plea for more, and you relish the hungry, jealous looks you draw from the crowd.
he clings to your arm, hips rolling up to meet your hand, desperate for more, his breath coming in short, whimpering gasps, head dropping back against your shoulder as he surrenders to your touch.
you add a second finger, slowly stretching him open, feeling his body tense and then yield, the lewd, wet sound of your fingers working him echoing through the charged silence.
his rim clenches, fluttering at the intrusion, as you curl your fingers just right, searching for that sensitive spot inside.
your thumb circles his clit with teasing, featherlight strokes, coaxing out shivers and broken cries, his voice growing hoarse with need.
your onlookers watch, transfixed, as you work him open for everyone to see—the way his thighs quake, the way his body arches, the way he bites his lip to keep from begging aloud. unable to look away from the way he squirms and gasps, from the lewd, sounds filling the room, from the way you stretch him wide and make him beg, knowing they’re hard and aching just from watching.
you take pride in how you can make your crowd of friends so desperate, so jealous, so turned on they can barely sit still, all because he’s yours to ruin and flaunt. too bad for them.
the air is thick with the scent of his arousal, and you take pride in just how much he responds to you, even with watching eyes.
when you find it, his thighs shake, hips bucking uncontrollably as you press down just right, forcing a helpless cry from his lips, nails digging into your arm as you thrust into him, slow and deep, showing everyone the way he falls apart for you.
you can feel him squeezing around your fingers, his body fluttering as you keep up the relentless rhythm—fingers scissoring, stretching him wider, making it impossible for him to hide just how much he loves being filled and put on display.
wet, squelching sounds fill the room, obscene and shameless as you piston your fingers in and out, your palm pressed tight against his mound, grinding against his swollen clit. his attempt to steady his breathing was futile. scraping the inner walls recklessly and thrusting rapidly into the unsuspecting mucosa of his insides, had made him practically forget when to breathe.
then, cruelly, you pull your hand back just enough to let it hover over his pussy, letting the suspense build as he trembles in your lap.
you bring it down with a sharp, deliberate slap, the sound a wet crack that echoes through the room.
the sting makes him gasp, his whole body jolting—hips bucking, thighs quaking, his pussy clenching and gushing fresh slick as the sensation ripples through every nerve.
he whimpers, legs spreading wider without even thinking, as you rub your hand over the reddening skin, feeling the heat and the way he pulses against your palm.
you slap him again, harder this time, and watch as his pussy grows even slicker, the tender flesh flushed deep pink, glistening with arousal and shining in the light.
each smack sends fresh waves of pleasure and humiliation through his trembling body—he arches, moans, his entrance fluttering and leaking, coating your fingers as you tease him between slaps.
his abs tense, back arching, eyes squeezed shut as he rides out the sting and the praise, his body begging for more even as he squirms in your lap.
your friends watch, transfixed and silent, as you alternate between spanking and fondling, showing off how easily he melts for you, how much he loves the attention, the roughness, the ache.
his whimpers turn shameless, louder, as you murmur filthy praise in his ear and slap him again, letting everyone see the way he gushes for you—slick streaming out, his thighs shaking, desperate and needy, lost in the sensation.
the next slap lands perfectly, and this time his whole body jerks—his pussy tightening and fluttering around your fingers before he suddenly goes still, every muscle tensed.
the impact resonated and there’s a split second of breathlessness, before he lets out a broken moan as he gushes hard against you, his milky cum burst forth from him, release soaking your hand, the evidence of his pleasure on full display for everyone to see.
you hold him tight, whispering encouragement as he trembles and rides out the aftershocks, completely undone by the sting and the praise, lost in the bliss of being shown off and claimed so openly.
one of your friends finally breaks the tension, voice low and admiring: "god, he's really well trained, isn't he?"
another pipes up, laughing gently, "you've got him so obedient—look at how he just takes it, all pretty and eager."
someone else whistles, adding, "wish mine listened like that. he's perfect for you."
don’t you know it well.
their compliments wash over both of you, fueling your pride and making your house husband squirm in your lap, his face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.
you catch his eye and grin, letting him bask in the praise. you should do this more often.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"Come on you can take it, you begged for it remember." You gently swatted his hand away as he tried to push against you. He whined so prettily at the sensation of you pounding him. Everytime you thrusted in him you hit that sensitive bundle of nerves.
He huffed at you in response- well as best as he could in between moans. You can see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and it caused you to let out a guttural groan. He was such a pretty sight in the lingerie he was so hesitant to wear. It was baby pink and complimented his skin perfectly and made him seem like an angel.
In this position, you could clearly see the outline of your cock imprinted in his lithe stomach and when you placed a hand over it- he shuddered. Your dick was coated in his juices yet you weren't stopping until he squirted all over you.
The second he had shyly admitted he’d never squirted before, you decided right then and there that tonight was going to change that. Your thumb pressed firmly against his clit, rubbing circles while you pounded into him without mercy. He twitched and writhed underneath you, body twisting and arching as he tried to escape the sensations.
