MORYA°•

“Break up with him pretty mama.” He’s laying on your sofa with no shirt, both of your clothes strewn around the floor, and the blanket your boyfriend bought you covering his lower body.

“You know I can’t! He’s nice," you stutter trying to come up with something else. "He actually helped me pay for a lot of this stuff.” You looked around at your furnished home. There was no love in there besides the love you and Jackie made. Your boyfriend liked to keep up appearances with no regards for how you felt.

“Baby you act like he’s the only one with money…” Jackie sounded slightly offended, with him you would always have what you wanted and then some.

“It’s not just the money.“ Your voice strained with frustration.

“Then what is it? I know it’s not because I don’t make you happy…or because I don’t make your legs sha-“

You ran your hand over your face “just-just get your clothes on before he comes back!”

“See look! Can’t even deny it baby.”

He gets up and dresses you, something your boyfriend has never done.

“I can do this myself.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to. I like treating you like a princess.”

Your heart raced. Hearing that made you want to leave with Jackie and just the clothes on your back. You’ve always said one day you’ll do that.

Just then you hear the front door knob jiggle.

“Oh shit, Jackie go!" You push him towards the back while he puts his shirt on and zips up his pants.

He opens the door but before he leaves he kisses you, grabbing your waist almost lifting you from the floor. It was one of the most passionate things you ever felt. It was almost like he was saying “think about it.”

“I'll see you tomorrow morning.” He made sure to stand there till the last second of the front door opening before turning and walking away. He didn’t care about the trouble he’d be in, all he cared about was freeing you.

The rest of the night you felt like a shell of yourself. Your boyfriend didn’t talk about anything but himself, and when he did try to reference something in your life he got it wrong.

"We'll just send it to your sister in Maryland, no big deal"

You roll your eyes.

"My sister is in Georgia, I told you that!"

"You know what I mean, anyway..."

You washed your face and stared in the mirror. It was well over a year together with that man and all you had to show for it was a nice house and nice clothes. He gave you no love letters, no nicknames, not even your favorite fast food. Jackie has given all of those things and never complained once. It was that realization that made you come to a final decision. You were gonna leave him.

Just like Jackie said, he was there bright and early.

You opened the door to see his face already lighting up at your presence.

“If it wasn’t a good morning then, it is now”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but bite back a smile. He always said something ‘smooth’

“Jackie, nice to see you man. Sorry for the early meeting but we’d get done quicker.”

Jackie slowly took his eyes from you and smiled

“You know I don’t mind coming here, seeing all these pretty things you got.”

Your boyfriend laughed seemingly oblivious to the double meaning “Let’s go this way.”

They walk down the hall leaving you there with your thoughts.

You finished some tasks around the house before you seen Jackie appear in the kitchen behind you.

“You done for the day?”

“Yeah your lil boyfriend wanted to take lunch.”

“Oh, are you hungry then?”

“Very”

He stood behind you taking the dish out of your hands before laying your palms flat on the counter.

“I usually take my time, but I gotta dine and dash”

He slowly kneels on the ground and rolls your dress up.

“Jackie!”

He licks a strip over your panties “hm?”

He does it again but slower

You already felt your stomach dip

“Just real quick honey”

He lightly sucks on the cotton material before taking them off and putting them in his pocket.

Before you can protest he latches on to your bud sucking gently and makes audible kissing sounds.

Your arms shook as you gripped on the counter stifling your moans. Your boyfriend didn’t leave yet so you had to be careful.

Jackie started to place firmer licks where you needed them most. You ended up grabbing his hair and rocking back and forth on his tongue. This earned a surprised sputter from him before he sped up.

You heard your boyfriend’s steps from down the hall, Jackie heard it too and started to slow down. In a panic you try to keep your pace, Jackie wouldn’t be so cruel to deny you like that, right? He gave your slit one last kiss before he stood up and pulled your dress back down. It was just in time too. Your boyfriend grabbed his coat from the table.

“I’m going out to eat, I’ll be back later. You coming Jackie?”

“Nah, I ate something already, but I’ll follow you out”

Jackie waited after your boyfriend left the room to give you a kiss.

“You’ve gotten to be so mean” You pick the dish back up and start shakily scrubbing.

Jackie chuckled “You left me high and dry too so it’s even” You couldn’t even look over at him as he left.

Later that night you leave your house and go straight to Jackie’s place. You knock on the door wondering if this was the right decision. You don’t even have enough time to turn around before Jackie opens the door.

“Hey mama, everything okay?” He steps aside and takes you in his house.

“yeah I j- I need you. I should’ve left him earlier like you said” You look down awaiting his response.

Jackie tries hard to not look smug but he just can’t help himself.

“We all make mistakes sweetheart, now show me how much you need me.”

You try to strip out of your clothes quickly but he stops you.

“Im not in a rush, take them off slow.”

You obey slowly pulling them off one by one. Once you’re completely undressed he tells you to lay down.

“I want you to show me where you want me, go head and point.”

“Jackie stop playing!”

“I’m not! You know I’m not always the best listener baby...”

You scoff and bring your inner knees up and apart

“There!” You run your finger over your bud and he stops you.

“I said point not touch it, you might be a worse listener than me…” He now stands over you lining himself up to enter.

“I shouldn’t even let you have this” he runs himself over your slit.

“I’m gonna leave him- no more sneaking around I only want you!” You don’t know if your tears were desperation for Jackie or the relief of saying it out loud.

“If that’s the case then-“ he pushes himself in all at once.

“Yes, yes I swear Jackie!” You wrap your legs around him and cling on for dear life.

“You should’ve been left him” he kisses the side of your face.

“I know!”

“It’s not all on you though baby, I liked keeping a secret.” He pulls out all the way and looks at you ruined underneath him.

“Should we send him a picture? I mean I don’t think he’s ever seen you like this…”

“Mhm” you bite your lip as his thumb sweeps over your clit.

Jackie places the polaroid camera so your body would be perfectly in frame.

“Smile princess!”

Only Jackie could get you to do these things, he took two photos before he entered you again. The sounds of your skin colliding was too much for you.

“I can’t hold it Jackie”

He didn’t say anything but you know he heard you because he put his thumb back and circled you firmly.

You let go with a loud cry, all the stress and tears your boyfriend caused you seem to wash away with your juices. When the ringing in your ears stopped you could hear Jackie’s whimpers about treating you so right and how you’re the one for him. In your haze it makes you giggle.

“I’m serious.” Jackie laughs.

“I know.”

He grabs the camera and takes another photo, this time of his cum leaking out of you.

You tease him and push it back in with your finger.

“You’re crazy...” he whispers as he lays beside you

“Goodnight pretty girl”

“Goodnight Jackie”

You’d always found solace in fanfiction. 

There was something so special about all of the stories that you’d read throughout the years about your favorite celebrities or your TV crushes. Your first introduction to fanfiction was Wattpad. Your friends had let you in on the coveted website and suggested it to you. 

The first fanfic that your friend suggested just so happened to be a Mindless Behavior fanfic about Princeton. You were hooked. How had this world–this fandom–been escaping you for the past years? 

Naturally, your relationship with the site continued to progress as you read more stories. You’d stay up till 2 AM just to read a story written by someone who was no doubt the same age as you.

Next, there was fanfiction.net. 

You’d spent countless hours scouring through all of the Vampire Diaries fanfiction that you could get your hands on. You can’t recall the exact moment that you landed on Tumblr, but you knew that it just all clicked together for you.

The ‘x reader’ tag became your home. 

You thoroughly enjoyed reading all of the stories about your crush on Zayn from 1D. With Tumblr, there seemed to be this brand new world of possibilities for you to read. However, there’s something that you’d noticed in your many hours of scrolling through Tumblr. 

There weren’t many ‘x black!reader’s stories for you to indulge in. There was a handful of writers who’d become your solace when you looked to be shipped with a certain character or celebrity, but there weren’t many. You’d long grown tired of clicking on an interesting story only to have the reader be described as having long, flowy blonde or brunette locks that the male character could run his hands through. Similarly, you’d grown tired of reading smut where the reader was clearly described as having pale skin and pink nipples. 

That wasn’t your story. As a black woman, you weren’t able to visualize yourself in these spaces or stories because they weren’t written with women like you in mind. To make matters worse, it seemed like fandoms were intent on erasing black women, who look like you, from the lexicon of the content. 

It was all so draining and so very degrading. 

Growing up, you’d always envisioned yourself as a writer. You loved stories, and reading was your way of escape. On sites like Wattpad and Tumblr, you could be transported to worlds and stories where you were the center of the story.  There’d been many times when you opened up a Word document and started to type a story, only to never finish it.

