apology girl

“Fifty-nine, oh-one: ‘Service personnel are to wear-” you pause to breathe, fighting back a stutter, “…appropriate regulation uniform on duty—”

A bashful whimper cuts you off mid-recitement as he somehow manages to shove his two fingers even deeper into your cunt, nudging against your nerves rather harshly. Your legs squeeze around his thigh and your hands twitch in their place wrapped around to your sides. All the willpower in your body being used to keep yourself from bucking your hips forward and earning another half-hour of degrading names and treatment.

“Did you hear me tellin’ you to stop?” he barks, but it’s in that calmer manner that spins your mind around until you can’t decipher the difference between anger and sympathy. You shake your head, and you don’t need to have a visual on his face to feel the disapproval teetering off his bitten tongue and firm expression. “Then why don’t I hear you reading, eh?”

Your voice trembles, almost enough for him to take pity on you; “Sir, please- I’m trying.”

You weren’t even on duty today, for fuck’s sake. You had stopped by to pick up a personal belonging, only to be reminded how your captain views you as his own the second you step foot through the base’s front gate. And you were never good at avoiding his stalking gaze, especially when he’s got access to eyes stationed at every nook and corner.

“Christ, y’need me to spell it out for you? Is that it?” he scoffs. “How many times’ve we been over this?”

The way he berates and babies you has your cheeks stained and glistening with tears, and your mind all jumbled considering how easily he switches back and forth from mean to soft. Soft like how his fingers pull out and away from your cunt and hold themselves just far enough to make you shift your hips forward in search of them, only to be held back by his arm’s weight. Mean like his spat words and the grip with which he grabs your jaw, squeezing tight and puffing your cheeks out a bit in an attempt to get you to focus; to knock some sense into that strained, precious little brain of yours.

“Pretty fuckin’ simple task for a soldier, if y’ask me.”

Because deep down, he truly cares about your well-being. He only wants the best for his girl, and the dynamic between you.

And you wouldn’t want to disappoint your superior even more than you already have, now, would you?

He lets go of your face to allow you to finish, a nervous and newfound quietness croaking in your throat in addition to your already shy voice after his display of aggression; “—except when otherwise ordered by a Commanding Officer…’”

“Good girl,” he drags upon your completion, along with his hand that sneaks back into your panties. You jump from the coldness of his skin but he barely pays any mind to it. “Keep going for me, now, pretty. Go ‘head and skip some.”

It’s a repeated process; you recite what you know, mess up due to his cruel ways of sadistic teasing, and watch on from the outside as your self-respect crumbles so easily. You acknowledge it, you feel it, and you willingly ignore it because you know that whatever he plans on giving you afterwards will far surpass any other means to pleasure.

His time, his teachings and guidance, his own pleasure. They’re better than gifts, really.

“‘No item of uniform which has not been authorized is to be worn.’” You mumble for the entirety of the final sentence, now expecting him to get on you for not speaking clearly enough.

Instead, his middle finger delves between your folds and dips into your cunt at last, ripping a hiss and another whine from high in your throat from his rough treatment.

“And who authorizes your uniform?” he finally asks.

He adds his ring finger and the fullness in your cunt would be uncomfortable if the heel of his palm wasn’t digging into your clit at the particular angle. It numbs the stretch and your worries, so much so you nearly forget what he had asked you.

You gasp, eyes shooting open to meet cold, empty office in stark contrast to the warm, staggering frame pressed up against your back. Every muscle and every flex beneath the cotton material of his shirt being embedded into your mind.

“You do, Sir—mph!—it’s only you.”

An approving rumble from his chest vibrates against your back, and you lean into him with a soft moan when he curls his fingers upward in that way he knows you respond to the best. Head leant back on his shoulder, you hold onto his arm to stabilize your spinning mind once he begins slipping his rough fingers in and out of your sensitive pussy more firmly.

“So you show up to base in this pretty, little dress on your off-day, and expect to leave here without any punishment?”

His words exceed intimidating to a great extent, but the way he coos them so gently right by your ear leads directly to you scrambling them into nothing more than sweet blurbs and mumbles. He continues his short scolding as if he doesn’t know how dumb he’s got you already, ready to make you bite the consequences for your inability to respond to him later.

“Distractin’ me ‘nd all the other men here while we work, like you don’t know what your body does to them. What you’re worth around here, to the lot of bastards falling asleep with their dicks in their hands to the pretty image of you dressed like this,” he emphasizes with the tug of your dress’s ending hem.

“Sir,” you whine, not paying a single nod to his language because your numbed mind can simply no longer compute it. Muffled and unclear, though the mean and deep drawl that bleeds through pushes you all the much closer to bliss.

“Feels good, I—please… ’m so, so close, Sir—!”

You whine and clasp your hand down on his arm for some sort of spiritual stabilization, and he only picks up the pace. He works you up so quickly after edging you for what felt like hours, as this time he gives absolutely no notion to relenting.

“That right?” Of course, you can’t respond with much more than a whimper as you rock your hips back and forth on his hard thigh, his skilled fingers working you up to ecstasy.

“Yes, yes ‘m gonna—it’s too much, Sir, ‘m gonna come—!”

He chuckles, his arm around your waist pulling you impossibly closer into him. You convulse around his fingers and moan through your high as he militantly, yet somehow so expertly, turns your vision to stars and your limbs into a limp mess atop him. It’s like he knows your body better than you do yourself, making you come harder with his fingers alone than anyone has ever. You thank him profusely, soft words of mantra like music to his ears as he decides what to do with you next.

He gives you no time to recover before he’s wrapping both his hefty arms around you and hauling you up in front of him, big palm instantly meeting with your shoulder blade to shove you down on the wooden desk and ripping a gasp from high in your lungs. He leans over you, caging you in as he soothes his hand across your forehead; his version of intimacy, and whatnot.

You’re panting, utterly exasperated, but simply can’t help the way you wiggle your hips back against his to chase that good friction. He laughs at your display of neediness for his cock, knowing it’ll be a much longer while before he’ll let you have it.

“My stupid fuckin’ toy,” he mutters softly against your skin, and it sounds just as good as any flattering compliment would.

He takes the hem of your dress and hikes it up to reveal your ass, humming at the sight before leaning back in to kiss your temple. Facial hair tickling and invading your senses, nearly feeling like a sweet treat to shush the way you whine out with his hard bulge pressed up against where you’re most sensitive.

Thoughts of what he could do to you right now running rampant through both of your minds, none differing from each other nor unwanted from either party.

unfortunately, simon riley doesn’t think his morals could become any more corrupt when he backs you into a corner and discovers you’ve never taken a cock in your mouth, ever.

the smirk on his face grows at your confession, and even more when he sees how flustered and embarrassed you’re getting under his stare. you had no choice but to tell him, you think. he takes your face in his big hands, mumbling something along the lines of, “poor thing…it’s alright, love. i’ll teach ya.”

and before you know it, mental entrapment becomes reality when he’s pushing you to your knees, back against the cold wall as you watch him pull his hard dick out from the confines of his cargo pants. big and mean, just like the rest of him, and you whimper at the lone sight of it. he’s pulling the tactical glove off his burly fist and throwing it somewhere off to the side as you watch dumbly, and wrapping his fingers around the throbbing veins and sheer width of his shaft.

you can’t say you’ve ever been this intimidated by anything, but you absentmindedly lick your lips with hunger as you await whatever he’ll give you, watching him slowly fist his fat cock right in front of your worried face. he snickers at the sight, mumbling more to himself: “i’ve finally got you on your knees, and you still manage to test me.”

“open up, baby, that’s right. stick that pretty tongue out, just like that. i’ll go easy on you,” he huffs, and you listen instantly.

“fuck. watch the teeth, watch it,” he tisks, and when you can’t listen—because, well, who could while being this dumbified on cock? it’s your first time, you can’t be blamed—he’s forced to shove a thumb in your mouth, right beside his cock to hold your jaw down. it’s a tight fit and your lips sting and jaw hurts from the further strain, but a few words can cure all. “that’s right, pretty girl. just lemme use this mouth like we both need, and i’ll reward you soon enough.”

“y’know how long i’ve been meanin’ to do this?” of course, you can only respond with muffled gags as he shoves himself deeper, back of your head pressing up against the wall behind you almost painfully, testing your limits. tears blur your vision but you keep your eyes on him because he told you to, and you’d be crazy not to listen to your lieutenant, even if his ethics have strayed to nothing short of utterly debauched.

“always teasin’ me with those fuckin’ lips, like you knew i’d be watching, eh? that was your goal, yeah, to get me t’teach you how to put them to good use? ‘cause it worked, lovie…doin’ so fuckin’ good for me already… ‘nd we’re gonna make you even better.”

you rub your thighs together and even try to rock your hips a bit, searching for any semblance of pleasure that’s equivalent to his, but it wont come. he laughs at you again, that fucking laugh that shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. “isn’t that right, princess?”

afterwards, he’ll shove his spent cock back in his pants and redo his buckle as he watches you, desperately panting on the ground in front of him and catching your breath. grasping at your throat, shoulders heaving, beautiful. he’ll join you in kneeling on the floor, frowning sarcastically when you’re barely able to meet his eyes while his are fixated on yours. and christ, the way your saliva and his cum drips over the edges just like he had imagined— no, even better. tears are permanently welled at your waterline and it’s no less than a gorgeous sight. he’ll study your every feature, every detail on your face that can give him any insight to what you’re thinking, feeling, wanting.

rather, it’s the way you shift in your uncomfortable spot and your thighs are squeezed together in his peripheral that has one corner of his lips curling, a scoff of amusement leaving his lungs. oh, he’s got you. his bare hand comes up to cup your face and the thumb that was once prying your jaw apart for his pleasure now caresses the apple of your cheekbone, almost lovingly, like he really cares.

“is my pretty girl wet?” he teases, giving you no time to compute the happenings of before your throat was tainted with the bitter-sweetness of his cum. he pushes a knee between both of yours, ignoring your groggy pleas of embarrassment, and shoves his other hand down your pants. he delves a thick finger in your cunt without any warning, and then another, effectively hushing your babbles and turning them into a strained hmph and bashful whimpers.

“tight little cunt’s practically soaked, and all from suckin’ your lieutenant’s cock?” you open your mouth to explain but a soft moan comes out before any words can, which might’ve been for the best. what could you even say in this moment? “christ, you’re a dirty fuckin’ thing, aren’t ya? and y’won’t even try to deny it… bet y’just love being treated like this, all mindless and stupid for your boss.”

he’s laughing at you, again. “we can’t just leave you like this, now, can we? are you gonna let me help you out, sweetheart?”

His hands are at the waistband of your pants in an instant and you pull him into a feverish kiss by the collar of his shirt, causing his fingers to fumble greatly at the task. He manages eventually and as he’s standing between your legs, he takes your shoulders and pushes them back until you hit the table. You gasp at the cold material hitting the skin of your back that’s exposed due to your shirt hiking up a bit, and again when he pulls it up even further, until the very hem of it is sitting just above your tits. Entire waist exposed as well as your bra, and he’s gawking at the sight of you.

He leans over you to kiss all up and down your skin, hot breath fanning and tickling every part of you as he works his way down. He kisses behind your ear and his teeth graze the most sensitive parts of your jugular, even nipping and biting ever so slightly in some areas. His mouth is sloppy as it travels your abdomen, so rushed to consume every inch of your being but also with the want to take it slow, savor every last bit. You’re arching your back with the contact, sweet moans getting caught in your throat. He knows this was only supposed to be a quickie, but he can’t help himself.

He tugs on your pants and you help by wiggling out of them, panties going with and joining his jacket on the floor, and the chilly air really hits you this time. He sinks to his knees in front of you, sadly out of your sight, and you giggle as the tickling sensation gets dangerously close to your core. He slips his hands under your knees and pulls you even further towards him, lifting them to be hanging over his broad shoulders.

He’s placing kisses all up and down the inner part of your bare thighs, restraining himself from diving straight in and just barely succeeding. He wants to see you unravel before the real thing even begins, and you see it on his face, all innocent and puppy-like that hides a certain smugness he wore so well in times like this. You toss and turn, but he keeps you still.

The stubble on his face as he inches closer has your hands moving to meet the back of his big head, lazy and soft laughter filling the air along with his groans from a sight so pretty in front of him. He thinks he’ll actually die if he goes a second longer without shoving his tongue in your pussy, so he does just that. He licks a thick and hot stripe up your soaked clit and you jump in your place suddenly, surprised gasp quickly turning to pleasured, exhausted moans when he continues his endeavor in similar fashion.

You’re both so tired, but your desires couldn’t wait until after a night’s rest and refreshment, let alone to find a room better than the private medical examination station. He’ll do the heavy lifting as long as you give him what he needs, which is for you to come on his mouth at least twice before he helps himself. He knows he won’t last the moment he eases himself inside you, and he was raised a gentleman.

He laps at and kisses your pussy like a starved man, huge hands gripping your outer thighs and subconsciously increasing their strength the longer he has his face buried in your cunt. You taste sweet and somehow get sweeter each time he gets the opportunity to taste you. You’re a treat for his performance at work that day, and he’s sure he’d be long gone in the grave by now if it weren’t for the motivation. He makes sure to return the debt he thinks he owes with diligence.

His nose nudges against your clit with his feverish devouring, pulling jolts and moans after gasps from your throat. He more grinds his face on your pussy than anything, he’s just so desperate for it. Messy head has always been his favorite, whoever the receiving party may be, and he can’t help but find equal amounts of pleasure from both. The rawness of it all puts him in an entirely different headspace, all thanks to you, where he can actually hunt down his high with whimpers flowing freely from his lips and not feel abnormal for it.

His cock is excruciatingly hard and twitchy in his pants and he fears he’s going to knock out before he even gets the chance to feel your tight cunt wrapped around it. Each of your moans comes with one of his own, and the way you tense up and reach for more when you finish has him utterly smitten. He’d go as far to describe it as better than heaven, your cum on his tastebuds and the shaky sigh you breathe out as you come down from a headache-inducing high.

He doesn’t stop, though. He gives you a few seconds to catch your breath but he doesn't relent, and it’s at this point where you can no longer tell if he’s doing this for you or for himself. You jump and pull away from over-sensitivity before it soon turns to that source of euphoria you knew all too well, and you’re instantly chasing the very thing you were seconds away from labeling as too, too much.

He brings his hand up below his chin to slowly push his cold middle finger in your hot cunt, it’s thick and calloused and has both of you whining out for different reasons. You, because he’s just so damn big all around and knows exactly how you like it; Him, because the way your wet heat envelops his frozen bones so perfectly, so tightly, has his brain going entirely blank on him. That’ll be his cock soon, if you allow it. And when he thinks you’re ready for him to add another, he does just that.

His ring finger joins the other in sliding in and out of you at an excruciatingly soft pace as his mouth continues its sweet assault on your clit. He curls his fingers just right, pulling all the best noises from you like it was on command. Your abdomen gets tighter and your moans get more depraved by the second, every sense overwhelmed with how good he is. The thought of taking his cock afterwards when merely his fingers have you struggling to breathe is a presented challenge, though you were never known to be a quitter.

His tongue is rough and thick, and he’s learned over the course of your relationship on how to properly use it. Such an eager one he is, you managed to take him from a secluded boy who would barely blurt a full sentence during his off-time, to a man on his knees who wanted nothing more than to learn how to put his mouth to good use. And in little time, have you. He quickly discovered you have a thing for his voice and accent, and he would rather take the blast of a double-barreled shotgun to the naked chest than deprive you of what you enjoyed. Rare words turned to sentences and sentences turned to run-on ones of both praise and begging; he’ll go whichever way you want him to. You practically fucking own him at this point, you’ve turned him into an addict for great things.

Your fingers that are locked into his hair urgently tug and pull him in closer, like he’s just a little plaything you use to get off; it’s exactly how he wants you to treat him. Grind your pussy on his face and nose and mouth, let him use the things he kept hidden from the rest of the world to grant you pleasure. His tongue torturing your clit so sweetly sends his name and slurring swears rolling off yours like they were all you knew. His free hand caressing your thigh that’s hung over his shoulder is in stark contrast to how the immense pressure that has built up in your lower belly and all around your head.

It doesn’t take you long to spiral into your second orgasm with how sensitive you are from your last, a deadly grip on his short hair ripping a guttural whimper from his throat against your pussy. He fucking loves the pain you inflict on him, and he loves shoving his face in your cunt until he’s unable to breathe.

Your moans are shaky as you come on his tongue and fingers once more, back arching off the metal table and head pounding with the pressure being released from your belly and now all shooting off to your skull. Your eyes weren’t able to pry themselves open for one second as he ate you out, and you’re sure tears of joy would trickle to your ears if you did.

He wants to continue. He really, really wants to keep going. His tongue fights to delve itself back where it belongs on your pussy, but you stop him with a few words and a call of his name, strong hands holding his head back mere centimeters from what he wants. And he gives in so fucking easily; he could overpower you in a second and pull twice as many orgasms from you in that same amount of time, wring you impossibly dry until there’s no way you’d be making it to bed on your own. But he also sees that shiny glint in your happy, drunk eyes when you sit up a bit to see him, and your sugary begging for his cock in that dulcet voice of yours he treasures so much, is all he needs to obey.

He gently shifts your legs off his shoulders and he stands with a dizzy head, and yours as well with the cold air hitting you at once, causing a shiver to travel down your spine and trembling legs. You whine greatly with the loss of his fingers, but he assures you that you won’t have to mourn for long. Taking a moment to admire your body in front of him, both of you catching your breaths with heaving chests. Your slick and cum covers the stubble on his jaw everywhere, absolutely doused.

He’s entranced, he’s hypnotized, he’s downright madly in love with you. He’s a perfect sight, himself; there’s nothing better than seeing him all excited and weak in the knees from pleasing only you.

You sit up on your elbows and open your eyes to see his drenched jaw falling slack, sticking his flattened tongue out shyly to make contact with the pads of his long fingers that are entirely soaked in your release. He moans unabashedly at the taste; he could never get tired of it, and you watch on with hazy eyes and a slightly agape mouth of your own. It could very well be the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen.

