#bottom vi

frustration flickers first—so much for a good night’s sleep—but beneath it, curiosity stirs. vi never has girls over when you’re home, some unspoken rule of privacy. did she forget what time you were getting off work? is she so desperate for release that she’s willing to gamble on your absence?

that’s when you hear it. soft at first, but unmistakable. vi, whining. it’s not sultry, nor controlled—she’s breathless, whimpering like a bitch, blubbering about how much her pussy is being stretched.

”unghh! t-too big, holy fuck—it’s too big!”

your stomach tightens, heat coiling low in your belly. you shouldn’t be listening to this. you should walk away, crawl into bed, do anything else, exhibit at least a modicum of respect for your roommate. but your traitorous feet move on their own, carrying you closer to vi’s bedroom door, slow and weightless, like you’re drifting through a dream. it’s plausible that you’re just disoriented and hazy from exhaustion, or maybe it’s something else entirely. maybe it’s the thought of vi getting her cunt fucked open in the next room over.

”please—fuck, please—slow down, i can’t—!”

vi, begging? you almost don’t believe it. she’s ordinarily so self-assured, so bossy—giving orders, not taking them, and certainly not asking.

there’s a muffled response, low and firm, authoritative in a way that makes you lean in despite yourself. whatever’s said only causes vi to unravel further—sets her off into thin, lambish whines, so high and needy that they claw at you. to put it bluntly, she sounds whorish, utterly vulnerable, and it’s unlike any noise you’ve ever heard from vi before. with a hint of guilt, you realize there’s a sharp pulse of heat ringing through your clit, molten-hot desire buzzing underneath your skin.

”i’m gonna—gonna cum again, unghhh! shit, shit, shit! baby, please—“

belatedly, you notice just how loud vi’s being, and it poses the question; is this why vi never brings girls home when you’re around? maybe it was never about curtesy, but instead, so you wouldn’t hear the way they fuck her until she cries? how she squeals like a pig every time their cock bottoms out against her cervix? how she breaks under the right touch?

then; a sharp slap cuts through the air and vi yelps. you picture her hookup smacking their hand against her pert ass, and the thought alone fans the flames of your imagination instantaneously. is vi on her hands and knees, getting fucked like a dog, while her fat, round ass ripples from how brutally she’s being used? perhaps red handprints are mapped across her ass cheeks? is she going cross-eyed, properly slack-jawed and brainless from how well her pussy is being filled?

the bed frame slams against the wall, hard enough to rattle a picture frame in the hallway, and you nearly moan aloud at the thought of vi being pounded into the mattress—without an ounce of mercy, naturally. the imagery of it all is so vivid, so obscene, that it bypasses rational thought altogether. against all decent intention, your hand is already slipping past the waistband of your pants.

fuck, you need this. it’ll be fine. vi won’t know. she won’t know a thing.

your body betrays you, because your pussy is already immensely slick where your index finger dips inside, receptive in a way that causes you to gasp quietly. you feel shame burn in your chest, but it’s promptly drowned out when vi keens again.

“hnnggfff—fuck, fuuuuck! ahh, ahh, ahh!”

her cries are magnetic, like a siren’s call, drawing you closer, until you have your ear pressed against her door like the degenerate you are. everything is clearer now—the sharp hitch of vi’s breath; the wet, slurping schlick her cunt makes as it sucks greedily on cock; the relentless percussion, plap, plap, plap of vi’s ass colliding against their skin. it has your cunt leaking like a cracked sieve into the damp ruin of your underwear.

and, god—her ass.

you’ve seen vi’s ass perky and constrained in her skintight jeans, seen it half-hidden and jiggling indecently against the cotton fabric of her workout short-shorts, but you’ve never witnessed it bare. it would be unequivocally pornographic, you imagine; the fatty tissue of her bubble butt rippling as her cunt is fucked open again and again. you ache to take a peak, just once and you’ll (maybe) be satiated.

with your head tilted close to the door, you catch the unmistakable sound of wet, deliberate kisses being pressed into vi’s neck—sucking an array of burgundy, half-moon marks onto her pale skin, you predict. a sick and unbearable part of you glowers at the prospect of vi being covered in someone else’s claim, but your your pussy only gets wetter when she whines at the attention—high, nasally protests that suggest her neck is more sensitive than she lets on.