But you didn't let up instead you quickened your pace as you could tell he was close to orgasm. You watched his face twist, mouth dropping open in a silent cry, his whole body seized up beneath you. A broken, high-pitched keen tore from his throat as his walls clenched violently around your cock, pulsing in rapid waves.
“That’s it- come on, baby, let go for me,” Your voice was thick with lust. You didn’t slow down though, didn’t ease the relentless grind of your hips or the slick circles your thumb was drawing over his swollen clit. “You’re gonna squirt for me. I can feel it.”
His eyes fluttered, lashes wet with unshed tears, and he shook his head frantically even as his hips jerked up to meet every brutal thrust. “N-no ahh- too much-!” he sobbed, but the words dissolved into another desperate moan when you pressed down harder on the bulge in his stomach, feeling your cock drag against that spot inside him with every stroke.
His thighs trembled violently in your grip, the delicate pink lace of the lingerie sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. Then his back arched clean off the bed, a cry ripping out of him.
A hot gush of clear fluid suddenly sprayed against your abdomen, soaking your skin and the sheets beneath him. He squirted hard, pulsing around you in messy, uncontrollable waves while his clit throbbed wildly under your fingers.
“Fuck yes, just like that,” You groaned, the sight and feeling of him losing control pushing you dangerously close to the edge. You kept fucking him through it, drawing out every last shudder and spurt until his voice cracked into hoarse little whimpers and his body went limp, twitching with aftershocks.
Only then did you slow your thrusts, still buried deep inside his fluttering heat, and lean down to kiss the tears from his flushed cheeks. “Look at you… such a good boy. First time and you soaked everything.” You nipped at his earlobe, voice low and teasing. “Think you can do it again for me?”
He could only answer with a weak, broken whine, his body still clenching greedily around you even as he tried to catch his breath.
꒰ n: going legit insane feral over this idea w/this specific reaction from the reader... ꒱
𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙀𝙓𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙇𝙔 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘿𝙊 𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙉 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝘽𝙊𝙔𝙁𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙉𝘿 𝘿𝙀𝘾𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙎 𝙎𝙐𝙍𝙋𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝘼 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙋𝙄𝙀𝙍𝘾𝙄𝙉𝙂? you already had a tongue peircing that felt fantastic when you fucked his pussy with your tongue. he had two nipple piercings and his ears were pierced, why not get something you might like?
your lips trail down his neck, your hands hurridly pulling off his clothing. you haven't touched him in months, and god you needed him. when you were about to rip off his pants suguru's voice reaches your ears. waitwaitwait! i have to tell you something...his hands replace yours as you look at him both skeptically and slightly concerned. what is it baby? suguru looks hesitant but he slowly pulls down the hem of his boxers. i may have gotten a new piercing...i thought you'd like.
the expression on your face is questioning until he throws his boxers on the floor and spreads his legs. a grin starts to appear on your face at the sight of a horseshoe ring, pierced through his clit. this why i haven't been able to touch you?
suguru nods, his eyes looking anywhere else but you. d'you like it? his voice is somewhat shy as he looks down at you. he hears a thoughtful hum leave your lips, your grin has fallen as you look him in the eyes. well, as much i don't enjoy the idea of someone else touching my pussy...yes, baby. i fuckin' love it. he chews on his bottom lip at how possessive you are, but he loves it. he loves it when your possessive with him, and judging by the look in your eyes, the both of you are going to enjoy the results of this piercing, which intentionally matches his nip piercings. (you never stop playing with it).
( ! ) Submissive Phainon x Dom Male! reader , semi-public sex , overstimulation , begging , praising phainon , cockdrunk phainon , pure filth , Farmer Phainon , Farmer AU , rough sex , dub con(?) , dirty talk , porn without plot
MASTERLIST | Inspired by this post
( ✎ ) ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, sorry in advance if I ever make any grammar/spelling mistakes. I kept my promise, ill get him pregnant 🩷🩷
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the farm fields as you dragged Phainon behind the weathered barn.
The air was thick with the scent of hay and earth, and the distant lowing of cattle reminded you both that privacy was an illusion here. But that only made it hotter—the thrill of being caught, the risk of someone wandering by and hearing his moans.
Phainon's muscular frame pressed against the rough wooden wall, his white hair tousled from your earlier rough handling. Those striking blue eyes of his were wide, pupils blown with a mix of fear and arousal as you pinned him there.
Your hand slid down, palming him firmly through the thin fabric of his pants. He was already hard, the outline of his cock straining against your touch.
"[Name]... not hereeee—ah!... anyone can see—!" Phainon whined, his voice pitching high as your fingers squeezed just right. His hips bucked involuntarily, grinding into your palm, but he glanced nervously toward the open field beyond the barn's edge. The bucket you'd grabbed earlier sat at his feet, a crude, empty thing you'd placed there with a wicked grin.
You chuckled low, leaning in to nip at his earlobe. "That's the point, isn't it? Let them hear how good you take it for me." Your free hand gripped his hip, holding him steady as you rubbed him harder, feeling the heat radiate through his pants.
He whimpered at your words, his shoulders trembling under your touch, that muscular chest heaving with each breath.
