he chuckled, leaning in, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled like some ceo in a boardroom, “no, this is different. it’s about women. helping women, specifically…making sure they get what they deserve.”

you eye him warily, “that sounds like a threat…spit it out, suh.”

he took a deep breath, glancing away for a second as if mentally preparing himself. when he looked back, there was this fire in his gaze mixed with amusement.

“a clinic. called the orgasm donors. founded by me and the guys, you know who they are — we’d be the donors, of course. women will come in, pay for the service and we guarantee they leave satisfied. no strings, no bullshit. just pleasure.”

the words hung in the air, thick and electric, your mind racing to process. was he serious? a clinic for…orgasms? like some upscale spa, but instead of massages, it was…this?

“johnny, what the actual fuck?”

you finally managed, half-laughing because it had to be a joke, “you’re telling me you and your boys want to open a sex clinic? like, hookers with a business license?”

he didn’t even flinch, “not hookers. donors.” his voice dropped to that husky timbre that always made you listen a little too closely, “it’s consensual, empowering. think about it. how many women go unsatisfied? we’d change that. discreet, safe, guaranteed results. and yeah, paid. but it’s not just about the money, it’s about fixing a real problem,” his hands gestured, emphasizing every point, his passion a little too infectious.

you shifted on the couch, “and you’re….what? the poster boy for this? the first donor?”

a grin tugged at his lips, slow and wicked, “damn, right. but…every idea needs a trial run…someone to test the waters, make sure it works before we go public.”

“test the waters,” you mumble, your brain already connecting the dots, knowing exactly where your best friend’s mind is headed, “with…who?”

his eyes softened, but that cheshire smirk on his lips never wavered, “well…that’s why i’m telling you about it, i was hoping you could test it out?”

you laughed. loudly. awkwardly. the sound burst out, sharp and disbelieving, echoing off the walls. but as seconds ticked by and johnny just watched, arms crossed, that steady gaze unwavering, the humor drained away.

“fuck. you’re actually serious?”

“do i look like i’m joking?” he says, his voice dropping an octave, laced with challenge.

“johnny what the actual hell!? you want us to have sex!?” you say, the words tumbling out blunt and breathless, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“yes. but it’s for science. nothing else.”

“we’ve known each other since we were fourteen.”

“exactly why you’d be the perfect first client, i know you won’t let anything slide that easily, and you’ll actually criticize what’s wrong.”

“this is crazy.”

“c’mon…for science, doctor y/n,” he convinces, his smirk widening, his voice dripping like honey.

“i’m not a doctor yet,” you mumble, half-protest, half-tease.

“yet.” he repeats, “but you will be. and hey, if this becomes successful, i’ll even put your name on it. if not, the world will never know.”

and somehow, somehow, no matter how batshit crazy this is all sounding. he’s convinced you. like he usually does.

you nod slowly, a rush of adrenaline flooding your veins, “okay…fine, do we do it now or?”

he smiles, that slow, knowing curve of his lips pulling wider, eyes gleaming with triumph, “no, meet me at the clinic tomorrow. 7pm.”

you look at him with wide eyes, the reality crashing in like a wave, “you guys already have a building?”

he just nods, still smirking, a little too pleased with himself.

“fuck, you’re really serious.”

✚ THE CLINIC ✚

you pull up to the address johhny texted, your nerves buzzing as the building draws nearer — a subtle signage that reads orgasm donors in minimalist font comes to view. no neon, no sleaze, it could pass for a high-end spa if you squint.

but — as you push through the heavy door at exactly 7:00pm — the illusion shatters.

bright white walls assault your eyes first, sterile and unrelenting under the harsh fluorescent lights that hum overhead angrily. the air smells faintly of antiseptic, cool and clinical, with zero warmth to soften the edges. your eyes water from the flare, a sharp sting that makes you blink hard.

you part your lips to voice the critique bubbling up, but then johnny shows up, coming from a side door.

your best friend has swapped his usual grey joggers for tailored black slacks and a black button down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing those veined forearms that flex as he gestured you forward. his hair’s styled back but a few strands rebel, giving him that effortless edge.

“hey,” he greets, voice low and teasing, “right on time. come on back.”

“this lighting,” you start, the words spilling out before you can stop them, “it’s like staring into the sun. how are your clients supposed to–”

he holds up a hand, stopping you mid-sentence, “please save all criticism for the end of the session,” he says, firm but with that signature smirk tugging his lips, like he’s already anticipating your roast.

he knew you too well. knew that the two of you would never get anything done if you started your critics already.

you roll your eyes, the gesture dramatic enough to convey your exasperation. “fine.” you mutter, biting back the flood of suggestions.

mental note: this place should feel relaxing the second you step in. dim lights, softer hues on the wall, plush seating, maybe some ambient music or scented humidifiers. anything to ease into the vibe. not this doctor’s office nightmare that screams ‘pap smear incoming.’ it’s killing the mood before it even starts.

as you follow him down a short hallway, taeyong’s voice cuts through like a burst of sunlight. he pops out from what must be a prep room, all eager energy and bright smile, dressed in a similarly professional getup — slim-fit shirt hugging his lean frame with pants that accentuates his build.

“y/n! thank you so much for doing this for us. we know it’s a lot to ask.”

he steps closer, clasping your hands briefly in his. cool palms, gentle squeeze, his enthusiasm genuine, almost boyish, a stark contrasts to the room’s chill. you can’t help but soften a fraction, even as your brain whirs with more critiques.

“it’s…unconventional but i am curious,” you admit, smiling at him.

taeyong nods thankfully while johnny’s smirk deepens, his hand brushing your lower back to guide you inside one of the doors in the private rooms.

✚ THE APPOINTMENT ✚

johnny’s hand lingers a beat too long on your lower back as he nudges you through the door, clicking it shut behind him.

the inside is no better than the lobby — worse, even. the lights blaze down like surgical spotlights, white and merciless, making your skin prickle. you squint against the glare, blinking away the burn as your eyes adjust to the setup.

in the corner, sits a white table, bare except for a single chair tucked under it. but dominating the center of the room?

a doctor’s examination table.

padded in white paper, complete with stirrups at the end — straight out of a routine check-up. the kind where you brace for a cold speculum and awkward small talk about your last period.

no silk sheets, no mood lighting, no hint of the erotic promise johnny was hyping up. just clinical efficiency that screams spread ‘em for science.

you spin on your heels, dress swishing against your thighs and lock eyes with johnny. he’s leaning against the wall now, arms crossed over his chest, that expectant gaze pinning you in place. his dark eyes search your face, trying to gauge your thoughts.

“what the fuck?”

the words burst out of you, sharp and unfiltered, echoing off the sterile walls. your hands plant on your hips, “this is your big seduction setup? i feel like i’m here for a pap smear, not…whatever the hell this is supposed to be? this seems like a goddamn ob-gyn’s perverted wet dream.”

johnny pushes off the wall, closing the distance with that unhurried stride, his presence filling the room like he owns every inch of it. he doesn’t laugh it off like he usually would have. instead, his lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, the kind that’s both challenge and command.

“trust the process, y/n,” he says, voice dropping low, smooth as velvet. his hand finds your elbow, guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the examination table.

“sit. let’s start slow. you’re the client. i’m your…donor.”

you huff a breath, but his grip firms enough, until you’re sitting on the table, legs dangling off the table.

“this is insane,” you blurt out, voice laced with sarcasm as the paper crinkles under your weight, “not hot. not even a little. it’s like role-playing a doctor’s visit gone wrong and—”

he steps between your knees then, hands settling on your thighs, light at first, thumbs trading idle circles that send an unwelcome shiver racing up your spine, shutting you up.

a decade long friendship, and you’ve never been this close before. he smells like clean soap and that faint cologne you’ve memorized, a reminder of lazy afternoons and shared secrets, now twisted into this bizarre from of intimacy.

“feet up,” he instructs, nodding toward the stirrups, his tone professional but laced with heat, eyes never leaving yours, “we need to make sure you’re….comfortable.”

your breath hitches, a mix of resistance and reluctant curiosity bubbling up. you swing your legs up, heels clicking into the metal holds, the position splaying you wide — vulnerable, exposed, even with your dress still hiked modestly to mid thigh.

you clench you jaw before speaking again. “i can’t believe i’m doing this,” you say, more to yourself, the words tumbling out as you meet his gaze defiantly.

he gives you one last smile, his famous cheshire smile this time, a little comforting, before one of his hand slowly slid under your dress, inching it upward with deliberate slowness. no rush, no fumbling. leaving goosebumps behind.

“see? not so bad,” he murmurs, voice husky now. the tension builds, your muscles stiffening under his touch and despite the weirdness — a traitorous warmth pools low in your belly.

he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear, “relax. i got you.”

his fingers brush the edge of your panties, testing, teasing the fabric aside just enough to graze bare skin. you hold your breath, your body bucking up to his touch, betraying the sarcasm still sharp on your tongue, “this better be good, johnny. or your whole empire’s dead on arrival,” you warn him breathlessly.

“this will be good,” he says confidently, having full-faith in this idea, “—now lie back.”

his voice is steady and reassuring as he gently pushes you down onto the table.

the crinkly paper rustles beneath you, cool against your back, and you let your head rest on the thin padding, staring up at the blinding lights that make everything feel too clinical.

johnny’s hands move with purpose, hooking into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your thighs, over your knees, past the stirrups.

the fabric whispers against your skin before he lets it drop to the floor with a soft thud, leaving you bare from the waist down, dress bunched up around your hips.

and with absolutely no warning — his head dips between your legs and his mouth finds your pussy in one bold motion, tongue flattening against your folds, licking a slow, firm stripe from bottom to top.

the sudden wet heat shocks you, pulling a gasp from your throat as your hips jerk involuntarily.

you didn’t think he’d just go for it like that — straight to the main event, no buildup, his lips sealing around your clit with a suck that sends a jolt through your core.

you try to close your eyes, forcing yourself to sink into the sensation, to let the rhythm of his tongue — circling, flicking, probing deeper — pull you under. but the harsh lights pierce through your eyelids, the sterile scent of the room clings to everything and the awkwardness clings to everything.

this might be someone’s wet dream. but it was definitely not yours.

your body responds, wetness gathering, but no real fire catching. your mood refuses to ignite.

after a couple of minutes, the frustration builds too high. you push at his head, fingers threading into his hair to lift him away.

“stop—johnny, this isn’t working.”

he pulls back immediately, lips glistening, eyes wide with slight shock as he straightens up between your thighs, “fuck….i never had a girl say that to me before.”

you roll your eyes as you sit, your hands behind your back holding you up, amusement cutting through the tension despite yourself, “it’s not…you.”

he quirks a brow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, curiosity sharpening his gaze, “then what is it?”

you think for a bit, “you just…you can’t start it like that. and this room is not helping. you need to get me in the mood first.”

“okay,” he nods, “got any tips on how i can do that for you?” he asks, actually invested, leaning his hands beside your hips, his body heat a welcome contrast to the chill in the air, almost caging you.

“hmm,” you ponder, biting your lip as you glance up at him, the defiance softening into something more collaborative, “maybe start with kissing me?”

“i can definitely do that,” he says, voice dropping low, that cheshire smile flickering back as he closes the distance. his hand slide up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek, you share one last look of confirmation and then his mouth is on yours — soft at first, testing, lips pressing with warmth that chases away the sterile cold of the room.

you’d never thought you would be kissing your best friend of ten years like this, tongues tangling in a way that’s equal parts familiar and forbidden. but then again, you’d never thought he would have his tongue on your pussy first. you can taste a hint of you on his lips.

and surprisingly, it’s not as awkward as you’d imagined.

johnny is a good kisser. really good. his lips move with confident ease, parting yours to deepen the connection, his tongue sliding in to stroke against yours in slow, deliberate sweeps that make your pulse quicken.

the two of you find a rhythm really fast, breaths mingling as the kiss builds from tentative to hungry. one of your hands come up to fist his shirt, pulling him closer until his chest presses against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric.

a soft moan escapes you, vibrating into his mouth and he answers with a low grunt, his grip shifting to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you both.

the kiss heats up, turning messy and urgent — teeth grazing lips, tongues dueling as you tilt your head for better access.

your legs are still wide open, held up by the stirrups, the hard line of his cock pressing through his pants against your bare core, sending sparks up your spine.

one of his hands make’s their way to your thigh, lightly squeezing, thumb circling the exposed skin where your dress rides up, pulling you into the friction as quiet moans spill from your lips, raw and unrestrained.

you were definitely turned on now.

you break for air first, barely, your forehead resting against his, breaths ragged, eyes closed, “johnny—” you murmur, voice breathless and whiny, “you can touch me now.”

“anything you want,” he says, smirking, voice husky as his hand slides under your dress. fingers finding your clit with unnerving precision.

he rubs slow circles over the bud, the slick heat between your legs betraying just how turned on you are now — your pussy coating his fingertips as he presses firmer, parting your folds and teasing your entrance.

you can’t help but pull him back into the makeout session, lips crashing against his desperately, tongues sliding wet and frantic.

then — two thick digits thrust into you, shallowly at first, the initial intrusion making you gasp into his mouth. his fingers felt so fulling already. nothing like the way yours feel when you touch yourself. his hits deeper, perfectly curling to stroke that sensitive spot that makes your hips buck against his hand.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts against your lips, eyebrows a bit furrowed as his fingers stretch your walls with each plunge, scissoring them apart and grazing every ridge inside you.

“holy shit — johnny,” you cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, the building heat coiling tighter, your body arching involuntarily.

then his thumb flicked back and forth over your clit — and your muscles weaken, spine going liquid. you can’t hold yourself up anymore. with a gasp into his mouth, you slump back onto the examination table, the cool paper crinkling under your shoulders as you pull him down with you, his body following without missing a beat.

he hovers over you, his free hand planting beside your head to steady himself while the other keeps driving into your pussy, faster now, curling just right, hitting your g-spot with deliberate force.

“johnny—oh god, right there,” you whimper, head falling back, as you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts, chasing the friction that’s turning your insides to fire.

johnny’s breath fans hot against your neck, lips brushing your ear, “that’s it, feel how you’re squeezing me? so fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, encouraging, the stretch burning sweetly while his fingers fuck you deeper, knuckles bumping your clit with every slam.

“fuck—fuck—fuck—” you squeeze your eyes shut as the pressure builds unbearably fast, your pussy clenching around him.

he doesn’t let up, his fingers relentlessly curling inside you, thumb circling your swollen clit in tight loops that make your toes curl on the table. if it weren’t for the stirrups holding you open, your legs would definitely be squeezing shut to gain a moment of relief.

“breathe through it, baby,” johnny murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

the pet name hits you like a spark, spiraling through you, twisting the building orgasm into something deeper, more consuming. your walls flutter and tighten even more around his invading fingers, a sharp, involuntary squeeze that betrays how that single pet name pushes you closer to the edge.

he feels it immediately — the way you clamp down on him, hot and slick, your body pulsing in rhythm with his words. he can’t help but feel smug.

“gonna get you all ready for me,” he grunts, a low growl rumbles from his throat. then he adds a third finger, stretching you even more, his eyes locked on your flushed face, drinking in every twitch and whimper.

“let it build, baby—fuck, you’re gonna come so hard,” he growls, his fingers curling harder, faster.

your breaths come in sharp gasps now as the edge rushes closer, your walls continuing to flutter around his digits.

“johnny—,” you moan his name, the sound breaking from your throat raw and desperate, just as the wave crests, ripping through you like a storm.

your first orgasm hits you like a brick as you gush slick that soaks his hand and drops onto the table beneath you, staining the paper as he milks out every last shudder from you.

“that’s it baby, cum all over my fingers,” he says darkly, a small smirk on his face as your pussy spasms wildly around his fingers.

after a moment, johnny eases his fingers out slowly, his hand glistening with your release, spreading it along your inner thigh, painting you with your own cum.

he watches you, that smug pride radiating from him like he’s just conquered something monumental.

your chest heaves, breaths coming in ragged bursts, and for a couple of seconds, he just lets you lie there, a hand massaging your thigh, stirring goosebumps along your skin and slowly pulling you back to reality.

when your eyes finally flutter open, hazy and unfocused — he’s right there. hovering closer, his cheshire grin in full force, way too proud like he’s won some secret bet against your skepticism.

he slides his clean hand under your back, the other still slick on your thighs, as he helps you sit up, removing your feet off the stirrups.

your legs dangle off the edge of the table again, weak and jelly-like, but his grip is steady, grounding.