His eyes open and a string of spit follows as he pulls his fingers from his mouth. He then offers you his fingers, and you nod like a desperate, madwoman without ethics. He chuckles in adoration, and follows through with what you want.

The tips of his fingers graze your bottom lip, big digits easing their way past your teeth to find your tongue. He presses down on it once they do, and you feel as though your mind will cave in with how gentle he’s being on you. You wrap a hand around his wrist, cutely unable to even connect your fingers, and you force his fingers farther into your mouth.

He groans with how your hot mouth encases them and the way he can feel the vibrations of your moans as you slide your tongue and suck, efficiently cleaning him. Choice words pass his lips in that syrupy drawl of his as you tease him; just the right amount of degradation to go with his abundance of worship that has you smiling around his knuckles.

My dirty girl.

He leans down and kisses you feverishly, both of you moaning into the embrace with the bulge of his dick in his pants digging right into your overworked nerves. You taste the remnants of your cum on his lips again, the pleasure he had just given you, and he can’t help but bring his big hands up to palm and grope at your breasts through your bra.

Christ, his hands are so fucking big, and the arms leading to them, oh, so strong and masculine. It’s nothing near a rare find in a PMC such as KorTac, or any military-related base for that matter, yet he manages to wear it a hundred-times better than any other man you’ve worked with.

He’s panting when he finally pulls away and so are you, cheeks flushed and expressions flustered like nervous, spotlighted idiots with enough shots in them to smile without care. You lean back and take a deep breath, ready for whatever he’ll give.

He untucks his shirt from his belted waist, eyes never ending their admiration for your body and pleasure-drunken expression. You twist your neck to feel the cool metal against your heated face and hum when it actually works in soothing your fever, and he utterly swoons at the view. A small laugh leaves his lungs, the faintest grin on his lips as he works to unbuckle his belt with big and unsteady hands. The clanging of the metal buckle rings in your foggy ears, telling you what you can’t see, and making you smile impossibly harder.

It eventually hangs loosely, and next should be the pants, but your simple lying there and giggles have him distracted so easily. He pauses his efforts to lean down towards you and between your legs, planting a palm on the table beside your head to properly kiss you without crushing you. He just can’t keep his lips from yours.

His other hand comes to cup your jaw and caress your cheek with his thumb, and he’s sure this is the gentlest his hands have ever been in his entire life. It’s a passionate kiss, not rushed and feverish, but slow and sweet. He pulls away just an inch or two to look you in the eyes—you really must be the most beautiful woman on Earth—and you return the gaze with a big grin and quirked neck, before he’s pulling all the way up to his former, standing straight position.

He can’t be bothered to take off his shirt or pants the rest of the way. He pulls his hard cock from his boxers and sighs as the cool air surrounds it, veins and all so prominent and agitated. You don’t even have to see it for a lump to form in your throat, and shivers to run across your every limp with the heat he exudes and every noise he makes. He fists his cock a few times, smearing his pre down his shaft as if the extra slick was even necessary, and you could burst out in jealous tears right now, you want it so bad. Brain foggy beyond recognition; you settle for the short giggles high up in your throat.

He’s seriously got you drunk under him. Meaning, you wiggle your hips until he can no longer stand having his cock out and touching your skin but not sinking deep inside your needy cunt he spent all that time on his knees working for.

His leaky and swollen tip stalls at your entrance, teasing you ninety-percent unintentionally as he tries to gain his footing, test the waters on if you’ll be able to take him all, if you’re feeling alright. He never wants to hurt you; he prioritizes your comfort above all, and he’ll get right back on his knees this instant if you give him even the slightest nod that you need him to. He’ll put his mouth to work for hours before he even thinks about himself, and even then he’s not opposed to calling it a day afterwards and allowing you to sleep, satisfied and splayed out on his chest like his personal weighted blanket.

He pushes the velvety head of his cock in, and you’re already choking on your own breath, swallowing saliva. Fucking Christ, he’s so big. But you refuse to refuse him. He shushes you when you gasp and wince, and he coos to you a countless number of reassurances when you whine back; he’s so sweet on you that it’s actually tooth-rotting, sugar-high inducing.

He whines helplessly at how tight you are, squeezing and strangling his cock so fucking good it’s terribly overwhelming. Every inch of him is immense, almost too much, but you’ve learned that your body will naturally compensate for him each time. You know he’ll always take care of you; he’s fighting not to snap his hips forward, but he’s never not been a strong soldier.

He bottoms out painfully slowly and you feel unutterably stretched and full, speechless aside from a broken moan slipping from your agape mouth. He, too, groans out lustily under his breath, eyes scanning over your body and expression while yours remain closed in bliss. He wants to stay like this forever, but the explanation to the medical examiners when they come in for work the next morning would be an awkward one.

He takes a deep breath before he’s pulling out so gently, so soft and caring—conscious of his size—and repeating all the same actions over again until you’ve gotten used to him again.

The burn of the stretch has you reeling for more with the way he twitches inside you, the majority of your body gone numb but still feeling that tingling in your belly with every whine of his. Your pleasure is his and vice versa, and you need him to feel so good, so bad, after everything he’s done for you.

He’s grabbing the back of your legs again, but this time to raise them straight up and up until they’re flat against his front, toes pointed to the ceiling. You’re just so malleable like this; you always will be, for him. He cranes his neck to kiss your ankle, leaning to cover as much area as possible before turning to do the same to your other. Another fit of giggles erupts and bubbles in your throat, and you writhe under him.

A smile curls your lips and stays as he fucks you, he just feels so perfect. You’re perfect together; nothing beats how the two of you mold together so marvelously, fucking or cuddling or on the field. When you’re surrounded by dozens of soldiers you’ve never given a second thought about because your mind is so consumed by one man. He’s impossible to ignore when he’s practically burning holes in the back of your head with his eyes as you work—watching you commit the utmost violent acts to practice dummies like you were the cutest, most harmless creature on Earth as he guides you through the steps.

You’d surely be in trouble if anyone were to find out about your relationship with the Colonel. The man is too high in the chain to be discharged or suspended, too unruly and much of a valuable asset to be punished in any way. The trouble would lie within your peers, and how they would react. Anything demeaning or over the top and König would be sure to give them a far more tremendous problem of their own, though the thought terrifies you nonetheless.

But you can’t possibly think about all that, any possibility of being compromised in such a position, or an effort to conceal his or your noises right now when he’s planted so deep in your guts and fucking you so nicely.

He bites down on the knuckles of his fist to hopefully muffle some of his noises but it barely works, his other arm still wrapped around your legs pressed to his front. It’s a wonder he hasn’t made his already bruised knuckles bleed, then again, he’s only just started. You’re too faded with your previous highs and the sex to notice the way his brows are knitted together and his eyes have turned a bit glassy.

Mixes of whimpers, swears in some English and mostly German, and the various pet names he has for you leave his lungs all breathy and rapid from how good you’re making him feel, just by laying there all pretty. He tends to forget his English when he’s all fucked out, and you find it to be the most precious thing. He’s gonna come any moment, so fucking soon, he just knows it, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never wanted anything more in your lifetime.

You’re arching your back slightly from the cool metal for him and it feels impossibly good on his cock and being. He blinks a few to clear his vision and notices that all familiar bump in your belly, the one that disappears and reappears with every thrust. Every bottled up groan in his throat was pushed out at the sight. The hand he wasn’t biting fell from your leg to feel it up, heavy and rough skin contrasting your smooth exterior like a painting of love and war. He presses down on the bulge and his moan breaks into something of a cry when his fingertips dig into the pudge of your belly, pulling a more giggly moan from you. With his hips rutting into yours at a more frantic rate to chase that peak that’s been tormenting him for days, he’s still unendingly tenderhearted with how he handles your body.

Both his hands are forced to abandon their stations as he brings his arms to hug around your legs so tightly. Your ankles by his head, and the angle at which he looks down at you puffing up his cheeks a bit. He helplessly babbles and pleads to the sex filled room like a needy whore, a side of him only you ever got to see, and he’s so glad for the fact.

His vision is zeroed in on you, you’re the only thing he wants to see as he fucks his cum deep inside you. And he does just that, soon allowing his orgasm to wash over him like a fucking tsunami, and you shudder at the feeling of his thick cum pouring out and painting where there isn’t even enough space for it to be alongside his cock. Sloppy thrusts follow after they stutter and halt while fully buried for a second to come hard in your cunt, emptying that pent up release from his cock with a cracked moan.

His cock stills inside you, both of your chests heaving like you had ran consecutive marathons for the past week rather than being forced apart due to work. You feel full, and high, and happy. He’s warm and satisfied; it’s his best look, truly. He really knows how to take care of you, and he thanks you for treating him so lovingly. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It’s all so good. It’s too fucking amazing, and is every single time.

It’s two, mutually-proclaimed perfect people, despite whatever number of self-proclaimed flaws may exist, fucking until they see galaxies with each other at the center of all of them. In fact, it’s so good that you both completely forgot your routine of keeping things quiet during these, you’d say and he agrees, well-earned endeavors. The entire concept of passersby hearing and, what only nightmares could be made of, questioning what was going on between their Colonel and fellow Sergeant, behind the closed door of the private medical examination room. It’s all dismissed, in the name of pleasure.

“The usual paperwork, nothin’ exciting.” He taps his cigar on the corner of the ashtray in front of him, just next to a glass with a thin line of brown liquid he’d been working on. Whiskey, presumably. “Why?”

The room is lit a dull color, easier on the eyes. He always liked things that were easy on the eyes, yourself included.

The admiration for warm, maybe even domestic comfort like this, comes free with the job, and he’d be a fool to not notice the sweet girl in front of him who fits all the requirements and more. Actually pursuing it, however, without the childish sneaking around; that’s a whole ‘nother ball game, trickled with millions of obstacles of every kind.

“No reason. Just that you’ve been in here a while,” you say as you walk over to him, hands clasped behind your back. “And we all missed you at the bar.”

He drops everything—cigar hits glass, documents hit desk, hardened manner going unnourished—and pushes his chair back. Your eyes instantly fall to see how his legs are spread naturally, big and just begging for you to come closer. You’re not going to pass up the opportunity.

He jeers, arms crossed over his expansive chest. “So you’ve come here to save me, is that it?”

“Maybe not save you.” You step between his knees, wondering when his posture had dropped so that he was leaning farther back, hips forward and closer to the chair's edge. Like he’s showing himself off, welcoming you to take a bite. You’re not going to refuse him. “But I can always try my best to help.”

He’s no idiot. He knows what you’re suggesting; you’ve done it plenty before, without fault. He just wants to hear it in that unabashed and wildly indecorous tone of yours. “And how are you going to do that?”

Bottom lip stuck between your teeth for a moment, balancing back and forth between your heels and toes. Your head tilts down a bit but your eyes stay on his figure, like a cheeky pout.

“Lemme suck your cock?”

He heartily laughs at your proposal. “Right now? While I’m working?”

“I promise it’ll be quick,” you pry, in that dangerously, easily seductive voice of yours. You’re dangerous. You’re the only one who’s capable of breaking the bond between the captain and the work he’s bound and effectively caged himself to.

“You’re a devil, y’know that?” The disapproval in his voice is entirely for show, and you seek out that playful coyness in his tone like it’s your favorite candy. “How do you expect me to say no to that? ‘Specially with a pretty girl like you offering?”

He looks you up and down, from smile to hips, and it’s like his stare holds the power of a thousand daggers, each piercing blade laced with arousal and relentlessly digging into your soft skin. God, you really are just a needy thing for him, aren’t you?

He clicks his tongue, eyes landing on yours after practically stripping you bare in his head. Let him finish his work and it doesn’t have to be left up to the imagination, he reasons with himself. “You can’t wait ‘til I’m finished with all this?”

“But I want to now,” you pout, head tilting to the side and making it far too difficult for your captain to deny you.

You play it up, dramatizing your disappointment with the idea of him so invested in his work rather than what you’re offering. Though, it certainly isn’t entirely a charade; you fear that a few tears may actually prick through if he turns you down. Then he definitely wouldn’t have it in him to send you away.

He glances to each side of the room, thinking on what he’s already sure of. He has to appear at least slightly annoyed, otherwise he loses all authority to a tricky thing like you. An inkling of his hesitation is real, but not for longer than a second.

He sighs, “Alright, then. Knees.”

You give a great smile of pure excitement over victory before doing as he so vaguely ordered, sinking to your knees with a helpful hand on his thigh. Even through cargo pants and a military-green fleece jacket, your mind is doing cartwheels thinking about what’s beneath the baggy, yet so tight around the arms and chest, clothes. And he can’t deny the same thoughts for you, dressed in your issued getup as well.

“You lock the door?”

You shake your head; there’s that cheeky look on your face again, except it’s somehow infinitely better when you’re knelt between his legs rather than standing upright. He’ll take it either way. You’re his favorite vice, by far.

He scolds you with the click of his tongue. “Then you better get on with it, right? ‘Less you want someone to walk in and find you down there, now.”

You giggle, telling him all he needs to know. You wouldn’t mind being caught all that much.

“Oh, you naughty thing…” He shakes his head, “Pretty little devil, like I fuckin’ said.”

You grip and pull at his cargoes, growing impatient. “Can’t help it, Sir. Wanna be your girl.”

“You are my girl, sweetheart.” His big hands soothe over the sides of your head, cupping your cheeks as if you held more value than any prized possession. “You know you’re my good girl, don’t you?”

You nod with a sultry hum, just like you do every time he tells you that. Your hands glide up his thighs and reach up to the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather loose as the clanging of the metal rings in your ears. With his elbow on the armrest of his chair to prop up his head, watching your hands work at unzipping his pants with your big eyes looking right up at his stern ones.

Palming him through the clothing a few times, your mouth watering and lips aching to wrap around the fat, hardening cock beneath your fingertips. You can see the glint of adoration in the blown out centers of his eyes, a smirk crept onto his face. Like a king sat on his throne with prey presented at his feet, and you surely make the prettiest prey.

When you’ve got his cock out, you waste no time in wrapping your fingers around the base and sticking your tongue out flat to lick a languid strip up the entire length of him. He groans lightly, though it turns throatier when the tip of your tongue reaches the head of his cock, precum salty on your tastebuds and a bitterness your body learned to miss after mere days of going without it. You know where he’s most sensitive under your tongue, and you begin to play into it instantly.

He grits his teeth with a quick hiss, though he’s so quick to compose himself. “Haven’t got all night, sweets. Suggest you stop your teasin’ and get on with it.”

You take him in your mouth, head of his cock nudging the roof of your mouth as you work to fit more of him. Relaxing your jaw to get used to his unruly size, earning an appraising mutter of a swear from under his breath. Sucking on him like your favorite flavor of lollipop, drool spilling from the corners of your lips.

Making such a mess before you even take him down your throat, faint strings of saliva tickling your chin and sending waves of cool liquid down his spine when it drips onto skin still untouched and unwarmed by your mouth.

You ease more of him past your tongue until he hits the back of your throat, a muffled moan coming from you having his cock twitching in your mouth. He rolls his shoulders back, actually giving into comfort. “Fuck. Jus’ like that, lovie…take your time.”

Even when he’s off the field, he’s still going to coach you through your tasks like a good captain does. No matter how overbearing it gets, no matter how obvious the cues. You’re his responsibility, and he’s always going to watch after you.

Your hand that’s wrapped around his cock proceeds with languid strokes up the length of what you don’t reach with your lips. You trace a vein with your thumb and bend your wrist a bit; anything to boost his pleasure, and anything to get the chance to consume said pleasure like it’s your first and final meal.

He pushes your fallen hair out of the way, tucked behind your ear so you can better choke on his cock without a single distraction. So he can see that pretty face of yours going all dumb, lips stretched around the sheer size of him as that view he loved more than any.

“Keep goin’, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” His big hands hold the sides of your head in a way that really makes you feel treasured without force. You swallow around his cock and he huffs a heavy breath.

The hand on the back of your head is getting heavier and heavier as you bob up and down on his cockhead, and a sick part of you just wants him to shove your skull fully down and make you to take all of him without a breath to yourself, nor a single care spared from him.

“Christ, this mouth of yours…gonna be the death’a me.”

He reaches forward to pluck his still-burning cigar from the ashtray, tapping it against the glass once before bringing it to his lips. He takes a long drag from the dry, rolled paper, and the sight has your efforts of properly sucking his cock faltering just a bit. His other hand, remaining on the nape of your neck, urges you to keep going with a nice squeeze, so you do.

Smoke spills from his mouth and clouds the air around you, and not once does he take his eyes off yours. The scent of tobacco and burnt paper spins your head around in all the best ways; that smoky aroma that lingered from the moment you walked in the door is nothing but homey.

You swallow around the head of his cock again, and he just about loses it. Every word he says is so breathy and spent, yet so authoritative as usual. “Yeah, keep doin’ that right there, love. Fuckin’ brilliant.”

You push on, doing your best to make him feel good. All you’ve ever wanted was to make him proud.

And he is proud of you, beyond what words can describe.

You’re valuable to him both off and on the field, and the progress he’s watched you make while under his command is mind-reeling. He takes pride in having you on his team, to himself. He revels in the fact that he was the first cock you’ve ever taken in your mouth and now you do it on your own volition almost flawlessly, every time, always with a devoted gleam in your naive eyes that nearly suffocates him.

Your tongue glides up to pay more attention to the tip of him, causing him to muffle a groan between his teeth and shove you back down in an instant, almost too hard. You whine around his length and widen your eyes at the sensation of his cockhead hitting farther than what you had progressed to. A gagged noise fills the space and your eyes squeeze shut, only opening when he’s gently pulling your head back.

“Already strugglin’?” He takes you all the way off his cock and you gasp out. You hadn’t even realized how you were depriving yourself of air, though the shock mainly comes from how uncomfortably empty your mouth has become, so suddenly.

