VATOS LOCOS 4ever esé

Reese Wilkerson was nothing if not impulsive. It wasn’t in his nature to think about the consequences of his actions—before, during, or even after. Even when karma made its rounds, Reese did not possess the ability to reflect. He didn’t reflect on his actions after pretending to kiss you. He didn’t think of what might happen if he showed up to your house in the middle of the night.

He never considered that you might be mad at him. Never considered that you might not want to see him. Never considered what he’d do once he was there. All he knew, here and now, was that having his own bed separate from his brothers made it far easier to sneak out of his house. All he knew was that if he got up and got dressed quietly enough, no one would notice he was gone. All he knew is that you liked him.

He jogged ten blocks towards your house in basketball shorts and the worn band-shirt he stole from Francis. Jogged. The walk was long and boring otherwise—it would’ve given him far too much time to think through what he was doing. Reese Wilkerson didn’t think. He only knew how to act and he needed to act on this newfound information.

It was much easier, this time, knowing where he was going. He didn’t have to peer through each of your windows like a creep, trying to guess which one was yours. He knew exactly how to reach you, climbing up the tree to your window. He had a shitty, one-handed grip on one of the branches when he let go to tap your window. The tap quickly turned into a loud bang as he lost balance, smacking against your window to stop himself from falling.

Inside your room, you jumped before visibly deflating. A moment passed before you got up to open your window, “What are you doing here?” you asked, genuinely. You were anticipating another prank.

“I have to give you something,” he said sincerely, gesturing for you to step back and let him in.

You frowned, puzzled. Reese “giving something” normally resulted in an explosion of sorts. He was banned from secret santas and birthdays. Yet, you complied, taking a step back to give him space.

Reese climbed through your window, quieter this time. It was a little startling that he was already getting better at this. You stood there, looking at each other. “So?” you asked, compelling him to continue.

Without a second thought, Reese scooped your chin in his hand, pressing his lips against yours. For a second, you didn’t react at all. Surprise flickered through your mind as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

This was Reese. Reese, who made your life a living hell. Reese, who was standing in your room in the middle of the night, kissing you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Your breath caught, hands lingering uselessly at your sides. You could’ve—maybe even should’ve—pushed him away. Yet you stood there, taking in the feeling. The warmth of his hand against your jaw, holding you like he was scared you’d disappear. The waxy layer of chapstick that subtly spread from his mouth to yours.

He pulled back, finally; the three seconds that he kissed you felt like an eternity. You half-expected him to burst out laughing. This would be the moment he’d reveal his grand scheme. Instead, he just stood there. His demeanor was unlike anything you’d ever seen from Reese before. He looked shy, vulnerable.

You grabbed the fabric of his t-shirt, closing the little space left between you, lips colliding suddenly. He gasped into your mouth, startled for only a moment before deepening the kiss. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

Every thought in your mind that this was wrong dissipated as Reese pushed himself impossibly closer to you, teeth accidentally hitting against yours. He kissed you like he was on a time-crunch, soaking up all he could before he woke from this dream. Your hand found the nape of his neck, weaving your hand through the bottom of his hair.

His hands ran along your sides gently, timidly, like he was scared to touch you. His touch lingered around your waist, afraid to travel any higher or lower, until he processed the way your tongue slid gently against his. He gripped your hips, letting out a subtle groan so quiet that you would’ve missed it if you weren’t surrounded by complete silence.

You pulled back this time, breathing into his mouth heavily. You scanned his expression as you caught your breath. Every feature of Reese’s expression was overtaken by lust. The way his eyes begged for you, mouth agape as he also fought to catch his breath. It was obvious what Reese wanted, though something subtle in his expression tipped you off.

Reese wasn’t just lustful, or horny, he reeked of need and desperation. After all the time you spent trying to tip the scale in your favor and gain the slightest bit of power over Reese, here he was handing it to you.

The corners of your mouth turned up into a subtle smile. This is how you would justify this in your head. You didn’t like Reese Wilkerson, but after all the years you spent stuck in this game of cat and mouse, you finally had an unimaginable amount of power at your disposal.

You leaned forward again, kissing along Reese’s jaw this time instead of his mouth, peppering kisses all the way down to his neck. His breath hitched the moment you pressed your lips against the warmth of his neck, knees almost buckling as he squeezed his eyes shut. You placed your palm on his chest, pressing a few more kisses into his neck before balling up part of his shirt in your hand. “Can I take this off?” You whispered, tugging on his shirt.

He nodded harshly, far too choked up to utter any real words. You let out a heavy sigh, incredibly pleased by what was unfolding before you. Reese Wilkerson was unraveling.

You pulled at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it upwards and above his head before discarding it on your bedroom floor. You didn’t hesitate before attacking his neck again, kissing from his earlobes to his collarbone. Each touch pulled a quiet moan from Reese, whose head tipped all the way back now.

You pulled back again, making eye contact with Reese who gazed at you longingly through hooded eyes. His pupils were dark and dilated, eyebrows furrowed. “Can I touch you?” You mumbled in his ear.

Your suggestion made Reese exhale heavily. His cock twitched in his pants. “Yeah,” he muttered through a heavy sigh. “Please,” he added so quietly you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly.

You nodded, foggy with lust as you lowered yourself onto your knees. Reese’s eyes almost bulged out of his head at the sight of you. You sat on your knees for a moment, scanning his face for any sign he didn’t want this. He gawked down at you, waiting eagerly.

You wanted to break Reese down into nothing and then rebuild him, perfectly wrapped around your finger. His shorts did nothing to hide his excitement; he pitched a tent right in front of your face. You looked up at him one last time before kissing a line across his crotch.

He gripped your bedpost so hard his knuckles were turning white. Disbelief was written all over his face. How did a little kiss escalate so quickly? You pulled him out of his thoughts immediately, hooking your fingers into the top of his shorts and boxers.

You waited a moment before tugging both layers of fabric from his hips down to his ankles. You exhaled heavily, taking in the pretty sight before you. No matter how many times you could’ve tried to picture a moment like this, your imagination could never compare to what was truly unfolding tonight.

You wrapped your hand around his cock, gently. Even the simplest touch was pulling groans and sighs from his throat. You abused this power, pulling every noise you could from Reese as you stroked his cock.

His eyes, which were squeezed shut, snapped open as your mouth found the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” he cried, voice wavering.

You smiled around him, taking more of him into your mouth. You worked your way up and down his cock, pleased. You had Reese right where you wanted him. He didn’t lay a hand on you, gripping your bedpost impossibly harder.

You knew this dance was coming to an end as his breath picked up. Each sound out of his mouth was a strangled cry. “Fuck,” he said, “I-“ he started, though he no longer possessed the ability to form a full thought.

You nodded in agreement; the slight movement of your head did him in. He came spilling into your mouth. You finally pulled apart from each other a few moments later, both breathing heavily as you worked to process what just happened.

She had been the one to befriend Y/N, they met at Mystical Falls High School when Rebekah tried out for the cheerleaders. Caroline had been salty about it but Y/N was happy to invite new people in.

Rebekah took a liking to her in an instant and ended up inviting her round.

That's how Klaus met her. Finding an unknown girl stood in his kitchen in only a tiny little skort and what could barely be called a top. Y/N only smiled at him and introduced herself as Rebekah's friend.

