theia.

his blue eyes are wide and watery and he stares up at you like he wants to give you the world. his hands are tight on your hips as you buck, another high-pitched whine falling from between your parted lips as you fall forward, bracketing his head with your arms. your tits swing low above his face as you arch down, dragging your clit against his chest until you’re breathless.

“dunk,” you call to him again, rutting your hips against the curve of his pectoral muscles. it’s soft but firm, splitting the folds of your pussy apart, slick drooling from you as you slide. you’re warm, and dunk groans low in his throat at the sensation of your ichor dripping from you, down the slant of his chest. you pant as you grind yourself down onto him. “feels so good, dunk.”

dunk blinks up at you, his cock twitching against his thigh, tip wet as you rock yourself against him. he kneads the fat at your hip between calloused fingers, and it takes the power of the gods for him not to force you down against him himself.

“you’re so warm,” is all dunk can think to say, eyes darting from your face to your pussy. you slide perfectly against his chest, slick glistening through the tawny hairs that grow from his pale skin. he groans deeply when you grind yourself even deeper, clit pushing along muscle. “an’ she’s so wet… so wet, sweetheart.”

you mewl, a desperate keen as you shift your hips. the sound of your cunt, slick and warm against his chest, is nearly louder than the running river nearby. that makes dunk’s ears burn bright red, a blush high on his cheeks as he takes one hand from your hip and cups one of your tits. you hum, pleased, as he palms the flesh while you ride him.

“needed this so bad,” you tell him, panting as heat winds down your spine, seeping in between your vertebrae. it leaks into your belly when you angle yourself deeper against him. “needed you so bad, dunk.”

his cock is hard now, hanging thick between the mass of his thighs. your words make him groan, cock jerking untouched behind you, as he continues to massage the mounds of your tits with one hand, the other on your hip.

“love your chest,” you continue, lips parted as your thighs begin to ache, a warm pressure pushing at the front of your pelvis. “love how strong you are. love your arms, an’ your legs, and your tummy…”

you sit up a little and dunk drops his hand from your breasts. still grinding yourself against the curve of his pectoral, you angle an arm back to palm at the soft muscle at his navel. dunk chokes on a groan at the fleeting touch, before you’re leaning back over him again and rubbing your puffy clit against the swell of his muscle. you’re practically gliding now, slick wet across his skin and hair.

“love your cock too,” you add as you chase your high. it lingers in front of you as the pressure builds, your legs trembling as your rocking increases. “y’so big, dunk. so big but always so—fuck, s—ah—so g-gentle.”

dunk moans, the hand that had been at your chest wrapping behind you now. he takes his cock, velvet skin burning hot, between his fingers and holds himself firm. he hisses, other hand forcing you tighter against his chest. you let out a breathy, whiny sound as your clit catches something just right, angles against him so perfectly, that you forget about the ache building in your thighs.

“wanna come on you,” you whine, lifting yourself so you can place your hands on the thickly corded muscle of his shoulders as you rut yourself along his chest. the pressure in your pelvis, the heat in the base of your spine, is nearly unbearable and you call for him as you start to tremble. “dunk, wanna come.”

dunk nods, whining with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he watches, eyes shining, as you begin to come apart above him. he manages out a quiet, “please, sweetheart, please,” as you grind a last few circles against him, before the pressure snaps and the heat overwhelms you.

you cry out, arms shaking as you hold yourself up, hips stuttering as your orgasm crests in your nerves. dunk’s hand guides you through it, dragging you along the muscle, his chest heaving as he listens to you come undone above him. he moans, cock jerking in his hand, balls drawing tight as he spills across his knuckles while your rocking slows.

your pussy, slick and warm, buzzes with the friction as you lift your hips. strings of slick connect your folds with the curve of his muscles, and he watches with glossy eyes and pink cheeks as the strings snap. he groans, throaty and broken around a whimper of your name, as his cock gives one last wet twitch before he lets it soften back against his thigh.

“so good, dunk,” you murmur, lifting yourself until you were straddling his head, thighs bracketing all plush and warm. dunk sucks in a deep breath, groaning as you lower your wet cunt to his face. “but… s’just so messy.”

“i’ll help you,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear him as you lower yourself to his mouth, the line of his nose finding the swollen bead of your clit, his tongue splitting your folds as one of your hands shoots down to thread through his hair. he groans when you tug.

your husband only grumbled, rough hands trying to stop you from revealing more skin. still, you were determined, swatting every attempt away with a disgruntled sound, making maekar even more annoyed.

"have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like i'm nothing but a toy to be played with when i'm exhausted from the bloody fucking—"

but you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. all you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. all muscle and sinew and gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.

you almost sighed thinking of it. you loved your husband's cock. it was one of the best things about him.

"you're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "so sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."

maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. it made you warm under your chemise. you loved when your husband was all snappy and indignant.

you leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "you were gone for so long, and i have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "the least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."

aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "you always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipe of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.

as always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. you had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.