“fuck,” you finally manage to say, “so what now?” you ask, voice breathy and a little wrecked, your gaze flicking down to where his fingers, still shiny from you, rest casually on your skin.

“well…” he hums, drawing it out low in his throat. he leans in a fraction, “we can keep going and i give you another one or…we can stop here. whatever you want — you tell me. that’s how this works, after all.”

fuck.

has your best friend always been this hot?

yes. but you’ve been ignoring that fact for ten years.

now — his words hit different and your mind is going crazy with the way his touch lingers, the warmth of his large hand still tracing lazy patterns on your thigh.

the heat in your belly hasn’t faded. in fact — it was stronger now. ready to flare at the slightest provocation.

you can feel the pull. that enticing ache building again, your body already craving the stretch, the friction — him.

and he sees it, clear as day — the calculations flickering across your face, the way your breath hitches when his fingers flex against you.

the skepticism since he first pitched this insane clinic idea cracking under the weight of what just happened — what he’s capable of pulling from you — with his hands alone.

the appeal hits you like a revelation. this isn’t some clinical farce. it’s raw, unfiltered pleasure tailored just for you. no judgments. no expectations beyond chasing the next high. your body hums with it, that post-orgasm flow sharpening into hunger, and yeah...maybe you were starting to get it now. as ridiculous as it sounds.

he smirks wider, tilting his head, eyes dark and knowing and you know he’s enjoying this a little bit too much.

“what’s it gonna be, doctor?”

your pulse thuds in your ears, the sterile hum of the clinic fading into white noise as you meet his gaze, the defiance from earlier melting into something hungrier.

“fuck it,” you say, the words tumbling out, your voice steadier than you feel, “keep going.”

johnny’s grin turns predatory, satisfaction flashing in his eyes, “good choice.”

“but,” you start, shifting on the examination table, “i really don’t feel comfortable on here…i feel like i’m a patient.”

he laughs at that, the sound low and genuine, rumbling from his chest as he skims the room quickly.

there’s not a lot of options — just the sterile exam setup and that table in the corner.

without a word, he scoops you up in one fluid motion, his large hands under your thighs, lifting you off the crinkled paper like you weight nothing. a surprised squeal escapes you, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance, legs wrapping instinctively around his hips.

“johnny!” you half-laugh, half-protest, but he’s already moving, placing you gently on the coner table — the surface firmer, less clinical, feels almost normal under your ass. your dress settling haphazardly around your hips.

“this better?” he asks, hands lingering on your waist.

“much,” you reply, smirking up at him, the shift in position grounding you, making this feel less like an experiment and more like….you two.

your fingers curl into his shirt collar, tugging him down as you lean in, crashing your lips against his in a kiss that’s all heat and no hesitation. he slots himself closer between your thighs without missing a beat, his hips pressing forward, the hard line of his erection grinding against your core through his pants, drawing a muffled moan from you into his mouth.

you break the kiss just enough to tease, your breath mingling with his, “now…my donor,” you say, throwing his own word back at him with a playful lilt, your hand sliding down the planes of his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs under the thin fabric, feeling them flex under your touch.

“is cumming on your dick allowed?”

“that’s what i’m here for, doll,” he murmurs by your ear, voice a rough whisper that sends shivers racing down your spine, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there before nipping lightly.

if you didn’t already cross it before, you were definitely about to cross the line best friends shouldn’t even be teetering on now.

but hey…it’s all in the name of science! right?

his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, the friction of his clothed cock rubbing tight where you’re aching, your slickness soaking through to dampen the front of his pants. you arch into him, grinding back with a deliberate roll of your hips, the tease turning urgent as your fingers dip lower, fumbling with his belt buckle.

the metal clinks softly in the quiet room. he doesn’t stop you. in fact, he helps pop the button, shoving his pants and boxers down to his ankles, his cock springing free — already hard, thick and heavy and so…so…big.

“oh….shit,” you breathe out, eyes widening as you take him in fully.

you had an inkling that your best friend was big, just by looking at the size of his hands, but fuck…he is much bigger than your brain could’ve even imagined. the length curves slightly upward, veins prominent along the shaft, the head flushed and glistening with pre-cum.

he smirks, that signature grin pulling at his lips again as he watches your reaction, “is that a good oh shit or a bad oh shit?”

“it’s an oh shit, i don’t think you’re gonna fit,” you say, half-joking, half-serious, your voice laced with a mix of awe and nerves.

and still, you can’t help yourself — your hand reaches out, wrapping around his length, squeezing the girth that barely fits in your palm.

he lets you stroke him slowly, from base to tip, then again, feeling the heat of your fingers. a quiet hiss slipping from his lips at your touch, his hips twitching forward instinctively.

“don’t worry about that,” he grunts, eyes darkening as he stares down at where your hand works him, “i’ll make it fit.”

and then he’s slapping your hand away gently but firmly, taking control as he aligns himself against your entrance. the broad head of his cock pressing against your folds, parting them with ease, coating him with your slick, as he circles his leaking tip around your pulsing clit.

your breath catches in your throat, stomach already clenching from want. but before you could lose entirely, you push him back a bit with your palms on his chest, heart pounding.

“wait…we’re doing this without a condom?”

he rolls his eyes, amusement flickering in his gaze, but there’s no impatience in it.

“i know for a fact you’re on birth control…unless you prefer it with a condom?”

you shake your head no, the idea of that barrier suddenly feeling wrong, but practicality continues to nag at you.

“no, but what if you get a client that isn’t on birth control? or god forbid, a client that isn’t clean?”

he chuckles, low and throaty, leaning in closer so his breath fans over your lips.

“well, they’re not the one’s i’m about to fuck right now, are they?…i’ll worry about it when that happens, but right now…it’s just me and you,” his voice drops, seductive and intimate, wrapping around the words like a promise, making the room feel smaller, warmer.

just the two of you in this sex bubble.

and before you could point out something else — his tip nudges at your entrance, sliding in with a slow, deliberate push.

it steals your breath, the stretch immediate and intense even with just the head breaching you.

he’s sooo fucking big, filling that first inch like it’s a challenge, your pussy yielding but clenching around the intrusion.

you gasp, sharp and involuntary, your fingers going up and tightening around his bicep, nails digging into the hard muscle there for purchase, your mouth open in a silent moan. the burn is sweet, bordering on too much, but your body responds on instinct, hips tilting up to take more, slick easing the way as he holds still, letting you adjust.

“easy,” he murmurs, one hand stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braces on the table, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of expression, “breathe, baby. you’re doing so good already — so fucking tight around me.”

the praise hits low, sending a fresh wave of heat through you and you nod, exhaling shakily as your force your muscles to relax. inch by inch, he sinks deeper, the thick length of him stretching your walls — it’s overwhelming, the fullness making your toes curl.

a low whine escapes your throat as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, his balls pressing warm against your ass.

“johnny—oh god,” you whimper, your head tipping back as you hold your weight up on the table. he’s already so fucking deep it’s sparking that spot inside you with pressure.

he groans in response, the sound raw and strained, like he’s holding back everything to give you this moment.

“see? fit’s perfect. told you.”

“now…you gotta tell me how you like it. this will only work if i know,” his voice is husky, edged with restraint.

you nod in response and he starts to move — pulling out just enough to let your pussy grip him on the way back in, building the rhythm slow and teasing. the drag of his cock sends sparks up your spine, each shallow thrust testing your reactions, his eyes locked on your face like he’s memorizing every gasp and twitch.

“you like that?” he asks, voice low and gravelly, rolling his hips in a gentle circle onces he’s fully seated again, grinding against your clit with the base of his shaft.

“mmm, yeah—deeper,” you breathe out, your hands sliding up his arms to anchor yourself, directing him with your words and the subtle lift of your hips, “angle it up a little…right there—fuck”

he adjusts on the next thrust, bringing one of your legs higher and settling it on his shoulder, and when the head of his cock nudges that perfect spot inside you — your eyes roll back so far you see stars.

a loud moan spills from your lips, unrestrained and needy, echoing off the walls, “oh shit, yes—johnny!”

the slow build shatters into something urgent, his thrusts gaining purpose as he chases that reaction again and again.

“faster,” you moan out, the word a desperate plea, your body already chasing the edge. he follows well, hips snapping forward with more force, hitting that spot faster and faster, each thrust driving the air from your lungs in sharp gaps.

his grip on your hip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise, holding you steady as he pounds into you.

“fuck doll, you feel so good,” he grunts, sweat beading on his forehead.

you try your best to meet his pace, pushing up with one of your heel planted on the table, your pussy clenching around him greedily. your fingers curling at the table behind you, knuckles white, trying your best to ground yourself as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core.

“don’t stop — oh god, johnny – just like that!”

the right sleeve of your dress falls of your shoulder mid-thrust, exposing more skin and it’s so hot to him — the disheveled look, the way you’re coming undone under him.

“fuck,” he growls at the sight, eyes raking over you hungrily before he reaches up and pulling both of your sleeves down completely. the fabric bunches at your waist, your black lace bra coming into view, the thin material doing little to hide your hardened nipples as your tits bounce up and down with every thrust, jiggling enticingly, drawing his gaze like a magnet.

“goddamn, look at you,” he rasps, thrusting deeper, his rhythm faltering for a second as he drinks in the view.

you grab one of his hands, trailing it up your body — over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs until he’s cupping your tit through the bra, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. the lace scratches against your skin, adding a teasing friction, and you arch into his palm with a whine.

“take it off,” you demand breathlessly. he doesn’t hesitate, one hand reaching for the hook and removing it swiftly, letting your tits spill free — heavy and flushed, nipples pebbled in the cool air. his large hand engulfs one breast, thumb flicking over your nipple, squeezing just hard enough to make you cry out.

“these are fucking perfect,” he grunts, leaning in closer, his thrusts never slowing as he continues to stimulate all your senses.

you pull him down for a kiss then, crashing your lips against his in a messy, open-mouthed clash. tongues tangle hot and desperate. you moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating between you and he answers with a deep grunt, hips continuing their thrusts even as your pussy flutters around him.

“johnny—fuck—i’m gonna—” your words break off in a gasp, the coil snapping without warning as you hold onto him for dear life.

and before you know it, you’re cumming all over his cock as your second orgasm hits.

“that’s it doll, cum all over me — just like that,” he groans, pounding through your orgasm with short, brutal thrusts, prolonging the bliss until you’re trembling, oversensitive and spent.

your body shakes, slick coating his length as he drives in one last time, grinding deep to feel every quiver.

he stops then, bringing your raised leg back down on the table but he doesn’t pull out — staying buried inside you, his cock twitching as he feels you pulse around him, making his breath hitch. the aftershocks hum through your nerves, sweat slicking your skin, his chest heaving against yours.

“think you can take more?” he asks, voice rough and low, his thumb stroking lazy circles on your hip as he watches your face, eyes dark with hunger.

you try to catch your breath, a light chuckle slipping out of you as your mind tries to catch up, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. a lazy smirk tugs at your lips despite the haze.

“fuck—i mean, isn’t that the purpose of this whole thing? we keep going until i say stop?”

he reflects your smirk, that grin flashing wide and wicked, “now, you’re starting to get it.”

with a gentle but firm grip, he slides out and helps you to your feet, your legs wobbling a bit. your dress, already bunched at your waist, slips completely to the floor, leaving you completely bare except for your heels. the cool air hits your flushed skin but his gaze rakes over you like fire.

“fuck—you’re so hot,” he says, the words raw and appreciative, hanging heavy in the air.

yeah, that best friend line has been completely obliterated.

heat creeps up your neck but before it can make you blush fully, you take two steps, closing the distance, hands reaching for his button down. your fingers work the buttons open one by one, trembling slightly from the exertion, revealing the hard planes of his chest down to his rock hard abs.

you’ve seen his abs plenty of times, considering johnny loves walking around your shared apartment shirtless half of the time. but seeing it this close — you can’t help but admire, biting your lip as your nails graze down each line.

“like what you see?” he teases, an amused grin on his lips.

you roll your eyes playfully before shoving the shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside, leaving him naked too — his cock still hard and glistening with your release, jutting out thick and demanding.

he watches you the whole time, arms loose at his sides, that intense stare making your pulse kick up again.

and when you’re done — he tilts your jaw up with two fingers, pulling you into a breathless kiss, your neck craning up as his lips crash softly at first, then deeper, tongues sliding slow and filthy.

before you can melt into it fully — he breaks away. spinning you around with a hand on your waist.

your palms slap against the cool wall. he presses in close, body caging yours, cock nudging between your thighs from behind.

with no warning — he thrusts back in with one smooth, powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt in your soaked pussy.

no easing in this time. now that he knows you can handle him.

the sudden fullness rips a sharp cry from your throat, your walls stretching around him again, the angle hitting deeper than before.

“johnny—ahh, fuck!” you gasp, forehead pressing to the wall as your body arches instinctively, heels scraping the floor for purchase, your tits squeezed against it.

it’s intense — the way he fills you up so completely, reigniting the fire that barely dimmed.

he doesn’t give you time to adjust, hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm, fucking you against the wall with grunts that vibrate through his chest into your back.

each thrust jolts you forward, tits scraping the surface, the friction adding sparks to the overwhelming pressure building for the third time.

“so fucking perfect like this — you can take it like a good girl, yeah?” he growls, one hand splaying across your stomach, holding you upright as your legs start to feel like jelly, knees buckling under the force.

his hold on you is so strong that he’s practically lifting you up. the tip of your heels the only thing touching the ground below you.

you whimper, at a loss for words, your teeth clenched so hard as you try your best not to break so quickly.

but he’s got you pinned, his grip firm on your belly and god, you can feel it — his hand pressing down on your stomach, the bulge of his cock moving beneath your skin with every plunge, the sheer size of him outlined through your abdomen.

it’s obscene, intoxicating, spurring you both on like a dirty secret.

“shit — shit — johnny, i can feel you — so deep —fuck — you’re huge,” you moan, the words spilling out in a haze, your pussy clenching harder at the though, slick dripping down your thighs.

“yeah, baby you like that?” he rasps, voice deep but strained with effort, “that’s me owning this pussy,” his fingers splaying wider over your stomach to push into the ridge forming there.

his other hand slides up to grip your hair, pulling you back onto him harder, making your eyes roll back as the slap of skin echo louder in the room. your legs are trembling, barely holding you, but he keeps you steady, bouncing you on his cock, his groans right by your ear as he watches the way your body yields to him.

“gonna make you feel every inch—cum again for me, doll.”

the pressure builds impossibly quick, your breaths coming in pants, your hand coming down to grip the arm around your stomach for support, every thrust sending jolts through you until you’re teetering on the edge once more, lost in the raw, pounding heat of him. his bulge under your skin a constant reminder of how deeply he’s claiming you.

it hits like a freight train — your third orgasm crashes over you so hard you can’t even make a noise anymore, mouth falling open in a silent scream as your body seizes.

you’re sure a vein in your forehead is popping as your vision blurs at the edges, legs giving out completely as he lets you slump against the wall, held up only by his unyielding grip, the intensity leaving you boneless and dazed.

johnny pulls back just enough too look at you — smug as hell, eyes gleaming with triumph as he takes in your wrecked state.

“look at you — so beautiful when you come apart for me,” he murmurs by your ear, voice sweet yet thick with satisfaction.

but he’s far from done.

his cock is still rock-hard, throbbing inside you.

he doesn’t give you time to fully process the aftershocks, easing out with a wet slide before manhandling you again.

your gasp echoes as he guides you back to the corner table, bending you over it, face-down, tits pressed into the surface, ass up and exposed.

the position leaves you vulnerable, body still humming from the high, your mind foggy, trying to string thoughts together amid the haze of bliss and exhaustion.

he leans over you, chest to your back, his breath hot against your ear as he cages you in, “i think you can take one more,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell, the words laced with dark promise, as he parts your legs wider.

you’re so fucked out, words fail you — so you just nod, an incoherent yes that comes out as a whimper, head lolling to the side.

that’s all he needs.