The idea of his younger sister making a friend so easily would have amused him but his thoughts had quickly ran away from him as he took her in. His viewing was cut short when Rebekah shoved him out the way.

"Sorry Y/N, that's Nik." She mumbled as she opened the cupboard to look for something for Y/N to eat. "Damn. We'll have to order something, come on." She shrugged and grabbed Y/N's hand, pulling her back upstairs.

Y/N was over often and Klaus had become accustomed to seeing her in her cheer outfit but that didn't mean he didn't feel anything.

Rebekah had only noticed it when she saw him pull a pillow over his lap part way through a movie. She knew that Klaus had a little crush on Y/N, that wasn't hard to realise with how often he looked at her and how easily his lips upturned in her presence but realising the extent made her smirk.

Rebekah would start 'lending' clothes to Y/N the day after a sleepover, having her dress in tight little shorts and tube tops. Convincing her that she didn't need to wear a bra round the house.

Klaus was almost drooling.

His fingers dug into the couch when she sat beside him after Rebekah had spread herself out across the other sofa. Klaus was too focused on not staring at Y/N's nipples to notice Rebekah's obvious game play.

When it had gotten late and Y/N started getting tired but the film wasn't finished Rebekah decided to push it. "You can always lay down. Nik doesn't mind, he even has a pillow. Just rest on his lap." Her words sounded to passive and innocent that Y/N just glanced to Klaus who, no matter how badly he knew he should've said no, nodded his head and adjusted the pillow.

Before he knew it his fingers were stroking her hair, his hips desperately holding back when she made small sounds on contempt.

Once she was asleep he couldn't help but touch her face, trace each feature. Bekah had gone to the bathroom, leaving him alone with her and his thoughts. He couldn't help but stroke her bottom lip with his thumb. As soon as he heard the door shut his hands were pulled away and he was sat back against the cushions but Rebekah knew what he wanted.

She started having lollipops on hand, always having one to give to Y/N. Klaus was losing it.

Once or twice she'd forgotten to finish her lolly, leaving it somewhere by accident. Klaus would end up licking her taste fresh from it, his eyes closing as he sucked her flavour down.

He could just about restrain himself from acting on his feelings.

Until all his other siblings were woken and also caught onto the situation. Kol would shamelessly flirt with Y/N, purposefully trying to make Klaus flip out. Even Elijah had picked up on it. He'd clear his throat and glance Klaus down, reminding his brother to cover his arousal with an amused smile on his face when Niklaus would go a beat red and pull a pillow over himself again. Kol had started calling it his 'problem pillow'.

Rebekah was subtle but Kol? Brutal.

"Don't tell me Nik's cum on his pillow again!" He'd call loud enough that it made Klaus shoot up out of his seat in panic that Y/N had heard but not quite loud enough that it would travel up the stairs to where Y/N actually was.

"Someone's in a sticky situation-" He'd jest before a book was lobbed at his head.

"You know Y/N if you're feeling stressed, I'm positive Nik would pound it out of you." He'd grin but Y/N didn't get it; thank god.

Klaus would shove Kol out the room, out the house sometimes and storm up the stairs.

Was it embarrassing? Of course. Was it hilarious for the others? Obviously.

•It took weeks for Paco to open up when you first met him. He didn’t trust easily—too many betrayals, too much pain, but once he did, he was all in.

•Paco was dangerous, but with you, he was a shield. Walking through the barrio with his arm slung over your shoulder, no one dared look your way unless they wanted trouble.

•You and him always found peace within each others presence

You found Paco splayed across the couch, staring out the window, lost in his thoughts. You sat beside him. Slowly, he shifted, making room for you to lean against him. Without a word, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you close.

The silence was peaceful. His thumb brushed over your arm, a silent acknowledgment of how much he cared without needing to say it.

•Paco always made made sure everyone knew you were his, the way his arm would slide around your waist when someone stared too long. He didn’t have to say much. Just one look, and everyone knew not to mess with you. He wasn’t just guarding you, he was claiming you. Loyalty wasn’t just a word to him; it was the foundation of how he loved.

•The second you and Paco had made it official, he started to bring you around his friends. And you were quickly integrated in, they saw you as one of them, the sister they never had.

Look who decided to show up!” Chuy called out with a laugh, elbowing Danny. “I thought you had her locked up at home, man!”

Paco rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Nah, she can take care of herself, trust me.”

You slid into the booth next to Paco, and immediately, Danny, ever the joker, threw an arm around you like you were one of the guys. “Man, Paco’s whipped!” he teased, earning a laugh from the whole table. “You know he’s been like a damn puppy since she came around.”

Paco shot him a warning glare, but it was all in good fun. “Shut up, Danny. You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t have someone to boss you around,” he shot back, laughing with his friends, intertwining your hand with his, bringing it up to kiss the back of your hand.

•When Paco left to the military you were relieved, but nonetheless devastated.

You remembered the way Paco looked the day he left. Rigid posture, buzzed hair, jaw locked. He barely said a word when he hugged you—just pulled you in so tight it hurt, his fingers trembling slightly at the base of your spine.

“I’ll write,” he murmured against your temple as he kissed you. “Please wait for me” he pleaded looking into your eyes with fear and devotion.

You nodded, fighting the lump in your throat. “I’m yours.” You promised

He pulled back, eyes meeting yours, fierce and vulnerable all at once. “I love you.”

And then he was gone.

•Letter would arrive in bunches, sometimes weeks late. Writing about his anger, his longing, his dreams for the future. Always signing each one with “Forever yours.”

You’d sleep in the clothes that he’d left behind, the scent of him slowly fading as time passed. Still, you waited.Because love like Paco’s didn’t die in the desert—it burned hotter than ever.

•Whenever Paco came back home, you would make the most of the little time you had together before he had to leave you again.

Making his favorite meals, spending time with his family. Sneaking away to quiet secluded spots, sharing a beer talking about your plans for your future, together.

You would take Polaroids together, and of each other, hoping that time would stand still. Staying up all night talking or dancing, (and more ;P) not wanting to waste any moment together. And when sleep finally caught up to you two, you would be wrapped in each other’s arms, at peace.

•You’d think it would get easier every time he left, but it never did.

You stood, wrapping your arms around him, holding on trying to keep him there with the strength of your grip alone. He held you even tighter, fierce, desperate.

When he finally pulled back, he kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips, like he was engraving it in his memory.

“I’ll come back to you,” he said. “Always.”

And then he was gone, boots echoing down the steps, leaving your heart half full and half breaking.

•By the time he had finished his time in the military. He made it his mission to marry you. You two had gone through thick and thin with each other. He wanted to grow old with you. He wanted forever.

• He had joined the LAPD, wanting to put a stop to the violence that he once lived by. Some nights, you’d find him sitting on the couch, quiet and thoughtful.

Paco didn’t say much when he came through the door—just tossed his keys on the table with more force than necessary and sat heavily on the couch, still in his uniform. His shoulders were stiff, arm wresting on the back of the couch, jaw clenched tight, like he was holding something in, like if he spoke it would all fall apart. You didn’t ask what happened. You didn’t need to. You could see it in the way he sat on the edge of the cushion.

You eased down beside him, sliding your hand on his leg until your hand settled over his chest. He didn’t move, but the hitch in his breath gave him away. You rested your cheek against the warm fabric of his sleeve, feeling the tension under his skin, the slow thud of his heartbeat beneath your palms. Giving him space to wrap his head around whatever he was thinking.