abruptly, vi squeals like she’s been scorned, all pitchy and girlish, ”ahhh, you’re so—deep! deep in my fucking stomach—hnnghhh!”

every muffled plea she makes burrows deep under your skin like a thorn, and your tender clit thrums with a solemn, insistent throb. your pussy is indubitably crying out for vi! and you try to satiate the ache by rubbing your fingers quicker against your clit, harder, when you start to wonder if this isn’t merely lust, but the perilous realization that you’re enamored with your roommate.

oh god. how will you ever be able to look at vi the same after this? after you know how raspy her whines become while she has her pussy played with? after you’ve heard the way she gasps like a balloon losing air—staccato and squeaky—while her tiny hole is stuffed to the brim? every sound she makes stabs right into your core and you feel fuckdrunk, delirious, high off their sex, despite being an unbidden listener. 

then, albeit quickly, vi orgasms again—

“i’m—i’m cumming! ohhh, ohhhh, fuck! mmmghhh!”

it’s as if you’re tethered to her, a switch flipping inside you, because you follow in suit—coming in harsh, overwhelming waves. you’re gasping, squirming, flailing like a fish in shallow water, feebly attempting to muffle your noises behind your palm, with your other hand cradling your pussy. somewhere in the haze, you register the damp heat between your thighs, how egregiously soaked your underwear is.

once your orgasm subsides, clarity sets in; how could you do such a thing?—standing with your ear pressed against vi’s door, fingers sticky and pruned, realizing you just got off to the sound of your roommate being fucked. shame and exhilaration twists in your chest like a pretzel. 

but even then, vi’s moans linger in your mind like a ghost. shame prickles at the edges of your pleasure, accompanied by something darker—an insidious pull that makes your fingers twitch with the urge to do it again.

you haven’t heard a single whisper about any of them actually giving vi what she needs, stretching her out the way she craves, pressing their cocks deep inside her tight pussy. you imagine it must be eating her alive. vi’s always had a greedy hole—an orifice that’s bottomless and sweetly pathetic.

besides, you’ve seen them; the women she dates. they’re harmless, prudish, well-mannered, pretty in a conventional way. not one of them could fuck vi properly. they wouldn’t even know where to begin.

so it’s amusing, really, watching vi try to provoke you. the way she flaunts them like a prize, hoping to catch your eye. but you offer nothing in return. no reaction, no flicker of interest or jealousy. there’s simply nothing there worth responding to.

which is why you aren’t surprised when vi appears at your doorstep a week later, shy like an abandoned pet. she’s blushing, trembling, her sea-glass eyes rimmed with guilt and some shadowy element of hope.

“can i help you, vi?” you ask, not unkindly, but with practiced indifference.

”i just—i feel bad about the way things ended between us,” she stammers, the lie crumbling on her tongue like wet sugar.

”mmm, you do?” your fingernails tsk-tsk against the doorframe. “okay then. will that be all, vi?”

when you begin to close the door, vi thrusts her hand against the wood with a thud, face suddenly stricken with shame. “baby, wait i—fuck. i miss you, okay?” she reluctantly admits.

you smile. you already knew that.

that’s how vi ends up in your bed, silk sheets wrinkled like the petals of a crushed rose. her legs are held up to her chest and your strap is buried deep inside her cunt, pressing painfully against her cervix. it’s a fitting consequence for her betrayal—for being such a stubborn slut that she sought out pleasure in other people, instead of coming to you.

”you missed me, huh?” you murmur, thrusting sharply, your voice velvety with cruelty. “that’s funny. i heard you’ve been keeping pretty busy.”

the sight of her stretched open, pussy weeping around you, is so familiar that it nearly bores you. but no, there’s joy in it more than anything. the sadistic kind of joy one only feels when their favorite toy remembers its owner.

vi goes cross-eyed as you slam into her again, a noise halfway between a sob and a prayer tumbling from her open mouth. you touch her slit—just a trace—and she shivers, instinctive and pathetic.

“yes, yes—mmffuck!”

it’s overtly apparent; no matter how many girls vi brought home, no matter how many times she tried to lose herself in someone else, nothing could compare to this. the realization fills you with a sense of pride; a deep feeling of assurance and certainty that you are, in every way, irreplaceable.

