NiaWritesBS

He didn't mind taking the lead. Didn't mind folding you up and stuffing you full until you were dumb in the head and dazed in the face. Didn't mind lifting your feet off the floor and plugging you up with his cock until you were making a mess all over the both of you. Didn't mind mushing your face down into the mattress and slapping his hips against yours until you were screaming. Didn't mind spewing filth in your ears while he fingered that greedy little hole that just can't get enough of him, huh?

He loved reducing you to nothing but a sniveling, cum-filled mess just to make you like new again with a plethora of TLC. It made his day—his year, and as soon as you shot him a look even close to lukewarm he was on you.

Yes, Bro lived to please you, give you everything you wanted and then some, so when you had come to him, sweet-faced and bashful and whispered about how you wanted to be in control for a change, he had clinked his wrists together and gave you a sultry smile. You're the boss, mami.

And now here he lay, soaked in sweat and on the verge of revoking your rights for the night and fucking you until you can't even breathe. That'd only be fair --would only be right-- considering how you've been teasing him for the past hour.

It had started with your lips wrapped around his dark tip, tongue prodding at the leaking slit. You had placed kisses up and down the shaft, paying special attention to the throbbing vein that showed itself on his base. You had dipped your head down and sucked his balls into your mouth, pushed your nose against his skin and wantonly moaned about how fucking good he smells. You had placed the palm of your hand over his sensitive head and moved it in slow circles, eyes focused on his as you watched him through your lashes. You had taken him to the back of your throat, gagging and crying as you did, and when he had groaned about how he was about to come, told you he wanted you to swallow it all, you had pulled off, gripped his dick with a firm grip and his balls with firmer one and shook your head with a pout.

You can't come yet, baby. I'm not done with you.

You were throwing his words back at him and fuck, he was a bit of an asshole when he was fucking your shit up, wasn't he?

You had slotted his cock between your folds, hands splayed over his chest, and rocked your hips back and forth. You went slow, torturously so, your slick coating him from belly button to tip to base to balls to inner-goddamn-thigh. He was drenched in the scent of you, his own personal aphrodisiac. You slid your hips forward until his tip caught on your hole, then you moved them back until he was nudging up against your clit and making you moan out.

Throughout it all you hadn't let him touch you, stilling your hips whenever his hands ventured to your thighs, your hips, your ass, your belly, your tits — he had been left with nothing to ground himself with, so he had fisted at the sheets and gritted his teeth as you played on top of him.

He had almost come then, too, and he had schemed to keep his mouth shut and let it come as a surprise, decorating your already pretty pussy with thick ropes of cum, but you knew his tells and had been quick to crawl up his body and plant yourself right on his face, whining about how much of a nasty man he was for trying to trick his oh so nice girlfriend.

He sucks and slurps now, head foggy and balls aching. He latches onto your clit and sucks, his hands coming up to grab fistfuls of your ass, and you grant him that, letting him drag you further down so he can get at you better. He moves on auto pilot, hips bucking involuntarily, and a high sound so unlike him is moaned out against your fat cunt as you thread your fingers through his hair and pull.

You rock against his face, and his tongue slithers up into your drooling hole - he thrusts it in and out of you, reminiscent of the way he wants to do it with his cock, and he grips you harder, head turning a bit so he can talk—beg.

"Baby." He rasps out. "Let me —" You whine, hips shifting so he's talking into your clit, and he's been under your spell since he first saw you all those months ago so it's no surprise that his train of thought fades as he focuses on you once again, tongue moving and cheeks hollowing and—his dick feels like it's about to burst. He tries to talk again, hands moving to your hips as he pulls you back, just a bit, just a tad, but you look as if he's thrown you off of him and ended the night early. Your brows furrow, eyes well up with unshed tears, and he's cooing out apologies before he can help himself.

"'M sorry, baby. I am. So sorry, but fuck--" His voice takes on an edge it's never had before, his words coming out needy and desperate and on the verge of a breakdown. You're killing him. "I've gotta feel you, pretty. I need to fuck you—or fuck me, anything. Please."

There's a beat of silence, his words left hanging in the air, and then you're on him.

Your hips slide back, his cock slipping in oh so easily because you're so wet and he's so hard and shiiiiit. A sound between a groan and a whimper slips past his lips. He wants to suck it back in, swallow it down and keep it locked in the pit of his gut until it withers and dies, but it's already out and you've already taken it in. It energizes you, a fucked-out little smile gracing your lips as you slam yourself down onto him. You go fast, hard, ass clapping against his thighs each time you take him down to the balls, and he can't do anything but hold onto your hips and try to keep up.

He's sensitive all over, and his stomach caves in when your fingers drag down his chest and tweak at his nipples. He curses, the sheet growing uncomfortably weight underneath his as it absorbs the sweat that drips off him in roves. You're loud -your pussy and your mouth- and he's no better. He's never been fucked like this, never had you have him on the edge like this, pent up and denied, and he realizes you spoil him too. You give him free reign to your body, let him take it when he wants, take it how he wants, and more importantly you let him cum when he wants and for however many times.

Oh, he loves you.

