servicpop

“k-kento…” your voice breaks as a shiver crawls through your spine, your body tensing as he toys with you, opening your hole with dilatory care. your clit thrums with fervor, throbbing in time with the slothful motion of his thumb as your boy cunt glistens, lips parted and weeping gloss that slides down your thigh in thin, shining trails.

“does that feel good, my love?” he breathes, voice rough and low, lips threaded with a smile. he presses gently at your entrance, enough to make your hips jolt and your breath hitch.

“mmm… yeah… kind of—” you gasp, rising to seek his friction, your body trembling beneath his dominance. every sound of praise that falls from his lips settles against your skin in a blanket, the ache of anticipation coiling deep within your stomach.

you needed him inside of you — you didn’t know how, only that you did, badly. every nerve begged for release, the soft taunt of his fingers no longer enough to quiet the hunger burning low in your gut.

and you were so unbearably curious about how it would feel — would it sting, that first, slow push in? would it ache in that sweet, dizzying way that blurs the line between pain and pleasure?

you pictured him deep inside your gut, bottomed to the hilt, his cock filling your ass until you could feel the weight of his balls pressed flush against your cunt lips.

and the heat of him... the stretch of it... the smell of his body... the way it might make your breath choke and your body come completely undone with the shock of being so utterly claimed.

“i’m ready now,” you chirp, voice shaky as you brace your elbows on the couch and lift your hips higher, offering yourself to him where he sits. your front spreads further this way, and nanami swallows hard, the bob of his throat thick with restraint. he straightens his tie, a nervous, deliberate quirk, before a quiet laugh escapes through his nose.

his palms ghost over the curve of your ass with featherlight intention, tracing each cheek as though mapping territory. “i haven’t even worked you open yet, prince,” he chuckles, the endearment abraded by the edge of his desire.

“i knowww…” you whisper, shame colouring the sound, “it just felt so good when my clit rubbed against your knee while you played with my ass…”

“yeah?” he breathes, the word rasped with a half-groan, his control fraying at the edges as he feels his cock jump. he can sense it in the sharp taut of his jaw, the way it tightens as if to hold himself together against the pull of your sugary-sweet honesty.

beneath you, he’s impossibly hard, the heat of him radiating through his slacks, the heavy lump of his cock nudging against your ribs each time you shift. you feel the twitch of him there in urgent and pulsing ripples, and the sound that leaves him is barely human, all gravelly and needy, low like a defeated huff.

he watches the small, involuntary wiggle of your asshole — how it flutters open, then puckers closed again, shy but knowing, like it’s winking up at him. he watches the way you part your thighs, not subtle in the least, too.

nanami drags his index finger down the seam of your boy pussy, grazing your clit before sliding through your drenched folds, while his thumb circles your rim in lazy, wilful strokes. the gold of his watch catches the living room overhead light, glinting each time his wrist flexes, seconds slipping away as fast as his composure was.

he shifts then, guiding you until you’re on your hands and knees — back still curved, face soft against the cushions, and he’s behind you, his breath steady and low.

“feeling okay?” he asks, voice husky with care, each syllable brushed in warmth as he places a pillow underneath your stomach.

it’s impossible not to melt beneath that tenderness of his. his restraint is maddening, that kind of gentle discipline which feels like admiration — a man who touches only when granted permission, who treats your consent like something pure.

and when you give that to him on a silver platter? he takes you completely. a respectable man, they say. but the moment you tell him he can have you, every trace of composure is gone and out the door.

now you’re on all fours in dogyy position.

“i’m going to see how many fingers i can fit,” he murmurs, voice thick with inhibition, soft but edged with ascendency. “does that sound like something my boy wants?”

you nod, too eager, the realisation finally hitting that he’s going to open you up to take him, that this isn’t teasing anymore. the thought makes your stomach twist, heat spiralling that makes you dizzy.

