You offer to pick up coffee for your worn-out co-workers on a tedious Monday morning, swiftly pick up their papers whenever you’re nearby, and you’ll probably lend them the only shoulder they can lean on whenever their domestic affairs trickle into their work-life.

A belief held mutually by everyone on Floor 8 in this corporate building — inevitably, it has clouded your discernment of nearly every single person you’ve met. Scratch that — just Nanami Kento; getting him to open up in the name of getting “everyone involved” due to your steadfast compassion, has been a strenuous effort. 

Your desk neighbour of fourteen months, coming back from a surreptitious break that went far and beyond his annual leave, was left undetected by everyone but you. It’s a shame — you’re oddly attentive enough to notice his cryptic disappearances, but you’re unable to see how much he despises you.

Though, the man rarely speaks.

But it should be obvious enough through the way your colleagues uneasily observe the awkward conversation, staring at the vein bulging out of his temple, or when he loudly sighs the moment you sit on your chair. Sometimes, you do notice it; a lingering pout appearing on your lips whenever he ignores one of your many questions, but you merely blame it on his fluctuating mood, refusing to accept his hatred for you.

If you had known beforehand that attempting to get through to Nanami Kento would be the equivalent of opening Pandora’s Box, you would’ve never looked his way.

But really, Kento would appreciate your friendliness if you could monitor the number of words that fall out of your mouth because he’s dealt with curses and the macabre that comes with it, and the last thing he needs is a jabbering colleague in a life he’s already unsatisfied with.

Having to fill the silence with idle conversation, and you just keep talking, assuming his ‘supposed’ shyness is an invitation to talk his ear down.

He just has to accept that you’re a facet to his awfully mundane life, but even if he left again and took up his previous occupation — he’d have to deal with Gojo Satoru, who’d talk down his ear just the same.

It was supposed to be a normal, tiresome Thursday evening — neither of you were enthusiastic about working overtime, resentfully jabbing your fingers against the keyboard. Computer screens shone a muted blue, brilliantly, as colleagues monotonously walked in and out of the office.

Until the lambent lights finally dimmed, and the ochre sun steadily settled behind the lofty skyscrapers.

The last official ding of the elevator opened a path for you to converse with Kento, who was happily relishing in the ambiance moments before the last co-worker left the building. Just moments before, it was the occasional sips of coffee, or the incoherent noises that escaped your mouth whenever something inconvenient appeared on your screen.

For the next few minutes, on the first overtime you’ve worked with the mysterious man, you had managed to say a day’s worth of words to him, innocently picking him apart while he debated his grave choices.

Kento is a reasonable man — a rational one, he makes smart choices and respects boundaries regardless of a person’s temperament; a gentleman that would never do something as stupid as this.

Because as you spoke, as he mindlessly typed on his keyboard, fatigued, he felt his resolve chip away like dust. His sanity was at the cusp of whatever drove him to endure months of these conversations, months of you. “You know,” you slightly whisk your chair towards him, circling the rim of your coffee cup. “Do you think anyone is going to get promoted—”

It was on the tip of your tongue — soon — it was right there, but it got trapped between your teeth, muffled by a pair of soft lips and a firm grip to your nape. You’re nearly jolted out of your seat with how fast you’re pulled towards him, settling a pair of hands onto his rock-hard chest as he steals your breath in one, quick swoop. You sharply inhale his scent, pressed against his cheek. He’s… he’s—

Before you can even register the kiss he’s planted on your lips, Kento pulls away, easing his hand to let you lean back. “What—"

“No,” he gruffly whispers, shaking his head slowly. “No more talking.”

“No more—?”

It’s as though all common sense has been sapped out of you, following his head shake as though you’re hypnotised. Your gaze follows the shape of his lips; the sheer redness, how it moves in slow motion as you retrace the way it moved against yours before you could even reciprocate it, and it repeats like a stuttering film.

“No. More. Talking.”

Normally, any sane person would smack a person for doing such a crude thing unprovoked, but you were a downright liar if you claimed Kento wasn’t diabolically attractive. And his voice, perhaps that’s the final verdict — the instrument rendering you speechless, urging you to reconnect your lips.

“What if I don’t want to?” it’s a hushed whisper, as if there are others on this floor (but as far as he and you know, it’s only the two of you).

It insinuates the worst because you’d listen — you want him to like you. Instead, you’re testing him.

But his gaze darkens beneath those yellow-tinted glasses, and he stares at your parted lips once again: “Then I’ll just have to shut it again.”

In a turn of events, somehow, the chair beneath Kento’s ass suffers; creaked against the jump you make from your chair to his lap, consuming his breath in a desperate, heated kiss. Kento isn’t reckless — he’s truly the most reasonable they can get, but there’s a hint of insanity that trickles in at overtime, from the moment that tie of his gets loosened.

