#bhf asks

He is a total dream to live with.

Part of it was good manners and common courtesy, of course. If only you knew that a much, much bigger part of it was because he had an embarrassingly huge, pants busting crush on you. He was totally smitten and would bend over backwards for you, he'd do anything to make your life a little easier or more pleasant. And hey, if it improved your opinion of him and endeared you to him further, that is just an added bonus, another win in his book. He loved the time spent together, adored when you thought of him, the times when you showed a similar level of care got to him badly. 

He’d been out earlier that day, had to attend a morning class, study group over lunch, the usual things that keep a college student busy in the middle of the week. Ethan was relieved to come back to the apartment, he is caught up on assignments, no more classes for the day, meaning that the afternoon is his to do whatever he wants. He unlocks the door, comes inside and is immediately hit with a delicious sweet smell and the faint sound of music. Shoes shucked, coat hung up, and he follows where his senses lead him, off towards the kitchen. He finds you in a tank top and criminally short shorts, a playlist running on your phone, and in the middle of baking. 

Your head raises, spatula in one hand, tray of chocolate chip cookies on the table to the right of your hip and the cooling rack to the left. Your greeting is as enthusiastic as ever, “Hey Ethan, you’re home!”

You are excited he’s home, and he is unreasonably happy for that fact. Before he can return your greeting, your hand raised, and you try to tempt him over with a wave of your fingers, “Come and have one, they’re still warm.” The smile across your face is inviting as you say further, “You can tell me how class was.” 

God, you are going to kill him, this is all so painfully domestic, it serves to remind him of all the things he wants from you. Ethan wishes that you were more than just his roommate and friend. He wants to come over, wrap you up in his arms and kiss you, he longs to be physically close to you, but he can’t. Still, he can’t stop himself from coming closer and reaching out to take the cookie you are offering up on the spatula. He plucks up the warm treat and takes a bite, he can’t stop the soft moan that spills out, fuck it tastes incredible. It’s gooey and obscenely fresh, the flavour is amazing, decedent and rich. His eyes want to roll back, you look at him expectantly, clearly wanting to hear his thoughts. 

Ethan’s hand covers his mouth to still maintain some semblance of politeness, he tells you, “S’ so, so good.” 

“Right? New recipe, I browned the butter first, gives it more of a caramelized kinda taste.” You explain, and he finishes the cookie, nodding along as he listens. He has to be careful, or he will demolish these cookies. He makes a mental note to only have a few tonight to ensure that you get your share. Ethan would feel terrible if he ate them all before you had the chance to have your fill. 

Going back to your earlier thought, you ask, “How was class? That quiz give you any trouble?” 

He licks a smudge of chocolate off his thumb and shakes his head before he informs you, “No, it went totally fine, thanks for the help.” Two nights ago you both had take-out and posted up on the couch while you assisted each other in some studying, he was very grateful you gave him a hand. For a night spent working, he had a crazy amount of fun being near you, chatting and listening to music as you poured over notes and books. 

“No problem, anytime you wanna study together, just let me know.” You respond, and he will of course take you up on that. He hums in acknowledgment before asking, “So, what are you gonna get up to?”

“Oh, since I finished these, I was about to go clean the bathroom.” It flows off your tongue easily, and Ethan feels a thrum of excitement immediately. This new piece of information decides what he is going to do with his afternoon. You ask simply, “Do you need to use it before I get in there?”

His clipped response comes swiftly, “Nope, I’m fine! I’ll just be in my room, got something to do-” He hurries off down the hall and heads to his room. Ethan slips inside and closes the door, he drops his backpack to the floor and presses his ear to the wood and listens. He waits, and soon he hears the usual sounds leading up to this task. The cupboard doors under the sink open then close, your footsteps head towards the bathroom, he hears the snap of you putting on cleaning gloves. The music sounds louder, bouncing off the tiles in the bathroom, then muffles as he hears the door close. 

He waits a full minute before he twists the knob as quietly as he can and creeps out and ventures across the hall to your bedroom. Your bedroom door is cracked, he nudges it open and steps inside. God, he loves your room, the carpet is plush, the entire place showcases your personality and it oozes comfortability. The smell can go to his head if he lets it, the distinct aroma of you mixed with the perfume you favour. 

You take at least a half hour whenever you clean the bathroom, but he doesn’t want to linger in here too long and get caught. He makes a move towards your laundry basket, flipping open the lid, so the pile of your dirty clothing comes into view. 

See, a few months back, Ethan went to go take a shower after you had, but you’d left something behind. He was pulling his shirt off, shifting his weight, and he feels something very silky and foreign against the side of his foot. He finishes removing his shirt and looks down to see a pair of panties left forgotten on the floor. Ethan can’t help himself, he reaches out and picks them up. The material is soft, a gorgeous purple that when he pictures the shade against your skin, it makes his breath catch. He turns them over in his hand, his thumb traces the cute little bow that sits up near the waist band. Then with a hard swallow, he holds them open and finds it still wet on the gusset, exactly where the underwear was pressed to you all day. He turns on the shower to cover up the sound, and he ends up getting himself off right there, pants around his thighs. He holds the material to his face, inhales the scent of you for the first time with his other hand wrapped around himself. Ethan ends up cumming absurdly hard, onto the tiled floor, all while thinking of you. 

After cleaning up his mess, he showers, scrubs himself down while still on cloud nine. He slips your used underwear back into your basket when you are out of the house the next day, and this becomes a new trend, a naughty and filthy secret. Ethan finds himself digging through your basket at least once a week, but more often if he can reasonably get away with it. Sometimes, can’t stop himself from tasting you, the stained part that lingers with the flavour of you pressed flat against his tongue as he jerks himself off. Or he wraps the fabric around his shaft and cums right into them, revelling in the mental rush of even the smallest traces of you mixed with him. It feels primal and possessive on a deep level, drowning the remnants of you in him. Ethan loves the idea of you wearing the underwear he’s cum in without you suspecting a thing, sure he jams them into your basket while they are messy, and you wash them before wearing them again but still! It’s become an addicting compulsion for him, he should feel bad about it, and he does feel a tad guilty, but ultimately he thinks it’s harmless. What you don’t know, won’t hurt you, right?

Back in the present, the hamper before him is nearly full, laundry day is tomorrow, so this worked out pretty perfectly. Ethan has a veritable buffet to choose from, he’s going to dig out a pair and take it back to his room to use to get off with. Hopefully be able to return them to your basket so you’ve never noticed them missing, and the evidence will get washed away tomorrow, leaving you still none the wiser. He reaches in and starts to rifle through, he’s become very familiar with your underwear collection, when his fingers brush against one he knows right away. His fingers catch on the first pair, pulling them up to see they are the baby blue cottony boy shorts. He bites his bottom lip, unsure if these are what he is particularly craving. Ethan has plenty of time, he doesn’t need to just take the first ones he finds. He passes them to his other hand, and goes back in to keep rooting around. 

Soon his left hand is overflowing a few different pairs tangled in his fingers, from the fiery red thong made entirely out of lace, to the cheeky floral printed bikini cut. He has a pair he is hoping for, he digs deeper still as he hunts. The set he wants are so sinful, jet black and buttery smooth, skimpy with lace edges, the way they feel against his shaft is heavenly. He is silently praying to find them, he is bent over and is up to his elbow in your basket. Ethan is so focused on his task, he has become totally oblivious, to the point that you are able to completely sneak up on him. 

You cannot believe what you are seeing. Your roommate searching through your basket with a fistful of your unmentionables. Loudly, you exclaim, “Oh my fucking God!”

Ethan shoots up immediately as his heart drops into his stomach. He turns with his eyes wide, a complete deer in the headlights look, to see you standing in your bedroom doorway. Your eyebrows are raised, your hands are on your hips and lips parted in surprise. 

This is his worst nightmare, you’ve caught him doing something so sick and perverse. He has no less than four pairs of your underwear clutched in his left hand, and it is so obvious what he is doing. You are holding his gaze, it feels like the longest half minute of his life, neither of you saying a single thing. 

Ethan’s mind is scrambling at a break neck pace, what can he say to defend himself? What can he do to try and fix this? To salvage your friendship? To convince you not to tell everyone what a nasty freak he is and kick him out of the apartment?! Panic, panic, his heart is pounding, and he is nearly on the verge of an anxiety attack. Fuck, this is so bad, so terrible! He is spiralling hard, but wait…You’re smiling? 

What you do next is completely unexpected and mind meltingly hot. You maintain eye contact and your fingers dip into your shorts at either side of your hips and begin to remove your bottoms. He watches as you slide them down your legs, you bend at your waist. You step out of them and pick up your now discarded underwear, standing up right again, the black panties he was searching for earlier now hooked on one finger. 

You give him a challenging look, saying at last with a wave of the garment, “You know, if you wanted a fresh pair, you could have just asked.” 

He is focusing on your face, holding eye contact to the best of his ability. Ethan knows that if he lowers his gaze even a hair, he won’t be able to tear himself away from the curves of your hips and the paradise between your thighs. He has spent far too many nights imagining-wait. His brain finally catches up and what you said, what you just did, and now his mouth falls open in pure disbelief. 

What?! Shit, wait, say it out loud! He breathlessly utters, “What?”

You laugh, a fond roll of your eyes as you step closer, until you have him backed up so far he is nearly pressed to the laundry hamper.

You speak again, slower and clearer but still playful, “I said, if you wanted a fresh pair-” Your hand slips into his, taking the handful of your underwear still gripped loosely in his left fist, he lets you. Then you reach around his hip and tossing them back into the basket. You place your freshly removed panties into his now empty open palm, finishing your thought, “-you could have just asked.” 

You are staring up into his wide brown eyes, trying to gage his reaction, it looks like he is still processing. The poor guy. Your hand slips up, gently tracing over his wrist and gripping his forearm as you prod, “C’mon Ethan, say something. I’m really putting myself out here.” 

That spurs him into action, he forces himself to talk, “Are uh, are you being serious? You aren’t like….” He forces out a very weak laugh before finishing his thought, “-Uhm mad?”

A giggle bubbles out, “Mad? God no! I am extremely happy, fucking relieved, honestly.”

“Relieved?!” He questions, and you hum, “Yeah Eth, I dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been practically throwing myself at you for months! I mean shitsake, it’s the dead of winter, and I am still dressed around the apartment like we are in the middle of a summer heatwave.” 

A highlight reel of the outfits you’ve worn around him for the past few months plays through his mind unbidden. Every single thing you’ve worn is tight or displaying cleavage, high or low cut and tantalizing, it’s been a source of intense masturbation fuel for Ethan as of late. He just thought you were doing it for comfort, but to know you were doing it in hopes of catching his attention? It has him clenching your underwear in his fist, and when he does that? Ethan can feel how fucking soaked they are. He wants to moan, has to fight to keep his eyes on you, he wants to do a million more things. That same craving from earlier in the kitchen comes rushing back, he wants to close the gap between you and wants to press himself close to you and crush your mouths together-

Your voice cuts through the rushing river of his thoughts, accompanied by your sure and steady hands turning him towards your bed. Your palms pressing insistently onto his chest urging him backwards and deeper into your bedroom, “You know, I think that you should get on my bed and show me just what you intended to do with those.” 

His steps stumble, he lets you push him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of your bed, and he lets himself fall onto the plush surface. His feet are still on the floor, he is propped up on his elbows and he stays focused on you as you take off your tank top so you are now standing completely naked in front of him. You give him a challenging raise of your eyebrows, asking an important question with one simple word, “Well?”

He knows not to question a great thing when it falls into his lap, so he stops hesitating at last and rushes to get his pants down. Button popped, zipper down and denim pushed down to his ankles along with his own underwear. He is on his back, pulling up his shirt, his painfully hard dick resting against his exposed stomach, the tip flushed and wet with precum. His hand, the one that isn’t gripping the fabric you gifted, wraps around his shaft, the jolt of sensation makes him inhale harshly. His lips are left parted, he slowly begins to touch himself, he cannot believe he is doing this while you watch. 

He cannot stop looking at you, at your curves on display, and every inch of your gorgeous body with all of your exposed skin. The look on your face telegraphs just how into this you are. You encourage him when you say, “Yeah, go on.” 

He brings his fist up to his nose, he inhales the heady scent of you and lets out that first quiet moan. The smell makes his grip tighten, his pace quicken, and you are drinking in every small move he makes, listening intently to each sound and hurried breath. 