“Let me fuck this pretty throat, love. Y’gonna let me do that?” Care laces his voice and it’s near hypnotizing, so much so you’re entirely deaf to the slightest tone of mockery beneath it. “Be easier on the both of us.”

You nod as best you can with a spinning mind, and it’s so utterly desperate that it would surely bring shame to your name. A pleading mantra repeats itself in your mind, running through every possibility you can think of that consists of him using you in ways both pleasant and torturous, yet all landing around the same area; if he feels good, you do too. And if you’re on the brink of passing out from whatever he’s subjected you to, and you keep going because nothing would kill you worse than to fail him? Well, then he feels pretty fucking good himself.

He leans forward to abandon his cigar; it’s not like he needs both hands to use you however he’d like, no. He just loves to have his touch encasing you, feel the way your head gets heavier and easier to maneuver as you go on. Leaning into him, drooling all over his palms; the more control he has, the better.

The big hand on the back of your neck is moving up to lock into your hair, a snicker being heard from above as your mind goes numb. He spares a quick glance at the door, returning to you as fast as he left.

He’s a mixed blessing; he cradles your face in his calloused palm and collects your hair in a messy ponytail, the roughness of his skin alone speaking volumes of what he’d do for you. How he’d always protect you, before he’s tugging tight and pulling you up to your knees and off your haunches, impossibly and overwhelmingly closer so you can better gag and choke around him without backing out.

You take your own hand from his cock and land it on his knee, giving him full reign.

“Good girl.” He eases you off of him before he’s slowly pushing you back down, this time with added inches of his cock in your throat. Both of his bruty hands encase your head like he’s just come into possession of a priceless jewel, and in his eyes the analogy doesn’t lapse far from the truth. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

He repeats the process until he’s fully fucking your skull like a fleshlight, though ever-so nice with it. He keeps the same pace you had set for yourself, and he refuses to push you entirely down to where your nose would make contact with the ending hem of his fleece zip-up. At least not yet, anyways.

You open up the best you can for him, until you’re scared your jaw will lock up on you or even unhinge. You squeeze a thumb in your fist, curl your toes in your steel-cased boots, ship your mind off to somewhere else. Remind yourself over and over how much you value his pleasure; anything to keep your body from rejecting his bully of a dick in your mouth.

“That’s it, lovie. Easier like this, ain’t it? S’just like I told you.”

You spiritually agree, convinced that this was your true purpose in life. If you aren’t pleasing your superior—the one who has always been there for you to lean on, cry on, save you from your own stupidity—then you aren’t really living.

“Christ. Letting me use this tiny mouth like you’ve got no shame, eh? No dignity?” He laughs in your face, and you’re only able to flutter your droopy eyelids in response, tear after tear overflowing to your cheeks with each blink. He pushes your head down rougher. “It’s a good thing ya don’t…be no fun if you actually gave a shit ‘bout your humility. Your fuckin’ career…just so you can be your captain’s perfect, little fucktoy.”

He’s laughing again; he doesn’t give two shits right now, as he’s pressing your head down and fucking your face harder than ever. He’s murmuring more to himself than anything. “Don’t know if I should scold you or applaud you for it.”

He pulls you off him for a moment and you catch your breath like a madwoman, coming close to choking on the saliva that pools in your mouth. Tears fall freely from your burning eyelids, rolling down your cheeks and dripping onto his cargoes while your pinkened, glassy eyes don’t leave his worshiping ones.

He’s prying your jaw wider and pushing you back down before you can even think.

“Cryin’ and gagging ‘round my cock isn’t gonna make it any better, honey.” He grinds his teeth, telling you sweetly, “C’mon, you’re almost there. You’ve got this, baby.”

Your jaw hurts like hell, a familiar soreness you could never learn to simply get used to. Though, it’s a pain you so easily ignore each time. You suck it up and pull through like the good soldier you are, wishing for it not to go unnoticed by the teacher. And he always notices, just like he does your breaking and pleasure points. He wouldn’t push you terribly too far.

One of his hands falls to land on your neck, thumb reaching around until his grip is fully and loosely wrapped around your neck. Until he feels the bump of his cock moving in and out of your esophagus under the pad of his thumb, protruding up and down beneath his knuckles. It gets him higher than any drink or cigar ever could, even the rush of a battlefield can’t compete.

“Fuckin’ A, sweetheart, that’s it. Perfect, little thing.”

You’re doing too good of a job for him to even think of making a snarky comment about how much you must love having him so deep down your throat. He knows the answer well enough, and it shows through the glistening tears in your eyes and the willing, faithful hands practically anchored to his knees.

His grunts become more gravelly and common as he gets closer to finishing. It’s a prospect that bubbles deep in your belly, like his orgasm was worth far more than any pleasure to yourself at this point.

“Tell me. Y’want me to paint this pretty face?” he proposes, all exasperated but still so fucking cocky. You’re dizzy, lightheaded, every other word that could be used to describe the out-of-body feeling of him treating your body so harshly, in the nicest, most giving way possible. It’s visceral, really.

“Or should I come down this throat instead?” he pants. A smirk plasters itself onto his lips, though you don’t think it ever left in the first place. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, sweetheart?”

You can’t even respond, apart from your strengthening grip on his knees and the flexing and tightening of your neck muscles around him. He scoffs above you, but it’s loving. “Throat it is.”

It’s only a few more thrusts of pushing your head down to the base of his cock until his hand is stuttering in its movements, and he’s holding you in place as he spills his hot cum down your raw throat. A deep, long groan emits from his own, and it’s well-earned music to your ears with the way it vibrates in his throat as his head is thrown back. At least, the bits of his high that aren’t drowned out by your own struggling are a nicer gift than you could ever ask for.

You can’t breathe as he does this, and it’s even worse than when he was relentlessly shoving his cock down your throat; you can only think to swallow until he’s satisfied. You can only writhe and cry beneath him and try to savor the feeling of making him feel so good, until you have no choice but to beat your hand down on his muscular thigh to let you up for air.

He listens, but not without a laugh that would make him seem evil if you didn’t know him well enough as the compassionate captain with a warmer heart than most would imagine. He rips your mouth off his cock, yanking your head back at a rate that has you stumbling backwards on your ass and palms on the hard floor, under his old, wooden desk.

He watches on as you feverishly catch your breath, him as well but not nearly as crazed as you, gasping for air with your chest heaving up and down and a hand clasped to your neck. Attempts at blinking away your teary vision, your other hand soothing over your strained jaw; all the while, he’s shoving his softening, spit-soaked cock back in his pants and zipping them up with a predatory visual hold on your pretty form.

Once he’s got his fix of staring and you’ve caught up to a somewhat stable reality, he helps you. “C’mon, darlin’.” He reaches a hand out to you and you take it, smaller fingers being enveloped by his strong ones. He tugs you up gently and matches the action with a benign, “Up here, now.”

You wipe your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your free hand as he pulls you up onto his lap. Your back leans up against his shoulder and the armrest of his chair, legs hanging off the other side like the bridal-style position. He wraps his big arms around you, knowing your head is still far up in the clouds.

“Did such a good job for me, love. Y’know you always do. One of your best goes yet, don’t ya think?” His hand replaces yours with a duty, thumb swiping over and around your lips to clean you up so tenderly. “You feelin’ quite alright?”

Your mind is beyond numb, words that actually spill coming nowhere near what you’d actually want to say; pour your heart out about how much you’d do for him, how much he means to you. It’s all indescribable. “Mhm…always good f’you.”

“Awh, sweetheart.” His face matches yours with a grin, but the broken grogginess in your voice doesn’t go disregarded. “My poor girl fucked her throat raw like she wanted and now she can barely talk, eh? Is that right?”

You nod drunkenly, still with that needy pout in your demeanor that had him babying you like it was his only responsibility.

He brings the glass of whiskey from his desk and to your mouth, pressing the rim against your puffy lips rather harshly. He’s already beginning to tip the glass towards you, so you have no choice but to open up a bit wider and take what he’s offering. “Take a drink,” he tells you, and you listen.

He actually laughs, watching how you wince and whine from the burning of the hard liquor tainting your throat. Similarly to how his cock was only a moment ago. “Atta girl.”

Something about the control that comes with directing your next move, and your innocence to it, your compliance; it all has his mind elated. The only thing he’s sure of is that he likes it, far more than he probably should. You’re gonna get him in some serious trouble, one day.

You adjust your body on his lap so that you can wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest to his, burying your face in his neck to escape whatever was not him. His beard tickles your skin, and his huge, welcoming frame beneath you grounds and stabilizes you so comfortably like no other.

He brings a hand to drag up your back, tracing your spine a couple times before he palms the back of your head to keep you close. Truthfully, he wants to stay like this until morning.

“What now, pretty? Tell me what you need, anything.”

“Just wanna stay here with you.” You nuzzle in closer, attempting to absorb all of him and be devoured by his being. Your voice is muffled and mumbly due to being pressed up against his neck, “Promise I’ll be quiet while you work.”

He chuckles a light, sincere one, words muttered quietly for the close proximity. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

His eyes land on the door to his office; blinds closed, thick wood and metal sure to keep any noise of your endeavors from reaching the ears of any unsuspecting individual on the other side. He squints his eyes. The door is indeed unlocked, but he can’t seem to view that as an issue anymore. So what if someone were to walk in and see the two of you like this? It’s far past the peak bureaucracy hours of the day, anyhow.

He swipes his unusually cold palm over his face before dragging it down his chest, trailing across his abdomen and following the wake of soft hair that disappears beneath the peaking waistband of his boxers. His fingertips stretch the band as they dip beneath it, and his breathing is becoming heavier yet weaker, more shaky-like, as they creep closer to where he needs attention the most.

He’s teasing himself, involuntarily and painfully. Perhaps this is his last attempt to allow himself a second thought, think twice before he commits such a dirty act on military grounds. But his mind is far too fuzzy to pay attention, it’s just been so long.

His hand finds his cock, exhaling a shaky breath at the forbidden contact, this is his last chance to turn back. His boxers are growing to be too tight around him, and this time he won’t be able to just put up with it until his thoughts dissipate. He needs release, and soon. It won’t be much, it’s only once, and then he can finally sleep, he convinces himself.

He pulls his boxers down his pelvis, leaving them just below where his hard cock is now free. He wraps his fist around his base, fingers enveloping each vein that bulges with desperation. He groans ever so softly, jaw slacked and eyes closed as goosebumps coat his chest and arms. It’s mere seconds before his mind is plummeting into uncontrollable thoughts and damned-worthy desires.

It’s your hand, he’s already imagining. It’s your smaller fingers around his cock, not enough to compensate for his size but still a hundred-times better than any fist could work. He knows you’d make it work. You’re clever like that, far more than he is.

It’s your thighs straddling his as your arm moves up and down at an excruciating pace. He needs your weight on him so fucking bad, preferably on his shoulders and face as he’d hold you down on his mouth. Fuck, he needs to taste you so bad.

It’s your voice that would talk him through it, command him on what to do until he’s broken down to the young, naive, want-to-be soldier he once was. He’ll do anything you say. He’ll walk through Hell and back if you tell him to. Hand on his heart, honest to whatever god may be out there. Smack him around.

Anything you say.

And it’s him who would satisfy your every want with unending diligence to thank you. Just fucking use him, already.

He couldn’t shake the thought, no matter how hard he tried.

No matter how dirty he felt imagining his coworker in such a position, rather than a woman of what he thinks his type should be, or even an actress from a porn magazine. No matter how unlikely it was that he’d have a chance with you, it’s downright embarrassing. And no matter how heavy that guilt sat in his gut, his fist only squeezes tighter with his strokes, retaining that languid speed that has him gritting his teeth.

You flood his mind and you don’t even know the magnitude of it because you’re just a girl living your, perhaps slightly unconventional, life in the military, and he’s the coworker that people only look twice at to check if, yes, he really is that tall.

Flashes of your face, and that pretty body of yours in the most innocent of outfits, refuse to quit their tormenting of his mind, and here he was, fucking his fist to them at night like a desperate dog. He wants to see how your skin would contrast his pale and heavily scarred exterior, and how you would surely take him from his comfort zone and make him a better man.

He swipes his thumb over the head of his cock with a broken whine, collecting his pre and spreading it down his shaft as far as it goes; fuck, he’s so sensitive, and he just needs more. He can hear your voice in the back of his mind, conceptualizing what you would say as you guide him past his threshold. You’d be so sweet on him, just as you always are on the rare occasion you’re put in a position together where talking seemed the best option for pastime. You really are just perfectly perfect all around, he thinks, and he wants you to know it, so bad.

You’re too good for him, you’re too striking. Truthfully, while the thought of you taking care of him in his most vulnerable state has him thirsting like a dog and bucking his hips up into nothing but a mangled hand and cold air, he knows that’s not him. No, he needs to be of service, one way or another.

He knows he’d be on his knees in front of you, on the ground you walk on, looking up at you with big eyes as he’d place kisses all up and down your bare thighs, careful not to ruin your clothes. He’d worship every part of your body until all you knew was utter admiration, though he doubts you’ve ever gone a day without being honored for your being.

How could any man not leap at the opportunity to praise your every step in life, especially if you’ve taken him to bed?

He actually whines out into the empty space of his quarters, face all beet red and eyes bleary from surprising himself with such an act. Self-deprecating whispers linger in the back of his mind and will remain for when he’s later clearheaded, but for now, the only thing he can think to do is continue fisting his sensitive cock to the notion of being with you.

He’d let you mold him to whatever you wanted, he’d beg you to ride his face and get yourself off with his assistance. He wants to get drunk on your pussy, he knows he would. He knows you’d taste better than anything he has ever had, and he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself once he starts unless you say something. Punish him, even, for not doing it right or knowing both of your limits because he’s just such a hungry, greedy whore who only wants more, more, and more.

Should you ever let him into your life, he’d be better off quitting his job and dedicating his future to just making you feel so good and so loved, and so, so proud of him. He wants to hear you call him a good boy, maybe even a loyal slut. Etch it into his skull so he could never forget, as if that’d ever be possible.

He’d fuck you in any position you’d like, and he means any.

Lay on your back, legs spread and just begging for him to bury his face in your cunt, and he’ll listen like the good boy he is until you’re beyond satisfied. Stretch it out to hours if you please; the man has stamina that would put any gold-medalist to shame, and never once in his life, has he been a quitter.

“i’m good, i promise i am… i’ll be a good boy for you, please.”

Pin him to the mattress and ride him until he can’t think or speak, use him to reach your own high while taking him for all that he has because that’s all he’s there for, is to make you feel good. The strictest soldier would turn to putty under your hold.

“das ist—…s’too much, ich flehe dich—ngh—! bitte, bitte—”

Pull him into an abandoned building and make him fuck you on the cold, hard floor despite being at work, on the job. He would jeopardize even the highest value of intel for a piece of you.

“i’ll do anything, i swear… i’ll be quiet, i-i’ll let you use me… jus’ wanna make you feel good. it’ll make me feel good, too.”

Either way, he’s going to end up on his knees once again and, if you allowed, watch his pearly cum drip from your puffy cunt before taking two of his fingers and pushing it back in, words and babbles of endless praise slipping from his lips as he imagines the idea of starting his own little family with you.

His abdomen feels tighter just thinking of it, you, and his hand with a lethargic pace around his cock. His breathing is jagged, ruthlessly so, and it picks up when his fist does as well. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, dying whimpers spilling from his lips. Your name, as well, and he’s blushing more violently then ever. You’ve got a spell on him; he’s all yours, if you want.

Christ, what would you say to him right now? Scold him, berate him. Even slap him for jerking off to the mental image of you without your permission, and edge him until he cries like an abandoned baby. Call him pathetic and promise him he’ll never, ever have a chance because he is such a coward, and all.

Oh, but you’re just so sweet on him. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard you swear, let alone insult someone. You go to such great lengths to lighten the mood, make people feel so safe and welcome around you. And your fucking laugh, Christ, your giggles are always music to his ears. Anything that isn’t praise would sound far too foreign in your voice for him to compute. With those soft, plump lips at his ear, cooing him through his high he’s gonna reach so early, so fucking soon— fuck, he's…

He’s gonna—

A soft knocking on his door causes his hand to stop and eyes to shoot open, lightly gasping for air as he was pulled just seconds away from his orgasm. He’s frozen, dead in his tracks, and he waits for it to happen again to make sure he wasn’t just hearing things. The one time, he succumbs to his perverse hankerings.

A few seconds go by before he hears the knocking once more, this time sure it was for him. He swiftly sits up and then stands, shoving his cock in his boxers and pulling his pants back up. He leans down to grab his shirt, pulling it over his big head, introducing a new type of discomfort from before due to the cold sweat he broke coating his chest. He’s reaching for his helmet when there’s a voice coming from the other side of the door, and the hardened soldier nearly jumps in surprise.

“König?”

Oh, fuck. His entire body tenses up at the wake of your voice. Outside his room, right now, when he was just fucking his fist to the image of you. He couldn’t begin to describe or label what he’s feeling, but it’s something along the lines of utter shame and mortification. He mutters a quick and defeated curse under his breath, aggression only aimed at himself.

You’re speaking up again before he even has time to think, granted his mind was spinning and he was making no move to answer you. He’s frozen, stuck in space. Time seemed to race by him without warning, and he hated it.

“Are you awake?”

Your voice is gentle, as always, and so quiet in order to not wake anyone else in the corridor. He’s surprised he could understand you so well, then again, he’d recognize your voice from a klick away.

Could you hear him from outside his door? He wouldn’t ever be able to recover. His hard cock twitches in his pants at the thought of being caught in the act of jerking off to you, and he shakes his head, fighting back the groan boiling in his chest at the simple, yet so fucking intricate, idea of it. He’s a mess.

He decides against the hood, which would most likely prove a mistake as he could literally feel the heat exuding from his face. He knows his hair is a sore sight and his clothes are wrinkled beyond repair. You’ve ruined him, and you don’t even know it.