For you, you compared yourself to other writers and their ability to write a compelling story. When you looked back at your own words on the paper, it felt like child’s play. So, you stopped writing. You subjected yourself to the role of an avid but silent reader who admires her favorite writers. 

That was your role for a few years. 

You’d silently heart the stories, but you were never brave enough to comment. 

There were so many different stories in your head that you wanted to see on the platform. Silently, you wished that your favorite writers would somehow read your mind and bring the story to life without you asking. However, as the saying goes, “a closed mouth doesn’t get fed.”

The turning point for you was Black Panther. 

You were there as the explosion of fanfics arose for Erik Killmonger, T’Challa, and M’Baku. What a time to be alive when all of your favorite writers were putting out work that should’ve been receiving some type of literary award. One night, after an hour of constantly reading about Erik Killmonger putting the reader through the mattress, you made your move.

You wrote and published your first-ever Tumblr fic.

As soon as you pushed the publish button, you immediately closed your laptop like it was an explosive waiting to detonate. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back and check to see what the reviews were.

What if they thought it was trash? What if your grammar was terrible? What if you didn’t capture the essence of the characters? What if no one read it all? For the sake of your mental health, you didn’t go back to check how your story was doing until two days later. 

At the two-day mark, you found yourself logging back into Tumblr. You’d worked up the courage to see if there was any feedback. To your absolute shock and delight, people loved your story.

The hearts and comments overflowed as people asked for more. Thus, stargirlwriteswas born. Through your blog, not only did you give room for yourself to grow and see yourself be represented, but you made space for other black women to feel like they were being seen and heard. In your stories, the black women were always being loved on, worshipped, and cherished. 

You’d grown a following and support system so big that you couldn’t imagine a future where you weren’t writing on Tumblr. 

Honestly, you don’t know what to call what happened. 

Fate. Coincidence. God. 

You honestly have no clue, but this is the story of how you met your celebrity crush and bagged him. It started at the library–naturally. You liked the library. You liked coming to the library to work on your stories and your books. You’d recently been picked up by a publishing company to release your new Southern Gothic thriller. Between writing for your books and working on screenplays, you still found the time to work on writing on Tumblr.

There was no way you were letting your community down. Not after all of the support and love that they’d given you up to this point. In the library, you liked to sit at the back table that was conveniently away from everyone, but still, there was a giant window that allowed you to see outside. 

It was the perfect spot. 

No one had dared to venture into your self-proclaimed territory. Not until today. 

You heard the light footsteps as they approached the back table and saw the man from the corner of your eye. He had a cap on his head, and from his body language, you could tell that he didn’t want to be seen. He was craving privacy just as you were. 

The man looks over at you before clearing his throat, “Hey, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but do you mind if I sit here? It’s just, I kind of want privacy, and this spot just seems like fewer people come here.”

There was a distinct nagging in your head that let you know that you knew his voice from somewhere, yet you brushed it off. Truthfully, you could’ve told the man no, but there was something inside you that begged you not to. 

Plus, the table was huge, so it’d look a little weird if you were hoarding it for yourself. 

“Yeah, of course.” You slide some of your scattered papers down towards yourself as the man takes a seat. After a few seconds, you and the man both begin working simultaneously on your projects. You can see him glancing over at you a few times, but you choose to ignore it.

From the corner of your eye, you see him take the hat off his head. He takes a tentative glance at you, but you still don’t entertain the notion of looking at him. For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds are you and the man typing on your computers and then writing down notes on your respective journals. 

You finally look up and happen to glance in his direction and freeze. 

You now understand why he was so adamant about hiding his face. You try not to freak out as you finally clock the fact that Michael B. Jordan is sitting across from you. The man whom you’ve had a crush on for years. And also the same man whom you’ve been writing the filthiest smut for. Talk about an embarrassing predicament. 

Yet, you decide to play it cool. The last thing you want is for the man to think you’re fangirling over him when he’s trying to work. 

Michael looks in your direction, “Hey, sorry to bother you again, but do you know where they keep the printers?” 

You nod, “Yeah, they’re just around the corner. You can just click print, and it’ll ask for your name so that they don’t mix it up with anyone else’s papers.”

Michael nods at your instructions before giving you a sheepish smile, “Would you mind coming with me and helping? I just know I’ll forget everything at the printer.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile before quickly adding, “That’s if you’re free. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work.”

“Sure. I got you,” You said, laughing a little before standing from your chair. Michael slides the cap over his head again before falling in step beside you. As expected, the printer is exactly where you said it would be. Michael leans over your shoulder to get a look at what you’re doing. A chill travels up the length of your spine at the feel of his body against yours. You can feel the heat from his body seeping into yours.

You bite your lip softly while peering up at him. Michael seems to notice the close distance and steps back. An embarrassed look crosses his face, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to all up in your space.”

“It’s fine.” 

You click the file that has his name on it, and the papers start flowing from the printer. You grab them and hand the stack to Michael. The tips of his fingers brush against yours as he grabs the papers. You try to ignore the tingle that rushes up your skin at the feel of his skin. He gives you a quiet “thank you” before you both venture back to your corner of the library. 

You take your seats at the same time. 

Michael reaches across the table with his hand outstretched, “I’m Michael, by the way.”

You give him your name as you connect your hand with his. Internally, you’re freaking out at the fact that out of all days, you’re sitting across from your celebrity crush and practically holding his hand. The delusional part of you is telling you that he’s down bad for you, and this is the start of something beautiful. The writer part of you is mentally tracking all of the subtle movements that Michael makes with the full intent of incorporating them in your writing. 

However, you quickly push those thoughts to the side because it feels a bit parasocial in a way.

You and Michael fall back into your rhythm of working on your projects. He looks up at you as you scribble down notes on your notepad. “What are you working on?”

You lift your eyebrows in surprise, “Just a play.”

“That’s neat. What’s it about?” Michael seems genuinely interested in your work as he leans further on the table. 

“It’s a Southern gothic play about a young woman returning home to face her past trauma.”

Michael nods, “That sounds really dope. You planning to put it on Broadway?”

“Yeah, my agent and I have been working to get everything in motion.”

“Good luck. I’d like to come see it when you get it off the ground,” Michael said, sparing another dazzling smile in your direction.

You smile in response, “Definitely. What are you working on?”

Michael gives you a shy smile, deep dimples popping out of both cheeks, “I’m working on a romance, actually. It’s a story of two people who are married, trying to make it work, but somewhere along the line, their communication becomes lost. The only way that they know how to reach each other is by speaking through this new technology system.”

“That sounds like an amazing concept. You’re working on the script now?”

“Yeah, I’m just getting stuck on a few things, especially with my main woman lead. I’m struggling to get her voice just right, especially in the scene where they’re confronting each other,” Michael states, leaning back in his chair.

You bite your lip nervously, “I could read it if you wanted me to. I mean, I have experience writing romance, and I’m also an avid reader, so maybe I could give you a few pointers.” You’ll definitely leave out the part where you write avid romance and smut stories with him as the male lead. 

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great. I’d hate to take you from your thing, though,” Michael responds. 

You quickly shake your head, “No, I promise it’s fine. Plus, we writers have to stick together.” 

Michael slides his laptop over in your direction before strolling to the part that he wants you to read. He unintentionally starts to watch you and your facial expressions as you’re taking in the work. Your eyes quickly skim across the work, and you make mental notes along the way until you stop at the point where Michael stopped typing.

He looks at you expectantly once you stop reading. “It’s good. The storyline that you’ve crafted so far in this scene is good. I like the tone, but I’m only getting one side of the argument. I’m hearing your male protagonist’s voice very clearly in this argument, but what about the female lead? What does she ultimately want to express in this argument?”

Michael takes a second, “She wants to feel heard. She wants him to understand that she hasn’t felt seen by him in a while in their relationship.”

“Good. You know your theme and intentions, but it’s not coming through in the scene. All I hear is his voice. Even the lines that you have for her, they’re still in line with his wants. Put yourself in her shoes and react. If you have a partner who hasn’t been meeting your needs, how would you respond as a woman?”

Michael goes through his brain for the answer. On some level, he knows how he wants it to go, but he’s still stuck. He gives you a helpless look, which makes you chuckle. 

“How about this? You rewrite it again, and I’ll give you my critique.”

Michael nods before sliding the computer back towards himself. He takes your words into account and begins typing on the document again. He peers over the top of the computer as you continue scribbling in your notebook. You don’t catch the way that his eyes zoom in on the way that your teeth bite at the end of the pencil. He’s fascinated by you. You don’t even react to the fact that you clearly know who he is.

