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Crowned was the King. Stood above the weight of gold and honour was he. Gojo Satoru. The strongest of all kingdoms. The sovereign.

Alone he was on his throne, dark halls, stygian.

Cloaked in riches, the finest of the lands between. Gojo Satoru. His name carried much weight.

He was a reserved man. His daily routine consisted of council meetings, going over treaties, signing agreements. His hands, constantly stained from ink. Almost purple at the tips of his fingers. Constant agreements he had to sign. Treaties. Letters to other kingdoms.

His breakfasts were always alone. Other than the staff perfectly anchored in parts of the room as though they were statues. They weren’t his friends. He couldn’t actually talk to them. Considering he was the king, they were viewed as lesser than him. Lunch alone. Dinner, alone. The same cycle. Satoru considered his life as boring. So utterly miserable. So lonely. Echoes of nothing but footsteps day in and night. Bickering voices that silenced as his steps were heard. He almost hated being king.

That was all until he met you.

-

It was your wedding day. Kingdoms coming together to celebrate the reign of the strongest clan and his wife.

Chants of

“Long live his sovereignty!” Scattered across the Gojo kingdom. All the days leading up to the wedding, noblemen and noblewomen congratulating his kingship.

Chandeliers hung as though they were constellations on the rounded ceiling. A warm, honeyed radiance bathed every silvery surface. The light, catching on a few faces. The palace had been perfectly decorated for this very moment.

There he was seated on his throne in the main hall. People gathered around the room. Small circles. Gossiping. A few noblewomen cast glances his way.

“Have you heard?”

“Gojo has taken a wife.”

“Ugh I wish it were me.”

“No longer single for us to ogle at.” The ladies giggled at that.

There is no doubt Gojo Satoru is a handsome man. A very handsome one indeed. Flowy snowy white hair, to his milky unwrinkled skin. Flawless. Not a rough edge in sight. His sharp nose. The small pink hue of his plump lips. To his eyes. Indigo outer rings with a hint of teal. A true blue. So vibrant one could get lost in them.

Elbow on the arm of the chair, his hand supporting his drooping face. A few white strands framing his eyes. His cerulean eyes, scanning the room. He was bored. Annoyingly so.

The real reason everyone had gathered here tonight was to congratulate his marriage. You. But you weren’t in the main hall.

A princess of a land so very far away from his. He wondered how he had found you. How anyone found you. You were so quiet. Reserved.

The first day he saw you he knew. You were going to be his wife.

He had to be strategic. Needed to make sure you’re not scared off.

He had received an invitation to a festival. So he went.

-

It was a festival celebrating the good harvest of a northern kingdom, your kingdom. Your palace gates stood open from sunrise, welcoming people of all kinds. Nobleman to villagers alike. Garlands of wheat and crimson leaves hung from every stone archway. Tables stretched across the courtyard beneath a canopy of golden lanterns, embroidered with your kingdom’s emblem. Musicians filled the air with lively melodies as children danced between stalls piled high with apples and freshly baked bread.

At noon, your father, the king, stepped onto the dais, lifting the season first loaf of bread towards the cheering crowd. So many smiles. It always warmed your father’s heart to see his people. He declared,

“This harvest belongs to every hand thy sowed, tended and gathered it.” An eruption of cheers loudening before dying down seconds after. He continues, “Tonight, we celebrate not only the bounty of our fields but the strength of our people.”

A wave of eager applause echoed through the crowd. A few whistles. People searched for any drink nearest to them, lifted it up towards the king and the sky. A huge thanks for another prosperous year.

A buzzing lively scene. Yet, where were you? He knows of the princess of this kingdom. Yet none of the women he’d seen fit a princess’s description.

Gojo had been forced to mingle with the crowd. He didn’t hate it but neither did he like it. The only thing that kept him somewhat engaged was seeing his good friend in the near distance, buried in a large crowd of women. Bubbly women. They wore gowns that emphasised their chests, pushing it upwards it almost looked as though it’ll pop out.

Duke Geto Suguru. A very handsome man with striking features, many women say. Jet black lusciously long hair falling past his waist. Perfectly slanted eyes that did only so well to hide the natural mischievous glint of his plum eyes. Well built, good posture. He wore his hair in his signature style, a bun with many loose strands. Some framing his face. One thing about Geto that Gojo loved was his playfulness that got annoying at times. Geto loves women. It truly was entertaining to see.

To an untrained eye, the women weren’t necessarily flaunting themselves at him, but they could be a little more subtle.

Gojo was standing by a stall with freshly baked bread, just watching his friend talk away with these ladies. And they eagerly engaged whenever they could. Cutting each other off so they’d have Geto’s pretty eyes back on them. Some wore a gown that showed off a bit more than they were allowed. Some hands fixing parts of their dresses, pushing up from underneath the breasts with sweaty hands, while holding an intense stare with Geto. And Geto, being the man that he is, would make them know their efforts weren’t in vain. With a few glances from their faces down to the meat of their chests, holding his eyes there longer than he should. He's a gentleman of course. But there’s only so much he can take. It so happens that his eyes fall to one of the ladies’ peaking breasts.

