KatM

As the eldest of three sisters with no brothers, you had known from a very young age that it would be your duty to marry well. You also knew that that meant you had no chance of marrying for love, and had come to terms with your lot in life.

What you hadn't realised was just how boring it would be.

Your husband wasn't cruel; he was just boring. Any attempt you made at conversation involved all the effort on your side, and little more than monosyllabic responses from him. He had nothing to say about anything, and you sometimes found yourself watching him as if he were a specimen in a jar, wondering if there were even any thoughts running through his head.

Married friends had whispered to you between giggles about what sex was like. Some found it exciting, others found it painful; you just found it tedious. Every other Sunday night, you would lie there wondering if he'd put it in yet, only for him to announce he'd already finished.

And so when you received an invitation to a ball at Lord Turpin's manor in London, you had never been so relieved. At last, you had somewhere to go and something to do that was a little different, and in London you might find some company that could hold a conversation.

You had never met this Lord Turpin, nor had you heard of him — you managed to extract the words "father" and "old friend" from your husband, which you took to mean that either your husband was an old friend of Lord Turpin's father, or perhaps Lord Turpin was an old friend of your husband's father. The truth would be revealed, you supposed, once you met the man and determined his age.

You arrived at the manor on Kearneys Lane as early as politeness would allow, eager as you were for some new company. Your arrival was announced among various other couples with various other titles, and once you had been handed glasses of wine by the staff, your husband promptly made his way to the nearest shaded spot, between a fern and a pillar. You obligingly followed him, very quickly realising that he had every intention of standing in the same spot all night.

"You should greet the host, at least, Fred," you muttered to him.

"Busy," your husband grunted. He pointed towards the host, who had his back to you, as he was currently sharing a joke with two other men.

While his companions were dressed head to toe in black, Lord Turpin was wearing a rich red cloak, allowing him to stand out from his surroundings to announce his presence. From behind, you could see that his hair was grey, which led you to believe he was most likely an old friend of the father.

"You need to introduce me. It would be rude of me not to speak to him, but I cannot do so without being introduced. Then I can leave you alone in your corner."

Fred seemed to perk up a little at the word "alone," so he reluctantly left his corner and led you over to where Lord Turpin was standing with his companions.

Fred cleared his throat. "Lord Turpin."

When Turpin turned around, you took half a step back as your breath caught in your throat. You hadn't expected the man to be so incredibly handsome, with an aqualine nose and the slightest hint of stubble.

"Ah, Mr Chambers, how good to see you," Lord Turpin said with a polite smile, though his eyes betrayed his disinterest. "I trust you're well?"

"Yes." Fred gestured to you. "My wife."

Lord Turpin turned his attention to you, and this time his smile reached his eyes. His eyes flickered downward momentarily, then back up to your face, and his eyes seemed to pierce right through you.

"Ah, I had heard there was a Mrs Chambers. What a pleasure to have such a pretty new face here. An honour to meet you, madam."

Lord Turpin held his hand out to you; you placed your fingers in his palm, and he raised them to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. The stubble on his chin brushed slightly against your skin, and you felt a strange sort of shiver run through you.

"And an honour to meet you, too, my Lord," you replied with a small dip. "I must thank you for inviting us tonight."

"Of course, of course. Mr Chambers Senior was a very good friend of mine and an even better lawmaker. I must ask, Mr Chambers, where did you —"

Lord Turpin turned to address your husband, only then realising that he had disappeared back to his corner.

"I must apologise for my husband," you said as you drew your hand back. "You managed to extract five words from him, which is more than I can usually get in any one day. He'll have retreated to a corner to wait until it's an appropriate time to leave."

Turpin chuckled graciously. "Well, I see marriage hasn't changed him. Never mind; I already find your company much more enriching. I'll see to it you're introduced to the most interesting people here; no doubt you're in desperate need of some good conversation. Why not start with my friends here, Lord Russell and Lord Palmerston?"

Everybody that Lord Turpin introduced you to met you with curiosity as to why he was the one introducing you; that was, until they heard "Frederick Chambers's wife," and dawning realisation crossed their faces. Your husband, it seemed, had a reputation not poorly earnt for being the most asocial bore known to man; after realisation often came pity as your conversational partner thought on what a miserably boring marriage you must have.

Lord Turpin wasn't often by your side; he would introduce you, disappear, then reappear later with another name for you to remember. But every time he reappeared, you were glad to see him, and you felt a strange warmth in your lower abdomen which only grew the closer he stood to you.

Every now and then, you glanced back at the fern in the corner; and sure enough, every time, your husband was standing there with a drink in his hand. Once or twice, you saw someone attempt to engage him in conversation, but it never lasted long.

"Mrs Chambers," Lord Turpin said to you with a small bow when couples began to arrange themselves for a dance. "Might I have the honour of a dance?"

You glanced back at Fred again. He was no longer standing by the fern; now, a chair had been produced, and he was sitting next to it instead.

You turned back to Lord Turpin and curtseyed. "The honour would be all mine, my Lord."

Positions were taken, the music began, and you found yourself dancing the first dance with the strikingly handsome host of the ball.

"How are you enjoying the ball tonight, Mrs Chambers?" Lord Turpin asked.

"Ever so much, my Lord. I must thank you again, not only for the invitation but for so graciously introducing me to so many fascinating people. It's really very refreshing."

Lord Turpin smiled knowingly. "Yes, I'm sure it must be. I can't imagine conversation at home to be particularly invigorating."

"Nothing at home is invigorating," you sighed. "I was never told marriage would be so very tedious."

"Is that so? What a shame, then, that our paths did not cross before your engagement. I assure you, were you the lady of this house, you would find marriage very… invigorating."

His eyes flashed with something that wasn't quite proper, and Turpin had just the briefest of moments to enjoy the look on your face before the dance caused you to turn away.

"Is there a lady of this house, sir?" you asked when you came together again, having realised that you'd not seen a wife nor heard mention of a Lady Turpin.

"Only my ward. She does so long for a mother, but I find it difficult to meet ladies with the attributes necessary to meet the requirements for a Lady Turpin."

"Oh? And what attributes are those?"

"I desire a wife with both brains and beauty — sadly, it seems that in today's society, a woman with the latter feels no need to develop the former. The rarity and desireability of a woman with both means that such women are often married quickly to undeserving men — such as with you. A shame you felt the need to marry Mr Chambers; if only you could have come here here tonight a single lady, I assure you, you would not have left so."

"Ah, but were it not for my being married to my husband, I would not have come here tonight at all," you reminded him. "The invitation was for Frederick Chambers and wife, after all. I am by no means poor, but in my maiden state I would never have drawn the attention of the great Lord Turpin."

"Oh, I assure you, my dear — I would have paid the greatest of attention to your maiden state," Turpin said in a low voice.

Coincidentally, in that very same moment, the temperature in the room suddenly increased, and you felt a burning sensation along your cheeks, as well as beneath your skirts.

The dance came to an end, you curtseyed towards Lord Turpin, then excused yourself for some fresh air.

On inquiry, a servant directed you to the lavatory, and you took a moment while powdering your nose to gather your thoughts.

If you didn't know any better, you might have thought Lord Turpin was flirting with you. But surely a respectable lord such as he wouldn't flirt with a married woman — would he? But how else could you explain his comment about your maiden state, the way his eyes burned into yours, the way he stepped just a little too close to you during the dance? Every time he introduced you to someone, he did so with his hand on the small of your back, just a little too firmly to be proper.

What could he possibly expect to come of such behaviour? Surely he didn't see you as an adulterer? Perhaps it was just a bit of fun for him, a way to amuse himself with a newcomer. Yes, that must be it, you decided. He was flirting simply to pass the time, that was all; come tomorrow, he would hardly give you a second thought.

The halls of Lord Turpin's residence were long and winding, and you must have taken a wrong turning on your way back to the ball, because you found yourself in what looked to be Lord Turpin's study. You were about to leave when your eyes cast around at the decor and noticed the artwork adorning the walls — above the bookshelves, not easily noticed at first — which depicted female figures in various states of undress, something of the divine about them; not pornographic, but appreciative of the female form.

Looking around, you saw that the artwork continued around the entire length of the room. What a curious choice of decor, you thought, particularly when Lord Turpin had a young ward — though perhaps, you wondered, the ward wasn't allowed in this room, if you were right in supposing it was Lord Turpin's private study.

"A beautiful portrayal of Aphrodite, don't you think?"