His native dances off his tongue, spasmodic and dulcet, and it drives you faster, harder, more desperate, more carnal. He comes with a broken moan, blunt nails biting into your skin, and his cock twitches as it fills you up with his cum. You keep going, head bowed down and eyes locked on his, and he wonders if he looks this deranged when he's fucking you through your umpteenth orgasm.

His cum sloshes out of you and splatters, and the sounds reaching his ears are nothing short of absolute filth. Overstimulation sets in immediately, and he makes a move to sit up -get away- only for your hands to slap against his shoulders and pin them to the mattress, the both of you ignoring the fact that he could throw you off of him if he wanted to.

"Aht aht~" You giggle and he swallows hard. "Where're you running to? Didn't I say I wasn't done with you yet?"

They were deviants separately in their own right, but together they became something worse, something debauched — something to whisper about when they walked into their venue of choice for the night, something to giggle and gasp about when the details of their exploits reached gossip-hungry ears, something to think about late at night when you had a hand stuffed down your underwear and wishing it had been you sandwiched between the two men.

They were notorious in the night scene of the East Ward, not to mention the West Ward, and the South Ward, and they would have been known in the North too if Bro hadn't whined about his balls freezing off from the cold.

They had shared partners more times than they could remember, and they had always left them in a state of disarray — lips swollen and slick with cum; hair matted and dripping with sweat; bodies littered with blooming bruises; nipples pinched and sucked tender; asses spanked raw; holes stretched out and leaking spit and cum.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, let me get this straight." You speak from where you're curled up in Bro's lap, your feet balanced on his thigh and your head leaned against his shoulder. "You two, father of the year who still cries when Dear loses a tooth and mister can't drive faster than thirty miles per hour or he'll get motion sickness—"

It wasn't something they broadcasted to all of the Ground, but word got around regardless, and despite Bro trying his best to keep it away from your ears, it reached them anyways.

"--I don't cry, I just get a little misty-eyed."

"--I'm not gonna be embarrassed for having a sensitive stomach."

"—are the infamous duo I keep hearing about?" Your eyes flit between the two of them, disbelief clear on your face. You're trying to imagine them in the many, many scenarios your coworkers, friends, and anyone who frequented the night scene had gushed about, but you just can't. "You're bullshitting me."

"We are. So just drop it." Bro waves his hand as if trying to dispel the conversation, his arm draping over your shoulder and pulling you closer to his chest.

Gris is sitting on the couch across from the two of you, a flicker of amusement passing over his face, and you narrow your eyes on him. He meets your gaze, one eyebrow slightly raising, and you narrow your eyes even more.

"Do you have any birthmarks?"

"Left asscheek. Looks like a--"

"--monkey if you squint? Holy shit!" You squeal in a mix of shock and excitement and Bro groans as if you've just discovered the worst horror of the world. "You two are absolute whores! I mean, I knew about him," you poke at Bro's stomach, getting a faux offended 'hey' in return, "but you? That's honestly very hard to believe. You're like, the textbook definition of chivalrous and gentlemanly."

"You think I'm chivalrous?" He chuckles and you nod, your hand smacking at the one currently squishing at your cheeks.

"Absolutely. You're probably more of a feminist —quit it, babe— than me." Bro tugs on your ear next, ignoring your demand, and you huff out a breath and pull at the short hairs on his forearm, earning a smack against your hip that forces a laugh out of you.

"Just because I respect women doesn't mean I can't fuck them like I don't." You laugh again, more out of shock than anything, and you're starting to see it now. "It's called duality."

You tilt your head up to look at Bro, and he swipes his thumb over your lips. "So you guys did a bit, right? Like good cop, bad cop? Who was the bad cop?" You ask, but you already know the answer. It definitely wasn't the man you called your boyfriend for the past year — as free as Bro got in the bedroom, he never ventured close to anything you would call mean.

He was sickeningly sweet - honeyed words that had a tendency to carry a bit of spice, and a touch so sure and gentle (gentle when he wanted to be) that you could come from that alone, and often did. He was your sweet man -nasty, too- and he fit the bill of good cop perfectly.

So that means...

Your eyes slowly go back to Gris, and he winks at you, a dimple popping up in his cheek as he smiles. Your stomach flutters, a feeling that he has never elicited in you, and you blink once as you realize you maybe, possibly, definitely can understand why they have so many admirers.

"Why're you so curious?" Bro says it in your ear, one hand tugging at the end of your shirt before finally slipping underneath it. His fingers are warm against your skin, and you can't help the breathy giggle you let out when they skitter across your waist and stomach.

"I just am. The girls at work talk about you two all the time, you know, but I didn't know they were talking about y'all. They act like —Santa— you're gods or something." You give him a weak warning when his hand ventures further up, yet make no move to stop him. "I can't wanna know a bit about it? You guys practically fucked all my coworkers."

You and Gris are still locked in a staring contest, and your lips part when Bro takes your breast in his hand and squeezes, his breath hot on your neck as he kisses it.

"You sound jealous." Gris says, eyes still on yours, even as your shirt begins to rise from your perv of a boyfriend's behavior. He's always been touchy and affectionate in public, especially in front of the guys as if he was trying to show you off or stake some kind of claim over you, but this feels a bit.. different. Not that you mind.