"you're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ah—fuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. the sweat, the grime, the dirt—him, musky and manly and oh so palatable. “stop. i reek of filth and—”

“and i love it,” you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press open—mouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. “you smell s’ good, husband, gods. i want to lick you all over.”

it always got like this. the more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.

maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. the touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.

“filthy,” maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. “you’re a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?” he spat, tone brooking on a growl. “always have been,” maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. “getting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,” his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.

“what of it?” you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. “it’s your smell i crave, your taste,—” another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.

maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.

“don’t you fucking dare—”

you did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.

a garbled moan punched out of maekar’s chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, white—knuckled and trembling with restraint. you could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldn’t be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. but you also knew he liked it. craved your attention like poison in his veins. hated that he needed it. snarled and snapped his jaws while being half—hard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.

“look at you,” he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. “licking and sucking like a common whore,—”

but you didn’t let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. it was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.

“how would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?” you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. “have you been indulging without my knowledge?”

each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragon’s nose, waiting for it to bite. and you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.

and he always bit.

“you think i would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?” he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.

as you nosed along his stomach, you couldn’t help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the V—shape of his hips. “i would hope you wouldn’t, dear husband,” you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. “i would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,” another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.

but, gods, the scent. the taste of him.

musky and sweaty and man.

it drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldn’t get enough.

a groan slipped unbidden from maekar’s mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. “don’t need some perfumed, wanton wench when i have my hands full with you,” he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. lavender hues half—lidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.

his words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. “good,” you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.

“woman, you—” but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. the friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten off pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. he looked good enough to eat. and maybe later, you intended to do just that.

the scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. “smell s’ good,” you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. “taste s’ good, husband.”

“gods, fuck—” came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldn’t be happier to succumb to maekar’s guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.

it made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.

“c—can’t believe you’re, shit—” he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. “can’t believe you’re getting off on this, you wanton woman,” maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. “mouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me hump—fuck.”

you could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. a delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.

“mhm,” you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. “not my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,” you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. “i’ve been so lonely,” the words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“always so fuckin’ demanding,” he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. “n—never satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wife—,”

wife. the word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.

his chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.

it made you smile and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. the sound seemed to bring maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.

“lick it,” he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. “can’t let good spend go to waste, wife.”

you only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palette. “yes, yes,” you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.

“fucking filthy woman—,” maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.

you knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husband’s cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.

he meets you at the supermarket closest to his farmhouse. dunk had seen you around before, but never had the wits about him to approach or strike a conversation with you. luckily for him, it seemed you were more perceptive than he was. dunk supposes it wasn't not hard for anyone, especially you, to realize how lingering his looks were, having caught him a handful of times, big, wide baby blues trained on you in wonder and trepidation. his cheeks have been red too, dammit. but dunk wouldn't beat himself up too much for his clumsiness, for it had landed him your phone number! he could've sworn his smile was about to split his face when you pressed a slip of paper with the neat handwriting on it, urging him softly to contact you whenever he wished. your name was also scribbled on it. dunk blushed. you had such a pretty name. it was only fair of him to offer his own in response with the eagerness of a child.

he wonders, absentmindedly, if you have any social media. maybe you will be curious and look up his name? you do know what he looks like, but maybe you would be curious for more? dunk feels silly for thinking so ahead when he only now got your number. but the thought lingers.

maybe a few more pictures of him on his page wouldn't hurt. what if the pretty lady is curious, after all?

turns out, you are not fond of posting yourself on social media much, dunk learns in the following weeks he spends with you. that's alright, he thinks. nothing wrong with not wanting to be seen! he agrees, after all, more or less, but does tell you about the account he has, shy and reluctant to show you the pictures he posted, feeling like a fool under your scrutiny.

his blush only deepens when you start cooing over his pictures, praising how handsome he looks and how much you love them! dunk feels like he could combust right then and there under all the compliments. the way you pinch your fingers and zoom on some of the photos to see his face better or ogle his muscles. he almost passes out when you comment how strong he looks when he works on the farm. even offer to take his pictures for him next time he feels like snapping a few.

it'll be a win-win for both, you say. he gets to look handsome and you get to look at him.

dunk swears his ears are fuming from how flushed he is, but he nods eagerly anyway, secretly loving the concept of you being the one behind the camera, smiling so prettily at him, your eyes shining.

taking pictures becomes one of his favorite things to do.

a couple of weeks later, and dunk is fumbling with his words, expressing his feelings for you in the most ardent, clumsy way. it's sweet and lovely and so, so honest. just like him.

you two are inseparable afterwards. dunk is over the moon to have you visit his farmhouse more often, showing you every corner and crevice and getting you acquainted with the place. he loves seeing you walk around, interacting with the horses and livestock, and asking about every flower and plant you see. dunk is so in love that he feels like he could burst. you are the loveliest thing he has ever seen, and he wishes to one day take pictures of you, too, just like you do of him. but for now, he's more than happy to be on the other side of the camera, smiling at you and feeling like the luckiest man on earth.