He took you to your favorite restaurant downtown, the one he made your favorite by hearing you say you wanted to try it once and proceeding to take you the next night. One, ‘that was really good, Si, thank you,’ as you were kissing him goodnight, and suddenly he was taking you almost every weekend he was home. He’s sure to introduce some sort of variety every once in a while, though, for the other free nights of the week.

The man is shameless, truly. He isn’t afraid to whisper something naughty in your ear in public, or outright insult someone for looking at you in any way, malicious or not. These things he whispers: so fucking dirty, and tend to come out as you’re about to head home so he can warm you up and have you all desperate for an extra good fucking. One with your head buried in your mattress as his is between your thighs, chest rising and falling like a madwoman with exactly no worries in the world other than.

The worst is when you’re at previously mentioned restaurant and he doesn’t even bother keeping quiet as he’s signing the check because it’s well enough spaced out and, or at least he argues, nobody has the right to be listening in to his conversation in the first place. Scar themselves, and if they have a problem with it, he’ll add another just above the jugular so they don’t think about doing it again. He smirks when he sees your face has gone all red, hoping that no one had heard his vile promises until your faith is truly tested and you’re forced to just close your eyes and give in.

He drove you to your favorite viewing spot, parking his Mustang a few meters from the cliff’s edge that overhung the entire city. A beautiful sight, like it was straight from a modern painting or film, and the comfort of his car paid towards the surrealness of it all. You’re a pretty sight as well, all dolled up in the passenger seat with your hands folded in your lap, flowers and bag forgotten in the back.

Simon wasn’t ever much for using his words, but he’d do it all day if it meant hearing your sweet voice give him a response. There are times where you’ll both be as chatty as a couple of grandmothers meeting for their annual lunch outing, and then there are moments where it’s time to zero in on the afternoon wine tasting and fewer words just work better than the rundown. Times where you can’t shut up because he wants to hear every single detail about every single thing you’ve done since he saw you last, in the most caring way possible, and moments where it feels like you’ve been happily married and tied at the hip for twenty years and you don’t need to share out because the quietness is just as good.

“That’s when you know you’ve found somebody really special, when you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably share a silence.”

He reached over the center console and put his hand on your bare knee, calloused fingers treading so lightly and yet instantly sending jolts of goosebumps throughout your entire body. You both kept your eyes on his hand as it trailed up your thigh, contrasting skin slipping inward to make you gasp and giggle. It’s big, veiny, and utterly mesmerizing to watch as it moves.

You were silent as you watched, apart from the audible blushing in your breath, then looking up to him through your lashes. The hem of your dress was pushed up and up and he inched closer and closer to your core until you were shuddering and unable to blink.

“Simon…” you breathed, and he straightened his shoulders, eyes meeting your fuck me ones. “Please.”

Well, he couldn’t say no to that, now, could he?

He got you in the backseat of his car, straddling his lap with him shoving his tongue in your mouth so strongly it was almost too overwhelming. His body heat, his muscles; you felt it all.

There wasn’t much time for comfort before his hands were slipping under your dress and groping at the plush fat of your bent hips. He pinched and slapped your ass to pull those cute whines from you, lips quivering right up against his own, and then smoothed small circles over the skin with his thumbs and palms to ease the sting. His hands went further to feel up your waist, just under your tits and stopping there. He wouldn’t dare mess up your pretty outfit just yet, but he loves to see you whining for more.

He pulled barely an inch away from your face, with a great, cocky smirk coating his expression. “No bra?” Your already flustered face had somehow gotten even more heated in front of him; he really knows how to work you up. He chuckled, “You naughty little devil.”

His hand met the back of your head and pulled you right back in as the other was returned to your waist. He nudged and encouraged you to move your hips, so you did, back and forth ever so slightly to start out.

But you both needed more than slightly, and he knew it. His grip didn’t yield and instead pressed you down harder onto his lap, causing your movements to stutter from your depraved and clothed clit getting harshly rubbed up against his firm bulge. Your lips halted in an open form, moaning into his mouth, and he snickered at the fact.

Grinding down on a man his size was no easy feat but you gave it your all nonetheless, makeout turning sloppier and more desperate by the second. But messy has always been his favorite when it comes to you and that body.

You always lose track of time so easily when you’re with him, and same goes for him. You’re dangerous, and he loves it. Neither of you had even noticed the sky turning from a pale blue to pitch darkness in the time between then and when he had brought the car to a stop.

His hand, rough and straightforward as ever, moved to slip between the two of you and into your panties, cupping your cunt. You gasped at the coldness of his touch and he hummed at your warmth, delving two fingers between your folds before you could totalize it all in your head. “That feel alright, honey?”

You nodded with a squeak of a whine, and he took that as his cue to push further.

“So fuckin’ tight…’n wet…all for me, sweetheart?”

He shoved his fingers deeper, and you choked on air. “Y-yes. All yours,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” he razzed on. He knew he was beginning to test your limits, even if you wouldn’t admit it. “Well, I want you to take what you want from me, then, love. Make yourself come ‘nd I can watch.”

You swallowed thickly; it was never a question with him. Your kneedy hands wrapped around the thick arm leading to your cunt and you began to rock your hips back and forth, eyes closed. The friction and the reaction it pulled from you was instantaneous, but you’re no quitter. He adjusted his fingers upwards and curled them a bit, causing you to stutter out a broken and shy moan from your slacken jaw.

“Come on, sweetheart, that’s it…grind that little cunt down on my palm f’me. Fuck yourself on my fingers, make it feel good.”

You increased the pressure with which you grounded yourself down on his palm; you really wanted to make him proud. The heel of his palm dug ferociously at your clit in all the best ways, allowing you to feel up every callous and year of strenuous work on his skin; he’s a skilled man, a provider. The same hand he brought to countless countries to do God knows what to the enemy soldiers, working at your cunt so sweetly you’re sure you’d have actual hearts in your eyes if it were physically possible. You don’t have to worry your pretty, little head about the gritty half of his life, however; he’s reassured you an infinite amount of times, and will continue doing so until he retires.

He fucked you with his fingers just right, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. He’d always have you unraveling and drunk in front of him in mere seconds, doesn’t matter if it’s been weeks or minutes since the last time, on his fingers or tongue or cock. However it be, he always takes care of you.

“Jusst like that…there ya go, honey. Makin’ a proper fuckin’ mess of my hand, aren’t ya? Tirin’ yourself out, now?”

He watched on, witnessing the affects his words had on you; he’d have to be an idiot not to notice them, and he let it fuel his ego freely.

“So fuckin’ stunning… You gonna come f’me, love?”

“Mhm,” you whined, nodding feverishly and nearly busting your lip with how hard you were biting down on it to keep your sanity. It’s so fucking close, you could just barely reach it.

“Mhm?” he mocked. “Pretty pussy must’ve been so needy while I was away, I bet.” Damn him, for even his mean side is still so gratifying. “‘S a good thing I’m here, now…make this cunt feel real fuckin’ loved. Ain’t it right, sweetheart?”

As if on cue, you came on his hand with a broken moan, practically clawing at his thick forearm as he continued to work at you until you were seeing flashes of white with pink roses in your closed off vision. Your eyes shot open, breathing erratic and pupils blown out, and were met with his smug face.

“There’s your answer,” he commented. Fuckin’ meanie. He pulled his fingers from your sensitive pussy and brought them to his mouth, sticking his tongue out wide and to taste that cum of yours he missed so much. You watched on, dumbfounded, and he clearly enjoyed the audience.

Heaven, and you should know it. He’s a kind man; he shares.

Before you could think, he shoved his fingers between your lips and against your hot tongue without a warning, forcing a whine from deep in your throat. Saliva mixed with cum mixed with spit. You took them greedily as he was the one to watch that time, lust and stupefaction and all the feelings bundled up into his observant, anthracite eyes. He taunted once more, “It’s nice, innit?” with an unruly snicker.

You nodded with his fingers still in your mouth, the amount of space they took up utterly inordinate, until they were clean. He pulled them out and praised you for the good cleaning before telling you, “Tell me what you want. Right here, ‘nd now.”

With your hands already at his zipper, palming his erection while you silently begged to take it out of his pants, you told him, “Want your cock-…need you to t’fuck me, please,” through tired and desperate chokes. You were about ready to cry if you had to sit on his lap and be without his cock stuffed deep in your cunt for another minute. “Need it so fucking bad, Si.”

The man leered and chuckled at your cute patheticness, his hand finding yours on his crotch. “Mmh. With pleasure.”

—

Now, as you’re speared open on his cock in the backseat, sitting on his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, you can’t seem to think much about anything but him. The way his cock fills you so nicely, all big and relentless just like the rest of him. He just makes you so dizzy; it’s as easy as one glance and half the time you don’t even know if he means it or not. It’s like he has you under an unbreakable spell, or whatnot.

“Gotta start movin’ ya now, sweets,” he says, like he’s a man who’s sorry but knows he’s right. And he’s always right.

You lift your head from his shoulder, eyes all glossy and lit up by the car’s interior lights, so fucking desperate for him. You nod in understanding before stationing your hands on his broad shoulders and slowly raising your hips a few inches with the help of his heavy hands on your hips, hissing through your teeth turning into a whimper-esque moan as you sink back down. It burns, stings, yet repairs all with a kiss to your cervix.

Your post-orgasm slick is making it a snug fit, but you fear your legs will seize up seeing how unreliable they are after just coming once. And it’s still one hell of a stretch. Collect yourself, breathe, and you’re doing it all again. Slowly, until you’re eventually riding him so leisurely with his assistance.

“Good girl,” he drags out, impossibly long and sultry. It hits you right in the gut like it always does, and you feel that tingling behind your ear from how close you are to him. “My good fuckin’ girl, made to take this cock. Ain’t that right?”

You’re not going to last long with such a sensitive cunt having finished hard only a moment ago. The fabric of his jeans grinds so wonderfully right up against your nerves in the particular position, and your brain is utterly fried. You know nothing more but to fuck yourself on this cock until you physically can’t anymore and your lungs give out.

He stretches you out and fills you beyond what you can handle, but you’ve always tried your best to make it work for him. He’s just so fucking sweet on you, how could you not make an effort?

You’ve got the hang of it. It’s not often you get to be on top of him, but you’re doing a nice job on proving he should let you more often. Christ, he’d die a very happy man like this if it was up to him. You move to gently push his hands aside and he gives you a surprised, yet still taunting, look. You return with a smirk of your own, for once.

Your hands plant themselves on your thighs to give him a nice show as you very slowly bounce yourself on his cock, careful not to be hitting your head on the ceiling each time like an idiot, with him all leaned back and soaking in the view. Your fingertips curl around the end of your dress and hike it up your lap, teasing his eyesight with what it could reach. You stop just before he gets to see your cunt swallowing him whole, and he groans at both the prospect and what he’s missing out on. He shakes his head. Surprise is quick to turn to disapproval, though all still the same amount of playfulness.

“So pretty like this, darlin’. One of your best looks.” His praise can come with the slightest belittling kick to it more often than not, and you eat it up every time like a starved girl to a feast.

He adjusts to be more comfortably seated which, of course, comes with him just barely jutting his hips upwards. He somehow manages to hit that far-too-sweet of a spot in you with the small movement, and you fall forward onto his chest with hands rushing and mostly failing to catch yourself.

“Silly woman,” he huffs. “Don’t lose your balance, when you’re doin’ so good.” You raise your head to scold him with your eyes but he’s so quick to give you an atypical pout in return, leaving you with mixed emotions running rampant in your mind and heart and gut. He tells you, “Don’t gimme that face, now. C’mon, then. Aren’t ya gonna kiss me?”

You do so in a heartbeat, but not without a roll of your eyes to keep him in check. Suddenly, you’re more interested in chasing your own high than his. But don’t get it wrong; that was his plan from the start; get you riled up so you’ll take what you need from him. He knows what he’s doing, at all times. You push yourself from his chest with your hands back to being planted firmly on his shoulders and you begin riding him again with a newfound, eager energy. Back to grinding, more so.

“There she is,” he laughs. “All mean ‘nd angry, using my cock like the rightful toy she deserves.” And you can’t disagree.

“Come on, keep those pretty eyes on me, now.”

“Fuck, Si—‘m trying.” Your thighs burn and you struggle to reopen your eyes every time you find that they’ve closed on their own.

He takes in the sight and burns it into his memory for good, right next to every other time he’s had you all fucked-out and cockdrunk under him. Having you absolutely struggling to take everything he gives you but oh-so willing every time because he’s just so fucking caring with it. In the backseat of his car, though? That’s a new one.

It doesn’t take long for that familiar heat to spark in your belly, right where he’d see that moving bulge in your stomach he always obsessed over so dearly, and would be now if it weren’t for your dress in the way. His cock twitches inside you at the prospect, even the smallest of groans ghosting his lips. You’re tumbling so fast and so blindly into your orgasm and you can’t even think about how it may be your stamina’s killer for the evening. He offers his hand and you take it. Gentleman.

You lace your fingers with his, using it to ground yourself and level your head. And it makes the entire experience all the more intimate; you fuck like you love each other because the words going unsaid as of now won’t stop them from being true.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Wanna feel you squeezin’ my hand when you come on my cock. Lemme hear those pretty noises ya like makin’ for me.”

He tends to talk a lot when he’s buried deep inside you; he’s cocky, he can’t help it. Despite his words majorly being muffled in your hearing, the volume of your moans and whines increase like he asked for. Each noise you make comes with a punch of butterflies to his stomach, and he’s never enjoyed the fictitious, creepy-crawlies as much as he does now.

He admires how your face contorts with pleasure, brows gone all low and straight with your jaw hanging slightly open and eyes closed. He feels how close you're getting with your stuttering and uneven movements, and how you’re practically strangling his cock as tension builds up in your gut.

Like he’s nothing but warm flesh for you to use to get off in this moment, and your entire world in others and especially now, even after his relentless teasing. He doesn’t mind being both. Lie; he hopes he’s both. He needs to be everything you need, and what you need now is a small push of worshiping degradation. He knows you, nearly better than you know yourself, and you’re not afraid to say it.

You’d be dead without him, in all honesty. He puts up with you, and you put up with him, in ways no other humans would. You’re better than good for each other, more often than not.

He scoffs with bemuse, “Even prettier when you let me fuck you so hard I ruin your lovely hair ‘nd makeup.” His eyes ricochet between your dilated ones, a nasty smirk on his lips. You’re utterly gone. “Yeahh, that’s right…I know you like it, too, pretty girl…doin’ amazing, takin’ what I give you so well… Like my loyal little fuckin’ whore,” he spits, with love.

You come hard on his cock and it sucks every bit of energy from you, exuded through uncontrolled moans and heavy breathing and the fierce death-grip you have on his hand. He talks you through it until you finish riding it out, and he swaddles you in his arms the second you fall slack against his broad front. He’s here to serve you in your every step.

And he hasn’t gotten anything.

“—‘m sorry, Si…I don’t know if I can keep going yet,” you pant. “…’t’s too good. Need a break.”

Was your mascara really running? You hadn’t even noticed.

He breathily chuckles at your words. Edge him for hours and the sick bastard laughs. Though, you haven’t given him much of a choice, considering you’ve just let him fuck you silly in the steel and leather compartment of his car and now you’re catching your breath as you lean your full weight on him. He never thought he’d find something so caging to be so comforting for him.

“It’s alright, love, I know you’re tired.” His arms wrap tightly around you and savors it. He’d be a dead man if it weren’t for your warmth and hugs. “Y’did such a nice job, as always.”

His teeth will rot if he keeps up with this all. Routine of praise, abandonment of brutality. He’s lucky he was never one for showing teeth whenever you make him smile. Makes the illusional—and hopefully never of his reality—cosmetic change easier on the both of you.

Seriously though, anything but the teeth.

An idea pops into his head; it’s no flashing, spur-of-the-moment idea, but rather one that has been brewing in his mind for a long time, and with no clue on how or when to introduce it to you. Now, however, it feels just right. Still, it comes out in a mumble, partly to comply for the close proximity but mostly because he’s never been good with this kind of stuff.

Vulnerability, ‘nd all that crap.

“Want you to move into my place.”

Best saved for when he’s just fucked you into a near-coma in the backseat of his Mustang.

You amusedly hum into his shoulder, still so drunk on your highs you can barely process exactly what he’s putting out there. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Whaddya think? I like it well enough…imaginin’ waking up to that beautiful face, all wrapped up in my sheets…walkin’ around the kitchen ‘nd wearin’ my clothes after I fuck you real nice every mornin’. Isn’t that a pretty sight?”

His last words bite you right in the sweet spot as they graze past your ear, and you’re suddenly a weak, giggling, and borderline whining mess atop him. “You might break me at that rate,” you warn.

It’s difficult to ignore his hard cock still shoved deep inside you during such a tender moment, especially with the way you’re involuntarily writhing with his and your words.

“Every other mornin’ then,” he reasons, and you can’t help but giggle. “You’re laughin’ but I ain’t joking, sweetheart. That’s another thing, wanna hear that laugh all fuckin’ day when I’m home. I’ll never get tired’ve hearin’ it.”

You finally manage to pull your flustered face from the crook of his neck, looking at him with a surprised smile like you’ve just discovered the secret meanings to time and space and they all lie within his marked up face. “You’re serious?”

“‘Course I’m bloody serious.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing, while you never thought you’d hear the words.

A step forward. You’ve been waiting, but can’t exactly say you’ve been expecting.

“You’ve stayed the night plenty before, I doubt it’ll be any different. I’ll give you the fuckin’ key right now.”

You grin huge—so bright and lively he thinks he may just catch it like a disease—before leaning down and gently smashing your lips against his. He returns the gesture, a classic smirk fighting its way through.

Gently smashing. It makes sense, between the two of you.

You pull away slowly and barely, muttering to him through your smile, “I accept your key.”

He hums a satisfactory one, rolling his shoulders back against the hard leather seat as if his mind isn’t running rampant with a billion thoughts, all revolving around you and happiness. He realizes he hadn’t ever had the chance or reason to sit in the back before. He definitely belongs up front in the driver's seat. It’s a miracle he even has enough leg room to fit you on his lap.