"Who wouldn't be after finding out their boyfriend fucked his way through the entire population with his best friend." You suck in a sharp breath when your shirt raises fully, heaving breasts on display, and despite the many nights that you had spent dancing on a stage in a packed club wearing much less than this, a wave of bashfullness crashes over you.

You look away first, but not before catching Gris's smirk. "Stop exaggerating." Bro flicks your nipples, the buds hardening from his ministrations, and you gasp and maneuver so you're facing him while straddling his lap - your chest hidden from view. He chuckles and pulls you flush against him, his chin resting on your head as he tugs your shirt back down for you. "Why're you acting shy, baby?"

You grumble something under your breath, and he pats your ass, letting his hands rest there after and knead at you through the thin cotton of your pants. You can't decide if you like the fact that Gris is likely -hopefully- watching the intimate display. "Can't hear you, mami."

"Did you like any of them?"

"Of course not. I didn't even cum - honest." You pull back to give him an annoyed look, and he drops a kiss onto your nose. "Don't worry about that, it's in the past. That's over with." You feel a bit.. disappointed.

"So you'd never do it again?" His eyebrows furrow in a frown. "Never ever? Even if it was with someone you really, really liked?"

"Never. I don't like anyone but you. Why would I..." His voice trails off, something flickering in his eyes, and you tuck your head back under his chin. "You're not slick, girl." He pats your ass again, this time harder, and you jolt in his lap, teeth softly sinking into your bottom lip. "You want to fuck him."

"I-no! Well--not just him." You lean back a bit to look up at Bro through your lashes, a trick that hasn't failed you once. "Both of you. Like you guys used to do." It's your turn to rub at his chest, fingers splaying across the wide expanse of it, and you shift in his lap. His grip on your ass tightens and you put an arch in your back, your tongue slipping out to flick at his bottom lip. He feints as if he's going to bite it, and you pull it back with a smile.

"You're talking to the wrong one." He suddenly grips your chin and turns your head so you're once again looking at Gris, and you can't stop the pout from forming on your lips. "Go on - what do you say?"

"...fuck me." Bro snorts and buries his face into your hair.

Gris doesn't find it as funny.

"You ask, not demand. I'm not your easy ass boyfriend." You frown and go to open your mouth in a retort, but he cuts you off before you get the first syllable out. "If I don't like what you say next then the answer is no."

You snap your mouth shut and Bro's shoulders shake with barely contained laughter. You feel his lips at your ear after a moment. "If you be nice I'll eat your pussy tonight." You roll your eyes.

"Duh. You do that every night."

"Yeah, but I'll do that thing you like too."

"...the thing with your...?" He hums and you take in a deep breath before letting it out slow. You look at Gris similar to the way you look at Bro when you're gearing up to ask him to do a near-impossible task. "Gris... Will you please .. fuck me?"

He watches you for a moment in silence, and you don't know why your heart begins to race in your chest but it does. It's Gris. The tales of the two of them are probably just that - tales. Tall ones at that. Bro could fuck the best under the table, but Gris? You're not even sure why you're so interested. You always recognized that he was attractive, but your thoughts never really ventured further, and not due to your relationship.

You and Bro didn't get worked up about stuff like that, hence why you hadn't flown off the handle at the reveal of his past sexual exploits. You were just a dancer now, but you had been known to get intimate in the VIP room of the club with your more tolerated clients, which had led to you ending up with Bro. You had shut down that operation when you two made things official by no request of his. He had met you at work and didn't expect you to give up any money just because he had latched onto you like a stubborn tick, and you him, but you had anyways. Partly due to a sense of respect and partly due to the fact you couldn't get wet for anyone but him after he had fucked you for the first time.

Well, it's not just him anymore, is it..

Suddenly, Gris grins, the sight sending a jolt of excitement, apprehension and fear all wrapped up together straight down to the junction between your thighs.

You twist and turn in the mirror, adjusting the strings of your outfit as you do, if you could even call it an outfit. It's truthfully just a few scraps of fabric tied together with thin strings, a few pieces big enough to cover your areolas and the place between your thighs.

You think you may regret this.

It's a white set that you had found stashed away in the bottom of your locker - the set that you had originally worn when you first met Bro. You've gained a few pounds since then, the strings sinking into the meat of your hips, ass and waist. Your breasts threaten to burst free at any second, a plus considering this is a strip club, and you smile at your reflection as you apply a bit of lip gloss.

You think you look perfect for tonight, even if you can still see the dark hickies Bro had left on your inner thighs last night. Besides, you'll have a lot more to join them once he and Gris finally show up.

Gris had agreed to your original request, and had even agreed to the following ones you had made. You wanted them how everyone else had them — you didn't want the Bro that you were used to, as much as you absolutely loved him. You wanted the version of him that you had been forced to hear about for months on end, the one that seemed so different from what you experienced every night.

So you had told them to make a trip to your job, a lively little strip club in the heart of the East Ward that you had been working at for the past few years. The building saw its fair share of Cleaners, Bro and Gris excluded due to their apparent retirement from the night scene, and the red carpet was always rolled out when any of them stepped foot in the place.

They'd get a bit of the treatment they used to receive back in the day from the staff - a bit of fawning, a bit of ogling, and a whole lot of attempts to drag them into private dances, and in return you'd get tag teamed by a duo you hadn't been able to get out of your head since you knew of their existence.