As your tongues swirl in a series of hot, spit-filled kisses, he stands from his chair, pressing you to the table. He keeps your face still with one grip to your chin, staring down at you as though you’ve tipped his moral scale — eyebrows furrowed in inner confliction, and lips pursed.

You stare back with unrivalled desire, confusion too, and for once, you’re fucking speechless.

“I don’t really do these things,” he tuts, as though you’re at fault (—technically, you are). “But you talk so much, and think so little,” he taps the side of your head, to make the simple fact drill in. “No. You’re a smart one, but you just really need to work on that mouth of yours.”

“Screw you,” you respite, offended yet it doesn’t come with the bite that it needs to make it sink in. You’re still reeling from his kiss. “I’m not — I’m just trying to be nice. You’re the one that’s—”

“On your knees.”

“Excuse me?” you respond, taken-aback. Whoever this is — the man ordering you to get on your knees, is not the same man you’ve been sitting next to for months. “I’m not—”

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He simply mutters, taking a few steps back to give you the space to kneel down.

Dazed, and in a hesitant fashion, you kneel — it’s reckless, anyone could walk in; perhaps, to collect a few files they’ve left behind or a wallet too. He plants his palm to his forehead, unbuckling his belt with his other hand.

When his pants are unfastened, navy boxers in view and a thick bulge protruding just above the zip, he slowly sits back down, leans back with a lethargy that can only tell you he’s seriously debating his choices right now. “C’mere.”

And you are too — this isn’t smart at all, but your knees are shuffling across the seamed carpet, kneeled before his slouched state as he pulls down his boxers to reveal —

“Mr Nanami—”

“What did I say?” he grabs a fistful of your hair, peeved enough to lean forward as he holds his girthy cock in the other.

You’re not all prepared for the sight; a delicious sight of his thick cock being fisted by his wet hand, it’s pretty and unfairly large, fitting for a sophisticated man like him. Will it fit?

All you did was try to help him fit in, get to know him a little — if you had known what he truly felt, you would’ve avoided having your mouth stuffed full, unremittingly pounding your throat until you can no longer count your heartbeat with his shallow thrusts.

Bless your ignorance.

Because he looks absolutely delectable; no wonder your hands are fondling his balls, feverishly leaning up to spread them across his flexed abdomen.

The fan above drones loudly above you, but it’s overpowered by the creaks of his rotatable chair, lewd noises of his cock hammering the back of your throat and his melodic groans. If you could record the sound, you would.

Even with the AC on, he succumbs to the heat; hurriedly placing his glasses onto the table, loosening his tie, and popping a few buttons of his shirt open, running a warm hand through his once nicely groomed hair.

Ten minutes into adjusting around his size, with hollowed cheeks and a mouth eagerly wrapped around his girth, he’s completely unravelled.

Kento’s hand keeps you pressed down, holding you still as he thrusts his cock into your mouth, refusing you to let you show a hint of hesitation about this. Completely flushed — cheeks burning red, hands sweaty and tremulous against your scalp, and he can’t inhibit the groans escaping his mouth. 

“I really had to stuff your mouth to get you to stay quiet, hm?” he crustily mutters, easing his grip on your hair to let you control the flow of your motions. You squeeze the base of his cock tightly, bobbing up and down until slobber glides down your fist. “And you’re just taking it.”

He’s saying anything at this point, and he’s never spoken so much.

Your eyes are brimmed with tears, sliding down the corner of your eyes whenever he fastens his pace, chasing the sensation of your throat closing in on him. “Stop moving,” he orders, holding you still once again to ram into your mouth with the utmost neediness, cursing under breath. “Fuck.”

His head lolls backwards, overwhelmed, and when he looks down, he carefully plucks an eyelash that lands on your cheek. It smoothly shifts into cupping your cheek, reciprocating your voracious stare as his cock continues to be engulfed in your spit — glistening under the illumination of your computer screens.

Kento doesn’t let your mouth rest, even if there is a strain on your jaw because he wants the spit to trickle from the corners of your mouth, wants you to gag pathetically around his cockhead.

“I should fuck your throat until you lose your voice,” he mindlessly utters, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “That’ll do it… hm—I’ll fuck you speechless, would you like that?”

You senselessly moan at his vulgar words, locking your thighs together to alleviate the ache in your cunt, throbbing.

His eyebrows furrow, and his lips upturn just slightly. “You do, don’t you? Sick, sick girl,” he tuts disapprovingly, clasping both of his hands over your head, stilling your motions so he can thrust upwards mercilessly. His jaw is clenched tightly, trying to level his laboured breathing, nearing his climax. “Maybe you planned this. You wanted me to shut you up.”

Kento’s voice breaks at the end of his short tirade, slumping against the chair as he finally breaks eye contact, head lolling back. His groans become progressively louder, bordering pathetic moans that you would’ve never expected to hear fall from his mouth, and there’s a string of curses before he’s desperately rutting his hips up.