“Although,” you start with a hint of sarcasm in your voice, though he still furrows his brows urgently. What could possibly be in the way? Who does he have to kill to fix it? “I’m gonna get lonely in a house that big, when you’re off getting deployed in another country.”

Every god-damn terrorist on the planet, apparently. His retirement party better be worthwhile.

A dagger to the heart he’d happily take again simply because it’s got a part of you. In this case, it’s far-too-real words that are laced in your charming voice.

“We’ll get a dog.” His words are said so nonchalantly and it’s a conscious decision, as if they aren’t the most important things in the world for the both of you. So determining for your future together, and so sweet despite his downright rough and gruff drawl. So much emotion in such a seemingly emotionless voice. “Even let you name it.”

You smile impossibly bigger, and it’ll go on to continue growing with every half-sentence he utters. “You’d do that for me?”

“Oh, I’d do anythin’ for you, love.”

You throw your arms around his neck with an excited squeal, practically strangling the man with love. He takes you graciously, big arms tightening around your waist, but tries to calm you like a wild dog by moving a hand up to the back of your head, buried in his shoulder once again, and patting it.

“…s’long as I approve of it. Sound about right?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you mumble, locked onto him. “Does this mean I get to drive this car while you’re away?”

He laughs, chest inflating for a split second and taking you up and down with it. “God, no. Maybe I’ll let you drive the Charger, but this beauty isn’t goin’ anywhere without me behind that wheel.”

“Damn,” you hiss. Obviously. “Was worth a shot.”

“Smart thing,” he murmurs. You sink your slack body into him impossibly closer, every muscle relaxed beyond what you thought they were capable of because he’s just that comfortable. The squishiest chest you’ll find on a man.

“….Gonna be my pretty, li’l housewife.”

“Even though I have a job and we aren’t married?”

“Even though you have a job and we aren’t married,” he repeats, sighing the entire time.

He can change at least one of those things. He’s gonna change one of those things.

He starts again, “Seems like you’ve got your energy back. And you still have a job to do, little miss.”

You groan dramatically into his neck when his hands find your waist, very sadly attempting to pull you off him for only a moment. Groans fluidly turn to whimpers and you’d be stomping your feet in protest if you could, but your stubbornness has always translated to playful arousal.

you feel his dick practically digging into your ass through the multiple layers of cargo pants, and he knows his prayers for discretion have gone unanswered when you adjust your hips against his lap. the feel of it surprises you—you want to laugh, why now?—but the entire concept of it does not come as a shock; it only nourishes the given cockiness in you. you’d have to be a blind mutt not to notice the way he looks at you, shying away when he thinks you’ve caught him staring. silly guy. the hood doesn’t hide all, könig.

“scheiße, du schweinehund,” he breathes defeatedly to himself, eyes squeezed shut in humility. he’s the only mutt here, really. he can’t imagine how pink his cheeks have gone, except for the fact that they feel like they’ve been repeatedly grazed by a blowtorch you hold. he musters up a straight voice, yet his words just barely break past a whisper; “…forgive me.” he grits his teeth and bites his tongue, “gott—i am not in the correct headspace right now, i-i am so sorry.”

you giggle that same laugh that had his knees threatening to buckle in on most days. “it’s okay, könig, really,” you tell him, so convincing and so sweet that he has no choice but to believe it to be true. still, he’s beyond mortified. you hum after a few seconds, “more than okay.” he sucks in a sharp breath. you don’t need to see him to know what sort of affect you’re having on him, arms crossed over your chest while his are unsteady and sweaty at his sides. he’s so awkward, it’s adorable.

like this, you can truly absorb all of him like you never could on an average day; he’s soft spoken off the field and with a deeper drawl, and far more reserved. that manly, post-mission musk of his, apparent through the close proximity, is only insanely attractive. and he’s just so. fucking. big. you lean further back against his frame, head resting on his broad shoulder, and you can feel his heart beating at his ribs against your upper back. with everyone else chatting amongst themselves or already deep into their sleep, you wouldn’t mind teasing him a bit.

“i actually think it’s really cute,” you add, with another slight of a giggle, of course. “and hot.” you bite and bite and he groans so lowly every time, something almost of a broken whimper, you’d say. you wiggle your hips a bit, not terribly noticeable to the outside world but he swears your every action comes with a bite of an aphrodisiac. you smirk and he hears it, right past the nonchalance in your voice; “and quite impressive, i’d say.”

All of his focus on you as you take your time, watching your every move as he’s seated on the dressing room bench, fighting to keep his hands to himself rather than cupping one over your mouth and fucking you right there. How you’d do a spin for him in every dress you tried on and he’d give his opinion, knowing he’d be the one stripping it from you in time to come, very soon.

What d'ya think? you smiled, hands clasped together behind you as you rolled forward on your toes.

I think it looks perfect, he stated, reaching his hand out. You stepped forward and took it, and his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer. You want it?

You bit down on your bottom lip and nodded coyly, leaning into his touch before bending down to kiss him with joy. Then it’s settled.

His job paid well, and being a man of little needs and a taste for simplicity, he never knew what to do with all of it; if it wasn’t going towards his diet, or the 1969 Mach Fastback sitting in his garage, it was being saved, stored, waiting to be used for something good. That something, finally being you, no matter how many times you’d insist you could pay for your own. It felt good for him to put his money towards something worthwhile, and the eye-candy that comes along with it is certainly indisputable. He’s got a horrible sweet tooth; he has to satiate it somehow, even if it means bending over backwards and running his wallet dry to keep you all dolled up.

Money had never looked so good on a person. In the form of flowy little dresses and glossy pink nails that reflected you so well, new necklaces and hair appointments that always brought a bright smile to your lips. The flowers he’d buy you just so they could go in the vase on the coffee table by the couch, right alongside the book you both are working on as you’re sat on his lap, back against his chest. But his giant frame is just so damn comfortable, and his voice is so fucking soothing in that eased tone he’d use on the occasion you ask him to read aloud to you. Most times you end up falling asleep before you’re even a chapter in, and he notices immediately, setting the book down and settling into the couch with you in his arms because he always decides that being with you heavily outweighs any back or neck pain that will surely come. He is older, don’t you forget it, and he doesn’t think you’re ever going to get through the novel at this rate.

He would never lie and say he didn’t get equal amounts of pleasure from it all. He promised himself to have you bathing in it for as long as you’ll let him, and even if that ran out, you’d quickly learn that his doting would still be quite difficult to get rid of.

Then, after a long day of splurging and satisfying your every want, he takes you home, handles you like you’re nothing of weight as he strips you of your dress, and fucks you silly. Fucks you how only a princess deserves, or like you were his first and final true love, the only one to ever matter on this green and corrupt planet because every day he spends with you he’s getting closer to believing both of those to be more than true.

Your fingers pulling tight at the short hair on his head as he buries his face in your cunt. Heavy, big arms, one inked and the other blank for the time being, holding you down by your plush thighs because he knows how sensitive you can get after just your first round. And there’s no way in hell he’s stopping after one. It’d take either a million men or merely your sweet begging to pry him from you once he’s delved his tongue in. You can’t possibly blame him; you just taste so heavenly, he can’t help it nor his insatiable appetite. His groans grow to be louder than your own when he feels and hears you finish, and he’ll come up with a dumb and cocky smile, your cum coating his lips and the stubble around it when he pulls you in to devour your mouth next. Allow you to get a taste of exactly how good he treats you, as if you reminding him of it every day wasn’t enough.

Head hanging off the corner of the bed, the necklace he bought you tickling your jaw and behind your ear in the particular position. Your hips meeting his lap as he fucks himself into you so gently, calloused palms refusing to leave your tired body. He eventually pulls you up with a laugh, not wanting to go another second without looking into those pretty, drunken eyes of yours, or for you to wake with a sore neck the next morning. He doesn’t want you to ever hurt, or long for anything different. He wants you shaking, trembling in his arms with a blissful look on your face and asking, writhing for more so he can grant it. He’ll hug you as tight as possible to his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck to support yourself with the sudden change in position, giggling into his shoulder due to the titillating sensation his panting into yours causes.

However you want to be fucked, he’d do it for you with unending honor, and then some more, until you’d forget your own name, and his real one. How rapidly his next deployment was approaching.

He wrings you both dry and exhausted, still he takes the time to bathe you, fully on display for him as his soapy hands repair whatever damage he may have dealt you. Swaddle and coo you to sleep for a much needed afternoon nap, in his arms and the comfort of your shared bed. Watch you fall asleep, listen to your breathing slow into pure bliss before allowing his own to follow, and all that. He was in deep, and if Simon from a mere year ago saw him like this, he wouldn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Laugh at the sheer absurdity of his behavior, or would it be the idea of having something, someone, so perfect?

Cry because he must’ve fully lost it, entirely unable to recognize himself, or because the image was so beautiful?

How your pretty voice ate away at his mind, the image of your body under his stature teasing him almost painfully, no matter if he was five-thousand miles from home, or standing behind you in the kitchen, arms tight around your waist as you struggled to continue cooking breakfast with the weight of him almost toppling you over. Your giggles, caused by his lips on your neck, driving him to taking the pan from your grip and pushing it off the burner, spinning you around and picking you up by the thighs with ease, carrying you to the bedroom to have his first and favorite meal of the day as you playfully protest.

These small memories played back in his head as he crossed the hall to the master bedroom, softly pushing the cracked door open. There you laid, sleeping atop the covers, only wearing one of his large t-shirts to combat the summer heat. It warmed his old heart, seeing how much you truly loved him, despite how many times he had told you, Love, you deserve better.

Someone who didn’t have to leave you for months at a time, appearing at the strangest hours at night, only to be gone again sometime within the next few weeks. Someone you could actually talk to about their job with, share interests and experiences of the life of a young adult with. I don’t want anyone better, you batted with a frown.

And you stayed, for some odd reason he couldn’t bring himself to understand, but by God, did he feel disgustingly good for it, because you were his, and he could indulge in your every want.

He sighed when he noticed the way you were curled up, facing his side of the bed as you had fallen asleep with a pillow held tight in your arms. His chest tightened, breathing shallower than usual. Guilt; a feeling he had grown quite used to, though it never got easier. Leaving you alone for such long periods, knowing you were most likely thinking of him just as much as he was of you. Hanging out with the friends you didn’t seem to think of much when he was home, practically glued to each other’s hands and lips.

Christ, how you were probably— no, surely touching yourself to the thought of him fucking you like he always would. The thought of your fingers being replaced with his own, his mouth, begging the silent space around you for release like he was actually there with you; as would he, on the extremely rare occasion he was alone on base and without another demanding task calling his presence. Imagining the way your pretty face would contort, the sweetest whimpers slipping from your lips as he ate you out, making you cum quick, again and again each time, no matter if it’s been weeks or mere hours since he had done it last. He’d expect nothing in return—if you got off, he did too, simple as that—still, he’d never turn down the way you sat up on your knees, thighs weak and shaking, lips quivering and eyes pouting as you begged him for his cock you craved so badly.

You would always confess your lusting to him when he came home, cheeks heating up under your already rosy blush with the way he’d pry you to tell him more. Exactly how you touched yourself, and how often, before he would lean in closer and admit to you his own sins, until you were a soaked mess from only his words. Squeezing your thighs together, closing your eyes and nearly grinding against the material under you, pathetic and desperate for his touch. He’d give in so easily to his sweet girl, bringing you onto his lap and planting his heavy hands on your hips, guiding you back and forth on his thigh until you came in your panties. All warmed up, and he would rid you of your clothes as you work to take his cock out. Relentlessly though unintentionally teasing your entrance with the fat, velvety tip of him with the time it takes for you to get readjusted to something so big. Stark contrast to your fingers, of which could never fulfill your needs, hold you quite like how he could. A man born to serve and not wanting you to work one bit, he assisted you in riding him, gentle with you in this position as he held you oh-so close, needing more and more of you by the second.

Your arms adjusted around the pillow in your sleep, burying your face in the plush fabric, and he was suddenly snapped out of his daydream. He had been standing there, leaned up against the doorframe, staring at you for Christ knows how long. How could you have such an affect on him?

A tall mirror in front of you so you could watch yourself unravel, watch the man who was doing it to you. Who had suggested it in the first place was something you had already forgotten, but the words and excitement in his voice for you to finally be able to see, understand just how gorgeous you were when you made love, will forever be engraved in your brain. The flowers he surprised you with were visible on the nightstand in the back, as well as the box of chocolates you had already gotten into; it was cliche as hell, and he knew it, but you adored it more than anything. Floor-to-ceiling glass behind you overlooking the bright, lively city that contrasted with the pitched, starry night. Like a scene straight from a favorite romance film.

Your breathing was erratic, in and out through your agape mouth almost like you were deprived beforehand. His broad shoulders engulfed your smaller figure, consuming and guarding like a predator's freshly-caught prey, except the loving dynamic was nothing of the sort. He’d always protect you, he’d always keep you safe no matter the circumstances.

“You’re doing so good, my darling- scheisse, do you see yourself? Right there in the mirror? Such a beautiful sight, yes? It’s like you were made for me, Angel.”

Between his words, he brought his hand up under your chin to turn you, to fix your eyes on the mirror in front of you, before returning to your belly.

There was definitely something about it you couldn’t ignore, that made the experience all the more intimate. He would worship you like a goddess and treat you as such in every pathway of life, and while you didn’t quite understand the reasoning for his strong aptitude in it, you happily gave yourself to him every time nonetheless. Two fingers buried in your cunt while the heel of his palm provided friction to your clit in all the ways you needed the most, every once in a while your hips bucking up to chase his hand, though to no avail with the gentle strength and grip he had on you.

“König, baby—please, I’m gonna—…m’fuck fuck fuck!”

“It’s okay, my love, you don’t have to beg. You know I’ll give you anything you want. Can you do the same for me, Hase? Can you cum on my fingers for me?”

You bit down on your bottom lip and locked eyes with his through the mirror, glassy and big and his filled with lust and drunkenness. Nodding frantically before your lids were forced shut again, you did your best in relaxing your body, having not even noticed when you tried to push further back into his body. His big and dangerously comfortable, warm body that he graciously offered to you every night since you first met.

“That’s right, Hase. My best girl, always so perfect, so pretty like this. Let go, for me. Just like that…wunderschön, my love…it’s absolutely perfect. My little showstopper, eh, always so cute.”

You braced onto his arms and came hard with a long moan, followed by a string of swears directed at nothing and nobody. You grit your teeth as the pressure in your lower belly shot directly to your head and refused to dissipate. Breathing with long-lost rhythm, the skin on your face felt ten-times heavier, and you slumped back impossibly closer against his shoulder.

He cooed you through your high with continued, light pressure from his fingers and small praises against your scalp, peppering kisses between almost every word. You tried to catch your breath as he held you, then kissing every square inch of your hot neck and face. You’d be squirming and giggling in his arms, pushing him away and maybe even fighting back in a ticklish fit if you weren’t so fucked out and exhausted from his treatment. You almost did fall asleep in his hold, interrupted by his

“Did that feel good, my love? Can you do another for me, sweetheart? Please? Just one more and we can rest, I promise. We will sleep in as late as you like, and I will bring you breakfast in bed. I will make your favorite. Would you like that, meine Perle?”

He assigned you practically every petname in the book, and each gave you that all familiar fuzzy feeling in your heart and gut. You’d hope you never get used to it, because it’s just so sweet it’s damn-near tooth rotting.

“God, you…always take…such good care of me,” you managed to get out, smiling and turning your head to see him with doe eyes and without the help of the mirror. You took a hand and brought it to his farthest cheek, leaning up to kiss the bump of his jaw the best you could with the awkward angle and your weakened, trembling limbs you could only blame him for. “But I don't know if I’ve got another one in me, König... You said the same thing last time,” you breathily laughed.

He melted at your words, very noticeably so, and your smile drove him even further insane. He pulled you tighter to him, like how he does each time he makes a vow to never leave you hungry or broken for more.

“I know, I’m sorry, my love. I just can’t get enough of you.”

He thought you somehow became prettier with each time you came on his fingers, or his mouth or thigh. On his cock, even your own hand as he watched—with every second that passed of you being louder, whinier, and downright messy, he never wanted it to end. And you made him feel pretty, and worth something, just by being next to him, being on him. You lost in your pleasure, and him lost in yours as well. He got drunk off every moment he spent with you because—well, why him? What did he do to deserve you, your ravishing body and clever mind and beyond ethereal company? It spun his head around, and in the best possible way because your reassurance was all he lived for, and he wanted to be sure to return the gift in full.

“I mean—…what about you? I wanna make you feel good, too,” you pouted. You really mean it; you’ve been waiting all day for your chance. He looks at you with utter love and adoration, and you the same to him.

“Oh, trust me, my dear. You do plenty,” he returned with a gentle kiss to your temple, holding your gaze through the mirror. He spoke so nonchalantly for a man who just tore through you and turned your brain to thoughtless mush several times like it was nothing. Like it was just another activity, another hobby of his that granted him unending and radiating joy. “Your pleasure is mine.” He takes your hand in his, an overbearing difference in size having you dizzy once again, and he kisses your knuckles. “You know that, don’t you?”

He sleepily situated himself closer to you, back on his knees and heels with a lazy hand stroking his excruciatingly sore and hard cock as he moved. He couldn’t even say how long he had himself like that for, fucking his hand to the thought of you taking him again.

The thought of your plush body above his, gentle voice cooing him through yet another high as you rode him, much like you had done mere hours ago. His mouth latched onto your tits as you cradled his face in your hands, your fingers running through his messy hair. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you took care of him, the center of your world. When you’d lay him on his back and plant your palms on his abs and chest, persuade him to just let go, relax for once, with the sweet grinding of your hips and sultry voice in his ear that electrified every bone in his body. Crawl down his body, tease each muscle leading to his cock, have him as a whining mess before ever even taking him in your mouth, that is if he didn’t cum from just the kisses on his v-line in the first place.