Reaching the bubbly crowd in heavy stomps of rich fabrics and gold, Gojo hurls an arm onto his friend’s shoulders. There’s that natural mischievous face in play. He’s smirking at Gojo, an eyebrow raised in fake concern that only Gojo knows.

“Suguru, my good friend. It’s been a while since we last spoke, shall we escort ourselves and catch up?”

That wasn’t really a question. Geto knows. He’s just stood there, grinning at his friend’s poor attempt to get him away from these women. Gojo raises his brows slightly, the natural sleepy smile on his lips curving tighter, menacingly if you squint, a hidden message. A warning. Geto I swear on this earth if we don’t leave this instant I’m going to hurt you. Geto surrenders his hands, lifting them just shoulder level, his head falling forward as a small huff of a laugh leaves him.

“Alright alright. Sigh. Excuse me ladies.” Following up with a wink. The two men walk away stumbling into each other with Gojo’s arm still wrapped around Geto’s shoulder, squeezing harder. The echo of Geto’s laughter fades as they get further away. Gojo lifts that same hand up slamming it hard on Geto’s head, there’s an echo. A tiny “ow” coming from Geto.

“Oh you’re excused alright.” One of the women seductively mutters.

It’s nearing the evening. Pink skies strew over the clouds. The festival, still as lively as ever. Gojo’s strolling through your palace floors. Away from his friend that so desperately wanted to be with a certain woman he hadn’t known of. It’s quieter indoors. Echoes of each heavy footfall of his boots scattered across the halls, reverberating off the walls.

Beautiful paintings of seas littered on most walls. Strange. No picture of the King or the Queen. No picture of the princess.

He stood still, eyeing a specific painting. It looked unfinished? Might have been purposely unfinished. Then he hears it. The faintest humming sound from a room so close.

He rushes over to the door, eager to see where that sound came from. It’s partly open, he pauses just beyond it. A narrow sliver of darkness concealing him. Then he sees. He sees you.

Your back faces him, unhearing. You think you’re alone. So you hum to yourself. A tranquil rhythm of one of the melodies you’d heard earlier. His gaze settles on you, noticeably widened eyes, softening. Unmoving.

For a long moment, he simply stares.

You’re painting. A beautiful sea with bright skies connected to land. The perfect balance of nature. There’s an admiration in his eyes that has long since grown beyond anything he knows how to name. Something so unbearably tender softens his expression further as he takes you in. His eyes trace down the top of your head to the back of your neck to your shoulders, your waist, the way in which you sit so sweetly on soft fabric. Legs curled to one side, a hand holding your weight on the other side.

His eyes linger over the smallest things. The dip of your neck. Your posture. How you didn’t care for it to be perfect. No one was here according to you, you didn’t need to pretend. He felt the tightest pull, so fiercely at his chest. An aching warmth.

He takes in a heavy breath and enters, pushing the door so slowly you can’t hear it. Only taking two steps before realising what he’s doing. You could scream. You could be frightened by him. Instead, he takes two steps back before knocking at the entrance door.

You spin around so quickly, an agitated look etched on your face. You usually never get disturbed during these quiet moments.

You suck in a quick breath of air, brows furrowed.

“Your majesty!” You utter, bowing your head with hands flat on the floor.

“In that case,” he starts, getting on one knee before bending his neck forward in a quick bow, lifting it back up like he needs to see you.

“Your majesty.” He repeats back to you. A small smile.

You’re quick to raise your head up in surprise. Mouth ajar, hesitant breaths. You stare at him with such confusion and he chuckles at that.

“No need to be wary of me princess.”

For some odd reason, your heart flutters. You feel it thump, louder than normal, you hoped he couldn’t hear it. It wasn’t a term of endearment. It was merely your title, nothing more. Nothing intimate. You hated the way your brain replayed it.

Princess.

Breathlessly you chuckle, nerves still playing with you.

Your hands are cruddy with various blues. Still staring at him in what seems to be curiosity, he takes a few confident steps closer. Each step makes you anxious. Then he kneels, with a forearm resting on one knee, so you’re eye level. Thick thighs bulging out his black pants.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off of your face, no. He tilts his head a little to the side, studying you. It’s hard to stare back. He’s awfully handsome. It was unfair the effect he had on you.

“The paintings on those walls outside, are they yours?” He asks with an amused raise of his left brow. It was hard to miss the way his eyes quickly glanced down to your lips before rushing back to your eyes.

“Uh..yes your highness. I paint a lot.” You speak with too many nerves. You’re playing with the hem of your dress, tucking your legs, hiding them under your clothes.

What would your lady governess think if she sees you.

“Hm.” He nods.

“Not only are you talented but princess, forgive me, you are so beautiful.” He says with a sigh, like he needed to tell you. You pause. Thoughts scrambling.