You had been nothing short of a bitch in heat these past few weeks. You had practically jumped Bro whenever you got him alone, and you were nearly destitute due to all the bribing you had done to get Enjin to play babysitter for Dear. That's part of the reason why it had taken so long to finally put the plan into action - you had to work to recoup your losses, as well as the fact that Bro and Gris didn't exactly operate on a 9-5 schedule.

They had been busy these past few weeks too, traveling from ward to ward to save this place and that place. They had only just gotten back a couple days ago, and rather than letting them rest and regain their strength and lick at their bruises, you told them it was happening tonight.

You didn't think you could wait any longer—you refused to wait any longer.

A torrent of squeals and excited screams suddenly drown out the music, and you take that as your cue to leave the dressing room.

Your heels click against the floor as you walk, and you step out into the club. The lights are dark, a neon glow emanating from the various signs scattered on the walls, and an upbeat song plays throughout the speakers, the bass felt underneath your feet. There's a small crowd near the bar, and your stomach flutters when two familiar heads stand above the rest.

"Griiiis, baby!" An older dancer named April, who you don't particularly care for, sings as she throws herself into his chest. He smiles and wraps an arm around her waist, head dipping as he places a kiss on the crown on her head, and you swallow down the feeling that scratches its way up your throat as you make your way your way over.

A manicured hand reaches out for Bro's hand, a hand not belonging to you, and he smooths at the front of his button-down in a nice attempt to dodge it. His eyes find yours, teeth flashing in a show of a smile, and then they drop down to what you're wearing. When they flick back up his lids are lower, smile less joyful and more.. hungry. You match it.

Your hips sway as you approach him, his eyes following like a pendulum, but then a body is sidling up to him, having taken advantage of the moment of distraction. Before you can do anything about that your view is being blocked, the face of one of your regulars appearing.

"I didn't know you were workin' tonight, gorgeous." The urge to skirt around him is strong, but he's your biggest tipper, and you are working tonight, technically. You suppress a heavy sigh and flash him a sultry smile instead.

"Of course. I heard my favorite guy was coming and I just had to pop in to see him." Red floods his cheeks as he rubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw. "Grab a seat at the bar and I'll come take care of you later, mkay?" You trail your hand down his arm and to his own hand to give it a gentle squeeze. It's clammy, his nerves showing, but you're used to it. He gives a jerky nod and walks off to the sit down, and you turn back to find Bro, only to see him engrossed in a conversation with one of the girls.

It seems like they know each other, with the way they laugh and talk, and you suppose she does know him, probably intimately well. God, why had you suggested this place again? You had thought it was a good idea, the perfect place to set the mood for the filth you had hoped would be unwinding right about now, but they were too busy talking with your fucking coworkers. They hadn't even said a single word to you!

A sudden thought comes to mind, and it morphs into an idea with worrying speed. You pivot on your heel and head back to Damon, your regular, and drape yourself across his back. He jumps as your breasts press into him, and you prop your chin on his shoulder so you can talk directly into his ear.

"On second thought, I think I'd rather play with you now. Let's dance." You tug on his shirt, and he nearly stumbles with how quickly he shoots up from his stool. The commotion brings a horde of eyes, two pairs that you're acutely aware of, and a smug little grin plays at your lips as you grab Damon's hand and lead him to an empty booth, a dramatic sway in your hips as you go.

You push him down onto the seat and straddle him a second later, hands pawing at his chest as you smile down at him. "I missed you. Did you miss me, too?"

He gives a jerky nod and you roll your hips against him. "Y-yeah. I didn't see you last —fuck— week so I've been going through a bit of a withdrawal." He jokes and you let out an exaggerated giggle.

"Then I guess I've got a bit of making up to do then, huh?" You spin around so your back is to him, and your eyes fall onto an annoyed Bro and an amused Gris who sips at a beer as he stands beside his friend. He leans over and says something to him, his gaze not straying from you, and you grab Damon's hands and drag them up your body. They glide up your hips then around to your stomach, and then finally up to your breasts that he grips a bit too hard in his eagerness. You rock down onto him, and Bro's look of annoyance quickly morphs into a rare display of anger.

Your lips part at the sight.

You can't properly admire just how sexy he looks when he's pissed off before he's crossing the room, wrapping his hand around your wrist, and yanking you up to your feet and into his chest. You stumble into him, a gasp of his name on your tongue.

"What the fuck, man?" Damon snaps.

He tears his eyes away from you to glare at a disgruntled Damon, and you watch as the man goes white in the face and promptly shuts the hell up - smart. You bite your lip at the display, not putting up a fuss when he pulls you to the back of the club. Security makes a move to intervene but you wave them off and give a thumbs up, then point behind you to Gris who follows. They make an 'okay' sign with their fingers, already having heard your debrief about the two men that you had been expecting tonight.

Bro drags you into the private room, causing your feet to trip over each other in the heels you're wearing, and he's considerate enough to right you before you go tumbling down.

You pull out of his hold and turn to face him, sculpted brows pinched together and hands positioned on your hips. He crowds you further into the room, Gris entering a moment later and closing the door behind him, and you take a step back just for Bro to take two forward.

"I don't see what the problem is."