“mhm…” is all you manage, the sound small and tremulous. he strokes your rim, tracing slow circles before pressing the slick edge of his middle finger against you.

when a margin slips in, you jounce, the movement sharp, more from surprise than pain. the sensation is strange, foreign, intimate in a way that makes your pulse skitter. it doesn’t hurt, not yet; it’s a stretch, yes, but one that didn't feel unbearable.

he eases the finger deeper with slow scrutiny, his other hand resting between your shoulder blades to steady you, caressing unconsciously as he focused on opening you up for him. no twisting, no curling, just that straight, deliberate slide, following the natural line of your insides.

every breath he takes mirrors yours, his focus anchored entirely on your comfort, the steadiness of him more arousing than any roughness could ever be. he was treating you with such delicacy, even though his own temperament was wearing thin.

each second draws out longer and longer — his thick, bumpy finger inside you, unmoving, letting your body learn the shape of him, letting you breathe through the unfamiliar ache. and somewhere beneath it all, that quiet, insistent thrill builds; the ache of wanting more, the knowledge that this is only the beginning of what he is about to give you.

it makes your clit throb, and you whine.

nanami stills, his finger buried deep inside you, the sudden pause making the air feel a momentary heaviness between you. you croon, a breathy, broken sound, glancing over your shoulder to meet his gaze — cheeks flushed, lips parted, a sly gleam flickering in your eyes. it’s a look that pleads yes.

his throat works around another quiet swallow, adam’s apple dipping as a faint colour rises beneath his own cheeks. he smiles incredulously then, warmly and small, restrained and almost shy — the kind of smile you wouldn’t usually see wrapped around a man of his age.

“you’re so worked up,” he rasps, voice dipping an octave, threaded with a line of affection. “are you enjoying it that much?”

“is it that obvious?” you manage, your voice soft, teasing, trying to stay composed even as your body betrays you.

he exhales sharply, the sound half a laugh and surrender, and reaches to adjust his tie again, that habitual little tell that always his motives away.

“yes, baby boy,” he sighs, words dragging slow and deliberate. “it is… and also— i can’t seem to hold myself back.”

you let out a quiet, knowing giggle. “this was meant to be a lesson, not a game.”

“it still is,” he answers with that small, devastating smile, his palm smoothing over the curve of your ass, gentle first, then firmer.

and then he brings down a palm against it, the sound of it meeting your skin cracking through the room, not harsh but deep, the echo of it lingering like a heartbeat. the sting blooms and fades into warmth, and you can’t stop the way your boy cunt flutters, dribbling wetness down your thigh. your ass tightens around his finger in reflex, gripping him as though begging not to let go — your body’s own trembling confession.

this was dragging on too long now.

after a moment’s pause, he adds another finger, and then another — until three thick digits stretch you wide, gliding deep with a salacious, wet sound that makes your breath falter. he pushes them apart slowly, deliberate and merciless, forcing your body to yield and open up. your toes curl tight at the sudden pressure, and the cool air slips inside the tender heat of you, a violent shiver racing down your spine before you can catch it.

“y-yeah… that’s good… mmm,” you manage, voice cracking, head dropping between your shoulders as you brace yourself on your forearms against the sofa. your hips move of their own accord, rolling back into his hand.

nanami’s restraint wavers again just as he composed himself priorly; he spreads your ass wider, thumb pressing outward to expose the glistening colour of your rim, and then drives his fingers in again until the thick ridges of his knuckles grind against you. the pressure burns, sweet and filthy, and your legs lift instinctively, trembling. he curls his fingers inside you, dragging them just at the right angle, and the sound that spills from your throat is a hearty moan.

you grind down against the cushion beneath you, the rough fabric catching your clit in small, desperate flicks, the friction unbearable.

“ah-hh, hnnh ngh,” your noises melt into the air, each one more desperate than the last.

“k-ken… ngh-t-to—” his name from your lips spills like honey, thick and syrupy, sticky with want. he hums at the sound, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest — pleased and proud with his work.