Little does Michael know, you’re having a full-blown panic attack on the inside.

After a solid twenty minutes pass, he stands and leaves the table. You expect to see that he’s packing up his things, but once you clock that all of his stuff is still here, you shrug. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Michael plops into the seat with a handful of snacks. 

Wordlessly, he slides a pack of Hi-Chews and chips in your direction. You stop writing and give him a questioning look. Michael shrugs, “To say thank you for your help.”

“What if I didn’t like Hi-Chews?”

“There’s a wrapper sticking out of your bag,” Michael points out, nodding his head towards your open laptop bag. You glance at the bag, and sure enough, a brightly-colored wrapper sticks out. 

You can’t stop the laugh as it bursts from your lips, but you cover your mouth. Soon, Michael joins you in laughing. 

“Let me take you out for a coffee after this.”

That’s the story of how you pulled your celebrity crush.

Your relationship with Michael surprises you each day. It really blows your mind that the man that you’ve been writing about for years is finally your boyfriend. Initially, you slow down on writing fics for Michael on Tumblr. It all feels a bit parasocial, especially when you’re with him most of the time. 

But that still doesn’t stop the writer in you.

The more you fall for Michael, the more ideas pop into your head for possible stories. However, you channel the energy into working on writing your own novels. You really try to fight the urge to write on Tumblr. But the Tumblr app on your phone calls to you like the green goblin mask. 

It only takes one specific kiss from Michael, with him pressing you against an elevator wall, to run to Tumblr. The community that you had built over the past years all express how happy they are to have you back, and you fall back into posting naturally. 

Most of the people reading your writing would never suspect that you’re Michael’s new beau.

‘@donwrites: ugh sis, you write Michael so good! It’s like you know him personally.’ 

If only they knew that you had been kissing the man seven days out of the week and cuddling in his bed. 

You keep the writing from Michael. If you’re typing at his house, you’ll play it off as working on a new novel or screenplay. He’s none the wiser to the fact that his girlfriend is writing the most downright filthy smut involving him. 

It’s a random Thursday when Michael gets suspicious. 

He’d invited you over under the guise of working together. You both found that you were a lot more productive when you worked across from each other. You slide the glasses up the bridge of your nose as you type quickly on the computer. You’re honestly in a flow state with the current story that you’re writing about Michael. You’d had the idea to write a story about him dominating the reader after a recent miscommunication. 

You move to exit the bedroom. Sharp tears sting at your eyes as the heat builds in your chest. You sniffle loudly and wipe furiously at your eyes. The ache in your chest increases with each step that you take towards the door. You’re so close to the door when Michael grabs your arm. You try in vain to tug your arm from his grip, but he tightens his hold on you. 

“Michael, let go of me,” You mutter, your chest heaving up and down. 

“No, you don’t get to walk away. I don’t know about any of them other niggas you’ve been dealing with, but we talk things out around here. Go sit down,” He states, a hard edge to his voice. 

You shoot him a hard look, defiance swirling through your irises. Michael matches your stance and squares his shoulder as he stares down at you, “You think I’m playing?” 

He takes a step closer, his eyes growing darker. He moves until he’s standing chest-to-chest with you. Michael moves a hand up to your face and smushes your cheeks between his fingers. Your wide eyes meet his as he brings his face closer to you. 

“Does it look like I’m playing with you?”

You give him a surp––

“What you working on over there, baby?” Michael questions from his side of the office.

You give him an awkward smile. How does one say, “Oh, nothing, babe, just writing out some nasty smut involving you for some equally freaked out women to read?”

Instead, you just respond, “Oh, nothing. Just some romance stuff.” 

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the complete truth either. Michael doesn’t push the issue. He’s asked to read some of your writing before. You’ve obliged and let him read the things that aren’t fanfiction. Though he suspects that you may be writing something else that you don’t want him to see. 

Michael’s not dense. He’s well aware of the rise of smut and spicy scenes in the book community. He figures that you may be writing something along that vein, but he respects you too much to pry. Though he secretly wonders what freaky stuff you could be writing. 

The sex between you and Michael was good. Real good. However, there were certain aspects that you and Michael had explored. For example, he didn’t know about your desire to be dominated by him. He didn’t know about all of the nasty and explicit things that you imagined him doing to him. With Michael, he was very sensual and emotional in the act of sex, which you loved. 

But you also yearned for him to turn you every way but loose. 

For the next ten minutes, you type more for the story, including starting on the smut scene. You’re genuinely reaching flow state when your phone vibrates on the couch. 

“I’ll be back, my agent is calling,” You said to Michael. He nods before looking down at his own computer. You minimize the Tumblr tab before exiting the room. 

Once you leave the room, Michael can’t help the way that his eyes gravitate over to your laptop. The MacBook Pro is practically calling him to take a look. Maybe just a quick peek. He tiptoes across the room and lifts the top of the laptop. He peeks through your folders, including the one labelled “stories.” There’s nothing out of the ordinary there. It’s all the stories and screenplays that you’ve let him read.

He suspects he was overthinking and is about to close your computer when he notices your web browser is still open. Michael slides the mouse over to the open tab and quickly clicks on it. 

Tumblr. 

Now what’s this? His curiosity gets the better of him, and he browses through the website. He’s surprised when he sees stories popping up about himself. He clicks on the “Michael B. Jordan x black!reader” tag and feels like the world shifts for him. There’s a myriad of things here. Some sweet stories, but his intrigue goes up when he sees the NSFW stories. 

Michael looks off to the side where there’s clearly a profile and clicks “view blog.” 

dollhousewrites.

Is this you? He clicks on the post labelled Masterlist and finds that you have an extensive body of work. Michael clicks on the post labelled with his name and realizes that there are a lot of stories about him. He clicks on the most recent post from two weeks ago called “Terms and Conditions.”

Just as he’s about to start reading, he hears your footsteps approaching. He quickly airdrops the link to himself before closing your laptop and sitting at his desk. 

He’s the picture of perfect innocence as you enter the room. He smiles at you, “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, she just wanted to let me know that my publishers want to talk about my next book release for the fall,” You respond, giving him a wide smile.

“That’s great, baby. I’ll take you out tomorrow so we can celebrate,” Michael said, and he meant it. Even when you were both still forming a friendship, he watched how hard you worked on your books and screenplays. You were careful with which details you ingrained in your characters. He’d forever be talking about how you’re his favorite writer, and how he has one of the world’s greatest writers as his girlfriend.

Still, he yearns to know more about you, and that starts with delving into your Tumblr stories.

That night, while you’re sleeping next to him in bed with your back turned, Michael pulls up the Tumblr link on his phone. He strolls through the stories again and starts from the beginning of what he learned is called “a masterlist.” Your initial stories are centered more around Erik Stevenson. You truly capture the essence of what makes the character tic. The recklessness and die-hard mentality for his cause. Michael thinks that you may understand Erik better than he does. 

As he progresses through your masterlist, he clocks the different eras of his career that you write for.  Hell, you’d even written about Vince Howard from a college perspective. He notices the shift once he enters his Sinners era. The works are a lot more mature and erotic. It’s during this part that he reaches the stories that you’ve personally written about him.

He clicks on Terms and Conditions once again. He’s sucked into a world where you’ve characterized him down to the tee. You’ve incorporated some of the subtle mannerisms that you’ve noticed him doing from your time of dating him.

He even catches a few of the phrases that he commonly says in the story. It’s when he makes it to the smut portion of the story that things shift for him. Michael feels the heat rising within his chest and traveling further down. 

Michael removes his head from between your legs, your juices shining all over his mouth. He presses one last lingering kiss to your pulsing clit. You whimper at how sensitive you are. He gives you a dark smile, hunger swirling beneath his brown irises, “You taste so good, baby.”

“Please, Michael,” You beg, doe-eyes desperately begging for more. 

Michael brings his hand up to encircle your pretty neck, “What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to fuck me, daddy.” 

He groans at the sound of your desperate words and gently lays you back on the counter. Chills run through your body at the cool marble pressing against your heated skin. Michael takes the moment to look at you, naked and vulnerable, in his hands. Love bites litter the expanse of your skin from where he got greedy earlier. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. 

He crudely slaps his dick across your pearl as you flinch from the pleasure. 

“You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight,” He inquires. You shake your head. You always liked him when he toed the line between cruel and permissive. Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip down on your pussy. He slides his dicks through the mess, combining it with the slick that he’s oozing from you. 