It didn't take long to free him. You yanked his pants down just enough, his thick cock springing out, already leaking pre-cum. Phainon's face flushed crimson, but he didn't fight it—never did when you got like this. You stroked him roughly, thumb circling the sensitive head, and he gasped, blue eyes squeezing shut.
"Please... [Name], we shouldn't—" His words cut off into a moan as you spun him around, pressing his chest to the barn wall. The position left him exposed, ass out toward you, the bucket right under him. You dropped your own pants, your hard cock slapping against his thigh as you lined up.
No prep, no mercy—you spat into your hand, slicked yourself, and pushed in.
Phainon's hole clenched tight around you, hot and welcoming despite the resistance. He cried out, the sound echoing a bit too loudly, and you clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Shh, baby. You don't want them to hear you, do you?" You thrust deep, bottoming out in one go, your hips flush against his firm ass.
Fuck he was so tight.
Muscles rippling as he adjusted, but you didn't give him time. You started pounding, each snap of your hips driving your cock straight to his prostate.
Phainon sobbed into your hand, tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes. His white hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his body shook with every brutal thrust. You wrapped your other arm around his waist, holding him up as his legs threatened to buckle. Your hand found his cock again, stroking in time with your thrust—milking him relentlessly.
"That's it, Phainon. You're doing so good for me," you praised, voice rough with lust. "Gonna fill this bucket with your cum. Every drop. And I'm not stopping until I milk you dry. You hear me?"
He nodded frantically, muffled whimpers escaping your fingers. His hole fluttered around your cock, squeezing as you hit that spot over and over.
The first orgasm ripped through him fast—his body tensed, cock pulsing in your grip as ropes of cum shot out, splattering into the bucket below. He came hard, crying out against your palm, tears streaming down his cheeks.
But you didn't stop. You kept thrusting, kept stroking, even as he went limp in your arms. "Good boy. That's one. Keep going."
Phainon thrashed weakly, his blue eyes glassy with overstimulation. "O-oh! [Name] p-please!! It's too much—!" he cried as you forced another climax from him, his voice breaking on a sob.
Cum dribbled weakly now, adding to the shallow pool in the bucket, but he was spent, oversensitive nerves firing painfully with every touch.
"Not yet, still not enough..." You groaned, feeling his tight hole squeeze you like a vice as you buried yourself deep again. Your arm tightened around his waist, the only thing keeping his legs from giving out entirely.
He was a mess—snot and tears mixing on his face, white hair slightly matted, body slick with sweat. Each thrust made his cock twitch in your hand, leaking more despite his pleas.
"[Name]! Stop—ah! No, don't stop, fuck, I can't—" His begging devolved into nonsense, brain fried from the relentless assault on his prostate. Your cock dragged against it with every pull back, slamming home to grind it mercilessly. Your fist pumped his shaft, slick with his own release, twisting at the head to draw out every shudder.
The thrill of being caught made it all better—the creak of the barn, the wind rustling the fields, the possibility of footsteps approaching.
You fucked him harder, chasing your own release while praising him through gritted teeth. "Look at you, crying for my cock. So perfect, Phai. Gonna make you cum until you can't walk straight. Fill that bucket like the good boy you are."
He came again, body convulsing, a broken wail tearing from his throat as another weak spurt hit the bucket. His hole spasmed around you, milking your cock until you couldn't hold back. You growled, slamming in one last time and flooding him with your cum, hot and thick, painting his insides.
Phainon slumped against the wall, sobbing softly, but the bucket was only half-full. You pulled out slowly, watching your seed leak from his abused hole, and stroked him once more.
"Not done yet, baby. We're just getting started." His blue eyes met yours, pleading and desperate, but the fire in them said he wouldn't truly want you to stop.
Imagine working in some farm, tending to the hybrids who live in it, before a certain cow nudges up to you, long ears flicking each time his head bumped against onto your shoulder.
He was way taller than you, maybe a foot taller, but he was big. He is regularly milked, and brushed as well as getting fed, but this time you knew he needed something more.
The sounds of gears and chains continuously being pulled could be heard from the outside of the barn, but everyone knew not to pay it too much attention, as they knew that someone was getting treated right. Everything in the barn was closed off, it was slightly dark but the sunlight entered through the windows which were way above, close to the ceiling.
Your adorable cow mooed as it was getting pounded by your cock, ramming it deep inside his walls. “Fuck… you’re tight my sweetie… I know you were waiting long enough.” You panted, continuing to thrust like an animal. Your hybrid cried, biting onto the soft gag you had given him. His tail wagging feverishly.
His entire body moved with the way you fucked him, your only goal to fill him up as much as you could. Your hands gripping his thick waist, hips slapping against that fat ass your cherished farm animal had.
Your cow was laid stomach down on what used to be a metal tray held by chains that connected to the ceiling, but it was now decorated for comfortable holding for moments like these.
The cow panted in lust and yearn as its eyes rolled onto the back of his head, his legs spreading subconsciously as he begged more for your fat cock, even if his was bigger than yours, yours didn’t disappoint. His pecs were bouncing with each motion you gave, before he came as he felt your hands squeeze them satisfyingly.
