𝐑𝐢𝐫𝐢 ✰

✮ Logan making you squirt for the first time !

you were sprawled across logan’s bed, legs kicked up against the headboard, scrolling through your phone while he sat at his desk, half-heartedly pretending to study. 

the conversation had drifted. like it always did with logan—from stupid shit your ex did to sex, and somehow landed on the one thing you’d never admitted to anyone.

“wait, wait, wait.” he spun around in his chair, textbook forgotten. 

“you’re telling me you’ve never-”

“squirted? no.” you rolled your eyes, not looking up from your phone. “it’s fake, logan. porn shit. girls fake it for views.”

he was quiet for exactly two seconds. then his chair rolled against the floor.

“the fuck y’mean it’s fake?”

you finally glanced up. he was standing now, arms crossed, jaw tight like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline in one sentence.

“i mean…” you said slowly, “that i’ve come before. orgasms are real. but squirting? that whole gushing thing? no chance. my ex tried once, ended up practically elbow-deep, and nothing happened. so i’m pretty sure it’s a myth.”

john’s eye twitched. like proper twitched when you insult a man’s beliefs. 

he walked over to the bed, grabbed your ankles, and yanked you flat before you could protest. your phone clattered onto the sheets.

“logan!” you squeak out in surprise, laughing softly. 

 “you’re telling me..” he said, voice low, “that some useless fuck tried to make you squirt, failed, and now you think it’s not real?”

“that’s...yeah, basically.”

he ran a hand through his hair, let out a breath, and then his gaze dropped to your hips like he was solving a fucking equation. “that’s offensive.”

“are you serious?” you snort, laughing at the look on his face.

“yeah! you’ve been walking around thinking your body can’t do something it absolutely can!” he climbed onto the bed, knees bracketing your hips, hands planted on either side of your head. 

“and that i’m gonna have to be the one to prove you wrong.”

you should’ve laughed. should’ve shoved him off and called him an idiot.

instead, your thighs pressed together. “log-”

“shut up.” but he said it softly, thumb brushing your jaw. “you trust me?”

you nodded before you could think.

his mouth found yours, deep and soft, like he was tasting you for the first time. his tongue slid against yours, and his hand traveled down, down, past your stomach, fingers curling under the waistband of your shorts.

“these need to go.” he murmured against your lips.

you lifted your hips, let him peel them off along with your panties. the cool air hit you, and you shivered, suddenly hyperaware of how wet you already were.

logan looked down. let out a low whistle.

“fuck. you’re soaked. just from talkin’ about it?”

heat crawled up your neck. “shut up.”

he grinned, not fading even as he settled between your legs, broad shoulders forcing them apart. his thumb found your clit without even looking – calloused, rough, rubbing lazy circles that made your back arch.

“’m gonna show you exactly what your body can do,” he said, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “and you’re gonna feel so good you forget every single idiot who couldn’t get it right.”

“logan – i’m telling you, it’s not gonna-”

he shoved two fingers inside you without warning. no build-up. no teasing. just the sudden stretch, the curl of his knuckles against your walls. you gasped, back arching.

"feel fake?" he pumped once, twice, watching your face. "feel good?"

"..yeah."

he shoved two fingers inside you.

the words died in your throat. your walls clenched around him, slick and hot, and he curled his fingers just right, pressing up against that spongy spot that made your vision blur.

“that feel fake to you?” he pumped slowly, watching your face. “feel good?”

“..yeah” followed by a breathy sound.

“good.” he added a third finger, stretching you open. the stretch burned in the best way, and you gasped, grabbing his hair on instinct. “i got you. just breathe.”

he kept a steady rhythm – in, out, curl. his palm slapped against your clit with every stroke, wet sounds filling the room. your legs tried to close, but he pinned your thighs over his shoulders, holding you open.

