mana

♱

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned…”

The familiar words tumbled from your lips, and your gaze remained on your lap, eyes following your finger as you traced patterns into the solid black skirt on your frame. It kissed your ankle as you shifted your feet, and the reminder of the long fabric had you swallowing down less than gentle thoughts. You slowly reached up to touch the collar of your shirt, eyes briefly falling closed as you cleared your throat.

You’d spent hours agonizing over how you’d leave the house…

“It has been seven days since my last confession. These are my sins.”

Like clockwork, you listed the time you cursed for some accident or another and the time you took the Lord’s name in vain and the brief impure thought about that attractive man you’d seen in the grocery store. Every week, it was the same. Sins that you yourself would never have considered as such months ago that you were now hyper aware of. They climbed out of your throat seamlessly, remembering every single one until only one was left.

The silence between you and the man just on the other side of that wall stretched—a familiar occurrence—and you took your lip between your teeth. You could taste blood as you worried it, swallowing it down before clearing your throat again. You smoothed your hand over your skirt, and you furiously blinked, struggling to blink away the tears that had started to collect. As you sat in silence, you wondered why you were trying so hard to impress people that had already written you off?

“I’ve had…some hateful thoughts as well.”

You struggled to get the words out, always struck by just how emotional this made you. You looked up towards the ceiling, eyes roaming, and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had started to pick up until he spoke.

Father Mayhew.

“Take your time,” he gently encouraged. “Speak when you are ready.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words, recalling your first ever confessional and how you’d cried. It was as embarrassing now as it was then, but it was necessary. You were determined to live differently now—to be different, now.

“Although I have abandoned my former life and…occupation…” you thought you heard him shift. “...I feel as if I will never truly be forgiven for it.”

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“...will never be accepted.”

You recalled the eyes that often found their way to you during mass—the judgment, the disdain, the way in which some stared at you as if they didn’t know how to place you. 

Every sunday it was the same. You’d wake up and agonize over how to present yourself in a place as holy as this. You’d fret that this skirt was too short and that dress was too tight. You’d fiddle with your hair for far too long and every lipstick you wiped off would stain your lips a little more than the last. You were constantly at a crossroad, torn between wanting to look nice for church and concerned about looking like…well…a whore.

You struggled to swallow.

“I see the way they look at me,” you eventually whispered, staring at nothing. “I can’t hear what they whisper, but I know it’s about me.”

You touched your throat, hating how tight it felt.

“It’s…discouraging.”

You didn’t want to use that word, but it was the only word that was appropriate. It made you sad, and you often wondered why you kept returning to a place that made you sad. Surely a church wasn’t necessary to ‘find God’...right? You didn’t think so, but you had wanted to start somewhere, and considering that none of your friends even owned a bible, they had been of no help. Stepping foot into a place that had only ever served to be ominous and oppressive in your eyes was the most terrifying thing you’d ever done.

…but then you had laid eyes on Father Mayhew.

He’d been the only one in the church at the time, and you would never forget the curious glint in his dark gaze. You’d had no doubt that he could see you were scared and unsure and in an environment you were wholly unused to. You’d appreciated the gentle way in which he talked to you, guiding you towards a pew in the front as you asked him questions that some people had answers to their entire lives. He hadn’t treated you like you were stupid, but more importantly, he hadn’t treated you like you didn’t belong.

You were willing to bet that he hadn’t even known about you then.

Although, months later, you were willing to bet that he did now…even though you’d never told him.

“Humans are flawed,” his smooth voice reached your ears through the wall. “We all fall short—even the most devout of us—and we find ourselves falling prey to the temptation of judgment…pride…lust…”

You intently listened. After all, he’d never said these words to you before, always giving you some speech about God’s love trumping all.

“I have no doubt that it is trying, but I am sure you will come to give them grace for their sins just as they will give you grace for yours. We are all God’s children striving to lead a life in his image…”

His voice lowered at that, and you frowned slightly, looking towards the wall and thinking to yourself that he almost seemed to be talking to himself now.

“He wants his children to love one another, a feat that is not without difficulty I’m sure you know…” that actually made you hold back a chuckle. “...but God’s love is powerful and he always grants forgiveness to those who genuinely yearn and ask for it.”

At that, you did smile.

You told him that you were truly sorry for your sins, and he told you to say ten Hail Mary’s, and you stepped out of the confessional feeling better than you did thirty minutes ago. You didn’t know how long the feeling would last though, and so you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could, but you knew from experience that was easier said than done.

You touched the crucifix around your neck as you stepped out of your building.

It had once belonged to your mother, and despite how long she’d been gone and how down on your luck you’d been ever since, you could never quite find it in you to pawn it. It was real gold—probably the only real piece of jewelry you ever owned—but you just couldn’t do it, and you supposed that you were never meant to. Despite the many years you’d lived life as the complete opposite of a God fearing woman…it felt right sitting just below your collarbone.

Even if many would not agree.

You were no stranger to several men in this town—and the ones who often passed through on their truck routes—but that had not stopped you from seeking solace and guidance from a place you’d never stepped foot into in your life. You couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel…strange to be in the same building as some of the men you’d serviced before, their wives and children at their side as they furiously avoided making eye contact with you. It felt even worse to watch the way the women would congregate together after church, excluding you all the while talking about you.

It felt somewhat pathetic for your only ally in the place to be the priest.

Although you sometimes wondered how true that was these days. You’d never once confessed that you used to be a prostitute—although the kids called it sex work these days—but you weren’t stupid. As godly and devout as they claimed to be, you knew that the church was filled with gossip and there was no telling who’d let it slip to the dark haired man. You knew when he knew though…

…because he looked at you different.

It wasn’t a bad different—thank God for that—but just…different, and while it wasn’t necessarily bad, you still didn’t think you liked it. Confession—being anonymous—never allowed for you to tell him your name, and considering you’d only ever spoken to him once outside of confession months ago, you didn’t know if he ever knew it was you he was talking to. You didn’t know if he knew that the woman he spoke so gently with each week and listened to cry on the other side of some window was the same woman who often shrunk under his heavy gaze as he looked down on his congregation.

You never felt like he was judging you, no, but you also never felt like he was looking at you as he did that first day, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t your friend—far from it in fact—but he felt like the closest thing you had to one in this church, and so you often forced yourself to find excuses for it. He watches you because he wants to make sure you’re settling in okay. He watches you to observe how other members of the church are treating you. He watches you because he’s wondering if you’ll ever come to confession, convincing yourself that he’s never recognized your voice all this time.

That is why he watches you, you told yourself.

No other reason. 

“You always come to pray at least three times a week…”

The familiar voice startled you as you stood, hand lowering as you’d just finished signing the cross. Your hand was still on your chest as you turned to face him, a small smile on your lips as he stood directly in the center of the aisle. You hadn’t even heard him make a single sound, and you wondered how long he’d been standing there.

He slowly returned your smile with one of his own, although it was smaller, and the silent way in which he stared at you reminded you that he’d said something to you. 

“Yes,” you finally said, moving away from the altar. “It helps with…um…really everything.”

He blinked at you, and you noticed that a strand of his hair was threatening to go rogue. He always looked so neat and perfect that it was hard to miss. Father Mayhew was handsome—if anyone had seen enough men to know it was you—but he was handsome in a way that you would categorize as flawless. Divine even. In a way that was untouchable and only meant to be admired in the most innocent of appreciation. 

He slowly nodded at your response, and you didn’t miss the way he studied you—dark eyes drinking you in and taking note of every stylistic choice you’d made today.

“You know, I think I might see your face far more than those who have been coming here for years,” he lightly told you, a slight laugh on his lips.

You laughed with him, only offering him a shrug.

“I’m still new. I’m sure it just seems that way because you aren’t used to seeing me.”

He started to shake his head before you could even finish talking, and you watched him move closer.

“No,” he murmured—so low you almost didn't hear him. “I think you are perhaps my most…devout congregant.”

He touched your crucifix as he said this, dark eyes tracing the shape of it, and he was so close that you could smell his cologne. You blinked at the scent, finding it strange to know that he wore cologne. It shouldn’t be strange, you supposed, but you realized then that you didn’t quite view priests—view him—as human. As normal…

His eyes lifted then to finally connect with yours, and a crooked smile danced along his pink lips.

“It’s admirable,” he whispered. “More of my congregation could stand to follow your lead.”

You couldn’t ignore the way your chest bloomed at those words, almost hating how much validation you wanted from this place. Validation that you were a good person…you weren’t who you used to be…that you were worthy of something more, you didn’t know. It just felt relieving to hear such a compliment from Father Mayhew when no one else in the church would even give you a chance.

“Thank you, Father,” you quietly replied to him. “That means a lot to me.”

You watched him slowly inhale as he dropped his hand, and he seemed even slower to step out of your way. When you walked past him, you could feel his gaze on you—always watching—and you smiled when he called out to you, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you on Sunday.

No one was more sad than you when you had to disappoint him.

An unexpected cold had you bedridden for days, and while you knew that an illness was a perfectly valid excuse to miss church, you couldn’t swallow down the disappointment. You hadn’t missed a single Sunday since you first started going, and you thought to yourself that the first thing you’d do when you returned was explain your absence to Father Mayhew.

You had never anticipated him showing up at your door to get it himself.

No one ever knocked on your door these days, so the sound had taken you by surprise. Your friends—while supportive of the direction your life had taken—didn’t quite understand it and so you didn’t see them as often, and as for anyone else… Well, there wasn’t anyone else who would come knocking on your door. You didn’t do that anymore so no customers were going to be greeting you on the other side with their money in their hand and an eager grin on their lips, and you doubted any of the women in town would want to sit down for a chat anytime soon.

Your shock at Father Mayhew’s presence was all over your face.

“Father,” you stated, the lilt in your voice hinting at your surprise.

He looked just as you were used to seeing him—clerical collar still on, not a hair out of place, and a hint of a smile on those pink lips. You stood there gaping at him for all of five seconds before it struck you how rude you were probably being.

“I…I’m so sorry. Um…come in,” you told him, stepping out of the way and widening the gap in the doorway.

He didn’t respond nor move right away, looking past you into your small house with a look in his gaze that you couldn’t name. If he were anyone else, you might worry that he was judging where you lived. You watched his jaw briefly tighten, a noticeable strain in his face, and it only just occurred to you that maybe this wasn’t appropriate? Although you were positive you’d heard of priests and pastors visiting the sick before, and while you certainly weren’t on your deathbed, you didn’t see why this would be different.

