SugarSpice

♡ My page is 18+ MDNI! ♡ NO homophobia,racism,transphobia, misogyny, classism, ableism, or any other bigotry/hate ♡ ANTI-AI! I will never use or condone AI

♡ I love jjk, lads, aot ♡ Caleb main, I follow CN loc! ♡ I ship Lis ♡ Never written until now, pls don’t be mean. ♡ Terrible at getting things done, it'll take FAR longer than predicted. ♡ Everything I post is nsfw, unless stated otherwise! ♡ Asks are open for anything (besides hate ofc) ♡ PLEASE ALWAYS MIND TAGS!! THERE WILL BE SOME DARKER THEMES & TABOO TOPICS SOON! PLS SKIP IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE READING THEM! THINGS WILL GET FREAKIER!

♡ Link to ao3 I recently started uploading there. As of now, it’s the same as tumblr posts. In the future, there may be stuff I only upload there but idk yet! ♡

Zayne

♡ ⑅˚₊ Zayne Makes a Jizzcicle (drabble)

Caleb and Sylus

♡ ⑅˚₊ Teamwork makes the dream work (paused & will eventually completely rewrite) Pt1 Pt2 Caleb

♡ ⑅˚₊ Using his dick as a beauty blender ♡ ⑅˚₊ Caleb lends you a hand to bite (sfw) ♡ ⑅˚₊ NSFW hc (part one?) ♡ ⑅˚₊ Special workout session ♡ ⑅˚₊ Rely on Him a Little More (piss kink) ♡ ⑅˚₊ Just This Once ♡ ⑅˚₊ It’s Just Human Nature! ♡ ⑅˚₊ Caleb loves laundry (your panties) ♡ ⑅˚₊ Colonel Behind Closed Doors (pet play)

♡ ⑅˚₊ Caleb finds out Charmander isn’t real and breaks down (sfw, crack)

♡ ⑅˚₊ Getting turned on during a call bc he’s just so caring & he knows exactly what you’re doing to yourself (drabble)

♡ ⑅˚₊ Pervleb drabble Sylus ♡ ⑅˚₊ Universe’s Biggest Munch Brief little thoughts

♡ ⑅˚₊ Sylus donates his ass (sfw, crack) ♡ ⑅˚₊ DIY therapy for Caleb (nsfw,crack) Working on

Pervleb Drabble

content °✧୨ৎ psuedocest! gege+meimei use, him setting up small situations to be pervy, manipulation a little, him getting off beside you w/out you knowing, his fantasies are dub-con, pussy eating mentioned.

a/n °✧୨ৎ This is not proofread. I had originally planned to use some of this for longer pervleb fic (but more detailed) & I still might. I really want to expand on some of this and show his descent into deeper depravity/have him act on his fantasies.

He tries to be good, but it’s an endless losing streak. Each visit home, he fails. Every you that greets him is somehow even more beautiful—a constant evolution into something lovelier.

He detects each change in your body. Every curve is memorized too effortlessly. He’s built a map of your entire figure, accounting for what’s unseen with vivid estimations.

Your trust is exploited. He’ll orchestrate small inconveniences with foul motives. It happens repeatedly, yet you never show any suspicion. Things will be placed on higher shelves just to observe your struggle. While attempting to reach, you’ll let out those cute frustrated huffs. Your shirt might raise to offer a glimpse of your belly, your ass will bounce as you hop to gain height. And when you’re wearing those tiny shorts he cautioned against, it’ll reveal a little more.

He always imagines following the sick urges. The opportunity is constantly being dangled in front of him. He could easily pin you to the counter and have you feel what you do to him. His thick cock would press into your back while he touches everything he’s longed to. And you don’t even have to move. He’d get on his knees and devour your cunt from behind, dragging his face over your folds until he’s covered in fluid. You’d be shaking, desperately dripping onto the floor. Then he may just lick it all up in front of you; your horrified reaction would be priceless.

But for now, he refrains. He just watches closely, waiting for you to inevitably call for him. Your dependence stirs something twisted inside him.

