cuun ranov, cuun kot

Riding Him: It’s hard to pick a favorite, but this just might be it. Your body on display for him, he likes the way you take charge — the quick, needy roll of your hips over his, your hands splayed on his chest to brace yourself, the drop of your mouth when he’s in as deep as he can get.

He is free to touch this way and he does; his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements or splayed across the inside of your thighs to open them wider or covering your breasts in a squeeze.

He likes to sit up so he can kiss you, cover your mouth with his or rest his forehead against yours to feel your heavy breaths mingle with his and he likes it when you thread your fingers up through the back of his hair, tugging on the strands when you moan into his mouth that you’re gonna come.

Underneath Him: He thinks this might be your favorite position and if he’d ask you, he’d be right. He likes it for all the same reasons you do: the full press of your bodies together, the wrap of your legs around his hips so he can get deeper, the connection the both of you feel completely enveloped by the other person.

You feel so small underneath his heavy body, his fluid thrusts filling you so completely, his forearms braced on the mattress by the sides of your head, his harsh pants in your ear as he rests the curve of his nose at your temple just to inhale your scent and when you hook your ankles over his lower back and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, he can’t think about anything besides you — the way you feel underneath him right now, your scent flooding his senses, the tight squeeze of your wet cunt as he burrows into your warmth.

Tied up: He likes this more than he’d care to admit.

He’s not ashamed of what he likes, always being open and honest about it with all the girls he’s visited but sometimes after a particularly intense session, he does feel slightly bad the way he enjoyed the bite of the rope into your soft thighs, the sharp tugs he gave it as he fucked you with a harsh snap of his hips, the way he made you beg for him until you were hoarse.

He can’t help the way his cock throbs when he sees you tied to the bed, open and wet, your sweet cunt soaked in slick and come. He likes to see the mess he makes of it, likes knowing that it’s him who filled you up and judging from the way you always beg him to do it harder and faster, to fill you up until it’s dripping out of you, he knows you like it too.

—

You may not have been resourceful enough to make a living on your own here, but you were smart enough to understand that hooking your proverbial wagon to someone who could was your best bet of survival.

Enter Ezra.

You'd watched many prospectors come and go, and Ezra was the biggest and meanest of them all. There was nothing he wouldn't do to survive. There was a rumor he'd killed a girl in cold blood, although you couldn't know for sure how accurate that was–stories ran rampant through the tiny civilization of misfits on this planet, each more outlandish than the last.

Rumors aside, Ezra was a formidable character even with only the one arm. It made him even more feral, more quick on the draw. An animal that was caught in a trap became dangerous. An animal that had escaped said trap was dangerous and cunning. 

You had offered the man a deal: you got his protection, and he would have you, in whatever manner he deemed fit.

Ezra had raised his eyebrow in amused surprise at your proposition–delivered with a puffed out chest and inclined chin as if to bolster what little height you had. 

"That is a mighty brave offer, little one,” he had said. “Some might even call it ill-advised. What makes you so sure that I won't take you, use you, and throw you away just like those you're seeking refuge from?"

"You are not an honorable man," you had said (truthfully), "but I believe you are a practical one. You are accustomed to making deals on The Green."

A slow, dangerous smile had spread across Ezra's face. "You're a crafty little creature, aren't you? A survivor. You might not be a hearty jagosaur,  but you have the instincts of a cockroach, or maybe a channel rat. You know how to fit yourself in and amongst the cracks of humanity–furtive and undetectable, and you’ll still be around when the last of us evil men have crumbled into dust. We have an accord, little one,” Ezra had said. “Consider yourself under my protection.”

The first thing you had learned about Ezra was that the man liked to talk. 

The second thing you had learned was that he fully intended to cash in on his deal. He took you like a man starved, a man who had not been guaranteed softness in his life and wished to get his fill before his supply ultimately ran dry. You were his well;  he drank from you until he was sated. He was surprisingly unselfish in bed, intent on bringing you to orgasm with his mouth and fingers before fucking you roughly from behind. Even when your release had taken quite a long time–you were tense and still more than a little afraid of the man–Ezra had pursued it doggedly until you had no choice but to fall apart for him. 

Ezra was not a good man, by any means. He was not a nice man, a gentle man, or a loving man. He was kind, however; and far more good-natured than the rumors would have him appear. His sexual tastes ran both feral and dark–much like the man himself–but he balanced it out with a calm, quiet demeanor in the pod you now shared with him.