He finally let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “It’s like I’m always two steps away from becoming that same bastard I used to be, every step i take, im haunted by the past” he said, barely above a whisper. “… I don’t know if I’ve really changed, or if I’m just pretending.”

You gently turned his face toward you. “You’re not pretending,” you said, brushing your thumb over the scar on his brow. The one you knew he got long before he ever wore a badge. “You’re fighting every day. That’s more than most ever do.”

He leaned forward until his forehead rested against your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him fully this time, fingers sliding up into his hair. He let himself go quiet in your arms, body slowly relaxing, piece by piece, like he could finally fall apart knowing you’d be there to hold what was left.

“I still see you,” he murmured after a while, voice low, raw. “Back at that busted-up party on Whittier... Remember? That night Smokey got jumped and I was bleeding from my eyebrow, talking shit like I wasn’t scared.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing the nape of his neck, grounding him. “You were furious. Bleeding all over your shirt, swinging at anyone who looked at you wrong. But when you saw me, you just... stopped.”

He let out a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “You grabbed my face, told me to ‘shut the hell up’ and ‘let you clean me up before the cops came’.” His eyes lifted to meet yours now, softer than they had been all night. “You’ve always pulled me back. Even then.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing his temple, slow and warm. “you’ve always let me. Even when you didn’t know how.”

His hands came up to your waist, grounding himself in your touch. It was love aged like scars, layered with years of grief, loyalty, survival. “You’ve seen every version of me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “The broken kid who thought dying young was the only way out. And now this...”

Your hands cupping his face like they had so many times before. “And I still choose you. Every time. Not because you’ve changed, but because you keep changing. And you let me change, too.”

You were thrown inside a room. You stumbled slightly but managed to steady yourself, looking around until your gaze caught prince Aerion Targaryen standing there, a prepared bath behind him. Your eyes quickly dropped to the floor, your fingers interlacing tightly while your whole body trembled.

What terrible mistake had dragged you straight into the dragon’s den?

Your breath halted and your eyes widened when your book was tossed at your feet. You had no idea who had betrayed you, who told on you?

No one was speaking, so the thought of trying crossed your mind “M’lord… wh-.. what is… ”

“One lie and your head will lie beside that book” That alone silenced you, making you forget entirely about trying to deny it.

Death. Surely this was your punishment. Out of everyone who could have discovered your book, it had to be the prince.

“Where did you learn to read? I don’t recall the realm’s rubbish learning such things,” he said mockingly.

You didn’t react, you were used to insults like that. All you wanted was to escape with your life. To not die.

“The last lady I served when I was young… she was kind enough to teach me how to read and write, your grace” you answered him with nothing but the truth.

“Wonderful, wonderful. And does that lady know you’re defiling what she taught you? That she educated nothing but a whore?”

This time you couldn’t answer, biting your lip nervously in silence. What was wrong with enjoying your free time? even if the books were meant for adults? You were old enough to read them.

You truly wanted to roll your eyes at the thought that crossed your mind, but perhaps it was a solution.. Maybe?

So you suddenly fell to your knees on the floor, crying out, “I’m sorry, m’lord… Your Grace… please forgive me! Banish me from the castle if you must, please! Spare my life”

Aerion smiled slyly; he sensed your act. “Did that lady teach you how do a pathetic little perform as well?”

You swallowed hard, he had seen through you easily. You stopped begging and lifted yourself slightly, though you remained on your knees. Silence filled the chamber, and your frightened wandering eyes desperately wanted to rise and look at him.

Your hidden desire to see the prince up close had always lingered. He was always distant -far beyond reach- and that was how it should be. Why would a prince treat a lowborn servant kindly? Why would he approach someone so far beneath him?

Yet you remembered the other princes. The heir to the Iron Throne, Baelor Targaryen, for instance, he would always murmur his thanks whenever you did something for him. Perhaps it was only a whisper, but you always heard it when pouring his wine or serving his meals.

Aerion, however, remained distant. The maids all feared approaching him; only the older women who had raised him dealt with him directly. He despised those who didn’t carry the blood of the dragon.

But within you, a desire for him had slowly begun to grow, bit by bit. A deadly desire that now you were witnessing the result of it.

He opened his fiery red robe and stepped into the bath, then gestured for everyone to leave except you. You rubbed your hands together anxiously.

Was this your end? Had he dismissed them so there would be no witnesses?

“On your feet”

You obeyed immediately and dared to lift your eyes toward him, seeing his bare shoulders while the rest of his body remained beneath the water.

“Read” He spoke lazily, leaning back in the bath while one of his hands reached for the fruit platter, plucking a grape and placing it between his lips. You watched with such focus that you forgot his command.

“Now!”

You flinched, blinking in shock at the order, quickly picking the book up from the floor and opening it without knowing which page to start from.

‘He leaned against the tree, and then Ro-…Robert stepped forward to take the princess’s hand and-.. ’

“No!” He shouted, and your voice died instantly. Had he hated your accent? Your tone?

“Read what you wrote” He took another grape while you swallowed nervously, pulling the papers you had written from between the book’s pages.

You stared at the paper. How were you supposed to read this? This was completely improper for a prince.

Your moments of desire, your foolish fantasies… they were going to kill you.

Your eyes couldn’t lift toward him this time, but you could feel his gaze piercing straight through you.

You wet your lips and made your decision. Better to die telling your story than die for disobeying the prince.

‘She was cleaning the chimney with a cloth, kneeling as she dampened the rag before returning to scrub the iron grate of the hearth. She was smeared with grease and soot; she would likely have to scrub her body thoroughly after finishing her work for the day. The Prince-…’

You hesitated slightly before continuing.

‘Pr..Prince Aerion Targaryen entered his chambers and saw her. He did not waste a single second before approaching. His hand pressed against the back of her neck, forcing her down to the floor. She submitted without resistance, as if she were used to it, and she felt him lift her skirt before whispering, “Bare, just the way I like..”…’

Aerion released a faint groan, and your cheeks flushed when you realized what the prince was doing beneath the water.

As he stroked himself while listening to you, the heat of his excitement only intensified. A servant girl, plucked from nowhere, writing stories about him?! Was this how the common folk would immortalize his memory? Through tales like these?

His gaze drifted to your lips, then to the curves of your trembling body. Your shaking, frightened voice, he knew your heart might burst from the pressure he placed upon you. That thrilled him.

And certainly the thought of how you dared write stories about the prince of the realm occupied your mind completely now.

Fortunately for you, he rather liked these stories. They filled him with a sense of power… of authority.

He parted his lips as he leaned his head back, slowly pleasuring himself while releasing those shameless breaths and sounds. You burned with both fear and desire, yet you continued reading until he suddenly spoke.

“Stop. Come closer”

You didn’t lower the pages from your hands, assuming he merely wished to hear you better. So you stepped forward until you reached the edge of the bath. You were about to continue when he spoke again. “Go on… please me, show me what those fingers do when they’re not writing filth”

“Or would you rather anger the prince?” You hesitated for a moment before lowering the papers and looking at him, and to your shock, the sight before you made every filthy fantasy in your mind erupt. You had never dreamed you would live through one.