In exchange for his help, he may have you praise him or outright beg. It’s not the type of playful teasing you believe it is. It’s far less pure than you assume.

You’ve learned what works best when you need something, and he always ensures there is something. There’s one simple phrase that will make him do practically anything you wish.

‘Pleaaseee gege.’

When he hears that, he can barely restrain himself. It’s just too fucking easy to envision you whining for your gege in another context. That’s probably how you’d beg for his cock, all sweet and needy for him. He knows you would. He knows you so well, you’d love being stuffed full of him.

He envisions that while taking care of the brutal throbbing left by your sweet words. He prefers to do so right beside you—pumping his dick while watching you sleep, or under the blanket while you sit together on the couch.

One day, he won’t hide it. He’ll show you just how much he adores his meimei.

Quick ramble (horny) about Caleb. It’s mostly scent & armpit related bc I need that so bad omg. Happy pride month + happy juneleb! <3

I need to see Caleb with his hand behind his neck, armpit hair on full display. I want to bury my face in his armpits so bad. I’d be barking on all fours, tears in my ears, begging to inhale it for hours. Oh you’re sweaty? You need to shower? Perfect, lift your arms up right now and let me innn!!

Putting the words ‘natural scent’ in a sentence with ‘Caleb’ automatically makes me moan. It’s a reflex I’ve developed. My body just knows how mouth-watering it would be. I can sense it in the depths of my soul that one sniff has the power to shift my perspective on life. My entire world would be altered the moment I smelled that delectable musky pheromone Caleb concoction.

And the thought of seeing his body hair has me bouncing on invisible dick. The happy trail, leg hair, armpit hair, pubic hair, would be heavenly.

The level of need I have for this man surpasses what words can even describe. And I want him to do the most obscene, disgusting, filthy, nasty, freaky things to me but also braid my hair, rub my back, hold me, and be all sweet and nurturing. He’s just so cute ughhh.

Short horny thought about getting turned on during a phone call with Caleb because he’s just so caring. You think he doesn’t know what you’re doing to yourself, but he does. This is not proofread and I’m like half asleep. This is just a thought bc I’d bust if I was mc.

—･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ☆ ｡ﾟ･—

Caleb often calls to check in on you. The majority of the conversation is centered around your well-bring. It usually only shifts to him when you re-direct it. When he shares about himself, it’ll seamlessly be tied back to you.

It always returns to you.

At times it can feel like an interrogation, but every question is founded in love and delivered with tenderness.

He’ll ask about your day and if you’ve been looking after yourself properly. You’ll be scolded for staying up too late, offered rewards in exchange for better habits. Every grievance you have will be listened to, all requests will be granted, and he’ll always find plenty of things to praise you for.

You really appreciate how nurturing he is. It fills you with warmth in more ways than one.

You may label it “nagging” and say he’s worrying too much, but those words are empty. They don’t match how your cunt clenches around each “order” he gives.

You truly think it’s subtle—that he doesn’t notice the changes in your breathing, the delayed response time, the way you’re trying to sound normal.

Have you forgotten how perceptive he is?

He only pretends to be unaware. That way, he can hear just how much you appreciate his care. He’ll take note of what earns stronger reactions and find patterns to use to his advantage. Certain things might be emphasized deliberately. Sternness might be exaggerated. The importance of providing for you might be repeated just a little more.

You have no idea that he’s knowingly guiding you where he wants you.

He’s able to tell how close you are to orgasm and what you’re doing to yourself—whether it’s fast or slow, whether your fingers are inside or outside or both. It makes it so challenging to contain himself. Sometimes he’ll cave, stroking his cock to the sounds. He can’t help it. You’re just so cute, especially when you think you’re being sneaky.

You could never be quiet enough when he’s listening. He can hear those occasional soft groans, the wetness between your thighs, the climax you attempt to muffle. But you always foolishly assume you’ve gotten away with it all.