He takes the tip of his dick and notches it in your––

You shift in the bed and turn on your side to face him. Michael all but jumps out of his skin as he quickly locks his phone and glances to see if you’ve caught him. Peering closer, he lets out a deep sigh of relief once he concludes that you’re still sleeping. 

He takes a second to just breathe. He’s never felt so overwhelmed by reading something. Is this what you wanted him to do to you? He’s dabbled here and there with some rough play and kinks in his sexual life, but he can’t recall a specific moment where he’s allowed himself to fully lose control and just give in. He spares you another glance and fully looks at the content expression on your face. His sweet girlfriend has been writing all this filthy stuff right under his nose.

By the way that his dick is straining against his brief, he concludes that he likes it just as much as you and your readers do.

Michael’s being weird, and that’s putting it lightly because he’s naturally kind of weird at home. No, this is different from his usual weird behavior. He’s been a lot more clingy, which you definitely don’t mind. But he’s been crowding your space more and seemingly more horny for you, which again you aren’t complaining, but you wonder where the shift came from.

Even now, as you both leave the after-party of an event that he was invited to, he’d been all over you. Throughout the night, he kept his grip tight on your waist and would frequently press kisses to the side of your neck. 

Now, inside the car, he reaches across to rest his hand on your thigh, which isn’t unusual for him. However, you clock the way that his hand slides up the apex of your thighs, where your dress has shifted. Michael grips your thigh as he keeps his eyes on the road. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, which makes him jump in surprise. 

Michael looks down and clocks where his hand is. He goes to remove his hand until you place yours over his to keep it there. 

“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Michael asks, worry filling his eyes. You always admired that about Michael. He was a gentleman through and through, and consent was always key with him.

“You’re not making me uncomfortable. I’m just asking if you’re okay. You’ve been crowding me all week. At the party, you were all over me. Now, I’m not complaining, but I could swear you’re ovulating,” You said, smiling widely at him.

Michael shrugs, “I can’t help it. You just look so sexy.” 

He chooses the moment to venture further up where his fingers brush against your panties, which are growing wetter by the second. He peeks over at you, “Take them off for me.” 

You give him a surprised look, to which he smirks, “Just humor me, babygirl.”

You slide your hands under your dress and tug your panties down your legs. Michael opens his hand to you and gestures with his eyes for you to put the panties in his hand. You oblige, and your jaw drops when you see him bring the wet material up to his nose. 

“Open your legs,” He orders. 

You spread your legs, but try to scooch down so that you’re not dripping down on his leather seats. Michael smacks his lips, “Baby, don’t worry about making a mess. That’s the whole point. I wanna smell your pussy on my seat the next time that I get in here.”

You’re clutching at your invisible pearls. Michael guides his hand back to your wet center and trails his fingertips up and down to gather your wetness on his fingertips. He slides two fingers across your clit and rubs circles across the throbbing pearl. Your pretty lips form a pout as the whimpers drop from your mouth. Moving down, Michael’s fingers dip in and out of your entrance as you roll your hips to meet his touch. 

Michael bites his lip at how needy you are. It’s turning him on more knowing that he can’t fully watch you how he wants, but he has to rely on his touch and hearing. “Spread your legs wider for me, baby.”

You open your legs, and truthfully, you can’t pretend to be shy with your pussy out in his car. Michael plunges two fingers inside your dripping hole. Loud wet noises fill the car as he curls his fingers in and out of you. He presses the palm of his hand into your clit. You throw your head back against the seat as you loudly moan. You clutch at his hand, and Michael’s even more turned on; he clocks you humping against his hand. 

The driveway to his house appears, and he turns to you briefly, “Go ahead and cum for me, babygirl.” He curls his fingers across your spot, and soon, your walls tighten as your release consumes you. Michael pulls into the driveway and has the pleasure of watching as you ride your release out. His eyes wander over your form as your breasts press against the dress. As you come down, your eyes meet his. He gently pulls his fingers from you, which are drenched with your release. Michael slides his fingers up to his mouth and sucks your juices from his fingers. 

He makes a big display of it by closing his eyes and moaning. Once he opens his eyes, he catches your lustful stare. “Come on, we’re not done yet.”

Inside the house, you and Michael are all over each other. Hands messily groping at each other as he slams you against the wall. You can see the brief moment that he pauses, afraid that he’s hurt you, but you smile widely at him. He leans closer until his breath ghosts over your lips, “You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight.”

You freeze. Your confused eyes meet Michael’s as he smirks at you.

“Pause,” You state, pushing gently at his chest. He sets you down on your feet before you move to create distance between yourselves. 

You rack your brain at how he could know that sentence. That sentence of all the possibilities of things that he could’ve said to you. Michael waits patiently on the other side of the room for you to make the connection.

You groan loudly, “You read my story, didn’t you?”

Michael looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tries in vain to appear aloof, but he fails miserably. “Yeah, that night your agent called. I was just curious about what you were writing. I didn’t mean to disrespect your boundaries. I’m sorry.”

You bite your nails, a nervous habit of yours that Michael had been helping you break. 

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean, this is so embarrassing. You literally found out that I’ve been writing fanfics about you, and I’m dating you!” You exclaim. You begin pacing back and forth in the room until you move to walk towards the door. 

Michael frowns and quickly crosses the space to stop you, “Why are you leaving?”

He frowns even more when he sees the tears in your eyes. Guilt courses through his body. He steps in front of you and grasps your face in his hands, “Baby, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or anything like that. This is on me, I shouldn’t have been snooping through your stuff. But I just wanted you to know how much I liked it and to incorporate some of it.”

You sniffle and frown at him, “What? You liked reading my story?”

“Yeah, you know I always like reading whatever you write. If anything, I was flattered that you put that much work into writing for me and my characters. The way you write me, baby, I’ve never seen myself that way. It turned me on, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm. I keep going back to read all of your stories over.” He pauses to laugh, “I even created an account to start liking your stories.”

You think back to your recent follows and laugh loudly, “Boy, are you bakari87?”

Michael laughs before nodding, “Yeah, mbjlover was already taken.”

There’s a moment of silence before you both break into laughter. Michael looks at you before pressing his lips to yours. “I mean it when I say that I really liked it, babygirl. I was kind of hoping that we could recreate some of the moments from your Terms and Conditions story.”

“You really liked that one?”

“Yeah, the part about me spitting on the reader’s pussy really did it for me.” He slides his hand down to close around your throat. Your eyes move to meet his as the heat floods throughout your body. 

Michael keeps his hand around your throat as he carefully navigates you toward the couch. He gestures for you to take off your heels, which you do. With the heels off, it adds to the height difference between the two of you. He navigates behind you to toy with the zipper of your dress. The sound of the zipper fills the room as you can feel the excitement building in your core. 

The dress falls to your feet as you stand naked before Michael. He runs his across your figure, taking in all the details that he’d committed to memory. Once he’s in front of you, he roughly grabs your face in his hands and smushes your cheeks together. 

“This is the part where you have fucking the reader’s throat. Let’s start there,” He orders gently. You nod obediently and sit on the couch. You go to button his pants when he stops you, “You can’t remember your own story, babygirl? You open my pants with your mouth.”

Your mouth waters as you remember the plot point. Moving forward, you run your face across his bulge. You mouth at the button and move your head to the side to pop it open. You look up at Michael through your lashes as you grasp the zipper between your teeth and move down. Michael is nice enough to remove his pants for you. 

He grabs the back of your head and presses your face into his covered dick. You mouth at his covered dick, your spit staining the front of his briefs. Kissing upwards, you lick at the happy trail of hair leading down into his briefs. Grasping the fabric between your teeth, you pull the briefs down until Michael’s dick is finally exposed to the air. 

“Let me feel your throat, baby,” Michael mutters. You shudder at the realization that he’s quoting directly from your story. You don’t even need directions for your next actions. You lick along the underside of his dick right along the pretty vein that runs through it. 

Your lips close around the tip of Michael’s dick, where his precum covers your taste buds. You suck at his sensitive tip as he groans and throws his head back. You move your mouth down to begin bobbing up and down on his dick. Your hand follows to cover the base where your mouth doesn’t reach. 

Michael curls his hand through your hair and pulls you back, “Stick your tongue out.” 

You do, and he leans down to release a trail of spit into your waiting mouth. Your eyes flutter as you moan at the filthiness of the act. Michael guides you back to his dick, but this time it’s different. You cross your arms behind your back just as you had written in your story. Michael looks down at you for consent, and you gladly give it. 