He has not once looked away, gaze still fixed on you. It travels down to your lips again, then up to your eyes. You have been called beautiful before, certainly but never quite like this. Never by a man who appeared to expect nothing in return other than to be in your presence.

Your father always spoke highly of you, but compliments from other men, suitors, were a different matter completely. Their praises were calculated, only said beneath your father’s watchful eye, dressed in all the proper courtesies. Flattering words, some a little more than others, in means of securing your hand, well mostly the king’s favour.

But him.

There’s no audience here.

“Uh- uh thank you, your majesty.”

“No need.”

And the two of you stay like that in a comfortable silence. He watches as you paint. Soft strokes. His eyes flickering from the canvas to your fingers. He’s seated beside you, legs crossed. You catch him staring at the side of your face, he doesn’t look away. You smile at him. He smiles back, a few teeth show. Cute, you think.

-

He dreams of you. Every night without fail. Ever since that day. It’s been two years and he still thinks about it. You. Sitting on the silk you’ve laid out on polished floors, painting without a care of the world around you. Gentle strokes of your paint brush dance across the canvas. Blue. Lots of it. Started dark at the bottom of the canvas, slowly brightening. A build up of indigo fading into cornflower then a delicate creamy baby blue. Dashes of white where the blue finally ends. Prominent darker wisps of blue scatter at the bottom the large canvas. A sea? Ah. You were painting the sea. Your fingers stretched over above the blue. Higher on the canvas. Starting something else. Green and white snowy looming figures— mountains. Mountains that resemble the ones Gojo would see on his way to your palace.

You dream of him too. The contortion of his arms. The flex of his jaw. The way he speaks of you. You remember how he’d whisper in your ear, telling you a joke of something that made you snort. You remember how warm his breath felt on your ear. How you felt your face warm at his closeness. His smell wafting in your nose. He smelt so good. You want him. But you can’t tell him that. You’ll look too desperate.

He was visiting your kingdom again, you two becoming close friends was something you wouldn’t have ever expected. He travelled a lot. On each visit he made sure to bring something that reminded you of the sea.

The constant closeness, the constant banter between the two of you had made you fall for him so deeply.

It was one special visit. He had brought a souvenir from a travel to another kingdom. A bracelet. Patterns of waves adorned it, with his initials?

It was late at night, in your family garden. The two of you sat on silk on the ground. Staring up at the darkened blue sky. You were. He was staring at you.

“Princess.” He calls you. You turn to him with a hum.

He gulps, before continuing.

“We have spent much time together…”

Oh no. It sounds like he wants to leave. You panic. Hand reaching out to cover his lips, but he grabs your wrist quickly with a laugh.

“I’m not leaving.. I just— sigh.” He’s struggling to get his words out. You stare at him in fear, hoping that this friendship you’ve built over the years doesn’t end.

“I cannot bear to keep this in me longer princess.”

You tilt your head in genuine concern.

“… I love you. I have loved you, ever since that day.” He isn’t looking at you now, his eyes dance around your wrist instead. Memorising the veins he sees, the tendons. A small flush of pink litter on his cheeks and nose, and ears you note.

The corners of your eyes prickle with tears as you smile so lovingly at him.

“Gojo. Please look at me.” You say with a shaky whisper. He does. A pathetic look on his face. But he’s silent. Tensed.

“I love you.” You say in the quietest voice, afraid you’d sob.

His face lightens, with his thumb still on your wrist, he circles the inner part. Gleaming at you brightly.

“Say you will be my wife. Please. I cannot imagine a life where you are not with me.”

There it is. The question you’ve waited for your entire life.

You sob out a “yes” and jump into his arms, crying softly into his neck.

You remember that night so clearly, it shocks you how quickly time flies. The wedding night.

You’re walking over to your husband’s bedroom, dressed in a white corset with a draping skirt, almost transparent. Only the maids are allowed in this quarter of the palace. Timid steps, hands fisting into balls at your sides. Crescent shaped boring into your palms. Sweat forming at your hairline. You’ve never sworn before. Fuckfuckfuck, your brain scrambles. Heard the staff around you do it though. You’ve heard all kinds of things from them.

However, you were always afraid your lady governess would somehow hear you. But you’re married now. Away from her finally. It shouldn’t scare you this much. Might as well do it now. You mumble your thoughts aloud.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” A small upward tilt of the corners of your mouth. You’re proud of yourself. No one hears you though.

You wait for the guilt to swallow you but you don’t feel anything. Not a single thing. Weird. Your lady governess made it seem so much worse. It helps shake a few nerves, not nearly enough though.

You’re face to face with the towering wooden doors of your bedroom. That small smile quickly diminishes into a thin line, fear taking hold of you. You turn to see a few maids surrounding the area, gesturing for you to enter. Fake smiles smeared on their faces. You turn back, facing the doors. With a heavy sigh you push them open and enter. They shut behind you, leaving you there.