Before you could say another word though, his foot crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him.

“I do apologize for the unexpected visit,” he said to you, gazing around before his eyes landed on you again. “...but when I noticed that mass was absent of a face I’d grown to look forward to, I became concerned.”

You couldn’t stop your smile at his words

“Oh,” you softly said. “Well, there’s no need to be concerned. It’s just a small cold that will be gone in a day or two.”

You watched him exhale at that, nodding to himself, and you studied him, surprised to see that he looked genuinely relieved at that.

“I’m glad to hear that’s all it is…”

At that, your brows furrowed, and you watched him slowly walk about your living room.

“I had feared that some of your fellow church goers had scared you off.”

Your lips parted at his words, and he turned and looked at you.

“They often fall into the temptation of judgment, after all…”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you didn’t know how to react with the knowledge that he knew it was you who came to see him once a week. You’d only spoken to him face to face twice, and you swallowed, looking away.

“I thought it would be a shame if they scared you off,” he confessed, and you noted that he was closer now. “I wondered what I would have to do to convince you to come back. Drag you, perhaps.”

You gave a soft laugh at that, although he didn’t join you, and it awkwardly faded. He stared at you in silence for what felt like a long time, and just when you were considering asking him if he wanted anything to drink, he reached out to touch the crucifix around your neck again.

“So devout,” he quietly said to himself. “It almost makes me ashamed…”

At that, you gave a heavy laugh, wondering how you could ever shame a priest.

“Why?”

“...because I see why they flocked to your door…money in hand.”

His gaze lifted as he said that, and you were still as you both just stared at each other. His words made you blink, and you were suddenly very aware of his hand practically on you. You couldn’t stop the slight frown that fell over your face, and for the first time in months—since you first stepped foot into that church—you felt…wrong.

“I see why their eyes trace every inch of you when you’re not looking…as if to relive the memory of what you felt like—tasted like.”

You finally took a step back, hand coming up to cover your necklace as if protecting it from his touch.

“What memories they must have of you…”

You wrapped your other arm around yourself, mind whirling to reconcile the man before you with the same man who’d always been so welcoming and gentle. Not once did you ever think he judged you for your past, and you supposed that you were right, but not once did you ever think he also might…

You hadn’t done that in over a year, but had it really escaped you so quickly that a seemingly devout man was still…a man?

“Father, I think you should-.”

“I don’t say any of this to offend you,” he interrupted, tilting his head. “I say it because I fight the urge to touch you every time you’re in my presence.”

You moved by him to make your way to the door, but like an ever present shadow you only just noticed, he was close behind.

“You can cover up as much as you’d like—wear skirts down to your ankle and shirts up to your chin…” his hand on the door halted your movements. 

You felt his chest just barely grazing your back, and his lips followed suit, the softness of them brushing against your ear as he spoke. That familiar cologne invaded your senses.

“...but none of it can hide the temptation you pose by merely existing.”

You shrunk away from him at that, tears in your eyes as he verbalized the same fears you had every time you walked into the building. You flinched when his lips touched the back of your neck, heart dropping to your stomach, but you reached for the door handle anyway.

“Father, I’d like you to leave-.”

Your words were cut off by your own sharp scream, taken aback by the feel of his fingers harshly pressing into the skin of your throat. His hand rested on the back of your neck, and you pressed your hand to the door when his lips grazed your cheek.

“They’re all like rabid dogs…just waiting to pounce,” he mused against your skin, sliding between you and the door and forcing you further into your house with every step. “Just waiting for you to give up this charade and go back to taking their money for a quick fuck.”

You blinked, and a few tears escaped.

“...but they don’t know you like I know you.”

He grinned against your cheek, and you winced as he lightly nipped at the skin there.

“They don’t know that you come to church at least thrice a week to light candles and pray…”

You were full on sobbing now, and you could feel the cool metal of his ring against the back of your neck.

“They don’t know that you never miss your weekly confession, telling me every time you so much as say the Lord’s name in vain.”

His free hand was reaching for the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one, and you gasped when his fingers finally met skin. He dipped his head, mouth finding the skin of your shoulder and collarbone interesting before his hand searched for your wrist.

“They don’t know that you are the most pious woman to walk through those doors,” he purred, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. “...and that I just want to ruin you for it.”

When his hand dipped between your legs, you were quick to try and stop him, still wincing at the tight grip on the back of your neck. Father Mayhew made a noise of disapproval, and your hand faltered when he harshly bit your shoulder.

“We are…and always will be…sinners…”

Once his fingers were inside of you, it was like the point of no return. You found it funny that he likened the men in church to that of rabid dogs when he himself was behaving like the very thing he used to insult them. When your knees buckled, he followed—one arm around you and holding you in place while the fingers on his other hand curved into you.

Every thrust of his fingers made you wetter—embarrassingly so—and when he pulled your head back, he forced a kiss onto your lips. He swallowed down your whimpers and noises of protest, a moan escaping him as he tasted the inside of your mouth. With him so close to you, you could feel the muscles and contours of his frame beneath his clothes, and you were forced to recognize your predicament and his strength and what that meant for you.

When you were face to face with him again, his hair was nowhere near as neat as it was when he first walked through your door. His pink lips were swollen and reddened from kissing you and dragging over your skin. Your pajama top had long been discarded, the bottoms long ripped and pulled off of you. Father Mayhew’s—Charlie—clerical collar was long gone, his shirt pulled open and hanging off of him.

You recalled the way your mouth had parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock finally dipped into you, stretching you with every inch and making your heart momentarily stop. His hand covered a breast, the feel of his ring cooling that singular part of your skin, the rest of you so overheated. His other hand was wrapped around your throat, and you clawed at his hand as he fucked you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in your tiny home, the only sound to rival it being his harsh grunts and your strained voice. Any fight that you’d put up had been quickly squashed down, shown in the harshest manner just how strong your priest was. You hated how good it felt, hated that you didn’t want this but was now forced to enjoy it. Nevermind the fact that you hadn’t enjoyed sex for the act itself in years…

…but of all people to find yourself in this predicament with.

Father Mayhew’s hands never stayed in one place for long. He seemed determined to touch every part of you he could get his hands on, lips tasting the saltiness of your skin. Sweat clung to your frame and his, his fingers sliding over you as he kneaded your thighs and your waist and your chest. Every time you reminded yourself how wrong this was, he’d push his cock into you to the hilt, and you’d involuntarily throw your head back.

You could feel your crucifix pressing into your skin, and your eyes watered.

“I must admit that I was—am—jealous,” he dragged out, voice hoarse and throaty and wholly unlike how you were used to hearing him. “Your devotion to God inspires an envy within me that I never knew existed.”

You took note of the scars on his back underneath your fingers.

“...a desire to have you completely devoted to me,” he bit out, covering your lips with his own. “You so desperately desire forgiveness and acceptance…and all the things you didn’t think you were worthy of having.”

He harshly thrust into you, making you gasp.

“...and I can give that to you,” he whispered into the kiss.

The power behind his thrusts had you scratching at both his back and the floor, eyes squeezing shut at the way his fingers dug into your skin. It was like he was both holding you to him and trying to prevent you from ever walking away. Your chest arched up into his as you gasped, choked whimpers climbing out of your throat with every push of his hips. He growled against your skin as his lips traveled to your neck, the sound almost demonic to your ears.

When you came around him—your first orgasm in over a year—you couldn’t swallow down the noise it forced out of you. You could feel blood beneath your nails and a slickness on the inside of your thighs, but all the while Father Mayhew didn’t stop.

With one hand pressed against the floor, he pushed himself up to look down at you. His free hand slid up your sweaty frame, coming up to wrap around the crucifix that rested against your skin. He tightened his hold around it, and he pulled on it, forcing you to lift your head and meet him halfway for a kiss.

What would Charles think of him raping such an innocent thing as she cried on him cock?

You lay on the bed, crying into your arms crossed over your head. You gave up fighting, submissive little thing that you are.

"Why are you doing this?" You sob.

"I'm so fucking sorry, you just smell so- oh fuck- so so fucking good..."

"I'm sorry, Logan I'm sorry, whatever I did-"

"Shhh, shhhhhh baby, no," Logan coos as he fucks into you, prying arms off your face by force to reveal your wet and puffy eyes. "Don't blame yourself, okay?" He kisses your lips, but you try to squirm away. He takes your face in his hands and holds you still while he slides his tongue in your mouth. Once he was done, he pulls away. "I needed this, sweet thing."

You give a high-pitched why and begin crying again, too loud, too fucking loud.

"Sh-shit, no, no, no, no don't do that, c'mon bub, stop, it's not so bad is it? Stop!" Logan slaps you across the face, making you yelp, but he cover your face harshly. "Fuck, I'm sorry sweetie, that hurt didn't it? I just need you too behave. Just just be quiet, I'm gonna make this good for you, 'kay? Oh fuck that's good"

Although you shake your head, Logan's hand that wasn't covering your mouths to touch your clit, and you hated that he made you feel good. And Logan noticed.

"See? That's not so bad is it? It's gonna be so good for you, I promise. Think you can come? It'll make this go faster, I promise, fuck I'm so sorry bub. It's okay, you can cry, I ain't hurt you if you're quiet." Sliding his hand up and down your body, pulling at that tight tank top you always wear around, Logan growls in pleasure at finally having you here with him. He'd tried, he'd really fucking tried to keep his distance, to not corrupt such an innocent little thing despite your sweet, subtle advances but he's just a man. More than a man, he's beastly, that hightened smell forcing him to be reminded of you whenever he was in the house...

and right now, you smelled fertile.

Logan filled up your sweet womb, pumping you full and this time you reached you his hand, pressing it to your mouth. Logically, he knew you were protecting yourself, keeping his hand there as you sob into it. Still, a part of him liked to think you wanted to hold his hand as he fucked a baby into you.

It takes everything in Logan to not reveal his own secret, to not let out a primal howl and alert the school he was breeding the favorite teacher, but he managed to just let out a few grunts as he flooded your womb with his seed.

*

When it was over, Logan knew he couldn't leave you. You were crying, you poor sweet girl. He had hurt you.

Logan pulls out, watching as his cum drips out of your hole, but when he lays beside you he slides his fingers inside your pussy, fucking it back in.