The first push of his dick makes you gag a little. He pauses to let you adjust. You nod in his hold, and he resumes thrusting. You breathe through your nose as he enters your throat. Spit from your mouth drips onto your breasts and the floor. Tears fill your eyes as your mascara begins to run. Michael looks down and moans loudly, “You look so beautiful, Princess. You’re doing so good for Daddy.” 

Pleasure sparks through Michael’s body at the whole scenario. It turns him on even more with how much you trust him to use you like this. Feeling bold, he pushes your face down so that your nose is engulfed in his pubes. You breathe through your nose and moan around his dick as it settles in your throat. Michael shudders at the feel of your warm throat. After a few seconds, he pulls out of your mouth completely. 

He looks down at you again as you give him a wide smile. Tear, spit, and mascara streak across your face, but to Michael, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

He helps you to stand as he lifts you in his arms. You see him walking to the counter, and your pussy clenches in anticipation. Gently, he lays you across the marble counter. He quickly discards his shirt before moving between your legs. 

“Please, Michael,” you beg, wide eyes meeting his. 

“What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to fuck me, daddy.” 

He pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. Just like the story, Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and deposits it crudely on your wet center. He slaps his dick across your clit where the spit landed and rubs the mess in with your combined slick.

Only this time, he won’t be getting interrupted. 

He guides his tip to your entrance, and you both watch as he slips inside your warm walls. Your combined moans fill the empty kitchen as Michael’s thigh touches the back of yours. He pulls back and watches as pussy clings to him. His dark eyes find yours, “You see that? Pretty pussy is begging to keep me in.” 

A deep breath leaves your mouth as he thrusts back in. Michael covers your body with his as he thrusts in and out of you. 

“Michael..” you whine, once he lifts one of your legs to hang over his shoulder.

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good for me,” He responds, connecting his lips to yours. You whimper as he pulls out of you. You can feel your walls clenching in response to the loss.

Michael maneuvers your body from the counter and bends you over. You shiver as your nipples brush against the cool surface. You look back as Michael lines his tip up with your opening again, “I wanna see that pretty ass bounce on me.” You arch your back in the way that you know he likes, which makes him groan. 

Michael slides inside you as he watches your backside ripple under his thrusts. You look back at him as you start thrusting back against him. Michael’s gaze is focused on the motion of your ass and the ring of cream that’s coating the base of his dick. 

“You’re so deep, baby,” You whimper. 

Michael can feel his own release building inside of him. He grabs your hips to start thrusting again. He reaches under you to start stroking your clit. He leans over to your open mouth, and you stick your tongue out again. A string of spit leaves his mouth and falls into your waiting mouth. A loud cry leaves your mouth as your orgasm hits. You shake in Michael’s hold as tears trail down the side of your face. He kisses your tears and continues to thrust inside of you. 

With one last stroke, Michael moans loudly at this own orgasm consumes him. His own body shakes against your own as he pulls you flush against him. You and Michael moan at the mutual feeling of his cum shooting against your womb. When he pulls out, his cum trails down your thighs. 

You surprise him by dropping to your knees and taking his cum-stained dick into your mouth. 

“Baby, wait..”Michael pleads, still sensitive from his own orgasm. You ignore him and keep bobbing your head while fondling his balls. Michael practically screams as he cums again, his white release painting your tongue. 

You stand up, and Michael clocks that you haven’t swallowed yet. You gesture for him to open his mouth. Your own hand comes to close around his throat as you spit his cum back into his mouth. You don’t waste any time sliding your tongue into his mouth as you both swap the cum back and forth until it’s gone. 

You both pull back as you give him a demure smirk. 

“I hope you write that into the next story for all of your freaky followers,” Michael comments. 

“Oh, I most definitely will. I’m sure that they’ll love to hear that their Oscar Winner loves the taste of his own cum,” You mutter against his lips. 

Michael laughs, “I like it when it’s coming from you. But I’m not done with you yet. There are a few other stories that I wanna recreate, starting with your Sinner story.”

Let’s just say, the girls were treated to a lot more Michael content, approved by the man himself.

End.

Taglist: @plan3tch1ld @anniebelsworld2 @jc3m @krissy455

@irissunshines @mauvecherie-writes @nova-rae @wowitsafemale

@straykids1011 @mirathebookworm @blackgrlmagic @3ricstuff

@zzzyiluv @fabulousgurlll @khxna @heyyimmisunderstood

You sit down on the edge of the bed, pouting up at him.

“Lionnnn…can you help me?

You pathetically kick out one foot, displaying your heel to him.

“Oh, uh, sure,” he stammers.

You’re coming back from a friend’s birthday party, and you’re wearing your favorite white platform heels with the ankle straps. You had a little too much to drink, and wrestling with the tiny buckle around your ankle had proven to be too difficult a task while your head was still spinning.

He kneels down in front of you and gently rests your foot on his knee, his big fingers fumbling with the dainty buckle.

“Thank youu,” you coo at him.

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbles again, his cheeks flushing red.

He frees your foot from the shoe, then picks up your other foot and begins the process again. When he’s removed your heels, you gently bring your hand to his cheek. He glances up at you through his long lashes.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “My sweet boy.”

He gently turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. You giggle, and his cheeks brighten again at the sound.

“F’course,” he mutters.

It didn’t take long for a delicious idea to work its way into your brain. 

Every time you came home from an evening out, you’d sit on the edge of the bed and ask Lion to take your heels off. It didn’t matter if you were black out drunk or stone cold sober, whether you were wearing classic pumps or elaborate laced-up platforms. He became so accustomed to the routine that he eventually began to follow you straight to the bedroom after stepping through the front door.

He’d kneel down, place your right foot on his knee, take the shoe off, then repeat. And you always thanked him, called him your sweet boy, made him blush. But you’d waited a while, established the routine, before introducing your latest toy.

You stand outside the apartment door while Lion turns the key in the lock. When he holds the door open for you, you cross to the coat closet, shrugging off your white wool trench and revealing the outfit you’d worn to dinner. A soft velvet dress, deep burgundy and short, short enough that you’d caught his eyes lingering on your legs more than once throughout the night. You notice him doing it now, too; his eyes drift from your shoulders, following the curves of your body, down to your dark red platform heels. You grin as you hang your coat up in the closet.

“I had fun tonight,” you start. “Did you?”

“Uh-huh,” he says half-heartedly, still looking you over as he takes off his own jacket.

You dig around in your purse for the toy as he hangs up his coat. When you find it, you slip it into your palm, a wicked smile creeping across your face. He shuts the closet door and turns to you, but before his hands can reach your hips, you cross into the bedroom, your heels click-clacking across the floor. When you reach the bed, you spin to face him and sigh as you sit. You lean back on one hand and gently kick your feet back and forth. He sinks to his knees in front of you.

click.

His head cocks to one side.

“What was that?”

“Hm? I didn’t hear anything,” you lie.

He turns back to your shoes and continues his routine.

“Good boy,” you mumble, gently tracing your thumb down the length of his jaw.

His lashes flutter as he closes his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath. When he removes both shoes, he turns back to you.

“You want your kiss?” you tease him.

“Mhmm,” he hums, the sound low in his throat.

“C’mere,” you grin.

He sits up and gently places his hands on your knees.

click.

His brows furrow for just a second, but he leans up to meet your lips. His mouth presses against yours, warm and wet and wanting.

click.

When he finally pulls back from you, you smile, breathless.

“Good boy.”

You carried on like that for a while. Giving him a single click each time he knelt in front of you, each time his hands rested on your knees, each time he kissed you. 

Then, you started to push him.

You’re coming home from a night out with some friends. Lion wanted to object to the length of your skirt, but hadn’t mustered the nerve before you were running out the door, afraid of being late. When he opens the apartment door, both of you a little more buzzed than usual, you head directly to your bedroom, with him on your heels like a puppy. You sit on the bed and he immediately kneels in front of you.

…

His brows knit together in confusion.

“What?” you ask him innocently.

“N-no, no, nothin’,” he mutters, turning his attention back to your shoes. 

He lifts your foot onto his knee and tugs at your shoe, gently removing it. When he finishes with both, he brings his hands to rest on your knees.

click.

“Good boy,” you coo. “Thank you for helping me.”

“F’course, baby,” he replies quietly, looking up at you with those big pathetic eyes that drive you wild.

“You want your kiss?” 

He nods silently.

“C’mere.”

He pushes himself up to meet your lips. 

click.

He kisses you slow and sweet, his hands drifting to your waist. You pull back from him, and his hands halt their wandering movement. You bring one hand to the back of his head, holding his forehead to yours.