You jumped in surprise when you heard Lord Turpin's voice. You turned around and, sure enough, there he was, having apparently slipped in silently. He had his back to the door and his hands clasped behind his back, and he was watching you with a gaze that could only be described as hungry.

"Lord Turpin, I apologise," you said with a curtsey. "I must have taken a wrong turning from the lavatory."

Turpin smiled knowingly, as if he had somehow planned for you to end up here.

"And you were drawn, were you, to Aphrodite? Unsurprising; if the goddess of beauty walks among us, surely you are she."

"I can make no such claim to divinity, sir," you blushed as Turpin stalked towards you with slow, steady, purposeful strides.

"Of course not. Aphrodite need not announce herself; she proves herself by simply being."

"What brings you here, my Lord?" you asked, quickly changing the subject. You stepped back as Turpin came closer to you, only to realise there was nowhere for you to go except to back up against the bookshelves. "I presume you're not intending to take up some reading in the middle of a ball."

"Oh, these books aren't for reading," Turpin replied in a low voice. He reached over your shoulder and ran his fingers down the spines of the tomes behind you. "The geishas of Japan, the concubines of Siam, the catamites of Greece, the harlots of India... I have them all here. Drawings of them. Would you like to see?"

He pulled a book halfway from the shelf, looking down at you questioningly, and you gulped.

"My Lord, I don't think that would be appropriate for a married woman."

Turpin chuckled lowly and pushed the book back onto its shelf.

"Perhaps not. But nor is it appropriate for a married woman to take the first dance with a man other than her husband."

"Should I have refused you, then?"

Turpin's other hand reached over your other shoulder, both hands now trapping you against the bookshelves, and he was now standing so close to you that you could feel his breath hot on your cheek.

"You should never have come here at all if you wanted to remain faithful to your husband, Mrs Chambers. For when Aphrodite herself walks into my home, I have no choice but to worship her. Now, the question is — will she accept my offering?"

As if to ensure you fully understood his meaning, Turpin pressed his hips against you, and even through the layers of your skirts, you could feel the size and hardness of his "offering."

So this is what it should feel like, you thought. Dangerous. Exciting. There was certainly nothing tedious about Lord Turpin at all.

"If she declines, will she have any say in the matter either way?"

Turpin grinned and rolled his hips against yours. "You're learning. Good."

One large hand took hold of your cheek, and his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was wet, and sloppy, and nothing like you'd ever experienced before.

Your lips parted in a gasp of surprise, and Turpin's tongue took it as permission to enter your mouth, fighting to dominate your own tongue like an army invading occupied land.

You were happy to submit to him, but when you moved your own tongue against his, you discovered that fighting back just made him fight harder.

His spare hand let go of the bookshelf and wrapped around your waist, squeezing you tight, and you could feel your corset pressing into your skin.

You reached up to place your hands on his shoulders, and one of your hands involuntarily moved higher until your fingers were threading through Turpin's hair, holding onto the back of his head as if he needed any guidance to keep his lips firmly locked on yours.

When you heard footsteps in the hallway outside, you jolted in fear and tried to pull away, but Turpin just chuckled.

"Shh, don't worry, darling," he murmured, pulling away from the kiss momentarily to soothe you. "We won't be disturbed."

He buried his face in your neck to kiss you there, and when he started sucking on the skin, you really did have to pull away then.

"Don't leave a mark!" you hissed. "If Fred sees —"

"He'll what? Grunt?"

"He doesn't have to be verbiose to divorce me."

"Oh, how terrible," Turpin said sarcastically between kisses he was placing on your neck, though he had ceased sucking on the skin. "To no longer be married to a dull, soul-sucking bore."

"To be ostracised by society, to bring shame to my father and my sisters? Yes, it is terrible."

"Free to marry again, to find a husband who'll worship you as you deserve." The hand on your cheek moved down to your shoulder, his fingers digging hungrily at the collar of your bodice. "Tell me, my Aphrodite, how often does your husband worship you?"

You scoffed. "Define worship. He lies on top of me for a few minutes every other Sunday."

Turpin groaned with frustration. "A waste," he muttered against your skin, nuzzling his nose against your neck, causing his stubble to rub against your skin. "I'll show you what true worship means."

He pulled away from you, taking a step back, though it seemed to be difficult for him to do so. He looked you up and down, eyes drinking in the sight of you.

"Aphrodite must be worshipped in her full form," he growled. "Let me see you. All of you."

From the way he was looking at you, you almost felt like you were naked already.

"Here?" you said nervously, glancing around as if expecting someone to be sitting in the corner watching.

"Here," Turpin said firmly.

Hesitantly, you began to undress yourself. Turpin just stood there, watching, his hands by his sides twitching every now and then as he had to physically force himself not to touch you as your skin was revealed to him bit by bit.

"Women and their skirts," Turpin growled with frustration when you peeled your dress off only to reveal you had a petticoat underneath. "They seem to get bigger every year; purely to taunt men, I'm sure."

"At least I don't wear a crinoline," you said as the layers of skirts began to join the dress in being discarded. "I wore one for my wedding, it was a nightmare."

"Women's skirts ought to come with a covert gap for easy access. Christ, look at you…"

Turpin made no attempt to hide the way he was staring at you as you dropped your last piece of clothing and finally stood bare before him, wearing nothing but your shoes and stockings.

"I knew it," he growled as he placed his hands on your hips to pull your naked form against him, eyes raking over you with admiration and desire. "I knew you were Aphrodite the moment I saw you."

One hand pushed you back against the shelves, while the other unbuttoned his trousers. He shoved his waistband only halfway down his thighs, just enough to pull his manhood out, and you hardly had a chance to glance at it before his hand was on your thigh, pulling your leg up to wrap around his waist.

He pushed into you, and you instinctively gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders.

There was certainly no wondering if it was in yet this time. Turpin's cock stretched out your insides, and you almost felt like a virgin again as he speared you open, your insides burning deliciously as he filled you up.

"Christ, you're wet," Turpin hissed through gritted teeth, his brow furrowed as he tried to hold back from going too fast too quick and ending it all within minutes. "Have you been wet for me all evening?"

"With the way you were dancing so close to me, how could I not be?"

"Far be it from me to be a ungenerous host."

"Are… are they usually this large?" you gasped as Turpin's hips met yours and his cockhead settled deep inside you.

Turpin hummed with satisfaction. "I cannot speak for other men, but I've certainly never left a woman wanting."

The edges of the bookshelves dug into your bare back as Turpin thrust his hips into you, but you found you didn't care about that. You could hear the books jostling around behind you with each thrust, as if your immoral rendez-vous was bringing the erotic drawings within to life, and they were eager to join in.

You understood now what married friends had whispered to you before your wedding night. The pain, the pleasure, the surrender. It was everything, all at once, filling you up and overwhelming your senses.

Your leg was aching from being lifted around his waist. Your back was taking a beating against the shelves. Turpin's nails were digging into your flesh, and his cock was stretching out your insides in a way you had never thought possible.

And you loved every moment of it.

You tried to hold on to something, anything, and ended up with one hand on his shoulder, the other clutching onto his waistcoat, fingers brushing against his cravat.

He had you nakeder than even your husband had ever seen you, and yet he was still dressed like he was about to walk back into the ballroom. Only his trousers around his thighs revealed any skin, and you couldn't see much from above.

As controlled as his state of dress might make him appear, Turpin's face gave away the ecstasy he was in. His brow was furrowed, his jaw agape; he moaned with abandon, apparently not caring who may be passing in the hallway. This was his kingdom, after all — who would dare disturb him in the throes of pleasure?

You felt a strange tightness in your lower abdomen, winding tighter and tighter with each thrust. You thought at first you might be ill, but there was nothing painful or uncomfortable — in fact, your every instinct was screaming at you to let it build, and so you did, until eventually —

Pleasure burst inside you, and you cried out involuntarily, clinging onto Turpin as if to let go of him now would be to end the pleasure, the bliss, the ecstasy that was overwhelming your every sense…

"Oh, fucking hell," Turpin growled through gritted teeth as he felt your walls tightening around him. "Christ — I can't — ugh!"

You were still recovering from the crescendo that had crashed over you, so you didn't notice at first the warmth of Turpin emptying himself inside you — but you did notice when he stopped thrusting, hips pinning yours against the bookcase, and you whined at the loss of sensation.

"Greedy girl," Turpin muttered in your ear. "You want more, hm?"

You nodded, hardly able to speak.

He let go of the thigh he'd been holding in place and your muscles protested as your leg dropped to the ground.

You were shaking slightly, and you had an overwhelming urge to crawl into a bed and wrap yourself up in blankets — preferably with Turpin by your side.

