Lil'bratty

Unlike the other torments, this one occurred on a predictable schedule. Without a clock, without the sun, it was what you set your watch by. The door would politely click open, rather than bang or squeak. She would thump down the stairs, casually, not in the usual boots but in her worn bunny slippers and shabby pajamas.

Always, a single toy in hand - a metal ring and leather strap, nestled comfortably behind your front teeth, against your palette. Strapped tight but not pinched.

Then, stranger still, you would be led upstairs and allowed to lay on the couch, head in lap. She would sometimes ask you for opinions as she scrolled her watch list, but she seemed to listen at random. More talking to talk, than anything. But they were quiet, nice words, rather than the barking commands or searing laughter.

And then, you'd watch a movie.

Her fingers would rest, lazily, on the ring. Delving occasionally, but not overwhelmingly, to stroke your tongue and teeth. Almost absentmindedly. She had tried to make you retch before, but that was different. Demanding, training, reveling in driving your gag reflex to extinction by exhaustion. That would be a violation of movie night. This was a soft and careful exploration, the thoughtless cuddle of a domesticated animal after a long week.

She watched a range of things, but you never really cared what. The tense grip on your jaw at horror, the soft and rhythmic tongue stroking during the climax of romantic comedies, or the frenetic worrying of your molars at a philosophical piece. It had quickly become strangely pleasant. A moment of reprieve from the nightmare. Distantly, you knew what this was, what she was doing. But you couldn't think about that during movie night. For 90, or sometimes a blessed 120 minutes, you did not have to fear the door slamming open, you did not have to scrabble to anticipate the hot fresh torture she had connived.

After, she always thanked you for a nice night. Led you back downstairs. Placed a single, humorous, chaste kiss on your head. And left you to sleep in darkness. No timed LCD lights, no reduced heat. Pleasant, beautiful, dreamy sleep.

Then he sees you.

Crouched in the corner behind a stack of crates, knees drawn up, eyes wide and shining in th low light. Civilian. Wrong place, worse timing. Which is unfortunate for you. His orders were clear: no witnesses and no loose ends.

Ghost starts toward you with that slow, rolling prowl, boots heavy on the concrete, thighs flexing under blood spattered gear.

He expects you to flinch. To run. To beg.

Except… you don’t.

You don’t even flinch when he stops right in front of you, towering, blood still dripping from his gloved fingers onto the concrete near your shoes. He raises his gun slightly, angled toward your head, ready to end it quick.

That’s when it happens.

Your gaze drops.

Straight down his chest, over the blood spattered vest, and locks onto the thick, heavy print of his cock on the front of his pants. Your lips part. Your breath hitches. And something in your eyes… shifts. Goes dark and heated, pupils blowing wide with want instead of fear.

Ghost freezes.

The gun lowers an inch. He tilts his head, staring down at you like you’re some glitch in reality. He’s covered in other men’s blood, fresh kill still warm on his hands, and you’re looking at his dick like you want it down your throat right here in the slaughterhouse.

It throws him completely. Throws off the soldier part of him that is cold and clinical. His cock twitches hard at the realization, thickening further under your stare, and he knows you see it. You don’t look away. If anything, your thighs press tighter together, cheeks flushing despite the corpses behind him.

A beat of silence stretches.

“Bloody hell,” he rumbles, stepping closer until his boot nudges your leg. One massive hand reaches down, gripping your chin roughly with blood smeared gloves, forcing your head up. “Did’t expect a filthy lil’ thing like you t’cream your knickers watching me work. Got a death wish, have ya? Or’ve you just got a thing for monsters?”

You’re still staring. Still heated. Ghost’s thumb drags across your lower lip, smearing a faint streak of red, considering the dilemma.

Price won’t like it if there’s loose ends…

Then he sees you.

Crouched in the corner behind a stack of crates, knees drawn up, eyes wide and shining in th low light. Civilian. Wrong place, worse timing. Which is unfortunate for you. His orders were clear: no witnesses and no loose ends.

Ghost starts toward you with that slow, rolling prowl, boots heavy on the concrete, thighs flexing under blood spattered gear.

He expects you to flinch. To run. To beg.

Except… you don’t.

You don’t even flinch when he stops right in front of you, towering, blood still dripping from his gloved fingers onto the concrete near your shoes. He raises his gun slightly, angled toward your head, ready to end it quick.

That’s when it happens.

Your gaze drops.

Straight down his chest, over the blood spattered vest, and locks onto the thick, heavy print of his cock on the front of his pants. Your lips part. Your breath hitches. And something in your eyes… shifts. Goes dark and heated, pupils blowing wide with want instead of fear.

Ghost freezes.

The gun lowers an inch. He tilts his head, staring down at you like you’re some glitch in reality. He’s covered in other men’s blood, fresh kill still warm on his hands, and you’re looking at his dick like you want it down your throat right here in the slaughterhouse.