Before you can even blink your tears away, a rush of warm heat spills down your throat. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

You’re unable to see how his face contorts, with his head hanging above his backrest, so you focus on the way he deeply swallows, heaving slowly as he tries to regain his breath. But then he looks down, staring intensely; releases his grip on you, and the lewd gaze shared is disrupted by your respite, choking on the contents he unforgivingly spurted down your throat. Heavy panting swells out of your chest.

Kento examines the mess he’d made of you, drool and his seed coating your lips to your chin, webbed eyelashes and now he’s deciding something: he wants more.

He has to have more.

And you’re speechless for a while, but the silence is too painful. “Kento—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, grabbing your chin and meeting you at eye-level. Who exactly is this man? “Did I not warn you enough?”

“Someone could walk in — what are you doing?”

He hauls you up by your forearm, knees quaking until you’ve stumbled into his firm chest, abruptly bent over your desk table; shock rattles you when your face is suddenly planted to the cold surface, hands sprayed across to lessen the impact. “Kento — mhpm!”

His tie suddenly muffled your words, crumpled so far into your mouth that it earned a pool of saliva behind your tongue. “Told you to keep quiet. Why won’t you listen to me?”

One hand hastily reaches to grab your wrists, tying them behind your back. From your peripheral vision, you can see him staring down at you with a carnal impetus. The hand that isn’t constraining your movements wanders across the hem of your mid-length skirt, hunching it up until he exposes your underwear; your simple noises are tuned out by Kento, who suddenly smacks your ass to shut you up once again.

Yet, those muffled whines are billowed when he tugs your underwear down until it falls to your ankles. “I’ve been sitting next to a needy slut this entire time. Did you miss me?”

He knows it’s all rhetorical — if you were given the chance to respond, you still wouldn’t be able to utter a coherent response. Not when he’s running his fingers along your sodden slit, rubbing your clit delicately.

“You wanted my attention this badly. You have it,” he huffs, teasing your cunt with his elaborate caresses. “Look at the mess you’re making.”

Two fingers suddenly sink in, twisting and curving deliberately as he relishes the honeyed, filthy slick soaking him knuckle-deep, stretching against the erratic clenches. Your eyes roll, mouthing mindlessly at his polka-dot tie. It earns a few muffled moans before he’s slipping them out, barely having the patience to stretch you out — a much thicker rod slowly easing into your tight cunt.

The number of pleas that escape this crumpled tie isn’t missed by Kento, who hazes out a light chuckle. “You’re a difficult one.”

It’s difficult to keep quiet when he’s halfway through, nestled in your spongy walls before he pulls out slightly, just to slam back in. Your head nearly thumps against the desk wall, kept secure by the iron-clad grip on your wrists. His tie is literally doused in your spit because of your wanton moans — there’s so much wetness, on your face, in your mouth, in your cunt — it’s suffocating, and it feels madly amazing.

You can’t string a single thought together and Kento is borderline delirious, gliding across your walls with the utmost neediness, dismissing the commotion being caused; the desk weakening under his thrusts, deep grunts and pornographic moans reverberating the empty floor.  

“Just a bunch of nothing in my ear—every—fucking—day,” Kento rants, and every now and then, he’ll slow his thrusts, carefully angling his cock to gently stroke your sweet spot. You squeal at the sudden titillating burst of sensation; it earns noisier moans, a tighter squeeze around his girthy cock and he resumes his unremitting pace. “You drive me crazy.”

You’re drunk on his cock, barely registering his mean words but rather how hot he sounds with this much lust and irritation accumulated in his chest. You take his outlet, no matter how furious he might sound, and take the fullness of his cock battering your insides as if you were made for him. Too focused on trying to breathe right while he bottoms out completely, so deep that you can nearly feel him in your stomach — if that were possible.

It's so good — spurring you to say his name, tell him it’s too much, he’s too deep, that he needs to slow down, and go faster — it only comes out as a muffle. “Still want to talk? Even when I’m this deep? What else do you want?”

Kento leans down to clasp at your quivering chin, showing you the fury in his eyes down, coupled with a delirious hunger and his lips hover your gagged mouth, still carefully fucking into your pussy.

“Sluts like you can’t be helped.”

Your eyebrows crease in confusion, wondering what he’s implying but when he gently sighs, slipping out to leave you hollow and needy, his tie suffers another onslaught of protests. “No—mhpm—please—”

“Please what?” he refuses to take his tie out of your mouth, and any attempt at trying to sound coherent beyond this fabric falls short so your lidded eyes flutter lustfully, hoping he’ll take your silence as an answer. It takes a few moments before he’s satisfied. “Good answer.”

With no warning, he slams into you once again. Harder, this time.

His hands, pressed so tightly against your hips that’ll definitely leave marks, carefully keeps you aligned with his swift thrusts, making sure every grind perfectly budges your sweet spot. And it does. Even in a rush of anger, Kento understands your body far better than anyone you’ve ever slept with.