You feel a small cramp in your lower stomach. Ah.

It’s your ovulation week. Well, your ovulation day. Just so happens to be the same day as your wedding day. Almost as if your body knows you’re going to get something out of this. Prepping you for that special ceremony you’ve dreaded your entire life. Alone you’ll be with him. The sun had faded from the sky a few hours before, a bold velvet black coated the kingdom skies, a pure white moon in the far distance. Flecks of its light shone into the room, illuminating the place.

There was a fireplace etched in the rich walls. Tiny cracks of wood sounding like a distant echo. Everything was perfectly arranged. You hated it. Pristine white walls adorned with rich patterns of sculpted flowers denting through. A few paintings of seas— but it looks so specific. Like the sea surrounding your kingdom. You’re not sure if that was on purpose. It felt like it though.

Dark wooden bed frame pillars anchored the bed at each corner, positioned with such deliberateness even the shadows around seemed intentional. To the silken sheets that spilt over each side of the bed. Blue and white in honour of him. His clan. Now yours. Expected to be stained with a faint red. It’s what you’ve been taught, you didn’t know any better. ‘A little bleeding is fine dear. It’s natural.’ ‘It’s supposed to hurt dear.’ You dreaded this. The faint irritation etched on your brow. The avoidance of your eyes. He saw it.

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you… ever.” His voice sounded from the opposite end of the room. Gentle. Standing afar near the shared bathroom, just next to the fireplace, Gojo was dressed in fine indigo blue robes, the neckline cut unexpectedly deep, a sliver of bare skin showing. You noticed it only because, inexplicably, your eyes were reluctant to look away. It stopped just at where his chest ends. It was the finest silk you’ve ever seen. White ribbons scattered along the seams.

You’re stood just in front of the big wooden doors. Hands pressed flat against it. You’re glancing around the room, avoiding his face. His softened eyes dart down to your semi trembling fingers scraping the doors.

You want to believe him. He’s never given you a reason not to. It was just this moment that scared you. The way you’d grown up. Teachings of this night. All the young women gathered around, seated on luxury carpet floors, some legs folded by the knee, some crossed, whilst your lady governess talks you through what’s expected of you.

‘Just lay there, make sure you’re perfectly still for he may not like it. Remember girls, disobedience to your husbands is not acceptable.’

He’s still a man after all. Except Gojo Satoru truly would never hurt you. He took a few leisure steps toward you. Graceful he is. He always walked with certainty, knowingness. A kind of commanding presence that lingers after each step, as though the air around still held traces of him after he’d walk past a person. That is, you feel him. In every room you know he’s there. He knows you do. Your body knows it before your mind can.

He’s in front of you now. A large hand coming up to your face. Your eyes follow it. His fingers lands on your cheek before the rest of his hand settles there, grazing it, cradling it. You don’t fight it— don’t fight the feel of it. It’s so unexpectedly soft. A few rough marks here and there, years of hard work and experience but the gesture is so soft. His thumb reaches out, stroking at the apples of your cheeks. Warm, he notes. His thumb circles it. And he’s just stood here, admiring you. Glowing blue eyes staring as if he’s never seen anything as precious as you before. They’re heat ridden. Low.

“You are radiant.” He quietly says, no hesitation in his voice.

A small gasp leaves you and your eyes finally meet his. Slightly widened, dancing between each of his eyes. He gives you a warm smile, reaching his eyes making them crinkle at the sides. You find yourself smiling back. An infectious smile he has. A very charming man you’ve grown to like.

He lowers his face to you, pressing his forehead to yours. The tiniest thud. Just skin softly flattened together. He’s looking at you in reverence. Loving eyes boring into your slightly afraid ones. They’re glistening blue. Like sunlight dancing on sea. You’re both exchanging slow deep breaths. Noses brushing. There's heat in the air, you feel it. Your body, growing warmer by the second. Your eyes glance down at his wet lips. He leans into you, head tilted to your right. His massive body looming over yours. Dwarfing you.

He doesn’t kiss you at first. Just a brush of his opened lips on yours. His breath fanning your lips. Slow blinks of your lashes, a slightly quivering lip, he’s waiting for you to stop him. You don’t. You want this. Whatever this feeling he’s giving you. He leans in further, the both of your eyes fluttering shut, sealing you both. Your hands come up, fiddling with the stubby hairs at his nape. The most tender touch you’ve ever felt on your lips. A closed-mouth press of his on yours. When Gojo felt your lips finally, he felt a wave of heat rush to his cock. The muscle hardening instantly.

The softest lips to ever grace this earth, he thought. He lifts you up so quickly and eagerly you register it. You really register it. A brief display of his strength, your brain stutters. He wraps your legs around his stiff waist then puts an arm around it, holding you there. It cages you with how big it is. Whilst your hands are flat on his chest not knowing where else to put them. A gasp leaves your mouth giving him the opportunity to enter his tongue. You try to avoid your tongue from his. This odd feeling. It’s too wet. You don’t like the warm feeling sitting low at your belly. The rapid thumping of your heart. The stuttering of your brain. It’s too new.