It throws him completely. Throws off the soldier part of him that is cold and clinical. His cock twitches hard at the realization, thickening further under your stare, and he knows you see it. You don’t look away. If anything, your thighs press tighter together, cheeks flushing despite the corpses behind him.

A beat of silence stretches.

“Bloody hell,” he rumbles, stepping closer until his boot nudges your leg. One massive hand reaches down, gripping your chin roughly with blood smeared gloves, forcing your head up. “Did’t expect a filthy lil’ thing like you t’cream your knickers watching me work. Got a death wish, have ya? Or’ve you just got a thing for monsters?”

You’re still staring. Still heated. Ghost’s thumb drags across your lower lip, smearing a faint streak of red, considering the dilemma.

Price won’t like it if there’s loose ends…

Flash warning: fast video, you might have to watch it 4-5 times in order to read everything properly.

All the different ways Toji disciplines you when you’ve pissed him off:

1. Spanking: Bent over his lap, ass up, with his massive hand slapping until your skin is burning red and you’re kicking your legs like a brat.

2. Edging: He’ll finger you, eat you out, or fuck you right to the edge for hours, then pull out or stop the second you’re about to cum.

3. Face-fucking: On your knees with your hands pinned behind your back while he uses your throat. He loves the way your eyes water and how you gag around his thick cock when he hits the back of your throat.

His absolute favorite, though? Making you ride him until your legs completely give out.

Toji leans back against the headboard, cock buried deep inside you, hands lazily resting on your hips without helping. That smug smirk is plastered on his face while you bounce on him. “C’mon baby,” he drawls, “you were running that mouth so much earlier. Keep it movin’. Don’t stop just ‘cause your legs are shaking.”

You whine, hands braced on his broad chest, sweat dripping down your back as you try to keep riding him. “B-but Tojiiii… I’m so fucking tired. My legs hurt…”

He laughs at you, “Aww, princess. Your legs hurt?” one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple hard enough to make you squeak. “Shoulda thought about that before you were eye-fucking Sukuna’s abs like you don’t got me? All I asked for was the truth and you decided to lie to my face.”

You whimper, nails digging into his chest as your legs tremble violently. Every time you sink down, his fat tip kisses the end of your wet cunt. “Toji—please,” you whine, trying to grind instead of bounce, anything to give your burning thighs a break. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t—fuck—I wasn’t staring like that…”

He laughs as both hands grip your hips now, but he still doesn’t help forcing you to do all the work. “Bullshit. You were lookin’. And you lied about it. So now you’re gonna keep bouncing on this dick until I’m satisfied.” He bucks up once, making you cry out. “Keep. It. Movin’.”

Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely lift yourself anymore. You slump forward, pressing your sweaty forehead to his collarbone, hips still weakly circling.

His cock throbs inside you as your rhythm gets sloppy. He shakes his head in disappointment at you, “Tch, faster. Don’t make me do all the work after you pissed me off.”

You sob out a moan and obey, forcing your burning muscles to keep moving. “Please…I can’t—my legs are done, Ji, m’sorry—”

He laughs mockingly as his grip on your hips tightens and he starts thrusting up into you, tits bouncing as your ass slaps his thighs. The shift from you doing all the work to him using you like a toy is dizzying.

You cry out, burying your face in his neck as he fucks you senseless. “This is what you get for lying,” he growls against your ear, “Next time you stare at another man, I won’t be so nice.” He punctuates the threat by slamming you down on his cock and grinding deep.

You glare down at him through teary eyes, “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” you pant, trying to sound tough even while your whining on his cock, “Next time I catch you staring at some random woman’s ass or tits, I swear I’ll—”

He shuts you up by pulling you down closer by the hip, forcing you to take every inch. His voice is sickeningly sweet, dripping with mocking affection as he coos at you. “Uh-uh. None of that, sweetheart. Because unlike you, I don’t stare. I have eyes for you and only you. This dick only gets hard for this pretty pussy right here.”

You try to look away as he thrusts into you harder, wet slick sliding down your thighs onto his. “Y-you look sometimes, I know you do—”

“Nah. You’re imagining things, princess. Eyes only for you.” He picks up the pace, fucking you harder as your tits bounce with every thrust.“Why would I look anywhere else when I’ve got my own needy girl bouncing on me like this, hm?”

You try to argue again but it comes out a moan as your slick drips down his cock. “What was that? Sorry I didn’t catch that, baby,” he continues in that mocking tone, “I could just keep doing this. Make you ride me again right after you cum. And again. And again. Until those pretty legs are shaking so bad you can’t even think about accusing me of shit.”

You’re a mess on top of him, babbling apologies and whimpers as you try not to come so hard. He keeps fucking you through it, and when you finally start to calm down, whimpering and oversensitive, he presses a mocking little kiss to your forehead. “Aw, don’t cry, baby. We’re nowhere near done. You still gotta keep riding this dick and maybe then I’ll consider forgiving you for being such a pretty little liar.”