“good girl.”

in one motion, he lines up and thrusts back inside, cock spearing into your soaked heat with a slick squelch.

you’re not sure it was possible, but the new angle hits even deeper, bottoming out against your cervix. and johnny — he doesn’t hold back.

he fucks you faster, harder, the pace relentless as his hips slam against your ass, the table creaking under the force. each thrust is punishing, building that impossible tension again.

you’re a mess.

drool slips from the corner of your mouth onto the table, screams tearing from your throat in broken cries of—

“johnny–johnny—johnny—fuck!”

your hands flail back, reaching desperately to hold onto him for dear life, fingers clawing at his thighs, pulling him closer even as it overwhelms you.

the room fills with the obscene sounds of skin meeting skin, your pussy slurping around him, the air thick with the scent of sex.

then his hand snakes around, fingers finding your throbbing clit, rubbing tight, firm circles — rough and precise, no mercy.

“c’mon baby, let go,” he practically growls, voice rough with his own building strain.

it’s too much, the dual sensation shattering you.

“no—wait—fuck, i can’t—” you babble, but your body betrays you, the pressure exploding outward.

your pussy convulses violently, pushing him out with a gush as you squirt all over him — hot jets of your juices spraying across his cock, stomach, and the floor in messy arcs, soaking everything in sight.

the release of your fourth orgasm drags a guttural moan from deep in your chest, body shaking uncontrollably as you collapse forward, utterly spent.

the way you squeezed him, the sight of you squirting, marking him in the rawest way — it all pushes johnny right to the edge, his eyes locked on the way your body erupts and the next second he’s groaning low and deep.

“shit—i’m cumming,” he rasps, stroking himself furiously, ropes of thick cum painting your lower back in hot, sticky bursts of white.

the warmth splatters across your skin, dripping down your skin as the top half of his body weight falls on you, pressing you into the table.

he holds himself up only with his elbows braced on either side, caging you in completely, his chest heaving against your back.

your shared moans of release echo in the room, the only sound breaking the heavy silence, raw and intertwined, as you both ride out the aftershocks.

his cock twitches against your ass, spent but still pulsing, while your walls flutter emptily, aching from intensity.

after a minute or three, the tremors fade and you turn around slowly, wincing at the soreness blooming between your thighs.

johnny straightens up, concern flicking in his eyes as he lifts you back onto the table with gentle hands, sitting you down carefully.

you lean into him without thinking, head finding comfort in the solid warmth of his chest, ear pressed to the rapid thump of his heartbeat slowing to a steady rhythm. his arms wrap around you loosely, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your bare back, tracing lazy patterns over the sweat-slick skin.

he breaks the silence first, voice soft and tentative, “did i hurt you?”

you shake your head no, nuzzling closer for a moment before pulling away just a bit, enough to meet his gaze. a teasing smile tugs at your lips despite the exhaustion.

“sooo….now that you came, does that mean the session is over? how does that work?”

he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, that familiar cheshire grin returning but softer now, less predatory.

“no…it’s only over once the client say it’s over.”

you quirk a brow, the words sinking in.

yeah, you definitely see the appeal of this whole thing now.

maybe your best friend is a genius after all — turning mind-melting ecstasy into a moneymaking business.

“do you want to keep going?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts, his thumb still stroking your skin.

you laugh at that, the sound light and breathless, your head falling back into his chest, “no, fuck…i’m so tired i just want to sleep it off.”

he laughs too, the vibration soothing against you, “so no reviews for today?”

you smirk up at him, playful, “oh, i got reviews…plenty of complaints too…but let’s save it for tomorrow.”

he laughs again, genuine and warm and when you yawn, wide and unapologetic, that’s when he nods, “okay, let’s go home,” he says softly, helping you slide off the table.

his touch is careful as he gathers your discarded clothes, kneeling briefly to slip your underwear back up your legs, fingers grazing your thighs with tenderness. he clasps your bra into place next, hooking it efficiently before easing your dress over your head, smoothing the fabric down your body like he’s done it a hundred times.

you watch him dress himself too, that easy confidence back in place. then he takes your hand, leading you out of t he room, the door clicking shut behind you on the echo of what just happened.

“wait–,” you say, pausing mid-step, “do we just…leave our mess in there?”

he chuckles, pulling you towards the lobby, “don’t worry about it, we’ll have someone clean it up,” he says, still holding your hand for some reason, fingers intertwined loosely, like it’s the most natural thing after everything.

taeyong’s head pops out from behind the computer at the front desk, his eyes lighting up with excitement when he spots the two of you.

“was it okay?” taeyong asks curiously, observing the way you’re leaning into johnny’s side, the subtle flush still on your cheeks.

“yeah, actually,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips, and the two men share a look — quick, loaded, like yeah, this business is going to work.

there’s a spark of triumph there, the kind that says they’ve just tested the waters and found them perfect.

taeyong smiles, sliding a sleek black bag across the counter then, “as our first ever client, you should be the first to have this,” he says, pushing it toward you with a wink.

you quirk a brow, curiosity piqued, letting go of johnny’s hand to grab the bag and peer inside. your fingers close around soft fabric, pulling out a hoodie — white, oversized, with the words orgasm donor printed boldy across the chest in block letters.

“wow,” you say, bursting into laughter, “you guys even have merch?”

the two of them laugh with you, the sound filling the lobby, light and infectious, “what can we say?” johnny says, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, “we’re really serious about this.”

you shake your head, still chuckling as you fold the hoodie back into the bag, the absurdity of it all hitting just right after the intensity of the session.

and with johnny’s arm still slung over your shoulder you head out of the clinic together.

✚ THE REVIEWS ✚

you two didn’t make it very far last night, the weight of exhaustion crashing down the moment you stepped through the apartment door. the couch became your makeshift bed — clothes half shed, the orgasm donor hoodie swallowing you whole paired only with your panties underneath.

meanwhile, johnny stripped down to his boxers, collapsing beside you with a contented sigh, an arm under your head as sleep claimed you both in seconds. it’s not like the two of you haven’t fallen asleep together on this couch multiple times before.

now, the morning light filters through the half-drawn blinds, pulling you away first. your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the familiar clutter of the living room.

johnny’s still out cold next to you, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, his hair tousled across his forehead. he looks like your johnny — peaceful, almost boyish, a far cry from the commanding presence he wore yesterday.

a faint ache lingers between your thighs — a reminder of what happened. but it’s not unpleasant. just a quiet echo of pleasure.

you sit up, reaching for the notebook and pen on the coffee table to jot down your thoughts from yesterday’s session.

after a while, the page fills and you set the notebook aside, glancing at johnny’s sleeping form.

you pat his stomach rapidly, “wake up,” you say, voice soft but insistent.

he groans, low and muffled, burrowing deeper into the cushion, “ugh…five more minutes.”

you roll your eyes, patting a little harder now, “do you want your feedback or not?”

that does it.

he sits up quickly, blinking against the light, rubbing a hand over his face as his sleepy eyes adjust slowly. stray sunlight catches the sharp line of his jaw, and yeah, he looks cute like this.

“fine, i’m up,” he sighs, voice gravelly from sleep.

for a split second, the memory of yesterday flickers back. you ignore the way your body feels hot while recalling it.

but you push it away, forcing your playful best friend nature to snap into place — the ease of a decade’s worth of banter overriding the fresh intimacy. like the two of you didn’t strip bare and chase ecstasy together just hours ago.

you sit up too, smirking, “alright, mr. serious businessman,” you tease, your notebook already open in front of you, “review time. and don’t interrupt until i’m done.”

he chuckles, settling back against the armrest legs stretching out to brush yours as you sit opposite from him.

“yes doc, lay it on me,” his eyes sparkle with that familiar mischief, but there’s a genuine curiosity there too, like he’s hanging on your every word already.

“one,” you start, tapping the pen against the paper for emphasis, “you gotta get rid of those harsh lights. make the lobby feel more like a nice, relaxing spa. and not a doctor’s clinic. seriously, it was like walking into a hospital. who wants to get off in there?”

he nods slowly, “fair. we were going for clinical precision but yeah, ambiance matters.”

“two – you need to know your clients. why are they coming in? what’s their purpose? what turns them on? and you need to cater the experience to them. because i’m telling you right now, johnny, the doctor’s office setup ya’ll have going on? sure, that might be someone’s fantasy. but not everyone’s. personally, i thought it was creepy.”

his eyebrows shoot up, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to defend the vibe, but you point the pen at him warningly.

“zip it. i know you’re thinking about role-play potential, but save it. this is about customization, not one-size-fits all.”

he closes his mouth, nodding again, though his eyes dance with amusement.

“three,” you continue, gaining momentum, your voice steady as you lean into the critique, “you need some sort of consent waiver or this whole thing can fire back on you fast.”

johnny’s expression turns serious for a beat, and he gives a firm nod, “already on the list, but noted.”

“four — the condoms thing? make sure everyone who signs up for your service is tested. same goes for your donors. and i highly suggest that every donor wears a condom. i mean, come on — health first, even in fantasy land.”

he shifts slightly, his leg pressing a bit more against yours, but he just hums in agreement, fingers drumming on his thigh.

“five – i’m sorry but the whole ‘we keep going until the client says stop,’ is bullshit okay? treat yourselves with respect too, just because you're selling this service doesn’t mean you can’t have lines as well. what happens if they want to fuck for 8 hours straight? it’s not plausible. set a limit. and if they’re not satisfied then i don’t know, maybe you can offer a partial refund.”

johnny chuckles softly, leaning in a bit “but what if—”

i “nope,” you cut him off, poking his knee with the pen, “limits protect everyone. end of story.”

he settles back, chuckling again, his gaze warm and attentive.

“six,” you say, flipping the page for effect, “reviews are important. i think you already know that. so keep implementing that. make it easy, anonymous if they want, and actually use the feedback to tweak things. it’s gold for building trust and improving.”

he nods enthusiastically this time, no attempt to speak, “i completely agree.”

“and lastly,” you finish with a grin, closing the notebook with a satisfied smirk, “i like the hoodie. it’s fun, comfy, cheeky — the perfect merch to make people laugh and remember the experience.”

johnny bursts out laughing at that, reaching over to ruffle your hair, “thanks for the reviews, doc,” he smirks as you two share a smile.

✚ END OF SESSION ✚

bonus scene:

“thanks for the reviews, doc,” he smirks, “but have i ever told you…how hot you get when you talk like that?”

he shifts closer on the couch, his body heat cutting through the morning chill, that grin widening as his knee nudges yours.

the air thickens, charged with the same electric pull from yesterday's session.

“all stern and commanding, my little know-it-all,” he murmurs, voice dropping low, his hand brushing your leg.

your pulse quickens, body leaning in before your brain catches up, heat pooling low in your belly. but you catch yourself, planting a hand on his chest.

“nu-uh, suh,” you say, pushing him back with a playful shove, though your voice wavers just a touch. “don't even think about it.”

he tilts his head, eyes gleaming with amusement, feigning innocence, “think about what?”

you smirk back, crossing your arms to hold your ground, “you're not starting a friends with benefits relationship with me when you're about to open a sex clinic.”

he laughs, deep and rumbling, the sound vibrating through you, “well…the clinic isn't open yet,” he teases, his hand sliding up your leg, to your thighs and settling on your hip, fingers digging in just enough to pull you closer across the cushions.

his touch is firm, insistent, drawing you into his orbit, your breath syncing with his.

“hmmm... i guess it isn't?” you murmur, the words half-question, half-surrender, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his gaze.

he knows he's got you — that smug spark in his eyes says it all.

in one smooth motion, he tugs you onto his lap.

then he plays with the hem of your hoodie, the two you of talking with your eyes as you give him the go signal.

he pulls the hoodie up and over your head, leaving you bare from the waist up, skin prickling in the cool air, your breasts bouncing free.

“review number two,” he says, voice husky, echoing your earlier words as he settles you onto his lap, straddling him, “know your client.”

“what about it?” you ask, breath hitching, trying to cling to that confident front even as your body betrays you, thighs clenching around his.

“does my client like getting her tits sucked?” he looks up at you, eyes still soft from sleep, but his words drip with filth, thumb circling your nipple teasingly.

you nod, swallowing hard, “she does.”

“good to know,” he growls, before his lips close around your nipple, hot and wet, tongue flicking the peak as he sucks hard. the pull sends a jolt straight to your core, your pussy clenching empty, already slick with want.

his free hand grips your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you down so you grind against the growing bulge in his boxers.

you moan, fingers threading into his messy hair, holding him there as he switches to the other breast, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with a swirl of his tongue.

“johnny—” you gasp, hips rocking instinctively, the friction of his hard cock pressing through the thin fabric making you ache.

this is definitely much hotter than yesterday. the couch a familiar place. making everything feel more intimate. real.

he hums against your skin, the vibration buzzing through you, then releases your nipple with a pop, looking up with that wicked smile.

“see? customizing the experience already. what else does she like? tell me, doc — guide me through it.”

his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you slightly so he can yank down his boxer enough to free his thick cock. it springs up, heavy and veined, brushing your inner thigh.

your mouth waters at the sight, that familiar stretch from yesterday flashing in your mind — the way he fills you so completely.

“she likes... you inside her,” you whisper.

he doesn’t waste another second, tugging your panties to the side, his tip nudging your wet folds.

“then take it baby, come on,” he groans, hands on your hips guiding you down slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretching your pussy wide.

the initial breach makes you whimper. you’re not too sure you could ever get used to his size.

you sink lower, feeling every ridge and vein as he claims more space inside you, your body trembling from the fullness, as he reshapes you to fit him all over again.

he's so deep, the tip pressing against your cervix, that overwhelming stuffed feeling making your toes curl — his size dominating every nerve, leaving no room for anything but him.

“god—johnny—,” you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind, his hands helping set the pace, thumbs digging into your skin to lift and drop you with control.

the size of him makes it intense, your thighs quivering from the effort, but the pleasure builds fast, that perfect friction against your inner walls amplified by how he stretches you so wide.

“just like that, baby—ride me just like that,” he pants, thrusting up to meet you, the slap of skin echoing in the quiet living room.

your breasts bounce with each bounce, and he captures one again, sucking as you ride him harder, chasing that building pressure.

you pick up speed, grinding down harder, your clit grinding against his pubic bone, the way his thick base rubs your entrance sending sparks through you.

“god, we should have done this years ago,” he growls against your skin, voice rough, his hips bucking up sharper now, driving deeper.

his words turn you on even more. you lean forward, hands on his chest for leverage, riding him harder, the rhythm turning frantic. your ass slaps against his thighs, the couch creaking under the force, and you feel him throb inside you, swelling even thicker, pushing your limits further.

and he meets your pace. fucking up into you faster and faster to the point your arms shake, falling forward, high-pitched moans spilling from your lips.

the coil tightens unbearably, your walls clamping down on his massive cock as he keeps thrusting up into you, his balls slapping your skin.

“johnny—i'm close,” you whine by his ear, the words tumbling out between gasps, your body on fire from how he fills you completely, no empty spaces, just pure, overwhelming sensation.

“me too, doll, fuck — come with me,” he grunts, his large hands squeezing your as as he continues his relentless pace, slamming you down onto him.

your body listens to him well, your orgasm ripping through you just like that. you cry out, nails digging into his skin, and he follows right after, groaning your name as his cock jerks, hot spurts of cum flooding your depths, painting your walls as you ride out the shared high together, bodies locked in shuddering release.

minutes pass in lazy silence, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his shoulder as the high fades into a warm, sated glow.

you lift your head, meeting his gaze, those dark eyes soft now, stripped of the earlier hunger but no less intense.

he’s still inside you, the weight of him a comforting pressure, your walls molded to his girth like they've forgotten how to let go.

gently, you reach up, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead, the strands sticking slightly to his skin from the sweat of your shared frenzy.

“you know, if you ever get tired of being a donor...” you say, the words trailing off with a knowing lilt, the implication hanging between you like an unspoken promise.

he chuckles low, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating where you're connected, making you shift slightly and feel him nudge deeper.