Sometimes i’m undecided whether or not something I wrote (short portion, usually smut) will be a part of a longer fic or be just a standalone short drabble. It holds me back a lot from posting because I’ll be worried that I’ll change my mind and think it fits well somewhere. A longer fic takes me forever btw & sometimes I feel like posting a little portion even if I’m pretty sure it’ll be used but not necessarily when. Idk how people feel about that and I’m curious.

cw: piss kink (tagged here bc target audience is those who read Caleb smut/fic + Caleb lovers.) <3

It seems a lot of Caleb fans in particular are into pissfics (real) like it almost seems correlated. I’m really just so curious if numbers back it up or if it’s just my own perception. Like I wanna know how many of us share a brain cell. Ofc only share if you feel comfortable doing so & there is no wrong answer!

desc.°୨ৎ short sfw crack described seriously (dramatically); comforting your poor Caleb after he finds out Charmander isn’t real & breaks down. (unclear why he believed otherwise)

may contain errors. re-posted w/ changes. made for @shikaritani challenge (link), all credit for prompt goes to her. (side note: keep getting distracted from what I’m supposed to be writing & piling up drafts instead)

"No..." he mutters in disbelief, fixated on his phone.

"Caleb…what’s wrong?" Your voice cracks, overflowing with worry.

He doesn't acknowledge you. Like his brain has traveled elsewhere, silence persists. Each wordless moment builds your concern. "Please, talk to me! What happened?"

Your distressed tone pierces through his daze but only slightly. He inhales deeply, preparing to speak.

"I just—can't…can’t believe it." he chokes out. His grip weakens as he talk, phone clattering to the ground. But he pays it no mind—too preoccupied to care. He leans over, forehead thrown into his palms. "He's…not real.”

You search him for any hint of an explanation. Nothing he says is coherent, but the situation seems serious. You need to get through to him quickly.

"Who is ‘he?’" you ask softly, placing your hand on his arm.

"C-Char…man…” His whisper is barely audible, like he’s scared to hear it aloud, rejecting his own declaration.

He rises from the couch and turns towards you. The anguish on his face stuns you. "Charmander—h-he’s…not…he’s not…” he trails off, lost in the pain of it all. Shattered by despair, he repeats it louder. "He's not even real pipsqueak!"

You stare at him incredulously, wondering if you misheard. He’s announcing it like the apologetic bearer of some tragic news. As if he’s sharing information you weren’t privy to before.

Caleb’s legs giving out under the crushing weight of this revelation. He drops to his knees. His arms extend to stabilize himself, head hanging in surrender. Tears mark the floor with sorrow.

"Why....?" His question is a plea to change the unchangeable. His fist slams against the carpet. "Why?!”

Watching him break down like this is foreign to you. This is the last thing you would’ve expected to be the cause.

You can’t fathom why he’d believe his favorite starter was a living being. Like didn’t he see the screen? That it was all two-dimensional? Did he think the pokémon was an actor? You were unaware of his misconception. He always spoke of Charmander so fondly but never implied its existence was real. Not that he ever stated it wasn’t, but you never imagined it would need clarification.

It’s like a child that’s been told Santa isn’t real but they were actually taught that he was. Caleb is in his mid 20s, and not once did anyone, even subtly, suggest the false idea he held.

Was it the explosion that scrambled things?

Regardless, the sight in front of you is gut-wrenching. You’re compelled to soothe him.

Kneeling behind his hunched form, you wrap around him. Your chin is on his shoulder, chest pressed against his back. His entire body trembles as he sobs uncontrollably.

"Thanks pipsqueak…I’m sorry, it’s just a little hard to process, ya know?" he sniffles. (No, you really don’t know—like, not at all)

Interlacing his fingers with yours, his weeping intensifies again. For hours, devastation echoes through the house, returning in sudden bursts for the following weeks.

The news truly changed him, haunting him in random moments. It’s a wound that only time can heal.