Your existence became an odd one. True to his word, Ezra was your fierce protector, keeping you away from prying eyes and grasping hands. In turn, he kept you almost as one would keep a pet. It was done out of an odd sense of affection, you thought; perhaps a way that this eccentric, somewhat antisocial man showed his love, if you could call it that. 

Truthfully, after some time, you no longer minded it. You looked to Ezra and his unusual treatment of you as a comfort, of sorts. Affection was affection, and you were not immune to a kind hand and a strong, warm thigh to lay your head on.

The cage was a matter of contention, at first. It had practical applications; you could admit that, especially after a rogue prospector had broken into Ezra's pod while he had stepped out. Ezra had come back to you cowering in the corner, tears streaming down your cheeks, and his spare thrower leveled shakily at a scraggly, stinking man.

Ezra had dispatched the man quickly and without remorse before grabbing your shoulder almost desperately, looking you up and down with a feral look in his dark eyes.

"Did he touch you? Did he touch you?" Ezra had growled, flecks of spittle landing on his chin in his ferocity. 

Your trembling hand had come up to touch the burgeoning bruise on your cheekbone without speaking in demonstration.

Ezra had softened, his own shaking fingers coming to touch yours. “My sweet little creature,” he had murmured. “My soft, pretty thing.”

“I’m okay,” you had assured him as he fussed. “Ezra. I’m okay.”

“I allowed harm to come to you,” he had murmured. “Never again, my pet. Never again.”

The cage had appeared shortly after. The bulletproof glass was practical. The impenetrable locks were crucial. The metal bars on the outside… well, those were an aesthetic indulgence on Ezra’s part. He could keep you there–naked, if he had a mind to–and no amount of tampering, nor bullets, throwers, knives, or bombs could net any interloper their prize. You were a kept creature; docile and tame, but yielding to him and only him. 

Whenever Ezra left, you would wait for him there. He never left for long–always keen to keep a close eye on you, ensuring that nothing would ever happen to his most prized possession. This morning, he had told you he was going to go to the market to buy some supplies and some groceries for dinner. You always helped make food for the two of you–your two arms doing what his one cannot–and the two of you had fallen into a comfortable routine where you were his extra arms and he was your refuge.

No bad men came today to break into the pod and taunt the pretty, kept creature in its cage–for which you were thankful. You waited patiently for Ezra to return, laying on the soft, plush bed he had placed inside the cage for you,  You were naked–as you often were. It was freeing, in a way; there were no body issues here, no insecurities, no imperfections. You simply were. You existed, and you existed for him. There was nothing else outside of that. 

The door to the pod opened, and Ezra was there, in his EVA suit. You watched, biting your lip seductively as your keeper shed his clothes until he was only clad in his base layers. He scrubbed his hands clean of the toxins of the Moon, de-contaminated his suit, and sanitized his entire person for good measure before opening the door to your cage. After so long a time, you craved him. Quite a lot had passed between your first time together–when you had been a scared, timid thing. Now, you saw Ezra as comfort. Your hips wiggled back and forth in anticipation as you waited for the door to open.

“Come here, little one,” Ezra crooned. “Let me touch you.”

You crawled forward and joined him on his little cot, automatically laying your head in his lap. His hand stroked your hair, your face, your neck–touching any piece of skin he could reach. Soon, his hand would wander to the rest of your bare form–caressing the soft flesh of your side, the swell of your belly, the curve of your ass. Everything was his. 

“My little creature,” Ezra said affectionately. “It was quite a busy day today at the market. A ship of new recruits came in the night before, and they were all fighting amongst themselves for supplies. A terrible brawl broke out over the last little piece of rope, can you believe that?”

You giggled. “Amateurs.” 

Ezra hummed in agreement. “Indeed. There are quite a few exotic vendors right now. I saw a cart full of autumn pommerac,” he said. “We could make a nice soup.”

“Can I come tomorrow?” you asked hopefully. “I’d like to see some of the offerings.”

“Perhaps, my lovely pet,” he answered. “If you stay close.”

Stay close meant that you’d probably be put on a leash–for your protection, Ezra always insisted–but you didn’t care, as long as you could see the offerings for sale. The last time you had accompanied him, you had seen some sort of fruit that had been labeled ‘Void Apricots.’ You had laughed joyfully, pointing out the display to Ezra, who had bought six of them just to satisfy your curiosity.

They had been terrible.