slowly, traces of you start appearing in the pictures. it makes dunk's heart soar in his chest when he posts them for the first time. now people can see that there is someone precious helping him take such beautiful photography, even if it is mostly of himself.

more and more of you start bleeding into the photography, and dunk gets a rosy tint in his cheeks every time someone comments under his post, asking who the other person is.

dunk wants to tell everyone about you. he's not hiding you. never. he is so proud of being your lover, thanking every god out there for bringing you into his path.

he is just... a little nervous. maybe you do not want to put yourself out there so much for people to see. maybe you wish things to be more private, and dunk understands and respects that. he is happy with how things are now.

maybe in the future, he would ask if he can have one or two pictures of your pretty face on his page so people can see who owns his heart and soul.

one day, you mention offhandedly that you two barely have any pictures together, and should take more.

dunk's heart almost stops in his chest out of pure joy and delight, agreeing so, so earnestly, hands already fumbling for his phone.

he keeps all of those in a separate folder, which he names with a cute, simple heart. but it's a heart in your favorite color. he thinks it's cute and romantic. you agree.

dunk does not flood his social page with all the pictures at once. he does not want to make it too overwhelming for you, just in case.

but he cannot help himself as he drops one or two here and there every time he feels like updating his page. now people can see how beautiful his lover is! he's so happy.

sometimes, he sneaks pictures of you, candid and sweet. those might be his favourites.

you look every bit of yourself, relaxed and pretty. capturing you at your most authentic makes butterflies swarm in his stomach, threatening to choke him from how much tenderness he feels for you.

it feels like he has pieces of you with him. he does post those, but also makes sure to print them out and tuck them somewhere in his car where he can see them at all times. the lonely drives feel better now because he gets to look up and see the person he loves most.

dunk's neighbour, egg, often jokes that you two should get married soon.

"you look like those old married couples, anyway!" he would say, and every time, dunk would get this faraway look in his eyes for a few moments, as if imagining it. you, as his pretty, beautiful wife, living happily in his farmhouse and sharing your life with him.

the blush on his cheeks is so bright and warm when his eyes flit to you, already imagining waking up to you every morning and getting to kiss you silly as he comes back for dinner after a hard day of tending to the farm.

maybe he starts making cute, makeshift rings from plants or grass he picks up around his property. and maybe dodges your soft looks and inquiries as to why he suddenly picked up this cute hobby.

secretly, dunk loves feeling like he can protect you, even if you can take care of yourself. he's so proud when he sees you stand up for yourself, even though he wants nothing more than to do it for you. he respects your autonomy and encourages you to be independent.

but he loves feeling needed and wanted.

loves to see how much stronger he looks beside you. how taller. how bigger.

it's a small, shameful part of him that he keeps hidden, like a dirty little secret.

when he can clearly see the difference between your physiques in pictures, he gets so flustered, red from the tips of his ears to the valley of his pecs.

asking you to start a live together is so nerve-wracking, he feels like all the blood rushed to his face, and he cannot find the right words to express how happy that'll make him.

dunk loves you so much, and even though he is happy with how things are, he can only wish to have you closer. so much closer. much more often.

it's a greedy, selfish feeling, but he cannot help it. you are everything to him. the first rays of sunshine at dawn and all the glittering stars in the sky at dusk.

you are his forever girl.

#Whenever you greet him by saying “hello handsome” or “my handsome husband” or even “husband” his face flushes with bashful joy. Compliment him once and he’s hard. It’s too easy to get him riled up.

#He never really had given much thought to the size of his cock. It’s big sure, but everything about him is big, so it’s just proportional. But once he saw your hand wrapped around it for the first time he felt dizzy and nearly fainted. How in the hells is she supposed to manage it? He thought, marveling at the comparison to your tiny hand. You wore a bewildered, wide eyed expression as you pulled your hand up the shaft, and the fat head began to leak beads of precum onto your slender hand. “Little lady no, you’re gonna hurt yourself” he batted your hand away, face and ears burning pink with embarrassment. But you stomped like a spoiled child having something taken away from them, so he relented and let you stroke it.

#The only time he is cross with you is when it involves the matter of your safety. For example, you had walked into the forest for your daily exercise and discovered a thicket of bushes, full of perfectly ripe blackberries. You collected them, walking deeper and deeper into the brambles, but you emerged covered in scratches and thorns embedded into your skin. Dunk had scolded you when you returned home. He helped you take off your dress, poking and prodding at the skin to inspect your injuries. “What were you thinking getting into those thorns?” His massive hands running over your limbs, him muttering “leg up for me, darlin’”, a rougher than usual grab to your backside. “Duuuunk” you whined, head lolling forward as you braced yourself forward on the kitchen chair, knees getting a little wobbly. His manhandling of you is driving you a little crazy, and behind you, his cock is growing a tent in his pants. “Don’t want to hear any fussing out of you, darlin’. If you quit your squirmin', I can get these thorns out faster” and he does, but not without another grip on your arse, and pet against your aching center.