“thaaat’s it. you’re so fucking tight, baby. taking my fingers so well.” he murmured softly, eyes fixated on the way your hole was moving around his fingers.

he pulled his fingers out, and before you could complain at the loss, he lowered his head. his tongue dragged through your folds, flat and wet, then his mouth closed over your clit. he sucked hard, fingers still inside you, curling against that spongy wall.

then he pulled back, dragged his tongue down, and spat directly onto your clit. you cried out, fingers twisting in his hair. he looked up at you then, chin glistening, smirk sharp. 

"that got your attention."

his fingers resumed – fucking you fast now, three of them, while his mouth worked your clit in rough, sucking strokes. the pressure built like a dam about to break. your whole body trembled, legs shaking, hands fisting the sheets.

"i can't – i can't-"

"you can." his voice vibrated against your skin. "you're gonna squirt all over my hand, and i'm gonna watch you fall apart. c’mon."

he curled his fingers hard, hit that spot dead-on, and sucked your clit into his mouth at the same time.

your orgasm hit like a freight train. it gushed out of you – hot, uncontrollable, soaking his hand, your thighs, the sheets beneath. it kept coming, pulse after pulse, while you screamed into the crook of your arm. your whole body convulsed, vision white, ears ringing.

john didn't stop. he groaned against you, drinking it down, fingers still pumping you through it. when you finally collapsed, limp and trembling, he pulled back.

his palm was glistening. his chin and shirt were wet. he brought his fingers to his mouth, licked them clean, and grinned.

"still think it's fake?"

you couldn't even answer. just stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, thighs sticky and sore.

he leaned up finally, kissed your forehead, and whispered,

"good girl. told ya it's real."

© ririsaltar

taglist: @sweetstephie @wiishies @aria1108 @remuslupinwifee @raevyng @coastalcowgirlie @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave @skankhvnt42 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @harrrrystylesslut @raf3cam3r0n @ghoulmetery @sexychickenmagnet

YESSIR KINKY SHIT W DEAN IS IN QUE DONT WORRY 🤭🤭🤭

✮ Teasing Dean at a party = getting pounded in a bathroom !

you’ve been at this alllllllll night. 

touching him, leaning too close for no reason, mouthing off just for the hell off. dean, rich fuck boy and now the most frustrated man at this party because of you.

dean’s jaw stayed tight. his eyes tracked you across the room like a predator sizing up prey – except you kept turning the tables, slipping out of reach, leaving him standing there with his drink going warm and his knuckles white around the plastic.

the fourth time you passed him, you let your hand brush his belt buckle, just barely. and you looked up, all innocence, and said:

“oops." followed with that innocent grin of yours.

something snapped in him.

he grabbed your wrist, not hard but firm, and pulled you into the narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms. the party thumped on behind you, but the corner was dimmer, the air thicker. he crowded you against the wall, one palm flat beside your head, the other still holding your wrist like he was keeping you from floating away.

“you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” his voice had dropped, roughened. the accent bled through stronger when he was pissed—or turned on. hard to tell which.

you licked your lips. “i think i’m hilarious.”

his laugh was short, breathless. “yeah? you think you can keep running that mouth all night?”

“i can keep running it wherever you want, di laurentis.”

that did it for his poor, half-dead patience.

he didn’t waste words. just hauled you into the bathroom, kicked the door shut, and locked it. the party noise went muffled, replaced by your heartbeat and the hum of the extractor fan. the tile was cold through your top as he pushed you back against the sink counter. his hands found your hips, gripped hard, and he pulled you against him so you could feel exactly what your teasing had done.

“see what you did?” he ground his hips forward. his cock pressed thick and hard through his jeans.