“you’re being so good for me,” he drones, voice low and frazzled with heat. “sitting so still, taking it so well. i think…” his fingers twist just a little, enough to make you gasp “you deserve a proper reward now, don’t you think?”

before you can even breathe an answer, he’s got his hands beneath your hips, palms strong and steady, lifting you easily by the soft dip where your thighs meet. he raises your ass to meet his face, his breath ghosting over your skin before his lips find you in a slow, reverent kiss pressed right to your rim — and then he lowers you back down as if nothing happened.

heat floods your face, that shock of realisation burning through you. it’s too intimate, too much — like he’s kissed your mouth, like he’s claimed something far deeper.

he chuckles, low and throaty, clearly amused by your stunned silence. “i should’ve used my tongue to open you up instead.”

“no,” you blurt, too quickly, the word cutting through the thick air.

no — that thought is filthy, too filthy, not in the usual obscene way but in how intimate it feels. why would he want to taste you there? why would he… and yet the image of it won’t leave your head. you tell yourself you’re fine with this, that it’s enough because it truly is. he is taking care of you with such love that it makes your heart, your cunt, and your head hurt.

“you should put your big fat cock in me instead—” the words stumble out before you can stop them, breathless and precipitous.

“yeah?” his accent wraps around the syllable, lazy and teasing, head tilting slightly as he drinks in the sight of you… flushed, fidgeting, wanting, needing, begging.

god.

the silence that follows stretches heavily, until you hear it: the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the drag of leather sliding free from his slacks. the sound alone fills your stomach with more butterflies, your breath catching.

he sets it aside, then rolls his shoulders back a little in a slow motion, before taking hold of you again. his fingers spread your cheeks wide, the stretch making you gasp as the cool air brushes your hole, leaving it open, vulnerable, glistening.

you try to close around nothing, a natural bodily response, but all it does is make you flutter, make that tight ring of muscle wink up at him. his composure slips for a heartbeat; a pulse of desire hits him so sharply it’s almost painful.

the soft rasp of a zip fills the space, drawn precisely as his gaze fixed on you the entire time. his eyes travel down your body, from the tremble of your back to the glossy lips between your thighs, the swollen nub of your clit glistening as it smears the sofa beneath you. the sight disentangles him completely.

when he finally frees himself, you hear it before you see it — the wet sound of his cock sliding against his palm, the faint hitch of breath from his throat. he’s hard already, thick and leaking, pre glistening at the tip of his bulbous crown and dripping down the veined length. his balls hang heavy, tight with the weight of an overdue release.

but he doesn’t rush — he wouldn’t. not with you. this wasn’t about greed or hunger; this is control, patience, and most importantly: teaching. it’s a lesson in restraint as much as it is in pleasure.

he knows the truth, though, that once he pushes even the smallest part of himself inside the gates of heaven, once he feels that impossible heat close around him — all that restraint will burn away. and when it does, it’ll be over for the both of you.

he shifts closer until the heat of him crowds you, his cock nudging against your entrance, the swollen head brushing through the slick folds of your boy pussy, prising you open like a venus fly trap. he grinds there, lazy and teasing, dragging himself against the soft seam between your two holes — that tender stretch of skin quivering with every stroke.

the tip finds it again, grinding, pressing, leaving trails of his salty-sweet pre smeared over your rim until the skin flushes deep crimson. each touch sends a pulse through you, a tremor that makes your thighs shake.

“i’m going to push in now,” he speaks, voice laced with restraint. “tell me if it hurts, okay?”

you nod, breath quivering out in uneven bursts. and before he can move, the words slip from your lips, “thank you for being so gentle with me.”

he pauses, caught completely off guard, gaze falling to your curled form, the way you look back at him through half-lidded eyes. his heart twists at the sincerity in your tone, a rare, quiet fondness rising like warmth behind his chest. a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, one that softens him entirely and reaches his eyes.