The Colonel Behind Closed Doors (Is Your Good Boy)

summary °✧୨ৎ Caleb’s favorite place to be is at your feet, leashed like a dog. he tries to be a good boy, but you make it challenging, pushing him until he breaks.

content °✧୨ৎ pet play/collar + leash, humiliation/degradation. teasing, begging, bondage, spitting in mouth, stepping on him, praise, crying/dacryphilia, orgasm control (delay&forced), overstimulation, drugs mentioned as a metaphor, mentions he previously failed to pull out, calls himself your “bitch boy” once, sucking fingers, masturbation/fingering, squirting, pet names, he humps your shoe, he licks his own pre-cum, he cums untouched (again), some cuddling aftercare

a/n °✧୨ৎ may contain errors. I’ve looked at this too much & can barely tell how it sounds anymore. <3

The colonel instills fear with a mere glance. His name alone summons dread. He fits the role so well that it appears innate. Many assume it’s just his constant disposition.

They couldn’t be more wrong.

Plenty of layers lie beneath that mask of a cold-hearted superior. He sits at the hierarchy’s pinnacle, yet there’s someone he answers to, of his own volition; no ulterior motifs, hidden strategy, or power to be gained.

Their commander is under your command—under your heel.

That dangerous, imposing force pines for your approval. So, he’s made to work for it.

Stripped naked, he sits obediently on the floor, staring up at you like he’s seeing God. Uniform tossed to the couch, his authority is discarded, all transferred to you.

“Gonna be a good boy for me?” Your stiletto hovers over his crotch, nearly grazing it, before digging into his upper thigh.

“Mhmm, i’ll be so soo good.” He’s brimming with energy, livened by those two simple words. As always, they melt him into something so malleable.

His lips part as you brush over them, quivering under your thumb. Drool seeps from the corners.

“This is all you’re getting for now. Open.”

You’d been letting saliva accumulate. With his immediate compliance, it descends onto his tongue. Emitting a lengthy groan, he allows your spit to linger there, mixing with his. He revels in its presence, before swallowing. Eyes shining with excitement, he awaits further instructions, practically foaming at the mouth to serve you.

He’s your sweet little pet—striving for perfect adherence to each rule. If told to sit and roll over, there would be no hesitation. 

He's on a tight leash, woven into your palm.

And it’s not solely metaphorical.

The ruthless colonel loves to be collared.

Red leather encircles his neck. Dangling from the center, is a silver dog-tag engraved with his name. The strap fastened to him is kept taut. He moans with each assertive tug.

To him, nothing is hotter than being thrust into submission. It has his tip dripping, tinged an angry blend of red-purple hues. The veins on his shaft are so pronounced, like marking a path, imploring you to follow.

“Aww, your cock is already crying for me, what a needy boy you are…gonna have to be still though, okay? Can you do that for me?”

He nods with genuine conviction. However, determination won’t be enough. Failure is a promise reinforced by each moment.

Especially, once the ultimate temptation is level with him.

Wrists bound by rope and a verbal order, he’s denied permission to touch. Escape would be easy, you both know that. Of course, some knotted fibers are utterly useless against him. But that adds to the fun. It’s harder to resist when giving in would be so simple.

Your bare pussy is so close. Its heat whispers against his skin, beckoning him.

He leans forward slightly.

“Stay.”

That strict tone makes his cock dance. His shaky apology is silenced by the parting of your folds. The wetness is audible as they reveal your fluttering hole. A trail of your essence spans to your ass, each glistening bead chased by another.

The remedy to his thirst is smeared slowly over your pussy, flaunting what he’s been barred from. He tracks every movement, teeth puncturing his bottom lip. Unable to claw him from his trance, the blood goes unnoticed.

Two fingers slip past your entrance, a drawn-out sigh past your lips. “hah—everything’s so sensitive, even my small fingers are just sooo muchhh. Nothing compared to the stretch yours would give…mmm, down to the knuckle, prying me apart.”

Like a puppy begging for nourishment, his pupils are massive, fixed on the meal in front of him. The proximity stirs his taste buds; he swears they detect a faint trace of the flavor. It’s carved into his memory, taunting him with recollection that’s too vivid, yet too hollow. The urge to indulge is difficult to reject.