“i know where to find you,” he finishes your sentence, knowing you too well. his voice is rough from exertion but laced with that familiar tease, his hands stroking your back in slow, soothing circles.

you smile, leaning in closer, your nose brushing his, “mhm, you know where to find me,” you reply, the words sealing the quiet vow.

then he closes the gap, capturing your lips in one last, slow kiss — soft and unhurried, tongues tangling lazily as if savoring the taste of each other after the storm.

✚ THE ORGASM DONORS ARE NOW OPEN ✚

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

BONUS：#1. #2. #3. #4. #5. #6. #7. #8. #9. #10. #11. #12.

—

an: and the first founding father is done! anyone else hot and bothered rn? 🙈 because i was lowkey so horny every time i wrote for this 😇…i hope you liked donor johnny! let me know what you think! if you hate it please keep it to yourself i can’t handle hate rn bro mark just left nct 😐 ANYWAY, we go back to regular orgasm donor layout in the next stories! and a kind reminder: this whole entire concept is supposed to be silly! please don't take it too seriously :)

🩺 likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated

client tags: @nctateez @kkyeoji @maeyokt @valentine-night @binniesbabe @neotannies @boosk1es @hyunii0 @PL4NETX1A @soupbinlily @fancypeacepersona​ @jaeminiwrld @Kawaiislutt @mingoovdka @klowiishere @iluvgnabnahc @rex-ie @thisiswhyiwit @oonyourmmark @sung-ct @markiesfatbooty @kkkkkeonho @mikaaa14 @lovexjeno @vampyirx @lovesuhng @notmastyle @peonyjoo @roundedreveluv @severeanxietyissues @ajjunicesblog @shiningdery @shiningnono @thatrandogirl07 @chvngm1nz @prettyspeachyplease @Cottonjaems @yesohhsehun @jaemsprettygf @tinkerbellsgf @yutal0ver @meowieshibal @hjjjjjjku79999 @82fragilidad @neokoh @serpeverde005 @is4b3ll3s @yowmaman @aurilvs @mango-bear @channie127

he chuckled, leaning in, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled like some ceo in a boardroom, “no, this is different. it’s about women. helping women, specifically…making sure they get what they deserve.”

you eye him warily, “that sounds like a threat…spit it out, suh.”

he took a deep breath, glancing away for a second as if mentally preparing himself. when he looked back, there was this fire in his gaze mixed with amusement.

“a clinic. called the orgasm donors. founded by me and the guys, you know who they are — we’d be the donors, of course. women will come in, pay for the service and we guarantee they leave satisfied. no strings, no bullshit. just pleasure.”

the words hung in the air, thick and electric, your mind racing to process. was he serious? a clinic for…orgasms? like some upscale spa, but instead of massages, it was…this?

“johnny, what the actual fuck?”

you finally managed, half-laughing because it had to be a joke, “you’re telling me you and your boys want to open a sex clinic? like, hookers with a business license?”

he didn’t even flinch, “not hookers. donors.” his voice dropped to that husky timbre that always made you listen a little too closely, “it’s consensual, empowering. think about it. how many women go unsatisfied? we’d change that. discreet, safe, guaranteed results. and yeah, paid. but it’s not just about the money, it’s about fixing a real problem,” his hands gestured, emphasizing every point, his passion a little too infectious.

you shifted on the couch, “and you’re….what? the poster boy for this? the first donor?”

a grin tugged at his lips, slow and wicked, “damn, right. but…every idea needs a trial run…someone to test the waters, make sure it works before we go public.”

“test the waters,” you mumble, your brain already connecting the dots, knowing exactly where your best friend’s mind is headed, “with…who?”

his eyes softened, but that cheshire smirk on his lips never wavered, “well…that’s why i’m telling you about it, i was hoping you could test it out?”

you laughed. loudly. awkwardly. the sound burst out, sharp and disbelieving, echoing off the walls. but as seconds ticked by and johnny just watched, arms crossed, that steady gaze unwavering, the humor drained away.

“fuck. you’re actually serious?”

“do i look like i’m joking?” he says, his voice dropping an octave, laced with challenge.

“johnny what the actual hell!? you want us to have sex!?” you say, the words tumbling out blunt and breathless, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“yes. but it’s for science. nothing else.”

“we’ve known each other since we were fourteen.”

“exactly why you’d be the perfect first client, i know you won’t let anything slide that easily, and you’ll actually criticize what’s wrong.”

“this is crazy.”

“c’mon…for science, doctor y/n,” he convinces, his smirk widening, his voice dripping like honey.

“i’m not a doctor yet,” you mumble, half-protest, half-tease.

“yet.” he repeats, “but you will be. and hey, if this becomes successful, i’ll even put your name on it. if not, the world will never know.”

and somehow, somehow, no matter how batshit crazy this is all sounding. he’s convinced you. like he usually does.

you nod slowly, a rush of adrenaline flooding your veins, “okay…fine, do we do it now or?”

he smiles, that slow, knowing curve of his lips pulling wider, eyes gleaming with triumph, “no, meet me at the clinic tomorrow. 7pm.”

you look at him with wide eyes, the reality crashing in like a wave, “you guys already have a building?”

he just nods, still smirking, a little too pleased with himself.

“fuck, you’re really serious.”

✚ THE CLINIC ✚

you pull up to the address johhny texted, your nerves buzzing as the building draws nearer — a subtle signage that reads orgasm donors in minimalist font comes to view. no neon, no sleaze, it could pass for a high-end spa if you squint.

but — as you push through the heavy door at exactly 7:00pm — the illusion shatters.

bright white walls assault your eyes first, sterile and unrelenting under the harsh fluorescent lights that hum overhead angrily. the air smells faintly of antiseptic, cool and clinical, with zero warmth to soften the edges. your eyes water from the flare, a sharp sting that makes you blink hard.

you part your lips to voice the critique bubbling up, but then johnny shows up, coming from a side door.

your best friend has swapped his usual grey joggers for tailored black slacks and a black button down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing those veined forearms that flex as he gestured you forward. his hair’s styled back but a few strands rebel, giving him that effortless edge.

“hey,” he greets, voice low and teasing, “right on time. come on back.”

“this lighting,” you start, the words spilling out before you can stop them, “it’s like staring into the sun. how are your clients supposed to–”

he holds up a hand, stopping you mid-sentence, “please save all criticism for the end of the session,” he says, firm but with that signature smirk tugging his lips, like he’s already anticipating your roast.

he knew you too well. knew that the two of you would never get anything done if you started your critics already.

you roll your eyes, the gesture dramatic enough to convey your exasperation. “fine.” you mutter, biting back the flood of suggestions.

mental note: this place should feel relaxing the second you step in. dim lights, softer hues on the wall, plush seating, maybe some ambient music or scented humidifiers. anything to ease into the vibe. not this doctor’s office nightmare that screams ‘pap smear incoming.’ it’s killing the mood before it even starts.

as you follow him down a short hallway, taeyong’s voice cuts through like a burst of sunlight. he pops out from what must be a prep room, all eager energy and bright smile, dressed in a similarly professional getup — slim-fit shirt hugging his lean frame with pants that accentuates his build.

“y/n! thank you so much for doing this for us. we know it’s a lot to ask.”

he steps closer, clasping your hands briefly in his. cool palms, gentle squeeze, his enthusiasm genuine, almost boyish, a stark contrasts to the room’s chill. you can’t help but soften a fraction, even as your brain whirs with more critiques.

“it’s…unconventional but i am curious,” you admit, smiling at him.

taeyong nods thankfully while johnny’s smirk deepens, his hand brushing your lower back to guide you inside one of the doors in the private rooms.

✚ THE APPOINTMENT ✚

johnny’s hand lingers a beat too long on your lower back as he nudges you through the door, clicking it shut behind him.

the inside is no better than the lobby — worse, even. the lights blaze down like surgical spotlights, white and merciless, making your skin prickle. you squint against the glare, blinking away the burn as your eyes adjust to the setup.

in the corner, sits a white table, bare except for a single chair tucked under it. but dominating the center of the room?

a doctor’s examination table.

padded in white paper, complete with stirrups at the end — straight out of a routine check-up. the kind where you brace for a cold speculum and awkward small talk about your last period.

no silk sheets, no mood lighting, no hint of the erotic promise johnny was hyping up. just clinical efficiency that screams spread ‘em for science.

you spin on your heels, dress swishing against your thighs and lock eyes with johnny. he’s leaning against the wall now, arms crossed over his chest, that expectant gaze pinning you in place. his dark eyes search your face, trying to gauge your thoughts.

“what the fuck?”

the words burst out of you, sharp and unfiltered, echoing off the sterile walls. your hands plant on your hips, “this is your big seduction setup? i feel like i’m here for a pap smear, not…whatever the hell this is supposed to be? this seems like a goddamn ob-gyn’s perverted wet dream.”

johnny pushes off the wall, closing the distance with that unhurried stride, his presence filling the room like he owns every inch of it. he doesn’t laugh it off like he usually would have. instead, his lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, the kind that’s both challenge and command.

“trust the process, y/n,” he says, voice dropping low, smooth as velvet. his hand finds your elbow, guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the examination table.

“sit. let’s start slow. you’re the client. i’m your…donor.”

you huff a breath, but his grip firms enough, until you’re sitting on the table, legs dangling off the table.

“this is insane,” you blurt out, voice laced with sarcasm as the paper crinkles under your weight, “not hot. not even a little. it’s like role-playing a doctor’s visit gone wrong and—”

he steps between your knees then, hands settling on your thighs, light at first, thumbs trading idle circles that send an unwelcome shiver racing up your spine, shutting you up.

a decade long friendship, and you’ve never been this close before. he smells like clean soap and that faint cologne you’ve memorized, a reminder of lazy afternoons and shared secrets, now twisted into this bizarre from of intimacy.

“feet up,” he instructs, nodding toward the stirrups, his tone professional but laced with heat, eyes never leaving yours, “we need to make sure you’re….comfortable.”

your breath hitches, a mix of resistance and reluctant curiosity bubbling up. you swing your legs up, heels clicking into the metal holds, the position splaying you wide — vulnerable, exposed, even with your dress still hiked modestly to mid thigh.

you clench you jaw before speaking again. “i can’t believe i’m doing this,” you say, more to yourself, the words tumbling out as you meet his gaze defiantly.

he gives you one last smile, his famous cheshire smile this time, a little comforting, before one of his hand slowly slid under your dress, inching it upward with deliberate slowness. no rush, no fumbling. leaving goosebumps behind.

“see? not so bad,” he murmurs, voice husky now. the tension builds, your muscles stiffening under his touch and despite the weirdness — a traitorous warmth pools low in your belly.

he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear, “relax. i got you.”

his fingers brush the edge of your panties, testing, teasing the fabric aside just enough to graze bare skin. you hold your breath, your body bucking up to his touch, betraying the sarcasm still sharp on your tongue, “this better be good, johnny. or your whole empire’s dead on arrival,” you warn him breathlessly.

“this will be good,” he says confidently, having full-faith in this idea, “—now lie back.”

his voice is steady and reassuring as he gently pushes you down onto the table.

the crinkly paper rustles beneath you, cool against your back, and you let your head rest on the thin padding, staring up at the blinding lights that make everything feel too clinical.

johnny’s hands move with purpose, hooking into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your thighs, over your knees, past the stirrups.

the fabric whispers against your skin before he lets it drop to the floor with a soft thud, leaving you bare from the waist down, dress bunched up around your hips.

and with absolutely no warning — his head dips between your legs and his mouth finds your pussy in one bold motion, tongue flattening against your folds, licking a slow, firm stripe from bottom to top.

the sudden wet heat shocks you, pulling a gasp from your throat as your hips jerk involuntarily.

you didn’t think he’d just go for it like that — straight to the main event, no buildup, his lips sealing around your clit with a suck that sends a jolt through your core.

you try to close your eyes, forcing yourself to sink into the sensation, to let the rhythm of his tongue — circling, flicking, probing deeper — pull you under. but the harsh lights pierce through your eyelids, the sterile scent of the room clings to everything and the awkwardness clings to everything.

this might be someone’s wet dream. but it was definitely not yours.

your body responds, wetness gathering, but no real fire catching. your mood refuses to ignite.

after a couple of minutes, the frustration builds too high. you push at his head, fingers threading into his hair to lift him away.

“stop—johnny, this isn’t working.”

he pulls back immediately, lips glistening, eyes wide with slight shock as he straightens up between your thighs, “fuck….i never had a girl say that to me before.”

you roll your eyes as you sit, your hands behind your back holding you up, amusement cutting through the tension despite yourself, “it’s not…you.”

he quirks a brow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, curiosity sharpening his gaze, “then what is it?”

you think for a bit, “you just…you can’t start it like that. and this room is not helping. you need to get me in the mood first.”

“okay,” he nods, “got any tips on how i can do that for you?” he asks, actually invested, leaning his hands beside your hips, his body heat a welcome contrast to the chill in the air, almost caging you.

“hmm,” you ponder, biting your lip as you glance up at him, the defiance softening into something more collaborative, “maybe start with kissing me?”

“i can definitely do that,” he says, voice dropping low, that cheshire smile flickering back as he closes the distance. his hand slide up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek, you share one last look of confirmation and then his mouth is on yours — soft at first, testing, lips pressing with warmth that chases away the sterile cold of the room.

you’d never thought you would be kissing your best friend of ten years like this, tongues tangling in a way that’s equal parts familiar and forbidden. but then again, you’d never thought he would have his tongue on your pussy first. you can taste a hint of you on his lips.

and surprisingly, it’s not as awkward as you’d imagined.

johnny is a good kisser. really good. his lips move with confident ease, parting yours to deepen the connection, his tongue sliding in to stroke against yours in slow, deliberate sweeps that make your pulse quicken.

the two of you find a rhythm really fast, breaths mingling as the kiss builds from tentative to hungry. one of your hands come up to fist his shirt, pulling him closer until his chest presses against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric.

a soft moan escapes you, vibrating into his mouth and he answers with a low grunt, his grip shifting to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you both.

the kiss heats up, turning messy and urgent — teeth grazing lips, tongues dueling as you tilt your head for better access.

your legs are still wide open, held up by the stirrups, the hard line of his cock pressing through his pants against your bare core, sending sparks up your spine.

one of his hands make’s their way to your thigh, lightly squeezing, thumb circling the exposed skin where your dress rides up, pulling you into the friction as quiet moans spill from your lips, raw and unrestrained.

you were definitely turned on now.

you break for air first, barely, your forehead resting against his, breaths ragged, eyes closed, “johnny—” you murmur, voice breathless and whiny, “you can touch me now.”

“anything you want,” he says, smirking, voice husky as his hand slides under your dress. fingers finding your clit with unnerving precision.

he rubs slow circles over the bud, the slick heat between your legs betraying just how turned on you are now — your pussy coating his fingertips as he presses firmer, parting your folds and teasing your entrance.

you can’t help but pull him back into the makeout session, lips crashing against his desperately, tongues sliding wet and frantic.

then — two thick digits thrust into you, shallowly at first, the initial intrusion making you gasp into his mouth. his fingers felt so fulling already. nothing like the way yours feel when you touch yourself. his hits deeper, perfectly curling to stroke that sensitive spot that makes your hips buck against his hand.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts against your lips, eyebrows a bit furrowed as his fingers stretch your walls with each plunge, scissoring them apart and grazing every ridge inside you.

“holy shit — johnny,” you cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, the building heat coiling tighter, your body arching involuntarily.

then his thumb flicked back and forth over your clit — and your muscles weaken, spine going liquid. you can’t hold yourself up anymore. with a gasp into his mouth, you slump back onto the examination table, the cool paper crinkling under your shoulders as you pull him down with you, his body following without missing a beat.

he hovers over you, his free hand planting beside your head to steady himself while the other keeps driving into your pussy, faster now, curling just right, hitting your g-spot with deliberate force.

“johnny—oh god, right there,” you whimper, head falling back, as you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts, chasing the friction that’s turning your insides to fire.

johnny’s breath fans hot against your neck, lips brushing your ear, “that’s it, feel how you’re squeezing me? so fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, encouraging, the stretch burning sweetly while his fingers fuck you deeper, knuckles bumping your clit with every slam.