“I’m almost close baby… hold on for a bit longer.” You grunted, leaning down to press your chest against his back, hearing your animal whimper before continuing to moan due to your non stopping thrusts. Your hip movements drove him crazy, the way they’d roll and snap back inside him made him drool and pant crazy, moaning and mooing in occasions.
You huffed as you quickly sped up, before slamming deep inside his tightened and hot & damp walls, trying to get as deep as you could as you released your semen inside him, panting like a freak as your farm animal drooled in a daze, tail swaying and tickling your naked stomach as his ears twitched at times.
summery: in which Gojo’s nerd friends realize he’s dating the antithesis of everything they stand for…a jock😟
————————————————————————
The day started as any other, in their stupid corner of the lab, testing all types of chemicals.
Satoru seemed a bit down, but not enough to cause any worry. Maybe just didn’t get the grade he wanted or whatever.
So imagine their surprise when the quarterback of the football team, a man MUCH out of their league, is bursting through the doors of the chem lab and looking for none other than Gojo.
“There’s my baby!” you exclaimed once you spotted his white mop of hair. You made a beeline to his side and picked him up as if he weighed nothing.
“Y/n, in front of everyone?” He whined as you kissed his cheeks relentlessly.
“There’s like four other people here, relax bubu.” You replied.
They stared almost shamelessly as you finally put him down but didn’t give him an ounce of space away from you.
“What’s up, Sugu said you looked a bit down this morning?” You said in a hushed tone, almost cooing as if he was a little bird that would fly away if you made too much noise. You looked at him with such love and devotion, it made even their hearts jump a little.
Satoru suddenly blushed hard. “No, it’s nothing serious, you shouldn’t worry yourself.” He said, looking down at your letterman as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.
“Baby, don’t say that.” You encouraged with a nudge to the side of his head.
“No it’s really not that serious it’s just…y-you didn’t kiss me before you left for practice this morning.” He whispered the last part.
WHAT??? That’s what he’s been in a mood about this entire day????
“Aww, my love, why didn’t you say anything? I’m so sorry, baby.” You immediately apologized with multiple pecks on his lips.
He suddenly held you still and kissed you deeply, quiet moans slipping from him as you slipped a hand under his shirt.
His friends would’ve had to intervene before you threw him on the table had it not been for Suguru entering the room with a loud cough.
“Excuse me for breaking up this loving moment, but we have to go.” He said, pulling you away from Satoru’s hold.
You whined as he dragged you both to the exit, before throwing a kiss to your boyfriend.
“Byeee, love you so much! And all the kisses when you get home, okay?!” You shouted and Satoru blushed with a smile on his face.
He immediately got back to work as if nothing happened. But he was noticeably giddier, and a bit clumsier than usual.
Since when was Satoru such a sap???
————————————————————————
I still suck at endings (and titles apparently) but just a lil something at 2 am to hold me over while I stress abt all my other drafts🤪 enjoy!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The apartment was small, tucked away on the third floor of an unassuming building in a quiet Tokyo neighborhood. It wasn’t much—just one bedroom, a combined living-kitchen space, and a tiny balcony that overlooked a narrow street lined with vending machines and potted plants—but it was yours. Yours and Kento’s. After months of back-to-back missions, endless overtime at Jujutsu High, and the constant shadow of curses lurking in every corner of the city, this shared rental felt like a sanctuary. No alarms blaring at 3 a.m., no emergency briefings, no Gojo Satoru popping in unannounced with his infuriating grin. Just the two of you, and the rare, precious gift of a completely free weekend.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the half-open curtains, painting the wooden floors in warm gold. Soft jazz hummed from the old speaker on the shelf—something slow and instrumental that Kento had picked out because it reminded him of better days, before the weight of sorcery had settled so heavily on his shoulders. The air smelled like vanilla, sugar, and the faint citrus of the cleaning spray you’d used that morning. Peaceful. Domestic. Almost unreal.
You stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, palms and forearms dusted white with flour. The dough for the cookies was coming together nicely under your hands—soft, pliable, the kind of simple shortbread recipe you’d found in an old cookbook at the back of the cabinet. Rolling it out with a wine bottle (since neither of you owned a proper rolling pin) was oddly satisfying, the rhythmic press and turn grounding you in a way combat never could.
Across from you, Kento Nanami moved with that same precise efficiency he brought to everything. He wore a soft pink apron you’d bought on a whim months ago as a joke—frilled edges, a little cartoon cat in the corner—and it looked absurdly good on him. The straps tied neatly behind his back, accentuating the broad width of his shoulders and the trim line of his waist. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up to reveal corded forearms, and his blond hair was slightly tousled from the steam of the oven preheating. He held a large mixing bowl in one hand, the other whisking steadily—chocolate chips, butter, and sugar blending into a smooth batter for the second batch. His movements were calm, measured, but there was a softness in his hazel eyes when they flicked toward you every few seconds.
This was nice. More than nice. It was everything you’d both been missing.
“Pass the vanilla?” you asked, not looking up from the dough.