He pulls you close, ignoring that your try to squirm away. "Logan, please, just leave..." You sniffle, but he can't leave you alone right now, not when you were so sad. He wraps an arm around you, splaying his fingers out over your stomach he hoped to see growing... How were they going to explain this? If it takes, he was going to be fucked... he could imagine the judging glares from everyone in the school... still, he hoped you were pregnant.

Logan took a big whiff of your hair, thumbing away the tears.

"There we go, sweet doll. It's over now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" When you don't answer, his fingers press into your stomach just a bit more. "Was it?" He didn't like scaring you, but you were such a quiet thing, he just wanted you to talk, to appreciate what he's given you, to feel the affection he had for you.

"N-no..." You say, and to his surprise you lean your head back against his chest.

Maybe he hadn't ruined things after all.

"I'm so sorry it happened this way, but you're gonna be quiet, right? Not gonna tell Charles or anyone, not when you got as wet as you did, right?"

A short pause. A quiet no. Logan held you tight.

He just needed to make sure you didn't get out and find plan B.

***************

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Your nails, scraping for purchase, escape, a fight, anything, left angry red marks on his forearms, but he didn’t even bother to flinch and give you the slightest sliver of triumph in your fucked-out brain. “C’mon baby, you know that’s not gonna stop me. Why bother?” Sam taunted, flexing his bicep just slightly to make you sputter and squirm more from lack of oxygen.

“Just- fuck!- just stop struggling, and I’ll let you breathe. I pr- fuckyou’resotight- promise.”

With your brain going fuzzy and your vision starting to blur, you finally relented, dropping your hands from his arm and going limp under him. He sighed, removing his arm from your neck and placing his large hand onto your hip, using it to fuck you even harder. You whined, tears pricking your eyes as your arms shook, trying to hold yourself up. It was getting more and more strenuous with each thrust of his cock kissing your cervix. He was pummeling your pussy into the shape of his cock, the thought making you clench against your will and moan lowly.

“Fuck, honey. You like it, don’t you? Say it. Say you like your big brother’s cock in you.” He sneered, slapping your ass harshly and gripping the skin, jiggling it. You squeezed your eyes, trying to fend off your orgasm and tears, shaking your head in defiance.

“God- c’mon! You know you like it! Just fucking admit it! You like being split open by your big brother’s cock, don’t you, slut?” He snarled in your ear, gripping your hair and pulling your head as far back as it could go. You screamed at the sudden pain, arms going out and hands reaching to the end of the bed to try and scramble away. Tears began to fall, and he just laughed.

“Your little pussy is so wet around me, she’s gripping me like a fucking vice. Just stop acting like you’re not turned on by this. Say it.”

His cruel words made you clench again, the knot in your stomach tightening and your legs starting to shake. Sam slapped your ass again, and upon seeing how you whined and tried to squirm away again, he slapped your pussy, hard. The pain and malice of it all tipped you over the edge, cumming on his cock. Your vision went white for a moment, moaning loud enough that you were certain your neighbors could hear you.

He kept pounding into you, using one arm under your stomach to keep you up for him to use without you collapsing and moving his other hand to your clit, violently rubbing it in a way that made your back arch and legs jerk.

“Fuck- fuck- I want another one. Cum again, bitch.” He moaned into your ear, rolling his hips and pinching your clit in a way that made you sob, fisting the sheets and burying your face in them.

“S-Sammy! Sammy, stop, it hurts! It hurts too much, please!” You cried, trying to crawl away. His arm across your stomach was infallible, quickly yanking you down the bed and further onto his cock. You came again, nearly blinding you, feeling your own cum spurt out around his cock and dripping from your cunt and his pubic hair.

The overstimulation was becoming unbearable, your body nearly convulsing with each thrust of his cock and swipe of his fingers on your clit. Your tears and drool mixed onto the sheets under your face.

“Don’t make me go into this tight little asshole, squirmy bitch.” He punctuated his words by moving his hand from your clit and circling your asshole with his fingers, tauntingly pushing his middle finger in just enough to make you sob out a protest and force yourself to be still.

“Good. Keep being obedient,” he bit back a moan, “and I’ll let you go sooner.”

You nodded aggressively, tangled and sweaty hair covering your face and hiding your wobbling lip.

“Fuck, baby. You’re such a good little sister for me, aren’t you? I need to fuck you more oft-“ Before he could finish the terrifying thought, you felt his thrusts stutter and his cock twitch in your sensitive little hole. You choked on your own scream, not wanting him to cum inside you. His hot cum painted your walls as he kept thrusting, fucking it deeper and deeper into you.

Finally pulling out, he fell limp, body covered in a sheen of sweat as he panted. The sudden weight of him on your back knocked the air out of you, and he laughed again at your pathetic begs for him to move.

He stretched his arm across the bed to his bedside table, opening the drawer and grabbing something you couldn’t see. You tried to turn your head to see, but he used his free hand to grab the back of your skull and twist it forward again, pushing your face into the mattress. He shoved it again into the bed, harder, smirking at the choked yelp you couldn’t silence by yourself.

Suddenly, you felt a pop as something was placed into your leaking cunt. He’d put a plug into you, keeping his cum inside.

“Not letting any of your big brother’s cum go to waste, are we?” He tutted, in faux sympathy.

“Now don’t try to take it out. I don’t want to have to tie you up. You don’t want that either, do you, baby?” He cooed, stroking your hair as your body wracked with your sobs.

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the relief came in waves, “oh my god thank you so much-” as you reach for the purse, he tosses it into the air and webs it to onto the wall of the alley. “-what are you…”

“since i helped you, you can help me, can’t you?” his voice was deep, and as he moved closer, you could feel your heart in your throat.

“y-you’re not spider-man, spider-man wouldn’t…” you back up, alarms going off in your head.

you hear him sigh, “spider-man has needs too, you know…. i mean, it’s only fair." you back up, looking around for a way to get out, “uh oh babe, are you trying to run?” before you could move, you feel your arm slam against the wall. “just stay still.” he grabs your other arm, forcing it against the wall, and webs it. you try to struggle, but you weren’t budging.

“please d-” your words were silenced as he webs your mouth closed.

“for today, i’d prefer your mouth closed.” his spandex-clad fingers go under your shirt, “god, how i’d love to really feel your skin.” chills go down your spine and you choke on your sobs. he coos, softly, his hands wandering down to grope your ass.

you try to scream through the webs, but your sound comes out strangled and muffled. spider-man taps your butt, “we don’t have much time, jump up and wrap your legs around me.” you shake your head and he huffs, “don’t be difficult. the faster we get this done, the better it’ll be for you.” he tilts his head. you test the webs trapping your arms once more, seeing no change, you try to jump in little space you have. he makes sure to grab your ass, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. you could feel his hard cock under the suit, pressing against your cunt. you let out a panicked sound at the feeling. he groans, letting his head drop to your shoulder. slowly, he rolls his hip into you, pressing himself closer. you let out a muffled moan and you hear him chuckle.

“i wish i could taste you.” he groans into your ear, as he grinds against you. you could feel heat starting to pool at your abdomen as he gets rougher. “my good girl, my pretty girl.” his voice was dripping in pleasure as he breathlessly groaned, getting faster. you couldn’t hold back your moans and spider-man gets faster hearing you. you let out muffled pleas, as you feel the coil tighten in your abdomen. “i hear you, cutie, i hear you.” he grinds you against him for the final time and you feel that coil snap as pleasure washes over you in waves. you hear him groan and slump, pulling you as close as he could without hurting you.

a few minutes pass before spider-man collects himself, letting your legs drop to the ground, “this-” he gestures between the two of you, “-was great. let’s do this again sometimes.” he blows you a kiss and swings away, leaving you attached to the wall. after another 15 minutes, you feel the webs start to disintegrate. you rip your arms out and pull the webs covering your mouth off, letting you loudly sob. you snatch your purse off and dig out your phone, in between your choked whimpers.

the phone rings for a few minutes, before he picks up, “p-peter? c-could you come pick me up? p-please?”

At that moment, you felt nothing but fear. Its sticky fingers clamped around your throat, clouding your mind and making your heart pound frantically in your chest. You started to panic and couldn't think straight. You were so scared.

You were just on your way to go shopping on your day off. You had done so well this week and you deserved a little treat. You wanted to go to your favorite bookstore and pick up something new, even though the shelves in your apartment were filled with unread books. But could anyone blame you? Those books are so beautiful, so promising. You'll read them all. In time. You definitely will.

You got off the bus at your stop, took just a few steps, when  a man caught up with you.

“Hey, can I get your name?” 

You jumped on the spot from surprise and frowned. Immediately so many thoughts went through your head... First, you are not used to being approached on the street, you did not consider yourself worthy of such attention. Secondly, the stranger did not cause you any interest, you simply did not like him. Thirdly, even if this person was your type, you would still refuse him, you had other plans for today, and you were not in the mood to make new acquaintances.

“No, sorry,” you replied dryly and went about your business. It would seem that the matter was over. The man didn't object or insist, he left you alone, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You walked into the first store and got lost between the racks of books. As you paid at the cash register, you caught a glimpse of the man who had tried to aproach you. You didn't make a big deal out of it, but you tensed up. When you stepped outside and looked back, you saw that he had followed you. 

You went into another store that you didn't need to go into. He followed you in. Panic was building up in you, you had no idea how to deal with situations like this, because they don't usually happen to people like you. It's the pretty girls who have to deal with this kind of thing, and you didn't think of yourself as such. 

For a while, you wandered from one store to the next in a panic, turning around nervously. Yes, he was following you everywhere. You tried to get lost in the crowd, but it wasn't easy: you were a big girl, hard to miss. You had no one to call for help, and you were afraid to make a scene. You just hoped he'd get bored and leave you alone. So you wandered from store to store, trying to surround yourself with people all the time.

Oh, he was persistent. He clearly wasn't going to let you go. He followed you everywhere, and when you turned around and your eyes crossed, he smiled. 

Almost crying, you ran outside. You were so scared, you didn't know what to do. 

Suddenly two huge male figures loomed ahead. One man with a skull mask, menacing and grim in appearance, the other with an open tanned face and a short mohawk, less menacing in appearance, but also imposing. He was telling his friend something, gesticulating vigorously. Your panicked brain thought of nothing better to do than ask them for help. Your stalker clearly wouldn't be able to stand anything against two strong big men, maybe even military.