He can’t help but smack at the ripples on your ass that follow every bruising thrust, testing your endurance but it only earns a pitifully loud moan. “Sounds like you like that,” Kento hums, following each strike with a soft caress. “Of course, you do.”

When he finally has enough, his hand slips beneath you, reaching out to press rapid circles around your throbbing nub.

The sated heat spreads as he bullies that spot, fucking you so good that it no longer crosses your mind that you’re still in the office. And he can tell — the way you’re clamping down on him gives it away, and he’s shamelessly grunting at how your wet, spongy walls close in around him, practically sucking him in.

You can’t warn him — eyes blurred by tears and throat parched, hand restricted, unable to let him know that you might pass out with how hard this orgasm might hit you. He knows, fucking you with a rigorous pace that makes you think he might’ve been faking his chronic lethargy.

Kento suddenly wants you closer, lifting you up so your back is pressed against his chest, and his ragged breaths exhume across your cheek, placing your leg on the table to keep his unforgiving pace uninterrupted. His hand wraps your waist, letting your hands go.

His hand wanders shamelessly, to your neck, your breast and back to your swollen nub. “Close?”

With a feverish nod, you plant your hands on the table.

“You did good,” he mutters breathlessly. “Go on. Cum for me.”

Hand on your throat, the other rubbing relentlessly on your clit, his cock unrelenting — it’s enough to make you violently convulse, shaking with such tremor that it sends your coffee cup toppling over your table, his glasses following shortly after. The rush of heat spreads across your entire body, rendering you numb as you release all you have on his cock.

He presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, carefully fucking you through your orgasm. Kento whispers sweet nothings, praises your resolve as you come down from your high, huffing over your cheek. He leads you to your chair, letting you slump against it as you try to regain your composure.

Then he orders: “Open your legs.”

Kento reads your face; every twist and turn that implies your mind is currently exploding with thoughts, preparing itself for a glut of buffering protests. He knows you’re thinking too hard about it, so he quickly acts, kneeling down to close the space between the two of you and gently clasps your chin to direct your gaze towards him.

He can’t believe it. Whenever he looked into your eyes, he’d see a cluster of thoughts and feelings until it poured out of your mouth like a torrent. Now, when he looks into your heavy-lidded eyes, all he wants to do is rid your mind of every single unbending thought until the only words you’ll ever manage to utter is his name. He’s already done it once; he can do it again.

Kento will find a way to own up to his hypocrisy the moment you learn your lesson (—yet you haven't spoken a single word).

He drones. “Hey, I’m not asking you to think about it. I’m telling you. Open them for me.”

There’s an impasse in your throat, but you’re stunned at his bluntness. Kento is so attentive and patient, duly waiting for you to listen to his command. So, you listen, and when you do, his eyes slowly and insatiably trail down to the space between your legs, staring until your thighs press into the armrests.

He can see the slick run down your inner thighs. It’s still stifled by his tie but said as clear as day. “Kento.”

“Shush,” he hushes quietly, sliding his hand between your thighs. A heavy exhale escapes your chest when he runs his fingers across your slit again. “We can’t have you walking out like this, can we?”

He scoops the slick up with his digits, easing them back inside of your cunt, watches intently at it closes around him. His cock profusely leaks at the sight. Kento leans down to press his sweet lips around your swollen nub, earning a lecherous moan that bleeds through his tie. He reaches down to stroke his cock as he devours your cunt with his mouth; slurps and smacks huffed beneath your skirt like a man parched.

It's just to clean you up a little — aftercare, he thinks.

But he’s selfish.

When he’s satiated, he leans up.

Your eyes widen, lingering on the slick around his lips; his hair is a mess too, looks completely delirious, unlike his usual, composed state, all because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Kento slowly takes his tie out of your mouth, observing how drenched it is, and you sharply inhale the whiff of cold air that hits the back of your throat.

“You’re sweet,” he mutters, folding his soaked tie and shoving into his pocket. “But please, shut up.”

Too dazed to process his back-handed sentiment, you watch as he adjusts his attire, slowly picking his glasses up from the floor, and putting them on. “I’ll keep quiet,” you murmur, with no bite — feeble, “—not just now. All the time. Don’t go.”

He adjusts his cuffs, and picks up your underwear, stuffing them into the same pocket. “You’re still talking, aren’t you?” He stands up, places a hand on your head, making sure you look up at him with that docile look and a surge of arousal returns, tenfold. Looks at his watch and decides that he still has time. “We’re far from done.”

It’s a quiet morning — you’re exhausted, depleted by the … tireless night you both had. But Kento is stoic, typing away next to you and paying careful attention to the documents in front of him.

You hadn’t noticed how much you spoke until your colleagues started to stare. “Hey, are you okay?”

One of them asks, concerned. You stare at them, perplexed by their question but just before you speak, you turn to Kento who doesn’t seem fazed or even remotely notices the conversation ensuing beside him.