“you’re so adorable,” he hums, leaning down until his chest presses to your back, his breath fanning across your neck. he kisses the corner of your eye, light as a sigh, then tilts your chin forward with two fingers. one slips between your lips and you close around them. “now relax… and lean forward for me.”

he rocks his hips, sliding the length of himself through your folds again, catching your swollen clit deliberately this time, dragging up and down until his tip nestles once more at your rim.

and then, a deep, careful push.

the crown slips in first, forcing your hole to stretch around the intrusion, the tight heat resisting before giving way. the sound is wet and perverted, and the breath leaves your lungs all at once. he hisses between his teeth, feeling your tightness grip him, the strain of it almost shattering his composure.

he leans back, palms spreading your ass wider, watching as his cock begins to disappear into you — inch by slow and agonising inch. the sight alone undoes him.

you choke out an ugly sort of noise, the sound of something breaking loose inside you.

“h-hhuhhh—ahhh—”

and he stops, gives you a moment to adjust, breathes against the back of your neck.

“so good for me, pup,” he rasps, voice harsh and trembling with a painful effort. “almost… there. hmm..” sweat beads along his temple, gliding down to his jaw as he loosens his tie with one hand, shoving messy strands of blond hair from his eyes.

another push, and another inch goes inside, and you gasp sharply, “h-hurts…” your voice cracks on the edge of it.

“i know, i know it hurts,” he murmurs, his hand smoothing over your hip. “but you’re doing so, so well for me.”

you nod, frantic, focusing on the rhythm of your breath as your body adjusts, muscles fluttering around him.

nanami is big — you’ve always known this, but now, with him buried halfway inside your ass, the size feels inhuman. it’s too much, too full, like your body’s being remade to the shape of him. the pain burns, bright and sharp, but beneath it, a thread of pleasure begins to unfurl — a low, molten ache that coils deep in your belly, spreading through your chest until you can’t tell one from the other.

it makes your head dizzy.

the saturation dripping from your boy pussy only helps a bit, easing the drag as he presses further into you, his hips rolling with a slow and steady precision. he hadn’t even needed to make you cum first — you were already wet enough, ready enough, taking him deeper and deeper until he’s fully sheathed inside you.

“it… oh— ahhh—” your voice quivers, words lost to the sounds tumbling from your throat as half his cock disappears into the tight heat of your body.

“you’re so… fucking tight,” he groans, the curse torn from his chest like it costs him something. and you rarely hear him cuss like that. the sound of it sends a rush through you, your stomach flipping in dizzy waves.

he’s panting now, every muscle tense, his self-control hanging by a thread. the urge to thrust, to bury himself to the hilt, rushes through him, but he stops, holding himself there, steadily.

and when your hand reaches back, fingers brushing his wrist, he stills completely, head lowering, eyes meeting yours from the ceiling. he looks at you like you’re something to worship.

what a beautiful sight indeed.

he’s fully inside you now, his balls pressed flush against the slick of your boy cunt, his cock buried so deep in your ass that his pelvis rests heavy against your skin. the stretch is overwhelming, a fierce, trembling fullness that steals your breath away, that leaves you shuddering beneath him.

he stays there for a moment, one arm caged around your waist as if he’s afraid to move, afraid to break whatever fragile spell binds you together. he can feel you, hot and clutching around him, that tight velvet grip which makes his pulse race. it feels like you’re swallowing him whole, keeping him safe inside you, cocooning him.

beneath him, you’re shaking, hands clawing at the sofa cushions, searching for anything to anchor yourself to. your fingers twist into the fabric, knuckles white, lungs stuttering for air. getting your ass filled by nanami’s cock like this? is definitely not something for the faint-hearted.

but you’re not weak. you’ve proven that now — that proof written in the sweat he pulled from you, in the way you take him despite the ache, despite the sting.

he begins to move, slow at first, gentle as breath, the careful rhythm of a man who knows the weight of his own strength but doesn’t want to unleash it on you. you hold onto his wrist, fingers curling tight, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his skin.

he presses closer, his chest flattening against your back, his breath ghosting the nape of your neck. he drives you forward into the cushions, the pillow beneath your stomach crushed under the combined weight of both your bodies as he presses you in prone bone. each motion drags him deeper, the blunt head of his cock pushing into that soft resistance before sliding home again.