In desperation, you headed towards them. Smiling nervously, you approached and rambled on:

“Hello. You don't know me, but some stalker has been following me for the past hour, I'm very scared, can you pretend that you know me, please. I'll just stand next to you until he leaves. Please. I'll treat you something to thank you. Please?

The men looked at each other, and the one with the mohawk put his arm around your shoulders and said with a friendly, even affectionate, smile:

“I'm Johnny, this is Simon, and what's your name, birdie?”

You introduced yourself, feeling incredibly relieved. And grateful. You didn't ask for much, of course, just to pretend you knew each other, but they didn't have to do that either. How lucky you are to have met two decent people who didn't turn their backs on your misfortune. How lucky you are.

“Who?” the masked man asked, glancing at the crowd behind you. You turned around quickly, spotted your pursuer with a very disgruntled expression on his face, and briefly described where he was and what he looked like, unconsciously pulling your head into your shoulders from the fear that hadn't completely let go of you yet.

“How about we walk you to safety?” Johnny asked.

“I don’t want to be a bother, but if you don't mind, yes please. I never thought I'd be in this situation. To have someone follow me,” you emphasized the “me” and giggled nervously. What a funny joke. Your saviors looked at each other again.

“You’re such a sweet honeybun, it’s hard to resist” Johnny said, pinching your chubby cheek. You thought it was sweet, that he was trying to cheer you up, to take your mind off your anxiety and fear.

“Oh, come on.”

But your cheeks are flushed with a traitorous blush. 

“We live close by, if you want, you can wait an hour or two, so he'll definitely be gone.” 

“If it's not too much trouble,” you muttered uncertainly. You didn't want to take advantage of their kindness. “I think I'd rather just call a cab and go home. Maybe you could wait until the cab arrives. I don't want to be a burden, you've already helped me out.”

“Oh, it's no trouble at all. We're only happy to help a damsel in distress.”

They looked at each other again and Johnny laughed kindly, squeezing your shoulder lightly, pulling you closer. “Come on, honeybun, we insist. We'll feel better knowing that we've done everything we could to make sure that creepy guy never bothers you again. М?”

“Well, okay. But only for a little while, I don't want to waste your time,” you agreed, smiling sweetly. You were overwhelmed with gratitude. Strangers had never been so kind to you before.

They really did live nearby, a couple of blocks away. Johnny kept his hand on your shoulder the whole time, and Simon looked back periodically, checking if the stalker was still following you. They told you not to look back, that it would be unnatural. Leave it to them, they're big guys with experience, they'll take care of you.

You walked into a small dark apartment with an open kitchen and living room. It looked empty and uninhabited. Probably because they travel a lot for work and aren't home much, you thought. Johnny pushed you toward the couch while Simon went to the refrigerator and got three bottles of beer. He held one out to you, but you waved it away:

“Oh, no, thank you.”

“Come on, sweetie, this will help you relax. You've been under a lot of stress today. You could use a little beer,” Johnny cooed in your ear, then took the bottle from Scion's hands and opened it for you. “Come on, drink it, it'll make you feel better.”

You took the bottle hesitantly and took a sip. A pleasant chill went down your throat, and you felt the tight knot of nerves in your stomach loosen. You exhaled and leaned back against the couch, only now realizing how tense you'd been. Simon sat down next to you on the couch, and you found yourself sandwiched between two strong men. For the first time all day, you felt safe, as if nothing bad could happen to you in their presence. 

Simon turned on the TV, and to some funny show you started talking. More precisely, Johnny talked, telling funny tales from the service and asking you lots of questions. Where do you live? How long ago did you move to the city? Why is a pretty girl like you spending the weekend alone? You were confused, not knowing if he was flirting with you or just trying to cheer you up. So you just answered his questions honestly with a smile. Simon was silent most of the time, only occasionally snorting in response to some of Johnny's remarks. 

You were having a good time. The beer did help you to relax a little, the pleasant conversation distracted you from bad thoughts. Johnny was so active in terms of tactile contact that you didn't even notice the way his big hot palm rested on your thigh, you were too engrossed in the conversation. You also didn't notice Simon's hand on the back of the couch behind your head. 

Click! A loud, feminine moan came from the TV speakers. You turned to the TV in surprise. On the screen, two men were fucking (you couldn't say it any other way) a woman. A woman with a very similar physique to yours. You could see in detail how two big dicks were entering both of her holes. You saw her body shake with each merciless thrust of their muscular thighs. 

You thought Simon had turned on the video by accident. You expected him to apologize now, maybe even embarrassed, and switch to something decent. But no. Both he and Johnny stared at the screen and at you while you tried to deal with the shock. 

“You like that, birdie?” Johnny whispered in your ear as his hand slid up your thigh. Higher and higher. 

“What?” you asked dumbfounded, finally turning away from the screen and looking into his eyes. Such beautiful, naive blue eyes... He was smiling. Still kind of affectionate. Except there was something... hungry in his gaze.

You turned back to Simon, and almost cried out in surprise: he was sitting next to you, his jeans unbuttoned and his hand clutching his fully hard cock, lazily stroking it. 

You jumped up from the couch, sliding back toward the door, raising your hands in front of you. As if you could hold these two big men at bay with your weak, soft hands.

“I don't know what's going on here, but I'm leaving.”

Johnny got up from the couch and took a few steps in your direction. He walked slowly, confidently, casually, and smiled. His smile, which you liked so much at first, made you shiver. Without looking, you fumbled for the doorknob behind your back and started pulling it loradically. It wouldn't budge; you fumbled blindly at the door, hoping to find something, but your fingers couldn't find anything but the keyhole. And all the while you watched in horror as Johnny approached you. Your outstretched hand touches his stomach as he gets very close. He grabs your wrist and guides your hand lower, to the bulge on his pants. You try to pull your hand away, but he holds on tight. He rests his other hand against the door next to your head caging you. He's silent, and it makes you really scared. You start to shake, sobbing softly.

“Please don't,” you mumble pathetically, feeling the tears come to your eyes, ready to roll down your chubby cheeks. 

“Shh,” Johnny whispers, tucking a loose lock of your hair behind your ear. “Don't do that. Now be a good girl and play with us. We helped you out, we drove some creepy guy away, it's only fair that you thank us properly, right?”

His voice is quiet and ingratiating, his touch on your cheek caressing and even gentle. But the grip on your hand on his cock is tight. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can literally feel him twitch under your fingers. 

He leans closer to your face and you feel him catch a tear from your cheek with his lips. And you hear a soft moan escaping his throat. 

“Even her tears are sweet, Si. Go ahead and try," Johnny moans, running his tongue along your cheek. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and wrinkle your nose in disgust and fear. A lump comes up in your throat, and you whimper, knowing full well that those sick bastards are enjoying this.

Simon approaches silently, surprising for a man his size. He pushes Johnny back enough to have full access to your face. With his hand, he clutches your chin firmly and scrutinizes your crying face. You frown your eyebrows in helpless rage, unable to stop crying, and peer into the dark recesses of his eyes. And even though the mask almost completely hides his face, you realize he's smiling too, enjoying what's happening. They're both savoring your helplessness and fear, both enjoying your terror. 

And you realize that they won't let you go so easily.

“Please don't hurt me,” you whisper, resigning yourself to your fate. Whatever they were planning, they were going to do it anyway, and you could only hope that your submission would spare you the agony and pain.

“That's up to you, birdie,” Simon said thickly. “If you behave yourself, you might even like it.”

You shift your frightened gaze from one man to the other, and nod finely.

“That's a good girl,” Johnny says affectionately, stepping back toward the couch, pulling you behind him. You follow obediently, Simon’s behind your back. 

The three of you sit down on the couch again, you're sandwiched between them, but this time you don't feel anything resembling safety. With your fingers you clutch the hem of your skirt, resting your gaze on your own knees. The room fills with the sounds of sex - no one ever turned off the TV. 

“Come on, birdie, look at the screen. You want to know what to mentally prepare for, don't you? Or do you want us to surprise you?” Johnny cooed, grabbing you by the chin and gently but firmly lifting your head, forcing you to look at the screen. You don't want to look. Especially after what he said. But you do. You watch as the two men pounce on this poor woman, as they literally tear her apart, devour her, grip her until she's bruised. You hear the vile things they say about her, and you can't hold back another wave of tears. She's screaming, she's crying, she's obviously in pain.

“Don't be afraid, sweetheart,” Johnny continued, kissing you on the cheek and then on the temple. “She was a bad girl, and that's why she was treated so cruelly. But you, bunny, are going to behave, aren't you?”

You frown and stare at the screen again, only now noticing a face in the frame. One of the men in the video was Johnny. 

The realization hits you with a new wave of horror. This isn't the first time they've done this. 

“No, no, no, no,” you mutter in panic.

“Hush, sweetheart, hush,” Johnny whispers in your ear. His hand is back on your thigh, his fingers sliding under your skirt, squeezing your soft, pliable flesh. His breath hitches and he moans, “Si, she's so sweet, just taste her.”

Simon doesn't say anything, but turns to face you and unceremoniously grabs your breasts. You whimper pitifully, squeeze your eyes shut, take a convulsive breath. You shake as the two men touch your body, squeezing you with their rough, strong fingers. 

Johnny's hand slides down the inside of your thigh, moving higher, higher, closer and closer to your hot pussy. Involuntarily, you squeeze your legs together, clamping his hand, preventing him from moving forward.

“Kitten, don't do that. Be a good girl and spread your legs for me, hmm? You don't want me to use force, do you? You don't want me to hurt you?”

Tears run down your face again and you obediently relax your thighs, spreading them just a little. Slap! Your shriek of surprise and a red palm mark on your thigh. You look at Johnny incomprehensibly, you obeyed.

“Baby, when I say “spread your legs”, you spread them. I forgive you for the first time, but let's not do that again, hmm?” he said lusciously, squeezing your thigh over his palm mark. Then he added sternly, in a tone that demanded no objection: “Spread it.”

You sobbed, but immediately obediently spread your legs wider. 

“Good girl. You can be good when you want to. Let's keep it that way, hmm?”

His palm immediately covered your pussy over your underwear, squeezing in a possessive gesture. He pressed his lips to your neck and moaned again.

“Si, she's so hot! Hot sweet pussy. I bet you could melt in her, huh?” 

“Easy, Johnny, you'll cum in your pants,” Simon said with a chuckle. All the while, he kept tugging at your breasts, squeezing your nipples over your clothes. They had hardened under his rough caresses, and now he was squeezing them between his fingers, twisting them gently. 