He took your chin between his fingers and forced you to look up at him — even just craning your neck upwards took every ounce of strength you had.

"Look at you. Completely destroyed just from a quick fuck. Imagine what I could do to you if we had a whole day — if we had a whole lifetime." He tutted and shook his head sadly. "Alas. You must return to your dear husband, I suppose."

He pulled out of you and stepped away, and you felt as if a part of you had gone with him.

Without his weight pressed against you, and with no strength left in your own body, you would have collapsed onto the floor if Turpin hadn't caught you when you stumbled, his large hands on your hips as if you weighed nothing.

"Careful now. Don't want to explain to your husband why his wife was naked when she fainted, do we?"

Whether you made it to the armchair yourself or he guided you, you weren't entirely sure, but you made it nonetheless, and Turpin pulled his trousers up while you waited for your head to stop spinning.

"It's two lefts and a right back to the ballroom," he said nonchalantly, as there were nothing out of the ordinary about a half-dazed naked woman sitting in his reading chair. "Do try not to look like a whore that just got fucked when you return."

Olly lifting up your hand (maybe your nails are bitten down, something you did while you rehearsed this conversation in your head) and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Mumbling words of appreciation. He doesn’t want to scare you off so he doesn’t say too much. In his head he’s thanking you for being so vulnerable with him. Thanking you for trusting him with this. You tell him that you want it to be him. You can’t really imagine it with anyone else. Olly’s cock is leaking into his undergarments and he’s pretty sure his brain is leaking out of his ears. He wants to take it slow. Wants to make sure you aren’t rushing yourself. He can wait, really. If that’s what you need he’ll wait for however long you want. He’s perfectly content with kisses and lingering touches (though he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t think about your bare skin against his when it’s late at night and he’s keeping himself company). Clearing his throat when you tell him that no, you really want this.

He knows he’s the perfect man for the job.

He can’t imagine anyone else showing you how good love can feel. Dreads the thought of someone else trying to make you cum, and ultimately failing. Olly isn’t full of himself but he does know what he’s capable of. Once he sets his mind to something he knows he’ll get it done.

Setting a date and time just so you have space to make a run for it if you change your mind. You don’t because this is Olruggio we’re talking about. Kind, patient, gentle Olruggio. You trust him with your life and everything more.

You have the atelier to yourselves and your nerves are running high. There’s ice in your veins but your skin is on fire. It’s finally happening. Olly sits you down on the bed and asks you one more time, before pressing his lips against yours. You were expecting him to taste like alcohol maybe, it is a little late at night, but you only taste sobriety on his lips. He didn’t tell you but he didn’t want to be drunk for this. He wants to remember it entirely, wants to cherish it and replay it in his mind over and over again.

Olly sliding his tongue against yours before making his way down your throat. He holds you in place, not hard but firm. You can feel his teeth graze against your skin before he slides your top off. The room is the perfect temperature because things always are with Olly. Despite that, your nipples still pebble at the exposure. His face shifts against your skin, his scruff scratching against you when his lips break out into a smile. He knows it’s not cold, which could only mean one thing. You’re just as affected as he is. Olly lifting a hand up to brush against your chest. His finger catches on your nipple, and his breathing stutters when he hears you moan. It’s a quiet thing like you’re still a bit self conscious. He rewards you with a soft pinch, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when he hears you moan louder. Olly drags his mouth down to pay attention to your other nipple. He’s pinching and sucking each of them, ignoring the way his cock twitches even though it hasn’t been touched at all. He’s not a selfish lover, and he’ll be damned if you learn to expect that (though he’ll be damned if you let another touch you after this).

You’re dragging your fingers through his hair, whining and arching into his touch. He could stay like this forever if it weren’t for the way you softly say his name. You want more. He’s about to jump towards his next task of sliding your pants off, but you tug at his loose white shirt. You don’t have to say it. Olly sits back and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it towards the side. You’ve seen glimpses of his chest hair beneath his clothes before but never like this. It’s dark and covers his entire abdomen. Fit for a man who was born in winter temperatures. His tummy is a little soft, courteous of the late night drinks he’s had at parties for clients along with Qifrey’s cooking.

Your hand brushes against his skin and he shivers a bit. It’s been awhile for him. Tentative finger tips dance across his collarbones down to his happy trail. He knows where you’re going with this. He grabs your hand and places it on his shoulder.

“Be patient,” he tells you. “We’ll get there.” He doesn’t want to rush this.

Olly slides your pants off until you’re laid bare before him. He knows you’re feeling vulnerable, and that part of you probably wants to cover up and run away, but you don’t. You let him look, which his eyes don't linger too long. He doesn’t want to scare you off, even if he could stare forever. Olly drags his hands up your legs and helps you spread them, his dark lashes fluttering once he sees your core.

You’re already soaked for him.

He wants to ask if he can touch you (ever the worry wart), but your expression gives him all the consent he needs. Olly presses his rough thumb against the hood of your clit, lifting it up slightly. You keen at his touch, and spread your legs to allow him more room. Olruggio doesn’t take that for granted. He eases himself lower and lower until he’s between your legs, face centimeters away from your pussy. You’re getting antsy now, but you trust him to take care of you. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out, pushing it against your clit softly before applying pressure.

“You taste divine.” He mutters.

“Don’t say such crass things.” You try to brush him off, but he can tell his words have got your heart racing.

Your legs immediately lock up around him, your thighs squishing his head but he gently pries them apart and holds them down. Olly’s tongue is warm and heavy against your cunt, spelling out your name, and then his, branding you with his mouth. He can't stop watching the expressions you make. Every twist and turn of your body spurs him on more. His mind wanders briefly to what it would look like with you above him riding his face. Would you complain about his goatee, before soaking it with your cum? Would you tug his hair? Olly reaches down to squeeze his cock through his clothes before focusing once more.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, breathing heavily against you once you start moaning his name. It’s a slow thing, but you’ve begun to hump his face. You’re on another planet right now and would probably deny it if he dared to point it out. You’re pushing his face in closer towards you, and he can tell that you’re almost there. Just a little more encouragement.

“There you go, that’s it” he speaks against your cunt, the vibrations of his words pushing you even more. “Doing so good for me, you’re so good.”

You whine his name like he’s fatally wounded you before you lock up around him, your lips dropping open as you groan out for him. It’s a moment he’s dreamt of for longer than he’s willing to admit. You’re cumming on his mouth with a cry, body completely still until you come down. Your muscles unlock once he keeps licking you even after you’ve finished, to which you wiggle about for some reprieve.

Olly pulls back with a grin and has the gall to ask you “how was that?”

You want to knock him over because he has plenty evidence for how it was, and it’s dripping down his facial hair shamefully. You don't though. You don't have the heart because of how he’s looking at you. Full of love and pride.

“Was good…” you murmur quietly, looking away once he starts to drag his thumb under his lip, before sucking it clean.

When you look back at him you notice that he’s pushed himself up, sitting on his knees now between yours. His hard cock is a glaring fact now, the bulge making its presence known beneath his clothes.

“Can I…touch you?” You ask, embarrassed at your lack of experience.

Olly thinks for a moment, before nodding his head. He makes a move to ease the rest of his clothing off, but you beat him to the punch. Your hands pull the rest of it down, allowing his cock to bob free. He sees the way your brows furrow up before you train your face back to neutral. Cute.

You’re grabbing his cock for the first time before he knows it. Your touch is light, and you let your fingers get accustomed to the heaviness of him before you give it a squeeze. Olly grunts above you, watching all of your movements. He’s hard and leaky, and your hand smears it around once you give him a couple pumps.

Better than he could have conjured up.

You begin to position yourself closer to him, intent on tasting him too. While Olruggio does want that, god does he want it, he wants your first experience to be about you. He nudges you back until you're laying once more, with a confused expression on your face.

“Next time,” he says, not leaving any room for doubt that he wants this to happen again.

You blush immediately and he situates himself between your legs better. He hikes one of your thighs up against his waist while he uses his other hand to drag fingers through your folds. Your cum still drips from your hole, so he doesn’t have to try very hard to press a finger inside of you. It’s tight, so he waits a couple of moments for your muscles to relax around him. Once they do, he drags his finger in and out before adding a second one. Your head is tilted back in pleasure, and Olly knows that you’re ready.

He withdraws his fingers, instead bringing them to his cock to lube himself up. He jerks himself off a few times before lining himself up to your pussy.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay honey?”