You quickly dropped to your knees beside the bath, placing the papers aside without caring if they became wet. Your eyes drifted to the water scattered with petals, his body obscured beneath the surface.

You lifted the hem of your sleeve hastily, gathering the fabric, while the prince released an annoyed breath. You ignored the sleeve you had meant to roll and hurried instead to do what he wanted.

You weren’t trying to show your eagerness, yet Aerion felt it clearly. The palm of your hand slid across his stomach until you reached his hard impatient cock, your fingers curling around it.

You focused on his expressions as he threw his head back once more while your hand moved up along his length and back down again, tracing the slit at the tip of his cock with your thumb, trying to mimic what you read in your books.

“Just like that”

Your mouth watering and thighs squeezed together and you heard him “oh I know how much you want it inside you, tell me about i-.. it“

“ I.. I want it so bad my prince, m’lord, want you to violate me with it the way you please, like a doll made for you to only fu.. fuck” You blurted it all out in one breath, rubbing your thighs together as you considered touching yourself with your free hand, but you froze at the thought of him noticing you doing anything without his command, so your hand moved faster along his cock while burning.

he groans as he lazily humps his cock between your fingers "Which pleasure house sent a creature like you here?"

“I’ve never been there before, your grace” you muttered, stumbling over your words as you tried to keep pace with him. You longed for him inside you until he climaxed, and you caressed him as you watched the bath water cloud with his release.

“Slut” he hissed, breathing heavily as he pulled your hand harshly away from him.

And with a simple command, he sent you away. Your legs trembling with desire and lust, soaking wet down there as you silently walked to the servants’ quarters. He surely knew that you had touched yourself that night, muffling your moans into the torn blanket.

After that day, one of the maids told you that the prince had ordered you to become one of his personal attendants. Was it a curse or a blessing? You had always wanted to see him close, now you were constantly by his side.

You helped him change his clothes, prepared his bath, arranged and cleaned his chambers, while he would often watch you. You also narrated some of the stories you had written before. While you turned as red as a tomato from embarrassment, recounting your shameless fantasies, he would either pleasure himself or simply listen. Yet he never did anything to you, so much so that you once wished he would touch you improperly by accident, until eventually you began to lose hope.

But not entirely.

You started doing little things to catch his attention. Every day you tried a different hairstyle, hoping he would notice -like he would even do anything at all when he notice- You also began putting the faintest touch of red on your lips and cheeks, though none of it seemed to help.

Once, while adjusting the folds of his clothes and fastening the belt that held his sword around his waist, he suddenly spoke “Some sweets were handed out to the maids today. What about the writer of filth?”

You were shocked by his words. Did he truly care about you? In truth, the reason behind your obsession with reading novels and writing was your loneliness and your inability to fit in. Some of the other maids mocked you for your quiet nature and isolation.

“I was cleaning here… perhaps when I return I’ll get a little, I suppose, m’lord” you replied. But you were certain there would be nothing left for you. After you finished tying the belt securely, he merely said “Whatever”

“Prepare my horse. I’m going for a ride” You thought he only wanted you to ready the horse with supplies.

You never imagined that this ride would include walking beside him for hours while he rode, several guards following behind. How badly you wanted to release those irritated breaths, you were exhausted from walking. Why was he tormenting you? You almost wished you could cut off your fingers before ever writing anything about him.

When you began to move deeper into the forest, he suddenly dismounted from his horse, handed the reins to one of the guards, and ordered them not to follow. Then he took you with him.

You were terrified, your eyes darting everywhere, searching the surroundings for danger.

Is this the moment of your execution? Your hand instinctively moved to your throat as thoughts swarmed your mind, teeth nervously worrying your lower lip. Then suddenly you felt him yank you closer, your back striking against a tree.

Your breathing quickened, your eyes squeezed shut as you wished he would take your life quickly, without pain. But instead, all you felt were his fingers loosening the strings of your bodice.

“Are you truly this frightened?” he said with mocking amusement.

Your eyes opened to look at him, your heart pounding wildly. Was this your lucky day? You felt his lips against your neck, biting and leaving marks along your delicate skin and the upper swell of your chest.

Him marking you only made you feel a strange warmth, wanted, you want to wrap your arms around him and confess that you wished to spend your life by his side. You had truly reached the furthest edge of an impossible dream.

he lowered the worn fabric of your dress from your breasts, to let the band rest beneath them. His fingers began to toy with your sensitive, hardened nipple, drawing a pained little moan from you, so you raised your hand and bit into your palm, afraid one of the guards might hear you.

“Isn’t this what you want? For the prince of the realm to take you?” He pinched you again, and you nodded eagerly and shyly.

He lifted one of your breasts in his hand and guided it toward his mouth, leaning down to it and taking it slowly, making a muffled moan escape your lips at both the sight and the sensation.

As his tongue played with your bud lips sucking on it, you felt the edge your gown going higher, his hand slipping beneath it. He moved your small garment aside, his fingers moved between your wet folds, rubbing slowly before pushing one finger inside you and drawing it out again, your muffled gasp escaping in surprise.

What had changed? Why was he suddenly giving you this pleasure?

With a soft pop, he let your breasts slip from between his lips, his gaze fixed on your flushed face and the hand covering your mouth. You were still afraid someone would hear, yet Aerion seemed thrilled by the idea, that everyone could hear you, and how the prince could pleasure you with so little.

“Hands down” he commanded sharply. You quickly obeyed, but you kept your voice as quiet as you could manage.

He was enjoying how wet and slippery you were, thinking about how his cock would drive into you easily.

“Are you still insisting you weren’t raised in a brothel? ” he asked, not truly waiting for an answer. Still, you shook your head in denial, you had truly never gone to such a place before.

Your stifled moans slipped out as he continued to move his fingers in and out with rough insistence before adding another finger, watching your expressions closely, not to see whether you were uncomfortable, but how easily his fingers alone could leave you in a mess.

Your gaze drifted to his swollen, rosy lips, and a sudden urge rose within you to kiss him. But that was surely forbidden, so you forced yourself to look up toward the sky instead. Yet he noticed your wandering eyes.

His other hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly “Look at me, princess. Don’t let your eyes wander”

Princess?

And the phrase felt familiar, even through the haze clouding your mind as you struggled to focus through the pleasure of the moment. It felt as though you had lived this scene before, no, not lived it…

You had read it.

Your eyes widened as realization struck. He was reenacting a scene from the story you had reading.

“Y-Your grace, ah-my prince, you-” You sighed, your brows drawing together with pleasure as the heat building low in your stomach finally began to break free.

“Fuck, give it to me little whore” His grip on your neck tightened as he spoke, a soft cry escaped you as shiver ran down your spine and your legs trembled.

A warm rush spread through your body as you came with ragged breath clutching your hands on the wood behind you.

Aerion withdrew his fingers, and released your neck, in that moment you wanted him again. How shameful it felt, yet at the same time you were glad, at least he had done something for you.

You remembered the rest of the scene from your book, wishing he would continue, but you knew your demands were too great. You had to stop and be grateful for this single act.

You were steadying your breath when you suddenly felt his fingers near your lips along with the command, “Clean them” You quickly grasped his wrist and began to lick them, making him smile slyly, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“On the ground” he ordered. His hands moved quickly, loosened the tie of his breeches, and for a moment you froze, unable to believe he would really follow through with the scene from the book.