“fuck—fuck—fuck—” you squeeze your eyes shut as the pressure builds unbearably fast, your pussy clenching around him.

he doesn’t let up, his fingers relentlessly curling inside you, thumb circling your swollen clit in tight loops that make your toes curl on the table. if it weren’t for the stirrups holding you open, your legs would definitely be squeezing shut to gain a moment of relief.

“breathe through it, baby,” johnny murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

the pet name hits you like a spark, spiraling through you, twisting the building orgasm into something deeper, more consuming. your walls flutter and tighten even more around his invading fingers, a sharp, involuntary squeeze that betrays how that single pet name pushes you closer to the edge.

he feels it immediately — the way you clamp down on him, hot and slick, your body pulsing in rhythm with his words. he can’t help but feel smug.

“gonna get you all ready for me,” he grunts, a low growl rumbles from his throat. then he adds a third finger, stretching you even more, his eyes locked on your flushed face, drinking in every twitch and whimper.

“let it build, baby—fuck, you’re gonna come so hard,” he growls, his fingers curling harder, faster.

your breaths come in sharp gasps now as the edge rushes closer, your walls continuing to flutter around his digits.

“johnny—,” you moan his name, the sound breaking from your throat raw and desperate, just as the wave crests, ripping through you like a storm.

your first orgasm hits you like a brick as you gush slick that soaks his hand and drops onto the table beneath you, staining the paper as he milks out every last shudder from you.

“that’s it baby, cum all over my fingers,” he says darkly, a small smirk on his face as your pussy spasms wildly around his fingers.

after a moment, johnny eases his fingers out slowly, his hand glistening with your release, spreading it along your inner thigh, painting you with your own cum.

he watches you, that smug pride radiating from him like he’s just conquered something monumental.

your chest heaves, breaths coming in ragged bursts, and for a couple of seconds, he just lets you lie there, a hand massaging your thigh, stirring goosebumps along your skin and slowly pulling you back to reality.

when your eyes finally flutter open, hazy and unfocused — he’s right there. hovering closer, his cheshire grin in full force, way too proud like he’s won some secret bet against your skepticism.

he slides his clean hand under your back, the other still slick on your thighs, as he helps you sit up, removing your feet off the stirrups.

your legs dangle off the edge of the table again, weak and jelly-like, but his grip is steady, grounding.

“fuck,” you finally manage to say, “so what now?” you ask, voice breathy and a little wrecked, your gaze flicking down to where his fingers, still shiny from you, rest casually on your skin.

“well…” he hums, drawing it out low in his throat. he leans in a fraction, “we can keep going and i give you another one or…we can stop here. whatever you want — you tell me. that’s how this works, after all.”

fuck.

has your best friend always been this hot?

yes. but you’ve been ignoring that fact for ten years.

now — his words hit different and your mind is going crazy with the way his touch lingers, the warmth of his large hand still tracing lazy patterns on your thigh.

the heat in your belly hasn’t faded. in fact — it was stronger now. ready to flare at the slightest provocation.

you can feel the pull. that enticing ache building again, your body already craving the stretch, the friction — him.

and he sees it, clear as day — the calculations flickering across your face, the way your breath hitches when his fingers flex against you.

the skepticism since he first pitched this insane clinic idea cracking under the weight of what just happened — what he’s capable of pulling from you — with his hands alone.

the appeal hits you like a revelation. this isn’t some clinical farce. it’s raw, unfiltered pleasure tailored just for you. no judgments. no expectations beyond chasing the next high. your body hums with it, that post-orgasm flow sharpening into hunger, and yeah...maybe you were starting to get it now. as ridiculous as it sounds.

he smirks wider, tilting his head, eyes dark and knowing and you know he’s enjoying this a little bit too much.

“what’s it gonna be, doctor?”

your pulse thuds in your ears, the sterile hum of the clinic fading into white noise as you meet his gaze, the defiance from earlier melting into something hungrier.

“fuck it,” you say, the words tumbling out, your voice steadier than you feel, “keep going.”

johnny’s grin turns predatory, satisfaction flashing in his eyes, “good choice.”

“but,” you start, shifting on the examination table, “i really don’t feel comfortable on here…i feel like i’m a patient.”

he laughs at that, the sound low and genuine, rumbling from his chest as he skims the room quickly.

there’s not a lot of options — just the sterile exam setup and that table in the corner.

without a word, he scoops you up in one fluid motion, his large hands under your thighs, lifting you off the crinkled paper like you weight nothing. a surprised squeal escapes you, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance, legs wrapping instinctively around his hips.

“johnny!” you half-laugh, half-protest, but he’s already moving, placing you gently on the coner table — the surface firmer, less clinical, feels almost normal under your ass. your dress settling haphazardly around your hips.

“this better?” he asks, hands lingering on your waist.

“much,” you reply, smirking up at him, the shift in position grounding you, making this feel less like an experiment and more like….you two.

your fingers curl into his shirt collar, tugging him down as you lean in, crashing your lips against his in a kiss that’s all heat and no hesitation. he slots himself closer between your thighs without missing a beat, his hips pressing forward, the hard line of his erection grinding against your core through his pants, drawing a muffled moan from you into his mouth.

you break the kiss just enough to tease, your breath mingling with his, “now…my donor,” you say, throwing his own word back at him with a playful lilt, your hand sliding down the planes of his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs under the thin fabric, feeling them flex under your touch.

“is cumming on your dick allowed?”

“that’s what i’m here for, doll,” he murmurs by your ear, voice a rough whisper that sends shivers racing down your spine, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there before nipping lightly.

if you didn’t already cross it before, you were definitely about to cross the line best friends shouldn’t even be teetering on now.

but hey…it’s all in the name of science! right?

his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, the friction of his clothed cock rubbing tight where you’re aching, your slickness soaking through to dampen the front of his pants. you arch into him, grinding back with a deliberate roll of your hips, the tease turning urgent as your fingers dip lower, fumbling with his belt buckle.

the metal clinks softly in the quiet room. he doesn’t stop you. in fact, he helps pop the button, shoving his pants and boxers down to his ankles, his cock springing free — already hard, thick and heavy and so…so…big.

“oh….shit,” you breathe out, eyes widening as you take him in fully.

you had an inkling that your best friend was big, just by looking at the size of his hands, but fuck…he is much bigger than your brain could’ve even imagined. the length curves slightly upward, veins prominent along the shaft, the head flushed and glistening with pre-cum.

he smirks, that signature grin pulling at his lips again as he watches your reaction, “is that a good oh shit or a bad oh shit?”

“it’s an oh shit, i don’t think you’re gonna fit,” you say, half-joking, half-serious, your voice laced with a mix of awe and nerves.

and still, you can’t help yourself — your hand reaches out, wrapping around his length, squeezing the girth that barely fits in your palm.

he lets you stroke him slowly, from base to tip, then again, feeling the heat of your fingers. a quiet hiss slipping from his lips at your touch, his hips twitching forward instinctively.

“don’t worry about that,” he grunts, eyes darkening as he stares down at where your hand works him, “i’ll make it fit.”

and then he’s slapping your hand away gently but firmly, taking control as he aligns himself against your entrance. the broad head of his cock pressing against your folds, parting them with ease, coating him with your slick, as he circles his leaking tip around your pulsing clit.

your breath catches in your throat, stomach already clenching from want. but before you could lose entirely, you push him back a bit with your palms on his chest, heart pounding.

“wait…we’re doing this without a condom?”

he rolls his eyes, amusement flickering in his gaze, but there’s no impatience in it.

“i know for a fact you’re on birth control…unless you prefer it with a condom?”

you shake your head no, the idea of that barrier suddenly feeling wrong, but practicality continues to nag at you.

“no, but what if you get a client that isn’t on birth control? or god forbid, a client that isn’t clean?”

he chuckles, low and throaty, leaning in closer so his breath fans over your lips.

“well, they’re not the one’s i’m about to fuck right now, are they?…i’ll worry about it when that happens, but right now…it’s just me and you,” his voice drops, seductive and intimate, wrapping around the words like a promise, making the room feel smaller, warmer.

just the two of you in this sex bubble.

and before you could point out something else — his tip nudges at your entrance, sliding in with a slow, deliberate push.

it steals your breath, the stretch immediate and intense even with just the head breaching you.

he’s sooo fucking big, filling that first inch like it’s a challenge, your pussy yielding but clenching around the intrusion.

you gasp, sharp and involuntary, your fingers going up and tightening around his bicep, nails digging into the hard muscle there for purchase, your mouth open in a silent moan. the burn is sweet, bordering on too much, but your body responds on instinct, hips tilting up to take more, slick easing the way as he holds still, letting you adjust.

“easy,” he murmurs, one hand stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braces on the table, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of expression, “breathe, baby. you’re doing so good already — so fucking tight around me.”

the praise hits low, sending a fresh wave of heat through you and you nod, exhaling shakily as your force your muscles to relax. inch by inch, he sinks deeper, the thick length of him stretching your walls — it’s overwhelming, the fullness making your toes curl.

a low whine escapes your throat as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, his balls pressing warm against your ass.

“johnny—oh god,” you whimper, your head tipping back as you hold your weight up on the table. he’s already so fucking deep it’s sparking that spot inside you with pressure.

he groans in response, the sound raw and strained, like he’s holding back everything to give you this moment.

“see? fit’s perfect. told you.”

“now…you gotta tell me how you like it. this will only work if i know,” his voice is husky, edged with restraint.

you nod in response and he starts to move — pulling out just enough to let your pussy grip him on the way back in, building the rhythm slow and teasing. the drag of his cock sends sparks up your spine, each shallow thrust testing your reactions, his eyes locked on your face like he’s memorizing every gasp and twitch.

“you like that?” he asks, voice low and gravelly, rolling his hips in a gentle circle onces he’s fully seated again, grinding against your clit with the base of his shaft.

“mmm, yeah—deeper,” you breathe out, your hands sliding up his arms to anchor yourself, directing him with your words and the subtle lift of your hips, “angle it up a little…right there—fuck”

he adjusts on the next thrust, bringing one of your legs higher and settling it on his shoulder, and when the head of his cock nudges that perfect spot inside you — your eyes roll back so far you see stars.

a loud moan spills from your lips, unrestrained and needy, echoing off the walls, “oh shit, yes—johnny!”

the slow build shatters into something urgent, his thrusts gaining purpose as he chases that reaction again and again.

“faster,” you moan out, the word a desperate plea, your body already chasing the edge. he follows well, hips snapping forward with more force, hitting that spot faster and faster, each thrust driving the air from your lungs in sharp gaps.

his grip on your hip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise, holding you steady as he pounds into you.

“fuck doll, you feel so good,” he grunts, sweat beading on his forehead.

you try your best to meet his pace, pushing up with one of your heel planted on the table, your pussy clenching around him greedily. your fingers curling at the table behind you, knuckles white, trying your best to ground yourself as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core.

“don’t stop — oh god, johnny – just like that!”

the right sleeve of your dress falls of your shoulder mid-thrust, exposing more skin and it’s so hot to him — the disheveled look, the way you’re coming undone under him.

“fuck,” he growls at the sight, eyes raking over you hungrily before he reaches up and pulling both of your sleeves down completely. the fabric bunches at your waist, your black lace bra coming into view, the thin material doing little to hide your hardened nipples as your tits bounce up and down with every thrust, jiggling enticingly, drawing his gaze like a magnet.

“goddamn, look at you,” he rasps, thrusting deeper, his rhythm faltering for a second as he drinks in the view.

you grab one of his hands, trailing it up your body — over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs until he’s cupping your tit through the bra, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. the lace scratches against your skin, adding a teasing friction, and you arch into his palm with a whine.

“take it off,” you demand breathlessly. he doesn’t hesitate, one hand reaching for the hook and removing it swiftly, letting your tits spill free — heavy and flushed, nipples pebbled in the cool air. his large hand engulfs one breast, thumb flicking over your nipple, squeezing just hard enough to make you cry out.

“these are fucking perfect,” he grunts, leaning in closer, his thrusts never slowing as he continues to stimulate all your senses.

you pull him down for a kiss then, crashing your lips against his in a messy, open-mouthed clash. tongues tangle hot and desperate. you moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating between you and he answers with a deep grunt, hips continuing their thrusts even as your pussy flutters around him.

“johnny—fuck—i’m gonna—” your words break off in a gasp, the coil snapping without warning as you hold onto him for dear life.

and before you know it, you’re cumming all over his cock as your second orgasm hits.

“that’s it doll, cum all over me — just like that,” he groans, pounding through your orgasm with short, brutal thrusts, prolonging the bliss until you’re trembling, oversensitive and spent.

your body shakes, slick coating his length as he drives in one last time, grinding deep to feel every quiver.

he stops then, bringing your raised leg back down on the table but he doesn’t pull out — staying buried inside you, his cock twitching as he feels you pulse around him, making his breath hitch. the aftershocks hum through your nerves, sweat slicking your skin, his chest heaving against yours.

“think you can take more?” he asks, voice rough and low, his thumb stroking lazy circles on your hip as he watches your face, eyes dark with hunger.

you try to catch your breath, a light chuckle slipping out of you as your mind tries to catch up, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. a lazy smirk tugs at your lips despite the haze.

“fuck—i mean, isn’t that the purpose of this whole thing? we keep going until i say stop?”

he reflects your smirk, that grin flashing wide and wicked, “now, you’re starting to get it.”

with a gentle but firm grip, he slides out and helps you to your feet, your legs wobbling a bit. your dress, already bunched at your waist, slips completely to the floor, leaving you completely bare except for your heels. the cool air hits your flushed skin but his gaze rakes over you like fire.

“fuck—you’re so hot,” he says, the words raw and appreciative, hanging heavy in the air.

yeah, that best friend line has been completely obliterated.

heat creeps up your neck but before it can make you blush fully, you take two steps, closing the distance, hands reaching for his button down. your fingers work the buttons open one by one, trembling slightly from the exertion, revealing the hard planes of his chest down to his rock hard abs.

you’ve seen his abs plenty of times, considering johnny loves walking around your shared apartment shirtless half of the time. but seeing it this close — you can’t help but admire, biting your lip as your nails graze down each line.

“like what you see?” he teases, an amused grin on his lips.

you roll your eyes playfully before shoving the shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside, leaving him naked too — his cock still hard and glistening with your release, jutting out thick and demanding.

he watches you the whole time, arms loose at his sides, that intense stare making your pulse kick up again.

and when you’re done — he tilts your jaw up with two fingers, pulling you into a breathless kiss, your neck craning up as his lips crash softly at first, then deeper, tongues sliding slow and filthy.

before you can melt into it fully — he breaks away. spinning you around with a hand on your waist.

your palms slap against the cool wall. he presses in close, body caging yours, cock nudging between your thighs from behind.

with no warning — he thrusts back in with one smooth, powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt in your soaked pussy.

no easing in this time. now that he knows you can handle him.

the sudden fullness rips a sharp cry from your throat, your walls stretching around him again, the angle hitting deeper than before.

“johnny—ahh, fuck!” you gasp, forehead pressing to the wall as your body arches instinctively, heels scraping the floor for purchase, your tits squeezed against it.

it’s intense — the way he fills you up so completely, reigniting the fire that barely dimmed.

he doesn’t give you time to adjust, hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm, fucking you against the wall with grunts that vibrate through his chest into your back.

each thrust jolts you forward, tits scraping the surface, the friction adding sparks to the overwhelming pressure building for the third time.

“so fucking perfect like this — you can take it like a good girl, yeah?” he growls, one hand splaying across your stomach, holding you upright as your legs start to feel like jelly, knees buckling under the force.

his hold on you is so strong that he’s practically lifting you up. the tip of your heels the only thing touching the ground below you.

you whimper, at a loss for words, your teeth clenched so hard as you try your best not to break so quickly.

but he’s got you pinned, his grip firm on your belly and god, you can feel it — his hand pressing down on your stomach, the bulge of his cock moving beneath your skin with every plunge, the sheer size of him outlined through your abdomen.

it’s obscene, intoxicating, spurring you both on like a dirty secret.