"You don't see the problem with fucking some random dude in front of me?" He glares down at you, the sight making you pause for a second, but you quickly find your footing in the conversation.

"It was a lap dance." You roll your eyes. "A lap dance that either of you could have had if you bothered to pull your noses out of my coworkers assholes." Gris snorts before walking over to the stocked minibar in the room and pouring himself a drink - whiskey on the rocks.

"She was talking to me. Don't throw me in with that pendejo." He jerks his head in the direction of Gris, the man now on his second glass. "I was at the fucking bar while you were dragging your pussy across that walking fucking shit stain."

"His name is Damon and he's my regular."

Bro spits something out in his native tongue, upper lip curled in distaste, and it's utterly embarrassing how quickly your mood shifts at the way the words fly off his tongue, his accent growing thicker the more he speaks.

While you're busy deciding on whether to suck him or fuck him first, Gris has already decided on the sequence of events that are about to play out. His shirt is off and unceremoniously tossed onto the bar, revealing muscles that tense and flex with every movement. A blonde trail of hair starts at his navel and disappears underneath the waistband of his pants, pants that tent forward as his cock swells in his bottoms.

Bro is arguing with himself when Gris steps up behind him, rant not faltering when the younger man undoes his belt with practiced movements and pops the button on his jeans. With a shove they fall down and pool around his ankles, leaving him in a pair of checkered boxers, and then Gris steps around to you.

You look up at him, and before you can think a single thought, a strong hand is gripping the back of your neck and tugging you closer. His mouth crashes down against yours, tongue forcing its way past your lips, and your hands fly to his shoulders in shock.

The kiss is all-consuming. He doesn't wait for you to catch up and reciprocate, fully content in taking control. The liquor on his tongue is strong and bitter, and he forces you to taste it, swallow it. Just as your chest burns with the need to breathe he pulls back, but just like before, he doesn't allow you to do much of anything before he's pushing you down to your knees and using the grip on your neck to push your face into Bro's crotch.

"I didn't come here to listen to you two go back and forth all night." Bro's cock stirs to life underneath his boxers, and your hands brace against his thighs as you try to push yourself back, but Gris's grip on the back of your neck is unrelenting.

"Oh, really? Could have fooled me, because you surely didn't come here for me, you as—" Your words stop short when his face appears beside your own, eyes hot as they lock onto yours.

"You're still talking?" His other hand comes up to grip your cheeks, his fingers digging into the fat of them until you're forced to open your mouth. "You let her get away with too much, Bro. She's got no manners." He pushes a finger inside and presses down on your tongue, and your thighs squeeze together as you try to speak. "Shut up." He adds another finger and pushes it in deeper, the long digits seeming to stretch on forever. He hits your gag reflex, and tears pool in your eyes as you choke around his fingers. "That's the only sound I wanna hear right now - so open that pretty mouth nice and wide and show me you know how to listen."

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, your spit shiny on them, and you take in a ragged breath. You go to say something, anything, because it's in your nature — you've never been talked down to, never been reprimanded, and it makes you want to rise up and rebel, but it also makes your thighs sticky and your clit throb, so you tug down the waistband of your boyfriend's boxers and lick a long stripe up the side of his cock.

It's hot and heavy and musky, and you breathe his scent in as your tongue flattens over his tip, lashes fluttering when he groans your name. His pre floods your tastebuds, drowning out the taste of bourbon and Gris, and the muscles in his thighs tense when you suck on his tip before quickly taking as much of him as you can to the back of your throat.

You gag, vision blurring, and a hand pulls at the strings of your outfit until it lays in a pile on the floor. You're completely bare before them and your nerves buzz at the feeling, goosebumps rising up on your skin.

"Look at how she's dripping just from having a cock in her throat." Gris' fingers reach underneath you to swipe at your folds, and you moan around Bro. "I see why you're always letting her run that mouth; you always were weak for some wet pussy."

"And she's got the wettest - jurar. Damn near drown every time I eat her out." They talk about you as if you're not there, as if Bro isn't forcing himself further down your throat and Gris isn't tapping his finger against the hood of your clit.

"Yeah?" Gris hums, his hand suddenly shoving you forward, and you choke and gag as Bro bottoms out in your throat, his cock twitching and throbbing. Spit soaked balls are pressed to your chin, and your nails bite into his skin as your airway is cut off. "You haven't trained her throat yet?"

"Fuuuck. She always taps out before I can get a chance." His voice is strained, and you push at his thighs, chest beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen. "See?"

"Breathe through your nose." Gris pinches your nostrils together before releasing them. "That thing right there -- breathe." You try to shake your head but can't. Your nose feels clogged, your senses muddled and in overdrive all at once. Before black can start creeping into the edges of your vision Bro pulls back, heavy cock slipping out of your mouth and pushing up to rest on your face.

You cough and gasp for air, tears spilling from your eyes, and Bro wipes them away with his thumb. "Cielo, don't cry." He coos, and Gris's hand leaves your neck as Bro squats down. He gives you a soft kiss, the temper from earlier nowhere to be seen, and wipes the spit off your cheek.

"Fucking enabler."