You lowered yourself, feeling the rough stones and scattered leaves beneath your back, yet your eyes stayed fixed on him. He knelt before you, towering close, his gaze sharp and intense, as he removed your small garments throwing it with no care for where it fell.

“Have you done this before?” he asked but He wasn’t truly concerned, perhaps he was gathering proof that you were, in fact, a true whore.

You flushed with shame, knowing he would see through any lie, and you murmured, “O.. one of the guards… swear to give me.. more food” just from your expression he can tell that you got nothing.

Aerion ran his hands over your thighs with his expression dark and slightly anger “you remember his face?” and you nodded again so he simply said “good”

He pulled out his restrained hard cock, and a sigh of relief escaped him, few strokes before guiding himself into you, while you released a quiet groan as you gripped the shriveled leaves, crushed in your hands.

He watched where you both joined until he bottomed out, hands going to your waist, hips starting with slow, purposeful thrust loosening the tightness in his body while firing yours.

“Then what? Huh? The prince fucked the princess until she couldn’t move again, ridiculous stories” teasing laugh escaped him, his eyes were on your breast bouncing with every thrust.

He brushed his tongue over his lower lip, lifting one hand to cup your bosom, roughly pinching your nipple again, drawing a loud, involuntary moan from you.

“Your little whines are sluttier than the whores” He leaned in slightly, beginning to thrust with more force and speed.

Your eyes rolled back with the depth of pleasure as you breathed “m.. m’lord- ah”

He let go of your nipple and leaned closer, until he was at your ear hitting new angle “you enjoy it when I move faster? Stronger? Deeper? The way you describe it in your sinful fantasies” His words sent shivers down your spine, heightening your pleasure.

“ yes! pl- please, please p-“ You curved your back moving eagerly with him, trying to meet his thrusts, made him release a deep, husky growl as he spoke “That’s a good little slut, bounce back on me, take it”

Aerion raised his head, looking at your face, noting the tousled locks of your hair, a few leaves and twigs caught here and there, then his eyes met yours and noticed how it drifted to his lips, so to tease you, he planted those tiny kisses on the corner of your mouth.

You bit your tongue to hold back the frustrated sigh, as you just tried to enjoying the fact that he gives you at least a few small kisses.

He set your hands on his shoulders, then back to gripping your hips, firmly this time enough to leave bruises, He fucked you more roughly as he growls “Thank me for ruining you in a way no one else ever did, tell me that line”

You didn’t answer dazed and trembling only focusing on his strong thrusts, teetering on the edge from the relentless pressure on your sweet spot that was until he started to slow down grabbing your chin roughly “Do not test the dragon’s patience “

In a fog of thought, you tried to recall his words quickly in your mind, the line, that very line from the story you wrote and last read to him, the one he had admired so much.

“ th- thank you, my prince, you alone could ruin me with your fire-.. ah fu-“ you stopped yourself from saying the last word and when Aerion resumed his quick rhythm that made it clear you were saying the right words… “consuming me like a colossal, raging dragon whose flames leave nothing untouched ah.. a raging, mighty dragon”

Then you let out a cry of pure pleasure, as rubbed your clit with fervent intensity “Yes, now you will take the dragon seed nice and deep just like you need it”

With one last forceful thrusts, he closed his eyes, releasing muffled groans as he spilled into you while you clung to him as your body tensed and shivered all at once, surrendering to the overwhelming climax that swept through you.

With more little bumps careless of your sensitivity, he drew out the final drops waited seconds before withdrawing.

You clenched around nothing while his seed is gushing from your reddened cunt, He watched you with a proud look, pleased with what he had done.

He sat down, leaning his back against the tree as he caught his breath, then ordered you to come closer. Though every part of your body tingled with both pain and pleasure, you obeyed and crawled toward him.

You leaned against the tree beside him, forgetting for a moment who he was, letting your head fall against his shoulder, yet you quickly pulled away when you realized you had crossed a line. But he drew your head back toward him again, making your heart flutter wildly.

He lifted the small cloth pouch that was tied to his belt. Your tired eyes followed his hands, was he going to poison you? But what he took out surprised you greatly, Sweets? He placed one in your mouth, then another in his own without a single word. tiny, shy smile spread slowly across your lips while chewing, you truly were living one of your own forbidden fairytales.

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it!!

Heyyy its me again with no pt2 of ‘Fate written in scars’, so sorry but couldn’t get this one out of my head, that I wanted to write it so baddddd now im free no more distractions!! pt2 of FWIS soooonnnn

“Don't go around talking back to his guests.”

Was what you had always been told. The problem did not lie in you talking back to them, it was you putting them in their place everytime one of the old geezers commented about your behavior and how you were an exact replica of your mother. Your behavior, lack of discipline all came from her and you only wished to punch them in the face.

Fucking old people thinking they could get away with disrespect until you opened your mouth and showed them your true nature.

Today was one of those nights where your father had made your mother prepare a flourishing dinner, a grand one at that. It did not matter to him that she would grow tired, that she would sweat to the point of dehydration in the kitchen, as long as his fucking guests were content and full.

You hated them for that reason.

They could turn down the offer, but no.

You knew they were not at fault but you disliked each and every one of them.

Hearing the small knock on the door, your father ushered you to open it and you stood up from your seat, a big frown etched on your features. Upon opening the door, you were met with a much more handsome man that you'd expected. He was tall, evidently and his frame was larger than yours ever could be.

Hair a deep shade of golden and body draped in what appeared to be an expensive grey suit. His face carried a polite smile and all you could do was stare at him, enthralled by the amount of beauty this man possessed. The clearing of his throat caught you off guard, bringing you back to the real world.

“Hello, Dear. You must be his daughter.”

You nodded, at a loss of words. You stepped aside from the door, allowing the man in and he entered. In his hand was a black box and through the transparent sheet in the box you managed to catch a cake in there.

Precisely a chocolate cake.

Your favorite.

You almost smiled when the man handed the box to you, his fingers accidentally brushing over yours. It made you feel different, which made you realize how wrong all of this was. You couldn't be feeling this drawn to your father's friend — especially one that was nowhere near your age.

A decade older.

You shook your head, a feeble attempt to rid your head of thoughts regarding the mysterious man. He shook hands with your father as you eyed him, battling the allure this man had. Out of all your father's guest, this one apparently had the most grandeur dinner prepared for him. You did not like him already, as handsome as he was.

“Fucking ass.” You muttered to yourself, arms crossed over your chest and when your father signaled you to go over to the kitchen where your mother was practically slaving away under the pressures of a patriarchal household, you rolled your eyes and obliged.

Only because she most definitely needed your help.

Upon entering the kitchen, you were met with your mother who with the back of her one hand wiped away the perspiration from her forehead while with the other, whisked up some sauce. Her food was the best you'd ever tasted but this talent of hers played as a curse rather a blessing.

You sighed, reaching over and taking the whisk from her fingers. Copying her actions, whisking up the sauce for the goose laid before on tray. “I've got it. You should put the cake in the refrigerator.”

Your mother looked over to the black box you'd placed on the side of the counter and nodded, picking it up and heading towards the fridge. Just when you were done with the sauce, satisfied with its thick consistency, you poured it over the goose.

Your mother had prepared goose, beef along with shrimps. You were already starving and you knew she was too. Ever since you both had woken up, you were subjected to constant labor in the kitchen. Even after advising your father against your mother preparing dinner, taking out his guest being a better idea.