He got off to the past as he laid next to you, eventually hovering above you, staring at your relaxed face while he jerked himself, jaw slack and eyes blown out. Your pretty face resting so beautifully in your sleep, hair daintily sprawled out onto the pillow below you. The kind of body an ancient Greek sculptor would work his entire life up to modeling, in all of its natural curves and features. He had no clue how he had you, but he was hooked, utterly addicted, to the drug of you.

You rubbed your eyes as you tried to sit up on your elbows, coming to sense with what was going on before his looming figure stopped you. His hands move to your shoulders to lay you back down, soothe your nerves, before returning one of them to his cock. The other remained on your body, and it dragged downward when you returned to laying on your back.

“I’m s’sorry, Mommy,” he slurred tiredly, whining in desperation. “’M sorry, I really didn’t want to wake you but I couldn’t take it much longer, I- I couldn’t help myself.”

How your body was rubbing up against his in your sleep, unintentionally working him up beyond his own control. He couldn’t sleep because of it, or think about anything else. He couldn’t stop himself, he was surprised he could even move with how overwhelming the sensitivity in every nerve of his body was.

You stared up at him dumbly, a particular instinct boiling in your gut that had your arousal washing over you in no time.

“Please-,” he needily choked, tongue caught with salivation and pathetic moans slipping from his lips with every stroke of his fist. His heavy and rough palm on your belly gently raised with your breathing, veins popping and prominent even with the limited light. It moved in slow circles over your softer skin, barely having to move much to cover the expanse of it all. It’s almost dominating, the small gesture, yet he meant it out of pure worship and adoration and love. “Please let me, Momma, please-…I need more-…I need you so badly, a-and my hand isn’t enough. I’ll beg all I have to, Mommy, I’ll do anything, just please help me.”

You blinked, and then nodded feverishly, lips slack and dry, unable to form a single thought other than his pleasure - your sweet boy’s release, more than well-deserved, for just being so goddamn good and sweet all around. You leaned up, taking his tired face in your weak hands, just as distraught yourself.

“You have me, Baby.” You pulled him into a kiss, wet and lazy, and enough spark to start a fire between you two, before purring again, “Take me however you want, Köni, I want you t’feel good.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” he panted, and you laid your head back on the pillow below you, stretching your shoulders. He took his cock and you gasped as he shoved the velvety, damp tip into your soaked pussy, with shameful, unruly whimpers slipping from his lips, barely giving you any time to adjust. You ached from earlier, a soreness you would so easily ignore, so caught up with wanting him to be satisfied. He started to grind his hips into yours, groaning lowly with how you were squeezing around him. His movements were sloppy with how tired he was, already giving up on keeping his eyes open.

His forearms landed on either side of you, barely able to hold himself up. Sleepiness and neediness; your favorite looks on him. Your hands on his waist were practically holding him up for him, guiding him, one coming up to hold the back of his neck in solace.

“There’s my good boy…I know you’re tired, Baby, but you’re being so strong f’me, y’know that? So proud of you.” His cock twitched incessantly inside you, your voice and his oversensitivity being his downfall as the vilest whimpers emitted from his throat. He knew he wouldn’t be lasting long, he couldn’t hold himself out, and he apologized profusely for it, mouth running faster than what his mind could keep up with. “Don’t be sorry, Baby,” you slurred. “I’m here.”

He’s rapid with his words as always, “Say it again, please, say it again, say you’re proud of me, Momma.”

“I’m always proud of you, Honey. My sweet boy deserves the world, doesn’t he? Always so charming and pretty, and…fuck-, fucking me so good, Baby, God, you’re so big…so perfect ‘nd sweet f’me all the time.”

Tears welled in his eyes as he rutted his hips into you, burying his face in your neck with the pounding in his head from his sensitivity and neediness overtaking him. Soaking and staining your shoulder with his tears, panting his hot breath on your skin, weak with his grinding and inconsistent in his movements. Strongest soldier anyone knew, to a small, blabbering mess of whines and desperation under you because, despite him actually being the one on top, you just had that sort of power over him.

Your short and sweet moans in his ear only spurred him on, relentlessly torturing him and tightening the coil in his lower stomach as your pussy fluttered around him.

“I’m gonna-…scheisse, I’m sorry, Momma,” he choked, nearly sobbing into your neck, shattered over the fact you wouldn’t be finishing with him. His thrusts picking up only a bit, you immediately brought your hands to cradle the back of his head, holding him close. “I can’t-”

“Shh, Baby, it’s okay,” you managed to somewhat control your voice through choked gasps for air. “Just be a good boy for Mommy and cum, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

He nodded frantically against your shoulder, and with just a few more thrusts, the coil in his gut finally released. He came in your pussy with heavy breathing and a broken moan against your skin, spilling his hot cum inside you as you cooed him through his high, riding you until he physically couldn’t anymore. You shivered from the sensation, nails scratching his head and back when some of his weight fell on top of you, body half-given out and collapsed.

Scooted down a bit, he wrapped his arms around your waist with the side of his face resting between your breasts, eyes locked closed.

“That feel good, Köni? You feel better now?” Your voice was soft, wary of his tired state.

“Mhm, danke,” he muttered, squeezing his arms tighter.

“I’m glad,” you hummed with a smile.

You would lay there for a bit, in blissful silence as you rubbed the back of his head. Feeling his chest dip against your belly with every breath he took, barely able to breathe yourself. Still, you’d rather be here than anywhere else. His weight on you was nothing but comfortable, and being held in his big arms sometimes made you question how you had so much power over him, how he just allowed it, despite his reputation. You felt yourself becoming drowsier by the second, lulled by the dim moonlight and sweetness of his hold.

“I do. No harm in celebrating, Sir.”

“I’ll consider, but try not to make a scene out of it, Sergeant. You know those boys ‘ave got a hard-on for you.”

“Is that such a bad thing? Maybe tonight one of them will get lucky,” you smiled. Your words were uncharacteristic of you, and he was drawn back a bit in a mix of amazement and bitterness. He looked past you once more and Soap and Gaz were beginning to grow impatient.

“Don’t let me hold you back. Go on, I’ll watch.”

You pushed yourself from the table with a toothy smile, and returned to the game. You went up against Gaz, while Soap helped you to position yourself as you claimed to be relatively new to the sport. ‘Ladies first,’ and you broke the game, the end of your stick striking the white ball. Soap hovering behind you to guide your hits, and you got stripes, leaving Gaz stuck with solids. With each turn, Soap leaned heavier into you, hands staying on yours and your hips for longer to adjust you. You’d be a dirty liar if you said you didn’t enjoy his big arms around you, and his Scottish accent whispering tips directly into your ear. In full transparency with yourself, he had you worked and shuddering, and if your Lieutenant wasn’t already fuming with the last words you left him with, he would be sure to rub them in your pretty face later and have you gasping for air as the thought of another man, let alone member of Task Force 141, touching you had surely slipped from your memory.

You sent the white ball rolling into the black ball, pocketing it with the help of Soap and you dropped the stick on the table, both leaning up and cheering, embracing each other in a hug. You squeezed his waist as he praised your victory in your ear. Gaz was emulous, not so much because of his loss, but of the way you celebrated with Soap. Though, it was short-lived when you were pulling away from Soap and making your way over to him. You walked around behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders and massaging them lightly. You leaned up on your toes to whisper, “Good game, Garrick,” and he sarcastically crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. You dropped with a residual hand on his bicep, and you spoke to the two men, “You two play another round, I need to speak with the Lieutenant.”

Gaz mourned the loss of your hand as you walked across the bar and back to your Lieutenant. You clocked that he hadn’t touched his drink, or barely moved an inch since you were last there, as you slid into the booth opposite of him.

“You made quite the show.”

He spoke up before you could, an obvious change in his tone; disappointed and dropped down a notch from his already impossibly intense voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant,” you teased, but he was clearly not in the mood. His brows pulled together, distraught. How could you not know what you fucking did? To him?

He immediately relaxed his face. “Drink this, we’re leaving.” He pushed his glass towards you, the small amount of brown liquid sloshing with the movement, and he stood from the booth.

“We’re leaving?” you nearly scoffed out loud. Eyes staring down at yours when you caught his attention, he towered over you with the new dynamic. “I’m having fun here, Sir.”

“I noticed. Practically givin’ ol’ Johnny a fuckin’ lap dance over there.”

You definitely weren’t, and you took offense to his crudeness, but you also wouldn’t argue with him, a superior, and mentor - the only reason you were where you are. “And what am I supposed to tell them?” You nodded over to the pool table you came from.

“Make somethin’ up. Or don’t say anythin’ at all.”

He abandoned you at the table and walked to the bartender. As he pulled out his wallet, you watched in worry, knowing you had fucked up. You weren’t just going to leave without saying goodbye. You downed the little remaining bourbon in his glass with a wince before standing to tell Soap and Gaz you were leaving. Some bullshit reason and apology that you yourself could barely understand, your mind being everywhere else in that moment. Ghost paid cash for the drinks the three of you had racked up, plus some more for the boys to have a good rest of their night. He shoved his wallet in his back pocket and met you at the door without as little as a nod to the others.

“We’re stayin’ at the hotel across the street. You got a problem with that, Sergeant?”

He spoke to you like you were a little kid. You shook your head, and followed him out the door when he muttered a quick ‘good’ and nothing more.

-

The walk to the hotel was dead silent, and the ride up to the room was ten-times worse. You disrespected your Lieutenant, and while you couldn’t tell if you were actually in the wrong, or if everything was being blown out of proportion, the consequences would remain the same, whatever they may be.

The elevator dinged, doors opening up to the modern suite that the Captain had rented for the Lieutenant. The Sergeants never got rooms nearly as luxurious, on the rare occasion of being stuck in a different city for the night. Ghost’s palm landed on the small of your back, walking you both into the room as you gawked at the tall ceiling and fully glass walls looking down on the city. You stopped in your tracks to admire the view, though Ghost’s form passing you quickly snapped you back to reality. He began taking his jacket off when you finally broke the silence.

“…I’m sorry, Sir-”

“You disrespected a direct order.”

He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, along with his wallet onto the table that went with it. He could barely face you, now unhooking his gun holster from his belt.

“I didn’t think you were serious.” Your voice was minuscule compared to his, but still held on to some confidence.

“‘Course I’m bloody serious, _____.” He brought his handgun down onto the table harshly, noise lining up with the peak incline of volume in his words.

Your name through his teeth struck your heart like a dagger, never sounding dirtier. He walked closer to you, watching his space.

“You think I wan’ t’watch another man touch you? Let alone Soap? And you fuckin’ let him?” he pried, allowing his tone and the likely apologetic answers in your mind to lecture you for him. “Bloody hell, _____, you’re testing me.”

“I said I was sorry, alright? It won’t happen again.”

He scoffs, turning away and back to his stuff on the table. He wouldn’t let up. “Bet it fuckin’ will.”

His words replayed in your mind. ‘Another man’? As opposed to who, himself? And his demeanor the entire night, practically screaming at you to focus. You relaxed in your stance, your next words coming off a little too straightforward.

“You’re jealous.”

“What?” he snapped, trekking towards you in an instant. For a man who appeared as unbothered as himself, he tended to pace quite a bit when he was angry. He halted once you were faced with his chest, dark squinted eyes set on your devilish ones.

“You don’t want ‘another man’s’ hands on me, you just said.” You pried, and pried back, trying to get a reaction. “That’s why you’re doing all this?”

He stayed silent. You took a risk and snaked your hands to the sides of his waist, tugging at the fabric and looking up at him.

“It’s called jealousy, Sir.”

“M’not jealous…trying t’teach you a goddamn lesson.” He lied; he was all sorts of jealous, and possessive with you, but he’d never admit it to you or himself. He stared down at you, dumbified by your actions.

“So you don’t like me?”

“I don’t appreciate it when you act like anyone knows you better than me.”

“Well, you know me best,” your hands trailed up his chest, to the base of his neck, where the fabric of his balaclava ended. “Wouldn’t’ve brought me to your room otherwise.” His skin was on fire under yours, and his mind abandoned all sense of reasoning once you called him out. “…But I barely know you.”

“You’re really goin’ to make me do this?”

“If it’s what you want.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, giving it some time. His choice was obvious—not even close to needing any deliberation—but he relished in the sight of you biting down on your lip, heels rolling back and legs flexing in anticipation.

“Oughta be the death of me, Kid… Take it off.”

He shocked you with his sudden leniency, while his voice did remain the same amount of gruffness and authority.

You tilted your head, “Really?”

“If it’ll help you sleep at night. Don’t make me regret it.”

With a smile, you slipped your fingers under the fabric and dragged it up his neck. Gently pulling it over his jaw, unveiling his dark stubble and pinkish lips. His eyes stayed on yours as you scanned every detail on the lower section of his face. The end reached his nose and you folded the fabric over the bridge of it when he suddenly grasped your wrist with his gloved hand and muttered a breathy ‘stop’. He didn’t give you much time to think before he was leaning down, pulling you in with his other palm on the nape of your neck. He kissed you deeply, and you moaned on his tongue out of stupefaction. You couldn’t say exactly how long you two stood like that, drunk on the released tension and few sips of alcohol from earlier. You pulled away, and your eyes met.

“Thought you were going to let me take it all the way off, Sir.”

“Always been a greedy girl,” he dragged, before drawing you into another kiss, much hungrier than the previous. He began to walk you back towards the bed, and you trusted his path and blindly went with it. You giggled, stumbling over your feet and, consequently, words.

“Can’t help it. Wanna see all of you,” you smiled.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and he pushed both hands lightly on your shoulders to get you to sit down. He got on one knee in front of you, and you swooned over the view.

“Go on.”

His words were simple, but you grinned dumbly at them. You reached your fingers out and slipped them under the fabric of his balaclava once again to pull it all the way off, discarding it to the mattress beside you. You’ve seen him without it a few times throughout the years, but his strikingly good looks always took you aback. Short hair that matched his beard in color, and the bump on the bridge of his nose. Dark circles under his eyes he usually had covered with the black greasepaint of Ghost’s look, a half-inch, horizontal scar right in the middle of his eyebrow that complimented the one on the opposite cheek. You’d never gotten to examine his face this close-up, so you couldn’t help but stare. You pulled him back up for one more kiss before he was back to his knees.

He untied your boots for you, throwing them to the side before he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your cargoes and harshly pulled them off from under you. You gasped at the cold air hitting your thighs, mostly in pleasure from his uncaringness for the formalities, and roughness with your plush body. You could even consider it desperation, manhandling you like you were not but a feather in his grasp, still, more valuable than any prized possession a man could own. He soaked in every inch of your skin he uncovered before you were only left in your panties, black, and laced as if you wore them for him, and the long sleeve, wooly shirt that matched his, and he absolutely reveled in the sight of you.

He really shouldn’t be doing this; you’re still young, and his responsibility, and he’s your superior - it’s wrong, written out in every language. Even a blind dog could see it. But he needed it. He needed you, so bad, he couldn’t even recognize himself in his thoughts. And you were just so fucking pretty, and witty and smart, a perfect soldier. He’d end up dead if he were to ignore it any longer.

He rolled up his sleeves before pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, simultaneously lifting your legs to hook over his shoulders. Your stomach was lit aflame, sweet butterflies and lively, strident sparks on burned wicks fighting for dominance. The eye contact this man held, you swore you would be a giggling puddle on the ground if it weren’t for your profession; still, it showed through in your blinding smile, painfully obvious, and it struck him with something he could only describe as a longing infatuation, so incredibly uncharacteristic of him it almost made him sick.

His beard against the bare skin of your thighs already had you squirming under his hold, and his bourbon-tainted breath only made it worse when he spoke.

“Such a pretty, little cunt of yours, Love.” He looked you in the eyes, “Are you gon’to let me taste it?” he hummed, and you leaned back on your elbows. His dirty words sounded native on his tongue, in that gruff, Manchester accent of his, the same one that had you dizzy when he was barking commands over the comms device in your ear.

You couldn’t have been more attracted to him than you were at that moment. You always admired his maturity, the experience he had over you, so you could only learn from the best. His strength and confidence in the field had you head over heels, and seeing it carried over to the bedroom, his prioritization and utter devotion to you, was a sight for the history books. While he saw his age as a flaw, you knew he’d be the only one to treat you right, and you wanted nothing more than for it to be mutual.

“Please, Sir.”

“Please, what?”

“Just- eat me out, please,” you whined. “Taste me.”

His lips pulled tight and curved at one corner. “Atta girl.”

He left messy kisses all up and down your inner thighs that encased his head, some leaving behind marks that would be there the next morning, as a reminder. His heavy palms, cold against your natural warmth and with bruised knuckles, massaged at the plush fat of your hips and below, and he finally landed his lips on your soaked-through panties.

You gasped at the first contact of his mouth with your clothed cunt, followed by the sweet moans and swears spilling from your swollen lips and slack jaw from the feeling of his rough tongue and the heat of his mouth painfully close to your center. The bump of his nose relentlessly teased your clit, and after one-too-many pleas from your breath, he wasted no time in slipping your panties down your legs and to the floor next to him, and shoving his tongue where you needed him the most. You watched on with dazed eyes, utterly drunk on the sight, while his couldn’t decide on what to focus on, your pretty sex-face or the messy cunt in front of him, wanting both engraved in his mind forever.

You tasted better than what would be described as heaven, and he could be like this for hours if he wasn’t so badly off, further straining his jeans with every noise you made, every second his eyes were on you. He had to take care of you first, warm you up for his taking, because he actually cared.

His tongue worked at your core like any task given to him; effective and efficient, and with the same rigorous aptitude he carried through the most important parts of life. You came apart under his mouth and grasp, the air filled with a mix of your pointless begging and sweet praises as to how well he made you feel, along with his occasional groans and hums from your taste and attempted grinding in search of more. He fed you everything you needed, but you couldn’t help but want more. More of him, his touch, the feel of being his.