“this is your fault.”

you rolled your hips back, meeting him with a cheeky grin. “make me pay for it, then.”

he didn’t need a second invitation.

clothes flew off, fast. jeans chucked down, panties shoved aside, his cock springing free, the tip already slick. he didn’t bother building you up with fingers or tongue.

he just bent you over the sink, yanked your hips back, and pushed in without a warning.

you gasped, voice hitting a pitch that shocked you. he was big. stretching you wide, sinking deep in one smooth, merciless thrust. 

that bold, teasing front you’d worn all night? 

shredded. 

instantly. your mouth fell open, your hands scrambling to hold onto the sink for support

“oh–fuck–dean-”

he pulled out halfway and drove back in, the slap of skin obscenely loud in the small room that it forced a flush on your cheeks. 

“what was that?” he hadn’t even broken a sweat while his rhythm was already punishing. fast. deep. each impact punching a helpless noise out of you. 

“you had so much shit to say out there. go on. mouth off.”

you couldn’t.

your thoughts had scattered like startled birds. all that remained was the stretch, the burn, the fullness of him splitting you open. your voice came out in fragments, broken off on every inhale.

“dean–please–please-“

“please what?” he drove deeper, hitting a spot that made your knees buckle. “use your words, princess. you were so good at them before.” he taunted, hands gripping your hips tighter.

you tried. and failed. all you had were moans—pitched and climbing higher with every stroke.

his breath was hot against your ear as he leaned over your back. “that’s it. that’s what i wanted to hear. you all broken on my cock.”

you moaned, frantic, babbling something that might have been yes and more and please all tangled together into one syllable. your walls were clenching around him, desperate and greedy. you were so wet you could hear it, the slick sounds mixing with his grunts and your wrecked breathing.

he pulled out again, this time all the way, and you whined – a desperate, embarrassing sound. you needed him back inside. needed him to finish what he started.

“shh.” dean turned you around, lifted you onto the counter, spread your legs wide. his cock was glistening with you, angry red, veins straining. he lined himself up, pressed just inside the entrance, and held there. “you want it?”

“yeah.”

“you gonna be good?”

“yes, yes, yes-”

he pushed in again, and your head fell back against the mirror with a thud. the angle was deeper like this, hitting places that made your vision go white at the edges. your mouth stayed open, sounds spilling out unbidden, a litany of his name and swear words and half-formed pleas.

he watched you come apart with dark satisfaction. his thumb traced your lower lip, catching the whimper as it escaped.

“you talk too much,” he murmured. and then he shoved two fingers into your mouth.

not gentle. not teasing. a command.

your eyes went wide, but your jaw went slack, letting him in. your tongue curled around his knuckles, tasting salt and skin and the faint beer from his hands grabbing his beer bottle so tight it squeaked. he fucked your mouth with his fingers in time with his hips.

you couldn’t speak. only moan around him, wet and muffled, drool starting to slip down your chin.

“thaaat’s better.” he groaned, watching his fingers sink in and out of your lips.

“look at you. so pretty with something in your mouth. and your little cunt’s so tight, clamping down like it’s tryna milk me dry.”

you wanted to say something clever. but all that came was a desperate sound, your thighs trembling, your eyes watering.

he kept his fingers lodged deep, pressing down on your tongue, while he hammered into you from below. the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, coiling low in your belly, ready to snap. you tried to warn him, tried to say you were close, but with his fingers in your mouth it came out as garbled sounds.

a smirk crawled onto his face, blonde hair falling over his eyes. 

“yeah, you gonna come? do it. come on my dick. make a mess.”

you came before he even finished the sentence.

your whole body clenched, your cunt squeezing him in rhythmic pulses, your back arching off the mirror. the scream came out as a gurgled cry around his fingers, tears spilling down your cheeks.

dean swore, low and guttural, and kept thrusting, chasing his own finish through the aftershocks of yours. he pulled his fingers out of your mouth just in time to let you gasp, and then he was coming, buried deep, hot pulses filling you, his forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

then he pulled back, just enough to look at you – ruined, drool-smeared, teary, cock-drunk and glossy-eyed.

“still think you’re funny?”

you tried to speak. all that came out was a hoarse whisper, throat sore from the shape of his fingers.

“..fuck off.”

he laughed, low and warm, and kissed your forehead.