“shit — shit — johnny, i can feel you — so deep —fuck — you’re huge,” you moan, the words spilling out in a haze, your pussy clenching harder at the though, slick dripping down your thighs.

“yeah, baby you like that?” he rasps, voice deep but strained with effort, “that’s me owning this pussy,” his fingers splaying wider over your stomach to push into the ridge forming there.

his other hand slides up to grip your hair, pulling you back onto him harder, making your eyes roll back as the slap of skin echo louder in the room. your legs are trembling, barely holding you, but he keeps you steady, bouncing you on his cock, his groans right by your ear as he watches the way your body yields to him.

“gonna make you feel every inch—cum again for me, doll.”

the pressure builds impossibly quick, your breaths coming in pants, your hand coming down to grip the arm around your stomach for support, every thrust sending jolts through you until you’re teetering on the edge once more, lost in the raw, pounding heat of him. his bulge under your skin a constant reminder of how deeply he’s claiming you.

it hits like a freight train — your third orgasm crashes over you so hard you can’t even make a noise anymore, mouth falling open in a silent scream as your body seizes.

you’re sure a vein in your forehead is popping as your vision blurs at the edges, legs giving out completely as he lets you slump against the wall, held up only by his unyielding grip, the intensity leaving you boneless and dazed.

johnny pulls back just enough too look at you — smug as hell, eyes gleaming with triumph as he takes in your wrecked state.

“look at you — so beautiful when you come apart for me,” he murmurs by your ear, voice sweet yet thick with satisfaction.

but he’s far from done.

his cock is still rock-hard, throbbing inside you.

he doesn’t give you time to fully process the aftershocks, easing out with a wet slide before manhandling you again.

your gasp echoes as he guides you back to the corner table, bending you over it, face-down, tits pressed into the surface, ass up and exposed.

the position leaves you vulnerable, body still humming from the high, your mind foggy, trying to string thoughts together amid the haze of bliss and exhaustion.

he leans over you, chest to your back, his breath hot against your ear as he cages you in, “i think you can take one more,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell, the words laced with dark promise, as he parts your legs wider.

you’re so fucked out, words fail you — so you just nod, an incoherent yes that comes out as a whimper, head lolling to the side.

that’s all he needs.

“good girl.”

in one motion, he lines up and thrusts back inside, cock spearing into your soaked heat with a slick squelch.

you’re not sure it was possible, but the new angle hits even deeper, bottoming out against your cervix. and johnny — he doesn’t hold back.

he fucks you faster, harder, the pace relentless as his hips slam against your ass, the table creaking under the force. each thrust is punishing, building that impossible tension again.

you’re a mess.

drool slips from the corner of your mouth onto the table, screams tearing from your throat in broken cries of—

“johnny–johnny—johnny—fuck!”

your hands flail back, reaching desperately to hold onto him for dear life, fingers clawing at his thighs, pulling him closer even as it overwhelms you.

the room fills with the obscene sounds of skin meeting skin, your pussy slurping around him, the air thick with the scent of sex.

then his hand snakes around, fingers finding your throbbing clit, rubbing tight, firm circles — rough and precise, no mercy.

“c’mon baby, let go,” he practically growls, voice rough with his own building strain.

it’s too much, the dual sensation shattering you.

“no—wait—fuck, i can’t—” you babble, but your body betrays you, the pressure exploding outward.

your pussy convulses violently, pushing him out with a gush as you squirt all over him — hot jets of your juices spraying across his cock, stomach, and the floor in messy arcs, soaking everything in sight.

the release of your fourth orgasm drags a guttural moan from deep in your chest, body shaking uncontrollably as you collapse forward, utterly spent.

the way you squeezed him, the sight of you squirting, marking him in the rawest way — it all pushes johnny right to the edge, his eyes locked on the way your body erupts and the next second he’s groaning low and deep.

“shit—i’m cumming,” he rasps, stroking himself furiously, ropes of thick cum painting your lower back in hot, sticky bursts of white.

the warmth splatters across your skin, dripping down your skin as the top half of his body weight falls on you, pressing you into the table.

he holds himself up only with his elbows braced on either side, caging you in completely, his chest heaving against your back.

your shared moans of release echo in the room, the only sound breaking the heavy silence, raw and intertwined, as you both ride out the aftershocks.

his cock twitches against your ass, spent but still pulsing, while your walls flutter emptily, aching from intensity.

after a minute or three, the tremors fade and you turn around slowly, wincing at the soreness blooming between your thighs.

johnny straightens up, concern flicking in his eyes as he lifts you back onto the table with gentle hands, sitting you down carefully.

you lean into him without thinking, head finding comfort in the solid warmth of his chest, ear pressed to the rapid thump of his heartbeat slowing to a steady rhythm. his arms wrap around you loosely, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your bare back, tracing lazy patterns over the sweat-slick skin.

he breaks the silence first, voice soft and tentative, “did i hurt you?”

you shake your head no, nuzzling closer for a moment before pulling away just a bit, enough to meet his gaze. a teasing smile tugs at your lips despite the exhaustion.

“sooo….now that you came, does that mean the session is over? how does that work?”

he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, that familiar cheshire grin returning but softer now, less predatory.

“no…it’s only over once the client say it’s over.”

you quirk a brow, the words sinking in.

yeah, you definitely see the appeal of this whole thing now.

maybe your best friend is a genius after all — turning mind-melting ecstasy into a moneymaking business.

“do you want to keep going?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts, his thumb still stroking your skin.

you laugh at that, the sound light and breathless, your head falling back into his chest, “no, fuck…i’m so tired i just want to sleep it off.”

he laughs too, the vibration soothing against you, “so no reviews for today?”

you smirk up at him, playful, “oh, i got reviews…plenty of complaints too…but let’s save it for tomorrow.”

he laughs again, genuine and warm and when you yawn, wide and unapologetic, that’s when he nods, “okay, let’s go home,” he says softly, helping you slide off the table.

his touch is careful as he gathers your discarded clothes, kneeling briefly to slip your underwear back up your legs, fingers grazing your thighs with tenderness. he clasps your bra into place next, hooking it efficiently before easing your dress over your head, smoothing the fabric down your body like he’s done it a hundred times.

you watch him dress himself too, that easy confidence back in place. then he takes your hand, leading you out of t he room, the door clicking shut behind you on the echo of what just happened.

“wait–,” you say, pausing mid-step, “do we just…leave our mess in there?”

he chuckles, pulling you towards the lobby, “don’t worry about it, we’ll have someone clean it up,” he says, still holding your hand for some reason, fingers intertwined loosely, like it’s the most natural thing after everything.

taeyong’s head pops out from behind the computer at the front desk, his eyes lighting up with excitement when he spots the two of you.

“was it okay?” taeyong asks curiously, observing the way you’re leaning into johnny’s side, the subtle flush still on your cheeks.

“yeah, actually,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips, and the two men share a look — quick, loaded, like yeah, this business is going to work.

there’s a spark of triumph there, the kind that says they’ve just tested the waters and found them perfect.

taeyong smiles, sliding a sleek black bag across the counter then, “as our first ever client, you should be the first to have this,” he says, pushing it toward you with a wink.

you quirk a brow, curiosity piqued, letting go of johnny’s hand to grab the bag and peer inside. your fingers close around soft fabric, pulling out a hoodie — white, oversized, with the words orgasm donor printed boldy across the chest in block letters.

“wow,” you say, bursting into laughter, “you guys even have merch?”

the two of them laugh with you, the sound filling the lobby, light and infectious, “what can we say?” johnny says, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, “we’re really serious about this.”

you shake your head, still chuckling as you fold the hoodie back into the bag, the absurdity of it all hitting just right after the intensity of the session.

and with johnny’s arm still slung over your shoulder you head out of the clinic together.

✚ THE REVIEWS ✚

you two didn’t make it very far last night, the weight of exhaustion crashing down the moment you stepped through the apartment door. the couch became your makeshift bed — clothes half shed, the orgasm donor hoodie swallowing you whole paired only with your panties underneath.

meanwhile, johnny stripped down to his boxers, collapsing beside you with a contented sigh, an arm under your head as sleep claimed you both in seconds. it’s not like the two of you haven’t fallen asleep together on this couch multiple times before.

now, the morning light filters through the half-drawn blinds, pulling you away first. your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the familiar clutter of the living room.

johnny’s still out cold next to you, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, his hair tousled across his forehead. he looks like your johnny — peaceful, almost boyish, a far cry from the commanding presence he wore yesterday.

a faint ache lingers between your thighs — a reminder of what happened. but it’s not unpleasant. just a quiet echo of pleasure.

you sit up, reaching for the notebook and pen on the coffee table to jot down your thoughts from yesterday’s session.

after a while, the page fills and you set the notebook aside, glancing at johnny’s sleeping form.

you pat his stomach rapidly, “wake up,” you say, voice soft but insistent.

he groans, low and muffled, burrowing deeper into the cushion, “ugh…five more minutes.”

you roll your eyes, patting a little harder now, “do you want your feedback or not?”

that does it.

he sits up quickly, blinking against the light, rubbing a hand over his face as his sleepy eyes adjust slowly. stray sunlight catches the sharp line of his jaw, and yeah, he looks cute like this.

“fine, i’m up,” he sighs, voice gravelly from sleep.

for a split second, the memory of yesterday flickers back. you ignore the way your body feels hot while recalling it.

but you push it away, forcing your playful best friend nature to snap into place — the ease of a decade’s worth of banter overriding the fresh intimacy. like the two of you didn’t strip bare and chase ecstasy together just hours ago.

you sit up too, smirking, “alright, mr. serious businessman,” you tease, your notebook already open in front of you, “review time. and don’t interrupt until i’m done.”

he chuckles, settling back against the armrest legs stretching out to brush yours as you sit opposite from him.

“yes doc, lay it on me,” his eyes sparkle with that familiar mischief, but there’s a genuine curiosity there too, like he’s hanging on your every word already.

“one,” you start, tapping the pen against the paper for emphasis, “you gotta get rid of those harsh lights. make the lobby feel more like a nice, relaxing spa. and not a doctor’s clinic. seriously, it was like walking into a hospital. who wants to get off in there?”

he nods slowly, “fair. we were going for clinical precision but yeah, ambiance matters.”

“two – you need to know your clients. why are they coming in? what’s their purpose? what turns them on? and you need to cater the experience to them. because i’m telling you right now, johnny, the doctor’s office setup ya’ll have going on? sure, that might be someone’s fantasy. but not everyone’s. personally, i thought it was creepy.”

his eyebrows shoot up, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to defend the vibe, but you point the pen at him warningly.

“zip it. i know you’re thinking about role-play potential, but save it. this is about customization, not one-size-fits all.”

he closes his mouth, nodding again, though his eyes dance with amusement.

“three,” you continue, gaining momentum, your voice steady as you lean into the critique, “you need some sort of consent waiver or this whole thing can fire back on you fast.”

johnny’s expression turns serious for a beat, and he gives a firm nod, “already on the list, but noted.”

“four — the condoms thing? make sure everyone who signs up for your service is tested. same goes for your donors. and i highly suggest that every donor wears a condom. i mean, come on — health first, even in fantasy land.”

he shifts slightly, his leg pressing a bit more against yours, but he just hums in agreement, fingers drumming on his thigh.

“five – i’m sorry but the whole ‘we keep going until the client says stop,’ is bullshit okay? treat yourselves with respect too, just because you're selling this service doesn’t mean you can’t have lines as well. what happens if they want to fuck for 8 hours straight? it’s not plausible. set a limit. and if they’re not satisfied then i don’t know, maybe you can offer a partial refund.”

johnny chuckles softly, leaning in a bit “but what if—”

i “nope,” you cut him off, poking his knee with the pen, “limits protect everyone. end of story.”

he settles back, chuckling again, his gaze warm and attentive.

“six,” you say, flipping the page for effect, “reviews are important. i think you already know that. so keep implementing that. make it easy, anonymous if they want, and actually use the feedback to tweak things. it’s gold for building trust and improving.”

he nods enthusiastically this time, no attempt to speak, “i completely agree.”

“and lastly,” you finish with a grin, closing the notebook with a satisfied smirk, “i like the hoodie. it’s fun, comfy, cheeky — the perfect merch to make people laugh and remember the experience.”

johnny bursts out laughing at that, reaching over to ruffle your hair, “thanks for the reviews, doc,” he smirks as you two share a smile.

✚ END OF SESSION ✚

bonus scene:

“thanks for the reviews, doc,” he smirks, “but have i ever told you…how hot you get when you talk like that?”

he shifts closer on the couch, his body heat cutting through the morning chill, that grin widening as his knee nudges yours.

the air thickens, charged with the same electric pull from yesterday's session.

“all stern and commanding, my little know-it-all,” he murmurs, voice dropping low, his hand brushing your leg.

your pulse quickens, body leaning in before your brain catches up, heat pooling low in your belly. but you catch yourself, planting a hand on his chest.

“nu-uh, suh,” you say, pushing him back with a playful shove, though your voice wavers just a touch. “don't even think about it.”

he tilts his head, eyes gleaming with amusement, feigning innocence, “think about what?”

you smirk back, crossing your arms to hold your ground, “you're not starting a friends with benefits relationship with me when you're about to open a sex clinic.”

he laughs, deep and rumbling, the sound vibrating through you, “well…the clinic isn't open yet,” he teases, his hand sliding up your leg, to your thighs and settling on your hip, fingers digging in just enough to pull you closer across the cushions.

his touch is firm, insistent, drawing you into his orbit, your breath syncing with his.

“hmmm... i guess it isn't?” you murmur, the words half-question, half-surrender, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his gaze.

he knows he's got you — that smug spark in his eyes says it all.

in one smooth motion, he tugs you onto his lap.

then he plays with the hem of your hoodie, the two you of talking with your eyes as you give him the go signal.

he pulls the hoodie up and over your head, leaving you bare from the waist up, skin prickling in the cool air, your breasts bouncing free.

“review number two,” he says, voice husky, echoing your earlier words as he settles you onto his lap, straddling him, “know your client.”

“what about it?” you ask, breath hitching, trying to cling to that confident front even as your body betrays you, thighs clenching around his.

“does my client like getting her tits sucked?” he looks up at you, eyes still soft from sleep, but his words drip with filth, thumb circling your nipple teasingly.

you nod, swallowing hard, “she does.”

“good to know,” he growls, before his lips close around your nipple, hot and wet, tongue flicking the peak as he sucks hard. the pull sends a jolt straight to your core, your pussy clenching empty, already slick with want.

his free hand grips your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you down so you grind against the growing bulge in his boxers.

you moan, fingers threading into his messy hair, holding him there as he switches to the other breast, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with a swirl of his tongue.

“johnny—” you gasp, hips rocking instinctively, the friction of his hard cock pressing through the thin fabric making you ache.

this is definitely much hotter than yesterday. the couch a familiar place. making everything feel more intimate. real.

he hums against your skin, the vibration buzzing through you, then releases your nipple with a pop, looking up with that wicked smile.

“see? customizing the experience already. what else does she like? tell me, doc — guide me through it.”

his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you slightly so he can yank down his boxer enough to free his thick cock. it springs up, heavy and veined, brushing your inner thigh.

your mouth waters at the sight, that familiar stretch from yesterday flashing in your mind — the way he fills you so completely.

“she likes... you inside her,” you whisper.

he doesn’t waste another second, tugging your panties to the side, his tip nudging your wet folds.

“then take it baby, come on,” he groans, hands on your hips guiding you down slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretching your pussy wide.

the initial breach makes you whimper. you’re not too sure you could ever get used to his size.

you sink lower, feeling every ridge and vein as he claims more space inside you, your body trembling from the fullness, as he reshapes you to fit him all over again.

he's so deep, the tip pressing against your cervix, that overwhelming stuffed feeling making your toes curl — his size dominating every nerve, leaving no room for anything but him.

“god—johnny—,” you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind, his hands helping set the pace, thumbs digging into your skin to lift and drop you with control.

the size of him makes it intense, your thighs quivering from the effort, but the pleasure builds fast, that perfect friction against your inner walls amplified by how he stretches you so wide.