“I can't take it anymore, Si, please. Can I?”

“Be patient.” An order instead of an answer to a question. And Johnny's whimper follows. 

His fingers massage you through your underwear, and you're horrified to find you're getting wet. You shouldn't like what's happening, but your body betrays you. You sob, you want to close your legs so badly. What a humiliation. You're about to be raped, and you're leaking like a bitch in heat. The heat of shame rushes to your cheeks, and you close your eyes and lean back against the back of the couch. Your body relaxes and you just watch idly as you are toched on your most intimate places.

Johnny pushes your panties aside and his fingers dive between your wet folds. He moans loudly, his teeth sinking into your neck, and you hiss in pain but don't try to resist.

“Si, she's all wet. Gods, Si, she's so wet. I can't, please let me.”

“What an impatient puppy.” Simon grins and pulls down your panties. He sits you down between his knees like a doll, throwing your legs over his thighs, pulling you up under you knees and spreading you wide. You are completely open to them. You feel the cool air chill your wet pussy. Johnny looms over you, drooling and squeezing himself through the fabric of his pants. He grunts noisily and you can see the twitching of his Adam’s apple. His gaze is piqued to your core. He noisily breath in some air and rolls his eyes as if in pleasure.

“She smells just as sweet. Please, Si, let me taste her.”

“Go ahead, Johnny,” Simon replies with a grin, spreading your legs wider. 

And you watch mesmerized as Johnny leans over your most intimate part, which no one has ever looked at so closely except a gynecologist. You'd had some sexual experience, but no one had even tried to pleasure you with their mouth. And you never imagined that the first person to taste you would be a stranger rapist. 

He runs his tongue slowly over you, and you shudder. His tongue is hot, slippery... It's like he's trying to cover you whole. Johnny moans, devouring your pussy like he's starving. As if only your juices could quench his thirst. He wasn't thinking about your pleasure, he was consumed with his own. 

You threw your head back, resting the back of your head on Simon's shoulder and grasping his hands. He glanced curiously at you and Johnny. 

“Come on, boy. She was so well behaved. I think the bird deserves a little reward.”

Immediately Johnny shifted his focus from your hole to your clit. He made intricate figures with his tongue, pressed it between his lips, sucked on it, did everything he could to drive you crazy. You couldn't resist his skillful caresses, you could feel how close your orgasm was, but you still resisted. No, you won't give them that pleasure, you won't fall that low, no, no!

“Come on, baby, don't fight it. Good girls cum when they're told to cum. You're a good girl. Don't make me think you're a bad girl. I hate bad girls,” Simon growled in your ear. 

The mixture of fear, arousal, and the overwhelming force of impending ecstasy flooded you, overwhelming you with the most intense orgasm of your life. You moaned loudly, thrashing in the iron grip of two pairs of strong arms. Johnny continued to fondle you, licking up your juices. 

“Please, stop, no more,” you begged. The sensations were too strong, the pleasure was starting to turn to pain.

“Shh, baby, relax, the second one will be even better,” Simon whispered, one hand holding you firmly in place and the other gently wiping away the tears running down your cheeks.

You heard nothing, saw nothing, understood nothing. Your whole world centered on the spot between your legs. The unbearable heat, the intense pleasure, the second orgasm was forced out of you in a deafening wave. You were shaking, barely able to breathe.

“That's enough, Johnny. We don't want to break yet. Come here.”

You watched in semi-consciousness as Johnny, whimpering, pulls away from you and crawls higher, his face coming closer and you see that everything below his nose is covered in your juices. Simon lifts his mask, revealing his mouth. You notice the network of thin scars covering his chin and the large one dissecting his lip. He pulls Johnny to him by the back of his head, presses his face into his, sinks his lips into his mouth, licking it greedily, licking your taste off his tongue. There's nothing but animal passion and fury in that kiss. And you hear Johnny whimper, feel him rub his groin against your leg. His movements become more and more jagged and jerky until he comes to a standstill, shuddering with his whole body. And you feel something wet spreading down your leg.

Simon breaks the kiss and you see his lips stretch in a crooked grin, especially creepy because of his scar.

“Bad boy, Johnny, cumming without permission.”

Johnny whimpers pitifully, trying to catch his breath.

“I know, Si, but she's so sweet. You tasted it yourself. It's so sweet.” 

“I know, Johnny, I know. But I'm gonna have to punish you anyway. Get her ready for me. Fingers only.”

You could have sworn Johnny pouted like a child. He looked you over, smiled, and winked at you, settling between your legs. He wastes no time and gets right down to business. Two fingers plunge into your core without resistance, and you moan, trying to get away from the penetration. But you have nowhere to go, you're clamped by two bodies, two pairs of hands holding you in place. Johnny lazily fucks you with his fingers, spreading them inside you. He's not trying to bring you to your next orgasm or even get you aroused, he's methodically stretching you so you can take Simon without any problems. For him.

A third finger slips inside, and you clench in resist. Johnny strokes your thigh affectionately with his other hand, cooing affectionately:

“Hush, baby, relax. Just bear with it for a little while and it'll get a lot easier. You'll thank me later, when it’s Simon's dick stretching you instead of my fingers.”

“You've been a good girl, that's why we're preparing you so well, baby. Good girls get the best of everything,” Simon continued. His fingers slid between your legs, and he pressed on your clit, distracting you from the unpleasant sensations. You whimpered pitifully, you were still so sensitive, but he was careful, whispering soothing tendrils in your ear.

As the three fingers moved freely in and out of you, Simon signaled to Johnny that it was time to change positions. He nudged you back, forcing you to sit up straight, and Johnny pulled your dress over your head and tossed it to the corner of the couch. Your bra went with it. Johnny couldn't take his eyes off your breasts as they jiggled in time with your breathing, heavy, big and hot. 

“Face me, sweetheart,” Simon said. Turning around, you saw that he was lying on his back, his pants down, and he was holding his hard cock in his hand. You'd seen him before today, but you hadn't gotten a good look at him then, dumbfounded. But now... It wasn't very long, but it was thick. A fat drop of precum was already dripping from the tip. 

“Take a good look, sunshine," Simon grinned, watching your reaction. You sighed, not knowing what to do next, waiting for instructions. Johnny pushed you forward:

“Come on, honeybun, get on top of him.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, gathering your wits, and climbed on top of Simon. He immediately grabbed you around the waist, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. You struggled to keep your balance, so you hold to his arms for support. And as you tried to just keep from falling, you felt Johnny guiding Simon's cock against your entrance. Immediately, Simon starts thrusting in. He takes his time, slowly but steadily sinking into you. You squeeze your eyes shut, his thickness stretching you to the limit, your muscles clenching convulsively, trying to push him out, but he only goes deeper, rumbling contentedly.

“That's it, baby, almost all in.”

Your ass touches his thighs and you feel impaled on a stake. But you're not given time to get used to the new sensations. Simon lifts you up, pushing you up with his hips, and when only the tip is left inside, he pushes you back down. You shriek and forget how to breathe. He doesn't spare you, pounding into you from below like you're just a sex toy. His sex toy.

He pulled you toward him, and you leaned forward, resting on his shoulders. Your breasts dangled just above his face, and he didn't hesitate to take advantage of the situation. With his lips he caught your nipple, playing with it with his tongue. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through you - he'd bitten you. Through your tears, you watch as his mouth stretches into a smirk in response to your shriek. His hips don't stop, he thrusts into you at a relentless pace, and you can only whimper, taking everything he gives you. 

“That's an amazing ass, Si. Just begging to be spanked,” Johnny whimpers behind you. You turn around at the sound of his voice and see him, already fully undressed, squeezing himself. His gaze is fixed on your crotch, he's literally drooling. 

“Come on, Johnny. You can spank it. After all, you're only going to get an ass tonight,” Simon laughs, finally releasing your tortured nipple from his mouth. 

“What? Simon, please.”

“I said you're grounded, puppy. You want to argue?”

“No. But you know I can't be satisfied until I wet my dick in some juicy pussy.”

“I know, Johnny, I know. That's why it's called punishment. You keep arguing, and all you're gonna do is watch. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Johnny gets behind you and at first just strokes your buttocks. With both hands he squeezes your ass like dough. Slap! You shriek in surprise rather than pain, and you clench around Simon. He lets out a stifled growl and slows down, bending you even lower, pressing your head against his shoulder. He grips the back of your head firmly with one hand, the other pulling you down against him. 

Slap! And you're sobbing now, definitely in pain. Johnny doesn't hold back. He slaps your ass generously, and every time his palm touches your heated skin, you shriek and clench. Simon is enjoying this immensely and he urges Johnny to keep going. You cry, unable to hold back. You're hurt, scared, humiliated, and there's nothing you can do. Any resistance will only make things worse. You grit your teeth and just bear it, waiting for them to get tired of torturing you. 

Your ass is on fire, your muscles aching from the constant pain. Simon strokes your head, whispering sweet nothings:

“Easy, baby, easy. So good at taking everything we give you. Your ass looks amazing, so red and hot, driving Johnny crazy. You're squeezing like you want to milk every last drop of cum out of me. You're such a sweet toy. Good girl.”

Your ass is finally left alone. You're trying to catch your breath and calm down a little. But then something wet and slippery touches your tight hole, you flinch, trying to get away from the touch. You try to see what's going on in there, but all you can see is Johnny's head pressed right up against your ass. It's his tongue. He's licking your ass. You moan in protest, but a warning slap on your thigh makes you freeze in place. 

Johnny doesn't hold back. He licks you from behind, squeezing your buttocks. He spreads them apart, pulls back, spits right on your hole, and returns to it, smearing the saliva with his tongue. He swirls his tongue around the tight ring of muscle, he slips the tip of his tongue inside. You're so shocked you can't even think of resisting. Never in your life would you have thought that someone could eat someone's ass with such vigour. But this is happening to you. You just hope you don't get forced to do the same. 

Soon Johnny's tongue is joined by his fingers. A saliva-slick finger enters you without much resistance, the unfamiliar sensations driving you crazy. You feel Johnny pressing against the thin lair of tissue between your holes, feel him stroking Simon's cock inside your body, and feel how much he likes it. 

The second finger enters with difficulty, and you can't relax, no matter how much they both talk you into it. You're hurt, you're scared, you're uncomfortable, your body resists the unwanted invasion, and you cry only harder in desperation because you know it's going to happen anyway. 

