Ne sonim

The studio door clicks shut, sealing out the rest of the world and leaving only the hum of the air conditioning and the frantic beat of Chan’s heart. He was expecting a visit, he's been in a studio too long he knows it but he wasn’t expecting this.

You stand in the center of the room, dressed as the Teyvat sorceress he’s been enamored with since her design first leaked. The crimson and white dress hugs your curves perfectly, the gold accents gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The oversized, pointed hat sits cocked at an angle over your pale blonde wig, and the prosthetic elf ears poke out, adding a touch of the ethereal to your mischievous grin.

Chan’s breath hitches. He is frozen, his hand still hovering over the MIDI controller. His gaze travels from the hem of your skirt up to the red-tinted contacts that make your eyes look like burning embers.

"Oh, Channie," you chirp, your voice lilted with the same eccentric, teasing energy Alice is known for. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost…"

Chan finally finds his voice, though it is an octave higher than usual. "You... you actually did it. You look exactly like her." He feels the heat crawling up his neck, staining his ears a deep, frantic pink. "It’s... it's a lot."

You move with a cat-like grace, closing the distance between you. Your gloved hands come up to rest on his shoulders. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he shudders under your touch.

"Don't you like it?" you whisper, leaning in until the tip of your nose brushes against his. "You keep talking about Alice with Stay. Does she live up to the hype?"

Chan swallows hard, his eyes darting across your face. "Too much. You’re being a tease."

"A tease? No, Channie, I'm just being true to character. And I like to play with my favorite toys," you murmur, your thumbs tracing the line of his collarbone. You lean closer, your breath warm against his ear. "And we both know what you said about her, don't we? About her being mommy?"

Chan’s eyes blow wide, a soft groan escaping his throat as he finally slumps back into his chair, his strength failing him. He looks up at you, "You're being mean," he breathes.

"I'm being fun," you correct with a sharp, beautiful smile. "It's what I do. Now, Channie... do you want to play a real game? Why don't you go get your special toy for me? The one we talked about."

His gaze drops to your waist, imagining the harness that will soon be strapped over the intricate red fabric of your cosplay. He doesn't argue. He moves like he is in a trance, retrieving the bag from his desk drawer.

Minutes later, the room feels smaller, the air thicker. You stand before him, the strap-on securely in place, its weight a grounding presence. Chan is on his knees, his hands resting tentatively on your thighs, his face level with the toy.

"Look at me, Channie," you command, your voice dropping into a lower, more authoritative register.

He blinks up at you, his eyes hazy and unfocused. He looks completely out of it, he looks small beneath you, submissive and eager.

"Such a good boy," you coo, running your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head back. "Show me how much you want it."

Chan needs no further instruction. His lips part, his breath hitching as he leans forward. His mouth wraps around the bulbous head of the toy, his tongue swirling around the tip with a desperate, hungry devotion. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, his cheeks flushing darker as he begins to suck, the wet sound filling the quiet studio.

You watch him, a sense of satisfaction bubbling in your chest. His movements becoming more heratic as you watch him squirm under your gaze. His hips shift, trying to find some relief for the growing pressure in his pants, his hard length pressing uncomfortably against his fly. A soft, high-pitched whine breaks through his lips.

"Are you getting needy, Channie?" you ask, pulling back and guiding him toward the heavy desk.

You have him bend over the desk, pressing his chest down against the cool surface while you stand behind him. He arches his back, his breathing coming in short bursts. You reach for the lube in your bag, spreading a generous amount around his puckered entrance. He clenches instantly, his shoulders bunching up in anticipation.

"Shhh, easy now," you coo, leaning over him so your chest brushes his back. You slip one glove off, pushing a finger in, feeling the tight, frantic heat of him. You fuck him slowly with the single digit, and when he starts to loosen and relax, you slip a second one in, scissoring them open to stretch him.

Chan cries out for more, a desperate sound that echoes in the studio. He starts squirming, his body reacting to how sensitive and how the sensation feels, but you don't let him pull away. You lean down and press a soft, grounding kiss to his shoulder blade. "Good boy, just relax for me. Let it happen."

With a firm, steady push, you manage to slip a third finger inside. You fuck him that way, your hand moving in a rhythmic, relentless pace until he’s practically sobbing into the desk. "I’m gonna... I'm gonna cum," he gasps, his vision swimming.

You slide your fingers out, leaving him high and dry, breathless and empty. He lets out a whine when you pull away, hips following your hand. You position yourself right behind him, teasing his entrance with the head of the strap-on.

"Please," he whimpers, his head hanging low, forehead pressing against the cool wood of his mixing desk. "Mommy, please... need it."