Watching him struggle to fight it turns you on.

You’re soaked, loud squelches produced by each motion. It’s hard to delay what you so badly desire. But watching the cracks multiply is too enticing.

You love having that power over him—the only one capable of crumbling something so sturdy. And he’s always so eager for it, welcoming any method.

This one is the most brutal. Arms tied behind him, he’s forced to observe passively. Arousal shines on your wrist, dribbling onto the tile. He wants nothing more than to lick it all up, shamelessly lapping at the ground. It’s a privilege he’d do anything to earn.

“Want some?” It’s not truly a question, you already have the answer. It’s just way more satisfying to hear it from him.

“Please pips—w-want it!” He bounces slightly, restlessness bleeding into every syllable.

Such an adorable reaction warrants a little treat.

Torso guided by your heel, he lies back, legs outstretched. His head is supported by the chair. Your right foot is raised to the cushion, settling beside the crown of his skull. The other is against balls, making him gasp.

Leaning forward, your cunt is positioned over him. Your fingers thrust aggressively. Droplets spill intermittently into the mouth awaiting them—injecting him with euphoria so intense that it hurts. You’re the most potent drug. He can’t stop himself from chasing that high, humping your shoe like an animal.

“Tsk, did I say you could use my foot?”

With a distressed noise, he goes rigid. Expression pinched in concentration, he’s straining to remain still. Everything within him calls for the opposite.

The sight makes you burn, laugh rippling into a moan. “Now tell me how pitiful you are.”

“So fuckin’ gross, a dog that keeps makin’ m-messes.” He twitches with want, getting off on those words.

“Yeah, that’s exactly right.” Tension is ushered to your center as you push into that dizzying spot. More and more juices leak from you, claiming him inside and out. “Should I take you for a nice walk around the fleet? Show aallll those subordinates how fucking pathetic their colonel is?”

“Do whatever’ya want with me. Belong to you pips—mm’your little bitch boy, fuckin’ looovee it.”

The thought of being fully at your mercy drives him closer to the edge, as it does for you. He’s rutting against you once again, leaving streaks of pre-cum past your ankle.

“Yet, you still can’t control yourself, huh? About to shoot your dirty cum all over me, aren’t you?”

The tells are so obvious. His inhales are sharper, the snapping of his hips more chaotic. Seconds from his grasp, that peak is yanked away. Your leg shifts to the left, planting itself beside his outer thigh.

The loss of friction makes him flinch like he’s been kicked. “I-I didn’t mean to. Baby, please—I’m so sooo sorry! I’ll make it up to you—reaaally need to cum!”

His length is so engorged, screaming for relief. Tears fall towards his chin as he aimlessly thrusts into nothing. They’re collected with a swipe, swirled over your puffy clit—pleasure fueled by his frustration.

“Poor thing…gonna have to hold it, bad dogs don’t get rewards,” you pout mockingly. “Don’t sulk.”

That last part is insincere, you’d hate for him to stop; desperation makes him even more stunning, amplifying every sensation within you.

The pulse in your core sends shockwaves with each beat. Your hands accelerate to match its haste. “Hngh—aching so bad, might fill that whiny throat of yours. Think you deserve it?”

“I d-don’t deserve you, try so hard to be better. Please—need to drink it all up, miss that sweet little pussy so much, you’re killin’ me.”

Seems he has learned something.

Even if your mind had changed, it would be too late for interference. You squirt violently, struggling to stay upright. Gravity immediately adjusts to steady you. The feeling of release, paired with his evol’s embrace, is sheer bliss. If he wasn’t ensuring your balance, you’d certainly collapse. Strong spasms grip every inch of you so tightly. The consecutive gushes are almost too intense.

He treats each one like they might evaporate, Adams’s apple bobbing with avid gulps. Lids heavy, he consumes everything to the very last trickle. Staring up into heaven, he’s completely drunk off its taste, longing to be inside. It always greets him so warmly, hugging him like he’s been missed. That unrelenting grip insists that he stay. It gets him into trouble. His mind becomes too scrambled; when spoken orders conflict with your body’s, he sometimes follows the wrong one.