Still, you’re spurred to keep your mouth shut — last night’s lesson still ingrained in your mind (—and your cunt).

You quickly turn to your co-worker, and nod zealously, returning to the task at hand. She appears surprised but doesn’t push.

You briefly stare down at the coffee stain on the carpet, recalling the events of last night. It’s all you can think about.

When you’re at the printer, waiting for a few papers to process, Kento walks by. Suppose this is why work relationships are so complicated. All you want is for him to fuck you right here, on this printer, in front of everyone—

You’re so deep in thought, you don’t realise he’s calling out your name.

“Hm?”

Kento peers down at you with that gaze; alluring and concerned all at once. “For the coffee,” he hands you a brand-new coffee cup, referring to the one that was dropped after the fuss caused last night, on that table. He’s such a gentleman. Fuck me. He exhales through his nose. “Maybe another time.”

“What?” you ask, concerned that you might’ve let your thoughts slip.

“You said that out loud.” He simply says. Oh.

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I was just saying anything. Right—sorry—I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

He fights a smile. “No. Actually, I was pretty interested about your solo travelling around Malaysia,” he recalls, referring to one of your many babbles last night (—that wasn't punished by his dick, not that you’re complaining). He indulged in three hours of bed-time talk before you finally slept but most if it fell into a vague memory. You never realised you spoke for that long — it's all coming back now but you’re surprised that he even remembers. “I’d like to know more.”

“Really?” you ask, trying to conceal your giddiness. “Well, I’m free after work.”

“Good.” He simply nods, preparing to go back to his desk. He stills for a moment, “—we can worry about, um—fucking—later.”

Your eyes widen, looking around the office to make sure no one overhears your conversation, turning away to hide your embarrassment. He walks back to his desk, not without you peeking a few glances here and there, completely smitten with the man you’re so desperate to know more about.

“Hey,” one of your co-workers’ paces towards you. “Did you drop your coffee last night?”

you can’t help it, really, when it riles kento up so easily. the way he vibrates under his skin with anger, irritated that another person could ever think of his wife in any manner that is less than respectable. 

kento sets your hand gently back down on your lap, jaw clenching as his fingers twist around your wrist tightly. though he hides his irritation well, you can tell from the sharp glint in his eye, the tension in his shoulders, that it is getting the best of him. 

your husband may be sweet, a lover that never acts rashly out of anger, but he has a possessive streak he’s never been very good at taming. 

as kento stiffens, you smile sweetly at ino, who exhales heavily, shifting all of his attention on your husband. though, you are staring him down, listening attentively to every word that he says.

while ino speaks, you slide your hand back over kento’s thigh, vying for his attention. he clears his throat, a warning, as he grips your wrist once more and pushes you away.

it won’t be much longer before he snaps. kento's sitting straighter, back taut as he focuses his gaze sharply on the younger man across from him. whatever the two of them are speaking about is dull, repetitive talk about work that you are bored of. 

“so, ino,” you finally ask, the lull in the conversation that you've been waiting for. you speak up before kento can ask any more questions about the sorcerer’s progress. “any pretty sorcerers caught your eye?” you lean froward with a small grin, your breasts fully on display as you set your chin in your palm. “surely someone as charming as you already has a girlfriend."

ino turns red then, a flush spreading from every corner as he tries, so hard, not to let his eyes fall. you admire the effort, really, even though kento catches the moment the younger man's gaze drops, the half second he stares at your tits and squirms in his seat. 

“n-no,” ino stutters, nervous for the first time in this conversation; he is usually so loud and outspoken, never feeling shy about the words that leave his lips. “can’t seem to find many sorcerers my age.” 

you laugh. it’s true that there are few sorcerers from his year, but you know it is the wrong thing to say.

anger radiates off your husband, and with a sense of satisfaction, you trace your fingers back up his thigh before grinning, batting your eyelashes at ino.

“why not go for someone older, then?” you ask, palming a hand over the steadily growing bulge in kento’s pants

ino chokes, and kento grabs your hand roughly, shoving your fist back onto his lap as he steadies all his anger and buries it down.

“excuse me,” kento suddenly interrupts, and his voice is so calm, so smooth, that its almost like nothing is out of the ordinary. he slides out of the booth, running a palm over his slacks, palms sweaty from his annoyance. “i just remembered i’ve got an important phone call to make. could we put a pause on this conversation?” he is so polite as he nods his head, and ino blinks, looks between the two of you, uncertain if he’s done something wrong. 

“of course,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “take you time.” 

“would you come with me, sweetheart?” kento turns to you then, and he sounds normal, like there’s nothing wrong, but his hands flex at his side, and his eyes are narrowed almost imperceptibly.

kento’s mad, and you know you’re fucked; but you can't help the desire that sits heavily in your stomach, the way you’re already soaking your panties, wanting him inside you. 