He sucks at your lower lip instead, groaning, pink lips plush against yours. Your brows are screwed in confusion and… need? A small noise escapes you. You think nothing of it, but Gojo.. he’s so hard. His brows jolt the moment he hears you. A pained expression on his face you can’t see. You haven’t noticed the straining length of his cock pressing at the lower part of his robes.

He rolls his tongue deep in your mouth and this time, you like it. You feel him squeeze a large hand at the side of your waist encouraging you. Timidly, you give the smallest roll of your tongue, brushing it against his. He whines like he’s thanking you for giving it to him. The sound makes you feel sticky between your thighs. An uncomfortable throb of your pussy following along. Then you feel it. A bead of slick easily leaving your hole. You whimper into his mouth, unsure of what feeling just came over you. You know you’re ovulating, but it’s never been like this. You, leaking for someone.

He retracts his head a little, your tongues still connected. His hazy eyes staring at your wet muscle. Slowly, he rolls it around your tongue, circling his larger one around yours. You’re panting, warm breaths mixing. He closes in again. Tilting his head, nudging his opened lips against yours. Sloshing it together. A perfect fit.

You pull back, a string of spit pulling from your mouth to his opened one. Gojo’s eyes trail down to the spit connecting you both and the pained expression on his face is amplified. Utterly affected by you.

He brings a thumb up to your parted wet lips, smoothes it along your bottom one for what felt like hours but was only a few seconds and pushes at it. The indent of his thumb at the centre of your lower lip. You’re watching him, a little more dopey now. He slides his thumb in, purposely grazing your lower lip so you really feel it.

“Anh!” You’re unfocused. You didn’t expect him to actually go in.

Your teeth catch onto it instinctively, a harmless clamp, unsure of what else he wants to do.

“Mmh no teeth love..” A low whisper. You listen, your mouth opening wider, top teeth lifting, giving him more room. He bites his bottom lip, a small grin forming.

“..There we go beautiful. Now suck.”

Your body goes stiff. Suck? Your eyes gesture to his thumb in your mouth. He lifts his eyes from your lips, they travel up to your eyes. He sees the lightheaded glare from them, a little confused too. He gives an encouraging nod at you before staring back at your opened mouth, pushing the wet thumb on your flat tongue, rubbing it. He watches the way your brow tensed at that. You liked it, he notes.

You hollow your cheeks and suck. A tiny slurping noise followed after. He groans. So loudly. You feel your clit throb, jolting your whole body.

“Uhn!” You tighten against him.

He keeps pushing his thumb at your tongue as you suck. Every push being a silent command of him telling you to keep going. And you do. Your tongue pushing back against his thumb. Curling itself around him. He leans his face into yours, warm breath gliding over your lips, nose, his thumb still in your mouth. He pushes his lips into your lower one. Mimicking you, he sucks at your bottom lip. Biting it, not enough to hurt you, but enough that you feel it. You feel what you’re doing to him. But he has to be gentle. He promised he wouldn’t hurt you. So he won’t.

He removes his damp thumb, it glistens in the light, the corners of your mouth ridden in yours and his spit. With his tongue entering first, he closes his full lips on yours again. A long open mouthed kiss. Tongues rolling against each other once more. He’s got you stuck. Bodies still pressed against the large wooden door, legs still fixed around his waist.

He pulls back, slightly out of breath and there’s you. Hard sucks of air entering and leaving you. He giggles at that. The white hairs framing his forehead now dampened.

You’re breathless and softly laughing with him.

He trails a free hand to your lower back, fingers treading upwards ever so slowly. You’re watching him with a hazy glare. A little glossy. Sluggish warm huffs slip past your wet lips. Your faces are so close. You can really see him. Flawless skin seeming so absurdly perfect, making every tiny mole stand out. There’s one under his eye. Faintly brown. It’s almost impossible to see.

With two skilled fingers, he finds the ribbon holding your clothing too tightly. He traps the ribbon between his index and middle before giving it a light tug, the corset loosens immediately. Your stomach expands in relief, lungs now able to take in gulfs of air that no longer feel uncomfortable. With the softest smile, he kisses at the right corner of your mouth before continuing. Removing the ribbon one by one until it falls onto the floors with the tiniest sound. Your head feels light. No man has ever seen you this way.

Gojo’s brain short circuits. Your tits planted directly in front of him. Nipples pebbled from the air and him. Especially because of him. He sucks in the air, lowers his face. His brows screwed in concentration and want. He closes his eyes, opens his mouth and plants it on your left tit. He sucks. Real long and hard. Your hands immediately find the top of his head, fingers clawing his hair as you stutter out a moan.

“Gojo?!” You whimper out.

“Mmmh no.” He shakes his head. Still engrossed with the feeling of your tit in his mouth.

“Call me Satoru or husband. The Gojo name is yours you know.”