“Good boy,” you sigh, the air leaving your mouth and entering his as he gulps down quick, erratic breaths.

He hums in pleasure, eyelids fluttering closed.

He once again brings his hands to your hips, softly skimming the fabric of your dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. 

“Y’look so pretty in this dress,” he mumbles, his voice low. 

“Awww, thank you kitty cat,” you murmur. Lion flushes at the nickname you only use when you’re especially sweet on him.

“Can we…d’you wanna…” 

“I wanna take a shower,” you yawn.

“O-okay,” he stammers.

You run your hands over his shoulders and down his arms.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me, kitty,” you purr.

“Y’welcome.”

click. 

Lion began to love the clicker. He’d eagerly kneel at your feet, remove your shoes as quickly as he could, and bring his hands to your knees promptly just to hear the sound. You were still pairing each click with a bit of praise; you hadn’t quite weaned him off of rewards yet.

You stand at the mirror in your bathroom, fiddling with your earring. You carefully remove it and set it to the side before starting on the other one. Lion slinks into the bathroom and stands behind you, gently wrapping his arms around your waist. You smile at him in the mirror and grab the clicker from where it’s sitting on the counter in front of you. 

“Y’need help with your shoes?” he asks timidly.

You roughly grind your hips back against his and a tiny noise escapes him.

“Mm, what do you say?” you chide him gently.

“Please?”

click.

“Good boy,” you grin. “Sure, you can help me.”

You turn to face him, your face tantalizingly close to his. He glances from your lips back up to your eyes. His brows are drawn together in a pathetic pleading gaze. You gingerly take his hand in yours, running your thumb over the bruises that paint his knuckles.

“Y’wanna do it here? Or the bedroom?” you ask him sweetly.

“Can we go to the bedroom?” he mumbles. “The tile…”

click.

“Please?”

You smile.

“Of course, sweet boy.”

You drop his hand and brush past him back into the bedroom, Lion following behind you. You take your usual seat on the edge of the bed.

click.

Lion drops to his knees and gets to work. He sets your shoes to the side when he’s done.

click.

He rests his hands on your knees, his palms hot over your skin.

This is usually where you’d ask him if he wants his kiss—dangling a treat out in front of him like a carrot on a stick. Clicking to make him lean up and crash his lips into yours. Lion stares up at you intently. You smile down at him sweetly.

And then you part your legs.

His rough hands are still on your knees, and his eyes dart down between your thighs.

“Shit,” he breathes.

“Yeah? See somethin’ you like, kitty cat?” you tease him. “See somethin’ you want?”

“Yes…” he mutters under his breath.

click.

“Yes, please.”

“Good boy,” you hum.

“Y-you’re…you’re not wearing…” Lion swallows.

“Well what’s the fun in that?” you taunt.

“All night?” he asks weakly.

“Alllll night, baby boy,” you grin. “Coulda been playin’ under the table the whole time. If you were payin’ attention to me.”

You punctuate your last sentence with a pout, exaggerating hurt.

“I was-I was payin’ attention,” he chokes, his eyes still glued to your exposed cunt.

“No you weren’t,” you whine. “Too busy talkin’ to everyone else.”

You had spent the evening at a dinner to celebrate Lion’s recent win. He hated going out to eat after a fight—all he wanted was to go home, cover you in kisses, and sleep—but you found a compromise. He’d let you schedule a nice dinner with a few close friends the day after a win; it did occasionally result in a few cancelled reservations, but generally, it was a good middle ground. 

Lion had spent the night being a little more sociable than usual. He made polite conversation with your best friend’s newest boyfriend whom you weren’t entirely sure you liked yet. He even remembered that your friend Liz had started a new job recently and asked her how she was liking it. You were proud of him for going out of his comfort zone a little more. He was ordinarily pretty shy and reserved at these dinners, uncomfortable being the center of attention. You’d seen a change in him over the last few weeks, and were pleased that he was getting more and more comfortable in his own skin.

But you were so pissed that he had politely taken his hand off your knee when you placed it there instead of fingering you under the table like you wanted.

“Too busy talkin’ to Liz…and Molly…” you guilt him. “Didn’t even notice I wanted these inside’a me.”

You slowly lift one of his hands from your knee and bring two of his fingers to your lips. You greedily take them in your mouth, staring at him as you suck on them. You can feel his fingernails towards the back of your throat, the calloused pads of his fingertips pressing into your tongue. He winces when your teeth graze one of the bruises blooming on his knuckles. You pull him out of your mouth, a string of saliva stretching between you obscenely.

“Still hurts, baby?” you ask softly.

“Mm–mhmm,” he hums, his brows knitted together against the painful sensation.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” 

You run your hand through his hair, using your nails to gently scratch his scalp. He groans under your touch. You draw your hand into a fist, grabbing his hair at the root.

“Gimme my kiss,” you tell him.

He brings his free hand back to your knee and goes to sit up. You tug on his hair, yanking him back down. He cries out in surprise.

“Not your kiss, silly. My kiss.”

You part your knees further and angle your hips up towards him, your skirt riding up around your waist. Lion gets the hint. He leans forward and presses his lips to your folds, placing a delicate kiss over your clit.

click.

A sigh tumbles out from your lips. You release his hair and fall back onto the mattress, propped up on one elbow.

Lion drags his tongue down your folds, the warm, wet feeling of his muscle against your sensitive skin relieving some of the pent-up frustration that’d been building in you since dinner.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” you breathe.

click. 

He speeds up, licking and sucking on your cunt with fervor. 

“A little higher, Lion,” you command him gently, your breath light and airy in your throat.

He obeys, dragging his tongue back up to your clit and massaging the sensitive nerves there.

click.

“Gooood boy,” you moan.

Lion hums against you, the low rumble reverberating through your body and making your thighs shake. He mumbles something you can’t hear.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you tease.

He pulls away from you, his eyes glazed over with want. He looks delirious.

“Can I make you cum?” he asks, those puppy dog eyes almost melting you on the spot.

click.

“Please?” he corrects.

“Fuck, yes, Lion, make me cum.”

He dives back into you. His tongue feels divine, the pressure against your clit making it harder and harder to catch your breath. 

“Ke-keep going, baby, yes, good boy, righ-ah, right there, right there-!” 

He expertly swirls his tongue over you again, drawing the heat in your stomach down into your pelvis.

“Nng–Lionnnn,” you whine. “M’gonna, fuck, I’m…”

He roughly presses your legs further apart, his rough, bruised hands warm against your inner thighs. He sucks your clit into his mouth as he pulls away from you, releasing your flesh with a lewd wet sound. He slides his hands up, resting one on each side of your soaked core. Using his thumbs, he spreads you, the exposed angle making you blush and squirm under his touch. He gently blows cool air against you, the sensation making you even more sensitive. When he brings his mouth back to you, his tongue burns against your clit. A broken cry jumps out of your throat.

“L-Lion, Lion, please,” you pant. You toss your head back, staring up at the ceiling as he brings one thumb up to your clit, firmly pressing and rubbing in small circles.

The heat in your stomach blooms throughout your body, your cheeks flushing as you fall apart under his tongue and his touch. The sound of your groans and his wet kisses on your cunt fill the room as he works you through your orgasm. You gently push against his head when the stimulation becomes too much. He detaches from you and gazes up at you intently, eager for his reward.

click.

“Good boy,” you laugh lightly. “You want your kiss?”

He nods quietly, his chin coated in his spit and your slick.

“C’mere.”

click.

Once Lion started to understand each click as a reward, you began to train him with only the clicker. You didn’t give him praise or call him sweet names or show him affection until after he made you cum, after he obeyed every command. He knew that every click held the promise of a treat, and followed your orders with reverence.

It’s Friday night and you’re coming home from a date at a little wine bar around the corner from your apartment. You’re wearing your favorite dress, the black one that hugs your body just right, the sweetheart neckline displaying your cleavage perfectly. Your black stilettos clack against the floor of your apartment as you enter and head straight to the bedroom. Lion locks the door behind you and follows quickly behind.

He had been especially needy at the bar, stumbling and stammering over his words stupidly as he stared at your chest. When you stepped out of the dimly lit bar onto the sidewalk, Lion produced a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, shaking one out and holding it between his teeth. He fumbled around in his jacket pockets for his lighter before you opened your purse to let him borrow yours. Seeing the little black clicker in your purse, casually resting next to your lipstick, almost made him faint. Knowing that you carried his sanity around in your tiny designer purse made his knees buckle. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag before grabbing your hand in his and quickly starting towards home.