“just like that, baby—ride me just like that,” he pants, thrusting up to meet you, the slap of skin echoing in the quiet living room.

your breasts bounce with each bounce, and he captures one again, sucking as you ride him harder, chasing that building pressure.

you pick up speed, grinding down harder, your clit grinding against his pubic bone, the way his thick base rubs your entrance sending sparks through you.

“god, we should have done this years ago,” he growls against your skin, voice rough, his hips bucking up sharper now, driving deeper.

his words turn you on even more. you lean forward, hands on his chest for leverage, riding him harder, the rhythm turning frantic. your ass slaps against his thighs, the couch creaking under the force, and you feel him throb inside you, swelling even thicker, pushing your limits further.

and he meets your pace. fucking up into you faster and faster to the point your arms shake, falling forward, high-pitched moans spilling from your lips.

the coil tightens unbearably, your walls clamping down on his massive cock as he keeps thrusting up into you, his balls slapping your skin.

“johnny—i'm close,” you whine by his ear, the words tumbling out between gasps, your body on fire from how he fills you completely, no empty spaces, just pure, overwhelming sensation.

“me too, doll, fuck — come with me,” he grunts, his large hands squeezing your as as he continues his relentless pace, slamming you down onto him.

your body listens to him well, your orgasm ripping through you just like that. you cry out, nails digging into his skin, and he follows right after, groaning your name as his cock jerks, hot spurts of cum flooding your depths, painting your walls as you ride out the shared high together, bodies locked in shuddering release.

minutes pass in lazy silence, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his shoulder as the high fades into a warm, sated glow.

you lift your head, meeting his gaze, those dark eyes soft now, stripped of the earlier hunger but no less intense.

he’s still inside you, the weight of him a comforting pressure, your walls molded to his girth like they've forgotten how to let go.

gently, you reach up, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead, the strands sticking slightly to his skin from the sweat of your shared frenzy.

“you know, if you ever get tired of being a donor...” you say, the words trailing off with a knowing lilt, the implication hanging between you like an unspoken promise.

he chuckles low, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating where you're connected, making you shift slightly and feel him nudge deeper.

“i know where to find you,” he finishes your sentence, knowing you too well. his voice is rough from exertion but laced with that familiar tease, his hands stroking your back in slow, soothing circles.

you smile, leaning in closer, your nose brushing his, “mhm, you know where to find me,” you reply, the words sealing the quiet vow.

then he closes the gap, capturing your lips in one last, slow kiss — soft and unhurried, tongues tangling lazily as if savoring the taste of each other after the storm.

✚ THE ORGASM DONORS ARE NOW OPEN ✚

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

BONUS：#1. #2. #3. #4. #5. #6. #7. #8. #9. #10. #11. #12.

—

an: and the first founding father is done! anyone else hot and bothered rn? 🙈 because i was lowkey so horny every time i wrote for this 😇…i hope you liked donor johnny! let me know what you think! if you hate it please keep it to yourself i can’t handle hate rn bro mark just left nct 😐 ANYWAY, we go back to regular orgasm donor layout in the next stories! and a kind reminder: this whole entire concept is supposed to be silly! please don't take it too seriously :)

🩺 likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated

client tags: @nctateez @kkyeoji @maeyokt @valentine-night @binniesbabe @neotannies @boosk1es @hyunii0 @PL4NETX1A @soupbinlily @fancypeacepersona​ @jaeminiwrld @Kawaiislutt @mingoovdka @klowiishere @iluvgnabnahc @rex-ie @thisiswhyiwit @oonyourmmark @sung-ct @markiesfatbooty @kkkkkeonho @mikaaa14 @lovexjeno @vampyirx @lovesuhng @notmastyle @peonyjoo @roundedreveluv @severeanxietyissues @ajjunicesblog @shiningdery @shiningnono @thatrandogirl07 @chvngm1nz @prettyspeachyplease @Cottonjaems @yesohhsehun @jaemsprettygf @tinkerbellsgf @yutal0ver @meowieshibal @hjjjjjjku79999 @82fragilidad @neokoh @serpeverde005 @is4b3ll3s @yowmaman @aurilvs @mango-bear @channie127

You nearly spill your coffee all over your Political Theory textbook when you unlock your phone. Another two hundred comments on that TikTok. You know you shouldn't check—you probably watched it about a million times yesterday alone—but your fingers move before your brain can scream at you to stop.

@/bookslvt01: ok but the way he talks about virginia woolf??? NEED HIM CARNALLY @/colossalthighs: i’d let him annotate my entire body fr @/arlertmeout: he looks like he apologises before choking you

You bite your lip, half-entertained and half-horrified, scrolling through the endless comments under what was supposed to be an innocent campus interview. The video has 2.3 million views now, completely insane for something filmed outside the modest main library—the same one you find yourself in at the moment—on a random Tuesday.

"Ugh, don’t tell me. You're watching it again, aren't you?"

Your head snaps up comically quick, caught red-handed, to find Sasha sliding into the seat across from you at your usual table, eyeing your phone screen with knowing amusement. 

"What? No."

"You are! You have that weird, glazed look in your eyes. The same one you get when Professor Ackerman extends the deadline for our research papers." Sasha unwraps what appears to be her third sandwich of the day. You don't mention how it’s only twelve in the afternoon. "You know you could just talk to him about it, right? He's literally one of your best friends."

"And say what exactly?" you finally close the godforsaken app, trying to ignore how your screen time report is definitely going to be embarrassing this week. "Hey Armin, I've watched your viral video more times than I can remember and I'm having very inappropriate thoughts about your tongue piercing that I absolutely shouldn't be having about my friend?"

Sasha snickers, a piece of lettuce tumbling to the table from her mouth. "Well, when you put it like that... actually, yes. One hundred percent that."

"Sasha, I can't just—" you frown in frustration, inhaling deeply. "It's complicated."

"How is it complicated? You've had a crush on him since freshman year."

"That was different. That was before we became friends. Before I knew him." You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as fond memories overwhelm you. "Back then he was just this cute, nerdy guy in my intro psych class who got excited about statistical analysis and always smelled like that vanilla body wash I love. I used to sit behind him just to watch him get all animated during discussions about cognitive behavioural theory, you know?"

Sasha merely rolls her eyes. "Jesus, and you call me demented. Well, what about now?"

"Now? Now, he's Armin. He's my friend who stays up until 3 A.M. to help me with my assignments, who brings me soup when I'm sick, who texts me the dumbest memes about historical figures," you slump forward, close to pouting. "He's the guy who spent six hours teaching me how to play that MMO he's obsessed with just because I mentioned being bored over winter break. He's..."

"He's the guy you're infatuated with," Sasha supplies helpfully.

"I'm not," you start to protest, then wisely opt to give up instead. "Okay, maybe. But that's exactly the problem. I can't risk blowing up our friendship just because some stupid interview made me realise I want to climb him like a tree."

"A tree with a tongue piercing," Sasha adds with a cheeky grin.

"Fuck’s sake, don't remind me," you let your head rest against the table. "Do you know how many times I've replayed that two-second clip where he licks his lips? It's pathetic."

"It's not pathetic, it's kind of sweet. There's a difference." Sasha takes another bite of her sandwich, her eyes evidently lighting up. "Besides, you don't know that he doesn't feel the same way. Have you seen how he looks at you during our study sessions? Boy's got it bad."

"He looks at me like a friend, Sasha. Because that's what we are."

"Believe me, friends don't look at friends the way he looked at you last Friday when you were explaining your thesis argument. I thought he was going to combust from sexual tension."

Before you can blatantly disagree, you hear an all too familiar voice behind you.

"Sexual tension about what now?"

Your stomach drops directly through the floor. You turn around carefully, and there he is—Armin Arlert, campus's newest digital sensation, standing there with that signature bemused expression he gets when he catches you and Sasha gossiping. His blonde hair is mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and he's wearing that adorable blue sweater that brings out his eyes deliciously.

"Oh, um..." You scramble for an explanation, panicking on the inside. "We were just talking about... about..."

"About how Professor Ackerman's lectures are basically academic foreplay," Sasha jumps in smoothly. "All that tension and buildup with no satisfying conclusion. I mean, hello?"

Armin laughs, the sound warm and comforting. "That's fascinatingly accurate, I’ll admit." He shifts his weight, and you only then notice he's carrying his laptop bag and what seems to be a bag of takeout. "Mind if I join you? I brought Thai food and figured you might be hungry since you've been here since—," he checks his phone, "—9 A.M., according to the text you sent complaining about how it’s criminal that the library opens so early on weekends."

Your heart does a little flip at his consideration. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." He slides into the chair next to you, close enough that you can smell his cologne—a rich blend of velvety caramel and toasted cinnamon that positively makes you want to lick him all over. 

Stop. None of that, you horny bastard.

"Besides, I figured you might want to hear about the latest developments in my accidental internet fame."

Sasha perks up at once. "Hell, yeah. Have you been recognised on campus yet?"

"Five times yesterday," Armin appears to lament, pulling containers out of the bag. "Including once in the bathroom, which was... awkward, to say the least." He hands you your usual order without asking what you want. "But the weirdest part is definitely the DMs."

"DMs?" you pipe up, failing to ignore how domestic this feels what with him knowing exactly what you like. Typical, precious Armin.

"You have no idea," he opens his laptop and turns it toward you two with a nervous twitch. "I've gotten marriage proposals, offers to 'show me a good time,' and at least a hundred messages asking about my tongue piercing specifically."

Your face burns as you push away the thought that you've been mentally composing similar messages. "That's... wow."

"The worst part is, most of them are asking if I'd be interested in demonstrating its uses." He fidgets with his glasses, coming across as embarrassed but also endearing. "I had no idea that thing would cause such a reaction."

"Well, it is pretty noticeable," Sasha remarks with a meaningful peek at you. "Very... attention-grabbing."

"I guess." Armin glances at you pointedly. "What do you think? You've seen the video, right?"

The question is innocent enough, but something in his tone makes you look at him more carefully. There's an out-of-the-ordinary implication that you can't quite put your finger on. "Uh... yeah, I've seen it," you manage to croak out. Terrific. Could you get any stiffer?

"And?"

"And what?"

"What did you think?"

You stare at him blankly, trying to figure out if this is a normal friend question or if you’re incorrectly perceiving the foreign edge of curiosity behind it. "I thought... I mean, your book recommendations were really good. Very passionate."

"Passionate," he repeats, the fleeting flash of understanding across his face confirming your earlier weariness. "That's interesting."

Sasha's phone cuts through the uneasiness with its incessant buzzing, and she scans it with obviously fake surprise. "Oh no, would you look at that. I have to go... meet... someone... about... a... very real thing... I have." She begins gathering her stuff with awfully suspicious speed. "You two have fun talking about books. And passion. And tongue piercings."

"Huh? Wait. Sasha—" you squeak out, but she's already dashing out of the private study room you had booked for the both of you until late afternoon (traitor). Which leaves you alone with Armin, who's scrutinising you with an expression you can't quite read.

"Alright," he speaks after a moment, closing his laptop and leaning back in his chair. "Want to tell me what you actually thought about the video?"

"I already told you."

"No, you gave me the safe answer." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with purpose. "Come on, we've been friends for two years. I know when you're holding back."

You hastily shove some noodles in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. "I'm not holding back."

"Really? Because Sasha seemed to think you had some important opinions about it."

You make a mental note to start drafting your plan for the girl’s well-deserved comeuppance. "Sasha talks too much."

"She does," Armin agrees. "But she's usually right about things. Especially when it comes to you."

The rarely there confidence in his tone makes you look up and, when you meet his gaze, the intensity catches you off guard. "What do you want me to say?"

"Did you know," he continues conversationally, "that TikTok shows you analytics about who's viewed your videos?"

Almost instantly, your heart stops. "What?"

"Mhm. Very detailed analytics. Including multiple views from the same account." His lips quirk up in a small smile. "Want to guess how many times your account shows up in my viewer list?"

You feel heat creeping up your neck. "I don't know what you're talking about." You briefly consider denying reality, blaming a technical issue, or claiming a glitch in the matrix—but none of it sticks.

"Seventy-seven times," he announces, the metaphorical checkmate hitting you straight in the chest. "As of this morning."

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He knows. "I can explain—"

"Can you?" He angles himself forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Because I've been trying to figure out why my very good friend has watched a boring thirty-second video of me talking about books seventy-seven times."

You want to run away, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I... the algorithm is weird sometimes?"

Armin chuckles, low and warm, absent of any malice. "Try again."

"I was checking to see if the view count was going up?"

"Nope."

You're quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to get out of this without completely humiliating yourself. You don't suppose it's too late to jump out of a window? Ultimately, you sigh in defeat. "Okay, fine. Maybe I watched it a few times."

"A few?"

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms in defiance at the unsolicited endless interrogation. "More than a few."

"How many more?"

You want to strangle him, and not in the sexy way. "You’re being annoying."

"Come on." His voice has dropped slightly lower, and there's something almost akin to teasing in it. "I told you about the marriage proposals. Fair's fair."

You mutter a profanity under your breath, groaning. "Fine. I watched it a lot. Happy?"

"No. We’re getting there, though. Why?"

"Why what?"

Armin’s glee sharpens into something ravenous, a flicker of desperation lurking beneath his carefree demeanour—like he’s itching for you to say exactly what he needs. "Why did you watch it seventy-seven times?"

Your lungs feel too tight, too exposed. "Because..."

"Because?"

"Because you looked really good, okay?" The words come out in a rush. "Because watching you talk about literally anything is incredibly attractive, and because that frustrating part where your tongue piercing shows has been tormenting me ever since the video came out."

The silence that follows is eerily deafening. Armin simply stares at you, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

"Shit," you grumble, burying your face in your hands. "I'm sorry. That was completely out of line. I know we're friends and I shouldn't have—"

"Hey. Look at me."

The way he asks convinces you to peep through your fingers, reluctant but unable to look away. His expression is attentive and focused—definitely not one of disgust.

"You think I'm attractive?" he questions softly.

"I... yes?"

He blinks, his usual calm shattered by the raw vulnerability in your voice. His fingers tremble, revealing the fierce hope inside that there’s a potential chance that someone sees him as more than the sum of his quirks.  "Even though I'm just a loser who gets excited about obscure paranormal documentaries and spends too much time playing video games?"

"Especially because of that," you admit, having never been more sure of yourself.

His answering smile is slow and devastating. "Good to know."

"Good to know?"

He hums, reaching across the table, and gently pulls your hands away from your face. "I've been wondering if you'd ever see me as more than just your friend who helps you with your homework."

Your brain, without a doubt, malfunctions. "What?"

"Did you really think I started bringing you food and staying up late just because I'm a good friend?"

The words disarm you. You’re trapped between incredulity and the dawning comprehension of what he might be suggesting. "I…"

"And did you think I learned how to play your favourite songs on guitar just because I had time to spare?"

"Y-you said you wanted to practice—"

"And I presume you thought I got this piercing because I was feeling rebellious?"

That stops you short, confusion apparent in the furrow of your brows. "You didn't?"

Armin's grin turns almost predatory. "I got it because I overheard you and Sasha talking about how cool you find them. This was back in October, after you'd been dating that guy with the lip ring."

You feel like a kettle left on the stove too long. "You... what?"

"You said, and I quote, 'There's something about tongue piercings that's beyond exciting.’ Something along the lines of how the person has to be bold enough to get it, but there's the simultaneous insinuation of what they can do with it."

"I’m going to kill myself," you gape at him in horror. "You heard all of that?"

"I was sitting right behind you in the campus coffee shop. You weren’t exactly shy about it." He shifts closer, and you can spot the hint of silver when he speaks, "I made an appointment that very afternoon."

"You got a tongue piercing because of something I said about another guy?"

"I got a tongue piercing because I wanted to be the guy you were talking about."

The confession hangs in the air between you, charged and electric. You stare at him, trying to process this complete change in everything you thought you knew about your friendship. 

"I've been trying to get your attention for months. I was starting to think I'd have to do something drastic."

In spite of being made to face terrifying revelation after revelation, you manage to stutter out a breathless laugh. "More drastic than getting a tongue piercing for me?" 

"I was considering learning to play your favourite video game."

You snort despite yourself. "You hate that game."

