#binksdirtythoughts

Toji didn’t even consider wearing a condom when you first met. And to be fair, neither did you. Your ‘honeymoon phase’ consisted of sinfully late nights and insatiable mornings—intertwined beneath damp sheets behind a barely soundproofed door. It’s a miracle you aren’t pregnant already.

But the infatuation eventually wore off—slowly sinking yourselves into a domestic routine.

So you could imagine his surprise when you stopped him—rolling over the pillows to retrieve that god forsaken wiener wrangler he hated so much. “C’mon, baby. Don’t you wanna be all full of me?”

“Toji, we gotta play it safe. You don’t wanna start changing diapers anytime soon, do you?”

You expected that quiet, disappointed huff off his, followed by him passive aggressively rolling the latex over his meaty tip and pushing in, but instead—

“I mean, s’not like I haven’t done it before.” He coos—all low and honest, his calloused fingers massaging your tummy. “You’d be so beautiful. All round and glowing—”

He presses a deep kiss to your lips, his own moving slow and sure. And without a trace of perversion, he pulls back—eyes warm and kind as they drag over the sight of you, sprawled out beneath him. “—carrying our baby.”

You’re not dumb, you know he just wants to get out of using that stupid ‘latex leech’ as he calls it—but something about how his eyes linger on your features, like he’s picturing how they’d mix with his own—it pools heat into your tummy and fuzz into your head.

More dirty thoughts

Yeah, you might’ve told your boss you’re ’working from home’ today, but when Toji walks into your bedroom, finding you on your stomach tapping away at your keyboard, he decides that you’re not getting anything done.

His thick arms cage you in while he grinds his hips in deep, slow circles—feeling your messy cunt squeeze and pulse around him. He purrs in your ear, asking placid questions about your work—letting his cock soak in your sweet pussy.

“Concentrate, baby." He kisses your neck, ghosting his lips against the skin while his breath tickles your shoulder. "Busy girl, hm? Just focus, I’ll make you feel good.”

But how the fuck can you focus when his stupidly thick cock is stirring your insides with every tiny movement? How the fuck can you focus when all you can smell, hear and feel is him? For fucks sake, you can barely even move—his weight pinning you to the mattress.

And when he pulls back a little—feeling his leaky tip draaaaaag against your sensitive insides—he pushes in even deeper, feeling the warm gush! of your cunt dripping around him.

He really should let you work, especially since you’re paying the rent. (Broke ass)

When your panties started going missing, you assumed you had just misplaced them. Maybe the dryer was eating them along with your socks, maybe you lost a pair or two in some old luggage.

But when your roommate Toji strolls into your bedroom, you watch as he placidly dips a hand into your laundry hamper—pocketing the first pair of panties he can get his grubby fingers on.

“Excuse me?” You shout from your bed, but he ignores you. He just disappears down the hallway, loudly shutting his bedroom door.

And with battering fists and reprimands, you pound on his door—only to be greeted by his looming silhouette outlining his doorway. When your eyes adjust to the darkness of his room, you finally notice the pink lace caught between his teeth.

"What the fuck? a-are those my panties in your mouth?" you exclaim, mortified and kinda turned on.

"Yeah, and?"

He widens your view, a heavy hand keeping his door ajar just enough reveal the fat bulge growing in his boxers. "Now that you mention it, hand over what you've got on right now. I want a fresh pair."

You’re so much softer, fuller—wetter than he thought you’d be.

Tucked away between book-ends and vinyls, he’d spend his days trapped in a plastic prison, awaiting the day he’d finally get his hands on you.

“And if I do this..?” He accentuates the words with a gentle curl of his digits, petting your gooey insides as they cry around his knuckles. And when you mewl, back bowing off the soaked sheets—he can’t believe he’d been missing out on this for so long.

Do you know how many nights he’s had to stand there, frozen in time and matter—forced to watch you attempt to get off on your puny little fingers?

Too many to count.

“So sensitive, baby. Thought you’d be more tolerant, you touch yourself so much.”

He knew just how to get you all flushed pink and red—his words pooling a desperate heat in your tummy. “T-toji, don’t say that. It’s embarrassi—”

The words die in your throat just as he leans down, latching his plump wet lips onto your puffy clit—sucking and swirling the sensitive bud around his deprived tongue.

“Embarrassing? C’mon girlie, y’say that like you haven’t been fuckin’ yourself in front of me for months.”

“But ji, I didn’t know you could see.” You whine, and god does he love the way your voice falters, like you can’t believe he’d seen it all.

“I could baby. Seen every part of you—gettin’ dressed, gettin’ undressed. Flauntin’ those pretty tits in front of me.” He reaches up, a calloused thumb rolling over the bundle of nerves—kneading the plush of your breast with his big, possessive hand.

“Y’know how fuckin’ hard that was? Not bein’ able to bend you over and fuck your brains out?” Another slurp and suck follows, his dark eyes piercing yours beneath obsidian locks.

“It was torture.”