Of course the man was relentless in making his food connoisseur of a friend taste your mother's delicious food and rate it. Thus, your newfound irritation for the man was born.

Everything was done and when your mother fried the shrimps, decorating them beautifully on a pale plate, you were handed them in a tray to take outside. Your body was clumsy and everytime your mother would give you a task, she would also follow it up by a ‘be careful.’

You made your way out, thankfully wearing a short sundress which did not get in the way of you when you took the tray to the dining room. Your father's friend was already situated, gossiping about something unnecessary. You placed the tray down and lifted the plates, setting them in the middle.

You could feel his gaze upon you.

Upon looking up, you were met with him. Dark eyes focused on you, a smile causing lines in his cheeks and eyes. You quickly finished and walked back inside the kitchen with the tray in your arms, your platform heels clicking against the marble floor. Your mother was already waiting to hand you another tray, the second last and you repeated the same actions from before.

Placing the tray down — lips in a thin line, face stoic and eyes focusing on the plates you lifted. You were a clumsy girl and no matter how much you concentrated at a task at hand, you found yourself failing. As you picked up a glass, it slipped right from between your fingers.

The man reached over, to pick it up before you could, fingers brushing over yours in the process. “Be careful, Dear. You wouldn't want to break it now.”

You snatched the glass from underneath his loose grasp, placing it down on the table and smiling at him. “Don't worry, mister. I got it. This isn't my first time serving my father's rather useless friends.”

You'd whispered those words to him, with a evident fake smile on your lips. Hannibal was taken aback by your hostile behavior but he did not let it affect him — rather left him intrigued. You had a mouth to you and he enjoyed the mouthy ones, as long as they were pretty.

You had a certain allure to you.

How your hips swayed as you walked out of the kitchen, how your lips twitched in what he assumed irritation whenever your gaze captured him, bangs hovering over your forehead concealing it. Beauty had been bestowed on you and Hannibal was an admirer of art.

Even if it was forbidden.

Your father obviously was too busy smiling to even hear what you had said to his guest. You walked back inside, brought back another tray and this time your mother followed behind. Her apron untied and left on the kitchen counter and after the table was decorated, all of you sat down.

“This is a lot,” Hannibal said, very much impressed with the grandeur of the beautifully decorated dinner table. “I don't believe I would be able to stomach it all, really. You have tired yourself out, miss.”

You rolled your eyes but then, at least he'd taken his time to appreciate your mother's efforts unlike all the other guests. You still were not pleased with him and everyone began serving themselves. You watched as with each bite of the goose meat, Hannibal closed his eyes as if to really savor the taste of it.

“God, this is truly spectacular.” He praised, chewing onto the meat. “You are blessed with talent for culinary, miss.”

Your mother nodded, round cheeks flustered as she acknowledged the man's praise. Your father seemed the happiest, as if Hannibal’s validation meant everything to him. “Hannibal, I'm glad you're enjoying the food.”

So that was his name.

Hannibal Lecter.

You knew his last name since that is how your father had ordered to address him but his first name was unknown to you. Hannibal smiled, nodding his head while sliding off the meat from the fork, his lips puckered and plump. You swallowed, gaze lingering over the man's features.

Your father caught the almost empty glass of Hannibal and then looked over to you, placing his fork down. “Be a dear and pour Hannibal a glass of wine, girl.”

Your fingers tightened around the fork, placing it down and standing up. He was more than capable of pouring his own fucking wine but of course your father had to make you play little waitress — it is exactly what your mother had given birth to you for. Hannibal read your body language like it was an open book, understanding the annoyance swirling in your eyes.

You walked around the table to his side and grabbed the bottle rather roughly, aiming it over his glass and pouring the wine. In your anger, you filled his glass to the brim and accidentally spilled a few drops over his perfectly ironed suit. Your father gasped but Hannibal smiled.

“It is alright.” He reassured. “Accidents happen, may I know where the bathroom is?”

Your father, irritated, looked at you.

You nearly groaned. “I can lead you, if you'd just follow me.”

Your tone was venomous as you began walking into the direction of where the bathroom was, not waiting for the man to follow you up. Though his heavy footsteps were enough to tell you that he was right behind you. The bathroom was further into the house, down the hall in the corner and upon reaching it, you pointed at it rudely.

Hannibal tilted his head. “Help me clean this.”

“Excuse me? You're a grown man. First you fail to pour your own wine and now you expect me to clean this?” You scoffed at his expectations, losing restraint of your sharp tongue.

Hannibal stepped closer to you, locking you against the wall and you stared at him with panic filled eyes. He was too close, for his own good and your breath hitched. “Listen to me, little girl. I do not know what one sided problems you have with me nor do I care for it but you better mind your tongue.”

You stepped up, shrinking the distance between the two of you. “Or what, old man?”

He raised a brow in amusement, a smile crossing his features. Eyes locked with you, he stepped closer causing his chest to brush against yours. His breath, wine and rosemary, mingling with yours. Hannibal was not intoxicated, you knew that for sure.

“Little girls like you think they can go around disrespecting anyone.” He breathed on your face, tingles dancing over the bridge of your nose. “Wait until someone puts you in your place, then you won't be running your mouth.”

You laughed in his face. “Oh please. You're my father's guest, expect him to lick your fucking balls, not me.”

You tried walking away from him, but two steps in and his hand had already found its way around your arm. Hannibal pulled you back, your small frame colliding against the wall and a thudding sound broke through. A gasp fell from your lips and the endeavor to leave was proven futile when Hannibal wrapped a hand around your throat.

“Keep quiet.” He ordered and long gone was that sweet smile, replaced with a sharp look in his inundating gaze. “You're lucky you have a pretty face and I have an obsession with art.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Hannibal’s grip on your throat tightened, watching as you struggled in his hold. Petite hands punching at his wrist, but to no avail. You sputtered and tried to inhale some oxygen but the man had cut off your air supply tenaciously, not allowing you a whiff of the air.

Tears welled up in your eyes and at this point you could not even call out for your parents, as Hannibal had constricted your vocal chords from being used. Your pearly tears streamed down, face evolving into a deep hue of purple and that is when he released you, pushing you into the wall from the force.

You coughed, tears and drool everywhere.

Your desperate attempts to inhale some air into your expanded lungs was deemed adorable by Hannibal and he expected you to finally show some obedience. Your hands circled around your throat, a searing sensation spreading beneath the skin.

Your body shuddered at what this man was capable of. How under the veil of politeness and gentleness lurked darkness and tenacity.

“Clean the mess you’ve caused.” By that he meant the wine on his suit and you nodded, rushing inside the bathroom with him behind you.

You ran a wet towel underneath a running faucet and then turned to him with shaky fingers, clearly traumatized and afraid of what he was capable of. He noticed the tremor in your fingers, how you missed his thighs by an inch while trying to clean up the spilled wine.

“There.” You said, tossing the towel aside.

Your brattiness still had not left you and Hannibal smiled, knowing it would be fun to break a girl as adamant as you. It was obvious that you only needed time to recover from the brutality of his grip and you'd be back to disrespecting him.