You nibble your lip and nod, reaching up to hold his shoulders in preparation. Olly pushes against you, the tip of his cock sliding into your warm heat. Your mouth opens immediately, and you squeeze his shoulders not a moment later. He stops instantly and looks up to find your face.

“Does it hurt?” He tries to keep his voice without panic, but it’s harder than he thought it would be.

“N-No, feels,” you loosen your grip. “Feels good.”

He lets out a sigh of relief before dropping his forehead to your collarbone. “You scared me there.”

Olly hears the way you chuckle at him, dragging your fingers through his hair. He lets himself drown in the feeling for a second, cherishing the way you wrap around him.

Once he’s recovered from his momentary lapse of confidence he straightens himself out. Olly holds himself above you and presses in more, stretching your cunt out slowly. You’re groaning and scratching his back and arms, the two of you mesmerized by how your body accepts him so willingly.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart.” He speaks under his breath before bottoming out. “You did it, are you okay?”

You squeeze your eyes close, nodding quickly while you shake around him. “More, Olruggio.” It’s your first time and you’re already greedy.

Olly smiles before he pulls out slightly, only to fill you up once more. “Think you can take it?”

It’s a rhetorical question because your body is quite literally aching for it, and Olruggio can feel it.

You whimper and nod desperately, hooking your legs around him tighter. He keeps a steady pace, filling you up to the brim over and over again. Olly lets one of his hands wander, his thumb finding its way to your clit. He swipes at it mercilessly, intent on bringing you to the edge once more, but this time so he can feel it.

“You’re perfect, did ya know that?” He speaks against your lips, grinning when he feels your fingers dig into his hips, urging him to go faster. “I feel so honored.” He’s laying it on you now, telling you exactly how he feels while plunging himself into you.

“Olruggio,” you moan, your mouth brushing his, sharing breaths with him. You’re close once more.

“Yeah?” Thrust. “What is it?”

“Gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum,”

“Gonna cum for me? Go on,” he kisses you hastily, feeling spit pool at the corners of your mouth. “Cum on me, honey” he nearly begs.

His thumb slides around your clit, your pussy pulsating around him seconds later. You’re wriggling beneath him, moans of pleasure escaping the space between your lips. It’s hard for him to last long after that.

He knows what he should do.

Olly attempts to pull back from you, intent on jerking himself off over your nude body, but you don't allow that. You keep him tucked in, kissing up his throat and nibbling his ear. He’s surrounded by you.

“You gotta let me…” His voice is unstable, his mind telling him one thing but his body saying another.

“Olruggio, please.” You say his name so sweetly, how is he supposed to deny you?

He nearly whimpers once he starts to cum. There’s fireworks behind his lids while his hips lose pace. “Thank you, thank you,” his arms shake as he keeps himself held up above you, dropping his head onto your neck while he fills you up with his cum.

He slows to a stop once he’s finished, but he continues pressing kisses on your skin. It’s tender and soft, warm in all the right ways (as he usually is). His eyes flick to yours when he pulls out and you whine. Cum spills from you and he rushes to clean it up with his shirt, scooping it away until you look clean enough.

“Well there goes that shirt,” he mumbles to himself and places it in the hamper. Definitely won’t let Qifrey wash his laundry tomorrow.

“That’s a shame,” you chuckle. “Suppose you’ll just have to go without.”

Olruggio playfully rolls his eyes and crawls on the bed to you once more. He lays beside you, pulling you into his warm fuzzy chest. A gentle kiss to the side of your head while the two of you relax, letting the feelings of the night wash over you.

“Oi, don't be getting any more ideas,” he teases.

sure, he could always just put the blame on you. young, horny and ovulating like a madwoman, it wasn’t his fault for cumming deep inside of your fertile womb, especially when you’re wrapping your legs around his hips like this. ankles pushing him so taught against your frame he can barley fuck you properly, keeping him nice and cozy wrapped around your cunt.

his hands were all over you, cracked palms rubbing down the soft ‘n supple skin on your moisturized thighs and stretching you as far into the mattress he possibly can, you’d turned the overly stoic, permanently grouchy man wild.

delirious even.

pussy walls warmly inviting him inside to overstay his welcome, he should have never agreed to fucking you raw tonight, because now that he’s felt around your bare gummy g-spot practically massaging his throbbing cock head, he knows he can’t bring himself to stop.

you can see that look on his face, the one of a man fighting with the angel and devil sat upon his heavy shoulders, furrowed brows partially covered by his leather eyepatch, crows feet sketching his face crinkling in defeat.

“d-don’t pull out,” you’re blurting out of pert lips, nails dragging down the milky flesh of his shoulder blades, reddening lines appearing in your trace, words slurring, “i’m so close, pull out ‘n you’ll ruin it for me!”

aizawa shakes his head, dark tendrils frizzing from the sheer amount of sopping heat surrounding the bedroom, words gravelly, “should’ve said something earlier. should have told you no, not tonight.”

he blinks down at you once, twice. black lashes doing little to shield him from just how pretty you’re looking smushed in the mattress, white sheets surrounding you like an innocent angel. how ironic.

“how is it that you always seem to get your way?” but that deprived devil stares him down in the shape of you, unable to rip himself from your cozy cunt, plap, plap, plaping! gushing walls expanding and carving a perfect curve to pour his seed into. he knows he’ll give you what you want, especially when your canal squeezes him into subtly obeying. “don’t know how to tell you no, seems like you’re too god damned spoiled, kid.”

“not spoiled! you’re taking c-care of me—shit! taking care of me like you s-should.” plump lips curling into a smile, chewing on it in attempts to hide yourself from gloating at the very man destroying your pussy, voice cooing, “getting soft on me now, aren’t you old man?”

turning into a panting mess beneath him, head tossing and turning once the boiling feeling of your impending orgasm rumbles beneath the surface, limbs woozy, mind jaded.

“you are a damn brat,” he’s scoffing, cheeks tinting pink at the dirty name. maybe he is older, in fact he definitely is, yet you are… “fucking spoiled. a spoiled little brat.”

“mmm whatever, you love it t-though!” now you’re giggling, fingers toying with the strands of hairs sticking to his sculpted back, pulling hard enough to make him hiss.

“yeah, yeah,” aizawa grumbles, knowing you’re the very reason he’s pulling the faint strands of silver hairs out from his hairline in the mirror, cock and heart secretly obsessing over the way you toy with him, “maybe i do.”

keeping him on his toes, you make him feel young again, a bright light in the darkness and destruction around him, all without any idea that you’re the one helping him pick up the pieces, staring at you with soaring adoration each time he thinks you’re not looking.

“fuckkk! right t-there!” you yelp, eyes rolling into the back of your skull once your climax tumbles down the twisting valley of your core to crumble at your g-spot. skittish limbs gripping him in place and shaking once his hips grind into yours, onyx thatch of hair on his pelvis smooching your sensitive clit. “please, please don’t stop!”

“wouldn’t dare,” aizawa’s sighing, pressing his lips into yours when he cums—finally inside. instantly plugging your pussy and witty mouth up with wet traces of him, tongue digging past your lips whilst his cock swabs at the tight knot of your cervix, seed drowning your walls full of him. and god does he hope it sticks.

by the look you’re giving him once he pulls away from swollen lips in an attempt to take a staggered breath? he knows you’re both thinking the same thing.

notes: title is from the edge of heaven by wham

You never thought you’d find yourself in a situation like this.

But you certainly weren’t complaining.

There you were, back pressed against the wall as your tongue swirled around the resident milkman’s mouth. You wanted to explore every single crevice within, memorize the little imperfections that structured him beautifully.

“Milkman..” You gasped out breathlessly as he pulled away, giving you a second to relax as his ministrations continued on the lower part of your body. His cold, calloused fingers began to gently rub your clothed clit, causing high-pitched yet deeply soulful moans to escape your lips.

“Shh,” He coos, his free hand coming up to place a finger against your mouth in a shushing manner. You reluctantly bit back soft whimpers. You practically melted into his touch, wanting nothing but to obey each and every command he may give you. His voice was just oh-so dulcet and velvety, like a lullaby to your ears that you never wanted to let go of. “Just call me Francis, darling.”

And so, you forced your whimpers to come out as quietly as possible as the milkman, or, Francis slowly tugged your lovely skirt down, revealing the elegant pair of panties you donned. He licked his lips softly, giving your hips a little squeeze as he led you over to the couch.

You sat down, watching as Francis loomed over you as a tall and imposing figure. He slowly kneeled in between your legs, leaving gentle yet sensual kisses down from your thighs all the way up to your wet clit. Your lips parted to let out faint gasps and whines as he did so, your eyes drifting down to meet his seductive gaze.