You’ve had it bad for Ethan since about a month into living together. He is sweet, earnest, hardworking and God he is so pretty it is almost painful. You’ve been slowly trying to entice him, ramping it up over time, revelling in any and all time spent together. You had nearly resigned yourself to his consistent lack of interest, thought perhaps you were just meant to be friends and roommates and that is all, nothing more. So, stumbling into him stealing your panties? A fucking dream, something you thought that was entirely impossible coming true and thrust onto you completely unexpectedly, turning your entire day on it’s head. You know that you are not going to be able to remain standing here and just watching him, but for now you simply have to indulge at least a while longer. The goal is to have this sight burned into your brain so indelibly that you will see it whenever you close your eyes, as if it has been tattoo’d onto the back of your lids. 

He looks so fucking gorgeous, it is unreal. A camera is not good enough, a picture would not be able to do him justice, perhaps a talented artist rendering him in oils put to canvas might be able to get it right. You soak him up, from the pinch of his brows, to his unfocused gaze and the steadily increasing flush to his face. His shirt is pulled partway up his stomach, and you want it gone, you want him to be as naked as you are. 

You watch as he strokes himself from base to tip, his grip on himself firm, he inhales the scent of you once more and the moan he lets out is louder than the previous. That sound was criminal, and the next is even better. You watch Ethan as he opens his mouth and shoves the panties in so the wet crotch is right on his tongue, that muffled groan around your underwear is outright pornographic. The move is practiced, sure and steady. He does it so easily, it tells you that he has done this before, tasted you before, so desperate to know the most intimate flavour of you that he’s had your dirty panties in his mouth. The knowledge of this is too much, you can’t keep standing on the sidelines. 

You cross the space to your bed, one knee comes down onto the bedspread, so close it touches his and his hand slows. His eyes are locked on you as your hand reaches out, two of your fingers push into his mouth and press the fabric down tighter onto his tongue. Ethan moans again, you can feel the vibrations from it, see his eyes are going hazier. He still has a hand on his straining dick but isn’t stroking it any longer, just holding himself firmly at the base. Your digits dig deeper, push harder, pass over your soaked and bunched up underwear in his mouth and go towards the opening of his throat. He gags on your fingers, eyes pleading for more, and you need him right now. 

Breathlessly, you ask, “Want to taste the real thing or keep sucking on my old leftovers?”

He gives a shaky nod, the look he gives you clearly shows how unbelievably arousing he finds the very suggestion, it’s painted all over his face. You pull your hand back and take the ruined material with it, tossing them aside as you start to climb up the bed higher. 

“Lay down.” The command is followed automatically, no longer half sitting up, he drops low as possible, and you don’t stop moving until you have your knees on either side of his head. Ethan is still reeling, flat on his back and staring up at your clearly soaked cunt mere inches from his face. He only gets moments to take in the view because then you are lowering yourself down the rest of the way until his lips can kiss yours. 

His mouth opens, and his tongue slips up through your folds for the first time, his senses assaulted with the addictive smell and taste of you again; but this time as you said it, the real thing. He starts to eat you out slowly, licking from hole up to and over your clit again and again, rhythm steady. You squirm your hips, grinding down on his mouth, as your breathing hitches around a moan. Ethan groans against you, eyes falling closed as he tries to focus on giving you what you need. He finds a good pace, working with the moves of your hips, focusing on circling your clit in nice neat little circles. You sigh out encouragingly, “Yeah, just like that.”

As his tongue winds around and around, his own need kicks up again, the hand that was locked around the base of his absurdly hard shaft begins to move once more. He strokes himself slowly, unevenly. He is much more concerned with the heady flavour in his mouth and the sounds of pleasure you are gasping out, all thanks to him. His lips close around your clit, and he sucks, messy, nosily, and his tongue flicks over the nerve dense tissue caught in between his lips. 

“Oh God, Ethan-” You utter, sounding nearly awed, and that exclamation goes right to his head. His grip tightens and his pace quickens, losing himself in the moment completely.

The poor guy is so caught up in eating you out that his own pleasure sneaks up on him. He’s been eating you out for about five minutes, in total has been touching himself again for less than two, and it happens suddenly. He realizes too late, and he can’t stop it. His mouth breaks contact, head back against the sheets and with a shudder paired with a very pathetic sounding, “Ahhh fu-fuck-” he cums. 

You look over your shoulder just in time to catch it, the way he rocks up into his tight fist, his flushed dick fucking his hand. He spills in thick ropes that catch on the bottom of his shirt and over his flat stomach, the mess drips down over his hip bones invitingly. He looks and sounds even prettier when he cums. Ethan can’t stop trembling, and he is moaning brokenly, he is too hot for his own good. When his orgasm finds it’s natural end, he lets himself go, and trying to catch his breath. You lean back to look down at his face, eyes half lidded and the lower half of his face wet. You reach down and pat his cheek as you condescend, “Do you always cum that quick?”

He only looks mildly humiliated as he huffs out, “No-not…Not always.” 

You hum unconvinced, your hand slips into those curls and twists, lowering yourself back onto his mouth, “Well you’ve had a long enough break, get back to it.” You pull none too gently on his hair as you grind down, encouraging him to begin again. He winces but complies, his hands come up to rest on your outer thighs, his tongue starting to slip over your clit once more, this time it’s messier, needier. You rock your hips with a moan of praise, “Therrre you gooo-” 

You are so very into this, had been craving it for so long, you couldn’t help yourself from starting to fill him in on it. “You know something, Eth?” You panted out, “When I caught you elbow deep in my hamper, ahhn, it fffelt like I struck fucking go-ld.”

He lets out a questioning hum from between your thighs, refusing to break his stride as he continues to lap attentively at your clit. You take a steadying breath and inform him, “I’ve been rifling thr-ooh-ugh yours for months already. M’ shhhocked you didn’t catch me first-” A breathless laugh spills out before you confess further, “-I sometimes wear no-nothing but one of your shirts and get myself off in your bed.”

Ethan’s mouth falters for a moment at this new information, he groans against you as he pictures it. Before he can even fully process this confession, you are giving him another, “You know, ah-once, I uhm-” You gasp as he sucks on your clit before rushing out, “-I ca-ught you nappinggg on the couch and ha-ad to stop myself from sssitting on your face then.” 

The idea of you waking him up by smothering him with your cunt is incredible, he doesn’t think there would be a better way to wake up. Ethan continues to eat you out, and you grind yourself on his pretty pink mouth as you babble out your sins. You tell him about the times you’ve masturbated by grinding yourself on the arm of the couch, and that you hoped he would come home and see you in the act. 

You talk about this one morning that he was shirtless and just in his sweatpants, making coffee in the morning, and you wanted to yank his sweatpants down and blow him right there in the kitchen. 

As Ethan works, he is becoming very aware of the fact that you are even more sex obsessed than him, and so much more perverted. The things you want and do, it’s all so hot and extremely dirty. Finally, you stop your self expose’ on your debaucherous thoughts and habits to tell him,  “I can’t wait ah-any longer.” 

He has been so caught up in everything you have been saying and his continued effort to get you off that his mind is slow to catch up. You get off his face and soon enough he is on the same page, because you are climbing on top of him and have your hand around his shaft. Ethan came not that long ago but getting hard again while he is tongue deep in you and you dirty talking to him like that is as easy as breathing. His tip drags through your folds, and you have him lined up just right, wasting no time you sink down taking him inside with a moan that he matches. He gasps out, “I-I’m uh still pretty sensitiv-” 

“I don’t care.” Your response cuts him off. You follow it up with a pointed look and a firm, “You can take it.” 

He can, absolutely he can. His dick is still wet with his own cum when you bury it in your slick cunt. You want to use him, his own slight discomfort be damned, and he wants you to. 

You start to move, rolling your hips as you whisper, “Oh my God-” a breathless laugh leaves you as you start to ride him, “-I want to fuck you on every surface in this apartment.”

Ethan has no idea how he got this lucky, all he can choke out is a weak, “Ye-yeah?”

You bite your bottom lip, a nod, and you reach down, your hands catch his wrists and grip them tight before forcing them up and over his head, pinning them down. Your chest is nearly pressed to his, the new angle hits that internal spot perfectly, lets you grind your clit on him just so. Your response tumbles out on an exhalation, a very playful, “Yeahhh.”

You feel phenomenal, even better than he ever dreamt, the previous orgasm he had be damned, he isn’t sure how he is going to be able to hold out at this rate. As if sensing this predicament, you tell him in a surprisingly steady voice, “I don’t care if you cum again, I’m not stopping. Not till I get mine.”

He has a feeling you aren’t going to let up until he is cumming dry, and that thought makes his eyes roll back. He begs, vocalizing his earlier thought, “Use me.” 

You laugh, it makes you clench around him, and he hisses through his teeth. You muse as your hips slam down harder, “Like I need your permission.” 

The biological drive behind it all cannot be understated, thousands of years of hard-wired feelings to want, to crave, to need a thick cock cumming inside your wet and willing cunt. Sure, a facial or a shot in the mouth still has some appeal, but nothing compares to getting it right where nature tells you it should go.  

They have a deep desire that matches yours to receive perfectly, they want to give, they want to provide and fill you up over and over, with the idea that it will, hopefully, eventually take root and then the evidence will be undeniable by you becoming pregnant. At least that is what the dirty talk and idea behind the kink implies, actually getting you knocked up isn’t the ultimate goal, the real reason is simply a shared love of it and finding it hot as fuck, using it as a vehicle to wring as much pleasure as possible from the act.

At least that is what you thought. 

They have a different view of it, what you said was in part true, sure it felt good and made the sex better, but the pair had decided a long time ago that they wanted you forever, didn’t want you going anywhere. What better way to tie themselves to you permanently than to get you pregnant? They are positive, if it takes, that you’ll keep it and by extension, them. So they do some work on their end to ensure it, you don’t exactly hide your birth control, tampering with it is laughably easy, then the fun part, fucking you over and over while what is in your system runs its course until the inevitable happens, they aren’t in a rush. 

Naturally some further precautions are taken, and you go along with your hips being propped up to help the large amounts of cum pool against your cervix, with them fingering the mess back into your loosened hole. The times you can’t rest are when the plug comes out, a thick and wide thing to keep the cum in and prevent it from spilling into your underwear, it can’t keep it all locked in but holds the majority, when the toy comes out the rush of slickness that follows is immense. 

Again for you, the thought of questioning any of this never occurs because you are confident you are safe, you think it is just to elevate the kink and scenes, all the while you are blissfully ignorant to them fucking with your pills, unaware that with their intervention it is taking your normal 99% protection with perfect use down several notches every single day. 

Most people don’t know what days will change their lives forever, going through it normally, only upon reflection can they point and say, “There, that’s when it happened.” This is one of those days you will think back on and see the whole picture. 

Tonight is for the three of you, this week has been busy, trying to get your schedules to line up has been tricky, but it’s your collective Friday, a few days off, so this is extremely needed. 

You are pinned down on the couch by Stu is sitting over your head, his hands on your shoulders, your own hands circling his wrists, grip tight, nails biting into skin, as he watches with rapt interest.

Billy has his hands tucked right behind your knees, forcing them to your chest, folding you effectively in half while he fucks into you deeply, his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs, before pulling out nearly completely before diving in again. You cannot help the sounds that slip out, pathetic moans and gasps are torn from your mouth with every loud smack ringing out with your body and his meeting. 

You can tell that Billy is getting close, the sweat on his brow as his grip under your knees tightens, the rhythm he had set earlier getting uneven, the pace getting faster while curses stain his tongue. Stu notices, he is talking him through it, “Fuck, come on, do it man, pour it in her, nice and deep.”

“God yes, gonna-” He doesn’t get the full words out before his sentence breaks off with a groan, and he does just that, his hips flush with your body, buried completely inside as he unloads. You feel the pulses, accompanied by that delicious warmth spreading, your breathing as laboured as you lay there, waiting for Billy to collect himself enough to pull out and for Stu’s inevitable turn. Billy leans down, more of his weight pressed to you, a soft kiss to your lips that you return momentarily before he pulls back, his hands release you and your knees go slack, no longer held tight to your chest. You watch as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and Stu asks, “Good one?” 

He hums in the affirmative, and holds his hand out, a gesture as he points, “Pillow.” 