“Easy, sweetie, easy. It's just two fingers. What's gonna happen to you when Johnny gets his dick in?” You even think there's genuine concern in Simon's voice. Like he's really worried that you're gonna get hurt. It won't make them give up on the idea of fucking you in the ass, but it will make them a little sad. 

“Puppy, get some proper lube, even your drool won't be enough to loosen that tight ass.”

Johnny obediently lurks off in the direction of, you assume, the bedroom, and Simon gently wraps his arms around you, rocking you on top of him. His cock slides gently inside you, and it even soothes you, comforts you, distracts you from the unpleasant sensations. Johnny returns and soon you hear the click of the lube tube cap. Cold and slippery pours between your buttocks. Hot fingers smear the lube, penetrating inside. 

The lube makes the process much easier. Two fingers slide into your ass, making it more of a mental discomfort than a physical one. Adding a third finger, Johnny slides his hand between you and Simon's bodies and finds your clit, caressing it mercilessly. Your orgasm building up so fast this time it's scares you. You can't help it, the sensations overwhelm you. You moan as if even surprised when you realize you're about to step over the edge. Just a little bit, just a little bit more, and you're thrashing in their arms, clenching with your whole body.

“Easy, tigress, you'll tear my fingers off,” Johnny laughed, feeling how tight you squeeze his fingers, but you didn't even hear him. You're swept up in one wave of pleasure after another. Your ears ringing, your whole body shuddering, you moan, cry, drool on Simon's shoulder. You don't have the strength to move, to speak, to even think. You've been fucked out of your mind. 

“Look at her. Fate has brought us together with such a sweet honeybun. She's just perfect, the perfect toy for us. Come on, Johnny, show her what you've got.”

And he did. Carefully he pulled his fingers out of you. The cap of the tube of lube clicked again. A few seconds of wet squelching noises, and Johnny put the head of his cock against your still quivering in post-orgasmic bliss hole. His dick’s thinner than Simon's, but that doesn't make you feel much better. He enters you slowly, penetrating deeper and deeper in short thrusts. Simon slowly pushes into you from below, you feel them rubbing against each other inside you. 

You lie there helplessly as the two men use your body for their own pleasure, like some cock-sleeve they've decided to share. Gradually they pick up the pace and all you can do is moan and drool. Your moans are accompanied by wet slaps of skin against skin and squelching sounds from both your holes. Everything between your legs is on fire from the extreme stretching, moisture dripping down your thighs, you don't know whether you're in pain or pleasure. 

“Si, let's keep her, huh? Let's keep her. Best fucking hole we ever had. So sweet, look at he,” Johnny mumbles, thrusting into you from behind, slapping you, enjoying the view. 

Simon doesn't answer, just grips your sides tighter, thrusting you violently onto both their cocks, and you whimper at the pressure. Something inside you is tensing, something ripe, something preparing to burst out. You've never experienced anything like that before. You try to warn, mumble something inaudible:

“Something… coming out… I…”

But they're just laughing, picking up the pace. They're so close to release that they don't care what you babble. You feel your own orgasm coming, but it's so... different. It's so unlike anything you've ever experienced. You babble something pitifully and fall over the edge. You're shaking, you forget how to breathe, a scream gets stuck in your throat and you feel something drain out of you in jolts. Johnny and Simon both moan loudly at how hard you're squeezing them, and in literally a few jagged thrusts, they cum inside you one after the other. Johnny piles on top of you, you're sandwiched between two big men filling both your holes with their hot cum. 

All three of you are breathing heavily, trying to come to your senses. Sweat covers your bodies, the couch beneath you is completely ruined, your mixed fluids spreading out beneath you in a big muddy stain. You're shivering, crying, but you don't know why. You don't understand anything at all anymore, don't realize where you are or what's happening. 

Simon pushes at Johnny's shoulder, and he rises up, slowly sliding out of you, stopping to spread your buttocks and admire the way your abused hole is trying to close. The white stuff leaks out and drips down lower, traveling down to your pussy and then to Simon's cock to his balls. 

“Go on,” Simon says, and Johnny presses his face against your crotch, licking it clean. He doesn't seem disgusted at all. And as he works his tongue between your legs, Simon slips out of your body, too. Johnny licks you clean, both your holes glistening from his saliva, he's so proud of himself. Then, you realize, he also licks Simon clean. You're still lying on top of him with your eyes closed, so you're only oriented to the sounds. 

“That's it, good boy, nice and clean,” the man beneath you murmurs approvingly. 

Soon everything goes quiet. Someone strokes your head affectionately, kissing your sweat-wet forehead. Someone gently strokes your spanking-red ass. Someone covers you with a blanket. Someone gently cradles you in their arms until you fall asleep.

You wake up in bed. Alone. It's dark in the bedroom, the red glow of the streetlights through the tightly closed curtains. You rise up on your elbows, trying to get off the bed. Suddenly, something tinkles loudly. You feel something heavy on your ankle. Throwing back the blanket, you realize that your ankle is shackled with a chain. Horrified, you try to unlock the shackles and tear off the chain, but you expectantly fail. You start screaming, hysterical with terror. Simon arrives at the noise. He turns on the bedroom light, and you squint at first, but then, accustomed to the light, you freeze at the expression on his face. A face no longer hidden by a mask.

“Tsk,” he clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “What a bad girl, making a fuss in the middle of the night.” 

“Please let me go, I won't say anything to anyone,” you beg between sobs. 

Simon shakes his head in response, walks over to the bed, and sits down beside you. He examines your miserable, hunched figure, smiles softly, and pulls you into his arms. You don't resist, but you don't stop crying. He strokes your back patiently, and involuntarily you calm down. 

“All right, easy. Quiet. Huh? It's all right, see?” 

“Please. I want to go home.”

“What are you talking about, baby? You're home. This is your home, sweetheart. You didn't think we'd let such a sweet honeybun go, did you? No, honey, you're ours now. 

You look at him with eyes full of terror. His eyes seem so gentle. And his soft smile is so out of tune with what he's saying. Johnny walks into the room and kneels on the bed behind you. He wraps his arms around you, resting his cheek against your shoulder. They hold you tighter than the shackles on your leg. And you realize you'll never get them off.

“Don't be afraid, baby. We're gonna take good care of you,” they say in unison. 

No one ever saw you again.

Masterlist

Here he goes again, you think as you watch Shigaraki place a white plastic bag onto his desk. It’s hard to fight the roll of your eyes, but you do. He’s been in a mood lately and you don’t want to push your luck more than you have. 

It’s become routine, you and him. 

He gets too close, you tell him off. It surprises you that he actually listens and instills some kind of confidence in yourself — in your words. Maybe you have more power over the situation than you thought. 

The rustle of the bag catches your attention and you watch as he pulls out a few things. An energy drink, a small box of what looks like bandages and a small bottle of clear liquid. 

Your brows raise, interest piqued and you sit up a little straighter to see better. 

“What do you—?”

He holds the bottle up and your face scrunches in confusion. His smile is one that sends chills up your spine and you have to will yourself to stop being antsy. 

“Lube. It’s for you!” He says like it’s a birthday gift you’ve waited all year for. “You’ve been so… mouthy lately, I’ve decided to give you something to mouth off about. Won’t that be fun?” 

The question is rhetorical and you no longer fight your antsy movements. Rushing to your feet and taking a pointed step away from Shigaraki, your eyes narrow, “what are you talking about?” You’ve never had to use lube. He’s just taken what he’s wanted and your body adjusts every time — as much as you hated it. 

He places the lube back onto the desk and grabs his energy drink, cracking the can open and taking a sip of the sugary sweet soda. He was calm, patient — eerily so. 

After he’s had his fill of the drink, Shigaraki looks to you and nods his head in the direction of the bed. “Get on it.”

Your heart felt like it would pound out of your chest as you held your hands up to the man before you. “Wait, Tomura, we can—!”

“Oh?” He cuts you off, voice lifted and mockingly playful, “I’m Tomura now? But you were so comfortable calling me shigaraki.” 

He places his drink can back on the desk and fully turns toward you. “I didn’t stutter. Get on the fucking bed.” 

You knew his patience was wearing thin, but you still had to try. Taking a shaky breath, you get onto the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. 

“On your hands and knees.” 

Your blood ran cold, and you tried once more, searching your brain for any sweet words that could placate him. Desperate to find something, anything he would like to hear from you, “please—“

He’s in front of you before you can blink, large hand grabbing your face and pressing your cheeks together, “I’m done playing these games with you,” you can smell the sugar from the drink on his breath as your breathing picks up, pricks of panic lacing your body.

Shigaraki crashed his lips into yours, wasting no time slipping his tongue into your wet mouth. The taste of sweet energy drink was nauseating but you kissed back in fear of what he would do if he didn’t. You’ve exhausted all options and you knew, deep down that anything more would only make things worse. 

He pulls away, a trail of saliva following as he meets your eyes — and god, his smile. He’s giddy like a kid on Christmas and you regret every act of defiance you’ve made against him these past few weeks. 

“Cute.” Was the only word he gave before you were being manhandled onto your stomach, face in the pillows and ass in the air. 

“You know,” he muses, pressing his clothed erection to your panties, “I’m starting to think you want this. You want to see me angry so I can put you in your place.” 

He backs away to pull your underwear down in one swift movement, making you reach back to attempt to cover yourself. This only irritates him more as he grabs your wrist and pins your arm behind your back. The angle is as painful as it is uncomfortable. 

You hear him shuffling around behind you, no doubt one free hand of his own making things more difficult — and you take small pleasure in that. It’s short lived though as he seems to find what he’s looking for and you brace yourself for the inevitable. 

There’s the pop of a cap and then smooth cold liquid dripping down your backside and over your hole that makes you shiver. You feel frozen as the liquid trails lower and lower until it’s past the heat of your cunt. 

All it takes is the press of a finger to get you putting up a fight once more. there was no way he was really doing this. He’s never tried this. 

“I shouldn’t even prep you, honestly,” he mutters and you wince as one of his digits slowly push past the ring of muscle. “You’ve been so defiant. You really need to learn some manners.” 

The tears streaming from your eyes are making the pillow below you damp and cold, but you can only sniff in response. “Tomura, please—“

“Please what?” He sinks the finger deeper and you can’t hold back your yelp of pain. 

You shake your head as much as you can, “please stop! It hurts..” 