“Francisfrancisfrancis, ah..” You babbled mindlessly, throwing your head back as his tongue began to swirl circles around your sensitive wetness. He was quite elegant and composed, even during moments when passion and lust were meant to take over your consciousness.

Your back arched forward, head buried within the sobering solace of your couch cushions as the milkman’s ministrations began to accelerate in both speed and intensity. He slowly stood up, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants to reveal his completely erect cock, positioning himself in front of your cunt.

A loud. whiny gasp escaped your lips as Francis began to slick his hardened, dripping-with-pre-cum member up and down your clit as you threw your hand over your mouth and allowed your eyes to roll back. You couldn’t believe that your neighborhood milkman, a man supposed to be innocuous, could make you feel as good as this.

A part of you was wondering if he had seduced the other women in your neighborhood and done the same to them, but it didn’t matter to you. He was putting his experience to good use.

“Are you ready?” Francis asks softly, head tilted lightly as his hands gently squeezed and fondled your chubby hips. The abyss of pleasure he had thrown you down left you a bit dazed, so it took you a few seconds before you nodded in affirmation.

He turned away, pulling out a bottle of milk and pouring some into his hand as he began to rub it all over his shaft. He can’t be- no, he was using milk as lubricant. You blinked, watching in a mix of excitement and bewilderment as he smeared the white liquid all over his large cock, making his veins glisten with anticipation and sensuality.

“Is.. is that milk?!”

“Mmhm. Can you turn over and lay on your stomach?”

You nod, flipping over laying down on the couch as your hands latched onto a pillow and you tilted your head back to look at him.

“Good girl,” Francis coos as he began to gradually slide himself inside of you from behind, his shaft beginning to fill your insides as he steadily held onto your hips to keep you from squirming around too much. The sensation was quite the thrilling one, and the taboo of getting “down and dirty” with the milkman was exciting you even more.

“Francis-!” You gasped out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the brunette began to pump his hips into yours, seemingly going deeper and deeper with every thrust. You weren’t sure if it was just the ecstasy of the ordeal confusing you, or if he was getting more aggressive, but you certainly weren’t complaining. His size was quite.. impressive, and it was definitely helping your pleasure levels.

“You’re doing good, princess.” Francis praised, smirking coyly. He continued to thrust into you, letting out deep grunts and groans that were a symphony of lust for your ears. His hands gripped your hips, occasionally sliding down to your butt to give your cheeks a little squeeze of both affection and ardor.

“What if you get me pregnant?” You ask breathlessly, the pounding of his hips into your soft ass sending you to the edge of heaven as you tilt your head back to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with lust and lechery, nothing more to show that his attention was completely focused on pleasuring you.

“We’d have a bastard child,” He says calmly, shrugging lightly as if it was nothing but a regular day for him. You wondered if it was a regular day for him, to just casually seduce and probably impregnate the women he delivered milk to. Your thoughts washed away as he thrust harder and harder, one hand sliding upwards from gripping your hips to getting itself tangled within your soft locks. “But I’d marry you before anyone finds out.”

His reassuring words and tone would’ve calmed you down had it not been for the fact that the two of you were actively engaging in intercourse at the moment. The feeling of Francis sliding in and out of your sensitive opening from behind was clouding your senses, and hell, clouding your vision too. Your eyes were hazy as you could barely make out the outline of your television, but it was fine. This felt perfect.

Would it be improper to say that you were getting the milkman’s milk?

And would it be even worse to say that you were enjoying each and every second his dick slid in and out of you?

“So, so good..” You mumble into the pillow, panting as pearls of sweat dripped down your forehead and slid onto the cloth of the pillow you were grasping onto. His hips continued to slam into your rear as his fingers gripped your strands of hair tightly, almost pulling them out had it not been for his restraint and slight fear of hurting you.

“You’re taking it well.” Francis comments, moving his hand from your scalp down to your jawline as he gently tilted you to look back at him. Your soft, alluring gaze met his more seductive and lustful one as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as your tongues battled in a war of passion and lasciviousity.

“This is.. quite indecent,” You murmured against his lips as you leaned into yet another kiss from him, that simple kiss quickly morphing into a heavy make-out session. Once he finally pulled away, giving your cheeks a soft slap, you moaned louder as his thrusts began to accelerate again.

“Mm.. `m gonna cum soon, babygirl,” He pants out, lifting a hand to wipe away the sweat dotting his hairline as he finally takes his hat off and tosses it aside, revealing his soft brown locks that were tousled and messy. You moaned, realizing that you were close to also tipping off of the edge of heaven as well.

Before you could warn him, the two of you reached your climaxes, his cum filling your insides as your fingernails dug into the pillow and you screamed. It was one of the most pleasuring sensations imaginable, but any coherent thoughts were washed aside by the ecstasy of finally reaching your peak.

“Would you like to go for another round?”

And you immediately nod in affirmation.

—

Nightfall is when everything falls into place. You noted how Qifrey had slipped into Olruggio’s room at some point before dinner, and quietly reappeared at your side before it was time to eat. Good, they were discussing.

You only do your part in helping the girls get ready for bed, playing innocent and unaware. Again, Qifrey disappears for a short while, only to manifest himself as you say your final goodnights to the girls together. Still, he doesn’t say a word about anything for a long time.

The two of you sit in your own places in front of the hearth, passively engaging in your activities without conversation. It almost disappoints you that he doesn’t bring up anything; perhaps this endeavor of yours would take a little longer than you hoped. Oh well, the juiciest fruits always require a little more ripening.

As you reach the last page of the chapter you were on in some book you were hardly paying attention to, Qifrey stands. Not only does he stand, but he moves behind you, leaning down in your space as if it were his as well. There is no betrayal of what he is thinking in his eye, but a sparkle of mischief alights something within them. You can’t prove it, though.

“Darling,” he hums, soft and low, almost like a warning.

You make a small noise of acknowledgement, casually marking your spot and closing your book.

Something about that displeases him, if the twitch of his brow was any indication, “Olruggio asked us to his room. He wishes to test out a new theory.”

“Theory,” you question, allowing him to help you to your feet and guide you up the stairs like a maiden, “I wasn’t aware he was that kind of intellectual.”

He hums, pressing the door open, “I must admit, I was a bit hesitant when he suggested it to me, but I believe it’s… well deserved.”

“Deserved…?”

The door closes behind you, and from the corner of your eye, you see Qifrey place a silencing spell upon it. Oh. Deserved.

“Since you seem to have new preferences,” Olruggio sounds, leaning over the lip of his cozy little workplace, “I thought it only fair we indulge you as you please.”

The man at your side nods, urging you up to the nook with gentle hands, “If that’s alright with you, of course. We wouldn’t want to displease you.”

Olruggio's desk is clear, except for himself, of course. A small seat between his legs is open, more than likely for you. He regards you with mild interest, though he is careful not to show too much. You were in the hot seat, after all, so he couldn’t let you believe you were getting off free.

You become all too aware, all too late, how much Qifrey is crowding you. Perfectly slotted between yourself and your only easy exit out of the situation you’d built for yourself. If you wanted to escape, that is.

The man leans over your shoulder, just enough that you could see the false smile on his lips. Goodness, he was not happy with your little shenanigans, “Darling?”

“Ah– yes, of course,” you sputter out, then quickly compose yourself, “I wouldn’t deny such a thing.”

His smile turns warmer, but not warm enough, “Wonderful. Then, you’ll strip yourself for us, won’t you?”

You watch, taken aback, as he sits himself on the hammock politely. Like he was having afternoon tea, not planning to defile you. Such words from Qifrey of all people knocked the wind out of you.

You don’t have time to respond before Olruggio is laughing, “What? I thought you liked takin’ command from Qifrey, unless that was a fib.”

You scowl at him, quickly tugging at your shirt, all too eager to prove him wrong with rapid precision “Of course it wasn’t–”

“Slowly,” Qifrey corrects, drawing your attention back to him, “I’d like to savor this, if you don’t mind.”

You swallow, taking a moment to collect yourself, then nod. Always the obedient little thing when Qifrey was around.

Carefully, you pop the buttons of your shirt, one by one, until they are all undone. You feel Olruggio’s eyes on your fingers, hotter than his own magic, awaiting the sight to be revealed at each opening. But before you can open the shirt itself, Qifrey makes a little tut, “Turn. Olruggio is fond of your back.”

No attempt is made to hide the way you grip your shirt, nervous, but listening as you shuffle to face Qifrey again. He is still smiling, but something more heated lies beneath the surface. A sort of smug satisfaction at your obedience. Selfish bastard.

