eily

Naturally, your fellow dancers in the company don’t approve, especially as one of their younger rising stars—stranger danger and whatnot. The guy barely even takes his disposable face mask off for a minute—but you’ve seen equally, if not more, questionable patrons sponsoring dancers for a favor. Now, youʼd hardly say bad boys are your type, or even goody-two-shoes boys—Simon just seems like a man who doesn't care for either of the two things.

When you're a minute away from the opera house in his Chevy Tahoe, you hear him ask ‘My place or yours?’

My place, you say, because he’s just supposed to drive you home, there’s nothing more to it—right? Except, Simon takes it as an invitation.

The seven-inches (rounded up) more to it is buried in your gullet at present, tears clumping your lashes together as Simon connects your face with his pelvis.

“No teeth,” he chides, for the second time now. You come up for air gasping. “Like a lolly. Don't wanna get your teeth froze, innit?” Simon adds, demonstrating with his fingers sliding back and forth over your tongue.

“Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly when he retracts his fingers, thick ropes of spit rolling down your chin to the neck of your leotard. Bracing your hands on his thighs, you lap up at the length of his cock with the tip of your tongue, trying your own pace, but Simon isn't as patient.

You flash him an incredulous frown when he thrusts past your lips and hits the back of your mouth without warning, teeth scraping the base with a gag. Not your fault—he caught you off guard, is something you no doubt wish to communicate, your annoyance mirroring his like pup and dog before he pinches your nostrils shut. Your system all but malfunctions.

“Get learning,” the man orders brusquely, glowering while you sputter obscenely on his cock. His method of teaching is ‘swim-or-sink’, you realize, though the implication of sucking dick being as important as breathing doesn't fare well at all.

Your tongue hangs a little past your lips as you take him into the warm cavern of your mouth, your kneeling form shuddering with the effort it takes to stay in place instead of pulling up for air. A low, gravelly hum emits from his chest when the velveteen walls of your mouth envelope him, pleased this time.

“'Bout time.”

Tears prick your eyes as you peer up at him; his silhouette is reduced to blurry blots of color in your vision, his cock jerking instantly when your eyes lock. Your chest hiccups uselessly without pulling in any air and he can feel your throat spasming frantically around the heft of him in protest, milking more precum from him against all reason.

“Look at you,” he coos, almost unthinkingly, as he runs a hand through your tousled ballet bun, pins slipping out of place. “Proper mess. Yer almost getting the hang of it.”

Asshole.

The denim fibers of his jeans catch under your nails as they dig into his thighs, and at this point you've shifted off your knees and onto your haunches to writhe and kick at the tiles while he fills your airways. Every little sensation translates to his throbbing cock, his breathy groans filling the shadowy room as you gag on him.

You can feel the blood flooding your head as your lungs constrict, a throb in your temples mimicking closely the ache between your legs before, finally, all the pressure gives away when Simon lets go off your nose.

It's all spit, tears, and salty precum when you go up for air purely on reflex, strings of saliva stretching out between your lips and his fat cock. You clutch your neck while coughing, staring up at him tearily while his fingers scratch your scalp. His cock is hard and leaking in your face, bobbing with arousal.

As if knowing your language skills are out the door, or more likely not caring, Simon doesn't waste time to speak before he's tugging you up to your feet by one arm and tossing you behind him onto the bed.

“On the bed,” is as much communication as you get.

The look on your face must suggest your hurt with his abrasive treatment, because the corner of his lip turns up slightly and his eyebrows furl upwards sympathetically as he climbs over you, one knee braced on the mattress.

“Scared?” the man asks, to which you chirp wordlessly, throat raw, and screw your face up in a frown as you tuck your head away from the hand that threatens to cup your cheek.

Your skin is hot to the touch with his fingers tracing the slope of your jaw nonetheless, coated with sweat, spit, tears. An annoyed-sounding giggle spills out of you as he covers your face with his palm, your hair falling in front of your face as he musses it all up. He smiles a bit too—maybe. You can't see too well with your hair in your eyes.

“Don’t be. Iʼll bet I can make up for it. Some grown man cock is just what you need, isn't that right?”

Despite the incredulity at his choice of words, sticking your nose up like a proper lady, he doesn't hear a word of complaint from you to stop him from kissing the air out of you, with teeth.

Simon is already rutting his leaking cock against your belly when he reaches down between your bodies, pushing the crotch of your leotard to the side. “Look at you, so wet just from tasting my cock. Y'like dick that badly?”

There's a glint of amusement in his eyes as you huff 'You're a bully' and shut your legs, the corners of his eyes slightly wrinkled, though the rest of his expression remains unflinching. The sound of weaving coming apart splits the air—coupled with your embarrassed squealing—as he tears a hole in your dance tights and guides his cock between your legs.

He only manages to fuck your thighs with the way you're squishing them together, until he finds the collection of moisture pooling at the apex and pushes in.

He groans against your open mouth with the head of his cock seated snug inside your belly, thumbs digging in above your hipbones as he pulls you down the sheets to meet him. Your lips stretch into a small oval, opening and closing with a soft string of moans as he starts to pump inside you feverishly, jaw hanging slack towards your collarbones while you gaze at him through fluttery lashes.

Your ecstasy-addled gaze is all it takes to draw him into another heated kiss, latching onto your bottom lip as you whine and lock your ankles around his back. His short, dirty-blond hair becomes the victim of your restless hands, twining through the short tufts with a mirrored passion to the bruising grip of manly hands on your hips.