Stu lifts his hands from your shoulders, and you stop gripping his wrists, he turns and picks up the pillow and passes it over. You are adjusted, and you know what they want, your arm hooks under your own knees, the pillow is slid underneath so it keeps your hips in their current upward position, as opposed to Billy doing it, allowing him to move freely. He gets up and asks casually, “Water?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” Stu comes over to sit in the space where Billy had just left, you call, “Yes please.” 

Stu licks his fingers before his hand falls between your thighs, he says simply, “Keep holding those legs up.” 

You nod once and inhale sharply when his fingers get to work, slipping over your clit, your head falls back against the couch cushion. If one cums in you, the other usually gets you off before fucking you to add to the mess, the idea is that it increases the chances of getting pregnant, you don’t know how true that is, but you aren’t going to complain about enthusiasm for your enjoyment. 

You are already very warmed up, so Stu’s touch isn’t gentle nor rough, just firm, consistent pressure, exactly where you need it, tight circles drawn that draws a nearly dreamy moan from you. Billy comes back promptly, water bottle in hand, he holds it out and Stu takes it, he drinks deeply, his hand between your legs not stopping. 

Billy’s eyes are on your form, how you twitch and tense, sigh in pleasure, he poses a question, “How’s she doing?” 

Pulling the bottle away and handing it back, Stu responds, “Good, she’s kept all the mess inside, so far anyway.” 

You cut in as you breathlessly say, “You could always ask me yourself, I’m right here.” 

“I could, true.” He kneels on the floor next to you, his gaze locked on your face as he asks, “So how are you doing?” 

You open your mouth to respond and Stu, in that way only he can, presses down harder and speeds his fingers up, causing the words to die on your tongue, replaced with a choked moan instead. Billy smirks and raises his eyebrows, responding as if you actually spoke a coherent sentence, “Really? You don’t say.” 

Stu is snickering, and you try to bite out, but with how out of breath you sound, on top of it being cracked around the edges with your moans, it falls flat, “Fuh-fuck yo-you.” 

“Hurry up and cum so I can.” Stu teases, and you can feel it building already, you’d gotten halfway there when Billy was fucking you, getting back to the edge is not a challenge. “Gimmie ahh, minute-” You moan and Billy reminds, “Tall ask. You know how impatient Stu can be.” 

You are in fact well acquainted with how impatient Stu can be, you doubt you could ever forget it, even still, you don’t leave him waiting long. It is one of those orgasms that creeps up on you, the build starts slow and seemingly gets faster, like a train picking up speed, until the moment turn from, “I think I’m getting close.” to, “I’m on the edge!” and finally, thrown suddenly clear off and into, “I’m cumming-”

He works you through the bliss until it bleeds into painful overstimulation, leading to you batting at his hand, begging, “St-stop it.” 

“Alright, alright.” He lifts his hands away, and you exhale at the relief you feel. You are offered the water, you lift yourself only slightly and drink your fill, soon as you have swallowed the last mouthful Stu is getting ready to fuck you. There is no position change, the name of the game is keeping all the cum inside, and thus far you haven’t spilled a drop, if never stays that way. 

It isn’t like Stu always has to go second, but he seems to prefer it, the extra messy nature of sloppy seconds appeals to him, seems to make him fuck you harder. He has his hands pressed to the backs of your thighs, his thumbs spread your slick lips open and he presses the hot and flushed tip of his dick to your hole. 

“Been dreamin’ of this-” He presses his hips and begins to slide inside, a weak groan breaks off when his head is enveloped by you, “-haven’t cum all week, been saving it for you.” 

God, you know that isn’t a small feat, even during a busy week Stu always finds time to take care of himself, holding back so he can really fill you, it serves the exact purpose he wants, it makes a fresh wash of arousal soak your brain. He doesn’t stop his forward momentum until he is totally inside, once he is, a shared moan spills forth. 

He lingers for a moment, Billy still on his knees has his eyes on the point you are both locked together, he doesn’t look away when Stu starts to move. He fucks in and out at an easy pace, halfway out and then back in, grinding down on that perfect spot on every thrust in, making your cunt ripple in response. Billy can’t stay out of it, the same way Stu never can, he leans down and kisses you, a filthy moan into his mouth from how it immediately lights up your nervous system. Getting kissed while getting fucked is one of the best feelings possible, you cannot get enough of it. 

It is never stays easy, it turns rough quickly, and you take it gratefully, the kiss breaks, head falling back to the couch again as the pace is increased. You are thankful the walls of your place are thick because you are not quiet, moaning, crying out, panting and the sound of skin on skin, and soon, Billy talking. 

Speaking up, he says to Stu, “I think this’ll be the one man.” 

A deep groan in response, “You think?” 

“Oh yeah, no doubt, it has to be. She’s going to get pregnant this time for sure.” Fingers push some of your sweaty hair back off your forehead, and he prompts you, “You want it, right?”

With a shaky nod, your tongue flicks over your dry lips, uttering over the sound of sex, “Yeah, yeah, I do-”

“Say it then.” He urges, and you do, with a small shiver you indulge in your shared kink, playing into it, “I want it, I want it so much.” 

“Not to me, to him, beg him for it.” Billy directs, and you look up at Stu, you can see how much he is becoming effected too, keep in mind he hasn’t cum in over a week, he won’t be lasting much longer, “Fu-fuck, Stu, please, cum in me. I-I want it bad, M’ dyin’ without it.” 

It is more than working for both of you, feeling that familiar curling pleasure deep, the throbbing of your straining clit, the tenseness of your body over all as he slams in harder, “C’mon please, please, get me pregnant-”

It is as if those last three words moaned longingly yanks Stu to the edge, sudden and unexpected as he breathes out, “Shit-” His hips stutter to a harsh stop as he starts to cum and that is when you start to really overflow, with how rough he is, how wet you are and the both of their more than ample loads it is bound to happen. As soon as he is collected enough he pulls out and still panting he starts to finger the mess back into you, Billy reaches out to help, he can tell how close you were and how Stu came before you could again, his fingers rub your clit to help get you there. 

You always cum so quickly at this point, two thick fingers pushing the slippery cum back inside and pressing against that sweet spot every single time they enter you and the perfect friction and stimulation on the outside does you in rapidly. Body shuddering and sweat slick as you are gripped by the peak of your orgasm, it is drawn out until you are thoroughly spent and exhausted. Soon the hands lift one last time, leaving your swollen and stuffed cunt alone, and you are glad for the hard-earned break. Your arm released from behind your knees, you are so comfortable you could fall asleep right here, and you just might. You can hear the boys talking about what a good time that was and about you getting knocked up and you, all happy and sleepy are, of course, agreeing with a light laugh, “Yeah, I sure hope it happens this time.” 

Again, it’s fun! This is all in the name of insane orgasms and engaging in kink, you play along happily. 

Number two, I would encourage you to not take it too seriously! Have fun with it obviously, but porn isn’t meant to be super serious to me, it is a fantasy! Some suspension of disbelief is baked in, don’t feel like it has to be super grounded in reality. If it is not that realistic but it IS hot, then it serves it’s purpose! 

Number three, think about your characters and how who they are would influence how they fuck! Believe it or not, I think hard as fuck about what kinks or habits that certain characters would have, I won’t write just any kink or scenario for a character, if I don’t think it fits, it won’t hit. So I don’t do it. 

Number four, consider how the characters relate to each other, it will influence the smut and how long has this been going on? If they have been together for a bit and you imply that then you can assume a lot of shit was worked out off-screen, there are assumptions that they have some comfortability and familiarity. Meaning? You don’t have to explicitly spell out things. Consider if this is the first, twentieth or one hundredth time, because that will make it different. 

Number five, do not be afraid to swear! This is pornography we are talking about here! Be vulgar! Sex is dirty and fun, engage and play with that. Swear a bit, a well-placed fuck goes such a long way! Do not be afraid to be down and dirty with your descriptions, I personally cannot get behind smut where someone can’t even utter the word cock or cunt. 

Consider your pre-amble, the lead up to your smut, unless starting right in the action, can make or break a fic. How much build-up are you going to do? A little or a lot? I find context can make the smut hit harder because you have more investment. Where is the scene set? Don’t make it the same order of events every time though, vary it, if it is always make out, hand stuff, oral, penetration, it can get stale to read OR write. People can get their dicks sucked after penetration, remember that. 

Now as for an example based off of what you gave, stretch it out.

Describe the act of the giver getting on their knees, of the meeting of eyes and removal of clothing. Mention textures or temperatures, comment on the hot, hard and heavy weight of a shaft in their palm. Linger on the act of taking the dick into their mouth, the reaction from the receiver, the taste, the spike or arousal from the actions taken, any sounds made. Then the motion, the rhythm and patter of the moment, how they stroke or suck and how the other responds to the stimulation. What is said? What are they thinking? Does it feel too good to speak or think? When the climax hits how does the body react to it, does the person take the load in their mouth like a champ and swallows it back like an old pro or do they have some leak out and gag a bit? Compare the cum to something else, mentions of it being salty or tangy but ultimately inoffensive is usually a safe bet.

Read other smut you like, what do you like about it? What do you think works in it or what doesn’t? Consider how to adopt and adapt what you like for your own purposes. Look at porn or movies you like too, what makes a sex scene work or not? Consider this and how to apply it. A good exercise I recc is to look at a video of a scene and practice writing it out as it plays out. How would that scene look in the written word, how do you make it hit the same when it is text without the visual? You will learn some interesting tricks and start to figure out the blocks to building a scene on your own better. 

I will leave you with a personal godsend. I recommend you vary your word choices, I use onelook, the reverse dictionary, when I am worried I am using one word too much I put it in and this will spit out a bunch of similar words to give you options. 

A questioning hum from you has him elaborating with a raise of his eyebrows, “You call that shit a kiss hello?”

Ah, how foolish of you. Leaning in again, his hand reaches up, fingers tracing over your cheek and tilting your face to meet him better. Your lips capture his, and the feeling that action invokes begins to melt some of the day's stress away. The pair of you slot together with ease, your mouth slides against his in that comfortable, familiar way that still can so quickly set you on fire. You take your time, one kiss turns to two, bleeds to five and onwards. When his tongue brushes your bottom lip, you pull back with a shy smile, “Better?”

“Much.” Erik nods, the expression on his face is pure affection as in a teasing tone he says further, “You’re forgiven, by the way.” 

You respond softly, lightly, “Thank God.” Now unable to wait any longer, your hand finds his, with a squeeze of his fingers and your face still inches from his, you ask, “Please?”

“Do you need me?” He asks with a fond sigh. You nod, a small pout to hopefully get across how much you want him. Another one word question is posed as he squeezes your hand back, “Fingers?”

An enthusiastic nod as you tell him in a flirty tone, “To start.” Your hand starts to bring his hand up to your mouth, and he shakes you off with a laugh, “Let me go wash my hands.”  

Erik gets up off the couch, and you trail behind him to the kitchen. You lean against the counter and watch as he washes his hands, he asks, “You have a hard day?” 

“Very. Missed you a lot.” You say honestly, as he soaps up and then rinses. He throws you a sideways glance as he says, “You always miss me.” 

He finishes rinsing up, a shake of his hands in the sink trying to rid some of the excess water, then dries them. You sink down to your knees, unable to hide your eager and unabashedly excited expression, “Can’t help it.”

“I know. It’s really sweet.” He teases as holds his hand out and your hand catches his wrist. You hold him steady, lean in and start.

Your tongue slips out and licks up the length of his pointer and middle finger as an opener. Your lips close around one finger and starts to suck slowly, your tongue winds around and around. Eyes turned upwards to meet his as he watches you work.

This has become increasingly common place, the reasons vary from day to day, but more days than not, Erik helps you satisfy your oral fixation. You can’t help yourself, some days it’s first thing, taking advantage of how hard he is first thing, others? It’s on the couch while he is gaming or watching a movie. At times, you finish eating before him and slip under the table. Sometimes it is sexual, sometimes it isn’t, he is well aware it can be just about the comfort it provides. He loves it honestly, it is just a bit of an ego trip, how hungry you are for him and every sensation and emotion he can provide. How can he not be high on it? The confidence boost it provides is unreal. From pleasure to comfort, stability and safety and more, your first port of call is frequently is Erik, and he loves being needed so desperately by you. 