As if he could read you, he granted your wish by bringing a hand to your cunt, and he slid two of his fingers in you without warning, maximizing your pleasure and overwhelming your every sense. Unable to hold yourself up anymore, you fully leaned back on the mattress, hands coming up to your chest to grope yourself through and under the fabric of your shirt. A heavy, tattooed arm on your lower belly weighed you down as you fought to arch your back, to find more within his mouth, cum faster, anything, as his two fingers slid in and out of your tight cunt, matching the pace of his tongue.

“You think any’ve those mutts could do this to you?” he mumbled, about the soldiers back at the bar, vibrations of his voice having you feeling more depraved than ever.

“No. Never,” you panted. “Only you, Sir. It’s only you- shit…I’m your girl.”

Your hand flew to the back of his head, the other finding his on your belly. He laced his fingers with yours, squeezing tight as those beautiful, soft moans spilled from your lips, uncontrollable and needy.

“That’s right, Love…you’re mine, and I’ll be yours here soon enough…just cum on my fingers for me, yeah? Can you do that, Sweetheart?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, nodding an “mhm” as you rolled your head back against the mattress, attempting to find solace with the pressure in your head growing stronger by the minute. With labored breathing speeding up, the thick rope in your lower belly finally tore, and you came hard on his fingers like he asked you to, pleasure intensified by the heavy weight of his hand on your gut. Your nails clawed at the nape of his neck, the pain combined with the warmth of your cunt pulling guttural moans from his throat as he helped you through your high. You whined when his tongue left you, a smug look on his face you couldn’t even see, and again when he pulled his fingers from your cunt, humming in satisfaction.

“Look at that, Love.” He stood from his position on the ground, eyes scanning over your body, height towering over your form. “Fuckin brilliant. You want t’taste yourself?”

You sat up and leaned back on your palms with straight elbows, a wave of dizziness hitting you despite your leniency as you moved, and you nodded, with big eyes and a fucked-out expression from just his fingers and tongue alone.

He brought his soaked hand to your face and shoved the digits between your lips. You opened graciously for him, and he pressed the pads of his fingers down against your tongue, your lips tightening around him. You moaned around him at the tangy taste of your messy arousal, and the overbearing space just his fingers took up in your mouth.

“You like it?” he asked, almost mocking you. He pulled them out of your mouth once your tongue had sufficiently cleaned them, and a short-lived string of your drool followed.

You stood from the edge of the bed, a stupidly-bright smile on your lips. “Mhm. And I like you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Your fists locked onto the front of his sweater, leaning into his frame and spinning him one-eighty.

“How much?”

“Can I show you?”

You pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed, and he more than complied.

“You may.”

You gave him a sweet grin and climbed onto his lap, thighs encasing his much larger ones as best you could. His palms immediately found your waist, and he hummed. You littered his face and jaw with kisses as you reached for the bottom of his sweater, pulling it up and over his head and discarding it to the floor, leaving him shirtless and you speechless. Broad shoulders and frame built of muscle naturally obtained through his line of work, scars ranging from all sizes and causes scattered across his torso. Abs still prominent even when slightly slouched and not flexing, and the squishy pectorals you knew you’d be falling asleep on tonight, wrapped in the blanket of his big arms.

You engulfed each other in another kiss—deep, sensual, and downright desperate—as your hands trailed down his neck and chest, finding the buckle of his belt and pulling the leather apart. The sounds of metal clashing together rang heavily in your ears, and his breathing was jagged. You eagerly undid his jeans and finally pulled his boxers down far enough to pull out his hard cock, shamelessly gawking at the size. His desperation showed through his sighs and strengthened grip on your waist as you wrapped your smaller fingers around his thickness, his brows knitting together and eyes prying shut at the limited touch. You swiped your thumb over the wet, swollen tip of him, and he just about lost it right there, grumbling a quiet swear and tensing his shoulders.

A distraction, or his downfall, he curled his fingers under the hem of your sweater. He asked with his eyes, and you answered by raising your arms and letting him take it off, his cock falling against his stomach. You sat perched on his lap, in nothing but your bra, and for once, taller than him. His lips connected with the flat area of your chest above your breasts as you held the back of his head, and he looked up through his eyebrows. He didn’t have to ask for you to reach behind yourself and undo your bra, and it fell and you pulled it to the side, allowing it to join the shirts on the floor. His mouth was immediately on your sensitive bud and after a moment, the other, and you felt the phantom of cool liquid pour down your back once the cold air of the room made contact with where his hot mouth was. You held him close, something of a motherly instinct washing over you for this behemoth of a man, dominating killer and all suddenly gone. You had Simon Riley, rather than the Ghost you were familiar with.

You took his cock in your hand and raised your hips, sinking onto him, letting him feel you in full, pulling a long and loud moan from each of you. You adjusted to his size for a moment, catching your breath, and he latched his lips onto your neck when you started to move, marking you as his. The stretch burned wonderfully; you had never had anyone even close to his size, and your belly fluttered fiercely because you knew he could tell.

You rode him sweetly, like you were the one taking care of him this time - the insatiable feeling of being on top of a man of his making, the same man you’ve seen snap bones and necks like they were twigs, ruthlessly torture an unfortunate accomplice with no complaint, and end the lives of helpless soldiers of the opposition with no remorse. Nothing could beat looking down at his agape lips and furrowed brows, twisted in the pleasure that only you were giving him; you relished in the explicitly nurturing power, and you’d do it til the day you dropped, if he would allow you.

He consumed every inch of you with his eyes and hands what his lips couldn’t reach, enthralled by your entire being, on him, with him, after knowing you for so long. He wondered if you’ve wanted this for as long as he did, and for a moment, he had completely forgotten about his responsibilities, his soul focused entirely on you, and your needs only. Those needs of yours, being to fulfill his, and just finally be his.

You took his right wrist in your hands, dragging it up your waist and chest, and brought it to your neck. He rested his calloused fingers on your skin, loosely wrapped just under your jaw, and you urged him to be harsher, to squeeze. A craving look in your eyes, virtually screaming at him, ‘go on, punish me.’

punish me for misbehaving at the bar, disrespecting your wishes even if they were unfair and selfish. punish me for not seeing it earlier, for thinking anyone else could have me in any way. show me whose girl I am, and will always be.

He would never turn you down, nor would he deny that he wanted it just as much, despite the gut feeling of guilt clawing at him through skin and muscle. He tightened his grip, feeling the throaty vibrations of your moans amongst the pads of his fingers, and you smiled with the small victory over him.

“Fuckin Christ, Sweetheart. You enjoyin’ this?” he taunted, panted, almost, and you saw right through his words; he enjoyed it, too, supported by his flexing muscles, labored breathing, and willingness to comply with the dynamic in the first place. You nodded feverishly, whimpering under his weakening gaze.

The sight had him crumbling; his hand dwarfing your neck, rough skin and veins and all, having yours appear to be the silkiest, most fragile object one could lay their hands on. While he wouldn’t, he could, so easily squeeze tighter, strip you completely of your breath and blood flow, crush you, and the idea had him lightheaded, hungrier, and you squirming around him. Needy, and desperate to redeem yourself.

He wanted to gain his control back, be the strong mentor you always knew him to be, the one to never give a second thought to his actions, think too long or get attached, compromised. But by God, did it feel good to let you take him, take care of him, and the needs he tried so hard to suppress. Deep whimpers faltered in his throat, unruly in their attempted and, only partially failed, escape.

“This is what you wanted, right, Sir?” you nearly pouted, small hands doing their best in grasping onto and clawing at the thick arm that led to your throat. You felt your thighs becoming weaker, shaking as you tried your best to keep going, make him proud. “Make sure I’m yours for good? Fuck some sense into me I needed so bad? ‘Cause it’s working…I’ll be yours for however long you’ll have me, Sir,” you devoted, eyes big and innocent.

“Fuckin hell, Darling,” was all he could muster up, stuttering slightly as your cunt took him so well, squeezing vigorously in addition to your already there tightness.

With his hand at the base of your throat, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, continuing to aid you in riding his heavy cock, back and forth with the lazy raising of your hips a mere inch or two from his lap. He brought you down and his lips engulfed your swollen ones, tongue bullying yours as the hand on your neck kept you in place to his liking. Rougher, meaner than before. Ravenous, desirous and aching, and you fed into his craving like the good girl you were, wanting nothing more but to please him.

He pulled away to rest his forehead on your shoulder, eyes glued shut and hot breaths fanning your skin as he could no longer control the groans emitting from deep in his throat. You were so good, your small body on top of him, riding him, and he knew he wouldn’t be lasting much longer.

He twisted his body, and yours with his, held tight to his chest, and he laid you down on the bed, pushing you further up and situating himself above you; like you were not but a featherweight toy, made to be molded into any position of his liking. He hungrily slid his cock back in your cunt with a groan, you a moaning mess, and he buried his head in the crook of your neck, hot breath having you struggling and failing to keep still. Your hands found his back, nails digging into the skin encapsulating pure muscle, moans amplified with the new angle at which he was rutting into you. His hand had abandoned your throat to grope at your breast, momentarily pinching the painfully sore bud between his rough fingertips.

Your moans became more unraveled by the second, blindly nearing your second high of the night as he continued to hit the deepest point in your womb, the friction of the stretch of his cock and pelvis against your cunt driving you up the wall in ways you never had experienced before. The tightening of your cunt around him, combined with the dragging of your nails down and between the blades of his shoulders, had him seeing galaxies, with you at the center of each of them. He twitched inside you, leaving you drunk on him, and him only.

“Cum inside me, please, Baby- whatever you do, don’t stop. Please, wanna feel you,” you whined, and he raised his head slightly to look you in the eyes, hips slowing.

‘Baby,’ you had called him, unintentional but undoubtedly sounding right in your voice, and it sealed the case of your dynamic, future and present. He was so used to Sir, Lieutenant, Ghost…he’d forgotten what it was like to be addressed as an actual person - a lover, with whatever names you would assign him. And to let him cum inside you? He would’ve never imagined it, actually being able to claim you as his own, or allowing himself to do something so risky. Funny, considering his job.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, just trust me, Baby- fuck, m’so close!”

“Fuck- call me that again, Love,” he unwinded, damn-near begged. He resumed his pace, wanting nothing more than to please you, gut feeling dizzier than ever.

say it again, please, say it again. i’m yours, i’m your baby- christ, how the fuck are you doing this to me?

You smiled at the request; the older man, stronger than the meanest bull on riding day, wants to be babied by his junior. Simon Riley — possessive and deadly, was actually a man who wanted nothing more but to be held, be had, by the willing girl he knew so well.

You would’ve started much earlier if you knew.

“Of course, Baby, making me feel so good,” you said through shaky moans, and he groaned against your shoulder, movements becoming sloppier. “Gonna make me,” you choked, “…cum on your cock, Sir…and I want you to cum with me, please? Give me everything you have, Baby- fuck!, you’re so good for me.”

Your hands moved to cradle his head as you spoke, his groans uncontrolled against your soft skin, almost whimpering, and your whines erratic as he hastily rutted into you with shambolic thrusts, refusing to cease. The zipper of his jeans grinding against your inner thighs drew to you pain, but you couldn’t be bothered whatsoever, so consumed with him, and reaching both of your highs, and nothing more - you’d be lying if you said a part of you wasn't enjoying the pain, and wanted more, as long as he was at the other end to deliver. He mumbled incoherently in your ear, back muscles flexing and his cock twitching inside you every time you squeezed around him, until the coil in your stomach finally snapped, washing over and you came quickly on his cock with a pornographic moan. His arms and pace weakened, the tightness of your overworked cunt and voice sending him spiraling into his own high of the night, and he spilled his warm cum deep in your pussy, there to stay. Nails clawing down the sides of his torso only making it all the more pleasurable, shown through the choked moan directly against your ear, having your entire body shivering under him. It all hit you without a moment to think, leaving you both winded, catching your breath, actually smiling, as he could barely hold himself up on his forearms above you.

He kissed from behind your ear and down to your collarbone, soothing each of the red, swollen marks he peppered your skin with. You giggled lightly when his lips grazed the most sensitive parts between your shoulder and jaw, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. He swore if a laugh, or face, could save lives, prevent bloodshed, it’d be yours.

“Can we stay like this for a bit?” you asked, almost in a whisper for the close proximity.

He muttered back, “I’d crush you if I let my arms up.”

“Wouldn’t be such a bad way to go,” you joked. His heart swelled, uncomfortably, and somewhat painfully.

He adjusted to his knees and pulled his cock from your cunt, the loss of his size making you whine into the sex-filled air, and he groaned lightly. The sight of his hot cum spilling to your thighs already had him hard again, and he fought his desires for another round with the sense that you both needed to rest. After a moment, he shoved his cock back in his boxers and zipped his jeans, standing from the bed.

You, too, sat up, bringing your legs together as you leaned on your elbows, shivering with his cum seeping out and staining your thighs. “Will you at least lay with me?”

Oddly, your words struck him like a dagger; something he hadn’t prepared himself for, both the concept and the impact of it.

“Need t’check on the boys at the bar.” He reached for his sweater on the floor, and you frowned. “Y’know what happened last time I left them to make it home on their own.”

You smiled as you recounted the memory; the drive to the police station and back, the relentless teasing and cleaning duties that followed as they clung to their foreheads in hopes of relieving the nasty hangover they endured.

“They’re grown men, Sir. I’m sure they can handle crossing the street and finding their rooms on a few pints,” you quipped.

He spun his sweater in his hands, and you could tell that, deep down, he didn’t want to leave in the first place.

“...I suppose you’re right,” he admitted, ditching the sweater once more.

You smiled giddily as you watched him return to the bed, around the side you were closest to. “I am about a lot of things.”

He got on the bed, slotting himself on his knees in front of yours. His hands on your knees, pushing them apart, just a bit. “Don’t get cocky, little girl.”

“I learned from the -mph- best-! Fuck, Simon!” Your sentence is strangled by your giggles when his fingers are suddenly between your upper thighs, unapologetically teasing your sensitive nerves as he collected his cum on the tips of his middle and ring fingers.

He brought them up as he taunted, “Is that right?” and he shoved his two fingers in your mouth without warning, watching your body jolt and eyes light up in shock. He quite enjoyed the view of you taking in his fingers, a little too much. “Where’s all that bite gone now, Darling?”

You savored the taste of him, paying no heed to his jeering, and instead your doe eyes returned a bashful, surprised look as you moaned audaciously around his thick fingers.

He pulled them from your lips with a pop, smirking at the expression on your face. he’s so pretty when he’s happy.

“You’re an asshole,” you laughed, failing to keep yourself in a serious, scornful manner.

“Is that any way to talk to your superior?” he jokingly ridiculed, and you rolled your eyes. An assertive hand on your jaw pulled you in for a gentle kiss, plump and pinkened lips meeting his.

“Is it protocol to fuck your Sergeant whenever you’re feeling a bit jealous?”

“Only when she doesn’t listen.”

He moved to be next to you, and you naturally gravitated to half-laying on him, head on his shoulder and a palm flat on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. Softly, as to not break you, or himself, despite you holding him so tightly, trying to be as close to him as you possibly could without actually cracking open his ribs and crawling inside.

“Maybe I should do it more often, then.”

He scoffed. “You’re annoying, y’know that?”

“Yeah, well. You’d hate me if I wasn’t. You like the challenge.”

“That’s true.”

You’d settle for listening to his breathing, and him the same for you, attempting to not think about what was to come next, and instead actually be in the moment, and what just was. An impossible feat, of course, but it wouldn’t change what had happened. And neither of you would want to, ever.

He needs you to help him. Fix, him.

He nods once more, and you give him a sweet smile. Your hands meet the rim of his helmet and you pull it up, worn fabric coming with it, your actions so tender and serene he thinks he may just fall to pieces right before you. He wonders if he was just imagining your smile becoming brighter once his face was fully uncovered—he, of course, wasn’t—and he closes his eyes, the warm air around him feeling as cold as an icebox as it makes contact with his hot head. Having gone multiple days straight wearing it, he rolls his neck, thankful to finally be free from the extra few pounds of weight.

You lean down to place the helmet on the floor next to your feet, out of his sight, and mind, like he would ever want to take his eyes off of you in the first place. Rising to standing up straight, still barely taller than his mountainous stature, you bring your hands back up to his neck, needing to feel him with you, and have him feel secure. You pull him into a soft kiss, and his lips are cold and shaky against yours. You hadn’t felt him like this for a while, and you missed it, missed him, dearly. A hand falls to tug at his shirt, rubbing the fabric between the tips of your fingers, and you’re leaning more into his space. “This, too?” you mutter into his mouth.

“Yes, please,” he manages to breathe, and your belly ignites with butterflies, regardless of how lucid his response was.

Your fingers maneuver to the bottom hem of his t-shirt and he lifts his arms; he knows he must look like a tall child right now, but he’s simply too exhausted to pay mind to it. You lift the soft material from his body, pale and seemingly flexing with the wave of coolness that hits his skin, apparent by the goosebumps that wash over his muscular form. The shirt joins his helmet on the floor and you allow your hands to scale his body, working up his forearms and then his biceps and chest before landing on his face. Your thumbs smooth over the apples of his cheeks as the rest of your palms encase his heavy head by the jaw and above. He’s still sat hunched over, though it’s hard to appear smaller when your shoulders are twice the size of the average man’s and built of nothing but pure strength.

“You’re beautiful, König,” you remind him, and he damn-near whines at the words alone. You pull away for only a second to take off your shirt, and his drunken eyes are transfixed on your body, and the way your breasts sit so prettily in your bra. He could never get used to any part of you, each time he sees and hears you feeling like a first again. “Every part of you, and I’ll never let you forget it.” You undo your pants and allow them to gently slide down your legs, revealing your panties that match your bra in lacing, and inch by inch of your skin until you’re fully available to his starved eyes. You step out of the fabric, closer to him, between his knees. “Go ahead and lay on your back for me, baby.”