He shrugs casually, as if the lengths to which he would go for you knew no bounds. "I know. That's how desperate I was getting."

The atmosphere between you feels tense now, full of possibility and two years of unspoken tension. Armin traces your knuckles and the simple touch sends heat shooting up your arm.

"So," you say, trying to stay as composed as you possibly can. "What happens now?"

"Now," he starts, standing up, "you tell me what exactly you were thinking about during those seventy-seven views."

He's close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him, and the unwavering want in the blue of his eyes makes your breath catch. "I was thinking..." you trail off, feeling timid with his attention on you.

"You can do it. Use your words for me?" his voice has gotten rougher, huskier, and it sends delightful shivers down your spine.

"I was thinking about what it would feel like."

"What would feel like?"

"Your piercing. When you..." You gesture vaguely, cheeks burning. Armin's hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "When I what?"

"When you kiss me," you whisper.

"Just kissing?" The question is loaded with underlying intentions, and you shake your head slowly.

"Tell me what else you were thinking about."

"Armin..."

"Please." The plea is hushed but insistent. "I want to know what's been going through your head."

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry as you let go of the entirety of your self-restraint. "I was thinking about what it would feel like on my body. What it would feel like when you use your mouth on me."

His pupils immediately dilate at your words. "Fuck."

"Is that... is that okay?"

Instead of verbally affirming, he leans down and kisses you. It's gentle at first, tentative, but when you react by fisting your hands in his sweater and pulling him closer, he deepens it. The first brush of his tongue against yours has you gasping, and when you feel the metal of his piercing, it sends intoxicating pleasure shooting through you.

You break apart, breathing heavily, and Armin rests his forehead against yours.

"How was that?" he asks earnestly, voice raspy.

"Good," you breathe. "Really good."

His smile is full of care but there's primal desire behind it. "And the piercing?"

"Want more of it."

He brushes his thumb across your lip again. Truth be told, it’s plain torture. "You know, we're in public right now."

Every wall you built is crumbling under the weight of him, and all you can do is let it. "I know."

"Anyone could walk by and see us."

"I know."

"And you don't care?"

You drag your hand up his thigh, stopping just shy of where he clearly wants it, "Not even a little bit."

He kisses you again, harder this time, and you can't help the soft moan that escapes when his tongue meets yours in another dance of display. The sound seems to flip a switch in him, because his hands are tangling in your hair and he's pressing you back against your chair.

"God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs against your lips.

"Tell me ‘Min."

"Since freshman year. Since that first day in psych class when you argued with Professor Smith about the ethics of behavioural modification."

You draw away just barely, shaking under the intimacy of his declaration. "That long?"

"That long." He doesn’t think twice before trailing his teeth along your jaw, and when the metal of his piercing digs into your flushed skin, you whimper needily. 

"You were so assertive, so brilliant. I was completely and utterly gone."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you were dating that business major asshole, and then when you broke up, we became friends,” he hesitantly halts his ministrations to flutter his eyelashes at you, “I-I didn't want to ruin it." 

Good heavens, you didn’t stand a chance from the beginning.

"But then you kept looking at me like... like you wanted me too, and I started hoping..."

"I did want you. I do want you." The admission comes out whinier than intended, but you can’t bring yourself to be bothered at this point. "So much."

His hands tighten in your hair. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You’re unaware of how many minutes pass as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours, and the way he tastes like mint and something uniquely him. You dig your nails lightly into his sides, claiming him in an act of fervent possession. His breaths mingle with yours and the world outside your tangled bodies fades until there’s nothing but lust burning between you. By the end of it, your chests rise and fall in tandem.

"We should probably get out of here," he mumbles, peeking around the library.

Craving Armin has left you dazed, vision glassy as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings. "Right. Um, your place or mine?"

He pecks your nose, full of affection, tenderly guiding you. "Mine. My roommate's gone for the weekend."

You start gathering your things with shaky hands, hyperaware of the way Armin is observing you. When you bend over to pick up your bag, you hear his sharp intake of breath.

"Something wrong?" you ask innocently.

"N-nothing," he mutters, skittishly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

The walk to his dorm feels like it takes forever, full of stolen glances and the kind of anticipation that makes your skin feel too tight. When you reach his room, he fumbles with his keys for a moment—so fucking cute—before getting the door open.

You haven’t had a lot of time this semester to crash at his dorm—neat and organised, with anime posters on the walls and stacks of books and manga everywhere. But you barely have time to take it in before he's pressing you against the closed door, urgency lacing his actions.

This time, there's nothing apprehensive about it. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, squeezing your ass—and when you arch against him, he makes a low sound of approval.

"You taste so good," he shudders against you. "Everything I’ve imagined and so much more."

"You imagined this?"

"Every night for two years." His mouth moves to your neck, nibbling along your throat. "What you'd look like, what you'd sound like when I made you come."

The words send heat pooling low in your belly, prompting you to press your thighs together instinctively. "Fuck, don’t say shit like that.”

"Why not? I’ve been longing for you. All of you," he whispers, pulling back to look at you with dark, lidded eyes. "You’re not getting away until I’ve had my fill."

It would be an understatement to say that you hadn’t foreseen this when you woke up today. That you'd be spending hours with your legs over Armin's shoulders, forgetting your own name; the compassionate, stammering genius the internet drooled over. Too bad he’s not on the market. It would be a treat if his fans could see him like this—flushed and breathless, fingers gripping your hips like he’d die without you. Armin Arlert, golden boy of TikTok, practically begging to let him ruin you.

You grow dizzy at the promise in his voice. "Please."

He lets his hand trail lower, indecently tranquil, and just as you think he’ll do something reckless—he pauses, smirking wickedly.

"Want to find out what this piercing really feels like when I eat you out?"

─────────── ♡ ───────────

James is hugeee, hung, the type of dick that'll smack you dead in the face if you don't move out the way when you pull it out from his boxers. (you learnt that the hard way...)

He's a good sensible 7 and GOD it's THICK, but with the way he uses it you'd think it's a 10. His tip is this shade of pink.

And he might just be the poster boy for breeder balls because his are so fucking fat.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

You're not quite sure of the position you're in right now, but you're so sure that after he's done with you, you'll be feeling him for days.

"Fuck baby you're squeezing me" your boyfriend says, head held low so he could get a good view at the way your cunt practically sucked him in. "You feel me all up in your guts?"

You don't respond, you can't, you're too fucked out to even comprehend what he'd just said. Yufan chuckles at your dumbified expression; mouth slightly agape as drool dribbles down your chin, eyes rolled all the way to the back of your head—if it were under any other circumstance anyone would've thought that you were possessed, your hands were gripping at everything, your hair, the sides of your face—you looked a mess under him and he loved every bit of it.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

He loves to hit it from the back! His reason being that he just loves the feeling of his balls smacking against your clit LOL.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Yufan has you bent over the kitchen counter, dick plunging in and out of you as you struggle to keep your grip on the sink. It hasn't even been five minutes and you were already making a mess all over him, your cream settling at the base of his cock, juices dripping onto the floor beneath you as he rubs your nub.

His strong arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to his chest, “you take me so good baby, pussy feels so good around my cock yeah ?” you try to respond but the grip he has on your neck makes it hard to do so.

His hips stutter and you feel as his cum fills you up “I love you baby,” he whispers, breath hot against your neck, all gentle and sweet as if he didn't just fuck you out of your mind.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Another one of Yufan's favorite positions is missionary, yes he loves seeing your face but that's not his only reason. You don't know this but your boyfriend gets a kick out of seeing you cry. The way you pout before the tears start flowing down, it makes him feel good. And yeah he hates seeing you cry otherwise but during sex it's different, knowing that you're crying because of his cock gives him an ego boost, no one will fuck you the way he does.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Your dress is bunched all the way over your breasts, panties pooling at your ankles positioned at either side of your head.

You're sobbing into your hands because Yufan has you in a mean mating press and with the way he's fucking you, you actually think you might die.

His fat cock is literally splitting you in two, you feel it as it drags across your gummy walls and it feels so soo good, his thrusts are slow and hard,──with purpose. Each one knocks the air out of your lungs and honestly? It feels like you're fighting for your life. But nevertheless he's fucking you good.

"Feels so good Yu..." you weakly say through a mix of sobs, hiccups and the sound of someone trying to catch their breath.

"I bet it does baby"

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Loves staring into your eyes when he eats you out.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Yufan is currently laying in between your legs that are spread oh so wide for him. He's lapping at your cunny like a kitten drinking milk. You try to let your head fall back, to bask in the pleasure that you're receiving but he doesn't let you, instead he uses his hand to firmly hold the back of your head, preventing you from trying to look away from him.

You're on your umpteenth orgasm, your mess is running down his slacked jaw but he doesn't stop, you both know that you're overstimulated and spent but he doesn't stop. The whimpers come first, and then the pout──you're about to cry. He's not going to stop, at least not for now.

He tries to pull away, he does! But it's almost as if his lips are pieces of metal and your pussy is a magnet. Because no matter how hard he tries he can't seem to pull away from your heat.

The tears spill and he loses it, the firm grip he had on your head loosens and in one swift motion he positions you to sit on his face.

Oh brother, this is gonna be one looooong night.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

─────────── ♡ ───────────

James is hugeee, hung, the type of dick that'll smack you dead in the face if you don't move out the way when you pull it out from his boxers. (you learnt that the hard way...)

He's a good sensible 7 and GOD it's THICK, but with the way he uses it you'd think it's a 10. His tip is this shade of pink.

And he might just be the poster boy for breeder balls because his are so fucking fat.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

You're not quite sure of the position you're in right now, but you're so sure that after he's done with you, you'll be feeling him for days.

"Fuck baby you're squeezing me" your boyfriend says, head held low so he could get a good view at the way your cunt practically sucked him in. "You feel me all up in your guts?"

You don't respond, you can't, you're too fucked out to even comprehend what he'd just said. Yufan chuckles at your dumbified expression; mouth slightly agape as drool dribbles down your chin, eyes rolled all the way to the back of your head—if it were under any other circumstance anyone would've thought that you were possessed, your hands were gripping at everything, your hair, the sides of your face—you looked a mess under him and he loved every bit of it.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

He loves to hit it from the back! His reason being that he just loves the feeling of his balls smacking against your clit LOL.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Yufan has you bent over the kitchen counter, dick plunging in and out of you as you struggle to keep your grip on the sink. It hasn't even been five minutes and you were already making a mess all over him, your cream settling at the base of his cock, juices dripping ontp the floor beneath you as he rubs your nub.

His strong arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to his chest, “you take me so good baby, pussy feels so good around my cock yeah ?” you try to respond but the grip he has on your neck makes it hard to do so.

His hips stutter and you feel as his cum fills you up “I love you baby,” he whispers, breath hot against your neck, all gentle and sweet as if he didn't just fuck you out of your mind.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Another one of Yufan's favorite positions is missionary, yes he loves seeing your face but that's not his only reason. You don't know this but your boyfriend gets a kick out of seeing you cry. The way you pout before the tears start flowing down, it makes him feel good. And yeah he hates seeing you cry otherwise but during sex it's different, knowing that you're crying because of his cock gives him an ego boost, no one will fuck you the way he does.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Your dress is bunched all the way over your breasts, panties pooling at your ankles positioned at either side of your head.

You're sobbing into your hands because Yufan has you in a mean mating press and with the way he's fucking you, you actually think you might die.

His fat cock is literally splitting you in two, you feel it as it drags across your gummy walls and it feels so soo good, his thrusts are slow and hard,──with purpose. Each one knocks the air out of your lungs and honestly? It feels like you're fighting for your life. But nevertheless he's fucking you good.

"Feels so good Yu..." you weakly say through a mix of sobs, hiccups and the sound of someone trying to catch their breath.

"I bet it does baby"

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Loves staring into your eyes when he eats you out.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Yufan is currently laying in between your legs that are spread oh so wide for him. He's lapping at your cunny like a kitten drinking milk. You try to let your head fall back, to bask in the pleasure that you're receiving but he doesn't let you, instead he uses his hand to firmly hold the back of your head, preventing you from trying to look away from him.

You're on your umpteenth orgasm, your mess is running down his slacked jaw but he doesn't stop, you both know that you're overstimulated and spent but he doesn't stop. The whimpers came first, and then the pout──you're about to cry. He's not going to stop, at least not for now.

He tries to pull away, he does! But it's almost as if his lips are pieces of metal and your pussy is a magnet. Because no matter how hard he tries he can't seem to pull away from your heat.

The tears spill and he loses it, the firm grip he had on your head loosens and in one swift motion he positions you to sit on his face.

Oh brother this is gonna be one looooong night.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

─────────── ♡ ───────────

James is hugeee, hung, the type of dick that'll smack you dead in the face if you don't move out the way when you pull it out from his boxers. (you learnt that the hard way...)

He's a good sensible 7 and GOD it's THICK, but with the way he uses it you'd think it's a 10. His tip is this shade of pink.

And he might just be the poster boy for breeder balls because his are so fucking fat.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

You're not quite sure of the position you're in right now, but you're so sure that after he's done with you, you'll be feeling him for days.

"Fuck baby you're squeezing me" your boyfriend says, head held low so he could get a good view at the way your cunt practically sucked him in. "You feel me all up in your guts?"

You don't respond, you can't, you're too fucked out to even comprehend what he'd just said. Yufan chuckles at your dumbified expression; mouth slightly agape as drool dribbles down your chin, eyes rolled all the way to the back of your head—if it were under any other circumstance anyone would've thought that you were possessed, your hands were gripping at everything, your hair, the sides of your face—you looked a mess under him and he loved every bit of it.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

He loves to hit it from the back! His reason being that he just loves the feeling of his balls smacking against your clit LOL.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Yufan has you bent over the kitchen counter, dick plunging in and out of you as you struggle to keep your grip on the sink. It hasn't even been five minutes and you were already making a mess all over him, your cream settling at the base of his cock, juices dripping ontp the floor beneath you as he rubs your nub.

His strong arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to his chest, “you take me so good baby, pussy feels so good around my cock yeah ?” you try to respond but the grip he has on your neck makes it hard to do so.

His hips stutter and you feel as his cum fills you up “I love you baby,” he whispers, breath hot against your neck, all gentle and sweet as if he didn't just fuck you out of your mind.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Another one of Yufan's favorite positions is missionary, yes he loves seeing your face but that's not his only reason. You don't know this but your boyfriend gets a kick out of seeing you cry. The way you pout before the tears start flowing down, it makes him feel good. And yeah he hates seeing you cry otherwise but during sex it's different, knowing that you're crying because of his cock gives him an ego boost, no one will fuck you the way he does.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Your dress is bunched all the way over your breasts, panties pooling at your ankles positioned at either side of your head.

You're sobbing into your hands because Yufan has you in a mean mating press and with the way he's fucking you, you actually think you might die.

His fat cock is literally splitting you in two, you feel it as it drags across your gummy walls and it feels so soo good, his thrusts are slow and hard,──with purpose. Each one knocks the air out of your lungs and honestly? It feels like you're fighting for your life. But nevertheless he's fucking you good.

"Feels so good Yu..." you weakly say through a mix of sobs, hiccups and the sound of someone trying to catch their breath.

"I bet it does baby"

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Loves staring into your eyes when he eats you out.

─────────── ♡ ───────────

Yufan is currently laying in between your legs that are spread oh so wide for him. He's lapping at your cunny like a kitten drinking milk. You try to let your head fall back, to bask in the pleasure that you're receiving but he doesn't let you, instead he uses his hand to firmly hold the back of your head, preventing you from trying to look away from him.

You're on your umpteenth orgasm, your mess is running down his slacked jaw but he doesn't stop, you both know that you're overstimulated and spent but he doesn't stop. The whimpers came first, and then the pout──you're about to cry. He's not going to stop, at least not for now.

He tries to pull away, he does! But it's almost as if his lips are pieces of metal and your pussy is a magnet. Because no matter how hard he tries he can't seem to pull away from your heat.

The tears spill and he loses it, the firm grip he had on your head loosens and in one swift motion he positions you to sit on his face.

Oh brother this is gonna be one looooong night.

─────────── ♡ ───────────