“let’s get you cleaned up.”

© ririsaltar

taglist: @raevyng @coastalcowgirlie @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave @skankhvnt42 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @harrrrystylesslut @raf3cam3r0n @ghoulmetery @sexychickenmagnet @sweetstephie @wiishies @aria1108 @remuslupinwifee @loverloganlogan @justkeepingitpeachy @baeeyarr

✮ Dean Di Laurentis p!links !

dean eating you out

dean breeding you when you're half-asleep

dean pounding into you, ft ass slaps

makeup sex w dean

dean fucking your brains out in the backseat of his car

dean using you as a fleshlight

giving dean a blowjob before riding him in his car

riding him after he's been teasing you all day long

dean loooooooves teasing you before fucking you

aftermath of rage-baiting him

© ririsaltar

taglist: @raevyng @coastalcowgirlie @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave @skankhvnt42 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @harrrrystylesslut @raf3cam3r0n @ghoulmetery @sexychickenmagnet @sweetstephie @wiishies @aria1108 @remuslupinwifee @justkeepingitpeachy @baeeyarr

✮ Teasing Dean at a party = getting pounded in a bathroom !

you’ve been at this alllllllll night. 

touching him, leaning too close for no reason, mouthing off just for the hell off. dean, rich fuck boy and now the most frustrated man at this party because of you.

dean’s jaw stayed tight. his eyes tracked you across the room like a predator sizing up prey – except you kept turning the tables, slipping out of reach, leaving him standing there with his drink going warm and his knuckles white around the plastic.

the fourth time you passed him, you let your hand brush his belt buckle, just barely. and you looked up, all innocence, and said:

“oops." followed with that innocent grin of yours.

something snapped in him.

he grabbed your wrist, not hard but firm, and pulled you into the narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms. the party thumped on behind you, but the corner was dimmer, the air thicker. he crowded you against the wall, one palm flat beside your head, the other still holding your wrist like he was keeping you from floating away.

“you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” his voice had dropped, roughened. the accent bled through stronger when he was pissed—or turned on. hard to tell which.

you licked your lips. “i think i’m hilarious.”

his laugh was short, breathless. “yeah? you think you can keep running that mouth all night?”

“i can keep running it wherever you want, di laurentis.”

that did it for his poor, half-dead patience.

he didn’t waste words. just hauled you into the bathroom, kicked the door shut, and locked it. the party noise went muffled, replaced by your heartbeat and the hum of the extractor fan. the tile was cold through your top as he pushed you back against the sink counter. his hands found your hips, gripped hard, and he pulled you against him so you could feel exactly what your teasing had done.

“see what you did?” he ground his hips forward. his cock pressed thick and hard through his jeans.

“this is your fault.”

you rolled your hips back, meeting him with a cheeky grin. “make me pay for it, then.”

he didn’t need a second invitation.

clothes flew off, fast. jeans chucked down, panties shoved aside, his cock springing free, the tip already slick. he didn’t bother building you up with fingers or tongue.

he just bent you over the sink, yanked your hips back, and pushed in without a warning.

you gasped, voice hitting a pitch that shocked you. he was big. stretching you wide, sinking deep in one smooth, merciless thrust. 

that bold, teasing front you’d worn all night? 

shredded. 

instantly. your mouth fell open, your hands scrambling to hold onto the sink for support

“oh–fuck–dean-”

he pulled out halfway and drove back in, the slap of skin obscenely loud in the small room that it forced a flush on your cheeks. 

“what was that?” he hadn’t even broken a sweat while his rhythm was already punishing. fast. deep. each impact punching a helpless noise out of you. 

“you had so much shit to say out there. go on. mouth off.”

you couldn’t.

your thoughts had scattered like startled birds. all that remained was the stretch, the burn, the fullness of him splitting you open. your voice came out in fragments, broken off on every inhale.