"You'd enable her too if you had a taste of her pussy. Speaking of.." Bro guides you up to your feet, and your skin warms when his lips press a kiss to the front of your thigh. "Spread your legs for me, baby. Let me see you." You don't fight him, your feet shuffling apart, and your hands brace on his shoulders as he leans forward, nose pressing against your mound and inhaling deep.

"You're such a creep." You shiver when his nose nudges against your clit, and his hand comes around to grip your ass and squeeze.

"That's why you love me."

He flicks his tongue out, tracing a path from clit to hole, and you let out a shaky moan, hands moving to grab onto his hair instead. His tongue sinks inside and curls before dragging out, and your ears burn at the sound of him greedily drinking your slick down. He's disgusting, revolting even, and you grind against his face, raising up on your tippy toes so he can do it again and again.

His other hand grips your other asscheek and spreads you apart, and you squeal at the feel of an additional tongue against your puckered hole. "G-Gris!" You go to move but Bro holds fast, his fingers sinking into the fat of your ass as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks hard. "O-oh, fuck."

Gris tongues at your ass, laving over it with his tongue, and an embarrassing squeak leaves your mouth when he kisses it. You feel him smile against you and he does it again, and that paired with Bro's fervent sucking and licking has you wobbling on your feet.

"Careful, baby." He mutters into your cunt, and then he's hooking your leg over his shoulder to give you more support. Your hands tighten in his hair, mouth parting on a drawn out. He eases his tongue into your hole once again, and you feel Gris do the same, struggling a bit to get past the tight ring of muscle. He retreats, and you think he's done before you hear him spit and a glob of saliva is running down your crack. He massages it in with his thumb, and then his tongue is on you again and forcing its way inside.

Bro spreads you wider, Gris' face pushing in deeper, and you hump against his face as you alternate between chants of their names, your eyes unfocused as you feel a big drop brewing in the pit of your stomach.

They fuck you with their tongues as if it's an extension of their cocks, quickly bringing you to the precipice, and just as you feel yourself teetering over the edge, you're abruptly snatched back and ripped away from that floaty feeling. You balk, eyes focusing to see Bro licking at his glistening lips, and Gris drags his tongue up the base of your spine, hands gripping at your hips as he raises up to his feet, body towering over yours, and dips down to place his mouth beside your ear.

"If you think I'm letting you cum that easy you're out of your fucking mind."

Before you can ask him if he's lost his mind Bro is tugging you into his chest and kissing at the frown between your brows. "Stop bullying my baby. She's not used to being told no." You swat at him and he laughs, arms flexing as he scoops you up and carries you over to the couch. He drops you down onto it, and you land with an 'oomph', your eyes meeting his through your lashes as he strokes the length of his cock with one hand, the side of his mouth pulling up into a grin.

You suck in a shuddering breath and he winks.

"Don't worry, mami. Papi'll give you what you need."

XXX

"Yesyesyessss," you sigh as Bro begins the slow press into you, fat tip spearing you open, and your hands palm at your breasts as he holds onto your waist. He goes slow, inch by inch, and each little thrust has you on the verge of losing it. You want him to cut the shit and just fuck you—haven't you suffered enough?

Gris doesn't think so.

Before Bro can sink in any further, Gris is reaching down and wrapping his fist around his cock, preventing him from sinking in any deeper. You shout, eyes snapping to him in betrayal, and your lips wobble before you can help yourself. "I don't think she deserves all of it right now. Fuck her with just the tip."

"But... but I was good." Your voice cracks. "I-I was. Baby, tell him." You look to Bro for support, for his usual inability to tell you no, but he's watching the wobble on your lip and you feel him twitch and throb inside of you. "I hate you. I hate you, I hate you!" You direct it at both of them, and Gris takes his hand off of Bro to instead pull you up by your arm. He maneuvers you so you're laid back between his legs, Bro in between yours, and he locks your arms down by your sides as Bro pushes the tip back in.

The insult that had been on your tongue fades away, your mouth falling open as your stomach quivers. You want him inside you — completely. You want to feel the drag of him along your silken walls. You want to feel the near-unbearable stretch when you get to the thickest part of him. You want to feel that blunt head pressing against the special spot deep inside of you. You want to feel the curve of him, the veins that lurk beneath his skin and thrum with his desire—you want it all and you can't have it and that makes your throat close around a cry.

A tear trails down your cheek, and you feel something stir underneath your head. Gris taps his fingers underneath your chin, signaling you to look up, and you do so, face stitched together in a mix of sadness and anger. He licks at his lips, eyes tracking all over your face. "Fuck, I love crybabies." He swoops down and smacks his lips against yours, and unlike before, this one is more.. sweet.

His lips move with yours, tongue sliding inside just as Bro slips out, and you moan into the kiss when Bro swipes his thumb over your clit. Gris swallows it down before pulling back, sucking at your bottom lip as he does, and you look at him with dazed eyes, face contorting in pleasure when Bro slips a bit deeper inside, just a bit. And your heart warms and swells because he loves you, doesn't he? He loves you so much and you love him and the fact makes you swoon and soar, eyes glassy as he keeps drawing those figure eights into your slippery, twitching bud.