Fellating his fingers rougher, sloppier, taking two to the back of your throat causing a slight gag. You repeat the action immediately, completely undeterred, and he lets out a half laugh as he says, “Jesus, take it easy. I’m not going anywhere.” 

You shake your head, pulling his fingers out, running your tongue up and down his soaked fingers. Drool is down your chin, eyes hazy and unfocused as you kiss his fingertips. You release his wrist, asking in a wrecked voice, “More?”

He complies easily, belt and pants open, and you rush to help. Shaking fingers tug denim and his underwear down until his hard dick is released. You could moan in sheer relief at the sight of him, you manage to hold it in until he is in your mouth. Your hand lock on his hips and draw him near, mouth open as you take him in, pulling a delicious moan from him. The muffled sound you make against him is as genuine and unapologetic as it gets. 

“Thereee you go.” He hums out. Eyes fall closed, and you start to bob up and down, slide him in and out. Letting the taste of him invade your senses, you linger and really enjoy this. Every sharp inhale, subtle sound and moan, you eat up. You feel your blood sing, and heat burns brightly as you feed your cravings. His hand rests on your head, helping guide you as you fuck your mouth on him. You are so lost in dining off of him that you almost miss him asking in that all too arousing tone, “That helping?”

A shaky nod, you exhale out your nose and hum against his shaft, “Mmhmm.”

Once you’ve taken him to the base no less than ten times you pull him all the way out, a hand leaves his hip and settles around his shaft, he is dripping wet. Now is the time that you engage in your favourite part. Your tongue leaves your mouth, this time to toy and play with his piercing, quick flicks turn indulgent licks. Lips wrapping back around his tip, you suck messily, popping off of him wetly. Erik asks breathlessly, “You wanna move to the living room?” 

“No way.” Leaning back in, taking him into your mouth once more, making him groan. He warns you, “The tiles in here are gonna wreck your knees one day.” 

Ignoring people who say things like that is easy when you are so secure in yourself. 

That is the case usually, so why the fuck is it so hard to brush him off?

The man in question is Mickey Altieri, a fucking film major of all things, that you have the unfortunate joy of sharing a creative writing class with. He just knows how to get under your skin with everything he is and does, the things he says? Crude and annoying. The way he acts? It’s all unearned overconfidence and swagger. How he attacks assignment prompts and what he chooses to write about? Unoriginal drivel that doesn’t stir the soul like a good work should.

Mickey is rude, just the kind of guy your dad always told you to avoid, who he warned you of when making your own way in the world, particularly at college. It wasn’t like you didn’t believe daddy dearest, you love and trust him implicitly, but it just sounded…Somewhat fake, unbelievable, and yet, it turns out he was right, guys like Mickey do in fact exist and are the bane of your existence. A resigned sigh as you muse, “Daddy knows best.” 

You are headed off to class once again, wondering if Mickey would even show up, there was a wild party last night, there have been times he has slept in and missed class entirely, you were hopeful that would be the case today. Arriving early as per usual finding your seat, taking out your notebook and pretty pens for colour coordinated notes you were going to write, getting yourself settled, and less than five minutes before class was meant to start, he strolls in, and you have to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes and groaning. 

The bastard, Mickey, knows how much that you don’t like him, and he seems to love how you don’t like him, so when he sees you, he grins with a wave. You think that is all it is, he just sees you are here and is delighted, excited to annoy, until he starts coming over, both the seats to your right and left are filled, as is the one in front of you, a quick glance over your shoulder clues you in that the seat directly behind you is open. You want to tell him no, but if you tell him no it will only egg him on further, so he comes over, sits behind you and you accept your fate. 

“Hiya princess.” He coos in that tone he loves to take with you, overly sweet and familiar, and you sigh, knowing if you don’t respond at all, he won’t let it go, so you say quickly and simply, “Morning.”

He folds his arms on his desk and leans closer, over behind where your right shoulder is, “What the matter? You don’t sound happy to see me.” 

You lean to the side, more towards your friend to the left, looking towards Mickey, you scoff, “Not unhappy to see you per se, just surprised you were able to pry yourself off the floor of the frat you undoubtable passed out at to make it to class on time.”

He laughs, smile wide, he leans back in his chair and declares, “God, see this is exactly why I got up to come to class! You are always so funny.”

You roll your eyes and turn back to the front, class about to begin, “Glad I can provide such thrilling entertainment.” 

At least one of you is having a fun time, at least one of you is enjoying this dynamic because you certainly weren’t.

At first. 

Mickey is nothing if not persistent and over time, a change starts to happen, a shift where the annoyance does something different inside of you, the heat of anger curls in your stomach and turns to another feeling, arousal, you push that feeling down and pointedly ignore it. He is the wrong guy for you -  flat out, full stop, you aren’t meant to like him, spend time with him, want to get to know him more. There were a lot of reasons, but one of the main ones was plain and simple:  You were better than that, better than him even.

That sounds so shitty and shallow but your entire life you have been told just that, you are better than dudes like Mickey, in small ways sure, but the biggest and most important one is obvious, because you are good, and he isn’t. Simple, no? 

It made sense before, not questioning it, like why wouldn’t you WANT to believe this? Doesn’t everyone want to believe they are good? An effective way of doing that is having a “bad” person to point at, to set you apart, show you the difference. 

One of the things Mickey is best at is making you question things you normally would never think to, he forces you to expand your horizons, and isn’t that what college is all about? It happens in class with him pushing you on the themes in your writing, it happened with the things you chose to eat, the parties you attended, the company you keep, and it makes you examine why you choose these things. Are they what you really want? Or what you have been told to want? It was a major piss off, but you couldn’t get his words out of your head.

Most of the time you think on it, trace back and find the roots of your choices and discover that yeah you like the things you do because you actually do enjoy them for the right reasons, not because you were told to. You reluctantly appreciate the push to think on it thought for the affirmation, sure, but more so for the times you realize you were incorrect in your initial assessments. 

You think you might be wrong about Mickey, not about him being right for you, God no, you are positive that being with him in any serious way is totally not a good call, but more being wrong about completely staying away from him. 

Rebellion isn’t an act you’ve ever really engaged with in your life, thus far, now seems like a perfect time and Mickey might be better at reading people than you give him credit for, you think he can see it in you, the need to break out and do things you aren’t meant to. He encourages you slowly. 

One of the big moments you can point to is once you are in the library, working on an assignment, Mickey had seen you and set up at the same table, to what end? You weren’t sure, this is in the “you don’t want to admit he isn’t as annoying as he used to be stage”, so you don’t refuse him sitting there, (like you could anyway, he would have sat regardless), working in relative silence, until you pull out two items. You open your compact mirror and begin reapplying your lip gloss, and he pipes up, asking, “What flavour is that?”

A sideways look to him, a brief flick over before you focus back in on your task at hand, “Why do you want to know?”

“Call me curious, I think those details can tell you a lot about a person.” He responds, and you ask, “And you think knowing my preferred flavour will tell you something noteworthy?”

You finished applying it, you screwed the tube closed as he responded, “Definitely.” 

Humouring him, you impart two words as you click the compact shut, “It’s peach.” 

He hums in reply, and you ask, curious yourself, “So what does that tell you?”

Mickey isn’t looking at you any longer, back to his book, he says casually, “Confirms exactly what I thought. That I wish I could taste it myself.” 

It shouldn’t have worked, but it did, the nonchalance paired with the matter of fact, serious tone, it reads as wholly genuine and honest. The blunt way he basically outright tells you that he wants to kiss you effects you. Fingers fumble just slightly as you put the makeup away in its designated pocket, you hope he doesn’t notice. If he does, he says nothing. You were beginning to like him, and that pisses you off almost as much as he used to piss you off previously before you started to find him hot.

He compliments you often, teasing, playful, but still compliments you, calls across the quad of, ”Oooh, skirt is real short today, looks great!” 

A touch of your jacket, fingers brushing over the curve down your back, “Nice material, daddy buy this for you too?”

From a finger curling in a lock of your hair in one heartbeat, before slipping out of it on the next, a boop of your nose as he says, “New haircut? I’m a fan.”

You usually let him say these things with minimal snark back, because he was right, you did look good, you put effort into your appearance, and you liked the praise, might as well let him be right on occasion for his good taste. You might retort a curt thanks but remind him that you are out of his league, and it so isn’t happening.

So he is kind of hot, there isn’t anything wrong with recognizing that fact, you have eyes, so noticing that, him becoming more tolerable to around, so complimentary and all the flirting becoming more and more blatant, you might think about him at times, increasingly more over the months of his efforts. For instance, when you were alone in bed when your roommate was out, the times you could truly indulge in touching yourself and let yourself breathe out his name on pleasured exhales, you would never admit that you did it though.

Mickey likes to make jabs at you like everyone else, those aforementioned ones, he focuses on you being uptight and a prude. Offers of his services become commonplace, particularly when he bothers you, cutting in when you fight, saying with an incredibly lewd move of his fingers, “You need to relax, you know how I could help with that?” 

His body moving closer, pressing your back into the wall, that undeniably hungry look, what he meant was endlessly clear. The pulse of heat is sudden, makes your eyes go wide, and your response is immediate, pushing him away and saying, “As if! Someone like me with someone like you? Get real.” 

He laughs and leans his shoulder on the wall beside you, asking, “Why not? Because daddy says you shouldn’t?” 

“That is what you always fall back on, I’m not that much of a daddy's girl, you know.” You bite, and he hums, unconvinced, “Sure you aren’t, keep telling yourself that sweetheart.”

“Nothing to tell myself when it’s the truth-” A cross of your arms, and you contemplate leaving the party, he cuts in, “You sound so convincing, you might be able to fool yourself if you keep it up.” 

Your mouth opens and there is no time to talk before he tells you, “How about you get another drink in you and maybe come find me, and we can continue this?”

He steps away and you are fuming. You don’t leave the party. You do go get another drink, not because he told you to, but just because you want one, honest. He was so infuriating, you totally hated him; not the way you used to, but you hated him because of the effect he had with seemingly no effort. You can feel how wet you are, you ache, you want him, he is bad for you, he is everything you have been told to avoid, that just makes you want it more, want him more. Fuck preconceived notions and expectations.

Once you have that drink done, you do find him, coming up to him without saying a word, you grab him, a hand around his wrist, pulling him with you, he stumbles behind with a, “Woah!”

He was between conversations, headed from the living room to the kitchen, no one else around, you yank him into the doorway that leads to the basement. You close the door behind you both, and the light pouring in from the cracks around the edges provides enough light to look at each other. The basement at this place is unfinished, no one is down there, no real reason for anyone to come down here, so it is private enough. You let go of his wrist, looking up at him, you are standing on the third step, he is on the second step.

“So you took my advice, you found me, got me alone. Now what?” He asked, you can see the cocky smirk on his face, and you speak up, “I wanted to just tell you that you are an asshole.” 

“Oh, is that all? So nothing you haven’t told me before, so I can go?” He gestures with a thumb over his shoulder, and you say quickly, “No!”

That gets a raise eyebrow as he looks at you, asking, “No?”

“No, like, I wanted to tell you-” Huffing out a breath, you had a lot more to say, you were sure of it earlier but now in this smaller, darker, more enclosed space it is escaping you. Feeling the warmth radiating from him so close to you, able to smell whatever scent he put on before coming to the party, that mild simmer of your previous arousal is beginning to roll more towards a full boil. 

“Wanted to tell me?” He asked, leading you and the anger spikes from his tone, from all the months of build up and your shared interactions hitting you at once, the straw that breaks the camel's back as you say, “I wanted to tell you I hate you! I fucking hate how you look at me, talk to me, I hate how you make me question everything and how I can’t seem to bother you. I fucking hate that you are so unflappable, and honestly I hate the most how you make me feel.” 

He doesn’t look as surprised as you would have hoped, he is interested however, attention totally focused on you as he asks, “And how do I make you feel?” 

Mickey is always very bold, speaks his mind, does what he wants, and with the courage of the drink still in your system, you decide to do the same, you reach out, gripping his wrist once more, taking one step back up to be on the same stair as him. You don’t look down, staring at him the whole time, eyes locked as you move him how you want, bringing his hand down, and he breaks your staring contest first. 