“dean–please–please-“

“please what?” he drove deeper, hitting a spot that made your knees buckle. “use your words, princess. you were so good at them before.” he taunted, hands gripping your hips tighter.

you tried. and failed. all you had were moans—pitched and climbing higher with every stroke.

his breath was hot against your ear as he leaned over your back. “that’s it. that’s what i wanted to hear. you all broken on my cock.”

you moaned, frantic, babbling something that might have been yes and more and please all tangled together into one syllable. your walls were clenching around him, desperate and greedy. you were so wet you could hear it, the slick sounds mixing with his grunts and your wrecked breathing.

he pulled out again, this time all the way, and you whined – a desperate, embarrassing sound. you needed him back inside. needed him to finish what he started.

“shh.” dean turned you around, lifted you onto the counter, spread your legs wide. his cock was glistening with you, angry red, veins straining. he lined himself up, pressed just inside the entrance, and held there. “you want it?”

“yeah.”

“you gonna be good?”

“yes, yes, yes-”

he pushed in again, and your head fell back against the mirror with a thud. the angle was deeper like this, hitting places that made your vision go white at the edges. your mouth stayed open, sounds spilling out unbidden, a litany of his name and swear words and half-formed pleas.

he watched you come apart with dark satisfaction. his thumb traced your lower lip, catching the whimper as it escaped.

“you talk too much,” he murmured. and then he shoved two fingers into your mouth.

not gentle. not teasing. a command.

your eyes went wide, but your jaw went slack, letting him in. your tongue curled around his knuckles, tasting salt and skin and the faint beer from his hands grabbing his beer bottle so tight it squeaked. he fucked your mouth with his fingers in time with his hips.

you couldn’t speak. only moan around him, wet and muffled, drool starting to slip down your chin.

“thaaat’s better.” he groaned, watching his fingers sink in and out of your lips.

“look at you. so pretty with something in your mouth. and your little cunt’s so tight, clamping down like it’s tryna milk me dry.”

you wanted to say something clever. but all that came was a desperate sound, your thighs trembling, your eyes watering.

he kept his fingers lodged deep, pressing down on your tongue, while he hammered into you from below. the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, coiling low in your belly, ready to snap. you tried to warn him, tried to say you were close, but with his fingers in your mouth it came out as garbled sounds.

a smirk crawled onto his face, blonde hair falling over his eyes. 

“yeah, you gonna come? do it. come on my dick. make a mess.”

you came before he even finished the sentence.

your whole body clenched, your cunt squeezing him in rhythmic pulses, your back arching off the mirror. the scream came out as a gurgled cry around his fingers, tears spilling down your cheeks.

dean swore, low and guttural, and kept thrusting, chasing his own finish through the aftershocks of yours. he pulled his fingers out of your mouth just in time to let you gasp, and then he was coming, buried deep, hot pulses filling you, his forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

then he pulled back, just enough to look at you – ruined, drool-smeared, teary, cock-drunk and glossy-eyed.

“still think you’re funny?”

you tried to speak. all that came out was a hoarse whisper, throat sore from the shape of his fingers.

“..fuck off.”

he laughed, low and warm, and kissed your forehead.

“let’s get you cleaned up.”

© ririsaltar

taglist: @raevyng @coastalcowgirlie @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave @skankhvnt42 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @harrrrystylesslut @raf3cam3r0n @ghoulmetery @sexychickenmagnet @sweetstephie @wiishies @aria1108 @remuslupinwifee @loverloganlogan @justkeepingitpeachy @baeeyarr

✮ Teasing Dean at a party = getting pounded in a bathroom !

you’ve been at this alllllllll night. 

touching him, leaning too close for no reason, mouthing off just for the hell off. dean, rich fuck boy and now the most frustrated man at this party because of you.

dean’s jaw stayed tight. his eyes tracked you across the room like a predator sizing up prey – except you kept turning the tables, slipping out of reach, leaving him standing there with his drink going warm and his knuckles white around the plastic.

the fourth time you passed him, you let your hand brush his belt buckle, just barely. and you looked up, all innocence, and said:

“oops." followed with that innocent grin of yours.

something snapped in him.

he grabbed your wrist, not hard but firm, and pulled you into the narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms. the party thumped on behind you, but the corner was dimmer, the air thicker. he crowded you against the wall, one palm flat beside your head, the other still holding your wrist like he was keeping you from floating away.