He won't listen to Gris, not fully, he'll still take care of you, he always does. He can't resist and it makes you love him even more. Your thighs spread wider, invitingly, and Gris smirks and you don't care why because Bro listens to you — he listens to the signals of your body and acts accordingly. He knows you better than you know yourself, he knows what makes you tick, twitch, sigh, moan, gasp, cry, he knows it all. And he knows you're about to cum, he knows and he'll give it to you, he'll—

Bro laughs, the sound fast and sharp, and then his fingers are off your clit and his length isn't inside of you anymore and Gris' smirk widens.

You sniff and now he's grinning down at you and it looks so mean.

Bro coos down at you and apologizes, tells you how terrible he is and that he didn't mean it, that he'll make it right just like he always does, that you don't have to cry because he'll make you feel so good - he promises.

He breaks it not a minute later.

He lets out another raspy chuckle, this one more strained than the last, and a sob tears through your throat as you frantically shake your head back and forth. Your thighs move to lock around his hips but Gris is quicker than you. He hooks his arms underneath your knees and hikes them up, rendering you completely immobile and at their mercy and—oh god, why me?

You cry when Bro pulls out just when you felt yourself ready to tip over, and he coos down at you, hand gripping your cheeks and forcing your lips to pucker. He kisses them, an infuriating smile on his face that makes your tears fall faster, and you feel so stupid for ever thinking he'd be the "good cop".

"'M sorry, mi angelita." He kisses you again.

"Don't apologize." Gris chimes in. "This pussy belongs to you - you fuck it how you want." He lets go of one of your legs to plunge three fingers into your heat, and you sink your nails into the palms of your hands. "You've got her too spoiled, Bro."

"I know. Can't help it. That's my baby." His nose rubs against yours, and you reach for him, wanting, needing him to do something about the ache inside you. Gris' fingers idly sit in you, doing absolutely nothing but working you up even more because he's a bastard, but Bro will help you. He won't but you delude yourself into thinking otherwise. He always tells you yes, he always gives you what you want, he always fucks you nice and good until you're creaming all over him. That before was just a fluke - it was!

"Please." You hiccup, hands pressing against his cheeks, and he turns his head to kiss at your wrist. "P-please. Pleasepleaseplease, it hurts, Santa."

"You beg real pretty, sweetheart." Gris pushes his fingers in deeper and you twitch. "But we don't know what you're begging for. Use your words like the big girl you claim to be." He lets go of your other leg, and it falls down against the couch as if made of lead and you whimper when he pulls his fingers out of you.

Before you can do what he says, because doing anything else hasn't worked out for you at all, the space behind you is suddenly empty and you're falling back against the couch and then your vision is filled with Gris.

He stands over your head that dangles over the edge of the seat cushion, heavy cock angled down at you, and when you gasp at the drop of thick, clear pre-cum that drips from his uncut tip it takes advantage of the opportunity and hits your tongue. Before you can savor it, swallow it and moan because fuck why is it so good, Gris is grabbing fistfuls of your hair and bringing your head up, his cock slipping into your mouth.

"Don't stick your dick in her until she asks proper." Gris grits out between clenched teeth, and Bro pushes your thighs together and slings them over a broad shoulder, his cock nestled between the puffy folds of your pussy. Your hole clenches around nothing, slick dripping out of you as if you're crying down there too, and you shift your hips, desperate to get any kind of friction.

Bro pulls back, length sliding through your folds painfully slow, and your heart skitters in your chest.

"If you want this dick you've gotta beg, putita. C'mon, let me hear you - tell me how much you want me to fuck this sloppy cunt."

You choke around the fat cock stuffed down your throat, fatter tears leaking from your eyes, and you gag when Bro pushes his hips forward again, blunt tip catching on your painfully empty hole before sliding past and up, up, up until it's hitting against your oh so sensitive clit.

You hate Gris. You hate his guts —you really, really do— and you hate his stupidly thick, veiny, heavy cock that feels like a forbidden sort of heaven on your tongue even more.

Gris grins down at you, fist tightening in your hair, and slides in even deeper, head of his cock slipping down into your throat. "Hah? What was that? You say something?" He abruptly pulls out and you take in a whimpering breath, lips barely forming a syllable before he's sheathing himself back inside. "Guess not."

Bro fucks your thighs, heavy balls slapping against your cunt on every stroke, and Gris picks up his pace, the two of them somehow matching tempos. You relax your jaw and let him fuck your mouth, Bro's ministrations rendering you unable to do anything but take and feel.

Feel the way he glides over your tongue, smooth and warm, the way his pre slides down your tongue and eventually down the slope of your throat. Feel the way Bro teases at your entrance, circles around the puffy rim and slaps his tip against it before sliding it up through your folds to bump against your clit.

They're evil, the both of them, and you've already made up your mind to go straight to the Hell Guard with a full report of your grievances against them when Gris is opening his mouth back up.

"Boyfriend's not gonna save you this time, sweetheart." Gris grunts, hands on either side of your head as he thrusts in deeper, deeper until every time you swallow you're swallowing around him. He's in your throat, nestled as if he belongs, and it feels like he does. It feels good, it feels great, you feel full, but you can't breathe. Your eyes meet his in silent panic, and he offers you no comfort. "Either control your breathing or make me cum because I'm not pulling out."