"So impatient, Channie," you coo, leaning down until your heavy blonde wig brushes against his neck. With a slow, deliberate push, you slide the head of the toy past his twitching entrance. He lets out a strangled cry, his back arching sharply as he tries to accommodate the sudden intrusion.

You don't push all the way in yet, holding him right at the brink. Your gloved hand reaches down, gripping his hip to keep him still, while your other hand slides across the desk. "Look at where you are, baby. In your precious studio, how unprofessional-"

Chan gasps, his chest heaving, his fingers desperately searching for purchase. "Ah... please, don't..."

"Imagine if your members walked in right now," you whisper, driving a few inches deeper, eliciting a loud, breathless whine that echoes . "Seeing their leader bent over his own workstation, taking his mommy’s toy so obediently. Does it make you feel dirty, Channie?"

"N-no... yes... Mommy, please, just fuck me," he begs. He reaches blindly behind him, his fingers clawing at the empty air until they find yours. He squeezes your hand, desperately trying to interlace his trembling fingers with yours, wanting that grounding.

You oblige, locking your fingers with his, squeezing tightly as you finally drive the strap-on all the way . Chan’s knees nearly buckling beneath him as his tight walls frantically squeeze. With every thrust, his body jolts forward, his stomach pressing flat against the desk, right over his lyric sheets, his keyboard, and his expensive gear.

"Oh, look at you," you tease, your voice dripping with sweet malice as you notice the dark spot blooming on his pants, pressing dangerously close to his workstation. "You're so sensitive. If you keep leaking like this, you're going to jizz right over your work, Channie."

"No!" Chan whines, a tear escaping his closed eyes as he shakes his head frantically. "No, don’t wanna make a mess."

"But you want to cum, don't you?" you murmur, picking up the pace, driving hard and deep, angling the toy to hit his sweet spot with relentless precision. "You're going to ruin all your hard work because you can't control yourself for mommy."

"I don't- I don't want to!" he cries out, his voice cracking into a sob as his hips roll helplessly against you, totally overwhelmed by the friction. He's squeezing your hand so hard his knuckles are white, whining and weeping as the sheer pleasure drags him closer to the edge. "Please, Mommy, don't make me... I'll be good, I'll be good..."

"I know, baby," you coo, your voice shifting back into that sweet, commanding tone. "Mommy has you. You’re always good."

With a firm grip on his hip, you pull him back an inch, shifting his lower body slightly to the side so his pelvis is no longer aligned with his mixing gear. He lets out a confused, desperate whine at the sudden change in position, his hips instinctively twitching back, trying to find the flat surface of the desk again. But before he can, your hand slides down between his thighs.

Your fingers wrap around his hot, leaking length, catching him completely off guard. He shudders violently at the sudden contact, a choked sob escaping him. Gently but firmly, you angle his cock downward, pointing it toward the empty floor space away from his equipment.

"There," you whisper, leaning down to press your lips against his sweat-slicked shoulder blade, your breath warm against his skin. "Right there. Now you don't have to worry about the desk. You can just let go for Mommy." You drive the strap-on deep, hitting his sweet spot with a heavy, relentless pace.

Chan screams, a high, broken sound that echoes in the quiet, soundproofed room. His knuckles turn white as he squeezes your hand, his entire body seizing as he finally spills. Thick, desperate arcs splash onto the dark studio floor, his hips convulsing helplessly against your hand with every pulse of his release.

He remains draped over the desk for a long moment, his forehead pressed against his forearm, completely spent. His body is still trembling, his leg muscles twitching occasionally from the sheer intensity of the climax.

You give him a quiet moment to catch his breath, keeping a reassuring, flat palm against his lower back. The warmth of your hand is a steadying anchor as the overwhelming rush of adrenaline slowly drains from his system.

With a soft, deliberate movement, you slowly pull out the strap-on. Chan lets out a tiny, wounded whine at the sudden emptiness, his hips giving a weak, instinctual twitch before he slumps completely flat against the cool wood of the desk, too exhausted to move.

"Shh, you're okay, Channie," you coo, your voice softening as you shed the sharp, teasing edge of Alice’s mischief, replacing it with a warm, protective tenderness.

You unbuckle the harness, setting the toy aside, and reach into your bag for a pack of wet wipes. Leaning down over him, you gently clean his thighs and his entrance, your touch light, caring, and soothing. He shivers at the cool contact, burying his face deeper into his arms to hide the deep blush that still stains his neck and ears.

"There we go. All clean," you whisper.

"Mmh," he hums against your skin, a sleepy, deeply content sound. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a soft, shaky sigh. "Thank you..."

You smile, pressing a warm kiss to his temple.