Kento set the bowl down for a moment, reached behind him without a word, and handed you the small bottle. His fingers brushed yours—warm, steady—and lingered just a second longer than necessary. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that only appeared when no one else was watching. “You’re getting flour everywhere,” he observed, voice low and even, but laced with quiet amusement.
You glanced down at your arms, then at the faint white smudges already dusting the front of his apron. “Occupational hazard,” you said with a grin. “You make it look good, though.”
He huffed—a sound that was half sigh, half chuckle—and returned to whisking. “Flattery will not save you from cleaning the counters later.”
You laughed under your breath and kept rolling. The dough flattened smoothly beneath your palms, edges neat and even. For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the whisk scraping against the bowl, the soft thump of the rolling pin substitute, and the occasional creak of the old floorboards under your feet. It felt like breathing for the first time in weeks. No cursed energy humming at the edges of your senses. No reports waiting on the desk. Just sugar, butter, and the man you loved standing two feet away, looking more relaxed than he had in months.
You needed to grab the cookie cutter from the drawer on the other side of him. You turned, reaching past his hip, and that was when it hit you—how perfectly he filled out that ridiculous apron, how the fabric hugged the firm curve of his ass, how the late light caught on the fine blond hairs at the nape of his neck. He looked… domestic. Content. Yours.
You couldn’t resist.
Your flour-covered hand came down in a firm, playful slap right across his left cheek. The impact was solid—enough to make the muscle jump under your palm—but not hard. A perfect white handprint bloomed instantly against the pink fabric, and a small cloud of flour puffed up like smoke, drifting lazily in the sunlight.
Kento didn’t flinch. Not even a little.
Instead, a deep, rumbling chuckle rolled out of him, low and warm, the kind that vibrated through his chest and straight into your bones. He glanced down at the handprint, then turned his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. One eyebrow arched, hazel eyes gleaming with something between fond exasperation and unmistakable heat.
“Bold,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave. “Very bold.”
You grinned, unrepentant, and gave the spot a quick, teasing squeeze before pulling your hand back. “Couldn’t help it. You look too good standing there whisking like that.”He shook his head, but the chuckle lingered as he went back to the bowl. “You’re incorrigible. And now I have to wash this apron.”
You returned to your dough, heart lighter, the faint sting of flour on your palm mixing with the memory of firm muscle. The two of you fell back into the rhythm easily—him folding in the last of the chocolate, you cutting neat circles from the rolled sheet. When the trays were loaded and slid into the preheated oven, you set the timer for twelve minutes and wiped your hands on a dish towel.
Kento turned toward you, apron still dusted with that blatant handprint, and you didn’t waste the opportunity. You stepped in close, cupped his face with both hands—leaving faint white streaks on his jaw—and kissed him.
It started soft, a simple press of lips that tasted like vanilla and the faint bitterness of the coffee he’d had earlier. But Kento’s hands settled on your waist immediately, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened. His mouth moved against yours with that trademark control—slow, thorough, like he was savoring every second after so many weeks of stolen moments and interrupted nights. You felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he sighed into it, tongue tracing your lower lip until you opened for him.When you broke apart, both of you breathing a little heavier, his forehead rested against yours.
“We’ve barely had time for each other,” he said quietly, thumb stroking your hip through your shirt. “I missed this. Missed you.”
“Same,” you whispered, fingers threading into his hair. “Way too same.”
The timer hadn’t even started counting down properly before the air between you shifted again—thicker, heavier, charged with everything you’d both been holding back. Your hands slid down his chest, tugging at the apron strings until they came loose. Kento let you push the fabric aside, then shrugged out of it entirely, letting it drop to the floor in a pink heap. You backed him toward the counter, the same one where he’d been whisking moments ago, and he went willingly, hips bumping the edge.
“Turn around,” you murmured against his mouth.
His eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the hazel. He turned without protest, bracing his palms flat on the marble, back arching just slightly as you pressed up behind him. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his trousers, dragging them down along with his boxers in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled at his ankles, and you took a moment to appreciate the view—strong thighs, the perfect curve of his ass, the way his broad back flexed under the thin shirt still hanging open.
You grabbed the bottle of olive oil from the counter (left out from dinner prep the night before) and slicked your fingers generously. Kento’s breath hitched when you pressed one inside him, slow and careful, working him open with patient strokes. He was tight—weeks without this had left him needy—but he pushed back against your hand, a low groan escaping his throat.
“More,” he rasped, voice already rough. “Don’t be gentle tonight.”
You added a second finger, scissoring gently, curling them until you found that spot that made his thighs tremble. Kento’s head dropped forward, blond hair falling into his eyes, knuckles whitening on the counter. His cock hung heavy and flushed between his legs, already leaking onto the cabinet door. You stroked him once, twice, just to hear the way his breath stuttered.
When you finally replaced your fingers with your cock, pushing in inch by inch, the groan he let out was guttural, raw. You bottomed out with a shared sigh, hips flush against his ass, and stayed there for a heartbeat—letting him adjust, letting yourself feel the scorching heat and the way he clenched around you like he never wanted to let go.
Then you started moving.