He reluctantly follows your kind order, fearing he may succumb to his drowsiness the second his head hits the mattress, but he doesn’t, and instead feels a bit more conscious than before, the uncomfortable straining in his pants spreading far past ignorable. Needy, he’s becoming, fighting the urge to buck his hips forward into nothing, chasing some, any sort of friction, and losing poorly.

You want to make him feel better. That’s all you want to do.

He moves further up the bed until his legs are fully on the bed, and you simultaneously climb up onto his lap, and then his waist, leaning down to seize his lips in a sweet kiss. You pepper his face in kisses, across his cheekbone and down behind his ear, teasing him, knowing how ticklish he is in that particular spot, and you giggle against his skin as he jumps slightly beneath you. Down his neck and across his shoulder, your soft kisses don’t end. Your lips creep further down his sculpted chest and he tenses up when you graze over his hard nipple; bless him, he’s so sensitive to your touch, releasing a muffled moan at the contact. You trail down his body, and he can’t even think, or process how badly he needs you. You’re eventually between his thighs, lips dragging down the line of dark hair that disappears beneath his jeans. He’s losing more of himself by the second, gut feeling like it’ll burst any moment now with the amount of butterflies swarming around in it. Like his chest is going to cave in with the weight of love you give him, and he can't handle it.

You actually kiss the ever growing bulge in his pants, smiling up at him, and his brain short-circuits. Your palms massage at his thighs, mouth already salivating as you barely graze past the area that needs the most attention. Another buck of his hips, a particularly whiny hum from his throat, and your fingers are at his zipper, taking your time in undoing the confinement. You tap his thigh twice and he uses his last bit of strength to lift himself a bit, and you manage to pull his jeans and boxers off from under him.

He’s leaning back on his elbows to watch you take his hard cock in your hand, outright awing at the size you could never seem to familiarize yourself with, and you begin moving your hand up and down his length. His body jolts when you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip and lazily smear his pre as far as it will go, an unconcealed groan from the back of his throat shattering the air around you. He fails to keep his body at bay as he chases more friction, and you coax him to relax through countless shushes and coos of praise, which ultimately only make it all the harder for him to last. Slowly, almost excruciatingly, you’re moving. His breathing picks up, still shaky and shallow and showing heavily in his chest. You look up at him with big eyes.

He knows your next move when you adjust to better have your face at his crotch, arms resting on each of his big thighs, and you lick your lips, smiling when you notice his parted ones. How utterly fucked-out he looks, having done nothing, yet. You open your mouth and take the head of his cock between your wetted lips, encapsulating it in your hot mouth as it takes up all the space you could offer. He lays back with a desperate, almost animalistic groan shamelessly pouring from his lips. Your tongue tortures him, in the best way possible, as you suck on the tip of his cock like a lollipop that’s far too big for your mouth, your hand continuing to pay heed to what you couldn’t with your tongue. You know he’s getting close with the way his groaning turned to pathetic whimpers in the matter of seconds, his back arching slightly off the bed in an attempt to keep himself from bucking his hips too hard into you, head turning to the side and back as his eyes can’t decide on staying open or not.

He can’t form words, only deprived hums and whines. He can only grip onto the bedsheets under him, and he can only let you do what you want because you’re the only one who can make him feel this way. The only one who can pull these sorts of noises from him, take control of him so easily. Only, ever, you.

You watch his abs flex and back arch, the sweetest of whimpers spilling from his throat and refusing to die out as your tongue pushes him over the edge. Sucking the head of his cock so beautifully, and he can’t even watch, eyes screwed shut and occasionally hiding one half of his face in the sheets he laid on. Your tongue presses up against the slit of his cock and he bucks his hips up once again in response, entirely out of his control. A moan from deep in your throat coats his cock and the entire length of his spine, and his breathing borderlines heaving.

He spills his cum in your mouth with a suffocated moan, strings of whispers of unintelligible German and swears, and you hum with him, hand continuing to stroke him through his high. You smile widely at the hot, tangy liquid that soaks your gums, and you pull away, watching the string of saliva that connects your bottom lip to his cock break. You swallow his thick cum, and he’s now leaning up a bit to see you, your eyes looking up at his own that can’t seem to pull away from the dribble of cum that’s slipped from your lip and trickles down your chin.

He groans—pathetic to him but music to your ears—when you crawl back up to straddle his waist. He’s still hard, painfully, and you know why. His head falls back against the mattress, utterly dazed and heavy, and your hands are back trailing his body. They find purchase cupping his cheeks and chiseled jaw. “How was that, honey? You feelin alright?”

He nods almost frantically. “M-more,” he chokes through his panting.

A smile creeps its way onto your lips and you conceal it the best you can. You lean down and turn your head to better understand him. “What was that, baby?”

“I need more, please,” he whines, fully given up on keeping his composure. “I need to be inside you, please, meine Liebe…i-it’s been so long, and I miss you. So much,” he breathes, weary and unadulterated.

You’re dumbfounded by his words, tickling every nerve in your body just as his heavy palms do, running up your bare thighs and squeezing slightly, as much as his tired body will allow. You lean forward and capture his lips with yours once again. Your body heat partially relieves him from the shivers that fight to reach every inch of his naked body. Sweet and salty, remnants of his cum that still coats your mouth fighting with the lip gloss that stains your lips.

He’s more dominant, hungrier than before, as he searches for more of you in your mouth. His kisses falter to the corner of your mouth, wet and sloppy and a reflection of his exhaustion, how hard he worked to be with you. A hand moves to the back of your neck to keep you still and stable with how much he was pressing his face against yours, and he reaches your cheek. You bury your head in his shoulder due to the stimulation he brings unto you; merely his lips inching closer to your most sensitive area. He turns his head a bit to whisper in your ear–entirely unraveled and desperate–a straightforward, single line of begging, “…Please fuck me.”

It’s your final undoing. You sigh a shaky breath before returning a dumbified and delicate, “I can fuck you.”

He finally relaxes with a faint smile and you sit up, his hand falling to your hip. You refuse to make him wait any longer, laying under you so sweetly, asking for it so nicely. He closes his eyes as you scoot back on his lap and take his cock in your hand, watching as his jaw clenches with a groan. You move your palm and fingers up and down his cock as you lift your hips, slide your panties to the side and move over him. You moan unabashedly when you shove the head of his cock in your soaked pussy, inadvertently teasing the both of you with how you strive to get used to his size again. His whimpers are already drowning out your own, becoming more impatient and needy as you slowly sink down onto him.

He’s instantly drunk when he bottoms out inside you, if he wasn’t enough from when he first finished in your mouth, and he can barely make a noise with how tight you are around him. He’s fighting not to cum so early, and you’re not helping with the way you’re squeezing around him. He’s seeing stars, and you haven’t even started moving yet.

The stretch of his cock stings so pleasantly, and you sit there for a moment, in the moment, with him. No discomfort; only bliss. He’s just so pretty, lying under you. Toned chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he takes, muscles flexing in his neck and shoulders and arms and all. A body that reminds you of ceramic brought to life, dating back to ancient times you were somehow lucky enough to come into possession of. His cheeks are pink and his hair is disheveled, and he’s unable to keep still for the life of him; just how you like him to be.

He swallows thickly, and without the bounce of his Adam’s apple there to remind you of his state you would have forgotten how badly he needs his release. Wholly entranced in his being.

You raise your hips about half way off his cock, and slide back down again with a whine of your own. His whimpers are stronger, and you know he’s going to cum soon with how he’s twitching inside you. How he’s failing to keep his body on the bed, attempting to move his hips up into you just as he was earlier when you took him in your mouth, and you do nothing to stop him.

You want him to cum, so badly. You want to take him for all that he has, make him feel as good as possible before you even think about yourself. You need this, just as much as he does. He always came fast, but when you learned he could do it again and again for you? That’s when you truly had him wrapped around your little finger.

A snicker leaves your curled lips as you do it all again, watching him squirm under you. He wants to hold out for you, please you first. But he knows he won’t be able to, despite his struggles of tensing muscles and series of exasperated pleas and choked ngh’s and mph’s. He knows you don’t want him to hold himself back, either, and the idea soothes his guilt just a bit.

Again, your pussy squeezes around his cock as you lift your hips from his lap, and you sit back down. It’s just too much, and he spills his hot cum deep in your pussy with a strained, loud groan, as his back arches off the mattress beneath him. You hum happily as you feel him fill you to the brim, a great smile on your lips. You’re not going to stop.

“That’s my good boy, Köni.”

He mumbles incoherently at your words, feeling as if his mind would fully crumble at any moment. You begin riding his still-hard cock and he groans, having not enough time to recover from his orgasm. His cum in you makes the act all the more pleasurable, partially conciliating the ache of the stretch that his big cock brings you. You set a slow pace, agonizingly, as he catches his breath.

He’s putty under your grasp. He can’t think or speak, and you revel at the sight of his pleasure, wanting it engraved in your mind for the rest of time. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each drop of your hips, and he could just about die right this instant.

His hands reach for and knead at your hips, trailing up the sides of your waist as you continue to rock back and forth on his cock. They find your chest and he cups your breasts in his palms, massaging at the flesh through your lace bra; Christ, his hands are huge, and you feel so safe whenever he has them on you, anywhere. Strong, sculpted and veiny, just like the rest of him, earned through the hard work of which he credited each success to the simple existence of yourself. He’d be lost without you, taking care of him, and he’d be deserted without the motivation to make it back to you so he can return the favor in full.

The muscles of your thighs burn greatly as they straddle the sides of his waist, and you couldn’t care less. Your orgasm is building, just as his third one is, and you’re desperate to chase them both. His pelvis works against your clit with every grind of your hips, and you gasp when he suddenly raises his hips for a quick moment, turning into an unconcealed moan straight from your throat as he goes on to babble under you. Your leisurely pace remains intact despite your overwhelming need for more friction.

“Come on, honey, just a little bit more,” you coo, sweet and breathy. “Doin so good for me, you know that?”

He eagerly nods his head against the mattress as the side of his face is pressed against the sheets, the stimulation from both your body and your sweet voice being too much for him to handle. His stomach feels tight, just as yours does, and he can feel himself spiraling into yet another high. He’s moaning with every breath he takes, absolutely unraveling beneath you.

“I’m gonna, mph, scheiße…I’m gonna-,” he pants, fully lost from himself. “...Schätzchen, please, I-I can’t-”

“Shh, baby,” you attempt to calm him, barely able to hold it together yourself as your belly tenses and your thighs stiffen a bit. “Just cum one more time for me, yeah? That’s all I need from you.”

He’s nodding his head again, and straining his neck to do it, for you. He’s breathing fast and shallow, and with just a few more sways of your hips, he’s cumming in your pussy for the second time with a tired groan, more powerful than either of the previous two. His noises spur you on, fast thankyouthankyou’s straight from his heart as you ride him through his high. The coil in your belly finally snaps, and you finish on his cock with a dauntless moan. Your thighs are shaking when you finally come to a stop, hands finding his to squeeze tightly. You’re fighting not to lean forward and just collapse onto him, even though you know he loves you as his personal weighted blanket.

His spent cock and cum still stuffed in your pussy, you feel so full you could almost be sick; an ailment you wouldn’t mind being stuck with. Some of his seed escapes from your cunt, seeping onto his pelvis, and you shiver when the warm liquid grazes your clit. You lean down to kiss him once more. Lovingly, and passionately, easing back from sex and into comfort. You’re tired, and you can’t begin to imagine how exhausted he must be. You pull away with a hum, satisfied with your work and admiring his fucked-out features.

You start to turn to slide off his lap so you can find something to clean him up with, when his heavy palms land on your legs to keep you on top of him. You halt your movements instantly, and give him a curious look. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Nothing is the matter,” he chuckles, only making you more confused. He reaches for your hands that are at his abdominals and he holds them in his bigger ones, bringing them to his face. He places kisses to each of your knuckles, gentle and warm, and you smile wildly at the gesture. “Can I ask you for one more thing, meine Liebe?”

“Of course, baby,” you say, even though you have no clue what more this man could need other than sleep. You squeeze his hands, “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer you, and instead drops your hands to wrap his own behind your knees. He pulls you forward and onto his stomach, humming when the significantly cooler air around you first makes contact with his used cock, and you as well when you’re struck with the absence of his size. You furrow your brows. “Köni, what are you doing?” you laugh, puzzled and almost nervous.

“I need to return the favor, don’t I?” he quips, sleepiness still apparent in his voice but partially masked with cockiness. He maneuvers his arms under your thighs and pulls you up to sit on his chest, and while you attempt to keep your weight off of him, he simply won’t allow it.

“What you need…is to rest,” you argue, though your actions entirely contradict what you claim. You allow him to adjust your body to his liking, as if you’re weightless and perfectly malleable.

“I cannot care about that when you’re here.” Despite your playful protests, his big arms wrapped around your thighs keep you secured to his chest. “Need to taste you,” he nearly whines, “Will you let me, Schatz?”

You’re reluctant, and your cheeks flare up. You really think he should rest, and you feel guilty for wanting more. But Goddamnit, he’s just so enticing when he begs.

“…Baby.”

“Please?”

Fuck. How could you say no to him?

You hold his eyes prisoner in your gaze for a few seconds, “thinking” before you nod dumbly, and he smiles. He turns his head to plaster lazy kisses all up the inside of your thigh, and then the other, and you’re already struggling to keep still. His soft lips that stay hidden for the majority of his life, on your body, dangerously close to where you needed them, him, the most. He knows he’s teasing you, and he’ll continue to act oblivious to it as long as he can get away with it.

You take his face in your hands, swiping over his eyebrow with your thumb, admiring his beauty and being. Just for existing, being as good as he is all around, and his every feature that came along to work so wonderfully together. How you managed to find each other, a miracle, and you’d never wish a single detail about it to be different, ever.

He soon has you hovering above his mouth, pulling your soaked panties to the side with two fingers and bringing you down with his other hand. His drowsy eyes stay on yours when he sticks his tongue out, hot and rough, and wastes no time in leaving a dragged out stripe along your cunt that had you moaning weakly and shakily. You jolt to try to escape the sudden stimulation, intrusion in your most reactive bits, and his heavy arms around your legs are quick to pull you back down, full weight and all. His eyes are sweet, purely innocent, like he’s not about to ravage you until you’re a shaking mess above him.

He needs this so bad, more than anyone will ever understand. He groans unashamedly as he tastes you for the first time in too long, savoring the flavor of your slick mixed with his cum that spreads so graciously across his palate. He sets a rhythm, pitifully hungry yet still tranquil as can be as he takes his time working through you. Hums and whines spilling from high in his throat, same as you as you watch from above.

His hand finds yours and your fingers interlock to rest on your thigh. He hits a particularly sensitive spot, neglected with his absence, and you squeeze his hand, head thrown backwards to look up at the ceiling. You’re squeezing his hand harder by the second, and it tells him everything he needs to know, how close you’re getting and what you need more and less of. He’s willing to go to any lengths to get you to cum in his mouth, use him to get off, God, please just do it, please.

Your mind is mush and you can’t think to do anything but let him have you, take care of you despite him being the one who should be taken care of because he just deserves it so much.

You’re soon cumming on his tongue as he holds you down onto him so lovingly, having you ride his face through your high. You’re so stimulated as all the breath from your lungs is ripped from your chest, core flexing and the muscles in your thighs hotter than the sloppy, open-mouth kisses he smothered your clit with. Your shoulders are slumped and then straight, and slumped again, and your eyes refuse to stay open with how heavy your head feels.

He moans as more of his cum is eased from your cunt with your own orgasm, licking it up clean like it’s his duty to do so. You taste of all things heaven, and he missed it so fucking bad while he was away, as did you. He’s drunk, and he can’t hold himself back from more and more consumption.

You try to pull away, you really do, but he’s far stronger and manages to keep you stuck to him. The change of pressure when you’re brought back down from when you somehow inch away is intense, sending a shock through your body that tells you, you must stay, no matter how hard it is. The overwhelming sensitivity quickly turns to your source of even more pleasure as his hot tongue works at your pussy, and you already feel the coil in your lower belly stretching to an unimaginable length and tension inside you once more.

He can’t stop. You just taste too good, and he’s full-on whimpering beneath you because helping you get you off is just as good as when you had his cock in your mouth, if not better. He wants to serve you until he drops, though he can’t help but feel like he’s only serving himself with the way he unconditionally wrecks and devours every bit of you with his lips and tongue and getting this much pleasure from it. He wants to die between your legs, and die a happy man he would.

Your grasp on his hand tightens as your third and final orgasm of the night strikes you without much warning, moans broken and muscles aching. You fight to hold yourself up even as you’re fully sat on his face, with his own arms to hold you still. Your legs are trembling around his head and shoulders, and he knows he did you justice, the idea enough to make his skull cave in on itself. Your mind is fully foggy as he guides you down to a calmer state, hands soothing over your thighs and calves.

You want nothing more than to curl up to his side and mess with his hair until you fall asleep, leave the mess for the next day you’ll be spending all with him, not a single other soul. You’re quick to move to sit back on his chest and you’re lucky he gives in, otherwise he’d have you like that above him for another hour. Your breathing is finally beginning to revert back to a somewhat normal rate, and you look down at him with a smile. His eyes are heavily-lidded and deep, and he’s got a great grin on his lips that is surrounded and garnished with the residual slick of yours and his ecstasy.

“God, I love you so much,” you pour out, and tears would be prickling at the corners of your eyes if you weren’t still so starstricken from sex.

He crumbles under your gaze and words, and he would blush if his cheeks weren’t already painted a bright pinkish shade. “I love you.”

You scoot down his body so that you’re laying on him, your head resting on his chest just underneath his chin. He wraps his big arms around your smaller body and embraces you in a hug, majorly one-sided as he squeezes you so unintentionally tight you can barely get your arms to his sides. You giggle against his chest, burying your face into the very man who’s pulling this reaction from you with his inadvertent tickling and teasing.

“You’re everything to me,” he says. He kisses the top of your head, and you finally manage to get your arms around him the best you can. “I don’t know what I would be without you, and I hope to never find out.”