Your opposite hand is lifting your skirt as you place him between your leg, you can feel the contact of his hand brushing your inner thighs, drawing him higher until you angle your hips, his fingertips slip in the top band of your pretty lacy panties. He might have been in shock over what you were doing, simply letting you use his body, lead him, but now, as soon as he breaches that final layer, it is like he wakes up, he moves. His fingers slide down over smooth skin, further, and he passes over your clit and between your lips, he feels the abundance of wetness combined with the soft slick hot inner flesh of your excited cunt. You shiver, eyes half lidded, as you tell him, “You make me feel like this.”

He breathes out, “Holy shit.” He steps closer, pressing himself to you, two of his fingers press into you in one smooth fluid motion and your head tips back, a soft moan crosses your lips, “Yes.” 

“Don’t moan louder than that, we are so close to the door someone walking by might hear you.” He grits his teeth slightly, he is right, you should move away, get further down into the basement, but you don’t want to stop. So you don’t, you just nod simply, and he slips his fingers halfway out before sinking them back in, the stretch and friction feels amazing. 

He fingers you like that for a minute, slow, purposeful, each curl of his fingers in feels way better than it ever does when you do it to yourself. He isn’t even touching the best spots, he is almost purposefully avoiding the rougher spongier tissue of your G-spot, just dragging inwards and sliding back out, simply letting you feel him and him doing the same in turn. His mouth is beside your ear, speaking low to you, “I can’t believe after all my offers, all the times I’ve teased and talked about being knuckle deep in you, helping you get off, it’s finally happening.” 

You laugh, light, slightly breathless, eyes falling closed, his arm slips around you, hand on your lower back as his other is working between your legs, your fingers hook in your underwear and draw them down to give him more room to work. You whisper, “Honestly, I can’t believe it either.” 

“Feels that good, huh? Like it’s that unbelievable?” He teases, and before you can try to scoff or deny it, he presses his fingers into the upper wall and finds that perfect spot, you let out a choked moan, and he coos, “No, no. it’s gonna be alright. Keep it low but, go ahead. Let it out.” 

No point in trying to pretend it isn’t good, because it is, this feels incredible. Here you are, at a party, able to be caught at any time, getting fingered by a man you are endlessly attracted to and simultaneously hate, should be far, far away from, yet here he is, fingers inside of you, bringing you unspeakable pleasure. His fingers press into that same spot a few more times before he pulls out, fingers soaked, and he drags them up, starting to rub firm circles onto your clit, and you gasp, “Yeah, fuck, right there.” 

“I know.” He says it as if trying to soothe you, it makes the heat inside you flare once more. You aren’t one for casual hookups, if they could all be like this you might do it more often, something tells you that he is an outlier, that this isn’t the norm, there is an innate factor to him that is making this as good as it is. He switches after a time, will rub your clit, focusing on it before slipping his fingers back in to play with the spot inside, his palm pressed to the outside, still stimulating you, inside and out, before sliding back out to continue his previous moves. On and on, maddening, and so good. 

His mouth is still near your ear, he speaks to you softly, hot things about how wet you are, how good your pussy feels. He is asking you to give in to how it feels, how he knows you want it, how he always knew you were a slut deep down, so relax and enjoy, he wants you to cum and if he keeps this up you will be helpless to do anything but listen. 

It builds quickly, all in all, in less than ten minutes he has you close, you have been close for about a full minute, just waiting for that little extra to push you over the edge. Your legs are tense, so much so you are shaking slightly, breathing is laboured, fingers on one hand is gripping the bottom of your skirt, the other tangled in the shirt fabric over his shoulder, desperate for grounding, needing to hold onto him for stability.

He is rubbing your clit in agonizingly slow circles, he speaks again, “You are shaking so much-”

“Mickey, please, fuh-fuck, I-” You gasp, and he hums, “I know, I know, you are so close. How about you watch me finish you off.”

His fingers slide down and up and in, curls into that sweet spot, palm rubbing your clit with every pass, the thread is so taut, close to snapping at any second, you are whimpering, helplessly grinding into his hand. He can tell you are stuck, need an extra element, and he is nice, he provides. He leans in, his lips brush over from your ear, to your cheek, and then he kisses you for the first time. Open mouth and mid-pant, he compensates for your current state, he tilted his head, but his top lip falls below yours, and bottom lip below yours, the response is immediate, you kiss him back, your lips moving with his and when his tongue gets involved, brushes yours just barely, it happens. 

You cum, and cum hard, you lose the rhythm when kissing him, your returning of affection is sloppy, far more concerned with the radiating sensation from below your waist, the explosion of pleasure consuming everything. Your thighs are shuddering around his hand, walls of you clenching on his fingers, clit pulsing in his palm as the pleasure steals your breath, leaving you gasping and jerking against him. 

He works you through it, his fingers slow, as do your kisses, finally you pull away, sucking down a deep breath, head falling back, as you breathe out, “Oh my God.”

The only sound is your shared breathing, seems you got to him a bit too, after a minute he breaks the silence.

“Gonna pull out now.” He isn’t asking for permission, merely letting you know, a small nod, and he does so, you hiss a little at the feeling of loss and oversensitivity. You let him go as he steps back.

“You feel better?” He asked, and you give another nod, a half laugh as you tell him, “Yeah, so much better.” 

Cocky as ever comes the reply, “You’re welcome.” 

You laugh louder, eyes falling closed, you never said thank you, but you were thankful. You stand there leaning against the stair railing, trying to get your breathing fully back to normal and will yourself to pull your underwear back up, smooth your skirt out and head back into the party, for now? You bask in the afterglow. 

“This was a good time, we should do this again.” He says it conversationally, and you think that might not be a bad idea, you tell him honestly, “I think I could get behind that. So long as we keep it quiet.” 

He laughs, telling you with a shake of his head, “Sure, we won’t go blabbing about it, I’m perfectly fine sneaking around.” 

Secret hate fuck buddies, interesting, let's see if it will blow up in your face. 

You begin to straighten your clothing out, still feeling warm and floaty, and he heads up the few stairs to the door, you ask, “What about you?”

Mickey informs you, “I have somewhere to be, unfortunately. Next time, though, we will just say you owe me one.” His hand is on the knob and looks over his shoulder to tell you, “I knew you totally wanted me by the way.” 

He opens the door and slips out, leaving you standing on the dark basement stairs, with wet inner thighs and soaked underwear still half on and an open mouth. God, he is such an asshole, and now you are in debt to him, an IOU for one orgasm, maybe you might regret this sooner rather than later. Perhaps you will hit him back the once and call it quits. 

That isn’t what ends up happening, of course. 

It takes only two weeks for the second time, mid-terms are nearly done and on the way out of class you catch him asking, “Break starts day after tomorrow.”

“It certainly does.” He muses, he is giving you that smile he has begun to throw your way whenever he sees you post your basement stair encounter. It’s knowing, a bit dirty, like you are sharing a secret. You tell him, “Thinking of starting the celebration a bit early.” 

“Tonight?” He inquires, and you nod, “My roommate has already cleared off, they are done and headed home for break, maybe I can catch up on my debt.”

He laughs, grin widening, and you ask, “What?”

“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to take our conversation seriously. I thought you’d sober up, come to your senses, think it’s a mistake or something, and it’d be a one and done, certainly never thought you’d proposition me first-” He inhales deeply before continuing, “-but if you seriously want to do this, then Hell yes, I’m in. What’s your room number?”

You tell him and a time is agreed upon before you leave him there, stupid fucking smile still on his face, seriously, what have you gotten yourself to agree to? It doesn’t take long to straighten up your place because you keep it relatively clean to begin with, you aren’t a heathen after all, just a smoothing over of your already freshly changed bedsheets, emptying your trash, running a dust cloth over the surfaces and putting away the few lingering things on your desk into the drawers. 

Once everything is cleaned up, you sit on your bed, not sure what to do for the next while until he shows up. Putting on a show, or reading a book? 

Your mind wanders to the one place it has much more often than not lately, of course, back to that party, to that staircase, to the insane sensations he made you experience, and he was coming by tonight, the promise of more of it within reach. Your skin prickles in anticipation, you press your thighs together and the more you think of his fingers, his mouth, the feelings he stirs up in you, the arousal begins low in your stomach, and you can’t help yourself. You’ve been masturbating a lot more than usual, and it’s all his fault, you begin to warm yourself up, unable to wait on him, the touches are easy and simple. Mickey getting so in your head after one measly fingering session is embarrassing and infuriating all at once, you feel a bit out of control lately, on fire seemingly more often than not, and it’s annoying, distracting. 

Part of why you were inviting him over is the hope if you do this enough, you can get him out of your system, recalibrate and get back to a normal baseline. 

Your fingers skim over sensitive flesh, plays over your clothing, all thinking of the potential of this arrangement, trying to focus on the good that can come from it, and in a few minutes you have a hand starting to slide into your underwear, only to be broken out of your reverie by a harsh knock on the door. He calls out, “Yello, M’ here.”

“Fuck.” You whisper, pulling your hand away from where you are craving it most, you straighten yourself out, tugging the bottom hem of your shirt down and fixing your skirt, smoothing it down, calling out as you head to the door, “Coming!” 

“Not yet you're not, let me in, and we’ll see what we can make-” You open the door, cutting him off before he can utter that last word, “-happen.” 

He is standing there in the same outfit he was wearing earlier at class, his bag slung over one shoulder, smile on his face and mischief in his eyes, he looks very pleased with himself already. You respond to him quickly, “Funny, real funny. Get in here before someone sees us together.” 

You step aside and hold the door open, letting him in, he enters as he says, “Course, can’t tarnish that perfect reputation.” You close the door, and you tell him firmly, “Shoes off.” 

Surprisingly, he complies, says in an overly bright and playful tone, “Whatever you say.” He takes off his bag, setting it on the floor and his shoes placed next to them. He looks around, stepping deeper into the room. 

The rooms in this building are hardwood, you have a long, plush rectangular carpet you and your roommate agreed upon together covering a good portion of the floor, your half of the room was to the left. Your bed is up against the wall, drawers built into the bed frame, your desk beside it placed under the window, a wall unit organized with a bunch of your belongings, a dresser and closet. You like your dorm room, it is decently sized and your roommate, and you get along. Mickey is taking in the details, and he looks over his shoulder and says, “So the left side is yours, right?”

“Yes.” You answer honestly, and he laughs, “I figured.”

“What’s so funny?” You ask as he walks over to your bed, he sits down on it, testing the bounce on it before he settles and says, “The colour palette and cutesy shit totally gave it away,” He inhales deeply then says, “Plus this side is soaked in that perfume you like so much.”

“It’s a great scent, you wish you could smell so good.” You retort, ignoring the fact that he smells pretty good himself honestly, whatever he wears compliments him well, can make your stomach feel hot if you breathe it in too deeply, it was all musk and spice. 

Mind whirring for a new topic you think about how he is in an aggressively good mood, and you can’t figure it out, so you ask, “What’s got you so sunny?”

He shrugs and hums out, “Nothing much, just here in your room with the explicit idea of the prim, proper, prissy little princess, you-” He points to you, “-getting me off,-” gesturing to himself again, “-what isn’t there to be happy about?”

The tone and content of his sentence has the desired effect, stoking that fire you started before he came over, your underwear is noticeably wet, plastered to you, uncomfortable, too much and yet, not enough, you need them off. You walk over, standing in front of him, hands on your hips, “Why do you call me that?” 

“What? You have to be more specific.” He teases, and you narrow your eyes and tell him, “Princess, why are you always calling me princess?”

“Because you basically are one, or act like one anyway, spoiled, holier than thou, it suits you-” He reaches out, a hand closing on your wrist like yours did back at the party, “-plus I think you like it.” 

You want to shut him up. So you do. You shake his hand off as you quickly sit on his lap, knees on either side of his hips, and you loop your arms, hands resting behind his neck, leaning forward you kiss him roughly. One hand flies to your hip and the other rests on your lower back, he returns your affection briefly before pulling back and asking, “Just can’t wait another minute?”

“This is what we are here to do, right? So shut up and kiss me.” A hand threads in his hair, and you tug him near, kissing him again, and he doesn’t fight it, he gets just as into it, fervent and passionate. 

You get the sense he has been wanting this just as bad, waiting for this moment, and now is taking total advantage of it since it is here. Deep kisses, passes of your and his tongues, nips of teeth and hushed moans, breathing picking up and hips working so you can grind against each other. God, you love a good kissing session and while Mickey is totally infuriating and a major dick, he does know how to kiss.