“You're so pretty when you're obedient like this.” He praised, reaching out to run a thumb over your chin. You froze at the touch, lips trembling and the close proximity made you quiver in front of him like some little kitten, lead astray by someone evil. His touch now was in contrast to his monstrosity, what he'd done to your throat.

It was soft, like he meant it.

Like he traced your chin to embed his mind with it.

You wanted to stay silent but your damned tongue. “I wish I could say the same about a man as incapable as you are.”

Those words caused the soft trace of a thumb across your chin into a harsh, searing grasp. You whimpered when he tugged your whole body forward with little to no force, holding you in place. You saw him lean in, with sheer determination to capture your lips in a kiss and he did.

No amount the struggle, resistance and fight you showed.

He took your lips like the pair belonged to him. Hannibal encircled an arm around your waist and pulled you into him, your perfect little ass pressing into his crotch. His lips savored yours, sucking and biting and all you could do was struggle against his bone crushing hold.

Hannibal had lost his grip on morality, if it even existed. When his dear coworker invited him over for dinner, he never thought he would be engaging in such sinful acts with his daughter. The same daughter he'd seen pictures of, shown to him and the other coworkers by your father. You were such a pretty lamb, perfect face and luscious hair but what he did not expect was for you to have such a foul mouth.

He pushed his hips into yours and you felt something hard, perched on the curve of your small ass.

The more you struggled, the more it worked to arouse Hannibal. His golden strands hovered over his forehead as he somehow managed to pry open your mouth, harshly entering your mouth. His tongue wrapping around yours, fucking your mouth and all you could do was struggle.

Sounds of clothes bustling and kissing filled up the bathroom but thankfully the water running silenced your sounds. Hannibal’s other hand moved to grab a fistful of your perky tits through your dress and he groaned upon feeling them without a bra.

Fingers pinching and twisting your nipples rather roughly.

The kiss, once broken, left you completely light headed. A string of saliva trailing from his lips to yours, testament to what he had done to you. Your teary eyes were wide with shock as Hannibal continued drilling his bulge into your ass.

“Please,” You whimpered, palm half the size of his trying to push at his bicep. “my father will find out.”

Hannibal broke from you, not wishing to raise suspicion. He left you deserted in the bathroom and made his way back to the dinner table. You took time to stare at your disheveled reflection in the mirror — straps of the pale dress loosely sitting around your arms and purple prints on your throat intimidated you.

Your skin was tainted and you released your hair from the ponytail they were in, covering the sides of your throat with it. Hannibal had put most pressure around your throat, not directly on it.

You pursued him too and found your parents engaging in a conversation with him. His gaze met yours, with a subtle warning as you sat down on the couch. You should've told your parents about the heinous act, but you didn't and you didn't know whether it was because you lacked the courage or because you simply liked it.

How rough he was, how inhumane.

The dinner soon came to an end and Hannibal was forced to stay back by your parents. It was obvious that he also wanted to stay back, maybe for you and the thought made your stomach flutter with butterflies.

“Delicious cooking, miss. I truly enjoyed each and every dish.” Hannibal once more praised your mother and she flourished, murmuring a thank you.

Your father lead him to the guest room which was on the first floor while your room was at the top second one. You helped your mother clean the table and washed the amount of dishes which had piled up in the sink. You took your time while everyone else went to sleep — your arms sore from the amount of cleaning. It was truly tiring but there wasn't much you could do. Your mother’s tiredness was written all over her face and you could not bring about to ask her to help you.

But at least now everything was peaceful.

You'd put on light music in the background to help you clean around the kitchen, soapy hands rubbing the sponge over the tray as you moved your hips to the music. This time of the hour made you the happiest — no one to boss you around or interrupt you, bother you or irritate you.

“Having fun, aren't you?”

Your feet moved, leaping as you turned around to face the owner of the deep Lithuanian accent. “Mr. Lecter.”

Your blood ran a little cold upon recalling the events from a fee yours ago, shoulders stiffening and Hannibal, an expert at reading body language caught yours. Your little dress was soaked around your stomach from the water being splashed, exposing your taut stomach.

“Burdening a little girl with such hardwork, you deserve a reward for this.” He walked over and leaned against the counter. You noticed the change of clothes — suit and vest long gone, only left behind was his button up shirt and his dress pants. His sleeves were rolled up to expose his arms and you glanced at the protruding veins embedded underneath the skin.

You let out a laugh. “Like I said, nothing new. I'm quite used to cleaning after my father's useless guests.”

You closed your eyes, knowing you'd once again lost control of your tongue. But you did not feel bad. You felt the man move, his ever looming presence towering over you and tou sucked in a harsh breath.

“Bratty little girl.” He whispered, large hands sitting atop your waist, rubbing up and down.

You whimpered at his touch, subconsciously pressing your ass deeper into his crotch, awakening his restless cock. Hannibal thought he had you, right where he wanted but he was wrong. You'd grown a liking to his rough behavior and how easily he put you in your place.

“Did you come here for dinner or to prey on your colleague's young daughter? If he finds out, he would surely be disgusted by what a perverted man you are.” You shamed him for his sickly desires, shaking your head in disappointment.

Hannibal’s fingers dug into your sides. “Do you take me for a creep?”

“You're worse. Probably have done this to other girls and now I'm next on your line. A woman your age surely would not want you, seeing how fucking desperate you are.” Your words ignited a burning fire within him and he turned you around, pushing his hips into your concealed mound.

The visible tent in his pants only growing and your breath broke when you felt him push deeper into you. His hand moved to your hair, grasping your roots and tugging on them making you wince. Your whimpered was swallowed by Hannibal as he devoured your lips, his other free hand tugging at the thin spaghetti straps of your dress.

Unveiling your perky tits to him, he broke the kiss and started to litter kisses down the trail which connected your neck and jaw. You tried to push him off, punching at his broad chest but god, you were fucking helpless and pathetic against him.

Chills danced across your spine, maneuvering path to your pulsating cunt. Your heart beat rapid, lips falling apart to let out the prettiest of sounds.

Hannibal tore himself from you, with too much power and in the heat of the moment dragged you towards the dinner table. He pulled out a chair, sat down on it and then bent you over his lap. You couldn't make much noise of struggle as you didn't wish to disturb the peaceful sleep of both your parents.

His large hands moved your dress all the way up to your waist, exposing your sweet cunt and bare ass to him. The cold air made goosebumps protrude at your skin and you cried out, trying to move away from his lap.

“Stop, please.” You whined. “Let me go, please sir. Leave me!”

“Shut the fuck up.” He snapped, striking down his palm across your ass causing you to yelp and flinch. “You wouldn't want to wake up your parents now, do you? Their slut of a daughter managed to seduce their guest.”

You pouted but the moisture in your pussy was proof that you relished this.

He slammed his hand back down again and the sound reverberated in the confinement of the kitchen. Burning sensation flooded into your skin as he delivered another tight slap to your ass, the impact forcing you to surge forward.

“Such a perfect little ass.” Hannibal compliments, running his palm over the fat piece of globe. Your skin was so supple and soft, it drove him insane and he couldn't want to fully sink inside your little cunt. From how you behaved, you were probably a virgin.

You winced when he squeezed the flesh and then went back to hitting you, causing your skin to burn a deep shade of red. Tears had welled up, and with each hit, streamed down in rivulets. Your ass incinerated and your cunt throbbing, clenching around nothing but emptiness. “I-It hurts, Mr. Lecter, p-please. I promise, I-I won't talk back to you again.”