Still, you wanted to experience the sights and sounds of the market. You gave Ezra your best ‘hopeful eyes,’ and your keeper smiled indulgently. “Tomorrow we’ll go see it together,” he promised. “If you’re good.”

“I’m always very good,” you protested, pouting slightly. 

“Of course,” Ezra insisted, although his tone was one of teasing. His hand started to meander down your side to play with the little tail you were wearing–another one of Ezra’s indulgences. He had seen it in a market stall one day–a little firemetal butt plug with an abysskin tail attachment. Ezra had been partial to it in an instant, purchasing it and taking it back to his pod to play with it–you–immediately. 

He gently fingered the silken strands of the tail as he continued to talk to you about the market, tugging lightly on it and making the plug shift ever so slightly inside of you. Your breath caught in a little gasp as the toy moved, and Ezra smiled.

“Little creature,” he said affectionately. “Do you need a little attention, hmm?”

You nodded, arching into his touch. “Yes,” you breathed.

Ezra kept playing with the little plug–rotating it, pulling on it, pushing it just that much deeper. You whimpered and bucked against his hand, wanting more, wanting less, wanting everything he had to give and more. 

“One of these days, little creature,” Ezra drawled, “I’m gonna fuck you here. Gonna take out this cute little tail of yours and replace it with my dick, and see how prettily you scream for me.”

“Yes,” you agreed immediately. “Please–I want–”

“Not yet,” Ezra interrupted. “Have to train you to take me first, little pet.” His hand encircled your wrist in demonstration, fingers overlapping generously as he reminded you how much bigger he was in every way. “You’d cry for me,” he said. “You’d mewl and beg and plead and whimper for me. I could hurt you, you know.”

You nodded rapidly. “I know,” you told him. “I–I want it.”

Ezra’s fingers reached underneath the little tail to your weeping cunt. You were always wet for him, you craved him even though he was technically your captor. You wanted him, will never stop wanting him.

“Let me play with this pretty pussy instead,” Ezra murmured. “Let me make it sing for me, little pet.”

“Yes,” you said instantly. “Please.”

Ezra’s thick fingers penetrated your cunt, eliciting a little gasp from your lips. He meandered; he teased. He slid one finger in, wiggled it around, and withdrew to spread your labia, press against your clit, touch the place where the tail met your skin–over and over again, teasing you until you were mewling in his lap, squirming and writhing, trying to push back against Ezra’s hand to no avail. 

“Please,” you breathed, barely audible. Your arousal was coating his fingers, dripping onto the bed. Ezra had this way of keeping you in a constant state of arousal; even when he made you cum, you’d want him again moments after.

“You know what I want to hear,” Ezra mumbled, 

Your cheeks heated with humiliation. You knew. Oh, you knew. You knew, but it was always a little fight between the two of you, a question of whether you will yield or not–completely pointless, of course, because you always yielded in the end. 

Ezra’s finger pressed down hard on your clit, then released. You broke. 

“Please, Master–”

Ezra’s deep chuckle vibrated all the way down your spine. “Again,” he instructed. 

You pressed your lips together, preventing the words from leaving your mouth. 

Slap. Slap!

You yelped as Ezra’s flat palm came down on your pussy–once, then twice, setting the entire area alight with too much sensation. You may have screamed, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that as soon as you could find the words, you were begging for him.

“Master, please, you know I’ve been good, I’m always good for you, I’m a good pet, I–I please you, I–”

Ezra’s thick fingers plunged back into you, fucking in and out in earnest, rewarding you for your good behavior. 

“Oh, yes, you do, little creature. I know just how good you are–how good to me, you do more than please me, little pet, you make me happy, you’ve given me more than I’d ever hoped for myself.”

“M-Master–” you breathed, overcome by the uncommon outpouring of feeling. “My name, if you please, pet. Scream it, again and again for me.”

You always were obedient for him. You whispered it, sang it, moaned it, gasped it, screamed it–over and over, until your voice was hoarse and your release was coating his fingers.

Ezra. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra–Ezra! Fuck–Ezra! 

When it was all over, when you stopped shaking, stopped crying–Ezra stroked his fingers up and down your spine, shooting spikes of pleasure up and down your body, calming you down and making you soft and pliant.

“What about you?” you asked quietly–but his hard cock was starting to soften at the sight of you resting so serenely in his lap–the carnality replaced by a pleasure of a different, unnamable kind.

“In a moment,” Ezra promised. “I haven’t yet told you everything I’d seen at the market today.”

*

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