Deep, steady thrusts that dragged over his prostate with every roll of your hips. The counter creaked under the force. Skin slapped against skin in a steady rhythm, wet and obscene, mixing with the soft jazz still playing in the background. Kento’s moans were low at first—controlled, bitten back—but they grew louder, freer, as you picked up pace. Each thrust drove home the truth you’d both been ignoring: you’d been starving for this. For each other.“God, Kento… you feel incredible,” you groaned, one hand gripping his hip hard enough to leave marks, the other sliding around to wrap around his cock, stroking in time.
He reached back with one arm, fingers tangling in your shirt, pulling you closer. “Don’t stop,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Ah—please—”
You didn’t stop. Instead you pulled out just long enough to spin him around, lifting him with a firm grip under his thighs so his back met the counter. Nanami’s eyes widened for a split second before he wrapped his legs around your waist, pulling you back in. You slid into him again in one smooth thrust, the new angle deeper, more intimate. His head fell back against the marble with a low moan, shirt falling open completely, chest heaving.
You set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward, watching every reaction play across his face—hazel eyes fluttering, lips parted, that composed mask completely shattered. Kento’s hands clutched at your shoulders, nails digging in as you drove into him over and over, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke.
When he came it hit him like a wave. His whole body shuddered hard, muscles locking tight around you as thick, white-hot spurts painted his own stomach and chest in messy ropes. His back arched off the counter, head thrown back, a broken, guttural groan tearing from his throat while the orgasm left him dizzy and trembling beneath you.
You were right there with him, thrusts growing erratic, pleasure coiling tight at the base of your spine. You started to pull out, but one of his legs hooked firmly behind your thigh, calf digging in with surprising strength, locking you in place.
“Inside,” he said, voice wrecked and breathless. “Do it inside.”
That was all you needed.
You slammed back in, burying yourself to the hilt, and came with a low, guttural sound of his name. Pulse after pulse spilled deep inside him, filling him until it leaked out around your cock. The intensity left you both trembling, chests heaving, bodies locked together over the counter.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint tick of the oven timer.
Then—ding.
The cookies were done.
Kento let out a breathless laugh, the sound hoarse and sated. He turned his head just enough to catch your eye, a rare, crooked smile on his flushed face. “Perfect timing.”
You pressed a lazy kiss to the back of his neck, still buried inside him, reluctant to move. “We’ll get them in a minute. Or ten.”
He hummed in agreement, reaching back to thread his fingers through your hair.
pairings: ftm! gojo - nanami - sukuna - choso X top male reader
note: any comments or reblogs are appreciated
warning: ftm, risky, public fingering, exhibitionism, overstimulation
────────────────────────────────────────────
CHOSO
The train was packed during rush hour, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder as it rattled through the city tunnels. Choso stood near the back, one hand gripping the overhead rail, his usual dark clothing blending into the crowd. Tall, pale, and quiet, he looked like just another tired commuter- head slightly bowed, bangs falling over his eyes, expression unreadable.
No one noticed the way his legs were parted just enough.
You stood directly behind him, chest to his back, one arm looped casually around his waist like you were steadying him against the train’s sway. Two thick fingers were already buried deep in the slick, fluttering heat of his cunt, pumping slow and steady with every rock of the carriage.
Choso’s breath hitched softly, barely audible over the rumble of the train and the murmur of passengers. His free hand clenched tighter around the rail until his knuckles turned white.
Every curl of your fingers sent sparks racing up his spine, his slick walls clenching greedily, coating your hand in warm, slippery heat that threatened to trickle down his thighs.
“Easy,” You whispered against the nape of his neck, voice for him alone. “Just breathe.”
He bit his lip hard, bangs hiding his burning face as he stared at the floor. The stretch felt overwhelming in the best way, turning his usually calm mind into static. A sudden lurch of the train shoved more bodies closer, forcing your fingers deeper. A tiny, mortified whimper escaped before he could swallow it.
Your fingers never paused scissoring gently, then pressing firm against that sweet spot with ruthless accuracy. “You’re soaked through already,” oYu murmured, lips grazing his ear. “Does it excite you? Knowing anyone could notice how wet your pretty cunt is getting on a crowded train?”
“D-Don’t…” His whisper was hoarse, barely there. But his body answered for him, hips rocking back the smallest fraction, walls fluttering wildly around your intrusion and sucking you deeper.
You added a third finger, filling him fuller. Choso’s grip slipped on the rail for a heartbeat; he recovered by pressing his forehead to his arm, hiding behind the curtain of his black hair as another soft, needy sound slipped free.
As the train slowed for the next stop and passengers shifted in a chaotic wave, you curled your fingers harder, thumb flicking rapidly over his clit while thrusting deep and fast. His thighs trembled violently, pressing inward around your wrist in a futile bid for control.
The pressure coiled unbearably tight in his belly. A thin trail of drool escaped the corner of his mouth before he licked it away, face flaming with embarrassment.
“Come on,” You breathed, pressing a secret kiss to his skin. “Let go for me. Stay quiet like a good boy.”
His whole body locked up. His cunt spasmed in helpless, rippling waves, clamping down tight as a sudden rush of warm, thick slick gushed over your fingers and soaked his underwear.