”fuck, baby, your pussy’s a mess,” you murmur in astonishment. after all these months, how could you forget what a sloppy, wet hole she has? “bet none of those girls knew how to take care of this greedy little thing.”

vi shakes her head with something like reverence, her voice catching. “ahh, only y-you—it’s only ever been you—hunghh—i swear!“

you meanly grope vi’s breasts, admiring the way her fat tits jiggle. once upon a time, the sight of vi’s naked body might have stirred something possessive in you—jealousy, perhaps, at the thought of someone else witnessing her like this. but now, as you watch vi unravel beneath you, all you feel is a quiet, amused detachment. an urge to murmur something soft and cutting about how pathetic she is.

you know vi—know her body better than she does herself. she needs to be filled, used like she’s a worthless doll, stripped of all purpose except pleasuring you. she needs it hard and unyielding and constant. from the look on her face—wrecked and anguished—you were right to assume that nobody else came close to giving her what she craves.

“you just needed someone to fuck you right,” you coo. “someone who knows what a sick little baby you really are.”

“yes,” she gasps. “please—need it harder, fuck!”

you relish in how desperate she is for you. vi’s so cute when being fucked open; demanding everything from you, whilst unable to give anything back but cries and spasms. it makes you feel delirious—fuckdrunk, even. all you can hear is the wet percussion of your hips against hers, and her high, helpless mewls. you’re hitting all the right spots, striking cords deep inside her gummy walls that make her jolt with electricity. you’re fucking vi in a way no one else will ever be able to replicate.

"fuck, vi... you're so tight," you say dizzily, but you don’t let up; still relentlessly jackhammering your cock inside her.

her pussy is creaming around your strap, leaking down the curve of her ass. her body, that magnificent machine of muscle, is locked up tight, close to tipping over the edge. her abs twitch involuntarily, plump breasts bouncing, arms trembling as she attempts to hold her legs apart for you, and her thighs, those strong pillars, quake and quake and quake.

vi squeals suddenly, pressing her hand against the taut plane of your abdomen—a futile attempt to slow your unrelenting pace.

”i’m gonna—gonna—ohhh!” 

her eyes roll, those bright coins of consciousness swallowed by the dark. vi’s tongue spills from her mouth, silly and helpless. her thighs snap shut instinctively but you pry her open again, unwilling to let her escape the pleasure you’re giving her.

“come for me, vi,” you say. “who knows if i’ll ever want to fuck you again after this, so make it count.”

With her back pressed to the soft sheets beneath her, Vi watched you watching her, thighs trembling against the outside of your own, hands pleadingly wrapped around your wrists just above her waist.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly, the timbre of her voice shattering into a raspy breath. Her expression was devastated when your lips curled into a cruel smile and your eyes roamed over her delightfully nude form. “I’ve been waiting all fucking day.”

Her tits sat so nicely when she was laying back. You’d definitely noticed before, but the revelation was fresh each time you had her like this; a flush crept up down her neck to the valley between her breasts, accentuating the desperation with which she pushed her chest out as she arched her back, chasing the roughness of your palms. You think you want to touch her more than she wants to be touched, so of course your hands push up the sculpted plush of her abdomen to her chest, cupping firm fingers around the soft roundness there.

“I know,” you murmured, answering her pleas entirely way too late. Your thumbs brushed over her nipples. Her waist twisted with how hard she was pushing her tits against your hands. You squeezed your gentle reprimand, and the needy growl that tore from her throat made your restraint so worth it. “You’re so pretty.”

Her hands—larger than yours, mind you—just curled around your wrists, not moving or pushing, like she was subliminally guiding you to where she needed you most. The sight pushed the wind from your lungs. Here Vi was, all toned strength and reckless indecision, trembling beneath you; begging for what she wants, but not using that strength to take it. She offered this submission readily, touch ghosting over your wristbones to remind, not demand, what she needed from you.

“Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

“You can take it.”

Vi gasped when your fingers pinched her nipple, twisting just enough to make her screw her eyes shut and yelp out loud. As soon as the initial pleasure-pain subsided, those eyes flashed open alongside her lips, heavy and panting and pointed at you. 