He says it, mouth full of tit.

After sucking for what felt like eternity, he comes up for air, strings of spit linking between your left tit and his lips and stares up at your heat ridden face. Widened eyes, parted lips, in both fear and unfathomable lust. He grins at you. A cocky stare, slanted eyes. It’s as if he’s casted a spell on you with the way you have a bodily reaction to that smile, those teeth. Goosebumps litter all around you, he sees it.

He plants wet kisses from the underneath of your right tit leading all the way to your nipple, sucking again. Groaning into it. He carefully bites it. Seeing the squeak that leaves you, he does it again. An airy moan passing through your lips. Head tipped slightly back. Eyes fluttering, not shut, but all over the place. Watching him bite your tit felt so wrong but so good. This is nowhere close to what your lady governess had taught you.

He bites again, sucking right after. Another deep groan of his voice. With his hand still at your back, he circles the raw skin, tickling you. You're jerking your body away, unable to register the sensations he’s giving you. His other hand grasping at your hip. You weren’t fully nude. Not yet. Still draped in a silky transparent skirt that fell to the floor. He hooked a finger at the top of your skirt, dipping in, touching your skin. He wasn’t afraid to touch you. No. He’d been so desperate to do so. Waiting until nightfall just to be this close to his wife had almost killed him.

He pulls down the draping skirt, a harsh tug this time. Your hands still fisted in his hair, you feel your skirt fall completely off. A loud choke of air tumble out of your mouth.

“Satoru!”

“Hm?” He hums, kneeling down with a heavy grunt, pressing a long kiss at your exposed hip.

He hooks each of your legs over his rigid shoulders, your clawing at his scalp at this point. Uneven breaths pumping out of you. Watery eyes. You bite your bottom lip when you feel it. A kiss. Just at the top of your mound. His bottom lip brushing trimmed hairs. He trails opened mouth kisses, purposely, down your mons. Sticking out his tongue, he licks back up to the top of your mound. Trailing kisses down again. He makes his way down to where your clit hides between dripping folds. He spreads your legs further onto his shoulders, your pussy being on full display, getting his face closer to you. Smelling you. He’s salivating.

“Let me taste you? Please.” He says with a twinge of a whine. You’re too embarrassed to speak so you nod.

He brings the tip of his pointed nose to your clit and does a big sniff.

“You smell incredible my love.” He sounds so miserably intoxicated.

He pushes his face to the side, his mouth near your left inner thigh, a slightly darker area. He kisses it before biting it, not hard. You sigh out a moan. He’s so close to your core.

Then, he sucks. Loud wet noises fill the room. He sucks and kisses his way from your inner thigh to the opening of your pussy.

Gathering a wad of saliva, he spits at it. You choke.

“Satoru! That’s— hngh!” You’re cut off before you can even get it all out. He lurches his face forward, nose bumping your clit he begins sucking away at your hole. Wet filthy noises fill your ears, it’s too disgusting. You think it’s disgusting, but you seriously love it. Not secretly, not anymore. You’re too far gone for anything to be secrecy.

He curls his tongue along your slit, parting it. Tracing your sopping hole with his wet muscle, he pushes in. Nose brushing at your clit with every bob of his head. You scream. Head falling back against the doors. You’re pretty sure the maids outside can hear you. There’s no point in caring anymore. You were lied to. Your lady governess, the whispering of maids telling you how painful it was all going to be. Yet here you are screaming in blinding pleasure because of your husband.

He’s moving his hands so they rest on your ass. Gripping them so tightly it hurts. He knows it hurts so good. Pushing you further into him. You’re pushing away at him, his scalp burning at your fingers. Nails digging into him so hard, his eyes roll back at both the feel and your cunt finally in his mouth. He moans, the sound reverbing through your whole body.

He’s slurping, kissing so filthy. Switching to your inner thighs again, biting hard enough there’s an ugly bruise. Now back onto your dripping pussy. It feels too good. How has this been kept away from you your entire life.

You feel something. Unfamiliar. Burning. Scorching. There’s stars dancing around the room, everywhere going white. A coil in your lower belly, so immensely built up, snaps. You're unfurling. Cumming so hard. It blinds you for long seconds. A silent scream. Your neck on full display, bent back. He kisses your pussy through your orgasm.

Your hands uncurl from his ruined hair that still looks perfect on him. With your hands you attempt to push away at his forehead, begging him to give you space. He won’t let that happen.

He’s giggling at your attempt to push him. He’s much stronger than you. It’s cute.

You’re coming down, still drunk on your orgasm, he’s shaking his head so that his nose forcefully grazes your wet clit. Planting tongue kisses all over your inner thighs, tracing them up to your clit before sucking so hard you go limp. He catches you quickly. Hurling your body into his, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your head is lolled, heavy. Eyes dazed. He pulls it against his shoulder with a hand, smoothing gentle circles on your back, shushing you.