Intentionally slowly, you open the shirt, revealing your chest to him. His eyes do not leave your face, and that is more embarrassing than anything you were doing for him now. You don’t stop sliding it from your shoulders, though, knowing the repercussions could be worse than this. On your other end, Olruggio’s eyes are boring into you. Taking in each revealed expanse of skin like it were a painting to be admired.

Qifrey tilts his head, observing the two of you with unbridled interest, “Skirt next, my love. One layer at a time.”

Your fingers tuck into the hem of it, making a show of drawing it down over your rear, bending down as it pools at your ankles, then the underskirt in a similar fashion. You draw your arms up your legs as you rise, sliding slowly and sensually across your thighs and then around the swell of your ass until you are upright again. Naked and barefoot as you stepped out of the fabric for good.

The white-haired man in front of you regards your show with beguilement, tapping his chin thoughtfully through the whole display. That blue eye of his squints at you like you were a puzzle to be solved, thinking over everything with careful consideration. You shiver as it trails along your exposed flesh, feeling naked more than just literally now. Olruggio, behind you, is drawing his eyes over your back and rear in quick succession; you can feel the way he savors the sight with intensity, can picture in your mind how his hand trembles in anticipation, wanting to touch and knowing he too must behave for tonight.

Qifrey breaks the tension, clapping his fist into his hand, determined, “I’ve got it!”

It’s too cute for the scenario you’re in, like he’s figured out what he’d like for lunch, rather than how he’ll be having you instead. He leans to the side slightly, looking past you to Olruggio, who shifts behind you.

“I’ll have you make room between your legs,” he hums, too cheerful, “she’ll be needing that spot.”

You hear the rustling of fabric, resisting the urge to turn around and look behind as Qifrey does. In the few moments you have with their attention off of you, you think it’s a bit odd to be bossed around by Qifrey in the bedroom. It’s more odd to have Olruggio be completely quiet; the two of them often have some sort of banter, which eases the tension of sex. Yet, with only Qifrey speaking and Olruggio listening intently, it puts the pressure on. Despite your brattiness getting you here, you want to perform now. You want to please, because this strangeness in the air ignites a fire in your stomach you’d like to extend further.

When Olruggio is settled, Qifrey pulls you back into the moment with a little wave of his hand. You listen immediately, backing up part of the way before Olruggio drags you the rest and settles you between his legs. Without a word, he hooks one of yours over his, holding you in place with a hand on your hip and your thigh, spread nice and wide for all to appreciate.

With the little light the floatglow lamp provides, you can see how your folds are glistening in arousal. Excited shivers run up your spine, anticipating the touch yet to come as Olruggio strokes your inner thigh as if painting his own masterpiece.

“What a pretty sight,” Qifrey murmurs to himself, fingers running across his lips.

A gruff sound of agreement breathes across your collarbone, “Aye. It’s a sight to behold.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” the other man admits, almost rueful in his tone, “after your little admission, I couldn’t get the sight out of my head. It was improper to be thinking such things when I have a responsibility to the girls.”

“I must say, when you’d told me I was lookin’ forward to it myself,” Olruggio agrees from behind, “but… I’m not sure she deserves it just yet.”

You try not to squirm, but your shoulders tense just the tiniest bit. Just enough that Olruggio would notice at this proximity, and he does, if the chuckle he huffs is any indication. Logically, they would never leave you unsatisfied; the two of them were too giving for that. Emotionally…? The very idea that they would make you redress and deal with the arousal yourself made you want to vomit.

“Don’t think she likes that one,” Olruggio smiles.

“No, it doesn’t seem so,” comes the reply, and cheekily, he taps his chin as he thinks up his next words, “but… what else could be deserving of poor behavior? If only there was something she could do to make it up to us. Do you have any ideas, Olly?”

Blue eyes watch your face intently, “I’ve a few. How's about we start with an apology, yeah?”

“A wonderful idea, and an explanation as well,” Qifrey cheers, “it’s only fair, don’t you agree, love?”

You feel your walls flutter around nothing, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding against your ribcage. So this was the angle they were taking, how humiliating. It’s only made worse because it’s too effective at getting you to crack. Two against one simply wasn’t a fair fight, and you weren’t willing to take it in your state.

You open your mouth to explain, then close it quickly. What was the best way to phrase your plot without getting into more trouble? Vulnerable as you were, it was hard to come up with any words to excuse it all. But, punishment or not, Qifrey was always too aware of your internal strife to leave you fumbling too long – even when he was supposed to be upset with you.

“Come now,” he soothes, making his way over so he could cup your face in his hand, “all you have to do is tell us just what you’ve been thinking in that silly little brain of yours, we won’t be cross. Will we, Olruggio?”

The raven-haired man behind you shakes his head, “‘Course not. Just need to ‘ear if from ya, right?”

You swallow, pressing your face into Qifrey’s hands for extra pity points, “Well… I had this idea… I only wanted to see how you’d react, honest. I’m sorry for causing you two trouble.”

“And we’ve already forgiven you,” Qifrey soothes, his thumb across your cheek, “but we’d still like you to tell us what you were aiming to achieve here.”

“Well, you’re both… rather skilled in certain areas… and I was wondering how you might react if I’d insinuated otherwise?” You offer, making sure to pout up at him (though the look only ever works on Olruggio).

“Jealousy then?” Olruggio laughs.

“Not exactly–” you try to defend.

“How cute,” Qifrey damn near giggles, “you could’ve asked if you’d liked us to switch roles, no need to cause such a stir.”

You huff, “The two of you always tease me when I do! Besides, that wasn’t the point.”

“Point aside,” Olruggio reminds, squeezing your thigh, “you’ve given us a brilliant new idea. Why don’t you let us test it out, hmm?”

Qifrey brings you back to him with a finger under your chin, “All you have to say is no, and we’ll stop right away, alright?”

You nod, watching as he backs up to the hammock again, and suddenly you’re back where you were. Legs spread, naked, and completely dependent on them. Olruggio’s calloused hands squeeze your thigh and hip at a steady pace, reminders of what's to come. And Qifrey resumes watching you like prey, amusement oozing off the pair of them in waves. The moment you stepped into the room, you were a lamb to the slaughter, and your hungry wolves seemed to hold little patience for what comes next.

“Olly,” Qifrey calls, and the other man acknowledges it with a grunt, “I’d like you to spread her open with your fingers.”

He nods, and the hand on your hip slides down, slow and careful, until they reach your folds. With practiced hands, he spreads them open, cool air hitting your more sensitive bits all at once, making you shiver. He kisses your shoulder reassuringly, soothing the chill with heat running down your spine.

“She’s glistening,” Qifrey grins, resting his head against his hand dreamily.

“Practically soakin’ my skirt, aren’t you, lass?” Olruggio teases lightly.

Fingers dance along your thigh, mirroring the way Qifrey’s tap across his cheek, a tango only the two of them knew the moves to forming. It gave you a thrill. What would be next?

“I’d like to see…” the man across you mumbles.

Olruggio doesn’t let him finish, drawing his fingers down to coat them in a thin layer of your slick. It connects him to you for a little while longer when he pulls them up to the light, stringy, clear fluid separating as he spreads his fingers. Both of them seem a bit surprised, Olruggio repeating the motion thrice before he is satisfied at the sight.

“My…”

“We should do this one more often.”

You wiggle impatiently, reminding them that you were there and still capable of hearing. Olly settles you with another squeeze to your thigh, but his hand returns between your legs dutifully, resting along your folds while he awaits orders. They come quickly and without hesitation.

“I’d like to see how you do it,” he gives thoughtfully, “I’ve never paid attention, and… perhaps she had a point. I could learn a thing or two.”

“Can’t imagine it’s much different,” he mumbles into your shoulder, “you alright with that?”

All it takes is your nod, and he’s moving his fingers where you need them most. Olruggio wasn’t one to hesitate much in bed, so it's no surprise when he starts by dipping two fingers inside your sopping hole. It pulls a muffled sigh from your throat, head rolling back onto his shoulder with it.

His fingers are thicker than Qifrey’s, more textured from how often he uses his hands on his contraptions. They stretch you out better, but they don’t reach quite as deep as the formers, not that it's an issue when he strokes the ribbed ceiling of you. Each come hither adds to the tightening of your walls around him, drawing you deep into pleasure.

At the same time, the butt of his palm nudges your clit, ensuring all of you get the love you need. He works you up fast and without effort, creating a symphony from your lips alone. It's a relief after all the waiting you’d done, happy to find that your punishment was not the lack of a high. Your toes curl as your orgasm builds, warming your body inch by inch as it spreads evenly across your skin.