The make-out doesn’t last super long, you are already very worked up, so sitting in his lap, feeling his hands roaming but most importantly feeling how hard he is pressed against your clothed cunt as you writhe together, it makes you want to return his pervious favour desperately. You want to see him, feel him, touch him and see what he likes, have him respond, how does he sound when he moans?

You move, mouth continue to kiss over the exposed skin of his jaw, neck and collarbone before you fall onto your knees between his spread thighs. A small prayer thrown up mentally to thank God for the plush carpet and the relief it will give to your knees as you begin to work his pants open, eyes flick up to his face, raised brows and lips parted as his hands rush to help, he asks, “Excited?”

A nod as you tease, “Yeah, excited to pay my debt and get you back out of my room.” 

He's all laughs until you get his pants and underwear down and your hand locks around his shaft. It breaks off with a flex of his stomach inwards, his eyes getting a bit hazier. Yeah, you're in big trouble. It's a sight you can get addicted to, hard to wash out of your head like a stubborn stain. There's even more merit to this arrangement than you were prepared for.

Mickey gets hotter over the course of the next less than ten minutes. 

The way he is, leaned back on his elbows, pants pulled down his thighs just enough for you to touch him, the bottom hem of his shirt is messed up, showing off his toned and flat stomach, he looked supremely attractive. He has a nice dick, good length and thickness, his hair is trimmed back and clean looking, his shaft is satisfying to hold, hot and hard, and it makes you clench around nothing to think of it being inside of you, the tip is flushed, a bead of pre-cum and you contemplate tasting it. He sounds incredible, he isn’t loud, but he is easy to hear, deep and throaty moans, wonderful sighs, the occasional curse or a hushed ask of, “Grip a little harder?” and the instantaneous response you get? The moan of improved sensation you provide? It makes you want to listen to him, do what you can to hear more of it, effectively overriding that part of your brain that wants to say, “You can’t tell me what to do.” which is the usual default with him. 

You are stroking him firmly, up and down, thumb passing over the tip, grip nice and tight, the occasional twist of your wrist makes him suck in a breath through his teeth, and you feel yourself throb in response. You find it so arousing, so hot, you want to pick up where you left off before he showed up, so you do, a hand in your underwear and one around him. 

Finally having your hand in your underwear, fingers pressing, providing some much-needed pressure on your clit, you grind your hips into your fingers, fuck it feels good. Touching him and yourself at the same time is difficult, more so than you were expecting it to, that is the logic you tell yourself anyway, not that you are desperate for it, not that you need it, just this is to make it easier, ensure you are both getting what you need, leaning forward your tongue licks the tip, tasting him for the first time.

Mickey gasps, your eyes peer up, he must not have been paying close attention, seemed taken back, and you revel in the minor power, leaning in closer on your knees as you begin to take him into your mouth, rewarded with a louder moan than any you had gotten so far. Touching yourself falls a bit more into the background, a pleasant hum of pleasure fuelling you as you begin to blow him in earnest. Tightening your lips, fingers still locked around the base of his shaft, mouth sinking down further, surrounding him in your warm wetness and making his breathing stutter out slightly. You get into a good rhythm, mouth and hand in tandem, losing yourself in it as you are breathing harder through your nose, trying to hide how good you were feeling, a few moans and hums do escape and the sensation of it against his shaft apparently does it for him in a big way. 

You can feel him pulse in your palm, he isn’t able to help himself, hips moving in time with your movements, wanting to get deeper, and you oblige, your hand lifts and using only your mouth now, taking him as deep as you can without gagging. He is meeting you for every move, thrusting up into your willing mouth, he rushes out, “M’ close.” 

A nod but you don’t stop, keeping stride and his head falls back with a curse, his hips still, a shudder runs thought him and you feel the warm rush of saltiness over your tongue, coating it with every throb of his dick. You swallow him back without thought, the first time you ever have, but you don’t think you should share that with him, like he needs a bigger ego. Your fingers stopped working yourself and slipped out of your underwear subtly, or you think so anyway, and then you slide him out of your mouth, sitting back on your knees, eyes turned up towards him as he is catching his breath, “Pretty good, huh?” 

You say it confidently, full of self-satisfaction, you certainly had no plans of sucking his dick, let alone swallowing his cum, but for some ungodly reason he pulls this much filthier side out of you. Perhaps you want to show him, to quote him he thinks you are prim and proper, prudish, there is a definite joy in proving him wrong, that no you can get on your knees and suck cock well and down cum like a champ. It had only been a few seconds as he is pulling his pants and underwear back up to cover himself, however you speak again, not giving him a real window to respond, “Don’t tell me, it was so good you are speechless.”

“Shut up.” He sits up, hands close on your biceps, and he tugs, starting to haul you up, and you ask, “What?”

You are jerked so you are on your knees on your bed, he slides down onto his back, so his head is between your spread legs, hands going under your skirt as he says, “I said shut up.”

Quick and skilled fingers tug the drenched crotch of your panties to the side, “And sit on my face.” He leans up, licking a stripe through your folds, and it is your turn to gasp. The hand not holding your underwear out of the way, rests on your ass, he pushes you down, hot breath fanning against your cunt from his proximity.

You listen to the command, lowering yourself appropriately so he isn’t straining his neck to eat you out, instead you are close enough for him to do whatever he wants, his head rested on the soft plushness of your comforter. 

He eats you out similarly to how you blew him, to show off, he did it to illustrate to you that he could give as good as he got and infuriatingly, he is very fucking good at it. He teases carefully, there are hot open-mouthed kisses, flicks of his tongue, indulgent sucks of your straining clit, you end up with your hands curled into fists, cheek to the comforter, panting and moaning, the whole way. Again, similarly to him, you squirm your hips, grinding yourself against his lips and tongue, increasing all this, making the sensation spike considerably. 

It doesn’t take long from how you had worked yourself up earlier, his mouth is too fucking good, you are shivering as he is sucking firmly on your clit, his tongue giving it the occasional flick as it is captured between his lips, the lack of being able to predict when he would make it better. Soon you find yourself on the very edge as you moan, “Mi-Mickey, don’t stop, I-I’m gonna cu-” 

Unable to finish the sentence, shocked by how hard it hits you, causing you to cry out as you tumble over the edge, cumming on his mouth as he doesn’t let up, keeps up the same steady motions, drawing your end out beautifully. You are pretty sure your neighbours heard you, but you do not care, moaning your way through your orgasm, and when the oversensitivity of overstimulation sets in you tell him, “Fuck! I al-ready came, I’m done, stop it-”

His hands lock onto your hips, and he keeps going, he sucks much harder and your cry gets even louder than when you came. Your body locks up, helpless to what he does for a minute, he has a firm grip on you, fighting him off proves difficult until take in another deep breath, gaining some strength you throw yourself to the right, onto your side and off of his face. A hand going between your legs protectively, still shaking slightly, Mickey is laughing, and breathlessly you tell him, “You are such an asshole.” 

Mickey sits up, he rolls his shoulders, his pants sat on his hips, still open, along with his belt, looking down at you with that pleased with himself smile, “I think you love it and me.” 

Sarcastically, you respond, “Yeah, totally, I’m head over heels for you.” 

His tongue is licking his lips, the image is burned into your mind, good to know he apparently finds you so “palatable”, and the fact he had just eaten you out spectacularly is at the forefront of your mind to contend with once more, he asks, “Good?”

You huff, crossing your arms, “And where is my review? I asked you first before you got tongue deep in me.” 

He laughed at how you worded it, and said, “You preformed admirably, princess, yes.”

His joke made you roll your eyes, telling him, “Yeah, you too, dick weed. Seems we are at an orgasm disparity once again.” 

“Guess we will have to do this again, hm?” He asked, and you go along with it, continue with the pretense because you do want to keep this up, fucking around with Mickey is more fun than it has any right to be. 

You order pizza, eat, watch a movie, more jokes and barbs thrown back and forth and even though you won’t admit it, you think you do love him, love to hate him. He leaves later on, and you sleep like a rock that night. 

The hooking up becomes more frequent, the longest you go in between being a week, usually you meet up every few days, in his place or yours, you both are caught up in oral and hand stuff even weeks later. It wasn’t like you hadn’t wanted to fuck him, you did, but also you didn’t want to be the first to admit it, thinking that perhaps if you break that boundary he would have some kind of power of you, that he wouldn’t let it go and lord it over you. Shit, you could picture it now, you: panting, needy and begging for Mickey to fuck you, and he would laugh and laugh and mock you in a very vulnerable moment, and yeah, fuck that shit. 

So the times you got together were filled with making out, mutual masturbation, fingering and hand jobs, cunnilingus and throat fucking, it felt amazing, you’d cum hard as Hell, so would he, and you enjoyed it immensely. The meet ups got filthier, nastier, as if attempting to outdo one another, between the acts you did and dirty talk, it became a game and one you quickly found to be your favourite. 

It wasn’t necessary, Mickey hadn’t called you a prude in a long time, not since you got on your knees for him in your dorm room, so why are you doing this? For the sheer love and enjoyment of it, you supposed, at least he didn’t call you on it.

There was something very hot about doing this knowing your father wouldn’t approve, on top of sneaking around, not to mention doing this with well, someone you hated, before you wouldn’t give him the time of day, and now you are in bed with him, 69ing. You were taking Mickey pretty deep in your mouth, trying not to moan too much so you don’t gag on excess saliva, while he was licking you from hole to clit, over and over, rhythmic and perfect. Right now, this is a race, trying to see who can make the other cum first, you were confident that you could win, but you didn’t know the ace Mickey had up his sleeve. 

You feel like you can feel the tell-tale sign of him throbbing against your tongue, if you keep it going for another two minutes, he’d cum, and he might have, and you might have won. Except Mickey moved his mouth down, his tongue circled the tight rim of your asshole, and you feel an object press to your clit, smooth and cool, then, a click, and it thrums to life, vibrating powerfully, causing pleasure to rip through you. Body responds on autopilot, your back arches, he slips out of your mouth, you moan angrily, “No-not fuck-ing fair!” 

“Sure it is.” He says cheerily before he goes back to eating your ass, pressing the vibrator tighter against your clitoris, you are hurtled to the edge, helpless, (a frequent state with him), and you end up being the one to cum in less than two minutes, almost sobbing from how good it feels. When you have come down you are laying on your back, heaving and trying to catch your breath, Mickey gets up to go brush his teeth in the ensuite bathroom. Once your breathing has evened out, you call, “Seriously Mick, tell me how that wasn’t cheating?”

He comes back to the door, toothbrush in his hand, speaking wetly, toothpaste still obviously foaming in his mouth, “Cuz you never set a rule saying we couldn’t use toys.” 

“Because I didn’t think I had to!” You bite, you can see the shake of his shoulders from his laughing before he goes back into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth. When he comes back out, he asks, “So, what’d you think?”

“It was amazing, obviously, idiot.” You two have this relationship dynamic now, able to compliment one another but in this kind of upset tone, this air of, “What the fuck? How are you doing this?” to it, pissed off at the other persons’ skill. 

“I just like to hear you admit it.” He teases as he gets back onto the bed, you ask him, “Well you won, so how do you want to cum?”

Part of you is hoping this will be it, he won the silly contest, he has the opportunity, he can have you do whatever he wants, and it’s been weeks of you doing this song and dance, it would make sense for this to be the moment, to tell you he wants to fuck you. 

He thinks for a moment, a cock of his head, eyes on the ceiling, brow creased in consideration, in less than a minute he tells you, “I want to do that thing you did a while ago, like you on your back, head hanging off the edge of the bed so I can just really rail your throat.” 

Hot, fun, you do love how boneless his legs got the last time you did that, but part of you is a bit disappointed, what is the hold up, why doesn’t he want to fuck you? Is he waiting on you? Does he think that there is no way you’d ever, and that you’d laugh at him for suggesting it? Are the pair of you circling each other endlessly, convinced the other would be an asshole over it? Sounds odd, Mickey goes after what he wants, he is bold, a risk-taker, what if he just doesn’t want you like that, no that is impossible, look at you, of course he would want to, he is obviously into you too, he could never fake it THAT well, there has to be something more to this. 

Maybe you should say something, you just have to be careful. 

“Sure, whatever you want, but Mickey?” You ask and he hums, “Yeah?”

“I’m just curious, I said you could do whatever you wanted, so why didn’t you choose to like, I dunno, fuck me?” You say it in that bitchy tone that you have felt made Mickey’s shaft pulse in your hand on occasion, the haughty way he pretends to hate, but you are sure he loves. 