That’s why access to you has been revoked for a week; he failed to pull out—again. It hasn’t even been two full days, and he’s already distraught.

“Just the tip, pleasepleasepleaseee—I know you love my cock, always tellin’ me how good it feels. It can do muuuchh more than your fingers."

Amused, you expel a short puff of air. “Seems I haven’t trained you well enough. It's almost like you want to add another week…”

"Wait, please don’t! I won't do it again, swear!” His gaze is panicked, searching for forgiveness in yours.

“How cute.” Hand withdrawing from your cunt, you gather some of his pre from your shin. Fingers now lathered with both of you, they’re shoved past his lips. He sucks automatically. As the substance is consumed, satisfied noises continually flow from him.

When deemed to be enough, you stop him. Freeing his mouth, you point downward. “Clean up after yourself.”

His tongue promptly meets your leg, whirling over that remaining filth. The wet licks become more hurried as you smile down at him. His eyes are wide and glassy, brows raised and drawn together. Gazing up at you is a look of complete subservience.

One fluid of his simply replaces another. He still shines on your skin, now in strips of saliva. Once that’s all there is, he keeps going, as if trying to absorb you.

“Good boy,” you purr.

His moans drop in pitch as you pat his head. Lids squeezing shut, he fucks the air faster, and faster, before suddenly locking up. Unassisted by touch, all that bottled pressure bursts.

Lowering to your knees, you caress his face—contorting involuntarily, yet still unbelievably perfect. Pleasure has seized all control of his body. Thick strings of him repeatedly splash your top, sliding down your cleavage. Broken ‘sorry’s follow his strained growls.

“I know baby…you tried so hard for me,” you coo. One hand still soothing him, the other contrasts it—drawing invisible shapes on his sensitive tip, continuing once his climax subsides. You pull him closer, resting his head on your shoulder. “Since you wanted to cum so badly, let’s see how many times.”

His dick is bullied into numerous orgasms. Each one leaves him more disoriented than the last. He’s panting loudly, sobbing into your neck. But he endures it willingly—gratefully. Even torment is delightful when inflicted by you.

Nearly all his strength is depleted by the time you’re done. Once untied, his arms immediately wrap around you. You find him so endearing in this state. All toughness is gone. He’s completely vulnerable—exhausted to a rare degree, unable to pretend otherwise.

Around you, he doesn’t have to.

“I’m so proud of you, you did such a good job,” you whisper, stroking his hair. The praise offers a short burst of energy, before he slumps against you. Attempting to express gratitude, his words are muffled by fatigue. Nuzzling into your warmth, his breathing gradually slows. He dozes off within minutes.

Even when the position becomes uncomfortable, you maintain it for a while. Holding him silently, you admire this part of him.

It’s yours, and yours alone.

Caleb really loves laundry!

content °✧୨ৎ psuedocest! gege/meimei use, panty stealing/sniffing/sucking, he cums on your clothes, corruption kink, scent kink, obsession, masturbation + semi-public masturbation/exhibitionism, pervleb, some manipulation, dumbification and crying, mentions of p in v.

a/n °✧୨ৎ This was typed out simply because I like thinking about pervleb and his obsession with scent + panties. This version of him does far more than was written & it goes beyond clothes. I almost made him way nastier but this was intended to be (somewhat) short. Just know, he continues to spiral from here. This is not really proofread so there will definetly be errors!

In order to reduce yours, Caleb willingly assumes more responsibilities. Laundry is just one of many.

You’d whine about the chore but it never bothered him. He actually looked forward to it. Caring for you is important to him. So naturally, your belongings are included in that. They’re extensions of you, especially the material that covers your body. Each item was always handled with fondness, studied individually. Eyes scanning for traces of you, his fingertips would gently explore each corner.

There was this persistent urge to go beyond that. He needed to smother his nose with them.