A high, broken whine tried to escape he just about strangled it into a shaky cough, burying his face deeper into his sleeve while his legs shook so hard he relied on the press of bodies and your support to stay upright.
You stroked him gently through every aftershock, drawing it out until he was twitching and oversensitive, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
When it finally faded, Choso sagged back against you, cheeks crimson, eyes glassy when he peeked over his shoulder.
His voice was a raw, barely audible whisper, thick with shame and lingering heat.
“You’re so cruel.”
The movie theater was dimly lit, the latest action flick droning on with explosions and gunfire that barely registered over the low hum of the crowd. Satoru Gojo sat slouched in the back row trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. His long legs were spread wide, one arm casually draped behind your seat. The popcorn was forgotten in his lap under the thin jacket he’d draped there for cover.
GOJO
Beneath that jacket, his uniform pants hung open just enough. Your hand had found its way inside long ago, two fingers sliding through his already dripping folds and sinking deep without ceremony. He’d jolted at the first touch, covering it with an exaggerated stretch and yawn, but now he was barely holding it together.
Two of your fingers were buried deep, curling slow and deliberate against that spongy spot inside him that made his thighs twitch. His walls fluttered around you, ridiculously wet already, the obscene little squelch barely audible under the movie's soundtrack but loud enough in his own ears to make his pale cheeks burn.
Your fingers curled lazily, stroking that sensitive ridge inside him with practiced ease. Every slow drag made fresh heat pulse through his core, his slick coating your knuckles in warm, slippery trails. The faint, wet slicks were lost under the movie’s soundtrack, but Satoru heard them loud and clear. They made his pale cheeks burn in embarrassment.
“Having fun pretending to watch the movie?” You murmured close to his ear, thumb grazing his swollen clit in slow, teasing spirals.
He forced a breathy laugh, voice cracking. “It’s… okay. Effects could be better.” The words came out too airy when you scissored your fingers, opening him wider. His free hand dug into the armrest, plastic creaking under his grip.
To the couple a few seats away, he probably looked like he was just whispering commentary. Up close, though, his lashes fluttered wildly and a thin sheen of sweat glistened at his hairline. You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re making such a mess already. Feel how easily my fingers slide? Bet you’d love it if someone turned around right now.”
“Shut it-” he hissed, but the protest dissolved into a muffled whine as you added a third finger, stretching him fuller. His hips twitched forward despite himself, chasing the pressure while his pride fought to stay still. The thrill of it all- the strongest reduced to a slick, trembling wreck in public- sent another rush of warmth flooding around your hand.
Your thumb pressed firmer circles against his clit, matching the steady pump of your fingers. Satoru’s chest heaved under the jacket, breathing ragged. When you curled harder, hitting that perfect spot dead-on, a sharp, needy sound almost escaped. He quickly turned it into a cough, face burning crimson.
“Gonna fall apart right here, Satoru? With the whole theater none the wiser?” you teased, pressing a fake-innocent kiss to his jaw.
That pushed him over. He buried his face against your shoulder, biting down on your collar to smother the broken moan that tore free. His cunt clenched in violent, fluttering waves, gushing hot and messy over your fingers as his orgasm ripped through him. Long legs shook under the jacket, toes curling tight in his shoes while sparks danced behind his closed eyes.
You kept stroking him through every pulse, slow and deep, until he was twitching and oversensitive, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. When it finally ended, he sagged against you, panting softly, his pussy still giving weak little flutters around your soaked digits.
The movie rolled on, the rest of the crowd oblivious.
Satoru lifted his head just enough to shoot you a watery, half-lidded glare, cheeks flushed and lips glossy. A shaky, cocky grin tugged at his mouth anyway.
“Credits better have a sequel to this… or I’m dragging you to the next showing."
NANAMI
The office floor was dim and quiet after hours, only a few distant keyboard clicks breaking the silence. Kento Nanami sat ramrod straight at his desk, crisp shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, typing awat under the glow of his monitor. You perched on the edge of his desk, close enough that the wooden panel hid everything below.
Your hand had disappeared beneath the desk ten minutes ago, slipping past his loosened belt and into the front of his slacks. Two fingers were currently buried deep inside his cunt, pumping in a slow, steady rhythm while your thumb traced lazy patterns over his swollen clit .
Nanami’s typing had grown noticeably slower, keys pressed with more force than necessary. His hazel eyes stayed fixed on the screen jaw clenched tight, but the slow creep of color up his neck betrayed hi. Every curl of your fingers against his front wall made his slick walls flutter and squeeze, coating your hand in warm, creamy arousal that was starting to drip down between his thighs and onto the leather chair.
“Focus on your report, Kento,” You murmured under your breath, voice low enough that only he could hear. You added a third finger without warning, stretching him open as you thrust deeper.
His breath caught sharply. “This is very inappropriate,” He muttered, his voice strained, forcing his fingers back to the keyboard. One hand gripped the desk edge until knuckles paled, trying to ground himself himself while his cunt fluttered and squeezed, pulling your fingers in greedily with every slow thrust.