“You’re ok. I know it was too much. I’m sorry.” You hear his soft low voice tell you.

He carries you towards the bed, in heavy thuds, bare feet plastered on the ground, laying you on top of it delicately. Treating you as though you were a rare flower. He follows along, his knees either side of you, denting the sheets.

He smoothes your front. Large hands softly circling over your stomach, your shoulders, to your cheeks. He rubs it, leans in and kisses you so tenderly. It shocks you, the duality of it. How is he so rough at times yet so gentle.

He brings his arms up to his waist, hands uncurling the tie of his robes. He pulls it down his taut shoulders, pooling at his waist. He’s so huge. Lean muscle. All built. The definition of raw mass. Looming figure.

Bulging stiff biceps, curling as he takes off his clothes. Each segment of muscle on his torso protruded out, separated by deep narrow lines. His abs looked drawn on. His wide broad chest, dusted with green blueish veins, stretched as he moved. He opens the robes fully, removing it from his waist, throwing it elsewhere in the room.

Your eyes dart down and you see it. That weapon your governess had always talked about. That fleshy sword between his legs. It looked too big. Impossibly big. It wasn’t standing. No. It hung. An angry flush of red splotched at the tip. Bulging veins running down to it. Wet beads of pre dripping from the slit onto the sheets, some running halfway down his shaft. He’s leaked so much. You saw it attempt to throb. Just a jut of its head lifting too quickly before falling back down with another wad of transparent seed spurting out. It couldn’t even bob properly with how heavy it was. Behind it, two very heavy sacks rest. One slightly droopier than the other.

Were you shocked? Well yes. But it makes so much sense that he’s so well endowed. Very fitting on his large body.

He brings his hand up to it, it made his hands look small, grabs it from the base, giving two slow pumps. Your hips buck instinctively. You need that thing inside by all means. Was it your ovulation making it worse? Absolutely. He watches your body squirm under his heated stare, biting his lip as you do it.

“My body burns for you. See this, right here.” He tells you in a strained tone, pointing at his aching cock. A few more droplets of pre slip out.

“It leaks for you.”

A small whine stumbles out of you. Eyes twitching, your tits bounce with every heave of your chest.

He lowers the heavy thing, his hips over yours, caged by your legs and rests it on your mons, the hairs around you kiss his cock. It stretches past to your lower stomach. He was so intimately big. There is no actual way it’ll all go in. He’ll kill you.

“It won’t kill you.” He chuckles. Head thrown back a tad with a few jolts of his body.

“My wife is so funny.”

You’re panicking. Nothing about this is amusing. Your hands are clawing at the sheets beside you, your knuckles brightening.

With his hand still on his cock, he retracts his hips. The tip of his cock lagging slowly down your hairy mound, past your clit, a breathless sigh, to your soused hole. Jetting out drizzles of slick, it falls past the crack of your ass onto the bed.

He ever so slowly pushes forward. Eyes heavy. The knob pops in barely. You tighten.

“It won’t fit— Satoru it’s not.” You’re breathless, crying, pushing away from him. Hands planted on his sculpted chest. You’re smacking him but you’re so much weaker. Little kitten taps on his chest, shoulders.

“It will. It’ll fit.” He repeats. Low, syrupy. A faint whine easing through it, faintly irritated. He sounds so sure. With screwed brows, a concentrated stare. Nose flaring every few seconds. He eyes his cock at your entrance. You’ve soaked him so much. Along with his pre. He’s so wet for you.

He grips his hands on each of your thighs, squeezing it. His thumbs pressing your inner thighs

“We’ll make it fit.” He whispers.

He didn’t prep you with his long fingers. Didn’t stretch you on purpose. No. He wants to feel your pussy stretch around his cock, not his fingers. He wants to feel you take the real thing. He takes out his cock. The tip glistens with your slick and his pre. He draws a wad of saliva. Spitting, it falls onto your pussy, trickling down your folds.

He pulls your body further down on the bed, bringing you impossibly closer. Aligning his painfully throbbing cock at your hole again. He pushes in. Your body goes rigid. You feel it. The hardness, stretching you.

“Breathe for me. Hn! Let me in.” He strains out. He curves his body into you. Leaning his face into your chest, he runs kisses up the valley of your breasts. Mushy, wet. Reaching the curve of your neck, he widens his lips. Deepening the kiss. That spot that gets you delirious. You didn’t even know it felt this way. This good.

He feels the squeezing grip on his cock loosen. He pushes in further.

Halfway in your pussy, it spurts out slick with every push. Spraying onto his thighs. A small bump forming at the pit of your stomach. The outline of his cock protruding.

You hands come around his neck, nails scratching along his shoulders before settling in his hair. You hide your face into his neck and he keeps going. Keeps bulldozing his cock until he brushes past a spot that has you shaking with a broken moan. Your whole body tightening around him.

“Shh. Chu. I’m here.”

He pulls his hips back and gives a leisure thrust. Another stuttered moan.