“sure, ken.” you nod, smiling at him. “sorry, ino, we’ll back right back.”

you stand next to your husband, who places a heavy hand on your shoulder, a warning. but you love the feeling of his skin on your own and it does little to stop your teasing; it only makes you want him more. 

ino says nothing as kento leads you around the restaurant, takes you to the back of the shop where there are two single-person bathrooms. one is occupied, and the other, empty. 

the two of you go inside.

“are you trying to embarrass me?” kento says angrily, shoving you into the bathroom as he locks the door behind him, his eyes hungry at the sight of your flushed cheeks, the way you are already so desperate for him. he pushes you towards the sink, eyes flashing as you reach for him, hastily undoing his tie. “you’re acting like a fucking brat whose husband doesn’t know how fuck her right.”

“maybe you don’t,” you counter, yanking off his tie so you can unbutton his shirt, slide your hands across the expanse of his chest. god, you want him so fucking bad. you’re aching, arousal pooling in your panties as your husband lifts you, shoves you back onto the sink. “you wouldn’t even take care of me before you left—“ 

“don’t start.” he glares and unzips his slacks to free his half-hard cock, stroking it as you try to get your hands on him. though that attempt is feeble as kento grabs both your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head. with the other, he hikes your dress up, pushing it along your smooth thighs.

his voice is low and dangerous, deepening as he dances fingertips along your skin. “you’re so fucking desperate for attention that you’ll take it from anyone.” he pins you with his hard gaze, and you’re hot all over, legs shaking with anticipation. “i bet you like that he wants to fuck you so bad, even when you know i can fuck you better.”

you whimper, eyelids fluttering as kento reaches under your dress to pull down your panties.

“prove it, then” you say, and you know you’re only digging yourself a deeper hole, annoying him further as you grope at him. you squirm, trying to release your wrists from his hold, but he’s so strong; you’re only left a writhing mess under his touch. “i want you, kento.” 

“yeah?” he asks, yanking your panties roughly down your thighs, the pair that has already been soaked through. “if i give you what you want, will you sit there quietly like a good girl, and stop flirting with the kid who wants something he can’t have?” 

the tone sends aching need throughout you, and the commanding presence of his voice is almost too much. “i promise,” you say, shaking as you lock your heels around his hips. “please.” 

“please,” kento repeats mockingly, eyes hard as he slips a finger inside of you. he slides right in, barely needing to prep you before he fucks you. “you should be embarrassed; you’re this fucking wet just from looking at me." his eyes harden. "so impatient that you can’t even wait until we get home.” 

“i’ve been patient all day,” you say, high-pitched, but you’re quickly silenced as kento slides in and out of you, setting a steady pace while his thick fingers squelch inside your aching pussy. “need you to—“ 

“stop making demands." he releases your wrists to place a hand on your hips, stop you from fucking yourself on his fingers. “shouldn’t even be giving you what you want, but i can’t help myself. you’re so pretty, so desperate to have my cock inside you that you can’t even sit still.” 

“kento, fuck,” you groan, grabbing his shoulders as he stretches his fingers deeper inside you, past the walls that clamp down on him. in a desperation to keep quiet, you try to kiss him, moan into his mouth so no one else can hear you. 

but he grips your hair tightly, pulls you away from his lips as you moan, loudly, into the tight space of the bathroom. “nice try.” his fingers pump in and out of your soaked cunt. “but i want everyone to hear those pretty sounds, sweetheart. need them to know who’s fucking the brat out of you.” 

you try to pull him towards you, shift him closer with your ankles. “kento—”

“louder.” 

“kento, fuck, baby, please. i want you so bad, i love you—” you’re almost screaming, desperate to cum as his thumb brushes against your clit, teasing, and not enough for you to find complete release.

but you’re squeezing so tightly around his fingers that he must know you’re close, even as he pulls out of you, the juices from your need for him soaking his knuckle. 

finally, he smiles at you, softly.

“there’s my good girl,” he says, and it reminds you why you never want anyone else but him, why you need him, desperately, all the time. kento’s cock is already aching, leaking, and he forces it into you without warning, grunting into your neck. “sometimes, you're just so fucking stupid when you want my cock.” 

you nod, whimpering out a breathy moan as he thrusts into you, hard and rough, still holding you by the hair so you can’t kiss him, even as much as you want to. 

you’re so hot all over, skin burning as he stretches you. “please, let me cum, ken,” you say, and there’s tears in your eyes; you’re so close, but you want to be good for him, want to show him how much you love him. 

he hums against your neck, watches you writhe as he forces himself deeper into you, burying his cock in your pussy completely.

you can’t help the sinful noises that leave your throat, echoing down the vents to the kitchen, to the dining room. and maybe everyone in the restaurant can hear your husband fucking you, but you don’t care, not when you’ve waited this long for him to be inside you. 

“so pretty,” he says, sharply, and finally, he lets his hands fall from your hair, holds your hips instead, bringing you harder onto his cock. 

a tear rolls down your cheek and you bite down on your tongue to keep from screaming, whimpering at the aching pleasure in your entire body. 