He grins wolfishly, he starts to crawl closer to you on the bed as he asks, “Oh, so you do want to fuck me?” 

A scoff with an eye roll, you deflect easily, “Twisting my words again.” You sigh before clarifying, “What I am saying is obviously you want to fuck me and have the prefect opportunity, so why not?”

“Because, I want you to ask for it, I want you to want it.” Mickey speaks easily, and it helps you recognize that makes far more sense now. So he is doing the same thing you are, but he is admitting it right now, he does want to, just wants to know that you want it too. Fair enough. He is close enough, a hand on your cheek, he kisses you, he tastes like mint, you return it, lazy and sweeter, slower than you usually share. 

When he pulls back, he asks, “So do you want it?” 

A brief lick of your lips, you do, so does he, so why not? You nod and say, “Yeah, I do.” 

He kisses you again and heat sparks inside you once more, so you are back to making out, your mind is racing, holy fuck, you cannot believe this is about to happen, so glad to not have to wait any longer, it has been so long to feel him. You know he is clean, you are safe, you are thinking about letting him hit it raw when he pulls away, the idea of feeling him bare, cumming inside? God yeah, that thought alone is doing it for you.

You are taking off the tank top you still had on, throwing it aside, once he comes back you are ready to speak up, assuming he stepped away to get a condom, you were going to tell him he didn’t need it, until you see that fucking video camera in his hands. 

See Mickey almost always has that thing with him, constantly out at class, on the quad, eating in the mess hall, at the library, he has filmed you before, many a time, much to your annoyance, leading to you demanding he gets that thing out of your face. You ensure it is nowhere to be found whenever you hook up, it isn’t allowed in your dorm, and you make sure it is in another room when you are at his place. You don’t like him filming you with your clothes on, so why would you let him do it when they were off? This is still extremely on the down low, no one knows you have this arrangement, having video evidence? It is a dangerous risk, one that you just don’t want to take. 

So for him to be approaching you now, camera in hand, has you meeting his gaze and saying firmly, “Absolutely fucking not.”

He shrugs and says easily, “Okay.” 

He bends down, putting the camera down on the carpet, no way to see what is happening on the bed if it was even on, but it isn’t, the lens cap is still in place, he straightens up and says, “Get your head off the bed then.”

“What?” You ask, genuinely shocked, and he says, “Get your head off the bed, so I can fuck your throat? We just talked about it like three minutes ago?”

“Yeah, but then we both agreed we want to fuck each other, what happened to that?” You asked indignantly, and he says, “Oh yeah, I want to, but I won’t, not yet anyway.”

“Ugh, you aren’t making sense, so I’ll ask again, why not?” You still weren’t getting it, he connects the finally dots for you, “Because, dummy, I am not going to fuck you until you agree to let me film it.” 

Your jaw drops open, and he coos with a move of his hand, encouraging you to come closer, “Yeah good start, now just scoot over here-” 

What the absolute fuck. “You seriously are not going to fuck me, until I agree for us to, what, make a sex tape?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Come on, thought I was more predictable.” He shrugs with a smile. You laugh, just so thoroughly shocked, where does he get off, he really thinks you would ever? God, as if. You tell him, “Okay, sure, that’ll happen.”

You cannot process this at the moment, he makes another gesture and without thinking you get into position, you lay down, head hanging off the edge like he wants, mouth open, and he practically purrs, “There we go.” 

He lines up and sinks his dick into your mouth, deep as he can, until he is rooted into your throat and he moans. You turn off your brain for now, relax your gag reflex to fulfill what he wants for winning your stupid fucking contest. 

Your hands go to his hips and grip, he moves in and out, fucks your mouth as rough as he wants, you take it perfectly and whenever you do this, it practically milks it out of him. He likes to put his hand on your throat, he doesn’t choke you, but he grips, as if he is trying to feel his own hand through the walls of your neck, you wonder if he can, you are sure it makes the sensation better, the hole you provide tighter. In four minutes he is close, you can feel it, the tension in his hips and thighs apparent, he is going to cum spectacularly, he is being as loud as you can get on occasion. You hear him groan out how he was, “-gonna cum.” 

You brace yourself, expecting him to slam all the way in and cum right down your throat, you gotta time your breathing right, or you can end up choking, coughing and sputtering cum is so unattractive and thoroughly undignified. 

That doesn’t happen, though. 

No, he pulls out, and you gasp for air, his hand grasps himself, continuing the pace, he jerks himself off to his end, and you don’t know what he is doing until the first shot hits your chin. He is giving you a facial, some of the stray ropes land on your parted lips, one on your cheek, one over your left eye making you close it and two getting into your hair as he groans, eyes glued onto your face the entire time he paints it with his cum. 

Once he is done, the back of his hand wipes over his forehead, he gives a small nod and says, “You know you look really good like this.”

He hadn’t cum on your face yet and doing it without permission, no preamble, just doing it, shouldn’t be so hot, as expected it makes anger flare in you at the same time for enjoying him crossing this boundary. What is wrong with you, why do you like this so much? 

You get up, slightly light-headed, you wobble to the bathroom, feet find tile, hands grip the sink and look at yourself in his mirror, taking in your cum covered visage, leading you towards calling back, “Mickey! You know I have an event tonight! It’s in my hair, for fucks sake!” 

He laughs long and hard, “Oh, if only daddy could see you now.” Making you bark back, face hot, “Shut up!” You have to shower to fix it and that is the first time you do at his place, bitching him out the entire time over the sound of the running water, much to his delight. 

So. Unexpected speed bump. 

Now that the air had been cleared, and you were very aware that you both wanted to fuck, that previous game is done, no “If I speak up first I’ll look weak” or “If I misread you, I’ll look stupid for wanting it.” now? There is a different dynamic at play internally for you, one of, “I want it, but I can’t have it.” and it makes it unbelievably, unbearably hotter. In reality, you could have it, easily, you would just have to agree to make a sex tape with him, an act you don’t want to consent to for a lot of reasons. Mostly the fact he thinks he can hold this over you, that you’d want it so badly you’d compromise on this, what an egotistical fucking dickhead. You could go out and fuck anyone else you wanted, the other problem being, you don’t want to fuck someone else, you want to fuck Mickey. 

Remember what we said earlier about you being of discerning taste? This is the bad side of that. You like what you like and want what you want, with very little room for variation, currently this quirk of yours is frustrating as Hell. 

So you have to deal, you can keep fooling around with him, just not doing that one last act, he eats you out like a champ, doesn’t shy away from toys, he makes the hate powered sessions you have fun, it feels playful and de-stresses you like nothing else does. The hate part of your situation had cooled before this, his new boundary ramped it up once more, you hate that he thinks he can get away with this, that you can’t have just what you want, not something you are used to by the way, bleeds into what you do together. 

It takes about two months overall for it to come to a head. 

More small contests, like the whole who can go the longest without cumming before coming to the other person for relief, it was done on the honours' system, Mickey folded first so you won. Or the fantastic follow up of hooking up in the back stacks of the library near close and who can get off the quietest to avoid getting caught, he won that one. You had dinner in your place or his more often, sometimes you hang out without hooking up at all, now getting seen in public wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He was breaking down your walls, the “hate” in your whole thing only comes out in full force the times you are mid-action with him and are hit with those debilitating cravings for what you cannot have. 

You start to wonder would it be so bad to give in? You are masturbating to the idea regularly, you find the thought of making the tape much more arousing than infuriating. One of the things that you learned you liked the most about Mickey is his strength of will, how in control he is, how he doesn’t treat you with kid gloves or lets you give him shit, he stands up to you. Having your own personal private porno to watch of your first time in that way together has appeal, you could see it all in bright and vivid colour to relive over and over again. Shaking your head as if trying to knock the thought from your skull, a new thought replacing it, “Stop talking yourself into it.”

You aren’t giving in, not yet, it is just a hot idea, you have strength of will yourself, you can do this, what you have is enough.

Isn’t it?

You thought so. At least you did until tonights hook-up, you are in Mickey’s place, and you are playing with some toys, usually they are being used on you, but not this one, no this one you are using on him. 

You hadn’t heard of a fleshlight before, seeing it was odd, but you could understand it, why wouldn’t there be a market for this kind of thing? Seeing the effect it has on him is arousing too, watching the length of him disappear into well lubed silicone, he is clearly loving it, moaning up a storm as you work the toy up and down his exceptionally hard shaft. The toy looks realistic, the vulva is not too dissimilar from your own, this makes it totally impossible to not picture it, not think about how good it would feel if it was your pussy swallowing him up, rising and falling, riding him for all he is worth. You are dripping wet, aching and wanting, you grip the toy harder, move it with more purpose and his eyes roll back, hips rocking up into it, and you want, God do you want. 

It wouldn’t be that hard, would it?

To get on top and just fucking take what you want for yourself, but no, you can’t, you don’t want it, not like that. You aren’t totally unconvinced Mickey wouldn’t stop you if you tried it anyway. 

“Just like that, yes-” The material of the toy is very soft, you imagine it feels great, but there was no way is it a match for the real thing, you are confident. You think Mickey is trying to get you to cave, you won’t give in that easily, tightening your grip he sucks a breath in harshly, “Christ, you are gonna wring it out of me.”

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” You teased, and he huffed out a breath, his eyes squeezed shut, you watch the heavy swallow, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the overall tensing, he is close, you don’t let up, you refuse to stop until he cums, and he does, you help him ride it out while he has your name on his lips. Soon the toy is being pulled off carefully by you, pinching it in such a way the cum isn’t going to go pouring out all over his still hard dick. 

“What the Hell do I do with this now?” You asked, and his eyes opened a crack, saying, “I dunno, drink it?”

A roll of your eyes as he laughs, “Hilarious.” You hide the fact you had been actually considering that, he tells you, “Just put it in the bathroom sink, I have to clean it.”

You got up and did just that, set it in the sink for him to deal with, you are still lamenting the fact he won’t fuck you, but you will take what you can get, eager to get yours as you head back into the bedroom to see Mickey getting dressed. “What are you doing?”

“I have that thing I mentioned earlier, I gotta get going.” He said as he is pulling on his jeans, and you scoff, “So you invite me over to use that fuck sleeve on you, and then I am meant to just screw off unsatisfied?” 

He gives you a curious look, “We do this all the time, sometimes I just do you without getting mine, so what’s the issue here?” 

Shit. He is right, that is a frequent feature of your current set up, you can’t recover, he speaks up, coming closer, “Awe are you that addicted to me? Need your fix?”

“As fucking if.” You bite, you don’t think it works, and he is grinning nearly ear to ear, “Deny it all you want, but it’s plain as day.” He sing-songs it out, and you start collecting up your stuff, telling him, “Whatever, think what you want, Mickey, I don’t have to prove myself to you.”

“So if I offered to get you off, however you want, and go to what I have to do late, you seriously wouldn’t take me up on it?” He is watching you picking up your jacket and bag, and you tell him in a cutting tone, “Yes, I am telling you that exactly, really Mickey, I think I’ll survive.” 

You are getting ready to leave his bedroom and go get your shoes on, walk out the front door and all the way back to your place, to get yourself off and relieve some of this tension, it wouldn’t be nearly as good, but it would have to do. Your hand closes on the doorknob, and you turn it, start to open the door when his hand touches the wood of the door, he leans and forces it closed. When did he sneak up on you like this, looking over your shoulder you tell him, “Move Mickey.” 

“Nah, don’t think I will.” He leans in, you are boxed in closely, your front pressed to the door, his chest to your back, his hands slide around the front and start to touch you through your pants, he rubs and palms your crotch roughly, and you moan, hips tilting into his touch. 

“Sure seems like you want it.” He breathes, and you tell him, “Fuck you, no I don’t.” 

You push him off, he is laughing again, and you throw open the door, calling over your shoulder, “Hurry up, or you are going to be late.” 

You take the stairs down two at a time, soon your shoes are on, you rush out and make your way back to your place, your roommate is there so you can’t even get yourself off as you wanted to, so you end up stewing, horny and frustrated. 