“you feel so tight and warm inside,” he groans, voice raw, the words barely a whisper against your ear.

if you didn’t have a voice kink before, you had one now — how he strained against you felt heavenly. it turned you on more knowing this was affecting him just as much as it was affecting you.

your reply dissolves into noise, your thoughts splintering as he moves with that perfect, deliberate rhythm, pulling out until only the swollen tip remains inside you, then sinking back in with a slow, devastating thrust.

each stroke hits deeper, smoother, his pelvis slapping faintly against your skin, the slick sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. he flattens you beneath him, pressing you down, folding you into the heat of his body — and in that moment, you are nothing but a pliant little thing below him, and the endless, rhythmic drag of him inside you.

“p-please— k-kento— my c-clit…”

the words tumble out of you, broken and pleading, and he understands instantly. one of his hands slips beneath your body, finding that nub at the apex of your folds. his fingertips circle it in slow, wilful motions, and the effect is immediate — you tighten around him so fiercely that he groans, his pace faltering into something shattering, each thrust a languid grind that pulls a cry from your throat.

oh yeah, he thinks, that’s it — that’s exactly it. your body caught beneath his, pinned and pliant, taking everything he gives without an inch to spare.

“u-up a little…” you gasp, voice high and shaky, and he chuckles low in his throat, the sound rich and fond.

“bossy, aren’t we?” he teases, but still does as he’s told, his thumb sliding higher, pulling back the soft hood of your clit until it’s bare to his touch.

the pressure there is tormenting. the moment he presses down, your body arches, legs lifting from the cushions, toes curling in the air as your first orgasm hits. 

“ahh— hahhh— hhnngh!” your cry melts into the air rawly. he keeps moving through it with measured movements, fucking you gently as you convulse beneath him, as your hole grips and flutters around his cock.

he scrutinises you — every twitch, every shiver, every helpless clench, eyes dark and hungry and greedy. “good… good, that’s it, pup,” he murmurs, the sound deep, a hum that vibrates against your skin with soft dominance.

your body is still shaking, trembling with aftershocks, when his rhythm shifts again — deeper and quicker than before, the smooth glide of his cock turning into short, eager thrusts. he barely pulls out before sinking right back in, each movement firm and purposeful. it isn’t brutal, though; something sweeter and more consuming.

it feels like love fucking — the kind that takes you apart piece by piece, like he’s making love to you, that presses him against you in every possible way. his hips roll, grinding into you, pushing deeper until the head of his cock finds a tight corner inside you and presses against it.

your breath catches, your eyes roll back, and when he finally nudges past that knot, the air bursts from your lungs in a shattered moan, body quaking.

and then he spills inside you — a deep, shuddering release that tears through him and drags another earth shattering orgasm out of you before you can even think. it hits like lightning, sharp and consuming, your vision white-edged as your eyes roll back, the sound leaving your throat something helpless and vulnerable.

his cock throbs as he empties himself, hot ribbons of cum painting your insides, flooding you until you can feel it — thick and molten, seeping deep, then spilling back out to drip between the two of you. the warmth of it runs down your thigh, thick and indecent, mixing with the shine of your own release that left your boy cunt untouched.

nanami leans back slowly, chest heaving, sweat tracing down the lines of his collarbone that dipped under the blouse of his dress shirt. beneath him, you lie half-conscious — body lax, hole still fluttering faintly around him, fucked open and glistening. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, a small, sated smile tugging at his lips, utterly unbothered by the dazed state you’re in.

you’re spent, your hole well used and well fucked, your mind dumb and stupid and full of cock, thoughts nothing but echoes of his name. every inch of you aches, yet there’s a strange, drowsy bliss in the aftermath, in the weight of him still inside you — you hold the remnants of his release like a trophy.