“you’re mine,” kento says, kissing you sloppily, hungrily as you thread your fingers through his hair. his tip brushes the sensitive spot inside you, and you're not sure how much longer you can stop yourself from cumming. “mine, mine, mine. no one else should ever get to fucking look at you if they can’t tell who you belong to.” 

“i don’t want anyone but you,” you say, and you’re almost shouting, saliva all over your mouth as you drool from his harsh kisses. "i'm yours, kento."

you feel him smile against your lips. “that’s my girl,” he says, voice rough as he grips you tightly, nearing his own orgasm. “you wanna cum, pretty? make a mess on my my cock, sweetheart. i’m so close.” 

his thrusts grow sloppy, and you grip his shoulders as he fucks deep into you cunt, forcefully, and, finally, you cry out, toes curling as you cum, hard, around him.

kento’s face is flushed, sweat at his hairline as his tips edges against your cervix, almost painfully, before he’s toppling over the edge, biting down hard on your shoulder with a groan. hot ropes spill into your cunt, and you're still writhing, moaning from sensitivity as his warm seed settles deep within you. 

he’s so pretty; you kiss him over and over, the loose hair that sticks to his forehead, the flush on his cheeks. “mmm,” you hum, tasting the coffee on his tongue. “love you so much, kento,” 

“you say that now,” he says curtly, slowly dragging himself out of your tight walls. “but wait until we get home.” 

already, your pussy aches again, and you’re too warm, sweating as kento fixes his hair in the mirror. 

you try to slide your panties back on, reach for where they've pooled at your ankles, but kento is faster. he yanks them away, folds them up nicely to tuck into his pocket. 

“kento—”

“leave them off,” he says, sniffing as his cheeks slowly return to their normal color. “maybe ino will stop thinking about fucking my wife if he sees my cum running down her thighs.” 

you stare at him, blinking, but you don’t have the energy or the willpower to fight anymore. instead, you obey, standing as a mix of kento's cum and your own juices seep onto your inner thigh, creating a sticky mess between your legs.

your husband unlocks the door, and you follow him back into the dining room, where ino is subtly sliding back into the booth, his cheeks red, a bulge obvious in his pants. he glances between the two of you with wide eyes, and darts his gaze back down between your legs, before staring at kento uncomfortably. 

“did you get your call sorted out?” he asks, and his voice is higher, squeakier as you sit down with your husband. 

kento smirks, satisfied. “it’s been taken care of.”

toji, whom you wouldn’t have guessed was a pervert of any kind at the start of your relationship. your first intimate experience with him went as expected; it was soft and slow vanilla sex. you were just getting to know each other’s preferences in bed, so for the first few times there were almost to no signs of toji’s sexual perversity. all you remember was him being the dominant one. nothing more.

but oh, there was so much more to that. it was just hidden from your view in the early stages of your relationship. you didn’t have any knowledge of what toji was doing behind your back or what his actual thoughts were during the times you’ve been intimate.

toji, whom you didn’t know wanted to get straight into business from the very beginning of your sex life; to have your wrists pinned above your head, his hips slamming into your small cunny and molding it to remember the shape of his big cock. toji needed to see your helpless body moaning, screaming, crying and drooling from underneath him. but he couldn’t achieve that just yet; he needed to take it easy on you at first—to build up the trust between you two in bed. especially because you weren’t as experienced as he was.

toji, whom could only count on his imagination to fulfil his secret desires. he does this whenever you’re staying over and are asleep in his bed next to him. the entire apartment would be dead quiet except for toji’s muffled grunts and the faint wet sounds of him jerking off underneath the blanket.

you’d be in deep slumber with your back facing him and he’ll pleasure himself at simply the sight of your body. the older man loved just how vulnerable and innocent you seemed in your sleep—leaving your figure open and accessible to his view.

the strokes on his cock would get faster each time his eyes land on the shape of your ass. toji always imagines how it’d look when he’s giving you backshots, how the fat would jiggle with each thrust or smack of his hand. he wants to see your plump ass bounce back on him and maybe even have it covered in his cum.

toji, who sometimes stops palming himself just to turn your body around to face him. that way he can have a great view of your tits and fantasise of putting his cock between them, having the pair swallow his entire length once he squeezes them together. he’s never talked to you about it, but he will one day when you’re ready to explore more kinks and stuff in the bedroom.

toji, who keeps a pair of your panties in a secret drawer. those are his special panties, aka, the ones he uses to jerk off when you’re away. he’s done the filthiest of stuff with them; he has sniffed the insides-as if the scent of your sweet cunt lingered on the fabric- he has wrapped the cloth around his thick cock and even came multiple times all over it. he always imagines it being your pussy that he spills his load in; not his fist nor the panties.

toji, whose switch gets flipped the moment you (accidentally) call him ‘daddy’ in bed. it slipped from your mouth in the heat of the moment and the older man had to stop all movements to stare down at you— the scarred corner of his lip twitching and eventually forming a full on smirk.

not only that: it was like his entire demeanour changed. toji got more arrogant, cocky, confident and especially more dominant ever since then. that slip up of yours was the reason toji decided to let go of any restraints and just fuck you like he was always meant to do: nasty, dirty and roughly.