He pulls his hips back again, this time a harder thrust. You shriek, unable to keep noises in you when he’s grazing that spot. He’s definitely doing it on purpose.

He does it again. And again. So much that your body trembles with every connection of his hips to yours. Every kiss on your neck, your cheeks. Your lips. Tongues intertwining in a messy kiss. Teeth clashing.

Long hard strokes into you. But he still hasn’t fully entered you, no. He will though.

He’s fucking you so hard you see stars. Another three pumps of his cock at your spot and you’re convulsing. Juices spraying everywhere, your back bowed in a beautiful arch. Your nails that were clawing the nape of his neck fall onto the sheets in a soft thud. You claw at the sheets instead. Body too limp to move properly.

“There we go sweetheart. Mmmh fuck you’re divine.”

“Angh! Satoru, please!” Tears spill out of your eyes in many droplets. Falling down your face, falling onto the sheets.

He leans down and captures your bottom lip with his teeth, moaning into you, feeling your shatter around his cock.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you come down from your high. He’s bullying his hips, his cock getting deeper and deeper with every thrust. Until, one heavy thrust, scraping deeply at your spot. He brings a thumb down to your clit. Quick circles on the wet muscle. You’re bucking your hips away. Thighs raised, back bowed.

“No please— please. I want you.” Needy voice fanning your ear.

There’s a strange feeling low in your stomach, it feels immensely good. Better than just now. Wetter.

You scream, squirting out your cum. It sprays everywhere, onto his abdomen. His chest. You’re stuck in an arch. Crying full on tears, sobbing. Weak punches at his shoulders.

He’s just grinning at you, so proudly. His wife squirted.

“Ugh fuckfuck— you’re incredible.” He groans out.

He still hasn’t stopped. Your tits ripple with every jolt of your body. He watches it jump. A rising pressure at the base of his cock. He’s close.

Another four hefty thrusts of his cock and he’s gone. His cock gushes. Semen spraying everywhere along your walls, he’s whining into your ear, head too heavy to hold up it falls onto your shoulder. He doesn’t pull out.

He moves your legs, his hands under your thighs, pushing them into you. Now your knees are to your chest, ankles over his shoulders, his bulky weight on you. A mating press.

He places a warm chaste kiss on your shoulder. It’s his way of knowing you’re his. Grounding himself, a reality check. Knowing you’re still here.

You feel your mind break. Unable to do anything but take it. You can’t think, can’t breathe properly. Uneven breaths leaving you with every stuttered moan. You’re whimpering, whining, crying. Flailed arms smacking away at the sheets, his shoulders. Every noise you make, fractured by the wicked movement of his hips. Incoherent babbles roll off your tongue like a frayed thread. Your eyes are half lidded, spinning. Then fully open, then rolling at a particular feel of his tip hit your spot. Long strewn out moans spill out from your sodden drooling lips. He’s so deep. Pistoning hips rutting into you. Eyes shut tight. So many tears leaking out the corners. Beads of sweat roll down his heated face, lingering at his jaw before falling onto you. Opening his eyes, he sees you. Wrecked in pleasure. You bring your forearms over your eyes, trying to ground yourself in some way. He panics. Extending a burly arm, he reaches towards your face, removing each arm in a soft tug. Caressing your cheek with a warm palm before tapping it twice.

“Hey— hey. Stay with me.” He calls out. You can’t really hear him. Not over that blinding feeling. You feel yourself squelch at a certain thrust of his hips. A certain rut of his bulbous tip brushing past your spot, hitting the end? Your cervix. His white trimmed hairs catching on your clit. Tickling it. He’s fully sheathed with every thrust of his cock. You squeeze down on him unknowingly. He doesn’t fight the grunt that escapes him. A loud rugged noise, laced with need. Every moan you hear from him scares you. It scares you how your pussy throbs at every noise, even the tiniest gasp. It scares you how you know he can feel it too. It scares you how close you are to cumming. That burningly delicious build up that’s just over there. Your head is slumped back, digging into the pillows. The sheets drenched in the mix of your pleasure.

“S—Satoru. Hngh!” You claw at his shoulders, tiny red lines littered across the beefy deltoids, his neck. You're properly crying now. Loud wails flowing out your opened mouth. He knows he’s hit your spot again. He doesn’t stop the moving of his lower body.

“Satoru— I don’t know. Hngh! What’s—”

“You’re cumming again. It’s ok, it’s ok. Let it happen.”

White hot, scorching pleasure fills your vision. You can’t see anything. It’s too much. Too wet. Your body goes flaccid. Arms placed on the bed in awkward positions. Head turned to the side. Your eyes rolling. Ugly stuttering breaths that shake your tits. He watches it all in awe.

“Don’t tap out now, we need an heir don’t we?”

You’re finished.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

A/n: whew.

I’ve been day dreaming abt this prompt for so long I had to share with you all.

© pls don’t copyright, transcribe, translate or repost this, I spent so long on this.

@toj1sleftnut <3