“No I fucking can’t,” she breathed, and you knew better than to not take her seriously. Vi didn’t lie about her capabilities. If anything, she was often overconfident in her ability to take the torturous gifts and rescindments of pleasure you had to offer. She wanted to be able to take it. 

You only wanted her to want it, so you hummed approvingly and let a hand trail down the swell of her breast, down the soft bump of abs, and through coarse hair to exactly where she needed your touch. Her clit was swollen and engorged, but still untouched, so your fingers pushed past that bundle of nerves to her entrance, where she was dripping for you. The gathered slick on your fingers polished her clit when you pulled back, and her pitchy whine rewarded the motion.

“So wet,” you whispered, eyes shut and mouth ajar. It felt like denying yourself vision would exaggerate the hot, wet feeling at your fingertips. The slick shiver of her hips was gratifying enough that you opened your eyes again, huffing in awe at the sight below you.

One hand still gripped her boob, grounding you into the moment and her into your touch. Her bottom lip was tugged between her teeth, and she looked up at you adoringly. Each brush of the pads of your fingers against her cunt deepened the desperate furrow of her brow. Her abdomen tensed and relaxed rapidly and fucking deliciously, and her waist curled and twisted with each involuntary arch of her back. She pushed up, exposing her neck, and to fight the urge to lean down and bite, you dragged the hand on her tit to her throat, resting your fingers in the crook of her neck beneath her jaw. You didn’t put much pressure. Your hand nestled there like it was lending warmth, and the giddiness in Vi’s eyes expressed the gratitude her voice could not. 

Her fat clit throbbed heavy against your digits, pulsing with her rapid-fire heartbeat on your flesh. Her little huffs melted into something sweeter, like hmph-hmm-mah-hah, and that monstrous thing inside you purred low when you ripped your touch away. A strangled cry sputtered from behind her tongue, a mix between a gasp and groan. She heaved until she could meet your eye, and the grin in your teeth ignited something playful in Vi.

“You’re fuckin’ torturing me,” she whined, words sincere even through the upward tilt of her lips.

“I’ll make it worth it,” you jumbled quickly, hoping she didn’t catch the way your eyes glistened and widened at the view she provided. Need flushed your cheeks crimson, and she nodded at that fact alongside the honesty in your voice. “Please. I want…need to see you  like this.”

“Freak.” Her voice was a breathy laugh, and it tapered off into a guttural grunt when the pads of your fingers found her swollen bud again. “Oh, fuck―yes.”

You hummed your own amusement, pushing your thumb alongside the tips of index and middle, pinching gently at her clit. Her hips bucked. Her reddening skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and you did not fight the urge to lean down and lick a stripe up her jaw. She tasted like Vi. The warmth of your tongue made her clench on nothing, and she was furious that you felt that contraction, because you once again pulled back to save the apex of her pleasure for later. 

Either way, she was moaning like a bitch.

“Thought I was the freak,” you murmured low into the lobe of her ear after nipping at it. The silver rings adorning it caught between your teeth, and Vi yelped something indistinguishable from pain and pleasure. 

“Fuck you,” she choked, and you smiled at that.

“Maybe later.”

At this point, why would you not press your middle finger into the slick heat of her cunt? And with the way she keened all pitchy and broken, why would you not let your ring finger accompany it? Her walls fluttered around you. The first push in, down to the knuckles, ripped a strangled noise from deep in her throat. Oh, but the pulling out made her heave. The more you repeated these motions, the more stupid and garbled her sounds became. Out of curiosity, you pressed your thumb against the swell of her clit, and she all but screamed for you.

You didn’t realize what was happening until something gushed around your knuckles. Your eyes flicked down; the dam of pleasure had broken, and Vi was squirting on your wrist. Soon after, her walls squeezed around your digits, and that bundle of nerves beneath the pad of your thumb pulsed against your calloused skin.

“Oh shit, Vi,” you panted.

“Oh,” she gasped between breathless whines. “Oh, fuck.”

Before she could come down from her high, your fingers were already pressing against her front wall and pushing another gush of fluid from her cunt; she tried to gulp and yell at the same time, but it came out strangled and unrestrained.