“yeah? mhh, fuck— say that again f’me, little girl— c’mon. if ya won’t, i’ll pull out and leave y’r cunt empty, so you better hurry up.”

toji, whose libido only increases with age rather than the opposite. you’d think dating an older guy in his mid 30s would mean that he’s going to be less sexually active. well, toji was your living proof that that wasn’t the case.. at all. he gets his dick hard just by seeing a tiny bit of your cleavage, never says ‘no’ to fucking you no matter where or when and has so much stamina that he can go on until you’re passed out. sometimes you’re fucked so full of his cum to the point that it’s impossible to push it all back into you— the white liquid just keeps leaking out of your poor pussy no matter what.

it makes toji super proud whenever you’re passed out on the bed, body still twitching and quivering in your sleep whilst he finishes himself within a few more pumps. he’s proud that he still has it in him and can last way longer compared to you, who’s still young and full of energy.

“aww, poor little baby— fucked ya right to sleep, hm? c’mere.”

toji, whose secret drawer slowly piles up with raunchy pictures of you in all kinds of comprising positions. most of them are images taken from his point of view which he captures between videos. some of them are of your ass with his dick visible between your folds, others are pictures of your fucked out self— the state which toji thinks you look the most beautiful in.

his cum dripping from your cunt, your hair a mess, sweaty skin glistening under the dim light of the room, cheeks stained with your own tears; that afterglow was something toji liked to admire. that’s why keeps those memories in his drawer (but also to masturbate to them when you’re not around, of course).

toji, who’s on cloud nine whenever he gets the chance to drown your fertile womb in multiple loads of his hot cum. he was already over the moon once you told him he could hit it raw— but then you were begging him to cum in you? that man was not going to stop at just one round. that was set in stone.

the mating press is his favourite position since it allowed him to penetrate you deep— pink tip almost painfully hitting your cervix over and over again. toji also likes it because he can get to see your pretty face whenever he shoots ropes of his potent seed inside of your womb.

toji, who’d never admit it out loud, but desperately needs to see you grow a little belly full of a new life. one which you carry with you everywhere— even whilst attending your college lectures. he can’t get the image out of his head; you wearing those skintight shirts or materinity clothes that show off your swollen stomach. he’s gonna be so proud walking next to you on the streets, knowing you’re his baby mama.

“mmh, shit— gnna fuck a baby into you, yeah? haah,, wanna see you carry my child ‘round and have you be my baby mama. hmm, you’d like that? i knew you’d do, slut— i bet everyone at y’r college is gonna know who knocked you up.”

toji, who has dirty fantasies of sharing you with his agent. he’s never thought about it before, but there was one single moment that changed his mind.

shiu visited his place once to discuss a business deal and you coincidentally were over at toji’s as well. you were kind enough to serve the two men a meal while they were discussing something which you didn’t understand. you sat down and joined them anyway (much to shiu’s dismay since it was confidential information he was sharing, but toji insisted you’d stay or he won’t take on the job. he could be petty every now and then.)

toji’s mind began wandering to some dirty thoughts as he looked at you, peacefully sitting between the two men, your fingers playing with toji’s out of boredom. your lover was instantly intrigued by the idea of having you sandwiched between shiu and him—your holes stuffed with two cocks at the same time. or just you sucking toji off while shiu was pounding your tight pussy. that alone made toji’s dick twitch in his pants.

once shiu was gone, toji wasted no time and pinned you against the wall near the front door— kicking his sweatpants and underwear away whilst his calloused fingers pulled your panties to the side;

“c’mere, lemme put that cunt to use— did y’know how close i was to jus’ fuckin’ you right in front of him? to let him see how good of a girl you can be f’me? mhmm, might even call him back so he join us.”

toji, who eats pussy like an absolute madman. he’s obsessed with eating you out and making it messy—his spit and your body fluids are always all over his lips, chin and cheeks when he’s done with you. one moment you’re chilling on the couch in your shorts and in the next you’re arching your back as toji’s head was nestled between your thighs.

he’d moan and grunt against you, his voice creating vibrations against your cunt which only adds to the pleasure that his mouth and tongue were giving you. toji’s nose would rub against your wet folds, his big hands holding your thighs apart while his tongue was lapping up all that it could. he definitely sniffs your pussy as well from time to time;

“mmm— aw, gonna cum already? do it, wanna taste you so bad, wanna see you cum all over my tongue. c’mon, you can do it—mhmmm, yes you can. do it for me, doll. cum for daddy. give it to him.”