The quiet, slippery sounds of your fingers working through his wetness blended with the distant hum of the AC. One wrong move, one loud moan , and someone could easily catch you guys.
You leaned closer, pretending to look at his monitor. “Listen to that. You’re absolutely soaked. Imagine if someone walked over right now and saw how desperately you’re leaking for me.”
A shaky exhale slipped from him. His thighs quivered under the desk, pressing together briefly before parting again to give you more room. The shame of it twisted hot in his gut, mixing with the building pleasure until he couldn’t tell which fueled the other. His pussy clenched hard around your fingers, another rush of slick making the glide smoother, messier. The risk- the thought of a coworker wandering over while he was stuffed full and leaking- made his stomach twist with equal parts shame and heat.
Your thumb pressed firmer, rubbing tight circles in time with your thrusting fingers. Nanami’s breathing turned shallow and precise, chest rising in tight, silent bursts. Nanami’s hips gave the tiniest rock forward, chasing the friction even as his pride screamed at him to stay still. His breathing grew shallower, chest rising and falling in controlled, silent bursts.
“Close?” You whispered, lips brushing his ear while you pretended to discuss work.
He gave the barest nod, lashes lowering as his eyes fluttered half-shut before he clamped down around your fingers.
His entire body tensed, as his cunt clamped down hard around your fingers in pulsing waves. Warm, thick slick gushed over your hand, soaking his underwear and the front of his slacks in a messy flood that would definitely leave a stain. His thighs quivered violently under the desk, toes curling inside his polished shoes while he stared blankly at the screen, jaw locked tight to trap every whimper inside.
You worked him through it with slow, deep strokes, prolonging the pleasure until he was twitching and oversensitive, a faint sheen of sweat visible on his brow. Only then did you ease your fingers out, wiping them discreetly on the inside of his thigh before fixing his clothes with careful hands.
Nanami remained still for a long moment, breathing heavily through his nose, hazel eyes glassy and unfocused on the half-finished report. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, and edged with that familiar mix of irritation and reluctant satisfaction.
“I’m going to need a new chair.” He paused, then added under his breath, barely audible:“And you’re staying late to help me clean this up.”
His hand brushed against yours under the desk, fingers lingering just a second too long. A clear promise of exactly how he planned to repay you once the last coworker left.
Lanterns swayed overhead, casting shifting red and gold light across the packed festival street. Vendors shouted, crowds laughed. Sukuna stuck out like a sore thumb with his murderous expression, tattoos stark against his skin, expression of arrogant boredom.
SUKUNA
No one could have guessed what was happening beneath the loose layers of his robes.
You had pulled him into a narrow alley between two stalls moments ago. Now two thick fingers pumped ruthlessly into his cunt, curling and scissoring while your thumb ground hard against his throbbing clit. The risk was deliciously stupid as hundreds of mortals were mere feet away, you both only had fabric and proximity keeping the secret.
Sukuna’s crimson eyes were narrowed, jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. His thighs trembled faintly, and every slow curl of your fingers made his slick walls flutter and squeeze around you like a vice.
A group of festival-goers walked past laughing loudly. Sukuna’s breath hitched, turning into a low growl he barely masked as a scoff.
“Pathetic humans,” He muttered, voice rougher than usual, deeper. The words were meant to sound dismissive, but they came out strained when you twisted your fingers just right, , dragging firmly over that sensitive bundle inside him.
You leaned in “Feel that? You’re leaking like you were made for this. The mighty King of Curses, getting finger-fucked in a crowd of ants.”
His lips peeled back in a sneer that faltered as you forced a third finger inside, stretching his greedy heat wider. “Insolent-” The insult cut off into a strained grunt. His hips jerked forward once, involuntarily, chasing the brutal stretch while his free hand curled into a fist at his side, nails biting skin.
Heat coiled low and vicious in his belly. His clit pulsed under your thumb’s relentless pressure. Another surge of people flowed by; Sukuna’s eyes flashed with feral warning even as his walls spasmed violently, sucking your fingers deeper, juices soaking into the fabric between his legs.
“Close already?” You taunted softly against his neck. “Going to make a mess right here? Let them all see the great Sukuna falling apart like a desperate whore?”
His lips curled into a sneer, but it faltered when you added a third finger, stretching his tight, greedy cunt wider. “Watch your tongue, brat,” He hissed, but the threat lacked its usual bite considering it was up to you to get him off. His hips rocked forward the tiniest amount, chasing the thick intrusion as his pussy clenched hard, creamy arousal making every thrust wet and obscene.
His head tipped back slightly, crimson eyes glazing as the orgasm tore through him like a released curse. His cunt seized around your fingers in brutal, rhythmic contractions, flooding your hand with thick, hot release that dripped messily down his thighs.
You milked him through every powerful wave, slow and deep, until he was twitching and oversensitive, chest heaving. When the tremors finally eased, Sukuna straightened, glaring down at you with flushed cheeks and blown pupils, voice a venomous rasp barely audible over the festival din.
“You arrogant little worm- I should tear that hand off.”
But the way his cunt still fluttered weakly around your fingers, reluctant to let them go, told a very different story.
Untitled @impossibletrashmagazine - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