You sit on the bed now, clicker in hand, as Lion tumbles into the bedroom.

“Kneel.”

click.

He does.

“Take off my shoes.”

click.

He does.

“Get me my vibrator.”

click.

He reaches over to your nightstand and fumbles with the top drawer. He pulls out the small black satin bag and hands it to you. You notice the way his hands are shaking.

“Undress me.”

click.

He brings his hands to your knees and spreads your legs. He reaches under your dress and slides his thumbs underneath the lacy fabric of your black panties, pulling them down your legs and tossing them aside.

You remove your toy from the bag and drag it through your folds, collecting the slick lingering at your entrance. You’re already wet from the anticipation that started building in you when you started the walk home. You love having him wrapped around your finger.

You sigh as you switch the vibe onto the lowest setting, just barely grazing your clit. He watches your every move intently, awaiting his next command.

You tap the button on the toy, increasing the speed. You massage your cunt and the vibrations stimulate your nerves in a way that has your hips twitching into your own touch. Lion just kneels on the floor in front of you as you make him watch you get off on this tiny toy instead of his face.

You cum surprisingly quickly, even on just the medium setting of the vibrator. You can feel your juices coating the silicone and the tips of your fingers as you pull the toy from between your legs, your orgasm making your body feel buzzy and flushed. Lion stares at the shiny remnants of you on the vibe.

“Use your words,” you tell him. It was one of your favorite commands, though it took some getting used to. Where you would ordinarily ask him what was wrong, what he wanted, what he was thinking about, you instead gave him an order.

click.

“Can I have a taste?” he asks meekly.

click.

“Please?” he adds.

“No,” you reply cruelly, relishing every second of it. “Get me a tissue.”

click.

He rises and crosses to the bathroom, returning with the tissue. You take it and wipe your vibrator clean before putting it back in the bag.

“Throw this away,” you tell Lion, handing him the sticky tissue.

You know it’ll kill him, throwing away your cum that he so desperately wanted in his mouth. Not only watching you waste it on a toy, but being forced to be the one to discard the evidence only twisted the knife you’d sunk into his chest.

click.

He reluctantly crosses back into the bathroom and tosses the tissue in the trash can with a wince before returning to you.

“Kneel,” you command him again.

click.

He does.

You stare down at him as he stares up at you, those soft, sweet eyes boring into yours. It takes everything in you to maintain your composure. All you want to do is stroke his hair, pepper his face with tiny kisses, breathe in his breath like it’s your own. But you don’t.

“Gimme my kiss.”

click.

He leans forward and starts eating you like he’s been starved for days. His pace is immediately unrelenting as alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and dragging it through your folds.

“Lion, oh God, yes,” you huff, your body still reeling from your first orgasm.

His facial hair scratches against your inner thighs as you squeeze them around his head. He hums in satisfaction and tosses your legs over his shoulders, tugging your hips closer to his mouth and the edge of the bed.

You lie back completely, flopping your head against the pillowy mattress. Lion continues to devour you, lapping and slurping up your wetness. It sounds like you’re in a cheesy porno, his weak, tiny moans harmonizing with the vulgar sounds of his tongue.

“Yes, baby, yes, yes, fuck.” You can hardly catch your breath. Your thighs are trembling around his head, your hips twitching and grinding against his face. “Use your words, kitty cat, talk to me.”

click.

He groans.

“Y’so pretty, so gorgeous, baby, couldn’t stop starin’ at you all night,” he mumbles. “Not fair when y’wear this one…”

“You like it?” you tease him through hurried breaths.

“Y’so sexy, fuck, I was gonna cum just starin’ at your tits in the restaurant,” he continues, pressing a sloppy kiss to your clit. “Just wanna make you cum, princess, please, please?”

He runs his tongue along your cunt and swallows the juices that collect on his tongue.

“Please, please, please, baby, please, I need you to…”

He sounds ruined. His breath is filling his lungs almost as fast as yours is, and his voice is wavering.

“I need you to click it baby, please,” he begs.

“Make me cum first, Lion,” you chastise him.

“But ‘m sayin’ please,” he whines.

He was still a little attached to his old habits, seeking clicks like treats. He was still learning.

“You get a click for making me cum, not just for saying please,” you reply sternly. He whines against you.

“M’sorry baby,” he breathes.

“It’s o-okay,” you respond, stuttering when he brings his mouth back to suck on your clit. He lets go of you with a lewd pop!

“Can I use my fingers, too?” he asks you sweetly, staring up at you through those long lashes.

“You can use your fingers,” you whisper.

He brings his hand to your cunt and slowly drags two fingers through your folds, slicking them with you, before he pushes in. You whimper at the full feeling. He usually starts with one, but now he’s pumping two fingers in and out of you at a torturously slow pace while his tongue flicks your clit over and over. You can feel the spark in your stomach ignite again, and you bring one hand down to tangle your own fingers in his hair.

You pull him closer, and he picks up the pace. You can feel him part his fingers inside of you and you cry out at the stretch. He keeps working you, his deft fingers curling up to find that spot inside of you that has your head spinning. You arch your back off the bed, angling your hips towards his face and giving him better access. 

“Right there, fuck, yes, Lion, don’t stop,” you cry.

He strokes you again, and you can feel your heart thundering in your chest. 

“Cum for me baby, please,” he begs.

He hits that spot one more time, his calloused fingers applying just the right amount of pressure. You scream, gripping his hair so tight you’re almost worried about hurting him. Your orgasm shoots through you, heightened by the first one still lingering in your body. Every limb feels like it’s on fire, and your legs shake around his head. He slurps down the juices you release onto his tongue, savoring the taste of you. When he finally pulls his fingers out of your aching cunt, he brings them to his mouth and greedily sucks off the remainder of your orgasm.

You lie back in the bed, flushed and giddy. You chuckle softly in your bliss. Lion sits back on his heels, staring up at you as your chest rises and falls.

“Good boy,” you praise him through panting breath. “Good boy, Lion.”

You glance back down at him. He stares at you with his giant, sad, puppy dog eyes.

“C-can I have m-my k-kiss now?” he whimpers.

When DeCourcy Ward thundered his way in with a hard head for change, you expected an ally, some bumps in the road? Sure, but at least you would have one person on your side.

Someone who would get it. Someone who understood what it was like. Someone you could relate to.

How wrong you were.

Secretary you were not, but you were often mistaken for one. Your position was a hybrid of things: paralegal, somehow private investigator correspondent, and any and everything else that needs to be seen to that the head lawyers around let slip through the cracks when they were too busy with other things, or in Ward's case— have blinders on for one thing and one thing only, that they forget about all the little things that needed to get done.

The DA appreciated your "team player" sensibilities and liked to say it was a shame you weren't a lawyer in his office.

You weren't too sure you'd want to be in his office even if you were one. As shiny as assistant DA and DA sounds— being one in Boston? A scary scary thought. Now with the knowledge of how they'd treat a black man? Even scarier for you.

DeCourcy Ward seemed pleasant enough in the beginning, neutral even, but soon you came to know, like many of the other men here— he was not.

"Here are the backgrounds for Kimly and Davis' cases, separated and organized accordingly. Kimly has no formal/legal employment records or bosses that can support any of his claims— and Davis is clean as expected."

He nodded while flipping through each file briefly as you spoke.

"Where's Stone?" He said low, not looking up at you and went back to what he was doing. The sound of his voice sent off a wave of butterflies in your stomach, regardless of his formal dismissive tone.

Were you expecting a thank you? No.

But straight into a question about the one thing you have no control over and knew little to nothing about.

"I'm not sure, sir. He hasn't called." You forced yourself to say through a smile, fighting not to grit your teeth too hard as you do.

"Well did you try to call him!" His voiced thudded loudly in your ears, booming against the walls of his office, loosing its charming lilt and falling into something a little more terrifying, but now that you've almost been here a month, the intimidating level his voice could reach when he was upset no longer had an effect on you.

"I'll try that." You hold your breath and turn on your heels, knowing you won't be able to keep your mood in check for a second longer.

"Do your damn job, so I can do mine!" He calls out as you close the door behind.

Out of ear shot, you groan under your breath back to your desk. Muttering several curses his way.

Today was going to be a day huh?

You dialed the private investigators number one more time and left a message that you will not be waiting for whatever the fuck it to be was supposed to get, and that you were going to get it yourself, and take his pay for it too because you do not get paid to take shit from Ward all day, so he can man up and do his job— or you'll do it.

You grabbed your coat and keys.

Looking back between DeCourcy's office and the door, you make sure no one sees you, and you quickly and quietly make a break for it.