“Oh quiet now.” He slapped your ass again, watching the flesh jiggle with force and his cock felt like it would burst open. “Your little cunt is twitching and throbbing. You're enjoying this like the whore you are.”

You tried shaking your head to disagree but Hannibal ran his fingers across your slick, glistening folds, bringing it to show you.

“Yeah? Still going to deny that you're getting off this?”

You whimpered when he shoved his fingers into your mouth, making you suck on them. Your cheeks full and round as he moved your hand, making you take his fingers and gag on them like some whore. You were panting, bubbles of drool all around his fingers and your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut and more tears fell.

Hannibal pulled his fingers out of your mouth and grinned, plunging them both at the same time in your soaked cunt. You cried out but buried your face into his thigh, concealing the echo of your moans. The burning stretch in your untouched cunt was nothing as there was more yet to come. You writhed on his lap but he held you in place, fucking his fingers into you.

“You're sucking in my fingers like its a damn cock, little girl. Do you like it, my fingers buried to the hilt inside this greedy pussy of yours?” Even he was breathless and you whined, shaking your head but Hannibal knew better than to believe your adamant responses.

He curved his fingers, pushing them deeper and you sobbed endlessly, a mess you'd become. “P-Please.”

Your pleas had fallen upon deafened ears as Hannibal quickened his pace, with determination to pull a hot scorching orgasm out of you. His fingers managed to push into your sensitive spongy spot and your back arched off his lap, face cladded in foreign pleasure. His lips broke into a smirk as he repeatedly delivered harsh thrusts to that spot.

Your stomach tightened, thighs twitching and Hannibal figured your release was probably dancing around you. “I feel it— oh my god. I feel it, please slow down. Please fucking slow down.”

He didn't care.

Squelchy sounds paired with your muffled whines filled up the entirety of the kitchen, elevating the room with tension. Hannibal's repeated hits caused your stomach to tighten, eyes disappearing back into your skull and your orgasm taking full control of your twitchy little body.

It was all powerful, sucking the energy out of you when hot white pulsed through your veins and you unraveled right on his fingers.

Shoulders twitching, sensitive whimpers escaping your lips. Your cunt had gripped his fingers like a vice and he could only imagine what you would do to his cock. The thought drove his hunger, heightened it and when Hannibal pulled out of you, his fingers grazing against your wet walls made you whine.

He grabbed you, standing up and your wobbly legs made you give up. Lower body spent but this was merely the beginning. Pushing you up against table, he sat you down on it and parted open your legs to expose your pink cunt to him. Swollen, spent but still had more to offer.

“I'm gonna fuck this cunt of yours now. It'll feel much better than my fingers.” He whispered to you, hastily unbuckling his pants and retrieving his cock. Your hooded eyes enlarged upon witnessing the sheer size of his manhood — cock head leaking with pre cum and veins embedded in the length of it.

You shook your head. “I-I’ve never done this before. It won't fit, please. It won't.”

“I'll make it fucking fit.” He snapped at you, slapping you across the face. As beautiful as you were, the ability to annoy someone to the point of insanity was deeply rooted in to you and Hannibal could only handle so much. “Be a good girl and hold open your cunt for me, invite me in. Beg me to fuck you.”

You shook your head as you wept. “No.”

“Don't fucking test me. Do you want me to hit you again?” His threats made you reach for your pussy, spreading apart your glistening folds with your fingers and exposing the pink gaping hole to him. Because you had already have released, it only made you more sensitive and your untouched clit throbbed.

“And the begging?”

“P-Please fuck me, Mr. Lecter. Please, put your cock in me.” You were a sobbing, sputtering mess. Incoherent words everywhere and Hannibal realized he had truly broken you, not that it mattered to him.

He aligned his cock with your hole, looking up at you. “Hold it open like this for me. You only let go when I allow you to, understood?”

You nodded.

Hannibal landed a slap to your right cheek. “Use that bratty mouth of yours, baby.”

“Yes, mister.” You whispered, getting used to his harsh hits as brusque as they were.

Hannibal prodded at your hole, finally pushing his cock into you. He didn't let you get used to him, sinking fully into you and you muffled your cries by biting down on your lower lip. The force of it so harsh and potent, enough to draw out blood. Your hands ached to grab a hold of him, cling to him for dear life but he had not allowed you to let go of your cunt.

“Oh,” Hannibal groaned, chest rumbling with unbridled desire. “such a tight little cunt. If I knew he was keeping such a beautiful little girl here, I would've come sooner to attend his dinners.”

You sobbed, quietly, tears and drool making a mess on your face. Lips glistening from saliva as Hannibal buried himself inside your wet walls to the hilt.

“P-Please, wanna hold you. It hurts, please sir.” You begged, hoping that it would work to melt him and it did. Hannibal gave you a nod of approval and you were quick to cling onto him, small arms wrapped around his nape as he drilled his cock into you.

Rapidly thrusting in, hips stuttering and pelvis meeting yours. Your bare cunt made him hungry, a starved mad man who knew he would come begging for more. Looking down, he saw crimson coating his cock in the form of a ring — a testament that he had defiled a beautiful girl like you. Not that it mattered. He would do it again.

Both hands pressed against each side of you on the table, Hannibal used it to support himself while bruising your cervix. Your wails of oversensitivity were muffled by his lips as he drank them, his own growls a threat to this rendezvous. His pace was relentless, full of vigor and you could not keep up anymore.

Letting him use you like some toy, face buried in his chest.

“Beautiful girl,” he praised, heart fluttering at the sight of you so small in his hold. “with a sweet little addicting cunt. Can't wait to fill you up.”

You whined in his chest as his balls throbbed and cock head pummeled into your swollen cunt. Hannibal felt himself near, his peak around but he wanted to make you come. The second time, knowing it would be more intense than the first one.

Your stomach was taut — full of butterflies and your thighs convulsed in anticipation, heart pattering like wild rain drops over a stone. Your fingernails dug into the skin of his nape when your second, searing orgasm tore through you and your lower body immediately gave out. Loud sobs suppressed as Hannibal brutally took you like a hound.

“Sir, sir. Oh my god, It's so— I can't. Can't please.” You begged endlessly, forehead sweaty. You pulled your head from his chest, looking up at him, tits bouncing with each thrust.

He looked as disheveled as you. Shirt messily unbuttoned, not all the way, only a few buttons. Forehead drenched in sweat, golden ringlets glued to it. His lips panted and eyes shut as his hands found their grip on your small waist, drilling his cock at an animalistic pace at you.

Hannibal finally broke, reaching his high. He spilled inside you, balls hot and throbbing leaving you gasping when you felt his hot seed paint your walls. Reaching as far as your womb. “Yes. Fuck, oh god. Such a tight little pussy, a fucking whore you are.”

You were breathless and so was he, growling like an animal.

Hannibal soon pulled out, watching as your gaping hole sputtered out his seed. Pink tainted with white, and some remnants of crimson. You were spent, body falling back on the table.

“That was amazing.” He whispered, staring at you.

You were too fucked out to even say anything and Hannibal almost felt bad. Though he didn't. He picked you up, into his arms and took you to his room down the hallway since leaving you on the kitchen table sprawled out like that would put him and you both in trouble.

Your head buried in his chest, holding onto him.