“you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” his voice had dropped, roughened. the accent bled through stronger when he was pissed—or turned on. hard to tell which.

you licked your lips. “i think i’m hilarious.”

his laugh was short, breathless. “yeah? you think you can keep running that mouth all night?”

“i can keep running it wherever you want, di laurentis.”

that did it for his poor, half-dead patience.

he didn’t waste words. just hauled you into the bathroom, kicked the door shut, and locked it. the party noise went muffled, replaced by your heartbeat and the hum of the extractor fan. the tile was cold through your top as he pushed you back against the sink counter. his hands found your hips, gripped hard, and he pulled you against him so you could feel exactly what your teasing had done.

“see what you did?” he ground his hips forward. his cock pressed thick and hard through his jeans.

“this is your fault.”

you rolled your hips back, meeting him with a cheeky grin. “make me pay for it, then.”

he didn’t need a second invitation.

clothes flew off, fast. jeans chucked down, panties shoved aside, his cock springing free, the tip already slick. he didn’t bother building you up with fingers or tongue.

he just bent you over the sink, yanked your hips back, and pushed in without a warning.

you gasped, voice hitting a pitch that shocked you. he was big. stretching you wide, sinking deep in one smooth, merciless thrust. 

that bold, teasing front you’d worn all night? 

shredded. 

instantly. your mouth fell open, your hands scrambling to hold onto the sink for support

“oh–fuck–dean-”

he pulled out halfway and drove back in, the slap of skin obscenely loud in the small room that it forced a flush on your cheeks. 

“what was that?” he hadn’t even broken a sweat while his rhythm was already punishing. fast. deep. each impact punching a helpless noise out of you. 

“you had so much shit to say out there. go on. mouth off.”

you couldn’t.

your thoughts had scattered like startled birds. all that remained was the stretch, the burn, the fullness of him splitting you open. your voice came out in fragments, broken off on every inhale.

“dean–please–please-“

“please what?” he drove deeper, hitting a spot that made your knees buckle. “use your words, princess. you were so good at them before.” he taunted, hands gripping your hips tighter.

you tried. and failed. all you had were moans—pitched and climbing higher with every stroke.

his breath was hot against your ear as he leaned over your back. “that’s it. that’s what i wanted to hear. you all broken on my cock.”

you moaned, frantic, babbling something that might have been yes and more and please all tangled together into one syllable. your walls were clenching around him, desperate and greedy. you were so wet you could hear it, the slick sounds mixing with his grunts and your wrecked breathing.

he pulled out again, this time all the way, and you whined – a desperate, embarrassing sound. you needed him back inside. needed him to finish what he started.

“shh.” dean turned you around, lifted you onto the counter, spread your legs wide. his cock was glistening with you, angry red, veins straining. he lined himself up, pressed just inside the entrance, and held there. “you want it?”

“yeah.”

“you gonna be good?”

“yes, yes, yes-”

he pushed in again, and your head fell back against the mirror with a thud. the angle was deeper like this, hitting places that made your vision go white at the edges. your mouth stayed open, sounds spilling out unbidden, a litany of his name and swear words and half-formed pleas.

he watched you come apart with dark satisfaction. his thumb traced your lower lip, catching the whimper as it escaped.

“you talk too much,” he murmured. and then he shoved two fingers into your mouth.

not gentle. not teasing. a command.

your eyes went wide, but your jaw went slack, letting him in. your tongue curled around his knuckles, tasting salt and skin and the faint beer from his hands grabbing his beer bottle so tight it squeaked. he fucked your mouth with his fingers in time with his hips.

you couldn’t speak. only moan around him, wet and muffled, drool starting to slip down your chin.