Then, “Wait.”

Instantly, Olruggio stops all his stroking and pleasuring, sitting completely still inside you. It makes you huff indignantly, wiggling forward in his lap for a little friction. All it takes is a warning look from Qifrey to stop you.

“You go too fast,” Qifrey comments.

He shrugs, “It ends the same anyway.”

“That sounds so unlike you… half of the fun is the journey, after all.”

“Half the fun is bein’ inside her.”

The silver-haired man clicks his tongue at both of you, shaking his head like a disappointed father. It's the same look he gives the girls when they’re too reckless, or when they complain about something they shouldn’t be. If you could, it would get your thighs rubbing together.

“Both of you are too impatient…” he stands, returning to his place in front of you, only now he crouches down between Olruggio’s thighs.

With patient hands, he carefully lifts your other leg to rest over his shoulder, leaving you completely exposed to the open air in the room. Yet, Qifrey’s warm breath heats the air between himself and your quim. Slim fingers squeeze the meat of your thigh, the other resting upon Olruggio’s just as well.

Olruggio peers down at your partner over your shoulder, scratchy beard tickling your collarbone as he rests his chin there, “You intend to tell me how to fix it, then?”

“Of course,” he smiles, “first of all, the internal parts are just as important as the external. You shouldn’t focus on only one or the other.”

“I’m giving the external plenty of attention–”

A black brow arches, soft lips turning to a frown, “Do you want to learn, Olruggio?”

That kills any protest either of you might’ve had, not that you had much stake to begin with. Olruggio quiets his complaints, determined to listen well now that he’s been told off once. That’s the difference between the two of you – in the bedroom at least – he doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Good, now,” he pats the other man's thigh, “go on and remove your fingers, and I want you to really look at her when you do.”

He listens, of course, he does, and he leaves you feeling empty and cold as his fingers leave. His fingers glisten with your slick, the same way your folds did earlier. You want to lick the juice off them, taste yourself on his skin. Instead, Qifrey lifts his own, takes Olruggio by the wrist, and cleans them off himself.

Your brain stalls for a moment as his tongue swirls along the digits, mouth agape at the sight. He knows it too, that blue eye of his squinting up between the two of you, sparkling with that mischievous delight he has. Then, without a word on it, he carefully guides the hand back to your folds and shows Olruggio how to hold your lips open.

“This is a two-handed activity,” he instructs, “normally I’d like to draw it out a bit, but we’ve already warmed her up quite enough. So, this once, hold her open for easier access, then you’ll bring your other hand down to find her clitoris. Understood?”

He nods behind you, beard drawing along your shoulder, tickling you in a sinful way. The hand supporting your thigh comes between his fingers, finding your clit with ease. He doesn’t move the hand, however, awaiting his instructions like the well-behaved dog he is.

“Stimulate her with small circles– slowly. We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

Again, he does as told to a t, swirling the sensitive bud in careful, even circles with his calloused fingers. The care that he does so is unlike his usual rhythm, always quick with the foreplay, too eager to get to the fun part. Not as though you mind that, but Qifrey’s method added a certain something paired with Olruggio’s more roughness. It brings out a surprised ‘oh’ that tapers off into an unsure moan.

The motion is careful, consistent in speed and pressure. Each roll builds the pleasure in your stomach again, but far more steadily than before. Rather than feeling as though it was a wave crashing against you, it was a simmering heat bubbling over you. Somewhere along the lines, Qifrey taps his thigh again, and the speed increases a little. Still, his motion is considerate of how fast and rough he is, maintaining the steadiness Qifrey tends to prefer. Each tap to the thigh is an increase in speed, and each increase brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Your toes curl again as that same spread of heat crawls through your nerves, alighting your body in pleasure. Eyes close tight, not even trying to hold back your sounds anymore. It’s intense as it makes its way through your nervous system, that wonderful tightness overtaking your senses, so close to the edge you can feel yourself tumbling– then it stops.

A childish whine escapes your chest before you can stop it, throwing your head up again to glare at your offender. Qifrey holding Olruggio’s hands in each of his, which twitch impatiently in his grasp. His smile is all but cheeky, despite being the one on his knees here.

“What was that for?” You complain.

“I’d like to know as well,” Olruggio mirrors, clearly discontent.

Your other half merely grins, kissing the inside of your knee apologetically, “Forgive my selfishness, I’m feeling a bit… hungry…”

You blink, “Hungry…?”

Olruggio connects the dots faster than your mushy brain can, and leans back with an arm around your waist. You nearly protest, if not for the answer coming in the few moments you are glancing back at Olruggio in offense. Fingers pull apart your lips again, and lips press attentively to your already swollen bud. It makes you gasp, twitching in their grasp, but it does little to deter your determined beau.

His tongue follows the kiss, licking a long stripe up and latching onto said bud. He suckles on it gently, aware of how sensitive you had become, making sure you remained with him the whole ride through. When he opens his mouth to fully envelop you, he makes sure to lock eyes with Olruggio behind you, as if to say, ‘make sure you’re watching.’ You know he is; you can feel the shallow puffs of his breath on your cheek, completely enraptured by the show between your legs.

Then, and only then, does Qifrey work his tongue over your clit. Licking, rolling, and sucking so intentionally that you think he might be going after your soul. That blue eye of his does not break from the pairs above, intensity burning hotter than the pleasure he’s bringing. Forcing you to look.

Even when you tried to throw your head back, Olruggio’s hand pulled your face up and held it tightly in his grasp. No more bad behavior from you for the night; you would obey just as well as he had. The demandingness of it all made you throb hard, hands struggling to find purchase on anything. They settle on Olruggio’s skirt and bury into his hair, holding tight in hopes that might keep you tethered a moment longer.

You were hardly aware of the sounds you were making, especially not when he did that thing– that awful, wonderful thing with his tongue. There was a silencing spell on the door anyway. A few moans were hardly worth worrying about. That’s why you make a surprised little squeak when two slick cover fingers slip into your mouth, fighting them for only a moment until their owner whispers “you’re alright,” in your ear.

This is what you had wanted earlier, the taste of you mixed with Olly. Fingers pressed against your tongue, letting you clean your sweetness off his warm fingertips, covering them in saliva. It silences you, distracts you. Just long enough that Qifrey can sneakily slip his fingers inside you. The digits are long and deft as he presses them deep inside, reaching your sensitive spot effortlessly and drawing magic against it.

You are thankful that the fingers in your mouth muffle the embarrassing moan that choked its way up your throat. The fingers inside of you pet in the same way Olruggio had earlier, only more intentional in their movements. Your own tighten and curl where they rest on Olly, doing your best to try to savor the feeling washing over you.

When your toes curl, Olruggio removes his fingers from your mouth, instead pushing them through Qifrey’s white locs. He makes a sound of appreciation, which vibrates through your entire nervous system, ripping your moans out of you, helpless to stop them. You can feel the orgasm coming; it's not nearly as subtle as it normally is. This is a forest fire raging within your stomach, and the only thing that will douse it is Qifrey’s kindness in putting it out himself.

As it begins to hit, you screw your eyes shut, wanting to savor the feeling entirely. Yet, calloused hands squeeze your cheeks harshly, tugging your head just a little to startle your eyes open, “Eyes on him, yeah?”

Qifrey makes a disapproving sound at the roughness, but that only aids in furthering your spiral. The furrow in his brow as he admonishes your other partner, the preciseness of his fingers, his tongue doing that thing, and the very sight of him taking all of you on is what does you in.

You seize against both of them, orgasm burning across your whole body in an intense wave unlike any other you’ve had. Supported by both of them, keeping you firmly in place and looking straight at Qifrey as he works on elongating it as long as possible. And he does, working against you until your head is spinning, and he knows that you cannot take any more, lest you pass out from the pleasure.

He slows, easing you from your high, rather than torturing you with another sudden cut off. Hands from both parties are soothing you to relax, until you finally go limp into Olruggio’s chest. Deep breaths, mimicking the ones behind you, until you have calmed down fully. Only then do you open your eyes back to the present, where calloused hands are petting your stomach, and a scratchy beard is pressing soft kisses to the shell of your ear.

Your legs are closed now, resting naturally rather than stretched out as before, Qifrey working out the knots formed from the awkward position already. It all makes you smile, petting the man’s head appreciatively as you snuggle up to Olruggio for more warmth.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He mutters into your ear.