You whine around him, eyes rolling when Bro thrusts against you harder, and try to breathe out through your nose. All the crying you've done tonight has rendered it a gross, snotty mess, and more tears leak out as you move your tongue on the underside of him. Your chest burns the same as before, and the image of him above you blurs as you swallow, spit bubbling up from the corners of your mouth and sliding down to pool at the bittom of your chin. Your hands, which had been pushing at his stomach, grow weaker, and just as they flop back against the cushions Gris is letting out a guttural moan, thick spurts of cum shooting down your throat and filling your belly as you instinctively swallow.

He pulls out, the last few dribbles of cum landing on your lips, and your chest rises and falls with your quick breaths. Before you're fully recovered you're letting out a scratchy 'f-fuck me, please'. Bro is sliding in immediately, moaning as your pussy welcomes him home. He pushes in to the hilt in a single thrust and you come immediately, walls spasming around his length. He sets a quick, brutal pace, mercilessly fucking you through your high, and he spreads your legs open so he can watch his actions.

Inoutinoutinoutinout. A wet, lewd sound punctuates each thrust, and you can't do anything but take it, your body practically melting into the cushions as he ruts into you.

A hand brushes your hair back from your face, and you turn your head to see Gris kneeled down by your head, his eyes focused on the drag and push of Bro's cock, the way your cum has created a frothy coating on his base, the way your hole grips onto him each time he pulls out, and squelches each time he pushes back in as if thanking him.

Gris has the same thought. "Your pussy has more manners than you — you should take note." He splays his hand across your lower stomach and presses down. You whine. "Think you can make room?"

You croak out an answer that he ignores, and all of a sudden find yourself seated in Bro's lap, his lips kissing away the tears on your face as they both work to push inside of you. They're big, too big, and you tell them as much but they keep pushing. Bro rubs quick circles into your clit and kisses all over your face, strings of praises said in between each one.

"Doing so good, mami."

"You're fuckin' perfect."

"Love you so much, you know that, don't you? I'd do anything for my baby - so do the same for me, mm? Let us in — just like that. There you go, baby."

They're in —oh god they're in— and you choke on their fullness, your head dropping forward only for Bro to lift it up, his lips smacking against yours in a sloppy kiss. You don't reciprocate, your mind mush as they figure out the logistics—determine who will push in while the other pulls out, and they get it in record speed, ensuring that you cunt is stuffed by someone at all times.

When they think you can handle it, when they've showered enough praise and loosened you up with their hands, they fill you up at once, stretching you to your brim and taking your breath as they do.

It's wonderful and horrible at the same time and you want it to stop immediately while simultaneously never wanting the moment to end. You can't think straight, can't think at all, but they're content with doing the thinking for you. They tell you when to open your mouth and stick out your tongue, tell you when to tell them how good it feels, tell you when to clench down and make them feel oh so good, tell you when to take in a breath because your eyes look a little spacey.

You wake to a twinge of pain and sensitivity, unsure of how long you were out, and your eyes blink open as your legs shift in an attempt to get away from the feeling. A set of hands push them back to their original position, and before panic fully washes over you, you remember where you are and who you're with.

"San--" Your voice is hoarse and your throat sore, and you huff out a breath when a tongue laps at your messy slit. Your toes curl and your calves flex, your entire body aching and sore, and your brows furrow as sweat beads at your forehead.

They do all the thinking, all the guiding, all the fucking and you like it—you love it. You zone out, only coming back on a slow grind, a sharp thrust, a deep plunge, a slap to your skin followed by a familiar soothing rub. Something crashes through you without warning, something you've only experienced a few times, and you go limp in their hold as you make a mess all over them, eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion.

"T-too much! It's too—!" You cut off with a cry when Bro swipes his tongue over your swollen clit. His hair has long since come undone from the neat braid, and the strands plaster themselves to your sticky, sweaty thighs. He swipes the flat of his tongue back and forth, hands keeping your thighs pinned down, and you reach your own down to weakly pull at his hair.

He pulls away long enough to mutter out a 'gotta clean you up' before his mouth is back on you.

Your hips buck and twist, toes curling and stomach caving in, head thrashing side to side, but he doesn't stop, just licks faster, sucks harder, slurps louder.

"Sensitive, huh?" Gris speaks, and you turn to him, barely able to make out his face through the tears clouding your vision. "Poor girl." His sympathy is fake but you can't tell the difference, you see him as a potential savior (silly thinking on your part, im hindsight) all the way up until he's slotting his body beside Bro's and pushing his face next to his, his tongue joining the fray.

You transcend.

Gris licks while Bro sucks. Bro slurps while Gris spits. Then they're both pushing wet tongues into a wetter hole and—oh, you're coming again. You scream from the force of it, your back arching so high that your stiff muscles crack, and a hand, you don't know whose, smacks down onto your tummy and forces you back down against the couch and they keep going.

Until you're a sobbing, satisfied mess that they scoop up and wash with gentle words and gentler touches. It's a stark contrast to how they were majority of the night, and you latch onto them, crying and snotting into their shoulders and choking out 'thank you's' and 'sorry's' in between each hiccup.

Gris massages at your sore muscles while Bro thumbs at your cheeks, and they don't let up even after your tears have dried up and your breathing has returned to normal. You sniff and finally speak after a few moments of silence.