“thaaat’s better.” he groaned, watching his fingers sink in and out of your lips.

“look at you. so pretty with something in your mouth. and your little cunt’s so tight, clamping down like it’s tryna milk me dry.”

you wanted to say something clever. but all that came was a desperate sound, your thighs trembling, your eyes watering.

he kept his fingers lodged deep, pressing down on your tongue, while he hammered into you from below. the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, coiling low in your belly, ready to snap. you tried to warn him, tried to say you were close, but with his fingers in your mouth it came out as garbled sounds.

a smirk crawled onto his face, blonde hair falling over his eyes. 

“yeah, you gonna come? do it. come on my dick. make a mess.”

you came before he even finished the sentence.

your whole body clenched, your cunt squeezing him in rhythmic pulses, your back arching off the mirror. the scream came out as a gurgled cry around his fingers, tears spilling down your cheeks.

dean swore, low and guttural, and kept thrusting, chasing his own finish through the aftershocks of yours. he pulled his fingers out of your mouth just in time to let you gasp, and then he was coming, buried deep, hot pulses filling you, his forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

then he pulled back, just enough to look at you – ruined, drool-smeared, teary, cock-drunk and glossy-eyed.

“still think you’re funny?”

you tried to speak. all that came out was a hoarse whisper, throat sore from the shape of his fingers.

“..fuck off.”

he laughed, low and warm, and kissed your forehead.

“let’s get you cleaned up.”

© ririsaltar

taglist: @raevyng @coastalcowgirlie @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave @skankhvnt42 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @harrrrystylesslut @raf3cam3r0n @ghoulmetery @sexychickenmagnet @sweetstephie @wiishies @aria1108 @remuslupinwifee @loverloganlogan @justkeepingitpeachy @baeeyarr

✮ Teasing Dean at a party = getting pounded in a bathroom !

you’ve been at this alllllllll night. 

touching him, leaning too close for no reason, mouthing off just for the hell off. dean, rich fuck boy and now the most frustrated man at this party because of you.

dean’s jaw stayed tight. his eyes tracked you across the room like a predator sizing up prey – except you kept turning the tables, slipping out of reach, leaving him standing there with his drink going warm and his knuckles white around the plastic.

the fourth time you passed him, you let your hand brush his belt buckle, just barely. and you looked up, all innocence, and said:

“oops." followed with that innocent grin of yours.

something snapped in him.

he grabbed your wrist, not hard but firm, and pulled you into the narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms. the party thumped on behind you, but the corner was dimmer, the air thicker. he crowded you against the wall, one palm flat beside your head, the other still holding your wrist like he was keeping you from floating away.

“you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” his voice had dropped, roughened. the accent bled through stronger when he was pissed—or turned on. hard to tell which.

you licked your lips. “i think i’m hilarious.”

his laugh was short, breathless. “yeah? you think you can keep running that mouth all night?”

“i can keep running it wherever you want, di laurentis.”

that did it for his poor, half-dead patience.

he didn’t waste words. just hauled you into the bathroom, kicked the door shut, and locked it. the party noise went muffled, replaced by your heartbeat and the hum of the extractor fan. the tile was cold through your top as he pushed you back against the sink counter. his hands found your hips, gripped hard, and he pulled you against him so you could feel exactly what your teasing had done.

“see what you did?” he ground his hips forward. his cock pressed thick and hard through his jeans.

“this is your fault.”

you rolled your hips back, meeting him with a cheeky grin. “make me pay for it, then.”

he didn’t need a second invitation.

clothes flew off, fast. jeans chucked down, panties shoved aside, his cock springing free, the tip already slick. he didn’t bother building you up with fingers or tongue.

he just bent you over the sink, yanked your hips back, and pushed in without a warning.

you gasped, voice hitting a pitch that shocked you. he was big. stretching you wide, sinking deep in one smooth, merciless thrust. 

that bold, teasing front you’d worn all night? 

shredded. 

instantly. your mouth fell open, your hands scrambling to hold onto the sink for support

“oh–fuck–dean-”

he pulled out halfway and drove back in, the slap of skin obscenely loud in the small room that it forced a flush on your cheeks. 