A perverse, self indulgent curiosity wins over when he folds your nimble body under him, your toes curling up in a mock pointe as he slams deep inside you, stars behind your eyelids. Your pussy is wringing him hard enough to make him cum if he's not careful, but the slide is simultaneously so smooth it's obscene with how wet you are.

“Si, oh my gosh, too much, I can't anymore,” you squeak, voice catching on a moan, but he just nips your earlobe deliberately, leaving shivers in his wake.

“Y'cant? I don't take kindly to liars, luv,” Simon grumbles in your ear before he pulls away slightly to peer down at you, his voice slipping into a more patronizing register, breathless all the same. “Come on then, tell me you want this. Y'want me to breed this cunt.”

His fingers dig into your cheeks while he awaits an answer, your face sandwiched into a pout between his fingers while you tearfully nod your head without further ado. It is too much and all that you need—only he's far too thick and too deep.

He bows his head over yours, dropping a warm wad of spit onto your puckered mouth, and you swallow before you can think better of it.

“Say it,” the man enunciates gruffly, his rhythm never letting up as you claw at the sheets above your head.

This time, an emphatic shake of your head, your cheeks burning up.

Simon lets your knees splay open around his lap as he sits up between them with a disapproving look, both your wrists caught in one firm grip as his muscled arm lifts above you. His offhand lands dead-center on your cunt with a loud smack, your hips jerking with a startled yelp—and inadvertently, fucking yourself on his length.

“Words.” A tendon in his jaw twitches as he regards you with simmering impatience, a brow raised pointedly. Your toes curl when his palm lifts again, your breath catching before the impact comes blooming as a throbbing heat ebbing through your clit.

“O—ow!” You keen and angle your hips away to no avail, his palm splayed out on the juncture between your leg and your hipbone to hold you open. Your walls spasm like a heartbeat around his dick, drawing a hiss past his teeth as he pumps inside you with shallow, jerky thrusts, palming your puffy cunt before repeating the previous action.

His palm lands against your flesh in quick succession, your juices splattering against your inner thighs like sin as wet slaps resound in your ears. Your abused pussy is practically weeping around his cock, stretched taut around his veiny girth.

“Please—” Your pleas for mercy starts off slurring, pathetic moans and hiccups, before becoming more urgent with each slap—and still, not what he wants. Your walls flutter and clamp around nothing as he pulls his cock out, slapping the flushed head against your oversensitive clit. Briefly, you fear the friction will make you come before it's over.

Your please-please-pleaseʼs for the man to stop very soon turns into “Please, please, I want it,” your quivering lower lip tucked between your teeth when you try to be convincing.

Not good enough? You whimper like a petulant dog, steeling yourself to try again—or rather, swallowing your dignity.

“Please, mister, want more,” you huff finally, feeling the heat burning the tips of your ears and arching up unwittingly as Simon tightens his grasp on your wrists. “Mmph, please, please breed me, mister.”

You squeal when he bottoms out again without warning, thumb and pointer spreading your folds apart to expose your clit to the cool air as he drills inside you. His tongue swipes at your ear and the other hand presses down on your inner thigh, holding you open, his voice a filthy mutter in your ears.

“Thas more like it. Think you're too good, huh? Nah, I knew you were a filthy girl.”

“Bloody hell, she's squeezing me. You love having my cock inside you, don't you? Gonna breed you full, baby.”

“Fuck, Iʼm close.” He hisses in satisfaction when he feels your nails digging into his back, almost beckoning, your little voice begging him to breed you. Simon swaps his hot spit into your waiting mouth and you gulp it down, kitten-licking his mouth adorably, saliva shimmering on your sweet face like pearlescence.

Simon can't hold off any longer when he feels you stiffen and cry out underneath him, fucking you through the tidal waves of your messy climax and groaning in unison into your mouth. The sound of flesh on flesh crowds the confines of your quaint bedroom, ornate wooden headboard brushing floral wallpaper precariously. Simon is awfully out of place here, an imposter in your world of poise and perfection, intent on ruining you like the soiled bedsheets.

“Fuck—just like that, luv. Fucking take it, take it.”

You can feel his warm seed overflowing down the cleft of your ass before he fucks it back in, plugging your hole with his thick cock and grinding his hips into you for good measure—both of you willfully forgetting that you're on the pill, just for now. It's so warm down there, you can't help but squeeze your thighs together at the tingly feeling, each wet squelch as he sinks in making you shiver.

Shortly after he pulls away from your spent, thoroughly-fucked body, you find yourself face-down on your belly before you've even caught your breath—because Simon just can't wait to put your flexible body in other positions.

Admittedly, Simon pays the price for his perverse curiosity early the next morning when he wakes with bleary eyes for the lack of sleep. He's up at 04:00 while your nude body is still tucked under the sheets, cozy despite the clothes strewn haphazardly across the place. Or perhaps merely exhausted. Curiosity killed the cat, some may say—whether in reference to Simon or your...

The man realizes he's paying for his actions a second time, later, when an envelope slips from the inner pocket of his jacket and skids to his feet, a spare ticket tucked neatly inside. Front row. The next performance. For my biggest fan! :D scrawled across the front in cheery, looping ink—and with it, he sees how his little white lie, as he tells himself, has grown legs right under his nose.

♥︎  gentle reminder that likes & reblogs are some of the best ways to support authors here ! tysm in advance, petal !

authors note — my writing skills go out the window everytime i have to write smut scenes </3 and do NOT let a man you just met treat you like this 🤦‍♀️

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