You had to lie to a woman, not only to get into her house, but to also sneak into her husbands office when you asked to go to the bathroom as well as record your conversation with her and then the husband in question we he got home.

Another shitty cover up by a shitty cop who doesn't really feel that bad.

You feel less bad for having to lie now.

You were just an innocent bystander in the neighborhood visiting her friend who just got a divorce and wanted a glass of water after all.

It was late when you back, needing the rest of your things you left at the office before finally going home.

The light was still on in Ward's office and you did your best to ignore it. He could wait until tomorrow. After all, he deserved to have as shitty of a day as you had, especially with the way he talked to you.

But as you shuffle away the stray papers for tomorrow and pack your belongings into your bag you sigh. Your heels clacking, echoing in the hall behind you as you ultimately knock on his door.

"Yeah." He confirms in a low voice that flushes your cheeks with heat.

You clear your throat, stopping yourself from manipulating your hair or picking at your clothes before you enter.

"Got something for —"

"What are you doing here this late?" He says it in a harsh stern voice you know not to take personally. He talks to everyone that way— supposedly, but it's a little extra snappy. His eyes too interpersonally cool for you to take it as anything but personal.

Something in you snaps.

Silently, you fume, but you give him a slick and cheery smile laced with as much malice as you can muster.

You make your way behind his desk and smooth your hand up his chest. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion, the attitude in his face wavers as he subconsciously leans into your touch.

You start low at his abdomen.

His skin is warm through his shirt, the night air warmer and stuffy, though not as suffocating as it had been over the last few weeks, signaling Autumn was close around the corner but not quite here yet.

You slide the palm of your hand up his chest, going over one of his suspenders to over his heart. It beats wildly underneath your palm, and you resists the urge to squeeze. The soft muscle of his breast was tantalizingly sweet under the palm of your hand. The rising heat of his skin relentlessly teased your senses, tempting you to give into your darkest of impulses.

His nostrils flared suddenly in the corner of your eye, tearing your gaze back to his face.

His eyes glossed over with a glaring anger, and his lips parted. No doubt a fiery quip was on the tip of his tongue.

Before he could utter a single sound or form a single syllable you grabbed him by his tie and pulled him close to your face, giving him a glare of your own.

"One day." You hold up the tape recorder and envelope with your other hand. Your hold on his tie is so tightly wrapped around your fist he can only dart his eyes to the side to see what you have. "One day," you say again, "and I have the piece of evidence that can help you close the case on Kimly that Stone's been claiming he couldn't get for weeks."

"W—" he opens his mouth to speak and you pull tighter. The fabric creaks in your hands, straining in your grip as the knot pulls closer around his throat. His Adam's Apple bobs, tearing your attention away, just for a moment.

A small fear rises at your spine that he might have noticed, but when your eyes dart back to his face. You have to force yourself to hold your composure when you see his pupils have dilated behind glossy eyes. His eyelashes fluttered so heavily, it looked as if he were about to close them in some sort of bliss.

"I put up with so much shit, and I don't need you adding onto it," you keep going, ignoring the look on his face, ignoring the heat starting to rise through your body, and the way his eyes move widely as they scan very inch of your face, "I am good at my job, and I can be a valuable asset," you squeeze just that much harder for emphasis, letting the small cotton material close around his throat, not enough to choke him fully, but enough to make your message clear, "or I can be a pain in your ass and make your already miserable position in this hell hole much more worse than it already is."

He swallowed thickly. The small sound filling in the room, accompanying his slow ragged deep breaths.

"Do, you, understand?" You squeeze harder after each word, making him gasp. His hand squeeze the arms of his chair so hard, his knuckles look close to splitting.

After a few heartbeats you let go, and he gasps. "Yes," he moans in a low gravely voice, "I understand."

You let go and he doesn't allow his body to slump back. He remains sitting straight. His back erect and his head high, despite how low he keeps his gaze, showing how he really feels in his refusal to look at you.

You nod, not allowing him a response and ready to turn on your heels, but as you move your head to the door, you notice the odd way he moves one leg over the other.

If it weren't so late and quiet, you wouldn't have heard it. You wouldn't have noticed, but you do.

As soon as your eyes land back on him, he inhales sharply.

"Move your legs."

He stills, freezing for just a moment.

But his lips part slightly and he breaks eye contact with you again. His shoulders drop just a tad as he slowly parts his legs, revealing the thick hard dick, straining through his pant leg against his thigh.

DeCourcy Ward was a loud and proud black man who did not care for making his peers more comfortable around him, often sitting with his legs spread wide, never hiding the furrow of his brow, or his visible displeasure at any of their antics.

But right now in front of you he sits with slightly less than perfect posture, and his head turned sheepishly in front of you.

You lick your lips and swallow. Your heart thuds in your chest and your pantries grow wetter by the second.

Just what have you done?

You don't hesitate and take a step forward into his space.

You gently place a hand on his face, lifting it up until he faces you once more. You put on a brave unyielding face, similar to the one before. Ignoring how the heat of his cheeks that sear under the pads of your fingertips matches the one on your own.

Thankful, that he can't see through the dark undertones of your skin. That he can't see just how bashful you were about the whole thing as well. That you could bring a man such as this to his knees, was not a power you know you had.

You slide your free hand down his chest, making sure to brush against the swollen nipples under his shirt.

Without further warning, you push down against the tip of his dick that strains though the fabric of his pants.

He moans, the sound coming out high at the top of his throat. Higher than any word you've ever witnessed coming from his lips.

You rub it relentlessly. Watching how he closes his eyes, every whimper that bubbles out of his throat, and how the muscles of his thighs flex at your sweet relentless torture. He grows wet under your hand, a dark spot pools larger and larger on the blue material over his thigh.

"C-close," he sputters out in a strained high voice. A tear falls from the corner of his eye, "pull it—" he chokes out a sudden sob, "more." He cries.

"No," you say in a soft sultry voice. Your words brush against his eyelashes and they flutter open, "you're going to cum just like this, and after," you press your thumb firmly on his tip, stopping the movement of your hand. As if doing as he was told, he cums in his pants.

He finally slumps back in his seat and something warm comes over your chest. His eyes are closed again and his chest falls up and down raggedly. as your eyes scan over the mess he's made of himself, the feeling intensifies.

Pride.

What you were feeling was pride.

But what were you proud of? Was it for yourself and what you did? Or was it for him?

"You. . . You were so good." You praise and discretely clear your throat, playing off the stumble like you were distracted by him or . . . Something, but then you remember what just happened and how he looks.

He definitely had not noticed. You were just in your head.

His eyes flutter open, regarding you with some sort of reverence. An awe you did not understand.

You move to unbuckle his pants. The sound clanging loudly in the room along with his deep breaths. Just so he couldn't see you fluster.

Just what was that look, and why did you want more?

He was so big. The thick velvety smooth skin of his dick felt so good, you just couldn't help your self.

You jerked him off with no thought of his being. His current emotional or physical state or even how overstimulated he might be.

He moaned deep and loud, closing his eyes as he threw his head back.

You had to get on the floor in front of him, half sitting on your knees for a better look, admiring how his dick bobbed in your grub,, how his balls bounced at the bottom of your hand.

You wrapped your hand around them— just to feel.

Like the rest of him, they were neatly trimmed, almost bare. The smooth sensitive skin felt heavenly, heavy and full in your palm. You massaged your hand around is balls with one hand and moved your other hand after along his dick, making sure your grip was tighter.

His low moans we're getting higher, falling into whimpers.

Before you could even think of what to do next, his orgasm sputtered out of him.

Thick ropes of his cum spilled over your fingers, some of it catching on your cheek, and some on his chin. The rest all over his clothes.

You stood putting some space between you. Your panties were more than soaked. Your arousal pooled between your thighs, threatening to trickle down your leg.

Your pussy was aching to be touched. You ignored it, and forced yourself not to squeeze your legs together.

Instead you grabbed a sticky note, scribbling quickly on it.

"Soak your pants in oxy clean and warm water, and spray this to your shirt before letting it sit for half an hour to two as needed before washing with these."

You handed it to him.

He silently placed it inside his jacket pocket.

In the short time you had taken to write how to treat the mess he's made of his very nice and expensive clothes, he'd put his dick away.

"Thank you." His voice was hoarse. Ruined even.

Wordlessly, you give him a sickly sweet, but intimidating smile, and turn on your heels. Rushing to grab your things from your desk, desperate to get home as quickly as possible, so you could replay everything in your mind while you touch yourself.

.

.

.

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