“what was that?” he hadn’t even broken a sweat while his rhythm was already punishing. fast. deep. each impact punching a helpless noise out of you. 

“you had so much shit to say out there. go on. mouth off.”

you couldn’t.

your thoughts had scattered like startled birds. all that remained was the stretch, the burn, the fullness of him splitting you open. your voice came out in fragments, broken off on every inhale.

“dean–please–please-“

“please what?” he drove deeper, hitting a spot that made your knees buckle. “use your words, princess. you were so good at them before.” he taunted, hands gripping your hips tighter.

you tried. and failed. all you had were moans—pitched and climbing higher with every stroke.

his breath was hot against your ear as he leaned over your back. “that’s it. that’s what i wanted to hear. you all broken on my cock.”

you moaned, frantic, babbling something that might have been yes and more and please all tangled together into one syllable. your walls were clenching around him, desperate and greedy. you were so wet you could hear it, the slick sounds mixing with his grunts and your wrecked breathing.

he pulled out again, this time all the way, and you whined – a desperate, embarrassing sound. you needed him back inside. needed him to finish what he started.

“shh.” dean turned you around, lifted you onto the counter, spread your legs wide. his cock was glistening with you, angry red, veins straining. he lined himself up, pressed just inside the entrance, and held there. “you want it?”

“yeah.”

“you gonna be good?”

“yes, yes, yes-”

he pushed in again, and your head fell back against the mirror with a thud. the angle was deeper like this, hitting places that made your vision go white at the edges. your mouth stayed open, sounds spilling out unbidden, a litany of his name and swear words and half-formed pleas.

he watched you come apart with dark satisfaction. his thumb traced your lower lip, catching the whimper as it escaped.

“you talk too much,” he murmured. and then he shoved two fingers into your mouth.

not gentle. not teasing. a command.

your eyes went wide, but your jaw went slack, letting him in. your tongue curled around his knuckles, tasting salt and skin and the faint beer from his hands grabbing his beer bottle so tight it squeaked. he fucked your mouth with his fingers in time with his hips.

you couldn’t speak. only moan around him, wet and muffled, drool starting to slip down your chin.

“thaaat’s better.” he groaned, watching his fingers sink in and out of your lips.

“look at you. so pretty with something in your mouth. and your little cunt’s so tight, clamping down like it’s tryna milk me dry.”

you wanted to say something clever. but all that came was a desperate sound, your thighs trembling, your eyes watering.

he kept his fingers lodged deep, pressing down on your tongue, while he hammered into you from below. the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, coiling low in your belly, ready to snap. you tried to warn him, tried to say you were close, but with his fingers in your mouth it came out as garbled sounds.

a smirk crawled onto his face, blonde hair falling over his eyes. 

“yeah, you gonna come? do it. come on my dick. make a mess.”

you came before he even finished the sentence.

your whole body clenched, your cunt squeezing him in rhythmic pulses, your back arching off the mirror. the scream came out as a gurgled cry around his fingers, tears spilling down your cheeks.

dean swore, low and guttural, and kept thrusting, chasing his own finish through the aftershocks of yours. he pulled his fingers out of your mouth just in time to let you gasp, and then he was coming, buried deep, hot pulses filling you, his forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

then he pulled back, just enough to look at you – ruined, drool-smeared, teary, cock-drunk and glossy-eyed.

“still think you’re funny?”

you tried to speak. all that came out was a hoarse whisper, throat sore from the shape of his fingers.

“..fuck off.”

he laughed, low and warm, and kissed your forehead.

“let’s get you cleaned up.”

© ririsaltar

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