It’s only normal, right?

Of course he’d like his meimei’s scent—you’re his home, his everything. It was the familiarity that brought him joy and comfort. That’s what he told himself. it wasn’t a lie, but it certainly didn’t capture the truth.

Deep down, he knew that.

He allowed himself brief sniffs, limited to tops and dresses. It couldn’t be anything too invasive.

But he couldn’t even follow his own basic rules. Exceptions were quickly made, repeated, adopted as new habits. He’s so disciplined in other aspects. It seems you nullify that skill.

Before long, he was breaking into your room, sifting through your hamper. He’d smell nearly everything—shorts, socks, bras, skirts—always seeking something more potent. That more natural aroma makes him salivate. He wanted to inhale you in the rawest form.

There was one thing he vowed to leave alone.

That promise was upheld—until he broke it, of course.

Now that he’s indulged in your panties, he can’t stop. The moment he has them, they’re pressed firmly to his face. That indirect contact with your pussy, makes his cravings spiral. Remnants of you are still visible, calling to him so loudly. He caves without fail, lapping at the substance you’ve graciously left him until it’s gone. That intoxicating musk paired with that unique taste, makes his head spin. As he expected, it’s delicious. Anything that stems from you inherently is.

The duration he’s in the laundry room continues to increase. It should’ve drawn suspicion and yet, he’s gotten away with it, allowing things to escalate.

He’s constantly finding new methods to ruin your stuff. He’ll suck all your undergarments clean, before tossing them onto the rest of the pile. Before starting the load, he’ll shoot his, covering as much as he can.

Everything you wear has been cleansed with more than just soap.

You’ve made it so easy for him.

He exploits your forgetfulness, swiping panties before it’s even noticed. Some he’s had for years, some are cycled through and returned.

They’re violated whenever he gets the chance.

His favorite pair is carried with him throughout the day, used for various purposes; a good luck charm, a piece of you to cling to, and a way to get his fix. They’re used when desperation hits in public. Thoughts of you are a frequent disruption. He’ll have to resolve it in the bathroom, his car, any place available.

The possibility of getting caught turns him on even more.

Nothing compares to the thrill of doing it at home. You’re the one that could stumble upon him—your used underwear shoved in his mouth, another pair wrapped around his length. He imagines that look of shock as you see how gross he truly is. It would be so nasty that you couldn’t look away. Curiosity would keep you planted there as he slobbers all over the fabric, furiously pumping his shaft.

Surely, you’ve never seen a real cock before. He can answer all those questions you must have.

Of course, you’d be hesitant at first.

“We’re not supposed to do this kind of thing, right?”

However, your body would inevitably react. There are specific instincts programmed into everyone. You carry the same primal ones that he does. He’d help you understand them. As your compass in life, the only one you can trust in this world, it only makes sense for him to be your guide.

You’d ultimately let him inspect every inch of your nakedness, with all senses available to him. He could finally view the source of what he’s been feasting on, drink directly from it.

Gege loves you oh-so much, this is just another way he can express that.

He’d offer you all these new feelings, stretch that pretty cunt nice and good. Breaking you in would be challenging but that’s arousing in itself. He’d have to take things slow, allowing you to adapt to his cock. When you’re ready, he’d bounce you on it. It would go on for hours; until you’re crying, babbling incoherently. You’d look so beautiful, all fucked out and stupid for him.

He’s terrible. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about corrupting his sweet meimei. But he cums hardest when he does, rarely able to remove your panties from his dick before dousing them. It’s an accident that he doesn’t really care to avoid. He likes tainting them in the way he wishes he could taint you.

And they’re given back like nothing happened. You always blindly thank him, assuming they were misplaced.

“I’d lose everything if you weren’t here to find it, gege!”

it’s not questioned because it’s been like that from the start.

You fail to realize why that is.

He derives a twisted enjoyment from that cluelessness. All your stuff has been claimed by him in some form, down to the fibers enveloping your cunt.

Not even that will be enough.