He pulls out suddenly and you think he’s actually going to listen — that he’s actually done torturing you until-

A hand swings down and slaps your ass, making you cry out. He imitates a buzzer sound before gripping the fat of your bottom, “wrong answer!” 

You thrash more as panic wells up inside when you feel the prodding of two fingers instead of one against your hole. “You know, this is supposed to be your punishment,” both won’t fit and he resorts to only letting one finger penetrate, his other hand massaging the cheek of your behind. “But I’m afraid you may like this too much.”

He is delusional. Shigaraki is the one that’s having the time of his life watching you suffer and writhe. You try to pull forward and away but the hand that was massaging your ass is now grabbing your hip and holding you in place. Your cry is loud as you feel the pressure of another finger join the first and shigaraki wastes no time pumping the digits in and out of your hole. 

You think your crying and begging falls on deaf ears — forcing you to accept the inevitable and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere else but here. You could be dropped off in the middle of the Sahara Desert during a summer heatwave and it would still be miles better than this hellhole. 

Just when you’re about to surrender to your fate and stop fighting it, shigaraki speaks again, “Since I’m so kind and understanding, I’ll give you a choice.” it’s like he sensed you were on the verge of checking out. That would just be too easy. “Which hole do you want me in? Hm? Tell me.” 

He’s gripping your hip tighter and you know there will be bruises formed but your mind could  only focus on this awful option. 

You don’t want him in either. The idea of having to tell him which way to violate you only made you nauseous. But you knew that you had to make a choice because it was always worse when he made one for you. 

“M-my..” you feel sick, swallowing your shame and squeezing your eyes shut as you continue, “I want you in my.. pussy.” 

You could practically hear the smile in Shigaraki's voice, “yeah? Beg for it.” 

He wanted to humiliate you, this was the real punishment. To build you up, give you a false sense of security only to break you down even more. He was sick. 

But you were sicker because you did exactly as you were told. 

“Tomura, please. Please fuck me.” You turned your head, as if you could hide your shame into the pillow below you, “I need you.” 

“Atta girl.” He praises, pulling his fingers out and you sigh in relief, nerves calming and shoulders relaxing. You almost melt into the sheets until you feel the pressure of shigaraki’s erection against your cunt. The lube is there and making things wetter than usual but the squeeze will still be uncomfortable. 

You look back, worry lacing your features, “wait, Tomura—“ but you don’t have a chance to finish, he pushes into you, girth stretching you and making your toes curl in an odd combination of pleasure and discomfort. 

Shigaraki lets out a sigh of relief, rocking his hips at a steady pace before leaning over you. “Fuck, that’s good.” The hand gripping your hip moves to cup your breast, tweaking the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger. 

This was familiar, this was easy. It was not uncharted territory and it was something you could convince yourself was okay. Normal, even.

“Mine, mine, you’re all mine” he babbles into your ear and you don’t turn away, terrified he’ll go back on his words if you do. 

His pace is picking up and you find yourself getting lost in the motions. His body rocking against yours as he changes the angle and oh—

He hits the spot inside and you can’t stop yourself from moaning out. It’s sensitive and it makes your back arch with every deep stroke. 

“Fuckin’ slut, I knew you’d like this.” He mutters, circling his thumb around your unoccupied hole, the lube making it slide with ease, before pressing into the tightness. The pain is dull and the pressure of being filled so much almost sends you over, dragging a whine from the back of your throat. 

The bed shakes from the force of Shigaraki’s thrusts and you feel heat pool in your lower abdomen. You were so close and you hated it. Hated him. But when you felt his warm hand move from your breast, down your stomach until it was splayed out over your cunt — pinkie finger lifted and middle finger brushing your clit with every thrust. 

You were beginning to feel dizzy with pleasure and your head fell onto the pillow, hands gripping the sheets below to anchor yourself as you got lost in the feelings. It was overwhelming and you couldn’t bite back your cries and Shigaraki’s thrusts became erratic, he was close too. 

All it took was one more thrust to sweep you over the edge, eyes rolling back as your thighs shook — orgasm claiming you.

“Oh, fuck.” Shigaraki breathed, stilling as his own waves of pleasure overcame him. You barely registered the pulse of his cock as he came deep inside of you. 

You both try to catch your breath, time seeming to still as you panted. Shigaraki was the first to move, you felt him pull out and pause — no doubt watching his cum drip from your cunt — before taking his place next to you on the bed. 

The quiet of the room is deafening and your eyelids feel heavy. You’re as still as a mouse, not wanting to stir and risk him starting up again, but his eyes are already closed. You almost think he’s asleep before he speaks again. 

“Next time,” he starts, stretching before sitting up, “I won’t be so kind. So you should clean up your nasty attitude.”

you wince; the way Sirius coos to you seems to have an affect on Remus, too, because he grunts under his breath and drives himself into you even harder. vision blurring, you glance down to your poor belly, which seemed too full to keep from bursting. violent waves ripple through your body with each intense thrust, pushing a bulge up from your lower belly in the shape of him. you stare at the sordid display, almost amazed that your body could take this much abuse, and you whimper. there’s a hideous set of bloody gashes along your abdomen, and a matching set on one thigh, but neither were deep enough to require any serious medical attention, just sting and bleed. “I—I’m yours!”

Sirius lets out a breathy chuckle, grinning in content up at his fellow Gryffindor, who moans at the admission, dipping his head down to seal his mouth over one of your breasts, suckling furiously until your back arches off the floor. he teases your nipple, pulling with his teeth, and you cry out, weak. “Remus! Please, you’re— you’re hurting… me…”

Remus groans against your skin, leaving a wildfire of sloppy kisses over your sore breast, snorting hot air against the marks where his teeth have sunk in deep enough to break the flesh. he’s a starved beast, one who can’t stop. “I know,” he breathes out, ragged, “I have… I have to…”

“Shh, Shh..” Sirius shushes you, one fist coiling around your neck like a wicked serpent. he holds it tight, and your shoulders work, squirming in hopes to free your dead arms and fight to pry him from your throat, but both boys were so much stronger than you. “You should be grateful, anyways, thank him for using your body like this, look at him,” he presses kisses to your temple as his grip seals your windpipe closed. croaking, trying to bring air into your lungs, you peek up at Remus, who is grinding his teeth as he decimates you from above, brows knit together. “Look at how good you’re making him feel, listen to him moan for you. That’s plenty, isn’t it? Plenty to be grateful for?”

“I—“ you wheeze, eyelids fluttering, “I can’t take it… hurts too— much…”

“Aw, such a fragile little thing you are.” but Sirius only squeezes harder, until you’re jerking underneath Remus, gasping for air that couldn’t be drawn in. “Remus is being gentle with you, just wait until it’s my turn. I’ll make you beg for him to fuck you like this again.” you were starting to feel warm, and you could no longer see straight; instead, you see three clones of Remus fucking you, your head swimming.

“Fuck,” Remus howls, eyes rolling behind his lids as his head hangs forward, tawny tendrils an unruly mess draped in your face, “Padfoot, keep— keep doing tha—that, keep choking her… she’s so tight right now!” maybe you’re on the cusp of losing consciousness, and that’s what intensifies every violent thrust, or maybe Remus truly is possessed by lust, because you could swear he’s fucking a hole through you. you want to scream, you want to beg him to go easier on you, but both options are long lost with your breathing privileges, so you gag and choke and convulse against him. “Please, oh fuck, please…”

“Keep milking him until your body gives out. Just like that. Show him how bad you want to be full of his cum, and maybe he’ll be kind enough to swell your little belly.” all too happy to oblige, Sirius clamps down on your throat until your neck starts to feel bruised, and your vision darkens. it was as if someone was dimming the lights, each time you blinked, the room got darker. “I think she needs a little nap,” Sirius chuckles wickedly, kissing the crown of your head even as you try to shake your head in protest. “Look at how sleepy you’re getting, love. You can hardly keep those glazed eyes open anymore.”

and Remus was howling, kissing at your open lips, the side of your mouth, and moaning your name like a needy prayer. “I’ll give it all to you, my love, all of it— I’ll make you take everything—“

“I—‘m— a—fraid—“ would Sirius strangle you to death? it certainly seemed as though he wasn’t willing to let up until you had slipped away.

but, that’s all it was.

fantasies.

after he’d finished, when he’s panting and shuddering beneath the waves of aftershock, when he’d open his eyes, he was alone in his bed. and you in yours. he decided watching you through the mirror was no longer sufficient. it kept too much distance between he and you.

he wanted to get closer.

he needed to be closer.

it wasn’t his first time unlocking your door with a wave of his wand, whispering a hushed, “Alohomora.” this was, however, his first time stepping inside and knowing that you were asleep in the bedroom. he usually waited, watched you leave. he would appear to be a patrolling Death Eater, ensuring that the muggles were obeying their new laws.

sometimes, you would catch his eye and his heart would start to pound rapid fire in its organic prison. the daggers you glared at him may as well have torn through his body. you, like most muggles, hated the Death Eaters, only unlike most muggles, you weren’t afraid to show it in the fire in your eyes. he’d even heard you mouth off to one once, and he could remember the acid on your tongue when you told him just where he could stick his magic wand. it shouldn’t have, but it made Regulus laugh.

it was always only after you’ve disappeared from sight that Regulus would let himself into your apartment. taking his time, he would walk each room, fingers gliding along the upholstery, imagining that yours have done the same at some point. he’d creep into your bedroom and lie down on your side of the bed, breathing in the scent of you with his eyes closed. sometimes, if he were lucky and you had been in too much of a hurry to discard your pajamas in the hamper by the door, they would be strewn over top of the bed. and he would fondle them carefully, slender digits rubbing waves of soft fabric that smelled like you. he was always shamefully hard when he wrapped your panties around his fist and brought them to his face, kissed at the delicate fabric, before sliding them under the waistband of his trousers pressing them to his throbbing groin to grind against, fucking the cotton until he stained them white.

that was the closest he’s ever come to you.

until tonight.

the living room was dark, curtains pulled closed over the windows, and he tiptoes, carefully and slow, into the hallway. the apartment is silent, so quiet he can almost hear you breathing on the other side of the door when he reaches it. or, maybe, that’s just his own heavy breath, the pounding of his own heart. he presses a palm against the door, and it whines softly as it opens. he takes a step inside.

your bedroom smells of your perfume, and he inhales it, eyes fluttering closed behind the mask he wore. he’d been in this room before, smelled the scent of you on your pillows, but it was all the more intense when you were here. you smelled warm and sweet, and he was certain that it was the aroma of his own, personal hellfire.

there’s a faint glow from a street lamp outside of your window that casts a glow across your sleeping visage, and he discards the mask, pushing his hood back on to his shoulders as he comes closer, and falls to his knees at the side of the bed as if you were splayed upon an altar to be worshipped at.

blasphemy.

that’s what it was. beautiful, horrible blasphemy to kneel for a muggle. to see the sun and moon in a twinkle behind her eyes. to yearn for her, to lust after her, to want nothing more than to be able to touch her to keep the madness away. that’s what his noble family, his noble cause would say. hell, they might even kill him. a blood traitor.

but in this room, in this darkness, in this moment, none of that mattered.

his cock was already twitching, needy and impatient against his thigh, just from the closeness. sprawled on your back, your face was turned away from him, one arm flung over the pillow. as if you’d been dropped from the heavens and landed just so.