You nod, “Mmm. I believe I’ve learned my lesson as well.”

You feel and see them smile, Qifrey standing to his full height now, “I would hope so. I do hate punishing you.”

“I feel as though that’s a lie,” you grin.

Olruggio eases you up onto your feet, helping you find your footing on jelly legs while Qifrey takes your hands to steady you, “We would never lie, would we, Olruggio?”

“Never,” he hums, “now, let’s get you cleaned up. Wouldn’t want an infection.”

You nod, shrugging on a too-big shirt he offers you without any protest. You allow them to float you down, rather than walk, for their sake more than yours. Yet, it is only when you are halfway to the bath that you realize.

“What about the two of you?” You whisper, glancing between the two of them.

Olruggio is the one to smirk at you this time, “I’m more than satisfied, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had my fill, besides,” Qifrey squeezes your side playfully, “I doubt you could handle much more than that.”

“Wh– of course I can!” You whisper-shout back, offended, “Come now, allow me to–”

You lose your footing, stumbling a bit as your still weak legs wobble and nearly give out beneath you. Caught by your partners, still clinging to you, the only things keeping you from getting yourself into more trouble.

“Still so stubborn, even after our lesson,” Qifrey scolds, steadying you.

Olruggio nods his agreement, “We’ll have to give you another when you’re in better shape, of course.”

You hummed softly in response, naked and sweaty beneath him. Your thighs were aching from the past 20 minutes of “foreplay” which he loves so much. Burying his face between your thighs while striking his cock but edging himself so that he could finish inside your warm, sweet hole.

“I’m not letting any of it go to waste, m’kay?” He had told you, before filling you up repeatedly with his sticky white seed.

His hand shifted from your thigh, warmth spreading to your tummy when his large hand pressed down gently. Eliciting a soft moan from you, your hands clawing into the silk sheets, curling your toes and squirming. As if you weren’t already on edge. “Mmm… s-stoppp.. don’t press there,” you whined, left eye closed from the twitching pleasure.

“No?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking, before lifting his hand obediently and staring at your abdomen. “S’hard not to… can see my cock bulging from inside your cute belly,” he hummed lowly, hips slowly pulling back.

It’s almost like you could feel what he was about to do, already watching your back and holding on a breath. His hips slamming forward, knocking the air out of you, a loud moan passing unfiltered through your soft lips. “Fuck… you sound good with me in you, you look incredibly good with me inside you, you smell so good when I’m in you… wanna marry me, doll?” He breathed out, his hand moving from above your abdomen to grab your chin.

“We’re already marriedddd.. stop talking and just fuck me..”

He chuckled, moving to push his index and middle finger into your mouth. “Don’t even need to ask twice…” he grinned, eyes half lidded with blissful pleasure. He blinked, watching you instinctively suck on his fingers with muffled soft moans, before he pulled his hand back, pushing your thighs down against your chest again. Lifting his hips, and slamming back into your again.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Your breathing had quickened, your head lolling to the side, moaning out loud between every thrust. The room was loud and lewd. A fwop here and a shlorp there. “A-ah.. ah… mmh..!” You moaned out for him, mouth agape, eyes squeezed shut. While he was groaning shamelessly and moving his hips with a desperate pace.

“F-fuck yeah… you love this, don’t you?” He chuckled between his own gasps at your mindless nodding, “love being fucked dumb by me,” he punctuated dumb with a sharper thrust, pressing the gummy head of his cock against your cervix. Before focusing on the quicker, more shallow thrusts.

His pace quickened when he felt the tingle at the back of his spine, that euphoric sensation buzzing through him, before he stuttered and slammed against your hips for the last time.

Cum spurted from the tip of his cock, painting your walls in his warm white seed again. Filling you up for the nth time that night. His body blanketing yours in a warm hug, kissing the tension and stress away on your face. “Y-yeah.. just… a little more, angel..” he breathed out, muscles tightened and sweating all over. Nose nudging against your cheek.

“Just… a few more rounds, I need to see your tummy all big, whether that be from our babies… or just that cute bulge from my dick.”

"Please shut up, I need your help." he told you and you had smiled in response at his impatience.

Now you were riding him on his goddamn office chair, in his office, barely able to hold back whimpers anytime the tip of his thick dick brushed that sweet spot inside you. And Wilson wasn't able to stay quiet either,muffling himself by pressing open mouthed kisses on your neck and collarbone.

The chair underneath you creaked anytime you lifted yourself off,and then slowly lowered down on him again, making the doctor let his head fall back. Your thighs pressed to his sides and your hands found leverage on his shoulders.

"God, you're loud." he mumbled, panting as you clamped down on him and pressing a palm over his mouth after adding "P-please, sweetie... c'mon, a little faster for me."

And really how could you deny him that greedy request? You sped up just a little, just to get him there quicker, and trying to satisfy yourself in the process.

"You're so deep." You gasped out and squeezed his arms, falling down onto his cock again and whining.

"I-I'm close." he uttered out and just then the door opened. You froze over his lap, pulling your skirt down shakily and turning around to be met with...well,who else? House.

"Jimmy, you have to do a lumbar-" he started and paused, lifting his eyes from a patient chart to look at his flushed best friend with one of his doctors perched on his lap.

A smirk broke into his face and you blushed wildly too, same shade as Wilson.

"It's not what you think." Wilson blabbered out quickly and House just took a small step back with his cane, and opened the door again.

"I wonder how you managed to make him do something like that at work." he bit sarcastically.

"I'll let you get back at it. But I am gonna need all the juicy details later."

And with that he closed the door, leaving you to bury your face in your boyfriend's neck.

"So I guess I forgot to lock the door." you muttered against his collarbone.

He knew you weren't prepared for his urges. But how could he refuse you, his delicate dove, who was agreeing to give into his indulgence?

Perhaps, it was too soon that you asked for it. Because you certainly could not keep up with it.

His hand held onto your shoulder. The other held your hips. the skin denting from applied pressure from his fingers. Already red, perhaps black and blue the next morning.

The sound of skin against skin echoed the walls. Your body jerking forward with every slap of his hips against yours. The room also filled with your cries.

Hands pushing on his thighs, pushing him away. This annoyed Hannibal. His hands left your shoulders and cupped your jaw. Pulling you up, to his chest. Your head against his shoulder as he looked.

He could cum just at the sight of you. Tears running down. Lips bruised from the pressured kisses. Some markings already created from where he nipped before. Mine.

"shh— don't resist, love", he whispered against your ear. His words breathy and airy. You could feel the strained breaths against your now sensitive skin. A shiver running down her whole body. The sheen layer of sweat doing nothing to subside it.

"you wanted this, Didn't you?", he continued. His hips still moving. You could feel the tip dragging across your already bruised inner walls. Your whines get louder.

God, he would have enjoyed those little whimpers from you, any other time. But now, he needed to focus in the feel of you.

His hand slipped from your jaw to over your mouth. Trapping the noises against the barrier of his palm. "You look so beautiful, darling. So. . Pretty", he whispered against your neck.

Pressing kisses until he reached your ear again. "All mine to play with, right? All mine" he groaned. His hand splayed across your stomach as the rock of his hips got harder but slower.

Making you scream into his hand everytime he pushed into you after pulling all the way out. Hannibal leaned back slightly to look down, seeing his cock slip in and out so slowly. Like a sensual dance. Glistening against the low light like the pearls under the night sky.

He wanted to consume you. Ingest you so you'd be a part of him forever. Live in his skin, flesh, mind, heart. Wherever you could reach, he would be yours.

The thoughts ran across his mind. He could feel your tears against his hand. Oh, how he loved to see you broken down. Perhaps, he could never go back from this now.

He needed you like this. So pilant. Like a soft pillow against his sharpened edges. Taking him in with warmth.

Hannibal could feel himself near. His forehead resting against your shoulder. He could feel you trembling. His lips parted as he let out a sharp breath before painting your inner walls with his seed.

His hand slowly released around your mouth as it rested against your neck. He placed soft kisses on your jaw, "so good for me, dove."

He slowly pulled out as he carefully, with gentle caress laid you down against the sheets. Small whimpers left you. He laid besides you. His forehead against yours as he took another breath to calm himself.

"shh, I'm right here. It's alright. . . Always such a good girl for me" he whispered softly. His lips continued to place soft kisses against your cheek and forehead.

He pulled back as he looked at you. Eyes unfocused, lips parted, sweat looking like silver under the moonlight. His hand carefully brushed some of the damp hair away from your face. He got a taste of his urges and now he can't wait to indulge more.

a/n: I love requests. Keep them coming.