Finals are coming up, your roommate never likes to study in the library and that leaves you dependent on Mickey and his whims, you find a way through, somehow, it isn’t easy. Until one afternoon, you have the place to yourself, you hadn’t had the chance for a good self-love session in about two weeks, with how much Mickey has been riling you up and with you still trying desperately to get as much as you can out of your time together and not give into this whole fucked sex tape idea, this is very needed. You are in bed, you keep some of the toys you use with him at your place now, right now your favourite vibrator is pressed to yourself, nice and tight, unrelenting and on a high setting. 

You were delaying your gratification a bit, edging yourself, you want this orgasm to knock you on your ass and punch all the air from your lungs and after the fifth time you back off you feel you are ready for it. A few deep breaths, the toy is pressed back to yourself, clicked on, it springs to life, you moan loudly, and grind against the toy, this wouldn’t take long, your back is arching, sweat slick and a wreck. Your mind is on him the entire time, when alone there is no need for pretense, no reason to lie to yourself, you are deep in the fantasy, the only one worth anything lately, of him, fucking you raw and bare. 

You think of the weight of him, a hand on your throat or pulling your hair, of the knowledge if you gave in that the camera's ever watchful eye glinting off to the side, capturing every single lewd detail, the shudder of your form, the panting breaths, moans and sounds of skin on skin meeting. 

Close, you are getting very close, you wish the fantasy was reality, that you weren’t alone, that it was him doing this, not this damn toy and-

“Wa-wait, no, shit, fuck, plea-” you feel the vibration lessening, weakening, the toy is dying, and you are out of batteries, the toy not running at full tilt is halting your orgasm, the edge is slipping through your fingers, moving further away. You rub against it, buck in a futile effort to still try and push yourself over, it doesn’t work, the toy dies, and you want to scream. You throw it down the bed and your head is in your hands. Clit throbbing near painfully, begging for attention, you are still close enough, you could get your hand between your legs, you could rub yourself to your end, it would suck though, the orgasm would be so weak in comparison, it might as well not have happened at all. 

Your head snaps to the side and look at the clock on your nightstand, and at that moment you make a decision, you get up. 

Mickey isn’t expecting the loud knocks on his front door, he certainly isn’t expecting to see you, normally you are very put together, tonight? You are not, hair is a bit of a mess, outfit looks thrown together, you are breathing hard, did you run here? 

You don’t even say hello, as soon as the door is opened you speak, “Do you have plans tonight?”

He leans against the door frame and said, “No I don’t, why?”

“Good, because I’m coming in.” You push in, and he lets you, the door closes, and you ask, “Your roommate out?”

“Yeah he is, what is this ab-” You cut him off, turning around you look at him and say, “Perfect.” You put your hands together in a prayer pose, they press to your lips, you inhale deeply through your nose, eyes closed, you gain your composure and then release your breath before saying, “Mickey? You win.” 

You let it hang in the air for a moment, hands dropping, eyes opening once more before he speaks, “What?” Leading to you laughing and then telling him further, head hanging, “You win. I give in. I don’t care if you film it, fuck it, I actually think it’s hot!”

You wipe your hand down your face and raise your head once more, levelling a look at Mickey who is looking more shocked by the second, “I have been masturbating to the idea since you first presented it, I’ve been trying to hold out, act like I am better than that or come up with a million bullshit reasons and excuses to not. I’m lying, I can’t hide it any longer. I want it. You’ve fucking ruined me, and I am accepting it, for no other reason than you’ve made me realize I love it.” 

After what seems like far too long but in realty was only a few seconds, he speaks up, “You masturbate to me?”

You laugh. You laugh fucking hard. He joins you and once you stop, you ask, “That is your takeaway from that?”

“I already figured you did, but having confirmation is huge for me, you have to understand.” He is smiling and warmth curls in your chest, God, whatever other feelings you are developing for him can be dealt with another day. 

“You can gloat over how you broke me down during our pillow talk-” You turn around and head for the stairs, “-but I’m done talking for now!” 

“Hey wait-” He calls, and you pick up speed, starting to run, inviting him to chase you up the stairs and to his room. You can hear his footfalls behind you, he is coming up quick, but you still beat him to his room. 

He comes in right on your heels, the door is promptly closed behind him, you are on the bed, he turns to face you to find that you are already looking at him, “Come on, hurry up film boy, get your camera set up.” 

A sharp shock of laughter, he sets to it, he breaks away from the door, he grabs his video camera and starts setting it up on the dresser, it is wide and has two rows of three drawers, as opposed to one tall column of them; it is the perfect height to have a full view of the bed.

It takes only a minute to have it set up properly, he is then crossing the room to you, he gets on the bed beside you as you reach out, your hands close on his arms as you lean up, he meets you, kissing you. Now you have been aware, very aware, of how turned on you were on the way over, the whole little conversation downstairs was a minor distraction, Mickey kissing you, pushing you back so you make some more room for him on the bed, arousal tears through you renewed. 

You start stripping off quickly, and he follows suit, the entire time you are aware of the camera in your periphery, unblinking, catching this all, the image of watching the tape later filters into your mind, and it is good. You think about having it on the TV while fucking him again, and oh my God you are going to fuck him again, this is just the first of many. 

Shirt is gone, pants off, he is getting his own pants off while you are removing your panties, you hadn’t bothered with a bra, being fully naked on his bed wasn’t new, it was still exciting regardless. He was bared too now, and you were kissing him again, hands wandering, feeling the smooth skin and taut planes of muscle below, from his shoulders, down his chest and stomach, to his hips as he touches you in kind. 

You start to move him, adjust him how you want, a quick command of, “Like this-” He doesn’t fight you on it. 

There is no need for more foreplay, you have had months of it. Your side profiles turned to the camera, he is seated on the bed, legs out towards the foot of it, and you are clambering onto his lap, arms sliding around his neck, you want to ride him sitting up; make it so you are able to have your legs around his hips, grind yourself on him, have some control and able to have your hands all over each other. He has picked up what you are trying to achieve and helps get into your desired position, but before you can fully get on top, he stops you, saying, “Oh wait-” 

He leans over towards his nightstand, and you scoff, “You are not wearing a fucking condom.”

Mickey seems surprised by that too, leaning back over to you as you say, “Pick your jaw up, you don’t need it, I’m safe.” 

With ten little words, the entire energy in the room has shifted once more, you swing your leg over, settle into his lap and reach between you, hand closing on his dick. With an adjustment of your hips, you are right there, the tip of him about to kiss your nearly drooling hole, you ask, “That fine?”

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands are on you, gripping your hips, a firm squeeze as he is meeting your gaze, “More than fine.”

No more talk, nothing else to say, you move, sliding down, taking him inside you and the pair of you both inhale at the same time, you from feeling the thick stretch of him and he from being enveloped in the soaked heat of your walls. Now with him inside you shift your legs, now they hug his hips, feet flat on the bed to help you do this, and you have him fully seated inside. 

There isn’t a moment of lingering awe, even if it deserves one, the need wins out, too great, you begin to ride him, rock your body, you fuck him and after maybe five bounces he is moving to fuck you too. 

Neither of you speak, it is just skin on skin, heaving breaths and a few weak moans, you work together, figure one another out, each tense or drawn out exhale telling the other what is working and what isn’t. 

He is the one to actually say something first, it is simple, “Oh my God.” but it is effective, the short sentence shoots through you like a bolt of lightening and makes you speed up slightly, you let out this breathless laugh, joyful, speaking yourself for the first time since he has been inside you, “Fuck, right?”

Rolling your body forward, the friction where you need it most is already nearly Earth shattering, cumming with him inside of you might just break your brain, you want that, to be thoughtless, totally given over to the physical senses of your body. You race towards it. There will be time to perfect this later, this is about satisfying the immediate urge, he seems to get it. His hands on your hips, fingers digging into soft skin, helping you move, sharing in the act of this, every writhing and unsteady movement in service to the shared act you are locked in. The rhythm isn’t clean, and that alone makes it better, fuels the frantic and passionate nature of it. 

“How-oh-” You moan, head tipping back a bit, he starts to kiss your neck, and you fight to push your sentence out, “-how di-did you-” you fail. The way he fucks up into you, teeth sinking into the tender spot where neck meets shoulder making you clench around him, has you releasing a whimper that would embarrass you if you had your wits about you. 

“Ask me later.” He grits out, and you nod, moaning out, “Ohhh-kayyy-” 

In two minutes, Mickey takes a bit more charge, changes the position, his arms loop around your waist, gripping you, stopping you mid-ride, and he pitches forward, he slips out for a moment while you fall onto your back. Your legs are spread, having fallen open, and he adjusts, now over you, one hand planted on the bed beside your head, the other hand is between you, helping ease himself back in, the pair of you do moan this time upon him sliding back home. 

He starts to move, fucks into you and your back arches, another moan escaping you, one thing becomes apparent though, him fucking you in this position, while hot and amazing, doesn’t give as much stimulation to your clitoris as you’d like. He seemingly picks up on this, the change in the pitch of your moans must be more telling than you realize, “Touch yourself.” 

Fuck yes, your hand slips down, and you do as he suggests, firm circles around the sensitive tissue as he pounds into you, the pleasure spikes and has you letting out a choked cry. Your ankles are hooked behind his calves, the hand that isn’t rubbing yourself is locked onto his shoulder, nails biting in, he breathes out, “You’re getting-ugh, a lot tighter-” 

No surprise to you, frankly you are shocked you haven’t cum quite yet, but you can shift some blame to the change in position, if you had remained riding him you wouldn’t have been able to hold back. 

It had been a few short minutes, and you are getting close, and the words that you couldn’t form, find you now, falling off your tongue, rushing out, “-don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t st-” the last word interrupted with a gasp, now completely on the edge, teetering, almost sliding into blissful oblivion.

“I won’t, now come on, princess.” That stupid fucking pet name is what does it, that is what makes the tension unravel, that is what makes you finally cum. You are glad your toy died, because it had led to this, and fucking Christ this orgasm is so, so much better, it isn’t even comparable. The slick walls of your cunt are pulsing with every wave of your climax, your fingers struggle to keep pace, but it doesn’t matter, every shaky move draws it out further and further until you can’t take it another moment, yanking your hand away. Your hand falls to the bed beside your head, and you had been so caught up in your own end, you had not noticed how close he had gotten too, it is apparent in the uneven thrusting, the expression on his face and the huffs of breaths between parted lips. 

You have gotten intimately familiar with the signs of Mickey being on the edge and this has all the classic signs, the idea strikes, and you wrap your legs around his hips, no way were you going to let him pull out. Locking him in like that means just one thing, it isn’t lost on him, it makes him groan out, “You sure?”

“Yes.” Using your hand still gripping his shoulder you pull him down closer, you kiss his neck, he shivers and his hips slam into yours harder. Another kiss upwards matches his thrust, you move higher, he thrusts again, lips press to the bottom of his jaw on the next moment he draws out and drives back in and when your lips capture his in a messy kiss, he tips over. One last thrust completely in he cums, you kiss him, he returns it lazily, moaning into your mouth and midway through his high his hips start moving again, shallow thrusting in and out, just the first half of his shaft, you can feel the wet warmth draining into your grasping hole. 

The come down is slow, the pair of you tangled up, him laying on top of you, the kissing has halted, breathing is coming back to normal. He pulls out, seems not to care about the mix of you and him getting on his sheets. With Mickey laying beside you, he finally speaks up, “What were you trying to say earlier?”

You hum questioningly, and he clarifies, “When you were riding me, you were trying to ask me something, but your brain was too scrambled to get it out.” 

Oh right, you laugh and tell him, “I was going to ask how the fuck could you hold off from this as long as you did.”

“If I knew it was going to be this good, I don’t think I could have, honestly.” His arm hooked around you, pulling him closer to you, and the pair of you had never really cuddled in all this time. It’s nice. 

“So what now?” He asks, and you look up at him, his expression looks conflicted, oh does he think now that this has happened that it would put an end to it? What an idiot. You better help him out, you tell him, “I was thinking we recover till we are good to go again, then dinner after that?”

His eyebrows raise and you grin, “What? Did you think that we would fuck just the once? Mickey, come on, where is all that usual confidence?”

Talking out your feelings plainly isn’t easy, you think that you should have a conversation clarifying whatever you are, but you think hate fuck buddies doesn’t quite fit the bill any longer. Sitting up you stretch, “I’m going to the bathroom, check the camera and see if you need to change the tape in it, yeah?”

You get up and walk to the other room, not looking back, he calls out, the tone is joking, but you aren’t sure he doesn’t mean it more seriously, “You know I love you, right?”