Regulus exhales, shaky, one hand reaching up to grasp the sheet atop which you lay whilst his hand delves into his undone bottoms. touching himself while staring up at you, lying unconscious just a few inches from his reach elicits a weak moan, one that almost didn’t sound like the powerful Wizard he thought himself to be. he palms at his erection with a rough hand, hoping to work himself into finishing quickly so he could slip out of your apartment undetected. however, temptation was gnawing at him. the longer he allowed his slate gaze to traverse the curves of your unconscious frame, the more persistent the urge to reach out and touch you became. until it’s so mighty that he drops his forehead against the mattress with a heavy breath in defeat. “Dammit.” his free hand swims the sea of sheets and hikes over your abdomen, before resting atop your breast. he shudders, pumping himself faster. harder. “Damn you,” he whispers, but it’s breathless and weak and followed by a moan of your name as he kneads your bare mound through your pajama top; there’s no resistance— you hadn’t been wearing a bra. “Damn you for feeling so good.”

your body twitches, and Regulus nearly stops breathing, head snapping up with eyes wide and nervous, but it was a simple sigh in your sleep. it takes a moment for him to process, but then he bites down on his lip. “I wonder if it feels good for you,” he whispers, “if you’re dreaming about me.” thrusting into his own hand, his eyes turn towards your lower portion, hidden under the covers. he knew you never wore bottoms to bed, just your panties, and the thought has him moaning through sealed tiers. he shouldn’t. but he couldn’t stop himself. that dastardly hand of his glides down your midsection and disappears under the blanket, slipping between the warmth of your thighs to pet the soft cotton of your panties and he grunts, leaning forward to bite down on the sheet to keep from waking you. his eyelids flutter. never in a million years would he have expected to be driven to the brink of insanity with the mere feeling of someone’s skin, and yet, you had come along and put all of his bravado to shame.

“You’re so warm…” the first two digits on his hand prod against your panties, working slowly, methodically, but the treatment of his own sex is so far removed from gentle that he’s practically trembling with every forceful pump. he can feel a wet patch forming under his the pads of his fingers and you let out a soft, sleepy whimper and the Death Eater practically loses his composure. rubbing more fervently, he rolls his eyes behind his lids and calls for you. he knew he should slow down, that he was getting too rough and too loud, but you were so wet and he was already edging towards a powerful climax that he couldn’t hold back.

and that was when you woke up.

at first, he wasn’t so sure that your eyes had opened, until you suck in a breath to scream. the Death Eater panics, clamping one hand over your mouth to muffle the sound; his order patrolled the city streets at night, and the last thing he needed was for anyone else to find him here like this.

“Shh—“ he hisses, harsh, but both of your arms come up to push at him as he scrambles up on to the bed. you’re stronger, putting up more of a fight than he anticipated, and so he straddles your chest, jamming his knees into your shoulders to pin you in place. staring down into your frightened, wide eyes, Regulus can’t think. you were writhing, kicking your legs and trying to reach around his body to shove him off, screaming muffled through his palm. “Shh!”he keeps your mouth covered tight, but his nerves are so agitated that he doesn’t even think about his next move. his other hand flees from his trousers and retrieves the wand in his pocket, wielding it towards you with a stern, “Imperio.” before he even realizes that he’s done it. “Be quiet. Now.”

a moment later, you relax, dazed in the curse. no more screaming. your hands both fall back against the pillow and Regulus can breathe a tad bit easier. “I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth,” he whispers, slowly and crystal clear, “and you’re not going to scream.” you nod, gazing up at him, and he slowly releases your face from his grasp. your lips are parted, but not a single peep comes out. “You’re not afraid of me.” he murmurs. “Say it.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

he expels a sigh of relief, but he feels guilty. he looks down at the position he’s in, pinning you to the bed, and bites down on his lower lip. his hard on hanging from his undone bottoms, so close to you, he despises the vivid and obscene compulsion that overtakes him. it’s even worse with you staring up at him the way you are, waiting to be commanded. ready to obey. don’t. he tries to tell himself, but he’s already reaching for your hand.

you were already under the imperius curse, so why should he waste the opportunity?

grasping your wrist, he brings your hand to his mouth. first, he kisses your fingers, staring down at you. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he whispers, “too fucking long.” running his tongue along your palm, he slathers it in his saliva, before guiding your hand down to his cock. more resolved, more authoritative, he feels the confidence of having you under his thumb. “I want you to touch me… satisfy my urges, muggle.”

a faint smile etches your lips up, as if you were drunk, and your digits wrap around the base of him. he inhaled sharply when you stroke.

“Yes.” he mutters, both hands reaching down to cradle your face and keep it turned up; his shoulders hunch and he stares down at you through a sea of unruly, dark locks. “Keep going, more.” his hips jerk against your movements, the urge to rut into the slow pumping driving him crazy, but he resists. his thumbs graze over your lips, shaping them, as he moans your name. “You’re so beautiful, so, so beautiful—“

“Thank you.” you reply, smiling up at him.

he knew it was a false reality. you were compelled, cursed to be so accepting of him. you would do anything and everything he wanted in that moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. he was finally getting what he always wanted— you.

grey eyes focused on your mouth, he chews on his own. the thought of the warmth, the wetness of your cavern and your plush lips wrapping around his girth is almost too much to bear.

“Open.” he commands, and you obey in the blink of an eye. he groans, shifting to inch himself closer to your face, pushing your hand away so he can guide his cock to your waiting couplet. “I need to fuck your pretty mouth,” he moans, unable to believe that he was truly here right now, “and you’re going to be a useful hole and keep it open and let me have my way with it.”

you tilt your head, slightly, opening wider, and give a little nod. “Ah-ay.” it was the only way you could agree, because he was already stuffing himself inside. his patience had all but ran out.

Regulus drops his head back and moans, one hand gripping the headboard the moment he fills your mouth. he’s close already, throbbing; he’d been edging since he was on his knees moments ago, but this— this would surely push him over the edge. “Good, good girl,” he mewls, rocking his hips to set a quick pace. he couldn’t hold back anymore, he was frenzied. “T—take it for me, take it all for me!”

a symphony fills the room; the dull thud of the headboard rhythmically slamming into the wall, the gurgling and shrill clucking every time the head of his cock jabs the back of your throat, and his own, sordid moaning. Regulus fights the urge to close his eyes, determined to stare into your watery ones when he cums. “Your mouth feels so fucking good, the perfect little sleeve for my cock.” he whines, watching the tears escape your ducts from the pummeling your throat is taking. you handle it well, due to the curse or not, even when he grasps your hair at the root and pulls your head forward to meet his merciless fucking, “I should’ve done this so long ago!” your eyes are hazy, lids heavy, but he shakes his head, pushing your head back, “No, no, keep those eyes open.” your lids part immediately, “Look at me. Watch me fuck your face. Fuck, I’m almost there…”

Regulus knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold it in and once you met his gaze, and it was all over in a matter of moments. just a couple more thrusts before he buried himself as deep into your throat as he could go, pressing his hips into you to push the back of your head against the pillows as he cums. even as he cries out, he can hear a faint gagging under his weight, and he exhales, petting your hair back with a soft, encouraging mumble. “Swallow. There, there. Good girl.”

pulling out of your mouth was damn near impossible. if he had it his way, Regulus would’ve stayed nestled there with your soft lips pressed to his pelvis until the end of time. however, he knew he had to release you. pulling back, his cock falls from your mouth with a vulgar pop, and you let out a few ragged breaths, chest heaving. still, you’re not frightened, your eyes still watch him, as if ready to heed another command. he pushes himself off of you and tucks his manhood into his trousers, fastening them. “You will never, ever tell anyone about this.”

“I will never tell anyone about this.” you answer, the same, drunken simper on your face. only now, your lips are glazed with saliva, glossy.

Regulus stares at you, and grabs a fistful of the blanket, wrenching it back simply out of curiosity. “Spread your legs.”

you do, and he scoffs. his cock twitches in his pants. the wet patch has grown significantly, and he can’t help but slide his fingers under the waistband of your panties and slot them under your weeping folds. you were so damn wet. you liked it. curse or no curse, choking on Regulus’ cock had made you a sticky mess. he groans through grit teeth when he hears a soft whimper from you, and circles your entrance with the tip of his finger. he can feel you clench around air, and he wanted to feel the grip on his cock, but he resists.

for now.

the next time he visited, however, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from fucking you to complete ruin, now that he knew that he could.

pulling his hand free, webs of your arousal clinging to his fingers, he holds them up to your mouth, and you take them in as if you can read his mind, graciously suckling yourself off of his digits, batting wet eyelashes up at him. “Should I stuff that wet little cunt next time?” he asks, and you nod with a happy, hopeful moan, licking his fingers clean like a desperate animal. “Fill it with my cum, too?” the thought is most sinful— and he knew that his family would have him drawn and quartered for even considering mating with a muggle. but you nod again, and he suddenly doesn’t care. to hell with them, to hell with tradition. “Yes? Do you want it that bad? Would you take it anywhere I wanted to give it?” another nod. he knows you’re simply acting out what he wants, a pantomime, but it’s more than he’d ever believed he’d get. that’s enough. he nods, too, and leans over your bed, his free hand grabbing your chin to direct your line of sight to him and him only. “Very good girl. I want you to go back to sleep now, and dream of me. Dream that you take my hard cock in every hole and you fucking love it, and when you wake up, I want you to fuck yourself with your fingers hard and deep until you scream my name when you cum all over them.”

“What’s your name?” you ask, compliant.